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gremlinmodetweeker · 3 months ago

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The House is On Fire, and Everyone is Laughing and Smiling (pt 2)

Yeah you read that right, part two is finally out! Read part one HERE and enjoy the second hurt-comfort part of the fic. I will say, this is the part EVERYONE has been waiting for, including myself. It's a very sweet piece, but it made me hurt because ahhhh they're cute but so dumb!

Anyways,

TW: sorta cheating, sorta revenge cheating, they were never together so is it cheating?, angst (BUT DON'T WORRY THIS IS THE ONE WHERE THEY GET CLOSER)

Wordcount: 3.2k

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The House is On Fire, and Everyone is Laughing and Smiling (pt 2)

“Where is she?”

The voice sounded familiar. You were only just able to make it out through the fog wreathing your head.

“She’s in the bathroom,” you heard someone else say.

“How long has she been in there?”

“An hour, I think.”

You blinked slowly. You were roused, but only just. Soon you were slipping away.

A loud slamming on the door had your eyes cracking open again.

“Dude, what the fuck!”

“Who the hell are you? Wait, what are you doing to my door!?”

SLAM.

“Dude you need to leave.”

“Hey hey HEY! Don't TOUCH me!”

SLAM.

“What’s your fucking problem?”

“Get out of here!”

SLAM.

A few more shouts, but you heard Shauna as clear as day.

“Wait, König?”

König?

No, that was impossible. König was never invited. Why would he be here? Wait, did you even text him the address?

“YOU NEED TO LEAVE.”

The door burst forth. You could hardly see, but you could see something big above you.

“Guys back up, let the big guy through.”

"Is he leaving?"

"He'd better be..."

You felt yourself get hoisted up into the air. Panic welled up in your chest.

“Shh… It’s okay,” a kind voice soothed you, “you’re okay now.”

“So, you’re König?”

“Get the fuck out of my way, little man.”

You felt a steady bobbing motion as you were carried through the air. You blinked once, twice, and fell back asleep.

—

You woke up in a beautiful bed. You’d never felt more comfortable in your entire life than you did when you stretched your body under the wonderfully heavy duvet. The pillows held your head securely, and when you arched your back you could feel a wonderfully warm body pillow behind you.

“Ach, you’re awake.”

Not a body pillow.

You rolled over clumsily, somewhat panicked and yet still feeling numbed by whatever had been flowing through your system last night. Shit, your head hurt. Did you have painkillers anywhere?

“It hurts, ja? Let me get you something.”

He crawled over top of you to grab something, then bent down to push a pill onto your tongue. You automatically swallowed when he poured water down your throat. You coughed before falling back to the bed. You felt like your stomach was a pit trying to invert itself as you writhed in the bedding. Your head felt heavy and the light filtering through the curtains pierced the back of your skull, pounding with your heart in your chest. What the hell happened last night?

“Go ahead and rest,” König whispered into your ear, “it’s okay. Just relax. It’ll be better soon.”

“I wanna die,” you moaned.

“Shhh, it’ll be okay,” König crawled back to your side and lay beside you, “I’ll be here for you.”

You shuddered. And yet, the bed was so inviting, and his scent was draped around you like a warm mink coat. He was everywhere all at once, just like you’d dreamed of for so long. But why? Why did he have to be perfect after you’d already gone off with someone else? Why was he being so good to you? Didn’t he hate you?

“You’re thinking too much,” König nuzzled into your neck, so close to your gland and yet just far enough away to make it seem innocuous.

“‘M not,” you mumbled into the covers.

“You are, little one,” König chuckled, “think later. It’s time for bed, ja?”

“But… Why are you being so nice to me?” you tried to look at him but he gently pushed you face back into the sheets.

“Rest now,” his voice took a stern tone before thawing like Spring's last snow, “I’ll tell you everything when you get up, but I can’t tell you anything while you’re like this.”

“Why not?”

“You might not remember.”

You wanted to argue, but you were too tired. Instead, you rested back into the covers and closed your eyes to drift back into nebulous darkness.

—

Your eyes finally opened again, this time without feeling like actual death had you in a choke hold. Though your head still ached and swam wildly when you moved too quickly, but it wasn’t as daunting as before. Before? Yes, before. There had been a before. That’s right, you had woken up before.

“König?” your voice cracked through the still air.

“I’m here,” came the reply from behind you.

You gingerly shifted to your back, then cautiously rolled over to see König laying beside you. The bedding just barely came up to his pecs, showing off that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Instead, he seemed to be perfectly comfortable being at the very least half naked beside you.

“What’re you doing here?” you croaked.

“I’m comforting my omega,” he replied and pulled you to him, “you had quite the adventure last night.”

“Did I?” memories of last night came bubbling up the surface, “oh, I did.”

Shaun, Eric, Rick, the woman, the drinks, the fire and the stars, they all flitted through your mind.

“Ja you did,” König chuckled, “but don’t worry, it’s over now.”

“Is it?” you whispered.

“It is.”

You closed your eyes, and despite your better judgment, leaned your head onto his chest. He was so beautifully warm. It was so warm, soft and comfortable. It was glorious. It couldn’t get better than this, could it? It was just so nice to be here, finally, after pining for so long. Of course, he was only comforting you after the disaster that had been last night, but it was something beautiful to behold. In this moment, you could pretend to be his beloved omega, his little pet, his only love. Of course it wasn’t true, but you wanted it to be. Oh how you wanted it to be.

König rubbed your back soothingly, helping you fully unwind in his bedding.

Now that you thought about it, you were finally in his nest. This was where he slept each night, where he scented, where he… Okay maybe your thoughts needed to be reeled back in.

“Are you comfortable?”

Bless König for knowing just when to interrupt your thoughts.

“Um, well, I’m better,” you stumbled over yourself, words clotting on your tongue like blood in dirty bandages.

“That’s good,” König mumbled. He looked down at you, his blue blue eyes suddenly seeming so sad again. Why did he always look so sad when you just wanted him to smile?

“Are you okay?” you asked meekly.

“Me?” König snorted as his mouth quirked up into a wry smirk, “I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.”

“I’m a bit better, but…” you looked down at the bedding, “this is your nest, isn’t it?”

“It is,” König admitted, “it's nice to share, no?”

You wished he’d tell you to stay, make yourself at home for while you're ill. You wanted to hear that you were always welcome here for a bit longer. Better yet, don’t go. Don’t leave him. Make your nest within his own, shape this nest into one for the both of you, make it together.

He said no such thing. Instead, his words hung in the air, tacked in place like dirty stockings over the smouldering embers of a fire.

“Do you like it here?” König asked with a strange sort of hesitancy, “most people say my scent is too strong…”

“I think it’s nice,” for emphasis you snuggled into his pillow.

The muscles around König’s neck relaxed. You didn’t even realize they were tense in the first place. Goes to show how attentive you were to you alpha, you supposed.

“That’s good,” his words clunked together like rusted gears, “I’m happy you like it.”

You thought carefully for a moment. You learned something important last night. Before your memories cut out, before you got lost in that fog, you remembered talking to someone. Right, Rick. That's why you remembered him. He said something to you that set you on edge. Or was it just that he set you on edge in general? You didn’t know, but something felt wrong when you thought about him.

The memory flashed through your mind like white lightening, setting your mind ablaze with fear. Earlier that night, he'd seen you for what you were. You couldn't hide from another alpha. Not from his nose at least. But were all alphas the same?

“Alphas have good senses of smell, right?” you asked hesitantly.

König nodded slowly, his eyes already drooping into their usual melancholic state.

“So you could smell him then, couldn’t you,” you whispered.

König’s smile was so kind. It hurt to look at him smile like that, so pained and yet trying so hard to please you. Weren’t you meant to be the one pleasing him? Why did he have to look so sad, even when he smiled?

“I always knew,” he murmured, his eyes downcast to where his hand lay beneath his great head.

“Since the first trip to the farmer’s market?” you asked.

“The moment you came back I knew,” he admitted, “I always knew.”

Your closed your eyes. Shame flushed through you, ridding you of any puppy love you had for Shaun. Shaun. Now the name sound like ‘shun’, and how you wished you were shunned. You wished he’d hate you. You wanted him to cry and scream, but instead he smiled at you to try and ease your pain.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that he knew. He was never supposed to know, he was never supposed to find out. You tried to keep your voice down late at night, you tried to hide your phone screen from his eyes, you tried so hard to keep this from him but he knew since the very beginning. It was all for naught.

All the dates with Shaun over the past couple of months. Every weekend, sometimes on a weekday. Every time you rode in his car he could smell the fast food burned into your clothes.

“You at least could’ve brought back a doughnut for me,” König chuckled at his little joke, but it only served to twist the knife further in.

He knew about the damn doughnuts. His nose really did tell him everything he needed to know, didn’t it? You felt so stupid.

“I didn’t know you knew,” you tried to justify but even you knew your words were hollow.

“We were never mates,” König’s grin was full of bitter, clenched teeth, “how could I tell you no?”

“But I lied to you,” you whispered.

“You lied, but I did too,” König sighed, “when I saw you leave, I’d try to see others.”

You felt your world collapse around you. He saw others. He tried to get a side relationship too. But unlike him, you never had a clue. All the emotions you’d suppressed for so long came bubbling up to the surface in a great tidal wave, stringing you out in the currents, rending you limb from limb.

He had lied to you.

You couldn’t be mad though.

You lied to him too.

“Nobody stuck with me,” König sighed, “everyone knew I didn’t have my heart in it.”

“Then why did you do it?” you whimpered, tears prickling as your throat constricted, invisible hands clenching down on your windpipe.

König ruffled his messy blond hair, with a sigh. He closed his eyes and lay still beside you. A tender hand gently bushed along your shoulder, down your arm, and then it left you alone. Your skin felt cold in its wake.

“I wanted to hurt you,” he said, “like you hurt me.”

You hiccuped. Were you actually crying? What right did you have to cry?

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry wasn’t enough. No words could possibly heal the damage you’d done. The two of you had lit your respective ends of the stick of dynamite between you, and only now did they meet. Figures that they’d burn out when your head was already hurting and you felt like you’d been battered down into nothing but mulch to feed the flowers. You were finally low enough, at least.

“Why did you want to hurt me?”

You already hated his answer.

“Because I wanted you to be mine.”

The dams in your mind gave way to a flood of tears. You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking now. You were pathetic, but in a way, so was he. You both were miserable whelps. And yet, here you lay in a nest together, comforting each other by eating each other alive. You relished in the taste of his meat upon your teeth for so long, but only now did you realize that you’d eaten so much that there was nothing left but the rotten truth on his bare bones.

“I wanted to protect you,” his voice shook like leaves in the wind before a coming storm, “I didn’t want you to love me.”

“But why?” you choked.

“Because one day I will leave and I won’t come back,” König crushed his eyes tight, “I’m going to die out there. I'm going to get deployed again, and one day I'm not coming back. I’m going to die and I’ll leave you behind.”

You hated him. But more importantly, you hated KorTac. No, you hated humanity for waging war, but more importantly you hated the universe for being so cruel by letting you dance this cosmic waltz. Hate. Hate. HATE. It coursed through you, your blood boiling and foaming under the surface like hydrothermal vents. You wanted to gnash your teeth, scream at him for being so stupid, but what was there to say?

If he let you love him, he’d break your heart on the battlefield. If he didn’t, he’d break your heart in your own home.

“We never had a chance,” you finally said.

“No, Maus,” König’s great form shuddered weakly, “not a single one.”

You wanted to beat your hands against his great chest, but instead your hands curled up into your form in two tight balls. He shuddered and quaked as silent tears wracked through his goliath body.

“I was so stupid,” he cried, “I pushed you away and now look what I’ve done to you?”

You shuffled closer until you could press your nose into the glands of his neck, “No, I was the stupid one.”

“Maus, I ruined us,” König shakily wrapped one arm around you.

You let him press you against him. In fact, you pressed yourself in, unable to stop yourself from wrapping an arm under his to hold him tight like you’d dreamt of for so long.

“You’re so stupid,” you beat his chest weakly with one fist, “we’re both so stupid.”

König curled around you like a cat. His warmth set you alight under the blankets, but you didn’t dare try to pull away. His tears soaked your shirt, the same one you wore last night. He never changed you. He was too good to touch you like that, not when you were so vulnerable. He was a better man.

“Never again,” König hissed, “I’m never letting you go again.”

“I’ll never leave,” your words formed into a ribbon. It wrapped around your heart before trailing down through your wrist, winding up his arm before plummeting into his chest and taking his heart into a snare. The ribbon tightened painfully around you both.

“Promise me,” he sobbed, “promise me we won’t ever do this again.”

“We won’t,” you vowed, “we won’t. We won’t, we won’t, we won’t.

König held his breath, but the sobs overcame him regardless.

“I don’t know if I can believe us.”

“Try,” you urged him, “try for us.”

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he hugged you painfully close, “I don’t want to do this again. When I found you… I can’t do it again. I’m not that strong a man.”

“Then don’t be strong,” you cried.

“I have to be,” he hiccuped, “I need to keep up appearances. If my team saw me like this… Weak, in an omega’s arms, they’d…”

“I don’t give a damn what they think,” you hissed, “just let yourself love me. Let yourself be weak.”

“But how?”

“Love me.”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes.

His eyes were rimmed with a bright red as tears trailed beneath. He looked pitiful but you couldn’t be much better. Maybe, it was better to be weak. Together, you could be weak. By being weak, you could be strong.

“Will you let me be your alpha?” he asked hoarsely, “after all I’ve done?”

“Only if you’ll let me be your omega, despite everything,” you replied weakly.

“Please,” he gasped.

“Then take me,” you snuggled back in.

König finally pressed you into his scent gland. He rubbed slightly, spreading the oils of the gland across the side of your neck. If you didn’t know what was happening, you never would’ve guessed it was happening.

You’d read articles that said that when someone scented you, you could feel the oils on your skin. But König was different. There was a slight dampness, but nothing uncomfortable. You’d expected something tacky or viscous, but this was nothing of the sort. This was just König pressing himself into you, scenting you like you’d wanted for so long.

Underneath his touch, you could feel your own glands tingle as they took him in. In turn, they coated his neck, claiming him as yours forever.

“I won’t ever let you be without my scent,” he hissed, “you’ll always have me, wherever you go. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

“And I’ll never leave you,’ you promised, “I’ll always be yours. Let me scent you.”

His shuddering calmed as he scented you, coating your neck with his musk before moving to the other side of your neck. When you caught a glance of his expression, it was no longer tearful, but rather clouded by rage and determination. His fangs hung over his lower lip as he began to rub his neck against your other side.

You rubbed against him yourself, coating him in yourself. You couldn't put your finger on it, it was hard to describe how you smelt, but when you pulled him into your gland you could smell him change. It was slow, ever so gentle in how it crept in, and soon he no longer smelt of someone else, some great alpha A stranger, and instead he smelled of you and, more starkly, he smelled of home. You could cry over this alone.

“It’s not your fault though,” you whispered, “I went because I wanted to. You couldn’t have stopped me.”

“But I could’ve gone with you,” he sighed, “I could’ve protected you.”

“Thinking about the ‘what ifs’ never really did much to change the present,” you rubbed the broad expanse of his back, letting your scent coat him entirely.

“I just..” König raised up and pressed into your neck firmly, “I never want to leave you alone again.”

“And I’ll always be by your side,” you assured him.

After another few minutes of nuzzling you, taking turns on each side of your neck to ensure you were fully covered, König finally pulled back to look you in the eyes.

You could smell yourself on him, him on you, both of you, you.

“You’re mine,” he leaned in close, “always and forever.”

“Always,” you leaned in close until your lips were but an inch apart.

Ever so slowly, he leaned forth, pressing his lips against yours in a tentative kiss. Gentle, fearful, frightened even. He felt so light that you feared he might fly away, wings of a butterfly up up and away. You laced your fingers into his hair to tether him to earth, to you, to the promises you made but didn’t know if you could keep.

His lips felt like feathers and childish promises for futile future. The hands he gently took your cheek with were of marble and leather, hardened by battles long since won by men who deserved to run back but were instead forced to march forth. He was eternal might and glory, blood sweat and tears shed by a monolith of marble, but with you he came apart like a thousand shards of porcelain. You wanted to gather each piece, put it back together with gold, but his vase had been shattered too many times. He was a lost cause but you wanted to love him regardless.

He pulled back, but you wanted more. You tried to pull him in again but he resisted.

You lay there in his nest, watching each other for another movement, but none came. You were safe and comfortable.

He let you kiss him again, this time softening into your touch. You were terrified that when you pulled back, he'd be gone. He had been a ghost in his own home, haunting you with his melancholy. Now, you could feel his heart beat with a terrified joy. You clenched over his heart, then let yourself fall back into your nest.

