#bug writes fics

[ficmachine]

OC: Eliocodo snippet

Collab with @winterwoodragon abt their OC.

Wordcount: 545

Click here for the character's ToyHouse

-

Quiet. Safe. Peaceful.

...Good.

Flying over the forest as a simple barn swallow, Eliocodo silently checks in on those injured and seeking sancturay. Do they yearn to leave the Fae realm? To leave the Mother's protection? Despite the violence these creatures face from humans, why do some long to leave? Why do young cry to go home? Is this not their home now?

Why not?

Briefly swooping by someone taking care of a potted daisy brings a wave of sympathy to his heart. The flower, although slightly wilted, is doing its hardest adapt to the new soil. He wonders if the plant can tell how the sun differs in this realm as its gentle light fades into night.

It is struggling too - he can hear it.

Elio, the new Guardian, is getting used to this position, still learning. Thrown into things head first - as the previous Guardian sacrificed themselves to keep the Mother alive – he needs to figure things out himself. Thankfully, the teachings and the journals the Previous left help immensley regardless of the library-worth of writings.

His wings tilt to the left gently, cilcling around a handful of smaller creatures as they triverse the much bigger woods.

His mind wanders.

Outside, a war is brewing. Far, far outside the realm, somewhere he's never given much thought to or knew existed prior to the request for shelter few cycles ago. Many monsters he's never seen now settling in, huddled together in large groups instead of going of their own to live in solitude. Strange and different from how the Fae live, but not unwelcome.

He would argue that the Travellers should try to reason with the humans, to find a middleground, but he's been told he doesn't understand – the nature of this war, nor the humans. (He scoffed at that in the moment. At the idea that he doesn't understand the nature of it. Foolish. He's one with nature; always was, always will be.)

Truth is that he does not understand. Not even slightly. He couldn't. The young Guardian knows nothing of what the travellers and the refugees speak of; nothing of humans, their ways, or the way things are outside where the Mother's protection doesn't extend. After all, how different can it be exactly?

With a few mental images strung together through stories of those seeking shelter, he has a vague idea: Tightly knit communities, homes dotted around a path like a trail of mushrooms, communal places. And, of course, the surface world isn't much different, though it's ruled by humans – the selfish and the greed-stricken ones who want everything to bend to their willl and be like them.

The image is a foreign one, he himself cannot truly picture it right.

He's not sure he wants to.

Here, everyone knows and agrees how important the Mother is, even if their ideas of how to protect Her are sometimes horrendously different. Though he does acknowledge that, while disheartening, a war might be needed. Simillarly to an amarbel, some actions must be taken immediately before they spill out of control and take root. After all, flora always grow back stronger after a fire.

War will not step foot here. Not while he's alive.

And, perhaps, it's for the best.

[sleepypatho]

More Coraline AU 🧵🚪

[edsbug]

sweet thing

pairing: eddie munson x inexperienced!fem!reader

summary: you don’t have much sexual experience. eddie shows you what you’ve been missing out on. (wc: 1.6k)

contains: 18+ NSFW, mdni!, pure filth, eddie being a sweetheart, lots of praise, a hint of dom!eddie, fingering (female receiving), cowgirl, piv.

authors note: this was requested by the lovely @wdsara48 <3 i hope you enjoy my love.

It was a sweltering summer afternoon, the kind where the heat clung to your skin and made everything feel languid and slow. The fan in Eddies room did little to alleviate the oppressive heat, but that didn't seem to matter as you sat perched on his lap in his bed, your legs on either side of his hips.

You and Eddie had recently started dating, every moment feeling new and exhilarating. Despite the stifling heat, the thrill of being so close to him made the temperature bearable. His hands rested gently on your waist, the touch of his fingertips making your heart race.

Eddie's room, usually filled with the sound of his favorite records, was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the fan. The air was thick with the scent of summer and the faint trace of his cologne. As you leaned in closer, your faces mere inches apart, you could see the way his dark eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and tenderness.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and husky, a small smile playing on his lips.

You nodded, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from his face. “Yeah, I am,” you replied softly, a hint of nervousness in your voice.

Without another word, Eddie closed the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft exploration, but quickly grew more intense. His hands moved up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as the kiss deepened.

The heat of the afternoon seemed to melt away as you lost yourself in the moment, the world outside forgotten. Eddie's lips were warm and insistent, his breath mingling with yours as your tongues danced together.

His hands roamed your back, fingers tracing the curves of your body through the thin fabric of your tank top. You could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest, or maybe it was yours; you couldn't tell. The kiss broke for a moment, and Eddie's dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something soft, more tender.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky. You felt a shiver run down your spine despite the heat.

As his hands found the hem of your top, lifting it slowly, you hesitated for a moment. Eddie noticed, immediately pausing to look at you with concern.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what's wrong?”.

You bit your lip, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

“I... I haven't done this much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression softened even more, a small smile tugging at his lips. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “That's okay,” he said. “We'll take it slow. I'll guide you. I promise.”

His reassurance sent a wave of relief through you, and you nodded. Eddie leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time, savoring each moment. His hands resumed their exploration, but with more deliberate care, taking the time to make sure you were comfortable with every touch.

Your top was the first to go, discarded somewhere on the floor. Eddie's lips trailed down your neck, placing soft kisses along your collarbone. He was patient, taking his time to ensure you were enjoying every second. His hands slid up your sides, stopping just under your breasts. He looked up at you, silently asking for permission before moving further. When you nodded, he smiled and continued, gently cupping your breasts and teasing your nipples, causing you to let out a soft moan.

“You're doing so good baby,” he whispered, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “Just tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head, feeling a growing confidence. You reached for the hem of his band shirt, tugging it upwards. Eddie obliged, pulling it off in one smooth motion. You couldn't help but admire his lean, toned body, your hands exploring the contours of his chest, your fingertips cascading over his tattoos. He groaned softly at your touch, a sound that sent a thrill through you.

When his hands moved to unbutton your shorts, you felt a flutter of nerves again. Eddie noticed, pausing to kiss you softly.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his breath warm against your lips.

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation.

“Atta girl. Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you said, feeling reassured by his confidence. Eddie's hands were deft, and soon your shorts and underwear joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He lifted you slightly, adjusting his position so you were straddling him more comfortably. The sensation of his hardness pressing against you through his jeans was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but grind against him slightly, earning a low groan from him.

Eddie grabbed your hips firmly, lifting you so you hovered over his lap. His fingers found your entrance, teasing you with light, feathery touches that made your hips buck involuntarily. He smiled, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Slowly, he slid one finger inside you, watching your face intently for any signs of discomfort. You gasped at the sensation, a mixture of pleasure and a slight unfamiliar stretch. Eddie's thumb moved to your clit, rubbing gentle, circular motions that sent sparks of pleasure through you.

"Look at you baby," he murmured, adding another finger and increasing the pressure on your clit. "So wet for me."

The dual sensations were almost overwhelming, but in the best way possible. His fingers worked you expertly, curling inside you to hit that perfect spot while his thumb continued its rhythmic movements on your clit. Eddie felt your wetness drip down his fingers. Your legs started shaking, causing you to hold on to Eddies shoulders. With his free hand, he took hold of yours, intertwining your fingers.

“That's it,” he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. “You're so beautiful like this.”

You could feel the tension building, your body trembling as you neared the edge. “Eddie, so close–“, you said, barely able to get your words out.

Eddie's eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of lust and admiration. “Let go for me baby,” he urged softly. “I've got you.”

With a cry of pleasure, you came, the orgasm washing over you in intense waves. Eddie's fingers slowed, helping you ride out the pleasure until you were left breathless and trembling.

“Good girl,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his lips, tasting you. “God, you taste so sweet.”

His words sent a fresh wave of desire through you, and you reached for him, pulling him closer. You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but filled with authority.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the residual tremors of your orgasm.

Eddie's hands found the waistband of his jeans, and he guided you to help him remove them. The anticipation built with every passing second, and soon he was fully exposed to you, his arousal evident. He reached for a condom in the drawer beside his bed, taking a moment to put it on.

Eddie guided you slowly, positioning you above him. “Take it slow,” he instructed. “Go at your own pace.”

You did as he said, lowering yourself slowly onto him. The initial stretch was intense, and you paused, allowing yourself to adjust to the sensation. Eddie's hands were on your hips, steady and reassuring.

“Such a good girl, doing so well for me,” he praised, his voice a husky whisper. “Just relax. I've got you.”

You took another deep breath, relaxing. As you began to move, the pleasure started to build, the initial discomfort fading away. Eddie's hands guided your movements, helping you find a rhythm that felt good for both of you. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs stroking soothing patterns on your skin.

“That's it,” he murmured. “You're so perfect.”

The words of praise spurred you on, and you moved with more confidence, finding a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through you. Eddie met your movements with gentle thrusts, his eyes never leaving yours.

Eddie's hands roamed your body, caressing your breasts, sliding down your back, and gripping your hips. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply as you rode him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Eddie murmured against your lips, his voice filled with admiration.

You moaned in response, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. Eddie could sense you were close, and his hands guided your movements with more urgency, his own breaths coming faster. He placed his thumb over your clit, rubbing in quick circles.

“Cum for me sweet thing,” he said breathlessly.

His words were the final push you needed. You came again, the sensation washing over you in waves, the room filling with the sound of your moans. Eddie followed soon after, his grip on your hips tightening as he came.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathless and sweaty. Eddie's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

As the world slowly returned to focus, you nestled into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your skin.

Eddie's hands moved to gently stroke your back, tracing light patterns on your skin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“More than okay,” you replied, a small chuckle escaping your lips. “Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie planted a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Anytime, sweet thing. Anytime.”

