#collapses facedown on the floor

[snailtowne]

you are burning, burning in a fire of your own making

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 39

part 1 | part 38 | ao3

Eight hours, four pizzas, and one — yes, one, Henderson, Jesus — job-well-done beer each later, Steve waves the kids out the door and promptly collapses facedown on his shiny new vinyl flooring.

"God," he groans, rolling his forehead on the floor.

Eddie's not much better off. He's slumped against the front door, bracing his weight with one hand, head hung low between his shoulders. His hair's all frizzed out with sweat, and Steve can hear his soft panting over the hum of the radio. "Yeah," he says in breathless agreement. "Fatherhood is exhausting."

Steve snorts a quiet laugh. "Welcome to the babysitters club."

"Not even getting paid for this shit," Eddie complains, but Steve can see the smile tugging at his mouth when he steps over him. "I'm gonna grab a shower. That okay?"

"Go ahead," Steve mumbles, eyelids heavy as he waves Eddie down the hall. "Towels are in the closet. Borrow whatever you want."

His limbs feel like lead. Shoulders throbbing; headache worse. He's also... maybe, possibly having some major regrets about moving all the couches out onto the front lawn along with the rolled-up carpet earlier (a fact he'd sooner eat his own shirt than admit to Eddie, because Eddie warned him not to do it; told him he was going to be too tired after installing the floors to bring them all back inside, and Steve had shrugged him off at the time because Steve's an overconfident dipshit.) Anyway, he's pretty sure the spasm in his spine is price enough to pay for not listening. He's not about to put up with Eddie's gloating, too.

Eddie pauses in the hallway, rings tapping against the wall, smug little bastard look on his face. "You doin' okay down there, champ?"

It's a serious effort to raise his arm to flip him the bird, but Steve manages.

—

"Hey, sunshine."

Eddie's voice is gentle as Steve blinks himself awake, neck cracking horribly, little puddle of drool under his chin. He's not sure when he drifted off. The last thing he remembers is nuzzling his cheek against the floor, feeling the weirdly papery material slide against his stubble; thinking about how it was cheap and it was tacky but it was new and it was his. How it felt like as good of a fresh start as anyone in Forrest Hills was going to get.

"How long was I out for?" he groans, rolling onto his back to stretch out his stiff limbs.

Long enough, apparently. Eddie got a whole pillow fort situation sorted out while Steve was snoozing — dragged all the pillows and blankets off Steve's bed and arranged them in a pile in the middle of the empty room, pulled a side table and lamp over from the corner, gathered up the radio and the last box of leftover pizza and his black lunchbox and a couple of beers to share.

He's also freshly showered and wearing Steve's pajamas. Looks clean and warm and soft; borrowed Hawkins High green sweats, a thin, white undershirt, the shoulders damp where his hair hangs in pretty wet waves.

Steve is so, so normal about the picture Eddie paints.

So normal.

Not at all popping a boner over a guy in ratty loungewear.

Steve crosses his legs — subtly, left ankle to right knee, but Eddie gives him a knowing smirk over the lip of his beer bottle anyway.

"Shut up," Steve blushes.

"Did I speak?" Eddie asks.

—

part 40

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[bullet-prooflove]

A Little Rough: Luke Alvez x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @Cosmic-psychickitty @anime-weeb-4-life @glazzyglaz @Rosaliedepp

It’s late and the two of you are in the FBI gym, training on the mats because Luke thinks you need to let off a little steam. One of your perps walked free from court today and you’ve been restless since the verdict came through, stalking around the apartment like a ferocious predator as Luke tried to watch the game. It’s after an hour of this behaviour that he finally snaps and tells you to grab your workout gear.

The gym is empty at this time of night which suits you because the way you’re fighting, it gets a little furious, a little bloody. Luke ends up with a busted lip and instead of withdrawing, he smiles as he wipes away the copper stain because you being like this, it does a little something for him.

When you hit the mat facedown, the air rushes out of you and Luke takes full advantage of that. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head, his entire body pressing against yours as he whispers into your ear.

“So, how are you going to get out of this one?”

Your arch your hips so your ass rubs lightly over his cock. He moans into your ear before exerting a little pressure, trapping you between his body and the floor. You can feel him against you, hard and urgent. You can’t move in this position and he knows it.

“You’re in no position to tease baby, remember that.” He whispers into your ear as he rolls his hips against you.

It’s your turn to moan as he keeps one hand on your wrists, the other trailing down your body until he reaches the waistband of your leggings.

“Are you going to let me take care of you now?” He asks you, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck. “Work out that frustration another way?”

You let out a needy whine and Luke begins to tug down your leggings. You can’t ask for this, the fury in you won’t allow you to give up control, not without a fight. You’re too feral to give, you need to be consumed, to be taken. You’re soaked for him when he gets his cock between your legs, your wetness smears over the tip of his cock and he bites down onto the curve of your shoulder as he enters you.

He feels you exhale at the sensation, your muscles starting to relax as he fills you all the way to the hilt. This is what you need, this sense of connection because until now you’ve been unmoored and adrift.

“Oh baby, it’s about to get a little rough.” Luke whispers into your ear before he pulls out and thrusts hard and deep. “But that’s what you want isn’t? Me to fuck those thoughts right out of your head.”

You don’t answer and he doesn’t expect you to. Instead his grip on your wrists tightens as he buries his face into your hair and begins to fuck you.

The sound of slapping skin echoes through the air, your hitched breathing, his desperate grunts. He chases your pleasure with gritted teeth because he can feel his own orgasm crashing like waves throughout his body but he’s determined to stave it off. He’s not coming until you do, that’s the promise he makes himself when the two of you get like this. You have to get off first otherwise he’s just using you and although that’s part of the game it’s not the goal. The point is to get you out of your own head, to strip away everything else and just leave you with this physical sensation.

His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging it hard and suddenly you’re tightening around him, crying out your ecstasy into the mat as Luke comes with you, spilling his release into your cunt. He pulls out and helps draw your leggings back up before he collapses on the mat alongside of you, his head propped up on his arm.

“Feel better?” He asks, his fingertips brushing over your cheek.

“Hm.” You tell him, your eyes fluttering closed. “I’m gonna need you to carry me to the car though, I don’t think I can move.”

“I can do that.” Luke promises as he leans in close, his lips brushing over your hair line. “I would do anything for you, you know that.”

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[run-little-hero]

T/CW // Violence, descriptions of gore, discussions of religion, religious imagery

“Get the fuck away from me.”

Hero stumbles, arm braced against a concrete pillar. They’ve found themself cornered and bloodied in a fantastic ballroom. Glittering gowns twirl and gloved fingers dance across the shoulders of their partners, lost to an enchanting, classical rhythm. But Hero, sequestered in a corner by Villain, masks their frantic pants beneath the melody, an arm clapped over their bleeding middle.

Villain pushes Hero farther back, voice low. “You’ve never liked the way I say ‘hello.’”

Hero cowers inward, gripping their arm to their chest as tight as possible. They can slow the bleeding, they won’t die here. But time is running out to evacuate safely and silently. Hero knows compromising the scene by causing commotion might lead to an explosive reaction on Villain’s part.

Hero doesn’t realize how close Villain has gotten until there’s a hand on their waist. “You look a little faint, my friend.” They pull Hero in, whispering, “Seems the crowd is too much for you. Let’s take care of that.”

The image of Villain’s chest flayed open, then crumpled facedown in the mess of their own gore strikes Hero. They feel sick. “You’re the Devil.”

Villain can’t help but smile. “And you’re such a little saint.” They mean it, too. “Don’t worry, I simply meant let’s take care of you.” Suddenly, they’re pulling Hero by the waist onto the dance floor.

“Villain.”

“Hush, we’re being discrete.”

Villain forces one of Hero’s arms behind their neck, the other fiercely gripping their stomach. Layers of frivolous clothing obscure the red seeping through their shirt. The pair sways to the slow ballad, and Hero can see Villain guiding them closer to the exit, inch by inch. They’ll take their time, and Hero leans into their weight as black spots begin to invade the edges of their vision.

“Tell me Hero,” Villain prompts. “Do you have faith in anything? Personally, I don’t see the point in religion when there’s people like us in the world.” Heroes and villains. Good and evil.

“I have faith in myself and my team,” Hero grunts, nearly tripping over Villain’s shoe. “That’s all I need.”

“You never think about God?”

“I’m more concerned with protecting innocent people myself. Can’t rely on the universe for that.”

Villain considers this. “I empathize with you, Hero.” They’re getting closer to the exit, nearly 10 feet from the stairs. “I find our conversations divine, and surely worthy of devotion. We’re magic in and of ourselves, aren’t we? A mixing of forces, alchemical.”

Hero grips Villain’s shoulders tighter. They can feel their feet growing heavier with each half-step. So close to the door. They just need to entertain Villain while they climb the stairs.

“S-some…” They struggle over the first step. “Something like that.” Villain pulls them over the second, all but carrying them.

Hero is wheezing by the time they reach the top, collapsing into Villain. They confess, “This feels more like Hell to me.”

“Hero,” Villain smiles into the crown of their head. “We will never be closer to God than we are right now.”

