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demisexual-in-distress · 3 months

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Any *SHNIFFFFF* helluva and/or hazbin headcanons??? o-o

*AHEHEHEHEM* I CAN RANT YES UR SUMMONING MY INNER NERD (LONG) (SORRY THIS HAS BEEN ROTTING IN MY ASK BOX IVE BEEN DOING THIS FOR A WHILE NOW)

pls dont flop i spent way too many hours on this lol only doing 6 (six) from the main casts!!! And, sadly, no, Fizzarolli is not included, though I do love him dearly.

Helluva Headcanons:

Blitz:

frickin loves spirit

(saw this somewhere else not sure where) huge-ass horns scratch up his couch, hence the shitty tears

Makes sure to cherish Loona as much as possible on her bday bc of trauma from his childhood

Wants to be the parent possible to her also due to trauma (daddy issues :\)

Insecure about his scars :(

Lost Verosika because he adopted Loona in a last-ditch effort to save their relationship, but refused to get rid of her when V wasn't a fan

Eats anything and everything Brandon Rogers does (canon??) (such as cheese and hotsauce)

Told Barbie about his crush on Fizz before trying to tell Fizz himself

never grew out of bands he liked as a teen

Undiagnosed learning disabilites (dyslexia? he tries his best)

Poor education

(TW, S.A.) Stolas:

WATCHES EVERY TELENOVELA IN THE GODDAMN BOOK

Also enjoys musicals and constantly sings soundtracks while alone (projecting a bit)

Genuinely wants Via and Loona to hang out; wants some sort of father-daughter bond? with Loona, but isn't sure how to approach her

was verbally, physically, and sexually abused by Stella in their "relationship"

GREY'S ANATOMY

I think we all know this by now... Eyeliner.

Black sheep (canon?)

plays some sort of classical instrument idk (piano?)

PAINTS (happy little trees)

Big fan of Cruel Prince series yk

Big fan of fantasy in general

Nerds abt astronomy to Via

Adelle. No other words.

Wattpad user u can't convince me otherwise

Definitely neurodivergent

Millie:

Dyed Sallie Mae's hair when she transitioned, was a makeshift hairdresser for a little while (till Sal figured out how to do it herself)

Had a lot of pets as a child

Tries to stay in contact with all her siblings. Emphasis on tries.

Used to get homesick A LOT

Homeschooled

Ik it's a common one now, but babysat Loona while Blitz was in prison, leading to her and Moxxie meeting

THIS GURL CAN HANDLE HER DAMN DRINKS ‼️

Best homemade recipes by far

Has and will not hesitate to eat a bug once more

Very organized

Moxxie:

Likes to write

MUSICALS (canon) he loves phantom, les mis, and a gentleman's guide to love and murder (ahahhaem Bryce pinkham)

Has many hyperfixations! AUDHD

Loves kids, but gets overstimulated/overwhelmed when taking care of them

In severe need of validation due to trauma

Cat person

Out on a limb here but likes pottery

Bouncy leg stim yk

Panic! At the Disco led to his bi realization

Violinist just trust me

Loves mice for some odd reason

Gullible? Is that canon?

Can sketch pretty good!

Overwhelmed by loud noises and crowded spaces

Loona:

ACE SPECTRUM!!!!

Watches movies with blitz late at night as a tradition

Taught Blitz makeup tips for when he does his weird drag human disguise thing

follows 666 News on the hotel's strange journey

percussionistcore idk how else to say that

Knows EXACTLY how to deal with a hangover (ty blitz)

Social anxiety (might break this down in a seperate post cuz im in a ranty mood)

Has seen the show daria (or at least the hell version) (yall better kno wut im talking about)

Tries not to spend too much / is gentle with Blitz's bank account

Octavia:

Deep down, a sanrio girl is born

Nightcore bitches u already know

Very polarized when it comes to her relationship with stolas (canon?)

Has attempted to bring Stolas into her world - definitely shares her special interests with him, he tries his best to support

Plays at least ONE classical instrument bc she wanted to make Stolas proud :,) (never said she was good at it)

Very sheltered when it comes to Stolas and Stella's actual relationship toward each other

avid collector of taxidermy and other creepy things

She definitely knows those OG goth dances

Photography!!

Dr Martens do i have to say more

Hazbin Headcanons:

TW for Angel Dust and Niffty's (of all people), S.A. mentions.

Charlie:

YA sapphic romances!!!

Webtoon freak

Pinterest whore

Listens to Katy Perry + Hayley Kiyoko

Sanrio again!! Aggretsuko or Chococat r her favs

Can genuinely help people through tough times

Autism spectrum? a little out on a limb here, but she seems to have a hard time breaking down the psychology of sinning/sinners

Paints Vaggie's nails all the time

Vaggie was so her bi awakening; Seviathan and Vaggie were her only two relationships

CATS!!

LOVES Pixy Stix yk they're just straight up sugar

has a diary lol

ADHD

Vaggie:

feels so indebted to Charlie because of how much she took care of her after Falling

girl in red kind of sapphic

Struggles with self-worth

Definitely best exorcist girl on Adam's team

Lute was searching for a reason to get rid of her

brushes Charlie's hair idk

Candles. I don't know why

OPENS/CLOSES DOORS WITH THOSE HUGE ASS HIPS IDK ITS JUST RIGHT TO ME

Doesn't have the heart to tell Charlie when she's not fully correct on something

Origami

Wakes up at ungodly hours due to nightmares and anxiety, lock checks the hotel ALL THE TIME

honestly, tumblr user, silent reblogs

Alastor (sorry, most deal with his time alive):

Genuinely beginning to care for the hotel-- it scares him.

DADDY ISSUES + MOMMY ISSUES HE'S COLLECTED THEM ALL!!!!

Follow up: traumatic childhood

Mauled by dogs (is this still canon? Was this ever canon? DOES ANYBODY REMEMBER THAT???)

Knows the basics of technology, refuses to acknowledge it

Constantly playing jazz music from his radio in his room

Has a very vivid memory of his past, will not let himself forget it

Needs fucking glasses but that monocle don't do shit

Tea > coffee

Was convinced his asexuality was a flaw after being told so

Held onto Mimzy for the sake of nostalgia and memories of time alive

Insomniac

Nerd for jazz

Spoke some French as a child, though he isn't fluent

Husk's and Angel's get a bit detailed... I'm a slut for characters with such a vast possibility of headcanons

Husk (yeah I realize this won't make as much sense if you don't know all of his lore because of my obsession with him, I'll clarify what's already canon):

BLEEDS INTO ALASTOR, ALSO STRANGELY DETAILED: While alive, Husk played the saxophone professionally (canon). In his afterlife, as an overlord, he had one and continued to play bc us musicians r weird fucks who love to torture ourselves. Alastor knew he could play, and, being a jazz lover, LOVES that aspect of Husk. Just about the only thing he likes about him. Now, at the hotel, while he no longer plays, Alastor still brought his saxophone, which rots in Husk's closet.

Niffty's in his room ALL THE FUCKING TIME, it can't possibly get dirty

Doesn't make a mess to begin with--- husk hasn't personalized his room at all since he arrived, he doesn't know when Alastor will pull him out

Is used to that kind of travel anyways, since he did so much when he was alive (canon!!)

Never was that close to his parents-- they were busy with the (canon->) casino

Is (surprisingly) educated on LGBTQIA+ terms, labels, and knows about the most important landmark events in the community's history, he just prefers not to use labels for himself

Close to Niffty, has had conversations with her in Japanese (canonically speaks it) to prevent Alastor from understanding

Always wanted kids, knew he didn't have a stable enough life to have them and didn't want them to have a repeat of his own parents' absence in his childhood

MIXED RACE!! A bit of everything, I'd like to say

Had glasses when he was alive, where the fuck did they go in the afterlife

ACE SPECTRUM (previous post)!!! Demisexual & demiromantic (can u tell I'm projecting a lil???)

Hates KeeKee

Hates large crowds + loud noises, idk it speaks to me, especially with those big ass ears

I don't fully lean towards him being neurodivergent, though I do believe that Husk likes to have something to do with his hands as a form of stimming, if that makes sense

Alone most of his life

(TW, S.A.) Angel Dust (a lot of when he was alive):

Lived with Molly while alive

Was disowned when he got the courage to come out to his dad, fell out of the mafia and had to make a living for the first time ever

Wanted to be an actor, never got casted (while alive) due to being queer

Valentino romanticized his career, making him believe that he wouldn't always be the actor that he is

Career was also romanticized by the fact that he was finally accepted as gay

Performed in drag at gay bars

Borrowed dresses, makeup, other "feminine" things/accesories from Molly, who had a similar style

Isn't as up-to-date with technology and modern things as he seems to be

Tries to cover up both (slight) italian and New York(er?) accent, fails miserably

Had fish while alive (canonically loves fish lol)

Brother + father didn't attend his funeral

Met Cherri very close to when she arrived in Hell

learns more about media and pop culture from Cherri

Originally was in something like a relationship with Val, but it was more of S.A. than consenting sex after a while. When he began to disagree, this showed more prominently.

I don't have anything for Niffty except for one thing, so trigger warning once more. I believe that Niffty came from an immigrant family from Japan—half white. In the 50s, housewives got a bit stir-crazy from all the work they did, leading to hysteria, anxiety, depression, and other issues. In some situation where leaving the house was necessary, I believe one or multiple guys, possibly older, attempted to sexually assault Niffty. Asian girls, such as myself, that look like that "stereotypical" East Asian, young, small, etc., are fetishized. Niffty must've been little, judging by her form, and she was also an immigrant, and also a WOMAN—seen as lesser. In self-defense, she killed him (or all of them? I'm leaning toward it being multiple), having had enough. She was soon diagnosed with the housewife syndrome and lobotomized, meaning they gave her SEVERE brain damage, hence her twisted mind in the afterlife.

Overall, Niffty is a character that we don't know much about yet. Of course I'll write my own story over that. Playing with fandoms is just what I do. :) While I do genuinely believe the part about her being lobotomized will become canon, the rest is, again, just something that's been brewing in my head for a while. Maybe I'll incorporate it in my own writing, who knows?

I wanna see other headcanons in the reblogs and replies :D If this does well, I always have more!

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vidavalor · 9 months

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I was reading the announcement again and I thought of you. I realized that it doesn't say anything about Aziraphale as the Supreme Archangel in it. Thoughts?

Aww hi. :) Yeah, I grinned at that rather curious choice of wording in the announcement. My hopes for Grand Duke of Hell Aziraphale remain alive.

I'm pretty sure that Aziraphale actually just went Up to get Down here at the end of S2 and that he's a fallen angel now and probably one without his memories. The revenge for S1 was supposed to be that Aziraphale is forced into starting Round Two but (with the exception of Crowley) everyone underestimates Aziraphale and they don't have a single clue what they've done here lol.

Heaven is used to counting on the demons in power in Hell basically doing what they're told by Heaven and upholding the power structure of all of it in the process. Imagine what happens when you put into power the one being you can no longer control because you've already taken his memories, taken his eternal soul, taken the damn love of his life from him, and he's basically gone a little mad and gives exactly no fucks anymore. There's nothing left you can do to him to try to control him and even without his full sense of self, he's a thousand times smarter than most of the demons in Hell so it'd be a hot minute before he's seized control over it and now the demon army you need to start The Second Coming is imperiled because the demons are listening to him and he's not listening to you and well, well, well, seems Aziraphale might be running the whole show after all...

...and he's just the anti-Beez and creating chaos down there lol. No one's manning the dung pits, most of The Dark Council is on his side, Furfur's unionizing half of Hell unimpeded and Processing is just a dance party at this point. Anything to keep them distracted from Armageddon, which is the only plan Aziraphale can think of to halt it so far, not that he's letting on that that's what he's doing to anybody. It won't last forever but it's delayed it for now...

...and into this spectacular mess is dragged Crowley when Heaven gets so desperate that they show up and are all 'so, funny story... we kinda zapped Aziraphale's memories and threw him to the devil but now he's fucking *lost it*, Crowley and we need you to fix him' and they're all 'you can be an angel again, anything, whatever you want, we don't care, it's all bullshit anyway, just don't let him lead a revolution, we beg you' and Crowley's like 'you. did. wut.'...

#ineffable husbands #good omens meta #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens speculation #good omens 3

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mariamakeslemons · 3 months

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Chapter 5 (Killer Rabbit)

Well, that Drama didn't last all that long. Huh.

TW: talk of past rape/drugging in magical form, mild gore, some horror aspects, mild form of harassment

Gaz sits in the meeting room, frowning down at his lap while waiting for Price to enter with this other witch. Ghost continues to stare him down, obviously trying to gauge if he’s being controlled by you, while Soap sits awkwardly beside his boyfriend. Out of the other members of 141, the only one who doesn’t think Gaz might be under a spell is his fellow Sargeant.

“Now,” Price says, arriving to the room with a witch trailing behind, “Miss Primerose will check you over.”

“A pleasure,” the witch intones, hefting up a bag and starts pulling out some strange instruments, “Now, who is the witch you believe put a spell or curse on him?” Gaz says your name with a pause of hesitation. The witch pauses herself, blinks once, twice, before immediately putting the instruments back into her bag.

“This consultation is free,” she tells Price before turning to Gaz and stating, “You aren’t cursed by them.”

“Wut?” Ghost asks, confused as Soap practically vibrates in his seat, the look on his face screaming ‘I-told-you-so’.

“They literally can’t,” Primrose said, “Their bloodline is specifically cursed to be unable to force anyone to fall in love with them or manipulate them like that.” Gaz furrows his brows at that while even Price frowns at her words.