[helmbarte]

Been chilly lately

[screamlet]

new fic: in your (our) corner

bucktommy; 11k; complete tags: 8x17 coda; alternating pov; dealing with grief; hopeful ending fix-it warning/content note: in an argument, tommy uses a gay slur to self-identify.

Summary:

Sometimes, running is the answer.

Excerpt:

"Hey guys," Buck says into his headset as they ride back to the station. "We should stop by the supermarket and stock up on stuff for the kitchen." There's a long pause in the engine, broken by Gerrard asking, "Buckley, why on god's green earth would we do that?"

[riality-check]

ao3 link

Viktor thinks his leg should go without saying. Everyone else seems to disagree.

He is a cripple, not deaf or blind. He is perfectly capable of hearing the whispers over the thud of his cane as he passes by, not so focused on walking that he cannot see the way their gazes track him as he shuffles down the Academy’s halls.

There are too many stairs in the Academy, he is finding. Every time he encounters another set, he grits his teeth, hefts his bag a little higher on his left shoulder, and climbs, despite the growing ache in his right hip and the inordinate weight of the tomes he carries.

There is only the work, he reminds himself.

The number of people does not shrink as he climbs up to the fourth floor. They eye him in a way he cannot easily describe. It is not… hate, that is in their eyes. It is not quite suspicion, though Viktor is sure it would be were it not for the too-loose, too-stiff, too-fine Academy uniform he is wearing. It was a courtesy of Professor Heimerdinger, who had sent it along with the books and a map of the Academy, annotated with Viktor’s class schedule.

Heimerdinger has worse handwriting than the “doctors” Viktor is well acquainted with in the Undercity. Hence the early-morning visit to his office, where he is the entertainment for the other early Academy students. The ones who are more assured of their belonging here, if he can judge by their jewelry and their shoes.

(He wears no jewelry, has never owned any, and he stapled the outsole of his right shoe back together this morning.)

The other students, congregated around classroom doorways in their impenetrable social groups, stare at him in the same way he used to look at strays back home. They were a good source of amusement, given the absence of human company that plagued his childhood. He liked those animals. He fed them when he could, pet them when he couldn’t, and learned early how to tell when one would bite.

He realizes, as he spots the plaque outside of Heimderdinger’s office, that these students stare at him like that. They smirk with bemusement or avoid his gaze altogether. They hide their remarks poorly behind their hands.

They regard Viktor as a stray. Something to pity. Something to be cautious of. Something to be nice to, if he can prove himself by rolling over enough times.

Viktor supposes he is a stray, with how Heimerdinger plucked him off the streets of the Undercity and gave him a new “home.” What, does he now need a bell around his neck? Perform tricks?

He breathes and takes a moment to unclench his right hand from around his cane before it cramps too much to be useful. He resolves to do what he has done all his life: ignore the way they make him a spectacle, though they are worse up here, like they have never seen a cripple before.

Maybe topsiders have not. Viktor cannot recall seeing anyone like him so far.

He knocks on the office door before his brain can take him too far down that path. Unproductive.

Heimerdinger answers promptly. It is odd for Viktor, at his height, to have a superior he must look down at. He supposes it is something else he must get used to.

“Viktor,” the professor says, surprised, though he does let him in. “It’s early. Very early, my boy. Classes don’t begin for another half an hour.”

Viktor stands in front of the massive, dark wood desk and waits for Heimerdinger to sit back in his chair before he says, “Your map is illegible, and there are too many stairs.”

Undercity habits beget speaking quickly and directly; in an environment in which nothing is wasted, words are no exception. Topsiders, however, can afford waste.

“Professor,” Viktor tacks on in a too-late attempt to adhere to topside standards of respectability.

Heimerdinger, thankfully, chuckles. “Terribly sorry. You’d think that after enough decades of scribbling on blackboards, I could use a pen well enough.”

Well, no. After seeing this map, Viktor began to fear for this man’s students, himself included. Professor Heimerdinger teaches his introductory engineering course.

He draws up a new map, humming as he works. With nothing else to occupy himself, Viktor leans his cane against the desk, placing both hands on top of the furniture to take some weight off his hip, and surveys the office.

A bookshelf, matching the dark wood of the desk, stands along the far wall. Its shelves are bowed under the weight of the tomes it contains. Most of the spines are in languages he can read, some are not, and his fingers twitch toward them all the same. He stands on a plush, patterned rug - that explains the instability of his cane, and of his leg, he should rest a little more weight on this immovable desk - that would be better used as a blanket down below. Trinkets and baubles clutter the desk, the biggest of which is a globe. It spins of its own accord, illuminated by… something.

Viktor wants to take it apart. See how it works.

He takes his weight off the desk to kill that temptation and barely muffles a hiss at the flare of pain that shoots up his right leg from ankle to hip. He stretches his right hand surreptitiously behind his back, preparing to grab his cane once again.

This office looks exactly as he had expected it to from his one previous meeting with Professor Heimerdinger. It is practical… by topside standards; it is as large as his kitchen and bedroom back home put together, and any one of the items on the desk could pay three months’ rent, though that is… “low-balling” it, as he has heard some people say.

“Here you are,” Heimerdinger says, handing him the new, blessedly legible map.

Viktor takes it and scans it quickly. His first course is on this floor, thank goodness, but the rest…

“Professor, these are,” he pauses, trying to think of how to phrase his concern. He cannot seem ungrateful, not when Heimerdinger has already helped him and when he has him later for class, and he cannot be annoying, not when he was already ignored when he brought up the stairs the first time. 

But his leg screams at him, and to prevent the pain from giving him a sympathetic headache, as sometimes happens, he grabs his cane. To hell with the hand cramps.

“Is there any way to have all my classes on the first floor?” he finally says.

Heimerdinger glances at his cane, and his furry eyebrows raise. This is not the first time he has seen it, but Viktor thinks it is the first time the professor remembered it was there, or that it meant something besides… well, he does not know. A fashion statement, maybe?

Perhaps topsiders haven’t seen a cripple before. They would see plenty if they ever went down.

“We can’t move classes this late, I’m afraid,” Heimerdinger says sympathetically.

Viktor hears the unspoken “but if you had asked earlier” and bites his tongue against excuses.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I will manage.” And Viktor will, because Undercity habits mean that opportunities are not wasted either. A little pain is worth it. It will be no more difficult than anything he has already done.

Heimerdinger hops down from behind his desk and totters toward the door. As he passes Viktor, he pauses and makes an aborted movement to reach out to him before correcting course.

At least he stopped himself, but that was probably only for practical reasons. Unless Heimerdinger wished to replace his cane altogether - and what a shoddy replacement his bouncing steps would be for solid wood - there is nothing he can do.

And Viktor can walk on his own just fine. It is why he has the cane in the first place.

He grips the map a little tighter, hefts his bag onto his shoulder, and turns toward the door.

He makes it one step (on his injured leg, cane in his right hand) before Heimerdinger asks, “Viktor, which one of your legs is the bad one?”

He grits his teeth. There is no moral attribution to his body. It is neither good nor bad. It just has parts that work and parts that do not. He has one leg that works and one that does not. If he could chastise it into functioning by calling it “bad,” it would have been fixed when he was a child. But that is not how it works, and it is wasted energy.

“My right leg, Professor,” he says because he always wishes that any and all conversations about his leg be redirected to important matters as soon as possible.

Heimerdinger hums. “You’re using your cane incorrectly. You should hold it in your left hand, not your right.”

He mimes the motion, and Viktor tries not to feel… insulted? Ashamed? Coddled? Belittled? He cannot quite put a finger on it.

But there is no time for him to articulate it. Heimerdinger checks his pocket watch, squeaks, and runs faster than Viktor estimated his legs could carry him, leaving him alone in the threshold of the hallway.

He tries Heimerdinger’s suggestion, out of curiosity. The class is on this floor, and he has more than enough time to get there.

When he was a boy, no one taught him how to use a cane. He did what felt natural and what let him move the fastest. It was awkward, sure, but anything that caused him less pain was deemed a success.

It is awkward now, with the cane in his left hand. Slower as he walks down the hallway, because it is new. But it is more stable, he finds. A little less painful, as the pain stays localized to his ankle and knee, rather than his hip.

He could get used to it rather quickly, once he stops feeling so stupid about not knowing.

As he gets to his first class - it is in a room bigger than most big Undercity shops - the thump of his cane and his slow pace prompt more students and even his professor to stare at him. Viktor takes the closest open seat and is briefly, ludicrously, tempted to bark at them.

If they are going to treat him like a stray animal, should he not act like one?

No. He should not. Nothing is wasted, least of all this opportunity. He ducks his head down and opens a book on subjects he knows, matters he gets right, instead of wrong, like how to use his own cane, apparently.

Viktor thought he knew the comprehensive list of all his nonworking parts: the leg, of course, but also the childhood rickets, his lungs, his spine, the calcium deficiency that left his teeth stained slightly more yellow than topsiders’, whatever made him bendier than the average person, and not always in a good way.

Evidently, topside is intent on adding more to that list. Like the cane.

It does not matter. When he is the only one in the lecture hall who can answer the professor’s question - a leading one that she said they will know by the end of the semester - as a largely self-taught trencher, he relaxes. He even smiles.

There is only the work.

Read a continuation here. And another one here. And even more here. And another. And one more.

[kabr0ztrousers]

For your everyday writing, could you write something with insectoid aliens?

Like, reader (masc preferably but I could go either way tbh) works on a human ship going planet to planet studying aliens, except they’re not a scientist, instead something like a janitor or tech fixer whose never really viewed as an “important member” of the ship.

