#but the first four seasons did not fucking come for my THROAT like this

[losers-clvb]

famine // sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x best friend!female!reader

summary: you and the winchester boys went to go look into a case on a couple mysteriously eating themselves to death. after discovering this is brought on by one of the four horsemen, famine, coming into town, dean and sam create a plan. the only problem: you've been whimpering at the sound of sam's voice since that morning.

content: basically just porn with small amount of plot, slightly dom!sam (not insanely so, just a few words), praise, reader begs sam to fuck her, fingering, unprotected piv penetration, sex pollen adjacent storyline, dubcon (due to said "sex pollen"), dean and castiel walk in on the pair after they're finished, no use of y/n

word count: 3k

note: this is based on season 5, episode 14 "my bloody valentine". i wrote this all in a day, so unedited, but i watched that episode and the idea just came to me. this was my first time writing smut so be kind if it isn't the best. second part of "mayor's banquet" coming out soon, which also has smut, if you are into that. enjoy!

masterlist

----

It started slowly. At first it was discomfort, one that left you wiggling in your jeans. You felt hot and no amount of air conditioning was helping. You moved in your seat as Dean drove through the small time. The three of you had arrived that morning, opting to eat at the local diner before investigating what was going on. A couple had eaten each other to death the night before which threw up alarm bells for the hunters. You were Sam’s best friend, a relationship that had begun in college. It wasn’t until you had an encounter with a werewolf four months after Sam left that you decided to join the boys on their hunts.

“You gotta take a piss or something?” Dean asked after he had noticed you were moving around in the backseat. You blushed when you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Leave her alone, Dean.” Sam smacked his brother playfully. You were grateful for this, as you always were for Sam. Coincidentally after he spoke, the need to move increased. You squeezed your eyes shut and breathed deeply.

You were contemplating asking Dean to pull over when the car stopped. You opened your eyes to find the motel you three would be staying in that night. Dean was already opening the door to the room, but Sam stood in front of your open door with his hand held out, ever the gentleman. You grasped his hand in yours and an actual whimper hummed in your throat. It was like your senses were heightened and Sam was the key to making it all better. Sam looked at you with his head cocked to the side.

“You alright?” He asked as you climbed out of the car. Oh God, his mouth, the way his lips moved when he talked, you wanted them on you, every part of you.

“Yeah.” You whispered, clenching your other hand in a fist. You shouldn’t be thinking of your best friend in that way. At least, not when he was leading you into your shared motel room with his brother. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind, late at night, with your hand between your legs. You had walked in on Sam with Jessica once, back in the first few months of college. And God did that image give you something to think about. You mostly thought about how easily Sam could pin you on the bed, kiss and suck his way down your body until he reached your core, right where you needed him most. The idea of him devouring you like a starved animal, hands wrapped around your thighs, tongue-

“God, Cass, I thought you didn’t need to eat!” Dean exclaimed as the angel took another bite of his burger. Somehow you had missed entering the room and Castiel appearing inside. You let go of Sam’s hand and beelined to the bathroom. You shut the door and locked it, but not before hearing Dean gloat about how his earlier question had been correct.

You looked in the mirror and analyzed your blown pupils. You scoffed at yourself, splashing cold water onto your face. Why were you acting like a cat in heat? You had more self control than this. It didn’t make sense. You were fine this morning, yet now you were ready to grind yourself down on the edge of the bathtub.

You must have been in there a while because there was a knock on the door and you heard your name.

“I-I’m okay.” You stuttered out while holding back moans. It was Sam, who never wanted you to be uncomfortable. You bit down on your lip as you slipped a hand in your pants. After a few minutes of dissatisfying touching, you knew you had to stop and go back out into the room. When you opened the door there were three pairs of eyes on you, one playful, one uninterested, and one worried. You cleared your throat and shuffled to the table before taking a seat. Silence, aside from Castiel’s chewing, filled the room. You pulled out your laptop from the bags that had been brought in and began researching. What, you didn’t know, but it beat trying to avoid Sam’s gaze.

----

It was official: you were horny for Sam Winchester. It was bad, worse than it had been that afternoon. You all had figured out that one of the four horsemen, Famine, was in town, and he was looking for something to satisfy his hunger. It explained everything. Cass’ insatiable hunger and your insatiable need. Even Sam was going thirsty for some demon blood.

Now, you stood, or more squirmed, in the motel room as the boys created a plan. They were starting to suspect something was wrong with you, they just couldn’t figure it out. Dean was a bit more clued into the fact that you seemed to whimper every time you looked in Sam’s direction. Sam, completely clueless to this, had been trying to get you alone in hopes you would tell him what was wrong.

“We find Famine, take his little ring, and everyone will be back to normal.” Dean said, slapping his hands on his lap. You hugged yourself, chewing absentmindedly at your thumbnail in an attempt to stop the desire from coming out of you.

“Dean-” Sam’s voice made you melt and a small moan escaped your lips. The brothers looked at you before turning back to the conversation.

“-I can’t go. The demons-”

“I get it.” Dean interrupted Sam. He knew he couldn’t expect Sam to risk something like this. He had it handled. He had Castiel to help. He would’ve had you also, but he could tell you were ready to pounce on Sam. Your resolve was breaking. There wasn’t much more you could do. You decided - you were going to ask Sam to help you get over this.

“Sam,” You breathed out as you walked to him. Your legs were wobbly. You watched Sam shoot up from his seat, but before you could get to him Dean was grabbing both of your wrists. You whined, trying to pull away. You needed Sam, needed his body, his c-

“No.” Dean spoke sternly, pulling you to the door. He had to get you another room and lock you in. It was for your own good.

“Wait, let her g-” Sam tried to walk to you but Castiel, even in his hungry state, stepped in front of him. You yanked against Dean but he was stronger than you.

“Not right now, man.” Dean spoke as he dragged you out.

“What’s wrong with her?!” Sam was desperate. He needed to know why he couldn’t be around you.

“I think you know.” Castiel said before turning his attention back to his food. Sam shook his head and tried to think. Realization came across his face as he put it all together.

----

An hour had passed since Dean left you. He had locked you in the bathroom of a room as far from the original room that they had available. You had somehow gotten worse. You were bucking from the ground, trying to find something to alleviate the pain. It was horrible. You knew Sam was close. You could feel it. You needed him. The door was locked from the outside, but you were pulling on the handle, trying to get it open.

“Please,” You whined out. You banged on the door, trying to break it down. You whimpered a few times when you felt the fabric of your jeans rub against you. You had grown stronger since joining the boys. You could do this. You needed Sam.

The sound of wood cracking encouraged your efforts. You slammed your body up against the door and hit it with your fists until you felt it give way. You fell to the ground surrounded by the scattered pieces of wood from the door. Your recovery was quick and was sped up by the overwhelming need bubbling in you. You stumbled to the door of the room, which was, stupidly on Dean’s part, simply locked with the deadbolt. You ran out into the night like a caged animal escaping. You searched around trying to find the room where you knew Sam was.

There. Room 12. You ran for it, panting as your core grew wetter. You reached the room, shuffling around for the key that Dean had forgotten to take from you. You fumbled to unlock the door. You could already smell Sam, hear his own struggle to get his fix. You searched the room trying to find him.

“Sammy…” You whined out and clutched your stomach. You couldn’t find him, even though you knew he was here. You heard your name muffled through the door to the bathroom. Of course! Dean had hidden him in the same place he had put you. You practically ran to the door, yanking it open. There he was, handcuffed to the sink and looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes. You whimpered and fell to your knees next to him.

“Sammy, it hurts.” You said, gripping onto his shirt. Sam scrunched his eyebrows in worry and understanding. With his free hand he rubbed your side in an attempt to soothe you.

“I know, honey.” He breathed out as you leaned on him.

“Please, Sammy, help me. Please.” You whimpered and breathed in his scent.

“I don’t know if you-” He began.

“No, I do, I do, I do.” You chanted as his hand gripped onto your side. You could see him roll his head to the side. He could tell you were in pain. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to help. He did, more than anything in the world. He had wanted you since you joined him and Dean on the road. The time was never right, his confidence never high enough. And now he had a chance. The only problem was he didn’t know if you actually wanted it or if it was the old man controlling your desire. When Sam was silent to your begging, you moved in closer.

“Sammy, please… it hurts so bad… I want you… all of you…” You moaned out. Red hot need flashed across your vision. It was getting harder for Sam to not touch you in the way you both wanted. The final crush of his hesitancy was the whimper that came out of you when he took his hand off of you.

“Let me see you, baby.” His tone was delicate even when his words were dirty. You were quick to pull your clothes off. You didn’t care where they went and threw them in every direction. You were left naked and kneeling next to him. His eyes raked down your body before stopping on your acing core. You watched him, whining. He traced a finger across your burning skin. He stopped just before reaching your wetness.

“Please…” You breathed. He flicked his gaze to your eyes momentarily before moving his hand. He started slow, rubbing your clit mindfully. You fell backwards in pleasure but made sure you were still close enough for Sam to touch you. Sam’s pace never slowed or quickened, which made you buck your hips up. He pulled his hand away, leaving you cold and whiny.

“Ah ah,” Sam locked eyes with you, “let me do it.” He placed his hand back where it was to continue his rubbing. Your chest heaved as you willed yourself to stay still. God, you needed this. Your hand moved to your breasts. You toyed with your nipples. This made Sam pull at the cuff around his other wrist. He wanted to touch you, touch all of you. Damn Dean for restraining him like this.

“Just like that, baby, rub them just like that.” He slipped a finger in you. You moaned and clenched around it. He swore under his breath as he moved his hand. You felt like heaven and he hadn’t even had you around his cock yet.

“Yes, Sammy, yes.” You encouraged him. Looking at him from your spot on the floor, you could tell he was getting hard. You wanted to help him, helping him helped you. You moved to get up when Sam pulled his hand back again.

“I said, no moving.” He growled and moved his hips to hide the growing erection. You collapsed on the floor, desperate for him again.

“Wanna make you feel good, Sammy.” You mumbled as you felt not just one, but two fingers slip in. Sam sighed in pleasure, loving how you felt on his hand.

“You are, baby. You can have it, have it all. Just wanna make you come first.” His gentle tone only made you louder. You ran your hands down your body, sparks of pleasure erupting wherever you touched. You were close, so so close. You squeezed your eyes shut as Sam sped up the pace.

“So close, Sam, so so so…” You trailed off, the words falling off your tongue as he curled his fingers. He smiled devilishly, and if you didn’t know any better, or if you were in the headspace to even think, you would’ve thought he was possessed. No, this was completely and wholly Sam Winchester.

“That’s good, baby, come on. Come all undone for me.” He cooed. His words were what sent you over the edge, waves crashing down as you moaned through a bitten lip. The moment of reprieve from the pain was short lived as the need seemed to multiply. You figured this must be what torture was. You turned to your hands and knees before crawling to Sam. He groaned as he watched you look up at him, asking for permission to undress him. He nodded and your hands flew to his zipper. You unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down his body with his boxers.

His cock sprang free, looking achingly hard. You sucked in a breath, the sight making your clit throb. You moved a hand to touch him, but was stopped by his hand on your wrist. Your eyes shot to his.

“I want you around me.” His words were almost a beg, like he was just as needy for this as you were. You whimpered in reply, a new wave of pleasure washing over you. You climbed on top of him so you were chest to chest. He looked in your eyes before crashing his lips into yours. It was sloppy and full of desire. His hand gripped your hip, kneading the skin there. You groaned in response. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you tried to hold him as close to you as possible. His hand snaked down to position himself with your hole. He broke the kiss to speak.

“Ready, baby?” He asked. You answered by sinking down onto him with a sigh. You kissed him again, grinding your hips. He helped you move, lifting you with one arm only to guide you back down. His lips left yours, moving down your face then to your neck. He nipped at your skin sharply before kissing it better.

SamSamSamSamSamSam. The only thing in your mind was Sam. His name was racing through your brain in a never ending loop. He left little marks on you everywhere, causing you you speed up your movements. Your fingers tangled in his hair. You needed him closer, needed him deeper.

“God, you feel so good, baby. Just like I dreamed about.” Sam grunted out against your skin. Your walls were warm and tight around him. He could feel you tighten around him when he spoke, which only motivated him to keep going. His words made you moan. You loved this, and though the instant need for it had been brought on against your will, you had been dreaming about this moment for a while.

The room was filled with breathy moans and the sounds of sex. You pulled Sam's head back by his hair, gentle enough, before kissing him again. It was sloppy and wet, full of lust. You could feel yourself growing closer to orgasm again. It was insane how this felt. Most guys hadn't ever gotten you off once, much less twice in the same night. You whimpered into his mouth and felt a smile curve up his face. He was glad he could bring such pleasure to you.

The final breaking point for you was when you felt his hand holding you grip onto the soft fat of your bottom. You let out a few breathy whines as you felt Sam come a second later. You didn't care that the two of you had forgotten to use a condom in your sex driven states. None of that mattered. All that mattered was the euphoric high of multiple orgasms was washing over you as you stayed on Sam. Neither of you were moving anymore. He was still inside you when you let your arms fall to his chest. Your head lolled to its side onto his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around you.

“You okay, baby?” He said in between pants. You simply nodded. The overwhelming need to go for another round wasn't coming and you were so glad for it. Finally, you were at peace. Dean and Castiel must have gotten Famine’s ring somehow. You didn't think of what this meant until you heard the door to the motel room open.

“Sam-” Dean began, but was cut off by the sight of the two of you on the bathroom floor, Sam still cuffed to the sink. Castiel appeared behind Dean.

“She wasn't there.” He stated in a monotone after seemingly being sent to check up on you.

“Yeah, I got that.” Dean mumbled. Sam looked up at him sheepishly. You were starting to doze off. The energy it had taken all day to not be able to get off was taking a toll on you. Dean cleared his throat before grabbing a blanket off the bed. He draped it over you in an attempt to keep some of your modesty in tact.

“Can you, ya know?” Sam questioned while rattling the handcuffs attached to him. Dean pulled a key from his pocket and quickly freed his younger brother.

“We'll talk about this later.” Dean said before swiftly getting out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 38: The Imbalance Of Being Known

Chapter 37 | Chapter 39

You meet the King of Curses before the sun fully climbs, just after sending the village survivors away. He’s summoned you beyond the shrine’s grounds, past the forest, to an open field, the same one you once lay in during the summer while Sayuri and Ren spoke of his pleasures. Now, the tall grass has turned silver, billowing in the late-season wind.

“Morning.”

“Mhn.”

Sukuna stands at a distance, pouting. Upper arms crossed, still seemingly irritated after last night’s encounter. He barely spares you a glance. Frustrating, considering this was his idea, this training. You’re not sure how it will unfold, only that he chose this place, a space wide enough for whatever he has planned.  

“How is this supposed to work? Do you want me to remove these?” Lifting your hands, you present him with your gloves as the brittle stalks ripple around your legs.  

“No,” he says. It takes a moment, but finally, his four eyes meet yours. “You’re going to start by talking.”

As precise as ever. 

“Talking.” 

“Yes,” he drawls, easing his heavy body through the grass toward you, “since you never struggle to spit out the finest of words, let’s put that talent to use.”  

Fuck, this is going to be painful.  

“Fine,” you huff, stepping forward before stopping short. “What do you want me to talk about?”  

Around his frame, Sukuna’s black haori catches in the soft breeze, his two fingers gesturing toward your hands.  

“When did it first manifest?”  

Your hands lift again, palms rotating in, then out.  

“My gift?”

“Your—what?”

Soft wrinkles fold around his eyes, and he shoots you a glare so intimidating you physically recoil.

“My gi—”

“No. Shut up. Forget it,” he interrupts before mumbling something about women and their penchant for stupidity. “How old were you when you realized you had it?"

“Nine,” you state flatly, trying to detach from that day. The cat. Your father. The cold ground. The welt. The, you stupid, useless girl!   

“Ah.”

As if suddenly intrigued, Sukuna moves closer before circling you lazily like a hungry beast. Your head follows his movements, eyes tracking his blatant exploration of your body. By now, he’s seen all of you, been picked apart, has felt you beneath him, knows most of your horrible truths. There’s nothing left to hide, at least not in your mind.

As for him, you’re not so sure. He still keeps his secrets close, artifacts of a life you know little about. To you, he remains as unknowable as he was in the beginning.

Aside from the one thing he refuses to admit.

Mirroring him, your gaze shifts, holding the same scrutiny.

Tell me.

Sukuna comes to a stop before you.

“So. Nine years old.” A smirk spreads across his lips as his greedy eyes move over you from the hemline of your hakama buried in the dry growth to your eyes. “You were a late bloomer. That explains a lot. Nascent sorcerer.”

Sorcerer.

Stepping away, he walks a few paces before he turns. Sukuna’s eyes stay on you as he pulls his four arms from his haori, the fabric slipping into the trampled grass. Left bare, his torso flexes, muscles shifting, and all four shoulders roll back. Normally, when the four-armed demon strips down to just his hakama, some form of violence is about to follow. Still, even with that thought in mind, heat banks at your nape. Your throat tightens. It’s just a body. A cruelly built one, inked in dark lines, but a body all the same.

“What about your family?” Sukuna cocks his head as if he knows what’s turning behind your eyes.

“What about my family?” Eyes pulling away, you look past his top left shoulder to the pale pre-dawn sky.

