#they should both hold some form of “fear” towards one another. just deep deep down considering everything

[feral-aether]

Here's the writing :3

It got kinda long, but there's more I'm working on because I actually love the characters I've been developing lol

Hope y'all enjoy!

Taylor grunted, leaning hard against the cold concrete wall outside the warehouse he had just been in. He held his stomach, feeling painful bruises that were already forming in addition to what might be a broken rib or two. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he wasn’t about to go get it checked out right that minute. He still needed to escape the scene before the heroes found him. If he was lucky, they were still preoccupied with navigating the maze of that warehouse.

Taking a deep, sharp breath in, Taylor stood up as straight as he dared and started moving. To his luck, the yard of the warehouse was filled with truck trailers and the moon was peaking through the clouds, giving him enough light to navigate through the yard to the gated exit. He jogged, not having the energy to run but not wanting to walk, and felt his wings bounce with his gait. No feathers were missing, nor were there any open wounds on his wings, but there were definitely bruises forming too. As he turned a corner, he miscalculated how close the shipping trailer was and rammed his shoulder into it.

He hissed, alternating from holding his wing in close to clamp down the pins of pain and holding it mostly open to relieve the tension in his muscles. Both worked well enough. Before the pain went down very much, Taylor pulled his wing back in and kept moving. He needed to keep moving, otherwise the heroes would find him. He almost made it to the gate when the familiar, heart clenching sound of wings in the air became clear. Wings in the air and feet on the ground. Each one accompanied by hushed voices talking to one another over comms.

They were searching for him.

He needed to get out of here. Glancing up at the night sky, he tried spotting the flighted hero. He tried picking out the figure that blotted out the stars, trailed by a green glow, but found nothing. Sparrow wasn’t above him. It was a slight relief as much as it sparked fear in him. Taylor pulled his wings closer anxiously. Listening intently to the voices as they moved, he built a semi-decent map in his head of where they were. He tracked how loud and quiet they were, which direction they moved, where the wingbeats were. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, just their voices. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were saying, but he could guess.

Quietly taking a breath, Taylor determined where the closest of the heroes was—Surtr, the hot-headed sword wielder of the team—and decided he could start moving again. He just needed to be careful. One wrong move, one sound too loud and they would find him. He couldn’t have that. Listening for Surtr, he heard the hot head’s voice slowly fading away from the gate, leaving him an opening.

Shuffling his wings, Taylor started towards the gate again. He moved slowly, silently, keeping to the shadows where he could best stay out of sight. He hoped Ceri was still in the building, knowing she had the best night vision of all the heroes and the capability to tag team him with Sparrow and do some real damage. Those two working together were worse than facing off against Surtr on his own. Sneaking between the trailers, Taylor listened for the heroes. He could hear them getting fainter and fainter. It made him feel bolder. He felt just a little bit safer, and wasn’t paying as close attention to those wingbeats as he should have.

Too focused on getting to the gate, Taylor missed the wingbeats getting louder. He missed the chatter on the comms increasing. Too focused on his escape, he didn’t catch the footsteps getting closer; only hearing his own breath, heartbeat, feathers, and footsteps as he broke into a run. Finally in the open lot in front of the gate, Taylor spread his wings to take off, but caught sight of Sparrow swooping in with that trail of ghostly aqua-green. He only had time to shout before Sparrow connected with him with a harsh kick and a yell he didn’t process.

Taylor hit the ground hard, feeling dazed and winded and pain shooting through his body. Part of him told him he was lucky he wasn’t twitching from the hit. Another part of him was cursing Sparrow for it. Groaning, Taylor tried rolling onto his side, but found himself pinned under Sparrow on his stomach; wings pinned down harshly. One was splayed out and the other held against his back with an uncaring arm. His heart jumped with the spike of panic it brought, and his breath hitched.

Don’t let them know you’re scared. Don’t let them know you’re scared. Don’t let them know-

“That’s deserved.” Sparrow hissed at him, pressing harder against his back.

“Hey-” Taylor rasped, trying to get air back in his lungs. “You’re-” He coughed, cutting himself off. His throat felt too dry. “That hurts.”

It was all Taylor could do to keep from squirming, and even that didn’t work very well. His splayed wing still twitched. It still tried lifting up as though he was going to fly even though he was on the ground. Sparrow didn’t miss this. Shifting their weight, keeping a hand on Taylor’s pinned wing, they reached over and pulled at the arm of his wing to messily contain it as well. To Sparrow’s credit, it was a better job than any of the others had ever done, but it still wasn’t comfortable. It was harsh and painful, Sparrow managing to find the exact spot where bruises were forming on the wing’s arm and gripping it tight.

Taylor hissed in a breath, holding still as pain rippled through his body. All the pain was centred around his torso tonight, apparently. Taylor bitterly thought about explaining that to his dad later. No doubt he would insist on bringing Taylor to his dad’s lair to check for underlying internal issues, but that was something to deal with later. His dad would understand, but would still worry over him. Just as long as he made it home mostly safe and alive.

Slowly, Taylor exhaled the breath and focused on minimizing aggravating his injuries. Sparrow kept him pinned while talking on their comms, most likely giving the rest of the hero team their exact location. He knew Surtr would arrive first. The hothead had been the next closest, and wouldn’t be far off. The thought of being subject to Surtr’s harsh comments made him uneasy, and so he started squirming under Sparrow’s grip. It wasn’t doing much, but it was something.

Sparrow swiftly noticed and pressed down harder, snapping at him in a thick backwater accent. “Hey! Quit that!”

Just as Sparrow started in on a tangent, the sound of rushed heavy footsteps became louder. Taylor knew who those belonged to and it only made the fear worse. He struggled more, flaring his wings as much as he could given Sparrow’s hold. Sparrow started shouting. The footsteps got louder, more rushed, and another voice joined the shouting. It only fed his fear.

Managing to break Sparrow’s hold, Taylor shoved the other avian off his back with a harsh flex of his wings and bolted up. He swayed on his feet, but pushed that aside in favour of his current need. Surtr surged forward, drawing his sword and looking angry under the moonlight; a flaming glow growing with his action. Sparrow recovered quickly off to the side, righting themself and bouncing back to their feet, their own wings flared now. Taylor backed up just as quickly. His head whipped around, watching his surroundings for the other heroes that would certainly be appearing soon enough. He needed to escape before then. He needed to.

Bolting to the side, Taylor got out of Surtr’s direct line of fire. He dashed towards the chainlink fence, hoping to get enough lift to take to the air, even just for a few wingbeats. Leaping over the fence, Taylor managed more height than he thought before a fireball soared right past his wing. He veered to the side on instinct, missing the brunt of the fireball but still left with several smoking feathers. The smell was awful, but he forced himself to ignore it. He needed to escape. He needed to get away. He was already in the air now, he had a chance. If he could get far enough, he could bolt into the clouds and use them as cover. But that was a major if.

He was still flying with bruises and maybe-broken ribs. He was running on fear and adrenaline and instinct. None of those were great for escape plans, but maybe if he could get enough speed. Maybe if he could get enough distance between him and the heroes. Pumping his wings hard, Taylor knew he had to at least try. Dad always told him to at least try.

Sharp wingbeats filled his hearing. Ones that clearly weren’t his. He thought he heard a screech too, but he didn’t want to find out if that was right. Bolting up towards the clouds, Taylor only spared half a glance back at his tail. Angry and glowing with that blue-green trail, Sparrow worked hard to catch up to him. A dark trail of blood trickled down from a patch on the hero’s face, only further discoloured by the sharp glow in their eyes that matched the trail coming off their wings. It did nothing to ease Taylor’s racing anxiety. If anything, it made it worse.

Taylor felt like prey with Sparrow so intently chasing after him. He almost made it up to the clouds when he felt lightheaded. Something felt like it was pressing against his chest, shorting him on his breath and slowing his mind. His wings missed a beat. Then two. Then five and he felt his momentum turn against him. Before Taylor could figure out something to fix the problem, he was plummeting down to earth.

Adrenaline raged through him. His heartbeat screamed in his ear, doubled by frantic thoughts that were just as loud. He tried focusing. He tried moving his wings, tried reversing gravity’s cruel pull, but couldn’t get a single muscle to move. He could see the ground getting closer. He could see Surtr running towards him, and knew Sparrow was right behind Taylor from the highpitched whistle following him that he knew wasn’t his own. His wings weren’t in the correct position for it. Sparrow’s probably were.

Dreading the crash, Taylor wondered what would hurt worse: hitting the metal trailers or the ground. Both, he knew, would be awful, but the metal was far more likely to sheer off feathers and flesh in a bloody mess. Hitting the soil was just as likely to shatter his bones from the impact alone. He didn’t want to think of the potential nerve damage. He didn’t want to think of how the crash from his height was more likely to kill him. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to see it. Hear it. Feel it.

Closing his eyes, Taylor couldn’t watch anymore. He stopped fighting himself and waited for the impact. He waited for the pain to come, to get worse, to knock him out. He waited for it all.

What came was distant—muffled?—shouting. He felt himself hit something, slowing him down for a second before whatever he hit snapped and gave way, letting his body continue until it finally stopped somewhere cold. He still couldn’t move. He could breathe now, but it hurt and came in shallow rasps. Voices and sounds surrounded him, but he didn’t dare open his eyes. He knew it was the heroes. He knew he couldn’t escape. Not like this.

Consciousness felt just as shallow as his breathing. The longer he laid there, the stronger the pull to unconsciousness was. He couldn’t fight it. He knew, logically, he should stay awake, if only to make it easier for paramedics to keep an eye on his condition. But the heroes weren’t paramedics. He knew that shouldn’t matter, but only slipped further down. His thoughts became hazy. The voices muddled into incomprehensible noise. Taylor felt the cold seeping in, and slipped further away.

With his head dropping, Taylor felt himself be pulled under as everything vanished in dark silence.

-------------------------------------------------------

Taylor slowly woke up. At first, it was just his body awake, his mind slow behind, but the moment he could register it, everything filtered in all at once. All his emotions, all his aches, all his pains, all his thoughts. He bolted upwards, eyes shooting open only to be blinded by the sudden light he was met with. Taylor groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he curled up. The movement made him regret waking up. A breath hitched in his throat.

Reopening his eyes a crack, he could see heavy chains looped around his ankle, thick cuffs keeping his hands together, and some sort of mask just at the edge of his vision. He could feel the mask more than he saw it, and it certainly wasn’t a medical mask for oxygen. It felt stifling and did not help his lungs in the slightest and was overly tight. Shifting where he sat, he unconsciously went to curl his wings around himself, but they didn’t move. Taylor froze. He went to move his wings again, but felt thick restraints keeping them pinned to his back. Panic spiked in his chest.

No, no, no.

Taylor twisted around, lifting his hands to scratch at the bonds on his wings. Making his fear worse, he found he couldn’t. His nails felt dull and wrong. They weren’t leaving the thin lines he knew they should, and that made him feel awful. Pulling his hands back, Taylor looked down to find his nails had been painted a glittery violet. If it weren’t for his conditions, he would have maybe liked the shade, but right now he hated it. He hated what it meant. Worse, he couldn’t pick at it either.

No, no no no no.

Taylor scolded himself for feeling so scared all while using it to analyze his surroundings.

Taylor’s breathing became ragged. He felt the fear and panic rising, and knew he was probably falling into a panic attack. He simultaneously felt awful and angry at himself. He shouldn’t be upset with himself because of how many things were out of his control, but the internal self-hatred remained. He’s been in situations like this before. He’s been in worse situations than this than before. He shouldn’t be freaking out so much, but everything was just too much all at once.

Most likely, considering the last traces of his memory, he was in the hero's base. The room itself was smaller, sparsely decorated, but decent. It had a working light and a window, and he was on what looked like a bed, although it wasn’t very comfortable. The walls had a faint flowering pattern painted into them, and the paint itself wasn’t awful, although there were better options than boring beige. Taylor shifted again. He went to sit on the edge of the bed but found his ankle couldn’t go further than the edge of the mattress.

The click of the door opening had Taylor snapping his head up. He didn’t care who was coming through that door, he knew all the heroes that let him be put in such a state were to blame. Every single one of them. As the door opened, Taylor hissed and his feathers roused with all his emotions. It didn’t deter them however, and just a moment later he saw the tall figure coming in with a familiar face. Dark messy hair, blue-green eyes, warm skin, and a smile that melted all his anger.

His mind spiraled again. His breathing picked up and his heart rate spiked. Taylor had gotten himself away from the panic attack, he couldn’t fall right back in. He couldn’t fall back in. No no no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t-

“Zack-” Taylor choked out, feeling tears prick at his eyes as his shoulders dropped down.

“Hey…” Zack responded softly. He didn’t close the door behind him. It stayed open, and that swirled uneasiness with his pure vulnerability. He felt like he suddenly had to modulate how much he let Zack see, but at the same time, Zack had already seen it all. He already knew how Taylor was feeling. He already knew, and that alone swirled emotions in Taylor he couldn’t keep track of anymore, but he knew they were conflicting.

One of the biggest was betrayal.

“Why- Why?” It was the first thing to come to Taylor’s mind. Why had they done this? Why all the restraints? Why the isolation? Why? Looking in those aqua eyes only made it all hurt worse. Zack looked guilty, or maybe sympathetic, like he didn’t like what the others had done but wasn’t going to undo their work. It was almost like he was scared of what Taylor might do.

Anger and pain whirled together in Taylor’s head and he asked again: “Why?”

Zack didn’t answer him right away. He stayed by the door, only barely a few steps in the room. The fact Zack wouldn’t move closer fed Taylor’s pain. “I…” Those bright, usually so kind eyes looked away. He wouldn’t look at him.

“Why?!” Taylor screamed, regretting it with how it hurt his throat, but he wanted answers. He needed answers. “Why won’t you look at me? Why won’t you answer me?!”

“Tay-” Zack’s eyes shot up, going to call him by name, but cutting himself off. The heroes didn’t know. They didn’t know, and Zack didn’t want them to know. They couldn’t, and that made Taylor feel worse. It spoke volumes about Zack’s trust in the heroes, but Taylor knew he wouldn’t leave them. “Kalakuta.” Zack’s voice was firm, losing the softness it had just seconds before.

Taylor stopped. He looked at Zack, but those bright eyes were… hard. They had scraps of warmth, but Zack just looked cold. Like he was trying not to care, but so deeply did but couldn’t let it slip. Something about that made Taylor’s heart twist painfully.

“Keep your voice down. You’re here under our determination that you’re too dangerous to be loose in the world.” Zack’s voice wavered a little as he spoke. What he was saying was clearly practiced, but that didn’t make it any better. “We are keeping you here until you either agree to stop your villainy, or agree to be… locked away in prison.”

Taylor could see the pain in Zack’s eyes. He could hear it in his voice. None of that made this situation any better. The wavers in Zack’s voice let Taylor know he cared—and deeply—but was trying not to let that on. For both their sakes.

Silence hung thick in the air. If anyone else walked in, they might think that Taylor was trying to get inside Zack’s head, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. If anything, it felt like it was the other way ‘round. Maybe the heroes did this on purpose. Maybe they sent Zack to twist the knife, making the puppy do the dirty work instead of any of them. Maybe they knew about Taylor and Zack and were using Zack against him. Considering how young a few of the heroes were, he wouldn’t put it past them.

Whatever the reason, Taylor knew he hated the heroes even more now.

Taylor looked away from Zack, feathers rising and falling as he shifted on the uncomfortable bed. There wasn’t so much as a blanket for him. Although there was a pillow, it was hard as a rock. Taylor went to curl up on himself but the chains and bonds prevented it, so he stayed in the awkward sitting position he had bolted up to. Zack might care, but the other heroes didn’t. That was clear enough. Not a single care for decent comfort. Not one for letting him change positions. Not one for binding his wings a little looser so they didn’t ache with cramps he could do nothing about.

“Leave me alone.” Taylor said quietly. He heard Zack take a step forward, but refused to look up.

“Tay…” Zack tried, his voice soft again. Taylor heard him take another step forward, then another before he could see Zack’s form standing beside the bed. A hand ghosted over his shoulder, but Taylor moved away from it by rolling his shoulders back. He didn’t want to be touched. As much as he wanted a hug, he wanted it from his dad, not Zack.

“Go away.”

He heard Zack sigh. A moment of silence followed. Then: “I’m sorry.” It was a whisper, meant only for him to hear. Zack dug for something in his pocket before holding out Taylor’s phone. The screen was dark, but intact, and Taylor hoped that there wasn’t any other damage to it.

“I thought that you’d want to let your dad know what happened.” Zack’s voice was a hair louder now. It was more comforting. “I’m not supposed to have this, and you certainly aren’t, but it’s yours. And you deserve to have some little comforts.”

“Even though they don’t believe that.” Taylor whispered back. He hesitated in reaching for his phone, but took it regardless. He still didn’t look back up at Zack, but he knew the look he had in those eyes. The look of a hurt puppy trying to make its owner happy. Eyes that weren’t quite pleading, but damn near close to it.

