#but like I said non bullet points on ao3

[eetherealgoddess]

Hello, I really love your stories/writings. I've been a fan since you began, and I don't really have many ideas, but if possible could I request a 'scream' au (the movies). Like the tr boys are just ultra yander for reader and kill every person around them, finally kidnapping them or smtg like that. Maybe if it's possible a male reader? Sorry, if you don't really understand it, English isn't my language

I don’t remember much about scream since I haven’t seen it since I was a kid so hopefully you enjoy this anyway! Thank you for the support! ♡︎♡︎♡︎

ꨄMurder Houseꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Serial Killers Au

❦You wake up to a horror house❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture him as a black male but you can see him however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Murder House

You wake up to the sound of a loud thud followed by a blood curdling scream.

“What the hell?” You whisper to yourself as you sit up in the bed, paused as your heart begins to race, anxious thoughts flying through your mind as you recognize the voice to be one out of the four roommates who occupy the house. You jump once you hear another loud noise, followed by the slam of a door and another scream belonging to another one of your roommates. You hop out of bed, completely terrified as the hairs on your body stand, your hands trembling as you ease to the bedroom door.

Your eyebrows furrow as you hear laughing along with a voice’s muffled talking. You slowly turn the knob, easing the door open as you pray it doesn’t creak. Fortunately, luck is on your side at the moment because you successfully step out of the room without anyone’s knowledge. Your hands meet the wall as you walk down the hall, the weeping sound of a couple of your roommates causes a lump in your throat as you realize this must be a dire situation.

You make it to the staircase, slowly walking down the stairs, step by step as you listen to the conversation below.

“You like that, yeah?” You wince once you hear something making contact with what you assume to be flesh, along with another yell of pain.

“PLEASE! S-STOP!” Your roommate Juno cries, causing you to cover your mouth as you ease down another step, slowly breathing as you try to calm yourself down, failing as the feeling of danger overtakes you.

Finally making it to the point of the wall where you can peek your head, you crouch down and eye the display through the railing of the staircase. Your eyes widen as you block a gasp, tears freely falling as your body trembles violently.

Three of your roommates lay dead, one of them with their body leaned against the wall of the living room, head detached and thrown to the side as blood leaks from the wound, oozing down his neck as the blood connects to the wall and puddles under the body staining the floor. The other deceased roommate’s eyes are wide open, an ax stuck in the middle of his head as blood leaks down his forehead. His body leaning over as he’s positioned to lean against the wall.

The last dead roommate has his lower face shot off, the bullet causing a horrific wound as half of his jaw is nowhere to be seen. His eyes are rolled into his head. Your last roommate who’s still alive is being beaten with a bloody bat.

Goddamnit! How long has this been going on? How am I not dead?

You look around frantically at the men who stood above the bodies. The one using a bat to repeatedly beat your roommate to death has a twisted smirk plastered on his face, his bun shaking along with the blonde strands moving against his face. Blood is splattered on his clothes and face. His golden eyes crazed while he brings his arms back and slams them down, poor Juno becoming quieter as time passes.

A black haired short man sat on the couch as he watches the display, blood on his clothes as well as a drop on his face. He eats the packaged delicacy with his legs criss crossed. A pink haired man is sitting beside him with a leg crossed over the other as he’s leaned back against the couch, cleaning the gun he’s holding. Your roommate’s blood plastered on him as well.

Two men, who look similar besides their hair, stood to the side with amusement on their faces, the taller one smoking a cigarette as the younger one stood with his arms crossed. Both have blood on their faces and neck.

“Finally.” The man with the bat breathes out once he sees the guy under him is completely limp, blood pooling under him from the inflicted wounds.

“Can we get Y/n, now? I’m bored.” The man with the treat takes his last bite before tossing the empty packaging on the ground. Your breath hitched once you heard your name.

They know about me? Now they’re gonna kill me! I have to get out of here!

You couldn’t move though, your body too tense with fear as you begin to feel a throbbing in your head and ringing in your ear.

I have to breathe.

You quietly breathe in and out, holding a hand to your chest as you try to get yourself together.

“He should be waking soon if he isn’t already. It’s been hours since he had the pill.” The pink haired one states.

Pill? What the hell are they talking about? How did they get the chance to drug me?

“Then let’s go get him. I’m ready to go home.” The younger brother sighs, bored of the situation now that they’ve completed the hardest part.

Scared out of your mind, you grab your phone to call the police as you try to quietly make your way back up the stairs.

My dumbass should’ve done this when I was in my room. Damnit, Y/n!

Somehow, the AI from your phone was activated, a loud, ‘ding’ echoes in the room. Your eyes widen as you curse, immediately turning your phone off as you shove it back in your pocket.

Goddamnit Siri!

All of their heads turn to the staircase, a smirk falling on their expressions as they realize you had been hiding.

“Oh? I think someone’s awake.” The taller brother states.

You immediately run up the stairs and make it to your room, slamming and locking the door behind you as you run to your window.

Your heart pounds as you open the glass and eyed the distance from where you stood. You jolt and let out a yelp when a crash sounds from your door. You turn to eye the door. With a glowing sharp fanged smile, the pink haired man slams his foot against the door repeatedly. The hinges coming loose with each kick.

“Be a good boy, Y/n and come out! We don’t have to do this the hard way!” He yells.

When you turn back around you eye the window once more, before you throw yourself out of the two story building, landing with a harsh thud and rolling down the hill at the side of the house that’s built in the middle of nowhere.

Get up! Get up! Get up! Get the fuck up Y/n!

You slowly pick yourself up as you wince in pain. When you finally make it to your feet, you hiss as your hand meets with your leg, a terrible pain shooting through as you weakly begin to limp to the only area you could, the woods next to your house.

Please! If there’s a god please let me live!

Luckily the hill gives you a head start. You dare turn your head back to the window as you limp away, gasping when you see the figure standing at your window. You can feel the piercing gaze as you disappear deeper into the woods.

“Should we chase or should I shoot?”

You continue dragging yourself until you hear a shot, ignoring it as you move, sweat falling down your body and face as you breathe heavily. You scream as you finally feel a throbbing pain in your leg, causing you to drop to the ground. You turn over and look down at your leg.

“F-Fuck!” You hold onto the bloody limb, tears fall as you drop your head on the ground. Too drowsy from the pain and your pounding heart, the sound began to blur around you along with your vision.

You wake up, hanging on someone’s back as you’re carried. Hands hold your legs as your arms are wrapped around someone’s neck. Too weak to say anything or move, you lay there with your squinted eyes. You weakly eye the pairs of legs walking beside the person holding you.

“Should’ve let me carry him, Ran.”

“Don’t be bitter, brother.” He chuckled.

“Is the bed ready for him, Sanzu?”

“Yes, Mikey. Did you set up the chains, Kazu?”

“Definitely. He’s not going anywhere for a long time.” He smiles.

“Glad to finally have him in our arms.”

“Fuck yeah. Wish we would’ve grabbed him sooner.”

“Yeah it was annoying how he was always surrounded by people.”

“Good thing we took care of all of them.”

“I can’t wait to fuck the shit out of him. I just know he’s a screamer.”

“I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

Too exhausted with a throbbing pain in your leg, you drift off into a deep slumber, unknown to the journey that awaits you when you’re brought back to reality.

[blackknight-kai]

ASKS & INFO Pinned Post

Kai’s note: 😊 Asks are closed for now as of 11/15 will open soon when I get through work / current asks.

Keep it to Sun Wukong/Destineded One Black Myth Wukong.

I’m not well versed on the og lore I’m sorry….Nsfw is okay! If I can’t do it or I’m not comfy I’ll private message you. (I do work full time so bear with me if I don’t get to you right away)

I’m a bit slow during the week getting to them. Plus if I’m particularly inspired and actually write a mini fic instead of bullet points it takes a little longer. If I don’t get to yours just know it’s because I may not have something for what you requested 🫂 I’m giving my best at them so I apologize if I can’t get yours.

Ask template:

- [ ] Gender for reader: Fem, Male, Gen Neutral. - I default to gender neutral or fem BUT I will write male 😊😊😊

- [ ] Type: Be a little specific on what you want, nsfw or fluff.

- [ ] OCs: I won’t do these sorry guys 🫂🫶.

- [ ] I write for both monkeys so do you want 1 or both? (If both I give a small Drabble/HC on each.

NON N.S.F.W stuff -

- [ ] I like silly fun ideas and prompts very very much!

- [ ] love fluff!!!!! Or anything that makes me laugh.

- [ ] Angst is…selective - I like happy endings. I don’t mind resolved angst but I’m a baby and too much is hard.

N.S.F.W:

- [ ] Be a little specific, like if it’s a male request, do you want WK/DO to take you or are you taking him. ladies if you wanna peg him that��s cool too I just gotta know

- [ ] I will write knotting stuff/rut/season stuff.

- [ ] Rough play is okay!

- [ ] Yandere is okay!

All that said, again I’m gonna do my best! I cannot promise you I will get yours or that it’ll be as long as another but I see you and I appreciate you very very very much for thinking of me and asking me 🫶🐒

FICS: Find my tag “BK Kai Writes” for any fics/asks I make 🤟here

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackKnight_Kai/pseuds/BlackKnight_Kai

(AO3 I am uploading the drabbles over time there so they will be in the collection)

About:

- [ ] 30 years old and I obviously play games.

- [ ] I’m a very open person and a safe person no judgments from me!! Straight, gay, bi, trans, ace, whatever you are, I’m cool with you. So even if we never interact and you needed somebody to listen I’ll do it!

- [ ] I do tend to cuss a lot so just let me know if that’s not you’re thing and I can tone that down. Im not out to make anyone uncomfortable but at the same time just know it’s part of me.

Again, if we never interact but you see this post I hope you have a fantastic fucking day because you’re amazing!

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

okay so a couple of days ago i saw this ask on @fellshish's blog about a need for a full 1941 discorporated aziraphale angst fic, realized i had an entire outline already in the hull, and... this happened:

a "what if crowley didn't miss in 1941" fic, including but not exclusive to the moment itself, the hours leading up to it, and the aftermath; a fanfiction (chapter 3/4)

summary:

It's Fell the Marvelous' awaited debut performance on the West End. He has his marksman, his turnips, and things appear to be going as planned—that is, until said marksman does the one thing he was supposed to avoid. Not missing. (or: the bullet catch goes wrong, and due to a tiny technicality, crowley's afraid aziraphale is gone for good. and crowley himself—for the first time in quite a while—is well and truly alone.)

warnings: full of blood, sweat, kissing while crying, blown up heads, prayers, nostalgic churches, polaroids, alcohol, and aziraphale being a discorporated bastard and bitching his way back to earth while a plot we should probably be focusing occurs as we ignore it entirely. and written extremely slowly. oxymoron but i couldnt get this out of my head fast enough and now you must endure it (should you choose to accept). i think i'm gonna be pretty proud of this though. excited!

(also thank @tforthetea for the inspiration because a conversation with them helped spark this the first time. all hail)

ao3 link for those who didn't check the title, and fic under the cut! :)

chapter 1: number thirteen

One of the things Crowley liked gloating about on occasion was that he was older than Death Itself.

He wasn’t technically wrong, per se. The humans think him mad, and the demons think him stupid, but he was still right. Human concepts, despite their hold on the population and overall importance, were non-existent before or even during the Beginning. The Four Horsemen and other ideas evolved right alongside the humans, so technically, Crowley was older than all of them. He rather liked having something to lord over War (in his head), during the few unfortunate meetings he would have with her. Famine was a non-issue, and Death could not touch him regardless of how much he didn’t like him. There were failsafes.

Now, however, actually being in the room that Aziraphale could potentially walk into and never come out of, Crowley would gladly take all of it back and pretend he never even thought about it at all.

The damned magician. Crowley never caught his name, but if he had, he would wrought him with the most annoyingly small curses that no one would ever believe to be true after today. Tonight wasn’t just about impressing the audience or even repaying that wine-filled debt, it was about them. Tonight, Crowley was to play the trusted stooge, and…shoot the angel. Point blank. In the face. And make it look real. And not discorporate him. And not get them fired. And—

There were a lot of things to consider, alright? To contrary belief, Crowley did, in fact, not think Death was silly or stupid. He’d also been there when It was born, you know. Crowley liked Abel. Watching It happen was, plainly, fucking terrifying. It brought up something new, and change was just as scary as Death. Ask anyone, and they’d tell you.

Crowley has been running that unfortunate meeting involuntarily through his head for the first ten or so minutes of waiting for the actual show to begin, while also listing out the terrible things he would do to the magician man had he ever held the opportunity again. He’d been sort of gunning (no pun intended) to stay backstage and avoid the riffraff, but been ushered out the dressing room the second he’d given his (admittingly harsh) two cents on the situation. Aziraphale said he wanted privacy before the big show, but Crowley knew he was just ticked. Aziraphale was an angel who thrived with a supportive devil over his shoulder.

So, Crowley is just milling around in the crowd as the Allied soldiers and their companions filter in. They come and go—a Lady even comes to check on him at point, mentioning odd vacant gazes and looking over shoulders paranoid-like, but he waves them off before they can pry. He really shouldn’t be so worried—even if Aziraphale…‘didn’t make it through the night’, he’d eventually be fine. As long as he discorporated a certain way, nothing too lethal—some deaths were harder to come back from others.

They’ve been discorporated before, of course. That was how Crowley knew this. Six millennia offered many opportunities for the event. But never, and it was never, at each other's hand. On paper, yeah, they killed each other on occasion, but truly…

Crowley shifts nervously, sending a glare at anyone who got a bit too close, but the brief discomforts aren’t enough to lift his spirits. There was one entity faffing about who refused to bugger off even with direct acknowledgements, though that might be because Crowley was imagining It. Or It really was here, and interested in the affairs of potential angel discorporation. Or a bomb was going to fall here and It was just beating the rush. The theories were far from endless.

Death appeared back there as soon as Crowley had been kicked out. He’s simply been dealing with it since then, and It probably wasn’t helping to lift his spirits. He shouldn’t be so antsy—both logic and mechanics deemed it so.

They’d be fine, Crowley repeats to himself near constantly, finding a proper seat in direct line of sight where Aziraphale will be standing. He readjusts his tie as the humans sit around him, creating a perfectly isolated bubble of red velvet seats. What did it matter that twelve humans died doing this before? They weren’t human. Death had no claim on them. It couldn’t take them even if It so desired.

Crowley scowls at the hooded figure standing near the entrance of the theater, cold scythe gleaming under the warm bulbs of the West End. Its just…standing there. Making no move to come closer, either. Odd.

Crowley sinks lower into his plush seat, as if trying to avoid Death’s gaze. But being one of two immovable objects on this Earth, It’s always on him. If Death had a goal, there would be no point in warding It away.

Seeing Death is a famous bad omen, and would send a chill down his spine had it been anywhere else. At this moment, however, Crowley is simply irritated. If It was looking for another soul in this theater, that was fine by him, let It take them, but It would not be ruining whatever this was. Humans were ever plentiful—there was only one angel deserving of Earth.

Before Crowley can decide whether or not he should be stupid and confront the omen in the room, the lights go dim. The crowd’s murmurs die down, and Crowley has no choice but to stay seated and watch the show. Aziraphale wouldn’t be coming on until the Ladies of Camelot had their first number, but Crowley could easily endure it. The gaze aimed straight at his head could be ignored.

World be damned if It took the angel’s enthusiasm. They’d be fine. Crowley just has to remember that.

-----

Things are, indeed, not going fine.

Crowley is meant to go up on stage any second now. Aziraphale has no inkwell in his gloved hand. No amount of snapping is removing said turnip from line of sight. He reads the pamphlet—then again, then again, then again, but there is no second option for apparently miracleless individuals.

Fucking. Hell.

Whatever false bravado Aziraphale is spewing is null and void compared to the should-be-non-existent nerves running through frantic hands and finding absolutely nothing useful. Crowley flips through the same two pages—give the stooge the bullet, poise, and shoot. The miracle would’ve ensure that the bullet would never leave the barrel. But now—now, well, he really regrets not considering a Plan B. Did they ever consider a Plan B? Apparently not.

Getting there is a blur. Aziraphale is essentially shoving the rifle into Crowley’s care, which is honestly becoming a worse idea by the second. He’s switching between the demon and the audience so quickly that Crowley can’t tell who he’s addressing. They’re deathly quiet, and Crowley would feel embarrassed if his heart that shouldn’t be there wasn’t pounding with too much blood in too little time. His mind is a soup. Muddled, feverish, and incredibly foul tasting. You wouldn’t want to drink it even if you were starving.

“I would ask you,” Aziraphale says loudly, cutting through the fog of utter mental mush, “to take this bullet, and load it into the rifle. Very carefully.”

Crowley nods belatedly, squeezing and turning parts of the gun to get the non-existent warmth running back through his fingers. He takes the bullet, and turns it round a few times while Aziraphale stares at him with excruciating anxiety. Is he stalling? Honestly, even Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell you.

“It's perfectly simple,” Aziraphale mutters softly, pushing the gun a bit closer. “Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear.”

Crowley can’t find himself to agree here. He’s staring at him, and that would usually get him to listen regardless of shades, but Death is boring into them like the harshest of theater critics. His skin is slick, almost clammy, threatening to let the gun slip and fire a stray bullet anywhere but its intended target. His back is sore, oddly enough. Irritating.

Crowley has questions, like he always does, but the time has long passed. What he wants to ask is ‘do I just squeeze that little bit there?’ pointing at (what looks like) to be the trigger—but then that would just make Crowley look incompetent, so he swallows it back and nodly lightly. He’s never fired a gun like Aziraphale seems to believe whole-heartedly, but he’s certainly watched it happen. He’s picked up enough of the motions to figure it out on his own.

That thought still doesn’t help when he’s being told to insert the bullet, though. Crowley fumbles through it, opening a mislaid hatch or two, but manages before Aziraphale could raise any alarms. He’s already stood back in position (when did that happen?) when Crowley raises the loaded rifle for all to see, proclaiming as such. He bites back the tremor threatening to appear—he wasn’t nervous. Excited, more like it. Excited to finally get an excuse to make a throw at the angel non-suspicious like.

That was all it was. Really.

Crowley turns the rifle one last time as Aziraphale spins more useless pageantry for the audience to woo at. They’re both grinning, but tightly and annoyingly false. It wasn’t the eyes that were the problem—what, do you think that demons ever got stage fright? Absurd!

It was just...well, there weren’t just humans in this audience. Crowley couldn’t forget the shadow looming at the end of the theater no matter how tight he grips the side of the weapon. But, just like Someone had laid out all that Time ago—Death could only perceive them.

It could not touch them.

It would not touch them.

It would not touch him, if he could help it.

The drums begin their incessant titter as Aziraphale finally turns to Crowley properly, blue cloak glimmering under the warm light of the stage before them. “A-are you ready, sir?”

Crowley would scoff at this if he could. Sir. Only humans ever addressed him that way; angels look down on him, demons sneer at him. Though he supposes this angel would be different—always throwing the curveballs, him.

“When you hear my signal,” the angel says, voice growing quieter, “shoot.”

Aziraphale removes his tophat, revealing preciously white curls. This pings something, the remaining traces of damned sense he’s got buried inside. Crowley isn’t sure what has possessed him—but he shakes his head. It’s all he can do. Don’t make me do it, he nearly warns out loud. Not if you know what’s good for you.

Aziraphale stills, but not before mouthing words that would be akin to an ashamed mumble if he were close enough. Trust me.

Trust me.

Satan, he got him there. That’s why Crowley was here, after all. Stooge. 100% Reliable Marksman.

Right.

Aziraphale isn’t nearly as good as Crowley at hiding his anxious gaze. “Ready?”

Oh, Heavens no. He never would be, but no better time than the present. Or something like that. He can’t recall where it came from.

“Aim…”

Crowley can’t ignore it anymore—he’s shaking. Extremely so, at that. It’s knocking around the air in his lungs very unkindly. It’s quite difficult to aim. His head is bobbing around in the scope.

Just about…

There it is.

Crowley waits—just like he’s done for the last…however long. A long time. His arms are starting to hurt, frankly. He rests his finger over the trigger to ease the trembling a tad.

And the magician remains silent.

Crowley ignores the sweat crawling down his neck. (Wasn’t it supposed to be freezing?) He waits some more—it’s not like one can forget where you are. Benefit of the doubt and such.

Nothing still. Nary a nod.

He’s been staring at him for a minute. The crowd hasn’t uttered a peep. Is Crowley just supposed to…do it? Did they talk about this? They must have. They talked about this. They talked about it, right? Yeah. Yeah, they must have—

"Fire!"

He startled him.

The reason why he listens is easy to explain. Aziraphale made Crowley flinch. A bit of a spook, really, not that bad of a fright. A sudden jolt—a tap on the shoulder, one that said ‘oh, look, you’ve got perfect aim already! Shoot!’

And he did.

What’s the first rule of approaching someone with a weapon again?

Right. Don’t fucking scare them.

