#he screamed all night while rattling the cage

[ghostie123]

Link (top row of both slides) with his full older sister and his full littermate brother. I’m so grateful that his sister’s mom saw Link, his dna and where we live and put together that she probably has his sister. We emailed Embark to run a relative test to confirm and confirm they did

Link was found as a stray so for nearly 2 years I’ve known nothing about who or where he came from. But I even have a few pics of their parents now. Unfortunately the people these dogs come from are pretty awful and sell a 5 week wolfdog pups to anyone who shows up with money, no questions asked. They’ve also sold pups with Parvo, who died days after being brought home. I scoured my state for breeders trying to see where my dog was from but as it turns out, they don’t have a website, they only post their puppies on craigslist, nobody knows their names or exactly where they live because they only meet up to sell the pups in public. After his sister was bought, her owner said she saw several people on craigslist trying get rid of the pup they recently bought bc they couldn’t handle them, one sister even ended up at a rescue. So it makes sense why I couldn’t find his family on my own, and why I found a 6 week puppy on the side of the road. I assume he was bought and a week in his buyer realized they werent able to deal with, or werent ready for a wolfdog, since he was found dehydrated and full of worms and ticks. But not starving, luckily

And man am I lucky that the puppy I didn’t know was a wolfdog for the first few months we had him (though we quickly grew suspicious) is generally a great fit for our family of his humans, our other 2 dogs and the kitten. And we’re a good fit for him 💕

[theproverbialpen]

Desire.

Lucifer Morningstar (pov) x gn!reader

I’ve come to realize getting high makes me horny, so uh… here’s the consequence of that, I guess.

CW// uh idk honestly. Smut? I’m gonna be honest this is just elaborate foreplay idk how to tag this lol. 18+, Minors DNI

Silk. Skin. Sweat. Teeth. Bites and claws and cries and lips. Hair and hands and eyes and desire. And Desire. In pupils the size of the moon, deep as the sea and alluring as the pale lunar glow, Lucifer found a longing so intense it nearly broke him. Perhaps by the end of the night, it would.

But no, no he… he had to contain himself. He had to hold back, to stay in control. For once in his foolish, reckless existence, he had to remain disciplined. Because in his arms was an angel, a beauty, a savior. His savior, from the hollow and empty loneliness that had carved out every semblance of self he ever had. For this first time in years, his bed was warm, his heart was full, and his mind was at ease. For the first time in years he felt wanted. He felt desired. And so he fought to keep his own beast of desire caged within his chest, locked away by steel and fury and sheer force of will. But with each sigh that escaped his lover’s lips, each moan that reached his ears like a symphony, he felt the caged rattle and shake. Desire wished to be free. Desire wished to take and take and eat its fill of the delectable meal beneath him.

He pressed his lips to their neck, traveling down the curves of their body and leaving a trail of wet, teasing kisses in his wake. His lover groaned beneath him, the deep sound rumbling through their chest as Lucifer slid his hand around their waist and onto the small of their back. He would take it slow, tantalizing slow, letting this ghost of his touch drive them to the edge. He dragged his teeth across their hip bone, holding them down as they squirmed and shuddered. A smirked tugged at the corner of his mouth and he let his forked tongue snake forth from its den, lapping up the blood that had begun to flow when they jolted upward, their body craving friction. Lucifer pressed a gentle kiss to their navel, his face resting on the soft pillow of their stomach. He forgot how warm skin could be. He wanted more. He needed more. And he knew they did too. But he would be patient. He would not mess this moment up.

“L-Lucifer,” came a shaky stutter above him. The dulcet tone of their voice was strained, laced with yearning and desperation. Desire crashed against his chest, his heart beating along with the pounding of its fist. He could almost feel the blood in his veins as it rushed to his face and his crotch all at once. The sensation was nearly as intoxicating as his lover’s cries. “Lucifer, please,” they begged, barely above a whine. Lucifer then made his fatal mistake.

He looked up.

Their face was flushed, hair sticking to their forehead where sweat had begun to bead. Their eyes were lidded, doing little to shield that intense longing that laid beneath their stare. Lucifer watched, transfixed as their chest heaved while they struggled to catch their breath. His gaze wandered upward, landing on plump lips, swollen and glistening with drool. It was like something out of a magazine, an image so erotic even the most shameless of sinners would hide their face. They were the very picture of fervor, of lust—of love, even. They were the picture of desire.

Lucifer wanted to fuck them into the mattress until they screamed.

“Luce I-” they began, trembling as he rubbed circles into their sides with his thumbs. He could feel them shake under his hands and where his chin was resting against their torso.

“Yes, beautiful? Don’t get shy on me now,” he taunted, the veil of arrogance doing little to hide the anticipation in his own voice. He used the humor like a safety blanket, one last layer to shield his lover from his feral need. Like a padlock on a rotted wooden fence, it was all he could do to bolster the cage trapping his own desire. If he could play it off, they could keep making sweet, tender love. If he could play it off, his lover didn’t need to find out what kind of sinner he could truly be.

“Please, Lucifer, just- just fuck me already, please,” they begged, and just like that the dam was broken. Lucifer’s eyes darkened into a crimson red, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of their hips hard enough to bruise.

“Darling,” he cooed, his voice dangerous and low. “You gotta be careful what you wish for. Haven’t they told you never to make deals with the devil?” One last one-liner. One last desperate, feeble attempt to save Lucifer from himself, from drowning in the desire that threatened to overtake him. One last out.

“Lucifer, I need you.”

Desire wished to be free. Desire wished to take and take and eat its fill of the delectable, irresistible meal beneath Lucifer Morningstar. Desire was about to break the King of Hell. But as he settled between their legs, pressing his palms into their knees and spreading them wider, Lucifer decided:

He was not going to let this moment go to waste.

[frozenlight-gvf]

It's a Scream, Baby

summary: (dom!jake x fem!reader) it’s the night before Halloween, and your boyfriend Jake takes inspiration from your favorite scary movie to fulfill a twisted fantasy of yours

word count: 5.8k

warnings: 18+ minors DNI— language, brief talk of murder/killing, masks (obvi), oral sex (m-receiving), bondage (handcuffs), blindfolding, overstimulation, fingering (f-receiving), penetration (f-receiving), period sex and blood kink... starts super fluffy then dissolves into filthy madness and then gets fluffy again

a/n: this resulted from marathoning the scream franchise, having impure thoughts about jacob, and all the blood talk on this hellsite... so enjoy this disgusting smut (also pls listen to gus black’s cover of “don’t fear the reaper”)

***

The scent of cinnamon swirled through the air, the essential oil diffuser working diligently to infuse every surface in the house with the cozy spice. Cold rain from a late-night October thunderstorm pattered on the windows. The sky outside was black and plastered with turbulent clouds, but you had never felt more at peace: wearing your favorite Halloween pajamas, you stood on a step ladder hanging up orange and purple fairy lights, casting your face in a colorful, festive glow. Even the screams coming from the shitty horror movie that you had on while you worked couldn't pull you out of your contentment.

The last of the lights had been hung, and you stepped down from the short ladder to admire your work. The living room was now softly illuminated by the stringed lights, the diffuser, and the jack-o-lantern you had carved-- the electric tea light inside flickered warmly; it couldn't replace a real flame, but you couldn't risk burning down the apartment you just started renting with your boyfriend. Not yet, at least.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and placed them on your hips. Then, you grabbed the remote that had been haphazardly thrown on the couch, putting a definitive, long overdue stop to the recently-released movie that everyone told you you simply had to watch, that it was the scariest thing they'd ever seen. You had given it an honest try, but once again, your theory that horror peaked pre-2000’s had once again rang true.

Your slippers-- which were covered in cartoon bats, matching the little ghosts on your soft, orange pants-- shuffled on the worn wood floor as you ambled towards the dark kitchen.

You opted not to flip on the lights, enjoying the lingering light leaking in from the living room. The digitized red numbers on the stove read 10:28. You were going to wait until you had company before you started the movie you really wanted to watch, but it seemed that he wasn't going to be home anytime soon.

The spark on the stove ignited a small woosh of flame, your unfocused eyes contemplating the tendrils that curled and licked at the chilled air. You hugged your jacket tighter to your body, trying to thaw the frost from your bones as you scrounged the cabinets for the Jiffy Pop you had bought specifically for tonight.

As you set the pan on the heat, the kernels rattled in their tin foil cage, slowly bursting one by one.

Just like the movie. You smiled, taking comfort in pretending to be in that world even for just a moment.

Suddenly, too much like the movie.

You jumped as the landline rang, rattling against the wall.

Rationally, you had a good chance that there wouldn't be a serial killer on the other end, but after all, Casey Becker had thought the same thing. You felt your heart beat quicker, blood surging through your veins. Scenes of Casey's losing battle with Ghostface flashed through your mind, picturing yourself instead of her with the knife buried in your chest.

Shaking your head, embarrassed at your shaking fingers, you answered timidly, "H-hello?"

"What's your favorite scary movie, pretty girl?"

"Jesus, Jake," you exhaled into the phone, clutching your chest, the voice of your boyfriend bringing you immediate comfort. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Hm, never heard of that one. What's it about?"

"You're hilarious," you said dryly, trying to hide the smile in your voice.

"So..." Jake started, doing his best to mimic Ghostface's rasp over the phone, "You gotta boyfriend?"

"I do, actually, his name is Jake. He's strong and he's handsome and he plays guitar in a famous rock band."

"He sounds perfect."

"He is, except he's not here right now, so I'm all alone and vulnerable," you said, coating the words with theatrical drama, but letting some disappointment slip in under it all. "I might even forget to check if the door is locked."

"Oh, no, well that's not good," he teased, picking up on your bit.

"I hope he comes home soon and saves me before I'm brutally murdered."

His studio session with the band had run really late, leaving you alone on the night before your favorite holiday. It stung, but you kept reminding yourself that it wasn't Jake's fault. And besides, the joy that decorating for Halloween brought you was enough to keep you entertained.

"I'll be home soon, darling. I promise I'll make it up to you," he paused. "Save me some popcorn."

"No promises, angel," you said, shuffling the the aluminum pan, the foil tent gradually rising. "Drive safe, please. Love you."

"Love you most."

You hung up the phone, flicking off the fire when your popcorn was done, slightly mourning its comforting warmth. You settled on the couch, cocooning yourself in a thick blanket, as you cycled through your purchased movies and selected Scream.

***

It was about midnight when you heard keys jangling at the door, briefly startling you as Sidney Prescott finished off Billy Loomis with a shot between the eyes. "Not in my movie," you moved your mouth to quote with her. You heard Jake sigh and set his bags down heavily in the hallway, guitar case clunking against the floor.

He called miserably from the entryway, "Hey, pretty girl, I'm so sorry I'm late, the session was-"

"Don't worry about it," you said, tossing the blanket off of you to stand up and meet him. You pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. The tip of his nose was slightly pink and cold from the chilly October air. "I'm just glad you're here now."

"I know, but it's your favorite holiday," he whined, rubbing his hands up and down your covered arms.

You glanced back at the stove clock in the kitchen. 12:14 AM. "Well, now it is," you smiled weakly.

He hummed, looking down at you. "Happy Halloween, darling." He wrapped his hands around your waist, kissing you deeply as you felt any ire you held up against him melt away into nothing, leaving only fondness. "Mmm," he said, licking his lips once he pulled away, tasting the remnants of the salt from your snack. "Did you save any for me?"

"Nope," you said plainly, biting your bottom lip to hold back a grin. "But feel free to kiss me again if you'd like another taste."

Jake's second kiss was deeper, hungrier. He walked you backwards against the couch as his tongue swiped over your lips, trying to taste more of you. You happily granted him entry, letting him lick into your mouth, the pair of you breathing heavily. His cold fingers brushed the soft hair at the nape of your neck, holding you firmly against him, the sensation causing a tingle to run down your spine. Warmth was blooming in your stomach, and you felt yourself growing damp between your legs as he pushed his knee into those sensitive parts.

"Over the phone," he started, talking against your lips.

"Mhm?" you prompted, pecking him.

"I promised I'd make it up to you."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I've got a surprise," he said, kissing you again. "Wait right here."

He disappeared out of sight to the entryway where he had dropped his bags. The absence of him left you shivering. You stood-- slightly breathless-- exactly where he left you, leaning your hips back on the couch, anxious to see what Jake had up his sleeve.

After some rustling, Jake reappeared a few seconds later with an evil little smirk, holding something behind his back.

"What's this?" you giggled, genuinely curious about his behavior.

He coyly quirked an eyebrow. "Close your eyes."

You gave him a questioning look, but he smiled and rolled his eyes a bit, silently asking you to humor him. You sighed and closed your eyes.

"Jake, what is this?" Slightly exasperated, you wished he would just forgo all the games and fuck you.

After a few seconds, Jake spoke, his voice dripping with desire.

"It's a scream, baby."

You opened your eyes to Ghostface standing only a couple feet from you. A gasp shot out of you as you flinched backwards-- completely on instinct. But the fear that coursed through you soon dissolved into pure adrenaline once you cognized that it was Jake under the mask.

"Jake," you breathed, already starting to squirm, "are we finally doing this?"

You could hear him starting to breathe heavily under the mask. With tingling fingers, you reached for the buttons on his navy shirt— he had already done most of the work for you by wearing it sluttily half-open despite the fall weather. You licked your lips, hypnotized by the rise and fall of his smooth, defined chest.

“You wanna play psycho killer?” you quoted, the sound coming low and sultry from your chest. You slid each little pearlescent button from their respective holes on his shirt teasingly slow.

Jake nodded, the distorted white face moving up and down slowly.

You leaned in close to his ear once you had his shirt completely undone. “Can I play the helpless victim?”

Jake nodded once more, sealing your fate.

