#glowing white eyes and fucking lightning power had

[dracaryspowpow]

She's indeed a goddess

Omega-Level threat detected! X-MEN ‘97 — To Me, My X-Men (S01E01)

[bthemistake]

"She can't have been that good an Oracle if she didn't see the storm coming."

[Image Description:

Fanart of Adaine Abernant from the Dungeons and Dragons show Dimension 20, Fantasy High. She is wearing her jacket and a purple shirt with a faded arcane sigil on the front.

Adaine looks up to the sky, her eyes glowing white and the unnatural lightning around her reflects in the lenses of her glasses, remembering something she had said years ago at the breakfast table with her family, reminded by Oisins taunts. The weather is turning sour, harsh winds pushing from behind her, and rain pours from the sky.

She isn't scared, though, and power rolls off her body in waves. Whatever comes next, Adaine knows she can face it because, as much as Oisin mocked her for not knowing what was coming, she is The Elven Oracle and she is going to punch that fucking dragonborn in the face.

End of Image Description].

[bmtillerbabe]

~ Body Heat ~

A Reader x Ghoap fic!

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Written for the amazing @onlyareyyyy ! Sorry it took forever, thank you for being so patient! :):)

Originally one of her posts, I decided to take it and run with it and turn it into a mini fic :D

"sharing a bed with Simon ghost riley and johnny soap mactavish. having a crush on ghost. being unable to sleep because all you can think of is your proximity to ghost and feeling his massive erection against your back. some sort of conversation or confession which results in ghost fucking you on your side which cause the reader to squirt and which wakes up johnny"

Hopefully, I did it justice! Please, enjoy! (and go follow @onlyareyyyy , she got the goods yo ;) )

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MDNI

18 + ONLY

MDNI

NSFW, and the smut be smuttin' - you've been warned!

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  A sharp crack of thunder made you jolt back awake, lifting your hands to cover your ears.

  It was raining.

  Again.

  With an aggravated sigh, you gripped the scratchy duvet and threw it over your shoulders, twisting it with a huff and flinging your body over to face the opposite direction.

  Fucking safe-houses. They were never comfortable.

  You tried your damndest to get back to sleep …. Closing your eyes, counting imaginary animals, hell, even trying to meditate. But it was no use.

  Your comfy spot was long gone; the mattress was now cold; the patter of the raindrops against the cracked windowpanes of the old safehouse was anything but calming right now; and the fear of another loud boom of thunder was enough to keep you wide awake.

  Growling to yourself, you tossed and turned again, blinking in the dark.

  Another lightning flash.

  More rain.

  More thunder.

  And somewhere amidst the constant torrential downpour – on top of being uncomfortable as shit – the power decided to go out.

  A flicker-flicker-flicker, and then …. Nothing.

  Great.

  The distant buzz and hum of the lights just outside your room was abruptly cut off, as was the little golden glow from underneath the door.

  You grumbled to yourself and sat upright, wiping your eyes and slumping your shoulders, staring into the darkness.

  Any other time, it would have made you eerily uncomfortable, and you’d have had half a mind to trudge through the blackness and find your two so-called “guardians” who were supposed to be keeping you safe from some so-called “threat”, and see if you could maybe pester them a little into keeping you company. But you never got the chance.

  As if the gods heard your silent plea, the heavy thudding of steel-toed boots was headed your way before your thought had even finished forming.

  Hmm. Maybe they really were taking this “guardian” thing seriously.

  With a flashlight in his hand, Ghost opened your door (without even knocking, the bastard), Soap following close behind.

  “You a’ight, luv?” The Brit asked, shining the sharp white light directly into your face.

  You scrunched your eyes shut, nodding as you held your hand up to ward away the sudden brightness. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Aye, Ghost, yer gonna blind the poor lass.” Soap scoffed, batting Simon’s hand down.

  “I’m fine.” You answer verbally this time looking at them both, illuminated only by the stray flash of lightning and the flashlight that was now reflecting off the scratched wooden floor. “I was awake, anyway. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  Another burst of thunder rolled through the room and made you jump again, covering your ears.

  Jesus Christ, every one was like opening a can of biscuits …

  You watched as Soap walked over to the light switch on the wall, flipping it on and off a few times.

  “Aye.” He confirmed, “Wasn’t just our room, then. Looks like the whole house is without power.”

  Ghost sighed heavily, shaking his head. “In this cold? Great. Tha’s jus’ wonderful.”

  He wasn’t wrong. It was the dead of November, and even if the safe-house wasn’t full of leaky windows and cracked walls, it would have been hard to stay warm all night without any electricity. As it stood now, you were set to freeze.

  As if on cue, your whole body decided to shiver, and you clamped your jaw shut to keep your teeth from chattering.

  You weren’t sure if the men had heard you, but either way you pretended they didn’t when you heard Soap pat Ghost’s shoulder. He nodded for the larger man to follow him out into the hall, turning to you before he did.

  “Stay here, lass. We’ll be right back.”

  And the two left the room.

  You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter, suddenly aware of the intense chill in the room biting at your nose, any heat that had been blowing through the vents quickly being dispersed through the battered house.

  Well.

  This was just great.

  Now what?

  You’d already been at this safe-house for days, and who knew how much longer you three had to wait for exfil. And now you had to go without power – and heat – on top of it?

  You tried to remain positive, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

  Boots thumping back towards your room caught your attention before you could sink any deeper into your head.

  “A’right, luv.” Ghost clears his throat as he enters the room with Soap in tow once more. You notice their hands are much, much fuller than they had been when they’d left.

  Were those …. Blankets?

  “S’been a change of plans.”

  Your throat went dry.

  He couldn’t possibly mean ….

  “We’re gonna be sharing the bunk wit’ya tonight.”

  Alright. Maybe he could.

  But perhaps it wasn’t really sinking in just yet, the situation not quite made clear, or maybe your brain was just sleep-deprived thanks to the last hectic week; but it wasn’t until Soap just casually sauntered over to your side of the bed and tossed down the armful of quilts and began promptly taking off his overshirt that it finally seemed to hit you in the head like a ton of bricks.

  Sharing the bunk … as in, sharing the bed?

  Your cheeks flush and you sputter out an incoherent strand of mumbles once your brain peels itself away from the shred of toned muscle of Soap’s chest revealed in the lightning flashes.

  “Wh-wh---h-huh?”

  “Good.” Ghost grunted as he, too, began to shed himself of the gear and over-layers of clothing. You heard the clinking of his belt buckle and felt your cheeks flush deeper – suddenly warm all over despite the cold, your mind bombarding you with delicious images of the muscled man undressing just in front of you.

  If only the darkness hadn’t kept you from seeing ...

  “Cuz, er …. ‘Ere’s been a change of plans.” Ghost spoke again in the dark, somewhere to your left now, a sudden weight making you jerk your head to see his shadow crawling into bed with you. You opened your mouth to try and speak again, but another weight on your opposite side made you shift your sights back when you felt Johnny crawling into bed as well.

  Was this seriously gonna happen ….?

  Ghost tossed his boots off somewhere in the room and grunted softly as he removed the rest of his gear. “Since the power wen’ out and we can’t guard ya proper … we’re gonna hafta sleep in ‘ere with you.” He said as trivial as if he were merely telling you about the weather, and not something as monumental as sharing a bed with two, fully grown, fully muscled, toned, beefy military men, sandwiched between them all night.

  If there had been any light in the room, they would have seen your jaw hit the floor.

  Of all the things you’d expected Ghost to suggest for tonight – this situation hadn’t been one of them.

  “W-what?” You finally stammer out again, a little clearer this time, finding your voice.   

  “Aye, we won’ try any funny business with ye, lass, but ye are the precious cargo in this mission. We cannae afford to let anyone get to ye.” Johnny said softly, his voice somehow even darker and sexier than normal in the shadows. “And since the power’s out, and we cannae hear ye over the monitors an’ such, there’s not much of a choice. If anythin’ happened to ye on our watch, Price’d have our heads.”

  “B-but---wait, we---I---” You stutter out, but Ghost abruptly cuts you off with a scoff.

  “Oh, come on, luv. Ain’t no sense in gettin’ all fussy about it. The power’s out and we’re jus’ doin’ our jobs. Ain’t neither of us takin’ no fer an answer. Now, scoot over.”

  Dumbfounded, all you could do was obey orders, and scootch closer to Johnny, accidentally bumping him as you did so. The King-sized bed suddenly felt way too small with these two buff-cakes taking up all the space. Ghost settled into the mattress next to you, his weight making it sink in just slightly, threatening to pull you into his orbit.  

  If the situation hadn’t been so absurd, you might have found it in you to laugh; at the reality that you were currently sitting between two of the biggest, hottest, most handsome men of the 141; and that you were now not only supposed to get sleep, but were supposed to remember how to breathe, too?

  Life was truly unfair.

  “You gonna lay down sometime tonight?” Ghost huffs, but before you can respond, his big, still-gloved hand is on your shoulder, pulling you backwards. You let out a gasp as you fall back onto the bed and hear another snort from the Lieutenant.

  “Fuckin’ hell, you’re a right ice-block, luv. Get your arse back here.” He says, gripping your arm and pulling your back flush against his chest as Johnny straightened out the layers of blankets, throwing them over the three of you in a small pile.

  Suddenly very, very aware of the wall of Ghost behind you, pressing up against the entirety of your body, you stiffen and squirm; trying to get comfortable – maybe even put a shred of distance between your bodies – but the man’s grip is iron-tight.

  “Oi, quit squirmin.’ Get snug and hold the fuck still.” He barks at you, and you immediately calm. Johnny finishes covering you all up and lays back down to face you.

  “Haven’ya ever had ta use body heat before, lass?” The Scotsman asks quietly, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Might not be the most comfortable of situations, but be better than freezin’ ta death, aye?”

  At his words, you feel Ghost’s grip around your waist tighten, and you manage to barely suppress a squeak when his huge palm is suddenly against your side, the intense head radiating off of him in waves.

  Jesus, was this man a walking heater?

  “I’ll take firs’ watch, Johnny.” Ghost grunts leaving no room for argument, and Soap nods, settling in and getting himself comfortable.

  “And you,” Ghost growls in your ear softly, leaning in so that you can feel the warmth of his breath through his balaclava, and pick up the faintest smell of Earl Gray – “Hold still, and get to sleep. Got it?”

  You nod quickly, trying to keep your breathing steady and calm your mind as much as you could. Trying and keep your mind off his huge, hulking form laying comfortably behind you; off his steady breathing and heartbeat that was soothing like a lullaby.

 Fuck.

  It was going to be a long night.

~ * ~

  Maybe hours had passed, maybe minutes. It was impossible to tell with the rain still pouring and the power still out.

  In the shadows, everything looked the same.

  You weren’t even sure if you had even really fallen asleep or not, but you knew at least some time had passed since Johnny had not only rolled over to face away from you but had begun to snore softly.

  Even Ghost, still situated easily behind you with his hand across your midsection seemed to be breathing at a slower rate – deep in his sleep.

  You sighed to yourself quietly, shifting your head on the pillow and blinking in the dark.

  Try as you may to chalk it up to the stress of the situation you were in, or even the unfamiliarity of your surroundings, you knew deep down the warmth settling in your core wasn’t from any of the excuses you tried to convince yourself of.

  You closed your eyes and listened to the rhythmic breathing of Ghost and Soap, humming quietly to yourself.

  Gods, since you’d first seen this man, you’d been smitten with him. I mean, how could you not? Those dark, piercing eyes, framed by the longest, prettiest, most blonde lashes you’d seen in your life; that gruff, British voice; the command and authority he exuded to everyone around him, leaving no room for doubt who’s in charge.

  And that body.

  Ugh.

  Don’t get me wrong, you’d caught yourself more than once eyeing up the Sargeant that currently slept across from you; fresh out of the showers, water still dripping down his scruffy beard; running his hands through his short, tawny-brown mohawk while he laughed at something; catching a stray smile. Fuck, he was just a treat to look at as Ghost was.

  Both of them had biceps that the gods themselves would be jealous of, broad toned chests, firm pecs poking through every shirt they wore as if their bodies were trying to shred the fabric to pieces in order to breathe.

  Both of them were hands down the most attractive men you’d seen in your entire life.

  But it was hard not to pick a favorite when one of them was literally wrapped around you, his scent invading your senses and stealing away your rest.

  His scent.

  Ghost’s scent.

  Cigarettes and Bourbon.

  You swallowed a soft moan as you inhaled deeply, your mind swimming with images of just licking the very smell off his skin, of tasting the salty tang of his body’s natural musk and sweat, wanting to drown yourself in it and never come back up for air.

  Fuck, he smelled amazing.

  And with an internal sigh, you realized your nose wasn’t the only thing enjoying the fragrance of the Lieutenant.

  Shifting your thighs, you realized your entire body was reacting to it …. Your pussy was reacting to it.

  Warm, wet, and nearly dripping already, you could feel your arousal pooling at your centre; your poor cunt aching and empty and eager for something to touch her, please her, fill her, and make her feel good.

  Ghost shifted behind you, grunting softly before breathing steadily once more.

  You held your breath until his movements stilled, suddenly afraid that he’d heard your inner thoughts, or that – fuck – he may have smelled you somehow. But when his breathing evened out once more, you breathed a sigh of relief and let your mind wander back to the dangerous territory you’d been pulled out of.

  And maybe it was wrong. No, not maybe – you knew it was wrong. You knew it was immoral, or bad, or whatever …. But damn, the temptation was there ….

  And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him … right?

  After all, with the rate you were climbing this ladder, it wouldn’t take you long to get there …

  Heart aflutter with the naughty secrecy of your act and the thrill of being caught, you bit your bottom lip and ever so slightly shifted your arm out from under Ghost’s; snaking it down and around into your waistband. Into your panties.

  You kept your lip between your teeth, biting it softly to keep yourself quiet, moving slow as you could stand it, the heat from your core already reaching your fingertips as you slowly reached down.

  You hoped the torrential rain would help cover any sounds you might make.  

  With a small sigh, you pressed a finger to the slit of your entrance, pleased to find that the arousal was indeed seeping out of you, and you grinned to yourself, braving a finger inside.

  Your hips bucked softly, involuntarily, and you closed your eyes; your breathing quickening under your touch.

  This wouldn’t even take two –

  You gasped in shock when a large, thick wrist clamped down around your own, stilling your movements, and another hand flew to your mouth, nearly covering your entire face with its size.

  Your entire world froze and your heart stopped, eyes going wide.

  “Now … what do you think you’re doin’, luvie?” Ghost growls into your ear, his voice like gravel and sandpaper.

  The tone alone had you clamping your thighs shut and letting out a muffled moan of pleasure before you could stop yourself.

  Caught.

  Shit.

  You tried to muffle something to him as a response, possibly even as an excuse, but Ghost merely chuckled darkly in your ear; sending a wave of gooseflesh down your body.

  “Now, now – quiet down, there, luv. Wouldn’t wanna wake up ol’ Johnny boy, now, would ya?”

  With a shift of his hips, you nearly groaned when you felt the thick warmth of his erection pressed into your backside through his trousers.

  You closed your eyes, your mind and body sending mixed signals, unsure of what to do or how to proceed.

  Ghost didn’t have a shred of hesitation.

  “Now, if I was a bettin’ man,” he said, letting his hand go from your mouth to your neck, holding your chin high as he buried his face in your skin and inhaled.

  “I’d say you was turned on by this …. By me.”

  You gulped, trying not to grind against him, your heart hammering in your chest and his hand sliding down the wrist that was currently still in your panties, dancing dangerously close to your core.

  You felt him smirk against your jaw, giving you a nip.

  “Ain’t that right, luvie?”

