#ch: icicle

[nyctoaerah]

Can u please post the other parts of Wish Granted?:( i can't open the links for some reasons and it says that I don't have the access to read it or something. I'm really hooked, but I'm sorry for bothering

-❤️‍🩹

WISH GRANTED: CH 2 & 3.

⋆♱⋆SYPNOSIS: In which, Eyeless jacks develops an infatuation with a grade A detective and ends up granting her wishes in the most twisted way.

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS: Gore, Mutilation, Mentions of Torture, Jack Being creepy.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS: Yandere! Eyeless Jack x Fem! Detective! Reader

⋆♱⋆PREV

⋆♱⋆NOTE: Hey pookie, idrk why it isn’t working for you because it’s working for me properly:( maybe you should restart your pc/phone? Or maybe it’s on your internet? I’ll try checking on the links later and revise them. But yeah, dw, it’s not a bother, i don’t mind it anyways. I’ll just post the other parts later<3.

Ps; Hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

⋆♱⋆MASTERLIST

AS SOON AS THOSE words reached your ears, a chill crept down your spine causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand at attention. Your heart dropped into your stomach, the thundering rhythm filling your ears drowning out all other sound. The blood seemed to freeze in your veins as icicles of dread rapidly spreads throughout your limbs, numbing you from head to toe. Your breathing became shallow and you were wide-eyed and unblinking, your pupils dilating until only a thin ring of iris remained,

That certainly wasn’t a news that you wanted to hear.

your grip on the phone faltered and it slipped from your trembling hands, crashing heavily onto the ground as your breath hitched in your throat.

“Your boyfriend and best friend were found dead.”

Those words kept repeating in your mind, the weight of those words bore down on you, sending an icy shiver cascading down your spine. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, leaving you unable to discern what you truly felt. Your breath caught in your throat, threatening to suffocate you as dizziness washed over you, threatening to pull you into unconsciousness.

‘But i was just with them a few hours ago...’

It hurts so much, it felt like your heart strings are about to break.

It was a tumultuous mix of fury, grief, betrayal, heartbreak, and a profound sense of self-pity that overwhelmed your senses. This day had already been marked by a series of unfortunate events, beginning with the painful revelation of your boyfriend’s infidelity and culminating in the relvelation that your closest confidant had been a traitor all along.

The news of their deaths hit like a tidal wave, crashing into the already shattered pieces of your heart.

You stumbled back, collapsing onto the closest piece of furniture that hadn’t been destroyed in your fit of rage. Your body shook with tremors, the weight of grief becoming almost too much to bear. Regret seeped into your veins, staining your conscience with a haunting question: Could you have prevented this?

As your mind raced, memories of your boyfriend and best friend flooded back. The joyous moments you had shared, the laughter, the support – all now overshadowed by the painful truth of their betrayal. How had you been so blind? Anger surged through you, sparked by the overwhelming hurt, as you cursed their names under your breath.

But amidst the anger, a profound sadness settled in, casting a bleak shadow over your soul. You mourned not only the loss of their lives but also the friendships and the love that was once so pure. The realization that you would never hear their voices again, never feel their warm embrace, tore through you like a serrated knife.

You needed to do something.

with trembling hands, you reluctantly reached for your phone, only to discover a crack on its screen. It must have happened when you dropped it. A heavy sigh escaped your lips. Your throat was dry and your eyes were bloodshot due to how much you've cried.

Using your shaky fingers, you unlocked your phone and wiped the moisture off the screen with your hands. As you opened it, a flood of notifications greeted you, including messages from Earl, Jhenicca, and others. Slowly, you navigated to your contacts and dialed the headquarters. They answered promptly, causing you to release a shaky breath.

“What happened?” you inquired, your voice raspy from the lack of moist and use.

“Lieutenant, how are you holding up?” came the concerned voice on the other end of the line.

You let out a heavy sigh. Of course, you were far from okay. The pain of heartbreak still lingered, threatening to tear your emotions apart. But you were determined not to let your personal turmoil interfere with your duty. Despite their betrayals, your love for your boyfriend and best friend remained, and you couldn't bear the thought of them meeting such a gruesome end.

“I’ll manage, don't worry about me,” you replied, trying to sound composed.

“Information please,”

You requested.

“We discovered Lieutenant Earl and Detective Jhenicca’s bodies near the Forest,” they informed you, their words hitting you like a blow.

“What do you mean at the forrest?”

you exclaimed, your voice tinged with shock as you processed the information.

“I was just with them at the station just a few hours ago, they would never go to a forrest.” you stated, your brows furrowing in confusion. The image of that encounter still haunted your mind, causing your voice to falter slightly.

“Jhenicca despises forests,” you muttered, your fingers tightly gripping your phone. The situation was becoming more puzzling by the minute.

“That’s the very mystery we’re trying to unravel, Lieutenant,” they explained. “That’s why headquarters is requesting your presence.”

You let out a snort.

Of course, they would want you there.

As one of the last people to see them, you were likely the prime suspect in their disappearance.

“Interrogation,” you stated, weariness evident in your voice.

“Yes, Lieutenant, they want to interrogate you,” they replied.

You couldn't help but release a heavy sigh, feeling drained.

 “I’ll make my way there later,” you mumbled, the exhaustion weighing on your words.

“How did they... die?”

You asked slowly.

“We believed that the cause of death is by blood loss.”

“They got mutilated, all of their fingers in both hands and feet was removed, and  they were skinned alive, moreover, their bodies were also covered in honey and other things and bees were swarming over them, and so does other bugs, that were probably eating them slowly.”

The image of their mutilated and dismembered corpses sent a shiver down your spine.

Torture.

“So they got tortured first before dying then...”

You mumbled, realizing that they got a painful death and it is indeed a murder.

“We believe so,”

You let out a sigh.

“Have their bodies been taken for autopsy?” you managed to ask, your fingers involuntarily curling up in distress.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” the voice on the other end confirmed.

“Forensics are currently examining the bodies at the morgue. We’ll let you know as soon as we have any updates.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It was essential to stay focused and maintain your composure despite the heart-wrenching news. These investigations required a clear mind, and your team relied on you for guidance.

“Thank you,” you replied.

“Please keep me informed of any new findings.”

“We will,”

they assured you.

“And remember, you aren’t alone in this. We’re here for you, Lieutenant.”

You smiled a little, even though they couldn’t see you, Their support was essential, but there was still a part of you that felt isolated, grappling with the weight of your emotions. You had loved and trusted both Earl and Jhenicca, and their betrayal and death had shattered your world.

As you hung up the phone, you closed your eyes, trying to push away the painful memories and focus on the tasks ahead. The investigation couldn’t wait, and justice needed to be served.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, you felt a wave of tension wash over you, it felt as if someone is watching you right now.

Now that you weren’t bawling your eyes out and not having a breakdown anymore, you noticed this strangeness.

Your brows creased as you opened your eyes and scanned your surroundings, checking left and right for any signs of an intruder.

But there was no one in sight. It had been three long months since you first sensed the eerie feeling of being watched, but the demands of work and the constant presence of either Earl or Jhenicca by your side had distracted you from paying it much attention. However, now that you found yourself alone, the unsettling sensation began to gnaw at your thoughts.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your window slightly ajar. Your brow furrowed in confusion as you struggled to recall if you had ever opened it. Opening the window was not a regular occurrence for you; in fact, you rarely ever did.

“I don’t recall opening my window,” you muttered to yourself, as you stood up, wobbling a bit as you walked towards the window to investigate.

but before you could investigate further, a sharp pain shot through your foot. You looked down to find the cause, only to see an assortment of glass shards scattered across the floor—probably from the vases and other things you had threw on the ground. You must have accidentally stepped on the broken glass, and warm blood began to trickle from the wound.

This really is such a bad day.

Suppressing a curse, you quickly hobbled over to your bathroom to tend to the injury,  As you made your way towards the bathroom, an overpowering stench assaulted your senses. It was an amalgamation of metallic notes, mingled with a sickeningly familiar odor reminiscent of raw flesh, like the scent that lingers at a butcher shop. It was a scent you had encountered many times before, while investigating crime scenes. But the difference is, it wasn’t a crime scene. It was your own bathroom.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you cautiously pushed open the door, the repulsive smell growing even stronger.

At first glance, everything appeared normal. But when your eyes traveled upwards, a blood-curdling scream escaped your lips.

Multiple human fingers were nailed and plastered in the walls like some sort of furniture, both fingers from the hands and toes, you can see the bones under them as blood dripped from them.

they were forming a word, three fingers were on a shape of the letter ‘W’, one for the letter ‘I’, five for the letter ‘S’, Three for the letter ‘H’, five for the letter ‘G’, five for the letter ‘R’, six for the letter ‘A’ and ‘N’ Two for ‘T’, four for ‘E’, and with the last letter being ‘D’, which had three fingers on them. 37 fingers, were nailed in your walls, with the words being....

𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃.

...

...

You were utterly shocked, repulsed, scared, evident from the way your eyes were protruding out of their sockets.

You instinctively recoiled by taking a swift step backwards while simultaneously covering your mouth with your hand in disbelief.   The intensity of the sight before you was so overwhelming that your stomach twisted and turned, disturbed by both the visual and olfactory aspects of the situation.

Your gaze shifted anxiously from each finger that protruded from the walls, their bloodied presence revealing the exposed phalangeal bones, their hues tainted by the crimson fluid. Overwhelmed with revulsion, your head whirled in a nauseating manner, unable to tolerate the repugnance before you.

As the sensation of vomit surged uncontrollably, you swiftly clasped your abdomen, succumbing to its intensity and disgorging the contents of your stomach.  

As you expelled the contents of your stomach, the regurgitated food landed repulsively on the ground.   Simultaneously, you struggled to catch your breath, your throat and esophagus ablaze from the corrosive stomach acid that accompanied the vomiting. Overwhelmed by a burning sensation, you instinctively clutched at your chest in despair, desperately gasping for air.

This reaction was unprecedented, as these circumstances were nothing compared to the gruesome crime scenes you had encountered before.   However, the sight that now haunted you was beyond horrifying—The scenes on the crime scene might be more brutal and horrifying in the perspective of others, but fuck, this was more horrifying in your point of view.

Fingers were grotesquely displayed upon your walls, gruesomely nailed in place. Both severed fingers from hands and feet were arranged in this macabre exhibit, leaving you utterly revolted.

As you breathed heavily, your lungs felt burdened and your chest throbbed painfully. Gradually lifting your gaze, saliva slowly trickled from your mouth, intermingled with traces of vomit that had inadvertently stained your clothes. The previous cut on your foot, which once caused you considerable discomfort, seemed inconsequential compared to the searing pain originating from your bruised esophagus.

As you carefully observed the fingers, There was a significant change in the size of your pupils—It shrunk down in shock. Some of the fingers had an unmistakable feminine appearance, while others displayed a more masculine quality. The sight of these fingers caused a sharp, involuntary reflex as you instinctively averted your eyes, overwhelmed by a sensation that made you cringe in discomfort—You felt as if you were going to vomit once again.

“Come on, breathe, [Name]...”

You told yourself.

The offensive stench of severed fingers combined with the repugnant odor of your vomit further intensified your disgust, while your chest continued to burn fiercely.

“Calm the fuck down, [Name].. calm down... breathe..”

You urged yourself to regain composure, but despite your efforts, you couldn’t manage to achieve it.   The intensity of your emotions caused an overwhelming surge of hot tears that pooled in your mouth, leaving you surprised that you still had the capacity to cry given the torrent of tears you had shed upon discovering your boyfriend’s infidelity.

The bitter taste of regurgitated stomach acid lingered in your throat, a distressing reminder of the moment when you couldn’t contain the contents of your stomach any longer, resulting in a forceful expulsion and a fiery sensation in your esophagus.  

Overwhelmed by despair, you found yourself clutching at your hair, desperately digging your nails into your scalp as you pulled at your [H/c] colored tresses, hoping that this agonizing reality would dissolve into a mere figment of your imagination or a horrendous nightmare.

Already enduring a dreadful day, this traumatic scene shattered your fragile emotional state, sending waves of anguish through every fiber of your being, making you fear that you might lose consciousness.

With each successive backward step, your cheeks were drenched in a seemingly endless stream of briny tears, as if the act of retreating physically symbolized your desire to distance yourself from the emotional turmoil consuming you.  

With trembling and unsteady hands, you hastily reached into your pockets and frantically retrieved your phone.

It almost slipped from your shaky fingers, but you managed to tighten your grip on it. Filled with fear, you immediately dialed the number for your department, desperate to share the terrifying news that had just unfolded before your eyes. The sheer terror coursing through your veins made it difficult to steady your voice as you trembled with every word you spoke.  

“Please, please, pick up!” 

You couldn’t comprehend how these gruesome objects could have appeared in your fucking bathroom without your knowledge.   Fingers, bloodied and gruesome, were inexplicably plastered on your wall, mocking you with a message that sent shivers down your spine.  “Wish granted” it read, like a sick joke or a cruel twist of fate—What kind of sick psycho would do that?

You are in danger.

Deep down, you desperately hoped that it was all just an elaborate prank, but the harsh reality crept in as you realized the horrifying truth.   This was real.   The sight of the bones protruding from the severed fingers, the nauseating smell that permeated the air; it was all too real to fucking deny.  You were in danger. Someone broke into your house and placed those nasty things, you will probably be the next victim— no, no, you shouldn’t think like that, you needed to fucking calm down. But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Pick the fuck up, come on, come on, please, please!!”Your voice cracked with desperation as you urged the recipient of the call to answer. After what felt like an eternity, they finally picked up on the other end.

“Fuck, fuck...”

You breathed out, the relief that washed over you was drowned out by the urgency in your voice as you struggled to convey the gravity of the situation. 

“I need help, fuck, fuck, please... i need it asap!” Your words were slurred and rushed, with your fear causing you to stumble over your sentences, barely able to articulate your pleas. 

“lieutenant? What’s wrong? You seemed to be panicking.”

“Come here, please, please, come here as soon as possible!   I’m begging you!” Your voice quivered with a mix of terror and desperation as you practically wailed into the phone. The overwhelming sense of danger that loomed over you threatened to consume your every thought, leaving you trembling in its wake.

“Lieutenant [Name], calm down please, i cannot understand you, breathe lieutenant.”

The person on the other end of the line tried to calm you down, struggling to understand your panicked state.

“No! P-please! I beg you!   I-I’m in danger! I need help, ASAP!” You cried out, your voice cracking under the weight of the fear that gripped you. Gathering whatever courage you had left, you knew you had to escape the horrors that surrounded you.  Without hesitation, you dashed towards the door, paying no mind to the disarray of your appearance. Your hair was wild and disheveled from the frantic tugging and pulling, while your clothes were stained with the remnants of your own vomit. You didn’t even bother to slip on your shoes, desperate to flee as fast as possible, clutching onto your phone as if it were your only lifeline.

“I-i’m in danger, s-someone just fucking— blood, blood everywhere!”

You shouted frantically, your words tumbling out in a rush.   The sight of disembodied fingers had sent you into a state of panic and fear.   As you hurriedly fled the scene, your foot unintentionally landed on the broken shards of the road, causing searing pain to shoot through your body.   Despite the agony, you dared not glance back towards your dwelling, consumed by the urgency of escape. Each breath you took was labored and heavy while physical exertion and emotional turmoil that coursed within your veins.

“Lieutenant, please take a moment to catch your breath,” the concerned voice from the other end of the line implored—you were talking too fast after all and your breaths came in ragged gasps.

The person on the call was genuinely worried about your well-being, but the sheer intensity and speed of your words made it challenging for them to grasp the full extent of your distress.   What did you truly mean by ‘fingers’? The mention of that word stirred memories within them, reminiscent of the horrifying ordeal your boyfriend and best friend had endured just hours before.  Both of them had suffered the gruesome fate of having their fingers, hands, and feet forcibly severed.   And now, here you were, frantically babbling about fingers and succumbing to panic.   Your rapid-fire speech only served to further hinder comprehension. 

“Lieutenant, please try to compose yourself,” the voice urged, attempting to soothe your frenzied state once more.   This behavior was uncharacteristic of you, as you were never one to succumb to panic easily, unless something truly devastating had befallen you.    

Between sobs, you managed to utter,

“Fingers on my walls, blood...   blood was everywhere.” The words trembled with anguish and terror as you continued to run, tears streaming down your face.   The sight that had confronted you was undoubtedly traumatizing, imprinted in your mind like a horrifying image that refused to fade.    

“And i fucking know who those fucking fingers belong to!” you suddenly declared,

“They’re from Earl and Jhenicca!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chuckling quietly to himself, Jack discreetly pressed the play button on his phone once again, the soft melody of the recorder filling his ears through the earphones he wore.   The recording, which captured your horrified scream upon discovering his little surprise gift for you, played on repeat as he leaned against the walls of your bedroom.

The sound of your screams, like a symphony to his ears, resonated deeply within him. As he listened intently, tapping his gloved hand against his masked face, he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that you wouldn’t get the chance to witness the ‘gift’ he had carefully prepared for you in your bedroom. 

Unbeknownst to you, while you were having your break down, he had been concealed within your closet all this time, meticulously recording each moment of your suffering.

Every cry and retching sound had become music to his ears, fueling his sadistic pleasure. As was his usual routine when stalking you, he overheard your emotional breakdown while you were alone in your car, expressing a fervent wish for your unfaithful boyfriend and treacherous best friend to suffer a painful demise. And so, he decided to grant your fucking wish!

In his twisted mind, he saw himself as doing you a favor by eliminating the people who had caused you pain— They deserved nothing but torture and pain upon hurting you and he couldn’t help but wonder how that pathetic excuse of a man managed to pull someone like you.

Fuck, you were just so cute when you were wailing that he couldn’t help but want to hear that pretty cries of yours more, and so he killed your boyfriend and bestfriend to add more pain and make you more vulnerable, break you apart. And he killed your beloved bestfriend and boyfriend for you, after all, that’s what you wanted, right? right? right? You wanted this. You wished for this.

He deserves to be praised for doing such a great job in making you mentally unstable.

You provided him great amusement. as always in the past, you would display intense effort in attempting to identify the perpetrator and obtain even the slightest hint. Your unwavering determination, firm resolve, and intellectual capabilities were captivating, drawing him towards you.

For him, it was particularly enjoyable to unravel the complexities of someone as resilient as yourself,  and break that fucking adamant nature of you, unlike certain shy timid schoolgirls who become frightened merely at the sight of blood.

He sought amusement and you were the sole individual capable of providing it to him without inducing him in boredom.  

Your breakdown both surprised and amused him greatly, providing him with a sense of power over your vulnerable state.   The scent of your blood,  when your feet were cut on broken glass, wafted into his nostrils, providing an intoxicating allure that seemed almost heavenly to him.

And it made him wonder about how you tastes like.

[pinkmelodie]

First Miguel fic + 250+ follower special ୨୧

I’d like to start off by saying THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR ALMOST 300 FOLLOWERS !! And 2000+ notes?!? omg. I checked my inbox a few times and saw 99+ notifs every time, and when I tell you I SCREAMED. As a new writer I can’t thank you enough for all the notes and sweet comments ! I’m so grateful, so take this fic as a thank you <33

Warnings: Miguel is hinted to have slept with socks on which….is a trigger on its own apparently 😥, potentially botched ass Spanish……(no Google translate was used tho, my French teacher taught me better than that), p in v, making out, grinding, slight blood, reader has no chill nor filter but Miguels lowkey into it, degradation, bondage, banter, oral, praise, etc.

a/n: Takes place before the whole Miles incident !! I love Miguel but I can’t forgive him for doing that to my son 🤨🤨 This could also be imagined as König, since they’re both huge stubborn men <33

Pairing: Female reader x Miguel O’Hara 

Summary: Miguel is pent up and needs a release. Lucky for him, there’s a certain spider woman who’d do anything for him <3

Words: 4141 (DAMN I shocked myself w this)

. . .

Miguel runs his hand through his hair, grumbling when he feels it’s getting to a length that needs cutting again. Just another thing to add to his pile of responsibilities.

He pushes the fumbled blanket off to the side and lazily palms at his morning wood, finding the ministrations do little to help his raging hard-on. He’s shocked, mainly that he could still get one with how tense he’s been lately, but mostly that he’s actually annoyed that he has to jerk off. It feels like a chore to him now…though taking care of himself in any sense has since he became Spider-Man.

With a sleepy groan he drags himself up and to the bathroom. His mismatched socks are soft against the cool bathroom tiles where he turns on the shower. His muscles stretch when he tugs his white sweater over his head and tosses it onto the ground nearby, abs tensing and shoulders refusing to relax no matter how much stretching he did.

