#i think this makes it sound like i did more Research and so on than i actually did for writing this smut fic but YOU KNOW

[anne-chloe]

“So Annoying”

Lando Norris x F!Reader

Summary : Lando irritates you a lot, but what if you realise those are the things that attract you the most?

Word Count : 2413

I am by no means an F1 fan, I only know of Lando because a good friend of mine is head over heels for him. She asked me to write this, and I originally wasn’t planning on publicly sharing it, but if she enjoyed it then I guess other people will too. I’m deeply sorry for any spelling or grammar errors, this wasn’t proof read at all. If Lando seems OOC in anyway, I apologise, I wrote this in roughly 1 hour and only did a quick research about him.

Enjoy!

You always dreaded race weekends.

Not for any particular reason other than the racer himself: Lando. He was charming enough as a person, always smiling and always cheerful, but he was the bane of your very existence.

“Mornin’,” Lando greeted, his waltz into the room making your eye twitch. He reached the mini fridge and picked himself a drink, and it was only once his back was turned that you stuck your tongue out.

Childish, sure, but could anyone blame you when he was so obnoxious?

Lando turned to face you, a slurping noise filling the room. You tried not to growl at the sound, and instead focused your mind on the social media post you had been re-reading for the past 5 minutes.

Your role was simple. While Lando was truly the star of the show, you worked behind the scenes as a PR despite your disdain for the racer. You ensured his publicity remained sparkly clean; you created social media posts to promote him as much as possible, and you helped, sometimes, to secure him for brand deals when possible.

Many people had questioned why you disliked Lando so much, and truthfully it was difficult to answer sometimes. He treated you and the rest of his PR team with respect, but there was only one thing that got on your nerves, and that was—

“Hey, personal assistant Y/N, are you listening to me?”

That.

You forced a smile and slowly lowered your phone. “Haven’t I asked you to not call me that?” You asked, a slight strain to your voice.

Lando had, at some point, sat on the sofa across from you. One leg was crossed over the other, and he looked to be comfy. His shoulders bounced as he shrugged, impartial to your request. “Probably,” he said, his lopsided, boyish smile returning, as usual whenever he pissed you off.

You unconsciously squeezed the sides of your phone to the point you thought it would shatter.

“What do you want?” You asked through gritted teeth, your smile feeling tight on your cheeks. You wondered if it was possible to tear muscles from faking a smile so much.

Lando recapped his drink and lifted the bottle so he could watch the liquid swirl around. For a brief moment, you felt like launching your phone at him and storming out, because he was obviously wasting your time on purpose. Then, he placed the bottle on the table and leaned back, his smile ever-so-bright.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

You groaned out loud. Lando’s eyes widened as you suddenly stood up.

“Huh? Where are you going?” Lando asked, watching as you stalked across the room and towards the door.

“To find my sanity,” you snapped, more harshly than you had intended. You reached out for the door, but paused with your blood boiling hot as Lando’s angelic laugh filled the room. You spun around on your heel, steam practically rising from your ears. “Why are you laughing?”

Lando tilted his head to the side, making him appear all the more innocent.

But he was far from innocent in annoying you.

“Because you’re so easy to wind up,” he teased, his smile reaching his eyes. “I’ve been told that you get annoyed by me, and I never noticed it before. So I guess it’s true, huh?”

You felt your face burn hot. Not only did Lando know how much he irritated you, but someone had openly told him as much. You tried to think back to who it could possibly be, but there were far too many culprits possible for doing something like that. Nothing could ever be kept a secret, not even secrets you’d never said aloud.

Though, you wondered if your irritation for Lando was even a secret. You weren’t the best at containing your emotions, and you had been told before that you were very much an open book.

You blinked yourself into a frown, your arms coming up to cross defensively over your chest. “Think what you want,” you muttered, “but don’t forget that I am the person in charge of your media representation.”

Lando’s smile fell from his face in an instant, and it was the first time you had ever witnessed him become so serious. “What do you mean by that?”

He seemed uncharacteristically nervous in that moment, and a spark of triumph warmed your chest. You slowly turned and pushed the door open, deciding that simple silence was the best answer for him.

Let him stew in his confusion.

Over the next few weeks, the hours went by in a blur. Interviews came and went, training flew by in the blink of an eye… and it all led up to the race that everyone had been anticipating.

Lando hadn’t spoken a word to you since you basically threatened to ruin his reputation. As much as you disliked Lando, you didn’t hate him enough to do something so cruel. Not only would you be tarnishing his golden reputation, but you’d also damage your own career permanently. And for the sake of what? Him annoying you? It wasn’t worth it.

You sat amongst the rest of Lando’s team, listening absentmindedly as the crew communicated with one another through headsets. The tension in the paddock was a mix of relaxation, excitement and nerves. While you disliked Lando, you were nervous for his performance.

As much as you never wanted to boost his already inflated ego, he was a brilliant racer. You were almost always present during his practice sessions, sometimes taking sneaky pictures or low quality videos for the PR page (of course, for the intentions of promoting Lando, and certainly not for your own personal benefit), and it always served as a reminder as to why you had chosen to represent Lando and the rest of the team.

You were present when Lando was offered, accepted and signed to McLaren. It was a huge moment for him, and certainly exciting. Like the rest of the team, you understood the high expectations for Lando and his future in racing. And his face when he signed contracts, his smile … he was ecstatic the entire time, humble, like he was caught up in a dream.

You could recall how his eyes twinkled when he met your reassuring gaze. His smooth, gentle voice as he greeted everybody with kindness, and when you introduced yourself as the PR for the first time, you could remember looking between his eyes and his lips, wondering how soft they would feel against your own—

—Your phone clattered to the floor.

The buzzing chatter in the paddock came to a halt as heads turned in your direction. You froze, words caught up in your throat before you snapped into reality and snatched your phone from the floor. You hastily checked for damage to the screen, and when you confirmed there was none, you smiled rather sheepishly to the rest of the crew.

“Sorry,” you quickly said, coughing to clear your throat. There was that familiar burning in your cheeks, and you coughed again before turning away. “I need a drink. And some fresh air. Excuse me.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You practically rushed out the door and away from the curious eyes of your colleagues.

Because what the fuck is wrong with you?

You stomped off in a random direction, unsure of where you should even go. Yes, you needed some fresh air, maybe some quiet from all the noise and buzzing excitement, but could you seriously trust yourself not to let your mind wander to something like that again?

You didn’t even know where that thought had come from. When you first met Lando, your first impression was certainly not about whether his lips were soft or not. They were not focused on his smooth, sultry voice that plagued your thoughts as often as they did. It was a civil first impression and nothing else.

But that was the catalyst.

The race ended with Lando coming in second. You weren’t present emotionally for the finish, you were too caught up in your mind to comprehend whatever was happening.

You couldn’t think straight. Not anymore. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess. Every memory you had of Lando suddenly changed, each of them focusing on small details that you shouldn’t have ever remembered. Rather than reminiscing his obnoxious, boisterous behaviour, you could only focus on his hands and slender fingers; his hair that he so often ran his fingers through, making it unintentionally messy; his eyes that sparkled whenever he was happy; the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled…

“You’re awfully quiet. Aren’t you going to join us and celebrate?”

You flinched violently as the man of your complicated thoughts appeared.

You nervously licked your lips and deliberately stared down at his shoes, not risking the chance of getting lost in his eyes. You didn’t want to find out what your thoughts were capable of anymore. They were too dangerous. “No… no, I’m not. I think I’m going to go home early, actually,” you muttered, hoping it would be enough to shoo Lando away.

But it wasn’t enough.

Lando’s hand appeared, and his fingers very gently grasped your chin. You gasped as he guided your head up, so you were now looking at him.

His head was tilted to the side, and for once he wasn’t smiling and seeming pleased with himself. If anything, he looked worried. His frown was deep, and his eyes were soft and caring as he stared, searching into yours for answers that you wouldn’t provide verbally.

Lando lifted his other hand and pressed the back of it to your forehead. He hummed and slowly nodded his head. “You do feel really warm, and your cheeks are super red.”

Fuck. You felt like turning and smacking your face against the nearest wall. Hopefully it would knock you out and send you to a life where none of this was happening.

“You must be sick. Let me walk you back to the hotel.” Lando let go of your chin and placed a hand on your shoulder, his fingers giving a firm squeeze that you guessed was meant as reassuring.

“That’s…” you stammered, your upper body jolting while your lower body felt like jelly. “That’s fine!” You gasped out, suddenly finding it impossible to speak coherently. “I can walk myself. You should—you should go and celebrate, uh, with everyone else—“

Lando snorted out a laugh. “And chance you dropping dead on your way back? I don’t think so. You might not like me very much, Y/N, but I actually enjoy having you as my personal assistant.”

You bit down on your lip. Hard.

Perhaps it was to stop you from screaming in frustration to the awful title he had given you, or maybe it was because you were so incredibly flustered by his hand still touching your shoulder. Either way, you couldn’t tell. The only thing you were certain of was the strange, godawful metallic taste filling your mouth.

You paused against Lando’s guiding push, your own hand reaching up to gently press against your mouth. You looked down at your skin, which was now smeared red with blood.

“Ouch?” Lando said, now staring wide eyed at the small trickle of blood trailing from your mouth. “What happened?”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, taking this chance to step away from him. You needed to create some distance or else you feared your next move would be to faint. Though, in second thoughts, that actually sounded like the best escape route away from Lando and his intoxicating smell of Dior Suavage, the signature waft of vanilla notes entangling the last of your senses and—

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” You spun away from Lando and covered your mouth with your hand again, applying pressure to the tear on your lips.

As if you were seriously drowning in his cologne…

“Let me look,” Lando said, stepping into your line of sight again. “The medic bay is still set up, we can go and—“

“I said it’s fine!” You hissed, swatting his hand away from your face. “Stop fussing!”

Lando rolled his eyes. “Stop being stubborn,” he argued, his hands grasping your shoulders and giving you a small shake. “It’s obviously not fine. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I—“ you froze, now noticing the genuine softness in his eyes. You opened your mouth to continue arguing again, but no sound came out, leaving you to look incredibly daft with your lips parted so wide. “I don’t— I just—“

Perhaps he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it, or I’m maybe he knew exactly what he was doing to you, but his hands slowly trailed down from your shoulders until they reached your hands. His fingers, calloused and not at all smooth, tangled with yours. You blinked rapidly, his eyes boring deep into yours in search of something.

And the feeling was magnetic. His hands fit so perfectly with yours, to the point you knew you would be devastated if he let go.

“You just what?” Lando asked, his voice dropping into a low, husky whisper.

There was no intelligible answer. You couldn’t conjure a single thought that would be suitable enough for the moment.

Slowly, Lando leaned in closer, as if he was blind and couldn’t see deep enough into your eyes. His nose was touching yours, and you held your breath in anticipation for what was to come next.

This was the closest he had ever been before. It was a situation you had never considered happening, because it shouldn’t have been happening. You found Lando annoying and unbearable; he was loud and always on the move, and yet…

Those were the qualities that kept you entertained, no matter how irksome they could get at times.

And before you could register what was happening, his lips pressed to yours. His hands let go of your hands and planted against your hips, holding you firmly in place. You were grateful for the anchor, because if he wasn’t holding you up then you feared you’d simply drop to the ground without the support.

You forgot everything else in that moment.

You forgot about the cut on your lip.

You forgot about the intention to return to the hotel room.

You forgot about every annoying thing about Lando.

But there was something you could only focus on.

And it was the softness of his lips against yours.

[fizziepopangel]

"Ain't the Romantic Type"

* Author's note: Heyyyyyy everyone! I'm back with another fic, and let me just say that I'm really excited about this one because I'm honestly pretty proud of it. I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do!

p.s. As always, you can always use the Fic Request Form to request something specific, and be sure to keep an eye out for part two of this fic since it'll be coming soon!😋❤️

“He just ain't the romantic type….” The words rang in Husk's mind as he stood in front of the mirror in Angel's room, adjusting his jacket for what he knew must've been the millionth time. He felt ridiculous; he hadn't been dressed up like this since he sold his soul, and after having gotten used to his usual attire, it felt wrong for him to be all dressed up.

Lost in his reflection, he almost hadn’t noticed Fat Nuggets by his feet with a worried expression. “Oink!" Fat Nuggets bumped his head gently against the hell cat's leg.

"What's wrong?” Husk stared at the pig, who didn't do much but stare back at him. "Don't look at me like that! You think I don't know I look fuckin’ ridiculous. I know it!” The pig snorted softly, bumping Husk’s leg again. " Look, I ain't got time for your pig crap right now, Angel’s gonna be back soon and I gotta make sure everything is perfect so… I don't know, go do whatever it is pigs do.”

Rather than leaving, the little pig sat down, oinking and snorting again. Husk groaned, annoyed as he leaned down to look at the little creature.  “Look, I’m gonna level with you, Nuggets, I gotta do this for Angel. Ok, so I need you to shut up and be supportive.” When the pig just stared at him, oinking in a way that sounded like he was almost annoyed himself. “He deserves this, right? You know he deserves this so just behave yourself tonight.”

Before the pig could make his oink-y little argument, the pair heard the keys jingle in the door. Husk immediately straightened up, fixing his nice jacket again and grabbing the bouquet of flowers he’d left on the coffee table beside the nice meal he had prepared for them, taking his place in front of the door quickly and putting on a smile just in time to see Angel open his door.

Angel steps into his room looking ragged, his bag from the club in his hand. It had been a shitm night, filled with more abuse from Valentino than usual, and a mess of men who did horrible things to him. He just wanted to go home and wash off the blur of the night before curling up in bed and hopefully getting some sleep… But as he turned around, he was met with Husk, smiling in his dress jacket with a bouquet of pink red and pink roses as he stood in front of a nice little candlelit meal on the coffee table. Angel stared at the sight in front of him, his lip trembling before tears began streaming down his face.

Husk was thrilled at first, his pride swelling until he realized that those tears were turning to sobs as he watched as his boyfriend sank to his knees in front of him. The proud smile he wore just moments before quickly turned to a look of horror.

 

“Angel? Babe, what’s wrong?” Husk did his best to keep the panic out of his voice, but he was terrified. He had talked to the sappiest person he knew (Charlie of course), and he had done hours of research online to make this night as romantic and perfect as he could, and as he glanced back at the scene he had set behind him, worried. “Did I do something wrong? Is…is this not romantic enough?”

Sobbing was the only response Husk got.

Fat Nuggets squealed and oinked, running to his owner and nuzzling into him in an attempt to comfort him.

“I can’t do this!” Angel sobbed raggedly. “I can’t, I can’t, I cant!”

Husk’s heart nearly stopped at the words. He and Angel had been dating for nearly a year and a half and he had thought everything was going well; decent dates, good sex, and amazing conversations and he had been trying his damndest not to fuck this up because he always seemed to fuck up the good relationships he landed himself in; always ended up hurting good people…. He took a breath, trying to keep himself from sinking deeper into that pit of panic. He knew he wouldn’t be any good to Angel if he started spiraling too.

“Angelcakes?” Husk’s gruff voice is gentler than he usually spoke, though it still shook slightly as he took a step toward his sobbing partner, a hand outstretched in an offering of comfort. “Angelcakes, baby, can you–”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” The scream that ripped from Angel’s throat was almost guttural and he scrambled away from his boyfriend’s touch, recoiling as if he were disgusted by the thought of being in his arms despite the spider demon’s usual love for physical affection. 

In an act of defense, Fat Nuggets placed himself in front of his beloved owner, staring at Husk as if daring him to come closer… But Husk just stood there, frozen as his boyfriend cowered away from him, trembling and sobbing so hard he could hardly breath. And that the scene everyone walked into when Vaggie slammed the door open….

[linksthoughtbrambles]

Thought I'd give you a one word prompt for any of the Zelinks: Ghost.

@nocturnalfandomartist, thank you, thank you, thank you for this prompt. It inspired something that astonished me more the more I wrote - and I couldn't stop writing. It may be longer than you bargained for at 9K words, but I enjoyed writing every single word of it. I will write at least one follow-up. This is a canon-compliant sequel to What to Expect When Fetch-Questing and a loose sequel to The Seeds of Love, Well-Worn and What Once Rang Hollow (with a few continuity differences for that last one) but it can stand easily on its own. Rated T, post-TotK, humor, drama, and romance.

Eternal

Link was extremely pleased he had his own arm back.

Unfortunately, he was the only one.

Purah (“Are you fricking KIDDING me?! I wanted to study that thing!”), Robbie (“I must repair my balloon myself?!”), Impa (“Mmm—a pity. With it, we might have learned how to create our own constructs—perhaps incorruptible ones.”), Paya (“That’s too bad, Link—it looked good on you!”), Tauro (“Ahhh. I’m sure you’re feeling better, but I was hoping I could learn more of the Zonai language from it, somehow.”), Calip (“It’s gone?! What did you do with it? You should’ve given it to me as an expert in these matters!”), Sidon (“My dearest friend! Where has your adult arm gone? Are you well?”), Yunobo (“Oh NO, Link, you lost your cool arm!”), Tulin (“Oh mannn. You still have my pledge, Link, but I don’t think I should just…slap my rune on your body. We gotta get you some rings or something.”), and Riju (“I didn’t expect you to look so much smaller without it.”), not to mention every single member of the monster control crew, and essentially anyone in Hyrule who ever recognized him, all thought he’d been better off with part of Rauru grafted onto his body.