It sends chills through Hero. They pull Villain towards the exit, but Villain remains stood at the top of the staircase, gaze cast over the ballroom.

It’s not right, but Hero can’t move. The blood is trickling down their body, and they no longer have the strength to put pressure on the bleeding. They silently plead for Villain to move, take mercy and get them help.

“I have faith in you,” Villain says.

Hero feels a push of opposing force against their chest, and all of a sudden Villain looks far away. It’s the image they’re left with as their skull hits the bottom of the staircase with a ‘crack.’

—

snippet #5

[tequiilasunriise]

The sheer soulmatism of Lenore and Annabel fucks me up so bad everytime I think too hard about it okay sit down y’all.

The way they were immediately drawn to each other even though they had no memory of anything! No reason to immediately become so attached and protective and trusting! Not even death could part them, it’s almost like reincarnation in a way. The sins of living and the pain that comes with being alive washed away not by holy water but rather split blood, and in this new life they’re reborn into a blank, clean slate. Even in this memoryless ‘next lifetime’ they still choose each other without hesitation, without question, and I am on my knees sobbing.

The parallels of Annabel fainting! Annabel fainted when she learned that Lenore was actually alive, and Annabel also fainted when remembering how she died, and by extension, how Lenore died too (not related to soulmatism but in one scenario her lover caught her despite the injury, and in the other Lenore had no such hinderance but failed to catch Annabel regardless and that parallel kills me so softly). The soulmatism that is reacting the same exact way when you learned she lived vs remembering how she died, the soulmatism that the love is still the same. Oh how the love is still so tragically the same, crossing that threshold of death, despite the unhappy ending you shared. Annabel faints because it’s learning you have a second chance at love vs remembering how that same love was ripped away and I am no longer on my knees but laying facedown on the floor.

(The way Annabel looked at Lenore before collapsing in both scenes but with DRASTICALLY different vibes of disbelief like okay yeah sure, sure okay mhm just smash my ribs and rip my heart right out why don’t you?)

Now, NOW, the thing that truly ends me? The crazy red/blue symbolism these two carry.

Lenore is the embodiment of red. Her thoughts come in red print, as do the ribbons she was wrapped up in. Her fiery (pun intended), confident personality, her pure raging defiance rallying those around her. What’s more, Lenore’s anger and bared teeth is painted red the same way her love is, because red is not just the color of anger. Red is love, and Lenore, my god, she cares so openly about the people around her that her heart’s just painted bloody and brazen on her sleeve. Born from self-made infernos into the person she was always meant to be- flirty, quick-witted, taking what she wants when she wants- she is a young Montague wrapped up in her family’s house colors trailblazing down her own paths.

(But unlike dear Romeo who scaled a tree to look upwards towards Juliet on her balcony, Lenore was in a tree looking downwards at her counterpart, and this parallel is so important as the scene is clearly a Romeo/Juliet parallel but without the sweet sappiness but rather tension and just like, 1000x more interesting ‘can I trust you fr fr-ness’.)

Annabel is the embodiment of blue. Her thoughts come in blue print, and her ribbons are a deep blue to match. Blue is the color of calmness, and she seems so tranquil with a gentle yet firm confidence that puts people around her at ease. A natural born leader with such cool-headedness. Oh, but underneath that mask? Sadness. SO MUCH sadness, Annabel is an ocean of it, she’s a peaceful smile with a melancholic heart shot through. Young Capulet holds not pure innocence like her Juliet-counterpart but rather a deep rooted loneliness, like guys, Annabel is actually just so fucken SAD I think we really need to address this more yes she’s a total girlboss but also Annabel is the personification of hollowed out loneliness that comes with your beloved being ripped away from you.

This really got away from me, but my point?

Lenore, the embodiment of red, has blue eyes.

Annabel, the embodiment of blue, has red-adjacent eyes.

FORGET LAYING ON THE GROUND IN TEARS I AM CURRENTLY CLIPPING THROUGH THE FLOOR AND HEADING STRAIGHT GAY TO MY GRAVE IN THE BACKROOMS!!!

YOUR HONOR THEIR EYES ARE THE GODDAMNED COLORS OF THE OTHER’S MOTHERMARYFUCKING S O U L LIKE WHAT IN THE JESUS H CHRIST BUMBLEBY SOULMATISM IS T H I S S S⁉️⁉️⁉️

[followerofmercy]

I'm emotional over the dead SecUnit in Network Effect

So throughout the entire series, Murderbot frequently references its former governor module (which is actually still there, menacingly but inactive) and how it will fry the brain of a disobedient SecUnit. Sometimes that 'disobedience' is being ordered to stand still while your humans abandon you, which sucks on its own, but it double sucks because the governor module is also primed to fry your brain if you get outside of a certain radius of your contract. Murderbot talks about this at least three times per book but it's how it normally talk abouts traumatic things: pretty flippantly, kinda funny, sometimes suggesting that 'fry your brain' isn't literal.

It did explicitly outline this exact scenario at a few points, but it never got too deep into the gorey details.

Then in Network Effect, we get to see the corpse of a SecUnit that got left outside of the allowable radius. It's just so. The buildup is so good. The corpse laying facedown with the fluid leaking from the faceplate. Murderbot actually passed over it once or twice before the humans insisted on looking at it and asking Murderbot how it felt about it.

Come to find out that the 'fry your brain' is extremely literal. Like Murderbot says it would have to scrape the remains of the other SecUnit out of the armor and even then the armor is likely toast, because the governor module does not fuck around.

And something felt different this time. I'll have to pay closer attention when I re-read the series, but I feel like Murderbot doesn't give all that much attention to bodies (besides a snarky 'splattered on the walls,' and this scene was shockingly reverent). Murderbot is not a very visual novel series, but there was detail in the dead SecUnit. I can perfectly picture that body and it's been permanently engraved in my memory. The way it was left alone. The way it collapsed forwards without a fight, its faceplate shattered, its fucking brains making a mess of the floor worse than any of the human corpses did. Every other person on that docking platform died violently, but the SecUnit's death was the most violent of them all, and all it could do was stand there.

[arecaceae175]

For Want Of Rest: Ch. 6

FAN JOY JULY!

Fic Summary: Five times Sky falls asleep somewhere that isn’t a bed plus one time they all do. Or, Sky struggles to manage his disabilities, then the chain has a conversation about accessibility and accommodations.

Fan Joy July! Each chapter is inspired a few amazing art pieces of Sleepy Sky <3. There are plenty more chapters and art inspirations to come :D

Chapter Summary: They eep. They also have a conversation about accommodations. 2.5k, fluff and hurt/comfort.

Happy July 35th everybody :/ Here it is :D. THIS IS HEADCANON GALOOOOORE hehehe. I gave everyone a Thing. Also featuring they/them wind so she/her legend isn’t lonely

Art pieces (Look at the arts before you read, it will enhance the experience hehe):

Facedown on the floor by @raycatzdraws Rest by @alis-art-stuff

I am so in love with both of these arts. Raycatzdraws is so so SO funny. Every position is hilarious and also SO in character. And alis-art-stuff's piece is a perfect fluffy companion. Looking at this art feels like a warm hug. Everyone is so comfy and happy!

Warnings: detailed descriptions of chronic pain, references to past ableism (with direct ableist quotes), subsequent internalized ableism. They discuss medical issues in this one but they don’t have many of the correct terms or understanding of health conditions, so obligatory please do not take this as medical advice :)

The last bokoblin crumbled to dust at his feet. Sky stumbled to the side, caught in the momentum of the swing of his sword.

"That's the last of them," Warriors said.

"Good fight. Any injuries?” Time asked, just as he did after every battle. No one spoke up, so he nodded in approval. “We should find somewhere nearby to rest.”

Very, very slowly, Sky lowered himself to the ground. His knees, hips, and back popped painfully, so stiff he could barely move them. Sky didn't bother holding back a grimace. Sky pushed his legs out behind him, laid his arms by his side, and collapsed face first in the grass. His entire body throbbed. Sky tried to breathe evenly through the wave of pain.

"Uh, Sky?"

"Here. Rest," Sky mumbled into the dirt. Grass got in his mouth. Removing it seemed like an insurmountable task. It wasn't like it tasted that bad, anyway.

A pause. "Anyone catch that?"

Sky groaned loudly as he turned his head to the side just enough to free his mouth. "Rest. Here." 

Hyrule frowned, glancing around from the top of the hill they were on. The grassy fields continued for miles. "Isn't this a little exposed?"

"Rest here."

Four shrugged. "We did just clear the monsters."

"See? Rest now." Sky wouldn't have been able to get up if he tried. Everything hurt and he was so tired he might cry.

"I'm so on it," Wind said. "I'm so with you." They dropped to their knees—Sky flinched, knowing how his knees would feel if he did that—then sat back on their heels. Wind's arms flopped backwards as they curled forward and shoved their face in the ground. Their forehead touched the ground, leaving their mouth free for complaining. Sky respected the commitment.

"We have been walking and fighting and walking and fighting and running all week. No more," Wind said.

Sky grunted his agreement. The heroes within his line of sigh all looked at him with a wince, eyebrows drawn together and eyes wide with concern. Sky belatedly realized his sound might have been more pitiful than he intended it to be.