  You released a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding through your nose, closing your eyes and squirming under his touch. You shake your head, trying to deny it, but he’s having none of that.

  His hand around your throat tightens and his voice drops to a grating growl.

  “Oh, come on, don’t play me for a fool. I’ve seen the way you look at me, at Johnny, at us. Seen the way you bite your lip when you think none of us are looking …” His hand delves deeper into your panties, and suddenly, without warning, his long, thick fingers are rubbing through your folds and causing you to gasp.

  “Heard those sweet little moans of yours as you pleasure yourself at night thinking no one can hear you ….” He continues, moving is hand in time with his seductive voice and dangerous words, palming your clit and spreading your slick through and around your entrance.

  Johnny snores loudly, and your breath hitches.

  “Heh. Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Ghost clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Now, now little birdie ….” he growled, one of his fingers circling your opening. You clenched, eager and desperate for him to just shove it in already …

  Fucking jack-off was taking his good ol’ easy time, and it was driving you up the wall.

  “If you want me to keep going, you’re gonna have to be very …. Very quiet.”

  You nod desperately against him, willing to agree to just about anything at this point.

  “Say it, luvie … I need to hear you say it …”

  “Yes.” You croak out on a broken whisper. “Please, Simon, please, just—”

  You don’t get the chance to finish, letting out a sharp squeak of pleasure when one of his fingers is suddenly shoved so far into you that you see stars.

  The hand on your neck moves quickly back to cover your mouth and he bites at your earlobe threateningly.

  “I said be fucking quiet.”

  You nod, breathing through your nose in quick short bursts; your pussy clenching needily around his greedy digit. You close your eyes in bliss when he slowly begins to pump it in and out of you, making a delicious slick, squelching noise; and you damn near come apart in his arms when he utters a soft, “Good girl.” Into your ear.

  His finger feels like heaven, and you weren’t sure it could have gotten any better until he slid a second one in and you thought you’d pass out from how good the stretch felt.

  He made quiet grunting noises behind you, brushing his stubbled, scarred jaw over yours, around the shell of your ear, the skin at the base of your neck. Your mouth fell open in a silent sob, tears springing to your eyes at just how good this felt. How good his fingers were splitting you open, brushing every little part of you that drove you crazy with lust.

  He added a third finger, the burn damn near addicting as he grunted into your ear and thrusted them in and out at a brutalizing pace.

  “Fuck, dovey … fuckin’ hell, you’re so fuckin’ tight … Bet this lil’ cunny’s never felt so good, ‘as she?”

  You swallowed a noise in the back of your throat, thrusting your hips in time with his hands to meet his fingers.

  Your eyes rolled into the back of your head in pleasure and you felt the familiar coil of heat build in the pit of your stomach, the tell-tale sign of an impending orgasm approaching.

  Fuck, it felt so good, and you fucking chased it.

  Bucking your hips back and onto his fingers, you whimpered softly as you ground your pussy into Simon’s hand; desperately chasing your high.

  His noises and grunts and growls in your ear were driving you higher and higher up the wall, and you were already so fucking close – but then his fingers are withdrawn and you’re left achingly empty, whining softly.

  “Simon …” You beg on a breathy whisper, but you pause when you feel the hand that was just inside you moments before reaching down to yank his trousers down; and feel his massive, thick cock spring free and smack against the curve of your ass.

  Your throat went completely dry.

  You tried to keep quiet, your eyes locked on the back of Johnny’s sleeping head as you felt Ghost fuck into his fist from behind you; the tip of his cock brushing against the small of your back with each thrust.

  “Tell me, luvie,” he growls against your ear, shifting on the bed so he can rub the tip through your weeping folds.

  The breath left your lungs.

  “You ever had a man this size? Eh?”

  You shake your head, trying to remember how to even speak, but he grips your neck again. Tight. Hard.

  “Answer me.”

  “No,” You gulp thickly, letting your mouth hang open on a pant.

  He chuckles darkly, and you feel him notch himself at the slit of your entrance.

  “Good. I always like to be a first.”

  And he shoves his cock into you without any further warning.

  You let out a soft cry, unable to help yourself as your walls clamp down around him; and then he’s thrusting into you, brushing against your g-spot with painful accuracy; his balls slapping against your flesh with each needy jerk of his hips, pushing his hard, thick length deeper and deeper into you.

  His hand continues to grip your neck, panting into your ear while his other hand slides down to palm at your lower stomach; pressing down where he feels himself stretching you from the inside out. He smiles against your skin, hungry and predatory.

  “Fuck, you’re taking my cock so well, doll … fuck, you’re so tight. So wet. So needy …. Look at you, all desperate for me and my cock. My cum. You want me to fill you up, doll? Fill this tight, little cunny up? Breed you so good and deep, you’ll be walking around leaking me for days? Eh?”

  You groaned at his filthy mouth, trying to stay quiet but failing miserably, nodding.

  He laughed under his breath at you.

  “Such a filthy fucking slut you are. Lettin’ me fuck you nice and hard while Johnny’s just layin’ there in front of you, unawares.”

  You felt your insides clench at his every word, your orgasm building like a tidal wave inside you.

  At this rate, you were going to cum faster than you’d ever remembered before.

  “Wonder if he’d like to join in on the fun?” Ghost grunted as he angled his hips to somehow thrust even deeper into you; the slick, wet, squelching sounds echoing up through the blanket and into the empty room.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little whore? Have bo’f of us men, filling your holes at once, breeding you from both ends? I bet you would. I bet you’d be such a good fucking girl and swallow every last drop Johnny’d give ya, and then turn around and take another load right up this tight, fucking pussy---agh, fuck!” You feel his entire body clench and his thrusts grow choppy and quicker.

  You moaned, closing your eyes, reaching up to grip the back of his head and hold it down against you.

  Almost, you were almost fucking –

  “Oh, fuck, fuck babygirl, I’m---I’m so close---I’m---Fuck!” Simon grunted and with a final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, cumming deep within your warm, gummy walls; sliding his hand down to pinch your clit as he did so.

  That little action was more than enough, and your orgasm ripped through you like a tornado – leaving a mess of a trail in its wake.

  Clenching tightly around Simon’s cock, you pulsed and twitched around his length – and also managed to squirt; something you’d never ever remembered being able to do before.

  “Fuuuuck….” Simon grunted in your ear, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts as he slowed down; his cock pulsing the last bit of seed deep into your compliant pussy.

  Moaning softly and panting into Simon’s hand, you slowly came down from your high; the world coming back into focus around you.

  But it isn’t the room that comes back into focus, nor is it the lightning flashes that dance across the walls.

  It’s Johnny’s bright blue crystal eyes; dark with lust and need, his hand on his cock and the front of his shirt drenched in … your squirt.

  You felt your soul leave your body and a bright blush rise to your cheeks in shame, but Johnny just chuckled.

  “Aye, I see you’re havin’ all the fun without me, eh?” He groans when he gives his cock a long, languid stroke; arching his back to meet his fist, his eyes locked on yours as Simon slowly began to thrust back into you again.

  “Think you’ve got another round left in ya, princess?”

[liz-on-leash]

Taken

STAYC Isa × Multiple Guys

[Commissioned]

No warning, read at your own risk!

4,040 Words

The evening air was a stark contrast to the energetic atmosphere inside the rehearsal studio, and Isa welcomed the cool breeze on her flushed skin as she stepped outside. 

Her heart, still racing from the intense dance routine, now quickened for a different reason as she noticed a van parked across the street, its engine idling. 

A sense of unease crept up her spine, but she brushed it off, attributing it to post-performance jitters.

As Isa strolled towards the alley, hoping to find a quiet spot to gather her thoughts, the van's side door slid open, and four men emerged with lightning speed. 

Two of them were tall and muscular with dark skin, their eyes glowing with an unsettling intensity. The other two, pale-skinned with sharp features, had a feral look about them.

"Gotcha, you teasing slut!" one of the black men stated, his deep voice cutting through the night.

Isa's scream was cut short as a meaty hand clamped over her mouth, while another arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground. 

She kicked and struggled, her small frame no match for their brute strength. The white men joined in, their rough hands groping her thighs, leaving red fingerprints on her pale skin.

"Help... Someone..." Isa whimpered, her voice muffled by the strong hand.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" The other black man delivered a brutal punch to her stomach, causing her to double over and retch. 

The man holding her released his grip on her mouth, only to replace it with a drugged cloth, forcing her to inhale the potent chemical.

“Breathe it in, you fucking tease," one of the white men hissed, his hot breath on her neck sending shivers of terror down her spine.

Isa's limbs grew heavy as the drug took effect, but her mind remained alert, aware of the horror unfolding. She felt herself being thrown into the van, her head hitting the metal floor with a sickening thud. The world spun as the men climbed in, their laughter filling the confined space.

"Look at this pretty thing, all drugged up and helpless," one of the black men said, his deep voice laced with cruel amusement. "Let's have some fun, baby."

Isa's eyes widened as she saw the men's faces contorting with lust. The black men, with their powerful builds, loomed over her, while the white men crawled closer.

"These thighs though..." The other white man reached out and squeezed her thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "So thick and milky, holy fuck."

Isa let out a pained moan as his nails scratched down her sensitive skin, leaving trails of fire. The black man nearest to her face grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back.

"You're gonna take what we give ya, you hear?" he snarled, his breath washing over her face. "Scream all you want, ain't nobody comin' to save ya."

Her cries were muffled by the rough hand covering her mouth, as the other black man ripped at her clothes, tearing the fabric away from her body. The white men joined in, their hands rough and relentless, leaving her naked and vulnerable.

"Oh, she's a feisty one," one man remarked as Isa kicked out, her legs flailing in a desperate attempt to fend them off.

A heavy boot connected with her thigh, making her scream into the hand covering her mouth. "That's for trying to fight back, ya stupid bitch."

Isa's body jerked with each brutal impact, her legs becoming their primary target. The men took turns raining slaps and squeezes on her thighs, their laughter filling the van as they reveled in her pain.

"Please don't hurt me… I'm s-sorry..." she begged although she did nothing wrong.

"Shut her up, I can't stand that whining," a tattooed white man said, grabbing a length of duct tape and roughly covering her mouth, securing her cries of agony.

The van came to a screeching halt, and Isa's body slid across the floor, leaving a trail of sweat behind. The men's excitement grew as they reached their destination, their hands moving with renewed fervor over her trembling form.

"This is just the beginning, sweet Isa," a black man whispered, sending shivers of fear through her drugged body. "You're gonna learn to love every second of this ride."

The van doors flung open, revealing a desolate industrial area, bathed in the eerie glow of a single streetlight. Isa's dazed eyes struggled to focus as one black dude loomed over her.

"You won't be singing those sweet songs anymore, bitch," he spat, ripping the tape from her mouth with a cruel smile. 

The sudden pain made Isa cry out, only to be silenced by a stinging slap across her cheek, leaving her reeling. 

As she struggled to regain her senses, her eyes widened in horror as the same man unzipped his pants, releasing a monstrous black cock. It was thick and veiny, its size rivaling the width of her forearm. 

Her breath hitched as he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You will take this down your pretty throat, and you better not bite," he warned. "Gonna fuck that mouth and ruin it for anyone else."

Before Isa could process his words, the other black man grabbed her from behind, his strong arms wrapping around her, holding her in place. “No, let me, ugh, go…” 

She felt the cold, hard length of the cock pressing against her lips, and despite her efforts to resist, it forced its way in, stretching her mouth painfully.

Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth as the black cock invaded, her eyes wide with shock. The man behind her held her head in a vice-like grip, allowing his friend to thrust forward, driving his cock down her throat. 

She gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she struggled for breath.

"Look at her go," the man behind her laughed. "She's loving it, can't get enough of that black dick!"

Isa's eyes rolled back as he withdrew only to thrust again, each push sending his cock deeper, triggering her gag reflex. 

Her throat burned and her nose ran as he face-fucked her with abandon, his balls almost slapping against her chin with each forward.

The two remaining men held her arms and legs, their hands digging into her tender flesh, leaving extra bruises that would serve as reminders of this night. They laughed, their voices echoing in her throbbing head.

"She's such a good little cock-sucker, ain't she?" a white man taunted, his hand tightening on her thigh.

The man fucking her throat grunted with pleasure, his hips moving at a relentless tempo. He pushed deeper, lowering himself until he was sitting on her face.

His cock bulged inside her throat, stretching her to the limit. Isa's eyes jutted out, her face turning red as she choked, her body convulsing in an attempt to breathe.

Snot and tears mixed on her face, her eyes pleading for mercy as she struggled against the men holding her down. The room spun, her vision blurring as she teetered on the edge of consciousness.

The white man holding her legs landed his eyes on the wet patch spreading between Isa's thighs. Licking his lip, he yanked her shorts down her thick thighs, exposing her glistening pussy lips. 

"Aw, look at that. She's so scared, she pissed herself. What a fucking mess."

Isa's body trembled, her shame compounded by the men's laughter and crude remarks. The man holding her legs ran his fingers through the wetness, smearing it across her sensitive skin.

"Bet that pussy tastes as sweet as she looks," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Might just have to find out.”

The black man on Isa’s face picked up his momentum, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. Isa's throat constricted around his black cock, providing a tight, wet sheath for him to plow into deeper.

Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body, his balls tightening with impending release. "Fuck, yeah, swallow it, slut!" he grunted, his eyes rolling back as he reveled in the sensation of her mouth and throat massaging his cock.

Isa's eyes watered, her vision blurred as she choked on his length, her body convulsing in a desperate attempt to draw breath. The man behind her held her head in a merciless grip, ensuring she couldn't escape the assault on her throat. 

The squelching slurping sounds of his cock pounding her face filled the van, mingling with her trembling muffled cries and the men's groans.

Meanwhile, the white man attending to her pussy grew bolder. He worked his fingers roughly along her slit, gathering her fluids before pushing a thick finger into her tight, virgin hole. 

Isa's body tensed, her legs straining against the man holding them as she groaned in surprise around the cock in her throat.

"Ah, she's so fucking tight," the man grunted. “Need to stretch this pussy until it's ready for our cocks."

He added another finger, scissoring them inside her, eliciting a strangled cry from Isa as he stretched her virgin walls, his rough nails scraping against her sensitive insides. 

Her body squirmed, her hips bucking involuntarily as he violated her with his fingers, preparing her for the impending penetration.

The second white man hugged Isa's leg to his chest, exposing her soft inner thigh. He rubbed his engorged cock along her smooth skin, his precum leaving a sticky trail.

His hand moved to her calf, squeezing and kneading before he bent down and licked a wet stripe along her calf, his hot tongue leaving a wet, sloppy imprint.

"Taste so good, I could eat you up, babe," he commented.

Isa's body shook, her pupils vanished as the black man above her buried his cock deep into her esophagus, holding himself there as he pumped his hot cum down her throat. 

Her airway completely blocked, she gagged and choked, her body convulsing as she struggled, her nails scratching at his thighs in a futile attempt to escape. The man's cock twitched, emptying his load, his pleasure heightened by her misery. 

As he pulled out, his cock sliding from her mouth with a wet, sucking sound, his thick cum spilled from her lips and nose.

Isa's body, overwhelmed by the assault on her senses, went into shock as she slumped limply, passing out with the taste of cum and the violation of fingers still fresh in her pussy.

The men grabbed her unconscious form and tossed her further into the abandoned brick building, her body landing with a sickening thud on the broken and dirty concrete floor, illuminated by a single flickering bulb.

The men’s eyes gleaming with lust and cruelty, were not satisfied with the extent of Isa's suffering. They wanted to push her to the brink, reveling in her pain and despair. 

