#v; mind the side effects (main)

[daybreakrising]

starter call | @alatusatlas

There was nothing quite like the peace and tranquility of Liyue at night. He had seen it from all angles, from Qingce Village to Qingxu Pool, the peaks of Huaguang Stone Forest to the beaches of Yaoguang Shoal. He could spend hours simply listening to the call of the creatures that maintained night as their domain.

He stands on the uppermost terrace of Wangshu Inn, looking out over the marsh, face turned towards the gentle breeze that rolled in across the water. To truly appreciate the beauty of Liyue's landscape, you needed to be up high. The Inn was one of his favourite spots for that reason.

It is Changsheng who first notices they're not alone, despite the late hour. Her head lifts, tongue flicking between her jaws. "Hm?" A light smile plays upon the doctor's lips as he turns from the view, expecting another guest of the Inn or, perhaps, Verr Goldet or her husband. The last thing he expects to see is the famed adeptus.

"Conquerer of Demons." He gives a slight incline of the head, a gesture of acknowledgement and respect. "Forgive me - am I intruding on your own moment of peace?"

[iovetecchou]

expectations / sampo koski

Pairings... Sampo Koski x Reader

Contains...! smut, teasing, dry humping, making out, fingering, handjob, size kink, belly bulge, slight!manhandling, pussydrunk!sampo, creampie

AFAB Reader.

2,022 words.

Sampo Koski.

You loved his lips because they hid his perfect teeth that always complimented his sly smile.

And you hated his lips for those same exact reasons.

You loved his eyelids because they hid his alluring eyes from view.

And the reason you hated his eyelids? Take a wild guess.

“What’d ya say we get out of here, doll? Find some placed a little more… private.”

His arm slinging around your shoulders broke you out of your train of thought as he whispered in your ear. You turned your head slightly to take in his expression.

Sampo shot you a playful wink, lips curled up into his signature smirk that you loved— hated dearly.

“Nice try, Sampo. Not happening.”

He pulled you in closer to his frame. His arm that was hanging around your shoulders slipped lower. Choosing to entangle around your waist instead. Sampo’s fingertips danced along the hem of your shirt, causing a burning heat to swirl within you.

“C’mon, doll. You’re only foolin’ yourself. Let your good buddy Sampo make your dreams come true.”

He was so infuriating. Who the hell talks about themselves in third person like that? What an egotistical jerk.

But you couldn’t deny that his words held some truth to them.

Almost all of your dreams were plagued by Sampo. But none of them were pure in nature.

Countless nights you would wake up from a heated dream. Sampo being the main focal point, of course. Each time you would stare up at the ceiling as you attempted to catch your breath. Hand snaking into your sleep shorts to relieve your frustrations.

But it wasn’t enough anymore. You needed to be satiated by the star of your wet dreams himself. As much as you hated to admit it.

You turned your head away from his piercing emerald gaze. Earning a mocking coo from Sampo.

“Aww playing hard to get… are we, doll? Ya know… the walls are pretty thin. I can hear the way you call— no, moan my name late at night.”

Your face grew hot upon hearing his confession. You could have sworn you were being inconspicuous. But you couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Fuck.

You could feel his smirk against the shell of your ear. His hand, now snaking its way under your shirt. Inching closer to your clad breasts.

“Can I let ya in on a teeny-tiny secret, doll?”

His words piqued your interest. You turned your head back in his direction. His eyes were half-lidded now. His smirk etching deeper into his features.

His free hand came up to cup your chin. Sampo’s thumb swiped over your parted lips as the rest of his fingers held you in place. Forcing you to watch as his eyes darted down to your lips, then back up to your puzzled eyes.

“I have… sweet dreams about you too, doll. And you wanna know somethin’ else?”

He paused once more for effect. Still tracing your parted lips. As his other hand came up to squeeze one of your breasts over your bra. Eliciting a sharp gasp from you.

Your attention was fully on him now, just what he was betting on. Sampo had you wrapped around his finger faster than you could say—

“Please… tell me…”

Sampo chuckled at your shift in demeanor and eagerness to hear more.

Too easy.

“I touch myself while thinkin’ about you too, doll. Scandalous, I know! But… I just can’t help myself… you understand, right?”

He leaned in closer to you. Noses brushed against one another’s as Sampo took in your flushed face. Awaiting your response.

Your mind was reeling from his filthy confession. You had to pinch yourself. To make sure this wasn’t just another one of your dreams.

Before you knew it, you were pushing in closer to him. Lips captured Sampo’s as your hands came up to grip his exposed sides. Pulling a breathy whine from the blue-haired man.

You did a bit of exploring yourself. Running your hands up and down his midsection. Fingertips tracing his prominent v-line. Sampo whimpered against your lips at this. Piquing your curiosity.

Don’t tell me the Sampo Koski was all bark and no bite. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Follow me.”

You huffed out as you pulled away from his soft lips. Taking his hand out of your shirt and interlocking it with your own. Leading Sampo to your room in a hurry.

The moment you locked the door behind the two of you… you were all over him. Sampo let out a pathetic moan as you pushed him up against the wall. Your hands continued their exploration along his body as you so pleased. Living out all of your wildest dreams.

“F-Fuck, doll… what’s gotten into ya?”

He huffed out, bringing his hands up to grasp the back of your thighs. Hoisting you up into his arms. You took this hint almost instantly. Wrapping your legs around his pretty waist.

Sampo captured your lips once more. Pulling you in deeply as he ushered you both to the bed. Carefully sitting atop the edge of the mattress as you continued to make out.

He let out a muffled grunt as you unintentionally ground down on his erection.

You enjoyed that sound… more than you’d like to admit. And so… you did it again, but this time with more merit.

He whined even louder this time as you pulled away from his lips. Opting for taking in his flustered state instead.

Sampo was blushing furiously. His eyes were squeezed shut as his teeth scored his bottom lip. His hips began moving on their own, desperately chasing for more friction.

“Aww, I think I like you best like this, Sampo.”

It was your turn to coo in faux sympathy. Enjoying the rare moment of silence from the usually talkative man.

Your movements came to a halt. Causing Sampo to whine desperately. His eyes shot open, hands gripping your waist in need.

“Why’dya stop, doll. P-Please… I need more!”

The Sampo Koski begging you for more? Oh, this was too good.

“Shh… relax. Why don’t you take these off for me?”

You whispered. Tugging on the loops of his pants. Sampo took the hint. Making quick work of unbuckling his belt. Pulling his pants and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. He then opted for taking off his gloves and his gear. Sampo’s shirt being the last article of clothing to come off.

Intense heat pooled in your core at the scenery of Sampo bare before you. You took in the sight of his length standing tall, all because of you. You could feel yourself soaking through your panties.

“I showed you mine only fair if you show me yours, doll.”

Sampo quipped out. Letting his eyes wander down your frame as his hands tugged at the hem of your shirt. You gave him a quick nod, giving him the green light to tug your shirt off over your head. Your bra was quick to follow in suit.

You climbed off his lap briefly, ridding yourself of your pants and panties before leisurely climbing back into Sampo’s lap. He couldn’t take his emerald eyes off of you. Sampo was completely entranced by your bare frame.

“Better than I could’ve ever imagined, doll.”

He admitted, large hands coming up to cup your breasts. You expelled a sigh of relief as Sampo’s thumbs came up to play with your nipples. You let your eyes roll back as your hand snaked between your bare bodies. Your fingertips carefully wrapped around the base of his cock. Beginning to pump his length as you so pleased.

“S-Shit, doll… don’t stop…”

Sampo whined as one of his hands trailed down to your midsection. His thumb found your clit, rubbing it almost instantly in slow tight circles. You both moaned in unison as you continued to please one another. Completely lost in the pleasures. And you have barely even begun.

Sampo’s ring finger found your entrance. Dipping it in slowly as a gasp was pulled from both your lips.

“Fuck, doll. You’re so w-wet… this all for me?”

You nodded furiously. Picking up your own pace against his cock as Sampo slipped a second finger inside your needy cunt. All the while his thumb still circled your puffy bud with the right amount of pressure.

His large hands were so skilled and calculated, and it definitely showed. Especially behind closed doors.

“More, I-I need you inside me… Sampo.”

You whined, tugging on his wrist. Signaling for him to stop as your hand untangled from his throbbing cock. Sampo’s hands opted for squeezing your hips instead. You began lining the head of his leaky length up to your entrance.

Sampo’s eyes were locked on the view of you slowly inching your way down his cock. Large hands squeezed your hips harshly as he finally bottomed out.

“This pussy is so perfect… so t-tight and wet, and it’s all for me. I must be the luckiest man alive, huh?”

Sampo whispered out between gritted teeth. Reveling in the way you began moving your hips up and down on his cock. With the help of Sampo himself. He began moving you quicker atop his lap, thick thighs twitching beneath you as he allowed himself to succumb to pleasure.

“Hah… Sampo, you’re so b-big… look…”

You took one of his hands in your own, pulling it off your hip and moving it to your lower tummy instead. You held his hand over your midsection and pressed down. Allowing him to feel the slight bulge his cock was causing.

The last remaining bit of Sampo’s composure was lost after feeling the way his cock bulged against your lower tummy. Before you knew it, you were being hoisted up. You gasped as Sampo sat up from the bed with you in his arms.

On instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist for the second time tonight. Only this time with his cock buried deep within you. Sampo captured your lips as your back pressed up against the nearby wall. You couldn’t help the way you whined against the blue-haired man’s lips as he fucked up into you with so much vigor.

You ran your tongue along his bottom lip as Sampo continued to thrust into you harshly. Hitting your sweet spot perfectly each time. Skin slapping against skin was all that registered in your mind as you felt your orgasm quickly approaching. You gripped onto his shoulders for support as you pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air.

“Sampo I’m gonna- ah-!”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you came all over his cock. Legs twitching around his waist as your walls fluttered severely around Sampo’s thick length.

“Fuck, fuck- fuuuck…!”

That was all it took for Sampo to reach his own high. His nails dug into the fat of your thighs as his hips stilled inside you. Heavy balls kissing the underside of your pussy as his load shot deep inside you.

There was too much. You could feel it trickling down your inner thighs as Sampo’s cock began softening inside you. You both shared the same air as he rested his forehead against yours. Trying to regain any semblance of composure.

“Fuck, doll. Did I live up to your expectations?”

Sampo chuckled. Pulling out of you slowly with a sharp hiss. Carrying you back to the bed. Knowing full well that your legs were too shaky to stand on, at the moment.

“You surpassed them.”

You admitted, warmth spreading across your cheeks once more. Sampo pinched your cheeks playfully as he leaned over you from where he stood in between your legs. He laughed playfully as he lowered himself onto his knees before you.

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear…”

Sampo hooked your thighs over his shoulder. His breath fanned over your messy pussy, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.

“Sampo… what are you-“

“Relax, doll. I made a mess, so I’m simply down here to… clean it up. I promise this will surpass your expectations too!”

[a-yellow-van]

Wish You Were Here | Part 3

You and Joel get stuck in a blizzard during patrol. It leads to something unexpected.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, some smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, protective joel, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC : 8.9 k

Warnings for part 3 : Minors DNI! swearing, drinking, mentions of trauma and PTSD, mild violence, explicit sexual content (masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough-ish sex, praise kink, pet names, limited aftercare), more hurt than comfort I'm sorry

Writing this one hurt a lil. But I'm happy with it. So please enjoy.

It’s been half an hour. Thirty minutes of riding side by side in complete silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Old Beardy and Willow’s hooves rhythmically crunching in the snow.  It seems like an eternity. The tension is so intense it’s almost palpable. Your presence, a blur in Joel’s peripheral vision, is putting him on such an edge that, at any given moment now,  he could turn around and gallop back to Jackson, or start saying things he’d better keep to himself, or get you off your horse and take you by the waist and…

No. Nope. Stop it. 

His grip on the reins tightens and he bites his inner cheek until the stab of pain rips his mind off that absurd train of thought. He stares straight ahead at the deserted highway, the stretch of the 191 carved in a broad valley. The landscape is lost in a sea of white, the concrete below  invisible, crashed cars resembling large animals sleeping in a snowy den. Joel’s face is numb from the cold, rugged skin humid, a few wild strands of hair on his forehead pearling with ice. The brim of his insulated cap isn’t enough to shield his eyes from the stinging wind, but still, he stares, almost unblinking. His neck itches with the urge to turn and glance at you; he has been actively fighting it ever since leaving. He has to remain collected, he has to concentrate on the job. That sentence is playing on loop in his head like a mantra, so much so that the words are getting jumbled, barely making sense anymore. 

He doesn’t understand why it’s been so difficult to just move on from what happened. Not one day during those two weeks has passed without his thoughts drifting back to that brief intimacy he shared with you, without wondering what you’re doing, how you’re doing. And he loathes it. Hates being confused, hates not having control, hates that you’re having such an effect on him. So, before he drives himself crazy, he decides to start counting the cars until the both of you reach the first checkpoint on the Hoback route. Joel has calculated about five miles since Jackson, only around three to go until the job gets more active. There are two cars on the right, their shapes stuck together in a permanent collision, and one on the left. Joel can make it. 

Small, repetitive rituals like this always helped him focus; back when he was working construction, a lifetime ago, he’d recite stupid ad jingles to himself, trying to remember as many as he could and associate them with the correct brand. There was a famous one that Sarah used to sing just to annoy him, delighted when it worked without fail every time. He’d be reading the newspaper in the morning, or watching a game, or driving her to school, and she’d pipe up out of nowhere. And then it’d be stuck in Joel’s head for days. Some annoying rap about credit reports. How did it go again? F-R-E-E, that spells free…something something dot com, baby. Sarah’s mischievous giggles, after he begged her to stop, echo around his mind. Less than a year back, it would have sent him down to a dark, sunken place with slippery walls nearly impossible to climb out of. Not anymore, after Ellie. The memory’s still stained with grief, but it doesn’t feel so crushing to carry. He’s accepted it as part of him. Joel tries to recall the rest of the lyrics to that damned song; he thinks Ellie might get a kick out of it. She’s always so eager to learn about even the most meaningless things that existed before the outbreak. 

It does the trick to distract him from you. It works so well, in fact, that he nearly misses the turn to the checkpoint. He pulls on Old Beardy’s reins suddenly, steering him in the right direction. The horse neighs in protest. 

So much for concentrating. 

You’ve certainly noticed the mishap, but you don’t comment on it, much to his relief.  

Get a fucking grip. 

Joel begins down the side path to an abandoned gas station, the tension rising. Maybe, if one of you were to point out the obvious, it would make this whole situation a bit less miserable. But Joel isn’t going to be the one to do it. It would come out all wrong, anyway. 

The place is small, a few pumps decaying under a canopy that’s barely holding on to four crumbling steel rods. The convenience store isn’t in better shape, its windows shattered, the signboard crashed by the entry. You take initiative and move towards the back of the building; Joel takes it as a cue for him to check out the front. The advantage of being an experienced patroller is that you can do your job without much communication; at least there’s that. He jumps off Old Beardy and walks up to the building, unworried but readying his weapon nonetheless. If there were infected around, he’d have spotted them already. Just as he thought, the interior is empty, what’s left of it is covered in a thin film of dirty snow. Just for good measure, he checks the storage and the restrooms in the back. Still nothing. He jogs back to his horse just as you turn a corner, you and Willow coming back into view, calm, unperturbed. 

You don’t wait for him to leave. He scrambles to mount Old Beardy, and you’re already back on the highway. It sustains Joel’s growing irritation; he almost yells out for you to slow down. Sure, ignoring each other is one thing, but being unsafe and disrespecting patrol rules is another. So, as a punishment, Joel spurs Old Beardy into a run and catches up before overtaking you, almost knocking you off Willow. He hears you gasp out in surprise. You try to swerve to the right, but he blocks the move. He wants to make you crack. Because he can’t be the one to do so first. You try the same move, to the left this time, and again, Joel is faster. He takes things a step further and lets out a dry, arrogant scoff. 

That’s it. You’re about to rip into him. But only the whistling of the wind responds; you keep stubbornly quiet. You don’t even give the man a glance when he finally lets you pass and get back on his side, your expression set in stone. 

Damn it. You’re good. 

Joel doesn’t attempt anything else, deciding it’s wasted energy. You both continue on the road, status quo, for another hour. You stop at a few other checkpoints around the highway : an old RV park, a fire station…Warm, sheltered places that would draw in people, or things, at this time of year. But there’s no sign of life anywhere. By this point, Joel would usually have had to take out at least a stray runner. It’s almost unsettling. Like the calm before a storm. That little seed of concern plants itself inside his mind, heightening his senses. You must feel it too, because you guide your horse closer to his, and he notices your right hand leaving the reins to rest on the rifle hanging from your shoulder. 

Sombre clouds are accumulating in the sky, hanging low, menacing. The wind increases as you both reach the highway exit to the small village of Hoback, carrying sharp snowflakes that cut Joel’s exposed cheeks. The path is narrow, flanked by tall conifers that grow denser, their branches drooping down from the weight of the snow. You’re forced to get behind the man, your gaze on his back piercing, nervous, uncomfortable. The both of you still don’t talk, but the atmosphere has shifted, the unspoken conflict momentarily forgotten. 

Joel moves forward cautiously on trot, alert, scanning his surroundings. The first cluster of residences comes into view, simple log cabins settled at the foot of a hill a couple yards away. From the distance, nothing looks out of place. He signals for you to follow him, and you patrol up and down the short street, hastily inspecting the houses on both sides. They’re frozen in a dead silence, immobile, ravaged by years of negligence and harsh elements. Instead of being reassuring, the absence of movement only causes Joel’s foreboding feeling to develop. Something is very off here. The both of you repeat the process through the village, falling into calculated, practised gestures. And, while patrollers have the habit of checking some key places for supplies to bring back to Jackson, this time, your pair instinctively works as fast as possible, not entering a single house. There’s an unwritten agreement to get the hell out of here as soon as you can. 

You’ve cleared out most of the village and, at last, you reach Snake River, the sounds of its turbulent waters mixed with the wind is tumultuous.  There’s a bridge ahead, just large enough for a car. Its wooden structure is unstable, some slats have fallen, the rest are icy and split in places. This next part has to be done on foot; the horses would collapse through the bridge and drown if they even took one step on it. Once you cross the river, you’ll need to walk a couple miles to the outskirts of the village, finishing off the route at an old golf course. The clubhouse is a great lookout to the area; it holds the patrol logbook. Joel halts Old Beardy before the river, and you stop next to him. The animal shakes his head, freeing his mane from the layer of snow. Joel hesitates, not quite ready to leave the protection and speed horseback offers. He’s debating if an acute gut feeling is reason enough to turn back and leave patrol unfinished. 

That short moment of doubt is precious. Because a second later, nature seems to fall completely silent around you. As though a predator is roaming nearby. Sudden, horrible snarls erupt from the woods stretching to your right. The ground trembles beneath fast, uneven footsteps. A lot of them. Too many. Time stops as Joel looks in your eyes for the first time in hours. They’re full of fear. 

And then a runner stumbles onto the trail about three hundred feet behind, twitching, its mangled head snapping in your direction. Followed by another. And another. It jolts the man right into action. 

“COME ON!” He urges you, spurring Old Beardy to a gallop. 

There’s no way to go, but forward. Joel barrels around the bridge and down the slope, reaching the riverbank. You don’t leave his side, thighs clenched around Willow’s flanks, arms straining with the reins. And as your horses hooves hit the ice, the horde has crossed the distance, pouring down the embankment. There’s at least twenty. Some of them fall into the water, the current seizing them immediately. But it’s not enough to stop them. Joel’s heart is hammering out of his chest, his body rocking with the movement as Old Beardy pushes on, fueled by the danger. Joel lets go of the reins, expert fingers grasping his rifle. He swiftly points it at the first runner that lunges at his left, and lodges a bullet in its brain. The next one steps on the corpse, ready to attack. It meets the same fate. The gunshots coming from your side clearly indicate that you’re handling yourself. Before long, Joel has emptied the chamber, not one bullet wasted. 

“RELOADING!” He shouts. 

