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powderblueblood · 8 months

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FOUR TIMES YOU WERE STRUCK INCAPABLE OF IMAGINING YOUR LIFE WITHOUT EDDIE MUNSON

(+ one, of the many, where he felt the same about you)

part of the hellfire & ice universe eddie munson x f!reader, reader is nicknamed lacy, you know the drill, minors dni only warnings are for fluff and eddie and lacy being cute and in denial word count: 2k tagging @chiefbonkpruneegg happy birthday pal <3 enjoy this nonsense

TRACK ONE: LET'S STICK WITH TELEVISION FOR TWO HUNDRED, ALEX

You and Eddie balance on either side of Ronnie Ecker's couch like faithful gargoyles, armed with soup and homework. Ronnie's caught the worst end of some green-gooed virus, so you two have taken it upon yourselves to deliver the necessities; tomato soup with extra hot sauce ("To snot out the demons," quoth Eddie) and history homework. But something on the television sucked you both right in, Poltergeist style, as you entered the Ecker trailer. Some hot young thing called Alex Trebek, captaining the maiden voyage of a brand new Jeopardy.

"You know who would kill on this show?" Eddie says, settling himself on the armrest to Ronnie's sniffling left.

"Guh, who?" Ronnie asks, huffing the steaming vapors of the spicy tomato soup like it's paint fumes.

You're pitched on the other armrest, pointing the rolled up history homework toward the screen. "What is the White H--US Treasury, are you fucking stupid?! Have these people never seen a twenty dollar bill before? What is the White House!"

You toss a glance over to Ronnie and Eddie for reassurance, just in time to catch them sharing a look. A good ol' Lacy know-it-all look. "Oh, shut up. as if I have more useless information rattling around in my brain than--"

Both you and Eddie snap at the TV in unison, "Who is Elvis Presley!"

Your turn to share a look. Game on? Game on.

It rolls on like that for a couple of categories, Ronnie sipping her soup straight from the container between you, hiding a smile as you and Eddie gradually bark louder and louder. Who are the Marx Brothers! What is 'break a leg'! Who was Napoleon!

"What, you're paying attention in History all of a sudden?"

"I'm a solid C student thanks to you, baby."

It occurs to you suddenly and begrudgingly and all at once; Eddie's right. You would kill on this show. But more than that, you want to wipe the floor and wring Eddie Munson out like the mop that he is.

"The greeting which opened each episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents."

"What is," both of you, in perfect Hitchcock tonality and without missing a beat, "Gooooood eeeeevening."

TRACK TWO: LIKE IF BECKY SHARP WAS FRIENDS WITH A BIG GOOFY HOUND DOG

Your first honest-to-god paycheck from the Bookstore was a fat wad of tens and singles plus change and it was handed to you in a brown paper bag. Invest this wisely, said Ivana, so of course, you followed your heart and your hard earned cash directly to the thrift store.

The front bell ding-a-lings and you walk through the door holding your moneybag aloft like the biggest, blue ribbon winning-est gourd at the county fair. You are proud as hell, because you did this! On your own! This isn't your daddy's money, this isn't the result of a once-toyed with idea that you might make a really good cat burglar, this was yours all yours!

"Put that down already! It's like you're wearing a sign saying mug me!" Eddie, bringing up the rear, yanks your arm back down by your side.

You laugh, mirthful and Hepburnian. "More like try me! I'm a working woman now, Eddie! I can hold my own! I can buy boots, guilt free, no strings, no blood money!"

"Uh-huh. consider that glass ceiling of having an after school job well and truly," he picks up a lamp from the scarcely populated homewares section, mimes slow-motion smashing it, "shattered!"

"Plus!" you cheerily pivot on your heel, a spring in your step that cannot be unsprung, even by Eddie's welcome to the real world, jackass flavored attempts. "Who would ever dare try and rob me when I've got a big, tough guard doggy like you three feet behind me at all times?"

Eddie's eyes narrow, like he's not all the way peachy keen on how you've pointed out your inseparability. But. He doesn't deny it either. A broken-stringed tennis racket bops you on the head.

"You owe me gas money."

"Shut up, please. I am shopping."

TRACK THREE: BUSTER MOVES

We'll always have the movies.

You sit, glassy-eyed, in your regular seats at the Hawk as The Cook starring Buster Keaton ticks along on the screen ahead of you. This Keaton retrospective, which you had been looking forward to for weeks, which you had been threatening to drag Eddie to for weeks, is going down a little... bland.

Not even that over-the-shoulder gaze that has Keaton beaming lasers of lust right into Virginia Rappe's skull adds any spice. You don't even bring up the whole scandal with her and Fatty Arbuckle, which would ordinarily be fertile territory to plow through with Eddie as a rapt audience.

In fact, you don't even tell him to kick his feet off the seats.

You've zoned out, because you still have the chill of the penitentiary's visiting quarters under your skin. Your dad and his cruelty that the bulletproof glass couldn't dull. The usual escape to the movies bit isn't doing the trick.

Then, you feel shaggy waves tickling your shoulder.

"I can do that."

"What?"

Directly in front of you, Buster is giving it his best Salome, his dance moves all angles. This display of pure deadpan goofiness was what made you obsess over Keaton in the first place, falling head over heels for a man who kicked it long before you were born.

And to your immediate left, you have Eddie Munson in your ear, telling you, "I can do that."

"No you can't," you say, and it doesn't sound like half the challenge it usually would.

Then, in a jolt that makes the whole row of rickety theater seats shake, Eddie's on his feet and stripping off his jacket. And before you can utter some totally perfunctory what're you... he's hot footing it down the steps to the splash zone, the front row, of the screen.

"You know I've seen this movie a million times?" Eddie says, projecting his voice right out like he's performing a one man show. Munson: Meditations on Dumbassery. You sit upright, glancing around to double-triple check that you're definitely alone in the screen. And you are-- Hawkins doesn't have as much a taste for the non-talkies as you do. And you were pretty sure that Eddie didn't either, and yet...

"Are you serious?" you ask, a laugh starting at the back of your throat.

"Does this look like a call and response? Let the maestro work, please," Eddie chides you over his shoulder, turning his back and hopping in place like a boxer about to take the ring.

And then, all of a sudden, he's... dancing? Sort of? Well, he's certainly moving his body, but it's nothing like what Buster's doing, and it's nothing like anyone's ever possibly done and not been hospitalized for, because the way his limbs are moving is borderline inhuman and you are laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing in a way that feels like Eddie reaching right through the fog of your horrible, dissociative feelings and bringing you back into the light.

You toss popcorn at him and he totally fails to catch it in his mouth, his face lit up in shades of black and white by the projection.

"A million times, huh?"

Eddie, breathless, shrugs, "Alright, I lied. But you laughed."

Point to Munson.

TRACK FOUR: LIBERATING MY MAGAZINES

It was a favor that he'd agreed to before you even offered to buy him breakfast after, a favor that didn't need sweetening up. As his van rolled into Loch Nora, Eddie's brows knit a little bit-- and you wondered how much of him regretted saying yes so hastily.

"On a scale of one to felony..."

Your house hadn't been sold yet. Repossessed, sure, but not sold. It stood there, darkened and quiet and gathering dust and the sheer sight of it being the only house on your street with an overgrown lawn made your chest feel tight. You bet the neighbors had something to say about that. You bet the neighbors had a lot to say about you. Curtains were no doubt twitching when you and Eddie pulled up in front of your old driveway.

"It's fine. It's my stuff, anyway."

About a half hour later, Eddie drops a pile of slightly-weather beaten copies of Rolling Stone bearing your name and old address onto a table in the diner, the remnants of your now-cancelled subscription.

"You gotta wonder what they're putting in that new print format that kept those things from totally composting."

"Thank god they didn't! I need to finish that Tom Wolfe serial or I'll die," you declare as he picks up a menu and you rifle through the pile. "Order whatever. It's on me."

Eddie snorts. You're still carting around that dwindling brown bag of cash. "You don't have to do that."

"No," you say, eyes darting around to anywhere but his face, "but I want to. For helping me to liberate my magazines."

"Lace. I'd happily liberate your magazines without the promise of pancakes," his mouth twists into this little grin you can't help but think of as sweet, "but they do help."

"Order enough to keep us here for a while," you say, and pass him a Rolling Stone.

The next while passes silently between you two, passing issues back and forth until one of you picks out something the two of you can fight about. Eddie twists his rings around when he's reading; you gather this from the looks you keep sneaking.

It feels eerily relaxed. Slightly domestic. And by the end, over-caffeinated with the way you two are soundlessly cackling over an imagined world where the cover of Springsteen's Born in the USA isn't an ass shot, but a full-frontal dick shot. "But where does he put the flag?!"

It's one way to kill a Saturday.

SECRET SONG: SWAPPING NOTES

In the relentless waves of the morning crush to get to his next class, he almost misses you-- just like he'd like to almost miss this next class. But then, there you are with freshly-manicured nails digging into his elbow.

For whatever reason, you've taken it upon yourself to make sure that Eddie Munson doesn't skip! At least, where you can help it.

"Yoohoo! Spanish is this way," you say, reorienting him in the right direction in that insistent little way that you do. Eddie's pretty sure that if he sat on you, you'd snap, yet he lets you completely manipulate his clearly superior physical strength anyway.

"We're not in Spanish together!" he tries, a last ditch to get you to turn around so he can ditch.

"No, but French is juste par là so you are pas de chance, my friend!" you tell him with a stare that says I've been tracking your movements like a hunter, dumbass. See my big spear? From that gargantuan folder you're clutching, you dig out a paper. "I have that thing you wanted me to look at."

"Sssshut up, I don't need everyone to know," Eddie flushes. It's not homework he begged to copy from you for once. It is actually this comparative essay that he actually thinks he might not have completely screwed up. But he kind of wanted a professional not-screwer-upper-of-homework's point of view, so... that's why your little red pen marks are all over it.

"Why, whose reputation am I sparing?" He sees your point. You are basically walking arm in arm with him. You. "But, y'know, I was right about you! The thought is there, the execution just needs a little fine tuning."

"So it was..."

"Not amazing! But not awful. I've done my edits and you can just copy as per-- but absorb them, please, okay? Learn something?"

Eddie's head rolls back on his neck with this petulant groan and he almost clocks a freshman at elbow level, shaking his arms in total frustration. God, now you were giving him homework on top of his homework? He should have just paid you to do the homework!

"I hate when you want me to better myself! Shit!"

"Well!" you say, in that bright, adorable, annoyingly-self satisfied way, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't see potential, so suck on that."

#published by powder #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #edlacy #blurbs #need to stop tagging things over 2k as 'blurb'#anwayy your honor i LOVE THEMMMMM this is just silly and fun #cba making a banner i'm too tired #hai brainrot #l. doevski by powder

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 2 years

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Smashing Pumpkins

A Kostas Family Slice of Life

Warnings- a little bit of spice, but mostly family fun.

A/N- A bit of Halloween chaos in the Kostas household ends with hopeful, bittersweet news. For @sheehalloween

Honey held the spoon up near her eyeline. She used the very end of her nail to pull it back and aimed it in Leon's direction. He was so focused on the task at hand, so ignorant to what was about to happen, she almost hesitated. Almost.

Instead she let her finger go and watched as a spoonful of pumpkin guts and seeds sailed across the kitchen table. To her absolute delight, it hit Leon squarely in the nose and mouth.

Leon closed his eyes, inhaled and huffed a small amount of the squash out of his nostrils. The air in the kitchen grew very still. Like the quiet before battle, and Honey was the shot heard around the world. Or kitchen rather. Even the Littles ceased to make a sound.

They had frozen except for little eyes bright and green soft and brown that vollied between parents. Sunny with his own spoon held aloft next to his head. Selina up to her shoulder inside her pumpkin.

They saw the slight curve of their mama’s mouth into a smile. One eyebrow arched and her fist placed on one of her hips she had jutted out. Honey cocked her head to the side. Like she dared her husband to retaliate.

Two little dark heads turned in unison towards Leon. He managed to scrape most of the stringy meat into his hand then walked around the table to Honey. Stray bits left behind in his mustache and beard made it difficult for her to maintain composure.

There was an audible inhale. Honey's heart began to race in her chest in anticipation. Leon stopped only a few inches away and towered over her. She could feel the heat that constantly radiated from him. The scent of eucalyptus and lavender filled her nose.

It was embarrassing how her cheeks still flushed and the blood flowed directlly between her thighs just being near him. A hundred times a day they occupied the same space.

But in this moment there was an air of anticipation. That split second to make a choice that fractures into endless possibilities. The crackle before a kiss or a slap, that's where Honey thrived.

Leon reached behind into Selina’s Jack O’ Lantern and dug around. She still didn't make a sound beyond a giggle. He turned to Honey with just a hint of mischief in his eyes. There was an electric moment where he brought his mouth close enough to kiss.

Honey was so distracted that she could only blink when the massive handful of guts and goo and seeds was suddenly mashed into her chest. Leon took special care to get as much as he could in her cleavage and on her breasts, fingertips brushing her nipples into little buds.

“YOU'RE TOUCHING HER BOOBIES!” Sunny brooke the silence with his elated observation.

“Sunny!” Selina scolded her little brother. “Mommies and daddies touch each other's secret parts, Sunny. It's allowed. Tio says it's because it feels extra special when someone you love does it.”

But Honey gasped (ignoring her children) from the sensation and how cold the pumpkin was. The way Leon cupped one breast to massage it gently. He pulled her flush to his body with his free arm wrapped around her waist. Leon leaned over and bent her back for a kiss, but Honey was quicker.

“Asshole!” she exclaimed. She had a fistful of stuff from her chest that she shoved in Leon's face and rubbed it into every astonished inch.

Honey bit her bottom lip expecting anything. Yet somehow not Leon’s mouth capturing her own. His tongue and pumpkin filled her. She returned the gesture by letting her own tongue wage a battle. Their bodies molded together with Leon growing hard against Honey's stomach.

A sickening splat startled them apart. There was a wad of pumpkin guts dripping down Leon's neck and back. He turned slowly towards the Littles. Sunny had a devil’s grin on his face, and round two hauled back in his little hand. It sailed across the table directly onto Selina who squealed. That was all anyone needed.

Pumpkins and seeds flew in every direction. Neither of the kids could scoop and throw fast enough. Sunny started double fisting it and threw everything simply at random. giggles peeled from him like bells.

Selina was a little more strategic. She used the lid of her Jack o’Lantern as a shield or ducked down under the table. Then caught her parents unaware while they were busy with her little brother. Her laughter was just as magical to her parents’ ears.

Meanwhile Leon used his wife as a shield. He swung her dramatically from side to side to her amusement until she snorted. Selina and Sunny stared at their mama in bewilderment until she did it again. Then chaos took over.

Honey turned in Leon's arms with her back to the table. He trapped her. His hips began to grind gently into her own when he bent to kiss her throat. His tongue traced over her skin to find her pulsating vein. He grazed it with his teeth then turned his head to spit out a seed.

It was a split second, her hands roamed up his arms and shoulders. One tangled up in the stay hairs that escaped the messy bun he had gathered the rest of it in. Her other one ran back down his chest and was so inconspicuous about palming Leon's cock he lost his breath from how sudden. His response was moaning muffled by the top of Honey's head he pretended to kiss.

“Alright you little ghouls, am-scray. Find Topo and tell him it's time for you lot to get a move on.”

Leon's command came out raspy. Which was a feat of itself. His cock was hard to the point of bewilderment. Just a touch, a kiss, the promise of sex from Honey, and he was found wanting. Best not in front of the children.

“Come on Sunny, let's find Klaus.”

The kids rounded the corner and a frenzy took up behind them. Honey worked to unbutton Leon's jeans to get a grip on his entire length. Her touch made him visibly shiver. Their lips danced and tongues swayed back and forth. Her fingertips worked at a frenetic pace on the head then twisted down the shaft. She worked up a slick friction.

Leon growled into Honey's mouth. He stooped to gather her skirt up over her waist before pushing her up on the table. She laid back for him to yank her towards the edge. He darted two fingers inside of her sex pleased at how easy it always was to make her wet. His thumb pressed her clit then started an agonizing pleasurable circle.

Honey's back bowed. She managed to keep her cries as silent as possible knowing the kids weren't really that far away. Their kitchen didn't have a door to close. She locked her legs around Leon's waist and used them to bring him forward towards her entrance.

“Mad little thing, aren't we?”

Leon held his cock in hand. His free one held her thigh parallel to the tabletop. It was so much easier to tease her with the tip this way.

“Fuck me,” she begged.

“Fuck me whot?” He dragged himself along her folds.

“Hard?” Leon snorted. “Please. Before Klaus loses control over the kids.” (Which he did often back then.) “Please?” Honey begged.

It was all Leon needed before he slid up to the hilt inside of Honey. He felt her tighten around him already. Their rhythm reached a fever pitch immediately. Neither was sure how sturdy the table was beneath them with pumpkins rolling off to the floor.. They usually preferred the counter for a quicky in the kitchen.

“Are you gonna cum already?” Leon was chuffed. He used Honey's hips as an anchor to all but ram into her.

“Mmm,” was all she got out. Her body began to to coil.

“RAAAAWWWWR! I'M A WILD THING!!” a small voice cried from the doorway.

Leon and Honey froze. Not in the best position. Him still inside of her. Her blinking at the ceiling and praying to melt into the table and for an oblivious Kindergartener.

“Holy crap, Nico! How did you get away-” There was a pause. “Oh, we tricking and treating?”

Klaus stared at the couple with a lecherous grin on his face. He leaned in the kitchen doorway and ignored the little boy who stomped around roaring. “Honey's doing a little trick, and Leon's giving her a full sized candy bar.”

His British doppelgänger grimaced. It was then he noticed his little boy with 2/3rds of his body missing inside of the giant buffalo hat? Head? Taken from Renatis’s mansion for no discernible reason. And, said child, was completely nude.

Sunny stopped only because he banged into the kitchen cabinets. "Look, my willy's out!" He turned on his little heels and the hat resembled a spinning top. Little hips did little wiggles to emphasize his nakedness.

“Ok you little exhibitions rugrat, leave your parents to it. You have your entire life to get your kit off.” Klaus guided Sunny from the room.

“You like having your willy out, right Tio?”

“Unequivocally, my good sir.” The voices faded down the hallway.

“Un.. eh.. eh.. quiz.. a.. volley.” Klaus could be heard laughing in spite of himself.

The mood killed, Leon climbed off Honey and helped her sit up. He ran his hands along her calves absently and rolled his eyes. “You really want more of them?”

“Sunnys?” she teased. “He's a weird little shit, but aren't we all?” She stood to wrap her arms around Leon's waist for a hug. Her ear to his chest so she could hear his heartbeat.

“You'll have your fill of us one day,” Leon said a bit cryptic. He shook his head. “More kids.”

He stroked her hair. Kissing her forehead, he felt a sort of whiplash. Throwing pumpkin and making mess to an insatiable desire to consume every inch of his wife to fucking her to being gentle and affectionate.

“I know Selina and Nicklaus have each other. They're closer than my brothers, sister and I ever were, and we get on great. Mostly.” Honey looked up at Leon. “Sometimes I look at Sugar and realize that's our love in the form of a little girl. And Sunny is more like you than you want to believe. I feel like I'm drowning in how much I love them.

Leon held Honey's face. “They're so loud and smelly and disruptive and hungry all the time and selfish.”