Arousal flooded your body as he slid off the slouchy zip-up hoodie you had hanging on your shoulders, revealing the dark spots of your hardening nipples under your white tank top. A barely-audibly groan came from under the mask, the rubber and fabric muffling any noise Jake made.

His sly fingers toyed at the sensitive skin right below the waistband of your fleece pants, making you pay for the teasing you had dished out to him earlier. You pushed Jake’s shirt all the way off of him, leaving his torso bare. The orange light in the room cast his skin in a warm, sensual glow. You hummed a sigh, beyond pleased at the situation you found yourself in.

“Living room or bedroom?” you whispered, running your hands up his body, resting them on his chest.

You had yet to christen-- so to speak-- the living room of the new apartment, so a sliver of you was hoping he would take you right there on the couch surrounded by all the festive decorations, but when he nodded his head back towards the bedroom, you knew he had something devilish planned.

Suddenly, he reached down to grab your thighs, scooping you up so your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. He was always deceptively strong, making you feel like putty in his arms. You rested your hands around his neck, feeling where the ends of his soft brown hair emerged from the edge of the mask. In this new position, the urge to have his warm lips on yours again grew overwhelming, so you started to lift his mask up from the front, eager to see his pretty face.

Jake quickly slid one hand from his firm hold on your ass and grabbed your wrist roughly, stopping you in your tracks and pulling a surprised whine from your throat. He shook his head slowly, the grotesque face silently chastising you. You felt your core clench against his sturdy abdomen. Tonight was gonna be fun.

***

Jake carried you to the dark bedroom, and you stared into the mask's large black eyes the whole way, unable to see even a sliver of your boyfriend's face. He then tossed you on the mattress, jostling a yelp from you. The storm outside had long passed, and the clouds had parted to reveal the stereotypical Halloween night full moon. Its gray light slotted in through the open blinds, slicing through the blackness of the room. The cold glow lit Jake’s bare chest enticingly, and it made the bright white mask look even more haunting in the semi-darkness.

He crawled on top of you deliciously, leaning down so his head next to yours. “Remember our safe word, pretty girl?” his voice raspy, positively dripping with lust.

You nodded, “Wes Craven.” A smile creeped over your lips.

Jake sat up and nodded, clearly satisfied and ready to begin. Tingles fluttered through your skin; they started in your toes and snaked their way up through your legs, finding their destination at your throbbing heat.

You squirmed, unable to contain your desperation for his touch.

He climbed off of you and kneeled at the edge of the bed, tugging on the ankles of your pants. You lifted your hips so he could pull them off, leaving you in nothing but your panties and your barely-there tank top. You shivered in the cold air, your nipples perking up even more.

The night hadn't even gotten past a PG-13 rating, as Sidney would say, and yet, the tent that had formed in Jake's pants already looked painful. Forgetting your own pleasure, your mouth watered at the idea of taking care of his.

You slid off the bed and kneeled on the floor in front of him, so close you could hear his quickening breath. You tapped the tops of thighs to signal that you want him to stand up. Jake did so slowly, almost unsurely, looking down at you the whole time. With deft fingers, you made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans, pushing the rough denim down low on his hips, not having the ability to tease him anymore.

His thick, defined print through his boxers almost made you moan. You ghosted your fingertips along his clothed length, in awe of him. He spasmed hard under your touch, making you gasp in surprise. There was no way he was already this sensitive.

You leaned forward, mouthing him through the cotton, creating a warm wet spot on the fabric. A pained groan sounded from above you, and you looked up to see that Jake had not moved his head the slightest bit, meaning that, under the mask, his eyes were still locked on you; he was taking great pleasure in watching you make a mess of his underwear.

Smirking, you pulled his boxers down, and he sprung free, bobbing appetizingly up and down. You were in disbelief at how hard he was already; Jake always got off on giving you pleasure, not the other way around. Could it be that he was enjoying your fantasy as much as you were?

You took his heavy length in your hand, his skin velvety-soft. Pumping him slowly, you traced the fingers of your other hand over his hipbone, considering your next move.

You decided to do something you'd never done before, just for the fuck of it. You had an urge to reward Jake for fulfilling this fantasy of yours. So, slowing removing your hand from him-- really wanting to make a show of it-- you brought your palm to your lips and spit thickly into it. A string of saliva hung between your mouth and your hand as you resumed stroking his cock, gripping him tighter this time. The muscles in his abdomen visibly flexed, and you could tell Jake was holding back a whimper from the choked noise he was making. He gathered your hair out of your face into his fist at the back of your head.

You knew he wanted to fuck your mouth, but you weren't going to let him just yet. You were going to savor this, assuming it would be your last few moments of being in control for the rest of the night.

You began pumping him faster, the slick of your saliva making the movement sickeningly easy. You rested your free hand on his thigh, feeling his muscles tense and contract repeatedly. As soon as he thrusted his hips into your hand, you broke all contact, making Jake exhale heavily, a whine sneaking in at the end.

Looking up at him and batting your eyes, you stuck your tongue out flat, moving it so that the head of his cock rested on it.

You flicked the tip of your tongue at that sweet spot under the head, and his dick twitched madly. You persisted your kitten licks, knowing that you were slowly swelling up his desire to throw you around and have his fucking way with you.

You wrapped your lips around his throbbing head, swirling your tongue around it and tasting the precum that leaked from it. You purposefully moaned loud and long so that the vibrations went straight into his dick, making him quiver.

Daringly, you pushed your mouth further down his cock, and the fist Jake had wrapped around your hair tightened, slightly pulling your chin upwards. Once your nose was brushing the soft hair at his base, you hollowed out your cheeks, pulling your head back and sucking him hard all the way up his shaft and back down again. His knees almost buckled.

You would have murdered the rest of the town of Woodsboro to see the pleasure splashed out on his face. His cheeks always grew so prettily pink, his lips red and parted, gasping for air.

You shamelessly ground your covered pussy into the floor, aching for friction. Jake noticed this, and he used the leverage he had on your hair to yank you away from him. You whined in protest, but he wasn’t having any of it. The realization sparked in your mind that the reason he stopped you was because you had almost made him cum. Already.

He pointed his finger stiffly to the bed, instructing you to get back on top of the sheets. You did so quickly and obediently while he tugged his pants and boxers all the way down and off, leaving him fully, stunningly naked, save for his silver medallion necklace and the Ghostface mask.

God, you had dreamed about this pretty much since you met the guy at that Halloween party back in college. You were a slutty vampire, and he was, of course, dressed as Ghostface, and you would have bet money that the mask he was wearing tonight was the very same one from all those years ago. The sentiment had almost distracted you from the feeling of his fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tank top. You nodded, thinking he was asking for permission to bare you to him, but he just kept rubbing the seam between pinched fingers. Humming with understanding, you sat up and reached to grasp the fabric where his fingers were. Closing your eyes seductively, you slowly revealed the skin of your torso bit by bit, inch by inch, letting your breasts be the prize you made him wait for.

Pausing in disbelief at the plucky acoustic guitar that had begun to whisper through the room, you swallowed hard as you listened close, praying you were hearing what you thought you were. A breathy, haunting voice began to sing,

"All our times have come,

here but now they're gone..."

The very same voice that serenaded Sidney and Billy in the movie.

Jake was setting his phone down on the bedside table right beside the Bluetooth speaker. You were hazily astonished by how he was able to do that in the time it took for you to take off your top.

“You... are…” you started, unable to hold back the arousal-soaked laugh that shook from you as his knees straddled your upper thighs, “unbelievable.”

He said nothing as he tucked a finger in the waistband of your panties and ripped them off of you, making you gasp at the sudden roughness that punctuated the serene, yet painfully arousing music. He held up the pathetic strands of fabric that your underwear had now become, dangling them so that you got a good look of what he could do to you. You hummed a moan behind closed lips, loving the overt display of dominating masculinity. Tossing the ruined panties aside like the garbage they now were, he touched the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, pulling it down and prying your jaw open. The action dizzied you with seduction, and you let loose a loud, uninhibited moan, giving him just what he wanted as his fingers dipped into your wetness and brought them up to rub small circles on your clit.

The fire inside you was scorching every crevice, your edges smoldering. You were more than happy to let Jake take you all the way to the edge and over it just with his skilled fingers, which you knew he was more than capable of doing. But that’s clearly not what he had in mind when you felt his weight suddenly absent from the bed. Your eyes lazily blinked open to stare at the ceiling when you heard a drawer open, knowing that there was a whole variety of things he could be grabbing to use on you…

Ghostface reappeared in your field of vision, necklace and hair dangling a foot or two above you.

As well as the strip of black silk and the fuzzy handcuffs he was holding.

You were so overcome with anticipation that your vision went blurry, the back of your head pressing deep into the pillows.

“Wow," you gulped, gasping for air, "you’re really running with the ‘psycho killer’ theme, huh?”

You did your best to hide it, but your voice betrayed exactly how turned on this made you.

Jake nodded tantalizingly.

First came the blindfold. Once the cold silk was tied securely around your eyes, the rest of your senses were instantly enhanced; you felt every fiber of the sheets beneath you, and you could even faintly smell the cinnamon wafting in from the living room.

The handcuffs came next, but not before Jake took both of your hands and pinned them above your head. He closed one of the soft loops around your left wrist, the clicking sound and the almost-too-tightness sending a flood of arousal through you— you were surely soaking the sheets by now.

You heard him thread the free loop through the bars of the headboard and close it around your other wrist, hissing at the sensation. You tested your new range of movement, finding it deliciously limited. Your clit prickled with pleasure, knowing that whatever happened next was out of your control. You'd put up a good fight, but now you were thrilled to just lie down and take what was coming to you.

“Alright, pretty boy,” your voice silky with pleasure. “Do your worst.”

He let you lie untouched for a moment, your need growing rapidly.

Then, his fingers attacked to your hot center, rubbing up and down your folds, collecting the wetness that had gathered.

You whined when his fingers left you once again, starting to regret wanting this. He could tease you and edge you like this for hours.

What hit your ears next had you gushing. There was an obscene slurping sound as Jake sucked your slick off his fingers. The vulgar noise alone caused you to moan loud and long, your hips writhing.

He stilled your movements with a strong arm across your pelvis, pressing you down into the bed as he punished your clit, rubbing harder and faster, his fingers lubricated with his own spit. You felt your legs start to go numb, your chest and face flushing hotly.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Jake still had the mask on even though you couldn’t see it; the only reason he'd have it on now is if he wanted it. But when he finally pushed a finger inside you, a groan escaped him despite his best efforts-- still muffled by the rubber.

When he brushed the pad of his finger against your g-spot, you let out a high-pitched moan. The stimulation was divine, but it wasn't near enough to get you off, which you needed more than you needed oxygen in that moment. You desperately wiggled your hips under his arm, desperate to be more filled. He acquiesced, pushing a second finger inside, stretching you delectably. Jake started to pump in and out, rubbing the pad of his thumb on your throbbing clit.

You were submerged in euphoria when you felt a warm liquid drip down from your pubic bone and into your folds-- Jake had spit on you. Like you were some dirty slut. Fantasizing about being fucked by a masked serial killer? Yeah, you were a filthy whore. And you loved it. Clearly, so did Jake.

A pitiful whine slipped past your lips as Jake picked up the pace, pumping and rubbing faster and harder, the pornographic squelching noise it made had your mind going numb. The blood in your veins had seemed to be replaced by pure liquid pleasure as the feeling of Jake’s fingers on and inside your most sensitive parts shot you ever-closer to your looming peak, threatening a vigorous collapse.

“Jake, please,” you pleaded. “Shit…need more,” you panted. You meant that you wanted his thick cock shoved deep inside you, but he simply kicked up his fingers a notch or two, sending you hurtling straight into the wall of your high, but excruciatingly unable to climb over it.

“Fuck, Jake!” You grappled with your restraints, wanting nothing more than to grab his wrists and pull him away from you. The pleasure was way too much. Pathetically overstimulated, it took you way too long to realize that Jake knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“You’re evil,” you sobbed, tears soaking the black silk over your eyes. Your mind couldn't understand or perceive anything but Jake’s merciless fingers at your cunt, the sensation beyond unbearable.

Just before you thought you were going to explode into fire, leaving nothing but ash and cinders, Jake relented.

Tear-stained and absolutely dripping wet, you were sure you were a sight to behold.

“Fucking bitch,” you spat, trying to catch your breath. It took you a good minute to remember where you where.

You then felt his strong palm come down hard on the side of your hip, sending you right back up into the stars. “Ow, Jesus, Jake!” you shouted, swallowing hard. But you both knew how much you liked being smacked around. His hand soothed the red mark he left.

His thumb gently brushed your cheeks, drying the tears that had flooded beyond the silk covering your eyes.

He grazed his hand from your chin, down your exposed neck, to your collarbone, and down to trace where the swell of your breasts began, obviously reveling in the image of your naked body all tied up and leaking for him. You felt his calloused fingers pinch one of your hard nipples while his free hand kneaded your other breast, making your back arch up into his touch, feeling divinely sensitive. A whine left your throat, your hips bucking pitifully.

His hands dragged down the sides of your waist and hips, finally settling and digging his fingers into your skin. You inhaled sharply as you felt his throbbingly hard cock run through your folds, sending shockwaves up to your head, fogging up your mind once more.

“Please,” you whispered a prayer, hungry for his cock.

Stars exploded behind your eyes when suddenly, Jake forcefully thrusted into you all the way, not giving you even a moment to get used to his size.

Your whole body was attacked with tingles, that familiar heat growing in your stomach again when you felt Jake lean over you, shivering at the feeling of the cold metal of his necklace landing on your chest. The heat and softness of his bare skin on yours felt so intimate compared to the outrageously obscene slapping sound that was erupting from between your two pelvises. Your pussy was exponentially wetter than normal, attributing it to the arousal of your long-time fantasy playing out on your favorite night of the year, as well as Jake’s talented cock brushing your g-spot with each quick snap of his hips, leaving you a moaning, blubbering mess.

