#i need to not be fractured into so many snapping pieces i need to know what is expected of us

[transmechanicus]

Kind of hard to ask as anon

But you doing ok?

Need to vent?

Hi very kind and thoughtful of you to ask, i am doing mmmmm suboptimal but i do not need to vent to a person per se, so much as i need to say absolutely insane shit in my tags and have everyone pretend not to see <3

[violetlight]

Ways for a Tiny to get hurt in a Hurt/Comfort g/t scenario

Tw!Mentions of getting cut and bruised, Mentions of animal death,injury, life threatening injury ect.

Short Term Recovery:

Drowning in a Sink/Fish Bowl: Depending on how long they were in water before the human found them, this could be long or short term recovery. The human might only need to wait until they woke up, if they fainted or they could have to perform CPR which would probably break a few ribs.

Get tangled their climbing wire: In most g/t stories tinies have a wire they use get up large furniture, usually string with a bent paper clip attached which they use as leverage to climb up or down, when climbing down from a cabinet the tiny could slip, the climbing rope wrapping around their body, forcing them to hang there until a human found them. They most likely struggled so the wire would have strangled or cut the skin in some places.

Cut by a kitchen utensil: While scavenging on a kitchen counter they could slice their leg on a knife, depending on how deep it would definitely impede their running and they could be at risk of dying of blood loss.

Long Term Recovery:

Stuck in a mouse trap: Depending on the mouse trap it could be just a way for a tiny and human to meet but I know your not here for that. There are many types of mouse traps but two big ones are wooden kill mousetraps (ones that you see in most old cartoons) and glue traps

A piece of food is placed on the blue part and the moment pressure is placed on the blue part the green arm releases causing the red striker to snap down usually right on the neck of a mouse.

A starving tiny might find it too good of a deal, smart enough to see through the mechanism, they try to enter another way to grab the food but their arm slips triggering the very sensitive green arm to release the red striker onto their leg or arm effectively traping them and probably breaking the bone, the harder the struggle the more it would cut into their flesh.

Glue traps, also known as glue boards, are trays coated with an extremely strong adhesive. Any animal who touches one becomes stuck and is unable to escape. Glue traps do not kill usually but sometimes mice tire themselves out so much that they die of exhaustion. Glue traps are extremely hard to get your of so the hurt/comfort would more be the human trying to get the tiny out of the glue trap and washing them afterwards.

Disclaimer! Please never use these traps to trap mice in real life! There are much better catch and release cruelty-free ones out there! Thank you!

Caught by a pet: No matter Cat, dog, rat, snake, lizard ect. It will be able to do some amount to damage probably many cuts and bruises. Especially cats some cats a sadistic killers who love to play with their prey, thankfully this gives time for a human to swoop in and help with the injuries and trauma

Fallen off of a piece of large furniture: Most tinies are to careful for this to happen but any minor slip could result in many fractured and broken bones that could take years to heal fully, a human could find a tiny crumpled on the floor after they fell off a book shelf.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1.5) Chapter Nine

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Nine: One Hell of a Thief

Summary: Sebastian and (Y/N) rescue Ciel's soul, but his mind is fractured, and the spider demon decides on his next prey.

Mouse Note: Let me know what you guys think. Definitely setting up a major part of the next story arc!

            (Y/N) tapped their foot and folded their arms. “So you’re the only one who’s going to go in?” Their eyes moved to look at the Trancy Estate mansion down the mountain. Ciel’s soul was within the confines; Sebastian had tracked his master there.

            “There are many demons within the estate,” said Sebastian. “Having only one of us within the mansion is more strategic. Then, if there’s trouble, we have backup.”

            (Y/N) tsked. “Fine. But be quick, it’s raining, and I hate getting wet.”

            “Trust me, I don’t want to be in that disgusting mansion with the filthy thieves of our kind for longer than I must,” said Sebastian. “I will find my Young Master’s soul and leave.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “I’ll be ready if you need support.”

            Sebastian nodded to them in acknowledgement before picking up the suitcase with Ciel’s body and trekking down the hill. (Y/N) leaned back against a tree and waited for things to go wrong as they undoubtedly would.

l

            Sure enough, (Y/N)’s eyes snapped towards the mansion a few hours later.

            “(Y/N).”

            Sebastian called to them, and they moved instantly. They smashed through a window of the mansion (if demons who were willing to steal souls lived there, what did (Y/N) care for decorum?). In a moment, they felt the presence of powerful demons and kicked a door open to find a blonde boy and a demon with golden eyes (Earl Alois Trancy and Claude Faustus, (Y/N) remembered from research) standing over Sebastian as he held the trunk. Alois’s eyes narrowed in anger, and Claude paused as he took in their entrance and demonic aura.

            “Who the hell is that?!” said Alois, turning on them.

            “I’m here to make a delivery,” said (Y/N) with a smirk. They kicked the kitchen table at Alois and Claude and pulled a cart to their side. “Shall we?”

            Sebastian smirked and jumped onto the serving cart beside them with the trunk. Claude moved after them, his hands grazing (Y/N)’s skirt and tore a piece from it as they pushed the cart into motion. It sped off down the corridor. They turned the corner and bumped down one side of the foyer staircase. Claude slid down the banister across from them.

            “Sebastian Michaelis,” said Claude. His eyes passed over (Y/N). “With a demon companion?”

            Sebastian didn’t respond, neither did (Y/N) deign to speak, and leapt into the chandelier while holding the trunk. (Y/N) landed beside him. They narrowed their eyes as Claude’s eyes passed over them.

            “This is your way, is it not?” said Sebastian, diverting attention to him. “ ‘Day into night, sugar into salt, dark blue into gold.’ ” Sebastian smirked. “Then, I will turn gold into black.”

            (Y/N) broke the beam holding the chandelier to the ceiling, and it crashed to the ground as Sebastian and (Y/N) jumped safely out of the way. The room was plunged into darkness, and the cat and raven demons slipped out into the night with Ciel Phantomhive and his soul safely in their possession.

l

            (Y/N) and Sebastian knelt in the garden outside of the Phantomhive Mansion. (Y/N) hovered behind Sebastian as he slipped the blue ring onto Ciel’s hand.

            The Earl’s eyes opened, although faintly. As his consciousness and soul returned to him, something shifted in the air.

            (Y/N) and Sebastian’s eyes widened. It wasn’t complete. His soul was fractured. They exchanged glances. Claude had manipulated Ciel’s soul.

            “Sebastian? (Y/N)?” Ciel furrowed his brow. “Why are we outside? Why aren’t we in the mansion?”

            “Young Master, we were in London last,” said (Y/N).

            Ciel scoffed. “Why on Earth would we be in London? It’s hardly the season, and we have no case. Besides, Madame Red is likely invading my townhouse, so I won’t go there.”

            Ah. There’s the issue.

            Ciel didn’t have his memories. His soul wasn’t full because he had no recollection of his ambitions coming to fruition. His soul hadn’t found its revenge.

            (Y/N) and Sebastian exchanged another look and acted quickly.

            “Of course not, Young Master,” said Sebastian. He smiled. “You must have lost track of time. We’re on the mansion grounds.” He spoke the truth, simply omitting what Ciel couldn’t know.

            “We’ll bring you inside, you seem tired,” said (Y/N).

            “Very well. I do have a headache,” tsked Ciel.

            “I shall prepare some tea for you,” said Sebastian, bowing.

            The two demons carefully escorted him into the Phantomhive Mansion.

            “Young Master! You’re alright!” cried the rest of the servants, jumping towards him.

            “Why wouldn’t I be?” grumbled Ciel, narrowly avoiding their hugs.

            “Well, there were the fi—!” cried Mey-Rin, but (Y/N) slapped a hand over her mouth and smiled.

            “You know how these three are, my Lord,” said (Y/N). They glanced at Sebastian with a clear message: Get him out of here. I’ll handle them.

            “Come, let’s get you some tea, my Lord,” said Sebastian, smiling and guiding Ciel away.

            (Y/N) turned on Finny, Baldroy, Mey-Rin, and Tanaka, their hands on their hips. “Alright, listen, you three. Tanaka, you’re doing fine.”

            “Ho, ho, ho,” said Tanaka, sipping his tea.

            “The Young Master was injured in the fires and destruction in London,” said (Y/N). “He needs rest and to not be upset.”

            “Does he not…remember?” asked Finny worriedly.

            “He does not remember the last year due to his injury,” said (Y/N). They could lie smoothly, the words rolling off their tongue.

            “Will he be alright?” asked Mey-Rin.

            “I can’t imagine the Young Master letting himself walk around without memories,” said Baldroy.

            “He has sustained no other injuries,” said (Y/N). They glanced at Baldroy. “And Sebastian and I will be working on his memory issues. However, you all need to keep from bringing up incidents in the last year. There’s no telling the psychological damage that could be done if all his memories came back suddenly without proper treatment.”

            “Oh, no! We don’t want to hurt the Young Master!” said Finny, shaking his head furiously.

            “We’ll be good and make sure the mansion is just right for him!” said Mey-Rin in determination.

            Baldroy nodded. As a soldier, he understood the psychological issues some memories could cause. “We’ll continue as usual.”

            “Excellent,” said (Y/N). “Now, if you all will run along to your chores to make the mansion perfect for the Young Master, Sebastian and I will see to his rest and recovery.”

            They turned and walked away from the rest of the servants. Their curiosity had been satisfied. Now, (Y/N) and Sebastian could get to work and figure out a plan to move forward.

l

            “So?” (Y/N) glanced at Ciel as Sebastian stepped out and closed the bedroom door.

            “He’s asleep,” said Sebastian. “Though I doubt simple rest will recover whatever damaged his soul.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “I agree. If you are to have your meal, his soul needs to be complete, and it will not recover on its own.”

            “I have considered the situation, and I believe that there are two options,” said Sebastian.

            “Oh?” (Y/N) cocked their head in interest, catlike.

            “First, I attempt to recover his memories with certain trigger objects, locations, people, or phrases,” said Sebastian. He furrowed his brow in frustration and tsked. “However, there could be drawbacks.”

            “Yes, the triggers could be quite specific, or the sudden recovery of memories could cause greater damage to Ciel’s mind and soul,” concurred (Y/N). “You would have to work slowly and carefully.”

            Sebastian nodded. “The second option is to…repair the damage to his soul more directly.”

            “I suppose some…tricks would be involved,” said (Y/N).

            “I would have to create a situation where the Young Master achieves his revenge once more, where he believes in his soul once more that his goals are reached,” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N)’s nose twitched as they considered. “It would require careful manipulation of facts, especially since you cannot lie to him. However, it could work. Many of my own contracts are about people feeling fulfilled and vindicated, so it can be more psychological triumphs that tangible. The satisfaction of achieving such goals is just as potent as physically exacting revenge or whatever else they need.”

            They looked at Sebastian intently. “Which do you plan on?”

            “I believe I will allow some time for the Young Master to go about his usual business to see if his memories return naturally,” said Sebastian. “Of course, I would be careful of any major triggers and ensure his soul is not further damaged.”

            “Strategic,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “Then, if that does not work, I will move onto the second option,” said Sebastian. His gaze darkened. “But I will have his soul. I have earned it.”

            (Y/N) understood the feeling. After a long contract, the sensation of satisfaction from a job well done and a delicious meal awaiting them was quite something. Few things gave demons such joy.

            “And you, what is your plan?” asked Sebastian.

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Are you chasing me off? I didn’t plan on leaving.” They weren’t going to leave now. Not when their feelings had grown so strong and Sebastian needed help needed them.

            “You joined this household after finishing a contract due to boredom. From that time, you have engaged in battles against reapers and angels alike,” said Sebastian. He gazed at them with something they could not discern in his eyes. “You gained nothing from assisting me then, and you gain nothing from helping me now. You have no reason to stay.”

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Of course I have a reason.”

            “I cannot see that you gain anything from this,” said Sebastian, raising an eyebrow.

            I gain being near you. (Y/N) didn’t voice that, however. Instead, they said, “We’re friends, Sebastian, are we not?”

            Sebastian blinked. “We are.” It was still strange to be friends with someone, let alone another demon, but he couldn’t deny the thrum of pleasure at the knowledge that (Y/N) was his in some way, even if just friendship.

            “Well, then, we may not be humans or have the same type of friendship as them, but I know that I don’t abandon people,” said (Y/N). They smiled slightly. “Least of all the only friend I have.”

            Sebastian felt the essence inside him that was akin to a soul thrum at their words, their loyalty. Every time he thought his love for them had reached its peak, it managed to grow.

            A smile spread across his face, and he chuckled. “You have always been such an interesting demon.”

            (Y/N) scoffed. “As if both of us don’t carry much more honor and respect than most of our kind.” They smirked. “Besides, isn’t that why we like each other?”

            Sebastian’s grin showed sharp teeth. “That and your viciousness has always been quite impressive.”

            “Well, of course, just as I find your cunning quite interesting,” said (Y/N).

            They were demons. They were friends. Loyalty, honor, cunning, viciousness—those were the ingredients in their friendships and the catalysts for the fire of their love. And oh how that blaze burned within them.

l

            “Claude! Why didn’t you stop them?” cried Alois as he curled up in the corner of his bed. After his sniveling and crying over the sudden darkness, he had been throwing a tantrum over losing Ciel Phantomhive to Sebastian Michaelis and the mystery demon. “You know that Hannah and those triplets are incapable!”

            Claude bowed. “They have been punished, Your Highness. It is unfortunate that Ciel Phantomhive was stolen back, but I shall recover him for you.”