"Yeah, that about does it." Legend put her last item away in her bag then flopped onto the grass next to Sky.

"You mind?" Legend asked. Sky made a noise he hoped was significantly less disturbing than before. It must have worked, because Legend laid down with her head on Sky's backside. Sky made a noise of surprise.

"What?" Legend said. "It's soft."

Any reply Sky would have made was cut off by Warriors dramatic sigh as he collapsed on the ground. His legs were bent underneath his body and he haphazardly threw his arms over his face, resulting in his scarf billowing over his head and covering his face completely.

"This is fine," Warriors said, muffled by the scarf.

Twilight laid down next to him and collected the end of Warriors' scarf to use as a pillow. Wild draped himself over Twilight's legs and dragged Hyrule down with him. Hyrule yelped in surprise but relented quickly enough. He stuck one foot into Legend's side as he got comfortable. Four laid on the grass in the most awkward position physically possible. Sky's joints throbbed in pain just looking at it. Sky couldn't see Time from his angle, but going by the loud thump, Time was now also on the ground.

Sky hummed happily and put his face back in the dirt. There was a nice little indentation right where his nose was, so he wasn't even suffocating. How convenient, he thought.

Sky's muscles were still tense from the battle adrenaline. As hard as he tried, he couldn't quite drift off to sleep. His body ached, every joint and every muscle throbbing in time with his heart. The longer he laid on his stomach, the more the fire-like pain in his back spread. He knew he would regret laying like this later, but he really, really didn’t want to move. 

"This is boring," Wind said.

The heroes burst into laughter. Sky chuckled quietly, with as much energy as he could muster.

“Let’s find shapes in the clouds!” Wild suggested. 

“Ooh! Yes! Everyone play!” Wind cheered. 

Sky sighed and tried to will his body to relax. The level of effort he was putting would have been comical—he couldn’t force himself to relax, that defeated the purpose—if he wasn’t so utterly worn down. Everything hurt and he really, really wanted to be asleep. Sharp pressure stung behind his eyes. Sky flopped an arm over them and breathed deeply, desperately trying not to cry. 

The voices of the other heroes sounded like they were underwater. Or, maybe Sky was underwater and they were above. That made more sense, he thought. He certainly felt like he was underwater, drowning as he was pulled down by invisible forces. And how could he fight an enemy he couldn’t see?

A hand touched his boot. Sky flinched, eyes flying open with a gasp. Legend was sitting up beside him; Sky hadn’t noticed the change in pressure when she moved. Legend flashed him an apologetic smile. 

“The sailor wants you to look at the clouds,” Legend said. “You’ve got about ten seconds before they drag you over there themself. Just a warning.”

“Over where?” Sky asked. His neck ached from the strain of looking sideways at Legend. 

In response, Legend tilted her head over her shoulders. The other heroes were gathered in a circle, laying on their backs with their heads together. Legend carefully pushed herself to her feet and stretched her arms above her head. Beneath her braces, her joints popped. She shook them out then went to the circle. 

Instead of taking the closest open spot, she deliberately stepped on Warriors’ chest. Her step was light enough that it wouldn’t hurt, and more than enough for Warriors to yelp and swat her away. Legend laughed as she let herself be tackled onto the ground. 

Just as Legend predicted, it was no more than ten seconds before Wind was hopping up from the circle and bounding over to Sky. They knelt next to Sky’s head with a wide smile. “Sky, come look at clouds with us!” 

Sky forced a smile even as tears gathered in his eyes. As soon as they started, he couldn’t stop. Tears flowed down his face as Sky choked on a sob, burying his face in his arms in shame. 

“Sky?” Wind’s voice was panicked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

Sky sniffled and shook his head, ignoring the pinpricks of pain throughout his neck and shoulders. “No, I— I’m— it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” Wind asked again. 

“I don- I don’t know,” Sky cried. “I’m just…”

Wind’s hand landed on his back and they started rubbing comforting circles. Another sob forced its way out of Sky’s chest. 

“You should turn over,” Twilight said. Sky sniffed and looked up in surprise. Twilight was right next to him. They all were, Sky realized; the others had moved their circle over to Sky and were all trying very hard not to stare at him in concern. 

“Your back always hurts when you lay like that,” Twilight continued. 

A fresh wave of emotion forced more tears out of Sky’s eyes. “You— how?”

Twilight smiled sadly at him. “I noticed. You never said anything about it, though, so…” Twilight shrugged. 

“Here,” Wind said, voice determined. “Can I help?” 

Sky nodded and wiped his nose miserably. Wind put one hand beneath his shoulder and the other beneath his hip.

“Ready? Set, go!” 

With Wind’s added momentum, Sky turned over on the first try with minimal difficulty. As soon as he landed on his back, the pain intensified and the sound of blood rushing filled his ears. Sky’s breath hitched, then he forced himself to calm down and breathe through the pain as his joints released their tension. 

“Are you having regrets?” Legend asked in a teasing tone. Sky knew that was how she showed her concern, and the words warmed his heart. 

“Mmhmm,” Sky mumbled in reply. His voice wavered far more than he expected. 

The sharp pain receded, and Sky finally was able to take a full breath. He let his arms flop on the grass above his head. Sky let himself breathe and relax. 

“Sky?” Twilight asked, voice uncharacteristically hesitant. 

Sky’s eyes felt like sandpaper under his eyelids as he dragged them open. 

“We wanted to talk to you about… this,” Twilight continued. 

Sky’s face burned with shame. His ears pinned themselves against his head. He glanced at the other heroes, all clearly staring, then shoved his eyes closed again. 

This was it. They were going to tell him he was being too slow and he needed to be better. He needed to try harder . Somewhere in the logical part of his mind, Sky knew he was being unfair to them, but a lifetime of being told to just suck it up and do better and being far, far too slow clouded his judgment.

“I’m sorry. I can do better,” Sky said. 

“What?” Legend interjected harshly. “What are you on about?”

Sky sniffled and wiped his eyes to keep his tears at bay. He drew in a shaky breath before he continued. “I know I’ve been slow lately, but I’ll do better. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry.”

“No, Sky, that’s not what’s happening here,” Warriors said quickly. “We want to help.”

Sky’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. “You… what do you mean?”

“Back in your era, after you passed out, we talked to Zelda about it. We weren’t hiding this from you, but we haven’t had a chance to bring it up since.”

“...Oh. Um…”

Wind’s hand slipped into his and squeezed. Sky squeezed back, at a loss for words. 

“That was scary,” Wind said quietly. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Sky’s stomach flipped. “I’m sorry.”

Wind squeezed his hand again. “It’s not your fault! The only thing you should be sorry about is not telling us that could happen! How were we supposed to know you’d be okay?”

“Sailor,” Warriors admonished quietly. “Sky, there’s nothing wrong with needing extra help. We all do, sometimes. I… I may not have said it out loud before, but I have battlesickness. You know that, and I know any of you will help me calm down when I can’t remember where I am. Do you blame me for that?”

“Of course not!” Sky said. 

“You’ve helped me apply my scar gel before! And you always make tea when me or Twilight have cramps,” Wild said. 

“I have a blind side. I can’t see attacks,” Time said.

“My shoulder won’t grow right after a monster flung me around. I can’t move it all the way and it hurts, sometimes,” Wind said. 

“This isn’t like that,” Sky interrupted, clenching his free hand in frustration. “This isn’t from my adventure. It comes and goes with how bad it is, but I’ve always been this way.”

“You know my joints are terrible. That’s something you and I have in common,” Legend added. “The braces help, but I’m not always up for moving. You’ve never blamed me for that.”

“I’ve had migraines all my life,” Four said. “More after my adventures, just like you.”

“I have food allergies,” Hyrule said. “Those aren’t my fault and they’ve been here forever.”

“It… it doesn’t get better. I have to deal with this every day.” Sky’s voice had a hint of a whine to it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Everything hurts all the time. I’m so tired. I can’t even stand up without my body collapsing. It’s— it’s really, really hard,” Sky finished in a small voice. 

Wind squeezed his hand. The group was silent for a moment, only the sounds of crickets jumping through the grass. 

“Zelda told us some things she and Groose do to help,” Warriors said. “I’d like to hear what you do day to day to manage it, if you’re comfortable sharing.”

Sky blinked up at the clouds through teary eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I always watch food being prepared, that helps my anxiety. I don’t like my face or neck being touched. When I’m panicking, breathing exercises and asking me to describe my surroundings are what help,” Warriors offered. 

After a beat, enough time for Sky to speak up if he wanted, Legend continued. “I stretch every morning and night. I have pain relief tea if I need it. Movement helps the inflammation stay down, but too much running or jumping makes things worse.”

“Oh,” Sky realized. “That’s— my knees are the same. If they stay straight or bent for too long they get hard to move.”

“There, see? Stuff like that,” Warriors encouraged. “What else do you know?”

“Um. When I passed out, that was from standing too quickly. Well, the portal makes everything feel worse, and I don’t usually fully pass out. When I sit up or stand up I have to move really slow or I feel bad for a while. I lean or sit as often as I can. I sleep as much as I can, but I’m still tired all the time, no matter how much I rest. Is that— is that okay?”

“You’re doing great, Sky. That’s exactly what we mean,” Twilight said. 