One of the men, his eyes alight with sadistic glee, snatched a half-empty beer bottle from the corner of the dilapidated room and approached the trembling idol.

"Wake up, baby," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Time to join the party again."

Isa's body jerked as the cold liquid was poured down in her mouth, her abused throat burning as she choked and spluttered, gasping for air. Her eyes flew open, taking in the grinning faces of her captors, and the horror of her situation came crashing down on her.

Mustering what little strength she had left, Isa pushed herself onto her hands and knees, her body trembling violently. Her once pristine skin was now wounded and soiled, her hair a tangled mess, and her makeup streaked with tears and cum.

"Please... have mercy..." her voice rasp and raw from the abuse. "I can't take any more... I'll do anything, just let me go."

Her pleas were met with laughter and crude remarks, the men's desire only heightened by her vulnerable position.

"Look at you, on your knees, begging like a dog," one black man said, his deep voice laced with scorn. “You should know your place. You're our thing now."

Isa's eyes darted from one man to the next, her hands weakly attempting to cover her exposed tits and pussy, a futile effort to preserve some dignity.

"Please... I won't tell anyone... Just let me go..." she sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her tears. "I feel sick... I can't..."

Her words were cut off by a sharp kick to her side, sending her sprawling onto her stomach.

"Shut the fuck up with your begging!" the man who had face-fucked her spat, his eyes dark with rage. "I wanna see you suffer, bitch. We do whatever we want, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

He stepped forward, his sole pressing down on the back of Isa's head, forcing her face into the dirty floor. "No! No! Please!" She struggled, her hands scrabbling at his foot, her screams echoing off the brick walls.

"Who's first?" a white man asked, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

"Don't matter," the black man who had stepped on her head replied, his voice calm but menacing. "We all gonna have our turns anyway. She's ours and she's gonna learn her fucking place soon enough."

The white man who had fingered Isa's pussy stepped forward, his thick cock jutting out proudly. "I will stretch her out nice and good for ya. She won't be walking straight after I'm done."

Isa's cries intensified as she realized there would be no escape, no mercy from these ruthless men. Her body, once a vessel for her art, was now a plaything for their darkest desires.

The first white man positioned himself behind Isa, his hands gripping her soft, round ass. He lifted her, aligning her with his throbbing cock, which stood rigid and swollen, eager to claim her. 

Isa's cries intensified as she begged for mercy, her head still pinned to the ground by the black man's boot.

"No! Get away— Ahhh!!!” she sobbed, her body trembling uncontrollably.

The second black man, not one to be left out of the action, climbed onto Isa's back. He twisted her arms behind her, bending them at an agonizing angle, causing her to scream in fresh pain, her saliva mixing with her tears on the dirty floor.

As the white man held her hips, his cock poised at her entrance, Isa's body tensed, every muscle screaming in protest. The head of his cock pushed past her tight pussy lips, stretching her, invading her most intimate canal. Her body vibrated, nausea rising as the trauma of her situation hit her anew.

The big white cock, relentless in its pursuit of pleasure, slid further inside, inch by inch. Isa's eyes rolled back, her mouth opening in a silent scream as her body tried to adjust to the invasion.

With each push, he sank deeper, his cockhead bumping against her cervix, arousing a fresh wave of pain. Isa's body shuddered with the force of his penetration, her muscles clenching involuntarily, providing a grippy, wet glove.

He gripped her hips, holding her in place as he began to pound into her, his balls kissing against her clit. Her pussy, and untouched, now molded around his cock, her inner walls gripping and massaging his length with each withdrawal and penetration.

"You like that, don't ya?" he growled, slapping her ass cheek hard, leaving a red imprint. "Bet you love getting fucked by a big white cock, you Asian slut. Scream for me, tell me how much you love it."

Isa's body shook with the force of his pounding, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Her arms, twisted painfully behind her, prevented her from forming coherent words, but the white man wasn't satisfied.

"Tell me, filthy bitch!" he demanded, his voice harsh as he slammed into her, his hips meeting hers with a violent rhythm.

Isa's mouth opened, her throat working as she tried to form words, but all that escaped was a pained, “It hurts… It hurts so much... Help me… everyone… manager-nim…”

"You're a stupid bitch, can't even give me what I want," he snapped. 

He drove into her angrily until he heaved and cummed inside her, his cock twitching as he filled her wounded pussy with his seed. Isa's body jerked with the force of his release, the burning sensation of his cum adding to the agony coursing through her.

He then pulled out, his spent cock slick and sticky with their mixed fluids, leaving Isa's weak body trembling on the hard floor.

The black man crouching on Isa’s back released her arms, letting them dangle by her sides. He positioned himself behind her, dropping to his knees and grasping her plump ass cheeks, pulling them apart to expose her tiny fluttering asshole. 

"Go on, bro, tear that ass up," urged the white dude who creampied her. "Show her who's in charge."

The black bastard leaned forward, his breath washing over Isa's exposed rosebud, making her tremble and whimper. He spat on her sensitive hole, the wetness dripping down her cleft.

The other black dude stepped off Isa's head, he grabbed a fistful of her matted hair, yanking her face up from the filthy floor. Tears streaked her cheeks, mixing with the dirt and smeared snot.

"You belong to us now, cunt," his foul breath washed over her face. "Say goodbye to your idol life, because from now on, you're our sex slave. And many more."

Isa's body shook with silent sobs, her eyes pleading, reflecting the shattered remnants of her former self.

"We ain't stopping till we've had our fill," he continued. "So, stop your whimpering and accept your new life as our bitch."

He delivered a sharp backhand across her mouth. "And don't play dumb, we know you understand every fucking word. You're gonna get bred daily, even when that belly of yours starts swelling. We would still fuck the baby out of you, got it?"

Isa's eyes widened in horror, her mind struggling to comprehend the endless violation they intended to subject her to.

The black man stepped aside, his work of breaking her spirit momentarily complete. In his place stepped another white degenerate, a length of cord dangling from his hand.

"My turn to loosen that throat of yours, baby," he announced, filled with anticipation.

Isa weakly shook her head, her eyes pleading for mercy, but the white dude yanked her hair, forcing her head back, exposing her throat, vulnerable and exposed.

With swift efficiency, he wrapped the cord around her slender neck before pulling the ends tight, cutting off her air supply. Isa's mouth fell open in a silent cry, her eyes bulging as she clawed at the cord digging her skin, her face turning blue.

Seizing the opportunity, he shoved his cock past her trembling lips, the head hitting the back of her throat instantly, triggering a violent gag reflex. He hissed in pleasure, his hips swaying, fucking her mouth as he maintained his grip on the cord.

Isa's body convulsed, her hands clawing at the cord - more like on her own neck in an attempt to hook her fingers into the cord as she stifled around his invading cock, her saliva mixing with her cries.

The white dude's cock invaded her throat, stretching her mouth wide, while the black bastard's thick shaft breached her tight asshole, tearing through her sphincter.

The cord around her neck tightened, cutting off her air supply, making the penetration even more severe and sickening.

Isa's sphincter screamed in protest as his thick cockhead forced its way past the resistant muscle, producing a scream that was instantly muffled by the cock pounding her throat. 

Her body stiffened, every muscle clenching as her ass was stretched to its limits, accommodating the brutal invasion.

The black man’s hips surged forward, driving his cock deeper into her bowels. "Feel it in your fucking guts, right?”

Isa's eyes rolled back, her vision tunneling as her body struggled. The white man's cock pumped in and out of her mouth, his thick shaft sliding past her gag reflex, hitting the back of her throat.

"Look at her, loving it, stupid cunt. Can't get enough of our cocks, can you?"

The black man's cock, now buried balls-deep in her ass, began pounding, his hips slamming against her bruised ass. Her insides burned and stretched, her sphincter clenching and unclenching involuntarily around his shaft.

"You're mine, bitch, screaming for my cock in that ass of yours.”

Isa's body trembled, her nerves curling as her consciousness threatened to slip away into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. The dual penetration, the choking cord, and the nonstop battering pushed her to the brink of endurance. 

Her hands fell limp, her fingers scraping the dirty floor, her face turning an alarming shade of blue, her eyes pleading silently for an end to the torment.

Sensing her distress, the white man released the cord, allowing her to gasp for air, her lungs heaving. But the respite was fleeting as his cock continued its assault on her face, his pace wild.

Her throat ached and abused, tears mixing with the sweat and filth on her face. Her body shamed her, leaking urine from her neglected pussy, the warm yellow liquid mixing with the dirt on the floor, a testament to her broken spirit.

"Fuck, she's pissing herself, can't handle our cocks," the white man laughed.

Isa's mind screamed for release, her body yearning for the sweet escape of death, the violation too much to bear. The men showed no mercy, their pleasure heightened by her suffering, their cocks throbbing as they claimed every inch of her.

Black man unleashed a torrent of thick cum deep into her ass, his hips jerking as he filled her ruined bowels with his seed. White man's cock twitched and pulsed before firing his load down her throat, his pelvic slamming into her face.

Isa's throat worked to expel the cum from her mouth, a mixture of gagging and retching as she struggled to breathe and swallow at the same time. 

Black man withdrew his spent cock from her ass, and the cum that had been bubbling at her stretched hole now leaked out, mixing with the filth she produced down her thighs.

Her body twitched and spasmed, her limbs splayed out like a dying fish, but the peace lived a second. The two remaining men, their hard cocks ticking, stepped forward.

"Time to double-stuff this K-pop cunt,"  white man suggested.

Isa's eyes widened in horror as she realized their intention. They positioned themselves, one at her ass and the other at her pussy, their cocks poised to invade her ravaged holes. 

White man at her ass lined up his thick shaft with her gaping hole, now slick with cum and blood, and thrust forward, his cock sliding into her with ease, stretching her anus once more. 

At the same time, the black man at her pussy plunged his cock into her swollen, cum-dried cunt, his length sliding past her battered canal with ruthless force. Isa's body arched, her back bowing as she screamed around the new cock in her gaping mouth.

"Won't let you pass out, bitch," one man said, bringing another a syringe filled with a clear liquid. "You have to keep awake for every second of the fun."

The needle pierced her skin, injecting the drug into her system, forcing her eyes open, her body alert despite the overwhelming exhaustion and pain.

Her ass and pussy were now gaping, stretched beyond recognition. Her asshole, red and raw, twitched with each pulse of the cock inside her, her sphincter loose and unresponsive. 

Her pussy, swollen and bruised, leaked cum and blood, her inner walls pummeled and bruised from the continuous pounding.

Time lost all meaning for Isa. Days bled into weeks, and weeks into months. Her life now revolved around the cocks that invaded her body, her once vibrant self reduced to a shell, existing solely to envelop their cocks.

The pain, once excruciating, had faded to a dull numbness, her body broken and desensitized. Her eyes, once full of life and hope, now held only darkness and despair as her body jerked and spasmed, a living testament to their cruelty.

[yuesya]

“Hey! Over here!”

There’s a heavy storm going on; black thunderclouds rolling across the skies and blotting out the heavens above. The rain is so heavy that it’s impossible to make out individual droplets –it feels like there are bucketfuls of water hammering them down into the muddy ground, making each step forward more of a struggle than it already is.

Luckily, it seems that Arni had managed to find a small cave ahead, perfect for waiting out the torrential tempest. Brynja pauses to make sure that none of the children are falling behind, waving her other clansmen onward ahead of herself–

Lightning flashes, illuminating the terrible darkness. For one moment, Brynja can see in perfect detail the weariness on her clansmen’s faces, the tremble in their frames even as they grit their teeth and force themselves to move forward–

And, to the hills behind them, there is a white-haired stranger standing in the rain.

What?

Brynja is one of her tribe’s best archers; her eagle eyes don’t lie. For a single instant beneath the lightning’s glow, Brynja sees a white-haired stranger standing stock-still in the middle of a dangerous storm, and–

And Brynja is moving before she knows it.

“Asco, take over for me for a minute!”

“Brynja, you fucking–”

Asco’s words are drowned in the rumbling thunder that echoes around them, a terrifying roar that Brynja can physically feel down to her bones.

But Brynja is not called fleet-footed for nothing. She reaches her goal swiftly enough.

“Hey! You alright, stranger?” Brynja calls out as she approaches, “This storm is strong and dangerous to wait out with no cover. Would you like to seek shelter with us?”

Even through the gloom of darkness, the stranger’s silhouette is clearly visible –particularly so now that Brynja has closed the distance between them. It startles Brynja to realize that this is quite a young girl, lost and stranded by herself in the middle of a storm like this. Had she been separated from her own clan?

The thought strikes a pang of sympathy within her; Brynja herself was a lost child who’d been fortunate enough to be accepted into her clan when one of their scouts had come across her. Her memories of those times are faded, but there are faint snippets and pieces that she remembers from living like a wild child in the woods.

“Are you lost?” Brynja gentles her voice. “My clan can help.”

For a moment, the white-haired child does not respond. Then, the young girl moves, turning around–

“I’m not lost.”

–and oh, she’s quite pretty, isn’t she? There’s something that’s almost scary about those blue eyes of hers, too; Brynja is a seasoned hunter, and yet even just an idle gaze is enough to send shivers down her spine.

But this does not change the fact that she’s a child.

“If you’re not lost, then why are you standing by yourself in this storm like this?” Brynja coaxes patiently.

“… his voice.”

The wind whips wildly around them; Brynja had lost most of those words just now. “What?”

“I was listening for his voice,” the girl repeats herself quietly.

… She was listening for someone’s voice? In the middle of a storm?

Brynja feels a sudden burst of pity for the child, “There’s no one else out here, child.”

The strange girl shakes her head, “No. He’s still here.”

Brynja thinks that she’s starting to put the facts together: The girl had gotten separated from her clan in this storm, and was listening for a familiar voice in order to find her family. But as far as Brynja is aware, she and her clan are the only other humans around this part of the woods, so the girl must be quite lost.

But, it should be alright. “Even if you’re looking for someone, there’s no point getting yourself sick in the rain like this. Your clan must be headed for that new settlement around these parts too, right?”

“… New settlement?”

“Yup,” Brynja nods. “That’s where my clan is headed, too –apparently the god of these lands is powerful enough to keep their people safe from roaming beasts, so we’re also here to seek sanctuary, gods willing. If your people are headed for the same destination, then you’ll definitely be able to reunite with them there.”

The girl looks at Brynja for a moment, then turns away. “That’s unnecessary.”

Brynja huffs, “Now’s not the time for pointless pride; this storm is dangerous–”

Lightning flashes again. Brynja finds herself freezing, words cutting off on their own in her throat, because…

Why? Why is the girl smiling?

A soft little smile, no more than a slight curve of pale lips on a pale face.

“No storm is dangerous to me.”

… What does that mean? Brynja opens her mouth to ask–

“Brynja! Gods, Brynja, why did you suddenly just take off like that?”

Brynja whirls around, “Asco? Why are you–”

“Do you really need to ask that?” her fellow hunter gives her a withering look, then rolls his eyes and grabs her by the wrist. “C’mon, you’re the last one, let’s get out of this goddamned rain already.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Brynja struggles against her friend’s grip, “We need to help the kid–”

“What kid?”

“Are you blind? There’s a little girl… right… here…?”

Brynja trails off slowly. Because in the spot where that strange white-haired girl had been standing, there’s no one at all.

There’s nothing but empty rain, falling incessantly from the heavens.

Asco frowns, and reaches his other hand up to press against her forehead. “You’re not running a fever, are you?”

“I’m not hallucinating and seeing things!” Brynja knows what she saw. And she’d literally just been talking to the girl! … Even though the girl had somehow just… managed to disappear in the blink of an eye. What was up with that?

“If you say so,” Asco responds dubiously.