But, they, unlike their fraud higher uppers, actually are unfearfully open to alien culture, and when the aliens see this, reader is basically “kidnapped” (not actually really kidnapped bc they probably let willingly but yk) and made into the hive king/queen

Kabr0z Writes episode 83: First Contact Protocol

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: group sex; kidnap-but-not-really; Oviposition; mpreg

A/N: I wound up doing a seni-hivemind thing here, though if you were hoping for a little more sexy personality sublimation that's coming later this week. That's not even a joke, it's on the forecast

######################################

The ship was on yellow alert, shields up and no unnecessary power draw. It's been there for a week, ever since you left the borders of Federated space. A slipspace contrail had been detected above a previously uncontacted world. Xenologists had been observing from high orbit in cloaked research platforms. The hivemind on the planet below have discovered FTL transit, which means one thing: diplomacy would have to begin.

Yours was the closest ship, the xenologists having left the system in a hurry once ships started reaching orbit equipped with suspected superluminal drives, scuttling their platforms into the host star. No cultural or technological pollution could be allowed to happen before the hive made those first faltering steps on their own.

The ship rattled as it dropped from slipspace. Long and thin, like a javelin. The vessel was designed to minimise cross section while passing through a shockwave of compressed space. Travel between stars now took days rather than centuries, at the cost of slipspace vessels being laid out in long corridors.

You'd been lucky enough to be selected for the away mission, along with a xenolinguist and a comms officer. Your job was to stand there holding a rifle and looking serious.

The species were insectile, long-bodied and angular. Twitching antennae swaying to an unheard movement. The aliens were writing, their species having long since abandoned verbal communication for a form of low-level telepathy. Individuals weren't very smart, but as soon as more than two or three came together in a room, they could outpace most humans. By the time twenty got together they formed a living computer. Each individual takes on a role as a single node in a vast networked mind.

The delegation was being walked through the hive, twisting passages filled with individuals, each swaying as they watched you pass. There must have been thousands, even tens of thousands of them, each networking with the others.

You weren't looking where you were going. One corridor led to another, then another, the insectile people parting for you as you strayed further from your group. You were being herded, though you didn't know it yet.

You stepped into a round, vaulted room. A larger insect reclined in the centre, on a bed of sorts. They pushed you towards it. Antenne settled on either side of your head. A voice echoed within your mind. Your voice.

"Apologies for deceiving you. I am the King of this hive. My time grows close, and I must have a successor."

A successor? Did he mean you?

"Yes. You. I have seen your mind, through my drones. You are unfulfilled amongst the stars, the whipping boy aboard ship, no home on your planet, you took to space to fill the void. Let us fill it for you.

He wasn't wrong. Four of the drones approached you: larger, winged, with reddish markings on alabaster white exoskeletons. Their touch was gentle, disrobing you from your dress uniform, stroking your skin, caressing your chest and back. One knelt in front of you, taking your cock in its hand, while another wrapped it's arms around you from behind.

You could feel something pressing against your ass, gently pushing into your hole as its fellow fondled you. You grew harder in its hand, grunting as it rubbed the shaft in one hand, massaging the head with the other. It was remarkably good at this, you suppose it must've got some technique from scanning your mind. Or maybe the immense processing power surrounding it let it find the most effective method. Either way, it was mere moments until you were struggling to stand, knees buckling as cum leaked out of you. The drones maneuvered you to the bed, leaning you against it. One sat below you, hands still working your cock, the other pushing against your rear, a third took a place in front of you.

An appendage extended from its crotch, pressing into your mouth. You opened up, allowing it to enter you as the one behind you pushed its way into your ass. You moaned around one cock as the other ground against your prostate, feeling the ridges of it tease you to another aching, leaking orgasm. The one underneath hummed delightedly as cum dripped down from you onto it. The drones fucked you harder, reaching their own release, buzzing and humming as they buried themselves into you.

The cum tasted like cranberries. Sweet, sharp, astringent, it flooded your mouth with pearls. They felt like the tapioca balls you'd had in milk tea once or twice, soft and pliant, bursting when you applied pressure with your tongue, but mostly sliding down your throat. The one in your ass released as well, dumping its load deep into you, grinding into your ass as the pearls filled you up. It stung a little, the eggs taking root in your guts.

Days passed, your belly swelled up. You could hear the hive around you, growing stronger as the old king grew weak. You weren't one of them, your mind was your own, but the harem of those special drones treated you as if you were. The next generation grew within you, one day soon you would push them out, a slew of larvae to renew the hive.

It's good being king

[iceeclaw]

[aurantiumred]

fun valgrace headcanons!!!

jason took a minute to figure out what a marshmallow was. upon discovering, he ate it raw, much to leo's disgust and horror. he amended this by setting one on fire with his hands and shoving the burnt marshmallow at jason. this very quickly became a sticky mess. they were put on chore duty for accidentally starting a food fight while trying to get the marshmallow off.

they debated for a solid hour and a half whether fireflies were called lightning bugs or fireflies. the other demigods have 'nam style war flashbacks when jason points out a roly poly on the sidewalk and leo responds "no, thats a doodle bug." his region of texas didn't even call them doodle bugs. he was just being a prick for entertainment. this also occurs with otterpops.

youve heard the saying familiarity breeds indifference. no. everyone swears that they get more publicly affectionate and adoring to each other by the DAY. it started small, like leo hopping tables to sit with jason cause he was stuck alone (much to jason's protest, because RULES, leo.) and eventually evolved into leo spending his time following jason's every step. jason paces a lot so leo is always like two steps behind him while ranting about something neither of them really understand. jason is listening to leo more than leo is listening to himself.

they both sit in and wait for the other to be done with work. jason keeps quiet. leo will talk anyways, whether it be him working on a project and jason sitting near him in bunker nine, or jason studying and leo sitting against his chair.

speaking of studying, i have a hc that jason never learned much about math in CJ. he knew basic math up to like, sixth grade level, but no where near the level he needed to actually go to school with his age group. leo spends a day with him teaching him more complex concepts like pi, algebra, and imaginary numbers. leo falls asleep first.

jason is a massive hypocrite and tells leo to sleep when he doesn't himself. leo has made a game of dragging jason to bed with him whenever he tells him that he should sleep. jason thinks he engineered the game and he succeeded in making leo sleep. leo knows the game, and that jason thinks he made it because hes not dumb, but he sleeps with jason anyways because it helps the nightmares. plus, jasons always there for him, so he's there for jason.

[champagnetommy]

hold me, console me

Two months after the break-up, Buck gets an interesting call in the middle of the night. 1.4k words, fix-it, fluff and humor, on ao3

Buck had just face-planted onto his bed, after a long, long day of hectic calls, followed by non-stop baking, when his phone rings. He doesn’t move an inch at first, considering letting it go to voicemail, but he turns his head to the digital clock on his nightstand-Tommy’s - and registers it’s 1 a.m. He figures it could be important.

Through bleary eyes, he glances briefly at his phone screen, it’s an unknown number. Huh. He slides his finger over to answer and mumbles a tired, “Hello?”

“Evan.” He’d know that voice anywhere. It’d been haunting his dreams and every waking thought since—

“—Tommy?”

Tommy chuckles nervously on the other side of the phone. It’s staticky and echo-y; Buck wonders where he is. “Uh, yeah, it’s me. I’m so sorry to do this, the only phone numbers I have memorized are yours and my captain’s and I do not want to call him for this. Oh god.”

“Are you okay?” Buck can’t help but ask. If he’s in trouble, he needs to get to him as soon as possible.

Tommy sighs, exhaling heavily, before answering. “Erm. I- I need you to come bail me out. Please.”

That’s the last thing Buck was expecting. He must have been quiet for too long, because, then, Tommy’s in his ear again.

“Evan?”

“ Yeah, sorry, I’m here. How, why are you…” He’s not quite sure where to start, really.

“I’ll explain later? I don’t have a lot of time to talk at the moment,” he says drily. “Again, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you, I- I don’t want to be a bother. But, I’d appreciate it, if you could help me tonight. I know I don’t deserve it—”

“— You’re not an inconvenience, Tommy,” Buck says quietly.

Tommy clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. Good, a small part of Buck thinks.

“Which precinct?”

***

An hour later, Buck pulls up to the precinct Tommy instructed him. He’s definitely awake now, and burning with so many questions, and he’s unsure wether he’ll get the answers to any of them. As he walks in, he’s relieved and thankful it’s not Athena’s station. He thinks Tommy probably is, too.

He makes his way to the appropriate desk and greets the officer with his most charming- not too much- smile. “Good night- er morning?”

The officer, Cortez, her badge says, doesn’t look very impressed, but then again, it could just be the fact she’s on night shift.

“I’m here for Tommy- Thomas Kinard. I believe he was brought in earlier tonight.”

It’s like a switch is flipped, because Officer Cortez actually cracks a smile and her eyes widen in realization. ��Huh, so you’re Evan.” It’s not a question. “Your guy’s a real charmer, you know?”

Not my guy, not anymore, he thinks. He doesn’t say it, though. “Uh, yeah,” he chuckles, instead. “Sounds about right. Do I need to post bail? I’m not really sure how that works.”

“Oh, no you’re fine,” Officer Cortez shakes her head. “The guy he punched didn’t press charges, and he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on, seeing as he was brought in, too. And there were witnesses that vouched for your guy. We just needed someone to come pick him up.”

Tommy punched someone?

“Right,” Buck swallows, trying not to betray the fact this is all new information for him.

Officer Cortez gives him a kind smile and then turns to type and click on her computer for a couple minutes. Buck rocks on the balls of his feet, feeling jittery and like his skin itches, as he waits.

“Ok, he’s all set,” she says a minute later. “Let me go get him, I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, Tommy’s walking over to him, the officer right behind him. He looks tired and a little sheepish, but otherwise uninjured, thankfully.