“Why woul’ they do tha’?” Soap asks, having settled enough to act like an adult.

“Well, most witches, usually strong ones, have a familiar. That familiar can change form,” she explains slowly, obviously planning out her words carefully, “The familiar itself is in an animal form that relates to their soulmate in some manner. Then, it can actually shift into the physical appearance of their soulmate.” Primerose looks at Gaz and hums thoughtfully, tilting her head, “The soulmate isn’t necessarily romantic, nor is the witch her soulmate’s soulmate. So, some have gone out of their way to try and force relationships with these soulmates.”

The older witch goes on to explain how your ancestor did just that, going so far as to force her soulmate to ingest a love potion before basically raping him. Once the ancestor fell pregnant with child, her soulmate basically condemned her and fled, leaving her to raise the child on her own. That child then went on to become one of the most infamous witches of all time, powerful beyond belief with no soulmate attached to them. Eventually, the child died, but not before leaving behind their own child. That child went to find Merlin himself and begged to have a spell placed on their bloodline. That none of their blood will ever force their soulmate or anyone else to love them through magical means.

“…So, why is m’ Sargeant so smitten with them?” Price asks.

“The very thing I’ve been talking about this whole time,” Primrose answers, “Soulmates. It’s likely that Sargeant Garrick has some magic in his blood from an ancestor, enough to recognize his soulmate with accuracy.” Gaz freezes, his thoughts screeching to a halt. You, his soulmate? Could that be the answer? Something in him practically screams ‘yes’, letting his mind race once more. He shakes his head, putting that question to the side to focus on another, different question.

“Um, I have a question,” he says. The witch turns to him curiously as Gaz asks, “Is there any meaning to a familiar shrinking?”

“That’s a bit tricky,” she hums, tapping her cheek thoughtfully, “It’s either the witch is shrinking them to preserve space or make the familiar easier to travel. Or, something is draining their magic.” Gaz clenches his fist, recalling how Ogun had shrunk before them, how the phoenix seemed to be shrinking before his very eyes. Eventually, all the other questions they had about any basics of magic were answered as well and Price sends Primerose out with a thanks and the 141 sits in contemplative silence.

“I’m sorry,” Price starts, keeping eye contact with Gaz, “I should’ve known you’d be able to fend off a spell or two.” Gaz accepts it with a quirk of his lips and a nod.

“Shouldn’t ‘ve jumped t’ conclusions,” Ghost grumbles, the Lieutenant’s form of an apology. Gaz nods, holding up his fist. Ghost huffs and bumps his own fist against it, a reassurance that they’re solid.

“Ah told ye! Ah told ye!” Soap bursts, shooting out of his seat, “Mah Gran sai’ nae witch worth their sal’ woul’ spell some’ne t’ make ‘em lik’ ‘em!”

“Yes, y’ were right,” Ghost huffs, grabbing the Scot and yanking him into his lap, “Now sit.” Soap complies, happily dropping into the Lieutenant’s lap while leaning toward Gaz.

“So, yer gonna go see th’ bonnie witch, righ’?” Soap asks eagerly.

“…Yeah,” Gaz decides, “I’ve got a few things to ask and I wanna know more ‘bout them.”

“I’ll see if I can’t help Laswell keep the higher ups from comin’ down on you and your bird,” Price offers.

“Jus’ don’ do wha’ Ah wouldn’ do!” Soap chirps, only to yelp and let out a creative set of swears after Ghost pushed him off the seat.

“Get ou’ while y’ can,” the Lieutenant intones, shoving his boyfriend down on to the floor when Soap tries to climb back into his lap. Gaz snorts, but complies, heading out to your shop.

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

You rub at your head, which has been aching since you got up this morning. Ogun coos softly from his perch while König’s spirit twiddles his fingers.

“So, you’re telling me,” you deadpan, “that you went into a cave, specifically marked as dangerous, and didn’t expect to die?”

“Not by a bunny,” he says, turning his hooded head away. You squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance, knowing exactly what cave he entered and loathing how you’re going to have to drag his fat ass out while fending off The Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.

“Can I say fuck it?” you ask rhetorically, looking up at the ceiling, “Can I please have one day without him dying?”

“Oh Liebling,” König coos, reaching over to try touching you again. You move out of the way, exhaling through your nose hard.

“Shit,” you grumble, “There’s gotta be a way…” The door to your shop opens and Ogun trills excitedly, flying over to Kyle as he enters. You blink before blurting out, “Are you good at hunting?”

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

“Is this a weird date, or are we jus’ special?” the balaclava wearing man apparently called Ghost asks, as the rest of Kyle’s team gears up.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize instead of answering, “I can’t leave the idiot dead for too long, but he’s currently in the territory of a highly dangerous mythical creature, and I can only focus on one spell at a time for some reason and—” Kyle is kind enough to cut you off with his hand over your mouth.

“Okay, Love,” he says to you, “Inhale two, exhale four.” You comply without hesitating, in through your nose and out through your mouth, lips brushing against Kyle’s palm thoughtlessly. He gives you a smile that probably is worse for your heart than any mythical beast ever could.

“So, wut ‘re we huntin’?” The mohawked man, called Soap, asks with a grin as he adjusts his vest.

“The Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog,” you answer against Kyle’s hand. Ghost and the Captain of the team both freeze, although it seems to be for different reasons.

“A rabbit?” the Captain asks with an arched eyebrow, while Ghost groans.

“F’ fuck’s sake,” the masked man grouses, “Y’ should’a told us y’ were huntin’ that fucker.”

“Would you have come?” you can’t help but ask as Kyle pulls away his hand.

“I wouldn’a wanted t’ come,” he confesses, “But I’d come anyway. Can’ let m’ team and m’ dumbass get killed by tha’ fuckin’ rabbit.”

“Who’s th’ dumbass?!” Soap yells, pouting as Ghost turns and blows the most sarcastic air kiss you’ve ever witnessed.

“Apparently, I haven’t been getting as much information on magic beasts as I thought,” the Captain mutters, before clearing his throat, “What are we going up against?”

“Basically a 2 kilo animal that moves absurdly fast, somehow has enough strength to leap over 3 meters with ease, and has prey teeth that work more like predator’s,” you explain, “It’s said that the rabbit actually fought against King Arthur and his knights.”

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap sputters out, finally turning his wide eyes toward the cave a good 70 meters or so out, “‘S tha’ why we’re so far oot?”

“Yep,” you admit, riffling through your bag to check the potions and weapons you have managed to bring with you. Already, you can feel the creeping skeletal hands brushing against your throat. The scratching and wailing of the dead screaming at you, damning you for failing to keep König alive. How dare you abandon your Bond, allowing him to languish as the demented Rabbit nibbles on his corpse.

“So, what’s our plan?” the Captain asks, managing to pull you away from the ever encroaching horrors that want to drag you down to the demons for “punishment”.

“We need to distract the Rabbit so I can pull out the idiot’s body safely,” you say, finally freeing the four teleportation talismans you made specifically for them. Passing over the talismans, you continue, “If you think you’re in danger of dying, or I send off the signal flare to say I’ve got his body out of the cave, press on the paper and--” you pause to drop the totem you had made with a huff, “You’ll teleport right back here!”

“‘Ow th’ fuck did y’ carry tha’ ‘round?” Ghost asks after the four men stare at the meter tall, little over 27 kilo totem for a solid minute.

“I literally couldn’t explain it to you,” you chirp, making your smile as big as possible as the ghostly hands start to wrap around your throat, “Let’s go!”

“Fuckin’ hell,” one of them sighs as you run toward the cave, away from the clawing spirits here to punish you for not raising the bastard in a manner of minutes. Luckily, by being closer to his body, the spirits will settle for a bit. Hopefully long enough for the men to distract the Rabbit safely. You slow and wait, listening for gun fire or explosives, anything the men would have brought with them.

Time creeps on as you wait, peering into the cave as best you can without revealing yourself. Luckily, it appears König was killed at the mouth of the cave as his spirit hovers over his body with crossed arms. If you had any real care for the man, you might have wondered why he still wears a hood even as a ghost, but that’s a question for someone who gives a fuck. Suddenly, gunfire. A white blur leaves the cave and you rush in, not even looking at the condition his body is in before dragging him away.

“Hurry, Liebling,” he urges, “Their corpses will only feed the Rabbit for so long.”

“First of all,” you grunt, dragging the half-eaten, semi-rotted body as quickly as you could into the tree line, “They will not die. I won’t let them. Secondly, fuck you and your stupid fat ass for not listening to obvious fucking warnings. And thirdly, shut up.” The giant of a ghost whines, but complies, floating after you as you make it quickly to the tree line. You continue to drag the corpse until the cave is no longer visible, before sending out a wind spell to hide the drag marks. Finally, you lift up your hand and cast up a flare. As soon as it passes the trees, you feel all four of your talismans activate, acting as a beacon to lead you back to the totem.

“I’m baaaack!” you sing, cataloguing all the injuries that these men were kind enough to endure while you grabbed the idiot. Part of Ghost’s mask has been ripped away, leaving behind a scratch, while Soap’s vest looks like it took a few slams of something as he lays on the ground. The Captain’s hat is straight up gone (making you wince) while a bit of dirt is on his nose. Kyle has a black eye and a bite on his left arm.

“Okay, healing first, reviving after,” you declare, heading to Kyle first.

“Thank you, Love,” the Captain sighs, watching you carefully as you work on soothing the enraged blood vessels and closing up the bite wound on your soulmate-who-doesn’t-know-he’s-your-soulmate.

“Aw, com’on,” Soap whines from his spot on the ground, “Why’s ‘e firs’?”

“Favoritism,” Ghost answers for you. You fluster, pulling away from the completely healed Kyle before moving to Ghost next. The first thing you do is pause.

“May I touch your face? Only to heal the scratch,” you explain. The man seems to contemplate your request before giving a short nod, allowing you to touch his exposed cheek gently. You work quickly, ignoring how König is snarling and almost posturing at the men. Once the skin is healed, you fix his mask with a quick flick of your magic. His hand rises to touch his mask curiously as you crouch down to fix Soap’s vest and probably his ribs too.

“Yer too nice,” the Scotsman declares as you focus on his ribs. He turns his head and yells, “Gaz, they’re too nice fer ye! Ye cannae have ‘em!”

“Shut up, Soap,” Kyle replies as you finish Soap’s ribs. You look up at the Captain, hesitating to reach out and touch him, only for him to wave you off.

“If you send me a link, I’ll buy you a new hat,” you still offer.

“Don’ encourage ‘im,” Ghost immediately tells you. You laugh at the look the Captain sent the masked man before flinching hard as the skeletal hands of the spirits dig into your throat and arms, screaming at you to revive König or be dragged down in his place.

“Alright,” you say, giving them as bright a smile as you can while feeling blood drip down the cuts made by the spirits. You ignore the wild eyed looks from the men as you say, “I’m going to revive the dumbass, then head back to my shop. If you guys are still here come next week, stop by the shop for a free item or something else to thank you for doing this.”

“Love,” Kyle tries to say something, but you wave him off and turn back to the corpse.

“Just touch the totem to go to the shop,” you call over your shoulder as you begin fixing the giant’s half eaten corpse. Your headache, which you had been able to ignore during the “mission”, worsens as you remake the missing liver and regrow the lower half of a lung. It pulses behind your eye as you coax muscle to regrow over the bones and organs, making you grit your teeth against the pain. Finally, you start to feel woozy as you remake his clothes.

You rock back on your heels, rubbing at your eyes and taking a deep breath in hopes of even the smallest bit of relief. Letting the breath out slowly, you ignore how your blood trickles down your arm and throat as you once again use the raising spell.

“Per sanguinem meum, animam meum, ex medullis meis, praecipo tibi ut resurges,” you chant, relaxing a bit as those skeletal hands disappear as König is slurped back into his body. As soon as the giant rises, your headache suddenly slams into you hard. Your legs give out, but you’re caught by someone, someone with sweet brown eyes.

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

Gaz was glad he had hesitated, waiting until you had risen König before teleporting back to your shop. Seeing you collapse made his heart stop in terror, and he acted on instinct. Catching you around your waist, he looks up and makes eye contact with the giant bastard. The Austrian looked fucking feral, looking at you like something to possess.

“…No,” Gaz hisses, pulling you closer and slamming his hand against the totem. There is a pulling feeling in his stomach, the same one from when you yanked him through the portal, making him cling to you desperately. He arrives at the shop and blinks when he sees that the totem arrived with him.

“Gaz, what took you--” Price starts, only to stop and frown at your unconscious form in his arms.

“They passed out as soon as the tall bastard was alive again,” Gaz explains, shifting you around his arms to keep you close, “Couldn’t leave them to him.”

“Y’ can say tha’ again,” Ghost agrees, “The big fucker seems to be doing this on purpose.”

“Gettin’ ‘imself killed?” Soap asks for clarification. When Ghost nods, Soap crosses his arms, “Kinda makes sense. ‘E’s been botherin’ th’ bonnie f’r longer than ye’ve known ‘em. Ye said six years?”

“Yeah,” Gaz says, watching as Ogun flies over and coos worriedly over you, a bit smaller than before once again, “An’ Ogun’s shrinking.” The others look at the phoenix and frowns cross their faces, clocking just what Gaz means.

“Gotta look int’ this more,” Ghost declares.

“Damn right,” Price agrees, before jerking his chin to the door that Ogun keeps flying to and from, “Follow th’ bird and take ‘em to bed. We need t’ get back t’ Base and go over what we know.” Gaz nods and turns to do just that. If he is able to just make sure you’re comfortable, then that’ll be fine for now. You can talk about how he’s your soulmate at the date he hopes to take you on as compensation for this little mission.

