#he healed up. found a way to keep going. fought like hell to keep from being tied to a desk.

[nonsupe-a]

thinking about shiloh outside of the boys verse is still kind of sad because he still doesn’t know how to stop or rest.      he doesn’t give himself a break.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter one

of rage and ruin series

chapter one

series masterlist | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, torture, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, gore, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), death, murder of innocent people, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, no y/n, reader is able-bodied and afab with no specific descriptions, viewer discretion is advised

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

This is a werewolf omegaverse fic that uses traditional and non-traditional elements of the genres. It largely ignores TLOU canon.

DISCLAIMER: A plotline of this story involves unethical medical care and human experimentation re: vaccines. It may give anti-vax vibes. This is NOT an anti-vax story and I do not want any related discourse please and thank you. This is about FEDRA being the absolute worst, not about the real world in any way.

In a rare moment of lucidity, he thinks he used to be human, once. 

He’s partially transformed more often than not. Almost never fully, unless he’s under the sway of the moon. His real keeper. 

These raiders may think they own him, but he knows the truth. 

But lucidity is rare, and most of the time, Joel Miller is more beast than man. 

Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s Joel Miller.

No matter what, though, he’s a nearly uncontrollable force of nature. 

That’s why they keep a shock collar around his neck and tasers at their waists. That’s why they never turn their backs or leave him unrestrained. He fought like hell for a long time until he broke. 

No shame in it, he knows. Everyone breaks eventually. 

As the years have gone on, though, he’s been getting restless and snippy, less cooperative. And the pain doesn’t really matter anymore. 

Nothin’ really does when you’ve given up.

On the last new moon, when the wolf was quiet and the man was loud, he’d tried to refuse. He sat, buck-ass naked, on the gritty wood floor of the house they were raiding. 

He did not sniff out treasure like some fucking metal detector. He did not tear the humans limb from limb. He did not feast. 

He paid for that night and had the receipts to prove it, laid into his back from the silver-tipped whip. 

He should have tried harder to die at the start. 

He hadn’t understood right away, when they took him. It, frankly, didn’t even cross his mind that they’d know. Laura, the woman in the woods, had been so sure it was secret. 

He got it when they shot him in the leg with a BB gun, though, and the silver shrapnel burned. They were prepared. Silver-coated chains and cuffs, silver-tipped batons and whips and knives. Cattle prods and electric collars. 

They’d been hunting him. 

They tried to break him easy, first. They were looking for a wolf; didn’t know they’d find Joel Miller. They left him chained in an abandoned suburb, giving him just the minimum food and water to keep him alive. 

It worked to weaken him, but they didn’t want him weak forever. Not a very good guard dog or weapon if he can’t lift his head. So when that didn’t work, when he didn’t beg and plead or bend the knee, they gave up and bulked him back up slowly. 

So they tried pain next. 

He came to know the healing as a curse. They avoided the silver, at least at first, since it’d leave damage. But when they found out they could break his bones over and over and over?

That’s when he started to wish he was dead. What was the point, anyway? He couldn’t go back to Boston. Couldn’t risk himself around Tommy and Tess. 

Couldn’t kill himself if he tried, but they could, with their arsenal. 

Didn’t matter what he wanted in the end; his brain wouldn’t give in. It overrode his silent pleas, and it fought and fought and fought.

So they took him on a raid. Starving, chained under the full moon, and they waited. He couldn’t go far, but he didn’t have to. 

They brought the food to him.

“You’ve no control over it, huh?” Cheryl said after, leering into his “room.” They send her to play nice, but he knows she’s the worst of them all. They just think he’ll smell pussy and roll over. “We didn’t need you to kill them. You just need to scare them and help us find what we’re lookin’ for.”

They had him. He knows, he knows, he knows. He’d have done anything to stop it from happening again. From devouring tied-up families who dared to say “no” to Jim and his crew. From throwing up blood and bones and bows. 

He can’t kill himself. They won’t kill him. He had no choice. 

He broke.

This new moon, they don’t take him out to scavenge. No, instead, they drag him outside and spray him down with the hose. This, in itself, is not unusual. But when they force the muzzle over his snapping teeth to scrub at his skin with precious lye soap and a rag, he starts to get concerned. 

His suspicions are confirmed when they take him back inside. 

The only time he’s left unbound is here, in his room. Well. It meets the vague requirements for a room, but it’s also reinforced with silver-plated steel and concrete. Cheaply so, but enough to mute his senses and hopes. 

Usually, they wait until the grate is shut to unclip the lead. They wait until he kneels and offers his hands to unlock the shackles. When he’s been good, of course. 

But not today. Today, they chain him tight to the wall at the far end of the room. 

They’ve had this theory that he hates to admit is not without merit. Looking for another way to control him, they’ve tried to find him an omega. 

The first few times, they just forced him on them out wherever they’ve raided. Usually, he’s too out of control, and they don’t survive the encounter. 

The most recent time, they dumped one in his cell. But the poor thing still smelled of his alpha, having only lost them hours earlier. 

Joel didn’t react well. 

They’re trying something new, now. 

That he’s here while they clean his room is deliberate. He knows this. They’re purging all his scent from it, and they want him to watch, want him unsettled.

He growls when they remove his mattress completely. It’s a pathetically small, thin, hole-ridden thing, but it’s his. 

Before they drag in a new one, a flat pack of grated metal is tossed in the corner. Two of his captors go to work on assembling the contraption, and another leaves for a while, only to return with a sawed-off portion of his mattress. 

It fits neatly inside the cage. For that’s what they’ve constructed. It’s silver-coated, of course, but pathetically weak otherwise. If he truly desired, he could snap the bars as easily as bone. 

He’s not keen on having burnt hands, though. 

Just inside the front of the cage, they clip up a bit of cloth. He doesn’t need to be told what it is, knowing immediately after it’s extracted from the airtight glass Tupperware. 

They tell him anyway. “Got a new toy for you to try, if you’re good. For now, this is all you get.”

The heady scent of omega soaked into the panties permeates his room. 

He’s salivating a little by the time they finally release him, but he waits until the heavy footfalls echo from down the hall to give in. 

They smell divine. He can’t resist tasting, lapping at the tiniest hint of musk and omega under his elongated tongue. 

“Told ya he would have shredded her,” Jim says to Cheryl when they come in the morning with his breakfast. Joel’s in his mind enough to feel a little shame, back of his neck burning, when they see the tattered fabric. 

It’s clear they anticipated it because, along with his tray, he’s given a new pair. 

They’re not so appealing this time. The sweet scent is cut by acidic fear like vinegar through molasses. He ignores them in favor of his meal. 

He eats better here than he ever did out there. He’s worth more rations to the raiders than to FEDRA. Robust meals full of meat and eggs and potatoes. 

They need him strong, after all. 

It’s not until a few hours later that he’s drawn back in by the underwear. It’s not so acrid anymore. Or maybe it is, and he’s just in the mood. Either way, he buries his face in them while he strokes his cock and uses them to catch his cum when he finishes. 

There. That’s better. The mix of him with… whoever you are. 

When they bring him lunch, they make him put the panties on his old tray before pushing it out to them. He doesn’t burn with shame this time; no, he almost feels proud. Like a peacock fluffing out its feathers. They know now. They must. 

Whoever you are, you’re his. 

The next day, they bring back the same pair. He wolfs out a little at the fresh layer of you over his cum. It’s all fear and tears and disgust, but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all, not to him, not to the wolf. 

All that matters is how his head fills with static when he licks across the gusset and howls. 

Cheryl’s looking pretty smug on the other side of the door, but for all that she’s pleased with the results; they still threaten to turn on the collar if he doesn’t eat quickly.  

He’s nearly fully wolf, gobbling down the food and returning to his treasure. He snarls as he strokes his cock, the head angry and purple as he tugs. He doesn’t spill onto the panties this time, not wanting to cover up the perfect combination of your scents. In the end, they’re shredded anyway, as his fingers stretch and break into claws. 

In his full glory, his senses are even sharper. Sharp enough that he can hear a faint sobbing across the building and Cheryl’s sharp laughter. 

“I don’t know,” she’s drawling when he tunes in. “He sounds pretty excited to meet you.”

The soft sobbing turns raw and cracked. He can smell the salt and phlegm, can practically taste it in the air. He’s aware of Cheryl, but nothing is louder than the way your heart is tripping over itself.

When Cheryl’s words sink in, when he realizes he might actually get to have whatever delicious creature they’ve gotten him, he howls again, a long, aching sound that creeps down your bones like frost.

Later, when he’s a little more present, he realizes they didn’t shock him either time he howled. It’s usually a guarantee. 

Whatever game they’re playing, it doesn’t bode well for you.

Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He wasn’t even worried when it happened. They’d been heading back to the QZ, him and Tommy and Tess, when a wild dog attacked them. 

Or, well. A wolf. 

Tommy had gotten a bullet in its head, but it had Joel’s arm in its jaw at the time. Its teeth had rent through his jacket like a spoon in a banana split. 

FEDRA would shoot him without a second thought, so they doubled back to the little cabin and hunkered down. Figured they’d lay low long enough for it to be hideable before sneaking back in. 

Tommy went out at daybreak for the carcass—it’d be leagues better than what they had in their bags. When he came back, he was faint and empty-handed. 

“...don’t make any sense,” he kept muttering, pacing the tiny kitchenette. 

Joel and Tess exchanged a glance. 

“Probably a bear took it,” she suggested.

Tommy ran his hand through his hair, shook his head, and did it again. When he looked up at them, it was through wild, unpredictable eyes. “Wasn’t a wolf. It was a man.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Joel said.

“C’mon.”

They followed him through the thicket, and sure as shit, in the same place the wolf’s corpse had lain was a man with a bullet through his skull. He was completely nude. 

“Gotta be a coincidence,” Joel muttered.

Tommy turned to him, eyes wide and hands shaking. “What kind of fucking coincidence is this?” 

There was a rustle, and they all turned, guns raised, as a woman peeked from behind a tree. 

She put her hands up and waited. Tess jerked her head to one side, and they lowered but did not stow their weapons. 

The woman was in a ratty cotton dress with no shoes; autumn leaves crunching underfoot. 

“That’s, um. That’s my husband,” she said softly. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Tommy said, his face soft and sad. “But—I think he attacked us.”

Her green eyes grew wide, pupils dilating and breath catching in her chest. “Did you get bit?” 

Tommy and Tess instinctually looked at Joel. 

“What’s it to ya?” he said.

“Did you get bit?” she repeated.

“Was he Infected?”

“Not with cordyceps, no,” she says. She avoids looking at the body but flinches when she brushes a foot against a blood-soaked leaf. 

“What does that mean?” Tommy said. 

“I think it’s best we go someplace and talk.”

Against better judgment, they follow her through the words to her home. She claims to have two kids alone there, four years and six months. 

It turns out to be true. She gets them both down for a nap and serves hot stew. They try to refuse, but she insists. 

Tommy feels a little sick eating the food of a man he killed. They all listen, rapt, as she begins to speak.

“It happened a year ago. But it wasn’t an accident.”

When the full moon is two days away, Joel is nearing the furthest from himself. Same shit, different month, but his reactions to your scent are getting, well, feral. 

They’re bringing him strips of cloth, now. He gets a new one with each meal. He doesn’t destroy them anymore. Oh, no. When he’s clearer, he wishes he did. 

But no. He smells and licks and then jerks off with them. If only that were the worst of it. He’ll come to be mortified during the waning, but he starts to add them to the cage. It’s fairly saturated with the smell of him from his old mattress, but it pleases the beast within to line it with the sweet mixture soaked into the torn sheets. 

You’ll understand, then, the wolf thinks. You’ll know it’s safe for you. Somewhere he’s made, a den all your own where he can keep you. 

But you won’t know, because what you know is very little. 

When FEDRA started asking for volunteers to test vaccines, you didn’t hesitate. You knew the risks. And the rewards—room and rations for the length of the observation period, anywhere up to a year in length. You knew there would be a catch—probably many, but given that you rarely had a room or rations, it wasn’t a hard choice.

But this was the end of the world, and “informed consent” was not something that survived the outbreak. 

They worked in batches. A truckload of live bodies at a time. Sterilizing showers with the barest trace of privacy, dressed in stiff starchy scrubs, and led into little cubicles where nurses with needles sat in wait. 

A quick jab to the upper arm, and then you were off. The hospital was an old correctional facility, but again, for someone who hadn’t had a bed on a reliable basis, you felt only relief. 

Until the deaths started.

They didn’t even try to hide it. Within 24 hours of arrival, a fourth of your group was gone. Carted out in black bags marked with β and nothing more said. You watched through your window like everyone else. 

Someone came around the next day and drew blood from every remaining subject, and the tagging began after that. You could see the symbols on other’s doors, but not your own. α or Ω. What they meant, you couldn’t begin to guess. 

It started not long after. 

The changes.

At first it was so subtle, you may not have noticed, but a nurse came by each day to ask you a series of increasingly embarrassing questions. 

What do you smell? What do I smell like? What does your sweat smell like? How sensitive are your breasts? Describe your vaginal discharge. How aroused are you on a scale of 1-10? 

They began weekly tests. Blood draws once a week and daily urine samples, of course, but also hearing and vision. They made you run on a treadmill hooked up to wires. 

And then, one day, after six months of intensive observation, they moved you.

Or. They tried to.

You were exhibiting a specific set of side effects, they said. You were to be transferred to another facility for subjects with the same side effects for further observation. 

Raiders took out the truck halfway through the ten-hour journey. It was… it was a bloodbath, actually. For the FEDRA officers, anyway. 

When they had you all lined up, grippy socks soaking in the ankle-deep mud, well, that was when you all learned which symbol was on your door. They couldn’t keep the word out of their mouths. Omega. 

Not that it fucking explained anything.

One by one, a short blonde with a bob went down the line of you and shoved something up to each omega’s face. That’s it. It seemed to have no greater purpose.

But for some reason, when she pressed the cloth against your nose and mouth, she smiled. And they separated you.

Whatever that was had a deep, oaky musk, like the illicit brewery operating out of the warehouse you often slept in before the trials. 

They tell you nothing.

They make you sleep on strips of cloth, so you roll around in the pile as you toss and turn, rubbing your sweat and slick and pheromones all over. 

They don’t bring you anything of his, but you catch faint whiffs of him (him, always him, they never call him by a name), of those aged, liquor-soaked barrels, but all it does is make you nauseous. You don’t understand how you know it’s him; you still don’t understand any of it. 

You learn very quickly not to ask questions. 

They take him out on the night the moon is full and bloated, hanging over him like a searchlight. See, it whispers, I can find you anywhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. If it didn’t, the wolf would find it anyway. 

He is not himself.

He is his truest self.

He is two or one; neither yet both. A monster movie mashup of fur and teeth and roughshod science experiments conducted by a doctor who wasn’t a doctor at all. He’s the monster’s victim. He’s the monsters’ monster. 

He’s the wolf and the wolf is him. 

He’s The Wolf and he’s swallowed Joel down. 

He’s the man, the weak link, buried so deep he can’t see the light of his celestial mistress 

He’s Joel Miller. Sometimes, sometimes. 

Tonight, he is gone. There is only the Wolf. 

And the Wolf knows. As soon as they cross the threshold, he knows. 

Dawn is rising, the hunt is over, but he’ll be the wolf for a while longer. And he knows that fuckin’ smell. 

It’s the saccharine sour mix of you. Heavy on your sweet apple undertones, and oh, he knows. 

You’re in the cage.

next chapter

*title from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

😬 I've been working on this baby for a long, long time, so I will be drinking your likes and comments desperately. thank you for reading and i love you.

[robbinghisdick]

"Good afternoon, baby boy!" Wade cheerily greets, swinging himself over the back of the couch and dropping himself hard into Logan's lap. The older man grunts slightly, but doesn't push Wade off as the man pulls up his mask just enough to plant an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. "Where have you been all day?"

Now that he had gotten a good look at Logan's face... something was off.

Logan was quiet for a moment, considering. "Well, you know how I've been feeling sick lately?" He asked. Pain was nothing new for him. The weight of his bones and poison from the adamantium made sure to keep his body in some level of pain. One thing his healing factor prevented was illness. If he managed to get sick, he didn't stay sick for very long.

"Yeah and I said, "you should get that checked out" and you grumbled and whined like a dog being taken to the vet?"

Logan rolled his eyes and continued, "Well, turns out I'm pregnant."

It was one of those rare times Wade was rendered silent. The mask also made it annoyingly impossible to get a good read on his face.

Wade, meanwhile, was trying to gauge whether or not this was a good thing. Logan didn't seem particularly happy.