“Hi.” He says meekly, ducking his head and raises a hand to rub the back of his neck.

Buck thought he’d be angry the first time he saw him, after the breakup, but instead he feels a knot loosen in his chest. “Hi yourself.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

Officer Cortez looks between them, amusement etched on her face “Alright you two, this has been fun and the highlight of my night, but out you go.”

“She won’t run away with me, can you believe that?” Tommy mock-whispers conspiringly, like everything’s normal, like it’s just another day and they’re not standing in the middle of a police precinct because he punched someone.

“In your dreams, Kinard! Now leave, before I change my mind.”

“Yes ma’am,” he salutes with two fingers and motions for Buck to follow him out.

“And talk to your Evan!” She calls to their retreating forms.

Tommy groans in embarrassment.

Once they walk out of the main doors, into the night air, Buck stops and rounds on him. “So. You punched someone.”

Tommy freezes for a second and then nods. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Can we not—”

“— No. You called me in the middle of the night to come bail you out, so we are doing this now, actually.”

Tommy’s shoulders stiffen and then relax, slumping as he inhales and exhales deeply. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said.”

Tommy clears his throat. “Right, okay, well. I was at a bar, I was— doesn’t matter, but when I was leaving, I saw this asshole harassing a couple, two men. They were just having a night out a- and this jackass was hurling slur after slur, cornering them in.” He takes another deep breath. Buck notices his hands shake a little.

“Anyway, I stepped in, told him to leave them alone and go on his way. Next thing I know, he swings at me, misses of course. I, uh, swung back and lightly decked him. He was drunk, tripping over his feet and honestly, sent himself to the ground.”

And Buck believes him, knows him, despite everything. “And you got arrested?”

“Yeah, we both did. There was an officer nearby, but the couple and some other bystanders explained what happened. He said he still had to take me in and here I am- or was, I suppose. Not my proudest moment.” He stares at he ground, as if afraid Buck would be angry or disappointed in him.

“Tommy,” he says softly, “hey look at me.” He dares to reach out and gently tips Tommy’s chin up with two fingers.

Tommy eyes him wearily, vulnerability and trepidation achingly evident across his ever-beautiful visage.

“You punched a homophobe,” Buck iterates.

Tommy’s expression morphs into confusion. “Yeah? That’s what I—"

Between one moment and the next, Buck leans in and cuts him off with the press of his lips. It’s as chaste and brief as their first kiss, and it’s absolutely everything. He disconnects their lips, but only moves back far enough to rest their foreheads together.

“God you’re so— I missed you,” Buck mumbles into the scant space between them. “So much.”

“Evan, sweetheart, I missed you too. You don’t know how sorry I am, for leaving, for everything—mmph!— Buck kisses him quiet again.

“Come home with me.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Just to sleep. I think it’s been a long day for both us. We can talk and argue and yell tomorrow. I-I just want to sleep next to you again, hold you.”

Tommy smiles at him, much like the way he smiled at him after accepting his invite to Maddie’s wedding, all soft and awe-struck.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” This time, Tommy’s the one bringing him in for a kiss.

All too soon, their bubble is interrupted by the intercom mounted near the precinct doors. “Gentlemen, as heartwarming as this is,” Officer Cortez says firmly, but not unkindly. “I suggest you move along, lest this turns into public indecency and then I’ll have to bring you both in.”

Their faces turn red, as they mumble quick sorry’s in unison. Tommy pulls Buck by the hand, down the stairs and toward the parking lot. The knot in his chest loosens further.

“And congratulations!” Officer Cortez shouts happily, voice carrying into the nearly empty lot.

Everything’s not magically fixed. They still have difficult conversations to face, fears to work through together and separately, but Tommy’s hand is warm and sure in his and he’ll sleep curled up next to him again, for the first time in months. And Buck’s ready to fight for them, to make it.

It’s a start.

[buckybarnes82]

Hiii

Requesting (if you want) some Bucky ball worship (you got this) 🤭

18+ only. Minors DNI (NSFW content.)

Hiii my beautiful angel, I hope I did this request justice. 😏

Bucky couldn’t get the noise in his head to stop. Having vivid nightmare after vivid nightmare all morning, he decided to slip out of the house before the sun even rose. He needed to go on a run to clear his mind; it was the only thing that helped some days.

When you stretched your legs out in bed, you quickly noticed his side was already cold to the touch. You reached over to the bedside table to send him a text, wondering how long he had been gone. This wasn’t abnormal for him, but you still worried nonetheless.

“Good morning handsome, coming home soon? I’m about to get in the shower.”

It didn’t take long for you to get a response, your phone buzzing in your hand almost instantaneously.

“Morning, my love. Couple minutes away. I’ll join you.”

You hopped out of bed, quickly hanging towels for the two of you while you turned the faucet to start the warm water. You heard the front door slam shut, and Bucky wasted no time coming up behind you, wrapping his arm around your naked body. Both hands cupped your breasts instinctively and you threw your head back letting out a raspy moan while he tweaked your nipples between his fingers.

“Hmm, do you like that?” He rasped, the question obviously rhetorical.

Once you gained enough composure you turned toward him. “Get undressed” you smiled as you playfully slapped his butt before getting inside the walk-in shower. Bucky removed his clothes right there and left them in a pile on the bathroom floor before following you in.

The water pooled at your feet while you took in the sight of your husband, he was flushed from running, his muscles flexed, his hair sweaty and disarray. Your eyes wandered up and down, first to his pecs, then his toned abs, and eventually landing on his balls, admittedly one of your favorite physical features. The water droplets clung to them, making the pit of your stomach grow warm. Bucky followed your gaze knowing what you were looking at, a soft smile escaped him knowing you were still thinking about his hands on your nipples.

You traded him spots, letting him stand under the stream of water, watching the droplets run down his muscles. You swallowed hard, pressing down on the shampoo bottle beside you to start washing his hair.

Bucky smiled as you stood on your tip toes, his hands steadying your hips so you wouldn’t fall. “I can sit down over there, it’s easier” he motioned toward the built-in bench with his metal arm before rinsing his hair out himself.

You nodded following him over before asking what you always did when you knew he had a hard morning. You ran your nails lightly against his scalp as you scrubbed conditioner in, knowing he liked the way your fingers felt in his hair. His eyes closed as he let out a sigh of relief.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m okay, the run helped” he looked up at you as you stood in front of him. His blue eyes were sincere, and he looked relieved to be here with you, so you nodded before he stood and changed positions with you.

“Your turn” he turned to get the shampoo bottle and you sat down on the bench just as he had moments before. Bucky knew you didn’t need to obviously but you liked the view in front of you.

“C’mere” you motioned with one finger as Bucky stood under the stream of water.

“Why?” He smirked, rubbing his free hand up and down teasingly stroking himself in front of you.

“You know why” you smirked, making direct eye contact with him now as you watched him walk toward you.

He stood facing you, trying his hardest to focus on scrubbing your hair like you did to him. Your hands quickly made their way to his dick stroking slowly, the other hand palmed his ballsack in your hands.

Loud moans erupted from your husband, uncontrollable as his head was thrown back, his hand weakly entangled in your hair. His Adams Apple bobbed up and down.

“Doll- mmm so sensitive there” his voice trembled a low raspy chuckle followed.

“You have such a pretty ballsack” you hummed, lightly running your fingernails across the wrinkled skin, ignoring the hitch in his breath before standing up and switching places once more. You lazily rinsed your hair, and Bucky sat down watching as the suds ran down your body before going back to tend to him.

“You’ve always liked it” his face was tinted rosy, the thought always made him shy for some reason.

“I love how sensitive it makes you” You got down on your knees, spreading his toned thighs apart to make room for you. Bucky's hands found your nipples again, lightly twisting them in his fingers before your mouth went to work.

“Won’t last long” he hummed, and you knew it was true but you didn’t mind it.

He leaned his head back, his eyes fluttering as you licked his sensitive skin, you knew to focus on his balls first. Breathy moans and grunts came from him as he gripped the shower wall.

“Use your words” you commanded, knowing he was already ready to come undone as you started to suck on his ballsack softly.

“Fuck, fuck, holy— fuck�� was all he could think to say, his brain somewhat short-circuiting. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Need me to focus somewhere else?” You teased looking up at him between fluttering eyelashes, tapping his thigh.

He nodded, biting down hard on his knuckle to stabilize himself, leaving tooth marks against his skin.

You took him into your mouth, his hips bucking against you almost immediately and it didn’t take long for him to release down your throat, you made eye contact with his beautiful blues as you swallowed.

His chest heaved up and down, pupils blown as you straddled him, the water still loud and steamy behind you.

“Feel much better?” You giggled as you mumbled against his skin, kissing his cheek as your naked bodies stuck together, wet and warm.

“I’ll feel better when I get to fuck you” he rasped, and you knew by the look in his eyes that this was going to be a long, eventful weekend.

[edsbug]

soaked

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you shower with eddie. things turn steamy. (wc: 1.6k)

contains: 18+ NSFW mdni!, fluff turned smut, oral (female receiving), eddie eats reader out while on his knees, fingering, piv.

authors note: this is my first attempt at writing proper smut. english is not my first language, please forgive any mistakes<3

The gentle patter of water hitting the tiled floor filled the small bathroom of Eddies trailer. Steam swirled through the air, wrapping everything in a warm, misty embrace. You both stood under the showerhead, the hot water cascading over both of you, easing away the stresses of the day.

Eddie ran his fingers through your wet hair, his touch light and soothing. His rings, now safely discarded on the sink, usually added a cool contrast to his warm skin, but tonight, it was just the warmth of his hands.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" he murmured, his voice low and comforting. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. Moments like these, where the chaos of the world was shut out, felt like pure bliss.