“You don't want anymore?” Honey worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Another whiplash. Her eyes seemed to plead with him.

“Look, that's just me describing Klaus. I love the Littles.” Honey looked unconvinced. About to cry even. He kissed her softly. Then enveloped her in a hug. “I'm just having a moment. I promise. That's all, love.”

“NICKLAUS!!” A shout interrupted them again. “You're not supposed to hit Pebbles with your club! Stop!”

Maniacal giggles followed “BAM! BAM!!”

“Mama should've made you Dino!! Knock it off, or I'll make you!”

Leon looked down at his wife and blinked several times. Like he was resetting himself, or proving a point to Honey. She gave him a playful shove and turned around to start cleaning. Or pretended to.

“Good,” she said with a quiet, hopeful tone. Honey reached behind herself to reach for Leon's hand. She placed it just below her stomach. “Because I'm pregnant.”

Thing was, to her heartbroken dismay, Honey's body would play more tricks on her than it would give her treats.

@bisexualnathanyoung @elliethesuperfruitlover @forenschik @firstpersonnarrator @rob-private @holidayspirits @magic-multicolored-miracle @heratheanon @kronoswheel @love-is-dirty-baby @neuroticpuppy @vonkimmeren @sheehalloween @sylvertyger

#robert sheehan #klaus hargreeves #leon #leon x honey #sheehalloween 2022

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m39 · 8 months

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Doom WADs’ Roulette (2008): Introduction

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Ladies. Gentlemen and Others, welcome, to the Doom WADs’ Roulette, where I review the best WADs according to Doomworld’s Top 100 WADs of All Times and (now) Cacowards. Today, we are starting to check out the “Cacowards” BEEP “2008” BEEP roster. Here are the rules:

#1 We are playing on GZDoom (ver. 4.10.0 4.11.3).

#2 We are playing on “Hurt Me Plenty”.

#3 Vertical aiming is on.

#4 No infinitely tall monsters.

#5 The WAD will be downloaded from the archives unless it’s not there among other reasons.

#6 We are playing WADs shown on a current roster from top to bottom split into three leagues (other WADs, runners-up and honorable mentions, and top 10).

#7 Lighting is set on modified Classic along with modified fog effect.

#8 Deathmatch/Multiplayer only WADs and the winners of the Worst WAD award do not count.

click

And so, we reached 2008; a year where I went to middle school (and was more unhinged than the elementary); a year where Obama became the president of the USA; this year was the birth of Trollface, the release of Dark Knight (widely considered the best Batman movie) and, of course, the release of Iron Man and the beginning of the MCU. a cinematic universe that would become a punching bag of the Internet in the future.

2008 was also a year of game releases such as Braid, Dead Space, Fallout 3, Left 4 Dead (Valve’s another GOAT), and World of Goo.

As for Doom itself, 2008 was the first game’s 15th anniversary. It was also when id itself announced that yes, they’re making another Doom game.

Cacowards 2008 was different from the previous award ceremony in that it had not one, but two additional writers to assist Scuba Steve - Patrick Pineda (Metacorp) who would in the future create Beyond Sunset, a GZDoom-based game, and Darknation, of whom I have no real idea. Alex Pritchard (pritch) meanwhile, temporarily replaced Bill Kotch as foreword man of Cacowards.

I have mixed feelings about this roster. I know it definitely has bangers (I mean come on, it’s Cacowards), but at the same time, I can see sequels/spiritual successors to Deus Vult (this one will make me tired), Eternal Doom (screaming), Operation Overlord (crying), and not to mention, another WAD by Espi (look, I know he was important for the Doom Community, but I’m not a big fan of his work, okay?!). But then again, three WADs from Eternal and Chex Quest 3 to play. It would be a sin not to try those.

But their time will come later. For now, let’s take a look at the first gameplay mod that was awarded in Cacowards.

#doom #doom wad #introduction #doom mod #doom 2008 #2008 #doom wads’ roulette #cacowards

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kingexpl0sionmurder · 4 years

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You’re All I Want - Shinsou Hitoshi

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Rating: 18+ (Smut) Words: 5,073 Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi/F!Reader (Aged up/Pro Hero) Warnings: Oral (Male receiving), Oral (Female receiving), vaginal sex, pet names. AN: Here is my entry for this month’s BNHarem NSFW collab! Special thanks to @unbreakablekiribaku for supporting me as usual and listening to me ramble on about my favorite purple boy. Title taken from a song by Cigarettes After Sex because I am soft today. We all had the same starter for this collab, so it’s important to read that first so you understand the set up! (It’s kind of like a choose your own adventure!)

Collab Masterlist (IMPORTANT: READ THIS FIRST)

My Masterlist Buy Me a KoFi?

----

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, shucking off the mask onto the ground beside you. It wasn’t like they’d be able to see your face back here, or you hoped not, and the thing was itchy.

There hadn’t been much instruction on what to do, so you decided to make yourself comfortable on the pillows and wait in the near darkness, feeling a little annoyed that they’d taken your phone, even though you understood why.

You gazed through the hole, trying to see if you could make out anything on the other side. You could hear music, the slightly muffled guitar from some classic rock playing for the party guests made you giggle a bit. Blowing some random hero while listening to 80’s hair metal through a hole in the wall was not how you had been picturing spending your Saturday night, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Before you could dwell on that anymore, you heard a sharp knocking on the wall, the light coming from the hole in the wall suddenly cut off when someone stepped in front of it. You had a feeling this was your cue.

You shuffled over on your knees, grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and tried to ignore how much your hands were shaking. You knew what you were doing. This wasn’t your first time sucking a cock. The situation was different, of course, but if you closed your eyes, you could just pretend it was someone else, right?

Letting your mind wander, you wet your lips when the man on the other side of the wall shoved his dick through the hole, starting with kitten licks and light sucks on the tip. You closed your eyes and thought about the object of most of your fantasies, pretending it was him sitting heavy on your tongue, bracing your hand on the wall in front of you as you used the other to grab the base of the man’s cock and pump him slowly.

Being a barista wasn’t the most exciting job, but your regular customers somehow made things seem less dull. One man in particular always had you vibrating with excitement the moment he walked through the door. He usually strolled in during the mid-morning, his purple hair defying gravity, his face holding the look of someone who didn’t get enough sleep. He did always manage a small smirk in your direction when you greeted him, already working on his preferred drink order before he could even open his mouth. Black coffee with a double shot of espresso and a blueberry muffin. He never strayed or asked for anything different.

He would pay for his order and then lean his hip against the counter on the far end, arms crossed over his chest as he kept his eyes trained on you. It made you feel hot all over, your mouth dry and your thighs clenching as he watched you work, his apparent interest in you making you feel exposed and raw. You had half a mind to grab him by his shirt and drag him over the counter so you could press your lips to his, the sexual tension that his gaze created nearly driving you mad.

But as always, you would walk over and slide him his drink and pastry bag, biting your lip and looking up at him from under your eyelashes, wishing him a good day. He would always give you another once over, and sometimes his fingers would brush yours as he took his breakfast, his deep voice rumbling in thanks. He would smirk at you again before turning and walking out of the shop, leaving you to melt into a puddle of sexually frustrated goo behind the counter.

You’d entertained the idea of writing your number on his cup, wondering if he would text you, imagining what he would say if you asked him out sometime. It was a shame you were too nervous about doing anything other than flirting over the counter, too scared even to attempt to hold a conversation with him. You’d have to resort to using your overactive imagination to your advantage for the task at hand.

With the music still blaring in the other room, you could just barely hear the man on the other side of the wall moaning as his cock twitched in your mouth, your tongue gliding over the vein on the underside while you hollowed your cheeks around him. Humming, you took him as deep as you could, feeling triumphant when you felt him shudder, thick ropes of cum shooting into your mouth.

You pulled off and spit into the nearby trash can, going back to lick the man clean, and then chugging on your water bottle. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, and the hole was empty once again. Sitting back, you sighed. That hadn’t been as bad as you thought it would be, though you figured it was probably because your mind was elsewhere. You just needed to keep this up for the rest of the night, and then you’d collect your giant wad of cash and be on your way.

Hours passed, men came (literally) and went, and your jaw was starting to feel sore. You had no idea how much longer you had, but you’d been putting forth your best skills while thinking about the purple-haired coffee man to pass the time.

There was a knock on the wall, so you sat up from where you were slumped against it, grabbed another water bottle, wet your mouth, and got ready to go back to work. Since your eyes had adapted to the darkness of the room, you’d been trying to get a good look at the different dicks that had been shoved through the hole as the night progressed. You’d yet to be disappointed, and men at this party were giving you unrealistic expectations for real life. The one that was in front of you now, however, was probably the nicest and one of the biggest you’d seen so far.

Suddenly feeling eager to prove to yourself that you could handle the size of it, you shuffled forward on your knees and wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly and letting your tongue poke out to lick at the bead of precum that had already gathered at the tip. The music fading from one song and into the next in the other room allowed you to hear the groan of pleasure coming from the man, your ears perking up, and legs clenching together.

His voice was deep, just like the man in every one of your fantasies. You’d made yourself cum just thinking about that voice whispering in your ear, low and thick like honey, praising you for taking his cock so well, growling and moaning about how good your pussy felt around him. You let your eyes close, humming and focusing all your efforts into giving this man the best blow job of his life, picturing purple hair and a sharp jawline, smirking lips caught between straight teeth, bulging biceps and long fingers. You wished you could feel his fingers in your hair as you took him as deep as you could, relaxing your throat and rolling your tongue around his length, practically choking around him as tears gathered in your eyes.

You swore you heard that voice again, a drawn-out curse coming from the other side of the wall as his cock twitched in your mouth and he came, and for the first time all night, you swallowed all he had to give you, too caught up in the moment to worry about spitting it in the trash.

Before you knew what was happening, he was gone, not even letting you clean him up. You fell back, gasping for air and trying to figure out what happened. Your cunt was throbbing, and your chest was heaving as you reached blindly for the water bottle beside you. Did you do something wrong? He seemed to have been enjoying himself, but it was hard to tell with the wall between you.

You didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because there was a knock from the door you’d entered the room from, and suddenly the girl who had led you back here was standing there, smiling at you. “Are you doing okay?”

Nodding, you stood up. “Yeah, am I done?”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the door frame. “That depends. Do you want to make a little extra?”

Eyebrows furrowed, you frowned. “What? How?”

“Someone is requesting you for some special one on one time if you’re interested. It would involve more than just a blow job, so if you’re okay with that, I can take you to the bathroom and then to the room he’s rented for you.”

Your eyes widened, mouth suddenly dry. “Someone requested me?”

Chuckling, she shot you a grin. “You impressed him. He was insistent about it being you, so you must have given him the best head of his life or something.”

Biting your lip, you deliberated. You had promised yourself not to get too involved with this world. It was supposed to be quick and easy money.

“If it helps, it was the last guy you were just with, like not even 10 minutes ago.”

The man with the deep voice and giant cock. Well, fuck.

“I...yeah. Okay.”

“Great!” She clapped her hands. “Grab your mask and follow me. I’ll take you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth, then I’ll bring you to the private room.”

You nodded, picking up the mask and putting it back on your face, concealing your identity again. You followed her from the room and to a bathroom, a sealed toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste on the sink. You used the bathroom quickly, brushing your teeth and checking your eyeliner, before slipping the mask back down over your eyes and stepping back into the hallway.

She led you into an elevator and then down a hallway, stopping in front of a closed door before turning to you. “You’re not obligated to do anything you don’t want to do. There are condoms, and there is lube in the top drawer of the table next to the bed. If you feel unsafe or uncomfortable for any reason, there will be a guard outside the door to keep watch, and you can get their attention if you need help, just in case.”

Suddenly nervous, you nodded again.

“I know this guy, though, and he’s a good man. You don’t have anything to worry about. When you’re done, the guard will bring you back downstairs so you can collect your pay and your things, okay?” She offered you a calming smile. “Have fun!”

You didn’t say anything, offering her a weak smile in return before turning your attention to the door. Your palms were sweaty as you reached out to grasp the handle, pushing it open. Taking a deep breath, you walked inside and closed it behind you.

When your eyes met with the amethyst ones on the other side of the room, your heart stopped.

“Uh, hi.” He stepped forward, his hands in his pockets. You took in the way he bit down on his bottom lip, eyes traveling down over the black button-up shirt he was wearing, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, the glint of the watch on his wrist in the table lamp light spilling across the hotel room.

It was him, the object of your every desire, and he was standing there looking at you nervously, his hair sticking up attractively as usual.

“Black coffee, double shot espresso, blueberry muffin.” You said dumbly, your mouth moving before your brain could process what you were saying.

“I...what? How do you know my breakfast order?” His eyebrows furrowed, confused.

Pulling off your mask, you shook out your hair and stared at him, not sure what else to say. You felt completely out of your depth, and it was taking everything in you not to throw yourself forward and kiss him.

“Holy shit.” Letting out a breath, he started moving toward you again. “It’s you.”

When he stopped moving, he was so close that you had to tilt your head back to look up at him. You couldn’t believe your luck. Remembering what the girl had told you, you shivered. When you’d heard that low voice through the wall, you’d thought of him, but to know that it actually was him was a whole different thing. “I didn’t know you were a hero.”

Your eyes slid closed when you felt him touch the side of your face and push back a piece of your hair, his fingers leaving a warm trail in their wake. “Yeah, underground, but yeah.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “I didn’t know you did-”

“I don’t!” Your eyes flew open in alarm. “I mean, not usually. Just needed some extra money to get caught up on student loans…” You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, your gaze falling to the floor. “This is my first time doing something like this.”

“Me too.” His fingers on your chin lifted your face to look back up at him. “I didn’t want it to be like this...I wanted to ask you out properly.”

Gazing up at him in disbelief, you stuttered. “I...you did?”

It was his turn to blush. “Yeah, I was just trying to figure out what to say.” His hand dropped to curl around your hip. “But now we’re here…”

Feeling bold, knowing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him, you let your hands rest on his chest, the feeling of solid muscle beneath it, causing you to shiver. “Yeah, we are. So what do we do now?”

“I can think of a few things.” The smirk that made your knees weak was back on his face. “Like this, maybe.”

Your breath caught when he leaned forward, your eyes closing when his lips met yours. It was a hesitant press at first, sweet and soft, making your heartbeat quicken with anticipation. Breathing deeply through your nose, you let your fingers tangle in his lavender locks, pushing yourself closer and kissing him harder. You’d wanted this for so long, and you weren’t going to let this moment go to waste.

He hummed lowly, both hands on your waist holding you close to him, his tongue slipping out to trace along your lips. You parted them, allowing him entrance and shivering when he licked into your mouth. Sighing, you arched into him, feeling his palms slide down to grab your ass.

Pulling back, the both of you panted, your eyes sliding open to gaze up at him. Swallowing thickly, you licked your lips. “This is all happening so fast.” You said slowly. “I don’t even know your name.”

Smirking, he bent slightly, his hands slipping behind your thighs and lifting you quickly. “It’s Shinsou.” He turned and walked towards the bed, dropping you unceremoniously onto the mattress. “And yours is Y/N, right? I remember it from your nametag.”

You nodded, half distracted watching him pull your skirt down your legs, his fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. Sitting up, you began unbuttoning his shirt, sighing when you felt his lips on your neck.

“I know this is sudden, but you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” He mumbled against your skin. “And knowing that you were the one who sucked my cock through that wall makes me regret not doing something sooner.”

“I was pretending it was you.” Finishing with the buttons, you untucked the shirt from his pants and worked on pulling it down his arms. “I heard you moan, and I thought it sounded like you, and I just let my mind wander a little…”

Chuckling, he pulled back, shrugging his shirt off and lifting his undershirt over his head. Your hands went to his chest immediately, tracing lines over the hard muscles and up over his shoulders.

“Do you think about me often?”

Blushing, you sat back, pulling your top over your head. “More often than I’d like to admit.”

He reached behind you, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra. “It sounds like we’ve been wasting too much time. We could have been doing this a long time ago.” He tossed the offending garment somewhere behind him, looming over you when you laid back. “Guess I should make up for it now, huh?”

Before you could answer, he was kissing you again, one hand wandering down your side, his other arm bent and keeping him from crushing you under his weight. His mouth moved to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, your chest heaving as he nibbled on your clavicle, his warm tongue laving at your skin.

Your breath hitched as he moved lower, trailing kisses over your breast, his mouth latching around your nipple and sucking at it, teeth scraping over the hardening bud. “Shinsou…” You trailed off, breathless and panting, your eyes fluttering shut as your hands found his hair, digits curling into his purple locks and nails scratching at his scalp.

He must have enjoyed the feeling, a low moan rumbling from his chest as he switched to your other breast, giving it the same attention. His fingers dug into your hip, keeping you still as you attempted to wiggle in his hold, needing some kind of friction for the throbbing between your thighs.

“Impatient, are we?” He asked lowly, kissing down your stomach and sliding down the bed some more. “Don’t worry, kitten. I’m going to take care of you.”

You whimpered at the nickname, closing your eyes when you felt his fingers slide under the elastic around your waist, tugging your panties down your legs. Warm breath ghosted over your inner thighs when he spread your legs to rest between them, his thumbs drawing comforting circles across your flesh.

“You gave me the best blow job of my life. It only seems fair for me to return the favor.” His thumbs moved to spread you open, his tongue sliding along your slit without warning.

Your hips left the bed, your head rolling as your back arched, your body unprepared. “Shinsou! Fuck!” His hands held you down as he descended on you, tongue laving greedily at your cunt, slurping up your juices and sucking on your clit with abandon.

“God, you were so wet already, how turned on were you? You must have been thinking about me pretty hard down there in that little room.” A kiss was pressed to your thigh as he caught his breath. “Why don’t you tell me what you were imagining, hmm?”

Opening your mouth to reply, all you could manage was a low moan when he dove back in, his tongue circling your entrance before traveling back up to your clit again.

“Answer me, kitten.”

Sucking in a breath, the vibrations from his voice shooting straight through you, making it hard to think, you tried to answer again. “Thought about you bending me over the counter in the coffee shop…”

He hummed, and your eyes rolled back, body tensing when he let one of his hands move down lower, one finger sliding inside you. “I’ve thought about that too.”

“Shinsou, please. I want you to fuck me.” You felt pathetic, practically begging him, months of pent up longing for the man between your thighs finally spilling forth as he sucked on your clit and stretched you with a second finger. “I want you to fill me up.”

Groaning, you felt his teeth graze against you, his fingers curling, the squelching sound filling the room a testament to how wet you were as he pressed against your g spot, adding another digit. “Fuck, you want it that badly?”

You shivered, your legs aching, and your toes curling. You couldn’t even form a sentence if you wanted to, the coil in your belly tightening with every caress of his tongue along your pussy. The feeling of his long, calloused fingers stroking along your inner walls and the vibrations of his moans when you tensed around them made it hard to focus. You barely registered his hips moving against the bed in time with the thrust of his fingers, obviously just as into it as you were.

“Come for me, kitten, and I’ll give you what you want.” He moaned, the tip of his tongue flicking quickly over your clit again.

The tone of his voice, rough and full of lust, was enough to push you over the edge. You came with a cry, head thrown back against the pillows, vision whiting out at the intensity of your orgasm.

Shinsou groaned as he coaxed you through your release, pulling back only when he felt you go boneless beneath him. You gazed at him through half-lidded eyes, trying to pull air into your lungs, watching as he sat back and wiped his mouth on his arm. “You okay, kitten?”