#my work #King Killer Challenge #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #minor OC

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mywordhaven · 1 year

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The Road Ahead - ch 3 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Previous Chapter

Throughout most of your married life, you've dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently anticipated his return home, longing for the moment when he would be by your side once again. You yearned for him to open up to you during those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain with you. And as his addiction spiralled out of control, you hoped that he would recognize his problem and seek help. Yet, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Columbia doing God knows what.

But this time is the last. Resolved, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + / no minors allowed)

Word Count: 6.9K (wut)

Warnings: Applicable to the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, hard relationship to food, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty guys (more warnings will be added if necessary).

Summary: Everything comes to a head after Tom's memorial.

Notes: Hey everyone, thank you so much for the comments, likes and reblogs! I am really happy that this little story I had in the back of my mind is resonating with people! Also, sorry for the delay for this chapter, I got busy with dealines at work and essays to write for my summer semester at Uni. Hope you all love this one, these is some smut in this chapter but I've marked it down with asterixis so if it's not your vibe, feel free to skip it! Hope you all enjoy!!!!!

Ao3 link

Tangled Truths

The early morning sunlight pierces through the window, its bright rays assaulting your eyes and causing you to instinctively furrow your brow. You raise your arm to shield your eyes from the direct light. As your gaze slowly adjusts, you sit up and rest against the headboard. Automatically, you turn to the nearby clock which displays 8:30 am. Christ, you haven’t slept this late in forever!

A surge of adrenaline courses through you as the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning. 8:30 am!?! With no time to spare, you spring from the cozy confines of your bed, your feet carrying you quickly toward the bassinet where Ella sleeps. Yet, as you reach the crib, your heart sinks. The crib is empty. Panic seizes you, causing your hands to start trembling.

Frantically, you cast your gaze around the room and seize the robe laying on the back of the rocking chair. You hastily drape it over your shoulders and make a dash towards the door. Your sprint comes to an abrupt halt as you catch a glimpse of movement emanating from the kitchen. You cautiously approach the corridor, peering into the open space kitchen. And there, right before your eyes is Frankie effortlessly holding Ella in one arm while expertly flipping pancakes with his free hand.

You release a breath, the weight of recent events hanging heavy in the air. That’s right, Frankie had returned just three days ago you think to yourself, hardly believing it still. It still feels surreal to see him moving about the house as if nothing had happened. Whatever transpired during his absence, Frankie kept it tightly locked away within himself. And while you knew about Tom's death, as that would have been rather hard to hide, the rest of the story remained veiled in mystery.

Frankie's usual tendency for secrecy seemed amplified this time around, even compared to his previous tour. When he had first stepped foot in the door three days ago, you had resisted the urge to overwhelm him with questions, knowing he needed space to process and readjust. The sheer happiness and relief that flooded your heart at his homecoming had been so overwhelming that all you wanted was to hold him close and never let go. And, truth be told, that's precisely what you both did.

Seated together on the couch, abandoned Chinese takeout containers scattered on the table, you cradled Ella in your arms while Frankie enveloped both of you in his embrace. It was a moment frozen in time, his arm securely holding you close to his chest, creating a cocoon of love and comfort. The minutes and hours blurred together, fading into insignificance as you basked in the warmth and contentment of being together again.

The following day, however, had been fair game. Determined to unravel what happened during Frankie's time in Peru (Columbia?), you persisted with your questioning, probing deeper and repeating inquiries throughout the day. Yet, Frankie remained resolute, his responses akin to a redacted document, the black sharpie obscuring sentences and leaving only vague fragments of meaning visible. Anger coursed through your veins, an emotion that still lingered within you, but a single glance into Frankie's sorrowful puppy eyes caused you to falter. In the end, you relented.

However, there was one matter you refused to back down on. You had made it abundantly clear that Frankie must resume therapy as soon as an appointment would be available. This demand was non-negotiable. If Frankie was unwilling to seek professional help, then he could pack his belongings and go camping on Benny's couch. The ultimatum silenced Frankie and he reluctantly agreed to schedule a therapy session for the following week. And while you hoped this waiting period would encourage him to open up, deep down, you knew not to hold your breath.

Frankie seemed to think that money would cure all of the fresh wounds that had been inflicted and a deposit of $17,000 had been made into your shared account. But, this sum failed to justify the pain Frankie’s absence had wreaked in your marriage. Yes, you were now $17,000 richer financially, but your heart, once overflowing with love, now felt impoverished.

You cautiously step out from the corridor, crossing the threshold and entering the doorway. Almost immediately, Frankie whirls around, his sudden movement accompanied by a disconcertingly vacant expression in his eyes. It's a look that sends a shiver down your spine, a flicker of something unsettling that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears. Frankie’s face transforms in an instant, the familiar contours rearranging into his usual kind and gentle smile.

As you observe him, a realization hits you. Despite Frankie's cheerful smile, something feels off – his eyes don't reflect the same brightness as usual. It's as if there's a mask, concealing a multitude of emotions he's keeping hidden. The air between you grows heavy with unspoken words as your eyes meet, creating an undeniable tension. “I think your pancake is burning,” you say after a beat.

“Mierda!” Frankie flips back towards the stove and moves the smoking pan from the stove. The sudden commotion startles little Ella, who responds with a piercing cry, her distress echoing through the kitchen. Reacting swiftly, Frankie brings his second hand to encircle his baby girl, attempting to soothe her with soft words, "Shhh muñequita, you're alright. Papa didn't mean to startle you. Shhh, you're all good, my little princesa." Despite his best efforts, Ella seems to be in one of her moods this morning, and she remains unrelenting in her growing cries. Panic creeps into Frankie's eyes, his plump bottom lip nervously caught between his teeth, as he watches his attempts at calming her go in vain.

“Give her here, you know she gets extra cranky when she is hungry. Just like someone I know.” It’s a feeble attempt at teasing, but it manages to pluck a small laugh from Frankie.

“I guess having a bottomless stomach is hereditary” Frankie quips as he starts cooing at the fussy baby. His smile slightly dips as his eyes lock back with yours, "I wanted you to sleep in and recover a bit, after all the time I’ve been gone and all the trouble I cause. I'm sorry you have to deal with a dumbass husband," Frankie says hoarsely.

You extend your arms towards Ella, gently reaching out to comfort her. "Don't say things like that, Frankie. You know I’ve never thought of you like that and if I am going to be honest, I am afraid that Benny got you beat in that department" you jokingly retort. You focus your eyes back on Ella, "We have a brand-new baby, and it's natural for babies to cry when things don't go exactly as they want. It's nothing personal; she does the same to me."

With care, you cradle Ella in your arms, your fluffy robe cascading open as you adjust your cami top. Slowly, you expose your breast and guide Ella towards your right nipple. After a few attempts, Ella finally latches on, her tiny mouth finding solace in your embrace. "Someone's a hungry little peanut," you whisper affectionately, observing her now peaceful expression as she feeds. "Good job, my love. You're doing so well," you softly coo.

As Frankie clears his throat, your gaze lifts, meeting his intense gaze directed towards you and Ella at your breast. In his eyes, a flicker of desire ignites, and something deep within you twists, causing your thighs to involuntarily clench. The realization of the tension between you two fills the air, and you can't ignore the fact that it has been a long time since you were last intimate. Between the demands of the birth and Frankie's absence, you had either been unable or unwilling to revisit that more carnal aspect of your relationship.

Yet amidst the difficulties of your current situation, there is an undeniable longing within you for Frankie. More than anything you yearn for him, you yearn for his words to ease the doubts and insecurities of motherhood, you yearn for his touch to bring you back to life. You yearn for the fire that would consume you whenever your lips met. When you kissed, it was a display of fireworks, an unstoppable blaze that burned bright.

As you reflect on everything that you miss, a warm sensation stirs within you, causing your tongue to instinctively glide over your lips. Memories flood your mind, vividly recalling the countless moments when Frankie would skillfully guide you to the height of pleasure, one that you had never been able to reach with anyone else. Frankie was always centred on you, deriving his own pleasure from your own. He was a man who revelled in pleasing you, never content until he knew you were fully fulfilled.

"Mi cielo..." Frankie's voice escapes as a raspy breath, sending a shiver down your spine. Your own breath becomes trapped within your lungs, and a small whimper escapes your lips. In an instant, Frankie crosses the distance, closing the gap between you. With utmost tenderness, he cradles your cheeks in his large, warm hand, his touch cautious and gentle, mindful of Estrella who continues to nurse at your breast, blissfully unaware of the charged atmosphere that envelops her parents.

"Dios mío, eres tan hermosa," Frankie whispers softly, his words filled with adoration. Carefully, he leans down and gently presses his lips against yours. In that moment, a burst of fireworks explodes within, engulfing you both in a passionate embrace. You melt into his touch, longing to run your fingers through his soft curls and deepen the kiss, but the presence of little Estrella reminds you to be cautious. As you part your lips to guide him further, Ella interrupts with a frustrated cry, likely displeased at no longer being the center of attention.

Frankie and you share a chuckle at Ella's adorable outrage. His smile lingers on your lips as he suggests, "After our little princess Estrelita has had her fill, maybe we should put her down for a nap. What do you say, mi cielo?"

"It's not even 9 am, Frankie," you giggle, playfully nudging his nose with yours.

With a longing gaze, Frankie whispers, "There is nothing I desire more right now than to hold you in my arms, in our bed. I've missed you so much, mi cielo, and I don’t think I’ll be able to contain myself any longer.” As he speaks, each word is punctuated by a tender kiss to your lips. "You have no idea how incredibly" kiss. "irresistible" kiss. "And utterly perfect" kiss. “You truly are.” Frankie starts peppering your throat with affectionate kisses, you playfully guide him backward, gently interrupting “Let me put her to bed, my love, and then I'll let you show me just how much you've missed me."

As you enter the tiny nursery, you observe Ella, her eyes drooping and a serene expression adorning her face. It seems, for once, your little peanut's sleeping pattern is aligning with your needs. Carefully, you place her in the large bassinet, a gift from your mother who, upon hearing the news of your and Frankie's pregnancy, had sent it as your baby shower gift. That day, she had bragged how she knew what would be best for her first granddaughter. She had even gone further and declared how unsure she was that an ex-military man and a librarian could afford anything for a newborn like she could. Little did she know that you seldom use the overpriced cradle, opting instead to keep Ella close to you. During Frankie's absence, it was more convenient to have her in your room, and Frankie's mother had gifted you a cherished family heirloom—a cradle crafted by Frankie's grandfather. And since this gift held no ulterior motives, except for love, it had felt right for little Ella. So, your mother’s cradle remained for the most part, untouched in a nursery that also remained mostly untouched. However, today you were willing to make an exception.

As you gently lay Estrella down, you whisper, "Now, my love, be good for mama and papa." Planting a kiss on her tiny nose, you quietly retreat from the room, mindful not to disturb her. As the door softly shuts behind you, a hand suddenly grabs you from behind, gently pushing you against the opposite wall. Frankie's mouth hungrily seeks yours, and you feel yourself being enveloped in his embrace. His towering presence dwarfs your smaller frame, and you melt against him, surrendering to his large comforting presence.

***“Mie cielo, amor de mi vida” Frankie pants against your lips, his hands caressing up and down your sides before he eagerly grasps a handful of your breast. You instinctively hiss as your breasts remain tender from nursing.

Concern fills Frankie's eyes as he stops, asking, "Am I hurting you?" Shaking your head, you reassure him, "They're just a bit tender, that's all." A lazy smile spreads across Frankie's face as he murmurs, "I'll never tire of them." He bends his head toward your open cleavage, lavishing hungry, open-mouthed kisses upon them. "They were amazing before, but now they're simply breathtaking. I could spend a lifetime between them, and it would be a life well-lived."

A smile graces your lips as your head gently meets the wall behind you. Frankie's words wrap around you like a warm embrace. "You are a charmer, Mr. Morales," you remark with a hint of playfulness. In response, Frankie loudly releases your nipple with a loud pop and whispers against your now wet breast, "Only for you, Mrs. Morales.”

Frankie's lips caress your sensitive nipple with a gentle puff of air, eliciting a shiver of pleasure that courses through your body. His lips continue their tantalizing journey, gradually trailing down your front as he peppers your skin with tender kisses. Each touch ignites a fire within you.

You let yourself surrender to the intoxicating sensations of Frankie's lips. Every nerve ending awakens under his touch, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His kisses create a symphony of desire, each one building upon the last until you're consumed by aching longing.

"Please, Frankie," you plead breathlessly, the urgency in your voice echoing your desire. Frankie pauses his ministrations, his face level with the apex of your thigh, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of longing and adoration. Despite the satin fabric of your pyjama shorts separating you, you know he can smell how wet you are right now.

“What is it mi cielo? Is this too much for you? Do you want me to stop?” Frankie teases as he grasps the waistband of your shorts with his teeth. Your breath hitches, caught between a gasp and a moan, as Frankie slowly lowers the fabric, revealing the mound of your sex. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, while his nose softly nuzzles against your soft flesh, his warm breath cascading over you.

"Don't you dare, Francisco," you shakily breathe out. The only response is Frankie's chuckle which resonates in the air. His eyes, filled with desire, never leave your face as he slowly drags your shorts down your trembling legs, exposing your most intimate self to his hungry gaze. Frankie’s steady hand moves toward your dripping sex, his fingers brushing against your slick folds, collecting the evidence of your arousal. Frankie brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked with yours, amplifying the raw intimacy of the moment. His lips part, and his tongue swirls around his own digits, sucking them in with an obscene sound that sends shivers of anticipation coursing through your entire being.

