#the sunken land begins to rise again

[sunny-mercya]

Of Nightmarish Phobias

Poly! Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

Ever since the dreadful accident, sleep—something which wouldn't come easily anymore—had been deprived from the three of you, leaving you all sluggish to move through the day.

Stu would be the first one to wake up—even though he's more of a heavyweight sleeper, sleeping till late afternoon if no one would wake him up—and being a sprawler, his lanky long limps like a starfish hitting his two boyfriends every now and then, he could easily bring you into a koala hug like headlock.

Like mention before, Stu sleeps heavily—sunken so deep into the dreamland and in the comforts of bed, that he wouldn't even notice if the sky would shatter down onto earth.

Though now, besides Billy's rough way of waking him up—a slap to his thighs—the slightest hectic movement from you would bring him to a point of rise.

Turning onto his sides, towards you, Stu moves you into his arms. Holding you tight to

Where while Billy, who could sleep just as deep if wanted to—but didn't, liked to be on natural guard—would occasionally wake up on his own, checking up on you and taking a toilet break.

Billy was more the rational—doesn't mean he hadn't a soft side—person of comfort and Stu—who could be just as mean if needed—the one for emotional support. They're both their counterparts and at the same time they completed one another—like missing puzzles or Yin and Yang.

In all this you're the pull of glue which hold them both together. From the beginning of your relationship, you had giving them nothing but unconditional warm comfort of love, making sure they're happy and satisfied.

Though after the accident it all had changed and now it was their turn to shower you in unconditional love and support.

Simply because they adored you just as much as you do them and because you're their driving force—the sole motivation of reasons—why they decided to do what they do; delightful killing.

~~~

Stu groaned in pain, doubling over into a fetal position as your hand collided with his stomach in full force again. Sure, you had lost some strength in your muscles—on practically terrible days couldn't even stand on your own without having help or an aid—but you still were able to give a few good hits.

Whatever dream it was this time, it made your hand hitting down on repeat—like a cat would do when trying to catch a toy.

Another groan from Stu, had you hit his side this time. Should he try and wrap you into a blanket hug again or wake Billy up?

He couldn't tell how server your nightmare is this night. If it's just a common one—he really doesn't know the different types of nightmares and their names and neither does Billy, so they decided to give them their own ranks, for a more easily weighting out of options and methods to use against you—or one of the terrific ones.

The ranks of Nightmares goes like this; A common one means, letting you it trashing it out. Mid ones, wrapping you up into a blanket or tight hug. Terrible ones, waking you up. Terrific ones—where you're in a sense awake at the same time and giving yourself also a panic attack at the same time, without realising—would mean injecting you with a sedative.

More than often they had to use the Sedative during Common or terrible ones too.

Which they shouldn't, as the doctor said not to and only when absolutely necessary needed—the sedative was quite strong, making you sleep through a whole day and brings your mind into a state of fuzzy haze when awake again, that it turns you vulnerable and incoherent.

But when you're so immersed into your panic, they had no other options at hand, then to inject it into your blood.

»Fuck.« Billy cursed out loud when your hand landed onto his stomach, full force. Stu stifles a chuckle—serves you right, he thought, if I have to suffer so does you.

Billy sats up, blankets dropping down from him, turning his head to his boyfriends and squinting into the darkness a bit.

»Shut up Stu. Next time you wake me beforehand, when [Name] starts to trash around like this.« grumbled Billy, hissing shortly after when his thigh got slapped.

Christ, could you hit hard when unintentionally wanted to.

»Nah, make me«

»C'mon big guy, let's go to the couch to get at least some sleep.«

~~~

A few hours later, in the early mornings, your screaming woke Billy and Stu up. Like cold water being dumped on them, they tumbled from the couch and onto the floor.

Wide awake now, on full guard—you screaming was never a good thing—and ready to strike an attack to whatever intruder might have come, they untangled them from each other limps.

Bolting with quick steps back into the bedroom, switching the lights on and discovering you.

Sitting on the ground, against the nightstand. Head in hands, gripping your hair tightly—pulling at it—trembling uncontrollably in shivers.

»Baby, what's wrong?« asked Billy, voice soft and in a audible whisper. Slowly approaching you with Stu, crouching down and stretching his hand out into your view.

»He's here. He's here. He's here.« you chanted it like a mantra, rocking back and forth.

»Who's here, darling?«

»Dylan! He's here! He's back! He will hurt me again!« your head whipped up, looking at Billy with a wide fear filled face. Tears already flowing from you eyes as you pointed with a shaking finger at the wardrobe.

»Baby, baby, he isn't here, believe me.« said Stu, leaning against the wall. They know Dylan isn't here, have killed him after all to ensure your safety.

»Yes he is!« jumping up, pushing Billy and Stu aside and going to the wardrobe, you opened it wide—searching through the clothes.

You shirked in utterly disbelief. He was here, you're sure of it. You have saw him just mere minutes ago, when you woke up—saw his face looking down at you and the grin he had giving you.

It's a tragic and also a daily sight for them to see you so distressed in panic. How you destroyed yourself mentally further, with the slow rise of losing reality and growing into a paranoia.

»Nononononono« a hiccup left your lips, kneeling down, gripping your hair again and hitting your head against the floor. Mumbling incoherent words, messy nonsense things.

»Stu, get the Syringe« Billy pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. That's the third time in a row now, that they had to use the sedative. Thought they had no other choice or you would've injured yourself in your panicking state of hysteria more.

At this point they probably overdosing you with the chemical drug of calm, but what other choice had they? Sending you into therapy and they, the therapist signed you off into a mental institution? No chance.

