#burning soul vacant skull

[buggreawlthys]

[spideyanakin]

always remember us this way (e.m)

summary - corroded coffin member!reader, what if you wrote 'always remember us this way' for Eddie Munson?

warnings - sad ending, star is born vibes im sry :(, mention of sex

word count: 7.3k

thank you @inknopewetrust for proof reading some bits <3

back to main masterlist

eddie munson masterlist

That passion in your heart, burnin' in your eyes.

You fiddled with your pen as you watched Eddie from the other corner of the classroom. He was somewhere else; eyes distant and removed from the room you both occupied with 25 other bored souls. Mrs. Click was a drag. Her red manicured hands gripped the white chalk as it scratched the green stone.

The sound pulled him out of his stupor. He mumbled something incoherently and drew his pencil onto his paper. 

On the other side of the room, you couldn’t focus at all. 

A tune was haunting you. It was singing in the back of your mind as the melody began to swim around you. The notes of a song begging to be put onto a page and heard around the world. It was all you could think about; refrains coming to you two days ago when the boy across the room was six-feet-deep in a game of Dig Dug on your last date at the arcade.

A rhythm that you couldn't get out of your skin.

The mix of game chants and arcade music melted into one beat that you ended up humming all night. Fingers mindlessly drumming on the side of machines every time Eddie played his turn. 

You knew that when night fell, Eddie could sense you had music dancing in your mind. It was what brought you two together, after all. The melodies of songs that shaped a life; how stories could express feeling without ever feeling too vulnerable. Eddie knew the sensation all too well. For many a night he had been the victim of that vacant expression and mindless humming of the same few lines over and over.

You were so lost in the tune that when Eddie’s turn was over and he had been defeated for the ten millionth time that evening, his eyes burning a hole into your head hadn’t even fazed you. There you were, half leaning against the machine with eyes glazed over on the odd shapes and colors that danced on the carpet your polished shoes touched. Perhaps you could see the lyrics on the floor. The shapes and colors filled with blues and yellows jumped from their home and painted a score above. 

He called your name once. He called it twice. 

"What are you thinking about?" 

Eddie leaned on the machine’s panel that separated him from you, whispering the words in your ear. The light from Dig Dug illuminated his profile. He belonged in a place like this. A place where he could be free and seen and heard. No bands needth play when the song of Eddie Munson’s eyes filled your soul with warmth. Goosebumps passed through you. You blinked away the music from your mind and caught his gaze. 

He was looking at you with so much love you thought you were about to burst. Leaning so close you could see the tiny sparks of gold in his eyes.

One of his hands came to hold yours, reaching up with his ring-clad fingers to play with the bracelet he had gifted you two weeks before–a dark blue band with mini skulls braided in. It screamed Eddie and that's probably why you loved it so much. He had never seen you take it off since he had gifted it, and it made a small smile appear on his lips each time he saw it where it was meant to be.

And that's when the first piece of lyrics came into mind.

'You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire'

When the words started fitting together in your mind, you could feel the way it made you flustered—heat creeping up your neck and traveling up to your cheeks.

You really did feel like you were about to catch on fire that evening.

Two days later, in the desks of Mrs. Click’s class, you tapped your pen on the back of your hand as it rested over a loose-leaf sheet of paper that had scribbled lyrics that kept popping up. It was like catching butterflies with the words. They came and went, difficult to grasp and hold onto if you didn’t have a pen handy. 

That passion in your heart, burnin' in your eyes

You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire

It's buried in my soul, like California gold

You found the light in me that I couldn't find

The words “CHORUS” were written in sloppy big letters in the middle of the page. You scratched your head with the back of your pen, pouting as you tried to reach unknown corners of your brain for any kind of inspiration.

You had been on literal fire writing the first stanza. The words flowed freely and quickly and without remorse that perhaps it was cheesy that a boy in high school who you envisioned a life with had inspired those lyrics. 

When you look at me and I can't find the words

When the sun goes down,

And the clouds all fade

You looked back to Eddie in hopes something would appear. He was the reason for the song, the whole why as to why those words had made their way to the page in the first place. You watched as he scribbled something of his own, dropping his pencil onto his own desk before suddenly turning his head around and meeting your eyes.

It would be a lie to say that you weren’t caught off guard. Seized in the midst of your contemplation, in mid quest to squeeze any more inspiration out of the being that was Eddie Munson.

He smirked, mouthing something but you couldn’t do anything back. You could barely make out his words. He made you all choked up. Your cheeks started to burn again at the simple thought of him. His smirk, his pretty face… it all disappeared as he turned his head back around.

 He really had to choose now to be a good student?

You munched on the tip of your pencil before eying your page again. And as a light went off, you felt like scribbling something new. 

So when I'm all choked up

When you look at me and I can't find the words.

~

"You keep staring lately." 

Eddie took you by surprise, making you jump as he appeared behind you and laid his  chin on your shoulder.

"I always stare… you’re my boyfriend, Eds," you pointed out, tightening your grip on your piece of paper where your lyrics had been written—hoping he wouldn’t see it.

"Then there’s something different to your stare," he offered, leaving his place at your shoulder to step in front of you.

You grinned, shaking your head and smiling before leaning in for a kiss.

There was something so cheesy about being one of those couples you had once snickered about in the halls. Love had not reached you then. It hadn’t filled every part of your being with the pure adrenaline and immense pleasure it could provide by looking at the one you loved. It had never been obvious to you before that what those people had, you now did too and it was something you would never trade for the world. 

"Maybe it’s just because you’ve finally realized how desperately in love I am," you whispered against his lips and Eddie thought he could melt right there. He too had felt that love. He knew the Earth could swallow him whole and he would fly up to a heaven knowing that the girl of his dreams had loved him back. 

Instead of answering with words, he brushed a strand of hair that had fallen onto your forehead, gently pressing a new kiss to your lips.

"I love you so much" he breathed out, leaning against you as your foreheads touched. The bell sounded–the passing period was over. Eddie backed away, raised his arm to lay over your shoulders and the two of you bounded off to class for the fifth hour of the day.

~

Eddie's bed was filled with random papers, scattered pencils, and mini figurines—your two bodies mingled in the middle of it all. Your chin rested on his bare chest while your legs were tangled up together.

You watched him frown as he dropped the paper he was holding and blindly tried to find another one. He wiggled under you in an attempt to fetch a half-crumpled piece of paper from the other corner of the bed, succeeding after a minute of struggle.

You chuckled at his theatrics. He was never one for subtlety. He moved the paper away from his face to meet your eyes and grin back at you.

"How's that campaign going?" You murmured, almost too scared to break the silence.

For the past thirty minutes, the only noise that could be heard were the rustling of the trees and the uneven buzzing of the fridge coming from the living room mixed with yours and Eddie's pencils scribbling on paper.

It all started an hour and a half ago, when you both couldn't sleep. You thought that maybe tearing each other's clothes off and moaning the other’s names would have been enough to put you to sleep—but there you were at 2 am, after having cooked a box of cheap mac and cheese that had been bought so long ago it expired in a week. You were wearing the shirt he had been wearing that day while he was just in his boxers.

You still felt guilty for laughing at him when hot cheese splashed onto his chest, slightly burning him. You had been a laughing mess when you scolded him for not wearing a shirt while cooking. It was dangerous, you had to chuckle at the act as it was so abundantly Eddie. 

But now the bowls rested empty in the sink and Eddie was focusing on his campaign while you continued to think of the song that haunted your very being. The melody wasn’t catching. The lyrics weren’t forming and the ones that had stuck, from earlier that morning, loomed over your head like a big raincloud. 

Sleep was still far from both your eyes.

"It’s going well," he beamed, lifting his head while you perched yourself off him to steal a kiss.

You leaned back into the position you were in and watched as he began to work again. He grabbed a D&D figurine from the box he had almost fully emptied on the bed minutes prior. He inspected it, trying to find any specific detail that could be scoured for ideas before diving back into his paper and scribbling something new.

You couldn’t keep your eyes away from his face. To the way his tongue slipped between his lips in focus, or how he drew in his eyebrows, and tapped the tip of his pencil to his temple.

He scrunched up his nose before using the little space left on his chest next to your head to erase his scribbling.

You sighed in content. Tracing circles on his skin with your free hand, you had to force your eyes away from his face to look back at your page of writing.

The lyrics slowly began to take shape. The melody wished to fly from your mind and out from your lips, the tune familiar to him. Eddie had heard it for two days straight and couldn’t place it. He knew it was new. He knew it was original.

Your hums broke Eddie's train of thought and he brought his attention back to you, a figurine still in his hand as the pencil wavered in the other. 

"You keep humming this tune lately. I don’t recognize it," he spoke. 

You felt the joy of songwriting leap from you. There was a grin on your face that threatened to hurt your face. You were certain that you were smiling so hard that the strain in your cheeks was unnatural. 

"That's because I made it up,” you admitted. “It came to me that night at the arcade." 

Eddie's face lit up. He dropped the paper he was holding to give you his full attention. Everything in his hands disappeared and found refuge on the floor. 

"I've started writing lyrics to it as well," before you could even try and say something else, anything else to sell him your song, he was already wiggling himself away from the bed and walking to his guitars scattered around the room. 

He didn’t have much, but what he had was certainly enough. 

"Electric or Acoustic?" He asked, hand on his hips as he pointed to his most precious possessions.

"Acoustic… It’s 2 am, Eds, you don’t want to wake the whole trailer park," you chuckled.

"Who said I was plugging in an amp?" He turned to you, eyebrow quirked high in judgment before you gave him a flat face. He was joking. 

"I'm still going to pick Acoustic," he rolled his eyes before grabbing his black guitar and settling with it on the carpet.

He waited until you followed him. Eddie patted the floor in front of him as if to say, ‘hurry up, we haven’t got all night.’ So, you sat right in front of him with your paper delicately placed between the two of you. Lyrics now exposed to the world, the melody was beginning to be strummed without rhyme nor reason, just talent and the sheer excitement of producing something new. 

"What’s it about?" He questioned aloud as he started fiddling with the strings and pegs.

"You.” 

Eddie’s fingers froze in place. Head raising to meet your eyes, his face brightened and he gave you his best grin before muttering:

"Will you sing it for me?"

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as they caught the lyrics. 

"Ok," you cleared your throat before reaching for the paper on the floor. You already knew the lyrics. They had been burned into your soul by this point because it’s the only thing you’ve been able to think about for 48 hours. But, you needed something to distract you from his burning gaze. "You ready?" 

“To hear you sing? Always,” you blushed. His hands were already clasping his guitar, impatient to hear you.

"Also, it's far from being finished–"

“Sweetheart,” Eddie let out a breath,  “just sing,”

“Alright,” you shifted on your spot "Ok,"

"Ok," Eddie repeated with a smile. Nodding, as if to tell you everything was going to be just fine.

"That passion in your heart,” you sang in the way you imagined you could hear it on the guitar. The rhythm and the pacing; all of it was to be done without the chords but the silence of the room and the tonal shifts in your voice. 

“Burnin' in your eyes. You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire,” your head was low, eyes fixed on your lyrics as Eddie's jaw almost dropped to the floor, his heart beating in his ears.

"It's buried in my soul, like California gold, you found the light in me that I couldn't find," he thought he was going to melt right there on the carpet of his bedroom floor as the words sunk in.

"So when I'm all choked up, but I can't find the words," you raised your melody, knowing you hadn't any lyrics to this part yet. You weren’t sure what would fill the space when your mind stopped working and all that was left was the loud, thumping of your heart and a mind that raced to find the words that Eddie Munson made you feel. 

"When the sun goes down and the clouds all fade," you let out a bit more, until you stopped and finally gathered the courage to stare up at him as the words disappeared from mind. 

"I think I've found lyrics for the next verse, but I'm not sure yet," you commented, dropping the paper on the ground again, meeting Eddie’s starstruck eyes with clarity. 

You waited for him to say something, anything, that would make your anxiety about sharing this piece of work with him go away. But when he didn’t reply, his eyes just stared wide at you, mouth agape, heat climbed up to your cheeks and you suddenly felt shy. 

"So… what do you think?" you barely mumbled under your breath. 

"Are you sure this is really about me?" He asked, jolted that someone would write a passionate song about him.

"Yes, silly!" you took the lyrics on that loose-leaf sheet of paper and slapped at his chest lightly. "You've been judging me for staring at you too much lately! I'm sorry to say, but you inspire me and if staring at you is going to get me to write, then I’ll do it forever." 

A bright smile appeared on his lips and before you knew it, his guitar was on the floor and he was kissing you.

"What's the next verse?" He muttered in between kisses, hovering over you as you reached to get the paper back. 

"Tonight's scenery," your eyes scanned over the page and back to his eyes. You never wanted to look away from them, pools of honey that melted with his love for you. They were softened by his smile, you had to steal another kiss before you could read the rest to him.

"Lovers in the night, poets tryin' to write, we don't know how to rhyme, but damn we try"

"How are you so damn good at writing?"

"Because you inspired me," you tucked a rogue curl behind his ear.

"We’ve got to show this to the rest of the band!"

"It's not finished though!" you shrieked at the possibility of those boys witnessing this song in its incomplete nature. "It's far from being finished!"

"That's alright!” Eddie brushed it aside. “We can at least work on the melody with them if you'd like? We don't have to show them the words just yet."

He was so sincere. So honest and considerate. It made those words jittery on your fingertips; an itch to write again and put down more of what Eddie meant to you. 

“Ok,” you nodded at him, a smile of your own creeping its way onto your face. “That would work.” 

~

“This is useless,” Gareth pointed out, throwing his drumsticks to the floor and tugging at his hair. “Without Eddie were never going to get the proper rhythm, no offence Y/n.”

“Non-taken,” you shrugged, biting your lip as you looked down to your instrument. 

It was a cheap blue and pink electric guitar you had gotten two christmas’s ago. It suddenly felt heavy, hanging by the strap wrapped around one shoulder. It wasn’t as near powerful or clean sounding as Eddie’s ‘second sweetheart’. The notes didn’t sound as graceful and as Rock’N’Roll as his warlock did. Your fingers tapped on the side of it, you occasionally played it as a backup for Eddie’s, never even attempted to lead using it. 

It didn’t make the situation any better that you didn’t know how to play like Eddie, and that factor seem to aggravate the mood even more.

You knew that if Eddie had been absent with a reason, it wouldn’t have affected this rehearsal one bit. You had practiced multiple times without him before: like when he got caught up in detention or what ever odd side quests Eddie Munson was up to that week.

But this time, something was wrong and it was buzzing in the dusty Hawkins air, slithering through the streets and making people double lock their doors at night and barely leaving their homes. The paranoia was becoming unsettling, and it was starting to bubble in the stuffy air of Gareth’s garage.

Eddie had gone missing for two days now, he had left you soon after your last campaign, and you hadn’t seen him since. It didn’t help that Wayne Munson wouldn’t answer your calls and that Dustin Henderson refused to answer any of your questions. He’d told you a vague ‘He’s alright, don’t worry’, before scurrying off and getting into Steve Harrigton’s car, leaving with unanswered questions and mixed feelings.

No one wanted to tell you the truth and you had gotten answers from no one. 

The rest of the band knew as little as you did. 

There had been a murder at the trailer park, and Eddie had gone missing.

You also knew it wouldn’t be long before the police came at your doorstep to ask you about Eddie. You were just grateful Wayne hadn’t let your name slip.

Great.

Just great. 

“You know what,” you spoke up, breaking the heavy silence. “Let’s just cancel band practice today,” you removed the guitar strap from your shoulders, heading to put it back in your case. “I don’t think any of us can focus.”

“Yeah,” the boys muttered, watching you leave without another word. 

They all knew this was taking a toll on you, and all felt like they could use a good rest anyways. 

You missed Jason, his gang and Lucas by luck that day.

~

“Hey, do you hear that?” Eddie jumped, a faint whisper of a voice making the hair on his arm spike, goosebumps tumbling down his spine. 

The upsidedown was already a creepy place, and the last thing Eddie needed was whispers to start haunting him–he seriously didn’t know how much longer he could last in this place.

“Hear what?” Nancy turned, her torchlight lighting up Eddie’s face.

“I thought I heard a whisper,” Eddie muttered, eyes squinting from the light aggression. 

“Didn’t hear anything,” Robin concluded and continued her walk through the dodgy forest.

Eddie recognised this place, they were already far from lover’s lake and were almost by the main road, not far from where you lived. 

He bit his lip as he thought of you. He hated not telling you anything, but he knew it was to protect you. He couldn’t risk that the the evil he was wittnissing first hand to get to you, or hurt you in any way. He knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if anything were to happen.

“Eddie,”

He jumped like a startled cat, the whisper had been clear, sharper. 

“This time you guys must have heard it too!” He whined, gulping when everyone turned around with annoyed looks on their faces.

“Litsen, we’re not going to make it far if you keep stopping because you think you heard something!” Steve grumbled towards the metalhead, the aggravated look on his face becoming more serious. Steve’s hand was impatiently resting on his hip, now covered by Eddie’s battle jacket.

“I don’t think! I heard it loud and clear!” Eddie spoke up, matching Steve’s tone. “It called my name.”

“Great, now were loosing Eddie!” Robin whined before taking a step towards him and snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Get it together, Munson! We have to find a way out of here!”

“Right, sorry,” Eddie shook his head and continued his walk, pushing away what ever was happening to him–and ignoring the unknown whispers that nagged at his ear.

“Eddie please, answer me,” your fingers gripped the side of your talkie, in hopes that maybe, just maybe he would answer you. 

But by the fourth time you called, the talkie unwinglingly dropped from your hand, tumbling from your bed to find a new home on the carpet of your bedroom floor. 

Eddie had been missing for four days.  

Four days of escaping Jason, four days of trying to squeeze an answer out of anyone. 

“Eds, where are you?” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as your head fell straight into your pillow, clutching it at your side as you tried not to cry.

You hadn’t left your room today, only muttering a thank you to your mom for lying to Jason when he came at your door, again.

Things were leading to nowhere and the rumours were doing nothing good for your spiralling thoughts.

You lifted your head up from your pillow, sighing as your eyes caught a polaroid of you and Eddie. It had been taken by Gareth right after one of your gigs at The Hideout. You remembered Eddie asking you to do his eyeliner a few hours prior. You had neatly applied it all around his eyes as if he had been Billy Idol prepping for a concert, but after shredding his guitar like freaking Jimmy Hendrix on that small crooked stage, he looked more like a slanky raccoon than a rockstar.

His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, your hair was as wild as Eddie’s, going all over the place from the hour of performing. Both your eyes sparkled with some kind of after show high, but yours held something else entierly as you looked at Eddie. You looked so in love it only reminded you how much you cared about him.

About how much he means to you.

Stop. You decided it was enough sulking for one day. Swinging your legs on the side of your bed, socked feet touching your soft carpet before you snatched your notebook and pen from your nightstand, throwing it on the floor before taking your acoustic guitar from it’s spot on your wall. Your eyes barely caught the ‘This machine slays dragons’, spray painted in pink–done by Eddie himself on a rainy afternoon.

You sighed as you crossed your legs, resting the guitar on the edges of your thighs before starting to tune it, mindlessly twisting the pegs as you tride to push the ache from your heart away–maybe even channel it into words and music. 

You opened your notebook, hoping to find something to save you, but it was just a reminder. The song still rested on the white pages, words mending together in pretty loops of letters. You had almost finished it before he vanished, and even if writing music had been the last thing on Corroded Coffin’s mind, it was the only thing that could keep you from spirialing. The only thing that kept you sane in this mess of a situation. 

The page you were staring at had been wrinkled by your aggressive erasing during the past few days. The pencil writing of your most recent words were already smudged from the tears and constant doubting on the way it sounded with your melody.

But all I really know, you're where I wanna go, 

And maybe, just maybe if you had told him these words before you would know where he is. Maybe you’d be with him and help him sort through this mess.

 ~

A week.

A week of silence.

And Hawkins had crumbled under your feet.

Your grip tightened on the cardboard box filled with clothes to donate. You had gone alone–sent by your mother who had been too busy to go herself. You tried to calm down your nerves as you walked in through the large double doors of the gymnasium. You didn’t know why anxiety was munching at your stomach, threatening to swallow you whole–but the bad feeling was rising in your chest and you couldn’t push the intuition away.

You caught a glimpse of Dustin talking to Wayne, frowning when the conversation didn’t look very joyous. Dustin had his fist closed, handing something you couldn’t see from that far to the older man sitting in front of him.

“You should give it to her yourself,” Wayne mumbled, pushing away the boy’s hand away. 

Dustin blinked, shock seeping through him at the suggestion. God he didn’t know how he would even tell you.

And just like that Dustin found your eyes. You were already looking at him from the distance–eyes wide in silent question–maybe also fear; he couldn’t be sure, he couldn’t know until he actually talked to you. 

He gulped.

Dustin’s face held nothing but anguish and the closer he was to you the better you could see the tear stains on his cheeks and the slight glaze in his eyes.

He didn’t have to even speak. He didn’t even need to voice it–the look in his eyes said everything that needed to be said.

Tears prickled at your eyes and you felt the sudden erge to throw up. The feeling rose and your heart physically started to ache–was that what grief felt like? Was that the feeling that came crashing onto your body like waves onto cliffs.

You didn’t even know what Dustin had said. It was all a distant echo, a distant voice in a parallel reality–muffled by the way your body’s reaction.

You caught some words. Sentences that didn’t ease the feeling.

‘He talked about you t’il the end.’

‘He didn’t want to put you in danger.’

‘He really, really loved you.’

‘He left this for you’

You didn’t know how long ago he had left. How long you had been standing there–Eddie’s pick necklace resting against your palm. 

