#and the next day or night he had to fend for himself against a monster in the house

[justgoji]

so I had a nightmare and I went to see my mom about it and she didn’t care or even bother to ask if I was alright :(

[thefreakandthehair]

happy (belated, sorry!) birthday to @henderdads!! this was supposed to be just fluffy but y'know. the hurt/comfort monster got me. I hope you had a perfect day! <333

can also be found here on AO3!

stars and satellites (will always bring me home)

---

Eddie tries not to think about his birthday. 

He and Wayne have an agreement to let it pass with little to no mention, save for his 16th birthday when he’s able to start driving and his 18th birthday when he hands Eddie a few singles and tells him to go grab himself his first legal pack of cigarettes— and to get one for him, too, since he’ll be at the store anyways. 

It works for Eddie and he goes as far as to hide his birthday from his friends for as long as he possibly can. Gareth, Jeff, and Frank still have no idea. The new found family he’s been adopted into since averting the (apparently third or fourth) Apocalypse don’t know, despite being asked by just about everyone at least once. It’s a fine-tuned skill, evading the question and changing the subject. 

“Hey Eddie, when’s your birthday? Did we miss it already this year?” Dustin asks at Will’s own birthday party. 

Eddie smirks. “Roll for insight, Young Henderson.” 

“Alright, got a die?” 

“Nope, darn!” Eddie pretends to pat the pockets of his jeans before shrugging and walking away. 

Nancy is the hardest to fend off but unless she finds his birth information through the microfiche at the library, he’s stalwart in his stance. She might, though, and that’s his only real concern. But by and large, his friends let it go, chalking it up to one of Eddie’s many quirks and occasionally joking about it when someone else’s birthday rolls around. The one person who won’t put it down though? 

Steve Harrington. 

Steve I Throw Parties For Everyone Harrington. Steve I’m Going To Annoy You About This At Least Once A Week Harrington. Steve Is It Today? Is It Tomorrow? You Seem Like A Winter Baby? Harrington.

And truthfully, Eddie can’t find it within himself to be genuinely mad at him about it, despite having snapped at everyone else who’s dared to ask more than once. Eddie grants Steve a pass for reasons he’s not quite ready to evaluate just yet, reasons he knows he’ll never tell, reasons that would require the same security clearance that knowing his birthday would because knowing his birthday would mean knowing this past. He’s not sure yet if he wants everyone— or anyone— to know about his dear old dad. 

In true The Universe Must Be Sentient And Actively Hate Me fashion, Steve happens to ask him again on his actual birthday. Steve’s backyard is glowing in the bluish tint of the full moon, stars twinkling in and out behind rogue clouds and smoke billowing from the joint they pass between them up towards the sky. It’s cold— early February in Hawkins is no joke— but Steve and Eddie have discovered an affinity for the cold breeze against their skin, finding it grounding and centering in its own way. 

“So, when’s your birthday? Is it getting close?” It’s a question Eddie’s heard no less than twenty times in the same cheeky intonation, Steve having learned not to expect anything besides an out of pocket response. What he doesn’t expect is silence. Steve never expects silence from Eddie. 

He turns to look at Eddie and sees him sitting in the same patio chair he’s been in all night, right next to him— too close, but not close enough at the same time. One leg is drawn up beneath one thigh and Eddie looks up at the sky, pointedly avoiding eye contact. If the moment didn’t feel as heavy as it does, Steve would find himself staring at the muscles of his neck and the way his throat bobs when he swallows. It is heavy though, and Steve can only focus on the weight of the space between them. 

“Hey, you good? You know I’m just fucking with you, right?” Steve asks, passing the joint back to him as an excuse to pull his attention back from the sky above them. Of all of the things Steve’s imagined having to fight for attention from, the moon was certainly not one of them but he supposes that tracks for Eddie. Nothing about Eddie is according to plan. 

Eddie takes the joint and carefully avoids Steve’s eyes, keeping his glance at his hands before returning to the stars and taking a deep inhale. Another few hits will make this all go away, he thinks to himself. The day had been difficult— memories he’d rather not have creeping up and wrapping themselves around his limbs like living vines.

Steve watches little bits of smoke curl out on his exhale and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. 

“Ed, seriously, I’ll stop asking. I’m just teasing, I’ll quit it, just stop with the silence, dude. It’s… weird.” 

“Why?” Eddie asks, quietly. It’s just a single word but he’ll take it. 

“Why is it weird?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Because you’re not quiet. You don’t do silence unless something’s wrong.” 

“Maybe something is.” 

Steve sits for a second, his brain running in circles around itself. You fucked it up, c’mon, you kept asking, you knew better, why’d you have to keep prying, now you made him uncomfortable like you swore not to do—

“I can smell your brain overheating from here, Steve. Relax. It’s not you, I promise.” Eddie chuckles humorlessly under his breath and he makes a spontaneous decision, an impulsive decision he might regret but there's a little part of him that finds it hard to believe he'll ever regret sharing something with Steve.

“Then what is it? What’s wrong? Is it, y’know, End of the World- related or…?” Steve’s voice trails off. Part of the reason they’ve come to have these nights smoking in the cold, alone together, is that exactly: End of the World- related invisible scars. But Eddie just shakes his head no and sighs, placing the joint down on the glass patio table. 

“It’s today.” 

“Huh?”

Eddie turns to face him and raises both eyebrows. “It’s. Today. My birthday. It’s today.” 

“Wait— shit, really? And you’re telling me?” Steve’s heart pounds in his chest, not blind to the gravity of Eddie telling him his closest kept secret. 

Eddie shrugs and smiles without it touching his eyes. “Guess so. Take it to your grave, please?” 

“Well yeah, man, I don’t make a habit of going around and telling people’s secrets. But… thanks? For trusting me?” Steve reaches the few inches to Eddie’s shoulder and lets his hand rest there. It's contact but it's not enough. It’s never really enough, but it has to be. He has no reason to think Eddie feels the same way about him and he’ll be damned if he loses his best friend— second only to Robin, but that’s besides the point. The point is, he rests his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and lets his fingers move in slow repetitive circles into the fabric of Eddie’s jacket. 

“You’re welcome. It’s just— I have some… not so great memories attached to my birthday so I don’t celebrate it. Rather it just not exist, to be honest.” 

“Well, since it’s a big secret, you could just make it another day, y’know. We’ll all respect it and you can, like, create new memories and start over.”

Eddie glances down at Steve’s hand wandering, absentmindedly trailing his fingers along the base of his neck and to collarbone. Fuck his birthday, and fuck the horrible memories Clyde Munson had poured into it. The way his heart tumbles from his chest into his mouth negates all of it. 

“Really? Any suggestions?” He breathes, relieved that Steve doesn’t pry. He’s learned enough about Steve’s own childhood though to imagine why he doesn’t. For all of their outward differences, Steve gets it. Gets him. 

Steve watches Eddie’s eyes widen before they glance down at his hand and back up, filled with something that looks dangerously like hope. Steve, in turn, feels something dangerously like hope. 

“Maybe the day you woke up? In the hospital? I don’t know, I can see you liking the whole phoenix thing. Rebirth into something beautiful or whatever.” 

Eddie’s breath catches. Beautiful feels like an overinflated balloon floating precariously through the woods in Steve’s backyard— cheerful and buoyant, but always at the risk of catching on too sharp of a branch and tumbling back down to the hard ground. 

“Beautiful, huh?” 

“Yeah. It fits you.” Steve’s hand wanders again, this time intentionally, to brush a piece of Eddie’s hair behind his ear and cupping the side of his face. 

“Steve…” He whispers as they move slowly— achingly slowly— together, as though attached by an invisible thread. And maybe they are— the little red string of fate that’s been pulling them closer and closer since the day they met. Close enough now, finally, for Eddie to know how Steve’s lips feel against his, how his hands feel in his hair, how his heart beats in his chest when Eddie presses one hand there to tether himself to reality with nothing. No one but his stars watch him find his way back home, to Steve, where he should've been all along.

Eddie’s new birthday becomes April 2nd, the day he’d woken up from the induced coma. Eddie and Steve’s anniversary becomes February 9th, his old birthday. He can’t imagine a better way to create beauty out of ashes.

[brianllamawrites]

Disrupted Sleep (Harry x Reader)

A/N: It's been a little while! Uni has been keeping me busy but I've finally gotten around to writing something (this one took sooo long to finish lmao). Unsurprisingly, it is yet another fic about sleep haha. I can't guarentee when the next fic will be out but if you want to be tagged in anything feel free to let me know! :)

Word Count: 823

Tagging: @ageless-aislynn @khayrrilrainxwells @mcbenson25

Disturbed by your heavy breathing, a hot bead of sweat slipped down your forehead. With the tips of your fingers, you rubbed your eyes hoping to adjust to the pitch-blackness around you. Exhausted, you let your hand rest on your face for a moment. The room had that autumn chill to it, but your cheeks were still burning. Ugh. Being careful not to disturb the duvet too much, you rolled onto your side and shuffled out from beneath the cover. The cool air was surprisingly unpleasant. With half your face smushed against your pillow, you squinted through the dark towards your bedside clock: Half past one. How was it only half past one?

You shifted onto your back and stared up at the ceiling -- what was a pallid magnolia in the day was now a dark breeding ground for unwanted thoughts. Eyelids were heavy, and eyes were strained, but going back to sleep now felt impossible. You forced a deep breath, struggling with the lump in your throat and your tight chest.

What was it even about? The nightmare happened a mere few minutes ago but the more you tried to remember it, the less it made any sense. It was night. You were alone- Well, almost alone. There was something else in the dark. Running. Hunting. And just as it reached out for you, your eyes shot open and you woke up... Or at least, you were pretty sure you woke up. The distant, quiet hum of a car passing by outside was too real of a detail for it to still be a dream. Surely?

The back of two cold fingers grazed your cheek, sending a chill down your spine. You flinched away and turned your head to meet a rather concerned pair of blue eyes.

"Are you alright?" mumbled Harry, his sweet calm voice filling the silence.

Your heart slowed to a steady pace; Harry always had that effect on you. Through the dark, you could see hints of bags under his eyes -- a  result of the increasingly late nights he was spending at STAR Labs. Bless him. He was always so determined to help everyone out that he often forgot to take care of himself.

You shot him a forced smile. "Yeah, of course."

"You're awake at half one in the morning."

"So are you."

"Y/N," he quietly grumbled, seeing straight through your façade.

You really didn't want him to spend his first work-free night in ages wide awake and worrying about you. 

"I'm fine, really, I just..."

Harry wrapped the duvet over you and slid his hand across your stomach, hooking around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You couldn't help but nuzzle against his chest -- a place where no nightmarish monsters could get you. You were safe. Truly.

If only you had Harry by your side in your dream, whatever was after you would have found itself meeting a gruesome end, whilst you would find yourself with your lips against your dazzling hero. Oh, what a dream that would have been.

"I think I had a nightmare." You spoke into the fabric of Harry's top, hoping it would somehow absorb the shakiness of your voice. It was leftover fear. Fear that was quickly dissipating away with every rise and fall of Harry's chest against your cheek.

"You never have much luck when it comes to sleeping, do you?" Harry murmured.

His soft lips pressed against the top of your head and his arms squeezed tight, ridding you of the last few memories of that dreaded nightmare. He was the perfect level of cosy warmness, not hot enough to make your warm cheeks feel fiery again, but certainly warm enough to fend off the autumn chill surrounding the two of you. It was enough to lull you back to the verge of sleep -- especially with Harry's gentle, rhythmic breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

You could picture it now, a horrid shadow monster with pure shock on its face as Harry stepped in between you and it. Harry would have his pulse rifle on him -- as always -- and he'd have it poised in the air as if it weighed nothing, partnered with that overly confident smirk of his. The nightmarish monster wouldn't stand a chance. And after all was said and done, Harry would sling the rifle around his shoulder before bringing his hands to your waist. Your lips would be inches apart, a sweet kiss waiting on the horizon to see which one of you would break eye contact first. Yes. That would be a good dream.

You were so close to letting your eyes stay closed for the rest of the night that you almost didn't hear Harry ask once more if you were alright. In your defence, he spoke so softly, you could have sworn he was about to fall asleep as well.

"Yeah," you mumbled, "I think I'm gonna be just fine."

[danvssomethingorother]

I’ve been working on my first Krauser / Leon fic, have a little sample:

-June 1999-

It was midnight and Jack Krauser was awake. Nothing out of the ordinary, his body had never known when to shut off. Summer was in full swing and even with no sun, it felt like an oven. That was likely the reason he couldn’t sleep in the barracks. The base was empty besides him and Kennedy, but he still chose to stay close to his new student. He had made sure Kennedy was still sleeping before slipping out for air.

After a month of not being allowed to shower, Kennedy was smelling ripe, and the heat made it nauseating.

He was out in nowhere Arizona surrounded by nothing but desert and mountains. He found himself hiking up an incline to an old mesquite tree. It was dead, he leaned against it and stared towards an ant hill.

How long till Kennedy broke? That’s what this was about, wasn’t it? One moment Krauser was facing dishonorable discharge for a few incidents his superiors suspected him of and the next he was being paid overtime for it. Kid was fucked up as it was, but Benford had a theory if you took all the humanity out of him, he would be an unstoppable force against whoever gets under the man’s skin. Adam Benford was a real pain in the ass, he wouldn’t take no from Krauser. He either took his offer to train Kennedy for his new little organization or Jack would finally be facing jail time for the mercenary work he wasn’t aware they knew about. STRATCOM needed hardened weapons to get rid of the monsters popping out of the dark and poor Kennedy seemed like subject zero.

Speak of the devil, he didn’t need to turn, the boy was soft footed enough to sneak past the dead (literally he had been told) but as mentioned, kid smelled.

“Major,” he was hesitant. Krauser glanced back seeing his pressed lips and folded arms, his foot was scraping against the dirt.

“I know its your job to destroy me,” he took a deep breath before staring Krauser firmly in the eyes, “But I won’t. After the hell I came from I promised myself I wouldn’t and I don’t plan on it.”

Krauser smirked at the sheer hatred and determination shining in his eyes. Boy had a fire in him. He respected it and he would enjoy smashing him under foot until he was willing to kill whoever the government told him to.

“You say that now, rookie,” he snickered staring into the distance. He didn’t give the boy a chance to react before snatching him by the throat and kneeing him hard enough to take to the ground.

Kid never let the defiance die, surprising Krauser as he smashed a rock to the side of the head or would have if Krauser didn’t know what men like him thought. What they did when pushed. That night he broke the boy’s wrist, the same arm he had previously been shot in. Krauser smiled when he refused to scream, glaring at him and holding his breath until he passed out instead of giving him satisfaction.

The next four days, the boy didn’t say a word. Didn’t complain at being left in the desert and forced to fend for himself. Not a word was uttered when Krauser ate in front of him and didn’t offer him a crumb. He kept glaring at him with that anger and Krauser couldn’t help but like the kid.

[fillingthescrapbook]

What is up with the dreams I’ve been having this week?

First, I’m in a nest of vampires about to be eaten with four other people. The only thing that allows us to try and escape was when the alpha vampire throws a hissy fit because one of her minions forgot to prepare garlic butter to lather us up with.

Then, the next night, it’s a zombie apocalypse at the Barbie movie premiere—where I have to fight against a horde of newly-turned zombie children.

I get a respite the third night when dream me is just at my actual home drinking coffee.

Fourth night’s dream wasn’t very vivid; I don’t remember anything other than it was chill.

And then tonight, I get a double feature:

In the initial dream, I’m grouped together with a couple of guys for a school project—and none of us could figure out an available schedule where we’re all free. So we decide to do it that day. We get caught in a traffic situation on the way to one of the guy’s house. He tells the other guy to take a right somewhere and we end up in a cave system where “old” people are being taken care of.