“Zelda mentioned the exhaustion too,” Warriors said. “She said stamina fruit helps…”

The Links stayed on the hill, resting and talking for the rest of the day. Time tired of talking quickly, but he listened with a smile on his face. Wind, Wild, and Hyrule pointed out exciting clouds during lapses in the conversation. The other heroes offered things about themselves they had learned and things that helped them, too, so Sky wasn’t the only one. They made sure he didn’t feel like a burden, and they made sure he felt loved. 

For once, Sky was not the first to fall asleep. Time and Wild hadn’t responded in a while, and Legend hadn’t opened her eyes for her last three comments. Sky could feel the fatigue tugging on his eyelids as he struggled to keep up with the conversation. After his third yawn in as many sentences, Warriors reached over Wind and ruffled Sky’s hair. 

“Get some sleep,” Warriors said with a fond chuckle. “I’ll wake everyone up in time to make camp before dusk.”

“Okay,” Sky said around another yawn. He sighed contentedly and drifted off more easily than he had in weeks. He felt light, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The problems with his body may not be able to be solved, but Sky was confident they could be managed, especially with his family by his side. 

[mothfables]

Blushing Bunnies and Rings

A gift fic for @breannasfluff! I’ve had this scene in mind for literal *months* now, and finally decided to write it down <3 I hope you enjoy!!

“You know what’s nice about you being home?” Ravio asks, leaning on the counter with his chin propped in his hand. His Mr. Hero and his brothers have come to visit again. The Chain, as they call themselves, have spread through the house while Link- Legend, Ravio reminds himself- has decided to sort through and swap out some of his items.

Right now, he’s going through one of his many ring boxes. Box in hand, he sweeps distractedly across the room, barely registering Ravio’s question. “What’s that, Ravi?” he calls back, only partly paying attention.

Ravio grins, though the other boy can’t see it. Wind, on the opposite side of the room, can, and quickly comes to the conclusion that something potentially amusing is about to happen. His eyes flick between Legend, still nose-deep in his ring box, and the merchant, whose eyes are trained directly on his brother. Rupee-green shines mischievously.

“I get to look at you.”

The statement takes a moment to register. Legend pauses, blinking, before fully realizing what he heard. Then the box is clattering out of his hands, rings spilling out across the floor as his face flushes bright red.

Wind is in a prime position to watch as Legend splutters, his hands flailing as he tries - and fails - to come up with a response. He sees Ravio’s grin grow to a smug smirk as his partner continues to flounder, the red spreading to the tips of his ears and down his neck. A snicker makes it’s way out of his mouth and he slaps a hand over it.

The other heroes make an appearance then, drawn by the noise. They’re treated to the sight of a scarlet Hero of Legend, a smirking merchant, and a Sailor whose own face is starting to match the Veteran’s with how hard he’s struggling to hold back laughter.

“Y-you- I- you- Whuh-”

Wind can’t help it anymore- he lets out a loud ‘HA!’ before doubling over, clutching his ribs and cackling. Warriors snickers. Twilight snorts before catching himself and turning away, but everyone can see his shoulders shaking.

Ravio’s smirk only grows. From here, he can’t see Legend’s face but he does have the privilege of watching his partner’s ears flickering madly as they grow progressively more red with each passing second.

After another minute of flustered flailing, Legend abruptly turns and marches stiff-legged to the couch, where he collapses face-first and lets out a muffled scream.

The other heroes only laugh harder.

Ravio chuckles for a few moments before he pushes himself off the counter and moves to pick up the scattered rings. To his pleasant surprise, Wind joins him, shaking off the last of his laughing fit with a bright grin.

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs, appreciative. The young hero beams, reaching for the box and dropping a handful of rings inside. Between the two of them it’s short work, and before long Ravio is snapping the lid closed and standing to put it on the counter. He’ll sort them properly later.

Then he turns and makes his way to the couch where his hero is still lying facedown. He bends to press a kiss to ruffled strawberry-blonde locks, cooing at the whine that elicits. Legend doesn’t look up at him; instead he tries to burrow further into the cushions. The action only makes Ravio chuckle, and cooling ears burn red again as the merchant pets his hair.

“Oh, bunny. I can’t have embarrassed you that much, can I?”

Behind him, Ravio hears the other heroes begin to make their way out of the room now that the fun is over, some of them still laughing. One of them- the Captain, he thinks- makes a strangled wheezing sound. He pays them no mind, his attention solely on the hero before him. The hero who has yet to move from where he’s apparently trying to become one with the couch.

The sight makes Ravio laugh again and he muffles the sound with a sleeve. Link- Legend has had enough teasing for the day, no need to add to it. He pats his head a final time before straightening and moving towards the doorway. Mr. Hero will resurface when he’s ready.

In the meantime, he should probably go warn the Chain off of teasing him too badly, since he knows they’ll do it anyway. ‘Brothers,’ he thinks with a smile.

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #26: Zip

“Heartlight.” She didn't respond, her blind eyes averted to the floor as candlelight flickered warmly against her skin. “…You did this on purpose.”

It wasn’t a question. Sawyer’s short knife cut through the leather and binding that adorned her back, her old uniform clinging to her with sweat and grime. She’d donned it that morning in something of a ritualistic habit. Something of a second skin that was made for this particular purpose. That purpose? A large hand clapped on her shoulder, another on her arm. Soemrnahct and Autgar both. The undead they’d encountered before, the large sigils that flickered with older magicks- Her Hawk had spoken names of civilizations as curses. She hadn’t cared much to parse which they had been- had begun a larger call to others to come in. To assist. Especially given she was so particularly and uncomfortably incapable against this sort of threat. Instead she would do as the woman she was would never have. Or, at the least, would never have thought to do.

“Here!” Her voice echoed through the clearing they’d made, tents set and raised, as her wings opened wide to feel all within its boundaries. A base camp to help the delve, to provide support to those hauled back up from wounds or wear, to provide supplies and succor for anyone else who needed it. Something that was, she supposed, commonplace to create. Commonplace insomuch as it was due course. But rare, instead, to have it staffed and capably maintained by a proper number of chirurgeons and healers. Luckily for all of them she was rather practiced. Turns spent in the Crystarium at the worst of it had refined much of her capabilities. And her love’s wings given unto her had given her something of a reach that any doctor would be jealous of- That is to say. It was a camp entirely staffed by her. Her wings dipped by makeshift beds, her hands collated tinctures and passed them to those who would need them, her voice barked out to direct the directionless to exactly where she needed them. It was something that would have been unmanageable to most, unmanageable to her, but she had found something rather pleasing in the chaotic orchestra. To slip her wings between each soul to where they were needed most whilst still keeping her feet moving and her mind sharp for all the places where her senses felt. This, of course, had some problems. The quarantine force lasted a week. By the time three suns had come and gone, some had noticed that she had yet to stop- The eagle-eyed among them, or hawk-eyed in one particular case, had noticed she had all but ceased to sleep as well. A switch flipped, her uniform on, her wings and feet and hands unending in the succor given as undead were cleared and magicks disrupted.

Thus. The final day. And she was being cut out of her clothes with a knife.

The zipper on the old robes had broken at some point amidst the orchestrated chaos. That was not counting the fact that once all of the excitement was at its end, once there was not someone in immediate need of her attention, once there was no longer the threat of a wound or injury… Amesha was found approximately a bell before sunset. Facedown in the dirt with her wings scattered about the base camp. She was lucky enough to be found by one of the few who’d chosen to assist her directly- Fast enough to get her to a bed with help, fast enough to get her out of the eyes of anybody that might get overly concerned by a raen woman collapsed and unresponsive after she’d been nothing but a whirlwind for a week straight.

“You know I wouldn’t have agreed to any of this had I known you weren’t sleeping at night,” Came the Hawk’s exasperated voice, each syllable punctuated with a pause as she carefully slipped the blade down the back of her robes. “Or eating properly. Or drinking properly. In fact I highly doubt you spared yourself much of a moment’s thought the entire time…” Amesha remained silent as the knife was quietly set aside. As Sawyer’s hands reached around her to clasp at her middle and pull her in close. She couldn’t turn her head, she couldn’t speak up- “I know you’re not speaking on purpose. I should call you a hypocrite, my heartlight, the way you admonish me for my focus upon things that drives me late into the night and until the sun comes the next morn. I should properly tell you that I’m disappointed in this. That I wished you would care for yourself better. It reminded me all too much of…” She turned her head as both of them dwelled on memories best left forgotten. As they kissed quietly, gently, until neither of them could bear to let the silence continue. “…The bough spread wide,” Amesha finally spoke up. “To help so many. So many memories returned. Could not bear, then, to allow even one to be left out of the oasis’ healing touch…” Sawyer sighed once more as she took up her knife. As she fiddled with the busted zipper. One more cut left Amesha free of them once again. And she fell backwards into her lover’s arms.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

continuation of this piece.

The car crashed into the house. Quinn figured out it was going to just a little too late.

It’s not as dark as they expected it to be, once they crack their eyes open. Light streams through gaps between chunks of wall. They aren’t pinned, exactly, but stuck in a space just big enough to breathe in.

They don’t know where Major is.