The handle is warm. Slick, heavy, shaky. The scope aims with guilty target missing at the helm. A puff of smoke is spewing from the barrel. A thump, a sickening thump, deafening in the cricket silence of a post-trick world.

And Aziraphale…is on the floor.

(Where else would he be, really?)

There, obviously. On the floor. With a blown-up head. Bleeding like blessed Heaven. Bleeding like bloody Heaven, while Crowley has to take in the sight and smell the blessed thing.

It fits. They fit. Like a perfect crown on a decapitated head.

God, his head’s just gone, isn’t it?

A noise cuts through the thick silence like a stubbornly determined knife. Far away, above it all, there it rings. It’s muffled, soft, and almost awkward in the way it cuts through the air. A camera click. A reluctant, malicious camera click.

And that was just the perfect way to say it, no? He blew his brains out. Crowley blew his angel’s fucking brains out with a fucking gun that he’s never fucking held before.

Trust me.

Well. That, no doubt, was Aziraphale’s fault—it’d be a funny old world if angels and demons went around trusting one another.

-----

hgh. hope that was decent. chapter two coming as soon as it can because im invested now :))

[hellfire--cult]

Baring Teeth {Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader} - Ch. 7

Picture for Banner: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU, Mechanic!Eddie

⚠️Warnings: Ab*se, Violence, Mental Health, Cursing, Smut (mild), treat it as a normal Enemies 2 Lovers book, but the A/B/O dynamic will appear at some point. Trauma, manipulation, dirty talk, omegaverse topics.

Crossposted on: Wattpad & AO3

A/N: I promise, we're entering the mature zone soon! Just gotta be patient with me ;) Remember, all reblogs are very much appreciated, as well as your comments!

Also! I am uploading a very short story about Stripper!Eddie and a very Shy reader ;) Here you go.

Anyways, Enjoy!

<- Prev. chapter - Next chapter ->

Chapter 7

“Please, please, give me a break, I can’t do this again, please!” You yelled while laying on the hospital’s bed, your upper body propped up with each foot hooked into some metal pedals in each corner of the bed to keep your legs spread.

The doctor pulled away, looking up from in between your legs with pity eyes and shook her head.

“We can’t stop the process sweetheart, a pause can cause an alteration and we’re already more than halfway there! I promise!” You were processing what she was saying, with tears streaming down your cheeks, your bottom lip busted open from biting onto it way too hard to control your cries. The pain was unbearable, feeling like you were being split open, your insides being ripped apart. 

But you wanted this. You both wanted this. Something is wrong with you, it has to be. There’s no other explanation for it, no matter if the doctors ran a bunch of tests on you and said everything should really be fine, you didn’t believe that. Something was not working, but you really wanted this. 

So you nodded for your doctor to proceed, and the pain worsened from there.

———————————————————————————

“Buckley!” You busted the bar doors open in a slam, red faced, completely pissed off, already strutting towards the all too well booth and there she was. Hiding behind Steve at the corner of the seat, and your glare was digging a bullet through her skull. Robin gulped and looked over Steve’s shoulder.

“H-Hi! I’m sorry I didn’t–”

“Sorry?! You left me to do Hargrove’s presentation all by myself! And now I find you drinking again after telling me you felt sick in your stomach today! What’s the fucking deal Robin!?” You were pissed, so much, you didn’t notice the man sitting across Robin while he took a sip of his beer.

“Shit, baby, I’m sorry– I just didn't feel like going into work today either, and now I feel better!” She tried to excuse herself but you shook your head at her, sitting inside the booth, right next to the man that was looking at you as if you were crazy because you still hadn’t noticed him, and now you were sitting next to him.

Your eyes were filled with rage, and also another feeling you didn’t want to feel with Robin. You were feeling used. As if she had taken advantage of you for this project, but you didn’t even have to punish her for it, because–

“Beer for She-Hulk.” You heard Jonathan talk, and he knew you too well, placing the cold beer right in front of your face. Whenever you were angry, you ordered beer instead of a sweet drink. You grabbed onto the bottle and took a large sip of it, Steve’s eyes frowning in worry as he looked back and forth to you and the man next to you.

“Um–” Robin began and you slammed your bottle on the table, giving a huge sigh. You looked down at the condensation of the bottle, and you knew you would have to deliver the news to Robin. So without looking up, you kept staring at the label of the beer.

“Mrs. Liana took you off our project.” And silence fell on the table. Robin was looking at you, completely perplexed as you kept looking down at the bottle. She knew she didn’t help you much with the project, but it still stung in her heart that she was ripped away from it.

“You didn’t stop her?” She asked you and you looked up at her with a frown on your eyebrows.

“What did you want me to say? All the beta presentations of the project were done by me because you didn’t know what to say Robs. No matter if I did a speech for you or not! And then, the final presentation and you didn’t show either!” You did try to help Robin be more into the project, knowing it was a big opportunity for the both of you, but she was busy with Vickie visiting, or going out with Steve, or ‘feeling sick’.

Robin was looking now at her own bottle of beer, feeling completely dejected. She knew she had it coming, her own negligence kicking her right back in the ass. She sighed and took a sip of her drink, giving you a nod.

“It’s fine. I deserve it. But it means more work for you then.” You wanted to yell at her, telling her that she didn’t really help, so it would really just remain the same for you. You took a deep breath in, calmed down, and gave Robin a nod.

“Yes. But it’s fine, I can handle it.” You shrugged and took another sip, a little bit calmer now. You were stressed because of this, because it meant all the meetings and getting together with clients will be thrown your way, but this was nothing. You liked the distraction.

“Hey, I’m sorry… I had my head stuck in useless stuff.” You shook your head at her and smiled sadly.

“Hey, at least you got a life. I only have my work, and a list of useless people that don’t know how to satisfy someone else’s needs.” You say, taking out a pack of flavored marlboro from your suit’s pocket. You were in the smoking section of the bar, and each booth had vents over their heads to keep the smoke out. You lit it up to take a large swig out of the stick, letting the smoke fill your lungs to then exhale out, feeling your muscles relax.

“Um…” You heard Steve call you out and you looked at him with a confused look on your face, but he wasn’t looking at you. You followed his gaze towards the person that was sitting next to you, and had been staring at you since you sat down.

Brown irises locked with your own eyes, and you felt a cold sweat invade you, but no anger came to your chest. You were far too stressed for this bullshit, so you sighed heavily and rested against the back of the booth, looking back towards the bottle. 

“Great.” You say, taking a sip of your drink while holding the smoke on your other hand. 

“I don’t know how you didn’t notice me.” Eddie asks you while taking another sip of his drink, his stomach was in a knot while sitting next to you, and he could sense your distress ever since you entered the bar. 

“You aren’t the center of the world Munson, or my world for that matter. Sorry to disappoint you.” You say bitterly and Eddie bit the inside of his bottom lip to contain the snarky remarks he wanted to say to you, but Steve shot him one glare with a shake of his head. Eddie let out a shaky, angry, breath and clenched his jaw tightly.

“About the other night–”

“Please don’t.” You immediately spat out through your teeth. You didn’t have the energy to deal with his half ass apology, and you weren’t in the mood of apologizing either. Eddie’s eyes perked up at your response and looked at you, his mood souring each minute it passed.

“I’m trying to be civil here, Peach.” He calls you out and you roll your eyes towards the ceiling, taking another swig of your cigarette, looking at him to blow the smoke into his face. He closed his eyes but didn’t flinch, his body heating up with anger as he opened them up to look at you again.

“Forget about it. You trying to be civil Munson is like a penguin learning to fucking fly.” And you heard Steve sigh heavily, rubbing his eyes with his hand while Robin stared at the interaction. Eddie scoffed, slamming the bottle on the table to look at you.

“What is your fucking problem? I am trying to apologize, and you can’t help but be an insufferable cunt.” 

“Look in the mirror Munson.” You took a large swig of the cigarette, putting it out in the ashtray. “Like I said, forget it. I don’t want half assed apologies you don’t really want to make, and we don’t have to act like we tolerate each other. Yeah?” You say, blowing the smoke out of your lips as you talked. The panging on your chest was due to realizing you were sitting next to your mortal enemy, but it increased knowing he wanted to lie to you.

An apology? From him? Yeah, right.

“What the hell are you even smoking?” He asked, grabbing the pack in front of you to inspect it. “Does this really say Melon flavored? Jesus christ.” He dropped the pack back in front of you to take a sip of his own beer. You were about to retort to him, tell him he can shove his original flavored camels right up his ass, but your phone started to ring. 

You pulled it out, the tune of Harry Potter filling the air as you looked at the caller ID. You didn’t recognize the number, so it might be from your work. You sighed. You didn’t expect to have these kinds of calls right after your final presentation. You believed this would happen after meeting with a few clients, giving them your contact for future conversations. You slid the green button and put the phone in your ear.

“Hello?” You greet, taking a sip of your beer.

“Hi there Mousy.”

You spat it all over Steve and the table before you. Coughing wildly as you patted your chest to regain your breathing. Steve had stood up with a yell, trying to wipe his face and clothes as Robin let out a wild laugh, pointing at the stains on his shirt. Eddie was just bewildered at the interaction, but couldn’t help but hold in strangled chuckles in his throat.

“Shit!” You yell, grabbing onto a napkin to wipe away your mouth and hand Steve some more as he glared at you. 

“Damn, did I call at a bad time?” You heard him chuckle on the other side, and you felt nerves and warmth invade your whole body. He sounded way too good on the phone, Jesus christ. 

“I– wait–” You stood up, motioning for Robin to keep an eye on your stuff and she nodded at you while holding her giggles in, trying to fix Steve’s hair. The brown haired guy was still glaring at you as you made motion with your hand as a sorry. You stepped away from the booth, walking outside of the bar to talk a little bit more privately. “Sorry, I’m at a bar with friends and could barely hear you.”

“Ah, so I did call at a bad time.” He says, and you could even hear the smile on his face as he did, because he wasn’t going to hang up. You bit your bottom lip, holding back a smile as you scratched your cheek nervously. 

“How did you get my number?” You ask him and you hear some clinking on the other side, and then a gulp. You licked your lips at the sound and you cursed at the sky for how needy you were being that the sound of ‘gulping’ was making you horny.

“Well, my agent told me you are my editor in chief for that article, so of course I asked for your number so we could stay in touch, you know… just in case.” He was smirking against the phone and you know it. “I never call other people that aren’t acquaintances on my personal phone… But I can make an exception for you, Mousy.”

Oh, he was smooth. He was telling you he was calling you from his personal phone instead of the work related one. Meaning that the only person with access to this phone, was him only, and not his agent. You gripped onto the phone tightly against your ear and you let out a small giggle.

“Is that supposed to impress me Mr. Hargrove? Remember, we work together now.” You explain to him and you hear him laugh on the other side.

“Alright, humor me then, Mousy. When’s the next meeting happening?” You scrunched up your nose in thought and counted the days in your head.

“I believe is next wednesday Mr. Hargrove. Curtis Delore was very interested in your Balenciaga design.” You explain to him and you hear him whistle on the other side. 

“Delore, huh. But Wednesday? Don’t you think it’s a little far away?” Oh, things are turning interesting now. You licked the inside of your right cheek, feeling your stomach fill with butterflies at the attention this man was giving you.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I thought I could meet with you tomorrow. Discuss my work, and what we should say to the clients, just so all of our stories match.” Your breath was knocked out of your lungs. He was asking you out, this model was asking you out, on a saturday.

“Oh, we can definitely do that.”

“Great–” 

“On monday, at my office.” You reply to him, and on the other side of the phone, Billy Hargrove was stunned. He was rejected. Holy fuck, he was rejected. He should be angry, hang up, because no one belittled him like that. No one.

Yet, you… for whatever reason it is, he couldn’t help it. He was adoring this game of cat and mouse, which he never did, much less for someone like yourself. It’s not that you weren’t beautiful, but he always went for people of his same radius. Meaning actresses, models, singers. Famous people. 

None of the relationships Billy had lasted more than two months. The relationships were empty, filled with sex and empty conversations, fake interviews, fake scenarios his agent made him make up and talk about them in a talk show. He never had to flirt more than one night, much less go through the hustle of almost begging for someone’s number. But you were like a drug to him right now, and he wanted more, desired more. 

“Ah, so the game is still on, very well.” Your heart was on your throat, and you were about to say goodbye to him but suddenly his voice deepened in your ear and you almost dropped your device to the floor. “Mousy, one of these days you are going to come to me, on your own accord… And I’ll show you just how good I can make you feel.”

Your breathing became heavy as you clenched your legs together. Heat was rushing from your core, going all over your body at his words. You wanted to take it all back, tell him you’ll meet tomorrow, because the tension was too strong right now, and you could barely handle it. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to satisfy yourself tonight, or the day after now. There was no way.

“I–”

“Goodbye Mousy. See you on monday.” And like that, you heard the line click. Your mouth was open, staring at nothing, slowly blinking as you felt the air leaving your mouth but not feeling it really filling up your lungs. After two seconds of processing what happened, you smiled and squealed loudly, doing a little jump in your place as you tightened the phone to your chest.

You were sure he would believe you were rejecting him there, and to be honest, you were unsure if that would have been the right decision to do when he was kind of your employer in this article. But it’s temporary, literally month temporary, so you two wouldn’t be working together for long. You couldn’t help the smile on your face, walking back into the bar and sitting in the booth again, not caring any longer of who was sitting next to you.

“I’m sorry Steve.” You said with a wince as you saw how badly he was glaring at you, your smile dropping immediately at his state. His hair was pushed back, with the wet stains all over his polo shirt.

“Who called for you to react like that?” Steve asked with a sneer as Robin kept wiping his hair away with a tissue, grimacing at the smell of beer in his hair.

“Oh, that was–” And you froze. This wasn’t a hook up from the dating app, nor a stranger you see on the street. He might not even want this to be public, this teasing of yours, or this friendship, or whatever it is. Not even to your own friends. You felt your chest press on you and gulped, giving him a soft smile. “My mom.”

“So you jump like a high school girl when your mom calls you? You must love her very much.” Eddie said next to you, with venom in his tone now. You winced under your breath but kept the smile on your face as you turned to look at him.

“That I do.” You saw his jaw clench and unclench and he was fighting with everything in him to not call you out. But he had to calm down, breathing deeply and giving you a nod, turning to look at Robin. He knows that it wasn’t your fault that she was pushed aside from that project, and he knew you were feeling bad about it. He noticed it when your bottom lip quivered when you said she wasn’t going to participate in it anymore.

But now, you were lying again. So he took a big sip out of his beer, taking it all in one go. He raised his hand up to Jonathan to ask for another one, and when he came to the table, everyone ordered another set of beers, except for you.

“A Strawberry Daiquiri.” You said to Jonathan and he raised his eyebrows up at you with a confused look on his face.

“Not angry anymore? Sitting next to Munson? Really?” Robin was squinting while staring at you, wondering what was going on, but she knew you would tell her sooner or later. Right? You were looking at your phone, saving the newest contact on your list.

‘B. H.’

“Yeah, I’m in a better mood now.”

End of chapter 7

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[uselessbard1031]

Orphaning My Old Work???

Howdy everyone!

I'll keep this short, but I just wanted to hop on and let you all know that today I orphaned some of my old works on Ao3. I've been wanting to do so for over a year now and finally bit the bullet. Yes, this includes my most popular fic "Legend of Korra X Reader Oneshots" (for anyone whose request I didn't get to, I apologize. I bit off way way more than I could chew with that and have over thirty requests and a dozen half finished fics).

Why?

Well, when I started writing fanfiction for Ao3 I was 17/18 years old. I started publishing said fanfiction at 18/19/20 (19? I think?) and I am now in my mid-twenties so...I've changed. Lol. I've grown up.

When I first started writing I was immature and unexperienced with the world. I wrote for characters I never had attraction to myself (Ex. Adult! Toph, Suyin, Korra, Asami) because people asked me to, I saw those characters got hits, and I wanted to be liked online. It was hard because I didn't see them as romantic interests and I feel the writing suffered for that. Even 'I Bought A War Criminal' (another popular fic I wrote) I fell out of love with Kuvira while writing and it had a rushed ending due to that fact.

The X readers in particular had some smut chapters that explored kinks I don't have and truthfully had never even heard of until reading some other fanfictions. I won't get too personal, but, like many of us on here, I was exposed to way too much shit way too soon in my life so I found new edgy smut topics to keep me engaged. I've since dealt with some of that trauma and also experienced more IRL trauma around relationships and sexuality that make me read some stuff I wrote -- and stuff I READ while underage -- (ex. knife play, non-con, etc) and go woah hey who let me have Wattpad at 12 and what kind of effect did that shit have because--??? (I would like to say that being into certain kinks is not bad and I'm not trying to kink shame but to me I was desensitized due to exposure too young to NSFW material and due to some IRL trauma -- reading and writing that was my way to cope without actually working through any issues. An unhealthy way to cope. I didn't know healthy relationships because everyone in my life up to that point had abused me or hurt me in some way or another either intentionally or unintentionally so I figured Ao3 / Wattpad / Fanfic.net smut wasn't 'that bad'. Now, I deal with my trauma in healthier ways and realize it's just not what I'm into. A lot of it I wasn't even into when I wrote it. But I read it, so I wrote it. Even recently with Outlander I wrote wildshape smut not because I was into it but because all the other Jaheira fics had it and I figured hey it will get views. Because yes, smut gets views).

I'm just not proud of the writing quality. The first chapter of that X Reader Oneshots collection switches tenses like a million times. Who let me do that? Lol. I have a published book IRL that I'm taking down too because omg don't let 17 year olds self-publish XD

The point is, I never really wrote much of that stuff for me. I wrote it to get views. To get comments. To explore things I thought I was suppose to explore. Because no one in my real life was telling me I was good or capable. I wanted reassurance that I was writing the 'edgiest' stuff or the 'fluffiest' or the 'right characters' and the 'right stories'.

Going forward, I want to write for me. It's why I've moved fandoms because yes, I love Legend of Korra and Lin Beifong, but I'm not obsessed with it like I was. I found community in LOK and in AO3 and online in general but, after getting offline -- deleting social media -- reading things other than fanfiction -- basically, as I became less chronically online for the first time since Middle School, I realized that there's so much more out there that I enjoy. And much healthier ways to enjoy it.

I love all of the support you guys have given me and I stand by the amazing love and community I've gotten from all of my commenters and kudos-ers. But those fics just don't represent me anymore. Few of them ever represented me at all. Many were just what I thought would 'sell'.

I want to keep writing, so I will. But for the stories and characters I want to write about in ways that I actually enjoy. I want cute romances and metaphores for life. Writing smut feels like a chore most of the time so I'll probably just fade to black most of the time with a chapter or two exception. I still love fanficton -- it's an artform all its own. But yeah. Anyways, I hope my little ramble here makes sense and I hope you all get what I'm trying to say.

And if you are like past me -- having interacted with the internet and NSFW and smut since a young age and now feeling like every boundary isn't enough in fiction (*clears throat* I see you BookTok wth r those abusive ass relationships you're reading?) just know that maybe that kind of content isn't good for you and know that vanilla isn't lame. Know that you can write the stories and characters you want and that you don't have to write characters you don't want to write or situations that scare you. And you don't have to pretend not to be scared just for the sake of not kink-shaming.

Yeah. Anyway, if ya'll have any questions fell free to reach out to me! I hope you continue to like my work and if you don't, that's fine too. I hope you don't feel like I'm abandoning you. I think I'm just growing up and getting better mentally. <3

~UselessBard1031

[irrlicht-writes]

scribbles on your spine

Read this and its updates on Ao3! Updates will be semi-weekly~

The light of the moon shines right into the small of the alleyway and Vox whimpers. He stares at Alastor’s back, and the demon’s head twitches, turning back around. The bullet had hit him right straight through the eye, and blood is pouring out of the socket. There’s blood on his shining yellow teeth, and it’s dropping down his chin onto his shoulders and chest.

“Little fool,” Alastor croons in a deep, warbling voice, “do you want me to kill you?” | When promises were made, years and years apart, sometimes it's worth remembering what those promises were for. And when they dance again, in a hall full of light, they might just tear each other apart.

*

Vox is staring at the calendar as if it’s somehow going to solve the problem for him. February is fast approaching, and with it, Valentine’s Day. He’s not sure what to do. Are he and Alastor an item? They’ve kissed, sure, but they’ve done little else... well, what happened in the studio non-withstanding. Vox still blushes when he thinks about that. He’d like a repeat.

Regardless, he’s getting distracted. Valentine’s Day. What the fuck is he going to do – is he going to do anything? What if Alastor will do something? Fuck, if only one of them were a girl, then this wouldn’t be so complicated. But Alastor is a girl, right? He’s got all the girl skills. Vox isn’t actually sure what girl skills actually are, but Alastor for sure got them, right? Cooking, cleaning, sewing, that sort of shit. And! And he has gossip parties with Rosie, doesn’t he? So yeah. Alastor is the girl. While Vox is the man. With all the man skills. Like. Like, uh. He’s surely got some deeply buried, manly man skills. Yup. Absolutely. Vox the Man, at your service.