I say “old” because they look withered. It wasn’t until we were close enough that we realize—everyone there was dead. And their organs were being picked out and carved by each other. And then they start chasing after us so they could also take our organs.

The second dream has me transported into a B-movie sequel starring a young Jason Behr. In the dream, I never watched the first film because it freaked me the fuck out—and now I’m inside the sequel having to fend off body-snatchers.

Jason Behr is one of three people who’s bodies were stolen by creatures from underground. Their real selves were now in bodies that resemble Legos…except life-sized. Their real bodies were used by the underground creatures to commit murders.

In the first movie, supposedly, they still had connections to their bodies and only thought they were being possessed. So it ended with them thinking everything was over, only to realize they were not in their actual bodies.

Now, in the second movie I was suddenly in, they had to track down their real bodies. I was, somehow, one of the people about to be killed by the underground creatures—when their real selves arrives. Unfortunately, the protagonists are thought to be the monsters, so they are the ones hunted by the others. I end up “helping” the heroes by tagging along with them as they kill their bodies to prevent more murders from being done with their identities. The movie ends with us burying the bodies.

I thought I’m out of the movie—until a trailer pulls me back in for a third film, where Behr’s character has to face off with himself. Again. But, the one in the Behr body is claiming Lego Behr is the real monster.

And that’s when I wake up.

At two in the morning.

[with-ink-and-quill]

Alone in the Torrent

After traversing the nightmare fog taking over the old graveyard and facing the buried traumas it dragged into the night, the party found the source of the horror and her nightmare protector. Left to fend for himself against the colossal knight and their giant mace, nearly crushed to death in one swing, Nik must now come to terms with the last long day. He may have banished the monster, but it lingered in his mind in more ways than one.

As the door shut behind him, eyes glowing in the dark room, he finally let out a shivering breath. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been holding it. It had been hours by now and the realization caused his hand to tighten on the glass bottle, claws threatening to mar the surface. Instead he forced his leaden legs to move, trudging to the desk and letting the bottles of his chosen poison clink onto it. With a shaking hand he spilled his journal out as well, ink bottle and pen tumbling after. The bundles of papers and expensive inks bounced to the tabletop as well and he eyed them warily. For once, he felt thoroughly done with magic. He didn’t want to think about it. The feeling of being crushed was still causing his breaths to wheeze, too fast and short. The phantom pain lingered: the earth sucking at his feet, the rock clawing into his back as vicious metal ground his ribs to dust, desperately trying to pull in a breath as the world forced the air from his lungs, choking on his own words and blood to force the magic free. The sheer terror of running for his life, barely escaping the next murderous swing and praying the second strike didn’t steal someone else from him; of being left to fend for himself and knowing that if he failed, someone else would die for it.

He didn’t register falling to his knees, his fingers clutching the edge of the desk so tight it hurt. Forehead pressed to the cold wood, he was gasping for air, vision blurring. The pain and fear of the last day finally sunk in, whipping up inside him violently. He was drowning in it. Magic may have physically healed him, but it didn’t make the experience disappear. Silent, wheezing sobs escaped him, long minutes slipping by. He wanted to bundle himself in the bed, shut away from the world in warm darkness, but the same thought caused his heart to beat wildly. Just the mere thought of being wrapped in anything felt terrifying. And as tired as he was, the buzzing from the Banishment spell ensured it would be a hard won rest. Part of him despaired that night had passed them by, as if the starlight would somehow offer him reprieve from the peculiar affliction. At the very least, he missed the eerie comfort it brought him.

Exhaustion eventually robbed the strength from his sobbing and he scrubbed a sleeve over his face to dry the tears. A grimace curled his lips as he felt grave dirt and rock dust grind against his bloody and sweat stained skin. Long hours of grueling hiking and miserable combat had left him filthy. It wouldn’t be great to try and sleep like this. With nothing left to fuel the emotional turmoil, he let himself slip into cold logic. He was tired, dirty, and beaten up. Sleep would eventually happen, and magic could solve the rest. A simple spell to disappear the detritus, but he could feel the power shoot pins and needles up his arm from the crystal. He had used a lot of magic without very much rest between, and it smarted. Trying to cast anything more complex would be too much, he didn’t have the energy, or strong enough connection, or whatever properly powered his spells. He needed an actual fucking break.

Which brought him to his bed. Apprehensively, he poked the mattress before sighing heavily. It brought back memories of the earth softening under his feet, loamy hands snatching to pull him under. He almost let out a whine at the tragedy of it. A proper bed was always one of the few things he looked forward to most after long days on the road. Sleeping on the floor wasn’t viable, though, unless he wanted to wake up feeling worse. With a heavy sigh, he spread his bedroll out and dragged the pillows and blankets off the beds. If he was going to have a shitty camp out in the middle of a gods damned inn room then he was going to have every other comfort available. Pausing for a moment, he arranged it all much like the nests of one very sneaky and charming little bird. If she found them a comfort, maybe he could eek out some for himself. Satisfied with his handiwork he finally set about removing his gear. Kicking his boots off clumsily, he tugged at the lacing of his arm guards and shrugged off the solid leather. His shawl was pulled over his head and tossed atop the pile of blankets making up his bed as he set upon the leather around his waist. Shedding that he finally removed the rather solid jacket, casting it only a slightly bitter glance for the protection it had offered.

With a sigh he sat unceremoniously on his makeshift bed, fiddling with the silver bracelets before tossing them aside. Next came the earring, then an absent discarding of the silver ring, and finally his hand came to rest on his chest before faltering. His crystal wasn’t there anymore and the habit of clutching it was proving hard to shake. Instead of dwelling on the uneasy somersault his stomach did at the notion, he busied himself with untying his hair. For a moment he just sat quietly, carding fingers through the knots the past day had created and taking long, steady breaths. He was fine, the party was fine. The battle was over and they had won. It was fine.

He fell back into the awaiting embrace of far too many pillows, his tail lashing out in annoyance among the sea of blankets. It wasn’t as comfy as the bed would have been, but he could easily put a hand out onto the very solid floor should he need the comfort. For a moment he missed Thorne. Having a cat to pet and listen to purr would have gone some long way to settle his nerves. The damnable creature was just as likely to claw him for the efforts though, and was charged with giving that comfort to Verity. He felt a pang of guilt at that thought, followed with a wave of anger and bitterness that had his tail thrashing. He knew he wasn’t being fair, but he was upset. She had abandoned him to the hulking monstrosity from the tower and then after the harrowing fight, had proceeded to heal him excessively before passing out from the effort. As if that would comfort him! He was horribly, gut wrenchingly worried about her now. Which was why he had left Thorne in her charge. At least this way he could check in on her himself without having to address all the messy emotions. It didn’t untangle the roiling mess of feelings that had moved into his chest, but it helped a little. He was still mad, still felt betrayed, still worried horribly for her. But it helped.

With a long deflating exhale, he forced himself to close his eyes and curled up under a blanket. First, sleep. He would deal with feeling afterwards. And for some few blissful moments, that plan worked. Until the bed felt too soft and the cloying scent of death had him flailing out an arm for solid ground. It had been too much to hope for peaceful rest. Electing to simply leave one hand resting against the hardwood floor and pulling in a steadying breath, he tried again. This time he got to the hazy half sleep, the border of consciousness bringing the relaxed comfort of almost sleep. Except at the edge of his thoughts he could swear there was a faint voice calling out to him. He knew that voice, so achingly familiar, far too much time passing since he had last heard her, and it twisted his heart with fondness. And then that fondness turned to icy fear, squeezing his heart until it pounded painfully in his chest. She was crying for him, begging for help, she needed him, needed him now, and he wasn’t there. Why wasn’t he there for her? He needed to run, to chase after her, had to reach her before it was too late. He still had time, he had to have time, he couldn’t be too late. He would never forgive himself if he was too late. She would be okay, he would make it, she’d be fine, she had to be fine-

With a gasp he woke in a tangle of blankets, still half fighting himself free of them in the confusion of his sudden wake up. The frustration and fear caused a snarling sob to escape him as he ground the heels of his palms against his eyes. He was so tired of everything. He missed Katya dearly and was terrified that his absence had caused something terrible for her. And for a moment, just the sliver of a moment, he missed something he thought he never would: the simplicity of home. It had been boring, but it was familiar. He knew all the monsters that lurked there, or he thought he did. But it wasn’t his home now, if his last conversation with his father was any indication.

In a flurry of exhaustion and anger, his fingers began the somatic components of a spell, the arcane words muttered under his breath before a stinging pain shot up his arm. He bit his tongue, unaware of his actions before the negative feedback shocked him. His body was suspended in silent hurt, mere seconds of agony before it faded. He couldn’t cast still, not anything meaningful. Not like his father would give him clear answers anyways. What was he thinking? Clearly a magical call in the early morning from an entity claiming to be your dead son after almost three years of silence would be well received. Especially when he hadn’t planned out the message already. What kind of pathetic, juvenile attempt was that?

Clearly sleep wasn’t helping and magic was very much out of the question. His arm still felt like pins and needles, an almost awful resonance radiating from the crystal itself; like the chunk of rock was protesting his stupidity. It almost made him laugh. Well, his pact wasn’t helpful so he might as well try another route. If his father was such a famous entity now, surely it wouldn’t be hard to get a letter to him. It was just as likely he’d burn it once he figured out who wrote it, but it would be better than doing nothing. So Nik dragged himself out of his makeshift bed, a fist tangled in his shawl as he trudged back to the desk. With a heavy sigh he plunked into the chair and set about lighting the lamp to spare his eyes the effort of darkvision. Only partially dazzled by the brighter room he dragged out loose paper and his pen from the pile of spilled goods, settled into his seat, and pressed the nib to parchment. He sat motionless for a long minute, lost.

How was he supposed to open the letter? ‘Hey dad, please keep reading, I know you think I’m a lying abomination, but how’s the new job? You happy?’ Surely a cold open demanding to know if they were dead or not would go over well. Or he could upend the roiling, angry mass stewing in his heart that his parents had lied to him, manipulated him into thinking himself mad, and then disowned him when he left. He could demand answers for so many questions about his life; why they felt the need to keep him afraid, why they couldn’t explain anything when he asked about the voice he heard, why they just covered for the people who hurt him when he was just a child. He could beg them to forgive him for whatever wrong he committed to be cut off so suddenly. Because he was sorry, even in his ignorance. They were his family, his only family, and he loved them dearly. They were his home and the thought of losing that extinguished the rage, leaving him shivering.

The pen left an ugly dark splotch on the blank letter and he let it fall to the desktop, his hand tightening on the shawl. He cradled his head in the other, trying to force himself to take slow, deep breaths. Life would have been so much simpler if he had never left Trestan. He could have been sitting at the kitchen table tucking into the leftovers from the previous night while Katya gushed about her plans about town for the day. Their mother would have been shaking her head in exasperation, smiling while heaping food onto her excitable daughter’s plate. Their father would have been trying to get her to stop at the market for this or that while mixing a bowl of herby dough that would accompany dinner as a savory bread later that day. And Nik would have sat there, listening contentedly, knowing he would have to do the shopping and chores, but that was fine. Because he was home and, if nothing else, at least he had his family. He knew he had love and warmth waiting for him.

Except now he didn’t, because he had left to chase a voice in the sky.

The chair rocked dangerously far back, his face blank as he stared up at nothing. When the legs touched the floor again, he had a bottle of honey mead in hand and was clawing the seal free. He took long draughts as if each one could somehow ground him, would chase away the cold hole opening up in his chest. He had never cared for drinking back in the village. He even had a great deal of disdain for the drunks that staggered out of the tavern late at night to collapse in the streets just to repeat it all again the next day. But they had seemed so insensate after it all and that sounded just fine to him now. When he finally stopped to breathe, he was shaking slightly and the bottle was missing a decent amount of liquid. He set it back down, picked up the pen, and hesitated. And then he wrote. He would jot down long sentences, cross them out, take a swig, and try again. Letters were torn up, crumpled into balls and tossed aside, and left unfinished. When his hand felt too sluggish, the script beginning to dance before his eyes, the bottle was half empty. It was hard to tell how long he had been failing, but then no, he knew how long the sun would linger didn’t he. Well, far too long for a simple letter.

The pen clattered out of his hand onto another abandoned attempt and he reached for the drink again, but he paused. The light glinted off the crystal and from something just peeking out of his bag. He dragged a dagger into the open, turning it over in contemplation. Would it hurt terribly if he carved the accursed rock from his flesh? The area felt rather numb normally and he was right sloshed now, it was as good as he’d ever get without asking someone else to do it. Would it sever his magical connection? If he presented it to his father, would the man forgive him? Could he get his family back if he returned to being nothing special? Would giving up this magic, this life of adventure, this identity return what he lost? The blade clicked against the crystal lightly, held a bit awkwardly in his right hand before he changed his grip for better stabbing force. There really was only one way to find out.

The warlock spread his hand flat on the desktop, standing up and holding the dagger above the offending appendage. It would be so simple. Maybe he’d lose the hand, but he wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. He wouldn’t have to worry about the implications or what mysterious role he was supposed to be fulfilling. Oh, he would be useless, but he’d be free. The blade pressed against the flesh bordering the crystal, cold and sharp. Just one push. A bead of bright red sprung up in response, vibrant and tempting. He pulled the dagger back, paused to shakily aim, and struck. He did feel a sharp sting, felt the blade hit something solid, but as he blinked down all he saw was a shallow cut on his hand and the dagger stuck in the wood tabletop. He had missed. Even this simple task was impossible for him.

He dropped back into the chair, dagger abandoned where it was impaled. His head fell back until it met wood, limbs limp like a puppet discarded, and he laughed. It was soft at first, a huffing of breath that slowly built until it was manic. The whole situation was comical. He was too special for the simple life of a villager, but too normal for the fraught life of an adventurer. What was he to do? So he laughed, because he had nothing else. He laughed until it hurt and kept laughing a little longer even then, before he finally tapered off. In the ensuing silence he simply watched the weak shadows dance in the room to the lamp’s light. He felt so tired and altogether numb now. The night had been a bundle of failures and it drew a heavy sigh from his lips as he sat upright. He was surrounded by a little sea of letters, not a single one viable. The ink stained even his hands and it caused his mouth to twist sourly. He was thoroughly fed up.

The anger bubbled up fast and hot, simmering frustration fueling it. He wanted to scream until his throat ached, tear the room to shreds, somehow vent the helplessness from himself. It was infuriating. He couldn’t talk to his family, likely wouldn’t survive pleading to his patron, and was being a stubborn ass with the woman he loved. He couldn’t write a measly letter asking if his sister was alive, couldn’t tear out the damned crystal that housed his cursed magic, and couldn’t be less of a coward when it counted the most. And honestly, getting drunk was proving to be rather a big let down. There were no numbed feelings, just a shorter path to anger and despair. Useless fucking drink.

“What I would give to cease feeling.” He snarled into the empty air, teeth bared to no one.

He felt it all too keenly, much as he liked to pretend otherwise. Loathed as he was to admit it. What had feeling ever done for him? Lancing agony at the loss, alienation, isolation in his life. It had gifted him simmering anger for his treatment at the hands of others, the pain they inflicted because they could, because he was different. Because he was weak and meant nothing, so it bit deep into his flesh and spread its vile venom to his heart. What was the small warmth in his life to the vitriol of living? Where was the purpose? 

He found himself staring out the window, squinting in the light and hating the headache it brought. If only he could dash the sun out of the very sky, plunge the world back into blissful darkness, bask in the moonlight and lose himself in the stars. He ground the heels of his palm into his eyes, exhausted, before staggering out of the chair. Almost tripping into bed, he clumsily tangled himself under the blankets. He laid flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a long minute before his eyes slid closed. He pressed his hand against his chest, just above the collar of his shirt, the crystal cold against his flesh. A part of him wanted to cry out to his goddess, to beg Her to take all the pain away or give him some direction to walk. Instead he thought back to the fountain, of the liquid agony the waters held, and the endless expanse of stars. He held that impossible sky in his mind, the cold comfort it reflected in the mirror surface he had walked. He offered up each ugly emotion roiling within him, all the pain and hope as one, to that sky. And slowly, with each breath, the keen bite of feeling ebbed. Even the itching buzzing in his skull seemed to grow quiet before the great expanse. His fear and doubt were simply dwarfed and finally, finally he could rest. Under that sky he could simply stop existing. Living was a chore for when he woke. For now, all the world was stars.