“Are there any other sorcerers?” he asks, lower hands dipping down so his fingers skim lazily over the grass, teasing the fragile stems before plucking one free.

Were there?

Your attention returns to him, watching as he idly rolls the stalk between his fingertips, pressing it between his thumb and forefinger, slowly splitting the blade down the middle.

A dull throb builds behind your forehead, your brow tightening at the sensation.

No.

“No,” you state, shaking your head. “Just myself.”

“Hm.” Sukuna twists the grass, winding it absentmindedly tighter and tighter and tighter—until it snaps into two.

He flicks away both broken strands.

“Tell me more about the first time you used your decay.” 

Feet shifting under you, you let your mind wander far from itself. You don’t want to say it, but the words begin to pour out anyway.

“Hm. My father had screamed and struck me before it happened.” Your fingers meander to the spot where the welt once protruded tender and hard from your skull. “My emotions… they spread too quickly, and I couldn’t control it…”

You drop your hand.

“I ended up splitting open a cat.”

Sukuna says nothing. He goes very still, just watching. But his jaw ticks, a muscle clenching in his right cheek.

“And you said you were nine?” His voice is different now. Heavier. A certain kind of roughness to it.

Averting your eyes, you clear your throat.

“Yes.”

There’s a pause.

“And you said you killed your father?”

Eyes back on him.

For a second, it feels like being there all over again, how it ended. Remembering the way you drove the blade into your father’s throat, caving it in. Over and over and over.

“Yes,” you repeat. “I already told you this.”

Sukuna nods.

“Good.”

He steps closer—not closing the distance entirely, but near enough for you to feel the weight of his presence bearing down on you. His four hands tense, fingers curling inward, veins distending.

As he watches you, something changes in his expression. You tilt your head, studying him. Then, your mind drifts to the last time this question surfaced, to how you never dared to voice it aloud, too conflicted to let the words escape.

Your mouth moves anyway.

“… And what about your family?”

All four of his eyes slip to you in a slow crawl like he’s caught. Irritated. But still. It’s a reaction, small, but telling.

Rolling his shoulders, his mouth curls into something ugly.

“Why?” he scoffs. “Hoping we can bond over our tragic childhoods?”

In an instant, the moment is gone. But at least you know a little more now. Whatever happened to him was heartrending. And once again, he refuses to share it with you.

Tell me.

Stepping back, all of his hands unclench.

“First lesson.” He rolls his neck. It cracks. “You want to get stronger and leave this place? Attack me.”

An itch creeps its way into your hands, your fingers twitching inside your gloves. Eager to feel his skin.

“Gladly,” you murmur, stepping forward. “If you’re finally ready for me to touch you again.”

You begin peeling off your gloves, savouring the thought of rot sinking into his flesh. Maybe his stomach this time, somewhere on his torso, since there was so much of it.

“No.” Sukuna shakes his head as a slow, devious smile spreads across his lips.

You stop.

“Not with your fingertips.”

Your gaze thins.

“And not with your decay.”

“Then with what?” you ask, a touch indignant. “You and I both know I don’t have the strength or speed to land a proper hit on you.”

Tossing back his head, laughter barks out of him.

“Have you learned nothing since meeting me?”

A sneer on your lips grows.

“Do you truly want me to recount everything I've learned since meeting you?” Because what you have learned is as long as it is cruel. And you have a feeling there is so much more to come.

The King of Curses huffs out a breath.

“If you’ve remembered.” He steps away before turning to face you fully. “Then breathe. I keep telling you, control starts there.”

His eyes slide down your frame, and you resist the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.

“Right now, you’re bleeding energy like a fresh open wound. Spread it,” he commands, gesturing to you—your arms, your legs, your stomach, your throat, even the soles of your feet. “Every fibre of you should hold it, not just the places where instinct shoves it. Do it evenly. Let it flow through you completely.”

The sun hangs a little higher now, throwing long beams of light across the field. Despite the sunlight, the air remains cold.

“Here. I’ll stand perfectly still for you,” he says, planting his feet firmly and crossing his upper arms over his chest. “Land a strike on me reinforced with cursed energy, and we’ll move on to something else.”

Easy.

“Fine,” you clip, stepping forward with a grin that isn’t quite smug. Doesn’t sound so difficult.

He rolls his eyes.

“Wipe that stupid smirk off your face. I can already tell you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Don’t underestimate me, my Lord.” Now your grin is smug.

He scoffs.

“We’ll see about that.”

Inhaling a slow, fluid breath, you push what you believe to be your cursed energy through every pore and limb of your body. It feels like enough. Your fists tighten, gloves creaking as you raise them. Then, with your world narrowing only to him, you launch forward.

* * * * *

It was fucking stupid to be so cocky.

Down and down, again and again. Exhausted, chest heaving, the earth drinks you in, pulling you to your knees.

“Come on! Is this really all my would-be assassin has to offer!?”

The King of Curses’ patience has long since worn thin.

It’s been hours of this. Hours. And not once have you managed to land a single blow imbued with cursed energy. Every time your fist connects without it, he barely reacts, only to put you on the ground a moment later with one of his many hands.

And you’re not sure what you’re doing wrong.

You’re breathing. You want to hit him. Of course you do. Who wouldn’t? But every time you think some kind of energy is about to ignite around you, nothing happens.

“Where is she, huh?” 

Sukuna’s mocking voice carries over the crunching of approaching footsteps before they fall ominously quiet.

You don’t answer, only looking at the broken, trampled grass twitch and reform beneath you.

There’s a scoff. A massive foot enters your periphery. You stare at it, sweat clinging to your tender skin, dripping down your body in rivulets. A heartbeat later, the monster nudges your shoulder with his toed sandal, harder than necessary, like he’s testing whether you’ll topple over.

“Don’t,” you growl, swatting at his ankle.

It does nothing.

Chuckling, Sukuna pulls back and sinks to his haunches beside you, lower arms resting on his knees, upper pair settling loosely at his sides.

“She had such fire in her nights ago,” he muses. “Crawling through the forest, tearing half of it apart. And now look at her. On her knees. Again.”

Fingers tensing against the ground, you curl them into the long stems around you. The grass bends at your touch, the evening sun tucked behind his back hurling long shadows over your face.

“Though I suppose it's a position you’re quite familiar with, isn’t it?” Voice dropping lower, your eyes shoot to his, and you glare at him. “Or do you only get passionate when I’m deep inside you, listening to you beg me to make it hurt?”

He’s all teeth and taunt, and he’s goading you.

And you’re going to kill him for it.

“You want to talk about passion?” you spit, brow furrowing as you push one foot forward. “Or do you need my anger to keep your dicks fed now too?” 

Your other foot comes up, and the two of you rise slowly together, staring the other down. He’s tall. Huge. You don’t shrink back.

“Such a filthy mouth for a woman speaking that way to a man who is no longer her husband,” he growls. “It’s quite impolite, my dear.”

And there they go—all four of his eyes dragging to the curve of your mouth, that barely contained, repressed desire swimming just out of reach.

You scoff.

“And yet, I heard you only found completion when inside me.”

His red gaze snaps back to yours, anger darkening its edges, frustration and arousal warring together, all tangled at the same time.

“Tell me.” Subtly, you wet your lips, drawing his focus there again. “Over seven years, while you fucked your way through a handful of women, who were you really thinking about?” The words are ended with a slow poke to his chest, gloved finger pressing into his sternum.

The reaction is instant. He steps closer, and you have to tilt your chin back to meet his stare.

“You think I spent seven years rutting into other women while thinking about you?” His hand wraps around the base of your throat, thumb dipping into your clavicle as he leans in, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

Those fucking eyes. So close.

“You think I thought about you that much?”

Inside your chest, your heartbeat stumbles. You should move back, push away. But the overwhelming, nonsensical urge to close the space spreads in your belly. Because now, you know what that mouth tastes like. Hot and strong and vital. Things you’ve never quite felt like. As if he, or you, were the missing piece meant to fit into something whole.

Shit.

An ache forms somewhere on your body. A mistake, maybe. But then, with a strange thrill, you remember that you can move this monster. You have power over him, even if it’s not the kind of power you expected. You’ve enchanted him. And he hates it. Which is perfect. Because you deserve to watch him suffer for it.

“Yes,” you whisper, forcing as much confidence into the word. “Your actions scream otherwise.” 

His mouth twitches.

“Do they now?” His voice goes husky and low, and heat passes between you.

The tip of his nose skims against yours, a slow glide, as if recalling the feel of your skin from the other night. Just as your breath stops, he nudges the curve beside it, brushing your cheek, a gentle pressure before he leans back, lower arms crossing over his abdomen.

“Yes,” you say, slowly retrieving your finger away from his chest, hand falling to your side.

“And you think I spared you a thought after seeing you only once? That I lay awake at night in the south, thinking about you in the north while staring up at the moon, sitting alone in the sky?”

Your mouth opens.

“I…”

It closes.

For some reason, though he sounds sarcastic, you don’t quite believe him…

He smirks, before it fades.

Upper right hand coming forward, two fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trailing down the cartilage before pulling away. You shiver. The sensation is familiar, as if he’s done it before. And you have a new recollection of when.

“I think you were nothing more than an afterthought,” he states coolly, eyes boring into you with a new intensity. “While I had one, then two, then three bodies keeping me warm over the years. My hands and soul were full and plenty, while you had nothing.”

Helpless against it, you feel an oily presence pour into your skin. It curls in deep, emotions unwilling to leave. Anger. Resentment. Rage. 

And one other thing.

“And yet, here you fucking are.” You take a step forward. “After all those women, you’re still chasing that one afterthought,” you sneer hatefully up into his face.

The rigid line of his mouth falls. He goes still, but he smiles, sharp teeth bared, eyes flaring like he’s been waiting for this moment all day.

“There she is,” he coos with delight.

Your eyes narrow at him.

“There’s all that ugly emotion you can’t seem to suppress.”

Suddenly he leans in, bringing his face level with yours, presence changing.

“Now, use it!” he snarls. “Or I’ll fucking keep you out here until you’re bruised and raw.”

You glare at him.

Mouth twitching, and without another word, you pivot away and walk. 

Sukuna’s so-called training is nothing more than pushing you to the brink and laughing as you destroy yourself along the way. He’s ruthless, and despite your repeated failures, you get the feeling he’s enjoying himself. Still, you’d take this kind of cruelty ten times over being held down, branded like cattle, or whatever else might have awaited you. At least this—right now, here—is a choice. But do you regret it? Maybe. You’ve thrown yourself into a dark hole without first checking its depth, and now you have no choice but to climb out of it if you want to grow stronger.

The grass crunches beneath your feet as you move, creating distance between you and the creature at your back. You need space—enough to charge at him, steady yourself, and force the energy you can’t quite grasp to flow through your body.   

Reaching twenty paces away, you turn. Below your kimono, you roll your shoulders.

Don’t think.

Just hit him.

You look at Sukuna standing bored, waiting.

An afterthought. A scratch.

Fucking lies.

Teeth gritted, you begin to run.

It bothers you—the way he acts so unfazed. But it bothers you more that you care, that you want him to admit it.

Faster, you think, gaining on him.

The ground tears underneath as you close the distance. Something begins to pulse inside you. You sense its shape, that great, heaving wave of it moving from point to point. You spread it evenly, push it toward your hand.

Fifteen paces now.

Twelve.

Stalks whip against your thighs as your momentum builds. Energy sliding through your veins, invigorating every cell.

It’s strange, this feeling, but you move faster. Run faster. Sense faster.

Sukuna must feel it too, because his grin turns a satisfied kind of feral as he finally pins open all four of his arms like an invitation to strike him.

Ten paces. Faster. 

Eight. Six. Four.

“Come here, brat.”

Eyes on you, his fingers twitch like he’s eager to catch you, trap you against him, put his hands all over you. Like a hunter waiting for a deer. A wolf watching for a rabbit. Ready to slide you between his teeth. Bite. And never let go.

And you’re going to enjoy attacking him.

Three.

Breaths turning fluid, you close the distance.

Two.

Time slows.

One.

Breathe.

Pulling back your arm, your fist passes your face. For a heartbeat, there’s only surprise. Red ignites, flickering to life around your closed palm, licking up your arm like fire. At its center a pulsing nebula.

The hair along your nape lifts.

So this is what he’s been waiting for.

You focus.

Everything snaps forward.

You wrench your arm back and drive the attack toward his chest.

Reflexes quick, Sukuna’s lower arms swing up, crossing over the other. You catch a glimpse of his eyes shining right back at you, wild and dark and very fucking amused.

The strike connects, slamming into his forearms. 

Everything stills.

There’s resistance—then light explodes.

A raw burst of energy ignites, nearly blinding you. The resounding boom nearly deafens you.

Sukuna is pushed back, skidding just a fraction across the field. Stalks crush under his weight, silver grass scattering a faint drift of seed fluff into the air. You nearly go face-first into the ground but catch yourself at the last second, stumbling as your garments swish and curl around your legs before you come to an abrupt stop.

You catch yourself and look at him.

You’d done it.

It’s not easy to move a natural disaster. But you had. If only a little.

The King of Curses straightens before you, the corner of his mouth nudging upward as you lock eyes.

“There it is,” his voice drawls hypnotically.

He’s pleased. Grins. Runs his fingers through his pink hair as he strides toward you.

Lowering your fist, the red glow around it fades out. It felt good, pulling back the skin and using what’s inside you. You want more of it.

“Do that every day.” Two fingers hook under your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet him. “Reinforce every part of your body with it. Master that—” his smirk widens “—and you'll become much more than you are now. And that soft heart of yours won’t be a danger to itself anymore.”

Perfect.

Another person telling you to become something else. But that isn’t a fault. You agreed to grow stronger, to ensure you’re never caught off guard like yesterday. Never fail like that again.

Still.

You pull your face from his hold and step back.

“Is that it for today, my Lord?” Arms folding over your chest, you exhale, exhausted. He got what he wanted. And he’ll keep getting it, as always.

But one day, he might regret that.

“No.”

His mouth curls in agitation.

“We’re going to try one more thing. Since your decay keeps you weak and limited with its application.” He nods his chin to your hands. “Remove your gloves this time,” he orders before stepping away.

You watch him go, moving toward the tree line, disappearing briefly behind the thick foliage. Just out of sight, he retrieves something from a slender bundle resting against the roots of an oak. A few moments later, he returns, carrying a weapon. But it’s not a blade or dagger, which is what you expected.

Instead, he holds a hankyū carefully in his lower left hand.

Your eyes narrow at him in suspicion. 

“You want me to learn archery when I’ve already started with a tantō?” you ask, sliding off your gloves and tucking them inside your obi. Though unfamiliar with a bow, you’d observed the mechanics of holding one at the Kasai compound.

“I expect a lot from you. And right now, your range is about as embarrassing as your close combat.”

You scowl at his comment as he reaches you. He’s not wrong. Your range seems to depend on something alive for your decay to spread. And now he wants you to learn a basic ranged weapon?

Ignoring you, Sukuna drops a bundle of arrows at your feet, then holds out the half-bow.

You stare at it.

When you don’t immediately reach for it, he exhales sharply before shoving the weapon into your hands.

“Take it,” he growls, fingers brushing against yours before pulling away. “It belongs to you now.”

With the bow in hand, you trace its wooden curve. It’s small—shorter than a yumi—built for speed and use on horseback. A perfectly good weapon. Your fingers glide over its worn rattan grip, feeling how another’s hold has shaped its figure. It’s smooth under your touch, and strangely, there’s something comforting about it.

“It was once mine.” Sukuna’s voice comes quiet, almost absentminded.

Turning it in your hand, a frown pulls at your brow.

The bow is too small for his hands now, the height ill-fitted to his massive frame. Which means he must have used it when he was younger. A young man. A boy, even? From a time when he wasn’t yet considered this god of destruction.

His.

This weapon, an extension of him, now passed to you.

You stare at it, and the thought confuses you more than you’d like.

Before you can ask anything, Sukuna steps behind you, his lower hands settling at your hips, crowding you in.

“See that tree?”

Apparently, the lesson had begun.

“Which one?”

Coming in close, he pivots you in his hold and extends his upper right hand, gesturing toward a bright green pine at the edge of the field.

“That one.”

His abdomen presses against your back, and he doesn’t let go. Lowering himself further, one of his knees slides forward, nudging between your thighs to widen your stance.

“I see it.” You nod, peering at the target while absently thumbing the bowstring, doing your best to ignore the heat radiating off him and just how close he is.

“Good.”

Without moving from behind you, he reaches down, plucks an arrow from the bundle at your feet, and presses the fletching into your open palm. You take it.

“That’s your target.”  

Sneaking a glance up at him, you wait for further instructions—but none follow. Only his lower left eye peeks down at you.

“Nock it,” he grumbles.  

All right.

Your gaze returns to the tree. You adjust your stance sidelong, feet shifting through the grass, its rustle blending into the distant hum of the wind and the steady climb of your pulse. Lifting the bow upright, you bring up the arrow and slide it into place.

“Not like that.” His hands tighten at your hips as his upper right hand comes over yours. Palm engulfing your grip, he adjusts it. A slight tilt of your wrist, then a tap against two of your knuckles.

“Between these two fingers here,” he murmurs, voice low, rolling up his chest and settling deep in your back. “Index and middle.”

Heart beating inside your throat, you force a swallow.