Billy goes to you, heaving you up into his arms and moving you towards the bed. Sitting you and himself down onto the mattress, prying your hands from your head.

~~~

When Stu came back in, syringe in hand, Billy had managed to calm you down significantly, looking just a tad exhausted.

Billys grip around your body tightens, knowing well what was about to come next.

Once you took notice of the syringe in Stu's hand and the apologetic look he wore, you winced visibly in Billy arms.

You hated every type of needles. The sharp point brought a sense of pain filled imaginations. How it stabs into your skin, piercing a hole into it and either sucking your blood or letting it flow out.

Needles are a tool of something sinister.

Billy had pinned you down onto the mattress, hovering over you and this was the only cruel thing they had do to you—reminding you of the night when Dylan had hovered over you, grinning down, licking his lips in lust when he stabbed the scissors into you—so Billy lets you trash as much as you wanted.

»Let me go! Let me go! Nonono no. LET ME GO!« you screamed, trying to headbutt Billy, trying to free yourself.

You don't want the needle be pierced into your skin again, has it enough tiny disgusting holes already.

Stu joined, taking a seat next to you. Taking your arm from Billys grip, he injected the syringe into your skin.

While the drugs take their time to flow into your system, Billy and Stu had both engulfed you into their arms. Caressing you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, till you're completely numb of panic—drowsy and calm.

»Goodnight, love«

[balbigalum]

Of War & Men

pairing: Aemond Targaryen/Reader

chapter summary: Aemond’s wound is getting better but not at the speed Cole and the war needs it, reader find herself between men that don’t trust her judgment, the Maester think she is poisoning the Prince and it seems like keeping herself alive it’s not an easy task. Aemond begins to look at her.

summary: You knew war was ravishing your lands and when Targaryen soldiers came into your village demanding every healer to come with them and help the cause you knew that this war was something to be scared of. (In which reader is rumored to be a witch and prince Aemond needs her help after being deeply wounded.)

tags: war, witch!reader, ser criston cole is here, enemies to lovers kinda, prisoner of war to lovers kinda, i think reader is older than aemond because he is like 20 but is not mentioned so far, +18, word count: 2.6K  

READ ON AO3

a/n:   Hey, as always any feedback is welcomed, if anything is phrased weirdly or you see any mistake let me know and i'll se what i can do to fix it, this chapter is from aemond’s pov don’t worry we’re going back to the other format in the next, if u want to be added or removed from the tag-list let me know :P

Chapter 2 (<<previous chapter | next chapter>>)

His chest felt sunken, like his heart was being weighed down by everything dark and ugly. Guilt. Shame. Pain. He felt sorrow and a need to apologize. Why was he sorry? He couldn't remember. He felt his own mouth scream, filled with hurt, but he didn't hear it. He couldn't move his arms, and his legs felt weak. The only place where he could feel his heartbeat was his left eye, behind it, beating away, making his whole head ache, the sapphire digging painful in its place. He knew the sapphire caused him pain, that's why he had stuck it there in the first place. A reminder. But now, it felt unbearable. Everything felt clouded with a thick mist, he couldn't see any light around him.

And then, a woman.

He couldn't make out her figure clearly, but he wanted her closer, anything to not feel as alone. Her dress seemed worn out and dyed a dark color, her eyes looked at him, alert and focused, and in her hand a dagger. She was coming closer, the dagger was bright. Was that his father's dagger? Who was she? Why did she have it? Was she coming for him? Fear overtook him again. When had he become so frightened? He felt like a child. The look on her face reminded him of his mother the night he had lost his eye. With the same dagger she had demanded Lucerys Velaryon to pay his debt, everybody in court had said his mother lost her mind that night, lost her composure, even his own grandfather. But no, she was right. He had lost his eye and nobody had cared. Was this woman coming to take his other eye? Had he not suffered enough? 

He smelled burning flesh now, that was his fault. He had burned half of the riverlands, any sword that dared to stand against him, against his family. Something had hit him at some point, it was barely a scratch, at least at first. And then the fever started, he could handle the heat but it got worse, his head got a little more dizzy everyday, confusion was taking over him and he couldn't keep food down. The woman was gone now and Vaghar stood in front of him. He tried to reach out for her but she opened her mouth, rising from her throat he could see the flames. He could feel the heat. For the first time in his life the heat was too much. He tried to speak. To tell Vaghar to be calm, to obey, but he no longer had a voice. Behind the fire stood the same woman from earlier, long braid over her shoulder, and in her hands his own heart, burning from the inside out, copper and red, and still beating.

Prince Aemond Targaryen woke up with a loud gasp, his hands reaching out trying to hold onto something. He was alive. His heart was in his chest, even if the pain coming from it made it hard to believe.

He was in the master chamber of the Watch Tower he had adopted as headquarters. He could barely sit up, he tried to piece together what he was seeing. It was morning, he could hear a loud shriek coming from Vaghar, she was crying out for him. He looked around the room, the light coming from the open window felt blinding in his eye. He saw a woman sitting in the corner, long braid over her shoulder, her hands bound by irons. She was awake. How long had she been looking at him? She looked alert. Did Vaghar’s roar scare her? He tried to move again.

"Bring me Ser Criston," He said, but his voice was barely there. He needed water and a bath, and then he needed to mount Vaghar and get his army to Harrenhal. She lifted her hands, still bound. Right. He thought, She can’t. "Bring me–" He repeated, and gave up. Somebody must have been guarding the door, listening, because Ser Criston and a Maester bursted through it a second later. 

"Prince," Ser Criston said. "You're alive." The Maester made his way towards him, touching his forehead and checking how conscious he was. "My Prince," The old man said. "How do you feel?" He tried to sit up again but he was too weak to do so, the Knight rushed to help him lay against the pillows in a more comfortable position. "I feel fine." That was partially a lie, he felt… Better, but he was sure he couldn't stand up if he tried. The Maester’s eyes turned suspicious.

"What did you do?" He demanded, his voice laced with disgust as he peeled the bandage from Aemond’s chest, he was talking to the woman. He wasn't looking at her, Aemond could tell the Maester was furious for some reason. He watched as the old man touched the greenish paste he had lathered on his chest. The woman did not say a word. Maester Olwyn dug his fingers in the paste and brought them up to his nose, he gasped loudly. 

“What did you do?” He repeated loudly. “This is Red Mouth, this is poison. You poisoned him.” He was screaming at this point, yet the woman remained unfaced. Ser Criston Cole yanked her by her arm, forcing her to stand up. “What did you do?” Ser Criston asked this time, she looked at him, her eyes were deep and calm. “I did what you asked me to. I saved your prince.” She spoke and her voice sounded venomous. Olwyn was trying to find a cloth, something, anything to clean Prince Aemond’s wound. “Is not poison.” She said. “He won’t die. He will recover.” 

“No.” The Maester said. “I’ll bring boiling water and clean the wound, I will heal it in the way I was taught, none of this nonsense.” She disagreed with Olwyn, Aemond could tell in the way she was pursing her lips and staring at him. “If you break the protective layer, infection will set in.” She said, simple, making her point clear. “Free me now, he is alive.” She was talking to Ser Criston now and he looked back at Aemond. “No. No until the Prince can walk again.” She huffed. “You made a promise, have you got no honour, Ser?” She asked him mocking.

Ser Criston Cole grabbed her by the hair making her hiss. “You will attend to the Prince until he is healed. I don’t care what you do, you’ll wash his clothes or scrub his floors, but you won’t leave until he is back to his former strength.” He dropped her. Maester Olwyn was coming closer to Aemond now, he had a wet cloth in his hand. “No,” Aemond said. “Don’t.” “My Prince, I need to clean the wound.” He shook his head at how dense the Maester could be, he didn’t like the Maester, he didn’t like the advice he gave him in the council and he didn’t like his old and clammy hands touching him. “Let her do what she bids.” Aemond said, Olwyn tried to protest but turned his head down once he made eye contact with the Prince. Aemond was tired, he didn’t need to waste the little strength he had left in convincing the old man, the Maester knew better than to question him. 

“Ser Criston,” He called. “Bring me food and water, don’t let anyone but you and the woman into this room.” His voice sounded strangled, even for his own ears. He closed his eye after that. His head hurt, he thought about how many of his men had seen him in this state. He could recall landing on Vaghar, finding his way into the Watch Tower, black spots clouding his view. He couldn’t allow them to see him this way. Bare and weak. Wounded. Mortal. He wasn’t such thing, he couldn’t let them know. He was the one-eye prince, the kinslayer, he was no common man, he did not bleed.

He laid there motionless. Breathing felt easier, but nothing else did.