But it was long enough for you to register the sudden feeling of loneliness, washed up from the storm on the shores of your mind. 

Your other half was gone.

~

"This is um- the song" You zipped up your bag, slipping out the tear-stained paper you had spent the last few days blankly staring at. Maybe hoping it would bring him back.

Jeff grabbed it without a word, giving you a tight smile. You could see he had been crying too.

You looked away as his eyes started shifting across the paper. You looked at the small window of Gareth's garage, the sunset bringing the rays of golden hour across the musty room.

If he had been here, everyone would have taken a break and you would all be watching the sunset. You'd be wrapped in his arms giggling to some dumb joke he made about whatever was on his mind.

But that wasn't the case.

And everything felt so dull now.

You looked around. You were slouched onto an old green bean bag chair, the one you and Eddie would fight over every single band practice, but now he wasn’t there to fight you for it–you had the dirty, half empty and wrapped up in duck tape poor exuse for a sagbag all to yourself. The used up thing didn’t even look appealing anymore, and you hoped Gareth would throw it away for your sake. 

The garage’s owner was blankly staring at his cymbals, drum sticks barely hanging from his hand and threatening to drop on the carpet. He looked like hell, not much of a difference from his band mates if you were honest.

Jeff's bass was hanging low around his shoulders as he read, tears nudging at his eyes.

"You- you wrote this?" The strain in his voice was evident. "For Eddie?"

"I wrote it with Eddie, but I want to change a lyric, before we um, do anything with it."

"Yeah go ahead," he blinked the shock out of his eyes.

The lyrics felt so beautiful, so magical. To him, you and Eddie had been nothing but one of those high school couples that would either go on to get married, just to have that classic white picket fence life or end up breaking up before graduation. Nothing more, nothing less.

But as he looked at you wiping tears off your cheeks he realized it was so much more, and it had always been so much more.

The both of you were never going to fall into either of these two options. The two of you had always been the odds one out of the pack, the whole of Hawkins had been a witness to they way your crazy minds worked–but your relationship didn’t just hold on your similarities. The two of you had been in love, truly in love. Like the type of love Aragorn and Arwen shared, or the one in the stupid movies channel six passed on friday nights. The ones poets wrote about and people died for. 

You were meant to be rock stars together as you crossed the world. The two of you were supposed to be the pillars of this band, the glue that would hold everything and see members come and go. He didn’t know why it took him all this mess to realise. 

"You want to read it?" You looked at Gareth who looked up from his drum set with a blank expression.

"I'd rather hear you sing," he muttered.

"Alright,” you cleared your throat. "Can you-" You were about to ask if he could play the guitar for you but remembered that was Eddie's job. Jeff played bass, and Gareth was on the drums. "Nevermind," you took the decision on your own–you’d do it accapella.

You weren’t bad at guitar, you knew how too strum a few simple chords, but you weren’t Eddie.

"When the sun goes down" your voice cracked and you had to close your eyes to keep focus "and the band won't play," your words felt heavy in the room, and a sad smile adorned Jeff's lips. "I'll always remember us this way," you continued, and suddenly Gareth started playing the rhythm that you had rehearsed two weeks prior. Jeff started on the bass, and as they started duetting–your eyes fell upon Eddie's guitar.

You picked it up.

You grabbed the guitar from the corner of the room, hanging it on your shoulders and attempting to keep singing as you plugged it in the brand new Marshall amp–a gift from Gareth’s mom to the band. 

You thought that maybe Eddie would be proud–proud of all of you for continuing music even if he wasn’t there.

"Lovers in the night," Gareth picked up the pace on the drums, and you desperately tried to follow the rhythm, hanging on to what Eddie had taught you. "Poets tryin' to write, we don't know how to rhyme, but damn we try," it took everything for you not to cry. “But all I really know, you're where I wanna go," You closed your eyes in anticipation of the next line, the one you had written just yesterday, "the part of me that's you will never die"

"So when I'm all choked up, and I can't find the words" Eddie was peering up at you with the brightest smile you had ever seen. "Every time we say goodbye, baby, it hurts" Your fingers glided over the guitar strings, Eddie knew you were fully into the song but he just had to stop you.

"What?" You smiled as his hand reached the guitar and his other your cheek.

"I cannot believe you wrote that about me"

You giggled, "is that so bad about?"

"I love you," you could have stared at the giddy smile across his face for ever.

"I love you too,"

"And I love the new lyrics, please continue, I'm sorry I've cut you off" He sealed the moment with a kiss, before leaning away and sitting patiently in front of you again.

"When the sun goes down, and the band won't play," the memory was cut by you opening your eyes again.

The sun might have been setting a beautiful color upon the walls, but the garage felt so much darker without him. Without his voice.

"I'll always remember us this way"

~

"So what inspired you to write this song?" The interviewer pursed her lips before settling her papers back onto her lap, fixing her glasses before staring back to you.

You looked down at your skull bracelet, sad smile forming upon your lips.

"Isn't it obvious?" You quirked an eyebrow, hiding behind humor to stop the bubbling feelings.

"Love?" She smiled back and you nodded your head. You wanted this conversation to end like it usually did. You always gave the same answer; Love.

The same music with cheeky gazes and smiles always followed;

‘Is it anyone we know?’ 

‘Is he in the band?’

‘Are they famous?’

‘Are you in a relationship?’

You never answered. Gareth, Jeff or the latest addition to the band would change the subject–but as the crowds grew, so did their curiosity. You knew you couldn't hide from the eyes of the public much longer.

"Yes, but we all want to know more,” she urged on, her tone staying sweet and comprehending. “You once said it was one of Corroded Coffin's most personal songs if I’m not mistaken." 

There it was. You were alone–no boys to help you change the subject with a joke or random statement about the song. You looked at your shoes for a brief instant; maybe trying to sum up the courage and push away the feeling of dread. Attempt to mend the hole in your heart, just for a few minutes. After this you could leave back to your hotel room and find a way to drown your sorrows.

When you didn’t reply, she continued.

"I can't help but notice that there's a certain sadness to the lyrics?"

She hit the bull's eye.

"Well," You looked up, meeting her gaze. Maybe it was the unspoken comprehension of a woman towards another–the subconscious bond that created itself just by your similar place in the world that made you more comfortable to share. Maybe it was what caused her to spot the hidden meaning–or maybe it was just her journalist mind that picked the song apart, ready to latch onto any information you were ready to hand over.

"What people don't usually realize is that the song takes a turn,” you shifted uncomfortable in your seat–you had never gotten this personal in an interview before. "It starts out as this love song. Two soulmates who can't believe they've found each other," Eddie's pick necklace felt burning hot against your chest, the ring you had slid on the chain too–a diamond ring that belonged to Eddie’s grandmother. 

You remembered the moment you had discovered it. You were going through Eddie’s room accompanied by Wayne, trying to naviagte around the ruins of the trailer and scavenge for anything that was left plausible to use or donate. Boxes of random objects and clothes laid in between all the mess and you had already managed to find his guitar–releif when it was in perfect condition, left untouch by the damages of the earthquake. Which now hung on your living room wall, preciously behind a glass frame.

Your attention had been caught on the broken closet while Wayne was going through the drawers of the small desk. The earthquake had broken one of its feet; making half of the drawers hang open with clothes tumbling out of it. You had organized his shirts and jeans already–piling up the ones you could keep and the ones you could give away or give to the corroded coffin boys to share upon themselves.

Your fingers gripped the handle of the third drawer–and you'd only realize this after but it was probably the last time you’d have any a glimpse of sanity in your bones; if you had even any sanity left since he passed away.

If you were honest with yourself you didn’t even really know what this drawer contained. He had never really opened it in front of you and you couldn’t say that you had much curiosity towards it before. You half expected it to be his sock drawer–but your breath caught in your throat when you slid it open.

A collection of souvenirs–mainly of you, laid at the bottom of the hard wood. Photos, souvenirs, concert tickets, boxes with what you assumed even more trinkets and things he collected since the start of your relationship.

You gulped in a pour attempt to push the tears away. 

You started sorting through the collection papers and polaroids–everything bringing memories that were dug deep into your brain’s memory, hidden behind other memories of Eddie. You already knew you’d keep everything, probably throw everything in a box and sort it out in the comfort of your own room–when Wayne wasn’t there to see you crumble even more as you gazed upon Eddie’s collection.

There was a mediumish wooden black box nestled in the far corner of the drawer, and it immediately caught your attention–like something pulling you towards it, screaming for your acknowledgment.

The box wasn’t heavy in your hand, it almost looked like the boxes Eddie used to store his extra special drugs and you expected that to be the content. Eddie hid drugs everywhere in the trailer in a poor attempt at covering up the fact that he wasn’t a drug dealer in his spare time. That if the Hopper or some other dumb officer ever came around they couldn’t possibly find everything he hid. 

But even if there was, most probably a zip-lock bag with some kind of funky psychedelic powder or pills hidden inside–you still wanted to be sure. You fiddled with the unlocked buckle, and pushed the lid open; but you were met with no drugs. 

Instead there was another black box. A small squared box draped in black velvet. You frowned, it… couldnt be? No. You refused to even think about the idea–this was again probably one of Eddie’s weird drug hiding spots.

This must have been something even more special than the special K.

With trembling hands you grabbed it, fingers wrapping around the top of the box and popping it open.

You blinked, all words dying in the back of your throat. You didn’t trust your voice, but your mind had talked at loud on it’s own.

“Um, Wayne?” Your voice was definitely shaking, and he immediately turned to face you. “Do- um- what- huh-” You couldn’t formulate a proper sentence, and you watched Wayne’s expression soften when his eyes caught what was in your hands. 

His mother’s engagement ring.

“So that’s where the little devil’s kept it,” Wayne almost laughed, almost chuckled at the absurdity of the unworldly situation. Your frown deepened and your heart raced to your ears, you couldn’t formulate one single thought and Wayne seemed to take notice because he continued, “we found it in a box a few months ago, Eddie was adamant of keeping it,” Wayne weighed out his words, wondering if he should continue. He knew well enough this was going to break you even more, but now that Eddie was gone, he couldn’t keep the subject of his conversations with his nephew to himself, “to give it to you someday.”

Wayne had insisted that you kept it. That it was meant for you and that he’d have no use of it–that it would be collecting dust in a drawer when Eddie wanted you to have it, when Eddie had kept it stored in the back of his closet for you.

You had worn it on your ring finger for months–as if he had actually given it to you himself. As if he had made it past graduation and got down on one knee, locking your lives together forever.

Gareth had caught you speaking of him one too many times at bars. You would have one drink too many, some guy had probably made a move and you shoved your hand towards his face, drunkenly rambling a life you wished had been real.

But your drunken and fuzzy mind always caught up with the fact that you were lying. That your fiance wasn’t really on a trip and you weren't just at a bar with your best friends to celebrate being engaged and soon to be married- and that's when the tears became uncontrollable.

Gareth-the usually sober one often found himself attempting to dry your tears, trying to sober you up on the floor of the dodgy tour bus or in some hidden corner of the bar if the bus had already been taken hostage by Jeff and his latest conquest.

But when fame rolled down at your doorstep you had to remove the ring from your finger to keep any unwanted rumors away.

And right now you couldn’t just open your room’s mini fridge to scavenge for anything that could take the pain away from your chest, you had to continue that interview.

"But then the song becomes a requiem," you continued, trying to keep your voice from wavering. You watched the interviewer face almost fall, her mouth opening into an 'o' as she pieced up the lyrics together.

You thanked the stars she was being respectful, maybe even understood.

Soon enough the interview was finished, and neither Jeff nor Gareth or the world was ready for what you did the next time you stood on stage. 

Because for the first time in years you spoke his name.

For the first time, you told the world who this song was about.

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

Buck x Bucky Sorcerers vs Fae AU - WIP

I've got this one now in the works, as well as more for the Rodeo AU, my brain is fluttering back and forth between them atm, but I wanted to show a small bit of one of the scenes I'm working on for this. (Rough Draft).

The trees blurred in his peripheral, everything disappearing like the breath disappearing from his lungs, the panic pushing everything to the forefront. Just an adrenaline fuelled staccato beat thundering in his chest. Sweat beading at his brow.

Keep running. Just keep running, don't look back. Don't look back, or you're dead!

It was second nature to avoid the roots underfoot, the gnarled branches grabbing at the edges of his clothes and brushing his skin like long dead fingers trying to pull him down to the depths of hell. A cruel voice echoed in his head, that he was already there. He had already seen it. Hell was not far behind him, left in the debris littering familiar streets and captured under crumbled walls and burning in the flames of deliberate blue fire.

He could feel tears prick at the corners of his eyes, stinging and harsh. Could still feel the remnants of those flames licking at his skin. Could still hear the screams, anguished, terrified. Dead.

The sounds of magic, whirling like bullets past his ears still echoed in his skull, still kept their grip on his psych. It was as if he could still feel that dangerous energy in the air nipping at his heels like savage dogs, maws foaming with the need to watch him fall, clip his wings like a bird and send him tumbling down into the dirt.

"You can always tell, when that magic is about," his mother would always say, sitting in her chair at the dining table with a pair of knitting needles between her fingers, silver yarn spread over her lap and trailing off somewhere throughout the house. "It's like when a storm is coming, you can feel the shift in the air, the un-easiness settle in your stomach like you've swallowed iron weights. The hair on your arms stands on end like it's trying to sway away from it. You can taste it, on your tongue. You'll always know when it's close, Gale. When they're close. You'd do best to listen to what your instincts are telling you."

He tries to shake the image from his mind, vaulting himself over another moss covered root as thick as his arm. Of a familiar mouth, usually in a smile not unlike his own, now parted in shocked slack, crimson dripping from it's corners. An old, worn calloused hand with red painted nails outstretched in his direction, but still, lifeless. Eyes the same. Boring into his soul, frozen forever in an expression of pain and fear and emptiness. Nothing behind them. No light, no gleam. Just vacant and haunting and carved forever into the back of his mind like an etching in cement.

The air around him burned with every inhale, searing his over-worked lungs. His whole body was screaming at him to stop, that it couldn't take much more. It couldn't keep him going. It was on it's last legs, starved and exhausted and battered and bruised. Everything hurt.

A split second decision had him digging his heels into the soft forest floor, banking a hard left and flattening his back against a huge tree about three times his width. His shoulders heaved and shuddered, trying to draw in air, trying to keep his breath steady enough so that no un-necessary noise was made. The blood pumping through his terrified nervous system sounded like crashing ocean waves in his ears, his vision pulsing in and out with his heartbeat. He couldn't hear anything around him, could hardly see.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he kept his focus on the rhythm of his breath, palms squeezing, nails cutting into his flesh with enough force he was half expecting blood to drip between his fingers into the moss covered ground below.

His father's voice echoed in his head now, low and gruff but strong, serious and brave.

Controlling your breath can mean the difference between life and death out there, Gale. You control your breathing, you control your heart. They can sense your heartbeat, they have spells for that now. Shows them the echoes of it like damn fireworks. You don't want the wolves to hear you. Don't want them to see you. Or they'll empty those fireworks out of your chest and show it to you before they crush it under their boots.

Lifting his chin skyward, he focused what little eyesight he could properly see with with on the small sliver of blue sky peeking through the branches above his head. So plain and bare, normal. Completely oblivious to the horrible events taking place under it's enormous expanse. The more he stared, the more the roaring of his blood quieted in his skull, the more the incessant pulsing behind his eyes settled and he was able to take in the complete and utter silence that was enveloping the forest.

The thump-thump-thump buried deep in his sternum flowed more smoothly, but that hint of fear still had it's grips on him. Was still sinking it's teeth deep into his core like a splinter that would never be able to truly be plucked out.

If he could just get his bearings, could just sit for a moment, he could gather what few sensible thoughts were rattling around in his head and figure out where the hell we was supposed to go from here, what he was meant to do.

He could feel his legs trembling underneath him, his knees all but ready to give out and send him sinking down onto his haunches. He had to find somewhere safe. He had to find somewhere to rest for a few moments, a few hours if he was lucky enough.

He was just about to give in to his body's inconvenient exhaustion, let himself sit and allow his muscles and his still mildly racing heart to calm just that tad more, but the indistinct snapping of a branch far off to the right made every muscle in his overworked body freeze. His eyes shot down from the sky to stare straight ahead, his breathing caught in his throat, even though his lungs still protested at having their much needed supply of oxygen once again denied them fully.

But he couldn't let himself.

An acrid, sour taste crawled up his throat, coating his tongue like he'd just licked a copper penny, sparks dancing over his teeth and sending painful pulses through the very bone of his jaw. The fear quickly followed it again, his heartbeat beginning it's frantic and loud race and gripping his very soul like a cold blanket of electricity. He felt the sensation creep it's way through every cell, every vessel, every nerve. Like being submerged in freezing water.

Like a deer cornered by a wolf, he flickered his gaze down to his arms, held down by his sides.

Every hair was lifted and pointed skyward like they were trying to get away from something sinister.

"We got another one up ahead!"

[boytouya]

like real people do

pairing ★ dabi x male reader

genre ★ fluff, angst, fluff, fluff, fluff, fluff...

warnings ★ manga spoilers, blood (crying)

w.count ★ 1440

request ★ “I nearly sent an ask to Slutouya thinking it was you for the 4th time💀 I want request headcanons of bath times with Dabi where he lets you take care of him, wash and baby him.” -anon

a/n: why did i realize that you said headcanons after i wrote it- i’m so sorry!! taglist in the reblogs <3

A single droplet of red makes way to cool water, swirling in different directions until it relaxes into a pale shade of baby pink. Touya’s back rests against the cool, porcelain surface of your bathtub, his cold staples pressing into his shoulder blades. Grooves of torn skin, rotten and purple, carry flashes of pain across his torso, his neck, his arms, his jaw. But with you, it feels numb. The gentle caress of water on his skin is almost heaven, soothing to his broken skin as he presses his head against your hands. Touya doesn’t complain, not when you fill a cup with water and pour it over his white locs of hair. Not when your fingers massage his scalp so tenderly, not when you hum to him.

His eyes, squeezed painfully shut with stress he didn’t know was building behind his skull, open slowly. You. You were his boy, his everything. The reason why he watched the sun rise, the reason why his touches across your skin would linger. The reason why he looked forward to the next morning. Even if it was filled with pain. You’d be there. You made life worth living. Maybe he cared too much, maybe there wasn’t really someone there for him, maybe he was making it all up. Maybe one day you’d disappear into thin air, leaving him with a wreckage of his own body and soul. And maybe it wasn’t genuine. Maybe it was a facade. Maybe you weren’t his boy, and he was yours. But he hoped, and he pleaded to anything, anyone that you were. He knew he was yours. And he hoped to God you were his. He loved you. Tenderly, tragically. He loved you.

Tonight, he’d stare at the cool water rippling in your bathtub and ponder. About you, about himself. A gentle shade of pink, the same as the limited space of healthy skin on his face when you said something to get back at him. Tonight, he’d let blood red tears trail down his face while he loses himself in the sound of your voice. Your humming, your laughter, your positive affirmations. Tonight, he’d listen. No arguing, no awkward jokes after you compliment him. He‘ll give in, just this once, for you. Maybe even for himself. A gentle kiss on his shoulder pulls him back to reality, Dabi’s eyes shifting upwards through his eyelashes to stare up at you. A bit silly from his angle, but everything he’s always wanted nonetheless. ‘Tense’ is the word your lips form, and he can feel his eyebrows press together in confusion. Your hand, steady against his quivering shoulder, presses down gently and- oh. His shoulders are tense.

It’s a shame he cant bathe for too long, not with skin grafts. But he enjoys it anyway, shifting his weight against the bathtub so he can face you, even with suds of soap ruining his hair. He can tell you pushed it back just to kiss his forehead, and there he goes...turning just as pink as the bloodstained water. Just about everything he knew was bloodstained these days. Soaked and overflowing, spilling over the edge until he’s drowning in it. It’s thick and merciless, creeping through his staples and stitches and-

You flick water at him in his direction, a sweet smile on your face. It reaches your eyes, high on the apples of your cheeks. So perfect. You’re so perfect. A pretty boy with pretty hair, pretty eyes, pretty skin. He lifts his hands, mimicking Frankenstein for a moment (which he deems as ironic, considering he was the embodiment of such a thing) before wiggling his fingers. Droplets of water land on your face, resting on your cheeks as your hands shoot in front of yourself. The sound you make is ebullient and loud against the tiles of the bathroom. He wished he could bottle it up, keep it safe around his neck and open it whenever he needed a mood boost. All to himself, something to get drunk on over and over.

Touya can’t quite place the sound of his laugh. Airy and tarnished, completely vacant of the bright boy he used to be. But he laughs anyway. He lets it float into the air, even if it falls on his thrawn ears, anomalous to even himself. You seem to never care, your eyes glazing over with something luminous whenever you hear it. He’d never admit it out loud, but it hurts his chest. The catch lights of your eyes reflect the dim lighting of your bathroom, and he can see himself in their reflection. Through your eyes, there’s nothing distorted. Nothing wrong with him, nothing out of place. Through your eyes, he carries the secrets to the universe. Beneath the sleeve of scars is something magical, enchanted and special. But Dabi remains stubborn— slow with handing you his heart. But you knew, and he knew. The best of him belonged to you.

Your warm hands cup his cheeks, just as he’d done with you several times. Sure, a bit of soap had smeared across his face, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Touya can feel his heart do somersaults in his chest, beating against his ribcage as his heart begs him to say something. Give himself to you, offer his hands to sit atop yours, to engulf your own in his kindling flame.