You reached for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into your palm before lathering it into his hair. Eddie closed his eyes, a content sigh escaping his lips as your fingers massaged his scalp.

"You're really good at this," he chuckled, opening one eye to peek at you. "Maybe you missed your calling as a hairdresser."

You laughed, a light sound that made Eddie's heart swell. "Maybe. But I think I like my current job better."

"And what's that?" he asked, a playful glint in his eye.

"Taking care of you," you replied, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips.

Eddie's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. The water continued to cascade over you both, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his body against yours, his heartbeat steady and strong.

"You do a pretty great job of it," he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. "I don't know what l'd do without you."

"You'd survive," you teased, running your hands down his back. "But your hair would be a mess."

Eddie laughed, the sound deep and rich, echoing off the tiled walls. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, the water making your lips slide together effortlessly. When he pulled back, his dark eyes were filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

Gently, you turned Eddie around, guiding him to face the showerhead. You started to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, your fingers working through the soapy strands. Eddie leaned into your touch, his muscles relaxing under your careful ministrations.

He hummed in contentment as you continued to work the shampoo out of his hair. Once it was all rinsed out, you grabbed the conditioner, spreading it through his dark locks. Your fingers moved methodically, ensuring every strand was coated.

"You know," Eddie said, his voice light with humor, "I could get used to this kind of treatment."

"Don't get too used to it," you teased, though your tone was affectionate. "I might start charging you."

Eddie chuckled, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. "I'm sure we could work out some kind of arrangement."

You laughed, shaking your head as you continued to run your fingers through his conditioned hair. "I'm sure we could."

After a few more minutes, you rinsed out the conditioner, making sure Eddie's hair was soft and clean. He turned around to face you, his pupils blown.

"Your turn," he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Before you could protest, Eddie had taken the shampoo bottle from your hand, squeezing some into his palm. He reached up, gently massaging it into your hair. You closed your eyes, a soft moan escaping your lips as his fingers worked through the strands.

"See?" he said softly. "I can take care of you too."

"I never doubted it," you replied, leaning into his touch.

The rest of the shower was spent in comfortable silence, the two of you taking turns washing each other's bodies. Warm water cascaded around you, mixing with the scent of soap and the steam that filled the air.

As Eddie's hands continued to explore your body, the gentle caresses began to ignite a deeper desire. He picked up a bar of soap, lathering it between his hands until it was covered in frothy suds. Slowly, he began to spread the suds across your skin, his touch both tender and electrifying. The feel of his hands gliding over your body, slick with soap, sent shivers of pleasure down your spine.

Eddie's gaze darkened with desire as he watched the soap suds slide over your curves, his fingers tracing patterns in the bubbles. The sight of your wet, glistening skin and the feel of your curves beneath his hands were intoxicating, his own arousal growing stronger.

"Eddie," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

His response was immediate. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his hands roaming over your wet skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You pressed closer to him, feeling the heat between you grow as the soap and water continued to pour down, forgotten.

Eddie's hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him. You could feel his arousal, hard against your thigh. The sensation sent a shiver of excitement through you, and you moaned into his mouth, your own desire pooling low in your stomach.

"Let me take care of you." he murmured against your lips.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his lips continued their journey, moving lower. He paused briefly at your breasts, taking a moment to tease your nipples with his tongue, drawing soft moans from your lips.

"Please," you breathed, your fingers threading through his wet hair, urging him on.

Eddie sank to his knees, kneeling in front of you. He glanced up at you, the water trickling gently down his face. "I've got you, sweetheart," he murmured.

When his lips finally reached your inner thighs, he took his time, kissing and nipping gently, making you squirm with need. Eddie felt his knees bruising against the tile floor, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair as you let out a desperate moan, your hips lifting slightly in a silent plea.

Eddie's hands slid under your thighs, holding you in place as he settled between your legs.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin.

Before you could respond, Eddie's lips were on you, his tongue exploring your clit with slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers down your spine. The sensation was electrifying, each touch igniting waves of pleasure that coursed through your body.

You couldn't suppress the moans that escaped your lips, your fingers tightening their grip in his hair, pulling him closer.

Eddie's tongue moved with expert precision, finding every sensitive spot that made you gasp and writhe. He skillfully alternated between slow, languid licks and quick, intense flicks that sent jolts of pleasure through you. Your hips began to move in rhythm with his mouth, seeking more of the delicious sensations he was creating.

You whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of rushing water.

Eddie's gaze lifted to meet yours, a glint of determination in his eyes as he understood your unspoken plea. Without hesitation, he shifted his focus, his lips closing around your clit in a firm yet gentle embrace.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Eddie began to suckle and tease, his movements synchronized with the rhythm of his tongue. Your fingers tightened in his hair, earning a deep moan from him.

His hand left your thigh and deftly found its way to your entrance. His fingers teased the sensitive skin there, circling slowly before gently pushing inside. The feeling of fullness felt intoxicating, making you arch your back and cry out.

His fingers moved in a rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue, each thrust and curl inside you amplifying the sensations and pushing you closer to the edge.

“Eddie, please…” you begged softly.

“I know baby, I know” he said as he rose from his knees.

Eddie’s lips crashed against yours once more, your taste still lingering on his tongue. His hands lifted you slightly so that he could position himself at your entrance. You wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping as you felt him begin to push inside you.

The sensation of him filling you was almost overwhelming, the pleasure intense as he slowly buried himself to the hilt. Eddie groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he paused for a moment, giving you both a chance to adjust.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You moaned in response, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to pull him even closer.

Slowly, Eddie began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. The sound of the water hitting the floor mixed with your gasps and moans, creating a symphony of desire that echoed off the tiled walls.

Eddie's pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent as the need to bring you both to the edge took over. You clung to him, your body arching in response to each thrust. The steam-filled bathroom seemed to shrink around you, the world outside disappearing as you lost yourselves in each other.

"Eddie," you gasped, your voice breaking with the intensity of your pleasure. "I'm close."

"Me too," he replied, his breath hot against your ear. "Come with me, sweetheart."

With a deliberate move, he shifted his hand, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing in circles. With a final, deep thrust, Eddie sent you over the edge, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out his name, your body convulsing with pleasure as he followed you into ecstasy, his own release filling you completely.

For a moment, the two of you just held each other, the only sound in the room the gentle patter of the shower and your ragged breaths. Slowly, Eddie lowered you back to the floor, his arms still wrapped around you as you both tried to catch your breath.

Just as you began to relax into the warmth of the afterglow, a sudden shock of icy cold water hit you both.

"Eddie!" you shrieked, jumping away from the freezing stream. "The water!"

He laughed, his eyes wide with surprise as he fumbled to turn off the faucet. "Looks like we used up all the hot water."

You both scrambled out of the shower, dripping wet and shivering. Eddie was still chuckling as he rubbed his arms to ward off the cold.

"Not exactly how I pictured this ending," he said, his grin wide and mischievous.

You couldn't help but laugh, despite the chill.

Eddie quickly wrapped you in a warm towel, as you snuggled into him. "Still love you, even if you did turn me into an icicle," you muttered.

"Love you too, popsicle," he replied, pulling you closer.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* Breathe (Yandere!Monster x AFAB!Reader)

CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, bed bug inspired monster, minor character death, Non-Con, traumatic insemination, blood, physical torture, mental torture, impregnation, necrophilia

(Reader) breathed deeply, bouncing side to side in the back of the armored vehicle. The men and women by their side held equally grim expressions, not knowing what they were about to face. Three days ago an outpost went radio silent, the group of military scientists sent out an SOS before cutting communications. (Reader) had no idea what the scientists were studying, nor why they needed military protection in the middle of nowhere, but it wasn't their place to know. That's what they continuously told themselves as they practiced their deep breathing, secretly unnerved by how little their team was informed about this mission, and by how uneasy their teammates were.

The van rattled as it parked, and everyone exited the vehicle, guns pointed and night vision on, patrolling their designated routes throughout the empty land. (Reader) was followed by Davis and Jones, surveying the backside of one of the buildings, and praying for someone to be found alive. It was a bit dramatic, assuming that everyone was dead, but with how everyone seemed to keep this mission "hush hush", keeping important info from the men and women entering the "possibly dangerous" area, with the goal of "information retrieval" being considered a higher priority over extraction of survivors, it didn't sound like even their superiors were hopeful.

Everything was suspicious, and made everyone on edge. That worry became a very real fear when (Reader) entered the building through the back door and found the floor painted in blood. A body was mere inches from the exit, and the back of his head was torn open, exposing a cracked skull.

"Jesus Christ.." Davis covered his mouth.

(Reader) bent down, turning the body over to observe the face, comparing it to the portfolios of the personal working at the outpost they had memorized on the drive. They clicked on their walkie, speaking low. "This is (Reader), we've discovered a body, appears to be Dr. Romero."

Rodriguez's voice crackled quietly in their ears. "Copy that, this is Rodriguez, I've got two more bodies over here."

"What the hell happened to him?" Jones whispered.

(Reader) couldn't answer. There were scratches on the skull, and the skin was red and puffy surrounding it. The face was purple from the pooling blood. It didn't look like a gun shot, but (Reader) couldn't imagine what it could have been otherwise. "Let's continue on." The three left the body behind, creeping down a hall in procession.

"Movement." Behind (Reader), Davis urgently hissed, motioning towards what looked like a rec room. The formation changed, following Davis as he entered the room, focused on a couch. As they drew closer, a quiet gurgling could be heard, along with something wet dripping onto the tile flooring.

What looked like a man, naked and hunched over, was cradling a corpse, rocking back and forth. In the odd lighting of the goggles, they couldn't tell that there was something wrong with him until it was too late.

