#he’d probably bend his bones in different directions just to fuck with people

[littlecrow4]

Sometimes when I’m drawing and something doesn’t look right I just sit there for a sec and think “I forgot how to draw basic human anatomy” so then I retry for a million hours until it looks decent enough to me lmao

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I also still don’t know how to to do clothing folds so I just kinda draw lines where I think they fit

[youreyeslookliketheocean]

youreyeslookliketheocean’s DSMP Fic Recs!!

Figured it was about time for one of these... :)

Mostly SBI-centric because they’re my favorite dynamic. I’ll probably add to this list as time goes on, and I also want to go back through my ao3 history and find some lesser-known fics I really enjoyed to rec them all. But for now...

* oneshot  ** unfinished work

** the lights go out (my heart goes still) by curseworm

With his old home unwelcoming and his new one gone, Tommy is alone. After hours of staggering through the freezing snow, he finds a cabin.

Technoblade’s cabin.

He hides himself away in the deepest corner he can find, taking only what he needs to survive, wasting away in the cold and the dark. He’s petrified at the thought of being found out, terrified of what he thinks Techno would do to him.

When Techno finds his injured teenage brother huddled in a filthy little cave beneath his basement, the rage he feels is immeasurable. The voices demand blood, and blood he will give them. Dream won’t be getting away with this one.

(On the other side of the world, in a country that floats on a man-made lake, Philza gets himself in a bit of a pickle.) 

** The hearth down under by Crystalquill

A tiny change gives Tommy the courage to flee to the Nether instead of the cold tundra, finding an unlikely ally in the midst of a fiery hellscape.

But tiny changes can alter the course of history. The SMP will never be the same.

(Lots of cool Nether worldbuilding in this one!!)

to be a wanderer, wandering by hydrangeasheart

Tommy's feet drag in the snow.

It's so, so cold. He's so cold. His toes are freezing. His exposed shins feel like they’ve been cut open-- even the one that’s bandaged. His wings have gone numb, which is almost, almost good, because now he can’t feel the shifting, broken bones inside of the left one, just under feathers and muscle.

He doesn’t know why he’s still walking.

-

Or, Tommy leaves the exploded ruins of Logstedshire behind, and walks until he finds somewhere safe.

And things keep going from there.

(A canon-divergent AU, splitting off somewhere around when Tommy started hiding out below Techno's house.)

that’s, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know (and then “as long as i’m here”, and “he’s my brother, i just raise him”)

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade.

passerine by thcscus(blujamas)

Do I really need to put the summary here? Pretty much everyone knows this fic. Also, though, if you enjoy this one you should totally read thcscus’ connected fic, “shrike”!! It’s only at 2 chapters right now but it’s already really good and has this dark, foresty aesthetic I love...

not with a bang but with a whimper by dip_dyed_ghost

He knows Tubbo doesn’t care about him anymore. He knows that. He’s been shown that. But it doesn’t stop Tommy from caring about him. He brushes the pads of his fingers over the compass’s glass and wonders how he’s doing, if he’s tired of it all yet, if he needs help. He watches the way it points strongly in the direction over the ocean. He hopes he’s alright.

Even after everything, he hopes he’s alright.

During his exile, Tommy finds a drugged and hurt Tubbo on his doorstep. He can’t not help him.  

(This one has a neat take on potions, in my opinion. Also it’s only 4 chapters so it’s a quick read!)

take this compass, follow it home by lightning_anon

Tommy's a fuck up, he can't pay attention, and never sits still. He taps his hands, pushes people away, and has never had a best friend. He's a screwed up, forgotten kid lost in the foster system. He's also just been placed with a new family. Tommy knows how this goes, he never ends up staying long. After all, no one wants a fuck up like him.

Why would this house be any different?

Or: the obligatory sleepy bois foster fic, but with a focus on the neurodivergent kids that inevitably get lost in the system.

(Genuinely want to see more books like this in original fiction. It’s part of what inspired my newest og wip, “To Build a Home.” So sweet and I feel like I had my eyes opened to some neurodivergent tendencies I never knew existed. I read this in a day and can’t rec it enough.)

bloodlines by youreyeslookliketheocean

Tommy’s an orphan on the run from his previous guardian. Philza’s a king who prides himself on keeping his kingdom in an era of peace. Wilbur’s the crown prince, and Techno’s right beside him as his adopted brother. When Phil’s kingdom of Pogtopia is threatened by the bloodvines—a strange, brainwashing plant infecting many of the surrounding kingdoms—the four must work together to keep the kingdom, and their family, safe. --- A royal au sbi fic... + the bloodvines, for spice.

(Yes I’m self-promoting. But, in my defense, I’m very proud of it. If you checked it out it would mean the world to me :’))

Heat Waves by tbhyourelame

Dream has always held a gentle admiration for George, but when their nuanced friendship trickles into his sleeping mind, he awakens to a new world of conflicting emotions and longing. Lost in the midst of a heat wave, he continuously listens to a song that works itself in to the very core of his heartache. Floridian nights, unsent messages, spiraling infatuation, and terrible, terrible weather.

Another fic I think pretty much everyone knows about. Listen, listen... I was once an idiot who said “Oh no, I’ll never read Heat Waves. It’s irl, not characters, and it’s probably cringe”... No. I was so wrong. This fic is wonderfully written, with a pretty quick moving plot and great characterizations. You do need an ao3 account to access it, though. Just to let you know. (Also read “Helium”, unfinished and hasn’t updated in awhile, but it’s the continuation). 

Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous

Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old.

He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.

Tommyinnit’s unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii

“I uh,” Tommy starts, not knowing how to break this to the hero lightly. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I think your powers are broken? It’s not a bad thing of course, but like, I swear you tried to mind control me and it like, totally failed. Which is fine, honestly, don’t feel insecure. Everyone’s power stop working sometimes… I think.”

Sheesh, this is very awkward. Why is no one else talking? Why is Philza looking at him like he grew three heads? Why is the Blade staring at him so intensely? Why is Willow still frozen?

“Did I, did I hit a nerve? Yikes,” Tommy hisses, “Well um,” He steps back, bracing his legs and bending his knees, “This was like super fun, but I’m - I’mma head out.”

or,

in which Tommy manages to annoy the hell out of Phil, Techno and Wilbur by being both impossible to catch and irritatingly endearing.

or or,

a crack fic where Tommy is a vigilante and Phil, Techno and Wilbur are the heroes hunting him down.

(Feel like I am obligated to say how incredibly funny this fic is. Seriously. I have a distinct memory of sitting on my neighborhood park’s swing, giggling hysterically, while reading this. Well...until the end... but we won’t get into that...)

** bones in the ocean by bunflower

“Your reputation precedes you, y’know.”

“Does it, now?” Philza watches him coyly from where he’s now leaning against the wall, arms folded around his chains and gaze half-lidded, his lips curled in an arrogant, cat-like smirk.

“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”

OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.

(Is this fic considered popular like passerine/Heat Waves now? Cause I feel like it’s reputation precedes itself, at this point... Pirate au.)

****

Okay! That’s it for now. Like I said, though, I want to add to this over time and also dig back for some older things I’ve read. Also, if you have any recs feel free to send them in! I’m about to go back to school and therefore might not have time for reading fun stuff, but whenever I get the chance I’d love to check them out!!!

Happy Reading!!

[skelanonymous]

First - Killermare

Words - 3.1k

I decided I needed more happy Killermare, even though I’ve literally written a ton of it. I should write literally anybody else next…>_>

-

Killer entered into the kitchen with a tense back, casually perusing the fridge with a wince. He’d taken a hard hit on the side during the last fight with the Stars. Probably cracked something, but nothing was falling off so he didn’t bother too much with it. His determination would hold him together.

He grabbed the carton of milk and took a swig straight from the container.

“Other people use that you know.” 

“Too bad for them.” Killer turned around to grin at Nightmare. He’d recently gotten into his Boss’s VERY good graces and no broken bones were going to keep him out of it. “Well if it isn’t small, dark, and Lovecraftian.” That got a chuckle, a rare thing to hear from Nightmare. It made his target soul ache something awful, hearing that cute sound and not being able to do anything with it, not nearly close enough to Nightmare to capitalize on the opportunity. 

“As good with words as with a knife, hmmm?” Nightmare stood in his space, touching along his arm unconsciously. Killer tried to keep his mouth in check.

“I’m also pretty good with my hands.” God damn idiot brain, hitting on his fucking god level boss. There’s fucking with people and there’s shooting out of your league. He just smiled through it. “Whatcha need Boss?”

“I’m moving a wing of the library and needed an extra pair of hands.” 

“And you knew how talented mine were, so you came right to me?” Killer slid the milk back into the refrigerator. He leaned back on his left side to keep from agitating the right, elbows on the counter, a picture of relaxation. 

“Something like that.” Nightmare laughed again. Killer held in the pleased sigh, standing up, crossing his arms behind his head very delicately.

“I’m all yours Boss. Lead the way.”

They wandered down the hall directly towards the library, Killer keeping step just behind Nightmare, letting him stare all he wanted without being caught. Those strong thick tentacles swayed around his back, framing his ass for Killer to appreciate along the lengthy hallways. He rarely went over this way unless Night summoned him here.

Nightmare already cleared small sections away, stacks of meticulously organized books littering the floor. He gestured to a pile.

“Start here and work clockwise. I’ve laid it out to make it easy enough for you to do without me babysitting your progress.” 

So began replacing them on the shelves. Killer hid the winces of pain from stooping and bending fairly well, silently moving until he hit a tiny snag. He reached up to place one on a tall shelf when he flinched into the wall.

His body hit the shelves and dislodged an avalanche onto his head. He almost moved away before one smashed into his cracked ribs.

"Son of a fucking bitch!

"Killer!" Nightmare raced over to unbury him. The tentacles made quick work of them, stacking haphazardly off of Killer’s winded form. His hands were on Killer’s forehead in an instant, checking for cracks, diligently looking over him after hearing the cry of pain. Killer groaned angrily when he was cleared off.

“Fucking Blue and his fucking blue attacks. Ugh.” Killer couldn’t sit up, pain still blossoming fresh in his chest. Night paused in looking him over.

“Were you wounded on the last mission?” His single eye penetrated his two, pinning him under it until he relented, grimacing with a gesture to his ribs he’d been carefully avoiding.

“Yeah. Stars got a good hit in on me. Was fine until the book hit it though.”

“Clearly not, considering you lost your usually impeccable balance!” Nightmare’s tentacles wrapped Killer up to get him standing without making him bend the wounded area. “Come with me. Healing magic is easiest when accompanied by intent, wrapping it will make it easier.” He grumbled and took off towards his room, Killer hobbling after to keep up. 

Walking into Night’s room changed the mood. He suddenly felt out of place, surrounded by luxurious purples tones and dark wooden furniture. Night had gestured to the bed before wandering into his private bathroom.

His bed was comfortable. Killer’s nerves ruined any enjoyment of getting into Nightmare’s room, jittery from the moment he was directed to sit on the plush comforters. Nightmare returned with a roll of bandages and an unimpressed look.

“I thought you were smart enough to know how to care for yourself.” He moved in front of him. “Take off your jacket and t-shirt.”

Thankfully Night was too focused on unraveling the bandages and gathering antiseptic to see Killer’s face go red, suddenly very aware that he was in his boss’s room, said boss’s hands about to be on him after a request to undress. He pulled them off smooth and casual, but his grin practically cracked at the edges. 

“What the hell?”

Night’s hands hovered over the cracked ribs, flinching back at the small break that Killer had dislodged from its setting.

“Yeah, it’s not great.”

“Killer!” Night growled at him. “Why didn’t you seek treatment before THIS?!” He gestured to the crumbled ends of the break from grinding against each other. “This is entirely fucking curable! It’s ridiculous you didn’t, at the very least, wrap this!” The growl travelled up his body, baring his teeth at him, tentacles cracking like whips at his back. Killer didn’t move, but his voice took on a nervous edge.

“I’m a dead man walking boss. I’ll just keep going forward until I can’t anymore.” Healing magic was taxing. All of them were terrible at it besides Nightmare, who never offered, only taking over when he was clearly needed. They never want to bother him to ask for it.

“I could’ve fixed this sooner.” Nightmare pinched the bone into place with a click. Killer gasped in pain. He wrapped it tightly, uncaring about Killer’s harsh pants while doing so.

“We only take it when you offer. None of us wanna annoy you.” Fuck, he was so falling out of Night’s good graces for this. After he worked so hard, some dumb break was gunna take him back to zero. He fisted the plush comforter. “Your time is important.”

“To whom, when you dust from accumulating injuries that I can’t see?” 

“The multiverse I guess.”

“The multiverse doesn’t give a shit about me or my time. This is all I have.” Nightmare pinched his nasal crest after finishing. “You serve me, but I cannot do this alone. Your lives are valuable to me. I thought you, especially, would know this Killer."

"Why do ya say that?"

"Because of how important you are to me." Nightmare's hands grew warm with gathering magic, mending now that everything would heal correctly. "All of you are valuable, like the supporting beams holding the castle aloft, but you are more integral. You are the center pillar. As my right hand, as long as you stand, I have faith in my ability to recover. I believed you to be my most valuable asset, but if you’re going to just let yourself turn to dust, then I’ll-”

“No!” Killer’s soul snapped into a heart shape, eyelights flickering in time to meet Night’s inquisitive gaze. “I’m not dusting on you just like that.” He grabbed Night’s warm hands away, taking them up in front of his startled cyan face.

“K-Killer?” He brought them up and kissed the phalanges as one would do to their king.

“If you’ll continue as long as I am by your side, then I’ll remain with you until I die.” Killer’s sockets went half-lidded, struck by the emotion his inverted soul let in, his silly crush amplified ten-fold by Nightmare’s faith in him. He’d never seen his boss look so confused, eye wide and frantically searching Killer’s. “What’s wrong boss?” 

“You-I’m...what’s-why all-”Killer’s hands had long since gained a mind of their own. He slid wordlessy off the bed into Night’s space, silencing him with a casual touch on the cheek, fondly caressing the bright greenish glow. 

“Shouldn’t have told me I meant so much to ya cuz I’m gunna take that to heart.” Then he swooped down to kiss him.

Killer pressed their teeth together firmly, tilting their heads to line up for deepening the kiss. He relaxed into it, holding Nightmare close while getting a taste, slowly touching and teasing Night's tongue with playful flicks. He could feel the very hesitant kiss back before they parted for air.

"Feeling shy Nightmare? Don't worry. I'm bold enough for the both of us." 

Killer laughed into the next one, leaning into it to force Night's response, groaning at the feel of the shy tongue in his own mouth. He could feel his small partner shaking in his arms when they broke apart.

"Killer…" It must've been awhile since Nightmare got with anyone to sound so needy. 

"I'm here. Wanna have some fun Nightmare?" He whispered it into Night's ear, smiling at the trembling he could still feel against his ribs, lost in the heady feeling. Night devolved to breathy pants, which Killer dove into before he felt tentacles lay solidly against his chest to push him back.

"Killer, wait, I can't-I'm not prepared for this." Night's flushed face told a different story, but he didn't fancy being killed.

"I've got lots of patience. I'll just make you feel good until you are." Killer's mouth slid down to Night’s neck, sucking on the bone to the high pitched whines, sending all his thoughts south, ecto eager to form at the slightest provocation. His haze broke under the Night's firm push out of his space. 

"Killer, stop." 

His back connected with the bed, wincing from his still (though much less so) wounded bones. The rejection stung worse.

"Sorry boss." That HURT, knowing he'd fucked up pretty royally. God, he'd forced himself on Nightmare right after he'd been given a shred of attention. He was such a fucking idiot. "I'll keep my hands to myself." His eyelights poofed decisively. He almost couldn't bear to look at him, but he needed to see Nightmare's face at least once.

Night hadn't stopped shaking. His tentacles attempted to hide him from view, face fully blushing, head still tilted away from the fresh mark Killer had left, noises leaking unfiltered from his trembling body. 

"S-s-sorry. I-I c-can't handle it-t. Too much." Killer grabbed his shirt and hoodie from where it lay beside him.

"I'll leave you be. Maybe annoy Horror or something, I don't know." Anything to not be here. Playing it off would make it easier to take, even if it meant no second chances with Night. He slid his clothes back on. "Come find me when you got the next mission lined up."

A tentacle wrapped around his ankle before he took the first step.

"Why are you leaving?" His voice was airy, light, breathless.

"I'm a dick, but not that much of one. I went too far, I'll give ya some space for a day." He shrugged, a drop of hate splashing on the floor. He'd describe his emotions as 'in shambles.'

"I don't want space. I just need a minute."

"I don't know Boss. Shouldn't rush that kind of thing." He could stomach taking advantage of people outside of this castle, but betraying the ones inside it, those who guarded his back and knew where he slept (and cared about but he'd never tell them that), it turned his mood sour. It ate at the pit of his stomach and it’d eat through him entirely if he didn’t get the fuck outta dodge.

"What thing?"

"Being assaulted, harassed, whatever you wanna call it. And being the person who forced themselves upon ya, don't think I should be here." He tugged at his ankle again, but Night hadn't relented.

"Killer, I didn't stop you because I didn't want it." He avoided Killer's eye roll.

"Uh-huh." Killer really didn't want to resort to cutting off the tentacle. It wouldn't hurt him, but it'd suck and prove he was an asshole, so he pulled harder. "Say I believed you. Then why?"

"Killer, I…" Nightmare looked like he wanted the carpet to swallow him. "I've never kissed anyone."

"...What?" He stopped struggling against his restraint. "There's no way. You're telling me, five hundred years of existing, and you hadn’t had your first kiss?"

"Yes." And Killer commited a cardinal sin without thinking.

"But Dream definit-" Is fucking Ink or Blue or Cross or all of them, he wanted to say, but Night was quicker.

"I am aware." Nightmare's glare was potent, but Killer's confusion was denser. "But he is lovable, unlike me."

"You're lovable." It slipped out in-between all the mental gymnastics. He wasn't sure he wasn't being fucked with still. "So you haven't…" How to phrase this delicately, he wondered. "...slept with anyone?"

"Killer, I haven't kissed anyone. Why the fuck would I have slept with someone?"

"You gotta know how unbelievable this is." Talking wouldn't reassure him, so Killer leaned down into Night's space again, stopping just shy of his teeth. "You're telling me that someone as fuckable as you's been ignored all this time?" Nightmare's single eye widened with the flush. Killer smoothed out his tone, dropping it low to hold him at the edge of his words. "Nice juicy peach you are, no one's tried to pluck you up? I can barely look without salivatin'." He lapped at his teeth, careful to keep his hands in safe places. He wanted to see how inexperienced Night really was without ruining his chances forever.

Nightmare's tentacles laid limp behind him, all the tremors coming from his real form, whose hands had raised to snatch at the shoulders of his hoodie, gripping tightly when he caved under the languid licks at his mouth by letting Killer in.

Patience led this one, Killer carefully taking over every inch of Night's mouth. The slower pace served to work up his partner faster. Nightmare's calmness abated, tentacles waking up to come and clutch at Killer's form, Night crawling onto him, transforming the kiss into a frenzy of desire that Killer surrendered to, as long as Night was leading the way. The tentacles touched plenty of hot spots, but he kept his own hands on innocent ground. Night's confidence could crumble under too much of a good thing.

"Take a breath, Nightlight." Night shivered against him after breaking apart, so much sensation his body was unaccustomed to. "I gotcha." Killer rubbed soothing circles into his back.

"I can see how that could escalate." Nightmare finally got out. It made him laugh. 

"Yeah. It's pretty easy to get carried away." He kissed the top of his skull before laughing again. "You give handsy a whole new meaning though."

"Sorry." The sweet little monster in his arms barely resembled his boss, hiding his face by burrowing into Killer's chest. 

"Don't be. It's pretty hot." His lewd grin made Night blush again.

"I would've thought my corruption would be the ugliest and most disgusting part of me." He punctuated it with said appendages undulating behind him.

"Boss, I just kissed the fuck outta you and I've never known you without it. Trust me, not a deterrent." Killer stroked down one to make Night's spine curl. "If you learn how to use ‘em right, they're pretty useful in the bedroom."

"Don't call me Boss when we're like this." Night whispered softly. His face caught between a glare and something soft, he was starting to come back to his senses.

"That might be too much power Nightlight." He grinned at the tiny glare. "How was your first kiss then?"

"Nice." Nightmare sighed as he sat up, unfurling all the aching limbs. The usual persona rebuilt itself. But now, Killer knew how easy the composure was to break. "I'd like to repeat it sometime."

"I'm all yours." He'd never get sick of that face if Night was willing to let him see it. They rose together from the floor, Night reestablishing the space between them.

"I'll have to talk to the others about not bringing injuries to me. Time spent on them is not time wasted." He straightened his sweater, presentable before opening the door. Killer choked the urge down to mess it up again. “The idea that you would’ve rather lost a rib than speak to me is absurd.”