“You taste so good mi cielo. Even after all these years, there is nothing sweeter than you. Fuck you drive me crazy. I can’t escape you, you’re in my thoughts all the time; you haunt every corner of my mind. You consume me entirely, body and soul. I am nothing without you, and I don’t want to think about the kind of man I would be without you. I promise mi Cielo that It’ll never happen again. This is it, you, Ella and me. Tell me you believe me, mi cielo. Please, tell me you believe me, I need to hear you say it.”

Your mind struggles to function properly as his lips explore every inch of your body, except the one place that aches with desire. The maddening anticipation builds as he teases you.

"Frankie, please," you whimper, your hands tangling in his soft curls, desperately trying to guide him to your dripping core. But Frankie remains steadfast. Instead, he positions himself at the junction of your thigh and gently implores once more, "Tell me you believe me, mi cielo. Please, tell me you believe there is nothing I need more than to be with you until the end of time."

"IbelieveyouIbelieveyou. Ohhhhhhhh I believe you Frankie I swear!" you chant, and as soon as the words escape your lips, you sense Frankie's smile against your fevered skin. "I love you, mi vida" he whispers softly before finally burying his head between your thighs.

Frankie eagerly laps at your core like a man starved. With previous lovers, you had never encountered one who genuinely enjoyed giving oral, treating it as a burdensome chore. But Frankie was different. Expertly, he locates your engorged clit, playfully teasing it with a few licks, while slipping his index finger inside you. Your walls tighten around his finger, and you release a quivering breath of pleasure.

"That's it, buena chica," Frankie whispers. "You know I'll give you exactly what you want. You need to take it slow and steady. We can't rush this. Be a good girl and take it the way I give it to you. I want to savour every moment of this perfection." Frankie always enjoyed guiding you through sex. In another life, dirty talk would have felt embarrassing, but with Frankie, his words only intensified your craving for him.

Frankie steps back from your core, his face wet with your pleasure. A whine of discontent escapes your lips, but he quickly grabs your buttocks, lifting you slightly and positioning your legs over his shoulders. As he lifts you up, you feel the air being knocked out of your lungs, and Frankie resumes his work like a man on a mission. Using the wall for support, you feel weightless on Frankie's strong shoulder.

The most obscene sounds escape Frankie as he swirls his tongue around your clit.

"Frankie, I'm so close! Oh my God, Frankie!" you whine, still trying to stay quiet with the baby asleep literally next door.

"Buena, mi cielo! Come on, mi vida, you know what you need! You know what I need!" Frankie pants against your core. As he watches you helplessly thrash over him, the coil deep within you tightens. Frankie sneaks one of his hands up to your belly and presses hard, intensifying the coil even more.

"Oh my God! I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Your orgasm nearly knocks you out, and you feel yourself slump forward. But Frankie is there to catch you. He embraces you warmly, his patchy beard still wet from all the attention, and he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

"Te amo, mi cielo. I've made so many mistakes in my life. I've wronged you and Ella. I wasn't there when I should have been, and I made choices that I'm not proud of. But now, I'll be here. I'll be a better man for you and Ella, and I'll do everything in my power to keep you both safe." He speaks these words into your ear, and you feel his warm tears landing on your shoulder.

You reach out and grab him by the neck. "I love you, Frankie, and nothing will ever change that." You softly pet his beard “Take me to bed my love.”

__________________________________________________________

3 weeks later

Black was never your colour, or so you once confided in Frankie. Every time you wore it, you felt like an old Matron from those black-and-white Italian movies you both love. Frankie had playfully quipped while nipping at your ear "If I start misbehaving are you going to punish me with a wooden spoon? Slap me right on the ass with it? That’s a scenario we could explore" You had been overheated the entire day after that.

But today was a different matter altogether. Laughter was absent from the scene. Frankie stood at the front of the room, wearing his most formal suit, sporting a distraught expression mirrored by the others in attendance. On either side of him stood the Miller brothers, Will with his arm resting on his shoulder and Benny standing solemnly to his left.

The sight of the typically strong and capable trio so devastated struck you deep in your gut. Particularly Benny, who had always been like an overexcited puppy—confident, golden and a touch cocky. You remember how Benny had been the one who approached you all those years ago at the bar while you were celebrating the final submission of your master's thesis with a friend. That night, Benny had confidently strutted over to your table and struck up a conversation. Although you could see that your friend had been drawn to him, Benny had gone all out to convince you to dance with him.

And even though he was one of the most handsome guys you had seen in a long while, Benny wasn’t really your type. You didn't feel that spark with him—the one they all speak of in movies or in magazines. So, you did the sensible thing and tried to gently let him down by using the classic excuse of not wanting to leave your friend alone. But Benny had been undeterred. He turned around and excitedly shouted, "Fish, get your ass over here!" Your eyes followed Benny's call, and your throat went dry. Frankie ambled over to your table with a shy smile on his face. Sporting his signature cap and a faded gray Henley shirt accentuating his broad shoulders. Frankie immediately captivated you. And as Benny grabbed Frankie by the neck and introduced him as his brother from another mother, you hadn’t been able to tear your eyes away from him.

Your gaze met Frankie's. Everything around you faded, and an electric volt charged the air. For the first time in your life, you decided to take control, disregarding anyone else. Turning to your friend, you suggested, "You love '80s pop. Why don't you go with Benny and take a turn on the dance floor? I'm still recovering from today’s excitement, so I think I'll sit back and grab another drink." Your friend needed no further encouragement and swiftly took Benny's arm, rushing to the dance floor before anyone could intervene.

Frankie looked at you, appearing somewhat dazed. "I think Benny wanted to dance with you. I'm usually the one on call when he needs someone to look after the friend of whomever he's interested in," he remarked. You smiled and replied, "Maybe, but Benny isn't the one I'm interested in.” You playfully played with the obnoxious parasol on the rim of your glass “I think Benny shouldn't use his handsome friend as his wingman. It kind of defeats the purpose of getting the girl, don’t you think?" Frankie bashfully smiled at your words, raised his glass, and clinked it with yours, his confident smile shining through. "To drinking with the most beautiful girl here." And from that moment, you became Frankie's, and he became yours.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you turn to Molly, who is tearfully expressing gratitude to the guests for attending the memorial. People offer their condolences and share kind words about Tom. Some of them you recognize from Frankie's time in the army, having crossed paths at various functions. Others are unfamiliar faces. Sensing that Molly was growing overwhelmed, you start rubbing comforting circles on her back.

When the latest person pays her their respects and leaves for Tom’s casket, you whisper in Molly's ear, asking if she needs a moment. She shakes her head, her voice filled subdued but resigned.

"I just want all of this to end. The girls need to start healing, and I know this is the first step. But it’s so hard and it won't get easier. It feels like the pain won’t ever end. I know I have to be strong for the girls, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold it together.” She quiets a moment “At least we got to say goodbye."

You offer a sad smile. "It’s ok to be sad Molly. No one expects you or the girls to bounce back after that. You need time to heal and if you ever need anything, you know I'm here, right? We are all here for you, don’t think for a minute that any of us will let you go through all of it, alone. If you need Frankie and me to take care of the girls for a little while, we'd be more than happy to."

Molly tearfully looks back at you, her voice filled with grief. "Thank you. I appreciate it. Honestly, you've cooked us enough food to sustain the three of us through a nuclear winter. You've done so much already."

"Don’t even think about that Molly. Right now, you and the girls are most important, and I am right here for whatever is to come. I am not going anywhere, I promise.”

"Thank you. I don't know what I would've done without you, Frankie, Will, or Benny. You've all been so helpful. Are the boys still planning to go to Robinson’s Sport after the service?" She asks.

You let out a quiet snort. "Yeah, Frankie said it used to be their favourite spot to get drunk when they were back on leave. They thought it would be fitting to say their own goodbye to Tom in their own way. You're welcome to come if you want, you know. I'll be the DD, and I know they'd all be thrilled if you joined."

Molly shakes her head. "Tell them thank you, but after the day we've had, the girls and I will fall asleep the moment we get home."

You nod in understanding, but your conversation is interrupted by a distant relative offering their condolences to Molly. Your eyes search the sea of black until they find Frankie in a corner, fidgeting with his tie. When your eyes meet, he offers a sad smile that you return.

You really hope that tonight will bring some peace to him.

______________________________________________________________

You rub your temple tiredly, attempting to focus on the story Benny is telling at the table. The bar is unusually loud for a Wednesday evening, and after the day you've had, it's becoming increasingly challenging to concentrate.

Seated at the table are the five of you—the original trio, along with yourself and Will's new girlfriend, who has proven to be a delightful addition to your little group. Emmy had entered the picture barely 2 months before Will had left to do God knows what in Colombia. It hasn’t seemed to faze her as now, she sits quietly, attentively listening to Benny's tales from back in their army days while holding Will’s hand and sending loving looks his way.

"And then guess who the fuck came out of the barn with his pants around his ankle, getting chased down by a fucking chicken!" Benny paused for dramatic effect. "Fucking Will 'Ironhead' Miller! More like Leadhead, am I right?" Will could only shake his head affectionately. "What can I say? The chicken literally caught me with my dick out. Couldn't even take a piss in peace." Everyone starts laughing at the story, even Frankie, who had been quiet for most of the night, managed a smile.

"Tch, I'm pretty sure you were doing something else behind that barn." Benny accompanied his words with a crude hand gesture, eliciting audible groans from everyone at the table and a giggle from Will’s girlfriend. "Fuck, Redfly was pissed that day. Dumbass over here gave away our position and we had to hike through the fucking jungle for 10 days. No coms, no food, no prep time, N.A.D.A. Just because Will Miller wanted to rub one out."

Benny's words bring silence to the table. Frankie suddenly down his beer and speaks up. "I'm gonna get another one. This round is on me. Anyone want a refill?" Everyone at the table nodded in agreement, even Benny, who looked subdued after receiving a scathing look from Will. Frankie turned to you and asked, "Want anything, mi cielo?" You tap your empty glass with your finger and smile softly at him. "Another Shirley Temple, please, mi love." Frankie nodded and planted a kiss on your forehead before making his way toward the busy bar.

Silence stretched over the table as you absentmindedly fiddled with your paper straw. Will cleared his throat before offering you a smile. "Thank you again for being the DD tonight. We all really appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure, Will. Today was tough for all of you, and you need to bid farewell to Tom properly. And there is no better way to say goodbye than by getting drunk out of your mind, then I am more than happy to provide my driving services.” You smile teasingly “I'm sure he would have loved tonight." While you hadn't been particularly close to Tom, you knew the man had at least loved two things: football and beer. And you think that yes, he would have definitely enjoyed getting drunk with his brothers (minus one) with ESP reruns in the background.

Benny flashed you a smile, his eyes gleaming playfully. He then proceeded to toss one of the tiny napkin balls he had been crafting all night. With a quick reflex, you ducked to the side, evading the incoming projectile. You burst out laughing at Benny’s childlike antics.

As you regained your composure, you playfully pointed a finger at Benny. "Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that!"

Benny chuckled as he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you think you're quick, huh? Well, let's see if you can dodge this!" Swiftly, he crumpled another napkin into a ball, before launching it in your direction. The napkin ball connected with your face, eliciting laughter from everyone at the table. Playfully nodding your head at Benny, you vowed, "You might have gotten me this time, but I'll get you later!"

Benny grinned, proudly flexing his arms. "You can't beat this, baby! I'm the strongest and fastest one here!" Will interjected with a fond tone, "Sure you are, bro, sure you are."

A momentary lull descended upon the table as each person searched for something to say. Suddenly, Benny's expression turned serious. "I wanted to thank you too." Uncertain of his intent, you replied, "No worries, Benny. You know I never mind being the designated driver..."

"Not that," Benny interrupted, "I meant with Fish." Perplexed, you wondered where he was going with this. Benny continued, "Yeah. It was real hard for Fish, what happened to Tom and all that shit that went down in Colombia. He took it the hardest out of all of us. So, it was good to know that he has a woman like you to look after him."

Chewing on your lips, you say. "I love Frankie, Benny. I'll never stop loving him, and I'll always do my best to care for him when I can. You don't have to worry." Benny smiled back; his relief evident. "Yeah, I know you are. Fuck, we were real scared that you were gonna bounce on Fish after this one. But I'm so glad you didn't."

"Even if I wasn't 100% on board with him going with you guys, I respected his decision to go. It wouldn't have been fair to him or Ella to just leave. And anyway, I know you guys are a package deal. Wherever one of you goes, you all go," you replied, trying to sound confident.

"Yeah, but still, with the coke thing, I was sure that was going to be it, you know," Benny admitted, a tinge of guilt in his voice.

"Benny..." Will interjected, his tone urging caution.

You observed the silent conversation between the two brothers, sensing there was more to the story. "What are you talking about? You don't have to look so worried, Will. I know about the coke. You know I was the one who found him after his license got revoked." Discomfort settled in the air, and your gaze shifted to Will's girlfriend, who seemed determined to occupy herself with her now watered-down vodka soda.

"Yeah, that's what Benny meant. Don't pay attention to him," Will interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension that hung in the air as Benny looked guilt-stricken.

"Are you two lying to me?" you asked after a brief pause. "Is there something you guys are not telling me?"

"Look..." Benny started, but Will cut him off abruptly. "Shut up, Benny. It's not your place to involve yourself where you don't belong," Will said with displeasure.

"Bullshit! Fish told us he was going to tell her! How could I have known he wouldn't tell her? This ain't my fucking fault! She has a right to know!" Benny's frustration spilled out; his words laced with anger.

"This is none of your business, Catfish will talk when he is ready," Will interjected once again, his teeth clenched in frustration.

