#he’s at a bit of a loss. he wipes his face. blood smears.

[dirtbra1n]

really want bring hrkg visceralisms back I just wish I had less WORK TO DO

[iamthecomet]

Oh my god i loved mean dew. Can we pretty please get some more with cute after care?

-🐊

Of course! A continuation of this ficlet.

1k of a little bit of Mean!Dew followed by Raindrop being so sweet my teeth hurt from writing it.

Rain's floating. Dew can see it. His cerulean eyes have gone glassy, wet with unshed tears. Unfocused. When Dew grabs his cheeks he has to rattle his head a few times to get those eyes to drag down to his, to focus on him. Or try to.

Rain whines at the bite of pain as Dew digs in. He clenches hard around Dew's cock. Dew licks a filthy stripe up the side of his face, snags the shell of his ear with his fangs.

"Fucked you up real good didn't I?"

Rain grabs for him, holding him close. Nodding furiously against Dew's shoulder. Tucking his face into the crook of Dew's neck as Dew fucks him. Grinds in, slow and deep now. Feeling every ridge, every shudder, every twitch of Rain's body. The harsh pant of his breath hot against Dew's throat. Rain clings to him like Dew is the only thing there is.

Dew's stomach twists. "Satanas, you're clingy," Dew hisses. "it's pathetic." Rain whines and Dew might think he'd gone too far if it wasn't for the way Rain's body clamps down on him. Dragging Dew closer and closer to blowing. Dew pulls back, far enough to look at the mess he's made.

There's blood smeared over Rain's collarbone. Spit and tears drying on his face. Lips kiss swollen, bitten red. There are bruises blooming on his ribs, his hips.

Dew's breath hitches as he looks.

"You're never prettier than you are right now," Dew grits out. "All fucked up for me."

It doesn't take much more. A few more well placed words in Rain's ears, some pointed thrusts, and then Rain is clamping down on Dew's cock. Shooting into the space between them. Slick and sticky in both of their happy trails as Dew shoves in as deep as he can go.

He digs his teeth into Rain's shoulder, sinks his fangs in, and cums with a muffled shout. The concern hits as soon as the pleasure starts to fade. Rain is still clinging to him, shuddering in his arms. Head tucked close again, face hidden. But Dew can feel the heat of his tears against his throat. “You did so good for me. Fuck, Rain. So perfect for me.”

Dew shifts. He strokes his hand through Rain's hair, nails scratching softly over his scalp. He peels himself away, wincing at the way their stomachs are stuck together with Rain's cum.

"Gonna pull out ok, Princess?"

Rain drops back into the pillows, head lolling. He barely looks at Dew before he nods. He hisses at the loss as Dew pulls away. Dew tucks some hair behind Rain's ear and presses kisses to his forehead, his cheeks. Tasting tears and his own spit as he does.

"I'll be right back."

Rain whimpers, reaches for him. Lips searching toward words but not quite getting there. Dew indulges him. Laces his fingers with Rain's and squeezes. “I know, baby. But we have to get you cleaned up. Close your eyes. I’ll be back before you know it.” Rain listens, still deep enough to follow instruction without hesitation and Dew slips away into his ensuite. He cleans himself up first, scrubs Rain’s cum from his happy trail, wipes himself down and pulls on a clean pair of sweatpants. Then he wets a fresh washcloth, fills a glass of water, and slips back into the room.

Rain’s eyes are still closed. Breathing even. Dew brushes a curl that’s fallen into his eye behind his ear and Rain doesn’t stir. Lips parted, body relaxed. Dew allows himself the indulgence of really looking at him as he cleans Rain up. Wiping blood, and spit, and sweat from his face and shoulders, cum from his belly and between his thighs. He’s slow, methodical. Watching the even easy rise and fall of Rain’s chest. Rain stirs as Dew tries to shift him so he can clean between his cheeks. Swiping gently over his swollen rim. Rain jolts awake. Sensitive, a whine already on his lips. Dew looks up at him, meets his eyes over the long expanse of Rain’s body and Rain eases back down onto the pillows. “Sensitive?” Dew asks. “Y-yeah.”

Dew finishes up, as gently as he can, then tosses the washcloth in the direction of his hamper. He pulls himself back up to lay next to Rain, grabbing the water from the bedside table and pressing it into Rain’s hands. Rain drinks it all in one go but shakes his head when Dew asks if he wants more. Instead, Rain wraps his arms around Dew’s waist, pulls him close so Rain can rest his head on Dew’s skinny chest. Head over his heart. Rain presses a kiss there and Dew’s chest aches with it. He slips his fingers into Rain’s sweaty hair, thumb rubbing over the back of his skull. “Sore,” Rain mumbles. “Sorry,” Dew winces. “I—maybe I shouldn’t have—” there’s that concern again, gnawing at his stomach. Rain shakes his head. “Nonono, I like it. I’m glad.” Dew bends to press a kiss between Rain’s horns. “You’d tell me if it was too much, yeah?” Rain nods. Dew knows he would. Communication is easy between them, everything is easy between them lately. But he likes to hear it just the same. Rain reassuring him that he wanted everything Dew did to him. That each bruise is a trophy. Dew knows this feeling. Floaty and filled with pride. Knows that Rain will dig his fingers into those marks for days just to remember what it felt like. Sometimes, he worries anyway. He's glad he does—he’d be concerned if he didn’t worry at least a little. “Want you to do it more often,” Rain mumbles. “It’s nice to be on this side of it for once.” Dew huffs out a laugh into Rain’s hair. “Yeah? You sick of knocking me around?” Rain shifts, bites down on Dew’s nipple just hard enough to sting. “Never. But it’s fun to let you do it to me every once in a while.”

“Let me?” Dew cocks an eyebrow as Rain raises his head to look at him. Rain smiles at him, warm and easy and Dew’s helpless against it. It proves Rain’s point without any other words having to pass between them. Rain puts his head back down, nuzzles his face under Dew’s jaw. Lips resting against his pulse. “Brat,” Dew growls, but there’s no venom in it, only fondness he doesn’t have the energy to hide. Rain chuckles against him. Thumb stroking over his collarbone. “Love you too, Firefly.”

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us chapter 14. Touch

AO3 link | master list

Well here we are. Gonna just say this first. There is sex in this one. So if you wanna just get into it, go thru the cut. I don't blame you. I would do the same thing.

I just wanna preface this by saying, I struggled a lot with this one, but I'm glad I made it work. I will be taking a break for a bit while I go on vacation, so hopefully I can reset, get incredibly stoned and have some good stuff when I come back.

Thanks to @micropoe10 @tragedybunny and @leomonae for talking me off the ledge multiple times, reading it, and giving me a lot of help with my sanity and tense usage.

Thanks as always to @cheesy-cryptid for giving me permission to use their art as inspiration ❤️

Same for the girls in the group chat I'm in. Thanks guys.

Everything is happening so fast. 

Astarion is fully in a blood drunk state, his senses heightened as her blood brings back all the strength and life he’s been sorely missing. Octavia’s lips feel like he is falling into the most plush bed with warm fluffy pillows. 

He can almost taste the contented sighs coming from her mouth.

Meanwhile, Octavia is totally lightheaded. The loss of blood makes her feel like her body is floating, but Astarion still keeps her grounded with his touch. She can taste the iron tinged flavor of her blood in his mouth. 

Suddenly, he pulls away. His hair is disheveled from Octavia running her hands all through it. He's breathing heavily and tries fixing the curls that fell in his face.  

“I’m sorry, it's been so long, I lost control.” He brushes the back of his hand over his lips, smearing Octavia’s blood on his bottom lip. Octavia can't help but notice the immediate change in his appearance.

Octavia’s eyes keep wandering down, scanning every part of him that looks different. Astarion’s skin is brighter and more rosy than usual; the tips of his ears, cheeks, and nose have a faint reddish pink blush on them. It matches the same on his neck, going down his chest. 

Astarion hopes she won’t notice that he is trembling a bit from the energy coming back to his body. Octavia’s blood is incredible; he can feel it coursing through his veins and bringing him back to life. 

Octavia can't help the shivering her body is doing. First from the blood loss, but then from the adrenaline and fear mixed with the heightened state of arousal her body is going through. Everything in her kept telling her to stop while she had a chance to get out of this, but there are other parts of her that desperately need to keep going.

 Astarion quickly pulls out the red handkerchief from his coat on the armrest and places it on Octavia’s wrist. She takes her hand and puts pressure on it. Astarion reaches, as if wanting to help, but he just as quickly pulls back from her. 

“Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?” Astarion asks, his voice strained and gravelly as if holding himself back. Octavia watches as one of his hands begins to slide up her thigh. “I’m okay..” her voice sounds breathy and dreamlike. She pulls the kerchief down to assess the damage. 

To her surprise, it isn’t as bad as it had seemed. Two small puncture marks dot the area. The blood has stopped, but she will surely have proof of what happened. 

“I- I’m fine, just a little woozy…” Octavia stammers out, feeling the warm sensation from before settling in her stomach, traveling down her core. She looks back up at him, noticing the blood on his lips; she takes the kerchief and wipes his mouth.  

Her hand lingers on his lip, eyes gazing mindlessly at his lips. The tension between them builds as they move closer on the couch. Astarion sees the rise and fall of her chest; the way her skin is flushed, lips parted and eyes blown wide. She looks absolutely delicious.

Astarion runs his hand up her thigh some more, making little circles along the inside of it. Octavia can tell her blood is having other effects on him. His ragged breaths, eyes half lidded. He licks his lips and bites down on the bottom one with a desperate hum. 

Octavia can't stop herself from being incredibly turned on from this whole thing. She’s had sexual partners before, of course, but most of them had been greedy, fame hungry, or just boring. None of them have ever intrigued her as much as Astarion does. 

“Oh? Well, shall I take care of you? Maybe…take you to bed and help you rest up?” Astarion leans forward over Octavia, who starts laying back without thinking about it. 

Once the back of her head hits the armrest, she flinches slightly. Astarion chuckles and smirks at her, running his eyes all over her. “Maybe, you'd like me to take care of you here instead?” He slides closer to her, his quick hands already parting her legs for him to slot himself in perfectly.

Octavia blushes and hides her face with her hands, this whole scenario right out of her guilty fantasies. She’s had many nights thinking of this exact situation - Astarion being a vampire excluded, of course.

 Octavia sinks into the couch more when she feels Astarion grab her hips and pull her closer. She can feel the very obvious result of him drinking her blood pressing into her. Octavia gasps as he rolls his hips into hers lasciviously, dragging out the groan that slips out of her lips.

Astarion bends and takes her hands away from her face. “Let me hear you, gorgeous. Remember, we're all alone. In your house. Together.” He punctuates each sentence with more painfully slow hip rolls. She gasps and fires off soft little moans with each one. 

Astarion then begins to trail soft kisses along her neck, covering every inch of exposed skin. She is melting under him, her impulses becoming harder to keep control of. “Astarion…” 

He shivers at the sound of her voice saying his name, then digs his nails into her hip and grinds down on her more. 

Octavia can feel him growing more rigid on top of her. The sensation of his arousal makes her body hot and heavy. Her hands find their way to his waist, pulling frantically at his shirt, untucking it from his pants. 

Astarion’s hands are usually pretty dexterous but right now he's finding it very fucking difficult to take his damn pants off. Octavia instead begins to unbutton his tight shirt, lingering after each button is popped open. 

She’s often imagined how he would look in this state, but the reality is leagues better than anything her imagination could ever come up with. Her eyes travel down, taking in his lithe form. Slim, but with well defined muscles. He looks like one of the statues in the museum, a perfect form sculpted from the most pristine marble.

“Gods, you're marvelous.” Octavia looks up at him through half lidded eyes, and runs her hand up his exposed frame.

“Don't stop on my accord, I like hearing how much you like this..” Astarion smiles, flashing his fangs. If she weren't so aroused, she would probably be a little scared. 

He fiddles with her leggings and panties, pulling them down in one fluid motion. Astarion runs his hands down her exposed legs, then grabs her thighs and pulls her into him. 

Octavia gasps and grasps at the couch cushion nearest to her. “Holy fuck..” she moans out, arching her back. Astarion begins to unbuckle his belt, getting frustrated at how much his hands are fumbling.  

Octavia looks down and reaches towards him. She slaps his hands off his waist and successfully unbuttons his pants. Astarion laughs. “Well, well, you really are impatient.” He begins taking off his shirt slowly, making the fabric languorously fall from his shoulders, off to the side. He clearly enjoys teasing her. “Is this what Gale was hoping for when you brought him home?”

Octavia gasps, remembering the way he looked after she came up from kissing Gale. Astarion’s words had said one thing but his eyes had definitely told her that he was jealous of the turn the night had taken then. “I fucking knew it. You were jealous that I took Gale home that night!” She smirks at him with a cheeky grin as he takes his shirt off and flings it across the room. 

“Of course I was jealous, sweet girl.” Astarion crawls back on top of her and drags his lips near her jawline. One of his hands snakes into her hair, exposing her neck to him. 

He plants sultry, searing kisses up her jawline until he reaches her ear, whispering in a low tone dripping with pure lust. “I wanted to be the one to take you home. I wanted to unlace that beautiful gown. I wanted to watch it drop to the floor. And of course, I wanted to make you cry my name at the top of your lungs.”

The heat from his words and the image they painted made her legs shake and her heart pound out of her chest. She swallows the moan that wants to come out.

Octavia can feel his hands moving down her sides as he speaks. Each time, he drags himself against her with a sinful roll. Her legs part more as she feels him press harder into her, his very clear erection teasing her. “Oh gods…I- hmmm.” 

 Her brain short circuits the second she feels his cock roll up against her clit, Octavia’s body quickly becoming Astarion’s plaything. 

 “Let's get the rest of this pesky clothing out of the way shall we?” His hands move quickly down the buttons holding her loose dress together. She barely has time to process what’s happening before he has his mouth on the swell of her breast, having pulled down her bra.

Octavia shivers as she feels him bite and suck at her nipple, a hiss and inhale falling out of her lips. Her hands find their way towards his waist, running along the throbbing hardness in front of her.

 Astarion bucks his hips a bit, pulling his mouth off her to let out a pleased hum. She takes the opportunity to run her hands down him more, feeling him react to her touch.

“You're so beautiful, Astarion. I need you, I want you.”

Astarion looks up, and for a second swears he sees Tav where Octavia had been. Tav’s black hair cascades around her beautiful face, cheeks flushed, lips parted. Her voice sings to his memories, triggering a small flutter in his dead heart.

There's no rational explanation for his mind to wander, so he tries to blink it away. His face falters for a second, but it’s long enough for Octavia to notice. She touches his cheek softly, brushing it with her thumb, and asks, “Astarion? Everything alright?” 

Astarion smiles and presses his lips sweetly to hers. “Everything is perfect, sweetheart. I just got distracted by your beautiful form. I can't help but appreciate the goddess under my hands.” 

Octavia melts under his praise, none the wiser to his momentary slip. She smiles and caresses his face, a lovestruck lustful look painted on her face. Astarion thanks whatever gods have brought her to him in this moment. He had gotten so used to being alone, though of course he’d had fleeting lovers here and there, but nothing quite as familiar as whatever this is with Octavia. 

Astarion pulls her into his cock again, quickly losing his resolve. The lust-filled thoughts that have been plaguing him are rising, becoming much more difficult to contain. He takes her thighs and uses them as leverage as he continues teasing her needy slit.

Octavia can’t help herself from pulling at the waistline of his pants. “Why are you still wearing those? That's a little unfair…I’m practically naked and you're still dressed.”, she coos, pouting a little. 

What in the hells? Astarion thinks. That has to be a coincidence. She couldn't have known Tav said that to me once.  

Astarion shakes the distraction off and lifts off her. Octavia softly whines and pouts. “Oh don't worry, my little flower,” Astarion croons, “This will only be a small pause in our fun.” He kisses her nose and gets off the couch slowly, dragging himself away from her. 

Octavia’s eyes are locked onto his movements. Her breath catches when he pulls off his black slacks. The lines of his muscles follow down from his waist, his cock outlined by the skin-tight boxers he wears. The rest of his clothing is already plenty fitted, but it could never compare to seeing him as he is now. 

Octavia gulps, the anticipation torturous. He steps out of the pants pooled on the floor, then closer to Octavia. He kneels in front of her and guides her legs off the edge of the couch. “You might want to be comfortable for this next part.” 

Octavia hesitates a bit, quirking her eyebrow. Astarion taps her knee, smirking salaciously at her. “Come now, darling. Don't make me beg.” Octavia scrambles to sit up perfectly straight; she hangs her legs off the couch, pressing her knees together. 

Astarion looks up at her with a fire she's never seen before. Slowly trails one of his hands up her leg, inching his way to her knee. Octavia bites her lips, swallowing with a dry throat. Once he reaches her knee, he threads his hand between her legs and starts to spread them.

Octavia gasps and sinks into the couch. Astarion pulls her closer to him as he kisses along the tops of her thighs, making her lay back more. “Holy fuck, Astarion!” Octavia’s arms fly back and grab the backrest of the couch, as she feels him lift one of her legs up and over his shoulder. 

“Has anyone ever told you how utterly divine you look when you're flustered?” Astarion kisses the inside of her thigh, dragging his lips down with arduous pecks. “I bet you taste heavenly. I can't wait to devour you and find out.” 

With one quick motion, Astarion presses her other leg up to her chest. He dives down and licks a stripe up her soaked folds. “Hmmm, delicious. It's going to be very difficult not to ravage your body, my pet.” 

Octavia yelps as Astarion latches onto her mound, licking and sucking on her clit. His tongue coaxes it to stiffen up more for him, sending bolts of pleasure all over. Her back arches, causing her to press into Astarion’s face; he moans into her and she feels as his hand begins to run up and down her slick entrance. 

Octavia grips onto the backrest harder, letting out a louder moan. Astarion’s eyes stay locked on her face, his fingers opening her folds and teasing her by guiding two in. She keens more while his free hand is snaking up to her breast, kneading it and pulling on her hardened nipple. 

“Ah- Astarion! Fuuuuuck…” Octavia’s desperate cries give Astarion all the incentive he needs to drive his fingers deeper into her, stretching her for him. All he wants to do is bury himself inside her; he could taste her need. Her hands fly down, one grabbing his hand playing with her nipple, and the other tangling itself into his hair. 

Octavia’s beautiful moans fill the room as he plays her body like a cherished instrument only his hands can master.

Astarion curls the fingers inside her, feeling her clench around when he does it just right. He gives her clit one last hard suck as he releases his mouth from her. He pumps his hand into her a few times, before withdrawing his fingers as well.

She whines a bit, but quickly sighs contentedly when Astarion licks up her thigh. Octavia’s hand threaded in his hair falls to his shoulder; he grabs it and licks her fingers. Slides two into his own mouth. 

“That is the sexiest thing I have ever seen, and if you don't fuck me soon, I might actually die,” Octavia blurts out. Her social filter was already shit, but with this situation it doesn’t exist. 

Astarion stifles the laugh at the back of his throat, then slowly removes her fingers and kisses them. “May I suggest a little death instead? You’ll still die in a way, you could say.” He has a giant grin on his face and stands up, releasing his hold on Octavia. 

Her eyes travel down to his waist, the fabric of his boxers now incredibly strained. Astarion notices her staring and hums, pleased at her reaction. He slots himself between her open legs and takes her hands, placing them on the last piece of clothing he has on. “Take them off for me, darling.” 

Octavia sits up, her bare tits hanging so close for him to reach over and tease them. She hooks her fingers under the waistband and starts pulling down. With each inch of skin she feels her cheeks burn more. As she's nearing the base of his cock, he takes her chin and guides her head up. “Octavia…look at me.” 

Octavia looks up at him from below her lashes. The sweetness mixes with lustful desire. She rips his boxers down, leaving his hard cock exposed and weeping with precum. She takes him in her hand and strokes him slowly. Teasing him just like he has her. She licks her lips and then without warning, licks up the length of his cock. Not once breaking eye contact.

Astarion hisses, her tongue feeling so hot and wet against his cold skin. Once she reaches the head, she gives it a little kiss, sucking gently at it. She feels Astarion buck his hips a bit, and the self-satisfaction makes her arousal much stronger. 

She wraps her lips around him and bobs her head sloppily along his length. Octavia loses herself in the moment, the sounds he’s making shooting straight to her aching cunt. She feels so dirty for wanting this so desperately. Touching herself to thoughts of him could never measure up to reality. 

Octavia feels one of his hands snake itself into her hair, his thumb caressing the nape of her neck. She continues to suck him down until he hits the back of her throat. Little tears build up at the waterline of her eyes, her brows turning up from the sheer delight she's receiving. When Astarion shudders and pulls her hair, Octavia moans, loving the pinpricks shooting through her scalp. 

Astarion is losing his mind; he hasn't felt so fervently wanted for decades. He cradles her chin and guides her off him. His breath is frayed and uneven. She smiles and strokes him more. “What? You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.” 

Astarion inhales deeply, allowing her to feel like she has the advantage for a moment. “I am, my sweet, but I'd rather enjoy the rest of you.” He guides her up, laying her down on the length of the couch. He crawls on top of her, placing his hand on her chest, and drags his fingers down her torso.

Octavia shivers at the coolness from his touch. She exhales, releasing the air in her lungs. Astarion’s hand slides further down her stomach, ghosting his hand over her closed thighs. “May I?” 

Octavia giggles.“Asking permission to come in? I thought I had to invite you?” She smirks and keeps her legs shut.

Astarion huffs and pulls her legs closer. “I know you're not going to be a brat with a dangerous monster of the night that could kill you in your sleep, currently pinning you down in their arms, tangled in their lap?” He takes the hand that had traced her body and runs it down the center of her legs, spreading them apart. 

“I was mostly asking because I like knowing that the things I'm about to do to you are very much wanted.” Astarion grinds himself onto her slick folds. “Tell me, beautiful. Tell me you want me as much as I want you.” He keeps toying her clit. Circling around and winding her up. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yessss!!! I want you, so badly! Gods, I've wanted you since I saw you at the party.” Octavia’s composure is fully lost. She’s under his spell and she hopes it never breaks. 

He pulls her legs up, holding her thighs, rubbing himself along her wet slit. Octavia shudders and lets out a deep groan; he feels so good against her. She claws at the cushions under her as his hips send more waves of pleasure all over her body. 