            Alois softened at Claude’s “devotion.” “You will, Claude? For me?”

            Claude knelt. “Of course, Your Highness. I am your butler. I am here to serve you.”

            Alois deflated at the emotionless, businesslike tone. “Fine. Go and figure out how to bring him back,” he huffed, turning away from Claude.

            “Yes, Your Highness,” said Claude, leaving Alois’s bedroom.

            As he stood alone in the hallway, his pulled a scrap of black cloth from his pocket. He lifted it as he felt the slight energy left behind from the wearer of the skirt he had stolen it from. Claude’s eyes flashed fuchsia.

            It was them.

            They wore a human face and donned human clothes, but their energy blazed just as intensely as it had eons ago.

            Claude still remembered when he had been called upon to train a younger demon. He had watched the newly formed demons with interest and instantly seized upon the demon born of a human life. They radiated heart and the pure satisfaction of having exacted revenge right before their death, the exact sensation Claude longed for in the souls he preyed upon.

            In that moment, he had wanted them; he had wanted to break them. He had obsessed over the idea of taking the demon born of a human life and breaking them.

            But they had been taken from him. Claude had lost them to another demon’s mentorship.

            And yet here they were, still holding the same power and aura as all those millennia ago.

            Claude licked his lips. This time, they would be his.

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[mandyyvibes]

Hydra Husbands- 40 …because the world is ending.

Or Winterbones up to you

40- a kiss because the world is ending; winterbones

f i f t e e n h u n d r e d w o r d s

i would love to make this a full fic and put it on ao3 one day goddamn. i kinda popped off.

Brock had never, in all his years of active field duty and life-or-death situations, been so fear-stricken as he had been when he opened his inbox to an email from Pierce.

It wasn’t the mere fact that Pierce sent out an email, one with ATTENTION STRIKE FORCE ALPHA AND CLEARANCE LEVEL EIGHT FACULTY in the subject line that had icy dread curling between Brock’s ribs.

It wasn’t the beginning of the email, in which Pierce sung his praises, gloating about how well the most recent mission had gone, that caused the dread to settle in a pit in Brock’s stomach.

It was what followed, one singular sentence, that had Brock leaping up out of his chair, kicking it to the side and storming out of the restaurant with Jack close behind, practically trembling with the horror that he felt.

The Asset will be permanently decommissioned by March 10th.

The Asset will be permanently decommissioned by March 10th.

Brock was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. There had been talk of budget cuts and the merits of replacing the Asset with something purely mechanical, taking whatever fractured pieces of a human soul that remained within it out of the equation entirely.

It had been a rough couple of months for the Asset and its team. It seemed to need to go back to the chair more and more frequently as time went on; in barely-perceptible moments of weakness its hand would tremble, or it would whimper when no one was near it.

It was breaking. Brock wasn’t stupid.

But he had been foolish enough to hope that the lab coat jackasses would simply come up with a more effective way to wipe it. Something that lasted longer, something that could reach deeper into its brain and remove all the horrors of its successes.

Instead, Pierce was going to have it put down.

“What the fuck, man?” Jack snapped, jogging after Brock to keep up with his rage-fueled pace.

“We’re going to work. Now. Check your phone.”

“God, what is it this time…”

Brock was in the car by the time Jack could read the e-mail, revving the engine impatiently. The beginnings of a plan had already begun forming in his mind, though it did little to settle the nauseous feeling of dread.

Jack opened the passenger door and gave a grim nod, one that said I’m with you on this one.

That’s why he was Brock’s right hand man.

March 10th.

It was March 4th.

He had six days before everything would come crashing down around him. He couldn’t bear to start from scratch- he didn’t want to start from scratch.

This felt closer to the end of the world than any world crisis or alien invasion had ever felt before.

—

“Where is it?” Brock’s voice boomed and ricocheted off of the concrete walls, just decibels away from a shout. He knew he had to keep his cool, to keep up appearances for now.

The handful of technicians busying themselves with paperwork gave him a strange look.

“Cryo prep-“

“No. No, fuck no. Leave it out.”

“Pierce ordered-“

“I don’t give a RAT’S ASS what Pierce ordered. Do you know who the fuck I am?!” He was yelling now, clenching his fists and working his jaw.

“Rumlow,” Came a calm voice from behind him.

Alexander Pierce himself stood at the bottom of the stairwell, many floors below where he usually ventured.

“Sir.” Brock grunted, chastised. He knew that this conversation would impact the entire course of the rest of his life. No room for fuck-ups.

“The most humane way to do this is to leave it in cryo,” Pierce said pointedly, gesturing to the heavy metal door on the far wall. “I understand that this might seem sudden, but Sitwell-“

“Mr. Secretary.” Brock interrupted, shoving his hands in his pocket and taking a step forward, chin raised in a show of nonchalance. “It has served us well for decades. I simply want to see it in action one last time. I’m requesting permission to take it up to the gym to spar-“

“You want to hurt it one last time,” Pierce’s eyebrows were raised. He would’ve been smirking, if he had been capable of such a thing.

“There’s no point keeping it in good condition now,” Brock replied, mirroring his amused expression.

He felt sick.

He felt angry that he felt sick.

“Alright. You can have it for a couple hours. Then it needs to go back into the cryo tank.”

“Thank you, sir. Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.”

Brock let his shoulders sag slightly as Pierce disappeared up the stairs. This is what years of loyalty to this organization had gotten him. A couple hours.

He maneuvered into a camera blind spot and pulled out his phone to text Jack.

—

It was still in its gear from the last mission. No one had even bothered to clean it. Cryo prep, his ass. Those lab coats were just bluffing.

The Asset stood at attention, its back pressed against the wall. It was almost strange to see it like this, its gaunt face exposed, after growing used to seeing it with its muzzle on. It looked like they hadn’t been feeding it enough.

Brock let the door shut behind him and could practically feel the Asset’s fear dissipate, though it didn’t move an inch. He took a step forward.

“Kneel.”

The Asset knelt, falling silently, gracefully, to its knees.

Everything was still. Brock watched it for a couple long moments, waiting for a tremor or a sob, anything that indicated weakness.

It couldn’t know the fate that Pierce had dictated for it.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Brock crossed the room in two strides, resting a hand gently atop its matted hair. He resisted the urge to tug on it and listened to the way its breath deepened. Something primal ached deep within his chest.

“Who do you belong to?”

“Hydra, Sir.”

“And who is your primary handler?”

“Commander Rumlow, Strike Force Alpha, Identification number 06081965,” Its eyes narrowed as if it was processing something, reaching into the depths of its brain to understand. “You, Sir.”

“Good, good job. Look at me,” Brock crouched down, putting himself at its eye level, breaking nearly every protocol in the book- protocol that he had written.

It looked startled when it met his eyes. There was something deer-in-headlights about the icy blue gaze. It looked back at him as if waiting for answers, for instructions, for help.

Brock would have put money on the fact that it could sense his fear. He took a deep breath.

“There’s been an emergency. You are going to come with Rollins and I and listen to every word that we say. No hesitation.”

The sound of a nearby explosion made the Asset break eye contact for half a second, gaze darting to the source of the noise.

Deafening alarms began to ring.

“Soldier!” Brock barked, gripping it by the back of the neck. “What did I say? Look at me, goddammit.”

“Sorry, Sir. Please.”

It held eye contact once again, conveying everything that it couldn’t say with its eyes. It was scared, it was confused, it hadn’t mean to upset him.

“It’s alright. Nothing outside of normal mission parameters, just focus. Any weapons on you?”

“No, sir.”

Brock slipped a knife from his boot, tucking it into one of the many holsters affixed to the Asset’s clothing.

“That’ll do for now, Rollins is bringing in some guns in approximately two minutes. That’s when we move. Do you require anything else for optimal functionality?”

“The Asset has not been provided nutrition in approximately six days, Sir.”

No wonder it fucking trembled. Brock could’ve burnt the whole place down, he was so mad. He reached into his pocket and produced a Jolly Rancher hard candy (Jack’s favorite).

“You see this? This is candy. It’s a reward. You can have it if you do good, if we get out of here. And I’ll get you some real food too.”

“Thank you, Sir,” It all but whispered, still staring at him unblinkingly. It hadn’t even looked away to assess the candy.

It was so good.

It would be good.

Brock stood, keeping time carefully in his head. They had about thirty seconds. He motioned for the Asset to rise and follow him towards the door.

One second passed. Brock turned around and stepped towards it, toeing at its boot with his own.

Two seconds. They would get out together, all three of them. Flee the country. He already had forged paperwork for the Asset.

Three seconds. But if they didn’t…

Four seconds. Brock lifted his chin slightly and leaned in. The Asset remained perfectly still, perfect, lips slightly parted. It breathed in through its nose and out through its mouth.

Five seconds. It exhaled. Brock pressed his lips to it, something chaste and sweet, entirely unlike anything he’d done to it before.

Six, seven, eight, another explosion. The Asset inhaled and exhaled once again. It did not speak.

Brock kissed it again, because he could, because this very well might be his last chance. The rage in his veins popped and simmered like hot grease. Together, or this was the end.

[clemblog]

Caine’s Lesson - Part 15

•

The pair dropped into a dark forest, two flashlights on the floor in front of them. Pomni tentatively picked them up, handing one to Gummigoo. She then noticed she’d lost all her colour, as had Gummigoo.

“Huh.” She frowned, an edge of curiosity to her tone. It was kinda weird to see him in grey and black instead of his usual green and yellow. His cowboy hat had been replaced by the one of a park ranger.

“Sooo… Do we just, walk around?” Asked Gummigoo, with a shrug.

“I suppose so-?” Nodded Pomni, the two linking hands again and turning on their flashlights. There wasn’t much to see, just many tall trees. It was weirdly quiet, the only noise being the sound of their breaths and the occasional wisp of the wind.

The place felt eery but luckily they were alone. Were they? They weren’t sure… They didn’t know it yet but a tall white mannequin was roaming the woods with them, watching, waiting. Of course, their where more terrifying creatures but The Amazing Digital Circus didn’t have rights to those ones-

“Do you think we’re supposed to look for something?” Murmured Gummigoo. The two had been walking for a while now and feeling of being on edge hadn’t gone away in the slightest. Pomni was walking firmly next to Gummigoo, the atmosphere slowly grating at her anxiety as the two walked.

“What would we look for though?” She asked, quietly.

“Something like that?”

Pomni looked to where Gummigoo was pointing and spotted a piece of paper firmly nailed to a tree. She slowly walked over to it and pulled it off the nail.

ALWAYS WATCHES

NO EYES

“I- don’t like the sound of that-“ Grimaced Pomni, looking to Gummigoo with anxious eyes. He knelt down to her level.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright. We’ve got this!” He spoke firmly, cupping her face with his hands to keep her looking at him. Pomni sniffled at such.

“I-I just don’t- want to loose you again- Or to go back to the c-circus- If I die out here or you die out here- T-That’s what’ll happen- Maybe this was a bad idea-“

“Hey, Poms, listen, it’s scary out here, ya? It’s alright to be scared but you said it yourself! If we don’t do this, who will? Who’s gonna confront Caine and stop him from sending only he knows what to everyone back home?”

Pomni was quiet at this, but wiped her face with a slow nod.

“Y-You’re right- Yeah, we can do this- I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to do this- So… We’ll do it! And everything will be okay again.” She hummed, starting rationalise her mind, Gummigoo still cupping her face. He smiled at her as she did so.

“That’s my girl. Now, come on, if my hunch is correct, we’re gonna have to find some more pages to get to our next fracture point.”

“We’ve got this.”

“Together no matter what?”

“Together no matter what!”

The pair continued on at that, back to walking slowly hand in hand around the forest. Pomni walked in front, as she could always escape the circus again some way or another but she wasn’t sure whether or not Gummigoo would get his memories back for a second time. Speaking of Gummigoo, he wasn’t used to being the protected one, often looking out for Max and Chad back home on their adventures so it was a nice change of pace. He caught himself smiling a little every now and again despite the eery atmosphere. Sure, this was scary and he hoped the two of them would never run into an adventure like this again, but he had his Pomni and that made things a lot better.

“Oh! Looks there’s another one!” Whispered Pomni, eventually, the two finding their second page.

The pair had started whispering since they’d started to hear some kind of shuffling and the occasional snap of a twig. Something was here and it was definitely following them. Slowly. The next page read another foreboding message.

HELP ME

“…Do you think theirs other NPC’s out here?” Asked Pomni.

“I don’t know… Maybe? Someone had to have left these notes in the first place.” Murmured Gummigoo gently.

“Do you think they need our help?”

“I… think for once we should put ourselves first Poms. Let’s try not to run into anyone if we don’t have too. Only Caine knows what kind of people could be out here, and I don’t want to see you get sent back to the circus.”

“But what if we need to help for the fracture-“

“Then we’ll help but not until we know for certain, alright? Please Poms?”

“Y-Yeah- Okay- It’s the smarter decision.”

He nodded gently at this giving her a comforting squeeze.

“Alright. Let’s keep on then.”

The pair kept on finding notes, listening to the eery noises of whatever was chasing them as they did so, slowly getting faster and faster with each page.

DON’T LOOK OR IT TAKES YOU

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

FOLLOWS

CAN’T RUN

LEAVE ME ALONE

They didn’t know it yet, but they now had only one page left. An eery hum began to sound out. The two froze at the sound, Gummigoo pulling Pomni into his arms.

“I have a feeling we’re gonna need to start running, think you can snatch the final page if you see it?”

“Y-Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.”