"SHE would really like to know what the fuck is going on!" Tears welled up in your eyes as you pleaded, "Benny... Will... You have to tell me what's going on. Is Frankie okay? What should he have told me that he hasn't?"

Will shook his head, but Benny appeared undeterred. "Fuck you, Will! You don't get to tell me what I can or can't tell her. She's my friend too, you know!" Benny's voice trembled with a mix of anger and concern. He took a deep breath, his expression softening, "After the mission was over, the day we were flying out, we found Frankie in his room. He was half passed out on coke. He completely lost the plot for a bit you know. We were real worried, but after we got him down his high he promised us he would tell you, that you would figure it all out together. He felt bad about it all, kept crying about you and Ella and shit. I know he didn't mean to take it, it's just... with Tom's death, he blames himself for what happened, and I guess it just got too hard for him, you know?

The world comes to a screeching halt. Your head spins incessantly, threatening to make you sick or collapse right there on the floor. Then, a comforting hand lands on your upper back, and Will's soothing voice cuts through the chaos, finding its way to your ears.

"I know Fish was planning to tell you. I apologize for Benny putting his nose where it doesn’t belong.” His words are accompanied by a glare in Benny’s direction who flinches “You know how difficult things can be for people like us, especially with everything that happened with Redfly’s death... It was just too much. But you know Frankie loves you more than anything in this world. He never intended to hurt you or Ella. It’s just sometimes, our inner demons overpower us and we are helpless against them."

Frankie promised.

"If he truly loved me, he wouldn't have done that," you manage to whisper. Breathing becomes a challenge—either too fast or barely happening at all. You refuse to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a bar on a Wednesday night! Hastily reaching into your purse, you snatch your keys and turn to face Will. "I have to leave. You guys can take an Uber, and I'll cover the cost. I'm really sorry, but I just can't stay."

Will gazes at you with a tinge of sadness. "It's all right. We'll be okay. I just think you should wait for Fish. I don't think you should drive in your current state."

Frankie lied.

"I'll be fine. I can't stay, Will. I can't," you repeat before abruptly rising from your seat. You offer a fleeting wave to the table before sprinting toward the exit, tears streaming down your face.

Frankie promised. Frankie lied.

"Nice going, Benny!"

"Shut up, Will! How was I supposed to know?!"

______________________________________________________________

Frankie impatiently taps his fingers against the countertop, frustration building as he watches the bartender cozy up to one of the girls at the bar, completely ignoring him for the past 15 minutes.

"Excuse me, how much longer is it going to take?" Frankie asks, trying to conceal his annoyance.

"Busy night, buddy. It'll take however long it takes. If you don't like it, find somewhere else to go," the bartender retorts, not tearing his eyes away from the seductive blonde perched on the barstool.

Frankie lets out a sigh, his fingers fidgeting restlessly. He starts to reach into his pocket but stops himself halfway through. He knows nothing good would come from that. "But no one would find out, just a quick one in the bathroom. Not enough to get fucked, but enough to survive today," Frankie's mind tempts him. Damn, today had been tough. Seeing Molly and the girls, seeing you trying to console them, knowing it was all his fault. Like always, his mind starts going down that bleak rabbit, telling him how he should have stood firm with Tom, how he knew that damn plane wouldn't make it. But he had been weak, spineless. Greed had clouded his judgment—the allure of money too strong to resist. Frankie takes a deep breath, counting backward from ten to calm himself.

Finally, the bartender sets the glasses down in front of Frankie, then turns back to the blonde, who appears to have unbuttoned even more of her shirt, if that's even possible.

Frankie makes his way back slowly, careful not to spill anything, maneuvering through the crowded sea of bodies until he reaches the table where everyone is seated—everyone except you. Probably in the bathroom, he thinks. Frankie places the drinks on the table, tension rising in his body as he gazes at his brothers. Will buries his face in his hands, his girlfriend rubbing his lower back, while Benny stares straight ahead, anger etched on his face.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Frankie asks, pushing Will's drink toward him.

"Ask Benny," Will replies curtly. Benny's scowl deepens, and Frankie raises an eyebrow.

"What's going on, man? Is everything alright?"

"You're such a fucking idiot, Fish!" Benny explodes.

"What the fuck is your problem, pendejo?"

"My problem is that out of all of us you have it all: a wife who loves you, a little girl who looks at you like you hung the fucking moon, a nice place but you can't help to do everything to fuck it up!" Benny rages. Frankie feels himself grow pale.

"Where is she, Benny?"

"How was I supposed to know you didn't tell her anything?! You're always preaching about how open you are with her! About seeing a shrink and going to your meetings and all that bullshit! Were those all lies, Fish? Have you been lying to your own brothers like you’ve been lying to your wife?

"That's enough, Benny," Will interjects, attempting to diffuse the situation. "You've said enough."

"WHERE IS SHE!" Frankie's voice booms as his hands slam loudly on the table, causing drinks to topple and spill everywhere. The bar falls silent after Frankie's outburst.

"Go back to your drinks, there is nothing to see.” Comes Will’s voice filled with the authority of a man who spent years in active service. “She went home, Fish. I told her to wait for you, but she wouldn't listen. I'm sorry," Will tries to reach out, but Frankie shrugs him off.

"You always wanted her, didn't you, Benny? And now you thought that because we were going through a rough patch, you could just swoop in?! I have a child with her, you fucking bastard! I love her!"

"You TOLD us you were going to tell her! How was I supposed to know you were a lying asshole on top of a goddam deadbeat?"

Frankie springs out of his seat, grabbing Benny by the collar of his dress shirt. "Go fuck yourself, Benny." Frankie storms out of the bar and opens his phone. He finds your contact and hovers over your picture, where you're smiling widely, holding Ella in your arms, looking directly at the camera—directly at him. Frankie presses the call button, but it goes straight to voicemail.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." As Frankie orders an Uber, he can only hope that you'll give him another chance, even though he knows he's far from deserving it. Far from deserving you.

After a 35-minute ride, Frankie arrives home, 15 minutes longer than he would have liked. He leaps out of the car and forcefully opens the door.

"Mi cielo?! Mi cielo?!" Frankie shouts frantically, searching around desperately. He doesn't have to look far though. You're sitting at the kitchen table, three small bags filled with white powder in front of you. Frankie's face drains of colour.

"I want you to explain whatever the hell this is, Frankie. And no lies this time."

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #so much angst #triple frontier #fanfic #ao3 #angst #francisco morales #smut #frankie morales smut

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jebewonmorelike · 1 year

Text

The Drag Race Debate

wc: 600 (exactly! wut) pronouns: n/a; none used warnings: angsty but it's so not serious; mention of the word s*men; fluff summary: please do not fight with sung hanbin about drag race (unless you're ready for an overload of cute and sass) ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ guys hi! this one is so silly goofy, but i just KNOW hanbin gets heated about drag race. i just know. anyway, i hope mother always mothers. enjoy :)

"I just don't get why you like Ben de la Creme more than Jinkx Monsoon. Jinkx is such a great singer. She has more versatility," Hanbin says, rolling his eyes at you from across the room.

It was a lazy, Sunday morning and you and your boyfriend were re-watching Season 6 of Drag Race. Though you and Hanbin both loved the show, you often found yourselves disagreeing over your favorite queens. Just last week, while rewatching Season 5 (the best season), you'd gotten into a little argument about whether or not Rolaskatox deserved the hype they got. It ended with Hanbin accidentally knocking a glass off the counter while he was so earnestly attempting to demonstrate his point, followed by a delicious "apology" dinner from KFC on him.

Hanbin was always the one who got more heated, his passion for the subject matter undyingly evident. But to be honest, you found it so damn cute.

How his cheeks would redden, the new dynamics of his voice, the little stomps of his feet in frustration when he couldn't think of a rebuttal right away...

Were you winding him up on purpose? No, definitely not. But once you stumbled into a good-natured debate, you weren't scrambling to end it.

Now, as you watched Hanbin sprawled across the couch from where you were cleaning the dishes from breakfast, you just can't help but smile at how his demeanor has already shifted. "Ben might not have the voice, but you know she has the better comedic chops."

His eyebrows shoot through the roof as he sits up to stare at you incredulously. "Judy Garland Snatch Game!? Delusion: Convince Yourself!? MICHELLE VISAGE IS SO FULL OF SEMEN-- PERIOD!?"

You nod, loading the last dish into the dishwasher. "All great moments, yes. But who won five straight challenges in a row in All Stars and then so graciously self-eliminated just to prove a point?"

The laugh that comes out of Hanbin is dripping with annoyance. "Actually, she won FOUR straight challenges. And why would self-eliminating be an honorable thing!? Was she taking any of it seriously!?"

You shrug, walking over to your boyfriend and perching on the arm of the sofa next to him. "Even more impressive that she could win without putting in any effort."

"No! It's not! It was rude to Ru and it was patronizing to the other contestants," he says with a huff, turning his back towards you.

"You're right, I didn't think about how much stress that would add to Mother Ru's life. She's so busy with the fracking and all..."

Hanbin whips back around at an almost alarming speed. "TAKE. THAT. BACK! Now you're disrespecting Mother Ru?"

Your boyfriend is absolutely seething at this point and it only makes him cuter. Resting your chin in your hands, you bat your eyelashes cutely at him. "Binnie, shouldn't you be living by your favorite's motto right now? Water off a duck's back, remember?"

Hanbin clicks his tongue at you, shaking his head in what appears to be disappointment but you can see the remorseful pout start to from on his lips. He sighs, visibly returning back to his calmer self. "Why do I hang out with you again?"

Your hand finds its way to the back of your boyfriend's adorable head, running your fingers through his hair as you pretend to ponder the question before reaching the obvious conclusion. "Because you're hopelessly in love with me?"

A reluctant, smile-line producing grin stretches across his face as he outstretches both of his arms, signalling for you to climb into his embrace. "How could I ever forget?"

#sung hanbin #shb #shanbin #boys planet #boys planet drabbles #boys planet imagines #bp #bp999 #hanbin #sung hanbin drabbles #sung hanbin imagines #bp999 drabbles #bp999 imagines #shanbin drabbles #shanbin imagines

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ourpickwickclub · 8 months

Note

About the PR thing, didn't Wes Vause team up with ML's PR lady to form a new PR company a while back, with Blake as his first client? I can't think of her name. It's like a weird name starting with E or something. Can Wes really be trusted, since he used to work for ML and is now partners with her PR person? Seems sus to me. I hope he is actually loyal to Blake and doesn't share info, but from the little I have seen of him, I don't trust him much. Also about ML's copycat addiction, after she released a song last year, someone in Blake's tag on twitter said that it resembled We Can Reach the Stars. Can anyone confirm that is true? I don't remember the name of the song, have never heard one of her songs and I'm not about to start. If true though, that would be the ultimate psycho move - always trying to leech off others ideas. It reminds me of the interview back in 2010 with CMT when Blake said that he had written Delilah and when ML came back and heard it, she tried to weasel her way into the writer's credits, and I was so happy when he stood firm and didn't give her writing credit, especially since he wrote it completely by himself and she had NOTHING to do with it. Can you believe a person would do that? I heard that Morgan Wallen said the same thing about ML, that she got her friend Nicole Gallyon to get her into a writing session with them so she could add a word and get writing credit on one of his songs. Anyway, here is the excerpt from Blake's interview. I am so proud of him for standing his ground and not letting her manipulate him. I just wish he had done the same for The House That Built Me (her fake tears in the truck while they listened to it - cuz she knows what a softy he is) and Over You (her rushing him to decide about it since her album was coming out - like I know it's about your dead brother, but my album is coming out so I need to know now if I can put it on there, like wut? If he hadn't decided by that point on his own to give it to her, she should have just let it go instead of forcing him to decide just for her own benefit.)

CMT.com (March 19th 2010)

What was Miranda’s reaction when she heard “Delilah”?

Miranda’s first reaction was to weasel her way onto the song as a writer. She heard the song just a few hours after I wrote it. I wrote it very quickly one day about the fact that her dog was ignoring me when I was supposed to be babysitting it... I’ve joked before that if her dog is in the highway and I’m right there next to it and a semi is coming, I know who she’s going to save. It’s going to be her dog. She loves the song, but I’m the only writer on it.

====

Also, I forgot to mention, how sad is it that B knew that ML cared more about her DOG than him?????? makes me wanna cry. There is truth in every one of his jokes. Once when he was interviewed after 2011, they asked him if ML would be a good mother, and he said that if she treats the kid like she treats her dogs, then the kid will be golden...i remember thinking what a weird thing to say...like does she treat him so badly that he can't even use that as an example for how she would treat a kid?

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blahhhhhhhohmigosh · 1 year

Text

The Winner and the Loser

A/n: I.Have.Finally.A.IDEA! IT TOOK ME DAYS but not beacuse of mine braincells not thinking about any ideas but mine phone got destroyed and I have mine moms old phone now and GLITCHES but anyways ENJOY!!

Summary: Leo and Donnie plays a game on their phones but then Leo realised that he was losing just because he needed to work in his lab... lets say Donnie became the Winner...

People in this: Lee Lee-on Ler Donnie

Love: Brothely in other words plantonic so NO SHIPPING

Warings: FLUFF just Fluff

It was midnight in New York. Mikey and Raph were sleeping meanwhile the twins played a mobile game. Leo whanted to spend some time with the purple turtle but D whanted to jobb at his lab for some upgrades into the escaping pods so I wont happend like last time ( if u wached the movie you may know why)

Leo won every time meanwhile he wondered why ? Donnie is more comentive of these things and he didnt care? He though too himself for a moment then he realised that he whanted to work. Leo was kinda sad and gulity that he keep his brother from work but he knew HE NEEDED A BREAK so he started to say...