It’s too reminiscent of other things. Things from the other night. Sukuna must sense it too, because he leans in closer, the warmth of his breath tickling over your nape, giving you goosebumps.

You stiffen.

“Now, grip it tighter,” he purrs, and immediately, your mind strays to something far thicker than the stupid weapon.

“Like this?” You adjust your hold, biting back the urge to tell him exactly where he can shove his bow with how he’s making you feel.

Lower hands shifting, one stays firm at your hip, grounding you in place, while the other drifts higher. Fingers skimming over the curve of your waist he finds his way to your ribs, brushing against the fabric of your kimono in a way that feels… distracting. The hand guiding your grip presses more firmly over yours, his thumb dragging lightly across the back of your knuckles.

“Tighter,” he whispers, then pauses—just long enough for you to know he’s fucking with you. “Unless you like dropping arrows.”

Frustration burns at your skin. Around the string, your fingers twitch.

“I’ve never used a bow before,” you grit out.

Daring a glance back at him, you find his expression serious—at odds with the teasing tone of his words.

“This doesn’t make any sense. Why suddenly have me learn this now?”

The hand at your waist grows firmer.

“Shut up and trust me,” he growls. “Now tighten your damn hold.”

It takes everything in you not to burst out laughing.

Trust you?

How many times has he said that now? Twice? Three times? More?

But you do it anyway.

Fingers tightening, you draw the bowstring back, holding firm between the fingers he corrected. Tension shifts through your arm, muscles straining under the weight. It still feels foreign, but manageable.

“Finally,” Sukuna mutters, his hand falling away from yours, still quivering around the string. “Now… breathe, steady your aim, and release.”

Inhaling, you narrow your focus on the verdant pine, still healthy with life. Exhaling, you loose the arrow. It flies straight but lands just short of the target, sinking into the dirt. Your lips press into a tight line.

“This is useless,” you snap, lowering the bow with a scowl. “What am I going to do, poke holes in people and hope they bleed out eventually?”

Sukuna is quiet for a moment.

“Your ability is tied to your emotions. It destroys, bodies, living matter, and, in its own way, yourself.” His gaze skips to the bow in your hand. “This is a weapon of precision, not decay. One of control, which you lack but will help you.”

A second arrow is pressed into your palm.

“Fire another.”

You hesitate.

“Fire. Another.”

Reluctantly, you take it. Mumbling, you nock it a bit faster, his hands still buried at your hips.

Eyes catching on the pine, you inhale slowly, steadying yourself. Then aim. Exhale.

Release.

The arrow strikes the base of the tree—closer to the ground, but better.

You nod triumphantly.

“Again,” Sukuna orders, voice darkening.

Another arrow falls into your hand. And you do. You nock. Aim. Exhale. Release.

This time, the arrow splinters into the wood higher, sprouting from further up the roughened trunk.

“There. Not so bad for my first time.” A genuine smile starts to form as you take in your progress. You glance back at him, and it dies.

His face has darkened. Changed.

Abruptly, he releases your hips and steps back.

“Bring your decay to your hands.”

“What?” You shoot him a look over your shoulder.

Ignoring you, Sukuna reaches down, snags another arrow from the bundle, and turns it over in his hand.

“Do it,” he orders.

Hesitation snips at you, but you obey. You focus, chasing that innate fluttering sensation until colour spills from your fingertips, climbing down your palms like water seeping through fine cracks.

Sukuna stares at it, frozen. His eyes flit from your hand on the bow to the other at your side. Thinking.

Several heavy heartbeats pass before he moves so quickly that you barely track him.

He snatches the weapon from your grasp, then clasps his fingers around your wrist, yanking your hand away from the riser. Before you can breathe, he presses the arrowhead to your fingertips. The sharpened edge gives, slicing through all five pads like peeling fruit. You hiss as the skin splits, blood welling instantly, trickling down your hand.

“What the hell are—”

“Nock it.” He cuts you off, shoving the bloodied arrow into your uninjured hand.

You hesitate.

“What—”

“Now.”

Your pulse pounds, mind scrambling to make sense of whatever torture he’s putting you through next.

“Now!” The order has you gritting your teeth.

With your injured hand, you grip the riser, stabilizing it. Your good hand reaches for the string, nocking the fourth arrow. It’s awkward. The open wounds sting—smooth wood against raw nerves.  

“Hurry up,” he growls. “Move this slow, and you’ll be dead and rotting yourself.”  

“I’m trying,” you snap, widening your stance. The bow rises. Blood crawls from your fingers down to your wrist.  

Focus.  

Breathe.  

“Maybe try using your fucking words for once and just tell me what you want me to do.”  

Your attention wavers between the target and the weight of Sukuna’s gaze boring into your back. Ignoring the ache in your hand, you inhale. Draw. Aim. Exhale.

A feeling of rightness moves through you.

Release, you think.  

You do.  

The bloodied arrow tears through the air, arching like a dying star.  

Thwack! 

Quivering, it strikes deep into the pine. A fissure cracks through the wood. You stare at it. Then, the decay starts. It spreads outward from the impact, staining the trunk as it consumes the wood from within. Before you can fully process what’s happening, the entire tree collapses to the ground.  

Rotted black.

Dead.

You don’t blink. The bow tilts, and you press its wooden frame into the ground, letting it settle into the earth.

A stunned laugh leaves you.

“What the hell was that?” Wide-eyed, you snap your gaze to Sukuna, the pain in your fingers forgotten.

He’s since moved closer, looming over you, staring down as though you might burst into flames.

“That,” he grins. “Is how you’re going to survive.”

Reaching for your wrist, he pulls it from the weapon, forcing you to snatch the bow before it drops. Turning your palm over, he inspects your bleeding fingertips.

“You’re limited in what you can do,” he clarifies. “Again, it puts you at a disadvantage.”

A hairsbreadth from your sliced skin, his fingers sweep over the wounds, healing them with a brief touch before quickly retreating. Never making contact.

“This is useful when you don’t have access to anything alive—moss, grass, whatever else.” He pauses. “The only problem is…”

His hand drifts lower, thumb tracing the warm blood that trickled down your arm. Gathering it, his eyes lock onto yours. Without breaking his gaze, he lifts his thumb to his mouth, lips parting slightly before pressing the bloodied curve between them.

You clear your throat.

“And what’s the only problem?”

When he pulls away, his skin is clean, the blood gone and licked away. Heavy eyes fall, trailing to your throat, lingering on the scar his teeth left behind. The curve of your neck prickles in remembrance of the warm press of his mouth.

“You can’t heal yourself,” he murmurs, squinting away whatever thoughts momentarily clouded his mind. “So, you need to be strategic about how and when to apply it. Otherwise, you’ll just be fumbling around with bloodied fingers, which, knowing you, will only distract you and get you killed.”

Red eyes land back on you. 

“Which we don’t want.”

Suddenly, he drops your wrist and turns away. You watch him go. The tall, swaying grass parts for his massive figure as he moves toward the edge of the field.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

He smirks over his shoulder at you.

“To retrieve that beast you love so dearly.” He looks strangely amused with himself. “You’re going to learn to shoot from the saddle.”

“What?”

You glance up at the softness of the moon, faint but moving into the evening sky.

“It will be night soon!” you call after him. “I won’t be able to see.”

Turning smoothly, he walks backward, a few strands of pink hair falling over his forehead. His grin stretches into something playful and wicked.

And fuck, that look. That stupid look. It does odd little flippy things to your insides, like a songbird swooping through the autumn sky.

Again, shit.

“You’ll just have to get used to the darkness,” he says arrogantly before turning away and vanishing between the trunks of the trees, and he’s gone.

* * * * *

Hollow chimes hum and slither down through the deep halls of the Zen’in estate. 

Inside one plush, elegant room, at the heart of it all, the air carries the smell of incense, smoke, and lighter feminine traces. Kaito Zen’in arrives before the door leading to it and stands there, half hoping he’s wrong, that the scent isn’t hers.

He slides it open.

He’s correct.  

And the woman in mourning does not belong in this place.

“What are you doing here?” His hand settles on the hilt of his katana, strong fingers gripping it tight.  

He’s still exhausted from fighting the four-armed demon, but his son is here, alone with her. There’s blood on the floor, not much, but enough to mean something happened. And yet, his boy kneels beside her in supplication, eyes glazed over, while a delicate hand threads through his black hair. Petting him. Like a dog.

“I said, what are you doing here?”

Again, the question goes unanswered. She keeps humming that sickly melody, the kind that makes a man want to shut his ears against it.

Kaito takes one heavy step forward.  

From where she lies, spilled out on her back, Yuna Kasai doesn’t remove her hand. Instead, she finally decides to look up at the older Zen’in, bright eyes tipping back over a lush sprawl of silken pillows.

“I was wondering if you’d make it back alive,” she smiles.

And for a long time, she smiles sweetly. Long enough for him to smell the blood and that the fabric swaddling her carries the perfect scent of temple incense, the cloth the colour of a storm cloud. Dark grey. Plain. Formal. A thing meant to swallow grief, not to flaunt. She’s just lost her father, after all. Half of her clan sliced into tender ribbons. All by her own sister and her husband, no less.

Proper grieving is required.

“I thought you’d still be in Heian-kyō,” Kaito says, stepping further into the room, wary of approaching a creature that appears harmless on the outside.

“I was,” she hums, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But my business there is finished. I got what I wanted, and the emperor got what he wanted.” In the form of a palm-sized rectangular cube—a heavy price to pay for true recognition as the next head of the Kasai clan. “And so here I am,” she concludes, flashing bone-white teeth. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” Kaito unfastens his katana from his hip and sets it aside. 

If she wanted to kill him, she’d have to try very hard—but then again, the talented little witch has twisted and wound herself through this family and others, and he’s not sure what the fuck is up or down anymore. The only thing that matters to him is that his son is safe from her or anything else, even from his own family.

Finding a nearby cushion, he lowers himself onto it, his posture loose as he pointedly avoids looking anywhere but at the eldest Kasai daughter.

Yuna hums again—that same tune, the one that burrows under the skin. All the while, her fingers glide through his son’s hair, back and forth, slowly.

“You seem awfully at home,” Kaito observes, watching the way she lounges across the silks.

Silence and humming is all she gives him. And just an idle glide of her fingertips, a lazy drag against the young man’s scalp whose eyes haven’t since moved or blinked.

Kaito exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face.  

“But I suppose that happens when your home is destroyed.”  

He knows otherwise.

There’s a long pause.

Again, she doesn’t speak. Only the soft sound of black hair being scratched.

A motherly hum, a back and forth. Back and forth.

“I saw your sister.”

Finally, her fingers go still. The melody stops. Her eyes shoot to him, searching.  

“Did you?” She turns over, pushing up from her back, leaning forward, hungry for even the smallest assurance. “How is she? Is she in good health?”  

“Apparently, she’s unbound from the creature.”  

Relief unspools in her stomach. Unbound from Ryomen Sukuna. What a lovely collection of words.  

“Nonetheless, she still chose to go back south with him.” Kaito’s eyes take on a certain unkindness. “I suppose that’s what happens when you try to brand your own sister as a traitor.”  

“That was never my intention!”

The shrill cry ricochets off the walls.  

Kaito raises an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the childish outburst from a woman so deceptively lovely. Then again, she’s good at keeping up charades. Nothing with her feels real.

Nothing.

Blinking her lashes, Yuna swallows, places one hand in her lap, the other still buried in black hair.

Back and forth

Back and forth.

The silence tortures.

Against the young man’s scalp, her nails skim absently before tapping his head once.  

“You may go.” Her fingers drift to the nape of his neck, thumb tracing the sensitive tendon. “Go feed your dogs.”  

The air shifts. Pressure thickens. Not much is needed to persuade him—she’s been sifting through the softness of his brain for a while now.  

Both of them.  

“I’m sure they’re starving. Maybe there are some servants they can peel open with their teeth.”

The boy rises, like a man sleepwalking through someone else’s dream and drifts toward the door.

Kaito lunges to his side, gripping his son’s forearm.

“Don’t,” he warns.

“Ah. I wouldn’t do that.” Yuna drags her bottom lip between her teeth.

Something tickles the back of Kaito’s skull, needling its way inward. He winces, shakes it away.

“If he disobeys me—” She frowns, tapping a finger playfully against her temple. “You won’t like the consequences.”

A muscle jumps in the older man’s jaw. He holds his son for a moment longer before his fingers reluctantly fall away. He walks. Behind him, the door slides open and then closes, and he’s gone. Yuna watches before shifting upright, stretching as though she’s done nothing at all.

“Such a good boy you have.” Another smile spreads across her lips, this one not as sweet. “Though I can’t imagine why you gave him such a precious name. He’ll never survive this world with it. Trust me.”

Kaito’s grey eyes turn very dark, and slowly, they press toward her.

“You worm into families that aren’t yours, but it’s never enough, is it?” His voice lowers to a hiss. “Because the one that shit you out, the one who should have loved you, didn’t want you. You were just a vessel to be auctioned off and bred for another Kasai heir. So you slip in, wear their affection like borrowed skin, and pretend it fits. But you’re still just a giddy, narcissistic little bitch waiting to be stepped on.”

Yuna’s brow dips downward.

“Oh, I’m wounded,” she says flatly against his spite. “Does this mean you no longer want to marry me?” Not that she ever planned to. Needing anyone other than herself had never served her anyway.

Shaking his head, Kaito blasts out a humourless laugh.

“Once your little sister finds out what you really fucking are, she'll curse you.”

Yuna’s delicate nostrils flare. At her fingertips, beneath her skin, a familiar sensation flutters.

Such catastrophizing.

“When that moment comes, it won’t matter,” she says.

I won’t let it hurt her.

“I’ll remind her why she’s always loved me.”

Clasping her hands at her front, she rises. As she moves toward the door, she brushes past him without so much as a glance, no bow, no formalities.

“I gather I’ll require your son’s shadows before long.”

She leaves and starts to hum that melody again, a tune warped in places, like a lullaby half-sung to something that shouldn’t be awake.

Kaito cuts his eyes to her over his shoulder.

“Where are you going now?”

The door peels open. The echoes of the two shikigami tearing into screaming wet flesh and bodies carry down the Zen’in hallways. Yuna doesn’t turn back. Her delicate sandals clip and whisper as she steps into the corridor.

“I’m going to see a man about some stitches,” she chimes politely, sliding the door shut. “I’ll be in touch.” 

*****

🔗 Chapter 39

[goodnightmemes]

DEXTER SEASON FOUR SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ There's this cliche where serial killers are always described as, "quiet, kept to himself, kind of a loner." It's a cliche for a reason.❜

❛ How much are we living the dream? ❜

❛ I need a good kill. ❜

❛ The coroner can suck my uncircumcised dick If he doesn't rule this a homicide. ❜

❛ You know, when things are going good, I think that's god's way of saying to cover your ass, because something's gonna jump up and bite it, hard. ❜

❛ Who knew life could get so... unsimple? ❜

❛ Fuck off and die. Then die again. ❜

❛ Blood tells. Blood always tells. ❜

❛ Not really anybody else I can tell about that, you know? ❜

❛ I've already lost my innocence. I'm not going to sacrifice yours too. ❜

❛ Life has a natural forward momentum. Certain things are inevitable. ❜

❛ My keen forensic sense of smell tells me you're wearing new perfume. ❜

❛ If you smell me again, I'll punch you in the throat. ❜

❛ You've got a family to support and people to dismember. You're spinning too many plates. ❜

❛ Dude, there's no "me" in "team.". Well, technically there is, but… ❜

❛ We could grab dinner, review the case, maybe catch a bad guy. ❜

❛ I was off my game. Sloppy. ❜

❛ For the first time in so long, I'm actually...happy. ❜

❛ So if you've come back here to rekindle something between us, it's not gonna happen. ❜

❛ Dude, seriously, 86 the caffeine. You're freaking me out. ❜

❛ The danger of community is that the people who don't belong are looked upon with suspicion. Those of us who prefer to work by ourselves, The lone wolves, risk being singled out. ❜

❛ This blending in thing isn't as easy as it looks. ❜

❛ How come you never make the coffee, even if you're up first? ❜

❛ Climb in the back. You'll be right on the subwoofer. You can feel the bass in your spine. ❜

❛ Great, security lights. Just what every serial killer needs. ❜

❛ I hope you're not taking any of this seriously. ❜

❛ I'd know that foul mouth anywhere. ❜

❛ Wow. That's impressive. In a very evil way. ❜

❛ People like us don't really belong anywhere. We just pass through. ❜

❛ When you're angry, you're very sexy, so this could be sort of a win-win for me. ❜

❛ You're exactly the same as me, just in a much prettier package. ❜

❛ Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes it's the very people who are supposed to be protecting us:. ❜

❛ Don't make me come up with thought bubbles to put over those silent looks of yours. Just say what you're thinking. ❜

❛ I thought I could keep my feelings for you as background noise to this investigation. But, in working with you, that noise has gotten...loud. ❜

❛ You're the one who wanted a challenge. And now you've batted the beehive. ❜

❛ I never leave anything to chance. ❜

❛ What, are you gonna murder me too? Like you murdered your family? ❜

❛ You're sick. I know what you did. I have proof. ❜

❛ Go ahead. Tell them. No one is going to believe you over me. ❜

❛ You can't hide what you are. ❜

❛ You're going to have to choose. You will choose your life over theirs. ❜

❛ I'd rather risk them knowing the truth...than lose them. ❜

❛ Don't go disappearing on me again. ❜

❛ Every crime scene is a jigsaw puzzle. So many pieces. Assemble them right, a picture forms. ❜