He was in and out of sleep after that, he figured out someone must have given him water and some food during the small periods of clarity he got, it must have been Criston or maybe Olwyn, not the woman. She was still there. They had unchained her but still made her wear the irons on her wrists, a sign, he supposed, she was not to be freed until Aemond could ride Vaghar again. He looked at her, the room was impregnated with the smell of whatever herb she was grinding on a mortar, the smell was soft… Maybe it was braavossi jasmine, the same one that grew in King’s Landing. It probably wasn’t, his home was too far for it to be the same flower, still he wanted to believe it was. He knew she wasn’t the one that had tended to him between dreams, she was no maid, he could tell that at least. 

“How long–” He began asking and felt his throat burn a little. “How long until I’m better?” He asked, she didn’t look up from her concoction, the smell was becoming stronger, he let it soak him, he could pretend to be at King’s Landing for just a second. “You are better,” She said. “You were dying and now you no longer are.” She stood up and brought him a cup of what she had been preparing. “Here, it will help you feel less sore. I know Maester Olwyn should be coming in soon, he said you need a bath and to get out of bed a little.” She didn’t sound like she agreed with Olwyn’s judgment, she put the tea next to him and didn’t try to help him sit up. 

The tea did soothe him, he asked the woman her name while she drew the curtains around the bed to keep the servants from seeing him while they prepared the tub for his bath. Her name had something foreign to it, it wasn’t fully westerosi, then again the common folk from the east coast of westeros often adopted names from the former valyrian freehold, things and words they’d heard during trading. One of his ship masters always told the tale about a young boy named Daor, the valyrian word for “Thank you”, the kid had been part of the common folk of dragonstone, his parents probably had met traders from Volantis or Pentos and the word had stuck out to them. Aemond always thought it was a foolish story, but he had to admit he liked her name, or maybe it was the tea.

The copper tub sat in the middle of his chamber, Olwyn helped him in. His muscles were sore and he felt weak, the water reached only to the middle of his chest to not touch the bandage and what she had put over the wound. The water was warm, just warm. “Wash him.” Olwyn demanded her, a resentful look painted her features. “I-” She said, and stopped herself, she looked at Aemond and then at the Maester, she was calculating her options. Aemond kept his gaze on her, she was thinking her next step carefully, she was smart. 

She kneeled down next to the tub, unhappy, and put her hand into the water. “This is not hot enough,” She said. “It is.” The Maester replied exasperated, he had found an arm chair to sit, he was too old to kneel on the floor. “It’s not.” She said coldly. “Isn’t he a Targaryen? This should be boiling if you want to bring him back to health.” “Those are nothing but gossip and tales from wet nurses who believed Visenya Targaryen bathed herself in scalding water.”

Aemond closed his eye and laid back. “She is right.” He said, his voice finally sounded like himself after so long. Hot water always made them feel better, when they were kids and got a runny nose, or when Aegon broke his hand training, or when Halaena was pregnant, they always craved the comfort of hot water, he had needed it himself when he lost his eye. His mother, raised a Hightower, never understood it, time after time they had to convince her to not listen to the Maesters about the subject. 

After some bickering she managed to shut the Maester up and boiled a small vessel over the fireplace of the room. He didn’t pay much attention after that, she changed her bandages and Cole entered the room a little while after, he brought news of their campaign. They discussed what they could but Cole was still worried, he needed the Prince to be able to march with the army as soon as possible.

So Cole asked her… again. “When is he going to leave the room? When will he be cured?” She sighed. “Twenty days and twenty nights.” “Twenty days? You’re mad, we don’t have twenty days.” She shrugged. “He is wounded, not the whole army… I don’t see why you can’t keep fighting the war.” Aemond sized her up, she knew why. Criston Cole was growing more and more irritated by the second. “We don’t have twenty days.” He repeated. “You must do something.” ”You must do something or we will feed you to starving hounds” “You must do something or we will break all of your bones and leave you to die.” He knew Cole’s commands were always held under the shadow of a threat and by the looks of her, she knew it too. 

Aemond had a growing desire to be left alone, or at least to no longer hear people quarrel. If it truly took three weeks for him to recover he needed time to think, to move the pieces on his board. Maybe he could do it in only a fortnight. Still, it was too much time to lose.

“There is another way,” She said. “But it might kill me.” “No, we won’t accept any dark ritual done to the Prince.” Olwyn was yelling now, Aemond sat there considering, maybe he needed wichcraft. “It is not a dark ritual.” She looked at Aemond in the eye, she was talking directly to him, Aemond wondered if she had ever looked at him directly all this time she had been held here. “Can we speak without interruptions?” Her shoulders tensed a little. “... My prince.” It sounded so unnatural on her voice, Aemond liked it, she was pleading for his attention. “Olwyn, the evening is getting dark, shouldn't you attend to the crows?” Aemond asked him, a small smile wanting to break through. “Ser Criston, please see him out and guard the door to this room.” 

She explained to him she needed to leave the Tower, that she wouldn’t run away but it needed to be done during the night and she needed his cloak, more specifically the cloak he was wearing when they brought him in wounded and almost unconscious. She looked agitated, maybe her life was truly at risk. “It has my blood in it.” He commented. “I know.” She replied. He found it amusing, he agreed under one condition. She was to take Cole with her, according to her she could fully cure him basically overnight but he had to let her out of the Tower, he was no fool, this might as well be a trick to gain her freedom. Cole would make sure she kept her word.

taglist: xcharlottemikaelsonx;  lol-im-done; @rosaryos ;  teddyluvs;  boofy1998;  yor72 ;  @blazeflays ;  xonsd ;  tinawhynot

She got the cloak and he called Ser Criston into the room, after explaining to him his duty Aemond dismissed them, he was tired and needed some sleep. “Go now,” He said and then looked at her. “Your Prince commands you.” It made her shudder.

(<<previous chapter | next chapter>>)

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 26 - You look awful

Warnings: injuries

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: aftermath of the taking of the tower. The avengers reunite.

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

2014

NEW YORK

Tony feels sick.

Pulled into consciousness as he feels the air on his fall face; he twists in the wrongness of being held and flown all at once.

“Tony— no!” a male voice calls.

He feels like he’s falling even as he’s picked up again, pressure on his stomach; the movement jarring and causing him to vomit into the air.

“Oh—no.”

He looks up and sees Sam and his wings, before the ground rushes to meet him.

.

Natasha hugs Clint, taking his head in her hands and pushing her forehead to his.

“You look awful,” she whispers, her hand coming away with blood.

“Are you—“

She sees Yelena behind him and her face morphs.

“You both came to rescue me?”

She pulls Yelena into a hug.

Steve stands awkwardly behind them and Yelena looks to him.

“I’m umm, Steve,” he says waving a little.

“I know who you are, Captain America,” she smiles.

He nods, chagrined.

“How do we get out?” Clint asks looking around, “where Tony, Pepper, Maria and Sam? Have you found them?”

Steve nods, and Natasha sits back down, the sun rising, overhead.

It feels like it’s been such a long night.

“They should be on the ground now,” he replies.

“Sam will come back once Tony is safe.”

Clint looks around, Christmas paraphernalia everywhere.

He feels sad, and guilty that they weren’t here to help.

Despite all the building movements, there’s only parts of the budding where the concrete has fallen, smashed and sunken; some of it still feels untouched.

“What happened here?”

Steve paces around.

“The electricity went out, I think someone tried to attack the building - there were shadows around—“

“We killed some Hydra men,” Yelena adds helpfully.

“Oh, okay,” he pauses, “it must have been them? They must have entered the building, because Jarvis wasn’t responding, then the building shut down. I couldn’t leave, until you and Bruce came,” he says to Natasha.

“Do you think he’s okay?” he adds worriedly.

Natasha nods.

“He’ll be okay, the Hulk will take care of him,” she assures.

“We found Maria, and then Sam, and Pepper; but Tony, it took us a while to get to him, he was knocked out,” she finishes.

“What’s a Jarvis?” Yelena asks .

“AI,” Clint tells her, “but like a good one that helps a lot.”

She sees Sam in the sky and points.

They move to the edge of the building and he waves as he lands safely next to them.

“Who’s next?” he asks, offering a hand.

“How’s Tony?” Natasha asks, pushing Yelena forward.

“He’s okay, he’s with Pepper, they’re taking them both to hospital now. Maria is organising everyone well.”

The sun is brighter now, opening over the city, as it begins the day; most blissfully unaware of the commotion of the tower.

“I’ll come back,” he promises, taking Yelena’s hand, “and I won’t drop you.”

He grasps his back.

“Good, because that would be a stupid way to die,” she deadpans.

Sam nods, and takes off with her; leaving Steve, Clint and Natasha standing on the precipice of the building.

“Is your head okay?” Natasha asks softly, sitting on the edge of the open building.

Clint perches next to her.

“Flew threw a window with your sister in hand,” he tells her, “then there a building coming down around us.”

Natasha checks him, and finds a gash in his hairline.

“I think it’ll need stitches,” she winces.

He touches, and copies her face, “I guess we will see Tony at the hospital anyway.”