"Turn around, and put your hands up." Davis commanded, frightened and ready to shoot. The head of the corpse lulled back, revealing it's neck was completely devoured. In the second it took to blink, the creature had lunged at Davis, tackling him to the ground. (Reader) and Jones opened fire, but the bullets seemed to bounce off his back in the dark. Seeing a slight difference in texture between his back and neck, (Reader) took a chance, aiming at his neck.

The creature screamed, holding his neck and jumping to his feet, taking a moment to reveal his almost human face to (Reader), before crawling up the wall, and through a trap door in the ceiling.

"Davis!" Jones picked up his brother, patting his armor.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Davis panicked, grasping at Jones to ground himself. "I think he was trying to bite me, but- but couldn't get past my mask."

(Reader) got on the radio again. "This is (Reader), we've just been attacked. No injuries, but.. but I can't explain what just attacked us. It looked like a naked man, but it crawled up the ceiling like a bug."

"Not funny, (Reader)."

"That wasn't a joke, Rodriguez. I unloaded a clip into it, and it didn't die. It went into the attic, do I follow?"

"We're on our way, wait for backup."

Davis looked horrified. "I don't want to go up there!"

"C'mon, man-"

"No, Jones. You didn't see that thing's mouth!"

Everyone went silent as something scraped against the floor boards above them, clenching their weapons in suspense.

The front door was kicked in, Rodriguez and her crew entered the rec room, lowering their guns. "Alright, what happened here?"

"Something Humanoid was in the center of the room, eating.. whoever the hell that once was. Davis told him to put up his hands, when it knocked him to the ground, trying to bite him. Jones and I shot his back, but it didn't seem to affect him. I hit it's neck, but that only got him off of Davis, then he climbed up the wall and went through that door." (Reader) pointed at the attic door.

Rodriguez narrowed her eyes in disbelief, glaring up at the ceiling. "Let's find another way up. If there's nothing up there, we'll go back to the van, check your body cams."

Davis raised his voice defensively. "You think we're lying about this?"

"I think, it fucking reeks in here. It doesn't smell like a gas leak, but I don't believe in monsters. I'm not ruling out a hallucinogen of some kind. (Reader)-" She then nodded to (Reader), signaling to get a move on.

They searched the rooms before finding a ladder, and no other doors leading up. (Reader) sighed. "Good enough."

Davis held the ladder as (Reader) climbed up, followed by Rodriguez, then another soldier, Alistair. Inside the attic the smell was worse, like rotten fruit. It was so bad that Alistair gagged a little, trying not to throw up. "Fuck me, what is that?"

(Reader) flinched, seeing something curled up in the fetal position. "Rodriguez."

The three approached the figure carefully, the smell worsening as they approached, then, (Reader) was close enough to see that the creature wasn't breathing. They kicked it, putting a hole straight through it's stomach.

"Oh God!" Rodriguez recoiled.

However, (Reader) almost threw up, not because of the stench, but from the overwhelming fear that suddenly pulverized their spirit. "It's a shell."

"What?"

Rodriguez bent down, gingerly pulling (Reader's) foot out and examining the body, finding it to be a combination of hard shell and molted skin. "I can see why you couldn't kill it. It's back is like a bug's exoskeleton. Looks like the front is a more... human.. texture."

"But doesn't that mean it's still here somewhere?" Alistair nervously asked, glancing around in the dark.

"We need to get back to the van, call this in to our superiors." Rodriguez commanded before picking up the walkie, calling out the the other three person team. "Jackson, return to the van."

Silence.

"Jackson, you there? I said get to the van."

A barrage of shots fired from outside, echoing through the encampment. Everyone raised their weapons and fell into formation, rushing outside quietly while scoping the area. A scream from one of the newer lieutenants pierced the silent air, before choking loudly, and then returning the outpost to silence once more.

The team splintered apart, separating back into their three man groups, covering more ground in hopes of finding the last three members of their team. (Reader) smelled that fruity stench again, and motioned to their men to follow them in the smell's direction. They entered a tent covering what looked like an excavation site, a deep hole roped off with caution tape. A uniformed body laid headless in the dirt next to the entrance. In the bright green view of (Reader's) goggles, they could read Jackson's name on the vest.

Further down the large tent, a disgusting squelching noise was rhythmically slapping, along with animalistic grunts. (Reader) stepped as soundlessly as possible, stepping over torn clothing; a military vest with Adams' name, her jacket, her tank top, and even her bra, torn to shreds and strewn about, leading to the noise.

Behind a metal desk, seconds clicked by like minutes, the adrenaline forcing (Reader) to take in every detail of the horrific scene. The monster, now much larger than it was before, had Adams' corpse in it's arms, her nude upper body violently shaking as it ground it's pelvis into her abdomen, splattering blood around them. As the scene came together, (Reader) began firing, aiming at the side of his head, hoping to hit a soft spot.

The creature angrily stood up, Adams' body sliding off of what appeared to be a curved spike protruding from it's groin. It screamed, rushing (Reader) and ramming into them, knocking them off balance which sent them tumbling down into the hole.

(Reader) heard their team cry out for them, and gunfire, but they kept falling, bouncing off the walls of the hole before landing hard at the bottom, snapping their arm at the bottom.

The shouts of terror didn't last long above ground, ending with sounds of bones cracking and bodies falling. (Reader) struggled onto their feet, feeling discomfort in their rapidly swelling ankles. There didn't seem to be any rope or ladders to get back out, and they didn't know if it was safe to call for help on the radio.

Spinning around, something moved in the dark, scaring (Reader) onto their ass and fumbling for their gun. In the dark, another naked monster, smaller than the previous one, crawled over on all fours towards (Reader), chest heaving like he was sniffing the air. He approached (Reader) who still couldn't find their gun, and cautiously tapped on their goggles, searching their masked face with deep, sunken eyes. His mouth was split open, showing off his jagged, saw like teeth. This monster was about the size of the first one before it molted.

It continued open mouth sniffing (Reader's) head, almost making them vomit by it's rotting body odor, when suddenly it flinched, whipping his head up to see the bigger creature climbing down head first into the pit. The younger looking monster grabbed (Reader's) face tightly, pressing his hands against their mouth and squeezing, forcing them to hold their breath.

Sweat felt like lice as out dripped down the fine hairs on (Reader's) neck. They hadn't prepared to be holding in their air, so they were already beginning to feel light headed. The larger monster paused halfway down, sniffing hard into their air before screeching at the smaller creature. He howled in response, still keeping his hands in place on (Reader's) face. (Reader) understood that the two were communicating, and that it seemed like the smaller monster was on their side, because soon the killer turned around and retreated back up, more than likely to kill more of (Readers) brothers and last remaining sister.

After a painful amount of time, he removed his hands, and (Reader) wasted no time grabbing their walkie. "Hello? Does anyone read me?" They whispered frantically.

"(Reader), we found more bodies-"

"Jackson and Adams are dead, possibly Davis and Jones as well."

"Jesus.."

"We found the monster in a large tent covering what looks to be a dig site. I was thrown into a hole, broke my left arm, lost my gun, and possibly sprained both ankles." (Reader) swallowed their rising bile, watching the monster mimic their movements. "Don't breathe. If you hear rustling, don't breathe. The monsters can see, but I think they find their victims through their breath or something."

"What? Wait, did you just say monsters?"

"There's a smaller one here in the hole with me. I think he saved my life. The one from the attic is much bigger now, this other one is still small. He made me hold my breath and it made the bigger one leave me alone."

"Jesus, alright. That sounds crazy. But.. look, just stay there, we'll be there soon. Can you see a way out?"

"No. No ropes or ladders down here."

"'Kay. Stay quiet, call back if that thing down there tries to attack you. Even if we can't get you out, I can at least throw you down a weapon."

"Thanks. Stay safe up there."

(Reader) leaned back, the pain settling in as the fight or fight response cooled down. They groaned in pain. The monster hopped up, crawling back over to inspect (Reader).

"Curious little monkey, aren't ya?" (Reader) panted, becoming nervous at how he sniffed the air excitedly as they did so. He crept back over, becoming far too close again, and starting touching their mask and goggles, confused. Long sharp claws reached under the mask and pulled it down, startling himself. He retreated to the other side of the pit while whimpering.

"Hey, that was just my mask." (Reader) tried to console him. They didn't know if it was because he saved them, or if because he acted like a scared child, but they weren't nearly as scared of him as they were the other one. Seeing that it was just a piece of fabric, and not (Reader's) face accidentally being ripped off, he shuffled back over, rubbing his dirty fingers across their lips.

He tapped his nails across their teeth, pulling open their lips carefully, feeling their jaw and chin, running his hands over every little bump and scrape. Learning that the bottom half of (Reader's) face had been covered by a mask emboldened him to tug on the goggles, coaxing (Reader) into removing them, leaving them completely blind in the dark. His breath tickled their face as he shuddered, purring deep in the back of his throat as he placed his nose on (Reader's) forehead, pressing into them in an almost cat-like manner, smelling them and rubbing his oily skin over (Reader's) entire face.

Uncomfortable by their lack of vision, (Reader) replaced their goggles, much to the monster's dismay. "I need these. Protection." They put back on the mask as well, ignoring his whines of disapproval.

Dirt fell onto (Reader) as Rodriguez stepped near the opening. "You still alive?" She stage whispered down into the chasm.

"Yeah. Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah. I think with the footage we got, and the documents, they'll understand if we don't take any bodies back with us." Her words were harsh, but (Reader) knew she was just as distraught as they were. "Your gun's up here, want me to throw it down?"

"No. I'm guessing you didn't find a ladder?"

"No."

"Then I'll try to climb out."

"Didn't you say your arm was broken?"