Fucking hell.

Back to the damn point!

Valentine’s Day.

What the fuck is he gonna do?

Does Alastor even want to be wined and dined? Not that Vox can even afford that shit. What about flowers? Chocolate? Does Alastor even like chocolate? Can deer eat chocolate? What if he doesn’t like it? Gods fucking damn it. He curls up in his bed and hugs his pillow tight.

Alastor likes singing, and he likes dancing. That at least Vox knows. So maybe a trip to the club? But that hardly feels appropriate for Valentine’s Day. And does Alastor even like going to clubs? He’s never mentioned going to any before. Vox groans into his bedding. This had been easier when he had been alive. He really had to pull the baddest bitch in town in Hell, didn’t he?

If at least the bad bitch were uncomplicated...!

“Gods, you’re my last hope, I beg of you!”

Yesterday, Vox had shyly asked Rodriguez for advice. He hadn’t specified who his paramour was but judging by the man’s more than tired look, he had known. He’d also said fuck you in nice, flowery words. And then the asshole had walked away. Rodriguez was the rudest, useless assholes Vox had the misfortunate to know. He had definitely not run after him in tears, begging him for help. Nope. He would never, he’s a man.

And right now, in front of him, are sitting Husk and Niffty. He’d been lucky to get them both at the house while Alastor had been away. Niffty is chugging her coffee like it’s a sport – she’s on cup five already – and Husk looks like he just got rumpled out of sleep, although the grumpy look is definitely a staple for him anyway.

“I find that hard to believe,” Husk says and looks at his coffee. He’s complained about not being able to get whiskey – they are at a café, for fuck’s sake, they don’t serve fucking alcohol also it’s bloody midday!

“You know him better than I. Husk, please, just tell me what I can get him for Valentine’s. We’re... together, or something. And – and he’s the girl, so I have to get him a gift, but I don’t even know if he likes chocolate!”

“No,” Husk answers instinctively. “Wait, Alastor’s the girl?”

“Alastor’s not a girl!” Niffty pipes up. “He’s the bestest bad boy I know! Hey! I need another coffee!”

“No, Niff, you don’t need more coffee. Anyway – no, Red doesn’t like chocolate. He’ll eat it, but he doesn’t like sweets. And, Vox, I – I don’t think he cares about Valentine’s. So, don’t stress about it? If you really wanna do something – shit, I dunno. Also, what the fuck you mean when you say Red’s the girl?”

Vox whimpers and lets his face fall onto the table. He doesn’t know what to do! Ugh, he’s a terrible boyfriend. Is he even a boyfriend? Gods, why is this so complicated? Getting married had been simpler than this shit. He’s lucky to not have hair, he surely would’ve turned grey already.

“What do I do,” he whimpers against the table, his one and only friend in this hellscape.

“Pay the fucking coffee bill,” Husk says and Vox slumps.

He needs friends that are useful.

Later that day, Vox sits on the low wall, staring off into space. Somewhere above him is a transmitter mast, and he can hear Alastor broadcasting. He’s not really listening to the words – it’s early afternoon, and that’s when Alastor is running most of his cooking advice or actual skits. Speaking of, maybe he could cook for Alastor...? Well, yeah, he could do that, if he never wants to see the demon ever again.

Most storefronts are decorated in pink hearts and whatever else is considered cute. So, the easy solution is out: no chocolate for the radio demon. What about flowers? Maybe some nice, red roses? But – that feels so basic. Alastor is special, and so Vox should do something special. But what? Okay, let’s think; what does Alastor like?

He likes radio. He likes blood. He likes murder. He likes carnage. He likes Vox – probably.

Vox pulls a face. That’s not exactly a list he can do much with. Sure, maybe he could try to buy him a radio, but – it’s likely Alastor would already have it, no? And sure, Vox could try and import stuff from the living world, but he doesn’t have enough money for that and the demon is severely allergic against things that are younger than he is.

Vox sighs and hugs his legs.

Even after all this time, it’s jarring how similar Hell is. They celebrate the same holidays as back topside, and money is still a ruler over everyone. If something can get exploited monetarily, then it will be. Vox doesn’t really mind, but it sure as fuck stresses him out. Maybe he should just buy the demon a card. Something like bee mine or something, but instead something with a deer pun. You’re deerest to me, or some corny shit like that. But that would hardly be special, wouldn’t it? Anyone could do that. Vox wants to be different. He wants to be special.

But – how?

“You’re kinda pathetic, you know?”

Vox blinks, and looks up to see Maggie standing there. Huh. He hadn’t really expected her.

“Leave me alone,” he murmurs and hugs his knees tighter. He wants to sulk.

“Roddie said you got Valentine’s problems. Why? Flowers ain’t good enough?”

“No!”

Maggie rolls her eyes and sits down next to him.

“Why not? Creepy fucker would like ‘em, no? I hear he’s tryna to be a gentleman, or somethin’. And why don’t you think he’s gonna get you something?”

Vox blushes. He’s really obvious, isn’t he? But well, how could he not? Alastor is everything, and he doesn’t quite understand why he’s alone in this – not that he minds, he really doesn’t want to share, and he’s afraid that in a straight-up battle he’d lose pathetically. So maybe nobody sharing his viewpoint is a good thing.

“I want it to be special. Only thing I could do that’s different is organise a murder fest, but how the fuck would I do that? Like, walk up to someone and be like Yo wanna get slaughtered by the radio demon as a Valentine’s present? Yeah, no.”

Maggie hums, and kicks her legs a little. It’s kind of nice, Vox supposes, that she stopped. She didn’t have to, but she did.

“If it were reversed,” she says then, “what would you hope for?”

Vox looks at her and thinks. If Alastor were to give him a gift for Valentine’s... honestly, he’d be happy with anything, as long as Alastor were the one giving it. But it’s different for him. Vox knows he’s more in love with the demon than the demon is in love with him; if Alastor is really in love with him at all. But he feels dumb saying that. And to Maggie, of all people, not that it matters much.

“I dunno,” he settles on, then, because he doesn’t want to leave her hanging. “Maybe something that shows he thought about it for more than a moment.”

Maggie nods, seemingly lost in thought a bit. “You know,” she continues, “if it were me, I think I’d want something that reminds me of him. You know? Like, I’d look at it years down the road, and I’d still remember who it’s from, even if we’re not together anymore. A nice memory, no matter what happens, you know? Something to prove that there had been someone, even if it’s no longer true.”

Befuddled, he looks at her. Huh, that’s actually kind of profound. Something that’ll always show you were there, once, even if you’re not any longer. Sure, Vox won’t ever leave Alastor’s side, but he likes the poetics behind the statement.

“Can’t you be this profound when we shoot our fucking movies?”

Maggie laughs, and punches him in the arm.

“I could be,” she chuckles, “if the scripts were good. See you later, Vox. Don’t think too hard, yeah? I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

She hops down the wall and saunters away. Vox looks after her for a bit, before he directs his gaze onto the pavement. What could he do, that is unique to him, that would remind Alastor of him for years to come?  He touches his face. He has an idea, but he doesn’t know if it’ll work. He could just try it. What’s the worst that could happen? But he needs help with it. He hopes Alastor is still out. He slides down the wall, and makes his way to his destination.

He’s lucky.

Alastor is still out.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Niffty says. “How big do you want it?”

“Not big,” Vox replies, “It just needs to fit something of this size into it, so it’ll need a zipper or something in the back.”

He shows Niffty with his fingers, and she gets paper to draw a line on it. “Is it okay if I need a week?”

He nods. “Yeah, sure, don’t worry about it. I need to make the thing first, anyhow. And thanks for helping me, Niffty. What can I give you in return?”

Niffty taps a finger against her chin, thinking hard. “Nothing! It’s for Alastor, so it’s okay. He always finds the best bugs for me, and lets me do my puppet shows. I like him a lot! And don’t worry, I won’t tell him. He usually doesn’t care what I do in my free time.”

Vox breathes a sigh of relief. That’s good to hear. He’ll still think of something to do for Niffty – he can’t really do his plan without her, after all. Maybe some energy drinks supply, or something. She seems to be finding bugs and bad boys on her own well enough – such an odd combination.

“My my, is that a bunny I spy?”

Vox doesn’t shriek, really, he doesn’t, when Alastor speaks up behind him. Fucking hell, he hadn’t heard the door open.

“H-hey, Allie,” he croaks like a frog and turns his head, looking at the demon over his shoulder. Behind him is Husk, holding grocery bags. It surprises Vox every time, seeing the demon be so domestic he goes and buys groceries like a regular motherfucker.

Husk drags himself in the direction of the kitchen, clearly thrilled with his current situation in life.

“I wasn’t aware you’d be visiting, dear. Will you be staying for dinner? I was told a new recipe I simply must try out.”

The demon swings his cane around and pats Niffty on the head absent-mindedly. He doesn’t even seem to notice and fuck, Vox is in love. He looks up at Alastor, smiling like the fool he is.

“Yeah, I’d like to. I’d really like to stay.”

I’d really like to stay forever.

Vox doesn’t really have much space in his home, but he makes do. In life, he’s liked to tinker a fair amount, so he’s feeling pretty confident. He’s got no idea if Alastor will actually like his gift, but – maybe in the end, the thought is what counts most. And boy, did Vox think about this. Even if this turns out to be a failure, he can always look back and say he’s tried his best. But it won’t. It won’t be a failure, it’ll be a huge success. Holding his trusty screwdriver in hand, Vox smiles.

He looks out the window. Dinner at Husk’ house had been an experience, and Vox is eager to repeat it.

“It tastes like garbage!”

“Now, you’re just saying that because I didn’t put the cheese in. You know how terrible you react to cheese, Husker! Vox, dear, what do you think?”

“Hey, that ain’t fair! Of course he’s gonna take your side! No, we need someone neutral and the only neutral party here is me, so I’m fucking right! Give me the cheese!”

“Bushwa! How in the hells are you neutral on this stance? I shall in fact eat all the cheese myself!”

“You won’t fucking dare!”

Yeah, it had been funny. And Vox hadn’t said it then, but yeah, cheese would’ve been better.

He laughs and presses his hands together in front of his chest. He loves the demon so. So, so much, he could explode. Gods, he wants to kiss him again. Again and again and again, until the end of time.

“Here you go. Is it okay?”

Vox takes it from Niffty’s hands and squeezes it. He smiles. “It’s perfect, Niffty, thank you. Allie didn’t see it?”

“Nuh-uh! I told you, he doesn’t care what I do in my free time! Are you giving it to him now?”

Vox shakes his head. He still has some time, and he’s unsure on where to give it to Alastor. Inviting him home feels weirdly intimate, and laden with expectations he’s unsure Alastor would be comfortable with. Not that Vox... wouldn’t want, but... he’s a considerate boyfriend, is all. Truly an angel, he is.

“Not yet. Don’t tell him, okay? I’ll do it on Valentine’s.”

Niffty smiles, posing adorably. “Okay,” she answers, “I hope everything goes well, TV man!”

She skips away and Vox holds the gift close. His heart is beating fast. He’s even picked the right song. Well, at least he hopes so. He’s gotta admit, he’s a little giddy. However, with the gift in hand, he’s rather not be caught by Alastor again – being in his house is excusable, but holding this thing? Yeah no, the demon might get curious and we can’t have that. So he starts hurrying home. Sure, he would like to see Alastor, but Valentine’s is soon.

Having arrived home, he gets to work. It’s not much left to do, but Vox takes great care in it. When he’s done, he tests it out – it would do no good if it would blow up into the demon’s face first thing he does. But it works. Sure, it’s not perfect, and it might not sound like the things you can buy, but – Vox made this himself (well, with Niffty’s help, but mostly himself!).

He hopes Alastor will like it. He really, really does.

The radio demon’s not cruel, is he?

It’s Valentine’s, and it’s early evening, almost still afternoon. Vox sits on the bench, nervous as hell – he’s wearing his good suit, one that he rarely ever puts on. Husk and Niffty had promised to get Alastor into the park at roughly this hour, and Vox needs to think of something to thank them with. He had considered wrapping his present, but he decided against it. He didn’t even put a bow on it, or anything. What if Alastor didn’t like cute, and would look at a bow with disdain? No, no, best to play it safe. Best option would probably be to toss that thing at Alastor’s head from a distance, yell something vaguely romantic and run for the fucking hills before the demon would even get what was going on at all.

“Oh! Are you the surprise Husker mumbled about?”

Vox’s breath hitches in his throat. Looking to the side, nervous as hell, he can see Alastor stroll over. He looks like he always does – of course he does, why would he look any different? Before the demon can reach the bench, Vox jumps to his feet, hiding his gift behind his back. He feels like a little boy.

“I – I, uh – yes, I am!”

Alastor stops two steps in front of him and tilts his head.

“Whatever are we meeting in the park for? You know where my house is. If you want to look at the roses, they’re best enjoyed around midday! They are also free to take, in case you wish to decorate.”

Vox takes a deep breath. Husk said that Alastor doesn’t care much about Valentine’s, so he’s probably unaware. That’s okay, Vox is hyper-aware for both of them.

“It’s Valentine’s Day!”

Alastor had turned his head towards the rosebushes, and now he looks back at Vox, blinking confused.

“It is? My, time sure does fly, does it not? I’m unsure as to what importance it is, though. Is it... your birthday?”

Bless his heart, he sounds truly confused. Vox can’t help but smile. He’d been so nervous these past few days, but standing here now, with Alastor, he can feel it all melt away, like it never even mattered. If Alastor won’t like his gifts – that would be okay. He’s here. He’s here. That’s all that matters.

“I have a gift for you,” he says, calm for the first time in days, “for Valentine’s.”

He holds his hands outward and Alastor blinks, taking it. In his claws, he holds a small plush TV that Niffty made. Curiously, the demon turns it. He looks at Vox then, clearly waiting for some more information.

“It’s, uh, it’s –“ Okay, now he’s nervous again. “Here, if you press it – try pressing it, gently.”

Blinking, confused but ever so cute, Alastor squeezes the little plush toy and then You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile starts playing. Surprised, Alastor holds the plush closer, and his ears twitch – gods Vox wants to lick them.

“You like that song, right? I – Niffty helped me with sewing that toy –“

“I see,” the demon interrupts Vox’s attempts at rambling, and he turns the toy over. “How does it work?”

Eager, Vox steps forward and opens the plush TV. He points to the device he’s put in there – whenever the pressure point is pressed enough, the song starts playing, and it runs on battery, so it’s easily exchangeable.

“Do you – do you like it?”

Alastor hums, squeezing the toy again. Then he looks at his cane.

“I do,” he admits, “but I can play the song myself. Can you change the song the device plays?”

Vox deflates a little – he should’ve thought about that. Alastor is a radio host, after all, of course he would have access to all his favourite songs on demand. But hey, the thought still counts, doesn’t it?

“I – yes, I can,” damn his voice for sounding so detached, “what song would you like?”

Alastor looks at him, and smiles. “Yours.”

Vox blinks, confused. Huh? “Huh?”

“I can play any song I want with my microphone. What I can’t do,” he says, voice sultry sweet, “is have you sing it for me.”

Vox can’t breathe. Did he really – did he – for real? He – he hadn’t even thought about that. Vox isn’t a singer, not really, but – Alastor – he – he really – gods. Oh fuck, he’s so in love.

“You – you really want me to sing it?”

“Yes,” affirms Alastor, still smiling. “Whichever song you please, as long as you sing it. Can you do that?”

Vox wants to fuck him, he wants to kiss him, he wants to marry him.

“Yes,” Vox breathes and he takes the toy when Alastor hands it back. He can’t look away from the demon.

“Thank you for the gift,” the radio demon croons, “I look forward to receiving it.”

He brushes his fingers along Vox’s face, and Vox whimpers. He’s behaving like a fucking teenager, but he can’t fucking stop.

“Come,” Alastor says, unbothered, “let me invite you to drinks. A new bar has opened up, and I had planned to visit it with dear Husker sometime, but your company is much more pleasant! Come, come!”

Without waiting, he stalks on ahead and Vox only has time to stuff the toy into his bag before he runs after him.

The bar they go to is actually kind of fancy, not the usual garbage clubs Vox tends to visit. There’s even a stage, and a singer is performing. Well, at least Vox isn’t underdressed, even if these people aren’t his, well, people.

“Allie, I don’t think I fit in here. They’re all fancy and stuff.”

Vox presses against Alastor’s arm, his only shield against all the looks he surely must be getting.

“Bushwa! If they have a problem with you, they might dare and come to me. No, no, dear sheik, worry not your pretty square head. Come, let us try out the drinks. If they are bad, I mustn’t bring Husker here at all, ha!”

They wander over to the bar and Vox only really felt safe if he was physically pressed against the demon. Luckily, Alastor seems not to mind.

“Hello, my good man! Give us your best quilt, now will you?”

The barkeep just grunts, and complies.

“Shall we make it a competition, dear? Whoever of us can drink more?”

Vox pouts. “What do I get if I win?”

“So focused! If you win, love, then I might be persuaded to sleep in your bed tonight.”

“Get us all the drinks!”

Alastor laughs and Vox desperately tries to drink straight from the bottle. He can drink that twig under the table!

He, in fact, could not drink that twig under the table. Alastor is a fucking bottomless barrel. Like, seriously, where is storing all that alcohol? Vox can barely walk straight, and the only effect on Alastor seems to be a slight blushing of his cheeks. It’s fucking adorable, but that’s not the point!

“You should’ve said you can drink like you bein’ paid for it.”

Alastor laughs, a clear sound in the night. “I don’t recall you asking, darling. Never take a bet if you don’t know all the relevant factors. I’m win-orientated!” 

An asshole, is what he is. An asshole Vox is sadly madly in love with.

“So, what did you win, exactly?”

The demon gives him a side-eye, smirking only.

“Why, I won my right to sleep wherever I want tonight! Also, of course, I won you, didn’t I?”

Before Vox can fully comprehend that sentence – he is drunk, after all – Alastor pushes him against the wall and presses himself along Vox’s body. Vox’s breath hitches and he’s blushing, not just because of the alcohol. It’s dark, and Alastor is so pretty. Vox wants him. He just fucking wants him so much. He bites his lip, and stares into the red eyes before him.

He wants to – he loves him. He wants to say it, but he doesn’t dare. Why not? It’s Valentine’s. Now’s the day he should be able to say it. But something stops him. Vox whimpers and puts his hands on Alastor’s waist – it’s so tiny, so thin and Vox presses against the body before him.

“Cash,” Vox doesn’t beg, because he’s a man and men don’t beg. Alastor curls his lip in a snarling smile and reaches forward, slow, always too slow. Vox opens his mouth in advance, waiting, eagerly waiting and he smell Alastor’s rancid breath already when voices sound from the corner.

“You the radio demon?”

Oh, Vox hates them and wants them to die.

Alastor turns his head towards the voices, but he hardly removes himself from the position he’s in. His upper lip is curled in the grimace of a smile and he blinks slowly.

“So sorry, gents, I’m not on air at the moment. If you have song requests, please keep them to yourselves.”

“Nah, you fucker, we’re here to beat you up.”

Alastor sighs and rolls his eyes. “Really,” he grumbles, only to Vox, “can’t they tell I’m busy?”

That’s him! That’s Vox! Vox is busy!

But he does push away from the nice position they’ve been in and he fully turns to the sinners that have started coming closer.

“Let’s do this quickly, then. Seven against one! It’s not like I stand a chance. My, what a bind I’m in! Whatever shall I do, woe be upon me.”

He’s undermining his own words by focusing on the dirt under his fingernails. He’s so fucking silly, Vox loves him. However, the sinners seem to take courage from it, as they begin to advance more quickly. Sobering up faster than Vox ever thought to be possible, he pushes himself from the wall, ready to stand with the demon.

“Hush, my love. Don’t get in the way. Stand there and look pretty, will you?”

The sinners are close now, and Alastor snaps his head around with a loud crack. It echoes in the alleyway they’re in and Vox – he expects to see something like he saw at the gala, but he doesn’t. Instead, Alastor rushes forward, faster than Vox even knew was possible and he lands exactly in the middle of the intruders. With black hands and claws, he swipes through the air, ripping two people in half. Blood splatters onto the ground and the other five shriek in terror, and they separate.

Alastor grins wide, more smile than anything else, and there’s blood on his cheek. Without missing a beat, he jumps after another two, smashing their heads against the nearby wall. They burst open like ripe watermelons. One of the remaining three finally fumbles out his gun, and he aims at Alastor with shaking hands. Vox gasps when he hears the shot – Alastor’s head jerks, and Vox wants to scream already, but the demon just laughs, deep and full on static. His head cracks back up and Vox can hear the sinner mutter a very heart-felt “fuck” before Alastor jumps him too, chomping his teeth on his head, ripping it clear off. The two that are still alive have scrambled back to the entry of the alleyway and Alastor turns his head, with the head of their, their leader, still in his mouth.