Sam returns and she motions for him to take Clint, who argues to take Natasha and then rolls his eyes and takes Steve instead.

“Your turn next okay?” Natasha tells him, nudging him, “otherwise I’m kicking you off the building and Sam will have to save you.”

Clint grumbles and nods, and they wait side by side as the sun continues to rise.

.

The hospital is not Natasha’s favourite place, but for her friends she’ll take it, reframe it as a place of healing, and supposed safety.

One look at Yelena’s face, though, and she can feel the anxiety roll off her.

In an instant, she grabs at her hand and squeezes.

“It’s okay,” she says in Russian, “it’s not for us.”

It does nothing to alleviate the anxiety and fear but somehow pushes her to follow Clint into the med bay to get his head stitched.

“I’ll stay with him,” she offers, watching Natasha as she looks around and tries to see any of the others.

Her hypervigilance does nothing to help calm Clint as he does the same, both of them stressed at the outcome for Tony and Bruce, even Maria and Pepper.

Steve and Sam had left them - wanting to figure out the Tower and make sure if there was anything to happen they were there to help.

Steve also reasoned that he was probably the only one strong enough to move anything and Sam had the knowledge to reboot the tower, or at the very least thought he did.

If they could do that, then maybe, they could find out who tried to infiltrate the tower.

The doctor starts with Clint and Natasha rises, Yelena stays and nods swapping positions, so she can see what the doctor is doing.

For Natasha it feels more protective than curious.

She doesn’t really know what happened between them in the hours they were alone together, but the tentative trust seems to be something that both of them had built.

Leaving, Natasha sees Pepper’s blonde hair, and almost runs towards her, her relief at finding her mostly unscathed, except for what looks like a few bruises and cuts, is explicit as she hugs her.

“How’s Tony?” she asks.

Pepper starts to cry, and apologizes for it.

“I’m sorry, I just.. The building fell underneath us and I thought he was dead. We were trapped before - his arm, was caught. He’s in surgery now, they say it’s just to make sure the bones heal right.”

She hides her face and Natasha rubs her back.

“Come with me,” she says, and leads her to Yelena and Clint, sitting her down gently.

“He’ll be okay,” she promises.

Clint says hello, and Natasha introduces Yelena, who nods but doesn’t say anything, unsure what to do with tears and a weeping woman.

“Do you know where Maria is?” Natasha asks, wanting to set eyes on everyone, now they weren’t in a falling building.

Pepper shrugs.

The doctor had finished with Clint, giving them the instructions for cleaning the wound, then looked around.

“Does anyone else need anything?”

Shaking her head, Natasha smiles.

“No thanks,” she nods, despite the bruises on her ribs where the Hulk had grabbed her, or even the headache that seemed to be building from before the day started.

The doctor checks with the others and then leaves them in the room.

“God I’m tired,” she admits, openly.

“Me too,” Clint groan, leaning back on the plinth.

Yelena sighs.

Taking a moment in the quiet, no one dares to break the silence, each in their own thoughts.

.

Tony lays unconscious, surrounded by Natasha, Rhodey, Clint, Steve, Sam and Pepper.

Yelena had left, with a promise to return, swearing to Natasha she’d be back.

Bruce still hadn’t turned up, but there’s been no reports of the Hulk smashing anything, and Fury had promised to look whilst they all waited for Tony to wake up.

Natasha stands, feeling strange and not wanting to be around anyone.

It started to feel too much.

Clint looks at her sharply before she signs she needs to go to the toilet.

He nods and leans back into his chair.

Leaving, she looks for a stairwell, a spare room, anything to break down in.

She feels the flood of emotions and the let down from the adrenaline, feels the loss of home and safety in an area that was supposed to be the safest.

She could have lost her friends.

Family.

Natasha feels tears coming as she squats in the corner of the room, obscured by chairs and lets the emotions come.

.

[whenmemoriesfrost]

13 Books

tagged by @sumire-no-nikki, thanks for tagging me! your answers definitely added new books to my tbr :)

1. The last book I read:

the last book i finished was Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. it was enormous and engrossing. i haven't had much luck finding something to follow it up with.

2. A book I recommend:

Cuddy by Benjamin Myers!! it's about saint cuthbert, durham, and durham cathedral, told in 4 parts that take place in approx. 600, 1300, 1800 and 2020 AD. it's totally magical, mythological and stunning.

3. A book that I couldn’t put down:

the glutton by A.K. Blakemore is my favourite book i've read so far this year. i was completely captivated by it, the prose was so exquisite, vivid and precise. i think of it constantly.

4. A book that I’ve read twice (or more):

i have re-read one of my all time favourite novels, The Sunken Land Begins to Rise Again, 4 times i think? it's damp, fleshy and weird. i find every sentence to be a total marvel.

5. A book on my TBR:

i have a ton of short story collections on my TBR because i read them so slowly (this is bc i write short fiction so i have to be really focused when i read it) including my final Karen Russell collection St Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves.

6. A book I’ve put down:

i've had such bad luck lately. I feel like I'm DNFing everything. The Variations by Patrick Langley.

7. A book on my wish list:

ALL of the upcoming releases by my favourite indie publishers <3

8. A favorite book from childhood:

mine is also A Series of Unfortunate Events! I actually think a lot of my current taste was defined by loving these books as a child. I also loved Little Women :)

9. A book you would give to a friend:

Kala by Colin Walsh was a really engaging recent read that I think a lot of people would enjoy. Also the Delivery by Margarita García Robayo for something quick and captivating.

10. A book of poetry or lyrics you own:

I don't read much poetry, so most of the poetry I have is borrowed from friends.

11. A nonfiction book you own:

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders - a book about analysing 19th century Russian short stories.

12. What are you currently reading:

The Manningtree Witches by A.K. Blakemore, which I'm not sure if i'll finish (feels weird bc her other novel The Glutton changed my brain chemistry, but it's just not as strong)

13. What are you planning on reading next:

hmmmm i think the Alternatives by Caoilinn Hughes! long live irish fiction!

I tag some new mutuals @darkacademicc and @medstudiees :)

[fat-hedonistic-hogs]

Prompt: Windblade in a sumo match against Mistress Of The Flame/Flab

Windblade was a little nervous as she stepped into the ring. She felt the familiar eyes of her friends and fans on her body as she tightened her mawashi pulling the fabric deep between her blubbery cheeks making sure it was fastened in place. The last thing she wanted was to have a belt slip unlike Firestar she wasn't too keen on being exposed like that even if the fabric was ALL she was wearing letting her exposed chest flop free. This was a charity match no titles on the line just a hype generating bout between Windblade and Mistress. Solus was watching from her booth on the sidelines being looked after by Lifeline and her dozen or so paradron medics so Windblade could feel the pressure to perform well.

Her opponent the Mistress of the flame was guided into the ring by some medics of her own. They waved a slice of pizza infront of her to keep her moving each step she took shaking the entire stadium. She was barely able to move with her weight, ass and gut dragging along the ring arms sunken in her own flab and out to her sides.

Smacking her cheeks Windblade crouched down and assumed the traditional starting pose her ass pushed back giving the audience and cameras a good shot of the dozen or so advertising stickers plastered to her bumper. "BEGIN!" Chromia shouted the match starting with Mistress letting out a thunderous "BWOOOOOOOOORP!" Her belch slamming into Windblade pushing her back from the sheer force of the powerful gas. It was her strategy. She was barely mobile and unable to perform complex acrobatic maneuvers. She'd use her defense and bulk to wear her opponents down with powerful belches and let them tire themselves our trying to move her sheer mass. When they exhausted themselves a burst of gas or a belly flop would end the match. Windblade knew better bracing herself she dodged the next belch and tried to go for Mistress' legs. A sound strategy on paper but her leg flab was so large trying to sweep her feet out from under her was a herculean task in and of itself. She'd have to play the waiting game. Mistress was sturdy but a fat immobile blob like her couldn't stand up forever. She'd get tired and be easy to throw off her game.

"Looks like the Mistress of the flab's iron clad defense is holding up! Will our local hero Windblade be able to topple this belching behemoth? Or will she wind up pinned beneath our Mistress' cheeks like so many other fighters before her?" Chromia yelled into the mic providing commentary for the match and exciting the crowd even more.

"I can't just let her play me..." Windblade thought grunting as she side stepped another belch. Closing the distance between herself and her opponent she landed a powerful palm strike to Mistress' belly hitting a particularly delicate spot making the titan of a femme let out an even larger belch than the ones she had been using to attack Windblade. Her aim was off of course but the extra strong belch did send the Mistress sliding back a bit from the recoil of her own gas...

"Checkmate." Windblade said with a smirk as she hit that spot again getting another bassy eruption of gas moving the mound of dough back another inch. "BANG!" "Burrrrrp! "BANG!" "BWWOOOOURP~" The cycle repeated itself with Windblade forcing her opponent back inch to the edge of the ring.