Even Zelda wasn’t (entirely) an exception.

She did appreciate Link’s hands during their personal time (“I must admit, Link, I’d have felt strange were you doing this with a Zonai’s hand rather than your own”), but the scholar and sovereign in her definitely mourned the loss of such a unique artifact.

“Link, is there any chance you still share a psychic connection with Rauru?”

“Nope,” he said.

She blinked at him.

“Sorry,” he said, blushing and sheepish.

Now that the depths, sky, and newfound caverns had created vast opportunities for exploration, research, and innovation, Zelda’s original aim of rebuilding Hyrule had essentially tripled. She and Link knew if they didn’t make depths exploration and settlement official, people would do it on their own and get themselves killed (or the Yiga would claim it, and Hyrule would be threatened again in a few centuries). So it was, indeed, official as were new initiatives to investigate Zonai technology—making the Great Abandoned Central Mine one of several hubs of Hyrulean activity in the depths. Its proximity to the healing spring directly beneath the Shrine of Resurrection had made it a frequent destination of theirs.

Link and Zelda materialized beneath the Koradat Lightroot to the weighty vertigo of silence in the dark beyond the root’s oasis.  It was the same every time—some quiet dread sinking into the deepest pit of Link’s belly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.  He kept telling himself it would be better once people settled, with their warm lights and the sounds that come with them going about their daily business.  Zelda kept telling him otherwise. (“We oughtn’t fill this place to the brim with light, Link. We would disturb its ecosystem severely”).

Link was usually on board with leaving nature undisturbed for the most part.

Maybe it was the time he’d spent down here in utter silence but for his own footsteps, utter darkness but pale flowerlight shot into a black so matte it may as well have been death’s void; the pressure of vast expanses of pitch-black felt nothing like a sea of undisturbed trees far above in the light.

There wasn’t even any wind.

Were both nature? Yes. Were both natural?

It didn’t feel like it.

“Shall we?” Zelda said.

It severed Link’s fledgling reverie. He tore his eyes from the lightless maw beyond Hylia Canyon and turned to join Zelda in descending the steep slope on the path toward the Great Abandoned Central Mine. He gave her a small smile, though he knew, from her face, it didn’t reach his eyes.

Her return smile did. “I hear one of our survey teams discovered another root in that direction,” she said. “We merely- ah- well-“

“Have to figure out how to light it up without my arm,” Link said.

A hint of pink dusted Zelda’s cheekbones. “Yes. Sorry, Link.”

The mine’s central structure loomed in the distance, its light cold, the highest statue of the ancient Gerudo sage always watching, an intimidating glower over the hilt of her sword aimed at any who would ascend the formidable stair toward its main entrance.

“Hello, Aratra,” Zelda whispered, as she always did, as though the woman herself could still answer her.

As they neared the bottom of the hill, blue flickered in Link’s vision. “Zelda,” he said, pointing to the small cluster of poes coming into view on the left.

The spectre of that intimate grief between them passed over her face as she nodded.

He didn’t say it wasn’t her fault.

Since he didn’t say it, she didn’t say it could be.

The words floated between them, spoken so many times they’d become an immutable understanding: that she’d been too slow, that he’d been too silent, that they’d both been too obedient to the long-dead king whose grave Zelda still brought blue gentians to in the early days of each summer.

That neither of them blamed the other for it.

That they’d both spend the rest of their lives making up for it.

And that they’d do it together.

Neither of them knew whether the spiritual flames were casualties of the Calamity.

Link only knew the vague sense of relief he felt when they entered him. It felt like they felt safe—sometimes, he even sensed joy—and they clung to him so hard.

They clung to Zelda, too, it turned out.  As they approached, the spirits snapped eagerly into whichever of them was nearest, nestling somewhere unfathomable within them until released to a bargainer’s care. Link still didn’t trust the bargainers, exactly, though they intended to visit the one in the mine that day.

They didn’t talk much. They usually didn’t when sliding through the depths’ silence—sound felt like a beacon to whatever might be beyond the lightroot’s reach; yet they moved in unwavering agreement, sweeping up every poe in their path and off it within sight. It’s why they took the long route to every work site.

They veered far off the path at one point to collect a dozen wayward souls atop a half-buried ruin of a toppled archway.

“If we go much further, we’ll be at the spring rather than the mine,” Zelda said.

“Yeah,” Link answered quietly. They turned to rejoin the path further up, hugging the rounded base of a monumental column presumably carved by nature, reaching the impossibly high ceiling of what was far, far too large to consider a mere cavern. It was like a space willed into existence by the gods themselves.

Link’s mood lifted as the sounds of civilized activity reached him, more and more distinct as they neared the foot of the quadruple-flight of stone stairs beneath the statue’s feet. Link caught a glimpse of a Sheikah scientist, little but a few motes of color on the highest level of the structure, cheerful construct “Brrrp!”s reflecting toward them off any of hundreds of stone facades: every surface the same pale grey—every light cool and lifeless.

Link couldn’t imagine living in such a place. With an irritated grind of his teeth, he realized he strongly preferred the haphazard Yiga structures, with their paper and oil lights and bound wood. The real, green-leaved brightblooms were also better than the Zonai’s artificial torches.

“Rupee for your thoughts,” Zelda whispered.

Link huffed. “The place needs some color.”

She paused on the stairs, a third of the way up, her torso shaking with laughter and her hand squeezing his tight.

Link tried not to smile. He didn’t want her to think he liked being laughed at.

“Link,” she said, holding her stomach, “that is…precisely the sort of observation I ought to expect you to make.”

He really tried to keep a sour grimace on, but he knew his lips were going twitchy.

“Unfortunately,” Zelda said, eyeing his lips with suspicion, “I am no longer in a position to pass on your criticism of Zonai décor.”

Link snorted. “Neither am I. But I definitely would’ve said something to Rauru if I’d seen this before he disappeared.”

“I have no doubt! And truly, you’re right. I cannot imagine spending any great length of time down here with nothing but grey stone and white light.”

Link nodded. “At least not without experiencing crushing environmental depression.”

Zelda inclined her head, no longer laughing. “Indeed. It makes one wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“…Whether the monsters find it as unpleasant as we do,” she said, her eyes sweeping the far-off dark.

Link let that one sink in as they made the landing. Zelda touched the dais on which her old ally stood with reverence. When her hand slid from the porous stone, they continued up the staircase on her right. The chamber below would wait until later.

They ascended among tents clustered on the flagstones before the forge, lining the walls both natural and Zonai-made right up to the great arch.  They littered the circular courtyard on the other side of the building, too, the royal crest and symbols of the Sheikah, Zonai Survey Team, and Gerudo adorning many. The familiar sound of a fan whirred somewhere above them, out of sight.

It had been quite a stroke of luck, really, that Link had activated these facilities before Rauru’s arm vanished. The constructs had still recognized him as their “primary authorizer” and he’d been able to grant access to others.

He admitted, though, it was getting cumbersome; the moment he saw Ponnick, he knew he’d run out of time to think about Zelda’s monster-wonderings.  He flagged Link down (as if Link wasn’t looking straight at him) with arms wild above his head. “Thank the skies you’re here, we have new recruits!”

Link then spent the obligatory hour introducing them to all the constructs in the facility.

Zelda had her own work in store for her. Between decisions regarding distribution of newly acquired zonaite and reports from the excavation, inventory, innovation, and engineering teams, she easily had a full day of deliberation and arbitration ahead. Link joined her for much of it once he’d fulfilled his authorization duties—after all, he’d become something of an amateur engineer himself. It was nice to have something scientific to contribute when talking with Zelda.

“You can totally build a wing/hot-air-balloon hybrid!” he’d said.

 “Link, that sounds quite impractical-“

“No, no, you don’t put the balloon in the middle, you put it on the nose at an angle, see?  Then it drags the wing upward.”

“L- Link- what of the flame needed?“

“Oh, no, it’s fine, you only get burned a little bit.”

“What?!”

“And you still put the fans on the back, you know, to help out. Oh, and the steering stick.”

“Link, forgive me, but the flame shall not be directed straight up. It is inefficient and unsafe.”

“Yeah but the LIFT!”

He’d quite liked his flaming plane. So had Robbie.

Today, the engineering talk had more to do with shoring up mining tunnels, which while important, did not require Link’s particular flair for incendiary devices. All their talk of angles, sines, and cosines seemed a bit more precise than his higgledy-piggledy constructions to hold up Addison’s signs, so he eventually left them to it, jogging instead to the rim of the courtyard, climbing up, and inviting all the poes newly showing themselves to join him—then scouting for more from his higher vantage point. He’d grown used to the quizzical looks from everyone else but Zelda.

“What?” he’d asked as Ponnick watched him jog, zig-zagging, in a roughly circular area covered in pale grey and lavender fungi.

“What are you doing?”

“Collecting the poes,” Link said.

“Poes? Where?!” Ponnick spun, wildly searching for spirits which glowed blue, plain as day, in Link’s vision.

At least Zelda could see them, too.

On balance, between the poes, soldiers’ spirits, koroks, Hestu, and the dragons of the springs, he’d have presumed himself insane if no one else ever saw what he saw.  He almost had after the ghost of King Rhoam disappeared right in front of his face in the Temple of Time: an insane amnesiac with delusions of heroism.

Except they hadn’t been delusions, because he’d killed the crap out of Ganon.

Twice.

Or, of course, he imagined it. Twice.

Link shook his head. No point going down that route. If he imagined that, he imagined everything, and if that was the case he might as well relax and start attaching rockets to every exhausted korok’s backpack like that one by Outskirt Stable.

Poor little guy. At least he made it the eleventh time.

He huffed to himself. Sometimes, Zelda thought he was a little nuts. He supposed he could see why.

As a particularly large poe with a bright pink fringe zzipped its way into his body, Link caught a wink of blue between boulders at the stone circle in the distance to the north—a small zonaite deposit he’d cleared of monsters for what seemed to be the final time, the blood moons having ended.

It sparked his curiosity.

He sprinted the first hundred feet, then slowed to a reasonable pace. He didn’t want to go too far and worry Zelda, but if there were poes at that old monster nest, he didn’t want to leave them there.

Ten minutes later, he entered the mouth of the circle, three moldy, rickety old watch-posts within and another gap in the rocks across from him. Blue flickered beyond it: five poes huddled together. As he approached, flashes of his last encounter there played across his mind’s eye. The bokoblin on the platform before him had seen him first and tried to rain fire-fruit-arrows on him. Two silver moblins had slouched toward him, intent on splitting him open with their horns or the decayed royal claymores they’d somehow gotten. The other two bokoblins had fallen quickly to Tulin’s duplicate. Five monsters in all.

Link’s lip curled.

He hesitated on the brink of turning back, the thought of helping anything that may once have been a bokoblin sending a shockingly wicked taste of bile up his throat. He brought a fist to his mouth, pressing it deep to his skin, the imprint of his teeth stark against his lips.

No one memory stood out.

He’d never met a bokoblin that hadn’t aimed to kill on sight—never known one to show mercy, or even disinterest. Once they knew a person was near, they entered an unstoppable, murderous frenzy until they succeeded or someone put them down.

Link shut his eyes and took breath after deep breath.

He didn’t know anything for sure, and the bargainers never said.

Except they did say.

“Good… Evil… That’s the futile perspective of narrow-minded beings… There is no such distinction in wandering spirits.”

When he next looked, the flames flickered every bit as forlorn as they always did. He shook his head, his feet finally choosing forward for him.

When the poes joined the others in Link, he felt the usual sense of relief. Whoever or whatever they were, they seemed glad to be with him—not as happy as the ones he’d found in the deepest pit of the mine beneath Hateno, but if he was stuck for Goddess-knows how long at the absolute bottom of a pitch-black pit, he’d have been overjoyed to get out, too.

He took his time on the way back to the courtyard, half-watching a team excavate a buried section of the cracked enclosure and half-scouting for more glints of spirit-light, pensive, wrinkling his nose as he became aware of the sticky sheen on his skin. He pulled a handkerchief from his pouch and took it to his face. It came away slightly green with the powdery spores always floating in the too-still air of the depths.  Zelda collected them to study, but Link preferred not to be the collection vessel.

Zelda herself appeared over the edge of the wall as he swept the cloth beneath his left eye a second time. He watched her make her way down the inclined stone the natural grace she’d always had.

When he reached her, she was busy snapping images of the newly excavated section of stone.

“It is remarkable how they accomplished this precision on such a massive scale.” The Purah Pad clicked. “These structures were erected before my time with them—long before for most. They are scattered so far and wide and yet certain markings on them are precisely identical. I suppose they may have mass-produced stones as they did construct parts and delivered them afar.”

Link grew a soft, sideways smile as he listened. He could imagine her doing exactly this in the sunshine, her hair brushing the small of her back, himself silent as always, allowing her voice to wash over him until she inevitably remembered who she was talking to.

“The compendium feature is still something of a mystery,” she’d said, snapping a carefully-timed shot of a warm darner just as it paused, searching for prey.

“It recognizes certain species, but not others. Initially, Purah and I believed its recognition to be related to useful effects. Warm darners are of use in elixirs to resist cold temperatures, for example. Yet despite being unable to identify any species of tree, the Slate recognizes certain perfectly ordinary fruits, including apples.”

Link thought apples were too delicious to be ordinary.  He didn’t dare say so, but the phantom flavor of hot buttered apple flooded his mouth and his stomach betrayed him with a thoroughly embarrassing hunger-pang much-too-much like the sound of a hopeful retriever begging for an appley treat.

Zelda’s back stiffened. She glanced over her shoulder at his now-pink face, her eyes flicking to the blue pommel peeking out behind his ear. Link remained perfectly still, and that included not swallowing his imaginary-apple-induced-saliva.

Then-Zelda had returned to imaging wildlife in a rankling silence.

Now-Zelda heard him huff a laugh and turned with a smile sparkling despite the cold light of this place. She hooked the Purah Pad onto her belt. “May I ask what’s amused you so?”

Link shrugged a little. “Ways you haven’t changed.”

“Ah,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “And what of ways I have?”

His voice emerged low and soft. “I love those.” He squeezed her hand.

It made her smile at him in a way far too similar to how she had much earlier that morning, not long after waking up. He swallowed as she pulled him toward her—then she squinted at him and laughed a little through her nose, taking the handkerchief still in his other hand and beginning to wipe his forehead.

“I did that already,” he chuckled.

“You missed your hairline,” she said with the soft laugh he’d come to recognize as her equivalent of a giggle. “It’s fortunate this substance does not irritate your lungs as it does for some.”

“Especially Nappin.”

“Indeed, yes, especially Nappin. I do not believe depths research is his calling.”

“Nope.”

“You must have walked through a thick patch.”

“Ran through, more likely.”

“Oh? Where did you go?”

Link motioned toward the stone circle in the distance.

Her brow pinched. “Monsters?”

“Poes,” he said, wondering if he should tell her about the coincidence of the number. It might make her feel better, to have some hint these weren’t all souls marooned by the Calamity, but he wasn’t sure how she’d take the possibility they might be doing favors for monsters who’d been intent on murdering them in life.

She must have seen it in the motions of his mouth, nearly but not quite speaking. “Something else?” she asked.

He sighed soft through his nose. “Just something that made me think.”

The corner of her mouth quirked. Then her whole face opened up in mock-surprise. “Incredible!”

“Pfff,” he said with a poke to her ribs.

She squeaked. The three people working on the excavation behind Zelda went from studiously ignoring them to unabashed staring. Link gave them a small wave just as he registered Zelda’s eyes narrowing at him.

She began to rub the handkerchief all over the crown of his head with unnecessary vigor.

“Hey!”

The sounds coming from her as he pushed her hands away were much more like a girlish giggle than anything she usually produced. “It was in your hair, too,” she pointed out.

“There’s probably some in yours, Princess,” he warned.

Her eyebrows shot very close to the hairline her hands had risen to protect.

Link smirked. Her braid was much more difficult to fix than his ponytail. He made short work of his, shaking his now-mussed hair out and re-gathering it in the tie. Hyper-aware of the team still at rapt attention in the background, he finished up and offered his hand to Zelda. “Truce?”

She took it with a small smile. “Yes, please—but sincerely, I would like to know what gave you pause in the short time we were separated.”

His smile ebbed as he began to lead her over the shallower side of the half-buried stone walkway. It was no use, really. He’d only been good at hiding things from her when she refused to look at him, so long ago.

“There were five poes,” he said, “same as how many monsters I last cleared out.”

Their feet fell so quiet on the soft courtyard ground covered in pale, fuzzy flora he had no real names for, some soft and mossy, others more like wisps or powders. A few prickled. He liked the purple ones best for breaking up all that grey.

Their feet followed the same path without any hesitance or need for confirmation—toward the great central corridor. Zelda finally answered ten feet from its first stones.

“The statues say… good and evil… are meaningless for them.”