"Yeah." They better not take his catch. Fuck them.

"I'm not going to kiss them Killer. The sour look is atrocious on you." Night's brow raised. Caught red handed. Killer laughed.

"Can you blame me? I know the kind of filthy degenerates who live here; I'm one of them. I don't want 'em to take a bite outta you." Subconsciously, he shook his sleeves to feel the weight of his multiple blades.

"You act as though there are many vying for my affection. People used to throw rocks at me for walking by their homes, and now they try to kill me. I'm not surrounded by suitors." He said this while walking down the hall towards the still upturned library. His strides were confident, power inherent is his manner, carried with a royal grace that Killer could only ape with minimal success. The only reason he wasn't swamped with competition was everyone had been too chickenshit to make a move. 

"Ya also thought I wasn't interested and nothing has ever been less fucking true." He pushed his luck a little further, stepping in front of Nightmare to kiss him quickly. The chaste thing was almost too much considering the shakes. "I'll just keep doing it if ya don't say anything."

“We need to reassemble the library.” He huffed through, walking by with weak knees, Killer trailing just behind. “This wasn’t an invitation to touch me at all times.”

“Only some of the time then?” 

“Shut up.” He humored the request once inside Night’s treasured library. 

Back to quietly organizing, clockwise, his talented hands flipped them onto shelves with ease now that he wasn’t hindered by aches. It was quick and effortless like it should have been the first time. He’d begun humming by the time he placed the last one, not expecting the hand on his shoulder but welcoming it as he had earlier the same day. Night silently pressed something into his palm.

“I trust I don’t need to explain.” Killer’s fingers closed over the silver key, smiling and spinning it on his pointer while leaving the now neat library. Guess his league was a lot wider than he thought. It wasn’t an invitation to his bed, but the invitation to his heart was just as good.

“Gotcha loud and clear boss. See ya soon.” 

-

They CUTE.

[limelocked]

Sundial blurbs

So most of my part of the Sundial au has been locked into general au chat on our server in the form of joking, theorising and sometimes writing as much as the discord character limit allows me to. I did the two first blurbs in this post today and @pomodoko commanded i actually post it and tag them so here they are, sorted into story chronological order and not the order in which i wrote them

Also this is the link to the document with general information on the AU

--- Dreams POV, the inciting incident

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8- NINE It has been ten seconds since Fundy landed at the bottom of the stairs at the lowest level of the building, there had been a noticeable thud that sounded distinctly unpleasant but Dream hadn't picked up on any cracking noise that'd indicate broken bones. Not that it'd be easy to hear over the commotion that led to later events.

Because it'd been seven seconds since Techno had lost his balance because of the falling fox mentioned and seven seconds since he stood back straight, almost brushing against Wilburs taller frame. It had only been five short seconds, that might have felt like weeks to others, since Wilbur in turn furrowed his brow and geared up for retaliation. Four seconds ago techno had been pushed. Three, Wilbur had gone into the wrong portal. Two, Philza had with Fundy still leaning on his shoulder tried to stop them both. One, they were gone.

It was surreal. The room had been filled with chatter before the fight, louder during the fight and now it was quiet. One second in the future, after it had all happened, the silence broke by no one who had seen it happen but by Tommy, babbling on about something with Fundy that didn't matter to anyone but himself. He quieted down when the person he was intending to talk to was nowhere to be found, confused. "Where'd Fundy go?"

"He and Wilbur already went through" the lack of effort it took for Dream to bend that truth would be concerning if not for his record, and technically they already had. "Oh-" an unsatisfactory answer but not one that would send him towards the throat of Noxite. "You can just talk to them back home. Come on." The portal after the hermits was supposed to be theirs, something quickly confirmed as they enter the community house with a crisis averted, or rather pushed back until a later date, and two people lost to another server.

--- Omniscient/Unknown POV, the dreamsmp aftermath

un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf... sept, huit, neuf... sept, huit... Seven hours later was when the lie couldn't hold anymore. Tommy already didn't trust Dream much but Tubbo had been a help in convincing him that Wilbur and Fundy were just away building or something. But the truth comes eventually. He sent a clear message of; <TommyInnIt> stop lying to me

Hour eight was the worst, accusations being thrown and swords being drawn. Screaming and explanations that never really felt enough. The ninth hour was bad in another way, depressing. Tommy's anger had simmered into bargaining as if Dream, George or Tubbo had the power to do anything of substance. It never got to begging, Tommy's pride forbade that but the things he put on the line for help that he couldn't get made it almost seem like it.

Noxcrew was contacted and they confirmed that the hemits had talked to them about the guests. Solutions were suggested and just as quickly rebuffed. Hour ten was a loss and the eleventh hour was one where Tommy and Tubbo got to speak alone.

"Can't you just use your powers or whatever to make the portals take us to hermitcraft" he was exhausted. "It doesn't work like that, probably, and Noxite has probably already tried it" "Yeah but Tubbo could you do it?" "I mean... maybe?" To that something glinted in Tommys eye, hope that Tubbo didn't want to extinguish as fast as it needed to be. "But I'm not allowed into the MCC world anyways so it wouldn't work" "FUCKING CHRIST TUBBO everyone here's useless!"

--- Technos POV, first night on hermitcraft

It's the first night and bones tower above him.

There were other buildings around, and the area was lit up well but eyes followed him from the darkness, eying the stone tools he'd manage to scrape up while leaving the group now probably settled in a warm house far away. This world scared him, the monsters and the way his sword hit differently, and the fact that the air itself felt new.

A pair of eyes glowed at him from it's place under one of the ribs of a beast too huge to want to think about. Techno readied his sword, but the dog decided that it'd rather go back to sleep. This world scared him and he just knew he'd gotten lost now because his goal had been to retrace his steps, the path that Xisuma and Bdoubleo had shown them to the little village far away by boat, to find the house cleft in two and then head straight out to sea until he could find a better place to stay than the tension thick cabin that their hosts had suggested.

Another dog offered a quiet bark in his direction and with an embarrassed sssh, covering fright, he continued forward. He had found the water, true, and he remembered something vague about a neighbour... but... No. No he decided that he'd choose a direction and if there weren't any light he'd just have to turn around or dock and make a little cave to live out of. It wouldn't be glorious but neither is 5 million potatoes.

A boat is placed into the water at the straight of Joebralta and a pig starts to row.

Clang. He is confused. The boat shakes in the middle of open water, he's been turned around. Clang. A trident, something he's only really seen in Skyblockle, shoots into the air a meter to the right of his boat. He speeds up. Clang. It misses, but he has decided that the sea is no longer safe.

--- Technos and Ethos POV, the first days in hermitcraft

He's starting to feel bad for leaving. Still justified, but also bad. He felt horrible the instant the championship room disappeared from right in front of his eyes with Wilbur still in it, and still worse when Wilbur then Phil and Fundy appeared next to him in this world, all statues as unseen confused messages fill the communicators of the worlds inhabitants.

When they arrived he was surprised that a lot of the hermits knew about them, or at least him, from the returning cast of hermits that played in MCC and their apparent tendency to tell stories as soon as there was space for it. It'd made it less awkward but the looks from the others stopped him from talking much about his side of the tournaments.

This was perhaps night four? He had stepped ashore in a jungle a bit from an area he could almost feel at home in with its skyscrapers reminiscent of some survival games arenas. But it was built by someone and someone should be avoided so he had trudged through plains and deserts walking around it only to find more tall buildings in another jungle.

The jungle was... safe? Safe from people at least, less so mobs. He had a little cave with a bed now that kept the hot and humid air out most of the time and while small and cramped and utterly horrible it felt far safer than returning to the others... even though he could practically hear Phils calm and nonchalant reassurances.

Leaving the small home he searches for the water he remembers spotting nearby. The bright orange tracksuit wasn't something he wanted to wear but there wasn't much of anything else and it still needed to be washed of stone dust and sweat no matter how much he disliked it. He leaves with a compass and map to find his way back, and around other peoples territory. And water is found easily with these. Stone, coal and redstone is scrubbed away in the freshwater lake that's only relatively cold, but it still feels nice, like the wind on his island in skyblock or in the skywars arenas.

Not too far away a man is working in a terrarium of his own design containing no animals but currents in thin snakes coiling around comparators and observers. The change to the nether has been an exciting one but it did come with problems for the technicians and thankfully for this one the Google hasn't broken too far beyond belief and is back in functioning order faster than expected.

Satisfied he looks at the path that he paradoxically want to end and to continue and decides to wait, flying up to sit near his portal instead to think about it and access the expansions he's already made. Something bright orange is spotted in the distance which at first is ignored, it can wait, until the realization of a possible abandoned shulker, so very common in this group, grabs him and almost instantly leaves as it moves around.

Several seconds later the orange turns brighter and the idea of lava pops in and out of his head in a flash.

<Etho> Beef have to lost an orange llama? <VintageBeef> no? <VintageBeef> at least I dont think so...? <Etho> o_o

He's been keeping out of the way for a while, like usual, and only knew some of the news about new people on the server. That they'd gotten there with Rendogs sports gang by accident and that they'd been living mostly over at Bdubs' place to avoid having them be excluded to their own little village. Apparently something had happened, he'd missed the details but it was looking like there was a manhunt for someone or something that he should by all means be more invested in.

Curious he misses the orange go out of view in favour of finding out about this missing thing in case he's found it. A person and a description, hidden deep in other messages. His height, human pig hybrid, last seen wearing...

Does he want to do this? He knows his way around a jungle but it's still annoying and Xisuma lives close by... but he's most likely AFK. Well, you make a good first impression on the new guys if you find their missing friend.

--- Omniscient/Unclear POV, Technos time with Etho

Silence is golden in silver light. The hermits can stay up days on end without sleep, working through nights when it’s needed and even with guests this doesn’t change. Like the sliver of moon in the sky, Ethos hair glows radiant from inside the redstone machine he calls the Googler and Techno does nothing but look on as repeaters are moved and redstone is smeared in new paths into blocks he has never seen before, something he’s had to get used to lately.

His host works in silence until a question breaks the jungles chime and an answer is given with the rhythm. The redstone had changed and he thought he had fixed it, an unhelpful follow up is posed and a pause is moved into a somewhat oversimplified version of the circuit. They both know that Techno is no help here, but the company is nice and something is learned.

Etho in the day when working the fortress tells Techno about the old days and in turn Techno admits to never having left those old days for long. Etho talks about Pause and Beef. Techno fails to talk about his own team.

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 5: Colour- Weeping Flesh And Bone Chap.2: Just Don’t Tell Me What You See

A man’s strength is tested when faced with their worst nightmare. For a teacher that strength is measured by how far they’ll go to help the young. But sometimes the help the young need is too much to ask of anyone. “I need a hero to save me now”

He’s left unsurprised that sleep simply refuses to come that night, staring up at his ceiling and books didn’t help any. Daniel was involved in something dangerous, something that he felt he simply couldn’t get out of or away from. Samantha and Tucker could and did, at Daniel’s expense. And Daniel wasn’t getting help because he was terrified of others getting involved and hurt. And Samantha and Tucker had been getting hurt because of whatever Daniel had gotten himself involved in. So it wasn’t even like the boy’s fears were unfounded. Quite the opposite it seemed. And... Daniel wanted them to have their futures, to live life well. Felt that no one could do that if they stuck around him.

Lancer just can’t ignore him or forget though, and he shouldn’t really. Actively didn’t want to, even if he was scared and sad for Daniel. So he gets up and grabs his wool coat, he wasn’t going to sleep tonight and a walk always helped. At the very least it might give him some direction to go with Daniel. Something he can do for him or to get the boy to open up even slightly. Before he graduates and falls out of Lancer’s reach. And maybe quell the worry that Daniel spent his nights wandering around town drinking or getting hurt.

Walking out the door and heading down the sidewalk at random; regardless of Daniel's promise’, behind his eyelids Lancer could still see the imagined image of the boy laying on a metal examination table. Or laying in a pool of blood or alcohol.

And Lancer.... Lancer wasn’t prepared for that mental image to practically smack him in the face in real life. Turning his head only to see the boy at the end of an alley, bent over with one hand to the wall and clearly holding himself up. While the other was wrapped around his stomach, red dripping thickly from there to the ground. Ground that was also coated in bright glowing green. The fact that ectoplasm was never involved in his nightmares over Daniel wasn’t actually comforting though.

“Daniel”, Lancer hates how breathless he sounds. And how he jumps a little at Daniel’s head snapping towards him, barely catching green eyes turn blue. Ghosts had been plaguing Amity for three years now, he knew what eyes like that meant. But... a ghost couldn’t overshadow a badly hurt body. That was a fact.

The two stare at each other for a while, neither moving, while Lancer comes to the only conclusion he thinks is remotely logical. Eyes like that mean ghost, they always do. And the ectoplasm looked as unfortunately fresh as the blood. Somehow Daniel was... dead. Had already suffered the thing Lancer feared he would. But him, his body, still seemed living. So he also wasn’t... dead. Or maybe he was dying and this forsaken town just made that more noticeable. But the injuries, nothing explained that. Explained this. Clearing his throat and repeating himself, “Daniel”, and moving to walk over to him slowly, trying to seem as friendly as possible. Seeing him shaking and eyes flicking around in panic.

Jerking to a stop when Daniel turns to face him sharply and steps backwards a bit, baring his teeth and growling a little, “go away”. Lancer’s pretty sure he can see fangs and sharp teeth.

But this also gets him to notice the state Daniel’s in. The hand that isn’t holding him up on the wall was holding his insides up and pulling skin closed. He had been torn open. Swallowing a bit harshly, Lancer takes another step forward, testing the waters. Watching the blue flicker green again and now sharp nails cutting into the wall with unpleasant scraping sounds. He wasn’t dealing with the human Daniel he was used to seeing at school, the paranoid meek tired teen that worried him so. But a cornered ghost, potentially aggressive and threatening. And pain didn’t help anyone act normal.

So Lancer tries speaking to him again, making a point to sound gentle and push down the revulsion of the gore splattered around, “Daniel, you’re hurt. Badly. It’s me, okay? William Lancer? Just- let me help you, Daniel”. He didn’t mean to sound begging at the end, but that’s how it wanted to come out. Maybe that’s just what he needed.

Daniel bares his teeth again and leans forward a bit in a show that Lancer definitely recognises as aggression and attempted intimidation. He was still in fight or flight, with the latter not being an option, “why? Why can’t you just let it go? Let me go? Chasing me. Following after me. I’m not your fucking problem”, snarling then, “just get away!”.

Lancer has to force himself not to flinch from the volume and scratching echo of his voice. If Lancer wasn’t careful, Daniel could wind up hurting himself even worse or even hurting him. So he keeps his voice even and calm, “I wasn’t following you, Daniel. I simply needed to go for a walk”, sighing, “I couldn’t sleep. Reading and tea weren’t helping”.

Lancer’s not sure how Daniel can look like he’s frowning while still baring his teeth, “you couldn’t... sleep”. Lancer nods slowly, deciding any fast movements would just make the jumpy boy more jumpy. Daniel scrunches his eyebrows slightly, the green eyes fading to blue again, “your first name’s... William?”.

Lancer nods, a little surprised he’s never told Daniel that. But maybe that was a blessing in disguise right now. “Yeah, yeah it is”. Hopefully that little bit of knowledge with let Daniel open up even a little to him. At least let him help him right now.

Daniel just stares at him instead of responding but does close his lips, stops baring his teeth, so Lancer takes a chance and pushes him by stepping a little closer and holding out his hand. “Come on Daniel, let me help. I doubt I can do much, but let me do something. You’re bleeding a lot. I don’t want you to suffer more than what can’t be helped. Don’t let yourself die”.

Daniel scowls, glances to the wall and pulls his nails out of the wall before looking back to him, “I’m already dead”.

Lancer swallows, so one of Lancer’s worst fears was a reality. That doesn’t change how Lancer feels though, this boy’s still Daniel, he’s still his student, he’s still a person, and Lancer is still so very worried. “Ghosts can still die”. Death for ghosts was likely called something different. Daniel confirming that while giving him a very confused look, “it’s... it’s called fading”.

Lancer nods a little and steps a bit closer, close enough to put his hand gently on Daniel’s shoulder, “then don’t fade, alright? I’ll do what I can to help, okay? Will you let me do that? I won’t ask the who, how, or why unless you want me to, okay?”. Lancer only manages to stay upright due to Daniel’s disturbingly low weight, when the boy just collapses into him. Instantly worrying him so much more, he had no way to know what ‘fading’ looked like. How to tell if Daniel was starting to ‘fade’ if that even was the right way to say it. “Daniel? Are you okay? Are you still with me here?”.

Lancer lets out a slow breath when Daniel responds quietly, “just get me away from here”.

“Okay. I can do that. Are you okay going to my house? I live alone”.

“...That’s fine”.

Lancer nods, that’s probably the best he’s going to get out of him. He’d rather not move him at all but if Daniel wants out of here then that’s what Lancer’s going to do. He’s also not sure if he should be happy or not that Daniel walks himself, even if leaning against him. If he’s a ghost, then shouldn’t he be able to float? That would run less risk of aggravating his injury, or possible injuries plural. Maybe he was too weak to? He wants to ask, but Daniel’s letting him help and he refuses to mess that up or add to Daniel’s suffering further by pushing him.

Once they get out of the alley Lancer pauses at Daniel squeezing his shirt and speaking, “um, wait, please”. Watching Daniel with confusion as he points the palm of his hand that isn’t holding his torso together into the alleyway; Lancer seemingly being all that’s holding him up.

Lancer blinks and clenches his jaw to keep from gaping when Daniel fires a ball of blue fire out of his palm into the alley, setting everything on fire instantly. Lancer doesn’t need to ask why, he knows. Daniel was destroying the evidence. Destroying his blood and ectoplasm, and whatever else might be in there.

Lancer gets them moving again as Daniel drops his arm and slumps into him more, and is definitely having a harder time walking now. Maybe he wasn’t floating to save up whatever energy he had to do that instead? Hopefully using that energy didn’t just make him worse.

Daniel speaks up after a bit, “um, you aren’t going to ask, about, well, that?”.

Lancer shakes his head, “I said I wouldn’t ask. Though I believe I understand anyway”.

“I don’t understand you”. Lancer doesn’t get a chance to comment on that as Daniel starts up again, “I wrecked your coat”.

Lancer swallows, Daniel was too selfless. He was horribly injured and he was instead focused on Lancer’s clothing. Maybe it was a distraction technique, he hopes it’s that. Not that Daniel values his own health and safety so little that a piece of fabric was more important. “That’s fine, Daniel. It’s old. You are more important. Fabric is replaceable, people aren’t. Fabric doesn’t hurt, people do. And it’s okay to not understand. Just know that I mean it when I say I care and that I want to help”.

“Dangerous. Dangerous to care”. The rather clipped way Daniel said that makes Lancer freeze, “Daniel? Daniel, are you okay?”.

Daniel blinks slowly and lifts his hand off his stomach enough to scratch his other arm, “sorry, uh, I’m gonna pass out”. Lancer having to bend down a bit to catch him fully and lowering him to the ground slowly. Cursing under his breath over the state of Daniel’s stomach, since the boy wasn’t conscious to hold it anymore. So he tears off his jacket, not caring if he damages any of the buttons, and uses that to hold him together. Standing and readjusting to be carrying the boy instead of just supporting him, making a point to walk as fast as he can without jostling Daniel anymore than he can’t help. He wasn’t in the best of shape and this certainly wasn’t something he truly knew how to handle, but he had basic first aid and he’d do what he could; even if all that turned out to be was giving him a place to seek shelter, so he can heal. Ghosts were really durable weren’t they? Phantom sure seemed it. He hopes Daniel’s just as, if not more, durable. It saddens him that Daniel probably knows exactly how durable he is.

Getting back to his house, he decides the best place to do anything would be the kitchen table. Setting Daniel down as gently as he possibly can and cringing over his limpness before rushing to the bathroom and tearing off the shower curtain, throwing that over the table before getting Daniel to lay down on it.

Lancer very carefully unwraps his jacket from the teen, seriously hoping that’s the right corse of action. And under his kitchen lights the damage was a lot more noticeable, it was smooth instead of jagged, more like he had been cut methodically than attacked. This wasn’t a freak accident or anything, someone had done this to him intentionally.

Lancer sits down and rubs his forehead, this was incredibly bad, far worse than he thought. But he can’t let Daniel see him freaked out because then the boy will feel bad and maybe hide something even worse. If that was even possible.

Putting his hand down and standing, breathing a few times before trying to look him over without feeling incredibly bothered and disturbed. It’s not an easy task, because, after cutting off what’s left of his t-shirt and managing to wipe off most of the blood and ectoplasm, he sees exactly what kind of shape Daniel’s in.