Brynja scowls, and kicks him in the shin.

“Motherfu–”

[readychilledwine]

2 Truths and a Lie

SJM Villain's Week - Day 3 - Deception

Summary - Having Hunt in his dungeon wasn't enough for his former friend. He wanted to hit him where it would hurt the most.

Warnings - Stealing, lying by omition, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetration, power play, boarding dubcon, manipulation, sir/sub dynamics, choking, dumdification, probably something I am missing

A/n - Happy Day 3 of @sjmvillainweek I, uh, plead the 5th

🗡Villain's Week Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

You were fucked.

Completely and utterly fucked.

You ran faster down the alley, just hoping you could maybe make it inside of a building and fall into a crowd. It wouldn't give you much of a chance, but it would have to be enough of one.

You had no clue what was chasing you, nor who had sent it, but the target on your back had only grown since Hunt disappeared.

You hadn't spoken to your brother in close to 4 years. The only reason you knew he was even still alive was due to whispers of rumors.

Rumors of him and some starborn half fae female.

Rumors of him breaking free of that thorned halo that haunted him.

Rumors he couldn't be bothered To text you or return a call to confirm.

Some brother.

You took a sharp left, sneaking into a shop in the Eternal City before slowing down. You had never been stupid, a rebellious teen turned into a far too street smart female. You quickly snuck a black short dress from a rack slipping into the dressing room undetected. You changed as quickly as you could, forcing jeans down your long legs with a pout.

They were your favorite. But sacrifices had to be made.

Hunt was blessed with lightning. You were blessed with shifting. Your hair went from a dark black to a soft strawberry blonde, freckles appearing as you finished zipping the dress and snuck back out of the fitting room, past the gossiping workers and out the door.

“You aren't as clever as you think you are,” a deep voice fell into step with you. “I can take you somewhere safe.” You glared up at the blonde malakh.

“Pollux,” you said coldly.

“Little viper,” his hands were in his pockets, the rhythmic pattern of you two walking becoming the only noise between The two of you as his left hand slipped to your waist, guiding you wordlessly to the so called safety he was offering.

The apartment building he walked you into was lavish. Columns stood tall to give it a grand feel, a marble floor, a front desk connected to the leasing office. Even the elevator had a guard that just nodded at Pollux as he pressed the button to open the doors before pressing a “P1” button that glowed white.

“Mr. Fancy Pants over here,” you muttered at him. “Pressing a penthouse button.”

Pollux only glanced at you, “You've grown up.” His eyes roamed every inch of you, “How much of this is what you actually look like?”

You shifted your hair back, long dark waves replacing the strawberry blonde, freckles fading. “The rest is me.”

His hum was soft, “Can't say I don't prefer the blonde.” The elevator ticked slower after rushing past floors, a soft ping as each number went by before it slowed down to a surprisingly smooth stop.

You could only scoff as the doors opened and he ushered you inside, “Good thing I do not live to please you, Pollux.”

“Don't you,” he sat, unbothered by the bite in your response, arms flexing. “Live to please me, I mean?”

He smirked as your tongue clicked, the two of you studying each other, mapping out any signs of weakness. He was tense muscle under golden skin, blonde hair, a chiseled face. Physically, you could not find a single thing you didn't find just absolutely stunning. He scratched his stubble lightly, “Not going to respond, little viper? Or perhaps I should call you something different? Snakes don't tend to change their scales, do they?”

“You could call me my name?”

“I could.”

“Where is my brother?”

Pollux paused at that, “You don't know?”

“Clearly not,” your tone was clipped. All your street smart did not necessarily prepare you for the type of male sitting in front of you. The kind that so easily leaned his elbows on his knees, thighs slightly spread as he began to watch you.

“Your brother is with the asteri. In the dungeon,” the answer was vague, but it fell into line with what you last truly knew about Hunt and his job. “He was tied up at the moment. He sent me as soon as we received information you were being chased down.”

You only nodded, hugging yourself slightly,

“I heard rumors of him with some girl-”

Pollux moved to you, your chin in his hand, “That are just rumors. He had a play thing for a bit. That's where that came from.”

“He never answers my calls?”

“He's busy,” Pollux moved his hand from your chin to the strands of hair hanging in your shoulder. “You are such a pretty little thing, you know that?”

He was far too close to yours, his face angled perfectly. Teenage you, the one who dreamed of hooking up with Hunt's friends out of spite, she was screaming.

“I have other qualities,” your voice was weaker than intended.

“I don't really care about those right now.”

You didn't have time to breathe before he was on you. The battle for dominance was useless for you. He manhandled you with ease, a hand on the back of your neck holding you exactly where Pollux wanted. His lips tasted like methol, be it from cigarettes or tooth paste you weren't sure.

Pollux was intoxicating. The air of danger that surrounded the Hammer was no lost on you. This male, this powerful being was one of the favored malakh. A male so few got away with fucking with. And right now, he was yours.

He lifted you with practiced ease, moving you to another room without breaking the messy kiss he had you in. Her dropped you unceremoniously on the bed ripping his own shirt. Before you could even move to touch him, he had both of your wrists in on hand, forcing you down and laying them above your head, “They stay here.” The tone of his voice would stay with you, that deep baritone aching in your bones. “You don't move until I say you can, do you understand.”

“Yes, sir,” his gaze shot to your face at your response, a brow raising as he smirked.

“Well, you have one trait over your brother.” The stolen dress was ripped off of you, cheap fabric easily splitting in two. “Obedience.”

Pollux was never above lying to get what he wanted, and what he wanted right now was you. Be if for vengeance, for another way to hurt Hunt, or just his own selfish greed to claim and dominate beautiful things.

He knew if you had known where Hunt truly was, his hands wouldn't be exploring every dip and curve of your body. He wouldn't be mapping each scar and freckle like he was discovering new land. No. He'd be very much missing this opportunity with you. He'd lie to his own grave for this.

Fucking the sister of his traitor friend?

Priceless.

Pollux gently squeezed your breasts, “You're going to be the best girl for me, aren't you? Listen well and do as I say?”

Your eyes had started to get the hazy unfocused look, lips slightly parted as you nodded and looked at him. Heat had settled deep into your body, flowing through your veins like liquid fire. That feeling was becoming a drug. One you'd so rarely felt, but he was bringing out of you so easily.

Pollux began to kiss your jawline, memorizing every noise, every sensitive spot. He'd whisper them in your brother's ear later, brag to him about how he bit the spot just below your ear and you gasped for him, back arching like a desperate whore as he toyed with you. He would mark every inch of you, ripping at tender flesh on your neck until it bruised.

Each motion put your scent on him, his on you.

His kissed went lower, licking your collarbones before nipping the left the the right. His tongue licking down your chest until he reached his first destination. Pollux held eye contact with you as he licked the first sensitive bud, sucking your right nipple until it formed a perfect peak in his mouth. Once he was satisfied there, he switched sides, drinking in the noises you made for him as chills went through your body.

“Sensitive little thing,” he whispered the words into your skin, voice deep with his own lust. “You like when I kiss your body, princess?”

“Yes sir,” it was more of a moan than words, one slightly pained as he bit your side, flicking his tongue to soothe the mark he'd left on your ribcage.

His journey down your body didn't stop until your thighs sat over his wide shoulders, “Let's see if you taste as sweet as you're acting.” Torture. It was torture as his tongue dragged through you, licking at your most sensitive place. Pollux considered eating pussy an art form. One he so rarely treated Lidia to, but you, you he would savor. Licking every inch of you until he had his fill. Your clit, your entrance, you so frequently ignored labia. Pollux treated tasting you like he had paid for a 5 star meal. It had your toes curling as he moaned against you, your body arching.

That tightness you knew all too well began to settle In your stomach as he threw his forearm over your hips, stopping you from moving. He caught you whispering his name, the sound of it making him feel as if he were a god. One finger pushed into you, curling up to find your spot as he began running figure 8s with his tongue up and down your clit.

You were not silent when you unexpectedly came. You were a tidal wave, a silent scream falling into whimpers as he praised you through your high, his thumb and finger working at you bringing you down gently as he prepared you for his aching cock.

He couldn't get his pants off fast enough for either of you, regretting his choice to leave them on. He'd never felt this anxious during sex before. He was a confident male, cocky even. But you clearly saw why once he was bare. He gave you a look when your wrists moved, a silent warning of his earlier command. “What did I say?”

“They stay above my head, sir.” He followed your line of sight, smirked as he realized that your eyes were in him, hungry and waiting.

“That's my Good Girl,” he settled between your thighs, one leg being forced around his waist while the other went over his shoulder. “Breathe for me,” he wasn't gentle once he knew he was lined up. He entered you in one movement, watching as your eyes squeezed shut another scream tumbling from your lips as his heavy length filled every inch of you.

He was kind enough to give you a moment to breathe and adjust before one roll of his hips became another then another. The pace increased more and more as you laid there helpless to do anything but let him take and take, pulling you apart at the seams. He was shameless in this mission, his sole goal now to make your warm walls flutter around him. His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him, “You watch me when I fuck you. Got it?” He smirked at your wordlessly nodding, the moans falling from your lips as he held your face there before moving that grip to your throat.

Pollux was electrical. He was magnetic. He was a force of nature, a storm you should have been afraid of, but here you were, below him, calling him sir as he overpowered you. The hand not holding your throat held your hip, forcing you to meet every movement he made, rougher and harder with each passing second.

You'd never last like this, not with the sight of his wings flaring behind him, feeling like some form of damnation instead of the salvation they were believed to represent. And Pollux knew. He could feel your body's response, feel you hugging him tighter, your walls beginning to twitch. He saw the moment your brain shut off, the moment he made you go cock dumb.

He decided then and there he would not kill you.

You were of no use to him dead.

This apartment was his, he would keep you here. Alive, aching, yearning. His new favorite toy.

“Please sir, may I come?” And those 5 words sealed that fate.

“You may, princess.” Pollux watched as you fell apart for him. He watched and counted each rule you broke. Hands moving you grip the wrist squeezing your throat. 2 spankings he'd give you later, swearing. Another spanking. Not thanking him. Another.

He counted each of those things again as he shut off the light, leaving you sleeping in his bed as he redressed without shower. The ride down to the dungeon felt like it was taking far too long, his smirk growing as he entered the room Hunt, Ruhn, and Baxian were hung up in. Pollux simply walked close to Hunt saying nothing as the shell of the Umbra Mortis sniffed him, his face falling farther as he did.

“Don't fucking touch her!”

“Already did,” Pollux replied smoothly as Athalar pulled on his chains, a new fire in him. “And I will again.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[procyonloser]

"I'll show you," Adam promised Sera, the woman who had raised him all these years. "I'll come back with gold and jewels, spices and the finest linens."

Sera tried to sit up, but her health was failing her. She'd not been back to the water in far too long, and it showed on her body. She'd grown gaunt, eyes sunken in - not that Adam would ever know the true reason. He'd never forgive her if he found out what she was, not after how his parents had died.

"Adam, the sea is treacherous, your crew is inexperienced-" She tried to tell him, but he was already letting the door to their shack fall closed; he only had eyes on the water and the promise of what lay beyond it. Sera knew better than anyone, there were hands waiting out there in the depths, waiting to grab hold of young men with strong ambitions.

Adam coughed, spluttering as his head breached the water surface. He was trying to find his bearings, but the clouds covered the stars and the moon, and the sea was rough. It pushed and pulled him, crashing over his head and shoulders again and again. The skies had been clear all day and into the night, until the sounds of screaming alerted him. Then, a great crash came, and the eerie silence followed by groaning of wood, splintering hulls.

A streak of lightning lit up the sky, enough to see that their vessel was nothing but a remnant of bow and mast across rocks that should have been easy to avoid. Adam grabbed hold of a piece of wood, trying to paddle in the dark to look for other survivors. He hadn't seen the man he'd bumped into, but he heard him muttering to himself.

"They weren't there, they weren't there, they weren't there, the sirens came, they came, the sirens came and ate-"

Adam shook his head, trying to reach out to him, but silence fell, and when lightning struck again, he saw no one. He cursed to himself, and debated swimming to the rocks, knowing he'd likely get crushed against them by the waves, but he couldn't stay in the ocean for hours. Why had this gone so wrong? What had happened?

The lightning struck again, followed by a rumble, and in the light, Adam thought he saw a pale face not more than a few yards off, stark against the darkness of the water. Adam tried to swim towards it, but something bumped against his foot, feeling like a hand around his ankle.

Suddenly, Adam was below the water, and the chaos of the storm fell to muffles, calm and still.

A face in front of his tilted it's head, looking Adam over. It wasn't until that moment, Adam realized the being had an unearthly glow about it, like the morning star. It was a bone white, with red eyes, smaller than Adam's frame, but it had a long tail, and six red fins spread out behind it like wings. It reached out, touching Adam's face. He wanted to pull away, but he was quickly running out of air. He let out a bubble, clutching at his chest. The creature grinned at him, teeth sharp and in lines of rows - a predator.

Before it leaned in, kissing him, and pushing air deep into his lungs.

When Adam awoke, he found himself on a beach, a port within walking distance. He had no idea how he'd arrived, how he'd survived, but he could only believe it was the work of a higher power - an angel, watching over his immortal soul.

As Adam stumbled into town, shopkeeps on the outskirts of the village looked upon him with shock and horror. A woman pulled her children away from him, and a man boarded up the front of his wares. They whispered as he went past, and none would speak to him, not until he passed an old man, sitting outside what looked like a pub. His face was reddened from drink, and pockmarked from sun and age.

"Son, they'll be coming back for you." He said, and Adam frowned.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Adam asked, brows furrowed.

"The black spot - you've been marked. It'll come for you again." Adam froze, looking down at his body. Black rings of script in a tongue he didn't speak wrapped around his ring finger. "A siren has taken you for her husband."

Adam looked up from his hand, to the old drunken man. "...It wasn't a woman."

"Then," he said with a broken croak of a laugh. "You'll be a fine wife, in the kingdom below the sea."

[maxybabyy]

The power has been out for an hour when he finds the kid looming around in the hallway.

He’s in the same old NYU shirt that Daniel always sees him in. The shoulder seams hang loose from his frame, and there’s a giant hole in the sleeve, big enough to fit a thumb through if you tried. Max must have done that before, he thinks, chewing away at the strings. The silly plastic thing is gone too, leaving nothing but the frayed tips.

“I reckon it’s gonna be out for a while,” he says when Max just keeps staring at the emergency light flicker. The one fucking thing this shitty building actually has. Maintenance is shit, and he’s pretty sure there’s a new species of black mould growing in the hallway window. But at least their little void on the seventh floor follows the safety guidelines.

He taps his socked foot against Max’s scruffy sneakers, watches him turn around with a frown.

“I was playing with my friends, and then the electricity went out. I thought it was for me only, so I checked the fuses,” Max tells him with his hands high in the air, his fingers flicking along with his words. Daniel doesn’t even know where he would look for the fuse box in his shithole of a studio. “But it is of course the entire building. I think maybe it is the lightning,” he adds.

“Nah, the building is just shit,” Daniel tells him. “If it’s not a water leak or a fucking rat problem, it’s the power. Same old shit and they won’t fix it. Just wait until winter when the heating will go away too.”

Daniel has learned to keep himself busy when the snow starts falling. LA, in particular, is great around Christmas when New York becomes too unbearable.

“I was here in the winter also,” Max says, gestures to door where he lives like Daniel doesn’t already know. “It was so nice of you, giving me a Christmas present. I of course had not bought you anything, but you said –“

Blake had dropped off the newest batch of merch samples right around New Year’s, and they had all been shit. The design was wrong, and the colour palette was completely off. They still haven’t gotten the peach the right colour, but the other shit looks fine now. Back then Max had – he would walk around in the same fucking shirt he’s wearing now. Skinny jeans frayed at the hem in a way they aren’t supposed to be, a rolodex of white tee shirts from Target, and a thin, barely-there windbreaker to fend off the cold.