You cover him, taking out an infected, mere inches before his claws dig into Joel’s ankle. He doesn’t have time to thank you, however, pulling the trigger the second he readies the rifle again. You both maintain the rhythm up for what seems to be hours, the horses snorting through the effort, runners dropping like flies. Joel has lost all sensation; he doesn’t feel his lungs burning or his muscles pulling; the adrenaline has completely taken over. He keeps riding. Shooting. Reloading. And…Yes, there.

Only two of the fuckers left. 

One on your side, one on his. He fires. Perfect shot. He thinks the two of you might make it out unscathed. 

But then, something happens. Your weapon is pointed at your own runner, about to shoot. But you hesitate. Joel watches as the creature strikes. Willow panics. She rears up. And you are thrown to the ground.   

——————————

That runner. 

It looks so much like her. 

Your body hits the riverbank, head bouncing on a rock, wind knocked out of you. A sharp pain erupts in your skull, high-pitched ringing explodes in your ears, stars appear in your vision. In a fraction of a second, the creature is straddling you. You weakly push an elbow against its chest, keeping its jaws from locking around your neck. It twitches, screams, clacks its teeth. 

And you just…accept it. Twenty-one years of surviving, and this is how it ends. 

You close your eyes. 

And you’re back in the forest. That day. You’re running, faster than you’ve ever done in your life, branches grabbing at you, slicing your skin, like they want to prevent your escape. You glance over your shoulder. She’s gaining on you. Her eyes have turned a milky white, her clothes are ripped, her skin bloodied. But she still looks so much like herself. She still sounds like herself. Your baby sister. Her discorded weeps fill you with a gutting terror. You can almost make out the repeated word. Your name. Tears fall down wildly as you dart between trees, your breathing erratic, throat on fire. 

“PLEASE! ANI! STOP!” you howl. But she’s gone. She can’t understand. So she chases, and you run. 

Until your foot catches on a large root, sending you tumbling through the underbrush. Your gun clatters away from you. You lay there, stunned, dirt in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, ankle bent at the wrong angle. 

She pins you to the ground, broken nails digging in the skin of your arms. You flail around, kick at her, trying to free yourself from her impossibly strong grip. 

“STOP IT! ANI! STOP!” you cry out again, voice raspy, hollow, desperate. 

Your right hand pats around blindly for the weapon, your left is pushed against her forehead, forcing her mouth away from your exposed shoulder. Your heart is beating so fast it seems like it’s stopped. Maybe it has. Maybe you’ve died, and this is just a flash of your last moments as you drift into peaceful, eternal rest. Or maybe it’s a horrible nightmare, and you’re about to wake up, a hand laced in your sister’s soft hair, light snores escaping her lips. She always looks so innocent when she sleeps, like all worries have washed off her, like she’s been sent back to a happy childhood in her dreams. 

Your fingers brush against cold metal. You close them around the handle. 

Bang. 

The shot echoes, in the past and in the present. 

You’re still alive. 

The runner’s corpse slumps down against you, coating you with gore, a foul smell making you gag. You’re paralyzed, trembling, chest rising and falling erratically, gasping for air. You look up at the angry grey skies, the snow plummeting down, catching in your eyelashes. Everything stands still for an instant. 

It all comes rushing back as the dead infected is ripped off your chest, discarded to the side like a rag doll. You sense a presence crouching down next to you, and Joel obscures your view. 

He calls out your last name, loud, snapping you back to reality. You focus on his face; it’s flushed, expression tight with stress, eyes darting, searching for yours. 

“Hey! Are you okay?” he yells. 

Joel takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into a sitting position, the sudden movement making you dizzy. You stare back at him, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, unable to answer. Stunned.

“HEY! Did it bite you?” he continues, shaking you. 

You move your head side to side in response, causing it to throb in pain. You wince, raising a hand to your occiput. Your glove comes back crimson. Joel’s eyes fall to the blood, and he mutters a curse. He reaches into his coat pocket to take out a rag, balling it up and pressing it to the back of your skull. 

“Keep that there for me. Can you do that?” He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s an edge to it you pick up on. You nod and execute yourself. Willow comes over and nudges you with her nose; her way of apologising. You pat her with your free hand, reassuring. It was your fault.

Joel runs back to Old Beardy, the poor beast trembling from the fright. He takes something out of his pack’s front pocket and brings it back : a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He twists the cap off with his teeth and kneels behind you, taking the rag and pouring some of the liquid on it. He rubs it on your wound, eliciting a shriek.

Holy shit that hurts. 

Joel inspects the injury, parting your hair to expose it, the rough fabric of his gloves like sandpaper on your scalp. 

“Cut isn’t deep. But you’re gonna get a mean bump.” Joel explains, applying more pressure. He stops the bleeding, aided by the cold, and wraps the rag around your head, securing it with a tight knot. “We gotta keep moving. Can you stand up?” 

This version of Joel, assertive, protective even, catches you off guard. It’s such a stark contrast from his attitude earlier in the day. It nearly makes you forget how close to death you just came.

“Uh, I-I think so-” you reply, regaining your voice, before attempting to push yourself off the ground and falling back down. Your head spins. 

Joel offers you his hand, which you take to pull yourself up slowly, your whole body protesting. Bile rises up to your oesophagus. You lean over, breathing through your mouth. 

“Shit. I think you have a concussion,” you hear Joel say, from far away.

And, then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the storm picks up. The snow gets so dense you can barely see five feet in front of you. The man takes the lead, urgently guiding you towards Old Beardy. He helps you mount, taking you by the waist, and you don’t even think to resist. There’s no way you can ride by yourself in this condition. Joel gets on and takes the reins while you hold on to him, chest pressed against his back. He whistles for Willow over the wind. She follows right behind. 

Joel leads his horse out of the riverbank and into the surrounding woods, visibility getting even poorer. You’re blinded by snow, breathing it in, wheezing. You put all trust in Joel’s sense of orientation, praying that somehow, he gets you back onto the road. He presses forward, a hand raised in front of his face to protect it. 

What a stupid fucking way to go out. Lost in a blizzard. With Joel Miller. At least the town would have something to talk about. 

But then, miraculously, the trees begin to thin out; ahead, you can make out the faint outline of a trail. 

He did it. 

You squeeze Joel’s torso tighter, as if to thank him. Old Beardy perseveres, pushing one leg in front of the other. Your head is getting heavier, the concussion pulling you towards a dreamless sleep. 

“Hold on. We’re almost there.” Joel affirms. You’re not sure who it’s destined for : himself, you, or the horses. Maybe all four. But it’s all you need to let go, and you pass out, head slumping on Joel’s shoulder. 

——————————

You wake up to the sound of snow pelting against glass. Your skull feels like it’s being drilled into with a jackhammer. You pry your eyelids open and try to get your bearings, vision foggy, as though you opened your eyes in a chlorine pool. You find that you’ve been laid out on a frayed, deformed couch, springs digging into your back, a quilt smelling of mothballs thrown over you. Your winter attire has been taken off. You push yourself up on your elbows and look around the room. It seems to be the small living area of a cabin; there’s a rustic coffee table where both packs lay next to the bloody rag that acted as your bandage. To your left is a large, frosted-over bay window; the outside is an infinite, oppressing white. Two sets of jackets and ski pants hang from antler-shaped hooks next to the front door, a puddle forming underneath. A stone hearth takes up the wall in front of you, fire crackling inside. And, to your right, a plaid armchair. Joel is sitting in it, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you intently with knitted brows. His expression is hard, severe, unfriendly; he’s back to his normal self. You hold his gaze, your sight slowly getting clearer. 

“Uh. Hey,” you speak hoarsely, throat dry. It makes you cough, which prompts Joel to get up and rummage through your pack to retrieve your canteen. He tosses it to you carelessly, and you fail to catch it. It lands on your lap with a thump. Joel plops back into the armchair, huffing. He is very transparently upset with you. 

Great.

You take a long gulp of water and wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve, the day replaying in your mind like on a movie theatre screen, pausing on your near-death experience. And you’re baffled, ashamed of your own actions. You can’t believe Joel had to step in and save your sorry ass, like you’re some kind of damsel in distress.  

Fucking rookie mistake. And now you have a goddamn concussion. 

You massage your temples and suppress a groan. “How long was I out?” you ask instead. 

“About an hour.” Joel answers, tone glacial, deprived of any sympathy. 

“Did you try calling Jackson?” You nod over at the small radio sitting on the ground by the window. 

“Couldn’t get a signal,” Joel answers, gruff, as if it’s an obvious fact. 

You roll your eyes. You know he’s right, but still, you stand up despite sore muscles, and go over to the device, cranking it a few times before trying the channel knob. You’re met with static. Joel mumbles something under his breath; it doesn’t sound pleasant, or polite. You put the radio back down and return to the couch, avoiding eye contact with the older man.

You glance at your watch. It’s right after 3PM, and the blizzard hasn’t let up. You’re going to be stuck here a while. You rest your head on the arm of the sofa, staring at the beamed ceiling, lost in reflexion. About how genuinely worried Joel seemed when you got hurt, how he jumped right in to take care of you. It makes you seethe. He tucked you in so you’d stay warm. He even changed your socks; the wet pair is drying by the fireplace. How dare he? You shift on the cushions, stiff, ill at ease. And Joel chooses that moment to break the silence. 

“What the hell was that back there?” He questions, his tone accusatory.

You tense up. The blame you’re putting on yourself is more than enough. He doesn’t need to twist the knife. You ignore him, your jaw clenching. 

“Hey. I’m talkin’ to ya,” he nags. 

It makes your blood boil, and you sit up to glare at him. “Won’t happen again,” you grumble.

“Yeah? You sure about that?” He continues, harsh. 

You take a deep breath. “Look, I-”

He interrupts you. “You don’t freeze up like that. Ever. You understand me?”

“Oh, wow. I had no idea!” You strike back, not missing a beat. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Miller,” You spit out. 

Joel lets out a chilling chuckle. “Oh, you’re welcome, by the way!” He barks, “You know. For keepin’ you alive an’ all.”

You spring to your feet, heat shooting to your head, exacerbating the migraine. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help,” you utter. 

Joel gets up too, towering over you, hands balled up into fists. “Right. Next time I'll just let you get infected. That what you want?” 

“I told you. There won’t be a next time!” You shout, holding yourself back from punching him in the gut, or kneeing him where it would hurt most, or pulling him down to the couch and pushing your lips to his neck and letting him- 

No. Nope. Not again, not here, not now. 

You desperately need some air. You move towards the front door, but Joel strides up to you and blocks the way, arms crossed. 

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he warns. 

“Let. Me. Out.” You command. Your head is so painful you think it might explode. 

Joel chuckles again. “You got a death wish or somethin’? Settle down, girl.” He talks down to you as if you were a child, smug, condescending; but that word makes your heart skip a beat. 

You try to make a pass for the handle, but he grabs your wrist and shoves it backwards effortlessly. You’re seeing red. So you opt for the next best thing; you spin around abruptly and storm off to the other side of the cabin, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. 

“Oh yeah. You do that. Real mature.” Joel yells out. 

You hear the creak of the floor under his steps and the rustling of fabric as he sits back down. You take your frustrations out on the shower curtain, displacing thousands of dust particles, before biting down on your hand to muffle a scream. When you’re done, you climb into the bathtub and curl up against the lime-scaled cold porcelain, forehead on your knees. The space is dark, stuffy, suffocating. You wonder how you’ll be able to make it through the storm without ripping Joel’s head off. Or doing something exactly opposed to it. How easily that man is able to just get to you is incomprehensible. Enraging. And, worst of all, despite how reluctant you are to admit it… 

Arousing.  

It must be the concussion dysregulating you completely. But the feeling grows, and you extend both legs to squeeze your thighs together, trying to release the pressure building between them. It’s no use. There’s only one thing that would satisfy it, and he’s right outside the door. Without your control, your right hand moves to the waistband of your jeans, undoes the button and goes down, past the elastic of your underwear…Fingers reach down to your entrance, already slick, and glide back up to the hardened nub, the touch sending a rush of pleasure through your body. You rub clumsy circles around, slow at first, mind filling with Joel, his calloused hand there instead of yours, stretching you out, whispering filthy things in your ear. You increase the speed, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning, cheeks flushed, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. You push two fingers inside, curling them to stimulate that sensitive spot, bucking into your own palm to deepen the sensation. In a matter of seconds, you’re unravelling, free hand gripping the side of the tub, your walls clamping down on the other, come seeping in the fabric below. Your lips part and you can’t help a low squeal from escaping them. You immediately clap your left hand over your mouth, heart racing. 

Fuck. 

Did he hear?

You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. The reality of what you just did comes crashing down. It only worked to heighten your desire. And your anger. You button your pants back up and step out of the bathtub, wiping your hand on a scratchy towel you find in the linen closet along with a colony of spiders. 

You’ve been in here for too long. You have to go back out. It would raise suspicion if you didn’t. 

——————————

Joel is oblivious, too busy sulking over the events of the day as he tends to the fire, flames illuminating his face in a flickering glow. 

That was too fucking close. 

The image of you, frozen up under the runner, keeps snaking its way into his thoughts. It infuriates him. How you just gave up, like your life was worthless, like you deserved what came to you. And yet, the sentiment is so familiar it makes his chest ache in a burst of empathy. He can sense the burden in you, the intense trauma you endured. Most people have, in this unforgiving world, but you…There’s something more. It was the look in your eyes when you saw that infected, as if it reminded you of something so vivid it stole you away for an instant. He knows because it’s happened to him. It still does, sometimes, although less frequently. They’re these moments of sheer panic, where he’s choking, the world blurring around him. He has to count things he can see, or touch, or hear…He feels so miserably weak after it’s passed, as if he’s just a small, scared old man. Maybe it reveals his true nature. 

And he’s so angry at you for making him care. Because for some reason, he does. Ever since that night at the tavern. Maybe even before. How scared he got when he thought you might be done for is direct proof of it. 

He can’t afford to have another person to protect. 

A quiet cough brings him back to the present. He peers over his shoulder. You’re standing behind him, seemingly troubled by something; you fiddle with the hem of your sweater, gaze glued to the ground. 

He turns back to the hearth, sighing, and forces out an irritated “You good?” The thing is, he actually is concerned with the answer. 

“Fine.” You reply, your tone not an ounce more affable than his. 

That is as far as the conversation goes. Joel eventually gets tired of rotating the same log with the fire poker, pretending the action is crucial to keep the flames alive. He goes back to the armchair, glancing at you. You’ve reclined on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, mindlessly chewing on a piece of dried meat. He decides to imitate you, because he needs something to do with his hands. So he digs in his bag for the sandwich he’d packed; it’s mushed, tasteless. You both eat in thick, loaded silence. 

The sunlight is starting to decline, and the storm rages on, casting the room in an eerie shadow, the cold seeping in through every tiny crack in the cabin’s foundation. Joel shivers despite himself, shoving both hands under his armpits in an attempt to preserve his body heat. 

A second later, you’re out of your seat. Joel watches as you climb up the spiral staircase that leads to the loft bedroom. You shuffle around the space, partially concealed by the railing, and come stomping back down, carrying a crumpled blanket. You hold it out to him at arm’s length. Joel cocks a brow; the sudden kind gesture leaves him completely confused. You jiggle the blanket under his nose, impatient. He decides to take it, and drapes it around his shoulders, the relief immediate. 

“Uh. Thanks,” he mumbles. 

You give a shrug in response, dismissive, wrapping yourself in the quilt and retreating to the sofa.  

What the hell? 

An hour ago, you were fiercely arguing with him. Now this. The flip-flopping is giving him whiplash. 

Time passes, excruciatingly slow, nor Joel or you daring to say another word. The sun fully sets; the darkness outside is opaque, as if the little cabin is drowning alone in an abyss. There’s no way around it, you’ll both have to spend the night here. Around half past 5PM, Joel can’t stew in the tension anymore, so he goes to check on Old Beardy and Willow, confined to the veranda at the back of the house. They’re cramped, but otherwise fine. Joel risks a short trip to the yard to fill an old, warped bucket with snow for the horses to drink. As he shines the beam of his flashlight around, he notes that the blizzard has weakened slightly. This mess might be over in the morning. Just a few hours. He can last until then. It’s not like he has any other choice. 

He feeds the animals with a pile of straw forgotten in a corner of the veranda, behind some gardening tools. At the start of the outbreak, he couldn’t help but imagine who inhabited the places he used as shelters, what their daily lives looked like, if they were still alive. Sometimes, he’d come across evidence of the contrary. It used to disturb him, he’d feel like an intruder, but he’d quickly grown desensitised. Cordyceps didn’t spare anyone. It made suffering the new normal. It’s useless to dwell on what was or wonder what could have been. So, he doesn’t pay more attention to the objects scattered around the space as Willow eats from his hand. 

Once he comes back inside the cabin, he finds you exploring the kitchenette that’s crammed underneath the loft. You’ve opened the cupboards, revealing stacks of chipped, dusty dishes. You’re going through a drawer, a few utensils clinking inside. You haven’t noticed Joel, too focused on your search for something of value. He observes quietly as you move on to the second drawer, when he decides to make his presence known. He clears his throat before speaking. 

“Don’t bother, I already checked while you were sleepin’.” 

His words only make you search harder, meticulously inspecting the contents of the drawer, bent over, your back turned to him.

Goddamn it. You’re exasperating. 

And yet, his eyes are drawn to a specific part of your anatomy, the curves made obvious by your position, your jeans hugging them so well he could just-

“Or do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters, the hostility compensating for the sudden surge of lust. 

He plants himself in the armchair, once again, the noises of your continued investigation grating, setting his nerves on fire. After a few minutes, they stop. And you come walking back to the living area with a subtle, conceited smirk on your lips, and a bottle of very nice, before-the-apocalypse whisky clutched in your right hand. 

“Didn’t check well enough, Miller,” you say, failing to hide your satisfaction. 

“Where was it?” He asks, upset at himself for missing the item. 

“Back of the sink cabinet,” you answer smugly. “Quality stuff,” you add, reading the label. You’re absolutely right, but Joel isn’t going to recognise it. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky,” he grumbles. You don’t waste time and unseal the bottle before raising it to your mouth. 

“Don’t think that’s smart,” Joel cautions, making you pause mid-air. “Y’know. Concussion,” he continues, his tone more unpleasant than he anticipated. 

You don’t listen to his advice, staring at him tauntingly as you sip. He’s quickly learning that you thrive in defiance. And this audacity you possess, it’s…Attractive. Joel inexplicably likes that you’re provoking him. Your expression remains neutral as you swallow, even when Joel knows for a fact it must sting like hell. You offer the bottle to him. 

It’s been a long time since he’s had liquor that didn’t have an aftertaste of battery acid, and the sight makes him crave a good drink. It’d certainly make the night pass by faster. He knows it’s a terrible idea, considering where getting drunk with you led him last time, but it’s so damn tempting…

He takes the whisky from you. 

——————————

You’ve made a considerable dent in the liquor. It’s dulling the pain in your head, reducing it to a distant ache. You’re sitting cross-legged in front of the hearth, and Joel has joined you on the ground, close enough to pass the bottle back and forth without having to stand up. His back is resting on the bottom panel of the couch, legs spread out casually. The fire, as well as the whisky, is enveloping you in a calming warmth, eating away at your inhibitions; you’ve taken your sweater off as a result, stripped down to a tight thermal shirt. There’s silence again between you and Joel, but this time, it doesn’t make you want to claw out of your own skin. It’s strikingly comfortable. And you find yourself wanting the man to come closer, longing for contact, connection. You haven’t forgotten your little adventure in the bathroom; in fact, the liquor is feeding those feelings,  and they’ve risen to a nearly overwhelming level. 

You take another sip, and, during the exchange, Joel’s fingers graze yours, sending your heart in a frenzy and a burst of flustered heat to your face. You jerk your hand away. 

Idiot. 

You play it off by brushing it through your hair. Joel’s mouth twitches upwards before he drinks. 

“What?” You ask, defensive. 

“Nothin’.” Joel passes the bottle back to you with a faint air of amusement. You decide it’s a good time to stop, and you set it down on the floor. 