He was skin and bones, littered with scars, had a few definite burns, and what looks like a snake bite on his shoulder. And then there was the major injury. The thing that’s certainly the cause behind him passing out, combined with probable overexertion and maybe a lack of energy.

This looked like definite knife marks, or something larger but equally as sharp. Like someone had attempted to slice him open down the middle but veered off to the left making the... mark curved. Lancer’s positive he can see exposed rib and has to forcibly avoid gagging. The bone looked to be scored as well and was glowing green faintly. Whoever did this put some serious force behind it, which makes Lancer noticeably cringe. The amount of pain Daniel must be in...

Maybe he should go find the pain medication, just in case. Who is Lancer kidding? He just needs some kind of break from this. From the nightmare become real. He makes it quick though, not wanting Daniel to wake up and run off. He’s sure if that happened then Daniel would never acknowledge any of this ever happened. Would show in class tomorrow like it was nothing and brush Lancer off. Maybe try to convince him it was all just an over-realistic dream.

Lancer rather wishes this was a nightmare.

Regardless, he takes a breath to steady himself before opening his first aid. Folding out one of the disinfectant wipes and hoping to everything this is the right thing to do. As intense and thorough as the staff training had become, cleaning exposed ribs and re-organising organs wasn’t something that was taught. Or should have to be. Ever.

Lancer almost wishes everything was green instead of vulnerable human red, it made it impossible to fully swallow down bile or keep his hands from shaking. But... this confirms Daniel is not dead. So too did the pulse he can feel against his fingers when he stills for breathers.

But that makes him question the boy’s durability, his ability to survive this. Lancer wanted to believe Daniel when he said he was okay, said he would be. Lancer always wanted to believe him. He never did. Never could. And now more than ever, he wishes he could.

Pausing and staring down, he doesn’t think he can even do anything more for the... insides. Should he? Glancing to the kit, he’s got nothing that could work as stitching. Could butterfly bandages work? The least he could do is try and hope that doesn’t hurt the boy more.

[entomancy]

(Fic) One thing we can agree on

Title: One thing we can agree on (Wattpad)

Setting: The vampire nonsense / Vegas Masquerade

Warnings: Gore.  I am having fun with my crayons.

Words: 1401

Summary: Flashback into the 'Moonlight Flush' part of the timeline. Which is the framing of the events of ~twenty years ago in the Vegas Masq. setting (which set up the current ‘rules’) as an urban fantasy police procedural; where Joplin would have been the secondary main / intro to the supernatural world and Belton the Season One antagonist who ended up Sort Of Befriended(ish).

This would have been in approx. Season Three, when bits from Joplin's past come back to bite him (er, again, I guess), and involves the first time he'd actually had to team up with Belton against a larger problem.

The larger problem being: more werebears, but asshole ones.

Indulgent, but I enjoy Belton being a dramatic irritation, and ~27yr old Joplin's permanent state of exasperation. And I wanted to explore an important (?) difference in the way the vampires and were(s) of this setting work.

(Also neither tumblr nor Wattpad has any sensible way to use footnotes, so there's one just... there, in the middle. Like this is FFN cira 2003 or something.)

---

The real difference between vampires and werewolves is how they bleed.

Clearly it isn't the only difference.  There are the big, obvious - hairy - ones; and you could spend lifetimes comparing technicalities of characteristic amongst the supernatural set, searching for links or diversions or even a root cause. How magic plays in.  How inheritances work, or the fundamental incompatibility of cross-siring.  How sunlight, direct or orbitally reflected, could possibly trigger the different effects that it does.

But for Denis Joplin, as he'd scrambled to make sense of the extraordinary left turn his last decade had careened into, somehow the thing that really seemed to underline it all was the way they bled.  Maybe because he'd always had such a damn knack for getting into situations that showcased it.

That last round of gunfire had really screwed up his right arm.  He'd wedged himself in place against the thick struts of a heavy-duty shipping container - splattered almost as much now with crimson as it was with spraypainted Cyrillic – and tried to breathe quietly.  The enormous bastard wielding a goddamn helicopter canon had fucked off to yell 'roided nonsense into a different part of the warehouse, so they probably had a few minutes pause before he realised his targets had dodged.

Not dodged as well as Joplin'd have liked, but there y'go.  You worked with what you got.

Most of the bullets had gone straight through – since he wasn't an armour-plated van – but he could feel a few wedged points of pain even within the jellied miasma of broken flesh that hung unpleasantly from his torn shirt.

"Jesustapdancing­-" he bit down on the mismatched curse as he grabbed his messed-up limb with his other hand and twisted, pushing it up against himself and the steel wall behind, and tried not to go blind.

It squelched.

"Don't like that," he muttered, then glanced up at the wet snort of amusement from just down the container row. "Hey, he nailed you to the fuckin' wall about as well as I've seen; don't get lippy."

Not that his extremely temporary partner was in much shape to be more actively sarcastic.  The brunt of the recent salvo had hit taken Belton pointy-ear to hip, ripping the big grey fuck open like a side character in chainsaw splatter, which – somehow – made the look of dazed amusement on the bits of his face that weren't hanging off even more aggravating than usual.  He shifted position, bringing his torn-up arms out in front of him as if holding something narrow and invisible in both hands, and –

Joplin blinked.

Pull... yourself...

"Oh fuck off," he growled – and it was a growl, a sound that started deeper than his chest actually went and brought the pull along with it; a bestial reverb that went beneath his bones.  Joplin gritted his teeth – which felt about ready to start moving in his jaw as it was, aching with something beyond nerves – and had another unpleasant feel around where his elbow used to be.  It helped if everything was in the right place.  Last thing he needed right now was having to rebreak a limb because he'd managed to shift over all wonky.

That'd have to do.  Very pointedly not making eye contact with Belton as he did so, Joplin Changed.

There have been a lot of renditions of a lycanthropic* transformations over the years, and there have even been some that have come close to the actual reality of seeing it happen. The exact visuals tend to vary person to person, but however it looks, the world bends – just a little, at the seams – as something that was only ever the thickness of breath away steps forward.  Joplin always thought it felt like stretching should do – an all-over, unfurling release of physicality, like every fibre of you stopped hunching its shoulders all at once.

________________________________________________________________

* There's an argument that 'ursanthropic' might be a more technically correct term when the reader is considering Denis Joplin himself – or even the bellowing figure currently firing 30mm rounds into what will turn out to be a container of tinned garlic pallets – but the linguistic side of paraphylogeny isn't a popular field.  'Actually, it's wereBEAR' is only a helpful correction under certain circumstances, and this isn't one of them.**

** Yet. ________________________________________________________________

The arm took a bit more effort.  A transformation that added several feet in height, width, and summed-up hair length didn't exactly have a problem fixing a half-mulched limb, but there was clearly an additional process going on.  He wondered how people had explained what it looked like before timelapse film had been developed.

It... healed.   Torn vessels sealed over; bone shards scraped and swelled together within muscles that bulged crimson-purple as they knitted close.  Tissue bloomed, bruise-blossom hues racing through tattered skin and dragging raw pallor behind them; black-bloody tears welled up pink and grey and pink again, threaded with ribbons of tendon herded into place by a lightning flash of sudden scars, gone as fast as they appeared.  Then the fur broke surface like desert flowering, and a heartbeat later there was nothing to show for the damage that a slight extra paleness in the iron-grey pelt, as Joplin flexed his bulked-out fingers carefully.

Belton clapped.  Just once, with a softness that hands tipped with inch-long claws shouldn't be able to achieve, and it was the most sarcastic fucking sound Joplin had ever heard.  He bared his considerable teeth in a silent snarl and waved his own padded hands towards the old bat.

Hurry.  Up.

Belton's black eyes crinkled at the edges, and then he pulled himself back together.

The real difference between vampires and werewolves is how they bleed.

Belton's blood was dark, with a strangeness to its consistency that would have baffled splatter analysts on a fundamental level, but it also didn't tend to stay where it landed.  None of him did.  Metal gleamed naked against the pitted concrete as pools of inky crimson pulled away from the bullets that had torn them loose, flowing back along their own path like a retreating tide - rivulets of reversing gore that snaked and whipped back up their origin form, trailing back into ruptures that folded seamlessly shut around them.  Belton stood up, even as his chest cavity was still closing, and gently pushed his hanging jaw back into place, smoothed like fresh clay.

Vampires don't heal – you see – so much as 'rewind'.

He held Joplin's gaze, half a heartbeat longer than he needed to, and grinned.

There was a spotless bullet held between his rows of teeth.

"Oh, fuck off," Joplin repeated – before he was drowned out by a guttural roaring, and the sound of a minigun barrel being smashed through something unfortune enough to be inside its turning circle.

"Little pigs, little pigs!  I hear you!"

Both men visibly winced.

"See, someone with that little self-awareness just shouldn't be this much of a problem," Belton muttered, flicking the bullet aside like a cigarette butt. "It's genuinely a bit embarrassing."

"Yeah, well," Joplin whispered back, as he scanned the roof, taking in the environment with an eye to traversal options he hadn't had five minutes ago. "I won't tell if you don't."

Another roar burst the air, and Belton started edging down the row again, clearly doing his own version of the calculations.

"Pity he doesn't take after your side of the family, really."

"This isn't a family situation," Joplin snapped back, readying himself to move when the oncoming footsteps got a bit closer.  If he could get around, then maybe he could deke out the...

He glanced back, about to signal a go, and realised the old vampire was still looking at him, one of those impossible-to-read expressions on his weird bat face for a second, before he spoke softly.

"See, that's the thing with monsters.  It's always going to come back to blood, one way or another."

A shiver danced down Joplin's extended spine, strong enough to stir the fur.  That was a bit close for comfort – and from sodding Belton?  He shrugged dismissively, only partly to himself.

"Yeah, well, this ain't gonna be the worst it gets.  Try not t'get cut in half again."

Then the shipping container exploded in a nightmare of burning metal.  Belton went right; Joplin went up; and everything else went on from there.

----

[starlightsearches]

Oh goodie you're requests are open! First I just wanna say that I love you writing! You're so good!!! So if it's not to much trouble could you write something with Hux where the reader is just super anxious about something and he just helps? (I need some good ol comfort fluff ya feel lol) thank you ❤❤❤

For Good Luck Pt. 2

Thank you so much 🥰 I have this for you, but if it isn’t what you had in mind just shoot me another request and I’ll get started on it ASAP!

This is a second part to my Hux x Nurse! Reader that I did a little while ago. (here’s the first part if you are interested)

Requests are closed  ✨

Armitage Hux x Nurse! Reader pt. 2

Warnings: Language and some angst! It’s also a teeny bit horny . . .¯\_(��)_/¯

The general is gone—and whatever enchantment he had over you has gone with him—leaving you alone in the exam room, trying to process everything that had just happened. General Hux had kissed you. He’d asked you to go away with him, to go to the Supremacy and work there instead, because he was going to be there, and he wanted you to be with him. And you wanted to be with him too, right? You float more than walk out of the exam room, leaning back over the desk where Tayan sits, your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Well, how’d it go?” Tayan asks without looking up from the screen of his datapad, “was it a tearful goodbye for the star-crossed lovers?” You know that whatever you tell him will make its way around the whole ship—passed between so many parted lips that the story would be unrecognizable if it ever made its way back to you—but you can’t worry about that right now; you need to tell someone.

“I’m being transferred to the Supremacy,” you say, but your voice sounds far-off, weightless, “the general requested it.” Gods, it doesn’t even sound real to you, how would anybody else believe it? You have to think, hard—remember exactly what it felt like when the general pressed his lips to the bend in your wrist, when he held your face in his hands and asked you to go away with him. You have to make sure you hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing, and still, even as you recall the strength of his grip as he tasted your skin, you aren’t positive that any of it actually happened.

Tayan’s datapad makes a loud clattering noise when it hits the floor, and he slams his hands down on the desk in front of you, leaning close. The sound startles you out of your trance, and you look at him, his eyes bright and eager.

“Have you been fucking the general this whole time?” he whispers, but you know he’d like to shout it, his voice rich with equal parts glee and surprise. “In this very medbay? How could you keep something like that from me?”

“Tayan, you know as well as I do that most of his visits are over in ten minutes or less.” It’s not the conversation you should be having, but it helps ground you, bring you back to reality instead of focusing on all the things you didn’t know. Like the nature of this new relationship with the general. Or what it would be like on the Supremacy. Or what he expected of you once you got there.

“I never said that he was fucking you well, and you’re not denying it,” Tayan raises his eyebrows at you, swatting you on the arm, and you shove him back.

“You’re really weird. You know that, right?” Insulting him will have to stand in for the words you can’t say, words like good bye, and I’ll miss you. Words that would make you question if you should really be leaving at all. 

“So when do you go?” he asks, recognizing the change in your demeanor, and you know he feels the same, his eyes softening as he places one of his hands over yours. 

“Less than an hour, now. He said he had to go speak to a few people on the bridge and then we’d take a transport,” Shit, you’re not going to cry, not again, and you try to blink away the tears forming in your eyes. Tayan moves around the desk, pulling you in for a bone-crushing hug, and you let him, hugging him right back. A few tears slip down your cheeks, landing on the shoulder of his uniform and melting into the fabric. You want to go, but you still need to mourn everything you're about to lose.

“We’ll stay in touch,” he whispers, and you nod, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand.

“Okay, yes, that will be good,” you say, forcing a very unconvincing smile onto your face.

“And you’ll have to keep me up to date on all the details of your amorous affair with the general,” he says, leaning back on the desk and throwing his hand to his forehead with dramatic flourish. The action is so ridiculous that you laugh, loudly, momentarily forgetting some of your worries.

“You’re an idiot, and I have to go,” you say, grabbing your bag from behind the desk. General Hux told you not to worry about any of your other belongings—apparently moving your things out of your quarters would be someone else’s job—which means that all you’ll have for the foreseeable future is the uniform you’re currently wearing and the items you brought with you to work: your datapad, a change of clothes, and your canteen. You try not to think about it too much.

You walk through the hallways of the Finalizer for the last time, as far as you know, hoping you’re moving in the right direction. You do eventually find the correct hangar, and he’s already waiting for you. The sight of him both settles your nerves and provokes them; his cool gaze reminds you of the feeling of leather as his hands gripped your face, the heat of his mouth on yours and the taste of blood. The memory makes you lightheaded, and you pull in a few deep breaths through your nose.

Your heart rate spikes, and your palms grow clammy. You're about to board a transport with one of the most powerful people in the Order, on your way to the Supreme Leader's flagship. And for what? Because of a kiss you shared with a man you've spoken all of twenty words to? It's insane.

He doesn't look at you when you stop, too busy talking to the pilot, but you feel other eyes on you, the hangar filling with the sound of hushed whispers that reach your ears even over the dull roar of the space. Your face grows warm from the attention, but the general seems to be ignoring it. Hux and the pilot finish their conversation, and he boards the ship without acknowledging you at all.

Is this all you were going to get from him? An occasional kiss in the privacy of the med bay and then him pretending that you didn't exist? You know that he probably doesn't want to draw any more attention than he already has, but still. You need to know that this isn't going to be a huge mistake, and even a glance would be a small amount of comfort. 

The transport is a small one, and you find a place to stand up against one of the walls, trying to make yourself as small as possible, folding your arms across your chest and bracing yourself for takeoff. The Supremacy is not far off and the journey is short, but you might as well be light-years away from the Finalizer now, since you won't be going back. The hangar is huge, much bigger than the one on the Finalizer, and no one pays you or the general any mind after you disembark.

"I need to speak to the Supreme Leader." Hux says, finally addressing you, but with his eyes stay elsewhere, "Can you find your way to the medbay? They'll be expecting you."

"No need to worry about me, General. I'm sure I'll manage." You don’t mean to sound so bitter, but you really can't help it—everything about this is overwhelming in the extreme. And, as much as you don't want to take your anger out on the General, you’re here because of him. He’s asking for a lot from you, and he’s not giving you much in return.

He doesn't respond—not verbally, at least—but he takes you by the arm, his grasp firm as he pulls you out of the hangar. It doesn’t hurt, but it's certainly strange, and you draw confused looks out of every person that you pass. You're not sure how far you've gone when he finally stops, each turn blurring into the next. The hallways look pretty much the same as the ones on the Finalizer, but the layout is completely different. You already anticipate that finding your way around will be next to impossible. Just one more thing to worry about.

The room he takes you to is dark and empty, but the lights turn on after the door closes. After a moment, you realize that you're in his quarters, and you're anxious all over again. You’ve been alone with the general plenty, but never in a place quite this private. He lets go of your arm, his hand moving to the side of your face where it rests gently as he turns your eyes to meet his.

"What are you doing?" Even when you're angry he still makes you breathless, your words quiet as they leave your lips. He moves closer, stopping your heart when he plants a gentle kiss at the juncture where your jaw meets your neck.

"Apologizing," he whispers the word against your ear, and the feeling makes you whimper, like some kind of idiot, like you're putty in his hands. His apology is working; you're having trouble remembering exactly why you were so upset before. You’re having trouble remembering anything. 

"I'm sure this is all very stressful for you," he continues, one hand moving to your waist, the other to your hair, both pulling you flush against him, his body solid against yours.

"I just don't know-" you begin, pausing for a moment as you focus on the mechanics of breathing, trying not to think about the things his mouth is doing to your neck, the marks he's going to leave. If people here weren't talking about you before, they certainly would be after this. "I don't know what I'm doing here, or what you want from me, and I just don't know if I can do this."

The general leans away and you’re left colder by his absence, but he makes up for it by taking your face in his hands again, running his thumbs over your cheeks as he whispers, "I'm sorry, I never wanted to put this kind of pressure on you. Will you forgive me?" You nod into his hands, a single tear slipping down your face and into his glove. You'd never had guessed that he could be so gentle, so kind. It makes you feel foolish for doubting him.

"I must go see the Supreme Leader now, but I'll be back. Will you wait for me here?" You nod again, and he presses or gentle kiss to the crown of your head. "I'm glad that you came with me," he mumbles against your hairline, and you smile in spite of yourself.

You're left alone in his quarters, your breathing steady and your heart rate calm. You still have questions—still have doubts—but they seem small now, in comparison to what you've gained. You get what you’ve always wanted, to be with him, and that makes you feel very lucky.

[joopiterjoon]

Agust D- JHS

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: PG13, Not really fluff and not really angst

Warnings/Tags: Drag!Hoseok, Bartender!Kook, Clubowner!Namjoon, drag, pronoun changes, dance performances, kissing, alcohol vague references to the larger story

Wordcount: 4k

a/n: This is from a story that I work on and drop frequently. I have enough to just need to fill in some plot holes now. I’m posting this to see if anyone would want to read it? So let me know if you want to know more

Part of ficswithluv’s #FWLBingo!

“Ladies and Lads with our without nads, our next woman of the night. It’s the dazzling, the soul-stealing, Hope!”

Jungkook rolls a cloth over a glass he turns with the over hand, nodding to the stage. “There’s who you’re looking for.”

You swivel on the bar stool.

“Hoseok?” you squeak in shock.

A stunning woman walks from the back of the stage. She has on a sleek, glittering blue dress that shines in the lights as they sway across the stage. She stares this way and that, to the beat of the music. Even from here, Hope’s face is dazzling. Literally. Rhinestone’s line her high cheek bones, lips ice blue and glistening. Her eyes are large from the makeup, popping and making her nose sharp. The dress falls over sculpted shoulders and dips into bellsleeves that glisten white.  A deep dip from muscle appear around her clavicles as she positions her hands on her hips, where the dress fans out around her.

It’s stunning, and you find yourself leaning onto the counter as you slouch in the chair. The dress sparkles as she spins, waving to the crowd and bending over backwards to the song. It’s a sultry beat, filled with something soft and longing. She drops to the floor, body bobbing in time with the base as she now lies backwards on the floor and wistfully twirls her arms above her. You swallow when she rolls up, turning to display an open back.

She stretches a hand to the sky with the rise of the music. You can tell she’s lipsyncing, jaw over exaggerating if the original soundtrack wasn’t giveaway enough as the vocals and crescendo of sound reach a breaking point. You jump when her arms fall to the side, fists balled and the music drops. You raise your hands to clap, but the crowd is unusually silent.

When the white flood lights alight the stage, Hope’s head snaps up, a conniving smirk on her face. She reaches up, one hand tearing off the wig and the other smearing the makeup off her face. She squats down, gathering the dress before she rips it clean off, breaking away at the side.

And there, on the stage a yard away from you, is Hoseok. Shirtless, Balenciaga waistband peaking above ripped jeans that were hidden beneath the tulle of the dress. He raises his arms to get the crowd going, snagging a mike and a snapback from off stage. When he spins back, his arm is raised high, arching the entire side of his body, tongue curling out of his mouth toward the microphone. His core is tight, back strong as he rolls his hips to the beat.

And then your breath catches.