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[spiderling-space]

This idea is inspired by @zozobegone ‘s this post 

Setting: Grim goes platonic yandere mode when he realizes MC is going to go back to their world

It is written from Grimm's perspective

Italics indicate thoughts

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

The Great Grimm

Warning: Unhealthy dependency and friendship

"Henchperson, give me those candies!" Grimm ordered (Y/N) after trying so many times to reach the top shelf.

"Aw, you couldn't reach yourself?" (Y/N) had seen Grimm jumping and trying to climb to take the candies. They didn't do anything but watch him fail for the last 10 minutes, they couldn't help themselves as he was being so cute. "What's the magic word?"

After grumbling a little, Grimm spoke coercively, "Please..."

"That's a good boy!" They patted him on the head before grabbing the candies and giving them to him. 

He started devouring them the moment he got his hand on the candies. He thanked them quickly before focusing entirely on his food. They were just so delicious, he couldn't resist it!

"Honestly Grimm, what will you do once I'm gone?" They sighed as they took a seat in the kitchen.

The words didn't register for Grimm at first. "Eh?" He stopped eating for a moment and looked at them. "What nonsense are you babbling about?"

"Hmm? Oh! Well, you know, it's been months and lots of progress have been done. Crowley finding a way for me to return home is right around the corner." They spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"That birdman doesn't do anything but whine and pin all the tasks on us."

"I convinced him to do the actual work and he made a progress on finding a way for me to go home." (Y/N) stood up, walking toward him and kneeling to his height. "I'll give you a secret, I haven't told anyone this." They gulped before smiling, "Crowley found the way for me to go back. We just need ingredients and get some tests done then I'll be able to go back. I haven't told others about it yet because I wanted to have something concrete but since you are like my second family, I wanted you to know first."

Huh, he thought.

Grimm continued eating, ignoring what (Y/N) had said who got up and left the kitchen after sharing their secret. At that moment, it didn't bug him at all since he thought they were joking.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

It didn't even pass a week that (Y/N) started to tell the others that they would be leaving soon and ask their help to get the ingredients and spend their last days together. Meanwhile, Grimm became more and more irritable as the days passed by.

Grimm didn't have a family nor a friend. When he opened his eyes to the world, he was in a back alley by just himself. He fended for himself and decided to become the greatest magician when he heard people talking about Night Raven Collage. He didn't have anyone who supported his dream nor he needed one. He would accomplish it on his own and show everyone how great he was. Of course, things didn't go as planned and he got thrown off the moment he revealed his true self at the entrance ceremony and was even threatened to get eaten. What's worse was that when he returned to NRC, showing the persistence of an NRC student, he was about to be thrown again. That would be the case if it weren't for (Y/N) sticking up for him. He wasn't a sentimental monster and he hated to be called cat by (Y/N) despite his catly activities as they called it. However, deep down he knew it was because of (Y/N) that he became a student in the NRC, getting one step closer to achieving his dream. Heck, he and (Y/N) were considered one student together.

It wasn't just (Y/N) creating him an opportunity that made him care about them, it was everything. They studied together; they slept on the same bed, shared meals and snacks, played games, did homework, complained about the school and students together. Not to mention, how much he enjoyed getting petted, belly rubbed and washed by them. They had each other when no one was around and always stood against overblot student together. In Grimm's eyes, they were an inseparable and astonishing duo; even a family he never had, not that he would say it out loud.

Maybe that was why he was miffed by everything that was going on... What would happen to me if (Y/N) were to go back? Become alone again? Get kicked out of NRC? Have no friends and family? No, that's not going to happen!

As the days passed, the attention he got from (Y/N) diminished gradually, came to a point that he only saw them in classes and when they got back. They were out with another person every day, not sparing enough time for the Great Grimm. 

How dare they, he thought while heatedly huffing and puffing on the couch.

Grimm dearly missed the old times when (Y/N) wasn't obsessed with going back. He didn't even receive enough petting last few days nor they studied together. His mind wandered to their time spent together when he noticed something. (Y/N) would leave everything behind regardless of how important it was when he got into serious trouble or got hurt. They would sweep in to save his neck. It just clicked at that moment. 

He would get into trouble or injured to get their attention on him. However, then the other minions would gather around them too and their attention would be divided. It was not something he wanted. An idea struck in his head after a few minutes of thinking. As expected out of the Great Grimm, it was a brilliant plan.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

"Oh my goodness, Grimm! What happened to your paw-paw?!" (Y/N) rushed to his side, kneeling and examining his paw.

Grimm grumbled acting as if he didn't want to tell them. "Nothing, Great Grimm is fine!"

"Don't be ridiculous! It looks broken!" The worry on (Y/N)'s face was gratifying since he got their attention back.

"Ask your best friends," He answered with faux melancholy, withdrawing his paw near his chest and turning back as if he would leave.

"What does that supposed to mean?" They asked, confussion evident on their face just like Grimm wanted.

"Azul tricked them into doing his work and asked them to collect all the feathers on the roof. Ace and Deuce took me with them then we got into a fight and I fell off the roof." He lowered his head for extra effect.

"And they didn't even take you to the infirmary?!" He managed to get them riled up.

"It was my fault th-"

"That's not an excuse! For fuck's sake! C'mon, we are going to the infirmary." (Y/N) wrapped their arms around Grimm and lifted him en route to the hospital wing.

"Hey (Y/N)! Do you -"

"I can't believe what you two did!"

"What we did?" Deuce mumbled, fearing their wrath.

"Don't talk to me for some time and at least take responsibility and apologize!" (Y/N) stormed off before Ace could finish his sentence. Both Ace and Deuce look perplexed as (Y/N) marched away. Grimm was looking at them over (Y/N)'s shoulder, taking in their puzzled looks and flashing a grin as (Y/N) walked away.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

For the next two weeks, Grimm continues with his plan.

"I swallowed a lot of soapy water." Grimm said as he was rubbing his belly, it genuinely hurt. Swallowing soapy water was more awful than hurting his paw.

"Azul! You promised to not do this and shame on you Jade, Floyd!"

3 more down, plenty to go...

"Leona, have you seen Grimm? He is way smaller than you! How couldn't you realize what your claws would do on Grimm?"

"Ruggie, Grimm got food poisoning because of you! You could have just stolen his food instead of replacing them with expired ones."

"Jack, I've never expected this from you. I'm very disappointed."

"What? What are you talking about?" Jack asked hastily but it fell on deaf ears as (Y/N) didn't even listen to him, grabbing Grimm and leaving them standing.

Woo hoo! My plan is working fantastically! 

"He could have died Kalim if it were higher!"

"Jamil, I thought you would stop making people poison taste. Grimm has been puking all day long because of you!"

Grimm grinned wickedly as he was once again carried by (Y/N).

Wait until I'm done with all of you! HAHA, You cannot defeat me!

Grimm was thinking of new original ways to distance (Y/N) from the rest of Heartslabyul, Pomefiore, Ignihyde and Diasomnia. The last one would be the hardest as he had a powerful competitor who also sought (Y/N)'s attention but it didn't matter, Grim would be the only one!

That was what he thought until Birdman came bearing the news...

"(Y/N)! Good news! All the tests we did on the mirror worked! You can go back now!"

Everything stopped right there and then. 

Grimm was so focused on getting (Y/N)'s affection and attention that he forgot about the tests they were doing on the mirror.

Now I am too late...

"My goodness! Thank you! I missed my home so much! I'll start saying my goodbyes!" (Y/N) spoke rapidly, they truly were happy to hear the news.

Happy to leave me all alone!

"No worries, they all gather around the magic mirror, waiting for you." Birdman informed, "Are you coming now?"

"Yes!" (Y/N) said before turning to him, taking him in arms and carrying him outside.

That is not how it was supposed to go...

As they were walking outside before leaving the Ramshackle perimeter, Grimm jumped on the ground.

"What's wrong?" (Y/N) stopped to ask.

"What's wrong?!" Grimm couldn't contain it anymore. everything was too much.

"(Y/N), do you need a moment to say goodbye to the dorm?" Birdman questioned, getting closer to where they were standing.

"Uhm... yes... I mean I spent months here so I should say goodbye to it. You can go, we will catch up in a moment."

With that Birdman walked away, leaving (Y/N) and Grimm alone.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" They asked idiotically. 

Are they too dumb to understand?

As Grimm was about to tell them what was on his mind, unfiltered, he felt a power within himself. A power that wanted to surge out of him and he let it since he had nothing to lose anymore.

"You will leave me all alone!"

"But you already knew that, Grimm. This place isn't my home and if I took you with me, you would be discovered and people would do experiments on you." Their voice was so soft as they tried to reason with him but none of them mattered.

"We are one student together, you can't leave until I graduate!" The power inside of him grew even more.

"Well, Crowley said he-"

"We fought the monsters together. We are a team, you called me your son!" He could feel that power getting closer

"I-" He wasn't going to let them speak anymore!

"So you see me as a family but you abandon me!" He felt the power leak outside and he didn't even care about it.

"GRIMM!" (Y/N) yelled, taking a few steps back. "I, I, I changed my mind, we will be together!"

"You want me to have no one again!" Grim screamed, not even noticing how his voice changed. "AAAAAHHH!"

Everything went black for a moment and the second he reopened his eyes, everything was different. He was no longer looking up to (Y/N); he now was looking down on them. They were so tiny.

"YOU CANNOT LEAVE!" Grimm screeched when he saw (Y/N) backing and running away. He jumped, landing right in front of them who fell on the ground from the shock and still trying to crawl away.

"G-Gr-Gr-Grim, i-i-it's me! We are friends, remember? I know you wouldn't hurt me because we are family, innit?"

"It is too late for everything but you are right. We are family..." Grimm said, his voice echoing, giving it more menacing feelings. 

Grimm was no longer waiting for (Y/N) to understand that they couldn't leave him. He had no intention of waiting anymore. He leaned towards them slowly, biting their clothing and lifting them.

It was always (Y/N) who carried Grimm around relentlessly now it was Grimm's turn. Once he was sure that they wouldn't fall, he took off, running away from the Ramshackle, leaving NRC behind.

[actress4him]

For Bad Things Happen: could you please do Keith strapped to an operating table with Shiro coming to rescue him? (Ironically the opposite of what happened in canon 😆)

Sure thing! I enjoyed this one, though I wrote the last bit with a fever so I’m hoping it makes sense and the quality didn’t drop.

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Prompt: Strapped to an Operating Table

Warnings: human experimentation, noncon body modification, non-graphic amputation, non-graphic mouth whump, emeto, blood mention, death mention, threatened eye whump but nothing actually happens, needles

.

.

The first few times, Keith fought against the restraints. Growled at the Druids that stuck needles in him and pulsed magic through his veins. Screamed his anger to disguise his fear, despite the fact that no one listened or cared.

That changed after the first surgery.

When they took his arm, a bit of his defiance went with it. He didn’t have the energy to fight so hard anymore. After all, it had been days with no sign of anyone coming for him, and now there was this thing attached to him that he refused to acknowledge as his own.

He didn’t know how Shiro did it. How he just...accepted something of hers being part of his body. Used it like it was nothing, like it had always been there. Like it hadn’t been crafted specifically for him by the witch who took pleasure in torturing him.

As the experiments dragged on, he still snapped his teeth at any fingers that strayed too close to his face. Still glared his hatred at the emotionless masks that hovered over him.

But he remained silent. Stoic. Stopped rubbing deep rivets into his wrists and ankles, pulling on metal straps that had no give. Haggar noticed the change, smirked that infuriating smirk and commented on how much better behaved he was.

He couldn’t fight anymore, but he wouldn’t let them see how he was crumbling to pieces inside. Only once he was returned to his cell did he allow himself to curl into a ball, metal arm laying out as far away from his body as possible, and let his thoughts run wild.

Why haven’t they come for me?

They’re not coming for me.

They shouldn’t come for me.

I don’t want them to endanger themselves.

I can’t keep doing this.

I want to go home.

The second major procedure wasn’t quite as bad as the first, though when the choices were ‘amputation without meds’ versus ‘teeth removal without meds’ it wasn’t really something he wanted to dwell on comparing.

A metal contraption was shoved into his mouth, the crank on it turned until his jaw was forced wide open, and Haggar herself took out both his upper canines and replaced them with what he’d find out later were fangs. She tended to lurk in the background while her Druids carried out the tests from day to day, but she took over the major stuff herself. Keith wasn’t sure what was worse, having to stare at the Druid’s masks, or at her ugly face. At least with the Druids he couldn’t tell that they were actually enjoying the whole thing.

And he didn’t have to worry about her seeing when a few tears slipped down to his temples.

That night in his cell he accidentally bit his tongue, his lip, then his tongue again with the sharp new fangs. He wanted to scream, wanted to rip them out with his bare hands, but he was too much of a coward to go through that pain again. She was turning him into something he didn’t want to be. She was making him look like...like them, like a monster, like the half of his biology that had enslaved and murdered so many people, the half that he tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist.

What will Shiro and the others think when they see me again? Will they even recognize me by the time she’s done with me?

Are they even coming?

It’s been so long. Has to have been over a week, at least.

Maybe it really is better if they don’t come at all.

The next experiment they ran made him violently ill. He really couldn’t afford to lose any of the sparse food they gave him, he’d already lost so much weight. The only good news was that they were forced to cut the testing short that day, dumping him back into his barren cell to fend for himself.

He was so tired. Tired of being there. Tired of being poked and prodded and cut and changed. His body was flagging, all of the substances they’d injected him with and the blood he’d continuously lost taking its toll.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last. If the team was coming...they might be too late.

After that day of puking his guts out, he no longer even had the energy to glare or snap. He let them drag him to the lab, shove him onto the table, and pin him down with all the many restraints without so much as a sound, and stared up at the ceiling doing his best to ignore what was being done to him. All of his fighting now went into keeping the tears he could feel burning his eyelids from escaping.

Shiro...I’m sorry. I tried to stay strong. You should...you should just forget about me.

More time passed. By Keith’s best guess it had been a few weeks since he’d been captured, but he’d kinda stopped bothering to count. They strapped him down to the table again, and he didn’t even really care until Haggar appeared above him.

She was going to take something else from him.

How much more, until he was no longer himself at all?

“Such unusual eyes,” she croaked, dragging a far too sharp fingernail across his cheekbone. “More advanced than Champion’s, for sure, but still nothing like they could be.”

Dread crawled up Keith’s throat and stuck there, making it difficult to breathe. “No,” he whispered. “No, please, don’t…”

A smile lit up her face. “Ah, he finally begs. I’ve been wondering what it would take.”

He didn’t even care anymore. “Please don’t take my eyes, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” She turned to the side, busying herself with tools. “I’m only taking one for now.”

He was gonna be sick. Panic blared in his mind, burning his chest and throat and eyes...his eyes, his eyes. He’d never really liked them all that much. They were a weird color, not normal, an outer indication of how different he had always felt.

But he didn’t want them to be taken. He was...he was gonna end up looking like Sendak, wasn’t he? The thought only increased the pressing nausea.

He turned his head to the side, sure he was about to throw up, when an alarm began wailing out in the corridor. Red lights flashed overhead, and he squinted against them, confusion taking over his panic. Haggar and the Druids suddenly hurtled into motion, snatching up tools and gathering around the table, but their frenzy was interrupted by the door slamming open and more people pouring inside.