💙:D? Dooo you keep losing just to go to you're room?

Leo asked. Donnie looked at him with sweat.

💜: WHATTTT???? noooOooo.... maybe? I mean defenetly!no- I lovE spending time with you brother-

Donnie lied and looked at him.

💙:OH Really??? The u wont minding me doing this!

Leo took Donnies googles and quickly got up to make his escape. Donnie got up and said annoyed.

💜:Leo~ give. It. Back.

💙: Hah nope

Leo screamed before running thro the hallway. Donnie started goong after him.Leo stod behind the kitchen table and Donnie walked around the tabel to get him but Leo folowed him.

💜:NOT funny Nardo.

💙:Agreed that what you did was sooo meanie and grumpy of you Donnie!

💜:Wh- and what was that huh?!

💙:Hmmm idk maybe.... that you lost SPECIALY just to get back too you're dumb lab.

💜:AND YOU'RE A DUMB DUMB YOU DUMB DUMB!!!!

Screamed Donnie that jumped on the table meanwhile pointing at Leo. Leo took it as a sign to run cuz Donnie had higher ground now. But Donnie jumped on him falling on the ground with his brother. Donnie snached his phone out of his brothers hands that was laying on his shell on the floor(in other words he was laying on his back). Leo sighed.

💙:FINNNE! Go to you're stupid Lab! Work on something thats perfectly fine...

Said Leo in a disapointet voice. Donnie smirked and chukled he knew his brother whanted some quality time. Its good their brothers has sound proof walls cuz this is gonna be a LOUD night.

💜:awww u whant affection? Well u wont minding me doing this~

He poked his plastron making the blue turtle squeak. He didnt expect that.

💙:Whhwhwat thehe- dhhEE-

Squeaked Leo with giggles meanwhile Donnie squeased his thights. He was laughing with closed eyes meanwhile looking at his brother who was smirking. Leo cousnt tell if he was smirking or grinning.

💜:Wut dhidnt you asked for this? You clearly did so shush!

Donnie insistead meanwhile Leo laughed his heart out. Finally Leo coudnt breathe anymore soo Donnie stoped but Leo fell asleep. Donnie took him to his bed and late next to him falling asleep.

#rottmnt tickle #lee #ler #tickle fluff #tickle fic #t word #rottmnt #rise leo #rise donnie #Ler donnie #lee leo #original fiction #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #tmnt tickle #tmnt

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azriel-edgemont · 7 months

Text

I've been meaning to write this one for awhile. This happened in session #3 or #4, we're now have session #14 in the books as of last night. It finally made its way out of me.

The coterie encountered a group of Society of Saint Leopold Hunters early on in our story; we killed most but captured one for interrogation, a young French university student named Jacques, in Chicago on a scholarship from the Vatican. During the altercation, Aggie was struck by a Compulsion--to possess the captive, own him, by any means necessary.

For Aggie, that ended up meaning Kiss him, take him back to the safe house, let the muscle chain him up so he can't escape and kill us all--and seduce him for information, and also sex.

Jesus fucking christ this ended up so long what the fuck

ETA: JFC HEY THIS THING IS LIKE 4k WORDS THAT IS LONGER THAN MOST OF MY AO3 FIC. FUCK. WUT.

Now on AO3 for easier reading if you prefer!

---

Rating: E Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Category: M/M Word Count: 4,275 Some definite warnings for this one:

Mildly Dubious Consent*, Blood/Blood and Torture/Blood As Lube/Blood Drinking, Power Imbalance/Power Dynamics, Restraints, Vampires/Vampire Hunters, Light Sadism/Light Masochism/Light Bondage, also: judicious use of Google Translate**

*Our Storyteller was pretty clear that Jacques was Into Aggie at the time, even despite his precarious situation and status as a Vampire HunterTM. Also, a Lingering Kiss doesn't really take effect until a few days after it's delivered--and doesn't mess with consent so much as just make the victim crave to be fed from again. Still, it is entirely possible to argue that this whole thing is BadWrongMessedUp.

**I make no promises about the French. I've got a decent grasp of foundational basics, and a linguistics background, but vocabulary--especially casual, colloquial, non-high school appropriate vocabulary--is not my strong suit, so Google was a friend throughout. Hopefully it's not too egregious. I'm just proud of the amount I was able to do with minimal assistance! Go me!

It's easy, slipping into French as the door shuts behind him. No lock to speak of--everything else in the austere condominium the height of luxe, but a lock on a bedroom door is evidently a bridge too far for Briar. Still; the door shuts with a reassuring click. Azriel's back meets it, resting against its solid weight, as he finally takes a moment to do what he's been wanting to all evening and looks his fill.

It's not entirely dark. There is a small bedside lamp on the table at the far side of the bed taking up most of the space. It casts a warm yellow light over the room, spreading shadows like bloodstains over the coverlet, limning the man's hair in a halo of gold, cresting over the slight swells of muscle before being swallowed by the shadows they cast on his skin. The room smells like blood.

Aggie's mouth doesn't water anymore, but he feels it's absence. He sucks in a short breath, eyes closing briefly to center himself as he gives just a little tug to the chains of the Beast within, and his mouth fills with saliva. When he opens his eyes, Jacques is looking back, and Aggie is pleased to see the open, naked want in his expression. Lapsed, indeed, he thinks. It's early, yet, for the Kiss to have taken hold; it's typically days before they feel the pull, the yearning aching need for it. No, this look, this want--its all the Hunter, and all for him.

"Bonsoir, ma beauté," he greets the man in his native French, and is rewarded by a quick flush to Jacques' pale cheeks; the scent of blood thickens, ever so slightly, as his elevated heart rate forces more of it out the wounds in his leg. It's a matter of steps to the bedside, feet muffled in the plush carpet; Aggie's fingertips find Jacques' ankle, then trail up his leg as he draws nearer, sidling into the vacant space between the bed and closet.

"Salut," Jacques responds cautiously. "Tu es venu a me torturer, alors?" His tongue darts out to wet his lips as Aggie's traveling fingers draw near to the wound. It weeps, dark red blood seeping black in the low light from the seared flesh. Despite his apparent nerves, though, Aggie notes that he doesn't try to pull away; just holds, still and trembling, waiting and watching. How very interesting.

"Non...mais je pense que tu as moins peur de moi, et de la torture, que je l'aurais supposé." As though to punctuate his point, Aggie lets the pads of his fingers skate over the raw edges of the wound, applying pressure ever-so-slightly. He is rewarded by Jacques' sharp inhale, the sight of his eyelids fluttering in involuntary response. His plush, full lips part around the gasp, and Aggie feels his mouth drop just a little slack in response. "Sí belle," he murmurs, drawing out the lateral like sticky honey on his tongue. "Je le pensais. Papistes." The laugh that accompanies this is affectionate, amused. The wound pulses with another erratic heartbeat. His index swipes through the shiny, sticky blood; he watches Jacques watch him bring it to his mouth, tongue protruding just enough to lay the pad of his finger on it. Choleric, Melancholic--but there, bright at the edges of his tongue: Sanguine. His lips twitch up in a smile, and he blinks down at the young man.

"Je sais mieux qu'a penser tu ne veux pas quelque chose de moi--plus qu'une baise," Jacques says, and Aggie is startled into a laugh by the bluntness of his speech. He licks his finger clean, then helps Jacques shift his legs away from the edge of the bed, settling into the space by his hip. The mattress is firm and unforgiving, like any bed in any anonymous three and a half star hotel (not that he would know from personal experience, you understand). He plants his hand on the coverlet anyways, bracketing Jacques' hips with his body. The man is warm to the touch, against his own cool static temperature.

"Oui," he states, conversational. "J'espère que tu me diras ce que j'ai besoin de savoir--sur Alice, sur ton petite groupe. Mais--ça ne doit pas être désagréable. Pour toi, ou pour moi." From this close, he can smell Jacques' breath; it's sour with fear and pain, but the way it picks up at Aggie's proximity speaks of a different type of arousal. Still, that is unpleasant; so instead, Aggie lowers his face to Jacques' neck, pressing his lips to the jumping pulse point there. He smirks to feel Jacques' entire body tense, the instinctive reaction of prey to a predator. But when he doesn't bite--when he mouths wet, open kisses at the warm skin instead--some of that tension dissolves beneath another wave of desire.

"Et--et après ça, que alors? Tu me abbas? Tu me...comment le diz vous...m'embrasses? Ah, merde..."

Aggie's laugh is warm, delighted, at the way Jacques' breath catches at the same time his teeth do; the utter subsumation of any real fears about his fate beneath a wave of emboldened desire. His nose is filled with it, his ears recognizing the staccato beat of a heart thumping in wild need. The fingers of the hand not holding himself above Jacques find their way to the hem of his shirt, instead, rucking it up to dig into the planes of hard, young muscle in his abdomen--he hums in appreciation. He can't resist a brief nibble, giddy to hear Jacques' bitten off cry in response. The scant drops of blood he sheds are almost entirely Sanguine, now, heady as they fall on his tongue, and he licks the love bite closed.

"Impressiones-moi," he murmurs in Jacques' ear, before sitting back to look into his face. "Et nous verrons. Je peux être un amant...généreux."

Jacques, may his absent God help him, looks bereft at Aggie's sudden distance. There is a rattle of metal on metal--the handcuffs rattle against the headboard as he makes an aborted attempt to reach for the Kindred. Aggie tuts at him, but takes pity, letting his hand stroke along Jacques' thigh and delighting every time his fingers catch on the calloused skin and slick blood of the wound. The way it makes the prominent apple of Jacques' throat bob, each time; his eyes flutter and glaze. His breath catches. And Aggie watches with keen delight as the flesh beneath the zip of his jeans swells.

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux savoir?" Jacques groans out, and Aggie grins.

***

It is a...fruitful interrogation.

An outside observer could be forgiven for viewing the scene and thinking it torture. Aggie hovers over Jacques in a way that cannot suggest anything other than predator and trapped prey, Jacques' hands trapped to either side of his head by the police cuffs, his legs similarly restrained by the ankles near the foot of the bed. Despite Aggie's smaller and slighter stature, it's clear who has the power--not least because of the insistent, probing fingers Aggie delves into the grotesque wound on Jacques' leg. His hand is slicked with blood to the wrist, and Jacques twists and writhes in his bonds with each idle circle Aggie draws around the edge of the seeping flesh, even as their conversation carries on as though nothing remarkable were happening.

But an outside observer might not see what Aggie sees. The way Jacques' pupils are blown, wide and wanting; the way he swallows and gasps, and dares Aggie with his gaze to do his worst as he stutters through his answer to a question. The confusion--the seedling of a pout, even--that dawns on his face if Aggie pauses too long, distracted by thoughts and theories introduced by the information that spills freely from Jacques' parted lips; the relief of his expression when Aggie resumes his idle movements, learning the patterns of the phosphorus burn until its landscape is as familiar as his own hand. The way Jacques' hips hitch, seeking friction, seeking relief, as pain and pleasure coalesce into one singular sensation.

Find the prettiest thing in the room. Make them want you. Then give them what they want.

"Tu chantes si bellement," Aggie murmurs to him, as a thumb swipes an invisible streak of blood up the blood-soaked denim of Jacques' inseam. Jacques groans under his touch.

"Comme une canari," he complains, half-hearted, and Aggie giggles.

"Non, mon cher," he reassures; and, merciful, flattens his palm over the hard ridge of Jacques' cock beneath the fabric. Jacques nearly shouts, folding forward as far as his shoulders will allow, curling in on himself at the sudden provision of long sought-after touch. "Non, ça c'est la chanson que j'aime. Ton plaisir chante si joliement, si sans vergogne. C'est très beau."

His heel drags up the length of Jacques' cock, feeling the heat and swell of it, leaving an angry red streak smeared against the acid-washed denim. Jacques trembles under his touch; his gaze drops to watch, heavy-lidded, as Aggie strokes him through the fabric. He licks his lips. "S'il te plait, Aggie, please, Jesus--"

"Il blasphème! Ça doit être très sérieux," Aggie teases, and Jacques laughs too, breathless, rattling the cuffs next to his head. "Oui, mais oui...tu as été très bon--toi, et moi aussi. Je pense que nous méritons un prix, non?" Another pointed, agonizing stroke--drying his hand of excess blood-- and then he removes it, shifting to the button at the waistband of Jacques' jeans.

"Ça va faire mal," he warns idly; and both men pause for a moment at the ridiculous, needless warning, before Jacques breathes out a laugh and Aggie grins at him with bared Kindred teeth on full display. The laugh becomes a pained shout as Aggie tugs the denim down, over the wound, not bothering with gentleness, and he is rewarded by a broken, gasped string of curses from Jacques as he yanks the clothing--jeans and boxer briefs together--down past his knees. It leaves him exposed, bare from the waist down, and Aggie can see the furred, bruised calves, the angry phosphorus burn, the knobs and ridges of bones and muscle shifting under skin--the thick thatch of dark brown hair, and his cock, uncut and intimate, standing stiff and erect between his parted thighs.

"Vraiment, Jacques--si beau, si bon pour moi," Aggie admires, as he stands near the foot of the bed, looking his fill as he methodically removes his own clothing; tugging the tight neck of his sweater over his head, unbuttoning his slacks to let them pool, in a whisper of expensive fabric, around his ankles before gracefully stepping out of them. He takes a moment--turning to catch the best light from the lamp, long decades of experience putting his body on display to best effect in the golden glow. Jacques' gaze rakes him, up and down, in a way that suggests he might have entirely forgotten that this is is monster he is about to bed. Hunger, want, desire stoked by pain and pleasure both are all visible in Jacques' gaze, audible in his breathing and evident in every taut, quivering line of his body. But Aggie sees his face fall as his gaze focuses on the lack of interest from Aggie's own cock.