Astarion bucks wildly in between her thighs, the plush folds of her wet cunt slicking up both their bodies. “I bet you've thought of this…” He spreads her legs, dropping one at his side. He leaves the other planted on his chest as he uses his body’s weight to press down on her more. His throbbing cock presses against her, teasing at sliding inside. “..because I certainly have.” 

Octavia whines, the blood she’d lost making her feel lightheaded, but the way he's pleasing her makes the feeling more like floating. “Have you?” Her voice is low, the drunk feeling taking over her words. He feels her hips twitch a bit as another soft moan escapes her mouth. 

“You. Have. No. Idea.” He slides up and down her dripping entrance as he punctuates every movement with a word, grazing her clit each time. Her body bucks along with his, trying to get that sweet spot of friction. Octavia can feel her legs trembling and turning into jelly. “Gods, you're positively drenched for me, such a sweet girl.” 

Astarion holds her hips tight as he lines himself up with her pussy. Octavia instinctively relaxes, her hips wiggling in anticipation. “Do it. Fuck me, Astarion.” 

He pulls her into his lap by her ass. “Ooh I like that, wonder what other filthy things I can get you to say. But for now, since you asked so nicely…” 

Octavia feels the delicious pressure between her legs as he guides himself into her, agonizingly slow. The synapses in her brain keep firing with each inch he sinks in. She shakes a bit, feeling his entire length settle inside. He leans forward and kisses along her jaw, sliding his cock out of her slowly before slamming in hard. He does this a couple of times before slowing down and building her back up.

Octavia winces a bit, the little jabs of pain she feels coming from his thrusts quickly turning into searing blades of pleasure traveling up her body. She almost moans into his ear. “Fuck, s- Star…oh yes…”

Octavia’s body tenses up underneath him, his possessive hunger driving her mad. He could leave her bloodied and bruised and she wouldn't care, the feeling of ecstasy overpowering anything else. The more he thrusts into her, the hotter and more intense the little pants and moans that spill out of her lips for him.

He runs his hand in between her legs and plays with her stiff clit, the little bundle of nerves making her sing for him. Her moans are making him harder inside her; she feels like she can't hold on much longer. Octavia sees Astarion sucking the skin of her shoulder, grazing his fangs on the highest point. 

Octavia can feel her orgasm getting closer. She reaches up to his hair again and pulls it hard. He winces and growls into her neck. The way she’s tightening around him is divine, her flutters around his cock driving him closer to the edge himself.

Astarion pulls her close, he bends and whispers in her ear as he feels her fluttering around him. “I've been waiting so long for you, give yourself to me, Octavia. Let me feel you coming undone for me.” 

Astarion bends Octavia’s legs, making her knees touch under her breasts, making him sink even deeper inside. She feels magnificent. His gasps and moans push her over the threshold and she begins to spasm around him “Oh fuck fuck fuuuck.” Her hands cradle his face as he presses his forehead to hers. She closes the gap between them and kisses him sloppily as she comes.  

He keeps going, chasing his own high. Octavia can feel him swelling even more inside, her body becoming quickly overstimulated. He fucks her into the couch, rough and quick, digging his nails deep into her hip. She can feel herself building up again. Keening and squealing at the way he’s using her makes her feel absolutely filthy in the best way.

Octavia's practically screaming as he fills her up, his hips stuttering against her, breathing heavily into her shoulder as he comes inside her. Her legs finally go slack and fall at each side of his waist.

Their bodies give out from the adrenaline and lust finally subsiding. He lays on Octavia’s chest, feeling her heart thundering under his ear. The room feels alive with the sounds of their heavy breaths. They stay in each other's arms for a bit, before Octavia shifts. 

“My legs are falling asleep.” Her voice sounds slightly strained; she's still a little woozy from him feeding on her. Astarion lets go and lifts off her, then sits back on the couch and slips his pants back on. He covers Octavia with the blanket and drapes her legs over his lap, rubbing them to help with the tingles running through. 

Octavia stares at the ceiling, mind completely undone. Astarion tells her he's a vampire one minute, the next he's buried balls deep inside her in front of her fireplace. 

This was definitely not the way she had thought things would go. Not unwelcome, but they are absolutely going to have to talk about this. Later, though. Right now she can't fight the urge to let her eyes close, the warmth of the fire and the blanket both cradling her. 

Astarion rubs small circles into her leg as a small smile grows on his face. Whatever pulls her to him is a mystery, but what a glorious gift it is. He lays his head back against the cushion and grins, closing his eyes.

A pleasant dilemma indeed. 

Tag list:

@justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel

[gravitytrips]

Chapter 2: Bargain

Once Medic had stepped out of the room, the door was slammed and two agents seized him by his arms. As he was led down the hallway, he couldn’t help but glance back at the cell door. Medic did not like the idea of leaving an injured boy unattended. Unfortunately, the agents escorting him had taken him around a corner before he could make a statement.

Medic was a bit surprised when he realized that he had been led to a laboratory. Inside, there were many supplies. A rather large man in a military uniform stepped out in front of him.

“Listen here you mercenary freak. That healing serum of yours would be mighty useful in future wars, so we’ve gotten together a deal. You let one of our scientists watch you make some of that healing serum of yours, and we’ll let you take some back to that kid and heal up his legs. Are you interested?”

Medic suppressed a smile. He pretended to be conflicted. He knew that the formula would be useless to them. Only those whose DNA had been calibrated into the medicine could actually be healed with it. To all others it was poison.

He nodded slowly, keeping up his facade.

“All right. Yes, zhat is acceptable.”

The military man grinned and motioned a scientist over. Medic began collecting the supplies needed to make his miracle healer. 

5 mL of alcohol. Grain would have been better, but medical would do.

Three pills from a bottle of ibuprofen, crushed.

A few drops of blood out of a blood bag.

Medic pretended to scratch his shoulder, gingerly picking up a hair that had fallen off of Scout’s head while the boy was using his coat as a pillow. He covertly dropped the hair into the vial, watching it dissolve.

Medic then shook the vial, mixing everything thoroughly. He held up the bottle, making sure he held a defeated look on his face.

“Good! Now we’ll accompany you to your cell and see that goop in action. If you were lying to us, the runner kid will pay the price.”

Medic made his face change to one of worry. Inside, he was celebrating. This was perfect.

When they finally reached the barren cell, the military man opened the door.

BLU Medic had always heard that RED had the gift of incredible hearing. Blu, on the other hand was grateful for his almost superhuman eye sight. His eyes and mind could pick up and process information at a rate 9 times faster than the average human. 

This ability was why Blu Medic was able to determine that Red Scout had passed out from over exertion and blood loss within milliseconds of laying eyes on the boy. Scout’s skin was terribly pale. The bandages around his legs were sopping with blood. There was a smear on the floor where Scout had dragged himself a few feet from his initial position.

Medic quickly rushed in and knelt beside the boy.

“What the hell happened to him?” The military man asked.

As Medic unwound the bloody bandages from Scout’s legs, he explained. 

“It would appear that he had tried to move himself farther away from the door, over exerting his strength, and tearing several stitches in the process.”

Medic dropped the bloody bandages on the ground. They landed with a wet slap. Like a soaked towel being dropped on the floor. 

Medic used his coat to quickly wipe away as much blood as possible. Then, he looked towards the military man. 

“Do you have scissors, a scalpel, or anyzhing sharp?” Medic inquired.

“Now, why the hell would I give a weapon to a prisoner?” The uniformed man retorted.

Medic gritted his teeth. 

“I need to remove zhe stitches. Please.”

A scientist came forward with a scalpel and small metal tweezers.

Medic took them and began quickly removing the stitches in Scout’s leg. Once he had successfully pulled out all of the thread, Medic began spreading the contents of the vial onto Scout’s wounds. The cuts closed perfectly.

“Well how about that.” The military man marveled.

“Well then, that’s all I needed from you mercenary. I’ll see you another time.”

Medic watched him go.

Once everyone was out of the room, he looked down at Scout. The poor boy was pale as a ghost. Medic propped him up. He then took a small cracker he had hidden in a secret pocket inside of his coat. He broke a bit off and held it under the boy’s nose. If this Scout was anything like his own, food was practically smelling salt to him.

He was correct. Scout’s eyes flew open, his head immediately tilting towards the small bit of food. Medic let him eat it. 

“You lost a lot of blood, junge.” Medic said, bringing another piece of cracker up to Scout’s mouth.

Scout polished off the whole cracker, with Medic’s assistance of course. Scout’s eyes began to close. Medic lightly tapped his face.

“No, no. You can rest when you aren’t as pale as a sheet.”

Scout reluctantly forced his eyes open. He couldn’t help but wonder why the Medic of the opposite team was helping him. Finally, Scout could no longer resist the allure of sleep. As his eyes slid closed, he mouthed an apology. The last thing in his field of view before his vision faded was the worried face of the BLU Team Medic

@aerowolf

[pengychan]

[Baldur's Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 5

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Wyll's bad luck continues as he comes looking for help and finds a headache instead. At least this one is not tadpole-related. Small mercies and all that. ***

“Oh Gods, you were right! I could kiss you - without teeth, I mean. And I will in a minute, fear not. Now keep still, I’ll be gentle…”

“... Am I interrupting something?”

Durge’s baffled words - what were the odds they’d walk into someone having a moment twice in a row? - caused two faces to lift up and look at them. One being that of a very familiar cave bear, the other being Astarion’s, his chin smeared with blood the way it usually only got when he was really enjoying the meal. He grinned.

“Love! Halsin just had a bloody brilliant idea!”

“Bloody’s the word I was thinking of, yes.”

“Don’t underestimate the brilliant part of it. You know what I told you, how the blood of thinking creatures is far more nutritious and better tasting than animal blood? But there’s only so much blood you can drain from a human - or a dragonborn, or an elf - before things go south. So I thought--”

A snort.

“Right, yes, no need to raise your hackles. Halsin thought, what about a creature that is a thinking being, but in the form of a large animal with lots of blood to part from?”

“Ah, that is a good idea. Going by the look of your face, it worked.”

“That’s why I said it’s a bloody brilliant idea, did you miss that bit? Halsin, think I can have juuust a little more? A cup’s worth, maybe?”

A huffing sound that they had learned to take for a chuckle, and Halsin simply leaned back his head to expose the neck. True to his word, Astarion only took a few more gulps before pulling away, wiping his chin. “Ah, that’s so much better. Thank you kindly,” he said, and gave Halsin a brief scratch between the ears. A soft huff, and Halsin yawned, clearly ready to rest while his ursine form recovered fully from the blood loss. Astarion stood and went to the door, a spring in his step. 

“I’ll take down more than a deer tonight, that’s for sure. I’m thinking of a couple of boars, so we can have a proper feast. Are you coming with me?”

Truth be told, Durge suspected they’d be of absolutely no use on the hunt. Since their arrival Astarion had been up in the evenings and then of course through the night; Durge had tried to spend as much time as possible with him, but between checking on Raphael, fulfilling his promise to Halsin to tell some stories to the cartloads of orphans he’d taken in, and generally spending time with old allies, they were awake much of the day too. Which made them very, very sleep deprived.

‘Maybe I should sleep’ was probably the correct thing to say, but they couldn’t bring themself to. So they took their crossbow, downed an Elixir of Darkvision, and off they went. 

With somewhat predictable results. 

“Hah! A perfect shot if I say so myself! One down, one more to-- did you just fall asleep on your feet?”

“Bwuh?”

“On second thought, no need to answer.”

Durge groaned, rubbing their forehead and blinking their eyes open. They had technically fallen asleep leaning against a tree, but didn’t remark on that. Their sleep pattern had been really fucked up lately. It was much easier when it was just the two of them, traveling at night and sleeping through the day. “Sorry,” they mumbled instead, following Astarion to the prey.

A chuckle. “For missing my absolutely flawless shot? Of course you should be, but it’s no big deal. The night is young, and you may very well get another chance to see it. I’d appreciate some cheering if that happens.” Astarion let out a hum, pulling the arrow out of the boar’s neck. As he’d boasted, it was a perfectly placed shot.

“No, not just for that.”

“For not noticing my new doublet?”

“Not, not for-- you have a new doublet?”

“Hmph. You never notice a thing, do you. Good thing I didn’t waste gold on that really nice underwear I saw the other day.”

“I still fail to see the point of it.”

“Of course you do.”

“If we get far enough for me to see it, odds are it won’t stay on much longer.”

“My dear, the finer arts of seduction are wasted on you,” Astarion declared, as though that wasn’t precisely what had thrown him off when he’d first tried to seduce them, and what he’d grown to appreciate later. He shrugged, and put the arrow back in the quiver. “So, what are you apologizing for?”

“This was supposed to be a quick visit. And instead, we’ve been quite sidetracked.”

“Well, neither of us expected a devil on the doorstep. And besides, it’s only been a week. It’s not like we'd decided on a destination yet, so there is no rush to go anywhere. Would you mind gutting this beast? I forgot to change shirts, and I rather like this one.”

Most would consider asking a bhaalspawn whether they’d mind gutting a kill was the rhetorical question to end all rhetorical questions, but Durge still appreciated being asked. A sharp enough dagger did short work of the boar’s skin and muscles and they began to remove the organs, quickly but methodically.

“Still, we shouldn’t need to remain much longer. Raphael, or the half of him that made it to the Material Plane, is a devil no longer. Once we’re sure he poses no threat, we go our way.” And maybe Gale will have news for us, they thought, but didn’t say as much. The boar’s stomach joined its intestines on the forest ground. “I promised we’d find a way to let you walk into the sun again,” they added. “I intend to keep that promise.”

“Aw, you are adorable like this.”

Durge looked over, both hands in the boar’s chest cavity. “While forearm-deep in viscera?”

“Well-- that too. But mostly when you’re making promises you absolutely do mean.” Astarion crouched across them, and looked at them in the eye. “I’m starting to think you’re getting more fixated on this quest for daylight than I am.”

A pause, a sigh. “I saw you looking outside the windows. And that conversation with Aylin--”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle. Believe me, I’ve had worse--”

“And you can have better. You miss the sun.”

“... Yes, I do miss the sun. And I miss seeing my reflection, and being able to savor the taste of anything other than blood, and breaking into people’s homes without being invited. Most of these things are lost to me. It does make one cranky. But I’m happy. You know I mean that.”

Ah. Durge paused, and looked over. A smile. “Yes. I know.”

“Good. So leave the unnecessary fretting to Halsin, will you? I can handle life without sunlight, but not having to deal with two mother hens,” he added, and grinned. “Besides, I am really curious to see what’s going on with Raphael. And I think you are, too.”

A soft scoff as they finished gutting the boar. “He’s not in an enviable position, that’s for sure. At least Bhaal has no hold left over me. Mephistopheles may still hold half of his soul, if it hasn’t been downright destroyed.”

“And he probably didn’t exactly let this half go.” Astarion tilted his head, perceptive as always. “That’s a concern, too. That he may find out the wayward spawn survived, and send someone to end him - or worse yet, bring him back.” He did not name Cazador, but he may as well have; his gaze only darkened that way when thoughts of his former master entered his mind. ”And if they do find him, everyone else around him will be collateral damage.”

“That has also been weighing on my mind, yes. His continued presence at the inn could put people in it in danger. They have Isobel and Aylin, but they could use a few more blades if it comes to it.”

“Or we could just kill him.”

“... Or we could just kill him.”

“But you don’t want to.”

Well, no point in denying the obvious. Durge nodded and took out a length of rope to string the boar to a tree and drain some of the blood. Astarion usually took care of that quite efficiently, but he’d had his fill from Halsin for the night. “I will admit that his current standing with his esteemed father feels uncomfortably familiar.”

“Heh. I knew it. Not very surprised, either. Remember when I told you that if Cazador ever found me, he may come and butcher everyone at camp to claim me back? Well, I was half expecting you to throw me out. With the damn parasite and the Absolute and everything else to deal with, I knew no one needed to watch their back for a vampire lord, too. But you didn’t.” A pause, and he smirked, gesturing at his face. “If you’d do that for an exceedingly handsome vampire, I’m not surprised you’d do the same for a… passably good looking devil.”

Durge laughed, and headed to the nearby stream to wash off some blood. “I am not sure,” they said, “if you’re thinking of drinking his blood or trying to seduce him.”

“Gods, no! I’d gladly sample his blood, but I have no intention to seduce him. Not least because even I probably cannot compare to a personal incubus, I suspect.”

“Mh.”

“... This is the part where you tell me I am a far better lay than the incubus.”

Durge replied without looking up, getting blood off their hands and forearms. “You’re a far better anything than any incubus. And according to the incubus in question, Raphael himself is nothing to write home about.”

“Talk about giving devils a bad name,” Astarion sighed, and Durge laughed again. When they stood, wiping their hands over their shirt, they felt Astarion’s arms around them, head leaning against their back. 

“Maybe,” he said, “we can call it a night for the hunt. I got us a large beast, after all.”

“Ah, and you’d deny me the chance to see yet another flawless shot?”

A light bite through the shirt, delicate, teeth barely scraping against scales. “I have other flawless skills to put to use, if you’re so inclined.”

They were.

***

While not unheard of, becoming intoxicated on any kind of substance was highly frowned upon in Baator; few self-respecting devils would do such a thing, or at least not before witnesses. That never stopped anyone from indulging in wine, however, since no devil would ever become intoxicated with something that mild. 

Even through the pounding headache and sense of nausea, Raphael knew this. Yet another reminder that he was currently no devil. It did precisely nothing to make him feel better. 

“Uuugh.”

Squeezing his eyes shut against the light coming in through the curtains, Raphael forced himself to sit up and lean back against the bedpost. It made his head spin, but after a few deep breaths it was… better. Slightly better. Maybe he could spare himself the indignity of emptying the contents of his stomach over himself, at least. Slowly, the room ceased to spin. And there it was, right where he had thrown it the previous night - that damned book.  

Pounding head and all, he could now tell that throwing the book against the wall had been a dire mistake. The rat would walk in and they would know they had succeeded in getting under his skin. They’d found a sore spot he didn’t know he had, and he’d made as much painfully obvious.

For a moment he thought of trying to stand and pick up the ruined book, try to put it back together, but he had barely tried to move when his head swam, and he had to lean back again. He turned, and looked at the lanceboard on the nightstand. A simple thing, made of painted wood; then he blinked and before him there was a far more elaborated one, made of ivory and black marble. In the back of his mind echoed a voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long  time.

“You’re more intelligent than you know, but only half as clever as you think you are.”  

The words may have been harsh, but the voice was calm; his-- stepfather? -- mother’s widower never raised his voice, not once. Still, it did not lessen the sting of defeat as he moved a piece, and the game was over.

A Theskan Double-Counter Gambit, but Israfel would only learn the name of that move later on. For now, he just scowled at the lanceboard, at the pieces’ shadows dancing in the light of the fireplace. 

“Ugh. How did you--”

“You were too quick to get on the defense. Retreat begets regret. Remember that.”

“But I had to defend, or else you would have--”

“I wouldn’t have. I hadn’t noticed the opening. You brought it to my attention in your haste to cover it up, and opened up another weak point I could exploit.”

“... Oh.”

“You’ll need to be more decisive than that, and make your intentions far less obvious. The way you’re playing, you may as well send me a messenger pigeon to warn me of each move beforehand.” A pause, then he reached across the small table to tilt up his chin, to make Israfel look him in the eye. He only ever did that when he wanted him to really listen, so he did listen.

“You won’t always have the upper hand. Sooner or later, you’ll find yourself on your back foot. And when that happens, don’t assume your opponent knows they have an edge on you. They may very well not be aware, and you must not make them aware.”

“But if they know--”

“If they suspect they have something on you, you must not turn that suspicion into certainty. That’s inviting them to strike. Do you understand?”

“... Yes, sir.”

Almost two millennia later, a long way from Tethyr, Raphael let out a bitter chuckle. Of course he only thought he’d understood, then, but he hadn’t. A boy of twelve, still a year away from being taken to Cania to meet his father, he’d believed he was getting a lesson on how to play lanceboard. Only later would he understand what it was that the man had been doing in his limited, flawed, mortal way. He wasn’t teaching him how to play lanceboard: he was trying to prepare him for the Hells, prepare him to deal with his own kin and come out of it alive.

And it had worked, all things considered. He’d learned the lessons and put them to use, then improved upon them; it had kept him safe, and thriving, for a long time. Longer than most spawn of Mephistopheles got to live, as it turned out, until the rat had decided to be too clever by half and Raphael had attacked too rashly, in his own home, too certain of victory to consider what being slain in Baator would entail. Clearly, that one time, he should have prioritized defense after all.

And now he’d let the rat know he had an edge on him, too. He’d die before admitting it, but the ruined book would tell the tale in his stead loud and clear.

And when they stepped in, a bowl of something in their hands, it certainly did. Their gaze found the book immediately, and they raised the scaly ridge that served as their left eyebrow. Raphael had never wished to tear off pieces of someone’s face more. “If you have complaints about the quality of the books I give you, you have but to speak up,” they muttered. If they noticed Raphael’s sorry state, or the empty decanter on the nightstand, they made no mention of it.

Any plans Raphael may have had to try and save face promptly went out of the window. What would be the point? They knew. He’d shown his hand. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction to see him shy away from it. “And if you had questions,” he snapped, putting as much venom in his voice as he possibly could, “you had but to ask.”

A pause, and the rat looked at him in silence for a few moments. “... Yes, this was perhaps unnecessarily underhanded,” they conceded. The apologetic note in their voice was not exactly unwelcome - if anything, Raphael would have appreciated to see them take it a few steps further by crawling on their knees begging for forgiveness that would not come - but something about it made him scowl all the same.

“Spare that tone for your pet vampire and his tales of woe. Are you expecting to hear of a great tragedy? Of devil spawn barely surviving the Material Plane until his unholy father saw it fit to welcome him in his home?” He scoffed. It was a common story to most cambions, save those whose mortal mothers were brought to the Hells prior to their birth, but it was not his. It had never been. “You’ll be sorely disappointed. I wanted for nothing.”

“You were luckier than most.” The bhaalspawn picked up the book, or what remained of it. 

Raphael scoffed. “May I inquire where you even found that book?”

“In a box, inside a cave. You’ll find a disconcerting amount of things in boxes inside caves.”

“I am far from the only cambion sired by an archdevil. What made you think--”

“Lanceboard.”