You managed to nod, watching as he shuffled off the bed and over to the table beside it, opening the top drawer and pulling a condom out. Sitting up on your elbows, you licked your lips, anticipating what was about to happen. Everything was moving quickly, but you’d been dreaming about sharing these intimate moments with him for so long that you couldn’t be bothered with worrying about what would happen tomorrow.

He made quick work of his belt, his pants falling around his narrow waist as he unbuttoned them, revealing purple boxers that matched his hair. He caught you watching, raising his eyebrow as he toyed with the elastic band on his boxer briefs. “See something you like?”

Teasing him, you grinned. “I told you, I've been thinking about this for a while.” You couldn’t help ogling him. You would have never guessed his body would look this way beneath the oversized t-shirts he usually wore when he came into your job every morning.

He laughed at your blatant staring, biting his lip. “You did mention that.” He shook his hips to tease you as he pulled down his pants and boxers, making you giggle. You liked how he could make you feel comfortable, and insanely turned on at the same time.

Crawling up the bed, he settled in between your legs on his knees, his large hand moving to stroke his cock. He picked up the condom, ripped the foil packet, and rolled it onto his length. He gripped your thighs, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “You ready?”

Tilting your chin up, you kissed him, your fingers tangling in his hair. You could taste yourself on his lips, feel his heart beating when you let your other hand rest against his chest. You were more than ready to let this man wreck you. “I’m ready.”

He dropped his head to your shoulder as he positioned himself and pushed his hips forward, groaning as he entered you. The stretch was just on the edge of painful, and you tried to stifle your cry as you tucked your face into the space between his neck and shoulder, your nails digging into the skin of his back as you arched up off the mattress.

“Fuck…”He breathed, pulling out and pushing back in further. “You’re so tight.”

Uncurling to lay back against the pillows, your hands moved to wrap around his biceps, his arms caging you in on either side as he moved in and out of you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. You weren’t sure you’d ever been with someone as big as he was, and as the burning sensation of the stretch slowly turned to pleasure, you felt like you’d been missing out.

He finally paused when he was fully seated inside you, his lips pressing against the skin of your shoulder, and then up your neck and jaw until he was able to look into your eyes. You briefly thought about how bizarre the entire situation was, how you’d been pining after this guy you were too afraid to speak to, and now he was balls deep inside you in a lavish hotel room where he was paying to fuck you. At least he had confessed he was actually interested in you outside of all of this, so maybe that meant you had a shot at something with him. You didn’t really want to think about the money portion of it all because that was too much to unpack at that very moment, deciding instead to focus on how he was looking at you reverently, and he was not moving. “Shinsou, you gotta move, please. I’m-”

Lips curling up into a smirk, he kissed you. “I’ve got you, kitten, don’t worry.” His arm moved from your side, his hand curling around your thigh and lifted your leg slightly, and then he was pulling back and slamming his hips forward.

Your hips rose off the bed to meet him, pleasure coursing through you as he started a brutal pace, each thrust making your toes curl and your eyes roll back. You managed to wrap your legs around his waist, urging him closer as he leaned over and grabbed the ornate headboard of the bed above you, using it for leverage as he rammed his cock into you over and over again.

“God, fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to-” He broke off, grunting when you clenched around him. “You’re so wet for me, kitten. I could fuck you like this all night. Would you like that?”

At that moment, it sounded like the single greatest idea you’d ever heard. “Shinsou, don’t stop!”

Growling, he picked up the pace, letting go of the headboard to grab your legs, folding them between your bodies. The angle let him slide in deeper, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. You felt so full, the scent of his cologne surrounding you, the sound of his low moans and panting breaths echoing through the room. You keened, your fingers white-knuckling the sheets beside you, concentrating on the building pressure in your lower belly.

Every muscle in your legs was screaming, pleading gibberish spilling from your lips as you begged him to keep going, climbing higher and higher as he fucked you into the mattress. He sat back on his knees, positioning your legs over his shoulders and leaning forward again, kissing you to quiet your babbling. You couldn’t get enough of the taste, your fingers weaving through his drooping hair, delirious and consumed by him at that moment. He trailed his lips down to your chest, mouth closing around your nipple and sucking hard, scraping it with his teeth and soothing with his tongue. You barely registered his hand moving, his deft fingers finding your clit in between your sweat-slicked bodies, rubbing harsh circles over it. “Come on, kitten. I want to feel you come apart around me.”

Warm breath over your sensitive chest had you mewling, your back arching, your body pulled taught and finally snapping, cries of his name repeated like a prayer as you fell over the edge, drowning in ecstasy.

The moan that left him was just short of animalistic as he moved back, hips slamming against yours again and again as he chased his high, your pussy fluttering around him, gripping him and sucking him back in every time he drew back. “So fucking good for me, kitten.”

His rhythm became uneven, his grip on you loosening, hips slowing as he came. You watched the way his brow creased, his abs tightening as he unloaded into the condom. You found yourself half wishing he was cumming inside you, so fucked out that rational thought was off the table. He ground against you one last time until he was slumping forward, your legs falling off his shoulders and to the side.

You hummed, petting his hair back from his forehead. You felt him smile against your skin, his nose brushing your cheek as he tried to catch his breath.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” You cleared your throat, your voice raw. “I’m good. Really good.”

Chuckling, he kissed your cheek, huffing as he lifted himself off of you. He pulled off the condom and tied it before shuffling off the bed and pulling on his boxers, wandering off in the direction of what you assumed was the bathroom.

You took that moment to assess how weak your legs felt, cursing your choice of footwear, and wondering how you were going to walk. Shinsou appeared again a moment later, a wet washcloth in his hand. You let him clean you up, blushing but appreciating his kindness.

When he was satisfied, you took a deep breath and sat up, moving slowly as you stood up on shaky legs, gathering your clothes and redressing yourself. You suddenly felt awkward, not sure what to say or do. Did he want to see you again?

“Do you have work tomorrow?” He asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Blinking up at him, you shook your head. “I’m off on the weekends. I’ll be in on Monday morning.”

Scratching the back of his neck nervously, he nodded. “I...good. Okay. I’ll see you then, right?”

“Unless you’re going to go somewhere else for your coffee, then yes, you’ll see me.” You frowned. “Did you not want to-”

“No! Oh god, I’m making a mess of things, aren’t I? I just mean I was worried you wouldn’t want me to come-” He groaned. “I feel like I’m making this more awkward than it needs to be.”

“You said it, not me.” You teased. “I’ll see you Monday, and we can talk then, okay?”

“I’d ask for your number, but neither of us has our phone.” He stepped forward, tipping your chin so you could gaze up at him. His lips pressing against yours sent a shiver down your spine again. “I’ll see you Monday.”

You barely remembered leaving the room or following the guard down to where your things were locked up, or the amount of the check you received before you left.

All that was on your mind were sleepy amethyst eyes and lips curled into a knowing smirk, soft smiles, and urgent kisses, the way his voice sounded when he called you kitten.

#shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi smut #shinso hitoshi x reader #shinso hitoshi smut #hitoshi shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso #hitoshi shinsou smut #hitoshi shinso smut #bnharem collab #kingexpl0sionmurder writes

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help.

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio.

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

#keeping vigil #wr eddie #wr chatzy #wr eddie chatzy

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tonystarkbingo · 3 years

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3 Prompt Summaries

Amnesia, Gay Panic, Aliens - suggested by @polizwrites

@magicadraconia - He'd woken up in a strange place, on what they told him was a spaceship, surrounded by the weirdest looking... things he'd ever seen (and he'd seen some doozies, although he didn't know how he knew that...). He was straight, definitely straight, he knew that (a flash of red hair...) so why were his eyes constantly returning back to the one human-looking guy - the very sexy human-looking guy...?

@polizwrites - Tony had no idea why was wearing a what seemed to be a high tech suit of armor splattered with some disgusting purple goo that appeared to be coming from the figures lying at his feet. Not just his feet — there was a handsome blond hunk of a man in a red, white and blue onesie standing next to him, holding an oversized patriotic frisbee spattered with the goo as well. Said man was giving Tony a look impossible to interpret — like he was in love. But wait - Tony didn’t think he was gay, was he?

@27dragons - The aliens were, for a change, friendly. And the food they'd offered had been tested and found non-toxic for the human delegation. Unfortunately, it also seemed to cause a rather shocking case of amnesia. Now Bucky's been mentally regressed to the age of about twenty-four, long before the Winter Soldier, Hydra, or even the war -- and he's deep into the throes of panic over his re-realization that he's gay. Even more unfortunately, Tony -- with his carefully-concealed crush of several months -- is the only one around to try to talk him out of it.

@somesortofitalianroast - Bucky didn’t mind the amnesia he had from the car accident, since 96% of it involved the car crash and the ensuing hospital stay, and he wasn’t particularly interested in reliving either of those things. What he did mind was the gorgeous man who insisted that they were betrothed and he was to be king consort of Asgard. There were several things wrong with that, and aliens were rather low on that list. After everything else, aliens weren’t worth panicking over. And betrothal was simply another word for ‘engaged,” right? So perhaps he could get the marriage called off. But the thing was… Bucky was straight. He was sure of that… Except…. Thor was gorgeous. And handsome. And rich. And a really good kisser.

@lbibliophile-mcu - He's not quite sure who he is (what sort of a name is 'Bucky'?). And he's not sure where he is (although something tells him that he's a lot further from home than he'd otherwise think). But when the person (creature? being?) called Tony 'smiles' at him, he knows one thing: He is gay. Very gay. ...what's 'Gay'? (He can't wait to find out)

@huntress79 - Steve's first few weeks after the ice are a mumble-jumble of too many new faces and names, too many new things to see - simply too much of everything. And while he knew that it was, technically not really possible, he developed some kind of amnesia. The good side: he kind of forgot all the pain of losing all ties to what was his life just yesterday. The bad side: there were two absolutely gorgeous men (and hey, he wasn't really into men at all, no sir!) visiting him almost daily, and both had to introduce themselves every day again. Thor had something alien, exotic on him, something that Steve really wanted to draw at some point. And somehow, Tony reminded him of someone he had met before? But who? If only Steve could remember...

@darthbloodorange - ULTS - Captain America takes a hard hit during battle, losing all his memories. One look at Stark and Thor, and the man was suddenly sure he was gay. SHIELD panic, doing their best to keep this from the world. Captain America couldn't be gay, the world would be up in arms, not to mention the Brass and the White House. Things escalate when Thor and Stark Both decide they want Captain America as their "Beau", their arguments falling short of starting a small war. And the solution to SHIELD's problem? Aliens. Fury rubs his temples, willing away his pounding headache. (Steve regains his memories and remains very gay. And comes out to the world. Tony and Thor decide to share Steve. Happy endings and every afters)

More under the cut!

Mammoth, Baxter Building, Hairball - suggested by @magicadraconia

@somesortofitalianroast - Tony wasn’t sure why Reed Richards was calling him to the Baxter Building. But the mammoth standing in what could not possibly be a giant hairball was certainly a new one.

@polizwrites - Tony shouldn’t have been surprised that Richards was messing about in the time-space continuum again; but he didn’t expect his boyfriend to come back from the Baxter Building with a wooly mammoth (who, of course, he’d named ‘Hairball’) in tow.

@huntress79 - If Reed Richards sends out a distress call to the Avengers, it has to be something big. Like, galaxy-destroying-big. At least, that's what Tony and Steve are thinking of while they are heading to the Baxter Building. But once there, they both get a bit suspicious when they see Johnny and Susan standing outside with most of the employees, Johnny wearing a shit-eating grin while Susan is torn between joining her brother and making use of her own superpower and vanish. Nonetheless, they both went inside - only to be greeted by what looked a lot like a prehistorical mammoth, only three or four time its usual size, shedding its hair, and both Reed and Ben trying to contain the equally giant hairball.

@psychiccatpanda - If Tony never had to clean up another Reed Richards related mess it would be too soon. The wooly mammoths Richards has accidentally brought to the city instead of sending himself and the biologists back was bad enough. Today took the taco. He had demonstrated a device to harmlessly get rid of fleas - pesticide free. Bucky, being a science nerd had offered to help over Tony’s protests. (Tony was not jealous, shut up Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy.) Now Alpine was nearly the size of the Baxter Building and sounded like he was going to cough up the world’s largest hairball.” All he had to do was get Alpine back to normal size without hurting him and not expose his ginormous crush on Bucky. Easy, right? (How was this his life again?)

@27dragons - The Baxter Building was already a huge monument to Reed's dick -- and that's coming from Tony, who knows phallic monuments, thankyouverymuch -- but he's really certain that the last time he saw it, the place wasn't quite so... mammoth. Nor was the Thing covered in fur, making him look like an enormous hairball. Why did they always call Tony instead of Strange for these messes?

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony glares down at the cat before him, thanking all the gods that the horrible sounds have finally stopped. A large wad of damp stringy something lies on the carpet between them "are you done.? that thing is massive. what were you even licking, a woolly mammoth? there's at least another whole cat's worth there. disgusting. next time Richards ropes me into cat-sitting you're staying in the Baxter Building and I'll just commute." The cat just purrs at him.

@darthbloodorange - The Avengers stare down the mammoth, completely unsure of what to do now. Sure, they have had run-ins with time-traveling villains and their brand of chaos, but never before have they been left with a creature from another time to take care of. How does one even take care of a mammoth? They quickly realize they know just who would be able to handle the creature. So they, as stealthily as one could, attempt to sneak the mammoth (named "Hairball") into the Fantastic Four's building.

soap, alarms, Dr. Doom - suggested by @psychiccatpanda

@huntress79 - Tony actually was looking forward to it - an evening just for Steve and him, relaxing in the new, big jacuzzi he had just installed the other day, testing a new bubble soap bath Steve had found on one of his shopping trips with Pepper. But he seemed to be cursed or something like that. Just as he and Steve were about to relocate to the jacuzzi room, the tower all but shook with the alarm to assemble. What on Earth was going on right now? Steve just gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispered something so dirty in his ear that even Tony had the decency to blush, and was out of their apartment. Two hours later, they all returned to the Tower, weary to the bone, but with another defeat delivered to Dr. Doom in their books.

@somesortofitalianroast - It wasn’t every day the Assemble alarm went off while Tony was in the shower, thank god. But when it did, Tony always had soap in his eyes trying to get out of the shower fast enough. Today, the alarm blaring and setting off his hangover, and soap in his eyes, Tony looked out the window and saw Doombots flooding from a whole in the sky. This was not his day.

@psychiccatpanda - Tony had yet to meet his new neighbor. He'd only heard what he hoped was the guy's TV - otherwise there was a lot more gunfire than he felt comfortable with. And the screaming... which he assumed was a cat, but had no way of proving. Tony was also slightly offended that the man seemed to keep similar hours to Tony's. Rhodey had laughed off his worries about the guy being a drug dealer or a serial killer. The fire alarm, though had everyone pouring out of their apartments and he was able to catch a glimpse of him - of them, rather. One wore green sweat pants and a hoodie so large he couldn't see the guy's face. Green Sweatpants was trying to keep a hold on a white cat that looked like it was trying to claw him to pieces. The other guy wore a black towel with a big red star in the middle, and his hair was full of shampoo. Oh, they're really cute.... Or - how Tony developed a crush on his neighbors who may or may not be serial killing drug dealers.

@darthbloodorange - Things went from bad to worse when a soap store was struck while Dr. Doom was attempting to take over the world... again. Soap, mixed with the rain from Thor's storm, flooded the streets. It was near impossible to get anywhere to do anything. The Avengers were struggling, barely able to keep themselves upright, let alone apprehend Dr. Doom. And Dr. Doom wasn't fairing any better. The world watches, amused, as their heroes slip and slide after Dr. Doom, the soap store's alarm blaring in the background (Fic Title: To slippery to nail)

parade, glitter, makeup - suggested by @phoenixmetaphor3000

@somesortofitalianroast - Not quite a year after officially coming out, Steve decided that he wanted to march in the parade. The Parade. The Pride Parade. In all the glitter that entailed. He didn’t expect to find an adorable makeup artist at one of the booths.

@polizwrites - It was one thing for Stark Industries to support Pride Month - something else entirely for Tony Stark to not only sponsor an Avenger-themed float, but to be the glittery centerpiece, wearing what looked to be nothing more than red and gold body paint and a barely-there g-string, his arc reactor cycling through the colors of the rainbow.

@huntress79 - Nobody really can recall whose idea it was to have an Avengers-themed float at the NYC Pride Parade, but here they were, all of them, dressed in Las Vegas-worthy versions of the costumes, over and over set with sequins and glitter. And if that wasn't enough, Pepper, Nat, Darcy and Maria Hill, more or less, "attacked" the guys, giving them a (slight) makeover. Sure, Tony was somewhat used to makeup, from his days as media darling, but he was in no way prepared for the effect it had on him when he first laid eyes on a Captain America with guyliner...

@darthbloodorange - There are many things to love about the 21st Century, the Pride Parade is one of Steve's favourites. Every year he sets up a small area and paints people's faces with glittery makeup. Seeing the joy and happiness on people's faces, free to live as who they are, to love who they love... that's what makes Steve happy. What makes him happier is having Sam by his side. (Sam/Steve)

@huntress79 - Sundays are, come hell or high water, reserved for family activities in the Stark-Rogers-Barnes household. FRIDAY is running interference on all channels, keeping everyone and their neighbour out (unless there's an emergency, and even then, there are new Avengers there to deal with it). Today, Morgan has requested them in her playroom, stating that her dolls and other toys were overdue for a large teaparty (two weeks are way too long for their princess!). It always amuses Tony to watch his men folding their rather large frames into the lotus seat on the floor, but they would do anything to make Morgan happy. Even letting her painting their nails and faces with glitter and makeup and whatnot, before parading over to the mirror in the hallway.

@psychiccatpanda - As a rule, Tony didn't "do" parades. He didn't emcee, he didn't ride in the convertibles waving, or any of that stuff. But this time, it was Clint asking. Natasha usually went with him, but she was out on assignment and might not be back. Steve and some of the others had promised to stop by, but right now, nobody but Clint would be at his booth for the whole time. "I'd love to!" Tony had said, trying not to feel depressed that he was the absolute last person Clint had asked. How hard could face-painting be? All Tony had to do was dust with glitter while Clint did all the work painting the designs and stuff. Wherein Tony discovers a talent he didn't know he had and Clint figures out that Natasha was right again.

Post it Notes, Werewolf, Fluff - suggested by @darthbloodorange

@darthbloodorange - It was too bad that there wasn't a hallmark card for "Sorry, we kinda turned your boyfriend into a werewolf". Tony was due to return in less than two hours, and Clint couldn't find a reasonable excuse or answer. What he did fine, however, was a huge box of post-it notes... (Clint tries to hide Werewolf Steve in post-it notes. Tony is later followed around the Tower by a fluffy monster covered in post-it notes... only to find out it's Steve.)

@somesortofitalianroast - Steve knew there was a problem with the house. For starters, it was available during the high tourist season. For another, it was cheap, which meant he could afford to extend his stay and maybe get more writing done. The first night he heard wolves in the forest, and soon he started seeing post-it notes that he hadn’t written floating around the house. Not the threatening kind, no, the weird kind. If he didn’t know that werewolves did not exist… no, there was no way that there was a friendly neighborhood werewolf who wanted to make sure Steve stayed warm and fed. And certainly there wasn’t a friendly neighborhood werewolf who wanted the intruder in his house to call him “Bucky”...