He was standing right before it happened, farther in the house than they were by ten feet. He could be dead. Their eyes widen and breaths catch as they picture Major dead, sprawled and crushed somewhere in here. Or worse, he might not be dead, but unfixable.

They passed out for a while, they think. But no one has found them. Outside it sounds quieter than before, like the riot is over, but no one has checked on the house renovated by a car driving into it, so it must be just as gory out there. Maybe no one will come at all.

It hurts. Everything. A general throbbing ache, and exhaustion that makes it difficult to care much about moving. It feels safer to just stay still and hope that this will somehow get better. Their neck could be broken and they might not know it. Their skull. Something could be wrong with their spine. Quinn can think of a hundred reasons to just lie still and keep breathing. When they dare to look hard at the cramped space around them, they can see all the instability. All the spots where a shift of debris could mean that it would all shift and suddenly Quinn would not be alive anymore.

Eventually, waiting doesn’t feel like the best option anymore. The air isn’t getting any easier to breathe, dust floating around lazily. It coats their throat and the ache of fighting down coughs is getting harder to ignore. Quinn bends bony limbs to test their joints and run crooked hands across their own body in search of blood. Oh, there, at their back - they whine when they first find the sore spot, then the sound erupts into a scream as they twist further to find that glass is sticking out of their back.

Then comes a miracle. A voice, his voice, muffled but close. “Shut up. Shut up I’m focusing.”

They need help. The glass, they don’t know how deep it goes, and they’re trapped and he’s a healer. Major sounds fine, he sounds more annoyed than anything. Quinn tries to get a grip on the shard of window in their back, but their fingers are slippery with blood and all they manage is to make themself whimper in pain.

It’s hard to find a decent angle for it, but they wedge their shoulder up against a bar of wood and shove upward. Push, push, push - the wood gives way, but then dust rains down and Quinn finds themself sprawling facedown, pinned worse. When they cry out this time, their voice is weaker, more airy, as their nails dig into the floor.

“I’m over here,” They whisper, breath stolen by how hopeless this is. Moving anything could mean the building collapses worse. Major has to come to them. Their back burns from the incision and they’re praying that the glass didn’t go any farther in.

“...Okay?” Major grumbles. “I’m not focusing on getting to you, bitch.”

He’s not… even trying to get to them? A soft upset sound escapes their throat before they can stop it. “Wha-at? Why?”

“I’m fucking close. Shut up. Shut up.” It sounds like he’s trying to move, but not managing to make it far at all. And then he starts choking, coughing, and Quinn holds very still as if distracting him would be enough to kill him. “Ha! Got it! There’s one more chip in there. It’s gonna be so fucking good.”

Something’s wrong. He’s a dumbass, but not that bad. He might think he’s trying to get at his bag of chips but Quinn doubts that that is still anywhere near him. And it definitely isn’t a priority right now. Does he even know what happened, that he’s trapped? He might not be as fine as he sounds.

“Are you, Major, are you… trying to find your chips?”

He doesn’t answer. There is a sound like a mouse sneaking through a cupboard. He’s actually reaching, trying to get at that bag. A new urgency settles over Quinn’s mind and they start delicately, slowly pushing against the debris pinning them, crawling forward at every possible opportunity. Sometimes the crevice they force their way into is too small, but they just keep pushing. Something is wrong with Major, they need to see.

“Major, are you looking for the bag of chips?” They repeat, closer to him now. They see his shoe. It’s not on him. He must’ve flown right out of them when he was knocked back.

“Yeah. Trying.” His voice is so close. Quinn twists to try to protect the glass in their back and dips around a beam, strands of hair hanging in their eyes.

“Can you stop?” They try, analyzing the wall of shattered brick between them and him. Scraped fingers begin peeling away at the stone until they get a hole big enough to climb precariously through.

Major growls, and Quinn frowns in worry, finally close enough to see his shoulder.  “I - fuck, I fucking can now, you made me lose it,” He complains, utterly distracted. The space that they carved out for themself changes shape just slightly, a wooden beam sinking. It’s about where Major’s face ought to be, and - yes, they can see his face now, if they squint just right against the headlight glaring at them. “The fuck?” Major croaks, and Quinn snaps a hand up to try to catch the wood, if it’s hurting him. “Fuck, FUCK!”

Both hands on the beam, then, they decide, their knees taking the weight painfully as they struggle to balance on the brick they’re kneeling on. The beam is heavy but they have to lift it, it’s pressing down on Major’s cheek. His skull could be crushed in an instant.

“Don’t move,” They instruct, certain that he already knows they’re here. His eyes are open, and their own face is just inches away, after all. But he flinches hard, and twists to claw at the wood on his face like he just figured out that it’s there. They have to wedge their bloody fingers between the beam and his cheek and pull up, their whole body trembling with the effort.

“Stop moving.” Quinn really needs him to just settle down and let them work the limited leverage they have. But he kicks and their eyes shoot to look at his leg, paranoid that he’ll knock out some kind of delicately balanced pile of debris. It takes a moment of squinting in that direction to recognize the blood spreading under bricks where his leg is supposed to be, where that kick just happened.

The broken windowsill in their fingers is trying to slip. Frustrated, they push up harder and ignore the leg thing for now. Finally they get the sill up off Major’s face and push their knee against him to try to make him tip his head away.

“I was just gonna get the chip,” He complains, and Quinn shakes their head, incredulous. He’s still talking about the chips. “And then fuckin’ find you. Weren’t you, aren’t you hurt?”

Finally, they can drop the sill. Frustration flashes across his face when they do, and as they pant and stare at him, they see how out of it he is. His face is swollen purple on the right, and he won’t look right at them. His left arm is at his side, crooked. His right arm is pinned to his chest under stone, so they’re pretty sure he never really did reach for the chip bag, he just imagined it. Or worse, he didn’t feel his broken arm as he tried to move it and reach. If his legs are still legs, Quinn can’t see them, and he isn’t twisting in pain so they think maybe he doesn’t feel anything at all. It reeks of blood in here, and Quinn is hurt, but not that hurt.

Dizzy with the sight of him, they bend forward and rest their arms on him a moment, head hanging. “Not as bad as you are,” They answer grimly.

Major laughs. They keep asking questions, and he does sound fine still, but he so obviously isn’t. He can’t see, he can’t feel things. Quinn tries to get him to heal himself and he just won’t - maybe his magic is hurt, maybe something in his head is so that there’s a disconnect. Either way, his condition won’t improve before they get out of here.

And then he starts crying. He doesn’t even know he is, flinching and complaining as they wipe the big tears from his eyes and cheeks. Quinn’s jaw wobbles, their determination wavering, as his chest hitches with little sobs that he isn’t aware of.

“It’s okay,” They promise gently, and he just says things like, “I fucking know,” and “Just start moving shit so I can get up.” He doesn’t know it’s still collapsing. And that he might not even be able to sit up. Quinn just keeps soothing him, even if he hates it, while he cries cluelessly.

When he finally asks, “Am I fucked up?” Quinn nearly giggles hysterically. They fold down instantly to press their cheek to his, holding him in a very cautious hug. He’s whimpering low in his throat, and they keep checking on the worst injuries, but he doesn’t make any awful sounds then Quinn touches them.

“Give me a few minutes to catch my breath and I’ll… start digging us out,” They promise. He seems bewildered as if they just invited him to a tea party. Hesitantly they run a hand down his face, and he flinches again, closing his eyes finally. They think the headlights are hurting his eyes, making him tear up more. Or maybe they just need him to look like he isn’t seeing by choice right now.

A few hours later, they finally have him most of the way out. It must be very bad for his injuries to have been dragged like he was, but there was no other choice. Their tremors are constant now, their strength pushed to its limits. Quinn plants their heels in the ground and heaves again, arms wrapped under his armpits and around his chest, his head tipped back at their shoulder.

He started screaming at some point, then abruptly stopped. He’s been quiet since. Quinn pulls harder, eyes shut so they don’t have to see his legs. It doesn’t matter how mangled he might be. Doesn’t even matter if he’s dead right this second. He has to get pulled out, and then they can see what’s what.

He’s free with one final lurch, and Quinn flops back, arms out at their sides, Major on top of them. It’s hard to breathe. They have no idea if the glass in their back fell out or went all the way in. They need a rest. They have to hold still and try to breathe.

Major jerks, and their eyes fly open. Is he awake? Is he alive, or was that his final twitch? He jerks again, and it’s a relief for one second before terror dawns. They can’t handle an awake Major right now.

He sucks in a big breath. They feel his ribcage expanding. And then he howls, twisting off of them to roll onto the sidewalk, hands flexing and grabbing onto the curb as he snaps his head down to bang it into the concrete.

“No,” Quinn croaks, flipping onto their side to stretch and throw their hand there before he can bang his head again. His face smashes into their palm and Quinn chokes back a cry of pain.

He is wailing, clawing, trying in stops and starts to crawl away and then to hold perfectly still. It seems the delirious, odd calm from earlier is over. Maybe now that he isn’t pinned anymore, now that the blood is flowing, he lost the miraculous numbness.