“…Yeah.”

“For a few moments, I was wondering whether only the spirits remaining clear in the shape of Hylian soldiers were people, but… no.  For they aren’t poes at all, are they?”

Link shook his head. “No. They… find their way on their own. Once they’re done.”

Zelda nodded. “They had a purpose—to help you,” Zelda said.

“To help someone, anyway. Whoever came around to fight back.”

A series of clanging sounds echoed down the stone steps into the corridor, along with quizzical "Brrrp!"s and a Hylian's grumbling. Link's right hand flexed. No more convenient ultra-glue. He kept walking.

“Why down here?” Zelda asked.

She’d spoken so quietly he had to think to process her words over the noise.

“You mean why in the depths?” Link asked.

“Yes. Why so far beneath the place they perished? There seems little hope of aiding someone here, doesn’t there?”

“I came along.”

“Yet they can’t have known you would. They wouldn’t even have known the depths were here to travel here intentionally.”

Link shook his head. He had absolutely no idea.

They descended in thoughtful silence to the base of Aratra’s main statue, then behind her into the yawning chamber tucked deceptively beneath the center of the great structure.

It struck Link, as it often did, as the offer of an embrace. As the chamber opened before them, the long bridge leading from the entrance directly to the four-eyed face of the greatest bargainer statue, the platform running abreast its shoulders combined with its massive arms and it appeared so ready to encircle whatever came before it. When he’d first stood there, he expected it, watched those hands out of the corner of his eye, waiting for movement.

It had never come.

Instead, a distant but surprisingly level-headed voice had issued from the alien face. It had helped him—no question about that.

The poes gladly rushed into its waiting arms—no doubt about that, either.

But this entity had also played a trick on him to get him down here. He would never trust it the way he trusted the Goddess.

The Goddess statues were another matter entirely. Now that he knew more than one thing could talk out of them, he was a lot more wary than he’d been before.

They came to a halt near the great statue’s face.

“You who stand before me,” it said in tones of single drops of water echoing in a deep, black lake, “offer poes to me. They are spirits that ought to return to the afterlife.”

As always, the poes simply left them. With hundreds or thousands of spirits somehow housed within him, Link always expected there to be something like a whirlwind, or flashes of light—but there wasn’t. It was swift and gentle as a sigh: barely a murmur of any motion or sound. It took merely a moment.

Then a wave of desperate grief seized the core of Link’s body and he cried out, clutching at an anguished heart, though neither the cry nor the heart were his own.

“Link!” Zelda gripped his biceps, her face stricken.

“Z-elda-“ he said, more to answer her than anything else, at a complete loss.

“Two do not wish to leave you,” said the bargainer.

Link’s breath caught.  Zelda’s eyes flew wide, and she looked him up and down as though trying to find them. “Can you- pull them from him?”

“I can do no more than guide,” the bargainer answered. “I show the way home.”

“They usually seem quite pleased to go home. So- why?” Zelda’s face seemed approaching a panic like none he’d seen in over a hundred years.

“I’m fine, Zel,” Link said, “really- NO, really, I’m fine, I’m just- I feel what they feel.”

“Yes, I do as well, but this-“

“This is them not wanting to go,” Link said, shaking. His eyes met first the lower, then the upper pair of the bargainer’s. “Can you talk to them?”

“After a fashion.”

“Can you figure out why-“

“I know why.”

Link and Zelda waited a few beats.

“We would appreciate it if you would inform us,” Zelda said, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

There was a depth of quiet, as though all sound plummeted into some unseen pit, unable to return, siphoned, whenever the bargainers spoke across fathoms to their brethren.  It muted Link’s accelerated breaths. Zelda’s grip tightened, her mind visibly whirring behind the eyes flicking between his features.

“…You have made a substantial offering,” the bargainer said at length.

Link and Zelda exchanged a glance.

“You have made many offerings,” it continued, “many more than any other being in countless ages.”

Link experienced the distinct sensation of someone…curling around him, like Zelda would, holding him tight, but inside his own chest.

“If you agree, I will honor these spirits’ requests as repayment for your offerings.”

“Agree?” Zelda asked. “What requests?”

“They would speak with you,” it clarified.

The curl tightened. It felt like far, far more than a desire to speak. A creeping dread rose in him—his own—of what spirits would choose to cling with such desperation to his body.

Someone terrified of death? Of the afterlife? Maybe someone with a last request—a regret? Two someones—at the same time, when it had never happened before?

Or did the bargainer mean… “W-wait,” Link said with a swallow. “Do they want to speak to someone in general? Or is it just me? Or Zelda?”

Link resisted an inexplicable urge to whimper.

“It is you who stand before me,” the bargainer said.

“Meaning Link,” Zelda said squinting at the statue.

It stared as though its answer had been obvious.

“Do they mean him harm?” Zelda’s tone had hardened considerably. “We have seen spirits lift weapons- perform magic.“

Link lurched with a sudden fear—could he have picked up Ganondorf’s soul?

“I offer you a boon,” the bargainer said, “not a curse.”

Zelda blinked, taken aback, while Link registered the depth of the anguish invading his heart.

It didn’t feel like Ganondorf. He’d have been hatred—envy—fury.

No, that wasn’t it.

This was regret. Something undone or unfinished.

Link closed his eyes and tried to… reach—within himself, where this spirit wound around him. So tight—clinging—stubborn. Something made him breathe an incredulous laugh, and he didn’t even know why; but the more he seemed to press into the spirit’s space the more familiar it seemed, an intense vertigo hurtling toward him from an invisible horizon slamming his awareness into long ago, when the world was over a hundred years younger.

Link’s body gasped.

Link’s mind looked down at a very spiteful young girl with a thick mop of mixed sand-and-straw-and-acorn-colored hair which he’d wrestled into a braid for her earlier that day, springy strands poking out at odd angles as she narrowed her eyes at him, her gangly arms vice-gripping his ribs, her hands fisted, and her feet planted wider than shoulder-width apart, as though to brace him immovably in-place.

“This isn’t going to work out for you, cheeter,” Link said.

“You’re not going,” she answered, her voice a mix of petulant and acrid.

“I… kind of am.”

“Nope.” She sniffed, a bit of her own hair having tickled its way to the edge of one nostril.

“I mean, if you won’t let go, I can just drag you all the way to the castle.”

“Good.”

“Good?!”

“Dad takes you everywhere. My turn.”

“You clinging to my midriff isn’t the same as Father taking you somewhere.”

Her lip curled and Link felt kind of bad, but what did she expect? “You’re eleven.”

“So?”

“So you’re not even out of school yet!”

“Castle Town has a school.”

“So you want to go to school in Castle Town while I’m in training all day and pretty much not see me anyway?”

“At least I’ll get to do something.”

Link laughed so hard he went silent, the girl’s chin bopping his ribs painfully with each spasm of his diaphragm.

“What are you laughing at?!”

“Chee… for Hylia’s sake, you’ll just be at a different school!”

“With you.”

“What about Mom?” Link said.

Chee went quiet for a moment, her eyes softening a little, though they still shone like tiger’s-eye. He could tell she was trying not to grimace.

“That is totally your sheepish face trying not to come out,” Link said.

 “Dad leaves her alone,” Chee said quietly. “A lot.”

Link’s smile left him. “No… he doesn’t. Because she has us.”

“You mean me.”

“Yeah, okay… so it’s been you more than me. But do you really want to leave her here while we both go?”

“She could come.”

Link shook his head. He was getting sidetracked. Mom wasn’t really what this was about, and neither was a different school, or Castle Town, or even his sister getting to do more exciting things. “Look, Chee… I know you’ll miss me.”

She grunted and pumped all the air from his lungs with her bony arms (damn she was strong).

“I’ll miss you too. A lot.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, hard, but not too hard. He was way too strong for his own good, or hers. “More than anyone,” he whispered.

“Link?”

“No way.”

“Yep.”

“You’re a total mommy’s boy.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t mean my sister can’t be my favorite person.”

“Link, please- answer me!”

“He communes,” the bargainer said, the sound of distance itself as the image of Link’s little sister faded.

The feel of her arms around him remained.

“I agree!” Link blurted.

“What?!” Zelda said, her thumb swiping at a wetness on Link’s cheek.

As the embrace of his innermost self bled from Link, he tripped forward, his arms desperate, seeking to return it. His hands found Zelda’s waist, and his eyes found hers—whatever she saw in them made her hug him tight about his shoulders.

“Link?” she said.

He held her too, unsure how to begin, but any words died on his lips at the sight of blue flame coalescing behind her. He tapped Zelda’s back, taking her by one shoulder and turning her to look.

Two spirits came into slow being before them, veiled in a pale blue glow, their features weaving into existence as patches of light, seamless once in place. Flames licked their feet, one moment there, then gone. They were old women, but as Link watched, their edges shimmered, and they took the forms he knew they would—some hidden heart within him had already known, had felt their shades only in his most dreamless of sleeps, in the darkness with them.

One woman stood almost exactly his height, about forty years old, and looked very much like him. The other had become the girl who’d insisted he stay home with her over a century ago.

How could his waking mind have forgotten them so thoroughly? He really was an insane amnesiac with delusions of heroism. He’d have to be insane to forget people he loved so much.

“Mom. Chee,” he said, and as he did, their tears fell, too. They rushed to embrace him, both at once, and he could feel them, they were real, and his deepest core spoke a wordless vow to offer a gift worthy of the bargainer’s extraordinary blessing.

--

Zelda balanced privacy and caution, wandering the length of the bargainer’s platform, the communion of three always at the corner of her eye, sitting cross-legged, knee-to-knee and hand-in-hand.

She’d known of his mother and sister, but they’d never met. He’d spoken of them only in bare, short spaces, quiet moments when Calamity’s imminence dulled.

How their Hateno home had not brought their memories forth long before now, she didn’t know. She’d sensed, sometimes, as Link stared at a piece of pottery or brushed his fingertips over a length of wood-grain on the banister, some glimmer of their former reality floating near to the surface—but it never emerged.

It’s why she’d delved into the mystery of the Shrine of Resurrection—into the healing spring beneath it in the depths—as though the missing parts of him had drifted into its bed, lying nascent against its darkest earth, far below.

They’d have stopped there again after this, on an ordinary day. She’d have given him her most sincere of smiles as she removed his leather—his bracers, his belts, his boots—her eyes never leaving his. She could feel the way his chest would rise and fall, quickening against the heels of her hands. They’d have entered the water together.

Zelda reached the platform’s edge. Hundreds of feet below, a small cluster of poes huddled in the great chamber’s corner, near the bargainer’s ankle; Zelda wondered that they’d come so close to the guiding statue, yet not found their way to the afterlife.

“They do not wish to cross,” the bargainer said.

Zelda gasped, one hand pressing flat to her chest. It had heard her?

“I can hear only you who stand before me.”

Zelda craned her neck toward the statue’s head, half-expecting it to have turned toward her. It hadn’t. “Not the others above us, then?” she whispered.

“Only you who stand before me.”

Zelda sighed, the bargainer keeping its secrets as always. She centered Link in her vision, speaking quietly with his lost family, so engrossed he’d not spared the statue a glance as its voice sounded.

“I spoke to you alone,” the statue said.

“Oh?” Zelda’s curiosity piqued. “I didn’t realize you could.”

She waited for a response, the spark of excitement slowly fading in the silence.

She oughtn’t have expected anything else. These beings showed interest in nothing but the welfare of the spirits they shepherded. She peered over the railing once more, at the flames flickering far below.

“If I go to collect them, will they come?”

“For you, yes. Undoubtedly.”

“And would they then move on as the others have?”

“Almost certainly.”

She wondered why her carrying them a few hundred feet would change their minds.

“Listen with he who also stands before me. You will understand.”

Zelda’s brow tightened, taken aback and hesitant to simply eavesdrop. She shuffled her feet.

The bargainer remained silent.

She approached the three with great reservation, her hands clasped before her, unwilling to simply insert herself within their conversation. She stopped partway across the platform. Should Link wish to include her, he would—yet he was rapt. He appeared as though drinking in every detail of his mother’s face over and over again. Perhaps he feared a more ordinary forgetfulness would take her from him a second time.

Zelda’s lower lip rose in understanding. Some days, she, too, struggled to see her father’s face clearly. Her mother’s had long been wiped blank.

She gasped, her hand touching the Purah Pad.

Link looked up at the sound, giving her a small smile, and as he did, the spirits looked at her as well, as though only just noticing her presence.

The spirit of Link’s mother smiled wide. “Link! Is she with you?”

Link turned deep crimson, his face twisting in a smiling grimace Zelda had never seen on him.

“Oooh!” his sister said, her face full of mock-scandalization. “Your face, Link. Wow. Is she… with you?” she asked, her eyebrows inching upward.

Link’s rested his face in his hands as the spirit-women giggled at him. Zelda couldn’t help but quirk a smile, herself, though she felt strange. She could not ignore the hesitance in her heart.

Transient.

It would be transient.

Her eyes threatened tears as she watched her lover, watched him be with them as though they yet lived.

Their departure would sink him as his forgetfulness never could have.

It took Link a minute and a few resurgences of giggling to recover enough to peer over his hands at her.

Then he held one out in invitation, turning that smile on her- the one that was for her alone. She drew a steeling breath, her fingers worrying at the pad’s cool surface. “Are you certain?” Zelda asked. “I’ve no wish to intrude.” I’ve no wish to cut your time short.

“I’m completely sure,” Link said, beckoning her toward him.

Her shoe scuffed on the first step and she swallowed, extending her hand. When he took it, his mother’s spirit slid to make room for her. Zelda sat as they did, her knee to Link’s, unable to smile and unsure what to say—though she had no intention of asking questions about the mechanics of spirithood, despite the bargainer’s nebulous words.

Link seemed to sense her uncertainty. He threaded his fingers through hers and moved closer, drawing her hand warm into his lap, his shoulder to hers. Zelda couldn’t help but find his eyes, and though she knew his smile and the squeeze of her hand were nothing but sincerity, a truth to reassure her, the smile she gave held a depth of sadness for the future this would bring.

“That is so a yes,” his sister said, snapping the moment in two. Link’s eyes rolled and fluttered shut, and a small laugh left Zelda’s nose despite her visions of Link falling apart.

“The sky’s sake, Chee,” his mother chuckled. “You lived to be ninety-two. I’d expect you to have matured eventually.”

“Are you kidding? This is my chance to be a kid again. I’ll take it!” The girl smiled at Link, but an intense sadness lay in the core of her eyes, the precise contours of her lips. Zelda recognized its longing.

It was in his mother’s, too. “Link, my little love,” the older woman said, shifting a soft smile between him and Zelda, “why don’t you introduce us?”

Link huffed a laugh and gave Zelda a look so like one he’d given her just before the Calamity struck—on Mount Lanayru—something sad yet loving and utterly immovable all at once. She wondered wildly for a moment exactly how he’d introduce her—for she wasn’t his wife, not yet, but “fiancé” seemed an entirely inadequate word.

Fated. Soulmate. Destined. Those- those began to approach the magnitude of whatever connection had laid between them even from the beginning.

“Mom- Chee,” Link said, his eyes and smile still soft, still on her. “This is the love of my life.” His thumb stroked the edge of her hand. “Zelda.”

She and her smile warmed, his words an anchor to the present. Her free hand curled around his bicep and their foreheads somehow met, though she’d not intended to approach him.

His eyes on hers.

Those calm waters she always wished to dive deep within. They seemed to go on forever, further than Link himself could know, to a place warm, safe, and eternal.

Should she ever tell him so, he would give her his lopsided smile with that deep dimple of his. He would tell her the reverse—that she was his eternal goddess, and he worshiped her—that it wasn’t about him.

But it was about him. She knew it in her deepest self. They two were as one. When it came time for her to pass into the afterlife, she knew she would not go without him.

A sudden understanding drew an aching smile on her face for all the little lights in the darkness.

Though the silence between them bore no tension, its length emerged in her awareness. No irreverent remark issued from his sister; his mother had asked no questions of her. She turned with a flutter of dread, expecting, somehow, the spell to be broken—to see empty space where the spirits had been. Instead, she found their gazes on them, awed.

“What is it?” Link asked softly.

They seemed at a loss for speech. Their eyes traveled all around and above and below them, their hands locked together. His mother’s eyes fell on Zelda’s, and his sister’s on Link’s.

“It was you,” his sister said.

Link shook his head. “What was?”

“You… shine,” his mother said, her voice like a whisper in a cathedral. “Together. Like- the light of a thousand Suns.”

Link turned as though searching for that light himself. “Zelda does- she shines with her magic.”

 “No, Link. Both of you,” his sister said, shaking her head hard, her eyes shut for a moment. She opened them, squinting at Zelda. “I see you both ways right now. Before, I didn’t have eyes, not anymore. I do now, and I can see you sitting there, but I could see you before, too. You… you were the lights. You…” she gestured at them, her palm wide, “are the lights.” She swallowed. “Mom? Same for you?”