Though the water had cooled long ago, the air against Dabi’s skin burns. Sets his skin on fire, surrounded by shades of blue, the same as his flames, the same as the blue chrysanthemums he gave to his mother in the hospital. It isn’t unfamiliar, Dabi is adjusted to the feeling of burning. Searing through his skin, tearing apart his grafts and leaving him weak. Weaker than before, on doe legs that can’t seem to keep him up. But that’s when he’d turn to you. He’d lean on you. He never uttered a word, not when it counted. Not about you, not about his feelings towards you, but his brain would sing about it all day. All night.

“What're you thinking about?” Dabi whispers into your palms, his eyes fluttering closed. Droplets of water rest on his long eyelashes, collecting at the tip of each strand until he blinks them away. You could only conclude that it was therapeutic for him, and it felt a bit intrusive to watch him relax in your hands. He was yours to hold, to collect the remains of his shattered bones and put back together. Something so raw, so disgusting, but so completely, utterly, undeniably Dabi.

“Just you,” You sigh longingly, dipping the discarded cup back under the water to pour it over Touya’s head. He can feel your movements against the undulation of the water occupying the tub, tilting his head back upon instink. He bares his neck to you, in its full vulnerability, no longer wrapped in bandages that were stuffed with mangled gauze. He lets your feathering touches linger, the corners of his lips blooming into a small smile when his ears pick up the sound of a twinkle in your voice. It’s small, but it’s beaming. Shining against the edge of the tub, illuminating his face. You pinch the skin on his cheek ever so gently, admiration bubbling inside your core when he swats at your hand. “What're you thinking about, Stitches?”

Dabi’s face scrunches up, his nostrils flaring as his staples pull at his skin. The nickname, though a bit unoriginal, was in homage to that cute patchwork bear in Animal Crossing. He didn’t quite understand why you thought of him, seeing as the character was cute and cuddly, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. Because he did.

“This tub is big enough for two people.” He says instead, pulling your hands away from his scalp, though the rhythmic circles against his skull were good enough to lull him into a peaceful sleep. He only ever got those when he was with you. He knew you couldn’t join him, he was probably sitting in the bath for far too long anyways. But there would always be a next time, and next time he’d do the same for you. Whisper sweet words into your skin when you thought he wasn’t listening, cup your cheeks with his large hands, press his palms against the softness of your skin when you get tense. But for now, he’d relish in your familiarity. You were his sanction.

[littlemisspascal]

Ezra’s Journal Entries #1-3

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,269

Summary: You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

Warnings: angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: I know I said Death and Angel would come out next, but I got such a inspiration high and the words came out so quickly I just told myself screw it and decided to share what I have. If anyone thinks this is a series worth pursuing, let me know. If you don’t, well, just be gentle please 💖

Cross-posted on AO3

Entries #4-6

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

My name is Ezra. 

I have my mama to thank for that. Time has erased her face from my memory, but her voice is ingrained into the tissue of my brain the same way these words are inked on this parchment. She was a bonafide believer that the meaning of a child’s name influenced the course of their destiny. When I was no taller than the height of her waist I learned my own name’s denotation: help.

It’s just a tick too ironic, isn’t it? To be destined to help others when I can’t help my own self. I gave the Green far too little credit. It didn’t just pilfer my arm to satisfy its ravenousness, it greedily stole my sense of purpose too. 

Every night I thank the deities you didn’t accompany me there. If the Green had taken you...

I know how worried you are about me, little love of mine. When I look at you, I find you already looking back, a sweet smile gracing your lips even as concern burns in your eyes as an eternal flame. From day one you’ve always been looking at me, seeing every disgraced flaw and scar—even the invisible ones carved into the darkest edges of my soul. Kevva knows I’ve never been capable of concealing anything from you, but fuck if I don’t wish I could sometimes.

You’re asleep now as I write this, tucked against my side in the vacant space my arm once occupied, drooling on my shirt. I love you so much it hurts. A black hole in my chest perpetually aching to be filled by your presence. And as we venture once more into the starry sea, our ship gliding past the imaginary wings of Noctua, I find myself recalling a theory you once told me many cycles ago about humans being made in the womb with stardust infused in their bones, linking them to the universe. You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

And it’s undoubtedly selfish, but all I could think of in that tender moment beyond kissing you was how I didn’t want an eternity spent together with our cosmic bodies intertwined. 

I want longer.

Soon after we awoke and each consumed a slice of bush bread bought during our recent docking at Kamrea, you fiddled with the channels on the ship’s radio, hoping to hear news from your homeworld but cursing when you only heard static. Then, without an ounce of forewarning, music burst out with an almighty scream through the speakers at full volume, flooding the whole compartment with a woman’s warbling. It was the same crusted Vayok song that merc Inumon blared in my ears during my last night on the Green, every note an individual needle piercing my skull, impossible to ignore.

Reality deserted me, leaving me to sink to the depths of the abyss within my mind where all I could see was Cee’s pale, disturbed expression as she looked to me for guidance. I remembered how my tongue felt clumsy in my mouth as I tried my damnedest to negotiate our transport, thinking if I could just piece together the right sequence of words, if I could just get their lingering eyes off of her, then maybe, maybe we’d have a chance at salvation. 

The memories coalesced, overlapping and blurring and mixing out of order. Each one was drenched in spilt blood.

Then your pinky wrapped around mine. The touch was soft yet firm, the action childlike in its innocence. It was such a jarring contradiction to my mind’s violent narrative, my consciousness was hurtled back into the living quarters of our ship as a result. You didn’t say anything when you saw I returned to you. Instead, you swallowed down the questions lodged in your throat and led me by our entwined fingers back to our bed.

There’s a plant back home called a dandelion, you told me with my head resting in your lap, a far better comfort than any pillow could provide me. It’s the only plant in the galaxy you can see the sun, the moon and the stars when you look at it. That’s not why it’s my favorite though.

I asked how it had won your heart’s favor if not due to its resemblance to the celestial bodies, then immediately found myself mesmerized by the smile that lit up your face as you peered down at me. My chest cavity tightened as I was filled with the profound longing to be able to suspend time, if only so I could stretch this moment to match the length of our separation, if only so I could erase the old and replace it with the beautiful new.

Dandelions grant wishes, babe. Anything you wish for with your whole heart, it will be yours to have.

I told you I wouldn’t wish for anything—nothing else in the galaxy could compare to the prettiest, wisest soul I’d ever encountered in all my years traversing it. You saw right through that lie with the same confident ease you see through all my masks and diversions, but—for the second time in the span of an hour—you held your tongue.

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine. 

When you read, whether it be a book or the flight manual, you have the precious habit of mouthing the words. I don’t think you have the faintest notion you’re even doing it, which makes it all the more endearing to watch.

My brother had a similar habit, always nose deep in the yellowing pages of classic literature, except he had a proclivity to spoil the plot when he talked in his sleep. I remember there was one particular novel he returned to often, sometimes reading from beginning to end, other times seeking out specific segments he’d underlined in bold, black pen. It was a rather dreary tale about war and rivalry and the process of determining one’s own identity. I became so exasperated with my brother’s obsession I considered shredding it on more than one occasion, only to immediately hate myself for entertaining the thought.

It was only after his death—twelve whole cycles, in fact—that I summoned up the will to open the front cover. Seeing his name scribbled in the corner, cursive and neat and so utterly him, nearly had me tearing the book in half, overcome with a vicious rage I had never known prior nor have I encountered since. But by the almighty grace of Kevva I reigned it in, chaining it to the agony and fear imprisoned within the confines of my rib cage, and turned the page.

There was one segment underlined not once, but three times, nearly bleeding ink onto the page behind it. When I close my eyes, the words are tattooed on the backs of my eyelids, as haunting as they are comforting.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

The author lived and died centuries before my brother’s inception, that is an inarguable fact. 

But I know those words were written for him all the same. 

Notes: 

There is an actual theory humans are made of stardust ✨

The Sater within Prospect mention the Currents as being responsible for bringing Ezra and Cee to them, so I imagine them as similar to the Fates/Moirai in Greek mythology.

Noctua is a real life, extinct constellation that is Latin for owl. I thought within this Prospect universe it could exist as a type of landmark or coordinate. Plus I love owls 🦉

Crusted is a term from Prospect Ezra uses. Equivalent of damn. I think there’s something funny about how they use creamy as a positive adjective and crusted as negative.

Vayok is the alien language Inumon speaks within the movie, so I decided to write the song she blares as being sung in the same language

Bush bread is referenced in a deleted scene by Ezra, but a google search revealed to me it’s also a real life type of bread too

In the same deleted scene Ezra references that he has a brother. I haven’t decided his name yet/if he will have one

The book and quote Ezra refers to in #3 is John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. One of the few required reading books I liked back in high school.

The quote about dandelions being the sun, moon and stars is based on the legend of how dandelions came into existence. I always thought it was beautiful.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @absurdthirst, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @disgruntledspacedad, @gallowsjoker, @aerynwrites, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @tacticalsparkles​

[capricioussun]

"please, you can't die now!" with UF Papyrus. Uh, I'm hoping for a happy ending ngl, but, ya know, write where the spirit takes ya. XD Happy 200 followers!!!

Pulse throbbing in his skull, each breath burned through his chest as he ran. The stone path through Waterfall was harsh beneath his feet as he pushed, his legs numb and body aching, the magic roaring in his head drowning out the sounds of the others at his heel.

Everything blurred together, all focus locked on the path ahead, the path to Snowdin, his body’s protests ignored as he only pushed harder still.

Stupid, so stupid. How could they have been fooled so easily? A surge planned on Snowdin Town’s borders when both Guard Captains would be in New Home for the King’s council, carefully timed when defenses would be at their lowest. Despite all of their precautions, they’d overlooked enough to leave a wide opening, in his sector, his people at risk. His brother.

Magic crackled through his joints, the gnawing ache of LV urging him onward, anger swallowing his fear into nothing more but violent intent. The ground softened beneath them, from stone to marsh, marsh to snow, one of the dogs behind him let out an anxious whimper, creating the smallest crack in his focus, but enough to remind him of his role. Without slowing, he called out a string of orders, the cold air burning the magic at his throat, the others were quick to act; two breaking away, another falling back, the last keeping pace, following him directly to the fray. They lost no speed as they moved deftly through the trees. The otherwise silence was haunting, but it chased them only just past the bridge - from there, they heard the telltale signs of a fight not far ahead.

Time itself seemed slow as they finally broke through the tree line into a clearing, dust already thick in the air, the surrounding intent frantic and aggressive. Magic flowed to his hands readily, sparking to life as aggressively as his soul demanded, fury guiding his hands as he held only enough focus to differentiate allies from enemies. Shouting bled together with cries of pain, any pleas or orders were lost to the heavy thrum of LV filling his skull, any blows landed numbed and ignored almost instantly.

Even outnumbered, EXP hunters couldn’t overwhelm the guards, especially not now with their Captain, and several began retreating. He called out, another order that was swiftly enacted, and the tides fully turned in their favor, for whatever it was worth by this point. New stats burned into him as his last target crumbled to dust, quenching the furious desires of LV however briefly, and he finally slowed, taking in the battle grounds.

All around, there laid dust and spilled magic, injured hunters and guards alike struggling to find their footing or their breath. It hadn’t registered initially, how close they were to his brother’s post, not until his eyelights locked onto a monster pinned to a tree with several small, sharpened bones. They were barely clinging to life, as karma leached their HP, and he felt dizzy, suddenly, as he swept his attention over the clearing more slowly yet again. He would’ve noticed his brother, would’ve felt the presence of his magic during the fight, so why hadn’t he?

A familiar jacket caught his eye, several yards away from the bulk of the fighting, the sullied ruff of the hood billowing softly in the breeze. His body moved without thought, both too slow and too fast, as the rest of the world fell away, and he was there, suddenly, on his knees in the snow, beside a much smaller, much weaker monster than his brother had ever seemed.

His face obscured from the odd angle he’d collapsed, Papyrus shifted his brother’s slight frame cautiously, rolling him to his back to reveal a large gash across his chest, up to his shoulder. Dark red magic stained the snow around them, he realized suddenly, the same magic that was vacant from his brother’s dark, unseeing eyes now.

“Sans.” The soft sound couldn’t have possibly carried over the wind, so he pulled his brother closer with trembling hands.

“Sans,” he tried again, voice low and rough, ragged from shouting in the bitter cold, “Sans, please-” but he didn’t stir.

“Brother,” his voice shook despite himself, “brother, please,” strained and shamefully desperate as he pulled him closer still.

“You can’t…please, you can’t die now!” He nearly choked on the cry, bringing the limp body closer, folding around him as healing magic instinctively pooled to his hands.

“Please!”

It did nothing to prevent his brother from dissipating against him, breaking apart into dust in his grasp and he could only fold in further, grief choking him as shook, wide eyed, staring uselessly at the magic stained snow and the layer of dust that now coated it.

Shock overwhelmed him, hands clenched painfully tight against nothing as he collapsed fully forward, a cry torn from him by the twisting pain in his chest, soul burning, beating painfully fast.

He was on fire. Sweating profusely and only shaking harder still. The ground gave away beneath him, and suddenly, the air was stifling, heaving for another breath despite it, throat stinging fiercely from the yelling, and it was dark. Too dark. Until a bright light nearly blinded him, cringing away from it, nearly lashing out at the sensation of hands on him, too much too quickly, it was too much-

“-rus, it’s me-”

Blinking rapidly, he realized his arm had been caught by one of the hands touching him, a row of attacks summoned away from his could-be assailant, magic still crackling at his joints when his eyes finally focused on the stranger.

On his brother.

“it’s me, rus, just me,” Sans’ careful voice finally registered above the static in his skull, his brother slowly releasing his hand as the attacks dismissed, “there ya go, see? just me.”

He shuffled back slightly, as Sans started climbing onto the bed, watching with slightly blurred vision as his brother settled awkwardly beside him.

“we’re on the surface, rus, we ain’t down there anymore. i gotcha, okay?”

He hadn’t realized he was still trembling until Sans slid a hand behind him, soothing his back as he shifted into a more accommodating position.

“i’m okay, bro, we’re both okay,” his brother’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, a tone he hadn’t heard directed at him for many years, “you gotta breathe, papyrus.”

Dazedly, he took in a shuddering breath, unaware he’d even stopped at all, and once the lightheadedness passed, he blinked quickly again, and tried to speak.

Emphasis on tried.

All that came out was his brother’s name, stammered so terribly Sans hushed him before he’d even finished, “it’s alright, rus, just keep breathing for right now, okay?”

He nodded uselessly, sinking down and leaning more into his brother’s side. A nightmare. It had only been a nightmare, he realized, staring blankly at the wall across the room from them. The wall of his room, in their house, on the surface.

Blinking the last lingering strains of sleep away, he focused on breathing, on the slow circles his brother smoothed across his back, on the warmth of his brother’s body against his own overheated one, his alive and very much present brother. But it hadn’t just been a nightmare. No, he remember that particular reset very well, he’d really held his brother’s dust, and he’d had to go home and clean it from his armor…

That was then, though. Here, now, he was safe. They were all safe, relatively speaking. And despite how unusual this behavior was, he didn’t question it, merely soaking up his brother’s comfort as he sunk down further still, curling toward Sans. Distantly, he could only imagine how absurd they looked, how much larger he was than his older brother, curled pathetically against him, being soothed like a toddler. Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not even when Toriel came in softly to check on them, and Sans himself didn’t even have a joke or a tease, checking in with him as carefully as before.

Eventually, they shifted to a more comfortable position, Papyrus lying back down completely as Sans sat with his back against the headboard, dozing as he traced his blunted claws over the sutures of his brother’s skull. And even though he hadn’t felt tired, his brother’s presence slowly lulled him, and the both of them found much more peaceful rest that night.

[backstagepaige]

Five More Minutes.

Synopsis: Y/n can’t come to terms with the fact she’s lost more than just her boyfriend.

Not my gif all credit to the owner!!

Warnings: !!!!!!!!!!AOT SEASON 4 SPOILERS!! PLEASE DNI IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED!!!!!!!! Guns and cursing too!

Pairings: Eren Yeager x Shifter!Reader; Platonic!Sasha x Shifter!Reader

Word count: 2,514

Author: @backstagepaige please do NOT repost my work anywhere without elicit permission from myself. This took me a bit to write and I’d appreciate it if credit was given where its due

Authors Note: So I’ve had this written since a few days after my potato girls death and I needed a way to cope with it - @sleepysnk was able to convince me to post it cause Sum is a beautiful soul and gave me all kinds of affirmations to hype me up so here you guys go! Go check out her work while you’re at it because it is so top tier, I promise you won’t be disappointed.

I panted as I leaned against the wall, we were all in the blimp. My mind was silent and the sounds of everyone talking were muffled as I kept my eyes closed trying to rid the images of all those innocent people dying- all of those Children. I gulped as I shook my head, the screams I heard ringing in my ears on a constant loop- had it stopped or were those screams on the ground I was hearing? Were they from all these years finally piling together instead of echoing in the back of my mind?

“Y/n? Did you hear that?" Sasha called and I let my eyes creak open and looked to the door not seeing anything as Jean began talking, I pushed myself up, making sure to pull my gun out just incase and walked to peak over the ledge when a Gabi rolled over and quickly cocked a gun - eye squinted as she looked down the barrel. I raised my gun at her just as she pulled the trigger, a swift sharp pain flashing through me as the gun fell from my hand. I choked and stubbled back a bit but kept my footing another blur of a figure rolled over the edge and tackled Gabi to the side, screams erupted around me as my comrades ran forward and quickly kicked and punched the kids. I let my gaze fall to my chest and watched the way blood poured out of the little flower of skin that was puffed open and blooming as if it were spring. Chocking back a laugh, I let my head fall back to look at the ceiling; If only it were that easy kiddo I thought thinking of every time I had been injured and how every time I healed. It was a blessing and a curse, being able to live on normally despite being lethally injured yet having no power to save the ones you care for that were falling around you. The thought reminded me of a conversation Eren and I had back all those years ago, the want- no- the need to save every one no matter the cost, that hadn’t aged well in retrospect.

“I-I’m okay, guys seriously. I’ll be ok-”My eyes widened as I turned around my hands beginning to shake at the sight of Sasha on the floor, eyes vacant as she looked off somewhere. When did that happen? I thought as I reached a hand to my back slowly I poked and prodded till I felt my finger pass through where my skin should have been on my back, the pain flickering like sparks lighting a fire but it was nothing compared to the burning in my eyes. “Sasha?" I whispered, ignoring the fatigue attacking my eyes as steam bellowed from my wounds. Connie and Jean were yelling something but it fell on deaf ears as I took hesitant steps towards her When had the screaming stopped? I looked down at her as Jean looked up at me waiting for me to say something, his mouth was opening and the vein on his neck looked like it was ready to burst; I was so close to him yet I couldn’t hear a thing he was saying- It was like he was miles away from me with a hand over his mouth as he shouted. I ignored the pang in my knees as I fell to the floor and gently grabbed Sasha’s cheeks to turn her head so she could look up at us. My knees were getting warmer by the second and I glanced down to see the pool of blood I was resting in - Is that mine? Or is it Sasha’s?   “Sasha this isn’t funny... Get up...Get up now!" I whispered not trusting my own voice to fall on her ears the same way Jean and Connie’s were falling on mine.

“You’re so...Damn loud...”She wheezed eyes still vacant as I quickly moved my hands to push against the hole in her chest, hating the way my fingers slicked with warm blood. “Meat...Is the food...Not here yet?” She asked and I growled angrily putting more pressure on her wound.

“You’re worried about the food? Jean, Connie! Get her up now, We gotta plug this up and stop the bleeding!” I screamed at them as tears flooded down their cheeks, “What are you waiting for? Hurry up!” I whirled on the kids being held by other cadets as they took her away. I shoved through and grabbed Gabi by her throat and lifted her, chokes sputtering as I clamped my hand tightly around her feeling the sick love of feeling each breath she took and each beat of her heart against my fingers.

“Lieutenant!” I heard vaguely from behind me but squeezed tighter, Gabi’s hands reaching up to scratch at my own and leaving little rivets that beaded with blood.

“If she dies, I swear I’ll enjoy every second of chewing on your bones!” I growled in her face watching as she noticed the scars on my cheeks and forehead and as if she finally put it together, her eyes widened and her thrashes seemed to become more violent as she tried to spit out a response.

“Sh-Shifter?” She gargled, blood pooling out of her mouth and mixing with Sasha’s. I pulled her forward and smashed her back, enjoying the soft crunch of her skull against the ship before throwing her to the floor and turning to everyone. “Bring the little bitch to lock up. Him too, He saved her.” I growled spinning on my heel and walking down the hall. They were all with Eren, They needed to know what happened. She couldn’t die on me, she wouldn’t do that to Connie, Jean and I. What a selfish thing to do, to leave us in such a way. I pushed the door open and growled at the sight of the long haired male seated and dressed as one of them, the man that had killed the love of my life, the man that had inadvertently killed my best friend. I noted the way Jean went rigid sand knew he had already told everyone, the way their faces had fallen and looked just as they had when any other one of our comrades had passed - but Sasha hadn’t passed and she wouldn’t. Rage boiled in my belly as Eren kept his eyes trained on the floor, I swiftly avoided Jean and dodged his arm as he reached for me knowing what was running through my mind because I’m sure it ran through his. I swung my fist loving the fiery pain that erupted across my hand as it made contact with Eren's face, his hair that had grown out so much in these years whipping around as he did nothing to defend himself.