“It’s okay,” Quinn forces out uselessly, crawling closer and rolling him onto his back. Major’s face is striped with tears and his teeth are bared. He’d like to kill them, they think, but he can’t. He’s struggling just to keep sucking down breaths. “It’s okay, Major. You can heal it. Just heal it.” They snatch up his hand and show it to him, as if that’ll make him understand, before they grab at one of his legs, bend it up closer to his chest, and press his hand to it. They won’t look down, but it’s hot and sticky. “Heal it, Major. Your hand’s there.”

His mouth is wide, his eyes squeezed shut, his head thrown back. They can tell how loud each sob is going to be by how hard his chest rises for the breath he sucked in. Quinn squeezes his wrist harder. “Heal it. Major, your magic. Make it work.”

He feels like he’s dying. He probably is. The pain must be unbearable. As their eyes find every injury on him and all the signs that he cannot listen, the world grows colder. The color desaturates. This is easy, Quinn thinks, focusing hard. He has to use his magic. He has to listen.

Quinn lowers themself so that their forehead tips to his. He’s screaming right in their face but they don’t listen, don’t flinch from his roars. Mind magic spills out of them, invisible but strong coming from so close. All at once, Major’s screaming stops. The tears keep flowing, his lost eyes open now.

Magic pours from his hand almost immediately. His leg cracks, shifts, changes shape. Quinn ignores the movement and stares into his unseeing eyes. “You just have to listen,” They whisper, guiding him by twisting his emotions into the right shape and reminding him with words what he should be doing. “Keep healing. Cry to vent the pain and keep healing.”

His magic starts to run out right around when his legs look like legs again, and it’s hard to let him stop. Quinn wants him all better, all in one piece, seeing and able to walk and in no pain at all. But there is fresh bright blood under his nose, and his breathing is getting worse, not better. He would obey and use his magic to death if they forced him to, they think, so Quinn allows him to stop. They pull back, brushing his hair out of his face, and stop the mind magic.

He’s still in too much pain to tell what happened. Major’s teeth clench and he starts whining in agony again, clutching at their torn shirt.

“It’s okay,” They remind, pulling him up so carefully and tucking his head against their shoulder. “It’s okay. Take a break. We got out and it’s gonna be okay.”

[incorrectdisney-meea]

Cinderella, in the verge of a stress-cleaning episode: Pocahontas could kill me and I would thank her.

Moana, laying facedown on the floor: Same. Ariel giggled and I apologized.

Belle, collapsed on the couch: Rose texted me I was a good friend and I wrote her a love poem.

Raya: *chuckles* Amateurs...

[cryptophasia-nabros]

Clubbing Headcanons:

The one time Matthew actually dressed in a way that would make Francis proud. That sort of cool casual, clothes just a little loose but in a way that accentuates the body underneath. He pregames, so he's laidback already, not sloppy but relaxed. He the guy who hangs back at the table, man-spreading and taking it all in.

Alfred meanwhile dresses borderline manwhore. Not full out prostitute but his pants cling to his ass in a way that makes it clear he's not wearing underwear. You can see his nipples, either hanging out or through his skimpy top. He does a few quick shots at the bar and he's on the dance floor till sweat is glistening off of him.

He collapses at Matthew's table, now shared with a few girls, half in his brother's lap and laughing. Mattie rolls his eyes. They share a few party drugs, maybe kiss cause the girls and/ or guys think it's hot - twins and all that. When they go home, Al is borderline white girl wasted but managed to kick his shoes off, while Matthew collapses facedown on the couch and doesn't remember how he got there the next morning.

[ziptiesnfries]

Subject B-1232

Content warnings: character death, human experimentation, blood, electrocution, whump of a minor.

A wide shot of a white room comes into focus. At one end, a pale girl with a shaved head is strapped to a chair, her head lolling, unconscious. She’s barefoot, only wearing a flimsy white gown. Wires snake out from the electrodes attached to her arms and legs, trailing back to a machine positioned just behind her. A white-coated lab technician fiddles with the dials. Directly across from the girl stands a tall, featureless metal box, about the size of a refrigerator.

A soft groan cuts through the quiet, and the girl’s head turns, but her eyes don’t open. The lab tech glances over at her, and then looks at some unseen point past the camera. “She’s waking up,” he says.

The girl groans again, her eyelids fluttering. “What’s—” Her voice is croaky, and she stops to clear her throat. “What’s going on?”

A tinny, disembodied voice fills the room. “Commencing experiment number three-six-seven-five, with Subject B-1232—”

“I am not doing any more experiments,” the girl snaps, her voice louder than the one over the speakers.

Nevertheless, the voice continues. “The object of this test is to—”

The girl’s fists clench, her wrists pulling against the metal restraints on the chair. “I told you,” she shouts, “I’m not—”

Behind her, the lab tech flips a switch on the machine.

The girl’s protest cuts off with a strangled scream. Her body convulses against the restraints for several long seconds before the lab tech finally flips the switch again. She goes limp, gasping for breath.

“As I was saying,” the voice continues, “the object of this test is for you to crush this titanium box from the top down, as flat as you can. It’s hollow on the inside, but each wall is four centimeters—”

“I don’t care,” the girl interjects, still sounding breathless. She glares past the camera. “I’m not—I’m not doing it.”

There’s a long pause. “Shock her again,” the voice says.

The shock goes on longer this time. Even after the lab tech flips the switch off again, the girl is still shaking and whimpering. “Your cooperation in this experiment would be greatly appreciated, B-1232,” the voice says. “This should be quite easy for you.”

“I don’t—” The girl’s voice is choked with tears. She swallows, sniffling. “I don’t care if it’s easy. I’m not doing any more experiments.” Her voice cracks.

For the first time, there’s a twinge of irritation as the voice says, “You’ll stay in this room until you do as you’re told.”

Her shoulders lift as she takes a deep breath, straightening up, tears dripping from her face. She gazes at the same spot, just past the camera. “I’ll stay here forever, then.”

A scream tears from her throat as the machine switches on once again. The lab tech cranks a dial, and the girl hunches over as far as she can in her restraints, sobbing and convulsing.

After a few moments, just as the lab tech is reaching to turn it off, the machine flies backwards. The lab tech cries out as its corner slams into his shoulder before the whole machine crumples against the wall. Dials and buttons pop off and roll across the floor. The wires hang limply from the machine, with the electrodes trailing from the end, having ripped off the girl’s skin.

The girl is still hunched over in her chair, trembling, seemingly oblivious to the chaos behind her. But when the lab tech reorients himself, rubbing his shoulder, he’s glaring right at her. “You—” he begins.

Suddenly, he stops, his eyes widening, his mouth agape. He begins clawing at his throat.

Ever so slightly, the girl lifts her head, her eyes unfocused. “Shut up,” she murmurs.

The voice over the speakers crackles to life. “Release him at once.”

The lab tech, still desperately trying to gasp for breath, reaches for the girl. Suddenly, he flies backwards through the air. His eyes bulge as he hits the machine, before collapsing facedown on the ground. The jagged edge of the machine is stained with blood.

“B-1232,” the voice barks.

“Shut up,” she says, her voice stronger, though she still won’t look up.

The voice speaks again, fainter, as if someone forgot to turn off the mic while speaking to someone else. “Hit the tranquilizer gas, now.”

A different, even fainter voice replies, “I did, sir, is it—is it not working?”

The voice returns at regular volume, urgent. “B-1232, stay exactly where you are, and don’t do anything else, or there will be consequences.”

Finally, the girl lifts her head, wiping her eyes on the shoulder of her gown. She sniffles again before she turns towards the camera with a calm expression. “Yeah,” she says softly. “There’ll be consequences.”

There’s a sudden cacophony of crumpling metal as the box on the other end of the room folds in on itself, like an aluminum can crushed under a palm. It flies towards the camera.

The image blurs as the camera falls over, and the crash intermingles with the sound of shattering glass and newly-audible screams as the unseen observation room window breaks. The camera is now on its side, aimed at the girl’s chair. The shot only shows the lower portion of it, and behind it, part of the lab tech’s limp hand and blood-stained torso.

Frantic voices babble in the background as the restraints on the chair begin to snap, bending out of the way. The girl rises to her feet, unsteady, only the lower half of her body visible.

“B-1232,” a voice snaps—the same voice from the speaker.

“What?” the girl asks, her voice gruff, her body turned toward the ruined observation room. “Didn’t you want to see what I’m capable of?”

“B-1232, stop this at once,” the voice commands.

The other noises in the background have died down, and a heavy silence hangs in the air before the girl speaks. “All these years,” she says, her voice trembling, “you’ve been testing my limits, and I’ve been warning you, and you don’t listen. You never listen.” She pauses, and someone else begins to speak, but she cuts them off in that same quiet yet deadly tone. “This ends today.”

The girl’s legs leave the frame as she strides towards the broken observation room. There are crashes and snapping sounds, like bones breaking. Debris flies across the ground, disturbing the glimmers of broken glass. Shouts and screams echo from the observation room. The camera remains on its side, focused on the chair and the body sprawled behind it. 

The pool of blood beneath the body slowly grows bigger.

One by one, each distant scream is silenced.

A heavy quiet hangs in the air. For a few long moments, nothing moves. Then, finally, bare feet shuffle across the tile, toeing aside broken glass and debris. The girl enters the frame again. Her feet, legs, and the hem of her gown are smattered with blood.