“Yes,” the older woman breathed. “Yes. I thought- Link, I’d thought the light had led us to you. I felt- so happy to finally be with you again. My little boy-“ tears slipped down her cheeks again, and she reached for Link, cupping his cheeks. “I thought- I still don’t understand- I thought I’d outlived you. I kept wishing, and wishing, and wishing in a sea of darkness to find you again.”

“We all thought you died at Fort Hateno,” Chee said quietly.

“But the light didn’t lead me to you,” said his mother with a tearful smile. “The light was you. And…” she smiled at Zelda, “you. And together…” she shook her head.

“Together you get a lot brighter,” said Chee. “Like, a lot. Way more than double.”

His mother laughed. “I don’t have the right words- to tell you- just how beautiful it is. I wish you could see it.”

Link’s sister raised her hand like a schoolchild, her eyes on Zelda, one eyebrow intensely arched.

“…Yeah, Chee?” Link asked cautiously.

“So… are you Princess Zelda?”

Zelda couldn’t help but laugh. “I am.”

Chee gawked and whacked Link’s arm.

“Ow-“

“You landed the Princess?!”

“It’s not-“

“And you didn’t even INTRODUCE her as the Princess?!!”

“Well, I didn’t want to- to-“

“To what, brag?”

“No, it’s just not what��s im-“

“It is so important-“

“Children,” their mother said.

They ceased so completely their hands froze mid-gesture.

The older woman offered her hand, palm up, to Zelda with a kind smile.

She took it, astonished to feel warm skin, no different from anyone else’s, a mere shimmer of blue at the outline setting her apart if she looked hard enough.

“My name is Junilla,” she said, placing her other hand over Zelda’s. “I am so sincerely pleased to meet you, Princess- and overjoyed that my son has found such love in his lifetime.”

Zelda returned the gesture, placing her other hand over the spirit’s. “I am grateful,” she said, “for this chance to meet you. That Link has been reunited with you after all this time…” she took a breath, “is a blessing.” Her gaze rose from Junilla to the eyes of the bargainer. The others’ gaze followed hers.

Chee traced the unfamiliar shapes of the statue’s eyes, a hand worrying in her lap. “How- how much time do we have?”

Junilla’s hand tightened for the space of a pulse around Zelda’s, searching the stone for an answer.

“The- bargainer didn’t say how long we could speak,” Link said softly, suddenly breathing strangely.

“The choice to move on is never mine,” the statue said.

Link blinked. “So- there’s no time limit?”

“I impose nothing. Yet my gift cannot extend beyond these walls.”

Link nodded, his face flat.

--

Ponnick and several Sheikah entered the space several times to check on them, so long they remained below.

They never appeared to notice the two strange women, though the Purah Pad had been able to take their pictures.

When she and Link finally left—at 5:17am according to the Purah Pad—the women faded without even a whisper of sound to two flickering blue flames, resting together beside the bargainer.

They would wait for Link’s father.

He and Zelda would begin their search in the depths beneath Akkala to find him—under the Citadel—though the bargainer warned that spirits may drift or become bound.

“End the final tide of gloom,” the bargainer said. “Only then may they all return home.”

Link seemed to understand.

They kept their appointments in Lookout Landing and Goron City for that morning and afternoon, having skipped their detour to the hidden spring of resurrection in favor of them. Link was unusually subdued as she’d expected, and her heart fell further and further as the day lengthened.

He’d barely smiled at Yunobo’s fist-bump.

He broke down in her arms, as she’d thought he would, at home in their bed, exhausted and shuddering with a grief which should have been foreign to him, as it should be to anyone—yet he had felt it before in lesser magnitude when the spirits of their friends, their allies, had become known to him, one by one and memory by memory, a sudden knowledge of what had been lost.

He’d even grieved over her in this way, for he’d no way to know she would emerge from the Calamity’s innards as a living being.

Zelda could not imagine it.

All she could do was hold him, kiss the crown of his head, stroke his hair, tell him it was alright.

“I am here, my love,” she said. “I am with you, and I shall stay.”

He nodded, unable, for the moment, to speak.

It was days later, the Sun a deep gold resting in a bed of lavender above the stand of trees west of their garden, when Link suddenly took her by the waist with his only-for-her smile and kissed her, gentle and questioning, then deeper as she rose to meet him, passionate, her arms wrapping about his neck, their bodies moving as a single unfettered wave. Her mouth parted from his breathless.

“L- Link,” she said.

He kissed her again, on her jaw—behind her ear.

“Are- you alright?” she breathed despite her body’s insistence that now was not the time to worry.

He breathed a very soft laugh in her ear and pulled back to look in her eyes. His hands left her hips to cup her face.

He spent a very long moment just like that. When he spoke, the sweet summer breeze danced with the sunflowers, his soft voice like its rustle through the birch leaves.

“I don’t want to remember what I’ve lost only to forget what I have.”

Her hand covered one of his, pressing it to her cheek.

“I love you so much,” he said, his smile growing, a joy nestled there despite the shadow always upon his features. A hint of mischief twitched his mouth. “So much we attract poes in the dark.”

A laugh burst from her. “Link- you are indeed the love of my life, but I’d rather thought it was our magic-“

But Link was shaking his head. “Magic, sure, for glowing when we’re alone, but… the light of a thousand Suns? That’s love. I know it.”

A memory burst to her mind’s eye, of a power as though the surface of the Sun itself, flowing from her as her knight clung to the thread of life behind her.

It had been love then. She knew that. Love of Link which had hurled her bodily before him, willing to die in his stead.

She pulled him close and tight—placed a long, gentle kiss on his cheek. He breathed a laugh and nuzzled her hair.

“You are- absolutely right, Link,” she said. “Absolutely right.”

They held each other, quiet, unhurried as the soft changes in the palette of the sky, restful as the setting sun, resting in the place sought by all the little lights far below—that place in Link’s eyes: a far deeper depth than any within this earth, for eternity had no limit.

She ought to have understood it sooner.

The lifetime of the Light Dragon had been a mere blink of an eye.

Link would love her far longer.

It wasn't transient.

Nor was his love for his sister, his mother, or his yet-unfound father. What resurrection had taken from him in life would have been found beyond the bargainer's crossing, just as she and Link would follow each other to the spirit realm, to whatever lay beyond.

Some well deep within herself whispered in the language of forgotten memories, a truth woven of silent echoes, veiled shades of her many selves passing through her as a thick-muffled feeling—and in that moment, safe and warm in Link’s arms, she felt they had done so before. Over and over again, passing in and out of death and life and realms and voids and time together, and always each other’s light.

She looked at Link, eyes and mouth wide open in a sort of shock, as though seeing him for the first time—as though just having remembered him.

“Zelda?!” He ducked, flickering from feature to feature of her face, his thumbs brushing tenderness on her cheeks and temples. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Oh- oh yes,” she said, her voice shuddering. Her next smile glowed, for him and only him, all else in reality falling from her present. “I love you, Link.”

He grew a smile to match hers and then some. “You sound surprised,” he said with a chuckle.

She took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth, softly, full of reverence, and it felt like a first time. Link’s palm came to rest flat on the table beside her, pressing hard, bracing himself against a force Zelda felt, too, and welcomed—a compulsion to rejoin, to reunite. A shocking elation flooded her that he was wholly him, that he carried no spectre of an ancient king, no matter how benevolent, by his side, and she surged forward against him, delving, caressing: worshiping.

Her kiss released by a hair’s breadth, the heat of their lips a promise of imminence. Link’s heart raced against her elbow where it met his chest. “Z- el,” he said, utterly breathless, even more than he’d made her.

“I’ve always loved you,” she said, her voice quiet’s paramour. “And I always will.”

He stood before her, an avatar of adoration, every aspect of his being focused on her, the softness in his eyes unlike any she’d seen outside those moments he watched her at pleasure’s height. He brushed his lips to hers—not a kiss: a caress.

“You understand,” he said.

She kissed him again, her hands carding through his hair, thrilled when his eyes fluttered shut. She pulled back, a pause. “I do, now.”

“Forever,” he said.

“Through death and life again,” she answered.

In bed that night, Link slept soundly, his arms wrapped around her and his head resting on her chest. She sat partway up against the pillows, stroking his hair and thinking in a way she hadn’t in her waking life: a thinking more like feeling—more like acceptance.

This life was a gift.

A time to feel with skin, with heart and blood.

A time to be separate.

Not because they wished to be—but because it made their reunions that much more joyful.

And when it came time to fade from the physical, there would be nothing to separate them. They would be as one.

Death was not the end.

Birth was not the beginning.

And love…had neither.

She held Link a little tighter, smiling at his sleeping grumble, and closed her eyes.

[heavenlyakin]

Burning For You

warnings: Fem!Reader is a mortician for the Demon Slayer Corps, loosely canon-compliant, pajamas mentioned are traditional jinbei so they’re time-accurate (I do the weirdest research for these fics sue me), BLOOD, fingering (f!receiving), reader calls kyo daddy, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, reader rides kyo, and other general smut warnings, creampie. Minors DNI. (also not edited so forgive me or correct me hehe)

wc: 1.4k

–

You’re reading in your bed, a candle used for light rather than the lamp beside it. It’s softer, making it easier for you to get tired while you read and try to keep your mind off anything but him. 

Everything you’re feeling tonight is the exact reason why you didn’t want to involve yourself with a corp member, let alone the Flame Hashira. His life is not his own, nor is it yours. He is devoted to the Demon Slayer Corps and always will be until he meets an untimely end or ages too far to fight. Even then, he wouldn’t step away, you know this about him. 

It’s something you’ve struggled to come to terms with, but it’s not like you can ask him to step down. It would go against everything he believes in and you don’t think you could forgive yourself if he actually did it. So you cope, the best you can while he’s gone on a mission. 

Every noise outside your house drags you away from the words on the page, but you insist on keeping it open and in your hands. It will at least make time pass faster. The clock on the wall ticks away, just as slowly as usual. Your eyes dart to it every few minutes, despite your best efforts. 

An hour passes and you feel your eyes getting heavy, your book falling on your chest, crinkling the pages you were on. Just as you feel the haze of sleep upon you, a crashing sound jolts you awake. 

Kyo stands in the doorway, blood dripping from a gash on his chest, his clothes torn around it soaked in blood. The smile on his face contrasts the way he must feel, absolutely wrecked. You throw the covers off you, getting ready to jump from the bed when he raises his hand. 

“-----,” his voice is hoarse as if he’s been yelling. 

The mission he’d been sent on wasn’t supposed to end this way. He’d only been asked to inspect a village of some rogue demon sightings, but no one had gone missing or been killed. There was much debate about whether wasting the time of a Hashira was even worth this. 

Whatever had happened, must have been brutal if Kyojuro was this cut up. Luckily, they sent him instead of another member of lower rank. 

“What happened?” You ask, sitting up as he drops his swords by the bedroom door and sheds his haori and then his uniform. 

“Shhh,” he hushes you, his palm caressing your cheek. “I’m okay.” 

“You’re bleeding,” you plead but his lips meet yours before you can say more. 

His lips are rough, moving against yours with the force of missing you. You grab his shoulders, holding yourself close to him. You feel him shudder as your pajamas rub against the cut on his chest. You try pulling away, but he grabs you and pulls you tighter against him. 

“I didn’t say it hurt,” he tells you against your lips, his forehead against yours. 

You nod gently as his hand reaches for the bow you’ve tied your top together with. It falls open, revealing your breasts to him. You gasp as he cups one in his hand, biting your neck before licking over it. His tongue is hot on your chilled skin, making you arch into him for more warmth. 

His fingers pinch your nipple, dragging a groan from your lips. Gently, he lays you down, crawling over you and kissing down your collarbone. Blood drips from his chest onto your stomach, the warm droplets igniting something in you you’ve never felt before. You try and push it away, but each one makes you burn hotter. 

His tongue circles your right nipple, his right hand caressing the other breast. You moan, closing your eyes and arching your breast, pushing more of your breast into his mouth. He sucks gently, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud. Your nails dig into his skin as he does, making him smile against your skin. 

“I’ve been thinking about this my entire journey back to you.” He tells you, looking up at you as his hand wanders between your bottoms. “What you would do when you saw me? How you would sound when I did this,” his fingers slip between your lips, finding your clit and slowly rubbing circles. 

Your breath catches in your throat, making you sound out a loud gasp. 

“Just like that, actually,” he answers himself as he slips a finger inside of you. “You’re even wetter than I imagined.” 

You smile, letting him finger you as he pleases and enjoying every fluid movement of his fingers in you. He knows your body better than you do at this point, so why would you ever ask for more? He will give you exactly what you need. 

“D-daddy,” you moan, the word slipping from your lips earlier than you usually would have allowed it. 

“That’s it,” he grins, kissing your cheeks. “Are you gonna cum for me?” 

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut tight as you feel that burning between your thighs. He kisses you, his tongue slipping between your lips and past your teeth as he devours you. His fingers curl inside of you, and you come undone beneath him. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises against your lips as you cum, your thighs squeezing together around his hand. 

You open your eyes to see his, a smile on his face. His eyes glow with pride and admiration, something you’ve come to crave every time you’re with him. You pull his face down to yours, kissing him forcefully as you use your hands to push him down on the bed on his back. 

As you slip your pants off, you notice you and him are both sticky with his blood, but he’ll be fine for the next few minutes at least. You straddle him after pulling his underwear off his body. He’s hard against you as you grind on his cock, letting your slickness coat him. 

He moans as he grabs your hips, letting you maintain control for now. You know it won’t last, but for now, it’s all you want. Guiding his cock inside you, you sit down on him, moaning at the fullness of him inside of you. 

“Fuck,” he curses, his eyes rolling back before he closes them and thrusts up into you. 

You take this as a good sign to start moving up and down on him. Leaning forward, you place your hands on either side of his head, watching his face contour with pleasure as you slowly ride him. His fingers dig into your hips, but you don’t mind. The bruises are always sweet reminders of the times spent with him. 

Part of you wonders if that’s all you’ll have of him one day, but you push that away. 

He starts to guide you, thrusting to meet each movement you make as you come down on him. Your breathing becomes heavy and you feel yourself coming close again, but you don’t want to cum too soon. You want him to cum first. 

“God,” he groans. “You feel amazing, baby.” 

“So good, daddy,” you moan, kissing him after. 

He grins against your lips as he thrusts harder into you from below. You gasp and he bites your bottom lip, eager to pull more and more noises out of you. It works, every time. You give him what he wants and he gives you what you need. 

“Need you to fill me up,” you moan against his lips between breaths. “Want to be so full of you.” 

His grin is all you need to know he’s going to do just that. He cums, a loud groan coming with it. You hold onto him and kiss him through it, letting yourself cum with him and clench around his cock. 

He pulls you off of him, and you lay beside him. Laying quietly you listen to the sound of his steady breathing. It’s become the most comforting sound you are familiar with. That, and his heartbeat. 

His eyes start to close, so you shake him. “No way are you sleeping before I clean you up.” 

“Baby,” he whines. 

“Infection,” you warn. “You need stitches.” 

“Only after I’ve covered us both in blood and made you cum a few times do you actually care about my injuries.” He grins, sitting up and teasing you. 

You shrug, “A girl has her needs. Besides, you started this.” 

He kisses your cheek before you get up to go search for your medical supplies in the bathroom.

[its-in-the-woods]

The Woman Who Couldn’t Die Part 6

master list

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Original Character 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I can only research so much

Synopsis: There is something in the woods, and our brave travelers are stuck between a rock and a hard place.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning: This is based on fallout except typical: Drug use, blo0d/g0re, animal death, alien critters, angst, lots of hurt no comfort, Canon divergence, hints of SH/SA/NONCON, Slow Burn,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Enjoy the show kiddlets.

Night seems to come faster here, the tall imposing trees shrinking the daylight away. They had walked until Jade couldn’t see and almost fell again. The Ghoul had thankfully caught her before she had hit the ground, his lightning fast reflexes snatching her as she tripped over the uneven road. Carefully right her, and making sure he didn’t pull on the stitches Jade still had in her arm. 

“Careful there, ya got to tell me when yah can’t see,” The Ghoul said firmly. He had been weirdly quiet, usually there was a story or two they’d share between them. But today he had asked for silence, his head tipping this way and back listening to every small sound. Lucy had heard almost nothing, the silence was eerie. 

“I can’t see in the dark,” Jade said huffing, dropping her bag on the ground and stretching her back. She groans, the stitches in her back aching as she moves trying to pop bones back into place. The long walk always left her feeling stiff and tense, the added hush of the forest making her extra tense. 

“Exactly,” The Ghoul says, also dropping his saddle bag. “I can, so you gotta tell me when yah can’t see.” She wishes she could make out more than his shadowed outline, she was used to the dark, but this felt different. 

Jade flops herself down on the ground, digging around in her bag for water. “Guessing fire is out for the evening?” A fire here was a deathwish, she’d only be able to see just beyond its light, setting them up for an easy ambush.  

“Not sorry. Somethin’ is very off about this place,” The Ghoul states, she could hear him take a hit of the inhaler. Had he been taking it more often? She pushed the thought out of her mind, she needed food and maybe to try and sleep. The last thing she should be worrying about was if the Ghoul was going feral, they had a dozen plus vials on them. Right now making it to the next morning was more pressing. 