"Unbelievable! Windblade is managing to MOVE the immovable mistress!" Chromia called out watching along with the crowd as the samurai turned sumo slammed her palms deeper into Mistress's bruised and beaten paunch.

"You're OUT!" Windblade grunted striking a fighting stance before with both hands she struck Mistress' gut a explosive belch rising from her opponents gut and exploding out with the force of a bomb. A Shockwave rippled across Mistress' stomach a wave of flab moving across her body as every inch of her fat was sent backwards. She tumbled out of the ring crashing to the ground and letting out one last defeated belch as she fell.

Windblade stood victorious above her opponent determined to finish the fight properly she smirked and planted her rear down onto the defeated sumo's face earning herself a long rest after toppling a near unbeatable opponent.

"It's over! The winner is Windblade!" Chromia cheered! Raising Wimdblade's arm high into the air as the crowd chanted her name.

[hauntedrock]

Turning corners takes some time to understand / you spend your nights all out of line / and any woman you might try / to take her by the hand / and brag until the day begins to shine / rolling barrels down the middle of the street / out there dancing on the vine / you feel the fire from the bottom of your feet / and listen as the spirits fill your mind / I hear that song of the seasick sailor now / I´ve gone away / but I might be back somehow / I´m off to find the land of the midnight cure / I hear that song / I hear that song for sure / I hear that song / I hear that song for sure / losing powers takes some days to comprehend / you try again but just don´t realize / you’re calling spirits that will never ride again / on sunken ships that never more will rise / keeping pearls in the bottom of a cup / for any woman that comes passing by / your heart is turning so you want to fill her up / and find a way to never have to die / I hear that song of the seasick sailor now / I´ve gone away / but I might be back somehow / I´m off to find the land of the midnight cure / I hear that song / I hear that song for sure / I hear that song / I hear that song for sure / the wind / the rain / that pain so pure / I hear that song / I hear that song for sure / I hear that song / I hear that song for sure

[rosavulpes]

He'd been drifting aimlessly for some time now , body remaining still , offering no resistance to the currents that were carrying him along with them on their journey across the ocean bed .

The desire to let himself close his eyes , and resume his sleep was strong . He'd become so familiarized with sunken lands around him that the fear of awakening in an unknown place ? It was nonexistent to him . Besides , would that be a bad thing for him at this point in his long life ?

The more that time continued to pass him by , the more that he couldn't help but feel that the world above these waves no longer held a place for him .

When he thought of home ? He thought of the earth's vast oceans , the memories of Elysion during it's days of glory beginning to feel more and more like a bygone dream .

Lightly shaking his head , he knew that such thoughts would only cause the Maenads to worry over him . As they'd talked before of the toll that their duties had taken on them , and him . Encouraging him to at least return to his true form on land once every few months as to not lose sight of who he once was .

Accustomed as he'd become to his aquatic form . " The beast of the sea " the name he'd been given in stories by the few that had been able to catch glimpses of him on the surface .

Propelling himself upwards , towards the surface of the water . The darkness around would gradually start to fade . The waters becoming brighter , more active as higher numbers of fish , and other aquatic life became more common place .

It wasn't that he disagreed with them , at times he wondered if he should simply join them in sleep within the holy crystals that still remained around Elysium . But , he knew himself too well . If he were to enter into that long sleep ? he would most certainly lose his desire to awaken from it again .

In his eyes , perhaps not yet theirs , he questioned if the one he was searching for would ever reappear .

The era of the silver millennium had ended . The world had been reborn anew , the old burned away .

The golden crystal that he guarded to this day , remained in dormancy , without it's owner to reawaken it's true power it was nothing more than just a crystal . A relic of a forgotten era , no different than he , and the Maenad .... and perhaps one that should remain buried underneath the blue waves with them .

As his head broke above the surface , he was quick to rise out of the waters , and take to the clouds .

Ascending higher , and higher still until his form was indistinguishable between the clouds , and blue skies .

This wasn't his first time soaring above their cities , the new peoples of Earth . It was different . From the sights , the architecture , the culture , and their speech . All different , but it wasn't a bad thing . It was good to see that progress continued , even if they were no longer a part of it .

They lived in relative peace , their days spent worrying over what he would deem trivial . Attaining wealth , status , love , and happiness . So who where they to intrude upon this new future ? Why not allow the mistakes of the past to remain where they belonged ?

Letting loose a loud , echoing cry . He knew that his voice wouldn't reach those below . It would be another attempt , as always , to attempt to find him .

Flapping his wings once more to remain at his current altitude , he'd continue to soar above the cities as he traversed further inland , waiting to see if maybe this time , just maybe , he'd get a reaction out of the golden crystal . To see if maybe it would be able to sense the presence of Prince Endymion whom he could only pray had been reborn into this new era , if not now ... then perhaps tomorrow , or maybe the day after , month , or another year ... still .

As day turned to night , then night into day , he would come to rest .

Tucking his silvery wings closer to his chest , his stature becoming smaller in size . Wings becoming arms , feathers and scales becoming his clothes .

At first , he'd remained knelt for some time . Even stumbling for a bit , before gaining his footing . Staring down at his hands , and shoes , and the apparel that adorned his human form . Strange to think that this body had now become so foreign to him , whereas his aquatic form had now become what he felt to be natural for him .

Curling his gloved fingers inwards into softly held , balled fists a few times over as if testing their dexterity . He'd soon feel something cold start to wash over him .

Looking upwards , towards the grey skies above . He'd close his eyes , basking in the rain that started to fall . Not caring that his clothes were starting to becoming damp in the downpour .

If memory served , the city called Tokyo was closet to him , and the best place to begin his search again if he wanted to return to the waters of the sea as soon as possible . It was the major hub for these islands , and would offer the highest chance of finding Prince Endymion .

For now however , he didn't intend to to walk the streets during their hours of daylight as it was easier to walk their streets when there were fewer numbers of them .

Seeking shelter underneath the cover of a nearby tree , he'd lean against it as he lowered himself down towards the grass . Materializing an ocarina with the aid of his magic , and beginning to play a song to help the time pass ...

@dreamlune

[bormgans]

EMPTY SPACE: A HAUNTING - M. John Harrison (2012)

EMPTY SPACE: A HAUNTING – M. John Harrison (2012)

I liked everything I’ve read by Harrison so far: Light, Nova Swing, the 2017 short story collection You Should Come With Me Now, and his latest 2020 novel The Sunken Land Begins to Rise Again. I liked it a lot. And I plan to read a whole lot more of Harrison too. But I stopped reading Empty Space at 60% in. Not that it doesn’t have merit. The novel got glowing reviews on Speculiction and A Sky of…

[sunny-mercya]

Chasing Shadows

Percy Jackson x Male Reader

Fandom -> Percy Jackson Series

Masterlist

Percy had known, more gotten it told—rather offhandedly and in a rude, dismissive and snarky snide manner—about your mental health from the very beginning, when he had first woken up in Camp Half-Blood.

It hadn't deterred him to befriend you—the skittish, anxious and shy boy, with a sunshine like smile and an heart filled with too much joy and genuine love.

So now, when summer vacation had started again for Percy—after almost a whole year since the Battle against Kronos rising had been won and over—to be back at Camp, hopefully for some tranquility and peaceful time, the very first thing he did—besides bringing his luggage into his Cabin—was to check up on you.

You're a full time camper since birth and the only few times you had gotten even remotely out of Camp, had been during two Quests—where Percy had dragged you along for non real purpose in all honesty—and the final battle. Percy knew how cramped and suffocating you felt in camp, so he hopes the present he had brought for you—would cast a smile on your lips.

Jogging around, having a hard time finding you as you weren't in your usual spots and neither were you in the Apollo Cabin—which wasn't your Cabin to stay in as Apollo isn't your other parental half, but due an oath binding between Apollo and Zephyr—your actual parental half—you (and all other children of Zephyr, which were none thought as you're the only one) are allowed to stay in the Apollo Cabin as well.

Percy had heard from Annabeth—which was a bit surprising as the both of you are not familiar with one another at all—and Will, which was to be expected as you're his unofficial—hopefully soon officially—adopted little brother, how your mental health had taken a drastic shift into a worsen state than it had been before.

When Percy checked the Medical wing and couldn't saw in there either, there had been only more place left in his mind—where you probably could've been hiding, a small offside shore by the lake—and Percy swore, if you're not there either, he would go to Chiron and and report you missing.