The next few moments were chaotic. Keith couldn’t lift up his head enough to see what was going on, but he heard the familiar enough sounds of fighting and dared to hope. That this was finally over, that someone had come for him, that he wouldn’t have to lose anything else, after all.

“Stop!” Haggar screeched. Her hand fisted in his hair, and his breath caught. “You really don’t want me to inject this into your precious Paladin. You see, I’ve been saving this for a later experiment.” A sharp point grazed the side of his neck. “Pure quintessence. What will it do to him? Even I don’t know. Quintessence is a tricky thing. I’m hoping it will bring out more of his superior lineage. But it could very well turn him feral.”

“Haggar. Don’t.”

That was Shiro. Shiro. He was really there!

“Then drop your weapons,” she hissed.

No. He was so close, so close! “Sh-shiro, please…”

“It’s okay, Keith. It’s gonna be okay.”

The silence was so thick that he could hear Shiro’s arm power down, hear two different bayards return to neutral and clatter quietly to the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stay put.

The crack of a gun split the air.

Keith’s eyes flew back open, but he barely saw Haggar jolt and disappear through the sudden pain stabbing through his neck. He screamed, and he didn’t know how much of it was from pain and how much from fear.

Shiro materialized over him, and he would have laughed aloud from relief if he hadn’t been shaking so hard. “Hey bud, it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

“N-no, no, get away, get back, get away from me. You can’t…” Keith sobbed. “I don’t wanna hurt you, you have to leave me.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Shiro replied firmly. “Look.” Gently, telegraphing his movements, he reached for the syringe and pulled it out of Keith’s neck, eliciting a whimper. Then he held it up for him to see the golden liquid. “She didn’t get to actually depress it, see? You’re good. You’re safe.”

Safe. A feeling that he’d never thought he’d have again. Shiro was here, running his hand through his greasy hair, and the others were cutting through the restraints, and it was over.

Except that it never really, truly would be. “Shiro, she...she…”

“I know.” He pointedly didn’t look at the arm and the teeth, but they were there on display for everyone to see. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get through this, okay? Together.”

He was free now. No more metal restraints. No more Druids or Haggar. Shiro gathered him up into a huge hug, and it was the best thing he had ever felt in his life.

“Okay,” he whispered, tears running down his cheeks and the front of Shiro’s armor. “Together.”

——————————

Instructions for requesting a square here!

[thunder-at-dawn]

Echos In The Caverns

word count: 2,096

summary: while exploring, tubbo made an incredible discovery, and was desperate to show his best friend in grand-tubbo-fashion! however, that was just the one thing that led them to discover a large problem.

if you couldn’t tell, this fic was heavily inspired by the minecraft caves and cliffs update, i think it turned out nicely :D also if you tag this as ship i will personally hunt you down and whack you with my block button

warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable :]

Tubbo_: TOMMY

Tubbo_: TOMMY ARE YOU THERE

Tommyinnit: what

Tubbo_: wheree are u

Tommyinnit: i’m at my house

Tommyinnit: why

Tubbo_: can yoyou come to your hotel

Tubbo_: and wear clothes that you don’t mind getting dirty!!!!!

Tommyinnit: why??

Tubbo_: you’ll see!!!

…What?

Tommy always knew that Tubbo tended to be quite the… holder of schemes. Good schemes? Maybe. Bad schemes? Also maybe. It really just depended on the day. It wasn’t irregular of him to not say what his plans were either, the young boy was often one for surprises.

Tommy looked down at the clothes he was currently wearing. A red and white baseball shirt and some khakis, also known as what he wore pretty much everyday. He had plenty of other shirts and pants that looked similar, (if not, the exact same) so it would be fine if he got just one outfit a little wet.

The young boy headed out of his small residence, which wasn’t at all far from the hotel at all. He walked down the prime path, entering the gate and heading for the front of the hotel, only to see no one there.

“Tubbo? Where are ya, bee boy?” He mumbled under his breath, looking for his best friend. He wandered around to the back… maybe he was there?

And there he was.

Tubbo had his back turned, placing a line of redstone dust along the ground. He stood up, wiping the dust off of his hands, then turned around with a grin.

“Tommy!!” He ran over to his best friend, engulfing the other in a tight hug.

“Tubbo! You’re gonna get fuckin’ redstone dust all over me.” He grumbled, though a smile was on his face. He could feel Tubbo take his hands, guiding him over and walking the two of them next to a lever that wasn’t there the last time Tommy was here.

“Okay, so earlier, I decided to dig straight down, right at this spot.”

“Idiot.” Tommy poked fun at his best friend.

“I thought it would be a bad idea too, but let me finish. Anyways, I just wanted to do it because, y’know, I wanted to see where it would take me! And man, I discovered something incredible, Tommy.” Tubbo turned around leaning down a flipping the switch of the lever.

“So that’s what you’re going to be showing me, right?” Tommy crossed his arms.

“Mhm!” The older of the two stood back up, looking at Tommy with excitement in his eyes. “Just be sure to be prepared for the drop!”

“…The drop? Wh-”

Before Tommy could finish, he heard the sound of pistons and felt the ground disappear underneath him. Before he knew it, the two of them were falling. It was pitch black, and the two of them were falling and screaming. They let out two different screams, Tubbo’s out of thrill and adrenaline and Tommy’s out of pure fear.

It took about ten seconds of falling and screaming for them to finally see light, but Tommy was too terrified to open his eyes. Instead, he was met with the chilling feeling of cold water. Panicked, he opened his eyes as much as he could and swam to the surface, gasping for air.

“TUBBO! WHAT THE FUCK?!” He yelled at the other, who had also risen from the surface. “What the fuck was that for?! You can’t just make us drop like that with no warning, I thought we were gonna die! I-“

“Oh, quit whining and swim to the shore!” Tubbo brushed him off. Tommy huffed, but obeyed, throwing his arms in front of him to propel him forward. Tubbo got to the shore first, and pulled him out of the water.

“Tubbo, why the fuck did you think that was a good idea?!”

“Tommy- Tommy, calm down. One, I would never kill you on purpose. And two, this was the easiest and quickest way down! Anyways, look behind you. Turn around.” Tubbo said to him. Tommy rolled his eyes and turned, expecting nothing grand, but his eyes widened in shock.

It was the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

A roaring waterfall poured water into the lake they had just dropped into, and sides of the waterfall were lined with purple gemstones. Ores lined the stone walls and lush moss covered the ceiling, draping down. Small, jagged rocks on the ceiling were covered by moss, and it looked like someone, likely Tubbo, had placed torches and lanterns around the area.

“What… What is this?” Tommy asked, jaw agape.

“What you’re looking at is the coolest cave the two of us will ever lay eyes upon.” Tubbo grinned, placing a hand on Tommy’s wet shoulder.

“…Holy shit, Tubbo! This is fucking incredible! A-And you found this just through digging down?!”

“Yep! Now come on, there’s tons of cool things here that you gotta see!” The ram hybrid grabbed Tommy’s hand, running around the lake and dragging him along.

Tommy honestly wasn’t sure if he had ever seen anything this amazing before. He got to climb hills of stone and ore, swim in the grand lake, and he and Tubbo even found an axolotl! They took it in a bucket with water, and since it was pink, they agreed on the name of “Technoblade Jr.”

Eventually though, all good things had to come to an end. The torches wouldn’t fend off monsters forever, so the two of them decided it was best to go back to the surface. Tubbo said that he had dug out a staircase through the stone that led to the surface, somewhere near Eret’s castle.

There was only one small problem. They couldn’t find it.

“I-It should be this way!”

“Tubbo, we’ve been down here for, like- for fuckin’ ever!”

“Okay, we’ve been here for a few hours at the most. And majority of that isn’t even us searching for the stairs.” Tubbo rolled his eyes.

Tommy sighed as he and Tubbo only found another dead end, a wall covered in vines and moss. “Face it, Tubbo. We’re lost. We’re fuckin’ lost, and we’re going to have to spend the night here.” He set a torch on the wall, taking a moment to sit down.

“Oh, don’t say that, Tommy!” His friend sat down next to him on the ground. Tommy crossed his arms, looking away and making Tubbo frown. “Look, we can always make a new staircase! It’ll take a while, but we can do it!” He nudged Tommy lightly with his elbow, but only got more of the silent treatment.

Tubbo huffed in annoyance. Tommy tended to get silent when things didn’t go his way, which was understandable. But it would get frustrating to Tubbo sometimes, he wouldn’t lie. And what’s worse was that he could clearly tell that Tommy was upset, and he wasn’t saying anything about it. He lightly leaned against Tommy’s shoulder, the silence being oddly comforting for a moment.

Tubbo stood up, leaving Tommy to mope by himself. He had to admit, this was a cool place to be lost in. The sights were incredible, and there were so many things he hadn’t found in caves before. Glowing squids, axolotls, crystals, cave vines…

Cave vines.

That’s it! He knew exactly what would cheer Tommy up! Why didn’t he think of this sooner?

Tubbo walked towards the longest vine he could find that draped from the stone ceiling, standing on his toes to pull it down and grinning as the vine snapped in two. He threaded the vine through his fingers, glad to find that it wasn’t rough and didn’t have anything sharp on it. He sat down next to Tommy, holding the vine in his hands.

“Tommy…” He leaned towards his friend, still not getting a response. Quietly, he draped the vine around Tommy’s neck. The other noticed, but said nothing. That is, not until his shoulders scrunched up when he felt Tubbo pull the vine across his neck.

“Tubbo-” He said softly, slamming his lips shut afterwards.

“What’s up, Tommy?” He asked, lightly scratching the other’s neck with his fingers.

“Where’s that smile, big man?” Tubbo used his other hand to poke his friend in the side a couple of times, grinning as he saw a smile start to form at the corner of Tommy’s lips.

“Tuhubbo, quihit it!” He giggled, starting to move away before Tubbo wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, trapping him in a half-hug.

“There we go!” Tubbo scribbled his fingers across Tommy’s stomach, making the young boy squeal and bury his head into Tubbo’s shoulder as an attempt to hide his face. Tommy laughed, trying to grab at Tubbo’s hands.

“Don’t even try to fight back, mister.” He rolled his eyes. “I wanna make sure that you keep smiling! These caves are no place to be sad!”

“TuHUHUB- *snrk* TUHUBBO! Dohohon’t!” Tommy snorted, eventually grabbing onto one of Tubbo’s wrists. Tubbo brought his other hand back to drill his fingers back into Tommy’s stomach, the other laughing and eventually grabbing onto Tubbo’s other wrist. Both of them grinned as residual laughter spilled out of Tommy’s mouth.

“You’re so fuckin’ mean.” Tommy huffed out, unable to fight a grin.

“Oh, come on, you were sad! What else am I supposed to do, not what I do whenever you’re sad?” Tubbo rolled his eyes, smirking. “Besides, you didn’t fight back. We know you liked it.”

Tommy blinked, feeling his cheeks warm up, then narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re asking for it.” He growled, holding the other’s hands above his head.

Tubbo squeaked, already starting to squirm. “Wahait, no! Nonono, dohon’t!” He said, unable to stop giggles from coming out from hiding.

“Aww, what’s wrong, Tubbo? Are you scared? Scared of just a little tiny bit of tickling?” Tommy smirked, holding his wrists firmly and letting go, shooting his hands into his friend’s underarms. Tubbo immediately broke, instantly leaning towards the ground to try and get away.

“NoHOHO- gehehehet oHOHOut of thehehere!” Tubbo giggled, twisting his body to try and push off Tommy’s hands.

“You did the exact same to me! It’s only natural to expect revenge!” Tommy scribbled more rapidly, grinning as the other squealed and started to kick his legs. “Wow, Tubbo. Sometimes, I honestly forget how fuckin’ ticklish you are. And then I rediscover it for myself, and I remember just how ballistic you go every time!”

“ShUHUT UHUhup, yohou dihiHIhick!” The ram hybrid yelled through giggles.

“Hey! Well that’s just rude now, isn’t it? Guess you need to learn a lesson, huh?” Tommy asked, chuckling as Tubbo rapidly shook his head. Tommy started to squeeze up and down his thighs, and the other squealed, throwing his head back and hugging himself.

“TOHOhoHOmMY!! NohohoHOHO!!”

“Oh, you brought this onto yourself, don’t even try to “Tommy, no” me!” Tommy played around, trying to see what would work back. Squeezing the back of Tubbo’s thighs made him squeak, squeezing rapidly up and down made him squeal, and raking nails up and down the inner thighs made him cackle.

“TOHOHOMMY!! PleheHEAHase, I- StohoHOhop!!” Tubbo rocked back and forth.

“Hmmm… alright.” Tommy said after a moment of thinking, drawing his hands back.

“Wahait, really?” A giggly Tubbo was quite surprised, starting to sit up.

“…No.” Tommy smirked, suddenly pushing the other’s shirt up, leaning down, and blowing a raspberry on his bare stomach. Tubbo shrieked, retreating back to the ground instantaneously.

“NOHOHOHO- AHAHAHAHA!!! TOHOHOHOMMEHEY!!!” Tubbo squirmed around, trying to get away as Tommy now scribbled and clawed as his stomach with all ten fingers. His laughter echoed throughout the caves, filling Tommy with glee.

“Come on, you deserve this for all of the times you got back at me!” His friend grinned, leaning down to blow another raspberry right onto Tubbo’s belly button. The ram’s laughter went silent momentarily, then came back in the form of cackles with hiccups mixed in. Tommy stopped, laughing softly and ruffling Tubbo’s hair.

“You feeling better, big man?” Tubbo asked with a stupidly large grin on his face.

“Much better.” Tommy grinned, standing up and extending a hand towards his friend, helping him off of the ground. “Now, come on, grab your pickaxe. That staircase isn’t gonna build itself now, innit?”

Tubbo nodded, pulling out a pickaxe and starting to help Tommy dig out a path to the surface. He looked behind him one last time, deciding that he needed to come back here again sometime with Tommy, and maybe some other friends.

After all, it’s good to go back to places that bring you happy memories, right?

[ddarker-dreams]

Icy Wind. Yan Alucard x Reader

Warnings: Isolation and typical yandere elements. Word count: 1.3k. Note: this is my secret santa gift for @monstrouslyobsessed​!! i was excited to see that you liked hellsing ultimate... your taste is immaculate... anyways, i really hope that you enjoy your gift! <333333

You long for a fulfilling night of sleep.

To be able and close your eyes when the moon shines above, uninhibited by troubles, no longer plagued by all-consuming anxiety. It is but a simple request, you believe. There were days where for hours on end you’d bargain for more than that. Freedom used to be the primary objective, what you believed to be your only salvation, a possibility never within reach. No longer do you aim for the stars and beyond. You’ve had to settle for what’s in front of you, a realistic goal such as a good night’s rest, and even then you’re denied it. 

Blades of grass brush against your bare feet, a winter chill reducing your body to a shivering mess. Teeth chattering and body bunched over, your arms wrap around your torso in a pitiful attempt to preserve heat. It makes logical sense to return inside the manor. At least then you could sit by the fireplace to ward off the cold. Whether it’s foolishness or out of malice towards him, you’ve elected to stay out here, holding nothing but contempt for the mansion walls that serve as your prison.

Another gust of wind whistles by, biting your flushed cheeks. Barren tree branches, overgrown thickets, and dry leaves rustle underneath the wind’s intensity. Maybe it would be best to go back inside, you consider. Still, the thought of proving Alucard right is too strong a blow to your pride to concede yet. It’s a childish thing you’re doing -- even you can acknowledge that -- but what else do you have, other than to spite your captor? 

He had instigated this. Tempting you by temporarily removing the locks in the rickety mansion that you’ve been forced to occupy. What had started as a late-night walk to fend off your insomnia escalated into you confronting him, belittling his possessive nature, and demanding a real opportunity at freedom. Much to your surprise and his amusement, he had relented. Or at least on a surface level. Alucard himself had swung the doors wide open, presenting you with an opportunity for time outside. 