“Running already? But I’m not even done yet! Come! Come beat me up, I’m all open!”

As if to prove his point, he throws his arms to the side, laughing. The ripped off head falls to the ground with a wet sound and the sinners scream, and they run away.

The light of the moon shines right into the small of the alleyway and Vox whimpers. He stares at Alastor’s back, and the demon’s head twitches, turning back around. The bullet had hit him right straight through the eye, and blood is pouring out of the socket. There’s blood on his shining yellow teeth, and it’s dropping down his chin onto his shoulders and chest.

Alastor turns around fully and starts stalking towards Vox – it’s only a handful of steps and Vox sinks to his knees. Alastor stops before him and he grins wide. With the moonlight behind him, he looks like he belongs exactly where he is. Vox presses his legs together, trying to get some friction. Slowly, Alastor bends over, never ever needing a spine and he grabs Vox’s face with bloody hands. He pulls Vox back up with him and slowly, too fast, slams him against the wall. There’s something fleshy moving in his eye socket and then Alastor presses himself up against Vox, kissing him. Needy, Vox whimpers and pawns at Alastor’s back, trying to press in closer. He can taste the sinner’s blood on Alastor’s tongue and he wants – he wants – it’s embarrassing, but oh gods, how he wants.

“I wanna fuck you,” he pants with hot breath against Alastor’s lips.

The demon growls in response and pushes his claws softly into Vox’s flesh. Vox’s hips buck forwards and he can’t help the wanton moan that escapes his throat.

“Hold onto me,” the demon rumbles in a low tone and he doesn’t need to say that twice. Desperate for his mouth again, Vox presses back in, kissing him again, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders, fisting his hands into his hair.

It’s dark, then, and something feels cold and wrong, and when Vox opens his eyes, they’re in his shoebox. How did they – what - but Alastor pushes him back, onto the bed behind him. Vox catches himself on his elbows and he stares up. Half of Alastor’s face is smeared in blood, his eye is still a bloody, fleshy mess, and he tears his bowtie off.

“Undress to your liking.”

Vox must black out for a moment, but when he comes back to himself, he starts tearing his clothes off. He’s not gonna ask, and he’s gonna take it. This wasn’t how Vox had suspected today to go. And still, he’s a little insecure, so – he leaves his underwear on. Shyly, he glances up at the demon – he’s gotten rid of his bowtie, his suit jacket and his shoes, apparently. Well, Vox never thought he’d get to see Alastor’s shirt this clearly, although it is a bit of a shame.

The demon climbs on top of Vox, and presses him into the mattress. “Little sheik,” he croons with a voice as smooth as silver, “displease me, and I’ll rip you apart. But, you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Teasingly, he strokes a sharp, bloody claw along Vox’s throat and he whimpers. Yes. Yes, he would like that, actually. Alastor bends forward, and licks his tongue along Vox’s neck and he shivers. Instinctively, he spreads his legs and Alastor slots himself right in, as if he belongs there and gods – the things it does to Vox’s head. Sharp teeth tease at his Adam’s apple and he – he wants. He wants Alastor to push his teeth in, rip it out and swallow it down. Fuck, fuck, what in the hells is wrong with him?!

The demon sits back up again, still smiling. With his thumb, he wipes away some blood on his cheek and holds it close to Vox’s face – so close, and yet too far to lick it clean. Vox wants. He wants to lick it clean. The demon shuffles back and blindly, Vox follows. Alastor lets himself fall back onto the mattress, and Vox follows, hovering over him. He’s out of breath already.

Smiling like a cat, Alastor reaches his hand up, pushing his thumb into the corner of Vox’s mouth. But before he can properly start sucking and licking it, Alastor pulls him down and shoves his tongue between Vox’s teeth. He moans and shivers and he leans down, lets his body fall onto Alastor’s and he responds to the kiss with wild abandon. The demon’s dainty legs sling themselves around Vox’s hips and Vox could die right now and wouldn’t regret a thing. Well, maybe he wants to get off first, but that’s a secondary objective here.

Pulling his thumb out of his mouth, Alastor wraps his arms around Vox’s neck and pulls him impossibly closer. Vox rakes his fingers on his bedding, shredding his blanket but he doesn’t care. Heart beating up to his ears, he starts to grind forwards, fully expecting to be shoved off, to be slammed against the wall and threatened within an inch of his life and that wouldn’t be so bad either. But – Alastor doesn’t stop him. He simply shifts his legs a little and if Vox weren’t dead already, he’d surely die now.

Pushing the ball of his hand against Vox’s throat, Alastor temporarily interrupts their kiss to growl, deep and dark: “Do your worst.”

Then he pulls Vox back in, biting hard onto his tongue, and Vox rams his own claws into Alastor’s shoulders, holding him as close as he can as he starts rutting against him. He can feel the demon’s blood over his fingers and fuck, he’s getting high. His own blood pools in his mouth and he bites the demon back as good as he gets. In his mouth, their blood mixes and Vox can’t tell the taste apart anymore. He loves it. Fuck, he needs more, he needs everything.

“Allie,” he pants, desperate, “Allie, fuck, I need you, gods, I can’t –“

He starts rutting faster, and he’s expecting Alastor to stop him at any moment. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t.

Vox is different. He’s special, and only he gets this. Only him, only him, only him.

“Only me,” he growls, as deep as he can go, and he pushes his claws into Alastor’s throat. The demon looks up at him, with half-lidded eyes – eye, rather – and the tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth. It’s full of blood. Vox breathes hard, tearing his claws down, leaving bloody streaks in his wake. Alastor doesn’t seem to mind and Vox roars, rutting faster, tearing his claws through the demon’s chest. He can feel Alastor’s claws scratch at the back of his neck and gods, he wants to. He wants them to kill each other in the bloodiest way.

Vox grunts and his thrusts become erratic. He’s so close, and Alastor’s legs are locked so tight around him. Gods, fuck, he doesn’t want to stop, how could he ever stop?

“Little fool,” Alastor croons in a deep, warbling voice, “do you want me to kill you?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes yes!” Vox shouts and he comes, smashing his lips against Alastor once again. The demon’s legs tighten around his hips and Vox is riding his high. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck he wants more, he needs more, he needs it again.

Pulling away, because he needs to fucking breathe, he sinks down onto the man below him, and he breathes hard next to the demon’s face. He feels cold claws trail along his spine and he moans, closing his eyes. He swallows, his throat dry as fuck. He doesn’t know what the fuck just happened. But frankly; he kind of doesn’t care. This was – fuck, this was better than he could’ve ever fucking dreamed of.

“Wait,” he pants, “did you – ?”

“Shush, sheik. Don’t push your luck.”

Vox’s heart stops for probably a little too long, but it’s okay. Fuck. He’s never expected that Valentine’s could go like this, that – that it could feel like this.

“Your eye,” he starts.

“It will be fine. Give me two days, and why, you’ll never even know it was gone at all!”

Alastor pushes him away and sits up, looking only a little rumpled. He’s bloody all over. Vox whimpers. He wants him. He wants him more than is healthy, probably, but what is he to do? He’s so gone, he’s so far gone.

“Stay here tonight. Allie – please. Just sleep next to me. I won’t touch you, but – please.”

Alastor blinks at him. He seems to contemplate the idea.

“So needy,” he comments, but falls back all the same. “I suppose you can hold my hand.”

Vox smiles, and he does. Alastor’s hand are ice-cold, and there’s blood that’s just starting to dry on them, but it’s perfect. It’s perfect and Vox – Vox wants things to never change.

In the morning, the demon is gone.

There’s a note in his stead, though: Rest well, little fool.

Vox smiles, and keeps the note close.

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 21: Shock

Summary: While on their way to the basement floor, Kix's team is reunited with the rest of the 501st's medics. Finding a cure will have to wait just a little bit longer...

Warning: Slight gore warning due to injuries, but it's not overly descriptive (there is mention of a potential loss of limb)

Twitch belongs to @gaeasun Pitch belongs to @lost-on-kamino

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

The lift had been fingerprint-locked with a specific code for each set of prints that were logged into the security system's database. Neither Rex, Fives nor Kix had anything on them that they could use to slice into the system and bypass this security measure so, as a result, the trio had been forced to rush down flight after flight of stairs. Making them regret ever having climbed up a tree, to reach the exposed vents that were mounted up on the 11th floor of the hospital.

Usually running down a few stairs wouldn't tire them out this badly, but considering how grueling the campaign had been (for various reasons), suffice to say they were not in great shape at that exact moment. Sleep deprived, hungry and thirsty. And maybe a little cranky as well, which was more than a little fair.

That said, they were finally on the first floor. Sweating bullets and practically dragging themselves forward, while utilizing the facility's map to figure out where the basement hatch was located. Because of course the Umbarans had decided to make it hard for just anyone to stumble into their precious server rooms.

Nothing could be easy on this gods forsaken planet.

"It says right here that the hatch is in a tiny room behind the main lobby." Fives offered as they got closer and closer to the entrance of the hospital. Keeping an eye out, despite all of the halls they had traversed being virtually abandoned. "Probably so the receptionist can keep an eye on whoever goes in and out..."

"It's only gotten colder..." Rex sighed. "My HUD is giving off insane temperatures..."

"You know, the harder I think about it, the more sense it makes to keep the temperatures so cold in here." Kix looked around, his own HUD showing him just how frigid the halls really were. "A lot of terrestrial arthropods don't do well in the cold, and Dogma looked like he'd turned into some kind of insectoid. The infected would probably avoid coming in here because it'd mess with their bodies and senses."

"When you put it like that, the basement thing also makes sense." Rex mused as he kept on walking at an even pace. "If the entire building is cold, but one section produces noticeable heat, they'd try to break in and congregate in the warmer server rooms. By keeping them in the basement, they can at least mask the difference in temperatures..."

"Still sucks that we have to go down there." Fives pointed out.

They were now in the lobby, which was as deserted as the rest of the facility. Briefly, Kix wondered if maybe the staff had been evacuated once the two battalions had made it planet-side. Or maybe something else had happened while both armies went at it out in the woods?

He couldn't be sure, nor did he really ponder on it for long. Not when the entrance door swung open, revealing two very familiar figures carrying...

"Twitch?! Coric?!" Kix gasped at the state of the two standing medics, before his eyes focused on the two prone figures they were carrying on their backs. "Oh stars..."

"What happened to Pitch and Sponge?!" The second most experienced medic heard Fives exclaim, as he rushed forward to help. Settling the unconscious Sponge on the floor and noting their bruised and bleeding face, before moving to do the same for Pitch. Startling slightly when, despite not moving in the slightest, the blue-haired medic blinked up at him and darted his eyes about, trying to take in the scene.

"They're...." Twitch's legs shook as he collapsed onto his knees. All energy drained as he tried to catch his breath in loud shuddering gasps.

"Easy vod'ika..." Rex comforted the younger clone, kneeling besides him to rest a hand on his back. "Take deep breaths, like this..."

While the Captain took charge of the youngest, Fives muttered a loud curse as something suddenly occurred to him.

"Kark... Their buckets aren't on them, and their armor is pretty busted up. They're gonna freeze in here..." The ARC pointed out, seeing the poor state they all were in. There was no way their kit's thermoregulation systems were operative "I... Blankets. There's got to be blankets in a hospital right?"

Paying no mind as the ARC ran off to look for something to keep their injured vode warm, Kix instead began to assess the situation. Sponge had a broken nose, busted lip, several scratches and bruises, and their breathing wasn't sounding too good. Coming off rattly and wet-sounding, which he hoped was just because they were trying to breathe through a broken and bloodied nose.

Likely concussed to hell and back as well...

Pitch, meanwhile, seemed to be awake and aware but unable to move. Perhaps also unable to feel anything at the moment, since he'd definitely be passed out from both the horrific gashes on his face, and the huge gaping hole in his upper-thigh. Both of which were bleeding sluggishly.

"Dogma stung him..." Twitch mumbled. "He uh... He can't... Can't move or talk or.... Or..."

"Easy vod." Rex continued to comfort Twitch.

"Coric..." Twitch blinked tiredly. Looking towards the CMO who was standing there with his left arm dangling uselessly at his side.

Looking at his Ori'vod, Kix's heart began to race ever so slightly. He was still standing, but the wound on his shoulder looked bad. So bad in fact that he could just about see exposed bone. The way the arm hung limply also did not give him much hope that Coric had any use of it left, since the muscles and ligaments on the shoulder had definitely been torn off.

And then there was the far away look in his brother's eyes that gave him a lot of reason to worry. That glazed unseeing look that he mostly only saw on dead vode. Or, in some cases, the ones that just couldn't take the pressure of war anymore.

Resistant to stress his left nut and shebs...

"He's going into shock." Kix hissed, looking to Rex. "Get his armor off."

"But he'll free--"

"Now, Rex!" Kix barked out the order, giving no space for the blond to argue. Thankfully the Captain seemed to understand and moved over to Coric so as to begin removing his kit. Twitch joining in, the younger medic likely trying to use the repetitive motion as a way to ground himself and avoid going into shock himself.

"Fives, have you found those blankets?" He called out after the ARC, who was somewhere under the receptionist's desk fiddling with the drawers and storage boxes.

"Got some of those electric ones that we've got in the Resolute's medbay, and some emergency ones as well!" Fives replied as he held up both the familiar reflective material and a very large bundle with a wire and remote attached to it.

"Great! Bring them over, as many as you can carry!" Kix knelt back down to turn remove Sponge's kit and then turn them on their side to avoid any chances of aspiration. His fellow medic didn't need to drown in their own sick, or end up with a bout of pneumonia on top of everything they'd already gone through. "Rex, Twitch, wrap up Coric in one of each blanket. I need one of you to keep an eye on his breathing and heart rate, and the other to raise his legs up. I'm going to tend to Pitch and Sponge, and once I'm done I'll have a look at his arm."

Fives handed over two of the blankets to Rex, before moving on to wrap up Pitch who was watching quietly. Giving Kix space to work on Sponge, while offering the blue-haired medic some basic first-aid. Between the two of them, the other two and most injured troopers were quickly patched up and bundled up nice and warm.

Then, Kix moved on to treating Coric.

As he'd guessed, his arm was in terrible condition. With all of the damage his shoulder had received, it was very likely he'd be losing the arm altogether. Something which made Kix's heart ache just thinking about it.

A loud and inhuman sounding shriek outside made everyone jump slightly. Pitch's eyes immediately darted towards the door, while Twitch visibly tensed. The younger medic's trembling worsening considerably as he recognized the horrid sound.

"Oh crap, I think they're here..." Fives gulped as he squinted out one of the tinted windows, seeing some movement in the distance. "We need to get that cure, and fast..."

"We're down three medics." Kix pointed out. "Cure or not, going out there won't end well for any of us... Especially if they know they have us boxed in."

"They hit so fast..." Twitch whimpered. "They caught us by surprise and... And..."

"We get the picture kid..." Fives winced, looking towards the injured medics and back out the door. "We'll... Think of something... But first, lets get down into the basement and look for what we came here for in the first place..."

Things were not looking good in the slightest. But what else could they do other than proceed with their mission? Maybe once they knew what they had to do, they could then figure a way to change the tides.

[cosmic-frost-main]

Prison Inmate: Rebellious Angel [18+]

Summary:

Betty goes for her usual prison patrol and it doesn't end good

AO3 Version: [HERE]

Prison inmate: Rebellious Alice Angel

A label Wilson had given to the second Alice in the ink realm, he had already caught the first one but was shocked to find that there was another yet also different Alice. This one having no memories of what would be her past life unlike many others here, she only knows that she's called Alice.

Other than that, Wilson was just glad to have finally caught the one continuously trying to ruin his work and in his own words, rightfully lock her up.

He knew of her tricks and skills so he had both her wrist and ankles chained, her singing would somehow attract unwanted guest so he made sure to muzzle her.

The rules were simple like for the others; Check up on the prisoners and make sure they haven't escaped and or have died.

Very simple rules that Betty has no issue with considering the people in the cells don't seem all that hostile towards her, except maybe that one disfigured angel but that's just normal for her.

Finishing up her task by visiting the last prisoner, the second Alice, the maiden opened up the shutters to communicate with her. Betty didn't mind this one at all and rather found her quite nice to chat with, granted the muzzle makes it difficult for the angel but the hand gestures give clear enough responses.

"Just doing the usual check up, Miss." Betty spoke through the microphone getting the woman's attention, she appeared more tired than she normally would be and could only do a gentle nod which worried Betty a bit. 

"Did you have trouble sleeping again, dear? If so I can fix you up something that'll help." The maiden said before noticing her trying to scratch under the muzzle, "Oh dear, the mask is giving you a hard time again." 

Betty stood there contemplating whether she should do what she was instructed to do and get the Keepers for help or just go in there herself despite Wilson's warnings, she knew that she should listen to Wilson but she also can't see the problem of just doing it herself considering how non hostile the inmate was towards her. 

Giving the angel one more glance and seeing that she had managed to get a cut under her chin, she bit the bullet and went into the cell by herself. 

Keys in hand she walked over to the chained angel and hesitantly hovered the key near the padlock that held her muzzle in place, said angel looked up at her with a look she couldn't pin point the emotion of as she slowly turned the key until a click echoed. 

After having removed the device the angel moved her jaw allowing it to crack out any discomfort before finally being able to scratch her nose. "Thank you" Her warm voice startled the masked woman at first but quickly got use to it, no wonder her voice drew others close. 

"Oh it's no biggie, if it was up to me the muzzle would stay off." Betty sighed softly while the other slightly smirked. "But I best put it back on you before Wilson pitches a fit." She went to grab the muzzle but was stopped by the woman's hands holding her wrist. 

"Before you do that!" She exclaimed, a soft smile on her face caused Betty's stomach to flutter. "I want to give you a proper thanks."

Before she could respond, Betty found herself pulled on top of the woman's lap and gasped when she trailed her tongue to the maiden's chest to her neck in slow harsh kisses. Goosebumps rising as the angel moved her hands to the maiden's back near her rear and smirked upon hearing an audible yet muffled moan.

Betty knew she should be putting up a fight but the way her heart beat along with the heat her body formed a high she needed to satisfy. Her face flushed hot after the other pulled her dress up and buried her face into her shoulder as she pressed her fingers into her, Betty failed to stifle a moan when the woman found her inner sweet spot and rubbed, she also failed to hold her hips in place as she moved them side to side and giving more room for the angel to go deeper.

"Oh goodness~." A breathy moan left the maid's vocals before placing a hand on the side of her face, "Mo-More rougher, right the-THERE~!" Betty's back arched suddenly as the angel gave her clit a gentle tug. 

"Good girl, now I'm going to lower you to the floor." She whispered to the maiden who couldn't help but tremble weakly before allowing the angel to lay her down on the ground, the chains echoing when hitting the ground. 

No time was wasted as the woman tugged Betty's dress over her stomach and lowered her head to the maid's sex. The sensation of the angel's tongue against her slick folds was almost enough to send her to the edge, her back arching gradually but held in place. 

"Mpfh~!" Betty moaned into her palm while using the other to hold onto the woman's hair, "Keep going~" 

She jerked her head back upon fingers entering her in thrusting motions rubbing her sweet spot, her hips moving on their own as she desperately grinded her clit into the angel's damp palm who couldn't help but chuckle. 

"Are you close?" The angel hummed as her lips were suddenly hovering over her neck before harshly kissing it, Betty could only reply with a pathetic moan as both her hands shakily gripped onto the hem of her dress, giving and wanting her to explore more despite how close she felt she was to climax. 

!Cla-Click!

"Huh?" Betty breathlessly jolted in confusion before looking down at her hands, both her wrist now chained together with the same restraints used to restrain the angel. 

As a matter of fact... Looking over at the now unshackled woman who softly smirked at her, Betty noticed the ring of keys dangling around her index finger in a playful manner. 

"Huh??" Betty watched in shock as she stood up off of her and stepped passed her towards the door.

"While that was fun, I better get going so my partner doesn't get even more worried." The angel said with a chipper voice while leaning back and giving the masked maid a friendly wave. "Thanks for letting me go~!"

All the woman could do was watch as the woman walked out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving her to be the new prisoner of the cell.

...

Betty covered her face in utter embarrassment at what she had unknowingly allowed to happen.

"Ohhh no, Wilson's going to be so mad..."

---

Laid back against the plush bed, Allison looked up visibly flustered.

"You know, I'm very glad Audrey officially introduced us." Betty hummed happily as she finished tying Allison's wrist to the bed frame with a soft fabric. "But I'm more glad that I get to have more alone time with you."

She sat back onto her lap and caressed her hands against Allison's neck down to the strap on she attached to her hips. "Worry not, Allison." Betty suddenly leaned her head up close to the angel startling her slightly, "I promise not to use any muzzles on you, if you behave well that is~."

Allison finally spoke up with a sheepish smile as the maid positioned herself above the dildo, "Don't you think the restraints are a bit too much?" She held back a groan upon Betty moaning while lowering herself.