A fearsome stomping began to sound out, Gummigoo taking off as fast as he could to keep the pair safe. Pomni used her flashlight to look around and get a look at what was chasing them. It was a giant white mannequin, similar looking to the NPC’s Caine had had in the Candy Kingdom. This one however moved scarily still, dragging its feel along the ground despite its growing speed.

Gummigoo wasn’t sure how long he could keep running but he heard Pomni gasp and the tear of the final piece of paper! They’d done it!

But then he tripped.

And luckily the pair would fall into the next fracture, escaping just in time to make it to their next adventure.

Part 16

[astranite]

A continuation for the insistent Virgil fans. (Untitled)

Some more for the Virge fans, and everyone because of encouragement! (I’m very happy that you actually liked it.) I enjoyed writing this extra bit, it got longer than I thought it would.

Just calling this a low pressure piece of writing, just get out a something without worrying about it being that perfect on a technical front. I’ve honestly proof read this once, and fairly half-assedly at that. Also throwing medical accuracy out the window for this, ignoring what I know because narrative reasons and can’t be bothered to research what I don’t know.

Don’t worry, Virge’ll be okay. In a bit. Just not right now. (...Might do a third part even.)

Part One (This won’t really make sense without it, and who’d say no to more Thunderbirds?)

Warnings for descriptions of injury.

-----

“Alan, Gordon, go prepare the med bay. “ John voice snapped through both their comms. 

Alan jumped and Gordon’s arms briefly tightened around him. 

“FAB Thunderbird Five,” they both answered, Alan a second behind. He’d been too surprised by Gordon’s serious response coming right next to his ear. Where was the joke about John getting the tinies to do the heavy lifting, or something? When they were paired together, Gordon was always teasingly ribbing him or cracking silly one liners or pointing out funny things to make Alan laugh. Even in the serious moments he has smiley eyes. Alan would even take the awful puns right now. Anything that meant Gordon sounded like Gordon. 

Or Virgil’s puns which were worse, but they’d mean his big brother speaking and okay and right there with him. He had Gordon but Alan just wanted his bigger brothers. 

Gordon nudged him to get them moving towards Thunderbird Two. A hand on his baldric tugged him around when Alan half turned to look behind them. He didn’t see anything, just Scott still crouched on the ground. At this point he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to. 

Inside the green ‘bird, he and Gordon went through the medical equipment. With trained efficiency they prepped the bay for receiving a patient. It was better to be moving. At least he wasn’t just waiting helplessly, straining his ears listening out for the slightest noises, trying to put the pieces together but not able to see what was going on. He was doing something to help his brothers, he was making a difference. Or he hoped so. It still felt like it wasn’t enough, that somehow he could be, should be doing more.

Gordon had more medical training than Alan did so he was preparing medications, drawing stuff up from vials that had scary names with way too many letters in them. Alan recognised the type of strong painkillers he’d only been given once. It had been when he’d last broken his arm, a nasty compound fracture that hurt like screaming white hot. After the drugs he’d apparently been deliriously babbling about spaceships, but he’d have to take his brothers’ words for it because they’d knocked him out good. That Virgil might be injured badly enough to need them wasn’t a fun idea. 

Alan ran system diagnostics on the med scanner one last time, then handed it off to Gordon when it all came up clear. Next he checked their crash cart by the procedure Grandma had drilled into him. He never wanted to think about actually having to use it. Especially not on a brother, not on Virgil. The only thing keeping him from completely freaking out was that Gordon was letting him check it over instead of doing it himself. He knew Gordon trusted him to do it right, but also it meant he didn’t think they would likely need it. 

Gordon’s hand landed on Alan’s shoulder when they were done with the checks and he drew Alan into his side. This time Alan went willingly. He leant heavily on him, because Gordon was warm and comforting and here right now, and Alan needed that. 

Two’s doors opened with a clank and whirr. Alan’s first thought was that Virgil looked so small. He was limp in Scott’s arms, head lolling against Scott’s shoulder.  Scott was carrying him, carefully supporting his body, paying attention only to Virgil, not Gordon and Alan. It made Scott look small too, his lean frame contrasting with Virgil’s bulk. Their eldest brother didn’t usually pick up their biggest brother, that was usually reserved for the younger ones and John because he was a lanky space noodle that even Alan could sort of lift if he tried hard enough. To see Scott bracing himself, face set in stubborn determination, and Virgil not responding at all was awful.

Alan quickly moved towards them, to stand on Scott’s left next to Virgil’s head. On the other side, Gordon did the same, sharing words with Scott. 

He stared at his helpless big brother. Virgil wasn’t meant to be like this. He was the strong one, the steady one who kept them all together. Alan could always rely on him to just be there when he needed him. Now Scott was cradling him like he was the most precious and breakable person in the world. Alan didn’t know what to do.

Gordon kept talking and John too, but Alan wasn’t really listening anymore. The actual medical part would be up to his big brothers.

Scott gently lay Virgil on the med bay bed, hanging on for a second too long before he let go for Gordon to attach a med scanner. Then they were both standing in front of Virgil, leaving Alan once again staring at grey on blue and yellow on blue, with only the tiniest hint of green peeking through. 

Alan still couldn’t tell what was wrong. Virgil was unconscious and that was bad, Alan knew that from his training. But he couldn’t tell why. 

He didn’t think Virgil had hit his head, but he didn’t know. It was definitely possible, the bridge collapsing had left a mess of concrete dust in the air and debris falling. Head wounds bled a lot but he couldn’t see any blood, though maybe Virgil’s dark hair was hiding it. He’d seen a hint of red smeared at the corner of Virgil’s mouth, jumping out because of its bright colour. Hopefully just from chomping on his lip until it bled which was likely enough, but Alan’s mind was going straight to internal bleeding and literally coughing up a lung. 

Dull reflections from the med scanner displays lit up the metal flooring in greens and ambers. Alan let out a sigh of relief at the lack of reds. 

Gordon stepped out of the way to go for something in the storage lockers and Alan finally saw what was wrong with Virgil.

Alan swallowed hard. It looked really, really bad. 

He’d once see Virgil in his workshop straightening out a support strut from the exosuit that during a rescue had gotten all bent out of shape. Except right now Virgil’s leg looked like that. 

His knee was not meant to be at that angle, knees weren’t supposed to be able to do that. Scott was carefully supporting the joint between his hands and Gordon was grabbing splints. 

There’d been much worse injuries Alan has seen up close as a rescue operative. Way worse. But this was his brother. 

He froze up, just staring at Virgil’s leg, unable to look away, until his other brothers blocked his view again.

Gordon finished his tasks and stepped back, leaving Scott was still fussing with equipment near Virgil and watching over him.

As soon as he managed to unlock his body, Alan threw himself at Gordon. He didn’t know whether Virgil’s knee was dislocated with the joint all messed up or the bones completely broken to pieces, and normally he’d just ask Virgil a medical question like this but right now he couldn’t because it was Virgil lying in that bed. 

Alan hid his face against Gordon’s wetsuit. It was the same position Gordon had held him before when he didn’t want Alan to see Virgil’s injuries but this time Alan was trying his hardest to snuggle closer so he didn’t have to see. 

[tadpolesonalgae]

im going to be honest with you im so lost with teeth and talons. rhysand is a god and so is lucien but azriel is a demon? and elain was turned like mc was but she's not a demon? and azriel wasn't neglecting her, he literally kidnapped her and now it's his fault mc is going crazy? was she already his mate when she was human?

(Small acowar spoilers below!)

Sorry yeah I guess it’s probably even more confusing with the upload times 😭

So Rhys is a god (instead of High Lord), Lucien is the son of a god (since he’s from Beron/Helion), and Elain was turned into a demon but she uses her powers to do her work as a priestess—she could still turn into some horrifying hell beast if she wanted to :)

With the neglect, I’d argue Azriel was really quite cruel to her at times…?

For example, this scene from Chapter 4:

‘You peer up at him, arms wrapping across your chest, keeping your nightclothes in your hands. “‘Thank me'?” You echo, voice shaking. "For what?" You swear something like amusement gleams in his eyes as he leans down, so he can stare at you. "For bringing you to a river instead of dumping you in some frozen wasteland for the beasts to fight over."

Then his wings are pulling away, shadows retracting back to him, light returning to your skin.

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and feel yourself fracture. The tiniest break, splitting along your vertebrae. Your lips part slightly, vision blurring with painful confusion. He's so... volatile. You can never tell what mood he's in. Whether he'll be nice to you, let you nestle into his fur when he shifts to sleep, or whether he'll snarl and snap, degrade and punish you until your pieces are lying scattered across the ground.’

Chapter 6:

‘He doesn’t remind you of your belief that he’s forced you to reside with him in hell. That would cause too many questions, and he quite likes knowing you won’t try to escape, if only for fear of what lies beyond the castle floor which he holds you in.’

This scene from Chapter 7:

‘He leans closer, hot breath curling with his lip. "Why did you open the door?"

"I thought it was you," you stammer softly, peering at him beseechingly. He snarls at that, as if insulted. "How stupid can you be?" You reel back at the harsh words, staring.

"It had your eyes," you mumble, blinking back tears as you attempt to steady your breathing,

"I thought it was you. Don't call me stupid."

Just like that, he surges forward, tipping you backward onto the stone floor, pinning you down. His lip curls back from his teeth, then they're sinking into your neck. Words and sound are ripped from your conscious as pain lashes through you. It's not like before, not when it sent aching pleasure singing in your blood. This is punishing—agonising stinging. Muscles seize, fingers tremble, eyes wide. Your back arches into him at the onslaught of blazing brutality he's stamping into your skin.’

And this from Chapter 8 where she makes it quite clear she doesn’t want to be around him anymore:

‘He's on top of you, chaining you to the mattress as if it's a torture bed.

You need me. The words tumble freely into your mind, stretching across that strange thread that he's sewed to your soul. You need me to live.

You weakly shake your head, but it's little more than a tilt of your chin. "No..”

His hand settles on the pillow, and that strange pulse of energy washes through you. The bone-deep chill subsides, as if warmed by his power. As if in answer. What has he done?

If you don't undergo the Ritual, you will die, he says, in that strange, wordless way of his. You give him a look that you hope him to understand as, I will be happy to cross over, and be rid of you. By the way he stiffens, you think he does.’

Yes there were also moments where he took care of her, (the end of Chapter 8) but he made some pretty bad mistakes (like not telling her anything about the Ritual) which she still has every right to be furious about once she realises—which is what Elain is trying to get her to do.

End of chapter 8:

‘The thump of your heart grows weaker by the second, despite the increasingly frequent pulses of magic that thrum through your skin. Take the Ritual, and then you can return here. Remain as long as you like. Until the citadel falls to dust, and the rivers become lakes; become oceans. Remain forever, but take the Ritual, so you can see it all, and live.

If you didn't know better, you would say he sounds pleading. But you can hardly string one thought to the next, so you don't. Instead, you latch onto that final flicker he's shielding from the weight of the world, and nod.’

Chapter 9:

‘His dark eyes flick down to you, then he shifts you in his arms, lifting and moving you so your legs are tucked around his waist, arms guided gently over his shoulders. If you had the energy, you could purr. Nestle closer into him, feeling the firm press of his chest against your own, the strong muscle lining his body, the soft, silky locks at the nape of his neck.

"Hold on," he murmurs to you, one arm beneath you to keep you up, the other around your back, pressing between your shoulder blades then trailing down to grip your waist. Your spine arches, dipping as his forearm brushes the bone, holding just above your hip.

“I just want it to be over" you whisper onto his skin, head resting on his shoulder, tears blurring your vision. "It will be," he replies quietly. "Just a little longer.”’

Then there’s chapter 6 where he takes her to the holy lands:

‘He’s so close to the ground; you’re certain should he wish it, his talons could till the earth. He’s going so fast, hurtling through the open fields, moving with lethal motion, propelled forward by the powerful, beating muscle that binds his wings. Colour blurs by as you pass over dotted patches of wildflowers, leaving only gusts of wind in your wake, crystal-like water spraying to a fine mist as he shoots across a stream.

A laugh—young and wild and reckless—bursts from your throat. His shadows wrap slightly tighter as your grip loosens on him, allowing you to sit upright—that shield that he’s put in place blocking you from the air that would surely knock you clean from his back.’

Honestly in Teeth and Talons Azriel isn’t supposed to be wholly good or wholly evil, he just is, so I guess it’s up to you to make your own decisions and decide what to make of him :) 🧡💛

[kaddyssammlung]

BPD / C-PTSD / bad relationship dynamics in Sleep Token lyrics - Part 3

TW for mental health stuff

Part 1 Part 2

Hypnosis

“Take from me leave nothing left take everything”

I just love Hypnosis so much that I have to bring it up again. That feeling of being in so much emotional pain and you want someone the set you free. To me this is what this song is about.

For someone with BPD this certain someone will not only set you free from all your pain but they will become your existence. Your reason to live. This is rooted in having no sense of self.

Mine

“Paralysed by my own will”

I can relate to this feeling. I don't even want to name an example because you can see everything that I already brought up as an example of being paralysed by my own will.

Everything is so intense and extreme that it does paralyse you.

“and I am certain that you and I are crashing course”

Yes. I had this with my ex-boyfriend and also with my ex-girlfriend. It still took alarmingly long to end those relationships.

“you will be mine”

I hate this feeling. I had this quite often. It comes from wanting to have power over someone. At least it does in my case or it's what I connect with this.

Like That

“just to provoke my combat new weapons to snap those final strings just to watch me fall back”

You want to watch me bleed....because I bleed so well....