Which leads to your current predicament. 

Traversing the surrounding woods at night would be a nightmare, so you’ve been passing this time outside by sitting on a moss-covered bench. The initial high from being outdoors has worn off, replaced with frigid temperatures cutting deep into your bones. You wonder if Alucard would allow you to freeze to death. Or would he intervene at the least possible second, the curse of being his lover never coming to an end. Damn him. 

“So you intend to keep up this stubborn act,” a deep voice drawls, the hairs on the back of your neck standing. “Should I be impressed or insulted?” 

When a person out of sight is speaking, it’s a natural response to search for where they stand. You’ve learned that this rarely works with Alucard. His voice reverberates from every conceivable location, engulfing and drowning you, a testament to his inorganic disposition. 

“Do with it what you will.” Your response doesn’t sound as malicious as you wanted, weakened by your deteriorating state. It looks like your earlier guess of Alucard interfering only when your life is in danger turned out to be true. Even now, when facing an icy demise, you refuse to beg for help. He can go to hell for all I care, you think. If even hell would muster the courage to try and chain him down.

Alucard’s voice hums, a deep, guttural sound. “Was it something I said?” 

Clutching your knees to your chest, you huddle together even tighter for warmth. To narrow Alucard’s grievances against you down to a single statement is impossible. He’s always had a penchant for working you up, now is no different. The wintery weather seems to have gotten worse. Every time you manage to exhale, a white cloud appears in front of your face, a further testament to the extreme temperature. 

“Let’s go with that.” You rub your shaking hands together and blow air onto them.

“Strange, I thought I was doing you a favor,” Alucard’s voice swirls around you like the wind. “You did say that you wanted to go out if memory serves.” 

Really? He’s out here to poke fun at you? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but the audacity he displays is never short of amazing. Even working up an emotional response like frustration is too much at this point. Your entire body is working overtime to hold onto life. Ah, that’s strange, you think. The way your ears are ringing, an eerie, high pitched noise. Black dots appear and disappear, obscuring your vision. It’s light. Everything feels so, terribly light. 

You’re not sure what happens next. 

When you wake, the setting is vastly different from where you had just been. There’s warmth, that’s the first thing you notice, coming from different sources. Blankets on top of your person and a roaring fireplace. So he brought you back to your room. Groaning, you wince at how your head pounds violently, not having the necessary strength to even lift your head.

“Next time, I’d prefer it if you let me die.” 

There’s no tangible evidence that Alucard is nearby, but you still say the words, uncaring if he hears them or not. 

“It’d be a pitiful death,” comes his response. “Why not ask for a more memorable one?” 

You sigh, knowing that answering the question will lead to more provocative remarks, but still do it anyway. “Are you telling me you’d grant it?” 

“I never said that.” 

“Figures.” 

Exhaustion weighs heavy on your weary soul. Maybe now you’ll be granted the mercy of a good night’s rest, though you try not to get your hopes up. You see Alucard beginning to materialize into a physical form, the sight nothing new, yet you’ve never been able to get used to it. Glimmers of midnight black and deep crimson create a shadow reminiscent of a human man. Flesh forms, filling out over bone, pallid in its coloration. His typical attire of blood-colored fabrics flows into creation around his person before he finally towers over you by your bedside. Inhuman eyes pierce through your weakened form, holding no flickers of humanity. 

A monster. 

“And here I thought you might thank your savior for saving you from an early death,” Alucard’s voice is amused, despite the dark context. “Instead, I find you glaring at me.” 

“For good reason.” You bring the blanket over your head, not wanting to see him any longer, irritation growing. Why can’t he just leave you alone? It’s a question that, when asked, serves only to perturb you further. Alucard claims each time that your little interactions are of great importance to him. Whatever that means, you think. 

“You’re the only human I’ve seen fit to have pity on,” he reminds, making you frown. “Thousands have begged for what you so easily dismiss.” 

Indignant, you pull the blanket down, blood boiling at his inflaming comments. “Like any of that is my fault. What did you expect me to do? Praise you to the high heavens for keeping me far away from any other living being?” 

He’s smiling at your outburst as if it were an entertaining show. It’s too late, but you realize this is exactly what he wanted, to see you getting all worked up over his purposefully upsetting words. Sighing in defeat, you lay back down on the mattress and squeeze your eyes shut, fully intending to ignore anything else he sees fit to say. If he wants to play dirty, then so be it. 

Alucard reaches his gloved hand out to your face, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, displaying a gentleness you thought impossible from a demon like him. It’s a featherlight touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake. Almost as if your body was attempting to reject it, aware of the heinous crimes those very hands have committed. 

“Rest well, my sweet little [First].” 

[jtrbluv]

resolutely, yours. | kth

summary: When your best-friend slash pain-in-your-ass, Kim Seokjin, drags you to a New Year’s Eve party that you didn’t want to go to in the first place, what better way is there to pass the time than to stay sober and watch all your classmates go berserk? Well, that is until Kim Taehyung steps into the picture, of course.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.7k+

warnings: profanity, slight alcohol consumption, implied drug usage (two words only, i swear), college party antics should say enough

A/N: first fic of the year! W O O! this was supposed to be for tae’s birthday but i guess it’s fitting since it is the new year. a special thanks to miss mei @sugacouture for her likeness and @koushiningg aka the eternal hypewoman. this fic (drabble) is rly short but i do have a lot coming up in store! for now, hope u enjoy and happy new year everyone!

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You are going to murder Kim Seokjin.

The spiked punch that fills your red solo cup up to its brim has been waiting to be quaffed down for thirty-seven minutes now. Roughly five minutes before that, Seokjin had somehow managed to drag you through the front doors of the fraternity party he’s been wanting you to accompany him to for weeks now.

And it only takes ten minutes for the proclaimed party animal and people-person, Kim Seokjin, to vanish from your side. He leaves you to fend for yourself in a jungle full of plastered college students—priorities at the moment are to either drink so much liquid regret that they can’t even remember their own names, or to find someone to make out with when the clock strikes at midnight. From simple observation, you notice that most, if not everyone here, fall under both categories.

Well, the exception being you, of course.

One thing to note is that you actually do have a decent tolerance for alcohol. You were no stranger to it, and it would serve as a dutiful companion to you when times called for it. Like last week after your last final that you knew you fucking bombed.

However, the humidity of the room due to the accumulation of bodies that left little to no room for fresh air, in addition to the strong stench of alcohol mixed with sweat mixed with God knows what, just was not the ideal place for you to get wasted. It didn’t stand close in comparison to drinking with a solid group of close friends, or by yourself in the comfort of your bed while a shitty rom-com plays in the background on your laptop.

The atmosphere is suffocating all of your senses— tears pricking at the corners of your eyes due to the strong odor of the room, the curled front pieces of your hair dampening and sticking to your temples, your mouth and throat dry as the Sahara Desert because, of fucking course, there is absolutely no water to be seen.

The small black dress and heels that Seokjin forced you to wear was worsening the situation greatly—your legs practically glued stuck to the stool you were sitting on, leading to ugly red marks and stinging skin if you tried to stand up.

You could not take being inside any longer. Instead of passing out from being piss drunk, you were almost adamant that you were going to pass out from the grueling mix of heat exhaustion and secondhand high.

Your grip on the solo cup significantly tightens, nearly crushing the plastic in half. You quickly stand up from the stool you were sitting in, the sensation akin to getting your legs waxed as you take a deep inhale through your nose, mentally preparing yourself to dive into this sea of financially obligated, depressed monsters.

Peculiarly, you manage to shove your way through a good chunk of the mass, your eyes set on the door that leads towards the balcony. Your ankles almost completely give into your weight a concerning number of times, and if it wasn’t for all of the arms of oblivious partygoers that you had clung onto for dear life, you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own two feet by now.

Solely occupied with trying to navigate your way through the crowd, you don’t even realize that someone bumped into you and spilled your drink all over your dress until you reach the balcony. The cold, night breeze passes over your body, leaving chills on the huge wet patch on your dress. The one goddamn time your dress sees the light of day, you just so happen to find a way to ruin it.

“Fucking hell!” You holler into the vacant balcony, your hands coming up to carefully poke at the wet patch on your dress. You wince as the soaked, freezing fabric comes in contact with your bare stomach. Angry, you chug down the rest of the drink inside your cup and chuck it off the balcony, too enraged to even react to its strong taste.

Shivering, you walk deeper onto the balcony, cradling yourself and staring at your shoes, a string of curses spewing from your lips. You scold yourself for not bringing a jacket while simultaneously plotting your revenge against Seokjin. A pair of black loafers intrude your vision, accompanied by a husky voice that calls out to you,

“Oh shit, are you okay?”

Your head shoots up, your eyes meeting the ones of the man standing in front of you. He towers above you significantly despite you wearing heels. His eyes are only a tad obscured by the soft, brown curls of his hair, perfectly styled and gelled to have that ‘purposefully messy’ look. The only difference being that models stood no chance against him when he was the blueprint himself. The black button up he’s clad in exquisitely accentuates every crevice of his lean, chiseled body. And his eyes that were already alluring on their own, were adorn with hazel-colored contacts that you swear you could stare at for hours upon hours. He is so otherworldly beautiful, you temporarily forget to breathe.

And you also forget that you are just staring at him, and he is staring back at you with a smile.

Times like this is when you wish you were at least a little buzzed. Sober ‘you’ is way too socially inept to fend for themself sadly. “O-oh i’m fine, someone just spilled their drink on me.”

Maybe it’s the way the moon sits behind him and casts a halo-like glow around his figure or how he’s just been staring straight into your eyes this whole time, like it’s second nature whilst you can only hold eye contact with him for two seconds before instinctively shying away. To say that his presence frightened you was an understatement. You were about to take cover and hide under the patio table like a five-year-old if he kept looking at you like that.

He blinks, his mouth stretching into a wide grin, rectangular-shaped and having the ability to ease your nerves. He places his drink on a patio table, dusting his hands on his pants, “Here, I’ll get you some napkins, just stay here.”

Stunned, it isn’t until he leaves that you yell out to him as he steps back inside the chaos, “Thank you!”

You carefully sit down on a patio chair, your arms still wrapped around your shivering torso while you try to breathe warm air into your cupped hands.

The man steps out onto the balcony minutes later, his fists full of paper towels as he hands them to you. “Here you go.”

You graciously take them, blotting your dress with the paper towels, your nose scrunching at the scent of alcohol that you had no choice but to inhale. “Thank you so much, really.” You say— still very much shocked to know that chivalry isn't quite dead yet. “It’s Taehyung, right?”

He nods, “Yeah, and you’re Y/N?

Your pause, your hand hovering over your dress as you look up and nod with a forced smile, “No but really, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry that it happened in the first place,” he says apologetically, as if it was his fault, “it seems like everyone’s already out of their minds, and it isn’t even midnight yet.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” you assure him, which seems to work because his eyes soften a bit, “besides, I guess it’s my fault for coming here in the first place. I knew something like this was gonna happen and now here I am, smelling like cheap, convenience store vodka.”

He chuckles, and you swear you’ve never been so elated to make someone laugh until now, “I somehow managed to beat the crowd. I’ve literally just been standing out here by myself for a good hour now.”

You sigh in envy, “Must be nice.”

“Too bad you couldn’t make it, it’s been awfully quiet up here.” He says, pivoting on his heel to look at the rest of the empty balcony.

Your eyes trail to the commotion inside the house, the crowd still going strong, “Are we really the only sober ones here?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, we’re just the only ones stupid enough to show up at a college party on New Year’s Eve, expecting to have a good time sober while everyone’s getting plastered.”

The unexpected truth pill causes you to enter a fit of laughter, small clouds of air leaving your mouth every time you exhale. He laughs along with you. “Yeah we are pretty stupid, I do admit.” You concur, while rubbing at your arms that were covered in goosebumps.

“Do you want my jacket?” He asks you while pointing to the black blazer that’s slung on top of the chair next to you.

You wrinkle your nose, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, before I put it on you myself,” he giggles with a roll of his eyes.

Shaking your head, you grab the blazer and wrap it around your shoulders. You stand up from your seat and turn towards him, brow quirked. “A-are you not cold? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I’m fine, I swear,” he counters, reaching out to help you slip your arms into his huge jacket sleeves, “I’m also not wearing a sleeveless dress.” He teases, eyeing you up and down as he takes in how oversized his jacket is on you. He thinks it looks much better when you’re wearing it, but he won’t tell you that.

“Right…” you drag out, following his footsteps as he motions you to follow him towards the edge of the balcony.

You two stand next to each other, leaning against the edge, arms nearly brushing against one another.

“So Taehyung, what brings you here in the first place?” You ask, knowing that he seems just as displeased to be here as much as you are.

“I got dragged here by a friend, Park Jimin, in particular.” He responds with a frown, “I have no idea where the fuck he is now, he literally left me as soon as we got here.”

Turning towards him incredulously, your brows raise and the corner of your lip curls into a smirk, “You don’t say.”

Confused, but also curious about the expression painted across your face, he quirks a brow, “Hm?”

You close your mouth, crossing your arms tighter around yourself, “I got dragged here by a friend too. Kim Seokjin. That asshole left me as soon as we got here too.”

He steps back, scoffing in disbelief, “Wow, we really just got stood up by our own friends.” Taehyung proclaims into the vacant balcony, for both him and you— the thought of it sounding even more pathetic after being said out loud.

“They’re pretty goddamn close to losing that title now.” You quip, shaking your head in dismay.

His head rocks back, a lively laugh leaving his lips due to your comment which makes you smile at the fact that you are even able to make him laugh like this.

“Damn it Y/N, you should’ve came out sooner, we could’ve been having a good time out here.” He tells you with a pout as his laughter starts to dwindle.

Sighing heavily, you too, feel regretful about the missed opportunity, “I really should have.”

He nudges you with his elbow, “At least you’re here now.”

The bass-boosted music from inside the house ceases, the room becoming momentarily quieter while someone bellows out, “Hey look, it’s the countdown!”

Everyone’s focus shifts towards the gigantic flat screen TV that hung above the fireplace, making you realize where the fraternity funds truly go to. You and Taehyung exchange glances before shrugging and moving closer to all the commotion since it was New Year’s Eve, above all.

He leans against the doorframe and you stay close to his side, the number ten flashing brightly on the screen—the crowd’s shouts getting louder as it reaches the final ten seconds of the year.

Instead of shouting out the numbers with the rest of the mass, you and Taehyung are simply witnessing it all fold out in silence.

“EIGHT!”

‘You got any New Year’s resolutions?!” You nudge him while attempting to yell over the noise.

His head whips towards you, “Me?!”

“SEVEN!”

Your brows furrow, “Does it look like I’m talking to anyone else?!”

His mouth splits into a grin once more, folding over in laughter just enough to meet eye-to-eye with you.

“SIX!”

“I mean! I didn’t have one originally!”

The crease in your brows dissipate, “Well, what changed?!”

“FIVE!”

His head tilts to the side, “I came here!”

You mirror his head tilt, confused as ever, “Um, so you wanna go to more parties next year?!”

“FOUR!”

He slaps a palm against his forehead, “From what you know about me, does it look like I like parties?!”

“How the hell would I know?!”

His jaw drops, “Y/N—!”

“THREE!”

“—I wanna get to know you better Y/N!”

Your jaw drops as well, “What?! Me?!”

“TWO!”

“Is there any other Y/N standing in front of me?!”

“I– oh...”

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The crowd shouts together in unison despite all being under the influence. A confetti cannon erupts, flying around the room and falling into people’s hair as the mass starts to split into pairs, all partaking in the traditional New Year’s kiss that you personally haven’t had much luck in participating in yourself.

You rip your gaze away to look at Taehyung. He smiles, pulling a piece of confetti out of hair, making your cheeks flush. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Taehyung.”