“This is your fault! All of this is your fault!” I shouted again as I grabbed his head and slammed it against my knee, the feeling of him not fighting back infuriating me. I wanted him to react, I needed him to show me something! Happiness, Anger, Sadness, fucking anything! Yet there he sat, wiping his nose as a small trickle of blood slid down his smooth skin, pieces of his long hair clinging to the flow. “Fucking fight back!” I cried feeling the tears finally fall down my cheeks.

“Y/n! What is going on- Is that blood? Were you shot too?” I froze with my fist in the air as Hanji asked the question, my breath hitching in my throat. Blinking harshly, I stumbled back and shook my head looking back down to my chest. As if a bucket of iced water was dumped on my head, I quickly spun around and ran out of the room. I ignored the other scouts as I ran and rounded the corners, halls blurring.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What was that all about?” Hanji asked looking between everyone in the room, flashes of a hole in Y/n’s chest flickering in their minds and the way Jean opened his mouth to reply, “The bullet went through y/n and ended up in Sasha.” Eren ignored the way his face throbbed and kept his eyes on the floor, avoiding the looks of everyone in the room. Levi opened his mouth to reply when a piercing scream ripped through the soft hum of the ship's engines. Everyone quickly went on alert and readied their weapons as more screams filled the air, yet when Connie pushed the door open with tears streaming down his cheeks everyone froze.