“They don’t.” Zack sighed, tucking his hands in his pants pockets. “But I do.”

Silence hung again, but it wasn’t as tense this time. It was a little nicer, and Taylor’s emotions were settling down enough that he could feel a little calm. He had a way to keep himself calm. A way to distract from the discomfort of all the bonds. A way to possibly have an escape plan. It might not be his own, but he didn’t doubt that his dad was already searching for him. He just needed a little nudge to find him, and Taylor had a feeling Zack might have a bigger part in that than he would admit.

“I need to go.” Zack said softly, and he turned to walk towards the still open door.

Before Zack left, Taylor whispered “Wait,” and finally looked up again to meet Zack’s eyes. He had turned back around to face Taylor, but stayed in the doorway ready to leave. “Thank you.”

Zack smiled gently. “You’re welcome.” He whispered back, then turned and finally left the room, closing the door with a slightly forced click. Taylor knew that was more for the heroes than himself. It was a way to keep themselves still a secret. It was a way to keep themselves still safe.

Looking back down at his phone, Taylor smiled softly. He knew his dad was coming for him. He just needed a little push to find the right place. Taylor had no clue where he was, but turning on the location on his phone would solve that problem for his dad. So would a quick text to let his dad know he was mostly okay. Yes, he was hurt, but he was alive, and that would help keep his dad calmer than he likely had been.

Taylor wouldn’t be here long.

Thinking about a villain whumpee who got captured by the protagonists who are so wary of them they just completely overdo it with the restraints.

I'm talking muzzle, heavy chains, cuffs, leather straps.... But the villain is just as scared as they are. Maybe they're even injured and not much of a threat in the first place?

Maybe one of the heroes notices the villains fear but isn't allowed to loosen the restraints and so they comfort them instead?

[scarapanna]

I liked your art, you won🎉🎉🎉

WE WON NO REDEMPTION WAHOOOOO/silly

I'm still terrified of the redemption route for this clown though hdhghfg, I want his silly self to stay evil and wimsy and goofy and with redemption uhhh

We're like

I dunno I'm sooo scared devsis is gonna take away that aspect which is what makes him just so funnn. Please pretty please let him be god awful and rotten and rude and goofy if you take that route Devisis I want him to keep his funny wimsy qualities. Please please pleaseeee write him well y'all are doing sooo good with him don't fumble by taking the redemption route (And if they do it better be good and he better stay chaotic and goofy and sassy and condescending and all his "rotten rabid thing" qualities)

If they do him (And his fun aspects justice in this dreaded hypotetical) then I may be cool with it. Though the mean ass possum has grown on me so much I'd 100% miss that evil and unhinged part of him TONS, devsis have mercy pretty please/silly

[Longer more insane ramblings are in the tags hsfhfhhv]

[sdmnpact]

Injury.

Roommate!George Clarke x Reader, Roommate!Arthur Hill x Reader, Roommate!Chris MD x Reader, fluff

[] requested 💕

[] "can you do something platonic with Arthur hill, George and Chris. Reader lives with them and does something similar while drunk like George did with the lime bike, so the boys look after her. Thank you 😊 "