She comes to a stop in the center of the frame, her toes pointed right at the lens. She stands there, unmoving. Contemplating.

Then she turns, lifts her feet from the ground, and walks away, leaving red footprints in her wake.

~

The clip keeps rolling for another ten, twenty seconds before a black-suited official finally reaches over and presses pause on the keyboard. Dazed, a woman in a white lab coat, who had been watching with rapt attention, finally looks up from the screen. “Is that all?” she asks.

The official beside her nods. “That’s all. It keeps going, but nothing new happens. The camera eventually ran out of battery.”

“And what happened after this?” the woman asks, with almost childlike curiosity, as she gestures at the screen. “Were there any survivors?”

The corner of the official’s mouth lifts ever so slightly at her interest. “No. Everyone in the facility was killed.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “It was almost two days before anyone found them.”

“And the subject got away?” the woman persists.

“That was almost five years ago. There hasn’t been any trace of her.” He pauses. “Until now.”

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up, and a small smile spreads across her face. “Oh?” she asks, like she’s trying not to act too excited.

He takes a glossy photo out of his jacket and hands it to her. The image is blurry, a candid shot. The girl in the picture has shoulder-length brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail. She’s wearing a sky-blue spandex suit, smiling over her shoulder. It’s a far cry from the miserable, bloodstained girl in the footage, but she looks similar enough, on the surface.

The woman studies the photo for only a moment before handing it back. “I’m interested,” she says firmly. “Those powers are extraordinary. I can only imagine—” She cuts herself off, collecting herself. “Just get her to me, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

The official grins as he slips the photo back into his jacket. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

[sliceroftpeirweirisles]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 1

1. (Jan 01-02) Captivity / Snow / Secret Revealed

Cycle 61.

Taako could no longer feel anything except the intense, cutting cold entrapping him. He could still walk at least, but he was slowly losing his grip on consciousness. Was he breathing? He couldn’t even tell what was cold seeping through his clothes or an icy breath filling his lungs. The snow was still whipping past him so hard that it threatened to knock him down. Nevertheless, the Starblaster was right in front of him. All he needed to do was get inside.

One foot.

After the other.

After the other.

When they landed on this planet, they were convinced it was a winter wonderland. Everyone was eager to go out and explore, the twins and Magnus opting for snowball fights and sledding. After a few months of being here, they had all let their guard down. The sun stopped coming out and the sky was constantly filled with clouds and snow.

No one was prepared for the sudden drop in temperature, and they were even less prepared for the blizzard that followed. 

Taako had been out on a scouting mission with Magnus, Merle, and Lucretia on the seventh month of this cycle. Lucretia died first, freezing to death surrounded by her friends in a cave. Merle followed after accidentally slipping off a cliff side during a particularly hard flurry. Magnus should have outlived Taako. He should have, but an avalanche took him. Taako watched as his friend shoved him to shelter first before the wave of white obliterated Magnus. 

Magnus had The Light. 

One last step, and Taako ended up tripping and finally falling into the icy slurry that built up against the ship’s main door. His body made a loud thunk as he hit the door. Taako wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, but the next thing he knew, the ship's door was opened and he was facedown on the floor of the Starblaster. 

Lup screamed at the sight of Taako, gaining the attention of the rest of the crew that was left on the ship. There was a mix of relief and agony in her voice. “Taako, babe can you hear me!? Fuck, he’s freezing!!” There wasn’t much heat to be offered in the ship, but it was enough for Taako to finally feel like he could relax. It certainly wasn’t as cold as the blizzard raging outside. 

“Get him further inside, we gotta get him away from the door.” Barry shouts as Lup tries to gather her brother in her arms. 

“Barry— oh gods,” Lup pulls Taako’s hair away from his face and is met with a grim sight. Taako is frost-bitten all over his face. Skin so cracked and dry that it split open in several places around his mouth and cheeks. He’s no longer a healthy color, and he’s past the point of shivering, collapsed limply in his sister's embrace. “He’s gone unconscious, you have to help me carry him.”

The combined efforts of Barry and Lup managed to get Taako into the ship and on the couch in the main area. The only other person on the ship, Davenport, started gathering as many blankets as he could find to help Taako. Lup works on stripping Taako of all his cold, wet clothes while Barry puts some of the ice that poured briefly into the ship to boil on the stove. 

Lup grimaces when she finally can see Taako’s bare skin. There are several bad patches of frostbite on his arms and legs, and most of his skin is red and swollen with cracked skin and open wounds. “I thought he’d died… They all had just disappeared, I just assumed...” Lup mutters to Barry as she heaps Taako’s clothes on the floor. 

Barry knows that Taako doesn’t have long before the pain of thawing out starts to intensify. That, in itself, could kill Taako before Lup even has a chance to save him. Davenport knows this as well, but he still chooses to help by tucking in blanket after blanket over Taako. 

“I’ll try to find some sort of potion to help with the pain.” Davenport says to Lup. “Barry has some warm water going on the stove to fill the bathtub.” Davenport pats Lup’s knee as she kneels beside the couch. “We’re gonna help him as best we can.” 

Lup doesn’t want to believe it’s too late to save her brother, so she nods and tucks the last blanket around her brother’s shoulders. She isn’t even sure piling blankets on him like this is helping, but if it means she can see her brother smile before the year is over, then she’ll do whatever it takes.

[cannibal-wings]

I didn’t finish a chapter update in time for Vash’s b-day, but I did say I would drop a little bit of the chapter I’m working on. So here’s a bit from Chapter Two of “The Side Effects of Saving You” the AU I’m doing where Wolfwood needs Vash’s blood to survive.

This bit does contain some slight body horror, mostly involving finger nails, so if that bothers you, take care.

Wolfwood found himself on the floor.

This wasn’t the first time he had ever come to on the floor of a rented room, but it was never a welcome feeling. When he opened his eyes he just saw static, nothing was in focus, he couldn’t tell which way he was oriented. He was lying facedown in something sticky. It tasted and smelled like blood not vomit. He was only slightly relieved by that. When he swallowed something sharp went down his throat and he coughed and spit whatever else was in his mouth out. He slapped his hand around in the darkness and picked something up. He rolled it around his finger tips and decided it was a tooth. One of the sharper ones, a canine or incisor. Ever since he was experimented on they were sharper than the average person’s. It was the only change in his appearance he liked from the whole ordeal.

Wolfwood ran his tongue over his teeth to check for which ones were missing, but was puzzled when all were accounted for. They felt sharper, even the lower ones, but still there. He also pulled out something that was stuck to the roof of his mouth. It was long, and felt like a feather. He put it aside and took a few breaths, hoping that if he stayed still long enough his vision would come back.

Once more, he was regretting letting everyone leave. But he also wasn’t sure what having one of them around would help. He was sure Vash was doing more good out at that town than sitting with him watching him cough up his own teeth. Wolfwood put an arm under him and pushed up. He could still get into a sitting position and felt around for the bed. It was to his right. He leaned on it when the world seemed to shift under him. Wolfwood groaned and pulled in more air.

His head was pounding and the first thing he was going to do when he could stand was down more painkillers. Very slowly the spots vanished from his vision and he was able to focus on the blank off white wall in front of him. Moving felt like it was in slow motion, but he did reach down to pick up one of the teeth he spit out. It was a tooth, that much was certain, the real question was whether it was his. It had to be, the other options didn’t make sense. He reasoned that maybe when he collapsed, he knocked a few out and they regrew.

Wolfwood then examined the feathers that were scattered around the small pool of blood he woke up in. They were blue, not pale yellow or black. “What’d I do? Eat a pillow?” He saw the shredded remains of Vash’s pillow he tossed to the floor. The guess seemed more likely now. Wolfwood struggled to his feet and swayed, he used the bed for support. His vision swam but cleared up after a few moments of being upright. This time he didn’t pass out.

He was still hot, unbearably hot, but he didn’t want to pass out in the shower and drown, so he instead made his way to the small table by the window. He was winded by the time he sat down in one of the creaky chairs. “Shit,” Wolfwood said and tried to read the instructions on the medication bottles Vash had left behind. His eyes could not focus on the squirming small print. “Fuck it,” he said and dumped a bunch from both bottles into his hand. “I probably won’t die from this, probably.” He hesitated and shook a few of the pills back onto the table. Just in case he could die from that.

The rest he knocked back with the help of a canteen of water Vash left on the table. His mouth tasted of copper again, he was getting tired of that. His stomach groaned and he lifted a doughnut out of the box. While he didn’t feel like eating his body was demanding it. He nibbled on the doughnut and glanced at the map on the table in front of him. Vash had circled the town they were visiting in red. “Corrin huh?”

There must have been something there that they needed, Wolfwood couldn’t figure out what. He had passed through the town once a few years back while tracking a target. He didn’t recall it being anything special. He took another long pull off of the canteen and pulled the map closer. Corrin was at least an hour and a half out, even if Meryl drove more recklessly than normal it’d still take them two hours to do a round trip in driving time alone. Wolfwood had no idea how long their business there would take. He checked a wall clock and saw that four hours had already passed. He frowned.

That was a lot of time to spend passed out on the floor.