"How the fuck did we manage that?" Wade asked. "I mean, it's not like my cancer ridden body makes healthy little swimmers and you said the adamantium poisoning rendered you infertile."

"According to the doc, unless I literally don't have a uterus, there's always a freak chance," Logan sighed, leaning heavily back into the couch and running his hands over his face. "It doesn't matter either way. We can't have a baby."

Logan waited to see if Wade would agree or disagree with him. He found himself half tempted to rip the mask off so he could get a better read on him.

Who's to say the baby would even make it to term, and what then if it did? Have two dads who's lives were marked by death and tragedy? Two guys with a list of enemies a mile long and would target a kid without thinking twice? Their lives were messy and dangerous, they couldn't bring a kid into that.

There were a million reasons why they shouldn't bring a baby into the world, but that was all too much weight for Wade. "I mean, you're right, but like, what if it develops the wolverine claws in the womb and bursts out of your stomach alien-style? That'd be kinda cool."

Logan's nose crinkled in disgust, nearly shuddering at that mental image. "That's horrific, thanks."

Wade just grinned, cupping Logan's face with both hands and kissing him.

"But seriously, whatever you think is best."

...

Later that night, Logan stared up at the ceiling fan, the blade whirling at full blast because Wade insisted on snuggling despite how hot both of them ran. He was splayed out like the world's most clingy starfish, head on Logan's chest. It was clear he was still awake too as one of his fingers idly tracing over Logan's arm. This quiet, domestic routine had become the norm.

When Logan thought about it, they were truly in a better place than they had ever been before. Logan had a home and family. The mansion was a home, but this one was his. One he chose to share with Wade. He had friends who loved him, a partner that stuck with him no matter how grumpy he got. Hell, he wasn't even drinking or smoking as much as he used to.

There were still battles and hardships, but never before had there been such a strong sense of support and community.

Logan was... happy.

"Wade?"

"Hm?"

"I..." he trailed off, unsure. "I think I actually want to have the baby." He couldn't particularly explain it. For years he fought against being put in a fatherly role when it came to all the young mutants he had met and looked after. Somehow, though, the thought of going on that journey of parenthood with Wade actually seemed kind of exciting. He loved that man more than he'd ever be able to put into words.

Wade sat up so fast it made Logan flinch.

"Oh thank FUCK!" He exclaimed, reaching over and turning on the bedside lamp while he straddled Logan's lap. His eyes pratically sparkled as he looked down at Logan. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Logan stared back up, surprised. "Wait, you wanted to keep the baby?"

"Of COURSE I want to have a little baby wolverine with you!" Wade waved his hands as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Like, yeah I think we're probably not the best parent material in the world and Jesus the CHRIST is it terrifying, but I wanna be dad."

"Why the fuck did you not say anything earlier?!"

"I'm not the one carrying it!" Wade shot back. "Besides, I never thought I'd have kids anyways, so not exactly a deal breaker, sweetheart." He patted Logan on the cheek. "Also, you know how many orphaned and abandoned mutants we run into? We always had a chance. If only Laura were younger, coulda started there."

Laura was an adult by the time Wade came into Logan's as a romantic partner. She was still young, but not a kid that needed parents to look after her.

"So... we're gonna have a baby?" Wade asked, a grin on his face.

"We're gonna have a baby."

Wade surged forward to kiss Logan, enthusiasm rubbing off on him as he smiled against Wade's lips. His face was peppered with more kisses and whispered "God I love you so much."

When Wade calmed down a fraction, Logan had to bring him down a bit more. "I'm only a few months along, we don't know if the baby will even make it," he reminded him. So many things could go wrong it was terrifying.

"Nope! This little guy--gender neutral--is a little fighter!" Wade insisted, hand splaying over Logan's stomach. They're gonna make it and be beautiful, and then we get to name them something cool!"

Logan scoffed but couldn't keep the smile off his face. "We're not naming the baby after any of your cartoons."

"You are absolutely no fun," Wade pouted. "I'll sneak something by ya."

Logan just pulled Wade down into another kiss to shut him up.

...

((They name her Allura, from Voltron lmao.

Writing this has made me incredibly sad for reasons I'll say if asked, but decided not to say so y'all don't just get randomly sucker punched.

This is NOT movieverse, exactly, but just a vague timeline. Movieverse poolverine end up with the kid tho. Which you can read here.

ALSO YES I KNOW THIS IS THE 3RD BABY AU ON THIS ACCOUNT. I have problem. I don't even want kids 😭))

[runninriot]

Hold On For All It's Worth

written for @steddiesongfics inspired by the song Empire Now by Hozier

wc: 1971 | rated: M | cw: mental health issues, thinking about death/wanting to be dead, depiction of injuries, blood | tags: post S4V2, Vecna is defeated, everybody lives, hurt/comfort, (implied) friends to lovers | ao3

Eddie should be used to it by now. Should be used to his life being a complete shit show. Always out to get him. Always finding ways to bring him down.

Life was never easy. Sure, it made a turn for the better when Wayne took him in, gave him a safe home and guidance, the kind of fatherly love he’d been missing before – Wayne made his life bearable, good. But even that wasn’t enough to rearrange his stars. Eddie, it seems, was always meant to be a fuck-up. An outsider. Struggling to find his place in this world.

He’s tired oft trying to get back up over and over again, knowing the next bump in the road bringing him down is waiting just around the corner.

Dustin keeps telling him everything will be fine. That he has to be patient, to wait for the wounds to fully heal. Says that the nightmares will eventually stop. That it’ll take some time but eventually, things will be good again.

And Eddie knows he’s not just saying that, that Dustin and his friends have been there multiple times. They’ve fought and lost and they’ve been hurt both physically and mentally and still, they keep going.

Keep taking a step at a time towards normalcy. Holding each other up, finding comfort in their shared experience because it helps to know that they’re not alone in the aftermath of an interdimensional war.

   “You’re no alone, Eddie. We’re always here for you. You’re one of us.”

He knows they mean it. Knows that, once you’ve been part of their suicide squad (like, come on. What else can you call a group of teenagers recklessly going to literal war with creatures that should only exist in fantasy games and books, not real life!?) you’re stuck with them.

It’s something Eddie still has a hard time getting through to his thick head. He’d obviously thought (hoped) that the little shitheads would stick around after everything. But never in a million years had he thought he’d gain more than one new friend. Real ones, like Red and Erica and Robin and... Steve.

They are such a weird group of individuals. Thrown together by accident, really. But they work, somehow. And they are doing their best to convince him that he, too, is part of it now. Part of this strange little family.

And he tries, really, to show appreciation for everything they do - always asking how he is, always looking out for him. Always there when he’s feeling especially down, ready to throw it all out the window because he’s just too fucking tired to deal with anything.

Like today.

He woke up with the worst headache, didn’t get any sleep because whenever he closed his eyes, he was back in that place that nearly cost him his life. Back where those winged demons nearly ate him alive.

Sometimes, he wished they’d finished their job.

Sometimes, he wished Dustin hadn’t come back to sit at his side while he succumbed to the darkness. Because if he hadn’t, Steve would never have found them, wouldn’t have felt the need to carry him out of hell – giving in to his hero complex or whatever it is that turned Steve into this knight in shining armor, summoning inhuman strength to pick up Eddie’s lifeless body while his own body had been weakened by bat bites and sore muscles.

If Steve hadn’t brought him back, Owens’ people wouldn’t have been able to save him. To restart his heart after it had already given up the fight. It should’ve been impossible to bring him back from the dead after being out for too long, after losing too much blood with his organs spilling out of his mangled body. But they refused to give up on him.

Dustin apparently threw a proper fit, fist-swinging and feet-kicking despite his broken leg, when they tried to get him out of the hospital, away from Eddie’s side.

Steve hadn’t let go of him even after heaving his blood-drenched, ripped-apart body onto the hospital bed. Dustin told him they had to physically remove Steve’s tight gripping hand from Eddie’s before they could take him to the ER. Probably frozen in shock because Eddie can only imagine how fucked-up and horrible he must’ve looked.

Nancy and Robin threatened to reveal the government’s secrets to the world if they didn’t at least try. They had enough proof, enough to show for. All it needed was one phone call, one newspaper article to get the ball rolling – Owens knew that.

They’re the reason he’s still alive. The reason he’s forced to go to physical therapy to get his body moving again. The reason for Eddie to wake up drenched in cold sweat almost every night. They’re the reason he’s forced to keep fighting, no matter how tired of it he is.

No matter how much he hates everything about being alive when his legs won’t move and his scars itch and his head pounds and all he wants to do is cry. Cry and scream and ask God or whoever why he can’t just let him have a goddamn moment of peace?

There’s a knock on his door, followed by Wayne’s face poking in through the gap when he opens it slowly.

   “Steve’s here. Can I send him in?”

Eddie wants to say no, doesn’t want Steve to see him like this – bound to the bed because his body refuses to work, with tears his eyes – but he knows it’s useless. Steve would just wait it out, come back in a few hours or maybe keep Wayne some company because the old man has apparently formed some kind of fatherly bond with him over the past weeks, to Eddie’s misfortune.

So, Eddie resigns, grumbles a displeased response before pulling his blanket over his head to hide.

He can hear Steve enter, can hear the door closing behind him and his quiet footsteps as he makes his way over to the bed. The mattress dips and Eddie can feel a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, can feel Steve’s warmth even through the blanket.

   “Hey, Eddie. How are you?”

Eddie wants to laugh, wants to spit out words of frustration, wants to scream at Steve for putting him in this misery. For saving him, for not just letting him rot in hell so he could finally rest in peace. But none of that makes its way out of his mouth because when he opens it, all the pain and frustration and anger bubble up from somewhere deep down, transforming into a pitiful sob.

He cries and cries and cries. His body trembles and it hurts, everything hurts and he can’t stop wishing, begging for it all to stop, for it all to be over.

   “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I wish I was dead!”

A hand comes up to grab the edge of his blanket, pulling it slowly down to reveal his scarred face, his messy hair, his swollen eyes. Broken and tired and so sick of his own existence.

   “Eddie?” Steve’s voice is delicate, soft, barely a whisper and Eddie hates himself for how concerned he sounds. Hates himself for putting this on Steve.

Steve shouldn’t have to deal with this mess.

   “Can I- is it okay if I touch you?”

Another desperate sob makes its way out when Eddie nods weakly, feels selfish and greedy for some sort of comfort – whatever Steve is willing to give.

What Eddie doesn’t expect is that Steve shuffles to squeeze himself into the small, empty space beside him, lying there face to face with him, his body so close that – if it weren’t for the blanket – they’d be touching from nose to toe.

Steve wraps one arm around him, the motion bringing him even closer to the other man’s body.

   “It’s okay to be frustrated” Steve whispers. “It’s okay to lose hope sometimes. I get it, Eddie. I know what it feels like to just want to give up. Believe me, I’ve been there more times than I can count.”

Eddie listens, still not able to stop the tears from falling but at least his breathing starts to slow while he focusses on Steve’s voice.

   “I’ve wanted to give up so many times but you know what I learned?”

Eddie shakes his head, his nose brushing Steve’s skin where his face is buried between his neck and shoulder.

   “I learned that, no matter how fucked-up things are, no matter how much you hate everything and everyone, if you’re really true to yourself, you’ll find there’s always, always something worth fighting for. You might not see it right now but it’s there. It’s there and it’s worth to get through the rough days because somewhere down the line, it’s waiting for you with open arms.”

Steve squeezes him, drawing him once again closer into his embrace.

   “But what if I never find it?” Eddie asks through a staggered exhale, hot and damp against Steve’s neck.

   “Maybe you just have to open your eyes and see it for what it’s worth.”

One hand finds his cheek, the one that’s unmarred, and when Steve leans away just enough to make space, he forces him to look up. To find Steve’s warm eyes looking down at him. Smiling, soft and loving in a way that makes Eddie’s heart stutter. Makes his stomach twist into knots when he realises just how close Steve is.

And then it hits him.

All the things he should be grateful for, all the things that are worth the struggle, worth the fight. All the things that he can hold onto on days like today, where the world feels like tumbling down.

The fact that Wayne didn’t have to hold a funeral for him, mourn over an empty coffin, an empty grave because his body had been left to decay in the Upside Down.

The fact that Dustin didn’t have to make true to his enforced promise to take over Eddie’s place at Hellfire, not yet at least.

The fact that Eddie got to see Gareth and Jeff and Zach again.

The fact that he’s breathing and walking and able to play his guitar – even if it’s still hard most days and it’ll take time to fully heal.

The fact that he’s got all these wonderful people in his life, people that care about him, that will always be there to catch him when he falls and help him back up on his feet if he can’t find the strength to do it himself.

People like Dustin and Robin and Steve.

Steve, who doesn’t care about Eddie staining his shirt with tears. Steve, who is holding him, one hand gently rubbing in soothing circles on his back. Steve, who had refused to leave him behind, who had clung to him even when he was technically dead. Steve, who keeps coming back, keeps showing up, keeps pestering Eddie with his annoying care and kindness.

Steve, who-

Who’s leaning in – tentatively, almost like he’s afraid of overstepping a line that was never there because ever since the moment Eddie had held that broken bottle against his throat, he knew there was an undeniable truth taking root in his heart – and kisses him.

Kisses him soft and slow and Eddie-

Eddie kisses him back. Sees, even through his closed eyes, that this right here is worth holding on for. Worth fighting for.

Worth being alive for.

No matter how many bumps are waiting for him on the road ahead – he’ll just take it one step at a time.

And if he stumbles or even falls, Steve will be there waiting with open arms, ready to catch him.

[fioreofthemarch]

Finding Her - a field log

Link makes notes, takes photos and keeps time on his quest across Hyrule, in the hopes of finding Zelda and staying sane until he does. [ Next | AO3 ]

Booting... Booting... The current date is: 999999–!!! Error: Memory exceeded !!! Please select calendar convention for date calibration.

> New Hylian Calendar

NHC convention selected. Calibrating… The current date is: 104 AC (After Calamity). 5th month, 12th day. This time of year is commonly known in Hylian nomenclature as Spring's End. Save settings?

> Yes

Date confirmed.

* Welcome to the Purah Pad *

The Purah Pad is a state-of-the-art, fully portable adventure-class Sheikah Slate. The Purah Pad can be used to:

View far-away objects using the Scope

Take photographic images

View maps and current location (requires Sky View data)

Teleport instantaneously to travel gates registered to the Purah Pad

Record materials, creatures, monsters, and other objects found in Hyrule

Log activities and requests received from fellow travelers

Take additional field notes, as required

The Purah Pad is currently in development. We are not accepting feedback at this time.

Please direct any complaints to Symin at Hateno Village Research Laboratory.

Log date 09:55. 5th month 12th day 104AC Location: Great Sky Island. Weather: Mild. Clear skies.

Arm hurts, really hurts. In a bad way. Master Sword is damaged, or worse. What the hell happened down there?

It's bright here, gotta be high up in the sky. Were there always islands here?

A green construct-type person (like Guardians but with a face?) had this Purah Pad. Looks in OK condition. Zelda would know more. No sign of her. Apparently she's nearby, in a temple.

Not sure how many logs to make. Normally Zelda’s thing. I’m used to her being here. Used to the sound of her voice. Will just take notes until she’s back. Not sure how, but will find her.

Have to find her.

Log is accompanied by a picture of a Zonai Steward Construct. Its large, see-saw head is angled slightly to the side, as if perplexed.

Caption: He seems friendly.

Log date 12:30. 5th month, 13th day 104 AC Location: Ukouh Shrine Weather: Mild. Partly cloudy.

A lot has happened. Arm still hurts, whole body hurts. Rauru (source of arm) has been helpful. Not sure if he's trustworthy but no choice. Have to find Zelda, no matter what.

There are Shrines here on this sky island - deja vu. Seem older than the Sheikah Shrines though.

This arm and its powers are something else. Made a raft with fans. Put them on the wrong way, fell off the raft. Tried again a few times until it worked. Repeat.

Two more Shrines left, maybe next time Rauru will give me the power to summon a hot meal. Click of the fingers and snap: fried eggs. But probably not.

A photograph of some roasted mushrooms beside a fire, slightly charred, as a Zonai Steward Construct looks on.

Caption: These will do for now.

---

Log date: 16:30. 5th month, 14th day 104 AC Location: In-Isa shrine Weather: Mild. Partly cloudy.

Stopping to catch my breath. Going to sit by this Shrine a while.

Got this Fuse ability. Feels good to have a sword even if it's made from a tree branch and bits of dead robot.

Sword arm is not what it used to be. Reflexes slower too. Can feel the gloom under my skin. Fought a Captain Construct, got hit one too many times. Some bad bad bruises but the Light of Blessing healed them up quick. Mostly pride hurt now.