They call me new thang

The recruit is here, to take over everything

The whole world, concert so sick

His voice is its own music, filled with the words, the beat, the sounds needed to add to his display. He crawls onto his knees, rolling towards the edge of the stage, knees popping up from the floor as he runs a hand through his hair and turns the hat around.

I’m different from the hyungs

That ignore their duties

An uprising of celebrities

Damn only strong ones can mess with me

He swivels then, kicking his feet under him and twisting to a standing position once more before you can even fathom how the motion happened. He swings himself off the stage on one hand, rolling into people shoving money into his waistband, stroking their chests or necks as he saunters through the crowd. Everyone cheers and screams, one man practically faking as Hoseok fakes a bite in his direction.

Then, he turns, snapping his hips as he drops lower and lower where the crowd dispersed. He drops low, popping his hips, and you giggle a bit. It looks more carefree, silly in his get up and the alcohol-soaked floor. But just like that, he kicks off, spinning to the floor on one knee before he slides towards some man, rolling his chest up his thigh.

It gets to you. Your heart flutters a bit, and you find yourself sitting a bit straighter.

But not as much when he locks eyes with you. You wonder if you’ve been caught, somewhere you aren’t supposed to be. But instead, that same smile curls on his face, knowing and crooked, as an eyebrow cocks while he continues to rap.

Doesn’t matter if I’m nasty or if I’m a wack or fack

I’m the guy that will carve history on the ground

He saunters towards you and the crowd oo’s and ah’s as he, for what feels like the hundredth time, drops to the ground at the word and swings back up with a hand cupping his groin. As he gets closer, you recognize that same teasing glint he always has when he’s about to fuck with you.

You reach behind you to push off the counter and run, but Hoseok is there before you can stop. He’s between your legs, lowering until his crotch is level, and pumping up into the seat. Your jaw is dropped as you laugh incredulously, not sure what to do with your hands behind you when he leans in, microphone just tracing up your chest as he moves up your body. The crowd is screaming, but at this point, you can’t even breathe from the shock of your tenant air fucking you. The roughness of his jeans catches on your own, his hot breath fans over your chest as he makes his way up to your agape expression. This close, you can see the sweat from his effort glittering over his skin in the varying shades of the strobe lights.

Your body finally leaves you, or as the announcer mentioned, your soul is eaten, when Hope reaches out, delicate fingers tucking hair behind your ear, running his index down your cheek as he starts stepping back, curling his finger in. You shake your head and the crowd boos. Hoseok waves to the booing crowd, pout on and eyebrow cocked, tempting you as he continues to rap along. You shout no louder, crossing your arms in front of you. Your legs feel like jello, and your heart might launch out of your mouth if you have to speak again.

Hoseok shrugs, reaching out to the closest person. He snatches up a man who he grinds into, using his shoulders to help him jump back on stage before he’s on his knees holding the man’s face in front of him, rolling his hips just close enough to touch before throwing the man’s head back, who then fake faints (or maybe it’s real?) when he falls into a friend.

The song starts to dial down, and on the final note, Hoseok is in center stage again, hand held high.

“Love you, Gemini!” he blows a kiss, drops the mic, and the crowd goes wild as he walks off stage.

“Not looking for a debut performance?” a voice calls beside you, and your soul almost leaves your body again. Namjoon sits next to you, leaning on his elbow on the counter as he watches Hoseok leave. “He wanted you up there.”

“He wants a lot of things,” you roll your eyes, trying to take in eveything you saw as you take a sip of the drink.

When you turn back, Namjoon is eyeing you up and down. You probably don’t fit what he wants you to wear in the club, in jeans and a jacket. “He does, doesn’t he?” is all he says, pushing off the counter and straightening the lapels of his black coat.

“Off to woo the partygoers,” he chuckles and heads out. You wonder just how long he’d been there, watching you watch… the show.

You shake it off, swiveling back around to the counter. Jungkook is serving people who are grabbing drinks between sets, so you reach for your drink. Before you can pick it up, warmth crowds your back and a hand reaches passed yours to snag the glass.

“Is that for me?” Hoseok’s voice teases in your ear. You swivel back around, following your drink. He has that damn half-smile on, holding the drink by the rim as he throws it back. He’s clothed now, a light sweatshirt but still the same ripped jeans. He smacks his lips after he finishes your drink. You grimace as he sets it back down.

“So this is what you look like with a shower?” You tease. Hoseok laughs, nodding as he collapses in the seat next to you. He lazes onto one arm, fingertips playing with the glasses on the other side of the bar. The angle emphasizes his sharp jawline, and the crystals still under his eyes remind you of how beautiful he looked earlier.

“How’d you like the show?” He asks with a playful wink.

“I was too busy trying not to be part of it.”

Hoseok laughs again, eyes closing as he sits upright. “I was just trying to say thank you for coming to pick me up,” he shrugs. For some reason, that makes your heart fall a bit. Or maybe it was your stomach? Maybe you’re sick.

“Wow, you really go all out,” you mock your appreciation.

“I do when I know what I want,” Hoseok explains. But his fiddling with the glasses has stopped, his eyes locked on yours. Hope stretches up, standing on the bars of his stool. “I hope good ole betty is okay in the shop. It’s cold tonight,” He pouts, leaning over the bar for a yellow bottle, maybe because it’s same yellow as Betty.

As he tips the bottle back into his mouth, Yoongi comes over to take the bottle out of his hands. “Wow, must have gotten some tip,” the man quips, tucking the bottle on the shelf behind the bar. Hoseok laughs, looking down at the bar. He can’t seem to look Yoongi in the face. Even in the bustling of intermission between acts, you can sense the awkwardness. There’s an odd stretch of silence before Yoongi finally speaks.

“Yeah, I bet. Thanks,” he gives a smile, but it’s fake. Even you can tell. Yoongi can tell too, and he moves to say something, but Hoseok is on his feet.

“Welp, this old landlord needs to get home,” he swings an arm around your shoulders as you gawk at the “old” he tagged on. He looks down at you, and the smile starts to dazzle. You look back at Yoongi instead, giving him a short nod. “It’s past her bedtime.” 

Hoseok is pulling you out, elbows linked before you can say goodbye.

As you break into the night air, you slow down. The thumping of the music can still be felt in your shoes, but the chill in the air makes the night feel frozen in time. “Hoseok, you still haven’t talked to him?”

“No,” Hoseok answers quickly, walking towards your car. You trot after, his gate wide.

“But…” Hoseok turns, eyebrows raised, so you pause. He looks like he’s wondering what you have to say, but his half-set eyes send a different signal. “It’s just, I’d get my parking spot back if you guys could settle this.”

Hoseok’s walking backward, humming at your reasoning. It reminds you of him beckoning you towards the stage. You both stand at your car now.

“Why…” you clear your throat as he leans against your car, fist against his temple, completely at home, smiling at you. It makes the words disappear from your head. You shake it, hoping they’ll jumble back into place. “Why do you keep this up? Why not just find somewhere to live and a decent job instead of scraping by?”

“Ah, this question,” Hoseok starts. He rolls onto his back, putting his hands in the jacket pockets. He turns and winks. “Guess you really are interested after all.”

You shove his shoulder to let him know he needs to get on with it.

He chuckles, scuffing the heel of his shoe in the gravel parking lot. “If having my dream means being a bit uncomfortable, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

You understand what he means. Not even living paycheck to paycheck, sacrificing your livelihood for your studies. It’s a sacrifice out of passion for passion. It’s something he understands. It’s part of what has him creeping closer and closer to you. Inside your home. And closer to you.

You tuck your own hands into your pockets, trying to fight the cold. “Um, can I try something?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, even process where you are headed with this. The world is suddenly very warm. A sensation, an urge suddenly overpowers you. Something you haven’t acknowledged that is now determined to crack the surface and pour out.

Hoseok rolls his head to the side, then his body follows suit. You push off the car, standing up straight. Hope’s smile edges up his face. Your eyes are trained on that smile as  you take a step forward, drawing in a sharp, cold breath for confidence. Hoseok stands as you take another step closer.

“Are you gonna ask to kiss me?” Hoseok says with lilt.

You give a short nod. Yes, that is exactly what you are doing. You didn’t even want to voice it to yourself. That these feelings had appeared, manifested, and broken loose while Hoseok was on the stage, doing what he loved. You can’t ask, too nervous, so you just look into his eyes, those soft, pretty brown eyes, and hope the question transmits.

Hoseok gives a short nod back, the smile turning soft, something else flickering in those eyes besides softness. “Okay.”

Your cold fingers reach out, lingering around the curve of his neck before your fingers fit under the jut of his jaw. His eyes flutter at the cold touch, mouth parting a bit. But he keeps his eyes on you as you lean in hesitantly.

You lick your lips. Hoseok smirks a little bit, but now his eyes are trained on your lips, not boring into your eyes with that daring glint.

And that’s all you need. You push forward, pulling him into you at the same time. As soon as your lips touch his, he’s in motion, one arm around your waist and the other sliding up your back, a physical request not to pull back. So you don’t, you snake your arm around his neck til your elbow locks behind him, lips parting at the slick touch of his warm tongue across your bottom lip.

You whimper when he nibbles at your bottom lip, sucking lightly before mouthing at you again, tongue behind your teeth as yours twists with his. You taste your drink in his mouth, but something more. Something sweet, almost floral as he bends you back, holding you into him with one final, firm kiss. When he tilts you upright, you grab onto his jacket collar for dear life. He blinks down at you, clearly amused by your sudden shock at almost falling over.

“Not bad,” he teases. You frown at the off-handed remark and jerk your elbow around his neck. He pretends to almost drop you. You both giggle.

He swivels you both, moving his hands to your waist as he lets you fall back into the car. The warmth of his weight contrasts with the cold exterior of your car. He looks down at you, then back up to your face, lips pressed then with a deep sigh.

“What?” you ask, hands now on his chest, curling your hands under the hoodie for some extra warmth. Hoseok shakes his head. 

“That was a decision,” he states. “That was a turning point.”

You tug on his hoodie, pulling him flush against you again. “I think so, too,” you murmur, then find his lips again.

[luna-almighty-god]

Guardian Angel N°12 [Shock of realities]

This is chapter twelve !

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

Have a good read!

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

Error didn't understand and didn't try to understand, he didn't need to. He knew the principle of UA and timeline, and although seeing another Ink in his world was strange, it didn't destabilize him any more than that. For it was definitely not his painter who was facing him, his eyes veiled by hatred and rage, with a pungent smell of metal and dust.

"What the hell is this delirium? "he ventured, letting his gaze run over the devastated living room, the overturned table, the disemboweled sofa, the cracked floor and walls.

He had no trouble seeing Nyx on the floor. Nyx slowly raised his head to look up, to observe him with a relief that Error never thought he'd see in anyone. At least not in himself.

The cartoonist was most banged up, not to mention Insomnia sobbing in his arms. Insomnia that he had probably tried to protect at the risk of his life, which explained his state of great weakness.

Error sigh, looked back at the falsified Ink:

“Well, one more to erase.”

But his opponent, whom he had imprisoned in his sons, did not seem afraid. Rather... stunned. Shocked. Devastated.

“Ruru... ?” Squealed softly at the Ink.

And Error flinched, suddenly in doubt. His opponent was clearly not HIS Ink, he knew that by his failing magic, as if corrupted. But ... the way he looked at him, the way he spoke to him ... it looked very much like ... his Ink. His soulmate.

A bone flew in his direction and he dodged it only with his wily reflexes. Forbidden, the Destroyer retreated when he saw his sons shattered before his opponent threw himself on him to punch him in the face.

Error dodged even harder, caught short by the speed of the other skeleton. Fuck, was it like a mess? Who the hell was that guy? I can't believe he told his own Ink "There's a strange magic in DreamTale. Look after PaperJam, I'll take care of it", when his lover would have been very useful right now!

He scolded, teleported himself behind his adversary and tried a new capture, but this Ink seemed to know him by heart since he dodged all his attempts before suddenly finding himself against him, forehead against forehead, pupils in pupils ...

The voice of the painter resounded soberly, in a laugh of madness:

“I killed you once ... I can do it again!”

Error grimaced, hardly wiping a blow to his legs. He did manage to move back, but his cheek was grazed, which almost made him glitch. This Ink was much more mischievous than his, but more importantly ... no, not powerful. It was something else.

He petrified on contact with a viscous liquid. A familiar but terrifying liquid, which had grabbed his arms from behind. Confused, he glanced behind him to see an ink puddle on the ground from which ...

“Wh-... tentacles?” he hiccupped without believing it.

Ink took the opportunity to hit him again, making him hiccup again, while a sinister crack from his arms made him bend suddenly, tearing a cry of pain from under his slowly breaking bones.

Panting, he tried to free himself ... but petrified. Petrified when the mouth of his opponent came to take possession of his own, to devour him, dominate him, subject him to his will. He became livid, his body frozen with terror, while he felt a tongue get between his teeth and come to play sneeringly with his own.

This unknown Ink didn't care about him, only wanted to humiliate him.

And a few meters away from them, with a pale face, Nyx was watching them. He observed them with a shock too great. Shock to see his father kissing Error. To force Error to kiss him, to subdue him in such a way.

Error, who, in this timeline, hated Nyx. But the cartoonist only remembered the Error in HIS timeline. The Error who had saved him from the clutches of his parents, the Error who had taken him in, the Error who had raised him and whom he had come to see as an adoptive father.

[Nyx lost control]

[The rage overwhelmed him]

Error opened his eyes to the sudden wave of negativity, certainly much weaker than Nightmare's, but still surprising. And his surprise was even greater when he perceived, from the corner of his eye, Nyx's pupils that had turned deep red, while tentacles suddenly materialized from shadows to whip the air furiously.

Ink released Error sharply to cast a hesitant glance at Nyx, visibly feverish to face the rage of the youngest.

But the cartoonist didn't have to intervene... Because the Ink of this timeline did it perfectly well.

A bluish paint sprinkled on the 'bad' Ink, who opened his eyes and moved backwards before shouting in rage when the paint changed into a chain, a chain that immobilized him at once. Mad with anger he looked up at the 'good' Ink. The 'good' Ink who had just come out of a portal and who, with a powerful brushstroke, freed Error from the claws of the tentacles.

The confusion was only greater when the two Ink looked into each other's eyes.

“Another me?” wondered the past Ink while holding the Destroyer against him in a protective gesture.

Faced with the proximity of the two skeletons, Nyx's father yelped, foaming with rage, and felt trembling on all sides. How was it that his past self was so close to ...

He petrified.... To turn a murderous glance at Nyx:

“That's what I thought... Y.o.u. h.a.v.e  c.h.a.n.g.e.d.  t.h.e.  s.t.o.r.y.”

Nyx lost his tentacles as his pupils turned blue, he backed away abruptly, intimidated and frightened in front of his progenitor, while pressing Insomnia against him again.

“I-it was the right thing to do, he replied.

- The best thing...? Ugh, Dream and Error have really messed with your head! The best thing you say? No, no no ! Nyx, haven't we taught you nothing? Didn't Nightmare mean to make you his worthy successor?”

Nyx felt the tension pressing down on his body, his legs trembling and failing to pull away, while his father was gradually displaying a crazy grin:

“You should have killed us.”

The cartoonist lost his pupils, his hands clasped on the baby, while the skeletons of the past listened to the conversation without understanding the meaning.

Nyx's father sneered suddenly:

“You were born to kill.”

A tentacle of ink broke his chains, and the Ink of the future disappeared in a sudden teleportation, abandoning his opponents in total confusion.

Nyx's heart was heavy. His body finally let go and he fell to his knees on the ground. To tell the truth, it was even a miracle that he didn't burst into tears in the moment. Probably he was too shaken to know exactly how to react.

But the words of his father assaulted him, bit him, scratched him, dragged him into a trance, a second state that disconnected him from reality without him being able to do anything about it, as if his spirit was sliding furiously down a slope too steep to make him sink to the bottom, drowning him in a flood of memories, remorse, regret.

[You were born to kill.]

Killing physically and mentally. It was by design. He had killed the happiness, the hope of his parents. He had caused Plum's death. He had also caused the death of Error. He had caused the deaths of so many people, willingly or unwillingly. You'd think he was only good for that...

No, that's exactly what it was.

He was only good at killing everything he came near. Killing... often without mercy.

“Nyx!”

He was startled, brought back to reality by Ink who had grabbed him by the shoulders and was shaking him gently with great concern.

“Nyx, can you hear me?”

For a brief moment, the cartoonist thought it was his father. But this thought was soon swept away: his progenitor had never called him so kindly, so anxiously.

However, if Nyx wanted to answer, he interrupted himself, sensing that his arms contained nothing more, closing in on a void. He became pale, his pupils taking the form of two exclamation marks in spite of himself as panic gripped his being:

“Insomnia?! Where is he now?”

The Creator was startled, not expecting such a strong reaction. Not to mention his astonishment at seeing his pupils change shape. But he tried to keep a cool head and respond appropriately to Nyx:

“He, uh... He's with Killer.”

Nyx blinked: with ... Killer?

Ink turned his head and pointed to another part of the living room. The Draftsman looked around and ran out of bugs, lost. Killer was indeed there, holding Insomnia against him and watching him from every angle, checking that he had nothing. At his side stood Nightmare, who was also examining his son, before turning to Nyx.

"Are you finally coming to your senses? "he grunted as he approached.

The black-boned one didn't understand. He just... He'd been gone that long? A moment of absence that had prevented him from perceiving the return of the couple? Sometimes his mind was somewhere else, yes, but that long?

[Was it... because of the lack of apples?]

He shook his head, chasing away the thought as he stood trembling, helped by Ink who gently supported him.

“... I...I have to go.” he blew.

He had to go back to the gate. He had to find out if his father had told him the truth. He was... He had to close the fucking portal once and for all, before things got any worse!

But as he dodged a move to get away, a tentacle grabbed his arm, petrified him.

Nightmare's voice growled, dangerous:

“You're not going anywhere. Not without an explanation.”

Nyx swallowed, tensed up a little more when Error also intervened, arms folded, leaning against the back of the sofa:

"Yeah. You owe us an explanation. How come you know another Ink? That he talked about 'making a difference'? And more importantly... How come your pupils change like that, and you have tentacles? »

Pushed from all sides, Nyx feverishly sought help from others. But both Ink and Killer were waiting for answers. It was at this moment that the cartoonist also noticed the return of the bad Sans, except that they were standing much further back. But Horror, Dust and Cross hadn't planned to help him either, looking at him from the frowned arches, even though the cannibal seemed the most worried of all.

Nyx blew, realizing that he wouldn't get anyone's support. Not until he revealed nothing.

He gave up the idea of running away, to face Nightmare and Error:

“I guess it doesn't take a genius to figure out I'm from another timeline, right?”

No need to be a genius, certainly ... yet this information caused a sudden surprise to others, especially Nightmare and Ink.

But especially Nightmare, who imperceptibly clenched his fists:

“... What do you mean by that?” he grunted.

Nyx gently disengaged from the grip of the appendix, then took a breath and resumed his impenetrable face, before making a slight curtsy to the assembly:

“Let's take it from the top. My name is Nyx, I am a traveler. A time traveler.”

He looked at Ink:

"That's why you couldn't find any trace of me in the AUs. Simply because I'm not even from that multiverse. I come from an apocalyptic future where the multiverse has fallen into ruin, and I've been given a mission to go back to the past to change history, to prevent the fall of this world. »

He raised his hand to stop all questions:

“I'd rather not reveal more, for fear the timeline will be too shaky.”

Nightmare laughed:

“If you've made a difference, the timeline must already be a monster mess. So instead of making stupid excuses, tell me .... Is Ink the problem?”

Ink tensed up as he remembered his double, which had seemed quite terrifying to him with his aura and intimidating gaze.

Nyx hesitated:

“.... Not ... not only.”

Error growled bitterly:

“This Ink had tentacles.”

The Nightmare Keeper froze himself by understanding:

“So I'm the problem in the future? I'm the one who was made to sink Ink, and the multiverse?”

Nyx had a slight, very slight recoil. But that's enough for the master of bad emotions to understand.

[Understand that Nyx was playing him for a fool]

For the past few months, Nightmare had been plunged into doubt, hoping to be wrong, thinking that his powers had only weakened in the face of his softening and his family life. But the time had come when he had to face reality, when doubt was no longer allowed.

“You hide your feelings of your own free will.” he said to Nyx, who trembled.

He thought he'd found a friend, someone who understood him, trusted him...

“You're afraid of me.” he said, feverishly, receiving like a stab in the soul.

[No !]

Nyx would have liked to disapprove.

[No, it's not that, you don't understand!]

He remained mute, unable to defend himself. Because deep down, even if he had explained the real reason, would Nightmare have believed him? He wasn't sure. And deep down... Deep down... ...Nightmare was probably right. In Nyx still resided the fear, the terror of being locked up, tortured, confronted with his worst nightmares.