Daniel had given him the leftover merch, he had to. There was no fucking way he couldn’t do it.

He taps Max’s shoe again, watches him crack a grin before he nods his head towards his apartment. “Do you wanna come in? I just have like, a candle and shit, but we can chill until the power comes back.”

Max nods and follows him inside.

Daniel doesn’t offer him a beer, sips at the can while they both watch the flicker of the wick. He doesn’t have another candle, so this one will have to last, the whispers of sea breeze faint between them.

He’s telling Max about his latest gig – some dive bar with a shitty ironic name like Cheers or Sam’s, or shit like that – when Max reaches out to poke at the candle. His skin looks glowing in the candlelight, a warm contrast to Max’s usual pale skin. His fingers look long, elegant as they curl around the candle, his thumb stroking over the dripping wax like it was –

“Daniel?” Max prompts, eyes flickering from the wick to his face and back again, “The drummer is of course an idiot, but it went alright, you said?”

Daniel jerks back into the couch. He swallows loudly. Tries and fails to convince himself he hadn’t been zoning out on the kid’s hands like a fucking weirdo. Safety first, he thinks faintly, can’t have a fucking fire during a power outage.

Max keeps playing with the candle wax, making it drip down onto Daniel’s shitty white wood Ikea table he had carried home in the subway. But every time he touches it, Max sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth, presses down to make it run faster, and Daniel cannot find it in himself to stop him.

Max’s in the middle of a story about his family dog back in the Netherlands, when he accidentally touches the flame. He’s quick to pull back, hissing loudly as he sucks his pointer and middle finger into his mouth with a muddled, “Fuck!”

“Careful!” Daniel scolds. He’s already halfway across the couch reaching for him like a fucking mother hen. But instead of his hand, Daniel grabs onto Max’s thigh in his panic, the muscle firm in his grip. Max watches him back, flexes his thigh as he sucks the fingers deeper into his obnoxiously big, oddly fitting mouth, and Daniel cannot keep – has to look away.

Stares at Max’s knees instead, awkward and protruding and littered with odd bruises.

Daniel wonders how he got them, forces himself to think of less nefarious reasons for how they could appear. Once, Daniel had gotten so drunk that Scotty couldn’t get him to come down from the bar, dancing away until he felt dizzy with exhaustion and drink.

Back then, when his body had been young and spry, he had slammed to his knees before swinging his legs to the side to get off the bar. They had been black and blue for a week before his knees had recovered.

But Max doesn’t let him ponder for long, slides to the floor in a move impossibly fluid for someone to not have done it a hundred times over. He’s quick to reach for Daniel's jeans, one hand still spit-slick as he pulls at the zipper, and Daniel has to – cannot let him do this.

“Hey, mate,” he says, laughs nervously. “Aren’t you like sixteen or something?”

Once, he had tried to give the kid a twenty so he could buy himself some food for the night. Gaunt cheeks and lanky body a cruel reminder of his own teens. Refusing money from Grace and Joe to prove he hadn’t screwed up by running away to America to make it big.

But the kid didn’t take the money and had instead stared at him, brows drawn together much like he is now. “I’m nineteen,” he says.

“In a year or two, maybe.” Daniel scoffs. But still, he doesn’t move. Max’s hand stays on his dick, heavy and warm despite the temperature of the apartment. “Be real, man. I’m fine with you sticking around but –“

Max snarls. He stays on his knees, but Daniel cannot meet his eyes, stares himself blind where his jeans have become undone. “Always you do this. You are so kind to me, flirting with me, but then you run away when I respond!

“Now you ask me to come to your apartment, with the mood lighting also, and again you will not touch me. This is not fair, Daniel.” Max says and digs his nails into his thighs, forces Daniel to look at him – at the furious glare and the too-red lips.

It’s unfair how good he looks sitting between Daniel’s spread thighs. There’s a dusting of pale, blonde hair at the top of his thighs where his shorts have crawled up, and his entire face is flushed with emotion. It’s all Daniel can do to not put a better name to it – the death of creativity for once not a foe. His cheekbones sit high and sharp on his face, a mole on his lip revealed only when Max doesn’t bite into it, looking so fucking pretty.

Maybe that’s why he’s here of all places. Scouted off the fucking streets and put in a shitty apartment in some mirror nightmare of Daniel’s, waiting impatiently for Vogue to call.

Max is still staring at him, and Daniel doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He’s not going to fucking card Max in his own apartment, that’s a cunt move. Max would probably throw the card in his face, if he asked, indignant little glare before he would lean in and –

“Yeah, alright,” he whispers but it’s enough. Max hears him, and he does lean in to pull his jeans the rest of the way off.

Max takes him into his mouth, lips stretched around the head almost obscenely, and suddenly Daniel has to force himself to close his eyes shut. It’s too much already, watching Max take him even deeper into his mouth as his head thumps back against the couch. He clearly knows what he’s doing, relaxing his throat as he goes. His hands are firm on Daniel’s hips, keeping a steady pressure until Daniel gets with the programme and fucks into his mouth.

He barely has the time to let Max know before he’s coming. But Max doesn’t move, keeps him on his tongue until his mouth is full and Max has to swallow.

“Shit, Maxy,” he moans, thighs still shaking as Max climbs to his feet. “You’re not. You don’t have to –“ But Max doesn’t leave, drops into Daniel’s lap with his shorts abandoned on the floor.

Max jerks himself off with one hand balanced on Daniel’s shoulder. It’s closer than Daniel’s been to someone else’s dick in years, since Scotty got down on one knee and fucked everything up. A cock is a cock is a cock, but Max’s dick looks almost pretty held in his own fist.

It makes him think of the fucking candle from before, how the wax had dripped between his fingers, and how quick he had been to suck them into his mouth, like he had just done to Daniel, to his dick.

“Daniel,” Max begs, watches Daniel watch him fuck into his own hand desperately. “Please.”  

“Okay, yeah. I got you, Maxy.” He says and slips his fingers into Max’s mouth. It’s only the first two, but his dick still jerks at the reminder of the warm heat of Max’s mouth, the tight pressure and how his tongue cannot keep still. Max whines when he pulls them out, shoots him another furious look that is quickly replaced with a shout when Daniel brushes over his hole. “Like that, yeah?”

Max nods, eyes wide for another moment before they screw themselves shut as he comes with another sound. It’s another few minutes before Max speaks again, the words muffled against Daniel’s chest where he still hasn’t moved. “What’s that?”

Max huffs and sits upright, rubs at the spot on Daniel’s shirt where his dick has left a smear. “I said, the lights are back.” He says, gestures to the room now bathed in light.

“Oh.” Daniel couldn’t tell you when that happened, if it was before Max went to his knees or after. The candle still flickers behind them, pools of wax already hardened on the wood. “I guess they are, yeah.”

[inoreuct]

punkflower where miles is usually holding back when he fights; he normally uses 20-30% of his full power but when he gets REALLY mad his eyes glow dark blue and lightning crackles between his fingers.

it's terrifying.

hobie also finds it incredibly hot.

// mild blood + injury, miles going god mode

Hobie swung himself around the corner just in time to avoid the slab of concrete crashing down on where he’d been two seconds ago, hissing as he gripped his side. “Bugger,” he muttered, panting as he slid down the wall.

There was a piece of glass sticking out of his gut. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, but then again, how much blood was too much blood? His vest scraped unpleasantly against the brick as he yanked his mask off and tried to figure out how he was going to do this. From the way it felt it was, what, four? Five inches long? He giggled weakly.

Maybe he was approaching too much blood territory.

He sobered up and forced his back straight, gritting his teeth as he pinched the shard with blood-slick fingers; it made a horrible wet sound as he pulled it out slowly, a pained noise cracking out of his throat as he slumped against the wall and tossed it aside.

Fuck, that stung. He dug the heels of his palms into the cold, hard ground, blinking hard as his vision swam, vaguely aware of the fight still going on around him—

“—obie!”

Right. Miles was still out there—

His boyfriend dropped down from above, sticking the landing neatly and yanking his mask off.

…Or not.

Miles’s face was dirt-smudged, hair a mess as he knelt down to press his palms to Hobie’s wound. “This is a lot of blood.”

“S’fine, love.” Shit, was he slurring? “Nothin’ I ain’t handled before.” Hobie offered a shaky grin and got an arched brow in return.

“Stay here,” Miles said, unimpressed as he grabbed Hobie’s hand to replace his own. “I’m gonna finish this.”

“Wh— Come off it, I can still fight!”

That might have been a lie, actually; it would be absolutely pathetic to get taken out by a literal piece of glass and his healing factor was good, but there was—he looked down—a frankly concerning amount of blood on his clothes.

“You are going to stay the hell down before you pass out.”

Hobie swallowed as Miles leveled him with a cool gaze, the hints of something luminescent deep in his irises. His boyfriend stood gracefully and he gave up on protesting, getting comfortable against the wall. “Go easy on ‘em,” he muttered, lips curling up as electricity sparked between Miles’s fingers, snapping like hungry hunting dogs.

“Nah,” Miles replied, absolutely nonchalant, and it just made Hobie grin wider. “I was already getting annoyed. Now you’re hurt—” he pulled his mask down, the smell of ozone seeping into the air. “And now I’m pissed.”

Hobie smirked as he watched Miles sling a web and jump back into the chaos. This was gonna be over so quick.

As Spider-People, they were used to pulling their punches— if they lost control of their strength they could cause some serious damage, but Miles?

Miles was something else entirely.

He rarely ever used more than a third of the power he had, and the one time he’d tried amping it up at HQ he had practically obliterated the training room. Even now as Hobie peeked around the corner, he could almost taste it on his tongue; Miles didn’t do this often, hardly ever got mad or got serious, because there simply wasn't a need to. But when he did?

Ooh, boy.

The silver-blue sparks crackling over Miles’s suit were the only thing that belied his calm countenance. Hobie knew that if he were to pull off his mask, his eyes would be glowing; a dark, deep blue, threaded through with white like lightning forking across a night sky.

What little surviving street lights around them flickered and dimmed as Miles tapped their energy, charging himself up like a battery, drinking it in until it webbed across his body like ley lines glowing blinding against his skin.

For a fraction of a second it all went pitch black.

And then someone flipped the switch back on, and Hobie shielded his eyes as Miles exploded like a star.

*

It was dead silent, save for Hobie’s laboured breathing; he could feel his wound knitting together but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, Christ. He tipped his head back against the brick as Miles landed in front of him with a thwip, mask already off, eyes wild with the remnants of lightning and adrenaline. Hobie whistled, teeth gleaming. “Well ain’t that a pretty sight.”

“Shut up,” Miles groaned, shaking his head good-naturedly as he folded himself to the ground, settling against Hobie’s uninjured side. “...You gonna be okay?”

“Y’know I will, love.” He pressed a kiss to Miles’s forehead, still overly-warm, tasted the sour salt of electricity metallic on his skin. “All wrapped up?”

“Mm,” Miles hummed quietly, sinking closer with a tired sigh. “They’re all out cold, dropped Miguel a text. Dios, I’m starving.” He tilted his head to look up at Hobie, gently lacing their fingers together. “Stay for dinner? My mama’s making arroz con gandules.”

Hobie made an affronted noise. “I’d never give up a chance to have your mother’s cooking. A god, that woman is.” He laughed when Miles laughed, letting the other boy’s warmth burn away the ache in his side. “‘Course I’ll stay.”

“Good,” Miles murmured, soft and sure, cheek pressing into Hobie’s shoulder as he curled into the arm Hobie wrapped around his waist.

And when Hobie kissed him, he tasted like static; like lightning in his blood, racing over his scalp, white-hot electric against his tongue and all the way down his spine, a fleeting lick of flint against steel.

Fuck, it never got old.

Hobie had a feeling he’d spend the rest of his life chasing that spark, and he didn’t mind one bit.

fin.

[barbex]

Dorian mentions Templars using lyrium smell like a lightning strike — and that it’s apparently quite attractive. Mayhaps many mages have a love-hate relationship with Templars because of this, or individual covered in lyrium *cough* Fenris *cough*.

Do I smell “a special scent of [lyrium]” fenders prompt for DADWC? 👀

Oh yes!! Great prompt, thank you. For @dadrunkwriting, a fenders fic about Anders smelling Fenris.

---

“In scents and smells, we trap our memories.” Anders wracks his brain whoever had said that to him in his past. It had to be in the Circle, he can practically smell the dust of ancient tomes and old desks as he hears the words in his mind. How ironic that he connects to the past with memories of scent as he thinks about what that current smell is. 

There’s the smell of elfroot, that he ground into paste and smeared on various scrapes and injuries of his companions. There’s the scent of wildflowers and moss as they trot along the Sundermount path. There is, of course, the smell of sweat and dried blood, because you just can’t step outside of Kirkwall for five minutes without running into someone stupid enough to attack a group of two warriors, a dwarf with a terrifying crossbow, and a mage. Granted, said mage tries to look inconspicuous, but the elf with a sword bigger than himself should clue anyone in on their chances.

Said elf is a fascinating package of contradictions. He loudly proclaims how much he hates mages and Anders in particular, but still protects him in a fight. He is annoying, bigoted, bloody gorgeous, and he smells — he smells like thunderstorms and power. 

Even Justice stirs when Fenris walks by, a strange sensation somewhere in the back of Anders’ mind, an area he can usually ignore quite nicely. But not today. Not when, once again, someone steps in their way, weapons drawn, and the markings on Fenris’ arms start to glow. 

Thunderstorms and power. 

As he stares, breathing in the scent, a memory finally clicks into place. Lyrium. This is the scent of lyrium. Bottled mana power and danger all in one. At once he is back in the classroom, when the First Enchanter gave each of them a drop of lyrium potion, how it coursed through his veins, how for a moment, he felt so free. Then someone set a table on fire and the resulting firefighting of overeager and lyrium potioned teenagers flooded the whole building. 

Distracted by the memory, he misses the exchange up front, where Hawke argues with some men. Fenris stands by her side, practically vibrating with fury, and Anders steps closer. The scent emanating from him is intoxicating. 

Thunderstorms and power. 

“I am no slave,” Fenris snarls. His body glows blinding white, leaving a white afterimage as he disappears and reappears next to the slaver in the blink of an eye, plunging his fist into his chest and pulling out his heart. It still beats sluggishly in his hand as his markings dim. 

Anders finds himself on his knees. He doesn’t know how it happened, but his knees gave out and he nearly came in his fucking pants when Fenris glowed up white. 

“Are you alright?” Hawke asks, holding her hand out to help him up. 

Anders waves her off. “Yeah, just give me a second. Just got hit with some strange nausea.” No way he can stand up right now. The tent in his trousers is much too obvious. 

After a few calming breaths and discreet adjustments of his clothes, he follows the group at a distance, watching Fenris’ back. How can one person have so much lyrium in their body and still live? How can he use it like that, without his power diminishing, and how can Anders possibly survive being next to him when he gets a fucking boner every time Fenris starts his disappearing light act?

He has plenty of opportunity to find out because they run into someone who Fenris knows. A woman who tormented him, and the smell coming from her is just blood magic. It’s a brutal fight and the bitterness of the blood magic distracts Anders enough from Fenris’ scent. Anders needs all his tricks to fight her evil magic. At last, Fenris pulls out her heart, and Anders bites the inside of his cheek to cover his body’s reaction.

There is some yelling, Fenris saying something about magic spoiling everything, but Anders can’t pay attention. He can only stare, willing his cock to calm the fuck down.