"Unless you killed that other creature, it's too dangerous to hang around here." (Reader) readied themselves to climb, immediately hissing as they grabbed into the dirt. The monster panicked, growling at (Reader). But they didn't stop, kicking a foot in, creating a hold, and pulling up. White hot pain flashed through their body.

An arm grabbed them around their waist, and swung (Reader) around; the monster had picked them up like a sack over his shoulder, and began climbing the wall with one arm.

"Jesus Christ." Rodriguez grabbed at (Reader) as soon as they were within reach, yanking them away from the monster. He snarled in response, trying to cover (Reader) with his body, but (Reader) wearily pat him on the head, trying to show that they were fine. He calmed down, but still glared at Rodriguez suspiciously. "What the hell are you?"

"Where's the rest of us?" (Reader) questioned, only now seeing that Rodriguez was alone.

"Only one other guy made it, Davis. He was fucked up when we found him, I got him in the van."

"I'm sorry.."

"It wasn't your fault. Let's go." Rodriguez helped (Reader) to their feet, handing them their gun, and the three left the tent.

Bodies of (Reader's) mates were in pieces, littering the ground with organs. Everyone was wrinkled. Whatever blood hadn't spilled on the ground while being murdered appeared to have been siphoned from their bodies, the chunks nearly mummified. The two soldiers watched their new companion as they snuck back through the outpost, using him like a blood hound to sense if his more dangerous relative was near. There were moments when he would pause, a frightened look crossing his face as he clung to (Reader), and both humans would hold their breath, desperately clinging to the faith that this monster was actually trying to save them.

The sun was still hours away from rising, and horror movie plots drifted through (Reader's) mind, pondering what kind of creature was clinging to their arm at that moment, and what could possibly kill it. (Reader) sped up their pace, rushing to the driver's side door as Rodriguez pulled the unwilling monster into the back with her, wrestling him as he tried to follow (Reader).

Each team leader had a spare key for the truck, so it didn't matter who drove it back, but Rodriguez did have more hands on experience with first aid, so it made sense for her to be in the back with the barely conscious Davis during the ride, just in case his health took a turn for the worse.

The van started up, worryingly loud in the silent town. (Reader) pulled off their goggles and flipped on the lights, flooring the gas as they took off, knowing it was no use trying to be quiet at that point. From the back of the van, the monster started crying.

"Hey, something's wrong with this thing!" Rodriguez called out to (Reader), before the entire van shook under the weight of something dropping onto the roof. "Shit!"

Without thinking, (Reader) spun the wheel to the left, throwing the bloody monster off their vehicle and sending him tumbling into the road. He was able to shake off the fall, standing upright and staring at (Reader) from the road. Now without the night vision, (Reader) saw him clearly in the headlights, the difference between his brown armored shell pieces, and the mammal like skin, almost paper thin in the light, pulsated with the blood of (Reader's) teammates and the doctors they were sent to find. The skin was stretched tight over how swollen he was, growing to almost twice its natural size.

"Hold on!" (Reader) barked, speeding towards the man in the road.

His head snapped forward as his chest connected with the grill, bouncing off the hood as (Reader) drug him back towards the buildings, driving him towards the house with the rec room. (Reader) kept on full speed until they crashed into the wall. Blood splashed across the wall and van as the monster popped under the force of the collision.

"Shit! Are we good?"

The body twitched a few times, choking on it's stolen blood as it feebly clawed at the metal crushing it before falling still, finally dying. "Yeah. We're good."

Back at the base, it was a horrifying shock for the troops awaiting their return, guns raised and pointed at the young monster they brought with them, however, they didn't shoot, as he held onto (Reader) tightly, making no move to attack anyone. They uploaded their body cam footage, corroborating their testimonies of what they saw, save for Davis, who was rushed back to the hospital wing for emergency surgery. (Reader) and Rodriguez were also eventually treated for their injuries, Rodriguez only needing a couple of stitches and getting diagnosed with a concussion, while (Reader) had their arm placed in a cast, and both ankles had to be wrapped up for compression to fight the mild puffiness.

The two sat next to each other, finally alone after the military dragged their monstrous savior away. "God, I need a shower." The dark haired woman complained, sniffing her hair that had been let down. Her face scrunched up in disgust. "I smell like those things."

"Ha. Yeah, like rotting fruit."

"Rotting raspberries. So gross." Rodriguez's forced smile melted, incapable of pretending to feel relief. "Why do you think he saved you?"

Clashing with the smell of the sanitized hospital and the saline aftertaste from the IV drip, (Reader) could still smell the pungent scent of the monster on their body, just as Rodriguez pointed out. "I don't know."

"What do you think those things are? Vampires?"

The image of Adam's limp body sliding off of a thin spike resurfaced in (Reader's) mind, making them nauseous. "I don't think so." They leaned forward, scooting closer towards Rodriguez. "I didn't see your body cam video.. did you see mine?"

"No. Why?"

"Did any of the bodies- I mean, this is going to sound.." they sighed, licking their lips and trying again. "When I entered that tent, with the hole, I found the monster with Adams. It had.. torn off her clothes, and it looked like he was.. stabbing her abdomen, with a claw out of his pelvis."

Except for the normal hospital beeping, (Reader's) words left the atmosphere feeling far too silent. "Are you saying it raped her?"

"I don't know.. maybe. Did you see any other naked bodies?"

"..no." They both laid back, exhausted, and frightened. "But if you're thinking that it could tell she was a woman, why weren't we attacked? I mean, I know you're not a woman, but if those things went by smell or pheromones.. I don't even know what I'm saying." She drug her dirty hands over her face.

"Maybe because our's is a kid. I mean, he's the size of that first monster before it molted, so maybe he isn't.. sexually mature?"

Before Rodriguez could think of a response to that a doctor came in, asking to see her out in the hallway. "I'll be right back." She promised, patting (Reader's) shoulder as she left the room.

(Reader) nestled back into the thin pillow and accidentally fell asleep while waiting for their friend to return, the awful rotting smell never fading.

It wasn't until a banshee worthy scream echoed throughout the hospital that (Reader) woke up, looking up at the clock on the wall and seeing that it was 19:31, revealing that they had slept through an entire day, and that Rodriguez was not in the room with them. Something down the hall shattered, followed by another terrified shout. Unarmed and now incapacitated, the only course of action their adrenaline flooded mind could think up on the fly was to hide, ripping out their IV and sliding under the cot, hidden from view by the crossing metal bars and plastic barrier.

Footsteps passed by (Reader's) door. They took a deep breath, holding their face to keep in their air. The door opened and whoever it was entered the room. (Reader) was only capable of seeing the bare feet painted in blood as they stepped closer to the bed. The bloody individual leaned on the mattress above (Reader), pressing their weight into it, before stepping away, touching other things around the room. Blood dripped onto the tiles from the drenched body. (Reader) began shaking, trying not to take a breath as they waited for the thing to leave, tearing up at the possibility of it being the creature they willingly brought back with them. The feet disappeared from view, then they heard the door close. Still, just to be safe, (Reader) kept their hands to their mouth for a few more seconds, unable to hear if he left because of the blood rushing through their ears. Quietly, they released the lungful of air and slowly sucked new air back in.

A hand grabbed one of their swollen ankles and pulled (Reader) out from under the bed. In the dim light of the flashing buttons, (Reader) saw the freshly molted monster, smiling down at them with blood coating their face and dribbling from their lips.

"No!" A casted fist attempted to punch him, but he caught it, rubbing the puffy fingers against his face affectionately. He leaned down, rubbing his nose across their face like he had done back when he had first saved them, sniffing loudly. (Reader) began sobbing, knowing what would happen to them after Adams. The thin hospital gown was easily ripped off, pleasing the monster who made that purr-like rumble in the back of his throat, still smiling.

A long, thinly tipped aedeagus unfurled itself, curved and sharp, just like (Reader) remembered it looking.

"Please don't.. please.. I don't want to die!"

Their words weren't understood by the monster, too busy rubbing (Reader's) side. He laid down beside them, hugging (Reader) tightly as he positioned himself, still sniffing their neck as he did so. Between (Reader's) pleas a stinging pain entered their side as he pushed his hypodermic penis into their midsection.

The sound of pain (Reader) made was unlike anything they had ever made, or heard, before. Incapable of jerking away because of his hold on them, he continued making noises of pleasure, rolling his hips as he pressed deeper, splurting blood as he wiggled back and forth inside of them, trying not to puncture anything important until he could get deep enough to what he needed.

His prick pierced (Reader's) uterus, the burning torture as they felt something inside getting stabbed was hell. Their eyes rolled back as his hips rubbed sensually against their side, unable to hold on as they began to pass out. He screeched horrifically, scratching (Reader) as his grip constricted happily, cumming straight into (Reader's) uterus. Even after they fell limp in his arms, his fluids continued pouring out, overfilling the poor organ; his elastic liquid solidifying near the hole like a polyp.

Contrary to what (Reader) thought, the monster who caressed their body was intelligent. He was far smarter than his brother, who had been so desperate to implant his seed he fucked that poor woman to death, not taking into account that human females hadn't evolved to handle the method of reproduction that their species used. Even their own could die if they mated multiple times, so he really should have been more careful. He held onto (Reader) dreamily, using their gown to stop the bleeding as he pulled out. He took the time to ensure nothing was damaged inside his wonderful little mate, so the only bleeding he had to worry about was the skin. Some of his sperm clung to the tip of his needle like cock, so he rubbed it across (Reader's) face as they laid unconscious, just so that if another male of his species did somehow follow them, the could smell that (Reader) had already been claimed.

When he was searching the hospital for (Reader) he had seen stitching, and learned what it was for by watching a doctor from afar before killing him and the patient. It wasn't too difficult to figure out.