[] tw: drunk, injured reader, mentions of blood and flesh wounds

~~~

"Another round ladies?" The bartender asked you and your friends. "Ugh no, I cannot drink any more. I'm literally going to throw up." You giggled moving hair out of your face. "Yeah, we should get going, thank you!" Becky told him.

You were out on a night out with a couple of gal pals, including Becky, one of your favorite humans. You were much closer with her in the group that the others so you two leaned on each other as you made your way out of the crowded pub.

You walked into the cool, crisp street of London, people moving around you causing you to become weary of your drunken state. "It's okay, cmon." Becky reassured dragging you along the street. The group split up as the night was coming to an end. You and Becky trying to find some form of transit to go back home.

"Hey girl, damn you looking fine as shit." A deep voice muttered from behind you. You turned around to face a tall, blonde guy standing in front of a couple others. You assume he's the one who spoke. You didn't have a significant other at the moment and you weren't quite thinking clearly so it seemed okay to speak to this guy.

"Thanks boy, not too drab yourself." You beamed, still holding Becky for support. She threw you a look of concern but you waved her off. "You girls wanna hang out with us?" He asked rubbing his hands together as if he were a tiger eager for his dinner.

You looked over to Becky, she was already beginning to disassociate but was still unsure of the entire situation. You pulled her arm, trying to convince her without words. Your eyes darting towards his direction then back to her. She eventually gave in and you agreed to the man's offer.

Fourty minutes later, you were with, who you learned was David, and his group of friends, drinking and chatting the night away. Some of his friends, messing around with a skateboard, David holding one of his own.

"You've ever skated before?" He asked, his voice deep and raspy as you smiled up towards him. "No, but I'm not beside learning." You giggled. He smirked, dropping his board in front of your feet beckoning you to hop on.

You chuckled, as he held onto your waist, both your feet shaking as they stood on the board. Almost slipping, you held onto his shoulders, your grip tight, your fingers digging into him. He smirked as he held you, your face showing just how scared you were. "You'll be fine." He laughed. You gave him an unsure look as he slowly pushed you forward, his hands still gripping your waist.

You two laughed, as he guided you down the now empty sidewalk. The more you rode, the more confidence you gained. The alcohol giving you a sense of adrenaline and eagerness to show off your newly found skills. After a couple more tries with David holding you, you insisted that you could do it alone. He gave you a look of concern but you waved him off. He shrugged him shoulders and let you go.

With the loss of David's hand, you slowly became more unstable. Your legs wobbled as you slowly moved forward, both your feet still on the board. With one swift kick of your foot, you pushed yourself forward. One nick on the pavement and you were sent flying to the ground, face first.

"Oh my god!" Becky shrieked as she ran over to check on you, the group now silent as they watched in horror and fear of the repercussions. "Look at me." You heard Becky say, holding onto your arms helping you sit up. You didn't feel pain, you didn't even realize just how hard you fell, you were more embarrassed than anything.

"Babe look at- oh my god!" She yelled, reaching into her bag quickly. You still didn't know what was going on, slightly disorientated from the fall, you looked around to see everyone's face drained of color and some were covering their mouths as if they were going to vomit.

Becky held up some napkins to your cheek, applying pressure. "What are you doing?" You asked confused, trying to push her hands off so you can stand up. "There's a large gash in your cheek! You're bleeding so much, can't you feel it?" She said, placing her hand on you cheek again after you gave up.

"It doesn't hurt, it can't be that bad. Come on, a couple more bevs can't hurt." You said finally standing up much to Becky's dismay. "I think we should get you home. Thanks for inviting us but we must get going now." Becky said pulling you away from the group.

"Wait, can I get your number?" David said, Becky stared at him in disbelief. "She's literally got her skin falling off her face and you still want her number?" She asked, shock evident in her voice. "Yeah, I mean whenever you're okay we can hang out again." He smiled at you, making you smile back with a cheesy grin. Becky rolled her eyes and quickly pulled out a pen and paper, scribbling a jumble of numbers on it. "Here, have a nice night." She said, pulling you away towards a taxi.

"Did you give him my number?" You slurred. "No, not giving that bloke the time of day." You rolled you eyes, huffing like a baby as you got into the cab. "Let's get you home." She said, giving the guy your address.

---

A few minutes later you were stood in front of the flat you shared with some of your best friends. You punched in the numbers on the keypad numerous times, not being able to punch it correctly. "Are you sure this is your flat?" Becky asked as if she hadn't been here numerous times.

"Yes of course! Look here, me and Arthur chose this doormat together. 'Happy Little Home.'" You said pointing to the doormat with those words written on it above a small blue house surrounded by different colored flowers. The memory of you and Arthur Hill standing in a random thrift store aisle debating which mat would look nice in front of the flat. You two stood there for ages before deciding on this one, it was just, perfect.

You continued punching in the wrong code for the next five minutes before a voice startled you. "Y/n? Becky? What are you two doing?" George asked coming down the corridor. You turned to face him, his expression turning to one of shock as the blood drained from his face.

"Oh my god Y/n! What happened!? Let's get you inside!" He said quickly inserting the correct code. He grabbed your arm and lower back, guiding you towards the couch, sitting you down. "Um, I fell." You said casually as if it were a normal thing. You are prone to accidents but this it was way worse than usual.

"I can see that. But what exactly happened?" He asked, looking towards you for an answer then to Becky after realizing you were going to be no help. "She got on a skateboard and fell on the pavement. I would've stopped her but... I was distracted." She said getting quiet, hugging a pillow off the couch. "She was making out with some guy!" You shrieked, breaking out into fits of laughter as she threw you a dirty look. "It's been a night!" She said falling deeper into the couch.

"Y/n, are you okay? Does it hurt? Let me get you something better." George said leaving, and coming back a few seconds later with a bath towel. He gently removed the balled up bloody tissue paper from your face, replacing it with the soft bath towel. "I hope Chris doesn't mind." He murmured, making you chuckle thinking about how annoyed Chris gets when you use his things.

"Here, hold it against your face, I'm gonna ring Chris." He said grabbing your hand, placing it against the towel. You nodded, holding the towel against your face.

'Hey Chris, um sorry to bother you but Y/n's been injured-'

'WHAT!' You heard over the phone, laughing at George wincing.

'Yeah she has a huge gash on her cheek. What do I do?'

You couldn't hear the rest of the conversation because you pulled your phone out and looked at yourself in the camera. You had a large cut across your left cheek, dried and fresh blood all over your face, dried mascara trails running down your cheeks, and your eyes were bloodshot red. You were definitely not in the best state right now.

Your focus changed to George who walked over to Arthur's door, pounding on it until a sleepy Arthur opened it. George explained what happened and Arthur's expression turned from angry to concerned as he quickly made his way over to you.

"Oh my god, Y/n!" He shrieked, grabbing your hand. "Jesus Christ you look terrible." You chuckled, this boy is never serious even in a situation like this. "Thanks for that Artie." You said patting his head. "Shouldn't we take her to the hospital or something?" Arthur said turning back towards George. "Oh, yeah that probably should have been the first move I made." George said, pulling his phone out.

Suddenly the door flung open to reveal Chris panting heavily. "Guys, why the hell are you still here, let's fucking go to the hospital!" He shouted. George and Arthur quickly pulling you up, leading you out the door. "What about Becks?" You asked looking back to see her fully passed out on the couch. "Something tells me she'll be fine." Chris said leading the way to the Uber outside.

---

You walked into the hospital, Arthur and George still holding onto your arms as Chris talked to the receptionist. "Here let's sit you down." Arthur said, guiding you towards the seating area. You looked at the boys, panic and worry still evident on their face as they fumbled with their phones.

"Okay the doctor should be able to see her in a few minutes." Chris said as he came back taking a seat next to Arthur. You definitely felt yourself crashing as the time passed by. Your eyelids felt heavy and you were struggling to stay awake scarring the boys in the process.

green = hill, orange = chris, blue = george

"Shouldn't she not sleep or else she dies?" "No you idiot that's for concussions." "Well we don't know what she has yet?" "Guys she's gonna be fine." "But what if she's not, if she dies..."

"Judging by the fact that I'm still somewhat competent, I think I'll be fine." You reassured, laughing slightly at how worried they were getting. "Well if you were gone, who am I suppose to go thrift shopping with?" "And who's gonna bring me meals mid stream and force me to eat?" "And who's gonna help me take care of these two idiots." You smiled widely as you remembered all the fond memories you created with these lot over the last year of you moving in. 'They would be helpless fool without me, wouldn't they?' You thought to yourself.

"For Y/n Y/l/n." The nurse called out. The boys helped you up and walked you towards the nurse. She took hold of you leaving the boys behind as you walked down the cold corridor of the hospital.

Half an hour passed and the doctor finally finished. You only received a few stitches and the doctor said it wasn't as bad as it looked. She told you to rest for another half hour in your hospital room since you looked completely out of it. After she left the room, you heard the shuffling of footsteps outside the door followed by the entrance of your three favorite boys.

"Oh thank god." Arthur breathed as they saw you all cleaned up and not completely covered in blood. "Back to normal, Chucky." George snickered pointing to the stitches across your cheek making you push his shoulder lightly. "You're so annoying." You said to him as he gave you a sassy look, brushing it off. "How do you feel?" Chris asked, examining your stitches. "I'm fine. I told you, I've been feeling fine this entire time. There was some slight stinging earlier but other than that, I'm fine." You smiled.

"Well, we're relieved to hear that, Arthur and George were shitting themselves for the last hour." "Um, no. All of us were shitting ourselves Chris." "Okay well we were all just very concerned." Chris said throwing George a dirty look causing you to laugh.

"I'm glad I have you three dorks in my life." You said, tears brimming in your eyes.

---

A while later, you guys finally got back to the flat. Bloody tissues and finger prints all over everything. "Guys I'll clean this up." You said walking to get some napkins for the mess. "Y/n, don't even worry about it. Chris will clean it up." George said pushing you towards your bedroom. "I never agreed to that!" He shouted as you reached your bedroom door.

"Lay in bed and get some rest. It's been an eventful night for all of us." He said releasing a deep sigh as you slipped into your comfy bed. The soft fabric immediately calming you down, making you feel drowsy. You felt yourself drifting off to sleep until your stomach made the loudest noise you've ever heard it make.

You looked at George, as you two broke into laughter. "Did you even eat tonight?" George asked in between laughs. You shook your head, throwing your feet over the side of the bed, ready to stand up again.

You two made your way towards the kitchen, where Arthur was putting away some dishes. You looked over to the living area to see Becky still passed out, curled up on the couch while Chris cleaned around her. You chuckled at the sight as you sat on one of the stool at the counter.

"Arthur, can you make me a cheese toastie please?" You pleaded, giving him puppy eyes. "After the night you've had I would literally make you a full gourmet meal." He chuckled pulling out the ingredients. "Well in that case-" "Don't push it." He said pointing a pan at you as you sat back in your seat.

"I'll even add extra cheese, just how you like it." He said, turning on the stove. "Thank you!" You praised, turning around to see Chris finishing up. "And thank you, Chris, for cleaning." You gushed as he walked over, throwing all the napkins he used in the trash.

"No problem but Arthur make that two extra cheesy cheese toasties." He beamed causing Arthur to throw him a dirty look as Chris just scrunched his face and raised his shoulders, mouthing a 'thank you'. He took a seat next to you as George came back from wherever he went and sat next to you two.

The night went on as you four talked about your day, your thoughts, and just about anything that came up in conversation. A night full of chaos finally winding down to a nice gathering of friends feeling safe in eachothers comfort.

[dark-and-kawaii]

I've always wondered how would Raphael or Haarlep react to another devil/incubus stealing their Tav away. Would they get jealous and protective? Or would they be angry that someone is stealing something that belongs to them?

Oooooohhhh I love this!!!! Hehehe love me some angst!!! Let’s do it!!! I couldn’t pick so I did both :3 because they are both perfect and we love them both (≧ᗜ≦)!!!

♡ Pairings: Raphael x Tav/Reader - Haarlep x Tav/Reader

♡ Content: Angst

₊˚⊹♡ Raphael ♡⊹˚₊

Papers, once carefully organized, lay strewn across his grand flooring like fallen leaves in a storm. His bed, once a symbol of everything sinister he’s done to you and you to him was now shattered, its luxurious fabrics torn to shreds, the feathers from the pillows still falling from the air. However, the most telling sign of his fury was the portrait -one of his most prized possessions- now bore deep, jagged marks from his own nails… A testament of his uncontrollable rage as he found you missing- taken from him by another…

Raphael’s breathing came out in ragged gasps, each exhale a growl… The room echoing from the sounds of his heavy footsteps as he paced, his mind racing with ways of torturing the one who dared lay their filthy hands on you, his little mouse…

Closing his eyes, he tried to take a deep breath to calm his nerves, but his mind flashed to the moment he realized you were gone. The emptiness of your usual spot, laying on his bed, awaiting for his return. Your arms always held out to him, your arch devil… Your king… The spot usually lingering the scent of your presence now tainted by the stench of another devil. It was a violation… You were his little mouse, his precious treasure… His possession. And now, someone had you all to themselves… Raphael’s nose scrunched at the thought of what this devil might be doing to you…

His claws flexed, the tips scarping against his wall with a screech that resonated throughout his house of hope. He would find you, and he would tear apart the very fabric of Hell if he had to.

Moving towards the shattered bed, his eyes narrowed as he spotted the tinniest pieces of torn fabric… Your fabric from the dress he gifted you. Picking up the golden red piece, Raphael brought it to his nose. Your scent was faint but it was enough to cause his tail to flick in anger, “They shall pay dearly, my little mouse.”he vowed, his voice barely a whisper, “I will devise torments beyond the darkest imaginations of any devil.”

And with a snap, he was gone.

₊˚⊹♡ Haarlep ♡⊹˚₊

Haarlep’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the scene before him. There you were, in the arms of another incubus, their arm around your neck, their tail creeping up your loose shirt. The desperation in your eyes to get away was evident, tears brimming as you choked out your beloved incubus’s name, “H-Haarlep…”

The incubus holding you smirked, it’s tongue dancing along your ear, “I’ve heard this little thing of yours in quite the prize, Haarlep . You should be a good little devils pet and share.”

Fury and fear clashed within Haarlep, emotions he’s never experience when involving another… And something else- something protective swirled within him.

He’s played games like this before, he knew how to get what he wanted- especially from a lowly creature, they were simple afterall, he should know. Haalrep’s hips swayed seductively as he approached where you stood, his fingers tracing the ornate posts of your bed, “Why would you ever want a soft, squishy little toy like her,” he purred, his voice dripping with honeyed temptation, “when you could have me~”

The sounds of fire dancing around Haarlep filled your ears as he shifted into your form, every detail perfect down to the last scar, “I feel like her~ sound like her and~” he stopped just in front of you and the other incubus, his eyes locking onto the creature’s with a challenging gleam. Slowly, teasingly, Haarlep removed his top, revealing your identical chest, “you can’t break me like you could with her~ Haarlep taunted, his voice so confident, his eyes flicking to you, “you can use me to your heart’s content~”

Haarlep's eyes stayed on you for a moment, his little dove. He’d never share such a treat, such a delight that belonged to him with another. No other would ever taste you, feel you, suckle on your soul as they fed off you… No, your entire being, your body, your soul, it all belonged to him.

The promise of an unbreakable plaything was tempting for the other incubus. And just as the incubus reached out to grasp your- Haarlep’s chest, Haarlep's hand shot up, gripping the incubus’s wrist, allowing you to wriggle free and escape their grip. Fleeing behind Haarlep, you held onto his back and watched as your incubus had his fun.

“You shall make a pretty decoration!” Haarlep grinned wickedly, he would use this creature as an example, a warning to those who else dare try to lay claim to you. String up their empty husk like a decoration, their tail used like a makeshift string in a tree… Yes, it would be the most beautiful display of a warning. You were his, and he’d make sure all knew this.

[paige1722]

So Much For a Safe House pt.2

Summary: You go on a mission with 141 and end up taking shelter in an abandoned building. The place is haunted, and you are all trapped inside; creepy things are happening. (Ghost of War-inspired)

Warnings: scares(?) violences, weapons

Chapter One: Shelter | Masterlist

Thank you all so much for the likes and the reblogs on part one!!

Chapter 2: Hunter's Moon 

The only source of light is the dim moonlight peering into the room from the windows, casting an eerie shadow over you all. You hear a flick of a lighter; looking over, you see Price holding up the small flickering flame, causing Gaz to follow his lead, getting out his own lighter. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” Exclaimed Gaz, his face illuminated with an eerie glow. A look of surprise matched on your face as he frantically glanced at everyone wide-eyed, waiting for someone to give a rational answer. 

“Calm down, we are in an old house that is actively falling apart as we speak. Not to mention a snowstorm happening outside. Spooky sounds and big gusts of wind are perfectly normal.” explained Price as he walked back over to the fireplace, trying to get the fire going again. Watching him light another scrap of fabric and place it in the heart of the previously burning wood, you moved over to where Soap was standing, trying to seek some comfort, breaking the silence, “Yeah, okay, I could buy that explanation if it wasn’t for the radio! We all heard that voice, right? Saying ‘it is here now,’ what is it, and how do we make sure it does not get us?!?” You could feel your eyes becoming glossy with tears from the panic and fear of the stressful situation you now find yourself in. 

Soap puts a comforting hand on your shoulder as the room was now bathed in the soft, reassuring glow of light. Price has successfully got the fire going once again, groaning as he places his hand on his knees; he stands back up to his full height, turning to face everyone. 

“Everything is going to be okay, no need to panic, Spark. It is probably just a prank, someone with a radio is on the same wavelength as us and decided it would be funny to mess around. However, in order to make us all feel better and more secure in our surroundings, we should make sure whoever it is that is messing with us isn’t an enemy..” Price grabs his gun, gear, and flashlight, “Let's split up and survey the area. I will do a perimeter check outside. Ghost-you handle things in here until I get back.” Price secures his dark green toboggan on his head and pulls up the cold weather mask from around his neck to now cover the lower half of his face, protecting him from the cold; grabbing his gloves and securing the flashlight to the end of his weapon, he makes his way to the main foyer to head out into the freezing night. 

Once you all hear the front door open and close, indicating that Price has left the house, Ghost moves toward the gear he had previously situated in a neat pile between the fireplace and the corner of the room. He grabbed the four remaining tactical flashlights, passing them out to the remaining members still in the house, as he began giving orders:

 “Alright, Soap and I will check out this floor and see if we can secure all forms of entry within this house and look for anything suspicious we might have previously missed. Gaz, you and Spark, check the upstairs, see what the hell made that noise, and make sure to watch your step.” 

“Right,” Gaz attaches his flashlight to the end of his gun and motions for you to follow him, both of you make your way to the main foyer with your weapons in hand. Stopping at the bottom of the deteriorating stairs, you share a look with your assigned teammate,  take a deep breath, and begin to carefully ascend the stairs behind him. 

Watching your step, you began to think about the loud, terrifying noise you heard resonate from upstairs just seconds before the fire went out, coming to the conclusion that you really did not want to go anywhere alone in this house, you confessed, “Gaz, you know I think we would be much more thorough and effective if we stayed together, not that I’m scared or anything just want to make sure we check everything out while managing to stay alive.” 