Back to the Temple of Time tomorrow. Zelda’s not far, can feel it.

A photograph of a fused rock-hammer weapon, resting against the weathered structure of a Shrine of Light.

Caption: Using a rock to break rocks!

---

Log date: 20:55 5th month, 14th day 104 AC Location: Temple of Time Weather: Cool. Clear skies.

It doesn't make sense. She was here, and then she wasn't. In the Temple of Time. Or her spirit? A memory? An echo? That's what Rauru called it. Said it was Zelda's sheer will, but how can he know? He won't even say who he is.

She looked so different. She looked.. divine. And then she gave me something. I can feel the name of it on the wind - Recall

She’s gone. But where? What happened to her?

Gonna leave this place tomorrow, just need to find that last Shrine. The fire's burning low but the nights here are short. There's something up above, the Purah Pad compendium calls it a Light Dragon. Currently watching it swim circles in the air til sleep comes, and then will see what tomorrow brings.

Zelda’s out there somewhere. Gotta find her, and put everything right. Don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t. Hope wherever she is, it’s warmer than here.

A photograph taken from below of a golden dragon, floating peacefully through the air.

Caption: How's the weather up there?

[modernspellsword]

[NARRATE] The sender narrates the story behind one of their scars. (Bullet wound!)

((Oh boy. Here comes a doozy.))

"So? You wanna find out how I got these?" She asked as she poked two round-ish scars. "Its a story, take a seat. Want a drink?"

When her listener was comfortable Annalise began.

So, I'm Bi. Possibly pan. And I keep making terrible decisions. After a summer with a Werewolf where we just weren't meant to be I resumed my monster hunting career. Around 23 I took a job to hunt a demon in a small upstate New York town along the Erie canal. It was a town well past its time, with as many boarded up buildings as open ones. I went with a dedicated demon hunter. A nice guy who, while a touch extreme, was a genuine good guy. Fought with twin guns. Blessed bullets. Was pretty good too. A little quick on the trigger, but hadn't hurt anybody on his team yet. Aside from some ear damage. Well we had to find the demon in the area. So the two of us being the only ones who knew in town split up to search for this demon. While I was out I met this cute girl. Brie was her name. We hit it right off. Brie and I uh... We kinda became close. Very close. I'm a horny fool so in the 12 days we were together we had gotten close as hell. We did some stuff together. However on day 12 my fellow hunter said he had found out the demons identity and to meet him in the park.

So I go to the park and I see my co-hunter pointing a gun at my new girlfriend. I freak the fuck out. And well... Damn. That didn't work out well. Standing between my girlfriend and my co-hunter going 'Hol up why are you trying to shoot my girlfriend'.

Well a few seconds later I hear some gunshots. And a ton of discomfort in my gut. She traced her twin scars with her fingers lightly. I wake up a few days later in a fancy mansion and I learn finally what happened.

Over the 12 days I was in town Brie and I met for 8 of them. On the remaining four my demon hunter friend had discovered our demon. It was Brie. And she was no ordinary demon. Having heard that the flow of magic was restored to earth a demon queen, one of the born demons, not a sinner from earth, had come to earth. Taking a hit to her power in exchange for being left alone by other demons. Well uh, the hunter organization did what it loves to do and tried to ruin a peaceful monsters life. And my demon hunter? Well he truly meant well, and to be fair to him, had I known, I wouldn't have stood between us, but I would have tried to calm him down. And to be more fair, Brie? She was playing with him. Using her powers to do... Something to him. So when I met him things were coming apart at his seams, but he was aiming to put his pistols down. They just went off.

Brie? She was livid. For what its worth I had fallen for her like a goddamn ten ton weight off mt Everest. But she liked me. Genuinely liked me. She destroyed his guns with a thought and was going to do the worst things she could to him. However apparently I stopped her. I struck her with my blade. I don't remember this, and I'm told I didn't even cut her skin. But I told her 'no' and she listened. She sent the hunter on his way and made a pact with me. I could live, but I would become part demon.

And... I did. However I had two blessed bullets in me. While I won't die from them, my demon powers are limited due to them. And these scars? They will never heal. I lived with Brie for a bit, but finding out I fell for a demon queen was a bit much so when she had something lined up I stayed with a vampire teacher. It took a few years to learn my demon powers. And I still haven't mastered them. But I got a lot better at it. And... I still have these scars to remind me of the fool I am.

[doubtingthomasin]

prompt 27: virgin ravishment word count: 4.5k

this is a prequel of sorts shh i'm building something here

MINORS DNI

@viharker

-------

It’s the first show Corroded Coffin has performed since they all defeated Vecna a month before. Everyone in town is just trying to get back to normal after so much death, but no one’s more desperate for a taste of normalcy than the people who fought the battle themselves. Over the weeks since, they’d checked in with each other almost daily, stopping by each other’s houses, places of work, or simply picking up the phone.

Some, like Robin and Nancy, stay at Steve’s to keep an eye on him and his injuries as they heal. Chrissy has a similar routine with Eddie, sharing the responsibility with Max who’s just across the street, only they go home alone at the end of every day. 

Chrissy wishes she had the luxury of choosing where to lay her head at night.

That desire couldn’t be more fervent than the first evening her mother lashes out at her since everything happened. The town never found out the truth or just wouldn’t see it, but either way, they’re all just people with workaday jobs and kids who go to school once again–not heroes who are walking miracles.

It’s all these melancholic thoughts that nag and float through Chrissy’s mind as the boys finish their set, Eddie ending on a power chord that makes the drunk denizens of the bar cheer. She thinks there might be a few more than usual as she looks around the room, smiling while she claps herself. She hears a wolf whistle and looks over to see Steve by the bar, shaking his fists in the air as Nancy and Robin clap eagerly.

But as they turn, she hides her face.

She doesn’t know why since she loves them dearly, but maybe it’s to do with the fact that being seen once again feels like a dangerous endeavor, the bruise on her arm in the shape of her mother’s hand serving as unassailable proof.

“Hey, Chrissy!”

She immediately acts like she was coughing so they don’t suspect, giving them the brightest smile she can manage as all three walk over to her table. “Hey, guys! Like the show?”

“Hell yeah,” Robin exclaims, throwing up devil horns with both hands that make the other two shake their heads in amusement. Chrissy glances to the stage, her stomach flipping as she watches Eddie disappear. She always feels uneasy when he’s out of sight–

“Chrissy?”

“Sorry, yeah?” She shakes her head to clear it, giving Steve an apologetic smile.

But he just gives her a soft grin in return, Nancy’s eye’s darting to the stage and back with a knowing smirk. “I just asked how you’re doing?”

“Oh, I’m good,” she lies, as if she isn’t having horrific nightmares almost every night. 

Nancy clocks it immediately. “Chrissy…it’s us.”

The smile slides from her lips and she shrugs. “I don’t know. Better than I was, I guess.”

“That’s good, that’s good, it’s a process.” Robin says encouragingly, rubbing her arm. Her sore arm, but she doesn’t wince. She’s almost proud of that. “How’s the tutoring going?”

She gives a good-natured eye roll to Robin’s quirked eyebrow, catching the implication. For some reason, everyone in the group assumes she and Eddie are together now that Jason’s out of the picture. She wishes that were true, but their sessions are mostly actual studying, him prattling on about D&D as she listens, watching his hands as he writes notes. Those strong hands that saved her more than once in the thick of things, the same hands she thinks about late at night when she’s alone… “He’s definitely going to pass now.”

Robin scoffs. “Finally.”

“Do I hear slander against my name?” Chrissy's heart seizes a little when Eddie appears between Robin and Steve’s shoulders, and the three greet him with enthusiastic but gentle hugs. He dramatically pretends that Nancy’s hug hurt his side, to which she lightly slaps him on the arm as he chuckles. “Chrissy, baby.”

Oh, yeah. That’s why they think they’re together.

She smiles wider to cover the momentary panic as he envelops her in a firm hug, groaning into her neck. “Missed you all day.”

She likes to pretend, in these moments when they’re so close, that they really are together, letting herself get lost in the feel of his arms around her. He leaves one draped across her shoulders as he turns to talk to the others again, and she can’t focus on what they’re talking about, smiling off into the middle-distance as they jabber on.

His fingers fiddle with the edge of her t-shirt sleeve as she finishes her drink in one gulp, but his arm pulls away too soon, making her focus back in on what’s going on. Her heart falls as he walks away. “See you guys later.” He jogs a little through the cleared out room, slipping through the door that leads backstage.

“Bye,” Steve calls sarcastically. “Well, that was short and sweet.”

“’S probably that quiz we’ve all got tomorrow,” Nancy breathes. “I know I’m losing my mind.”

“Yeah, we should probably get home to study,” Robin groans, walking over to rest her forehead on Nancy’s shoulder. “Wanna study with us, Chrissy?”

“Oh, I already studied,” Chrissy admits, fiddling with her hands. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t wanna hang out, it’s just…uh–”

“It’s okay, Chrissy,” Steve soothes, running a hand over where his best friend’s had been, only gentler. “We understand.” His face becomes stoic and her brow furrows. “We’re not cool enough.”

She scoffs hard at the ridiculous joke. “Yeah, that’s it.” She catches Robin’s eye out of the corner of her own, the younger girl looking as if she’s attempting a calculation in her head. But Nancy’s flat-out staring at Chrissy’s face, as if gauging for a reaction, but to what, she doesn’t know. This was part of the reason Chrissy was sometimes skittish around them; since she was the newest and obviously keeping secrets, they were always watching her.

Her nerves are almost frayed by the time Steve lets go, his hands shoving down into his pockets. “So, see ya around.”

“Yeah, bye, guys,” Chrissy says, waving as Robin and Nancy wave back. Steve looks back briefly before walking out the door, but she’s already gathering her things off the table. She returns her empty cup to the bar, thanking the bartender and plunking down some quarters before heading down the hall to the green room.

Being so distracted, she’d forgotten to ask him earlier if he’d studied for the quiz tomorrow already. If not, maybe they can study together, even though she really already has. She’s rehearsing what to say as she reaches the closed door, about to knock when she hears a yelp, followed by a moan. Her hands shake instantly, heart hammering against her ribs at the prospect of danger lurking ahead. Vecna’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s–

She opens the door soundlessly, just a fraction to peek through, looking toward the floor and expecting to see someone injured, maybe even a dead body. What she doesn’t expect to see when her eyes dart up is Eddie standing behind a girl who’s bent over a table, thrusting into her as he holds her waist.

It takes Chrissy a moment to realize what she’s witnessing, but their breathy words make it all too clear.

“Yeah, you like that?”

“Harder, Eddie, fuck.”

“Best groupie ever, you know that?” He pulls her up off the table by her hair, clamping a hand over her mouth when she cries out. “Shh.”

Chrissy knows she should shut the door, but she can’t. She’s frozen to the spot, watching as his arms flex against the strain of holding the girl, as his jeans fall a little lower and she sees the bandage on his thigh. She changed it just before the show, and now the back of a stranger’s thigh is pressed against and she absently hopes it doesn't hurt–

“Hey, Chrissy, what’s up?”

She jerks around to see Gareth walk up to her, followed by Jeff and Trent, and her voice is suddenly gone.

They notice her flushed face and wide eyes, and Trent chuckles. “Already flying high, eh, Cunningham?”

She wants to shush them, but instead of even trying to speak she runs past them and into the bar room. Gareth raises an eyebrow at the other two, trying not to laugh. “I don’t think I want whatever she’s having.”

They’re snickering when Eddie appears at the door. “Who was that? Why is this door open?!”

“Hey, don’t look at us, man, it was Chrissy,” Jeff says defensively.

“What?!”

“It was Chrissy!”

“She was just here?!”

“Yeah!”

“With the door open?!” His voice gets comically high, but he’s so obviously terrified that they don’t laugh.

“Yeah, man, chill–oh, shit!” Gareth leans forward enough to see the girl in the green room with him as the other two glean the enormity of the situation.

“Eddie, what’s going on?” she asks in annoyance, buttoning her pants.

“Oh, God, uh…raincheck, I’m so sorry,” he pleads before shutting the door, running down the hall and calling Chrissy’s name.

The guys look at each other, Gareth shaking his head. “How many times have we told him to lock that door?”

“He doesn’t fucking listen,” Trent simply sighs as they head to the van.

Eddie runs out to the parking lot in time to see Chrissy’s car peel away down the road. He can’t even go after her because they haven’t loaded up the equipment yet, and his lungs burn as he struggles for oxygen while the fear of losing her sets in. He kicks at the ground, hands laced behind his head as he curses into the night air.

He sees her briefly the next day at school, but she keeps her eyes to the ground as he brushes by and he feels sick. He makes good on his raincheck later that night.

The next day he learns he barely scraped by on that quiz, which is a relief but not enough of one to make up for losing her. He’s blaring Def Leppard in his empty trailer later that night, and he just decided to get completely stoned and shit-faced when he barely hears the phone ring. Prepared for a crank call, he answers. “Yeah?”

“Can I come over?”

Recognizing Chrissy’s angelic voice, he scrambles to turn down the volume on the stereo, running back into the living room to pick up the receiver again. “Can you come over? Uh, yeah…um, Chrissy–”

But the dial tone sounds in his ear, and he places the phone on the hook, softly thudding his forehead against the wall.

She’s knocking on his door fifteen minutes later, and he’s got his apology loaded and ready, but the words stick in his throat once he sees her face. It’s almost completely blank of emotion, but her eyes are bright and wild, like a small animal being made to feel cornered. He almost lurches out of the doorway as she enters, trying to get his tongue to work again but she beats him to it.

“Ready to study?”

He’s almost taken aback, since it’s just shy of ten o’clock at night, but he’s not about to question her. “Sure.” The one word cracks, and he sounds fucking prepubescent again. Goddamn it.

She just nods before plopping down at the kitchen counter, her pink bookbag landing with a dull thud as she removes papers and writing utensils. He swallows a painful lump before sitting down beside her, willing himself not to look at her perfect pale legs highlighted by a white pleated skirt.

They study for what feels like hours to her, but it's really only about fifteen minutes. The quiet drones on, he’s losing his own personal challenge not to stare and, eventually, he can't stand it anymore.

"Listen, Chrissy, um…" He hesitates, continuing when she doesn't look up. "I'm so sorry for…whatever you saw at the bar. I, uh…well, I don't have any excuses. Do you want any water I'm gonna get some water." He almost knocks the stool over in his frenzy, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"Sure." It's almost a whisper but he hears it.

He talks as he fills two glasses with tap water, hands shaking a little. "So if you wanna yell at me or something, that's fine. It's better than silence."

That makes her look up, confused. "Why would I yell at you?"

"Because I'm a fucking perv who has sex with women behind unlocked doors, I don't know." He can physically feel his inability to shut up kicking in. "I mean, I don't feel like I actually did anything wrong. It was the first time I'd had sex in months, actually. And obviously the first time since…everything that happened. Going through a bit of a dry spell, you know how it is."

"Yeah." She says absently, realizing it's a lie too late. She almost sticks with it but decides on the truth, her cheeks burning. "Actually…I don't."

He stops halfway back to the counter, comprehending what she said mid-stride. "Oh." He sits the glasses down gently, but stays on the opposite side from her, doing his best not to look at the skin her low-cut top reveals. More low-cut than usual, he notes. "Uh…then I'm really, really sorry."

"Why?"

"Because you're all…innocent and shit." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and though it's adorable, he still backtracks. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just…if you wind up in therapy I'm gonna feel personally responsible." She laughs a little through her nose, taking a drink. "So…you're not mad at me?"

Her eyebrows raise. "I thought you didn't care how other people feel about you."

He looks off to one side briefly, gulps. "I care when it's you."

"Why?" She's starting to feel like a broken record.

He takes a deep breath. "Well…this hasn't ever actually been just studying, has it?"

She draws her hands down to her lap and stares at them. He thinks he's said too much until her next question. "Am I that obvious?"

She doesn't see it, but his eyes grow wide for a moment. "N-No. I thought I was."

Chrissy meets his gaze, his eyes falling to her lips. "You like me?" Her heart leaps as he nods, only to sink low, impaled by a spike of panic. "Oh, God. This was a mistake."

"What?" She's up from her seat, throwing her papers into her bag as he rounds the counter.

"I should go. I-I shouldn't be here." Her hand's on the doorknob before his desperation sets in, his arm keeping the door closed.