~~~

Percy thanked Zeus and possibly God above with sincere gratitude, that you're indeed by the lake.

Though when Percy was almost near you—eyes widen in shock, breath caught in his lungs, once he saw your appearance vaguely close enough—he skidded into an stop, stumbling a few steps forward and landed with his knees—probably scraping them open—in the rough pebble and rock filled sand.

He crawled the last bit of way, sitting himself right in front of you. You didn't seem to register him at all, in a sort of daze you are—in your own world, lost in empty thoughts—staring with with dull eyes, void of emotions and life, at him or more like through him as if he was glass.

»Hey, [Nickname], I almost thought about to report you missing. You're way too good at hiding, seashell,« chuckled Percy, placing his hands over yours, wanting to recoil his touch back instantly—shuddering in a flinch, when feeling how leathery and boney your hand was—but didn't, giving you a squeeze and interwoven his fingers with yours.

What happened to you? Thought Percy, swallowing hard as his breath threatened again to be stuck in his lungs. Licking over his lips—slightly nibbling and pulling on the skins.

»[Name],« he called your name, in a softer hushing voice, out again. Caressing with his thumbs over your hand and again you didn't reacted.

While giving you a short full body scan, Percy engulfed you slowly into a hug—pulling you close and slowly down to the sandy and scratchy pebble rock ground.

Your skin, which had a once healthy glow to it, looked now ashen pale sickly and had a leathery grease to it. Cheekbones, chubby baby fat gone, hollowed and sunken in—so were your eyes and eye-bags beneath it, darker than ever.

Percy could tell that you had lost significantly lost weight, leaving you more than just scrawny—boney skinny, with arms so thin like toothpicks and your ribcage showing through—in a sense—your shirt.