"Oh I don't know~" Betty breathed out a chuckle as she reached the base, "Wasn't tricking me into letting you free through such adultery tactics a bit too much?" Her fingers ran up under her shirt.

"That's..." Allison averted her shameful gaze, "That's fair."

"Exactly" The masked woman giggled as she resumed her hip movements that gradually increased in a steady speed. The faint squelch between her legs as the dildo messaged her flesh getting more and more audible to Allison's ears, it was driving her crazy enough she tugged harshly at the restraints but failing to tear them, Betty being greatly amused by it.

Slowly lifting her dress above her stomach giving the struggling angel a little view to enjoy who could only respond with a desperate grunt, her mouth left hung open as she panted.

Dropping the hem of her dress after a sudden jolt, Betty rested her hands against Allison's shoulders in a frantic grip while her waist sluggishly increased in speed.

"Hey!" Allison stammered out in worry, "Slow down, you might hurt yourself if you move like that!"

"Oh how-" Betty moan deeply, "How thoughtful of you to worry~" She slid her hands above Allison's head as she continued moaning and groaning.

"Ah~!" The maiden halted her movements as her orgasm overflowed her body in a pulsating wave, her arms instinctively wrapping around Allison's head muffling her shocked gasp with her breast.

After riding out her climax and letting her body settle down, Betty groaned quietly as she gradually let go of the other and allowing her to breathe.

"Oh my, finally~." Betty slowly lifted herself up off the dildo with a satisfied whimper and giggled.

"Ar-Are you happy now?" Allison forced a smirk trying to hide how horny she still was. "Happy enough to untie me?"

A laugh escaped the masked woman, "Like I'll let you go that easily." She got off the disgruntled woman and made her way to her drawer. "I still have many wonderful things to do with you~."

"Wonderful things?" Allison nervously questioned as she tugged the restraints, "What are these things you speak of?"

Excitedly the maiden turned around to reveal another yet different strap on, the dildo instead of being the regular penile shape was a wiggling orange tentacle dripping out a liquid of the same colour. The sight of it caused Allison to crossed her legs.

"This one was heavily inspired by the Keepers, though more smaller than their actual size." Betty explained to Allison's shock, "Took sometime to get it right, but I know it work perfectly~!"

The angel watched wide eyed as Betty slowly undressed herself in front of her before getting back on the bed, removing the strap off of her and putting the new one on herself, Allison quickly realizing she wasn't going to be the wearer and blushed more.

Spreading her legs and positioning herself more comfortably, Betty tilted her head in a cheerful manner as the tip pressed up against Allison's entrance as she stared back nervously.

"Don't worry, dear~." Betty chuckled, "I'll be nice and gentle for you~"

The End

[astragreenwoode]

The Spitfire Curse - Chapter Two

Previous: Chapter One • Next: Chapter Three • Masterlist • AO3 Version

Rating: Explicit(18+ ONLY)

Pairings:  Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Non-specified Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Drug Use, Hypersexuality, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Genre: Adventure, Thriller, Horror, Slow-Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, Fluff, Slight Canon-Divergence, Fix-it fic

And a special thanks to my beta-reader @take-everything-you-can! Thank you so much for all your feedback and ideas, love!

Chapter Two: Aren't You Supposed To Burn If You're A Star?

Word Count: 8275

Chapter Warnings: Disembodied Voices, Self-Deprecating Talk, Anxiety, Implied Trauma, Language, Slight Smut, Confusion, Gaslighting, Blackouts, Hypersexual Behaviors and Thoughts

Chapter Summary: Maeven remembers the first time she realized she and Billy could become 'family' as Neil sneaks his way into her mother's heart. The morning of the school tour, she wakes up and discovers she doesn't remember all that happened the night before.

April 1984

The first time I met Neil was last November. It was the first time my mom invited him over for dinner. It was more of a ‘date night’ thing, so Max and I stayed out of the way after Mom forced us to shake his hand. We spent the rest of the night in my room, gossiping about how we thought Neil would run away in one of our famous blanket forts with Nutmeg.

At this point, Billy and I had been sneaking around for six months. All I knew about his dad was that his name was Neil and he was a piece of shit. It crossed my mind that his Neil and my mom’s Neil were one and the same, but it would be a big and unlikely coincidence. When he said he had a son, I wasn’t picturing Billy. Max and I envisioned him as a preppy football kid, a carbon copy of his father. As soon as I found out his last name was ‘Hargrove,’ I freaked out and friend-zoned Billy the next day. He wasn’t very happy about it but understood. We started things up again between us after he saved me on New Year's.

My parents divorced pretty much immediately after I yelled at them that fateful day in February. Shortly after that, Dad took Lucy and Bullet and high-tailed it to San Francisco. Max and I only saw him once a month, on second-rate holidays, and for a few extended trips during the summer. He would come to see us whenever he was back in San Diego for work. Those were the times Mom couldn’t come up with a reason for us not to go see him.

Mom was still around, of course, but it was different now that dad was out of the picture. She’d always been blurry around the edges, but it was worse after they separated. She was there for us in a sort of thin, floaty way, like she was drifting away from us and we couldn’t hold onto her. My mom barely spent any time in her craft room, anymore; something she used to do every day. It felt kind of tragically magical, the way her personality got swept up in whatever new guy she was dating.

First, there was Donnie, who was on disability for his back and need my mom to be his mother for a while. Then there was Vic from St. Louis. That was really the only interesting thing about him. Gus had heterochromia; one green eye and one blue one. Ivan picked his teeth with a switchblade on our couch. They all came and went in a flash. Max and I never really minded them. They were friendly or goofy towards us. After the honeymoon phase, their true colors came out; they were either in debt, had major codependency issues, living in their cars, or constantly winding up drunk in a county jail cell. They always left, and if they didn’t, Mom kicked them out. We never got attached to them. We knew better than that; none of them could hold a candle to our dad.

Neil was different. Neil was the only one of Mom’s recent boyfriends who had brought flowers to their date. He complimented her cooking, saying it was the best meatloaf he had ever tasted. They spent the rest of the night drinking wine while listening to records in the living room.

He and Mom met at the bank, where she was a teller and he was a security guard, slowly moving up to management since he was friends with the boss. He told Mom she looked like an old-timey framed painting or Sleeping Beauty as she stood behind the glass, handing out lollipops to the kids and deposit slips to their parents. It seemed romantic, but Max found it gross; “Sleeping Beauty’s in a coma, and a painting doesn’t do any interesting shit. They both just sit there and look pretty.”

At the time, I just praised her for her keen sense of observation, and for how smart she was. I know now that I should’ve taken that comment more seriously. It didn’t occur to me that Neil saw my mom as something he could own.

The night Neil finally introduced us to Billy was a chilly April evening. He took us to Fort Fun; known for its go-kart track, arcade, mini golf course, and jungle gym. It was the kind of place guys like Neil wouldn’t be caught dead in. Dad used to take us there to celebrate the last day of school. Later, Max found out he took us there because he wanted to impress us, to make us think he was fun.

To be fair, Max and I ended up having a good time that evening. I needed a way to loosen up; a way to escape the mess my life spiraled into the last three months and a way to distract me from where I would be in a week's time.

That night, Billy ended up being late to the party. Neil said nothing, but Max and I could tell that he was seething inside. He tried to act like everything was normal, but I noticed how his hands left dents in his foam coke cup. Mom fidgeted with a paper napkin while we awaited Billy’s arrival, folding it up into little squares. Max bounced her leg and I scratched at the scars on my arms as we looked over the menu.

Max passed me a note underneath the table. We used little notebooks that we passed back and forth to send each other silent messages. We had been doing it ever since we were little; ever since she moved into the room adjacent to mine. We would slide the notebooks against the carpet, across to the other’s room, and talk in a way so we wouldn’t wake Mom and Dad. She wrote in her signature red ink; “I bet this is all a big scam. He probably doesn’t even have a son. He probably lives in a basement and eats stray cats.”

I giggled as I wrote back; “This isn’t a horror movie, Max.”

“Either way, let's keep him away from Nutmeg.”

Even though it wasn’t true, I imagined what it would be like if this was a horror movie. Mom would definitely be the first to die. But at least I could sit through this dinner without worrying whether or not the adults knew about my and Billy’s little love affair. Anything was better than watching Neil glare out at the parking lot every two minutes and then smile tightly at my mom.

The four of us were working our way through a game of mini-golf when Billy finally decided to show his face. The engine of his Camaro was so loud that everyone on the course turned to look. He slammed the door shut behind him and walked over to us, cutting straight through the mini-golf course, stepping over a big plastic tortoise and onto the fake green turf.

Neil gave him the sour look he always gave whenever something didn't live up to his unrealistically high standards. "You're late."

Billy just shrugged, not even giving his father a glance.

"Say hello to Maxine and Margaret."

Billy gave Max a slow, cool nod like she was me and we passed each other in the halls. Max smiled, holding her putter by its sweaty rubber handle. 

As much as Max and I hated this whole situation, the only silver lining she saw was getting a big brother. And as awkward as that made things with Billy and me, I wanted that for her. He had been my lifeline, my savior from everything going wrong in my life, especially in these past three months. If he could take care of her while I was blacking out and going insane, I'd gladly welcome him and Neil into the family.

"You go to Newport High, right?"

"Umm, yeah. Hi."

I couldn't deny that it hurt a little when he pretended not to know me, as if he had forgotten that beautiful thing we started last summer.

"You have nothing to be upset about, bitch. You were the one who ended things with him. And he hasn't even touched you since everyone found out what a slut you really are."

I said nothing back to it this time. Anything I would've said wouldn't have made a difference, anyway. It never did.

Later that night, Billy, Max, and I hung out by the skeeball stalls while Neil and Mom walked down the boardwalk together. The very sight of them being gooey at each other was starting to get annoying, and it made me wanna throw up. But she seemed really happy, so I just kept on taking turns with Max as we played skeeball, trying my best to ignore it. 

 Billy leaned his elbows on the railing of the boardwalk, looking out over the go-kart track from where we were above it. He casually balanced a cigarette between his fingers and turned to us as he breathed out the smoke. "So. . .Susan seems like a real buzzkill."

"Ha! You have no idea!" Max practically howled

I shrugged. Mom could be fussy, nervous, and absolutely no fun at all, sometimes. But she was still our mom.

"So, Margaret. . .Maxine. . ."

Unlike me, Max had better coping skills. She tucked her hair behind her ear and tossed the skeeball into the corner cup for a hundred points. The machine under the coin slot whirred and spit out a paper chain of prize tickets."Don't call us that. It's Maeven and Max,” she said, not breaking her eye contact from the game.

Billy glanced back at us with his signature sleepy smile.

"Well then, you've got quite the mouth on you,” he chuckled.

"Yeah, only when people piss us off,” I shot back. It definitely wasn’t the first time we heard it.

"Which seems to happen often with you, Iron Maeven," Billy’s laugh was low and gravelly. Max turned to me, confusion and awe written on her face.

"Iron Maeven?"

"It's. . .what everyone called me back at school."

I didn’t understand the reference until I listened to Iron Maiden for the first time. It was my first introduction to the metal scene; a sub-culture very prominent in California. I quickly became enamored with the genre. The unlikely harmony of music and screaming was probably the only healthy coping mechanism I had to deal with my parent’s divorce. It somehow expressed how the whole ordeal made me feel better than I could ever verbalize.

"You have a badass criminal nickname and you didn't tell me?! That’s so bitchin’, Sis! High-five!" Max exclaimed, holding her hand up. I slapped her hand as I laughed. She had gotten much more fun ever since I taught her how to swear effectively.

"Mad Max and Iron Maeven. All right, then. I can work with that."

Billy’s Camaro sat underneath a streetlamp. Its jet-blue paint job made it look almost like a scaled creature from another world; a monster. I could tell how much Max wanted to reach out and touch it. It was the same look she gave to Dad’s Impala.

As Billy turned away again, he watched the go-karts that zoomed along the tire-lined tracks. Max sent her last skeeball into the one-hundred cup and took the last of her tickets.

"You guys wanna race?" She asked.

Billy snorted and took a drag from his cigarette.

"Why would I wanna screw around with some little go-kart when I know how to drive?"

"Cause it's fun?" I challenged.

"I know how to drive, too,” Max said.

"Sure you do,” Billy rolled his eyes, not even blinking. He tipped his head back and blew out a plume of smoke. He seemed bored underneath the flashing neon lights on the boardwalk, but almost sounded friendly.

Dad taught me how to drive while Max sat in the backseat. He once taught her how to use a clutch in a parking lot of a Jack in the Box. In her eyes, that qualified her as a driver just from observing us. If she drove any way like she drove a go-kart, I’d never allow her behind the wheel.

"I do. As soon as I'm sixteen, I'm gonna get a Barracuda and drive all the way up the coast."

"A 'Cuda, huh? That's a lot of horsepower for a little kid."

"So? I can handle it. I bet I could even drive your car."

Billy stepped closer to Max, leaning down so that he was staring right into her face. He was still smiling.

"Max," he taunted in a sly, singsong voice. "If you think you're getting anywhere near my car, you are extremely mistaken." His smile never faded. He laughed at her again, putting out his cigarette with the toe of her boot.

"What about me?” I counter-offered as I leaned against one of the wooden light posts on the boardwalk. “Do I get driving privileges?"

Billy stepped close to me and leaned himself on his forearm above my head, towering over me. His baby blue orbs were bright, staring back into my ocean-colored ones. I inhaled a whiff of his scent; he smelled both delicious and dangerous like cigarettes and hair products mixed with engine oil. For a moment, I panicked. It seemed like he was about to kiss me right then and there, right in front of my sister. 

But I composed myself as he just said "I'll think about it,” and left me on the edge. I fought the heat between my legs and the urge to go rub one out in the bathroom. Maybe I’d even drag him along with me.

“No fair!”Max whined.

“It's about as fair as it gets, actually,” I laughed, tousling her hair. Billy loomed over us, studying our faces.

“You’re just a kid,” he said again. “But I guess even kids can tell a bitchin’ ride when you see one, right?”

“Sure,” Max replied.

I figured that Billy was just kidding around with us that night. It was just the way guys talked. All the slackers, lowlifes - poor excuses for men our dad hung around at the Black Door Longue down the road from his new place in San Francisco. When they teased Norman Mayfield about his daredevil daughters and teased us about boys and school, they were only playing.

But there was something new in Billy’s demeanor and the way he talked that I didn’t recognize. He looked at me and my sister like we were something to eat. I should’ve bookmarked that moment as a red flag for later, but I was dumb. I was in love with the idea of having him around more often; in love with the idea of love. And Max and I had been dumb enough to believe this was the start of something good. That the Hargroves were here to make our family whole again. Or, at the very least, okay again.

. . .

Maeven was always a heavy sleeper, often too deep in her dreams and unbothered by the world outside her mind. Her parents and sister often had to give her the extra nudge to wake up after becoming too annoyed by the blaring alarm clock that looped one too many times. Even if she had trouble getting to sleep, especially within the past 9 months, she slept like the dead.

This morning was one of those rare occasions where Maeven woke up before her alarm. The last thing she remembered was leaning into Billy's massage before passing out. However, she found her body ached more intensely than the night before; most likely due to the twisted positions she often found herself in while she slept.

It was nothing that a few stretches and a hot shower couldn't take care of. But her hair was mysteriously damp like she already showered the night before. She brushed her nape, not thinking anything of it; it was probably just sweat.

As she roused from her sleep, she felt one of her pillows in between her legs that wasn't there before. It was scrunched up like it was hugged tightly. soaked with her arousal that seeped through her panties. Maeven recalled having a couple of easy orgasms in the midst of her dreamless, dark rest. She also remembered being very scared, filled with dread, but couldn’t pinpoint why, either.

Ever since hitting puberty, she had a tendency to writhe and hump in her sleep, chasing her high in dreamland. It became more uncontrollable after what happened nine months prior. Billy must've put the pillow between her legs before going back to his own room. He was thoughtful like that, in the little ways that made a big difference.

It was a Sunday morning, the birds still singing as the cool wind blew through the open windows of Maeven's room. Maeven and Max used to wake up early every Sunday for their mother. As soon as they both completed their first communion, Susan stopped requiring her daughters’ attendance. Their Mom continued going on her own, but the two sisters got their well-deserved lazy Sunday.

Hawkins High School and Middle School started their classes three weeks ago. It was inconvenient for both Billy and the Mayfield sisters. Billy was forced to move right before his Senior Year of High-School. Max had to leave behind everything she ever knew. Maeven felt like she left half her heart in California, carrying what remained with her to Hawkins. But as long as no one found out she was an 18-year-old Junior, she’d be fine.

Coming to the party late was going to suck. The students were still getting a feel for the new school year but settled into their regular routines of classes and clubs. The blended siblings would have to go through weeks of cramming what they missed at the start of the year; enduring pressuring questions about being the ‘new kid’ and being forced to introduce themselves in each class like they were giving an oral presentation about who they were.

The next couple of days were really going to blow. Neil and Susan had already enrolled their kids the first day they arrived. Today, Billy, Max, and Maeven were going on a tour of the campus before they started classes the following morning. Maeven was the only one interested in the tour, even if she wasn't looking forward to their first day, either. It would be good to get a feel of the campus; have a way to navigate without feeling totally lost on the first day.

As Maeven’s body finally caught up with her brain, she shamelessly contorted her body with her stretches, only satisfied when her back arched and her head hang upside down. Her mind wandered to how she once made fun of her mother for how ridiculous she thought she looked striking her yoga poses. When she collapsed back onto her mattress onto her side, wincing as she felt a sharp pain on her upper-right arm. Maeven lifted the short sleeve of her sleep shirt to inspect, confused by the bandage that she didn’t remember putting on. Taking a look over herself, she saw a few more bandages along both her arms, as well as a couple on her chest.

Maeven slapped herself hard across her cheek, punishing her body and mind for acting without her permission again. She must’ve blacked out last night, or sleepwalked again. There really wasn’t a difference between the two anymore, they both ended up in the same way; with her doing things she later regretted. Whenever she was kicked out of the driver's seat, any number of bad things could happen. Last night, she must’ve cut herself amidst her blacked-out mania. Uncomfortably familiar with this scenario now, Maeven knew what must’ve happened; Billy was forced to patch her up yet again.

“Mae-Mae?”

At the sound of a knock on the door accompanied by her mother’s voice, Maeven instinctively buried herself back under her quilt and pretended to be asleep. Mom didn’t need to know about this. She thought she was getting better.

“Maevey?” Susan asked again, knocking before cracking the door open a smidge and poking her head through.

Maeven put her sleepy mask back on, moving the quilt off her face and letting out a soft moan as if she had just woken up.

“Hey, mom. . .” she mumbled, burying her face into her sheets.

“Hi, sweetie,” Susan smiled, coming over to sit on the foot of her daughter’s bed. “I thought I heard you. You’re up early.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Maeven breathed out, relieved now that her mom seemed to have bought her performance.

Susan Mayfield’s smile was contagious, annoyingly so. It had become more frequent once she married Neil. Maeven could do without her constant positivity since it wasn’t always appropriate, and sometimes even toxic. But seeing her mom happy was better than seeing her in constant misery the way she used to be.

“That’s good. You must be excited, huh?”

“That’s a word for it,” Maeven yawned out, rolling her eyes before closing them. The sun seemed especially bright this morning. Her mom stood up from the bed and asked her daughter before leaving; “Pancakes or waffles?”

Still pretty out of it, Maeven’s brain processed her mom’s words slowly as she looked back up at her.

“Huh?”

“Breakfast, Maevey,” Susan clarified, visibly puzzled at her daughter’s confusion.

“Oh, ummm. . .waffles, please,” she replied, putting on a small smile again.

“Good thing I found which box the waffle iron is in.”

. . .

While showering, Maeven always did her best not to look down at her body as she washed herself. She barely even saw her own naked figure in the mirror anymore. The closest she had ever gotten was looking at herself in her bra and underwear. Even then, she teared up looking at the many small scars that littered her flesh. The only time she felt remotely good about her body is when she was being touched by someone else. When she was touched, when Billy touched her, she no longer felt like a stranger in her own body. The way he simultaneously worshiped and used her made all the scars momentarily disappear, replacing them with tender bites and bruises no one else could see. Just the thought of it made her hand wander down between her legs. . .

Maeven slapped her cheek a couple of times at her impulses as someone barged into the bathroom. She hates herself for even feeling a little bit excited at the thought of being caught like this. The whole concept was so hot to her, but simultaneously sent a violently revolting shiver of shame down her spine.

“Max! What did we say about privacy!?” she shouted as she peeked her head out from behind the curtain. Max rolled her eyes and dramatically groaned, shamelessly pulling down her sleep pants so she could pee.

“There's a curtain separating us, Maevey! Besides, we’re both girls. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Maeven chuckled, closing the curtain as she washed the last of the hair products from her head.

“I’m not wearing panties, Squirt. I’m showering.”

“Okay, fine, don’t get your pubes tangled then.”

In an instant, both sisters burst out laughing. Crude jokes had become their preferred pass time once Max finally became a teenager.