 Nodding along, “I agree. To be honest, the floor is falling apart up here, it is probably safer to stay together. Earlier, when I checked up here, there really wasn’t anything interesting, just a few empty rooms and mice,” he stated as he reached the top step, quickly checking the corners and not seeing anything of note,

Finally, getting a better look around at the second floor, you immediately notice the condition of the house up here, which makes the first floor look like a five-star resort. Broken glass, splintered wood, snow, and dried leaves cover what is left of the dry-rotted wood flooring. Gaz jerks his head forward as an indicator to follow him. Nodding in return, you both make your way to the first room straight across from the stairs, listening to the creaking of the floor. The crunch and groans of the glass and wood, along with the distant footsteps and voices of Ghost and Soap, are all that can be heard. 

The first room has a single rotting mattress with broken springs protruding was propped in the corner near the entrance. A large broken mirror that looked as if it had once been hanging on the wall is now lying face down on the floor, surrounded by tiny shards of glass; unsightly wallpaper was peeling from the walls, adding to the gnawing feeling of unease growing in your stomach. You walk over to the mattress, and using your foot, you manage to flip it away from the wall. There, you find what looks to be a long-since dried puddle of a mysterious substance that you are praying isn’t blood, and in the center is an old iron key with the same symbol from the notebook engraved at the top. You hear Gaz walk up behind you as you pick up the key with your glove-covered hand; looking over your shoulder, you raise up the key to show him what you found. 

“What do you suppose that goes to, Spark?”

“Hopefully, a liquor cabinet.” 

Gaz gives a small chuckle in return as you pocket the key alongside the small red notebook. “I think if there were one here, one of us would have found it by now, but I like the way you think. So far so good though, let’s keep going, yeah,” he states moving towards the door, turning his head from the left to the right.

 “Which way, next, you pick since it is oyur first time up here, left or right?”

“How kind of you.” 

Following Gaz to the door, you stick your head out, looking left and right. The hall to the right had only one more room and a window at the end of the hallway that was surprisingly still intact. The hall to the left had two closed doors facing each other, where the huge hole in the roof you saw from the outside overhead of one of the doors caused some snow and ice to form a pile blocking it shut. Something about this hall to your left made you feel nauseous, like there was something over there you weren’t meant to see almost like you knew nothing good would happen in those rooms.  

After a brief moment of considering your options, you declare, “To the right, the snow over there on the left makes me nervous. I don’t want to go over there just yet.” 

Humming in agreement, Gaz follows you down the hallway on your right, taking great care to step over the molded water-damaged spots on the floor that remind you of a trail that leads to the window. When you both reach the single room at the end, shine your flashlight on the door that has long since fallen off its hinges and is now resting in the middle of the doorway on the ground. Stepping over the fallen door,  you notice suspicious marks underneath, almost as if something was trying to claw its way out. 

 Gaz stands at the doorway, looking out of the window at the end of the hall as you make your way farther inside. The state of this room is similar to the previous one down to the same peeling wallpaper, though nothing was in this room except for a small family of mice huddled in their nest, watching you carefully with little beady eyes that seemed to glow. Not seeing anything of importance, you turn around, making your way to where Gaz stands, staring into the distance before you can report back about your findings about the cute little mouse family. Gaz gasped, “Look!” as he sprinted to the window, putting his hands against the window frame looking around outside frantically, his gun swinging back and forth from where it now hangs by his side due to the strap around his shoulders. 

His breath fogs up the glass as he speaks, “There was something out there!! I saw it then it started running back out into the trees.” 

Moving quickly, you join him at the window, your eyes scanning around in the moonlight woods. In the snow on the ground, you can barely distinguish what looks like a path from someone or something that was walking in the snow. It travels from below the window to the treeline in the distance. 

“Maybe it was a wild animal, a coyote or something?” you suggest, looking at Gaz, shaking his head with a face full of desperation.

 He grabs your arm, shaking it slightly. “No! It was huge and looked like a person, but not at the same time. It was all bony and deformed. It was right there lurking in the snow, and… it was almost as if it heard me because that’s when it ran into the trees.” He was breathing heavily, and you could feel his breath on your face. 

Gently patting his hand that was still clutched around your arm, in a fearful voice, you reply, “It could have been a trick of the moonlight and all the snow. I mean it is kind of hard to see out there with the weather like this. And…and we haven’t gotten much sleep lately, so maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you.” swallowing nervously, you add,  “Plus, if there is something out there, you said it ran back into the trees, so it is gone now, right?” 

You stare at each other for a few seconds, searching for reassurance. He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes close and relaxing his shoulders. Gaz opens his eyes. Before he could reply to your wishful thinking, a loud crash came from the room down the left hallway that was not currently blocked by the pile of snow. Jumping back from the sudden noise, you quickly raise your gun in the direction of the noise. 

Whispering to your teammate in a shaky voice, “Hey, um, which room would be the one that is above the living room, you know where we heard that loud noise that started all this?” 

He breathed out in reply, “It would be that one over there, you ready?” 

You nod in reply, as he picks up his gun as well from where it was hanging; all the years of missions and training kick in as you and Gaz slowly begin inching towards the left hallway to the room that was the source of all the terror. Making your way past the stairs that lead back to the first floor, you realize you can no longer hear Soap and Ghost distance footsteps or murmuring, though it was impossible to hear anything except for the pounding of your heart in your chest. In the back of your mind, you hoped everyone was safe; as you kept creeping towards the door both flashlights were focused on. 

Finally reaching the door, both of you are standing on opposite sides of the door frame. Gaz lowers his gun so he will be able to open the door, while you check the corners as per usual on ops. Signaling to Gaz that you are ready with a nod of your head, he swings the door open as you enter a few steps inside, quickly surveying the area for any threats. Gaz is now standing at your back in the doorway. Shining the flashlight around the room, you see the same frantic scribbling etched into the walls, similar to what was in the notebook you found downstairs. It seems to be the same phrase over and over again all throughout the room, ‘it is here now.’

Your blood runs cold. You step forward, moving to make your way to the center of the room a hand wraps around your wrist stops you, pulling you against Gaz's chest, “Don’t, we need to leave this room immediately. Something isn’t right here. None of this makes sense. These writings were not here earlier when I checked this floor.” He whispers in your ear like he was scared to speak any louder for fear of someone or something might hear him. 

Letting yourself be pulled out of the room, making sure to grab the door and close it. When the door is fully closed, you hear the front door slam open, “Come back to the fireplace! We need to discuss our next movements!” Price yells throughout the house. Running down the hallway and the stairs, you run into Soap and Ghost, who were coming from the kitchen both covered in a thin layer of dust. Walking into the living room with everyone, you see Price crouched down, holding his hands in front of the fire, trying to warm himself from the freezing cold temperature outside. 

Hearing you all enter the room, Price stands up, putting his back to the fire. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a cigar and lighter. Putting the cigar in his mouth, bringing the small Zippo lighter up, he lights it while taking a deep breath. 

“When I was securing the perimeter out there, I kept finding these strange tracks. I was trying to follow them to figure out if it was an enemy soldier..” 

You turn to look at Gaz as Price is talking, and you find he is already looking at you. Fear is evident across his face. 

“The tracks show a scouting pattern. Looks like they were trying to figure out the best way to attack. I think for right now, our best course of action is to barricade ourselves in this house to limit attacks and keep us safe.” Price takes a deep breath, looking at where you all stand in front of him, “Did anyone find anything of importance in here?” 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you prepare to tell the Captain about the creature from the window and the mysterious appearing writing on the walls, when Gaz clears his throat, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. “No, sir. All the rooms upstairs are empty.” Furrowing your brows in confusion, you just nod along, not understanding why he wouldn’t tell the rest of your team about all the creepy events that occurred upstairs. 

Ghost angles his body toward the kitchen, shining his flashlight into the room. " We found some weird cellar door hidden underneath what was left of a cabinet. Soap tried opening it, but it is locked with some bloody ancient lock.” 

Your eyes widening, you let out a gasp as you quickly pull out the key you found upstairs from your pocket, “Oh, I almost forgot, in one of the rooms, upstairs, we found this!” 

Holding up the key for everyone to see, you ask, “Does this look like it would open it?” 

Soap takes the key from your hands and exclaims, “Aye, this looks like it will do the trick.” As he walks back into the kitchen, the rest of the task force follows suit.

 When you all walk into the kitchen, you realize why your two teammates were covered in a layer of dust. They had left no stone unturned in their inspection of the first floor. The remaining cabinets and drawers were ripped open laying on the floor, the appliances were pulled out from the wall, and some were now resting on their sides. Soap gestures for Ghost to shine the flashlight on the cellar door, illuminating the lock. Now you see what they were talking about- on the kitchen floor is an indent of metal door that looked small but just wide enough for the members of the team to squeeze through, if they needed to, but small enough to where some of their gear would have to be left behind. 

Sliding the key into the lock, Soap turns the key, causing a small clicking sound to be heard. With a grunt, he grabs the handle to the door and prying it open, letting it hit the wall behind it, creating a sizeable dent. Flashlights are aimed into the darkness below, but all that can be seen is a rusty metal ladder leading down. The air coming from the hole smelled stale and metallic, goosebumps rose on your skin as you peered down. 

“Well, what do you say, Cap, should some of us take a look?” asked Soap, pointing down into the darkness, sounding intrigued at the idea of venturing down into the seemingly bottomless pit.  

Rolling forward on his feet, placing one of his hands around the straps of his vest while the other held his lit cigar near his mouth, Price took a long drag before blowing out the smoke up into the air, contemplating what to do, groaning Soap added, “five minutes just to see if there is anything useful down there, and then we come right back up and close it.”

 Price used the hand holding his cigar to rub his temple. “Fine, Soap. You and Gaz go down there and see if there is anything. Be careful, and come back up in five minutes. I understand.” 

“Yes, sir,” they both replied in unison. 

Soap looked at the small opening of the cellar and preceded to take off his thick, bulletproof vest and laid his weapons down; remembering to take the tactical flashlight attached to his gun, he placed them in a neat pile near the entrance save for his handgun and knife strapped to his thigh. Following his example, Gaz did the same. Soap moved down to stand on the rusty ladder that groaned at the extra added weight, “Alright, see ya in five minutes,” as he descended the hole with the smaller flashlight from his gun stuck in his mouth. You gave a comforting pat on the back to Gaz, telling him a soft “good luck” as he, too entered the cellar. 

Sitting down against the wall near the cellar door, you lean your head back, closing your eyes, trying to imagine yourself back at base in the safety of your small but cozy room, snuggled up in your warm blanket. Then you feel someone sit next to you, peeking one eye open. You turn your head to see Ghost in a similar position; breaking the silence, you hear his gruff voice, “The weather should break in the morning, and then we can all leave this place behind us.” 

Letting out a breathless laugh, you add, “Yeah I just hope we can make it til then.” 

Now, looking at his masked face, you can see him narrow his eyes at you in question, the room barely illuminated from the moonlight, peering in through the busted-out windows in the house and flashlight present in both you and Ghost's hands. “What is that supposed to mean?” before you could answer, Price plops down in front of where you two were sitting, “Nothing is going to happen, Spark; you are just all spooked by your own shadows right now, morning will come soon enough, and everything will be fine, you’ll see.” 

Glancing from Price’s reassuring face to Ghost’s, you let out an exasperated sigh, “I guess you are right, sir,” you spoke, leaning your head back against the wall. 

From the darkness of the cellar, a blood-curdling scream from your two teammates echoed throughout the house. 

Chapter 3: From the Pinnacle to the Pit

[themissinglynx]

*Cautiously walks up to you like a deer*

Hello! Do you have any fun headcanons for the Starcore duo?

Likewise, what about the starfolks of their universe, what are they like?

Apologies for the wait, I was scanning discord chats trying to parse out all the headcanons I've dumped on pocket buddies and then my tab crashed and erased my draft, so this is take two.

Since the overwhelming majority of my followers haven't played Worldless, I'm gonna shove all this under the cut and issue a hefty spoiler warning for the game. In case someone reads this anyway, I'm going to use my placeholder names for the duo instead of their actual names.

Okay, now that they should all be gone, let's getter goin'.

Both

due to their bond, they can feel a little echo of what the other feels physically and emotionally. only four emotions have a strange feedback loop where they can end up intensifying: joy, sorrow, anger, and fear. Coal is better at diffusing these situations than Wisp is, but she can do it too.

every star was born over the course of a few hours, and the duo were amongst the last to be born. Wisp's core drifted down from the heavens veiled in her starry embryonic sac. when she was fully formed, she stretched her little body out and adjusted to the overwhelming sensations of life. Coal's core formed in the depths of the earth. and when he was ready, he broke his shell and stumbled out, dripping with primordial fluids, and rested from the exhausting task of hatching.

the starcore hairclip thingy doesn't exist when I'm writing them in a canon-based scenario, but they do exist for when I'm drawing them or working within an AU setting. it cannot be removed, though can somehow be refashioned, like if they wanted to tie their hair into a bun, the clip would hold the bun together. don't ask me how it works, it just does. it is highly sensitive to the touch, feeling weird when grabbed, painful if attacked, and pleasing if stroked. the starcore is the only place not affected by the "can feel what the other's feeling" thing.

they're both switches.

their general opinion of Gris the grayling is, "with love, please step on a lego." this feeling is mutual.

before they met each other on the battlefield, they met Summum's component stars. both Wisp and Coal can see a little bit of each in Summum.

Wisp

constantly gets The Zoomies™. she was like that before attaining the dash and sprint, much to the chagrin of her sisters. why else would she be the only light star we see rushing headlong into battle?

one of the traits she gained from their transcendence was the dark star Seek and Hunt instinct. combine that with her kinetic nature as a wanderer and that's makes something resembling a strong prey drive. not helping matters were her former sisters rejecting her as one of their own and treating her like just another dark star. in some ways, they were right.

described by Coal as tasting like, "a misty winter morning in the wake of a night rainstorm"

scars include: a lip scar (from Coal's talon gripping her jaw too hard), a cut on her shoulder (from Paladin's sword), a piercing scar in her abdomen (from Angel's spear), lacerations on the upper arms, chest, and back (from Coal's wind magic in their second confrontation), and burns at her hip (from Demon)

she really doesn't like Coal being underwater for too long. the first few times were great, since it was like seeing the realms from a new perspective. but there's this claustrophobic terror that comes over her if he doesn't surface for a long time.

she's got mixed feelings about her former sisters. she wants to feel sorrow for the light stars she and Coal have absorbed in their path, she really wants to, but she simply can't find it within her to do so. and she's distraught with herself about this. when she's being less conscientious about it, this expresses itself as anger towards her former sisters for not putting up a good fight.

Coal

got his scarf as a parting gift from a leviathan called The Deep.

while Wisp adopted more overt dark star traits from their transcendence, Coal was "stained by the light". this stain of light confused his former brothers, making mere sentient stars attack him on sight while near-sapient dark stars identified him as "other" and beat him into the ground.

described by Wisp as tasting like, "the light of a summer eclipse and nectar on midnight breezes"

scars include: a brow scar (from Wisp's sword), a piercing scar through the gut (from Paladin chasing him off), a concentrated lightning scar on the shoulder/upper chest (from Wisp's lightning magic in their second confrontation), a deep gash on the leg (from Unicorn), further lightning scars (from Lightmare)

praise him and he'll turn into a puddle. this poor star's self-esteem is in the pits.

Coal likewise has mixed feelings about his former brothers, but unlike Wisp, he actually feels some measure of pity for them. he hates that he feels this way, because aside from The Deep (who only barely counts since he still held Coal with a sense of contempt), all dark stars have treated him with indifference at best or vitriol at worst. he wants to be like Wisp and cut any sense of care for them out of his heart, but he just. can't.

Stars in General

they were all literally born yesterday. the events of the game take place over the course of a few days (for what that's worth in this new and unstable setting)

all stars are sentient to some degree, but very few are sapient. the duo could in fact talk before their transcendence (which granted them full sapience), but there wasn't a lot going on in the ol noggin worth speaking over. speaking with a near-sapient star is… something. all boss stars are near-sapient, including the other hybrids (sans Summum, who is fully sapient like the duo).

language is an instinctual thing for stars (and other creations of Worldless, like the graylings). they have an intrinsic vocabulary, they just need to discover it. saying a new word is kinda like when you have a word on the tip of your tongue and you're trying to remember it, aha, that's the word. on the listening end, even if a creation has never heard "petrichor" or "viscous" before, they immediately know what their conversation partner means from their instinctual vocabulary.

stars can only count to four, but they still understand the concepts of relative quantity and have four additional numbers for conveying larger numbers. haash (literally meaning "hand/talon") for 4-6, sam-haash (meaning "both hands") for 8-12, imma for over a dozen, and tekkir for many. tekkir could be used for several dozens, a hundred, a thousand, a million, infinity, it just means "a lot".

no, they cannot grasp the concept of five.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: You’ve stuck by Honey since day one… it’s only fair you finally give Sunwoo some extra support while they’re on tour. Pairing: Rockstar!Sunwoo x fem roadie!reader Tropes: rockstar au, fan-celebrity relationship Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, mentions of drinking and parties, piercings, smoking Smut Warnings: oral (m receive), deepthroating, dirty talk, hair pulling, facefucking, dacryphilia, pet name (pretty thing) Word Count: 1,110 Note: thank you to @anyamaris and @wooahaeproductions for beta/proofing this

Host Tag: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye

February Filth Masterlist Before You Interact

Listen to ♡ Lollipop by Lil Wayne (ft. Static Major)

“That’s the last of the supplies and such.” One of the tour managers sighs, “Are both boys already on the bus?”

“Sunwoo is out back smoking, but he should be done shortly.” You hear his manager respond.

You flick your cigarette before pulling it back up to your lips to take another drag. You glance over at Sunwoo, who’s doing just the same. Honey had just finished performing their concert for tonight; to say the least, he was exhausted. Eric was probably already passed out in his bunk on their tour bus rather than indulging in bad habits like Sunwoo is.

“You’ve been at every stop so far.” The guitarist notes.

“Yeah,” You confirm, puffing out some smoke, “I’ve followed Honey since you guys released your first album.”

“Damn,” he chuckles, “You’re a ride-or-die fan, huh?”

You chuckle airily, “Yeah, you could say that. I’ve helped with setup and breakdown in the past, too. I’ll do anything I can do to help you guys out.”