"Chrissy, wait, please." He doesn't realize how close he is to her but she's keenly aware, looking up his chest to his terrified face. "Please, don't go. I don't expect anything from you, that's not why I told you. I just needed you to know, because I didn't think you felt the same and that's why I…did what I did. I didn't think there was any chance you'd ever like me back. I mean, you're you and I'm me, and we're so different. You're gorgeous and amazing and resilient and…such a badass, and I'm the dumbass who almost gets killed by a bunch of ba–"

He doesn't get any farther before her lips are pressed to his, his heart hammering as her cool hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her level. He's glad he's got the doorframe in his grasp or else he'd be sprawled on the floor from shock, just from the feel of her tongue sliding against his.

She lets go too quickly and he chases her, blinking slowly to see that she's obviously anxious. "I'm sorry, because…I came here wanting something from you."

"Name it. It's yours." He says it so quickly that she scoffs. "I'm serious."

There's something about the awestruck look in his eye that travels down between her legs, her thighs clenching as she confesses. "I…I want you to do what you did to her…to me."

Eddie's forehead wrinkles as he stands up straight. "That's why you're here?"

"I can't stop thinking about it. About you." Her hands travel slowly down his chest, his breath catching as her arms wrap around his waist. "You're almost all I think about. I can't get you out of my head, Eddie." He swears softly, her eyes dazed as his hands brush and smooth the hair around her face, fingertips ghosting over her cheekbone. "But if we really like each other, maybe this is too fast."

"No, no, it's not. Not unless you think it is." His voice is shaky but he can't seem to care, her eyes fluttering against his touch. "So, just to be clear…you want me to take your virginity?" Her lower lip trembles as she gives him a pleading look and the fire in his chest only grows, threatening to consume them both. "Why me, sweetheart?"

His words are so low they rumble against her body. "Because I want you. When we almost lost you, I…I realized I might be falling for you. It's only gotten worse."

He leans down to brush his lips against hers, plush pink and insanely soft. "Not from my perspective."

"Please, Eddie." Her whimper sets something off in him, a string wound so taut that it snaps, and she gasps as her feet leave the ground.

With one arm under her ass and a hand already in her hair, he softly smirks. "You may wanna get comfortable with that phrase, beautiful."

They devour each other as he moves down the hallway, stopping to pin her to the wall, nipping at her bottom lip as she whines. He kisses down to her cleavage, his hand slipping between her legs. She gasps so hard that he almost pulls away, but her hands in his hair hold his mouth to her chest, her little body already shaking.

"Jesus, you're already wet," he breathes, kissing over the tops of her breasts as she moans loudly.

"Is that bad?" she groans.

"No, baby, it's good, it's so good." He's in danger of babbling again so he pulls her lips back down to his, continuing toward his room.

He lays her down gently on the bed, sitting up to peel off his shirt as she watches with hungry eyes. “Tell me to slow down if you need to,” he says, already leaning in again to claim her mouth, her hands caressing his side. She pants as his lips trail sparks down her neck, her chest, until he’s kissing over her clothes. He kisses each ankle as he removes her shoes and socks, nails tickling the soles of her feet before he kisses further up her leg.

Her face burns as she leans back on her forearms, the assumption that this was going to be quick slowly fading away as he finally reaches her thigh, moaning against her skin before nosing at the swell of her mound. She almost screams, covering her mouth just in time, his fingers hooking in the waistband of her panties. “Is this okay?” She nods quickly. “I need words.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good girl.” Her eyes slam shut at the praise, want coursing through her as he pulls her underwear off one leg, letting it dangle while he presses his lips to her opening. She does scream then, her head falling back to the bed as he licks and sucks along her folds, his hands curling around her thighs. Small spots of her skin cool under his rings as she writhes against his tongue, his groans vibrating against her sensitive skin.

And he doesn’t take his eyes off her once.

After a few minutes of slowly but fully unraveling her, the taste of her sweet and earthy on his tongue, he places the hand over her mouth in his hair before closing his lips around her clit. He’s already decided to tell the neighbor with the inevitable noise complaint tomorrow to fuck off, her hips bucking as she cries his name, the familiar feeling building in her gut.

Except, God help her, it’s so much more intense than when she’s alone. “Eddie, I’m gonna come!”

It spurs him on, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, his lips sucking harder as the tip of his tongue flicks until she’s wailing. The spasms wrack her body as he licks her clean, groaning. “You taste so good, princess.”

She whines again as he moves her up the bed, clinging to his arms until he dips his head to kiss her, making her taste herself. His hands slide under her shirt as her breathing slows and his lips move to her neck, licking and sucking there, too. They remove her skirt and top together, and he looks her in the eye as he lowers her bra straps, the pads of his fingers smoothing over her shoulders as she pulls her arms free.

That's when he sees the bruise on her arm. He looks her in the eye briefly before leaning over to pay special attention to the injury, kissing all along the tender skin. To her relief, he doesn't ask about it, but she thinks she could cry from how gentle he's being. Once he's done, he takes in the sight of her hazy eyes, her rosy cheeks, reminding him of the pressure building in his jeans.

He leans in, the tips of their noses touching while he palms her breast, her eyes closing as she sighs. “No one’s ever touched you like this?”

“No one,” she chokes.

“Poor, neglected little thing,” he coos, her breath shallow. “How does it feel?”

“F-Feels amazing,” she stutters, his thumb circling her nipple. “Oh, God, don’t stop.” Her head rolls to the side, and he quite suddenly takes her in his mouth, making her repeat her words with a higher moan. He lifts her torso off the mattress, arms wrapped tight around her as he switches between her nipples, sucking them to hard points, lost for a moment in the feeling and sound of her.

He returns her to the bed, her hands pulling at his hair, making him whine low in his throat as he positions himself between her legs. “Still wanna go all the way, babygirl?”

“Uh-huh,” she mewls, and he can tell he’s got her strung just as tight as he was.

“Relax, relax,” he whispers against her lips, willing himself to do the same. “Want your muscles nice and loose when I fuck you.”

She groans at the expletive, her hands meeting his over his belt buckle. He lets her unfasten it, giving her the choice, but she continues with the button and the zipper on his jeans. “Want me to blow you?”

“I don’t think I’d make it to your pussy if you did.”

“God, Eddie.” She looks up at him, his eyes almost black from lust-blown pupils. He looks like he wants to eat her alive, and it quiets her. “Are you sure?”

“Your only job is to relax,” he croons, hands pressing her shoulders back down. “Let someone else take care of you for once.” He licks into her mouth as she sighs, his fingers stroking briefly at her opening before one curls inside. He swallows her short gasp as he adds another digit, stroking along her walls and drawing a grunt from her. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” she says shakily, his thumb finding her clit again and making her jerk.

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs, his free hand grabbing a condom from the nightstand as he builds her up again, her sweet face contorted around a whine. He pulls his hand away, and she pouts at the loss before she notices he’s removing his jeans and boxers. 

The sight of him makes her face burn hotter and her pussy throb, her delicate hand moving down between their bodies to gently grasp his length. “Oh, Chrissy.” 

She pumps him slowly a few times, her thumb smearing the precome over the tip. “I know how to do this, at least.”

“Yeah, you do,” he growls as she squeezes a little more firmly. “Fuck.” Against his own wishes, he gently removes her hand. “Unless that’s how you want me to come.”

She shakes her head, her hands tugging at his hips. “Please.”

He smiles down at her, leaning forward to press his forehead to hers. “Needy little baby.”

She winces at that, only knowing the word as something negative. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” he soothes, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. “I love it.” He presses his lips next to her ear, says the next part surprisingly easy. “And I love you.”

She shudders against him, her hands spreading over his shoulder blades. “I love you, too.”

Chrissy turns her head to capture his lips again, kissing feverishly as he slides in the first inch. She whimpers as he pulls out, pressing back in the same amount, holding her hips still to repeat the process. He sinks a little deeper and she inhales sharply before moaning, his hands pushing her legs up as he leans forward, giving her another inch. Then another.

She mewls again and he stops. “You okay?” She nods, panting out a yeah, and he kisses her on the cheek before he continues. He breathes hard through his nose, trying to hold himself together as he penetrates deeper, drawing out a little to fuck her slowly as she whines his name. A couple more inches and she feels his hips against hers as he sighs, his thick cock stretching her pleasantly. He presses tightly against her and she whines at the sensation, and he starts to move.

“Fuck, Chrissy, you feel like Heaven.” He rolls his hips, sliding against her as she groans in time to his thrusts.

She wishes she could speak, but all she can do is see and feel what he’s doing to her, her body fully relaxed as he picks up the pace ever-so-slightly. He catches her gaze, a hand caressing her cheek, thumb playing with her lower lip. His hair curtains both sides of her face as he leans his forehead on hers, his fingers lacing with hers, gently pinning her hands above her head. She’s so focused on his movements that she almost doesn’t notice another climax building, and she whimpers.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he sighs, eyes closed, feeling her walls flutter around him. “Just let it flow through you.”

She does, and it’s glorious. Her body arches into him as she clenches down on him, and she finds her voice with a scream. “Eddie!”

“That’s right, say my name, sweet girl,” he pants, biting into his lower lip to last a little bit longer. But it’s no use as everything about her finally overwhelms him, shouting into her neck as he comes with a few more shallow thrusts. 

He’s about to apologize, tell her he can make up for it however she wants, when she pushes his hair out of the way, taking his face in her hands to kiss him deeply. She giggles a little as he chuckles, pulling out to roll them over while they keep making out. Breaking to finally catch their breath, she lays her head on his shoulder, his cheek pressed against her hair as he exhales heavily, content.

They lay still for a moment, and it suddenly occurs to him that he should say something when she asks. “Is it always like that?”

He swallows, hesitant. “Like what?”

“Magic.”

He smiles as he kisses the crown of her head, their arms wrapping around each other. “I’ll make sure it is.”

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

So i’ve unofficially called the last 12 months/year “the year i watched supernatural” because honesty it’s just a better way to face the last 12 months. Anyway here’s my unrequested thoughts on supernatural. 

It helped heal my religious trauma lol. (also spoilers)

Things i LOVED

The sibling trope/dynamic from the first couple seasons. Whenever they put cosmic importance on siblings i ate that shit up. That’s so fun. 

The vessel sagas. See above but Michael possessing Dean to kill Lucifer who’s possessing Sam??? Fucking love it. That’s so great. Also trying to force (aka torture) sam to accept Lucifer? Fantastic. 

The canonical answer that ‘god likes Sam and Dean so he gives them stupid hero luck”. I love that. That they didn’t get flat tires or sick or whatever while he liked them because he was watching out for their lactose intolerant asses. 

The SCOOBY DOO EPISODE. ENOUGH SAID AMAZING I LOVE 

The yellowed eye man plot. I know it’s like the first one but GOD i love everything about that arc. Sam’s visions?? The episode where the demon transports a bunch of them to test them?? Hell yeah

All the possessions. They were so fun. 

ALL THE EXPERIMENTAL WEIRD EPISODES. Like when they’re just office coworkers?? When they go to our world? That’s so fucking fun. 

That one scene when Crowley tortures that one pizza delivery angel? Fuck those are the best whumperflies in visusal format for me. Hell yeah. 

Things i liked 

Cass teleporting so randomly. 

The idea that humans made ‘gods’ like the old gods because wanted something to worship. Nice i like that take. 

“Squirrel and Moose” as nicknames. 

Demon traps and the little tattoos that keep them from being possessed. Very visual symbols. Also the black eye blink. Iconic.

Bobby 

The bunker (not the men of letters… just the bunker) 

How they used the same motel set and just changed the wallpaper and the room divider. I missed the hotel rooms. 

Garth 

Sam’s health conscious streak 

Nick as lucifer was so fun to watch. I was genuinely a bit sad when lucifer was possessing someone else/died. 

The gate to heaven is in a children’s playground. That’s funny, it feels irreverent, love it. 

Prophets. I like the prophets. 

GHOSTFACERS 

Don’t kill me i think i liked the last episode 

Things i hated/didn’t like 

The steins. Oh my god i had to stop watching. God we understand. We got it. Please don’t spell it out like that it hurt to watch 

The men of letters as legacy. They should have just found the bunker and been like “this is mine now”. The men of letters as a thing? Meh okay fine. 

Rowena never fully grew on me. Her accent sounded so fake the entire time i was half expecting her to drop it one day and be like “oh it was for fun” 

Oz. God, just stick to the bible. 

The needless double casting. Specifically chuck being god. I like chuck as a prophet, i love that they fought god, but chuck being god? Stupid. Annoying. Damaged the plot of the show. Should have just cast another dude to play god. 

The parallel universes. Meh leave it 

The episode in the girls highschool where they made a supernatural play. I had to skip that episode too cringy 

Sam’s beard 

The Campbell family was DUMB. Dumb and made no sense. 

Cass in “the empty”.... Just… what. If felt rushed and wrong and maybe it didn’t even stick?? IDK just weird and bad. 

The mark of cain was tiring. Okay concept but tiring and non too interesting.  

Mary coming back. That was weird. 

The british men of letters 

Sam in old man wig

Overall more things i enjoyed than hated but that is because im a positive little son of a bitch. Anyway rating is like 8/10 if you know what you’re getting into.

Anyway time to start watching season one again.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Revelations Part Two - a Malevolent fic

Tears welled in Odd’s eyes, dripped down his cheeks as he played. And just as he had hoped, as he had gambled, he felt the King in Yellow’s presence. Closer than usual. In fact, allowing Odd to feel him directly. In fact—

“Why do you weep?” said that deep voice, which buzzed through the ground even when quiet.

Odd let his violin peak, crescendoing to a high, tremulous note—and then he cut it off, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s been a week, huh?"

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

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

Carcosa was quiet.

It was a nervous kind of quiet. Nobody fully understood what the hell had happened, and the rumors did not clarify. Some said an attack. Some said an invasion. Some said somebody overcharged Faroe in the market and now everyone was boned. 

Larson was pissed. He’d missed it! Some kind of craziness, the Saint nearly killed, and he’d missed it! The fuck!

The Librarian didn’t know, either, and kept flipping to different images which only confused him more. Larson only knew he was now confined to two places: his room, and the archives. There wasn’t even family dinner happening at the moment.

Whatever went down, it had been big. 

He would find out. Somehow.

Eventually.

#

Odd was just glad that, relatively speaking, everyone seemed to be okay?

No one had seen Parker or Sunny yet, but when he’d swung by their room with a plate of food, he could hear them talking within. There was warmth, comfort, joy—he’d had to sit down for a while, behind a nearby plant, and just let the feeling of relief wash over him.

Faroe was not doing well. Odd suspected she had a case of broken heart, and that was something no one could really fix.

Not that he didn’t try. He found her and Nibbles out in the lower garden and settled beside them with his violin, playing a rambling song, focusing on being steady and grounding. Before long she’d scooted over to lean against him, a tricky proposition when playing the violin, but Odd had managed.

She gave him a hug when he finished. He’d need to keep an eye on her. She wasn’t okay.

Arthur… Arthur was the tricky one. Arthur had slipped into a kind of full-body, all-encompassing grief that Odd didn’t know what to do with. He’d healed Arthur’s bruised jaw, and Arthur had not even fought or complained which was…

Perhaps that was why this was so jarring.

I am the King in Yellow.

Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.

Odd should not be here for this.

But the claim made sense in a weird way. It did. John was too… similar. One could make jokes about being cut from the same cloth, but Odd could find the echoes of the King in John’s voice, his mannerisms, everything else. Though just how this could have happened…

No one told Odd to leave.

Arthur was still, so still. “No,” he said patiently, too patiently. “You’re John.”

I am, said John. But I am also the King in Yellow.

Arthur was too still. “Okay.”

That’s all you have to say? Okay? And John (King?) was too amused about this earth-shaking conversation.

“I’m not in the habit of feeding your bullshit,” said Arthur, who’d somehow gone even more still.

It all felt like something fragile on the edge of a knife—balanced, but for how long?

Arthur, John soothed, voice going to melted chocolate—and this time he must have triggered something, because Arthur’s face went pale, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“Don’t,” Arthur warned. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing, you’re not the King. You’re John.”

I remember Lilly, Arthur. She matters. She’s why I chose my name.

And the stillness shattered like ice in a pond. “Then why the fuck are you bringing it up, huh? It doesn’t matter!”

Silence, as if waiting for that pond’s ripples to still. If you lost your memory of life as a father and husband, would you be the same?

Arthur’s gasp was painful.

Odd should not be here. He swallowed, wanting to look between the two but only able to focus on Arthur, who hunched as if in pain.

“How could you say that?” the man whispered.

Because it’s true. I’m John. I’m your John. I haven’t lost anything—even if I am fucking embarrassed about how the last months have been, John added in a mutter.

Arthur laughed weakly and wiped his eyes. “You have been… a handful.”

A grunt.

“Fucking possessive. ”

Silence.

John’s hand was lightly tracing runes on the bed—nothing wild, ones Odd had seen used often for crowd control and other tense times. All they did was take the edge off wild emotions.