The two of you were dead walkers. You had crawled from the grave long ago, but when you lay together, you felt your heart beat for the first time, throbbing with the ache of disuse and rot rooting through the flesh. With each moment you looked into his eyes, you could see him wake up too. His cheeks were flushed with blood, his eyes bloodshot from years of tears being unleashed in one sitting. There would be more to come, but not now.

Now, for the first time since you both met, you could love.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

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short-honey-badger · 1 year ago

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Peppermint Tea 12

Hey guys! Sorry it's been a bit since the last post! I ended up with a bad case of strept throat and I'm just now feeling up to do my stuff. Anyway. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings! None I don't think? Some drinking. Mihawk gets a little dark. A little gaslighty. It's all for your own good tho! Next part? It's finally Smut time!

I forgot to say! The song that they dance to HERE

Begin Again is HERE

Masterlist

Breakfast is already done by the time Dracule finally decides that he is done, not hiding per se, but procrastinating. You greet him with a blinding smile, and his thoughts flash back to the portrait of a younger you. He shoves the image away and brings you in for a quick kiss before he sidesteps you and an excited Hank for the stove. He plies his plate and joins you at the table.

“I brought you another gift, dear one,” Dracule begins and you roll your eyes at him. He huffs and sips his tea before continuing, “Don’t pout. I think you’ll enjoy this one.”

“I enjoy all of your gifts, Mihawk,” You point out gently and toss Hank a piece of grilled fish, “But I’ll need to start getting rid of some stuff if you keep bringing me such nice things.”

Dracule casts his eyes around your humble home. While there wasn’t anything wrong with the things you have drug up from the shore from shipwrecks, It was far less than what you deserved. Especially since he knew about your past.

“Not everything is meant to be kept forever, Darling,” Dracule says right back, and you sigh but nod. The older man does have a point. Out with the old and in with the new, and all that. You catch the smug twist of his lips at your concession and roll your eyes. He was such a priss.

“Finish your breakfast, and then I’ll bring it in,” Mihawk orders gently after a moment and stands to place a kiss on your brow. He leaves with a lingering look your way that has your cheeks pinking up.

Down at his ship, Mihawk hefts two large crates with ease and carries them back up the beach and to the cottage. One is filled with a variety of fruit and vegetables that you did not have, and Dracule hoped that the more exotic ones would take to the soil of your island. The other crate held the real gift to you, one that he was far more excited to share.

The dishes have been cleared by the time he makes it back to your home. Mihawk leaves the crate of seeds and sprouts outside for you to investigate later. Hank is lounging in the sun, and Mihawk rolls his eyes at the big lug as he trudges back inside. You have made them fresh cups of tea, and Dracule gladly takes his with a quiet thanks after setting the crate aside.

“You'll need a clear space for this one, Darling.” Mihawk points out, and you escape to the living room to clear off part of one of your many bookshelves that line the walls. He follows after you and sets the crate on the floor, then kneels to flip open the lid of the box. You peer inside, brow furrowing at whatever was inside.

“This is a gramophone. It's an older model, so you'll have to crank it here for it to power itself.” Dracule lifts the record player and sets it on the spot you've cleared for him. He dusts it off and then dives back down to retrieve a large metal horn that he attaches to the back of the box. While he is screwing the horn in, you crouch and look through the crate, carefully pulling out several very thin square objects with art on the front.

“What are these for?” You ask and hand them over to Mihawk when he reaches for them. He opens the square and pulls out a shiny black disk that he sits in the middle of the gramophone. You watch in growing fascination as the vinyl begins to spin and jump out of your skin when noise blurts out from the horn.

The static mellows out, and soon your cottage is filled with the delicate notes of classic music and the sound of a man and a woman singing in beautiful harmony. It's in a language that you don't know, but it isn't any less beautiful. You step closer to the machine, awe on your face. You've never heard something so beautiful before, and you close your eyes to better lose yourself in the changing notes.

Mihawk watches you, eyes softening as he takes you in. You sway side to side, your long hair dancing around your waist, completely entranced in the classical tune. He steps behind you, hands settling on your waist as he gently leads you away from the bookshelf and to the middle of the living room. He sways with you, keeping to the slow beat of the song.

One of Dracule's hands finds your own, and he twines your fingers together with a hum, bringing it up and around to wrap around his neck. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, “This is one of my favorite pieces. It's a recount of a young man and his affection for his first love.”

You shiver when he speaks, his tone sinful and dripping with intent. You wonder if he is trying to tell you something in his usual, difficult, roundabout way. Did he love you? You were pretty sure that you loved him.

Mihawk holds you close, and as you close your eyes, it is him you hear, humming quietly in your ear. You cock your head up and bring his head down, kissing him as best you can in the odd angle. He twists you around not a second later, untangling his hand from yours so that Dracule can slip it into your hair and hold you just the way he wants as he kisses you senseless. The song comes to an end just as he is pulling you away, leaving you staring up at Mihawk like he was your everything.

Dracule gently untangled his hand from your hair to smooth his knuckles across your cheek, then shifted down to rub his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Would you like to listen to more?” Mihawk asks softly and breaks whatever tension that had built around the two of you.

You nod, an eager smile breaking across your lips, “Yes, please. I didn't understand what they said, but it was beautiful.”

“Not many would, Latin is a dead language to many,” Dracule informs you helpfully and then crouches to investigate the rest of the records inside the crate, “I made sure to bring you a variety of genres.”

You thank his kindness with a kiss on his cheek and giggle when the stoic man looks inordinately proud of himself. He flicks your forehead when you go in for another, “You've made your point.”

You pout at him briefly before you become distracted by the records again. You choose one at random and hand it to Mihawk, and then rise so that you can watch how he changes the disks.

For the next two days, the two of you went through the music that Dracule had brought for you. While you enjoyed the classical music that the warlord favored, you found that the more upbeat jazz genre was more your style. Dracule would smile to himself whenever he caught you humming one of your favorites and pat himself on the back for doing such a good job on his gift.

On the third day, the weather turned for the worse, casting your usual tropical and nice weather under dark clouds and raging winds. Rain pelted the island while you and Mihawk took shelter inside, Hank lay in front of the fireplace, drying his wet fur from his run inside. You sat curled up in the corner of the couch, a small glass of wine held in your hand. Mihawk had assured you that just a small bit would not hurt and would help to warm you up.

Dracule sat in the armchair across from you, feet kicked up as he sipped from his own glass and paged through one of your waterlogged books. Vera Keys crooned in the back, a song about starting all over to begin again. You hum along to the sad song, frowning a bit at the words.

Could you ever do that? Let go of your life here? Begin again somewhere else? The thought sent fear shooting down your spine, a voice echoing in the back of your mind that you could never leave this island.

Dracule glances over to see you frowning and can tell that you have delved into your thoughts. He wonders how much of your past that you recall, but he doesn't dare ask, would hate himself for bringing you any unnecessary pain. There was no need for you to know right now, not when it kept you safe.

“Something wrong, Angel?” Dracule rumbles and sets his book away to focus on you. He stands and steps over Hank to sit beside you on the couch.

Your lips screw up even more, and you debate on telling Dracule your thoughts. You'd already spilled enough on him the other morning about your dreams.

“I just…wish that I could leave sometimes,” you admit quietly and sit your glass aside. Your hands pick at themselves, a nervous habit over the years, “But everything I think about it, there is this voice telling me how I shouldn't. How it isn't safe.”

Dracule is silent beside you. Panic had shot through him for half a second when you mentioned wanting to leave. He could understand why. You've been trapped here all your life, but the thought of Big Mom somehow finding out about you? That was unacceptable. You needed to be kept safe, and Dracule would be the one to take up that role.

“While I understand your desire to leave, to explore the world,” Mihawk begins softly and draws you close to him, manhandling you a little so that you sit on his lap, legs on either side of his own, “I would listen to that voice. The world is vast, and there are people out there that would destroy everything that makes you, you.”

You find yourself nodding along. Dracule sounds so serious, and you wish he would tell you what had wronged him in the world for him to feel this way. For him to want you to stay here.

“What kind of people?” You ask, and Dracule frowns harshly, looming far more frightening than you have seen him since the first time he stepped foot on your island. You aren't sure if his answer brings you comfort or not.

“People like me, Darling. Pirates who take what they want when they want. I'm where I am for a reason, and I want to keep you away from anyone else who might wish you harm.”

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #mihawk x you #opla mihawk x reader #mihawk x y/n #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #peppermint tea #one piece live action

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tsp-narrator-ask · 1 month ago

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ANNOUNCEMENT TIME:

I MADE A VIDEO GAME!

also the shrimp is DEAD. Get over it, I’m not just a Stanley parable fan.

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”

You may ask…

I have decided to REBRAND this account, I know I know, not the best thing to do.

But since this is the only place I have a following (no one looks at my main account) I wish to share my NEW Interests in life/what I’ve been up to!

IM NOW A GAME DEV!!!

(Sorta-)

you see I’m only starting out, but I MAKE VIDEO GAMES NOW! I’m going into games and toy design for college instead of animation

(to be frank, I just didn’t have the chops for a full time animation interest, as much as it’s my passion, I also LOVE interactive media and physical media. SO VIDEO GAME CREATION IT IS!!

Starting now I’ll be posting my coding stuff on this account! The re-brand will be slow going, changing the look of my page soon.

If you like horror games with dumb ways to die/ sarcastic responses when you click random things then try out

DELIRIOUS DUMP

(SOON TO BE PUT UP on my itch.io page)

(LINK TO PAGE: https://artist-from-hell.itch.io/ )

It’s a point and click multiple ending HORROR GAME depending on what you click/what items you use!

I worked on/am credited for most of the art assets and help with story development!

You could also try my FIRST GAME I ever made

(Currently up on my page:

RAPUNZELL’S FATE

a text based choose your own adventure game with sprite are scattered between section/endings. This game is a multiple ending game with at LEAST 10 different endings!

(Once again FREE to play but accepting donations)

(Sadly College DOESN’T pay for itself, and I have two jobs just to do this.)

That’s NOT ALL!! I’ll also be posting about the OTHER game stuff I’ve been making!

I’m currently working on my own stand alone game “THE SEARCH (Into The Mythos)”

(based off of a “Call Of Cthulhu” Campaign I’ve been playing with my friends.)

This game will be solely coded by me, art direction/sprite work also by me, story telling aspects will be a mix of my own re-writes, and original scripting from my friends @shadow-commet and (the other who prefers not to be named)

Feel free to stick around or follow me to check out what I’ve got in store!

(Feel free to ask questions if any of this is confusing/sincere)

SINCERELY: Juniper ✨

#tsp narrator #the stanley parable narrator #your narrator #tspud #the stanley parable #the stanley parable: ultra deluxe #the stanley parable fandom #ask the narrator #tspud rp #narrator tsp #the shrimp is dead #shrimp narrator #Junipers video games now-#videogames #indie games #free indie games #free game #plz stick around

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lele5429 · 8 months ago

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Retired Assets - Story and Art Master Post

Story (Read the tags!)

Ch1: Prologue

Ch2: The Cold Within

Ch3: The Fire Won’t Light Itself

Ch4: Blind

Ch5: I Will Not Leave You

Ch6: Broken Things Can Be Mended Anew

Ch7: Home (Coming Soon)

Ch8: (Act 1 Finale)

AO3 main page

Art

Illustrations for the Story (by Lele)

THE TITLE PAGE (Key Visual) - I’ve finished it but I’ll post it with the finale.

Ex Libris (book plate)

Ch 2: The Cold Within

Ch 4: Blind

Ch 5: I Will Not Leave You and Never Alone

Character Design and Sketches

A Precursor to RA Ravio: fanart for @shirley-99

The first drawing of RA Ravio

RA Ravio's costume design (spoiler-free)

ALBW vs LU vs RA Ravio designs

LU Ravio vs RA Ravio - comparison and design notes

RA Ravio in a more naturalistic style (first attempt)

RA Ravio smiles and Part 2

LU Legend vs RA Legend

Love transcends the veil of absence

RA Legend in a more naturalistic style (first attempt)

RA Ravio (TW: blood)

Ravio and Sheerow for an art challenge

Tagaki Ravio profile pic

Art Process

THE TITLE PAGE (Key Visual Time Lapse)

Key Visual - inking

Ch 2: The Cold Within - scrapped designs

Drawing Eyes

Ch 4: Blind - time lapse

Ch 5: “Never Alone” - scrapped designs

Unrelated dark Ravio

Artistic Responses/Art Gifts

Discussing the Script by @moonriver080

The Burning Bridge by @moonriver080

Emoticons ft. The cast @violet-xd09

Emoticons Part 2 @violet-xd09

Ravio’s magic and smile @violet-xd09

Illustrations for Ch3 @violet-xd09

Nursery AU @violet-xd09 and Part 2

Ravio in the headlights by @violet-xd09

Ravio Tegaki by @wardingshout

Ravio mural by @hero-of-fortune

Disaster bunny and his faces by @violet-xd09

Drawing faces (art challenge) with @violet-xd09

MS paint and Tegaki Ravio blorbo @violet-xd09

Mid-Autumn Festival @violet-xd09

Under Her Favourite Apple Tree by 枭柏

Innocent RA Ravio by @whatvioletdoes-blog

RA Ravio’s 2024 Halloween costume by @violet-xd09

A Happy Fic by @lennsart

Trick or Treat/New Year @wardingshout

Bonus

Memes / Crack / Fluff (my art!)

Ravio wants you to stop and read the warning tags

Ravio with STOP sign animated

Disaster Bunny

Going to work with your landlord?

Get-along Shirt

PAY NO RENT

Why does RA Ravio fear Hilda?

Blue Potions

To Heaven

Jet lag

Legend explains things to Ravio (Ch4)

Self care or draw 25 and Part 2

RA Ravio ™️

Nope/Yep

Goodnight Ojousama

Account Deleted

Nothing is perfect

Ch 6 Teaser and Part 2

Drawing with my eyes closed

Babies need a hug

Why dis bun look so mad 😭

Working Properties - Retired Assets Actors AU

Take a break

No work

Trick or treat

Chibi

Ravio hugging Sheerow

Legend ╭(°A°`)╮

Sticker Pack #1

Poster Pose

Happy Fable

The Cold Within but Chibi

Apple juice

Hilda reading Ravio’s diary

Hilda Boop

Nursery AU (The Cast as Kids)

Nursery AU - first drawing

Kid!Ravio tries lemons

Crafts

Linocut: RA Ravio

Linocut: RA Legend

Prints ft. the RA leads, signed and framed

PAY NO RENT: heat-transfer vinyl T-shirt

Lasercut on wood: some keychains and tickets by @moonriver080

Button-making (with a sneak peek of additional memes)

Ravio’s robe and scarf (cosplay)

Bracelets inspired by LU characters

Stamp

Shaker charms and Part 2

Sheerow doll (by Alex Lynn crafts)

RA Ravio sleep mask

Q&A

Search for #retired assets ask game

Ravio character notes [1]

#linked universe #lu ravio #lu legend #lu memes #retired assets #ravio #retired assets memes #retired assets art #retired assets update #retired assets character design #a link between worlds #legend of zelda #loz #loz fanfic #loz fandom #lu fanfiction #retired assets ravio #retired assets legend #lele wip

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tinytalkingtina · 4 months ago

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Born to Run

Part 1 of Running with the Devil, a Steddie role reversal series

4k words | Rating: E

Tags/CW: Role reversal no upside down AU with some canon divergence, Jock/Track Star!Eddie, Metalhead/drug dealer!Steve, appalachian Eddie, confident bisexual Steve, Eddie has a sexuality crisis but is in denial, Eddie's sleeping mind decides to take matters into its own hands, wet dream (contains spanking and public humiliation), running of both the literal and metaphorical kind, child abuse referenced indirectly (physical beatings that happened in the past)

Read now on Ao3, and be sure to read @little-annie's Part 2 from Steve's POV, "Metal Health will Drive you Mad"

The sex dream within this fic is brought to you by the Week 4 prompt "slap" of the @steddiesmuttyseptember event

Eddie was always a runner. If you asked Wayne, he apparently skipped straight from crawling to toddling around as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. When he got older, it was a release valve, for everything and anything shitty in his life.

He didn’t have to think about his mom pulling a disappearing act, or his dad getting himself arrested (again). The world would narrow until the only sounds he could hear were the rushing in his ears and the smack of his sneakers on pavement.

Running had brought him to where he was now, as he clawed his way up the proverbial high school ranks. Anyone at this party would look at him and only see the triumphant senior captain of the track team, fresh off a successful meet. Every keg stand, every heroic retelling of a close race, every sloppy makeout session with a cheerleader, kept the attention on the Eddie of the present.