This whole cycle of abuse has something to do with early abandonment. And no I don't meant to be abusive but it ended up happening. I can see this the other way, too. I often felt provoked. So....well...idk...Vessel, just break up with them if you can.

“Do you like that?”

No! I don't! It's lyrics like these that make me just scratch my head and ask myself: how do you write about stuff like that unless you have experienced this and it had a great impact on you?!

“all that inside, all your anger”

I just read something about BPD rage that I want to put in here. I have trouble explaining this feeling but they said it well:

Rage is the most primal feeling generated and the most protective defense that a young infant can muster to try to have the caregiver return to once again provide some sense of being for the infant.

Feelings and reactions of rage are experienced by those who go on to develop BPD so early in life that they precede cognitive and verbal development.

This is what makes borderline rage so primal, so intense, and in the case of the borderline so raw and unmanageable in terms of often triggered dysregulated emotion of those with BPD.

It is pain that has long-since been dissociated from and abandoned by the borderline. This abandoned pain of BPD is the ignition switch that needs only the hint or flicker of an emotional flame to ignite a combustible, all-too-often abusive rage like no other. Source

Fall For Me

“Through a fractured existence”

I feel this so much. Everything is just gone...don't remember my childhood. And even after that so many years missing from me life.....constant dissociation just leaves you like this.

Little pieces coming back but so much that does come back I just don't like because it has something to do with being traumatized....

“and I feel like I'm losing touch witch what I am again”

He sings what I am and not who I am...

But for me this fits the whole “having no sense of self” symptom of BPD.

“Oh God, I wish you were here”

Constant dissociation......

Over the past few weeks this has been getting so much better again :)

Alkaline

“She's perfectly misaligned”

I thought about my ex-girlfriend in that way. She was very open about her mental health struggles. I was kind of happy because I assumed that she would understand my struggles as well.

It turned abusive fast, though. And yes it was both ways again.

Distraction

“I am broken into fractions and I am driven to distraction”

I know. Me, too.

Descending

“Until I let you fall I've been left no choice Don't you see that?”

You failed my “testing – game” and no you are not worthy of anything. Good day and may we see each other never again. You are dead to me. End of story!

Lol

It does remind me of playing games. It's this “I'm pushing you away but actually I want to be with you....I need you so much...but I push you away so you can't leave me” game.

“What would you do for me?”

Oh Vessel...well...I'm not straight so...well...sorry.

Buy presents, bake something, do whatever they say when you sleep with them,.....

I did all of those things....

High Water

“I will still avoid my own questions”

Just run away from your trauma. I get that.

“and I know you still bear the weight of your own existence and you'll never bear the weight of two”

So true. Which is why I've been single for the past nine years now. It's easier to avoid all of this. Maybe someone will “collapse into me” like you say, Vessel but until then it's better that way.

Missing Limbs

“failing to remind you what you're living for”

To me BPD feels like not really being a part of this earth. I feel stuck between worlds. As if I was never meant to be or never meant to come here. But now I'm kind of here but I'm often so empty, sad, far gone, dissociated that this is not a home for me. I do have strange feeling of where we actually come from and I miss this place...

[nancypullen]

Monday

Oh my goodness, what a busy few days!  Matt flew in on Thursday, the Edgewaters drove over Friday after work, on Saturday we raided a pumpkin patch and corn maze, and on Sunday we stormed the castle in Revel Grove at the Maryland Renaissance Festival.  Fun, but exhausting!  We laughed a lot, mostly courtesy of a certain four-year-old that we all know and love.  I’ll try not to ramble on too much, I’ll just throw some photos up here and you can see for yourselves. Saturday’s pumpkin adventure was at JZ Farms. They had so much stuff for little kids to do - it was charming, wholesome, and Little Miss had a blast. Check out the corn maze!

https://www.facebook.com/JZFarms1/videos/640946950752720

Here’s a shot from above.

There was a wonderful play town for kids where they could “work” in everything from a diner to a flour mill to an ice cream parlor or a bank.  Inside the police station there was a wanted poster that had a mirror in the center and that made the kids giggle.  

Our little cop captured a bank robber...

Cuffed him...

and took him right to jail.

She also healed some sick animals, worked on a tractor, ground some grain into flour, and served up a few meals at a diner.

She loved it!

There were also lots of games.  How about a bowling alley where all the lanes are made with hay bales?

Stuff to ride, stuff to climb on, stuff to bounce on, and stuff to throw.  What more do kids need?  There were even little silos of corn for the kids to roll around in, they loved it! 

There were two LARGE, rectangular..um...hills (??) that were for bouncing on and they got a lot of play time.  Kids were doing flips and just going crazy on them.

In this photo you can see them up toward the top right - they’re huge!

Anyway, a grand time was had at the pumpkin patch and we didn’t leave without visiting the patch and choosing some gourds.  I bought a giant pot of mums (cheap!!) and the mister, well...

all I’m going to say is that I don’t have to wait in the patch this year.

We came home, threw some chicken on the grill, baked some taters and tossed a salad.  We all slept well after a full afternoon of fresh air and play.

Onward to Revel Grove! On Sunday we were up, fed, dressed, and out the door a bit after nine o’clock. The Maryland Renaissance Festival is in (appropriately) Crownville, and Anne Arundel County.  That’s where the Edgewaters live so it was about 50 minutes down the road. We took two cars since they’d be driving the few minutes home after leaving the festival and we’d cross the bridge back to our sleepy part of the state.  We parked together and entered the gates to the kingdom.  Oh my word.  I’ve had a good time at Tennessee’s renaissance celebration in past years, but Maryland’s was AMAZING.

Various stages hosted a wonderful array of performers - you could catch everything from musical groups to daredevils.  There were fractured fairytales for kids (told by fairies) and bawdy pub singers for the older crowd.

Some people showed up in incredible costumes, others wore bits and pieces just to share in the lively spirit of the day - a crown or a mask here and there.  We were merely the entourage for a princes.

I loved this plague doctor.   

The village was full of shops selling every sort of bauble you can imagine and any sort of food you desired.

Imagine the aromas - everything from roasting turkey legs to bespoke perfume oils. The sounds - cheers from the jousting arena, sellers hawking wares, flutes and lutes being played. It was so much fun.  The grandgirl took advantage of free pony rides, a children’s play area complete with pirate ship. and a BIG wooden slide that zipped through the trees. 

 By the end of the day her dress showed the evidence of a day well spent, a dirty hem and a few smears from chocolate covered strawberries just mean success, right?  As usual, my pics barely scrape the surface of the fun.  The mister took so many good ones, I’ll probably share a few more tomorrow once he sends me his snaps. I have a couple of adorable shots of the Princess of Quite-A-Lot but her parents prefer that I not spread her image all over the internet.  Party poopers. Today was a bit slower,  Matt pulled out of the driveway in his rental car at about one o’clock, headed for a conference in D.C.  I hate goodbyes, but he’ll be back for Thanksgiving, so we’ll see him again soon.   I spent the afternoon on a sofa, watching Snapped and remembering that I’m not 30 anymore and two festivals in two days is too much.  Just kidding.  The grandgirl was getting sniffly and snotty by Sunday and may have picked up the latest cold rippling through her preschool.  Because she loves me she always shares.  We have our Chincoteague getaway coming up so I’m determined not to get sick again.  This scratchy throat and headache are surely seasonal allergies, right?  I think karma is smacking me for the decades that I bragged about never getting sick.  I may have to start wearing a haz mat helmet. Nah, I’ll toughen up.  Just need to get my immune system back to where it was when I worked in the schools, ironclad! This week I’m going to make art, eat healthy, and just enjoy the cool weather and fall colors.  It’s really getting beautiful around here and I don’t want to miss it. I’m feeling really, really lucky to have the sweet family that I do, and my plan is to stay healthy so I can enjoy more times like this weekend.  We’ve enjoyed more family time in the last 6 months than we have in ages. Our little unit is as strong as ever.  It tickles me to no end that Little Miss is all about Halloween, spooky stuff, and witchy things.  She spied a very pricey witch hat in a shop at the renaissance festival and I think she would have handed over a good portion of her princess gear as a trade.  She happily settled for a wand that was used all day to cast spells and freeze people (mostly her dad).

Isn’t he sweet?  Yes, that’s her Jasmine headpiece that she felt worked just fine with her Aurora gown and none of us were going to tell her any different.

That’s that. I’m wrapping up. I said I wouldn’t get wordy and I did. Sorry. Just feeling the love tonight for these people that I’m lucky enough to call my own.  I’m glad they want to spend time with us, I’m glad we all enjoy each other, and I’m looking forward to more of this silliness.

Stay safe stay well, I’m going to go rest my weary bones...

Sending out love and hugs!

Nancy

[sadnesslaughs]

"Do I look like the kind of person who can be reasoned with?" "….Yes?"

(A response to a writing prompt)

The pair sat exhausted, two bloody warriors on their last legs after a clash of flesh and beliefs. While their bodies were in tatters, their spirits remained, still powering through the pain as they eyed each other off. Their backs resting against whatever piece of wall they could prop themselves against. Grant smirked, the hero always smirking, even when he knew the weight of the situation he was in. The pair were both sealed away in the villain’s bunker, safe from the destruction the villain would cause to the outside world.

“They said you were getting old,” Grant said, trying to force out a laugh. His hand cupping his bruised jaw, feeling some sort of fracture along his jawline. “Didn’t know you could still throw a punch like that. Still, think this one ended in a draw. How about calling off that bomb? As a show of fair play?”

“And they said you retired. Yet, here you are, as always.” William could force his laugh, resting his head against the wall, letting those thin white hairs touch it. “Villains don’t do draws. Do I look like the type of person who can be reasoned with?”

“Yes?”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? Have you known many villains to change their minds? My impending death won’t make me soft.” Determined to show his strength, William went to stand, only for Grant to scoot forward, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. Grant’s gaze went to the wound on the man’s stomach, silently letting him know that standing would worsen his condition. As William settled into the spot again, Grant spoke.

“Villains? No. Most villains are stubborn to the point of their own demise. I don’t see you as a villain, though. I don’t mean that in the typical heroic way of everyone can be redeemed. I just don’t see you as an evil guy.” Grant continued to smirk, furthering the frustrations of the villain.

“You don’t see the guy that’s planning on bombing a city as a villain?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Shit, how do I say it? Shit, pardon my swearing. Pardon it again. I think I’m really on my last legs here.” Grant eyes fluttered, begging for sleep and still he persisted, clenching his gloved hand into a fist, trying to hold on to his last bit of life.

“Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.” William shrugged, turning his head against the wall, staring at the hero. Grant was struggling to hold on. William was sure he had struck one of his vitals. His attacks were usually so precise. He hadn’t expected him to last ten minutes, let alone survive the time they were spending now.

“Heh.. That’s actually funny. It’s weird. You just don’t seem like the worst type of villain. Sure, you’re going to drop a bomb, but you also gave a good amount of warning. How long did you give them? A week? So, plenty of time for people to move without that fear of roads getting congested. A typical villain doesn’t do that. You wanted your needs to be met without conflict. Instead of our side looking for a peaceful resolution, they sent me. Now a city falls because of that. Both sides aren’t innocent in this.”

“Only someone psychotic would threaten a person without a reason. Yes, I hoped things would go differently. I wanted that money.”

“For what?”

“I hadn’t decided. There’s so many things wrong with this world, I wasn’t sure which to devote my time to. Food, disease, housing, the environment and everything else. Where do you even start?”

“No clue. I’ve never been a smart guy, that’s why they send me to punch things. I wish I had been. Some days, I would have loved to make a real difference. It’s not satisfying hurting people. It’s never been my nature, just something I was good at.” Grant lowered his head, closing his eyes.

“HEY. You haven’t convinced me yet. Wake up.” William snapped, pulling Grant back into the conversation. “I doubt it means much, but I’ve never considered you to be stupid. Intelligence isn’t only about research and theory. You’re more tuned into the world than most. I respect that about you. You’re one of the few I respect, Fair Fight-“

“Grant. Grant Turner. No point for dying men to have a secret identity, right? And you’re William, right?” Grant couldn’t gesture with his hand, instead, it firmly rested against his wound, sticking to the spot.

“William Reazna. Yes. Suppose I do cancel that bomb of mine. Then what? What do I do then?”

“What you planned to do. You help people. You won’t have cash. But you’ll have your life.” His sentences getting shorter, struggling to push out anything longer, those sharp breaths pushing the last flickers of life forward.

“What good is a city in ruins? I’ll stop it. There’s an override switch. I’ll activate it.” He slipped a hand into his green coat, pulling out a remote. When he pushed a button, a small tile on the wall flipped over, revealing a red button. “I kept it hidden, didn’t want it getting bumped in our fight.” William went to stand, only to watch as Grant forced himself to his feet. His back squished against the wall, using it to help drag himself up.

“I’ll do it.” Grant said, digging around in his pocket, grabbing a small sealed off tube, similar to toothpaste. He tossed it at William and walked towards the button. With each step, he kept himself leaned against the wall, using it for support.

“You had this the entire time? Why didn’t you use it on yourself? You insane, heroic idiot.” William stared at the thin cap on the tube, not taking it off yet. “Sit down, I’ll apply it to you.”

“If you stand. Die. Wound. Too. Open. I’m gone. You might live.” Everything was getting harder for Grant. His expression glazed. When he reached the button, he slammed his hand into it before collapsing face down onto the floor. Even in that moment of lifelessness. He still smirked.

“Grant? GRANT. Shit. Now you’ve got me cursing.” William opened the tube, pushing the gel out of it. The warm gel burning his fingers as he rubbed it over the wound. The sensation burned as the gel warmed, solidifying into a temporary seal. Not enough to heal the damage, but enough to keep him held together until he could find help. William steadied himself against the wall as he stood, looking at the deceased hero beside him.