“I don’t like it,” Jade finally says, she didn’t, the whole place felt spooky. No noise. How was there no noise? “It’s too quiet, can hear you think.”

She could almost see the Ghoul’s eyes light up at her, “Don’t think you’d wanna know my thoughts now, Tiny.”

Jade huffs cracking open a can of food, she couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe she didn’t want to know, maybe she did. Jade knew somewhere down inside she wanted to know, to understand him more. Why? There wasn’t much of a reason besides connection. Something that was far too difficult to find in this husk of a world they lived in. Maybe she could pry something out of him tonight. She looks up at the stars, even though they weren’t enough to give light to this wretched place. “What if I did want to know?”

Silence for a moment, but then she hears him sit down, almost beside her. But always an arm's length away, why he couldn’t just sit beside her she didn’t know.  She remembers the heat of his hand wrapped around her body, how his hand had been inches from her face. Pushing that away she continues to eat the mystery meat in front of her. 

“I’ve been around for a long time. Too long if you ask anyone who knows me.” The Ghoul said out into the dark, his voice low enough that it didn’t echo. “Nothing good in between the holes I call ears.” 

Jade mulls that over, it was the most he had said all day. Hoping she could convince him to tell her more she asks, “How long?”

She could hear his boots slide on the dirt as he stretched out, “Long before you’re born, or your mother, or your mother’s mother.”

“You talkin' pre-bomb?” Jade pushed, she was walking a tight line here. He told stories, but never anything truely personal. Jade wanted more, she needed to understand what drove him to stay alive this long. 

“Depends on which bombs you are talking about.” He says she could tell that he had opened a can of something. At least he was eating, he hadn’t touched a thing all day besides the chems and a small amount of water. 

“I am talking about the bombs that end everything,” Jade states, she wasn’t terribly well versed in history, it wasn't like there was anyone teaching her. That said, she knew that there had been a single large event that had happened. That had flattened the entire country with nuclear bombs. This didn't cover the bombs that had been dropped between warring factions, or some such horseshit like that. 

“Yeah, a little older than those bombs,” He says it like a joke, like the fact he was over two hundred years old was nothing. How the hell had he stayed alive that long?

Jade finishes her can and drops it beside her with a clang. Every noise echoes around here, making her skin crawl like something was watching her. She rubs her hand nervously over the stitches that she could feel poking at her clothes. 

“Don’t think I’ve met anyone from before.” She adds, not entirely sure where to take the conversation. “I knew Ghouls could live for a long time. But I didn't think it was that long.”

The Ghoul huffs, dropping his own can beside them. “If you keep yourself fed, and watered pretty much immortal. Comes in handy I’uppose.”

“Have you thought about-” Jade stops herself, who was she to ask if he had thought about ending his life? She’d been here for a short time and the thought had crossed her mind more times than she could count on both hands. 

“Maybe one day,” The Ghoul hummed, she guessed he had laid down as his voice was lower to the ground. “For now, just gonna take it as it comes.”

***

The forest was eerily quiet, no buzzing insects, or scurry of birds, just the sound of her boots and the Ghoul’s spurs hitting the ground. Jade feels tight, her whole body coiling readying for something to jump out of the forest. If last night was bad today was somehow worse; she could feel that both of them were waiting on the edge of a knife for something to jump out.  There were a few dilapidated signs, a handful of empty tins, and other trash. But other than that no other signs of anyone. No fresh tracks, or small fire pits, it was as if no one had been here in years. The Ghoul was on alert, checking behind them regularly. The Ghoul being on edge only heightened her fear.

“Have you gone this way before?” Jade asks, talking helps ease the anxiety, even if her voice echoes around the place. 

“Not in a long time,” The Ghoul said, he stopped abruptly, head tilting as he listened. He held up one gloved hand to silence her.

Jade stops, trying to force herself to listen harder. The squeak of her leather holster and the rustle of the Ghoul’s jacket seem to reverberate around them.  As she stood with her head tipped the same way as his, a twig snaps. 

“Something is coming our way,” The Ghoul said, the shotgun he wore on his back now in his hands, he loaded it swiftly and started moving backward down the road. 

Jade grabbed her pistol checking rounds as she took up the same backward walk as the Ghoul did. She could now hear more limbs breaking off trees as they started to move back at a fast pace. Looking up at the tops of the trees she could see them moving; the trees parting in horrid cracks and snaps. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Jade stammers out starting to turn, pistol still in hand as she looks towards the Ghoul, an unreadable expression across his face. 

“RUN.” The Ghoul yells as he starts to move, turning the same as Jade. They both run in the opposite direction of the horrid noise. 

The beast crashes through the trees onto the roadway with enough force to topple trees onto the road. It was an unimaginably massive hulking thing, bear-like legs thick as tree stumps; each foot lined with dozens of claw-like talons, black matted fur that faded up into scale covered skin. The creature was nearly as tall as the trees, the head a mangled twist of flesh that looked like the burnt carcass of a deer. Its eyes flaming red, mouth open in terror inducing scream. The monster charged towards them as they ran, the haunting call shaking the ground beneath their feet. The screech was loud enough to momentarily deafen them. 

The Ghoul stops, sliding into a half kneeling position and firing a shot at its head. Jade took up the same crouched stance, steadying herself as she fired at the beast's underbelly. Black ichor oozed from its flesh but the beast didn’t slow down. Jade moves lower aiming for a leg, she watches as chunks of flesh go flying out of the thing. 

“Take out its legs” Jade calls, watching the Ghoul load in different ammo, before leveling his weapon back at the thing.

The creature came up on them fast and hard, the ground around them shaking. A loud pop erupts and one of the creature's front paws explodes into gore. The creature fumbles but continues forward on three legs. Barely slowed down by the missing appendage. 

“Fuck,” The Ghoul roared as he reloaded and went to aim, a chuck coming free from the blast. It wasn’t enough, the thing was going to be on top of them in moments. 

Any rational thought went out of Jade’s mind, her pack slipping off her back, they were going to die, and the beast was going to be on top of them in moments. Dropping her pistol, which had been nearly useless up to this point; she grabs the machete from her back and runs towards the thing. She could hear the Ghoul calling out her name as she ran straight at the beast. The thing's head coming down, mouth opening, decaying teeth, and spit drooling out.  Wild eyes burning against hers as she dove towards it. Jade could see right down the beast’s throat, as she crashes into its mouth, her makeshift sword straight ahead of her. The feeling of hot humid stink coming out as she turns to swing in an arch around the inside of the monster's throat. A wrecked scream shook her as she felt black blood splash around her. Her ears going deaf from the intense noise ringing around her. The space got smaller as she slashed and swung wildly, chunks of its flesh flying as she lodged herself in its throat. She could feel it trying to swallow, her machete lodged firmly in the roof of the creature's throat. Reaching for her waist Jade grabbed her hunting knife sticking it down into the soft tissue. The thing is trying to scream as she cuts and hacks, trying to remove herself from inside its maw. 

She felt another impact rattle the creature’s body, the beast tossing it’s head back and forth. Jade holding on for dear life and as she tries to cut and saw through whatever she could. Reaching up she grabs the machete slamming it in between her feet as she slides towards the monster’s guts. The soft flexible flesh below her opens up as she slides down the horrors esophagus. She dug her boots in as she felt it start to fall, her body tensing bracing for impact. Her world goes dark as she watches the ground come flying up as the creature collapses. 

The Ghoul felt fear wash over him as he saw Jade leap into the gaping maw of the thing. He calls out her name several times hoping it would somehow stop her. The creature stopping and shook its massive head back and forth trying to cough her up. He could see blood oozing as his companion struggles inside. He reloads the explosive round back into his shotgun. The beast pausing long enough for him to aim for the other front leg. The rounds punching through and shattering the beast's foot. It rose on its back to feet, front stumps trying to grab at the horror's throat. He could see the machete blade poke out and start to slide down opening up the beast’s throat. He reloads and aims for center mass,firing. The Ghoul hoping to the stars that he would miss where Jade was. A head sized hole went through the beast's chest, it sways back and forth before falling forward.

“Fuck,” The Ghoul shouts, running toward the beast, its fiery eyes dimmed, black ichor covering the ground, guts, and bones scattered in a circle of gore. 

He got to the beast trying to move it, which was a near Herculaneum feat. He managed to roll it enough too see where Jade had hacked underneath its giant jaw. The slit she had made that ran down the monster’s neck, gaped open. Following it down he used his blade to start opening it up more, going down to where Jade’s hands were gripping the machete. Two of her fingers on her left hand were gone, as he peels back the meat to reveal more of her arms.

“Jade, Jade,” Ghoul shouts, fingers slipping on all the black blood, he grabs at her hands and tries to pull. The right one felt wrong, looking into the hole it is clear that her arm is probably dislocated. Cussing some more, he cut and cut. Thankfully his knife was sharp. He found her head and her eyes rolling back as he tips her face up to him.

“You better not be fuckin’ dead,” He shouts, slapping her face trying to get her attention. “Come on girly, come on.”

He held her up and cut low enough he could grab under her left arm and pull. Hoping that he didn't tear her stitches as he yanked. Part of her popped out, her hips still stuck. Growling he rips at the flesh tearing it apart with his gloved hands and yanking her out. Her body flops on the ground covered in black goo. Scrambling over to her, he flips her over clearing her mouth and nose of any goop. The stuff was everywhere. He shook her, calling her name several more times, but she lay limp in his arms. Pulling one of his gloves off he searched for a pulse, his hands were too thick and gnarled from radiation to feel much. He lays her gently, taking his hat off he unzips her jacket and pulls her shirt up placing his ear on her chest. 

The soft steady beat of heart and lungs working was like a shot of chem. He leans back covering her skin gently, wincing at the number of fresh bruises blooming across her abdomen. Looking around he spots her bag, getting up he walks over and opens it up, grabbing a stimpak. He walks back and injects one into Jade’s neck. She doesn't move. 

He wasn’t sure the extent of the damage, she was missing two fingers which could be stitched closed and bandaged, her right shoulder was dislocated, another easily fixed thing. The bruising was worrisome, looking down he could see her feet weren’t sitting properly. Moving down he moved her pant legs up some, the coloring was purple at the top of her socks.

“Goddamnit,” The Ghoul hushes, he’d need to get her boots off. He untied them, opening them up some more, her feet were so swollen they didn’t want to come off. 

“You’re gonna hate me, but these got to come off,” Sighing, he cut the boots off. His hands might have lost a lot of feeling but it didn’t feel like her bones were broken. Carefully he grabbed her heel pulling it towards him and twisting. A satisfying pop echos, the Ghoul letting out a breath, before moving on to the next one. He rests her feet down on the ground, checking over the rest of her, he was shocked there wasn’t more damage. Next, he grabs her right arm feeling up to the shoulder and rotating it into place. The girl didn’t even move, he wonders if he should be grateful or worried. Leaning down he could still hear her breathing, looking over her face he couldn’t see any bruising but that didn’t mean there weren't issues. He grabbed his hat and slipped it back on, staring at her. 

As the Ghoul ponders what to do next with his companion, his eyes catch the black slim moving. Standing he watches as it starts to slither back towards the body. Looking around he could see bone had started to grow out of the stumps of the blown off paws. Turning he saw the slit at the thing's throat begin to mend. The black ooze moving on its own back to the mangled body.

“What the fuck,” Ghoul mutters as he watches the things start to piece it’s self together. It wasn’t instant but it wasn’t slow either. In a matter of hours, most of the gore would be gone and the creature repaired.

The Ghoul turning back to his unconscious companion, his mind running. Some part of him wanted to leave her there, take off, as she probably won’t make it anyway. Las thing he needed dead weight and all that. His eyes looking over his companion, she looked so different compared to the day he found her. Her skin wasn’t pale anymore, now a deep sandy color, the stitches on her arm poking out. 

Jade may have looked like a frightened young woman when he met her, but she was anything but. She was a survivor, a fighter, and had had his back on more than one occasion. The stupid girl had jumped down the throat of this beast without thinking.

“FUCK,” The Ghoul shouts, kicking at the dead carcass as he stomps over to the treeline. 

Snapping several smaller branches he walked back over to Jade, digging around he found a length of rope. He used it to make a makeshift sled. He wasn’t going to be able to carry her all the way out, but dragging her might give them enough to get away from whatever the fuck that was. He shed his duster laying it down on the makeshift sled, before moving his companion onto it, Placing the bags on either side of her bare feet to try and keep her steady. Grabbing the rope he started to move away from the dead beast. Looking over his shoulder he saw the blackness still seeping back into the dead body. He wished he had a bomb, so he could blow the thing up enough that it would take weeks to piece itself back together not hours.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated

*we got a lot of hurt, and very little comfort, it's gonna be tense for a while friends.

@pixelatedprofilepic @hiddlebatchedloki @toogaytofunctiondangit

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

"yes im so fine"

*researches whether i can get my hands on ipecac*

[wifeglor]

21 for BIG MELKOR if there’s anything we are yet to know…

love you for this one for real. OK, since you said you meant the DVD commentary question, here are some additional thoughts (bite thy wings and let thee crawl, Melkor/Maglor)

First, I really just want to share all the passages from Lay of Leithian that I'd copied into my notes doc (beyond the bit I included and took the title from), because. Big Melkor canon...

Then Morgoth came. For the last time     in those great wars he dared to climb      from subterranean throne profound,      the rumour of his feet a sound      of rumbling earthquake underground.     (25) Black-armoured, towering, iron-crowned      he issued forth; his mighty shield      a vast unblazoned sable field      with shadow like a thundercloud;      and o'er the gleaming king it bowed

and

Heard ye not then of that pretty fay, of Lúthien? Her body is fair, very light and fair. (210) Morgoth would possess her in his lair. Boldog he sent, but Boldog was slain: strange ye were not in Bolgod's train.

Fierce is your chief, his frown is grim. Little Lúthien… what troubles him? (215) Why laughs he not to think of his lord crushing a maiden in his hoard, that foul should be what once was clean, that dark should be where light has been?

Whom do ye serve, Light or Mirk? (220) Who is the maker of mightiest work? Who is the king of earthly kings, the greatest giver of gold and rings? Who is the master of the wide earth? Who despoiled them of their mirth, (225) the vain Valar? Repeat your vows, Orcs of Bauglir! Do not bend your brows. Death to light, to law, to love; cursed be moon and stars above; may darkness everlasting old (230) that waits outside in surges cold drown Manwë, Varda and the sun; may all is hatred be begun and all in evil ended be in the moaning of the endless Sea!' (235)

and

Into the vast and echoing gloom more dread than many-tunnelled tomb in labyrinthine pyramid where everlasting death is hid, down awful corridors that wind (5) down to a menace dark enshrined; down to the mountain's roots profound, devoured, tormented, bored and ground by seething vermin spawned of stone; down to the depths they went alone. (10)

and

Slow-wheeling o'er his iron crown, reluctantly, shivering and small, (95) Beren there saw the shadow fall, and droop before the hideous throne, a weak and trembling thing, alone. And as thereon great Morgoth bent his darkling gaze, he shuddering went, (100) belly to earth, the cold sweat dank upon his fell, and crawling shrank beneath the darkness of that seat, beneath the shadow of those feet.

and

Yet welcome, welcome to my hall! I have a use for every thrall.

and

A pretty toy for idle hour. In slothful gardens many a flower (190) like thee the amorous gods are used honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing, under feet. But here we seldom find such sweet amid our labours long and hard, (195) from godlike idleness debarred. And who would not taste the honey-sweet lying to lips, or crush with feet the soft cool tissue of pale flowers, easing like gods the dragging hours?

and

Then flaring suddenly they fell, down, down upon the floors of hell. The dark and mighty head was bowed; (275) like mountain-top beneath a cloud the shoulders foundered, the vast form crashed, as in overwhelming storm huge cliffs in ruin slide and fall; and prone lay Morgoth in his hall. (280) His crown there rolled upon the ground, a wheel of thunder; then all sound died, and a silence grew as deep as were the heart of Earth asleep.

Like did I even have to write this fic?? Tolkien wrote it first...

This is most of what I have to say that I haven't said before, aside from that I love to see people in the tags of @aquaregiaart's beautiful art losing their minds in the exact same way I did when I first saw an earlier version of it and felt possessed by a demon with the urge to tell some more of that story!! 😌

One other thing on my mind when writing beyond horny was Melkor's voice, I guess. I really wanted his lines to "sound" resonant as though they came from a position of power, and "read aloud" well, and I tried to pay attention to that when I was editing, taking out some of the hedging and other words I had in there as options at first (at least one "I think" got cut at that stage... Just picture me like staring at 2 very similar options like it's the dress meme, muttering to myself "Would Melkor say this? I don't fucking know..."). I haven't spend a ton of time thinking of Melkor as a character (I've only written him a little bit before, in the backdrop of Finrod/Sauron AU) and I really wanted him to come across as scary and brutal/unflinching but also keep some sort of undertone suggesting that At One Point, he was or could be a seducer figure as well. Also, revisiting these Lay of Leithian portions with him was inspiring in terms of writing & keeping in some of his dialogue in the fic, because he DOES have a villainous glee in Lay of Leithian, a bitter, proud sort of "positioning" against the Valar, and he likes to hear himself talk. After reading that, I felt a lot more empowered to write him talking some more!! Thank you so much for your Big Melkor support all through working on this, it makes my heart grow to Big Melkor sizes ❤️❤️❤️

[thegirlwholied]

retcons. they're a writing tool. they're not fundamentally a bad tool. though I greet them more often with an "ugh, retcon" than a "nice, retcon"-

and that's often because they're overwrites. sometimes carelessly so, the 'didn't pay enough attention to what came before'/'guess I changed it' route. And sometimes retcons are the 'that's not the story I want to tell now or I can do better than that' route.