When the rest of his clothing join the heap on the floor he steps into the freezing cold shower, twitching at the icy droplets that felt like tiny icicles poking into his taut skin. 

He hoped the temperature would make the nuisance go down, but it raged on, standing proud at its full height. Miguel never thought he’d find himself glaring at his own dick, but here he was, horny and heavily pissed off. 

He reached down and tugged at his cock, rubbing his thumb over the angry red tip. He jerked profusely, yet all it did was leave him feeling unsatisfied and humiliated. 

“Fuck.” He cursed, washing his hand off before aggressively turning the knob to stop the flowing water. He tried to remember what he had to do today while pacing the bathroom, but he couldn’t focus with his erection clouding  his thoughts. Maybe if the blood would stay in his head…

He was an attractive guy, he knew that much. It would be easy to go out into the town and hook up with some stranger, but not so much so when he was in this constant sour mood. That sullen energy & resting bitch face paired with his looming height would scare any woman away.

Any sane woman.

You tied up the last of the criminals in your silky webs, smiling in victory. Unfortunately, the joy wasn’t long-lasting since as soon as you got home you felt boredom creeping up on you once again.

For weeks you’d been entertained by the intimidating founder of the spider society; Miguel O’Hara.You’d been bugging him for days on end, literally drooling at his feet and begging him to come back to your place.

He kicked you out multiple times, but like a cockroach you couldn’t be squashed—and neither could your need for him. You just couldn’t take a hint apparently. When he picked you up by the back of your suit and threw you back into your universe, all you focused on was how easily he carried you with just one of his big, veiny hands.

The way that suit hugged his defined chest so well, and his massive arms where you could see every vein…plus that prominent bulge? You were sunk.

He’d finally run out of patience for you when you ‘accidentally’ messed with the tech for his suit, almost making him go full commando in front of everyone in the spider society.(wouldn’t be the last time that happened…) He banned you for good, taking away your ‘multiversal gizmo’ without a second thought.

Your last words being ‘worth it!’ as you were flung back into your universe by the go-home-machine seemed like the icing on the cake to him despising you forever, but apparently that wasn’t the case because the man himself just appeared in your living room.

“Y/N.” He addressed nonchalantly.

You stared at him, jaw agape for a few moments before pinching yourself to see if you were dreaming. You had to be, he basically filed a restraining order against you. A really complicated, multiversal restraining order. Why  would he ever voluntarily come to you?

You couldn’t even respond since your throat felt so dry .. . It seemed your body had other ideas of where to soak.

“Why are you so obbsesed with me?” He suddenly asked, paying no mind to your awkward silence. 

“uhm-“

“I mean, you chased me around every day, eyed me down so intensively it was basically public sex and yet here you are, alone with me like you wanted, and now you’re speechless?” He stalked around your living room, circling you like a bird of prey.

You blushed up a storm and stood frozen in front of him, trying to discretely rub your thighs together.

He eyed you down, noticing your obvious ministrations but only chuckling. “Sometimes I had wished you were an actual spider so I could crush you under the soles of my shoes, but lately I’ve found myself feeling as horny and desperate as you.” He admitted with a smirk that revealed his sharpened fangs. 

That confession had your mind reeling to the point all you could muster up was; “I would’ve let you step on me regardless.”

His smirk grew and he started to approach you until his shadow covered you completely. You had to tilt your whole head up to look him in his glowing red eyes now—but you couldn’t handle making the eye contact anyway.

“You are just a small little thing, yet I didn’t expect you to be all bark no bite. All those filthy things you said lingered in my mind..don’t you want to take care of what you started?” He asked in a deliciously low voice. The almost mocking manner he said it in made you feel called out, and you looked down at your hands and picked at your nails to try and calm yourself.

A clawed finger tilted your head up by the chin and forced you to look into his eyes. How could you forget—in all your time spent basically stalking him you noticed how he never broke eye contact with anyone that he was speaking to. It was both exhilarating and intimidating to see, and you felt that full force while finally being on the receiving end of it. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, arañita.” He ordered, and it sent tingles shooting up your spine.

You swore you heard your neck crack from how fast you looked up at him. He looked predatory staring down at you like that, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “So? Will you finish what you started muñeca?” He asked, as if it was even a question to you.

“Fuck yes.” You agreed without missing a beat, making him chuckle darkly. “Needy thing.”

Before your mind could catch up you were suddenly being lifted by him and thrown on his shoulder with ease. He walked through the halls of your cozy apartment and waltzed into your bedroom without even searching for it, carelessly throwing you onto the bed.

You landed with a bounce on the soft comforter, feeling even smaller now with him standing above you. “Wha- how do you know where my bedroom is?” You asked when your brain finally decided to have a rational thought. 

“I’ve done my research—wanted to make sure you weren’t a spy. It was a waste of time, really, you’re just a horny stalker.” He shrugged.

You stared at him with an offended expression (tho it was 100% true) and went to argue until your lips were suddenly sealed by sticky red webs.

 “On your back.” He ordered. 

You crossed your arms at him first until he repeated the command in a low, dangerous voice. “Now.” Any defiance you had pretended to have quickly left your body and you laid down flat on the silk sheets.

He stalked over to you, all big and menacing as always. He leaned over you and forced your wrists together, twirling more glowing silk around them until they were bound above your head. 

He smirked down at you, leaning in to pepper kisses all over your neck. He sucked dark hickeys onto the sensitive skin of your throat, enjoying your muffled moans. While before he found your voice excruciating—he was now desperate to hear it crying out his name.

He stripped the webs off your mouth and you whined at the pain. The feeling resembled a bandaid being ripped off a fresh cut. He cooed pitifully above you and leaned in, whispering “Pobre araña, why don’t I kiss it better?” 

You nodded desperately until his lips met yours with a slight sting. He growled into your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and exploring your mouth until you were squirming. He nibbled on your bottom lip, sharp canines threatening to break the skin. He pushed his muscled thigh between your legs and pressed down on your clit with his knee, the pressure making you moan under him. Your sweet sounds drove him wild, and he couldn’t help but bite down lightly on your lip until tiny droplets of blood dripped onto his tongue.

He groaned at the taste, his animalistic split-DNA going wild. When he pulled back—lips reddened, hair tussled and fallen slightly in front of his face— you couldn’t help but stare. His face looked so much more chiseled up close, cheekbones perfectly defined and a jawline sharper than the claws currently resting on your hips. 

His toned chest rose up and down steadily while he regained his breath, the familiar spider symbol on his suit growing bigger then smaller with each rise of his lungs like it was breathing. 

“Let’s take care of these, Cariño.” He addressed your clothing as if it were nothing but a nuisance for him before slicing your shirt right off you. He did this with ease, big claws moving onto your bottoms and clawing those off as well.

“Hey! Those were nice.” You pouted, though apparently he didn’t appreciate that comment because you were now being tied up even worse than before. Webs spewed from his wrist and circled your body like serpents, tying around your waist, arms, and thighs. “Don’t be a brat.” He ordered, webs tightening in warning. Once satisfied, he admired the way they looked pulled taut against your soft skin. “Red looks lovely on you, amor.” He praised, a quick switch from his previous comment.

He lifted you and reached behind your back, unclasping your bra with one hand. He threw it onto the ground somewhere with your torn up clothes, focusing his attention on your soft tits.

He hummed in content, playing with your nipples and letting his webs circle around the soft flesh of your breasts. He licked and sucked at one while tugging on the other, making you moan and squirm under him.

“Fuck Miguel- ah! more!” You whined desperately, coaxing a chuckle out of the behemoth. 

“Such a desperate slut.” He tutted, sucking marks all over your chest to match your throat. He kissed over the already forming hickeys, grazing his teeth dangerously close to your jugular. This man was massive, and made of pure muscle like a Greek god. He could easily hold you down without the help of his webs, but he wanted to focus full attention on you. 

He finally moved down to where you needed him most, going to rip your panties straight off you before you rudely slammed your thighs shut. “You take off your suit first….” You whined, embarrassed at being nearly completely nude before him while he was still covered. He was genuinely offended by this, feeling like he’d just had a door slammed on his face, yet he grumbled and messed around with his watch until the hologram started to dissipate.

Your jaw dropped wider and wider the more you took him in. The man resembled a skillfully carved statue belonging to Olympus itself. His biceps and abs were enough to challenge even Ares himself. Your eyes trailed lower and lower, leisurely mapping him out until your eyes locked on the weapon between his legs.

His dick stood loud and proud against his toned stomach, and it was massive. The man is 6,9, you knew he’d be big, but this thing was around 9 inches and looked like it could rip you in half. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it even if you tried—I mean—the thing was basically introducing itself to you. We’re talking hello, how are you and goodbye.

Miguel basked in your ogling, his ego swelling more than it already had since he first noticed your obsession with him.

You finally snapped out of your trance when he bent down and slipped off your soaked panties, kissing up your leg as he did so. You spread both your legs for him and he took that as an invitation to lean in and lick a stripe up your wet cunt. You jumped, not expecting him to get into it so quickly, but you definitely didn’t complain.

He prodded a finger at your hole and pushed it in slowly, holding your hips down with his free hand. He made sure to be mindful of the claws adorning his fingertips since they wouldn’t go back down thanks to his clouded mind. The thick digit went in without much resistance thanks to how wet you were, until he pushed in a second and started scissoring them. 

You moaned and whimpered at the stretch, two of his thick fingers the size of nearly four of yours. He pumped them in and out quickly, the slick sounds your pretty hole made for him music to his ears. Your slick dripped down his ring and middle fingers that he was ruthlessly pumping inside you and dribbled down his veiny forearm.

He massaged your walls and pushed against them, scissoring his fingers to stretch you as much as possible. He couldn’t hit your g-spot thanks to his clawed fingertips, so he sucked at your clit to fill that extra stimulation until your head was rolling back. 

Something circled your waist and you figured it was his arm until you looked back down to see more webs. You would wriggle far too much without them, and he needed his other hand to spread your folds to drag a mix of his salvia and your slick around your twitching clit. You mewled at the overwhelming stimulation, bucking onto his face while he had a full on make out sesh with your pussy.

Only when he finally sunk four fingers into you and you were basically on the brink of tears with need did he pull away. Not without blowing on your sensitive clit, of course, just to see you twitch and squirm under the unrelenting grasp of his webs.

He stood up with a playful smile, freeing you from some of the webs just to pull you to the edge of the bed. Your ass met his pelvis with a slap when he yanked you by the ankle that quickly locked around his waist. He chuckled out something in Spanish that you didn’t understand, maybe along the lines of “Qué bonita putita…”. You didn’t bother to question it when he started to grind his rock hard dick on your drooling pussy, getting him all nice and wet to push into you. 

Only when he was coated completely in your essence did he listen to your pleas and finally line his fat tip up at your hole. Even with the all the stretching, your poor cunt had to stretch to accommodate the swollen red tip. His pre-cum mixed with your juices when it finally popped in after some resistance, and he groaned at the warm feeling.

“So fucking tight, your poor pussy can’t take it, hm? You were so confident when you were begging for it like a desperate whore.” He growled, degradation making you clench Impossibly tighter around his head until he had to bite back a groan.

“Please Mig, I can take it.” You begged, rutting your hips onto him and trying to coax him deeper until he swiftly grabbed your waist. His claws dug into your skin, threatening to break through. He pulled back and you immediately assumed he was going to tease you again for being desperate. 

Straight away you whined out apologies, stumbling over your words and pleas until he suddenly slammed back inside you, cramming 5 of his solid inches into your hole. You screamed, tears brimming on your waterline at the stretch. Your back arched off the bed and you squirmed away from the sting until he pulled back and rutted back in again, almost as if testing the waters.

With every drag of his hips his cock slowly got deeper into you until he was bottomed out completely. His tip kissed against your cervix and you looked down, amazed and horrified to see him crammed inside you so snugly. He gave you a moment to compose yourself—preoccupied on the bulge in your lower stomach. 

“My good girl, fitting around me so perfectly. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He teased, dick twitching at the fucked out moan you gave in response.

It definitely was hard, yet his dick was harder. You could feel every single vein and ridge pressing into you, rubbing against your gummy walls in a way that left you drooling. You suddenly understood why he’d prepped you for so long. It wasn’t just to tease you, this just was not an easy thing to take. 

“Move,” you pleaded, correcting youself when he raised an eyebrow, “please.”

He hummed, palming at the fat of your hips to see the way your skin sunk under his touch. “I don’t know Cariño…do you really deserve this dick?” 

You gave him your best “are you for real?” face. This man was not about to make you beg when he was the one to randomly show up in your home. You’d been begging on your knees for him for months, and now he chooses to acknowledge it?

You made it your personal mission to go against everything he’s ever ordered from you, and the grind never does stop, does it?

“Like you deserve to kiss my ass?” You jest without hesitation. 

You can see the way his whole face stretches; clearly dumbfounded at your response before he’s able to compose himself. With your cunt wrapped around him so tight and warm like that, it’s easy to forget the pretty spider underneath him is a little rascal.

“You were just whining a second ago, don’t try that,” He warned. “You’ve been begging for it for months, practically humping my leg in front of the entire Arachno-Humanoid-Poly-Universe.” 

You groaned at his insistence on calling it that, even while balls deep inside you. “I didn’t sign up to fuck a geek,” you mutter.

“With the way you approached me I’m sure you’d fuck just about anyone, puta.”

You wanted to be insulted, but your words caught in your throat when he leaned close to you to whisper right into your ear; “Quit acting like you had any dignity in the first place and beg.”

His warm breath on your nape left you shivering. Miguel wasn’t human—not completely. With DNA mixed with a spiders, he was a predator; one ready to devour you whole.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone really when you gradually let quiet pleas spill from your mouth. Miguel had half the mind to make you speak up, but he was loosing his thin amount of patience as is. With a satisfied click of his tongue, he pulled back until his flushed head was right at your entrance “see, was that so hard?”

You knew better than to try and answer at this point when he rammed his cock back into you. Huge hands gripped your thighs and pushed your legs into your chest while he bullied his dick further and further into your cunt. 

Your pussy was embarrassingly loud for him, squelching with each brutal thrust of his hips. His muscled thighs were tense with the pure strength he put into slamming into you—beating your sensitive pussy in until it memorized his shape for life. 

“Mig- ah! Holyfuck!” You screamed, draping your arms over his shoulders and scratching at his back like a cat post.

“Go on princesa, mark me up.” He encouraged and got a better grip on your thighs, pushing your legs out to a full spread. He had you displayed like a dinner feast and bent you like a lawn chair with your lower half on his toned chest. He was actually impressed at your flexibility, yet like always he chose the worst way to phrase it.

“I’m shocked, I never expected you to do any real training.” 

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what you’ve been wanting, is it not?” He gloated with such a shit-eating expression that you just had to wipe off his face. He sunk deeper into you when you pulled him in for a kiss and it had you clenching around him.

His thrusts got more erratic until your mind was clouded with only the sounds of his dick disappearing into your cunt. His hands were dragging you back onto him by the hips at the same time, so you could feel him bumping against your cervix with each thrust.

You were too fucked out to say anything other than broken moans and mewls of his name, and he wasn’t too far off.

“So pretty Cariño,” he groaned, “all for me? mierda- yeah, all for me.”

A string of loud mewls along with shameless moans poured out of your bruised lips in response. He pounded your pussy with so much vigour that you edged forward on the ruffled mattress with each rough thrust.

He massaged your throbbing clit between his fingers, laughing at the way they kept slipping around from how much of your own arousal was dripping down your cunt. Heavy balls slapping against your soft skin filled your ears when you felt that coil in your stomach start to snap.

“Pussys gripping me like a fucking vice- you gonna cum for me?” he teased, “look baby- look at how well this sweet little pussys taking me.”

He took your hand and lead it down until it was tracing the prominent bump in your stomach - You could feel every brutal thrust and see the way he ravaged your insides. You pressed down on it, getting impossibly tighter around him and the broken moan he let out was what got you.

He quickly tore a mind-numbing orgasm out of you - thick cockhead still splitting you open while he worked your clit. You soaked his cock and squeezed against it, shaking and crying under him until you could barely take it anymore. 

He smiled in pride, sharp fangs showing and making him resemble the waiting mouth of a shark. “Such a good fucking girl, coming all over me like that. Look at the mess you’ve made,” he hummed, observing the noticeable white ring you left around the base of his cock. 

His thrusts stuttered before stilling completely inside you. He made a noise akin to an animal before spilling his hot cum inside your welcoming heat with a shudder and a broken moan.

“Mfhm- mierda.. .” He cursed, his warmth filling you up so much it started to spill out.

You felt like a rag doll under him, half-asleep and smiling dumbly up at him. He chuckled and admired one last time how pretty you looked in his glowing red webs, wrapped around you like his own custom lingerie. 

He sliced them off you and smiled warmly when you raised your arms out to him. He leaned in to let you wrap your arms around his massive shoulders with your legs now wrapping around his waist.

He picked you up with you curled into him like a koala - the warm sensation of his cum dripping down your connected bodies grounding you while he walked to your bathroom. 

He pressed soft kisses to your marked up-neck while he ran a warm bath, rubbing at the indents his claws subconsciously left on your hips. 

You didn’t remember exactly when you fell asleep; somewhere between when his large hands washed the cum off your skin or when he gently laid you down on your fresh bedsheets. 

All you knew was that you woke up to the smell of clean laundry and noticed snacks and a water bottle left on your nightstand. There was a note too that you had to reach over to grab. His handwriting was smudged but fancy, and it was so adorably him that it left you smiling ear to ear. 

“Had to leave early. Meet me in my office tomorrow and we’ll discuss how you’ll be living in my universe from now on ,seeing as how you’re now mine, mi vida.” 

. . .

[amazinglyashy]

Frostbite - Prologue [Ch. 1]

Read on Ao3 Pairings: Foreseer Zayne x Reader Summary: In the Creatio Protocore, you would find an extension on the life you had all but given up on until recently. In you, the Foreseer would find a life worth living for once in his immortality. And together, you would find just how lovely and just how cruel fate could be. Tags: N/SFW, Hurt/Comfort. Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Canon Divergence, Abuse, Domestic Violence, Chronic Illness Notes: A slightly divergent retelling of Zayne's time as Foreseer and the myths and memories that flow with it. Chapters uploaded as frequently as I can. Chapter wordcount: 1,445

Prologue - You

Freezing- that would be a good word to use to describe how you were feeling right now. It was the dead of winter, with the wind howling as it bit across the rose color of your cheeks, making you wonder how long it would be before you became a frozen icicle yourself, much akin to the ones hanging down low from the trees. The nature around you was breathtakingly beautiful, you wouldn’t deny that- the trees nearly black in color from the wet of their wood in the snow coating them, the stark contrast of black and white mixed with the pale blue of ice taking form along the branches- if you had more time, you would stop and enjoy it. Maybe start a fire to add some warm oranges and red to the canvas before you while you admired the view. But you didn’t have such time, nor luxury at this moment. 

You couldn’t tell if the ground beneath you feeling like a glacier was a bad omen or not. In most cases, the danger of slipping on the tightly packed snow would be at the forefront of your mind, but right now, it was a comforting sign that the road you were traversing was commonly used. It meant if you got stuck up here, you could find help fairly easily, possibly even before freezing to death. 

Well, until you had to fork away from the main road and take a much less common way to get to your destination. 

The route you were currently using was one that branched off several times in its length, commonly leading to local villages or nearby cities for tradesmen and artisan to go and sell their wares. Farmers would also utilize the main roadway when transporting livestock or their crops in imposing wagons, though their wheels would have much difficulty on the ice and sleet that had formed since autumn had turned to winter. Their trips were far and fewer in between, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist until spring. 

You had the lingering thought of hopefully passing a hunter somewhere along your route. You had brought some coin just in case, hoping to talk them out of a catch they may have on hand in exchange, so that you could have a bite to eat later once you were making the trip back down the mountain, huddled around a makeshift fire as you waited out the evening. 

That would be to say, if you were able to make it back down the mountain at all.

Quietly, as if on instinct, you reached up to clutch your chest as you felt a slight tendril of pain throb across your bosom. You needed to be careful, and pick up the pace. The frozen wind howling around you was dangerous for your condition, and you didn’t need to experience an aggressive flare up in the middle of an unforgiving mountain. Not when you were this close to a possible salvation. 

The area ahead of you cleared, and you could see an olden wood sign with markers and text burnt into the grain, covered in snow, but clean enough to read. You approached the gray wood that complimented the white contrast of snow surrounding it, making out a few small, nearby villages whose names you recognized from day trips the summers before now. The roadway you were on split off into three different directions, snaking to locations nearby and further away. Two of the options had paths similar to the one you had just come from- packed down snow slick with footsteps and wheel markings, the travel route being utilized faster than fresh snowfall could cover it. It was alright to walk in, with nails cobbled into the soles of your shoes to prevent a fall. Both paths promised common traffic. But the third option was quite the opposite. 