But Arthur didn’t know he was doing it.

Arthur, said John. We need to talk to Hastur. We can’t both… be here like this.

“We’ve managed for most of Faroe’s life,” Arthur quipped. 

Odd got up, moving silently to gesture at John’s hand and shake his head.

John’s eyes snapped up, following him; sharp, confused.

Trust him, he mouthed.

John’s eyelids flickered. Then he stopped.

Whew.

We can’t both be King. And if Sunny ever comes into himself, it will be three of us. It will be a disaster.

Arthur sighed and un-kidney-beaned. “I don’t think it’s going to be nearly as big a deal as you think.”

Oh, won’t it?

That question, that challenge, asked that way, made pain flit across Arthur’s face for some reason. “Yeah. You’re stuck in me, remember? There’s no threat to the power structure here,” he said a little bitterly.

I crushed the assassin.

Odd’s eyebrows shot upward.

Arthur’s eyes went wide, a strange contrast to John’s gaze through them (which was focused on Arthur’s hand). “What?” said Arthur, flexing his fingers. “But… how?”

Arthur believed him. That meant something.

I extended my essence from you. It’s why you passed out.

“Extended… John, what are you talking about?”

We need to talk to Hastur.

“John. Extended? Passed… I…”

You don’t remember much until Parker.

Arthur rubbed his jaw and winced. “No, but… you can’t do that.”

I did. And I made him suffer.

Arthur’s expression changed. This wasn’t his own hurt; this was concern. “John…”

He nearly killed you. He’s lucky I let him die.

Okay, now Arthur was edging toward afraid. “Maybe we should talk to Hastur.”

Odd knew he would regret saying anything. “I think that’s a good idea. Tensions were high, things… happened, a lot of things that people don’t really understand yet. He may have some insight.”

Arthur hunched. “Yeah. Confirmation, right?”

You’re wise, Odd. I see why he likes you, said John with loftiness bordering on condescending.

“Oh, quit it,” said Arthur, popping that kingly bubble at once. “I’m sorry. He’s going through a phase, apparently.”

A phase!

“Don’t we all?” Odd said, mildly, but at least it seemed Arthur wasn’t quite afraid anymore. “What a time to get your memories back, though.”

Arthur hesitated. “I really passed out?”

You… stopped.

“Stopped?”

John fell silent.

Arthur pursed his lips, thinking, then nodded. “So I scared you, is what you’re saying.”

I did not say that.

Arthur placed his right hand gently on his left. “I got scared after the poison. You stopped, then. I was fucking terrified, John. I thought I might have lost you.”

John took that in silence.

“Poison?” said Odd quietly.

“Someone tried to kill John.” Arthur pressed that left hand to his chest, over his heart. “Fucking almost managed.  We haven’t figured out who yet, either.”

So this was court intrigue, in the home of a Great Old One. Huh. Who knew it would feel absolutely shitty?

(But damn, would it make for good songs later.)

“Let’s go find him,” said Arthur, rising, swaying, sitting again. “Fuck.”

“Maybe a medic?” suggested Odd.

“No, we… we’ll just… some healing magic, maybe?” said Arthur.

John hesitated. I don’t feel comfortable casting magic through you right now. Not until we… are sure you weren’t harmed.

“Medic, then,” Arthur conceded.

“I’ll help you get there,” said Odd, and did, and left him there in the hands of conjured nurses, who fussed over Arthur as if he were their favorite chicken come home to roost.

#

Odd wandered off to find Hastur. 

Hastur was rarely around this time of night—usually a few more hours before he’d show up absolutely torn to hell and back—but who knew? The last couple of days had been a little unusual.

Carcosa didn’t really travel in the normal sense, as far as Odd could tell; when it was in-between places like this, one couldn’t just jump out a window and find themselves somewhere in the Dreamlands. It was mist out there, aggressively nothing; it wasn’t overly pleasant, and staying away from the far walls was a good plan in general.

But Carcosa wasn’t in-between now. It seemed they’d landed.

Out there, a stunning night silvered somewhere new. Hill country, evidently, which meant the Lake created open space where there had been none before. Twinkling lights far, far away indicated a city of some sort, though there was no way to be sure just what it was.

The stars gave some indication: they were far east, way further than Odd had ever followed the Path. The wilderness of Mhor was not kind to foot traffic. What were they doing out here?

He had a suspicion. Namely that this was far, far from anyone who might show up at the gates, begging for an audience, while Hastur tried to mitigate this calamity.

Odd didn’t bother sitting; he stood, proud and tall, tucked his violin under his chin, and he began to play.

The song that wept from his violin made his previous ones look like the first forays into music by a child. It arced and danced, it screamed the way Parker had when Sunny did not respond, it sobbed with Faroe’s grief; it reflected Arthur’s music, borrowed and transformed, threaded through with Arthur’s pain as his family fell apart, and his best friend’s suffered, and he feared for John.

Tears welled in Odd’s eyes, dripped down his cheeks as he played. And just as he had hoped, as he had gambled, he felt the King in Yellow’s presence. Closer than usual. In fact, allowing Odd to feel him directly. In fact—

“Why do you weep?” said that deep voice, which buzzed through the ground even when quiet.

Odd let his violin peak, crescendoing to a high, tremulous note—and then he cut it off, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s been a week, huh?”

What had to be a half-step for Hastur closer, but was more than the length of Odd’s body. “Yes. It has. Why do you weep?”

“Lots of things to weep about right now,” Odd said, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “My friends are hurting. Faroe is devastated—I can just tell she blames herself, because she’s ten and she doesn’t know any better. Arthur blames himself, because the assassin or whatever-the-fuck was sent after him. Parker thought Sunny was gone—though the last time I swung by to check on them, I heard them both talking. But that’s going to be a hurt that lingers.” He took a shuddering breath. “Where’d you take us?”

For a long moment, the only sound was breathing. “I don’t know why I hesitate,” Hastur mumbled as if to himself, then finally answered. “Far east, at the edge of the Hungry Sea.” He moved closer again—barely an inch this time, hardly noticeable.

Oh. That was very, very far. Odd nodded. “Pretty far from any potential enemies, then.”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean you’re going to take a few nights off from zipping away and fighting people?”

Hastur went dead still. It was funny, after seeing Arthur do the same thing; one had to wonder if they came to that response independently.

A beat. Only breathing.

“How do you know that?” Hastur said, low, and it wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it wasn’t super friendly, either. Wary. Tense.

Odd was very, very far from anyone that would find him, assuming there was a body left to find. “I’ve seen you come back some nights, torn to shit,” Odd said, voice even. “There have been rumors going around for a bit about you being on the warpath, but I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself. It can’t be directly related to Faroe, or Arthur; you wouldn’t be subtle about it if it was. You’re not just… conquering. Any number of people would have said that the places you went to had changed hands. And you’re very, very careful to be hidden while you do it. So.”

“So smart,” Hastur said as if to himself, barely audible, and he moved yet closer. Almost in reach now. “A keen observation. You are correct… and it seems you’re wise enough to keep this to yourself, as well, since no one has approached me.”

“What good would it do to blab?” Odd shrugged, helpless, but made no move to step away. “Arthur would be furious if he knew, I’m sure, but he’s got enough on his plate. Dis is brilliant, but this is almost certainly not under her purview. That would leave me tattling to Dagon, and while he’s a trusted member of your court, I don’t know him—either he’s already in the know, or he’s not, and those are decisions best left to you.” He took a breath. “Except for this one. This… What the fuck is going on?”

A beat. Only breathing.

“You leave me at odds with myself,” said Hastur, and the curling of the finer tips of his tentacles said he was serious and making a joke at once. “Do you have any idea how things would have gone for you in years past here?” Those tentacles rose, still not touching, but now—at some distance—on either side if Odd, not caging him in, no, but communicating that they could. “I suspect you do. One with your talent and intelligence—and evidently, ability to see through at least some of my wards—would know what it means, ordinarily, to approach a court such as mine.”

“I told you in our first conversation: I never, ever would have left this place,” Odd said, and his voice only trembled a little bit. His eyes darted, taking in the tentacles creeping around him, but he stood firm.  “In years past, I don’t know that I would have even survived my introduction to your court. I haven’t forgotten what it is you can do, Your Majesty. I know what a dangerous game I’m playing. But down there is a little girl—” He swallowed through the lump in his throat. “There is a very sad little girl that I want to make sure has her dad, because from the way you speak, it seems like you aren’t sold on this ‘restful sleep’ at the end of a few years business. It seems like you think you have no choice.”

Something changed.

Odd had no way to know just what, but something he’d said had hit home. The golden eyes behind that mask were wide, gleaming.

There were few times in life when the weight of someone else’s decision thickened the air like oncoming storm. This was one.

Odd took a deep breath. “I want to help you,” he said softly. “I could have fucked off. I could have written the Songweavers, I could have done a million other much smarter things than corner a Great Old One, throw secrets in his face, and demand answers. I have been thrown in the middle of this situation without a lifeline, without a gods-damned clue what the fuck is going on, but I have a feeling that no matter how we slice it, Faroe is going to get hurt. I want to protect her from that as best I can.” The rest came out in a shaky, horrible sigh. “Please.”

The god shuddered. That was a thing to see. “You wish to help her?” As if he needed it absolutely verified.

“The only thing I know for certain about this whole situation is that you love her,” Odd said softly. “And fuck, I barely know her, but I think I might love her too. She’s easy to love.”

“I do love her. Odd. Walk with me.” He slowly moved past Odd onto the balcony, which silently unfolded before them into neat, Odd-sized steps.

He followed, tucking his violin beneath one arm, aware of the sting of the cold air against the tear tracks on his cheeks. Beneath them the badlands of Mhor stretched, dizzying, silver.

If he was wrong… There were worse places to die.

Hastur had done something. No sounds from the city reached them now. Starlight made him void, a golden cloak and white mask floating in writhing darkness. “She needs all the support I can find for her,” Hastur said slowly. “A thing I am… inclined to reward well.” A volley, to see what Odd would say.

“I don’t give a shit about reward. I want her to be safe.” He eyed Hastur, a brief frown on his lips.

And that seemed to have cinched this decision. “Odd,” said Hastur in a calm, unremarkable tone, “in five years, I am going to die.”

Odd stopped walking.

For a long, long moment, he eyed the god beside him; his expression was neutral, though his eyes were sharp, calculating. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said, at last. “Gods like yourself… You don’t age, you don’t get sick. How do you know?”

Hastur seemed to be watching the stars. His mask was turned up, reflecting starlight. “Because the same Outer God which dropped you here as a joke has promised to kill me at that time.” He let a moment pass as if to let Odd parse that.

That information hit like Odd had been punched in the gut by a tentacle.

“My entire goal until that time is to ensure she is safe.” Hastur hardly needed to say who she was. “Along with… this strange family I seem to have gathered. She is a child, Odd. She will still be a child when I die. I must give to her a Dreamlands that will not seek to end her life, but will vie for her favor. I must.” He finally turned to Odd. “How do the humans say it? I’m… not my own man at the moment.” His chuckle was dark, and bitter.

“You really are dying,” Odd said, almost a whisper. “That’s why you’re leaving at night, and not telling anyone. You’re dealing with other powers you don’t have direct alliances with yet.”

“Yes. They will ally, or they will die. I will not leave her a trail of enemies—or opportunists.” Hastur bent lower, mask near. “And I do not tell my strange little family. Nor will you. They would grieve; they would fight against it, uselessly hurling themselves against that which cannot be stopped. I rather they are prepared, as best I can make them, so they may stand safe and strong when I am gone.”

Odd took a shuddery breath. “That’s why you keep mentioning that you don’t have time. And the way you spoke, on Faroe’s birthday.” He ran a hand over his face, up into his hair where it passed over the nubs of his shed antlers; he took a brief grip of his main antlers, the prong still sensitive after the shed. “When are you going to tell them?”

“At the end. I will give them time to yell, demand, blame, weep.” He sounded sad, but amused, like he expected nothing but the wildest drama. “But not enough time to damage themselves, or attempt anything that could garner his attention.” One tentacle neared Odd, then pulled back. “I tell you this in confidence. I tell you this because she will need support. Help. Friends.”

“That’s going to be a disaster. They’re…” He let out a shuddering breath. “There’s no good way to handle any of this. You’re going to die. Fuck.”

“There is no mitigation,” he said quietly. “And I dare not try too hard, lest he turn his attention to them instead.” His voice tightened. “Every moment I have with them is… become something beyond price or value. Perhaps this is why I have spared you—and yes, that is the right word. You know how it would have gone. But I never before appreciated… helplessness. And the terror of oncoming doom.”

Odd couldn't handle this. He turned away, looking instead toward the expanse of Mhor below. “So… what can we do, then?” He said at last, the tears welling up again.

Hastur’s sigh was deep. “I don’t know. I’m doing what I can, without inviting opportunistic attacks. Beyond that, I don’t know.” A smile touched his voice. “Does that frighten you? To hear one of my stature saying such things, admitting such things.”

“It makes me feel a lot of things,” Odd said thickly. “You… I spent most of my life scared of you, and others like you, but mostly just you. And you’re going to die.” He took another shuddering breath. “Fuck me sideways, that Outer God has a sick sense of humor. Another finger curls on the monkey’s paw, and—” He let out a bark of a laugh. “And I am focusing on myself, because I’m upset, and I’m not even important here. We have to figure out a way to keep Faroe safe in five years.”

“I have a way,” said Hastur, who, whatever else he was, definitely still was arrogant. “I am inviting you to join it.” Yet he’d already showed himself adjustable. Perhaps the arrogance was… not as concrete as it might have been. 

“Sure. Talk to me. I’m already in this far, may as well say I do, right?”

Was that relief? Odd had been watching this strange body language for a while now. That was relief. 

“My plan has several steps,” Hastur said, turning fully toward Odd now, as though the act of telling him was more interesting and more exciting than all the stars and all the arid beauty of these wastes. “She will be too young when I go; fifteen, with all of Carcosa on her shoulders? No. There must be a buffer, and that is where John and Arthur come in.”

“John’s not your offspring,” Odd said. “He has your memories. What is he?”

“A rare thing called a Forgotten One. He is a piece of me, unwillingly torn away.” A pause. “So is Sunny.”

Holy shit.

“Okay,” Odd said, soft. “That… makes sense. I know about Forgotten Ones. It tracks for Sunny.” His brow furrowed. “But John… You’ve claimed John as your offspring, not as a fragment. And he seems far too independent to be a true Forgotten One.”

“He is. He’s been with Arthur Lester for over a decade. He’s grown. Quite frankly, he’s doing things Forgotten Ones are not supposed to be able to do, but then, Arthur himself is something of an odd specimen, too.” Hastur must not have told anyone this. He was lower now, mask almost on Odd’s eye-level, tentacle-tips twisting. “I have announced him as offspring so he has a claim to step up—with Arthur—and fill the gap until Faroe is old enough to take her place. Parker and Sunny… were not in my original plan, but my hope is their brand of wisdom and their camaraderie will give the kind of aid John’s prickliness tends to evaporate.” He couldn’t seem to help himself. “Even the transformation of Carcosa is part of this. Soon, I will change it back to welcoming for all, and it will be clearly at her request, earning her favor among merchants and travelers that will not be quickly forgotten.”

“You really have changed,” Odd said, very quietly. “All of this, for them. For her. John must have split off… what, more than twenty years ago now? And since you adopted her… you changed.” Absurdly a small, helpless laugh bubbled from him, even as he sniffled and wiped at the tears that dripped down his cheeks. “It would be just my luck, I suppose.”

“I…” It figured a being wired like this might not realize he’d changed, or how much. “I… for her, I would change.” Hastur considered. “For her, I suppose I have. Arthur experienced both sides. I’m afraid I wasn’t very kind to him in the beginning.” And that felt like an understatement. “What would be your luck? You weep again.” And again, one tentacle came near as if to catch those tears, then pulled away.

“Vulgtmog was watching the situation with Arthur closely, you know? We know how he was treated. I was… gods, I was just coming into my adulthood then, going out on my own for real. And even through all that, he forgave you—and that man is keen. He wouldn't have forgiven you if he didn’t believe it.” 

The god… colored. It pulsed in waves, undulating; and even in the starlight, it seemed to be kind of purple. “I was not subtle in what I did to him,” he said quietly. “Perhaps only one like Arthur could forgive John and… myself.”

“Maybe. He’s something, alright; I’d be half-convinced he was mad if not for the fact he’d probably be enjoying himself much more.” Odd let out a choked sob, scrubbing at his eyes with his hand. “Poor bastard. He’s never going to forgive you, after. He’s going to think he could have done something. And you’re going through all this effort, just to never—” He stopped, choked silent by tears.