@huntress79 - Whenever Tony needed a break from being CEO, he headed out to the cabin his father had bought decades ago. It was smack in the middle of a forest, and JARVIS was set to let no one in, unless Tony said so. This time, though, something was off. Tony couldn't pinpoint it, but apparently, they had a predator in the forest, if the large scratch marks on trees around the cabin were anything to count for. That night, he even heard the howls of a wolf, but far enough away to not worry about it. When we woke up next morning, he realized he wasn't alone in his bed! Moving slowly, he saw the most gorgeous man lying next to him, apparently asleep. How on Earth did he get in without JARVIS reacting? Right that moment, the man whispered something that Tony couldn't catch, and so, he grabbed the pen and post-it-notes he always had on his bedside table and handed it to the stranger, who started to write immediately. "Sorry for breaking in, but there's a hunter on the other side of the forest, and I don't want to end up as his trophy," could be read on the first few post-its. "Hunters don't kill humans," Tony replied, but the man just held up a finger before turning the next post-it over. "I'm a werewolf, sugar." (Or how Tony protects werewolf Bucky from bad hunters and falls in love with him while doing so XD)

@jacarandabanyan - Tony, a vampire, has officially seceded and left his coven (or just ran away, depending on who you ask). Unfortunately, no other coven will take him- not with his father and uncle making it clear that there will be repercussions for any coven who does. And so he must resort to the unthinkable- shacking up with werewolves. At first, they have a simple arrangement: Tony stays in his room during the day, the two wolves he’s living with, Steve and Bucky, stay in their room at night. They communicate with each other via post-it, when absolutely necessary. But over time, the definition of ‘absolutely necessary’ starts to loosen...

@psychiccatpanda - "It'll be fine, Tony." Those had been Pepper's exact words. Now, they'd come home to find Morgan riding a shifted werewolf (probably Steve, but it could be Barnes - they were hard to tell apart in their wolf forms) around the living room of the penthouse like a pony. Hundreds of purple and lavender post-its were stuck to everything. Don't eat last Pop-tart. Leggo my Eggo. and Do NOT let Morgan make real tea. The dishes melt in the microwave. were just the first few that Tony saw. "What's going on here?" The Avengers (some of them were's some of them are not) are the best and worst babysitters.

@rebelmeg - rhodey knew his roommate was a drama queen, that was well-known by anyone who knew tony. he just hadn't expected it to be so bad during this full moon that his girlfriend had stuck a post-it note to the door, warning, "beware, super cranky moon baby beyond this point"

#tonystarkbingoflash2021 #tsbflash2021 #tsb discord party #party game #3 prompt summaries game

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honeybammie · 5 years

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momma › jackson wang

↳ babysitting jackson wang’s daughter was not the first option on your list of summer jobs, but it pays well, and how can you complain when you get to see his face every day? ↳ singledad!jackson, fluff ↳ wc: 3,733

Babysitting was not first on my list of potential summer jobs, but “struggling artist” wasn’t paying rent, and my parents were growing tired of my increasing demands, so I had to look elsewhere. Between my list of potential options, including part-time waitress or grocer, Jackson Wang paid the most. I could take care of his two year old throughout the week, he could go to work with peace of mind, and in the evenings I could continue commissioning off my paintings for less than they were worth. Everybody won.

My first obstacle was the tedious interview process. At first, he called over phone to ask the more basic information of his potential applicants. Name, age, previous experience. I would’ve bet I was the oldest of everyone, and with three younger siblings, I hoped for a slight advantage, but I knew nothing of anyone else vying for the job, so I relied on my crossed fingers for luck.

The second step of the process included meeting Jackson in person. A renewed sense of hope flooded my veins when he gave me the follow-up call and explained that he’d like to meet me, but the pressure of knowing he was to meet with four other girls did nothing to salve my nerves. Neither did the caffeine in the coffee I ordered when we met. For many of his questions, I had to gather myself. Why did I want the position? What was I studying in school? I blushed peach when I had to answer that I was an art major. No one ever took that one seriously, but Jackson nodded anyway, and after forty-five minutes—had it really been that long?—he thanked me for my time with a smile.

The third and final step, which came down to me and an eighteen-year-old high school senior, was meeting his daughter, Meilin, the true judge. I met the two of them in a park near his home, Jackson still in his work clothes and Meilin dressed head-to-toe in pink floral. Apparently she picked the outfit herself. The shoes I wore had a flower print, too, one I designed, and this fact pleased her so much I got the job without saying much else. I felt almost guilty. The other candidate may have had every qualification for taking care of a toddler, but two-year-olds cared not for credentials. Evidently, they cared very much for cool shoes. Some things are learned young.

My second obstacle was trying not to fall in love with Jackson.

An obstacle much more difficult than my first, despite how little I saw him after the interview process. Every morning I showed up at 7:30, and upon my arrival he handed me a twenty dollar bill for lunch (which I never spent in its entirety and tried to return at the end of the day, but he always declined), told me any play dates or birthday parties I had to attend, and grabbed his briefcase before heading out the door. When he returned at 4:30, he handed me my daily pay, thanked me, and I returned to my apartment. Our paths barely overlapped.

Still, I dwelled on our meet-up for coffee a number of times. Had he spent so long with the other girls? Maybe he related more to me since I was the oldest, but surely we had little in common other than both being in our twenties. He was a successful single dad, and I had neither success nor children, just an in-progress art degree and an atelier that was just a closet I cleared out for my paintings. Stains covered my carpet even after the immense effort of cleaning, whereas every surface of Jackson’s house was glossy and unmarred. Even if I wanted to have a conversation with him again, I had no idea where to begin.

Until a month into the job, when upon Meilin was playing dress up for the umpteenth time and Jackson called.

“Hello?” I answered, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder so that I could continue to applaud Meilin as she twirled in circles and fell back into her chair.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he sighed, breath heavy like he was in pursuit of something. “Can I ask you a favor? I’m caught up at work and need you to watch Meilin for a few more hours. I’ll give you some extra money for dinner and pay you overtime hours.”

“Daddy!” Meilin exclaimed upon hearing his voice, climbing up onto my lap and making grabby hands at my phone

“Hello, honey,” he hummed, like the sound of her voice renewed him after hours of office work.

“Don’t worry about the dinner money. I didn’t spend any for lunch earlier. What time do you think you’ll be back?”

“I’ll try to be back by 7:30. Thank you for this. How’s Meilin?”

“Daddy!” she repeated in a similar squeal as earlier, hardly fazed by her father’s news.

“I think she’s holding up. She was in the middle of her debut fashion show, so you ought to be glad she’s not a diva and made time between changes to talk to you,” I tsked, earning a laugh from him, the sound curling around my heart and constricting.

“Tell her I appreciate it very much,” he said, “and thank you. Again. Seriously.”

“It’s no problem. Seriously,” I mocked him, and he hung up in haste. At the loss of her father’s voice, Meilin grabbed the phone out of my hand, looking between me and the device, perplexed.

“Where daddy?” she wondered, turning the phone upside down and flipping it over and over. “Daddy home?”

“Not yet. Daddy’s working late, so you get to spend more time with me!” I threw my hands in the air, and she copied the action with a grin on her face, arms high above her head in the most excited display the world had ever seen.

“Momma!” she giggled.

I lowered my arms with the sudden shock of my title. Usually she called me my name, or various incoherent versions of it, but “momma” was new, and definitely not close to my real name. “Oh, goodness. Uh...no, not momma,” I stuttered.

“Momma! Dress up!” she pulled her princess dress over her head, throwing it down and running into her closet for what I could only imagine would be another dress.

Her newfound favorite manner of addressing me continued through the rest of the evening. Even when I took her to a nearby restaurant and cut up her chicken nuggets with a fork, feeding her one tiny piece at a time, she persisted.

“Yum Yum. Here, momma,” she’d say, picking up a piece and shoving it towards my face. A couple passersby even complimented me on how cute my daughter was, only setting her off more.

I realized I had no idea what happened to Meilin’s mother. Had Jackson been married, or was Meilin perhaps the result of a brief fling? Had her mother died? Abandoned them? I hadn’t considered the possibilities before, but they weighed on my anxious mind as the next few hours passed.

She ran into Jackson’s arms when he returned, oblivious to how late he had gotten off work. “Good evening, hon. What’d you guys do today?”

“Play dress up! With momma!” She clapped her hands, at which Jackson’s eyes widened and landed on me.

“I tried to tell her I’m not momma, but she kept calling me momma and I didn’t know what to do, and then people at the restaurant kept saying I had a cute daughter, and...I’m sorry,” I blurted out all in one breath, afraid the subject might strike a chord.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. No harm done,” he chuckled, setting his daughter down. She scuttled along into the living room to play with some toys while he pulled out a wad of money, counting out double what he usually paid me in a day even though I had only done three hours overtime. “I really appreciate you taking care of her, you know? She goes on about you all the time, most of which I can’t understand, but what I do understand is good. She still loves your shoes.”

I wore the same pair every day, and now I looked down at them with redness flooding my face. “It’s nothing, really. She’s great. She makes me laugh more than most people my age.”

Jackson slipped the cash into my hand, smiling gently at me. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Do you mind me asking something else?” I added, almost against my own will, but the question had been beating me down all day, and I had to know.

“Go ahead,” he prompted, sliding the jacket of his three-piece suit over his broad shoulders and folding it over one arm.

“Where is her mother?”

“Oh. She doesn’t have one,” he said with a little shrug. Just like that. So nonchalant. I glanced around me for the presence of, perhaps, hidden cameras. Was he messing with me?

“She...left?” I asked in a low whisper, desperately trying not to offend him.

He shook his head at me in amusement, pulling out a stool from the kitchen island and taking a seat. “Meilin has a mother, biologically, but she was a surrogate. I...really wanted to have a baby, so I found someone and after some legal work and nine months of waiting, Meilin was born. I guess a lot of the children’s books we read mention mommies and daddies, and she knew who daddy was, so you must’ve been the closest resemblance to mommy to her.”

“Huh,” I said. Of all answers, I didn’t expect that one, but it was one of the better ones. “I’m glad, then. I was worried her mom passed away or that there was a divorce.”

“No, nothing like that,” he said, “but you’re sweet for being worried.”

I was blushing scarlet now, no longer able to hide it. He was only a few years older than me, but him having his life so put together made me feel like putty in front of him, and the “sweet” rolling off his tongue made me feel like I was stuck in sugary goo.

“I guess I should get going, then,” I said. “See you on Monday, Mr. Wang.”

“Jackson,” he corrected me. “I’m not that much older than you.”

“Most people don’t call their employer by their first name,” I pointed out. Being on a first-name basis with him was too informal, too intimate. “And we’re not friends or anything. Not to be rude, but—”

“No, I understand,” he nodded, eyes travelling to his daughter. This was usually her bedtime, and she wasn’t playing with her toys with the same energy as earlier. “Give me a moment to put her in bed, would you? I’d like to talk for a few more minutes.”

“Uh, sure.” I wasn’t sure if he was going to fire me or somehow promote me or what, but I sat at the kitchen island as he carried Meilin to her room, her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“Night, momma.” She waved, and after spending the day denying it, I conceded and waved back, blush still covering my cheeks. I hoped it didn’t secretly bother Jackson.

He was gone maybe five minutes, and the house doesn’t make a sound. I was used to the constant thudding of feet, of pint-sized chaos roaming the halls, but the space was at a standstill and I had to busy myself by picking up the stray toys left on the living room floor.

“Oh, please—no, no, don’t worry,” Jackson said when he found me cleaning up, touching a hand to my elbow so that I stood. There was a doll in my hands but he took it and tossed it into the nearby basket of toys he kept in the living room. “You’ve done enough today.”

“Sorry. Force of habit, I guess.” I folded my hands together to steady myself. Being alone with him was as nerve-wracking now as it was during the interview process. “What did you want to talk about?”

He nodded towards the kitchen, where I returned to my previous seat. I shook my head no when he offered a glass of wine. I’d have to drive home soon, but he proceeded to pour himself a glass and sat down. He always struck me as more of a rum guy—not that I had spent my time thinking about what he liked to drink. Well, not too much time.

“I don’t know that this arrangement is going to work much longer,” Jackson said, reaching across the table to cover one of my hands with his. My skin froze at the proposition.

“Mr. Wang—Jackson, please,” I sputtered in a half-thought out attempt to save my job. Not seeing Meilin or him again? Asking my parents for more money? The thought made my heart lurch. “I adore your daughter, and I need this job because I don’t make near enough from painting to sustain myself. If you’re mad that she’s calling me her mother, I’m sorry, and I’ll try to take care of it, but I can’t lose this position.”

He took a sip from his glass, swirling a finger around the rim. “Earlier, you said we weren’t friends, and it made me think of how I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Ouch.”

He smirked a little, tired from a long day of work but still thinking me amusing nonetheless. “Let me finish. I don’t want to be friends with you, but that’s not because I’m your boss. Hell, I don’t want to be your boss, either. I want to take you out sometime—to an art museum or a play downtown or for another cup of coffee with a different context. Even with what little I see of you, I think about you all the time, and I just…”

Jackson’s voice faded out, words lost to him. I’d never been very good at words, either, hence why I pursued artistry instead of English, but I turned my hand over and slipped his fingers through mine. It felt like a good place to start, despite how much my hands were shaking. “I don’t...really want to be your friend either. Or your employee. Ever since we first met for coffee, I’ve had the stupidest middle school crush.”

“As long as we’re coming clean, I knew after our first meeting that I wanted you to be the one to watch Meilin. I had only met with the other girls for fifteen minutes, maybe, but we talked for how long? An hour? When she ended up choosing you, I was happier than it made sense to be.”

“What if she hadn’t?” I implored, hoping he would indulge me.

He rubbed the back of his neck, contemplative and maybe a little nervous, too, a side of him I decided that I liked. “I...might’ve asked you out sooner, actually, or I might’ve talked myself out of the idea, thinking you’d say no. I guess we don’t have to find out.”

“And I’m glad it was me. Meilin is the highlight of my summer.” I smiled at the thought of her round cheeks and moony eyes staring up at me but remembered a moment later that I do need the job. “Listen Mr. — Jackson.”

“Mr. Jackson,” he interrupted, chuckling.

“Shut up,” I scoffed. “This is serious. I need money somehow, and if I’m not watching Meilin, I’m out of luck.”

“Then let me help you with some of your art. I’ll buy a few pieces off of you for however much you need or want for them—just enough to give you a jumpstart and afford rent while you look for another job,” he suggested.

“I want to date you, not for you to be my sugar daddy.”

“I’m not—” he started, but he must’ve seen where I was coming from because he stops short. A pinkish blush started to show on his cheeks. Finally, I wasn’t the only one.

I didn’t want to date him as long as I was making money from him. My parents taught me not to mix work and personal life, and hooking up with my boss sounded too scandalous for my taste.

“Give me time to find another job. It’ll take a few weeks, maybe, but then I’ll quit and we can go on a date. Until then, we should keep things professional.” I realized my hand was still in his, and I slipped my fingers away and held them in my lap.

He was silent for a while, and from the way his eyes flitted all over me, he didn’t seem to want to wait. He’d probably take me out right then if he could, and if he asked, I wasn’t sure I had the willpower to tell him no, despite the front I tried to keep from crumbling. “Can I give a suggestion, then?”

“What is it?”

“Wait here,” he said, running upstairs where I knew he had another bedroom and an office, along with other rooms I had yet to step foot in.

He returned soon after, pressing three business cards into my palm. I filed through, brows furrowed, to see that they were art exhibit coordinators, critics, buyers. Alternatively, all the people I needed to impress.

“Where did you get these?”

“I’ve been to a few showcases in my day. I’m not entirely ignorant to the world of art, and I never turn down a business card. You never know when you might need someone you thought you wouldn’t.”

My mouth hung open, entirely ungraceful and no doubt making me look like a fool in front of him. Then, I shook my head. “It still seems like too much of you to—”

“I’m only giving you their cards. You don’t even have to tell them you know me, just that you’re looking for work. If they hate your paintings, they won’t hire you, and if they love them, that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with your talent.”

I tried to refute him. It still didn’t seem fair, but he had a point, and maybe it was selfish of me but I wanted a date with him soon, and I wanted the validation of someone in the community telling me that I had what it took to make a living from my art. Was that too much to ask?

“Im Jaebum selects artists to showcase at the art gallery each month. He has a soft spot for young artists just trying to find a way in, and if he really likes you, he’ll showcase you more than once. BamBam runs a section of a popular magazine— focused on art, obviously, and he kind of does what Jaebum does: spotlights an artist or two each edition, gets their name published. You never know who might see your name and reach out. Park Jinyoung is the hardest of them to please, but he’s more constructive than harsh, and you’re in great shape if he likes you. He’s a buyer, too, and pays more than I ever could. He’ll tell his friends about you, too, if you want to commission work.”

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say,” I stuttered, the cards heavy in my hands with the prospect of chances they might hold, doors they might open. “Thank you, Jackson. Really, I—”

“You can thank me once you book your first showcase. I’d love to be your plus one.”

“Oh? And who said you would be my plus one?” I teased, but it was taking every ounce of my composure not to throw my arms around him and kiss him silly.

“Call it my wishful thinking,” he said. “And until then, you can keep taking care of Meilin, and our relationship can remain strictly professional.”

Right. I had suggested that. So much for kissing him silly. “Yeah. Yes, of course.” I nodded. I’d be sad not to see Meilin every day, but if all went well, I’d continue to see her often.

Jackson looked into the bottom of his wine glass, almost empty, and after a couple beats of silence said, “I’ve probably kept you long enough tonight. I’m sure you’d like to get home.”

You can keep me as long as you want, I thought, snapping back when I caught his eyes on mine. “I’m...yeah. I should be on my way.” We both stood, his movements a mirror of mine. He walked me to the door a few times before, usually while counting my payment, but he had already given me my cash.

“Thank you again for staying late to watch her,” he said while I slipped my shoes on, grabbing my belongings.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously, I’d do it any day.” I waved a dismissive hand at him.

He opened the door. I grabbed my keys. Both of us lingered in the threshold, like he was waiting for me to say something, or like I was waiting for him to. The porch lights set his face aglow, warm evening honey.

“Goodnight, then,” he said slowly, like such basic words were a struggle for him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, goodnight.” I took one step, reconsidered, and looked back at him. “Jackson?”

“Yes?” He hadn’t moved, but his eyes widened with some combination of hope and curiosity.

“I’m having this problem where I really want to kiss my boss, but we agreed to keep things strictly professional for the time being, and I was wondering what you think I should do.”

“Hm,” he considered, and I prayed he wouldn’t tell me just to go home. I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye again. “Do you think he wants to kiss you too?”

My breath hitched. “I hope so.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the smallest ripple I barely noticed. He was enjoying himself so, so much. “Only one way to find out.”

I hesitated, momentarily afraid of stepping into a trap, but without any semblance of patience, he was reaching for my waist. My fingers found the pulse of his neck and his lips found mine in the lamplit dark. My second obstacle had been trying not to fall in love with Jackson, and I was failing miserably.

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spookyspaghettisundae · 5 years

Text

Saving Face

He awoke in the middle of the night. But not in a gentle way. Not feeling rested. No. His eyes fluttered open. Panic made his heart race. He struggled to understand how much time had passed, how he had gotten here, where he even was. He had not slept for long and something was deeply wrong.