Andor is doing the second type of retcon, and interestingly so, because there wasn't a whole lot there to retcon *and yet* they are managing to do that.

When Rogue One came out, Disney dropped a bunch of expanded universe material. The NEW expanded universe, because they'd already ditched the old one, to avoid conflicts; this new one could be consistent (ha, ha, ha).

In those 2016 detail books we got the facts on Cassian Andor's backstory: from the planet Fest (clearly carefully chosen for its old EU history), father killed during a protest against militarization on Imperial Academy planet Carida (another world with EU history), involved with a Separatist cell from age 6 on...

Anddd anyone who'd read those extended materials knew Andor the show was ditching that backstory within seconds of him dropping the name 'Kenari' in context that was immediately clear it was his home planet. I appreciated at least getting a nod to the backstory we had since 2016 with dropping that his 'cover story' planet was Fest. They definitely were aware and chose not to go that route. And that's OK! they have a story they want to tell, they're digging into some interesting themes and meanings and...

Well. Either way it's a retcon. A minor one that 97% of the audience will never notice or care about. And yes they're still keeping to the spirit of that key line in Rogue One-

"I've been in this fight since I was six years old"

- clearly the mining disaster on Kenari presumably happened when Cassian was six years old. So his childhood was ruined by the Empire then and he's been resisting them ever since, it's not that it renders it untrue it's just-

it's just that he's pulling a moral high ground with that line over Jyn whose life was also ruined by the Empire at eight years old and was raised as a child soldier by Saw Gerrera, a character whose very name is designed to evoke guerilla warfare...?

I mean a Cassian who's already been in prison and is scrapping by and sticking it to the Imperials all he can, drawing those character parallels between them even closer then are we, but the whole crux of that (excellently written & filmed I'm still not over it) argument hinges on Cassian's relationship with/committment to the Rebellion above all else. The show's retcon has just... shortened that relationship. By quite quite a bit.

And there is now some unintentional irony, from this retcon, if Jyn was actually (via Saw's cell) part of the Rebellion longer than Cassian.

...it's fine, it's fine, tbh watch them retcon Jyn's backstory soon enough, it's a very minor retcon and maybe future episodes will reveal Cassian has been doing more actual rebelling than it seems and... nonetheless. Ugh retcon.

[arthur-r]

testosterone meeting complete?!?!?!?!???!!!

[fanaroff]

DP x DC: Downed Danny Prompt

The Justice League are enlisted/hired by the GIW to capture and contain a dangerous ecto-entity. With the media blackout of Amity Park, the JL only have Constance’s input on these types of creatures. Since dangerous beings of the Infinite Realms, ones with intent on destruction, are the ones known to leave the Realms, the JL believe the GIW and begin to work with them on a plan.

The GIW have a ghost contained as bait. A big white creature covered in fur and ice, not unlike descriptions of yeti. It growls and howls at anyone that happens to come near or make eye contact. It speaks in what seems to be a mix of Esperanto and static. What is understood from it tends to be along the lines of “destroy you if you-“ before whatever is said is lost to ear-splitting static.

The creature is all claws and danger and does little to make the JL think that the entity they are after is not a villain. It only makes it seem more likely.

With a trap set far north, above any human civilization that could get caught in the crossfire, and following the tracking path the entity seems to be taking (following the bait), they wait to enact their plan. Drs. Jack and Maddie Fenton work with them to create the weapons and containment unit that can burst on with the press of a button.

When the entity appears, the JL do not expect it to look like a child. At least, not this much. All lanky limbs and awkward posture, it almost seems the perfect image of a teenager. Until one notices… the uncanniness. Bright, wild, green eyes that reminds Batman of one of his sons. Untamed white hair that drifts without a breeze. Claws. Fangs. It’s not human.

It barks something that strange screeching mixed language at them. It’s angry and has spotted the bait. It says the same thing, this time it’s hands light up green. Demanding. Its stance changes. It’s looking for a fight.

The yeti says something back that seems to only anger the entity further. Its fangs seems to grow longer, nails sharper, eyes brighter, and it aims a hand in the general direction of those present, outside of the yeti.

This is “Phantom.” The ecto-entity the GIW have been after for its destruction on the living plane for years. The one that seems hundreds of years old with pottery and paintings and crafts backing up the claim. It needs to be stopped. So the JL don’t hesitate.

The skill sets of ghosts were explained early on, so each member is ready with a Fenton-made weapon. Phantom’s eyes only harden when they aim them towards him.

Rather than immediately fight, like they assumed it would do, it flies straight towards the yeti. And suddenly, it’s falling.

None of the JL took the shot, but one of the Fenton’s (bundled in ghost proof arctic gear and holding the strongest hitting weapons), did.

Phantom goes down, hard.

The yeti flips out, growling and pulling at the exit chains that bind it. It’s making horrible, gut wrenching sounds and pulling towards the downed ghost until the binds break and it’s leaping towards it. The GIW slam on the ghost shield containment unit and the two are trapped together.

It’s only when the yeti is making mournful cries, holding a small shape as close as it can, green spilling and staining the white, white snow does the JL think that maybe, just maybe, they fucked up. That they should have done more research rather than blindly trust a group that convinced them that they only have humanity’s best interest.

*Feel free to use or add to it. I may make a full detailed one-shot of it soon too

[cerealmilker]

while visiting the doctor he asks you if you’d like to participate in highly important medical research for a bit of extra cash, he says they’ll pay five thousand bucks at the end of the research and all you have to do is “run a few standard tests and stay a couple of nights at a research facility”

you agree, i mean he said it was important and the fact they are paying you is a nice added bonus, what could be so bad about a couple of nights in a medical research facility?

the next day you arrive at the address given to you, an empty secluded carpark, with a black SUV parked in the middle. you get out expecting maybe a doctor or a scientist to happily greet you, they did say it was highly important, surely this is normal right? instead four suited men emerge from the doors of the vehicle and grab you roughly by the arms and legs carrying you into the car, kicking and struggling you notice one reach into his pocket, pull out a small cloth and push it close against your face. you only remember the sweet smell as you blackout.

florescent white light invades your vision when you re awake. groggy, you try to stretch your arms when you realise you cant move them, infact, you cant move anything from your neck down. you look down to see you are strapped down on a padded table, arms pinned to your sides, legs spread apart, naked and vulnerable. you were so confused, what the hell was going on?

you see a man, a clean looking older man wearing a white lab coat enters the room holding a clipboard and a pen and takes a seat next to you in a chair just out of your vision. you try to speak, to ask him what was going on but your words are muffled and barely audible, in your mouth was a small gag. after a couple of minutes hearing him writing on a his clipboard you notice a wet squelching sound approaching you, as it got to where you were strapped on the table you heard the man speak. “time is 22:43, first compatibility test starts now”

you felt multiple long slimy tentacles wrap round your already restrained thighs, more made their way onto your chest circling your breasts and eventually teasing your nipples, they began by gently prodding them, tapping and nudging your nipples before placing one of their suckers on each of them. this can’t be happening. you feel your clit twitch. no this- this is so wrong, you didn’t sign up for this, why was this happening to you? what was this thing? and why….why was it making you wet?

you didn’t get the chance to be confused for much longer, feeling another slimy appendage make its way up your legs, it makes its way up your thigh and then stops, right infront of your cunt. slowly it rubs itself up and down your slit, mixing its slime with your wetness before making is way to your clit. again it prods, pokes and taps at the bud between your legs. you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, you really dont want to be turned on by this but something about the way the tentacle on has now switched to suckling gently on your clit has you gushing.

“the subject responds incredibly well to stimulation provided by the first creature” the man speaks calmly, you cant stop your eyes from rolling in the back of your head, every single movement from the appendages had you twitching. its like they new exactly how and where to touch you.

you felt another appendage press at the entrance to your cunt. this one was thicker than the rest, the tip pushes into your hole, and even the first few inches are a stretch. it pushes further and further in stretching your little tight hole nice and wide for it. you cum just from the stretch alone, and the extra stimulation on the rest of your body. whatever this creature is, it does not care that your pussy has never taken anything this big before, it starts brutally shifting in and out of your stretched hole, rubbing up every wall again and again and again. you start to see stars, the overstimulation way too much for your poor body to handle.

and right when you think your on the edge, about to blackout. it stops and pushes deep down, up against your cervix. you feel its hot sticky fluid invade your womb while it twitches up against your walls. all the other appendages stop stimulating your nipples and clit, hearing them slither off and away from the table. you lie and wait, surely it was done secreting whatever fluid has just entered you and will pull out? a couple of minutes turn into ten maybe fifteen, the only sound you could hear being the mans pen on his paper.

again you hear the man speak “test will resume in 3 days, subject and creature will stay linked until birthing”

you start to cry as you hear him leave, realising you’re stuck there. overstimulated cunt stuffed to the brim with alien sperm, and a huge tentacle between your legs to keep you company till the birth of its offspring. lets hope it doesn’t get bored and play with that swollen little bud of yours.

[hallowxiu]

How the Brothers Would Deal with MC's Mortality

Mammon:

You casually brought it up as a joke

Probably something like “i’m here for a good time, not a long time” or “why should i care what happens in 100 years? It’s not like i’ll be around to care”

Would probably confuse Mammon at first as to why you wouldn’t be around, but he would put the pieces together in the middle of the night when trying to sleep.

A whole, eyes snapping wide opening and flinging out of his bed kind of moment.

Mammon would worry himself sick

Yes, he knows humans can die, hell, he used to mock you for being so frail when you first came to the Devildom, but now? 

Well, now things are different. How he feels about you is different

He's spending all his money on ways to keep you kicking longer. 

Anything he can think of that’ll help, he’s buying it. Vegetables, fruits, protein powder, comfortable clothes, a nice pillow, vitamins, shampoos- anything. He has no idea where to start, so he just starts grabbing everything. 

I mean, something will have to help, right? 

If you notice he looks panicked, don’t point it out, it’ll only make it worse. Unless you want to be smothered to death from his affection and worry, then by all means. ;)

Leviathan:

Look, he can barely handle his favorite anime characters dying, so you? Yeah, no, that’s way too much. 

Nothing actually popped up to remind Leviathan of your mortality, it was because of Satan throwing his books all around the house that did it. 

Suddenly, it was all he could think about. How did he not think of this before? 

Leviathan is no Satan though, and he’s certainly not Lucifer. Researching medical documents and trying to think of things to keep you alive longer are a little over his head. That being said, there were some things he could do.

Leviathan dove into his own research that would be within his realm of understanding, studying that humans who have more positive mindsets and who are less exposed to depressing forms of media, may live longer than the average person. This- this was something he could work with. 

Suddenly, you were constantly being invited to his room, Leviathan having a variety of slice-of-life anime for you to watch with him, all of which had happy endings to boot. If an anime was even remotely depressing, he made sure to keep that out of reach. 

Video games? He’s keeping it safe; he’s not risking anything here. If it’s not similar to Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, Dreamlight Valley, or The Sims (which must be on a good day), you’re just not playing it. Kingdom Hearts if you’re lucky. 

Satan:

Would do an insane amount of research 

Likely overheard the topic on a news segment about the tragically short lifespans of humans before it all clicked together.

Satan, unlike the other brothers, has never experienced death before, so while it sounds silly, he never had reason to think of you dying.

Looks up humans who had long lifespans to see how he can implement those things into your lifestyle.

Books will be littered everywhere (although that’s not really unusual, but what is would be the topic of said books- The Long Lives of Humans, Human Lifestyle for Dummies 101, The Road to Human Immortality, etc. etc.)

This is when Satan learns just how easy it is for a human to kick the bucket.

Heart attacks, brain aneurysms, strokes, seizures, cancer, the list goes on and on and it’s starting to scare him. He didn’t know humans could just drop dead. 

He’s going to start researching curses to increase your lifespan, or at the very least he’s going to make sure you’re careful as hell. 

You won’t even get as much as a cut without him being aware of it; he’s going to hover around and mother hen the absolute shit out of you. 

Try not to get too annoyed with him though, it all stems from good intentions. 

Asmodeus:

He’ll be damned if his shopping partner for life is going to die on him.

Asmo isn’t stupid; if anything he’s pretty emotionally aware. He's known for a long time just how short the lifespan of humans is.

But still, it came in the form of a nightmare. One where he couldn’t save you, despite giving his best efforts. The way you died was tragic, long before your life should have ended. 

This sent Asmo somewhat into a frenzied state trying to find things to keep you alive once he woke up. 

Vitamins, vitamins, vitamins

Humans benefit from vitamins, right? Surely you’d benefit from Devildom vitamins then. If it’ll increase the lifespan of a demon, he sees no reason why it wouldn’t increase your lifespan. 

Of course, it really only gives you nicer nails and shinier hair. 

He’s 10x more intense with your morning and night routines. 

He will be unloading all his facial creams on you, and telling you the benefits of each one and how it might add a few years to your lifespan. 

You want to stay up late at night to finish homework? Maybe watch a movie? Yeah, no, not on Asmo’s watch. 

Your ass is going to bed every night at 10pm, right along with him. You do realize you’ll be getting exactly 8 hours of sleep each night, too, right? 

Beelzebub:

Regarding his trauma with Lilith, it came as no surprise when he started to fret over your well-being. 

Poor Beel saw an article that discussed how tragically easy it is for a human to die. The cherry on top? How they could die from simply overeating. 

Overeating isn’t a concept Beel is overly familiar with (because to him, it’s never overeating), and while he knew most people couldn’t keep up with his eating habits, he didn’t think it could actually cause harm to a human, let alone kill them. 

Grocery trips are now a more anxiety-inducing event. 

He’s suddenly paranoid that any of the Devildom food could and will kill you. Are you allergic to anything? How would you even know? 

What if one day he serves you his favorite boiled dragonhead and you just drop dead at the dinner table?? No, that will never do. 

There’s a list of Devildom foods that he knows for sure you can have without dying, but then comes the issue of portion control. How much is too much for a human? 

Beelzebub swore he would never lose another loved one again, and it’s a promise he intends to keep. From now on, you will only eat what he deems safe. 

You want to try a new food in the Devildom that you’ve never had before? You better get some seriously good convincing skills if you want him to cave in. For someone who only ever thinks with his stomach, he’s surprisingly stubborn. 

Belphegor:

He’s still plagued with nightmares about Lilith, especially since he still thinks it’s his fault. Tack that on to the way he blamed you and the rest of the human race for it? The man is walking trauma. 

 Like Asmodeus, this was brought on by nightmares about you dying. Different from Asmo’s, however, you usually died by his hand. Naturally, considering your tumultuous history. 

Belphegor, unlike his brothers, takes a different approach. He just doesn’t approach you at all. 

What better way to keep your lifespan long than by staying away from you altogether? 

Is it something that he wants? Of course not! But how can he trust himself to never hurt you again? To never kill you again. 

He can’t. 

So, he locks himself away in his room, sleeping most of the day or just avoiding the areas you normally like to lounge. 

On a normal day, almost everyone in the household, including yourself, would notice this behavior change. However, since you’re now being cornered by all the brothers and their concerns about your lifespan, it’s easy for Belphegor’s absence to slip your mind. 

This hurts Belphegor, but at the end of the day, he believes this is for the best.

Lucifer: 

Lucifer didn’t need a reminder of your short lifespan; if anything, it’s something he’s thought plenty about. 

Lucifer has trauma, we all know that much. After Lilith, he’s absolutely terrified of losing another loved one to something outside of his control.

And your lifespan is not something that’s out of his control. At least not how he sees it, anyway. 

If you thought he was overbearing or overprotective before, brace yourself. He’s going to step it up several notches. 

No excess of junk food, no more pulling all-nighters, no more sitting around the house gaming all day, and definitely no more overexerting your use of magic. He’s no fool, he knows the toll your magic could eventually take on your body. 

Honestly? He wasn’t this bad until his brothers started to panic about your mortality, and though Lucifer told himself he was above such nonsense, he quickly found himself taking all the precautions they were taking (and then some). 

Fortunately, if you find yourself becoming overwhelmed, they’ll be more than willing to listen to you (granted you take some of their concerns into account).

[headspace-hotel]

I agree with the idea that a lot of humans nowadays have a severe lack of curiosity about the world, but I think there has to be a solution other than shame.

I think about this every day because the fate of our world hangs on curiosity: either we will rediscover the importance and wonders of the soil and bugs and flowers and water and finally with the whole natural world, or this way will be forgotten.