It was nearly completely powder, only packed down from more snow landing down on top of it. It looked more akin to a small, sudden cliff rising above the other pathways, like a two-foot tall wall challenging you to dare take a step onto it, not knowing if what lie beneath it was solid ground, or covered underbrush. 

Obviously, it was the one you were meant to take.

Of course, the state it’s in makes perfect sense , you thought to yourself, stepping forward to begin carefully trekking the thick climate. After all, when was the last time an official royal envoy had been sent to the Tower of Thorns anyway? Most people didn’t make it a daily habit to go and see the Foreseer. The fear of angering him or the god Astra Himself usually too much for most to bear, even in exchange for the possibility of finding out a future prophecy that greedily pertained to themselves. And the ones who didn’t fear the concept were simply too stupid to have fear of the godly and divine in the first place. You had definitely heard talk in the taverns, wild men drunk on too much ale, spilling their tales and woe about friends or cohorts going missing after a brazen trip to the tower in the mountain. Usually, it was someone who had been down on their luck, searching for a prophecy that promised better fortune in the near future. But occasionally, it was someone who wanted to grasp one of the Foreseer’s many treasures, the coin fetched for such items would be immense enough to live on for years to come, simply because of his divine name. 

That very same tavern talk was what had led you to this very moment- trudging your way as the stony spire slowly came into view, your lungs burning with every freezing breath you took. 

Yes, those who didn’t fear the Foreseer or Astra were out of their right minds, and the ones who even humored the thought of stealing something holy for their own benefit were even worse. But you were finding it harder and harder to mock them, even simply in the depths of your own mind, due to what was bringing you here today.

The Creatio Protocore. 

It was a divine relic, supposedly nestled in the center of the scepter the Foreseer used in most of his magics, knots of wood and metal curling around it as it hovered in place. It could reign destruction- leveling parts of the mountain, taking lives without an ounce of mercy from the wielder, Astra’s cruel sword and emissary, and freezing to death anyone who may speak out of line. But there were two sides to this coin- with the Creatio Protocore also capable of more than simple miracles. It could bestow life upon rot, and will tranquility on the lands surrounding. Both sides were tales you had been told, sure, but you knew the words bore some weight. You had read the scripture from the royals before and their envoys, and how the Foreseer would act when they were in his presence. 

The Creatio Protocore would be able to cure you- the ailment that scarred deeply across your chest- you just knew it. 

Not much was known about Cryoarsis, except that there were no known cures nestled among the browned, stained pages that spoke of the few known cases. And when you said few, you meant few. The amount of known cases could be counted on both hands, and missing a few fingers at that. The cases happened so infrequently, the information that spoke of the disease could be considered even rarer than the disease itself. Your deductions had found that the only possible cure would be nothing short of divine intervention. A rare miracle bestowed upon you by the gods themselves. A rare miracle taking shape, could be considered the Creatio Protocore, the main source of power for the Foreseer, and a blessing from Astra in physical form. 

So, blindly- on the basis of some tavern banter you had heard a few weeks ago and the writings you had read up on after- you were lifting your knees to your chest as you trudged your way up the last length of the mountainside you would need to reach the Tower of Thorns. The human will to live was a mighty thing, you were finding. And you knew yours was mightier than most. It hadn’t always been, but recent events transpiring had done well to change your mind, and now your only goal was to find- and take- the Creatio Protocore to cure your Cryoarsis. Even if it killed you.

Besides, you would die anyway without it. What did you have to lose, trying to go toe to toe with a demigod?

[millionairewifey]

I really found happiness in my marriage when I understood love. we’re taught that love is this unconditionally unquestionable irresistible desire for another. without them we can’t eat, sleep or function, when in fact, that is infatuation. love, real love, is a choice. before my marriage I had three “serious”relationships; the puppy love, the good look, and the perfect match. none of these would end up being my husband. the puppy love was obsessive, intensely intimate and emotionally enthralling, I cried whenever we were apart, we wrote passionate poems to each other, we did absolutely everything together, and I always reflected whatever mood he felt. I loved him deep and hard. the good look was just that; attractive enough, smart and from a good family. I had begun to think about my future and he seemed like the responsible choice in the long term. I felt a duty to him, despite his major attempts to mould me into his best version of myself. he made me feel small, insignificant, unworthy and hyper fixated on every flaw in me he could find. he broke me eventually and then convinced me he could fix me. what was worse is I believed him. it took me 3 years to break free and 12 years later, I still am healing from the deep rooted trauma of that relationship. the perfect match was just that, perfect. he was handsome, wise, affectionate, doting and loving. he was and still is unforgettable, after enduring much damage my heart had hardened and he made every point to caress each icicle around it until it thawed from his warmth, softened and let him in. our first kiss was romantic and gentle and albeit electric. it literally felt like a shock of lightning when we kissed and I knew we were a match when he asked “did you feel that too?” rubbing his chest after our lips had parted. he was the only person to make me truly consider marriage…to see marriage as not just something doable but something I now wanted and something I wanted with him. we constantly talked about our future together and consciously worked toward it. I loved him more than I knew I could ever love and he loved me too, when it got down to it, he chose his job which required him to move constantly. love is a choice… “the one” is who you choose to love every day, every situation, every circumstance. it’s not a perfect love, sometimes it may not be earth shattering, but it’s a choice. your choice. and hopefully theirs too. the sooner I stopped holding my husband to these ideals and comparing him to my past loves and began to love him with a love just for him is when I began to choose him, truly. I stopped thinking about how I loved and lost and viewing love as this thing that had to be given and taken away, dusted off and given to another and each time rewrapped and regifted until the deserving recipient finally arrived. my love is a gift and with each recipient it is unique and curated and when we’ve moved on, it’s not returned- it stays in memories, fond or foul. I’ve not loved and lost, I’ve loved over and over and over again each love given respectively. and the love I now give to my husband is his love, it’s not a love anyone else has received it’s specially curated for him and our relationship, our dynamic. imagine if Christ loved us like that, just one big generic blanket love, surely it would run out and expire. but the Bible teaches us that God loves us so much He knows the desires of our hearts; our very thoughts and wants, he knows every detail about down to the amount of hairs on our heads. He has a love and a plan for each of us, individually. when I began to understand how God loves us, it helped me understand not just love but how love works and it made me love bigger, deeper and more specifically to my husband, my children, my friends and even myself. I truly understands what it means to have your cup overflowing from the fountain which will never run dry. to experience it is such liberty, such freedom and such peace but most of all to experience it is a choice.

[zanazirafanfic]

WIP Whenever

Well, as usual my fic plans got a bit hung-up by some IRL nonsense (managed to catch COVID, and while I was sick my laptop bit the dust, so I'm only just getting back to restocking my Tumblr queue and re-arranging my fic schedule now that the new one is here.)

That said, here is my planned fic schedule for the the rest of September and October. (I've planned my publication schedule through the end of the year, and will release it a month at a time.)

9/26/24 - "Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty" - TM3B3 #3. Some warm, silly shenanigans (for once) featuring Meowcah Bell and Jack Marston.

9/29/24 - "Like A Drowned Rat," Whumpcember Day 14 - "Drowning" - Ch. 2 limp!Arthur, reluctantly-heroic Micah.

10/1/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 14 - "Getting Snowed In" - 1896. Jake and Sadie Adler find ways to pass the time during their first blizzard together.

10/4/24 - "Cloghinne Winds," Whumpcember Day 15 - "Hallucinating" (idea inspired by @tiredcowboyy ) - 1907. Dutch Van der Linde angst/grief, hurt-no-comfort.

10/7/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 15 - "Icicles" + "Someone Spiked the Eggnog!" - 1910. A day of fun and frolicking in the snow in the MacGuire-Jones-O'Shea household, followed by a night of mischief and merriment (and eggnog.)

10/10/24 - "Ringing A Bell," Whumpcember Day 16 - "Head Injury" - pre-canon/pre-John, injured!Hosea and worried! Dutch & Arthur

10/13/24 - "Where There's Smoke," Whumpcember Day 17 - "Fire" - Ch. 3, feat. scared!Jack and heroic/hurt!John

10/16/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 16 - "Family invited an old crush/first love to a dinner party." - 1885. Dutch and Hosea plan an early Christmas dinner, with a surprise visitor for Arthur.

10/19/24 - "New Roles, Old Pains," Whumpcember Day 18 - "Chronic Pain" - post-1907/pre-1911. Hurting!John, supportive/caring!Abigail.

10/22/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 17 - "Cuddling With Them" - 1910. Charles catches Arthur's flu and gets doted on by his very guilty husband.

10/24/24 - "Down To the Wick," Whumpcember Day 19 - "Exhaustion" - Ch. 3, post-BATPM. Unable to stand by and watch while Arthur withers away from infection before his eyes, Charles spends his time taking up Arthur's share of the work as well as his own. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

10/27/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 18 - "Big Hugs from Family" - 1903. Bill Williamson/Wendell White/Sampson Black. Bill gets into trouble while hunting for game to feed himself and his new partners through the holidays. Their reaction is not one he was expecting.

10/30/24 - "A Hog-Killin' Time," Whumpcember Day 20 - "Drugged" - Ch. 3, post-BATPM. Hurt!Drugged!Arthur Morgan.

10/31/24 - "Let Sleeping Dogs Lie," TM3B3 #4. Micah's mischief-making goes too far when he scares little Jack and makes him cry. "Papa Wolf" Marston is none too happy, and enlists the help of Arthur, Sean, and Charles to deliver some well-deserved payback.

@cassietrn @photo1030

[indigomarina]

First Halloween (FrostedApple Nanny AU) Inspired by @notherpuppet's RadioApple Nanny AU and that cute duck onesie I've seen Lucifer in. It was Halloween night, and the Morningstar mansion was a flurry of excitement. Lucifer, clad in a bright yellow duck onesie complete with a beak and webbed feet, waddled around the foyer, quacking loudly. "Quack, quack! Where are my little ducklings?" he called, peering around comically. From the top of the stairs, Charlie appeared, dressed in a fierce demon costume, complete with horns, a spiked tail, and a little pitchfork. She let out a mighty roar, then dissolved into giggles. "I'm not a duckling, Daddy!" she protested, bouncing down the steps. "I'm a scary demon, see?" Lucifer swept her up, peppering her face with kisses until she squealed. "The cutest little demon in all of Hell!" he declared, setting her down just as Gloria and Eira made their entrance. Gloria was resplendent in a shimmering blue gown, her dark hair twisted up and adorned with icicles. Glittery frost patterns swirled over her pale skin, and in her hand, she carried a crystal-tipped wand. She looked every inch the snow witch, ethereal and enchanting. Eira, meanwhile, was the picture of a storybook Alice, in a baby blue dress with a frilly white apron, striped stockings, and a black hair band. She carried a little stuffed white rabbit, her expression caught between excitement and trepidation. Lucifer's jaw dropped at the sight of Gloria, his eyes wide and adoring. "Sweet Hell, you look stunning," he breathed, taking her hand and brushing a kiss over her knuckles. "I'm bewitched, my snowy sorceress." Gloria laughed, swatting him with her wand. "Flatterer. You just want me to magic up some candy for you, don't you?" Charlie, meanwhile, had grabbed Eira's hand, bouncing on her toes. "You look so pretty, Eira! Just like a real Alice!" Eira smiled shyly, hugging her rabbit. "Thank you. You make a very fearsome demon, Charlie." Lucifer clapped his hands, grinning broadly. "Alright, my little monsters! Who's ready to go trick-or-treating?" The girls cheered, racing for the door. Gloria and Lucifer followed at a more sedate pace, their hands intertwined. As they walked down the street, the girls darting from house to house, Gloria leaned her head on Lucifer's shoulder. "This is nice," she murmured, watching as Charlie and Eira compared their candy hauls, giggling together. "I can't remember the last time I celebrated Halloween." Lucifer pressed a kiss to her hair, pulling her closer. "Get used to it, my love. With Charlie around, every day is a celebration." Just then, a group of teenage boys passed by, snickering at Lucifer's costume. "Nice duck suit, man!" one of them called, laughing. Lucifer drew himself up, affronted. "I'll have you know, this is a very manly duck costume!" he retorted, flapping his arms for emphasis. "Quack, quack, motherduckers!" The boys howled with laughter, moving on. Gloria buried her face in Lucifer's shoulder, shaking with mirth. "Very manly," she agreed, her voice muffled. "The manliest duck in all the land." Lucifer huffed, but he was smiling. "Damn right. And don't you forget it." As the night wore on, the girls' energy began to flag. Charlie, her little pitchfork dragging, reached up to Lucifer. "Carry me, Daddy?" she pleaded, yawning. Lucifer scooped her up, settling her on his hip. Eira, not to be outdone, tugged at Gloria's dress. "Me too, Mama?" Gloria's heart melted. It was the first time Eira had called her that outside of their home. She bent down, gathering the sleepy girl into her arms. "Of course, my little Alice. Let's get you home to Wonderland." As they made their way back to the mansion, the girls dozing against their shoulders, Gloria felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the mild autumn night.

The house was quiet, the only sound the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Lucifer and Gloria tiptoed into the living room, careful not to wake the sleeping girls. Charlie and Eira were curled up together on the couch, a tangled mess of candy wrappers, costume pieces, and exhausted little limbs. Charlie's demon horns were askew, and Eira's Alice band had slipped down over one eye, but they both wore matching smiles, lost in sugar-sweet dreams.

Gloria felt her heart swell at the sight, a rush of love so fierce it took her breath away. She turned to Lucifer, finding him watching the girls with the same tender expression. "We should get them to bed," she whispered, running a hand through Eira's mussed hair. Lucifer nodded, carefully scooping Charlie into his arms. The little girl mumbled something, burrowing her face into his fuzzy duck costume. Lucifer's eyes softened, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead before carrying her off to her room.

Gloria followed suit with Eira, the child's slight weight a precious burden in her arms. She navigated the stairs slowly, marveling at the trust in Eira's sleeping face, the way her little hand curled into Gloria's dress even in slumber.

This, she thought as she tucked Eira into bed, was what love felt like. This quiet, perfect moment, the knowledge that she would do anything, everything, to keep this child safe and happy.

She brushed a kiss over Eira's brow, whispering a soft goodnight, before slipping out of the room. She found Lucifer in the hallway, leaning against the wall with a soft smile.

"Out like a light," he reported, tilting his head towards Charlie's door. "I think we wore them out."

Gloria chuckled, leaning into his side. "I think they wore us out. I'm exhausted." Lucifer wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back downstairs. "Ah, but it's the good kind of exhausted, isn't it? The kind that comes from a day well spent, full of joy and laughter." She hummed in agreement, letting him lead her to the couch. They collapsed onto it together, Gloria kicking off her shoes and curling into Lucifer's side. He draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. For a long moment, they simply sat in comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Then, impulsively, Gloria turned her head, pressing a soft kiss to Lucifer's cheek. He blinked, surprised, then grinned. "What was that for?" In answer, Gloria kissed him again, this time on the corner of his mouth. And again, on the tip of his nose. Lucifer laughed, his eyes crinkling with delight. "Not that I'm complaining, but-" She silenced him with a kiss to his lips, lingering and sweet. When she pulled back, his face was smeared with her cobalt blue lipstick, and he was staring at her with a dazed, lovestruck expression. "You," she informed him, punctuating each word with another kiss, "are the cutest," kiss, "sweetest," kiss, "most ridiculous," kiss, "duck-wucky I have ever seen." Lucifer, looking thoroughly kissed and more than a little punch-drunk, let out a slightly manic giggle. "Duck-wucky?" Gloria grinned, wiping at the lipstick stains with her thumb. "Mhmm. My very own adorable duck-wucky. And I wouldn't have you any other way." His expression softened, his eyes liquid with emotion. "Gloria, I… you…" She pressed a finger to his lips, smiling. "I know, Luci. Me too." And she did. In that perfect, shining moment, she knew. Knew that this was where she belonged, where she had always been meant to be. Here, in this house full of laughter and love, with this ridiculous, wonderful man and their two precious girls. Her family. Her home. Her happily ever after. She leaned in, resting her forehead against his. Lucifer's arms came around her, holding her close, so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her own. "Happy Halloween, Lucifer," she whispered. He smiled, his eyes never leaving hers. "Happy Halloween, my snow angel."

And as he captured her lips once more, Gloria let herself melt into his embrace, into the warmth and love and certainty of it all. Outside, the night was dark and full of monsters. But here, in the circle of Lucifer's arms, in the heart of their little family…

Here, there was only light, and love, and the promise of forever.

And really, what treat could be sweeter than that?

[meli-writes]

Little Miss Laser - Ch. 02

(Previous)

/// CW: hostage scene w/ electroplay, explicit BDSM scene (light restraints, oral), transphobia/transmisogyny and discussions of it, mentions of racism & sexual assault. ///

Laser was the only thing that mattered, and Glass could only look; at how tired she was, at the uniform-standard makeup twirling down her cheeks, and the curls frizzing from the unceasing, infuriating clawing of Biker Hood, all while she waited again for— Tzzt.

The Little Miss wretched involuntary against her, filling Glass’ ears with a gently nauseous squeal before she was let collapse, the collar clicking with a sickly note of satisfaction.

“Aww— don’t wanna play today?” Hood cooed, prerecorded; should would only dare be so arrogant hiding behind the poorly-compressed ransom note. “Maybe she’ll learn to like it.”

“She’s gettin’ it every 30 seconds till you’ve paid up.”

How many times had she felt it? Thousands— Laser hadn’t picked up in days. Thousands more. Glass was gonna murder Biker Hood, maybe it would even be legal, turn her hands to ice and choke her on a cocktail chilled with her own fingers, snapped off one-by-one.

“Also— if you’re planning on the Lil’ Miss lasering her way out, on leaving her here—”

The words wound themselves around Glass’ neck, as though it were the electroplated chain in Hood’s grasp, who knew exactly what little to expect of a Little Miss. If she’d only fallen harder for the copper crap, Glass thought, as Laser was pulled off the raw concrete floor.

“—we’ve got a demonstration for you. Come on, Doll, I know you like showing off for me.”

Magenta-muddied eyes reflected on the glassy helm that covered Hood’s face. Trembling lips begged to ask for anything else. Tzzt. “Please, I-I can’t do this again,” she whined.

“Don’t I recall you saying you wanted to be a good girl, for me?” Hood said, squatting down and slipping a leathered finger under her chin. “We can do this, or we’ll just have to up that Doll-Resonant Auto-Shocker to every 15 seconds. How long till your friends even see this?”

It was bitter. Friends.

What did she tell you, Hood? Maybe she just knew Laser better than the rest of them, even Glass. Maybe that’s how she caught her. Why would you even care?

There was a single tear falling to Laser’s heart, where shimmers coiled around the gem buried in her sternum, rainbows flooding her palms before the collar clicked—

TZZZT.

Laser was left so breathless, she didn’t even scream. “I worked out the frequency of those little government space-rocks,” Hood said, punchably smug. “It’s why you’ve stopped being able to track her, and why the more she tries, the worse it hurts — no limits.”

The collar was scaling with her, Glass surmised, and it would only stop if it — Tzzt — or Laser broke. Hood could never know how strong Laser really was, she wouldn’t have had the limbs, or atoms, to make her ransom flick otherwise.

How many times had Laser felt that? Glass knew, she’d be terrified of the team seeing this, seeing her like this. It must’ve already punished her— over— and over— and over again.

Hood took her again, roughly, at the chin; Laser melted into its cruel comfort, barely able to hold herself up anymore. The lower segment of Hood’s helmet detached, revealing lips painted in lincoln green, that sowed a kiss on Laser’s own with sensuous possessivity.

She owned Laser in that moment, who Glass had almost thought was blushing, before she buckled, sobbing, and was turned like a mannequin — like she wouldn’t soon slice Hood’s head into messy subdivisions, with Glass pouring in a few icicles after for good measure.

“So — America’s Sweethearts — you’ve got three days. You transfer to the specified accounts and you’ll find out where she is after it’s untraceable,” Hood said.

“I spot anyone looking—” Tzzt. “—and maybe you’ll never see her again.”

---

Little Miss Inferno flicked it off, pivoting around the penthouse boardroom, an audible bristle in her aramid-woven bodysuit. “Six— Million— Dollars,” she breathed, huskily.

“Okay, so— don’t pay it? We don’t lose like a million bucks, and if Hood finishes them off it’s one less problem. Besides, they could totally laser out — if they wanted to,” Tremor said, her oversized, ironclad boots still pitiful compared to the pentagonal desk that stole the room.