“I don’t know what possessed you to make this move. Had you killed me, you probably would have been able to stop this without my help. So, why risk everything to spare me? Did you know something I didn’t, or are you too stupidly heroic for your own good? Shit, thank you, Grant. No one else would have given me a chance for redemption. I’ll collect your body when I have the strength to carry us both out of here.” He promised, bowing his head. Saying a small prayer for the corpse before making his way out of the bunker.

[ultimateutopia]

@crownheacl​ ► Sabin to Kefka.

« s-stop——! stop, S-STOP, STOP!! »

“Shtop, shtop, shtoooop... anyone told you that you plead like a TODDLER?”

A hand rests on his hips, a finger still pointed at the man on the ground, little sparks of light still surrounding it. Not even torturing him is fun, not when he gave up so quickly. He should just kill him at this point, really -- I mean, how many times can one dumbass try to climb a tower and beat up monster after monster just to fail? ( sidenote, he really needs to buff some of those if one piece of garbage could make his way through those. that’s just embarassing. )

Ooooor. Or or or. He could just. Continue making him suffer. Make him plead for eternal rest! I mean, it’s not like he could do anything, right? This muscle-brain couldn’t properly lay a finger on him before the whole Triad shebang. what could he do now? Nothing. Absolutley, pathetically NOTHING. The punch he threw was the proof he needed, that the world needed to know that nobody could touch him!

“You know?”

A snap of his fingers, and yet another bolt hits the man on the ground -- right where Kefka made that permament scar, around... what, half a year ago? More or less? Oh, time really flies when you’re having fun.

“You gave me an idea. A fun little idea that maybe will teach you to not be so stupid! Ever heard of plans? Thinking about them, pondering about the consequences?

It’s time someone teaches you about those.”

Maybe by... turning around. Leaning over the little mound he considers his throne, looking down at the fractured world under him, the free hand brought above his squinting eyes.

“That stupid castle of yours is still gone, hm?” hopefully under the sand. Goodbye forever. Who cares if it’s intact or not, being down there for so long clearly meant everyone in there died already “Wheeere were you hiding all this time? Tzen? Jidoor? Mobliz? Go on, give me a hint.”

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

The Colonel’s Woman (Part 2 of 3)

A/N: Guess who’s baaaccccckkkk :D I’m sorry for the utter chaos that is the blog. I swear to god I posted part 2 but I honestly can’t find it anywhere on my blog. So here it is, part 2 to my feral Carillo story. 

*This is a work of fiction*

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + Only (language, reader is a sex worker, canon-typical violence, kidnapping, blood, loss of a finger, abuse, attempted sexual assault, torture, angst, ya’ll heed the warnings

Word Count: 2.5K

Masterlist

Part One 

Imagine a thread, a thick string of red, tied between two poles. Each pole represents something on one side; you have the Search Bloc, a group of men loyal to their commander and country, their mission to hunt down and execute the Narcos that haunt Colombia. On the other is the government they seek to uphold, filled with corruption, greed, and blood. The thread that holds them up begins to splinter and twist as the knife presses deeper and deeper, each thread fracturing till the whole thing collapses into the dust. 

And today, the thread snaps. 

“They changed the status of the search,” Trujillo whispers rapidly into the receiver of the phone, looking over his shoulder like a thief in the night, “they aren’t looking for a survivor. They are hunting for remains.” 

“Fuck,” Javier slams down his hand on the desk, Steve jolting at the sudden noise. 

“What the hell is going on?” 

“Where is the Colonel?” Javier ignores him; his worst fear replies quickly in his ear. 

“He’s gone.” 

Two months, three days, twelve hours, and eleven minutes. His hands shook around the steering wheel as he slammed on the gas through the neighborhoods. Recovery. The words still shook him to the core; they were giving up. You were nothing more than a body for them to hunt, for now, remains. But he knew the truth; Horacio Carrillo knows you’re not dead. He crashes through the fence at his home and leaves the door to the car open, going into the house, the smell not bothering him any longer. 

Dishes overflow over the counter, and just as many are smashed into thousands of pieces on the ground. He doesn’t feel them when they slice through his shoe and embed themself in his foot, the blood leaving a trail to his office. The flies circle overhead, and if anyone walked inside, they would probably begin searching for a body only to find the occupant alive despite his best efforts. 

The phone ringing is shrill, and he snaps it off the phone, his voice unrecognizable. There is no charm or professionalism in him anymore. Nothing but raw unimaginable pain and loss. 

Remains. 

The words make him wretch into the trashcan on the ground, and Javier’s alarmed tone brings him back to the present. “What the hell are you going to do? Think here; you need a plan. Don’t shut us out!” Horacio slams down the phone and reaches for the bottle of whiskey on his desk, unscrewing the cap and taking a large gulp. He looks in the mirror on the wall, a large crack down the middle from where he shattered it with his fist three weeks ago. 

His eyes are sunken, dark-rimmed; he can’t remember the last time he slept or ate something beyond whiskey and cigarettes. He knows he stinks, the men in the office holding their breath when he passes, a living corpse. If he finds you, he’s going to be a dead one. 

The map on the table is out of focus, and he slams the bottle down onto the desk and looks at the clock on the wall. His plan was madness; no one would ever have the guts to do what he was going to do. But he was out of options. 

Remains. 

He turns toward the gun case in the corner and unlocks it, taking out several guns of various shapes and sizes, and strapping them on his person. The extra ammo tinkles like a bell in his pocket, and he reaches a hand out for the small round explosives, and smoke bombs. He leaves the door open; there is no way he can come back to this place when he’s finished; this is the first place they’ll look, probably torch the fucking place. 

He walks back through the house, only stopping in his bedroom to take the frame off the nightstand, a photo of the two of you at a carnival a few months back. He won’t ever forget, a night he could just relax and be alone with you. The frame shatters on the floor, and he crunches it under his boot, folding the picture and putting it in the pocket of his bulletproof vest, a trail of blood in his wake. 

The sirens echo off the basement wall, and he sits in the metal chair, sharpening his knife, the slow, methodical humming of metal on the whetstone is soothing. His eyes shoot up when she whimpers, blood trailing down her forehead and getting in her bloodshot eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. “W-w-why are you d-d-doing this?” she cries. 

He smiles and stands, bringing the sharpened edge of his knife and pressing it against her cheek, trailing it down. The threat of a cut is is so real she freezes, unable to breathe. “He took the love of my life; now I took his.” 

She shivers when he brings the knife up against her throat, “it would be so easy to kill you. Like breaking a toothpick, and I’d leave you naked and cut up tiny pieces in the street for him to find your remains.” He chuckles, “because that’s all she is now, remains.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispers, struggling to breathe, “Pablo doesn’t hurt women or children.” 

“LYING BITCH,” she screams when he slaps her hard across the face, a bruise already forming on her cheek. “He doesn’t hurt women or children; he fucking cut off her finger! Sent it to me in the mail!” 

“Finger…” she mumbles, her brow furrowing, “you said he cut off her finger?” 

He stalks over to the bag in the corner and returns with a bag, holding it up to her face. She struggles not to vomit at the discoloration of the human finger, a stark red polish on the nail, “this is what your precious husband does to women.” 

“I-I know where she is! Do you have a picture?” Tata looks at the feral man before her, his eyes widening as he snaps the velcro on the vest, unfolding a picture. She feels sick when she looks at the two lovers in the photo; it’s you. Your thinner now, eyes dull, going through the motions of life, but she’d know you anywhere. “That’s her; she’s a maid at my house.” 

He pulls back the photo and shoves it in his pocket, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling back her head, the gun pressed against her neck. “She’s alive? You fucking lie to me, and I pull the trigger right now!” 

“YES, YES, SHE’S ALIVE!” Tata screams and prays to God when he drops her head and lowers the gun. She’s crying harder now, her makeup smeared beyond repair, bruise purpling on her cheek. The sound of the chains holding her hands above her head rattle as he lowers them, a scowl on his face. 

He shoves the phone in her face and growls, “call him.” 

You kneel on the little girl’s room floor, brushing up the broken glass from her tea set. The front door slams open, and you hear muffled voices shouting before there is a single gunshot. You scramble to your feet and look out into the hallway; a raging Pablo Escobar comes barreling down the hall, reaching a hand out for you. You back away quickly but trip over the glass, cutting open your leg as he grabs a fistful of your hair and drags you down the hallway screaming. You ran out of tears two months ago. 

“Do you hear that?!” he screams into a phone, and you hook your hands around his beefy wrist, trying to call free. “Tell him!” he shoves the phone against your ear and holds your head up by your hair. 

You scream and thrash, trying to break away, but your body goes still, silent, when you hear the voice on the other end, a voice you’d only heard in your dreams. Your name whispered broken on the other end. “Horacio,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from screaming and disuse. 

All too soon, the phone is ripped from your ear, the hand in your hair tightening, “you hear that she’s alive! The little bitch is living under my roof, eating my scraps, and serving my family.” He releases your hair, and you scramble to get away, whimpering when he steps down hard on your back. “But she won’t be; I will slit her throat right now if you dare touch a finger on Tata’s head.” 

“Tata?” you toss your head back, and he steps firmer, your ribs protesting under the weight. 

“Shut the fuck up, whore,” he spits at you, and you turn away, listening. “When?” he barks into the phone, the front door opening and several pairs of feet charging inside. “I will agree to your little meeting, and I’ll bring the slut,” he pauses before stepping off your back and screaming into the phone, “DON’T FUCKING HURT HER!” 

You recoil at the rage in his voice and try to crawl away, but from one monster to another, you look at the boot before your eyes and slowly raise them to see Quica smiling down at you. The phone explodes when it hits the wall, and several gunshots go off; you cover your head and shake at the noise before they finally stop. “Grab her; I want her bound and gagged in the trunk of my car in ten minutes; no one follows me. I’m going to get Tata back.” 

You don’t hear any raised protests because you’re lifted off the ground and thrown like a sack of flour over Quica’s shoulder. You try to move out of his arms, screaming and kicking as he leads you to the garage. You’d been lucky that, living under Tata’s roof, none of the men raped you; it had indeed been a concern, the way they leered at you, look but do not touch. But one man never listened, constantly touching your ass or groping your breasts when no one was looking, and he was about to tie you up in the garage for ten minutes. 

A lot could happen in ten minutes. 

He tosses you to the ground, your head smacking on the cement and bouncing like an egg about to crack. He stalks over to the ropes and comes back to you, still disoriented from the sharp smack to your skull. When the rope comes around your wrists, you see your moment, headbutting him hard and almost guaranteeing yourself a concussion. He groans and steps back, but it doesn’t deter him, making him more pissed off. “You little bitch!” he struggles to bring you to the ground, sitting on top of you, and you fight, you fight hard. 

When he brings a hand down to your panties, you know you only have one choice; you take a deep breath a scream, “PABLO!” Quica curses as you keep screaming at the top of your lungs, his fingers covering your mouth,, doing little to muffle the noise. The garage is empty save for one car and two motorbikes, and your voice echoes. “PABLO, PABLO, PABLO!!” 

The door to the garage slams open, and you collapse to the ground, struggling for air around his hand, which quickly retreats. “What the fuck are you doing?!” he rounds on Quica, “you’re going to fucking rape her before I exchange her for my wife!? ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?!” Quica has the good enough sense to step quickly up the stairs, and you breathe for a moment before you are grabbed by the shoulder and shoved toward the open trunk, “fucking bitch was probably begging for it.” He grabs a rag and shoves it in your mouth, tying it tight around your mouth before shoving you in the trunk and leering down at you. “I’m going to get Tata back, and then I will put a bullet in your lover’s head. I gave him a chance, leave Search Bloc, and he chose his job over you, and now you’re both going to die.” 

He slams the trunk closed, and you try your best to get out of the rope, but it’s no use. The engine roars to life, and you close your eyes. If this is the end, at least you go down together. 

Part 3 

@jedi-mando​ @idreamofboobear​ @aerolanya​ @rebelliouscat​ @darklingveracruz​  @marvelprincess1994​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @spacelatinoss​  @martellthemandalor​ @kesskirata​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @jitterbugs927​ @helga1031​  @greeneyedblondie44​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @heythere-mel​ @justanotherblonde23​ @artsymaddie​ @aellynera​ @lucifer-​ @phoenixhalliwell​  @sixshooter665​ @chicken-ona-stick​ @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis​  @paintballkid711​  @fantasticcopeaglepasta​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @boxdyeblonde​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @yeah-seems-legit​  @mimimi-stuff​  @ladyblogger-margie​ @memyselfandellasworld​ @peterhollandkait​ @itspdameronthings​ @emmy626​ @randomness501​  @littlebopper96​ @alexmarie29​ @hell-is-my-second-home666​ @thisshipwillsail316​ @madslorian​ @no-droids-on-sunday​ @glixxr​ @pedro-pastel​ @we-can-be-himbos​  @sleep-tight1​ @sarhabee​ @its--fandom--darling​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @princess76179​ @demoncrypt1066​ @the-dendrophile-bookworm​ @amneris21​ @deliciouslydisturbed365​ @princessxkenobi​  @ew-erin​  @maievdenoir​ @withakindheartx​ @goblinqueen95​  @jaime1110​ @niki-xie​ @gooddaykate​ @simsiddy​ @its--fandom--darling​ @gorgeousgrogu​   @hopplessdreamer​​ @missminkylove​ @blufanfictionthings​ @arellanofelixboys​ @h-hxgirl​ @dreamer-101​ @fangirl-316​ @beesting77​ @phandoz​ @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage​ @practicalghost​ @xoxabs88xox​ @solemnlyswearss​ @rosie-posie08​   @savagemickey03​ @hotchlover​ @ruhro7​ @rominaszh @paintlavillered​

[artzee-bee]

End of all things [1] | Chat Noir x witch!reader

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug (Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir)

Summary: Y/N had been Chat Noir’s friend and moral support for a long time now. Even though she had magical powers too, she never liked getting involved with akuma attacks, but now, as Hawkmoth’s gotten control of the miraculous of creation, she couldn’t stay indiferent anymore. She had to save her friend and Paris!