The small amount of alcohol you consumed when you first stepped foot onto the balcony leaves you slightly buzzed. Just enough to leave you with the right amount of courage to vouch for the nickname.

You take a daring step towards the man in front of you, “I also have a resolution of my own, Taehyung.”

He takes an even more daring step towards you, having the audacity to lean down— your faces only inches apart. “And what is that, may I ask?”

Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you close the gap in between the two of you, locking your lips with his. The kiss isn’t short enough to be a peck but isn’t long enough to be considered making out. You pull away enough to be able to see his face, “Is to get to know you better too.”

He chuckles, “Y/N, your lips taste like spiked punch.”

Pouting, you bump your forehead into his, “All I drank was whatever you saw me have at the balcony, I swear.”

He pecks your nose, your frown immediately wiping away as he does so, “I trust you.”

You smile, giving him a peck on the mouth, “As you should.”

“I’d kiss you again, but you probably can’t stand being here any longer. Let’s get out of here.” He tells you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You slide your arm onto his, interlocking his fingers with your own, “I think you’ve already completed your resolution Taehyung. You seem to know me so well already.”

Pushing through the crowd, he hooks an arm onto your waist while he shoves a path for you two to get through, “Too bad I don’t know where you wanna go though.”

You hum, thinking for a moment before your grumbling stomach answers for you, “I’m hungry, let’s go grab burgers or something.”

You don’t see the way Taehyung is fondly staring at you because you’re too busy trying to open the front door. At last, you manage to pry it open, stepping back outside while Taehyung’s holding you in his arms. It’s not that cold this time.

Taehyung’s hands land on both of your shoulders— turning you around to face him as he swiftly latches his lips onto yours. You stumble back, but his hand is quick to support you as he kisses you deeply. You kiss him back, letting your fingers curl around the curls of his hair.

He pulls back this time, letting his forehead rest on yours, “Y/N, I think you are the one that’s completed your resolution. How the hell did you know that I fucking love burgers?”

-

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MASTERLIST

[thewritingginger]

Relief

This isn’t a Holiday prompt request, since I have a bunch of other WIPs I thought I would take a break of those and finish up others ones. So there maybe some back and forth, we’ll see :)

This was a request I got on Wattpad on my Alucard Comfort fic a couple months ago and it was mostly done so... I don’t know too much about Hector’s character but I hope I did him some justice. 

Fandom: Castlevania  Pairing: Hector x GN! Reader Word Count: 2,359 words Warning(s): Kinda sad, comforting Hector, fluff

Enjoy ~

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It has been roughly 4 months since you met the white haired man.

The moment you met him you felt the urge to get near him. Although he was beautiful, it wasn’t his high cheekbones or smooth skin that called you. It was the distant look in his blue eyes, an ocean of sadness. You felt his loneliness from across the room in just one glance. You asked for his name and he hesitated for a moment, like he was contemplating whether or not wanted to be seen more than he had been. ‘Hector.’ Is all he responded with, and the gentle sound of his voice made your soul ring. You smiled and introduced yourself.

Surprisingly enough, he talked to you that night at the bar. Nothing too deep, just menial conversation about your interests and places you’ve both traveled to. But in that short time together you knew it was more than just a ‘talk with a stranger at a bar’ situation.

‘We should meet again.’ you said forwardly. Hector’s eyes studied you for a moment, before responding. ‘I guess that wouldn’t be too miserable.’ You smiled, not just at his words but at the glimmer of something in his eyes that didn’t seem to be there before.

3 months into your meetings, you and Hector had gotten more comfortable around each other. Getting accustomed to your daily presence, one afternoon while the two of you were out on a stroll he asked,

‘Would you care to accompany me home?’ Smiling inwardly you respond casually,

‘Sure.’ With one word you continued your journey in silence, observing the world around you. Following his lead you saw in the distance a lone cottage, made of stone with a smoking chimney and a small garden in front filled with small purple flowers and berries.

Opening the door, you are welcomed with a wall of warmth melting off the cold from outside. Entering the quant space you took a moment to look around as he walked into the kitchen. Having taken off your cloak you drape it on the back of a chair, as you took a seat by the fireplace. He emerged with some water for you both and sat across from you.

That night was the start of what you two came to be.

Hector offered his bed to you that evening. In the middle of the night you got up to get some water. Wrapped in a blanket to fend off the crisp air, you see Hector on the couch under a thin blanket. The fire had died out a few hours before, cooling the room significantly. Forgetting the water you circled around him and crouched down in front of his sleeping face. Taking a moment you took in his being. Laying there, defenseless. Completely free of tension -besides the few shivers that raked through his body - clenching the blanket closer to him. You gently nudge his shoulder a bit, making him stir till he woke in a surprised manner. Sitting up, letting out a deep huff.

‘What’s the matter?’ He asked Eyes squinted, trying to focus on your face.

‘Come lay in your bed, with me.’ You said.

‘N-no that isn’t necessary.’ He stutters a bit, taken aback by your request.

‘You’re shivering out here and two bodies are better than one for gaining warmth.’

He sees that you wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Sighing a bit he stood up and followed you to his room.

The room was dark, the only source of light came from the moon in the sky. Nothing sat in the room but a bed, a trunk and a small desk with a pile of books next to it. The warm bed called your name once again as a chill ran down your spine. Jumping under the sheets as you were before, you looked over to the forgemaster as he tentatively got under the blankets next to you. His back towards you, a big birth - despite the small size of the bed - between the two of you. Sighing a bit you moved closer to him, wrapping your arm around his broad shoulders. You felt his muscles tense a bit from your touch.

A long moment passes. Silence.

He turned around in your loose grip. His eyes bore into yours. Swimming in his gaze you saw his intensity but you also saw fear. Not the kind of fear you have when there's a monster before you. But the fear you feel when presented with a moment that may change everything, uncertain if for the better or worse.

‘You don’t have to be scared.’ You told him with your eyes.

A wave of compulsion washed over you, leaning forward you gently placed your lips against his. Stunning him, but he didn’t pull away. He kissed you back, deepening the kiss between you.

You both knew that this was the beginning of something between you two. A new chapter in both your lives. Uncertainty waved in the air, but neither one of you paid it mind just enjoyed the shared moment of warmth.