“I beg your pardon?” Raphael said, in a tone that made it plain he was not begging for anyone’s pardon.

“This was about a cambion sired by an archdevil in Tethyr, just as it broke free from the Calimshan Empire. It reminded me of lanceboard. I saw you play it with Mol, and I have been looking at it now,” they added, gesturing at the lanceboard on the nightstand. “You play by Calimshan rules, ancient ones. Hardly anybody does anymore, even in its former nations.”

“Hardly anybody can play a proper game of lanceboard anymore, is what you mean,” Raphael muttered. “A true art form, lost to time. Was that all you based your guess on?”

“More or less.” A shrug, and the breakfast was set down by the lanceboard. “It was just an intuition.”

One that I made a certainty, with the worst amateur mistake, Raphael thought, and could taste bile in the back of his throat. He waited for the rat to continue, to mock him or at least hint at what they wanted out of the knowledge, but they said nothing of the sort. 

“Isobel will come to have a look at your injuries shortly,” was all they said, and they were leaving, taking the book with them. Raphael glared at their retreating back, then glared at the closed door for several minutes for good measure. Finally, entirely ignoring the bowl of food, he drew in a deep breath and lifted his hands. 

“Vis medicatrix,” he all but growled. 

The healing spell rolled over him, and he breathed out in relief. He tried to move his legs beneath the blankets, bracing himself for pain. It did come, of course it did, but not as unbearable as he expected, and both legs answered to his commands. He could move them without searing agony; he estimated it would be a matter of days, maybe even less than a week, before they could hold his weight and he could walk again. And once he did, he would proceed with the next stage of his plan. 

As soon as he worked one out.

***

“What-- in the Hells-- was that!”

Dalah’s voice was strangled, as though trying to force out words through a throat as narrow as a reed. Lounging on their bed - lounging was about the only way they knew how to rest on a surface - Haarlep clicked their tongue.

“It sounds like a forced ascension. Raphael could usually-- mostly-- control his Ascended form before, but that was with his soul in one piece. It seems that only half of it isn’t handling it as well.” A pause. “That, or Mephistopheles went ahead with some experiments. Wouldn’t put it past him. Or it’s both. Either way, I can’t imagine it’s pleasant. Raphael always hated having to resort to it. Getting himself back under control was difficult and I’m pretty sure the transformation itself hurt like-- well. Hell.”

“I’d never seen anything like it. And I’ve been here--” A pause, a grimace. She didn’t know, Haarlep could tell, just how many centuries she’d been there. Given how old Raphael was, it had to be around eighteen centuries, give or take a few decades. “... A long time.”

“Yes, that specific little trick is beyond most devils. He is the spawn of an archdevil, after all, and it comes with heritage. It’s part the reason why so many here hated him, his less than lovely personality aside. It was an insult of sorts, that a half-fiend would have such power. Mephistopheles just got himself an excellent guardian for his vault.” 

“A monster, that’s what he got himself.” A shaky laugh. “That’s what I gave him. That thing could tear through most souls and devils in Cania like nothing, if not for Barbas’ hold on it.”

“All the more reason to keep him on a tight leash.” Haarlep leaned in, taking a good look at her. The somewhat startling resemblance to her son’s human form aside - how Raphael had not seen it, they had no idea - there was nothing remarkable about her, which was remarkable in itself. “For someone who came so close to him,” they pointed out, “you’re surprisingly free of horrid burns, or scarring, or melted eyeballs. And surprisingly alive, if one can call yours a life.”

“It almost got me. I don’t know what stopped it,” Dalah said, a little too quickly to be entirely believable. Holding something back, wasn’t she? That wouldn’t do. She could hold back all she wanted from them, but she answered to someone else who just wouldn’t be denied. 

“If there is indeed a way to tame the new guardian of Mephistopheles’ vault, there is someone who would certainly like to be informed.”

A pause, and she looked out of the window for several long moments, eyes fixed on the icy mountains in the distance. “... I spoke his name. The one I chose, not the one Mephistopheles saw fit to bestow upon him the day he had him brought to Mephistar.”

“Ah, yes. Mephistopheles does tend to do that. He likes to choose how to name his things. He and Raphael have that in common.”

The remark made her hesitate, and turn to look at Haarlep. “What was your name? Before?”

“I didn’t have one. I don’t especially mind, don’t go worrying that mortal mind of yours. Haarlep grew on me.” A grin. “Any name will grow on me, once I hear it moaned with wanton abandon enough times. And believe me, I never failed to make it happen.”

She made a face. “I don’t know why I still ask questions,” she muttered, and turned to leave. 

Haarlep, on the other hand, had a question of their own. “You know, I was wondering,” they said, sitting back on the bed. “All this time, did you think of him as Israfel or as Raphael?”

A pause, her back tense. She didn’t turn, but they could hear her scowl when she spoke. “I didn’t think of him at all, and I was better off for it,” she snapped, and stormed out before Haarlep could ask anything more. They sighed, leaning back with a click of their tongue. 

“Eighteen centuries in Cania, and still trying to lie to a devil,” they muttered, and looked outside, across the courtyard, to the window leading to the outer portals.

Perhaps, one of those days, they may just set out to see how their little brat was faring in the Material Plane.

***

“Hey! Look!”

“Look over there!”

As a gaggle of children abruptly ended their playing around a tree, Wyll found himself wishing he’d traveled at night. Halsin’s charges had been through Hell as it was - figuratively and, for several tiefling orphans, quite literally as well - and he should have known better than showing up like this, horns and all, a devil of all things. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Have they not seen enough horrors as is?

He stopped some distance away, heart dropping, and immediately held up his palms to try and show he meant no harm. 

“Well met. I mean-- I have no intention to hurt any of you. I’m looking for Hals--”

A shriek cut him off, but it held no terror. Several children broke off from the group to start running, but not away - towards him. 

“That’s the Blade of Avernus!”

“It’s him!”

“Daddy Halsin told us all about you!”

“Remember me? We met at the grove! When you were the Blade of Frontiers! You showed me how to swing the sword!”

Wyll blinked, taken aback, but surprise melted into elation when he met the eyes of a boy who looked very familiar indeed. “Umi! Oh Gods, I’m so happy to see you again!” he crouched, forgetting all about his hellish appearance. “Ah, you’re getting tall! I was certain you'd get through it all. You just had to buy enough time to run, remember?”

“It was Rolan who saved us-- but, I’ll learn how to fight well! Like you!”

“Ah, I’m sure you will. Though I believe Halsin’s fondest hope is that you’ll never need to fight.”

“I’ll only do it if I must. To keep us safe. Can I call myself the Blade of Frontiers when I’m big?”

Wyll laughed. “Of course. Name’s up for grabs now, I guess.” 

He tried to stand, but several small hands grabbed at his clothes to pull him back. 

“Are you really fighting devils in Avernus?”

“You and the big lady with the heart on fire?”

“What is it like?”

“How do you do it?”

“Tell us everything!”

Well, what choice did he even have, Wyll reasoned, but to satisfy the request of such eager fans? He laughed, and stood. “Very well, I’ll tell you all that’s happened in the past half year.” Or… maybe not quite all of it. “I do need to see Halsin, though. Could you take me to him while I tell you everything?”

“Yes!”

“He’s at the inn!”

“He’s spending a lot of time at the inn. With the other heroes.”

“The other-- is someone else from my party here, too?”

“Hu-uh. The dragonborn sorcerer and the vampire spawn.”

Oh, Wyll thought, thank the gods. Luck had been in short supply up to that point, and he very much welcomed such a stroke of it, finding three of their companions in the same place. If they accepted to help in what was probably a suicide mission, then the five of them could perhaps hope to succeed.

“What about the lady with the burning heart? Can she come visit us too?” a girl asked. 

The thought of Karlach stuck waiting in Avernus, even in the relative safety in the House of Hope - ‘I’ll just eat dirt or whatever!’ - dampened Wyll’s smile, but only for a moment. “All going well,” he said, “she’ll be happy to visit you very, very soon.”

***

“All right, I think it’s enough.”

“No, it isn’t.” Raphael ground his teeth and took two more steps. Even with most of his weight on the crutches, his legs ached and trembled from the effort. By the door, the most insufferable cleric to have ever graced Selûne’s ranks crossed her arms. 

“There’s no reason to put so much strain on your legs. You’re doing well, and impatience is not your ally. Don’t undo the progress--”

Whatever she said next was lost to Raphael, as he put another foot down and pain shot up his spine. He turned with a scowl, arms trembling from the effort of keeping himself upright. “Don’t presume you may tell me what I may or may not do, mortal!”

Isobel Thorm’s eyes narrowed. “I am sorry, could you repeat? I think I just heard you say you want me to break your legs again, but I may have misheard. Did I?”

Raphael ground his teeth, and he almost dropped one of the crutches to throw the fireball he’d been aching to throw for the past several days. Except that it was unlikely to do her any harm she couldn’t counter, and he’d drop to the floor the second he let go of the crutch. And it would likely bring a bloodthirsty vampire, an even more bloodthirsty aasimar, and the former Chosen of Bhaal upon him like a pack of wolves. Plus a bear, probably; Raphael had not faced the druid directly, but he knew he could deal significant damage of his own.

Overall, there was an overwhelming amount of evidence pointing to the conclusion that attacking Isobel Thorm would be most unwise.

No matter. I’ll make them all suffer at a later time. I’ll make sure it lasts, savor the symphony of their scream to the last note before I end them and then bring them back to do it all over again. They will die painfully for each time they wronged me.

“... If you’re done killing me in your head, would you grace me with a response?”

Her death, Raphael decided, would be particularly slow. 

“Fine,” he muttered instead, trying and failing not to sound like he’d swallowed a lemon. At least she didn’t further humiliate him by trying to help, and let him get back on the bed on his own. The pain lessened and he breathed out, saying nothing as she cast a healing spell. 

The relief was immediate; without agony shooting up his spine, he could tell that at least one thing she was correct. Impatience was not his ally, and bursts of temper would get him nowhere in terms of getting them to lower their guard. The thought made the next words that left his mouth easier to force out. Not that he let his tone betray the fact they left an acrid taste on his tongue. “... That was uncalled for,” he said, leaning back. “My apologies.”

“Apology accepted.” Isobel Thorm’s voice was dry, but no further threats followed. The crutches were taken, and placed against a wall away from his reach. “Progress is slow, but steady. You’ll be able to walk again in days, if you don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Raphael replied, and watched her leave in silence. He heard the key turn in the lock, and listened just long enough to hear her footsteps on the stairs before he sat up again. A quick healing spell on himself, and he made another attempt at standing, a hand braced against the wall. His knees almost buckled, but held; Raphael ground his teeth against the pain, and forced himself to move towards the crutches.

Impatience was not his ally, but neither was idleness. He was able to walk without searing agony, leaning heavily on the crutches, and wasn’t even short of breath when he got to the window. It was open, but two guards keeping watch beneath it ensured it wouldn’t be a viable way out even if he could go anywhere in his current state. Raphael had never been particularly fond of quaint corners in the middle of nowhere, but looking outside was better than staring at the walls or playing yet another game of lanceboard against himself. 

Until he noticed the gaggle of chattering children marching up to the inn, of course; how much Raphael loathed chattering children couldn’t be overstated. He wrinkled his nose and almost moved away from the window - until he spotted the man walking among them as a few ran ahead into the inn. Or to be more accurate a devil, with a familiar set of horns and an even more familiar sending stone in place of his right eye.

Well, look at that. Wyll Ravengard, self-styled Blade of Avernus - what was he doing there?

Why would Mizora’s attack dog be here, if not for me?

Something stirred in the pit of Raphael’s stomach, a very unwelcomed stab of concern that came much too close to fear for his taste, but he forced himself to ignore it. Why would he be there for him? Had the rat called upon the warlock to slay him? No, surely no. Loath as he was to admit it, no great power or skill would be needed to overpower him as he was now. The bhaalspawn, the vampire, the druid, the cleric, the aasimar - each of them could easily kill him on their own.

He may have been sent by the Hells, of course, to kill him or bring him back. But why? Wyll Ravengard answered to Mizora, and Raphael had no quarrel with her. She was under Zariel’s authority, true, but the archduchess of Avernus was not known to meddle with the business of other archdevils. If his esteemed father knew he lived, he had plenty of forces of his own to send after him.

Unless he promised a reward, and Ravengard just so happened to know where to find me.

Raphael swallowed, stomach clenching, and moved to the side so that the curtain would hide him. He could hear voices - no longer just children’s, although their obnoxious chattering made it difficult for Raphael to catch what the rat and the druid were saying.

“Wyll! We didn’t expect--”

“-- always a pleasure--”

“-- please children, he’ll tell you more stories later--”

“-- did Mizora tell you who your target--”

More words were exchanged, but Raphael couldn’t catch them. He peered out of the window to see most of the children dispersing at last, while the rats headed back inside. He finally heard the bhaalspawn speak only moments before they disappeared through the arches leading into the inn. 

“He’s upstairs. I’ll take you there now,” they were saying, and Raphael heard the warlock sigh. 

“Ah, thank you. I knew we could count on you to kill a devil.”

Then the door closed, as deafening as thunderclap, leaving Raphael motionless at the window, mouth dry as the Calimshan desert. Something gripped his stomach, icier than the glaciers of Cania, as he heard the familiar creaks and thumps of steps up the stairs. Through the terror, he almost laughed. Of course Mephistopheles knew he’d escaped; of course he’d put a contract out on him. Who knew, maybe he’d even been the one to plan his escape so that he could send his dogs after him, for the thrill of the hunt. The rat must have been planning to help his friend collect his head from the moment they’d seen him. 

Why else would they keep him alive? He should have seen, should have known. He hadn’t questioned their intentions enough. An amateur mistake - the last mistake he’d ever make. 

But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for them.

Raphael turned to face the door fully, leaning against the wall, and dared let go of a crutch to lift his right hand. Between his fingers air sizzled, heat building up as he focused, drawing from any scrap of power he’d left. Not the final act he’d planned for anything, let alone for himself, but it would have to do. It was still better than waiting for the fatal blow in the neck like a beast to slaughter, he thought as the key turned into the lock.

The devilish spawn came forth into our world in blood and flames, the book read. He found some solace in that, at least. There was a sort of poetry to it, leaving the Material Plane just as he’d entered it. The thought made Raphael sneer as the door handle was pushed down.

“And that, love, was that,” he growled, and fire burst forth from his palm just as the door opened.

***

[Back to Chapter 4]

[On to Chapter 6]

[Back to Start]

[stripeixii]

Huh, au idea, thought it'd be funny idk

Word cout: 1,629

He wasn't sure he wanted to, but he had to see someone, he hated admitting it but he needed help, and this was a little bigger than a workroom consultation.

With the sentiment of a deep breath he started up the paved walkway to the familiar house. He had alway thought the spooky decorations along the walkway and porch were cute, but now they seemed to taunt him as he half drug his feet in a slow advance to the door. Not entirely sure he wanted to reach it.

The dark wood felt so familiar yet so off-putting noiw.. 

He had to summon his courage before giving a soft knock.

The door opened to reveal the petite girl behind it, and her eyes went wide.

Jeremy thinks it was the fastest he's moved as he stepped forward to cup a hand over her mouth before she could get any noise out.

His hand was covered in dirt and dried blood, and now his palm had bright purple lipstick smeared all over it.

“Please,” he started, “don't scream… a 6ft man at your door… and you scream… your- n-neighbors will call the cops,” he managed to get out, not realizing how difficult it would be to start talking again. 

Giovanna’s eyes were wide and she looked like she might be sick but she forced out and ‘Mhm,’ as she breathed out a heavy breath trying not to think about the grime on his hands.

With a bit of hesitation he pulled his hand away, and as soon as he did she yelped, bouncing back a bit.

“Wh-why are?? Why are you here?? You-”

“I know.'' He cut her off, and though his instincts told him to get in the house so he could shut the door, he stayed outside of it, having retracted his step from earlier and stepped back through it.

He did move cautiously to wipe his hand against his thigh, leaving a purple smudged stain in its wake.

Giovanna was (understandably) wigged the fuck out, and shuffled forward a few steps. It took a moment of silent contemplation before she finally approached his slouched figure. With an extreme hesitancy, as if he might bite her she reached out carefully to push the loose and tangled hair from his face, her hand holding it up at the side of his head as her eyes investigated the sloppy stitchwork that trailed around the top of his forehead, temple, cheekbone, and along his jawline. She could see his hair caught in the line but wasn't sure if it was in the stitches or old blood. She looked at him as if trying to make sure it was actually him.

It was at this distance he could see the entirety of her face,  she had tried to redo her makeup but it did little to hide her red and irritated eyes from crying. No amount of concealer would hide that her under eyes were swollen and puffy.

“What… happened..,” she asked quietly in a volume that was barely loud enough to be a whisper.

“Can I… Come in?” he countered her question with another and she frowned, stepping back.

“I’m- oh, uh- Y-Yeah-!” She said a bit panicked , her eyes bobbing around a bit. She was a bit surprised to see him slip his shoes off at the door before stepping into the house. The small illusion of normalcy helped her to remember the person attached to what was infront of her. He had even reached beside him to push the door closed.

Giovanna felt frozen in place, watching him, her hands folded together and pressed to her upper thighs.

“So-o, ah, why-”

Jeremy looked at her with an unchanging expression, part of her wondered if he could change his expression…

“I don't know why I'm like this.” He mumbled in response. Giovanna stiffened, straightening up.

“Oh! Um-!” She tried to find the right words

“I-” She tried again before forcing a coherent sentence, “Why did you come here-?!”

He looked to her from his gaze on the ground and managed half a smile, the first sense of emotion she's seen out of him since getting here, 

“You're into freaky shit like this.” 

Hah.

Though seriously, he wasn't really sure where to go.

“‘I think… I'd traumatize my kid.” He added

Both were oddly valid points, and she was at a loss of words, involuntary holding in a breath.

“Oh-h!” She breathed out, “Okay..!” She remarked but couldn't quite find the right words to keep the conversation flowing.

Glancing around a moment she forced a deep breath and shook her glad a little before pointing at the dining table. 

“Sit-!” She squeaked.

Interestingly she hadn't offered the couch, which was closer to where he stood, but if it was an attempt not to get upholstered furniture dirty, he kinda got that.

He decided it best to sit where she designated, despite being a home he was usually so comfortable being in he felt like a complete stranger.

His unaddressed questions were answered as Giovanna returned and set a coffee cup in front of him as well as a small napkin with a cookie on it.

Jeremy thought it was cute, he liked how she was trying to treat the situation normally.

Seeing his eyes on the cup she asked nervously, “Oh uh- c-coffee’s okay, right?” And he glanced over in her direction.

“Yeah…” He said quietly as he watched her give a sheepish smile. He noticed a lot of her make up was gone only smudges of the light foundation and smeared eye shadow and liner remained.

It was amusing at best, Jeremy had no doubt she had hastily washed her face in the kitchen sink.the edges of her hair clumped and shirt collar was darkened with water

What else would you do if a dead guy put his hand all over your face?

He decided not to mention it.

She had turned on heel to scamper off to the next room and Jeremy released a shallow breath in a sigh as he looked back to the cup and cookie in front of him.

He thought about how he hasn't recalled any sense of being hungry or thirsty the past few hours. Something told him the situation may go smoother if he ate.

After a moment of staring over the two he finally picked the cup up with a careful hand. He held back a smile as took a sip. This cup was one he liked and often chose when over here, the simple white cup had a purple floral pattern around it.

The sip he took was incredibly small but it was enough he could tell the coffee had been sweetened to an appropriate degree. He… strangely liked the normalcy. 

He looked up as Giivanna sat at the table beside him, though far enough away he'd have a hard time drubbing her. He didn't really blame her for being wary. 

He had to gather an ungodly amount of willpower to pick up the cookie with careful fingers that almost felt numb before taking a bite, careful not to accidentally get a fingertip.

Everytime his jaw moved he could feel the stitches ripping at the skin, which was… odd thinking about, because he kind of thought the skin was like a mask now, with no sense of feeling. He had brought a hand up instinctively to shield his mouth, a habit he though was dead but it seems its been hiding under the surface since he was a teen.

The actual action of eating was tiring, he quickly found out, and the repetitive motion of chewing quickly started to make his jaw ache. He hoped it was something that wouldn't last, because even though the sweetness was overpowering now, he didn't really like the idea of not being able to share a cup of coffee with Giovanna. It seemed like a waste to not have a cookie, either, as she always had them on hand.

Sometimes he wondered if it was a habit or if she just liked sweets. Regardless  he took another careful bite.

Every movement of his jaw stretched and pulled at the skin, ripping at the stitches, and even though he held a hand up to block the view of his mouth, Giovanna could see most of the tears and pulls clearly. Jeremy's expression was tense and unchanging as his eyes blankly watched the table as if he were concentrating to eat.

Jeremy had swallowed what he was chewing and was quiet for a long while. Even though he wasn't facing her, he could feel her eyes prying into him as her green eyes bobbed from the mug in her hands and up to him in a repeatative succession.

“Stop staring at me.” He said, not really daring to look at her. The words came out a bit stronger than intended. He gets it, it's weird.

She jumped slightly with a little gasp, having been caught.

“Ah- i-” She fumbled, as he turned to look at her now with an exhausted expression.

“I'm sorry! Ahm- Jeremy, d-soes it hurt..?” She asked but made a face, almost spilling the contents of her own mug.

“I-i mean-im-” She desperately tried to backtrack. His entire face had been detached, of course it probably fucking hurt.

“The stitches!” She blurted, really only interrupting herself. “Your mouth I mean, not….” She hummed out a noise bringing her cup to her mouth so she didn't have to speak any more. The sound of her teeth hitting the porcelain reverberated in Jeremy's mind as he thought of how that must have felt, but Giovanna showed no sign of distress towards it.

His shallow breath escaped him in a sigh.

“No,” he finally replied.

“But it's not pleasant.” 

[jalapenobee]

IT’S DONE

You are my sunshine (rewrite)

Everywhere he looked, there was red.

It dripped from gold jewelry and table edges, shattered wine glasses and soaked gloves. Leaking out from his body was red. It caked his face and blurred his vision. The room pulsed and ached with pain, mirroring the scene inside it. The ball had been turned into a bloody massacre, the shining floor littered with limp bodies; a few on their last breaths, the rest already dead.