“Sasha...Is dead.”

~~~~~~~~~

Mikasa and Armin were sobbing around me as I held Sasha close to me ignoring the way her blood bleed through the bandages and soaked my shirt, the hands wrapped around her tightly holding her head to me. My throat burned with screams and wails as tears finally rolled down my cheeks, I didn’t care how long I would be sitting here but I’d sit here as long as it took for her to wake up. She was going to wake up and I was going to give her all the meat she wanted no matter the cost.

“Y/n... It’s time.” Levi whispered as I held Sasha closer and shook my head, tears falling against her cheek, my grip was gonna leave bruises- she was gonna kill me when she woke up to that. Mikasa and Armin were no longer next to me, when had they left? Why would they leave when she was gonna wake up?

“I can’t, I don’t want her to be alone when she wakes up.” I choked, pushing her bangs behind her ear as I rocked her gently back and forth. A gasp escaped Levi and I kept my eyes on her face, I had shifted to her side to use my right arm to hold her back as my left hand was reached up to hold her cheek as I wiped my tears off and the blood spilling from her lips her face.

“She... She’s gone y/n, Her body is cold, she’s not in it anymore.” Levi said crouching down on the other side of me and I froze, No? Sasha was here, I was holding her. If she wasn’t here I couldn’t be holding her. I wasn’t going to listen to this when she was clearly okay, Sasha was okay.

“But... But If I keep holding her I can keep her warm?” My lip wobbled as I finally tore my eyes away from my best friend's face and looked up at Levi, his eyes bubbling with unshed tears something that I had not seen but a number of times. I licked the salt from my lips and looked back down at her, my chest felt like it was caving in with each word he spoke. 

Another voice pulled me from my stupor as I glanced up through blurred vision to see Hanji gripping the door frame tightly, “It’s okay y/n, It’s time to let her go.” I gasped at their words and shook my head fiercely baring my teeth as I squeezed my eyes shut in anger. How could they not see it? I could keep her warm and she would be okay? She would be okay. 

“Stop saying that! Sasha is perfectly fine! She’s gonna wake up! You’ll see! You’ll all see!” I screamed, squeezing her tighter to me and pushing my forehead against hers “She’s okay, She’ll be okay, She has to be... I can’t do this without her.” I whispered as more sobs wracked through my chest. She was gonna wake up and yell at me for letting a bullet go through me and into her and then I was going to give her any snacks she wanted and then we were going to laugh about this later down the road cracking jokes with Jena and Connie about how we ‘Dodged a bullet.’ I ignored Levi as he stood up and left with Hanji in tow muttering something about giving me space; now alone I started humming again and rocking her back and forth the same way I would when she started having nightmares after her first mission. “You gotta wake up for me okay? Me, Jean, and Connie need you- you know we need you so just wake up for us, alright?” I whispered, rocking her back and forth, my wound was healed but the toll it had taken on my body was enough to make me slump over and pass out at any second, I couldn’t let Sasha wake up to that and scare her.

“Stop it.” I froze at Jeans voice and glanced up to see him and Connie looking down at me, I gulped and shook my head glancing back down to her. “I said stop it.” Jean added a little more forcefully, walking to where I was and tried to pry my hands off of her. No no no if Jean and Connie believed it then it was true, they couldn’t believe that she was actually gone could they?

��I have to keep her warm Jean- Get off of me!” I screamed as he stomped to me and held my biceps tightly and shook me. “She’s gone! Sasha is gone!” I wiped my tears on my shoulder and jerked my shoulders free from his grasp trying my hardest not to jerk Sasha around too hard. 

“She isn’t! She’s right here, she's just sleeping!” I barked, baring my teeth at Jean who straightened up and shook his head, a tear slid down his cheek as he covered his mouth and looked at me with wide eyes. Connie stepped forward coming to crouch down next to me, I got ready to snap at him when he reached over and gently wiped the blood coming out of her mouth away. 

“Pea...Sasha would want you to rest, I’ll wake you up the moment she wakes up okay?” I looked at Connie and felt my eyelids droop at his words. He was right but I knew what he meant, I knew he was trying to ease me into the thought that Sasha wasn’t going to wake up. I sniffled, I had to let go. I had to let her go. 

“She’s not gonna wake up is she?” I whispered feeling a new fresh wave of tears stab at my eyes, I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut as my lungs stuttered for air. Jean came up behind me and sat down encasing me between his thighs as I scooted back to rest against him- Sasha still held tightly in my grasp as I kept my forehead pressed against hers, his chest shaking with sobs as he wrapped his arms around me and pressed his face against my back. Connie laid his head on my shoulder and the silence was enough of an answer. 

“Five more minutes? Please just five more minutes” I cried, pressing my cheek to Sasha's one last time as I heard Connie mutter a small ‘Five more minutes.’

[mxvladdy]

Lucifer- True Form

Went ham. Had fun. Here is some angst (minor) and fluff and stuff.

Next up: Plot twist! Diavolo 

He wears the heaviest glamour out of all of the brothers. The rage and pain from being cast from heaven has warped his angelic body. Turning him into a husk of his former divine glory. He is massive. His body is tall and gaunt. His large form towers over the oak trees of the Devildom forest, each step of his gnarled feet leaving chard prints in their wake. Lucifer is deceptively strong for as emaciated as he looks.

After the war his body is in a constant state of trying to heal itself. His skin hardens into a thick scab before flaking off, only to reform moments later. His body trying to reform to its old self, even after he had fallen. It gives him an almost dripping look. When larger pieces flack off you can see stark white bones underneath for the briefest of moments before the darkness swallows it whole again. It is a continuous breaking and mending, a maddening itch and perpetual soul deep ache.

The halo that once sat righteously atop his crown is now embedded in it. It is buried deep into his skull and shattered after his fall to the Devildom. In a vain attempt to make it look better he filed and broke pieces away styling them the best his broken pride could. They resemble large branching antlers now, sharp and lethal. Ancient hymns lost to time that were engraved by his father when he was young are now worn and dingy, the text indistinguishable in part. It was a tarnished holy relic that only the foolish would try to take (And many souls from all three realms have tried). A few centuries ago he got the jagged edges capped and adorned with gold. Bright red garnet and jewels are interwoven in thin, but strong, gold chains drape over the distorted halo. It was a gift from Diavolo, as the prince somehow finds this form beautiful.

Like Mammon, he is littered with scars from battle not even his healing magic can mend. They have made him slower, the constant mending of his tattered flesh has made it grow stiff and subsequently stunts his range and movement. Scars layer upon scars across his body. Twisting in on themselves like bark. His own personal chains. The holes where he discarded his wings in an act of defiance are now blackened craters in his back. He is unable to heal those that are self inflicted.

You can hypothesize his inability to heal this form as a battle of will. His own mind and body in inner-turmoil, parts of him wanting to continue a torture he doesn’t deserve.  

It is fine, it is his burden to bear.

On the rare rainy days you can hear his joints creak and groan as his skin tears and reform. His bones grind together chillingly. He believes it is symbolic. His body groaning under the strain over-encumbered by the weight of his sins. All the brothers know to give him space on those days.

Even in his human glamour he wears stiff fabrics and corsets to help brace his body and give him an air of dignity even when he just wants to crumple at his desk.

He knew his actions in the celestial realm would have severe repercussions; but he never could have imagined it to be this abhorrent. This was truly the cruelest punishment his father could have ever bestowed on him. A form he can find no pride in.

Mini fic

Ugh. Everything hurt.

If the knot in your neck got any bigger you doubt you’d be about to move out of your chair. You close your textbook with a quick snap, done for the day. Any more drawn out paragraphs from magicians long since dead and you were going to scream. The hours in the school study hall had been beneficial but draining. The tutor on duty that day, a low-level demon named Drath, had taken a shine to your eagerness to learn and was more than willing to sit with you to talk out some of the more advanced runes you were struggling with. They had moved on to help a few more students after a while, pleased with your new understanding of Devildom magic. You stretch out in your seat, grunting softly as your spine pops. Tired of your studies you rise to perch at the window of the large room. The large windowsill overlooked the courtyard of the campus. A few students and professors run out in the courtyard trying to find shelter from the rain.

The sudden downpour had hit during lunch. The torrential downpour hammers at the windows and roof of the school. Trees and bushes tossed about in the high winds, flattened by the rain. Bright flashes of lighting blinding your eyes every so often making you blink the spots from your eyes to see the white board. Truthfully, the storm looked like it had settled on the school, happy to howl and pelt any unlocky souls with oversized raindrops. Shoot, you had hoped it would have waned by the end of classes. You hadn’t grabbed your raincoat or umbrella that morning. Cloudy days were common enough here, but rain? Has it ever rained while you were here? You peak at your phone, debating if you should text one of the brothers to come bring you an umbrella. Hmmm- you still had thirty minutes left before your study time was officially over. Maybe you’d get lucky and it would lighten up before you were forced to head back to the dorms.

You had made plans to go to the new outdoor cafe with Asmo and Beel after dinner. A little something to take you collective minds off the daunting midterms looming over you all. Lucifer’s warnings had been very clear. All residents of the house had to get good grades, no exceptions. His sharp eyes had lingered on Mammon and Asmodeus a little longer than the rest. You could feel the heat of his dark eyes even from your chair across the table. You weren’t a horrible study, but somethings just weren’t clicking like they should. It was a little stressful (a lot stressful). After a few nights of stress sobbing with Beel you had finally gone with Solomon to his study group. A few weeks of lessons and you felt much better. Good enough to celebrate. If the damn weather would take the hint.

As if the weather was attuned to your thoughts a huge flash of bright orange lightning cracked across the sky. It rattled the stained glass window, the light blinding you. Great. Blinking the white dots from your vision you turn back to your desk. Looks like you were just going to have to make a run for it.

“Forgot something?”

“Lucifer!” You smile accepting the large umbrella from his gloved hand. “Thanks! I didn’t know you were still on campus.”

“Yes. I had a few errands and meetings with Diavolo cramped in.” He looks down at you with a tight-lipped smile. In the bright light of the room you noticed beads of sweat forming on his smooth brow trailing down his temples. His eyelid pulsed, fluttering with his heart beat. If you hadn’t been staring you probably wouldn’t have noticed. You look at him, noticing how despondent his normal ridged prideful aura was. He stares blankly down at one of your large tomes struggling with the large clasps.

“Are you well?” Lucifer blinks, dropping the metal bindings as if burned. He licks his pale lips for a moment in contemplation. Something just on the verge of slipping out. But, it is quickly lost shuttered away behind his normal lofty expression.  

“What makes you say that?” He asks. Lucifer turns away from you to collect your things. “Come, We’ll be taking the back way to the house. It has better coverage and the storm has yet to reach it.” You follow behind quietly, waving a quick goodbye to Solomon and Drath.

The silence around Lucifer was different today. Normally he hid his agitation from you, only bringing it out if it was directed towards you. You’d only seen him like this when Mammon had done something foolish. “Lucifer, what’s wrong.” You try again catching his sleeve to pull him back. It all happened so fast. A sharp inhalation of breath, his arm jerked from yours. His whole being repelled by your touch. He rounds on you, eyes flashing dangerously. He never minded when you touched him before. “Luci?”

“Please,” He cuts you off with a trembling hand. “I am fine. Let’s get home before the storm worsens.”  He drops you off at the front stairs and excuses himself, muttering about other business to attend to. You stare after him deeply perturbed. He was never the most touchy-feely of the seven, but he was always straight with you after what happened with Belphie. To be so physically distant worried you.

He wasn’t at dinner. The head of the table was devoid of his strong presence. The other brothers seemed to be making an unusually strong effort not to look at the vacant spot. Even Satan, who you thought would be smirking at the fact the eldest had broken his own rules, sat eyes glued to a book perched in his lap. His golden spoon paused midway to his mouth. It was almost like nothing was amiss. “Is Lucifer o.k?” You turn to Levi, his head buried in his handheld, food halfway eaten. His fingers pause for a moment over his screen.

“Ye, he’s fine. Just doesn’t like the rain is all.” Oh. It doesn’t settle your worries but if no one else was stressing…

The storm lasted well into the night. The rolling thunder keeps you up well past when you should be sleeping. That and the annoying creaking that echoed out from your unlit fireplace. Or was it your window? The groaning and grinding sounds permeated the air of your room, picking up intensity at odd intervals. It reminded you of a swaying tree caught in a hurricane. Limbs twisting and snapping in the wind as it is battered from all angles, its thick trunk losing the fight to stay upright. The low grinding of it all resonating in your chest, deep and palpable. It was so loud, and the forest was so far away. Irritated, you push yourself out of bed, determined to find a place where the noise couldn’t reach you.

Pacing the long desolate hallways you try to retrace your steps to a lesser used room. Maybe steal one of Belphie’s favorite sleeping nooks. As you make your way down the hallways you begin to notice the sounds of the trees getting louder. Like you had suddenly found yourself in a grove of winding and dancing trees.  You take a sharp left determined to find the cause of the noise and put an end to it. In your frustration you almost missed the door left ajar. Mid stride you stop. Who would be up at this hour? Coming closer you recognize the door.

It was Lilith’s room. The warm glow of firelight pulsing on the velvet of the hallway rug. The groaning sound of trees comes from behind the ornate door. You bristle, if one of the brothers was setting up stupid prank this late at night you’d kill them.

The eldest of the brothers stood staring into the pits of the roaring hearth. His dark eyes were glassy. The reds of his iris reflect the dancing flames. He was completely obvious to your intrusion. Clothes lay scattered about the floor haphazardly, his shirt, vest and overcoat were thrown across the floor, pants hanging low on his narrow waist. Lucifer moves closer to the roaring flames with less then his usual grace. His left leg seems stiff, the knee unwilling to bend fully as he walks. In the magically created sunlight of the room you notice his alabaster skin shift and flicker, like a TV with a bad connection. One second it was smooth, the next chard rough patches litter his skin. The black welts and molting flesh flash before you then disappear. He croons deep in the back of his throat as the flames lick at his outstretched hand. Again the sounds of tree limbs snap assault your ears as he flexes his fingers.  

You stand rooted to the spot unsure of what to do. This was a very vulnerable moment for him you were sure. When was the last time you saw him with his body fully uncovered? Never. You really should give him some privacy. This was clearly not something he wished for anyone to see. Yet your heart wept for him. Lucifer was clearly in pain. Bare fingers digging large groves into the stone of the fireplace. His jaw twitching as sharp pains rack his body. “I know you're there.” He pins you in place with his husky voice. “It’s rude to stare.”

You stumble in, legs trembling. You could feel the rant coming. Bracing yourself you squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the torrent. Whatever he was going to say was cut short, a hitched breath making you look up. He is gripping at his side, unable to look at you. “Lucifer?” He raises his free hand to you, ignoring you to limp to the overstuffed armchair. He hunches over shielding his face in his large palms.

“It’s best if you forget you saw this. Please leave.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Leave.” He repeats again more firmly. “I wish to be alone.” He waves you off. You hear the creaking again. It moves with him.

“Is that you?” You ask. Watching him adjust himself in his seat. The sound of twigs bending to their max before snapping answer your question.

“Astute observation as always.” He grunts rubbing at his knee. “One would think Mammon is rubbing off on you.” His biting jab is dry. His eyes dart to the rainfall outside. His insult completely lacks his usual sting. But then again his barbs were always softened with you.

“It’s the rain isn’t it?” You ignore his blatant want for solitude, feed up with his stupid broodiness and unwilling to let a friend hurt. “My granddad was that same way. His joints would just ache and pop during really bad weather.” He puffs up for a second, comparing him to an old man twisted sourly in his gut. “Let me help?”

“How?” He whispers beyond tired suddenly. He had talked to Barbatos earlier that day. The storm was here to stay for the time being. A day or two at most. To him it would be an eternity. You approach, hands raised as if to a cornered animal. In a way he felt like it. He sits still, allowing you to approach. Lucifer chokes back a small whimper of bliss as you touch him. Your palms were so warm, resting and rubbing on his aching shoulder. He could feel his old bones settle; a brief moment of bliss.

“What do you need?”

He leads you to his quarters, letting you stop by your room to grab a few things on the way. You reappear from your room, shaking your rucksack at him with a smile. “I think some of these things might help!” Lucifer appreciated the sentiment but doubted it highly.

You were used to nights spent in his office, and a few rare occasions that he invited you to his bed chambers. That is where he led you now. His hand is large and warm on your back as he shuffles you past his bed and towards his walk in closet. You look about, confused at his vast collection of historical clothes and why you were in his closet to begin with. He smiles weary at your question but stays silent coming to stop at his wardrobe. He takes you through to another hidden room. The magic of the vast space making your skin tingle. Goosebumps blossoming on your arms and neck.

It was an unused part of the catacombs. Eons ago Lucifer had stumbled upon it in his explorations of his new home. It had long since become a mini sanctuary from when the odd storm got to his bones, or a brother had gotten under his skin. Large orbs float lazily across the vaulted ceiling. Knocking into each other with a soft tinkle of chimes. Their warmth was reminiscent of spring time back in the celestial realm. Already his old bones felt better. His mind unclouding.

His stride falters for a moment, polished dress shoes squeaking on the opulent marble. What was he going to do? Show you himself? “Lucifer?” He feels you turn to him, sliding his arm away from your back to grip it in your small hands. “Let me help you? Please?” You make eye contact and smile reassuringly.

His resolve breaks. Damn, when had he gotten so soft? “Help me with my jacket.” His words were muddled but clear. It was getting hard to rotate his right shoulder again. The storm was raging right over the house now and his body protested. He had redressed hastily in Lilith’s room. You may have seen him at his most vulnerable, but he would never let the brothers. If Satan saw, he’d never hear the end of it. You nod and walk behind him. Standing on tiptoes you help him shrug off his coat and fold it neatly to side with your belongings. The corset beneath was a little trickier for you. It was an ingeniously designed brace that doubled as a designer corset. You never noticed, but up close the silk of his corset was brocade. The black of the fabric was decorated with a subtle shiny black thread. To the naked eye one couldn’t see it. But you could feel it as you brushed your fingers along his waist. In the bright light of the room the thread shimmered in all of its intricacies.  

“They are runes.” He answers your silent question refusing to look at you as you worked, hyper aware of your fingers tracing the stitching. “It helps with-” the pain, the humiliation, my pride? “Everything.” You nod accepting his words and unlace it gently. He shivers at the soft caress, it was like his body gravitated towards your touch. His actual skin buzzing with want.

“Does this happen a lot?” You come to his front and begin on the buttons of his dress shirt.

“No, rainstorms like this are rare. Once every couple of centuries it gets- bad.” Lucifer leans some of his massive weight on you while you lift his arm out of the sleeve. “You are good at this.” He eyes you skeptically. How many people had the luxury of your undivided attention?

You chuckle turning to fold his shirt neatly. “Why thanks, I guess? Like I said my granddad had bad bones. I used to help him on the bad days.” You eye his pants and flush. “I won’t help with those though.”

“Pity. Give me a moment would you?”  The demon chuckles turning to give himself an illusion of privacy. Already being out of the cold and drafty halls made him feel better already. This room had been meticulously built to help him. Artificial sun, warm, and not too humid. A light draft in the rafters getting the air circulating. Spending the night down here, and he’d be able to function for tomorrow's numerous meetings. Closing his eyes he releases his glamour.

Shifting felt like breaching water. A slight resistance then a cool wave of relief as he breaches the surface. Resting on his hunches his rumbles low, feeling his broken halo scrap the vaulted ceiling. His little human gasps looking up, and up, and up till they meet his hollow skull like face. He holds his breath, gut and hearts clenching in fear. What must you think of him? He watches with trepidation knowing this body was a lot to comprehend. “Wow. I thought you were tall before.” You grab at your satchel digging into the depths. “I’m afraid my little jar won’t go far now, but I’d still like to try.” He leans down looking at the jar posed at the tips of your fingers.

“Tiger balm?” His voice was abrasive and jagged. The multilayered lilt scrapped your eardrums like metal on bone. You flinch. A slight twinge of your shoulders barely noticeable, but it makes him recoil nonetheless. It's jarring, but not as scary as you originally thought.

“Sorry,sorry.” You placate the giant beast. “Took me by surprise.” You creak a reassuring grin. “This whole day has. But that’s ok.” You meet his gaze, his oblong head cocked to the side to stare at you. Up close you could see that his eye sockets weren’t hollow as they originally appeared. Deep within the bone and flaking flesh you could see a faint pure white glow, a little pinprick in the abyss flickering like a candle. Taking his stillness as permission you wonder back over to his large taloned feet. The constant healing and chaffing of his skin creates a foul vapor around him. The plumes of it blocking out the sunning orbs in waves. It smelled awful, like burning hair, skin and sulfur. But you push through taking small breaths through your mouth till your body adjusted. You glance at the tiny jar in your hand feeling stupid. “I’ll have to order some more but I hope this helps.” Lucifer looks at your outstretched hand at a complete loss of what you expected him to do. “Well,” You gestate at him to come closer. “Where does it hurt the most?” He laughs. A dry clicking in the back of his many vocal chords. His back hurt the most, it always did. A consistent little reminder of what his past actions cost him. Though, there were some things he wasn’t ready to divulge to you.Yet.

“That little jar will do nothing. But-” He continues trying to cover for his snappishness. He hated the frown drawing tight on your lips. “I will be signing a lot of paperwork tomorrow.” He brings a massive hand down and places it on the cool marble in front of you. The joints were bare to you, the flesh unable to encompass the swelling. His phalanges felt cold and hot all at once. Sudden spasms making the exposed nerves light up and twitch. “If you could?”

Clambering up his table sized finger with his approval you straddle it and rub some of your ointment on your palms to warm it. “Let me know if I hurt you.” With that you sink your hands through the mist and begin to work at his tender joints. The great beast rumbles in enjoyment. His keen nose picking up the spicy scent of the balm and your naturally pleasant musk. Within minutes the warming ointment began to soothe him. Leaving you to your ministrations Lucifer arches his neck up to the sky and begins to sun himself. The tension of the rain storm rolling off his body as the sun globs begin to orbit around his massive frame. Your little hums of happiness as you worked made this almost worth the humiliation of you seeing him at his lowest.

[ku-ro-kai]

Lust at first bite

This was inspired by Trevor and sypha from the series Castlevania- personality wise so on

This is a one-shot★

Warning;fluff and angst,sexual tension, blood drinking, heat mentioned,missionary, squirting, praise kink, manipulation,aphrodisiacs, blood, multiple orgasm

He's been sneaking and stealing looks for too long, he's grown tired of it despite his small attempts at gifts he's been getting the nyphms to deliver or trying dispatch a plan in starting a conversation with you without being killed.

To his castle before the huntresses and witches hunt him down, touya was from a Royal bloodline of vampires. He's been going out every sunset in looks for his favorite huntress

She wasn’t like the other huntress’s in his eyes.

He had come to her in the middle of the night,he was looking for fresh virgin blood,he found you out on a night stroll.

He recognized you from flyers that he would come across when wondering in abandoned villages. He came to the conclusion you weren’t no ordinary boring huntress.

You were different,unique is what he would say, your family tree was dangerous to other creatures,coming from witches and huntsman.

(A month ago)

His father warned him about your family,beware of them, don’t never go by the (L/N) markings in the woods,every creature thought your family tree was killed off.

You were out getting fresh air,you couldn’t stand being in rooms with other huntresses and huntsmen, they envied your family,despite their hate for you,there was no escaping the headmasters.your family payed their debt years ago,why were they still inviting you to these silly meetings.

You heard a low groan from behind you,a annoyed sigh left your lips”At this time,show your face”.

Dabi thought you were some stuck up whore at first, “what if I don’t want too?”Gonna skin me and turn me into boots”

You turned around to face the unknown man ,he looked like a victim of fire,ebony hair that was spiked from front to back, blue eyes that sparkled like the ocean on a full moon,he was dressed down to toe in leather ,only a upside cross hanging from his neck,fingers covered in all different metallic silver rings, ones with diamonds,rubies and sapphires.

“Who exactly are you and how’d you get passed the barrier ?”

“You’re barrier is a piece of shit ,sorry darling I just don’t state my name to any stranger."

"It's like that with you vampires? Stuck up"

"Feisty, you huntsman look down on the rest of the world and expect everyone to get on their knees and praise you"

"You monsters have curses put on y'all,so you take your anger out on the huntresses and huntsman,since we hunt you down"

Dabi rubbed his chin, you weren't wrong,if anything he would do anything to take this curse off and have a normal body.

"You're a very stubborn human"

"You're one to talk"

A small chuckle came out, dabi was a man of many lies but he couldn't lie that you weren't an interesting huntress, maybe his favorite out of the ones he met in his life.

"I'll spare your life this time darling but if we come across again, there will be no mercy"

You never met a vampire like him before, he's cocky and comes with too much pride, A total prick.

"Same to you, just keep in mind that sneaking up to your prey comes with being completely silent"

You two parted ways that night and now he hasn't been able to get you off his mind

(Present)

He took you're words to heart, the sunset were his time to go see you.

Quietly hiding in the shadows, you were always out taking a stroll, did you not receive a good capture?

The headmasters have been keeping you stored away from missions,you were completely drowned out from all the drinks you spent at the tavern,only thing in that god forsaken castle was old people and moldy fruits.

You could proceed with skinning this annoyance of a vampire and receiving money

“Do you have nothing to do besides stalk me “

Dabi never understood how you could figure out how he was there,he was the best when it came to sneaking in the shadows,or so he thought.

“Your always walking around this area,I figured I’ll stop by”.

“You’ll be foolish to think I’ll believe that lie”

“Look my name is touya todoroki,first son to the King vampire Enji todoroki but refer to me as dabi for now “

That name was catching like wildfire when you were younger,it was a story of a little vampire boy playing by himself in the mountains near a peasant village ,his father made him go up there if he couldn’t make a flame change it’s color to blue.The boy was too careless with the way he would shoot his fires into trees ,as in result,he struck a branch, that caught half the village on fire ending with getting stuck under a large burning oak tree.Some say he hunted the woods looking in revenge for his father,others say he was in search of better body.

“I’m (name),how long have you’ve been living on your own since the forest fire “

“ for 210 years, it took months for my body to get used to staples"

You had guilt in your eyes,he always saw this in his victim's face when he would suck them dry,the stares he got from their cold,decaying corpse. He loved that look

"Does it hurt?"

"What do you think" he snapped.

"Hey no need to get rude" you looked at the full moon, maybe this prick of a vampire could help you with a drink "dabi wanna go out for a drink"

He looked you dead in the eye "with you? No thanks, trying to finesse me out of my money, I knew you huntresses weren't always good out if the bunch"

"I guess we are both liars than, well I'll just take my leave, if you wanna suck my blood I'll be at the blue soul lake"