Clarity crashed into his mind: Father Simpson had slept in a guest room of the town’s overseer, Gregory Galway. The memories of visiting Hallowglen to investigate a series of disturbed graves now flooded his mind.

The air—a wintry, deathly cold—clawed into his exposed skin as he jolted up into a sitting position upon the soft bed. He stared into the darkness of this room and it stared back at him. A presence stood in here with him, causing the hairs to stand up on the back of his neck. Two tiny eyes glowed like the eyes of a cat. Judging by the height, they belonged to a child.

But his host had no children.

He scrambled, pushing up against the wall behind him, slipping and sliding on the sheets and blankets and failing to stand up straight on his bed. The priest’s hand pawed at the bedside table to find his host’s gaslight lantern and he knocked it over, catching it at the last second before it could fall to the floor.

When he switched it on and illuminated the room with it, the sphere of light it cast shook so violently that the shadows danced. The glow from the eyes of the creature in there with him vanished, but a raggedy, hairy figure shied away from the light, hiding behind a dresser and peering back at him through a single one of those cat-like eyes.

A grotesque hand of size disproportionate to the child-like figure clutched the side of the dresser. Its fingers ended in filthy black talons. They scratched over the wood, leaving deep marks. A single eye, catching a dull reflection from the light, stared at the priest.

The lantern in Simpson’s hand trembled and the light followed suit.

He breathed at it, “Who are you?”

No answer came from the creature, and he added, “What are you?”

The eye of the creature blinked—sideways—telling Simpson beyond doubt that this was no human being. The child-sized figure shook like a dog shaking off water, and the matted black fur upon its body rippled.

It whispered but the words eluded the priest’s understanding. They sounded like no language he had ever even heard before. Guttural and crude. Ancient.

The creature then hunched over and emitted retching sounds. It hacked, choked, and coughed until something wet and sloppy hit the wooden floorboards in front of it. A wad of slime with chunks lay there, and worms or maggots writhed within the goo. The creature whispered more and rounded the corner of the dresser with a strange grace, standing in the light so the priest could see it in its full unholy glory.

Its arms were far too long for its tiny height, and its short stout legs bent back like those of a horse, though they ended in talons like those of a huge crow. Shaggy fur concealed all skin and whatever face the thing had, a mat of fur hid all features, revealing only a pair of cat-like eyes that stared at him without blinking any more.

Simpson grabbed his silver cross and held it out in front of him, alongside the lantern. The priest hissed at the thing, “In the name of the good God! Stay back!”

Instead of a reply, it just coughed more. Instead of the demonic speech he expected to hear in defiance of his own words, it raised an arm and pointed a filthy talon at him.

Whispers came from its mouth—a small maw lined with tiny sharp teeth—and the incomprehensible words curdled Simpson’s blood. He could not understand a word, but the speech cut all the way down to his bone. His skin writhed and the quivering gob of slime with the maggots on the floor made his stomach churn. The vermin stopped squirming erratically and exploded in size, growing to the size of human fingers before crawling over the floor towards his bed with unnatural speed.

The priest wanted to scream as they slithered up onto the sheets and closed in on him, but his terror squeezed it out, allowing only a hoarse croaking noise to escape his throat. Before he knew it, he frantically swiped and scratched at his own sleeves and skin, desperately trying to get these slimy writhing wriggling things off of him as they slithered all over him, but they eluded his grasp and clung to him like tar.

One entered his mouth and he instinctively bit down on it, causing it to explode into a mass of warm fluid, but the end that he bit off slid down his tongue and continued to writhe, making him choke as it lodged itself inside his throat.

Another slid around his ear and would not come off, no matter how hard he pulled at it or squeezed, nor could he truly catch hold of it because it slipped away between his fingers and wriggled its way right into his ear, sliding so far in that his fingers were too big to grasp at it anymore.

The priest rolled around on the bed in a panic. The light danced, sheets tumbled off the bed as he kicked wildly without target. The world spun around him and he needed to vomit, but his body refused him even that. With the lantern still in one hand, his other waited by his mouth, trembling with dread.

He pictured having to claw these things out of him, imagining how he would bleed all over the place in doing so. And then the writhing and wriggling stopped.

As if the worms were gone. The foul taste of the worm’s fluids on his tongue remained, reminding him that this was real. All too real.

Simpson stared at the creature in his room through eyes wide with terror, and it stared back at him with an eerie, otherworldly calm. The priest broke out into a cold sweat and every limb felt both hot and cold at the same time.

“I am Prince Fainlahset,” said the nightly visitor in a tiny whisper. It sounded like a child yet devoid of any innocence. A melody that carried eons of knowledge but without a trace of surviving compassion. Its accent was strange, like it did not belong in this world nor had it spoken any tongue belonging to man. “This is my land. Your kind violated the covenant, so I will take back what I saved with my princely grace, long ago.”

The priest’s mind reeled. He held out the cross and his hand trembled with the panic that rode him. The sheer terror drowned out the power of his faith and he sensed it held no sway over this creature. This thing was no demon, nothing undead.

It sighed a raspy sound.

Simpson’s lips moved to respond, and he could tell the disconnect between what his lips and tongue tried to form, and what he heard. He spoke in a foreign tongue, the abhorrent sounds he had heard from the creature before without comprehending him, but now he understood every word.

“What covenant? I don’t understand what you’re saying,” the priest said. His chest heaved, his stomach wanted to expel its contents and his head swam. Tears welled up in his eyes.

“This is not your land, but we tolerated you. And when your Gwallag Galway needed our help, we entered the covenant. No foes to defeat or dishonor you, ever. One child, every thirteen years. A simple trade,” said the creature. Its talons clicked and scratched over the floorboards as it took a step towards the priest.

“By the power of the good God, I compel you to—stay back,” Simpson said. But his voice trembled, his spirit faltered. His faith waned in the face of this unnatural presence.

“Your trinket means nothing to me. It will not make up for what I am owed and I do not want it,” said the creature. It stared into his eyes—into his very soul—without mercy.

The temperature in the room dropped below freezing and the silvered cross in Simpson’s hand turned icy cold, colder than winter’s heart itself. The light of his lamp flickered. The cross cracked and exploded into a cloud of dust that made the priest cough, hacking as his throat tried to expel the thing lodged in it—he felt the worm wriggle, as if resisting his body’s urge to eject it.

“All the face I saved your kind,” the creature said, taking another step closer. “All these years, I returned and took what I was owed. But now you refuse me? Thrice?”

“I don’t understand!”

As it stepped closer yet, a faint scent hit Simpson’s nose. Like the dirt and grass of meadow after rain, upturned by the claws of a beast with wet fur; all earthy and wet. Not foul-smelling, but strangely familiar and alien at the same time. A part of it reminded him of the cemetery from the day before, when he covered up the grave of Mariah Kabble.

It whispered to the priest in a fevered pitch, “I helped you save face. And now I take them back. I take all of them back. I take the faces of those who died, and now I take those of the living.”

Simpson shrieked until his scream choked out into a gurgle and ceased altogether.

Gregory Galway, torn from his slumber, hammered at the door to his guest chamber in which the priest had rested that night. When nobody opened the door, he burst into the room.

The lantern’s light still burned, but the lamp stood crooked upon a jumble of sheets. A wad of something slimy and disgusting stood out from a puddle on the floor. Simpson lay sprawled out, an arm and a leg drooped over the disheveled mattress and the others on the cold ground. Face down.

Knowing full well what expected him, he had to see it anyway. The town’s overseer pulled at the priest’s shoulder and turned him over.

Father Simpson’s face was missing. Not disfigured, nor eaten, nor was it torn off. Just gone—smooth skin with no orifices. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Nothing.

Galway screamed. A murder of crows took flight from the rooftop of his house, cawing and flapping their wings as they flew into the fringe of the forest nearby.

Prince Fainlahset would return.

—Submitted by Wratts

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northeasternwind · 5 years

Text

mutual presumed dead mourning 1/2

Oh wait posts with links don’t appear in the tags.

Oh well I guess I have to post it wholesale FIC WHERE AZ ACCIDENTALLY FREES HASTUR WHEN HE CALLS CROWLEY AND HASTUR MANAGES TO FOOL BOTH HIM AND CROWLEY INTO THINKING THE OTHER IS PERMANENTLY DEAD

~~~

Aziraphale does not manage to call Crowley before Shadwell interrupts him, and this changes everything. It takes a small miracle and a large wad of cash to send Shadwell off none the wiser, but Aziraphale manages it without stepping into the circle and discorporating himself. In the moment he considers this a success, though later he will wonder if he couldn’t have spared them all some unnecessary heartache if he had failed.

Aziraphale inches carefully around the circle, returns to the shop’s phone, and dials his best friend.

He has, for better or for worse, wasted too much time.

“Crowley!” he cries, once the line goes live. He can’t wait a second longer to begin his apology, which is a shame, because he might have thought better of his next words in that case. “Crowley, I know where the Antichrist is—”

“Do you?”

Aziraphale is shocked into silence. This is not Crowley’s voice, unless Crowley’s voice has become deeper and more menacing since they last spoke in front of the bookshop.

“Excuse me,” he says, slightly baffled. “To whom am I speaking?”

The answer is a sinister laugh. “So you’re the infamous Aziraphale,” the voice goes on, apparently ignoring him. Ah, must be a—

Oh dear. Must be a demon.

The forces of Hell have figured out it was my fault.

Aziraphale feels the beat of his body’s heart quicken, a cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. Crowley said he was running away— but he also said he was going home first. He might not have been home, and for now Aziraphale decides to cling to that, because the alternative is… dangerous.

“I do believe you are breaking and entering,” he says with some asperity, mind working furiously. Aziraphale has occasionally met with his superiors in his bookshop, but Crowley would never invite other demons into his flat, and so he is quite confident in this conclusion. But that still leaves Aziraphale with a demon in Crowley’s flat, and Crowley not there, and no explanation for either of those truths except what his imagination can provide.

“Well, we did ring the doorbell first.”

Aziraphale has nothing to say to that. That’s actually rather polite of them.

“I’d like a change of scenery, though,” the voice continues. “And I’d also like to meet Crowley’s little pigeon friend.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale says, out loud this time.

A maggot wiggles its way out of the receiver. He’d been expecting it, but Aziraphale still lets out a rather unangelic yelp and backs away, hastily inching back around the circle as an avalanche of writhing insects and larvae come pouring from the phone, building in a great mound that stretches its fingers out toward Aziraphale—

At least until it hits the circle, at which point some of the maggots squeal and sizzle away, and the mound collapses in on itself and grows until it is shaped like a man instead of a pile of fly children.

(Aziraphale will wonder, later, why Hastur transformed into maggots instead of, say, tadpoles. Perhaps he and Beelzebub switched.)

The newly formed demon takes a slow, deliberate look around, and Aziraphale quietly takes the opportunity to unlock the door behind him. Black eyes with a frog on his head— this must be Hastur, the demon that destroyed the records at Tadfield Manor, and the subject of many of Crowley’s multiple complaints about Hell and its inhabitants.

There was a demon in Crowley’s flat. Now there is a demon in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Hastur sneers. “You don’t look like much. Why does Crowley bother with you?”

Aziraphale’s chances of teasing information out of Hastur subtly before violence occurs are looking rather slim, so he goes for the direct approach instead. “Where is he? What were you doing in his flat?”

And here, further, is another moment when Aziraphale’s luck runs dry: Hastur is not a smart demon, by any means, nor a particularly creative one. He does, however, know the power of watching allies die: he has just experienced it himself, was reduced momentarily to a screaming fit after watching Ligur dissolve into a puddle of demonic goo.

He doesn’t know exactly what it means to be someone’s friend, but he does know that Crowley and Aziraphale are allies, at least, and that’s good enough for him.

“Dangerous game, keeping holy water so close,” Hastur says in a low voice, and watches with satisfaction as Aziraphale’s eyes widen and his shoulders drop— as though he were a puppet cut free from its strings. “Especially when you’re expecting company…”

A high noise fills Aziraphale’s ears. Crowley is smarter than that. He wanted it for precisely this reason— to use on other demons, not to have it stolen and used on him.

Crowley is smart. Crowley is clever. Crowley would never…

“Why should I believe you?” he demands, though his voice is rather higher-pitched than he prefers. “You’re a demon. Demons lie.”

“It doesn’t matter. Our lord will call his servants to him, and you will die here, unable to stop him.”

“I’ll do no such thi—”

Here is some useful information about demons:

There are ten million of them, give or take some thousands, but the vast majority of them cannot produce hellfire. Hellfire is a resource, one that must be created and stored, and then brought out when it is called for. As such, for the lesser demons hellfire is a precious resource that most ration and guard for emergencies, or for particularly sour grudges.

Hastur is a Duke of Hell. He does have the power to create hellfire, and while he cannot make much— well, it hardly matters when he is standing in a building of flammable material, and Aziraphale is wearing flammable, human-made clothing that has seen nearly two hundred years of wear.

Hastur’s hand shoots forward, and with a startled yelp Aziraphale miracles a bookshelf into the space between them. It bursts into infernal flame and begins to tip backwards, toward Aziraphale, who reverses its fall, turns tail and flees, not keen to waste time battling a demon when the world is ending in mere hours and Crowley is missing.

Hastur spits flame onto the magic sigil, burning away just enough to turn it off, then steps forth and blows the bookshelf to pieces.

Aziraphale is already out the door.

No matter. Hastur smiles a demonic smile, turns, and begins systematically setting the rest of the bookshop on fire, so he can watch the paper curl and turn to smoke, so he can take some joy in destroying an angel’s precious possessions, and because Crowley has only one ally in the world— and if Hastur had one ally in the world he knows exactly where he would go next.

~~~

Crowley, unfortunately, arrives by way of the street Aziraphale does not flee through.

He does call Aziraphale on his way over, which helps him not at all: the phone doesn’t even begin to ring, just goes straight to informing him that his call cannot be completed, would he please try again later?

It’s the message that plays when Aziraphale is already using the phone— but, he thinks, looking at the flames that have inexplicably replaced his phone’s photo of his only friend, it’s also the message that plays when the line no longer exists.

He’s just paranoid. Ligur is dead, and Hastur is trapped. It’s probably a call from Heaven, although knowing that Aziraphale can’t hang up on Heaven to answer him instead is a pain all its own. There’s only one obvious thing for Crowley to do now, so Crowley puts the thought out of his mind and continues to speed his way through London.

It doesn’t much matter how much thought he does or doesn’t put into it, because his conclusion upon reaching his destination is the same. He highly doubts Aziraphale purposefully set his own bookshop on fire.

“Excuse me!” a firefighter shouts. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

“Do I look like I own a bookshop?” Crowley answers sourly, and steps into the flaming building.

As soon as the doors close behind him Crowley feels it: the infernal stench of hellfire, the sort of smell that clings to you long after you’ve washed its source away. Fire is bad enough— the thought that someone might have maliciously sent Aziraphale back to Heaven, bodiless, really grinds his intestines in a way that makes his stomach complain quite passionately— but the thought of Aziraphale being gone, truly gone—

“Aziraphale!”

It can’t be. He’d been so careful, he’d made sure Hell didn’t know about Aziraphale, didn’t know they were friends and certainly didn’t know where to find him. There is no reason whatsoever for the bookshop to be literally burning in the flames of Hell, the only thing that could take Aziraphale from him for eternity. It doesn’t occur to him to wonder if Aziraphale escaped: he must be here, if only Crowley can find him!

“Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you?! I can’t find you—”

He cannot sense Aziraphale, here or anywhere else. But Aziraphale has always chosen kindness, so if Crowley shouts loud enough, if he can make Aziraphale feel his desperation, then Aziraphale will almost certainly appear to ease it.

“Crowley,” Hastur greets lowly, as though he has always been there.

Crowley freezes, and turns to look. It is definitely Hastur, and not some illusion or demonic twin he’s been keeping secret all this time. Hastur is here, and not in Crowley’s voicemail, and behind him the bookshop phone lays abandoned on the floor.

“Hastur!” Crowley returns genially, purely by reflex.

Hastur breaks into a grin that shows altogether too many teeth. “He called for you.”

Hastur, as pointed out before, is not very smart. What Hastur means to say is, ‘he called your phone and set me free, and here I am, having definitely killed him and set fire to his domicile.’

But what Crowley hears is ‘he cried out for you when I killed him, believing right up until the end that you would come save him again, and you didn’t,’ and this awakens something hot and ugly in him that 6000 years of restraint can’t control.

Crowley lets out an inhuman shriek and dives, reaching blindly for Hastur’s neck. Hastur simply miracles himself closer, so that Crowley’s hands fall uselessly past him and Hastur may grab his collar, holding him fast with a slimy smirk.

“There’s nowhere—”

He never finishes. Crowley lunges forward in Hastur’s grip and sinks demonic teeth into Hastur’s throat.

There is a struggle, though for the sake of stomachs everywhere it shall remain undescribed. All that matters is the outcome: a demon collapses limp on the floor of the bookshop as Crowley spits out his prize. Feels anger— and everything else— drain out of him. Wipes his chin.

“Gross,” he mutters, and turns to leave. His extraneous heart has stopped beating. There is nothing left for him here.

He picks up the nearest mostly-intact book— souvenir— and throws the doors open. The firefighters don’t bother him this time; there’s no point in saving his strength, or his miracles. There are nothing but enemies left now, so he may as well make whatever remains of his time on Earth convenient. No one asks him to explain as he crosses the street and climbs into the Bentley, feeling the weight of the door more than he ever has in 90 years.

He carelessly tosses the book onto the passenger seat. It slides off, and something tips out of the open pages.

Crowley doesn’t care about that or anything else anymore, but he frowns despite himself. Aziraphale has— had— a strict No Inserts Except Flowers And Bookmarks policy, and even then he mostly found other ways to dry flowers or mark his pages.

He leans down, scoops up the paper— a map, it seems— and opens it, more to wallow in curiosity over his perished friend than anything else.

Adam Young 4 Hogback Lane Tadfield

...Tadfield.

Tadfield.

“Bloody Heaven!” Crowley shouts, to no one in particular. “You clever bastard! You figured it out! You—”

Aziraphale had done it: he’d found the Antichrist, and called Crowley, and freed Hastur, and arranged his own demise. Despite all his talk of Heaven, despite abandoning Crowley for those who didn’t give one whit about him, twice, Aziraphale had made his decision— had in the end called Crowley, to tell him how to save the world.

(Abandoning is a strong word. It has never been a question of Aziraphale choosing who cares for him the most, or who he cares for the most: it has always been a question of right and wrong, because Aziraphale has spent all of time believing that Heaven is by nature good and Crowley is by nature evil, and six thousand years of temptation could never convince Aziraphale to choose evil.

Which means one of two things: either Aziraphale believes that Crowley and the Earth and humanity are good, or he doesn’t and has chosen them anyway, and both of those options are vaguely, elatingly terrifying.)

Aziraphale had died saving the world, and by Satan or God or whoever else there was to swear on Crowley would try his damned best to do the same.

“Right! Tadfield.” Heart pounding, hands shaking, Crowley tosses the map onto the passenger seat and starts the car. “They got your bookshop, angel, but they’re not getting your blessed sushi.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #north writes

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sleepylop · 5 years

Text

Cluster B (Chapbook 1/7)

“Cluster B personality disorders are a categorization of personality disorders as defined in the DSM-IV and DSM-5.