“He may,” said Hastur quietly. “But he will be alive to do so—and our daughter will be safe.”

Odd’s chest shuddered with the effort to keep calm; he tilted his head back, toward the stars. “Fuck me. I spent over twenty years running from the sight of gods, and then as a joke I am dropped in the lap of one that maybe, after all this time, would be worth worshiping; and you’re dying.” His voice broke—into a laugh, into a sob. “What a cruel fucking joke.”

Hastur pulled back. Not up; he seemed determined to stay at eye-level now, so the impression was almost like a train backing away. “You…” He stopped. “You… what did you say?”

“Just feeling rather sorry for myself, Your Majesty.” Odd said; abruptly he sat on the edge of the magical walkway, tail curling around himself, violin in his lap as he buried his face in his hands. “The irony is getting to me, is all. Find a god who’s worth it, and whoops, he’s marked for death. Don’t even get to enjoy thinking about—about worship or any of that before it’s just—” He made a gesture, like skipping a stone across a lake. “Gone! Don’t know why I thought it would be different. Been like that since I was born, you know, at least some things stay consistent.”

“You would…” The ancient, terrifying Lord of Interstellar Spaces seemed to have forgotten how to speak. “You…”

“Explains why you didn’t do anything. You didn’t want to leave me feeling shitty when it all happened; I get it.” Odd let out a sob. “Carcosa was always meant to be my last stop, because I just… I knew that once I got here, I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t want to. And as it turns out, maybe you would’ve been worth it all along, and I could have been—” His voice cracked and at last Odd decided that words would no longer do. Instead, he set his head on his arms and cried.

Another flash of purple over that dark hide, almost like some sea creature. Hastur reached. Hesitated. Considered. And then said a thing he might never have said in his long and selfish life: “May I touch you?”

Words were definitely hard right now. Odd nodded, head in his hands.

It was the gentlest touch. Stroking his hair first, then raising his chin. Hastur had produced a handkerchief. It was as gaudily gold as anything he’d ever made, and delicately, he dabbed at Odd’s face.

It wasn’t funny, really. “Are you still willing to help my daughter?” said Hastur.

“Of course I am,” Odd said, snotty and teary and feeling like absolute shit. “I’d decided already. Just… The irony isn’t lost on me, is all.”

The touch—warm through silk—lingered. Slowly tending. “You could still come to me. If you wished.”

His brow furrowed. “I thought… but you said no.”

“I said no to simply taking you. Melting your mind to make you worship me. I will not do that to you, Odd. Ever.”

Odd sniffled. “Reassuring. That meant a lot. I appreciate it,” he said, trembling. “But I don’t know what this means. I don’t know what it is you’re asking of me. If it was before, I could make a pretty compelling guess, but now…” His voice cracked. “You’re dying.”

“Nothing can stop that now,” Hastur said softly. “But I could still give you such good things until all is said and done.”

“Good things, huh?” Odd cracked a fragile smile. “It’s not going to make it so you can stay, or ensure I help out. You don’t… have to. I’ve committed, for Faroe if no one else.” He shuddered. “Gods, this hurts. But if it will make you happy, why not? What do either of us have to lose?”

Hastur tilted Odd’s face toward him. “Will you let me make you happy?” 

Which was an incredibly vague question, all things considered.

And all things considered, Odd was all-in. “Who am I to say no to you, my King?” he said, smiling.

#

“I don’t care what time it is,” Arthur snapped again. “We’re seeing him now. This is a whole new development.”

We should wait until breakfast! John said again. This is ridiculous! It’s three in the morning!

“I don’t care,” said Arthur again, and pushed open the enormous throne room doors.

Music slid over him like warm oil, and he inhaled.

Hastur sat on his throne. It wasn’t time for Court; he wasn’t performing for anyone, but draped there like a cloak, tentacles largely limp, except for the tips which moved in time to—

Odd, who sat on a stone ledge right by the throne, making music.

The bard smiled as he looked up, his fingers working on his lute in a rolling melody that flexed and sighed. “My King,” he said, nudging one tentacle with his foot; he did not stop playing.

Hastur seemed to stir as if from deep meditation. “My own,” he said, and held out one enormous hand. “Come to me.”

Arthur stood there. 

He’s holding out his hand.

“Is he okay?” whispered Arthur. “He sounds weird.”

Fucking… how should I know? Yes!

Hastur chuckled, low. “Come.”

“Okay,” said Arthur, slowly approaching. “Why?”

“Because I wish to have you near me,” said the King.

Arthur exhaled slowly. “We need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course, my own.” And Hastur paused. Looked over at Odd.

It was a distinctly… considering look.

Hastur, said John, his gold fuming, his voice rising. I am the Ki–

Hastur grabbed them, and Arthur yipped.

“Hey,” Odd said, and promptly whacked one of Hastur’s tentacles with his tail. “You know he doesn’t like being grabbed. Be nice.”

“Ah, true,” said Hastur. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur stared in his direction. “Did you hit your head, or something?”

Hastur chuckled again.

I… hey! I wasn’t…

Hastur put them down.

I am the King in Yellow! John blurted out with significantly less drama than he’d planned.

“Yes, you are,” Hastur agreed, which deflated whatever was left.

“Would it be best if I leave?” Odd stretched out a bit, toes flexing in his boots.

“Not at all,” said Hastur.

“John remembers,” said Arthur. “Everything.”

Hastur stilled. “Everything?”

From before. Everything. All. Of. It.

Hastur picked them up again, but this time to bring them close and study. 

Arthur didn’t wriggle this time. “Is he okay? He said something happened.”

I murdered the assassin, growled John, and I did it too quickly.

“John,” said Hastur slowly. “Exactly what did you do?”

A good question, really. I…I reached.

Hastur waved his enormous hand just beside Arthur, almost like brushing away cobwebs.

Arthur shuddered, inhaled.

[“He’s all right,” said Hastur slowly, “but you are very lucky. He didn’t tear. John… you grew.”]

John huffed. [I have been. It’s nothing new.]

[“This is.”]

“Excuse me,” Arthur said tartly.

“It’s personal, between the two of them,” Odd said, hushed. “About John. I’m sure he’ll fill you in after.”

You’d have known if I’d hurt him! You’d have felt it! John blared, and fear made his voice slightly higher.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “I don’t understand what I’m seeing, though. Don’t do that again until we know, John. You’ve stretched him.”

A pause.

“He what?” said Arthur.

What the fuck does that mean? said John.

“When I know, I’ll tell you,” said Hastur, and put them down with a sigh. “It’s always something with you two,” he added, and his tone was fond.

Arthur smoothed his robe down. “So. That was less upsetting than I feared.”

But… but I… I am the King in Yellow! John said.

“You always were,” said Hastur.

John didn’t seem to like that. When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem so momentous.

“Oh, it is momentous,” said Hastur. “So is this: Odd, for your first city-wide performance, do you want help? Or would you like to charm my people in their entirety all on your own?”

Arthur blinked. “Performance?”

“Odd is particularly talented,” rumbled Hastur, “and our city needs… help after the events of the last few days. If he performs, spirits will lift. This is guaranteed.”

“So it’s not on me,” said Arthur with clear relief, then caught himself. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Hastur and I have been talking. You’re shouldering a lot already, Arthur; it’s about time you had someone who could help, at least in this regard.” Odd smiled, warm, leaning back against the tentacle that rested behind him. “I think it depends on how grand a spectacle we want it to be. I can certainly perform myself, though we’d likely need some magical enhancements for my voice and instrument; not to say I wouldn’t enjoy a backdrop of accompaniment, but I’m more than capable of handling it alone.” He paused, tail flicking. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You shall have the greatest stage,” said Hastur like melted chocolate. “The best equipment. All will love you when they see you.”

Arthur, he’s leaning into him.

“Of course, that’s a given,” Odd laughed, low. “Hey. Will you give Arthur the day off? He and Parker might enjoy walking around the city, enjoying the rest of the festival. With protection, obviously, though I think John might be able to handle it.”

Arthur blinked.

Hastur hesitated. He looked at Odd. So gently, he touched Odd’s cheek. “That is wise advice.” It wasn’t agreement, but it also wasn’t a shut down.

“I… I haven’t done… anything like that since John,” said Arthur very quietly, and that swung the jury.

“Then it shall be so,” said Hastur. “And then…” He stopped.

“What?” said Arthur. “Then what?”

Hastur looked at Odd again. “We’ll see if there are to be more celebrations after. Go rest, both of you. It has been a trying week.”

Arthur, he’s—

“Thank you,” said Arthur softly. “Can we take Faroe into the city?”

“Not as she is,” said Hastur. “Disguise would be necessary. Let’s temporarily table that.”

“Temporarily,” said Arthur firmly. “She needs to see things outside of this place.”

“Of course, my own,” said Hastur. “Off you go.”

Thought he’d be more upset, John grumbled as they left.

“Don’t you think we’re really damn lucky he wasn’t?” said Arthur, and the doors closed.

Hastur looked at Odd again. “The evening has left me drunk.”

It didn't sound licentious. It sounded… pensive.

Odd strummed his lute, picking a song back up. “Good drunk? Emotional relief drunk?”

“Drunk enough to consider something perhaps… extreme. But then, you like extreme things, don’t you, Odd?” said Hastur.

“With consent and discussion, yes,” Odd said, tail flicking. “And with someone who is sober.”

Hastur couldn’t smile, per se. He managed anyway, a full-body thing. “Good. When I am sober, let us discuss your marking.”

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Hello! Could I request scenario number 3 and dialogue 5 fluff with Sabo as a character?

So I didn't want to make her a marine like I did with my Killer fic, I couldn't come up with a way to write her as a celestial dragon, but then I got this, so I hope you like it!

Warnings: Demon!Sabo, Fallen Angel/Demon!Reader, removal of wings, Fem!Reader (sorry, I wrote it before I thought about making it gender neutral)

Word Count: 1400

     It wasn’t supposed to be like this, these kinds of things weren’t supposed to happen to your kind. This was the kind of thing that was supposed to happen to him, to his kind. And it happened by their hand, no less. Not him, not them, but your own. How could they be so cruel? This… they… weren’t supposed to be like this. Angels were supposed to be merciful! Yet falling to the ground for probably the 5th time in the last hour, you were starting to realize that everything you’d once thought true might be a lie. Stumbling forward, your vision blurred, trying to make out buildings as you forced yourself ever forward. He had a home around here somewhere, an apartment in the mortal realm. You couldn’t go back, not after what they’d done, you couldn’t just go to his realm, you’d be torn apart. But you needed help, you needed someone to turn to. Honestly, you weren’t sure you had the right building, the right number, the golden digits all seemed to blur together. Add to that, the fact that you weren’t even sure if this was the right place, and you almost found yourself praying that this was the right place. But praying wouldn’t do you any good, not after what had happened to you. Praying would just help them find you, it would just bring them down upon you once more. Leaning against the door, you pounded a bloody fist against the wood. The moment the door opened, you almost fell, if not for the arms that soon made their way under you, holding you up. Looking up, you gave a weak smile when you spotted the familiar blond hair and scar. 

     “Nowhere else… can’t trust… please… help.” you muttered before losing consciousness.

     Sabo had seen a lot of things from his time in hell, he’d seen a lot from his time in the mortal realm. But this was something new. He knew you, you were an angel that regularly fought against him, one of the few people who could actually keep up with him. An intriguing angel that had caught his eye. Your beauty was nothing that surprised him, you were an angel, that was a given. What interested him was your willingness to bend the rules, your admittance that heaven and angels were flawed. Picking you up, he carried you inside, laying you down on the bed he kept. He didn’t need it, but from time to time, he enjoyed what the humans referred to as a ‘nap’. Looking you over, he winced. You were covered in injuries. Deep cuts and bruises, burn marks and jagged gashes. Yet none of it compared to the real horrors, your wings, once a beautiful brilliant blue, now torn asunder, bloody remnants barely hanging onto your back. Closing his eyes, he gently took what remained of one of your wings, cutting through the last couple of inches, pulling it away from your body before doing the same with the other. He hated doing it, but they’d never heal, you’d never be able to fly with them again, they would only bring you pain. Gently stroking some of the vibrant blue feathers, he sighed sadly. How many times had he complimented your wings while fighting? He’d considered them one of your most beautiful features. Slowly, he removed as many of the undamaged feathers as possible before setting the remains of the wings alight, burning until there was nothing but ash.

     It was days before you finally awoke, wrapped in bandages and aching all over. You’d never experienced this kind of pain before.

     “Hey, it’s good to finally see you’re awake. You uh, look like you’re in pain. I… would you like me to help?” Sabo asked, giving you a small, sympathetic smile.

     “What’s the cost? You’re a demon, right? There’s always a cost with your kind.” you said bitterly, looking away. Sabo sighed, walking over to you and sitting on the bed next to you.

     “No cost, or uh, nothing too bad. It’ll delay the healing process a bit, but you won’t feel any pain.” he offered, surprising you.

     “I… yeah, I’d like that… thanks.” you said, watching as a red glow emanated from his hands, the pain slowly fading away.

     “So you wanna tell me what happened or not ready to talk about it?” he asked once he’d numbed the pain, making you sigh.

     “You took me in and helped me. Whether or not I’m ready, you deserve to know.” you muttered, playing with the blanket that had covered you just a moment ago.

     “Hey, if you’re not ready, I can wait. No rush. Whatever happened was bad, bad enough that you came to me. If you need time, take it.” he offered. Shaking your head, you sighed.

     “No, it’s… best if I tell you now… you were right, you know. About the problems with heaven, about the other angels.” you said, surprising him. He’d honestly never expected to hear those words out of your mouth, “I don’t even know why they did it. They didn’t say anything. They just… they just tied me down and…” tears started to stream down your cheeks as your hands shook. 

     “Stop, you don’t need to continue. You can tell me later.” he said as he held you. You just nodded, holding him back. 

     Months passed before you told him what happened, the young man looking at you sympathetically. He’d told you about how he’d had to remove your wings, showing you the remaining few feathers that he’d carefully stitched into a miniature pair of wings for you. Sitting on the couch, you sighed, gently running your fingers over the soft blue feathers. Even though it reminded you of what you’d lost, it calmed you, let you think. 

     “Hey, can I ask you one thing?” Sabo asked, looking over at you, making you look up at him. 

     “You took me in, patched me up, and have let me stay, you can ask whatever you want.” you said with a chuckle, making Sabo chuckle as well.

     “Don’t worry, I won’t abuse this privilege.” he teased, “I was just wondering, why come to me? I get you couldn’t go back to heaven, but why not, I don’t know, find another fallen angel or an open-minded human? Why come to a demon? Why come to the demon you always fight against?” he asked, making you sigh.

     “Because you’re not a bad guy. I’ve fought you enough, known you for long enough to know that you’re a pretty good person…. Besides… I… I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try not to. Even before… all this, you… you were often on my mind.” you said, giving him a tentative smile. Sabo smiled back, sitting next to you on the couch. 

     “I… I can’t give you your wings, can’t give you these wings back.” Sabo said, running his fingers over the delicate feathers, “but I can give you a way to strike back at the ones who took them from you, give you a chance to fight again, and a chance to fly again.” he offered. You smiled, gently running a thumb over the feathers. Getting up, you grabbed a lighter, taking a deep breath before holding it to the blue feathers, letting them burn. It was the last ties you had to your old self, to what you used to be. Sabo wrapped his arms around you from behind, comforting you as you both watched the miniature wings burn. 

     “You know, I fell in love with you a long time ago.” Sabo whispered, turning your head to face him. You couldn’t help but smile, reaching one hand up to caress his cheek as his lips pressed against yours. Large, blue, leathery wings wrapped around the two of you, encasing the both of you as you kissed. Pulling back, his wings pulled away, revealing a new pair of wings sprouting from your back. Just as blue as your old ones, yet these weren’t covered in the feathers of your old ones, they were like his. 

     “Fight by my side? Against the injustices of heaven?” he asked, one hand under your chin.

     “Gladly.” you said before pulling him in for another kiss. Perhaps they’d never truly been ‘your kind’. Maybe you’d always been more like him, more like ‘his kind’ than you’d previously thought.

[manawari]

Revenge of the Death Hunter | Solo-Leveling Regression AU

@julyarya

It was a D-Rank Dungeon. What was the worst that could happen? He faced worse than a low-rank dungeon in his past life anyways.

This life, on the other hand. . . Was a complete hell. All the other hunters, even those who were older than him, fought and killed the rampaging monsters as though they were just pieces of cake. Him, well, had found himself sitting on the ground while Ju-hee was healing his injured knee. And he was the only one in the entire group who got aided by a healer!