"Je suis mort, chéri, souviens?" Aggie offers; and his voice is gentle as he steps back forward to stand next to Jacques, who cranes his neck to look up and meet his gaze.

"Est-ce...pourquoi?" Jacques asks.

"Pourquoi est-ce que je veux te baiser?" Aggie laughs, and Jacques nods. "Chéri, parce-que il faire bon! Je n'ai pas besoin d'une érection à savourer ta bite, crois-moi. Tu es trop gentil, penser à moi comme ça."

Jacques shudders at the matter-of-fact words, delivered as though it weren't painfully erotic. Aggie sits on the mattress, then swings one knee over him, straddling his hips. Both men react, audibly, when Jacques' cock nestles in the cleft of Aggie's arse. "Oh, yes," Aggie murmurs in English, eyes fluttering shut at the promise of pleasure, so near. Jacques gives an experimental flex of his hips; even restrained as he is, even with the pain of the wound which must, must bother him with a movement like that, the strength and power of him is a delight, and Aggie sighs happily. "T'aimes ça?" Jacques asks, voice rough and strained, and Aggie beams at him.

"Oui, jusque comme ça. Je vais te cheveaucher jusqu'à tu vous des étoiles, chéri." As though to demonstrate the promise, Aggie rocks back against Jacques, his hips and arse and body all moving in a sinuous line. Eyes locked to Jacques' gaze, he rakes a hand back through his curls, down the side of his neck, pinky finger catching on a sharp fang as he tosses Jacques a wink. The other hand cradles around the base of his throat, squeezing lightly--visibly--before traversing a path down the center of his body. He catches, tugs at the manicured nest of curly hair, carding his fingers through before those elegant digits wrap around his cold, flaccid cock, tugging at it lightly with a pleased, self-satisfied groan.

"Putain de merde, je veux te toucher. Tu vas me tuer, Aggie...!"

Aggie's eyes flash, and a wicked grin crosses his face. "Je l'éspere, Jacques. Un petit mort, et un autre, et un autre, et un autre..." Each promise punctuated by a perfunctory stroke of his cock, rocking his hips back to meet the hard, hot line, grinding down into Jacques' lap, Aggie lets himself feel the dull spark of arousal it brings. Like a song playing from another room, he is aware of the sensation, but distantly; the feelings somehow at a remove from his body, not roused enough for full sensation. Still, though, he likes the tease of it, and the positive encouragement from Jacques is heady, and Aggie knows he looks good like this--he has a painting to prove it.

Jacques groans, another plea gritting out from between his teeth, the cuffs rattling again as he gives an insistent shove against Aggie's backside, and Aggie takes pity on him. He lifts up on his knees, just enough to get a hand beneath his legs; reaches back, past Jacques' weeping cock, drooling pearly precum down the length, and liberally coats his palm in blood from Jacques' wound.

To his credit, Jacques immediately grasps his intent--and, further to his credit, locks a hungry, lustful gaze on the sight of Aggie's hand spreading blood along his length. "Sa mére, c'est tellement foiré," he breathes out, rapt, as his cock is slicked in blood, mixing with his body's natural lubricant. Aggie feels it jump in his hand, eager for the attention, not remotely flagging at the inclusion of his own blood in their play.

"Je pense que tu es un petit peu foiré," Aggie teases. "Qu'est-ce que l'église t'a fait?"

He doesn't give Jacques a chance to respond before he is pressing the blunt head of the blood-covered length against his hole, sinking down with the full weight of his body. The stretch and split might have been agonizing for a mortal body, unprepared, unstretched, with only blood and precum for lubricant; but where the feel of a hand on his own dick felt disconnected from his body, this intrusion sends sparks of pleasure racing along his Blushed nerve endings. He lets out a long, loud groan, echoed by Jacques as he is slowly, inch by inch, engulfed by Aggie's body.

The room reeks with the scent of sex and, to Aggie, Sanguine blood, filling his nose as he works his way down the cock impaling him in Jacques' lap. He doesn't feel any pain--the stretch, the discomfort, sure, but mostly the way pleasure radiates through him, forming a feedback loop with the Sanguine tang of the air to fill up his senses and drive him mad, needy, with want. He could seat himself fully in an eyeblink, he knows, shove down and take it all at once--it would heal by morning--but the awed, slack-jawed look Jacques is giving him makes him want to take his time and put on a proper show. So he braces his bloody hand in the center of Jacques' chest, and works his hips. He takes it slowly, savouring every hit of pleasure; tiny movements back and forth that make Jacques whine. His hands flex and Aggie considers what it might mean to release him--final death, almost certainly, but surely Jacques would want to finish fucking him first, and with those hands on Aggie's hips and that powerful arse and thighs, he's fairly certain the Frenchman could do some real, glorious damage. Still--that would mean finding keys, and that would mean getting off, and as Jacques' cock brushes against some part of his anatomy that currently houses the banked embers of thousands of roused nerve endings, he finds himself entirely unwilling to make that sacrifice.

Jacques keeps up a murmured, groaning litany the whole time. "Tu es très beau," he says, and, "Tu me prends si bien," and, " J'adore voir ma bite dans toi," and a healthy number of blasphemies, which are a complete delight every time, if a little distracting. He can feel Jacques trembling with the strain of holding back--almost wants to tell him to let go, just give it to him, release his own inner gay sex demons--but watching him shake with restraint is far too much fun. Finally, though, Aggie is resting fully seated in Jacques' lap, Jacques buried to the hilt inside of him.

"Ça va?" Jacques asks, licking his lips as he shifts slightly under Aggie's weight. His cock shifts inside of him, and Aggie lets his head loll back at the sensation, humming with pleasure as he rocks experimentally.

"Très, très bien, chéri," is his response. He rolls his head back around to fix Jacques with his gaze, delighted to see heat and want reflected back at him--and then he moves.

***

Nearly two hours after first coming into the room, Aggie pulls off of Jacques with an audible pop, the soft, malleable flesh of his flaccid cock falling limp from his mouth. His lips and teeth and chin are a mess of blood, his fingers and palms and inner thighs, too, smeared like a crime scene from cheek to cheek, drying against his skin and flaking rust every time he moves. He leans across Jacques' thighs, elbows digging into the mattress for leverage, to give the wound an affectionate kitten lick. Jacques groans out a laugh above him.

"Désolée, Aggie, je pense que--j'ai finis. S'te plait."

"A plusieurs égards," Aggie chides, but laps only once more before pushing himself to his knees besides Jacques. It's true--despite his best efforts, it seems he has wrung every "petit mort" from Jacques that the man's body can muster, and even his own stamina is relatively finite. Besides which, he's sated; he's drunk and fucked his fill, gotten all the information he can think of to ask for from the pliant young man, and while he wouldn't be opposed to another round, the sticky itchy feeling of drying blood and cum on his skin is threatening to become a major irritant. "Attends ici."

Jacques hums, watching him go from half-lowered lids, chest still heaving with the effort of pain and exertion. Aggie slides backwards and off the bed, revelling in the lingering feeling of soreness in his backside; already fading, sadly, but still there as a pleasant echo. He pads on bare feet into the en suite as he allows Jacques a moment to recover.

There are hotel-style towels folded and waiting on a rack above the toilet. He grabs a washcloth--using it to turn on the tap--and waits out the water until it runs warm. His hands are first, thrust under the gushing water, which quickly turns pink and then bright red beneath his hands as he methodically scrubs them free of the worst of the blood. There's blood under his nails, he notes; but no vanity kit here. Pity. He leaves it there for now, and takes up the washcloth again, soaking it in the flow. Face and neck are next, scrubbed and blotted free of bloodstains until the cloth is soaked with it and his skin is shining white. He tosses the cloth in the bathtub, and grabs another, now wiping the blood that is smeared over his thighs and arse and bollocks, swiping away the pearly pink mixture sliding down along his inner leg.

He presses the damp cloth to his mouth, biting down around it and drawing the liquid--water, blood, cum--into his mouth. It aspirates over his tongue, and he moans quietly, happily, at the flavour, sucking at it until it gives no more. It joins its fellow in the bathtub, and he draws down a larger handtowel from the rack. This one, too, is soaked in warm water and wrung out, and he carries it with him back into the bedroom.

It's clear immediately that Jacques has passed out. Exhaustion and exsanguination have done their work; his hands hang limp from the wrists in the handcuffs next to his head, and his head droops uncomfortably against his shoulder. Aggie tuts a little, and drapes the warm towel over his lap to soak up some of the excess blood and fluid spread there. He grabs a pillow and props it between Jacques' shoulder and his cheek, then goes to retrieve his clothes, dressing with graceful efficiency, patting for the reassuring feel of the stiletto dagger in his inside pocket.

Returning to the bed, Aggie takes up his spot next to Jacques' hip, setting to providing him a perfunctory clean-up. He laps up the blood that has dribbled in shining trails down the side of Jacques neck--he had asked, in fairness, to know what it would feel like to be fed from during the act, and Aggie was only too happy to oblige. He licks at the wounds until they seal shut. He wipes the skin clean from waist to knee. He takes gentle care with the flaccid cock that, exhausted, doesn't even attempt to stir in his grip, wiping it clean as well; and makes an attempt to wash around the outside of the leg wound, cleaning his thigh of excess.

Throughout his ministrations, Jacques barely stirs, and Aggie pauses a moment to watch him in his sleep. It would be so easy, he thinks, to take his life right now. To bleed him dry and leave him for dead; the way he and his Hunter friends would no doubt have done to us. It's no less than he deserves. He feels the weight of the stiletto in his pocket; a stab through the heart, in his sleep. Not such a monstrous way to go.

Sleeping, though, Jacques looks much more the part of the boy he is, rather than the man he pretends to be; his face softens, showing hints of clinging baby fat still around the edges of his otherwise chiselled face. Not once had he pleaded for Aggie to free him, not even under the guise of sex. He hadn't even asked for anything, except more, more, more.

Fucked up little Catholic boy, confused about so many things, Aggie thinks with a snort of derision. Pain and pleasure, need and want and desire, men and monsters. But in the end--Aggie got everything he wanted out of him, and Jacques, apparently, didn't want anything more from him than this.

"C'était la meilleure baise de ta vie, chéri," Aggie tells him fondly. "You should at least be allowed to keep it for a little while."

He rises, tossing the now cool and blood-soaked towel into the bathroom; returning to the bed, he pulls the dagger from its hidden sheath and uses it's sharp point to start a tear through the fabric of Jacques' ruined jeans and boxers, adding the scraps to the pile of laundry in the bathroom. The shirt is next, covered in Aggie's bloody handprints; he rips that one by the seams, entertaining for a moment the romantic idea of a smitten young Frenchman desiring a token to remember him by. That he discards in the waste basket next to the bed--in easy reach, just in case.

There's a spare blanket in the closet. He can't do anything about the blood-soaked coverlet and sheets--and probably mattress, at this point--underneath him, but at least he doesn't need to freeze to death. Aggie tucks him in under the blanket, covering as much of the man as he can given his posture; and for a moment, then, he hesitates.

Dawn is so close. It wouldn't be so hard to lie down here; to curl against this warm body, which has grown so familiar in these past two hours, and allow himself to keep it for just a little while longer. But the Compulsion is fading along with the ache in his arse, and the hoarse soreness in his throat, and the idle fancy is just that. He is older, and wiser, than Jacques is or will likely ever be.

He knows better than to lay down with a monster.

#my posts: words #jacques the hunter

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tmnt-obsessed-ace · 1 year

Text

Suddenly remembered a tmnt 2012/rottmnt crossover fic I read back last year

And oh boy it was a mess

It had like forty or fifty chapters and was still rapidly updating but...

Most of the chapters were INSANELY short, (I think some where only like a few hundred words or less)

So I think the basic premise is that post movie the rise gang (plus an oc of the author) all got yoinked into the 2012 dimension during season 1 and they all got separated, most of the turtles going feral from the sudden shock of being in a 3D world alone.

And for awhile it was pretty ok, I didnt even mind the oc too much.

And then it started bashing.

Portraying 2012 April rude (even when she really wasnt), completely dismissing and ignoring the 2012 turtles, and the scene that made me drop the fic was when the Rise gang meet 2012 Splinter and Rise April called him "Splints" but he asked her to call him Master Splinter instead.

And 2012 Splinter was supposedly the one in the wrong in that scene. This girl he literally JUST met was already calling him nicknames, something that is reserved for close friends and family. Like I get that she's used to calling Rise Splinter Splints but girl you do not know this Splinter, you cant expect a complete stranger to be cool with a random nickname you have for a different version of him? (And Splinter wasnt even rude about it but somehow he was the one in the wrong???? Wut????)

That scene annoyed me so much I stopped reading that fic and muted the author

I dont even remember the name of the fic but that particular scene (and mind you this happened with Splinter had two broken RIBS because the oc character dropped into the lair and attacked everyone and I think Rise Raph also attacked Splinter when he came to find the oc so like give the poor man a break, even if he was being rude I think he deserves some slack) just popped back into my head and Im making it everyone's problem

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vrishchikawrites · 3 years

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Are you still taking prompts?