Hawke puts her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way.”

“Ehm, yeah, sure.” Anders pretends to search for a potion in his bag, pulling the edge of his coat over his crotch. Grand Cleric Elthina on a donkey, I cannot not fuck him.

“What did you say?” Hawke asks.

“Nothing. I gotta go.” 

The door to Fenris’ mansion is not locked. “Fenris?” he calls as he goes inside.

“What do you want, mage?” Fenris’ tone is less aggressive than he expected.

“Are you alright?” 

“What does it matter to you?”

“It matters, you prickly bastard.” He takes a breath as he steps closer, smelling blood and lyrium. “Where are you hurt?” 

Fenris stares at the floor, his hands twitching, until he finally takes his armor off. At his side, just below his ribs, blood trickles down. He looks at Anders. “How did you know?”

“Blood has a smell and I have a good nose.” Anders steps closer, taking a bottle of clear spirit and a clean bandage from his bag. “I have to clean that and if you let me, I can heal the cut.” 

“Do it.” 

Fenris’ eyes never leave him as he works. This close, his scent is even stronger. 

“What are you doing?” 

Only now Anders realizes that he closed his eyes, still breathing in Fenris’ scent. The healing is done and he takes a step back. “Sorry, you smell really good.”

Fenris’ eyes narrow. “I smell?”

“Of lyrium,” Anders hurries to say. There is no good way to have this conversation, so he just runs on. “Lyrium smells nice, attractive to mages. Sorry, that’s probably not something you wanted to know. I’m just gonna go.” He turns to leave, but Fenris’ hand closes around his arm like a vise. 

“I already knew that. What are you going to do about this now?” There is something different in Fenris’ voice, something that makes Anders feel protective.

“Do? Nothing. Why should I do something?” 

Fenris’ grip loosens on his arm. “Danarius wanted me to be enticing, he made me spread my scent around to —”

“Eww, fuck, that sick bastard, yuck.” Anders grabs an open wine bottle from the table and takes a big gulp. “Well, that killed all that. I’m just —”

Like a blinding white wraith, Fenris glows. Anders is instantly hard. 

“Fuck.” Anders quickly turns to hide his raging boner. He has to get out, before Fenris realizes what happened and rightfully kills him. Glass shattering behind him stops his escape. As he turns, the smell of fresh blood hits him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Blood drips from Fenris’ hand, in the other hand a broken bottle. “Heal me.” He holds his hand out, glaring at Anders.

“Sure.” Ignoring the tightness in his pants, Anders goes back to Fenris, calling on his magic to remove glass shards from Fenris’ hand, before he heals the cut. It’s a deep cut, he needs to focus to realign the layers. “Whatever did you do that for?”

A sound like a whimper comes from Fenris. Anders looks up. Fenris’ cheeks are red, the tips of his ears nearly glow and his breath comes in short pants. Anders’ second look goes down to Fenris’ pants, noticing a very clear bulge. “My healing?”

“Yes.” Fenris wraps his fingers around Anders’ hand and pulls him closer. “My lyrium?” 

His markings glow, the scent of thunderstorm filling Anders’ senses. He falls forward against Fenris’ shoulder with a shudder. “Yes.”

Fenris pulls him closer, his hard cock pressing against Anders’. He whispers into his ears, “I don’t know if I can be gentle.”

Anders lets his magic flow, his fingertips glowing with electricity. “I don’t want you to.” 

Fenris gasps and the air crackles like thunder and lighting.

[mamawasatesttube]

11 timkon for the devotion ask 😁

11. “I’ve already died once. I would do it a thousand times over again to keep you safe.”

also prompted by @blueforget-me-not, @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write, and @chaoxfix !! (phew this one's popular!)

"Absolutely not."

"Tim—"

Tim whirls on him, glaring. "You," he hisses, jabbing one finger into the S-shield on Kon's chest, "are vulnerable to magic. That thing," and he points at the unnatural, glowing storm raging outside, "is full of insanely powerful magic that could fucking kill you. You're not fucking going."

Kon's jaw is set in that infuriatingly stubborn way of his; the glint in his eyes is nothing short of mulish. "Somebody has to get to the middle to stop that wizard freak. It's only gonna get worse if we don't do anything. And Cassie's already hurt. I'm going."

Not for the first time, Tim curses his own vulnerability. Curses that he's the best pilot among the four of them. Curses that the storm is raging too fiercely to just leave the plane on autopilot. Kon is determined to throw himself into harm's way, and Tim can't even come with him.

He turns back to the controls, glances at the anemometer; the wind is still rising. Ominous purple lightning crackles across the clouds all around them. The image of Kon flying down towards the sorcerer only to get struck from the sky by three hundred million volts of magic flashes through Tim's mind; it takes more self-control than he'd like to admit to not flinch.

"Cassie's hurt because she already tried confronting him directly, alone." At least his voice comes out steady, if a bit taut. "You think it'll go better if you do it instead?"

Another lightning strike shoots by, so close it nearly knocks the plane from the sky. As it is, everything outside goes bright white and the sensors scream; by the time Tim wrests the plane back under control, they've dropped five hundred feet, and he can see the churning, frothy waves down below.

Shit.

"At the very least, I can distract him while you find a place to land safely," Kon says, ever-so-graciously not rising to the bite in Tim's voice. "'Cuz you're talking a big game about me getting killed, but it looks to me like just trying to fly out here is probably gonna get you killed. And I mean, I've already died once. I'd do it a thousand times over again to keep you safe."

It would have been kinder if he just punched Tim in the gut.

For a moment, he can't breathe; panic and hurt and fury and terror all sweep through him in an excruciating rush, and his grip tightens on the throttle so hard it hurts.

"Really?" he hears himself say, lashing out in automatic self-defense. He hates this, hates fighting with Kon, hates what he's about to say because he knows it's cruel, but he can't stop himself in time as the words pour out. "You'd put me through the survivor's guilt and the grief and everything you know I went through once already, a thousand times over? Didn't know you had that kinda viciousness in you." He laughs humorlessly. "Kinda impressed, if I'm being honest."

For a moment, there's nothing but the sounds of beeping sensors and the howling wind. For a moment, Tim is terrified Kon has just vanished, thrown himself into the heart of the storm without another word—

But then warm, strong arms wrap around his shoulders and chest, and Kon's cheek presses against his hair, and Tim can breathe again. Kon is leaning over the back of his chair and just holding him, and Tim can breathe.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it, Rob," Kon murmurs. His breath against Tim's ear sends a shiver down his spine. "But I... you're right. I shouldn't have said... I mean, I... well, we can—we can talk about all that later. Right now, let's just..."

"Sorry." Tim takes one hand from the yoke to lay it over Kon's wrist, just for a moment. His heart is still thundering in his chest, a mirror of the storm outside; he doesn't need to ask to know whether Kon knows. "I didn't mean it. You're not—you're the kindest person I know."

"Tim." Kon holds him a little tighter. "It's okay, dude. Let's just focus on getting outta here for now, yeah?"

Getting out of here. Not confronting the sorcerer. Tim sucks in a breath. They do need to get Cassie some medical help, and some time to strategize can't hurt. Hopefully, he won't grow too powerful before they can double back and take him out.

"Okay," he says, and rubs his thumb over the pulse point in Kon's wrist before reluctantly dropping his hand back to the yoke. The wind outside buffets them relentlessly, despite even the formidable stabilizing tech built into the Batplane; he can't afford to keep his hands off it for too long.

Lightning flashes again. It's a little easier not to flinch.

"I'll run distraction outside," Kon says. "But I promise I won't confront him. Just get you a little breathing room to fly."

Anxiety spikes again in his chest, but Tim nods. He trusts Kon, and Kon is more than capable of playing a distraction while keeping a safe distance. "...Be careful."

Kon somehow, breathtakingly, manages to laugh despite it all. "C'mon, Rob, you know me. When am I not?"

He drops a quick kiss to the top of Tim's head, then vanishes before Tim has the chance to answer. Tim misses his warmth immediately.

It's fine. He'll hold Kon to that promise to talk later. For now, all that's left to do is to make it out of the storm.

50 Prompts About Devotion

[flaggermuser]

Something That's Mine

Homelander x Luna (Supe OC)

Prompt: Thunderstorm/Peace offering/Unexpected gifts

1,903 words || Thunderstorms, Enemies to Cordial, References to Child Exploitation and Financial Child Abuse, Self-Hatred ||

This takes place in the year between S2 & 3. Luna is a moon-powered supe whose powers are tied to the lunar cycle.

Special thanks to @devilander for being my beta

Divider by Firefly-Graphics

“BECAUSE I’M A FUCKING PRODUCT!”

The words echo through her penthouse as Luna stands there, her body rigid, angry tears welling up in her eyes. He just couldn’t leave her alone, could he? No, Homelander just had to keep pushing and pushing until she eventually snapped.

Screaming at Homelander is probably the worst idea in the entire world, but right now Luna fears nothing.

“The ONLY reason I was chosen is because my powers are ‘unique’ enough to draw attention away from the fucking disaster that was Stormfront.”

Her heart is hammering away in her chest, every single fibre of her being is telling her to stop but her mouth is open and the words are spilling out.

“I’m a supe whose powers are tied to the fucking moon and Vought turned that into a fucking gimmick, more so than it was before. So here I fucking am, advertising fucking diva cups and reading fucking horoscopes like that means anything other than pure bullshit.”

Her fists are clenched tight. Without her gloves, her nails are biting into the skin of her palms hard enough to draw blood that drips through her glowing fingers and onto the floor.

She knows full well he can kill her, part of her wants to bait him into doing so, to end her miserable existence.

“And people have the gall to call this a gift.” She clenches her teeth, letting out a laugh that proves she’s at her limit, almost ready to fall over the edge. “It’s a fucking curse.”

“My ENTIRE life I have been nothing but an object to be used for monetary gain. Little Moonflower, Moonbeam, even Luna, the name I chose for myself, has been corrupted by greed. I have never had anything, not one little fucking thing actually belongs to me. So I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful, but I DON’T WANT TO FUCKING BE HERE!”

The last words are screamed loud enough for the whole of Vought Tower to hear, not that Luna cares. She’s never cared.

“So fuck you. Fuck Ashley. Fuck Stan fucking Edgar. Fuck Vought and FUCK COMPOUND V!”

Homelander’s face is emotionless, he’s just standing there, staring at her. So she waits for the retaliation, for this to turn from words into violence, for him to smear her remains on every surface of the penthouse. But instead, he turns and walks away without a word.

Eventually, the adrenaline runs out and she falls to the floor, wailing while the tears fall from her tired eyes. After all these years she’s finally told someone how she feels. At last, a weight has been lifted from her shoulders only for the unending loneliness and emptiness to seep in like an infection.

She exhausts herself, falling asleep on the cold floor, curled up in the foetal position like she’s done so many times before.

Always a product, never a person.

There’s a thunderstorm over New York.

Luna sits on her designated seat at the conference table in the Seven boardroom, the rain lashing the windows while the lightning illuminates the room, bathing it in a bright white light. Even when she was a little girl, there was something about thunderstorms that always soothed her and, after the meeting she just had, she needed it more than ever.

Last night’s words didn’t go unheard.

She’d been called into an emergency meeting where she was, once again, berated by Stan Edgar for her behaviour and general attitude, warning her that if she doesn’t start to play nice with others, he’ll be forced to teach her.

Numbness seeps into her fingers and toes, flowing into her limbs, helping her to disassociate and disappear into the pit inside her mind. She can barely feel the tears that continuously cascade down her cheeks. It’s all become just a bit too much.

“I hope I’m not disturbing anything. I heard you had a meeting with Stan Edgar. He always has a habit of not telling me when he’s having important meetings with my teammates. Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

She doesn’t answer — she hates how vulnerable she is right now and in front of the last person in the world she’d never want to see her this way. She chews the inside of her cheek, visibly shaking, trying to calm herself down enough so that Homelander will go away and leave her alone.

“You know, I discovered something interesting today.”

The familiar clink of glass against the table draws her attention. She swallows hard as she stares at the label of the wax-lidded jar. It’s the same label she’s seen for years, the one with the young white-haired girl no older than six, a forced smile on her lips. 

Little Moonflower’s Moonshine.

The lavender-flavoured battery acid that her parents make, the one that bears the immortal image of her as a young child, the very first of many items that would be peddled. If he has this, not only does it prove that he’d been in her apartment, but there is a very high chance that he has read something in the very fine print.

Homelander perches on the edge of the table next to her, taking her hand and removing her glove, placing it down on top of his, toying with her fingers. His touch is gentle, his hand rubbing up and down her arm yet she keeps her eyes low. He turns her hand over, tracing patterns on her palm, mimicking how she communicates with Black Noir when she doesn’t want to talk out loud. 

“There’s an address on this label, it’s very small, but it’s there. Refers to an address near Zumbrota, Goodhue County. Have you ever heard of it?”

She swallows hard, breathing heavily through her nose. She knows exactly where he’s been — a warning she had buried at the back of her mind slowly coming to the front, one from Queen Maeve and Starlight about Homelander, how unstable he is and what being involved with him could mean for her and her family, even though they are estranged.

“Found this dilapidated old farmhouse, the remains of a still to create that poison.” He vaguely gestures to the jar. “It seems as if the occupants left, not sure if it’s in a hurry or maybe, they just received a large sum of money to move.”

She doesn’t react, almost as if she already knew her childhood home had been abandoned. It would only be a matter of time, after all, Luna being brought into the Seven no doubt earned her family a substantial amount.

“I asked around and found a forwarding address, some fancy house on Oak Meadow Lane in Rochester. So I decided to visit, and I met this great couple and their son, Phoenix. They even invited me in for apple pie and ice cream. Then they started talking about their little miracle daughter, the one saved by Compound V.”

Her jaw tightens and she rips her hand away from him, getting up from her seat and walking towards the window. The story of how she came to be injected with Compound V is painful, one retold to her constantly as she was growing up, one that shaped her understanding of what she truly was — a product.

“It's funny, they've made all this money on their daughter's image yet they don't seem to understand copyright laws.”

She hugs herself, fingers digging into her arms as she continues to stare out of the window. She watches the reflection as he stands, slowly moving closer with his hands behind his back. He stops only a few feet away.

“So I took the liberty of talking to the legal department and, would you believe it, they're going to sue this family. But not only that, they're going to make them repay every last cent to their daughter.”

A weird feeling washes over her, somewhere between relief and shock. There's only one question she wants to ask but at the same time, she doesn't want to know the answer. She knows what she's supposed to say, she just can't bring herself to say it, not to him.

“You know, if you'd come to me sooner, this would have happened a lot earlier. After all, you're on my team and I protect my teammates. But I can't help if I don't know what's going on so maybe, next time something happens, you come and see me first.”

The words stick in her throat so she chooses to remain silent, watching as he walks away. She knows that he didn’t do this out of the kindness of his heart, that this will come with a price.

A Full Moon.

Luna sits in the chair in the make-up room, vacantly staring at her reflection. The full moon means that not only she is at her most powerful, but she's also due to do the same Vought-mandated bullshit she has to do every time.

After the events of yesterday, she has no option but to follow through, despite how desperately she wants to tell Ashley to go fuck herself. So instead, she stares at her reflection in the mirror, mentally preparing herself to sit on that couch with a fake smile on her lips.

She's halfway through a daydream when the make-up room is suddenly deserted, a black box appearing in front of her face, held by a familiar red gloved hand.

“What’s that?”

Homelander shakes the box a little, trying to make it more enticing; however, after his little visit to her family, she’s half expecting to find a finger. When she doesn't reach for the box, he decides to do the honours, lifting its lid slowly. Her eyes widen with surprise as she looks at the contents.