“Babe, please— as if we need the bitch overcharging again. You remember we’re in the city; won’t be useless mountains this time, it’ll be us,” Cyclone said, stroking at her wind-proof blonde bun, before clattering the same tightly-trimmed nails on luxury wood. “We don’t even know what this Biker Hood — god, I can’t say it — will even do if we refuse. I say we make the video public, then the Department has to step in to clean up and—”

“This is not a negotiation.” At least Fern had some sense, the least-worst leader after Glass was ruled out as a supposed bad culture fit. “It’s more profitable if we suck it up, take the insurance, and stop Laser from damaging our image any more than they already have.”

Scheming bitch. If the ransom was in cash I’d shove every last rolled wad up your—

“And what am I supposed to do when this third-rate dipshit turns up with six-mill in that resonance tech; bury her in downtown?” Tremor spat, knowing full-well she could handle it.

Glass’ water had turned solid in her hand — and she shattered it, crystal decanter and all, into pieces. No one would give her notice if didn’t she stand out, leaned into it even, with the snow-white hair — but anything else, that which could be considered ‘culturally specific,’ had to be American, and she was thoroughly aware they would never consider her that.

“We’re paying the ransom— and getting her— out of there,” she howled, a blizzard beating at unbattened hatches. “The hell is wrong with you, all of you. We pay it for her sake, for how much it would hurt her if this got out. Should never let any of you attend Pride ever again.”

Cyclone immediately whipped up a double-down, grasping at Tremor’s hand, “Excuse me? We’re— They’re not one of us, remember? They’re only here because the gem is stuck—”

Tremor, for her sake, at least looked at Glass with some guilt — gold star for effort — a degree she was definitely annoyed for feeling, “It's just a joke, I wasn’t really suggesting—”

Fern dove a knuckled fist into the table, burning a fire-break into their squabbling.

“Trem, check storage. Laser’s duty uniform hasn’t been checked out in three weeks, so either Hood made a very convincing fake or someone’s bypassed our security— oh don’t give me that look, this is the easy job,” she said. “Cyk, I need you on the flight deck. If there’s an incident I need you to contain it before press gets there.”

Cyclone squinted at Glass through amber-tinted goggles. Tremor didn’t even look.

“Now go, both of you.”

Their hands began to unwillfully untwine, and once they’d pouted off in different directions Fern looked right at Glass, “I do what’s right for the team — not any one of us.”

“Yeah— cos what’s right for the team is keeping in-check the murderous little sunbeam you need for cover-up work, right?” Glass shot back.

Fern was an obedient, government girl; she knew when to hold her tongue, and Glass knew this was the actual reason. Laser wouldn't be so useful if every villain ran at the sight of her; if every civilian started getting in the way, hoping to film something bloody and mistaken.

“Glacier— Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care. I’ll arrange the damn payment.”

Fern picked up the hotline receiver, the incumbent Secretary of Supers leering down from his gaudily-framed, overbearing portrait. She paused, inputting the code for someone low-down and easy-to-silence, before side-eyeing Glass.

“Why did she even send it to you?” Fern asked, waiting on either response.

“Because I was calling Laser to check-in on her, Fern. People do that, you know — make sure their friends are okay,” she said, before Fern turned, wincing into the receiver.

She had been as clear as spring water. You don’t have friends, Fern. Not here, not in me, not anymore. But Laser is my friend, and I’ll do everything it takes to get her back. Her prints turned to ice as she left, crunching deeper as she thought about how tired Laser must be.

Oh, habibti— how did you get yourself into this mess?

---

“AHHHhhh— Eek! Hood, p-please— I can’t take it anymore.”

Thwack.

“That’s Ms Hood to you— Little Miss,” Milly drawled.

She was distant lightning on her Doll’s thigh — its flash and its thunder, but gentle, with none of its sting. Laser trembled in her bindings; cold-steel police cuffs, borrowed, leashed to a bed-frame squeaking more than she did. The smallest bite to pair with her pleasure.

“Does that mean you’re ready to yield now, Doll?”

Her lips had loosened for only a moment and already Laser was canting an oil-slickened clit back into her, cat-lapping — needily so — at the blood-red furls of its underside, her tongue curling around its half-throbbed head before pulling her back in.

Oh— God, Babe, of course we can call it that! That’d never be too much to ask; your body, your clit.

“Ahh— Never!” she pleaded, in an overacted, pitched-up soprano, “I’ll never yield to your villainous scheme.” It was new, at least, to Milly — turned her into a puppy, squeak-toy in slobbering jaws, pressed with a primordial urge to tear the screeching bunny to shreds.

Milly was stripping off well-stained leather, pouring herself then into Laser’s generous folds, fingers slipping into the softened haunches at her ass, which the slutty, knock-off uniform had temptuously struggled to cover. She wrenched Laser — squirming in desperation as her faux-captor’s cheeks popped with spittle, and precum — back into the straddle, plush thighs sitting nervously at the sides of Milly’s upturned face, curt and bleached blonde hair pooling around her; never once letting go, with suckling mouth or strapping grasp.

“Aww— will you really?” Milly teased, “You’ve been holding on for hours now, and it’s still just you— and me.” She had seen Laser be properly hard once, before bursting into tears. So, instead, Milly made sure to torment her with a thorough and deliberate delicateness.

“Your so-called friends really take their time when it comes to rescuing you.”

The barb was accompanied with a tremulous semi-retreat, pulling back to Laser’s head and letting the little limpness slack in the air, before sucking even tighter, tongue against its tip.

“Oh— Fuck,” Laser said, stomach collapsing into itself, “Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck— FUCK.”

“Shh— shhh—” Milly soothed, trying to guide Laser back to her own adorable script, keeping them on track for the finale, feeling the intoxicating shiver that rocked through Laser’s thighs into the sheets. I’m gonna need to use these for pillows, but, for now— “You’re gonna have to keep it down, Doll. Or, maybe, everyone will have to find you, just— like— this.”

“No, wait I— I didn’t tell anyone I’d be here, Ms Hood.”

There was the rose-pained truth, breaking her beautifully, the shadow of a dark-hearted desire she was forced to hide — if acted, perhaps, with more ham to it than her ass.

“No one is coming to rescue me — it is just you.”

Laser was stiffening out of her comfort-zone, and Milly loosened to let their short-of-breath, mutual arousal settle. Suddenly, Laser slipped; fallen to the side and strung-up awkwardly on the leash. Milly rushed to catch her, lithe-wire arms making Laser giggle out-of-character.

She pulled her into a cradle, up, from scrunched-up pillows, and reached for the wand that waited, eager and plugged-in, on the nightstand and drew it the perfect spot — the one the pair had once spent a meticulous evening making sure Milly could find the finicky thing.

“Please, Ms Hood— please,” Laser begged, quivering an ever-worse contortionist act on her face as Milly didn’t yet switch it on. “Just— be gentle. I’ll be such a good Little Miss for you.”

Milly ran a tongue over her lips, looking far into Laser’s eyes as she pulled the Doll’s mess into her mouth. “Then yield for me, Doll,” she asked, flicking it on at last. “Maybe I’ll let you feel like this — instead of something worse.”

Goodness, Babe, how you love to pretend I would ever hurt you — that I even could.

“Y-yes, Ms Hood.”

She let Laser fall into her — brown curls unfurling in her face, shoulder brushing at her chest — taking the spare hand to hold Laser’s clit and kiss it, firmly, against the wand.

“Come on then— aren’t you gonna?”

It was notched higher, and then higher again, tussling at Laser’s compos mentis, retching her with unrestrained delight. “Please— I am, I am, I am.”

“Don’t you wanna?”

“I do, I do, I promise, I—” When the words had finally formed she couldn’t stop saying them. “Fuck I— Ms Hood. I YIELD— I yield-I-yield-I-yield-I-yield-I—”

Milly withdrew it, gently, spotting the tell-tale sign, the emotional fever-pitch that Laser so thoroughly thrived over, as she whined one final, delirious request— “Just don’t hurt me.”

“Deal.”

She rolled forward, drove herself onto Laser’s clit, bobbing back-and-forth as she continued to stare into her, making sure Laser knew— This toy belongs to me. And with one last squeak— she came, bucking into Milly and knocking her back with a hushed choke.

So Milly braced on the velvet throw, shaking her head for morsels of dignity as spit-watered cum dripped down the corner of her mouth, catching herself as she rubbed it with an open palm and taking a teardrop on her pinkie-tip; she brought it, chin-tilted, to a concavely curved tongue and waited a pensive and heavily-breathed moment before she tasted it.

This is so bad, Doll. You’re lucky you make me wanna make it look delicious.

“Such a fool,” she mocked. “Enjoy this— it’s the only mercy you’ll know, now that you’re mine. Wonder what I should call you? Little Miss Laser is far too decent for a thing like you.”

“Oh— anything, Ms Hood. I’ll be anything you want; anything for your mercy.”

“Hmm. How about, Little Miss—” Keugh. Heugh. Milly had missed a bit in the back of her throat, and now her oesophagus was furiously rejecting its entry. “Ahh. Fuck. Laz?”

“Yeah, Hood?”

“Ouch.” Milly knocked at her chest— Thump. Thump. “What— was my line? I forgot,” she asked, twisting a neatly-split brow more than sheepishly.

“Oh— um. Little Miss— well. Ahhh.” Laser was blushing at her own naughtiness, pressing cheek into shoulder. Seeing her instinctive attempt to hide was making Milly blush all on her ownsome. “I’m getting out of it now, so I think saying it’s gonna feel so silly.”

There was no way for her to do it, arms pulled above well-squeezed, widely-set tits — those Milly had figured out she preferred push-ups to manage, when she wasn’t having to hide the ever-present purple glow that spilled out her sternum — and legs spread by Milly’s own muscled presence. It just brought even more attention to her self-mortifying predicament.

“Shit, sorry Babe,” Milly said.

“Nah— it’s okay, there’s always—”

---

Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt.

Laser’s phone was ringing— again. Milly was surprised to see something so plain from her, still bracing for a poorly-ripped version of the theme from the Department-funded show, Lil’ Misses Save America. But maybe that risked getting her clocked, if it blasted off in public.

“Heya! AHh— Ahk,” she sputtered, voice broken into clattered splinters as she tried to answer, pitching herself back to a relaxed, private tone. “Oh-my-gosh. I’m so sorry, Glass.”

Milly had been presaged, though it was always pleasant, into baby-sitting her niece when she’d figured it out. Hey, Babe— why does your submissive voice sound like your cartoon?

“How you doin’ Chilly?”

That TV found itself immediately unplugged, with Milly left a muttering mess to the overly sharp, superheroine-obsessed 8-year-old — working overtime to keep her satisfied.

She was, at least, well-armed; an entire, accessory-packed doll set, that her niece knew was precious, smart enough to know it wasn’t released yet, hushed-up on Milly’s less-than-legal secrets, and to never believe it was a real Little Miss who’d procured it for her.

“Oh— yeah, I’m good. Just allergies — I’m at the shelter right now.”

It was an idealised version of herself, maybe that’s why Laser liked it so much. It was never going to slip — like she needed to; it was always going to fit in — like she didn’t. She was the one who cared about the contractually-obligated consulting; script feedback, coaching the actresses, hiding the truth. Five times the amount, in-fact, to cover for all the rest of them.

“What d’ya mean you’re not tracking it?” Laser pulled a worried brow at Milly, hastened her to spoof Laser’s signal for Glass to see. “Yeah, I promise. I’ll get it looked at soon.”

Maybe she needed the reminder, who Little Miss Laser could be — who she could be. That she was only able to pretend to be with Milly, who Laser made sure knew she was helping. It was sweet, but still weird. And somehow, hopefully, it was reconciled with all the rest of her.

“Hey, Glass— Can I call you later? I’m kinda, uhm— with a girl.”

Milly had cried when Laser unwrapped the boxed dolls, telling her seventeen times she didn’t have to. She wasn’t even her niece’s favourite Lil’ Miss. And it didn’t matter at all.

“Thanks Chilly. Love you— bye!” Laser sighed with relief. She did love that girl, but not when she was trying to have fun. “Where were we?”

Maybe it was the weirdness that made it so sweet.

---

Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt.

Laser had twisted the leash around her, checking on the nightstand, giving the rumbling phone a painful wince before Milly could clamber up to liberate the exhausted captive.

“I think it’s Glass again.”

“You’re gonna have to answer at some point,” Milly said, folding the cuffs into a drawer, next to a dozen naughtier items. The signal jamming is worrying her Babe, more and more.

“Couldn’t she wait till morning?” Laser wrapped tightly around Milly, beginning to trail a finger — one of the ones she trimmed with particular, beloved ruthlessness — between her abs. “We saved the world like— three weeks ago,” she whined.

Milly hadn’t spoken and Laser cautiously tried to fill the space, “You know, cos we’re not due for another asshole like that for, like, at least another few—”

“Till morning?”

She felt Laser’s hands pulling at the trap she’d stepped into, at something she hadn’t been ready to ask in the increasing proportion of time she was spending in the hideout, especially in recent weeks. In another moment she’d retreated the rest of the way — a few filthied pillows put between them — and was squeezing her fingers as she did when really, properly, self-conscious. As though it were possible to press her own power back into herself.

Milly had to look Laser in the eyes. Didn’t.

“Hey— Milly?” asked Laser.

Milly wanted to give her space, she thought, sit there and take in her tits, respectfully, for the fortieth time today. Didn’t realise she’d turned away, groping tremors into the velvet.

Oh— Fuck. She knows my name. I never told her—

---

“So how come she’s still calling you Hood,” Bri asked. “That part of the game?” nodding to the hunch-backed bundle of blankets on Milly’s couch — she was always getting cold in the warehouse, unhelped by how little she wore — watching her own cartoon and taking notes.

“I haven’t uh— told her my name yet,” Milly said, keeping her voice low, “Besides, she must’ve heard it by now. Maybe it’s just part of her game — like you said.”

Bri looked at her with a consternation packed neatly into four, internationally-bound suitcases; the job had gone adequately and she was not interested in acclimatising to this while she waited for the heat to die down. Though, maybe she was still going to entertain it.

“Hey, Little Miss — what do I call you again?”

Milly spotted the smirk passing over Bri’s mouth, a vicious composure slipping just a little. Nothing she was up to could be good — but Laser was already bounding over, bright-eyed.

“Laser’s still totally good. You can say Laz! If you’d like to.” She was being very sweet to Bri, apparently having misidentified her as Milly’s equivalent to Glass, and trying to make a good impression on her behalf. “There is Alex — but it’s not what I would’ve picked.”

And now Milly was getting straight eyeballed, redder than sunburn. See— She knows how to be honest. Bri rolled her head around and prompted Laser further, “Didn’t you choose that?”

“Naw— it’s what Mom picked.”

“Cos see she wanted something neutral; she was that sorta hippie,” Laser elaborated, sitting up and munching eagerly on a clutch of grapes, “And when ol’ Uncle Sam finally found us, changing it was a rather affirmative No. Easier to scrub me with less trailing papers, so it’d be harder for people to figure out one of America’s Sweethearts is a tranny. You know, for whenever some queen like Manning leaks the Department’s dirty laundry.”

“Weird priorities, I know,” she grimaced. "At least they added ma'am when they said it."

Milly was wondering if she should interject, not to stop her — though maybe she was too honest, Bri would be thinking so — but to make sure Laser knew she was listening too, “Shit. I’m sorry Babe. Can I ask what you wanted to pick?”

“Francesca,” she squeaked, a little tender, “Which— Fran. I know it’s kinda dumpy.”

“It’s cute, and it suits you.” Milly paused, watching for how Laser would respond, if she’d ask what Milly hoped she would, “I could call you that, if you’d like?”

“Nah,” she said, “Nah, I like Laser. I like Laz.”

Her smile slid, bittersweet, to the side. “Maybe someday, when we’re— past this. But right now? It’s what you call me, and it’s what Glass calls me. And I like it for that.”

Bri pushed her noisy, overheating laptop aside and reached across to rub Laser’s cheek. “Thanks Laser, that will be all.” It was a feigned comfort, surely, but Laser didn’t need to know that, Bri would be gone soon anyway.

“Oke doke!” she beamed, in moments having bundled herself back on the couch, the familiar SFX imitation of her blasts emanating from the front-desk TV Milly had taken with her on the last job.

Bri thumbed through another stack of stolen post-it notes; reams of passwords, emails, and security question answers. She was looking for whatever let her into another one of the hedge-fund fuckboy’s offshore accounts, but was stuck with half as much material as hoped.

It coulda been so much more, Milly — if your head was in the game and not between her—

Biker Hood hadn’t enough tricks prepared to keep the reception-level distraction going long enough, and fewer marks to work with meant drawing more from each one. After she’d moved the first few million they’d noticed, and were able to cut her off sooner each time.

“See Milly— She knows how to trust you.”

You.

Bri was making some kind of punishment from this — not out of malice, just boredom. There was going to be a lesson too, there always was. Bri did want her to be okay when she was gone. The plan was already booked. Not friends, but still peers.

The lesson hurt worse than the punishment.

“And whether she knows it or not, your name — has it in some crime computer, if she’s found your paper-thin shell company — until you tell her yourself, she’s gonna know you don’t trust her back.”

“Hey— Milly. Can I—” She almost didn’t say it. “—Can I stay over tonight?”

---

        I want her to — but if I’m not able to tell her—

        “No?”

“Oh.”

        Oh?

“Sorry.”

        Fuck.

“I-I know it was, like, a big ask,” Laser muttered. “I’ll go get sorted.”

“Ahh,” Milly choked, “Wait!” She rushed a pair of gym-addicted forearms around Laser’s mid, pulling at sweat-soaked rolls till Laser fell back into her. “You can stay—”

“I want you to stay.”

The startled Lil’ Miss dropped to Milly’s side; she grasped at her loosened bearings and brought a hand to intertwine with the one pulled around her shoulder. “But you—”

“I was scared,” Milly said, her breath shattered into broken chain-links, nesting her head on Laser’s shoulder so she could press a blooming cheek into her thick, fluffed-up curls. “Just— a little. I sort of wanted to make sure that I could say it: No.”

“Oh. Yeah— Of course, I’m—”

“Please don’t say sorry,” Milly begged. Laser said it too much, and Milly wished she could dare to ask: is it because you mean it, or that you think you deserve less? “Please.”

Milly squeezed her harder, terrified the precious thing could vanish if she ever let go, and whimpered, “It’s all me; me and the dumb, intrusive thoughts I shouldn’t have said. Okay?”

She’s gonna know you don’t trust her back.

“I didn’t realise that you knew— well, me. Millicent. Milly. Mill,” she continued. “And I sort of freaked. I should have told you.”

Laser rolled into her and clutched at the accidentally shattered handhold when Milly dared not do it herself. “Why’re you scared, Milly? I know I’m— I know how to control myself. I wouldn’t even dare to think about hurting you.”

Milly forced herself to look at Laser, pulling the buckles of a spiritual armbinder several sizes too small till it pulled into place. “I’m not used to not being in control,” she admitted. There was an awful look in her eyes, in the girl who should never have to feel guilty for this.

She won’t trust me if I can’t tell her — maybe even if I do.

“Because— I could kill you?” Laser said. There was no emotion to infer out of her, the realisation of that causing Milly to wince. The girl who could never stop smiling, till Milly made her. “That I could level the building too, while I’m at it. Hell— the entire block.”

An entire— Fuck, Doll.

Milly needed to let her prosecco-and-orgasm-addled brain process it all, what Laser had just said, arid as the high noon on a gentle, long-forgotten, childhood summer’s day.

“And that’s what everyone else is thinking!” Milly exclaimed. “They’re treating you like this bomb that’s a loose or crossed wire from exploding and— Fuck, it hurts to realise I’ve thought of you like that too. I never used to.”

“No. I get it,” Laser said. It still worried Milly how easily she could accept things, fuzzing the line between easy-goer and people-pleaser. “I guess I’m just used to it now.”

“And you shouldn’t be! You shouldn’t have to be used to it at all!” Milly had almost yelled it, kneading Laser’s hands with a desperate, reassuring pressure, who’d let out a cosied whine in response. “I’m sorry— Laz. I really, really am.”

And she smiled. Just the smallest amount. Yep. “You’re all good.” Please continue. “It’d take a lot to burn the goodwill you got out of kidnapping me, or trying at least,” she said, bringing herself to a giggle. Milly could feel the ropes unknotting at her heart.

“Goodwill!? Babe, what is wrong with you?” She teased, not necessarily desiring the answer.