“Jake, please, I’m almost there, I need more.” You had the urge to reach down and rub your clit to skyrocket you to your peak, momentarily forgetting your restraints; the sound of the metal chain that connected the loops rattling against the headboard along with your desperate whines seemed to encourage Jake. He started thrusting into you even faster and harder. One of his hands left your hips, and before long, his pointer and middle fingers were pushing past your lips. You sucked on them eagerly, moaning around them as you greedily swirled your tongue all over his skin, tasting his salty sweat and your own lingering arousal.

Sufficiently slicked, he pulled his fingers from your lips with a ‘pop,’ bringing them down to rub your clit hard. At this point, you were screaming in pleasure, writhing against your restraints, chanting Jake’s name like he was a god. He was everywhere; on top of you, inside of you, within you. It was overpowering.

Your toes began to curl as you felt yourself teetering on the edge you wouldn’t be able to come back from, about to be launched into the most extreme pleasure you’d ever felt.

“I’m about to cum, Jake, fuck!” you sobbed, breathing so heavy that your head started to spin.

One more particularly expert thrust of Jake’s hips sent you screaming into the deep, vast abyss of unimaginable pleasure. Your walls clenched like a vice around Jake’s cock, wetness flowing out of you. Your whole body went white-hot numb, making you forget your existence in this reality.

All the while, Jake was still thrusting into you, riding you through the waves of you unbearable euphoria.

Blinking hard, your breath gradually slowed as you regained feeling in your body. Jake was caressing your hips, helping to bring you back down to earth.

Once your breathing evened out, you felt him peel his torso off of yours, the both of you damp with sweat.

“Shit,” you heard him exclaim breathily— the first time he’s spoken this whole time— the single word drawn out in pure incredulity. The click that followed was him turning the dim bedside lamp on.

“What? What is it?”

“See for yourself.”

He removed your tear-soaked blindfold, your vision blurry and stinging from being in total blackness for so long. You squinted as your eyes adjusted in the low lamplight to see what had Jake so amazed.

Streaks of red were splattered between you, painting the both of you with fresh, dark blood.

“Oh, fuck, Jake, I’m so sorry,” you gasped in utter disbelief and embarrassment. “I didn’t know I was starting, or else I wouldn’t have-“

You trailed off as you watched Jake remove the Ghostface mask: his brown hair was disheveled, eyes half-lidded and lips open, visibly stunned. He tentatively dragged his fingers across a particularly thick streak of blood on his stomach and held up his hand as he watched it drip down over his palm. He was entirely dumbfounded, like there were no other thoughts in his mind except your blood on his skin. He pulled out of you, still hard and twitching.

You watched in hazy awe as Jake began to slowly pump his cock, using your slick blood to glide over his length. His eyes were locked onto to his streaked fist. Gradually getting faster and faster, his breathing quickened and high-pitched moans and whines started to slip past his fucked-out pink lips. He threw his head back, and the sweat on his flushed neck glistened in the low light. His eyebrows furrowed, concentrating hard on his impending release. He grunted deep and long as he came on your already-painted stomach, shooting hot and hard.

His chin fell to his chest, every ounce of his energy drained from him as he collapsed back to sit on his heels.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, still breathing hard and admiring the red blood marring the pale white flesh on his hand and his cock.

You didn't have the words to express how turned on you were. You simply stared at him as he sat between your shaking legs.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," he breathed, wiping his bloodied hand on his waist and sliding off the bed, rushing to your side to release you from your handcuffs.

He took your hands and kissed both of your wrists, your soft, sweet Jakey resurfacing. Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you towards the bathroom.

***

As the warm water of the bath Jake drew for you soothed your aching muscles, the fog in your brain slowly dissolved into bliss. You watched as steam swirled around the white-tiled room. Jake, having quickly cleaned off and changed into a sweatshirt and flannel pants, had returned from the kitchen with two classes of cold water. He passed you one as he kneeled beside the tub, stroking your hair.

You cleared your throat to try and rejuvenate your weak voice. "That was amazing."

"I couldn't agree more,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Are you ok?"

You nodded and hummed a response, leaning into his touch on your jaw.

"Never thought I'd get so hot and bothered at the sight of you covered in blood," you said with a giggle.

"Well, we already knew you were a bit twisted, what with you wanting to be ruined by Ghostface," he joked, a grin spreading over his lips.

"And ruined, I was."

Jake held out his hand to help you step out of the bathtub, handing you a fluffy white towel. Once you were dry, he tied his soft robe around you, taking a moment to worship the sight of your body.

You turned to head towards the linen closet to grab a fresh set of sheets, thinking about the crime scene that was yours and Jake's bed.

Jake grabbed you by your waist and turned you around to face him. "Mm-mm. Already done, pretty girl. You have nothing to worry about." He placed a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose.

"You already changed the--?"

"Yep. All clean."

You hadn't any idea where he had found the time to do that, but you almost moaned at the idea of sinking deep into the fresh sheets next to Jake.

Once more, you found yourself with your legs wrapped around Jake's waist as he carried you back to the bedroom, your chin propped on his shoulder.

He set you down on your back on the mattress, leaning over your body to kiss you deeply. It was passionate, yet spilling over with tenderness. In that moment, all you knew was Jake's solid body and his soft lips.

You gasped and chuckled at the feeling of Jake already hard again between your legs.

He looked down at the bulge in his pants. "'God, you see what you do to me?'" he quoted Billy Loomis with a smile, talking against your lips.

"No, I don't," you said coyly, returning his smile and wrapping your arms around his back, pulling him flush to you. "Why don't you show me?"

*

PART TWO!!

taglist post!

[f0rlorn]

i’m not a violent dog → coral

coral!tbosas x reader

notes → in which you get to understand coral a little better. feminine intended reader.

warnings → descriptions of brandy’s dead body, other typical thg warnings. also me giving characters angst alert!!! not edited & uploaded via iphone (i didn’t know how to end this lol) AND ME NOT REMEMBERING HOW THE BOOK WENT LMAO

     you barely managed to choke back a scream as brandy’s body dangled in front of you. heavensbee hall went silent, as the crane hauling her limp form, which was ridden with gunshots, paraded through the street. below brandy, the tributes could be vaguely made out, chained up. you couldn’t help but scan over them quickly, trying desperately to account for coral. spotting her, you sighed, though not of relief. perhaps it was shame that this is what your home had come to, exploiting the youth of it’s country. maybe it was even sympathy for coral, but seeing her in the state she was in brought anything but relief. coral was slouched over, making herself as small as possible, a stark contrast to the brave face she had put on at the zoo, when you had first met her. swallowing the vomit that threatened to rise, you decided to give her a visit later that night.

     when the time came, you vowed to immediately make your way to the zoo, declaring that determining her safety was more important at the moment. and as soon as class ended, you were off. peacekeepers formed a wall in front of the entrance, forcing you to buy your way in. after arguing with the peacekeeper, who finally gave in when you had offered him payment, you were allowed visitation, but only under supervision and for a limited amount of time. you tried to be polite with the gruff older man, making small talk with him as he guided you to the monkey cage, but once you saw coral you were out of his sight.

     “coral!” you cried. once she had noticed you she made her way to the front of the enclosure rather slowly. they still had the tributes chained up. “please tell me you’re not hurt.”

     “not. but i can’t take much more of this.” she admitted. her gaze was fixed to the floor, and the refusal to look you in the eyes broke your heart.

     “i.. i know. i’m trying my best to help but dr. gaul won’t give me the time of day.” you explained, eying her with worry. “i can’t believe they’ve chained you up like this, it’s inhumane.” while that was true, compared to the rest of the list of things the capitol was enforcing, this hardly scratched the surface.

     “i wish they’d just kill me already.” coral muttered, voice gravelly.

     “please, coral, don’t say that. you can win, i know you can.” you pleaded. her eyes bore resentment at your words.

     “why do you believe that, huh?” she gripped the bars that separated the two of you forcefully, “because i’m big and scary? do i intimidate you?” her voice rose and her tone grew angry. the chains holding her hands together rattled as she moved. seeing as you almost flinched, she scoffed, slouching once more. “i don’t want to be the way i am, y’know,” coral mumbled, her lip quivering. “i’m.. i’m not violent. i don’t know why i fight. we’re all animals to them, that’s all we’ll ever be.” her words brought tears to your eyes. 

     the dehumanizing of the districts had gone on for far too long. there had been countless encounters with your classmates where the district people were referred to as “animals,” and the thought truly disgusted you. but up until this point you had merely been a pawn. despite the countless opportunities you were given to speak up to your classmates, you remained silent. even worse, you had ignorantly laughed along with them in the past. but what better way to wash away your guilt than play the savior in someone else’s story? even if the ulterior motive went unbeknownst to you, the privilege you had couldn’t be ignored by yourself. you could make a difference if you tried, if only you knew how. the best you could do for now was try to get your tribute out of the games alive.

     “you’re not an animal, coral. you’re a girl. a strong one, and a really, really brave one. coral, please.” you begged her, you didn’t quite know what for, though. “the fight you have in you is nothing to be ashamed of, it’s how you survived. i’m sorry, coral. i’m so so sorry.” you broke down, allowing the tears to spill from your eyes. “i wish i could do more to help you. this is so… messed up,” you sobbed.

     “back home, they tell us not to cry. there’s too much work to be done for tears. me and my siblings start work before dawn, and we work till night. if only they could see me now,” she laughed humorously. “and the things they’d say about you, gosh… you wouldn’t last a day there, princess. i can’t imagine you being able to haul crates of fish. let alone be able to catch one.” you pressed your forehead against the bars and let her words hang in the air. after a minute or so, her head rest against the bars as well, nearly touching yours. silence rang in the air as the two of you sat, contently.

     “alright, girly, time’s up. you’re way too close anyway.” the peacekeeper approached you after a while, grabbing your arm and sweeping you away before you could object.

     “coral!” she glanced up at you. “i’ll see you tomorrow.” coral took that as reason to get ahold of herself, suppress her vulnerability and impress the cameras tomorrow. besides, the cameras weren’t the only thing she wanted to impress. maybe, just maybe, if coral won the games she could have you too.

[em1e]

hunted | 1 k

╰ everything's going wrong it seems. ⚠︎ threats, i am a kisaki hater through and through, the girls are FIGHINTG, short part my b ♡ series m.list

“don’t look so disappointed at it bein’ me.” another giggle passes hanma’s lips, reaching out for you before you can step away. 

he pulls you towards him with the grip on your wrist, twisting you around until your back is pressed to his chest with his hand readjusting to your waist to keep you in place, his other hand coming to your mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping. 

“s’a shame,” he comments, “i wanted to be the one to kill that bastard. seems my king may have the honor of doing it on his own.” 

he leans down despite your struggling against him, breath fanning against your ear, “or perhaps he will be at your king's mercy.” 

your screams don’t make it past the flesh of his hand, and your flailing does little to stop him from lifting you from the ground, walking with you until the treelines thin and you can see a clearing from the trails. you can make out a chariot just at the edge of where the trees break and a guard nods at hanma as he pulls open the door, allowing your captor to easily push you inside and slam it shut while you recover from being tossed in. 

you scramble against the floor, beating on the door, “hanma, let me out now.” you demand, rattling against it like a caged animal. 

“it’d be wise to keep your whining to a minimum.” he tuts, eyeing you through the small barred window of the door, “i’m afraid my king doesn’t fare well with defiance.” 

his eyes flit behind you, and you have enough sense to follow his gaze. 

“did you miss me, princess?” kisaki smirks. you think hanma giggles from outside, “here’s how this is going to work-”

you feel incredibly vulnerable from your spot on the carriage’s floor, back pressing into the door to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. still, he leans down, letting his face hover only inches from your own as he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “and you can either be a good queen for me, or i will have your brother and knight murdered and you will be left with no one.” 

༝

baji could’ve expected many things, coming out from the woods with an armful of sticks and branches. 

he could picture you, laying on the ground with one of the few blankets they have under you, fast asleep with his coat he’d offered many nights before draped over your shoulders. he could picture chifuyu tending the fire, snacking on some of the provisions he’d snuck from your pack after you’d passed out, sending baji a look of challenge as if he’d dare to wake you to snitch, or even offer the bit of jerky left to the knight as a sign of peace. 

baji doesn’t, however, expect to see the small camp they’d made void of you. 

chifuyu is, as he expected, rummaging through one of your many packs, trying to find what one has the food, and he quickly tosses it aside with his hands behind his back when he realizes he isn't alone. 

“where’s (y/n)?” baji asks at the same time chifuyu asks, “where’s the princess?”

both men stare at each other for all of ten seconds, expressions mirrored in their own confusion, before chifuyu’s drops and he darts in the direction you’d left in. 

baji’s hesitation only lasts a second before he’s dropping the wood and following after the mercenary, steps coming to a halt as chifuyu freezes at the edge of the woods. 

“the hell is going on?” baji clenches his teeth, shoving at chifuyu’s shoulder. 

chifuyu offers no answer, his own jaw clamped shut as he wordlessly nods to a carriage that slowly departs along the trail. if he squints, baji can make out the embroidered print of the valhalla kingdom on the flag of the carriage. 

“where’s (y/n)?” baji asks again, fists balled. his nails bite into the skin of his palm when chifuyu doesn’t reply, until he’s grabbing the mercenary by the front of his tunic and pulling him towards him, “where the fuck are they?” he repeats.

it only takes chifuyu a second to pry baji’s fingers from his shirt, pushing him back by the shoulder while glowering, “i think you know as well as i do where they are.” 

then he turns on his heel and heads back towards their camp, baji hot on his tail, “we have to go after them. if we don’t, they’ll be forced to wed kisaki and-” 

chifuyu’s stride is unbroken as he interrupts baji, “i was hired to ensure they arrive safely, and since it seems that has been compromised, i am to return to my kingdom for further instruction.” 