Cluster B personality disorders are characterized by dramatic, overly emotional or unpredictable thinking or behavior and interactions with others. They include antisocial personality disorder, borderline personality disorder, histrionic personality disorder and narcissistic personality disorder.”

The journey of the traveling “self”: basic lore.

My sense of self, for a span of years (years now left to putrefy), could not rest, could not stabilize, could not hitch securely into my core, failing to remain steeped in reality (hardly porous), to develop organically, to harden with age, roots drying up prior to becoming an anchor. This “self,” instead, manifested as an absurd accessory, studded with ambiguously hued rhinestones, worn at the throat, pulled tight, decaying against the surface of broken skin, leaving behind patches of gangrene to flaunt, with a pride just as artificial as the gnarled plastic shell that adds unwanted mass to my limbic system.

the key to remaining perfectly hidden, is by remaining perfectly exposed.

II.

This “self” is a hand-tailored uniform one whose stiff boning forces my posture into place, spine pulled taunt, corset embedded, cutting several layers deep into already diseased flesh, sealed shut with a sticky puree formed from the remains of each dead “self”; crushed beneath bare palms ground into the hollow knots of the hardwood desk they had been resting on. (it was impulsive, okay? I swear, I’m not usually so aggressive!)

Left only with an odor-stained goo, to be repurposed, somehow. (Lord, why do I always reek of fermenting maple syrup?)

I want to fool the world I want to fool myself.

III.

I faintly wonder if my personal “self” is nothing more than an abstract folk-creature only as real as I can convince to others. Or, even, much less majestically, a toddler’s arts ‘n’ crafts project; abandoned just prior to completion left tacky, covered in wads of exposed glue. layers peeling. fragile. incomplete. a sentimental artifact, nothing more. Oh! Looks like my core is vacant again prime real-estate, come and get it! it’s a free-for-all! on your marks, get set…

please don’t go. it’s not my fault I’m sick.

IV.

Now, sick with cabin fever Sporadically, the adventure-starved “self” sets out to relive its glory days “It’ll be a reeeeal short trip, I won’t be gone for long,” is the only legible promise scrawled onto the back of a gaudy “wish you were here” postcard. A note left as a well-intentioned afterthought, but a courtesy very-nearly neglected altogether. I write back, fighting against lithium-shaken hands, Please, just be back soon. Promise to settle down again, pitch another tent, always return home.

Please, I’ve come so far

just promise to never again abandon my core.

“Borderline personality disorder (DSM-IV code 301.83): extreme "black and white" thinking, chronic feelings of emptiness, instability in relationships, self-image, identity and behavior often leading to self-harm and impulsivity.”

#I've decided to start posting my chapbook on here! yipee?#anyway the collection is based around my experiences with 'identity'#this is poem 1 of 7 #spilled ink #poetry #poets on tumblr #spilled poetry #writers on tumblr #writing #oh no hayley is writing

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writer59january13 · 2 years

Text

Everyone nose, I haint no otolaryngologist

Nonetheless this bard arse feels gratitude courtesy Laurence V. Cramer, D.O. without cerumen eye zing May 17th, 2022 'ere and thank dog guardian angels, who find me continually blessed regarding audiological sense to hear, whereby faculty sound waves

enter outer ear and travel through

a narrow passageway

called the ear canal,

which leads to the eardrum.

The eardrum vibrates

from incoming sound waves

and sends these vibrations

to three tiny bones in the middle ear.

These bones are called

the malleus, incus, and stapes

availing yours (us) truly to hear

such phenomena quite amaze zing listening to structures of silence on wing

and prayer grateful dead ring around the collar soundwaves, which analogously ping

pong with supreme functionality

and pleasantly and gloriously bring

audible world wide web despite my senescence, though

amazingly gracefully aging.

Vacuum suction instrument extracted waxy secretion

made up of dead skin cells and hair

that combine with discharge

from two different glands in case your not ad aware

allowing me to revel detecting auditory sounds particularly evening mating call of a distant dear

such simple pleasure + specialists magic touch who restore

bitta bing bitta bang receive little fanfare,

though gratitude prompts this Harris heir to wince as when Androcles pulled thorn

from out paw of lion ensconced in his lair

relief from short lived discomfort vis a vis insertion to probe with utmost care

once again restores ability to detect sounds far or near

sans glob of gelatinous goo aerates passage way to appease head of this papa bear

he roars like tony tiger with utmost delight,

which might easily be confused as a glare

ring against blockage wrought by ear wax wad

solid and heavenly to seat self and enjoy pleasure of sitting on angelic porcelain chair

expending maximum exertion

to expel obstructed waste within uranus jabbing little sphincter sphere

induces analogous painful defecation from constipated rear once either bound orifice freed from gob lit tee gook obstruction finds

writing glorious air

no more extreme muffled nor pearl jam fluid pressure in Eustachian tube

bring little relief analogous

experiencing swollen vein or

group of veins in anus aggravating hemorrhoids

pulled to the max and practically tear

ring until every last ounce of muscular might applied via primal screams filling the air

whence solid waste from body jettisoned on a par

with I reiterate above with different wording

caked brown blockage making this chap feel deaf and barely able to hear

when gooey resin from skin cells lining our outer ear canals

constituting tiny glands relieved from stopper like strikers at O’Hare

finally remedied from medical practitioner an absolute save e year

allowing Matthew Scott Harris, who

once again can exalt in life without a care.

0 notes

iloveanimalsmorethanhumans · 3 years

Text

The Funeral

It’s the early nineties and we are driving to my uncle's funeral.

James is driving because the idea of it still intimidates me and driving on the interstate hasn’t even crossed my mind yet. He's angry because we’ve gotten lost a couple of times already. No google maps or waze back then. It was MapQuest printed directions, with written notes because Mapquest couldn’t be trusted.

James is lost and he’s angry, There’s a deadline and we are falling behind. He beats the steering wheel and screams wordlessly at the traffic.

I am silent, afraid of his anger and nervous. Anger always makes me nervous.

The defenses kick in and i open my moutn and speak.

“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of being lost I shall fear no road sign”

and just like that, he is laughing. We are both laughing and it’s going to be ok,

We make it to the funeral and pull up and the first person I see is one of my Uncles, who looks like the uncle who has just passed and the realization that it’s not him sinks in, and it’s becoming real.

We greet relatives and begin to walk into the church. I didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t to see my uncle, in his coffin, open to the world.

it was the first viewing I had experienced. What a brutal awakening with no warning.

“Fuck this” I said and turned to walk out. My step mother followed and captured me on the stoop, about to run down the stairs and back to our car and away. She caught me in her overly perfumed embrace and held me too tight and said things that didn’t make any sense and I resisted the need to push her off of me.

She went back in and I stood there, numb, deciding what to do.

I felt someone beside me and looked up to see my cousin, he gives me an awkward smile and says, “dust in your eyes?” and I laugh and say yes and ask how he is. It’s his father in there.

“I don’t know.” he says. “I think when this is all over I’m just going to turn into a pile of goo” and we both laugh again. Eventually I go back inside. I stare at my uncle laying there and I think how wrong this is. People whispering how good he looks, but he;s fucking dead. It’s not a great look for anyone, really.

The service begins and I’m sitting there, palms sweating wadding up and unfolding a tissue over and over until it’s little more than bits of dust on my stockings and skirt. Tiny white pills to be picked at, head down, concentrating on anything but where I am.

“Yay though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death” a voice begins, and everyone around us joins in, reverently, and I can’t believe it.

A shocked snort escapes me and I put my head down, thankful for the long hair falling in my face covering my shame as I begin to laugh. all the nervousness and grief and fear coming out in silent waves beneath the curtain of hair.

My shoulders shaking helplessly and a hand falls upon my back and I start, thinking someone knows and I’m about to be shamed, but it’s my brother, awkwardly patting my back.

“It’s ok” he says and I;m lost in my laughter now. The complete absurditiy of this moment consumes me and real tears fall as I sit there silently shaking under my hair, trying desperately to find the solemnity this occasion demands and just not able to.

The psalm ends and I take a few more moments, making sure no smirk remains, my face red and tear stained, appropriately, and I look up.

The funeral continues. I take another tissue someone has offered and begin to fold it methodically. Crumpling it into dust and snow, little pills spilling over my lap and the floor, holding my attention away from the tears and memories whispered around me.

0 notes

dammitadolfnomorecake · 6 years

Text

WAD LIAO 86

Lance had absolutely no memory of what happened between blasting his way out of the ship and getting back to the castle, only that waking up to find 8 pairs of eyes staring back at him was just plain creepy. Groaning at the unwanted brightness of the world, he tried to hide back under the blankets as Hunk joyfully yelled his name. Scrunching his eyes closed, he shook his head

"Lance isn't here right now. Please try again later"

"Lance, you have no idea how worried we were. We put you in a pod, but you were still unconscious when the glass opened"

"I wasn't out long enough. I feel like quiznak"

"You look like it too and you stink!"

"Thanks Pidge. Just what everyone wants to hear when they wake up. Now let me sleep"

"Lance? How are you feeling?"

Tugging the blanket from his hold, Keith nuzzled at his face, before kissing his cheek and moving to stroke his hair

"How do you feel, baby?"

"Gross. My head hurts"

"Probably because you had a massive dose of quintessence..."

"I didn't mean to..."

"Whether you meant to or not, the fact remains that Lotor is now 6 containers short of pure quintessence, and a ship"

"What? What happened to the ship?"

"It exploded. There was a flash of blue, the black goop disappeared, and then an explosion in the hangar. I'm assuming that was you?"

"I don't remember"

"After that, there was a second explosion in hangar which set off a chain reaction"

"Oh... it sounds like I missed all the fun"

"How can you joke at a time like this? You've been unconscious for the last 12 vargas, after spending a whole quintant in a pod"

"Shiro, now is not the time"

"It is. He made a monumental mess of the mission"

"No he didn't"

"I have no idea how I am going to explain any of this to Lotor"

"Then how about you don't"

He hadn't even been awake 5 doboshes and Keith was picking a fight with Shiro. Wriggling lower in the blankets, he sighed to himself unhappily

"We can't not tell him"

"How are we supposed to tell him Lance messed up the mission?"

The only warning about what happened next was the snarl that Keith let out. He felt the alpha move from his side, before the was a solid thud, followed by another one

"Keith!"

Allura screamed Keith's name, and the boys let out screaming cries of their own. Immediately hushing them, Allura carried them to Lance's side, while Hunk was trying to say something or other to Keith. In the way of wake ups, it wasn't the worst one he'd ever had, but it was definitely up there. Sighing, Lance pushed at the blankets

"Lance..."

"Allura, can you help me up? I can't put up with this right now"

"Lance, you need to rest"

"I don't feel well"

Placing one of the boys against him, Allura used her now free hand to place her palm on his forehead

"You feel hot"

"I feel gross... my head hurts"

By now Pidge and Coran were weighing in on whatever was happening between Keith and Shiro, only adding to noise that threaten to split his head open. Whimpering in pain, he curled around his son as he tried to rub his back to soothe him

"Will you all be quite!"

It was unusual for Allura to yell, let alone scold everyone at once, so other than the pups, everyone in the room fell silent

"Thank you. Lance is sick, and you are all making it worse. Now that he's awake, I want you all out of this medical bay until further notice!"

"But...?"

"What...?"

"Keith and Shiro..."

"He's my husband..."

"Queen Allura..."

"Quite! Now please leave"

"But..."

"Keith, I suggest you calm down and get some rest before you come back here. Coran, I want you to preform a scan on Lance. Now that he's awake, I want to make sure he's actually alright and not suffering from overexposure to quintessence"

"What about the boys?"

"I'll look after them, just... give me a bit"

"Lance"

"Shiro, that's enough. I can't believe you and Keith. You both need to sit down and have a serious conversation, because this is completely unacceptable. You're team members of Voltron, we can't win a war, when we're fighting amongst each other"

There were a few grumbles, all of which from Keith, but surprisingly enough, the rest of the team apologised and promised to come later. Left alone in the room, Keith came back to his side

"Keith, you need to rest. You haven't slept since you returned"

"I can't, Allura. I can't leave him"

"Lance?"

"I'm ok, just go get some rest..."

"Baby..."

"Keith, you need to rest"

"Then I'll sleep on the other bed"

"Please just go. I'm not going anywhere and Allura's right, you need to rest. The boys need their dad"

"And what about you?"

"I'm ok..."

"You're not ok"

Whining, which ever twin he was holding wriggled in an attempt to escape his hold. He didn't have the strength for this. He felt like he'd been run over, and even if he knew he was going to miss Keith the dobosh he walked out the door, it wasn't fair to ask him to stay

"Keith, please. I don't want to fight"

A small kiss was pressed to his lips

"Call me. If you need anything, or if something happens..."

"It's alright Keith. I will make sure he's taken care of"

"See. Now stop worrying"

Releasing the pressure that went into scrunching his eyes shut, Lance felt the pain in his head lessen minutely. It took a few long moments, but finally he heard Keith moving away from him. It was another few moments before Allura spoke again

"He left"

"Sorry, Allura. I just couldn't... my head hurts too much"

"It's alright. They've all been bickering since Shiro and Keith arrived back with you. Hopefully now they'll give it a rest"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to screw everything up"

Feeling something wet on his face, he had no idea why he was crying

"Lance, you didn't screw anything up"

"I did. Now Keith's even madder at Shiro, and you all have to tell Lotor what happened..."

Kissing his forehead, Allura moved his son back into her hold. Lance immediately missing the warmth

"Coran, why don't you go ahead and scan Lance. After that, we can see about letting you get some more rest"

"Right now I just want to shower"

"I don't think you're in any condition for that. You're lucky your plate armour protected you"

"Was it that bad?"

"It was. You were also bleeding, though we couldn't find the wound"

"Oh..."

It was a miracle that Keith had left in the first place, doubly so now

"I don't know how it all went so wrong"

"We knew there was a risk of both the black goo and quintessence being on that ship..."

"I..."

"It's ok, Lance. Just lay still for Coran"

It was way too much effort to roll back on to his back as his stomach filled with heat from the scanner. There was the usual silence from Coran, before the man finally reported the results way too loudly

"All you're external injuries have healed, but now that we know quintessence affects fertility, I superimposed your womb..."

His stomach dropped. He knew he already wasn't going to like this

"Normally the castle pods can heal all manner of injuries, though this time there seems to be scarring on the lining of your womb, much like an electrical burn"

Allura let out a small gasp

"I'm afraid I don't know enough about what that means to give you a definitive answer, though I suspect your fertility may be affected. However, it seems a rather straight forward procedure to remove the damaged tissue, and I'm confident the Olkari will be well equipped to perform such a procedure"

For an omega to be told they might not be able to do the very thing they were born to do was shocking enough. For Lance though, he wondered why he wasn't more shaken over it? Was it because thing were rocky with Keith? Or because even if his omega wanted another child, he knew he couldn't cope with it?

"Lance?"

"I just... I don't want to do anything about it"

"You mean you don't want to have another child?"

"Allura. I can't... my last miscarriage was from my body not being able to keep up. I don't want to fall pregnant again and have the same thing happen due to exposure to quintessence"

"Lance..."

"Coran, will the damage worse?"

"No. The scar tissue has already healed this way. I do not believe it will spread"

"Then I don't want surgery"

"Isn't this something you should talk to Keith about?"

"He's only going to blame himself... I'll talk to him about it when... when it's a better time. He won't rest if he thinks he needs to be by my side. Coran, is there anything else I should know?"

"No. All your levels are returning to normal naturally, and the quintessence has already "left" your body"

"Ok..."

"Shall I turn the scanner off?"

"Please. Lance, what do you want to do?"

"I feel revolting. Can I shower? I'll be careful, I'll even sit on the shower floor"

"What if you pass out or slip?"

"Then come with me. Not into the shower, but if you're in the next room, I mean. I don't know. My head hurts"

"Coran, would you mind coming with us? Honestly, I would prefer you waited until with Keith to shower, but even with your armour off..."

"I still smell like dead Galra..."

"Unfortunately"

"Yep. Shower time"

Coran supported him down to the hall to the first room with a shower. The Altean probably would have even stayed and helped him shower if Allura hadn't gently distracted him by asking him to hold Lanieth. Sinking immediately to the floor, Lance crawled out of the blanket wrapped around him and into the shower, blindly feeling for taps and jumping when spray of water hit his back. So, still in his underwear, Lance went about curling up under the hot water. It didn't help his headache, but knowing the Galra stink was running down the drain made him feel a million times better, but gradually his hands came to his stomach as the shock finally began to pass. How was he supposed to tell Keith? Coran said it seemed like a straightforward surgery, but this was damage from quintessence and it made no sense. If quintessence was life, shouldn't he be going into heat, rather than suffering damage that could prevent the creation of another life? He was still scared of falling pregnant again, but to never have another child? Would Keith be happy with just their two boys? And he'd had them so young... when he was 36, his sons would be 18... he wanted another two pups, and Keith had been ok with having 4 children... but what happened if something happened to the boys? Being in space, they'd had none of their vaccinations. What if they came down with something as simple as the flu? Out here, it could very easily kill them... there was also the constant worry of SID's, and what if another accident happened, like how Lanieth had gotten hold of Keith's blade. Whining for his husband, he gripped his stomach firmly. He wanted to give Keith all the children his husband wanted. To build a life with them and his mate. To have the same chaos for his children that he'd had, and for Keith... Keith was the last of his bloodline... Lance had his brothers and his sisters, but Keith, Keith was all alone. The closest thing to a brother he'd had was Shiro, but that wasn't blood... what good was a male omega who couldn't carry and birth pups?

Lance was still crying on the bathroom floor when the door slid open and Allura came rushing in. Turning the taps off, the queen ignored the fact he was soaking wet as she gathered him up against her

"Lance? What's wrong?"

"Everything... Allura, what do I do?"

"Lance, is this about the scan?"

Nodding, he buried his face against her neck, nuzzling in a bid to find some comfort, but she wasn't Keith, and his omega was having the mother of all meltdowns internally

"Coran said surgery was an option"

"But what if it didn't work? I... Keith wanted more kids... not right now, but you know, eventually. I... I just..."

"Shhhh, we'll work everything out. We always do"

"How... how am I supposed to tell him?"

"Don't worry about that for now. You're over tired and your emotions are all over the place. Are you still in pain?"

"Y-yes"

"Can you stand?"

"I don't know... I feel so sick, Allura"

"Coran!"

Wincing at Allura calling for Coran, he whimpered as she held him tighter

"Sorry. I didn't think"

"It's ok. It's not your fault"

"Allura, Lance. What's happening here?"

"Coran, can you please help Lance up and back to the medical room. We need to find something safe to give him for the pain"

"Certainly. Lance, my boy, I'll just grab you a towel and we'll have you out of the shower in a tick"

"T-the pups?"

"I'll see to them"

"I want to feed them. My chest hurts"

"I'll help you feed them once you're settled back in the medical room"

"Thank you..."

"Anytime. You know I would do anything and everything I can to help you"

"I know... I've missed you, Allura"

"I've missed you too. Coran's going to help you up now"

Nodding his consent, the man surprised him by lifting him up and into his hold. He didn't doubt Coran was strong, but being lifted was confusing and threw centre of balance off. Scrunching his eyes again, he groaned miserably as Coran started the walk through to the medical room.