From that night onward everyday was filled with adventures and errands and nights spent listening to the sound of his voice. Telling stories about his life before you, as you fell asleep.

~~~

“Is this what it’s like?” He asks. You stop stirring the pot of food to look at him. His question perplexed you. Coming out of nowhere, unsure of what it was pertaining to. Hector is resting in the armchair by the fireplace beside you, book in hand, just staring at you in thought.

“Is what, like this?” You ask with a chuckle as you put the lid on the pot.

Hector looks down running his free hand through the back of his silver locks. His gaze not meeting yours again. You sit on the couch in front of him, waiting for his answer.

“Having a family.”

His three word answer made your heart hurt a bit. Walking over to him you sit on his lap, draping your legs over the arm of the chair. Resting your arm on his shoulder as you gently stroke his hair, looking at the side of his face. His gaze, still not meeting yours. You bring your other hand up to cradle his cheek in your palm slowly drawing his eyes up to yours.

His face painted in embarrassment. Eyes glistening, sadness threatening to seep out.

There’s that look again.

That uncertainty in his cerulean eyes. Debating whether or not he should continue. Biting his lips together he looks down at the space between you. 

“I ask because ~” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I never had a real family.” His words come out in a rough whisper.  “Why do you say it like you’re ashamed?” You ask with a slight laugh. “Because of what I did.” He responds, somberly. You stopped smiling, knowing you can’t laugh him through this one.

This one was serious.

Not unlike the time he told you where he was inside himself after the death of Dracula.

“What do you mean, ‘what you did’?” You asked, hesitantly.

He shakes his head, peeling your hand off his neck. Lifting you off his lap as he stands.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” He says.

Before you can say anything Hector rushes out the front door. Leaving you to stand there, looking at the old wooden door, shocked and saddened by the events that just transpired.

A few hours had passed. The sun had already made its descent from the day and Hector still hasn’t come back.

The cottage was silent, nothing but the cracking of the fire and heavy pants of Cezar. The undead pug, keeping you company in your newly shared bed. Your head rests upon the pillow, stained with drying tears. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ you asked yourself. Turning to Cezar, scratching behind his remaining ear. “What about you Cezar, do you know what happened?” The pug just barks in response. 

‘Well it was worth a shot.’ you thought.

Wrapped in the blankets and Cezar nestled beside your chest, beginning to drift to sleep you hear someone at the front door. Opening your eyes you sit up, waking the pup. That’s when you heard heavy steps coming closer to the door of the bedroom. You turned over, pretending to be asleep as you heard the door creak open.

The mattress, shifting from his weight on the other side.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“I’ve been too much of a coward to show you all of me. Afraid of what you would think if you knew who I was. Who I am.” His words, a low hum as if he is talking to himself.

You turn over to see his back. His face planted in his palms. Your movements make him freeze.

“You’re awake.” He says. His voice, shaky.

“And you came back.” You said, sounding more surprised than intended.

“Yeah…” He lets out a half-hearted laugh.

There’s that silence again, a long stretch of time as you both hold your breaths.

“I should’ve told you this sooner. That way I wouldn’t have wasted so much of your ti~ ” You cut him off.

“Don’t say that you. You‘ve never even come close to being a waste of time to me.” You say, hoping he believes your words to be true and not just a pretty sentiment  to make him feel better.

Sitting up to prop yourself against your extended arm you say, “Whatever it is I’m sure it’s ~”

“I killed my parents.” He interrupts. Blurting the word out to make himself finally say it. “I-I killed my parents.” He repeats much quieter this time, almost to himself.

You take a second to swallow what he just told you. Fiddling with the sheets in your fingers trying to think of something to say but you don’t know what to say. So you stay quiet.

“It wasn’t out of malice, if that makes it easier for you to look at me.” He says. His words coated in worry.

Worry of what you will say. What you would call him. And most of all what you will do.  

Will you leave him? Like everyone always has. He wouldn’t blame you.

Another moment passes in the tense silence. He sighs in acceptance that you are through. He gets up to leave but you grab his hand from behind. Your soft touch sparked against his skin. Looking down at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Stay.” Is all you said. Just one word glued a few pieces of his world back together. He sits back down, this time facing you.

“Why? After what I said, why would you want me to stay?” He asks

“Cause you haven’t told me the whole story.” You say.

He looks in your eyes curiously. “Y-you want to know… why does it matter to you?” He questions as he shakes his head slightly.

“Because you said it wasn’t out of malicious intent, so there had to be a reason. Right?” You offer a small curve of your lip.

Looking at you through his lashes. He says a soft “Ok.”

Clearing his throat. Hector then went on to tell you about his home-life as a child, if you could call it that.

The retellings of how his parents would treat him and their greed. The images he painted made your stomach turn a bit.

“At the time I felt I needed to. Like I had no choice.” He says, his words somber.

Reaching out you pull Hector towards you. He willingly falls into your embrace. His head resting on your chest. Soothingly combing your fingers through his silver strands, he holds your free hand in his.

“Even still now I don’t know if I would do anything differently.” He sighs, being thoughtful with his choice of words.

“I have no remorse for what I did.” He lets out an airy chuckle. “Y/n, have I become the very people I grew to despise.? The ones I’ve set my life out to rid the world of?” You think about his question. With confliction rising within you.

“Hector I’m not blind to the fact that you have done less than savory things and others might disagree but…” You pause, retracting your hand from his to guide his chin up to meet your gaze.

“That doesn’t make you a monster.”

Those words rang through his head, pulling a tear from his sockets. Coming from you it was everything he needed at that moment. For years battling with the idea that he is no better than the people who take and hurt others for their own gain, now settles a bit.

He kisses you. The idea that you were just being gentle with him didn’t go unthought about, but that didn’t matter to him. What did matter was you. Someone in his life that wants to be there. What did he do to deserve such a blessing? Was it by chance? And if so, will is this only be a fleeting moment in both your lives. Here one minute and gone the next?

Or could it be the stars aligned. Some cosmic deity put you together knowing he needed someone. Needed you.

Whatever it is, whatever put you in his arms. He couldn’t think of anything else but, “Thank you.” He says. Tears stinging his eyes. Looking up at you with his tear stained cheeks, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“Thank you.”

Those being the only two words he could speak. Saying them like a prayer. Leaning forward you connect your lips to his. The wetness of his cheeks touch yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him closer.

You fall back to the matters. He hovers above you, his fingers playing with your soft locks. His eyes looking at you with certainty. Certainty that you are real. That you will love him. And that you will be his forever.

In that comfortable silence he lays his head against your chest once again. Your fingers stroking his hair as he listens to the steady tempo of your heart beat and drifts to sleep.

Peacefully~. 

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I hope you enjoyed reading this lovelies :3

💛 ~

MASTERLIST

[dragonshifter-minecraft]

Chapter 9 - Trapped

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[Word Count: 2512]

[Content Warnings: SOFT/SAFE VORE (continued from last chapter), Fear, Mentions of Digestion and Suffocation (none happen), Zombies, Minor Injury and Blood]

[Once more, the following chapter contains VORE – feel free to skim, skip, or block the tags ‘tw vore’ and/or ‘extreme cuddling’ if this makes you uncomfortable!]

To say he had been swallowed was a gross understatement – all at once, George had been mercilessly squeezed down the dragon’s throat, his limbs pressed together uncomfortably while the air was forced out of his lungs by the crushing tightness. He had attempted to resist the firm muscles squashing against him, using every last remaining ounce of his strength to thrash and struggle, but it hardly made a difference – if anything, it seemed like he was being pushed down faster.

As he felt a couple more quick gulps, the throat seemed to crush him even tighter, and he could suddenly hear a rhythmic booming not too far away – no doubt the dragon’s heart.

Only a few seconds later, he felt the pressure around his feet abruptly vanish, and George’s own heart clenched with dread. His tired body could do little to resist as one final swallow shoved the rest of him down, cramming him into a slimy, sweltering chamber deep within the dragon’s core.

The moment George was able to take in a proper breath, he let out a despairing yowl of:

“DREEEEEEEEAM!”

Beyond the beast’s indifferent heartbeat and steady whooshing of breath, there was no answer.

George gagged on the stuffy air within the stomach, feeling hot fluids pooling beneath him – stomach acids, surely. Still panting heavily, his overly exerted muscles tensed, contemplating another bout of wild flailing against the monster that had eaten him. But as he attempted to sit up, his limbs suddenly felt heavy and useless. Almost immediately as he’d pushed off against the yielding flesh, his arms had given out and caused him to flop back down into the liquids below. Dull pain pulsed through his aching form, bitterly reminding him of his exhaustion borne of the day’s earlier activities.

There was no way he could keep fighting – his own body would not permit it.

George slumped defeatedly, managing to curl up in the pit of the dragon’s stomach as his chest jerked with a sob. Salty tears dribbled down his slobber-soaked cheeks, his face buried in his arms as he shuddered uncontrollably, choking on the thick, humid air. How could this have happened? How could Dream do this to him?

That’s when he felt the fleshy walls around him unexpectedly press inwards, oozing with even more awful slime as they squeezed at his trembling form. He weakly attempted to scoot away, but they just closed in tighter, kneading mechanically. The surrounding stomach was churning him about in the shallow pool of acids all around him – probably already starting to digest him.

A quiet whimper escaped him.

Why would Dream have done this…?

Why…?

Dream continued to scan the rocky cliffs as he passed, looking for a suitable cave. The mountains by Aureus were dotted with caves large and small, but finding a dragon-sized hollow that didn’t stretch into a branching cave system was proving rather difficult. As the night went on, the Blood Moon only continued to rise into the sky, bathing the darkened landscape even further with red light that seemed to call forth even more monsters.

As another arrow embedded itself into his side, the beast quickly determined that none of the ground-level caves would work, and he promptly angled himself upwards to ascend out of the skeletons’ range. If he was going to spend the night fending off mobs, he’d be better off finding someplace that was difficult to reach by climbing alone.

Throughout his whole search, he was uncomfortably aware of the terrified Dragonshifter in his crop. He was grateful that George hadn’t taken to frantically pounding on the walls, but Dream didn’t feel much better knowing that he was instead curled up and sobbing hopelessly. So, as the dragon continued to search, he gently folded the walls of his crop inward a bit, attempting to comfort his passenger in the only way he could, at the moment.

He didn’t get much of a response – either for better or for worse – so he didn’t keep it up long before pulling back and letting George have his space.

George’s whole body felt both achy and completely numb, even as the walls of the stomach ceased their unnerving squeezing. His chest was sore from the way it had been heaving with every fearful sob, his crying reduced to quiet trembling by this point. He was still curled up tightly, terrified to even move for fear it would only accelerate the process. He likely didn’t have long before he would begin to feel the acids eating away at his skin.

But then again, he was already so tired. With the stuffy air slowly suffocating him, he wondered if he’d be lucky enough to pass out before he felt anything.

All around, he could hear the beast’s heart thumping powerfully, resounding alongside the quick breaths rushing into and out of massive lungs. Occasionally, he would hear a distant gurgling from other nearby organs. But as he continued to lie there, something else slowly dawned on him.

The stomach around him seemed to be faintly bobbing up and down. Was Dream moving? The movement was far too subtle to be caused by him running – George knew from his experience of riding on the dragon’s back, earlier. He must have been flying.

It was like he didn’t even remember that George existed…

Dream felt as though he’d checked the whole mountain range, discovering so many unsuitable caves that he worried he might have to give up and settle for curling up at the entrance of a sprawling network of monster-filled tunnels. Though as he banked around to scan the other side of the range, he finally found what he had been looking for.

Up near the peak of one of the mountains was a sizable cave, one that was large enough to accommodate a small dragon, and surrounded by enough steep cliffs that monsters would hardly be a problem, if at all. And as he got a closer look, he was delighted to see that the cave didn’t stretch on too far, going just deep enough that he could fit, without having to worry about mobs sneaking up behind him from some unknowably extensive cave system.

Dream alighted sturdily on the stone floor, careful not to jostle the Dragonshifter in his crop too much. He was panting slightly from fatigue, his wings aching terribly. After a long day of running himself ragged in dragon form, he was nothing short of exhausted. And with George’s sudden stillness within him, he was sure his passenger was feeling the same way. But there was one key difference between the two, and that was the fact that Dream would have to remain vigilant all night, while George could sleep in peace if he so desired.

The dragon thought it best to settle in for the long haul, and at least try to explain a few things to his frightened guest…

The green beast folded his wings along his sides, turning to assess the minor injuries caused by a few skeletons that had managed to land their shots. Thankfully, his scales saved him from most of the damage, not allowing the arrows to pierce as far as they would have a human. It was simply a matter of lightly gripping the shafts with his teeth and plucking them out. They bled a little, but as the wounds were mere pinpricks to him, he knew they’d heal quickly.

At last, with his own injuries taken care of, Dream turned his attention to his passenger.

Once again, George felt the walls closing in, squashing and rubbing against him insistently. He was utterly powerless to fight back as the rippling flesh curled around him, practically smothering him in their warm embrace. A disgusting concoction of fluids dripped down on him from every too-close wall, soaking him even further in slime.

“DREAM!” he shrieked, horrified.

The flesh around him abruptly froze.

After a long moment, it shyly retreated.

“Sorry, just didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten,” came the dragon’s soft response, his voice rumbling all around the other Dragonshifter. It was the first time he’d heard Dream speak since he’d been eaten, and it was somehow just as unsettling as everything else. But then George processed what he’d said, and a flash of indignant anger surged up within him.

“W-What the hell is that supposed to—Dream, let me out!” he shouted desperately, weakly managing to push himself up on his knees. He tried to ignore the complaints of his own body and the way his frame swayed uncertainly.

“That’s… not really an option right now,” Dream replied hesitantly. George suppressed a whimper at the beast’s words, shocked by their sheer unconcern.

“Dream, please!” he called, lightly pushing his hands into the nearest wall. He shuddered at the awful sensation of slobber clinging to his fingers.

“No,” the dragon’s voice was firm, “you’re staying in there. Will you just let me explain?”

“Explain what?! You ate me! Y-You’re going to kill me! Why would you…? H… How could you…?” George’s frantic shouts trailed off as he found himself fighting tears, his aching chest shuddering with barely-restrained sobs. Gagging on the stale air, he managed to choke out, “Dream, y-you can’t do this…”

On either side of him, there was a loud whooshing as the beast let out a sigh.

“George, relax,” Dream urged, “you’re fine.”

“You—H-How is any of this FINE?!” the other Dragonshifter screeched, blindly attempting to smack whatever part of the surrounding flesh was closest. His wearied muscles struck with the strength of a newborn kitten.

The dragon snorted.

“I’m not hurting you, and I don’t plan to,” he stated matter-of-factly, “I only did this to keep you safe. Did you forget about the Blood Moon?”

“How could your stomach possibly be safer than—?”

“You’re not in my stomach,” Dream interrupted, “you’re in my crop.”

“…Wot?”

“All dragons have a crop,” the beast clarified, “it’s basically a space used to store food or shelter young. That’s all. As long as you’re in there, I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to.”

There was a tense pause.

“…You’re lying,” George uttered at last.

“Why would I lie about this?” the dragon retorted in frustration. “I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I’d never kill you over it. Really. You’re not going to be digested.”

“Then you’re just going to suffocate me!” the other Dragonshifter screeched hoarsely. “It’s so hot, t-there’s hardly any air!”

“There is air, it’s just humid,” Dream huffed, thumping his tail in mild irritation. “If you’d calm down a little, you’d be breathing a lot easier.”

George was quiet for a minute.

“Dream,” he finally spoke, his voice trembling, “please, I-I’m scared.”

The dragon let out an acknowledging hum, debating whether or not to gently squeeze the other Dragonshifter with his crop. He knew it would probably frighten George further, but there weren’t many other ways he could offer reassurance at the moment, especially since he couldn’t seem to say the right thing to put his guest at ease.

That was when a quiet, unfamiliar groan echoed through the cavern, and Dream tensed as he met the deadened gaze of a walking corpse at the mouth of the cave, its decaying fingers scrabbling at the ledge as it slowly clambered its way up. The green beast stood abruptly with a gasp, wondering how a zombie had managed to climb this far up the mountain. As it pushed itself upwards, gargling menacingly, Dream let out a threatening snarl.

Glittering flames poured from the dragon’s mouth, charring the undead creature to a crisp and sending it plummeting.

All that was left was a singed mark at the edge of the cliff.

Unexpectedly, the fleshy chamber around him had bucked as the beast suddenly moved, the lungs on either side taking in a sharp breath. George swiftly lost his balance, finding himself thrown back onto his side. Dream’s heart, once pulsing calmly all around him, was now pounding rapidly. He didn’t even have to see to know that the dragon had been startled by something, and the rumbling growl that broke into a flash of heat seemed to suggest that he – that both of them – had been attacked.

The next moments were filled with apprehension, George listening intently to the beast’s quickened breathing and racing heartbeat… which gradually began to slow.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Had to roast a zombie,” Dream answered breathlessly as he laid back down against the stone floor, protectively pressing his crop inwards to hold his passenger a little closer.

“A-Are you doing that on purpose?!” George barked frantically, the walls having begun to close in on him, again.

“…Sorry,” the dragon murmured, hesitantly pulling back to leave the other Dragonshifter alone.

He sat wordlessly, staring through the utter blackness as he took the time to consider his surroundings. He’d previously taken the horrible churning to mean that the stomach had been trying to break him down, but if this wasn’t a stomach… and if Dream really was the one moving it like that…

“…You’re really not gonna kill me?” the mildly hopeful question came after several seconds of silence.

“I’m not,” Dream affirmed, “I promise.”

“So… what am I even meant to do?” George inquired miserably. The beast chuckled softly at him.

“You could go to sleep,” he suggested.

“Sleep?!” the other Dragonshifter questioned in disbelief. “You expect me to sleep in here?!”

“George, look,” Dream began, “I’m probably gonna be up all night to make sure nothing attacks us, but you’re safe in there. If you’re able to fall asleep, you should. Besides, you’re probably more tired than I am after… well, everything.”

While George wanted to argue, the dragon had a point. He was beyond drained, and he could barely keep his eyes open as it was. And as much as he would have rather stayed awake as long as possible to make sure Dream didn’t go back on his word and digest him anyway, George knew his wearied body just wouldn’t allow it. At the very least, if the beast was lying, he wouldn’t be awake to find out.

Allowing himself to relax, George snuggled slightly into the soft flesh below, feeling the heat washing over him. As the tension went out from his aching muscles, it felt as if the surrounding warmth was soaking into him, soothing away the soreness and leaving him feeling overwhelmingly drowsy. The walls folded inwards just slightly, and from there merely cradled him gently. George didn’t have the energy to tell Dream to stop.

Unable to stay awake any longer, he finally drifted off.

The dragon felt as his guest went completely limp, and promptly stilled the walls of his crop. It had been a while since he’d held someone inside, but he didn’t want to take advantage of that. His intent, first and foremost, was to keep George safe.

Dream cupped his front paws protectively around his chest, his eyes fixed apprehensively on the mouth of the cave.

It was going to be a long night.

[Author’s Note: And that nearly wraps up the first vore scene of this story! I haven’t really sat down and written a proper vore scene like this in a few years, so writing this whole chapter was a difficult yet fun challenge for me. I’m very happy with how it turned out!]

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: A Balmy Tuesday in Hell

Taking a break from the prompt requests to wish a very happy birthday to @snailbutters! Tbh I like this idea a lot and I’m tempted to expand on it more. Cross posted on AO3. 

xxx

When Mike went looking for a part-time job to earn some spending money, he had a hard time finding one that worked around his college class schedule. All the good on-campus jobs were taken, and most of the ones he found offsite required him to be up way too early or way too late with very little flexibility. 

The front desk position at the Beelzebob, a local hair salon advertising an array of “wicked styles” for any occasion, was not the most glamorous position, but it welcomed part timers and offered flexible schedules to be discussed on a case by case basis. It was at the tail end of a long week of job hunting with little to show for it, and Mike was tired. Still, he dragged himself all the way there after his three-hour Friday seminar and put on his best retail charm for the interview. 