“and what of the princess?,” baji probes, “they would still be at the camp, had you been doing what you were paid for-” 

chifuyu stops at that, quick to turn on his heel with a glare, “they left in search of you. had you not ignored them for the past day’s travels, perhaps they’d be in your arms now.” 

baji’s mouth opens to argue, brows furrowed and words sharp on his tongue, only to be interrupted by a slow clap coming from the woods to his right. 

“impressive, really, to see the two of you fall apart at the seams.” hanma giggles, hands clasping together when their full attention is on him, “and for someone who wasn’t either of yours to begin with; it’s almost sweet.” 

both men take defensive poses, eyes narrowing, “it must hurt knowing you’ve failed. ‘m sure of it.” hanma continues, circling around them like a predator scoping out its prey. 

“where have you taken them?” baji demands. hanma clicks his tongue, head tilting. 

“i’d worry about my own skin at the moment - surely the two of you are smart enough to not pick a fight barehanded?” he wonders aloud, hands gesturing out to his sides. as if on queue, four more guards flank either side of him; two holding the reins of their horses while the remaining two hold their bags and materials. 

the pair share a look. hanma lets out another giggle, chin tilting down, “i’d come quietly, if you want to make things easier for your dear princess.”

[brandwhorestarscream]

For your TFA OP is Megatron's child, what does he do when he realizes? Does he tell anyone, does he deny it? Does he go and hide from the world for a while? Or does he pretend not to see the resemblance and start "tracing" what happened to "the sparkling" (it'll give him more time)? Or is it more like he does several of these?

He's in a state of shock at first. He doesn't believe it, this can't be true! He- His first memories are of waking up with his batchmates when he was first brought online as a protoform, this is impossible! He was constructed cold, just as everyone was, he- he isn't... he's not a...

But the evidence is right there in front of him. He quietly shuts off the datapad and deletes his trail of research. This can't be happening! He leaves early that day, hurrying home to his apartment and locking the doors + windows. His servos are shaking and by the time he realizes it, he barely has time to plop down into a chair before a full blown wave of panic crashes over his body. His vents spin out of control as he struggles to cool his rapidly heating frame, optics taken over by tinnitus as he curls into himself.

He was so little when they took him, sparklinghood amnesia took care of most of the pesky memories, and he had a memory blocker installed. But now that he knows, the old software does little good, and there's already cracks starting to leak through the blockade. It's like a dam has suddenly broken in his kind and he's assaulted by an ocean of memories.

Suddenly 🥺 he remembers the warmth of his carrier's love. Remembers a huge, gentle hand on his face, a voice speaking in a language that's now extinct on modern day Cybertron, calling him a name that's achingly familiar. He remembers being held close and warm to a giant spark, pulsing so intensely he could feel it thrumming through his whole body, washing him with waves of endless love and affection. He remembers... strange people, suddenly storming into the mineshaft where his mother worked. He remembers stun batons and electric prods and screaming, so much screaming. Remembers seeing blood spill as his mother tore someone's helm clean off their body, roaring at them to get their hands off his sparkling. He remembers being grabbed and thrown into a cage of some sort, turbohound kennel for transport, crying and holding the bars, rattling them with his tiny chubby hands and braying hysterically for his mother. He remembers seeing his carrier fall, stunned unconscious, and being hauled away despite his pleas.

He remembers all of this while his body is in the clutches of an intense panic attack, the memories overwhelming and threatening to consume him. He lays there in the dark of his apartment, all lights off and curled up in the corner as if he could hide from the war going on inside his helm, crying brokenly into his arms. His spark aches in his chassis, throbbing as it expands and contracts in a desperate bid for another. How long has it been? When did that happen? When did they take him? Why did they take him? If he's not cold constructed why did they pretend he was, why put him in boot camp and make him an autobot prime? Questions swirl around his mind faster than even Blurr could speak, and he's honestly not surprised when he suddenly crashes

Optimus wakes up on the floor of his apartment hours later, in the dead of night, when everything is still and silent and so, so dark. Sitting there staring at the ceiling, he can feel panic already gnawing on him again, but he stubbornly tries to push it away. He needs to figure out what to do.

[karniss-bg3]

Hearts of Glass

A/N: This is a commission for @valdieball for his character Keladin paired with Kar'niss. This will be multi-chaptered.

Characters: Original Drow Male (Keladin) x Kar'niss

Word Count: 3,273

Location: Moonrise Towers

Fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3, Dungeons and Dragons

Content Warnings: Arachnophobia, story contains driders and fantasy elements.

Summary: Awoken in the middle of the night by a terrible nightmare, Keladin finds himself in desperate need to be soothed. The drow opts to take his lyre and climb to the top of Moonrise towers in search for a private spot to play. He wouldn't be left alone for long, soon confronted by the towers guardian; the drider, Kar'niss.

[AO3 Mirror]

***

“Run!”

The cry rattled in Keladin’s skull, pulsing within his eardrums. He recognized the voice that belted the command; a soft, feminine tone that he’d nearly forgotten after all this time. His vision was consumed by darkness unending, surrounded on all sides by walls of pitch black, leaving him blind to his environs. He tried to follow the order given yet he found his legs declined to obey, locking the drow in place by way of self inflicted paralysis.

“Keladin, hurry!”

The voice echoed throughout his prison bouncing off of unseen walls. He felt as if he may suffocate under the pressure to flee but why did his body refuse to retreat? Keladin opened his mouth to speak yet nary a sound left him. To will even the faintest sound felt as if it took a monumental amount of energy to conjure. His heart drummed behind his rib cage, a deafening sound that increased his anxiety. He wanted to call out to her and to prevent what he already knew would come.

“Oh Gods...Keladin! Keep running, get out, they’re going to—“

Her words were cut off by a horrid scream. It surged with such force that the darkened room in which he stood shattered like glass. Chunks fell away from the walls, ceiling and floor like pieces of obsidian. This sent the drow into a straight free fall, tumbling endlessly into the darkness below.

“Vaelic!”

Keladin sat up like a shot in his bed. His two-toned eyes were wide and his body was slick with sweat. Vaelic’s name still burned on his lips while he sucked in frantic pulls of air. He lifted one of his hands only to notice a tremble on his fingers. He clamped his palm to his face then ran those darkened fingers through his pale, shoulder length hair. It was rare for him to dream during his trance state and even rarer for the past to haunt him like this. He was certain those days were long behind him especially now that the Absolute had taken him under their wing. What good did his prior life in the Underdark do for him now? One thing he knew for sure, he needed air and a way to calm his nerves. His hands were anything but steady yet that didn’t stop the drow from collecting the lyre propped up at the side of his bed. In times of need he knew the instrument was one thing he could always count on and he needed that comfort now more than ever.

The hour was late and thus he sought a secluded spot in which to play. Keladin knew better than to leave the grounds of Moonrise towers. The shadow curse was in full swing and even the melodic strumming of his lyre wouldn’t be enough to keep the beasts at bay. There was one spot he knew he could go but it wasn’t entirely unoccupied. Moonrise had a single drider occupant under its roof and to many he was unstable and frightening. Keladin was off-put by Lolth’s “abomination” when he first arrived. Driders were little more than reminders of Her cruelty as well as the failure of those drow who didn’t perform in an optimal way. Keladin often wondered if that would’ve been his fate had he not escaped the Underdark. The very thought made him shiver but he refused to let the idea linger. Instead he threw on a cloth shirt and began to make his way up the long, winding staircase which led to the top of a tower.

***

Perched atop the tallest stone battlement, a single drider stood alone. His long locks of white hair hung heavy on either side of his scarred face. Weighed down by dirt and grime the once illustrious strands had lost much of their bounce and brilliance. The drider, known as Kar’niss, seemed to be lost in thought. His clawed hands clasped a wooden shaft attached to a lantern whose radiant light fought back against the ever looming shadows.

“Yes, Majesty...we hear you,” Kar’niss mumbled. “To be close to you, it is all we’ve ever dreamed. We will shepherd your faithful, we will remain loyal, it is us who serves you without question.”

It appeared that the drider was talking to himself, or to one of the many voices occupying his fractured mind. None could ever tell and most didn’t care enough to discover the truth of the matter. Each word was accompanied by a growling thrill that vibrated in the depths of his chest, a constant reminder that he was forever changed. While he spent much of his time alone in this very spot to be close to his “Queen” he never considered himself unattended. He had his Majesty, what more could he possibly need?

Kar’niss’ train of thought was broken when his ears caught the creaking sound of the tower door swinging open. This was enough to cease communication with the Absolute and prompt him to swivel around in search of the culprit. Eight thin, pointed legs afforded him swift movement, able to turn on a coin with little trouble. Kar’niss caught sight of Keladin as he stepped out into the open. All seven eyes followed the drow with caution. He was aware that Keladin was a True Soul and perhaps that is what earned him respite from Kar’niss’ nagging.

The night air hung heavy, stagnant and still. Despite this Keladin wouldn’t be deterred. He had grown accustomed to the gloomy atmosphere that permeated throughout the landscape. The drow took a seat on top of one of the many crates scattered over the area with his instrument clutched close to his person. He inhaled a deep lungful of air and put his full concentration into playing. His nimble fingers plucked at each individual string with accuracy and care as if pulling the music from the core of his soul. The more he played the more he felt the pull of the melody start to take over. Keladin began to sway gently in time with the rhythm while keeping his eyes closed. Visions danced within his mind, aiding in pushing away the dark thoughts once housed there. Steadily, the anxiety would melt away, allowing his muscles to relax and keep his focus clear.

Kar’niss, close to the source as he was, turned his head to look in the direction of the musician. His pointed ears honed in on the tune and he found himself mesmerized by it. Not many in the tower played music and the few who did weren’t up to the drider’s lofty standards. This new arrival piqued his interest in a way few ever did and now he wanted to know more. As Keladin continued to strum in perfect harmony he’d find he was unaware of the stealthy approach coming his way. A skilled creature of ambush and surprise, the drider had little trouble inching his way closer to the drow, his long legs making nary a sound. Both clawed hands clasped the shaft of his moon lantern keeping it close to his chest while reddish-orange pearls locked onto the back of Keladin’s head. Kar’niss stopped when he was a few feet away from his quarry, close enough to listen but not close enough to be within striking distance. To say he had trust issues was an understatement.

Keladin may not have noticed the initial approach but he soon became privy to the many eyes on him yet this didn’t impede his strumming in the slightest. While he preferred to play alone there weren’t many places here where privacy was afforded and this wasn’t the first time he had to perform for an audience. While his initial instinct was to hold distrust for the drider, considering his history, he knew that no other in their ranks worshiped and adored the Absolute more than Kar’niss. Somehow, this was a comfort to him, to think he’d have an ally of equal measure in devout loyalty. Or at least he hoped Kar’niss would be his ally, only time would tell.

The tune wafted across the battlement and the bard lost himself to the engaging refrain. Kar’niss’ pedipalps twitched against his torso, reacting to the chorus as if they wished to dance but the drider refused to allow them the pleasure. Instead he leaned in just a little further, closing that distance between them inch by inch. His breath hitched in his throat as if he was prepared to say something but his internal doubts put a stop to that. Gradually the song began to die down, the movement of Keladin’s fingers easing up to pluck the final few notes, ending the beautiful ballad. For a moment complete silence was restored to the tower, only broken by the drow himself.

“Was it to your liking?” Keladin asked, his eyes still closed. The tone of his voice was calm and even lacking any sort of aggression toward the drider.

Kar’niss jerked his head back once addressed. He took a few cautious steps away from Keladin and his muscles tensed beneath the hardened chitin that covered his arms and torso.

“It was...better...than the silence that came before it,” Kar’niss said.

The drow shifted on the crate while a smirk crept across his lips. “I suppose that is as high a compliment as I could ask for.”

The drider’s legs shuffled nervously beneath him. “The hour is late. Why is the True Soul here?” Kar’niss asked.

His brows knit and he side eyed the drider. “Please, call me Keladin...if you don’t mind.” He feathered his fingertips over the strings on the lyre. “The title of True Soul doesn’t suit me.” He inhaled a faint breath before he turned to better face Kar’niss. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to play for a little while. If I am disturbing you I can move elsewhere.”

Kar’niss tipped his chin up by a hair then shook his head. “We will not command your departure. The lyre makes better company than nattering goblins.”

Keladin chuckled and plucked a single string on the instrument. “True.” He paused while his two-toned eyes lifted to get a better look at him. This wasn’t their first encounter but it was the first while they were off duty, so to speak. “You’re Kar’niss, right?”

The question made Kar’niss blink with some confusion while his hands squeezed the wooden staff tighter. “That is our name, yes. We aren’t addressed as such often.”

“Mm, I’ve heard a few of the colorful nicknames some have chosen for you. I don’t understand the reason. We’re all here to serve the Absolute and do Her will. There is no sense in squabbling with one another if we are to fulfill our purpose,” Keladin said.

Kar’niss sucked in a sharp breath and took several quick steps toward Keladin. “Yes! We are Her Majesty’s faithful, Her guardians! She bestowed us with this gift.” Kar’niss held out the moon lantern, it’s glow strong enough to push back the perpetual darkness. It did well to illuminate his monstrous features including the many blackened ovals peppered over his forehead; Keladin’s face reflected on their glossy surface. “She entrusted it to us.” Kar’niss’ tone dripped with pride.

He smiled as he viewed the intricate lantern with some interest. Its brilliance shone over the navy hue of Keladin’s skin tone, accentuating the waxy material of his prosthetic blue eye on the right side of his face. The more he studied Kar’niss the more his body language told him what he wished to know. He could already discern that he wasn’t like the other driders back home. He held a higher level of intelligence but more importantly he had something other driders lacked—self preservation.