❛ I didn't feel anything. I didn't even know I'd been hit until I was on the ground. ❜

❛ You deserve so much better. ❜

❛ So much work. But I have to finish what I started, right? ❜

❛ You fucked me to thank me? ❜

❛ So when do you suppose it'll be a good time to discuss why you lied to me? ❜

❛ This isn't about choices or even about you. Sometimes bad things just happen. ❜

❛ That's the answer to this? Bad things happen? ❜

❛ I know this doesn't change what happened, but hopefully you'll find some peace of mind knowing this thing's over. ❜

❛ What the fuck's your problem? You have everything, and you're doing your goddamn best to throw it all away. ❜

❛ I'm the fuck-up in the family. Not you. ❜

❛ It doesn't matter what I do. Or what I choose. I'm what's wrong. ❜

❛ If I'm not hurting myself, I'm hurting everyone around me. There's nothing I can do about it. I'm... I'm broken. ❜

❛ The most disturbing thing about your lying is that... I'm beginning to see just how good you really are at it. ❜

❛ I'm perfectly comfortable with bodily fluids: blood, snot, tears. But the emotions that go along with them, not so much. ❜

❛ I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. ❜

❛ I need a partner. Someone I can trust. Unless you can be completely honest with me...I don't want to do this anymore. ❜

❛ She's picturing her life without me, and I can't picture mine without her. ❜

❛ He can only be honest with the dead. ❜

❛ People just do this? Say what they're thinking? Out loud? ❜

❛ How are we supposed to decide what's more important? Our jobs or each other? ❜

❛ I had to evolve. It was the only way to survive. ❜

❛ As much as we might like some things to remain suspended in time, they never do. ❜

❛ The last thing I need is a reporter snooping around my house, my family, me. ❜

❛ Take a bullet and suddenly you're everybody's best friend. ❜

❛ Fat Jesus on a bike, get me out of here. ❜

❛ Sorry I'm late. Actually, that's bullshit. I'm not late. I was hiding at the end of the hall. ❜

❛ You taught me a lot of things I learned were wrong. ❜

❛ Isn't that what life is? A risk? ❜

❛ Okay, two serial killers go for a ride...Why do I get the feeling this joke ends with only one of them coming back? ❜

❛ It's every father's nightmare...disappointing his children. ❜

❛ Life is hard, and it's brutal and ugly, and way too fucking short. ❜

❛ The slightest lapse of judgment can be a mistake you might never recover from. ❜

❛ I killed an innocent man. ❜

❛ No, no "should'ves." I don't do "should'ves." That's not me. ❜

❛ I really do need to stab something. ❜

❛ Maybe you could show some of that same bravery by sharing what's bothering you. ❜

❛ There are few things harder to bear than remorse. ❜

❛ Guilt. Remorse. It's what separates us from the animals. ❜

❛ The best deed I can do is rid the world of you. ❜

❛ How about a little support? You know, like a hug?  Or an "everything's gonna be all right"? ❜

❛ We all need to confess our mistakes, so we can go into the light unburdened. ❜

❛ Jesus, they're just tits. ❜

❛ No more confessions, no more good deeds, and no more fucking remorse. ❜

❛ This isn't how you die. ❜

❛ Maybe only monsters feel no regret. If erring is human, then remorse must be too. ❜

❛ You should have just let him die. ❜

❛ Wow. You can make anything sound perverted. ❜

❛ I don't have to be on my own. I could be with you. ❜

❛ If you're nice to me, I can be nice to you. ❜

❛ You never know when you wake up in the morning what the day will bring. ❜

❛ Your life is a lie! These are lies! ❜

❛ I know who you really are. You're a killer. Sucking the fucking life out of all of us! ❜

❛ I should have fucking killed you when I had the chance. ❜

❛ There is a great big shit-ugly world out there. The bad stuff doesn't just end at your doorstep. ❜

❛ You can help put an end to all of it. The sins of your father. ❜

❛ You always did have a soft spot for kids.  They remind you of what you lost. Innocence. ❜

❛ I think I'm in trouble. ❜

❛ You put yourself at risk...for me. ❜

❛ I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, I promise you. ❜

❛ Walk away. This doesn't concern you. ❜

❛ I promise you, no one's ever gonna hurt you again. Especially me. ❜

❛ Who are any of us, really? We all have our public life, our private life… ❜

❛ We can play who's a bigger asshole, but I guarantee you, I'll win. ❜

❛ I don't want to talk about your daddy issues, okay? ❜

❛ One day, I grew up, and I realized my father wasn't the end-all, and it didn't matter what he thought of me, because I realized I didn't think that much of him anymore either. ❜

❛ You think just because you shared, I'm gonna open up? You watch too much tv. ❜

❛ What this tells me is you've been lying to me from the very beginning. ❜

❛ I can only marvel at the level of cynicism. ❜

❛ You're putting us both at risk. It isn't safe for us to talk. ❜

❛ I would never do anything to put you in danger. ❜

❛ You did this to yourself. You're on your own. ❜

❛ Could really use some family right about now, and you're it. ❜

❛ I knew finding his killer wouldn't bring him back, but...I thought it would bring something. ❜

❛ I want you to disappear from my life. Like a ghost. A really annoying ghost. ❜

❛ I couldn't care less about your life. Or death. Unless you get in my way. ❜

❛ If I were you, I'd give up vigilante-ism. You're not very good at it. ❜

❛ You do not want to question my loyalty to my family.  ❜

❛ I have to be the one to kill him. I have to know he's gone. ❜

❛ How is it I can kill people and feel no regret...but disappointing [name] makes me feel like the scum of the earth? ❜

❛ Sometimes I'm... just going along, and everything seems okay, and then this...darkness creeps in, and it takes over. ❜

❛ Don't ever question me! I gave you everything you have. I will take it all away! ❜

❛ You have your demons. I accept that. Because I know that you don't have to be a slave to them. ❜

❛ I know you, better than you know yourself. You can conquer whatever darkness there is in you. I know you can. ❜

❛ We create our own destiny every day we live. ❜

❛ If you hadn't been in my life, I wouldn't be who I am. You've given me confidence and support. And you've been the one constantly good thing in my life. ❜

❛ I can't believe there was a time when I actually thought I could learn something from you. ❜

❛ You can't control the demon inside of you any more than I can control mine. ❜

❛ You're like a child. You dream of a heaven you'll never see. ❜

❛ I accept...nothing. Nothing is inevitable. ❜

❛ It's already over. ❜

❛ Life doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be...lived. ❜

❛ Born in blood. Both of us. ❜

❛ I thought I could change what I am, keep my family safe. But it doesn't matter what I do, what I choose. I'm what's wrong. This is fate. ❜

[sc0tters]

Send a Text | Quinn Hughes

summary: when you’ve been thinking about your boyfriend all week, what better way than to let him know with a raunchy text?

request: yes/no

warnings: allusions to sex (nothing explicit), swearing.

word count: 0.98k

authors note: I’m doing some blurbs today to get some requests out of my inbox and this is the first! the request brought up the TikTok trend so that was exactly what I did!

Summertime at the lake house was your favourite.

You got to watch the boys refocus after the hockey season when they got a break to just have fun. It meant that they were allowed to just do whatever they wanted for a few weeks. And on top of that, that you got to have your boyfriend back to yourself.

Quinn asked you out a little under four years ago after he couldn’t get you out of his head. Your relationship was perfect and you loved Quinn. So getting to watch him at his happiest with his friends and family had you feeling like you were on cloud nine.

In the previous years of you coming back with Quinn he was great, he really did value the time he got to spend with you. But this time you just ended up talking to Cole or Alex as Quinn seemed to be clueless. Watching Quinn in nothing more than his swim shorts most days had you feeling hot and bothered.

And it seemed that no amount of basking in the sun was going to cure how your body felt. You truly thought that you were screwed after Quinn made the rule that whilst the boys were at the lake house he had a no touching rule. So that was how you ended up scrolling through TikTok when you found your revenge.

The trend had been sending your partner a raunchy message in front of his family but you knew that doing it whilst the boys were around was going to truly be the cherry on top of the cake. It took you three days of waiting to unleash your plan and as the boys lounged around after watching an F1 race. Your phone was subtly in your hand as you began your plans.

y: been thinking about you all day

Quinn’s phone vibrated in his pocket making him furrow his eyebrows until he saw the message that made him smile.

quinny 💗: been across from you the entire time

y: I know

y: so hot and bothered about you

quinny 💗: you have?

y: *sent one image*

Quinn’s eyes went wide as he looked at the image of his hands as a bra as your neck was marked with hickies. He was quick to hide his phone not wanting to the boys around him to see it.

quinny 💗: you’re playing a dangerous game baby

y: but I want you to fuck me baby.

Quinn finally looked at you as his cheeks grew red when he thought he was dreaming as he felt his cock grow hard in his shorts. He made the effort to clear his throat only making your smile grow larger as you grinned.

Jack instantly knew what was going on as he looked between you and Quinn “gross!” He groaned shaking his head in disgust.

Your smirk only grew wider as you laughed “what’s wrong Jacky?” You knew how to play innocent as you cocked your head “you wanna go make me an uncle!” Jack’s loud words made the house erupt into laughter as all of the boys looked at Quinn who remained silent.

All the eldest boy could do was squeeze his phone as he tried to get rid of the imagine that was in his mind “who knew you had a little devil Quinn.” Trevor teased as he patted the older boys back only stopping when he was met with a glare.

You smiled as you placed your phone back on your lap “I think we should go on the boat.” Alex announced watching you get up “without you two!” He added as he motioned to you to sit back down.

Trevor laughed as they all got up “have fun you two!” He called out when the boys made sure that they quickly left the house.

As you two were left alone you went to get up again as you turned to head to the kitchen “and where do you think that you’re going?” Quinn finally spoke up as it made you freeze.

You had been in Quinn’s favourite bikini and an old baseball jersey “to get a drink.” You explained in a duh tone as you motioned to your empty glass.

It made him click his tongue as he shook his head “you think you can get away with the little stunt you pulled?” The hockey player grumbled as he got up with his pupils fully blown.

Your mouth grew dry as you tried to not smile “you didn’t seem that into it.” You shrugged going to walk away when his hand wrapped around your wrist pulling you closer to him.

His hand ran through your hair as you were against his chest “cute you think you don’t affect me.” He mumbled leaning down to peck your lips.

The kiss made you smile as your hand settled in his shirt “I shouldn’t even treat you with the way you acted.” Quinn sighed as he clicked his tongue “I need you Quinny.” You whined hoping that you hadn’t just shot yourself in the foot.

He smiled as he nodded “know you do my pretty girl.” The boy squeezed your chin between his fingers “I’ll be nice and give you what you want though.” The words made your eyes light up as you grinned “thank you cap.” Your hands wrapped around his neck as he pulled you close to him.

Quinn kissed your temple as he looked at the clock wondering how much longer the boys would be out for “go get on the bed just how I like ya and I’ll fuck you real good.” Quinn offered making you nod.

You turned around to head up the stairs as you felt his palm hit your ass “all you had to do was ask me to fuck you pretty girl.” The Canucks captain smiled as he watched your ass bounce as you ran up the stairs.

[elliespassagerprincess]

i literally read ur five everyday i love them sm and i was wondering if u could make a angsty with a happy ending ellie x reader inspired by bubblegum by clairo

Bubblegum - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! thank youuu sm!! i hope you enjoy this fic... i tried something new:)

This story is based off the song Bubblegum by Clairo! if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts

warnings: none

Summary: in which you fell in love

authors note: the good doctor season 7 has me in tears man, like bro why did they have to kill Asher????

masterlist

You never thought this day would come. You thought this would only be a fantasy.

If you told 15 year old you that you would be standing in front of Ellie Williams at the alter, she would've laughed.

Both of you wanted this day to be perfect, and it was. The flowers, your dress and her suit, the seating arrangements, everything was perfect.

She looked at you with such love, love that you have only seen in Disney movies.

The two of you held hands as it was time for your vows. Her hands felt soft, and she held you so gently.

Ellie had to go first. Her palms were slightly sweaty. She was nervous.

Very fucking nervous.

You gave her hand a light squeeze and you gave her a small smile. That was all she needed.

"Sorry I didn't kiss you but it's obvious I wanted to"

You smiled as you remembered the awkward memory.

It was a sleepover at Dina's house, the two of you were only 15. It was you, Dina, Jesse and Ellie.

Oh Ellie.

Ellie Williams.

When Ellie and Joel arrived in Jackson you were immediately drawn to her.

She was pretty.

Really pretty.

Very early on you developed feelings for her. You liked the way she drew pictures, you liked the way she cut her hair, you liked her sense of humor. You liked Ellie for her.

When Dina invited you to the sleepover, you almost burst with joy. This was your moment.

Ellie was anxiously packing her bag for the sleepover.

She needed to impress you. She packed all her best outfits. She really fucking liked you.

The four of you played 7 minutes in heaven and the bottle landed on you and Ellie. Dina squealed knowing the two of liked each other.

You were pissing yourself, and Ellie was wondering how she smelled.

She was going to make a move. She needed to let you know how she felt. The two of you walked into the closet, and Dina locked the door behind you.

"Hi" you muttered softly

"hey" Ellie said back.

The two of you sat in awkward silence.

C'mon Ellie make your move

"What's your favorite color?" She suddenly blurted.

A smile spread onto your face before you answered "pink".

The two of you spoke so many things in that few minutes you had together. You learned so much about her.

"You have 2 minutes!" Dina yelled from the other side of the door.

"This was fun" you smiled

"it was... we should talk more often"

She was so close to you. So fucking close. You could feel her breath on your face.

'C'mon move Ellie' she thought to herself.

But before Ellie could make her move, you leaned in to kiss her. Her lips were so so soft. You've been dreaming about this for months.

Ellie's eyes widened at the sudden feeling. She wanted to lean in. She wanted to kiss you back but she was in a state of shock.

Ellie pulled away, and she started at you with a blank expression.

"Times up!" Dina opened the door with a smile.

Ellie got up and she ran out the closet.

You felt embarrassed. Humiliated.

You thought you had a connection, but clearly you were wrong.

Fuck you hated yourself

Ellie would probably never look at you again.

You were so fucking embarrassing.

"Bubble gum down my throat and it's a curse

But my luck couldn't get any worse

'Cause I swallowed the bubble gum

Oh, and these seven years will be pretty dumb

Pink flowers grow from my skin

Pepto Bismol veins and I grin"

It felt like seven years had gone by.

Its been 4 years since the kiss, but it felt like its been longer. After the kiss situation with Ellie, she avoided you like the plague. She never spoke to you again and you hated yourself for that.

Not only did you lose the girl you felt so deeply for, you lost someone you considered a best friend.

Little did you know she was beating herself up too. She was mad at herself for walking away. She was mad at herself for not kissing you back.

She was too embarrassed to look at you.

Ellie never tried again with any other girl, her heart belonged to you. Even though she wasn't sure what she would do to win you back, she knew one day you'd be hers.

Every time you would walk into a room where Ellie was she stopped breathing. If was as if bubblegum was stuck in her throat.

She wanted to talk to you, but the words were stuck.

Every time you were close to her, she'd always imagine all the things she would say, how you'd react, all the possibilities of what could have been.

But she was too pussy to say something about it.

As if her luck couldn't get worse Joel died. Everyone in Jackson could see how it affected her.

Ellie was sad but she was soon filled with rage. She had to go after whoever killed Joel. When she decided to leave Jackson, she had to say bye to you.

Ellie walked to where your house was and she knocked on the door. You opened it and she remembered you were wearing a pink flower dress.

Why was she here?

"I'm leaving Jackson"

Your eyes widened and you stayed silent for a while.

"I'm coming with you"

You stayed by her side the whole time. You were there for her the whole time.

One night you woke up to voices talking downstairs. Cautiously you walked down the stairs and you saw Ellie sitting with Tommy.

"Hi Tommy" you smile.

He gave Ellie a serious look before he walked out, not even saying bye to you.

Ellie turned to you with a sad look, and you could feel the tension in the air.

"You look so nice in your shirt" you say hoping to ease the tension.

It didn't work.

She told you about Abby. She told you that Tommy found her. She told you that she was leaving you to find her. You stayed silent as she explained everything to you.

"Say something" she begged.

"This is sad"

"What is?"

"It's sad because it just hurts"

You stayed silent before speaking up again: "I understand you miss Joel, but killing her wont bring him back. You're choosing someone else over us."

"We're not even together" Ellie hissed.

"I never forced you to come with me"

"Fuck Ellie don't you see?" You yelled "I'd do anything for you, but would you do that for me, too?"

She stayed silent at your words.

"I left my life for you, i wanted to be with you. I loved you Ellie! Open your fucking eyes"

She never responded, she got up and she walked out the door.

"Run like you always fucking do!"

She left you. She was gone for 3 months. You were going to give up hope.

Until you heard the front door opened. You ran down the stairs and you saw her in all her glory.

She was bloody, dirty and she had a few fingers missing.

"You're still here" she said with relief she fell to her knees and you ran to her.