“Hmm, so many things. So— Many— Beautiful— Things,” Laser said, lolling forward so when she did she was looking up at Milly instead of at her. “It’s nice— when you treat me like there’s nothing I could do to stop you. I don’t worry about a thing.”

“Yeah, except for: the crop, the cuffs, the wand— what colours of rope do we have now?”

“Alright, stop! Hehehe— you’re so embarrassing.” Laser knocked into Milly’s chest, laughing before she leapt right back up. “Hey! You wanna know what the other Little Misses are into?”

Milly pinched at the fat on Laser’s neck, “Let me guess — Glacier’s super into iceplay?”

“Too obvious. Well— yes, but only if she’s domming,” Laser mused, an endearing literalist at times. Milly did not actually need to know even more compromising exposés on the most dangerous girls in the whole world. “Usually the preference is wax.”

Laser twitched suddenly, and her brow curled as she mulled how to admit whatever would come next. “We’ve never had anything, to be clear,” she said. “I used to think I’d actually end up with her. But that’s not Glass — she just wants to be like really good friends. It’s the same with everyone. Kink is more like a hobby she chats with me about. I keep my stuff—”

Our stuff. “—Private. Speaking of which—”

Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt. Brrrrrrt.

She scooped the phone and mashed Busy with a tizzied hush. I didn’t mean you. She sighed and swallowed, asking, “Milly— could you get the cuffs out?”

“There’s something I wanna tell you.”

---

Laser kicked at the messed-up duvet till it cradled her unpetite feet. Not askin’ how you got this haul, Hood — but every pretty shoe stops several sizes below me. She was chilling in the warehouse air, faded was the stuffiness begotten from sexed-up biker breath circling about her chest, laying a head on Milly and peering over her neat bust to find some other kind of warmth in her eyes. “Remember when the Lil’ Misses and I were fighting this dude a few weeks back, like— God, Scaremungus-What,” she asked.

“I mean, I’ve met the guy— once, at this mixer,” Milly replied. “He’s got that—”

“Jock. Strap. And it’s shaped like— Yeah, him,” Laser confirmed, the small, golden chain linking her cuffs twinkling as she fumbled at the well-stretched neckline of her costume.

“Hey!” she realised, “Weren’t you doin’ one of those saving-the-world sortsa missions a few weeks back?” You’re not telling me that— he’s even more laughable than me, Babe.

“Mill. Chill. I’m getting there,” snipped Laser, with a chuckle. “So— we’re in this abandoned mineshaft and we’re not supposed to, like, kill him because there’s this low-key nuclear device in the adjacent town with his name on it no one can get close to and, like, it’s putting Tremor out of commission cos there’s no cave-collapsing allowed. Sorry— anyway, I get cut off and he starts uh— coming on to me with, like, the exact pun you’re thinking of, and then he started, like, grabbing himself and—”

She paused, for a moment, Milly drawing in her knees to tip Laser closer as an aching breeze of frustration passed her lips. “I never realised how close he’d gotten and— he grabbed me, and he knew what I was and when he said that—” Laser stopped, head lurching into her chest with only a whimper escaping.

“Mill, you’re the first to ever— express interest in me; like, the real thing,“ she said, the words coming slow and practised. “I know what exists on the internet, the Rule 34 and worse, but— you wanted the actual Laser. Laz. Alex. Francesca. Whoever. Whenever I’ve spoken to people before it’s like they only want the Laser on TV. The doll that comes in plastic packaging—”

“—the one they can throw away, when it isn’t fun anymore.”

“Should I stop calling you Doll?” Milly asked in a quiet and guilt-ridden whisper.

“I don’t know?” Laser replied. “It’s me who puts myself up to it. I tried to be that for you, hid myself, before I realised I could—” She pivoted without a lost beat, “Well— you know that random earthquake in West Virginia? This Appalachian mountain that just fell into itself?"

A few weeks ago. West Virginia. An entire block. “Oh— God— Laz?”

“Yep. Lasered him — and something like half-a-kilometer past him.” Laser was looking past Milly, peering into the peerlessly black tunnel she’d carved again in her imagination. “Fuck, it was bad. It was so bad. And it could have been so much worse.”

“You stood up for yourself,” Milly said — firmer, like she was almost domming again.

“I’ve told you I’m stronger but— Milly, I could pair down the power of the sun till it gives you a tan. That’s what I do every time. Stopped his bomb by putting my finger in a vice — cut a fifty-micron hole into its microcontroller. But if someone just— ticks me off, in the wrong way, at the wrong time. I could hurt so many people.”

Babe. It’s not your fault. It’s because he—

“I’ve thought about it and— I think I could do it, laser to the core, if I managed to get upset enough.” Laser breathed, allowing the gem to pulse in time with her, letting it shimmer through to all her extremities; Milly had to think better of the flittering urge to pinch at her luminous, pink-tipped tits. “That’s the reason I’m a Little Miss. The real one. Not cos I’m secretly as good as them, but because I’m more. West-Coast girl goes rogue, heel-turns into a parody, and she’s under house arrest, but if something went wrong with me? Snipers and drone-strikes. It’d need all of them to take me down — and they’d have to get lucky.”

Milly wished she knew how she was supposed to comfort her. She couldn’t just listen, she thought, it wasn’t enough. Laser deserved better, she—

“I don’t deserve you,” she plead — regretting the words as she said them, seeing it cut deeper, uncauterised, into Milly with each one, and cried, “I— Milly I’m—”

“Don’t apologise,” Milly caught. “It isn’t a question of deserving it — you’re allowed to have me. I know I was— particular, in what I said, what I called you, but even from where we started I could never have wanted you if you weren’t always there. That courage that glimmers through you, in a world I knew would hate you for it, if they did too.”

She hoped it was right, that she understood — because she was scared she never would, no matter what book she read, what video Laser linked, how much she tried to listen.

“Don’t call me brave,” Laser told her, rubbing at her tears with bound-up hands.

“Laz. I’m not. I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t want to be,” Laser cried, her head buried then into Milly’s chest. “I want to be scared, and vulnerable. I don’t want to answer Glass’ calls. I can’t go back to HQ, it’s why I’ve been here more and more and more. I want to be safe and to know you’ll keep me so.”

        “Always. I promise.”

“But you’re—”

        “What, Babe, what is it?”

“No— I’m sorry, Mill I—”

        “Please, tell me.”

“You know, how you said, you don’t feel like you’re in control?” Milly nodded in quick, subtle dips — furrowing her forehead in muscle-ached sympathy. “You’re cis, Mill.”

“There’s part of me that thinks — no, knows — you’re better than me,” she continued. “You want me, my body, and it’s— intoxicating, the affirmation of it. It’s like I’m not pretending I’m worth more than I am, or that I have to make up for that — to give, and never take. I’m not telling you I’m sorry every time I’m not perfect, I’m not worried each mistake will be my last. Except— now— I’ve just fucking vindicated all their worst beliefs about me.”

“Everyone else has stood aside, when you needed them most.”

“Yeah,” Laser muttered, weighed down by the people she could never tell this to, should never have to, in the first place. “Glass— there’s Glass. It’s not the same, but when she doesn’t understand me she still trusts in me. You trust.”

No. I— Stop. You have to say it.

“Babe I— I shut up. I listen. I’m not sure I could ever understand it all, and it hurts. It never feels like it’s enough,” Milly said, her own tears falling into Laser’s hair.

“It is,” Laser replied, muffled as she clambered till her lips met Milly’s cheek, and kissed her in the softest way she ever had. “You are too. And you do understand now, right — why I’m a freak? Power didn’t give me control, it stole the little I even had. If someone could slap some device that nulled me, held me hostage while Fern gave third-degree burns to any villain-fixer she could get her hands on. Well— I don’t know—

Did you finish it — the collar?”

“I did — after the kidnapping attempt,” Milly said. It was a penance, really. Assembled and disassembled and assembled again. She was reminding herself what would’ve happened if she’d used it. “But you know it didn’t work like that — it was a shock collar.”

“I know. It’s a— sophistication of brute force,” Laser beamed. “I wonder who that reminds me of.” Milly laughed, squeezing her tight, and kissed back at her. When you say these things, Babe. “I just keep wondering, Hey! What if it did work! Don’t have to deal with the intrusive thoughts about being pissed off enough to cause the whole-ass end of civilization.”

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t know, it’s bullshit and— Laz, how come I didn’t piss you off?”

“I mean you kinda did— once,” Laser chuckled, while Milly heatedly recalled the plasticated air and the copper droplets running into concrete pores. “Otherwise? Hot and pathetic.”

“Ah! Hahaha! Me. Babe. Pathetic.” — “Really?”

“Come on— did you never wonder,” Laser asked, “why none of my girls have dragged you off to jail yet?” Milly was attempting to command even a twitch on her face, and could only blink in stupefied shock. “Cos I specifically told them how literally not-a-threat you are to me,” she continued. “That you’re like— exercise.”

“Damn. Okay.” Milly looked off the bedside, where the batons and laminate planks slipped into the distant, uncared-for warehouse floor. “Makin’ me feel bad with that one, hehe.”

“Yeah, well— can always put that energy back into spanking me Little-Miss-Inferno Red.”

“Really are a freak, aren’t you?” Milly said, tugging at Laser’s hand. “I love you, Laz.”

“Love you too, Mill,” Laser responded, slowly. There was a small part sensing the moulding tone, but she was still stuck in an attempt to diffuse it another way. “That’s an actual, licensed colour. Emulsion paint, which was a marketing choice. Didn’t let me pick mine—”

“It does hurt though, Laz,” Milly said, nervously watching Laser swallow her info-dump and turn into her own shoulder. She made herself finish, “You don’t— take me, Hood, serious?”

There was a chopped-up groan dragging itself out of Laser’s throat, which she held onto till she couldn’t anymore, till it spilled onto the sheets. “Sorry, I do,” she said, looking back. “It’s because — when I tell them that — like, I trust you. I think I always have, kinda? Because you’re, like, a real villain, Milly! Not some up-jumped crook in a costume who’s gonna fuck up his kayfabe and pull a gun on me because it didn’t go his way.”

She stuttered out a couple laughs, before sucking them in as they collapsed into sobs.

“I knew you’d never hurt me. Not really,” Laser continued. “I got scared because I’d never thought that'd happen — never prepared for it. Cos it was my outlet — my fantasy, even. And our time had become super important to me. And, again, I know — if the collar was working, and you put it on, it wouldn't be good, not if it worked.” She crept forward, till Milly could see herself in water-stained, silver eyes. “But that, like, didn’t happen, and even if it did—”

“—I know you woulda made it right.”

The worried grimace that tore at Milly’s face slowly knitted itself into a wry smile; her shoulders wrenched back, and she yawned into the deindustrialised void and watched Laser’s gaze dancing along her pumped-up ‘ceps with a pleasing glow, before knocking her head into Laser and rubbing at her softly, skin-to-skin.

“Thank you,” she said at last — proud.

“You know, I was thinking, if it was fixed again — the collar — we could always fake it.”

And then — wheezing like a bleached, wounded wolf — she could have sworn her eyes were going to fall out of their sockets, if she’d been able to stare any wider. Laser did not notice. “It would, maybe, you know, sort of reset their expectations of me,” she added. “Make them think I’m more pathetic again, I was thinking.”

And the villain whose idea this had been in the first place still hadn’t opened her mouth, lips inflating shut as she tried not to drink in the suggestion. Bri was right, you are going to kill me. It just won't be you specifically.

Laser began to realise the ground she was treading on. It had taken months to coax Milly into a scenario like today’s. “Just cos— Glass is gonna keep calling and—”

You can’t go back in, not now. And— God— how I’d love to ruin them for that.

“How about— yeah, how about we sleep on that one, ‘kay Babe?” she then asked, rooted in the rhetorical and knowing, with a smirk — it wasn’t going to work.

---

(Masterpost)

originally written on cohost 27/03/2024, in response to Making-Up-Magical-Girls' prompt:

Magical Girl Who Just Wants To Sleep In For Once

[ofwolvesandshatteredshields]

The Branded Prince, ch. 6

Dragon Age, Fenris/male Hawke, chapter 6/~15.

Classic fantasy AU. Ferelden and Tevinter are at war, and both also face the Qunari threat. Fereldan soldier Rowan Hawke is forced to serve as bodyguard for Fenris, the prince of Tevinter, in order to protect his sister.

——

Hawke hammers on the door. When there’s no answer, he hammers again. Down the corridor a palace guard shoots him a look. At least they recognize his face now, and nobody’s bothered him in at least a couple of weeks. Took them long enough.

The door creaks open and Fenris looks up at him. “What—Hawke, I’m busy. Can this wait?”

Hawke glances past him and spots a pair of noblewomen in the room beyond. The one in the foxfur is standing next to a table strewn with papers. “I’ve news.” He glances again. “It’s urgent.”

Fenris’s face grows serious. He turns. “I apologize, but I must speak with my bodyguard. Let’s reconvene in the evening.”

“Of course.” The woman in the foxfur skirts past Hawke, and her friend follows. Hawke enters and shuts the door behind him.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Fenris asks anxiously.

“I checked the supplies your quartermaster packed up for us. If we had a snowfall here, the Frostbacks definitely got it worse. We wear that—“ He points in the direction of the courtyard. “—we’ll freeze to death. But the bloody quartermaster wouldn’t hear it.” He puts his hands on his hips. “So I need you to tell that weaselly prick at the gate that I can go into town to buy something. And money,” he adds. “I need money.”

Fenris stares at him for a long moment. “You—this is the news?”

“Well, I suppose it’s not news,” Hawke admits. “But it is urgent. We’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Fenris sits down and rests his head in his hands. “The meeting you interrupted was important.”

“Not as important as your princely arse turning into an icicle once we start making elevation,” Hawke shoots back.

(read on ao3)

[infinite-orangepeel]

a whumpy af steve harrington excerpt from ch. 1 of my soft dom eddie fic

aka this boy has a lot of unresolved trauma & eddie munson is going to help him heal

(the rest of the chapter that contains the actual smut will be linked below, i’m scared of tumblr shadow banning me again for posting the full thing in here)

TW: panic attacks, discussions of mental illness, suicidal ideation, vomiting/nausea (as symptom of panic attacks), disordered eating habits, ptsd, heavy themes, lots of emotions

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★

It comes down to this. Steve Harrington doesn’t trust himself. Not anymore. Not since everything went to shit in The Upside Down and Max ended up on life support.

Honestly, he didn’t feel all that abnormal about it for the first few months. It was easier to ignore the magnitude of his problems when his friends were clearly struggling right alongside him. There was something about strength in numbers or a sense of community–being convinced he wasn’t the only one totally fucked up in the aftermath of the final battle.

Regardless, it kept him afloat for a while.

Robin often called in the middle of the night to vent about her own flashbacks and the nightmares they prompted. The two grew accustomed to seeking comfort on opposite ends of the telephone line, twisting the cords around their fingers and whispering “ me too, I have that one too,” as to not wake the monsters underneath their beds. Sometimes, it got so bad that the sun would rise and they’d still be trying to snap each other out of it. Yawning through the agony of another sleepless night and fixing themselves cups of black coffee to alleviate the ensuing exhaustion.

Lucas had shown up on his doorstep enough times that Steve finally had another key made. He was tired of coming home from work and seeing the boy sulking there out in the cold–grief written plainly all over his face. Steve handed him the key on a carabiner clip–so Lucas could comfortably carry it around on his belt loop–and assured him he was welcome day or night. Steve’s parents had moved out of town after the infamous Hawkins’ “earthquake,” so Steve was solely in charge of approving any and all guests at the Harrington household. Lucas, of course, was at the top of his list–he was family, they all were. As long as the boy agreed to let himself in, warm-up on the couch, and grab a snack from the pantry–he could come over any hour he needed. No more rotting outside with tears forming icicles on his cheeks. Steve wouldn’t have that.

El refused to leave her bedroom–holed up beneath a fort of blankets and wouldn’t speak to anyone for days on end–until Hopper called up the gang and they elected ‘Babysitter Steve’ to go handle it. He was the most qualified in their eyes, what with his protective older brother attitude, gentle approach, and dorky jokes. Sure enough, El didn’t banish him right off the bat–not like she had with some of the others–namely, Mike Wheeler. She let him get close without protest and when he hugged her, she fell apart against his chest–guilt pouring out of her at the fact that she hadn’t been able to save Max from Vecna. He brushed the knots out of her hair with cautious fingers and listened. She just needed someone to listen. That was all it took. By the end of the night, she was sandwiched in between him and Hopper on the well worn couch, openly laughing at the plot of Pretty in Pink.

Nancy wore a poker face for the most part, but she wasn’t completely immune to the lasting effects of trauma. She held it together in public, like the first lady at a brutal press conference–politely smiling and waving for the crowd. She’d made it her personal goal to distract the kids from what was really going on–with Max–back at the hospital. This manifested itself in her implementation of weekly game nights, arcade afternoons, and community service outings. Naturally, Steve attended more than a handful of these events–lending a helping hand to rangle the younger teens. It was only once the kids had been dropped off at their respective addresses that Nancy would let her artificial smile fall and tell Steve what was really on her mind. The loss, the fear, the worry. He’d hold her hand– platonically of course, it wasn’t like that anymore –across the center console of his BMW and nod along to the tune of her suffering. It was one he knew well, played on repeat.

Thus, Steve managed his own anxiety by keeping that of the others at bay. His role became narrowly defined as the one who would help you regulate your breathing through the course of a vicious panic attack, the one who was considered reliable in a world that had become anything but. It gave him a sense of purpose and a reason to keep moving forward. He couldn’t simply hide away in his oversized bedroom when he knew his friends were busy laying catatonic in theirs. So, day after day, he pulled himself up by his bootstraps, usually forgot to eat, chugged excessive amounts of caffeine, and set out to mend all of the broken wings but his very own two.

Eventually, there was healing. The ball started rolling around the time Max woke up. After four months of breathing tubes, IV’s, heavy medications, and machines keeping her alive–she opened her eyes one day and slowly began to inhabit her body again. Within a few weeks of round-the-clock physical therapy, solid foods, and monitored pain management–she was discharged from the ICU and returned home. Cane in hand, coke bottle glasses on the bridge of her nose, and slight gaps in memory–she wasn���t the same, but she was as close to it as she could be and that was all that mattered. She was breathing on her own accord–beautiful, steady inhales and exhales–that alone was a miracle in and of itself.

After Max settled back into her normal life, everyone else seemed to follow suit. Once the high school was fixed up by the hands of a devoted construction crew and summer came to a close, the kids started in on their sophomore year. Fall semester provided a new routine that included basketball practices, D&D campaigns (Will Byers quickly ascended to President of Hellfire Club in Eddie’s place), and tests to study for. On top of all that, somehow Steve was going to have to teach each of the little twerps how to drive, which absolutely terrified him. However, there was no way he was going to let anyone else instruct his kids on how to be safe behind the wheel. Yeah, no fucking way.

The Party finally had the opportunity to just be kids–for the first time in almost four years–and Steve was happy for them. Really, he was. Now, they could ride their bikes around the neighborhood–just for the heck of it, not because they were pedaling away from otherworldly monsters. They could waste time down by the lake and not have to search the murky waters for the dead body of their missing friend. They could be innocent and stupid and naive and not have to worry so much about the life altering consequences.

And, as happy as he was for them, Steve just couldn’t help but selfishly miss the era in which Lucas spent most nights on his couch–talking about nothing until the wee hours of the morning. The era in which El asked him to drive her to Family Video each Saturday–ready to pick out the next chick flick that would make Hopper groan. His schedule and his house suddenly felt a lot emptier without a bunch of rugrats calling upon their favorite babysitter. The silence often felt like it could swallow him whole. He hated it.

As for Nance and Robin, they had their own paths to explore–ones that unfortunately, didn’t directly involve Steve. That was okay, but it also wasn’t.

Nancy was reapplying to Emerson–early decision–and like everything else she did, she was hellbent on her college essays being absolutely perfect. She made the local library her second home as she wrote and edited and then edited some more. Steve knew there was not a chance in the world that Nancy Wheeler wasn’t going to be accepted to the school of her dreams and become an incredible journalist. She was destined for greatness. Always had been.

Robin landed herself a girlfriend and was so lovesick it hurt. Vickie quickly became the center of her universe. She had this insane gravitational pull on Steve’s best friend and he’d never seen anything like it. Robin looked like a whole new person, shining from the inside out. They did their best to include him in their plans on a regular basis, but Steve really didn’t want to burden them with his presence. Not that the girls ever made him feel that way. He was just a bit too aware of the fact that no couple looks forward to having a constant third-wheel, so he backed off when he could and lied about being busier than he was–acting like there was a laundry list of activities for him to attend to.