It was another varga and a half before Lance could finally settle back down. The boys had been fed, but each time Allura tried to move them from his side, they begin screaming, that was how he ended up curled up on the floor as both his sons tried to hit and poke him for attention. With how active the boys had become, he wasn't risking having them up on the examination bed with him, even if the fall was small, he just couldn't risk it. He was miserable and didn't want to be responsible for something happening to his boys. With an IV in his left arm, his naked form was covered by three thick blankets, though he was back to freezing. Sitting with her leg against his back, Allura was playing with his hair as Lance tried to ignore the fact the medication in the IV hadn't kicked in yet, and the fact Coran was terrible at inserting an IV line. Unable to see a particularly had smack coming, Lance flinched back into Allura as he was hit in the eye

"Lance?"

"I'm ok. One of them just hit me in the eye"

"Kelance is closest to your face"

"I'm sorry, would you mind making sure they don't hit my face. I can't open my eyes"

"They're just so happy to see you. I could tell how badly they missed you"

"I missed them too... and saying goodbye to Fern... I couldn't stop myself from crying"

"She was rather adorable. Keith told me the family seemed a good fit?"

"We don't really know. Shiro wouldn't let us stay and find out..."

"Lance, I know Shiro is making things hard, but please try not to think about it for now"

"I don't want to think about anything. I'm so exhausted and all I want to do is sleep"

"Perhaps there's something we can give you?"

"No... I don't like taking things while I'm breast feeding..."

"What can I do?"

"Just, watch the boys?"

"It's hard not to"

Lance snorted and immediately regretted it. His sinuses now deciding to throb in time with the rest of his head. While he didn't particularly want to take medication, he wouldn't say no to being knocked out the old fashion way.

Eventually Lance must have fallen asleep as he was woken by the sound of a plate smashing. Blinking as he opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at Pidge, who was rushing to pick up the pieces of the plate she'd just dropped

"Good morning to you too"

"Sorry Lance, I just wasn't expecting you to be in bed with Allura"

Confused as to what she was talking about, he looked down to find Allura sleeping opposite him with Kelance curled up against her and her body angled as such so the twins couldn't make an escape for it. Remembering he was naked, Lance blushed bright red

"It's soooo not what you think"

"So Allura didn't say up watching the boys so you could sleep?"

"Oh, in that case, it's exactly what you think. What's the time?"

"About 5 in the morning. I woke up for a midnight snack, and decided to poke my head in on the way back"

"And wake up the whole castle while you were at it"

"That was because I didn't expect you to be sleeping with Allura"

"We're not sleeping together..."

Rolling off his arm, he winced at how bruised it was from not removing the cannula. Sliding it free with a hiss, he rolled back on it to hide the damage

"If you say so. How do you feel?"

"My headaches gone... but still pretty average, and cold"

"That's what happens when you run around half naked"

"I'm not running around half naked, and I'm not even running"

It clicked for Pidge, the female alpha wrinkling her nose

"Ok. Too much information"

"How do you think I feel? I can't even get up and get a change of clothes"

"I might be convinced to bring you some up"

"Oh yeah, what's that going to cost me?"

"I don't know yet"

"Great. That means I'm in your debt"

"Don't worry, I won't make you pay up big"

"I'm still worried. Anyway, you should probably take that back to the kitchen, unless you want to keep talking to me knowing..."

"La la la. Ok. Point taken. I'll bring something for you to wear"

"Something reasonable"

"I never said that"

Grinning, Pidge fled from the room before he could come up with something witty to say. He knew she'd probably just bring him back his uniform, or sweats and shirt, but he was still nervous about her choices, and even more nervous that she'd ask Keith to bring him his clothes. He desperately missed his husband, and his omega was beginning to melt down again over the previous day's news, but he needed a little more time to process before talking to Keith

"Lance?"

Settling Lanieth back against him, Lance tried to smile at Allura. Sleeping on the floor really didn't agree with the Queen, and her hair was a total mess

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you"

"It's quite alright. How are you feeling?"

"My head doesn't feel like it's going to burst anymore"

"Excellent. Have you been awake long?"

"No. Just repositioning. Gotta make the most of it before the boys wake up"

"I can take them if you'd like?"

"No, I've missed then like crazy, but it looks like you've got a fan"

Stroking Kelance's hair, Allura yawned as she nodded

"It is rather nice to wake up to them"

"I know. They're still so small, but they've grown so much. I love waking up and watching them sleep"

"As sweet as this is, I think Kelance needs a nappy change"

"Oh... possibly. If you um, grab the supplies from the cupboard, I'll change him"

"I don't mind changing him, unless you'd rather"

"As long as you promise not to watch me. We fell asleep before asking Coran to grab me something to wear, so now it's kind of weird"

Allura blushed much like he had

"I didn't think..."

"I was too tired to work clothes anyway. Coran had to help me take my own underwear off..."

"Should I call Coran? Or Keith?"

"Not Keith... not yet, he needs sleep. Pidge stopped by on her way back from getting a snack, she said she'd bring something up, but who knows how long that's going to take"

"I'm sure Pidge will be right back. I'll change Kelance"

"Thanks... after that, we should probably try and get some more sleep. Shiro will probably want us up and training today, and no offence, you look as bad as I do"

Laughing, Allura lifted Kelance up as she rose, busting herself gathering up what she needed to change the pup

"I really didn't intend to fall asleep"

"I don't mind. Not if it's you. It's not like you haven't slept beside me before"

"That's very true. I don't know what it is, but sharing a room with you feels almost natural"

"It's because I'm wonderful, and awesome, and little the annoying brother you always wanted, and are now stuck with"

"Yes, to be honest, sometime's it does get quite lonely sleeping so far away from you all"

"Then you should just come hang in the nursery. We can play with the boys and nap"

"Oh how I wish I could. I'm going to have to contact Lotor and make sure everything is thoroughly explained"

"Have you talked to him since Honerva?"

"No, well, yes. But only very briefly. He took her death much harder than I expected. Not at all like when Zarkon died"

"Probably because Honerva actually loved him. She wanted to go back in time to be with him"

"The love of a mother is a complicated thing"

"You have no idea... I would do anything for the twins. That's how I feel. I mean, I love Voltron, but I love the boys even more"

"Of course you do. You birthed them and brought them into this world. Their part you, and part Keith. A symbol of your love"

"Well that love is all over the place at the moment. I don't know what to do anymore. I feel like I keep dragging Keith down, but he never gives up"

"Lance, you're much braver and stronger than you think. You just need to believe in yourself more"

"I honestly don't know how to do that anymore"

"I think talking with Pidge and Hunk was definitely a step in the right direction. You're allowed to voice you're feelings, and you're allowed to take time to work out what you want and need"

"I need a million dollars and full body massage"

"A million dollars?"

"Sorry, it's an Earth joke"

"Earth seems rather beautiful. I wish it was closer"

"It is, and so do I. There's so much I wish I could have shown you"

"Lance, we have our whole lifetime to return. We won't be stuck in this situation forever"

"Sometimes it feels like we will. I don't know how you can stay so strong?"

"I'm not strong, all I have is this belief and desire for peace. For everyone to be safe and protected. I want to reach out my hand and protect them all"

"I do too. When I think about everyone out there still suffering and the black goop could be infecting any number of planets. It feels like there's no end to it... or something. I don't know if I'm even making sense"

"You're making sense. I wish talking to Shiro was this easy. Each time I try, he throws up his walls, and I never know what he's feeling anymore"

"Allura, do you still have feelings for him?"

"I honestly don't know. So much has happened, and it may be bad, I am truly grateful he doesn't remember what happened when he wasn't himself"

"Me too, but sometimes, when he snaps, I wish he did. I wish he could understand that when he gets angry, I can't mentally take it. I keep waiting for him to snap and hurt me, and it's exhausting"

"I don't believe he'd physically hurt you"

"Feelings and fears aren't always rational. I mean, I know I can't live without Keith, but I still wonder if breaking up with him would be the right thing to do"

"Oh, Lance. No..."

"Feelings suck"

"Maybe you'll be able to talk when you take your leave?"

"I don't know. I don't even know if we should leave, or if we do, I don't know if I'm going to be able to relax"

"I've been thinking about it. I think we could all use a break, and we are supposed to be on one, despite what Shiro thinks. Perhaps after you've taken your leave, Pidge and Hunk could? That way the castle would still be staffed"

"That's a great idea. They totally need a break. Maybe they could stay with Matt? I know they hardly get to see each other"

Allura nodded as she smiled, lifting Kelance to her chest, the small boy grabbing her hair

"I think someone's awake, and hungry"

"Probably. I'll take him"

"In that case, I'll change Laneith. I wonder how much longer Pidge is going to be"

"She's evil, don't forget that. She'd happily let me sit around naked all day"

"She's not evil, maybe... instead, spirited?"

Lance shot Allura grin

"Very spirited"

"Who's very spirited?"

Walking into the medical room, Pidge raised an eyebrow as she came to stop

"You"

"Of course I am, but what did I do this time?"

"I said I wouldn't be surprised if you left me sitting here naked"

"Rude. What's this then?"

"I don't know... How do I know you didn't do something to them?"

"You don't. Keith's still sleeping, so I could have gotten up to anything"

"Pidge, what did you do?"

"Nothing. Here's your clothes, and I'm going back to bed"

Carrying the pile over, Pidge dropped the pile down next to him

"I hope you're not too mentally scarred Allura. I wanted to be back before you woke up"

"I think I'll survive"

Pouting at the pair of them, the both smiled happily

"Hey, I'm not that hideous"

"Well, I wouldn't say hideous..."

"Hear how she talks to me! You can forget that favour"

"Nope. I'm definitely going to cash that in, when I think of something appropriate"

"Oh god. I've made a deal with the devil, haven't I?"

"Maaaaaybe. Anyway, don't get up to anything I wouldn't!"

"We all know what you get up to!"

Mocking insult Pidge grabbed her chest, before poking her tongue out

"Don't be late for breakfast"

"We won't... besides, I get the feeling Hunk will bring us breakfast because I'm still not allowed to leave"

"Breakfast in the medical room? That works. I'll let Hunk know"

"And Keith, and Coran"

"Can't you call them?"

"Nope, I don't know where my communicator is"

"Fine! I'm leaving before you give me anything else to do"

Allura changed Laneith as Lance dressed. Pidge had grabbed one of Keith's shirts, meaning it was right across his breasts, and the fabric had been pulled up about an inch, showing off his belly button above the top of his jeans. He'd worked hard, and the castle's healing pods had definitely sped things along, but there was still the slightest muffin top, which left him feeling super uncomfortable... despite the fact he'd just been talking to both Pidge and Allura, with his breasts exposed. Why did depression have to be so weird?

"So, are we really going to have breakfast in here?"

"I would say so... I didn't think Pidge would agree so readily"

"Neither did I. But you know what that means"

"What?"

"We can go back to sleep"

Giggling Allura returned to the nest on the floor, laying Lanieth down next to Kelance, before tickling the boy's stomach

"You can't expect them to sleep if you stir him up"

"But he's so adorable. They're both so cute"

"Remember that when they start crying. If we're going back to sleep, you might want to cuddle up against him again, or he's going to try and make an escape"

"We can't have that"

"Not even crawling properly and their planning their escape. Can you imagine what they'll be like when they start running?"

Allura giggled

"I have the mental image of you and Keith both running off in opposite directions, trying to catch them"

"Me too. Or Coran. I can picture him with them, like a loving grandfather"

"They're going to love all his stories, and he's going to love having such a captive audience"

Lance yawned as he agreed, he could barely keep his eyes open now that he knew everything had been taken care of. Readjusting his hold on kelance, he curled around his pup and buried his face in the boys soft hair.

Keith hadn't intended to fall asleep. Leaving the medical room, he'd been furious and frustrated over being kicked out, and the look of annoyance Shiro had shot him had his teeth aching. The man had been practically family to him. The brother he'd never had by blood, yet now all he felt was angry each time Shiro opened his mouth, or so much as looked at Lance in a way his alpha perceived as "wrong". He knew thing had been dragged out for far too long, and like an infected wound, the puss should have been drained long ago... even if it mean tearing the wound wide open. Waving off Hunk and Pidge, he'd stalked down to his room with the intention of showering and then returning to Lance, only once he'd gotten out of the shower and sunk down on the bed, he'd flopped back and grabbed Lance's pillow. Falling asleep with his face buried against it, he woke confused as to why Lance wasn't by his side. The bed was way too big and empty without him, and as he slowly woke, he realised he felt way too refreshed. Cursing himself, he'd rushed to dress before rushing from the bedroom, still struggling to button his jeans as he did, realising in his hurry to return to his mate, they were a pair of Lance's jeans that had torn at the buttonhole during his husband's pregnancy. Deciding against going back, he tugged his shirt over them and hoped no one would notice, or care.

Reaching the medical bay, Keith slammed his hand down on the door pad without a second thought. His free hand tried to soothe back his hair, but in reality, it was still a mess. Not that he could see this though, and not that he really cared about it personally, he just wanted to look good for his mate. How could he just fall asleep like that? What if something had happened during the night? What if Lance had needed him, and he hadn't been there? What if he'd had an episode and hurt himself? Would Coran or Allura know how to help him? Would they have been able to stop him? All these thoughts flashed through his mind, but the moment the door opened completely, it all fell away. Sitting on the floor, Allura, Pidge, Coran and Lance were all chatting about something, while Lance had both boys in his lap. Watching as Lance waved his hands around animatedly, his husband seemed truly alright, and... happy. The thorns of jealousy were quick to grip his stomach as the little voice in the back of his head told him he was stupid for worrying, when Lance clearly didn't need him. It wasn't a great feeling, nor was it made any better when Lance caught side of him and his face fell slightly

"Keith! You're awake?! We were going to call you, but Lance was worried about you not having slept. If you hadn't arrived by breakfast..."

"Pidge, it's fine. I was actually still sleeping until a few doboshes ago. I suppose I really needed it"

"You look much better. Pidge, you were supposed to call Keith as well as Coran"

"It's not my fault. Hunk can be very distracting"

"Tooo much information for this morning. Keith, are you going to come sit down, or are you going to stare at us?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry"

Making his way over to the group, Keith sank down between Lance and Coran

"How about you? How did you sleep?"

"Allura and Coran gave me something for the pain, and then Pidge decided she had to wake me up"

"That wasn't my fault"

"You're the one who dropped the bowl"

"I didn't mean to. Anyway, you're just lucky I grabbed you clothes"

"This is Keith's shirt..."

"Oh, well close enough. It covers what it needs to, or do you want to get around being naked?"

"I don't know, do you want me to"

"Ewww! Pass! Anyway, like I was saying before you interrupted, hunk and I found a really nice looking planet. We don't actually know what the weather conditions are like, but it's got beaches, as well as some really cool looking cliffs and jungle"

"You don't know the weather conditions, but you know all that?"

"We used the database to search through the coalition and Galra planets for beaches and oxygen"

"Well that's a good start. What do you think? Where do you want to take Lance?"

All eyes went to him, and Keith didn't know what to say. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just as long as they were free from the heavy yoke of Voltron

"Beaches are good"

"Well you're helpful. Lance was saying he'd like to take Red and Black, so we need to find somewhere with a clearing big enough for both of them, and somewhere with enough freshwater that you'll be able to bath, because I can almost guarantee you'll be trailing Lance's scent around the castle when you get back"

"Pidge!"

"I'm just saying. We all know your scents really strong, especially because you're the only omega around"

"I can't help it. I wouldn't smell like this if I could"

Keith growled, trying and failing to cover it with a cough

"I like how you smell"

"That's because he's bonded to you. You have to remember that Hunk, Shiro and I are all alphas too, and Lance's scent does affect us"

"Guys, no fighting. I'm honestly ok with wherever Keith decides"

Lance didn't sound ok. Quiznak. Why couldn't he just shove away his anxieties and enjoy the fact his husband was awake? He needed to make an effort!

"Do you want me to take one of the boys? I missed you all last night"

"We all know that's a lie, you were fast asleep..."

Poking his tongue out, the action seemed too forced

"... but if you want to take Kelance, I won't stop you"

Reaching out, Keith lifted the boy into his lap. The pup immediately beginning to cry

"Sorry, they've been really sooky about not being next to me"

Smiling as he went to stroke Kelance's back, Keith caught sight of something black and appalling looking on Lance's arm. Grabbing it before his husband could hide, his eyes widened at the bruise

"What happened!"

His voice was rough, with more bite in it than he'd intended

"Keith, it's nothing"

Lance was trying to pull his arm back, looking pained as he did

"Lance, tell me what happened"

"It's nothing. Now let go"

"Coran, Allura, do you know what happened?"

Both shook their heads, looking at Keith with both confusion and the tiniest bit of fear. They all knew Keith had a tendency to blow things out of control when it came to him

"Keith, it's not a big deal. Coran put an IV line in last night, and I messed it up in my sleep. So don't go blaming them, when all they did was try to help"

"An IV line?"

"Yeah, to dilute the pain medication, and because it wasn't like I was up for drinking or eating anything"

"Keith, it's just a nasty bruise. Lance is ok, but more importantly, when are you two leaving?"

"I don't know. Shiro wanted us to all undo testing, so I was thinking after Lance and I have been tested and we've completed our training tests"

"Oh. That makes sense. Though I don't see why we all need to be tested"

"I've already been scanned by Coran and there's nothing to report. So do you think Shiro will let me do my test after breakfast? Now I'm thinking about the beach and the water, I just want to go already"

"That's nice"

"Hey, Allura was saying that once Keith and I get back, you and Hunk can go for a movement. Maybe you could go catch up with Matt"

"Well he has been talking about a new program he's been developing with the rebel forces. He wants to record all their different customs and fighting techniques, because for some of them, they're the last of their races"

"Oh! That's kind of cool. You might be able to do something like what you did with that game you and Hunk were working on, about Earth"

"That kind of got put on the back burner with everything going on"

"You should finish it..."

"Eventually. Buuuut the castle is partially to blame. There's just too many amazing things to analyse, and not enough time"

"Pidge, you could spend your whole life researching the castle and never know all its secrets"

"Don't be mean"

"The truth hurts"

The easy banter of the group left him feeling like an outsider. He just wanted to take Lance away from them all.

"So why are we all sitting here and not in the dining or lounge room?"

"Because we decided to have breakfast here?"

"Is there some reason why?"

"Keith, just go with the flow..."

"I'm not going against it, I'm just... curious I suppose"

"It seemed a good idea a few vargas ago, when Allura and I were still tired and I didn't want to carry the boys around. They're kind of sooky at the moment"

"Probably because they had to spend so long without their mum"

"Not by choice. Still, I've missed them and it feels really good to hold them again"

Lance smiled fondly down at the son, before nuzzling his hair and pressing kisses to the spot

"You're so good with them"

"Because I love them so much. Seriously, is crazy"

"It's ok Lance, we all know you're a little crazy"

"Pidge, have I ever told you how not funny you are"

"Yep. Doesn't make it any more true. Man, Hunk is taking forever"

"Do you want a hold a baby?"

"Is he going to cry?"

"Probably"

"Then I'll pass. Today's going to be a good day"

"You just want to see me destroy the training room"

"Well, if you did, we wouldn't have to pass Shiro's ridiculous test"

"Pidge, I thought you'd be against the destruction of the castle"

"I am, but this test is so stupid. Is this why we didn't tell him about breakfast?"