He simply looked down, confirming what Nightmare was already thinking. Confirming that Nyx had always feared him as much as anyone else.

“...I see.” he pessimised, turning away from the cartoonist.

Being unable to smile, the body relaxed, an immense emptiness in the chest while a flood of insults crosses our minds. So that was the disappointment? That bitter feeling of being betrayed? To see our expectations, our ideals flouted? To feel like a fool from the start? Offended, humiliated, what else should he have felt? Anger?

Oh, the anger was there, deep inside him, striking a slight spike in his Being while the guilt did the same. Guilt for being angry at others when others had done nothing, at least not with the wrong kind of care. But that it was painful to feel such a thing... to feel as if you had been manipulated, deceived, by someone you valued.

Nyx, seeing the nightmare master turn away from him, knew he had screwed up again. His gaze slipped on the rest of the ruined living room, on Insomnia who seemed quite feverish in Killer's arms, on the bad guys without whom were exchanging worried murmurs .... Then on Error, wounded, who was not completely recovered from his previous fight, while Ink was standing next to him without knowing how he should act.

Nyx knew he was responsible for all this. From the beginning, the very beginning, he was the problem. He, the mistake, the one who should never have existed. His life had been a continual series of problems caused by his birth, and now another timeline was threatened by his fault, another complete multiverse.

He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't allow this world to be destroyed.

“I'm going to fix everything.”

He left no time for others to hold him back, disappearing in a gust of wind through a portal as Ink tried to catch up with him. But too late, the portal had closed without leaving a shred of magic behind, as if Nyx had made sure no one followed him.

A leaden silence fell, terrible and oppressive, letting a peculiar bitterness take hold of the assembly ....

Until Nightmare froze. Let him look at Error, his eyes wide open, finally becoming aware of the words the Destroyer had spoken earlier:

“Nyx had tentacles?!”

A much more powerful apprehension had just caught him by the throat.

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale ->  Joku

Dust -> Ask DustTale

Error -> LoverOfPiggies

Ink -> Myebi

Killer -> Rahafwabas

Cross and Lux -> Jakei

Insomnia -> EnaPouyou

[heckinhacker]

Blood Moon!Aatrox x Demon!S/O - Insane between crazy.

word count: 1,608 requested: Yes!  - By Anonymous: “ Can I ask for Blood moon Aatrox fanfic plz? When he met the demon s/o but they're different from the other demons because instead of killing mortals, they tried to save them plz. “ warnings: Curses, violence, Aatrox being Aatrox. 

 You were standing on the podium, your arms raised to red as blood heaven, shouting at your own kind.

“And WHY do we have to sacrifice human lives for our own sake? Why is it everything about bloodshed?! Humans aren’t bad, they’re innocent, they can do no harm to us, so why do we kill them like animals?! They’re just like us - NO. They’re even better. THEY have emotions, they can be reasoned with, they connect with each other and we only have ability to think, but what do we get from thinking when we don’t use it! Everything we do is just kill, stab, get those guts out and make a new scarf, this is stupid!” 

You preached, you shouted to heavens and other demons looking at you like you’d lost your mind. There was solid moment of silence, before you heard this hoarse laugh. Pyke. It’s almost always Pyke. After his laugh which usually makes you go insane, every other demon burst in mad laughs too. Even The Kalista, this smart Kalista. You felt disappointment rise in your chest. You really wanted to hide right now. Somewhere, anywhere. You jumped off of podium and tried to fast-walk out of there. With no luck, of course, demons are really, really...jackasses. 

Thresh stood in your way, his mask and “hair” floating above you. You furrowed your eyebrows behind your mask. - What was that, [y/n]? I couldn’t quite understand because of your whines, you weren’t clear enough! - Right. You’re sure it’s because of me? You forgot your head from home, maybe that’s why.

Thresh’s red flame erupted around, eye-holes of floating mask filled with red light. Well, someone can’t handle being roasted. Thresh aimed his hook pretty quickly to your direction, but you gracefully jumped away, huffing. You wouldn’t like to fight with this sadist not now nor anytime, it’s better to flee and wait until  he calms down. You heard behind you screams of Thresh and louder talks of other demons. They’re stupid. Too stupid to understand. They never get through they thin skulls that thanks to people they exist. Kinda. God knows about “The First One”. Does he even exist? The progenitor every human and demon fear, The first demon ever who landed his feet on human’s ground. Funny. He sounds like some kind of “Adam and Eve” from human’s religion, like, you know? “The first one” ! But he’s alone, and he was made by blood moon itself. If he’d only show up...anywhere. Not like It’d be a good thing for you. We all can imagine he’d be an ass too, like everyone else was. 

The plan for the rest of the day was to lay down on some tree and take a nap, maybe find some animals to play around with, then wait ‘till the night when the monsters go apeshit. You just climbed up, took mask off so it covers only your eyes and managed to close them to rest, but then, loud explosion, maniacal laughs, terrorizing screams of your beloved mortals. No, not that again. You groaned, fixing your mask and jumping down to run to the village. Why are they on the streak again? Do they ever fucking rest?? You were there almost immediately, trying to protect the defenseless. Good thing your fighting weapon was shield. You did as much as you could, but little did you know - Aatrox was there.

You pushed Talon away from this poor man who had pass out from fear, shouting at him to ‘fucking stop’. When Talon wanted to jump up with a dangerous growl, Aatrox shouted with this demonic, echoed like by some other dimension voice who scared everyone around.”ENOUGH.” You, demons, people who tried to run away but fell down because they knees got weak because of terrifying shout that pierced their souls and minds. Your shield was dropped to the ground as you looked at this tall form of majestic horror in human representation. He was The Progenitor, The First One, That demon from which everything started. You gulped loudly, and he stared directly at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He’s a born leader, general of darkspawn army, leading for mortal’s extinction. - I… - What does you attitude mean? You’re not even that old demon. What were you thinking? - I just… - Enough of this nonsense. I’ll teach you a lesson, novice, while others can- - N-no, they cannot. - Can you repeat yourself? - They just can’t! CAN’T! - you shouted, looking amazingly dangerous while bending down to get your shield and furiously tap it with your little sword you promised never to use. - I won’t let this madness continue, no more! Aatrox threw his sword aside, which created thud way louder it should be. You could promise ground had shaken at this exact moment this enormous peace of ancient iron and brutally murdered souls had fallen down. He makes few steps towards you, you don’t move even inch, only take deep breaths. He brutally rips your mask off to look at your countenance. He squeezed your cheeks with one hand without problem, your faces way too close, your foreheads touching. - Do you still have courage to open your filthy, pathetic mouth? - I. Am. NOT. Afraid. Of. You. You didn’t even stutter, twitch, anything. This demon was not afraid, the youngest demon known was not shaken by mighty Aatrox. He was, indeed, surprised. How could you. How could you DARE to talk back to him. He was now holding you up by your throat. Even though you were already dead, you could feel suffocation. Your little coughs and struggling looked entertaining for other demons, but Aatrox told them off with one single glare. They vanished as soon as they appeared. - Apologise. - Not...in this...afterlife…- you coughed furiously. - and not...in the next...weakling…

Aatrox threw you like a ragdoll across empty field, your flight was over when you hit the wall, making deep hole in it. You-shaped hole. He approached you, took up his sword and looked down at you, like you were some bug. He put his surely oversized foot on your shoulder, pushing you deeper into building’s wall. - You’re brave. I like that. I expect more submissiveness next time, but consider yourself lucky. Now perish. - he threw you your mask back.

No matter how much you wanted to snark back some backfire, but only bit your bottom lip, stood up slowly and went away, limping. 

Aatrox would lie if he’d say he didn’t picked up any interest in you. Furthermore, he was thinking about you. He had no clue what has gotten into him, but it annoys the fuck out of him. Your pathetic face when he was choking you, desperate gasp after you were released, hateful look you shot at him when he stepped on your shoulder. The thought of this image sent shiver down his spine, he purely hated that. With passion. He decides to see your unmasked face again, to fight his own thoughts. To fight himself. He can prove he’s more than some human attachment. 

He got up, fixed his clothes, tightened up his man-bun and went off to the hardest war he had ahead of himself.

You can sense his presence right away, so his big figure heading to you was really no surprising, his aura was strong and steps pretty loud. He draws his sword in front of your face and you raise your eyebrow in amusement, as he demands the fight. - Draw your weapon. - Why…? - It’s a war, [y/n]. There’s no turning back. - Why would I start the fight I’ll for sure lose? But he forces you to take up your shield to protect yourself from his strong swing with the sword which is probably heavier than you with your shield in hand. You block the attack, pushing him back slightly, groaning. You feel the vibration off that hit in your bone, unpleasant feeling. You are angry at this moment, grabbing your little sword into your second hand. Not like it’ll help much against gigantic sword, but well, you didn’t thought straight. It’s like...you are against demon’s nature, but you’re one anyway, you have something from them, and anger had blinded your common sense. Aatrox was the first one even in this case. He was the first to trigger your demon nature. 

You charged at gigantic monster with such force he lost his balance for a moment, but helped himself with his sword. You use that moment to try and stab him under his ribs, but he kicks you so hard you fall back with loud thud. He takes a deep breath, rushes to you and kicks off your shield. After that, he steps on  your wrist, forcing you to drop this imitation of a sword. He throws his weapon away, kneels down, grabs your collar and kisses you forcefully. There was no hint of gentleness or pureness. It was pure - pure wildness and domination. You gasp in surprise, trying to kick him off or push him away, but there’s no use of that.

No matter how much you try to fight it, he kisses pretty damn well. You finally give up, closing your eyes and reciprocate the passion he somehow shared with you. When you were over - not because of breath loss - he looked at you, his eyes not full of aggression or fighting spirit. They were...as normal as they could be, not fully but had that hint of something else.

“I lost the war between us. I lost with the insane between crazy.”

[cellard0ors]

Fic: the beginning is the end is the beginning

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Buzzfeed Unsolved, Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Pairing: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej

Warning: Apocalyptic!End!Of!The!World stuff, mentions of dead people, mass suicides

Summary:  The Titans have returned. The world has ended. The Ghoul Boys are still here.

Notes:   HO-KAY. This is dedicated to @theawfuledges, who has always been super sweet, super supportive, and who had a bad day a while back and deserved something then but I. Take. FOREVER.

Inspired by this sorta-not-really-prompt-post and also the fact that @theawfuledges seems to also enjoy Godzilla. This is the Shyan!Godzilla!AU NO one asked for and probably NO one will care about - but! I had fun writing it enough that I’d consider coming back to it at some point - I mean, why not, amiright?

Anyway - excuse all my philosophizing about the end of the world via Titans and enjoy…

AO3 Link

They’ve been walking through the wasteland for almost an hour now and Shane can still feel Ryan’s eyes on his back. He ignores it, as he’s been ignoring it. He’s even whistled a tuneless song on and off during their walk, just to rub it in. A sort of reminder that he’s oblivious and doesn’t know Ryan’s trying to burn a hole through him. I mean, he does know, but it’s just…it’s too funny.

Ryan is always too funny when’s worked up into a snit. No, not funny…cute. Something Shane probably shouldn’t think about, but think he does. The best way to try to not think about it? Antagonize the little guy. So antagonize he does, finally stopping in their rambles to squat down at a larger than usual rock he’s kicked at.

It didn’t make him stumble exactly, but it caught his attention enough to make him stop and bend down. He tosses the smooth white stone around in one palm, grinning, “Well, well, well…ain’t you a nifty lookin’ fella…”

He stands back up, fully aware that Ryan has stopped a few feet behind him and is still glaring. Hell, he’s probably reached seething at this point. Balled up fists shaking at his sides and the mere idea of that imagery – the utter adorableness of it – breaks Shane’s resolve, “What?”

“Really?!” Ryan finally explodes and his voice cracks over the word and Jesus, the guy is too goddamn precious for words, “A rock?! That’s what catches your attention?!”

“Sure! This baby could be a geode! Just need to crack ‘er open and see if she sparkles!” Shane returns as he waggles the stone in Ryan’s direction, lips curled in a devious smile. He finally turns to look behind him and see Ryan and oh, no.

Shane wants to press a hand to his heart. Ryan has moved beyond cute, beyond adorable, beyond precious. He’s reached that level where it takes all of Shane’s willpower not to dart right over and kiss the breath out of him as Ryan cries, “I’ve been shooting death daggers at you for over an hour now!”

“Have you?”

“Yes, you monumental jackass! And I know you know it!”

Shane can only chuckle and Ryan frantically waves his arms about, “It’s been weeks now and we still have yet to talk about it! We just go out for recons, talk banal shit, and you – you stop for a fucking pebble instead of doing what you should do!”

Shane merely raises his eyebrows, that question enough and Ryan comes closer, breath all huffy and puffy and the perfect representation of a temper tantrum in human form, “Which is give me the world’s biggest fucking apology!”

“…for?”

“FOR?!” Another word cracked by hysteria, “Being right! Monsters exist! Or is this-” Ryan yet again waves about, waves around at the miles and miles of baked, orange earth and uprooted, long dead trees. The rubble of buildings long since lost, the endless expanse of nothing but baseless destruction – “-not proof enough for you?!”

Shane just dips the rock in Ryan’s direction like it’s the tip of a pointer, “Never said monsters weren’t real. I said ghosts weren’t,” he draws the rock back and continues walking, voice very sage, “And that continues to be a fact." He turns away and starts walking again, "Now the Titans? Oh man, those boys are flesh and blood. Meat and bone. Just like Bigfoot and hey, do you think-?”

“…stop it…”

Shane turns to look at him again even as he continues walking backwards, “-Bigfoot is a Titan?”

Ryan only stops to pinch the bridge of his nose. His earlier anger has finally spooled out of him thanks to his outburst, leaving only his normal Shane-oriented exhaustion, “I mean, he’s no Godzilla or Gidroah-”

“Ghidorah.”

“Hmm?”

Ryan’s tone is bone weary, “You said it wrong. It’s Ghidorah.”

Shane just waves a hand like it’s no big deal and Ryan stands up a little taller, clearly offended by the gesture. Perfectionist. Shane is pretty sure his smile is never going to leave, “Whatever. But Bigfoot…he can hang with the big boys, right?”

“I don’t think Bigfoot is capable of leveling Los Angeles which, news flash, is what happened when Godzilla and the other Titans trampled through!”

“It was their world first, pal,” is his amicable response, “We just have to do our best to live with it.”

Ryan looks less than pleased at that revelation and Shane can’t blame him. Still…

Finally Shane sobers, stopping to look at Ryan with all due seriousness, “Ryan…”

He doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t have to. Ryan just gives his own subdued head bob because, well, it’s the truth. They do have to do their best to live with it. What else can they do? They have no power over creatures taller than skyscrapers. Ancient beasts on par with living gods. The human race did what it could. It wasn’t enough. But – to be fair – what could they do?

Humanity always likes to think of itself as the top tier – nothing bigger, nothing brighter, nothing stronger. And within the span of a few weeks that was proven horribly untrue. Frankly, Shane always knew it would be – humility is something every living being should possess and a lot of humanity lost that long ago – but frankly, he’d been banking on aliens.

Not big ol’ monsters.

Regardless, they are where they are. In a world where massive creatures walk the earth and humans have been knocked down several pegs. Pegs that have to scurry out shelter and he and Ryan found it. They reach it now – an underground bunker dug deep into the earth by god knows who.

The first time they’d found the little hide-ho they’d intended to merely use it for one night, sure that the original owners would appear. But they didn’t. Night after night passed and no one came to claim the bunker – so Shane decided they should claim it for themselves. Hell, they took a bridge from a Goatman and made it their own – why not a bunker?

Hence why it’s colorful name –  ‘The Goatman’s Bunker’. He’d even made a sign to that effect once they’d managed to scrounge up some paper and workable pens. Funny the things you find littered amongst the refuse. Like his cool new rock – which he now sets alongside other treasures he’s found in their travels. A kid’s beat up plastic car, a broken snow globe, a crushed cup advertising Disneyland (long since gone – a collectible now!), and other debris he found of interest.

Ryan takes off his backpack and reaches inside, digging out various goodies they scavenged today. Dented bottles of water (always a god send), band-aids, several tin cans of vegetables and meats, scraped bottles with unreadable labels and anything else he could shove in.

They’re both pretty sure they’d come across the ruins of some pharmacy today – maybe a CVS or Walgreens or something – but neither could be certain. But there had certainly been a nicer haul than usual. Some days they walked out into the wasteland and found nothing for miles but old car parts and the occasionally, questionable collection of garbage.

Sometimes…sometimes they found worse things…

Both of them tried their best not to think of those things. Awful, sad things. Dead things. Crushed things. They had a radio in the bunker and there was the occasional chatter, but mostly? Mostly the world was silent. Funny how quickly a world, its people, its governments – could fall apart in the face of something it couldn’t understand.

There was word of massive suicide sites. Places where religious fanatics scrambled, unable to comprehend a world in which something their God couldn’t have possibly made appeared. There was word of places where ground born militias formed. People bloodthirsty for revenge, willing to do whatever they have to, to fight back, to rage against the sky – against forces beyond their control. There has been a lot of different word…but nothing that really concerns the two of them.

At least not for now.

For now?

For now the Ghoul Boys have their Goatman’s Bunker and a questionable collection of cans that will provide tonight’s sustenance.

What Shane wouldn’t give for a can opener. He’s gotten pretty good at stabbing cans open with the knife he has, but sometimes tiny metal shavings still end up in their meals. Tonight is no exception. He stabs away at a few cans, digs out what he can on to broken plates they’d found. Broken, a little chipped – but surprisingly in pretty good condition.

The food, however, is mush. Shane scoops up a bit with his fingers and licks at it, wincing as the taste, “Think this is chickpeas…or maybe hominy…”

“Those two things are very different.”

“Oh, sorry Paul Prudhomme – what’s your expansive palate telling you?”

Ryan’s nose wrinkles even as he takes his own bite, “Um…peaches?”

“Pe-?” Shane can’t even finish, laughing, because this sure as shit isn’t peaches. As is his way, Ryan looks charmingly flummoxed, “I taste something sweet, you dipshit!”

“Well, you did just stick your fingers in your mouth, didn’t you?” Shane teases and he knows it’s on the edge of a flirt and dammit, bad idea, Shane, bad idea…

Again – as is his way – Ryan ignores it. Shane releases the breath he isn’t even aware he’s holding. Good. Ryan shouldn’t respond. Good. And yet…

Shane takes another bite of his ‘dinner’ and it’s as questionable as the last. Maybe even more so, given their last interaction. This is not the time. This is SO not the time. The world’s ended. Or, well, the world as they knew it. Now is not the time to put the moves on Ryan. It wasn’t before. It isn’t now. When will it ever-?

Never, his thoughts whisper, and Shane feels his face fall, feels an uncharacteristic moroseness take him. He polishes off what last few bites he can manage, even though he’s not hungry, and then he rubs his hands clean on the material of his dirty jeans. Not the most hygienic, true – but they can’t waste water.

He can always find some stream tomorrow – do a better job then. Say what you will about the Titans, but their returns had brought some worth while things. California was flusher with fresh streams than ever before. Glowing green plant life – plant life that, before – would have scorched – now flourishes here. It’s as if the arrival of these creatures changed the very exosphere.

He wonders how global warming looks now. Have they caused a monumental shift in it? Probably. If anything has the power to, they probably do. Fuck, they can probably grow back icebergs or something. Create new fossil fuels. God – or heh, Godzilla – knows what. Once feeling his hands are sufficiently clean, he sighs and looks over at Ryan who has started in on again on his torn, dog-eared novel.

“Thinking I’m going to hit the hay.”

Ryan blinks, “Already?”

He just shrugs, “Long day.”

“Yeah,” Ryan admits softly and Shane goes over to his sleeping bag. It’s funny, but in as much as things changed, some have stayed the same. Sleeping together in a dirty, gross shit holes? Just like old times. Except no one’s filming with plans to upload it to the internet later.

The internet. Man. Talk about something to miss. The whole world at your fingertips. Although, in a way, they now have that albeit in a much more literal sense. Shane snuggles deep into his bag and falls to sleep far quicker than he thought he would.

Ryan, for his part, continues to idly pick through his uncovered novel. It’s a pretty decent tale. Romance. Big shocker. The world is over and all he can find in the remains are old bodice rippers. But a book is a book – entertainment is pretty goddamn scarce these days. He’ll take what he can get. True, he wants to click on the radio – see if there’s any good word, any good news – but he doesn’t want to disturb Shane.

…even if the bastard won’t admit he’s wrong. And yeah, the Titans aren’t ghosts. But they are real. So, if they’re real – it’s not much of a stretch to think the same thing of ghosts.