Ju-hee had never been so worried. "Jin-woo, why are you so set on being a hunter? Keep on fighting like this and you'll get yourself into big trouble one of these days!" She exclaimed.

He sighed. Moving around with this body was hard and he hadn't been able to adjust well. So, all he could do was apologize. "I'm sorry. . ."

"I'm not saying this because I want an apology. I'm just worried!"

Jin-woo felt his heart clench. Not only did he feel bad for Ju-hee, who had to run in the middle of battle just to serve aid, he also felt bad for himself — it was as though his experiences being the strongest hunter had faded into an illusion. He must remind himself that his life right now was different.

"Jin-woo, by any chance, is there a reason why you can't quit being a hunter?" Ju-hee asked him.

He let out a chuckle. "I'm doing this hunter stuff as a hobby. I'd probably die of boredom if it wasn't for this."

"Stick with this hobby of yours and you'll be doing raids in the afterlife." The ginger glared at him.

"Pfft—" Jin-woo suddenly found himself restraining his laugh. Unfortunately, it was too late before he could even hold it. "Bwahahaha!"

Her glare hardened. "Stop laughing! Your wounds will open up!"

Jin-woo laughed even more.

A few moments later, Song Chi-yul began to distribute essence stones in each member of the group. A single stone like a C-Rank could worth over a very high amount of money. In his past life, Jin-woo was able to provide tons of Won for his family and had gotten to send Jin-ah to one of the country's best universities.

But as an E-Rank, he was far from having the strength to fight a C-Rank beast. Thus, he received an E-Rank essence stone, which would worth not as much money he anticipated, despite how he had put his life on the line since the raid started.

Ashborn, how could you make me feel so worthless. . .

"—take a look at this! There's another entrance over here!" A guy shouted.

Everyone quickly gathered to the directed spot where a tunnel was shown, presenting deep and thick darkness in the inside. Chi-yul approached the entrance and leaned his arm against the frame.

"A double dungeon. . . So things like this really do exist." He said. The hunter extended out his palm to ignite flames within thin air and gathered them into a ball before tossing it through the heavy shadows of the cave; it sprinted into the distance until it landed into a certain area of the tunnel.

"Hmm. . ." The man pondered. "Everyone, listen up for a second. The gate doesn't close unless we defeat the dungeon's 'boss'. Seeing as how the gate's still up, it looks like there must be a boss inside of that dungeon." He explained. "Usually, we have to report this to the association first and wait for them to make a decision, but other hunters might get their hands on the boss before us — which means our profits will drastically decrease."

That couldn't be right. . . Jin-woo thought. Situations like this must be reported to the association and have the hunters deal with the boss, so nobody else would have to bite the bullet. It would be way too dangerous for the entire group.

"So I say, we go ahead and deal with the boss ourselves. . . Though it could be dangerous, so how about if all seventeen of us here vote on it?" Chi-yul suggested. "And when the decision has been made, you won't be allowed to say otherwise."

Some began to volunteer and others were not going to participate in the plan. Ju-hee was one of them. So that ended up being eight votes in both sides. Which only left to—

"How about you, Sung?"

Everyone looked at him expectantly.

"Uh. . . " Which side should he pick? Jin-woo pressed his lips in a thin line and clutched on his essence stone. He must never run out of courage. "I'm going too!"

And so, the decision had been made. Everyone must go into the tunnel. As it turned out, the trek was long and it had been past forty minutes ever since they had entered the cave. Jin-woo walked alongside Ju-hee whilst Chi-yul was ahead of the group, living up to his role as the party leader, but when Jin-woo looked at the ginger next to him. . . She was awfully quiet.

"Hey. . . I'm sorry." Jin-woo apologized. "You were forced to come here because I voted to go in the dungeon."

"I'm okay. Don't worry about me." Came an impassive reply.

"Are you sure?" Jin-woo asked.

"To be honest. . . " Ju-hee's tone changed. Her eyes looked as though she had set them on fire. "I'm totally not okay!" She yelled at him. "Are you out of your mind?! If you've been stabbed a little higher, you would've had a gaping hole in your heart! The same goes for your arms and legs. . . "

Ju-hee got into a rant. Jin-woo had lost track of her words because of her aggravation and had no choice but to allow her to calm down by herself. Then again, seeing Ju-hee being this mad was incredibly new — sure, he had seen her become angry in his past life, but it never reached to this level.

"Answer me!"

Jin-woo spoke the first reply in his head. "I'm sorry."

"Are you actually sorry?!"

"Yes. . . "

Miraculously, Ju-hee calmed down. She tucked her hands to her back and took a few steps ahead of him. "If you feed bad. . . How about treating me to a meal sometime?"

Jin-woo paused his steps. "Wait, really?"

"What? You don't want to eat with me?" Ju-hee shot him a sharp look.

"That's not it! Why would I not want to—"

"This is it! The boss' lair!!"

Jin-woo looked up and saw two gigantic doors that stood beyond them. Not once in his past life he had seen this such a thing. . . A double-door inside of a D-Rank Dungeon? That sounded absurd to believe. Part of him thought he should tell Chi-yul to call the hunters' association to deal with the matter.

An odd feeling pinched his stomach.

However, the party leader seemed intrigue with the doors. Chi-yul made his way closer to touch the dark blue door, tracing his thumb over the scratched marks on the material.

"I feel like this place is dangerous. . . " remarked Sangshik.

"Are you all going to head back empty-handed after coming all this way?" Chi-yul said. He began to push it open. "We could be the first ones to discover this new dungeon, so. . . Those who want to leave can head back. I'm going in, even if it means going alone."

Regardless of how he was feeling in this situation, Jin-woo found himself admiring the C-Rank Hunter.

" . . . On top of that, he's an aggressive hunter who ranks pretty high within C-Rank." A guy behind him spoke.

"Yeah, if he wasn't over sixty years old, he could've been in one of those big guilds." Another nodded. "We trusted Song enough to come here, so let's stick it out until the end."

These people are certainly bold. Jin-woo thought, though they reminded him of those hunters who were seeking out to the president of the guild with a complete trust with whatever decision that was made.

"What are you smiling about, Jin-woo?" Ju-hee asked.

"Hm? Oh, it's nothing." Jin-woo shook his head at her with a cheeky grin.

A rumble quivered the air. Chi-yul had somehow managed to open the doors easily. Then, torches lit up throughout the place. A few gasps arose as everyone looked around the dungeon. . . Statues — big and tall — occupied the tremendous space. There were two on each side of the group and the rest all sat on thrones, holding various objects such as instruments, and each did not wear the same appearance. Some looked like knights and some looked like deities from mythological books.

Jin-woo couldn't help, but become awed by the statues. Could this be a temple? He had not seen a dungeon like this before. What a peculiar sight to behold in a gate.

And there was another statue that caught his attention. This statue was more massive than the rest, hence the reason why this one was positioned at the center, as if it was the superior amongst all statues. It also had a complex crown on top of the head.

When he finally turned his head away, he saw Chi-yul and a few other hunters approaching another spot in the temple. It was a circle, with five symbols connected to one another that was surrounding the middle. Jin-woo squinted his eyes in wonder — what is this place?

"Song! There's something written over here! I think you should take a look at this!"

Another sculpture stood before them. But this time, the statue had a pair of wings and wore a large, hooded cloak with an enormous tablet in its hands.

"Is this. . . A runic inscription?"

"Hmm, let's see. . . " Chi-yul read the scriptures engraved on the stone. "Commandments of the Cartenon Temple."

Shivers ran down Jin-woo's spine.

"One — thou shall worship God. Two — thou shall praise God. . . "

"H— hey, Jin-woo?" Ju-hee tugged on his sleeve. Jin-woo turned his gaze to her and the healer pointed her finger across the temple. "Over. . . Over there. . . T— that huge statue. . . Its pupils were moving— it was looking at us. . . "

Jin-woo raised a skeptical brow. "What? No way. You must be mistaken."

"But I saw it with my own eyes!"

"Ju-hee, it's just—" Jin-woo stopped. A strong wave clawed throughout his veins. He noticed how everything had gotten so quiet. . . Too quiet that was unnerving enough to not let one's guard down.

Something was definitely wrong here.

"Those who fail to obey these commandments—"

"Shall not be spared."

*SLAM*

The doors were closed.

Dread wafted in the atmosphere. Jin-woo tucked Ju-hee close to him as the healer was in the verge of panic and had clutched harder onto his sleeve.

"Damn it! I'm at the end of my rope." A man growled. "I've tried to be patient, but this nonsense is the final straw! We should've never come to this godforsaken dungeon in the first place!" He began to stalk away from the group. "I'm leaving. Take all the bosses and treasures for yourselves. I don't give a damn!"

Suddenly, Song Chi-yul yelled after the man. "Stop!! Don't touch the door handle!"

A crackle snapped into the air and before anyone else could blink, something rapid rushed through the space and blood spurted across the door.

A statue held a sharp weapon at the decapitated hunter against the door. It moved again and propped its bloodied weapon on the ground as if nothing had happened. However, everyone began to panic. Jin-woo, on the other hand, froze in vast shock at what he just witnessed.

Lee Ju-hee was right. She wasn't seeing things due to her fear. So if the pupils were moving, then. . .

Jin-woo turned his head to the statue behind him and there, the iris glowed in bright yellow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

prologue

< prev | next >

[itismissswann]

@mvrtogg || continued from here

Murtogg was more than relieved to be away from the drunken brothel brawl he had successfully gotten Miss Swann away from. His hand was hurting but he was unaware that the drunken fool had stabbed at him with a small knife. He didn’t see it in the darkness, but what could he do about it now? Nothing, not that he was aware of it anyway. He didn’t know he was even in pain due to the adrenaline he was feeling.

As the pair finally made it to the Governor’s Mansion, he looked to Elizabeth with a small smile. “Are y'alight, Miss Swann?” he said, but before she answered, the change in her tone and proclamation of him bleeding gotten his attention.“Wot —.” he began, looking down to see the blood coming from his white shirt and. He wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t said anything. His redcoat hid the wound fairly well, but she was far to vigilant to not see it.

When she went to lift his shirt, he was slightly embarrassed but now the pain had finally hit him. “Oh hell.” he muttered in confusion, before looking with a lost like expression down at her. The exposed parts of skin she did manage to free, were pale and his head gotten a bit lightheaded. He felt like he was going to faint. He never fainted before, his surroundings went a bit blurry as he managed to see Governor Swann before him. He heard Miss Swann’s concerned voice and pleads but couldn’t make anything outh.

As they managed to get Murtogg into a room and on a bed, his uniform was half off ( well the tops parts ). He still felt like he was going to faint but he fought it the best he could. He felt the pressure and the pain from her hands. He looked up at her, breathing fairly heavy and wincing in pain. “I’ll be alright, Miss Swann.” he managed to say, hand going to her cheek before yelling out in pain. When the professional had came, that’s when Murtogg had blacked out.

He didn’t know how long he was out for, but when he woke up he was alone in the same room. His side hurt and he was shirtless. He was also bandaged up very well. He tried to sit up, but it hurt too bad to do anything. Murtogg froze for a minute, “‘Ello? Is anyone here?!” he called into the emptiness of the mansion.

Murtogg’s skin went ashen and he stumbled forward, Weatherby Swann and Mr. Jones, the butler, grabbing for his arms as he tried to keep his balance. He suddenly took on a pale look, as if he'd been painted with white-wash - even his lips were barely there. She could hardly comprehend why he was trying to comfort her, telling her he would be alright even though he barely managed to utter those words. Her gaze clouded with confusion while she marveled at how selfless he still managed to be.  The moment he lay down on the bed, he crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings. Panic swelled within her, growing stronger into the evening as her mental faculties gave way to emotions. She wanted to jump right out of her skin and join the ether. She felt like a child again, shaking, terrified. The constricted feelings grew, as if she was strangled by just the air about her. That's when she needed to hear some comforting words, words that would inform her everything would turn out fine. The doctor had arrived and worked its magic, stitching the wound and bandaging it properly. He promised he would return the following day to check on him and her father gave his words to keep him in his care until his wounds were healed. The butler escorted the doctor towards the door while her father turned around to face her. Elizabeth found herself on the receiving end of several scolding lectures; her concerned father advised her that she needed to be more responsible. Normally, she would have returned his lecture with substantiated arguments, but this time she endured in silence. Her father was right. She wished she had never left the manor. If she had been more sensible, Mr. Murtogg’s injury would never have happened; but it was no use saying that now.  Elizabeth awoke to the steady patter of rain upon her window, droplets yet to scatter the nascent rays of rising sun. It was still early, so she hurriedly descended the stairs to his chambers, knowing she wouldn’t get caught sneaking in. After closing the door silently, she leaned against it, keeping a significant distance between them. Their eyes met and she was unable to fight back the relieved smile that was curling her lips. “You’re awake, thank god.” Elizabeth spoke in a whisper and fiddled with the necklace that hung around her neck. After a short silence she questioned; “Can I get you anything? ... Mrs Wilson makes the most excellent tea.” The quiver in her voice exposing her concern and guilt.

[court-jobi]

Love found the Captain

Pairing: Captain Rex x Sawyer (Human!Slicer OC)

Words: 821

Ratings: Teen/Up Audience

Warnings: none

A/N: Love found Captain Rex, and it had no intention of leaving-- even the heart of a soldier like him deserves something to melt him. Slicer Sawyer Lyubava is cunning, and charming, and clearly caf-addicted, but no less loyal than her darling Captain deserves. She has plenty secrets of her own; but her feelings towards her hero in blue-painted armor is not one she hides easily.

Enjoy a taste of what's to come in Rex: Heart of a Soldier, coming soon to an A03 near you...

Summary:   Sawyer is spitfire in a cool, calm, collected shell... but whose patience only lasts for so long. If there's one thing she will not stand for, it's these cruel, stuffy politician types who don't respect the Clones or the Army they serve together. It's not just a sticking point for her sense of Clone activism, but also a point of contention between her and the Captain she's been helplessly pining for-- a matter that's not unreciprocated. This is the life he's used to and doesn't see another way for himself... but there may be one he hasn't thought of yet. If he'd only be honest about that warm feeling in his chest, and take the win that's offered to him-- in the form of the 501st's resident darling slicer who's laying her heart on the line.

Read on AO3

The Captain's love came in hot, no other words fit for that satisfying sensation that warmed his blood. It was not the same as the fire in his chest after a hard-fought advancement, or the swelling pride he'd feel after winning a wrestling match to burn off steam… but it was the invisible rush of soothing heat that sank into his muscles as she laughed deep in her chest at something that struck her funny. He counted himself lucky enough to hear it over the din of voices in the mess hall. It was the blue flame coming to life that rushed over him when she'd look his way, smile, and call him by name rather than rank. 

Rex's love came with unbidden strength, like the same practiced code to 'honor and protect' as any good soldier would. Though he was trained for calm, level-headed leadership on and off the field, he came to realize his strength could come from moments he'd taken with this newfound angel like it had in the first camaraderie of his brothers on Kamino. Unlike his Jedi counterparts, Rex viewed this strong feeling akin to passion and commitment. The supposed taboo label of 'attachment' inspired purpose for someone like him rather than manifesting an unhealthy fleeting distraction or weakness. What he felt for her was anything but half-hearted; it was fierce.

Rex’s love came steady. It grew with every day, an unmoving presence once it settled in his heart. This wasn’t a sparking, unstable live wire, or a flurry of emotions in the pit of his stomach– but a balm protecting a still-healing wound. An assurance of safety, a promise that kept him going when everything else around him was crashing to the Nine Hells. When everyday is a reminder of war, that anchor of her was a blessing.

Rex's love came softly. His steady, armored hands now sought after skin for comfort rather than the commando handguns he draws. He found himself sharing carefully chosen words spoken in tender confidence when they were alone. Gentleness seeps out from him as he takes her hand in his, bowing a head to hers after a hard day, and allowing himself this one joy the day she brought her lips up to his cheek. One soft, quiet thing in the midst of loud, chaotic war where he could just stand in her space and admire something so shockingly pretty and know that one moment was his.

Love found Rex, and had no intention of leaving. 

Running in the back of his sharp mind was the memory of the first and every time that he caught himself falling for her just a little bit more, keeping track of stolen moments like the tally marks he wore for his fallen brethren. Each time she’d call for him, he’d always answer- her name fast off his lips– in the same way he'd address his General out of rote habit or disassembling his blaster in record time.

He supposed he always loved her, just didn't have a name for it before. He’d not been brave enough to utter it yet...

Now, Rex wanted to kick himself because she kriffing beat him to it.