Sunwoo pushes off the cool brick wall and leans over the wooden fence with you. You’ve been in close quarters with him before. Most notably, when they played at small bars in the early days, you were pressed against the stage. This time, though, you feel a heaviness in the air. The tension is palpable. You fear that if you take another drag from your cigarette, you will crumble under the weight. 

“Anything?” He asks with a challenging tone.

“That’s what I said.” You respond, pushing your hair to the side.

“I could use a little extra support if you’re interested.” His eyes trail down your form and then back up to your eyes.

You turn your body toward him. He stays in his position, but his eyes track you like an animal tracking its prey. Finally, you take one last drag from your cigarette before dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath your boot. Sunwoo watches you, smoke escaping his lips, curling around his lip ring for a moment before dissipating into the air. 

“Well?” He questions.

“Well?” You echo, “Where are we hiding?”

He smirks, shiny silver lip ring twinkling in the night. He mirrors your action of putting out his cigarette before leaning in toward you. He puts a hand under your chin, holding eye contact with you.

“Backstage work for you, pretty thing?”

“Lead the way.” You match his energy.

“Fuck,” Sunwoo groans, “you look so pretty on your knees for me.”

You look up at him through your lashes. His eyes are dark and trained on you. He has one hand lazily in your hair as you lick his tip lightly. As much as you love taking your time giving him a slow blowjob, you also know that, in reality, they’re waiting on him to leave. Sunwoo tosses his head back, his dark hair falling out of his face as he looks up at the ceiling. Just as his eyes break from you, you take him completely down your throat. Your action catches the guitarist off guard, and he lets out a loud, slightly broken moan. You hold yourself against his pubic bone for a few moments before pulling back again. A string of drool connects your lips to the head of his cock. He looks at you again, his hair falling in his eyes. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, pretty thing.” He smirks.

“They call it ‘the little death’ in French for a reason.” You tease, voice slightly horse from taking him so deep.

You don’t wait for him to respond. You take him back down your throat. His hips jolt forward, causing you to make a choking sound in response. Tears brim in your eyes due to the lack of airflow, but you couldn’t care less. All you want is to make the rockstar see God. Each time, you pull back slowly and jerk your head forward quickly. Hollowing your cheeks, you hear Sunwoo curse and tighten his grip on your hair. It seems as though he’s had enough, though. His other hand drops to your hair and matches the grip the other has. You look up at him through your lashes again, this time with slight confusion. He’s holding you back so only the tip of his cock is in your mouth. If anything, you’d expect him to hold you so that you have him completely in your mouth.

“You had your fun, pretty. Now let me take care of things.”

You feel a shudder run through your body that settles in your core. Your panties are soaked. There’s no way they aren’t. He holds you there for a few more moments before thrusting into your mouth. You hardly have a moment to react to his harsh pace. You get a breath far too little for your lungs to be content, but you’re not complaining one bit. Sunwoo spews filthy words at you. There’s drool dripping down your chin as you continually choke on his cock. Tears again threaten to fall from your eyes. This time, you let them fall. 

“Crying for me?” He lets his tongue peek out to play with his lip ring, “Quite the sight, pretty thing.”

You make a garbled noise in an attempt to respond. He only laughs condescendingly at you. Bringing your hands up to his thighs, you grip them, hoping it’ll help you hold onto your sanity by proxy. Your vision is completely blurred with tears. Your painted nails are digging into his skin. Everything just feels so intense in the best way possible. As if things couldn’t get better, without warning, Sunwoo groans as he releases down your throat. The noise he makes rivals a growl, and you can’t swallow his cum due to how deep down your throat he is. He pulls out completely. You gasp for air, not caring about the drool, tears, or cum dripping down your face.

“Thanks for that, pretty thing.” He sighs, coming down from his high.

You wipe your chin and suck the mixture off your fingers, “Any time.” 

Your voice sounds foreign to your ears. That’s to be expected after being throat fucked, though. After redressing, Sunwoo squats down in front of you and hands you a random towel he found nearby. You giggle quietly before wiping the remainder of bodily fluids from your face.

“You wanna come for a ride?” He asks softly.

You look at him with a playful glint in your eyes, “Ride on what?”

Sunwoo shakes his head, looking at the ground for a moment, “You really wanna fuck around and find out, huh?”

You just smirk and raise your eyebrow at him.

COPYRIGHT ALL-ABOUT-KYU 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight

[winxanity-ii]

YEAH, I'M OVER IT.

ship: jjk men: toge x fem!miko!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 2.8k a/n: Ngl I had more fun than I should writing this lol...go to 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐍𝐨. ʲʲᵏ if you want to understand this; also Toge translations will be at the very bottom.

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

The moonlight casted soft shadows over the Jujutsu academy grounds as you quietly stepped out of your dorm room. The door clicked shut behind you, and you padded down the outdoor hallway, your flip-flops barely making a sound on the concrete.

Your eyes were half-closed, weighed down by the heaviness of a long day and the looming thoughts of another tomorrow.

Grape or orange soda? The question swirled in your head like a mantra. Grape felt exotic, a vibrant purple fizz that tickled the tongue, while orange was a classic, reminding you of those carefree summer afternoons when things weren't so... complicated.

It wasn't like you were in the mood for big decisions, but picking a soda flavor somehow seemed important in a silly kind of way.

Up ahead, the vending machine stood like an oasis at the end of the outdoor hallway, a beacon of refreshment in the quiet night. The buttons flashed in a collage of colors and logos, the familiar brands winking at you like old friends.

Taking the final steps toward it, you reached into your pocket for the coin you had there, fingers brushing over its cool, ridged edges. But as you went to feed it into the machine, your hand slipped, and the coin clattered onto the ground, rolling straight under the machine.

Seriously?

You huffed, dropping down to your knees to peer under the machine. Your eyes narrowed, expecting to see your coin sitting just out of reach, but instead, you spotted something small and unusual. A Thumbelina-sized ghost squatted near it, its tiny eyes widened in awe as it stared at the coin like it had struck gold.

You blinked, taken aback, and the mini-curse looked up at you.

For a heartbeat, you both just... stared. Then, as if realizing it had been caught, the tiny spirit scurried away, belly-crawling from under the machine and then darting around the corner.

Aww, kinda cute actually. Beats the hellish stuff I've seen lately.

Suppressing a giggle, you reached under and picked up the coin. You glanced around, making sure no one else was out here to see your little encounter. Holding the coin up, you gave it a little roll in the direction the tiny spirit had run off to.

"Oh no, my coin rolled way over there…" you said, your voice trailing off dramatically as you followed the curve of the coin.

The world seemed to stop as your gaze fell on the monstrous sight in front of you.

A towering version of the tiny spirit crouched there, its grotesque form surrounded by several miniature copies of itself. Its skin was a deep, almost bloody red, eyes bulging unnaturally. And where its stomach should be, there was a second head, mouth gaping open in a perpetual scream.

You could only watch, breath caught in your throat, as the tiny spirit you had been following darted into the larger one's mouth, disappearing down its throat.

Megumi's voice rang in your head, his warning clear as day: Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact with curses.

G̶r̶e̶a̶t̶.̶ ̶N̶o̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶s̶s̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶.̶

For a few agonizing seconds, you stood frozen like a statue, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Why the hell did I follow that mangy-ass gremlin back here!? you thought, a wave of panic and frustration crashing over you. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing steady.

The curse shifted, its eyes narrowing as if sensing your presence.

Shit. Shit. Shit. What do I do? Think. Just think.

But something kept you rooted in place—some twisted mix of fear and desperation, and before you knew it, your survival instincts kicked in, and your thoughts swiftly shifted gears.

The pressure was suffocating, like the universe itself was closing in, waiting for you to break. But you couldn't. Not here. Not now. Not over a damn coin. You barely held back a gasp, every muscle in your body tense, ready to bolt.

You forced yourself to exhale slowly; the curse's oppressive aura almost choking the air from your lungs.

Finally, you let out a fake gasp, trying to steady the tremble in your voice. "G-Gosh, where could it be?" you wondered aloud with forced innocence as your eyes stayed fixated on the ground, deliberately avoiding the creature towering over you.

If bullshitting your way through life-threatening situations were an Olympic sport, you'd be drowning in gold medals by now.

Your legs feel like jelly, but somehow you managed to bend over to examine a random leaf. Your hands trembled as your fingers grazed the cold concrete, pretending to search while your peripheral vision caught the faint outline of the curse's twisted form.

Just play it cool. Keep it together. You've got this. The words repeated in your mind like a lifeline, a thin thread of sanity to hold onto as your body vibrated with barely controlled fear.

With your heart beating so hard you were surprised it hadn't exploded out of your chest, you somehow managed to stammer, "O-Oh, t-there you are," your voice a shaky mess as you lowered yourself into a squat and reached for the coin.

Your fingers trembled, hovering over the object; it felt like salvation—that tiny piece of metal, your ticket out of this nightmare.

But before you could grasp it, the curse moved.

One of its massive, clawed hands slammed onto the ground beside you, close enough that the force sent a tremor through your body. The curse was so close you could feel its breath—hot and rancid—against your skin. You could feel its gaze burning into you—a heavy, dark, and utterly unnatural weight that made your skin crawl.

Don't panic. Don't let it know you can see it.

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to flinch, to scream, to bolt. Your heart raced, the beat erratic and wild, like a trapped bird fluttering against the confines of your ribcage. With another deep, shaky breath, you forced yourself to reach for the coin again, your fingers trembling so violently you could barely control them.

Just as you thought you'd got it, the coin slipped from your grasp, falling back to the ground with a small, mocking clatter.

Damn it. Not now. Seriously, not now.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, so loud in your head they almost drowned out the monstrous, wet breathing of the curse hovering above you. Sweat trickled down your forehead, sliding down your cheek as you forced your trembling hand to move again.

C'mon, hands, work with me here.

You reached out once more, your entire body trembling so hard you wonder if you've suddenly developed a nervous condition. Why is this so hard? The coin was right there, so close yet somehow impossibly far.

Your fingertips just barely picked up the edges of the coin before—again—it slipped from your grasp. It hit the concrete with a sharp ping, rolling slightly before stopping right in front of the curse's outstretched hand.

You feel like screaming. I swear it's like the universe is playing some sick joke on me.

Your body began shaking uncontrollably, the tremor starting in your hands and spreading up your arms, through your chest, until it felt like your entire body was on the verge of collapse.

The curse loomed closer, its grotesque form practically eclipsing the moonlight.

You could hear the sickening crackle of its muscles and joints as it inched forward, as if savoring the moment. Its mouth—if you could even call it that—stretched wider, the second head at its stomach twitching, its gaping maw opening into an endless, wet abyss.

Its foul breath washed over you, carrying the stench of decay and something far worse. Its tongue lashed out, dripping some foul, unidentifiable liquid that splashed onto the ground beside you as the tip brushed against your shoulder before withdrawing.

Your stomach churned, bile rising in your throat as the creature's mouth opened wider, the darkness within like a yawning chasm ready to swallow you whole.

This thing's playing with me. You realize with a sickening dread that it knows. It knows you can see it, and it's enjoying this. This is it. I'm gonna die over a coin. The thought flitted through your mind, absurd in its finality.

You wanted to laugh, or maybe cry, but all you could do was stare at the ground, your whole body locked in place by fear and disbelief.

The coin lay there, glinting mockingly under the moonlight, as if to say, "Pick me up, idiot, before you get us both killed!"

You gritted your teeth, fingers twitching as you reached for it one last time. Just as your fingertips brushed the metal edge, you felt it—a change in the air, a shift in the oppressive energy pressing down on you. The curse's body tensed, its form coiling like a spring ready to pounce, pulling you deeper into the horrifying reality of your situation.

The world seemed to blur at the edges, narrowing down to the curse and the coin and the suffocating dread swallowing you whole.

This is how I go out? Over a coin? You couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Fuck! I can't believe I'm gonna die to this nightmarish gremlin just because I wanted to be cute and follow shit around—

"Leaf mustard?"

The voice sliced through the suffocating tension like a blade, sharp and unexpected. You and the curse froze, heads snapping toward the source.

There, bathing in the pale moonlight, stood a young man with silver-white hair, a stark contrast against the darkness. His presence was almost surreal, as if he'd stepped out of a dream—or a nightmare.

His Jujutsu High uniform was tailored to have a high collar that zipped all the way up, covering his mouth. The uniform clings to his form, accentuating his lean build, and despite the chaos unfolding around him, he looks completely at ease, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

He looked at you, then at the curse, hands casually tucked into his pocket. His eyes, though—those soft, plum-colored eyes—were sharp, almost unnaturally focused, assessing the situation with a detached curiosity that made your skin prickle.

"E-Eh?" you stammered, your voice barely audible, throat constricted with fear and disbelief. It was as if the simple sound was all you could muster in response to the sheer absurdity of the situation unfolding before you.

The man tilted his head slightly as if puzzled by the scene before him. Eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his collar, he repeated, "Leaf mustard?" pointing lazily at the monstrous creature, unfazed, not a single trace of fear in his demeanor; like he was talking about the weather, not a nightmarish entity that looks like it crawled out of the depths of hell.

The words seemed absurdly out of place in the midst of this nightmarish scenario.

The curse, as if insulted by his nonchalant attitude, shifted its focus from you to him. Then, seeming to reconsider its target, the curse lunged not at you but at the stranger with a terrifying speed, a deep, bone-chilling roar escaping its deformed mouth.

But the man was quicker.

In a movement so swift and fluid it was almost graceful, the man sidestepped the creature with ease, like he's done this a thousand times before. The curse crashed into the wall behind him with a thunderous crash; the impact was violent; it sent cracks splintering through the concrete and chunks of debris flying.

A screech of pure frustration tore from its throat; the sound so loud and piercing it made your ears ring.

You flinched, instinctively raising your hands to shield yourself from the falling debris, your heart pounding in your chest like a wild drum.

For a moment, the curse struggled to right itself, thrashing wildly in every direction as it struggled to pull itself free from the rubble, its enraged screeches echoing through the corridor like the wails of a thousand damned souls.

The stranger watched it with an almost bored expression, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he were evaluating the creature's worth. "Dried bonito," he muttered under his breath, the words soft but carrying an air of resigned disappointment, like he was dealing with a stubborn child rather than a deadly monster.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he beckoned the curse as if commanding an unruly pet.

The creature hesitated for the briefest moment, trembling as if caught between rage and fear, then it charged again; its massive form stretched the length of the corridor, its jagged claws scraping against the walls, leaving deep gashes in its wake.

But once again, the man merely sidestepped, his movements almost lazy, like he was dancing to a song only he could hear.

This time, the creature slammed onto the ground, its body sprawling awkwardly across the concrete.

Seizing the opportunity, the stranger stepped forward, his gaze locked onto the curse. With a deliberate motion, he reached up and unzipped his collar, revealing a series of tattoos etched around his mouth, glowing faintly in the moonlight. "Explode," he calmly ordered as if the very air itself bent to his will.

Time seemed to slow down as the word hung in the air. Then the curse expanded suddenly, as if it were sucking in a massive breath, its eyes widening in what you can only describe as horror.

For a heartbeat, everything was still, the world holding its breath, and then—with a sickening, wet sound—boom.

The creature exploded, splattering black, gooey liquid in every direction; it rained down around you, sizzling as it hit the ground, walls, and ceiling.

You gagged as the stench hit you a second later, clamping a hand over your mouth as you struggled not to vomit, your entire body shaking with a mix of fear and revulsion. It was a nauseating blend of burnt rubber, rotten eggs, and something even fouler that made your eyes water and your throat tighten.

Even the coin you were trying to retrieve lay forgotten, stained by the dark, tarry remains of the curse. The silence that followed the shrieks was almost deafening; stillness now enveloping the corridor.

You stared in shock, body trembling uncontrollably as you remained squatted on the ground, eyes wide and unseeing as you stared at the spot where the curse had been, your mind struggling to process what had just happened.

Eventually, your legs ended up giving out from under you, sinking you to the ground with trembling knees.

The man's presence loomed over you as he strolled over, bent down and picked up the coin, wiping a bit of goo off with a faint look of distaste.

There was a strange, almost surreal calmness to him as he examined it briefly before turning to the vending machine, pressing a button with the same nonchalance as if he hadn't just caused a monster to explode in a rain of gore.

"Salmon," he said, his tone deadpan as he extended the can of soda toward you.

Lime, huh?

You blinked, your gaze shifting between the offered soda, the stranger, and the spot where the curse had been mere moments ago. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, confusion, relief—all crashing down on you at once.

It was too much, too overwhelming, and you felt your resolve shatter.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks. Your cries were quiet at first, shoulders shaking as you tried to hold it in, but eventually, the dam broke; you let out a broken, heart-wrenching sob, your body curling in on itself.

The stranger's eyes widened in surprise, his stoic demeanor faltering as he took a hesitant step back. His hand, still holding the can, wavered in the air, his expression shifting to one of pure, unfiltered panic. He made a series of awkward, flapping gestures with his free hand, resembling a bird unsure of how to land.

"T-Tuna!?" His eyes darted around, as if searching for some unseen help, completely at a loss on how to handle your sudden breakdown.

This is it, you thought, clutching your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth as you wailed into the sky, sobbing harder. I've finally gone off the deep end. Can't even handle soda without breaking down.

The stranger watched you, his expression torn between concern and sheer confusion. Finally, understanding that words—coded or otherwise—are futile at the moment, he crouched down beside you, moving slowly, as if afraid you might shatter at the slightest touch.

He reached out, his hand hovering awkwardly over your head before finally, gently, resting it there, his touch light, almost tentative. "Tuna and mayonnaise," he murmured, his voice soft, the nonsensical words carrying a strange kind of comfort.

It's ridiculous, really, but the way he says it—the soft, almost hesitant tone—makes you feel a tiny bit better.

You didn't know what he was trying to say, but the intent was clear as day—it was a promise, a reassurance that things would be okay, that you weren't alone in this terrifying, surreal moment... that things will get better.

And as you felt his gentle, grounding touch, a part of you began to believe it too.

A/N: I'm so excited about y/ns future reactions with the 3rd years, I just had to give a glimpse/set it up

🇹‌🇴‌🇬‌🇪‌ 🇹‌🇷‌🇦‌🇳‌🇸‌🇱‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌🇸‌ (🇮‌🇳‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇮‌🇸‌ 🇨‌🇦‌🇸‌🇪‌):

"Leaf mustard?" = "Do you need help with that?"

"Dried bonito." = "Weak."

"Salmon." = "Here."

"T-Tuna!?" = "E-Eh!?"

"Tuna and mayonnaise." = "It'll be okay."

[thesconesyard]

Yeehaw!

When the Cactus Blooms

27. A Whole Heap of Trouble

McCoy opened his eyes and made to stretch, but something was holding him down and he couldn’t. For a second fear passed through him, but he quickly realized it was Scotty sprawled mostly on top of him. He let out a breathy laugh, and shoved gently at Scotty’s shoulder. He got a grunt in return as Scotty turned his face away.