One of the stylists told him to wait in the lobby while she grabbed the manager for his interview, and so Mike sat in a plush, purple chair and eyed the stack of magazines on the coffee table—HJi, Professional Beauty, NHF, and others he recognized from Googling “how to work at a hair salon” last night. A playlist that seemed to consist entirely of K-pop pumped ripples of bubblegum bass through the speakers and had Mike tapping his fingers on his hip. There was no one behind the sleek, glass reception desk, so Mike got up and wandered over to it. He tried to imagine himself with the headset on, fielding phone calls and helping customers pick out one of the many luxury hair products on the walls behind the desk. He touched his own brown hair—plain and getting a bit long, but styled with a little wax for the day—and worried about whether he should have tried a bit harder for this interview. Would he be judged on his own hair? That seemed reasonable enough—

“This simply won’t do.”

Mike startled at the lyrical voice and turned around to find a seven-foot, red-skinned demon in Lululemons appraising him over an enterprising nose. Which would have been a cause for mild to moderate alarm even in Metroville—a hub for lowlifes, Supervillains, and the occasional monster on a mission out of Townsville farther north—except that Mike recognized this particular demon. At which point he got the pun in the name of this place and smiled. 

“Him,” he squeaked. And then, remembering his high school retail training: “I mean, Mr. Him.”

Him—Prince of Pestilence, Duke of Depravity, Earl of Evil, et cetera—blushed the color of an open wound. “You’re house trained, I see. All right, this way.”

Him turned on his Louboutin heel and headed into the salon. Mike hurried after Him, unsure whether this was good or bad. Him led him to a styling chair and sat him down. A purple salon cape made its way around Mike’s neck with a flamenco flourish, and Him leaned over his head in the reflection. 

“What are we thinking?”

Mike eyed his potential future employer from perfectly curled goatee to artificial mink lashes and hesitated. 

This is a test. 

It had to be. Surely, anyone manning the phones had to know something about haircare in general. If he was to be the vanguard, the watcher on the Wall, he would have to be able to alert his colleagues of the incoming threats and answer questions about how to fend off anything from tangles to split ends. Mike tried to remember the last time he got a haircut; Boomer had been with him, his eye far more discerning than Mike’s. 

“Comb over,” Mike said. 

“Quiff?”

“More faux hawk.” He tried not to think of the heat on the back of his neck, and instead of the sly grin on Boomer’s face the last time he’d been under the scissors. “With a low fade. Um, please.”

Him’s fangs gleamed when he grinned. “Good choice.”

For a demon with claws the size of dinner plates, Him was surprisingly adroit and precise to a literal razor’s edge. In fact, Mike was certain Him must sharpen his claws to get them sharp enough to shave the hair from the nape of his neck, which seemed like a sensible time-saver. Blackpink’s Pretty Savage blared over the speaker as Him coifed and styled the thicker locks that remained on top of Mike’s head, combed to the left in enviable, anti-gravity perfection. 

“Wow.” He touched the side of his head, marveling at the close but generous cut and the perfect blend. “This has to be the best haircut I’ve ever gotten.”

He got up and removed the cape, only to find Him with a broom in his claw. “I run a clean salon, Michael.”

Mike accepted the broom without question. “Yes, sir.”

Him preened. “Good lad.”

“Does… Does this mean I got the job?”

Him flipped his claw. “There will be a trial period. You young people are so used to texting that I’ll have to determine if you’re fit to answer a phone. But, considering your manners, I have a good feeling about you.”

Amazing! “Thank you so much! When do I start?”

“Honey, you’re already late. I have customers waiting.” Him snapped his claw. “Chop chop.”

Mike swept up his shorn hair and the hair around the chair next to his, dumped it all in a bin labeled “Hair,” and ran to the front desk to answer the phone ringing off the hook. The stylist who’d greeted him, Marisol, helped him with the computer login so he could manage appointments and checkout. It was easy enough, a Square card reader and a cash register and a huge logbook of every sale. 

“Middle finger up, F-U, pay me,” Mike whisper-rapped along with Lisa. 

A couple hours later, Him handed him a check for the time worked and told him to be back here tomorrow at 3 p.m. Mike accepted the check, but he didn’t pocket it. 

“Sir, I should tell you for the sake of full disclosure.”

Him peered down at him with his claws on his hips. “Oh?”

This should not be so hard.

“I’m, well, I’m involved. With your son. Boomer.”

Him clicked his claw, and Mike held his breath. 

Boomer had spoken about Him—Baron of Brutality, King of Chaos, Emperor of Enmity et cetera—on just a few occasions throughout their acquaintance. Raising souls from the dead was a hobby of Him’s, apparently, but often his necromantic offspring ended up rotting and were no fit candidates to promenade in civilized society that wasn’t eternally damned and burning. Chemical X cut out that inconvenience, and thus the perfect little boys were reborn, or something. According to Boomer, Him was evil on Sundays, a prolific genius on Tuesdays, and crocheting with his kobolds on Fridays. The rest of the time he was just a normal demon trying to survive in this capitalist post-modern society like everybody else. Anyway, Sunday wasn’t in Mike’s work schedule, so that seemed safe enough.

“I know,” Him said. “You don’t expect me to believe you’d Googled the most flattering hairstyle for your bone structure without help, do you?”

Mike was pretty sure there was a compliment in there, even if it wasn’t for him. “I guess not.”

Him beamed. “Don’t worry. I would never let my favorite son’s romantic life influence the culture at Beelzebob. You’ll be judged before an impartial tribunal of incubi, like everybody else. Now, before you go, I’d like you to dispose of the waste, please.”

Mike learned the value of separating trash that day. Discarded receipts and candy wrappers dumped in the waste bin went into the trash, lunch leftovers went to compost, and cut hair went to sacrificial offerings. 

“Sacrifices reduce our carbon footprint and offer protection against flat Earthers. It’s a proven science, you know.”

Mike supposed it would be poor manners to argue with an ancient evil on his crochet day.

xxx

Boomer was all sly smiles and discreet hand touches when Mike treated him to dinner at their favorite Thai place later that week. 

“So, your job seems to be paying well,” he said. 

“Well enough to take my boyfriend out to a nice dinner now and then.”

“Careful. Spend too much time with Him and your tastes will get really expensive.”

Mike laughed. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll switch majors to cosmetology and join the family business.”

“You know what? He’d probably love that. He tried so hard to get Brick to follow in his footsteps, but Mojo let him mess around on his E-Shares account once when we were eleven and Brick was lost to the finance track forever. I’m pretty sure Mojo did it on purpose.” Boomer leaned in and clinked his wine glass to Mike’s. “Anyway, buy me this dinner before you jump to joining the family business.”

Mike flushed. “I’m—I didn’t—”

Boomer laughed. “Chill! I’m just messing with you.”

The playlist at the restaurant began playing Blackpink’s Kill This Love, and Mike burst out laughing. 

“What?” Boomer asked. “You like this song? You know, Him is really big into K-pop lately. Butch thinks someone must have sold a bunch of souls and made a killing.”

“I know.” Mike kissed Boomer’s hand. “It’s just funny how things work out.”

Boomer smiled. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Their food arrived, and Mike happily ate his meal across from Boomer. And in the back of his mind, he said a little thank-you to Him and whatever chaotic forces he controlled for reviving Boomer all those years ago. 

It must have been a balmy Tuesday in Hell.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 40

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your captor reveals what he wants with Bucky, and with you.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Witnessing past noncon (mildly graphic), psychological torture, isolation, captivity

AO3

Fear was a constant in the semi-darkness. Despite the man’s words that he would eventually let you go, you didn’t trust him an ounce. You remained hypervigilant, poised on the edge of flight, though you were more than ready to fight for your escape. It turned out, bond active or not, the thought of Bucky being used and enslaved was enough to move you to violence.

But between the dizzying seesaw of fear and anger, you were crushed with a deep sadness. You were worried about your mom noticing your absence. You worried about Monster being left alone, even though he was no ordinary cat and could fend for himself.

Most of all, you missed Bucky. You were grateful he was safe, even though hours before you’d been resentful of his situation. It had been a blessing in disguise, because no matter what he was out of reach of this madman.

But it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him terribly, and that you didn’t wish someone would hurry up and find you, wherever you were.

As you lay on the stone bench, you continually touched the marks on the wall, a reminder that Bucky had been there. It made you feel less alone, but it did nothing to ease the ache in your chest. You’d caught a glimpse of his life under HYDRA’s control, and you didn’t want to think about the things that might have occurred in this very cell.

You had time. Too much of it. Enough to play back the memories of the last three months and how they led you to this moment.

Bucky had been so reticent at the beginning. Distant, aloof and impenetrable wall you couldn’t climb. But you’d caught moments, glimpses past the armor into the man inside. Despite his grouchy demeanor, he’d been as lonely as you were. It had taken so long for him to let you past his walls, and it had been so worth it. Even the moments that would leave their scars, the memories that kept you up at night, it had been bearable with Bucky there.

Now, all you had was yourself. Alone in a prison that smelled of damp earth and forgotten things. At least… that’s what you thought.

You very carefully turned your head, trying to catch the thing you’d spotted earlier in the corner of the room. A flash of green, like the slitted pupils of a cat reflecting the harsh light from the single bulb overhead.

Heart leaping, you sat up and faced the darkness, about to call out Monster’s name… but then you shut your mouth. They were the wrong shade of green, and they were too high off the ground.

Not to mention Monster would never hide from you. No… this was something different. A second set of sickly green eyes you recognized.

“Did he tell you to watch me?” you asked, voice cracking painfully. You cleared it, and nudged the water pitcher with your sock-covered toe. “Make sure I don’t drown myself in this?”

The Alp didn’t respond except to blink its reflective eyes, not unlike the way Monster would when he was listening to you ramble on about your long day at work.

You frowned and chewed on the inside of your cheek. What did you know about this demon? You had assumed it was the same one that had attacked you on Halloween night, but Bucky had killed it, hadn’t he? Then again, you knew from experience that death wasn’t quite so permanent for demons.

Same demon or not, this one had abducted you at the man’s command. That much was true. And what you had also managed to recall just before you’d slipped into unconsciousness was the pained howls of the Alp being punished.

So, in conclusion, it was possible you had more in common with the Alp than you’d first realized. And from the way the man had been talking about wanting to enslave Bucky, it wasn’t a stretch to think this demon wasn’t a willing participant.

Okay. You could work with that.

“I don’t blame you for abducting me,” you said. “Maybe you didn’t even want to, but he made you. You didn’t have a choice.”

The demon said nothing, but it was no longer blinking.

You lowered your voice to a soft, understanding level, hoping the Alp would realize you weren’t the enemy.

“I know he hurt you. Punished you. Probably not for the first time, right?”

No response, but that was all right. The demon only had to listen.

“I can help you,” you whispered, leaning toward the bars. “There are sorcerers in New York, powerful ones who know all about demonic magic. They could free you from this man, or at least protect you. You could be free. We both could be free.”

You took a deep breath, putting all your sincerity into your words.

“All you have to do is get me out of there. Take me back. We could go to the Sanctum together, and—“

The demon finally reacted, or rather, it made a low, saddened noise that sounded suspiciously like a no. And then it vanished with a popping sound, black tendrils of smoke curling in the air where it had been, and then disappearing and leaving the faint but pungent scent of sulfur.

Sighing, you sat back against the wall and tried not to let the discouragement or the cold get to you. Your captor had slipped you a blanket between the bars, but it provided little warmth, metaphorical or otherwise.

You only had to hope you could survive long enough, either to be rescued or to escape. One thing was for certain: it would only be a matter of time until your abductor realized Bucky wasn’t coming.

***

It became a waiting game, one neither of you were going to win.

Time flowed in unpredictable lurches, but you could give a rough estimate from how often the man came back to the room with a pitcher of water and a tray of food. It was clearly prepackaged, maybe even from some kind of military ration, but you still ate it because you needed the energy and he wasn’t going to poison you. Not if he wanted Bucky to be caught in a trap with living bait.

If the man was feeding you three meals a day, then you’d been down here for a day and a half already. You would be missed by now. Strange would be searching for you, and while you didn’t know who this man was, you knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the head sorcerer.

Or so you thought. On his eighth visit, he returned to the room and put down the folded chair. There was something in his hands. A book. Red, with a black pentagram on the cover.

Horror shot through your mind. You remembered that book: it had belonged to the Russian officer who had once enslaved Bucky. The Colonel. He’d been a high-ranking member of HYDRA, so how had this man gotten ahold of it?

“From your expression, you recognize this tome. But do you know what it is?”

The man, whose name you still didn’t know because he refused to give it to you, watched you with a patient smile. Almost as if you were a child he was teaching at his knee.

“No.” Your voice was hoarse from disuse, and it was a testament to your isolation that you were talking to him at all. But after being trapped in the semi-darkness, cold and alone, you were willing to talk to anyone. Even him.

“I do not know the book’s name,” he said, turning it over reverently in his hands. You noticed a thin, gold wedding band on one finger. He was married? “But I know its purpose. It’s an instruction manual, of sorts. A guide in all things demonic. It predates HYDRA, a stolen relic as many things were, and one must have proficient knowledge in Latin to read it.”

His voice was faint, far away as he mused, “A sacred text, written in a dead language, coveted by a doomed cult. There is a lesson to be learned there, I think.”

You let the man speak, the more he did the better it was for you. The last thing you wanted was for the effects of isolation to make you reveal something you shouldn’t.

“With this book, you will be freed.” He leaned forward, his soft voice taking on an eager quality. “Sergeant Barnes will no longer hold sway over you, but that’s not all I offer. With a new master, I can protect him from HYDRA, whatever little of them is left. Or I can protect him from the next group which attempts to use demons. There will always be men who lust for power wherever it resides, and your demon has quite a lot of it.”

You said nothing, resentful that he wasn’t wrong about Bucky in this regard.

“It was quite a journey to find the latest owner of this book,” he continued, apparently not discouraged by your lack of interaction. “It was in the hands of Colonel Vasily Karpov: Sergeant Barnes’ last master. He was in the Russian Armed Forces and one of HYDRA’s top men. Do you know where I found him?”

The man sneered distastefully.

“Cleveland.”

He looked down at the book and slowly shook his head.

“The man who enslaved and humiliated the demon you wish to protect was living not too far from your own home. I’m the one who found Karpov. I’m the one who killed him. Don’t you see? We are allies in this.”

A noise finally escaped you. A dismissive snort.

“You want to make Bucky your slave, and you have the nerve to think… what, that you’re his friend?”

“A friend? No. One does not make friends with a weapon.”

You looked away, grimacing in disgust.

“How are you any better than HYDRA?” you growled out.

“Because I will put Sergeant Barnes to a nobler purpose. He will not be used for cruel or evil intentions.”

“So you admit, you would use him.”

It was a terrible idea to engage with his dangerous man, to nurse his delusions, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting him antagonize you, either.

He gave you a pitying look.

“Sergeant Barnes has been used his entire life, and the US Government was his first master. Drafted into the army, trained to be a sniper, he killed Nazis without compunction. Your sergeant has always been a killer; HYDRA simply unleashed him on their enemies. And I will unleash him onto mine.”

You opened your mouth, the urge to spit venom on the tip of your tongue… and then you shut it. Intentionally or not, he was revealing quite a lot of information, such as what he really wanted with Bucky.

“What kind of enemies?” you asked, tone carefully even. But the man merely stared at you, gave a small smile, and stood from his chair.

“I estimate that Sergeant Barnes should be here soon,” he said. “A demon master without its slave is vulnerable, and if the human inside him still exists and has compassion for you… then he will come even swifter.

“In the meantime…”

He approached the projector in the corner, and your stomach clenched, even as you weren’t sure why. His next words confirmed your instincts were right.

“I have something that will hopefully enlighten you.”

The man flicked a switch and the clicking of the old projector accompanied a square of light cast onto the wall. Distorted images from empty bits of film bubbled up onto the screen until it formed into a coherent picture. An image of the very room you were in, though the camera was facing toward the cell you currently occupied.

The image showed a horrific scene. A ring of men were surrounding someone, their boots and batons striking his curled body. You were sure the man must be dead after a beating like that, but once they stopped and backed away, the bruises and abrasions faded away… and your stomach sank as the man propped himself up.

You almost didn’t recognize him. His muscles were much leaner and less bulky, his face rounder and younger, his hair cut short. He was almost entirely human except for the demonic left arm and a smaller version of his current tail. The wings, the horns, his clawed feet and tapered ears—none of those existed yet.

“I can do this all day,” Bucky said, giving a smile stained red. He was entirely naked, stripped of his clothing, but he showed no signs of intimidation. Even through the tinny quality of the audio you recognized that stubborn tone of voice, and your heart ached at hearing him again, especially in such a dire situation.

“Good, Mister Barnes,” a voice responded from out of frame. His accent was heavily Russian, but he he spoke in English. “Because I am curious as to how much punishment your body can take before it runs out of its stored energy.”

Bucky cursed, and the man behind him laid him flat on the ground with a kick to his spine. Bucky wheezed and curled into a ball again as the men continued to beat him.

You were sure he was going to die. You knew he wouldn’t, but every instinct in you screamed to stop something had had happened over seventy years ago.

The man on the film was speaking as if documenting an experiment, noting Bucky’s healing ability as it slowed, leaving his wounds open and painful-looking.

“If you want to learn about demons,” Bucky cut him off with a snarl, “you can go to Hell.”

Pride surged in your chest. Bucky was a fighter, he would never give up—

The same man who had kicked him in the back now struck the side of Bucky’s head with a baton, and he collapsed hard. Bucky groaned on the ground, his claws digging into the concrete. It took you a moment to realize he wasn’t groaning from pain.

“Sufficient injury past the point of healing appears to drive the subject into heat,” the man behind the camera observed. “Note the expanded pupils giving the appearance of solid black eyes. Does pain turn you on now, Sergeant?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He only eyed the circle of men as they drew closer, and there was something other than wariness in his gaze.

“Turn it off,” you said, voice small and laden with horror. You didn’t want to watch. Didn’t want to see. You’d witnessed enough of Bucky’s humiliation without his consent. It wasn’t right.

“Not yet,” the man said. You couldn’t see his face, covered in shadow as he watched you watch the film. “Not until you truly understand.”

“And when the subject is in the throes of heat,” the cameraman continued, crackling from the old audio, “he produces pheromones that have a drastic effect on men near him.”

Bucky remained silent, glaring up at the men pulling closer. They rubbed themselves obscenely through their pants, clearly affected by the pheromones, but you doubted those pieces of shit needed much encouragement in that regard.

“Perhaps these fine men will assist you with what you need, if you ask them nicely, Sergeant.”

You could see it in Bucky’s eyes. How hard he fought, to resist the urges pulsing through him, and you knew the moment when he gave into them.

Bucky lurched to his knees, grabbed onto the nearest HYDRA soldier, and ripped open his pants.

You shut your eyes tight and turned your head away. If this bastard wanted you to watch, he’d have to force you to do that himself.

But he didn’t come into your cell and force you to watch, and unfortunately, you could still hear the sounds all too clearly. The heated grunts, the obscene wet noises that were uncannily familiar, in a way. You considered covering your ears, but leaving more of your senses blind with your captor wouldn’t be wise, either.

So you opened your eyes and stared at the floor, praying it would be over soon.

It wasn’t. The same man who was filming this torture, who seemed to be the man in charge, taunted Bucky. Mocked him that he wanted to be fucked by HYDRA soldiers until he was senseless.

He was their prisoner, helpless in so many ways, and still this man, whoever he was, chose to be even more cruel than he had to be.

“Who are you thinking of, Sergeant?” he eventually asked. “Your dear Captain, perhaps?”

You curled your hands next to your face, nearly covering your ears. You shouldn’t be hearing this, you shouldn’t!

There was an awful chuckle of laughter at however Bucky had reacted.

“You do hunger for your Captain?” the man continued. “Did he know what you were? Did he debase himself with you?”

You didn’t expect Bucky to answer; you’d seen him caught in the middle of a heat firsthand, and experienced something similar yourself and knew how difficult it was to think, let alone talk.

But he still managed to growl out, “F-fuck you… Lukin. Ste-Captain Rogers… never…”

“Perhaps we will send him a copy of this film: of you reduced to HYDRA’s whore,” the man called Lukin said, a sneer in his voice. “Do you think he would come for you knowing the things you think about him?”

Bucky’s voice was flat, defeated when he finally answered.

“No.”

The rapid clicking of the projector slowed to a crawl until it went silent.

“Do you see now?” your captor asked, his soft voice floating to you from the darkness. “Do you understand what I would be shielding him from? With Sergeant Barnes under my power, he will never suffer from such humiliation again.”

You said nothing and stared resolutely at the stone floor just before the bars. It gave you a decent peripheral view of the room without having to actually look at the man. You despised him. Hated him. More for him using Bucky’s pain to manipulate you than because of your own abduction.

“I won’t help you,” you finally answered, flat but final.

He sighed, taking the reel of film from the projector.

“You will,” he eventually said. “How uncomfortable you are in the process is up to you.”

The swing of the wooden door on its hinges left you in unbroken silence, but in that silence, you could still hear the terrible echoes of sharp gasps and pained whimpers.

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