“It’s a beautiful lantern worthy of its guardian...,” he trailed off a moment to think, “Is this spot where you live? I don’t see you much inside the building.”

Kar’niss shrugged. “We go where our Queen tells us to go. We stay up here to be closer to Majesty, to better hear Her voice. We live no where and every where and we are happy for it.”

“I see,” Keladin said. “Then you and I are of the same mind. I only wish to serve. The Absolute is the first place I’ve found where men are treated equal to women. I couldn’t find salvation with the spider queen, I couldn’t find salvation with Eilistraee, but here…,” he trailed off and turned his sights over the stone wall, peering out into the distance as far as the shadows would allow, “...I am worthy.”

This statement struck Kar’niss in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Not only did these words come from a drow, but it was rare that any here shared the same level of passion for the Absolute as himself. For a moment he found himself speechless as he stared at Keladin, observing him with quiet contemplation and intrigue. His legs clicked against the stone floor while he ushered himself closer to the bard, keen to get a better look at him. Kar’niss lowered himself without warning and invaded Keladin’s space, their gazes meeting now that he was at eye level to the drow. Naturally, Keladin was startled by the sudden intrusion and leaned back out of instinct.

An intense moment was shared between them as the two stared at one another. Keladin hadn’t been this close to a drider before least of all under friendly circumstances. Horrifying as some of his features may have been, there was a part of the bard that found portions of Kar’niss to be fascinating; even if the circumstances of his transformation were no doubt tragic.

“Did—Did I say something wrong?” Keladin asked, his tone hushed.

Kar’niss pressed his lips into a thin line and lowered the lantern to grant them a reprieve from its blinding luminescence. “No.” He leaned back and chose not to elaborate on the sudden shift. “If True Soul—Keladin wishes to play here you may do so. Our Queen will be pleased to know you honor Her with your gifts.”

The drow tipped his head to the side and shifted the position of the lyre in his lap. Kar’niss was aggressive toward most others in the tower, keeping his distance and snarling at any who got in his way. So for him to willingly invite Keladin into a place he considered sacred was indeed an honor and a privilege.

“I will take that offer to heart. Thank you, Kar’niss,” Keladin said.

The drider nodded and turned his head to look away from him as if a sudden surge of shyness had overcome him. It was clear that he wasn’t the most adept at social situations. When Kar’niss turned away Keladin noticed something had become tangled in Kar’niss’ hair.

“Ah, hold still a moment. You have something stuck in your hair,” Keladin said as he slid off of the crate and stood upright, placing the lyre aside.

“What?” Kar’niss reached up and touched over his locks carefully. “I do not feel it.”

“Lower your body and I can get it out, won’t take a moment.”

Kar’niss seemed hesitant, skeptical even. Drow were known to slit the throat of driders for fun, their hatred of his kind strong and everlasting. But since they had bonded over their mutual love and respect for the Absolute it did earn the bard a speck of trust; at least enough to make Kar’niss comply. The drider took a few steps closer to Keladin while pedipalps wiggled beneath his belly button, then lowered himself into the range of the drow’s reach. Keladin used his skilled fingers to gently tug at the strands and dislodge the unknown object within. It took some finesse on his part as he didn’t want to damage the drider’s hair or cause him discomfort which could disrupt their budding road to friendship. Kar’niss hissed through his teeth with minor discomfort as he wasn’t accustomed to having anyone this close.

Soon Keladin pulled the foreign mass from his wavy locks and examined it. It turned out to be a few dead leaves likely blown in on the intermittent winds. While he’d finished the task he didn’t alert the drider immediately. Rather he took the time to study Kar’niss’ features up close while he could, admiring his strong features and pale complexion. His fingertips reached out to caress the hardened chitin following his jawline. It had a rough, uneven texture and yet it was somehow pleasant to the touch. Kar’niss didn’t seem to feel the touches or if he did he wasn’t interested in commenting on the matter. Keladin started to grow concerned as he felt the growing urge to explore further. Curiosity killed cats but it could strike down a drow just as easily.

“Did you get it?” Kar’niss asked.

The broken silence made the bard jolt and he jerked his hand back with some mild embarrassment to follow. “A-Ah yes. It was just a few rogue leaves.” He held up the evidence for Kar’niss to see.

“Hmph,” Kar’niss snorted. He used his gnarled digits to scoop up the leaves from Keladin’s palm. He curled his fingers and crushed them to dust then shook out his hand, letting the remaining particles catch the breeze. “A waste of time, but we thank you all the same.”

“Of course.”

Keladin felt a little awkward for letting himself get carried away. His purpose was to serve the Absolute and he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted by feelings. The past taught him one valuable lesson; feelings were a good way to get you killed.

“Mm, I should return to my quarters. It would do well to get what rest I can before the morning roll call.” Keladin picked up his lyre and smiled up at the drider. “I’m glad you enjoyed the music. Perhaps...I can play for you again soon,” he paused, “for the Absolute, I mean.”

Kar’niss rolled his shoulders as he lifted the lantern, a metallic squeaking audible as it swayed side to side. “Very well. Do as you will, Keladin. We will be here, bathing in Her Majesty’s light.”

“For the Absolute,” Keladin saluted and turned to head back to the tower door.

“For the Absolute,” Kar’niss repeated as he watched the bard leave.

It was a strange encounter, at least as far as the drider was concerned. He returned to his perch at the edge of the tower, overlooking the area as a faithful guardian should. Without warning he felt a peculiar tingling sensation crawling over his jawline precisely where Keladin had touched. Kar’niss reached up and ran his claw tips over the area, perplexed by the sensation. It was warm, it was inviting, but he couldn’t understand its origin. He craned his head to look up, the faintest glow of the moon barely breaking through the shadows suffocating the sky.

“You sent him to me, Majesty?” Kar’niss whispered. “Thank you, my Queen. We will treasure your second gift to us. We are worthy, he is worthy.”

Kar’niss stayed perched in place and resumed muttering to himself but this time with a bit more purpose in his speech. Keladin returned to his quarters and flopped into bed, staring up at the ceiling while his forearm rested across his hairline. He didn’t know how to feel about the exchange between himself and Kar’niss but he knew he couldn’t stop thinking about him. A second performance would need to be sooner rather than later if he ever hoped to sate his curiosity about this eccentric drider.

After everything he’d endured, after all he’d seen, he deserved a little something for himself.

He’d earned that much.

[genavere]

Fairy Tail - RE:Script

Episode One: Hargeon

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 6

“Stupid…stupid!” Lucy berated in hard sobs. Chains above her rattled and clanked. Cradled against her chest, the hand she managed to free. The skin around the broken bone already had darkened, a mixture of red and blue from the damage and the bruising. The torn skin from being cut into by the manacle bled freely over her already soaked top.

Even as the air grew warmer, every nerve and muscle in her body screamed and shook from the pain. It hurt…by the grace of the Celestial King, did it hurt! Even the sight of the thumb—out of place, joint limp against the middle of her hand—sent a fresh wave of tremors through her.

And as the tremors hit, so did the pain. It shot from her hand to every nerve of her arm. Muscles spasmed and sent another wave of pain. A vicious cycle that she could not contain. Breathing became a chore with each gasp and sob of agony.

Tears blurred her vision. A headache assaulted her senses, each heartbeat in her chest urging another blinding stab of misery. None of it kept the reality of her situation from overwhelming her. A harsh truth she could see no escape from.

Even if she managed to get her other hand out—dislocating or breaking her thumb as she had on her left one—then that still left the cage. It had been opened by magic on the bracers the crew wore. Unlike keys, bracers would be impossible to steal without being caught. Attempting to do so would leave her enduring another beating.

Each breath she took warned that another beating would lead to injuries she could not afford to have. Running would be near impossible if the opportunity arrived, and it would leave her weakened beyond the ability to fight back. Salamander would be able to do whatever he wanted to her, and that was without the threat of what he would do to her keys.

A different form of fear crept up like the bile at the back of her throat. Clenching her right hand, she remembered the stories that those she worked with through the years had told her. Injuries to their bodies happened more often than not, and the aches their bones felt when the weather changed had made her heart ache for them. Broken bones never healed properly, and the pain would remain with her for the rest of her life.

Could she risk damaging her dominate hand without a clear way to escape? The one that held her keys as she summoned her friends, the whip she used to fight beside them, the sword and bow she used to have before needing to sell them for a bit of jewel. The hand she used to write her stories.

Would her thumb heal correctly and only minimum pain ghost her for the rest of her life? If it did not heal right, it could be too painful to do anything.

Her lip trembled. Everything that she had done to escape—to stay hidden and just be her own person—had it all truly been for nothing? While she had learned much since running away, and the only course of action she could act on was to remain free as long as possible, there were so many more adventures that she had wanted to experience. Things she had never tried.

“If you ever find yourself stuck,” her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, “remember these fairy tales. They will be your salvation, my little star.”

“They won’t,” she sobbed, gripping the chain in her right hand and letting her body sag. “They were nothing but stories!”

Soft words spoken under starlight and the glow of a fire; every night had been spent cuddled into her mother’s chest as the words of stories danced around them. Daring sword fights, brave adventurers, loyal friends, and creatures long forgotten by normal folk. A book would be chosen and they would read it together, but every so often, her mother would slip out a particular book and lift a finger to her lips.

“Shh,” a smile would grace her lips, “this book is our secret.”

Between those pages, a different sort of tales filled the night. In hushed whispered when her father was off on trips, tales of past wars, dragons who sought the end of humanity and those who stood with them, and people selected by the very gods of their religions fought against others. Even the stars above helped, granting celestial keys to the world and connect the two realms.

“Remember, my star,” her mama’s voice trembled those nights. Very tight and cautious. “Your father would not take too well to know of these stories. That is why we keep them from him.”

“But Mama,” she cuddled against her mother’s chest, feeling the bone-thing body press against her cheek as they huddled under blankets on the couch. “I miss papa.”

“I know, my dearest.” A kiss to her head signaled the start of the next story.

The stories allowed beyond the hush of nightfall were the simple fairy tales that had been a nightly ritual for them. In the beginning, all three of them would cuddle under woolen forts with pillows and chairs that helped keep the structure up. Her parents would laugh as she acted out scenes from the stories.

Some of the stories were of dragons befriending heroes, who later would turn on the poor beast. Others of mice helping women fulfill impossible tasks. Her personal favorites usually had princesses, and when they befriended the dragons who hid in the mountains all alone, her tiny body would jump and cheer.

“Everyone needs a friend, mama!” she’d cry, relieved when the story ended with friendship.

“Yes, my dearest, everyone needs a friend.”

It had taken running away from the only place she had known to realize why her mama had looked so sad when she said those words. The pull of her lips in a smile that cried without the use of tears. A look given to a child who unknowingly had no friends besides a doll named Gonzales with a lovely nickname of Michelle.

Child-like innocence had hidden much of what life had tried to pin her with.

Metal of the ship groaned. Vibrations rippled through the chains down her arm. The air around her paused, and she felt her breath catch at the pressure.

Heat erupted through the darkness and lit it up in an explosion of oranges, reds, and yellows. Pain pierced her eyes at the change of lighting. Clenching them, she pressed her face into her chilled arm and tried to listen beyond the ringing.

Voices loud enough to sound their distress caught her attention, then shouting from people she could only guess were the crew. Had the military become suspicious? When had they entered the hull of the ship? Maybe she had fallen unconscious from her beating or breaking her hand. Whoever had attacked were not pulling their punches, that she knew as another rumble went through the ship and her cage.

Voices crying out and screaming filled the silence the ringing had provided. Some were the frightened calls for help from women. Others full of pain that continued for several minutes or abruptly ended.

Like the winds of a desert, heat pulsed through the bars and swirled through the darkness. It from a relief from the chill of the air that she desperately wished to cling to. If the military were attacking, then they would be providing help to those like her. The moment she could get free and get back to land, she would find a way to slip away.

But her keys, and her bag…her heart clenched at the thought of being completely alone without her spirits. How would she be able to find them?

Something flickered in the space of the cages. A bit of white flashed through again, and her eyes widened. “Happy?” The word caught in her throat, and came out rasped. With nothing to wet her lips, she pressed herself forward, the word less than a wisp of air. “Happy!”

Frantic that the cat would not hear her, she pushed through the pain and numbness that had set into her limbs, and started to clang the chain again the bars above. A loud reverberation traveled down her arm and rang in her ears, but it did exactly what she needed.

“Lu-shee?” Happy halted midair at the new sound. Looking around, he noted that most of the cages in this area were empty compared to the other side, but there had to be someone here. Deciding to investigate the noise instead of wandering mindlessly for a clue where Lucy could be, a large smile lit up his face when he finally saw a cage with someone in it.

“Lucy!” He got right up to the bars and pressed his face in to look through them at her. “Where are your clothes? It’s chilly down where without Natsu!”

She choked back a sob that escaped with her relieved laughter and heaved a sigh of relief. Heat built up behind her eyes and his concerned blue face blurred. “You have…n-no idea how happy I am to see you, Happy!” A well of happiness flooded through her and she wanted to reach out and hug the cat to her.

“We came looking for you when Natsu found your hat!” Placing her pack on the ground, he looked at the lock on the door and tried shaking it open. Nothing rattled or shook. It felt like the door was fused with the rest of the bars and left no clear way to get out. A twinge of fear crept up her spine at the thought of what would have happened if the ship sunk.

Pushing the thought and fear down, she focused on the here and now. That meant getting out of the chains and cage. If Happy could find Salamander and somehow get his bracer from him…a frown pulled at her lips.

No, that would be too tricky and dangerous for him. There were too many variables that could put him at risk. What if Salamander used his charm magic? Could that affect a creature like Happy? She could not be certain, and sometimes even knowing the usage, those rings could pose a serious threat.  