Genre: Mostly angst? A little fluff

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of death/dying

A/N: This was requested, but as I was writting it, it got very long and I’ve decided to post it in 2 parts. I’m not gonna post the request just now, so as to not spoil the rest of the story but Part 2 will be coming out on friday!!!

Part 2

~~~

Chat was pacing around the room, waiting for you to be done with your potion. You had heard from your parents that there had been a new akuma attack today, but as the news reported, the two parisian heros took care of the problem in no time. For this reason, Chat’s presence at your house felt unusual. Normally he would stop by when he needed to rant, when he was in need of comfort and reassurance but the fight today went well, so what could possibly be bothering him?

“Ok, I’m done” you said, screwing the cap on the little bottle and placing it on your shelf “Wanna talk?” you asked, to which Chat gave you a shy smile

“Yeah, a little”

You made your way to your bed, motioning for him to follow you. You got under your covers and passed him his favorite plushie, a cat to no one’s surprise

“So what’s up? Is it about the fight today?”

“Well no it’s more like a...personal problem?”

“Oh…”

“Claws out” in a rush of light and electricity, the infamous hero vanished before you, transforming into Adrien Agrest

“Well, what is it?” 

Adrien revealed his identity to you months ago. You first met him as Chat, but when you really got to know each other, he decided you needed to know all of him. Well, he needed you to know all of him.

You listened to him rant until way past midnight. Until you were both too tired to stand up straight, so you laid down in your bed, covers up to your necks, muffled stories told in between yawns. You listened carefully, giving him your full attention. He fidgeted with the collar of the stuffed toy and you used your magic to make 2 hot chocolates. Eventually, everything that needed to be said, was said. You offered Adrien to watch a movie, since that always cheered him up, but he refused

“It’s late and I have a photoshoot early in the morning. My makeup team will be angry with my dark circles anyways, better not make it worse” he joked

Adrien transformed back into Chat and you cast a safety spell on him, which you did every time he left your house late at night. He always teased you about being ‘too protective’, but deep down he found it sweet how much you cared and wanted to know that he would get home in one piece.

“Night Chat” you said, wrapping your arms around the hero

“Good night Y/N!”

The next few days went by quietly. You hadn’t run into Adrien at all, but you texted a bit back and forth. Sunday evening however, things took a toll for the worst. You turned on your tv, ready to catch up with your show when you heard Nadja Chamack’s voice doing the news report

“It seems as though Rena Rouge and Chat Noir are struggling to stay on their feet! They have taken shelter under a fallen bus, leaving Ladybug alone to defeat Hawkmoth'' your pulse skyrocketed. As you watched the screen you could see Chat and Rena off to the side, struggling to catch their breath. Rena seemed to be in pain while Chat was trying to help. Ladybug was using her yoyo the best she could in order to protect herself from the supervillain, who was wielding his cane like a sword over her head. The fight was clearly going in Hawkmoth's favour! You grabbed your jacket and ran out the front door and onto the empty streets of Paris, towards the Eiffel Tower, where the fight was taking place. 

People screamed at you from their balconies to go home, warning you about the fight and the danger you were putting your life in but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how they needed you. Chat needed you! Every late night talk and every inside joke shared between you two replaid in your head like a broken record. Behind Chat’s tough mask, his alter ego of hero and protector, was the fragile figure of Adrien Agreste. The young blonde boy who cried during romantic comedies, who liked to have his hair braided and forgot how to speak when someone complimented him. If you didn’t help, the heros would loose and he would most likely die! Alongside Ladybug and Rena who, even though you didn’t know their real identities, were still young girls. As you ran down the street, you heard kids crying inside one of the homes. You ran past but at the last second you heard Nadia’s voice coming from their tv

“Ladybug was akumatized”

You approached the Eiffel tower from the side, where you could see everything going on. In front of the tower, right next to Hawkmoth, stood Marinette Dupain-Cheng, dressed in a tight, dark red suit, darker than Ladybug’s. Black butterflies replaced the dots of the heroine's suit and the purple butterfly mask of Hawkmoth’s control was shining over her face. Marinette was Ladybug! She did, in fact, get akumatized. On the other side, you saw Rena and Chat, struggling to stay up right. They were obviously in a lot of pain and extremely tired, but Hawkmoth was merely mocking them.

“After all this time” Chat spoke up, but his breaths were shallow and rapid “I thought you’d know one thing about us! We don’t give up without a fight. Never will. Especially not against you” and with that, the two ran at each other.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, you know?” he said “We don’t have to fight to death. I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience. All you have to do is give me your miraculouses willingly. The town will be safe, you will be safe! It’s the most heroic option you’ve got. You won’t be any good to Paris if you are dead”

You knew this was not just another fight between them. This was it. Either the heros won or everything they’ve worked for would be lost. Hawkmoth would win and get his hands on both miraculous and god knows what kind of destruction that would bring not only upon Paris, but the world. You focused all your energy in one spot in the air, right between where Chat and Hawkmoth were supposed to clash but before they could reach each other, you sent a wave of energy that blew both of them apart, like a bomb. Hawkmoth flew back into the Eiffel tower while Chat hit the pavement with a thud. Confused and certainly disturbed, both of them began looking around for an answer as to what happened when, finally, Hawkmoth’s eyes landed on yours.

“Aha, miss Y/L/N. What a spectacular honor to finally meet you!” you didn’t reply, instead you stood tall, maintaining eye contact

“I know a lot about you. Seen a lot. Felt a lot of your emotions. None of them can compare to the powers I’ll have with the two miraculouses. With Ladybug’s earrings and the guardian under my control, I’d say my mission here is almost over’’

“Y/N get back!’’ Chat screamed but you were too involved now to run. This was your fight too.

“It is time you give up Hawkmoth. Paris is not yours, neither are the miraculouses. We will destroy you, no matter what it takes!”

“Listen to yourself, kid! <<Destroy me>>? The most you can do is pull a rabbit out of your hat…” before he could finish his sentence, you snapped your fingers in his direction and instantly, the ground around beneath Hawkmoth and akumatized Marinette, fractured. From within the cracks, many tangled plants came out, encapsulating the 2 villains. You sprinted towards Chat and Rena, ignoring the signs of struggle coming from the prison of weeds.

 Alongside the two superheros, you hid inside a corner coffee shop, which was now empty.

“Y/N, you need to leave!! You are putting yourself in too much danger!” Rena told you, as she collapsed to the ground from exhaustion

“Stop with that already! I am here and I’m not going anywhere!”

“Yes you are!” Chat looked at you. His voice was calm and yet, his eyes were filled with disappointment “You are not a superhero. This is our job!”

“You need help”

“No we don’t!” Chat had never, in all your years of friendship, raised his voice at you, let alone yell “ You need to stay safe! You could die! Hawkmoth doesn’t care about anything if it helps him get what he wants! I am ready to take that risk. Rena is too” you both turned to the red headed hero, only to see her slowly nod “But I can’t allow you to take it”

“You can’t tell me what to do”

“I don’t want you to die!” he screamed again “I love you and I will never forgive myself if you don’t come out of this alive!”

Before you could say anything, you saw Hawkmoth and his minion, through the cafe window, cutting through the last of the plants and escaping your trap. You grabbed Chat’s arm and pulled him to the floor, from where you could not be seen

“We’re in this together now” you said in a stern voice, looking the blonde kid right in his eyes “Whether you like it or not '' this time, he simply nodded.

You stuffed your hands into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out 3 little bottles, containing a mate, green liquid. You had prepared one for each of the heros, now you’d only need two.

“Here, drink this!” You handed each of them one “Regeneration potion. Should put you back on your feet.” as soon as they finished drinking the brew, you could see color coming back to their faces

“Where’s Marinette’s akuma??” 

“Her necklace” replied Rena “It’s a gift from her kwami”

“Got it. You deal with Hawkmoth. I’ll bring Marinette back!”

Chat and Rena exited through the front door, grabbing Hawkmoth’s attention. He called out to Marinette to attack, but before she could take a single step in your direction, you had snuck up behind her. Using a simple invisibility spell, you managed to exit unnoticed behind the two heros. It finally felt like the fight had truly begun. From the corner of your eye you could see Chat and Rena doging Hawkmoth’s attacks while you, were doing your best to get your hands on the stupid necklace! Even though she couldn’t see you, Marinette seemed to almost always know what your next move was. She would expertly block all your attack and would keep you an arm’s length away at all times. Finally, you had enough and in one swift motion, you pinned her back to your chest, ripping the necklace away. A wave of black and purple took over the both of you and when it vanished, all you were left with was a half unconscious Marinette in your arms. You dropped her to the ground slowly as she was coming back to her senses. You wanted to talk to her but your thoughts were driven away as you heard Chat scream bloody murder.

On the opposite side of the platza, you saw Hawkmoth rip Chat’s ring off his finger, forcing him to detransform. The exhausted figure of Adrien Agreste fell to the ground with a thud. Hawkmoth had, indeed, gotten his hand on both the miraculouses.

[extasiswings]

15 + buddie

15. "Shouldn't you be with her?" On ao3 here.

When Eddie is eleven, his class gets a new student. Her name is Maria Esparza and her family is from Arizona. She has dark curls that look like they would be soft to touch and a smattering of freckles across her nose and she’s so smart—always reading and forever raising her hand in class, always with the right answers—but she never acts stuck up about it.

He thinks she’s beautiful and when he gets home from the first day of school he promptly announces that he’s in love. He doesn’t understand why his mother laughs or why Sophia rolls her eyes and calls him an idiot when he’s perfectly serious.

He’s in love, he insists, and goes on believing it for three whole weeks until he gets up the courage to give Maria a flower at recess and she looks at him like he has two heads. The rejection smarts for a couple of days, but then he’s fine. So, he figures...maybe it wasn’t love after all.

Eddie is fifteen when he finds his eyes slipping too frequently to Diego Reed in autoshop, lingering on the other boy’s long, dexterous fingers, his forearms, the sharp edge of his jaw. Eddie can’t explain it, he just knows those stolen glances make him squirm, make him flush, make him feel too warm and like his very skin is too tight.

Diego steals Eddie’s first kiss two weeks before winter break, pushes him up against the back wall of the shop where they’re hidden by a truck and licks into his mouth with a confidence that Eddie can’t imagine ever having when he himself can’t even figure out what to do with his hands. But it makes his knees weak and leaves him breathless and panting when Diego pulls away with a smirk and tells him not to say anything.

It’s not love—for one thing, Eddie knows he’s not supposed to love boys, and for another, the only time he suggests it might be anything at all, Diego gives him the same look Maria had once upon a time and walks away—but it’s nothing he’s ever felt before. The next year, Angelica Phelan asks him to go to the winter formal and he gets to second base in the science lab when they slip away from the chaperones. It’s different from kissing Diego. But it’s just as good, he enjoys it just as much, and part of him is…relieved.

He doesn’t think about that too much.

Eddie is eighteen when he’s not watching where he’s going and runs directly into his future on the sidewalk. Thankfully, the only casualty is Shannon’s coffee, and after she snaps at him for not paying attention and he offers to replace her drink—well. They close down the coffee shop, emerging, startled, from conversation only when interrupted by a mildly disgruntled employee trying to lock up. Eddie walks home in a daze, Shannon’s phone number burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s simultaneously elated and terrified because it’s never been so easy being with someone, he’s never felt so seen so quickly. He’s old enough to realize that love at first sight is bullshit, but he thinks he could fall very fast.

He’s right.

They take things slow because Eddie wants to do things right, doesn’t want to risk confusing love with the heady cocktail of teenage hormones and sex. So he knows by the time he does fall into bed with her, eight months in, that he’s in love. Really in love, thinking about the future in love, factoring her into the mix when he thinks about what the hell he’s going to do with his life in love.

And then Shannon gets pregnant. And it’s too soon, he loves her but it’s too soon, and he’s terrified all over again—

He loves her though. He loves her. And she’s pregnant so—they get married. He wants to do the right thing.

At their wedding the readings are selections from Song of Songs and Corinthians.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud....Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things...

With all due respect to St. Paul, Eddie doesn’t think he knew what the hell he was talking about. Or at least, maybe he did, but he was being pretty damn aspirational and left out a few things.

Because after the wedding…after the wedding, Eddie learns a lot more about love.

Love is beautiful, yes. But love is also…trying to do the right thing and fucking up. Love is fighting and knowing exactly what to say to cut the deepest and not always holding back. Love is forgiving, but after a point finding it difficult to forget.

Or maybe that’s not love, maybe that’s just marriage. Maybe it’s a little of both. Because love endures—sure. Love endured with Shannon even when trust was nonexistent, when their marriage was fractured, shattered pieces strewn across the floor ready to draw blood if either of them tried to pick them up.

Love isn’t enough. That’s what Eddie knows. Or maybe it is, maybe love would have been enough to fix what was broken if it hadn’t been his. Shannon’s gone, so they’ll never be able to have that conversation. He’ll never know the answer.

Love endures. Eddie kind of wishes it didn’t. It would make a lot of things a lot easier.

But…it’s fine. He’s fine. Shannon dies and he locks that piece of himself away and has no plans to ever fall in love again.