He took another bite of the doughnut and tried to relax. His heart was still pounding, which was not helping his headache. All his muscles still felt coiled, like there was adrenaline he couldn’t dissipate. It just made him feel even more queasy. He didn’t know how to communicate to his brain that he was ok, he was safe, nothing was trying to kill him. Vash’s scent returned to bother him and he leaned back in his chair just enough to reach the window and crack it.

He needed a smoke, to block out the smell, but he didn’t think he could walk to the bedside table just yet. So instead, he ate more of the doughnut and tried really hard to ignore what his senses were screaming about. Wolfwood rhythmically tapped his fingers on the table and looked back to the map. They were still so far from their destination. It would be weeks left of travel at this pace. But he knew that he couldn’t push too hard without giving himself away.

Vash knew, Vash had known from the start. It was very hard to hide anything from him, he learned. But he found himself struggling with telling Meryl and Milly the truth. He didn’t want to hurt them but he knew that he already had. For the first time in ages he had people who cared about him, and who he cared about in return, and he hated the feeling he had about himself. That he didn’t deserve to have this, and he hated how that seemed to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Like he was destined to lose anything that he dared to care about.

The thought just frustrated him and he slammed the fingers he was drumming on the table down. It took him a few more raps before he noticed something was wrong with his hand. He lifted his hand to look at a nail that had fractured down the middle. When he touched it, it started to peel off.

“Well,” Wolfwood said flatly as a second nail came away in one piece. “That’s not good.” He was pretty sure his finger nails weren’t supposed to fall off. He had wiggled another three off before his brain caught up with his actions and he forced himself to stop. He stood with a bit of a sway and walked to the bedside table. He picked up his pack of cigarettes and then realized that he had to bend down and dig through his pants pocket for his lighter. The motion almost made him vomit but he kept everything down and returned to the table. Wolfwood figured if he was going to die of some mysterious illness he might as well go out smoking.

He lit one and breathed in deeply. For just a moment he could think clearly without his stomach churning and his skin feeling like it was shifting. Then he exhaled and the scents of the room came flooding back. Wolfwood scooted the chair back so he could open the window a bit more. He rested an elbow on the ledge and faced outside. The fresh air seemed to be helping, and with shaking hands he lit another and looked down at the few people walking the streets below. In the back of his mind something was tugging him to go out there too.

His mouth started to water and he glanced back at the box of doughnuts, but he wasn’t hungry for any more sugar. He wanted something more substantial than a sandwich too. He just didn’t know what it was. His headache was fading, it was like a fog was lifting. Wolfwood knew he wasn’t ok. The nails on his other hand had fallen off while he was smoking. He swore he heard bones snap along his back. He was unwell, he was sweating and nauseous but for some reason his mind was telling him to go outside.

He tried to reason with himself, that he should go back to bed, or camp out by the toilet, or finish his pack of cigarettes. That if he was sick with something really bad he shouldn’t go outside and possibly infect others. He should stay put, wait it out, wait for the others to get back. Maybe they could bring him to a hospital? Wolfwood looked back at the map to check for the nearest larger town, but now the map had begun to swim in his vision too. “Shit,” he muttered and moved to light his lighter, he fumbled it and it fell to the floor. Air. He decided. He just needed some air. He just had to get out of this room that smelled so sickly sweet like Vash.  

He would just step outside for a moment, just for a breather.

Wolfwood pushed himself out of his chair, stumbled, found his footing and made for the door.

It would only be for a second, he reasoned. Nothing would happen. He would be ok.

[bennylafittelove]

Short fic: I Made a Choice

Benny approached slowly, gun drawn and ready to fire at a moments notice. He’d been trailing a rogue hunter who’d started a bloody rampage and had taken Dean hostage. Now he’d finally tracked her down to these woods, hoping he wasn’t too late to save Dean.

His approach was silent as he crept up to the cabin, a white recreational van parked out front. He could smell her, her scent drifting from inside the cabin along with Dean’s. Carefully he made his way to the front door, risking a peek through the window beside it. He could see Dean passed out on the couch, hands and feet bound. He looked like he was starting to come to, causing Benny to let out a silent sigh of relief. He waited a moment until he could see the rogue hunter, the tall woman stepping into view and taking a seat in a chair near Dean. Slowly, ever so slowly, Benny raised his handgun and leveled it at the woman, taking aim.

Okay Sam, time to see if all those shooting lessons you gave me stuck. He thought as he evened out his breathing and pulled the trigger.

The window shattered as the explosion from the firearm filled the air. The woman recoiled violently as the bullet struck her upper shoulder, not close enough to anything vital but enough to cause pain. Benny instantly kicked in the door and rushed to the room, Dean rolling off the couch and finding whatever cover he could. Benny leveled the gun at the woman.

“Drop it and lay facedown on the ground with your hands on your head!” he shouted.

The woman glared at him but started to comply, slowly lowering her own sidearm to the floor. Benny risked a glance in Dean’s direction to quickly evaluate his condition. In that moment the woman saw her chance and quickly threw a concealed knife, the blade slicing a gash through Benny’s thigh as it barely missed. The vampire hissed in pain, fangs instinctively popping out in a bared snarl. The woman bolted for the window and leapt out, rolling onto the porch and using her momentum to stand and rush for the van.

“Dean, stay here!” Benny yelled and followed the hunter.

He knew he was faster and stronger than humans, but he didn’t want to kill this hunter. No the job was to bring her in for questioning and then for a trial of her fellow hunters to determine what to do with her. Benny had earned a good reputation for himself amongst the hunters that had rewarded him a place as one of them.

He could smell the hunter on the other side of the van, her heart racing. He cautiously approached, taking cover on his side of the van and taking quick peeks to see if he could spot her. He decided to take a risk and peer through the windows to the other side, hoping to get an idea of where she was.

Suddenly the loud report of a gun firing filled the air and a pain flared in Benny’s ankle, causing him to yell out in pain and fall to one knee. Another gunshot and another steering pain flared in his mid inner thigh. Benny fell to the ground and crawled painfully towards the tire closest to him, using it as cover as he examined his wounds.

Shit! Deadman’s blood. he thought as he felt the poison start to take ahold of him. In his time amongst the hunters he’d tried to slowly build up a tolerance for the damn stuff, but he hadn’t been very successful.

Benny quickly glanced over the bumper, feeling his body start to go numb and his muscles give in to the effects of the poison. He couldn’t see her but he knew she was there. An idea started to form in his head as he watched. Spotting movement he quickly shot a few rounds, knowing he was going to miss. Summoning his last remaining strength he crawled to his knees then to his feet and on shaky legs, stumbled into the woods, doing his best to leave a trail.

When he couldn’t go any further he found a nice tree and collapsed at its base, back pressed up against it. He knew it was only a matter of time until she found him, he just hoped he could give Dean enough time to escape. A few minutes that felt like hours passed, Benny beginning to worry if the hunter had returned to the cabin and finished off Dean. The poison continued to course through his veins, not quite done with him. He took note that he was also bleeding a bit too much from the wound on his thigh. If somehow he managed to survive this he was going to take a week off and drink all the donated blood he could to recover. Maybe Dean would join him for a small vacation, just the two of them. He smiled at that thought, imagining how nice it would be to spend time with the human, drinking beer while cuddled up next to each other on the couch.

The sounds of footfalls reached his ears and he knew the time had come. He still had his pistol in his hand but he doubted that he’d have the strength to use it thanks to the poison. Slowly the hunter came into view, circling around the tree on his left and standing a safe distance away. Benny watched her and felt a laugh escape from him.

“Looks like you got me pretty good back there,” he said and looked down at his leg, pulling his hand back to reveal the blood soaked wound.

“You should’ve just left this alone, Benny.” The hunter said, glaring down at him. The vampire caught the slightest hint of pain and regret in her eyes.

“You know I couldn’t do that.”

“You’re helping the wrong people here. They’d just as soon behead you than let you live and you know that!” she exclaimed.

“I made a choice, same as you. I’m not going to go through life pretending I can’t see what’s right in front of my eyes. I saw you for what you were from the beginning, but I gave you a chance because everyone deserves a second chance. I should know that better than anyone,” Benny said, wincing at the pain in his leg as well as the poison.

“And now you’re going to die knowing it was all in vain,” the hunter growled, revealing a long machete. Benny tried to swallow the fear he felt.

“Living knowing I hadn’t tried to do anything would’ve been worse,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

“These people deserve what’s coming to them!” she yelled and tested the weight of the machete.

“No. No one deserves this. Not them,” he said shaking his head, coughing a little before looking back up. “And not you.”

“They’re monsters,” she spat.

“So am I. Look how I turned out when given the chance.” Benny looked up at the sky and the trees, then around him, taking in the scenery knowing it would be the last time he’d see it. “I just wanted to help.”

The two looked at each other for a moment before Benny struggled to lift his arm and fire his gun. The hunter easily kicked his wrist, causing the gun to fly away into the underbrush. She leveled her own gun and shot him in the chest two more times, the bullets containing Deadman’s Blood in them. Benny yelled in pain and closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he thought of Dean.

As the machete fell and met it’s mark, Benny smiled slightly, ignoring the pain and thinking only of Dean.

End.