You walked away into the forest

"Why that specific area- it's hunted by witches"

"Not the big bad vampire being scared of witches"

"Who the hell said I was scared, if anything I'm just concerned why that cursed part of the forest"

"That cursed place is my home"

Blue soul lake was wretched area, swarming with witches and witchcraft. The only thing is that place is good for is the glowing lake that only shines on a full moon.

"My father told about that place, used to be ritual when witches would bring kids, kill them, sacrifice them to whatever God you nut jobs believed in and kept the skulls and eyes for gross potions. What do y'all do now, pretend to be gypsies"

You chuckled at him "no we don't do anything out of that kind, I just live there because I love the way the lake shines at night and because I grew up there"

Dabi didn't understand why you would just invite a vampire to your house as if it's the normal, he could care less,long as he can be near you, you made him feel whole again, maybe because he hasn't gotten a load off in awhile, where you good at massages?, he could make you queen, give you children and regain his body back with your weird passed down powers

He wasn't thinking right, make you queen? Breed you? Spend the rest of eternity with you? He surely wasn't in love with some thorn in the side huntress,that's below him.

"Dabi why do wear the rings and what's with the silly name"

He got embarrassed, hiding his face “it’s not silly “

"It’s a little silly"

He turned back facing you,you’re warm smile brought him comfort

“The rings are from my mother, she gave all my siblings rings”

“Ah you royals always have the easy life ahead”

“You could say that , I’ll probably still have my body back if it weren’t for my father”

“I guess the stories were right”

“I hate him , I can’t stand to even look myself in the mirror when I remember I used to look like him”

Awkward silence was there for a while

“I could've easily snapped your neck when we first met"

"Why didn't you do it"

"You intrigued me"

"Not me catching your interest -what now you want me to be your queen"

"If if weren't for your cocky mouth,you could be heir to the throne of my queen"

"you like me?!"

"I'll kill where you stand"

You covered your smile with your cape.

"you didn't say no"

Dabi turned away to hide his blushing, you were a silly little thing with the ability to have him head over heels in love with you. You were just food to him now he has to deal with red swallowing his face and this shaking feelings in his chest.

You two reached your home-it wasn't too bad, A little snags and there, he could probably fix it with a little magic, too his disappointment you didn't have nothing crazy going on- it's cozy and warm

He picks up a picture "nice place you got here darling-a little sad there isn't hearts in jars and a shit load of strange plants"

"Are all vampires like this? Assuming all witch descent are into witchcraft"

"Must be the huntsman genes"

Dabi put the picture in his suit pocket, he continued walking around your house coming across from a family tree of pictures

"Dabi what's it like living like a vampire?”

“It’s quite fun,scaring frisky young ones comes with the job,sucking blood all night long is the dream,don’t have to worry about dying since I can live for centuries also the garlic shit is a myth"

You carry a bottle of holy water out "how mad would you be if I sprayed this on you"

"Try me"

After running, what seemed about an hour, you came to a stop leaving you panting on top of the stairs"you sly bastard" your clothes were tattered and scattered all around your house

Dabi covered a burned mark of you splashing him in holy water " just wanted to mark you as mine and only mine, what do you say doll? Wanna come back and live with me"

Dabi show case devilish smile was vacant , now a show of hostile in his face

“What if I come across that corner and bite that neck of yours (name)”

His voice was calm but his demeanor was sinister.you could see red gleaming in his eyes

You saw a flash of black,now you ended up upstairs in the middle of the hallway on your back with vampire in the crook of your neck ,his keen fangs edging on your vital

"...your the devil touya"

He licked a long stripe on your neck, now placing kisses on your jaw "if I'm the devil you must be the devil's woman huh" he let out a raspy chuckle, he lifted your thighs up" your something else you know that (name),Do you get off to me to trying to kill you " he moved to the side staring at the wet mark on your neck.

He licked a long stripe on your neck, now placing kisses on your jaw "if I'm the devil you must be the devil's woman huh" he let out a raspy chuckle, he lifted your thighs up" your something else you know that (name),Do you get off to me to trying to kill you " he moved to the side staring at the wet mark on your neck.

"Dabi why is it so hot" you tried to push him off you but he wouldn't budge

"Don't worry doll, the aphrodisiacs are doing that" dabi ran his hands around your waist"those huntsman have treated you so badly, don't you wanna get revenge"

"Yes... But"

Your body was burning in the inside, how did he get his hands on aphrodisiacs? Did he sneak something on his tongue

"Dabi-please" at this point you were begging to have some sort intimacy

He took your face in his hand "but what? Together we can be unstoppable, a powerful couple, rule over kingdoms although You would look better holding my children in that stomach of yours " he ripped your tattered clothes off with ease" all you gotta say is yes darling "

"Yes, fuck yes -please dabi"

His clothes were vacant, you felt something hard press against your outer lips, you begin grinding on to his cock

Your being such a needy bitch in heat" his length closing around your walls like a fitted glove,in such a slow manner ,now accompanied by him placing a hand on the bulge poking in your stomach”your such a good huntress doll, now your becoming my prize possession, mind to ravish every night and every day" he was half way in your pussy,groaning at how tight you are "for a pesky girl, your cunt is perfect".

Dabi got closer to the stained mark on your neck, placing hickes all over it. His thoughts were clouded with marking you as his,nobody can touch you with their filthy hands again .

He pressed his fingers against your throbbing clit, soft rubbing making you walls clench around his shaft.

He pulled out, letting out a deep grunt only to plunge himself with a hard thrust, his tip pushing against your womb.

You let out a groan feeling a sharp pain,his keen nails clawing at your waist, watching your blood pouring out on to floor. The pleasure mixed with the pain sending over the edge,he went a couple thrust before cumming releases a raspy moan,dabi took his fingers licking off your blood.

"You taste just as good too" you heard coming down from your high, dabi pulled out uncovering his seed soaking out, he put your legs over his shoulders "wait dabi" you felt his fangs graze your pearl "don't order me around (name)" you jolted when his two fingers went inside your sopping pussy

He pressed the flat of his tongue on your clit with his fingers working on sending you into another orgasm. The Flicking of his tongue and the curling on that gummy spot, sucking on your inner lips with a small pop.

You couldn't hold it, your juices spraying you and dabi face. "What a slut you are doll" he licked his lips watching you pass out from exhaustion

You woke up in room that didn't belong to you, dressed in a beautiful chemist,with a robe hanging off your shoulders .there was pain in the side of your neck, two swollen puncture holes. you had a aquamarine necklace and blood red ring in your hands,the sounds of the fire popping and cracking on the side of your chair. "dabi?" you called out,hearing steps coming into the room behind you.

"Yes doll" "where are we and what did you do to me" he went over to the fire place to throw in some more wood, a navy blue half buttoned down shirt with black tuxedo pants,he was holding a glass in his hand,the liquid in the cup was too murky to be wine "If I can recall you said yes to staying with me or were the drugs that powerful to have you say anything" you remember saying agreeing to staying with but that doesn't excuse the pain in your neck

"My neck?"

"I had to for the sake of you staying with me,if you continued remaining a human I would've"accidentally" took your blood"

"What about the huntress and huntsman looking for you!"

"I killed them, you were sleep for about a month, for the remaining time I put up warnings to stay away from the castle, would hate to have humans killing our children"

Thank you for reading💖, I will be taking a small break for a while after I post my headcannons

[parkers-gal]

cups

boomerang pt. iii

wc: 2k

warnings: very detailed anxiety attack

There’s two faucets, each with a cup under, catching the liquids. There’s one that flows consistently, one she drinks out of on the daily. The other comes out in drips, in which she sips from the cup rarely. Now, the rare cup is overflowing, so much that she can’t drink all of it. She’s drunk on it now, and she’s not sure where the end or the start is anymore. The other cup has stopped flowing all together. The once consistent flow that kept her thriving and hydrated was now barren and dry.

One would complain about how different the two beverages taste, one being bitter and sour and tart, the other sweet and honeyed and enjoyable. But not her. Maybe the whole point of having both is to keep them balanced. Maybe that’s where the fault line is, where the recurring problem always starts from. Maybe nobody is ever supposed to have too much of one beverage; perhaps it needs to be even, balanced, steady. One thing’s for sure, you’re always supposed to have both; never neither.

Y/N’s in a pickle. Out of the two of them, she wasn’t the actor. But now, pretending is her main task; something she must do everyday just to survive to the next. It starts at her friends house, the place she’d ran off to when things went crumbling down. To any outsider, the split wasn’t as drastic as others, though the pair didn’t exactly end on great terms, one would expect both to hold no grudges or remain satisfied. When they said the game of love was a battlefield, nobody ever told them it would be war.

She’s sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. Despite the name, the room is anything but alive. It’s dead and cold and dull and unwelcoming. The welcome mat outside could even be considered click-bait, in Y/N’s opinion. But nobody had ever cared about Y/N’s opinions. Or her feelings. Or her thoughts or struggles or ideas or wishes. Because she’s the nurturer, the person other people turn to when they want to show insights of their lives. Y/N had never gotten the opportunity to do the same.

At one point, though, she thought she had found the person she could do that to. But of course, things went crashing down, the foundation crumbling and cracking until piles of rubble and concrete were left, dust wafting through the air and making her lungs burn.

Three weeks have passed, and by the middle of the fourth week, Harrison had told her about his accident with the car. She wanted to be there – as the person who sat with him in the ambulance, or the person who was driving the car – she wasn’t sure, but she knew she wanted to be there. She almost drove to the hospital; the keys were in her hand and the door was opened, but she had ultimately decided that he didn’t want her like he used to.

The heart does a lot to a human. Love is like blood, the source of living and anyone’s lifeline; you need it to survive, the heart needs it. That’s why the heart pumps it 24/7, flushes it through the body and asks the lungs for continuous support in doing so. Y/N used to be breathing heavily, panting as the love ran through her veins and pumped her heart, filling her soul and her skeleton. Now, she was lying on the floor in an empty void, bleeding out the love that once kept her alive. It’s ironic, how the thing you need is also the thing that gets you killed.

“Get up,” Aisha nudges Y/N with her foot. “get off the floor for once.”

Groaning, Y/N sat up, head rush flooding her skull as she rolled her eyes. “What?” she whined.

“Let’s go out tonight.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes,” Aisha cuts her short, standing up and reaching for Y/N’s hands to help her stand too. “You said you would; I’ve already promised the gang we’d be there.”

“Fine,” she grumbles, standing up and patting her thighs for any stray hairs or dirt.

“Go shower,” Aisha nudges her in the direction of the bathroom. “We can get ready on time for once.”

Y/N laughs with a nod, walking towards her room. Once her back is turned, the smile drops from her face and her hands cover her face as she rubs. Hopefully, makeup would cover up the luggage her eyes carry under them.

**

She’s wearing heels and an off-the-shoulder-top dress that’s shorter than anything she owns. Aisha called it “clubbing material,” when she bought it, so she knew this would suffice for the night and satisfy her friends’ requirements.

“Y/N?!” Aisha calls from the kitchen. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” she yells back. “Let me just grab my purse!”

Opening a drawer to grab her jewelry, she wears a necklace before grabbing her purse. She halts all of a sudden, practically tripping her own self as she looks at the handbag her fingers are encased around.

“Y/-!” Aisha walks through the door, two shot glasses in her hands, but she too stops and takes notice of what Y/N is doing. “Are you… okay?”

Y/N shakes her head wildly, dropping all thoughts as she gives Aisha a smile, reaching for one of the glasses as she leads the way out of the room.

**

Club hours extend on weekends. Friday’s run all through Saturdays, so the club is pretty wild when they arrive. There’s five of them, each wearing something equally sexy and stunning and powerful. Y/N wishes she could feel all of those things, but she pretends, for now. It’ll do.

“This way!” Jennie calls, grabbing Y/N’s hand as they move to a particular section of the dance floor, some of them already getting into the groove with the beat. Y/N laughs before moving her hips, joining them.

She dances for about fifteen minutes before a certain figure catches her attention. It’s not who she thinks it is, thankfully, but he is wearing a familiar hoodie, one she’s certain she had worn a copy of. The memories flood back quickly, and she stops her movements suddenly, trying to catch her breath.

“You good?” Aisha asks, a hand on the small of her back. Y/N nods, telling her something about needing a glass of water, and Aisha nods, coming with her. Hands linked, they make their way through the crowd of sweaty twenty-something-year-old’s before settling on two stools at the bar counter.

“What’ll it be this time, ladies?” Ciara, the barista, asks.

“Just a bit of h-two-oh,” Aisha says with a laugh, going on about some new store opening down the street. Ciara happily chats back, and Y/N is thankful for the free moment to distract her brain. Before she knows it, she’s sipping out of a glass cup and another figure sits in the vacant seat next to her. The girl – who’s wearing something Y/N would love to buy – is chatting with the fellow she saw earlier. Her perfume is so strong that Y/N can smell it from her spot, and the scent is so familiar that she recognizes it immediately.

Upon the realization, she stands up from the stool hastily, setting the glass on the counter before going back onto the dance floor – a different type of distraction. She doesn’t last long, though, because someone is changing the song for Karaoke Hour, and the runner up is some girl – and the song she’s chosen sends Y/N into a furry of more memories and nostalgia.

Her breaths get short, eyes unable to focus on one particular item, and she’s reaching her hands out for nothing in particular, reaching out because she’s been abandoned for so long.

“Are you alright?” Daniella asks, lightly holding her left arm, one that Y/N had accidentally swung into her stomach.

“What’s happening?” Aisha asks, coming over to the group, abandoning her spot at the bar.

“Y/N,” Daniella tries again.

There’s tears trickling down her face, mascara smudging in the most cliche way. Her breathing has picked up so much she’s practically hyperventilating now, and her heart is beating faster than a 365 GTB Ferrari. Sweat builds on her palms and her underarms, and she nearly trips while stumbling backwards, her heels sabotaging her ankles’ strength.

“Let’s take her out of here,” Aisha shouts over the music, and the four of them attempt to bring her outside of the club. The majority of Y/N’s weight is on the girls around her, and she’s internally grateful they’re not as oblivious as former friends.

They sit her down on a bench, one of them wrapping a jacket around her shoulders as Aisha talks softly to her, sending two of the girls inside to get another glass of water. Y/N gulps half the cup down on her first go, and her breathing calms down after ten minutes.

After five minutes of sitting on the bench in the calmest degree she could manage, Aisha tells the three of them to get the rest of their stuff and pay the tab while she calls for a taxi cab, and Y/N feels guilty for ruining their girls night out.

“We can talk when we get home- if you want, of course,” Aisha assures her.

When Y/N’s certain they’re alone, she rambles. “It was just- so much, the lights and t-the songs and my p-purse and the perfume and ja-jackets-”

“I know, baby, I know,” Aisha coos at her, pulling her into a hug before the rest of the girls come out, and they file into a cab, scents of alcohol lingering on them.

***

When Y/N wakes the next morning, there’s seven missed calls in her notification center. Four are from the girls (about last night), two from a colleague at work, and another from Harry. Unplugging her phone, she clicks on his number, the phone dialing.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is raspy through the phone, and Y/N has a feeling she just woke him up.

“Hey,” she breathes into the phone. “You called?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Aisha told me about last night; ‘was just checking in.”

“Oh,” Y/N sighs. “Yeah.. I’m okay,” she whispers.

Harry hums in response, and a few beats pass before he speaks again. “Did you hear he punched me?”

“What?” Y/N laughs. “Yeah right-”

“No really. I had to go to the hospital to make sure my jaw wasn’t fractured.”

“Wow.”

“I know- what a fuckin’ twat.”

It’s Y/N’s turn to hum, and Harry just laughs, rubbing his jaw from the remaining aches.

“Are things… bad?” Y/N whispers again, afraid somebody might shame her for being curious, for being worried.

“Worse than they’ve ever been,” Harry says back quietly. “I know you were Tom’s, but everything is different over here. It’s like this piece of our lives is just gone, and everyone has to work around it now.”

Y/N sighs and looks down, phone still to her ear as she thinks about his words. “Yeah,” she whispers before wiping at her face. “I get it.”

“I don’t know if you do, though.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Do you honestly think you’re meant to be apart?”

“Harry,” Y/N says sternly with another sigh. “I just- we’ve talked about this already. I’m tired of being the one that doesn’t matter.”

“But you matter to me,” he says back. “And Harrison and Sam and Tuwaine and Paddy and-”

“But who’s the base of it all?” Harry doesn’t reply, so she asks again. “Why’re you a group?”

“Because of him,” Harry admits. “No, yeah, I know, I get it,” he sighs too. “I just.. miss my home.”

“It was home to you but hell to me.”

“I know. And I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel guilty about doing what’s best for yourself.”

“Don’t be,” Y/N rubs at her face. “It’s whatever.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

Y/N looks to the window, glancing at the rays of light and the green leaves, and she ponders the thought.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

[kirishibi]

Nights Like These | Kirishima Ejirou

Summary: You’re having a rough night struggling with your anxiety and your long time crush, Kirishima, helps you through it

Pairing: Kirishima Ejirou x Reader

Warnings: pretty vivid and possibly triggering descriptions of the physical symptoms and racing thoughts that come with an anxiety attack, non-established relationship, pining, lots of Kiri comfort, so much fluff, very very mild cursing, spoilers abt Kirishima’s backstory, (y/n)’s pretty shy in this one oops

**this fic has a lottt of comfort and fluff in it after the first quarter, but if descriptions of anxiety are triggering for you please read with caution and skip over bits if needed**

Word Count: 2.8k

a/n: chef actually writing for once??? unheard of. anyway, i was struggling really hard this week, so i wrote some kiri comfort because who doesn’t want this sweet boi to hold ur hand and tell you everything’s gonna be okay when it feels like the world’s falling apart.i legit wrote this while crying bruv if any one of my fics is a window to my soul its this one

It began with that all-too-familiar pit of dread in your stomach, an uncomfortable rush of adrenaline in your upper chest that you desperately tried to force away. Trembling fingertips, wobbling knees, the sudden urge to crawl out of your own skin. All you did was get tongue-tied while chatting with Bakugou and a few of his friends, but your fumbled words wouldn’t stop echoing through your skull, the angry blond’s mocking gaze replaying over and over again in your mind.

You barely made it to your dorm before shards of your shattered confidence gathered to form a lump in your throat, and tears stung at the corners of your eyes. You threw open the door to your room, hastily swung it shut as you entered. As heavy wood slammed into its frame, a jarring bang echoed throughout the hallway outside. You physically cringed, brows knitting together and nose scrunching in disgust at your own actions. 

Damn it, you thought to yourself, everyone heard that, and now they’re all pissed at you. 

This happened more times than you could count: one minor mistake drudged up what seemed like hundreds of embarrassing memories from your past, and in a matter of minutes you knew you’d wind up a sobbing mess on your bedroom floor, gasping for air, convinced that the only thing you’re truly good at is being a burden.

There was a dam inside your mind; one that held all of your regrets, self-loathing thoughts, and most embarrassing memories. The multitude of cracks in its foundation threatened to give with every little thing you deemed a screw-up, and in that moment, the dam broke.

A half-complete exam sat before you. Your left leg nervously bounced beneath your desk as a pencil twirled between the nimble fingers of your dominant hand. The eraser of your pencil caught on the surface of your desk mid-twirl, causing the utensil to fling from your grasp. It arched through the air and thumped the boy seated in front of you, Ojiro, right between his shoulder blades. No amount of rambled apologies from you, nor sincere ’it’s okay!’s from the kind-hearted blond could stop that moment from searing itself into your memory. Just another reason you should never leave your room again.

Sinking into an unmade bed, you pulled your knees up to your chest. Feeble arms hugged your legs tightly as you desperately tried to shake the unpleasant thoughts from your own brain. “No,” you pleaded with yourself, “no, (Y/n), you’re not doing this again.” Fingernails dug into soft flesh beneath your school uniform’s knee-high socks, a momentary distraction from the sheer panic swelling inside your chest. Forehead pressed against bent knees, you hoped that if you made yourself small enough, maybe you could disappear entirely. 

Accidentally interrupting someone during a conversation, tripping over your own feet while walking down the hall, getting anxious speaking to your redheaded crush and forgetting what you wanted to say altogether.

You couldn’t help but gasp for air, the angry burning of your lungs only worsening with every shallow breath as hot tears trailed down the sides of your face. There was no stopping the sobs that pushed past your lips, nor the self loathing thoughts that racked your brain. You pressed your back firmly against the cool drywall beside your bed with the vain hope that the sudden chill may keep you grounded.

Nearly spitting out your tea as Kaminari cracked a joke during lunch, not realizing you took someone else’s seat in the common room, bumping into an elderly woman on the train, dropping a handful of textbooks in front of your entire class.

A knock on the door momentarily pulled you from what seemed to be an inescapable frenzy of thoughts. You stumbled to your feet, stole a glance in the mirror beside your bed. Reluctant to allow someone else to see your puffy, red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, you forced yourself to speak up, “uh- uhm,” your voice wavered with every word, but you cleared your throat and continued on, “I-I’m sorry, now isn’t really a good time.”

“Aw,” a familiar voice pouted from the other side, muffled by the wall between you, “well, think ya could let me in anyway?” It was Kirishima, the guy you’d been head-over-heels for since the beginning of your freshman year. 

You refused to let him see you so disheveled, couldn’t bear the thought of willingly adding another embarrassing moment to your catalogue of painful memories. 

“I’m sorry, I- well,” you wanted to lie, to make up an excuse as to why you couldn’t answer the door, but nothing came to mind. “I just can’t talk right now. Do you need something?”

“Yep! It’s really urgent, can’t wait another second!” He eagerly pleaded, and you just couldn’t find the will to say no.

Hastily drying your wet face with creased sleeves and fixing your hair to the best of your ability, you made your way to the door and cautiously inched it open. 

The crimson haired boy stood before you with a box of your favorite candy in his hands and a warm smile on his face. His brows were knit together in concern, tender eyes wholly trained on you. He glanced both ways down the vacant hallway to ensure that no one was within earshot before speaking in a hushed tone, “you didn’t seem like yourself in class today. Like, you were quieter than usual, and then Bakugou was a bit of an ass earlier...“ He nodded to the cardboard container in his hands, “I’ve seen you eat this before and it always seems to put a smile on your face, so I thought maybe it could do the same today too.” His grin faltered for a moment, gaze dropping to the floor as if embarrassed by his own words. “It’s stupid, I know, but I had to do somethin’!”

Despite your best efforts, the happy facade you’d forced on for Kirishima fell, and your eyes welled with tears once again. Your bottom lip trembled as you tried to swallow the lump crawling up your throat. His gaze shifted from the floor, back up to meet yours, and he nearly dropped the container in his hands at the sight of you so close to crying. 

Without a second thought, he threw his arms around your shoulders in a tight hug, “What’s wrong, (Y/n)?” His voice filled with worry, further breaking your heart, “Did I get the wrong kind of candy?”

“N-no,” you whimpered into his shoulder, unable to finish before the words caught in your mouth and tears wet the thin cotton of his shirt . Your arms wrapped around his waist, unconsciously reciprocating his hug. His warmth reminded you of just how long it had been since you’d let someone be so close. Your knees buckled under the weight of your own grief, and before you knew it, Kirishima was scooping you up into his strong arms. He carried you to the comfort of your bed, kicking the door closed as he passed.

“I knew you weren’t okay,” he muttered into your ear, tone much softer than you were used to from the boisterous man. He carefully set you down on your plush mattress, grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders, then knelt on the floor before you.

“I’m f-fine,” you forced out, trying to steady your voice but failing horribly, “You can go if you wa-want. I don't want to-”

Kirishima silenced you with a tender palm rested atop your own. “I’m not leaving you, (Y/n). Whatever’s going on, I care about you too much to make you deal with it alone.”

Up until then, you had made it a point to keep your anxiety hidden from your peers. You worried that they would treat you differently if they knew, that they wouldn’t quite understand. But, something about Kirishima told you that he was different, that nothing would change if you opened up to him. Regardless of your fears, the look in his eyes and tender cadence of his voice made you feel safe, like it was okay to be vulnerable.

“I,” your eyes flicked from your lap to meet his worried gaze, “I can’t help but remember everything I’ve done wrong over the years and just hate myself. I hate every mistake, every failure, every moment I did something dumb and didn’t know how to fix it.” Your stomach clenched as yet another sob forced its way past your lips. “I have so many regrets, and I constantly feel like an awful person because of them.”

A calloused thumb brushed along your upper cheek, wiping away the tracks of fallen tears. He nodded along as you vented, as if he understood exactly where you were coming from. Then, when you went silent, he waited for a few beats to ensure you were entirely finished speaking before responding. “I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it, but I used to be someone I’m not proud of either, and, honestly? Sometimes I still don’t like the person I see in the mirror.” He paused for a moment, lips pulled in a thin, contemplative line before continuing, “can you keep a secret?”

You nodded, surprised and mildly confused by his words. Could someone as confident and lovable as Kirishima really struggle with the same anxieties that you did?

He chuckled at the quizzical look you gave him, took a deep breath to steady his own nerves. “So, I actually didn’t look like this back in middle school -- hold up, I think I actually have a picture.” Five fingers flexed around your own, holding you close as his free hand fished into his pants pocket and pulled out a red-cased phone. Within a few seconds, ruby eyes were locked with your own once again, a shy smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Promise not to laugh?”

The redhead’s grin was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile with him. Your worries hadn’t been entirely forgotten, but with every word spoken between you, every passing second with his fingers entwined with your own, a subtle calm began to wash over you. “I’ll try not to,” you responded. That seemed good enough for him, and with only a short moment of hesitation, Kirishima turned the phone’s screen toward you to reveal a photo of himself from a few years before. 

Long, black hair framed a round face, slender shoulders slumped and eyes downcast as he stood alone in the courtyard of what you assumed to be his old middle school. Your head cocked to the side, brows furrowed in disbelief as you looked from the photo to the person in front of you. For a moment, you thought he must have been kidding. The muscular, seemingly self-assured man that knelt before you didn’t resemble the boy on his phone in the slightest. “You’re serious? That was you?” 

He nodded, clearly amused by your reaction. You wanted to ask what changed, how he pulled such a total one-eighty, but couldn’t find a way to without sounding rude.

He seemed to read your mind, though, and answered your question without hesitation. “I realized that I didn’t like the person I was, and vowed to be better.” He powered off the device in his hand and tossed it aside, attention entirely back to you, thumb unconsciously caressing the back of your hand as he continued. “I’m not telling you this because I think you need to change. Frankly,” his eyes darted to the floor, voice lowering nearly to a whisper, “I, uh, I really like the person you are now.” He cleared his throat, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks as his gaze flicked back up to meet yours. “I’m telling you this because, like I said before, I’m like you in a way. I can’t help but cringe when I remember the way I used to be, and I still worry sometimes that I haven’t actually changed that much.”