Sawyer Lyubava stands before the Captain full of righteous anger, breaking at the seams to make him understand exactly why she'd not held her quick tongue at the offending party in the other room, and begged to know why he stepped in as her restraint. Those beautiful eyes, now brimming with shaken tears, mirrored the storms he'd watched for hours from the safety of Kamino’s white hallways. Even now, he relished the look of lightning in them.

Ever the heart of gold in the midst of wartime, this brilliant girl before him ached when careless acquaintances took to demeaning terms for a man such as him... as a mindless clone rather than a living breathing soul, who happened to be one soldier among millions just like him. She’d fought this good fight for weeks now whenever ‘the talk’ came up in conversation, and was set to fight every day to make sure he knew his worth, and that the entire galaxy did, too- even if the protective outbursts would paint her in a poor light. 

//If someone ever talks that way to you again and I'm in earshot, I'm letting that bastard have it– and you're going to let me.//

It was what she believed at her core, and she made no effort to hide that declaration of love, how deeply she cared. The last thing she cared about was something so harmless as speaking out of turn.

And in that moment where staggered breaths left her in hiccups, laying out her loyalty for him to do with it whatever he would, Rex answered her without hesitation,

"That's exactly why I step in. There’s a reason why I stop you, Sawyer.”

 I love you too much for anything less.

[lovelywingsart]

//AU// Warning (pt. 1)

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

Yup, you read that right- a two parter! Because I couldn't decide on how to do this. :'D Ah well.

Maybe not the best, but like I said, I'm blowing through these decently easily now! So hopefully there will be more soon! ^^

This one also had a small plot hole but here's hoping Clever Writing™️ covered it up ALSHSGDLAFH-

**Remember, check out the Masterlist for more! <3**

-----

Warnings?: Bargaining, injury, mild mention of child endangerment (might add more later when I'm not completely exhausted ALSJAKSF-)

Summary: A bargain with one father leads to a test of trust with another. From mercy to warnings, the fight for their lives has only just begun; and they have a long way to go.

Emelia fell to her knees with a *thud*, her breaths coming as short, pained wheezes. It hurt... Everything hurt... The bullets that pierced her skin had left her bleeding along with the somewhat healing knife wounds that still throbbed with each beat of her heart, sending her body into shock.

She couldn't. She couldn't fight anymore. If she did, she knew what would happen. If she did, she knew she'd-

Her thoughts were halted as another mix of sounds pricked her ears- sounds that brought instant tears to her eye as she attempted to keep herself still and upright, desperate to allow herself to heal quicker.

Shuffling steps, and a reloaded gun.

She looked up at Ethan, the solemn look on his face giving away his reluctance to pull the trigger his finger currently rested on, even if the gun wasn't facing her entirely.

"... Don't make me do this..." he said quietly, his own voice hoarse from exhaustion and pain.

Suddenly, she broke.

All she could think of... all she could see was her son. His face, his fear, his own worry for his parents even as the place was falling around him.

The father jerked back as she let out a sudden, choked sob.

"... Please..." she managed, her voice weak and wavering despite still being warped. "Please don't hurt him..."

Ethan stared at her, a look of near pity on his face as her body trembled. She didn't want to cry... She didn't want to beg. She didn't want to seem at all weak in front of this man on the off chance he wouldn't let her go- but it was all she could muster up the energy to do. It was all her body and brain would allow with her son at the forefront of her mind.

"... I don't want to." He spoke quietly, his own voice wavering just slightly. "I just want my daughter back."

"And we want freedom...!!" Emelia looked up, her voice holding a scared desperation. "I didn't lie to you, Winters!! I have too much to lose to die by the likes of you...!"

"Then why did you-"

"You were after him!!" She cut him off, choking back another sob. "I can't let you hurt him... We've been hiding long enough, he doesn't deserve this...!"

She stared up at him with a bright eye, tears streaming down her cheek. He glanced at her mutated arm as she finally let her head fall and brought her arms to her face in frustration, slowly lowering the weapon and taking his finger off the trigger. It was a damn near pitiful sight, really... The one who fought him so harshly moments prior curling in on herself in a broken, scared mess. The one who he knew could kill him with ease if he wasn't careful, more so than the others. She was small, but she was strong- far stronger than he expected out of a mere 'assistant', as she claimed to be... Almost enough to be a Lord herself, and he found himself wondering why she wasn't.

He was silent before taking in his own wavering breath.

"Convince him to leave." He said, and she looked at him again. "The place is coming down and Chris may be around... Get the hell out of here because he'll kill you both. I can only do so much to talk to him."

She stared at him once more, though felt a sudden rush of panic once his words settled in her mind.

Go. GO. She had to GO.

Ethan took a few steps back as she suddenly jumped up with a pained sob, nearly tripping on her own feet as she bolted around the corner and out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pain.

There was so much pain.

Everything hurt as she ran, through the halls tripping over boxes and tools of fallen Haulers. The scent of her own blood was all she could smell. It was all she could taste as she ran, skidding around corners and falling every now and then as she began to feel lightheaded from exhaustion and blood loss. She was healing, but not fast enough... Her current movement prevented her from relaxing to the point of healing properly, constantly reopening some of the slashes on her body as the movement prevented a majority of the scabbing.

Another turn led to a small corridor in which she could hear small swearing and shuffling; the sounds stopped as she tripped again, letting out a grunting whimper before she stood up. A few more steps brought her to one of the many workshops where she could nearly feel the rage and power ebbing off of the man who turned to her with a shocked expression.

"K-... K-Karl..." she managed, watching his face twist from shock to horror once she came into full view.

"Emmy?!"

He rushed over almost immediately as he spoke, reaching out as she stumbled forward once more and landed in his arms. He held her close as he helped her down carefully, shushing gently as he eased her against the wall. He nearly flinched with every whimper she made, though managed to hide it well... Mostly.

"Karl-" she wheezed, keeping a tight grip on the front of his jacket as she felt his gloved hands grab her face. She winced as he moved her head from side to side, his own panic growing as he took in the damage.

"What the fuck did he do to you?!" He asked near desperately, but she let out a low, pained groan before trying to shift.

"G-... Go... we have to go-"

"I'll fucking kill him-"

"W-We have to-"

She was interrupted by a near enraged snort as he suddenly stood, his mood shift even startling her as his anger made itself known. It didn't take her long to notice the moving metallic objects around them, the smallest screws even vibrating rapidly in their places as the larger pieces gave off waves of his power. Emelia shook her head as he took a step back, pushing herself forward in attempts to stand.

"Karl, please...!!!" she managed, letting out another choked sob. The sound made him freeze as he turned to look at her. "We... We need to go... Please... Where is-"

"I told him to hide." Heisenberg replied quietly, finally returning to kneel in front of her after taking a few breaths. "You two go. I'm taking care of this."

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as he spoke, and her face fell. She began to shake her head rapidly, reaching for his arm. She couldn't let him go, she couldn't-

"No, nonono- No, come with us, please- PLEASE, Karl-" she nearly begged, more panic rising to her chest with each word. But he remained silent, only leaning down to bring her in a tight hug.

She let another sob escape as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders with pained whimpers, pressing her face to his neck.

"... Run." He whispered suddenly, and she froze.

"Wh-" she tried, stopping as he pulled away enough to press his forehead to hers while more tears streamed down her cheeks. There was a dangerous resolve in his eyes that while she wasn't entirely familiar with, she knew what it was almost immediately-

And it scared the hell out of her.

"I told him to hide... He's in the workshop near the Foundry. Get him and run as fast as you fucking can. Get to the cabin and wait for me."

He spoke sternly and scarily calm, and she didn't have time to reply before he held her face and pressed his lips to hers in a heavy kiss too quick for her to return. But just as quickly as he moved in, he had stood and turned away towards the door.

"I-I-... K-Karl- Karl WAIT-" she begged, only seeing a small hesitation in his movements for a moment before he silently rounded the corner with purpose.

And so she was left alone again, her heart pounding in her ears and throbbing throughout her body. She forced herself to stay immobile for a few seconds, allowing herself to heal enough to even be safe to move. It wasn't long until she sucked in a breath, however, her muscles trembling as she forced herself to stand before suddenly bolting off through another doorway. While her concern for him was overwhelming, she only allowed herself to focus on the new task at hand; The same one she had trusted him with a short time prior, though right now there was much more at stake than she had realized-

She had to find their son, and fast.

[anime75]

Kiba x Reader

Warning's: Fluff at the end, mentions of kidnaping, blood, slight descriptive

So you were hanging out with your friends (Kiba, Hinata, Naruto) when you got called in by Lady Sunade for a mition.

She wanted you to go on a solo mition to get some information about some scetchy people who were on their way to the naboring vilage the vilage hiden in the sand and Sunade wanted to make sure they were not a threat.

Of corse you were extatic consitering it had been a month since your last mition due to being hospitolized and then Sunade givng you a mandatory vacation. let alone now she was giving you a B Maybe an A ranked mition, that's what made you exited.

So you packed a small bag knowing it was going to be a day or two long trip.

You set of at don to get a head start and to cetch up with the target's.

You payed a lot of atention to the traks that they had left behind. and that was so you had an idea of what rout they were taking to get to the sand vilage.

You folowed them for about a hour since you left and you finaly cought up with them. folowing them for about an hour or two they noticed you but acted like they didn't so you didnt know they knew you were their.

once it started getting dark they set up camp and you folowed suit soon after.

Once the target's had been sure you were sleeping they took action

They carfully tied you up carful not to wake you up.

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

The next morning you woke to being caryed not so gentialy through the forest. (aparently you needed to work on being a light sleeper)

Of corse you tryed to kick scream and escape but to no evail they had tied your arms behind your back taped your mouth shut and tied your legs together.

That first night you sent an SOS signal back to the vilage hoping that they would get it in time. Thank whatever god above was watching that made the people forget to take your flairs. but they had taken your wepons.

It was the third day of being held captive and you were starting to lose hope.

You had learned the "Target's" Name's they were Sakon, Jirōbō, and Tyuya. (this is like my version of the sasuke rescue mition just a lot diferent)

Aparently they were DEFINATLY a threat to the sand vilage even with Gara being the kazekage.

Another day or two had passed and you were thinking things like "will anyone come for me?" or "I bet I don't mater to them not even my "friends".'

But little did you know that your friends Kiba Naruto Hinata and a few others were running as fast as they could to get to you.

And one fatfull day about a weak after you sent the SOS and about two day's away from the sand vilage the rescue team/your friends, had gotten to you.

You were passed out due to a sleeping jutsu they used on you.

A battle soon broke out Hinata Ino and Sakura Bringing you back to the leaf vilage with a stop every once and a wile to heal some of your wounds a little so you wernt practicaly bleading out.

Evventualy Sakon, Jirōbō, and Tuyuya retreated going back to whatever pit's of Hell they came from.

When you got back to the vilage you were put in hospitol care witch you were upset about due to the events during the last month. and the reson you were so exited for the mition in the first place and getting back on the feald.

After talking to Sunade you needed to stay the night maby two in the hospitol so that made you a little grouchy.

Then you got a few visitors it was Ino Hinata and sakura

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

They had come to keep you company and to tell you that the others would be back soon mostlikly needing medical atention.and to explain how kiba demanded a search party when he found out about the SOS and he almost went bazerk.

When everyone did get back someone was outside your door...Fighting?

He fought his way through the nerces and docters telling him that he needed treatment and you needed rest. but eather way he fought through even Sunade to see you and know for himself that you were ok.

It was kiba when he bursed through the door.

He wasnt wering his jacket and was covored in blood some probobly not even his own becasue of the cent was diferent. and Akamaru wasnt with him witch was worying.

He was breathing heavy like he had ran a mile withought a second of stoping.

"Y/N!!" HE Exclamed

He was worryed out of his mind

"Are you ok?! how long were you out?"

He asked practicly running to you giving you a hug then pulling back to look at your bandaged body with consorn evidant in his tone.

"Can I get you anything or-"

He was cut off by you pulling him in for a kiss, it took him a moment to comprehend what hapend before putting one of his hands on your weist and the other behind your head to cradle it and to return the geture.

WHen you both stoped to get air you spoke

"Don't worry I'm fine If anything I should be asking you that."

you say with consorn in your voice and looking at his body witch was covered in wounds including two stab wounds one being in the shoulder and the other being in his ather fit tosro.

He chuckled

"Like what you see?"

He say's with a flirtatious tone.

He was definatly fine if he was able to have his goofy flirtatious self back.

You roll your eyes and grab him by the coler of his shirt annd kissing him. when you stoped you smerked.

"your fine if you can flir-"

you were cut off by a rather pationate kiss then you were let go

"I want more~"

Kiba says with a smerk and a quick Lick of his lips

"K-KIBA!!?"

you say with a shocked blushing experetion

~Fin~

[awakenthemusic]

Suptober 2022 Day 3 - Digital

Destiel, Short fic, 762 words, Smut, Adult Content, Sexual Situations

Dean has many thoughts about a certain angel's hands.

Under the cut or on Ao3

Digital Manipulation

Dean might have a bit of a thing for Cas' hands.

Hands that had fought, stabbed, and slashed their way through hell to pull his sorry ass out. Hands that wielded his angel blade with deadly precision. Hands that smote demons with the holy, burning light of heaven.

Hands that had beaten Dean bloody more than once. Hands that cradled Dean's injuries with such gentle care that it made something shriveled and long-neglected inside Dean pulse and ache with new life. Hands that soothed and healed with the cool heat of Cas' grace.

Broad hands with long, blunt, graceful fingers. Fingers that were capable of rending enemies apart. Fingers that could knit the smallest wounds together at the molecular level.

Fingers that now thrust into Dean's mouth to muffle the truly obscene sounds he was making as three more fingers plunged into his ass. Dean moaned against them, splitting them with his tongue and sucking instinctively. Burning blue eyes watched him intently and Dean knew Cas could tell how much he liked this. He would probably be embarrassed by that if he weren't flying too high to give a shit.

Dean was acutely aware of his surroundings; of where they stood in the meager privacy of the dim lighting in this alley; of the evening chill against his naked legs and stomach, his shirts rucked up and his jeans and boxers mojo-ed who the fuck knew where so that Cas could spread Dean's legs wide enough for access; of the brick wall digging into his bare ass. Dean stood, shaking apart on Cas' fingers, so full of the angel he was ready to burst, his cock throbbing and dripping where it hung loose between his legs.

The long, slick fingers in his ass unerringly found his prostate and he keened as colors burst across his vision. Dean had the sudden realization that, if Cas kept this up, Dean was quite probably going to come untouched.

Dean moaned long and low as his body soared ever higher. Fuck, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing that had ever happened to him.

He wasn't going to last long like this.

Dean grunted around Cas' fingers, trying to signal how close he was. Cas just ignored him, all his attention focused on watching the fingers of his other hand disappear into Dean.

In frustration, Dean bit down on Cas' fingers. Annoyance flashed in Cas' eyes, then morphed into concern. He stopped, which was probably for the best if Dean didn’t want to embarrass himself, then he started to pull away, which was the absolute last thing Dean wanted.

Dean's hands flew off the wall where they'd been clinging for support. One of them clutched at Cas' arm, keeping the fingers that had been in his mouth from retreating too far, while the other tangled in Cas' trench coat, pulling him closer.

Dean gasped, “Don’t wanna stop, just need a second. I’m so fucking close.”

Cas’ eyes blazed with heat as he thrust his fingers back into Dean’s mouth and resumed his previous pace with the fingers in his ass. He leaned in close to Dean's ear and growled, "Good.”

Any ground that Dean may have gained from the break evaporated at the sound of Cas’ voice in his ear. Dean gasped and let out a high-pitched whimper.

Cas’ long fingers slid so deep into Dean, they made his prostate sing and sent little tremors through all of his muscles.

Cas bit down on Dean’s earlobe, pulling another moan out of him, and purred, “Come for me, Dean."

Cas increased his pace and Dean bucked against the wall, suckling desperately at Cas’ fingers and trying not to scream.

His vision whited out as every muscle in his body clenched and curled in on itself. Waves of pleasure shot through Dean, washing away coherent thought.

Minutes or hours later, Dean came back to awareness when Cas gently slipped his fingers out of Dean’s mouth. A whine split the silence and Dean was only mildly surprised to find that it was coming from him.

Cas shushed him gently, making no move to leave, and dropped his hand to run his fingers through the mess coating Dean’s stomach.

Cas’ eyes locked onto Dean’s again. Cas brought his hand up and slowly licked Dean’s come off his own fingers, his mouth going around the digits that Dean had just been sucking on so desperately.

Dean’s mouth dropped open as his dick twitched and made a valiant effort to rise once more.

Fuck yeah, he definitely had a thing for Cas’ hands.