With a groan, Keith turned on his back and blinked. His mouth felt like metal, his ears were ringing, and he felt numb and dizzy from blood loss. The ceiling multiplied and shifted, exhausting his eyes. He’d be the one casualty of Voltron, assuming the others weren’t in his state. Seeing no point in taking off his helmet, Keith closed his eyes and listened in on the celebratory cheers from over comms for a “mission well done”. He kept his head turned towards the door, listening for footsteps that signaled an approach. Pathetic, really. Even if it was an enemy, there’s a zero percent chance he’d be able to defend himself. Keith sighed. He’d much rather be doing something, something important. But it was too late for that now. He was getting weaker every passing second, the grip on life loosening bit by bit.

Every blink he made closed his eyelids longer than the last. Every few breaths brought jagged, searing streams of blood dripping down his chin. He did not wipe it off, instead focusing on matching the voices from the comms to their owners as they started to call his name.

“Wait. Guys, where did Keith go?” Allura. 

“…Keith… where are you? Are you okay?” Hunk. 

“Keith, where are you? Say something!” Lance.

Keith took a long breath and managed to speak in a cracking, broken voice. 

“Second ballroom. Don’t bother coming.”

Despite that, Lance insisted he’d come to get him and started to bolt for Keith’s location. The latter didn’t object; partly because he didn’t have the energy, and partly because his pleas would be useless. Lance was always claiming he’d do anything to keep Keith alive, as well as being there as he dies. Apparently, nothing’s going to stop him.

Half a minute later, Lance came running through the broken door with his bayard drawn, aiming it around the room in a frantic mess until he spotted Keith. Careful to avoid the pools of blood and dead weight, he hurried over and pulled off both of their cracked helmets. A careful hand slipped behind Keith’s back, raising him up slightly to Lance’s face.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, I promise.”

“No matter.”

Lance shook his head and tears were sent splattering down on Keith’s armor, blending with the blood and seeping into the cracks in the metal. The other’s voices were left unheard, as Lance desperately prayed to a god, any god, that Keith would make it. That the blood would stop gushing, oh jeez, please make the blood stop gushing. He cradled a tired Keith in his tired arms. “Please, you’re going to be okay.”

Keith turned his head to face Lance properly, his body lurching with coughs that brought more blood to the scene. Keith ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, tasting copper and salt. His throat felt right and his lips burned with pain with every word. He swallowed, and began to sing a delicate, slurred version of a nursery rhyme he’s sung more than a few times to calm Lance. 

“You are my sunshine…”

Lance’s teary, shaking voice chimed in, as he pressed his forehead to Keith’s. “My only sunshine…”

“You make me happy…” 

“When skies are gray…” For a moment, they were perfect - voices singing together, a melody all too familiar to them both. Then more coughs brought more blood; flown towards Lance’s face, and spat on the floor, armor, hands. A terrified Lance stroked Keith’s hair, smeared and tangled in debris, telling him to save his breath, yet Keith kept going. 

“You’ll never know, dear…” his hand fell limp against Lance’s. “How much… I love you.”

His eyes fluttered closed for the last time, and Lance was the only one left to finish singing while Keith managed a small smile and a sigh.

“Please don’t take… my sunshine away.”

[chancedarling]

Y'know - everything had been fiiiine. Just fiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnne. Even when big and apooky had appeared and scared the living crap out of Chance, his luck had been holding as he'd retreated. All until stupid, loud, angry big dog here snapped his fucking mouth and shattered the scene.

Barging, blundering and bimbling in where he wasn't wanted, needed or welcome. But Chance finds it really very hard to hang on to his own vitriol right now as the world seemed to pulse. Bright then dark. Almost along to the thud of his own heart. It probably was. Maybe oxygen depletion through blood loss was sending his brain scatty.

It kinda doesn't hurt anymore. Everything - just that little bit hazy. Slightly blurry about the edges. Maybe he was dying (dramatic, but possible). Maybe he was just succumbing to shock (less dramatic, more likely, but no less deadly - just as easy to die from shock as from any kind of physical damage). So when big dog looms and he's being guided, pushed, moved - Chance isn't even aware that he's simply going with it.

Breath hitching, he almost doesn't notice. Almost... But there's a brief sensation of a stomach flip... And he knows what that is now. Knows knows knows... What is it again???

OH - yeah. He's lucky. Lucky lucky lucky. Lucky him. Lucky me. Yeah. Real lucky.

It's an almost sour thought - but a moment later there's something else...

...It's almost... Bliss? As close to as probably possible to get - given the circumstances. Maybe he is dying then? Closing his eyes and leaning into that sensation...

...it starts like the strange, fuzzy numbness that happens in a limb just before pins and needles set in. Then there's a gentle cool breeze skating across every nerve ending in his body. That soothing solace from a scorching humid day - fresh and light and bright. Brushing sticky hair from a sweaty face. Tumbling beneath clothes to bring the lightest, most gentle sense of relief. Stranger yet - the coolest places are the burning wounds. Skin feeling almost tight as it slowly and subtly begins to knit back together. Muscle melding instead of shredded and torn. Gaping visible wounds on his chest becoming shallower until skin kisses skin and the edges meld together flawlessly. Heart slowing - breath steadying. Brain kicking into gear once more...

Possibly still a little light headed from blood loss, but he's not 'leaking' anymore. Not leaking. Not dying. Repaired. Made whole...

Well well... Maybe he is lucky.

Eyes snap open and he sits up again quickly. Yanking at his shirt. Using the shredded remnants to wipe at his chest. Head turning to peer at his shoulder where big dog still pressed a bundle of clothes.

Even through the smear of blood remaining - it's very - very clear - what happened.

Those wounds have vanished.

Oh, big dog. What did you do?

Because this is nothing to do with Chance. Of that much he's sure. He'd already tried to see if he had any healing ability. And out of curiosity he looks at his thumb where he'd made a small cut with his pen knife only a day before. That wound has gone too...

Even through the shock and the blood loss - he's still thinking, thinking. Gotta play this right.

"Oh my goodness. Oh... Oh my... Do - do you see this? Do you? I mean - I was... There was a rib and... Like a big gaping hole right there! I wasn't dreaming... Right? Right?"

The first thing Adarsh saw was blood. Too much of it, and too much of it seemed to be smeared out over the other. He instantly recognised that the situation wasn’t good. His head flipping around to scan the area, fear that the tiger-like creature might be back, fear that any help was too far away. He hissed when the other pulled the ruined shirt away, not because of what was hiding below that, but because it seemed wrong for someone who was hurt to reach out for the injuries themselves. 

His breath was hitched, but he felt lingering rage and a shitton of adrenaline coarse through his body. 

He pulled off his tank top and UV shirt in one swift movement as he ran to the other’s side, dropping down next to him. 

“Lay back down!” He commanded, though he didn’t wait, he pushed on the other’s shoulders, hoping he was weak enough that he’d let it happen. He was careful to keep his hands away from any of the long and deep scratches he could see. He muttered curses in Malayalam followed by a few more ‘fuck’s for good measure. “Don’t move, you’ll make it worse, I’ll—” 

He looked at the mess, pushing his clothes against the first one, the one that looked the deepest, at Chance’s shoulder. 

What was he going to do? Could he stop the wound from bleeding with his shirt? And then carry the other to the beach. 

He looked through the canopy, hoping he could see the ship, but all he saw was more trees. He also suddenly felt unnerved, to such a point where he wasn’t so sure anymore where north or south was. His whole body felt hot, and the adrenaline was seeping out, exhaustion pulling at him. 

But the situation looked dire. As he scanned the forest, where the tiger-like creature still was. Unable to say if he would just lead himself and the wounded stranger deeper into the forest or to safety. 

He didn’t want to see anyone dying. He didn’t want anyone to die. Not again. 

He also didn’t want to be that person, who returned with blood on his hands, who would have to tell everyone that someone who he didn’t even know the name of had died. 

Meanwhile something pulsed through him, and he didn’t even notice, how it rippled from his entire body down through his hands, how it took his own energy, how it wove itself into Chance’s skin.

[shywhumpauthor]

NO. 5 EVERY WHUMPEE'S NEEDS

Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

Prev. || Masterlist

These characters will probably be getting names in the next few days, just a heads up

Cw: stabbing, faked death, talk of murder, blood, creepy whumper, intimate whumper (non sexual), torture, backhanded slap, blood, mentioned past murder, idk what else

“Behave?” Whumpee echoed, their voice coming out a hushed squeak.

“Yes darling, behave,” Whumper repeated a bit slower, amusement dancing across his features as he watched them struggle to process. “I will not have many rules for you, but those that are will be strict. We will not go over them now, there is a much more pressing matter. Come, up,” He commanded, raising to his feet once more and extending a hand to Whumpee.

They glanced between his face and his open palm, an uncertainty twisting their features. Whumper’s lips twitched.

“I do not like repeating myself, Whumpee. Take my hand.”

The warning behind his pitch was clear, enough to send their stomach knotting as they cautiously placed their hand in his own.

A moment later, Whumpee was dragged to their feet none too gently, the man’s hand warm against theirs. Though his grip was firm, it still held a delicate gentleness as his thumb brushed against their bruised wrist, and he frowned, grumbling to himself as he began to lead Whumpee from the room.

“..no good… can’t follow simple… goddamn…” Whumper fell silent after a moment, letting the door to Whumpee’s room close behind them. It was in that moment they seemed to notice just how off they looked next to the man—their feet bare except for a pair of black socks, pants wrinkled and creased in awkward locations from their sleep. Their shirt, in even worse condition, the first few buttons undone or missing, hair undoubtedly a mess, face still smeared with dry blood. They hated how a twinge of humiliation pricked the back of their mind, a low, hot flush creeping up to their cheeks. They were just embarrassing themself at this point—the least they could’ve done was clean their face before having a breakdown. It was stupid, so fucking stupid, yet they had to bite back a laugh.

Whumpee’s footsteps hesitated as Whumper glanced back over his shoulder, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Something funny, love?”

That sent them over the edge.

Whumpee couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from their lips, their hand drawing back from Whumper’s to clasp over their mouth.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry no,” Whumpee forced out, shaking their head as they tried—and failed—to suppress the laughter. “It’s not- it’s not funny-”

Whumper just raised an eyebrow, expression stoic as he tried to conceal the twitch of his lips, hand still extended from where Whumpee had pulled away. He waited patiently, silent as Whumpee slowly calmed down, wiping their eyes. All of the fear and stress that had built up seemed to release in that exact moment, and they started laughing again.

It wasn’t funny.

No, it wasn’t funny. It was stupid and dumb but they couldn’t not laugh. The sheer irony of it all, how some old guy’s mail was dropped off in their mail slot and now they were covered in blood in a mansion in the middle of nowhere- what were the chances?!

“Whumpee.”

A sharp voice drew them back to the moment, just then realizing that they must have backed up at some point, because Whumper stood a good five feet away.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry,” They apologized, shaking their head as they pressed a hand against their eyes, trying to cool down their face as they took slow breaths. “Just- just a sec-”

Whumper’s lips pressed together, allowing them the time to reel their emotions back in. He waited, the toe of his shoe tapping against the ground impatiently until Whumpee finally calmed down and offered their hand back once more. This time, he grabbed their wrist, his grip a bit tighter than before as it pressed against the bruises.

“I will not punish you this time, but in the future outbursts like this will not be tolerated,” Whumper stated, his thumb digging ever so slightly against the pulse point of Whumpee’s wrist, feeling their heart hammer as he pulled them forwards. That sure seemed to wipe the last bits of humor from their expression, as Whumpee’s paled.

“Wait, punish?” They echoed quietly, a sick feeling twisting their stomach.

“Yes, darling, punish.” Whumper repeated, his voice more firm as he led them down a staircase different from the one they had gone up the day before. The hallway they stepped into seemed more serious than the one on the third floor, fancy wall papers and intricate carpets traded in for almost an office like look with rough shag flooring that Whumpee could feel scratching through their socks, and plain grey walls. “Things will work quite simply with me. You will do as you’re told, when you’re told, and everything will be just fine.”

Whumpee wasn’t sure where the bolt of confidence that struck them came from. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, his tone cool and unbothered like he had done this a thousand times before. Or maybe it was the way his fingers wrapped around their wrist, fitting around their forearm with a tight grip. Whatever it was, something lit in their chest, and they wrenched their arm away. Or at least they tried to. Whumper’s grip held firm.

“What the fuck even is this?!” They hissed through clenched. “This is illegal, you can’t keep me here-”

In a moment, quicker than Whumpee was able to blink, Whumper drew his hand back and backhanded them hard across the face, his ring catching their skin and splitting a clean cut across their cheek.

The force of the hit nearly knocked them down, the hand that Whumper wasn’t gripping flying to their cheek as a hiss of pain slipped through their teeth.

When their eyes flicked up to Whumper’s, expression full of disbelief and hurt, the sheer anger flickering behind his gaze nearly made them flinch.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.” The man’s tone was low, his hand tightening painfully around Whumpee’s wrist. They gasped, tears blurring their vision and just for a moment Whumper worried he had overreacted, before steeling himself once more. “Everything is legal when you have as much money as I do. I could make you disappear. I could kill everyone who has ever looked at you and simply erase you from existence. I have no good reason to keep you alive and yet here I am, working my ass off trying to figure out a way to allow you to live. You have no control here, Whumpee, and unless you want to end up dead in the woods somewhere, I swear to god you better start showing me some respect.”

With each word, his grip grew tighter, until his nails were splitting their skin and their fingertips began to tingle as their circulation was slowly cut off. They could feel warm blood coat their own hand, welling against the fresh wound and dripping down their jaw.

“Why- why bother then?” Whumpee’s voice cracked, betraying them. Their stomach flipped at their own words, but a morbid curiosity drove them to continue speaking. “If you can do any- anything you want, why not just kill- kill me now and save yourself the ti-time..?”

At that, Whumper’s expression changed. The anger dropped from his features, returning to the stoic look he so often seemed to wear. He turned, grip easing the slightest against their wrist as he began to walk once more.

“Because, darling, as much as money can buy, even the smartest of dogs is still a dog.“ he paused as if he were to continue, before falling silent. Whumpee’s jaw fell open, a confused, insulted look twisting across their face. Did he just compare them to a dog-?

A moment later, Whumper pulled them to a halt just outside a wooden door.

“Wait did- did you just… is this some sort of fucked up kin-kink shit or something?! Because you- you can pay some pe….” The words died on Whumpee’s lips as the man rounded on them once more.

“I will explain in due time, Whumpee, if by then you are too stupid to figure it out on your own. Until then, if I hear another word unprompted from you, you will be spending the next month chained up in the basement.“ He growled, still facing them as he reached back and opened the door.

Whumpee could only nod numbly, the threat chilling them to the core as he all but dragged them into the room.

At first glance, it looked like a relatively normal office. Dark wooden desk pushed against one wall, a small lounge couch and pair of chairs in the center, all positioned around a modest coffee table. A large window overlooking some sort of courtyard allowed the midday rays of sunlight to fill the room, coating everything with a natural glow. A bookshelf, filled with classical volumes and all sorts of documents stood grandly across the room.

“Sit.” Whumper ordered, releasing their wrist and giving them a light push in the direction of one of the chairs. His previous words ringing clear in their mind, they were quick to cross the room, lowering themself cautiously into the chair.

They could only assume that this was—likely one of—Whumper’s office. They wouldn’t doubt if he had multiple. His footsteps were muted against the carpeting as he walked over to the desk, picking up a folder from it before turning and sitting himself in the armchair across from them. He lounged back against the faux leather, crossing his ankle over his knee as he opened the folder, flipping through the papers inside before pulling out a few papers.

“Here’s how this will work. I will speak, you will listen. You will only respond when asked a question.” Whumper spoke, pulling a pen out of the pocket of his folder.

“Your name is Whumpee [___].”

That wasn’t a question. He only paused for a moment between his next words, eyes flicking up to see if they dared speak.

They didn’t.

“You live in apartment fourteen C in the Sunhills complex off of the East interstate.”

Not a question. Whumpee’s stomach twisted, their hands wringing together as they listened to him rattle off all sorts of information about them that he shouldn’t have known. Where they worked, where they graduated, their family tree up to their great grandparents. Their sickening feeling only grew as the facts grew more and more immediate. Their most recent purchases, where they had gotten takeout from three nights ago—hell, he even knew how much they had spent on groceries.

By the time he finally flipped the folder shut, Whumpee felt like they were going to be sick.

“You see, darling, I know everything about you,” He said with a small smirk as he caught sight of their nauseated expression.

A thousand questions lay across Whumpee’s tongue, but even if they hadn’t been threatened, they weren’t sure they’d be able to speak.

“As precious as it is, I didn’t bring you here to freak you out.” Whumper clicked his tongue, glancing down at his watch. “You see, we don’t have much time to work with. You have oh-so-inconveniently missed work today, giving us about.. three hours to get everything in place before things turn raw.”

Swallowing back a bit of bile, Whumpee’s leg bouncing up and down against the carpet as they tried so desperately to keep calm, their expression held the question which words didn’t allow.

“Last night, you never left your house. The taxi driver simply dropped you off at the laundromat down the street, because your old little washing machine broke down. Shame, really. He dropped you off at the laundromat with a bag of clothes, and while you were waiting for them to finish, you went for a nice little evening stroll.”

What the fuck was he talking about?! Whumpee’s mind was reeling at this point, skin pricked with goosebumps as the man’s slow words filled the air.

“You never returned to pick up those clothes, though, did you? Oh no, no. On your little walk, you were cornered by a big mugger. All he wanted was your wallet, but you, Whumpee, you were stubborn.” Whumper chuckled, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he leaned over the armrest, delighting in the way their pupils dilated, their breath hitching.

“So what did he do, Whumpee? He stabbed you. He stabbed you twice, once in the shoulder, once in the neck. Overwhelmed by this, he stuffed your body in a trash bag, lugged it all the way back to his dirty little shed in the suburbs.” Whumper paused, his story coming to a halt as a knock on the door broke his attention. In a moment, he had straightened and stood up, crossing over in two long strides to open the door.

Whumpee could only strain their ears, trying to catch a whisper of the hushed words he exchanged with the person outside before he turned back a minute later, holding a plastic bag in his hands.

“You see, Whumpee, this man disposed of your body somewhere the cops will never find. But he wasn’t smart enough to destroy the evidence. He stuffed your bloodstained clothes into a grocery bag as well as the knife, threw a brick in, and dumped it off the bridge into the nearest river.”

Whumper’s grin only widened as he strolled across the room, stopping at his desk to pull on a pair of gloves before turning back to them.

“The police, alerted by a concerned neighbor, will begin to search that river in just about five hours. When they do, they will find the bag. They’ll run all the DNA tests, crossmatch all the files. They’ll find the man who killed you, and he will go to jail for a long time. Meanwhile, while they bring out the dogs to try and find you, there will be nothing. Nothing except fresh ashes in the man’s fireplace, and perhaps just a bit of singed hair…”

Whumper let out a small laugh as Whumpee covered their mouth, unable to hold back their disgust in that moment. They gagged, although by then the appetizers from the night before had left a nothing but a gaping hole in place of their stomach.

“The investigation will be closed in approximately a week from now. You will be declared dead, to the sorrow of few. You may have a funeral, but I doubt so. After all, who’s going to miss you? Certainly not your parents, no. Do they even remember you? As far as I know, the only thing on their minds is what’s next for supper at the retirement home…”

“Shut up.” Whumpee whispered, so quiet that they weren’t even sure if they had spoken. But Whumper must have heard, as his eyebrows raised back in an expected, yet still surprised look.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve there, dear?” He chuckled, movements clean and swift as he opened the bag, pulling out a pair of clothes. Whumpee’s heart dropped as they recognized the shirt—their shirt. The grey cotton one with a print of some character on the front. They rarely ever wore it out, but back in their apartment they practically lived in it. It was their favorite shirt…

In a swift move, Whumper tossed the bundled fabric to Whumpee, a smile curling across his lips as he reached back into the bag, pulling out something dark and discreet.

“Get changed, sealing, we don’t have much time to work with.”

Whumpee’s heart nearly stopped as they caught a glimpse of the knife.

“Wh- what’re you gonna do..” They whispered, clutching the clothes to their chest as they shrunk back in the chair.

“You’ll find out soon enough, love. Now hurry.”

The threat behind his tone was clear, and Whumpee quickly stood up, glancing around for a place to duck while they dressed. Whumper just snickered, shaking his head.

“It’s fine, darling, I have no interest in looking,” He reassured with a smile before turning his back.

Whumpee was quick to shed their dirtied dress clothes, fingers fumbling as they pulled the fresh shirt over their head. Their hands were shaking, muscles quivering with both exhaustion and fear. Not a second after they had finished did Whumper turn back around, the knife on full display this time.

“Now, sweetheart, earlier I was reluctant towards this plan, but after all of your mouthing off, I believe this will double as a fitting punishment.”

The word once again sent a spike of disgust down Whumpee’s back as they stumbled a step away.

“Nono- Whumper wait dont-” they could only gasp, a nonsense stream of pleas slipping from their lips as the man stepped closer, and they stepped back, back, back, until they hit the bookcase.

“Shhhh, dear,” Whumper hushed them, his eyes full of a greedy, excited malice as he slowly cornered them. “I’ll be quick. You stay nice and still for me, okay?”

Tears, hot tears stung the corners of their eyes as the man stepped even closer, his open hand moving to grip Whumpee’s jaw.

Their body was frozen. They couldn’t move. They couldn’t move. Legs threatening to give out, heart beating so hard they were worried it would burst from their chest, Whumpee couldn’t move.

“Just stay nice and still, love,” Whumper whispered, his thumb tracing gently over their jawline as he positioned the knife just below the end of their right collarbone, feeling the way they twitched and shook beneath his fingertips.

As he released a slow breath, a familiar feeling seizing hold of his chest, Whumper realized just how long it had been since he had felt this way. In the past months, years, he had mimicked similar positions dozens of times, but none of them had ever trembled the way this one did. None of them had ever laughed—laughed for god’s sake, or fallen asleep on his floor when presented a bed. From the moment he had seen them, asleep in the room next to Monty Gohlan’s mauled corpse, he had known they were going to be different.

And as he plunged the knife deep into their flesh, feeling the way they froze, a moments hesitation before the agony hit and they let out a scream, he felt a rush of adrenaline like never before.