…probably a lot more ghosts now…what with all the…

Ryan can’t even coherently string it all together. All the lives lost. Too many to even begin to contemplate. A planetwide event, a tragedy beyond bearing. And here the two of them are. Holed up in their little bunker, trying to live the best lives they can. Ryan’s a few more pages in when he hears that familiar hum.

His mouth twitches, unable to resist the smile forming.

Ha-hum. Ha-hum. Ha-Hum.

The sound Shane makes while he sleeps. The soft hum of his breathing. Ryan can’t even count how many times he’s fallen asleep to that sound. Clung to it when they were shooting in creepy locations. He never slept well in supposedly haunted locations…but he always slept a little better when they shared space. When he hears those sounds.

Ha-hum. Ha-hum. Ha-Hum.

Like the bastard laughs in his sleep. Although, the sound isn’t quite like a laugh. It just…it has that same warm sound, that rewarding quality his laughter carries. Affable, irresistible, rich and…Ryan looks down at the words on the pages of the book before him, feels his cheeks heat. He’s been reading far too much of this mushy shit. It’s messing with his thoughts. He closes the book and contemplates his options.

Sleep is probably the best among them. He looks to Shane again. Long limbs all akimbo – awkward. He fits within his cocoon and yet not. Ridiculous – those stork legs, those string bean arms…

…how would those arms feel wrapped around-?

Ryan literally tosses his book aside. All your fault, he thinks at it, even as he stands up rolls his shoulders. Okay. Calm on. Relax. Don’t be stupid. Just go to sleep.

He climbs into his own bag, which isn’t far from Shane’s. He dampens their lanterns and it’s dark, cool, quiet. He’s almost asleep when he hears it. A deep, hefty rumble. Like thunder, but worse. Far worse. Worse because no storm has this feeling behind it. This pure, volatile energy.

He sits up, his breath catching. It’s far off in the distance, but it doesn’t matter. He knows what it is. It’s one of them. His heart leaps into his throat and fear throttles him so roughly that at first he can’t move – eyes watering as the sound grows in strength.

…boom…boom…Boom…BOOM!

The last makes the ground shake and he hates the goddamn squeak that leaves him as he physical jolts. Shane (sonofabitch!) is still asleep and Jesus Christ, does this fucker sleep through everything?! Ryan rolls his bag hard to one side, closer to Shane, knocking him with enough force that Shane wakes, voice groggy with sleep, “…izzat?”

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” Ryan wishes he didn’t sound so whiny and high pitched and frantic. For fuck’s sake – he’s a grown man! But the sound of those…footsteps…

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ground beneath them shakes violently. Ryan’s experienced earthquakes before (California born and raised) but this is beyond that. This is as if the planet itself is coming apart. Shane sits up, even as Ryan shushes at him, tugs at him – as if somehow Shane’s sitting up, underground, in the dark, can signal the Titans above them.

Shane tilts his head this way and that – clearly doing his best to listen. To pinpoint. And then he slowly turns back to Ryan, “Hey, hey…shush, shush…they’re moving away…”

Ryan’s eyes hurt from being open so wide. Ryan’s chest hurts because his heart is beating so fast. Ryan’s…hurt. He hurts and hurts and suddenly he’s in Shane’s arms. Shane is cuddling him close, “Ry? Ryan, buddy, come on…come on! Calm down, calm down. Breathe…”

…he can’t…Ryan can’t…

“You can,” Shane intones firmly and Ryan realizes he’s said something to that effect aloud, “Ryan, breathe.”

Ryan drags in one loud, long shuddering breath. Then another. Then another. His mind briefly flickers over all he’s lost. All they’ve lost. All the friends, all the family, all the people…the world…

His wide eyes fill. Blink. Shed some tears, there and gone, and he’s still breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He curls forward some, relaxes, and he’s in Shane’s arms and they’re not quite as string bean as he thought. They have strength and weight and long fingers are stroking through his sweat damp, dark hair. Soothing it back from his forehead.

Ryan lets out a jittery wheeze, “Sorry…must think I’m a dumb ass.”

“No.”

“Shane…”

“Ryan, you’re not a dumb ass because you’re afraid.”

“You’re not.”

“Shows what you know.”

“Shane…”

“Ryan,” Now it’s Shane’s turn to sound bone weary, “We played up that shit for the show. You know that. Being scared of heroin needles and avocado pits and…and you know,” he says it so firmly, with such deep assurance that – even in the darkness of the bunker – Ryan knows he’s looking directly into his eyes, “You know I’m just as human as everybody else. That I get afraid. That I am afraid.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks and he can’t see the nod, but he knows he gets it. And Shane’s right. Of course he’s right. Ryan knows he’s right. Shane’s not any more of a dumb ass than he is. They have every right to be afraid. Everyone in the world currently is. It’s all changing. It’s all becoming new. So new that to-to be afraid of other things? Silly things? Well, that would be what would make him a dumb ass, right?

And it’s this thought that leads Ryan to ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Two little balls of heat form right on the apples of his cheeks, lighting zipping up and down his spine because – holy shit – did he just say that out loud? And he can’t really see Shane in the cool darkness of the bunker. Their lanterns are out, but he can feel him. Sense him. He’s…close.

And then Shane answers.

“I don’t know…can you?”

It takes Ryan a moment to digest this response. And when he does? He fishes out his flat pillow and hopes it hits hard as he smacks right across Shane’s face, “Fuck you! You-!”

The curse is said without any real heat, but it can’t be helped, because, well – goddammit! So Ryan plans to keep on pummeling Shane until he somehow dies from pillow pummeling only for Shane to stop him. He manages to catch his pillow and stall his movements as he grunts out, “No! Hey! S-sorry, look-! I just-! I just couldn’t help myself, y’know?”

“Oh, do I?!”

“Yeah, man I mean – it was right there!” Shane damn near pleads with him, clearly feeling the opportunity was too good to pass up, “Besides, it was…it was too damned much. You asking like that…all hat in hand…”

Ryan’s struggles with the pillow cease as Shane comes…closer. He can feel him closer. The heat of him, the rush of air on his lips in the dark as Shane talks that his breathe caresses Ryan’s mouth, “But you can, Ryan.”

The last is said with such intensity that Ryan’s whole body shakes harder than when the Titans walked near them. His heart booms louder than their steps. He feels Shane hovering so close, “…I’ve wanted you to.”

A thick, noisy swallow and a very cracking, very insecure, “Yeah?”

“Mmm. Been waiting for you to.”

“R-really?”

A soft scoff, “No, actually – never thought you were interested. Never thought I’d be so lucky. But goddamn Ryan, if you are? You can kiss me and then some.”

That’s all the incentive Ryan needs. He charges forward and yes – kissing in the dark when you’re not quite sure where the other person is? Awkward. WEIRD. Ryan’s lips sort of miss Shane’s and there’s a laugh and a snort and a lot of fumbling in the pitch black dark.

But then?

Oh, then.

Then there’s lips meeting and Ryan’s thoughts splinter, his veins ignite and he’s kissing Shane. Their tongues are tangling, lips playing along one another and suddenly the world isn’t over. It’s just beginning.

[fantasysamsclub]

Thought: Krav and Taako are on one of their many post story vacays and since they're actually quite relaxed, Taako has been burning spell slots like it's nothing. As a result, when the two get hassled by some baddies, he's defenseless for like the first time ever except for some shitty cantrips. This is how Taako gets to see Kravitz in full, pissed off, bard-turned-reaper mode for the second time ever and it's both hot and a little intimidating.

hey, anon? i accidentally wrote 2400 words of this. it went off the rails wildly. you know what you’ve done. this is going up on ao3 in a little bit, but first let’s just put this here

careful everyone, this one’s a bit mature. nothing adult happens, but there’s a lot of jokes about it!

So, here’s the thing. Taako?Not the type of guy to save his spell slots.

That would make him a Jenkins, andwho wants to be a Jenkins? No sir, no thank you. Taako’s the type of guy tothrow crab monsters via levitation at the Jenkins of the world. He’s not aboutto save his spell slots like they’re precious gems. Also? He’s level who the fuck cares after the apocalypseis all said and done, he’s got spell slots fordays. Which means he gets to take advantage of all the hella cool wizard powers twenty-four seven. Levitating groceries intohis house. Riding a magical binicorn to work every day. Using all manner ofdivination spells to magically telegraph dick pics into his boyfriend’s brainat work (he hadn’t had to do that in a while–photographs and texting were broughtover pretty shortly after he saved the world and opened communication betweentheir plane and the plane of Thought).

It’s not like he runs out of spell slots every day. Hekeeps a couple close to him just in case he gets the drop on him. But thatdoesn’t make him a Jenkins. It just makes him smart. The only time he runs hisspell slots dry is when he’s on vacation, because he knows impressive magicalfeats get Kravitz (you know, his boyfriend of ten years, the one he’s thinkingabout putting a ring on one of these days?)  hot under the collar, and of course he’s going to utilize that to its full potential onholidays.

They try to take a vacation once a year. They wrangle catsittersand clear out each other’s schedules for a week and a half. The Raven Queenmore than allows it. She loves that Kravitz has a social life now. Says hiswork is better now that he has something to fight for other than faith. Thisyear, they’re wandering all around, finding interesting geographical areas.It’s mostly an excuse to walk and have a good chat, something he actuallyenjoys with the guy. Crazy, right?

Kravitz deposits the two of them smack dab in the middleof a salt flat for a picnic. He’s been teasing at a surprise for a week and a half now, holding Taako’s hand just a bittighter every day. If he was going to spring some kind of surprise on Taako, hebetter do it here. Because, this place? Beautiful. Outstanding. Breathtaking. Theground reflects the sky, and it’s like walking on a big ass mirror. Or a hugegemstone. They’re both suddenly reminded that it’s been ten years since theyconfessed their love on a giant sapphire and saved the world, and Taako uses aspell slot to levitate the two of them while they’re kissing, and it’s just. Sogood.

He’s very liberal with his spell slots today.

‘Cause who’s going to attack them in the middle ofnowhere like this? Who even knows about this place? Taako sure didn’t. Kravitzjust whisked them both away with his goddess magic and for all Taako knew (orcared about) this was the (real) moon. So he uses magic to uncork the wine hebrought, and he uses magic to make shapes in the salt, and he definitely uses a spell slot or two tohop on Garyl with his man and ride off into the horizon.

And then they saw adragon.

A dragon made ofbones and brimstone.

He’s out of spell slots when this giant fuck-off dragoncomes along and ruins the oh-so perfect picnic spot with his hot-ass arm candy.Said arm candy presses two palms to his face, heaving out a groan. Of course work followed him here. He grumbles about plans andsurprises, kicks the salt at his feet like a child coming off of a tantrum. Taako’snot so sure why he’s this miffed, but, whatever. Dude always had a bit of atemper.

His attention was more on the dragon for now.

It hits him, as he watches the animated mass of bones andfire, that he miiiight have just usedhis last spell slot to conjure up that prismatic light show that reflected amoving scene from Paul Blart 3 into the salt flats.

And. Here’s the thing. Taako’s not defenseless, that would be silly. He’s an arcane engineer and onehell of an improviser, he can get him and his boyfriend out of this mess withhis god-awful cantrips and a little bit of elbow grease, right? He’s not a hugefan of hard work, but he’d rather do heavy lifting than dying, so. Elbow grease it is.

So he steps forward, places a hand on Kravitz’ shoulderand tells him to step back. Kravitz excitedly steps behind him, ready for ashow. The whole foundation of their relationship is built on the fact thatTaako bails Kravitz out when he’s in trouble. That’s how they met. He knows Kravitz thinks it’s hot,he’s taking advantage of that whenever he can. Taako has saved Kravitz’ niceass plenty of times, seen the stars in his eyes after executing a wellchanneled spell, reaped the many benefitsof showing off his power in front of his easily impressed man. It’speacocking, he knows, except a hell of a lot less creepy since he’s not a pickupartist and only doing it for his boyfriend’s benefit.

Also, the way Kravitz relaxes and shoots him a smile ashe watches Taako prepare his first spell takes away any concern Taako wouldhave about looking like an asshole.

But, as he goes over the list of cantrips he knows in hishead, and looks at the vast amount of nothingsurrounding him, no environment to manipulate with his shitty spells, Taakorealizes he’s in over his head. He could try blasting Ray of Frost at it abunch of times, but even though cantrips didn’t expend any slots, he couldstill get exhausted using them over and over again.

It takes one hit from the dragon for Taako to finally understandthe impossibility of the situation.

It also takes one hit from the dragon for Kravitz to launchhimself out of the spectator seat and into the action. This time, he’s the oneto place a hand on Taako, the one to tell him to step backwards with a cockywink and an overconfident smile. That dragon took about half of Taako’s hitpoints away in one swipe, so, yeah, he’sgonna step back, thank you very much.

Kravitz walks towards the dragon, sputtering insults upto its face. The dragon reels back with each one, and Taako remembers: right, he was a bard. Vicious mockery.He’s got about twenty different insults for this motherfucker and all of themare hand-tailored to the dragon like a fine suit. Kravitz is making these up onthe fly.

The closer he gets, the more magic Taako can see aroundhim. Magic distorts reality in a way that is visible to people who have a goodenough hold on it. Kravitz is bends the air around him and sends it flying inall directions, catching the dragon off guard and sending a gale of wind intoTaako. Blown away metaphorically and physically. Nice.

And then he gets out his scythe, and Taako can’t even process a nice dick joke to go alongwith that before he starts carving into this dragon. He knocks bones off thestructure in wide arcs. Taako would notice that the bones kept magicallyreforming onto the dragon if he wasn’t so enthralledby the performance. Kravitz wasn’t in his formal wear, just a nice tunic heput on for vacations like these, so there weren’t many layers in the way ofgiving Taako a show. His work uniformnever showed his arms exposed, and fuck, seeinghim work like that did things toTaako. That image would be appearing in his dreams and a few fantasies formonths. It didn’t look like Kravitz was winning, but he offered enough cockyjabs and overdramatic slices that Taako didn’t care.

But, eventually, even Kravitz could tell he was beat. He dispelledhis scythe and looked at the salt flats around him, taking a moment to think.Taako rose to the balls of his feet, worried. He didn’t have a moment to think, he needed to end this or call for help.

Kravitz’ body disappeared in a puff of black smoke,replaced by a softball-sized ball of white light. His soul. It pulsated in theair for a few moments before lowering down into the salt flats.

The rumbling beneath Taako’s feet made him grin from earto ear.

The salt on the ground moved upwards in a mass thatlooked vaguely humanoid. Just as big as the dragon. Bigger, even. Taako has abouta split second to admire the majesty of it all before it swings down on the dragonin one swift motion. The dragon and his boyfriend the salt monster duke it outfor an amount of time that feels too fast and too slow at the same time. Taakocould watch this forever. Sure, he’s usually the one doing the protecting outof the two of them. He’s the wizard that saved the world. But, damn, is it nice to get the same treatmentevery once in a while.

It takes a bit, but Kravitz manages to get the dragon’ssoul isolated. The bones fall to the ground and disintegrate into thin air. The sand shifts itself back into place and Kravitz’ souljumps out of it. He turns into a skeleton (also hot) and takes the dragon’ssoul in his hands.

Kravitz turns around and shouts off in Taako’s direction.“Is it okay if I go put this back real quick, babe?”

Taako grabs for the basket. “Yeah, I’ll set usup!”

“Don’t open the basket!” Kravitz stomps hisfoot into the sand and shrieks. “It’s a surprise!”

Taako rolls his eyes and sits his ass down in the salt.Realizes it’s probably a good thing Kravitz had to cut out and leave for aminute. He really enjoyed watching the show. Probably too much? Taako was aboutthis close to having to readjust hispants, 'cause that whole scene? That whole situation? The hottest hisboyfriend’s ever been, probably. Nice that hadn’t faded away after ten years ofdating the guy.

He thinks about it. Ten years. Eleven, if you count thechunk of time they dated before theapocalypse. They’ve been living together for nine of those years. Taako’s beenthinking about marriage for seven of those years, but just hasn’t–there wasn’ta good time to say it. Words are hard for him, okay? Cut him some slack.

Kravitz comes back, throwing Taako out of his thoughts,puts all his skin back on with his vacation wear. Taako launches himself ontothe dude, 'cause, again, that wasnice. Hot. A little intimidating? But in a hot way. Damn.

Taako says all that to Kravitz and he laughs, nuzzles hisnose into Taako’s hair. How can this asshole afford to be so cute when he justspent the better part of an hour taking down a fucking dragon?

“Now you know why I like watching you do it.” Hetakes Taako’s face in his hands and watches him with a look so sweet that it shouldbe banned by the Fantasy FDA for too much sugar content.

And. Okay. Listen. Listen.Taako might have had to hold himself back from pinning Kravitz up againstthe salt a couple seconds ago, but this? The way Kravitz is looking at him? Thelandscape around them? Fuck it. He’s ready to stop thinking about marrying Kravitz and actually do the damn thing. Hecan’t not marry him at this point.

Kravitz coughs, hands still on Taako’s face. “Hey,I–”

“Let’s get married.”

His boyfriend (hopefully fiancé, in a couple seconds, ifTaako didn’t royally screw this up) sputters out a barrage of laughter, botharms hugging Taako tight. Taako would be offended if he didn’t recognize thisas Kravitz’ fond laugh, but you spend ten years with a guy and you instantlyknow the difference between a malicious laugh and a loving one. It’s thatrecognition that forces Taako to do the same, giggling and tackling him in ahug, bringing him up close.

“I can’t believe you beat me to it,” Kravitzsays, eyes sparkling.

Taako sticks out his tongue teasingly. “Is that whatyou took me here for?”

“Yes.” Kravitz kisses him. “There’s a ringin the basket.”

“We can get to that in a minute.” Taakostraightens his back, pins his shoulders behind him, and frowns.“You,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at Kravitz, “did notanswer my question.”

“I thought it was obvious.” 

"I want to hear it.” 

"I would love to marry you,” he says, and itfills Taako’s heart so full it feels like it should burst. “If you’ll haveme.”

“If I’ll haveyou?” Taako snorts and blows a raspberry into Kravitz’ cheek.“Babe, you just–fuckin–that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.You–cocky motherfucker, just–going at that dragon. As a salt man.”

“It really should have seen that coming.”Kravitz gestures around the flats. “Go to a place like this and you’reguaranteed to be as-salt-ed.”

“Engagement redacted,” Taako says, unable tohide his smile, “stop that.”

Kravitz grins and leans in closer. “If you dislikethem so much, you can somersalt away.”

“Dumb! Horrible! Not even relevant!” Taakolaughs harder than he’d thought was possible, and then the hit from the dragonechoes in his torso. He starts coughing, and Kravitz fusses over him, handsgently roving over his abdomen, fingers finding the sharp marks from the dragon’sclaws.

“…Do you need to go regain your health?”

“Uh, probably.” He hangs onto Kravitz’shoulders for support. “Just, uh, a little woozy.”

“We’ll finish this picnic later. We need to get youhome.” Kravitz picks up the basket and summons his scythe. “I wouldn’twant to rub salt in the wound.”

Taako does kickhim in the shin for that one. “God, I can’t believe I’m engaged to you.”

“You asked for it,” he says, and takes themhome.

[cardshcrp]

hello i'm here for kisses? five times kissed?

FIVE TIMES KISSED.

@gutrage // LOGAN HOWLETT // always selectively accepting !

                                                                                                                   i.

           They don’t really get along, but paradoxically they get along just fine. If he’d wanted to get all fancy talking about it, he would have said they were foils to one another - but it wasn’t like anybody ever asked the bayou boy to get fancy when he talked, so he doesn’t.

Logan is iron, pure and simple. Battered and worn, sure, but he is no less hard for it; he is sturdy, insurmountable, a fixture of the land. Logan picks himself up after every fight, because at a certain point that’s all a man knows how to do - he endures. He keeps moving, flypaper-stuck in time, towards some distant goal. He’s a fixture, the man who’s never allowed to break, the weapon others can only aspire to be though he’d never asked for that. (None of them had, but Remy thinks Logan got one of the worst bargains.) Another battle won. Well done, well done. He goes on. He wins. He doesn’t have to pretend to be happy about it.

It hurts. It’s survivable.

Remy is smoke, the put-together dreams of a thousand and more men and women he’s never met, crushed into the mold of le diable blanc and taught to be suave and silky-smooth because it’ll get him where he needs to go. There’s flashes of a child underneath it all, because, well - maybe it’s sad, maybe it isn’t, he doesn’t hold a grudge either way - he’s never had time to grow up or figure out who he is. He gets to dream and run after those vague goals ceaselessly, chasing what-if, what-if. He simply exists, and he gets the job done, and maybe he takes too many gambles, but that’s alright too. He gets to play at being hero, gets to try and try and try again even though the world will never see him for anything other than what it wants him to be. He smiles anyway, because the devil is and always will be a gentleman.

It hurts. It’s survivable.