“Done already? I was expecting more from ya,” he teases. 

You hate how well it’s efficient in riling you up. “Like you said. Concussion,” you retort, pointing at the site of injury. 

“Hm. So now it's a good enough excuse,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“Yup,” you answer simply. 

“Really? That’s all you got?” His smirk is more assured now. 

You give a drawn-out sigh in response, studying the fire like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Damn. I was startin’ to like the snark,” he says. It seems like the liquor has taken a toll on the man’s reservations, too. 

“Don’t wanna waste my breath on you,” you reply, unable to resist the banter. 

Joel chuckles. “Ah. There she is.” 

You had forgotten how lovely Joel’s laugh is. How natural it feels to talk to him like this. Funny how booze seems to have that impact on the both of you. And, after a tortuous day of being at each other���s throats, you welcome the change of mood. “Did I just hear you say you like me?” You turn to gaze at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Nah. Must be your concussion.” He answers, deadpan, unfazed. 

You can’t hold back a smile as you reply. “Hm. Sure, Miller.”

He pauses and appears to consider something, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh. Joel,” he finally lets out, voice deeper, more serious. “Just- call me Joel.” 

You’re taken aback by that sudden request. 

His first name. It feels informal, intimate even, as though you’ve moved past the status of coworkers, into murky, foreign territory. You know you should refuse. You’ve dropped too many of your principles with this man already. 

“Alright. Joel.” You gulp. “Uh, same goes for you.”

He gives a short nod, and mirrors your sentence, only with your name instead.

It’s significant. This moment. It feels like the two of you have reached a point of no return. Like from here on out, things can’t just go back to the way they were. 

“Man, this isn’t how I was planning to spend the night,” you revert to humour to diffuse the returning tension. 

“Yeah?” Joel follows your lead. “Got somethin’ you’d rather be doin’?”

“Pretty much anything else,” you quip. “I was gonna work on this painting I’m late on.” You’re not sure why you’re opening up about that aspect of your life, but it’s the direction the whisky has picked. It’s futile enough. Still safe. 

“Oh. Right. Painting,” he says. “I knew you did that.”

He does?

“Didn’t you do one of Tommy and Maria?” He continues. “For their wedding?” 

The man truly is full of surprises. And to think you were convinced he was completely indifferent to you, at least before today. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that was me,” you reply after a few seconds. 

“It’s good work. You managed to make Tommy look half-decent. That’s talent right there,” he jokes. 

“Yeah. Thanks. I tried.” You chuckle, and your stomach flutters at the compliment. You’d shoot those butterflies one by one with a tiny gun if you could. “What about you? What’d you have on the schedule?”

“Hm,” he answers, “not much either. Was gonna ask Ellie to join me for dinner. And get rejected again.” 

“I don’t blame her,” you comment, a teasing grin forming. “What teenager wants to hang out with a grumpy old guy?” 

“Hey. Rude.” Joel feigns offence. “I can be fun,” he adds. 

“Won’t believe it until I see it,” you push further. 

“Okay then. Just you wait.” He glances around the room for inspiration, until he is hit by a stroke of genius. 

“Truth or dare?”

You snort. “Are you twelve?”

“Truth or dare?” Joel repeats, voice raising in pitch. 

You shake your head in disbelief. 

Joel fucking Miller.  

“Fine. Truth,” you capitulate. 

Joel smirks. “Okay. Uh,” he concentrates, “What’s your favourite colour?”

You take a second to process the words that just came out of his mouth. And then burst out laughing. 

“Come on,” Joel protests, a grin brightening his eyes, deepening the wrinkles around them. “What’s wrong with that question?” 

It makes you double down in laughter. You wheeze, trying to catch your breath, and Joel joins in with a few low chuckles. The stoic mask has vanished. Why does he look so sweet? 

“That-that- was the best you could come up with?” you get out between deep inhales. 

Joel doesn’t back down. “You gonna answer it or what?” 

“Okay, okay. Uh-” 

You realise you haven’t thought about that tiny aspect of yourself in about two decades. Cordyceps has had that strange effect of destroying souls, personalities, the little things that used to make one human. By infecting some, and coercing others into survival. You’re not sure which fate is worse. 

“It’s yellow,” you finally reply. Yellow like the sunshine. That was your sister’s nickname. And you were Moonbeam. Opposites who completed each other. And now there’s only one left, lonely, broken.

Joel nods. “Fitting.”

“Hm?”

“Your tattoo.” He gestures at your exposed collarbone, where a sun made up of a multitude of ink dots is etched into your skin. Joel is scarily on point; that was for her, too. 

“Yeah.” You don’t linger on the topic. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Joel replies instantly. 

You’re not prepared. “Uh- I dare you to-” Your mind is sluggish, moving in slow-motion as you try to come up with something. “I dare you to sit next to me.” It comes out without your control. 

Shit. 

“Easy,” Joel brags. He pushes himself off the ground with a grunt and takes five steps before settling back down so close that your legs are touching. He doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes on the fire ahead, and neither do you. But it sends a chill up your spine and your thoughts to a dangerous place. You determine you’ve taken a long enough break from the whisky and take a swig of the liquid courage. Joel does too. 

“Your turn,” he reminds you. 

“Truth.” You still have enough wits left to be worried of what he’d make you do as a dare. 

“Takin’ the coward’s way out?” He teases. 

You drink again, ignoring the remark. 

“Alright. Uh, tell me about- your first time,” he says, glancing over at you with a sly smile. 

That’s a huge jump from the innocence of his first question. You shoot him an unimpressed look. “You’re gonna have to be more precise.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Now start talkin’,” he playfully orders. 

You sigh. “I was seventeen. With a friend I had in the QZ. Nothing special to it.” Your teenage years aren’t a period you like to reminisce about; you had to grow up much too fast. 

Joel stays quiet for a moment, and bumps your knee with his, in a movement that could be passed as accidental, or as an attempt at comfort. You’re not certain which is the truth. “D’you love him?” He asks, his tone genuine, devoid of mockery. 

“Her,” you correct. “And…I don’t know. It was years ago. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. You remember it like it was yesterday. And you did.

Joel’s expression is one of surprise, and embarrassment. He turns a shade of red deeper than he was the second before, the temperature having nothing to do with it. “Oh. Uh. I- Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to assume- That’s- Good for you- I-” 

You’re very entertained by his reaction. People usually fall into one of two categories when you tell them; awkward ally or plain bigot. You’re glad it’s the first one. You cut him off before he digs the hole deeper. “It’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up. Your turn.” 

He seems rather grateful for the change of subject. “Uh. Right. Truth,” he replies, regaining his composure. 

You give him a taste of his own medicine. “Same question.” 

Joel is unbothered, and tells the story nonchalantly. “Okay. It was my date at senior prom. Back of my car in the school parking lot.”

It makes you laugh. “Wow. How very original. I gotta know what kinda car it was.” 

“My dad’s busted old Wrangler. I put that car through a lot of shit.” he replies, chuckling. 

“I could have guessed that.” 

For a second, you and Joel look at each other, smiling. He almost appears timid. And for a second, the horrors of the world retreat into the shadows that birthed them. For a second, everything is alright. You could stay here forever. 

——————————

Joel could, too. He wishes time could stop here. Because he’s confident that the night will inevitably end in something he’ll regret. No way around it. It’s taking an enormous effort already to keep himself from reaching over and closing the distance between your lips and his. The booze isn’t helping. You’re not either, with that radiant smile that’s melting his hard shell little by little, and your eyes that keep wandering around his face, his chest, and lower too, though you try to be discreet. He’s doing the same, and he’s certain you’re aware of it. Now, it’s a matter of who will succumb to the temptation first. 

You speak up again. “One last thing, Joel. Did you get the girl?” The question is lighthearted, but the memories it brings back certainly aren’t. 

He sighs. “Yeah. I did.” Sarah’s mother. They’d been high school sweethearts. Young. Dumb. A tale as old as time. “Got married. Had a kid. The whole nine yards. Then she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And, well-” He trails off, the words slipping out, motivated by the liquor. He’d never have confessed such a thing in a different context. Especially not to you. And just like that, he’s ruined the mood. 

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, before your expression softens, as you realise what must have happened to said child. Pity? Compassion? Joel can’t be sure. “Oh. Uhm. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know-” 

“‘S’okay. It’s, uh, it’s been a while. And I got Ellie now,” he reassures, slurring the words slightly. 

“What-what was their name?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Sarah,” he answers after a pause. He’s only recently started being able to talk about her out loud without breaking down. He doesn’t know if that still applies when he’s inebriated. And he’s not willing to test it out. He drowns the sentiment in more whisky, before giving you the bottle. 

“Uhm. That’s pretty.” You take a swig and hesitate. “I, uh, I- know what it’s like. To- to lose someone like that,” you say, softly. The pain the words cause you as they escape is evident. Joel believes you.

And then something happens. Your right hand leaves your lap, moves to the side and comes to rest on his. 

His gaze travels from your hand, up to your face. It’s full of doubt, eyes wide, as though you’ve just made a horrible mistake. 

It’s all it takes for the floodgates to open. 

——————————

Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you into his lap. His mouth collapses on yours. You don’t protest, accepting the kiss immediately, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, knees on both sides of his thighs. 

A rugged hand goes to the small of your back, pressing your chest to his, while the other slides up to the back of your head, carefully tilting it to deepen the kiss. Tongues collide, hungry, eager. He sucks on yours, stifling a moan.  

You’ve been pent up so long you’re soaking already. He breaks away from the kiss to trail his lips across your jaw, before going down your neck, biting and swirling his tongue on your pulse point, not mindful of the mark he’s undoubtedly going to leave. He earns a gasp, your fingers interlocking with his hair, holding him in place. You grind against his growing bulge to try and alleviate the fervent pressure rising at your core. He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, the friction sending sparks of electricity to your hazy mind. A hand wanders to your breast, fingers groping the soft flesh, flicking the nipple raised through your shirt. But you need more. Need him inside of you. Now.

And you tell him so, voice quivering with desire. “Please,” you add in a whimper.

It isn’t long before your clothes are ripped off, his lips refusing to break apart from yours for more than a few seconds. He lays you down right there on the floor, bare, trembling, aching for his touch. He sits back on his heels and admires you for a moment, eyes darkened, intense, reflecting the flames as if they are blazing behind his pupils. You watch, mesmerised, as he undresses in the dim, dancing light of the fire, casting him in an aura that’s almost ominous.  He stands up to take off his underwear, cock springing free and hitting his lower stomach.

The sight makes your mouth water. God, he’s big.

He climbs on top of you, your legs encircling his torso, granting him access to your entrance. And he pushes into you. Hard. You’re so wet his cock slides in without resistance, filling you completely, nearly hitting your cervix, the jab of pain delicious. The act isn’t kind, or tender; and it’s exactly what you want. For him to use you, to ruin you. And he does. He fucks you senseless, each stroke bringing you closer to oblivion, to forgetting who you are. The sounds he’s letting out are outright sinful, grunts laced with dirty sentences that could make you finish on the spot. But you’re holding on. Until he lifts you up by the waist, angling himself to hit that bundle of nerves over and over again, making you cry out in ecstasy, clawing at his back. You’re almost there, your walls pulsate around him, driving him deeper inside. 

“Think you should come for me, darlin’,” he hums into your ear, nibbling on the lobe. 

You obey. 

The orgasm ripples with such force it blinds you. You can’t even scream. You’re gone. Not a person anymore, but a being of pure pleasure. Joel coaxes you through it with a few more thrusts, erratic, uneven, as he reaches his own release. He pulls out of you at the last second, painting your belly with spurts of the thick, warm substance. Your entire body spasms before going limp. 

All the fight has been drained out of you. You’re reduced to a panting, throbbing mess on the floor, arousal pooling out of you, coating your inner thighs. 

“Did so good for me,” Joel praises, hands cupping your face, left thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “So fuckin’ good,” he repeats.

You stay still, eyes closed, brain shutting down your functions one by one. As you’re about to drift off, you feel strong arms carrying you to the loft, carefully placing you on the bed, cleaning you off with a soft cloth. He climbs in and embraces you, limbs tangled with yours, and you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. His fingers gently brush the hair from your face to plant a kiss on your forehead. 

“Sleep tight, darlin’,” he whispers. 

It’s so vulnerable it makes your heart ache. 

Because you know this’ll all be gone tomorrow, along with the alcohol evaporating from your system. 

——————————

You’re right.

The sky is clear by the next morning, harsh sunlight brutally waking you. You’re alone in the bed, shivering, sore, his scent all over your skin. You get dressed, head pounding, filled with excruciating remorse. 

Joel is waiting for you by the front door. Glacial. Austere. Haunting. The person that you went to bed with a few hours ago has been torn to shreds. As though he never even existed. Maybe he was a product of your imagination.

And, once you’re outside, standing side by side on the horses, ready for the return trip, Joel utters a sentence that reverberates in your head all the way to Jackson, its echo deafening as you ride in silence.

“What we did. It meant nothing. Understand?”

You keep the tears in until you’re back home. 

To read on AO3

[buckyysdoll]

— 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 —

જ⁀➴ — 18+ MDNI • summary: joel shows you who’s in charge — explicit smut ! please proceed with caution <3 • pairing: tlou! joel miller x f!reader; • cw: p in v sex, oral (f!rec), slight dubcon maybe a little?, dom!joel — he’s a little mean !! hope u enjoy xx

MAIN MASTERLIST

Joel makes a sound low in his throat, like a protest — and one of full, total authority. He doesn’t even need words to take control of you — not like this when you’re spread out beneath him.

It only takes that one guttural sound for you to get his clear message: it’s his way, or none.

Body strong, he leans his weight on an elbow and takes both your hands in his big one, the size difference stark between the two of your frames: him broad, with you smaller and soft. You feel petite when he’s on you like this with the rough lines of him pressed to all of your curves, but every thought is effectively silenced when he pins both your hands to the mattress above you.

There’s no way you’re getting out of that hold, but you try, and squirm against him anyway. If only just to see the warning flash burn in his eyes.

If only to get yourself punished.

“Sweetheart, what did i tell you about keeping your hands to yourself, hm?” For you’d been clawing at him, desperate to touch him, to alleviate any of the ache between your legs.

Thus far he had barely yet touched you; he’d stripped you down gently, and took his sweet time. And though it was a slow progression made down your body, Joel’s mouth had left harsh, claiming marks as he went.

With every jolt of his teeth on your skin, followed by the warmth of his tongue on the hurt, your pussy was clenching on nothing, your legs hitched around either side of his still-clothed waist. You’d wanted to undress him, to have him bare too — you were conscious on your back underneath him — but your attempts had gone on long enough, in his eyes.

Tonight it was all about you.

Pulling you from your silence, those teeth nipped hard at your neck — a reminder. It was a warning that you hadn’t yet answered Joel’s question, and it seemed he was done being gentle.

So though your mind was fogged, thoughts barely coherent with him pressed this close, and his mouth was hot on the curve of your neck with his stubble that scratched so lush and abrasive, you fought out the words that he wanted: “I can’t touch you until you say so.”

Joel’s tongue meets your skin, and he speaks his reply straight into your neck. “That’s right. See? Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” And this time, the question was rhetorical. He was so condescending you burned.

Still, you gave your answer with a movement of your hips, grinding upwards as he ran his tongue fully down the length of your throat. At the top of your breasts, his eyes shuttered in prayer, and you saw as his cock strained hard at his jeans.

All the while, the warmth between your legs grows and pools, palpably aching with an unrepressed need. You need him to take you, to fuck you any way that he chose; need it now before you start crying to him.

But he still won’t play fair.

Joel just laughs against your skin, dipping his head back down to your chest, enclosing his mouth around one hardened nipple that had peaked with the chill, and the tension he’d made.

“So eager.” And it wasn’t a question; Joel’s tone was soft and gently mocking your state —

Naked and slick, with a pretty blush swept up your neck and across those soft, warm cheeks. Thighs parted around him and breaths coming shorter now, fast.

Your sweet eyes spilling tears.

“Please,” is all you can say, and you test against the bonds of his hands on your own. His grip is like iron and your struggle is vain, for you know it only makes him hold harder.

Know it only makes him harder, when you’re squirming beneath him so desperate and wet.

“Please what?” At your silence — or rather, the whimpers that are all you can make by this point — Joel grinds out “Cmon sweetheart, use your words,” and takes one hand away from your own.

He works it down between your two bodies to the apex of your thighs, and then doesn’t move further. He waits, but at your maintained silence, delivers one short slap to where you needed him most.

You yelp, eyes thrown back to seeing, no longer shut tight against the heat of his mouth. He’s now leaning above you, brown eyes dark and narrowed, saying softly but not kindly, “Tell me what you want.”

You try, you do, but you’re breathless and shaking with the effort of withholding release. Your orgasm failed, one built from the barest of touches, faded black at the slap he delivered. The urge to reach out and grip him, that hard steel length in his jeans, almost flays you alive. Joel chuckles darkly, gaze following the line of your eyes to his tent, pressed against your bare slit.

At the sound, nothing warm left inside it, your gaze snaps back to his face.

You just say it.

“I want you to touch me, I want … I want — ” He gives you a little incentive. Joel releases your other hand, too, and shifts his way down the bed, laving you cold.

Now he’s fully facing your sex, broad hands clamping hard on either one of your thighs.

“Keep talking,” he urges, that grip running up to your hips, so large and roughened with callus. With his thumbs, he brushes smooth circles down into your skin.

He’s deceptively gentle.

It’s the circling, the soothing of prey before the force of him strikes. Your reward for obedience.

“I want you inside me,” you manage, voice shaking along with your spread open thighs. Joel lowers his head and you feel as he groans at your centre. At the sight of your need.

You know that he’s fighting the urge to take you right here, all patience be damned. He draws it out not for his pleasure, but because bad girls don’t get to come just by asking.

You’ll have to beg for his mouth, for his cock. Or he’ll edge you till you’re crying even harder.

So you try again. “I want you to f—” but his tongue is inside you, and God you can’t breathe. That first stroke is what heaven is, the very fabric of where he’s condemning you to.

As always, it came with no warning, but Joel raised his head, met your eyes with his own. With pupils blown wide, you knew he was losing restraint.

He was so hard it hurt.

Joel’s voice was pure gravel this time, those lips wet and rosed by such kissing that swelled. Was working you up worth this? He had to have wondered.

He needed you now.

“Finish that sentence,” he murmured. Those brown eyes roamed, deep as earth on your body. You knew he wouldn’t touch you again, wouldn’t even yield an inch until you whispered those words.

Whispered what exactly you wanted. Quite how much you needed him, needed his cock.

Needless to say he’d concluded that playing the long game was worth it tonight.

[antianakin]

@auditect

You seem like you're being genuine about this and asking this in good faith, so I'm going to say this as respectfully as I possibly can: no, she's not.

When thinking about what's canon and what's not, there are 2 things to consider. One is, was it explicitly said or shown in the canon material (in this case, Rebels)? For example, did you hear anyone CALL Ahsoka a Gray Jedi, or discuss Gray Jedi and then have Ahsoka pretty clearly get associated with said concept? Two is, have you ever heard the main creator of a canon material explicitly state somewhere that Ahsoka is intended to be understood as a Gray Jedi by the audience? In this case that would probably be Filoni, but you can probably count the other writers and even Lucas in this category.

The answer to all of those questions is no. At no point has the concept of Gray Jedi ever been brought up in a high canon piece of media in Star Wars (in case high canon is a new term for you, this includes all of the movies, TCW, Rebels, and the Disney+ shows like The Mandalorian, TBOBF, TBB, etc.). Gray Jedi are FANON because they only exist in a piece of extended universe Star Wars media which, in many ways, works as basically official fanfiction. Nobody working on the more "high media" stuff is ever obligated to keep extended universe stories in mind and adhere to their continuity, but the people working on extended universe stories have to adhere to high canon continuity as best they can.

Obviously there are things that have been brought from extended universe into high canon, but Gray Jedi simply aren't one of them. And, in my own opinion, this is because the entire concept makes no sense with the actual worldbuilding of high canon Star Wars. As much as Filoni shits on the Jedi, he does generally seem to understand Lucas's worldbuilding which makes the fanon concept of Gray Jedi literally impossible. Using a little dark side without it having an impact on you isn't possible. That's not how the Force works, as the saying goes.