(Reader) would live. It would hurt, but imagine how happy they'll be when they awake to find themselves pregnant! It made him purr with joy, wondering how many children he'd have with his beautiful human.

After all, unlike humans, his species only needed to fuck once and their sperm would survive inside the host body for years, creating a kind of sac to plug up the hole in the uterus and protect the sperm from the forming infants, releasing sperm whenever there is a vacancy in the uterus to immediately impregnate the host again.

His mate shifted under the needle in their sleep as he fixed them up. It brought him such pride, imagining that he could almost see them becoming pregnant at that very moment. He knew from the second he smelled (Reader) down in the dirt he was unburied from that he was born to be their mate~

[felsicveins]

We're a lethal combination, too lost for therapy

[riality-check]

ao3 link

Biology is the worst class Viktor takes in his time at the Academy.

It is, respectfully, a stupid requirement for engineers, especially for engineers of his inclination: the ones who would rather their hands smeared in axle grease than blood. It is a frustratingly macroscale discipline, frequently causing Viktor more questions than answers.

He asks these in lecture, of course. He is not obnoxious, at least not any more so than the girl who inquired, as his professor handed out the first exam, as to whether humans were animals.

Lecture is for questions, especially since Viktor would rather work on his projects, both personal and for his engineering courses, than waste the time going to the office hours for a class in which he has earned perfect marks on every weekly quiz.

After lecture one day early in the semester, he is kindly but firmly referred by his professor to the chemistry department so that his questions can be better answered. So, he takes the trip to a nostalgic building, a building with floors so slanted he spots students rolling marbles to calculate the impossible angles by which they slope. There, his questions as to why the biological processes for which he has endured incomplete explanations occur in the ways they do are answered, but his questions regarding how are not.

The physical chemistry professors exchange a glance and tell Viktor that the physics department would be better able to describe those forces to him. So, he takes the trip to a building he has seen closed more often than open, where he has heard other students complain about fire scares repeatedly - something about a faulty boiler.

Viktor wonders why the Academy has not bothered to have it fixed yet. They certainly have the funds.

He has fixed more complex machines with less. Perhaps he could have a crack at it.

He concludes swiftly after his arrival that he rather likes the physics department. There, everything makes sense. It is all motion, with the atoms of the world moving in harmony. And when they are not, disruptions can be calculated and corrected.

Much better than the chaos of a body. There are far more complex ways to fail in a living system and far fewer solutions to correct those failures.

On the rare occasions in which the physics does not make sense, particularly when he has questions regarding certain derivations, he is warmly and excitedly referred further.

The math department is, inexplicably, housed in a building so labyrinthine that one of the illegible maps on the wall has “GOOD LUCK” scribbled across it. It shares the building with at least two other departments. As Viktor walks past offices organized seemingly without rhyme or reason, he finds that one of those other departments is the linguistics department.

He hears snatches of his native language between the soft thuds of his cane on the carpet. The speakers are heavily accented, but his heart clenches nonetheless.

How long has it been since he has had a full conversation in it? The answer is the same number of years it has been since his parents departed, and that is one number that Viktor would rather not think about.

That semester, he becomes as much a fixture within the math and physics departments as he is in his home department of engineering. He talks with professors he will have in later classes, and they offer him friendly smiles when they see him.

No one besides Heimerdinger has done that for him at the Academy. He did not realize how much he missed it until he lost it and got it back.

If that was all Viktor got from biology, he might be inclined to say it was a good course, though not in any traditional sense. But that was not the case.

Instead, it reminded him of everything that was wrong with him.

They… “take it easy” in one lecture the day after an exam. They discuss abnormal physiology for fun, and Viktor wants to throw something.

“Many defects,” his professor explains, “are characterized by a childhood lack.”

She changes out her slides, one by one, explaining that while these conditions are no longer as common in Piltover as they used to be, they still occur often enough, and the students on the pre-medical track should be aware that they do.

Every slide has a picture of someone from the Undercity.

They are sad. Empty. Small mouths and wide eyes. Too-large mismatched clothing and hunched postures. Canes. Prosthetics. Wheelchairs. All cobbled together from scraps, from whatever can be deemed suitable at the moment.

If Viktor were not so transfixed on the way these people, these living, breathing, human beings have been transformed into clinical examples in black-and-white, he would steal a look at his new cane and think back to his old one from the Undercity, tucked into a corner of his room.

But he cannot stop looking.

Because he recognizes some of the faces.

Not many. The Undercity is a big place; unless someone is well known, like Vander or Babette, one can remain relatively anonymous. Faces and names tend to blend. People have their own communities to focus on.

But Viktor recognizes a few. The old shopkeeper with a smile like broken windows who was so good at making the street children laugh is used as an example of Vitamin C deficiency. His smile for the camera is false. Artificially widened to display all his missing teeth.

The drunk who used to sit on the corner by the square and offer advice - usually pretty sound, all things considered - or sing a song in a shockingly smooth baritone, so long as someone handed him a coin or sip from a flask, is reduced to nothing more than his addiction. 

There is no mention of how he would stay up at night to make sure the girls at the brothels made it home safely, or how he would let the children pet his dog. It was a rascal of a mutt, but always well-behaved and clean. It loved children. Viktor had pet that dog many times.

It is not in the picture. The image is only of the man. His half-full bottle is centered.

One of the slides has an image of a young girl with long dark hair and pretty light eyes. This time, Viktor knows her name. It was Ana. She was the only other person Viktor knew his age who used anything like a cane. She had two forearm crutches, as neither of her legs functioned very well.

They did not see each other often, were not nearly close enough to be friends, but there was something shared in the way they smiled and nodded at each other when they passed. A solidarity of sorts.

He stopped seeing Ana when she was young. He always wondered what happened to her. 

The caption of the slide says she passed at a single-digit age. The image of her is nothing like how Viktor remembers her.

He is staring at a ghost while his classmates take note of her rickets, caused by a Vitamin D deficiency.

He has the same condition, one of his many. The professor mentions that it can cause progressive scoliosis as “the patient” ages. His neck prickles as his classmates stare at him, at his cane.

He bites his tongue. He will not leave. He will not cause a scene. He will do the work. He will sit there and learn while people like him are reduced to nothing but hypotheticals for pilates, as examples of the have-nots.

“Characterized by lack.”

Viktor half-expects that an image of him as a child will be presented at some point. He does not remember ever having had his picture taken, but there were enough occasions on which he was too… “out of it” to remember things. Times spent at “doctors’” offices. He would not be surprised if any one of the people who had tried (and they did try, to their credit) to treat him had let in a topsider in exchange for a little extra much-needed coin.

But no such image appears. The last slide, blessedly, shows someone Viktor does not know, but unfortunately, it is something that he is familiar with.

A girl in his class raises her hand as soon as she sees the slide, before Viktor can even begin reading the caption. The professor calls on her, and the girl excitedly chatters about how she had that same birth defect, though less severe, and it was fixed promptly with harnesses and braces physical therapy, and now she is normal.

That is the word she uses. “Normal.”

This girl had a leg like Viktor’s, and she is “normal.”

And he is not.

Because no one in the Undercity knew how to fix it. Because no one thought it could be fixed.

He could have been fucking fixed. If only he had been born topside. If only he had been lucky. If only some other person, a generation before, had the opportunity to be plucked out of the fumes of the Undercity by Heimerdinger as a pet project to make himself feel better, only to be seldom acknowledged after being thrust into a strange world in which, baseline, no one goes hungry.

How fucking strange it is that no one goes hungry here. How odd that no one here seems to want anything necessary, only frivolities and uselessness and toys. How abnormal it is that this is the norm up here, when Viktor learned at a young age to ignore his stomach cramping, ignore the shortness in his lungs, ignore the pain in his legs and his spine and his hands and everywhere else, because nothing will make it better, not the drugs or the doctors or anything, because it cannot be fixed.

Except up here it can. Up here, the Undercity is an unfortunate problem to be photographed and pored over. Its people are reduced to imprints and to ghosts. Theories and hypotheticals.

Because god forbid anyone goes down, and Viktor is the oddity for daring to pull himself up and act like he deserves it when he has better marks and more study hours than the vast majority of his year.

He stands. Class is almost over, but he walks out anyway. His cane is loud on the floor, and he does not care. He holds his head high and ignores his professor and the whispers of other students as he shoves open the door.

Let them see one of their precious photographs come to life.

After, he only returns to that classroom for exams. There is nothing that the professor can teach him that the textbook cannot. He saves his time for more useful things. Math and physics. A new personal project.

It is probably far too late for it to do any good, but Viktor does nothing if not try. A brace should not be too hard to make.

First installment, second installment, latest installment, even more latest installment and another

[vagabond-umlaut]

gojo satoru x reader story where everything's the same---riko is killed and haibara dies and geto defects and jjk 0 happens and jjk happens, with nanami dying and gojo dying etc. etc.---and you're gojo's widow, who also used to be his best friend while in high school but then were married to him once you two became adults because 'clans'---you did not really ever fall in love with him, and satoru knew this still chose to love you everyday of your married life together---anyway... as the plot is approaching an end, you finally make peace with the death of your husband, your comrades, so on and so forth; and just when you think you finally have some peace and quiet in your life, you're vaulted back in time into your 13 y.o. self, suddenly standing face-to-face with your best friend satoru complaining to you how he's utterly sick of his very overbearing clan elders, and that he is planning on going to the tokyo branch of jujutsu high---you just received a second chance at life, at correcting all that went wrong---so what are your plans? do you think you have enough energy, enough life left in you to assume the role of the construction crew, huh? or will you just let everything happen the way it is doomed supposed to happen, and just keep yourself out the way, stopping your second life from being messed up by anyone and everyone?