Glancing down at the bag below Happy, a striking familiarity caught her by surprise. Each rip, patch, and stitch down to the mismatched buttons stood out to her. Even the thick leather she had managed to barter for after the bottom of the bag fell out on her. “You found my bag?”

“Of course, we did!” he said with a hiccup of a laugh.

Something glinted on the far edge of the bag and drew her attention away from what he was saying. Scents and Salamander, or something along those lines. Tilting her head for a better look at the items, a hoarse cry fell from her lips. “My keys! Happy, you found my keys!”

Happiness flowed through her like the heat of the sun. The keys her mother had cherished, the only thing she had left besides a journal and her looks, the friends who had stood by her in her need to escape.

Warmth spilled over onto her cheeks and she reached her broken hand out for them. “Please, can you hand me the golden one that looks like an axe?” The urge to request all of them filled her mouth and nearly spilled out. What use would it be to attempt to hold all of them in her broken hand? Enough pain from the beating earlier kept her from reaching out further—a twinge ran down her back from bruises.

Her mind rushed, figuring out what she would need to do to summon her spirit. If she did it in the cage, both of them might be stuck, or her spirit might accidentally hurt her. The spirit with the golden axe happened to be on the larger side.

But—she realized that while the front of the cage happened to be further away from her, that meant the back was closer. Pulling her arm back, another sting of pain shot down her side and into the top part of her thigh, she thrusted her arm out of the bars and held her hand open. “Put it in my hand, and I can get us help!”

There were no objections or words to question her on what she planned, Happy just gathered the keyring in his hand and sorted through silvers and golds until he found one that looked like a weapon once welded by a guildmate.

A warm, familiar hum of magic pulsed up her arm and sent goosebumps over her skin the moment the celestial metal touched her skin. Tears blurred her vision at the soothing nature of each of her spirits pushed through to her. Resolve strengthened, her grip on the key tightened and every ounce of her magical energy pushed toward it.

“Taurus! I call upon thee!”

Along the docks and rows of buildings in Hargeon, crowds gathered to watch the smoking ship just further out of the bay. Concern for those of their community who had gone to party with the Salamander rose. Had something gone wrong with the ship? Would the ship be able to limp back in? Without clearance to bring their ships into bay, or even close to the ship, all the sailors beached that night discussed what they could do to help.

Discussions drifted to faint murmurings above, as a young child stared wide-eyed out the window of their apartment. His mother stood above him, worrying at her nails about her sister’s health who had gone on the party cruise. Only the commotion and the woman’s worry allowed for the young the child to be up so late. In awe, he watched the sky far above and pointed upward, “Mommy! Look at that!”

Heavenly bodies shifted and twisted around the blanket of midnight. Stars radiated and dimmed, pulling some back into the void and others forward toward the earth. Their cosmic dance captivated many onlookers until a constellation gleamed, one out of season and should not be visible for a few months.

The stars that formed above flew together, shattering and shimmering downward. Glitter reflected in the child’s eyes and they watched it seem to touch the ship so many eyes were on before everything settled to normal. A fantastical story only those who had witnessed it would believe.

Within the bowels of the ship, a gust of wind snapped Lucy’s hair around the cage that Happy clung to. A curtain of shimmers stepped forward from the air and heavy hooves sounded on the metal floor. The wind settled and from the shattered stars, strong, fur covered hands grabbed onto the bars of the cage.

Muscles bulged along his arms and chest, both covered by a harness of leather and chain, as he pulled the bars away from each other. Even the muscles in his legs, covered by tight pants that went down to just above where the haunches of his hooves began, flexed with his strength. When one area had been widened, he moved further down until enough space had been made for Lucy to get out, and him to get to her.

Pressing forward, a large, hair covered snout entered the cage and caught sight of Lucy’s form. A snort of anger pushed the large nose ring forward from his snout and his eyes narrowed. “Who do I need to gorge with my horns, Miss Lucy?”

He reached inside, large hands carefully gripping the chain of the remaining cuff and snapped the links apart. Those same furred hands kept her steady and helped her step from the cage onto the floor that bit at her feet.

She pulled in a gasp, hopping between the balls of her feet. Daggers stabbed outwardly, and harsh chills inward. Looking up at Taurus, glancing upon the rack of two large horns swept out on each side of his head—it had always amazed her how they never caught on things—she noticed his own stare over her and remembered her state of dress. Arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts inward and her legs clenched together.

His eyes narrowed further. “Where is the bag you carried?”

“Over there,” she pointed to the other side of the cage.

Rivets popped with a loud hiss and metal screeched right into her ear cavity. Before she could register where the noise had come from, Taurus had already torn the cage she had been in from the ground and threw it behind them with a single, uninterested toss. Thunder rattled her bones where hooves met the floor beneath until he snatched the bag—and the cat attached to it—from the floor.

Kneeling down, he picked her up and set her on his knee so her feet would no longer be on the freezing ground. Even with strength that could bend steel apart, every action he made from moving her to opening her bag were careful. An egg could have been inside the bag, and it never would have cracked due to him. He held the bag to her, revealing the clothes she had inside. “You’ll catch a cold if you don’t get something on.”

Worrying her lower lip, she managed to find a large tee-shirt and the cloth pants she wore to bed, “I can wear these.” With a bit of help to keep her feet from touching the ground, both articles of clothing were tugged into place.

Happy landed on her head, staring down into the bag, “What about shoes?”

“I only had the one pair,” she answered, twisting her feet together anxiously.

Taurus and Happy shared a look. Neither seemed keen on letting her walk on her own without some form of protection. Further injury and illness could set in with her current state, and from the blood and bruises that covered her, both understood the risks were higher.

Eyes narrowed in on the other, silently challenging the other. As the air between them grew taunt, Lucy felt the oppressive energy press downward on her. “Could we please talk this out, what ever the issue may be.” Much to her chagrin, neither uttered a word when each put a fist forward and shook them in quick session.

Both hands went flat in the air at the same time. The slowly formed their fists again and shook them in another quick session. The fists stayed, but she suddenly understood what they were doing.

They were settling a decision between boulder, parchment, shears.

Another set of fist shakes, and finally, Happy celebrated his victory with shears defeating Taurus’ parchment. She shook her head and zipped her bag closed. It seemed attracting strange people really was a talent of hers. At least Happy and Natsu seemed to be on her side.

With Happy’s help, the bag slipped over her arms and settled on her shoulders. He came around her front and mumbled something before gathering up what was left of the straps and tied them together across her chest. Little paws worked diligently to make a firm knot that he pulled on until he was satisfied.

“That will keep you from falling out of the straps while I carry you,” he answered her voiceless question and spread his wings wide. “Hold on tight!”

He grabbed the top handle of the bag and flew up easily, lifting her up from Taurus’ leg and keeping her feet from touching the ground. Able to stand again, the bull stood tall and called out his axe from the celestial realm.

“Follow me,” he said and looked at Happy. “No one will get passed my axe or touch Miss Lucy.” A heated snort pushed his nose ring forward, and the amount of muscles that bulged from his muscles made Happy float back a bit. He could not say for sure if anyone he knew had muscles upon muscles.

“Is he always so angry and large?” he asked Lucy in a muted tone.

“He is a bull,” she groaned, wrapping her arms around her sore middle where the straps dug in. “And he is very protective.”

“Then I am glad he’s on our side!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

This chapter has been written and gone over for awhile, I just have been struggling with anxiety regarding posting for this fandom for a bit. Not sure why, but I am working on pushing through it to make sure I keep this series up and finish the other stories I have written.

Also, I plan to get to all the reviews that I haven't replied to on AO3 since all of this has taken hold. I appreciate each and every one of you who has left comments and kudos. They make my day when I see them, and if anyone tells you that comments don't mean anything, that is a big fat lie. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Along with everything, as well, a deep thank you to @theguildawards discord server and everyone I have made friends with there. They are truly some of the most amazing people.

Links: AO3 (Is locked to registered AO3 users) | FF.net

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[apuckishwit]

The mortifying ordeal of realizing you're going to meet your crush in person

Steve doesn’t freeze.

He doesn’t.

He takes a perfectly reasonable moment to process the boys’ request and the fact that he just stands there with a stack of plates clutched in his hands hovering over a cardboard box while his brain basically does a barrel roll and starts screaming, “Meet Eddie? Meet Eddie? Meet Eddie?” is purely coincidence.

He puts the stack of plates down in the cardboard box and then very casually leans back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “You guys want me to take you to Ohio this summer?” he repeats, also very casually.

“Yeah!” Dustin says, and Steve can already tell that now that the floodgates have been opened, the kid’s going to be pacing like a caged lion and vibrating like a livewire in about ten seconds. “We’ve got it all figured out. There’s a Greyhound bus that runs between Chicago and Columbus and Lucas and I have enough saved from Christmas and birthday money to pay for our tickets. Um, you’d have to buy your own but I swear we’ll pay you back.” True to Steve’s prediction, Dustin starts pacing the small length of his kitchen, his arms swinging wildly as he talks. “And then we can get convention passes and a hotel room. The actual hotel the convention is at is a little outside our price range, but Columbus has a public transport system and there’s cheaper motels not that far from the convention center, and we’d only have to stay for one night! We can get there on Friday night, stay at the hotel, go see Eddie on Saturday, and then get back on the bus and head back to Chicago!”

Steve’s not a math genius or anything, and he has no idea how much convention passes are for this thing, but he’s pretty sure there’s no way Dustin and Lucas have got enough birthday and Christmas money for bus tickets, convention tickets, and a hotel room, no matter how cheap. When he says as much, Dustin actually blushes, shrugging a little.

“I figured I could skip Camp Know Where this year. I get a scholarship for most of it, but Mom still has to pay part. It should be enough to cover the hotel and convention tickets.”

At that, Steve startles. “You love going to your nerd camp,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, but then he grins at his friends. “But I think this is more important this year…when are we gonna get another chance to visit Eddie?”

“Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the good of the Party,” Lucas says, his voice deadly serious. “I was gonna go to that basketball clinic Mr. Newby put up flyers for last week, but I’d rather help pay for our tickets.”

“And I’ve been saving my allowance for some new paints, but, uh, I’m gonna pitch that in for food,” Will adds. For a moment, he looks a little embarrassed that his contribution is so much smaller than Dustin’s and Lucas’s, but the boys sling their arms around his shoulders, and the embarrassment quickly fades. “And! And! Mike’s pretty sure he can talk his parents into letting him come, too! Like, come up and stay with me and leave for the convention with us!”

Their excitement is palpable—word of the day, the day he finally registered for his first classes…Robin had come over and sat with him while he did it, and afterwards she’d squealed and hugged him and he could almost feel her pride and happiness wrapping around him like a blanket—and Steve can’t help the grin tugging at his mouth. Goddamn, he loves these little shits so much. The boys turn hopeful eyes on him again, Dustin bouncing a little on his toes.

“Sooooo?” he asks. “What do you say?”

“Please Steve?” Lucas says.

“Yeah, please?” Will smiles up at him sweetly and Steve shakes his head.

“When is this convention?” he sighs, nodding to himself when Dustin rattles off the dates. He doesn’t think it’ll conflict with his classes (he wonders if he’s ever going to get used to the swoop in his stomach when it hits him that he’s got classes coming up—he really got accepted to the program he wanted, he’s really going to school) and even if it does, it should be early enough that he won’t miss something earth-shattering.

Because really…

How could he say no?

He pretends to be thinking it over for a few moments, just to watch them squirm in suspense, before he sighs and nods. “All right, I’m in,” he says, and then turns back to his cabinets and pretends to ignore the hyper cheers that burst out of the boys. A second later, though, he lets out a sharp oof when he’s tackled from behind by three skinny sets of arms.

“Thank you!”

“Yes! I knew you wouldn’t let us down!”

“Oh my God, this is going to be awesome! Eddie’s gonna be so surprised!”

He manages to wrest himself around to face them, trying to pull his face into a stern frown and failing miserably if the way they’re grinning up at him is any indication. “All right, all right, if you’re not going to help me pack, then scram,” he orders, and is unsurprised when they all of a sudden need to start working on the parental pitch, now that they’ve secured a chaperone. He’s not even mad about it—he trusts Will to be careful with his things, but Dustin is often a bull in a china shop and Lucas is going through a growth spurt that has left him coltish and clumsy.

They file out of his apartment, talking about how they’re going to present their idea with the same intensity they strategize in the campaign. Dustin is muttering something about a slideshow while Lucas wonders if they can use the A/V club’s equipment as the door swings shut behind them. Steve carefully finishes packing the last of his plates away (he should probably leave at least one out, but he’s honestly too lazy…he can just eat off of paper plates for the last few days here) and manages to carry the box over to the neat stack he has going right by the door.

As soon as he sets it down, though, the full extent of what he’s just agreed to do hits him. His brain starts barrel-rolling again. And all he can do is sink down onto his coffee table and stare at his wide-eyed reflection in his dark TV screen.

What has he done?

From Ch 27 of Rolled a 1 on the Check, Rolled a 20 on the Save on AO3, by APuckish_Wit

[selene-and-the-cold]

OF/MD Drabble - Darkness

So, I was writing a fic for OF/MD, when all of a sudden, intrusive thoughts of angsty!Ed hijacked my brain.

There is sick!Ed (no snz, but coughing and fever) and a worried Stede. It is really just a tiny snipped of angst, but it wanted out so here it is :D

Somewhere past re-union, but please be gentle if anything here is not in accordance with S2 because I haven't seen it, yet, and only live on spoilers ^^

It's very vague, so could be at any point after their reunion.

***

The darkness was everywhere.