Tears fell from both your eyes before Ellie muttered "killing her wont bring him back"

You smiled as Ellie retold the story in her vows. The officiant cleared her throat "i now pronounce you... wife and wife! You may now kiss your wife"

Ellie immediately grabbed your face, and the two of you shared a passionate kiss.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and you felt her smile into the kiss.

This is what you've always dreamed of.

<3

[ehh-is-the-name]

TPOT 10 spoilers 'cause BH makes me insane

I mean, c'mon. You can't see this thumbnail and think things are gonna be ok for you mentally if you like blackhole. Like you know what's coming to you.

First things first, let me just scream into the void for a second-

HIS NIGHTMARE IS KILLING PEOPLE AND LETTING THAT CONSUME HIM?????!!?!?

AAAAAAAAAGUH MY HEART??!!???!?

Man- I love Blackhole and this episode just drove the stake into my heart. The fact that he, himself, is a being who causes death by getting too close to people made me writhe in BFB. But actively showing the extent of how it affects him—ack! He knows he causes death, which is why it's so important for him not to kill people, and why he's so strict about the pact rules!!

It makes so much sense... BFB 1 had it all laid out, and TPOT 10 sewed it together.

From the way he was hesitant about helping Flower!!! We know- he knows he's gonna end the world by getting closer, but he gives into it anyway. Instead of putting his foot down to Flower, he gives in to his feeling of wanting to be closer to people—from the way he's so happy about being shrunk—and more later. Then we get that whole thing with everyone about to die.

We know if Four never came, everyone would've died. Blackhole knows that too, from the end of his nightmare. More specific to this clip though, from the scene with Pie and LIY, since he literally just gave in to the urge to get closer and he wants that to never happen again. As a singularity in space, he could appreciate the planet, and life on it, more than other objects. He could see them all interact but never actually interact with them (besides talking), so at this chance of being beckoned, it makes sense that he'd just go "eh, fuck it, alright" then IMMEDIATELY regret his actions. Although his nightmare was about being afraid he'll "give into murderous urges", it can also be interpreted as him being afraid to let go. Something clearly stated in the last scene of his nightmare...

Queue TPOT 10 scene from clip above (I'm so mad that it's only 1 video per post on here)

Over the season we've seen him go from preventing death to just not killing people. It's morphed into his own cut-throat rule for the pact, which, in this context, is fair to see why. He joined the game via him not caring about the consequences, and it's stuck with him, so seeing everyone over and over get away with things made him HAVE to re-enforce to himself that he wasn't allowed. Death PACT doesn't kill people. HE doesn't kill people. He can't allow himself to let go of that regiment.

Obviously, this causes problems in the team- we see the clip. The thing that gets me the most is that this is bona fide trauma we're working with—Fanny telling him to #get-over-it kinda rubbed me the wrong way. And OK! I know- I know that's not exactly what she's saying but that's how it felt, and I know she has every right to be upset 'cause he was fuckin' over his team, but again that's just me! (The fact they got on the same page was enough for me anyway.) I digress, his "obsessive nature" was essentially just a response to everything that's happened to him—it's what makes him feel in control of himself. Poor BH's got trauma bad :(

I think what really twists that knife for me is that... the guy really just wants to connect with his peers normally- He wants everything to go back to normal, and that's one of the reasons he compromises with Fanny. On some level, he knows he's gone too far, but he's just afraid. Even at the end, he can't bring himself to kill Tree, even though he knows it'd be better with the new "focusing on life" angle. Did you hear that shakey exhale? Man's going through the wringer. Obviously, he won't overcome his trauma in an episode, but it's a good step to just playing and enjoying the game.

Anyway... There is probably a shitton of fans that are looking at this like "Yeah no shit Sherlock" but hey! Be nice. Some of us are slower than the others, and by some of us, I mean me. I needed this punch in the face to really see how death was impacting Blackhole's mental state and now I've word vomited my thoughts out.

[marsbutterfly]

Final Mission - Remastered

Summary: The rumbling begins to close in on you and your friends. With very few choices remaining, you have to watch as Hanji makes a decision that will alter the course of your life forever.

a/n: hello hello!! So ever since part 3 part 1 came out, I decided to start working on rewriting my very first work, for Hanji and for Attack On Titan. This piece has always meant so much to me as it was written with lol sm grief? anyway, I know it's been a while but Hanji pls come back, the kids and I miss you babes.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: attack on titan season 4 part 3 (part 1) spoilers if you haven't watched it yet, angst, blood, established relationship, soulmate loss, a bit of resentment towards tbh everyone if you squint. | ao3 | wattpad | the original | wc: 3.3k

“You could break my heart in two

But when it heals, it beats for you”

“I’m the one who brought everyone here. I killed my comrades to come this far. I’ll take responsibility for it all,” Hanji says, her hands trembling while grasping the thunder spears firmly, eyes filled with terror while a shallow breath fights to leave her lungs. The ground shakes beneath you and a chilling sensation courses down your spine.

You finally find the courage to turn around to face her as she approaches the group, words dying and being reborn in your throat as you struggle to find just the right thing to say, eventually landing on the bleakest yet most desperate request, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Her footsteps are heavy, contrasting clearly with those of the colossal titans as they march towards you. Her vision is focused on the young, blonde boy ahead of you and you can tell she is trying with all her might to avoid your eyes, afraid of the reaction you might have.

“Armin Arlert,” her voice is gentle, gentler than it has been in a while, almost as if the heavy burden of the world inside the walls has finally lifted from her shoulders and she could actually think straight, “I hereby designate you the 15th Commander of the Scout Regiment.”

The remainder of the words exchanged between the two of them simply echoes in your brain, going from one ear to the other, almost as if they were speaking sheer gibberish. It doesn’t make sense, none of it does. Why is she making him commander when she is still standing right there? Hopefully not for the reasons you are expecting, right? Your thoughts move a thousand times faster than the actual conversation flows.

Your eyes are fixated on the scenery before you, a mixture of feelings coursing through your veins and your heart feels like it has been missing a few beats as an intense void begins to creep from deep inside of you. The situation is not ideal: the colossal titans get closer by the second, the atmosphere becomes hotter with their steam clouding the air and an overwhelming feeling of despair grows in your chest.

You focus on the sound of her voice, the same sound that has brought you so much comfort in the most trying of times now makes no sense, no matter how you look at it. Her face, which has always been your absolute favorite piece of art to ever exist, now contorted into a pained and saddened expression. In fact, it reminded of the way she looked when Erwin announced she would be taking over the Scouts in case he didn’t make it through Shiganshina.

You are finally pulled out of this trance once she begins to move again, this time towards Levi, confused and worrying eyes following her every move carefully as she moves across the brick bridge. From where you stand, you can see the black haired man tightening his left fist, the breeze hitting every so lightly, just barely enough for it to lift his hair and show you that he is sharing a quick glance with you before returning to Hanji.

“Hey, four-eyes,” he says. That’s the first time you have heard him call her those two words since she became commander. He had told you once before he did it out of respect, seeing that she was now his superior, so for him to say it now, in a moment like this, that is when the realization and truth of the moment finally began to dawn on you.

“You understand, right, Levi?” Her voice trembles in the slightest, in a manner that would be unnoticeable to anyone else but you and the man she is speaking to, “my turn has come at last.”

Hanji raises her hands, fingertips trembling and causing the thunder spears to shake, the sweat glistening on her face as her pupils twitch, it’s a sight you hoped to never see. She tries to play her nervousness off, “I’m giddy with the desire to make a supremely cool exit. Don’t stop what I’ve got going.”

For the first time, her eyes meet yours and you realize only then how many tears she was holding back, a quiet sob dying in your throat as you yelp, your body rejecting your brain’s commands to move, legs stuck in place and swallowing has never been this hard.

With a sigh, you hear those three words out of Levi’s mouth, the same words that are now only chanted by a ghost or a distant memory, “Dedicate your heart.” It feels like a punch to the stomach, air can no longer find its way inside your lungs and you choke on your own saliva, there is no denying what is about to happen anymore and the overwhelming sensation that there is nothing you can do to change it overwhelms you.

She smiles and lets out a gentle giggle, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.”

Lastly, she makes her way towards you. The need for oxygen is intense but the very second that her gentle fingertips touch your face, the world seems to stop for a moment and every worry you have ever had dissipates into the feeling.

“I truly hope that you can forgive me one day,” she says and the tears that dangled from her eyes were finally allowed to fall. With a smirk on her lips, she blew on your face so that your hair would move from one spot to the other and the smell of her breath fills you with a sense of nostalgia and despair.

“Please don’t say that,” you whisper, bringing your body closer to hers, “you are the only family I have left. I don’t know where to go without you,” your voice trembles, your throat is as dry as the deserts you’ve heard Armin talk so much about. The tips of your fingers gently twirl a loose strand of hair that falls on her face.

Hanji turns her face at a precise 90 degree angle to look at Levi, a stoic expression on his face though his eyes tell you everything you need to know about his feelings. A tear runs down Hanji’s face, but only one as she won’t allow herself to fully break down until you are out of sight, “Will you take care of her for me?” He doesn’t respond with words, the only thing he does is nod his head in agreement.

Her eyes make their way back to you as she uses both of her hands to carefully cup your face, lips meeting yours with a desperation you had never seen before, almost as if she is trying to engrave you on her own body. Her tongue glides with yours for a couple of seconds and you feel the butterflies rising in your stomach as if it were the first time you have kissed her.

The moment couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds but it felt like forever and a day, your body nearly melting in contact with her touch. For a split moment, you forgot about the rumbling, about Eren, about the sacrifice she was about to make, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but this very moment the two of you share.

Everything feels ok for a little while, the warmth of her brown eyes reminds you of the many cups of tea you have shared in the barricades, the softness of her touch bringing up memories of times you’ve met under the apple tree in the courtyard, and the gentleness on her lips stirring butterflies in your stomach, much like the very first time you’d seen her.

However it does not last long. You are brought back to reality by the sound of her ODM gear going off, the hook gripping onto the wall and the cold feeling her lips leave behind. Hanji doesn’t give you enough time to stop her, she simply pulls away before you could even react.

She doesn’t say anything. In the years that passed since she became commander, Hanji had been preparing you for the inevitable moment when she passes away, when her turn to make a sacrifice to save your life would come. In that time, you let your guard down, you had convinced yourself something like that would never happen, not to the both of you.

Your eyes are fixated on her every move, every swing of her blade, every flicker of her cape, and there is nothing you can do. Frozen in place, you watch in horror as she manages to take down a few of the colossal titans on their path of destruction. It wasn’t enough. The engineers still need more time.

Trembling hands struggle to find a way onto your blades as a thought goes through your brain, “How can I help her?” By the time you manage to look back up, you catch a glance of a scene that could only be described as your worst nightmare: your beloved’s body, the person you’ve loved most for the past few years, catching on fire as a result of the bodily heat of the colossal titans.

Your heart sinks in your stomach and all you can do is scream. Your feet begin to move as you make up your mind to run and assist them but a pair of strong hands get a hold of your waist before you have time to move forward.

“Reiner, let me go,” you demand, in vain. No matter just how much you kick, or scream, or scratch him, his grip will not loosen and a sense of utter despair fills you. Your throat burns and your vision is blurred out by all the tears, your hands are shaking and there is nothing more you can do.

The last drop was the moment you caught a glimpse of her lifeless, burned to a crisp body falling from the sky like a meteor ready to destroy your life. You had no more fight left in you, no more strength remaining to try and free yourself from Reiner’s arms.

Something inside of your brain begins to slip away, was it your sanity? Or something more personal, like your spirit? No, this was a feeling you had encountered time and time again, expedition after expedition, titan kill after titan kill, hopelessness. Except this time, the feeling was a thousand times worse.

Without her, how would you be able to find Eren and stop the rumbling once and for all? Not only that, but for the first time, probably ever, you questioned her judgment, after all, how could Armin be commander? The boy who was chosen over Erwin, part of the reason why you found yourself in this situation in the first place.

No, there was no use in pointing fingers at each other. If in a situation like this, where life and death walked hand in hand, she chose him, then you would trust her judgment, even if you didn’t agree with it, even if you believed it to be the wrong choice.

Your eyelids grow heavier the closer you get to the plane, the tears have yet to stop running down your face and a full body spread of goosebumps has taken hold of your skin. You manage to take a deep breath before allowing your exhausted body to slip into unconsciousness and, for the last time, you hear her voice.

“I love you.”

The pounding sensation in your head is nearly too much to bear. You squint through closed eyes, slowly using whatever little strength you have left to raise your arm, shielding your face from the far too close sun rays. The atmosphere surrounding the area is so heavy you could cut it with a knife, but a determined Armin breaks free from the awkwardness. “Listen up,” he says, the confidence is his voice masking his true emotions, “Let’s go over the plan.”

Their voices are now a bit louder, the slight turbulence you come across every so often causes the plane to shake and every last bit of metal to scrape against one another. You can hear the sound of a pencil scribbling on the metal floor, but whether it is writing or drawing, you are unable to realize.

As the conversation goes by, your ears begin to ring and your mind can’t help but wonder how long it has been. You take your hand up to your chest, clutching tightly to the fabric that covers the area above your heart, it feels empty, like it has been broken in two and the pieces have been flung out into space.

Has it been seconds? Has it been days? No, while it feels like an eternity has passed, deep down you know that it has only been somewhere between fifteen to thirty minutes. Tears begin to pool up in your eyes once more, that emptiness eating away at your stomach while you choke down a desolate sob. You don’t want to draw attention towards yourself but yet somehow, you find yourself as the center of everyone’s concern.

For a while, no one dares to move, speak or even breathe. You can’t be bothered by their reactions or lack thereof, the pressure on your chest desperately needs to be released. The tears won’t stop flowing, air fails to enter your lungs as heavy hiccups erupt from deep within your soul. The void you feel could only be compared to a bottomless abyss, not knowing when it will end.

Once you have no more tears left, you try your best to use your arms to sit up, cursing yourself for being so weak in the face of such immediate danger. Footsteps approach you and a helping hand finds a comfortable spot on your lower back, gently assisting you in your attempt to sit. You don’t need to see the person’s face to know exactly who it is.

“Mikasa,” you say, not quite sure if it is a question or if anything else is going to follow.

“How are you feeling?” She asks, her voice is raspy and gentle, like she has been doing some crying of her own. You can’t help but smirk, not out of happiness, but because you know they all already have an idea of what your answer is going to be.

“It feels like my heart has just been ripped out of my chest and I had to watch as it burned,” you say and they all immediately understand that you are referring to the condition you were forced to leave Hanji’s body in. It is a stupid question but, for some reason, it does make the aching a tad bit more tolerable.

“Your hand is bleeding,” Armin points out in a serene voice as he walks towards you, his footsteps seem lighter than a feather in an attempt to not spook you away, as if you were a wild, injured little animal, “How did that happen?”

“I cut it,” You respond, dryly. Your lower lip quivers as you open your palm, revealing the smallest piece of green fabric. It is clear from the patter and the design that it came from one of the cloaks owned by the Survey Corps, no extra words are needed for all present to understand that it belonged to their fallen Commander. Though no one desires to talk about it, Reiner decides to take the fall.

“I may not have been so gentle when we were boarding the flying boat,” he says, using his left hand to scratch the back of his neck while the right one holds onto the rail above his head, “I’m sorry, y/n. I should have been more careful.”

You know what he is trying to do. It is clearly a lie and there is no denying any of it, but you appreciate his efforts to remove the attention from the sore subject. You purse your lips in what could be considered a small smile while quietly nodding your head.

“Would you mind if I took a look at it?” Armin asks, kneeling beside you while reaching his hand underneath your own. Perhaps he was right to treat you like a spooked animal, seeing as your immediate reaction was to move your hand far away from him, clinging onto the fabric for dear life as you push your body towards the back of the ship until you collide with the metal wall. “Please.” He begs.

“No,” you cower away, “This is the last part of me to have ever touched her. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, I can barely feel anything anymore.”

Once more he asks, “Please,” and you realize he isn't going to let the subject go. So before too much of your blood has a chance to soak the bit of cloth, you switch it towards your other hand, extending your injured arm until it touches the top of his thighs.

You whimper as a stream of clean water comes in contact with your open skin, dirt debris being washed away by the contents as best as possible. Your eyes never leave his face, the now 15th Commander of the Survey Corps taking care of you, your heart gets heavier the more you think of him in such a manner. His shoulders are slumped forward, as if there is a “not so fictional” weight on them. It doesn’t take long before he is finished bandaging you up.

“I am fully aware it is not the same but,” a masculine voice comes from the front half of the ship, “you still have us.”

Your eyes now meet Levi, whose crossed arms and stern face somehow brings you the slightest amount of comfort. With a helping hand from Connie, you make your way towards him, gently placing yourself between Pieck and the black-haired man, who ever so gently places a comforting hand behind your back. It is rare for him to demonstrate any sort of affection, so by the way his fingers feel against your clothes, you can nearly feel his own grief. Another lump forms in your throat, but you swallowed it this time.

“We’ll make sure that Hanji’s death wasn’t in vain,” Mikasa swears, false determination taking over her words, “We’ll return Eren into his old self, I know he is still in there somewhere, just waiting for us.”