No one needed to remember the wide-eyed weirdo with patched baggy clothes, nearly ten when his classmates would only turn nine that year.

All around him, the crowd ebbed and flowed between the alcohol and the bonfire, the flickering flames and shadows making it hard to tell who was who. Someone stumbled into Eddie, breaking him out of his brooding.

“Whoops, sorry Eddie! Guess I’ll have to make it up to you later.” Before he could say anything, the giggling cheerleader pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. (He knew he went on a date with her about a month ago, but her name eluded him. Tina, maybe, or Vicki?)

He forced a grin back. “Of course you didn’t mean it sugar. Gonna hold you to that ‘kay?”

The girl possibly named Tina swooned at the tiny bit of accent he'd carefully slipped in. Just a touch could be charming to the fine folks of the Midwest, even if what he ended up using was way less Appalachian hick and more refined Southern gentleman than his momma's family had ever spoken in their lives.

As soon as her back was turned, he let the smile slide off. His post-meet high wore off too quickly tonight, and it left him well, twitchy.

An arm slung itself over his shoulder. "Ed my man, this party is wild! Your best work yet dude." Tommy grinned at him, already drunk. Neither of them commented on how close Tommy was pressing himself into Eddie. Or how Eddie wasn't quite moving away. But then again, the two of them had perfected the art of leaving things unsaid after what happened sophomore year, how close they had come to—no.

"Heh, yeah. Hey, where's Carol? She's gonna be pissed you abandoned her."

"Please, Carol's fine. She's busy talking with Lisa Carmichael. Speaking of which, she's really into you. Come on, get your dick wet, you deserve it after that 800 meter. We're fucking going to states!" His last sentence was said much louder, and a chorus of cheers and whoops predictably echoed back from celebratory partygoers. The twitchiness grew.

"I dunno man, not really feeling it tonight." Eddie tried to subtly back up a little bit, but Tommy just swayed forward into his space again.

“Trust me, you won’t be feeling like that when you're balls deep in a nice tight—"

"Tommy will you just fucking stop? What's with your obsession with my dick huh?"

A look of fear and hurt flashed across Tommy's face for a second, before it was replaced with a scowl. Fuck that was the wrong thing to say and danced way too close to the thoughts about—nope, they were not gonna talk about that.

Eddie carefully pat Tommy on the shoulder instead of thinking. "Shit sorry, it's fine, you're just looking out for me, right? I appreciate it, just not uh, really in the partying mood for some reason."

Tommy managed to recover his grin. "Oh, duh, why didn't you say so? That fucking freak Harrington finally showed up about thirty minutes ago. Sure he's got something that'll make you unwind a bit. Here, have one on me.”

Eddie wanted to snap that he didn’t need pity money. He got the kegs supplied just fine on his own, hadn’t he? But Tommy was still holding himself tensely several steps away. Tommy, who in sixth grade biked over every other day even after his parents had told him to stay away from the trailer park. Who “accidentally” always had a second pudding cup tucked in with his lunch for sharing. Whose summertime freckles were just starting to fade but Eddie knew still trailed down all the way to his—.

Besides, maybe weed would take the edge off whatever ugly thing kept rearing its insistent head inside him tonight. Help him forget about the looming pressures of the future and the things he wasn’t going to think about, help him feel normal again.

“Thanks Tommy, I’ll try and relax.” Eddie grabbed the money and set off down the path towards Skull Rock, where Harrington always held court. The chill wind rustling through the trees was a welcome respite to his overheated skin.

The walk over to the next clearing was only a few minutes, but by the time Eddie came upon it, the thrum of bass and general teenage debauchery had faded into a low murmur.

Instead, Skull Rock reverberated with the sound of tapping and gentle humming. Eddie’s heart picked up a little.

Steve Harrington made him nervous. It wasn’t necessarily how loud the guy was. Eddie could understand the need to fill a room up. He could vaguely remember a quieter pre-pubescent Harrington before his dramatic transformation, dressed in tiny polos and khakis and halfheartedly kicking around a soccer ball. Now, his entire wardrobe consisted solely of black and red accented with flashy gold rings. The thick combat boots he wore constantly made him tower over everyone else, and the ever-growing collection of tattoos scattered on his body thoroughly scandalized each and every teacher. What they all meant was a perennial topic of discussion amongst the student body.

A voice echoed down from one of the boulders: “Oh hey, look who showed up, it’s Eddie Munson himself! Heard from your sidekick Hagan you’re the reason Hawkins is going to States.”

Steve was stretched out, lounging on the top of the rock, a pair of drumsticks held loosely in one hand.

“Yup, we are. First time in five years actually.” The state championships. There would be college recruiters there, and with them the promise of scholarships that’d get him out of this town. Somewhere far away from the looming threat of the plant bending his back prematurely like it had Wayne’s. Somewhere no one had heard the name of Al Munson.

“Well then.” Steve practically purred as he smoothly jumped down to the ground. He gave his drumsticks a twirl before stashing them in his pocket. “You sure got ‘em, didn’t you Tiger.”

Yeah, there it was. Seemed like sometimes, Harrington could see right through him, like he knew about how his thoughts occasionally strayed to—nope.

Eddie crossed his arms and tried to keep his face neutral. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t you know it’s polite to thank someone when they compliment you?” Steve’s eyes sparkled with amusement. The fucker was toying with him. Worse, he was enjoying it.

Summoning every ounce of cockiness he possessed, Eddie stood up straight. Sure, this close Harrington had several inches on him, but it didn’t matter. Only one of them could throw the party of the year, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the unpopular weirdo in front of him.

“Shouldn’t you be the one thanking me? I let you sell your shit at my party.”

“Got a mouth on you, don’t you.” Steve smirked. “Tell me Munson, what’s stopping me from taking my goodies to, say, the basketball team’s next rager and skipping out on your little get together entirely? Don’t have to dirty my shoes at their parties. They choose to host at a house.”

Eddie gritted his teeth. “Hey fuck you man, not all of us have—”

“Didn’t say I minded,” Steve plowed on, interrupting him. “Maybe I like the fresh air and the…view. Just like to enjoy them peacefully.” He stood there with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in expectation.

Eddie could feel his face flushing but he held his ground. “Never stopped you from helping yourself to our beer.”

“Free shitty beer, just what I look forward to.” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “I gotta say, wasn’t really expecting you to come here. Don’t you usually send someone else to get your fix?”

Eddie shrugged. “Needed a change. And we both know you overcharge Tommy.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” Steve barked out a laugh. “But he deserves the asshole tax. Just weed for you tonight? There’s all kinds of ways to unwind if your usual methods are leaving you…unsatisfied there Munson.”

Vividly, Eddie was reminded of the graffiti scribbled on the walls above the urinals near the gym: Score a touchdown, then score with SH. More often than not, Steve could be found spectating the games, quietly dealing underneath the bleachers. On occasion, one girl or another could be seen emerging from underneath and brushing dirt off her skirt. But there was that other rumor, one that no guy would ever admit to having personal experience with. That if you won, Harrington would give anyone weed for free if they got on their knees for him and—woah there. What was wrong with him tonight?

“Th-think the weed is jus’ fine, ain’t lookin’ for much else.” he stammered out. Shit, why did his accent have to slip now of all times? “I mean, weed is all I need. Those fucking pricks from Greencastle got under my skin.” Assholes thought they were so big, mocking his out of style sneakers. Those shoes hadn't stopped him from shaving half a second off the regional record, but he couldn't help but still feel the barbs from their insults lodged under his skin, festering.

Steve cocked his head as he stared at Eddie with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally he broke into a disarming smile. Eddie couldn’t remember ever seeing Steve sincerely express happiness, at least not from this distance. He would have remembered how prett—how his eyes lit up.

“I’m in a band you know. Pierced Scepter. We play down at this shitty dive bar and yeah, usually it’s a crowd of four drunks and the bartender, but it doesn’t matter. Being on any stage is…fuck it’s awesome. But sometimes it’s a little too much to just pack it all up right after. So I come out here to scream my head off, get it all out. Better off terrorizing the birds than picking fights when my parents are around.” Steve unconsciously rubbed his palm as he laughed humorlessly. “Saves on the screaming matches at home and the. Well.”

“Didn’t realize rich folks got their own hands dirty like that.” Carol’s parents had left the task of punishment to her nanny, preferring to swoop in with carrots after the stick had been administered.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure my dad would say something about how ‘real men are responsible for disciplining their kids so they don’t get soft.’ Though what he considers ‘soft’ changes a lot based on his mood. And whether he’s wearing a belt or suspenders that day.”

“G-d, who knew our dads have something in common then?” Eddie snorted. “Never could keep my old man happy, was always doing something wrong. He took the belt to me so often in third grade I barely could sit down the whole year.” His first time in third grade anyway, the one before he was whisked away to the safe haven of Wayne’s trailer.

“And…I have absolutely no idea why I told you that.” He barely talked about his dad to Tommy and Carol for crying out loud. On visitor’s days he always made up some lie about why he and Wayne were driving close to the state penitentiary.

Steve let out a weird little braying bark of a laugh and shuffled his feet. “Right, you didn’t come here to cry over our daddy issues. Gimme a sec to get your stuff.” Steve reached behind to grab the lunchbox he carried his goods around in. As he did, his jacket slid open enough to show the exposed line of his clavicle above the low-cut collar of his tee. Eddie swallowed hard. Against his will, his eyes dipped lower, noticing a design over the top of his pec in black ink. Oh, a new tattoo.

Eddie squinted trying to make out what it was. “It’s been a while since you gave O’Donnell a reason to lecture us on the ‘decaying morality of the modern day.’ Is that a two headed monkey?”

Delight flickered over Steve’s face. “This? Yeah, it’s new. Supposed to be Demogorgon, the ‘Prince of Demons.’” At Eddie’s blank look he chuckled. “He’s a monster from Dungeons and Dragons, you know, the fantasy game we play in Hellfire Club. It was the final battle of a months long campaign and our characters were trying to escape Demogorgon’s lair. Most of the party was close to death, but at a chokepoint, my character took a last stand and gave the others enough time to escape. Everyone else got out, even if the bastard got me in the end. So, I got this as a tribute to my character's sacrifice.”

Eddie spoke without thinking. “Oh, that’s kind of similar to what Gandalf did: facing off against the Balrog to save the rest of the Fellowship.”

Forget fleeting glimpses of real smiles. The look of surprise Steve gave him was almost comically out of place on his face. “You’ve read Lord of the Rings?”

“While ago, yeah. The Hobbit too.” Back when he first moved in with Wayne, the man had found an absolutely beautiful illustrated set at a rummage sale. Eddie smiled to himself, remembering how excited he’d been to get his first real present ever. “Spent a whole summer running around during the day, then staying up way too late reading all night. My uncle had to confiscate my flashlight eventually.”

A snort from Steve jolted Eddie out of his memories as he realized who he was talking to. “Don’t tell anyone that Harrington, or else,” he ordered as he flushed for the second time that evening, “The rest of your dorky club of nerds better not start bothering me in the hallway just because I’ve read Tolkien. Not going to step in to save them if they forget their place.”

Steve’s expression shuttered as he stood upright. “Right, wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation with the rest of your jock buddies.” Eddie was taken aback by the bitterness in Steve’s voice. “They might explode if you admit to having interests beyond banging chicks, sports magazines, and beer. Your secret’s safe with me. After all, who’s going to believe the Freakshow? Here.” He shoved a baggie in Eddie’s face. “That should be enough for about a week. Now get lost before I double the price.”

Eddie opened his mouth to apologize. But the artificial sneer on Steve’s face made him lose his nerve. He just held out his money as he snatched away the weed. “Thanks, uh, have a good night Harrington. Help yourself to something from the kegs.” He almost made it to the edge of the trees before Steve’s voice called out to him: “Hey, Munson!”

He froze and turned. Steve had clambered back onto Skull Rock, moonlight and shadows making him look otherworldly and malevolent, towering over the clearing. “Keep that attitude of yours in check next time, or else I might take my services somewhere else. But, if you need more help…unwinding, well. You know where to find me.” That knowing smirk was firmly fixed back in place on his face.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He finally gave into his impulses and ran.

He didn’t think about those plush lips drawn back into a genuine smile as he quickly navigated back to the party. He didn’t think about those amused eyes seeing right through him as he knocked back a few cups of beer and danced a little with anyone and no one. And he certainly wasn’t thinking about that tattoo surrounded by chest hair as he staggered home to an empty trailer and collapsed into his bed.

“You look so good there, kneeling for me Eddie.” Steve looms over him, those ringed hands on his hips. Eddie realizes he’s naked in the clearing and flushes with embarrassment. When did he take off his clothes?

Any thoughts on how he ended up here are derailed when the wind caresses his body. Oh. Tendrils of air race over his exposed chest and glide over his heavy balls and dripping cock.

“And look how much you’re enjoying it too.” He’s never been this turned on in his life, and it’s all because of Steve. All for Steve. He’s powerless to prevent a moan from falling out of his mouth.

“You act so big at school, like you’re the top of the food chain yeah? A real king of the jungle. But you and me, we know better. You’re not a scary tiger at all are you. No, you’re just a cute little kitten.”

Eddie can’t help but whine as he spreads himself wider in invitation.

“Yeah, thought you’d like that.” Steve crooks a finger and gestures for Eddie to follow him. “Come on kitten.” Eddie begins to get up, his legs tingling with pins and needles.

“Mhm, no. I like you better down there. In fact, I think you should crawl.”

He shudders but obeys the sound of that voice, would do anything for it. He stays on all fours as the path unwinds before them, until they come to a door. Eddie moves as fast as he can to follow Steve through, tumbling into the void within. He flails, plummeting until a familiar wax-polished wood rushes up to meet his palms. Eddie doesn’t dare get up from his hands and knees as he lifts his head but-

The gym is filled to the brim.

Their classmates sit silently, blank looks on their faces as they stare. They’re waiting for something to happen. White hot shame courses through his veins as he desperately tries to cover up.

The voice cuts smoothly through the haze of his embarrassment: “Look at them kitten, they’re all waiting for a show. Let’s give one to them.”

Steve nudges him onto his back. He grabs his wrists and pulls them away from his body, exposing Eddie to the crowd. No! His face is on fire as he tries to fight it, but he can’t seem to break free, his strength sapped away. Steve tightens his hold on his wrists.

“Settle down Eddie, let them see you. You love this.”

He knows Steve is right. He can’t hide how hard his aching cock is, slapping against his belly as he squirms. But he can’t help it, they’ll all know. Faint whispers drift down from the stands as the crowd watches him struggle.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” he begs, but the words get caught in his choked up throat.

“I think you’ve forgotten your place. Maybe you need a reminder that you can’t hide, not from me.”

Steve hauls him up and easily slings him over a shoulder. Eddie lays there limply, frozen and whimpering. He’s unceremoniously dumped on top of a teacher’s desk right at the center line. Hands come up to squeeze at his nipples, hard. Just the way he does when he’s alone. His cock twitches and drools even more from the groping.

Eddie blinks, and suddenly the bleachers are that much closer.

“Be happy kitten, all the attention is on you! Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” Oh G-d. Every eye is fixed on him, the buzzing of interest growing louder.

“No, I don’t want this, I don’t want you!” He shouts as loud as he can but the words come out muted and garbled.

Steve barks out a cruel laugh. “God, you’re pathetic. But then you’ve always been so good at lying to yourself haven’t you? You were the one who kissed Tommy, not the other way around. But when he went in for more, you pushed him off and ran away.”

Through the blur of tears, he can just make out Tommy’s face in the crowd, wearing the same accusatory and hurt look he had two years ago.

Steve leans down to nibble at his ear. “And,” he whispers, his voice silky smooth. “Let’s not forget how in the back of your head you imagine me shoving you against a locker and making you take it. Or sometimes, I threaten you with my knife a little out in the woods, yeah?”

Without warning, Eddie is manhandled over Steve’s lap. “Good news, guess today’s your lucky day kitten. I’m going to make you take it until you admit to everyone what you really want.”

SMACK!

The first slap to his ass sounds loudly, echoing around the gym. Eddie nearly swallows his tongue trying to keep quiet. The spectators in the stands let out a gasp for him.

But Steve doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until Eddie feels like his ass is on fire.

He finds himself pleading for Steve to have mercy, slipping back into the accent he tries so hard to keep a lid on normally.

“Ha, there he is, finally. You can dress yourself up in a varsity jacket all you want, but we all know what you really are. Just a piece of trailer trash. You can’t run from this you dumb hick. Tell me what I want to hear.”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t. “Fine, then take your punishment.”