So no, Ahsoka's not a gray Jedi in Rebels. She's a former Jedi who happens to keep using her training and her lightsabers to help people in the Rebellion. Even in the trailers for the new Ahsoka show, the tagline says "rebel, outcast, JEDI." There's nothing in there about being gray, there's no acknowledgment of Gray Jedi as a thing. Ahsoka is someone who was once a Jedi and will likely end up a Jedi again by the end of her show because that's the journey we've sort-of seen her going on throughout the different things she's been in.

In Rebels, we see Ahsoka actively working with other Jedi (Kanan and Ezra) to continue work that the Jedi Order had started, we see Ahsoka specifically come along on missions that are Jedi specific problems. She says she's not a Jedi, yes, but in her time, being a Jedi meant something very specific, you couldn't just identify as a Jedi if you weren't someone who was adopted into the Order officially. Ahsoka was expelled and then refused to come back, so she's no longer an official member of the Jedi Order and can no longer take on the title of Jedi. And then the Order is destroyed, so all roads for officially rejoining the Order are now closed to her effectively forever. And this leaves her with trying to figure out what being a Jedi means to her in the wake of that destruction, how can she re-identify as a Jedi without an Order to be a part of, does she even have the right to do so when she hadn't been a Jedi when the Order was destroyed? We've seen characters like Kanan and Cal go through similar arcs and both of them became full Jedi by the end of them. There's no real reason Ahsoka won't do the same given that it's the most obvious place for her to go.

Now, none of that means that if you like the fanon concept of Gray Jedi that you can't just headcanon Ahsoka as a Gray Jedi after she leaves the Order. More power to you! But just because it's a headcanon you like doesn't make it canon. Until it's made explicit via dialogue or something similar in high canon, or at the very least said in an interview by one of the creators, it's NOT CANON.

[synnamonroll666]

The Forbidden Touch Of A Rose

Prompt 12: Succubus Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: Starving, you travel to one of Outworld's largest cities late at night in search of needy men to regenerate your fading power. That's when you come across Syzoth—the empress' emissary, who was just coming back from delivering his last message for the day. You can sense the loneliness and longing within him, and you know that he is the perfect meal to satisfy your growing hunger... Warnings: Succubus!Reader, Arousal Induced By Magic Powers, Oral (Female Receiving), P In V, Creampie, Public Sex... Word Count: 3.2k Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri, @bihansthot, and @mmeerraa.

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I walked down the narrow path of the forest, sneakily making my way to Outworld's largest city in the night. It wasn't often that I would seek out an area so popular to feed, but lately, I was starving. I hoped for desperate men to soon be in my presence, weak-minded and easy to manipulate. But finding them would be a challenge.

I moved fast until my feet came to a stop on the dirt pathway when I smelled something familiar and tasty: the scent of a man—a lonely man. I turned around to see what seemed to be a ninja—suited in grey and green articles of clothing and armor—quickly travelling down the same path I stood on. He didn't seem to notice me at first, but when he did, his eyes widened.

In fear? In shock? In awe? Either way, I was excited.

"Greeting!" I shouted to the man before walking in his direction, swaying my hips back and forth suggestively with each step I took.

"Stand back, demon!" His voice came out like a feral growl as he moved into a fighting stance.

I froze in my tracks and narrowed my eyes in confusion, but then the corners of my lips twitched up due to amusement as a sudden realization hit me.

"Oh! Is it because of my horns?" I chuckled innocently while raising a hand to my head to gently graze one of my black horns with my fingertips. "No, dear—I am no demon."

The man stared at me with suspicious, narrowed eyes—much like mine were moments ago. He dared not to move out of his defensive stance; he remained in his position while keeping his gaze locked on me every second. It was clear that he didn't believe me, and I could not blame him for that.

"What are you, then?" He asked warily, and I giggled innocently while removing my hand from my horn to place it on my hip, his eyes following it down.

"I am a succubus." I confessed proudly, and he raised a questioning brow.

"Is that not a breed of demon?"

"Well... I suppose..." I thought for a moment. "But that should be no reason for us not to be friends."

"I strongly disagree." He spat coldly, and my expression turned to one of hurt.

"Now that's no way to treat someone when you barely know them." I scolded him lightly. "I have no ill intent; I have just lost my way."

The man's body relaxed once he realized that he had offended me, and he seemed to have let his gaurd down for a moment. It was the perfect opportunity for me to use my skills. I flashed the man a sweet smile while releasing an aura to lure him into my trap—like a spider luring a butterfly into its web.

"What is your name, love?" I asked in a sultry tone, waiting to see any signs that my powers were taking effect on him.

"S-Syzoth..." He muttered out with a stutter. I quickly took note of how his eyes lingered upon my form for a moment, almost as if he were lovestruck. I smirked, knowing damn well what that meant; I had him in my grasp. "I apologize for jumping to conclusions, miss."

"This isn't the first time I've been made to feel like a devil, you know." I spat almost bitterly on purpose, and Syzoth's expression fell into a look of remorse and pity.

"I am sorry for making you feel this way." He sighed in defeat. "I suppose I am not one to judge, since we all have a demonic side."

"It is fine." I countered as I approached him slowly. "Many judge too quickly before knowing the soul beneath the mask."

"I know that feeling all too well." Syzoth responded solemnly, and for a moment, I wondered what had happened in this man's past to make him so melancholy. "But unfortunately, I do have to take you in for some questioning."

I raised my brows, stunned by his sudden declaration. "So you are an officer?"

"No, I am an emissary for the empress. But it is also my duty to protect the royal crown. And you are a danger." He admitted, his tone was taking a more serious turn now. I simply chuckled as I shook my head, baffled by this whole situation.

"If you insist," I scoffed mockingly as I approached the man and offered my wrists to him, which he took in his big hand while grabbing some rope off of his belt.

"Good girl," he muttered lowly. A deep blush tinted my cheeks upon hearing his words, and I couldn't help but smile, knowing my next move would be quite unexpected for him. I leaned forward until my lips gently grazed his ear, letting my hot breath fan his skin for extra effect.

"I don't think so." I whispered in a mischievous tone.

I then grabbed his arm as quickly as I could and twisted it behind his back before forcing his body down to pin him to the ground. Once I succeeded, I smiled down at him with pride. Syzoth gasped, surprised by my sudden movement. He tried to turn his head to look at me, letting a small smile appear on his lips as his body slowly submitted to mine.

"Congratulations," he chuckled, amused by the fight I still had left within me. "But, let's see if you are able to keep me under control if I use my true form."

To my surprise, he then disappeared, only to return as some sort of reptilian—a Zaterran, actually. I had no idea they could even shape-shift. His big, ruby eyes glanced up into my own as he let out a snort. To say I was astonished was an understatement. But still, I wasn't going to let his new appearance distract me. After all, that was my job.

"Ooooh, it's on!" I laughed as I continued to tackle him the best I could.

The muscular arms of the reptilian beneath me tried to struggle against my grip. He attempted to lift himself up and use his weight to push me off of him, but it seemed as if he underestimated the strength of a succubus, especially when one was in the presence of a very attractive man. Still, this new form is quite a challenge to keep under control.

"Very good. I must admit, you are making me work hard." He laughed deeply, his voice now strong and gruff in this new form he took.

"As are you!" I chuckled through gritted teeth as I struggled to hold him down. Then I swung a leg over his large back, so I was straddling his large and muscular form as I tried to keep him pinned to the ground.

"Good, good. Now you are really making me work hard." He countered with a smile on his lips, struggling a bit more against my strength.

He then changed back into his human form again, so the confusion I felt would allow him to wiggle an arm free in my moment of weakness. His cold hand tried to caress my side while he gazed at me lustfully from the ground.

"You won't be able to stop me now..." His voice was now back to sounding more human, with a hint of desire filling his tone.

"You won't be able to stop me with your teasing looks and touches! I won't let you!" I growled as I grew frustrated with the role reversal he was trying to pull on me.

"We'll see what happens, little one." Syzoth smiled mischievously. "Perhaps if I kiss you... You'll stop?"

He then wiggled out of my grasp once again, only to roll over onto his back so he could look up at me. He smirked and sat up as if he intended on kissing me, but I was quick to push him down by the shoulders, pinning him to the ground once again. His cocky little smirk grew, and I narrowed my eyes as they cut daggers into him. So to punish him for his new and cheeky attitude, I leaned forward as if to press my lips against his. But then I dug my teeth into his lower lip, earning a low moan to escape his throat.

Syzoth grunted seductively as he relished the new sensation my canines were giving him, his eyes fluttering open once I released it. "I like your bite" 

"Careful what you desire, my love." I whispered in his ear before grabbing both of his arms and pinning them to the ground as well. "Roses may have soft and pretty petals, but their thorns are sharp and dare to draw blood upon the lightest touches."

Syzoth laughed in a seductive manner as he felt the full strength of my grip. I kept him pressed hard against the ground, not daring to give him a sliver of wiggle room.

"And if I want to feel those petals?" He asked in a hushed tone, as if his words were forbidden to be spoken, which we both knew that they were. "Maybe I want to see those thorns that dare to scratch me? Maybe it will be worth the little blood they draw."

"Careful what you wish for, sweet Syzoth." I chuckled darkly as a wicked smirk toyed on my crimson lips. "Because as much as those petals are soft, those torns are cruel and unforgiving."

"Ahh, but the taste of the rose will be so worth it, little one." Syzoth countered, his bright green eyes gazing upon me in a way that men usually would. I realized then that my powers were taking full effect. "I feel that it will be very interesting to see how those thorns will pierce my skin. And I can't wait to taste that rose..."

"Yeah? You want to drag your tongue through those petals to get a taste of the sweet nectar gathering between them? Even if the risk of getting pricked is high?" I raised a brow as heat began to build up within, filling me with that all-too-familiar feeling of craving another meal.

"Of course I do. I am more than willing to risk being pricked to taste an intriguing and wonderful nectar. And besides, those petals are worthy of being carefully licked and tasted." Syzoth smiled, his tone calm but with a hint of sensuality at the end of the phrase.

"Is that so? Well then, my little honey bee, what are you waiting for?"

Syzoth laughed slightly at my little pet name for him, looking me in the eyes as he flashed a seductive and lustful stare. He then squirmed out of my grasp once again, before pushing me off of him and down onto my back. He slowly pressed soft kisses down my torso until his lips reached a more intimate area. Gently, his tongue darted out to claim me. He began to slowly lick the petals of my rose, his tongue caressing those pink petals with sweet little touches.

"A-Ah! Yes!" I moaned softly as my hands reached down to tangle within his soft locks. I smirked, knowing that I finally had him in my grasp the way I had originally intended to.

"I am going to caress your petals for as long as you need, and I will make you bloom. I am like the rain that your rose needs to flourish. So let me give you the moisture you need." He murmured between each delicate caress of his tongue. "I am going to touch every petal of your rose and make you flourish with joy."

Syzoth leaned back a little to look me dead in the eyes as he continued to lick and kiss my rose, his saliva making my petals glimmer under the moonlight. I bite my lip—my teeth leave marks behind as deep as my arousal spun loops within me for him, showing him just how badly I desire his touch.

Syzoth smiled at seeing my reaction while continuing to lick all of my rose softly as his calloused hands lightly massaged my thighs. He was careful but still playful, his hands slowly going lower to caress more closely where I was most sensitive.

"Can I continue to lick your lovely petals? Or perhaps you want more than just that?" He asked while darting out his tongue to lick me a few times between words, his voice full of sensuality and desire.

"I want it all." I whispered breathlessly as my eyes flutter shut and my head lolled back onto my shoulders. "You are like the sun, which a rose craves to flourish. Please touch my petals and make me flourish."

Syzoth's grin broadened slightly as he let my words sink into his mind. It seemed as if he liked my word play and wanted more of it, which I gladly intended on giving him. He leaned in to kiss me once again, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he did so. It was clear that my petals were making him lose his mind as he savored my scent and taste.

"My dear flower..." He uttered into me sweetly.

Then his hands began to move with more passion, caressing me firmly as they travelled across my body—over every curve and crevice—feeling me and enjoying me fully.

"Let me taste all of you, my flower—let me devour every single part of you." He begged with more need in his tone before, and I glanced down to see that his expression mirrored it perfectly. His brows turned up, accompanied by his watery eyes, which was the perfect sight to see in this moment.

Reaching down to sink my hand beneath his hood before bringing it down to caress the side of his face, I smiled sweetly as I took in all of his perfect features. How could I not give him what he desired the most? That was, after all, my job—my purpose in life.

"Go ahead, sweet thing. Have the full meal." I murmured sweetly before gently pushing his head down against me.

He instantly reacted by wrapping his soft lips around my little bud, sucking at it harshly while his lime-colored eyes burrowed into mine with lust. Smiling widely due to the success of my mission, I leaned back on my elbows to thoroughly enjoy my victory. I closed my eyes as the arousal within me grew, and as his lips squeezed me tightly and the tips of his forked tongue flickered over me rapidly to bring forth my climax, I was sure I would be there within seconds.

But then I decided that I wanted this differently this time. My fingers found his hair once again, and then they clenched into a fist. I pulled his head back by his roots, and he let out a hiss of pain as a rather confused expression contorted his features. But then that changed when I shoved him down again, crashing his lips into my aching hole.

Again, he was fast to react and his tongue quickly darted in to play with my cervix. It was incredible; I had never received oral like this in all of my days. The way his tongue wiggled against my sweet spot as he played with my little pearl was more than enough to get me to where I wanted to be.

I screamed loudly as I filled his mouth with my sweet nectar. He moaned as if he were in more ecstasy than I, desperately slurping up every last drop of my juices like he was addicted to the taste. When he rose from my core, he smirked with pride as he licked the slick off of his lips and chin, thinking he had done so well to please me. But he was wrong.

What I felt pleasurable was the power his actions were giving me. With each second he touched me, I grew stronger. And I knew that all I needed was a little more to become unstoppable.

As my lips curved up into a twisted grin, I pushed the man onto his back. He seemed shocked by this, to say the least, but I wasted no time explaining and quickly pulled down his pants. His hardened length sprung free of its confines and, to my satisfaction, was ready for action.

I levelled his tip with my already aching hole and sank down slowly, burying each thick inch within my tightening core. To tease him and add to the growing anticipation, I began moving up and down at an unbearably slow pace. Though I was starving, I wanted to savor my meal tonight.

I took in his sharp features, watching the way his eyes widened each time I sank back down on his length, his mouth falling agape as his lips trembled, his chest heaving heavily with each deep breath, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. He was perfect.

Though I wanted to drag this process out for as long as possible, my hunger was driving me mad! Without even realizing it, I began snapping my hips down hard and fast. The air around us filled with my feral growls, his gasps and moans, and the lewd slapping sound of skin on skin in no time.

I was so close to reaching the edge—the edge at which I fall over and regain all my power. I needed it more than anything—more than a vampire needed blood to be immoral or a sorcerer needed spells to remain strong and feared.

But then, I heard something.

It sounded like people from afar—the empress' guards, to be exact. I realized that they had probably come searching for my new meal, so I would have to make this quick. I slammed my hands down onto Syzoth's shoulders and dug my nails deeply within his skin, cutting the soft flesh as I picked up my already speedy pace.

The sensation of his cock quickly leaving me and reentering me at the speed of light was more than enough to fill me with a heavenly feeling of pleasure. And when he finally came—pulsating intensely as he released his seed within me—I fell over the edge too.

I screeched as I fell over the edge with him, and the feeling of my power fully regenerating was better than any orgasm I had ever received. It was as if the heat within my core exploded throughout my entire body, filling me with a certain strength that no mortal could ever understand or comprehend.

When I came to, I glanced down at my lover with my now glowing red eyes. He was barely conscious—barely alert—when I leaned down to press a tender kiss to his lips.

"You did so well, sweet Syzoth." I murmured while admiring the fuckdrunk expression on his features—a work of art done by me and me only. "My rose will miss your touch. Perhaps we will meet again someday when I crave more."

After pulling his pants back up and making sure he looked somewhat decent to be found, I spread my hidden wings and flew into the trees. I watched and listened as the guards found him and took him away before fleeing back to my home. I knew that once he woke up, he would not remember what had happened. But his body would, and I fully intended on reminding him in the future why his cock ached so badly when he woke that very morning after he passed out in the forest.

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[bits-and-babs]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 — 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 (𝐅𝐓. 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓)

-> OCT. 15 : CUCKOLDING

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. p in v sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, alter system

WC: 1004

[Kinktober Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]

Your skin is slick with sweat, knees and shins sticking to the bedsheets with Steven situated between both of them, your hair damp against your skull as you grind your hips against Steven’s cock. The veiny shaft is settled between your pussy lips and each grind smears your juices across the length of him, your clit catching against his flushed head.

“C-Christ-“ he chokes out, hands settled awkwardly on your hips as you continue to tease him with long, languid strokes, “That’s- Oh-“

“What is he saying, Steven?” You muse, throwing a glance over your shoulder at the mirror you’d set at the foot of the bed, a smirk plastered on your lips. You’re still surprised at yourself for having the balls to attempt a little scene like this, fucking Steven in clear view of Marc while Steven was fronting.

“Ah- he said- oh shitttt…” he moans out, losing his train of thought as the opening to your pussy catches slightly on the swollen head of his dick. “He- He said you’re in t-trouble-“

Sighing softly, you nod your head slowly, reaching behind you to play with Steven’s balls, raking your nails against them gently so his back arches off the bed with a particularly high pitched moan. “Mhmm. I must say, I expected that. A little disappointing.”

Steven chokes out as you take his cock in your hand, slowwwly sinking down onto him with a soft hum. “He’s gonna have to do better than that if he wants me to stop.”

Steven grunts, pushing his hips up into your own to push deeper into you, mind clearly having gone fuzzy at just how good you feel. “Ah- He said that- that he’s not sure it’s hav-having the effect you think it is-“

“What does that mean?” You smirk, enjoying the patchiness of Steven’s voice, the way he contorted in pleasure as you slowly lifted your hips up.

“H-Hah- Marc- He said he likes the view!” Steven scrambles to get the words out, and exhales a sigh of relief as you momentarily pause your movements, taken aback by Marc’s admission. You’d expected him to get angry, anticipated him becoming protective. This… This certainly wasn’t an outcome you had predicted.

“He does?” You muse now, throwing another glance over your shoulder at the silvery-mirror. You know damn well that he’s there, watching every move- so you decide to put on a bit of a show.

Placing your palm flat on Steven’s sternum, you force his torso against the mattress and prevent him from rising up in bliss or in an attempt to avoid your ministrations. When you’re certain you can keep him down, you begin to circle your hips slowly, bouncing slightly on his cock. Steven’s grip on your upper thighs is bruising, a weak cry ripping from his throat as you use him.

“H-He told me to tell you that he’s-“ Steven, even in his desperate situation, stops the words from escaping him.

“He’s what?” You push, grabbing ahold of his chin and forcing him to look you in the eye. He whimpers, eyebrows pulled up tight and mouth in a subtle ‘o’ shape.

“Said he’s gonna touch himself to this view!” He spat out quickly, holding on tight to your hips as you raise your eyebrow at him. Marc really liked to watch this much?

Without much thought behind your decision, you begin to ride Steven’s cock in earnest, rising your hips up by balancing on your shins either side of his waist before settling back down onto him with force, taking him deep. He’s rubbing against something devastatingly good inside you, tremors in your thighs making it harder for you to maintain the steady pace.

Bowing your head, you focus hard on ensuring you keep a significant pace as you grind down onto Steven. With your eyes off him, Steven uses this opportunity to help raise your hips each time, before pushing you *hard* onto his dick-

“That’s it, good,” his accent twists to that of an American twang, his grip hard and purposeful now. It takes a moment for your brain to shift its focus from your impending orgasm to the fact that Marc has switched with Steven, taking control of the body again.

Your eyes snap open, looking up quickly into Marc’s heavy lidded gaze, a smirk playing on his lips at your utter shock.