Truthfully, he spent most weekends alone in front of the T.V. or picking up extra shifts at the video store. Unsure of how he suddenly became the only one stuck in the past, haunted by creatures that no longer walked the Earth. It didn’t make sense. Why couldn’t he move on like everyone else? Max had been kissed by death and yet, she made it to school every day and somehow, still found the energy to ask Lucas to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Steve, on the other hand, had exited The Upside Down with minor injuries–practically, unscathed–but for some reason, he dry heaved into the toilet every morning and questioned his entire existence. Spitting up bile and wondering how long it would take before his heart jumped ship, too. He imagined it would only be a matter of time, before the center of his own being decided it was unwilling to marinate in the sad toxic wasteland any longer. Abandoning him and begging to be flushed down, along with the rest.

It’s definitely less than ideal to have some idiot ring your doorbell, when you’re right in the middle of balling your eyes out–facedown on the living room floor–and wondering why God or the universe or whatever the fuck just had to plop you down on this cursed planet in the first place.

It’s actually super embarrassing and kind of the stuff of his nightmares, but that’s exactly the position Steve Harrington finds himself in on a random Tuesday evening.

There’s nothing special about it. Just another day trying not to break apart at the seams, wasting the hours by choking on his unforgiving past. Nothing left to do, but wallow in self-hatred and stare at the popcorn ceiling.

In theory, he could just play dead and ignore the irritating chime of the bell, but on the off chance that it’s one of his friends or the pizza delivery guy has arrived early–he begrudgingly gets up and makes his way to the front door. Dizzy from standing up too fast on an empty stomach, he reaches out for the wall to steady his gait. Unable to find the motivation to clean up his appearance before wrapping his trembling fingers around the cold doorknob. Whoever it is, is just going to have to deal with the mess–just like Steve does every single day.

There’s no nice way to say it. Steve looks like shit. There’s dark circles ringing his sunken eyes that make him look like the kin of the local raccoons. The same ones that devour his uneaten groceries from the garbage cans each week. It’s a charitable donation–philanthropic even. He goes on a depression fueled hunger strike and his furry nocturnal neighbors get a feast fit for a king.

Due to his inability to nourish himself anymore, his cheeks have hallowed out, his muscles have shrunken down, and his once tan skin appears jaundiced–sickly yellow. There’s acrid bile drying on his cracked lips from the most recent upheaval of his guts. This time it was spurred on by the grotesque image of Vecna’s corpse-like face. It keeps popping up in his mind without warning, like one of those jack in the box clown toys–raking the sharp nails of nausea across the lining of his stomach.

He doesn’t immediately register who the person on the other side of the door is, which is laughable, because it wasn’t all that long ago that Steve carried the guy’s limp body out of an alternate dimension and gave him mouth to mouth. They’re not exactly strangers.

Thirty seconds go by before his brain starts back up and processes the identity of the man standing before him. As if the secretary of his memory had disappeared from the front desk and took a while searching the filing cabinets to fill in the blanks:

Mr. Harrington? Sorry about the delay. We’ve located the files. That’s Eddie Munson you’re looking at. We’re sure of it.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were-” Steve starts, roughly wiping at his bloodshot eyes to make sure he’s not hallucinating. Anything is possible when you’ve lived through what he has.

“-in hiding?” Eddie says nonchalantly, leaning against the porch–he’s taller than Steve remembers, “I was. Spent a lot of time bored as shit in a rather crappy hotel room, but Hopper gave me the all clear yesterday and I just moved back into my Uncle’s place. Sorry if I stink, it’s because I’ve been carting boxes around all day–you’ll have to get over it.”

[short-circuit-the-great]

Dying Sun / Smoke / Ch 24 / Dry Lightning

Stormrunner and Ironhide encounter a stranger in the clinic. Frostjam has something to say about it.

“Decepticons,” Ironhide said in a hostile tone, reaching for his gun.

The sound of his voice made Frostjam whirl around, and his optics flashed the most violent shade of electric blue as his cannons snapped into position to fire. Ice shot across the room, and Stormrunner barely dived out of the way in time, taking Ironhide with him.

“Don’t shoot!” Stormrunner said, but more ice flew across the room, and chasing it was Frostjam, moving in a blur of blue fire from the rockets in his heels. His target was not Ironhide. No, Stormrunner did not have to protect Ironhide from any more ice, though it was still flying past them as Frostjam shot straight over their heads and barreled into Pharma.

“YOU MONSTER,” Frostjam snarled, seizing Pharma by the shoulders and slamming him into the floor over and over again, digging a huge hole into the thick metal. “I’ll break your wings. I’ll tear off your arms and shove them down your throat. I’ll rip out your voice box and wear it as a necklace and paint my body with your disgusting Energon.”

Ice welded Pharma’s shoulders and wings into the floor, and he gagged horribly when Frostjam snapped off a long, sharp icicle and held it to his throat, drawing a thin line of Energon.

“The bond between a combiner team is deeper than any bond you’ll ever know,” Frostjam said. “When you attacked Blender, when you brutalized my best friend, you brutalized me. I am not going to return what you did to us. No, I’m going to do so much worse. You are going to suffer, and you are going to suffer immensely, and you are going to beg me to kill you, to make it stop, to grab your miserable spark and crush it in my hands. But I won’t do that, Autobot filth. No, you’re going to keep living, beaten and broken, and each day I’ll break you more, and I’ll hang your rusting body from the—”

“I’m a doctor,” Pharma gasped. “Whatever you think I did–”

Frostjam pressed the icicle harder to his throat until he couldn’t talk anymore. “It was an Autobot with a jet alt mode. I’d rather kill every son of a bitch with wings than let him walk free.”

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

The Twelve Disciples Ch.3

Summary: Pepper Davis is not unknown to the mob world, she’s well aware of the benefits and dangers of this business, but what she’s about to find out is how dangerous it can be for one to stay in between a brother rivalry.

Pairings: Matt Jackson x OFC Pepper x Nick Jackson

Warnings: +18

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @allelitesmut

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“You’re absolutely insane!” Nick speaks amid laughs “You’re in love with me? You don’t even know me!” He turns around to face the street again, putting the car back into first gear once again and driving into the deserted avenue towards Pepper’s loft.

Matt’s words - that resembled a motherly advice - now echoed in her mind, “If it ever comes to this, dovey. I want you to lie. Lie about your feelings, lie about loving him, about wanting to meet him for years, lie about hating me and wishing you could help him kill me. Do whatever it takes for you to keep your character intact. Lie about everything! Fuck him if you have to, make him believe every single word you say!”

“I do know you!” She began, silently praying her acting skills continue to be as good as they were in her teen years. “I’ve watched you from afar for a few years now. I tried to get to know you but you’ve never seen me. Not the way I see you, at least”.

Nick stopped at the last red light before reaching the loft. Time was not on Pepper’s side and she would have to do the unimaginable to convince him of her words.

She tentatively rested her hand on top of Nick’s hand, her nails traced the thick, warm knuckles. “You always fascinated me. I always wondered what it would be like to be with you, to feel your lips on mine, your hands on my body, waking up next to you, watching you go from boyfriend material to businessman before my eyes, having breakfast with you every morning, listening to your heartbeat in bed at night” Pepper cupped Nick’s jaw, briefly turning his head to face her, and hoping her eyes portray the truthfulness her words didn’t have.

Stormy blue eyes stared back at her, confusion and disbelief poured from them as the most torrid rain from the sky.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Pepper, but I suggest you be very careful right now. Just because one of my policies is to not harm women, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing so if they do me wrong” Icicles hung from Nick’s words, their sharpness deadly like an ice pick. This wasn’t an empty threat, this was a verbalized warning from a man capable of doing the most horrid things. Nick had no limits, no conscience, no fear, no values or boundaries that prevented him from doing morally condemned actions.

Of that, Matt had also warned her many times “A man without common principles is dangerous, dovey. That’s why you need to be careful with Nick. The only thing he cares about is his pride, and the minute you hurt it somehow he’ll make you pay for it severely. It doesn’t matter your gender, age, or the feelings you nurture for him. Once you mess with Nick Jackson, he can and will make sure you pay for it in ways that will make you wish you were dead”.

Pepper controlled the shiver that threatened to run down her spine and whispered “Everyone told me it was a mistake to do this. ‘You look like a desperate bitch’ is what they all told me. Why go after a man who won’t love you back? Why risk everything if he doesn’t even know you exist? Why potentially risk your life for a man who is incapable of loving anyone?” Pulling back suddenly, she began to dry up the tears she had managed to spill from her dark chocolate orbs “I’m so fucking stupid” She laughed bitterly “I thought that for once things were going to happen the way I imagined, how fucking naive of me to think that you would ever want something with me” Shaking her head briefly, Pepper opened the passenger door and stepped out to the warm late night breeze. Her heels hit the concrete and echoed through the deserted street like a sledgehammer, she continued to walk towards the loft in an attempt of getting Nick’s attention. Theatrical? Yes. Desperate? Even more, she had officially hit her fight-or-flight mode and this was a pathetic attempt to save her flawed character from seeing the concrete floor at a random alley before eating gunpowder for her last meal.

“Someone forgot to take their medication today” Nick murmured to himself as he stared at the woman walking down the pavement “Psycho bitch”, he quickly tapped a few numbers on his phone screen, and while waiting for the call to connect, Nick continued to stare at her.

“Hey, do a thorough search on Pepper Davis for me. I wanna know everything! Even what she had for dinner last night. Spread the word around and give me the info”

“Ok, sir. I’ll work on-”

“I want that information yesterday, Angelo!” Nick rushed before hanging up. He picked up speed as soon as the lights turned green, and while driving next to her he called “Get in the car, Pepper”

She felt her heart skipping a beat when Nick called for her “It’s fine, we’re close enough. I’ll walk to the loft, you can go”

“I’m not going to let you walk alone at this time of night, angel. Just get in the car”

“It’s fine, Mr. Jackson. I can-”

“Pepper!” Nick squealed the tires and abruptly turned the car to the right, just in time to stop Pepper from crossing the street, “Get in the fucking car, goddamn it!”

Caged between the car and the side block behind her, Pepper had no other choice but to get in the passenger’s seat.

The few minutes' ride to the loft was made beneath an uncomfortable silence. Pepper caught Nick’s eyes lingering a little too long on his phone screen, and she was sure he was waiting for something important about her. Perhaps Nick had asked someone to get info on her, her past, or even if she had any connections to his older brother. The only thing Pepper prayed for is that Matt has been able to spread the word about her ‘feelings’ towards Nick enough for it to reach the important ears already.

Nick’s phone rang from the dashboard and he quickly picked up before the first ring came to an end.

“Yeah?” He stood silent the whole call, only hearing the stern, mumbling male voice on the other end of the line. “Ok, send it to me through email as well. Alright, thank you”. Nick shifted into the driver’s seat, and as soon as they reached the loft area, he drove right past it.

“The lofts are back there” Pepper murmured, commenting on the obvious while her eyes kept a fixed gaze on the man beside her.

“I know” Nick grinned before taking a quick glance at her “We’re going back to my place”

“Is there work waiting for us?” She hesitantly asked, feeling that very same shiver from earlier tonight running down her spine.

When Nick’s only response was to laugh hysterically, Pepper felt a tingling sensation settling at the base of her spine, as if Satan’s scratchy fingernail was warning her of the potential dangers of entering Nick’s mansion tonight.

[holly-fixation]

Damaged Doll: Ch 11

Summary: Angeal and Zack discover a man in all black trapped under boulders in the mountains near Icicle Village: Cloud, a doll created by Jenova for reasons currently unknown. Sephiroth finally demanded the whole truth. Cloud couldn't help but obey.

Please enjoy!

Inspired by the prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien

Please Enjoy

Chapter 11: Obedience

Cloud didn’t sleep that night. How could he? First he was driven by his desire to serve his prince, then he was terrified by the thought of seeing his prince again. He never wanted to fear his prince. He only wanted to praise his prince, but his fearful mind debilitated him once again.

Genesis was not worthy of his prince. The man was bound beyond other SOLDIERs and rotted instead of flourished. He was close to falling apart, and Cloud hated seeing the waste of his queen's power. Without a shadow of a doubt, the man in red approached his prince between their conversation and dawn. The Crimson Soldier, one of his prince's oldest friends, would tell his prince everything with false understanding. 

What else was he supposed to do? Long ago, he made the mistake of lying beyond repair. He wanted to believe that truth would spare him his former fate. 

He would never manipulate or control his prince. If control was the only option to keep his prince safe, he would sacrifice himself without question. Genesis might as well have stabbed him through the chest with the assumption alone. 

But how was he supposed to prove the Crimson Competition was false? Through his panic, he did not touch his origins or the computer. He remained trapped in his own mind- just as he did under the boulders in the north. Too desperate to calm. Too panicked to reach any of his queen’s creatures and beg for aid. Every string eluded his grasp. 

A fresh pair of sandy tears left his eyes. 

Cloud was not built to cry. Though his queen gifted him with a hollow body that mimicked life, tears were not so simple. He wiped them away, each drop scraping and scratching his skin, straight white lines marring his pale cheeks. Those would heal eventually. He hoped before his prince arrived. 

Should he run? Should he avoid his prince by exploring the building and never crossing paths again? How could he even consider such a thing?! He hated himself. He hated the way that rotting competitor weaved into his thoughts!

He needed to see his prince no matter the conflict in his mind. He needed to make this right. With each hourly tear, he felt himself getting weaker and weaker. Perhaps it was his punishment to himself before a true one would be thrust upon him once more. 

Cloud wanted to duck under the covers, hiding his chocobo-like hair the moment he heard the knock. Instead he stared down, unable to soothe his voice to invite the guest in.

Please be anyone but Him. Please be the boy that saved him. Please be the patient mentor. Please be the Turk he failed at aiding. Please be the scientist that did not want him in this tower any longer to finally set him free. Please be the red SOLDIER again. Please Don’t Be-

“Cloud.”

His pale hands folded tightly in his lap. Maybe he could call the nurse and have the guest removed? Inhuman eyes tightened in denial. He needed to accept the consequences. “My Prin-” His voice cracked with drying sobs, and again he failed to use the preferred name. Could he do anything right? “Sephiroth. I’ve been expecting you… Would you like to sit…?”

“I’ll stand.”

The blond winced as if taking a physical blow. “...Then, please… Where would you like to begin…?”

The Silver Soldier crossed his arms. “Are you truly incapable of lying to me?”

He almost looked up. “I will never lie to you, Sephiroth. I cannot lie even if I was out of my mind enough to desire the ability.”

“Is everything you’ve told me since we found you true?”

He nodded. “Of course. Every word.” Despite his inherent kindness, his prince remained cold. Distant. Tactical.

“Only me?” As if questioning an enemy, never revealing his real thoughts. 

“...I have lied to others, yes… Not all falsities but undeniably some...”

“Have you ever told me half truths to hide information from me?” 

The blond’s hands trembled. “...My Prince, please-”

“Answer the question, Cloud.” 

The air chilled. He wanted to crawl in a hole- to hide under boulders and b- No! Having a panic attack now was not an option! This may be the last chance he has to hold his prince’s trust. How else was he supposed to aid his prince and his queen? “...I have. But please, please understand-”

“Are your panic attacks real?”

The blond swallowed. He wanted to scream. “Entirely.”

“Have you ever deliberately caused panic attacks to avoid telling the truth?” 

A memory flashed through his mind. Sandy tears scratched his raw cheeks. 

“When.” Sephiroth's tone was deep and dark. 

Cloud shuddered like a frightened chocobo. “...The day I awoke here, I learned of my fear and believed I could use it to our advantage. Zack asked me how I came to be in that cave… so I caused a panic attack by recalling my worst memories of that…-” he held his head, “that horrible horrible day… I… I only did it once. I swear. I thought I could control it but I couldn't stop, I couldn't calm down, I couldn't-” He grabbed his chest, the hospital gown crushing under whitened knuckles. He tried to breathe. Tried to regain command over his breath. 

But his prince continued attacking, never giving him a moment to rest. “Look at me.”

Snake-like eyes immediately met their mirror, Cloud’s agonizingly red while his prince's burned white.

“What else have you chosen to hide from me?”

No. Please no. The blond inhaled painfully, but his voice was small and weak. “...I killed Hojo...”

Sephiroth's expression changed for a fraction of a second, but Cloud couldn't read it. 

“All connected to your mother share a bond. I do not know why they are connected. Monsters. SOLDIERs. I don’t understand it, but I used it. I tugged the bond of the strongest monster in Hojo’s laboratory. It didn't take much convincing to have it kill him. I just made it so it couldn't feel any pain and no materia could harm it, similar to myself.”

“Does any materia work on you?”

Cloud wanted to look away. To disappear. Instead he gripped the sheets of the medical bed. “I have only fallen victim to a sleep spell. Binding materia. No other direct magic has affected me.”

“What about summons?”

He shook his head. “They will not take me into their realm, thus they too do not work.”

“Why did you kill Hojo?”

No half truths. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to see his prince decide his fate. “He hurt you. You told me yourself. I was going to wait but the photo he leaked of us hugging late at night, he posted it to harm you. And the way he spoke to you when we first met… He lauded power over you. No one should have power over you.”

“Have you-?” Sephiroth suddenly cut himself off, shifting ever so slightly. Cloud waited in silence, trying to determine what his prince was waiting for. “Do you feel that?” Sudden. Confused. A crack zipping through the mask.

Mako blues lifted, attempting to read the soldier's gaze. “I do not.” He gasped, terrified of the next assumption. “I can’t make you feel anything. I promise I’m not doing anything. Sephiroth, what are you feeling-?” A warm breeze wrapped around his heart, smothering him in feather light comfort. He shook his head but couldn't deny the gravitational pull, his exhaustion from the restless night rushing up to him. “That… I feel it… the softness…”

“What is that?” He maintained his strong voice, but his eyes betrayed the truth. 

Cloud tried to focus on the feeling, to grasp the string linking it to a source, but it did not have one. “It’s…  foggy… I do not know.” The man dared to look at his prince.

Black gloves flew into silver bangs, a soft groan leaving his lips.

Cat-like eyes widened, and without thinking, Cloud appeared at his side, a hand on his arm as he analyzed his face. This close, black bags hung shamefully from perfect eyes. “My Prince, you’re exhausted. Please, lay down.”

Sharp eyes followed the gesture. “Cloud, absolutely not.”

“I will not leave your side. I don’t mind. And if a nurse asks, I will explain.” Cloud suddenly reached across, catching his shoulders.  

Sephiroth’s unglazed eyes stared in bewilderment. “What did you do…?”

“Nothing. I don't know what this is. Please let me help. I will never hurt you.” He guided his prince to the bed, the exhaustion weakening the Silver Soldier and coaxing him into small obedience. 

“Did-” the sheet delicately placed on his shoulders made him pause, his eyes closing of their own accord. When he opened them, Cloud had guided his head to the pillow. His hands were warm. “Did you cast a sleep spell…?”

Cloud winced. “No, My Prince. But may I ask you to wait until this fogginess passes?”

“How are you not tired…?” Came the last glare of cyan eyes. 

“You are more important.”

“Cloud…” it was a warning, a final attempt as his eyelids fell. 

“Rest well, My Prince. I will not leave your side. All I want is to bring you joy and comfort.” He stepped back to sit in the chair, but the soldier ensnared his wrist. 

The rise and fall of Sephiroth's chest betrayed his descent into sleep, but his hand did not leave Cloud. 

The man didn't mind. Being close to his prince was more than he could ever hope for. He glanced over at the only chair. It sat mockingly just out of his reach, especially with his forever damaged leg. He would stand for years if his prince continued to hold him. He never wanted his prince to let go, but his body could not sustain the task. The awkward hunch of his back strained his cracked ribs, and the slight bend of his knees nearly had him shouting in pain. Not to mention the fogginess he fought with everything he had. 

A sudden wave of fog forced Cloud against the bed, just barely sitting on the edge until his wrist was swiftly pulled. He gasped as he was suddenly thrown off balance, but his heart nearly burst when he saw where he settled.

Sephiroth, in this artificial sleep, maneuvered Cloud to lay on the medical bed with him. He held the blond as a child does their favorite toy, his nose buried in perfect chocobo hair. 

Cloud smiled to himself as he laid his arms above Sephiroth’s. Almost every inch of him wanted to thank the foggy exhaustion claiming them both. Another wave and his eyes closed too, a deep feeling inside him silently telling him they were safe. That the fog was not a weapon or an attack. He had no time to truly observe as he fell asleep as well.

.

.

.

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To be continued...

Damaged Doll Chapter List

Thanks for reading!