“No! Nope! That is so much worse!”

“Girls?” Susan Mayfield probably waited half a second after knocking before opening the door, too curious about the commotion to consider the very concept of privacy.

“Mom! Get out!” Her daughters yelled in unison. She retreated quickly, keeping the door open enough to get her message across.

“Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Okay, fine! Just close the door!” Max groaned. 

At the sound of the door locking shut, they relaxed. But just as Maeven lathered up her poof with body wash, Max stood up to flush the toilet as she pulled up her pants.

“Ow! Fuck!” Maeven winced and cowered away at the now boiling water shooting down at her from the showerhead.

“Shit! Sorry!” Max exclaimed. Maeven chuckled as the water now only hit her feet.

“No, no, it’s fine, you didn’t know. Neither did I.”

It really was fine. It hurt, but Maeven didn’t like hearing her baby sister sound so pathetically scared of the potential backlash.

“Won’t happen again.”

“I know, Squirt, but if I have third-degree burns on my ass by the time I’m out of here, you’re dead!”

“Yeah, sure.”

There was quiet for the next couple minutes or so as Max brushed her teeth and Maeven washed her body, her eyes still closed.

“Okay, there, it’s all yours.”

“Bye Max.”

As she stood underneath the showerhead, finally alone, Maeven let the hot water wash away all the pain. Outside, everything felt chaos, out of her control. Being closed off in a shower like this was one of the only times she felt at peace, as if she was safe and warm in the womb again. But it wasn’t perfect. She had no control over the sound in this environment; no way to block out the silence with the mixtapes from her dad on her walkman. This bathroom was too small to fit her boombox anywhere without it being in danger of being tripped on or having water splashed on it. The sound of running water wasn’t enough for Maeven to work with, leaving her brain to run wild without her permission.

“Stupid, fucking insane bitch. You’re a stupid fucking insane bitch, Maeven.”

Even though the voice came from inside her, it wasn’t her own. Whatever or whoever came to invade her head with poison possessed a tone deeper than hers. It was smooth and oddly familiar, but often scratchy and distorted. If she had heard this voice before, Maeven couldn’t for the life of her identify it correctly.

“Yeah. . .well at least I know I’m insane,” she scoffed back as she ran her soaped-up poof around her body, eyes still shut tight. “That makes me better than all the crazy people in denial of their craziness.”

“Really? It sounds worse. Like you’re on a whole new level of crazy.”

Maeven rolled her eyes back into her skull so hard it hurt. There was no winning with this voice. It always had something else to say.

“Shut up.” It was redundant at this point, trying to quiet the voice. It never shut up. It always came back, eventually.

Maeven subconsciously brought one hand to the nape of her neck to feel the bottom of her hair. It was still choppy from when she impulsively cut off her long fiery curls back in February. She never even bothered to have it evened out, even though she cut it every month to keep it from growing. She had been growing it out since she was ten, but it just didn’t feel like her any longer. 

Her other hand ghosted over her pelvis, tracing the large scar above her left ovary in the shape of a heart. It didn’t hurt when she touched it anymore, but it hurt if it was pressed on too hard. That was an improvement. Her periods were still extremely painful, no matter how well her body adjusted to the months of healing from surgery.

Maeven could still remember the exact way it felt when it was carved into her flesh.

“You know you can never wash it away, right?”

“I know. . .”

. . .

A shiver shot down Maeven’s spine as she took her meds at the breakfast table; the combination of eight different kinds of pills left a bitter taste and a horrible feeling. But she needed them to stay together, and she hated that. She was mad that her body and brain couldn’t function like everyone else’s, and that she needed pills to feel normal. It didn’t feel as bad when she took them with food or any drink other than water; the taste distracted her from the grossness of it all. Her mom’s waffles seemed to be the best of those distractions.

Billy slipped his hand under the table and gave Maeven’s hand a comforting and reassuring squeeze at her sign of discomfort.

Meals between the newly-blended family were always awkward, the silence seemingly screaming at them. Max and Maeven both practically inhaled their food, relieved to finally have a familiarly wholesome meal. They had been doing takeout for the past week while waiting for the moving truck and figuring out what goes where. Billy and his dad ate at an acceptable pace. Susan always ate fairly slowly, but would sometimes eat so slowly as if she didn’t deserve what was being served, even if she made it herself; it had been more present since the wedding.

“So. . .you kids excited for tomorrow?”

At the sound of Neil’s voice, Maeven jumped and Billy pulled his hand away from her leg.

“Not really,” Max replied after swallowing her food.

“Nope,” Billy said, bluntly.

“I’m still deciding,” Maven mumbled.

Neil said nothing to them, just laughing as he gave them that same icy stare.

“Ah, I never liked school either. But either way, I expect you kids to be on your best behavior,” he said in between bites of sausage and eggs. “This is a chance for a brand-new start for all of us and we don’t need you making things tougher than it needs to be; especially you, Margaret.”

Maeven wanted to tell him off, to tell him for the umpteenth time that that wasn’t her name. She hated it when people called her that; she said it made her sound like an old lady, which her aunt Margaret on her Dad’s side took playful offense to, It wasn’t like she was wrong. But she didn’t. And it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. So instead, she just put on the smile she knew Neil wanted from her and said; “Trust me, I’m not looking to start anything. Just gonna try and blend in this year.”

“Oh, please, Maeven. You’ve never blended in,” Billy scoffed, leaning over to playfully shove her arm. He did it a little harder than Maeven would’ve preferred, but she said nothing.

“Yeah,” Max said with a mouthful of waffles, “especially not with that hair."

She leaned over to lightly pulled at her sister’s identical red locks.

“Ow!” Maeven laughed, slapping her hand away before giving Billy a slap on the shoulder. “Okay, I did not come here to be abused while trying to enjoy a delicious meal. You know what they say; no time like the present, guys.”

The kids turned back to their plates, but not before Maeven could return her sister’s tug.

“And it's your hair, too, Squirt."

“Maevey, Max,” Susan spoke up, giving her daughters the eyes she only gave them when she was about to lecture them or ask them to do something for her. “I picked out some outfits for you and laid them on your bed for tomorrow.”

Max dropped her fork and rolled her eyes.

“What?” Maeven looked at her mother

“Yeah, I can dress myself,” Max whined.

“It’ll be your first day in a new school, a new town. I thought you might wanna wear something special.”

“Why?”

Maeven and Max knew they should want to make their mom happy, but they sure as hell weren’t about to show up to their first day at new schools dressed like someone they weren’t.

“Oh, you know. It just seems like such a waste. You girls are gorgeous, but I never see you dress up or try to look nice. And I want you to make a good impression on those kids.”

The idea that they needed to look nice for Hawkins was laughable to Maeven and Max. But they stayed silent. Susan always did this; tried to mold her daughters into something they weren’t, especially since their dad left. Both Mayfield girls hated it. It hurt them to think that their mother didn’t like them the way they already were. Dad would never make them feel like that. But since their mother married Neil, they felt like they had to tolerate it more.

“Promise me you’ll at least take a look, okay?”

The sisters said nothing, finding their half-finished plates suddenly very interesting. They both seethed, Maeven tapping her fingers against the tabletop as Max shook her leg under the table in frustration.

“Girls, answer your mother,” Neil said, not looking up from his breakfast. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. They knew that by now.

“Alright, Mom.”

“Okay.”

Susan gave the girls and Neil a smile before going back to her meal. But Neil had one more piece of news to report.

“Margaret, before your classes tomorrow, you’ll have to check in with the sheriff’s office this afternoon. You’ll also need to check in with the school counselor before you leave campus tomorrow.”

The words ‘sheriff’ and ‘counselor’ made Maeven’s heart-rate spike. She always had problems with the authorities. It may be surprising since her Dad was in the military, but she was scared of cops; she had a reason to be ever since she was tackled by them in the ninth grade. And she had spent more than enough time with counselors in inpatient treatment for three months. She was tired of being forced to relive her trauma, justifying her behavior, defending herself, and trying to convince people she wasn’t crazy.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Have you really already forgotten? We talked about this last week.”

She didn’t remember that conversation but nodded to her stepdad as if she did.

“Sorry. . .”

“Don’t be sorry. If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t do it.”

Maeven felt Billy rub her knee again under the table. She didn’t say anything after that. She just finished her meal as she snapped her rubberband against her wrist, trying not to think about how hard she’d fuck up her meeting with the cops this afternoon. She just wanted this part of her life over and done with. But she’d push through this; she had help. All she had to do was put up with these weekly meetings with cops and counselors for the next year, and she’d be home-free.

“You always fuck up everything, no matter what. Why would this time be any different?”

Maeven didn’t feel like eating, anymore. Even if she had those on her side who wanted to help her, it was hard to stay positive when you feel like you were a hostage in your own body, a prisoner in your own mind.

“Everyone finished?” Susan asked, standing up from the table. Maeven nearly jumped at the offer to clear the table; anything to escape Neil’s harsh gaze.

“It’s okay, Mom. I got it,” she said, taking her mother’s plate before going for the rest. As everyone left the table, she cringed as Neil passed her with his final words of the morning.

“Good girl.”

“He totally knows about you and Billy. He knows how you let him fuck you in his Camaro like the filthy little whore you are. Once mom goes downhill, he’s coming for you, next.”

“Now everyone get your things together or we’ll be late for the tour,” Susan called out from the living room.

. . .

As Maeven laced on her doc martens, she tightened the lace, one, two, three times on each foot. The bags underneath her eyes were showing no sign of disappearing. No matter how much sleep she had gotten, she always looked exhausted. Eyeliner helped, but she didn’t wanna give boys the wrong idea. She kept her aunt’s evil eye necklace hidden underneath her muted striped sweater. Neil would throw a fit about her being a ‘devil-worshipping-hippe’ otherwise. 

The outfits her mother laid out on her bed for her made her want to throw up; too many bright colors and ruffles. They were shallow Christmas gifts with the best intentions. Susan thought her daughter would look nice in them, but never considered that she wouldn’t like them. Maeven would only wear them at formal events, or mother-daughter date nights to make her happy. But she didn’t feel like she needed to do that, anymore; her mom seemed ignorantly happy, floating.

It was a lot colder today as if someone flipped the switch from ‘summer’ to ‘fall’ with a snap of their fingers. Maeven opted for her long black skirt but still slipped on her fishnet stockings and armlets. She liked the way they made her feel, and how they gripped her skin like a hug. She used to shamelessly wear the stockings underneath skirts and shorts that she got in trouble for at school. The armlets provided her with a distraction; the oddly soothing feeling she got from running her fingers against the netted fabric was a better way to cope than scratching her arms. The idea of ruining them with her bad habits was enough to dissuade her, too.

As Maeven gave herself a look over in the full-length mirror in the corner across her bed, she didn’t notice herself. She felt alright; that was all she felt when she looked in the mirror now. What she was more focused on was the night light that should’ve been plugged in next to the mirror. It had been there since the first night they moved in. Where did it go?

“Are you gonna bring him?”

“What?”

Maeven blinked, forgetting where she was for a moment and what she was supposed to be doing. The disembodied voice seemed to echo throughout her blank bedroom.

“Woodsy’s looking right at you. You gonna bring him with?”

She looked in the mirror again, finally grasping what it was alluding to. Her Woodsy Owl plush laying on her unmade bed, seemingly looking up at Maeven through his reflection in the mirror.

“Today or tomorrow?”

“At all.”

Her dad gave that plush to Maeven on her birthday ten years ago, along with a ‘give a hoot, don’t pollute’ bumper sticker she ended up sticking to the doors of her wardrobe. She had Smokey Bear and Ranger Rick to complete her set of U.S. Forest Service pals. But Woodsy was always her favorite. She had been especially reliant on him these past nine months, bringing him with her to cling to in case a panic attack suddenly came. But she wasn’t going to school then.

“I’m not gonna walk into a new high school with an old toy stuffed into the bottom of my backpack.”

“No. Don’t do that. Not to Woodsy. He’s your friend. You should walk in with him tucked under your arm.”

Maeven was almost eighteen. She graduated from inpatient therapy, she could drive, and she had a bright future ahead of her as long as she kept her shit together. Walking into Hawkins High with a childhood toy would make her the laughingstock of the student body.

As she held the love-worn owl plush in her hands, she couldn’t shake the internal need to bring him with her. But instead, she spoke back, “Why would I do that?”

“So they’d all leave you alone?”

But Maeven didn’t want to be left alone. Well, she did, but this was different. She wanted people to mind their own business and just let her be in peace. But she didn’t want to be alone at Hawkins’ High. As much as she loved Billy, she longed for her own life again.

“I want everyone out and in the cars in two minutes! Come on, let’s go! Chop chop!”

Maeven shot up from her bed at Neil’s voice, stuffing the plush into the bottom of her bag, giving herself a mental slap in shame.

It was ironic that even though her dad was the one in the military, her stepdad was the one with the drill sergeant-like attitude.

. . .

Susan, Neil, and Max piled into the family station wagon with the wooden belt, while Maeven rode along with Billy in his Camaro; the way the family always drove. For some reason, neither of their parents was suspicious or had a problem with it. Out in the open, Billy and Maeven were playful, as if they had actually been brother and sister forever.

No one knew when their attention was pointed elsewhere how much they set each other aflame with desperate kisses and electric touches. They didn’t know how much Maeven loved it when Billy showed her absolutely no mercy, how he dug his thumbs into her hips so hard they would leave bruises as he used all his strength to pound against her cervix. They’d be shocked to discover just how many times he fucked so possessively that she couldn’t remember anything the next day. But Maeven and Billy stopped caring enough to keep count.

Maeven wondered if that was how things went down the night before. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time.

“Go on. Ask him. You know he’s waiting for you to.”

She said nothing back, continuing to bounce her leg as she fiddled with her hands in her lap. But her heart stopped and time seemed to stand still as Billy pinched her skirt, hiking the fabric up her leg until he slipped his fingers under the hem to grip the flesh of her thigh. Maeven’s breath hitched in her throat, as the hum of the Camaro's engine sent a warm purr, mimicking the electricity that suddenly pulsed deep in her tummy. The memories of the time he revved the engine of his car to coax an orgasm from her made her crave another just like it. It was hard to keep her cool when her brain twisted anything and everything to appear sexy.

This is how most of their car trips alone together were spent. They weren’t always sexual, but Billy’s right hand was almost always on a part of Maeven’s body. It was his way of telling her “I’m right here. You’re safe. I promise.”

Maeven had the strong urge to close her thighs shut and wiggle her hips but mustered all the self-control she had within her to stay on task. She moved her hand over Billy’s and asked him: “What happened last night?” 

Billy shifted his focus from the road, blinking away the rush of the high he always got from the feeling of speeding on an open road.

“What?”

“Last night? When you came into my room?”

His expression didn’t change, as if she said nothing and he was still waiting to listen to her. But he did, glancing at her like she was on display.

“You don’t remember?”

“No. I woke up with new cuts, wet hair, and a wet pillow between my legs.”

Billy chuckled out a cloud of smoke as the cigarette hung from his sly smile. When he saw that she wasn’t joking or flirting, he laughed again

“Damn, Dollface, you seriously have no idea?”

Why did he have to play these games with her at the most inconvenient times?

“Tolerating him is the least you could do to thank him for taking care of you,” her internal voice reminded her. Maeven felt that she wasn’t in any position to criticize his quirks. He’d given her the same courtesy in the past.

            "I don't remember cutting myself up or showering. I sure as hell don't remember fucking my pillow,” she recounted, the missing time and context from her blackouts taunting and haunting her. She despised this. She wanted it gone, for it to be over.

“Woah, woah, calm down there, Iron Maeven,” Billy cooed at her, bringing his hand underneath Maeven’s arm to lace their fingers together, rubbing the top of her hand as he rested them atop the clutch. “I was giving you a massage, and you started humping my hand when I got down to your thighs.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you changed your mind and then climbed on top of me and we messed around for a bit. You really don’t remember that?”

That didn’t sound like Maeven. She could get caught up in the heat of the moment, sure. Then again, she apparently did a lot of things that were considered ‘out of character’ during her blackouts. Billy wasn’t the only witness to it. Her parents, sister, and friends saw it happen, too. Maeven would never forgive herself now that Max saw her so unhinged.

“You disgusting little whore. Do you really have that poor self-control?”

“No. . .I don’t.”

“I went to go and use the bathroom and get some water, and when I came back, you were cutting. I gave you one of your chill pills and helped you clean up in the shower. You’re the one who asked me to put the pillow there.”

Everything fit together perfectly. Again, she couldn’t understand why she would do these things. But if she was told a year prior that she’d eventually become a drug, self-harm, and sex addict, Maeven would’ve laughed it off. If there was one thing she learned after her parent’s divorce, it was that nothing ever really went a hundred percent according to plan.

“All you do is take. You take his love for granted and then you mutilate your body to take more of his attention.”

At the feeling over her cheeks wettening with tears, Maeven gave herself another slap across the face. She didn’t deserve to be crying. She did this to herself. As she moved her hand to slap herself again, Billy gripped her wrist to stop her. When he noticed her breathing getting heavier, he let go to lovingly stroke her fiery red locks, cradling her head in his palm.

“Hey, it’s okay. It's okay, Doll. It’s not your fault,” he cooed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve noticed something was wrong.”

Maeven still couldn’t decide if his understanding made her feel better or worse. He was so good to her, and he didn’t deserve for her to drag him down with her.

“No, no. It’s not your fault, either,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You were helping me. I’m sorry you had to do that again.”

Billy tenderly gripped her chin and turned her head to face him.

“I’ll never get tired of taking care of you, Maevey. Y’know that right?”

“He’s lying to you.”

She wanted to agree with it, to protest out loud. But his baby blues almost never failed to put her at ease. So, instead, she just nodded.

“Good. I love you,” he said, turning his attention back to the road. Maeven blinked away the remaining tears in her eyes, slipping her skirt back down as she fidgeted with her gloves

“I love you, too,” she muttered back, but she said it more as a courtesy to herself as if she could convince herself to believe Billy’s words.

“He hates you, you stupid insane bitch. You know he does. He fucking hates you.”

The ride was silent until Hawkins came into view. They figured they’d get used to the long-ish drive, and the fact that their new ‘home’ had more hills and trees than buildings. Today was not that day. But maybe it would come soon. Maeven clutched her backpack in her lap, poking at the softness of her beloved plush toy shoved to the bottom temporarily soothed her nerves.

“By the way, do you know what happened to my night light?”

Maeven wanted to mention it before she forgot again. Billy choked out a smoke-filled laugh before throwing the butt of his cigarette out the window. She wished he’d stop doing that.

“Your what?”

“The light behind my mirror? It was there last night, and now it’s gone,” she said, immediately regretting overexplaining. Billy didn’t like it when she talked to him like that; like he was stupid. He pushed his foot a little harder on the gas, causing Maeven to be pushed back in her seat by the sudden increase in speed.

“You really shouldn’t have that shit, anymore, Maevey, you’re almost eighteen. I didn’t do anything with it. Why would you think that? You’d really think I’d steal from you?”

Maeven’s heart sped up as her leg bounced instinctively. 

“No, no, no. It’s not that.”

“Keep your fucking mouth shut, bitch. Don’t push your luck.”

“You probably just got tired of it, finally. If you were that out of it that you can’t remember anything, who knows what else you could’ve done?”

Sure, it was kind of silly and childish, but the night light helped her feel comfortable and safe. She never got tired of that light. It had been in her room since she was an infant. She wanted to say ‘no;’ to tell him that didn’t sound like her. But she couldn’t say that about herself. Maeven couldn’t say anything about herself with confidence, anymore.

“You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said. Billy forgave and forgot her little rude outbursts. Maeven didn’t. She never forgot or forgave herself. Her heart continued to beat and her leg continued to bounce as she squeezed the bottom of her backpack. Even though she shouldn’t, she felt the need to punish herself. It all depended on if the day got better or worse. And maybe Billy would get to it before she did.

“You shouldn’t have asked him about it. You pissed him off. You’re gonna have to make it up to him now, y’know? The only reason he’s stayed this long is that he feels sorry for you. And besides, you only really have one thing to give him.”

. . .

A/N: This was more of a filler chapter than anything. I'm still getting a feel for how Maeven's brain is wired and how her trauma affects her everyday life. Don't worry. Next chapter, we'll be diving into meeting all the other characters. As always, I love hearing your thoughts down below!