“Alright,” McCoy said softly, amused.

Carefully he slid out from under Scotty and off the bed. Light was coming through the curtain as McCoy got himself dressed. He looked down at Scotty’s still sleeping form, and love rushed through him. It was a tight squeeze for both of them in the bed, but Scotty had been promising to fix that. He just had a few too many other things to work on at the moment.

“We’ve got work to do,” McCoy said, as he rested a hand on Scotty’s shoulder and gave another gentle shake. He made sure Scotty was at least mostly awake, then left the cabin.

Out in the early morning air, McCoy stretched again, before heading towards the stables. As he walked the back of his neck prickled. He reached a hand up and rubbed under his bandana, but the prickling persisted. He looked around carefully as he walked, a feeling of being watched rising in him. He glanced at the house but didn't see anyone looking out the windows.

The prickly feeling left when he entered the stables.

“Morning Honey,” he said as he entered the horse’s stall. He gave her a pat on the neck and she nosed at his pockets. “Gimme me a minute,” he laughed at her.

Soon enough he heard the others entering the stables and going about the morning chores.

After breakfast McCoy followed Jim and Spock to look over some of the cattle. The prickly feeling crept up his neck again. He rubbed at it and rolled his shoulders.

“Alright Bones?” Jim asked, looking over.

“Yeah,” McCoy grunted. “Just got the strangest feeling of being watched.” He looked around them, but saw nothing but scrubby grass, cattle and sky. A few trees too small to hide behind.

“There appears to be nothing but us and the cattle,” Spock said.

“I know,” McCoy snapped. His hand rubbed his neck again. “It’s the damnedest thing though.”

The feeling stayed with him all day. As long as McCoy was outside, he felt he was being watched. He knew how irrational it was. There was nowhere in the open pastures for someone to hide, and everyone was in and out of the house and buildings all day long.

“What is it Len?” Scotty asked as they sat together by the creek.

“I don’t know,” McCoy admitted slowly. “I’ve been on edge all day.”

“Well,” Scotty said in a low voice, “maybe we should do something about that.”

McCoy looked over with a grin. “Maybe we should.” He got to his feet and lowered a hand to help Scotty up. Together they walked towards McCoy’s cabin.

Trying to be subtle, McCoy couldn’t help but look around them. Voices could be heard from the porch, but not seen. His unease grew stronger. The moon hadn’t risen yet and the stars were only throwing faint light.

“Oh! How delightful.”

McCoy froze at the deep voice coming from the shadows of his cabin. Scotty’s hand tightened on his.

“It wasn’t hard to miss the pull between you both. How nice you sorted it out.”

“Harrison!” McCoy managed to choke out.

“Now, don’t do anything stupid,” John Harrison said as he stepped from the shadows. A gun in his hand was pointed at them. “No calling out or anything that would let the others know.”

“What- what are ye doing here?” Scotty asked in surprise. “Why are ye doing this?” He took a small step forward but stopped as John Harrison raised the gun.

“Why does anyone do anything?” Harrison bit out.

“You won’t get away with this Harrison,” McCoy threatened.

“Oh doctor, I don’t think you have much say in that. And it’s not Harrison. My name is Khan.”

“Well, Khan, you’re still only one person and there’s ten of us on this ranch,” McCoy said, putting as much bluster into his voice as he could.

“Doctor McCoy,” Khan said lightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not alone. My family is moving closer as we speak.”

“I don’t believe you,” McCoy stated. He took a step that put him in front of Scotty protectively.

Khan gave a light whistle and footsteps could be heard behind him. In a moment another man stepped out from next to the cabin. His gun was pointed at them as well. McCoy frowned as he thought.

“I’ve seen you,” he said to the second man, trying hard to remember where he had seen the man. “The poster in town,” McCoy said suddenly. “M- Mar- Marcus!” he exclaimed. “Wanted for murder.”

“Very good doctor,” Khan said sarcastically. He turned his head slightly towards Marcus.

“Everyone is in place,” Marcus reported.

“Good,” Khan said, triumph already in his voice. “Take these two in there and tie them up. They were already planning on getting close.” Khan smirked.

Marcus moved behind them and jabbed his gun into McCoy’s back. “Let’s go,” he said.

“This isn’t going to work,” McCoy told Khan as he passed him.

“I think you’ll be surprised,” Khan gloated.

McCoy held tight to Scotty’s hand as they entered the cabin. Just minutes ago they had been headed to it for a different reason. He could only hope Jim or Spock or one of the others noticed something was wrong before Khan could strike first.

[medievalknightssword]

I agree it definitely wasn’t mutual. But not in the way you described it.

If you look at this frame in karma, you can see there’s a small heart on Ivan’s collar and many people have theorized that that heart could be Till’s. It’s a symbolism of how Till’s love is presented. It’s subtle and faint, easy to go unrealized and unnoticed. But nevertheless, it’s still there (I’ll get into more details later dw)

And on the other hand, there’s Ivan. Who feels his love for Till comparatively more strongly and definitely. But he’s far more clueless on social cues and on how to execute his emotions in a healthy manner both verbally and physically.

Seeing the way Ivan grew up, he very understandably has no healthy grasp on what the concept of love should be like. He’s forward about his love, attempting to shove the entire thing down Till’s throat all at once, acting out his own views on love as what he thinks it’s supposed to be and gets desperate and confused when Till doesn’t seem to comply and accept his displays of love. And obviously Till is going to be upset. No matter how much you love someone, it’s hard and mentally distressing for anyone to have their loved one express their love for you in such an unhealthy way, and even more painful if they’re so bold and forceful about it. Love does not equal access to infinite consent.

They loved each other, but they just processed and expressed them in very, very different ways. (Oh my poor miscommunication babies D:)

Also, kissing is a very uncommon act in the universe of alien stage. A practice long forgotten if it wasn’t taught in their curriculum labeled as nothing more than another way humans express affection. Though, I’m not saying that that reason alone is why Till appeared so uncomfortable and unwilling to Ivan’s kiss. Like I said earlier, even if you love someone till the end and back, it’s not impossible to feel uncomfortable from their advances. In fact, it’s a very natural and healthy response to having your boundaries pushed and/or violated. But I still think it’s important to consider things deeper than just the surface level actions that are shown to us.

(Also a bit unrelated but I also wanted to point this out) (this is animated too! So I find it hard to find this detail, although small, accidental.)

(This makes my heart shatter damn you Vivimeng :ㄷ)

And while I also dont agree with the “Till was secretly hiding some feelings for Ivan and his shallow feelings for Mizi were just hiding them" theory, I must point out that it’s confirmed that Till’s feelings for Mizi actually were quite shallow. His feelings for her are more of an idolization and admiration than an actual deep seated love like how this post I found on Pinterest explains perfectly (Shoutout to Dreamcatcher btw). He uses Mizi and her enthusiastic facade as a kind of solace to escape the horrors of alien stage and therefore holds no actual interest to get to know her as a real person in fear or spoiling the idea or her he’s created in his head, but he mistakes the happiness she makes him feel as love because that’s what love is supposed to be, right? Which is a stark contrast to his views on Ivan. They have a sort of love-hate relationship between them and Till seems rather avoidant or sometimes even hostile towards him at times. I believe it’s because Till sees Ivan as a constant lingering reminder of his harrowing and unforgiving reality, the very thing he’s desperate to ignore (yk with Ivan’s self-destructive pessimism and all). But he still cared for and loved Ivan despite it all. And while I admit ivantill isn’t the most healthiest ship, (which is unsurprising. I’d be more shocked to see an actual perfectly functional ship develop in such circumstances than some other twisted form of love like we see in the three main ships) it’s definitely more genuine and intense.

Also some other factors that hint that the Till reciprocated Ivan’s love.

In karma, there’s this once particular scene that stood out to me. Somewhere along the lines of Issac’s speech, he says “to love”, to which the screen presented Sua. Which makes sense bc Sua really did love Mizi. The entire reason the series played out the way it did was bc of Sua’s love for Mizi that drove her to sacrifice herself (so the phrase “to love” is definitely ab Sua). But when he said “and to be loved” the screen featured Ivan. And although it could be vaguely interpreted as Ivan’s love for Till (as in Till is the one “to be loved”), I find it much more unlikely since the camera is focused on Ivan just as it was on Sua.

And as if it can’t get any more glaringly obvious, near the ending, there are several new characters (who appear to be the new generation of entertainers created from the concoctions of the original main cast’s dna). The one that caught my eye the most was the pink haired one. Who looks suspiciously like an inspiration taken directly off Ivan and Mizi.

And when Till breaks in and spots the Ivan+Mizi kid staring through the glass, he shoots a fond smile in their direction, reminded of the two very people who made his heart race. Encouraging the theory even more that Till loved both Mizi AND Ivan (Well he idealized Mizi more than actually love her but you get what I’m saying). It’s just that he was just too late to realize it.

Although these could all just be hints to dispel the “Till didn’t care about Ivan at all!” theories and just be solely platonic, I would still like to believe Ivan’s love was reciprocated bc he’s my precious child and my favorite character who only deserves nothing but joy and love and happiness forever and ever but that’s just my headcanon :p

(Wow this turned out a whole lot longer than I thought :o)

Also great analysis on your part btw :3

I’m not great at theorizing so if you find any flaws in my analysis pls feel free to point them out :D

Bros I CANNOT with Ivantilltwt, a lot of fans will see both the forced kisses and go "Till isn't rejecting Ivan, he is just caught off guard bc Ivan didn't warn him, it's just miscommunication- see in this split second frame here he looks like he's ok with his touch" like no??? He doesn't like it, period!!! Watch the whole interaction, it's animated for a reason!! He actively tries to push Ivan away while his expression is confused, distressed, and closed off!!! His friend is trying to shove a surprise kiss onto him, I think anyone would react the same.

Brother Ivan is literally trying to shove his love down Till's throat

Idk man a lot of fans on twt keep trying to force this "Till was secretly hiding some feelings for Ivan and his SHALLOW feelings for Mizi were just hiding them" agenda

Like omg its unrequited but their bond is still so deep and that's what makes them so compelling can we not do this (I love Ivan's toxic but pure devotion to Till ok, and I fully understand the boy is miscommunicator1000)

I personally think the most reasonable "mutual" Ivantill take is how they COULD have been mutual- if a better world let their feelings blossom healthily, if Till had the time to start seeing Ivan that way instead of immediately dying (unless...) only hours after Ivan died for his sake. If his survivor's guilt wasn't crushing his heart to the point where thoughts of loving Ivan back were impossible to even consider in his mental state. If he had the time to love and lose his crush on Mizi and move onto something more personal and deep with Ivan.

I love Ivantill but damn!! The "always been mutual" agenda is crazy strong rn

[luimagines]

Hiya! Its me again, I submitted the story of Mask (Young adult! Time) pining after his rebellion leader (aka future spouse), and have come with a follow up >:)

Months have passed since Mask's..."confession"...to the group. Since then, most of the boys have been trying to start conversations that might set off Mask into another lovestruck rant (much to Time's dismay). Though this time around Mask is much harder to crack, only giving away small details about you and what type of relationship you two have. What they do learn is that you were a badass! Not only did you lead a rebellion against Ganondorf (as a teenager but they don't know that) but you also wielded some sort of shadow magic. This certainly caught their attention, considering they had no clue you had such abilities!

Mask always sings your praise, he really could go on forever! But the last thing he wanted was someone using that information against you. So he spoke little about his personal relationship with you, but it was easy to see how close the two of you were.

---

It was a peaceful morning for the group, well rested and full bellies was a promising start to the day! They were traveling either Mask's or Time's Hyrule, it was kinda hard to tell considering they were only surrounded by woods with no landmarks that could tell what era it was. Everyone was in high spirits for the day, even Time! The thought of coming back home to you and your welcoming arms was a pleasant thought.

Well- That went to shit quite quickly. They hadn't even walked for two hours before they were ambushed by a hoard of grotesque monsters. Their twisted, gnarly weapons bludgeoned and bruised the ten heroes. Many of them struggled to stand as they were circled, surrounded by all sides.

The group looked to one another, hoping someone had some idea or plan to get them out of this mess. Yet everyone struggled to form a plan while being battered from all sides, all expect Mask. He knew it was a risk, he didn't even know if this was his Hyrule! But one thing Mask knew was that you'd protect him, all he had to do was ask. All he had to do was scream your name. And so, he screamed. His voice ripped through his throat, piecing the sounds of battle. All of the boys faltered for a moment at Mask's sudden outburst, fearing for his safety. But soon they'd realize that they aren't the ones who should be fearful. Suddenly, the early morning turned to dusk -or at least it felt like it did- as the trees loomed over them, their shadows stretching far and wide.

The battle comes to a halt, both Hylian and monster alike not daring to move an inch. Mask -who stood in the middle of this battlefield- let out a shaky breath, a hearty smile stretching from ear to ear. And before the heroes know it, dark tendrils burst from these shadows and lash out! They grip onto the savage beasts, squeezing so tight some poof into purple smoke. For those unlucky to survive the deadly hold, they get dragged from the field and deep into the inky shadows. Most screech and slash at the shadows to break free, but their attempts are futile.

As the last beast is pulled into the endless void the shadows finally retreat. Soon the sun shines down on the bloodied heroes once more, but even the sun's warmth can stop the shiver that went down their spines. One question hangs in the air. What the hells just happened?

Mask couldn't contain his excitement, the grin on his face clear as day! He goes to call out for you once more expecting you to be hiding among your fellow shadows but is met with a cold hand over his mouth. A muffled yelp catches everyone's attention once more and weapons are drawn once more. Yet as they turn towards to face this new threat they are met with a...unusual sight, one none really expected (well, Time did but shh).

Mask and a familiar -but younger- figure face to face, mere inches between each other, looking intensely into the other's eyes. Your hand still rested over his mouth but he made no effort to remove it, to remove you. To an outsider's eye, this would have looked like a hostage situation (and maybe it was) but after a moment of looking over Mask and his injuries, you let your hand trail down the side of his neck and rest on his shoulder.

Finally, you acknowledge the rest of the heroes, who stood awkwardly to the side during this silent conversation. And boy, Mask sure as hell wasn't lying about how stunning you were. You scanned the group with your eyes, like you were analyzing every detail of them and taking notes of their weaponry (you totally were). The boys can't help but sweat under your gaze, even Time feels a little uneasy in this moment but he had to admit it was good to see your face again, younger or not.

You're the first to speak up and introduce yourself to the strange group while Mask does not leave your side. A stupidly obvious grin on his face as he just watches you with so much adoration in his eyes. And suddenly, the nine heroes come to the realization that this is their fate. Having to deal with a lovesick, dramatic Mask and the subject of said love.

Time can't help but groan inwardly, the boys are never going to let him live this down. (I hope you liked this and sorry for any spelling errors! Have a lovely day!)

I thought the first half was on the masterlist! DX I wanted to link it but I don't know where it is. I'm sorry. :(

OOOOOhhhhhhhhh!!!!

Old Man Time is going to have the headache of a life time!

But we also get to explore Reader's reaction to said Older Time!!! :D

The boys are going to be so nosey XD

Mask doesn't know what he's in for... or maybe his rose tinted ten inch thick glass won't let him see anything else. Time has to deal with all of it though. There's no escape for him.

[rere-the-writer]

Title- We can be your new family

Warnings- Fluff, Elena and Co be terrible people, Overly protective Mikaelsons, A bit of angst

Summary- Being the youngest Gilbert isn't easy but You easily found people that wanted you around.

Pairing- Poly!Mikaelsons x Gilbert!Reader

You were what Damon call the weakest Gilbert, not much of a threat as you were Elena's twin sister and under her shadow. When the Mikaelsons came to town you became close friends with Rebekah somehow then got close to the older Mikaelsons and from there you became the object of their affections.

"Where are you going?" Elena asked getting the attention of Damon and Jeremy as both saw you dressed in warmer clothing. You gripped your book bag flushing as nerves settled in your belly.

"Hum....Elijah and Rebekah agreed....to help me with...my history paper...they are going to take me to some historical sites."

"I thought I told you stop hanging around them!?" Elena told you glaring as you stunk back getting more nervous.

"They are my friends." You said quietly but Elena heard you and looked to Damon for help. You opened the door feeling fear as you didn't know what Elena was going to let Damon do.

"Hello little one." You heard Elijah's comforting voice washed over you feeling his hand run over your head. Elena frowned seeing Elijah seemly showering you with affection which was something Elena hated was that the Mikaelsons were slowly stealing you away from her and Jeremy.

"Eli." You mumbled against his chest huddling closer to his warmth making Elijah smile softly as he had just adored you. You reminded Elijah of Tatia with how soft you were but a fiery spirit underneath it all.

"Elijah stop be selfish." Rebekah said as you slipped pass the older man to Rebekah letting her hug you.

"Hello Beka."

"You can't take her." Elena said glaring at Elijah as the sound of your laughter was heard as you and Rebekah were carefully walking on the icy path.

"She needed help so Rebekah and I offered. Y/N said you were too busy." Elijah says watching Elena closely as siblings affections for you grew. Both Elijah and Klaus noticed how you would be pushed away from the Scooby gang but yet pull you back when they would see you with one of the siblings.

"No need to worry we would never allow anything to happen Y/N." Elijah says turning following after you and Rebekah as you spent the day with your favorite Mikaelsons.

A week later you had been feeling fatigued and shortness of breath then times of having fainting spells. You went to Elena worried something was wrong with you.

"Not now Y/N. We are busy I sure you can deal with it by yourself."

You took yourself to see your doctor and called Rebekah who told her brothers rushing to see you.

"Y/N! What is it? Are you okay?" Rebekah asked as her and Kol fuzzing over you as you just leaned into their arms. Elijah kissed your head and Klaus rubbed your back.

"We know what is wrong." Your doctor says seeing the Mikaelsons shift closer to you.

"What is it?"

"You are anemic, don't worry it is treatable." The doctor said as Elijah pulled him aside asking questions and getting a list while the others showered you with affection.

"So no more drinking from Y/N?" Kol asked as Elijah stepped up kissing your forehead as clearly enjoying showering you with affection.

"No more feeding from our beloved." Elijah said as you flushed hiding your face in Rebekah's neck making them all chuckle. Since your diagnosis, the Mikaelsons slowly moved you into their home and Elena noticed making her every angry at the idea of you being with the Mikaelsons.

"How are you feeling, little one?" Elijah asked finding you curled up in Klaus's lap half asleep as Klaus was reading to you while running his fingers through your hair as Rebekah sat by holding your hand rubbing circles with her thumb.

"Tired....might stay in today." You mumbled as Elijah and Klaus soften kissing your head. You didn't know what happened or when it happened but you naturally got into a relationship with them. It started with Rebekah and the others just followed naturally and you had never felt loved and devotion that the Mikaelsons had showered you with.

"I'm sure Niklaus won't mind a relaxing day in." Elijah says softly cupping your cheek rubbing it with his thumb smiling seeing you lean into his hand. There was a loud knock and Elijah frowned when it startled you awake before relaxing back in Klaus's arms with Rebekah nuzzling you.

"I wonder who that could be?" Elijah questioned standing up closing his book and Kol took his spot near you. Elijah answered the door seeing Elena with Stefan and Damon.

"Where is she?!" Elena growled pushing pass Elijah making him take a deep breath as he was a bit annoyed that since becoming a vampire Elena was more brazen than before.

"What did you do to her?!" Elijah heard Elena shout as he headed for the den with the Salvatore brothers following. You were have asleep on Kol and Klaus was standing growling.

"Her new medication makes her tired. Elijah we should talk to her doctor about it."