Smack after smack rains down on his ass. The pain builds and builds, and the crowd gets louder and louder. But underneath the humiliation, he remains hard and grows even more desperate. Every slap sends him thrusting, his cock trapped between Steve’s muscular thighs. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ha! And you jocks call me the freak. You’re the one humping my leg and yowling like you’re in heat. Pain turn you on kitten?”

That’s all it takes to push him over the edge.

He cums to the sound of cheers.

Eddie woke with a jolt and a gasp, his whole body pulsing in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced.

Trembling, he curled up into a ball and let the tears fall. This was nothing, just a passing thought his brain had gotten attached to. All he had to do was survive the year, and then he could be finally free of Hawkins, and the living ghosts that haunted him.

If only that had been the last time he dreamed of Steve Harrington.

Two weeks later, Eddie woke with a fuzzy head and even fuzzier memories of the night before, vaguely remembering a ringed hand stroking his hair. On his nightstand was a glass of water, some Tylenol, and a note from SH telling him to take it easy.

After that his dreams changed. Sometimes he wasn’t humiliated at all, and those tattooed arms kept him safe and cared for. It felt worse almost, to have his subconscious offer up such happiness, only to snatch it away when he woke to an empty bed. He didn’t dare spend the night in the arms of a girl at her house, worried he’d reveal himself for the freak he was.

A full month of torment and countless hours of lost slumber later, Eddie finally had had enough. He grabbed his keys and tore off in the direction of Steve's house, praying that Carol wouldn't see his van in her neighbor's driveway at this time of night.

As he rang the doorbell, he didn’t know what to expect. But it certainly wasn’t the sight of a sleep rumpled Steve answering the door in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Somehow, seeing his bare hands felt more intimate than the lack of shirt did.

“Munson? Gave me a heart attack, thought my parents were back a day early. What are you—”

“Hey,” Eddie interrupted, wide-eyed and feeling slightly crazed. “Can we talk?”

Ao3 link

It's finally here! This began life as a brain worm that Annie and I have turned into a whole fully expanded universe. We can't wait to write more with these two :D

Tagging a few folks who showed interest in the original Wiggly Wednesday post (but please feel free to ignore): @eyesofshinigami @augustjustice @griefabyss69 @hairstevington

@dreamy-jeans137 @eriquin @hbyrde36 @hotluncheddie

Thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the runner divider!

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #role reversal au #stranger things #tinawrites #role reversal steddie

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ddvauconspiracies · 2 months ago

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I HAVE MADE A MISTAKE ON MY LAST POST!! (It doesn’t change the fact that I think Martyn has a connection to the Nextus, in fact it helps my argument)

This is where I made my mistake. I said that CG is pink BUT I FORGOT A LITTLE SOMETHING. He really isn’t lol. Let me explain before y’all think I’m colorblind.

In the image on the right you can see just how purple CG’s eyes are AND on the image on the left you can see that Grian’s wings are now tinted purple. The eyes you can just pass it off as ‘the watcher’ stuff. (I do have a few theories about his eyes and what they mean, but I’ll put that in another post soon) For right know, let’s focus on the purple wings. I have few conspiracies on them.

They are naturally like that but Grian uses his witch abilities to change them, maybe for privacy, just to match with his outfit, or he is ashamed of them. (I honestly don’t think this is the case but let’s not rule anything out.)

The corruption Fungi, used by CeeCee, affected his wings. Why do I this? Well, we can see in the Au that the fungi is in fact purple and could have infected him slightly being heavily infected by it. At the end of the lastest update on the Au the Mimic and CeeCee have this conversation:

CeeCee- “That didn’t go as you planned”

The Mimic- “That’s fine” “I got what I wanted”

lol ok, ominous much? The mimic is just a silly mysterious lil guy. WELL this convo makes us, as readers, question, “What was the plan?” “And what does it have to do with Grian getting carried away in Hotguy’s arms?” I have a whole list of theories on what the reason could be but that is for a different post. But I will get into one of the things on my list that can go with this current argument. The Mimic is trying to…pursue Grian/CG to either be with him romantically, or kind of join a group taking out the flawed government. Isn’t Grian a part of a group like that already? Yes. He is. Honestly, there isn’t a whole lot to work with on this topic and there is a lot of jumps in my explaining that don’t have any evidence to fill it in. But the thing a want to do here, is throw a bunch of stuff into the air and cause everyone to think and come up with their own ideas. The amazing thing about conspiracies is, most of the time, you are going to be wrong, and that’s ok! But for the sake of this blog just like today when I think of something, realized I made a flaw, or new evidence presents itself I will be making a new post talking about it and explaining where I went wrong and what to think now, coming up with whole new theories. THANK YOU HAVE AN AMAZING REST OF YOUR GUYS’ DAY!

Shroom~the conspiracy theorist <3

*just a reminder that this au and the art is made by @kitsuneisi and @xmaruu11*

#ddvau #ddvau cuteguy #ddvau grian #ddvau hotguy #ddvau mimic #doody ddvau

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x-press-it · 2 months ago

Text

What Loneliness Craves

One touch might be all it takes to feel whole again 🎞️🖤🌹❤️‍🔥✅

Worshiping!Logan Howlett x shy!fem reader

Summary: After a long mission, all you want is to sleep for a week. But Logan, determined to keep tabs on you, makes you realize just how lonely you feel in his absence.

Content Warnings: Smut 18+ Explicit scene (Fingering - F receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms) - Worshiping!Logan - Pet Names (Kid, bub, sweetheart, darling, baby, goddess...) - Reader Notes: No Y/N, no physical description of the reader, no mention of powers, reader is shy and feel emotional hypersensitivity - Emotional Intensity and Mental Health: strong emotions, including moments of vulnerability and anxiety, deep feeling of loneliness and exhaustion, mutual pining, self-worth struggles, overstimulation, worship - religious imagery and reverent language - Mention of alcohol - Fluff - Angst -Trope: Coworkers to lovers I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Worshiping!Logan is leaving rent free in my head since I opened the door for him ^^" - Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post, Art by me, don't steal and don't forget to credit if you share/reblog - Click on the dividers to find the creator - Need a song to go with it? Don't worry, I got you.

Word Count: 9K (Sorry, not sorry and you're welcome 😜)

The knock at the door is soft but unmistakable. Part of you wants to ignore it, to sink deeper under the covers and hope whoever it is just takes the hint. But then you hear the voice—low and rough, that familiar rasp that somehow feels more comforting than you'd ever admit.

"Hey, kid. Just checkin’ in. You alright in there?" His words float through the door, muffled but distinct.

You blink, processing the last few hours of frustration: the long mission, the awkward trip back with Scott and Jean, the eternity of the debrief, and now Logan standing in the hallway just as you were finally, finally about to get some rest. All you manage is an exasperated sigh.

After a couple of seconds, you call out wearily, "Obviously, no. I just need some damn sleep, and everyone seems dead set on preventing it." Your tone is sharper than you intended, but exhaustion has frayed your patience to threads.

There’s a pause, then Logan’s voice comes again, softer this time, "Mind if I come in?"

With another sigh, you check yourself, making sure your t-shirt and sweatpants are at least somewhat presentable. "Yeah, sure," you reply, sounding resigned.

Logan cracks the door open and steps inside, his gaze immediately finding you sitting on the edge of the bed, a mixture of irritation and weariness etched on your face.

He studies you, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the tension that’s all but wrapped itself around your shoulders, the deep fatigue that’s visible even in your posture. His mouth shifts, a faint tug at one corner, almost a smile—maybe even a touch apologetic—before he nods.

“Right. Didn’t mean to add to the racket.” He sounds sincere, like maybe he gets it, more than most would. “But… you’re wound up tighter than I’ve seen in a while. Don’t reckon you’ll relax anytime soon unless someone helps you out with that.”

You look up at him, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his tone, not sure what he is hinting at. But before you can respond, he jerks his thumb toward the hallway. “Look, just stay put, alright? Be back in a minute. Promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Before you can answer him, he’s already turning away, leaving you with just enough curiosity—and exhaustion—to keep you on the edge of the bed, wondering just what he has planned.

True to his word, he returns just a few minutes later, carrying a worn leather pouch. There’s a small smile—almost sheepish—as he steps inside and closes the door with a quiet click, muffling the mansion’s constant hum. Crossing the room in a few easy strides, he gestures for you to lie on your stomach, his gaze softer, more intimate.

“Trust me on this,” he murmurs, as he settles on the edge of your bed. He pulls a small bottle from the pouch, uncapping it to release the soft, calming scent of soothing oil. “Didn’t figure you for the lavender type,” he says, pouring some oil into his hands and rubbing it between his palms, warming it, “but it does the trick.”

Before you know it, his strong hands slides beneath the collar of your t-shirt, finding the tight muscles of your shoulders. His fingers, precise and steady, easing the tension out of muscles that have been screaming for relief since the mission began. His thumbs knead into the knots at the base of your neck, his touch deliberate as he shifts the fabric, lifting and tugging gently so his hands can reach every bit of tension without asking you to expose yourself. He’s quiet, focused, his touch somehow both grounding and gentle, guiding you toward a feeling of calm you haven’t felt in a long time.

You exhale slowly, the last remnants of frustration beginning to melt away as his hands move with that practiced touch into the tense muscles along your neck and shoulders. Each press of his fingers feels purposeful, as if he’s intent on unraveling the weight of the week with every stroke, and the sensation of his warm hands just beneath the shirt’s collar brings a kind of quiet intimacy that stirs a few butterflies in your stomach.

“Just relax,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual, as though he’s speaking directly to whatever’s gnawing at you from the inside. “No one’s bothering you for the next while. And if they try… well, I’ll deal with ’em.”

There's a pause, and you’re almost certain you catch the slightest shift in his tone, something gentler, almost… tender.

His hands finally comes out from your shirt’s collar, leaving a cold emptiness, and a shudder shakes you at the thought of him pulling away from you. But he doesn’t. Not really. Instead he clears his throat, his fingers finding your waist, sliding just under the hem of your t-shirt, and he lets his hands drift along your back.

He never asks you to take off your shirt, never even makes a move to remove it himself. There’s something surprising in his restraint, the way he carefully works around it, as if respecting a boundary he somehow senses. Or maybe… maybe he just isn’t interested in you that way. But before you can dwell on the thought, you find yourself adjusting, lifting the hem just a little, almost without realizing it—just enough for him to reach the places that need his touch the most.

He takes it in stride, his hands gliding down your spine with more intent now, applying a gentle but firm pressure that works through the aches and pains buried there. “I read the report. You did good out there,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his hands trail along your lower back, slow and sure. “Hell of a job, bub.”

His words are simple, but somehow they reach into that part of you that’s been neglected for so long, easing a sense of loneliness you didn’t realize had settled in. Logan’s touch, his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it feels like the kind of comfort you’ve been craving, whether or not you’d admit it out loud. And maybe it’s the exhaustion or the way his words eased the ache of your heart but you feel yourself drifting slowly as the warm press of his hands continue to work over your shoulders blades and down your back, coaxing you closer to the edge of sleep. Another deep sigh escape your lips and just as you’re about to give in, you feel him pull back the hem of your t-shirt and settle beside you, still watching, as though he’s making sure you’re okay.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and close, his voice a quiet promise that you’re safe—wrapped in his presence, shielded from the world, if only for a little while.

The room is still as you blink awake, the quiet pressing in around you. The sheets beside you are cold where he once sat, his warmth replaced by the chill of an empty bed. The softness of his hands, the scent of lavender oil—fleeting, half-faded memories slip through your mind, dreamlike. If it weren't for that faint trace of him clinging to your skin, you'd almost think you’d imagined it, that it was a dream.

But it wasn’t.

The thought should bring you comfort, but instead, it cuts deeper, the hollow ache in your chest growing sharper with each breath. Your hand clutches the sheets, fingertips brushing over the fabric he’d left behind, but there’s no warmth to hold onto. The room feels heavy in his absence, the silence thick and pressing down around you.

Finally, you pull yourself up, feet meeting the cool floor as you wrap your arms around yourself, your chest tightening against the urge to cry. You don’t even know why you feel this restless ache—just that something inside you feels cracked, raw. And the only one who might know how to put it back together… isn’t here.

The room feels stifling, a heavy weight pressing down on you. You need to escape, to breathe. Unable to stay still, you slip out of your room and into the shadowed hallways of the mansion. Your bare feet tread quietly over the carpeted floors, the vast, darkened hallways swallowing each step. The silence settles in, but it doesn’t bring peace; instead, it pulls you deeper into the emptiness he left behind. Even Scott and Jean, even the tense missions and the unspoken glances, had felt less draining than this—the feeling that all the calm he’d left you with, all that gentle ease he’d brought, had somehow vanished into the air the second he left. Now, it’s just you… and this hollow, aching quiet.

In the stillness of the night, your restless feet carry you down the hall without you fully noticing where you’re going and before you realize it, you’re standing in front of his door. The sight of it jolts you out of your haze, your hand already lifted to knock before you even register the decision to come here. Your knuckles brush the wood, a hesitant noise that barely breaks the silence. The second the sound leaves your hand, a thousand doubts surge up, freezing you in place.

What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. You should leave, before you ruin everything—before you make a fool of yourself, before you shatter whatever gentle thread connected you two in the quiet of the evening. You feel your heart tighten with regret, and you take a shaky step back, cursing yourself for even letting yourself hope for something more.

Then, the door swings open.

Logan’s sharp senses had picked up your approach long before you’d even arrived, and the soft, hesitant knock felt like a whisper of your heartbeat reaching out to him.

When he heard your footsteps retreating something had stirred in him—an instinct, a need. Before he could think it through, he was already halfway across the room, hand on the doorknob.

As he pulls the door open, you freeze, just a few steps away, caught in the soft glow spilling from his room.

God, you’re breathtaking.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His clothes mirror your own, but his eyes feel sharp. Wasn’t he asleep despite the hour? His brows furrow slightly, and a glint of worry twists something deep in your chest as his gaze takes you in—the loose shirt, bare feet, the lingering haze in your eyes from interrupted sleep. You can see questions flickering in his expression, a quiet alertness that wasn’t there a moment ago. But when your gaze lifts to meet his, the sadness there hits him like a punch to the gut. It’s raw and vulnerable, tugging at something deep within him, squeezing his heart until all he wants is to close the distance, pull you in, and promise that everything will be okay.

“Everything alright, bub?” he asks instead, his voice low, but laced with genuine concern. It’s not like you to come to him, especially not like this, and the worry behind his words—the way his hand almost instinctively moves to steady you—makes your heart stutter.

The surprise in your eyes fades, replaced by something softer—something that almost makes him forget to breathe. He lets the silence stretch between you, his eyes searching yours, trying to grasp all the unspoken emotions lingering there. You open your mouth to respond, the words catching in your throat as his gaze waits, steady, braced for whatever brought you here. You shrug, uncertainty settling in as you look away.

There’s no good reason you can find to explain why you’re standing here in the middle of the night outside his door—except maybe that you need him. But you can’t say that. The words are stuck in your throat, leaving only the weight of the ache you’d been trying to stifle. The smell of lavender clings to you, a reminder of his hands easing away your exhaustion, his voice quiet, and his presence just close enough to hold you steady. Somehow, that only makes it harder.

But Logan doesn’t press. It doesn’t matter; you sought him, so there must be a reason, even if you’re the only one who can grasp it. He’s no stranger to struggling with complex emotions that simmer under the surface, knowing the words are there but unable to bring them up, caught somewhere just out of reach.

You shift awkwardly, vulnerability clawing its way up. You try again, opening your mouth once more to say something, anything, but he cuts you off gently. “It’s okay, bub. Don’t have to explain yourself.”

There’s no judgment, no questions. Just him. “Come on in,” he says as he opens the door wider—a silent invitation—and the warmth from his room spills out like an embrace. It looks like the simplest thing in the world. And maybe it is, for him. Stepping back, he gives you the space to step in if you want. In that moment, all the restless ache, all the sadness, begins to fade just a little, as if his presence alone eases the pain.

You hesitate, but in his eyes, you see nothing but quiet understanding laced with concern. He knows you’re holding back and offers a safe space without a word. Finally, your feet move on their own, and you step forward, crossing the threshold. He closes the door softly behind you. The dimly lit room feels smaller now, but not stifling like yours; it’s like stepping into a cocoon of warmth and cedar and him, wrapping around you, steadying you in a way that nothing else could, chasing away the shadows that cling to you.

You’re still a little unsure, your hand nervously playing with the hem of your t-shirt, feeling like one wrong move will shatter whatever delicate balance is holding you both together right now. He doesn’t say anything else, just gestures to the edge of his bed for you to sit, and the unspoken trust between you is almost tangible.