“But you have. I mean, you’re a completely different person now.”

“Exactly. Here’s what I’ve learned: if you cringe at something you did in the past, that’s probably because you’ve matured enough to know you were being dumb back then. Being able to look at your past self and recognize your mistakes means you aren’t that person anymore.” His other hand moved to rest atop your knee, as if he wanted to hold you closer but found himself hesitant.

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders at his words, yet still one question continued to gnaw at the back of your mind. “But, what if I’m beating myself up something I did recently… like,” your voice lowered in embarrassment, “when I a-accidentally threw that pencil at Ojiro, for example…”

“I promise, you’re the only one who even remembers that.” Kirishima chuckled softly, “you’re sweet for worrying about those little things, but no one worth knowing is gonna judge you off small mistakes. I know how great you are, and so does everyone else in our class. You light up every room you walk into, I swear. It’s like you’ve got a second quirk or somethin’.” You giggled, and his smile only grew wider. “I mean it! How could anyone not fall in love with that laugh?” The boy’s face turned bright red, eyes widening in realization at what he had said, grip tightening around your own. “Shit, I mean- well-” he cut himself off, sharp teeth nervously nibbling on his bottom lip.

His words resonated with you, filled the anxious pit in your stomach with warm butterflies and heated your cheeks with a rosey blush. Still, you convinced yourself he was only embarrassed because his words had come out in a different way than he had meant them. There was no way he actually had feelings for you, you thought. He was clearly just being nice. “I-It’s okay, I know you don’t like me like that. You’re way out of my league, anyway.” You forced a nervous laugh, attempting to comfort him through words that burned as they passed your lips.

You thought he’d relax at what you had said, agree with your comment, and thank you for understanding. Instead, he rose to his feet, a look of bewilderment in his eyes as he pulled you up to stand with him. “Do you really think that?” He questioned, expression twisted in disbelief, hurt by your self-deprecating words. His hands gripped yours tightly as you stood only inches from one another. Heat radiated off of his tan skin, shielding you from the chilly air of your room and prickling your arms with goosebumps.

“Sorry to break it to ya, but you couldn’t be more wrong.” Kirishima lightly tugged you closer, closed the distance between your bodies without a second thought. You allowed your chest to press against his, listening carefully as he continued, “I was afraid of making you uncomfortable or scaring you off, so I didn’t say anything before. But, if that’s really what you think, I’ve gotta set you straight. Truth is, I’m absolutely crazy for you, (Y/n). I mean, you’re cute, and sweet, and witty -- It’s impossible to take my eyes off of you whenever we’re in a room together, and just hearing your voice makes me feel warm all over.”

Calloused fingers released one of your hands, traveled up to caress a now-dry cheek. He cracked another sharp-toothed grin at the realization that you were no longer crying. “Can you do me a favor and tell me next time you start to feel all anxious and stuff again? Regardless of if you like me back, I just want to be there for you, whatever you need. It’s not very manly to fall for a girl, then leave her hangin’ when she needs ya the most.”

An eager nod in agreement was all you could manage for a long moment as you stood entirely awestruck by his confession. All you wanted was to find your voice, to tell him how much his efforts meant to you, but the words refused to come. 

So, you did the next best thing.

The box of candies he had brought as a pick-me-up laid forgotten on your bed as tentative fingers gripped Kirishima’s broad shoulders and you rose onto your tiptoes. Without allowing yourself time for hesitation, you pressed pursed lips to a flushed-pink cheek. It wasn’t a large gesture, but in that moment it felt perfect. 

You’d never seen Ejirou smile as wide as he did in that moment, strong hands firmly gripping your waist as you pulled away -- as if to make sure that you wouldn’t stray too far from his grasp. “That settles it then! Tomorrow I’m asking you out properly -- with flowers, and chocolates, and way more than just one box of your favorite sweets… but you gotta promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” 

“That we’ll take care of one another. I’ll never judge you, hurt you, or belittle whatever you’re struggling with, as long as you promise the same to me, okay? From now on ‘til the end of time, I’ve got your back unconditionally, and you’ve got mine. Promise?”

“Promise.”

[ladywindrunner]

a kiss to gain control.

angst kiss :: not accepting //

She could recall faintly—

           They’d loved each other once.

           When the sun shone on Quel’Thalas, before the cold came with the marching dead. When fields of blooming tulips formed a sea of yellow, swaying in the gentle breeze. She could not remember many details anymore, though lingering on the edge of clarity were essences of adoration.

           Stolen moments in the shade of Eversong. The tittering laughter of a sheepish, young mage who’d enraptured the Ranger-General. Kisses that were feather-light and teasing, touches that were fleeting but meaningful.

           Romance that should never have blossomed, did so despite odds stacked against it.

           An shard of ice flew towards the Banshee Queen. She hardly moved to dodge it, leaning out of the spell’s path, dead flesh sensing the burn of magic within it as it passed by. She did not fear the cold, nor the woman who wielded it.

           The arrows she loosed trailed black smoke and indigo threads. Whining as they flew through the air, striking dangerously close, malevolent incantations burning into the frozen ground of Northrend.

           The Ranger-General was slow to love. Slow to admit it, to herself and others. She told it in different ways, subtle ones. Ones only the lovely Lady Jaina knew.

           Stolen glances, looks exchanged that were unknown to outsiders. While her ears did not move, and her lips did not smile, there was a glint of something in the quel’dorei’s eyes. Spoken in a language only Proudmoore could decipher.

            Strange that such thoughts burdened the Dark Lady now. The distractions proving decisive, as the Lord Admiral continued to gain the upper hand.

           Jaina raised both hands to the sky, her eyes a flame with mana, their bright blue radiance speaking silently of unrelenting power. The churning skies of Northrend bowed to her will, they roiled with thunder, lightning crackled—

           And ice began to fall.

           The Banshee Queen glared towards the sky.

Shielding her face as hail fell, loud snaps were heard as pellets cracked off of the ranger’s armour.

Pellets became spheres, easily the size of cannon balls. They did not bounce off the frozen earth beneath their feet. They crashed into the ground without remorse.

One struck the Dark Lady’s back, eliciting a snarl of pain, while another slammed into her shoulder and knocked her aside.

Vile fury turned the withering arrows stuck in the ground into chains, they extended to Sylvanas’ open hand.

With one mighty heave, she tore the ground out from under her enemy.

She’d tried to remember life before undeath. She’d clung to the memories as best she could, but loathing corrupted her. Even when she’d found freedom, it hadn’t come with solace.

The living came, and shouted monster. Suddenly the Alliance was against them. They did not want to see the undead, not unless the corpses were to be put into shallow graves.

           There came cries from the freed dead, eyes no longer blue but yellow. They ran to her, skittered in the dark, crawling out from crypts, sewers, and sacked villages.

           We are forsaken.

           Save us.

           Chunks of earth and ice erupted, shattering the Lord Admiral’s concentration. She was thrown up and forwards, debris cascading around her.

           The ground came quickly, Jaina extended a hand and—

           Great plumes of snow and dust exploded outwards. The howling sky went quiet, the last boom of thunder dismal. The Dark Lady stood, shrugging off the ice.

           Arrogance had been the downfall of many.

           She had to be careful it wouldn’t be hers.

           A blast of freezing water and ice struck her. She hissed, stepping backwards, wiping water from her face.

           A creature of ice and water lumbered out of the fog of fine snow. Hunks of earth swirled about its vaguely humanoid form, having a faceless head and two arms, either adorned with bronze cuffs. It had no feet, its torso blending into a volatile spout of white water that gliding across the cracked ground.

           The cry it emitted was deep, a bellowing warning that announced the presence of its master.

           Jaina emerged after it, blood trailing from her scalp. Her fine robes ruined. She’d saved herself, but not before the Banshee Queen’s trick had wounded her.

           The soldiers of the Alliance fled, and a chorus unlike any other rose out of the murky dark:

           We are the Forsaken.

           There’d been a single figure who stood unafraid as the tide of undead streamed forth from the depths of Lordaeron. She hadn’t wavered when frightening their frightening Queen stepped into the light.

           Sylvanas did recall they tried to fool themselves into believing their love could endure. That somehow it could defy the hatred tearing into the dead ranger’s withered heart.

           The stolen glances became that of sorrow.

           They realized their love was wilting. For there was no joy, no warm embrace, or smiles waiting in their future.  

           Defeat is poison to what remained of the Dark Lady’s soul. She is struck with spell after spell. The elemental forcing her to expend more energy dodging its attempts, while suffering increasing blows from its master. The Banshee Queen could no longer feel mortal pain, but the incantations broke through the dulled senses of undeath.

           If she was not aching from magical bruising, her limbs felt as if they were on fire from the chilling bite of icy magics.

           Deathwhisper fell from her grasp; she stumbles as the tidesurger smashes her with a watery uppercut.

           An icy boulder forms before Jaina, gathering energy for the briefest of seconds before it flies forward.

           It strikes the banshee, exploding. She is sent careening backwards, until she slams into an icy rise and slumps.

           The burning crimson glow of the forsaken queen’s eyes diminishes until it is nearly vacant.

           The elemental moves aside.

           For once, the Dark Lady sees clearly without the hatred Arthas cursed her with. Dead eyes gaze up at the Lord Admiral, reminiscent of the woman who’d once been honourable. A fleeting glimpse that Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Silvermoon, still lingered.

           “Why?” Jaina’s words stung with betrayal, with pain, and horror.

           Sylvanas said nothing. She sat in silence, admiring the mage with a clarity she hadn’t possessed in a long while.

           They’re laughing, Jaina is held in the Ranger-General’s warm embrace. They sit beneath an old oak on the bank of a nameless creek. They’ve finally escaped, found a refuge under the pale moon during twilight. Jaina squirms as Sylvanas’ breath tickles her neck, only to be followed with teasing kisses.

           Jaina has moved closer, her broken heart, held together by determination and disgust by the Dark Lady’s actions – was on the verge of bursting.

The Banshee Queen was dying.

Her dead flesh was not mending. Shards of ice, as sharp as an assassin’s blade, stuck out of the woman. Wisps of smoke seeped out of the wounds.

“I love you,” the young mage whispered, fingers grazing the elf’s cheek, gliding along her jawline as they lay together.

“Why did you do it?” Jaina hastened her question. She needed to know.

She touched Sylvanas’ cheek.

           Sylvanas snatches Jaina’s wrist, pulling her close.

           Cold lips press against warm, a kiss of death meeting life unabashed. For a moment it felt as if her undead heart might beat once more. She cups Jaina’s face in her hands. She defies her failing strength, standing slowly.

           Her hands fall away as their lips part. Dead eyes gaze into fiery blues, still alight with potent magic.

           “I love you,” Sylvanas murmurs as their foreheads touch.

           She should have told Jaina long ago.

           The blade ran across the Lord Admiral’s fair neck with the deftness expected of a ranger.

           The crimson glow once again claimed the banshee’s eyes.

           Jaina staggered backwards, hand clasping over the mortal wound. Blood spilled through her fingers. It splattered onto her overcoat and corset.

           The elemental shrieked, its power evaporating. The water of its body sputtered, turning to a hot mist.

           Sylvanas hurried forward, catching Jaina as she fell backwards. Her wounds were mending. Gone were the icicles and slivers that had marred her preserved flesh.

           Jaina’s mouth opened, her eyes wide, tears running down her face as she one hand grabbed hold of the elf’ arm. No words escaped her, she could taste blood, its coppery flavour coating her tongue.

           A being manifested behind Banshee Queen, a ghostly visage of a winged woman, with a face obscured by a helm.

           A val’kyr.

           “you won’t be as the rest,” the woman whispered, tenderly laying Jaina down in the snow. “Your flesh will not wither, decay, or rot…”

           She stood tall, gazing down at the dying woman, her blackened soul screaming with fury. No longer would Proudmoore be a world apart from the banshee. Her heart would still, and then she’d rise.

           Then perhaps, she’d understand.

           She glanced to Deathwhisper, the bow flew to her, catching it in her hand, she spared once last look at Jaina.

           “Farwell My Love,” she whispered, words tenderly spoken. “When you rise, you rise a queen.”

The clouds churned. Dim grey twisting into black, then purple and finally, a sickening, frenzied green. The heavens beyond roared so loud with thunder it resonated in the air.

           Pale eyes opened, blue irises as empty of colour. They regarded the sky with melancholy.

           The dead closed in, Scourge minions drawn to the scent of blood. Skeleton soldiers, ghouls, and fiends. They snarled.

           All at once, lightning rained down. Vicious bolts, eviscerating all who dared to approach.

           Until none remained.

           Fair skin was now pastel in hue, not pallid, but akin to fresh fallen snow. Seamless, even the cut along her neck had vanished.

           The val’kyr was gone.

           Jaina Proudmoore stood alone, but in the back of her mind there was a whisper. An ethereal connection, it turned her frigid gaze to the horizon, to Ice Crown Citadel.

           Her eyes radiated a harsh white light, the blizzard whirling around her parted, leaving her in deathly stillness.

           The ground next to her quaked, bones of a lost steed rising up, assembling itself. A single icy horn sprouted from its blacked skull. Effortlessly she leapt into the saddle, the freezing stallion breaking into a gallop after that.

           She would find Sylvanas, she’d tear Ice Crown asunder to do it if she must.

           And behind her, the storm followed, chasing the its new queen.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧ kofi 

[spectralscathath]

R.O.S.E-6: The Personal Recordings of Dr Shell.

A marvel like R.O.S.E-6 doesn’t come naturally. It takes time, work, and failed attempts. Dr Shell documented all of them. 

warning: mentions of miscarriage (nothing explicit)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is Dr Victoria Shell, lead scientist on the R.O.S.E project.” Victoria talked into her recorder as she looked over the blueprints laid before her, all the notes given to her at the ready and an ample supply of material she could turn into this proposed android. “I have compiled all of Dr Polendina’s and Dr Watts’s notes on aura and prosthetic construction in order to streamline the process. Summer Rose agreed to donate a sample of her genetic material, which we will be attempting to infuse into this creation in order to access the Silverlight Mrs Rose can produce.” 

She set her recorder to the side, rolling on her gloves. “Let’s begin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No one was expecting immediate results with this. However, Victoria held herself to higher standards then the rest of the scientific cohort she had to put up with. 

“Damn it all,” she scowled, jotting down a note to add exhaust vents for heat, and anything she could think of to aid the robot in successfully hosting an aura. This was the first one that managed to have even a partial transfer of aura, but even then...

“Attempt 1 of bonding aura to R.O.S.E-1 failed entirely.” She found her fire extinguisher, turning it on the lump of burning metal and synthetic skin. “Memo to me, investigate into aura-friendly materials for the next bot.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second time was more promising. This time, the android opened its eyes. 

Once she had determined that sensory processing and motor functions were in place, she allowed General Ironwood and his chosen carer for the bot to enter. “Alright. Preliminary testing seems to be running smoothly. The aura hasn’t been rejected yet, but we’ll be keeping an eye on the subject to make sure. If you want to try conversing, you’re free to. It responds to audiovisual stimuli.” If she didn’t know better she’d say the thing was curious.

Xiao Long strode by, moving to sit down on the chair beside the laboratory table, the android sitting with perfect posture and straight legs, the entire skeleton made of silver and black metal. Glowing pink lines of energy wove throughout the internal circuitry, pulsing gently with each blink of silver eyes. 

Those same eyes focused intently on Xiao Long as he sat down, the robot blinking at him inquisitively, but without any fear. Of course there was no fear. It wasn’t real enough for complex emotions like that.

“Hi,” Xiao Long talked to it, resting his hand on the lab table. “Welcome to the world, Ruby.”

Victoria raised a brow and glanced at General Ironwood. “‘Ruby’?” 

Ironwood smiled, a touch of grief in his eyes. “They would have called their daughter Ruby.” 

“That’s not what I was asking.” Why were they naming it? It was a tool, a weapon- ah. Right. The famed Huntsman tradition of named weaponry. That made sense. “But I understand.” If Xiao Long wanted to name a weapon after a miscarried foetus then he was welcome to. Victoria was going to do her job. 

The robot surprised her, however, the voicebox crackling to life in its throat. “... uuu-beee?”

Xiao Long’s face lit up. “Yes! That’s right, you’re Ruby.” He grabbed its metal hand, carefully. “I’m your dad. It’s great to meet you.” 

“Voicebox seems to work well,” Victoria noted. “Appears to be able to roughly mimic other sounds.”

“She’s learning,” Ironwood sounded awed. “Dr Shell, this is incredible! She’s incredible.” His grin broadened. “A protector with a soul. Can you imagine it?”

She raised a brow. A soul? Technically, she supposed. “Don’t get too attached, sir. It’s still in the prototype stages.” Still, she allowed herself some satisfaction as her creation tried to mimic Xiao Long’s hand gestures as he held up a hand, placing its other palm against his and badly copying a smile as it managed the simple task.

So it could learn. That would be useful in the future. 

But the future came too quickly. Soon enough, the ambulatory functions and speech patterns began to shut down, the robot’s eyes going vacant more and more often as the pink lines of energy that wove through its circuitry began to flicker and die, like an aura quickly approaching breakage levels. 

One day, after speech had slowed to near-incomprehensible levels, and the robot had been unable to do anything more than blink, the light in those lines was gone. Xiao Long sobbed beside the laboratory table, until Victoria was able to find Ironwood and get him to shoo the other man out.

She truly didn’t get the fuss, it wasn’t like the robot could die. That was something living things did. Besides, this was an opportunity to rebuild, better than before. Now that she knew this was possible, she could improve. 

She flicked on her recorder, speaking into it as she looked upon the empty shell of new potential, Xiao Long’s tears having left small droplets on the lab table. “R.O.S.E-2 showed promise, but the aura was unable to remain stabilised without a living host. However, this shows that we are getting closer to a more suitable recipient vessel.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Attempt three was damn near perfect. She’d managed to make synthetic skin to cover the skull, all the way down to the shoulders, after a note had come back from some of the other scientists about how the bare metallic skeleton had looked creepy. 

It seemed to work, apparently. Xiao Long had even taken to dressing it up. 

R.O.S.E-3 lasted a few months, without any of the side effects that had been a hassle with R.O.S.E-2. Xiao Long got to take this one home, and introduce it to his daughter. Ironwood brought it to meet his trio of Ace Operatives, and they all found it impressive. 

It was impressive indeed.

It was also completely incapable of being muted. Victoria was definitely going to install a mute button into any further models. 

“So then dad and Mr Ironwood took me out into the park, can you believe it?” R.O.S.E-3 babbled incessantly as Victoria opened up the plate on the back of its head, checking to make sure everything was in working order. “I got to see snow, it was so amazing and pretty! They said it’s ‘cold’, do you know what ‘cold’ is, Dr Shell?”

“Yes, cold is a lowered temperature, caused by less kinetic energy in molecules which generates a lower amount of thermal energy.” She replied absently, adjusting a few wires to check the motor reflexes. The robot’s hand spasmed in answer. Good. “Cold tends to be subjective to people, and it’s common for endothermic reactions to feel cold as well.” 

“Can I feel what cold is?” The android asked curiously, Victoria slotting the headplate back in and activating her semblance, drawing her fingertip over the boundaries of the seam as Cleave adhered the metal back together, repeating the process with the skin section that she’d cleaved off for access. 

“Why would you want to feel that?” Temperature receptors would be so finicky to put in. “You have pressure sensors,” of the same standard as those in prosthetics. “That’s enough.”

“But- I’d love to know what wA R M H U G S F Eel like!” The robot’s voice wavered for a second, the sound converting into square waves as Victoria plugged a wire into the data port that rested in the android’s nape. This was the most important part of every check-up, as it allowed Victoria to download all of the robot’s memory files and back them up. It meant that every rebuild wouldn’t have to involve the drudgery of relearning basic things like walking and talking each time. 

“I’ll consider it.” She should also consider weaponry for the next update. After all, the Silverlight was still, unfortunately, dormant. Until the damn bot managed to get that working, ordinary weaponry would have to fill in the slot. 

“Really?” R.O.S.E-3 beamed, the alertness in its eyes phasing out for a moment as Victoria checked that the download was finished and unplugged the wire. 

“Yes, yes,” she checked her scroll, checking to make sure that the data was being stored on her personal servers. She’d review them later and transfer them into the memory bank drives. “Now get out, you’re done here.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!” The android hopped off the table and hugged her tight, but not enough to injure her. 

Victoria stayed stiff as a board, clearing her throat. “What are you doing, R.O.S.E-3?”

“Thank you for considering it. I really really want to know what things feel like.” Those big silvery eyes looked up at her, the android smiling with a simple-minded naivete. 

“Stop hugging me,” Victoria ordered. 

“Sorry, mother,” it smiled and let go, and Victoria stared at the robot, aghast. 

“... What did you call me?” How dare it call her that? Someone had messed up programming a mind into this incarnation, clearly, and she was going to fire them. 

“Mother?” The robot tilted its head. “Did I… do something wrong?”

Victoria schooled her expression into something calm and clinical, not wanting to scare the robot and cause a panic. It was still a robot, after all. One being programmed for combat capabilities. She refused to be murdered by her own creation.

“Of course you did, ROSE-3. I’m not your mother, and you shouldn’t see that sort of affection with me.” She affected a concerned expression, knowing that the robot was sensitive to the emotional displays of others. “Is your designated family not showing you the right level of care? I can have you reassigned if you want a proper mother.”

“No- wait!” The robot’s face screwed up in despair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it! Don’t take me away from the Xiao Longs! Please? I love them.”

She tutted. “Robots don’t love.” 

“But I-” The android floundered, hands curling in fabric of the long sweater they wore, a pastel monstrosity that only Ederne could have given it. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong…”

“I know you didn’t.’ She kept her voice soft, as though she was actually addressing a person. “I’ll allow you to stay with them, but you need to keep quiet about all of this, alright? You don’t want them to know how bad of a mistake you made.”

The robot looked like it was going to cry, which was impossible. Victoria didn’t install anything that could work as tear ducts. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Now run along. The general wants to see your progress.” Victoria had some calculations to do on that weaponry.

“I- oh. Okay.” The android hopped from foot to foot, and it still looked too much like a robot from the shoulders down. Victoria would rebuild it better next time. Make it look more humanoid. Add hair, maybe. That would definitely help the illusion of realism. After all, it was meant to be perfectly disguised as one of them. 

“Run along.” She ordered, watching the robot bolt. Hm. Still clumsy. They’d have to better calibrate the next body with better proprioception. And get rid of this… behavioural quirk that had shown itself. 

She waited until the room was clear and fetched her recorder, tucking a strand of black hair back into her bun as she made a note to herself. “R.O.S.E-3 called me ‘mother’ today. Clearly this is a defect in the current programming. I’ll reset it and inform the general that we had another aural shutdown. I refuse to have such a glitch persisting in my work.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, Lieutenant!” The android beamed up at the tall woman, its short black hair falling over its eyes. “I can take it!”

“I don’t know...” First Lieutenant Ederne held her warhammer close, almost protectively. “I mean, Timber’s not exactly light.”

“This is a durability test, Ederne.” Victoria reminded her from the sidelines, Captain Ebi and Second Lieutenant Zeki standing with General Ironwood. “That’s the point.”

“Please, lieutenant?” The android bounced on it’s toes, and Victoria wondered where it learnt to mimic that gesture from. “I know I can do it! Dr Shell made me super tough!”

Victoria smirked in pride. She’d definitely upped the durability of the materials she’d used this time. She was quite happy with this iteration, so far. There hadn’t been another repeat of the ‘mother’ incident, so clearly R.O.S.E-4 had learnt from it’s predecessor’s mistakes, once it woke up.

She didn’t really get why Ironwood ordered her to wipe out the memory files of each failure, but she did it anyway. Besides, it gave her the leeway to go in and alter some of the ‘mother’ incident from the android’s files, just in case anyone else reviewed it. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that Ironwood and Xiao Long and the Ace Operatives were all bizarrely attached to the bot. 

She didn’t understand why, but she knew that they preferred it to be treated as though it was actually a person, so she may as well cover her tracks whenever she put the thing in its place for trying to act too human. 

She left her warnings in the robot’s personal files instead.

“Come on, Elm, she’s totally got this!” Ebi cheered on. 

“I do!” R.O.S.E-4 grinned, giving Ederne double thumbs up. “Nothing else put a dent in me, not any of the bullets or anything!” It gestured at the destroyed training room in answer. They had tossed a lot at it, to test it’s capabilities. It did well. Victoria was quite pleased with how her engineering skills held up.

Ederne still looked uncertain as she hefted her weapon. “Well… okay. If you’re sure?” 

“Do it!” R.O.S.E-4 smiled innocently up at her, Ederne’s face marred with her unease as she swung her warhammer up, over, and down. 

Metal screamed and broke apart, warped by the force of the blow as all of Victoria’s hard work was destroyed in one swing, leaving a mess of scrap heap on the ground. Motor fluid began to leak out of the destroyed wires, coloured pink with metal dust for better mobility. 

Timber clanged on the ground as Ederne dropped it with a gasp, her hands clasping over her mouth as tears sprang to her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as she fell to her knees, reaching for the damaged prototype and cradling it gently in her massive arms. 

“No-!” Ebi was the first one to speak, but Zeki was the first one to move, crossing the room in long strides to place a hand upon Ederne’s shoulder, kneeling beside her as she stared at the broken mess in her hands. 

Victoria realised what had happened to her creation and scowled. “Damn, that’s going to be a bitch to rebuild.” Still, every break meant a new chance to improve, so she couldn’t help but relish each destruction of her prototype, every chance to make something better of the faulty product.

Ederne flinched, her breath hitching as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Ebi huddled next to her, on the other side to Zeki, talking in low tones. “Elm, you need to let go. It’s going to be okay. She’s going to be fine. Just- let go of the body, Elm-” 

Victoria noticed with some disbelief that the second-best operative in Atlas was beginning to tremble. 

Honestly, some people. Ederne should get over herself. 

General Ironwood finally found his voice. “Dr Shell- if you could go to your lab? We’ll bring Ruby in soon.” 

Victoria nodded and walked past her failed creation, already dreaming up new improvements. She walked down the hall, her lab coat swishing around her as she pulled her recorder from her pocket and made another note. “R.O.S.E-4 wasn’t durable enough. Next time I’ll use a tougher alloy for the outer shell.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time she got her project brought into her lab for repairs, the bot was in even worse state than when Elm had crushed it.

“What happened here?” She scowled at the ace operative, not recognising the face. Must have been the new recruit. Something Bree. Started with a H. Heidi? Holly? Something like that. 

“Grimm, Doc.” Helen answered, looking very put out. “There were more than our intel said. She got split off from us. We couldn’t get to her in time.”