Then again, God has a funny sense of humor and never seems to resist an opportunity to be an asshole, so of course…he does. Slowly. Quietly. The threads slipping through the cracks in his walls so carefully that he doesn’t even notice until they’re twined around his heart, unspooling through his blood, through his veins with every pulse. Eddie doesn’t notice.

And then he gets shot and it’s like being hit by lightning, an electric shock of clarity down his spine, rooting him in place as he meets Buck’s eyes.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

***

Eddie despises recovery.

He’s never been good at being still, at being useless, at being left alone with nothing but his own head. And maybe he’s not entirely alone—he has Christopher, after all, and Christopher is understandably a little clingy now that he’s home from the hospital—but Christopher sleeps and has play dates and spends time in his room and just in general isn’t in Eddie’s space every second of every day.

And then there’s Buck. Buck who offered to keep staying on the couch to take care of everything they needed when Eddie came home from the hospital. Buck who Eddie sent home to his own bed with promises to call if he needed help because having Buck so close after Eddie’s little realization was stirring him up, making everything a million times more difficult in his head. Buck’s still over frequently, but it’s less dangerous if he’s not staying overnight, if Eddie can’t wake up and be tempted to walk out to the living room and pull Buck into his bed. Not for anything sexual—he’s on too many medications and too immobilized for that even if it was remotely a good idea—but to be held. To feel wanted. To feel safe.

He knows Buck probably wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t think anything of it except that maybe he’s a little raw and fragile, which he is. Which is exactly why he can’t ask. So. Removing the temptation it is.

But. Being left alone with his own head is a terrible idea. He’s in pain because he lowered the doses of his pain meds so he would stop worrying about developing any dependency. He can’t sleep without waking up with screams trapped behind his teeth and the smell of blood and gunpowder in his nose. And he can’t stop thinking about Buck. About being in love with Buck. About wanting Buck. About whether he could ever have him or whether he’ll ever be okay enough to be in a relationship. About whether Buck could ever want him back or if he’ll ever feel safe enough to risk their friendship by even asking.

He broke up with Ana the second he was able to figure out how to do it without feeling like a complete dick. But he hasn’t told Buck that. He doesn’t know why.

And then there’s—

The key turns in the lock and Eddie starts, looking up from his place on the couch. Christopher is with his abuela for the night, and he didn’t expect—

“Hey,” Buck calls, stepping through the door. “I brought dinner.”

Eddie stares.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, before he can stop himself. “Shouldn’t you be with Taylor?”

—Taylor. Buck and Taylor. Which, Buck waited weeks to tell him about, hedging about why he wanted to know if it was okay to invite her to Eddie’s welcome home party. Which, Buck only did admit to when Eddie called one night at 2AM and Taylor answered Buck’s phone.

Eddie clears his throat, the question sounding a little too sharp and accusatory to his ears.

“I just meant,” he adds, softening, “I thought you said you had a date tonight.”

An odd look passes over Buck’s face.

“Isabel called me,” he replies. “She said you were by yourself, asked if I would check on you. We rescheduled, it’s fine.”

Eddie nods once and pulls the couch throw tighter around his shoulders with his good arm. A petty, possessive piece of him is pleased. That Buck’s there. That Buck would drop everything for him.

He’s always been wary of Taylor. Even way back when they first met and she was prowling around the station filming everyone and flirting with Buck. But now? Now he’s jealous, his stomach twisting at the very reminder that she has Buck the way Eddie wants him.

But at the same time…he hates that. Hates the jealousy, hates feeling possessive. Because what claim does he have over Buck’s affections? None. Especially not when he can’t even admit to loving him outside his head.

He hates it because he knows that more than anything, Buck deserves to be happy. And maybe Eddie could make him happy, but—

Even if Buck felt the same—and Eddie isn’t convinced of that, doesn’t have the arrogance to assume—what right does he have to say please, to say wait, to ask Buck to put his life on hold indefinitely while Eddie sorts through the tangled mess in his head in the hope that one day he’ll finally be ready? He can’t be that selfish. Especially not with Buck.

Buck deserves to be happy. Even if that’s with Taylor Kelly. Even if it means Eddie loses him.

He doesn’t get to be jealous.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

Buck sets the bag in his arms down on the coffee table.

“You don’t look fine,” he points out. “Actually, you look like shit. Isabel was right to call me.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie repeats. His heart pangs at the concern in Buck’s eyes. “Really, it’s okay—you should—you should—”

Go. Call Taylor back. Enjoy your date.

He wants to do the right thing. He really does. But the rest of the words refuse to leave his throat.

Buck shakes his head anyway. “I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “So tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”

Eddie bites his lip. Drags his hand over his jaw before making a face. The messy, overgrown scruff is itchy and difficult to manage on his own, and the foreignness of it doesn’t help him feel grounded in his own body when he wakes up gasping in the middle of the night.

“It’s stupid,” he says.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Buck replies. “And I’m here, so you might as well just talk.”

I’m in love with you, Eddie thinks. And I can’t sleep. And I can’t shave. And everything hurts. And I just want to stop being afraid—

He swallows. He can’t say all of that. He can’t blow everything up that way.

So, he picks the easiest one.

“I can’t shave with my left hand and it’s driving me insane.”

Buck blinks. Then he laughs as the worry in his brow smooths out.

“That’s it?” He asks. “Well, that’s easy. I can do that. Come on.”

And that’s how Eddie winds up sitting on the bathroom counter with shaving cream all over his face while Buck wets a razor and steps between his legs.

His breath catches.

“You good?” Buck asks, his voice low. His eyes are soft and focused, and Eddie almost regrets everything because the proximity—god, the proximity. He’s been so cold since the shooting and Buck is so warm, heat spreading through Eddie’s body from every discrete point of contact. Buck tips his chin back and Eddie lets his eyes slip closed.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m good.”

The razor drags along his skin. Neither of them say a word, the main sound in the room the drip of the faucet when Buck rinses the razor between passes. They’ve always been physical with each other, but this sort of thing is new. Intimate.

Eddie aches.

His eyes open a crack to watch. Buck’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, and having every ounce of that focus on him is…intoxicating.

I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Buck steps in closer, Eddie’s legs spread ever so slightly wider. A spark of heat flashes through him and he inhales sharply—Buck’s startled enough that his hand slips and the razor nicks Eddie’s jaw.

“Shit,” Buck swears. The razor clatters into the sink. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Eddie opens his eyes the rest of the way. “It’s fine,” he assures. “What, you think I’ve never cut myself shaving before? It’s still better than I would have managed myself.”

“I’m—” Buck looks stricken, his fingers reaching out to gently cradle Eddie’s jaw only for him to snatch them back almost instantly, the tip of one faintly smeared with blood. His hand trembles.

“Buck,” Eddie says quietly. Buck’s eyes are fixed on the red smear and Eddie is sent back—

Watching his blood splash across Buck’s face and not realizing at first that it was his. Being half-delirious on the way to the hospital worrying that Buck had been hurt—

All this time, Buck’s been moving forward, pushing ahead, for Christopher, for him, for everyone, and Eddie knew he wasn’t entirely okay, knew he was fucked up from the moment in the hospital when he said I think it would have been better if I was the one who got shot, but since Eddie’s been home, Buck has seemed…better.

Maybe not. Maybe he’s been struggling to pretend as much as Eddie has.

Eddie twists around to grab the towel draped over the faucet and wets it enough to wash the rest of the shaving cream off his face, feels the sting of soap and water in the cut. And then he reaches out to grab Buck’s hand, wiping the blood off of his finger.

There’s something profane about blood staining skin. And something sacred in the act of washing it clean.

Eddie wonders if anyone helped Buck wash his blood off when he was in surgery. Taylor, maybe.

But no, that doesn’t feel right.

Buck probably did it himself. Alone.

“Hey.” Eddie squeezes Buck’s fingers. When Buck doesn’t look at him, he reaches out and curls his hand around the side of Buck’s neck, tips Buck’s chin up with his thumb to force him to meet his eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. No harm done.”

Buck breathes out shakily. His throat works, his face passes through a million stages—finally, his hands fall to the counter on either side of Eddie’s hips and his forehead drops to Eddie’s good shoulder. Eddie lets his hand slip around to the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers combing up through the short hairs there. He turns his head and he’s close enough to kiss the side of Buck’s, but he holds off. It feels like it would be too much. Too much when Buck doesn’t know how he really feels, what he really wants. But even just this—the closeness, the touch—is good. Needed. A balm to the itch under his skin.

When Buck turns his face into Eddie’s neck and inhales, Eddie thinks maybe Buck might need this just as badly.

“I’m okay,” he repeats, closing his eyes again as his fingers comb through Buck’s hair. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

They stay like that for a long time. Buck’s phone rings out once, but neither of them moves to answer it. Eventually, Buck lifts his head and clears his throat roughly as he steps back.

Eddie’s hand falls away from Buck’s neck. He feels the absence keenly.

“You good?” He asks. Buck nods. His eyes are red.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. He pauses. Shakes his head. “No. But—can we just—can I just finish this for now? I want to finish this.”

Eddie watches him for a moment. Wets his lips. Then finally nods and passes over the shaving cream again.

“Sure,” he says. “I trust you.”

I love you.

Maybe…maybe eventually he’ll be braver. Maybe eventually, both of them will be free at the same time and he’ll be whole and healed, or at least something closer to it than he is now. Maybe eventually…love will be enough. Maybe.

For now, he has this.

[charnelhouse]

Wounds

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rating: 18+ Mature Wordcount: +1.8K Request: You and Din deal with injuries after a fight. Din’s fears get the better of him. Warnings: A brush of smut. Wound care. Angst.  A/N:  For @helmet-comes-off​​  and my 500 Followers request sitch! It’s the same couple from I’ve Flown Too Close to the Sun, but can be read as a stand-alone.

You cry out when you roll onto your side.

Din lurches, his hand on your thigh as he reaches for you. “What? What is it?”

His voice is still raspy with sleep. It’s sweltering inside the tiny slot where their “bed” rests. You suck your lower lip into your mouth, biting down to distract yourself from the blazing fire that is sweeping up your ribs.

“It hurts,” you groan. “Everything fucking hurts.”

Din sighs before he gently brushes his fingertips over the newly sewn flesh. The fight had been bad. It had ended worse than usual. Too many enemies in an enclosed space. No exits and most of it spent with you desperately trying to protect the kid. Both of them had gotten knocked around. A deep gash from a dirty vibroblade for you. A broken finger and possibly fractured collarbone for Din.

There are bruises everywhere. The herbal smell of Bacta is driving you into nausea. The coppery finish of the bloody clothes in a mass at the end of their cot. You stretch slightly, only to jolt at the sharp tug of your stitches.

“Fuck,” you gasp as he tries to quiet you.

“I know,” he soothes. “I know it stings.”

As soon as they’d calmed the crying child and gotten him to bed, Din had sewn up your wound over the sink. The kid been scared for them, his pudgy little hand reaching for your bleeding waist. They didn’t want him to use his powers, didn’t want him to waste his precious energy.  

These were flesh wounds. They came with the territory.

**

Din grimaces as he cleans the slit skin, the angry red meat gleaming beneath.

“Fucking bastards,” he grunts as he presses an alcohol-soaked piece of fabric to the wound. You hiss, notching your fingers into his bicep and digging. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve had worse,” you quip as you stare up at the ceiling to count the cracks. You feel dizzy from blood loss, exhaustion turning your bones to lead.

You long to sleep for days. For weeks.

You count the lines in the ceiling instead so you don’t tip over.

“I need to set your finger,” you remark distractedly as you fiddle with Din’s pauldron.

“It can wait.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at him. He’s pissed. The anger sops the blunt edges of each word he delivers. He doesn't like it when a fight goes south and stays there. It’s not even like those shit heads had been particularly skilled. You and Din had just been caught unaware.

“What’s wrong?” you press, kicking your feet out like a child, attempting to appease his frustration in some way. Calm down, Din. I’m perfectly fine. The kid is fine. Just another scar for me to add to the collection.

“What do you think is wrong?” he snaps. It startles you and you go rigid, boots knocking against the pipe below the sink. He prods at the cut. “This is bad. Almost hit something vital.”

It’s surprising how he can possess such fury while still sewing your skin together with a steady grace. Even with a broken index finger. Once again - his care for your well being stuns you. He’s furious and injured and still he attends to you until every scrape and cut is sealed in bacta and bandages.

You want him to relax.

“It was a fight, Din. We got out of it.”

“Barely.”

You frown as he hurls the roll of bandages into the sink.

“That doesn’t happen to me,” he continues through clenched teeth. “I was distracted.”

“We didn’t expect to get jumped while running errands. We weren’t even in the bad part of Coruscant.”

His shoulders tense and he steps away from you. He tilts his helmet, the black visor unreadable.

“You,” he accuses. “You distracted me.”

Something drops in your gut, ripping at your insides. “What?”

“I - I wasn’t paying attention because all I could focus on was you - watching you - keeping you close. It’s not your fault, but I-I’m not sure if this is the best idea anymore.”

It feels like that blade is back between your ribs, it feels like Din is dragging it through your flesh. Twisting. Twisting. Twisting.

“Excuse me?”

He drops his head, running his bare hand over his visor. Your blood is clumped in his fingernails.

He lowers his voice, but there’s still the brittle tug of panic.

“I have always been alone in this. Always on guard. When you’re with me, I forget. It’s like there isn’t the job anymore and I’m not a Mandalorian. It’s like you, me and the kid are just,” he pauses, before adding, “normal.”

You move from the sink, your heart hammering in your chest. Impossibly loud between your ears. He’s just scared. He’s just upset. He wouldn’t leave you.