And for now, just this—just him—is enough.

Logan watches as you settle yourself at the end of his bed, your fingers still fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. His gaze softens even more, that raw edge in his eyes easing into something you almost don’t recognize—like he’s trying to shield you from everything weighing on you in that moment.

He doesn’t sit, though. Instead, he steps over to the small cabinet by his bed, pulling out a bottle and pouring a measure into two glasses. With a gentle smile, he presses one into your hand before taking his place on the chair across from you, facing you. “Maybe this’ll help,” he says, his voice soft, lightly clinking his glass against yours before taking a sip.

The whiskey is warm, smooth, chasing away the lingering chill and melting some of the stiffness that’s been weighing you down. You drink in silence, your gaze on the floor, until you feel his hand come to rest over yours, warm ad reassuring, without expectation.

You try to keep your composure, but his touch—solid yet gentle—dissolves what little is left of your resolve. And before you realize it, the tears you’ve kept at bay pool in your eyes, catching you off guard. But Logan doesn’t pull away.

“You know,” he begins softly, his voice as gentle as you’ve ever heard it, “you don’t have to handle everything alone.” His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, and for a moment, his words reach the ache in your chest, like he’s giving you permission to let your guard down. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

The words burrow into the ache in your chest, breaking something open inside you, and a tear slips free. Logan doesn’t look away. Instead, he reaches out, his calloused thumb brushing it from your cheek with a gentleness that makes you feel fragile, breakable, and yet somehow, like you’re the safest you’ve ever been. His gaze is soft, unguarded, none of his usual rough exterior, and the dam you’ve been holding back finally breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Logan, still holding your hand, doesn’t look away. Instead, he smoothly sets both glasses aside on the chair he’d been sitting on, his movements unhurried, while he takes a seat next to you.

Before you know it, you’re wrapped in his arms, his solid warmth softly eroding the loneliness you hadn’t realized had settled so deep. His free hand rests at your back, drawing soothing circles as he murmurs, “You’re alright, sweetheart. I got you.”

And right now, with him holding you like this, you almost believe it.

That makes the tears come harder, raw and unbidden, and as you rest your head against his chest, Logan’s hold tightens, anchoring you in a way that makes you want to stay right here forever. Each wrenching sob feels like it shakes you both, echoing through the stillness, and in his arms, you sense the way he’s taking in every tremor as though he can shoulder it, piece by piece, with you. The emptiness you’ve been carrying slips free, finally heard and understood without the need for words.

You lean into him, letting everything go, letting yourself be vulnerable in a way you haven’t let yourself in a long time. And he doesn’t shy away—he’s solid, present, his hand still rubbing slow, steady circles at your back, each one easing the ache just a little more. The weight of his head rests against yours, and he lets out a quiet breath, one that feels almost like it’s unraveling along with you. It’s as if your pain, your loneliness, is something he’s felt in his bones too, something he understands as deeply as you do.

Your breathing finally starts to steady, the silence folding around you both, and you become aware of how close you are, how easily you fit against him. His hand is still on your back, his fingers gentle but firm, keeping you grounded, safe.

He doesn’t let go, not yet. He keeps holding you, like he knows just how fragile the moment is, how much you need this. And maybe he does, maybe that’s exactly why he’s here, still holding you as if to say that he’s not going anywhere.

When you finally pull back, his hands linger a little longer than necessary, brushing along your arms before he lets them fall away. You look up, meeting his gaze, and the softness there—the warmth that you almost never get to see—is so clear it nearly takes your breath away. There’s something in his eyes that’s raw, unguarded, as if he’s letting you see right into him, the way he’s been letting you into his heart all this time, even if neither of you realized it until now.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice hushed in the quiet, but there’s a hint of a soft smile tugging at his lips, the kind that makes you feel a little lighter.

You nod, and his smile grows just a bit, a spark of something warmer, softer, flickering between you.

“I’m sorry, I…” you start, but he cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says quietly, and his hand reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lingering just for a second. “Sometimes it’s just… better not bein’ alone with it, y’know?”

His words settle into you, and once again, you feel the ache ease, a peace seeping into the hollow spaces.

You both sit there in the quiet of his room, comfortable in a way you never thought you could be, the space between you feeling less like a distance and more like something shared—something solid, something real.

And with Logan there, his warmth close enough to feel, you almost start to believe that maybe you don’t have to carry everything alone anymore. The thought gives you just enough strength to voice what you need, a soft whisper leaving your lips before you can second-guess it.

“Can I… spend the night here?” The words are barely more than a breath, and you almost want to take them back, worried he’ll say it’s not a good idea. What you really want to say is, With you. In your warmth, but the words catch, too vulnerable to release.

But he doesn’t hesitate or throw up any walls. Instead, he just nods, voice soft, a steady warmth in his eyes. “’Course you can.” He gestures to his desk, then adds, “I just gotta finish up something, but make yourself comfortable.”

Relief floods you, and you nod shyly, barely believing he’d let you stay. He offers you a soft smile and as you settle onto his bed, you watch him put away the glasses before returning to his desk, the quiet sounds of him flipping through papers filling the room. You take in the comforting familiarity of his place, the faint scent of cedar lingering, grounding you, and his calm presence nearby.

The warm light of his lamp casts a soft glow, creating a rim around his silhouette that makes it nearly impossible to tear your eyes away. As he grades, he asks you about the mission, his voice a low, comforting rumble that eases the tension knotted up in your chest. You tell him about the contact, the files—how it took some time to track them down, but everything went smoother than expected when you finally met them; perhaps even too smoothly. He listens with that rare focus of his, asking about Jean and Scott, prompting an involuntary frown to tug at your lips.

“Jean and Scott are fine,” you say, a hint of frustration threading through your voice. “Though Scott could probably learn not to glue himself to her side every five minutes.”

Logan lets out a quiet laugh, finishing his last mark on the page. Then, with a stretch that pulls his folded arms above his head, you catch the faint shift of muscles beneath his shirt, the strength and ease in his posture.

But he doesn’t let the silence linger long, rising from his chair and making his way to the bed. You feel every inch of space tighten as he stands beside you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes hold a softness that makes your pulse race.

“Alright, scoot over,” the words are a gentle rumble that makes you shiver.

Your heart hammers in your chest, louder than you’d like, but you shift over, trying not to look too eager, as he settles beside you. Gently, he pulls the covers over you both, his arm coming around your shoulders, drawing you closer with a tenderness you hadn’t quite expected. The warmth seeps into your skin, anchoring you, yet leaving you a little breathless all the same.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like it’s more than just a question—it’s the quiet way he’s asking if this is where you want to be, if the trust you’re giving him feels safe.

You nod, barely managing to find your voice. “Yeah… yeah, it’s perfect.” You can feel the tension melt from his shoulders, and he draws you in just a little closer, his fingers brushing gently along your arm, reassuring you, steadying you.

You let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting weight of his arm, the steady beat of his heart, and something inside you loosens. In his warmth, you finally start to feel like you can let go of the weight you've been carrying alone.

"Want to talk about what made you cry this much, sweetheart?" His voice is so gentle, it stirs a thousand butterflies in your stomach, soft wings fluttering wildly.

You hesitate, the words lodged somewhere between your mind and heart, tangled up in a mess you’re not sure you want to unpack—not when he’s holding you this close. What if he pulls back? What if saying it out loud makes him realize that the walls you’ve built around yourself are too heavy to break down? So, instead, you give a small shrug, gaze fixed anywhere but on him.

He’s not letting that slide, though. His fingers find your chin, lifting it so his eyes meet yours, and the look in them is something that cuts straight to your core. He’s searching, looking for any hint of understanding on your face, any clue to ease the worry etched into his own.

“Talk to me, darlin’.” His voice is barely above a whisper, warm and rough all at once, a touch of desperation woven into the words. “I hate seein’ you so raw. Tell me how I can help you… Tell me how to make you smile again.”

It breaks something in you. His voice, so soft, so full of a care you’re not sure you deserve, leaves your heart aching in a way you can’t put words to.

“I…” Your voice trembles, and you drop your gaze, the heat of emotion rising, cheeks flushing. But finally, you look back up, letting your eyes roam over the details of his face—the lines of his jaw, the warmth in his gaze, the way he’s watching you so intently. “I felt… empty.” The words come out, quiet, as though admitting it might make it more real.

He nods slowly, waiting, giving you the space to open up. But when you don’t say anything more, his eyes don’t waver, the silent question hanging in the air between you both.

“Is there a way… you could fill up that void?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

You shrug, feeling the vulnerability creeping up, the fear that if you answer, if you tell him everything, it might somehow shatter whatever’s here between you two.

“Can I?” His words catch you off guard, a question with a weight you can feel pressing down on your heart, and your breath hitches, your pulse thrumming just a little faster. You try to look away, but his hand shifts, moving from your chin to your cheek, cradling your face in a touch that feels almost reverent.

“Would you… allow me to?” he asks, and for the first time, there’s a raw uncertainty in his voice that you’ve rarely heard.

Your eyes widen, snapping to his. Is he serious? Every inch of you feels frozen, the words lodged somewhere deep, caught in the shock of realizing what he’s asking.

“Do… do you want to?” The words are barely a whisper, breaking in the middle, your voice unable to keep up with the weight of what you’re asking.

“Of course I do.” His voice is soft, steady, like he’s been waiting for this moment, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “Been wantin’ to for a long time now.”

Your heart skips, and you finally let it slip out, the confession that’s been haunting you all this time. “Me too.”

A small smile curves his lips, warm and tender, and you feel the heat in your cheeks spreading, creeping up to the tips of your ears. You watch as he leans closer, his gaze steady, the closeness making your pulse thunder in your ears until it feels like this one moment is going to consume every heartbeat you have left.

And maybe… maybe if you did, if you spent the last of your breath in his arms, it would be the perfect way to go, the only place where you feel you truly belong.

You close your eyes just for a second, and then his lips brush yours, soft and tentative, and your breath catches, your lips parting instinctively, inviting him in. The kiss is gentle at first, careful, and it feels like both of you are slowly pouring everything unsaid, everything you’ve held back, into this single moment.

“Damn,” he whispers against your lips, voice rough, his breath mingling with yours. “How am I so lucky?”

As your eyes flutter open, you’re met with his gaze, heavy and full of wonder, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. You give him a small, shy smile, feeling a bit too seen under the weight of his gaze.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, warmth flushing your cheeks as you search for the words. “Maybe I’m your lucky charm?”

The line is cheesy, and you feel heat rushing to your face, fighting the urge to bury yourself against his chest just to hide the embarrassment. But he just chuckles, low and warm, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as his eyes roam your face like he’s drinking you in, committing each detail to memory.

“That you are, darlin’,” he murmurs, leaning in again, voice like gravel softened with something sweeter. “That you are.”

His lips find yours again, slow and unhurried, tasting, savoring, like he’s taking his time with his favorite indulgence. The heat between you flares, your body instinctively arching toward him, pressing your chest to his as if they’re two pieces meant to fit together. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt as the world narrows down to this—just the two of you, here, together.

Your legs entwine with his, pulling him closer as he keeps kissing you, each touch lingering, like he’s trying to make this last forever. There’s an intensity to it, a quiet desperation, like he wants to remember everything—the feel of you, the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body against his. And you know, somewhere deep down, he’s making a promise he can’t quite say, a vow wrapped in every gentle, fervent kiss.

His hands roam gently, as if they can’t bear to leave your skin for more than a heartbeat. Every touch, every kiss, feels like he's staking his claim, like he’s savoring the feel of you under his hands, the softness of your skin against his lips.

“I remember…” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper between kisses trailing along your neck, each one setting a spark to life. “…the first day you came here.” Another kiss, and you shiver, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin. “How the sun played in your hair…” His words feel like a prayer, spoken in a reverent hush against you.

Your heart hammers as he continues, his lips brushing your collarbone. “How your eyes shined under it.” He breathes you in, and the tenderness in that single moment makes your heart ache. “And how your lips seemed so soft, so perfect…” His voice dips, roughened with memory and desire. “I wanted to taste them.”

A shudder runs through you, and as his arms tighten around you, it’s like every crack, every empty space inside you, is filling, piece by piece. The walls you built around yourself feel like they’re crumbling, and in their place, there’s only him—holding you close, grounding you, making you whole.

A flood of tears blurs your vision at his words, the intensity of his affection almost too much to bear. Your heart feels like it might shatter, overwhelmed by the rawness of his attention. You want to ask him to pause, to let you catch your breath, but a deeper part of you needs him to keep going, to pull you under until you can’t feel anything but him.

Your fingers slide into his hair, holding tight, and you’re both so entwined that it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins. His solid thigh presses between yours, igniting a heat that settles low in your core, and the ache becomes an insistent, undeniable need.

"I want you," you murmur, your voice trembling with the weight of it, as if just speaking those words could release the ache, the longing that’s gripped you for so long.

His lips brush along your neck, sending another shiver through you. "You already have me, darlin’," he murmurs, his words laced with a gentle finality. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A soft whimper escapes you as your hips press against him, the friction driving you deeper into the haze of want. A flush of embarrassment runs through you, but your body has a will of its own, hungry for him, desperate to drink in every bit of warmth he’s offering.

“Shhh…” he whispers, his voice a calming balm, “don’t rush this.” His lips find the line of your jaw, brushing a trail of warmth as he presses you closer. “We got all the time in the world.”

He slows you, anchoring you in this moment. His touch, his steady breaths against your skin, gently pull you back from the edge, letting the need pulse just below the surface, allowing you to feel—truly feel—what it means to have him right here, as close as two people can be.

But even as the urgency eases, a deeper ache remains, simmering low but insistent, drawing you to him.

“Please, Lo…” Your voice is raw, your eyes glazed, pleading. “I need this.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his arms tightening around your waist as he studies you, his gaze soft and unreadable. "Alright, darlin'," he finally murmurs, a spark in his eyes. "Anything for you."

His hand slips beneath the sheets, his touch warm as it traces along your waistline, sending shivers under your skin, then dips under, finding the heat between your thighs. A reverent “Damn…” escapes him as he discovers just how ready you are. One of his finger slips into you, slow and steady, as he shakes his head with a dark smile. “Look at you, darlin’… all set for me.”

Your breath hitches as your eyes meet his. The way he’s watching you, so focused, as if he’s memorizing every expression you make, every soft sound—he’s completely lost in you, his gaze heavy with both desire and adoration.

You can’t hold back; your hips move, seeking more, and he obliges, adding a second finger, building a steady rhythm that has you panting. The friction of your clit against his thigh adds to the rising pleasure, making you gasp, “Oh, god…”

“For you, it’ll just be Logan,” he teases, the corners of his mouth quirking up. You let out a soft laugh, your body shuddering with pleasure even through your chuckle.

And then it hits you—the realization slipping in alongside the mounting pleasure. You love him. This never was just a fleeting crush or harmless infatuation; it’s deeper, the kind of ache that takes root, the kind of feeling that leaves marks.

His fingers keep their pace, curling just right, and he leans close, voice a murmur against your ear. “But you… you’re a hungry little goddess, aren’t ya?” His words make you shiver, your heart pounding with a desperate, heady ache. No one’s ever spoken to you like this, made you feel this way—like you’re both worshiped and needed all at once.

Tears fill your eyes as you hold onto him, fingers tangled in his hair. He captures your mouth in a slow, tender kiss, pouring everything he feels into it, and when the tears finally slip down your cheeks, he doesn’t let go. He just holds you tighter, kissing you as if you’re the only thing he’ll ever need.

“You’re so damn gorgeous…” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. “The things I could do for you, darlin’…” His voice dips low, almost reverent, each word soaked in devotion. “Anything you ask.” It’s a promise without conditions, the kind that sends a shiver straight through you. You can feel your body teetering at the edge, aching for that final release, and he can sense it too, his fingers curled inside you, urging you on.

“Come on, goddess,” he murmurs, his tone coaxing, steady. “Take that leap. I’ve got you, darlin’.” The words settle over you like a safety net, and all you can do is hold onto him as your body finally lets go, every muscle tightening before the wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

“Logan…” His name is a whisper on your lips, barely a sound, but he hears it, feels it. Your body trembles, and he doesn’t stop, guiding you through every second of your high, his quiet voice a thread grounding you, keeping you anchored. “That’s it, darlin’. I’m right here… All yours.”

You melt against him, laughter spilling out, soft and blissful, until your breath slows and your limbs relax. And then, as the high fades, reality sharpens around you—What have you done? The thought hits hard, like a jolt, and your face heats as you come back to yourself, feeling the full weight of your own boldness. Yet there he is, watching you with that gentle smile, utterly unfazed, as if he’d been waiting for this all along.