"I just assumed he'd show up here eventually. You're right though. I'm starving, and Hunk still owes me cookies"

"He made a whole batch that night, but I reckon he'd make a fresh batch, just for you"

"That's because Hunk is awesome. He is the sunshine of my life"

Pidge snorted, while Keith's frown grew

"I wouldn't say that, Keith looks like he's about to have a stroke"

"Keith's naturally broody. We all know that. Those frown lines come with the rest of the package"

"The package. Thanks, Lance"

"Keith..."

"Don't bother"

Lance sighed somewhat dramatically, waving his hand at him as if shooing him in annoyance

"Keith, you're my husband. I'm just saying, you care and worry about me way too much. When you're old and you have wrinkles, every single one of them is going to be my fault"

"That's if he lives that long"

"Don't even joke about that. Keith is going to live longer than all of us, and he's going to be just fine"

"I don't want to live without you"

"Silly alpha. You have nothing to worry about, besides, it's your job to make sure our boys are safe and happy"

"And any other children you guys have. Is Lance going to be coming back from your little holiday pregnant?"

"As pregnant as you are"

Winking at Pidge, Lance blew her a kiss, but it seemed too staged for Keith

"Sorry Keith, looks like you'll just have to wait for more pups"

"I'm happy with the boys for now, but someday some more pups would be nice..."

Rising to his feet, Lance said nothing as he stepped in the middle of the group, as he crossed towards the door. There was something in his scent that had Pidge wrinkling her brow as he passed, but to Keith, whatever it was wasn't apparent

"Lance?"

"Just going to the toilet. I'll be back shortly"

"Ok. If you take too long and Hunk gets here with breakfast before you get back, I can't promise I won't steal yours"

"Pidge, Lance needs as much food and rest as he can get"

"Allura, its fine. I know Hunk will have thought of that"

Leaving them, Keith's eyes remained firmly fixed on the door that now separated him from his mate.

Shiro wasn't impressed that they'd all decided to have breakfast in the medical room without informing him, but Lance didn't care. He'd pretty much wolfed down everything Hunk had piled on his plate so he didn't have to talk to Keith. His alpha had no way of knowing that his wish for more children might never come true, and Lance couldn't exactly tell him in front of everyone... No. It was better to just give it a few quintants and let Keith calm back down, though he would kill to know just why he was so agitated and leaking suck an unpleasant scent. It seemed too much to be from the guilt of falling asleep, especially when Keith should know he wasn't mad over it. With his stomach full, and Laneith in his lap like a shield to protect him from any harsh words Shiro may say, Lance looked to the alpha and cleared his throat

"Uh, Shiro..."

"What is it Lance?"

"Well... I was wondering if I could do that test today? Coran has already given me a scan, so next is the test right?"

"Coran gave you a scan?"

"Just to make sure everything was ok... so, can I?"

"I thought you didn't want to"

"It's fine... besides, the sooner I do it, the sooner it's over"

"Fine. We can start when you're ready"

"So now?"

"You need your Bayard. I had intended for the order to be Pidge, you, Coran, Hunk, Allura and then Keith..."

"Shiro, there's no harm letting Lance go first. He's well equipped and if there are any issues with the test, we'll be able to figure them out by watching him"

"The order was to reflect individual strength"

Ouch. So Shiro thought him that weak... Two could play that game and he ignored voicing his anger

"Right... um, Allura, where's my Bayard?"

"I've got it, actually both our Bayard's are in our room"

"Keith, you should keep your Bayard on you at all times"

"I know, I was just in a rush this morning"

"That's no excuse. Lance, retrieve your Bayard and head to the training room. The rest of us will watch on in the bridge"

"Allura, can you watch Laneith? The boys aren't allowed in the training room..."

"I would love to"

"He's probably going to cry"

"It's fine, he'll be able to hear your voice as we watch, so hopefully that will help"

"Yeah. I guess I better go"

Before Keith could offer to come with him, Lance moved Lanieth to Allura's lap before fleeing the medical room, scolding himself for acting so unnatural. Of course Keith was going to know something was wrong, especially when his own behaviour wasn't even fooling himself into thinking things would work out.

15 doboshes later, Lance was standing in the training room alone. He'd taken the opportunity to put a sports bra on, and change into one of his own shirts. It wouldn't really matter once his armour formed, but at least if something happened, he wouldn't be destroying Keith's clothes

"Lance, you may begin"

Nodding, he took a breath to steal his nerves

"Begin level one!"

Slicing through the bots was ridiculously easy for the first 5 levels. Level 6 introduced the shooting floating sensor things, but they were easy enough to shoot down. He'd made good progress, or at least he thought he had. Especially as he'd only tripped over his own feet once. Dodging and weaving, he cut the last two bots down, and the next wave dropped from the ceiling. Level seven was essentially level 6 times two, and level 8, another times two. So by the time level 9 hit, he was definitely feelings the strain, and his Altean markings felt like they were on fire. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he gripped his sword even harder, as he backed away from the group of striking bots. Hissing in pain from the numerous shots he was now taking from what seemed like a hundred of those floating sensors, it was hard to keep his focus, so soon found himself thrown across the room and landing painfully hard on the floor. Quiznak. That move should be illegal. Scrambling to gather his feet, he kicked the first bot back into the others, before swinging wide, leaving deep gashes across the front of the bots, but they weren't deep enough to force them to vanish. Swinging again, this time the motion was even sloppier than the previous time, and the closest bot was able to knock his Bayard flying across the room. It was now he realised he might be in a bit of trouble and his left arm was wracked with the feeling of pins and needles. Defenceless, he was thrown across the room again, and his temper flared. Rolling away from the approaching bots, he crawled into a run, grabbing his sword as he raced across the room to gain some kind of ground. If he didn't pass this level, they were all going to think he was weak and with his emotions messed up, he stopped thinking altogether, and let his anger flow. He hated it. He hated himself. He hated his body for betraying him, and he hated Shiro for this stupid test. Narrowing his eyes, he lowered his stance and switched back to gun, beginning to shoot down the floating sensors while running in a wide circle around the room, tears forming in his eyes as he did. Every bit of his frustration was taken out on those bots, yet each one he cut down, there was another right behind it. Slowly the feeling of anger turned to hopelessness, and the careful mask crumbled. He wanted more kids, but with the black goop and the pure quintessence in their realty, that would never, ever be an option. There would always be the risk he'd be exposed again. The risk the damage would spread, or that he'd need to actually expose himself to the quintessence in order to obliterate the black goop. He found himself feeling selfish for thinking he'd rather put his own health first, when he'd been the cause of the universe being infected. Eyeing the pack of bots in front of him, he fell hard into hold habits, letting his blade fall from his hands, before the mob began their assault. Normally they'd stop before the damage became so pronounced, but with the sheer number of them, he incurred an insane amount of damage before the simulator finally stopped. Wheezing and spasming on the ground, he welcomed the pain he felt he deserved. There was definitely something wrong with his nose, neck and ribs. His body was shaking badly, but he couldn't move at all from the waist down, which was as terrifying as it had been when Shiro broke his neck and legs. Coughing, he tasted blood and between his legs felt too wet to be slick, but too thick to be urine. This is what he got for being such a bad and self absorbed omega.

"Lance!"

Rushing to his side, Lance smiled as Keith's pale face stared down at him

"Hey... I guess we know my limit now"

"You were amazing, until... what was that?"

"Exhaustion. The blade slipped from my fingers and I was too tired to catch it"

"You can release your Bayard now. You got to level 12"

"Easier said than done, but 12 is pretty good"

"It would have been better if you hadn't gone feral"

He went feral? He was pretty certain he hadn't

"I didn't go feral"

"Actually, you did baby, but you seemed to pull yourself out of it. Are you hurt?"

"I think I landed on my shoulder wrong..."

Which was technically true

"I'll carry you to the pod room"

"Can you walk?"

"No. I think I did my shoulder pretty good"

"Lance, you're supposed to have stopped before the physical damage became too much. You can't expect us to come to your rescue after every battle"

"I didn't know that. You didn't exactly explain it, and it wasn't intentional"

"Wasn't it?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Take him to the pod room, then Pidge will take her test"

"Perhaps it's best to call it a day"

"Allura, you of all people know we need to be prepared"

"Shiro, you are not the leader of Voltron, and there for you are making calls and decisions you have no right to. First Lance is going into a healing pod"

Piping up, Pidge raised her hand as Keith lifted him from the ground

"I don't mind going next... Keith should stay with Lance, and if we keep going, we can get them out the way"

"Keith won't be staying with Lance. He needs to be present to watch over your test. He needs to see how each of us function"

"No. Not happening. I am not leaving Lance, not again. It is far too soon for him to need healing again"

"Keith, you're over reacting"

"So if I stood you up, you wouldn't just topple over?"

"Maybe, but I'm fine. Just tired"

And lying his arse off, but sometimes a lie was better than the truth....

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jamieisjoshing · 6 years

Text

13 March 1992

“I spy with my little eye something beginning with N” “Nose?” “How could I see my nose, it’s pitch black” I didn’t answer. “…” “I don’t know.” “The answer’s nothing. I can see nothing, you idiot.” We had been held up in the back seat on what felt like the thousandth hour of a cross country road trip to hell. It was the start of Spring Break and dad had thought that instead of spending the long holiday at home, it would be better for us to go and visit our gramma in New Jersey. I’ve never been much of a fan, especially as the other option was us going to Epcot like everyone else had. “Get a couple of hotdogs in you and you’ll forget all about Florida.” Dad promised on multiple occasions. I wouldn’t. As previously stated, my best friend Duncan had already gloated about his family having already gotten their tickets and how they would be staying for the entire week, kicking around Horizons and World of Motion. “I’ll take pictures for you.” He said as we waited for the bus. “Why?” I asked, “you know I’ll be there.” I replied. And that was the beginning of having to keep up with a lie. “Where are you staying?” He asked “The Yacht Club.” I said coolly. “We should meet up then.” He said “Actually, we’re going to go drive to see my aunt Carol first. She lives out in Port Charlotte” He didn’t believe me, which was understandable as I was lying. Not about aunt Carol, but about going to see her. When I attempted to convince my parents that going to Epcot would be educational, I was met with all of the ways that it would not only not be educational, but exactly how it would be far too expensive. I sulked up to the point that we started packing the car and then that sulking became pure anger for the situation. Outside, the sky had gone from burnt orange to inky black. The only thing visible for miles was whatever was in the range of the headlights. 10:32 glared back at me in dull green light from the dashboard. Was it only ten? No longer on a road, we were on a tunnel of pure, inescapable darkness. We hadn’t even seen any other cars in what felt like ages. The miles and miles of road went from the familiar stand-alone stores like Kmart to the altogether alien of an Al’s Grocers or Mica’s Pizzas. London Calling warbled meekly through the speakers as we sped through the wind whipped darkness. Dad considered himself a rebel, but I’ve never seen a punk who couldn’t make it through Cujo without flinching. “Where are we?” I asked, peering through the window. It had only gotten darker out and the once visible outline of the trees began to blend into the background, making it seem more and more like something from a storybook. “We’re nearly there.” Dad answered, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Just…sit back.” Part of me felt on edge, the endless hours of being cooped up in the backseat had finally started eating into me. “I need batteries” I replied, only to have it come out as more of a whine than anything else. “Why do you need batteries?” Dad asked, his voice rising slightly. “These are dead” I replied, flicking the switch from on to off and back again. Mom sighed. “I thought we told you to pack extra” Mom shot “Where’s your bag?” She turned her head to look at me or the void space where a dark green JanSport might be, had I bothered to place it into the car. Racking my brain, I was only able to come to one conclusion. “I…forgot it.” I muttered. I knew where it was, clear as day. It was still on the living room couch, stuffed with batteries, comics, and a flashlight for reading. I had snuck a roll of Oreo’s in one of the side pockets, stuffing them neatly in a roll of socks. I knew what was coming next “You have to be more careful, bud.” Dad said, “you’re nearly a teenager.” Technically, I had packed it. I had just forgotten to bring it. I wouldn’t say that though. She answered with her usual, emphatic “hmpf” and that was that. She turned around to face the abyss in front of her. The car fell silent again as some song about a stalker hit its peak. We drove, no longer playing the kinds of games that were meant to pass time, but actually just wasted it, the shadowy outline of everything slowly becoming hypnotically metronomic. “That was Rockwell’s ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’, and if you’re hearing this, you are officially up past your bedtime.” The voice on the radio spoke. It was another hour or so before I was jostled awake by the car coming to an abrupt stop. Outside, large plastic letters advertised “Gas and Sip” on which the G-I-P seemed to have long gone out, so the place was literally called the asS diner. The parking lot was dotted with 18-wheelers and cargo trucks, all of whose decals had faded away, so all that was really distinguishable about them were the bottom portion of what could’ve been a diamond or a triangle or…maybe it was an M. “Go get you and your brother something to eat.” Dad said. He handed Maya a handful of wadded up ones “And put ten on pump three.” “Can I keep the change?” Maya asked Dad gave her a wary look before turning back to the car and starting to take the gas cap off. “Come on, loser.” Maya grabbed me by the sleeve of my shirt and we walked quietly towards the diner. Inside, the halogen lights flickered and dimmed at every turn. The tic-tac linoleum floors held the same stickiness as every movie theatre floor I had ever seen, pulling at my shoes with every step. Wh-uick Wh-uick Wh-uick We made it to the counter, where a lady in a grease splattered apron stood watching the matchbox tv that hung in the corner. David Letterman was talking to Bruce Willis and Demi Moore about their dogs and the lady at the counter found it to be the most hilarious thing “What’ll it be?” She asked, not turning to look at us. “Do you have chicken nuggets?” I asked “We are not getting chicken nuggets.” Maya said, her voice firm. “I want chicken nuggets.” I replied Annoyed, the waitress, who’s name tag read “Ann” tapped the counter with the edge of her pen where a scrap of paper had been tapped down at its edges. Ass only served three things. Hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and fries. “We’ll have four cheese burgers…with four Cokes” Maya said, “and can you put ten on pump three?” She slid the money across the counter. The waitress, who’s name tag read “Ann,” looked harshly at us both as if we were being interrogated before taking the money and giving Maya her change. “Four burgers with cheese.” She shouted through a pass-through in the wall. The face of a man wedged itself into view before letting out what I assume was a grunt of understanding before it disappeared again. “Find a table.” Maya said before tossing the placard to me. “Where’re you going?” I questioned “The restroom.” She replied, “just go and wait for the food.” With that, she turned and disappeared down the hall. I found a space near one of the oversized windows and pulled my Gameboy out of my jacket pocket in the hopes that it might have magically recharged itself in the time I left it to sit. It hadn’t. A clock hung on the wall, its occasional tick drowning out Letterman. 12:03 shown in eerily slanted letters that looked like they had been painted on. The line-up of the Late-Night show in the diner consisted of an elderly couple eating pie, a younger couple, also eating pie, two truckers who looked comically like what you might expect a trucker to look like, and a guy who looked like he’d been pulled out of an episode of COPS; large, bulging eyes, weird hair, covered in dirt. He kept fidgeting for no reason, his feet tapping against the bottom of the stool like a rabbit’s foot. He wore the puffiest, heaviest coat I’ve ever seen, even though it was crazy hot outside, even for summer. I tried to not think about it, focusing solely on the space where someone had carved their initials on the diner wall, above a jukebox that looked like it hadn’t been used in decades. ZK Wuz Here The waitress, whose name tag read “Ann” slid a tray of burgers onto the table before setting the drinks out. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until right up to this point. The burgers at asS tasted like burgers. Nothing made them one way or another the best thing that I have ever eaten. The bread was great, but the ketchup was watery. The cheese was melty, but the meat was dry. At 12:03 in the morning, food is food. Hastily, before Maya had come back, I started to devour the burger I claimed, tearing clean through the wrapper and scarfing greedily at it. I didn’t look up until I heard someone slide into the booth across from me. Half expecting Maya to be looking at me, disappointment clear on her face, I was surprised to find the guy who looked like he was from an episode of COPS sitting across from me. It wasn’t until he was this close that I could fully appreciate just how uncomical and awkward his appearance was. His eyes didn’t just bulge out of his head, they hung from it. They looked like those googly eyes you’d be forced to put on something like a clothes pin or a cotton ball to give it human-like features so that someone might say in passing, “this isn’t a cotton ball, this is a goddamn snowman. You get an A in art class, Kandinsky.” His hair was a mop of blond that had been streaked with blues and greens and barrettes and clips of every colour. His face was covered in literal, not figurative, sharpie drawings. “How’re you?” He asked, his voice a snake-like whisper. I didn’t answer, choosing to stare at him, mouth open, food half chewed. “What you playin’?” He asked “Listen,” I said with a start, “I don’t know you, but please leave me alone.” He stared at me for a moment, his creepy eyes looking as if they’d tilt out of his head and smash on the table, sending bits of creepy eye goo everywhere. It’d probably smell like bubble-gum and ass and for good measure, it’d be acidic enough to burn straight through the table, straight down to the basement. “I’m just asking a simple question.” He said, “no need to freak out.” “I’m playing Batman” I said. “Sweet,” He hissed, “can I play?” “Batteries are dead.” I answered resignedly He extended his hand as if to say, “let me see,” before sliding it away from me. “What I always find,” he said, removing the battery cover, “is that patience is a virtue.” He fiddled around with the batteries, moving them into different places. He took a paperclip from his pocket and wedge it in for good measure, before turning the entire thing over and staring at it like a proud father might look at their kid riding a bike and flipped the switch to ON. With that, the game sprung to life. “Good as new.” He said, smiling as if he’d just pulled off the greatest magic trick before returning the game, “So, where are you from?” “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” I said “But, I’m not a stranger,” he said, “we were just talking. I fixed your game.” “That was more of a nicety.” “A nicety?” He asked another chuckle finding its way out of his mouth, “how old are you.” I looked around, hoping that Maya might be walking out of the restroom, her usual surly big sister face on. She’d see the creeper, cross the room, and stab him in the side of the head with one of her bony ass fingers, say something bad ass and then he’d leave. What I did find was that on the outside of what I’m assuming is the only restroom’s door, a notice to “wash your damn hands” had been taped. I could feel a little piece of me die. “Listen, I just want to be left alone, yeah?” “I just wanted to tal-” He started. My armpits started to tingle, and I could tell that on some level I was close to vomiting or crying or both and then I felt the part of me that wanted nothing more than to walk back to the car, climb into the backseat, and go back home. And so, I started to cry. He stared at me for a moment before laughing to himself. He raised his hands in defeat and slowly stood before walking out of the diner. Even though I couldn’t see him, part of me could feel him staring in through the windows, his eerily large eyes boring into me. “Why are you crying?” A voice asked I looked up to see Maya standing next to me, her glasses in her hands. “Just tired.” I said She whispered something that sounded exactly like, “you a fucking bitch” “Where are mom and dad?” She asked without taking her eyes off the space directly behind me. “They haven’t come in yet.” I said, my mouth still full of burger. “Ellie, where’s the car?” She asked I turned to find the space by the gas pumps void of anyone, especially not a station wagon with a bunch of luggage strapped to the roof. “Shit.” I muttered as I pushed past Maya. We ran through the double doors and into the night. The air was sharp and musty, the taste of dirt and the moments just before rain caked itself thick on everything. “What the hell.” Maya asked as she too looked around, confused. I could feel my heart in my throat, goosebumps crept across my arm and neck and I immediately felt as if I was going to be sick. We stood outside, looking up and down the road for any sign of anything, but there was nothing. No cars. No lights. No sound of something far off in the distance. Nothing.

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