Any sort of emotion gets drained from your face as you stare deep into her eyes, gray orbs looking deeply at you in hopes of any approval of her message. You raise your chin as you cross your legs, bringing your body forward, closer to her. You don’t want to be mean, nor do you want to make her feel like her attempt at comforting you fell into deaf ears, but all present right now know that what she has said is bullshit. 

“Mikasa,” your voice is stern, “do you remember what Annie asked you once in the forest and then again after we attempted to communicate with Floch?” She doesn’t respond but, by the expression on her face, you realize that she knows exactly what you are talking about. With no indication that she plans on acknowledging the subject, you continue, “She asked you if you would ever be able to kill Eren.”

She looks away, gripping her knees tightly. “That won’t be necessary!” Armin says, the nervousness in his voice is palpable as he desperately tries to change the subject while still hoping to provide you with the comfort he knows you need at this moment.

You sigh before continuing, “I know you want to bring him back. I may know that better than anyone else at the moment. But I need you to listen closely as I tell you this,” Your voice is louder than the engines, the tears begin pooling in your eyes once more, you bring the small piece of Hanji’s cloak towards your chest, a determined expression on your face, “There is no bringing him back at this point. He has gone too far. Even if you did bring him back, the remaining world population would kill him with their bare hands.”

“Why are you saying all of this?” Someone asks, though your mind has become nothing but fog so you can’t quite tell whose voice it is at the moment. You take a deep breath, allowing the cold air to fill your burning lungs.

“Because no matter what you all say,” any emotion is drained from your voice, “my final mission is to kill Eren Yeager.”

“If I could do it all again

I know I'd go back to you”

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! Hope you are doing fine :) The second season has only aired and I imagine it will be months and months before this one gets answered, but I think my question will still be relevant and possibly will get more answers by the time we all stop hurting so much.

So, I've seen the post about how naive we all were about ineffable husbands figuring their shit out immediately after notapocalypse (or like AT ALL) and how used we are to all the difficulties being settled off-screen or ignored and rushing to happy parts. And as we see in season 2 this is not the case at all, and all their trauma/habit of not talking to each other and whatever else really needs to be resolved before any happy ending is possible. What fics can you recommend about Hard Work Being Done with happy results (canon-compliant to either first or both seasons)?

Hello. Here are some canon compliant fics in which communication and effort happen...

Locked In by RepQueen15 (T)

After four weeks of Crowley crying and moping over Aziraphale, Maggie and Nina had started scheming. He’d registered it all, the cleared throats and the hints about ‘helping revamp the cafe soon.’ Crowley cursed himself for not waking the fuck up from his stupor and getting them to stop. He knew it was over. He knew. He’d given it all he’d got. And Aziraphale had forgiven him. He’d fucking forgiven Crowley. Fuck Maggie and Nina. They did this. ‘This’ being locked in the cafe. Locked inside the walls of ‘Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death,’ with him. Aziraphale. God-fucking-damn he hated his life. * Or: Crowley and Aziraphale get trapped together and have to have a Serious Talk About Their Relationship.

on one wounded wing by shoebox_addict (T)

“I'm done with Heaven,” said Aziraphale, with conviction. He’d had a long time to think this through, he knew where he stood now. “I'm on our side.” “You've said that before.”

Something lasts forever by Aidaran (T)

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley is left to drink himself to death and be just as miserable as he can be. Lucky for him, Nina doesn't have patience for drunk demons in his shop, and Maggie is always willing to give a helping hand. Or, How Give me Coffee or Give me Death became an unexpected embassy for hell and heaven forces to gather, so certain ground rules had to be set. ------- "Still taking care of him?" Maggie said softly as Crowley exhaled with annoyance and reclined his back on her counter. "I want to prove him wrong. Some things do last forever. I want him to come back and see they do." “And then what?” He looked confused for a second. Truth was, he wasn’t letting himself think too much about what would happen when the angel returned. If he returned. He’d been avoiding that pain for millenia and wasn’t going to start allowing it to creep in. “Well, haven’t got my plan that far yet.”

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better by elf_on_the_shelf (T)

Armageddon came and went and Crowley is trying his hardest to get whatever it was that he had hoped and dreamed for millennia to have with Aziraphale going. Unfortunately for him, the angel is not there yet. Unfortunately for both of them, Crowley, despite him being a darn optimist, really can't wait any longer. This is a fic that explores all of their inner turmoil and means to address as much as it can of their past trauma. It's a fic about healing old wounds and the both of them getting to be better supernatural entities all on their own before they try their hand at any type of relationship. Or: Crowley gets therapy by means of tough love. Aziraphale has a long - and I do mean long - talk with himself.

wartimes by ffonippop (G)

Crowley decides he's gotten too sentimental in his time on Earth. He fucks off to Canis Major to listen to angry, scorned, and bitter songs, adamantly avoiding break-up ones for his health and sanity, but Aziraphale, the bastard, invites him back to the bookshop for a post-breakup debrief. Much like the constellation Crowley's chosen to sulk at, Crowley is just a kicked puppy who can't refuse a beck and call. Still, he doesn't make it easy.

Sunlight or Demise by verovex (T) Anathema had once said she couldn’t see Adam’s aura, and it should’ve been more of a red flag, but the reality was it had just been so large she couldn’t see it for what it was. For Crowley, it was the same thing with trying to see reciprocation from Aziraphale. * The enormity of love was, by all accounts, indecipherable. Aziraphale had known what love felt like in this world. At least, he thought he understood it. He felt it all around him. He always had. Sometimes, it was stronger in particular places than in others. But, there was something blurred about it all if you looked too close. He’d realized that Heaven never felt like this, yet it’s where you were taught that it should exist. Aziraphale had started to wonder. He couldn’t decide when the thought first came around that perhaps the love he felt had actually been what was sifting between him and Crowley. At some point, it was easier to be humbled by the complacency of what they’d always been showing each other than outright admitting it for what it was. But that wasn't enough anymore.

- Mod D

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Sixteen - Prompt: Binge @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 731 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Barty ignored Frank’s good-natured prattling with this bloke with the in-progress dragon tattoo and focused on the door that he’d heard slam closed after Evan walked by. He was fairly certain that it was the one that led out to the smoking area. The urge to chase after him was strong, but he knew better than to act on it.

His hands flexed against the sides of the table when he heard the faintest rumble of Evan’s voice. A phone call, maybe. Barty hoped it wasn’t with another bloke. Murder would be a shit way to start this week.

“Yeah, it can be rough the first time,” Frank said, leaning forward to squeeze Barty’s shoulder. “When you’re an old pro like Barty here, it’s nothing. How many times have you fallen asleep on my table, mate?”

Barty cleared his throat, but his voice still came out strained. “No idea. A lot.”

He wasn’t sure if Frank was trying to relax him or warn him. Either way, the message was received. Barty hated how perceptive his flatmate was.

“You fell asleep? Really? How?” dragon tattoo said.

“The vibrations are relaxing.”

Frank lifted the back of his own shirt and pointed. “Happens more often than you’d think. See this one, on my back? Passed out for a full four hour session. Best sleep I’ve ever had.”

Dragon tattoo gaped at him, shaking his head. Frank grinned and swivelled back around. He loved to show off for the newbies.

“I can’t imagine that!” Dragon tattoo said, eyes wide. “I’m just trying not to tear up in there.”

“Rosier can be a little heavy-handed, but he’s bloody good too. You definitely want him for a piece like that. He’s patient.”

Barty nodded in agreement as he glanced back at the bloke Evan was working on. Dragon tattoo had introduced himself when he wandered over, but Barty wasn’t paying attention and hadn’t caught his name. What he did catch was Evan storming out after Barty’s comment about him being brilliant.

He is brilliant though. It wasn’t a lie.

“Good to know! This is my kid’s artwork, so I wanted to do it justice.”

Kid? I was right then. He’s probably straight.

That was more comforting than it probably should have been. Evan was a professional. It cost Barty an obscene amount of money and multiple weeks to convince him to break his “no clients” rule. Now that he’d broken it though…Evan could do it again.

Frank's loud, booming laugh interrupted his thoughts. “Yes! I prefer to wait until all the episodes are out and binge that whole season!”

“Same, but I have no self-control,” dragon tattoo replied. “I can’t help myself!”

Barty twisted at the waist to meet the bloke’s gaze. “Better fucking try.”

“What?”

Frank tensed his grip on Barty’s leg. That was definitely a warning. He knew he was acting irrationally, but he didn’t care.

“Control yourself,” Barty said, glaring pointedly at the bloke. “Around him.”

Dragon tattoo stared at him incredulously, then blinked very slowly. “Him who?”

“Ignore him. He’s obsessed with Rosier.” Frank shoved Barty back down onto the table roughly. “Calm your tits, arsehole.”

“The tattoo artist? Why would I—”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Frank said, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s a bit dramatic, that’s all.”

Dragon tattoo made a hasty exit from the conversation as soon as the door slammed again, announcing Evan’s return. Barty tried to peer over his shoulder, but Frank still had his hand pressed in the middle of his back.

Look at me, Evan. Come on. Say something. Anything.

���Alright, Rosier?” Frank called cheerfully.

“Fine.”

Barty forced his muscles to relax and pressed his cheek against the cold black leather. A strong scent of antiseptic leached out of the fabric. The familiarity of it grounded him a little.

Even if he couldn’t see, speak to, or approach Evan, Barty needed to be near him. He couldn’t stay away. Hearing his voice was comforting. It was only a one-word answer forced out with half-growl, but it was something.

Frank leaned forward and flicked the back of his ear hard. “Don’t be an arsehole or I’ll kick you out. Not everyone wants to have their guts rearranged by your ex.”

“Then they’re idiots.”

“His dick is that good, huh?” Frank teased. “Are you addicted to it?”

“Love is a serious mental disease,” Barty deadpanned.

“Prat. Which one was that?”

“Plato.”

Next Part>>>

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Return to the Water

Chapter Two: Stupid New Legs

AO3 one two three four five six seven eight nine

Falling off the earth’s face, I watch your eyes glaze. I taste the salt on your skin.— Simple Creatures, One Little Lie

Lea’s scales prickled at first, and then they burned like they’d been doused in acid. As they dissolved into smooth, pale skin, her throat also began to burn as it reworked itself for speech above water. Her hisses and whimpers of pain turned into screams and sobs, and the human was babbling, asking what the hell was going on and how he could help, as if he hadn’t already done enough, and then the pain finally—finally—ebbed. Her skin ached, as did her throat, but at least she didn’t feel the need to scream anymore.

“What the fuck, what are you—“

“I knew human men were foolish,” she gasped out hoarsely, “but honestly, how could it be more obvious that I’m a mermaid?”

“A what?” he sputtered in disbelief.

Lea snapped her gaze up at him again. “Yes, a mermaid. And you’ve stolen my season.”

“I don’t understand—“

“Of course you don’t,” she muttered in annoyance. “Just my luck to get stuck with a freakin’ mate.”

“A what?” he squeaked. 

“A mate,” she snapped. “My body is under the mistaken impression that we have agreed to…” She thought better of finishing her sentence. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure out a way home without that.”

“Can… can I help?” he asked hesitantly. “What’s, uh… what’s your name?”

She pursed her lips. “Lea,” she said, pushing herself up as best she could so as to sit.

Her legs were bare, and she had one of those weird scale-free butts. She’d never seen a bare human one, and was terribly uncomfortable with the prospect of him seeing hers, even though it was new. She tried to situate her legs so he wouldn’t see the area of her body around her hips that humans seemed to like to conceal.

He was staring at her chest with wide eyes, a flush spreading over his high cheekbones. “That’s… that’s a pretty name. I’m Timothée.”

“What’re you staring at?” she asked suspiciously.

“You don’t have anything covering your, uh…” His gaze was still fixed on her chest, so she glanced down at herself, only to find that her seaweed wrappings must have come undone when she pulled him ashore and were gone, resulting in her breasts only having what cover her hair provided; not that she didn’t have a decent amount of hair—she would later discover it reached the bendy part of her legs; her knees, as they were called—but rather that her breasts were on the larger side and therefore difficult to conceal. Strands of her hair were plastered to her wet skin— how had she not noticed?

She squeaked in horror, covering her breasts as best she could with her arms—though with their size, it really just meant she could cover herself from the nipples down, and they were pressed tightly together, displaying more cleavage than she was used to—and trying to scoot herself backwards into the water. Her stupid new legs weren’t fucking cooperating, though. They were weird and numb and she couldn’t seem to move them.

“Can I help?” the man—Timothée—asked again.

“I think you’ve done enough, human,” she informed him, still trying to force her stupid legs to work.

“Oh.” He blinked down at her, looking confused. “What have I done, exactly?”

“I told you, you stole my season.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” he admitted. “Something about, uh… mates, you said?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You needn’t concern yourself with that.” What did he want? Did he want the same thing her father had wanted from her mother, to use her body—somehow, she didn’t know how, exactly, strictly speaking—and hurt her? She wouldn’t let him. She’d rip his throat out with her teeth if she had to.

He frowned. “Okay, uh… look, let me help you, okay?”

“I have no reason to believe you actually want to help me,” she informed him slowly, watching him with wary eyes. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m a particularly tasty fish; do humans eat each other or something?”

“Oh, um.” He reddened further, swallowing. “No, I— I’m sorry, your skin is so pale that it caught me off guard. I’m just trying to help, I swear. Getting you back home, like you said, or helping you with your, uh, your season? It’s my fault you’re here, isn’t it?” He hesitated. “I dunno, I just want to help.”

She glanced down at her skin, which was almost translucent under the light of the rising sun. She supposed it was paler than his. “Can you change me back?”

“Back into a mermaid?” he managed, blinking very rapidly at her.

“No, into a dolphin,” she said sarcastically, her discomfort and fear overriding her usual anxiousness, making her prickly. “Yes, into a mermaid. Obviously.”

“Not that I know of; I didn’t even know mermaids were real until just now.”

Lea knew one way he could change her back, but it was out of the question. She raised her eyebrows at him, tightening her arms over her breasts. She felt terribly strange about the idea of him seeing them again. “Then how could you possibly help me?”

His hair was plastered to his face. Why was he so pretty? It was incredibly distracting and it made her all the more anxious.

“I don’t know,” Timothée admitted, “but I want to help. You— you saved me, y’know? I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t.”

“Yes, well,” she said tightly, “you’re welcome, I guess.”

“Should I take you to a doctor, maybe?”

Lea shook her head firmly. “Your doctors can do even less to help me than you can.”

He brightened at that, kneeling down before her in the wet sand. “So there is something I can do?”

Shit, she thought. I slipped up, how do I—

“You said before that I ‘stole’ your season and then you mentioned something about getting stuck with a mate. Did you mean me?”

Lea bared her teeth at him again, hissing in warning, and lowered herself closer to the sand to search for her obsidian knife without looking away from the threat he posed.

“Did you just— did you just hiss at me?” he sputtered in disbelief. “And— and what’re you looking for?”

“My knife,” she informed him, still watching him closely. “Don’t come closer, human, or I may slit your throat once I find it.”

Timothée's eyes widened, and he shivered. “You saved me just to kill me?” 

“I expected to be back home by now whether I saved you or not,” she pointed out. “I’ve never killed before and I’d rather not start now, but if it’s between that and you doing to me whatever twisted things human men like to do to females of your kind, then yes, I’ll kill you.”

The human stared at her in shocked disbelief. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said slowly, placatingly. She bared her teeth at him again, and he said, “No, really, I just want to help.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Would your knife make you feel better? I can find it for you.”

Lea snorted, the sound oddly melodic to his ears. "Help? How could a human possibly help me?"

Timothée hesitated, as if unsure of how to answer. "I... I don't know. But I have resources, connections. Maybe there's something or someone out there that can help you. Please, just give me a chance to try.”

She stayed low to the sand, feeling safer there, somehow. “If you truly wish to help me,” she said slowly, deliberately, “then yes, I would like my knife back.” After a moment, she added, “And some seaweed, please.”

He looked at her funny, but nodded and moved swiftly away from her.

She could breathe easier with him further away from her, but she didn’t feel as if she could tear her gaze from him. Not without her knife on hand, at least.

After several minutes, he returned, knife in one hand and seaweed in the other. She watched him closely as he lowered the knife to the sand several feet from her before standing back up and nudging it towards her with his weird human body. The second it was in reach, she snatched up the blade, swift as lightning. The familiar bone hilt was comforting in her palm, and, feeling more secure now, she gestured to the seaweed with the blade. 

Timothée nodded, hesitantly stepping towards where she sat and dropping the seaweed before her. “Can I help?”

“No,” she said flatly. “Not unless you go get me a piece of cloth large enough to wrap my useless human legs in.”

“Uh…” He hesitated. “Yeah, I can… I can try to find something.”

Lea nodded, resting the knife within grabbing distance and beginning to weave some new seaweed wrappings for herself. She disliked him being able to see her bare breasts.

It didn’t take her long to weave her wrappings anymore (stupid things were always falling off when she got jostled too much), so when he returned awhile later, she was already tying them around her body with deft, practiced hands.

“I got you a towel,” Timothée said, sounding rather hesitant.

Lea held her hands out to accept the sandy piece of fabric he was offering her and laid it over the lower half of her body.

“Can’t believe I lost my other one,” she grumbled to herself in annoyance, tightening the knot of seaweed she’d tied between her breasts. “It had pearls sewn into it.”

“Huh?”

She looked up at the human. “I was talking to myself.”