“Is my goddess’ hunger finally satisfied?” His hand slips from you, resting on your hip as he pulls you close, like he’s sealing you to him.

The weight of his words, the way he says “goddess” with such warmth, makes you shrink a little in embarrassment. You nod, unable to do anything but smile, a whispered “thank you” escaping as he watches you with that familiar, affectionate gaze. His smile deepens, a hint of pride there, as if he’s just as grateful to be here for you, to be whatever you need.

“Do you want me to…” you fumble with your words, your hand finding his length under the sheets.

His breath catches in his throat as you touch him, and for a moment, he closes his eyes, like he’s savoring every second. When he opens them again, you can see the desire flicker in his eyes. “Only if you want to,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, lips grazing your temple in reassurance. You can tell he wants this—you can see it in his gaze, in the tension held in his body. But he’s holding back, leaving the choice entirely to you, and that makes your heart ache with the depth of his care. You offer him a soft smile, feeling your confidence build.

"Of course I do," you say, your words barely above a whisper as you grip him a little more firmly, feeling the way he pulses under your touch through the fabric of his pants. His eyes flutter shut for a handful of seconds, a deep groan slipping from his lips, and it sends a thrill through you. You want to see more of that side of him—the one that unravels under your hands.

“You deserve it,” you say tentatively, and the way his pupils dilate, the sudden, open look of vulnerability in his face—it leaves you breathless as you contemplate the power your words, your voice, holds over him. “You served me well,” you continue with a teasing smile, testing the waters, emboldened by the way he craves your touch. “You deserve a reward for your devotion.” Your words are shaky, but he doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seems to fall further under your spell, watching you with a look of pure reverence.

A blissful smile, like you’ve given him a gift he’d only dreamed of, blossoms on his lips, igniting a warmth in your chest. You lower the waistband of his pants along his hips, and he helps you, propping himself on his elbow to create space for his pants to slide down. With a shared sense of urgency, you quickly follow suit, shedding your own pants, feeling a thrill in the closeness and vulnerability.

For a moment, you pause, breath mingling in the space between you, before he reaches for the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it over your head. You follow, slipping his shirt over his shoulders until he’s bare beside you. Exposed and unguarded, your bodies mirror each other, every inch shared with nothing between you but a deep, unspoken trust.

“God, you’re stunning,” he breathes, his voice low and reverent, the admiration in his gaze making you feel cherished.

“Lie down,” you order, cheeks warm as you push against his chest with a finger, your voice still shaky yet inviting. He holds your gaze, a spark of warmth and willingness in his eyes as he murmurs, “Yes, goddess,” his tone layered with a promise that he’d do anything you ask, gladly. He sinks back into the mattress, anticipation and excitement radiating from him as he watches you push back the sheets. Your heart races as you straddle him, your core pressing against him, feeling the heat radiate from his skin.

As you settle into position, you reach for his hard length, guiding it towards you, a rush of electricity coursing through your body as you align him with your entrance. His breath hitches, and his hands instinctively settle on your hips as you lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, until you’re both tangled together, bodies fully aligned, savoring the stretch and warmth as he fills you completely. For a few seconds, you both go still, reveling in the sensation.

Logan’s hands grip your sides, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough firmness to keep you close. His chest rises and falls with a shaky breath as his eyes, pupils blown wide, never leave yours, darkened with longing and something deeper, reverent, like he’s been waiting for this, for you, longer than he can say.

“You sure know how to make a man feel lucky,” he whispers, hands trailing up and down your thighs with a gentleness that sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers press into your skin, tethering you both, as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

You can’t take it anymore and start to move, slow at first, testing the waters, rocking your hips in a rhythm that has him groaning low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. His hands travel to your waist, tightening their grip, encouraging yet still letting you take control. You set the pace, finding your rhythm, feeling every reaction, every ripple of tension in his muscles, the way his mouth parts as he lets you take him, guiding him. You revel in the exquisite blend of pleasure and fullness that makes your heart race.

The friction, the closeness—everything feels overwhelming yet so right. His eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, but he forces them open again, locking onto you like he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. With each roll of your hips, his breathing quickens, and you can feel every shudder, every quiet murmur he lets slip.

“Damn, you’re everything, darlin’,” he whispers, a mix of awe and reverence in his voice, as his gaze locks onto yours, filled with desire. His words wrap around you, the steady warmth and adoration anchoring you as you ride the waves together, each breath, each movement bringing you closer, binding you tighter, like he’s willing to worship you, soul and all.

“Logan,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, and he responds by brushing his thumb over your cheek, drawing both of you deeper into the moment as you keep moving, the intensity building stronger between you.

He groans again, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through you and encouraging you to press on. His hands travel down to your hips again, his grip tightening as he urges you to keep going. You can feel the heat building in your core, a delicious pressure that you both chase.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes, his eyes filled with admiration, and you find strength in his words. The connection between you deepens with each movement, each gasp, each whispered encouragement, making you feel as though you’re lost in a world of your own, where nothing else exists but the two of you.

“Just like that, goddess,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, and you shiver at the praise. You continue to ride him, feeling the tension in your body rise, both panting as you approach the edge together.

“Come on, let go,” he encourages, sensing how close you are, his words a plea, like a prayer, each syllable pulling you closer to that edge. Every muscle in your body tightens, as if you’re standing on the precipice of something divine. You clutch his arms tightly, anchoring yourself to him in the overwhelming storm of pleasure.

“Lo…” your voice is breathless, a whisper that speaks of need, and he responds by grounding you, coaxing you further into ecstasy. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he murmurs, his words an unbreakable promise that fills you with warmth and security.

And then, the rush of pleasure bursts through you, overwhelming your senses as you seize against him. Every gasp, every moan is a testament to the depth of what you share. “Oh fuck…” The words slip from your lips, dissolving into soft laughter as the world fades, leaving just the two of you, bodies entwined in bliss.

You feel him tensing beneath you, his breaths coming in heavy pants that send a thrill through you. “May I come, goddess?” he asks, his voice thick with need.

“Yes,” you reply, still riding the waves of your own release. “Come for me.”

He grips your hips hard, his fingers digging in, and you know it’s going to leave bruises, but you don’t care. You relish the thought of him marking your flesh, each pressure heightening the sensations coursing through your body. With a few more thrusts of your hips, he joins you in rapture, emptying himself within you, giving you everything he is without holding back. You feel the warmth spreading inside your core as you watch him come undone under your gaze, a sight so beautiful it sends another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

It’s a strange thing to tower over him like this, to have the Wolverine at your mercy, to command the beast in him with a simple word or glance. But you love it; no, it’s more than that—it empowers you in a way you’ve never experienced before. As he loses himself to you, you feel another ache building inside, an insatiable hunger that suggests you could easily go another round.

But just as you prepare to move again, he stops you, grabbing your hands and pulling you to his chest. “Shhh,” he soothes, kissing your knuckles, his voice a low rumble. “Please, let me have this for a sec.”

You smile, leaning in to kiss his chest before settling there, your fingers playing with the soft hair beneath your fingertips. It feels warm and comforting, a safe haven that makes your heart race with a mix of excitement and tenderness. “Okay,” you whisper back. “You can. You earned it.”

A deep sigh escapes him, one filled with a sense of relief and belonging. “I dreamt of this so much,” he confesses, his hands brushing through your hair, tender and reverent.

In that moment, as you nestle against him, you can feel the weight of his words, the vulnerability wrapped in his admission. It feels monumental, the connection deepening with every heartbeat, every shared breath.

You still feel him rock hard inside you, promises of more pleasure lingering between you, but you don’t move. You’re just content to be here, to enjoy this shared moment.

“I imagined it so often too,” you say, comforted by his words. “But I thought… I thought you didn’t…” Your voice breaks under the emotions and tears well up in your eyes again, a mix of relief and vulnerability spilling over.

He senses the hint of despair in your voice, and he sits up, pulling you closer with a gentle hand on your back. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he soothes you softly, his voice wrapped in warmth. “It’s over now. I’m here.”

It feels as if all the pain and fear were just a distant nightmare, and you’ve finally woken up in his arms. You kiss him, desperately, as though it’s your last day on earth, and he leans in, his hands wrapping around your waist, anchoring you in the warmth of this reality.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs as you part slightly, your foreheads pressed together, his breath mingling with yours. “I’ll always be here to care for you, my goddess.”

His words resonate deeply within you, filling you with an overwhelming sense of joy. You can feel the reverence in his tone, the way he honors you, making you feel like the center of his universe.

With trembling hands, you hug him back tightly, tears sliding down your cheeks once more, a testament to the joy he brings you in this instant. He holds you firmly, and in that embrace, everything feels right—safe and cherished, as if you’ve finally found your home in each other.

You stay in that tender embrace for a few moments until he pulls away, his thumbs gently drying your cheeks. “You good?” he asks, worry flickering in his eyes. You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

Shifting your knees, you wrap your legs around him, your ankles crossing at his back. “Still hungry?” he teases, a playful smile spreading across his face. You respond with a low laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at his question.

“Just a little peckish,” you admit, shyly biting your lip while your gaze drift away. But he chuckles, his arms around your waist pulling you closer. “Then I should feed you properly,” he replies, a hint of humor dancing in his words.

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him moving inside you, the new angle bringing a fresh wave of sensation through your body. The shift sparks a thrill that sends a shiver down your spine, and you chuckle softly, matching his own low laugh. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply, and something primal flares within you, urging you to start grinding against him once more.

“Yes, darlin’” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “Use me to satisfy yourself.”

In the crook of your neck, you can feel how much Logan is lost in you—in your warmth, the love he feels for you, and the pleasure that pulses between you, a beautiful cycle of give and take. You feel overstimulated, but stopping now feels impossible, as everything—the heat of him inside you, his skin against yours, his hair tangled in your fingers, his breath hot on your neck—drives you crazy.

With each thrust, you get closer, faster, to the edge once more. His movements quickens, each thrust more desperate, more consuming, stoking the fire between you to a near fever pitch. It’s as if he’s lost control, chasing something unspoken, a force that drives you both to the breaking point. Every motion sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites in sharp, dizzying bursts, each one building, spiraling higher, until it feels like you might shatter and fuse together in the same breath. The intensity crashes over you, drowning everything but him, the world narrowing to just his heat, his touch, his name on your lips.

“You close?” you whimper, voice breathless, and he nods in the crook of your neck, breath hitching. “Me too, baby,” you reply, heart racing. “Let’s come together.”

“As you wish, goddess,” he breathes, his panting matching the tightening tension between you. Pressing your ankles in his back, you lock your arms behind his neck as he draws you closer, his embrace grounding you both.

It doesn’t take long—just a few more deliberate, powerful thrusts, each one pushing you both closer, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave poised to crash. You can feel him trembling against you, the last of his restraints slipping, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Yes…” you cry out, your head tilting back as laughter bubbles up, spilling into a gasp. “Yes, baby. I… I’m—”

Coherent thoughts slip away as a low grunt escapes his lips, the two of you riding the wave of pleasure together. The intensity, raw and pure, consumes you, and tears prick at your eyes, spilling down your cheeks in the blissful haze.

“Oh, Lo… I love you so much,” you blurt out, unable to contain the overwhelming emotion filling your chest.

“I love you too, darlin’,” he replies through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse as you both come down from the height of sensation, holding each other close.

Finally, the world blurs and fades around you, leaving only warmth, your breaths mingling, and the erratic rhythm of your hearts beating as one as you rest against him. Logan cradles you, his arms enveloping you as if you were always meant to be right here, with him. The thumping of his heartbeat slowing beneath you becomes a cocoon of safety and love, a silent promise that feels like forever.

“I didn’t know you were that hungry,” he finally says softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as his breathing steadies. You bury your face in his chest, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. He chuckles, the sound like a warm embrace, wrapping around you.

“Don’t be sorry, love.” He cups your cheek, turning your face toward him, his eyes a tender blend of love and understanding. “I’m here now, and I’ll always take care of you.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to gather your thoughts. “It’s just… it’s been a while since I felt anything close to satisfying that… hunger I had for you,” you admit, voice tinged with embarrassment as the words slip out. “Nothing and no one ever came close.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I get it. But you don’t have to hold back anymore. I’m yours—fully, completely.” His thumb brushes the lingering tears from your cheek, and the sincerity in his gaze makes your heart swell.

“Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it,” he adds, his voice low and steady, a solemn promise between you. You nod, feeling a deep sense of relief, knowing you’re safe, cherished, and free to explore every corner of this love together, without fear.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don’t forget to follow the tags “xpressit writings” to stay tuned for more stories 😁

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leafofkudzu · 9 months ago

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Slightly delayed post compared to usual, but hi hello and happy Spring, everyone! I hope the past month has treated you well, because the first Saturday of a new month is coming up real fast, meaning it's time for another art party hosted by my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield!

For those who aren’t familiar with art parties, they’re a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all types to hang out, chat, and create together! Get your favorite character/look together, head to the location, find someone that catches your eye, and create! Afterwards, everyone posts their creations in a shared tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see, interact, and share! Tl;dr: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is under the cut, but will also be posted again via reblogs as the squads go up on the day of the party!

Location Information:

While scouting out more Ascalon-aligned locations to even out the spread, I remembered this little corner of Fields of Ruin. It houses a grave of one of the characters from the Ghosts of Ascalon novel - and for trivia purposes, everyone who's done Icebrood Saga has met another character from that novel: Ember Doomforge! But this isn't about Ember, it's about Killeen, and her lovely little resting place protected from the Brand. It's very easily accessible just by scooting up the marked path from Tenaebron Waypoint, which is in itself up in the Northwest corner of Fields of Ruin!

Time & Squad Details:

As we always do, we’ll be having two parties - one on EU servers and one on NA ones - with an hour break in between. People tend to arrive early and/or jump between accounts as soon as the break comes up, so don’t be surprised to see tags and announcements going up ahead of schedule!

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Summer Time (aka 3pm Eastern Daylight Time or 5 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Ashelin Falstaff for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Daylight Time (aka 1am Central European Summer Time or an hour before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my main account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Beldahvia for an invite.

Closing Words:

My apologies yet again for a) being delayed in posting this, but also b) posting this in the dead of (NA) night - I've been a bit sick the past week and lost track of time, but we're here now! I do feel like a broke record every time I say this, but thank you to everyone who turns out to these events - you guys are what make everything so memorable and fun! Have a good rest of your week, and I hope to see you all there on Saturday! ♥

#yelling it's past 12am but i must post it before i go to sleep and forget #i'll reblog this tomorrow at a normal time too aaaaa #gw2 #guild wars 2 #vsartparty #obnoxious tourist simulator #📢🎨

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cars2-renaissance · 7 months ago

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So a while back, @little-red-irish-jaguar reblogged one of my posts with this devastating theory. The theory was that Leland sent Finn the transmission from Tony Trihull instead of the oil rigs. My first thought was to reject this theory because it went against my preconceptions that were so firmly rooted that my brain immediately sought to preserve them. However after rewatching the movie and studying the evidence, I can safely say that I was wrong. This theory tracks. And I will now write another essay to assess the evidence.

Firstly, the transmission itself: now it’s EXTREMELY hard to see shit in this video. The quality is god-awful and Leland never won any awards for videography. However this glorious angel on deviantart cleaned up some frames. (I’m not going to repost their art though since they don’t seem to be active in the fandom anymore and I don’t want to repost without permission. :/ ) but definitely go check it out!

So I’ll post the same shitty screenshots from the movie. Shoutout to veggieboy ultimate for uploading the opening scene on YouTube.

So there’s crates and metal reinforcements on the walls behind him. It does look like it could be on the oil rig.

Then he angles the camera to show this (port window?) like babygirl we can’t tell what that is… anyway it looks like a window of some sort and there fire. Now. That looks an awful lot like a round ship’s window.

Finally we get this weirdass shot of the ceiling? Again it’s very hard to tell what this is but it’s some sort of mechanical bay door that is closing.

Like it could be that? Tony does have cargo bay doors and that could be what we’re seeing.

Now the icing on top are these pieces of concept art from the Pixar website. That window porthole is drawn without all the overexposure and it looks just like the flair stacks from the oil rigs. And that’s why Leland is trying to get it in frame to show Finn. He’s seen the oil rigs from the ship. But that’s the last we see of him.

Next, we see Finn hightailing it out there to the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Here’s the kicker, the coordinates Leland gives Finn do not take him to the oil rigs.

(And for my even shittier stills) Crabby takes him to the coordinates and is like lol okay here we are! There’s lot of water!!