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- none

A/N- This chapter is pretty long because I wanted to do the end of Siege and Storm in this one and not make another one for it. The upcoming ones won't be this long I promise And lemme know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @nadeleine123n @marauders-wife

Ch-44 ~The sacrifice~

“Don’t wait for us,” Alina said to them. “I’ll give you as much cover as I can.” 

Another clap of thunder split the air. 

The Grisha plucked rifles from the arms of the dead and gathered around at the door. 

“All right,” Alina said. 

She nodded to Zoya who glanced at Anaya

Alina threw the door open and shouted, “Now!”

 David lobbed the flash bomb into the twilight as Zoya swooped her arms through the air, lofting the cylinder higher on a Squaller draft. 

“Get down!” David yelled. 

They turned toward the shelter of the hall with their eyes squeezed shut and hands thrown over their heads, bracing for the explosion. The blast shook the stone floor beneath their feet, and the glare burned red across them.

They ran with all their strength.

. The nichevo’ya had scattered, startled by the burst of light and sound, but only seconds later, they were whirling back toward them. 

“Run!” Alina shouted. 

She raised her arms and brought the light down in fiery scythes, cutting through the violet sky, carving through one nichevo’ya after the next as Mal opened fire.

Just when more of them began to rush towards them, Anaya stepped forward, raising her arms

“Zoya!” she glanced at her

Zoya nodded at her before taking her position

Anaya brought one arm forward and stretched out the other behind. She nodded to Zoya and jerked the arm forward as Zoya sent a gust of wind towards the nichevo’ya. A massive heap of sharp icicles went towards them along with the wind, making them scatter.

Without further thought, they ran for the wooded tunnel.

They rushed through the tunnels with the monsters still on their tail. They pushed them back from the tunnel, black wings beating the air, the wide, twisted holes of their mouths already yawning open. 

Then the air suddenly came alive with the rattle of gunfire. There were soldiers pouring out of the woods to their left, shooting as they ran. Their war cries of Sankta Alina echoed through the woods. 

They hurtled toward the nichevo’ya, drawing swords and sabers, slashing out at the monsters with terrifying ferocity. Some were dressed as farmers, some wore ragged First Army uniforms, but each of them bore identical tattoos: Alina’s sunburst, wrought in ink over the sides of their faces. Only two were unmarked. Tolya and Tamar led the charge, eyes wild, blades flashing, roaring Alina’s name.

The sun soldiers plunged into the shadow horde, cutting and thrusting, pushing the nichevo’ya back as the riflemen fired again and again. But despite their ferocity, they were only human, flesh and steel pitted against living shadows. One by one, the nichevo’ya began to pick them off. 

“Make for the chapel!” Tamar shouted. 

“We’ll be trapped!” cried Sergei, running toward Alina.

 “We’re already trapped,” Mal replied, slinging his rifle onto his back and grabbing Alina’s arm. “Let’s go!” 

“David!” Alina yelled. “The second bomb!”

 He flung it toward the nichevo’ya. His aim was wild, but Zoya was there to help it along. They dove into the woods, the sun soldiers bringing up the rear. The blast tore through the trees in a gust of white light. Lamps had been lit in the chapel and the door stood open. They burst inside, the echoes from their footfalls bouncing up over the pews and off the glazed blue dome.

 “Where do we go?” Sergei cried in panic. They could already hear the whirring, clicking hum from outside. 

Tolya slammed the chapel door shut, dropping a heavy wooden bolt into place. The sun soldiers took up positions by the windows, rifles in hand. Tamar hurdled over a pew and shot past Alina up the aisle. 

“Come on!”

Just where are they taking us? Anaya thought, but had no choice other than to oblige her.

 Tamar tore past the altar and grasped one gilded wood corner of the wall. Anaya appeared utterly perplexed as the water-damaged panel swung open, revealing the dark mouth of a passageway. 

This was how the sun soldiers had gotten onto the grounds. And how the Apparat had escaped from the Grand Palace. 

“Where does it go?” asked David. 

“Does it matter?” Zoya shot back.

 The building shook as a loud crack of thunder split the air. The chapel door blew to pieces. Tolya was thrown backward, and darkness flooded through. The Darkling came borne on a tide of shadow, held aloft by monsters who set his feet upon the chapel floor with infinite care.

 “Fire!” Tamar shouted. Shots rang out. The nichevo’ya writhed and whirled around the Darkling, shifting and re-forming as the bullets struck their bodies, one taking the place of another in a seamless tide of shadow. He didn’t even break stride. 

Nichevo’ya were streaming through the chapel door. Tolya was already on his feet and rushing to Alina’s side with pistols drawn. Tamar and Mal flanked her, the rest of them arrayed behind her. 

Alina raised her hands, summoning the light, bracing for the onslaught. 

“Stand down, Alina,” said the Darkling. His cool voice echoed through the chapel, cutting through the noise and chaos.  “Stand down, and I will spare them.”

 In answer, Tamar scraped one axe blade over the other, raising a shriek of metal on metal. The sun soldiers lifted their rifles, and the Inferni struck their flint. Anaya formed a long blade of ice, prepared for what was to come.

 “Look around, Alina,” the Darkling spoke. “You cannot win. You can only watch them die. Come to me now, and I will do them no harm, not your zealot soldiers, not even the Grisha traitors.”

Anaya cringed at the mere sight of the man, for all he’d taken from them, they were the traitors to him. 

The nichevo’ya swarmed above them, crowding up against the inside of the dome. They clustered around the Darkling in a dense cloud of bodies and wings. 

Tolya cocked the triggers on his pistols. 

“Hold,”Alina spoke

“Alina,” Tamar whispered, “we can still get you out.”

 “Hold,” she repeated. 

The sun soldiers lowered their rifles. Tamar brought her axes to her hips but kept her grip tight.

 “What are your terms?” Alina asked. 

Mal frowned. Tolya shook his head. Was the girl really that foolish to think of becoming a martyr?

“Give yourself up,” the Darkling said. “And they all go free. They can climb down that rabbit hole and disappear forever.” 

“Free?” Sergei whispered.

 “He’s lying,” Mal said. “It’s what he does.” 

“I don’t need to lie,” he spoke. “Alina wants to come with me.”

 “She doesn’t want any part of you,” Mal spat. 

“No?” the Darkling asked. 

Summoning his shadow army had taken its toll. He was thinner and paler. The power had cost him.

 “I warned you that your otkazat’sya could never understand you, Alina. I told you that he would only come to fear you and resent your power. Tell me I was wrong.”

 “You were wrong.”Alina responded, her voice steady

 The Darkling shook his head. “You cannot lie to me. Do you think I could have come to you again and again, if you had been less alone? You called to me, and I answered.”

You … you were there?” Alina asked with a tremor in her voice 

“On the Fold. In the palace. Last night.

 “That isn’t possible,” Mal bit out. 

“You have no idea what I can make possible, tracker.” he responded. “Alina, I’ve seen what you truly are, and I’ve never turned away. I never will. Can he say the same?” 

"You don’t know anything about her,” Mal said fiercely.

“Come with me now, and it all stops, the fear, the uncertainty, the bloodshed. Let him go, Alina. Let them all go.” 

“No,”Alina said.. 

The Darkling sighed and glanced back over his shoulder. “Bring her,” he said. 

A figure shuffled forward, draped in a heavy shawl, hunched and slow moving, as if every step brought pain. Baghra? Anaya thought.

She’d heard from Alina aboutwhat he’d done to her. But she’d never expected this.

She flinched. 

“Leave her alone,” Alina spoke in anger. 

“Show them,” he said. 

She unwound her shawl. Anaya heard someone near her moan. It was not Baghra. The bites were everywhere, raised black ridges of flesh, twisting lumps of tissue that could never be healed, not by Grisha hand or by any other, the unmistakable marks of the nichevo’ya. 

Anaya was unable to figure out who it had been. But she had a sudden glimpse of her hair, the shining auburn locks. She finally realized who it was, with immense horror.

“Genya,” Alina gasped. 

They stood in terrible silence. Alina took a step toward her. Then David pushed past her down the altar steps. 

Genya cringed away from him, pulling up her shawl, and turned to hide her face. David slowed. He hesitated. Gently, he reached out to touch her shoulder. 

Anaya saw the rise and fall of her back, and knew she was crying.

Caring, loving Genya. Genya, who was the first person to welcome her back home. Genya who’d helped her attain confidence in herself. Genya, who was never given a choice. Genya, who’d done all in her power to help them. Genya, who despite tolerating so much, still managed to stand tall.

He had done this to her. Just because she'd chosen to no longer be his pet.

 David drew his arm around Genya’s shoulders and slowly led her back up the aisle. The Darkling didn’t stop them. “I’ve waged the war you forced me to, Alina,” he spoke. “If you hadn’t run from me, the Second Army would still be intact. All those Grisha would still be alive. Your tracker would be safe. You mourn the people killed in Novokribirsk, the people lost to the Fold. But what of the thousands that came before them, given over to endless wars? What of the others dying now on distant shores? Together, we can put an end to all of it.” 

“All right,” Alina whispered.

 “Alina, no!” Mal said furiously. 

“You’ll let them go? all of them?” she asked

 “We need the tracker,” the Darkling responded. “For the firebird.”

 “He goes free. You can’t have both of us.” The Darkling paused, then nodded once.

 “I’m not going anywhere,” Mal said through clenched teeth. 

Alina turned to Tolya and Tamar. “Take him from here. Even if you have to carry him.” “Alina, we won’t go,” said Tamar. “We are sworn.”

 “You will.” Tolya shook his huge head. “We pledged our lives to you. All of us.”

 “Then do as I command,Tolya Yul-Baatar, Tamar Kir-Baatar, you will take these people from here to safety.” she summoned the light . “Do not fail me.” 

Tamar had tears in her eyes, but she and her brother bowed their heads. 

Mal hooked Alina’s arm and turned her around roughly. He pleaded with her, but she would not change her decision. She rested her hand on his cheek, stood on her toes and kissed the scar on his jaw. 

She whispered to him and then walked up the aisle.

“Alina!” Mal shouted as Tolya held him, forcing him to go back.

The rest of them turned back, there was nothing they could do for her even if they tried. If she was truly a saint, she’d either be martyred for the cause, or would rise to become something more.

[zanazirafanfic]

WIP Whenever

Now that the weather's cooling off, I'm finally getting some of my creative juices flowing again. (Can I just say, summer SUUUUCKS?)

Here is my planned fic schedule for the the rest of August and September. (I've got my publication schedule outlined through the end of the year, but will be releasing it a month at a time.)

8/28/24 - "A Wee Bit Wobbly" Whumpcember Day 13 - "Restraints" + "Collapse" - Ch. 2 Sean whump, guilty Arthur, helpful Charles + Javier

9/9/24 - "Like A Drowned Rat," Whumpcember Day 14 - "Drowning" - Ch. 2 limp!Arthur, reluctantly-heroic Micah

9/11/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 14 - "Getting Snowed In" - 1896. Jake and Sadie Adler find ways to pass the time during their first blizzard together.

9/14/24 - "Cloghinne Winds," Whumpcember Day 15 - "Hallucinating" (idea inspired by @tiredcowboyy) - 1907. Dutch Van der Linde angst/grief, hurt-no-comfort.

9/16/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 15 - "Icicles" + "Someone Spiked the Eggnog!" - 1910. A day of fun and frolicking in the snow in the MacGuire-Jones-O'Shea household, followed by a night of mischief and merriment (and eggnog.)

9/17/24 - "Ringing A Bell," Whumpcember Day 16 - "Head Injury" - pre-canon/pre-John, injured!Hosea and worried! Dutch & Arthur

9/24/24 - "Where There's Smoke," Whumpcember Day 17 - "Fire" - Ch. 3, feat. scared!Jack and heroic/hurt!John

9/26/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 16 - "Family invited an old crush/first love to a dinner party." - 1895. Dutch and Hosea plan an early Christmas dinner, with a surprise visitor for Arthur.

@photo1030 @cassietrn

[themurphyzone]

Pinky Unleashed Ch 19

AN: Warning for physical and emotional torture. 

I’m back! Sit back and relax with this new chapter! Okay…maybe not relax exactly…you’ll probably need a mallet for that. 

Ch 19: Vandalize

Ao3 Link

Blood poured down Pinky’s shoulder, crimson staining his dark fur and flowing onto the dead grass beneath his feet. A man ripped the bloodstained blade out of Pinky’s flesh, a cruel smile on his face while Pinky howled in agony. His heavy boot slammed against Pinky’s vulnerable stomach and knocked him to the ground. 

The serrated dagger raised triumphantly, gleaming despite the moonless sky. 

“Pinky!” Brain gasped, dodging the endless trunks of fallen, rotting trees, his paws sore from running across dying earth. “I’m coming, Pinky! Hold on!” 

But the distance was endless. Pinky and his attacker remained on the other side of the clearing, and though they remained stationary, Brain couldn’t reach them. His path was continuously blocked, his efforts thwarted by the dark, hellish landscape. 

He climbed over an enormous, decaying log, the bark turning to sickening slime under his fingers. 

Pinky was close. Much closer than before. And there was a path here, one that winded through the rainforest and was surrounded with enough thorns and brambles that the poachers would be forced to give up their pursuit. 

They could make it. They’d be safe. 

“This way!” Brain cried out. “They can’t chase us through here, Pinky!” 

Sky-blue eyes shone at Brain’s voice. A dazzling smile pushed back the night. His long tail swished, a happy gesture despite all he’d been through. 

“You’ll be safe, Pinky,” Brain whispered. “I promise.” 

Only inches between them now. He stretched out his hand. 

He was close. So very close. 

Pinky laid helplessly on his side, yet trust and hope glittered in his eyes. His warm breath ruffled Brain’s fur. It smelled like cheese and chocolate, a combined scent that was uniquely Pinky. 

He smiled, despite all the torment he’d been put through. Even when the world sought to inflict pain upon his gentle heart. 

Brain’s hand came to rest on Pinky’s muzzle. His fur was soft and fluffy under Brain’s palm. 

“Come, Pinky,” Brain managed to say. His throat was too dry for any further instruction. The rest of his words were buried within him. 

The man loomed overhead, his boot planted against Pinky’s neck. Pinky gasped for air, unable to stand with the heavy boot pressing against him. 

Brain desperately tugged Pinky’s muzzle, urging him to run for his life. 

And the dagger plunged into Pinky’s body. 

Brain was cold. 

His limbs were heavy, his fur useless at warming him. Constant pain shot through his wrists and ankles, and no part of his body moved the way he wanted. The tears lingering under his eyes felt like icicles. He wiped them away with his arm, his eyes stinging and irritated. 

The only one who could chase this cold away was…unaccounted for.  

Nightmares blended with reality. Brain wasn’t sure where one ended and another began. What torturous visions his mind conjured up were false...and others that weren’t. 

A monstrous human stabbed Pinky in the shoulder. 

True. 

Pinky collapsing, a cruel boot kicking him when he couldn’t fight back. Pinky limping, trying to save Brain even though his weakened state rendered his effort futile.

Not all of that is true. Pinky didn’t crumple immediately. 

Crimson blood staining cloud-like fur. The light fading from his eyes, his life ebbing away until nothing remained. 

That didn’t…that never happened! There’s no proof. Pinky is resilient. He’s not going to bleed out by himself, surrounded by opportunistic predators far away from civilization…. 

They hadn’t been reunited for long after the world broke apart. It could’ve been days or weeks, though Brain was sure they were still in the same month. Time was difficult to keep track of when the difference between day and night was blurred. 

Pinky couldn’t be…

No. 

He refused to finish that thought. Pinky had to be alive somewhere. He was only injured, that’s all. It wasn’t unusual in their line of work. Besides, Chip had healing powers. He could help Pinky. 

Provided that he wasn’t captured either. 

This line of thinking was entirely unproductive to his predicament. He couldn’t waste his time worrying about the what-ifs and the unknown. His main priority was escaping the poachers and finding his way back to Pinky and Chip so they could finally resume their search for the African Temple. 

In order to accomplish his goal, he’d need to identify his surroundings first. Figure out what he could use to facilitate his escape. 

The cuffs around his wrists and ankles would further complicate matters. Surprisingly, there was no chain binding the metal together, allowing Brain to stand and move around within his confines. But the heavy metal chafed against the bare skin of his extremities, and it was so tightly bonded to him that he couldn’t slip his fingers underneath. 

The cuffs’ design was unusually sleek for a restraint. It unsettled Brain more than he cared to admit. He suspected there was another purpose behind the cuffs, but he didn’t know for certain. 

He wasn’t in a normal cage as he expected. There were no bars to squeeze through, only a thin, nearly invisible barrier that emitted a faint sound When Brain tried to inspect it, his fur stood on end from static. He heard a low, dangerous hum, and he quickly leapt back before the barrier could electrocute him. 

On instinct, he grabbed his zigzagged tail to protect it from further harm. Memories of the painful learned helplessness experiment from his childhood coursed through his mind, and he focused on smoothing down his fur to rid himself of the unwanted flashback.

No bars. No lock to stick his tail through. No numerical pad to hack or convenient scientist he could trick into opening the cage. 

He couldn’t ask Pinky for a nonsensical idea for an escape plan either. Of course, relying on Pinky for a backup plan was entirely a last resort, but it was better than nothing. 

There was a computer screen and control panel several feet away, but he had no way of reaching it. The computer screen displayed several fluctuating lines like a heartbeat monitor at a hospital, but Brain couldn’t determine what they were measuring from this distance. 

The windows in the room were covered by heavy blinds. It was impossible to determine if it was light or dark outside, The only other light source was from two Microbots. Their lenses were trained directly on him as a security measure. 

Even if he could escape, he wouldn’t get very far. 

He impatiently tapped his fingers against the floor. Sitting around and remaining idle would get him nowhere. He needed to take action before his ponderings became too much to bear.

Pinky, Chip, you better have escaped with the Earth Gem or else I’m going to hurt both of you when I get back. 

If he ever got back. 

On the far wall, a taxidermied lion head stared at nothing. The plaque’s engraving dated the kill to two months ago and included measurements, probably as some twisted form of bragging rights. 

Brain quickly looked away from that accusing gaze. 

If those men have no qualms about making this trophy, they’ll have no issue doing the same to Pinky. 

Pinky’s body would be desecrated and ripped apart, all in the name of money. 

The thought alone was enough to sicken and disgust Brain. 

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that there was no obvious method to escape. If there was no escape route, then he’d just have to make one himself. It was the only logical solution. 

The Microbots’ lenses seemed to be programmed to keep him within sight at all times. 

But that was fine. 

Like all technology, Microbots had to be susceptible to electricity overloads. So Brain planned to lure them towards the electrified barrier of his cage, where they would absorb the voltage and malfunction. With the electric current disabled, he’d be able to get out of this horrible structure and disappear into the jungle before anyone caught on. 

He crouched down, creeping as close to the barrier as he could without setting off its defense mechanism. His fur stood on end from static, the low hum a constant warning that he should probably pull back, but the risk was necessary. 

His entire world was at stake. 

As he pretended to check the boundaries for a weak point, the implications of the Microbots’ presence sunk in. Perhaps Microbots were available for purchase as a fancy security camera, but there surely had to be a correlation between their usage here and the Microsponge airplane that welcomed them to the Congo Rainforest with an aerial battle that nearly obliterated the Hurricane.  

At the time, he’d been too consumed with panic and fear for their lives to question why Microsponge was in the middle of an isolated jungle where the consumer base was minimal. 

He should’ve questioned how the poachers got their bloodstained hands on a photo of Pinky. He didn’t think Pinky and Chip were foolish enough to post nighttime selfies online after his warning. Somebody outside of their allies in Rome knew Pinky’s secret. But the more pressing matter was the poachers’ discussion about payment. 

These men were experienced mercenaries. They didn’t come cheap. Whoever paid them for this job had to be rich enough to afford their services. 

As rich as a CEO of an international corporation. 

And the only one who fit the criteria was…

Snowball. 

The warning hum of the electrified barrier transformed into a thunderous sound, and Brain realized too late that he’d ventured close enough to trigger the cage’s defenses. Pain shot up his arm and through his body, limbs and tail twitching beyond his control. 

He stumbled back, the cuffs around his wrists and ankles tightening around bare skin. A scream tore from his throat as he tried to relieve the pressure, but his fingers refused to work. 

His tail breaking several times over. Cold, disinterested voices discussing their observations above him. A hunger that could never be satisfied. The feeling of being trapped, alone, and helpless against the world. 

The cuffs loosened slightly, though they still wouldn’t come off. The pain lingered throughout his body, though it was more of an uncomfortable tingle now. 

He laid on his side and tried to breathe, focusing on clearing his head so he could come up with another escape plan. But then he heard a series of noisy clicks, like somebody was typing on a keyboard. 