By Zeus, you looked more like a corpse than an actual human being.

~~~

When the sun had started to set ever so slowly in the late afternoon, Percy picked you up—realising, his mind now completely catching up on the fact how, weight losses you actually are—after talking your ear off with everything he had on his mind, unconsciously making you fall asleep and carrying you back to the Apollo Cabin.

Laying you down onto your bed, Percy sat down next to you for a few more minutes of moments, while Will—who had nodded at him solemnly when he had entered the Cabin with you—passed out from exhaustion—in his arms—had drawn the curtains close around your bed as you never liked it to sleep in such open space, where everyone could watch you.

Percy examined your wrist, seizing up the freshly healed scars—which definitely weren't from a fight or sparring—he had a hunch, a fucking good hunch, to what was happening to you and leaves you in nothing but a mere unresponsive hollowed shell of decay.

Clenching his eyes shut for a second and blinking away the tears, which started to build up with a pressuring burning in his eyes, Percy looked at Will—wanting some answers, clarification and confirmation.

»How long?«

»Probably started shortly after the final battle against Kronos and Luke.«

»Why didn't you guys told me sooner?«

Will shrugged his shoulders, folding some clothes—putting them down onto the empty chair—and checking your nightstand cabinet, mentally noting down which of your medications and prescriptions needed to be refilled.

»Everyone handles Traumatic experiences differently and I've noticed it rather late, which mind you I'm still upset with myself about it, the telltale signs. Then again, you know how my brother is, never wanting to burden anyone,«

Percy swallowed, remembering it clearly—the traumatic experience, Will was talking about;

Luke in your arms, whispering apologies with his last remaining breaths to you and you reassuring him, that while you're still angry with him—about his stupidity of decision he made—you would forgive him and telling a lie of how everything gonna be okay.

And then, Percy had only walked away for a few seconds to get Will or Lord Apollo, when a piercing scream—your scream, so full of desperation and sorrow—echoed through, Percy stopped dead in his tracks.

Turning around fast, Percy looked at you with an horrific expression. You who is covered in blood and other bodily things, which he not dared to say out loud.

Lukes blood to be exact, then Luke—while still talking to you, in his hoarsely dying voice—had exploded, Kronos last dying act of breath itself, into a gruesome splattering thickly bloody mass.

So yeah, Percy knew very well what Will was talking about and a topic which had never been addressed properly with you, without sending you into a hysterical panic.

~~~

When Percy had retired back to his own Cabin, falling easily into sleep, he knew the dream—which were more a foretelling—he had, was a sign that this summer was just like the last few ones—filled with prophecies and adventures.

And in all this where you—getting dragged around, hair turning from ash grey into a snow white and leaving you more vulnerable crippled than before—losing perhaps the last part of your sanity to continue to live on.

Percy felt scared. He couldn't lose you. He just couldn't and he won't as you're his everything—his seashell to his waves.

[fairlycaught]

Don’t wait for your life to start. I was always waiting for my life to start. Everything that happened seemed like a good beginning, but it turned out to be the thing itself.

M. John Harrison, The Sunken Land Begins to Rise Again

[doormouseetcappendix]

My 2020 Summer Audio-Book Log Pt 2. 

Lovecraft Country by Matt Ruff (2016) read by Kevin Kenerly 

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones (2020) read by Stephen Graham Jones 

Darkly: Black History & America’s Gothic Soul by Leila Taylor (2019) read by Leila Taylor 

The Night Land by William Hope Hodgson (1912) read by Drew Ariana 

The Sandman by Neil Gaiman (1989) read by Neil Gaiman, James Macavoy, Riz Ahmed, Samantha Morton, Andy Serkis, Micheal Sheen, Bebe Nuewirth, Taron Eagerton, Kat Dennings 

A Peculiar Peril: The Misadventures Of Jonathan Lambshead by Jeff Vandermeer (2020) read by Raphael Corkill 

I’m Thinking Of Ending Things by Ian Reid (2016) read by Candace Thaxton 

The Sunken Land Begins To Rise Again by M. John Harrison (2020) read by Max Dowler 

Frankenstein In Bahgdad: A Novel by Ahmed Saadawi (2013) read by Eduardo Ballerini & Kaleo Griffith 

On A Night In Lonesome October by Roger Zelzany (1993) read by Salome Strangelove 

[ahb-writes]

Traditionally, innovative writing is a reconnaissance. It confers fresh perspective on the human subject, invents a way to capture the evidence of change a little way in advance. Or does it? Perhaps it’s collateral to change, perhaps one of the things it does is to express an anxiety about change that’s already in progress: thus accelerating social processes out of its own nervous anticipation of the possibility of change to come.

M. John Harrison

[bookcoversonly]

Title: The Sunken Land Begins to Rise Again | Author: M. John Harrison | Publisher: Gollancz (2020)

[kaggsy59]

“deep and false waters” - exploring the Sunken Land over @ShinyNewBooks #mjohnharrison

“deep and false waters” – exploring the Sunken Land over @ShinyNewBooks #mjohnharrison

Regular readers of the Ramblings will be well aware of my love of the writing of M. John Harrison – goodness knows, I’ve covered it often enough here! Having encountered his Viriconium stories back when I was in my early twenties, I’ve followed his work with interest (and great joy) ever since. His books are impossible to categorise, which I love; ranging from fantasy and sci fi to more realistic…

[iravaid]

Thinking about Deep Sea Gangrel Mariners - ones that have somehow found their way down into the deepest reaches of the ocean and almost never breach the surface of the water again.

A lone diver in an ancient suit walks along the bottom of the ocean, kicking up the white marine snow that coats the ground. Their oxygen tube drags along behind them, tattered from wear and encrusted with small molluscs. Red light pours out from the helmet’s front face, shattered glass fracturing the light into jagged rays. Light catches the floating particles in the water, exposing hidden prey and predators. 

A child in a tattered Victorian nightgown crawls through the porthole of a sunken ship. Long, scythe-like fangs jut out from her distended jaw, almost translucent in the pale green light emitted by flashing photophores dotting along her dark skin. Unimpeded by the crushing weight of the ocean, she darts out with startling speed - catching the gills of a passing hammerhead shark. She pulls away, sated. The hammerhead thrashes to escape, leaving behind an inky trail of blood.  

Suspended in the darkest parts of the deepest trenches, where oxygen bubbles are forced to fall instead of rise, a creature waits. What had been hands, what had been arms and legs, and fingers and toes, are now long, spindly tentacles. The limbs trail even further below, dragging on the ground and trapping anything in their way. The ancient mariner’s scalp is transparent, their bare skull still white. Their eyelids are closed, squeezed shut and withered away. Sitting at the top of the elder’s forehead, two bright green eyeballs scan the ocean above, always watching for an attack from above. 

Deep Sea Mariners, DSMs, are basal creatures more often then not. Driven to diablerie to stave off the hunger when prey is more scarce than usual, they are not a communal people. There are very, very powerful vampires in the deep sea, their generations Methuselah equivalent, perhaps lower. But they can never leave the deep.

Some are embraced as their ships begin to sink, some are dragged from oil rigs in the middle of the night and not fully drained, some are divers who met an unfortunate end and rebirth. 

You will find the majority of deep sea mariners alone in shipwrecks dotted across the aphotic zones, curating shark populations to feed from. Though some will claim the temporary domain of a whale fall, defending it fiercely from other mariners and harvesting blood from the scavengers attracted to the carcass. One elder occupies an underwater volcano, skin grown heavy with iron sediment. 

They feed off the blood of sharks, deep-diving aquatic mammals like whales and seals, and the blue blood of horseshoe crabs, which seem to fortify them. They make famuluses from the sharks with which they share prey, with hagfish that take tentative bites out of the mariners and ingest their vitae, with elephant seals that dive deeper than their cousins. 

Fortitude stops the DSMs from being crushed immediately, but it’s a wasteful endeavour. Soon their vitae and feral marks adapt to better tolerate the conditions without fortitude. Or perhaps fortitude is leavings its marks on these Gangrels: they don’t know and don’t care. 

The pain, hunger, and stress of the DSM's environment makes for a much higher relative number of frenzies, slowly warping the Gangrels with more and more feral marks better suited for the ocean floor: bigger eyes, bigger teeth, fins and tails where legs once were, longer limbs and talons; anything to further their survival. Mariners grow to be massive, exhibiting deep sea gigantism.