This was going to be fun.

———————

Next

Tag list: @whumpasaurus101 @suspicious-whumping-egg @t0rture-me

[mxstas]

2:19 am - baji keisuke

prompt: fixing up bajis wounds

genre: fluff, a little angsty

warnings: tr spoilers‼️, blood, bruises, scars, mention of fighting, gn! reader, alternate valhalla arc ending, mention of stabbing oneself, baji isn’t dead in this.

wc: 746

it was never a surprise to see baji at your doorstep all beaten and bruised. he knows how upset it makes you to see him like that, yet he liked the comfort it gave him when you would help patch him up.

one day, baji yet again, showed up on your doorstep. It was late in the night and you were wondering what he could be doing at this time to make him end up like this. you opened the door to see his knuckles red and bloody. he had a bruise forming on his cheekbone and some blood smeared above his top lip. he stayed silent as he stood there with an awkward smile on his face.

you stared at him with an almost disappointed look as you sighed and let him in. “the usual?“ you ask. it wasn’t necessarily supposed to come off as a joke but baji chuckled anyways. “you know it” he replies.

he goes to sit in his usual spot, the corner of your dining table. you went and got the first aid kit and started to work on his hands first. you cleaned the blood off of them, searching for any scratches that could be on his hands or arms. of course, you find a couple and you begin to pat at them with a damp, alcohol filled cotton ball.

“this might sting a bit” you say. you can hear him wince a bit, but other than that he had no complaints, unlike how he did when you first started your duty as his nurse.

you moved on to his face. you wiped off the blood under his nose and pressed on his cheekbone where the bruise was.

“does is hurt when i touch it?” you asked.

“yeah, maybe you should kiss it and it’ll feel better” baji remarked with a smile.

you press on the bruise harder. “ow ow! im joking, im joking!!…sorta” he says through giggles. his smile is contagious, you cant help but smile a bit too.

“take it off” you say. he knew you were referring to his shirt so that you could see if there were more bruises or cuts. he slipped it off and you examined his torso. there weren’t any cuts but there were bruises scattered across his abs.

you scanned down his chest, only to be met with a pale, sharp oval shape. you stared at it for a bit before place your hand over it and rubbing the spot with your thumb. it was the scar baji had gotten when he stabbed himself during the fight between Toman and Valhalla.

it was also the scar he got the day he confessed to you, before passing out from blood loss. luckily he survived, it was a miracle to everybody. but ever sense then, the weight of the situation still follows you. watching baji come home like this makes you worry about what could happen while you aren’t there with him.

you place your head on his shoulder, not looking away from the scar. bajis stomach drops with guilt. he hates to see you like this, he hates that you have to worry about him the way that you do.

he begins to rub shapes on your back as a way to hopefully soothe you. baji wasn’t all that good with words so he sticks to physical contact as a way to show what he feels, which explains his expressive violence. he places a couple of kisses on your forehead and the side of your face. finally you decide to speak up.

“baji please….just….be more careful next time” you plea.

“i will. i promise.” he mumbles in the crook of your neck.

once you were done patching him up you got rid of all the first aid stuff. you started to walk away before baji gently grabs your arm, efficiently stopping you in your tracks.

“i think your forgetting something”, he said as he pats that bruise on his cheekbone. you sigh and peck his cheek before trying to walk away again. key word, *trying*.

“you missed a spot.” he says before you could get to far. he pouts his lips out and taps them. “your a child”, you say while giggling. you place a chaste kiss to his lips as he returns the favor. he cups your face in his hands and mutters between kisses.

“i love you, ok? ill be more careful for you.” he says reassuringly. “i love you so much”

a/n: this was a lot more angst then i intended but whatever. im bored and i couldnt get this thought outta my head so🤷‍♀️ also probably a lot of grammar mistakes. i wrote this at like 12-2 am so.

[tryskomys]

PSYCHO KILLER

Eddie Munson x OC

Chapter 17 - Moonchild

Summary: While the kids are questioned by the police, the older gang is stuck in the Upside Down. The apocalyptic vibe of the terrifying enviroment forces Maia and Eddie to confront their feelings.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Notes: woah, this took a while. something about this particular piece of the story was so hard to get through. but here we are! i have 5 more chapters planned, already have the last two written, now we just gotta get there. hopefully you’ll love it, i put my whole gory heart into it. <3 let’s fix this mess!

tw: blood, flirting at inappropriate times, classic upside down vibes and all that comes with it, you know the drill

Masterlist

songs:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Maia gasped for air as they sprinted to hide behind the load of rocks further in the woods. The flock of demobats flew over their heads and they all sighed with relief, taking in their surroundings. She hesitantly traced her fingertips along the decaying stone behind her.

“Are we…where I think we are?” she breathlessly let out and looked at Nancy, who just silently nodded.

Skull Rock.

“Fucking hell…” Maia let out and forcefully rubbed her eyes.

Steve stumbled back and let out a pained grunt. Everyone snapped their heads at him and Nancy immediately scuttled over to him, scanning his wounds. Robin joined her and nervously chattered as Nancy tore off a piece of her blouse and cautiously wrapped it around his torso to stop the blood loss.

Eddie stood a bit further away and tapped his foot, darting between Steve’s bleeding abdomen and Maia’s lip, still gushing red. She kept on wiping it with the hem of her torn off t-shirt, accidentaly flashing Eddie a glimpse of her dirt-smeared stomach.

The delicate black lace that binded her chest peeked out as she lifted the fabric to her face and Eddie’s breath hitched in his throat, cursing himself when the sound made her look at him.

Her distressed eyes somehow snapped him back to the dire reality and she approached him, lifting her trembling fingers to his face to take a dried leaf out of his curls. He let out a shaky sigh, fluttering his eyes closed when her bloody knuckle brushed against his cheek. The contact made her lips twitch, creating a soft smile on her sad features.

She wouldn’t have looked away if she didn’t feel Robin’s presence behind her, which made her turn away from him and walk a few steps back, wiping her chin again.

Robin raised her eyebrows at Maia with a sly grin, but just as their eyes met, the shorter girl immediately snapped her head to the ground, not allowing Robin read her thoughts with her x-ray vision.

Eddie closed his eyes for a few seconds and rubbed his face, then he decided to get a better look around by crawling up on a big stone that stood behind them, eerily mirroring the same stone the two of them were sitting on just a few hours ago.

The green crowns of trees and milky clouds were now replaced by decaying bare branches illuminated by the swirling crimson sky, ocasionally booming with threatening thunder.

“So…this place is like Hawkins but with monsters and nasty shit?”

He turned back to the group, his cautious features framed by wet clumps of curls that looked even darker than usual.

“Pretty much.” Nancy nodded as she helped Steve stand up, holding onto his arm. Eddie started to step down, but she quickly raised her hand warningly.

“Watch out for the vines! It’s all a hive mind.”

“…it’s all a what?” Eddie frowned in confusion, cursing under his breath when Steve explained.

Robin’s idea to go to the police station for weapons caught Maia’s attention as she extended her hand to Eddie and he clasped it, bracing against it when he jumped down from the stone.

“We don’t have to go all the way downtown for guns. I have guns in my bedroom.” Nancy stated and looked around, radiating a fearless aura. Eddie raised his eyebrows.

“You, Nancy Wheeler, have guns…plural…in your bedroom?” he questioned, staring at her incredulously. Robin nervously giggled.

“Full of surprises, isn’t she?”

“A Russian Makarov and a revolver.” Nancy shook her head, annoyed at Eddie’s mocking disbelief. Steve chuckled.

“Yeah, you almost shot me with that one.” he silently mused, his lips curling into a grin when Nancy smirked.

“You almost deserved it.” she playfully responded and Maia bit her cheek to stop herself from smiling, wiggling her eyebrows at Robin.

Eddie swiftly took off his denim vest and Maia saw a flash of blue with the corner of her eye, snapping her head at Eddie when it went flying in Steve’s face.

“For your modesty, dude.” Eddie bitterly muttered and Steve frowned, annoyed by the metalhead’s hostility.

Suddenly, the ground started shaking under their feet, the whole place rattling and booming.

Eddie instinctively grabbed Maia around the waist as they were falling down and extended his other arm to Robin, who held onto it as she crumbled down next to them. She hugged Robin closer and Eddie squeezed Maia into his chest, his eyes wide as he watched Steve and Nancy struggle to stay on their feet, holding onto each other. When the shaking stopped, they all took a moment to look around and process what just happened.

Then they heard something in the distance, screeching coming from multiple sides surrounding the stones.

“So guns seem like a pretty good idea to me.” Eddie muttered and sharply exhaled, checking if Maia and Robin are okay. Robin squeaked in agreement and sat up, rubbing her arm that hit the ground first.

Eddie stood up first and extended his hands to the girls, helping them up. Maia dusted off the dirt on her hands and wiped the fresh blood on her chin with the back of her hand. Nancy was first in line, leading them to what was supposed to be her home, followed by the others.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

Maia and Eddie walked a bit faster than Steve and Robin. With all the running they had to do in the past week, it just came natural to move as fast as they could to get out of this bullshit.

“You didn’t have to throw the vest so hard, Edward. You almost hit Nancy in the face.” Maia shook her head, stomping to gain some more balance on the uneven ground. She nudged Eddie with her elbow, making him stumble.

“Are you that jealous?”

He gasped.

“What? W-Why would I be jealous?” he hissed at her and pushed her back, shaking his head. She giggled.

“Well, you tell me! He’s a heartbreaker, isn’t he? Is that it? Or is it because you had a crush on Nancy a few years back?”

That made Eddie choke on his saliva.

“I didn’t know the wound was still so fresh, Munson. You surprise me every day.” she raised her eyebrows and turned around, walking backwards as her amused expression faced him. He chuckled.

“Okay, I never had a crush on Nancy. Where did you even-“

“A little birdie told me.” she grinned widely, still looking at him.

In reality she just deduced it. He was always pretty hostile towards Steve, who was, frankly, an asshole for a big portion of their school years. The freaks certainly didn’t escape the humiliation tactics of Tommy H. and the rest of his friend group. And Nancy was a beautiful girl, always was, even in middle school. Her and Maia were close friends at the time and Maia just sometimes caught Eddie staring at the two of them when they were talking in the hallways.

“Well, little birdie didn’t know shit. Wheeler? Like, Nancy Wheeler? Suburban good girls aren’t really my type.” he snorted with laughter and shook his head, carefully darting between her face and the ground to make sure she doesn’t walk into anything. She tutted at him.

“I mean, we’ve known each other for, what, eight years? And I still have no idea what your type is. You’re too unpredictable.” she mused and wiped her bloody chin again, her cheeks filling with red when Eddie’s gaze flickered down at her abdomen for a few seconds.

She cleared her throat and folded her arms, still carefully walking in front of him. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“My type? I feel like I’m too predictable to be honest.”

“Not really…enlighten me.” she nodded towards Eddie and grinned, glancing over his shoulder to see Steve and Robin chatting about something. He shrugged and sharply exhaled.

“Uh, you know…just your typical freak shit, elfs, nymphs,…halflings.” he muttered and she stumbled a bit, the blood filling her face made her dizzy for a second. He took two quick steps and caught her, his grip firm on her arms. Their eyes met and she chuckled, hesitantly moving her feet to set off in Nancy’s footsteps again.

“Well, Munson, hate to break it to you, but those are quite hard to come by these days.” she softly nudged him again as they walked next to each other. He hummed.

“Lucky me, then.” he whispered and reached out to ruffle her hair. Her lips curled into a wide grin and she winced as it stung, wiping away the fresh drops of blood that dripped down her chin.

“Wait, are you implying that I am not a good girl?” she teased, putting her palm on her chest to seem offended. He silently snickered, the dark surroundings making his dimples seem even deeper.

“Well, you are pretty defiant. You break the club rules and smart-mouth your dungeon master.”

She soundlessly gasped, his slick words sending a jolt through her stomach. They seeped into her brain and pushed out the distress.

“But other than that…you’re good when I need you to be, I’ll give you that.” he muttered, realizing he’s making himself blush with the boldness of his own words. She cleared her throat, unsure how to one-up his comments.

“All you gotta do is ask nicely, Munson. I only respond to reward-based motivation.” she shrugged and looked at him, meeting his enamored gaze. He breathlessly chuckled and nodded, averting his eyes back to the alien soil under his feet.

“‘Kay, I’ll make sure to remember that next time I cuff you.”

Next time.

The words bitterly sobered them from their sweet delusion, plaguing their minds with the realization that there might not be a next time. Right now, they were stuck in a place where even the twigs on the ground might attempt to strangle them. And back home isn’t much better, the demobats are manifested as rednecks with pitchforks looking for the slightest glimpse of their worn out clothes.

The sudden silence between them was filled out with ominous thunder and squelching noises all around them, the silent unintelligible rambling of Robin and the crunching of the decaying matter they were walking on. Eddie cleared his throat after a few minutes, carefully peeking at Maia as she dabbed the fabric of her collar on her lip.

“You know, uh, I meant what I said in the boathouse. Every word.”

Maia snapped her head at him, watching his dirty curls bounce as he stared straight in front of him.

“I mean, I love running away with you. But once all of this is over, we could…stop running, you know? Maybe get a place somewhere, get our own trailer after we graduate. I could finally stop selling shit and work full time at Tatcher’s, you’d still work at the shop, we’d manage somehow, I’m sure…or we could still run, you know? It’s up to you, we could run wherever you want.”

Eddie’s nervous rambling was punctuated by finally looking into her eyes. They mirrored his worry, his desparation, his desires. He stumbled a bit closer to her, just enough for their shoulders to touch.

“If we survive this, I’ll never leave your side.” he whispered, repeating his words from the day they left the shed.

He ghosted his ringed index finger over the back of her hand. Maia’s heart was thumping in her throat as she gradually gained confidence to slowly intertwine their fingers.

His hands were freezing cold and calloused, hardened by years of strumming and working on cars. Yet they felt like soft clouds to her, melting her anxiety into a warm wave crashing through her tired limbs. Her petite hand fit in his perfectly, like a two-piece jigsaw puzzle that was always meant to be completed this way. Their sad gazes exchanged the wordless message of mutual understanding.

“I’ll go wherever you take me, Eddie.” she softly whispered and pressed a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips.

It left a drop of blood behind so she reached out and wiped it with her thumb, putting a loose strand of hair behind his ear as she lowered her hand. He just silently nodded and let out a shaky breath.

A loud boom of thunder made them both jump and drop each other’s hands. The sky was fuming, for this was no place for tenderness. Robin jogged past them, joining Nancy in the front. Maia nudged Eddie and nodded towards Steve.

“How about you go talk to him? He’s not the same asshole he was back then. Please.”

Eddie whined and shook his head, slumping his shoulders like a little kid. She raised her eyebrows at him and nodded again, walking a bit faster to join the girls in the front. She gave him small thumbs up and a soft smile before turning her back on him and skipping a few steps to catch up with Nancy and Robin.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

Nancy was just telling Robin the story of how she threatened to shoot Steve during their first fight with the demogorgon when Maia joined them. She was so silent they haven’t noticed her at first, it was only after she giggled at Nancy’s depiction of Steve freaking out that they realized she’s with them.

“Oh, look who’s here!” Robin mused and threw her arm around Maia.

“Yeah, I wanted to give the boys some space to talk so Eddie would stop being an asshole.” she chuckled, scanning Nancy’s determined face.

“How close are we?”

“About five minutes, hopefully.” she shook her head, raising her eyebrows.

“Are you going to explain to us why Eddie Munson threw his lips on you while your nose and busted lip were gushing red?” she narrowed her eyes at Maia and Robin scrunched her nose in disgust.

“Bleugh, I told you he was into weird shit.” she pinched Maia’s sides to tickle her and giggled.

“Are we seriously talking about this right now? In a murderous alternate dimension?” Maia slapped Robin’s hands away, mindlessly wiping her lip even though it had already stopped bleeding. Her cheeks were bright red, visible even in the monotone darkness of the forest.

“Okay, holding hands with Eddie the Freak in an alternate dimension is fine, but questions about unhygienic smooching from your girlfriends? That’s where you draw a line.” Robin raised a stern finger and Nancy chortled, shaking her head. Maia mocked her laughter and nudged her quite harshly.

“Nance, I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, we all saw you salivating over shirtless Harrington spitting out blood, you’re not fooling anyone.”

“Um, no, actually no one saw that because we were all busy staring at two freaks exchanging bodily fluids after you desintegrated a demonic alien bat that tried to choke you. Grilling Nancy isn’t on the agenda right now.” Robin shook her head furiously and Nancy raised her eyebrows again, blushing slightly at the mention of Steve. Maia groaned.

“Fucking hell, Robin. We kissed, okay? We kissed and it felt good and I loved it and I wanna do it again. Is that what you want to hear?” she snapped at her, folding her arms in annoyance.

“Um, actually yes, that is what I wanted to hear.” Robin chuckled and looked at Nancy, who was biting her cheeks to hide her smirk.

“It’s so romantic, though. Stuck in an apocalyptic world that’s actively trying to kill you, on the run from pitchforks, death row hanging over your heads-“

“Thanks, Robin. You really know how to sell your point.” Maia rolled her eyes and Nancy snorted with laughter, breaking her façade.

“-and that’s when you both finally break. A little extreme to wait until you become serial killers, not gonna lie, but better late than never.” she finished with a big grin on her face, ruffling Maia’s hair. She slapped Robin’s hand away again, making her giggle.

“And Nancy still doesn’t know that he handcuffed you to a chair to punish you.”

“Wh-what?!” Nancy choked on her breath and snapped her head at Maia, who’s eyes were wide open as she slapped the back of Robin’s head.

“Does it really surprise you, Nance?” she whispered with a shrug and when Nancy was just about to respond, everything around them started shaking again.

Maia lost her balance and fell to her knees, grabbing onto a tree next to her. Robin fell down too, bracing against a big rock, mumbling about hating earthquakes. Nancy, though, suddenly started running towards something. Both Maia and Robin yelled after her, chasing her when the ground stabilized. When they found her, she was staring into the distance, fear and pain painted across her features.

The Wheelers house.

Corrupted, covered in decaying slimy vines, falling apart. The guys caught up with them, cautiously scanning the scene in front of them. Nancy’s breath shivered.

“Come on.” she breathlessly whispered and none of them said a word again.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

When they entered the house, Maia’s heart dropped into her stomach. The place was identical to the Wheeler house. It seemed to be.

But it was plagued by the never ending vines that didn’t seem to grow from anywhere in particular, the walls were peeling and mouldy, air filled with the floating particles that seemed to be everywhere in this godforsaken world. The whole house seemed to be…throbbing. Pulsing. Like a big sentient organism parasitizing on everything around it.

“Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.” Robin peeped as she was looking around, her hands shaking. Nancy closed her eyes for a second and her breath shivered.

“Come on, I don’t want to stay here longer than we have to.” she sighed and walked up the stairs, followed by the rest of them. Maia walked behind Steve, but he suddenly stopped, snapping his head towards the kitchen.

“What’s wrong? Steve?” Maia nudged him but his eyes widened as he pointed the flashlight into the room.

“Am I crazy or can you hear it too?” he whispered and raised his hand, shushing her when she was about to speak. She tried to listen closer, but there was nothing. Until…whispers that were barely there softly echoed through the room, originating in the kitchen. They exchanged a confused look and jogged down the stairs.

Maia took out her pocket knife and flicked it open as Steve stood in front of her, shielding her with his arm. They cautiously entered the kitchen and the whispers grew louder, eerily carried through the air, as if the particles around them eminated the noise. Maia realised they weren’t whispers, it was like a normal conversation, only coming through some kind of a sound barrier.

“What the fuck?” she whispered under her breath as they slowly creeped through the kitchen, Steve squeezing her closer at the slightest noise of movement. The next few words echoed a bit louder, this time it was clearly a girl’s voice. The response that followed made Maia’s throat tighten. The diction, the choice of words, the lisp. She stared at Steve in shock and it took him a few seconds before his face twisted into the same grimace, realizing what was happening.

“DUSTIN!” they both screamed in unison, mumbling their young friend’s name as the gang ran down the stairs, terrified of what’s going on down there. They found the two of them stumbling around the kitchen in a weird reversed embrace, waving the knife and the flashlight in front of them, checking every nook of the room. When Steve pointed the light at them, they all squinted, their faces confused and worried.

“It’s Dustin, he’s here!” Maia threw her arms around with deranged eyes, flickering between the walls and her friends.

“Henderson, he’s here…that little shit, he’s here, in the walls or something, listen.” Steve rambled and shushed everyone, but suddenly there was nothing to hear. He looked at Maia, who shook her head and looked around again.

“Dustin!” Steve screamed again and they continued their franatic search, hoping to provoke some more echoes. The rest of the gang stood in shock, but after listening in for a few moments, they realized they could hear him too. They joined in with the screams and the searching.

“Will found a way.” Nancy suddenly mumbled, making everyone turn at her.

“He found a way to speak to Joyce through lights!” she continued as she ran around the place, trying switches to see if anything works.

“Guys?”

Steve’s voice echoed through the kitchen as he pointed the flashlight at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Maia joined him, staring at the object with morbid curiosity.

“You seeing this?”

The chandelier was softly pulsing with warm orange light, glowing with ethereal sparkles of energy that were fluttering around the lightbulbs.

She carefully approached it, slowly raising her fingers towards the light. As soon as her skin touched the sparkles, they seemed to light up even more, following her movement as she waved her hand through it. It felt like a feather tickling her fingertips, sending the sensation through her arm as it pulsed out more light. The rest of the group followed her footsteps, reaching into the light one by one.

“It…tickles.” Steve whispered, face scrunched in confusion and awe.

“It kinda feels good.” Robin softly chuckled and Eddie nodded, smiling widely. He looked at Maia, who’s eyes were still glued to the chandelier, the sparkles mirrored in her big eyes.

“Does anyone know morse code?” Nancy questioned, but her idea wasn’t met with much answers. Maia just slowly shook her head, cursing herself that she never listened to her dad when he tried to teach her his scout skills.

“Um, does S.O.S. count? Is that good?” Eddie muttered and looked around as everyone turned at him. Robin shook her slowly at the dumbness of his question and Maia raised an eyebrow, slowly nodding as she narrowed her eyes.

“‘Kay…here goes nothing.” he mumbled as he reached up again, carefully tapping in rhythm.