The Spitfire Curse Taglist:

@yaidothat

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[blnk338]

Blnk, do u have any advice for young/starting writers?

for specifically reader inserts, try to go as vague as you can, or include EVERYTHING. what i try to do is include things like knowing multiple languages in RWYS-- which actually ends up perfectly for Reaper because she likes to know as many languages as she can-- or have the option of knowing them (with the exception of a few for plot stuff!)

similarly to that, i also try to include things like varying hair lengths, non-descript skintones, and including things like durags/bonnets into the story so its not like "here's my blond-haired blue-eyed white girl whos skinny and sexy with a GIANT ass and GIANT boobs"-- while some things are based around the story-- like some muscles and stuff, i try not to give a specific body type to my inserts. but being fat, being skinny-- neither of those mean you aren't strong (PLEASE!!! go look at the top athletes of the world!! the weight-lifting category is filled with fat people!!)

i know it feels like rambling, but its crucial to remember that its not only people that look like you who wanna read this story, its all kinds of people. its good to be open, anyway, you know?

when it comes to writing in general, i recommend using the tools that are available and work with yourself. my basic writing process goes as such:

bullet point everything in whatever app you use-- i also have a bunch of reminders of ideas, so i go through my phone and put them into the bullets as well

write everything in word

go over and add details

edit a first time

input the words into AO3's editor and go over it a second time, this time, however, with the Grammarly add-on

i suppose one thing that i learned is that generally, you aren't going to get hate and you don't need to be afraid of it. saying this here and now, I've so far gotten 0 hate messages or anything (knock on wood LMAO) of the sorts. with that, criticism is important to take, but people who send messages or asks like that don't mean it in a poor light. if they wanted to be mean, they'd be mean. of course text doesn't show tone quite well (and if I've ever come off as rude, I'm terribly sorry for that)

i guess what i'm trying to say is that i was afraid too for a long time to be fully into my own story for a moment. i was afraid people would complain that rigo was trans, or i was afraid people wouldn't like that i made reaper bisexual, and i was frankly very afraid that people would send me terrible messages about my story, but i haven't gotten anything like that. this isn't twitter where people are sent threats for posting what they want, and you don't need to be nervous.

with all of that being said, writing should be fun for you. if at any point you lose interest in what you're writing, but you feel obligated to keep going because you posted it: don't be nervous, and don't force yourself. things happen and sometimes stories drop, and that's okay! life moves on! and hey, maybe it's not done forever. maybe you get burnt out and you gotta slow down or take a hiatus-- don't worry!! whether you come back to that or not, there will still be people out there who want to read what you post

plus it's fun to see how far you've grown as a writer. i can say that even from the start of RWYS, I've improved significantly! and while i edit the old chapters to make them more legible, i have the original copies of the chapters on my computer still!

have fun, love your work, and love yourself :)

[consistantly-changing]

[Image descriptions in order: a series of images that look like a slideshow. The first one is bright red with large white text which says "If I so much as catch a WHISPER that people are trying to monetize FanFiction on AO3".

At the bottom, there is small text which says "A non-selective plan for dealing with the resurgence of blatant Fic Commissions on AO3, inspired by the campus Tik-Tok".]

[The rest of the images are white with black text, which have a title followed by a bullet point list. They say:

If I see Blatant Commissions:

(Capitalized) I will report you

(Capitalized) I will report your ass

(Capitalized) I literally will not give it a second thought, i will just smash that report button

(Capitalized) I didn't survive the transition from LJ, and the purge of ff.net just to see people make ao3's job even harder than it has to be

On the right side of the slide, there is a PNG of a red button.]

[But fanartists...

It's different

(Capitalized) I know, I know

It's technically the same - it's just different

On the right is the meme of Ben Affleck looking tired, smoking a cigarette out of a window with a bottle of alcohol beside him]

[Why you so mad?

Copyright law violation

Copyright law violation = slippery slope to getting sued by OC's

Free Fanfic is made safe by the 'Fair Use' clause – which says that it's okay to transform copyrighted property because no money is being made off of it

When you charge/commission – you lose your ONE defence]

[Learn your history

Fic writers got sued in the not too distant past

Some of them were sued very successfully and made to pay reparations along with their cease and desist orders

The name 'Anne Rice' still gives old fic writers flashbacks

Historically Fic writers have been reminded, viciously, about whose sandpit we play in and on what terms (Not Ours)]

[(Toggle case) but I never said I own the characters

There are several screenshots of disclaimers that authors put on their works, which say:

Crowley, The Book of the Law, 57. Disclaimer: I don't own anything here, except the writing. No profit is intended except the sheer joy I get out of constructing this story.

JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. Fasa games owns Earthdawn.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and I make absolutely no money with this FF.

Disclaimer: Aragorn is mine! Allllll mine, my precious yessss..... (Just kidding, he belongs to Tolkien, who's probably spinning in his grave at this very moment...)

All characters belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilm Ltd., yadda, yadda, yadda...

Disclaimer: The raven belongs to E.A. Poe. I'm just borrowing the hateful creature for a little bit, okay?

Author's Notes: Sherlock Holmes and all related characters are original creations of the genius of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Original characters (meaning mine) will be noted. This fic takes place somewhere between A Scandal in Bohemia and Holmes's retirement. Please R/R.

Disclaimer: The dear boys belong to Victor Hugo, may he rest in peace and not be disturbed by whatever I do with (or to) them. The first names of Marcelin, Francois, and Etienne were Manon Goutal's brilliant idea. Alexandre and Laurent were mine. Claudette Prouvaire, Claude to her friends, is entirely a creation of my own mind (be afraid: oP). I'm not making money off this, nor do I want to. I have nothing. Have mercy on me. Archivists: Feel free to post this on your site, just let me know

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and/or plotlines and/or dialogue of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice nor Henry Fielding's Tom Jones. Duh.

Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries does not belong to me. New characters, are mine.

-- All the usual disclaimers apply -- I own nothing -- just borrowing these guys for a while --

Learn your history, it's only in the last few years that we haven't had to put disclaimers on EVERYTHING because AO3 protects us]

[but, but, I didn't know I can't charge...

(capitalized) read the terms of service

(Sub bulletted list): "You agree not to make available any unsolicited or unauthorized advertising (defined as solicitations for direct or indirect commercial advantage" [AO3 TOS Section I, D]

"Promotion of commercial products or activities is not allowed." [AO3 TOS, Section IV, B]

"Unsolicited commercial activity is not permitted on the Archive.” [AO3 TOS, Section IV B]

(capitalized) it's literally in the terms of service use your eyeballs

Below is clip art of cartoon eyes that are wide open.]

[(Capitalized) In conclusion

(Capitalized) don't fucking charge for fic

(Capitalized) don't put on ao3 that you're charging for fic

(Capitalized) don't link your ko-fi, patreon, paypal, on ao3

(Capitalized) just don't fucking do it

(Capitalized) thank you]

a non-selective plan for the resurgence of fic commissions

[tae-rambles]

On the topic of Sabo's scar, Imo Oda is a coward in designing characters at times.

Like, the guy BLEW up and all he get is some red skin around his eye. HE SHOULDN'T EVEN HAVE AN EYE!!! And Toei makes it worse by doing their lighting tricks.

Kidd and Akanu on the other hand got full on facial and body scarring (for no reason at all in the latter's case) Akainu is a villian, and while Kidd is pretty grey he is potrayed as a blood thristy brute.

This thing were only evil and violent characters get to have actual scars while the good guys stay "pretty" feels very... abelist.

Same for the Strawhats! Nami doesn't have her shoulder scar, Luffy should be tained with marks all over his body and the same goes for Sanji and Zoro! For Sanji especially, scars could have been used as something he is very ashamed of since they show his weaknesses and his siblings don't have them. I feel like even Franky should have more...

(Also Law with his spots from the amber lead! But back in Marineford his backstory hadn't been made yet, so I'll forgive it. He should have had his bullet holes and arm scar from Doffy, tho.)

I actually just read this wonderfull fic on ao3 called "What do scars mean to you?" That explores this very concept and it just makes me wish more Oda wasn't soo keen on making his "normal" characters conventionally actractive while the only ones who are interesting are the villians and caricatures.

Well, Rip.

although i do agree that a bunch of the characters should have more scars (namely Sabo from the burns, Nami from stabbing the Arlong tattoo, and Law from getting his arm cut off) and thus understand your frustratio -, Oda is indeed very inconsistent and reserved when it comes to giving characters scars - i think this issue isn't as simple as "Oda is a coward". we need to consider both practicality and the meaning behind the character designs.

it would be a real pain in the ass to constantly draw/animate every single small scar a character might get especially if they're often reoccurring characters like the Strawhats (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji). One Piece is a fictional battle shonen manga - real life logic of how injuries affect the body do not apply here. the scars the characters sustain aren't supposed to be realistic but tell a story instead.

also, saying that Oda doesn't give his "good guys" (or as you so confusingly said: "normal" - what is that even supposed to mean? most of the characters in One Piece are some kind of weirdos and freaks (affectionate), especially the "good guys") non-conventionally attractive designs is just incorrect. yes, the conventionally-attractive-female design is an issue but that belongs in the can of warms called sexism that i won't talk about here. (i recommend MelonTeee's video on One Piece Women)

Oda isn't perfect by any means and has a some questionable tastes that are unfortunately reflected in his work but i don't think it's as black and white as you portrayed.

some last notes i have that i find unimportant to the discussion at hand but can't help but point out:

Akainu got his scars from his fight with Aokiji. i don't kunderstand why you think there's no reason for them?

calling Kid "a blood thirsty brute" is pretty surface level but i don't feel like deep diving into his character rn. it would take too much effort i'm not willing to give

[aminiatureworld]

Give and Take

Characters: Albedo, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,111

Warnings: Injury

Premise: Everything in the world comes with a price. But should you really bear that burden alone?

In which the reader’s vision harms them.

Author’s Note: It’s Valentine’s Day weekend and I’m here to give you all the fanfic-y goodness I can! I’d like to thank lovely anon for requesting this, I hope I did your prompt justice! 

Writing this reminded me of why I hate Mount Everest. Also I realize I keep connecting Albedo to Dragonspine. Truly living up to his quests. Similarly to past prompts I injected a hospital into Monstadt because, I mean, of course a huge city will have some sort of hospital. I mean I’m sure there’s also a school and a bakery and such but there’s no point in having that as an in game mechanic. 

Version without bulletpoints on Ao3

Albedo

You supposed that you shouldn’t’ve been surprised that a mysterious and indescribable power came with a price. Honestly it wasn’t the vision’s fault that you weren’t the most aware sort of person, that you needed a warning label dropped down from the heavens to accompany the raw elemental energy you’d be handed.

At first you hadn’t really noticed it. I mean sure your hands were a bit tingly, but you’d just been handed a vision! Who would’ve thought you’d have suddenly developed the ability to control Cryo, coating your weapon with it, or simply lifting snowflakes off of your hand? It was a novel experience, and a welcome one at that.

But eventually the reality crept up on you. It was the small things at first. How your hands seemed frightfully cold all of a sudden, the odd purple hue of your fingernails that was now ever present, how you found yourself wearing gloves more and more often. But then came the red spots and the blistering, and you’d come to the sickening realization that this gift you’d been given had turned into a curse.

As the time had passed you’d come to the conclusion that there was nothing to be done about it. The world was made up of give and take, and if you wanted to continue to use your vision – something which had become essential to your life and which you weren’t even sure you could get rid of – you’d simply have to deal with the consequences. You didn’t like to bring attention to it, and though members of your closest circle knew about it you tried to ignore it as much as possible, doing what you can when possible and hiding your perpetually frostbitten hands when not.

And then you’d met Albedo. And if there was one thing you were certain of it was that you were never going to tell Albedo.

Albedo had come into your life unexpectedly, having run into you while searching for ingredients to use in his alchemy. What had started with a pleasant conversation had quickly turned into infatuation, then into love, and suddenly you’d found yourself the happiest you’d been in a long time.

It didn’t feel right to tell him. You knew that Albedo already had his struggles, things that shadowed his face for a moment before he returned to his serene expression. The last thing you wanted to do was to add to those struggles. Especially not about something that simply couldn’t be fixed. You knew he’d run himself ragged looking for a cure, but it was simply the way things were. And in truth you were tired, oh so tired, and it was easier in a way accept your predicament as inevitability rather than try to fight it.

It was a cold day outside, and you silently cursed the Guild for sending you out to deal with some rogue Fatui members in Dragonspine. Already the temperature was near unbearably, adding your issues made it near fatal. Though you’d managed to deal with the Fatui it’d been a long and hard battle, filled less with strategy and more with desperation as you tried to ignore the numbness in your fingers. Your weapon felt clunky in your hand and you felt tears of frustration as you missed over and over again. By the time you’d finished the feeling had spread throughout your body, and you fell over a few times on the way home, legs stiff and unfeeling. You were dreading having to look at them.

You collapsed as soon as you stepped inside, crying out as your blistered arms hit the wooden floor. Bath, you had to get to the bath. Your legs seemed near useless, dragging behind you, feeling like dead weight. As you peeled off your slightly damp clothes the sight that met you caused your heart to shudder, and tears of fear clouded your eyes. Your skin was of a ghastly white complexion, tinged with blue at the back of your knees and near your ankles. Already you could see the heat blisters forming and you wondered whether bathing might even be worthwhile at this point, or whether it could lead to even more tissue death.

You leaned against the wall, suddenly seized with fatigue. Though you knew that you should get up, should keep moving, that sleep could be deadly, you remained as you were. You were just so tired, and so confused. Why? Why did it have to be like this? You never saw Albedo suffering like this, never saw your fellow guild members toil on, day after day, suffering from that which allowed their livelihood. Why did you suffer this way?

You realized it was incredibly useless to stew in it. After all you’d come so far, grown so much. You knew the risks and you continued to act as if there were none. Was it not expected then that you would continue to struggle? Besides it was payment. You shouldn’t expect anything to happen without something else happening, especially in cases such as these. No one would just hand you a wad of money without expectations, why should magic have a different system? Really you just needed to get up, get up and… what were you doing again?

 Right as your grasp on the situation became exceedingly tenuous the door opened.

“Sorry for arriving a bit late my dear, I hope – ”

Whatever Albedo was going to say it was replaced by the sound of something dropping, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath.

“What happened?” Albedo’s voice was sharp, filled with concern and with determination. You shook your head slightly, though even your neck felt as if was cracking with every movement.

“Nothing. I just, I…” you weren’t quite sure how to answer that, your mind felt like it was barely functioning, “…this is normal.”

“It’s certainly not normal.” Albedo dropped down besides you, slinging your arm over his shoulder – something you barely registered. “Who or what in the name of the Seven caused this?”

“Me.” You replied, still trying to focus on what was going on, to mixed up in fear and fatigue to try to spin lies. “I did this. I told you. Normal.”

“You’re being delirious.” By this point Albedo had managed to pick you up. Kicking the door all the way open he barely turned back to close it, instead running through the streets, turning towards the hospital.

“No, it’s true. It’s… my…” you began to push on the brakes but it was too far into the confession for that now “… my vision. This is my vision.” The look that Albedo gave you was pure alarm. Shaking his head he cursed under his breath.

“As soon as you’ve healed we’re talking about this.”

 You didn’t want to think how the whole scenario might’ve turned out in a world without magic. Though the healing was slow going – it took you almost a whole week of hospitalization and half of it in intensive care to finally be considered in the clear. You hadn’t been conscious the whole way, having been through various treatments and surgeries, but when you woke up in your hospital room Albedo was invariably there.

The already reticent alchemist was practically a statue. He said little to you, and what was said were little things, encouraging words, comforting little nothings. There was nothing substantial in his sentences, and you sensed that he was waiting. Whether that was for your recovery or for your confession you weren’t entirely sure.

The day that you were finally released was surprisingly warm, and your hands were slightly sweaty in their mittens. Not that it mattered. It’d been over a week since you’d last used your vision, and you were feeling as good as new. Considering what you’d just gone through that was perhaps unsurprising.

Albedo met you right as you signing the last of some paperwork. A smile was on his face, and he made no attempt to hide his affection, slinging his arm around your waist. You smiled back at him, finally happy to be done with the whole dilemma. Kissing him on the cheek – something which brought about an intense blush on his part – you let out a triumphant “I’m going home.”

“Yes my darling, you are.” Albedo replied.

The walk home turned out to be a bit of a long one. The two of you stopped for lunch, discussing this and that. After a week of practically no conversation you were bursting with random thoughts. The simple act of talking to Albedo felt divine, and you reveled in it. You also kept your hands constantly linked, although you joked that it must be a bit difficult considering your mittens. Albedo simply shook his head.

“I love when our hands are joined, no matter the context.”

Finally you two arrived home. Throwing yourself on the familiar couch you let out a sigh of relief.

“Would you like some tea?” Albedo called out.

“Yes!” You replied, before picking up a book you’d left on the coffee table. You’d missed being surrounded by familiar things.

Albedo placed the tea on the table before sitting next to you. You leaned into his shoulder picking up the tea and blowing on it slightly.

“Darling?”

“Yes?” You replied smiling at him. Albedo’s gaze was that of seemingly perfect happiness, but curiosity lurked behind that, and even more than curiosity was worried.

“I was wondering if you might not tell me more about what you said when I was carrying you to the hospital. About your vision.”

You paused for a moment. Not that you weren’t expecting this, indeed you were surprised Albedo hadn’t brought it up when you were in the hospital; though you appreciated his reticence. You’d decided during your recovery that you might as well tell him. There was no point in hiding it after what had just passed. Not that you truly believed you could.

So you told him, pausing here and there, trying to explain why you’d never told him.

“I mean it’s sort of expected, isn’t it? I was given a vision after all. Surely I must have something taken away, some burden placed on me in return?” You finished.

“Of course not.” Albedo’s tone was slightly brusque, but you sensed nothing behind it. Indeed your partner looked five seconds from passing out himself, his face having taken on a ghastly pallor. He brought his hand up to your cheek and you leaned into his palm, savoring this small moment. “I’m sorry you’ve been suffering this way.” He murmured.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this now.” You replied, voice just as soft. “I didn’t want to burden you with my plight. But I’m also sorry I hid it from you for so long.”

“That’s a bit contradictory my love.” Albedo let out a huff of a laugh. You simply shrugged, knowing that what he said was true. “I wish to help you.” He continued. “You shouldn’t have to continue to suffer like this. Your experience with your vision should be like mine; purely a blessing, without hint of a curse.” He paused, glancing away slightly, expression suddenly thoughtful.

“It’s true, what you say. Most of this world is governed by the laws of exchange. We put in coal and get out diamonds, at the price of intense heat and pressure and work. Energy only converts but it never simply converts to what you want. That is one of the first things one must understand when it comes to alchemy.”

Albedo glanced back at you. Saying nothing he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, before finally pressing his lips to yours, giving you a brief, almost reverent kiss. “But that’s the wonder about magic you see.” He continued. “Magic lives outside these laws, scoffs at all the silly things the natural world must abide by. Magic is utterly self-contained, and with it comes the ability to do miraculous things, all without worrying about what one must give up. So you see, my love, there is no reason you should suffer.”

 The rest of the nice was spent peacefully, filled with soft laughter and tender kisses. When you fell asleep – cuddled up against the man you loved the most, limbs entangled here and there – you felt nothing but peace, peace and a great deal of relief. You’d trust in this world that Albedo envisioned, one without continual struggle, without endless suffering. For you knew he adored you as you adored him, and, that being true, even if there wasn’t a way for you to live a calmer, happier life, he’d make it happen.

[daringyounggrayson]

whumptober day 4: pushed (AO3)

It’s raining. Normally, that’s a non-issue; Dick’s Nightwing suit is mostly waterproof, and his boots are designed to have excellent traction, even in less-than-ideal conditions. But this is pushing it. He’s on top of a moving train, his vision is limited due to the rain and his mask’s broken night vision, and his shoes are struggling to plant themselves firmly on the slippery train roof. And the rain is heavy, coming down in sheets, and the wind is howling, nearly knocking him over on more than one occasion—it’s the worst storm Bludhaven has had in years.

And then there’re the goons trying to knock him off the train. Now their fight has become a strange dance where Dick is trying to dodge blows while also making sure they don’t fall off in their attempts to kill him. The ridiculousness of trying to keep people who are trying to harm him safe is not lost on Dick.

If he could, he’d just stick trackers on them and call it a night, but that’s not an option—there are bombs hidden somewhere in the train and/or along its route. People could die.

A branch from a nearby tree falls onto the train, causing all three men to jump back, seeking cover. Dick nearly slips off again, and from their screams, he’s sure the other two do too. Dick is on his hands and knees, balancing there as he tries to figure out how to use this to his advantage. There’s an entrance a few cars ahead. If he’s quiet and stays out of their line of sight, they’ll probably assume he fell off the train. He could easily get past them and slip inside to stop the train and get everyone off before these two fools can even set off their bombs. Ideally, Dick would also find and disarm the bombs, but replacing a train and some of its tracks is something Dick can live with so long as no one gets hurt.

He lies down on his stomach, army crawling across the train’s roof, letting the branch block him from his enemies’ view. When he gets to the ladder, he slides his legs over the edge until his foot hits a rung. Then he leaps from one ladder to the next, catching the next rung with a tight grip. It would be faster to simply jump across the rooftops, but he needs to be as discrete as possible.

He’s nearly there—just a few yards left to go—when a gun goes off. He instinctively stills and covers his head, and a bullet bounces off the train several feet away from him. Normally, gunshots wouldn’t be a shock in this kind of scenario, but Dick’s already disarmed them, he—

He looks up to find a third partner. He’s just exited from the same place Dick was hoping to enter through, and he’s holding a gun with a shaking hand. Fantastic.