“Oh.” He paused. “What were you talking about? What had pearls in it?”

“My wrappings.” She gestured to her chest vaguely, and he glanced down at it.

“Oh, you… covered up…” He sounded disappointed, almost, and she recalled her mother’s warning that human men had a strange fascination with the bodies of women. She glanced briefly at where her knife lay in the sand, the obsidian glinting in the light of the rising sun.

“I need to find a witch,” Lea informed him, not bothering with a segue.

“A what?”

“A witch,” she repeated impatiently. “Someone who does magic. There are some who live amongst the humans; I know there are. I need to find one.”

“Why?” he asked slowly.

“To change me back,” she explained slowly, an expression of disbelief and frustration on her face. Were all humans this slow, or was it just him?

“O… kay,” he enunciated carefully. “I’ll help you however I can.”

She looked him up and down, this long, thin human man. “Alright,” she decided after a long moment.

“Okay, great. We should go find a resort or something.” He jerked his chin in the direction opposite the water. “There’s one over there. C’mon.”

He turned around to start walking away. “Hey,” she said grumpily, “I can’t walk, human. How am I supposed to get from here to there?”

He turned back around, staring at her pensively. “Okay,” he decided. “Wrap the towel around yourself if you want.”

She frowned, confused, but did as she’d been told. It looked like some of the wraps she’d seen some human women wear. She’d only just tied a knot in the fabric at her hip when she was lifted off the wet sand.

Big thanks to my beta @lilmaymayy Tag list:

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake @camille-1019 @lixzey @shycreationdreamland @gossamer19

To be added, please ask 💗

[synamartia]

Ya'll... when I tell you about the fucking week I just had...

So by now all of you are aware that my phone died and I wasn't able to be online until I could get it fixed. Well! Come to find out, it would have cost more to fix the screen than to just buy a new phone outright, so I just did that. It was a downgrade, but with all the issues my old phone was having aside from the cracked screen, it's still ten times better than what I had. Bought the phone, got everything transferred, went about my day as usual and went to bed early that night.

Guys. When I woke up, I thought I was fucking DEAD I felt so shitty. I didn't know what the fuck was going on. All I knew was I was freezing my ass off while sweating like a warthog in a sauna, I couldn't see straight, and my throat hurt so bad I couldn't speak. That's not an exaggeration, I literally couldn't speak - let alone eat or drink. Found out I was running a temp of 103 the first couple of days and all I did was sleep, and my tonsils were so swollen that even drinking water was painful. Eventually my fever broke and the swelling did go down, but now it fucking BURNS when I swallow anything like I just downed four shots of Everclear with a tabasco sauce chaser. Still not sure what exactly it was, but so far no one else in my house has gotten it, so I'm not even sure if it was something contagious - which just brings up a shit ton of questions about what it was and how I got it. i also can't sneeze without pain shooting down my neck which is great cause it's ALLERGY SEASON YAY

So, suffice to say, my tolerance for social interaction has been very minimal this past week and I haven't had a chance to get any writing done (at least it was my weekend off). I'm still not back to 100% but I'm getting there! Just wanted to give you guys a quick update, so now I'm gonna go take a zinc tab, get my kids in bed, and then try to crank out that teaser I promised ya'll~! ❤️

Side note: the 23rd was my youngest daughter's 4th birthday, and this kid. Omfg she cracks me up. So bedtime rolls around and my kid, she's watching these DIY videos for like fidget toys or whatever, and she sees one of those pimple popping toys. She runs up to me and is trying to get me to watch it (I'm barely conscious at this point btw) and she points to her forehead and tells me that she has pimples on her face, and that she needs one of those toys to pop instead. She literally just turned 4, and I tell her pimples don't happen until you're a teen (in my case, at least), and that she's got about ten more years to go before she's a teen. Then I ask her if she knows how long ten years is, and how far away into the future it is. She screams yeah, so I ask her how far.

This kid. This fucking kid. She proceeds to press herself against the wall of our living room, then runs across the length of it and down our hallway until she straight slams herself into our bathroom door (sort of like inexperienced skaters stop themselves at a roller rink by skating into that half wall), then yells back at me "THIS FAR!" I fucking died it hurt so much but I couldn't stop laughing 🤣☠️It was worth it though! ❤️

[deepfriedpaddymayne]

i feel like augustin was making paddy's storyline a bit less bleak than it was historically and i was looking forward to seeing what they would do with them in s2. well, i guess joke's on us for getting attached to a frenchman...

I put off answering this ask because I KNEW that the moment I did I would start rambling and it sounds like that time has come so I am sorry in advance my friend

But, yeah, you've hit the nail on the head. Part of my attachment to having Augustin in s2, and to Augustin and Paddy, is specifically the fact that I just would really, REALLY like for Paddy to heal. I know that historical Paddy Mayne never really recovered from Eoin McGonigal's death, but they have taken other narrative liberties with the show and characters, and also, and this is kinda snarky, I just don't think that makes for a very interesting storyline to watch? Obviously grief in real life CAN be, and often is, like that, but when you are watching a show, you don't wanna sit through a character stuck in the same loop of grief for four seasons. Especially because (1)this show is not a tragedy. Yes, tragic things happen, but an important element of tragedy is the futility of the characters' actions to prevent the tragedy from happening. While this story STARTS with a tragedy, that first jump that doomed so many of them, we know that it won't END that way, because we know that most of these men will live, and more importantly, we know that their actions are not futile. With that in mind, the idea of Paddy's ending being him alone with his grief doesn't really sit well with me. Also because, (2) it's not like it would be hard to showcase that a part of Paddy will forever be defined by the loss of Eoin, while still giving him a healing process and a happier ending than he got to have IRL (there is a whole other rant here about how queer people engage with historical fiction and especially biographical historical fiction, which I actually wrote a wholeass essay about a few years ago lmao. Anyway).

And at least for me, it's important that part of that healing process DOES involve him having a romantic relationship again (I would be fine with it being just implied, the way it was with Eoin, though I would prefer it if it wasn't, because if Stirling gets to fuck his made up girlfriend in the sand, then Paddy should be allowed to kiss a man, but I digress). And the reason for that is that... ok, let's talk about Eoin. We actually know SO little about Eoin. There are hints here and there, but Eoin's main role within the story is loving Paddy (and also dying. And haunting the narrative). Which is fascinating, because I feel like while Paddy is casual about it, he does have a bit of a Thing about being unlovable and unlikeable - he tries to own up to it, but he slips a few times, like when he remarks that he will go to Stirling's funeral because Stirling liked him, FOR SOME REASON, and also his general deer-caught-in-headlights look when Eoin offers him affection, like he can't quite believe it's happening. Which is partly why the loss of Eoin hits SO hard - because Eoin loved him, in spite of everything about him, Eoin loved him so much that it was his main defining trait. And I fully believe that once he died, Paddy also saw that as losing the only chance he was ever going to get at love, because who else could ever love him, when he has the heart's invisible furies within him?

And THAT'S when Augustin enters. He meets Paddy at his absolute worst, he watches him try to prove to him how ~fucked up and terrible~ he is...  and he is immediately delighted. Like, yes, Paddy and Augustin drive each other up the wall IMMEDIATELY, but also Augustin likes him SO MUCH. My man watched Paddy try to shoot himself in front of him to prove a point, after manhandling him into the sand and holding a knife to his throat, and then was like omg girlllll are you single? Yes and that's why you are like this? Oh I am sorry but also good to know. AND THEN HE WATCHED HIM ATTACK HIS FRIENDS BECAUSE OF A FUCKING PIANO and was still just so happy and charmed when Paddy's way of apologising was cooking them a gazelle and suffering NO consequences. Like GOD he was down SO bad SO quickly, and that was after seeing the absolute WORST of Paddy, and sure, that's because Augustin is also insane, but so is Paddy, so they'd be great together. And I think that would have been so meaningful, for Augustin to grab Paddy's cheeks and squeeze them and go, "FUCK YOU, I AM GOING TO LOVE YOU, WITH ALL THE DEMONS". Can you imagine? What it would be like for Paddy, who thinks he's never going to be loved again, to have someone who doesn't just love him in spite of the warning signs, but because of them?

The way I see it, with Augustin out of the picture, there are two possible routes the show can take. The first is remaining closer to history, probably giving him some sort of healing process that involves his community but without a romance, accepting that Paddy's chances at romantic love really did die with Eoin. Which would be, like, fine, but I have already explained why I don't love it. Or, they give Paddy a different romance, but the thing is that I sincerely doubt they are gonna be able to manage something that's as interesting as whatever Paddy and Augustin have got going on - they've really captured such a unique, fascinating dynamic, and I don't think they could replicate it with a different character. Similarly, the new character would either not experience Paddy at his worst, which makes the romance less meaningful imo, or they would just have to make Paddy regress to episode 5 levels of insanity again, which would not be especially interesting to watch, since WE HAVE ALREADY SEEN IT.

so, yeah. tbh I am just going to put on my clown nose and large shoes and bright coloured wig and hope that we get Augustin back for s3, cause I do genuinely think he is the best character progression possible for Paddy. and also because I want my insane frenchman back goddamnit

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And I... Chapter Four, a Malevolent Fic

Demands and dessert.

Final fics of Surrogate, season one: 3/4. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

----

John was not okay. “How much longer? Is he okay? What are they doing? Where did they go? What are they talking about?” And he wailed yet again: “Does Arthur still need me?”

Hastur was silent.

It’s been about ten minutes, the All-Mother said again, having answered this volley a dozen times already. With the humans gone, she’d stretched out, her form warping and expanding to something a bit more comfortable. Guises were fine, but she preferred not to wear them. I’m not bringing them back until you two have a little chat of your own.

Hastur was silent.

“I will not talk to him,” John snarled. “After what he did? I’m not saying a fucking word.”

I’m not giving you a choice in the matter, sweetie. She got up, clopping forward on a thousand rolling hooves, and two gentle hands pressed the mug back into Hastur’s hands. Now, Hastur… you’ve disobeyed long enough. I understand what you’re going through. I really, really do. She cupped her hands around his, so motherly, so tender, even though those hands could simply squeeze and turn his flesh to jelly. But I need you to drink.

He finally looked up as though coming back into this world. “Why?” 

Because when that little girl comes back, she’s going to need you, the Black Goat said. And when you get back to Carcosa—when you go home—you’re going to need to be at your best. But before that? You two need to have a talk. Face to face, no Arthur in the way.  

Hastur looked at the drink. Sure. It didn’t matter. He drank glumly, staring at nothing.

The selenine worked instantly, flooding his torn limbs with power and repairing the new tears in his cloak with the surge of magic.

Hey. Hastur? Listen to me. A tentacle gripped his chin, forcing his mask upward, forcing him to meet her million eyes. I know our last meeting did not go well for you, but I need you to understand: I’m rooting for all four of you. I brokered a deal with Kayne that, frankly, might have traumatized that girl a little bit so I could give the four of you time to put each other all back together. But that’s not going to happen if you and John are at each other's throats. Do you understand me?

“I…” Hastur seemed to be struggling to respond.“I… you… want me to… talk to John?”

“I’m not fucking talking to him!” John snarled. “There’s nothing fucking to talk about!”

You two can start by… Oh, well, he’s probably a bit too fresh of a wound, but how about this: you two should start talking about what happened the first time John was in the Dreamlands. With Arthur.

“Why?” said Hastur again.

“Because you fucking tortured him!” John snapped. “We had to fight for our lives—you fucking destroyed any ounce of self-confidence he had left. All he thinks about are the scars, and what happened in… in the… Faust, and…” He writhed, tentacles lashing, eyes pinpoints of furious golden light. No, not furious. Horrified.

Hastur was silent.

“I had to watch, over and over,” John said with a shudder. “Every fucking time he had to take a bite of Faust.”

“Yes,” said Hastur, softly. “Yes. I was cruel.”

“Cruel? Cruel?” John was shaking. “You fucking tortured both of us. I had to relive his death over, and over, and you know what? I’m not you. I realized how fucking bad it was, and I tried to stop.” That shudder again. “But you just kept coming. You wouldn’t stop. And then you fucking brought his kid into it, you miserable fuck.”

Another long pause. That just seemed to be Hastur’s speed at the moment. “Yes. Yes, I did. I did those things. I cannot undo them, Piece. What do you want me to say?”

“You can start with my fucking name!” John shrieked. “It’s John! John Doe, my name is John, and I don’t care if you don’t like it because even if we merge, I will be reminding you of it, every second of every minute of every hour, and you can’t fucking take that away from me!”

“As you wish.” Which was perhaps not the expected response. “I will not take it away from you.”

John was huffing, chest rising and falling with every breath—every breath that was brand-new, the sensation of air rushing into lungs, past teeth, down his throat. “And stop trying to take Arthur away from me too,” he said, his voice cracking. “I already lost… I lost my body. I lost my autonomy. I lost my… our…” And his voice cracked. Shattered.

“Our son.” It’s rough. It sounded like Hastur had smoked for a thousand years. “Yes. I did that. I will not take Arthur away from you.”

“But you keep trying,” John sobbed—and that golden fire began to spill from beneath his hood, over his hands as he pressed them to his face in a curiously human gesture. “Oh, gods, I don’t want to leave him. He changed me. I’m so fucking grateful that he changed me, and I never want to go back to being anything like you. We lost our son, and I didn’t—I didn’t even remember him, until you prompted me. I can’t lose Arthur too.”

Another pause. Hastur’s breathing is deep, heavy. “I will not take Arthur from you.” Lower still. “You love him. You should tell…” But it just trailed off, like a candle going out. 

“It’s not that simple,” John groaned. “It’s—it’s just not.” But his head rocked back, then, the hood falling away from his—their—face. “But you get it, now. What you did to him. And…” He took a deep breath. “Fuck you, but thank you. When he threw us, you saved him. Saved us.” Another breath. “And you saved her. That… I think that means more than anything else, especially to him. That stupid fucking idiot then went back in to save you.”

“Foolish.” Soft. Condemning.

“Moronic.” Frustrated. Affectionate.

Hastur was barely audible. “Any further demands, Lord John?” There was no tone to it, no inflection.

John squinted at him. “I want Arthur to start getting dessert again,” he said. “When we go home. He’s done all the work. He’s earned it.”

Hastur’s cogs seemed to be slowing back down. “He may have dessert.”

John was quiet for another moment. “You really do love her. Don’t you?”

“I would not have returned from my son’s place of sacrifice, did I not.”

“Arthur was right,” John said softly. “She changed you. Just like Arthur changed me.”

Hastur was silent.

“I’m sorry,” John said, his voice very quiet. “I wish we had known what we knew now, years ago. Maybe things would have been different, then.”

“I did this,” Hastur said. “I crashed this ship. All has foundered. Lost; lost. It is lost.”

John stared at him. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said. “It’s not all lost. Arthur has been telling me for years that things have changed, and he was right. He was right about a lot of things, and never fucking once has he ever said anything bad about you to that girl,” he snarled. “Arthur has been doing a better goddamn job at navigating this than either of us. He’s fucking put himself back together after you broke him, for that girl. He saved you, and—” his voice broke again. “He’s been trying to convince me to… to reunite with you.” He let out a soft sob. “That fool.”

“You put him back together, John. Let us not deceive in the wake of our loss.” And without hesitation: “It would be poorly done, I think. Though I fear his safety could be at issue.” Whatever the hell all THAT meant.

John paused. Stared up at him. Yes, whatever the hell all that meant. “You’re going to have to put in the work,” John said, beginning an entirely different conversation. “But Arthur trusts you. He’s a fucking moron to do so, and there are things I will never fucking forgive you for. But, for Faroe… It doesn’t matter.” He took a breath. “She’s just a kid, Hastur. And you’re her Dad.”

“Yes.” Hastur still looked at nothing, monotone. “She will thrive. And Arthur will have his dessert. And I will try to help you. We should return home. Soon. Is there aught else you wish to say to me?”

Well, this guy was obviously fucked up. “Are… Are you going to be okay?” A beat. “Are we going to be okay?”

“You will. I… don’t know.”

“Are you willing to try?” His voice is firm. “For her.”

“I would not be here otherwise. John…” And then he stopped again.

There was something familiar about this moment. Something eerily like a night six years ago. The stuttering communication, the drifting thoughts. “What?” said John.

“I am glad you have changed.”

John was quiet for a long moment. “I’m glad you’ve changed too. I think.” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe… Maybe we can both fix all this. Together?”

“Fix.” Hastur just said the word, flat. In his head, he heard the moment again, pleading to no one—too late, too late, please, he just needed more time—“Let me fix this. Let me try. My son, I…”

There had been no more time.

“Fix. Repair. Restore.” A pause. “Rebuild. Or… Or maybe just build something, instead of destroying.”

Hastur didn’t answer.

“Hastur.” It’s a growl. “We’re going to. Alright? We’re fucking going to fix this, if I have to drag your big squirmy ass behind Arthur with my hand.”

Hastur managed one, low laugh, a single heh of barely-surviving humor. “John… I would give all the gold in the treasury to see you manage that.”

John’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ll call you on that, so I can buy Arthur some clothes that aren’t fucking yellow.”

Hastur paused. “Ah,” he said, as though that statement made him realize something.

“What now?” snapped John.

Aw, boys, Shub-Niggurath sighed. This is just lovely, I really hate to interrupt. Are you ready?