“What? Don’t like that you’ve gotta face the consequences now?” He muses. You open your mouth to answer with a snarky comment of some kind, but he doesn’t even allow for that. Digging his fingers into your soft flesh, Marc ruts his hips up to meet your hips each time they sink onto his dick, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Don’t like it when you gotta pay the price, do you baby?” He smirks as you told your head back, moaning loudly as he seems to focus in on that earth-shatteringly pleasurable spot deep inside you. It’s mind numbing, and you find yourself struggling to answer with a sound that even remotely resembles a word of English.

“Come on baby- Come on,” he pushes you, one of his hands coming loose from your side to grind the pad of his thumb up against your swollen clit. It’s all you need to tip you over the edge, cumming so hard around Marc’s cock that your vision went white, jaw dropping in a silent moan.

One, two, three thrusts and Marc follows suit, growling out as he cums inside you, coating your insides with white, hot ropes. You both pant heavily, your nails digging into Marc’s pectorals and leaving little, crimson crescent-moons

Settling back against the pillows on the bed, Marc smirks as he watches his cum leak from your swollen pussy, pooling at the base of his cock. He keeps you there, enjoying the view as long as he could before you ultimately succumb to exhaustion.

“I dare you to do that again, Sweetheart.”

“I just might,” you admit sleepily, “You seemed to enjoy it.”

END

@in-for-a-pennyx @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @markywithissues @welcometostayingawake @inklore @foxilayde @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke

[imagionary]

if you're open to talking about them (unless it's more of like a 'reveal information about them over time' type of thing) do you maybe have any information on dave's hollywoods? they're super interesting to me, and i love the fact that imps in your au apparently gain a sort of resemblance to the people they consider to be their boss. i really love the unique design they have too...guys with weirdo eyes just like their boss... also I'M REALLY SORRY if this is like worded weirdly or whatever! this ask was actually originally a lot longer (and it honestly is still pretty long for an ask...) until i realized i should probably shorten it...

totally unrelated as well, but i would love to learn more about this au and stuff, even if it isn't through art! i really liked the sort of writing post you made about the whole 'buck and dave and their connection with high roller in your au' thing and i would definitely love to see more sort of writing posts like that (if you want!)

Golly,, you have no idea how much I loved getting this ask, this is very kind to me, thank you! I'm shy when it comes to talking about our AU, but it means a lot to me that you're so interested in it, and that you'd like to read my silly ramblings! ^v^ 💚

Dave has his three Hollywoods: Left Suit, Middle Suit, and Right Suit. They are his posse, his guys, his main men, his trio, his henchmen sorta, etc, etc.

The three of them are all supposed to look exactly the same, and they did for an extremely long time, however, the first week that Evils and I were telling story, there was a mass layoff happening in COGS.Inc, and Left Suit happened to get fired; Dave was FURIOUS about this, because his Hollywoods were supposed to have special protection against that sort of thing, but he did his best to keep his cool during his time without Left Suit,, the whole situation seemed bogus and fishy to him, but there was nothing he could do about it, so life went on; I think it was around a year since Left Suit had been fired, but it was revealed that it was an inside job; Doctor Googlemuffin and Brian were so incredibly interested in how High Roller had come into being, that they wanted to see if they could make any clone fusions using extracted soul essence from one of Dave's Hollywoods (so, they decided to have Left Suit fired without notifying Dave or anyone else of the reasoning, and slipped his name on the list last second)

Doctor Googlemuffin and Brian's plans worked, albeit better than they had planned; almost every clone fusion they had conceptualized had finished itself just like how High Roller had; except the Aggregator, Top Dog, and Bulldozer all seemed to have a strangeness to them that the two scientists couldn't foresee:

The Aggregator and Top Dog were highly aware that they were created in the lab, and that they were fusions of two peoples blueprints (created using two people's blueprints as basis? Idk how to explain it) (the Aggregator being a secret project that Doctor Googlemuffin was creating to spite Brian; she used Brian and Graham's blueprints as a basis) (Top Dog was created using Graham and Zak's blueprints as basis); both were created with Graham's strangely advanced blueprints, so Brian and Doctor Googlemuffin chock off their peculiarities to being side effects of being created with them in mind;

However, Bulldozer is different. He doesn't have Graham's strange blueprints to blame. He was created with Mr. Wilde and Winnie's blueprints as basis, and he survived the destruction of the conglomerate extension.. well, came back to life after his body put itself back together (he had been mangled and shot through the core multiple times by Spruce to finish him off).

The reason I'm rambling about all of this is because Winnie's pixie dust magic, and Wilde's tough material, blended with Left Suit's soul essence in a peculiar way and it gave Bulldozer near indestructibility and rejuvenation powers like a Hollywood. So, this is why, when Left Suit was alive again, he had gone out and sweet talked Bulldozer and gave him a kiss; he was taking his soul essence back. Being near indestructible and with the power of rejuvenation had left Bulldozer unable to comprehend that the way he was treating the molemen, maintenance crew, and the skelecogs that were building the conglomerate extension (before it exploded) wasn't good. If he could withstand as much as he could, everyone else surely could to, is what he ignorantly believed; so Left Suit took his soul essence back to knock him down a peg; Bulldozer is still incredibly resilient, but he doesn't have his rejuvenation abilities anymore; Bulldozer doesn't know this yet, but once he gets hurt real bad again (hopefully he wont) he'll understand what he was doing to his subordinates.

Golly,, I got side tracked, oops,, so, after Dave had found out about why Left Suit had been fired, and what he was being used for, Doctor Googlemuffin made sure to get Left Suit finished up so she could return him to Dave. Dave was furious about this, he knew that Left Suit wouldn't have all of his soul essence back, but he would take what he could get,, he missed Left Suit so so much,,

However, once Left Suit was finished, he appeared within the darkness in High Roller's office, because, according to his contractual existence, he belonged to Dave,, but High Roller was made with Dave's scrap, so there was a paradoxical issue with the contract,, Left Suit now has feathery fur like High Roller (albeit, his is still white and black and not green like High Roller); Left Suit was there to serve High Roller, but Dave wanted Left Suit back, so he made some contractual changes with High Roller (having High Roller sign that he wouldn't be in charge of any of Dave's Hollywoods) amd they shook signed on it with a cold Inky electric flame entering High Roller's body through their handshake. And thus the deal was made and Dave could keep Left Suit as his own (Left Suit still has feathers that he tries to pluck out, but they always come back, so he hides them so he can look like Middle and Right)

Left, Middle, and Right all have the same voice and think and act relatively the same; however, if someone were to get to know them long enough, it's possible to get to know their differences:

Left Suit happens to talk smoother and can come off as the most friendly and calm of the three; he's got a playful sass to him; he's the weakest of the three now (powers wise), since parts of his essence has been stolen; he's the least likely to get angry

Middle Suit happens to be the most stern of the three, and is normally in charge of trying to calm Dave down when the time arises; he happens to be the most protective of Dave and his wishes; despite Right being more likely to get into trouble, Middle is more likely to get upset (still a rare occurrence that he'd show it though)

Right Suit happens to be the more tricky of the three and can come off as a bit sassy and the most likely to break Dave's rules, however he is also the most trusted when it comes to handling dirty work; out of the three Hollywood's, Right is most likely to "break character" and have his expression change

All of the Hollywoods have little horns that they hide from their appearance, as to appear more normal, like how Dave hides his more monstrous parts

The Hollywoods all have gloves and white cores like Dave, to show that they are under Dave's control; their plug tails can be used to control people like how Dave can with his, however, their abilities to erase or eat people's memories aren't as powerful as Dave's, so if you ever have your memories of an event wiped by a Hollywood, it'll seem like you had a lucid nightmare, but you'll think it wasn't real

The Hollywoods, like Dave, can disappear and appear within the dark; Dave can also use his Hollywoods as extra eyes for him; whatever they see, Dave can see, if he has his thoughts set on knowing (Dave can also give his Hollywoods knowledge of things they're not supposed to know either)

Sorry if this got rambly,, I get shy when talking about our AU, so I hope this answers your question! You're more than welcome to ask questions if you have any

[moonlightsolo]

eddie the bloody handed III

summary: unfortunately, being stuck in the upside has some side effects. you'll try your best to fight the terrors, but will you be strong enough?

pairing: vampire!eddie x female reader

warnings: very graphic depictions of death, gore & blood, angst, kinda sad not gonna lie, major spoilers for vol. 2, main character getting hurt!!

note: sorry for this being so delayed. i’ve been so busy with my new job!! ily all so much. i hope you enjoy (this v long) ending!!! i'm also so sorry if i didn't tag you i have sooo many people asking and its hard to keep track.

the search for eddie munson continues in the hawkins that you were once apart of. the town that mirrors the world you’re in, but still the one you cannot return to.

being stuck in the upside down with eddie isn’t the worst thing to happen, other than the constant darkness and thunder.

having him with you has its perks- most importantly, you get to roam the upside down with him freely, without having to worry about the police, or even the military chasing after him.

but of course, that’s not without some complications. the issue being, reoccurring visions happening only to you.

ever since turning into this creature-like form, you’re been bound to eternal consciousness, so dreaming comes in different forms now.

it’s almost like a meditative state where a scene plays behind your eyes after relaxing, whether you’re standing up, or sitting down. these types of ‘dreams’ are the most peaceful. the other commonly occurring ones suddenly transport you into another realm.

one that’s filled with gruesome images of your family and friends perishing in the fires spreading across hawkins. other times, it replays the entire scene of you mourning over eddie’s dead body, but in a third person perspective.

whenever your mind decides to bring you back, every ounce of energy is drained from you. you’re supposed to be superhuman, but it seems as if you’ve found your own weakness.

or maybe, your weakness has finally caught up to you.

whenever you go into this trance, eddie sits by your side the whole time. he doesn’t bother you, or try to wake you up anymore. it’s been happening so frequently, he knows what does and doesn’t work by now.

every time is happens though, he’s just as worried as the one before. the way the white of your eyes flicker in your head reminds him of chrissy floating in his living room. thankfully, you never float, but you do twitch quite a lot.

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes blowing open as your body falls backward towards the ground.

“shit, baby. i got you.” eddie’s hand cradles your head before you could make contact with the dirt.

“oh my god. oh my god.” your hoarse voice mutters out as you blindly reach for your boyfriend. your hand grips his bicep, making him lean forward to pull your limp body into his lap.

“jesus, that was a long one. are you alright?” he breathes out as his hand gently caresses your head, smoothing your hair back.

“no, no. i saw- i saw you and- me… we were- we were dead, eddie…” you finally open your eyes to look up at him, tears already threatening to spill past your waterline. everything rushes back to you. eddie and you were simply taking a stroll together, then everything goes black.

“dead?” he questions, eyebrows furrowing, “as us? before we turned or how we are now?”

“how we are… now.” you breathe out, your hand reaches up to cup his face and make sure he’s real and not a vision.

“i’m here, baby. i’m right here.” he sighs, his eyes are full of worry as he stares down at you.

“i think we need to tell dustin.” he suggests with a cautious voice, making you shake your head vigorously.

“no way. no. i can’t have him open his mouth and tell everyone about my.. my problems.” you shudder in his arms, making him pull you even closer into his chest.

the thunder above your head cracks, the familiar flash of red lightning darts across the sky.

“i’ll make sure he doesn’t tell anyone, but we need his help. you need his help.”

silently, you begin weeping into his chest as you come to terms with telling dustin. having these involuntary visions take over you is physically and mentally draining. you can’t keep doing this forever.

“okay, fine.” your voice shakes with fear as you keep your face pressed into eddie’s metallica band tee. it slightly smells of clean laundry from when mike and nancy brought down some clothes for you both.

“whenever he comes by to drop us off food next, we’ll tell him.” you breathe out, nails slightly digging into the muscles of his back as if you’ll be pulled away from him.

“okay, my love. anything you want. i just want you to be better. i can’t stand seeing you like this.” he coos out softly to you, pressing a cool kiss to your forehead.

the two of you sit like that for a few more minutes, basking in the glory of having each other’s arms tangled between your bodies. eddie slightly adjusts you so his arms are securely wrapped around your waist.

using all his strength, he easily lifts you up with him and launches you both into the sky. his wings flap loudly behind him, bringing you both right below the crackling clouds.

on the ride back to the house, your eyes slowly drift shut. you’re left unable to fall asleep, hoping it be different from every other time you’ve attempted to drift off. instead, you let your body go fully limp in his arms. your jaw unclenches from its gritted-state, and your tense shoulders drop away from your ears. you pay attention to the sound of wind whooshing past your face, how the cold air bites at your skin.

in the back of eddie’s mind, he has a gut wrenching feeling that vecna is still alive and is weakening your mind to get inside of it.

he begs to whatever god is up there that this feeling isn’t true, that you’re not being brainwashed by the king of the upside down.

eddie spots your shared home, descending down to the front door step. he swoops you into his arms, bridal-style and carry’s you into the living room to lay you down on the couch.

your hooded red eyes flutter open to look up at him, giving him a soft smile. “thank you for taking care of me, eds.” you whisper.

your words make a grin curl up on his face, “of course. anything for you, my princess.” his hand slightly pushes your hair out of your face, before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“i’m gonna go find a gate for dustin to come through, then i’ll be back, okay? just stay here and rest.” he pats your cheek with his fingers, grinning down at you cheekily.

“hurry back.” you mumble, slightly pouting at the fact you can’t go with him.

“i will. don’t you worry.” he leans down once more to kiss your lips, before pulling away and walking out the front door.

you watch through the front window as he takes off into the sky, disappearing past the frame and out of sight.

with a loud sigh, you turn onto your side to face the back of the couch. your fingers trace the fabric, going over each neatly stitched line with your nail.

something in your chest tugs painfully, making you gasp for air. your eyes close briefly, just for a moment, before they reopen to be met with a entire new environment around you.

everything is crimson. the sky, the dampened floor beneath your feet, and even the fog that seeps out of the depths of the unearthly dimension.

your eyes dart around to examine your new surroundings, noticing floating fixtures in the sky. mostly pieces of splintered wood, grandfather clocks wrapped in slimy tentacles, and pieces of colored glass.

large inky stalagmites stand high from the ground, surrounding the area in a formation that grows more dense as you walk forward. a substance seems to have created a film over the entire area, creating a sticky sound as your feet pick up pace.

“eddie?!” you scream out, voice echoing. terror runs through your veins once you stop walking, but the sound of footsteps continue.

your head whips around, spinning your body at all angles to find out where it’s coming from. “who’s that?.. who’s here?” you scream out, tears threatening to spill from your waterline.

you attempt to fly upwards to escape, but your wings refuse to extend from behind you. your head peeks past your shoulders to look at them, eyes widening in horror at the sight. the skin is ripped between each quadrant of your wings, making you unable to take flight.

“why did you do this to me?!” you screech out, fists clenched by your sides. you bend down so your chest is against your knees, but you don’t dare to sit down fully on the wet ground. your hands go over your ears, eyes closing as you let out a sob.

“do not cry, my dear child.” a deep menacing voice booms from every direction, making your eyes slowly open to look around.

“what…?” you breathe out in shock, blinking out tears.

“there is no reason to be afraid. you’re safe here.”

“who are you?” you whimper out, bottom lip quivering.

“who am i?” the voice almost laughs as if you should know, “i am you. we are one. you’re mine, my weapon.”

“your weapon?” you question out loud to the booming voice.

“that will become known to you later.”

you go to speak again, but the ominous voice cuts you off once more.

“don’t ask questions, child. just know you will be used for a greater purpose.”

and just like that, you’re sucked back into reality. you gasp for breath that you’ve lost, feeling as if you’re suffocating, which is impossible.

your eyes dart around the living room, seeing that you’re still alone on the couch, and eddie hasn’t returned yet.

is the voice you heard, vecna? the only person who would know what he sounds like are either dead, or not in the same dimension as you.

your legs kick off the couch to stand, taking a few powerful steps before your legs give out completely underneath you.

your body topples downwards, slamming against the grimy wood floor. you grunt as you rise to your hands and knees, lifting your head up to look at the front door. it seems so close, yet so far away.

slowly, you crawl forward. you can feel your bones straining under the pressure of your muscles, crackling with every movement.

just as you’re about to stand up, the door flies open. eddie is standing behind it with dustin, both of their eyes fall down to stare at you on the floor.

half of the boys face is covered by a bandana, but you can it’s him by the curly hair.

it takes eddie a moment to realize what is going on, before his brain clicks and he rushes towards you, “oh baby. why did you get up? you need to rest.” his arms lift you up by your armpits, helping you stand to your feet carefully.

“is she okay?” dustin’s voice sounds from behind eddie’s back, a little hesitant to walk inside.

munson grunts as he wobbles with you back over to the couch, sitting you down on it. you slightly wince in pain as you lean back against the plush fabric, letting your head fall back against it.

“no, she’s not. she-.” eddie is cut off by dustin walking toward you, “what’s that?” he asks, his eyes squinting as he points to your neck.

eddie bends down slightly to get a better look, “huh. i don’t know. i don’t have that.”

“what is it?” you refuse to move, completely freezing every movement coming from your body.

“your skin… right under your shirt.” eddie’s cool fingers hook around the neckline of your top, tugging it down over your collarbone.

dustin hisses at the sight, “goddamn."

black has infiltrated your icy white veins, turning them a gray color under your skin. it slowly creeps beneath your shirt, directly towards your heart. the black branches throughout your vessels, barely noticeable under the thin fabric of your top, other than a gray hue that creeps past your collar.

“what the hell is it?!” you demand them to tell you with blown worry-filled eyes.

“baby… your veins. they’re turning… black?” eddie’s eyes travel up your extended neck to watch your reaction.

your face screws up in confusion, hand slowly raising to touch the spot eddie was looking at it. “it feels normal, it doesn’t hurt?”

“i don’t know what it is.” eddie shoots a worried glance at dustin, who shares the same look.

“will… he had- uh, something like that when the mindflayer possessed him.”

your head flies up to direct your eyesight at dustin instead of the ceiling, “are you saying i’m possessed?”

“no, no. it just, looks similar.” dustin tries to play it off.

“don’t sugarcoat it, henderson. tell me.” your voice is bitter, blood-red eyes staring daggers into his.

“well, i’d say… it looks the exact same as his, but i mean, i don’t know! it could be some vampire cold or something…?” he chuckles awkwardly, standing up straight to back away from you slightly.

“vampire cold, really?” you scoff, “that doesn’t explain the-the visions. the horrible, terrible, realistic hallucinations i’ve been having.”

dustin worriedly glances at eddie once more before looking back at you, “visions? hallucinations?”

“yes, dustin. didn’t you just hear me?“ you bite back frustratingly.

“i heard you. loud and clear.” he mumbles with a sassy roll of his eyes, “max told us… before everything happened. that she was having visions. before, ya know, vecna almost got her for the first time.”

as dustin explains what max’s symptoms were, a deafening ring starts in your ears. whether it’s because of pure shock, or the mention of your death possibly being much closer than you’ve imagined.

the high-pitched sound drowns out every sound as you blink, and attempt to swallow. your throat is terribly dry, so you let out a hoarse cough. your eyes blink slowly as you stand to your feet, pushing past eddie and dustin.

you can barely hear them protesting to what you’re doing. eddie’s hand grabs at yours but you swiftly pull it away.

you take a deep breath, getting a whiff of fresh metallic blood pumping through dustin’s veins. your head snaps toward him, but you’re suddenly distracted by the plastic bag in his hands.

the ringing in your ears instantly halts, “the food?”

dustin looks at eddie, a bit of a fearful look in his eye. eddie gestures with his head, “hand it over before you become dinner.” a little mischievous smirk pulls up on his mouth, making dustin shudder.

the boys arm darts out from his side nervously, giving you the bag with a trembling hand. you shoot him a grateful smile as you take it, opening the bag to be met with the most scrumptious smell ever.

your hand reaches inside to grip a jiggly bag full of fluid. your fingers grip the pouch to pull it out, mouth salivating at the sight of the blood. “where did you get this?” you hiss out softly, licking your lips.