People raised in the great wasteland of the suburbs and roads and buildings have never seen most of the plants and creatures that are supposed to fill every field and meadow. So many humans have never seen with their own eyes more than a scant few of the most common of hundreds of wildflowers that are supposed to surround them. Some live in biomes designated forest and have never witnessed truly mature trees. They do not know what the birds sound like. When they see an ordinary deer, they are awed and amazed by it or even afraid of it. They have never eaten any of the delicious wild fruits that grow in their homeland; all birds except starlings and robins and sparrows are so strange and beautiful that they stare in wonder. They confront insects like people on an alien planet encountering an unknown life form: What is this? Will it hurt me?

I cannot even describe the grief I feel on behalf of humans that grow up and live in the wasteland of pavement and lawn. That we are expected to live in these brutal environments, that we are expected to be content without the right or ability to live alongside living creatures, to walk among wildflowers, to hear birdsong, to feel the plush softness of moss, to see even common bees and butterflies—the fact that we live, work, and raise our children in poisonous wastes where nearly everything has been wiped out, and the simplest and most abundant of natural pleasures are rare privileges—it's cruel. It's a crime against the human spirit. It makes me so angry and sad.

When I started researching plants, I had no idea that I would end up expanding my mind so much that I would be virtually a different person within the year. Before I learned, I could not have imagined the diversity and beauty that exists in the world. My mind did not have the tools to come up with it.

I lived for over twenty years believing that there was only one species of firefly. I lived for over twenty years not knowing that the Southeastern US has native bamboo. I had never tasted the indescribable flavor of a pawpaw or seen the iridescent vibrance of a red-spotted purple butterfly. I had only seen a Pileated Woodpecker out the window of a car. I had never touched true topsoil, the soft, living blanket of rich, sweet-smelling earth full of mycelium, as springy and plush as a mattress. Just one year ago, I knew nothing!

Humans, as creatures, are insatiably curious and hunger for beauty. It is so cruel to deprive a human of relationship with their natural environment.

It is no wonder that we are all addicted to the internet—we have a crucial need that is unfulfilled. Compared with a forest, the world of lawns and buildings is so ridiculously flat and unstimulating. You would expect humans in such a place to feel constantly bored, restless, frustrated, and incurably sad.

I feel that lack of curiosity can be a chosen thing, but it is also a defense mechanism against a world that will feel like sandpaper on the senses of the curious.

But we need curiosity to fix this—we need the ability to notice the living things that have crept in at the edges of the wasteland and be infected and tormented by their beauty. We need to recognize the forest reaching into our cage in the form of tiny saplings. We need to discard the word "weed," not because it is derogatory because it is fundamentally incurious—it designates a plant as needing no identity outside of its unwantedness. We must learn their names. We must wonder what their names are.

[luveline]

I would dieeee for some more of Spencer and bombshell after her getting injured😭 him taking such good care of her, the BEST doctors, researching every single option😭 reassuring her rhats shes just as pretty😭

—Spencer looks after you while you recover from a brutal injury. fem!reader, 1.1k

Spencer thinks it’s one of the team's more gruesome injuries. Hotch has been stabbed to mince meat and Emily half-killed, Elle got shot, and he’s had his fair share of violence, too, but he can’t imagine the horror of being hit in the face with a hammer. The pain so close to your eyes, your teeth, your brain, the fear and the sudden crack. He feels sick whenever he remembers the sound, and he was sick the first time he dreamt about the way you cried as it happened. Your strange yelp, the immediate drop to the floor. 

Spencer never hit somebody as hard as he did that UnSub. His gun whipped out possessed across the UnSub’s face, and then drove forward into their nose with a stomach turning crunch. 

They’re in custody, and you’re in bed recovering with some of the best doctors in the world. Spencer thinks you both won this round, even if it doesn’t feel like a win right now. 

“Shh,” he whispers, “shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry.” 

You cling to his chest as though worried he’s going to move out of reach, sobbing. You’re careful not to touch your face or his chest, the soreness too much, but the rest of you is clinging to him. You don’t have to worry, he’s not going anywhere. 

“Please, it’s okay,” he says, the tip of his nose to your forehead. “You can have another dose in twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes.” 

He supposes the pain reminds you of the full extent of the injury, your jaw fractured in two places, your gum traumatised, your face more bruise than anything else. You hate your appearance being out of your control, it’s making you panic —he can feel you shaking.

He’d sat down with your drink to find you already crying, he couldn’t have been gone for ten minutes, but it was long enough for you to fall deep into the throes of hysteria. You’d grappled for him as he sat down to hug you, your face hidden ever since, and now the shakes have started. He’s hopeless. 

But Spencer’s willing to do anything to make it better. “Can you tell me what’s upsetting you? Please?” he asks.

“It’s–” Harder sobbing, your tears dripping down from your chin to wet the thigh of his pants.

He has to calm you down.

Since you met Spencer, you’ve been the comforter. He can’t count how many times something has hurt him and you’ve rushed to save him. You’ve hugged and held and kissed him into smiling, you’ve never let him down, you’ve forgiven him after a hundred stupid mistakes, so Spencer doesn’t care that you’ve been inconsolable for days. He really doesn’t mind that he’s had to look after you this attentively. It’s his pleasure, and he’s getting better at it. 

He presses a few soft shushes somewhere in your hairline, his hand rubbing a circuit into your back with a firm pressure that never tips into roughness. He does it until his palm is numb. He could paint the slant of your back from muscle memory, fingers tripping down the creased fabric of your pyjamas, pulling back up to your neck. He’s never felt such tender sympathy. He hates that you’re in pain, but he doesn’t hate getting to rub your back. This is surely boyfriend territory. 

“You want something to drink now?” he asks quietly. 

You open your mouth to answer, sighing in pain momentarily. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Did you want the straw?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” He can’t force himself away. “You okay for me to move you?” 

“Yeah.” 

You can’t be blamed for short answers. 

There are surgeries to hold your jaw together when it breaks, and while you were unconscious (shock, rather than head injury), Hotch consented as your next of kin for the doctors to make sure things wouldn’t get worse, but it was Spencer who had to advocate for you afterwards. They’d wanted a metal connector to prevent dislocation. Spencer knew this could mean another scar, so he said no, because you might’ve said no had you been awake, and they should’ve asked you anyways. 

When you did wake up, you were vehemently against it. Which is fine, you can heal without it, but it’s scarier to do it unaided. Your jaw could dislocate if you do something wrong, which is not only horrifically painful, but a painfully horrific injury to have. You talk quietly. You take small mouthfuls of soft foods. 

Spencer looks at you now, tearstained, back arched like a kicked dog, and doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he were the one who got injured instead. 

He takes the hospital bed controls into his hand and presses the button to make the top of your mattress elevate. Tomorrow, they’ll send you home, and Spencer will have to construct a nest of pillows for you to sit in while you recover, but it’ll be worth it. Things won’t feel as intimidating when you’re in your own bed. 

“Lean back, beautiful,” he says. 

Your smile is a straight line with eyes lit up. “What for?” you ask. 

“Comfier. Less stress on your head.” You lean back. “Oh,” he adds, “and so I can get a better view of you.” 

Your eyes get impossibly brighter. “What do you think?” you murmur. Your voice sounds scratched to death from crying, tight from holding your mouth a certain way, but pleased anyways. It’s just as pretty as it always is to him. 

“You’re the prettiest girl in the world,” he says, reaching out to cradle your waist, his hand moving up and down the side of you tenderly. 

You have a bruise from under your left eye and bleeding down your neck, and you haven’t slept right for a few days, but you’re undeniably beautiful in Spencer’s eyes. 

You’ve been the most beautiful girl in the world literally from the day you met onward, with as much to do with your heart as your lovely face. He should tell you that, but he doesn’t. 

“Can I have water now?” you ask, covering his hand with yours. 

His confidence wobbles. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Sorry.” He grabs your drink, water spilling down the side to wet his hand. 

“Please don’t make me laugh.” 

“I’m not trying to,” he says pathetically. 

He holds the cup of water to your face and you guide the straw between your lips. Spencer’s sure he’s been in love with you forever, and it’s all but cemented now. 

[earthtooz]

x : CALL ME BACK : *+ﾟ

in which: ratio has been waiting for your call since you left.

warnings: FLUFF i promise, 1.6k wc, gn!reader, ratio being horribly in love and pining so badly, reader works as a space researcher, reader is a sunshine so this is basically sunshine x grump/asshole, written during his first release/ v1.6.

a/n: the way i wrote the synopsis made it sound like it was sad. maybe i'll write an angst version of the same prompt. anyways i listened to 'she calls me back' by noah kahan on loop when writing this, enjoy!

Dr. Ratio is not happy with you.

It has been three weeks and three days since he last received any sort of notification from you, any sort of indication that you were healthy and alive whilst traversing the universe. Typically, you would send daily updates of how your exploration was progressing, or new intergalactic discoveries of yours, regardless of whether or not he cared. 

(He cares. He cares more than his indifferent texts lead on. There’s a reason he always responds, after all, and it’s not just because you’ve been friends for almost two decades now.

To him, your constant messages and calls told him that you were thinking of him, and the more space he occupies in your mind, the happier he is; that is a theory he discovered years ago.

He happily listens to all of your rambles. He'll listen whilst in the middle of grading various papers or writing one of his own, he'll listen whilst eating, he'll listen to you as long as you reach out.

So where are the messages he was waiting for?)

Today is the arranged day for you to return from your new mission. Ratio has been counting down the days since he first marked it on his large desk calender, your return being the first event on his list. 

He is undeniably excited to see you, yet he feels petty enough to not make the trip down and welcome you by the docks, even if your ship’s landing zone is just outside the University.

It’s irrational of him to hold your inactivity against you. Perhaps you just encountered an inconvenience and lost your phone, or wherever you are does not have good reception to send a text halfway across the galaxy. He understands that your safety comes first on these missions, but he can’t help but feel neglected, and he curses the fragility of his ego for making him this way. 

The clock strikes another hour. From his office, Ratio cannot see the ships and come and go, but his ‘scholarly instincts’ are telling him that you are on your way. 

Not even ten minutes later, a figure comes barrelling into his office.

“There he is!” You exclaim exuberantly. It seems that the length of the mission did not erode your enthusiasm, and he’s grateful that it is as contagious as he remembers. “And here I was wondering where you were, did you dig your nose too deep in those encyclopaedias you love to memorise?”

You’re still in your research gear, hips and legs buckled to the brim with various equipment that are necessary to your work, and his heart beats guiltily at the sight. 

You came to see him as soon as you landed. He was your first destination after a tiring three and a half weeks away from home, not the comfort of your home or bed or shower; him. 

“Ha. Ha.” The purple-haired laughs dryly, getting up from his chair and rounding his desk. “Good to see you still alive.”

“What’s with the lack of energy? Didn’t you miss me, Veritas?” 

He did. More than you could ever imagine. “Of course I did.” 

Opening his arms for a hug, you all but run into his embrace, throwing your arms and anchoring yourself to the sturdiness of his torso. After not seeing you for so long, your familiar frame and warmth provides nothing but comfort. 

“Welcome home,” Ratio murmurs into your hairline. 

Your arms squeeze him tighter. “Good to be back.” 

After a few beats of silence, you step away from him and he reluctantly detaches himself from you. 

“I got you something,” you say whilst setting down your bag. Pulling out a suitcase, the purple-haired looks at you inquisitively. “It’s a chess board! I got you a new one to add to your collection!”

Ratio doesn’t bother correcting you that his ‘collection’ only has seven boards at most, but that does not negate his gratitude. 

Even whilst away, you thought of him, and that is a great victory.

“Thank you. We can play together, sometime,” he proposes.

“Oh, please. I could never beat you.”

“Giving up before you even start? That does not sound like the Y/n I know.”

“It’s not ‘giving up’, it’s picking my battles wisely. I could never best you in a game of chess, or any competition of intellect,” you laugh as if the idea itself was ridiculous.

“You shouldn’t discredit yourself based on your own assumptions. I think you make a very capable opponent.”

“I know your tricks, Veritas. Buttering me up just so you can chip at my armour and knock me down when I’m weak, have you no shame?” Your voice is light, with an air of joviality to it, and the purple-haired is enchanted. 

It seems that you don’t know him as well as you think. He finds no shame in hogging as much of your time as possible, even if it is through a game of chess that he will beat you at. He also hopes that you don’t know him well enough to hear the subtle desperation in his voice when he enquires if you’ll be leaving for another mission soon.

“I don’t believe so,” you tell him nonchalantly. “I’ll be stationed here for about two months. They’re expecting a detailed, twenty-page length report from me, so I guess I’ll be locked in my study until that’s complete.”

Ratio clicks his tongue. “Pity.”

(It’s not a pity. He gets to spend two months with you in compensation for the month that he was robbed of.)

“Not to sound self-absorbed, but why weren’t you there are the dock to pick me up?” You ask. 

“Were you disappointed?”

“A little. You’re always the first face I see whenever I come home. It was jarring to not see you amongst the crowd.”

Jealousy slashes at his chest, and he turns away from you to hide his sour expression. “I apologise, I must have lost track of the days.”

“You’re Doctor Veritas Ratio. According to your crazy schedules, there are 72 hours instead of 24 in a standard day, you never lose track.” 

Truth is a fascinating thing. By nature, it is black and white, but it’s perception is what traps fools. Humans have strived to discover an uncontested truth for as long as they have existed, but as long as opinions exist, it will constantly be revised and put together again, ambiguity heavy in the air that surrounds it. 

You, however, are even more fascinating with the way you can deconstruct him so easily.

“If you must know, I was… upset with you because you were not messaging me.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Your laughter is even more so.

Hubris can really kill a man. Ratio does not need to consult the texts of ancient philosophers to confirm that. 

“Really?” You choke out in between cackles. “I didn’t think such menial things mattered to you!”

“Normally, they don’t.”

“So, I’m a special case then?”

“I shouldn’t need to spell it out for you.”

“Veritas!” You coo, placing your hands on either sides of his face. “I am so flattered!” 

Dr. Ratio is a renowned scholar with eight doctorate degrees. The mere mention of his name will inspire hundreds, if not, thousands, of people who have the faintest lust for academia, spreading marvel and fear amongst students and professors alike. His achievements will be engraved and celebrated by the university for centuries to come, and his classes are so notoriously hard that the passing rate is 3%. 

And yet, here he is, reduced to putty in your hands.

Perhaps that is who he is at his core. Rid from him the alabaster head, the codex, and pride, you’ll be left with a man who is ardently in love with his best friend.

“Stop it, this is ridiculous!” He mutters, hoping to salvage his image at least a little.

You listen to his demands, separating from him with a hearty laugh. “So you really do like me, that’s nice to know.”

(It is far beyond ‘like’ now. Can you come back and hold his face again?)

“I like you when you’re quiet.”

“Clearly not if you loathed my virtual silence! Which, by the way, was caused because the planet I was on had horrible reception. I really need to switch cell providers, mine doesn’t even reach to half way across the galaxy, apparently.”

“Well. I am glad you survived the three weeks without reception, it must have been a formidable challenge for you.”

“Were you worried for me?”

Of course he was. Whilst you freely roam the expansiveness of the universe, the only thing that anchors him to you across the span of light years is a message. “You should stop asking questions you know the answer to.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” You lean down to grab the bags that lay at your feet, swinging them over one shoulder. Do you have to leave so soon? “Well, I better get going. I’m aching for a shower and a nap. Now that I have proper data and Wifi, rest assured that I will be texting you soon.”

“Cannot wait.” 

“Goodbye, Veritas! I shall see you soon!” 

‘Soon’ is a relative time frame. He can only hope that you won’t keep him waiting again.

The door clicks shut behind you, and not even five seconds later, his phone buzzes with a call.

“Sorry!” Your voice greets from the other end of the line. “Was just testing if my reception actually worked.”

“There is a reason your day job is a Space Researcher and not a comedian.”

“Can’t you at least laugh? Let’s grab dinner tomorrow at half past six, make yourself free, Veritas!” 

You hang up before he can even get a word in, and he’s left to stare at the blank screen of his phone with an idiotic smile.

Everything’s alright when you call him back.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

American Psycho Killer

Summary: Leon S. Kennedy, a man who’s taken his duty of protection very seriously. He’ll do anything to ensure the safety of people, especially the safety of one particular girl.

Warning: stalking, murdering, mentions of planned murder, mentions of drugs and drug abuse, gore (kinda), death, masturbation (m receiving), smut, creampie, yan!leon, not proofread lol, fem reader, psychopathic.

A/N: I did my research for this as I wanted this to sound a little spooky teehee :3

[part two]

“I got you under my skin” - Mirotic, TVXQ!

Psychopath vs. Sociopath. The popular argument in between psychologists.

Leon never really cared enough to get himself checked out but there were signs. He didn’t feel empathy for others, his moves were calculated and he’s highly educated. He has a well paying career, he pretends to be this normal guy when in reality, he’s psychopathic.

What defines a psychopath apart from a sociopath? Psychopaths, at least in Leon’s case, cannot form established bonds with others. He doesn’t feel guilt or sad when he sees a person die by his hands.

His job already requires him to kill so this was an easy feat. He doesn’t care. He can’t feel anything.