Concentration was impossible. 

“You know, I could’ve allowed the extraction program to run for five minutes longer,” a posh British voice said, so very different from Pinky’s strange mix of Cockney and gibberish. His tone was casual, like he was simply talking about the weather, yet so infuriatingly smug. “But I have some questions, and you need to be coherent enough to answer them.” 

Brain pushed himself into a sitting position, his head throbbing from the abrupt motion. But it was necessary. He had to be alert around Snowball at all times, or the hamster would take advantage of his lack of vigilance. 

Snowball leaned against the control panel, sipping coffee out of his thimble like it was just another day at the office. A purple sash was slung over one shoulder and fastened with a pin of the Earth in an arrogant display of his claimed dominion over the planet. 

“How do you even sleep at night with what you’ve done to the world?” Brain snapped, his nose wrinkling at the strong coffee odor. 

And to Pinky? He almost said, but he clamped down on his words before he gave Snowball ammunition. 

“Quite well, actually,” Snowball replied with his usual nonchalance. “I have a king-sized bed with silk covers back in Seattle. It’s very comfortable. Pinky will agree if you ask him. He slept there for a few nights himself during your little couple’s spat. Much nicer than…say, a sponge bed, wouldn’t you think?” 

Brain glared at him. 

Snowball only put a hand in front of his mouth, making a big show out of fake regret for his words. 

“My apologies. Did I bring up a sensitive topic?” he asked, his tone dripping with fake concern. 

It was just like him to leave Brain with no answers to which part he deemed too sensitive. 

So a king-sized bed wouldn’t fit into their cage at ACME Labs. Big deal. Pinky never complained about sleeping on an unused kitchen sponge. 

For his peace of mind, Brain assumed the sponge was unused. And that Pinky didn’t actually mind using a sponge for a bed or small hand towels for blankets. 

“Jungles are hardly beneficial to your sanity, Snowball,” Brain said. He couldn’t allow Snowball to get away with his horrible comments. “You haven’t learned anything from last time.”

Snowball set his thimble down with a noisy clatter of metal against metal. Clearly Brain struck a sore spot, and he felt immensely satisfied in wiping that smug grin off his face. 

Then Snowball pressed a button on the control panel, and Brain’s satisfaction vanished as an electric current struck his body. It only lasted a few seconds, but it left Brain gasping for air on the floor of his cage. 

“Remember your position, Brain,” Snowball sneered. “You cannot attack me through physical means or verbal insults. Pull that stunt again, and maybe I’ll make an experiment out of how much voltage you can take. It’ll be just like old times.” 

Cold pink eyes bore into him in a judgmental stare. 

With dawning horror, Brain released his aching tail. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it like he’d once done in the devastating aftermath of the learned helplessness experiment. 

To be caught acting like the helpless child he used to be…how could he be so foolish? 

Snowball was certain to take full advantage of his vulnerability. 

On the computer monitor, several lines spiked until they reached the top of the display. Bright red numbers increased alongside each line. 

Brain gasped, and the line measuring his respiratory rate suddenly tanked.

“None of that now, Brain,” Snowball scolded, like Brain was a young child. “I prefer precise measurements, if you could kindly oblige.” 

Blood pressure. Heart rate. The chemical reactions within his body. 

The horrible conclusion sunk in.

I’m an experiment. 

“How interesting,” Snowball said, flicking so fast through pages of results that Brain couldn’t discern the purpose of. “These readings are rather unique and complex compared to the other subjects. Your sentience must play a role in this.” 

Brain’s hands clenched into fists, nails digging into skin, though there were no physical objects in the cage to rip apart or throw at Snowball. Even when the monotonous daily routine of mazes and catering to the so-called scientists’ fancy was interrupted by the looming apocalypse, he still couldn’t escape the stigma of being a lab mouse. 

“What other subjects?” Brain shouted. “Isn’t destroying the world enough for you and your capitalistic ilk?” 

Snowball only folded his hands behind his back. 

“To address your concern, the incident with Pinky aboard the energy cannon was merely a rough test run. Since then, I’ve refined the process with his data. This field test will utilize my new findings,” he said. 

Brain’s hand curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm. There were no physical objects in his cage, preferably one that could be used as a projectile at Snowball’s head. 

He had no right to even speak Pinky’s name after the horror he inflicted upon him. 

Snowball raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be obstinate, Brain. In fact, I was hoping we could discuss this in a civilized manner. You don’t need to avoid the subject of your…friend.” 

He spat out the last word like it was a curse. 

Though Brain tried to ponder the best way to acquire information about Pinky’s condition while only asking general questions about the world’s destruction, Snowball saw right through it. Snowball knew about the personal stakes for Pinky, and he waved it tauntingly over Brain’s head. 

“Fine!” Brain yelled. In the back of his mind, a voice warned him to keep a cool head so Snowball couldn’t get to him, but the stress of everything that happened since Dark Gaia’s awakening had gotten to him. He was exhausted, hungry, and sleep-deprived, and none of those were beneficial to a clear mind. “You ripped the world apart, unleashed a Lovecraftian horror, and caused Pinky unimaginable pain every night all because you couldn’t bother using a more convenient energy source?”  

“I’m running a business, Brain. It’s important to stand out from competitors,” Snowball said. He tapped a button on the panel, and the monitor switched to a camera feed of a tall, steel skyscraper under construction. A gray robot with a broad, muscular build loomed over a crew of human construction workers who struggled to lift a heavy steel beam in place. “And the population of MacroTech City is growing ever larger by the day.” 

The footage changed to a young woman peering up at the locked electronic gates of a building, which had WELCOME CENTER plastered across the front with sharp, black lettering. The woman nervously gripped the handle of her suitcase, a pensive expression on her face. 

Brain couldn’t blame her. The Welcome Center was rather lacking in the welcome department. 

An android security guard lumbered towards the woman, its artificial eyes casting a red beam of light upon her. She flinched and held a hand up to her face as the beam moved across her body. 

Then the red light disappeared, and the android’s eyes returned to normal. 

“Security scan completed. The new admission is safe. Please proceed to the front desk and fill out your identification papers. An employee will assist you from there. The illustrious Emperor Snowball and his staff welcome you to MacroTech City, citizen.” 

The imposing gate slid open, immediately slamming shut as soon as the woman stepped inside. 

Brain had the distinct impression that admittance was only one way. That woman would never see the outside world again. 

Snowball cut off the video and turned to Brain with a ridiculously proud look on his face. 

“My advertising campaigns have been quite successful,” Snowball said. He dragged a chair closer to Brain’s cage and sat down, leaning to one side too casually for Brain’s comfort. It was the body language of someone who knew they had the upper hand. “People from all over the world are moving to MacroTech City in search of a better life. This grand architectural design is my magnum opus, the future of the entire world! That said, a booming metropolis also requires a great source of energy to be fully operational, all contained within a living vessel.” 

Brain crossed his arms. “So build a nuclear power plant or a hydroelectric dam. There were other solutions to your little energy crisis that don’t involve Pin–a living vessel.” 

Pinky was never meant to be the host of a primal, apocalyptic entity. Yet he bore his pain with a smile and a narf. Even when his laughter faltered and the reality of his situation sunk in, he never wanted to worry Brain and Chip. He still tried to be helpful, and he was always so remorseful when his strength caused accidental destruction. 

His presence was the only reason Brain hadn’t fallen prey to Dark Gaia’s manipulations. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Brain. After all, you delivered Pinky to me with a large bow. I intend to make full use of your present. Because you chose to satisfy your curiosity about my energy source, my plan has progressed at a faster rate than I anticipated. I was hoping you could help me again. Call it an exchange of information.”

But Snowball wasn’t sharing information for generosity’s sake. He had an agenda behind all this.    

“Cut the corporate speak, Snowball. You’re interrogating me. Call it by the proper term,” Brain scowled. 

“Have it your way,” Snowball said coldly, his faux affable demeanor disappearing. He stood up abruptly and stormed back to the monitor, grabbing at a small microphone protruding from the panel. “Computer, display security footage of the Microsponge office building. Rome location, last Friday, time between midnight and two in the morning.” 

A grayscale video came up, showing Pinky accidentally scaring the security guard into unconsciousness. When he unknowingly swung his head to the camera, his eyes were nothing but a blank ball of white. Yet his shoulders were slumped, his ears folded back in regret.

I was there. Pinky wasn’t feral at that moment. His retinas are just reflecting light at the camera. 

There was no audio. The video switched to Pinky and Chip ravenously stuffing themselves in the break room. The torn fridge door laid on the ground, various crushed sauces and drinks forming a puddle underneath. Brain was nervously looking at the broken door while trying to usher his companions out of their snack break before they were caught. 

“Pause video,” Snowball said. The display froze on a zoomed-in shot of Chip with chocolate all over his face. “What is this creature and why is he tagging along with you?” 

“Pinky befriended a local,” Brain said. He couldn’t give away more information than necessary. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him.” 

“A local who happens to be a unique species. A mammalian body structure with wings that bear more of a resemblance to an insect? No other wildlife has those characteristics,” Snowball pointed out. “I’m not blind, Brain. Anyone with eyes can tell this specimen is completely unknown to science.” 

Brain’s fingers dug into his palm. It was the only form of release he had. 

He’d only allowed Chip to come with them for his ability to open the Gaia Temple and translate the ancient writings, in addition to his flight providing a faster way to escape danger and reach higher ground. 

And having someone distract Pinky so Brain could plan in peace was surprisingly useful.

In the end, Chip was just an ally. He’d leave once he found the answers he was looking for. 

But referring to Chip as a specimen, like he was to be dissected and studied within a lab, something about that curled Brain’s stomach. 

Despite Brain’s efforts to resist the onslaught of questions, Snowball was starting to take interest in Chip. He couldn’t allow Snowball to figure out more than he already knew. 

Snowball briefly glanced at the vital sign chart before going back to the paused footage. 

“Your heart and respiratory rate are spiking,” Snowball said, his finger hovering over a red button. “Common physiological changes when one is lying through their teeth. I’m hurt. Truly, I am. Friends should never keep secrets from each other. So tell me, what do you really know?” 

Brain’s fur bristled. He never wanted to think about that stage in his life where he was forced to rely on someone as untrustworthy as Snowball for companionship again. 

“You and I…are not, and will never again be frie-” 

Once again, his limbs contracted against his will, electricity coursing through his body at what felt like a higher voltage than before. It only lasted seconds, but his fur was completely singed and standing on end. 

Brain fell to his knees, gasping for air. He clutched his chest, and he took consolation in how the electricity hadn’t stopped the contractions of his heart. 

But he was dizzy, lightheaded, and felt like he was going to throw up. Neither his body nor mind could resist much more of this torture. 

“Please don’t make this difficult, Brain,” Snowball said, his voice far too pleasant. “I know that creature helped you and Pinky break Professor Pickle out of the restricted area. He doesn’t seem particularly suited to combat, nor does he have any abilities suited for a stealth mission from what I’ve observed on the security feed. Had I activated my security measures that night, all of you would’ve been taken down before you could blink. Ultimately, it really wasn’t worth the hassle. The only reason you succeeded in your little rescue mission is because I had no more need for that senile codger. So return my favor, Brain. There’s a reason that creature is tagging along with you, and I want to know why.” 

Snowball’s finger hovered over a flashing button. He wasn’t going to stop until Brain answered. 

Because Chip has a connection to the Gaia Temples and Guardians. Because Pinky invited him along without my approval first. Because he can read ancient texts whose translations and meanings have been lost to time. Because he thinks he can regain his memories by traveling the world with us. 

“Stop!” Brain cried out, though he knew he couldn’t give away any of those reasons. He didn’t want to betray his allies’ secrets…nor their trust. But he had to avoid electrocution at all costs. The painful reminders…it was too much. “Just…stop. Chip, that’s his name, his necklace…has healing properties.” 

That information was still very dangerous to give up, but it was the only thing that Snowball couldn’t take advantage of. Well, take advantage in a way that was obvious to Brain, but the hamster had caught him off-guard before. He couldn’t put anything past Snowball. 

Snowball’s lip curled. He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, nor did Brain expect him to be. 

Chip’s necklace wasn’t just for decoration. It was a key into the ancient past, long before recorded history. 

Brain wasn’t sure if Snowball had translated anything beyond the information Professor Pickle had given him, but he would set his sights on capturing Chip for information. He couldn’t allow that to happen. 

“Very well,” Snowball said, his tone flat. “I’ll allow you to keep that secret for now, Brain. So long as you enlighten me on a more pertinent issue.” 

The screen changed to a display of the entire world, the fragmented continents only connected by gravity as they drifted above a molten core. Europe was the only continent that remained stationary. 

“Somehow, you opened the Earth Temple and restored Europe,” Snowball continued. “I had just enough of a translation to work out the entrance within the catacombs. But no matter how much machinery or dynamite I used, the Temple would not open for me. So how did you and your merry band of idiots accomplish this feat?” 

Brain hadn’t seen any damage or tampering with the Earth Temple’s entrance in the catacombs. The Earth Guardian had truly made the Temple impenetrable to anyone who didn’t possess a connection to his ancient Master, whoever that was. The only reason he and Pinky gained access at all was because of Chip’s necklace. 

Without it, Snowball was denied entry. 

“Have you tried ‘open sesame’? Worked for us,” Brain said, but the vicious satisfaction he felt in having the upper hand against Snowball for once was short-lived. 

The cuffs tightened painfully around his limbs, and only when Brain was about to pass out from the pain did Snowball cut the connection. 

“I wish you wouldn’t skew my data like that, Brain,” Snowball sighed with a disappointed shake of his head. “Omitting all the outliers from your baseline will be such a chore.” 

Sure it will, Brain thought, his wrists and ankles throbbing. 

Snowball turned his back on Brain as he turned his full attention to the monitor. He didn’t bother hiding his screen as he scrolled through numerous files, knowing that Brain could do nothing about it. 

Parakeet Male #1. Parakeet Female #6. Bonobo Male Juvenile #2. Leopard Female Cub #3. MacroTech City Plans. Gaia Manuscripts. Pinky. 

To Brain’s horror, there were three folders with Pinky’s name on them. How much information could Snowball possibly have on Pinky that he required three separate folders for him? 

Snowball opened the third folder, bringing up a photo of Pinky in his Dark Gaia-influenced form. 

Brain had seen that photo before. 

Those horrible poachers had a copy. 

Brain had his suspicions before about Snowball’s involvement, but even with the proof in front of his eyes, he still didn’t want the confirmation that Snowball would sell Pinky out in such a horrible way.

“You know, this would make for an excellent headline,” Snowball hummed. “Give the public something else to focus on instead of all this doom and gloom.” 

Just when Brain thought Snowball couldn’t sink any lower, he found new ways to prove him wrong. 

The public couldn’t know about Pinky’s condition. He’d be hunted down relentlessly. 

“As if you haven’t tormented him enough already! What could you possibly hope to gain by subjecting Pinky to public ridicule?” Brain snapped. If he didn’t run the risk of being electrocuted, he would’ve slammed his fists against the bars of the cage. 

Snowball turned around. Brain stumbled back, not expecting the malice in his eyes from his former childhood friend. 

“Separating you from that simpleton isn’t enough,” Snowball replied. “You naturally gravitate toward each other, like the earth to the sun. You bicker and squabble, true, but it never lasts. Eventually, you come back together. I’ve come to realize that the answer doesn’t lie in keeping you apart.” 

Snowball’s logic made no sense. Why wouldn’t separating them be the obvious conclusion? 

“You’ve dabbled in astronomy from time to time, Brain,” Snowball said, studying his nails in a rather flippant manner. “Surely you must know that stars don’t last forever. It may take millions, perhaps billions of years, but there will come a time when their light fades away forever. And under certain conditions, the brightest stars may even become all-consuming black holes.” 

Brightest stars and…black holes? What does any of this have to do with…

Finally, Brain understood. He wished he hadn’t.  

“You want me to watch his…deterioration,” he whispered. 

Snowball only laughed. He always had a terrible sense of humor. 

“Not only that. You don’t know when to quit, Brain. I want you to watch him spiral as you continue your fool’s errand. Oh, you may have restored Europe. Perhaps you will restore one or two more continents on your journey. But you will never save the entire world. Pinky will realize that you’ve failed where it counts the most, and he will succumb to Dark Gaia as all others have done before him. He will lose all the faith and trust he placed upon you, and his transformation will finally be complete.” 

It was the worst fate imaginable. Failing to save the world from an apocalyptic end. 

Failing to save the only mouse he tolerated until all that remained of Pinky was a beast who only brought darkness and despair. 

Brain’s cuffs tightened until he could no longer bear the pain silently. He cried out, but there was no one coming to his rescue. 

He was alone, and the world couldn’t give a damn about him. 

o-o-o-o

“Wake up, Pinky! Wake up right now, or I shall have to hurt you!” 

Crimson blood flowed down Pinky’s back, the dagger embedded up to its hilt within his unmoving body. Brain pressed his hands against Pinky’s fur to stop the bleeding, but it was a futile effort. His palms were stained red, leaving bloody smears against Pinky’s muzzle when he tried to rouse him. 

Pinky’s ears didn’t twitch, nor did his eyes open. 

The aggressor had vanished, leaving Brain alone with a dying Pinky in this hopeless place. 

Dark clouds swallowed the moon and stars, tree-like shadows reaching up to the blackened sky with twisted, thorn-covered branches. 

Dark Gaia won. 

There was no escape. He’d failed to save the world. 

His world…

Brain burrowed against Pinky’s chest, longing for a heartbeat he would never hear again. Pinky’s head blocked him from view. He would be protected from the monsters here, for just a while longer. 

“...I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to stop the tears from falling. “I tried…” 

But there was only silence. 

End AN: Sorry Brain. You’re my favorite character and because you have that title I am obligated to torture you by any means possible. 

And Snowball makes his grand return! I always have a good time writing him. So what’s his agenda this time? Ruining the mice’s night of course. It’s a favorite pastime of his. 

I always enjoy writing nightmare scenarios. They’re fun. 

MacroTech City was originally going to be named something like Snowtropolis as a reference to the Robotropolis of SATAM, but I decided to go for something a little more Silicon Valley start up tech company-y. 

[indigo-scarf]

A rec list for Pansy/Daphne, girly and glamorous Slytherin friends (or frenemies) to lovers. This list focusses on their school days; I'll make another later that will be more post-Hogwarts. Enjoy! 💋

Some Days by Cheeky Slytherin Lass (T, 146) - Pansy being hard to love, and Daphne loving her anyway. So short but perfectly encapsulates a ship dynamic I adore.

There is No Heterosexual Explanation For This by rainbowspring (T, 1.9k) - So many neat little ideas about their relationship from childhood to post-war. Lots of headcanons accepted.

the evolution of pansies by elixirsoflife (?, 5.5k) - Pansy's character studied in beautiful prose. Lovely Mediterranean summer aesthetic at the end.

Confessions of a Closeted Pureblood by hmweasley (T, 6.1k) - Daphne and Pansy navigate growing up in a world of arranged marriages. They also play with their dolls.

Kisses by oswhine (G, 777) - Their story told through kisses. Cute schoolgirl vibes.

Just For Luck by tamlane (M, 1.2k) - More kisses. More cute schholgirl vibes.

Worth Waiting For by scarletladyy (M, 1.6k) - Pansy shows Daphne porn and other things. Even more cute schoolgirl vibes.

Wash Away My Colors by Rosethouartsickxx (M, 1.9k) - Self-harm, angst, and complicated relationships, but also a bit of fluff.

hp100 drabbles. (ch 4/5/6) by amorremanet (M, 300) - Daphne expresses her unrequited love through her art.

Diamonds in your hair by killing_kurare (G, 165) - Finnicky Pansy & optimistic Daphne, what an adorable combo.

One Time by NotAMuggleMiss (T, 762) - Comphet struggles. Love the winter in Hogsmeade atmosphere.

a little bravery by quiescents (G, 550) - Comphet x soulmates. Idealistic Daphne & jaded Pansy.

Choices by luminae (T, 578) - Comphet struggles + hurt/comfort.

Can't Wait by hmweasley (T, 1.2k) - From jealousy to mutual love through the motif of punctuality. As someone who really values punctuality, I love this.

Slytherin Games by Icicle (E, 1.9k) - Cruel Intentions-esque, a brilliant concept.

Behind The Curtain (Waits A Darker World) by etoilecourageuse (T, 1.1k) - Finding comfort in each other during 7th year.

Serpentine Courage by Cheeky Slytherin Lass (T, 930) - Pansy and Daphne decide to fight in the war, in a way that feels true to their characters.

Whatever You Need by DobbyRocksSocks (K+, 683) - Some sweet post-war hurt/comfort.