Cause if so, I'd love to see a time travel fic where post-canon WWX and LWJ get yeeted back into their younger bodies, and land just before the GC transfer. And Post-Canon WWX - who's had some years of being a part of a loving, supportive family, in a non-toxic, non-abusive environment; and therefore no longer has any misconceptions about how much the Jiangs were not his family - takes one look at JC lying there on the table in the cave after WQ knocked him out (and is now in the middle of prepping for surgery); and just goes, "LOL, yeah; nope.😆 Been there, done that; 10/10, would not recommend.😝 Hey, WQ - change of plans!😎"

(Except, you know, not written like crack. 😉)

Not necessary to include, but a fun idea:

JC gets dragged along to the past as well because he has WWX's GC; so whatever sent them back mistook him for part of WWX and brought him along.

So when he wakes up from the anaesthesia, he freaks out about not having a GC anymore. And WWX has this whole story ready to tell young JC about how, "Oops, sorry; you can't have a new GC after all" - but this is Post-Canon JC; so he knows about the transfer, and knows that this means that WWX decided not to do it again.

Which means he ends up screaming at WWX about, "How dare you not give me your GC!"

So WWX feels exactly zero sympathy.

(Before that happened he was maybe feeling a little bit bad for young JC; because that JC hadn't done anything too bad yet - but he already knew how it would turn out if he went through with it. And he was not giving up his chance to cultivate to immortality with his hubby; just so that JC could Feel Like A Real Man, and go on to murder his way through life again.)

What would be really, really great about this, is if WWX had brought JC to Qinghe or Gusu; or somewhere the other cultivation sects involved in the SSC had gathered, before JC woke up. Planning to leave him there where he would be safe. So when JC wakes up and starts screaming, everybody hears him.

And they're all like, "...WUT."🤤

"You expected him to do what?!?"😲😨😱

So instead of all the sympathy and compassion, etc, that he would have gotten over what happened at LP (that he probably did get the first time), or for losing his GC; basically the entire allied cultivation world as a whole is collectively side-eyeing him.

IDK; I just think it would be really funny.

But mainly, I just want to see WWX a few years post-canon; having the chance to do it all again, and choosing not to go through with the GC transfer. LWJ going with him is because the thought of post-canon LWJ losing his WWX makes me sad; and I want them to stay together. 😋

Post-Canon JC going back and getting stuck with the coreless body he deserved is just for my own catharsis.

(The rest of that idea is simply for the lulz.) 😉

(I decided not to include JC traveling back in time. Hope this works and satisfies you!)

“No, I don’t.” Wei Wuxian sees Wen Qing blink and stare at him while Wen Ning stills in the process of making Jiang Cheng comfortable.

“What?” Wen Qing asks but rethinks it immediately, “No, no need to answer that.” She starts packing away her instruments immediately like she’s glad that Wei Wuxian has changed his mind. He looks at her and feels aching fondness rise in his chest. She must be frustrated that he made her go through all of that trouble and yet she still chooses to move before he can change his mind again.

“What… are we going to tell Jiang-gongzi?” Wen Ning asks tentatively but Wei Wuxian notes the faint look of relief in the boy’s eyes.

“We’ll tell him the treatment wasn't possible,” He says, glancing at his… former shidi. It isn’t an easy decision to make, because he knows Jiang Cheng would suffer for it. A part of him feels like he’s being unnecessarily cruel by denying Jiang Cheng his core.

But he has already paid his debt and it cost countless people their lives. Jiang Cheng’s actions didn’t just lead to the death of the Wens. Lan Zhan had told him about the numerous ‘demonic cultivators’ Jiang Cheng had pursued relentlessly. Even his love wasn’t certain how many people died or were tormented to insanity because of Jiang Cheng’s persistence.

While Wei Wuxian doesn’t intend to let the situation get so out of hand, it is apparent that Jiang Cheng can’t be trusted with power.

He is worried about how Jiang Cheng would react. Wei Wuxian had promised him a core, after all. But whatever happens, a powerless Jiang Cheng is safer for everyone.

“We’ll tell him that rebuilding the core is impossible because Wen Zhuliu destroyed his meridians as well.”

“He has,” Wen Qing points out, “I was about to repair them.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, “And can you repair them still? Without transferring the core?” That would certainly help Jiang Cheng heal faster and accept some spiritual energy transfusions. Wen Qing looks at Jiang Cheng with a frown and nods.

“Wei-gongzi… what changed your mind?” Wen Ning asks as Wen Qing goes to work immediately. Wei Wuxian knows that if he has to help the Wens, he needs to tell them the truth. While Wen Ning would trust him and accept his explanation without too many questions, Wen Qing wouldn’t be so easy.

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, getting his thoughts in order. When he opens them again, both of the Wens are looking at him with frowns.

He grins wryly and spreads his hands, "I have a tale for you, my dear friends."

Jin Guangyao needed to have his last 'hurrah'. He just couldn't leave them be, even as he died. Whatever he did, whatever tool he used, it sent a shockwave of Resentful Energy that would've killed them all.

As always, Wei Wuxian stepped forward to protect people. As always, Lan Wangji stepped forward to protect him.

Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth and changed his plan at the last moment. At first, he wanted to absorb the energy and channel it somewhere else. But with so many people just lingering instead of running, he needed a different solution.

His mind flashed, he saw Jiang Cheng, and decided.

A forbidden array formed.

"I needed something that would use up all of the Resentful Energy and protect everyone, including Lan Zhan."

"So, at the last moment and on the verge of dying, you chose something as improbable as time travel." Wen Qing deadpans. Wen Ning is looking at him with wide eyes. Strangely enough, both look like they believe him. Well, he did mention a few things, personal incidents, that he had no way of knowing if the Wens hadn't told him.

Still.

"I'm not the one for regrets," He says softly as he looks at Jiang Cheng, "But I thought that array was the safest solution. It doesn't harm the current timeline so everyone is safe. Lan Zhan, I know, wouldn't mind following my lead in this." He did regret taking Zewu-jun's brother away from him after such a traumatic event but there really was no other option. Not with Jin Ling so close and so many innocent people in the vicinity.

Wei Wuxian is quite certain that the blast would've destroyed everything around them, including the innocent people around the Guanyin Temple complex.

The siblings exchange glances before Wen Qing returns to Jiang Cheng's side, preparing to work on his meridians, "You're going to change things." She observes, "Save people?"

"Save you and Wen Ning. Save Jiang Yanli. Save innocents, yes."

Wen Qing freezes.

---

Lan Wangji doesn't know what Wei Ying did but he trusts his beloved. When he finds himself in the past, just before the Sunshot Campaign begins and shortly after the fall of the Lotus Pier, he doesn't hesitate.

He knows that his brother is safe and his uncle is managing things at Cloud Recesses. But he also knows that somewhere out there, his beloved is preparing himself for a risky, painful procedure.

Wangji can't let that happen. He thinks back on everything Wen Ning shared with him about the incident, particularly the location of where it occurred. He's probably too late to stop the transfer but perhaps not late enough to stop the Wens from finding Wei Ying.

It takes him days to reach Yiling without the aid of Bichen but he manages and immediately heads towards the approximate location Wen Ning had mentioned.

"Wei Ying," He breathes softly when he spots his beloved shopping for some supplies. He hadn't anticipated finding him so soon but is grateful nonetheless.

Wei Ying is dressed like a peasant and blends in well with the people around him but Wangji can recognize him anywhere.

Dressed discreetly and without his forehead ribbon, Wangji too is inconspicuous. He moves swiftly towards Wei Ying and catches his elbow, eyeing the people in red and white uniform at the far end of the street warily.

"Come." He whispers.

Wei Ying doesn't say a word, just paying the vendor and following Wangji into a more discreet location.

Wangji looks at his beloved's face, drinking in his bright silver eyes and sharp features with acute relief.

"Wei Ying, you… you look well." Strangely so, for someone who has just given up his Golden Core.

Hope stirs in his chest and Wangji reaches for Wei Ying's wrist.

His love's lips quirk in amusement, but Wangji ignores him, focusing on sending his spiritual energy through Wei Ying's meridians.

A strong core pulses in response.

"Wei Ying," Something bright and triumphant burns in his chest and he resists the urge to pull his beloved into a crushing embrace.

He would've supported Wei Ying's decision to give up his core and cultivate with resentful energy again. He knew it wasn't evil or harmful now.

But Wei Ying chose himself. His beloved had finally chosen to save himself.

"Aiya, Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying laughs, "If you keep looking at me like that, I'll do something quite shameless and embarra-"

Wangji kisses him.

He cups that precious face, pulls him close, and slides his lips over soft flesh in a tender expression of love he can't contain.

Wei Ying chose himself.

---

Jiang Cheng returns from his trip to the mountain with a thunderous expression on his face.

He disregards Lan Zhan and grabs Wei Wuxian's arm in a tough grip, dragging him away from the crowded tea house. Lan Zhan follows without a word, his expression frosty and eyes on Jiang Cheng.

"Your Grandmaster," He spits, "Is just as useless and worthless as you. All she could do is repair my meridians! My body was too damaged for anything else, she said!"

Wei Wuxian knows Wen Qing wrote the note they left by Jiang Cheng's side but he hadn't known what she had written.

It must've been reasonably convincing for Jiang Cheng to be convinced.

"That's-" He searches his mind to find words that would be appropriately sympathetic. Saying 'that's too bad' would be just rubbing salt on an open wound.

He may dislike Jiang Cheng, but some of the childhood affection still lingers. He doesn't wish to hurt his former shidi.

"I didn't know," He says finally, his heart throbbing in sympathy at Jiang Cheng's devastated expression. He briefly reconsiders his decision but Lan Zhan shifts discreetly by his side and Wei Wuxian remembers why he made that decision in the first place.

Jiang Cheng had been unworthy of the gift he had been given.

His shidi snarls and turns to Lan Zhan, "What are you doing here, Lan er-gonzi," He snarls, "Coming to triumph in our misery?"

Lan Zhan looks at him flatly, "I came to assist Wei Ying."

"Came to assist Wei Ying," Jiang Cheng mocks, his expression tight and furious, "Well, you're welcome to take him away! There's nothing left for him to destroy. Everything is gone. He invited the wrath of the Wens on our heads to protect you and that led to the destruction of my sect. He couldn't even repay that debt. His Grandmaster failed."

Jiang Cheng turns hate-filled eyes towards him, "You are a curse. My father should have left you to rot on the streets!"

"Jiang Wanyin!" Lan Zhan warns but Wei Wuxian places a hand on the Second Jade's arm to halt him.

"I'm taking you to Meishan to be with shijie." Wei Wuxian says calmly, "And then I'll go join the war efforts."

Jiang Cheng sneers before turning his head away, silent.

Wei Wuxian does as he says. He leaves Jiang Cheng in Jiang Yanli's care and heads to Qinghe with Lan Zhan. The war goes differently than before. He manages to kill Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao early, which gives them a big morale boost. But that's the only thing that goes their way for a long time.

"I'm going to use it," He tells Lan Zhan once, when the scales tip dangerously in the Wen's favor.

Lan Zhan studies him before nodding gracefully, "I will help."

There's no way to avoid using his cultivation method, not if he wants to keep people safe. He's more careful and restrained this time and he doesn't create the Yīn Hǔ Fú. But Mo Dao is Mo Dao. It attracts disapproval from people regardless.

Wei Wuxian doesn't care and Lan Zhan stays by his side without paying any heed to the grumblings of his clan. He goes to sleep every night with Lan Zhan's guqin notes in his ear and meditates every morning with the Cleansing purging the Resentful Energy from his body.

With a powerful and active Golden Core, Wei Wuxian can't use Mo Dao liberally without risking Qi Deviation. But he uses enough to help them win the war.

Wei Wuxian successfully retakes Lotus Pier and Yunmeng from the Wens. Jiang Cheng's hatred doesn't diminish and even Jiang Yanli grows distant after a while. Jiang Cheng's suffering and downfall hardens something in his soft shijie.

Wei Wuxian accepts that consequence quietly.

He hands Lotus Pier back to Jiang Cheng and stays on the front lines, leaving most of the freshly recruited disciples behind to protect his former martial siblings. When the war ends, argues to keep the Wen cultivators in better conditions. He makes sure everyone knows how much the Jiangs owe the Wen siblings, and saves the children and elderly.

With Jiang Cheng out of the Cultivation World and Wei Wuxian's reputation as a war hero, saving the Wen remnants is easier than it had been before.

---

Everyone is baffled when Jiang Wanyin names a new head disciple and Wei Wuxian never returns to Yunmeng. People gossip, sect leaders question, and new Jiang disciple flounder.

Neither Jiang Wanyin nor Wei Wuxian confirms it but it is clear to everyone that the Jiang Sect has, foolishly, kicked out its most powerful disciple. YunmengJiang remains wealthy but the Sect's influence diminishes significantly once Wei Wuxian leaves.

Other Sects, big and small, scramble to find Wei Wuxian, ready to offer him a place and get a powerful cultivator in their ranks. Letters pour in promising wealth and prestige.

Wei Wuxian ignores them all and settles in Cloud Recesses. He's content to teach a group of eye-wide Lan ducklings now to deal with resentful energy and limit the risk of Qi Deviation. He takes them on Nighthunts, teaches them real-life lessons, encourages creativity, and becomes a well-loved senior.

New YunmengJiang disciples aren't near as strong as their predecessors without someone to teach them properly.

People gossip and speculate as the years pass. They hint that he is wrong to leave his former sect behind but he doesn't care.

Wei Wuxian has Lan Zhan and Lan Sizhui. Wen Qing and Wen Ning live happily in a small farming village not far from Gusu. They intervene before Jin Guangyao kills Nie Mingjue. They save Lan Xichen from heartache. Jin Ling is born and has both of his parents.

That's all he needs to be happy.

YunmengJiang is no longer his responsibility.

#short prompts #time travel au #wei wuxian #lan wangji #no golden core transfer #anti jiang cheng

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