He couldn’t feel anything until you came along.

Leon lived in this apartment complex just downtown of a city in the state. The apartment was big and had security cameras all around. It was well guarded and the people were kind.

When he saw the new neighbor move in, he felt weird. He narrowed his eyes as he watched you from the window of his apartment loft. He was growing suspicious at his behavior. Why did his chest feel warm? Why is his heart beating fast? Why are his hands sweating?

He didn’t know. Up to this point he didn’t feel anything but you brought something to him and it made him uneasy. So he decided to keep an eye on you.

Days passed after you moved in and you settled just fine. The old lady at the end of the hall brought you cookies, a sweet old lady. She talked to Leon a few times and he didn’t think much of her other than just as his neighbor. Nothing more.

But if you were to ask him what he thought of you? Oh boy, he thought a lot of things. Both good and bad.

Being a psychopath isn’t praised in society. Only 1% of the population is considered one and no one knew he belonged to that percentage. And he’d like to keep it that way; his excuse for his behavior was his job. He always left early in the morning and came back late at night. A manipulator and a liar is what he was, and a very good one.

He’s seen you leave your apartment from time to time. You’d take out the trash, went out with your friends- he’s seen everything you do.

Leon isn’t stupid, he’s attentive and observant. He leaves no trace behind of the murder he just committed. The male neighbor across from your door saw you one day when you walked out of your door with a short dress.

The man eye-fucked you so much he literally almost started drooling. Leon cringed and found him repulsive. How dare he look at you like you were some meat on the market?

He felt anger and disgust. No one should look at you like that. No one.

So, one summer day, he made up an excuse to visit him. Something about a water pipe connecting to his sink that didn’t make it work. Like I said, Leon is a good manipulator and a good liar. He always gets what he wants.

The male neighbor invited him in and closed the door behind him. He offered Leon a beer, to which he refused. He found liquor and other substances repulsive. He walked over to the man’s kitchen sink and began to inspect it.

He noticed the man’s sink had a garbage disposal unit. That’s pretty dangerous, he thought to himself.

He walked over to where the man was sitting. The male neighbor was sitting on his reclining couch as he watched a game with a cup of beer on the stand next to him. The neighbor was so engrossed on the football game that he didn’t notice Leon slipping something into his drink.

Leon was smart. Dangerously smart. He knew everything when it came to death- he worked in the DSO, of course he knew some things. He knew the effects of alprazolam and what it does to the brain.

So when he lied to a psychiatrist about his insomnia and got prescribed some Xanax, he crushed a high dosage into fine powder and slipped it into the man’s beer.

Stupid bastard, Leon thought to himself.

He watched as the male neighbor took a sip of his drink and Leon waited. Xanax is a powerful drug, can cause hallucinations and make your brain become a little too calm. You’re bound to fall asleep at some point. And with the amount Leon dropped into his drink, he knew he’d knock out sooner than later.

After a few minutes of “tinkering” with the man’s sink. He got up and went to check on the man again.

And sure as hell did the man find himself in a profound slumber. His snores layering with the sound of the TV.

Too easy, Leon smirked to himself. He put on some elastic gloves and made sure he wore shoes that wouldn’t leave footprints. In case things would get messy, of course.

He poured the man’s drink down the sink to get rid of the evidence. He then thought hard about how he should go about this.

There’s many different ways one can commit murder but Leon wanted the cleanest one. So he came up with one.

He brought pans to the stove and made it seem like the man was cooking something for himself. He partially cooked a stupid egg and left it there. Leon went back to where the man was sitting and dragged him out of his couch and towards the kitchen. Since this man’s place was small, the kitchen and dining area were joined together. He sat there man down on the dining table, which happened to be near the stove. He took out the man’s phone and put it in the man’s hand to make it seem like he was using it.

Leon went back to the kitchen and continued to prepare the scene. He took out bottles of alcohol the man had and poured them down the drain to make it look like he’d had a few drinks. He took a single cup from the cup rack and filled it up halfway. With the cup and bottle of whiskey in both hands, he walked back to the table where the man was sitting and laid them on the table. He took the half empty cup and smeared the man’s lip on the rim. You must cover every single detail.

He even poured a little alcohol into the man’s already parted lips. Leon walked back to the stoved and kept the gas on. Now all he needed to do was wait and let nature do its thing.

Leon walked out of his apartment, pretending to still be talking to the man since there was a camera on the corner of the hall. As the door opened, the camera couldn’t record that Leon had been talking to himself. It made the act believable.

With a smile, Leon walked back to his place and stayed there.

A few hours passed and it started to get dark outside, each resident was inside their unit and ready to go to sleep when the fire alarm began to sound. Everyone was forced to evacuate the premises as the firefighters came to the scene.

You saw as the ambulance brought out a stretcher into the building. Someone was still inside, you thought to yourself as your eyes widened and your heart rate increased. You tried to move but felt someone’s hand on your arm, it was Leon.

“Don’t. It’s too dangerous,” he replied in a serious tone as he stared at you with those cold blue eyes. You pinched your brows together. He was right. If you were to try and save the person, you’d die in the process. You nodded defeatedly and he let go of your arm. He stood there watching you- analyzing you.

You had a good heart, he thought. Too good for his liking. That made you an easy target for people and he loathed the idea of people exploiting your kindness. He vowed to protect you, to mark his hands dirty for you.

As the EMT brought back the stretcher, you could see a person lying there lifeless. All the other residents immediately started to mutter amongst themselves, some started to cry and others gasped in shock. You simply stood there, wide eyed and jaw slack. Leon’s expression remained unchanged as he watched you react to the man’s death. The man deserved it, he thought to himself.

Couldn’t you see that he was protecting you? You’ll come around eventually, he thought.

As the ambulance left the area, the firefighters started to clear the smoke as the police arrived. The police began to do their investigation as the firefighters checked the unit and deemed it good after clearing out the fire and the smoke. One police officer began to make her way to the apartment as the other stayed behind with the residents to ask questions.

Leon was a smooth talker. A trait most psychopaths had. He could get himself out of any situation and he could lie. So when the police asked him what had happened, Leon simply replied with, “I’m not sure. I went to his apartment to check his water supply as my sink stopped working and he lived next to me. I noticed he was making himself some food but I was too busy checking our pipes. He reeked of alcohol and barely spoke to me,” Leon’s tone was different. He sounded likey he spoke the truth.

You couldn’t help but listen to his words. To you, they are true. You saw him walk out of the man’s apartment.

The investigation was deemed as self-manslaughter. The police believed that the man suffered from deliberate alcohol poisoning which caused him to pass out in the process of cooking himself some food.

This made news headlines. Everyone believed the story but they thought the man was stupid enough to cook while he was drunk. Many of the residents believed it, he was a known alcoholic. Leon was never caught.

He was watching you from the window, months after the incident occurred. You had just come back from your college lecture. Leon knew. He stalked you, he followed you.

He knew your weekly routine. Monday through Thursday you had lectures. On Friday, you did work study. And the weekends were reserved for your personal time. He felt proud of you for balancing your life. You lived healthily and he couldn’t help but feel proud at your decisions. He knew you were smart enough to take care of yourself.

He knew the campus you went to, he knew the classes you were taking, he knew your major- he knew everything. But he pretended like he didn’t.

So when he saw you in the parking lot, right next to his car and you had trouble with your groceries, he couldn’t help but feel like your knight in shining armor. With his hardened expression, he asked you in his stern and serious voice, “Need some help?”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, “Yeah… you don’t mind helping me?” You scratched your head awkwardly. On the inside, he found it adorable. But on the outside, he maintained his cool. He nodded and walked over to your car to retrieve the bags of groceries you bought. He was so strong he carried all the bags to your apartment door. You thanked him graciously and invited him inside.

“You can put them on the table, I’ll assort them,” you said as you took of your jacket and hanged it on the rack right next to the door. He nodded and walked over to the dining table, where he put all the bags with food. He took this opportunity to look around your place.

You kept it simple. It was nice, colorful, but nice. You had tons of books on your shelves, he took a mental note that you probably liked to stay indoors. He noticed the way your laptop and a few papers were scattered on the couch and coffee table, you were studious and dedicated to your education. He silently applauded you in his head. He liked that about you. You had goals and ambitions.

“Thank you, again. I owe you one,” you walked up to him and gave him a warm, genuine smile. He looked down at you and nodded again. Pretty smile, he thought to himself.

“It’s no problem, let me know if you need help with anything. I’m a couple doors away,” he replied with his usual serious tone. He remained unchanged, at least to you. To him, he felt like he about to combust into pieces. You were perfect, absolutely perfect.

Days went by and you found yourself talking to Leon more often. Or at least on the days you could. Leon was gone most of the day, he told you about his hectic work schedule and you couldn’t help but feel bad about him. So you decided to make him a small dinner with a note.

You left it on the front door of his apartment and walked back to yours. When Leon came back from work, it was 2:27 a.m. As he climbed up the steps of the stairs, he noticed something on his front door and felt slightly confused. He hasn’t ordered anything. He grew cautious and slowly approached his door. But then he saw your name on a sticky note. He quickly picked up the lunch box and walked inside his apartment.

Walking to his dining table, he read the note you left. Even your handwriting was perfect. The little swirls of the letters, almost writing in cursive made him want to keep you all to himself. He brought the piece of paper to his nose and sniffed it roughly, the paper crumbling in his hands as he could smell your scent on it. He groaned in pleasure as he could imagine your soft and small hands picking up a pen and write something just for him.

Just for him.

That thought alone almost set him off. He couldn’t eat dinner, not with the growing erection in his pants. He put the dinner you made in his freezer and quickly walked to his bedroom. He sat down on his bed and unbuckled his belt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. He pulled down his pants and boxers and watched as his cocked sprung freely, hitting his abdomen with a thwack.

His left hand held the piece of water with your handwriting and your scent while his right hand traveled to his cock. He brought the piece of paper to his nose again and closed his eyes in pure delight. Your scent was intoxicating- sweet vanilla with a hint of coffee. He grunted and moaned at the thought of your hands picking writing this note. He could picture your small hands wrapping his big cock, rubbing his base up and down as your scent infiltrated his airway.

His muscles tensed up as the thought of having you in between his legs made his cock throb. His stomach coiled as he felt himself nearing his orgasm. He could imagine your mouth sucking on his cock as he rammed his hips deeper down your throat, making you gag on him. He’d grab your hair and pull you closer to his pelvic area, having his blonde pubic hair rub against your face as you took his cock like a good girl.

He growled your name as he came in himself. White ropes shooting down at his palm as he tried to collect his cum and prevent it from staining any of his furniture. He sighed softly and laid his back on the mattress as he thought of you.

You drive him wild, he’d do anything for you. If it meant having you as his.

And that’s what drove him to kill more people. One day, he overheard you while both of you “coincidentally” went to get the mail from the lobby. You were speaking on the phone to a friend and he tried to make it seem like he wasn’t listening. But he was.

He heard you talk about how your ex is pestering you and giving you a hard time. That you cried last night because you two had an argument while he tried to get back together. His blood ran through his veins as you mentioned you cried.

He’d kill anyone who made this sweet and perfect angel cry. And that’s what his next murder was going to be. He went back to his apartment and began to stalk you again. As a government agent, he had privileges the common folk didn’t have. He was able to run a background check on you and found out your ex. To his surprise, he was your first and only relationship so far. He knew this guy probably broke your heart as your first relationship will always be your worst one.

He narrowed his eyes in anger as he found the man who broke your heart. And jotted down the information he had on him- his address, his workplace, his contact information, etc. Leon found everything thanks to his job.

When you heard news about your ex dying, you were shocked to see that he died from overdose. You’ve never known he was a drug addict, or at least that’s what Leon made it seem to be.

Leon drove all the way this man’s house and observed his routine. Your ex went to work, came back home, and went to the bar. An alcoholic, this made it easier for him.

Leon walked into the bar with his casual clothes, he spotted the man sitting on the bar counter with a drink already in his hand. He walked over and sat next to him as he ordered himself whiskey.

Your ex was already stupidly drunk, flirting up some poor girl who was just trying to talk to her friend. So he’s a creep too, he thought to himself as he took a sip his drink.

Why do you always find yourself around creepy and perverted men?

Leon looked around and made sure no one was watching him as slipped some stuff into his drink. Leon then continued to sip his drink and even chatted up the bartender.

The more your ex drank, the closer he got to an overdose. Turns out if you mix alcohol with prednisone, the effects could be fatal. Your ex would develop a liver damage that could potentially end his life if he kept drinking like he was right now.

It was getting late and Leon paid his tab. It was 11 PM and he decided he should go home. He wasn’t drunk, not yet at least. So he was perfectly capable of driving back to his apartment. But not your ex.

It was nearing closing time for the bar and the poor bartender saw your ex passed out on the counter. She didn’t know what to do but she tried waking him up.

Unresponsive. Her eyes widened slightly as she over to his side and checked for a pulse.

Flat line. She called the police and reported the death.

The police declared it suicide. They believed he voluntarily took drugs and alcohol at the same time.

In your mind, you were in denial but then you slowly began to think to yourself. He’s been acting weird and out of the ordinary when he’d talk about getting back together. It all made sense now. His aggressive behavior, his short temper… he was a drug addict and an alcoholic.

You attended the funeral, of course. And when you came back, Leon had been unlocking his door. He saw your puffy eyes as you had your heels in your hands. You looked like you’ve been crying- which you probably were. Leon paused as he stared at you, he nodded once at you, acknowledging your presence. He then spoke up in a tired voice, “Rough day?”

You nodded as you blinked slowly, “You could say that.”

He hummed in response and looked back down at his doorknob. Then he looked back to you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Leon himself was tired as he just came back from a tough mission, but he would never be too tired for you. He pushed his exhaustion to the side and would rather take care of your needs for you.

You sighed and nodded slowly, “I could use a drink.”

He invited you over to his apartment and let you sit down on his couch as he took two glasses and one bottle of Jack. He walked over to the couch and set down the glasses and the bottle on the coffee table as he sat down next to you.

He began to pour for the both of you, not wanting you to work any more than you’ve already had.

“Cheers,” you muttered under your breath as you clanked your glass with his and chugged the liquid down your throat. The burning sensation almost making you forget about the mental strain you had.

He watched you as you set down the glass back down on the coffee table. Even in this state, you looked absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t wait to have you for himself. To prove to you that what you needed was a real man.

One thing let to another and you found yourself pinned under him on his bed. Your legs spread open as your knees rested on his shoulders. The head of his cock abusing your cervix, bruising it with brute force as he pulled out and pushed back in harshly. His balls smacking against your ass as his arms caged you under him. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails clawing deep into his flesh as the bed creaked from him pounding into you. The headboard hitting the wall behind the bed as he pulled out and forced his cock back into your tight walls. Your cunt clenching around his member as his hands gripped on your hair, forcing your head up so he could hear your stupid blabber.

He pulled out and rolled you over to your stomach. His left hand gripped on your waist as his right hand gripped the back of your neck and pushed your face down the sheets of his bed as he rammed his cock from behind you. Your ass jiggling as pounded harsher and harsher. Making sure you knew who you belonged to. He’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

You kept moaning his name against his pillow. Drool falling down your lips as tears rolled down your cheeks from the pleasure. You felt him even deeper from this position. His left hand gripped on your waist as it then traveled down to your ass and smacked, almost immediately seeing his hand print show in a pink and red hue on your skin. The burning sensation of the slap only made you more needy for his touch. His left hand found your hip and forced your body to clash against his as he fucked you straight to bliss.

Stars clouded your eyes as you whimpered and moaned. He cock throbbed and twitched inside of you as it stretched you. It hurt but it hurt good. His right hand gently squeezed the back of your throat, causing you to moan.

“Fuck- Leon- ‘mma cum-“ you spoke breathlessly in between moans and whimpers. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Cum for me,” he pressed a kiss on your shoulder blade as he felt you squirm under him. Your body convulsing as your orgasm took the best of you.

Your pussy clamped and clenched around him, wedging him with your juices. He didn’t stop, however. He kept pounding into you as the squelching sound echoed through his room.

He grunted and growled as he felt himself about to cum. He began to speed up and he let go of your neck. Now that both of his hands were on your hips, he gripped the fat of them and forced your body in and out of his cock. Bruising your cervix as your ass hit his hips. The sweat making your skin glisten under the shitty light of his room. You looked even more beautiful when he was fucking you like this.

His hot and sticky cum spurted out of his cock, coating your walls with a part of himself. In his sick and twisted mind, he branded you. He branded you with his essence and he didn’t regret it. He pulled out and heard you moan dumbly as he watched his cum slowly drip down the lips of your cunt to his bedsheet. He’d have to clean them but he didn’t care. He gave your ass a gentle squeeze as he patted your back for you to lay down. He knew you enjoyed it so much since you were on the brink of passing out.

You closed your eyes and felt as Leon cleaned you up. He took your hand and placed a gentle kiss on you knuckles. He was grateful to have you.

He wouldn’t mind killing again. Now that you were his in his mind, he’d go as far as killing every man who’s ever laid eyes on you.

For you, he’d become the world’s best serial killer.