Lying on a bed of satin is a crescent moon pendant, delicately carved from moonstone, attached to a twenty-carat white gold chain.

“The Romans revered moonstone,” he explains, obviously very pleased with himself. “They believed that it originated from solidified rays of moonlight. They attributed it to their deity, a divine incarnation of the moon, the goddess Luna. Because that’s what you are, a goddess.”

It’s by far the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, and the most expensive gift she’s ever received. He removes the pendant, allowing the box to fall to the floor and fiddles with the intricate clasp as he puts it around her neck, the pendant lying flat against her chest.

Once the clasp is secure, his hands stroke down the back of her neck and rest on her shoulders, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“For the one who's as enchanting as the moon, it’s only right that you have a necklace to match your celestial beauty. It looks beautiful on you, just like I knew it would.”

Her fingers tentatively run over the smooth precious stone, tracing the crescent moon as her eyes dart between it and his face in the reflection of the mirror. There’s so many things she wants to say, so many unanswered questions that need to be asked but she finds herself almost tongue-tied.

“Thank you,” she chokes out the words, almost unsure of herself.

He squeezes her shoulders before turning her around in her chair, taking a step back and offering his hand. “Now, I believe the woman of the hour is needed in the studio for her monthly bullshit.”

[bohobooks]

I have another request, if your comfortable with Could this knew be Sebastian Sallow X reader X Ominis Gaunt (if not just pick one of the two boys)

The reader is secretly Rookwood's child and is so afraid to turn out like him and hopes no one finds out about this but somehow sebastian and ominis find out and to the readers surprise they don't hate them and under that she's nothing like Rookwood.

Nothing Like Your Father (Sebastian x MC x Ominis)

♤♤♠︎♤♤♠︎♤♤♠︎♤♤♠︎♤♤♠︎♤♤♠︎♤♤♠︎♤♤♠︎♤

Lies. One word to describe my life; one word to encompass all of the untruths that plague my every day.

From the first time Sebastian had accompanied me to Hogsmeade at the beginning of the year.

"What interest does Rookwood have in you?" He had asked. Poor clueless boy.

"I don't know." I had responded. Lies.

I had been so careful- so very fucking careful. I had orchestrated every little thing that I could to keep anyone from finding out.

From finding out what you may ask? From finding out the truth of my past, the truth of my parentage. From finding out that I was the daughter of Victor Rookwood.

Yet, in the end of it all here we were. Rookwood had caught me unaware, too busy with Ranrok to even care what my father could possibly be up to. He took me as I exited Ollivanders, believing that I was alone- completely unaware of the two boys perched atop the roof of the wandmaker's business.

I knew perfectly well that as my father apperated us to the Rookwood Castle that my boys wouldn't be far behind- yet I found myself praying to any deity that would listen that they wouldn't. I had come this far, my secret had lasted this long.

"Fuck off, Rookwood." I spat at the ground in front of him as his lackeys held my arms behind my back.

My father threw his head back in laughter, "'Fuck off, Rookwood'," he mocked me, "Is that any way to address your father you ungrateful brat?"

"You may have had a hand in my conception," I growled, "But you will never, ever be my father. Not even if the stars fall."

Rookwood tsked, circling me and my captors, "Such a shame. I was hoping you would join me. The magic in the repository is our birthright, Y/n!"

His eyes study my face, seemingly hoping to find anything but the hatred that lingered there. He shook his head, "It's a shame, really. No father looks forward to the day they kill their own daughter. Men- take care of her."

Even though the idiots hadn't even taken my wand, I couldn't reach it with my hands still pinned behind my back. I closed my eyes, allowing my magic to trail out- reaching for any lingering ancient magic in the repository below. The familiar tell-tale hum began in my veins, and my eyes shot open, glowing the bright near white blue that I have grown accustomed to. The air crackled around me and the ground began to shake.

The two goons holding my wrists became unsettled, "Uh, boss?"

My father whirled around, "Just kill her, you imbecile!"

Lightning struck down from the heavens above, disintegrating the men who restrained me. Around me, the other Ashwinders began to shout.

"Seize her!" My father ordered, but it was too late. I had already retrieved my wand from my pocket. One by one, I killed the remaining ashwinders. Collecting the traces of magic their souls left behind, I felt the ancient power within me strengthen. As I dropped the last Ashwinder, someone began to slow clap.

I turn to him, my father, as he began to circle me, "My dearest daughter," he grinned with nothing but pure malice, "All of that fighting, yet not one unforgivable left your lips. You're weak, but apparently so we're my men." He shrugs, pulling out his wand, "You know what they say, my dear. If you want something done, you have to do it yourself. Bombarda!"

Expecting that, I easily rolled out of the way. Once again, the ground starts trembling. My father seems unphased, continuing to fire blast after blast at me- clearly attempting to stop me from focusing the Ancient Magic. The joke is on him, though. Over the past year he had sent goon after goon to take me to him, but all that appeared to do was strengthen and train me. I lift my hand that was not holding my wand, pulling him off of the ground.

I watched as he floated, meters above me, "You know, dad." I spat the last word with such distain, "You're mistaken. I do use unforgivables, only when someone really deserves it. Crucio!"

Midair, my fathers body contorts in agony. I watch him, allowing him to writh for a moment. I end the spell, allowing him a moment. To my surprise, he begins to beg, "Please, my girl." His body still twitches, "We can be a family again. We can be powerful together!"

I laugh- none of this was funny, but something deep within me broke. I laughed and laughed until tears trickled from my eyes. Wiping them and calming myself, I look him in the eyes, "Dad?" I watch as hope flickers in his eyes, "Say hi to Ranrok for me, he should be joining you in hell pretty soon." My fathers eyes widen, causing the reflection of the bright green flash as I end him once and for all, "AVADA KEDAVRA."

I drop Rookwood's lifeless body to the ground, and quickly follow suit. I curl my body inward, holding my knees to my chest as I sob. Every sorrow, every heartbreak- all of it left me as I wailed.

In my fit of agonizing sorrow, I heard footsteps approaching. I whirled up to my feet, wand out and ready to fight the approaching figures.

"Woah, there." Sebastian said, holding his hands up in surrender. My guard quickly drops as Ominis wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his firm chest. My knees give out as I begin to sob again. Ominis lowers us to we are on the ground, and a second pair of arms wrap around the two of us. Ominis murmurs comforting words into my hair, "It's okay my love, everything is alright. You did what you had to do."

In their arms, I sobbed until the teats ran dry. Breaking the silence, other than the soothing words from the boys, I spoke for the first time since damning my father to hell, "How much did you see?"

Sebastian squeezed me tighter, "Enough," there was a pause as he thought, "Y/n, why didn't you tell us Rookwood was your father?"

I shook my head, still refusing to lift my face from Ominis's chest, "You'd hate me. You'd think I was like him."

Ominis chuckled, to my surprise. I pulled away from the boys, sitting up to look at them. "Omi?" I spoke carefully.

"You really thought that I, a Gaunt, would care who your father was?" He smiled and leaned forward to put a hand on my cheek.

Sebastian did the same, placing his own hand on my other cheek. His thumbs gently brushed away the lingering tears from my cheek, "It would take alot more to cause us to even think negatively about you- but to hate you?" He smiled softly.

Ominis continued, "We are far too in love with you to ever even consider hatred."

Tears filled my eyes as I once again placed myself into their arms, "I love you boys too. Forever."

[victorluvsalice]

Hi all -- I'm on vacation this week, and I wanted to share with you some shots of my trip earlier today to Roger Williams Park Zoo to look at their "Dragons & Mythical Creatures" exhibit! This is a special exhibit running until August 11th where they've set up a bunch of simple animatronics of various mythical creatures from around the world around their Wetlands Trail path. The animatronics are a bit goofy, as you can probably see from the above pictures, but they were still fun to look at, and I had a good time going through and looking at them all with my folks. :) In order of their appearance in the photoset above, we have --

-->An alicorn (winged unicorn) right at the entrance

-->A siren by the lake -- they actually had three mermaids, but the other two were the traditional lovely ladies, so I decided to prioritize getting a picture of the one with the goofiest smile XD

-->Your traditional European dragon, who roared with glowing eyes

-->The Aztec god Quetzalcoatl, depicted in feathered serpent form wrapped around a pyramid

-->The Ninki Nanka, a West African beast with the face of a horse, the neck of a giraffe, and the body of a crocodile, which lives in muddy mangroves and according to the Limba people in Sierra Leone, causes thunder and lightning -- as you can see, this one has a horn for extra value

-->An Egyptian Sphinx sporting the traditional Egyptian funerary mask for pharaohs -- honestly, between that technicolor mask and the way it was wiggling its head, it was one of the most off-putting exhibits there

-->A Japanese kappa, a mischievous creature that here appears as a turtle standing upright with a vicious-looking beak and a divot on the top of its head -- I believe that divot is supposed to hold water, and if you can trick them into bowing to you, the water will flow out and they'll lose a lot of their powers

-->A Japanese Kasa-obake, which is an old and neglected umbrella that has picked up a spirit and become a mischievous ghost with a long tongue and a single eye. ...I will admit, I immediately accused it of being a Pokemon. XD

-->A traditional griffin, with the white feathered head, wings, and talons of an eagle and the body of a lion -- I especially like this one because it includes feathered ears as well, something you don't see on a lot of griffins -- but that you do see on the GRYPHON in the original Alice books!

-->A yeti -- who you may recognize as Bumble from the Rankin-Bass stop motion Christmas films, because apparently the park couldn't resist

-->FUCKING CTHULHU. With his head out of proportion to the rest of his body. If you're wondering what the hell he's doing here, Roger Williams Park Zoo is in Providence, Rhode Island, which just so happens to be the birthplace of HP Lovecraft. I guess they felt they had to. XD

[soundprooft-visualz]

Humans are Space Orcs: Leopard Squad

The night was as quiet as it was still in the Great Dismal Swamp. The chirping of various hundreds of bugs brought the insectoid xenolife some semblance of comfort, being reminded of the sound of their sleeping young and mates back on their home planets. As a hive mind, the individual didn't have such feelings, but the Matriarch felt the yearn for her people to be reunited again. She had grown tired of the conquest of this overtrodden ball of dirt. Hundreds, no thousands of battalions had fallen in the conquest, and hundreds more to disease and wildlife. The company of dozens of bugs let out a collective simultaneous buzz, their equivalent of a wistful sigh, silencing the rest of the wildlife around them. The silence persisted longer than they expected it to. Seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes dragged as the forest around them went dead quiet. The prey instinct kicked in and the bugs went onto high alert, drawing their weapons and looking for the predator that was lurking in the shadows.

Belyan held a finger to his lips, active camouflage making them nearly invisible as they loaded the battery into the side of a plasma rifle, the barrel glowing white hot seconds later as their helmet picked up movement signatures ahead. They pointed behind themselves without a word and then ahead of them. Eight humans crept through the forest in the dead of night, like shadows over the roots beneath the darkness of the new moon. Leopard Squad was on the hunt, and each one of them knew just what was on the line. This company was looking for an old survival bunker the Collective had just heard of themselves. It could've had food, weapons, survivors, hell, maybe even clean water. It was enough for Earth's last special forces unit to come out of hiding to secure it.

Quanta's visor zoomed out when she saw Belyan's finger pointed at her. That was the signal, it was go time. A few dozen feet to the side and several hundred feet back, she stood up, the reactor of her power armor letting out a high pitched whine before it melted away to a low drone. The bugs immediately tuned into the noise as the panels of her armor shifted into place. She let out a low chuckle and raised her arm, pressing a button on the elbow and hoping her squadmates had her earplugs in.

An old MP3 file of Ezekiel's Horn blared from the speakers of her armor, the sound of the end of the world blasting so loud it kicked the dirt around her up into a dust cloud as she picked up her weapons, lightning arcing through the dust as the barrels spun up.

"That's right, you big ugly bastards, all eyes on me." Quanta cracked a crooked smiled beneath the tungsten helmet, watching the individual vitals ratings of their enemies spike simultaneously. Interesting... they're synced up. She'd have to think about that. Modular, syncronic design could increase the efficiency of her armor.

"Q, you could at least act like you feel bad. We're supposed to be professionals." Even as Belyan's voice crackled in her ear, she could hear them trying not to smile as they loaded a magazine into their plasma sniper rifle.

"Just because I have a sense of humor doesn't mean I'm not good at my job." Three shots bounced off her armor, the impenetrable wall not even flinching as she continued walking forward, thunder cracking every time she fired her weapon into the horde ahead. One got too close and almost slipped past the sensor. As she wound her hand back for a punch it fell over, bursting into flames from a plasma round in the back of the head. She heard Belyan breathe in from the lungs emptied to steady their hand as she shook her head.

"I just had the most fucked up thought."

"What's that?" Quanta loosed a salvo of rockets, stripping a passing dropship out of the sky in a burst of purple fire as the compressed potassium burned everything carbon-based inside.

"We are definitely getting discharged if we win."

"Oh, no fucking doubt. No chance I'm passing a psyche eval after this one."

(( i still have fuckin covid this is all i got

[steddie-as-they-come]

blame it all on human nature - chapter 1

ao3 link

this is the living hawkins au!! my friend said i should crosspost onto tumblr bc i worked for two solid months on this fic and she's been noticing how sad i get when i don't have comments :( tumblr's always a lot nicer to me when it comes to comments so hopefully you enjoy!!

A jolt of fear goes through their heart as Eddie’s eyes go blank.

“No,” they whisper, coming out like more of a breeze. “No!”

They hardly even notice as the group stands and leaves, too focused on Eddie. 

Magic floods through him, and he gasps to life, then just as quickly releases it.

“Wake up, please!” they beg, watching hopefully as he coughs up blood, then gritting their nonexistent teeth as he goes limp again. “You are not going out like this, Edward Munson!”

And they slam more magic into his body, hitting him with everything they’ve got and then some. 

Around the edges of the town, trees begin to turn brown and die. They siphon that power, that life force, feeding it all into Eddie. 

He begins to seize. 

They just keep going, feeding as much magic as they possibly can into his body. His skin glows, veins igniting with a deep bloody crimson light, illuminating the Upside Down in flashes like lightning. 

They’ve never felt as relieved as they do when Eddie’s eyes open, pure white. 

His heart’s irregular, but beating, and they slow it down, keeping a steady flow drip, drip, dripping into him like an IV. 

They will not let him die down here, in a place they have no control over.

His eyes dim from their white glow, returning to normal, then regaining clarity. He blinks hazily at the reddish sky.

They wait, more magic at the ready, just in case Eddie needs it. 

Thankfully though, he stays awake this time, his mouth moving as he mutters inaudibly to himself. 

They metaphorically sit back, breathing heavily. It had taken a whole day to get him to stay stable. 

Hopefully Eddie stays that way. 

Hawkins doesn’t think they could bear it if they truly lost him.

☆Friday, March 28nd, 1986☆

Whoever came up with the notion that the Upside Down is the reverse of Hawkins was wrong. 

Not completely wrong, but not correct either. 

The Upside Down is less of a mirror dimension, and more under Hawkins’ skin. The blood and bones to the Rightside Up’s hair and follicles. 

Gross metaphor, but Eddie’s always been too good at describing things. 

As he lays there, bleeding out, mouth metallic and ears ringing, he regrets a lot of things. He regrets jumping in front of the bats, but not enough to wish it was Dustin instead. He regrets diving down after Steve, but if he hadn’t, Steve would be dead. Probably. Actually, he wouldn’t put it past Wheeler and Buckley to save him without any Eddie help. 

Most of all, he regrets not getting to say goodbye to Wayne. 