"We should Kol." Elijah said seeing you yawn sitting up before cuddling up to Rebekah who was more than happy to have you in her arms.

"Doctor?! What. Did. You. Do?"

"Watch your tone young one." Elijah said lowly looking at Elena as Damon moved to protect Elena in case the Originals were not going to put up with her attitude.

"Your sister was sick and we have been taking care of her since you seem hellbent on ours deaths to care for her."

"Y/N?"

"I am anemic....they have been taking care of me." You tell your sister slowly falling back to sleep under Rebekah's skillful fingers that was massaging circles in your back.

"So you stole my sister?!"

"We did no such thing. We naturally gravitate towards your sister." Elijah said watching the Salvatore brothers closely not trusting them while you had fallen asleep.

"Right. More like you are using her."

"We won't never use her unlike you would have." Kol said standing as Elijah put his arm out to stopped Kol from attacking Elena.

"Yeah right you all have done nothing but try and kill us!"

"Stefan it would be best if you take Elena and leave." Elijah said noticing how both Klaus and Kol were getting angerer as now you were getting restless and if you were uncomfortable Kol and Klaus had been known to removed what made you uncomfortable. Stefan took Damon and Elena knowing that Elijah was giving them a chance to live.

"We can't let her be around them."

You had gotten better but that didn't stop the Mikaelsons from fuzzing over you and them every protective of you. You woke up to Kol peppering your neck with kisses and Elijah pulling out clothes for you to wear.

"Goodmorning, darling."

"Morning." You mumbled nuzzling Kol's chest as Elijah chuckled leaning over gently unlatch you from Kol.

"I started a bath for you. Baby, we need to know something."

"Humm? What is it?"

"Would you like to come to New Orleans with us?" Elijah asked sitting you in the bath washing your hair.

"I'll love too." You tell Elijah making him smile as he kissed you then finished washing you up. You took Rebekah with you to get some clothes from your house as they didn't trust your siblings.

"So you are leaving us?"

"I want to be with them like you wanting to be with Damon and Stefan." You tell Elena packing as Rebekah was down stairs glaring at the Salvatore brothers.

"You can't leave!"

"Elena, you're hurting me." You whimpered when she grabbed your wrist as Rebekah was pulling her off you growling as a bruise began to form on your wrist.

"You can't take her to New Orleans."

"So you hurt her?" Rebekah growled fangs flashing as Elena stepped up growling herself but felt a hand on your shoulder and saw Elijah standing there.

"Don't Elena."

New Orleans was beautiful and you found yourself enjoying the lights and sounds with Kol as the vampire watched you ran down the street. Kol had gotten Elijah and Klaus to agree to let him take you out as Rebekah was buying you new clothes.

"Kol!" You shouted and Kol was there in a flash growling seeing a witch trying to grab you.

"I am Sofie and Y/N here got my sister killed."

To say the siblings were surprised that you were pregnant was an understatement and of course they got more protective. You sat cuddling Rebekah and Kol as he read to you both while Klaus and Elijah was dealing with Marcel.

"You both are home." Kol whispered making Elijah raise an eyebrow walking over seeing you and Rebekah asleep on him. Klaus walked over gently taking the book away.

"Yes well Marcellus is proving to be a hand full." Elijah says softly placing a blanket over you and Rebekah. Klaus sat in a chair smiling listening to the baby's heartbeat.

"How is she?"

"Good. So far no problems. Oh Elena and the Salvatores are coming down." Kol says running his fingers through your hair as Elijah frowned sitting in another chair.

"How annoying. But we shall keep her safe."

"And love her Always and Forever."

"Always and Forever." They heard you mumbled back in your sleep making the men smile softly as they relaxed enjoying the peace while they still can.

[slightlyartist]

Welcome to my JED talk! In this episode I will explain how Jedediah has physical contact as a love language but due to him being small and constantly manhandled and feeling vulnerable he now has trust issues, taking his love language away from him and making him fear any form of physical contact!

Despite all of this, he still shows small (no pun intended) signs of affection towards the ones he fully trust!

Examples:

• Could be a bit of a reach, but Jedediah wanting to fist bump Larry as a sign of trust, strength and to show he believes in him to save everyone.

• Chest bump! He doesn't turn Octavius down, he does give it a thought for a solid 0.1 second but agrees to do it without questioning him. He makes the first move too. Just what buddy pals do, no danger in that!

• Reaching out for comfort! Is he doing this to keep Octavius close, to protect him or to feel protected? It's a dangerous situation but he makes the first move to grab onto something he finds safe, he grabs Octavius' armor, but not in a way that makes him look vulnerable or extremelly scared, but cautious. He stands by his belief of not allowing physical contact to be vulnerable.

• Hug! There is a lot going on here. It's a happy moment, he lets himself get lost in the euphoria and reaches out to hug Octavius without hesitation! However, he stops and is the first one to let go. Is he allowed to be soft? To hold and be held? Octavius notices, he was wrapping his arms around Jed's body the whole time, but at Jed's slight change of expression, he stops too.

• Holding hands! The toughest action of them all. The first time Octavius asks him to hold his hand it was in another dangerous situation. There was a lot going on, yet Jedediah never makes the first move to reach out to him. He is not allowed to be soft. Why would he hold his hand? That can't be right. He doesn't really turn Octavius down, it simply confuses him and has to process it. Was Octavius being vulnerable in front of him? He was, and he begins to understand.

They face another deadly situation, it was the end for them. Is Jedediah really going to be so stubborn as to not seek something that comforts him while dying? No. He is vulnerable, he is soft, he is small and he needs someone close to him. He reaches to Octavius, who taught him that being vulnerable is okay. They hold hands.

• Closeness! One of the biggest changes of both Jed and Oct. I already made a post of its own about this, but in NATM 2 we can see them in different pockets while in NATM 3 they both share one! Being close to someone is not a threat, he enjoys Octavius company and he lets him be near.

• Larry's goodbye. He openly tells Larry to embrace him! Even if it was some sort of joke, he wouldn't actually mind being held anymore. After all he learnt that despite his size it's alright to feel small too, and that people aren't a threat anymore. He is safe so he opens up and so does his arms.

My take on this is that Jedediah is okay with physical contact! His being and experiences around him made him reconsider about how open he should be towards others as it could potentially harm him but, as long as I remember, he never turned down someone he knows for being touchy with him. Octavius never did something to Jedediah without asking beforehand (despite the hug, which was both ways, and he let go the moment Jed changed his body language). He asked for the chest bump, he asked for the hand. He let Jedediah get comfortable at his own pace, he let him make the first moves, he never rushed things either. He knows Jedediah doesn't hate physical contact, but he also knows Jedediah is too stubborn and deep down afraid.

Octavius taught Jedediah that it's okay to hold and be held.

And I think that's beautiful.

Thank you for coming to my JED talk!

[lokislastlove]

No Better Than Beasts (Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader)part 2

Summery: You’re an animal rights activists who sets out to put an end to animal testing… but it’s a risky mission.

Warnings: Implied kidnapping, nothing too bad.

Notes: ok like I said before you can read this as the end or you can venture into the explicit in part 3 it’s up to you! ❤️ thanks for reading!

Part 2:

Steve is intimidatingly large, you noticed the first time he grabbed you unexpectedly. But, you didn’t feel it then like you do now. Looming over you in the dark, his muscular chest pins his hand to your face and effectively traps your arms between you. You realize just how outmatched you really are. He stares down at you, brows furrowed sternly in silent threat as he holds you still, hot breath warming your skin.

You gasp into his palm as you hear the door handle jiggle and the heavy latch slide open a second later.

Oh.

Your fear shifts, no longer fighting against Steve’s hold but instead embracing it, grateful for his taunt muscles that keep you from shaking. You close your eyes as you hear someone else enter the room, and focus on the calming sensation of Steve’s firm pectorals expanding under your fingers and his fresh scented deodorant that fills your nose the more tense he gets.

He seems to sense your distraction and his mouth parts as his eyes flicks down to your cleavage, shirt tugged down awkwardly during your struggle to reveal your lacy bra. Your chest heaves and your eyes flutter as he leans in even more, boots shifting closer so his crotch brushes against your stomach.

He puts his finger to his lips as he holds your gaze, the mysterious footsteps drawing dangerously close. You nod and he releases you. He smooths out his shirt as he steps out from behind the rack and turns to walk down the aisle. You stay flat against the wall, peeking through the narrow gap between the stacked boxes.

“What are you doing in here?” A nasally voice demands as Steve intercepts him.

“Just doing a sweep and saw the light was on,” Steve answers calmly.

“No one is supposed to be in here without special access or an escort,” the small man in the I’ll-fitting suit warns haughtily.

There is a pause as Steve lets out an annoyed sigh, “look I understand the suspicion, but I just came to turn off the light and make sure the room was empty.”

Another pause as the wormy employee mulls over Steve’s response while trying to glance down the end of the row behind him. Steve waits patiently, his wide shoulders blocking any chance of your trembling form from being spotted.

“Alright,” the man mutters finally.

“After you,” Steve gestures toward the door and leads him away.

You hold your breath until you hear the door click closed once more and your back sags against the wall in relief, “shit.”

You wait a few minutes in the darkened corner, too scared to risk moving should the man return. Your pocket buzzes and you dig out your phone to read the text from Steve, “he’s watching me, I’m going to go return the key, lay low and I’ll circle back up to let you know when the coast is clear.”

You slide down the wall as you cower in the corner and wait. The dusty stacks make your nose twitch and you cover your face with both hands to smother a sneeze. Time seems to crawl by, every distant footstep or passing conversation from the hall makes you tense with worry.

You check your phone again, it’s been fifteen minutes and still nothing. The longer you sit here the higher the odds of discovery. Nibbling your lip, you wonder if you should try to sneak out yourself. You have what you came for, you don’t need to wait for Steve. He’s perfectly capable of getting himself out, right?

The smart move would be to leave, trust your gut, why are you letting some near-stranger dictate your decisions?

With a deep breath you push yourself up and quietly creep toward the door, you stay flush against the wall and listen through the cracks of the door for signs of life beyond. The silence beyond is reassuring.

You keep your eyes on the frosted glass as you reach for the handle and press down. The door inches open and you see no one down this half of the hallway so you slide out and quietly close the door behind you. The gentle click of the lock makes you shoot off down the hall at a nervous speed walk.

You slow and peek around the corner. There is no one in sight, but the distant chatter has your muscles tensing as you near the elevator. You walk at a brisk pace, salvation only a few paces away, and dial Steve’s number. You hold the phone up to your ear in the hopes it makes you look less suspicious.

The line clicks and you hear him answer sweetly, “hey honey, what’s up?”

“Hey, I’m about to get on the elevator, on my way home for the day,” you answer in similar performance, nodding to a few people as you pass a row of cubicles.

“What? Honey, I told you not to do anything until I got there,” real anger lacing his flowery tone. “Sorry, I have to go. My wife needs me,” he mutters to someone with him.

Shit, so he’s not in the clear yet either. The elevator dings and you get on, mashing the lobby button insistently. The door closes and you let out a breath, “are you ok? Can you get out?”

You hear him trying to brush off someone with promises to return later before he finally answers, “ok, ok, I’m on my way.”

“I’ll meet you at the café around the corner,” you hang up, heels clacking rapidly across the lobby as you make it to the exit.

The heavy scent of coffee feels like a warm blanket as you make it to the café in record time, the binder hiding the stolen file still clutched tightly against your chest. You find a table in the corner and watch the window for Steve, who finally comes strolling through the door five minutes later, cool as a cucumber, like you weren’t nearly caught stealing.

“Hey, honey,” he smirks and takes a seat on the bench next to you, scooting in noticeably close.

You fidget away and narrow your eyes at him, “you can drop the act now.”

He chuckles and raises his hands but doesn’t move, “alright, alright.”

You let out a breath and pull out the file. You scan the list of facilities and your face lights up when you find what you’re looking for… the perfect target.

“We got ‘em.”

—

You grumble and turn your phone face down on your thigh as you watch the trees zoom past the window. Since your little heist together, Steve hasn’t stopped texting you.

At first it was fine, in fact, it was nice to have someone to talk to that understood where your anxiety was coming from. You had a brief stint of paranoia the next day where you wondered if someone could have caught you on the cameras and come looking for you. But after a week with nothing out of the ordinary you finally regain your focus on the mission.

Now, Steve messages relentlessly, begging to see you or simply spamming you with texts about his day. More recently, however, he sways between heavy flirting and warning you against attempting any more missions without him. It didn’t take long for you to feel smothered by his “concern���. After all, you are an independent and capable woman, you did just fine without him so far.

“Damn,” Fox says, glancing at you from the drivers seat, “I hope that’s not the look you get when I text you.”

You scoff out a surprised laugh and roll your eyes, “no. Never you, Fox.”

“Good. Now put whoever it is out of your mind, we have a job to do,” he nods his head seriously as he grips the steering wheel a bit tighter.

You follow his gaze to the sign ahead, not much further now. You exit the main highway just as the last rays of sun disappear from the horizon. The backroads are a bit bumpy and take longer to weave through in the dark, but it’s safer than trying to approach the facility head on. This way, the van stays hidden and you are harder to track through the woods, it’s a tactic that hasn’t failed you yet.

“Everyone got their gear? And don’t forget to sync up your watches,” you bark as you check your backpack one last time and slam the car door.

You stare around at your small group of rebels, Fox, Bunny, Kitty, and Bear and you can’t help the grin that brightens your face, “this is the big one, guys. The one we’ve been talking about since we first found each other in that lonely activist chat room all those years ago.”

“Y’all are the best thing to come from my use of the internet,” Kitty giggles, hugging Bears arm affectionately.

“We can do this. Just stay focused and make sure you keep an eye on the clock. I don’t want anyone getting left behind. Okay? These animals are counting on all of us,” you squeeze Fox’s hand and he squeezes back with a smile.

It’s a short hike through the woods and a mild climb over a small grassy hill before you reach the chainlink fence surrounding the facility. Bear and Kitty set about cutting a hole big enough for everyone to fit through, while you pull out your binoculars and check the shadowy grounds beyond.

A few patches of trees and shrubbery decorate the well manicured lawn surrounding the building, they will be your best cover as you sneak in closer. The large parking lots near all the entrances are well-lit with several security vehicles parked along the curb. You start to feel the adrenaline flood your body as you sprint across the field and duck behind a shrub. One by one you all gather within the cover of the trees, your black attire keeping you well hidden.

“Ok, Bunny,” you whisper, pointing at the side of the building. “There’s your roof access. We will wait here for your signal.”

Bunny nods and fixes her white rabbit mask before bursting from behind the tree and sprinting across the parking lot toward the fire escape. You all watch nervously as she climbs the creaking ladder and disappears on top of the lowest building.

“Okay, I’m in,” she radios a few minutes later. “Looks like the security system is similar to the last place. Shouldn’t take me too long.”

“Good, we’ll be ready.”

The rest of you fidget anxiously as you wait, crouching on your toes, ready to sprint for the back door at a seconds notice. You scan the parking lot between you and your goal, praying no security guard decides to venture out for an impromptu smoke break or something.

Fortunately, it remains quiet until the walkie crackles and Bunny cries, “go!”

The lights in the parking lot all go dark, and you shoot off into the night toward the heavy metal door. Fox reaches it first, tugging the handle until it opens with a whoosh. You take his place, holding it open as you wave Bear and Kitty inside ahead of you. You pause, just a fraction of a second, to scan the lot behind you once more and that’s all it takes.

A large hand clamps over your mouth and pulls you away from the building. The door slams shut, cutting you off from your friends as you struggle helplessly against the thick arms curling around your waist.

“You should have listened to me,” Steve hisses lowly in your ear.

You scream and kick your legs, but he easily hoists you up and drags you across the parking lot. To your surprise, he tosses you in the front passenger seat of a security car and bends down to hold a finger in your face. You cower in your seat at the dark dangerous look in his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking move,” he threatens and forces the door closed, your arm strength no match for his.

You pull in vain at the door handle as he walks around the front of the car, dragging his fingers across the hood. A whimper escapes you as he opens the door and slides smoothly into the drivers seat with a sigh.

“Let me out, Steve. Those are my friends in there,” you try to sound unshaken as you press your back against the door.

The radio crackles on your hip followed by the panicked voice of kitty calling for you, and your eyes widen as they meet Steve’s menacing gaze.

“Don’t,” his jaw ticks.

You quickly reach for the radio, finger just managing to touch the button but not long enough to warn them. Steve reaches over to rip it from the hook on your pants, pulling so hard he tears the seem along your hip. You growl angrily and try to fight for it back, desperate to help them.

“Stop! I have to –,” you cry before his hand is around your throat, your face smacking into the window with a dull thud.

You whine in pain as bright dots speckle your vision and Steve squeezes, causing you to choke on the gasp trying to leave your throat.

With his other hand he pulls something from the glove compartment and you hear the chilling rip of duct tape. He smiles as he bites down and tears off a long strip. Your eyes swim with hot tears as he releases your neck only to bind your wrists tightly.

“Please, Steve. Don’t. Why are you doing th-,” you croak before he tears another piece off and smooths it over your mouth.

He sits back in his seat with a hum as he watches the tears stream down your face, dark eye makeup staining your cheeks. He tilts his head as his eyes drift down your body, attention lingering on the large slit torn down the outside of your thigh.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he accuses.

Your breath picks up as you frantically shake your head, trying to deny his claim but all he hears are grunts and groans. In the pale light of the moon filtering through the tinted windows, you can just see the corner of his mouth curl in amusement.

“Don’t you lie to me, little puppy,” Your eyes narrow at the nickname and he laughs, “oh sorry, ‘puppy’ was my code name for you… I’ve grown rather fond of it.”

You glower, nostrils flaring in anger at his breezy attitude while your friends are in danger. How did you ever convince yourself it was safe to trust this asshole?

“No, no. What did you call yourself? Artemis? Yeah, Artemis…” he slithers, rolling your code name over his tongue with a bitter distaste.

He raises a brow, delighted at your shock. How did he know that? You never told him about your friends or your code names.

“Oh yes. We know all about you and your friends,” he muses. “Artemis, mistress of animals.”

His patronizing tone grates your nerves, and your wrists twist against the thick tape.

“Now, now… don’t get all excited. I came here to help. I mean,” he scoffs, “did you really think you and your little criminal friends would get away with what you did? You think there wouldn’t be consequences for stealing from these people?”

You glare at him through watery eyes until the bright lights flood the car and you panic as the facilities power returns at least fifteen minutes before it’s supposed to. You whimper as you watch the lines of men in tactical gear and guns cover all the exits and rush into the building.

“No!” You groan into the tape and shaking your head in dismay, heart clenching painfully.

“I told you, I came here to save you. Well… in a matter of speaking,” he chuckles as you stare wide-eyed out the window as the security drags out each of your friends one by one and throws them in the back of a dark van.

You pound against the windshield as they drag Fox’s limp body toward the van and chuck him inside carelessly before slamming the door. They drive off as you sob, your body going boneless in defeat.

You flinch as Steve pets your head and hushes you, “it’s ok, I made a deal with them for you. You’re coming home with me, little pup. You’re safe now.”