Dot, dot, dot. Dash, dash, dash. Dot, dot, dot.

He stuck his tounge out as he tapped, his face frowned in concentration.

“Guys?”

Dustin’s muted voice echoed through the kitchen and they all sighed with relief as they raised their hands to the light, waving them around to create a big pulse. There was silence for a few moments before Dustin spoke again.

“Go to Nancy’s room and wait at the bed! I won’t repeat myself!”

“What?” Steve yelled into the air but didn’t get an answer.

・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

They entered Nancy’s room and sat around the bed, waiting.

“Come on, come on…” Steve muttered while holding the light to the bed, confused about what Dustin’s plan is. Suddenly, the middle of the bed softly luminesced.

Nancy reached out and waved her hand through the golden sparkles again, creating a beautiful glowing cloud that followed her fingers. Maia breathlessly chuckled, peeking at Eddie. His face was illuminated by the soft red light as the alien sparkles of energy flickered in his brown gaze, staring curiously at the beautiful strange thing in front of him. Dustin and Erica’s delighted chortles carried through the air as Nancy swirled her hand in the air.

“We’re not moving it, but we’re gonna unplug it, stand by.” Dustin exclaimed and the orange light dissapeared.

“Try it now!”

Maia rubbed Nancy’s back to encourage her as they all held their breaths in anticipation. Nancy sighed and took a second to think of what to say. She reached out her delicate index finger and moved it through the air as it sparkled again.

HI

“That worked!” Dustin’s voice carried through the walls and they all rejoiced, cheering as they could finally breathe out.

“Hi!” Eddie exclaimed, throwing his arm around Maia to pull her closer to him in excitement. She took Robin’s hand, squeezing it. A shivering breath escaped Nancy’s lips and she continued.

STUCK

“Yes, yes we are.” Robin whispered, nodding her head excitedly.

“You can’t get back through Watergate?” Dustin echoed again.

“What the hell’s Watergate?” Nancy scrunched her nose in confusion, shaking her head at the kid’s continuous antics.

“Cause it’s in water and it’s a gate.” Robin shook her head, shrugging.

“Oh, that’s cute.” Eddie mumbled and tilted his head. Nancy rolled her eyes and sighed.

GUARDED

“Okay, Watergate’s guarded?”

“Perfect. Yes.” Steve mumbled as Eddie clapped into the light.

“We think Watergate isn’t the only gate. There’s a gate at every murder site.” Dustin explained.

“Does anybody understand what he’s talking about?” Nancy’s curls bounced around as she shrugged and everyone shook their heads, confused by Dustin’s statement.

?

“Seriously? How many times do I have to be right on the money before you guys just trust me?!” he screamed into the void and Maia gasped, frowning at Dustin’s audacity.

“Jesus Christ, this kid’s gotta get his ego in check.” Steve muttered and shook his head.

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie chimed in, narrowing his eyes. Nancy was slowly but surely losing patience and she closed her eyes for a few seconds to compose herself.

“Okay, uh, so how far is your trailer?” she turned at Eddie, who sighed.

“Seven miles.”

Maia pinched the bridge of her nose, sitting back on her heels and shaking her head.

Robin had an idea, though.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Tag list: @kik51199 @preciousbabypeter @sebby-staan @sleepysl0th03 @grungegrrrl

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

Oooh also #11 with Frank Castle bc I’m a whore 😇

Fine Again

What a coincidence, I am also a whore! Especially for Frank Castle (the bloodier, the better baby)

Rating: E

Words: ~1.3k

Prompt: "I'll be gentle, I promise"

Warnings: it's so bloody in here. Frank is his own warning. Brief panic, mentions of a dead body, allusions to murder, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v.

Masterlist | ao3

It was everywhere; all over you and him and the floor where he stood. Slick and hot and drying dark on the grey of your sweat pants. You reached for his face, smearing as opposed to wiping clean the blood from his skin. His chest heaved, his breath coming in pants as he fought to even it out. He clung to you, his grip bruising a tattoo against your arms and you pressed your hands to his chest, feeling his heart beat wild behind the cage of his ribs. You watched from outside your body as your fingers began to tremble, curling them into the sodden fabric of Frank's shirt as your breath started to turn shaky and shallow.

"Hey, hey now", he murmured in that low way of his, the sound more grit and growl than actual words, as he rubbed his hands up and down your arms. "Shh, it's okay."

You let out a sigh, closing your eyes tight and shaking your head to clear it of the red that had seeped through everything. You weren't bothered by the blood, not in theory. You weren't even bothered by the body in the other room or the fact that you were pressed against the man who had killed the body in the other room. No, it was the sticky sensation as it dried and coagulated against your skin that made you panic.

"It's everywhere", you whispered as you dug your fingers tighter against his chest, your eyes wide and wild and you looked around before settling in his face. His own eyes had gone black, the pupils blown out as he took you in. He picked you up then and you let out a squawk when your feet unexpectedly left the ground, clinging to his broad shoulders and wrapping your legs around his waist. His gaze never left yours as he stepped around the toilet and into the stand up shower, his hand finding the knob and turning. You cried out in shock at the freezing spray, pressing yourself closer to him and then becoming pliant in his arms as the water warmed. You looked up at him from under your lashes, your hair plastered to your face and your clothes wet and heavy against your skin. His expression was unreadable, dark and fathomless and every bit the predator.

He crushed his lips to yours and you tasted it, the blood, heavy and metallic on your tongue. You wound your arms around his neck as he pushed you against the shower wall. His lips found your throat, teeth grazing and nipping before licking a trail up to your jaw. You whimpered as one hand found its way under your shirt, his large fingers pressed between the spaces of your ribs. He pressed down, as if he would squeeze the life from you. Sharp pleasure mingled with pain and a desperate need for him bloomed hot and prickly in your belly. Suddenly you were feral, yanking at his shirt and then yours and tossing them to land somewhere on the already stained tile. He dropped you to your feet and fell to his knees. The water streaming down his face was tinged red and his eyes, so deep and dark, held you pinned as he pulled your sweats over your hips and down your legs. He groaned when he found you bare beneath.

"Oh and what the fuck is this, girl? Huh?" He demanded and you rolled your eyes.

"I wasn't expecting fucking company, Frank", you growled and he smirked at your tone, picking up one leg and draping it over his shoulder. He leaned forward, never breaking eye contact, and licked a flat stripe up your center. He pulled away with a wet popping sound and you whined at the loss of contact, reaching out for him.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry", he said, his voice husky. You ran a hand down his face and cupped his jaw, flexing your fingers.

"Don't you dare." He was on you like some wild animal then, all teeth and tongue and obscene sounds as one hand pressed two thick fingers inside of you and the other worked at his belt. You came on his tongue, quick and shocking and beautiful in its intensity. He rose, kissing your thighs and your belly and your breasts before settling against your lips. You licked at his mouth and he groaned, brushing his tongue against yours as he picked you up, turning you out of the spray of the shower and slamming you against the opposite wall. He was hard and thick against you, teasing through your folds and bumping your clit.

"Fuck, Frank… come on." You were a mess, wet and needy and desperate for friction, for distraction.

"Yeah, what do you want? Tell me", he demanded and you dug your nails deep into the muscles of his shoulders. He grunted and pushed you harder against the wall in warning. Your eyes flew open and your stomach clenched with how he was looking at you, all poorly hidden softness in those brown eyes.

"Fuck me, Frank. Please", you whispered against his lips and he thrust hard, burying himself in one stroke and you thought you'd been cracked open, pulled apart and pasted back together around him. You shouted and bit down hard on his neck, wanting to simultaneously bury yourself under his skin and wrench yourself out of his grip. He made sweet shushing sounds against your temple, pressing kisses to your hair as he eased out and pushed back in. You caught your breath and he found his pace, the agonizing split settling and softening into a delicious stretch as your body accepted him. He reached up and pushed your wet hair out of your face and you turned, pressing a kiss to his palm before nipping at the skin there. He wrapped his hand behind your neck and pulled you in for a kiss, his lips tender and it twisted at something delicate inside of you. That fire in your belly blossomed and bloomed, spreading under your skin and over your limbs as your orgasm rushed through you. You clung to him, riding it out as you fluttered and twitched around his length.

"That's it, that's my good fucking girl", Frank groaned and his voice was jagged, husky with need as he pounded into you. His release was just as sudden as yours, violent and shuddering as it found him and he came with a cry as he buried his face in your neck. After a moment he set you down on shaking legs, holding you steady as you found your bearings. The water had gone cold but still he scrubbed at your body methodically, and then his own, before washing the red from your hair. He guided you around the bloody mess of clothes on the floor, grabbing a towel and silently drying you and then himself. He led you to your bedroom, setting you on the bed before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Eventually you threw the comforter back and climbed naked between the sheets. You dozed, in that place between sleeping and waking where everything was soft and blurry, and woke again to the sound of your door opening. Frank stood there pulling off the clothes he kept in his duffle and you quirked an eyebrow at him. He rolled his eyes.

"What?" He grumbled and you chuckled at his irritation.

"Did you clean up?"

"What the hell else would I be doing?"

"I didn't think you'd stay."

"Yeah, well you don't know shit. Scoot over", he growled and you complied, pressing tight against his solid frame once he had leaned back against the pillows. He wrapped his arms around you and you toyed with the chain around his neck, the ring that used to sit on his left hand. He pressed a kiss to your head before leaning over and shutting off the light.

"I'm always gonna take care of you", he whispered in the dark. You just nodded, moving the chain and its haunted ring, and pressed a kiss above his heart.

[randomrosewrites]

Bittersweet Dreams

Every night, your mind is plagued with visions of an old Liyue. She blesses your nights, like a guardian angel, but you never remember her face or name when the sun rises again.

Pairing: Ganyu X GN reader Words: ~5K Warnings/ tags: Memory loss, reincarnation, blood and injury, death, fluff and angst, happy ending, implied sexual content a/n: I never thought much of Ganyu, until I dreamt of her one night (which unspiringly inspired this fic) and now I'm hooked. Patiently awaiting her rerun.

She comes to you in a dream.

You can tell it’s her from the feeling of it. Warm. Comfortable. It loosens your muscles (if you even have muscles in dreams) and puts your mind at ease. It makes you sleepy, wanting to lie down on the soft hills of grass under the shade of a tree to take a nap.

You don’t know exactly where ‘this’ is, whether or not it’s in the fields of your home, Liyue, or some other place. It looks like Liyue, with the craggy mountains behind you, and the bubbling stream running down the hill. But it feels different.

Then, you see her.

You don’t know what – or who – she is exactly, because you can never get a clear view of her. Everything blurs around her body. But you know she’s there, know she’s waiting for you. Sitting in a pocket of empty grass, sounded by glaze lilies, feet tucked underneath her as she naps.

She starts when you approach, uncurling herself to sit up properly. She smiles. She says your name – at least you think it’s your name, it feels like your name – and pats the spot beside her.

You wade through the flowers and sit down, so close to her that your legs are touching. It’s rather close even for friends, but with her, it feels right. How it should be.

She never talks much. For a dream or a vision, she never has much to say. Only whispering in a soft voice about how pretty the flowers are, or how beautiful the day is. The silence is good. A brief period of peace.

(Peace from what? You always wonder when you wake, but no matter how many times you re-enter the dream, you always forget to ask.)

This dream always ends in the same way.

“You should get some rest,” she says.

“What about you?” you always respond, the words feel foreign in your mouth – like they’re not yours.

She shakes her head. “I’ll be alright. Rest, and have peaceful dreams.”

You rest your head in her lap, as you’ve done a thousand times before. Her hand cradles your head, brushing through your hair lovingly.

“Who are you?” “Why are you doing this?” “What is this?” – You always want to ask, but no matter what you try, the words never come out, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.

Just like every time, your eyes grow heavy, your body grows weak, and you close your eyes, falling asleep once more.

…

..

.

When you wake, you’re never in the flowery fields anymore, but in bed staring at the ceiling. The hum of noise vibrates through the wall, employees at the Inn already getting up to do their daily tasks.

You sigh and rub your eyes, rolling around for another ten minutes before finally getting up.

By the time you dress and leave your room, you’ve forgotten all about the dream.

---

“Good morning, Mrs. Goldet,” you great sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

Verr Goldet looks up from the counter and nods. “Good morning, sleep well?”

You give the cat laying on the counter a few scratches. “As good as always. I had a nice dream.”

She blinks slowly. “What did you dream of?”

You turn away, heading out of the doorway to start your chores. “Her. As always.”

As you disappear, Verr Goldet’s brows furrow and she frowns. It dissolves the second a customer walks into the lobby, ready to check in.

---

You’ve been working and living at the Wangshu Inn for a while now. Free room and food for helping out every day, with Sundays off. It’s a good deal.

You do odd tasks around the Inn, helping out in the kitchen, moping the floors whenever travelers track in mud from the marsh – things like that.

Days are spent polishing the balconies, evenings are spent wiping down dinner tables, and you when the moon is high in the sky, you sleep.

And dream.

---

There are many people in the crowd, packed tight together under the hot midday sun. Guili plains is alive in celebration. Booths are set up on either side of the streets, the smell of delicious food wafts through the air, and colorful decorations hang everywhere. You push through them, scanning the sea of heads for a particular person. She’s not hard to miss, but everywhere you turn, she evades your sight. Anxiety begins to bubble in your stomach – the speech will start soon, and you want to be with her when it begins.

A cold hand falls on your shoulder. Turning around, you sigh with relief.

“There you are,” you yell over the noise of the crowd. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She smiles, showing off fresh Qingxin flowers in her hand. “Sorry, I was distracted by a stall. Would you like some?”

You take her free hand and kiss it. A red blush forms on the apples of her cheeks. “They’re all yours.”

Hand in hand, the two of you make your way towards an elaborate stage, raised high above the people, crafted out of rock and decorated with gold. Many people are gathered around, waiting patiently, holding umbrellas to protect from the sun or fanning themselves off with whatever they have. The two of you take your seats just as the theatrics begin.

There’s a cry, and a point of fingers as the audiences’ attention is turned towards the sky. Hailing in rays of light are two of the Adeptus, taking the form of cranes. One of them a gold and orange, the other blue and white.

Cloud Retainer, you’ve heard (?????) call her Adeptus.

They land on stage and spread their wings out in a flourish.

“People of Guili,” Cloud Retainer begins. Her voice ringing out like a crystal bell. “On behalf of all the Adepti we would like to welcome you here.”

“We hope you have all enjoyed the festivities,” the gold and orange bird speaks next. “Today’s celebration marks not only the anniversary of the creation of Guili, but to also pay homage to the warriors that have fought and are still fighting in the ongoing war. Because of the date’s significance, the Lord of Geo and Lady of Dust have decided to bless all of use with their presence.”

The two birds spread their wings once more. Cloud Retainer raises her head high in the air. “People of Guili, I now present to you, the Lord of Geo – Morax and the Lady of Dust – Guizhong.”

At the mention of their Gods, the people break into a round of applause, this only increases when a man and woman appear onstage, and everyone rises to show their respects. They’re both dressed beautifully, in fine silk-robes, adorned with smears of make-up around their eyes. Your goddess looks divine, accepting the praise with a warm smile. Morax, on the other hand, gazes out towards the crowd, sharp gold eyes piercing anything in his sight.

Morax – though you have nothing but respect for him – has always been a bit enigmatic to you. You can’t imagine what your Goddess sees in him. But their companionship has what lead you to become acquainted with her, so you’re not complaining.

Morax steps forth on stage, raising a hand. The crowd goes silent instantly.

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Morax’s voice is rich and calm. Beside you, your companion is sitting at full attention, gnawing on her bottom lip in anxiety. She startles as you place a hand over hers. She smiles thankfully, some of the tension leaving her, before returning her full attention to the couple on stage.

“This land has seen many years of fighting,” your Lord’s words are wispy yet firm, just like dust being blown through the wind. “Many, many people have suffered at the bloody hands of war. Such heinous acts stain the land red, spreading sorrow on every inch of the earth.”

She gathers a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is strong, that of a warrior who has fought in battle. “But not here. Guili will be – is – a place where there is respite. It’s the beginning of the future, a future where the monsters of today are nothing but a kids-bedtime story in the future.”

Guizhong touches her chest with one hand, the other extending out towards the crowd. “I make this vow to you now – my precious people – we will fight to protect the lives of each and every one of you. I promise you security, prosperity, and peace. One day, the bloodshed will end, and I promise you, when that time comes, when the dust has finally settled, we will lead you into the new age of Liyue. To this, I swear on the very ground I walk upon.”

There is nothing but pride, joy, and determination emanating from the crowd, applauding the Lady’s finest speech. Even Morax is smiling at her, the small corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

Cool fingers squeeze yours. Looking over, there are tears in your friend’s eyes. She blinks them away, the wind tousling her blue hair.

She’s beautiful. Your heart squeezes painfully as you fight the urge to lean over and kiss her.

You squeeze her hand back, letting all of your hopes, feelings, and things unsaid pool between the two of you.

---

There is an Adeptus at the Wangshu Inn.

You know little of the Adepti, but seeing the boy (being?) in front of you, there’s no doubt in your mind that he is one.

His sharp eyes slide over to meet yours, run up and down your person, before returning to your face, then back to staring at the marsh.

“Sir Xiao?” you ask. “I’ve brought you dinner.”

Xiao doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. You were warned he would be like this - bitterly stubborn and unresponsive.

You settle the plate down by your feet. “It’ll be here if you feel like eating.”

You wait a minute longer, but Xiao doesn’t make a peep. You sigh and turn to go back inside.

“Do you remember Guili?” he whispers suddenly, so quiet you nearly mistake it for being the wind.

You spin around. “Do I what?”

“Guili. Remember Guili.”

“…Remember? It’s an ancient ruin,” your brows furrow as you frown. “I’ve only been there maybe once or twice, passing by.”

A painful second goes by.

“Why, am I supposed to know something about it?”

From what you can see of his face, Xiao grimaces. “Nothing, just – just forget it.”

“You can’t just-”

“I said forget it,” he snaps, his voice cracking at the end of his words. “You don’t – I thought you – ” He rubs his face with his hand, breaths deeply. “It’s nothing. Please just leave.”

He gets up suddenly and leaps from the balcony before you can even speak. Leaving both the tofu and you alone on the balcony, a cold ache spreading through your heart.

---

She’s nervous, you think. Abnormally so.

Jueyun Karst is safe, kept watch over by Morax’s Adepti and the Qilin in the clouds. Only select few are allowed up where you are – (There was a smug steak of satisfaction when Cloud Retainer begrudgingly let you traverse her abode atop the mountains, Ganyu smiling gleefully as she held your hand.) – and even less are allowed to set foot on the sacred lands.

She’s been shifting for the past hour, unable to focus on conversation and jittery. Ever so often, she rubs her hands over her horns in a pacifying motion, then as if realizing what she’s doing, abruptly tears her hands away.

“Is the upcoming battle bothering you?” you ask, finally, not being able to stand her fidgeting much longer.

She stiffens, surprised that she’s been found out, and dips her head in embarrassment. “Oh. No, it’s not that…”

“…Ok. If not that, then what?”

She swallows thickly. She turns to you, taking both of your hands in hers, refusing to meet your eyes.

“I was wondering…I mean I hope,” she starts, nervously. “That after this is over…all of it…that maybe…you’d, um…”

You’re patient, gently prompting her, “I’d?”

“W-well, that we could…?” she trails off, squeezing your hands again. “That this…could be s-something more.”

Oh. Oh.

Your chest heats as you lean forwards, whispering her name to the wind. She squeaks raising her head.

“I like you,” you sigh, unable to stop the loving cadence in your tone when you say it. “A lot. So whatever concerns you have just know that…anything you want is…it’s all good.”

She’s silent for a moment as your heart pounds against your ribs. Slowly, she tilts her head towards yours, resting your foreheads together. Her cheeks are so hot, unlike the cryo vision strapped to her side.

“I like you a lot, too,” she says. “I don’t really have…any…experience with something like this but um…I’d like to try.”

Your heart soars, leaps, and does a flip twice over. You smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

She blinks, nodding her head.

“May I kiss you?”

She wets her lips with her tongue and nods again, vigorously.

You close the distance, firmly kissing her lips. They’re soft and plush, warmer than you’d imagined. (Because you have imagined this, many, many nights before.) A mix between a gasp and a pleasured sigh escapes her, the noise only heating you up further.

When you pull back, she’s turned three different shades of pink and her eyes are glazed. You rest your head against hers and wrap your arms around her waist, feeling the curves and dips of her body, squeezing at the skin there.

“Good?” you ask.

She nods, tucking her head onto your shoulder. “Mhm.”

At some point, you lie down together, tangled in limbs, listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing and heart beats as Liyue’s night sky sparkles with constellations.

It’s only much later, when you hear the screams, that you realize peace is fleeting in this world.

---

You pant heavily, setting the last box down on the ground and flop on the stairs. Five in total, weighing gods know how much. Each one filled to the brim with legal documents from Liyue Harbor. You had suffered through carrying them one-by-one up the stairs as the elevator had conveniently decided to break this morning.

You push the box with your foot, sliding it with the others against the wall. If this is how much paperwork the Inn gets, you don’t even want to know how much paperwork the Qixing have to deal with. (Then again, it was the Qixing that dictated the laws, so perhaps it was well deserved.)

Verr Goldet had taken one look at them and called it an early day, leaving you to handle closing.

At least your day is done now. You hang the keys up in their proper place, pet the cat goodnight, and begin blowing out the lanterns.

“Um…excuse me?”

The sudden voice startles you, turning towards the entrance. A figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight. You can’t make their identity out.

“Could I speak to Mrs. Goldet? It’s about the recent delivery of paperwork.”

“Mrs. Goldet is away right now; I could take a message?”

The person nods, steps through the threshold, and your mouth goes dry.

She’s tall. Eloquently dressed with hair the color of Glaze Lilies. It frames her face, falling down her back in delicate curls. As you stare, stary eyes blink back at you in shock.

She seems familiar.

“I’m…sorry…” she says, turning away quickly. “I-I’ll just come back tomorrow-”

The tassel of her outfit swings as she does a complete 180. Her hair is furled out, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. The sight sends a throb to your temple, the scene feeling reminiscent of…something.

Your head is aching.