“el… she uh- took it from the hospital when we visited max...” dustin voice quivers, eyes watching you carefully.

you bring the bag to your lips, letting your fangs puncture the plastic surface. the warm liquid floods your mouth, causing you to let out a soft groan as you savor the delectable taste.

eddie can’t help but stare at you in awe, before looking down at dustin who is intensely watching you. “alright, buddy. let’s get you back home.” eddie pats his back and leads him to the front door.

as you suck the blood bag dry, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming amount of guilt. something you’ve never felt as you feasted on blood.

your chest constricts with anxiety, dread settling deep in your belly. your throat closes up, making you choke on the blood you’re swallowing. you sputter on the liquid, causing it to spray out of your mouth and splatter over your face.

“fuck-“ you cough and squeeze your eyes shut even tighter as your throat burns. your hands grip your throat as you struggle with the pain searing the inside of your throat.

your eyes fly open, looking straight into the milky eyes of a monster. instinctively, you attempt to get yourself as far away from it as possible, but seems that you can’t move.

the pain radiates from your neck and travels up to your eyes, feeling as if they will pop out of your skull at any given moment.

“hm, strange girl. look at you.” his familiar gravelly voice slithers past his lips.

vecna’s long, branch-like fingers are wrapped around your neck, hovering you above the floor. he turns you from side to side to examine you, the look in his eyes sends shivers down your spine.

“you’re weak. you should not be telling them about the gifts i have given you. i’ve been trying to strengthen you!” he shouts the last sentence, his grip tightening on your neck. you can feel your skin crackling under the pressure.

“please.” your voice whispers, blinking out tears that are flooding your waterline.

“do not beg. i have given you everything! things i did not know were possible. things i did not know even i were capable of!” his voice booms in your face, causing you to wince.

“the man with you should not have lived, but my winged creatures gave him another chance. he is taking it for granted.”

the sound of eddie being mentioned made your eyes widen even more if it was possible, “no, don’t hurt him. i’ll do anything! just don’t hurt him…” your voice croaks out, more tears spill down your cheeks.

“anything for this boy?” he chuckles, a menacing smile pulls up on his skinned cheeks.

“anything.” your strained voice squeaks out, feeling as if your esophagus is collapsing at this very moment.

the grip around your throat is loosened, his hand drops down to his side. once your feet touch the ground, you stumble backwards into the wall behind you. your hands grasp at your throat, carefully touching the sore skin there to make sure your head is still attached to your shoulders.

before you could fully recover, your body is slammed against the wall by an unseen force holding you in place. you whimper as you struggle, attempting to fight against the power.

“let go.” his voice rumbles inside of your head, making your eyes blow in shock. the pressure inside your skull grows heavier, making you cry out from the pain. he continues his assault on your brain, using every ounce of his powers to infiltrate it.

the monster lets out a soft grunt, just before everything goes black. it feels as if you’re swimming in your own mind, floating in the bliss of your thoughts and memories. the pure vast nothingness is almost calming, and cathartic.

consciousness hits you like a freight train, sucking back into reality with a frenzy of screams falling from your lips. your limbs kick and hit anything that’s around you, attempting to protect your physical form by any means.

“baby, baby, baby!” eddie’s voice calls out, his hands wrap around your wrists to pin them down. your eyes fly open, pupils shrinking to slits. you involuntarily lunge at his face with a hiss, baring your sharp fangs angrily.

“woah, woah. it’s okay.” his voice is soft and comforting, his legs are on either side of your hips to hold you in place.

your brain scrambles to think of why you’re so angry with him and why you feel this deep burning of fury in your chest. nothing pops up, nothing.

“eddie.” your voice whispers out desperately for him, “i’m so sorry. i don’t know what’s wrong with me.” you sniffle, and whimper under your breath. you squeeze your eyes shut, turning your head to the side.

one of his hands let go of your wrist to turn your face towards him, “nothings wrong with you. it’s okay.” his voice is reassuring, but it doesn’t sound like he believes his own words.

eddie looks over your neck, seeing the black has spread throughout your empty veins. it’s making its way up to your face, branching across your jawbone. he completely pulls back from you, eyes going wide as he watches your face contort as if you’re holding yourself back from doing something.

a deep evil cackles falls from your lips, one that doesn’t sound like you. “babe…” he trails off, standing up to his feet and taking a few steps back.

“don’t run away from us.” your voice is raspy, as a sickening smile curls on your lips.

the sentence sends a shiver down his spine, making him gulp and freeze in his spot. “us?” he questions.

you sit straight up, bottom lip toying with the point of your fangs as you grin.

eddie watches as your face grimaces as if you’re in pain, before the stomach-turning cheshire cat grin forms on your face again. you’re in there somewhere.

“baby. be strong. don’t let it take over.” he attempts to call out to you, making your face screw up in pain once again.

the smile flickers off your face, and you hide yourself behind the palms of your hands, “it hurts. i can’t.” your weak voice mutters out, your shoulders shake as you weep. you need to get away from eddie before you do something you’ll regret.

swiftly, you rise to your feet and extend your wings to blow air directly at him. the force of it causes eddie to stumble back into the couch, falling over the side. you drop to your feet, watching him scramble for a moment before sprinting out the front door and into the sky.

eddie curses under his breath as his hair covers his eyes, trying his hardest to get back on his feet. he hears the door slam open, and the whooshing of your wings flying away. he rolls over onto the floor and springs up before running outside to look for you in the air. he screams out your name before taking off after you.

his eyes roam every corner of the demented hawkins, searching for you with dread in his chest. you haven’t left his side since you came down here to look for him when you were human. he can’t lose you again, he can’t.

an idea pops into his head, making him do a u-turn in the sky and fly back to the house. he bursts into your bedroom through the window, and lands in front of your desk. his hands scavenge for loose paper and a pen, making a mess of the already destroyed bedroom.

he finally finds both, letting out a little ‘aha!’ before scribbling down a note:

‘I need all of you. Now. Hurry the fuck up. -E.M.’

eddie folds the paper and slips it into his jean pocket, before, quite literally, flying down the steps and out the door. he bursts into the sky like a rocket ship, kicking up inter-dimensional dirt around him.

he flies to the exact spot where he knows there’s a gate that leads to the normal world. he hops in place, shaking out his hands nervously as he stares down into the hole of the slithering gate.

he thinks of you; of how you’re suffering, and how this moment will only cause him a momentary amount of pain, “fuck it.” he grips the paper in his pocket, before reaching his hand down into the gate.

searing pain instantly burns at his skin, making it bubble at the surface. he seethes through his teeth, turning his head away until he can feel fresh air on the other side. he flicks the paper into the gate before pulling his hand back out.

“mother fucking shit fuck!” he shouts and stomps his foot before looking down at his hand that’s obviously toasted.

eddie plops down on the ground, covering his wound with his shirt with another hiss. he drops his head to his knees and whines softly in pain, taking slow deep breaths to try and calm himself.

eddie waits for hours on end, rolling around in pain, and attempting to sleep but to no avail. a suctioning sound next to his head puffs out a piece of paper, sending the lightweight object fluttering downward to him. he watches as it casually soars through the air.

once it’s arms length away, he snatches it and opens it up to read the inside:

‘We’re coming. Get ready.’ reads someone’s scribbled handwriting below his note.

before he could even react, a large bag full of who knows what flies out of the gate and lands directly on his chest. “what… the… fuck!” he puffs out before shoving the heavy duffel bag off his chest and standing to his feet.

he glances at his hand for a moment, noticing that it’s already starting to heal. his attention is quickly taken away from himself as two hands reach through the portal to grip the sides and pull themselves through. he can tell just by the floppy hair, it’s steve harrington.

once the voluminous-haired man stands up tall and brushes off his knees, he turns to eddie. he slightly jumps at his presence before putting his hands on his hips to try and play it cool, “oh! hey man, didn’t expect to see you here.” he chuckles nervously.

he keeps his eyes on eddie before he bends down over the gate to grip the other hand extending through. he pulls through dustin, who is followed by eleven, robin, and will. next to come through is jonathan, and nancy.

“no sinclair?” eddie questions, making dustin’s head perk up.

“nah, he’s with max.” henderson mumbles quietly as he unzips the infamous bag to take out all the weapons they must’ve packed.

nancy grabs her shotgun, jonathan is handed a revolver, and steve is handed a bat with nails and screws sticking out of it, who then passes it on to dustin.

harrington grabs an axe from the inside, swinging it around before putting the sharp side over his shoulder. “everyone ready to beat an aliens ass?”

“he’s not an alien.” eleven states with no emotion in her voice, before walking away from the group, “follow me.”

steve’s eyes dart between everyone before shrugging and ultimately listens to her. the rest of the group follows her into the forest, leaving robin and eddie near the gate. “alright, i guess we should go.” eddie clears his throat and begins walking with her.

robin trails behind the group to walk with him, “so…. this whole vampire-bat-immortal thing? is it cool?”

“is it cool?” he chuckles, shaking his head, “it’s cooler when everyone around you isn’t human.” he says playfully with a grin.

“isn’t human? are you insinuating you want to eat all of us?” she says with a surprised tone to her voice.

“pretty much, yeah…” he laughs breathily, throwing his head back as he does so.

robin can’t help but cackle along with him, hitting his shoulder with her fist playfully.

nancy turns around to shush them with her index finger pressed tight to her lips.

“jeez, why’s she so uptight?” eddie grumbles and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

the group finally stumbles upon a clearing, stopping in their tracks as they look over the eeriness of the creel house. the red flashes in the sky, showing the silhouette of the mindflayer looming above.

it’s pointed head is thankful to faced away from them, but it’s standing guard of the house. “what the fuck.” eddie breathes out softly over the kids shoulders, making nancy turn around and stare him down like a disapproving mom.

“m’sorry.” he puts his hands up in surrender, before returning his attention back to the monster in the sky.

“heat. heat will hurt it.” will blurts out, his eyes don’t dare to leave it or even blink. eddie glances to the boy, who seems extremely frightened.

steve pulls something out of his backpack, and grabs a lighter that’s in his side pocket. “who’s ready to make a wildfire?”

“a wildfire? are you serious? you realize that we still have to go through the forest after we get her back?” dustin’s eyes are wide as he lectures steve.

“there’s a gate inside the house.” eleven interrupts the bickering, her features obviously screwed up in annoyance.

“so you guys didn’t conjure up a miraculous plan before you decided to come down here?” eddie laughs in disbelief, shaking his head.

everyone turns to him, before their eyes dart around to each other. “uh… no. i guess not.” steve gulps slightly then looks down at his shuffling feet.

“fuck it.” eddie grumbles, grabbing the liquor bottle from steve’s hands and snatching the lighter from the other, “on my cue. you run into the house.” eddie flashes a grin at steve and winks.

“wait!“ somebody calls out, but eddie has already launched himself into the air. he shields the lighter from the wind with one hand as he lights the fabric hanging out of the neck of the bottle.

it instantly catches, making his eyes blow up wide. he has a matter of seconds to throw this thing before the fire reaches the inside, “hey fucker!”

the mindflayer let’s out a blood-curdling roar that seems to make the trees tremble in fear.

eddie hovers in the air, feeling himself growing more uneasy as the monster closes in on him. he cranks his arm back, aiming the fireball in his hand directly at it’s face. he takes a deep breath before catapulting the bottle out of his grip.

eddie watches as the bottle spins in the air and makes direct contact with the monster. it lets out another roar as the fire burns, and falls into the trees below.

one of its long limbs comes up right beside eddie, the sound of wind is the only thing he can hear as it comes closer to his head.

“shit!” he dodges the flayers attempt to hit him. he flies back and forth and up and down, taking his attention off the monster for a moment. his eyes dart down to the ground, seeing that the group is making their way towards the entrance of the house.

he notices that the fire is starting to grow stronger beneath his feet, the heat prickles at his skin. the wavy refraction builds higher as he leads the monster farther into the fiery inferno of the forest.

the squeals of the slithering tentacles are ear-piercing as they burn up on the ground. the gigantic monster grows angrier by the second, roaring with each searingly painful stomp it takes towards him.

eddie ducks as he dodges another weak attack, “come on! is that all you got?” he hits his own chest as he shouts at it.

eddie takes off into the sky, going as high as he possibly could go. one of its twirling arms swiftly follows his tail, swiping at his feet at every chance it can get.

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” eddie chants out, feeling his wings grow tired from the heavy amount of exertion. the monster let’s out another horrendously intense outcry, making eddie glance to see that it’s unable to follow him anymore.

he lets out a soft surprised laugh, his chest heaving as he watches it struggle in the fire blazing around it. it’s trapped.

eddie watches as the flames engulf its body until it’s no longer able to be seen. the arm that was chasing him disappears beneath the flames. he quickly makes a beeline towards the house, landing harshly on one of his knees on the front steps. he stands up straight before pushing through the door, eyes squinted into slits. he focuses in on the people carefully crawling past the slimy appendages covering the steps.

“i need a weapon.” he mutters to himself, completely ignoring the people on the steps as he looks around. he steps over the tentacles as he crosses into another room, instantly finding a large sword accompanied by a faux knight armor set.

eddie mentally debates if he should take the armor and use it, but he grabs the sword and heads back to the staircase. “let’s go. i need to get my girl back.” he jumps past all of them by flying over their heads and to the top of the staircase.

“are you guys ready?” steve asks the group, who all nod hesitantly.

eleven takes a step forward, “i think me and… him should go up first.” she gestures to eddie, who grins like an idiot.

“you can call me eddie.” he twirls the sword in his hand boisterously.

“okay… eddie. let’s go.” she starts walking with him in tow, climbing up the attic steps to vecna’s lair.

“eleven and the true monster of them all. you’re finally here. i’ve been waiting.” his raspy voice booms out.

eddie stops in his tracks when he sees vecna hanging from the ceiling by the same slimy arms they couldn’t step on. he looks down to the side, seeing a winged body slumped in the corner. it’s you.

he goes to take a step forward, but he’s stopped by the girl. “not yet.” she whispers.

“i see you’ve defeated the guard… what do you call it? the mind-flayer?” vecna almost chuckles at the sound of its nickname.

“you’re brave to come here, eleven. after i defeated you in battle and hurt your precious, little friend… max.” he hisses out her name like a poisonous snake.

“do not say her name!” eleven shouts at him through gritted teeth.

vecna’s arm twitches by his side, making eleven fortify her stance. “now?” eddie whispers to her, “now.” she confirms with a slight curt nod. he motions with his hand behind his back for steve, nancy and jonathan to make their way up.

robin holds onto another makeshift molotov, already lit on fire. she pushes through eleven and eddie, throwing the fiery liquor bottle at vecna.

eleven uses her powers to push the bottle faster through through air, giving vecna no time to react. the bottle hits him, his body instantly explodes into flames.

he drops to his feet, away from the screeching tentacles that were attached to him. a hoarse groan falling from his mouth as he stands up with the fire blazing at his skin, “you think some fire will stop me?” he lets out a menacing laugh as his hands gradually rise into the air from his sides.

simultaneously, your wings expand from your quivering back as you stand tall to your feet. the mirrored laugh that leaves your body doesn’t sound like your own voice. the raspy cackle echoes in the small room, making eddie slightly step in front of eleven.

“whatever happens… just don’t kill her, yeah?” he glances back at el, who’s eyes are staring you down.

before she could reply to him, your body turns around slowly to face them. the look in your eyes terrifies him to his core, you look so scared but your chilling smile shows otherwise. the white of your eyes are almost grey, and the red of your irises are brighter than usual.

the veins in your body are black under the surface of your skin, the dark color prominent as the inky substance flows through you.

a loud monstrous screech reverberates out from your mouth, making some of the people gasp in shock from the high-pitched noise.

your legs lift off from the ground as you charge towards eleven and eddie, “baby! don’t do this!” eddie ducks from your swinging attacks in the air, trying his hardest to not get caught by you.

eleven continues to fight off vecna, using her powers and shoving him back. steve attempts to help eddie, but catches the back of your hand and is slammed against the wall of the attic. his body slumps to the ground as he goes unconscious.

“steve!” dustin cries out as he runs up the steps, making your head turn towards the boy. eddie glances from his crouched position, watching how you lick your lips, your black tongue swipes against your canines.

“no! don’t!” eddie shouts at you, but your attention is already on henderson. your wings flap loudly in the air as your talons swipe at the top of the boys head, attempting to grab him.

a pained screech falls from your lips as your body is frozen in the air, being lifted up and away from the boy.

eleven let’s out a guttural scream as she holds vecna and you in place in unison. her whole body shakes from using her powers past the maximum limit. her outstretched arms swiftly flick to the ground, slamming vecna and you to the creaky floor.

eddie watches in horror as your body convulses on the ground, whines of pain falling from your lips. “stop! stop!” he shouts at eleven, making her attention shift for a moment. he drops his sword to the ground to run up to you, falling to his knees as he grabs your face.

nancy uses this opportunity to stomp up to vecna with her shotgun, jamming lead into him as she reloads the gun multiple times. he lets out a horrendous scream, using his powers to send her flying backwards into jonathan.

eddie looks around at his fallen friends, seeing dustin is crouched over a barely conscious steve, nancy and jonathan are hurled over in pain, and eleven is barely strong enough to keep fighting against vecna.

“baby, you need to wake up. please come back to me.” he begs as his fingers tap your cold cheeks.

you let out another whimper, before your eyes flash open. the way you stare into his eyes, making his chest ache. “i’m here, i’m here for you, baby. please! we need you. i need you.” he rambles out, his eyes dart around the room.

the ringing in your ears is indescribable, the pain that bolts up your spine makes you wish for death. “….eddie.” your voice wheezes out, blinking harshly as you fight the blackness attempting to overtake your vision once more.

“it hurts…” you whine as you continue to fight against vecna’s powers attempting to take over your mind and body.

“you got this. you’re such a strong woman.”

his voice gradually brings you back to reality as he praises and begs for you to come back.

“i love you so much. please, i can’t lose you again.”

your trembling hand reaches to eddie’s discarded sword, gripping the handle.

in a matter of seconds, you burst into the air, sending eddie onto his back. with a warrior like yell, your body lunges at vecna with the sword drawn back. the monster goes to lift his hand to stop you, but eleven is too quick. she holds his weakened body with her powers, giving you full reign to bring the sword down and slice right through his neck.

you gasp as you watch his head thump to the ground and roll against the wooden floor. the room suddenly goes silent, his body follows with a heavy landing.

“oh my god. he’s dead.” will blurts out as he looks down at the body.

a little shocked laugh leaves your mouth as you stumble back, hands gripping your abdomen.

your eyes glance over at eddie, seeing that his wings have fallen limp to the ground. you look behind yourself, seeing yours are also laying on the ground alongside vecna.

you notice quite a lot of blood covering the monsters extremely long nails on one of his hands.

you glance down at your abdomen, eyes going wide when you finally notice how soaked your clothes are. your hand peels away from the black fabric, lifting it to your face when you see red has transferred onto your palm. “guys… i'm bleeding?” you lift your head up to see everyone staring at you worriedly.

pain erupts from the area you begin to coddle, “oh no…” you whimper, stumbling back in shock. your shoe catches on a lifted plank, making you fall to the ground.

“y/n!” eddie calls out to you as he runs up to your body. when his face comes into your field of vision, you notice pink flushed in his cheeks and his red eyes are chocolatey like the ones you adore.

“eddie.. oh, your eyes.” you smile through your tears, bloody hand lifting to cup his cheek. you can feel yourself growing more and more tired by the minute; the gurgle settling in your chest makes it hard for you to breathe.

“we need to get her to a hospital!” he lifts his head up to look at the people around him as he screams.

when he looks back down at you, he cries out for help once again. you’ve gone limp, and your head has fallen to the side. he lifts your body up with steve, robin, and nancy as they all stumble to the gate downstairs in the dining room.

once they get you safely in the gate, they bring you to steve’s car parked outside. eddie continues to mutters little prayers to himself as he holds your head on his lap, continuing to check your pulse as your breathing grows even more raspy.

“hurry up!“ he screams to steve, who is already weaving through traffic. the last thing you remember is his hand gently caressing your face as he tells urges you to stay awake.

the metallic smell of blood fills his senses, which would usually cause him to go into a frenzy. but now, all he can do is mourn for his girlfriend laying in his lap.