Now this always confused me as a kid. Was Crabby off with the coordinates? Did he stop too soon? But then if Leland sent the coordinates from Tony Trihull, it makes sense why those coordinates would lead to open water and not the oil rigs. The oil rigs may not be at those coordinates…

but he sure is: the ship Leland sent the coordinates from.

Next we see Finn by the loading dock and he comms Leland to let him know he’s there. Now this threw me off. Finn tells him he’s at the rally point but he’s not at the coordinates Leland sent him. I guess he figured this is where Leland ended up? (I mean he wasn’t wrong, unfortunately.)

Then we see the professor. He’s there because of the camera which they’re loading onto the ship because they’re about to sail to Japan because of the race. But they’re also unloading crates from the ship and it’s one of those crates that Leland’s body is in. He’s being unloaded from the ship which is where he was likely murdered.

As for my finishing thoughts. There’s a lot to unpack here. Leland never made it to the oil rigs alive which is a tragedy of its own that he died before he got to see what he’d discovered up close.

He had a lot of faith in Finn to be able to find him from coordinates he sent from a boat. And that faith was well founded. Finn did in fact find him albeit too late.

Since he wasn’t on the ship at the time, Professor Z was not the one who killed Leland (though he may have ordered him killed) it was likely Acer and Grem who killed him—which makes sense since they seem to be the more sadistic of the lemons in later scenes—but I still hate Zundapp just because he was involved in it!

And Finn did in fact get his revenge at the end of the movie in London when he blew Tony Trihull to smithereens. (I’d add the screenshot but I’m at my 10 image limit already XD)

#cars 2 headcanons #cars 2 meta #leland turbo #finn mcmissile #tony trihull #professor zundapp #cars 2 (2011)#cars 2 #cars fandom #cars2renaissance

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gremlinmodetweeker · 2 months ago

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The Axe - Chapter 3 (Part 1)

Okay so I've done a lot of art recently, but as I've mentioned to some other people I want on a vacation for my anniversary so I'm back, I'm refreshed, and I was able to sit down and write the next part of The Axe. This fic is always super fun and interesting. I know medieval fantasy is always a turn off for me, so I don't expect many people to enjoy it, but I do think the world building in here is pretty impressive. Let me know what you think!

If you don't want to wait for the whole fic to be published over the next couple of days, check out my KoFi HERE

By the way, the whole fic is 24 pages size 10 Times New Roman. Full fic is about 11.3k. This is a long thing.

TW: mention of alcohol, public execution, gore description of corpse, religious figures

Wordcount: 6k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Behind The Dew You Sing To Me

You’d never been keen on execution wakes before, but today was different. Today, you wanted to see if you could learn more about the great hooded man with that glinting, silver axe. A part of you was afraid to so much as offer to help your uncle, but another part of you was too excited to stop yourself.

“You want to come to a hanging?” your uncle stared at you in bewilderment, “a hanging? Have you lost your gourd?”

“Uncle, I know what I want,” you sighed again, “I want to come with you. You only just got out of bed, you need someone to help you there.”

“I don’t need that much help,” your uncle snorted, “I’ll be just fine. You can stay back and do some work here. Buns need to be made for Halaxwake.

“But you need rest, uncle,” you chastised him again, “you have to rest just a little bit, right? Auntie would never forgive you if you got sick all over again.”

“She wouldn’t, nor would she forgive me if I came home empty-handed!” your uncle chuckled before glancing at you with a mischievous look in his eye, “why, you’re so eager to go I might think you’re looking to meet someone there!”

Your face flushed a violent crimson as you spluttered and coughed.

Your uncle hummed, “You really do like to get yourself into all the worst situations, dear. If I didn’t know better, I might even say you were looking to see a certain shrouded man! Maybe even, dare I say it, a certain mysterious hangman?”

You shamefully turned away as your uncle laughed.

“You think you’re so slick, don’t you!” your uncle’s grin was woven into his words, “I’d bet you really thought I didn’t know any better!” he calmed his laughter momentarily to heave the last load of loaves into the wagon. He took a moment to lean against the side and cross his arms over each other, shoulders back as he stood tall in the crisp air. You glanced back to see him admiring you with his wise grey eyes, “Come with me. If you’re anything like me or your father, I wouldn’t be able to stop you, anyways.”

Your blush hid behind your wide grin as you walked over to stand beside your uncle. He hoisted the wagon up and looked at you, casting you a wry wink before pushing the wagon forth along the dusky dirt road.

Your uncle pushed the wagon along the road, his eyes straight ahead as he hummed a gentle off-pitch lullaby under his breath, one you’d heard your auntie sing to your cousins. You walked beside him, admiring the wild poppernickins as they grew in bundles of little white and pastel orange-pink blooms along the fence posts on either side of the road. Occasionally, the flowers were overtaken by winds of orange-brown twineweed that snaked up the wooden posts and curling along the fencing. It interwove onto itself, making intricate patterns formed in the ivy under wilted papery white flowers. You figured that soon the farmers would be collecting the pollen for the Hanndoal’s-Turn harvest. You smiled at the thought, memories smelling of bright fruit coated in syrups and the taste of old brew ghosting through your mind.

“You think Ernest’ll have another batch of wink ready for this harvest?” your uncle interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to look at your uncle and blinked, “Wink? Um, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I hope so,” your uncle smiled, “I think Ernest’s wink always tastes the best, but don’t tell Leonard I said that.”

“I don’t think he can bring his head out of his ass long enough to hear you,” you snorted.

Your uncle laughed and shook his head, “Your mother said much the same, back when she was around. She never liked the Buscher clan, really.”

“Why’s that?” you asked.

Your uncle kicked a stone out from underfoot, “She thought they were all pompous pricks. Thought they knew everything there was to know about gourds and squashes and the like, but they were all the sourest things you ever did chew on.”

You laughed, “That sounds like my mother alright! She knew what she was talking about.”

Your uncle shook his head, “Oh if you think they’re sour now then you should’ve been around for the older Buscher. That old tyrant grew gourds sour enough to pinch your lips clean off. Horrible things, really.”

“And here I thought Leonard was the worst farmer in the village,” you hummed.

“Leonard’s a right gem compared to his father,” your uncle said, “his father was a right good-for-nothing. You couldn’t talk to him for longer than a vigil before he’d go off about how we were bound to be under the rule of elves if we didn’t prepare for ‘the rise up’ or whatever he called it.”

“The elves?” you rolled your eyes, “I’ll admit, I might say he was right if I didn’t know better.”

“But you do,” your uncle pointed out, “we all know the elves won’t ever try to take over the continent. They’re the best warriors you ever did see, sure, but they’re not that bright. And anyways, they ain’t as evil as he made ‘em out to be, but you already know that yourself. Elves are all just a bunch of bastards with egos big enough to blot out Brak-Hah’s-Eye. And anyways,” your uncle smirked, “they still don’t know how to make any sort of good drink. They need us for a good party.”

You laughed and nodded along. If nothing else, you supposed humans had that going for them. You weren’t called ‘The Joyful Children’ for nothing.

You walked along beside the cart as it squeaked and jostled over the stones littered across the dirt road. It seemed to whine over each and every pebble it overcame as it was pushed closer and closer to where the bodies swung in the breeze. Just the thought of the place had chills crawling up your spine. How anyone was able to endure living in that forest of corpses was beyond you. But then again, most of The Axe’s life was a mystery to you. You’d never even seen the man’s face before.

The Axe was a man hidden in a shroud darker than the one he wore upon his face. He was a strange, curious thing made up of flesh, stolen bones and misplaced teeth. He was walking death through a field of corpse flowers. He was the peace made between a dying man and his maker. He was hatred and rage and bloodshed held within a porcelain vase. All of him was drenched in criminal blood, and yet his eyes were blue as a newborn’s.

This strange man had taken a place in your life unlike any other. No man stood with you when you kneaded the bread for the next wake, but he watched over your shoulder and asked about the herbs and spices you tossed into your mixes. He walked with you when you went to church, an invisible shadow by your side at all times. These past two god watches, when you went to church, you would look down at the stone tiles and wonder if The Axe sat below, a doomed man listening to the words of something floating ever beyond his grasp. Innocent eyes trained on the glowing light coming from beyond an iron grate. You wished you could sit beside him.

Your uncle trod along beside you, blithely ignorant to any of your personal quandaries. He bullishly pushed the cart forward, ignoring its groans of protest. His stone-grey eyes were trained ahead, never wandering from their final destination.

“Uncle,” you asked quietly.

“Yes dear?” your uncle replied with a curious lilt to his tone.

“Do you think that The Axe is a bad man?”

Your uncle hummed slowly. He adjusted his grip on the wooden handles of the cart as sweat bloomed up on his rosey forehead. He took a moment to stop and wipe his hairy forearm over his face, then shook himself clear and picked up the handles again.

As he began to push the cart again, he said, “I think he comes from a cursed line.”

“But is he cursed?” you asked.

Your uncle chuffed, “Oh he’s cursed alright. Cursed by a little girl.”

You screwed your brows tightly together, “Cursed by a little girl?”

Your uncle nodded solemnly.

“Cursed by a little girl,” he confirmed, “I heard it happened when he was sixteen, right after his father went out into the woods and offed himself. I can’t remember the details, but the basic idea of the story is that an execution went south and the man’s daughter cursed The Axe. What the curse is? I don’t know, and don’t you go and listen to anyone who says they do. Nobody does,” your uncle gave an affirmative nod, “but he’s cursed for sure. He sees the witch, the apothecary and Father Kim to treat whatever it is, but I’m betting that as long as that hood’s on his face, he’s a marked man.”

You shivered at the thought.

“I’m sad to hear it,” you said quietly.

“Well, that’s life when you’re a killer-for-hire,” your uncle chuffed, “you need to be prepared for those sorts of things. And,” he paused briefly to glance at you, “if you really wanted to get close to a man like that, you’d have to be ready for those sorts of curses being turned on you.”

You glanced away from the cart to look at more of the tangleweed fencing.

“I know,” you admitted, “but… I can’t help it.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” your uncle sighed, “I know I can’t stop you. If I were a nobleman, maybe I could marry you off to some prince from another land. As it is,” your uncle shrugged, “all I can do is warn you. I’d tell you to stop, but I’m not your father, am I?”

You grimaced, “No, but you’re a better father than mine.”

“You’re speaking of my brother-in-law, you know,” your uncle huffed, “but,” he adjusted his grip, “you’re right. My sister’s husband wasn’t exactly the best sort of man. I always thought he was a bit immature, but what he did when your mom died? I still can’t fathom it.”

You nodded and admitted, “I sometimes wonder what it would’ve been like if he stayed.”

“You’d be a farmer’s daughter,” your uncle said, “so if you prefer the fields to the ovens, maybe it would’ve been better if he stayed.”

“I like the ovens well enough,” you chuckled, “I’d rather Auntie in my ear than getting my legs cut off by a scythe.”

“You heard old Martin got it good last turning-time, did you?” your uncles winced.

“Old Hutch told me it was a nasty wound,” you nodded, “he had to send him to The Axe for further treatment.”

“At least with The Axe around he can mend some of the worst wounds we get,” your uncle mused before a scowl dawned his face, “mind you, he only knows to heal as many wounds as he gives out.”

The thought of The Axe’s words from your last visit rang through your ears.

“I don’t think he likes hurting anyone though,” you said.

Your uncle shrugged, “Doesn’t matter if he likes it or not, he’s a torturer and an executioner by trade. That’s enough for me to make up my mind.”

“But can he really be anything else?” you asked as you stepped around a particularly large stone.

Your uncle shook his head, “As I said, he comes from a cursed line. His blood is tainted by generation on generation of curse. I’d be surprised if he can even sow another line if he tried with you.”

“Don’t be so crass,” you huffed.

“What?” your uncle chuckled, “it’s not like he’s got much to give any son of his. An old axe and a sorry story? I don’t think I’d want to be born to that, if you ask me.

“And anyways, would you want to give birth to any son of his?” your uncle asked you.

You thought for a moment. The thought of being a mother was always there; it was expected of you since birth. You were raised to be a mother much like any other young girl in the village. You were given dolls to care for and stories to lull your newborn to bed before you’d reached your third cycle. Being a mother and a homesteader was just what being a woman in the village meant. That was life. You’d never really paid too much thought to it. If anything, you didn’t even know if you’d ever take a husband. Sure, one day it would happen, but you never put much thought into it. Already most girls your age were married off with a troop of children around their hips. You were a bit of an outlier by now. But, the thought of having a husband and child comforted you at the very least. One day, soon enough, it would happen.

But you hadn’t thought of having children with The Axe. By the spirit realms, you hardly even knew what his face looked like! For all you knew, he was the ugliest man you’d ever lay your eyes on in your life. He could have a rotting face, for all you knew. And yet… The thought of a child with him didn’t sound half bad. It was a thought you’d have to play around with more after you’d gotten to know him better.

“You’re thinking of it now, aren’t you?” your uncle groaned, “by Halax, I shouldn’t have even said his name. I shouldn’t be talking about him with you at all!”

You rolled your eyes at that, “Well, you want to warn me, don’t you?”

“I’ve warned you plenty!” your uncle scoffed, “I keep telling you he’s bad news but you won’t have any of it!”

“I’m having some of it,” you retorted, “just not all of it.”

“Well go on and have some more because I’ve got plenty to give!” your uncle shook his head, “I mean, look, I can’t change your mind. Go and talk to Father Kim if you’re really interested in that man. Father Kim seems to know him best, at least. And if a holy man thinks that it’s a good idea, who am I to judge?”

“So you give me your blessing?” you asked hopefully.

Your uncle sighed, “Not now.”

“But maybe soon?” you prodded.

“Maybe,” your uncle conceded, “but not anytime soon. I still don’t even know the man.”

“But haven’t you given him his rations for years?” you asked quizzically.

“I have,” your uncle explained, “but he isn’t much of a talker. He’s a bit spooky, actually. He’s so quiet I might think he was a louse.”

Your thoughts drifted to when you ate sweet buns together in the forest again.

“I think he just needs some encouragement to talk,” you offered.

“You’ve chatted to him plenty, have you?” your uncle grumbled.

You flushed, “I’ve spoken to him in passing.”

“In passing,” your uncle drawled.

“In passing!” you bristled up.

“Calm yourself, you prickly little poke bear,” your uncle laughed, “you’re acting like a schoolgirl here!”

“I am not!” you huffed.

“You keep telling yourself that,” your uncle smiled knowingly, “you’re only digging a deeper hole for here.”

“I-” you cut yourself off, “I don’t need to hear any of this. I’m better than this.”

“Are you now?” your uncle cackled, “look, your father isn’t here. Somebody has to act the part while he’s gone.”

“And that person has to be you?” you grumbled.

Your uncle gestured to the wide open fields around you, “Who else do you see?”

You bit your tongue harshly. He had you there.

Your uncle laughed as he carted the wagon along the trail, happily poking fun at your ‘schoolgirl crush’ and your youth as he made his way along the old road. You, for your part, flushed up to your poor mortified ears and stayed that way for the rest of the journey. Your uncle took endless delight as he moved the cart along. With a sigh, you accepted fate and walked behind your uncle.

Your uncle only calmed his laughter once you broke through the forest. The cart caught on tangled weeds as you travelled down the lonesome road to the old hanging stone. The trees were thick enough to cast a haunting shade over the two of you. In woods like these, a highwayman could be hidden behind any tree. Suddenly, you were terribly glad to have your teasing uncle by your side. Even if he was an older man, he still had a good bread knife tied to his belt. You had your own little dagger, but your uncle was a seasoned man with a quick draw. It wasn’t much, but anything was better than giving in to whatever the highwaymen demanded.

Your uncle huffed and puffed as he pushed the wagon along the overgrown road. You only knew to follow the path because the trees had been artificially cleared generations before you, leaving a winding trail that snaked erratically through the woods. Evidently, the wood cutters had only cut through the easiest trees, unable to move the monoliths that stood along the edges of the waxing and waning road. In some parts, the wagon only just barely squeezed through the gaps in the trees. You wondered how any of the large carriages were able to make their way through the trees when they already pressed down on you, crushing you like insects under their wild thumb.

Ferns and flowers peeked from behind the old woods to wave in the passing wind. You watched Brak-Hah’s-Eye blink in and out above between the tall pines as you walked along. As you drew further and further into the woods, you felt the chill of shadows creeping up along the back of your neck.

You were blinded when you broke into the bright opening of the Criahlin’s stone. The black slate shone, polished of blood and grime to prepare for the coming day. Around the edge of the circle, stalls had been set up to welcome in any visitor in need of a sweetlin or a swintlin. Someone had set up a stall to shine shoes, another gave out bags of grain for cart beetles. You couldn’t help but be amazed by how so many were able to come and capitalize on the death of a criminal.