“W-wait!” you reach out and grab her arm, catching on the cuff of her sleeve. The motion rattles the necklace around her neck – no, not a necklace – a bell. The chime crisp like morning frost, soft like the way she feels, like the way she-

Pain bursts from your temples, piercing both sides of your head. You cry, loosing your grip in the process. There’s a muffled yell before the world blurs, spins, and sends you tumbling down, down, down, into the dark.

And then, there’s a hallow nothing.

---

She comes to you in a dream, but Liyue is not as it once was.

There is fire everywhere you look, the ground scorched by flames or destroyed in the aftermath of intense fights. The air is thick with smog, choking you with each gasp you take. One of your legs isn’t working and blood pools through your fingers pressed tightly against your side. You don’t know how much further you can make it.

You hobble through destroyed fields, corpses littering the ground, blood seeping into the earth. All of the glaze lilies are gone, wiped out in the destruction.

You cross the river on one leg. You slip on a rock and lose your footing, collapsing into the water. It’s freezing, the sensation colliding with the burn of your wound. You shiver and suck air through your chattering teeth, dragging yourself using your arms. Your side screams in pain at every pull, black spots dance in your vision. You grit your teeth and dig your fingers into the dirt, pushing forward.

Not yet, you can’t die just yet.

You exhaust yourself at the edge of what used to be the flower field, rolling onto your back and wheezing at the sky. This is as far as you’ll go. Mud soaks through your clothes. You dig your fingers into it, grounding yourself from the searing pain.

You hear the chime of her bell before you see her, crisp and pleasant, soothing your mind. She cries out your name, fear and desperation in her voice. You call back, a cracked, soft groan.

The bell draws closer and she rushes to your side, kneeling in the dirt. Her hair’s a mess, dirty and singed. Her sleeve is torn, blood dripping down her pale forearm. She pulls you onto her lap and rushes to tend to your wounds, pressing a hand to your side. She’s never been a healer, only a fighter. A strong fighter. Stronger than you could have ever hoped to be.

“You’ll be fine,” she says to herself more than you. She nudges you gently. “Please stay awake just a bit longer.”

You take her hand and squeeze it tight. Smiling takes all of the will you have, and even then, it’s weak. “It’s alright.”

She shakes her head. Her eyes – such pretty eyes – wide and filled with tears. “Please don’t go. I can’t…”

“Morax,” you croak. “There’s still him.” Your goddess, Guizhong might be gone, but he’s still alive. As enigmatic as he is, you know she’ll be safe in his care.

“I care about that!” she shouts, for the first time ever, her anger directed at you. “I’m not talking about a god to follow, I’m talking about you!”

She’s sobbing now, her eyes swollen red, teeth clenched tightly through her gasps. She curls around you, fingers grasping at your bloody clothes.

You lean your head into her, offering what little comfort someone dying can offer their partner.

“I’m sorry, Ganyu…” The life is fading from your body, your fingers and toes are so, so cold. “For leaving you like this…”

She gives up on the wound, wrapping her arms tightly around you, burying her head onto your chest, over her heart. Pitiful whimpers leave her mouth, awful sounds that make your heart ache.

“I love you,” she confesses, the words coming out as a sob. “I love you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I love you too, please…”

But the words don’t come. The ache in your side is almost unbearable, growing worse and worse with each shallow breath you manage. You fight to keep your eyelids open, but you’re so tired. And sleep has never been more appealing.

“Rest, now,” she coos, combing your matted hair from your face. You feel the small, delicate press of chapped lips on your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The void calls, gathering you into its arms, wrapping you in a warm bundle; warning you that your time’s up. You fight against it a bit longer, mustering up the last of your consciousness to tell Ganyu – you friend, partner, lover, one final thing.

“Forgive yourself.”

She bites her lip, fresh tears forming in her eyes. She nods. You’re relieved.

Her form wavers, and you know you can’t stay any longer. You let your eyelids close, your breathing slows, and you give yourself to eternal sleep.

…

..

.

“Sweet Dreams…” she whispers after a long while, in a soft, saddened voice.

---

You wake up alone, sweating in your bed, in tears, and remember.

---

The climb to Quicing Village is long and straining. You could have taken the path to the west, but stubborn as you were, wanted to save time by scaling the mountain.

You don’t know what drew you to this place, only a tugging at your heart forcing you forward. A firm belief that you’re heading where you need to go.

It’s easier the further up you go. You’ve done this before, in another life, as another person. You remember scaling mountains all the time, just to pick the freshest Qingxin petals for her. You used to eat them together, on the tops of Mount Azjong, legs dangling in midair, watching the birds go by, the wind nipping at your skin.

It’s not long before you reach the top, where the path dips to overlook the village. Fields of red, blue, and yellow stretching over the lands.

You let yourself wander, talking to the villagers as you go. Everyone is so nice, excited to talk to a new stranger in town. The air’s so fresh and the grass is so green, it reminds you of those days in the fields of glaze lilies.

You almost stop breathing when a familiar scent flows by on the wind. Sweet, fresh, cool. One you’re very well acquainted with. You rush forward, running towards the smell faster than your legs can carry you.

She’s sitting in a field of flowers. Just like the ones in your dreams, except there’s only one glaze lily, resting by her knees and cupped in her palms. You slow down and take the stone paths carefully, as to not to disturb the environment.

You stop just behind her, clearing your throat. She startles with a jump, turning around. Your face heats in embarrassment.

“Ah…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Her lips, which are slightly parted, close. She shakes her head. “It’s quite alright…I was just enjoying the day.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

She pauses, then nods wordlessly. You settle down in the grass beside her, a visible gap between the two of you. There are many things you are unsure of. Does she even want you here anymore? Does she just want to forget what happened?

“[First] is your name, correct?” she says eventually.

“Oh – yes, it is.”

She nods, staring out over the river. Another silence befalls you.

“I’ve dreamt of you,” you blurt. “For a while. It comes back in chunks. The memories of my past.”

“That usually happens with reincarnation. The soul is the same but the body and mind doesn’t remember, plagued by shadows of a past life.”

You swallow down your nerves, trying not to focus on how your voice shakes. “In that past life, were we…were we…lovers?”

Her fists clench on her lap. She takes a shaky inhale and nods.

“Oh…” Is all you can say. You knew – know? But to heart it out loud is…

“You look just like you did all those years ago,” Ganyu murmurs sadly. “I’ve never forgotten your face.”

A heavy, hot weight settles in your chest. “How long has it been?”

“Thousands of years…since before the Arcon war,” Ganyu rubs her eyes with her palm. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

You wait until she composes herself before you speak again. “I remember in the past, you asked me to share a future with you.”

Ganyu turns to face you, and desire flares up inside your chest. Dark and powerful, urging you to pull her close and into your arms.

“I did.” She says.

“I’m not…the same person from the past. I don’t know who or how I was, and I don’t know if I’ll ever return to remembering anything. But…”

Cool fingers rest on your lap, you shudder at the touch. Ganyu smiles gently, and there’s a feeling of deja-vu when she says. “But…?”

“But if you’ll have me, I would like – I’d really like to – to try. With you.”

Ganyu scoots to the side, until your thighs are touching, and hums softly. “I think I’d like that, too.”

You let out a shaky, relieved breath and squeeze her fingers tightly. She smells sweet and floral, the scent overwhelming your body, making your head drift and spin. You’ve never smelled anything more right.

“I hope this isn’t rude, but you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

She flushes deeply, smile spreading across her face. “You told me that before, thousands of years ago, when you first met me.”

You smile back, tucking a piece of stray hair from her face. “Well, it’s true.”

---

As much as two immortals (???) might have just rushed back into dating, neither of you wanted that.

You two talked. A lot. About your current lives and past. You talked about Wangshu, about your occupation, about Xiao. (“Don’t mind him,” Ganyu had said. “Xiao’s always a bit cold, even to the other Adepti.”) Ganyu talked about the harbor, about your past lives in Guili.

You might not ever get your memories fully back. But even if you don’t, you feel surprisingly calm and accepting of it.

At the end of the day, after both of your throats were hoarse from conversation and your eyes wet from emotion, you both decided to part ways.

She returns to Liyue Harbor. You return to the Wangshu Inn.

Temporarily, you promised, until you figured yourself out. Liyue Harbor is daunting, the populated streets reminding you too much of Guili, of memories you can’t remember, that make your head ache terribly.

You stay at Wangshu. In the mornings, you mop floors, dust paintings, and help fix the elevator. At evenings, you go to the top floor and eat plates of Almond Tofu with Xiao, staring longingly towards the Harbor.

And at night, when you go to bed, you don’t dream of the past, but of your future.

---

One day, when you return to an empty room, and your heart aches with loneliness and the desire to see her becomes too painful to bear, you decide it’s time to go.

---

Liyue is calm, today.

The clouds drift by idly, whisps of white against blue as birds soar on the random wind currents. The sun shines high in the sky, slowly making its way across the map.

“Stop moving,” you grumble, locking your arms tightly around her, burying your face into her chest.

Ganyu chuckles, carding her hands through your hair. “I’m sorry, did I disturb you?”

“Yes…I was having a good nap.” Which is true. Ever since your reunion, you’ve been sleeping more soundly than you ever have in years. Perhaps it’s because you don’t dream of the old anymore, don’t float through your memories like a puppet being pulled on a string.

“You’ve had enough time to rest, I think,” she says tartly. “Thousands of years’ worth.”

You lift your head and pout. “You’re so cruel,” But your words don’t hold any bite.

Ganyu smiles mischievously. Her hand trails down your spine, drawing a shiver from you. “Do you think it’s unfair? To not indulge me after I’ve waited for you all this time?”

You drag yourself up to be eye level with her. Your hand cups the back of her head, trailing up to the base of her horns. A gasp escapes her lips and her eyes flutter when you tenderly pet them.

“If you wanted my attention,” you whisper, lips an inch from hers. “You could have just asked.”

Ganyu pulls you down by the neck, sighs and gasps being lost to the wind.

---

Much later, when the two of you were sweating and grass was stuck in both of your hair, you lay together, dozing under the night sky. Ganyu lays curled to your side, feet tucked underneath her, a content purr vibrating from her throat. You wonder if all Qilin do that.

As you pet her hair, fingers rubbing curiously over her empty ring finger, a deep feeling of content seeps into your bones.

You’re home, at last.

You kiss her forehead, joining her into a peaceful dream.

[whumpurr]

Adrien and Sawdust part 7

cw: pet whump, whump recovery, male caretaker, male whumpee, dehumanized whumpee, conditioned whumpee, dissociation, self harm, bodily mutilation, blood, knives

masterlist

--

Adrien almost fell multiple times as he ran downstairs as quickly as he could. His feet stumbled and he nearly fell down the stairs but only managed to keep himself upright by the handrail and the sheet speed he was going at.

He didn’t see Sawdust at first, but he knew that he was in the kitchen. He heard sobbing and wailing from behind the counter, and he followed that.

“Sawdust! Hey, hey, I’m-” He hooked around the corner of kitchen island and was greeted by the bony form of his pet, bright red blood streaming down one side of his head and soaking into his shirt and hair. One of Sawdust’s hands, now freed from the duct tape, was cupped over his ear, fingers all red with blood. Adrien dropped to his knees next to the pet.

“Hey, it’s okay, shit, I’m gonna call someone.” His hands hovered around Sawdust for a moment before going to fish his phone out of his pocket. He dialed the emergency number for the hospital and crushed the phone to his ear with his shoulder, using his hands to gently urge Sawdust’s hand away from his ear.

“Hello?” He said into the phone as soon as he got someone on the other line.

“Hello, sir, what’s your medical emergency and address?”

“My pet he- fuck- I think he cut his own ear off? I need help.” Adrien said, trying his best to keep his words concise. There was a beat of silence from the other end before the person returned.

“Sir, are you speaking about your… pet?”

“Y-yeah? One of the person ones? Should I uh- should I have called a vet?”

“No sir, I’m afraid both hospitals and veterinary clinics do not service those kinds of pets. Have a good day.”

“Hey, hang on-!”

The line went dead.

Sawdust was still howling on the floor, and the blood was beginning to drip onto the floor.

“Sir, Master, your pet is sorry!” Sawdust sobbed. “Sor-sorry for the- the mess on the floor, sorry, Master!” His voice was high and reedy and rough from the screaming, Adrien could barely understand his words through his tears and wobbly lips.

“It’s okay, let me see, let me see.” He reached up and snatched a roll of paper towels from the counter, gently adjusting Sawdust’s head so he could look at the wound. He couldn’t even really see that much through all the blood, it made him a little sick to look at. He tore off some of the paper towel and pressed it to the wound, using his other hand and more of the paper to wipe away the blood from around it as best he could, but more blood just kept gushing out.

“Your pet, I-” Sawdust hiccupped, “I’m your property Ma-Master! I shouldn’t h-have damag- ngh- damaged your property!” He screamed. He was shaking so much, shivering all over. His whole body was taut and tense, not pulling away but certainly not leaning into any contact with Adrien.

“Shh, it’s alright, try to breathe, okay? You’re gonna be fine.” Adrien tried to soothe Sawdust, even though his own voice trembled. The pet was crying so hard that he almost couldn’t manage a breath.

The blood cleaned up quickly, Adrien at least getting it to the point where he could see the wound. It was a jagged, uneven, diagonal cut across the shell of Sawdust’s ear. Adrien didn’t know where the piece that he cut off went, but he didn’t really have time to care about that.

“I have a first aid kit somewhere, will you be okay if I go get it?” Adrien said, tentatively pulling his hands back, only for Sawdust’s bony, bloody fingers to wrap around his wrist. The grip wasn’t tight at all, and Sawdust didn’t pause his wailing to look at Adrien, but Adrien was compelled to stay. He remained on his knees and continued to hold the paper towel over Sawdust’s ear.

“Okay, we can uh- just do real first aid stuff later.” He nodded, trying to seem resolute. “You’re gonna be okay, just-”

“Ma- Master,” Sawdust squeaked out. He reached one of his shaky hands out, and picked up the bloody knife, leaving a smear of bright red on the white kitchen floor. Resting the knife on Adrien’s lap, he continued to cry. “Please p-punish your pet, your pet is so- so- sorry-”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Adrien snatched the knife and put it behind him, further away from his pet. “I’m not gonna do that, I won’t hurt you. You didn’t- look, I just won’t punish you.”

That sentence forced a scream out of Sawdust that was so hoarse and so pained, so entirely filled with despair. It looked and sounded like that declaration hurt more than the actual injury did. All the strength was sapped from his body, he was sat on his folded legs and leaned down until his forehead was against the cold tiles and just wailed, hands pulled close to his chest. Adrien chase his head down with his hand, keeping the paper towel to Sawdust’s ear in the hopes that it will stop bleeding.

He watched the feeble, bony figure on his kitchen floor. Adrien was at a loss for what to do.

--

Sawdust was at a loss for what to do. He didn’t understand. His master took away his ears, he forced him to eat, he ran right to his pet after it damaged his property, and he wouldn’t punish it.

What was Sawdust even good for?

He wanted nothing more than for Master to just punish him already, absolve him of the guilt of all these bad things he’s done. The guilt of the mistakes, of forcing Master to care for him and feed him and house him. It wasn’t fair.

Sawdust didn’t deserve any of these kindnesses. They made his head and heart hurt, they made him want to cry and beg. He had hoped that this would either satisfy master so he could get his ears back, or that it would anger Master enough to finally hurt him. He couldn’t stand living in this state of limbo forever, Master not praising him but not truly punishing him either.

He’s never had to think so much before. He wasn’t supposed to think like this. In his old life he had to do was follow the directions from his master, and let his stupid head grow even dumber from disuse. But now he was constantly guessing what he was supposed to do, why Master had him in the first place. Why was master devoting so much to a stupid pet who didn’t have a purpose? One who didn’t deserve it?

Did Sawdust… not deserve a purpose?

His head hurt.

--

Sawdust screamed and screamed towards the floor. Adrien didn’t know if it was right to put a hand on his back, but he did it anyways, stroking that expanse of skin as soothingly as he could manage.

Finally, finally, Sawdust stopped wailing and went limp and panting on the floor. Adrien pulled the paper towel back, and it didn’t seem like more blood was welling up in the wound for now.

“Come on, come on,” Adrien dropped the bloody clump of paper on the floor and scooped Sawdust up in his arms. The pet’s face was lax, eyes distant and not seeming to track or recognize anything. He was loose in Adrien’s arms, save for the occasional sniffle or jump in his chest as his breath hitched. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet with tears.

Adrien laid him down on the sofa in his living room, deciding that he’ll just throw the cushions’ covers in the wash if he had to. With Sawdust in such a state, he didn’t reach out when Adrien left to get the first aid kit.

Adrien had to gently push and pull Sawdust’s head to get him to tilt it so he could apply the ointment and gauze onto it and wrap it up. The pet didn’t even wince when Adrien handled it.

“I don’t know if you… If you can hear me, I guess.” Adrien sat down on the floor by Sawdust’s head, “But I really, really don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m sorry.” He felt kind of stupid talking to Sawdust when he was like this, showing no response.

“Obviously you’re not- not happy here, I don’t know. Should I find someone else to take you? I don’t know anyone, but I, I could probably find someone.”

Sawdust blinked slowly, and shifted a little. A little bit of recognition came back to his eyes.

“It’s fucking obvious I haven’t been doing a good job with you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve given you a home that makes you feel like you need to do- do this to yourself.”

Silence stretched between them. Sawdust’s fingers twitched where they rested on the fabric of the couch.

“I should’ve thought more about this before I did it.” Adrien reached out and ever so gently pet Sawdust’s head. “I’ll try to find someone that can take you, give you a better home.”

With small, stained, damaged fingers, Sawdust weakly held on to Adrien’s wrist.

taglist: @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @neuro-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @whumpcreations @dancinglifeboat @pinkraindropsfell @looptheloup @cowboy-anon @meetmeinhellcroutons @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine

[sdr2lovemail]

I just noticed that you are alive again! So um.. I've been thinking for QUITE a while of a relationship Ultimate Impostor x Ultimate Leader (in the killing game ig?), idk why. If the requests are closed feel free to ignore this. Thank you!

You could say that I am a fan of Imposter's work. Even tho there is not a lot of content about them out there I still love them dearly.

And yes I died for a minute but have risen from the grave to continue my writing career. I hope you enjoy what I have written my friend because I absolutely love it.

⚔Mod Peko⚔

Spoilers for chapter 1

The Ultimate Imposter disguised as Byakuya Togami and the Ultimate Leader butt heads but also kinda wanna kiss each other

Teenagers and a killing game are bound to fall into chaos. Teenagers, a killing game, and no supervision will cause more chaos. That’s why they need a leader. Someone strong and brave to guide them. However two ultimates wanting to be that leader, teenagers, a killing game, and no supervision will cause even more chaos.

Breakfast was a usually calm time. Everyone just wanted to eat and get on with finding a way off this forced school trip. However there were some mornings where everyone seemed to be full of energy. Akane and Nekomaru were engaged in a fierce 1v1 training session. Chairs, tables, and food flying throughout the air from the power of their moves. The restaurant was in total disarray and with your talent of being a leader you must do something to calm the crowd. Standing up you set your arms behind your back and call out to your classmates.

“Everyone! This is-”

“Sit down, common folk. You will all cease this foolish behavior and stop wasting food.”

“Huh?”

At the mention of wasting food Akane quickly stops her fighting. She then pulls up a table and chair from the mess of the restaurant and begins to chow down. You look at where the voice came from and see Twogami sitting at a table with a plate. Just because this guy is loaded he thinks he can be a better leader than you? Oh you will just have a quick word with him to set the record straight. With quick strides you tap him on the shoulder giving him your best stern look. This look helped you strike the feeling of order into people. But Twogami doesn’t look impressed at all?! No you can’t let him see you falter. Standing up straighter than ever you begin to speak.

‘Hey what’s the big idea? I’m the Ultimate leader. I don’t need your help guiding our class.” You told him with a grim expression. Twogami gave you a look over before setting down his fork. He wipes his mouth off with a napkin before standing to face you. His intimidation factor was off the charts. Can money buy such a scary aura?! After adjusting his glasses he begins to speak with a sigh.

“Listen I, Byakuya Twogami, am much better suited to be in charge. You may have your impeccable wits and title but that is nothing compared to being next in the Togami line. Now are we done here? I would like to finish my food”

Not even giving you a chance to respond he goes right back to eating. Even with your ultimate status this guy intimidates you a lot. But you will not be backing down. He thinks he’s so high and mighty you’ll show him high and mighty.

The days feel like they’re getting heavier. Monokuma’s annoying voice rings in your ears. There’s no way you’d believe that memory loss garbage….And even if you did, you had to stay strong for everyone. Twogami’s party did nothing to calm the tense feeling in the air. You decided you were going to check this abandoned building from top to bottom before anyone steps foot inside.

You do not see Nagito when you first step in. Maybe he’s cleaning somewhere else. Teruteru was said to be in the kitchen. Entering the main room of the building you see Twogami rifling through what looks to be a metal case. Hearing the floors creak under your weight he looks over. Upon seeing you he sends a glare.

“And what are you doing here? I don’t remember you having to prepare anything.” There was a doubtful tone to his voice. Twogami was trying to let this party go off without a hitch. And he wasn’t going to let some commoner ruin his plans. Though behind the rich boy costume Imposter did feel kinda bad. They felt like they were trampling all over your pride with their Byakuya act. However this was their ultimate. And as Twogami….No. Just as themself, if that even existed, they will keep their classmates safe. Even if they have to hurt some feelings.

“As a leader it is my duty to keep everyone in order and assure maximum safety. I plan to do a total sweep of the place before the party.” And like he did to you, you did not give him a chance to answer. You quickly turn around and exit out into the hallway missing the look of awe on Twogami’s face. Walking past the fire door you come up to the kitchen. Before you can reach for the door it swings open revealing Nagito. Strange….If Teruteru was already in the kitchen there was no need for Nagito to be in there. The lucky student passed by with a smile yet spoke no words towards you. Also strange. Nagito usually said something when passing. He deemed it rude not to say hello to an ultimate.

Entering the kitchen you see Teruteru at the counter. He doesn’t seem to notice you coming in. The usual smile on his face is replaced with a look of fear and he’s shaking like a leaf. Stepping closer seems to have caught his attention as he jumps. The look of fear is swiftly changed into a smile yet he’s still shaking. Teruteru then grabs a knife and begins chopping at some vegetables. Seems as if he’s trying to make it seem like he was simply taking a break.