Dick moves like lightning—he charges the man and knocks the gun out of his hand before his trembling fingers can find the trigger.

“How many of your people are here right now?” Dick shouts above the wind, holding the man in a headlock.

“It doesn’t matter. it’s too late,” the man sneers. “You can’t stop us now.”

“That’s what they all say.” Dick swipes his legs and knocks him to the ground, pulling out handcuffs and attaching him to a nearby bar. “But you know what? I kind of like being underestimated.”

Dick stands, planning to walk back to the hatch and enter the train. He hasn’t even taken his first step when heavy footsteps charge toward him. Dick ducks just in time to avoid being body-slammed by one of the goons from the other train car, and the man stumbles, losing his balance and sliding along the length of the roof. He’s quick to get back up and charge Dick again, this time with raised fists and an animalistic screech.

“I’m kind of on a tight schedule here,” Dick calls as he engages in the fight. He really doesn’t have time for this; the train’s picking up speed.

A large gust of wind nearly knocks him over again, and his boots squeak as they try and fail to find traction. The thug lunges at him, tripping over his own feet but managing to land a weak hit against Dick’s shoulder.

It’s ridiculous that it’s enough to send him tipping over the edge.

He tries and fails to find his footing, only managing to slip backward further. He reflexively reaches out for the attacker’s hand, but he forces himself to retract; the odds of Dick pulling him down and killing him are higher than the odds of the man managing to hold their combined weight. As he falls over the edge, the tips of his fingers brush against the train car’s safety bar, but the rain prevents him from grasping it.

He hits the ground, tries to roll with the fall. The initial impact knocks the wind out of him, and he’s left gasping as sharp pain explodes over his head and back. When he finally stops, he’s covered in mud and blood, and every inch of him feels sore. It wasn’t a long fall, but it was fast and hard.

He pushes himself up on shaking elbows, watches as the blurry figures on the roof disappear into the train car. He’s not going to get back there; even if he had the time, even if he had super speed, he doesn’t think he can move. He needs help.

Dick presses his emergency beacon and calls Wally on his comms. He thinks he says something, but he must pass out, because next thing he knows, Wally’s tapping his cheek, begging him to wake up. He’s blurry, which doesn’t make sense, because Wally’s not running—the only thing moving is his hand, and it’s slow.

Instead of voicing his confusion, Dick vomits. Wally rolls him onto his side, talking too fast for Dick to understand.

In between gasps, Dick says, “The train. Bombs.” His voice sounds wrong to his own ears, slurred.

“You’re hurt,” Wally points out, hesitant. His hands are bloody. How did Wally get blood on his hands already?

“I don’t care—you have to save them!” Dick says, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes as the pain builds in his head. “Medical is on their way—go!”

oOo

Dick isn’t awake when the medical team arrives, but he does wake up, so he figures they did show up.

He raises his hand to rub at his eyes and finds an IV sticking out of it, stuck to his hand with clear tape. He turns his head, taking in the machines and monitors. He must be in the Watchtower’s ICU.

“Hey,” someone—Wally—whispers on the other side of the bed. “Are you awake?”

“Mmhmm,” Dick mumbles. He turns his head to face Wally, wincing. “Bombs?”

“I took care of it; no one got hurt,” Wally promises.

“Thanks.” Dick closes his eyes. The lights are dim, but they still feel too bright. “How long have I been out?”

“As in unconscious?” Wally sighs, and his chair creaks. “Well, uh, you were in a coma for almost three days. You woke up yesterday, but you’ve been pretty out of it. I’m honestly not confident that you’ll even remember this conversation.”

“Wanna bet?” Dick asks, a loopy smile crossing his face.

Wally laughs. “Sure, I could use ten dollars.”

“I’m going to remember.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am.” This time Wally doesn’t protest, and Dick takes it as a win. After a moment, he asks, “I’m okay, though, right?”

“Oh sure. Spinal bruising and a brain hemorrhage have nothing on the Justice League’s medical technology and your stubbornness,” Wally says lightly. “What happened to you anyway?”

“Got pushed off a train,” Dick mumbles, words slurring together as he gets closer and closer to unconsciousness. “Probably landed head first on a rock.” He can barely remember the fight, barely remembers falling. Instead of a solid memory, it’s just a bunch of non-chronological snapshots.

“That tracks.” Wally shifts in his chair, and his fingers find their way to the back of Dick’s hand. “It was scary, finding you like that. I thought you were going to die.”

And Dick had told Wally to leave him anyway. He doesn’t regret doing it—someone has to make the hard calls—but he doesn’t envy Wally. “I’m fine,” he tries to reassure.

Wally’s voice is tight when he speaks. “Yeah, you’re going to be fine, because you’re you—but you weren’t fine. And you’re still not. Hell, you’re hooked up to a bunch of machines and you can’t even keep your eyes open.”

Dick opens his eyes and finds that Wally’s are shiny with unshed tears. “Wally.”

“Sorry, it’s just—” Wally shakes his head, wipes the back of his hand across his eyes. “Uh, can I get you anything? Last time I was here you were nauseous.”

“No, stomach’s fine, just tired.” He must be on a million drugs, too. He wonders how many he’ll have to add to his regimen because of this.

Wally nods, then looks down at his watch when it beeps. “I have to go—Watchtower duty. The rest of the original Titans said they were going to stop by later today, and Alfred and Bruce are outside waiting for me to finish, so you won’t be alone.”

Dick hums in acknowledgment. Then he says, “Thanks for coming, the other day and now.”

Wally leans in and hugs him gently, carefully. “Anytime. And take as much time as you need to heal. Seriously—the Titans will be okay without you for a while, even if Roy ends up leading.”

Dick laughs and nods into Wally’s shoulder, and then they let go. Wally leaves with a promise to be back soon, and Dick, determined to remember this conversation, reminds him to bring his ten dollars when he does.

[nothoughtsonlystarker]

-the "/" and "&" relationship tags are mutually exclusive. even if it's friends to lovers, these are two SEPARATE relationship dynamics that are equally valid in their own respect, but nonetheless different. people who are searching for each respective tag are looking for something specific and tagging both is very unhelpful for potential readers

-"No Archives Warning Apply" =/= "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings." these are two EXTREMELY different tones to set for a fic and are also MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE. the former is exactly what it says: none of Ao3's warnings (major character death, r*pe/non-con, und*r*ge, gore) are present in this fic nor will they come about in future chapters. "chose not to warn" means that any of those warnings MIGHT apply, but the author has decided not to use them because it would be a spoiler or because the extent to which a warning applies might be nebulous (e.g., a character who is under 18 has sex with an adult but the age of consent is lower where the story takes place). CNTW is also often used in conjunction with thr "dead dove" tag to say something like "hey, I'm not sure if any of Ao3's warnings apply here, but I wrote some extremely detailed tags so please pay attention to those."

-please don't use collections for your own personal set of bookmarks. you can already add your own custom tags and notes with bookmarks on their own!

-while Ao3 doesn't have an algorithm, you can also look at the bookmarks of your favorite author to find new fics to read--or even new pairings or fandoms to dive into!

-in a similar vein, you can also subscribe to individual authors you like to get notifications for when they post new fics

-avoid over-tagging!! Ao3 isn't like social media where more hastags will get you more views. tagging pairings or characters that only appear briefly and aren't part of the main plot will usually just annoy people who are looking for those fics, especially if they're rare pairs/side characters. similarly, people who seek out kink tags are usually not going to sift through 30 chapters to find the ONE chaptee that features said kink

-readers tend to prefer a single multi-chapter fic over a series of one-shots. creating a series should be more of an afterthought than a starting point. that being said, if your multi-chapter fic is a series of one-shots, it's better to mention warnings/tags in the intro for each chapter rather than put them all in the tags for the whole fic (as I mentioned in the previous bullet)

Reminders for new ao3 users (in no particular order):

- filter your searches like you would on a library website or in an online catalogue

- don’t post placeholders, fic searches, or recommendations as fics. DON’T! It’s against ao3 TOS

- there is no algorithm. ao3 sorts by date posted/updated unless you filter with specific search criteria

- ao3 is a non profit. that means it doesn’t sell ads to make money — it only survives on donations. this is why it can show you so many fics without ever flashing an ad or pop up at you!

- report fics that break TOS when you see them (I.e., placeholder fics, searches) to help other users navigate better

- the tag “dead dove, do not eat” doesn’t equate to gore/awfulness automatically. it is a complementary tag that enhances current tags. E.g., if the fic is tagged “gore” and “dead dove, do not eat” the author really wants you to mind the gore tag

- most fandoms have a variation of “no beta, we die like (x character)” and they all link back to the “No beta” tag

- publishing a new fic sometimes means it won’t show up in the fandom/pairing tag for a few minutes

- subscribers receive update emails at different times, depending on when you update/publish your fic. there’s no good way to predict when an e-mail will be sent — it can be in 30 seconds, or two hours later

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- you can block commenters now! this didn’t use to be a thing

- updating a fic just to stay at the top of the pairing tag/fandom tag is a dick move. unless you’re legitimately editing or adding chapters, this just annoys readers and fellow authors, and people will skip over your fic

[clockworkspider]

Content warning: non-consensual vampire turning, character death

[AO3 Link (Minor edits made to chapter 1 on that version)]

The blood of an exorcist, one who was raised for generations in the temples, was deadly poison to a vampire. An exorcist could not be turned, not without killing the vampire in the process.

—

Blood gushed from the bullet wound in Keito’s guts.

It was a mistake getting separated from their units. Neither himself nor Eichi were the strongest fighters. Kanzaki or Yuzuru wouldn’t have gotten themselves shot. But they weren’t here right now, and neither was Wataru when you needed his magic.

With heavy heart, Keito had to acknowledge, “I won’t make it.”

He’d made peace with this reality, ever since the day his brother died, ever since they started this bloody war, that exorcists in his family would die young. And yet, he had never imagined he would go before Eichi.

Well, now that Eichi was a vampire, there was no point sending off his soul. He already went ahead and became a demon of his own free will.

Eichi studied him, a cool hand on his neck, and said, expressionless, “you’re right, you won’t.”

“Kiryuu has my will. Tell him…” He paused a bit, and then decided he didn’t want to make Eichi deliver messages for him. It’s all written alongside the will, anyway. “Nevermind. Eichi. I’m sorry that I can’t fulfill my promises to you.”

Come to think of it, he didn’t manage to fulfill a single one. Not the funeral nor the cure. As far as friends go, he was a failure.

He’d like to think he was a better partner to Kiryuu and Kanzaki.

For his part, Eichi was oddly silent. With clumsy gentleness, he arranged Keito in what was probably a more comfortable position. There was an odd gleam in his eyes as he seemed to muttered to himself. Keito managed to catch the words “I have to,” and “no other choice,” and even within his dread of impending doom, Keito felt an additional pang of alarm.

“Are you comfortable?” Suddenly breaking out of whatever reveries he was in, Eichi asked.

“What are you going to do?” As his consciousness started to fade, Keito could not place what exactly was off as Eichi brushed his hand across his face, feather light.

Seeming to have come to a decision, Eichi leaned down slowly, and placed a kiss on Keito’s forehead. “Something horrible, something you never did for me.” And bit down on Keito’s neck.

“No…” If Keito could have fought off Eichi when he was fully conscious, he certainly couldn’t do it now. Never in his life would Keito have expected Eichi to give up his life for Keito’s, and perhaps Eichi didn’t either. “You can’t, you’ll die.”

The blood of an exorcist, one who was raised for generations in the temples, was deadly poison to a vampire. An exorcist could not be turned, not without killing the vampire in the process.

Tenshouin Eichi, when faced with the prospect of losing the other half of his soul, came to an unexpected decision.

“Stop it!” Keito was frantic now, struggling weakly with all that’s left of his strength, but his limbs grew heavier with each breath. “I won’t be the reason you die! I won’t allow it!”

“Shut up!” Eichi said, pulling away from Keito’s neck to respond. “Stop lecturing me for once in your life! You don’t get to dictate how I live or die! I do!"

Trembling, with savage desperation, he tore into his own wrist, before pressing his lips to Keito’s.

As his heart slowed and the world faded against his pleas, all Keito could taste was iron on his tongue. When he returned to consciousness, Eichi laid on top of him, weak, dying.

“No…” As if he were a broken record, Keito couldn’t make himself form any other words even as his consciousness returned. All he could repeat was “no, no, no, no, no.”

Above him, Eichi bursted into a brilliant smile, “it worked…” He said, eyes shining, almost ecstatic as he laid, weak, dying. “Keito… It worked! My life, it’s my own.”

With that, the light in those eyes dimmed and faded. Tenshouin Eichi crumpled into dust, his remains covering Keito from head to toe.

—

“When we first met, I thought you were my very own shinigami.”

—

Later, when Kiryuu found him, exhausted from screaming, clinging onto what was left of Eichi’s clothes, Keito could still taste Eichi’s ashes in his mouth.

—

Notes:

So I know this is excessively horrible, and I didn't actually plan for things to go this way when I wrote the last bit. I genuinely only thought of it afterwards. BUT! Consider! It is a good parallels Eichi's whole issue with Keito in this AU for hiding vampirism from him, even tho Eichi wanted to live. In both cases, when faced with the prospect of losing the other, each of them asserted their own moral/will over the dying person's agency! "Do onto others as you would have others do unto you," and all. A big shout out to @dontsteponthatfish and cheshire for being my sounding board as I wrote. It helped tremendously.

Daybreak [Keichi, Vampire AU]

Written for the AU Roulette challenge. I got Vampire AU.

—

In the year 2000, an Old One known as Godfather walked into the sun. On the same day, hundreds of vampires across the world, mostly in Japan, bursted into flames and burned to dust, causing the Great Millenium Fire. 

The ensuing chaos resulting from the power vacuum lead to the War on Supernaturals. Exorcists and hunters across Japan banded under the banner of Japanese Hunter’s Association, lead by Tenshouin Eichi, head of the Tenshouin Zaibatsu. 

—

“How long has it been since you’re no longer human?” Keito asked, as soon as the footsteps of the others have faded. He’s been glaring a hole through Eichi this entire meeting. 

“What are you talking about, Keito?” Eichi said, feigning innocence. 

“This isn’t the time for games, Eichi,” Keito snapped, "How long?” 

Eichi sighed. “I suppose I can’t hide it forever. What gave me away?” 

“As soon as your health miraculously improved you’ve been sending me on a merry goose chase all over the country, you no longer appear during the day, turns down dinner, smiles with your mouth closed, and removed all the mirrors in the office. Honestly, do you expect to just avoid me forever? How hopeless.” 

“Hehe, well, maybe just as long as I could,” Eichi laughed. “Did you enjoy Okinawa? I heard the weather’s lovely. You need a break once in a while, anyway.” 

“You told me someone has spotted the Godfather! And stop changing the topic. When did you turn? Who did this to you?” Slamming his palms on the table, Keito’s voice rose with just a hint of distress. Startled, Eichi realized that his old friend’s anger wasn’t entirely directed towards him. 

“Why don’t you ask the head of the Sakuma Family, aren’t the two of you old friends? They say he knows everything.” 

This gave him pause. “Did he say that to you? What does he have to do with this?” Confusion sank into Keito’s face. “Did he turn you? No… he wouldn’t...” 

“Last month.” Eichi interrupted. “You were dealing with the Yaobikunis.” 

There it was, a flash of guilt. Just what did Keito think happened? 

“I didn’t know how to tell you. Sorry,” Eichi mumbled, feigning hurt. 

“How did it happen?” Keito’s voice gentled. 

“I-it was a dark and stormy night, and I was walking in this dark alley,” Eichi’s voice trembled. “And then suddenly… I was cornered against the wall—“ 

“Eichi!” Keito slammed his hand against the poor desk again, and hissed as he only managed to hurt his own wrist. 

Eichi bursted out laughing. “What? did you think I was a poor victim, who didn’t have a choice in becoming a monster? Oh, you should have seen your face. Maybe I should have let you keep believing in that. Your poor, helpless, sickly childhood friend.” 

Hurt and humiliation bloomed on Keito’s face, he covered it with a scoff. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t have avoided me if it wasn’t your choice. So, this is what you wanted? Immortality through devouring others? Becoming the monsters you kill? What happened to looking for a cure?” 

“And if I say yes, would you exorcise me on the spot? But Keito don’t hate all vampires, right? Since apparently you were pretty chummy with Sakuma Rei. You never told me you had a friend in such high places.” 

“That was a long time ago. We were kids. I thought that if I could befriend and understand him, we’d be able to change the way things were done. Peace with the vampire clans and all that. I was wrong, of course.” 

“Oooh, you never told me any of this. What happened?” 

“We grew up, and found out we were not the first of our families to have such notion, that’s all. Anyway, this isn’t about us. How did you convince Sakuma-san to turn you?” 

“I never said he was the one who turned me.” 

“Then why did you bring him up?” 

“I just wanted to confirm something, that’s all.” Eichi said, voice cold. “As for the cure, I’m tired of all the false leads and dead ends. The flesh of a sea god, the company of a fae, only to delay the inevitable for another day, another month, another year all the while my body fade away when the answer has been staring me in the face all this time! You think if there’s another cure to mortality, humans wouldn’t have discovered it by now?” 

Taken aback by the sudden outburst, Keito simply stared for a moment, before closing his eyes. 

“I’ve been trying, but it looks like I haven’t been fast enough.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I do not hate vampires, because vampirism is a disease, and every vampir is a vector. I’ve seen it turn people into empty, hollow shells of who they use to be. You’ve simply traded one illness for another. 

“Sakuma Rei may be a kind hearted person, but he cannot help being a monster, because his blood necessitate him to take from other sentient beings, the way humans take from livestock. That’s all there is to it, at the end of the day. I never wanted to see you become like him.” 

Eichi laughed, humorless. “My family has been sucking on the sweat and blood of humans for generations, but you only have a problem with it now that I’m doing it literally.” 

“I’m an exorcist, not a revolutionary, your family history is none of my concern. You, however…” He paused. The words ‘I wanted to save you’ clung to the back of his throat, useless. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Keito.” Eichi’s countenance softens. He puts a hand on his heart as he closed the distance between them. “I feel more alive than I’ve ever been before in this crumbling, broken body, and I haven’t killed a single human for it yet.” 

Keito held still as his childhood friend wrapped his arm around him, felt the unfamiliar coldness as Eichi leaned in, so close he could feel the graze of teeth—

“Don’t!” He shoved Eichi away. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized that a thrall this strong could only belong to the Sakuma clan. “You’ll poison yourself. I’m an exorcist, remember?” 

It was concern in Keito’s eyes, not wariness. “So Keito does love me…” Eichi muttered, “You were more worried about my life than your own.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“It was the younger Sakuma who turned me,” Eichi said, “he’s been our informant for sometime now. You knew Ritsu-kun as well, didn’t you? 

“You know, it’s funny, he noticed that I was sick, and told me it’d be lonely if I were to be gone. When I asked him why he’d make such an offer, he simply said, ‘Ecchan is my friend, and I don’t want him to die.’

“And I remembered all those times you’ve held my hand as I woke up in the hospital, since we were children. All those time, you’ve known there was a solution, and you’ve never uttered a word to me… All this time, I thought it's because they’re Keito’s enemies, that you despise them so much you’d never even consider the possibility. But you don’t. So why… I don’t understand, Keito. How could you just watch me die, over and over, and do nothing?” 

Keito stared back at him in silence, before finally, he spoke. “Sometimes I wonder about the same thing. Everytime you have to go to the hospital, I think, I could have prevented this. Every time your body failed, I thought to myself, ‘if he dies, it’s because you didn’t save him. You held the life rope in your hands, and didn’t toss it.’

“But whenever I considered it, I knew it wasn’t right. There’s a darkness in you that I could never exorcise. I didn’t want to see you become a vampire no matter what. Something about that thought terrified me.” 

“So it is me, then,” Eichi said, calmer, resigned. “Keito is always like that, after all. If I start draining people dry, you’d be willing to exorcise me, right?” 

Keito didn’t answer. “Sakuma Rei have been looking for a cure to vampirism. You know that, right?” He placed a hand on Eichi’s head, just like when they were children. Eichi let him. “Don’t kill anyone until then.” 

And what would be left of me, once I’m cured? Eichi didn’t ask. A weak and dying body? Instead, he said this. 

“When we first met, I thought you were my very own shinigami.” 

–

I have another scene in mind in the same AU for ibanagi in which I'd expand more on the Godfather lore. It's completely unrelated to this scene besides the fact that it takes place in the same universe.

Incidentally, also unrelated to this scene:

Knights and Trickstar are still idols in this AU

UNDEAD is a rock band.

Eichi's a big fan of Trickstar in particular.

Leo and Ritsu are the only non-humans in Knights.

Kaoru is the only human in UNDEAD.

Trickstar are fully human tho.