So heavy that Edward's eyes hurt from its pressure. An all-encompassing, deep, thick black leaden fog. Engulfing him. Choking him. Its pressure spread from his eyes to his head, and chest, invisible hands closing around his neck. He tried to get up, but the darkness sat so heavy on his chest that he could not move. His limbs were weighed down by the leaden darkness and he could not breathe. Could not move. His heart was racing, thumping hard against his rib-cage, urging him to fight, and rid himself of the darkness' crushing weight. He tried to scream – perhaps some of the guys would hear him, someone, anyone!

But as soon as he opened his mouth, the darkness streamed into it like thick black smoke, coiling into his mouth and throat like an angry black snake. He writhed restlessly, trying to push the weight off him with all his might, mouth agape in a silent, choked scream no one would hear.

I'm gonna die here, Ed suddenly thought. I'm gonna fucking die and no one will know. No one was here. No one cared. He was alone. And Stede was gone.

Ed tried to call out for help again. Tried to call out for Stede, but the weight on his chest became so heavy that Ed had to cough, his body shaking violently, beads of sweat dripping down his face, as he writhed, twisted, tossed and turned, fighting the darkness with all his might.

He coughed again, his lungs burning like someone had stabbed his lungs with a thousand tiny knives, each wound bleeding and hurting with every cough. By now, he had no idea if he was standing up, or lying down, floating or falling, Everything hurt, and it was so fucking hot in here... Too hot. Too dark. Too much.

And yet, he was painfully aware that something was missing... Something was not there. Someone... Stede! Stede was not here.

Stede...

Some time ago, he'd dreamed about Stede coming back. Of soft, blond waves of hair next to him on the pillow, close enough for him to touch and rake his fingers through. Of Stede's warm body next to his. Of tender kisses and of falling asleep in his arms, head resting against Stede's chest.

“Stede...”

Dry, cracked lips, barely moving, breathing Stede's name out into the stillness of the night between rattling coughs.

Stede had just gone out to the bathroom for a few moments, but Ed's harsh, labored coughs had called him back with urgency.

“Ed! I'm here. I'm here, love!”

Stede hurried over, his dressing gown fluttering behind him. Hand outstretched, he reached the bed and clasped Edward's hand, while he tried to pull him up with the other.

“Ed, please, try to sit up for me so you can breathe.”

Suddenly, Ed's eyes were wide open, staring at Stede with anxious fury, so painfully intense that his fear burnt through the darkness of their quarters.

“Stede..?,” Edward asked, a quiet sob that rang through Stede's very core. “You... You're here? I though you were a dream... I thought you wouldn't come back...,” Ed choked out between coughs, damp hair plastered to his feverish brow, brown eyes swimming with tears.

“Yes, Edward, I'm here..” Stede clasped Ed's hand a little tighter, greedily gathering Edward's in his grasp. “I'm sorry, I just went to the bathroom for a moment.”

Stede's chest ached with the all too familiar feeling of losing the one person he wanted to spend his life with. The one person who made life worthwhile. That very ache was staring back at him out of Edward's eyes. Seeing it there, knowing that he had put it there, was agony.

Stede helped Edward sit up, who was still wrecked with harsh coughs, his entire body trembling from the effort of choking out those coughs because he was so weak from fever.

Unable to do very much else, Stede just held him and rubbed his back in soothing circles, steadying his beloved, while the savage coughing fit ran its course. It was one of the worst yet, and Stede prayed to all the deities who cared to listen that they would soon arrive at Barataria Bay, where – at least according to Jim – a former nun with special healing powers had found shelter and a new home after being expelled from her convent.

As the heavy darkness slowly let off and gave Edward's lungs free, the coughing began to subside. Stede gently tightened his arms around Ed, as if he could absorb him into his body if he'd only tried hard enough.

“There we go... you'll soon be able to breathe better, Ed. Just let it out... take it slow.. one breath after the other.”

He rocked their bodies in a gentle, soothing motion, kissing Ed's hair, and damp forehead, doing anything he could, really, to show Ed that he was here.

“Stede... I thought you were gone?,” Edward sobbed, “I... I was drowning, choking, and you weren't there...”

“I know...” the knowledge of it would forever haunt Stede. He had been too afraid to stay. Too afraid to disappoint, blind enough not to notice that leaving was the biggest disappointment he could ever have put Ed through. The worst possible mistake.

“But now I'm here and I will never leave you again, Edward. I'm sorry... This time, me leaving was just a bad dream. And it will always be never more than a bad dream because I will never leave again – unless you tell me to.”

Edward violently shook his head and buried his face so deep into Stede's chest, that Stede could feel hot tears soaking through the fabric of his nightshirt.

The two men held each other for a long moment, soaking in each other's presence, until Stede could feel Edward become heavy in his arms, as Ed's meager well of strength ran dry.

“You should lie back down and rest, my love. Here.. we'll prop you up against these pillows so you can breathe a bit more easily.”

Edward still clawed at Stede's dressing gown, unwilling to let go.

“What about you?,” Ed rasped, but the intensity, which was lacking in his voice lingered in his gaze. Glassy eyes searching Stede's, their deep, dark color gleaming with the fear of being alone.

“I'll be here. Right beside you.”

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

If its not too much to ask, can I request yandere demoman peppering kisses and bites all along s/o's neck all while telling them to try to stay quiet.

Tw: dubious consent, hickies, voice control, pet names, gn reader, regret, yanderes, mentions of explosives, heated scene, smut adjacent

Demo knew all too well that you’d be coming to drop off essentials for the team and he refused to let this opportunity go to waste.

He convinced Soldier to wake everyone early to get a jump on the enemy team. A plan the man commended him for.

This mission was going to be foolproof. The night before demo had lain his traps about the playing field, going the extra mile as to bury some extra sensitive explosives on enemy turf. One the explosions started you’d be here with the parcels and everyone would be too busy dealing with one another to watch as Demon stealthed away.

And it worked.

You wandered the metallic halls, searching for a place to set the cart you were pushing. You’d pushed your luck this far by even being close to the field, but with all of the luggage you were carrying you worried you’d be caught toting the opposing teams objects.

The task has always been daunting, but today had you tripping over yourself.

The men had gotten a head start, meaning you forgot where the hell their rooms were. And the layouts of the two buildings were entirely different save the outside. It was stress enducing, and you’d never been more on edge in this job.

You’d nearly pissed yourself when a thick arm pulled you into its body. With a scream you attempted a turn.

“Ah, and here I thought you’d come to expect my greetings!” The man broadcasted loudly, pressing his rough cheek into you affectionately. You held a hand to your chest, attempting to stablize your oxygen intake.

“FUCK Tavish!” You exclaimed, still processing the fiasco with a lame expression. He shook you a bit as you eased into him, prattling on about how he’d missed you. You felt his hand come to your rib cage to keep you steady. And you welcomed it by placing your hand over his.

You held onto his arm, concentrating mainly on the softness that he held in his chest, allowing your back to completely relax under him.

As you leaned back he backed into a room. With how calm you were you didn’t even notice you were in a completely different space.

Eyes closed, humming with the sway of the man behind you.

The whole thing felt… right. So soft and intimate, you’d not taken a second to think about whether or not the two of you were anything at all.

You didn’t take into account, with how sweet and casually the man spoke to you, just how many times he’d actually seen you.

How he knew you down to such a minute detail- that he could rattle your own life back at you from behind.

And this comfort is the same reason you didn’t notice the soft kisses that started at your temple.

In fact, you didn’t notice until his beard tickled the hairs at the back of your neck that he was kissing you at all!

His lips freckled little kisses about your check, down to your jaw. Your chin with a tilt of your head.

Then he got under, pressing just a bit further.

You giggled, playfully pushing his head away.

He snickered a bit, dryly unbeknownst to you.

Then he continued, letting little words of praise slip loose as he continued to plant small, calculated kisses down your neck. Though you only hummed contentedly at the feeling.

Until- at the junction of your clavicle and neck he sucked lightly.

The pressure elicited a sweet moan of surprise from you. You felt heat quickly drop to your legs, and rise to adorn your face.

You raised a hand to rest on the top of his head, arching a just a bit at he licked a stripe up to your shoulder. Then the nipped at you.

You huffed a bit, a high pitched noise coming through your nose as it did. He nearly purred at the reaction. Doing it yet again as he allowed his hand to rest at your hip, the other one covered your stomach, pulling you into him.

You rose your head, giving him better access, chasing the feeling you got from this man who was little more than an acquaintance.

“Fuck Tavvvv.” You drew his name out, the sweet abrevative causing him to moan against you. His hands tensed where they where, and the one on your stomach came up to rest on your neck again.

“Shh love. I’d you want me to keep going you’ve gotta stay quiet.” You nodded for him.

“You’re gonna be good?”

“Yes sir- please.” He caved, continuing his process.

He worked his tongue over the fading mark of where he’d nipped you. Pressing it into you just a bit harder. Then he nipped again. You thrust your hips forward, an action that stirred some sick feeling of pride in Demo.

You covered your mouth, finally allowing yourself to open your eyes and keep watch of the doorway before you.

“Tavvy there’s no one here.” You whined out, hoping to coax him into letting you moan. He shook his head and kept sucking at your neck, making his way up to your ears.

“Don’t do it dear.” You whimpered just under a whisper, a sound kept entirely for Tavish to hear.

You wanted to give him all the praise he deserved there. You instead rubbed little hearts into the fabric of his shirt as he nipped and sucked on your ear.

Shivers of stimulation coursed through you. Allowing Demo to feel just how good this was to you.

Just then the announcers voice boomed through the entire feild, marking the thirty second time limit.

Demo cringed and let you if you ungracefully. You let out a gasp of shock, immediately patting down your outfit as men from Demos team ran through the building.

The look on his face was one of pure agitation, his palm slid down exaggeratedly. And he let himself groan and pick up his shooter.

As he passed you with a smile he gave you a note. Running ahead with little more than a word.

You stared at the note in complete bafflement of the situation you were just in.

Then the reality of the matter set in.

You checked the mirror in the nearest bathroom to confirm your suspicion.

Your neck looked like it been flung through a meteor field. It was nearly completely covered in dark splotches that stretched from the front of your neck, damn near to the back.

You covered your mouth in pure realization of what you’d done.

The man had damn near trapped you in that situation and you had let yourself be drawn in by the allure of affection. You wanted to gag from the disappointment and shock that you’d let that happen.

As you reminisced on where you went wrong Demo detonated the entire area the rival team stood in.

He looked more triumphant than he had in ages, and he ran around keeping a close eye on the affairs. A keen sense of accomplishment and love blooming inside of him.

[talktomeinclexa]

On the Ground All Can Hear You Scream

By: TalktomeinClexa

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None in this chapter. Canon violence in others

Status: WIP

Summary: Novitiate Lexa is captured by reapers and wakes up locked in a cage, not knowing that the blonde who finds her there will change her destiny. Unless this enemy turns out to be who Fate had in store for her?

***

Chapter 12: Young People Are as Stubborn as It Gets

Standing among the fully bloomed trees covering Mount Weather’s slope, Clarke watched as a sizable troop rode away from Pax in a chorus of neighs and rattles. Once more, Lexa was leaving, and she had no way of knowing when they would see each other again.

Holding back a sniffle, she blamed the cloud of dust growing larger and larger for her pooling tears and gritted her teeth.

How many times would they find themselves in the same situation? How many times would she have to stay behind while the woman she loved headed for danger? If only her father had agreed to fight by Lexa’s side. Then, maybe, Clarke wouldn’t have had to hold the pieces of her heart together without as much as a goodbye to comfort her.

“Clarke,” a voice called her from behind, interrupting her bitter reflection.

The young woman turned around and took in the group gathered. More had come than she would have thought, but would it be enough to make a difference?

“We’re ready when you are,” Bellamy continued, resolution burning in his eyes.

For someone who had hated Trikru at first, his decision was almost comical. But after years of sporadic and then regular interactions, he had grown to appreciate—if not like—Lexa and her people. There were some he would even call friends. And Bellamy, for all his bullheadedness, was loyal to those he loved.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Clarke said, looking at her companions in turns. “We’re talking about going to war. The risks will be real. If you’re not sure, there’s no shame in staying here. All I ask is that you don’t warn my parents of our plan.”

Her friends remained quiet while her words sunk into their minds and they reexamined the upcoming dangers and losses.

As exciting as her plan had sounded at first, the reality was catching up with them. They would be away from the only home they had ever known and the comfort it provided. They would have to sleep on the ground, hunt, fight. Some of them could die.

Clarke observed them in silence, wondering if she was making the right choice. Should she have borrowed a horse and departed alone, in the middle of the night, rather than dragged them into that venture? And how would she forgive herself if something happened to one of them? If Monty, so smart and sweet, died? If Raven lost Finn, or the opposite? Would Bellamy ever absolve her if Octavia, his stubborn younger sister who refused to remain behind, didn’t come home?

“We’ll follow you anywhere, Clarke,” Wells said, earning himself a firm nod of approval from his companions. “Till the end.”

Keep reading

[oldxenomorph]

i was going to lay down and take a nap until i saw something that simply will not leave my head. i must scream about it. (MASSIVE HADES 2 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT)

(from this post)

i've been unhealthily obsessive with the chaos-chronos storyline (because i NEED to know where is nyx), eating up every crumb i can find on youtube and in the hades 2 tag and oh my god. puts my head in my hands.

i still would like to know exactly how chronos was able to overpower nyx, considering her power and, again, her connection to the underworld. hopefully someone comes across that or it gets revealed in a later update. but! are we in a nightmare scenario where chronos has everyone imprisoned, including nyx and the fates, when he says "but now i have them all!"? violently rattling the bars to my cage! i'm dying here!

crying and throwing up wishing chaos was able to exchange the fates for nyx and that they're hiding her/protecting her somewhere, maybe within themself. (i don't necessarily agree with the interpretation i've been seeing that chaos looks like megaera aside from the ponytail. also we know where meg is: she's imprisoned with the rest of the house of hades members. but anything's possible at this point, maybe supergiant will surprise me.)