“W-Why hello there. Heh, what could I do for you?” He’s shaken up quite a bit. Not a single flirty remark in that sentence and Teruteru sure did like to tease about your strong authority. You stand tall and look down at the chef. He visibly shrinks back. Looking him dead in the eye you start to command him.

“You will tell me what you have discussed with Nagito Komaeda.”

This caused Teruteru to tense up. Setting down the knife he grabs a comb from his pocket and begins to bring it through his hair. Though there isn’t a hair out of place on his pompadour. Appears to be a nervous habit.

“I uh….I have no idea what you mean mon ami~. We were simply discussing plans for the upcoming party.” Teruteru had tried to come off as collected but you knew better. He wasn’t making eye contact and he was constantly fidgeting. Nagito told him something and you were going to find out what.

“Teruteru Hanamura! I command you to tell me what Nagito had told you. Simple party plans would not have such an impact on your demeanor.”

This seemed to have caused a reaction in him. He began to blubber as words poured out of his mouth like a dam cracking under pressure.

“He came in here and told me that he had plans to murder someone at the party with the knife he had hidden under one of the tables in the dining room. He planned to overload the breaker in here with irons in the storage room to cause a blackout so he could grab the knife and kill someone during the party. I-I begun to form my own plan of stopping him….by….killing him?” The last part of his word vomit stuck with Teruteru. He would’ve had someone’s blood on his hands and would send the rest of his class to their own demise. “Oh my god I was going to kill him!” Teruteru then sinks to his knees before you.

Your face softens as you see the mess of a chef on the ground. Nagito was planning a murder? Why would he share this information with Teruteru? Dropping down to his level you set a careful hand on Teruteru’s back. “Listen. I’m going to go grab Twogami and you’re going to tell him what happened. And we’ll come up with a solution.” You normally wouldn’t call for backup, but as this was his party you felt he had the right to know.

You cautiously leave the kitchen and begin to look for the blond. Not able to find him in the building you exit to the hotel grounds. Noticing the while suit and blonde hair you call out to him and ask for him to come back. Leading him to the kitchen where Teruteru still sits slumped on the ground he listens to what you already know.

A look of disgust crosses Twogami’s face before he sets off to the main room. After announcing your departure to Teruteru, you follow him. Nagito is there setting up tables and dusting the furniture. He was about to offer the two of you a cheerful greeting but is cut off by your demand for him to exit the grounds. Not wanting to upset an ultimate that is clearly in higher ranks than he is, Nagito does not question it. He leaves the abandoned building to rest in his cottage to wait for permission to be allowed back in.

Looking under the tables you find the knife that Teruteru had mentioned. Grabbing it proceeds to coat your hand in wet paint. So Nagito had just planted this. But what’s the paint for?

“Set the knife in the duralumin case I brought on the left. I am currently using it to store anything I deem unsafe.”

You let out a scoff before setting the knife in the case. He sure does love bossing people around even in dire situations. Well….I guess that’s your talent so you can’t really speak. After doing a check of the rest of the tables, Twogami walks up to you with something in his hand. It’s a handkerchief with the Togami family crest. Imposter spent many hours perfecting the stitching of the symbol. You give him a confused look about the offering. Seeing the expression he rolls his eyes.

“Close your mouth before flies start to swarm. This is to wipe your hand off. I don’t need paint smears ruining the image of my party.”

“What? I can’t wipe paint on something as expensive as that. That handkerchief probably cost more than my house. I’ll just go wash it in the bathroom.”

Upset by your stubborn nature, Twogami grabs your wrist and begins to wipe the paint off himself. After your hand is clean he drops the cloth into your hand. “I expect that to be washed before it’s returned to me. Now I have some important matters to discuss.”

Stuffing the handkerchief into your pocket you give Twogami your full attention.

“I have decided that after this little incident we need to up the security. I would ask Nekomaru but I wish to keep this between us. Letting the public know that two people were planning a murder would cause chaos. When it’s time for the party you will help me conduct body searches. I’d like for you to keep an eye on the party with me to make sure no suspicious activity is at play.”

While normally you would make a fuss about him bossing you around with people’s lives at stake it was simply not the time for that. Nodding once he finishes speaking, you and Twogami complete one last look of the place before the party starts.

It’s time for the party and the two of you are set up outside of the abandoned building. After checking everyone and confiscating anything deemed dangerous, the party is in full swing. Everything is going smoothly. 11:30 was nearing and at the corner of your eye you see Nagito inch closer to the table. Knowing you shut the irons off you pay this no mind. There’s no way he’d try to pull anything when everyone can see him. A quick look of confusion crosses his face as the lights are still on. The confused expression is swapped for one of despair. There’s a creepy smile on his face and his eyes are clouded. Even if the blackout did not occur Nagito can still pull through with his plan.

He suddenly flips the table cloth over and goes to reach for his knife. Everyone at the party has eyes on him. Before he can fully register that his knife is in fact missing Nagito is pushed to the ground. His arms are pressed against his back and his face is squished into the floor. Multiple confused cries echo throughout the dining hall. Nagito recognized this tactic. After hours upon hours of researching the ultimates he’s sharing a class with he could easily tell that this was your work.

Twogami with Nekomaru in tow walks over to you and the detained lucky student. An agitated expression is on the heir’s face. He looks down at Nagito.

“You dare to think that I would let your plan continue? [Name] and I knew about your scheme and were quick to put a stop to it. And the fact that you would try to pull through with it in broad light is despicable.”

Anger, disgust, and confusion are present in the crowd of your classmates. Trying to make sense of it all Akane speaks up.

“I’m so friggin’ confused. What plan did Nagito have? Need me to beat him up for ya?”

You were quick to diminish the violent thought. “No, that will not be necessary as he has already been disarmed.”

“Nagito had planned out a murder.”

Twogami’s words caused a commotion in the dining hall. After hearing the noise from the kitchen, Teruteru cautiously enters the room fearing the worst. Though a feeling of relief washed over him after seeing Nagito on the ground.

Nekomaru lets out a strangled noise. His teeth are clenched and his fists tightened.

“You were going to murder one of your classmates? THAT’S INEXCUSABLE! Please [Name] allow me to detain him somewhere away from everyone. SOMEONE LIKE HIM CANNOT WALK FREEEEE!”

Looking over to Twogami as if silently discussing what to do he sends you a nod. Removing Nagito from your grasp he is quickly put into Nekomaru’s. The coach is quick to remove him from the premises. With a sigh Twogami faces your classmates. Pushing his glasses up he begins to apologise.

“I am sorry you all had to see that. And I am sorry that my exquisite party must draw to a close here. Exit the building and head to your cottage for the night.”

Though shaken, everyone proceeds to leave in groups. No one wants to walk back alone fearing that someone will try something. With just you and Twogami left he turns to face you.

“That was quite impressive. What you did back there was helpful in getting Nagito detained. I believe that we should come to an agreement. Yes we are fine separately but together I feel that we could do an outstanding job at keeping everyone safe.”

Twogami extended a chubby hand out for you to shake. This handshake would seal the two of you into a partnership. One of which would keep your class safe. Looking from his hand to his face then back to his hand you sit there in thought. This could be a wonderful idea. With two people working together that’s like double the safety. With a smile you shake his hand giving it a tight squeeze.

“I think I’d like that Twogami! From here on out the two of us are now Jabberwock Island’s health and safety committee.”

[eliemo]

Solitary

Summary: Logan wakes up. He wasn't supposed to this time.

TWs: aftermath of a suicide attempt, implied/referenced self harm, self hatred and self esteem issues, hopeful ending

Notes: Mind the tags pls, I wrote this with no plan at like 1am. Platonic LAMP

When Logan woke up, the first thing he registered was a splitting headache, white hot pain spreading down his head to his spine like his skull was being snapped in two.

The next was the pulsing agony in both of his arms, shooting up to his shoulders with a sudden intensity that made him gasp before he could stop himself, only to be met with another stabbing pain in his throat.

“Hey hey hey, easy.” A vaguely familiar voice filtered in from somewhere nearby, but Logan was pretty sure the pain would only worsen if he opened his eyes to look. “Easy, Lo. You’re safe, you’re ok.”

All Logan was able to manage was an awful sounding croak. He felt someone running their hand gently through his hair, another holding the side of his face.

“Breathe, kiddo. You’re ok.”

Patton. A bit of the rising alarm faded when he recognized the moral side’s voice, but something still pulled at his chest when he realized how scared Pat sounded. What was going on?

“Can you open your eyes?” Patton asked, soft and concerned right beside his ear. “We really miss you, Logan.”

Patton’s voice broke a bit at the end, miserable and pleading, and that was enough for Logan to risk pain that came with the sudden light, making another weak noise in the back of his throat as he pried his eyes open, surprised and a little frustrated over how much effort it took.

Like he’d warily expected, the barrage of light did feel like someone was repeatedly taking a knife to his eyes, but it wasn't nearly as intense as he’d anticipated.

It took a second for everything to come into focus, but when it did Logan could make out that he was on the couch in the living room, a dark blue blanket draped over him, the curtains closed over the windows to keep the sunlight out of the dim room.

Patton was crouched beside him, fingers still running through Logan’s hair, slow and gentle. Virgil was perched on the other end of the couch, eyeshadow smeared and staining his face with dried black tears.

Roman was standing beside the armchair just a few paces away, looking like he’d just been startled out of his seat, face pale, eyes wide and shiny.

They all looked...awful. They looked about as bad as Logan felt right now.

“Wh-what?” It hurt to talk, voice raspy and shaking, but the confusion was only making his head hurt more. “What’s happening, I—”

“I’ll, uh- I’ll get him some water,” Roman said hastily, failing to hide the worried glance he sent Patton’s way. “Hang in there, Teach.”

Roman was gone before Logan could say anything, and his gaze wandered instead to Virgil who was still planted by his feet, shifting anxiously where he sat, glancing between Logan and Patton like he was waiting for someone to speak.

Luckily Roman wasn’t gone for long, hurrying back into the room within seconds and practically thrusting a glass of water in Logan’s face.

He moved to sit up and take it, only to hiss at the pain shooting up his arms at the tiniest of movements, falling limply back onto the cushions.

“Don’t use your hands, honey,” Patton said, a second too late. “Here, let me help you, ok?”

Any other time Logan would have protested. He was perfectly capable of drinking a cup of water by himself. But right now all he had the energy to do was give a tiny nod and let Patton help him to sit up.

He didn’t have the energy to fight, keeping his aching arms under the blanket and letting Patton bring the cup to his lips. The cold water eased the pain in his throat somewhat, even if it took a frustratingly long time for Logan to swallow a few sips.

“There you go,” Patton said when he saw done, and Logan hated how overly gentle the other side was being with him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Logan said, despite how badly everything hurt. “What...happened?”

He saw the three of them exchange worried glances among themselves, trying and failing once again to hide it from Logan. His head was still too heavy to remember what had put him in this position in the first place, but their concern was only worsening his rising anxiety. Or maybe he was just picking up on some of Virgil’s distress.

The anxious side shifted again, brows drawn together as he looked Logan over. “Do you not...remember what happened?”

Logan took a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing against the lump in his throat, taking a moment to catalogue his aching body, his headache, and the searing pain shooting up his arms.

“Was I...injured?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Patton immediately burst into tears. To his dismay, Roman and Virgil’s eyes started welling up at the same time.

Oh, god. Logan was even less prepared to deal with their emotions than he usually was.

“Is that…” he trailed off, swallowed, and tried again. “Is that a yes?”

Patton only began crying harder, and before Logan could try to apologize the moral side was throwing himself forward, arms wrapped around Logan as best he could, sobbing loudly into his chest.

“Patton, I—”

“I’m so sorry!” Patton wailed, only further growing Logan’s confusion. “I’m so sorry Lo, I’m so sorry! We didn’t- we didn’t know! I swear we had no idea!”

“Let him take a moment to wake up, Padre,” Roman said, still hovering anxiously. He and Virgil were being much quieter about their distress, but both of their faces were soaked with tears. “But we...we really are sorry. Gosh, Logan we’re so so sorry.”

Logan screwed his eyes shut again, still coming up blank when he tried to connect the dots. “What...what on earth are you apologizing for?”

“For not realizing you felt that way, Lo.” Virgil moved to put a hand on Logan’s leg, refusing to look the logical side in the eyes. “Jeez- you’re family and we never...we never noticed.”

Patton was still bawling into his shirt, Virgil tightened his own hold, Roman began pacing as he tended to do when he was stressed, and Logan still had absolutely no clue what was going on. Why wouldn’t someone just tell him what had happened?

“Patton...” Logan stopped, first from the pain that came with raising his hand to touch Patton’s shoulder, then from the shock of seeing his arms. “I—”

“Don’t look, baby,” Patton said, gently guiding his hands back under the blanket like Logan hadn’t gotten a clear view of blood stained bandages wrapped around his arms from his wrists to his elbows. “You’re ok.”

His arms were...had he...?

Roman cleared his throat, and Logan looked over at the sound. The Prince held a wrinkled piece of paper in his hand, crumpled and a little stained, and the writing Logan could just barely make out was suddenly alarmingly familiar.

“We, uhm. We found your note.”

And just like that it all came rushing back- the overwhelming pain, the emotions, everything spiraling out of his usually so strict control as he finally let everything out onto a flimsy piece of notebook paper.

He’d lost control, no longer able to see a better way out. All he’d been focused on was the horrible pain in his arms soaked with blood that signified an ending he hadn’t even been sure he really wanted.

It came back in a fragmented blur, and Logan abruptly remembered that he wasn’t supposed to have woken up.

Oh. Oh no.

“I am...so sorry,” Logan said, at a loss for what else to do. “It was never my intention for you all to—”

“Your intention was pretty fucking clear,” Virgil snapped, and Logan was taken aback by the hostility in Anxiety’s voice. “Jesus Christ, Lo! What were you thinking?”

“Virgil,” Patton snapped, but the wavering in his voice overshadowed any vehemence. “That’s...let’s calm down, kiddo. Ok?”

Virgil wiped his eyes with his sleeves, shoulders hunched as he crossed his arms and stared at the ground. Logan’s chest squeezed, guilt and panic overwhelming.

“How long was I...asleep?”

Patton gave a shaky sigh, going back to running his hands through Logan’s hair. “Since last night. It’s...I think three in the afternoon now.”

Logan’s stomach dropped, and the pain in his arms flared up again as he struggled to sit up, only to fall limp against the back of the couch. He’d been out all day, forcing the other sides to stop what they were doing and look after him.

He couldn’t imagine how much damage and stress he’d caused. The one thing he’d been trying to avoid doing any more of.

“I’m very sorry,” Logan said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “My intentions were not to be an inconvenience or cause any unnecessary stress. I will attempt to get back on schedule as soon as possible and—”

“Get back on schedule?”

Logan couldn’t remember hearing Virgil yell like this, shrinking back into Patton’s arms before he could stop himself, the anxious side having stood up from the couch, eyes wide and brimming with new tears.

Logan cleared his throat, struggling to speak with his heart hammering in his chest. “I...apologize for—”

“You think we’re upset over the schedule?” Virgil snapped, flinching when Roman moved closer to put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for you to wake up after you tried to kill yourself and you think we’re upset because we’re behind schedule? Are you fucking serious, Logan?”

The screaming eventually dissolved into ragged sobs, and Logan watched as Roman gathered Virgil up his arms and pulled him close, the anxious side burying his face into the Prince’s chest.

Roman hadn’t stopped silently crying, silent tears sliding down his cheeks as he pressed his nose to Virgil’s hair, trembling with the strength it took to hold back his sobs. And Patton hadn’t let go of him, half of Logan’s shirt soaked with the moral side’s tears.

He hadn’t...expected this. Any of it.

Honestly, Logan hadn’t expected anyone to even notice his absence at first. He supposed they might not have known he’d...passed at all if he hadn’t been found before he’d finished.

He'd expected them to be mildly agitated when they found out he was gone, a little annoyed that he’d taken such drastic measures instead of continuing to ignore it and move on for Thomas’s sake. They'd have to make their schedules themselves now, and his death would likely push a few things back.

Things might be a bit less efficient without him but...they’d realize it was for the best eventually. They would be happier without him around. The air would be lighter.

It would be quieter. They wouldn’t have to constantly hide their annoyance every time he opened his mouth.

They wouldn’t have to deal with him at all anymore.

He hadn’t...expected anyone to be upset over the thought of losing him. He hadn’t even succeeded, he was perfectly fine, and every single one of them was in very clear distress.

“I am...very sorry,” he tried again, wondering if all he’d managed to do was ruin things irreparably. “I never wanted to upset any of you.”

“It isn’t about us,” Patton said, reaching over to quickly squeeze Virgil’s hand. “It’s not about our feelings. It’s about yours.”

“No, Virgil is right. It was selfish of me to—”

“It wasn’t selfish,” Virgil said quickly. He pulled away from Roman, just enough to look at Logan. “It’s not...it wasn’t selfish, Lo. It wasn’t your fault.”

Logan frowned, because that...was an exceptionally strange thing to say. Especially when he had every right to scream until his voice was hoarse. “Of course it was. I did it to myself. I was fully aware of what I was doing.”

That made Patton tighten his hold and Virgil’s gaze drop to the floor, but Logan didn’t falter. It was the truth. He wasn’t going to make excuses or pretend to be ashamed. He’d been convinced it was the right thing to do.

Roman suddenly sighed, trembling and quiet, the only one able to meet Logan’s eyes. “Sometimes our brains tell us things, Lo. They aren’t true and they’re awful but it’s...hard not to listen. You just need some help quieting the thoughts.”

“My thoughts are...perfectly rational,” Logan said, despite the situation. “I was simply mistaken. I thought I was doing what was best.”

“You thought we hated you!” Patton was crying again, sobbing with nothing holding him back, and Logan suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look at the note left on the coffee table. “You thought...Lo, the things you said—”

“I was wrong,” Logan said curtly, even as a prickle of dread settled in his stomach. “I was...I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

He was a bit taken aback by how quickly the three of them burst into affirmations, all of them suddenly crowded around him, holding him close as gently as possible. Keeping him safe.

“We love you,” Virgil was saying, and the anxious side had somehow managed to half commandeer his lap, his arms wrapped around his Logan’s middle. “I love you, Logan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not...your fault,” Logan said, wishing his arms didn't hurt quite so bad. He couldn’t even attempt to hug anyone back. “I shouldn’t—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Roman spoke up, placing a gentle but grounding hand on Logan’s back. “I know it feels like you did, Teach. I know. But you didn’t.”

“I tried to...I- I thought—”

“You’re in a bad place and we didn’t notice,” Virgil said, barely audible from where his face was pressed into Logan’s shirt. “That’s our fault. We- I should have been there to help, I didn’t know you—”

“I was attempting to hide it.” Hiding it had become normal. He’d hoped it would all simply go away, or fade away to the background at the very least if he just pretended.

But it had only grown worse, leaving him feeling empty and numb and hurt each time he was ignored and talked over, each time an argument went a little too far, each time he felt like a burden for simply speaking his mind. For having a thought in the first place.

He’d thought they hated him. He thought they hated the sound of his voice, his presence in their lives, his existence. A bitter part of him had wondered if they’d celebrate his death before erasing him from their memories entirely.

He hadn’t been able to say it aloud. But he’d finally been able to sit down and put it all on paper, finalizing it into one last goodbye.

Logan has been stupid. Logic had failed, and he’d done something irrational.

If he couldn’t even do his job well enough to keep himself alive, what even was the point in keeping him around? Thomas might be better off without him after all—

“Logan.” Patton was right in front of him now, warm hands on Logan’s cheeks, effectively cutting off his spiraling thoughts. “We’re here now. We’re here and we know.”

Logan curled his shoulders and nodded, the thought equally comforting and terrifying. He’d never planned on having to face the consequences of this decision. Of his awful, irrational feelings.

“We’re gonna help you kiddo,” Patton continued. “You’re not alone, Logan. You never ever have been. I’m so sorry you thought you were.”

Logan swallowed, alarmed at how tight his throat was becoming, vision quickly becoming blurred. “I...I don’t want to cause any pointless stress. We’re all busy.”

“We’re worried about you,” Patton said softly, never letting go of Logan. “You worry about the people you love. You worry about family.”

“I...” he paused, closing his eyes as the tears finally spilled over. “I wasn’t...sure that I was.”

Virgil lifted his head and frowned, but Logan refused to look down at him, staring blankly at the wall instead. “You weren’t...what? Family?”

Logan didn’t respond, didn’t jump to correct the assumption because he...couldn’t. He’d questioned his place for so long, somewhere along the way he’d begun assuming nobody cared. That it wasn’t a question for anyone else.

The heartbroken noises from the other three sides made him flinch, and he melted into their touch as they rushed to assure him once again, hard as it was to focus on anything they were saying.

He’d been so stupid. How could he have mistaken this for anything but love?

“You’re family, Logan,” Roman said, holding him from behind with his head now rested on Logan’s shoulder. “You will always be family. I’m so sorry it got this bad.”

Logan wasn’t sure when he’d started letting himself cry in earnest, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

There were three pairs of arms around him, holding him close while he trembled and sobbed and tried to force out apologies that kept getting caught in his throat.

He’d been selfish, and he’d upset them all so much but…

But he’d been so hurt. He’d felt so hurt for months and none of them had noticed. Nobody had asked. He wasn’t angry, he knew they would never have left him like that if they could have known. But it didn’t change the fact that it had happened.

But it was...going to be better now. Logan wanted so badly to believe it was going to get better.

“We’re going to fix this,” Patton said, and Logan’s eyes slipped shut when the moral side once again began playing with his hair. “We’re gonna be right here, Lo. We’ve got you. It won’t ever get this bad again.”

Logan felt himself drifting back to sleep, the pain fading to a dull ache in the background, and he didn’t try to fight against it. His chest was still heavy, mind clouded with distorted thoughts and doubts, and he knew none of that would disappear the next time he woke up. He wasn’t naive enough to hope it would.

But he had a way to fix it now. A way that wasn’t quite so final as his original plan.

And his family would be there when he woke up. He didn’t have to do this by himself anymore. He didn’t have to be the only one trying to fix this.

Logan believed them. He wouldn’t have to do it alone. Never again.