They don’t really get along, but they don’t cooperate any worse than with the rest of the team. It’s just that they don’t pretend that they’re the handy-dandy best of pals, and that’s okay. Remy kind of prefers it, if he’s honest, harmlessly pushing at Logan’s nerves to let him know that he does care for his teammate at least a little, and the weary acceptance tolerance he gets in return.

They spar together, fight together, live together. It’s alright. Sometimes they drink together, too, kick their feet up in the rec room, and if Remy swipes Logan’s beer once or twice Logan pops his claws maybe one less time than that.

They deflect attention in the same way, with different connotations to their names; Logan uses the lingering cloud of bloody violence he can’t seem to shake. Remy plays the aimless libertine. It works, that’s all that matters.

They aren’t looking for redemption. Sure, it’s admirable, teaching these kids to take care of themselves, putting good out into the world. But that’s not why Remy does it, and he thinks maybe it’s the same for Logan. 

He just wants a little peace.

But Remy isn’t exactly the sort that knows how not to cause trouble, so he does a little, and that’s okay too. He blows Logan kisses, flirty, meaningless as breathing to onlookers but in truth there’s affection behind them, respect because he just doesn’t bother with things like that unless he cares.

He blows Logan a kiss from across the kitchen. Logan catches it, slams it into the blender, and turns it on with a smirk.

He blows Logan a kiss when he catches him sneaking back into the mansion at oh-who-knows what hour, and he earns an exaggerated eye roll and a swat for his trouble.

He blows Logan a kiss when he tosses him a beer, and somehow that’s the only one that’s okay. Remy can’t help but laugh - he gets beaned square in the head when Logan chucks it back at him in disgust, but it’s not like anyone’s managed to shut him up yet.

                                                                                                                  ii.

           Logan doesn’t ask a whole lot of questions, and he sure as shit doesn’t answer dumb ones. It’s one of the things Remy appreciates most about him, quite possibly the best quality he could have as far as the thief is concerned. Logan doesn’t ask.

He’s the only one who doesn’t.

So maybe it isn’t too surprising that when he makes his way back to the mansion with his coat swirling ’round his legs like it’s trying to drag him down, he makes his way to the back porch. It’s summer, hot but far dryer in New York than it was where he’d just come from. There’s a game of volleyball on, or something - at least, there’s a miniature sandstorm forming over thataways. Probably Stormy disagreeing with a referee ruling.

A gloved hand settles on the rough wooden back of the rocking chair the Wolverine is settled in, and Remy’s voice when he forces it out is torn and hoarse. “Hey.”

Logan tips his head back to study him, eyes gleaming, and Remy stares back with devil red, tired and fucking pissed and defeated and maybe when the feral’s nostrils flare he figures out just how bad it is under the fog of smoke and too much alcohol, ’cause he’s standing without a word to follow Remy off to the Danger Room. He doesn’t bother trying to pretend, doesn’t say any of the stupid, congenial shit that never really matters at the best of times. They aren’t friends, they’re hardly coworkers, but they exist in the same space. It’s enough.

Remy needs to fight and make something bleed without doing lasting damage, drain the energy shaking through his bones and screaming for somewhere to go after too long held back. Logan gets it. 

(It makes Remy wonder how often he lets other people do this to him.) 

His heart aches, just a little, ’cause he kind of gets it too, even if it was a different voice that taught him why. I like it when you let me hurt you, thief boy. It’s how I know you trust me. That you care ’bout me.

“I need to use these,” he says once they’re inside and sealed off from the rest of the world, and for once he lets his coat slip from his shoulders to pool on the ground and shows Logan the knives across his body, flat-hilted and tucked away so neatly no one would ever know they’re there at all. Logan’s eyebrows twitch upwards just a bit, but he doesn’t say anything.

You still fight like an assassin, LeBeau.

The knives are too at home in his hands, like they’d never left when in reality it’s been nearly a decade, though he isn’t old by any means. He worries, just for a moment. He’s reminded quick enough that he doesn’t have to - it’s Logan. 

A breath, and he cuts loose enough that his whole body aches before he moves. His pulse doesn’t quicken - it runs for its goddamn life, jacked up in an instant better than a shot in the crook of his arm, pure energy the most deadly fuel he can use.

(It’s alright if he shakes apart just a little. He doesn’t need to stay in one piece, really.)

No place for you here, diable blanc. You better go.

Logan wrenches his left arm behind his back, quick and precise; the sound he makes isn’t a good one, but it isn’t a bad one, either. He collapses forward, bends down enough that his shoulder screams. His foot crunches direct into Logan’s jaw hard, slamming his head up and back. 

The grip on him loosens, and Remy tucks himself into a ball, rolls forward, and slams another knife down, buries it in the ground up to the hilt. Letting go, bit by bit, as much as he can. It ain’t easy.

Nine years, and he’s only just now letting go.

He drops into a slide and takes aim as he falls, lets five cards fly at once as he skids just out of reach. The impacts shake the whole room, far more explosive than he technically should be allowing to happen in a spar, but he can’t really bring himself to care. 

I will give you this, LeBeau - I’ve never doubted your love for my daughter.

Minutes slip by, heavy with hitched breaths and skinned knees and dirt smeared over sharp jaws, soft grunts as elbows and knuckles meet their mark; auburn strands drift loose, sliced away by claws skimming close. He’s not sure how long it takes before his back hits the ground, how long it is before Logan leans his weight on his chest to hold him there, enough. It’s enough. 

A low, familiar chuff of irritation, and Remy laughs, unsteady and chopped up from the pressure on his ribs, but it’s still a laugh - and then he’s crying the way he hasn’t let himself over her in nine goddamn years because at the end of the day he’d kept believing in love and happy endings like the dope he always had been. He’d wanted it, so badly, he wanted to fix things and make both Guilds happy, make her happy, show her all the things he’d done to try for a life together.

“I’m filing for divorce,” he says, and he sounds lost even to himself - he hadn’t told them yet, any of them, he’s just been the flirty jackass that didn’t follow through and fucked things over in the most grandiose fashion ever time. Logan’s face creases in faint surprise and yeah, Remy’s not shocked to see it, but he’s too busy sobbing into the dirt with every one of Bella Donna’s knives buried like grave markers for the pieces of his shitty heart all around them to talk about it.

Logan doesn’t ask, but he drags Remy up and cradles him to his chest like a child, rough thumbs running under eyes squeezed tight shut to sweep away the salt on his cheeks and a low rumble echoing uncertain but not unkind in his ears, it’s gonna be alright, Cajun, hey - yer okay, I got you, and somehow that hurts worst of all because it’s pity, and reassurance, and sympathy that he doesn’t know how to handle.

The barest press of lips to the top of his head, and he stifles the racking sobs in his palms, je suis désolé, désolé, désolé -

They don’t talk about it. It’s easier to pretend they aren’t fucked up when they don’t.

                                                                                                                 iii.

           No one knows what the fuck to do with him, after Antarctica. He’s skittish, guarded, even worse than he was already, and he’d been pretty bad. He doesn’t eat at all some days, and then he eats too much all at once until he nearly vomits. Rogue tries to hug him, and he scrambles backwards so fast he leaves a goddamn afterimage. Jean spooks him on accident; a wall gets blown out as a result. Cyke puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to be reassuring or some shit - Remy bites him till he bleeds before he even realizes who it is, and he curls up in shame about it right then and there and fucking cries, sorry, sorry. 

Nobody knows how to handle that particular bucket of crap, so they don’t.

It’s easier to leave him alone. 

And it works, or at least it seems to after a week or two, which is really all Remy has to make sure of. He smiles real big, turns on the charm, and reeks of general jackass. He’s shallow and flirty and all things Gambit, shoves their idea of whatever his quintessential Remy-ness is back into their faces, and after a month or three everybody forgets. 

(He doesn’t. It’s not like anyone fucking apologized.)

Logan is the only one who watches him, sometimes, these long, considering looks. Remy doesn’t like it, but confronting him over it would be a lot worse than just tolerating it, so he doesn’t bother. That’s the easy thing, isn’t it?

Sure, he shivers when the air conditioning blows on him directly, but that’s just fine, isn’t it? He’s still playing the hand he’s dealt. He’s useful, and he’s heroic but not really, and there’s a weekly lecture about how he could be a better person like he’s ever gonna get there. He does the work they ask him to do anyway. 

He keeps moving, because if he stops, the ice will get him.

He manages to keep it up until first snowfall. Then it turns real bad, real fast, and he shuts the door to the boathouse like a coffin lid and tapes up heavy towels over the three windows to block out everything, cranks the heater up until he’s fucking sweating. 

The soft bite of the ice still creeps in at the edges. Inevitable. Inescapable.

It takes a week and four days for him to run out of food, even with how his metabolism runs, ’cause he’s always living ready for the world to end but the boathouse is small and so was his supply.

(Nobody thinks to check on him, because it’s Remy. Out of sight, out of mind.)

Things get really bad when he starts eyeing wire caps for plastic to chew on, because all of a sudden things are real familiar in a bad way, but the day he starts thinking he might cave there’s a knock at the door. 

He doesn’t really want to answer, but he does, because he’s still got to pretend.

Logan shoves a crate full of canned goods so hard into his chest that he stumbles back with eyes wide in surprise, arms wrapping around the wood automatically even as the air slams out of his lungs. 

He blinks.

Logan rolls his eyes.

Remy remembers, then, that someone else has lived in cold and ice, and someone didn’t try to ask about it or fix it for him. Logan knows a little something about being reduced to nothing but base instinct and misery - and that is enough for Remy to toe the door closed behind him and offer him the last beer he’s got stashed. 

They visit a while, Remy chattering a lot about all the dumb shit he’s distracted himself with (so a whole lot about Star Wars Logan probably never wanted to know). There’s blankets, and hot cocoa, and things aren’t so bad while someone else is there.

Logan keeps the ice at bay. Not even nature can compete with him, Remy thinks, and he feels a whole lot better with the reminder.

When he leaves, Remy presses quick kisses to a stubbly cheek, thank you, thank you - 

He gets elbowed out of the way with a grumble, but Logan comes back two days later with another box and a twelve-pack, so he figures he didn’t mind so much.

                                                                                                                  iv.

           He goes to Japan with Logan for a mission, just the two of them, and the entire way there and through the duration of their stay, he thinks maybe he’s seeing underneath to something the man used to be. Japan is Logan’s place, in much the same way New Orleans is Remy’s place, a home by heart if not by birth. And sure, maybe it isn’t all peachy keen, but really - what is? 

He stays good, for him, throughout. Keeps his chin up, stays polite, enjoys the food and gets the work done. And maybe he flirts a little with the girls, but hey.

He’s best when he’s bad, after all.

But he fits in better than Logan expected, too - and maybe that’s part of being such an integral part of something massive, something that has roots in Japan too and beyond. He knows Logan ain’t stupid; Wolverine is sharp enough to notice locals brushing up close enough to Remy to press tribute into his hand, slide trinkets and candies into his pocket as presents and tithes. And there’s not a chance he misses the way Remy passes them back thank-yous in return. 

He might be a pariah of a messiah, but he has always been a kind prince to his people, and they have made their own customs of not-quite-welcome for him. 

Dark brows raise just a fraction the day a couple of kids pop out of fucking nowhere to latch onto Remy’s legs like he’s a damn walking hugpost or something, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He’s even generous enough not to laugh his ass off when Remy stoops to ask the girl and her younger brother their names in incredibly horribly-accented Japanese, and he doesn’t mock him for the way he slips them both candies and tucks money behind their ears before shooing them off so their crew leader doesn’t worry. 

It’s home for Logan, but there’s space for Remy too, at least for a while.

One week drags into two, two into three, and if Remy disappears some nights to take care of his business it doesn’t fuck too much with what they’re doing since it’s on hold anyway. He tones down how irritating he is, and Logan doesn’t have to fight the urge to throttle him every day. He eats like a starving moron everywhere they go, but it just makes the grandparents running food stalls and holes in the wall happy. It turns out Japan’s summers might not match Louisiana heat, but they’re damn hot all the same.

Logan catches him out in the early morning, standing in front of the open fridge in a thin shirt soaked through and streaked with grime and boxers riding low on scarred-up, bony hips; he looks like he’s been out wrestling street dogs, which isn’t really all that far from the truth. His head tips back, and he runs the chilled glass of a beer bottle over his throat, sweat pooling in the hollow of his collarbone.

He starts when he realizes Logan is leaning in the doorway, eyes tracing over him, but he doesn’t bother to explain why there’s a guilty grin creeping over his features. He shrugs and puts the bottle back in the fridge and starts pulling out eggs to make breakfast instead. Logan prowls his way in, taking his place at the table to wait. Remy cracks eggs with one hand, drops them sizzling into the skillet like it’s second nature because it is.

Maybe he presses warm lips to the nape of Logan’s neck when he passes behind him to snag a tomato, thanks for puttin’ up with me, Lo - 

And maybe, just maybe, he’s met with a soft hum of acknowledgment.

                                                                                                                   v.

           He’s a little drunk. That’s never a surprise. It’s just what he does, it’s who he is, raised up to belong in the dark corners of bars and casinos with a cocky smirk plastered on his face and eyes gleaming ruby-red promises in the shadows. He feels best where he was taught to lurk, so that’s where he goes when he’s in the worst shape. His heaven is in the back blocks, where no one judges too much when he sinks, and that’s okay.

There’s only a few people that stay up as late as he does. Logan is one of them, but Logan likes to walk the grounds, always watching out for everybody else while he maps out his territory because he’s damn good at that. Remy likes to slip away and come back without a trace. 

Some nights, like tonight, their paths intersect.

“Smells like ya drank the whole damn bar,” Logan says, gruff and accusatory and maybe a hint of worried underneath, and Remy smiles smooth and bourbon-slick back at him ’cause he isn’t far from wrong, not when he’s the sort of man who can drink a fifth of Johnny Walker and saunter away from the table with everybody else’s life savings stuffed in his pockets.

When he drinks like this, he makes lots of bad choices, but he isn’t wasted tonight even if his head is pounding in protest. Not that it stops the bad choices, apparently.

“N’importe,” he says, and crooks his fingers at Logan, c’mere, c’mon. “Venez ici, cher?”

Logan’s lip curls a bit in amusement, but he steps forward anyway to steady him, slipping an arm around his waist and taking some of his weight; but that’s not what Remy needs, not when his heart is heavy and tired of pretending it doesn’t care. 

Remy LeBeau has always been doomed to care, and that’s hardly going to change when someone deserves far more than they receive as is. 

“I like you,” he drawls, and Logan strangles a sharp laugh, eyes glinting yellow in the dark when he turns his head to the thief, sharp planes of his face etched out in shadow. “Yeah? That why you blew up the last beer yesterday?”

Remy sighs, because of course Logan can’t make things easy, and he twists around, scarred fingers skating up a hard jaw and noses barely bumping together; breath heavy with whiskey and blue curaçao, he kisses him in earnest, slanting a too-warm mouth over surprisingly soft lips and coaxing him to respond, oh please please, heartbeat pulsing low in his ears.

“I like you,” he says again, licks it into Logan’s mouth like he’s giving him a precious little secret because really he is. He doesn’t bother justifying it - there’s a hundred reasons and none at all, because that’s just how this shit works, and he’s not the one writing the book or he’d have gotten over it a damn long time ago. “I really - ” A lingering bite to Logan’s lower lip, a soft exhale a lot like giving up. “Mean that.”

He breaks it all open, lets the feelings push up against Logan, a whole lot of heartache and want; lust tempered with respect; the way he thinks missions go better with Logan there; trust, a thief’s most treasured commodity; the genuine pleasure he has when they’re draped over the couch and Logan lets him prop his legs up in his lap and swipe his beer for a sip; all of the things that had built up one by one over the years when Remy wasn’t looking until he couldn’t possibly look away anymore.

It hadn’t been like he expected a whole lot, at least. Logan’s looking at him kind of like he just doesn’t know what to say or do when he pulls away, and that’s fair too. Remy ain’t mad. He waits, thumb drifting over stubble, but Logan is frozen there with kiss-parted lips - unsure.

Well, his chances hadn’t been great.

He cracks a little bit inside, but that’s okay. He’s used to it. He figures Logan is, too. 

So he picks up the pieces of his head and flashes Logan a brilliant smile, already turning to walk away steady as anything, hand raised in a lazy-ass wave because he can still fake it. He’s real good at that, closing off his heart and mind, playing the role. 

They’re both real good at that.

“Sorry, Wolverine,” he calls, voice measured, even. Thieves are good liars - one of the first rules ever made, isn’t it? “I think m’drunk.”

He doesn’t turn around. If Logan can smell the salt on his cheeks, he doesn’t want to know.

[eternalsterekrecs]

any new sterek highschool au?

Well, our absolute favs are under our High School AU tag but, because we don’t want you to lack anything, here is a rec of doom (there’s more than 30 fics here) with all the other fics I’ve read in the last few months/years! - C

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Just Pretend by dragon_temeraire

Stiles tells his dad he has a boyfriend. The problem is, he doesn’t actually have one.

Something New Is Going to Happen by dragon_temeraire

Stiles accidentally discovers that their school mascot is super cute.

All the broken hearts in the world still beat by dragon_temeraire

Stiles totally needs to make Lydia Martin jealous. Yeah. And his best chance is to convince star lacrosse player Derek Hale to (fake) date him.

Smile On The Sidelines by clotpolesonly

Derek was not pining.

Not to say that he didn’t miss Stiles, didn’t want to be with him at that moment (or literally any moment, to be quite honest), but he wasn’t one of those obnoxious clingy people who lost track of the world as soon his boyfriend was out of his sight.

It was just a basketball game anyway.

“Five Days in Detention” (A Future Song by Stiles Stilinski) by alisvolatpropiis

It’s still preseason, sure, but he needs to be practicing. He led the team to the State semifinals last year, and he’s determined to not only make it to the finals this year, but to win the title. He should be on the field right now, practicing his play calls and prepping for next week’s season opener against Saint Pius.

And he can’t do that if he’s wasting his time in detention with these losers. There are a couple of burnouts lazing over some seats by the window, one kid with his face on a desk, hood over his head, and a few Goth kids are sitting in the back corner, looking surly and morose. Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you didn’t listen to such shitty music, he thinks, turning towards his usual seat in the back of the room.

He pauses for the briefest of moments when he sees who’s already sitting there, in the second-to-last row, black-clad limbs spread out, acoustic guitar in his lap, long fingers casually plucking at the strings.

Stiles Stilinski.

How to Woo Your Local Omega by alocalband

Stiles knows a pity gift when he sees one. Mostly because that’s all he’s ever gotten from anyone since the moment he hit puberty.

Five Times Derek Literally Falls for Stiles (and One Time… They Both Fall) by myhomeboy_stilinski

Five times Derek is a failwolf and literally falls for Stiles Stilinski.And one time they fall together.

Warning: A little bit cracky and contains meddling.

Try Again by dragon_temeraire

Derek has to egg a house to be part of the popular group. Too bad the house ends up being the Sheriff’s.

Sleeping Next To You Is Like Magic by LadyDrace

Stiles and Derek meet the summer before senior year. Stiles can’t sleep, Derek helps with that, and there’s a lot less cuddling and a lot more emotional crises than you’d think.

Or:

Stiles’ feelings happen so much, and learning how to deal with them takes him a little while. Good thing Derek is happy to wait.

Shut Up And Dance With Me by maiNuoire

Stiles has been in love with Derek forever. Senior Prom feels like his last chance to do something about it, but he’s a bundle of nerves. And then, inspiration strikes.

made from the heart by bleep0bleep

Derek has been crushing on Stiles for awhile, and thinks maybe this Christmas season he’ll tell him how he feels. He’s got a great present too, except when Stiles gives him a thoughtful handmade present, Derek is pretty much screwed.

~

Stiles smiles at Derek. “It was just a nice thought, you know? I just think gifts that people take their time to make are just so sweet.”“Handmade,” Derek says faintly.

Like James Dean, Only Sadder by 42hrb

The star of the Beacon Hills High School baseball team and Beacon Hills resident bad boy probably have nothing in common, right?

atom to atom by jadore_hale

“So, you’re telling me that you hate Derek so much that you wouldn’t leap at the chance to jump his bones?”

“That’s different!” Stiles cried.

“How exactly?”

“Because unfortunately for me, Derek’s hotter than the Earth’s mantle. All we need is one rough hate-fuck— Preferably in the chem lab, role-playing sexy chemist while he bends me over one of the tables—and I’ll get him out of my system. That’s as far as our relationship will ever go.”

Stiles glanced across the cafeteria to where Derek was still fail-eating his lunch and sighed so put out.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make fun of Derek eating organic baby carrots.”

don’t go breakin’ my heart [i couldn’t if i tried] by crossroadswrite

Contrary to popular belief, Derek Hale – co-captain of the basketball team and AP student who volunteers in the library – isn’t actually as smooth as people might think.