Already, a group of townsfolk had gathered around a large loch tree on the far edge of the clearing. Beside it, a long ladder had been placed, leading up to a long twineweed rope. You followed the rope up, up and up to a thick and heavy tree bough. It looked as thick as a man, but it had been cut off after a couple of lengths to prevent the tree from covering up the entire clearing. You had to wonder how often someone had to go up and trim it back to keep it from taking up the whole space.

By the bottom of the tree, Judge Holten sat on one of the large roots that jutted up from the loamy earth. Beside him, Father Kim looked out over the crowd, lips pressed into a thin line. His dark eyes darted side to side as he took in the familiar faces of his congregation. You wondered what he thought of you all.

In the stall nearest to you, you could see Nikto sitting and watching the crowd with an amused look in his eyes. By his side, bottles of eggs, vegetables and even meats were put on display with delicate care. He glanced over your way and waved at you and your uncle.

“Ah, friends!” he called out, “come take the stall beside me!”

Your uncle waved back and brought the cart as close as he could. When he stopped the cart by Nikto’s stall, the old northern man rose to his feet to help you and your uncle set up your display.

You worked quickly with the extra set of hands. A few times Nikto stopped to help your uncle set up his display in a more appealing way. You laughed at the sight, but thanked him nonetheless. Halax knew that your uncle needed the help.

“No no no,” Nikto grumbled as he took the spider buns from your uncle, “put these on the middle shelf. They’re cute and sweet, so people will see them better if you put them there. And put the smallest buns on top! Trust me on this, old man.”

Your uncle followed the other man’s words, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But who were you to argue with Nikto? All his displays were immaculate. Even the products themselves were made so perfectly that you couldn’t stop salivating at the sight of them.

“How do you know how to make everything look so nice?” you wondered as you followed his guidance.

“Secret tips from my mother back home,” Nikto’s eyes crinkled behind his wooden mask, “mother always knows best, you know?”

You faltered briefly before flashing a wide smile, “Well, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Nikto shook his head, “Mothers never leave their children, Criah doesn’t work that way. We always have our families with us.”

You smiled softly, “You think so?”

Nikto laughed heartily, “I know so! Mother never left. She’s always here,” Nikto thumped his chest before he leaned in conspiratorially, “and that’s how I know your uncle can’t set up a stall to save his life!”

You groaned but couldn’t hold back a laugh. Nikto was an odd man, but at least he was always a fun person to share company with. You shook your head and turned back to your stall.

“Well, it looks like we’re about ready to start selling,” you said as you admired the hard work.

“Can you manage the till?” your uncle asked.

“Are you offering to do the calling?” you replied.

Your uncle nodded and pointed over to the other stalls, “It looks like we don’t have much competition today.”

You glanced over at Nikto.

“My goods are meant to be brought home,” he shrugged, “not eaten here. Yours are better for the show.”

Right, the show. That was certainly one way of putting it.

“I can handle the crowds,” you told your uncle.

“Right then,” your uncle nodded, “I’ll head out and get to hawking.”

You watched your uncle walk out in the crowd, puff up his chest and call out in a big, booming voice. On que, a few customers eagerly turned and looked around before finding your stall and rushing forth. You didn’t understand how anybody was able to eat during these events, but evidently you were the odd one out.

Before long the line had formed and you were up on your feet exchanging coins for sweet and savoury buns. To your delight, a few customers immediately left your line to go over to Nikto’s stall to pick up some jars of his pickled goods. Nikto was never quite as popular, but having the top-selling stall beside him evidently did something for his numbers. A part of you wondered if he’d thought about this when inviting you over, but another part couldn’t care less. You were shopkeepers just the same as he was; you had to do whatever it took to make a good living in a small town.

As the townsfolk came and left your stall, you did your best to focus on them rather than on the absence of the most prominent figure at the event. Wherever you looked, The Axe was notably absent. Of course you already knew where he was. He was probably bringing the poor victim to the gallows at that very moment. You knew the ritual well enough by now.

The executioner would go to the prison and then pick out the culprit. Then, the culprit would be carted to the outskirts of the forest, at which point The Axe and his victim would be dropped off and The Axe’s assistant would drive the cart back to the Axe’s home. Then, the Axe and his assistant would both make their way to the hanging site. Of course, the assistant would arrive first, and then the Axe would come through the clearing. Then, once they’d both arrived, the event would begin. That’s how it always was, it was how it always would be. A part of you wondered if there was another way. The thought of letting a murderer go free seemed unthinkable, but did they have to die themselves? You didn’t know. Somebody with more time on their hands might have been able to think over the problem more thoroughly, but as it was you only felt opposed to the executions, but weren’t able to think of any other good solution.

You watched the crowds slowly grow in number as they bumbled around your stall. The bread and buns were flying off the shelves at this point. Muffins were devoured before your very eyes. The throng of people was generating an electric buzz in the air, crackling with the winds through the trees. Judge Holten looked out over the crowd with a disdainful eye, Father Kim behind him with a more sympathetic expression. Even from here, you could see him shivering in the cool air. With how his hands had withered away, you figured they were probably more sensitive than ever.

Whispers rippled through the crowds. As with any gathering, you heard stories from all around the village. Some talked about the local drunk’s latest antics at the tavern. Another rumour was about what an old woman was doing with her pets in the shed out back. Someone mentioned that the butcher was getting a bit steep with his prices. Another said the nuns were getting frustrated with the lack of provisions provided to the church as of late. All these stories curled around the air with a whimsical twirl. The stories ranged from the banal to the completely bizarre in nature. The ones about the old woman and her pets stood out as a particularly egregious one.

You chuckled at the latest tidbit of gossip being thrown your way. You waved the man off with a big toothy grin and turned to help the next customer. To your surprise, it was none other than Salvatrice.

“Salv!” you beamed as you packed her usual order, “I didn’t think you were back yet!”

Salv played with an arrowhead between her fingers as she said, “Well, the raptor was pretty easy to track. It was too big to hide from me for long.”

“So, a successful hunt?” you asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Salv nodded, “a good hunt.”

“Great! So you’ll be selling it soon?” you queried.

“Once Tor breaks it down,” Salv frowned, “but he’s getting pricey these days.”

“So I heard,” you mentioned as you served a different customer.

“He’s asking for nearly a quarter of my wage now,” Salv grumbled, “I can’t keep up with that! Hunters don’t make that much, you know?”

“You’ve let me know a few times before,” you replied easily.

“Now he’s going around asking for a hundred stones. I can’t afford that! Nobody can!” Salv clenched her fist around the arrowhead.

“I’m sure the prices will go down,” you assured her, “Tor can’t keep charging those sorts of prices for long. The people in this village just can’t afford that.”

“Maybe, or maybe they’ll keep paying them because there’s nobody else,” Salv clenched her jaw tight.

“Well, I hope not,” you scrunched up your face, “I don’t want to think what people would do. The last cycle was bad enough as is.”

“I think it’s because of the last cycle that he’s charging these prices,” Salv shook her head, “he realised he can get away with it.”

“But those were desperate times,” you pointed out.

“And all the businesses took advantage of how vulnerable we all were,” Salv leveled a glare at you, “they learned from our weakness.”

You shook your head free of her thoughts, “No, I’m sure there’s a good reason. Tor isn’t a bad man. He’s not like that.”

“You say that,” Salv spat bitterly, “but I’m not so sure. I think he’s a blorgron.”

You glared at the dark haired hunter fiercely, “Don’t say that! We’re all just trying to recover after the flooding and droughts.”

“At the expense of the people!” Salv retorted.

You cringed and held up your hands meekly, “I don’t know. It’s not my place to say.”

Salv stared you down with coal-black eyes. Hot burning coals burned through your clothes to your very soul. Hatred, fury, injustice, it all flickered through her eyes before she settled on one final emotion: defeat.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she sighed, “you’re a vendor just like Tor. But,” she gave you a resigned half-smile, “you keep your prices affordable at least.”

“We try to,” you handed out another loaf of bread, “Uncle always wants to raise them up, but Auntie won’t let him.”

“She’s a damn good woman then,” Salv determined.

“She’s sometimes a good woman,” you grumbled, “she’s a slave driver if you ask me.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you,” Salv gruntled.

“I suppose so,” you said. You turned to say more to her when the crowd broke out into a roar.

Salv smirked as she took a bite of the beetle meat bun, “Looks like the show’s started.”

Salv slunk into the obscurity of the crowd as you peered over the edge of your stall. You couldn’t help but stare as The Axe came into view, easily a head and shoulders above everyone else at the clearing. His hood fluttered around his clavicle with the wind as he strode forth. He looked around the clearing with blank eyes before they fell upon you. Immediately, they lit up with bright recognition, and just as they did, the light went out and he was back to the blank mask of before. You were the only person in the entire crowd to notice how he stumbled slightly when he moved past you to the Criahlin’s stone.

Once they got to the stage, the prisoner was finally revealed to you. A wiry man with a thin, pinched face. His eyes burned dark with a silent rage, furious and clawing inside him like a ravenous beast.

Judge Holten watched The Axe guide the man to the center of the stone, then down into a kneeling position. You winced sympathetically.

“Karl Hoffman,” Judge Holten pulled out his thick book of laws and perched it on his bulging stomach, “thirty-eight cycles, father of eight cycle Klara Hoffman and ten cycle Mathilde Hoffman. Husband of thirty–two cycle Martha Hoffman. Employed as a fishmonger, but was found out to have joined the Raptor’s Claws to steal a living as a highwayman.

“Karl Hoffman is accused of three charges of manslaughter, the assault and battery of two different women, battery of six different men, and accused of stealing over twenty thousand faces. For these charges he has been sentenced to death by choking,” Judge Holten smirked as he shut his book and tucked it under his corpulent arm and turned to face Karl, “you are a damned man, but I will be giving you one last chance at redemption. Do you take Halax as your lord above, in this life and beyond, forevermore?”

Karl turned his thin neck to glare down at Father Kim. You watched as Father Kim stood tall against the withering stare, unmoving in the face of evil. Karl pulled his head back, then spat directly into the priest’s face.

Karl turned back to look at Judge Holten’s reddening face and gave him a twisted grin with a mouth full of crooked teeth, “No sir, I don’t think I do.”

His whispering voice sent chills up your spine. The display itself was unthinkable. How anyone could revoke the name of Halax, especially in their dying moments, was beyond you. You stared, gobsmacked as Judge Holten awkwardly shifted his robes over his protruding belly and waddled side to side. Judge Holten glanced over to Father Kim, who had carefully used his coarse brown robe to wipe his face clean, marring the markings he’d painted onto his face that morning.

You glanced between the men as Judge Holten looked to Father Kim, he himself shaken by the flagrant display of utter disinterest in any form of honor or redemption for himself or his family. You trembled slightly as you waited for anything to happen.

Father Kim stepped forward and presented a bowl of black ink to Karl. The man tried to move out of the way, but The Axe clamped onto the back of his neck and kneeled into his legs. Father Kim gave the executioner a long, thankful look and then went on with his work. He gently placed his forefingers into the ink, then gently pressed them onto the man’s forehead. With a shudder of his shoulders, he painted a large eye on his forehead, then two slashes crossed over it. Father Kim rose back to his feet and steeped back with a mournful shake of his head. The Axe stepped back to hover by his side.

You watched as Judge Holten turned back to the crowd with a shaky breath. He looked up, his watery red-rimmed eyes glanced around before finally settling back on the crowd.

“Karl Hoffman has declared to the court that he does not wish to be reunited with Halax in the next realm. As such, he is declared lost, and Martha, Mathilde and Klara Hoffman are hereby stripped of their citizenship and declared lost as well,” even the horrible Judge Holten trembled like a leaf before he straightened up and turned to the hooded man by the back of the stage, “my Axe, if you’d please.”

The Axe stepped forward from the back of the stage to take the back of Karl Hoffman’s neck into his hand. He screamed bloody murder and thrashed against the giant man’s grip, kicking and spitting like a wild animal. The Axe tried desperately to give him one last chance of dignity by letting him walk up the ladder himself, but Karl immediately tried to dart into the woods. Within a couple of steps, The Axe had his hand back on the back of his neck and gripped it tight as he dragged the man back to the ladder. With one hand on the ladder and one on his victim’s neck, The Axe slowly crawled up the ladder while Karl dangled limply at his side. He tried to kick the ladder over but Father Kim was quick to stabilize the two. Karl screamed until his voice broke when The Axe rose to the top and finally looped a noose around Karl’s neck. With nothing left to do, The Axe slowly lowered Karl and left him to suffocate.

Karl kicked and gripped at the noose around his neck, lifting himself just barely to scream profanities at the gathered crowd. He spluttered and spat before he turned to his wife and cursed her and his children like nothing you’d ever heard before. Meanwhile, his wife watched him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Her rudy hair waved in the coming breeze as she watched her husband use his last moments not to declare his love to her, not to apologise for his actions, but to spew hatred the likes of which nobody there had ever seen. Even from here you could see her struggle to keep her wailing children at her side. Their littlest daughter stared up at her father with big black eyes, so much like her father’s but filled with sadness and love instead of hatred and fire. You could only imagine her asking her mother what it meant to be lost, what it meant now that their father was gone.

Karl Hoffman continued to kick and spit, but his grip grew weak and he slowly slumped into the noose. At that point, you turned away and focussed on packing up the rest of the bread. Some things were better left unseen.

Glossary

1. Halaxwake: The first day of the week/God-Watch

2. Poppernickens: A species of flower characterized by tiny five-petal flowers that grow in bunches along a tall stalk. Large round leaves shoot out along the bottoms of the stalks. The flower seeds can be ground to get a floral spice used in cooking. Leaves can be used as salves for burns.

3. Twineweed: A long vine once considered a pest plant, but is now used to weave fence posts together to create natural fences. The large white flowers are toxic to most animals, but the pollen has a pleasant smell that some people use as perfume.

4. Wink: An alcoholic beverage made from fermented fruits. Farmers often collect any fruit that spoils or grows poorly and use it to make wink for the end of the year. Each batch has its own individual taste. Usually, years with plenty of rain make the best wink.

5. Vigil: A minute in their time, a bit over a minute in our time. Used as an expression for a short amount of time.

6. Elves: A warlike species known for being the best hunter/warriors on the continent. Their brutal culture is widely feared by others. Many believe that if elves were more intelligent, they would have organised to take over the continent and wipe out all other species. As it is, they are known for their brawn more than their brain, and thankfully they are too curious and entertained by other cultures to attempt genocide. They find all other species weak, but amusing enough to take as slaves for their own entertainment.

7. Brak-Hah’s-Eye: The sun, the center of their solar system

8. Corpse Flowers: A group of species of flowers that grow near decay. They are often seen as cursed flowers, and use of them is heavily prohibited by most laws. However, they are known to be excellent pain killers and excellent disinfectants. Have a notably bitter, sour taste. Look somewhat like snowbells or lady’s slippers.

9. Turning-Time: Season

10. Poke Bear: A tiny species of bear covered in spines. The animal will occasionally roll into a ball and charge downhill at its prey. Other times, it uses its long spined tail to defend against larger predators.

11. Sweetlin: A round, sweet fruit, much like an apple but larger and more filling.

12. Swintlin: A very sour fruit covered in a thick, black skin. Very citrusy and used in both sweet and savoury cooking and baking.

13. Loch Tree: A type of coniferous tree that grows in the northern Mormonian forests. Grows to eighteen meters in height with long branches spiralling around to form a canopy below. The pine needles are hard, and often used as sewing needles to make clothes. The sap can be used for glue. The wood is notably difficult to work with because it is so hard, and it has a strong smell that lingers for years to come. Makes poor firewood because the sap forms large pockets in the wood, and when heated up explodes.

14. Stone: Slang for a face. A face can be broken into one hundred fragments, which refers to cents. Every face is composed of one hundred fragments. Slang for a face is a stone, slang for a fragment is a pebble. Used as currency.

15. Blorgron: A large, fat and unintelligent lizard with a broad head and a stumpy jaw. Equivalent to a pig, but a simple herd animal. Known for being simple minded and territorial over food. Often considered to be symbols of gluttony.

16. Declared Lost: When an individual is legally declared lost, they lose their rights as a citizen in their nation. They are considered lost from the light of any god, and as such are considered lesser citizens. They cannot vote, cannot marry nor divorce, cannot receive medical treatment or any form of charity from the community. Many fall into complete poverty as others refuse to be associated in any way, lest they be dragged down with the lost ones. To be declared lost is the greatest social punishment a court can give out. Many will leave to go into exile because of the shame of being lost.

Part 2

Part Three

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

Full Fic on KoFi Here

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