“I see.” She surveyed the damage. She’d be better off just scrapping it entirely and starting over. R.O.S.E-5 was in literal pieces. “Alright, thank you, Hayley. I’ll get started now.”

“It’s Harriet, actually-” The ace operative rared up like she wanted to fight. 

“Yes, yes, now if you’ll excuse me?” She waved her off. “I have work to do.”

Hattie glared at her for a moment, before she was gone in a blur of gold lightning. 

Victoria locked the door behind her, a very prominent section of her ebony hair streaked white, the stripe running through her bun as well. She adjusted her glasses and fetched her monitor, as usual, locating the android’s core and plugging it in so she could start the memory extraction. “R.O.S.E-5 was recovered from the field. Beginning reconstruction.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She thought her work was over. That the project she’d put literal years of her life into was gone forever, when Beacon fell. Her project had been destroyed in full view of everyone, tarnishing her name as a scientist and an engineer. 

She was certain she’d lose her job for it. At the very least, she’d have nothing to do for a while, until she got assigned to a team headed by a different scientist. 

She’d probably resign if that was the case. She refused to follow another’s lead when she’d spent so long blazing her own path. She had built a machine that would save the world, and it got utterly destroyed by a child in a death match. How humiliating. 

She’d told Ironwood that R.O.S.E-6 was designed to kill Grimm. Damn him for insisting. 

It came as a pleasant surprise when she got the message on her scroll, walking into her lab to see her creation laid out on a lab table, ready and waiting for her. 

She smirked, flicking on her recorder. “The Vytal Tournament was a failure. Luckily, we have recovered R.O.S.E-6’s core.” She set the recorder aside and grabbed a blowtorch. “Let’s start over.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silver eyes blinked open, and Victoria stretched, unplugging the wire from the port on the back of the robot’s neck. “Welcome back, R.O.S.E-7. How does it feel to be better than ever?”

[tarithenurse]

The good Villain - 2

Pairing: Loki x Reader (eventually) Content: Darkness with sadness and some gory details sprinkled with old trauma.  A/N: I’m having a lot of fun with the details in this. Feel free to send an ASK for a tag :D Thanks to those of you who already have <3 and to you darlings that have reblogged! Oh! Please check if you are in fact taggable...

2

…   Reader   …

Infinity holds, as the description hints at, infinite options. Take planets. Somewhere, someone has started counting them all and they will never reach the end just like it is similarly impossible to number the types of biospheres, or dangers. Through the Academy, you’ve studied a number of hostile conditions and how to deal with them, ensuring that you can survive most environments, and all things considered: you have been lucky throughout your career.

Until now.

Consumed by the urge to fulfill your destiny, you have started paying less attention to the “where” of things. Now the bill has come due, meaning you’ve landed yourself in the middle of the worst climate.

“Stop! Fracking! Leaking!”

No amount of screaming at the sky will have an effect other than scare the local critters. Huddling near the half-rusted fuel drum, you wiggle each naked toe carefully, ensuring nothing’s gotten too cold or has melted from the wetness. Rain, you turn the foreign word in the mouth. Someone had shouted at you to watch where you’re going, to not mind this…rain. There’s no word for it in your native language, though plenty of options in Kyrrelian, Sakaarian, yes, even the now dead languages of Morag. Obviously Morag.

A drop from your pants, hanging above the barrel, falls into the makeshift fire and causes it to sputter and hiss. Nothing likes water. Huddled on the splintering pallet with a few rags of tarp, you try to keep yourself warm despite the ominous splatter of wetness from outside.

Focus on the mission. Today has brought two victories and a new target.

First, you had managed to isolate a strong Leech, making an end to its life and those it had already started draining.

Then, which was almost better, you had figured out how commerce works on Terra, using the paper flaps assigned some monetary value which in turn got you plenty of your pure, wonderful sustenance. Never in your life had you seen so much of the Life Crystals. Bag upon bag, all advertising openly what is hidden inside as though people would not plunder the little shop to obtain it…and actually, they didn’t. The Terrans  walked about, paying little attention to the valuable minerals.

Drops sizzle, steam rises from your trousers, reminding you of the discovery as you had to leave the shelter of the store. For a moment, you had thought the reasons for the small hairs rising on your body was that someone might be watching you…but as soon as your gaze swept around the surroundings, you found the real reason: vacant eyes and static movements as the little herd navigated the masses ahead of the Soul Leech they belong to. The Leech is old enough that no one will be concerned it is not handled by one of the adults, yet young enough that people would drop their defenses and get too close if it whimpers or calls out for help.

“Yo-ehmm…” a hoarse voice reaches out to you, “go’ room by ‘a’ drum, eh?”

The Terran at the edge of the light has seen better times. Worn and dirty clothes, holey shoes stuffed with newspapers. His hair is long and unkempt without the lustre of health, promising a set of teeth more lacking than anything else. Harmless. He is swaying, either from fatigue or a kind of stimulant.

“Sure.”

Keeping to the far side of the heat source, he shuffles a bit closer after finding a piece of wood to sit on, clearly relieved to find respite from the so-called rain.

Satisfied with the added security by numbers, you recoil to the safety of planning. Sometimes, you fingers stray to pick a few crystals from the pack, allowing them to roll over the tongue and dissolve. Already, you are feeling the boost it gives your physiology and it will not be long before the ridiculous cast around the arm can be removed. It has become quite practical, though.

As you pull out a colouring tube from your backpack, you set to work repairing the blemishes. Black, rather than the glaring white, it blends into the shadows when you stalk your target, and you have come to appreciate the softness of the wrapping which absorbs blows surprisingly comfortably despite the underlying damage.

“How’d ye ge’ one o’ those?” Although his eyes are not exactly on your cast, you know it is about that.

You wouldn’t believe me, Terran. “Crashed. Shit happened.”

“Hm.” While he ponders the answer, there is nothing but the crackle of the fire to be heard – the leak in the sky must be stopped. “So…” He picks at a nail, long since rusted into the wood he sits on. “The docs didn’ take ou’ last bit, eh? Left somethin’ behind in mah head too…say too dang’rous to remove.” A crooked finger taps at a spot at the back of the head, hidden behind the mass of wiry, greasy hair. “Way I see ’t…better if they tried anyways. Head ain’t been mine since come back from over there.”

You find it hard to make sense of most of the things Terrans say, but the look in the man’s face is universal. “You served your…country?”

“Wha’ they say, innit?” Yes, he means yes. “Now…I’m on my own.”

He knows you understand in that moment. None of you have to speak any longer, just sit there in the broken darkness haunted by the memories of the past – that is the real damage, a pain you thought you understood when you signed up as recruits. We didn’t. Even if healers could fix the damage to the Terran’s brain, nothing can be done about the wounds crisscrossing his soul, and for a glimmer of a second you wish he could find the kind of piece a Leech provides as it drains its prey. No. You have seen it happen, seen the desperation flare up every time a soul struggles to remain. They always realize too late.

 …   Loki   …

“That’s just nasty!” Stark voices an opinion shared by all.

Treading carefully through the suburban house, Loki can hear the voices of the firefighters discussing how it only is because of the rain that the fire had not spread. Mad luck, they say. Or smart planning. With the exception of a few of the Avengers none of the dimwitted mortals have realized that the charred remains of the family have been staged together with the destructive blaze to hide the real cause of death.

Bending closer while ignoring the red shock of hair nearby, the keen eyes of the Asgardian can see the cuts running deeper than the roasted flesh. “This one appears more brutally attacked,” he observes.

“Yeah,” Romanova nods, pointing to the wrist, “fracture here’s pre-mortem.”

It happens as Loki circumvents the corpse of the child to get a better look. With a sickening, slobbery sound, the skull begins to tilt backwards before letting go of the still tender muscles and falling to the ground with a thud.

“Look.” He ignores the sound of someone in the background throwing up. “That wound.”

Both the Black Widow and Barnes huddle close, inspecting the circular cavity left from a narrow weapon passing through what used to be a chin. Rounded like a rod…or tube. Carefully tipping the fallen piece of head with the tip of his toe, Loki bares the roof of the mouth through which the wound continues.

“Betcha’s the killing blow,” Barnes offer.

“We don’t bet at crime scenes,” the other veteran scolds, “no betting, joking, or giggling.”

…

Scrolling through the data, only one conclusion presents itself although the evidence is incomplete. Captain Danvers and the mercenaries calling themselves the “Guardians of the Galaxy” – a ridiculously pretentious name – have attempted to uncover more evidence from the past crimes scattered across multiple realms, and in the cases where it has been possible to learn anything at all there are signs of the same killing blow to one victim at each location. Always a child.

But why not just any children? As twisted as the mind of a madman must be, there is always a grain of logic to be found. Broken logic, sure, but a flicker of explanation to why a particular pattern has arisen.

“Intergalactic mass-murderer or not,” Loki interjects softly, pausing an argument between Strange and Stark, “if it was simply a matter of killing, then why travel such distances? You both know there must be more to it.”

“C’mon!” Now both men agree, directing their frustrations at Loki. “You can’t be serious? You think something about killing kids can make sense?!”

Killing or leaving to die, what is the difference? “I do not presume to agree or understand…yet we must operate from the assumption that it’s not random…if that had been the case, then all children on any planet would be left dead and burned.”

“The frost faery’s got a point.” On normal occasions, Romanova would have found herself the target of a knife after such a comment, but maybe she can get through to the squabbling men. “We’re missing the pattern. Why those children? Why’n that order?”

[grim-faux]

12 - The Last Stand

I jerked around as Trager cut the distance between us, his foot falls now audible in his sudden sprint.  He raised the shears and jabbed them out.  I dove aside, stumbleing as I raced around the bed and the corpse. “Hey, nobody likes a quitter!”  I could hear him tear his weapon free and resume the chase. Follow the blood.  Follow the blood.  I reached the open door and slammed it behind me, I didn’t stop as I sprint down the hall.  Need distance, need to hide someplace.  Need time to think.

What did I need to do?  That key couldn’t be on Trager, the sick fuck had no pockets.  I stopped before turning into the last room, and looked at the door stacked with spare beds.  It was blocked, but was it locked?  Was the reason it was blocked because it couldn’t be locked? I crawled under the table, slipping the camera into its pack before bracing my feet to the grate and gripped the tables legs with my hands.  I pulled, pain burning in my side but there was no turning back.  I had no time to rethink, no time to lose.  Trager was rushing down the hall to meet me, I could hear him! With enough space behind the beds, I wedged myself between them and the door, then forced it away.  Dots pulsed at my vision, until I had enough space to open the door fully. Against all odds, I took the handle and flung the door wide.  As I whipped around, Trager was lunging around the table slinging the blades toward my head.  I hauled the door shut as I sprang backwards,  falling to my ass as Trager slammed into it with an ear splinting crash.  I was sure some of the plaster cracked off the walls.   “Aren’t you a slippery little fucker?”  His pause was brief, he unhooked the shears and drew the door back smoothly. I flipped over and ran.  A patient shackled in the hall began shrieking when he saw us fly around the corner.  There was a door on my right, but my focus went straight to the halls end where I spotted a shattered vent in the ceiling.  A few boxes and a broken wheelchair were stacked beneath, offering my only rung into the thing.  I leapt up catching the inner rim in my fingers, I snarled in pain as I dug the wounded digits against the metal, kicking and clawing my way through the opening.  I flopped on my side and scooted along, trying to get my body to work and get away from that psycho fucker. “Oh, come on buddy, we’re not done yet.” Fuck you.  Go choke on glass. I fumbled to get my camera out after I knocked the side of my head on the flues side.  The vent wasn’t chilly, but my coat was moistened from the mist enough to make me uncomfortable.  My fingers slipped in the fine dust coating the thing as I shuffled along, but the sounds of Trager had faded.  It felt like I was actually getting somewhere, the vent curved and I scooted trembling against the elements, from the effort, and low blood sugar content.  I turned the camera off when I reached an opening revealing a soft glow from below, and leaned down staring at the wood floor. I blinked and thought I saw something.  A dark shape, and images from the sewers blew through my mind.   No.  Needed to stay focused.  What happened down there was staying down there.  There had to be a way out of the area, needed to get out of Trager’s territory and find out where in the asylum I was.  The Male Ward was my only route out of the sewers, but after my escape from the variants I had seen no indication if that’s where I did end up. I dropped down to the floor and paused, listening.  No sign of Trager, only the soft patter of rain on glass.  It sounded close.  Windows would be nearby, I doubt they had a ladder leading down in the unlikely event one was smashed out. A bathroom was behind me, I inspected the interior before I entered fully and found the usual, per the Asylum.  Stalls, urinals, blood stains on the walls and floor, and Walrider written across the shattered mirror along with an vague shadow painted beside it.  Below, a bucket of dark blood sat with a head floating in it, the exposed skin black and blue with decay.  I barely glanced at it before checking the few stalls, locating nothing I turned to leave.   The hall led into another room in disrepair, beds had been lined towards the back in rows.  Three near the windows were occupied by patients sitting up, their limbs shackled down with heavy chains, their wrists bloody and their hands white like bone.   “The Scales on Sauls eyes.  The Scales on Sauls eyes….” On the other end of the room awaited the usual double doors I’d come to expect, this room a near replica to the two I already visited.  I judged all the rooms shared the design, as formerly a mental institute for the patients.  From what I could tell this section was still in use despite its condemned state, this saved Murkoff expenses over building new areas to ‘treat’ their patients. I slipped through one of the doors and shut it behind me.  They weren’t going anywhere, but I always felt disconcerted leaving a door open behind me.  After Martin caught me off guard, I took every opportunity to avoid that situation. I sighed, and took the left side of the hall.  It led down a dark corridor, the NV revealed a few upturned bed frames and a large cabinet fallen across the hall, easy enough to get by.   The drip of water was magnified in the open hall, and when I hopped over the obstacle I found a crimson puddle at the ceiling dripping on the corpse of a clothed man.  His face had been brutalized, the skin stretched back revealing a portion of his skull and nasal cavity.  The vacant eye sockets seemed to stare deep into my soul, accusing me of interrupting his eternal rest.  His body was strewn across the hall, forcing me to step over if I wanted to advance.  I couldn’t shake it but I felt those empty sockets follow my movement and continue to watch my retreating back as I ventured deeper into the dark.  The sensation was eerie and haunting, I felt a tremor climb my spine in my stubbornness to avoid glancing back. The door at the inevitable end was boarded up, I didn’t bother to try the handle and made the return trip.  I tried not to look down as I stepped over the broken body, but the sockets still watched, still followed my movement as I retreated from this area.  I paused as I heard sounds, and only then did I chance to look over my shoulder but refused to meet the skulls gaze.  There was nothing, not even a corpse. At the other end of the corridor there wasn’t much to enlighten me, just a filing cabinet and some medical equipment jammed between the walls.  A small office was situated on my left, where a phone hummed its dial tone.  I crawled inside not paying mind to the details, billboards on the walls were pinned with notices, files hid the floors with pages of muggy notes.  Some of the pages had oddly familiar hand writing detailing how unsightly Mount Massive was, and a few mentioned the big ugly fucker.  My skin began to crawl and if I paused to listen hard enough, I thought I heard the rattles in the pipes. It made me uneasy to stand here, listening to the false sound.  I stepped through a cracked door and made my gradual way down this short hall to another set of double doors.  One was left ajar, and I peeked through the crack and listened for Rick Trager.  There was no sound of his shears, no footsteps.  I had no idea where he was, but he wasn’t here.  If he was, he’d make himself known with a friendly tone and run my way, and I would repay in kind by darting the other way. When I had rushed through the gate, I had not gotten a good view of one room that had been on my right.  It was unlikely Trager would be in that area, he would be looking for me where he decided I would have gone.  He had to suspect I’d eventually return to this side, where the elevator was located.  But he couldn’t know which rooms the flues opened into, the vent interiors were segregated with reinforced wiring that prevented patients from getting lost inside them. The sound of shears snipped, but I saw no sign of Trager, or where the sound had come from.  I reasoned that it was just the patient with his leg restraint, the shackles also sounded like the metal scissors when shifted.  Numerous patients within the room continued to fight their restraints, I strained my eyes to see them at the far end.  It sounded too much like the friction of rusted blades. Without further debate I hopped over the bed I had pushed back, and entered the next corridor.  The patient that had shrieked when we ran by, now had a large red hole in his lower abdomen.  Blood spilled into a puddle on the floor, but his eyes watched as I walked by.  He took shallow breaths, unable to do a thing until his body succumbed to blood loss. There was nothing I could do but leave him, the door was a few feet from where he lay.  It was a shower room, broken tile and dirt everywhere, lockers and sinks lined the walls and at the side were the stalls.  The key to the elevator could be in one of these, it was well out of mind and difficult to reach.  Though at the time I wasn’t really focused on how Trager would have dropped it off here, he seemed to have access to most the rooms in these parts. I began going through checking each locker, the larger ones first since there were less of them, then moved to the smaller ones.  Each compartment contained very little, a few pairs of shirts dank with dust and mold, some expired snacks and a pair of shoes from an era beyond my time when word first got out the place was shutting down in seventy-one.  I was also keeping an eye out for a spare medical kit, but no luck in that matter either.  Everything had been against me tonight. The task began to feel redundant, and I was beginning to rethink this.  The key had to be elsewhere, but if not here then where?  Or maybe I should have reasoned in the first place, what would possess a sociopath to hide a key in a locker room far from his territory?  I had no excuse for my desperation, only disappointment.  I’d go back and revisit the other rooms, I missed something and I would tear the walls apart if I had to.   The snip-snipping of shears came from the shut door, before I had the chance to finish searching all the small cubbies.  I shut a few of the large ones and climbed in one as the door creaked open, I pulled the locker shut and huddled down. “Always want results, right from the get go.  These things take time, I always tell them,” Trager murmured, as he began going down the row opening lockers.  “They just don’t pay attention, you have to cut their eyelids off first.” When he was near my locker and opened the one beside it, I threw the door open with a loud clang and flew out. “Buddy!”  Trager was quick though, and swung the shears up as I ducked barely missing my nape.  “Hold up a second!” The door was left wide open, preventing me from snagging the edge as I skid out.  Trager was right behind me lashing with his weapon, smashing my bad arm.  My vision flashed harshly as I staggered sideways, skimming off the hard wall and swept around the corner headed for the door. When I was a few steps from it a sharp pain connected with the back of my head.  It was instantaneous, I had a momentary lapse in motor functions as I tried to keep my legs mobile towards the door.  It jerked out of sight as a thin arm wrapped across my chest and snapped me backwards, coupled with an unnerving sensation that swam through my torso.  A large obstruction snapped my ribs apart and ripped through my lungs, my breath hitched as my innards churned to a halt.  I looked down as hot fluid spilled down my stomach, and met sight with a thin pair of knives jammed through my chest.  My hand trembled as I tried to reach up and touch it, make sure that this was real.  That what my failing sight had fixed on was indeed there.  I hardly felt any pain but for a scorching sensation spreading up my neck. What just happened? Then I took a shallow breath and immediately gaged, vomiting up the hot fluid.  Only then did my chest burst with agony as the shears jerked free, and everything they had torn loose was all but dragged out after them.  I collapsed on my back as the room spun further and further away.  Trager knelt over me saying something about Billy. Then the black salvaged my sanity.

[musingsfromthemythos]

A Gift and a Show

I had always had an affinity for the weird things in life. Nothing too far out of the ordinary; cryptids, chaos magic, the Kabbalah. Harmless stuff. Ritual and speculation. It was my “thing” among my friends. I was the “spooky one.” The one who was always ready with some obscure Aleister Crowley reference or walking them through some morbid myth over drinks. 

It was fun for me, and I liked that quirky little niche I occupied. All of my friends were a little odd in some way but that corner of the bizarre was mine. I was happy. I never really went looking for any of that stuff of course. I didn’t really believe. It was just a hobby. Some esoteric nonsense to amuse my friends and confuse my Bible-thumping parents. 

Then my birthday came around. This was a time when I was stuck at home a lot. Between jobs, not much to do but read and watch horror films and wait for something to happen. My family and friends brought or sent presents of the usual kind of things I favored: whiskey, video games, absurd graphic T-shirts, and the like. But the day after, I received a new package: a slim manila envelope addressed to me personally. 

Its packaging was unremarkable in every way, with one notable exception. No matter how long I stared - brow furrowed and eyes squinting - I couldn’t make out the return address. The words were English, of that I am absolutely certain, and they weren’t nonsense. They were definitely words. I just... couldn’t understand them. The stamp I clearly remember. It was a simple gray lily, set against a black background. It was both utterly unremarkable and endlessly perplexing. 

I opened the package of course. How could I not? Curiosity has always been one of my strongest vices, and this was too weird for me not to dig deeper. 

Inside, there was a single piece of hard paper. More like a postcard than anything else. One side of it was glossy black, completely unmarked. The other side had an address, and what I can only describe as some theatrical billing. I won’t put the address to writing. I don’t want anyone else to experience what I went through, no matter what their level of morbid intrigue. 

It was an invitation. The show was titled The Audient Void, starring one “Nathan Hopper” as the main presenter. The sole caption detailing the performance was “For fans of the Weird, the Macabre, and the World Behind the World.”

At the time I had of course assumed this was something like an escape room, or else one of those “find the serial killer” augmented reality games you hear advertised on podcasts all the time. I was convinced it was something that one of my friends had paid for as a birthday present. 

I sent a text to our group chat asking who had sent it, but none of my friends owned up to it. I was half-convinced at the time that one or more of them was well-aware of the package and was just playing dumb until after I had seen the show. Then they would bombard me with questions and jokes about my peculiar affinity for the odd. 

So I went. Of course I went. The venue was close enough to my apartment that I could attend the show and even meet with with my friends for drinks afterwards. 

The location was respectable enough. I live in an older part of the city and the theater where the performance was being held was one of those dignified but antiquated sort of places. I won’t give any more details for the same reason I won’t disclose its address, but it looked as benign as anything else in its neighborhood. 

The theater itself was packed. I was struck by how diverse my fellow spectators were. Some were clearly from my sort of crowd, with artfully dyed or cropped haircuts and clothing that screamed “look how different I am.” But others seemed like they would have been more at home in a bible study group, or a police academy, or a retirement home. They all wore the same expression though. They, like me, were intrigued by what was to come, but were equally befuddled by the medley of their fellow theater-goers. 

Then the lights flashed briefly and dimmed. Silence fell over the crowd. And our host for the evening took the stage. 

What I remember most about Nathan Hopper is how utterly unremarkable he was. He wasn’t tall or short. He wasn’t fat or thin. He was far from ugly but equally distant from handsome. Hell, I had a hard time discerning if he leaned more masculine or feminine - not that that last bit matters to me, especially now.

He smiled. I remember him smiling. And he began to speak. 

And then the world broke. 

It was such a quiet thing at first. A creeping sense of... wrongness that pervaded the air. Do you know that feeling you get when you overestimate the length of a staircase and your stomach jolts as you try to climb that last phantom step? It was that. Except it lasted. 

Time began to lose meaning, and it occurred to me that time never had meaning. The concept of time being relative and therefore valueless was always something I had regarded cognitively: a masturbatory thought exercise in metaphysics. But this time, I felt it. 

The theater grew darker. I could still see Nathan Hopper, cheerily speaking in words that I can’t remember, but his face was the only one I could make out anymore. As the last vestiges of light left the auditorium I glanced to my right and left, seeking some small reassurance of realty in my fellow spectators. I couldn’t see their faces. I’m not even sure if they had faces now. 

I still can’t really see faces. 

Then I was falling. I was alone, and I was falling. Darkness encircled me. It didn’t smother me, I wasn’t drowning or suffocating. It didn’t bury me in the way that you might think. If anything, it was opening to me. I felt it yawning, the space growing ever larger. 

For a moment, I saw stars. Not in the sense that I was concussed or dizzied. No, I saw the stars. They were beautiful, surrounding me in my endless black void. They reassured me, somehow, even in that widening nothingness. 

And then they started to die. One by one the stars winked out. I swiveled my head desperately, desperately searching for those precious little lights that let me cling to my sense of self. But it was in vain. 

As the last of the stars faded to darkness, I became aware of a presence. I couldn’t see, of course, and the sense of endless vertigo didn’t abate in the slightest. But somehow, I perceived it. 

It wasn’t aware of me. Of that I’m still certain. But I had no choice but to be aware of it. It roiled and thrashed in that darkness. It piped and groaned in the abyss between the corpses of stars. It didn’t know me. I didn’t want me. It couldn’t know. And it couldn’t want. It rolled in an endless tide of mindless, omnipotent apathy. I was nothing to it; I was nothing to anything. 

And, in that moment I understood. He made me understand. Not the coiling mass of power and idiocy that now surrounded me in that darkness, but its messenger. Its herald. The one who brought me here. I understood, and I knew, and I was broken by it all.

Then I was back in the theater. I can’t say for certain how much time had passed. Maybe it had been a few minutes. Maybe a year. I cast my gaze into the crowd around me. Some of the theater-goers were weeping, rocking back and force with their knees clutched to their chests. A few had become violent, scratching and clawing and beating those who occupied the seats next to them. More were catatonic, their eyes empty and vacant, and I knew in that moment they would never awaken again. 

I think a good number were dead. 

Then at last I looked back to the stage, to the thing that had called himself Nathan Hopper. But I knew it now, and he knew that I knew. 

Gone was the utterly unremarkable man. Gone was any vestige or pretense of humanity. I had seen the Audient Void, and now I could see him.   

His eyes met mine, and they were black. Empty and uncaring and as mocking as the horror I had just emerged from. So too was his skin - not the dark brown of an African heritage - but the perfect onyx of the space between stars. 

Nyarlathotep smiled, and my eyes burned from the freezing fire that lit his face. 

It hurt. 

Nyarlathotep laughed, and his mirth was a migraine that tore through my skull. 

It hurt. 

Nyarlathotep spoke, and his words were chiseled into my soul. 

It hurt.

I won’t repeat what he said to me. No one should have to hear those words. I commit this experience to writing as a warning to others. If you received an invitation to Nathan Hopper’s show, don’t go. Burn the invitation. Scatter the ashes. Drink yourself into such a stupor you never remember plucking it out of your mailbox. 

Don’t give yourself over to the games of that vicious thing and the blind idiot god that it serves. 

It’s too late for me, it’s too late. I will never be free of his eyes, his smile, his laughter. I will carry it with me until the day I die. I have seen the Audient Void.