---

ever since i learned about chronos wanting to go after the fates, i've been thinking a lot more about the relationship they and the fates have with the great family.

first off, i'm of the firm believer that the fates have no jurisdiction over the great family. as the children of nyx, they are considerably younger than most, if not all, members of the great family. even the emperor is older than them. seeing that the great family operates beyond space and time, they are governed by their own strange beliefs about destiny. as a result they treat the fate with mostly indifference.

that being said, the fates do know about the great family and they know about the emperor. they know that the night and extinction must be brought together, that after a time apart they must be reunited; the night must endure the wait and all that may come to pass in the meantime, and extinction must endure a time spent amongst humanity and claim their inheritance. the fates know about the cycles of extinction and that one day, it will come for them.

i still can't get out of my head the idea of nyog'sothep making herself known to chaos during this crisis. i don't think chaos knew or even understood why nyx eventually became estranged from them, only that their relationship had deteriorated. i'm not sure if chaos knew that nyog'sothep has something to do with it, that she was the one who drew nyx out so she could be with the emperor these first several billion years while the universe cooled and sorted itself out.

THE CYCLE BEGINS: nyog'sothep became a mother to nyx. she taught her the ways of the great family. her servitors dressed the young goddess. for a time, her domain was nyx's home for a time. nyog'sothtep brought her to the emperor when she was ready. as a mother, nyog'sothtep is stern but loving, she expects one to find their role within the family and fulfill their duties; she is the rationality to nyarlathotep's chaos, she is her parent's deepest thoughts. (insert more about nyog'sothep and azatoth later, i'm starting to get sleepy.)

typically nyog'sothep does not involve herself with matters beyond her domain, the violet sephulchre, or the great family. but the crisis, her genuine worry for nyx, her wanting to collect the emperor's centipede emissary before chronos noticed its presence, made her do something she had no plan on doing until now: making contact with chaos.

i'll have to think more about what their first meeting was like, but i feel like both entities come to an understanding of one another. nyog'sothep would have notices the changes in chaos, seeing that their relationship with nyx has greatly improved over the years. i do think nyog'sothtep would still be genuinely upset that nyx was put in danger, than her power was somehow over ridden. such a thing must not stand. if nyx is safe, then i can see nyog'sothep at first offering to keep nyx within the violet sepulchre, but would have to be convinced to allow chaos to keep nyx with them. if chronos still has nyx and the fates, then i think nyog'sothep would be Incredibly Upset. if that's the case, then (the cycle continues) like zagreus, melinoe may have to help get nyog'sothtep to forgive chaos. maybe nyx will have to get involved when the crisis is over.

ALSO, NOT EXACTLY A PARALLEL, but man. chaos giving the fates over to chronos to save nyx. then thousands of years later, nyx giving the emperor-as-shepard's body to liara to give to cerberus in order to save her.

screams and passes out.

[spritehouse]

prompt: damaged wings

a wip for my bthb square damaged wings since bc i haven't been writing recently

⚠️Content Warnings: kidnapping, starvation/dehydration/general mistreatment⚠️

Spencer Reid dreams of being free.

He dreams of open-air so blue he could drown in it, swimming in the sky until the sun sinks, painting the horizon shades of pink.

He dreams of sitting on clouds—his brain has given up on reminding him they’re merely water vapor, gas, not solid or soft long ago—sleeping on the comfortable cushion of condensation instead of concrete.

Spencer dreams of the stars.

He dreams of gliding, wind in his hair, the moon illuminating his path as he connects the hole to heaven—pin-prick pokes in the atmosphere—floating in a sea of freedom.

He doesn’t wake, never fully, opening his eyes to the nightmare he escapes for a few hours every night, the cold darkness seeping back into his lungs after his imaginary breaths of fresh air, false hope only adding to the burning ache in his chest.

His back aches, the area where pale skin meets neglected brown, down feathers, burning and bloody from abuse, once brilliant wings hanging lamely from his shoulder blades.

Chains rattle when he moves, manacled ankles and wrists bruised from the constant weight of their restraints, heavy metal tethering the brunette to the floor of his cage.

Time passes—Spencer had stopped counting the seconds long ago, hours and days bleeding together, losing all meaning within the walls of his captivity—when the door on the opposite end of the dark room opens, sharp and painful white, clinical light streaming into the overcrowded space.

A few mutters drift through the stale air, new captives whose hope remains intact, dreams waiting for hands to break with skin and bones, sparks yet to be snuffed out, though most of the captured creatures remain silent; their kidnappers prefer those who can hold their tongues, punishing those who do not learn this quick enough.

Hands—calloused, worn, some bloody, though everyone knows it isn’t human blood staining pristine skin—reach out, claws extending towards bars, refilling bone-dry water dishes and barren food bowls, a few fingers straying to stoke wings and pet tails, touch lingering like a blade over the recipient’s head, a threat.

They have caught their attention; they will be gone, presumably dead, or worse, but gone nonetheless.

The newcomers devour the food, gulp the water, and lick everything dry, but Spencer and those in the back know better. Their food is sparse—only what they need to survive—they must ration it; those who do not learn this fast enough will starve.

Even caged, they are fighting; some creatures, beings, a population less than human fight to survive, outlasting the others in vain hopes of rescue while others, the hopeless, those in the back where the light barely reaches, battle instinct—parched throats and empty stomachs, beating wings, restless tails, twitching whiskers—fighting the remnants of fight or flight responses, waiting for the day their bodies give out, releasing them from their confines.

Spencer stares at his bowl when the hands reach through the bars, hard pellets, like kibble, clinking against metal, unmoving; his stomach has long since stopped aching for sustenance, hunger pangs fading to white noise.

The hands retract, then return, filling the second bowl with water.

His body relaxes as much as it can, shoulders slumping when the dirty hands retract again, shadowed body walking around his cage, moving on, heavy footsteps echoing through the air of held breaths as they leave his sight.

And then the touch comes.

It fills his senses, consuming his thoughts—seconds of physical contact after torturous deprivation—cold fingers stroking his wings, the unwanted touch invading his senses and consuming his thoughts until every nerve ending is yelling run.

And Spencer screams.

[baneshake]

My grandfather will be dead soon. Statistically, to most of the people who will ever read this post, he will already be dead. His cancer has spread into his bones, possibly his brain, but that won't even be what does it. It may be his kidneys failing, or it may be his heart finally succumbing to the final results of a massive heart attack he had when I was young. I got the news today, right after I clocked out of work, that his doctor approved to take him off of any medications other than comfort care in his final... days? Hours? It's genuinely better this way; he doesn't want to suffer any longer. A couple of nights back, he awoke my parents, rattling the rails on his hospice bed set up in his living room, in front of his big television, temporarily delirious. "Get me out of here!" he cried, too weak to lift his legs up over the rail. "I feel like a rat in a cage." Hearing this news today, that he is getting the option that he wants, that will be most merciful to him, made me cry harder than I have for him yet.

Knowing that he will be gone soon, amongst everything else, is a suffocating feeling, but not in the ways most people will initially assume. He and I share a name; he has always gone by "Bill," shortening our middle name down, but he is Charles William jr. I'm number IV, and I've always just been Charlie. Sr. was Charlie as well. I knew my great-grandfather into my teenage years, which is fortunate compared to what so many people get to have with a great-grandparent; it also allowed me to see more context than I would have otherwise. That Charlie and Bill did not have a smooth relationship. Things were rocky between father and son, and Charles III was even part of mediating through things so they could both come to closure in that Charlie's dwindling twilight years. Bill and Charles III likewise butted heads and had a strained relationship for some time, and while they reconciled enough at a younger age to overlook most of it, the pattern is there. We Charles have a pattern of clashing with our fathers.

Skip a generation, and you clear up the issue. Charlie Sr. was so proud when his grandson, Charles III, told him he was becoming Pastor Chuck. It's much easier for a Charles to connect with his grandfather. Similarly, while Bill isn't the most intuitive at saying the words out loud, I know without any doubt that that man loves me genuinely unconditionally. There's not a shared point between our circles on this venn diagram, and he has never cared. Bill is a man of cars, engines, drag racing. He was big and bold and secure in himself without a second thought, for better or for worse, before his health declined. That was never me; I was always the awkward, quieter writer kid, trying to coax very complex and abstract thoughts into something useful instead of always just struggling with self-esteem and doubts. Even though I never cared for Corvettes or Forty Fords, I didn't have to for him. I don't have to for him.

It's suffocating knowing there will just be two Charles remaining soon. We Charles have a pattern of clashing with our fathers, but I internalize that has hard as I can. I always have. Pastor Chuck's love has only ever felt conditional. I put on a pretty façade to keep that clash internal, and it tears me up, and sometimes I just want to scream and let it all out, but it keeps that conditional love where it needs to be. Pastor Chuck is a big, public regional leader in the "Global Methodist Church," the splitting side of the schism over the United Methodist Church being less bigoted over LGBT rights than it used to be. Charlie is openly bisexual to those he knows closely enough, and was bisexual a long time before I was ready to accept it. Pastor Chuck is a fundamentalist, determined to know every way the Bible is the inerrant word of the Omni-God that he possibly can. Charlie left the faith a long time ago, knowing there was no way to get there without starting at the conclusion already. I know unambiguously after years of contemplation that it would be physically impossible to believe in what Pastor Chuck does without a dramatic, unwelcome change to my physical brain itself.

And I feel guilty, so very guilty, letting this eat up even the portion of my attention that it does. It's time to mourn Granddaddy Bill, the beloved grandfather I won't have much longer. He will soon no longer exist in any sense that matters outside of memories. Yet I'm still stuck mourning one further support in the foundation built to keep the clash with my father at bay. I know that once Granddaddy is gone, that fact becomes one further point of contention that would decide Dad's conditional love. Pastor Chuck is losing his father on this Earth. Charlie is losing his Grandfather permanently.

I wrote this post up as a comment on a shockingly timely video Big Joel uploaded about death. Some of it was me processing through these very complex thoughts, and some of it was a way to express thanks in a very weird way, I suppose. Mostly, I think I'm just trying to externalize these thoughts. I'm tired of having to be the one bottled up, making concessions for the sake of civility. I think I primarily just don't want to be alone with these thoughts right now.

[lifeslittleinnuendos]

What's the hardest lesson life has taught you so far?

Love Hurts

Love hurts when you’re 4 years old and hungry. The lights from the upstairs bedroom at 2 in the afternoon are off, door closed, drapes pulled tight. Dark. Depressed. So she opened the fridge and pulled out the package of hot dogs, climbed onto the counter and put them into the microwave. A thousand explosions from inside as the skin burst open with the heat. She took the knife to cut it in pieces just the way mom did, and she watched as it slipped and sliced straight into her thumb, lodged in the skin, watching the river of blood trickling down her hand.

Love hurts when you’re 10 years old. In Nashville, at a daycare. Dropped off while your parents find help. Your younger brother terrified, screams and cries every time he’s left on his own. And so you spend the next 10 hours entertaining him, talking to him, playing with him. Exhausted. And every time you try to close your eyes his tears bring you back. And you spend the next decade of your life both protecting and hating him.

Love hurts when you’re sitting on the street corner under the tree. 16, without a license, all your eggs firmly planted into one basket, waiting for that boy to come back, to tell you that he loves you, to give a piece of himself back to you, and he never does because you’re asking him to be the float that keeps your head above water and no one is meant to bare that burden.

Love hurts when you’re 18 years old and getting ready to leave for college. No idea what lies ahead. All her friends are picking out college classes and what dorm stuff they’ll buy. Going to visit campuses on her own. She’s lost herself in someone else’s life so she doesn’t have to face what it means to spend the next 2 months without her mom again as she tries to put her life back together somewhere else, alone and terrified.

Love hurts when you’re 22. So desperate to feel something solid in her life that she climbs into a stranger’s car for the night. Skin on skin. Anything to keep the loneliness at bay. The next morning she wakes up to sheer panic. No money. No phone. No car. Hungover. Sliding out someone else’s bedroom window to walk across town and find home.

Love hurts at 24. Looking to see her value through the eyes of the boy in front of her. She let herself be rated 1-10. Not small enough. Not talented enough. Not driven. So she stopped eating. She kept drinking. And she moved through life as fast as she could. If she never stopped moving, the pain wouldn’t have a chance to knock her to her knees. Using every ounce of effort left in her body, she supported him through the end of his world until it finally took the last bit of integrity she possessed.

Love hurts at 32. Looking at the man she had built her life with and choosing forgiveness once again. Why? Another violation. Why couldn’t she find the anger centered inside her body. Hell, why couldn’t she find anything in her body but the river of intense longing, a cavern of abandonment in her chest. Left for another woman and choosing to try yet again.

Love hurts when you can’t find yourself. When you’re sitting at the stoplight on your way to work, and it hits you, hard, the wind pouring from your lungs like the sails unfurling in a hurricane. She couldn’t find herself. Where was her worth? She breathed in gasping for the oxygen to see her through. She emblazoned words on her rib cage so that every. Single. Time. She took off her shirt to see her naked body, it would be a reminder. “Know your worth.” The words rattling inside “we accept the love we think we deserve.”

Love still hurts at 36. But now she recognizes the pain has lapped at the edges, softening every side. She’s relearning that her value is intrinsic. Empathy and kindness, courage and bravery stand where once she was met with fear. Passion and vulnerability unearthed in each and every weathering storm. A deep knowing greets her from the inside as she stands very still in the tornado of the pulsing anxiety. Love hurts but maybe it’s meant too. Love will always hurt, but the secret is never to leave her own side. Hand on heart, one slow breath at a time, to know that she will always be enough and will never leave her side.