Would he?

You scrub a dirty fist over your eyes, cursing yourself when you feel wet. He makes you so fucking emotional. It doesn’t help that you’re exhausted and every part of your body is flaring with pain.

“I’m sorry,” you offer weakly. You need to lie down before you crumple, before you hit your knees and break apart in front of him.

“I said it wasn’t your fault.” His tone is flat, but there’s a tremble at its base. He’s trying so hard to shove you away right now, constructing sturdy barriers. You know he is because it’s exactly what you would do. “This is on me. This is all on me. If you had died that would have been on me too.”

“I didn’t die,” you remind, stepping out of the fresher and into the hull. “I know what you’re trying to do right now and it’s not fair to me or to you. You’re fucking human, Din. Shit happens.”

He scoffs and you’re about to punch him where it hurts, tell him that maybe you WILL fucking leave if he’s going to act like that. But he slides the door closed, shutting it in your face.

What the fuck? That had been a lot. It had come bursting out of him, taking you completely by surprise.

You don’t have it in you to argue. No patience or strength to force the door back open and make him understand that he’s being an idiot. You’ve been with Din long enough to know that he needs space, that years of isolation has honed him into someone who needs to be alone with his head when he’s messed up. He needs to get to the grit of it - why he’s upset and why he’s putting it on you. What cracks are skittering through his solid foundation? Where is the gas leaking? The poison fruit in his basket?

You press your knuckles to the door before limping to the bed, hoping to sleep through the rest of the night. Hoping that the morning will turn Din anew.

**

He strokes the swollen flesh around the gash. The naked length of his muscular body is shoved up against you. The patches of sweat caught in the sparse hair on his chest, between his legs, the trail below his belly button. He smells like soap and Bacta. You wonder how long you’ve been out. You didn’t hear him get in bed.

“You want me to find you some painkillers?” he asks before slipping his mouth over your shoulder, the dart of his tongue.

Huh. Now, he wanted to play nice. Din Emotional Whiplash Fucker Djarin.

“Save it for when we might really need it,” you murmur before curving into yourself, away from him.

“You’re mad,” His fingers curl into the waistband of your underwear as he tries to tug you back.

“Obviously.”

“I’m sorry, cyar'ika,” he presses his lips to the nape of your neck. “That was...I was upset.”

You bristle. You’re blended up with a variety of emotions: anxiety, longing, fear. You think about just falling back asleep, subjecting him to the silent treatment for the next week. But as he caresses you, you recall how gently he had sewn you up, the terror in his voice at having been bested when he shouldn’t have. He’s just scared and aren’t you?

You figure it’s time to be honest. 

“I don’t like it when you do that,” you finally whisper.

You hear him sit up behind you, jostling the mattress. “Do what?”

“Make it sound like you want to leave me.”

He jerks dramatically, a disgruntled noise sounding from his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him. “I didn’t mean it like that, pretty girl. I was pissed at myself.”

That upsets you. He may have stated that it wasn’t your fault, but it was still implied - burdensome inside the weight of his accusation:

You distracted me.

“Din,” you assert. “You said that you weren’t sure about “us” anymore. How do you think I was supposed to take that?”

He’s silent and you can literally hear the cogs in his brain creaking as he mulls over the exact phrasing he had used. You know how terrible he is with his feelings, especially with his anger. It’s quite possible that he had just tossed out the first thing he could pin his mistake on. You almost feel bad for him. Almost.

Minutes go by before he sighs. He rests his brow against the crown of your head, the whistle of his hot breath across your spine. “I’m an idiot. You of all people know just how bad I am at-at explaining myself. I don’t like sewing you up. I don’t like hearing you in pain. I don’t like fucking up when it comes to protecting you and the kid.” He squeezes you closer to him. “It came out all wrong.”

You place your hands on his where they rest across your chest, threading your fingers together. Mindful of the broken one.

“You scare me sometimes,” you murmur and he stiffens. You twist around so that you can look up into the darkness where you can just parse the shape of his bare face. “I don’t mean it like you think I do. I’d never - could never - be scared of you, Din. I’m just worried that - that we’re so far into this. The thought of losing you has become unimaginable.”

You cradle his jaw, pushing the tip of your thumb into the plush of his lower lip. He sucks it briefly, trapping it between his teeth. He’s so warm, soft blanketing all that muscle. Maker - he ruins you.

“I’ve never had anyone like this before. It’s all foreign to me. The thought of never seeing you again hurts.” You grasp his palm before placing it right at your belly, sliding it up over your sternum, the flutter of your heart. “It all aches. More than any knife wound. More than a snapped bone. It physically pains me to think of losing this - what we have here.”

He makes a soft mouth sound - something ragged and tangibly sad - before he drags you flush against him. 

“Sweetheart,” he croons. “Oh...gorgeous girl...fuck I’m sorry.”

He captures your lips in a searing kiss. It’s reverent in the force of it. He fists your hair, as his tongue tangles with your own. It’s deep. It’s agony with each nip and taste. He drops his head to suck marks into your neck, one hand already spreading your folds apart before his thumb catches on the apex of your sex.

“We’re injured, Din,” you protest, but you’re still opening your thighs for him, your cunt contracting around the curl of the three digits he pumps inside you. There’s the rough graze of a bandage and tape and you’re positive he’s just thrust his broken finger into your pussy. It’s so like him - like them - their intimacy always webbed together with the gritty reminders of their profession.

“I don’t care,” he mumbles as he laves his tongue over your nipple. “Want to show you.”

“Show me what?” you husk, the promising tang of your orgasm springing quick and forward at your core.

“Show you what you mean to me.”

**

[singlecelledthot]

🗣RONNIE!!! May I have Kuai’s titties drenched him in his own cum😬

💕I may have taken this a whole different direction than intended, but I promise, you get what you asked for!💕

Whisper, Whisper!- Solo Tundra/Kuai Liang (mentions of Fem!Reader) Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, solo male, pining, edging, Summary: Kuai Liang just can't keep it in anymore, you're driving him fucking crazy.

Tags: @lilliannmac @icy-spicy

Quietly, Kuai Liang stole into his room, pushing his way into privacy at last. Outwardly, Kuai was taciturn as he began the arduous process of removing his armor. His fingers worked slow and steady, pulling leather straps, tugging off strings and belts and letting each hardened piece of armor slide off to the floor. It wasn’t until he was left in his basics; unrestrained by claustrophobic gear, and sat down on the edge of his sleeping cot, that his jaw muscle quivered. He clenched his teeth, working them against each other as the roiling emotions in his belly churned up into his throat, threatening to gag him.

Would your cruelty know no end?

The entire day you both had gone about business as usual. He performing his duties with the Lin Kuei in training, patrolling to the grounds and attending the Grandmaster when summoned. And you, spending your time strapping fighters with tape, bandaging wounds and reorganizing and scheduling (bullying) young assassins into their physicals. As a medical authority in the clan, you always had a reason to put your hands on him, and at first it had been benign for the both of you. But as the months rolled into years, you two had somehow managed to grow close, stranger still that you both did so without the normally stilted way that he flirted with women getting in the way. Almost every encounter now, three years after you had first met, was fraught with some sort of temptation. He delighted in your touch, your whispers as you purred innuendo into his ear when you would bandage his injuries. You would always teased then retreat, laughing and smiling in a way that found his eyes glued to the soft swell of your bottom lip. He smiled rarely, flirted back even less, but always spoke softly, never chasing you from his close proximity with coldness or the blunt superiority people like his brother and Sketor threw around. No, it was clear he wanted you there, at his side, with your hands soothing the pain from his body---and yet.

Lately it had been altogether too much, and not enough. You lingered, growing more bold, sneaking touches even in mixed company where the act would cause sweat to bead at the back of his neck each time your fingers ghosted over his skin. It had slowly begun to strain him, pulling him taut like a piano wire, poised to snap with the vicious twang of a clever finger.

Who could have foreseen that, that day was the final stroke that sealed his fate?

You had tutted over him as you always did, fussing at either his carelessness or his sparring partner’s foolishness. This time it had been a spar with Bi-Han that had done it, coming in the form of a back hand landing on his jaw so hard Kuai's neck had snapped to the side and sent him sprawling. When his ears stopped ringing he overheard the harsh trill of your voice barking out at the more subdued tone of his brother. Kuai had blinked away the momentary loss of consciousness, sat up and was immediately set upon by you now that you had taken your pound of flesh from Bi-Han. Your hands were on his face in seconds, stroking along his jaw where he’d been hit, tapping gently on his scalp and through his hair--the sound he made was easily passed off as a groan of pain and he made no move to speak in agreement or otherwise.

“Tundra,” Were your eyes always this bright? “I cannot believe you would go out of your way to ignore me when I TELL you not to do full contact directly after a mission.” Were your fingers always this warm?

He had blinked owlishly, staring from you to his brother who stood behind you. “I cannot believe that your ability to listen is worse than Sub-Zero’s...” That was what had done it, that one little comment spoken in genuine exasperation. He loved his brother, he never felt lesser when it came to Bi-Han and he had never before experienced jealousy over something so small. It’s how he found himself where he was now, fists clenching so hard his bones creaked.

The wire finally snapped.

Kuai Liang stood up as he kicked a small side table that sat near the head of his cot, sending the object flying across the room to bang against a wall. Clearly broken. He continued on in relative silence, beyond the harshness of his strained breathing, clenching his jaw to keep the shout building in his throat behind his teeth. Pacing back and forth across the length of his room, he recalled how smug Bi-Han looked as you compared the brothers, how your small hand had gripped his sore jaw firmly and you held his gaze as you glared into his very soul. And he throbbed from the want. The sheer desperation for you came upon him like a typhoon, whipping up how he perceived your friendship and smashing it to pieces before settling, and what was left was a fractured and terrible need. His cock lay heavy and thick across his thigh, angled down his pant leg, each time the coarse fabric of his pants slid across his aching flesh, he had to fight the urge to growl. He’d been hard since you grabbed his chin and forced him to hold your eye contact.

How had he not realized how quickly these feelings had been building? How had he not seen this coming from a mile away? How could he have ignored the small ways his body screamed at him to heed it? To pursue you?

It punished him now for his negligence, Kuai let himself lean back heavily on the edge of his cot, palming the painful hardness of his cock. He was breaking, shattering like so many shards of ice across the harsh, stone judgement of your words--your touch.

He tugged the waistband down so that his hefty length could spring free, slapping against his exposed belly with a meaty ‘thwack’. He stared down at himself, taking in the thickness, the throbbing vein along the side that disappeared into the base of his cock. How dearly he wished that it was not by his own hand, but yours, that would relieve this horrible ache. Kuai hesitated for only a moment before he reached down to wrap a fist around his cock and give it an alleviating squeeze. It made his hips buck up to meet the pressure and he had to bite his tongue to stay quiet. His nose crinkled into a silent snarl as he dragged his rough palm down to pull the skin back as taut as it could go, before pulling it all back up to stimulate his already leaking cock head. His breath frosted the air, free hand scrabbling to pull his shirt up to bunch under his chin---for whatever reason the fabric was unbearably hot. With his torso naked, and his hand squeezing pre-cum out of his tip, Kuai Liang sighed your name as tension pooled in his belly.

He knew he’d never be able to withstand your teasing again, foreseeing many nights spent in the state he was currently in, but also finding he did not care. Heat mixed with the ice in his belly, egging him on as his fists set a slow, tight pace along the thick length of his cock. He imagined you, methodically tracing patterns along his veins, stroking the bunched skin beneath his glans--his hips lifted as he pictured your smile as you breathed molten heat against his tip. A promise, or maybe a threat. His eyes slammed shut as his pace increased, he did not have the patience at the moment to tease himself as you would and the fantasy he’d been playing in his mind flew out the window in favor of more heated, frantic visions.

You throating him diligently in some secluded hallway in the barracks. His other hand reached down to give his heavy balls a squeeze.

Your eyes, lidded in desperation as you begged for him not to stop. His head fell back, his hand working an aggressive pace across the entirety of his length, the wet noises of his pre-cum smearing across his skin filled the room.

You, saying his name, a whisper in his ear as he pinned you to a wall and took from your body the pleasure he violently craved…

That was what undid him. His fist pulled down his shaft until it was squeezing the base, his cock twitched, once, twice before hot strands of cum splashed over his belly and chest. His pectorals heaved as he caught his breath, smeared in the trickling viscosity of his own cum. His nipples hardened as the wetness cooled in the air. Kuai’s eyes rolled back, his thighs shaking as each pearlescent shot of cum that hit his skin sent volts of pleasure through every inch of him. He panted through his teeth, collapsing back on his cot once he was spent, cum dripped down his collar bone, dirtying the black shirt that he’d had tucked under his chin, sliding down his abdomen to pool into the dip of his belly button.

He was a mess, mentally and physically, the visions of what he wanted to do to you faded to the chilled realization that he could never let you know how he felt. Kuai managed to open an eye, staring at his hand, now soaked with the evidence of his desperation. Though he would never reveal to you this hunger, he knew he could not--would not--ever possess the discipline to stop your touches and whispers. It would be his burden to bear, his secret to keep---his deepest indulgence.

Your touch would undo him one day, but until then, he’d torture himself with this sweet sickness.