-

two months later.

the sound of chirping bugs outside makes eddie slightly smile as he rolls over in the plush bed.

his arm gently slings around your waist, letting his fingers dance across your scars. “mornin’ missus munson.” his voice rumbles out as he presses a soft kiss to your neck. he savors the rhythmic beating of your healthy heart against his lips.

eddie takes a deep breath to inhale your scent, it’s almost addictive.

your eyes flutter open with a soft hum bubbling past your lips, “morning, mister munson.” your hand cards through his hair, letting your nails gently scratch his scalp.

he shudders against your body, before swatting your hand away. “don’t get me riled up right now, beautiful.” he chuckles, “we gotta get on the road.” he sighs as he pops up out of bed, his warmth leaving you makes you groan.

“i know, but what’s…. like thirty minutes going to do?”

“thirty minutes? wow, you think very highly of my stamina.” he chuckles as he steps up to the sink in the kitchen area to brush his teeth.

you sit up in bed, taking in the view of your shirtless boyfriend brushing his teeth in your shared camper.

“you’ve lasted thirty minutes before.” you scoff with a cheeky grin.

“i have?“ he almost laughs in disbelief but toothpaste dribbles out of his mouth and onto his bottom lip.

“yes, you have- but anyway!” you change the subject, “what are we doin’ today?” you kick your feet off the bed to wobble up to him.

you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, letting your head rest on his spine, between his shoulder blades.

“we’re in the great smoky mountains, baby! we can do anything!” he exclaims theatrically, leaning down to spit and rinse his mouth. he turns around in your hold so you’re pressed against the sink, “i think thirty minutes won’t hold us back too far.” he smirks as he dips down to catch your lips with his own, his tongue instantly slides against yours.

after going through the worst ups and downs in your life you could have ever imagined- you truly can’t believe you’ll be waking up and going to sleep next to this man for the rest of your mornings and nights.

-

tags: @eddiemunsonslovelife @eddieussy @kylee-munson-barnes @llmae @vanessasweetie @lillyof-thevalley @taylorjqy @oscarisaacwhore @bellajg21 @explosiongamora @sadbitchfangirl @skyfullofsong123 @e-van-halen @shadowluna25 @whatinthefreshhellisthis @vllowe @gh0stboombox @shamidreamer @4l1fersss @xsuvs @barnaclebeeshive @simpinformunson @gooblerstan @0temp-erance0 @subjecta13-thefangirl @slut-for-sevika @sleepyb1txh @maskedmistress @weluvveddie @maddiethebanished @cjzelaitis @basiclassy @fuggiamodaqui @ap2x @bellsarmos @stiles-argent24 @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @elainavmarie @arminsgfloll @demo-bats @prettysbliss @slut4edd1emunson @erensslut @bootlegmothman420 @uuinter-soldier @m00nlight101 @korekiyoss @sllimyelim02 @sanitysfallisamazing @tubble-wubble @blairsbooktime @authorlovers @powerfultenderness

[honeybyte]

do/can vampires die in the coffinmaker verse? and in addition to that, what does a vampire's life....cycle? (for lack of better term) generally look like. if any of that makes sense hdgklfdg

it does it does! and thank you as always for asking these kinds of qs bc it helps me think my way thru things xbxbxb

they can die! it's just hard to do it, the main way a vamp passes away is thru starvation, which is kinda what i decided on for joan. generally, as long as they eat fairly regularly, they can last an ungodly amount of time, which is how joan gets to be up to 700-800– she's a turned vampy but she makes sure to eat often enough that she carries on for that amount of time

for that reason, i think if a vamp passes away it's a personal choice, one where they decide to stop eating, or find another way to go out

as for a life cycle, i think it generally is just a longer version of a human life cycle, esp if they're born a vamp– they go thru the awkward stages of childhood and everything, it just takes longer to do it and comes w different complications. for joan, who was turned as a teen, she basically had to do puberty all over again, just the vamp version of it. i also think she experienced a v exaggerated version of teen rage, and did some things she's not proud of and won't talk abt. there's also that adulthood lasts much longer, i do think aging just depends on the vamp, but around 7-800 is when they start really aging. joan experiences a form of dementia around 800 years, where she's confused where she is and doesnt quite understand where her wife went, but she still has it in her mind to meet at the museum at 3pm, and knows how to get there and back home. she eventually stops eating and passes away, another side effect of her mind slipping, her personal life cycle comes to an end. i think she makes it to her mid 900s by that time

[daybreakrising]

@rcgrator: " were you ever going to tell me the truth ? " / aldnwkskw

His hands still over the concoction he's in the middle of brewing - the only outward reaction to the question now posed to him. An amber gaze slides, quickly, to the magenta one peering back at him from the table, and he registers the flash of concern within eyes that had once been his.

He knew this moment would come. He'd been expecting it, honestly. Why else had his absent brother returned to the region of his birth after so long spent avoiding it? The reach of the Fatui was seemingly endless. There was no doubt that Pantalone had heard of his quest and learned the truth about the contract he was bound to.

With a brief exhale of breath, he resumes the stirring of the liquid, and lifts his gaze to the doorway where his elder brother lingers like a shadow. They couldn't be more different, the two of them. Sometimes, it seems to the doctor that there is nothing left of the two young boys that were once nigh inseparable.

"You never asked."

His hands continue their task, adding finely ground ingredients together, adjusting the flame that heats the container from beneath. It helps to ground him, to keep him calm.

He is not angry with his brother - perhaps he never can be, perhaps that is his weakness. But for all that Pantalone claims he abandoned him, who was it that fled Liyue, never to return? Yes, his brother helps to fund the pharmacy, and no doubt the Fatui of Northland Bank send updates back to Snezhnaya - perhaps that is even how he heard of his mission, of his contract. But he has not tried to contact him directly. Who, then, was truly abandoned in favour of their ambition?

"Frankly, I'm rather surprised this seems to matter to you." He's feeling bold, today. They are more alike than one might think to look at them, physical similarities aside. Baizhu can be equally as stubborn, and as proud. "You have made it abundantly clear that you care nothing for how I live my life."

He meets his brother's gaze, unflinching.

"Why should it matter how I choose to use it?"

[ethaneldritch]

Hypothetical Identity V x Legacy of Kain crossover list:

S-tier is obviously Kain. I'm thinking either for the Detective or Undead. Undead, because his build and weapon look fairly similar. Detective, because he also happens to be the main character of a complicated and tragic storyline (also because Kain never fully "dies"; it'd just feel right for him to run around in synesthesia mode after his part in the game is done).

I'm leaning toward Detective, to add that "specialness" justifying it being an S-tier. Kain doesn't have a very flashy character design, so you'd need something other than tons of special effects encouraging people to buy it.

A-tiers:

Raziel - Axe Boy/Photographer (I'm leaning toward Axe Boy because of the flaming souls and design potential of the trees, but Photographer would probably make a better vampire Raziel. Think "going into spectral" with the cameras, etc.)

Ariel - Naiad (Geisha and BQ don't quite match her temperament, but Naiad's swimming moveset perfectly translates into ghostly floating about. Her harpoon could be redesigned into a staff with the Balance symbol on the end.)

Moebius - Mad Eyes (✨NEED. I. SAY. MORE.✨ His gates could be retextured to look like the stained glass halls in the Sarafan Stronghold.)

B-tiers:

One for each of the clans, of course! I made sure all the B-tiers were Survivors since the higher tiers are very Hunter-heavy, which is unusual for most crossovers.

Razielim - Toy Merchant

Turelim - Mind's Eye

Dumahim - Forward

Rahabim - Professor

Zephonim - Entomologist

Melchiahim - Grave Keeper

(You could switch Toy Merchant for Perfumer if you wanted to represent more of the Razielim's snooty side. Also, Professor and Ento can be switched for Evil Reptilian and Soul Weaver respectively, if you wanted more Hunters in the lineup.)

Miscellaneous Items:

I figure most of the above (except maybe the S-tier) would be presented in an essence, so I came up with some hypothetical goodies to put in the shop, too.

Mini Lieutenants (pets for both Hunter and Survivor. You'd probably be able to get a maximum of two or three for free from the accompanying event, but the rest would be available in the shop. They should likely sell at a discount to the usual pet price as well, since there's so many.)

Mini Sluagh (an alternative pet idea, if the mini lieutenants are too many to collect. Could be for Hunter or Survivor, but I'm leaning toward Hunter.)

Mini anyone, tbh. Vorador, Umah, Janos...heck, just chibify 'em all. I'd open my wallet for that. >:)

Some kind of Soul Reaver accessory (either a small B-tier available in the essence, or an S-tier for Raziel/Axe Boy. In the case of the latter, you could probably brand it as an "elemental font" or something and have color-changing effects for various interactions during a game.)

General Hunter A-tier accessory (turns rocket chairs into a small recreation of Kain's Pillar throne; I'm thinking it could just be a large central Balance Pillar with the others being smaller decorative bits, otherwise the design becomes too big for the item it's replacing. You could even have it similar to BQ's Promised Neverland costume, where the Pillars are whole when a Survivor is first chaired, and decayed when on their second.)

At least one piece of furniture (I literally don't care what, I just have a horrible addiction to collecting furniture in this freaking game. Maybe another throne or some kind of Chronoplast thingy.)

WAIT NO. HOW DID I NOT THINK OF THIS SOONER: BANNERS. (All six clans, probably B-tier. If you wanna get really fancy, you could do a larger banner of Kain's too. Line 'em all up on the wall with his in the middle...oh heck ya.)

Questions? Comments? Remarks from the peanut gallery? Leave 'em all, I'd be happy to hear your thoughts! :D

[olet-lucernam]

A Hollow Promise [10] chapter ii, part v

{_[on AO3]_}

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

-

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

-

chapter summary : the morning after. loki and his guard play a game of twenty questions.

recommended listening : wires, the neighbourhood

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[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

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Loki didn't realise that he had started speaking, until after he stopped.

He thought, vaguely, that he should be panicking.

Instead, all he could feel was a dull throb of relief. He ached, exhausted from holding himself taut, sick with the strain.

A heartbeat passed.

Wordlessly, she lifted off the sheets to pull in closer, resettling with crossed legs, giving her whole attention over to him.

Loki let himself sink back in his seat, one boot still propped up on the bench in front of him, giving in.

"When I-"

- was thrown from the Bifrost by my brother-

Loki balked.

No. That was- Thor could be arrogant, callous, unwitting of his own strength, but never quite-

He suddenly remembered Thor reaching for him, helplessly, as Loki deliberately released his grip on the etched gold of Gungnir- the sunshine of his brother's hair and storm of his armour caught with mingling colours from the quartz of the splintered Bifrost, the anguished cry suffocated in his ribcage-

That. That was real. That was true.

Loki swallowed, and started again.

"My brother has always been the favoured son of Asgard," he amended. "The Golden Prince. Bold, fearless, as quick with his fists as with a smile. His praises were sung, his victories celebrated. His faults were ignored and laughed away and indulged, the damage he wrought excused, all the realm blind with adoration. Year by year, he became more and more reckless, and arrogant- thoughtlessly and casually cruel- thinking of naught but playing at war, and his own greatness. Those he purported to love merited no more than a passing glance, to ensure they were trailing, starry-eyed, behind him. They might break and bleed in his wake, but all would be well again before long. Any injury would soon be forgotten, forgiveness never even necessary, so why apologise?"

Feeling the riot of emotion surging again, threatening to overturn his mind, Loki pressed it down, and ordered himself to calm.

Whether the reaction was purely his, he wasn't able to gage, and he wasn't willing to risk that it wasn't. He had deracinated too much of his captors to let their remnants take root and propagate again.

"When the Allfather," Loki continued, carefully, "declared that Thor was to become king- I knew that if I voiced concern, it would be dismissed as mere jealousy. But whatever they may accuse me of, Thor was not ready for the throne. He would disdain diplomacy for force of arms, manage relations with all the grace of a stampeding bligesnipe, shed blood over the slightest insult. The crown would be but an extension of his ego and personal glory. He would not pause to think-"

Loki's throat closed.

Despite himself, the acrimony, frustration, spite and hurt welled up inside him, no less potent than the moment Thor had blithely selected the date for his coronation, and Odin had consented.

He had already made his decision shortly after Odin's announcement, and had begun quietly planning ahead. But when Thor chose that day- everything had shocked to a halt, and Loki had known that he wanted the coronation not merely stopped, but ruined. He wanted to hurt Thor, at the zenith of his joy and triumph.

Glancing in her direction, Loki saw her watching him knowingly, a glimmer of empathy behind it.

"You were resentful," she observed wryly, "and biased, but that doesn't mean that you weren't right."

Something eased in his chest, and Loki forced an airless chuckle.

"Well. I knew that no one else would see it that way. And so, I chose not to speak. Instead-"

He hesitated, running his thumb along the crease of the opposite palm.

"There are places, pitted throughout the Realm Eternal, where the fabric of reality warps. These anomalies form a system of secret passages across the Nine. On the day of Thor's coronation, I used one of those passages to allow a trio of frost giants into Asgard, and veiled them from sight until they reached the Vault. The Destroyer made short work of them, of course, once they were discovered. But the coronation was disrupted, to assess the situation. The Allfather saw little sense in reigniting war with Jotunheim, over an isolated action by a scarce few. Especially when to do so would advertise a weakness in Asgard's defences to its enemies. But Thor-"

Loki almost laughed out, exasperated and sour.

"I know him better than he knows himself. I knew that his pride would be injured, his rightful glory stolen from him when it was so close. I knew that his temper would overcome him. That he would demand retribution, and dare to defy Odin over it, arguing for raising arms against Jotunheim."

She nodded slowly, absently thumbing the hem of her long socks, stretching the stormy grey wool.

"You provoked him," she parsed easily, "to make Thor prove by action what Odin wouldn't hear from you."

Loki sighed soundlessly, closing his eyes ruefully.

"I thought that Thor would argue with our father. That he would prove himself bullheaded and vain and irresponsible, unfit for the throne. I didn't think he would go so far as to disobey Odin," he admitted wearily. "Travelling to Jotunheim was expressly forbidden, under the treaty. But Thor convinced himself that nothing would go wrong, he would just be looking for answers. There was little chance of dissuading him once he got an idea into his head, and even less so when he had persuaded his friends to follow. I couldn't divert him, so I adapted."

He opened his eyes, turning his head just enough to gaze at her through the glass.

She was leaning forward, comfortably, patiently attentive.

"I told a guard to inform Odin as soon as we departed," he told her. "He deigned to take his sweet time. We should have never set foot in Jotunheim- Heimdall ought to have never let us pass- but it seems that his pride was pricked too, that an enemy of Asgard had slipped his omniscient watch as gatekeeper. Once in Laufey's court, for all Thor's belligerence, I almost had us out unscathed. I almost persuaded Thor to walk away. Laufey couldn't justify violence without us drawing first blood, nor risk breaking the treaty by attacking Asgard's princes. But," Loki gritted out through his teeth, "one damned Jotun guard couldn't keep his smart mouth shut, and Thor took it as sanction to start breaking skulls. By the time Odin finally reached us, the treaty was less broken and more obliterated. Odin was furious, and when we returned to Asgard-"

Loki felt himself crack, his silver-tongued, storyteller-smooth cadence breaking, just enough for the truth to seep out.

"I knew that it had gone too far. I tried to intervene, to speak on Thor's behalf. To- to say that he was only thinking of Asgard, that Laufey must have devised the plot to lure us to Jotunheim, that I had goaded Thor into going in the first place- but Odin wouldn't hear me, he would not even let me speak, and I- I never thought that Thor would be banished. Before I knew it, he was cast out, and-"

The crushing despair and panic had been paralysing. Despite everything, in the moment when Loki had seen his skin change amidst the ice and dark and chaos of battle, all he had wanted to do was to find his brother and run.

And then Thor was gone, and Loki was alone, and he could barely breathe, his thoughts clouding and moving slow and circular until he was twisting into himself.

"What is it?" She called gently, drawing him back to her. Loki wanted to sink into her like a bath, engulfed in her warmth, soothing the ache in his limbs and the chill in his blood. "There's something more, isn't there? Something happened to you."

Loki jerked his head, short and sharp, in confirmation.

He saw her biting her lip in his periphery, fingers twined together in her lap.

"You don't have to tell me-"

"I want to," Loki said, more curtly than he intended- but he knew that if he didn't stop her, he might accept the offer, to lie by omission and keep the secret.

She must have heard it, because she fell silent, falling back into place.

His heart liquefied, in utter fondness.

He spoke the words before they began to fester.

"During the skirmish on Jotunheim, one of our companions was injured," he began, leaning into the lilt of weaving a tale, using it as a buffer. "A frost giant had seized his arm, and the skin burned- severe frostbite. As I was battling a Jotun, it grasped my arm. My mail shattered, and the skin underneath- it-"

The admission caught in his throat, remembering the shock and confusion and insidious emerging dread, insulated amidst the clash of steel on ice and spattered blood, dark as wine and twilight skies.

"My skin turned blue. Deep blue. Blue as the Jotun's, with the same ridged lines, the same caste marks. After Thor was banished, I confronted Odin in the Vault. With the evidence of his lie laid bare, he was forced to tell me the truth. I was- I am- the discarded runt son of Laufey, taken by Odin from the battlefield. Another stolen relic, procured for the Allfather's purposes- raised that I might usurp Laufey and take the crowm. I was to rule Jotunheim, as a puppet king favourable to Asgard. Taken in and intended from the beginning to be cast aside, exiled from all I had ever known and loved, to reign over a world of creatures who would no doubt despise me as I did them. I knew then, why Odin had always favoured Thor. I was not his son. I was born an enemy of Asgard, a frost giant, a monster-"

"You are not a monster," she hissed out, cutting him off. There was a gleam brimming in her hazel eyes, lashes fluttering rapidly to hold it back. "That does not make you a monster."

Loki smiled flatly. "Matter of opinion, darling."

"Opinions can be wrong," she said vehemently, "but it is very rare that I am."

She was so confident that Loki could feel it in his chest, thrumming behind his sternum- as though she would impress her conviction into him, until he believed it as much as she did.

Loki pushed it aside, unwilling to risk losing momentum.

"The Allfather only admitted the barest truths, before he fell into the Odinsleep- a coma-like state, to restore his strength," he elaborated at her flicker of bemusement. "He had delayed it for too long, this time. It was unknown when he would wake, and Asgard was on the brink of war. With Thor banished, my mother bequeathed me Gungnir- and with it, she consigned all duties and powers as King of Asgard to me. In the past, she had always taken up the regency, and ruled capably, but- I think that she meant to reassure me. To affirm that I was still her son. She told me that she had wanted me to know the truth from the beginning. I- do not think that she was being dishonest."

Loki might have lashed out at his mother, for maintaining a lie that she had allegedly opposed, had he not always adored her- and had he not come to understand the conditions under which she had come to Asgard. She had been a Vanir princess, raised by witches, taken as a war trophy and political hostage in a foreign court where she had little power or leverage of her own, and had stood alone for many years as she crafted her own survival and remade her image in the eyes of the Asgardian people.

She may have come to love Odin, as the years of companionship softened the circumstances of their marriage, but theirs was never a union of equals, and she was forced to manoeuvre carefully around him on more than one occasion.

When faced with her gentle assurances at Odin's bedside, soft and golden, her clear blue eyes spilling apologies and desperate affection, Loki couldn't help but believe her.

Perhaps that was naïve of him. But Loki thought of how she had shared her gifts with him, quietly teaching him the art of persuasion and subterfuge and the subtleties of magic when he fell short of the brute force required of an Aesir prince, how she managed her adversaries with wit and a smile, and wondered if she had been protecting him in the only way she could.

"Whatever the reason, I held the throne. And as king, I was responsible for the safety of the realm."

She bought her knuckles to her mouth, brow tense with thought.

"And Jotunheim?" She murmured against the back of her fingers.