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen @threeminutesoflife @queenoftheworldisdead @emberenchanted @thiskindahotkindamusic @lokiswildheartcantbebroken @needleandhammer @buttercupfangirl @jaspearl31 @queenyanna111 @nekoannie-chan @maluisamarvelfan123 @patzammit

[tinyvesselhearts]

Thing Is: Chapter 5 (Egon x Reader)

You’re shivering. It’s stress, fear and the wind.

Just when Egon’s silhouette disappears inside the house, you rush to the car. There’s no time to waste. Your trembling body should calm down if you occupy yourself with practical, physical tasks.

Ray’s packed five pedal traps. He must’ve expected this bust to be tricky. You pull two of them out of the trunk and move towards the house, long grass clinging to your boots. The sky is almost black— clouds clashing into a pile of chaos— but there’s no sign of rain. You force yourself not to think too much of it.

You set the two traps in place: just outside the stoop, down the stairs, so that you’re able to see the ghosts when they come. Once they sit, you spool out the cords and stretch them until you bump into the car. Perfect: the pedals are both within one foot’s reach. Even if you panic, you’ll leap right onto all buttons— if they activate at once, chances of missing the vapors are minimal. Yeah, yeah, okay— you’re also wildly aware of how easy it’d be to open the wrong one— but it doesn’t matter if you’re smart about it, right? Even if that means dumbing down your strategy.

You reach to the trunk again and that’s when it starts.

F' ah nog, f' ah hupa.

You jump. An ugly, gurgle- like noise appears right behind your ear. There’s a whisper. A few words. You don’t recognize them at all. It’s a chant— seems like— but there’s no way for you to make out any of the words. They clump into one another and form some sort of horrifying language: impossible to understand, impossible to mimic.

“…Ah! Heck, no!”

Eyes frantic, breath short, you turn your head around only to see nothing. Shite. You’re sure it’s not you’re your imagination. It can’t be a Class 4. They don’t behave like that. Egon wrote that Classes 5 and higher took pleasure in taunting. Class 6— they’re highly intelligent, often malicious, Class 7s are usually set on a goal. Whatever this one is, it’s smart and despite your plea— maybe it’s just a gust ectoplasmic mist we’re having here, it’s invisible and outside the premises, right?…— all the evidence threaten to quash your hope.

You grab two more traps from the trunk when—

F' mgep llll mgepfhtagn y'nahh.

It’s loud. The voice pulses in your head. A deep roar escapes your throat. Traps slip out of your hands and land on the grass with a flat thud. You bend in half, your hands shoot towards your temples and fingers dig into your scalp. It doesn’t hurt but it’s invasive— the voice seems too close, too clear and way too tactile.

“Argh! No, no, no, no, absolutely NOT!”

You huff, groan and bend over to pick up the traps. Heck, shouldn’t you charge the proton rod instead? The ghost may be invisible but it’s still real. Corporeal— sort of— in a weird, capturable way. Two traps are out in the field so if you could somehow, magically, scoop the vapor and drag it in, you could handle the issue yourself.

The proton pack is humming with energy. You pull out the rod. A few steps towards the porch and you’re ready to shoot. You’re exposed. A bait again.

(Egon’s reaction is embossed in your memory— the exasperation, the utter disappointment in his eyes— and you frown because, urgh, okay— but this time it’s different. Now the spirit is a spooky type, not a poltergeist. Hasn’t caused physical damage so far. Scary but harmless. Heck, it hasn’t even shown itself yet, so chances of you getting hurt like the last time are minimal. As long as you keep your wits about you, everything’s going to be alright…)

Wind picks up. It’s stronger by the minute. Wild gusts toss your hair, strands invade your lips. The air is dry and sharp, it stings in your eyes— pinches your cheeks— you can’t see—

“Yo! Come on!” You shout. “Come at me!”

You’re panting. Your knuckles turn white. You hold on to the rod for your dear life, whip it around, hypervigilant.

C' ah ahna geb mgep h' nafl'fhtagn.

A proton stream blows a hole in the roof. You scream, stumble and lift your head to see a shaky beam rip through slates, across the rotten ceiling. It’s coming from the inside, which means one of the Ghostbusters is trying to capture a vapor. The roof is barely standing. If they do that again…

“…Oh no. Guys! BOYS!”

You want to dash towards the mansion— screw the ghosts and traps— but if you run inside and fail to make it, you’re at risk as well. You can’t help from an even worse position so you just stand there, petrified, your head pulsing with adrenaline and sheer dread. If you rush there and something happens, you’ll only cause more problems. If you don’t move… Well, if you don’t—

Geb c' nog.

“No, NO—”

Sharp roofs of the wooden vault give in. Another beam sears through, this time reaching so far it hits a nearby tree. A branch breaks. The ceilings cave in. They collapse in an instant.

The sight is surreal. It happens so fast. Walls on the second floor burst. A hail of splinters pours onto the porch. Some heavy object must have hit the chimney because the bricks crack and the whole shaft falls into pieces. Huge chunks of concrete burst through the floors, leaving breaches of sharp planks behind. There are screams— the boys, they’re there, you have to go help them— but you’re hopeless— and the tree is burning, the branch is ablaze, spreading wildfire across the remnants of oaken stakes and furniture. Before you know it, the mansion is reduced to a pile of dust and rubble.

Your breath hitches.

…Boys.

You dash forward. Scan the area. A faint glow of burning wood lights the ruins, allowing you to see shapes and silhouettes. Their faint outline seems static. Smell of must, humidity and ash tinges your throat. Sharp air stings your eyes. Your breath comes out as puffs of thick steam. Your lungs are burning.

“EGON!” You yell. “RAY!”

“They’re here!”

It’s Winston. Of course the most resourceful out of the bunch will make it out first. He scrambles out and waves at you.

You run— climbing the debris, pieces of concrete and wood— until you’re right before him.  You take his face into your hands and tilt it sideways. Something warm and wet seeps onto your fingers and you pray for it to be sweat— but it’s not— it’s dark, sticks to your nails and smells like iron.

“Are you alright?” You ask. “You’re… Your brow...”

Winston takes your hands into his and gently pulls them away.

“Sugar. Don’t worry about me.”

A few steps away, Egon limps out from beneath heavy blocks of wood. His glasses are gone. Hair is disheveled, ashy, blood is dripping from his nose. His breath is heavy and for some reason— one you aren’t sure you want to know— a latex glove is pressed tight against his side as he makes his way towards the two of you.

You let out a sob.

“…Egon.”

“We miscalculated. The vapors were coordinated for some reason. They moved in sync”, he gasps, then looks at you. “Are you hurt?”

“…You idiot! You’ve just fallen down like a piece of rubble and you’re asking me—”

“Just tell me.”

His breathing is rapid, gaze fixed and steady. You fall quiet. The sight brands in your memory: how he winces, how he’s in pain, how he’s hurting— and how absurd it is that the only thing he seems to care about is… to make sure…

“…I’m okay.”

“Good”, he nods. “The rest?”

A pile of rubble shakes and there he is— Peter Venkman, the immortal son of a glitch— whose right sleeve is absolutely on fire but the man himself is unscathed. Winston hops to him and pats it until it’s off.

“Ah, shoot. It was my last hope for a smoking hot body.”

“Where’s Ray?”

A cough rumbles from beneath a pile of debris. Winston rushes there and you follow without thinking. Ray’s leg is trapped, squeezed by some furniture and he’s lying face down, barely able to lift his head up to catch a breath. Winston’s quick to assess the scene and come up with the logistics. With a quick motion of his head, he directs you: let’s lift the armchair first.

It takes a few minutes but the two of you manage to pull Ray out. He’s almost limp when he props against your arms. His confused face is caked with ash. Looks dizzy— disoriented? Hit his head?— but since he’s alive and vaguely okay, Peter looks satisfied.

“Ray, my pretty boy! How does the ash taste?”

Ray puffs out a cloud of dust.

“Sour”, he grunts, wincing.

---

You aren’t allowed into the emergency room. Using a surname badge as a leverage doesn’t work— a Spengler patch isn’t exactly an equivalent of an ID and you can’t blame the staff. Your options are reduced to: A— waiting outside or B—going back to the station.

Frankly, you are exhausted. Winston urges you to leave: he hands you a pile of dirty jumpsuits (just put them in the washing machine, they can wait till tomorrow) and says you should take some rest. Your heart has a hard time relenting but your limbs speak for themselves. Adrenaline is leaving your body— you can feel it. Everything slows down. The boys are taken care of. They’re in good hands. You should go home.

You don’t.

It's later that evening when you step into the empty station. It’s dark. Cold. With the lights off and no ambient sounds, it feels odd— unfamiliar, almost inhospitable. There’s nobody tinkering with the car. No radio, no phone calls, no bantering— as if the life evaporated with the guys. You’re tentative about going further. It feels invasive. The bundle of jumpsuits requires a wash though and you’re determined to do it today. With that in mind, you make a beeline to the laundry room. You need some time to think.

You throw everything into the washing machine and strip off the borrowed uniform. The flannel shirt you’re wearing is way too cold at this hour so you reach for the clothes hanging on the strings: some tops and bottoms slimed a few days ago. They’re clean and dry. You fold them.

One of the sweaters belongs to Egon. You put it on. It’s a little big but delightfully soft. And, heck, yes— you know it’s probably a little intrusive, and a tad inappropriate— but it warms you up. Doesn’t carry Egon’s scent, it’s fresh out of the laundry. Borrowed from a common room, not stolen from his wardrobe— and for comfort, not recreation. None of that exonerates you but it surely serves as extenuating circumstance so you snug the garment around your frame and move towards the cupboards.

In a few moments all jumpsuits land inside the machine. You load a mixture of powder and softeners, then set it on a slow, overnight program. You press a button. Wait.

The drum moves. Water flushes in. Foam clings to the glass.

You prop against a wall and let your legs slide until you sit on the tiles. Your mind is blank, eyelids heavy. Your head tilts forward till it rests on your knees, drowning in the steady rhythm and gentle squelch of the washer.

“Oh!” You hear. “That’s a surprise.”

Your head shoots up. Egon’s standing in the doorframe, carrying the shirt he wore during the bust. His hair is still a tangled mess— devoid of ash, at least. Shiny glasses adorn his pretty face. Must’ve taken the spares from the lab.

“Egon, you’re here? They discharged you?”

“Yes. Sorry. I didn’t realize you came to the station”, he frowns. “Didn’t Winston tell you to rest?”

“I just wanted to finish up. Where’s Ray?”

“Still there. It’s possible he has a mild concussion. Peter and Winston sneaked out of the hospital in case the Mayor’s men come looking for us.”

“Ah, yes! Right, right. I forgot that’s a thing.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence. Both of you watch the washer— the drops and tides, the soaked uniforms bashing against the walls. A low, humming noise fills the room.

You shift a little.

“Sorry about earlier. I could’ve warned you when I saw the first stream rip through.”

“Don’t. Lack of proper maintenance is the Mayor’s fault.”

“Do the ghosts still… reside there?” You squint. “ I mean, if the house collapsed…”

“Class 5s might’ve escaped. They can move freely. But Class 4s are definitely still around.”

You hum and rest your head on your knees again.

There’s plenty you don’t understand. Lots of things you have yet to read in Egon’s journal— most of them too advanced for you. Had you been more knowledgeable and more experienced, you wouldn’t bother the boys with your ghost encounter. You’d look it up yourself. The language though, the sounds falling into one another like an abhorrent gurgle were almost surreal. You can’t withhold it. Egon should know.

“I have something to tell you”, you say. “There was… someone. I heard something speaking to me. A ghost of some kind must’ve been outside as well. It was talking. Making noises and I couldn’t understand anything.”

He looks at you.

“Did you see it?”

“No, but—”

“Come with me.”

He reaches his hand and pulls you up from the ground. You go upstairs. Egon grabs a few devices on the go while you follow, praying for strength to keep your eyes open.

“Tell me, how did you know about Koth?”

“I’m not sure. It just popped in my mind. I get that sometimes”, you shrug. “Associating smells with events or tastes with places, for instance. Thought I’d just heard it somewhere and it triggered a memory.”

“Mm, that’s curious. You might be susceptible to psychic stimuli. Can I run a few tests?”

“I mean”, you yawn. “Will it require my active participation? Can I leave you to it, while sinking into a magnificent cot and stretching in an embarrassing, unladylike manner?”

He stops and turns to face you.

“How long have we known each other?”

“Enough?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Yeah, sharing the laundry really knits people tight”, you chuckle. “Let’s move, then.”

He lets you into their sleeping quarters and nods. You take the cue, saunter towards his bed and huddle there. Egon sits down on Ray’s cot. Knees touch. You watch him fiddle with the equipment. It must be a whole new level of exhaustion but you mindlessly lift a finger and touch his nose.

“No blood.”

He freezes.

“Got checked. Nothing serious.”

“Mm. You looked radical though.”

“Interesting”, he says and you have no idea how to interpret that. “Lay down, please?”

That’s what you do. Stretching your back after today feels glorious and you’re absolutely taking your time. You roll a little, outstretch your feet, grunt and sigh, and there you are— slack and susceptible. Egon allows you to sink into a comfortable position. He turns on the PKE meter, then gently takes your hand.

It’s delightful beyond anything you’ve known so far.

“I’m literally falling asleep”, you hum.

“I don’t mind.”

“I do. I have to go home. Take a shower and get changed before I show up to work tomorrow.”

“We are taking a few days off, at least until Ray comes round. There’s no need to rush. I suggest you crash over here and leave in the morning, if you insist.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not. Get some proper rest. I’ll be able to determine whether these anomalies reoccur throughout the night or not. It’s beneficial for both of us.”

You want to argue a little but your muscles feel sore. Egon’s hand is holding yours and the grip is steady, firm and sure. He's safe.

You’re on the brink of slumber when his voice brings you back to reality.

“You’re wearing my sweater.”

“…It’s warm”, you manage. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll...”

“No. You’re welcome to do that. Surely, you must know that at this point.”

“I figured. Assumed, more like. Do we have rules about it?”

“No. I guess we should, but…”, he seems to ponder. “Actually, I’d appreciate if you refrain from throwing it in the laundry before giving it back to me. I need it for a test.”

“Oh. Do I want to know?”

He’s stalling— you can hear it.

“You should”, he retracts the device and adjusts something. “I have a theory about the effects of pheromones. My body seems to react to your scent. It’s unusually responsive. Gradually increasing. It’s getting… rather bothersome. I’m not sure whether it’s good or bad— but it’s there and I’m in great need of more data. With your consent, that is.”

A wave of heat runs through you. Has he just…?

“Yeah”, you exhale. “I consent.”

“Alright then”, he whispers, retracting his hand. “We’re done for now. PKE levels aren’t indicative of demonic possession, so we can rule that out. That’s good news but I want to have you here throughout the night: for observation. Keep the sweater. I’ll fetch you fresh linen.”

“Wait. Can we— can I, uh…”, you move your fingers, “…have some more? Of this? Please. Just… Just because…”

“Yes”, he says but you fail to register. Your mind is on and off, in that weird hypnagogic state where you forget to complete a sentence— or remember the context, or purpose and the point you’re trying to make with your rushing train of thought.

“…Ah, sorry. I’m… being stupid. I was scared. For you, guys. For a second I thought I was going to lose you. It was…” you huff. “Sorry. I apologize. I didn’t— I don’t mean to—”

“Stop right there.” Egon cuts in and you fall quiet. “There’s no need for excuses. Ask.”

"...Please."

He laces your palms together. His hand is wide and warm. His fingers slide in between yours— slowly, gently— and he’s taking his time to prove it’s alright— the touch like this, skin to skin— it’s good— it’s okay.

You sigh, eyes flutter shut again.

His warmth seeps through. It envelops your skin. One slow tug and your entwined hands are just a breath away from your lips. Calming heat radiates onto your cheeks. A wave of sooth overflows your body. The boys made it. They’re safe. The fact sinks in.

“I have to go to the lab. Need to write down my initial thoughts and parameters for future reference.”

“Come here later?”

“Yes. Should be back in a few minutes.”

“Stay?”

“Of course.”

Your eyes are closed. You’re dozing off, smile tugging at your lips, shamelessly snugging into Egon’s hand. Heck— if you weren’t so beat you wouldn’t dare crossing that line— but the day’s already gotten out of hand and you couldn’t care less. The two of you are alone. It’s late. All of it stays here. You can have this moment.

Exhaustion makes you weak. You succumb to peace and quiet, to the warmth and familiar scents. You allow the long- awaited slumber to take over you. There’s no certainty— it could be merely a figment of imagination— a subconscious— a wish of a tired mind— or a dream— but you’d swear a thumb lies on your cheek until you fall asleep.

[yoshikage-kiras-slut]

Kira comes home covered in blood, you’re immediately worried and he looks equally concern when he noticed you were home outside the usual hours.

"Yoshikage, welco- Yoshikage?! Are you okay? What happened?" You panicked and immediately dropped the plate you were holding because you had decided to wash dishes while waiting for your lover to come home. Your manager released you from your shift early because of some incident you couldn't care less about because that means you could greet Kira home first. But the moment Kira walked through the door, hair a bit disheveled, shirt soaked up in blood as if he's just been stabbed with splatters of it across his face seemingly fresh, your heart dropped.

"Wha- (Y/N)?" He paused in his tracks as he heard his beloved's voice. You heard something thump on the ground but you didn't spare a glance as you looked at him. He seemed paralyzed in shock and fear. "What are you doing here? You.. You aren't supposed to be here at this time…"

"What do you mea-  that's not important right now!" You accidentally raised your voice at him, you couldn't help it. "Oh god, should I call the police? The hospital?" You rushed towards him and just as you were about to lay a hand on him so you can check what's up, his hand shot up to grab your wrists. His gorgeous eyes staring at you but you could see that it was unfocused as he started rambling about how you weren't supposed to be here, and that he made sure to make the timing correct.

You winced in pain as you felt his grip tightened around it. You tried to pull yourself away but it was practically almost impossible with his strength in comparison to yours. The longer he had you in this position, the more time you had to finally calm down. Once calm, you noticed that Kira didn't seem to be any pain which made you feel some sort of relief. But that shouldn't be possible with the amount of blood on him.

Wait. Was that even his own blood?

Your blood ran cold, as your mind started racing as you had to think of what to do. Every part of you wanted to run but looking at Kira, that does not seem to be a good idea right now. Whether it was his blood or not,  you had to get him to let you go. "Yoshikage." Nope, he still wasn't listening. "Yoshikage. It hurts, please let me go." You said more urgently, to which he finally snapped back to reality. He seemed to hesitate so you said, "I promise I won't go anywhere, please let me go." Kira's grip finally loosen. You pulled your hand back to your side and rubbed it, a bruise beginning to form on the sore skin.

However, just as you promised, you stayed because if you broke it- you swore that Kira would have murdered you. That look in his eyes, were ones of a predator when he let go. 

Kira didn't apologize to you, which was odd because he usually would have but then again, he wasn't in the right state of mind. 

Your heart started to beat faster again as you were met with silence, with Kira still staring at you, covered in blood. Oh. Oh are you starting to feel something about this?

The thought of you getting flustered over your lover being covered in blood, that was sickening and weird. But why did it suit him so well? 

"Yoshikage Kira." You saw his face cringed but he was still watching your every action carefully. You took a deep breath before using both of your hands to caress his cheeks, your thumb smearing whatever blood that was slightly clumped on his face. Not sticky, but it was a bit dry and flaky by now. 

You saw him eased into your hand, finally closing his eyes. This sight of him made your heart skipped a beat and you bit your bottom lip.

His outfit was in a slight disarray, he was slightly sweaty too, it was so unusual for someone who so particular about appearances. 

Finally, you hugged him, not caring that the blood was getting on you too. Glancing right behind him, you noticed a disembodied arm, hand still attached. Now.. That was going to be another conversation right after you get Kira to calm down. Pressing your face against his chest, you could hear his heart beating super fast. 

"I'm so glad you're okay.." You whispered. 

You were too focused on his heartbeat that you didn't notice Kira sighing in relief. That man was just moments away of making you disappear off this planet for good until you reassure him that you weren't going to go away. However you did something that completely surprised him.

"To be honest, I don't know what exactly happened but- I'll always be by your side.. Don't worry." Deep inside he doubted that but you've been together for roughly 3 years already. All thoughts though, flew out the window when you kissed him while holding his bloodied hands with your cleaned ones.

And just like that, you can live to see another day.