In a Straight Line Down by standinginanicedress

“So you want to go to Prom with me just so you can get a plastic crown and a fifty dollar gift card to Outback Steakhouse.”

Stiles sets his jaw. He wants to go to prom with Derek because he wants to go to prom with Derek. But, of course, he’s stubborn and prideful and can’t admit to Derek how it’s barely been twelve hours since they officially broke up and he’s already barely handling it as it is, so he just raises his chin in the air and says, “yes.”

we should just kiss (like real people do) by i_am_girlfriday

Stiles is the social zero of the sophomore class. Derek is the much cooler junior who befriends Stiles anyway.

Shut Me Down by lazykisses

Even when Derek’s an asshole, which is 75% of the time (90% on a rainy day), with his deadpan humor and cocky eyebrows and his annoyingly vague text messages (like that one time Stiles asked him if he’d studied for Chemistry and Derek replied with “hn”. What the hell does ‘hn’ even mean?), Stiles doesn’t mind. And that kinda scares him.

It’s Too Early For This by thepsychicclam

Derek loves his job at the coffee shop, especially because Stiles comes in for coffee before early Saturday morning lacrosse practices. The problem is that Derek is too shy to do anything about his crush, and the situation is not helped by the rivalry between the basketball and lacrosse teams.

Hotsky to Trotsky by paintedrecs

Derek had his future mapped out: there’d be graduation, followed by college, followed by (he hoped) a good grad school, then a career as a professor whose students didn’t spend their time flicking paper footballs at each other and obsessing over their dating lives. He had good friends, a good family, and no time to focus on distractions like high school gossip or relationships.

He hadn’t factored Stiles Stilinski - lacrosse player, class clown, part of the popular crowd, currently spending his entire day staring at Derek and smiling - into his plans.

more by bibliosexual

It starts when Derek is sitting in study hall and the guy ahead of him–-Stiles something, the Polish kid with all the moles–-mutters, “Ugh, what’s sixty percent of fifty-five?”

“Thirty-three,” Derek says without having to think about it. He’s always been good at math.

“Oh, thanks, dude,” Stiles says. “I forgot my calculator, and Mr. Harris is a dick who won’t let me go get it.”

“No problem,” Derek says.

He assumes that’s it, that’s the end of the conversation, but Stiles catches up to him in the hall after class, scuffs his sneaker against the floor and says, “Hey, so, you’re really good at math. Like, you solved that in your head, right? No calculator?“

"Yeah,” Derek says, and Stiles bites his lip, asks, “Do you maybe wanna study with me later, in the library?”

Derek does.

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleep0bleep

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he’s not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he’s ever wanted— except he doesn’t seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

Bro-lentine’s Day by WhoNatural

It’s actually pretty cool that Derek came back to school after a summer eating spinach and lifting small trains or whatever to become a guardian angel to the easy targets of BHHS.

Don’t Judge a Derek By His Cover by captaintinymite

Stiles doesn’t care about the rumors surrounding Beacon Hills High School’s resident bad boy, Derek Hale. In fact, he thinks the rumors are total crap. Of course, being secretly in love with someone has a way of clouding one’s judgment.

However, he knew for a fact that Derek liked books. So when the two paired up for a final English project, he was excited (but also a little terrified).

But you know what they say…never judge a book by its cover. The same goes for people.

Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon by secondstar

Being a teenager sucks. Being a werewolf teenager sucks even more. With a life full of holding back who he really is, not having any privacy whatsoever, and the seemingly sudden appearance of one Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale’s life just got a whole lot harder.

(I Hate to Be) The One to Ruin the Night by wishingonalightningbolt

High school senior Derek Hale only has one goal for the rest of his time left at BHHS: avoid Stiles Stilinski. He’s wreaked enough havoc as it is, having spent all summer breaking Derek’s heart. Everything would be better for both of them if they just never saw each other again.

-0-

Derek doesn’t plan on ever getting mixed up with Scott McCall and his little gang of idiot friends. In fact, if he knew to avoid it, he would, but he guesses he just isn’t smart enough. Unfortunate, considering the consequences.

John Hughes Did Not Direct My Life by nascentgalaxies

Stiles and Derek are childhood friends who drifted apart. When Stiles joins the lacrosse team against his will, the universe (with a little help from Laura and Lydia) chooses to push them back together.

But Then What... by Stoney

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

I know you love and hate me too by trilliastra

“Right.” Derek coughs and Stiles knows he realized his mistake. Good – he thinks, maybe next time he'll learn not to make Stiles fall in love with him. “Hum – we are almost finishing here, John.”

“I'll be in my bedroom.” Stiles says. “And his first name is Sheriff!”

Fucking Derek Hale.

Wait For It by otatop

Funny, how you can exist adjacent to someone through elementary, middle, and high school and not really know them. Funny, how Stiles had always had some strange crush on Derek without actually being his friend.

It’s like he’s all that by MemeKon

Stiles is different. Stiles is not nice under any definition of the word, he’s such an asshole. Sure, he’s a good guy deep down, he punched Jackson square in the jaw when he mocked the McCall kid for an asthma attack that one time, and Derek knows he helped Erica Reyes get that video of her seizure taken down, but he’s so—

"Fuck off, Derek." Stiles tells him without sparing him a glance when Derek sits next to him on chemistry. "I’m not up to play She’s All That with you, dude."

-yeah.

(School crushes are so complicated.)

The Scheming Rhymes of Romance by sofonisba_found

Stiles currently was, and had been, Derek's poetic muse for years. Not that Stiles was really all that aware of that fact.

But when Stiles does find out about it their senior year of high school, he's pretty okay with it.

Alright, so he is definitely a lot more than okay with it.

A story in which Derek writes copious amounts of poetry, Stiles is very appreciative of said poetry as well as Derek's smile, and all of their friends are oddly and extremely invested in seeing these two get their act together.

Easy Alpha by interropunct

Easy A/Teen Wolf AU. Wherein, Derek Hale is the high school hussy, Jackson and Scott really need to learn to use their inside voices. And, contrary to popular belief, everyone is still a virgin.

[katelynnsmusings]

Description: Three months after the events of season five, Nicky finds herself transferred to a new prison and runs in to a familiar face. Pairing: Lorna Morello x Nicky Nichols Requester: @gloria-flaritza-nichorello-haleb 

After being pulled out of the pool, the next time that Nichols saw grass was as she was boarded on to a bus in the dead of the night, forced to sit next to a sketchy junky type person (probably meth, not that she could judge anyways) and a ginger who had to be in a face mask. Automatically deemed one of rebels in the riot from where she had hidden, Nicky and the others had gone from a dimly lit pool they didn't know existed the day before straight to max. She’d sworn that she would never go back there but there she was. For three months she could feel the life slowly drain out of her bones.

She’s moving though and she doesn’t know where or why. There’s barely enough fight left in her though and she doesn’t press the matter. Where was there to go from here, though? Litchfield had been split. Her family had been pulled in four different directions and now here she was, being forced to leave the remaining remnants of the people that had made up her home.

The next time Nicky feels anything other than the numbness is three days after she arrives in the new place, when a familiar figure appears in the distance while she’s walking back to her unit. She thinks it must be a ghost at first, a remnant of her past haunting her, reminding her of who she missed the most and what she could never have. For a moment she feels hope, and then the guilt crashes down around her, something that she’d fought to keep back for several months.

She’s real, though. The next day Nicky sees her again, all brown curls and brown eyes but now she’s got a swell to her abdomen and her signature red lipstick is off of her face. She doesn’t know what to do any more. Once upon she’d promised this girl, this beautiful, amazing, crazy girl that she would be there forever but the thing is - she knows she would and she’s a shell of who she once was. Nicky couldn’t give Lorna what she needs any more, and that’s for sure.

Apparently Nicky wasn’t the only one to catch sight of her ex-flame, though, because the next day as she she’s naked and wet under a shower that actually has some water pressure to it, a small voice comes up behind her. 

“Nicky?” Broken, vulnerable. Nicky recognizes the tone in an instant and she turns her head to make eye contact with the Italian. Nicky wants to break right then and there but there’s pain in Lorna’s eyes and she’s gotta be the strong one. She’s always gotta be the strong one.

“Hey, kid.” She rinses the conditioner from her hair and shuts the water off, but she doesn’t leave the stall just yet. There’s a ratty curtain between her and the love of her life, that’s it, and fuck she really hadn’t been ready for this. “Long time no see.”

When she steps out, Lorna’s fully clothed but just as beautiful as she ever was naked. Nicky’s dying to kiss her but she holds back, not just to avoid getting Lorna wet but for her own sanity. She can’t go down that rabbit hole again. She had barely gotten out of it last time, and it would cause her nothing but trouble.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Lorna’s lower lip trembles as she says the words, her gaze never leaving Nicky’s.

“Neither did I.” She pushes the curtain aside and walks out in all her glory, grabbing her towel from the hook outside and running it through her tangles. They say nothing else. Not now. It’s not the right time right now.

The right time comes later on that day, when Nicky’s moved in to a unit and her bed is right across the hallway from a certain someone’s. There was no avoiding each other now, though it was never about avoidance. Shock, guilt, worry - adjustment, but never avoidance.

“So welcome to my unit,” Lorna says as Nicky sits perched on her bed, one leg pulled up towards her chest and the other out straight. Lorna’s hair is wrapped up in a towel and Nicky gives her a nod. 

“Yeah they moved me in just now. What luck.” Her tone comes off as sarcastic but she’s genuinely glad to see that she’ll be close by. 

“Well I’m just right there.” Lorna points to the door on the other side of a narrow hallway. Here, unlike Litchfield or max, the living arrangements actually seemed decent. Two bunks to a room, six rooms to a unit with a small communal area in the middle and iron bars stopping them from leaving the unit. An actual chance at a bit of privacy (not that there were, y’know, locks or anything on the doors so it wasn’t really that private.) “I’ll, uh, be around if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“No-” she cuts Lorna off as the brunette is turning around. Nicky doesn’t want space right now. She wants to feel less alone, know how Lorna’s been, know how that baby she’s growing was doing. She leans over and pats an open area on the end of her bed. Lorna’s still got that broken look on her face that she’d seen earlier and fuck it was hard not to check in. “Stay a bit, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah, yeah it has.” Lorna doesn’t feel like the woman that Nicky used to know. Like herself, she comes off as drained, broken. “It’s been a long time.” Her hand falls to the bump of her abdomen, obviously visible now that she was advancing in her pregnancy. Her thumb strokes above her naval and she offers Nicky a smile that’s less than genuine.

Nichols’ heart breaks in that instant, and she extends her arms towards Lorna. Like clockwork the brunette shuffles over on the bed and falls in to them so that Nicky’s holding on to her by the head of the bed. 

“What’s going on?” Lorna can’t mistake the tone Nicky uses, because she can’t deny that the blonde knows her better than she knows herself. She can’t talk about it, though - talking about it makes it real and Lorna’s done everything she could to avoid facing the reality of the last few months.

“What do you mean?” Lorna speaks like she has no clue what Nicky’s getting at ‘cause she can’t stop repressing everything right now without becoming a mess. The cock of Nicky’s eyebrows wears her down in an instant though, and suddenly it was like they’d never been apart at all. Her eyes well up with tears and an exaggerated frown forms on her lips. “I haven’t heard from Vinnie since I got here, and I know he knows where I am. I’m half way through this pregnancy and I have no idea what’s going to happen to my baby. His dad’s gone, again. Just like that. He said he’d be there. I can’t get in touch with my sister either. Or anyone. And I have no one, Nicky. No one.”

In that moment, Nicky’s heart breaks for Lorna all over again. She strokes her fingers through Lorna’s brown curls as she purses her lips and swallows the ball that’s forming in her throat. She knows, she knows she’s not in a position to be the strong one but she’ll do it anyways because fuck, this girl is never going to suffer as long as she has any say in the matter. She has to think about what she’s going to say.

“You have me, don’t you?” She bends over and kisses the crown of Lorna’s head as the brunette begins to cry. Lorna swallows and nods slightly several times as she adjusts so that she’s looking up towards Nicky.

“I missed you.” Lorna leaves out how she’s felt nothing but worry for the last three months and wondering what had happened to Nicky made up a bigger part of it than she’d like to admit. She leaves out how alone she’s felt, how desperate she’s been to find someone who would give her the kind of unconditional, selfless love that Nicky had offered her from day one. She leaves out the fact that she’s been a mess without her person here to tell her when she’s being a whack job and needs to calm the fuck down.

“Well I’m here okay? I’m here, I’m real, and I swear to God, Lorna, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but you’re not alone and things will work out.”

[blaineandsamevanderson]

Title:  Once in A Lifetime Chapter 24

By: @blaineandsamevanderson (SageK on ff.net, kaitlia777 on LJ and AO3)

Graphics and Assistant Brain Stormer: @lauraperfectinsanity

Pairing: Blaine/Sam

Rating: PG

Summary:  Late Spring, 2014 Sam auditions for a role in a TV show and Blaine comes along for moral support…and that’s just the beginning of their adventure!

Authors Note: I don’t know anything about the casting process for a TV show or what the process might be before filming.  This is all fiction.  I also don’t have any affiliation with Glee, Agents of Shield or any of the men and women who are involved with making the show.  Again, this is a work of fiction!

Authors Note #2: This is AU for Glee Season 5, pretty Episode 100 and anything after isn’t applicable to this.  Also, the plot for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. was thought of before I saw CA:TWS, but was easily adapted…but let’s just say AOS is AU as of Turn, Turn, Turn.

Authors Note #3: We named Blaine’s Mom Anna before we knew Glee had named her Pam and hired and actress to play her…so we’re gonna stick with our name and FC!

Authors Note #4: This isn’t really a fic for fans of Kurt and Rachel.  They’re the antagonists in this fic and are way over the top (in keeping with Glee’s tradition of being OTT).

Authors Note #5: Now back to the regular path of Once in a Lifetime

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Filming the season finale of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been bittersweet. True, the idea that they had been in LA for nearly a full year was amazing, but it also meant that they were done filming their first season. They were no longer going to be the new kids....

Of course, that was made less traumatic by the fact that their contracted been renewed and they were going to be regulars next year.  Kitty had taken them out to celebrate when she told the news. It was during that dinner when she had told them she was moving out to LA as well. They'd suspected she would, but until that night it had not been confirmed. Sugar was delighted to offer a spare room at her beach house and Kitty took her up on it.

Two weeks into their summer hiatus from the making the trek back to New York City. Artie had one of his student films accepted into a small festival and they wanted to be there to support him. The movie itself had been pretty good. Sure, Sam had been confused by a few things, but Blaine's whispered explanations helped with that. Artie was over the moon and it even won an award at the festival, which was awesome.

The night after Artie's film screening, Kurt and Rachel hosted a dinner at their loft.  Initially, they only invited a few people, but as word spread to the assorted members of New Directions present to support Artie, the party grew in size.

It was great to see everyone again and Sam thought it was really nice of Kurt and Rachel to throw the party. They were both acting very sweet and he figured they must've realized they had been kind of out of line when they had come to LA. This, he figured, was their way of apologizing and Sam was okay with that, cuz people make mistakes and if they had learned from it, well, then all was forgiven.

To absolutely no one's surprise, Jake, Marley, Ryder and Unique all chose to attend college in the same general part of California.  Even Kitty was taking part-time classes at UCLA, though she was also considering taking on new clients.

“You guys must be thrilled about having your contracts renewed," Marley said Sam with a grin.  "Your fans online are going nuts."

"Yeah and that douche bag Turk seems to finally shut up," Ryder added.  "That dude was seriously cracked."

Kurt was setting out a new tray of... Sam actually didn't know what the appetizers were, but he thought he could see suction cups like you'd see on the tentacles of an octopus, so he was gonna pass on that. Overhearing their conversation, Kurt offered, "You shouldn't be so judgmental. Just because a person has a different opinion does not mean they are...cracked, as you put it."

"The guy was a nasty, deluded troll with a creepy obsession who must've finally realized he was universally hated," Jake snorted.  "I'm gonna judge the fuck out of him."

"I think he was just strong in his convictions," Kurt said, his voice getting high in that way it did when his temper flared.  "Perhaps the rabid fan base bullied him to the point where he retreated out of fear."

"Seemed to me he enjoyed the fights he got into and was always far more aggressive than anyone he argued with," Quinn said. "I remember reading his posts and think he was a classic bully pretending to be the victim type, taking out his own feelings of inadequacy on others."

"I am not bully and I'm certainly not inadequate!" Kurt more or less shrieked and happy chatter in the room faded. "How dare you come into my house and belittle me like that? I demand an apology!"

In the heavy silence, Sam looked at Blaine, hoping he'd misunderstood, but from the look of betrayal on Blaine's face, he clearly hadn't.

In a tone laced with ice, Quinn said, "Kurt... I was talking about Turk McKinley. Is there some reason you took that to heart?"

"Well, I'm feeling kind of stupid for not figuring that one out," Mike murmured as Kurt sputtered denials, but it was too late.

Sam wrapped an arm around Blaine, who leaned into his side.  "I can't even say I'm shocked really," Blaine sighed, shaking his head.  "Just hurt and disappointed."

A flush colored Kurt's face.  "You're hurt and disappointed?!  What about me? I need...."

"You need to shut the hell up," Santana snarled, inserting herself between Kurt and Blaine. "None of us need to hear your weak and moronic justifications for your awfulness.  In fact, I don't think the boys need to be subjected to you at all right now. Party's moving people. Across the hall."

Sam was more than happy with the change of venue, though he was pretty sure they were all little shaken for the rest of the night.

How could Kurt do that?

It took a few hours with the baby goats at the Central Park petting zoo the next day for Blaine's smile to fully return and that made Sam even madder than finding out that the troll been Kurt initially.

No one got to steal Blaine's smile, not when Sam was around!

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After Kurt's revelation in New York, it was especially sweet to return home to LA. A little TLC from their pets had them both in high spirits by the time July and the San Diego Comic Con rolled around.  It was no less thrilling than the first time, though they had a bit more experience getting used to the idea of having fans as well as being fans.

Once again, Artie flew out to join them, though this year he had plans in addition to geeking out.  Earlier in the year he'd begun a blog for posting his short films and other little videos and he wanted to film Blaine and Sam walking around Comic Con interacting with fans.

Only the fans wouldn't know was them, as they'd be in the costume of another masked or cowled hero.

Blaine thought it was a darn cool idea and after a little finagling by Kitty, a deal was worked out for Artie to produce and film segments with financial backing from Marvel TV and they would air on both Artie and Marvel's websites.

A win win situation.

On the first day of the con, they had no panels to participate in, so that seemed like a good time to start. The costumes they got to wear were amazing.

"You know, I love you and your Hulkling uniform, but...," Blaine said, staring at a red, white and blue clad Sam.  "I think I need a kiss from Captain Samerica!"

That made Sam grin and set down his prop shield.  "You make a pretty darn awesome Iron Blaine yourself," he replied, bending down for a kiss.

Artie rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  "Just don't do that out on the convention floor... At least not until we finished the segments and you've done the big reveal.  Then you can totally throw the Stony fans a bone."

"Probably not the only bones being thrown," Sugar teased, making Kitty snicker.

"C'mon boys, helmet and cowl on!  Let's go talk to the fans!"

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The interview surprises went over even better than expected. Everyone was delighted and they took so many pictures with excited fans. Kids in particular were a riot and Blaine adored a picture of Sam holding a little girl dressed as The Winter Soldier in one arm.

At the end of the day, Blaine took off his mask for the last time and Sam pulled him in for a kiss. In most photos, there wasn't a great angle on their faces, so it did look like Captain America was smooching Iron Man in the middle of the San Diego Comic Con!

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The next day, during the Marvel panel, the other actors teased playfully.

"Well, you had to go unspoiled big romantic surprise from the next Avengers movie!" Robert Downey Jr. joked, causing the crowd to go nuts.  Five minutes later, when some order was restored, he quirked a brow at Chris Evans.  "They really want to see us kiss."

“And the ones that don't want to see me and Chris make out," Sebastian Stan replied, making everyone scream again.

Joss had to step in then to wrangle the crowd.  "Now, now, I know we all like to speculate about Cap's love life, but we can't spoil everything.  I do have a few things about the new movie I can say though...."

He talked for some time, quite masterfully giving away very little. It was really impressive Blaine thought, eager to hear about the movie himself.

"... And toward the end of the film, were introducing a character from the comics who will play a role in the Marvel movie/TV/Netflix universe... America Chavez!"

Everyone cheered and Sam's hand tightened around Blaine's.

"All you Young Avengers fans know her and cince of bringing America in, of course Billy and Teddy will be there," Joss said turning to them with a smile.  "We kind of figured you two would like this surprise."

Like was putting in a little mildly.

Tiny guest roles are not, they were going to be a part of the next Avengers movie!

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