Hastur stood. He did not face her; he stood quiet, his head bowed. “Yes.”

The Great Mother twisted, contorting herself into a form easier on the eyes of mortals, and when she waved her hand, Arthur and Faroe stepped from the trees, faces streaked with tears, hand in hand.

They were perfect together. Hastur saw it when she was three; he saw it now.

He ached.

Her expression broke. “Daddy,” she sobbed, and she ran directly into his arms.

He gathered her up, but hesitantly, hesitant, and shuddered. “I’m so sorry, Faroe. My daughter. I brought all of this upon you. I thought to spare you pain, and I have not. I failed you.”

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice soft and hoarse. “We can talk about it w-when we go home. Can we go home?” She sank into his many arms, pulling his tentacles around her like a blanket.

His sigh was so deep. “Yes, my daughter. Now.” 

One second, honey. They need this.

Arthur stared at John. “She forgave me. She forgave me, John.”

John crept closer to him, inch by agonizing inch, hovering—and he glanced at Shub-Niggurath.

Go ahead, baby.

“But you said—”

I’m keeping everything all wrapped up so you don’t accidentally blow him up. Go ahead.

And John… reached. He reached with his left hand, hesitant and halting, and gently his fingertips brushed against Arthur’s right hand. “Arthur,” he whispered, a shadow wrapped in cloth of gold.

Arthur stepped right into him, fearless, almost as if it was a relief to press his face into John’s heat instead of just being out in the open. He clung.

John’s arms snapped shut around him. He was hugging Arthur, and he would have sobbed if not for the fact his tears would burn his foolish, magnificent human. He buried his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, felt the flutter of the man’s pulse against his mouth, took a deep breath—gods, he would remember this scent forever.

Arthur made a small sound, and tension melted away from him. He was aware as John wrapped more and more limbs around him, aware he was being closed in, but it didn’t… feel bad.

At all.

“John,” he breathed.

John’s tentacles crept up Arthur’s legs. 

Arthur shivered once.

This was getting scary. Time for a redirect. “Arthur. Shake my hand,” John rumbled.

“What?” Arthur said, a laugh on his breath. “All right, you whacko.” He twisted just enough to manage it.

John gave it a vigorous shake. “I—I missed you. I missed you! My friend!”

Arthur managed a laugh—and John knows Arthur’s laughs. This one is light. Lighter,  maybe, than any he’s heard in years. John began to laugh too. It was still dark, and huge, but it also bright, and there might have been a flash of teeth in the darkness beneath that hood, but it was alright because it was John. John.

John, his friend.

John, his—

Oh, I hate to break the two lovebirds up, Shub-Niggurath sighed. But we’re short on time. Ready?

“No,” John said.

Arthur stayed leaning, squeezing every last second of contact from this. “As ready as we’ll ever be. I guess.”

Close your eyes, Arthur. It’ll make this a bit easier.

He looked at his daughter (and Hastur, too, though his mind refused to contain that image).  Then he looked at John. Then he obeyed.

He felt John return before anything else—like the sensation of putting on the watch one always wore, or returning a ring back to its finger, or sinking into the warmth of one’s favorite sweater, and when he opened his eyes he saw nothing. He sighed. “John?”

I’m here, Arthur.

“Glad you’re back. It was empty in there.” He wiped his leaky eyes.

I can tell. Cobwebs all over the place. There was a pleased rumble in it.

“She forgave me, John. She knows. And she forgave me.”

His left hand took his right. Tell me all about it when we get back?

“Yes,” Arthur said softly. “I will. Where’s…”

“Here,” Hastur murmured. Faroe lay in his arms, quiet, her arms wrapped around one of his tentacles, and Nibbles pressed against his other side, for once not fighting him, biting him, snarling. 

Again—he did not grab.

Hesitant. That was the word. It did not fit him well.

Three steps ahead. To your left. There.

“Hastur,” Arthur said, his voice gentle. “Let’s go home.”

#

The portal home was quick. Effortless. Hastur suspected that the Great Mother may have eased their passage, and at this point he was far too tired to question it.

The throne room was dark and empty—it must have been close to midnight. Gingerly he set Arthur down, Faroe shortly after. Nibbles shook and trotted after, her face splitting in a great yawn.

So quiet, though. Unnervingly so. He lacked the emotional currency to deal with it. “We… must rest,” Hastur said, and it was not a command.

Hesitant.

Faroe swallowed. “Can I go to your room tonight?”

“Yes.” Hastur’s voice was soft. “Perhaps we all should—”

The lights shut off with a bang, like some old fashioned spotlight, and they all jumped.

And from the dark, from the far end of the room, a single voice stuttered through what could barely be called a tune. “Ha… ppy birth… day…. To you! Ha… ppy birth… day… to you. Ha… ppy biiiiirth…day….” The voice grew. “Dear… Farooooooe…”

And suddenly lights blazed, shocking, blinding, directly in their eyes.

Hastur grabbed them all, even Nibbles, holding them close, but there was no sparing this. The bizarre sound of an audience cheering wildly came from who knew where.

And then he was there, right in front of them, holding a messy birthday cake. Diminutive, comparatively, just the size of a human being—but his shadow stretched, and stretched, and grew behind him, eating the rest of the room, so that it seemed like the spotlit place where Hastur, John, Arthur, Nibbles, and Faroe stood was the last island of existence left in all the universe.

“Happy biiiiiiiirthday,” Kayne belted, “Toooooooo youuuuuuuuuuuuuu!”

The unseen audience exploded in applause.

Kayne winked. “And… action.”

Somewhere, a grandfather clock struck twelve.

------------

Notes:

Hastur’s quote was from "The Wreck of the Hesperus" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

[faunandfl0ra]

TIMING: A couple weeks ago LOCATION: inflorescence PARTIES: Conor & Karen SUMMARY: Conor tries to explain to a stubborn woman that he doesn't have the roses she's searching for. He's no jedi but he knows how to get rid of a nuisance. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

“There’s no need to raise your voice,” you fucking moron. The words remained stuck in his throat. Keeping it inside certainly couldn’t count as lying, but it hurt him anyway not to tell that woman his truths. 

She had walked in already 10 minutes ago, with the hopes, the dreams, that he made a bouquet of pitch black roses for her. He didn’t like roses. People always wanted roses. He didn’t like monochrome, monotype bouquets either. Nothing about the bouquets already made and sitting on shelves made one think that this was the place for those. He preferred to work with locally grown flowers, with seasonal flowers too. Black roses were technically possible to find, in the middle of summer, in Turkey. He had told her this. He had told her this four, maybe five times already. 

 Still, she persisted. 

“You’re lying,” she finally spat. The faun sighed, his shoulders dropping as he stared at a piece of lint on her shoulder. Her outfit was otherwise spotless, curated to look flawless. The urge to pick at it was repressed, and he picked up a pen from the cup on the counter, making it turn on the edge of his middle finger. “I’m lying?” He replied, his expression remaining the same, jaded one he sported most days. “I sell flowers for a living, I won’t make a lot of money if I lie to -” She cut him off then, shouting LIES, LIES, LIES. He didn’t like when people did that. Why did people do that ? “I saw my friend’s Facebook story,” she spat, pointing her finger in his direction. Again, why did people do that ? “She had a dozen black roses delivered to her, and she tagged your shop in the post.” Though he understood only half of the words she said, something about her story didn’t sit right with the faun, who would have been aware if his shop had a Facebook page. 

“I want my fucking flowers,” her voice kept on getting more shrill. He pushed the heels of his hands against his eyeballs, in an attempt to contain himself. He didn’t see her get the pen cup on the counter and throw it on the floor. He just heard it fall and shatter, the pens scatter around, and the sound of her voice as she shouted : “Look at me and give me my FUCKIN-” he should have seen this one coming. “Shut the fuck up,” he didn’t scream often, he cherished his quiet too much. Conor’s eyes locked with hers for the first time. She opened her mouth to say something, but like a fish, wasn’t able to produce a sound. If he’d known a bit more about his species, he would have known that the havoc she was causing was the perfect ground for chaotic energy like the one he exuded naturally. When was the last time he had fed anyway? “Why don’t we go look at the flowers in the back?” She nodded her head with enthusiasm. This was disgusting. To think that some fae did it all for fun. Taping a paper on the front door Back in 10 minutes, it read, Conor walked after her, picking up his violin’s case from the backroom. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t forget to give her back her voice once he was done. 

[awesomesaucem]

Ayoooooo so i use ai text to speech to play back my writing to listen for any funkiness and I think i found the most realistic free one. Not trying to endorse anything or make any pro ai post or anything it was just cool as fuck to listen to this and go "holy shit i wrote that"

like it just sounds so professional you know?

anyway heres a quick little peak at chapter four of TWCIW because I need to share something to let you know i havent given up on this fic i promise!!

writing under cut

He swirled the brandy in his glass with a heavy sigh; his daughter’s words echoing in his mind. It should have been you. Lips curled up in a snarl, more angry with himself than the rest of the world, he tosses back the last of the dregs and reaches to pour another. It’s been almost a month since Marianne sailed away with Roland. Almost a month since he ignored each and every sign of trepidation in her eyes. The same girl who bounced on his knee in fits of contagious giggles was now left to the mercy of the tides. He supposed there were worse ways to go. But not many. The burn in his throat did little to soothe the one in his heart and dragging a calloused palm across his face blinked away the threat of tears as if he could will it. Marianne. The day she was born he swore the clouds parted the sky just for her. It was midfall and the Gods did not favor Summerland that season. Howling winds and thunderous hail sent everyone cowering, praying for a break in the turmoil as little Marianne’s wails were ready to mingle with her people’s. She never got the chance. Eerily, the rains stopped along with her arrival almost miraculously and her parents convinced each other she was their own tiny miracle. Her mother looked out her infirmary window at the sun peaking through the clouds; light glinting off the still churning waves, and tearfully thanked the realms. Marianne, they called her right then. Star of the sea. Wriggling and caked in viscera, even as a newborn she damn near fought anyone that dared to touch her. Shrill cries and writhing limbs, however small, fought their fight well and good to the coos that surrounded her. Dagda bowed to kiss his wife’s sweat matted forehead while his arms dwarfed both of his girls and he believed for the first time in his life that helped to put something good into the world. Now, he wasn’t so sure. “It should have been you,” his broken words echoed into the glass as it tipped back once more. “It should have been you.”

[kandadiff]

~

"So you want me to look hot but I can't have time to get ready?" Maddy spat at her paramour, Nate from the front seat. They had been arguing since you left the hotel thirty minutes ago. Thirty minutes of listening to them argue while you were in the backseat made you think you were in some seventh circle of hell.

"No its obviously not that Maddy!" Nate countered. "I gave you four hours to get ready and yet we're still late."

"Its a party!" She said exasperated and you thanked god when you finally parked and saw the house. Nate was the first to get out, opening the door for Maddy then you and putting his hand possessively on hers.

"Are you going to give me an attitude the whole rest of the night?" She looked up at him, her tone dripping with attitude.

"Are you going to give me a reason?" He asked and you huffed making your way up to the party yourself. You had enough of them.

As soon as you made your way into the house you smiled, the party was in full swing by this point. Plus, the music was good, people were talking and dancing and the drinks were flowing, it didn't take you long to find a drink and even less to drink one. A group of girls pulling you over and demand you shotgun a beer with them - you won. Impressed, they challenged you two more times and you were happily buzzed by the time you walked away from them and deeper into your element.

“Cheers to season two!!” Damien shouted a group was gathered around him with various shot glasses in their hands. You recognized a few people, Draven and Makayla, Evan, Jackson and Jennie but there was a large group of men you didn't recognize. It was obvious they were a Kpop group given the fact they were all Korean and looked a bit nervous around everyone like they were searching for people filming them and you noticed how they moved together. Like BTS or GOT7 used to before they got comfortable around everyone. "Don't worry." Damien said making a face as the liquor burned his throat then he laughed throwing his arm around the biggest one. "Whats your name?"

"Um.. Wonho." he laughed, the still filled shot in his large hands. "You're- you're Damien right?" He was nervous and you found it adorable. You moved closer only to get a better look at him and once you did you breath left your body. He was gorgeous - no beyond gorgeous. His mile was so infectious it made you giggle like you were in school.

"Damien! Yes my name is Damien!" Damien laughed and you could tell he was on something or maybe drunk. "but Don't worry, Wonho. Today is a day to celebrate us coming into this house together! To wish good luck to everyone! To-" he hiccuped "welcome the new people like you and you and you" he said that to all the newer faces around him before "And of course you Wonho! Without cameras and them" he motioned around him but you couldn't tell where he was pointing. "they assure that."

"so" He relaxed his hold on Wonho and winked. "drink up!" The crowd around him cheered and quickly someone came to fill up the drinks and you were handed one. "Cheers again!" he shouted and tossed another shot back. You followed him, the expensive liquor going down smooth with a pleasant aftertaste. "A few more of these and i’ll be skinny dipping in the pool” he chuckled. You were about to go up to him when someone pushed into you causing the glass to shoot out your hands and bang on the floor though the sound was lost in the crowd. Your eyes followed the rude person that didn't even apologize and you saw a girl with long dark hair clinging onto Damien. You watched his joyous mood quickly turn and his eyebrow furrowed, his blue eyes darkening. "Who the fuck is touching my Lenore?"

You looked around for Lenore. Getting to know Damien in season 1 made you two fast friends and one thing you learned about him was he wasn't particular over a lot of stuff but no one could touch his prized guitar. You didn't know much about guitars but from what people told you, it was a very good one - gifted to him by some famous guitarist who he named Lenore.

You finally got a look at the girls face, not recognizing her when he turned and pointed her manicured finger toward a deeper part of the house. "I told her to give it to me but she kept yelling at me not to touch it!" the girl pouted, her green eyes looking up at him and you could feel yourself making a face. He sighed handing her the empty cup and teary bumped into you as he moved towards where she pointed too.

"Shit" he steadied you, the seeing who you were gave you a quick hug. "See me later, I wanna drink with you." With that he moved to find the person who had Lenore.

~

"🎶Oh, Maria, Maria,She reminds me of a west side story. Growing up in Spanish Harlem. She's living the life just like a movie star." I sung to myself as I swung around the guitar and danced through the hallway. "Oh, Maria, Maria. She fell in love in East L.A To the sounds of the guitar, yeah, yeah Played by Carlos Santana." I strummed the guitar and it did not sound how it did in my head. I made a face. "You don't like me, do you Lenore?" I spoke to the guitar before laughing and putting the strap around my body so I would drop it "Well I saved your ass girl so a thank you would be nice!" - though dancing with it wasn't that safe either... doesn't matter she had a good time, a better time then those weirdos I took her from.

After leaving the bedroom, I was trying to avoid Robin. I had no idea if I looked high or not so I was trying to find a bathroom to splash water on my face when I saw a guy attempting to seduce a group of girls while playing one of Damien's songs on his prized guitar. I demanded the guitar and when that didn't work. I kicked him, took her and ran away and found myself in the less densely populated upstairs, talking to Lenore trying to figure out where to put her so no one touched her.

But as I walked toward the more crowded area, I was yanked back by the strap. I quickly grabbed the guitar and turned back ready to swing it on whoever was grabbing me like that when I saw the angry face of Damien. "We're you trying to get my attention or something?" I cocked an eyebrow confused and he pulled it off of me. "Why'd you take it."

"I didn't!" I pout "I saved it!"

"Saved it? What are you, high?" He spat and my eyes grew wide. Could he tell? How? I was so discreet? "Holy shit, you are."

"Am not! I'm just drunk." I shrugged "and your welcome! some guy was using Lenore to fuck some girls!" He gave me a look and I got angry.

"Sure." he growled. He didn't believe me and instead started inspecting his instrument. "I didn't think you'd come, you ignored every other invitation I gave you." I didn't say anything (because I couldn't - he was right) and instead just turned away but before I could get to far he said. "You're not going to tell me what you're on?"

"I'm not on anything!" I shouted back at him. "This is just me."

"Bullshit!" He spit back at me. "Find someone to watch you, in your state of mind you're probably a danger to yourself, huh?"

"What are you saying?" I hissed at him. He just smirked at me, like he was so clever. I grabbed at a beer bottle within arms reach, which was Nate's, drank the remaining contents and threw the bottle at Damien aiming for his head. It shattered on the wall behind him. Some people gasped, some people laughed, people whispered and others went back to party. Damien wasn't surprised - anger in his blue eyes were present though.

"Oh my god!" A skinny girl ran up to Damien, she fussed over him inpecting his arm near the wall that the bottle shattered at. "Are you okay?"

"I didn't hit him." I sneered at her rolling my eyes and walking through the crowd making my way over to the bar.

"No but he hit that!" I heard from the crowd followed by laughter. I grabbed the neck of a beer bottle ready to aim it at whoever said that when I heard a collective gasp and saw Nate walking over towards me.

He took the bottle from my hands, popped off the cap and drank it. His knuckles red and split open. I had to stand on my tip toes and moved around him a bit to see the guy that must’ve said that face down on the floor. Nate hit him. I laughed and looked up at him surprised. In season 1, I had barely interacted with him much outside of what I heard about him from Maddy I didn’t know him that well and I didn’t really want to. But he earned that beer.

“Cheers to that!” I smiled up at him and he laughed.

“Let me get you a drink.” He said simply and I shrugged following him.

~