He gags on the blood coating his throat. 

The skin on his fingertips is raw from playing his guitar, and Eddie, despite knowing it’s a bad idea, stretches to reach the neck of his guitar lying a few feet away, gritting his teeth through the pain. 

He relaxes when he gets the guitar in his hand. He always feels more confident with his guitar in his hand. 

Confidence does fuck-all for him right about now, but it’s nice to have regardless. 

The ground beneath him is rising and falling. Slowly inflating like a pair of lungs, then deflating just as slow. It would have been unnoticeable if Eddie had anything else to pay attention to. 

“Hello?” he chokes out. His inner DM is berating him. Oh yeah, good going, Munson. Yell out to the possibly-alive creepy murder dimension. This is how Jeff got killed like four campaigns ago. 

I’m basically dead anyway, he thinks to himself. Dustin would call this science. 

He struggles to sit up, breathing hard through the white-hot pain rippling through his abdomen, white-knuckling it around the frets of his guitar. The steel strings biting into his flesh help ground him, and after a couple minutes, he can see again, now dizzily sitting up. 

“HELLO??” he yells, louder. “ARE YOU OUT THERE?”

He pauses, decides, Fuck it, and calls, “I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING.” 

That one gets a reaction, but not the flurry of demobats he was expecting.

Eddie almost drops his guitar. 

“Wayne?” 

Because that is Wayne, sitting in front of him, his edges blurred and fuzzy like TV static. He smiles indulgently at Eddie. 

But when he speaks, that isn’t Wayne’s voice. 

Or, isn’t only Wayne’s voice. 

“Hello, Eddie.” Not-Wayne says, hundreds of voices layered over top of each other. It’s giving Eddie a headache, listening to all of them. 

“Your- your voice-“ 

“My name is Hawkins.” He lays a hand on Eddie’s knee, and a prickle of warmth runs from his touch through Eddie’s body. Surprisingly, Eddie’s injuries don’t hurt as much anymore. 

He still doesn’t understand jack shit about what’s happening, though. “Wayne?”

“Hawkins.” Way- Hawkins doesn’t look upset, just patiently waiting for Eddie to understand. “Like the town.”

Eddie stares at Hawkins, and his world recontextualizes. 

Like when you’re staring at an optical illusion of a black and white image, and all you can see is the vase, and suddenly you can see the pair of faces instead even though nothing changed? It sorta feels like that. 

Hawkins is…Hawkins. The town. Alive and breathing, relatively, sitting in front of him in the form of Eddie’s uncle. 

You know those days when you’re like “This might as well happen?”

Yeah. Eddie’s having one of those days. 

Eddie decides to start small, grasping for little things about Hawkins to ask about. If he jumps into the whole living-town thing, his brain will explode.

“Your voice-” he starts, trying not to offend the probable-deity.

“I speak with the voice of everyone in Hawkins,” says the voice of everyone in Hawkins. If Eddie focuses enough, he thinks he can hear his own voice in there, and that isn't migraine-inducing at all. “I took the appearance of your uncle to make you comfortable, but I can change if you'd like.”

Eddie blinks and Gareth is sitting there, the same expression on his face that had been on Wayne's, and Eddie inhales with a shuddering breath.

”What...are you?” hehe asks, and then berates himself. So much for being respectful.

“I am the embodiment of Hawkins. The town takes care of its people, Eddie, and I am the town.”

As much as he can (his abdomen still kinda hurts from being, oh, I don't know, ripped to shreds ), he does a little seated bow, trying to show respect to the town he's lived in for basically his whole life.

Hawkins laughs, and Eddie hears Dustin's snorty giggle come to the forefront of the cacophony of voices. He smiles in spite of himself.

”Oh, I don’t care about that, Eddie. I've decided I really like you. Can't have you dying here.“ Those are weird words to hear out of Gareth's mouth, but Eddie waves it off. Might as well happen.

“Wait, decided? Did you not like me before?” he says before he can stop himself.

To his-their credit, Hawkins looks ashamed. ”No, not at first. I don't normally have any sort of feeling for people. I had two types of people in my mind at first. People from Hawkins, and people not from Hawkins. Obviously, the people from Hawkins ranked higher than the people outside of it.“

”That sounds a bit biased,“ Eddie jokes, testing his luck.

Hawkins laughs again, and this time it's Jeff's low chuckle at the front. ”I'm aware.“ They trace a line through the bloody dirt around the two of them, and say, ”I didn't know I could like anyone more than my standard feelings to my citizens. Until Will.”

Eddie tilts his head, cringing at the way his matted hair brushes his neck. He pulls off his bandana and ties it back up, hoping to pull the strands off his neck, but he still needs to shower, badly. There is definitely blood in there. “Will?”

“Byers. He went missing in 1983, do you remember that?”

Eddie did. He noticed the way Jonathan Byers had been hunched over that week, and the way people were afraid of Will when he had returned, calling him 'Zombie Boy'. Personally, Eddie thought it was a metal nickname, but the kid probably didn't think so.

“Yeah, I do.” Eddie says, picking at his jacket cuff. “He's your favorite?”

“He was my first favorite.” Hawkins says. “His friends soon joined, though. Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair-”

Eddie feels his lips part. “Wait, you're telling me that three of my party members are basically clerics - favored by a god - and I didn't know??”

“Not just three.” Hawkins says, smugly smiling. “Erica Sinclair was a delight - I always thought she was so funny!“

Eddie pats his pockets, wishing for a lighter and a cigarette. ”Seriously? And none of them told me?“

”Oh, they don't know.“ Hawkins says flippantly, and Eddie jerks his head up to stare at them.

”They don't know?“

“No. Even the rest of my favorites - Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley Eleven, Jim Hopper, Joyce Byers, Max Mayfield - none of them have ever seen me. Just you.”

“I'm one of your favorites?” Eddie asks.

“Well, of course! Funny, brave, and so passionate - what’s not to like?”

Words fail Eddie for what has to be the first time maybe ever, and he leans back on his hands, staring lazily up at the reddish sky. 

“What do I do now?” he asks softly. “I didn’t think I’d make it when I went to be the hero.” 

Hawkins stands, brushing themself off, and offers a hand to pull Eddie to his feet. “First, we’re gonna get you out of here.” They make an exaggerated show of looking around in disgust. “Nasty in here.”

Eddie picks up his guitar, cringing at the blood caked on it. “Yeah, about that- isn’t this place part of you?”

Hawkins shrugs, striding down the street. “It’s more like my blood and guts are down here. Can’t control anything, sorta like how you can’t control your blood flowing through your veins. I could heal you, though, since you’re from the Rightside Up.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Eddie slings his guitar over his shoulder and follows Hawkins. “Where are we going?”

“There are some open portals here and there. I’m taking you to the closest one. I’ll be able to protect you much better if you’re with everyone else and on the side of Hawkins I can actually control.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Eddie says hastily, speeding up to walk besides Hawkins, careful to step over the vines and plants that are all linked to Vecna. Even if Nancy and Steve killed the fucker, Eddie doesn’t wanna risk it. 

Hawkins and Eddie walk down the street together, Eddie jumping potholes and stepping carefully over vines.

“So, uh, Hawkins...“ Eddie starts, not quite knowing where he's going with this. “Do you-”

He's interrupted by a chorus of screeches from high above.

Demobats.

Hawkins looks unfazed for a few seconds, then their eyes widen as they realize. “Shit, you're mortal, sorry. We gotta be more careful. The only thing I can do down here is heal you.”

“It was appreciated the first time around,” Eddie says, “but I’d hate for you to have to do it over and over again.” 

Hawkins laughs at him. “Yeah, I don’t really want to do that either. Luckily, there’s a portal this way.” They don’t appear to be walking any faster, but Eddie suddenly has to jog to keep up. 

Eddie wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at his trailer without seeing Chrissy’s bones breaking in his mind. He looks up at the hole still suspended in midair, this time without any helpful sheets or mattresses (or Dustins) to help him through it. 

He is not letting that stop him from getting out of this hell dimension, though. Eddie takes hold of some of the wreckage of the trailer, trying to drag it over and prop it under the rift. 

“Hey, Hawkins.” he grunts, pulling the crumbling kitchen counter towards the gate. “Mind givin’ me a hand?” 

Suddenly, Hawkins is leaning over his shoulder. “What are you doing ?” 

“Getting stuff to stand on, because I want out of here, what’s it look like?” He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. Don’t yell at the deity, dumbass, they could change their mind about wanting you alive.  

Luckily for him, Hawkins just snickers. “You don’t need that. Come here.” 

He and Hawkins huddle below the rift, and Hawkins wraps an arm around him and extends the other to the Rightside Up. 

Eddie’s about to ask what they’re trying to do, but he doesn’t make it through the first word.

The branch of a tree, a living, green tree, leaves on it and everything, spirals into the Upside Down, curling around Hawkins’ arm. Then it retracts, pulling them both into the Rightside Up. 

Eddie stands up, brushing himself off. “That’s a pretty handy trick you’ve got th-“ 

For the second time in as many minutes, his words crawl back down his throat to die. 

Hawkins is on fire. 

Hawkins the deity stands next to him, looking out over the town. 

“We-we killed Vecna, I thought.” Eddie says, eyes tracing the fiery X crossing the town. “He wasn’t supposed to open more gates.”

“Max died.” Hawkins says solemnly, and Eddie spins to face them so fast his hair whips him in the face. 

“Red? Little Red?”

“Not permanently. But Vecna possessed her, and before they could save her, her heart stopped, opening the last gate. She was revived, but she’s in a coma.” They sigh sadly. “I’ve done what I can, but the town being like this hurts me.” 

Eddie picks his way out of the trailer wreckage. “That sucks. But we’ll figure this out, okay, Hawkins?”

There’s no answer. 

Eddie turns to look. 

Hawkins is gone. 

That’s the trouble with gods, Eddie thinks to himself as he steps through the wasteland that is the trailer park. Just because they’re omnipotent means they just do whatever they want. He manages to get past the debris, thanking everything he can think of that he was wearing sturdy shoes. 

Eddie marvels at the carnage as he finally reaches the street. 

It’s…not that bad, actually. 

Sure, the Hawkins Volunteer Fire Department is probably working overtime, and some very unhappy families lost their homes in the wreckage, but it isn’t as apocalyptic as Eddie imagined. There’s no bodies, nor an abundance of screaming. 

Honestly, people are mostly ignoring it? Maybe ignoring isn’t the right word, but there’s a woman on a bike, and a line of cars all carefully swerving around a fiery crack in the road, and a man peeling papers off of telephone poles. 

Eddie peers closer at the latter. 

“Uncle Wayne!” he shouts, sprinting directly towards him. 

Wayne doesn’t get any time to react before Eddie slams into him full throttle. They were touchy before, but it’s never been like this, more like pats on the shoulder here and there. But Eddie thinks he gets a free pass for this one, after hitching a ride with God out of hell. 

Wayne coughs. “Hey, the hell’re you-“

He stares. 

Tears well in his eyes. “Eddie?”

Eddie hugs him. Wayne wraps his arms around him and hugs back. 

“They told me you were dead.” Wayne mumbles into his hair. “That little friend of yours, Dustin. Said you were a hero.”

Eddie nods against Wayne’s shoulder. “Should’ve seen it, Wayne. Played the most metal concert of all time.” He knows they probably look strange, sitting in the middle of a scattered sidewalk, torn pieces of Eddie’s own MISSING posters scattered around them. 

Eddie has never once cared what anyone else thought, besides Wayne. 

He feels like a four-year-old again, sitting against Wayne’s side as he cries and asks when his mother will come back. Wayne hadn’t said much, but he’d run his fingers through Eddie’s knotted hair until Eddie cried himself to sleep. 

Wayne’s running his fingers through Eddie’s hair. 

“Your shirt.” he whispers, and Eddie looks down. A rust-red stain has spread across the whole of his Hellfire shirt. 

“It’s alright.” he says, reassuringly. “I’m not even hurt much.” It’s not a lie at all. Whatever Hawkins did to him, he feels better than the day he was born. 

Wayne’s fingers tremble, and he glances over Eddie again, drinking in the sight of him. 

“C’mon, kid, my back can’t take this.” he whispers, still gripping Eddie’s arm when they stand up. Like he thinks Eddie will vanish if he lets go. 

They wobble unsteadily to their feet, and Wayne reaches in his pocket. “Dustin gave me this,” he says quietly. He pours Eddie’s guitar pick necklace into his cupped hand. “Figured you’d want it back.”

He’s trying to play it off, pretending like he wouldn’t have wanted to keep the necklace, but Eddie can see right through him. 

If Eddie had really died, Wayne would have carried this thing around for the rest of his life. 

“Thanks.” He clips it back around his neck, feeling instantly more comfortable as the familiar weight of it falls against his chest. 

There’s a nicer looking pickup truck parked by the curb. Nicer than Eddie’s old van, anyway. To Eddie’s surprise, Wayne unlocks it. 

He ushers Eddie into the car. “Government put me up at this hotel just outside town.” he says, sliding into the driver’s seat of the unfamiliar car. “Since the trailer’s torn apart ‘n all.” He pats the dashboard. “Truck was from the government too. Guess they really want me to keep quiet.” 

Eddie buckles himself in. He normally wouldn’t bother, but he’s had enough near-death experiences this week. 

The ride is silent, but Wayne keeps glancing over at Eddie as they drive. 

A movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention as they near the edge of town. 

A young girl stands there, arms crossed disapprovingly. 

“Pull over!” Eddie says quickly. Wayne jams the brakes and looks at him wide-eyed. Eddie unbuckles and sprints over. “Lady Applejack! Why are you all the way out-“

He stops short. 

Erica Sinclair’s outline is fuzzy, like a badly tuned TV. 

“Hawkins?”

“Where are you going?” they say, and Eddie barely controls his flinch at the many-layered voices of the deity. 

“My uncle is staying at a hotel out…of town.” He realizes why Hawkins is here. “Hey, I’ll come back. Tomorrow, alright?”

They glare, just like Erica would, and Eddie smiles. “Seeya, Hawkins.”

He jogs back over to Wayne, who’s looking at him, concerned. 

“Sorry.” Eddie apologizes. “Saw one of my Hellfire kids.”

Wayne nods, but he’s still looking at Eddie. He starts the car again, and the two of them pull across the town border. 

Eddie can feel it, when they leave the town. He gets a little bit colder, and his previously healed bat wounds begin to ache. He props his foot up on the dash, hoping the pressure will casually relieve the pain. 

It doesn’t, not really, but Eddie can’t find it in himself to care very much. He’s alive. Wayne’s alive. He doesn’t need much else. 

Graciously, Wayne lets Eddie take a shower first when they get to the hotel, and Eddie practically dives in. He sends a mental apology to the hotel owners, because he is almost definitely going to stain this shower. 

The warm water does wonders for the blood crusted in his hair and the Upside Down gunk streaked across his skin. Eddie thinks he may never leave this shower. He hasn’t been properly clean since…god, before Chrissy. Sure, he dived in the lake, but Eddie’s seen some of the shit that goes into Hawkins’ lake. He’s not counting that. 

He gets out of the shower and just stands in front of the mirror.

There are no scars from the bats.

Something that almost killed him should’ve left some kind of mark. It’s like a violation of natural order that he’s unmarred from that. He pushes his hand into his side where they had been. It aches, like he’s got his finger on a bruise, but there’s no visible damage.

A droplet of water runs down his finger and drips on the floor, and he shakes himself from his trance.

He pulls one of the towels from off the rack and dries himself.

It feels like a crime when he has to slide his gross t-shirt and jeans back on. He leaves the leather jacket draped over the chair, and practically falls into the bed. 

He’s out like a light.