"It seemed best to destroy it." Loki said irreverently. She twitched, muscles spasming as though in reflexive resistance, like an electrical shock. "There was nothing else to be done. Odin had stated that his plans for me no longer mattered. That was true enough. I had slain my kin," he spat, "and they would never accept me as king. Laufey was set upon war. The frost giants would strike at Asgard, and beyond to the rest of the Nine if they could. I needed to keep Thor away, to prevent him from causing more damage, and end the war decisively. That was easy. In the end, all I had to do was offer Laufey what he most desired. He was more than willing to slay his old enemy at his most defenceless, if only I were to open the way for him. I think I had him truly convinced of our alliance- until the moment I killed him."

His words seemed to crystalise the air, like frost.

It shattered as her head dropped, laughing mirthlessly with realisation, her hand raking through her hair.

"A casus belli."

"Quick girl," Loki purred.

"And Asgard would accept it?" She asked, lifting her head, her expression bruised and incredulous. That empathy will kill you, darling, he wanted to tell her, but could feel its partial falseness like a misaligned facet in the cut of a gemstone; it would make her bleed, but she would survive it, scarred and unsweet and remorseless. "Laufey tried to assassinate their king- and that would justify their entire race being eradicated, for the actions of their monarch?"

Loki scoffed gently, tipping his head back, dark lashes lowered languorously.

"Darling, Asgard sings of the glorious war against the frost giants," he said dryly, with a sardonic flourish of his hand. "Of how the brutes rose up and ravaged the Nine Realms, and were felled under bright Asgardian swords. Thor and I were raised on such tales. And considering that Odin's father and predecessor wiped out the svartalfar around five thousand years ago, you might say that I am merely adhering to family tradition. Except that I would do it without spilling a single drop of Asgardian blood on the battlefield. Opening the Bifrost and allowing the mechanism to run would unleash its full power upon Jotunheim, and reduce it to rubble within minutes. It seemed like the most elegant solution."

Her incredulity dissolved into grudging comprehension.

"Elegant." Her tone was one of detached fact. "Yes. It was. Elegant, and ruthless. And you were willing to do it."

"To protect the realm from Thor's carelessness and lust for war?" Loki asked rhetorically, tilting his head in dark askance.

"And from the chain of events that you had set off," she added mercilessly.

Loki's jaw worked, his insides withering and burning with the knowledge that she was right.

"Yes," he finished. "I was willing."

She gave a slow, sombre nod.

"And the throne?"

Loki lifted his head, nonplussed. "What?"

"The throne of Asgard. By resolving this crisis, you would prove yourself to be a more capable heir than Thor, and there was a possibility that Odin-"

She halted abruptly.

In one smooth motion, she drew herself upright, pulling back into a perfect, graceful frame. Her gaze was distant, a perplexed crease between her eyebrows.

Loki bit into his tongue, latticed fingertips tightening into a vice.

Her mouth moved soundlessly, sculpting the words, as though testing if they had enough truth in them to be spoken.

"You didn't want the throne," she said slowly.

The statement had the tone of struck crystal, clear and without caveat.

Her golden shoulders dropped as though a cable had been cut.

"Of- of course you didn't want the throne," she breathed, self-recriminating, raking her fingers across her browbone and breathing out a cut-off curse, "motherfu- of course you didn't, because you never intended for Thor to reach Jotunheim, you never predicted that he would be banished, you didn't seize the throne- you- stars above, I'm an idiot, it wasn't about the throne, it was never about the throne, if it was, then-"

"Then why not wait, and let Laufey slay Odin as he slept, and then reduce him to a dusting of radioactive ions? It would certainly be a stronger justification for destroying the frost giants." Loki finished the thought blandly, tasting blood. "Well. If it makes a difference, I think I almost killed Thor when Sif and the Warriors Three tried to retrieve him from Midgard."

"You think you almost killed him?"

"Well. I had assumed, even if Odin had stripped Thor's power when he banished him, he would at least leave his Aesir resilience intact, if not his strength. Thor's experience and build alone should assure victory against the average Midgardian in a brawl, but this realm has long been developing weapons that would even the odds significantly. And natural hazards exist. I hardly thought that the Allfather would risk his temporarily-mortal firstborn being killed in an earthquake, or an avalanche, or whatever else Midgard might hurl at him that he couldn't punch his way out of."

She tapped a finger against the bone of her ankle, the sound softened by the fine wool.

"From everything I've gathered so far, I think you gave Odin too much credit."

Loki sighed irritably. He thought that he could be forgiven for overestimating Odin- the Allfather was no upstart, and had embodied wisdom and cunning beyond the myths of the humans. Even if he hadn't wanted to risk the oaf accidentally splintering mortals into matchwood, ensuring that his heir didn't suffer an ignominious death by falling on a particularly pointy stick seemed like the bare minimum of forethought.

Perhaps, Loki mused with sly schadenfreude, the Allfather was going senile.

"Evidently. Either way, my purpose in sending the Destroyer to Midgard was to raze the town, not to kill Thor. I only needed to leave my brother and his friends without resources, hindering their return to Asgard. But Thor offered his life in exchange for safety of the town, its inhabitants, and his friends- and far be it from me to reject such a gallant proposal. I meant to injure him, at least, enough that recovery would be neither swift nor easy- but I cannot say that I was particularly paying attention as to whether I had taken his life. Perhaps I was trying to kill him. Perhaps I almost did."

In retrospect, it wasn't so much that Loki had wanted to kill Thor- although that had lurked beneath the surface, like a colossal shadow beneath a thick layer of ice, indistinct and ominous in its quiet presence- and more that, in that split second, Loki wasn't thinking. He hadn't cared what became of his brother.

For centuries, Loki's gravitational centre had been defined by Thor. He had enchanted his brother's flesh to knit back together and his open wounds to cease bleeding on the battlefield, made him brighten and stifle laughter and exchange conspiratorial glances through tedious councils and official duties, prodded him out of his foul tempers and let him storm until his mood cleared into sunshine, schemed to protect his unsuspecting back from honeyed duplicity and false friends and court intrigues, talked him out of trouble with their father and emissaries and adversaries alike, quietly transmuted his liquor into cordial during banquets when Thor looked as though he might be sick if he drank another drop, but could not refuse a refill of his cup for fear of the jeers- and in return, Loki had received grateful smiles and a fond grip on his shoulder and blithe warmth, and promises of brotherhood that somehow morphed into the promise of a seat of honour by his side.

Loki had become an accessory to his brother's glory, a mirror to reflect his light and a shadow to contrast him. And as that light had grown stronger, and begun to blind and burn, as Thor's carefree nature had soured into irresponsibility- Loki found it more exhausting, to hold his tongue in the knowledge that his words would be scorned, to pretend away his brother's faults and the unfairness of it, to play the role that Thor had assigned him, seemingly the only place he was permitted to have on Asgard.

When Thor had apologised, amidst smoke and sand and rubble, Asgard was on the verge of a needless war, Heimdall had written assumptions into the unexpected blanks in his vision, and the Warriors Three sought to return the current crisis' instigator to the realm because they liked him better, and while they wouldn't dare argue with Odin's sentence, they would argue with Loki for upholding it.

And Thor, in dusty plaid cotton and with sky-clear eyes that didn't have the right to gentle and implore at him through the Destroyer, didn't even pretend to know what he was apologising for.

For the first time in his life, beyond the initial flash-flame of anger, Loki couldn't muster the effort and energy to care if Thor suffered.

She leaned back on her hands, eyes closed, serene and still and smooth as glass.

"I can't say that I like the methods," she said clinically, "but- the logic is internally sound."

"You sound surprised." Loki observed quietly.

"I am, a little. I had expected that you were acting purely out of anger and hurt," she mused. "That's what I could see in you, from the moment you arrived. But this was more than that. This was loyalty. You are a Prince of Asgard. You were becoming everything that you were ever taught was expected of you. Being of service to your realm, proving yourself worthy of your family, by the standards set by your father and your sovereign and centuries of upbringing and culture. And, in that context- I understand."

Loki grinned mirthlessly.

"My. What a dangerous thing to say, dove."

She made an amused noise, tilting her head.

"I find it more dangerous to claim the moral high ground. It's arrogance, to decide that you could never find yourself in the same position, or even comprehend the why. I don't know, maybe it takes being a little bit of a bad person to have true empathy. Or the acknowledgement that no one is wholly good or bad." She said thoughtfully, shrugging lightly. "I don't like what you did. But understand it, and I can empathise with it. Yours was an evil borne of virtue and injustice and- I can't hate you for that, even if I hate the essence of your choices."

It wasn't an absolution, but it still rinsed through Loki like saltwater, cleansing a wound and leaving him raw.

"Nothing purely good, nothing purely evil," he said absently. "It's so much more real, isn't it? Rather than a neatly divided morality, and the idea that people are as simple as one or the other."

She hummed her agreement. "It's easier for people to think that way."

"The seduction of a good lie."

"Mn."

She pushed herself upright, her hands draping into her lap.

"I know that your brother regained his power, and returned to Asgard. But what happened afterwards?"

Loki recovered, flicking his fingers upwards with a glib twist of his wrist.

"Ah, yes. Big brother did always ruin my best plans. He came storming back, determined to stop me- three days on Midgard and a few minor inconveniences, and he was brimming with righteous indignation and horror, as though he hadn't talked of slaying every Jotun in that icy waste since we were boys. He destroyed the Bifrost, and-" He stalled, then breathed out an empty laugh. "I ought to thank him, really. That was what it took, to prove that I truly had no place on Asgard, that I never had. Odin proved that."

When he met her eyes, she was watching him, though she could feel it, reexperiencing it with him, caught up in the gravity well of the memory.

"I fell."

The words were simple, but they felt as though they had been gouged out from the base of his tongue, a pound of flesh paid over to the scales.

Her chin dipped in a faint nod, composed and comprehending.

Loki was seized by the wild urge to tear the look from her face, like flaying off her skin, the feeling fading as quickly as it struck.

"How are you alive?" She asked.

He dropped his gaze to his palm, carefully reserved.

"I was pulled into Yggdrasil, the constellation of wormholes that connect the Nine Realms. Caught amongst the bramble of its slimmer branches, I slipped into the void." Tamping down on a shudder, clenching his jaw through its tremor, Loki blinked rapidly, breathing away the spectre of empty cold and unbearable nothingness. "It is the space between space. It can be utilised, by a skilled mage, for a form of teleportation- void-walking- travelling between space, rather than through it. It's efficient, and nigh untraceable if done correctly. But it can be treacherous, best utilised in a chain of short leaps rather than a single passage."

She leaned forward, slowly propping her jaw against the heel of her palm, her mind working in perfect pace with him.

Loki was relieved when she didn't ask him to elaborate, taking her answers from the negative space he had left.

"The fall was unpleasant," he said succinctly. "The landing was- worse."

Loki swallowed.

He lifted his eyes to hers, unblinking and intense.

"His name is Thanos."

-

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[zai-doodles]

lucy magic hc thing

@selfdestructivecat asked for this :p

again i play so hard and fast with canon but for this one if i like, genuinly got something wrong then plz correct me theres a HIGH chance im getting her power set wrong but the point of this is more me taking like, the base bone of the concept and running with it lol

Just a quick like, how i think lucys magic should work bc im so annoyed shes technically the female lead and literally summons other things to fight FOR her So in my version (the better one) early lucy ONLY has star dresses She can basically give herself the attributes of each spirit, like the star dresses but she also gets a sort of themed weapon, like she gets tarus’ axe, cancers sissors etc. It isnt until lokes arc that shes able to physically summon her spirits Like i feel like summoning a whole spirit takes A LOT of magic so most of the time its more like a warlock patron situation where they lend her spells and if shit get real bad she can spend a high level spell to summon them to fight for her Like idk yea im using dnd terms with this but shhh it makes more sense to me It also makes things like her summoning all her spirits at once a HUGE deal, plus i think its the first time we physically see some of the spirits and also gives a bigger mystery to who they are and how celestial magic works Like i always found it weird how celestial wizards?? Exist?? but each only have 1 key so like?? Theres really only 2 celestial wizards at a time?? Like max there can be 12 but in the show we literally only have lucy and yukino and then like, angel, karen and lucys mom and idk thats kinda dumb Like if its that scarse that theres only 4 active celestial wizards in the WHOLE SHOW  idk thats weird and should be treated as a bigger deal So in my mind, each spirit can gift wizards a key, some of them stick to the lower level spirit key collecting, kinda like in the show, and MAYBE have 1 or 2 zodiac keys Zodiacs r notorious for being v fickle with who they enter contracts with and for the most part even if someone is a celestial wizard they can go their whole lives without ever summoning a zodiac spirit bc its just SO POWERFUL So lucy has low key imposter syndrome be she technically inherited her keys from her mom so she never had to prove herself worthy, which in my mind is y she tries so hard to get stronger and prove her place in fairy tail So based on all this i also think lucy just has a shit ton of magical potential due to growing up with the spirits and having such a strong bond with them and thats what allows her to summon all of them and the zodiac king to plead lokes case Idk i also dont love how the spirts serve lucy as like, a master servant thing So having the spirits be more like patrons feels better to me idk It also makes lucy like, an extremely powerful wizard bc she literally has so many zodiac keys but at first i think she give v jack of all trade master of none energy Her main one i feel would be aquarius bc its a less precise magic form of literally just throwing waves at her opponents BUT it takes a lot of magic bc aquarius is such a high level spirit who refuses to go easy on lucy just bc of her connection to her mom Lucy still has her whip bc idk i think its neat Throughout the series she learns oto be much more flexible and think more outside the box when it comes to her magic and she also grows more reckless, kinda a side effect from being around natsu so much and by the time she gets to the GMG she can probably summon her spirits no problem tho 2 at once is still hard like in the show Oo also also early lucy has problems accepting help from others BECAUSE she feels like shes constantly having to prove shes worthy of just,, existing, so she puts off summoning her spirits at all because of that too I think she works on that a LOT after phantom lord and lokes arc

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

//The winner of the poll with 41.2% is Fluttershy from My Little Pony, who will be Mikan's opponent.

//I notice that a lot of the one's that end up winning are the one's I probably wouldn't vote for myself, lol. Still, it's perfectly fine. Should still be a pretty fair fight.

//And I won't have to worry about it with this one, because I like basically all of this lineup.

//IMPORTANT NOTICE: This fight is KOMARU ONLY! Toko will NOT be featured.

//Reasons for matchups below:

Lucio - Both characters use a megaphone-shaped gun as their primary weapon, of which contains a variety of different abilities and powers that help them win their fights. Both are also fairly recent members of the main group of heroes (Komaru joined Future Foundation shortly after everybody else, while Lucio is one of the newest members of Overwatch), both stopped an uprising that threatened their home city (Komaru with the Warriors of Hope and Lucio with Vishkar) and both make a living by fighting robot armies (Monokuma's and Null Sector Robots)

Akane - Both girls wield guns that are only effective against specific things (Akane's Dominator only works on people with a high Psycho-Pass and Komaru's Megaphone Gun only works on machines like Monokuma's). They both have pretty similar personalities, being kind and caring to a fault, yet subjected to tragedy and misery constantly. They also both form a friendship with someone with a shady past who works for an organization that doesn't treat them the best because of said past (Shinya Kogami for Akane and Toko Fukawa for Komaru)

Katie - Both of them start out as fairly normal teenage girls with a clear geeky and dorky side to them. However, one day they both get subjected to a robot uprising, and for some reason, they're the only hope left for the city/the world. Both (AGAIN) wield special guns that they use against their robotic oppressors and the stories of both characters put a special focus on the importance of family bonds. (Katie connects with her family through the events of her movie despite having grown distant from them as she grows older, and Komaru similarly becomes the wife of Toko and the adoptive mother of Akeru, with the new family working together to figure things out.)

Uzi - Guess what Uzi has!? A SPECIAL GUN! At least in the first episode. But aside from that, the two start out as average teenagers subjected to a robot uprising (moreso in Komaru's case) which they initially take upon themselves to quell. However, both of them eventually befriend a dangerous person with a silly side, and become their best friend/eventual love interest (Toko for Komaru and N for Uzi) as well as befriending the oppressor that they once thought of as their arch-enemy (Komaru eventually saved and helps the Warriors of Hope adapt to a more comfortable life, and though she's angsty about it, Uzi learns to work with V, J, and Tessa, despite her hatred for the Murder Drones and humans) The two also discover more and more conspiracies as their journey progresses, and come to realize that there's so much about the world they live in that they don't know.

Jesse- SHE HAS A FUCKING SPECIAL GUN THAT GIVES HER SPECIAL POWERS, GOD DAMMIT! Aside from that, both girls journey's start off with them entering a world full of dangerous creatures and things that are completely alien to them, aided by a companion who serves as the voice of reason for emotional nature (Komaru has Toko, who brings her back down to earth whenever she lets her mind get the better of her, and Jessie has Polaris, an unseen entity that communicates with her telepathically). Both of them adventure through this nightmarish world with the intent on finding their family (Komaru is looking for her parents and her brother Makoto, and Jesse is looking for her brother Dylan). Eventually, through some odd circumstances, both of them end up in a peculiar position of power and, in one way or another, become heroes to the people around them, (Komaru saves Towa City and eventually becomes the Head of Future Foundation Branch 7, and Jesse becomes the Director of the Federal Bureau of Control, succeeding Zachariah Trench.)

[villabella12]

@arcvmonth Day 18: Different Dimension Day

Look, I'm a sucker for AUs, especially when it comes to Arc-V so I've got plenty of aus revolving around this silly show, but I'm going to show a few favorite of mine

Side Note: Sorry for the horrid spelling and grammars, english is not my first language and for the most part, the cringey ass AUs I have in mind and I am 100% not a writer, just me sharing some AUs :) but I appreciate it if someone made fanart or fanfic abt :')

Two Worlds Apart AU

Premise: When a group of researchers receives a mission from their (now deceased) commander, they nestled their based in a planet full of wonders and mysteries, meeting new faces, teaching them the way of their people as they try and attempt to find figments of their past and live together with the locals.

Basically Magical Fantasy (Arc-V crew bcus all aus that surrounds this series has been magical fantasy) meets Sci-Fi (aka crossover with my original story, A Prismarine Story), or at least how I interperet it

Theres going to be cosmic horror thats lurking in the background and basically the reason why the APS group are satelliting the planet the Arc-V group are living in

The Cards Has Bodies In Them

Premise: A mysterious deck has recently been re-surfaced and was brought in by the local city museum in Maiami City with legends surrounding it as the "Flesh Deck", with how brutal its effect damage is to its opponents. Despite being heavily contained in a vault before its initial public debut, a thief manages to steal such treasure to use it in the Arc League Championship, but such a shameless act would cause the thief his own life and body.

Yuya had recently recovered from all of the Zarc Stuff, or that's what his best friends called it, and is adjusting to a new life back in Maiami City. Before things took a more sinister turn as he discovers an old yet dangerous deck.

Inspired by Vita Carnis and Jonh Carpenter's The Thing cus it fits the fleshy-theme here :)

The first idea that has popped up to my head was, "What if there's a deck that inflict effect damage but instead of using magic nor tech from the monsters, it inflict alien-thing-like damage? Like it actually sucks out your flesh and turns you into a monster card?" I call them the "Rhen-Dharmas" (couldnt think of a better name lmao)

The thief in question is NOT Yuri, Leo, Roget, or the Doktor, it is someone new

And the last thing was it should be presented in an analog horror style

The Curse That Will Never Be Unfold

Premise: A young boy from a small village was cursed by the God of Destruction himself after failing to bring joy to the audience, who thirst for brutal and violent acts. Because of this, in times of desperation, the boy will transform into a hideous beast capable of ending a human's life away with little control whatsoever. With little time left before he'll forever live with it, the boy must find the God of Destruction's sister in order for his curse to be gone, or should he?

Inspired by @1apple-fox1's Rage and Regret AU

Another crossover AU of APS and Arc-V (cus the main character of APS, Coralline, is inspired by Yuya and Zarc's design and powers lol)

Demon!Yuya centric, there's going to be moments of Yuzu going ballistic over her (definitely not/j) boyfriend cus people want to kill him for being a demon with no reasons or second thoughts, and forest spirit (Spoiler Alert! OC name drop?) Maria being a menace

It is all Hurt/Comfort here and there