The better suited they are for the deep, the more hostile above ground will become: their increased size, massive eyes, tails, and new fangs no longer appropriate for the Masquerade, even for Nosferatu standards.

They would no longer be able to walk on land, their skeletal composition changed to become softer, requiring much higher pressures to keep their bodies togethers. Hunting on land is no longer an option. They experience a 'shrink- wrapping' in which muscle and organs are absorbed by the body, leaving bone, connective tissue, and fat.

It is best to leave them there, in the deep. They are the lords of Hades; curating the corpses of fallen whales and laying claim to the shattered hulls of sunken ships. They rule it with vicious, iron fists. 

[babblydrabbly]

all-nighter || eddie munson x reader || oneshot

a/n: requested by @a-reader-and-a-writer. My first Eddie fic! As much as a adore confident Eddie, I'm a puddle for a that little sliver of self-doubt that takes over too. no season 4 spoilers!

eddie munson x gn!reader - fluff - 1.2k words - warnings: first kiss. briefest mention of drug use.

"Person A and B staying up way too late watching a movie/binge watching a show but having no regrets" 

[ I do not give permission to repost my work anywhere. ]

You don't care about small town reputations. Not when you've been smitten with Eddie Munson since you met him outside an away-game sophomore year. But he'll figure it out.

Eddie stirs when morning light finally breaches the thin blinds of his living room. He swipes at his eyes and begins to sit up, when a solid weight stops him. 

It’s a familiar situation. Eddie Munson has spent plenty of all-nighters in front of his small television instead of getting some proper rest; has almost made a whole high school career out of it, in fact. His limbs are a little sore from his position on the threadbare couch. And the rough material of his baggy jeans scratches as he shifts carefully- incrementally.

You murmur in your sleep. Half on the other side of the sunken couch and half atop Eddie, your arms wrap around his middle as you unconsciously press your face against his t-shirt covered stomach.

Eddie blinks, confused at this slight deviation, then he remembers the night before. 

It had been one monster movie. Then two. Then you both got a little hungry and went out to grab a slice of pizza. 

Eddie half expected you to call it quits when you tossed your greasy napkins and sticky trays in the trash. Instead, he watched you walk backwards toward his van with a smile, curling a mischievous finger to beckon him.

He hustled after you without any fuss. Just a wide, toothy grin. You weren’t sick of him just yet.

Eddie’s lips quirk again at the memory. 

You had made yourself look right at home on the cushion beside him as he turned the tv back on, this time flipping through the static until he landed on a rerun of Growing Pains. You slipped off your sandals and tucked your feet under yourself coyly. 

The mood had shifted then. This wasn’t a rowdy, fantasy-driven game night. Nothing like the band stopping by to turn up the rock and fill his living room with the dense curl of smoke and conversation.

The din Eddie chose to drown out any reminders of his less-than life was replaced by a new, unspoken conversation. An exchange of soft quips and fleeting glances that made him suddenly feel noticed. Eddie glanced over, drawing your attention away from the blue light of the television.

Full of good food and more comfortable with your second time stepping inside Eddie’s home, you scooched closer, sending the teen’s heart rate skyrocketing. 

It was one thing to get along with you out there- at the mall, at each other’s schools. Always in passing. Always in front of friends and decidedly not-friends. But with just the two of you, the abnormally over-confident Eddie Munson’s eyes flickered over to you, his expression a touch sheepish then. 

You make a sound in your sleep again, waking yourself up. The arms around Eddie’s waist flex as you nuzzle at the soft cotton of his shirt. 

He’s got the perfect combination going on in the middle- a little soft and a little firm. You burrow your nose against him as you exhale deeply.

“What time is it?” You drawl. And Eddie half-wishes he got to see you looking so peaceful just a moment longer. He reaches up to brush your hair back behind your ear. He shrugs.

“Don’t know.” He chuckles. 

“Jeeze.” You pull away to sit up stiffly- still tucked partially against Eddie’s lap. “My neck is killing me.”

“I’m the one that can’t feel my legs.” He teases. You blink and realize how on top of him you really are. Heat rises to your cheeks. 

Before you can scoot off, Eddie’s arms wrap around you swiftly, that wide grin returning to his face. Tsking and squirming, you shift until he has you tightly in his arms. He’s surprisingly strong. Perhaps from never putting down that electric guitar of his. Eddie’s callous fingers press into your soft skin, and a different kind of heat pools inside you. 

“Uh uh.” He chides, emboldened now. “Not yet.” 

His lips press against your neck as he speaks. You let out a soft noise of surprise as he pulls you back down to properly lie on his chest. Face inches apart, your eyes flit up to his mouth as he stares back at you, waiting. 

“I have to buy the groceries every Saturday morning.” You try. Your weak excuse makes the two of you laugh. “I should at least call my mom.”

“Let that dumb brother of yours run the errands for once.” Eddie counters. You’ve complained enough to Eddie about how much is expected of you at home. You roll your eyes. Reaching up, you drag some strands of his curly bangs down to obscure his view. “What?? You said it yourself. How much basketball practice does this guy need if he’s sooo good.”

You snort as you watch Eddie comically try to blow the fringe from his eyes without letting you go with his hands.

“Come with me.” You offer.

Eddie stills. The thought of you willingly pushing a shopping cart around in the middle of a supermarket with him in tow just doesn’t seem to click. Not even if you lived a whole town over from good ole Hawkins. Not when he was Eddie The Freak Munson any way you sliced it. Averting his eyes, he brushes it off. “How about I pick you up again tonight?”

You take Eddie’s chin between your fingers and look into his brown eyes. You catch a flash of something guarded there for a moment. It’s all you need to lean in and plant a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips. Eddie squeezes you firmer in response, eyes half-lidded. 

You mean it to be something brief. Something soft. But a thrill soon runs through you as Eddie tilts his head to the side and recaptures your lips with a quiet moan. Your knees bracketing Eddie’s thighs press together with a spark of want.

It takes everything to pull away- to catch your breath and open your eyes again. Eddie’s own pupils stare back at you, much wider now than they were a moment ago. 

“Come with me.” You say again. You give your eyelashes an over-exaggerated bat. That seems to coax the Eddie you know back out again with another chuckle. “Let’s go!”

Before you can drag him to his feet, however, he surprises you again by taking your face in both hands and pulling you in for another deep, languid kiss. This time with a swipe of his tongue teasing your mouth, licking slowly once, twice. You keen before you can help yourself. 

Pulling away hurriedly, you pat your hair back into place while he expectantly drags his nails lightly across your thigh. You ignore the way it sends jolts of electricity up your spine with every inch.

His wide smile matches yours. He was never going to say no, he realizes. Not when you’re asking him to stick around. To keep seeing him. 

He knows the time will come when you’re ready to toss him. But for now, the idea of one minute, one more meal, one more day with you is so bizarre, he can’t help but follow as you tug at his arm.

With one last moment of hesitation, Eddie’s chest heaves with a sigh. A mixed sound of relief and feigned exasperation.

 You smack his chest playfully. 

“Okay! Alright!” He laughs. “.....Five more minutes.”

“Eddie!”