#he's looking a bit greener than usual

[obscuravoid]

I finally finished the sketch of Unperson Ranboo I started 4 months ago, except instead of actually finishing it, I just turned it into a fancier sketch. He's still suffering, but now it's in HD!

@mollish-art

[wandixx]

DPxDC WEEK 2024

Day 2: "There is only so much you can do for the dead"

Trigger warning: mention of character death (who would have thought xD)

Something was off. Not enough to call it wrong, but eno8gh to be an obvious break in routine. M’gann could feel it in her bones.

Not only was Phantom still with them, in the Mountain, even though everything mission related was over, he was nervous too. The one sure thing about Phantom was that he didn't get nervous, no matter if he faced Batman, Light or almost god-like ghosts, he took them on with an easy smile and he always went back to Amity Park as fast as he could after mandatory Young Justice activities.

Rest of the Team caught onto it too, but they put on a good show of looking relaxed and unbothered. Wally went off to storm the kitchen, Robin and Artemis dropped on the couch, only feet and told of the ponytail visible over the backrest. Kaldur and Conner took armchairs, either reading (or rather holding the book opened on the random page) or nodding off (sitting with his eyes closed). Normally M’gann would either drift to the kitchen or get whoever occupied the couch to make some space for her, but as it was, she kept standing so Phantom would feel less awkward from his place by the door. He looked like he considered bolting and ever coming back. M'gann smiled at him.

She liked Phantom. He was kind and funny, always beyond helpful. He wasn't the best at combat, be it aerial or on the ground, but he was willing to listen and learn. He was a good listener. He understood her struggle with Mars better than she expected anyone on Earth. He had a pretty smile.

There was no sign of it now.

“So…” Phantom started and everyone whipped around to look at him. Even Wally “coincidentally“ got back from the kitchen right at that moment (M’gann called him, like he asked) “I know it's not something we do, but uhm… do you maybe have a spare room I could borrow on Monday? Soundproof if you have it?”

Robin dropped back down, but turned on his wrist computer and jumped between some pages. M’gann didn't see a point in that, since they obviously had spare soundproof rooms, but she kept quiet. Robin usually knew what he was doing.

“No problem, why though?”

Phantom winced, rubbing the back of his neck. M'gann's nose wrinkled when she sensed a tangled mess of his feelings but she (barely) stopped herself from looking deeper. He wouldn't like it in the slightest.

Small red dot blinked from Robin's computer. He was recording it. Smart move.

“It's… it's a bit… ugh, I don't know how to even start”

“Take your time”

“I've been taking my time for two weeks, it's time I actually say it” he groaned, rubbed his face so hard it got a little bit greener and started again “Apparently, ghosts have this thing called Death Day and mine is coming. During this time, I'll re-live… re-die… re-experience my death and then just lie unresponsive for a few hours. It's supposed to lessen with time, but it's my first so… you know”

Everyone froze for a moment. It's not that they didn't know that Phantom was a ghost and ergo that he died, but… it was easy to forget when he had so many powers that for M’gann saw as normal, it was easy to forget with the way he bled, it was easy to forget with how he talked about his live still in present tense, it was easy to forget with how painfully normal he tried to be all the time.

But then he'd say something and make them remember. No matter how many times it happened, it was never easier to remember.

“That's… rough,” Wally muttered awkwardly.

“Yeah. I'm kinda scared actually.”

“No shit, it sounds terrifying even as a concept. Though, why soundproof?” Artemis asked, more curious than demanding. Phantom curled in on himself, looking and feeling like he needed only a slightest trigger to fully disappear.

“I will be screaming. Of course, I don't remember the time I actually died, but I was told I screamed, really loud. I don't want you to hear it. No need for you to feel guilty over something that already happened”

This felt… weird and M’gann wanted to elaborate but then Phantom’s phone buzzed and in five seconds flat he was out with a last yell of:

“Something came up in Amity, gotta go!”

***

Pshshshksh

“Hey Phantom, we've got an idea about your D Day”

“Never call it that again, I swear to God Kod Flash”

“Alright, alright. But do you want to hear our idea?”

“Shoot”

“We thought we could get you something for your grave. Aqualad reached out to some contacts to learn more about ghost stuff and apparently it should help”

“Huh, that's nice. There is only one problem”

“Yes?”

“I don't have a grave”

***

They were supposed to have a free afternoon, they already got all adults to back off, even Robin went to convince Batman to cancel all of the training and missions planned. They didn't explain why. Phantom hadn't said a word about adults, it felt like a betrayal to mention it outside of their circle.

They were supposed to have a free afternoon, so they could keep Phantom safe and be close in case he needed anything even if he said he'd rather have them as far as he could. They weren’t going to listen in of course, but there was no way they'd stay away.

They were supposed to have a free afternoon, but then, right after Phantom showed up, alarms started blaring, because it had to be the day when there was an emergency in Happy Harbour and they were the only ones on the watch. Because of course there was.

And of course Phantom went with them despite the protests, waving them off by saying his Death Day shouldn't start for a bit longer.

It wasn't reassuring.

Especially not with how he stumbled halfway through the hangar and was loopy in a way M’gann could sense without even a psychic glance in his direction.

“When exactly is your Death Day? Like, do we have hours or minutes?” Conner asked, clearly worried about his friend.

Phantom leaned awkwardly on the rough wall, trying and failing to look relaxed and casual instead of barely keeping himself upright.

“I'm not quite sure honestly–”

“WHY THE HELL YOU WENT ON THE MISSION THEN!!!”

Robin, maybe a bit frantically, waved at the ghost to make him follow.

“Chill Artemis, please. My senses are already going haywire, I would really appreciate it if everyone stuck to their indoor voice. Death Day mess starts only when I'm feeling safe, so don't worry, it wouldn't hinder the rescue”

“That's literally not the point but you seem out of it right now, we will talk when you're lucid again,” Artemis sighed, and nodded at M’gann who raised Phantom off the floor after he stumbled on the even ground for the third time.

They were following Robin, who was posturing confidence while he led the way to the room he picked, but without the usual bounce to his step. Wally was on Phantom’s other side with a plate of cookies he somehow got in the meantime, as if it gave him any purpose to follow other than worry, while everyone else trailed behind, not bothering with even a thin veil to cover their concern.

Even Phantom caught onto that, despite being almost loopy enough to start some deep philosophical debate with the next “incredibly intelligent looking” shadow, but kept it to himself. As far as M’gann could tell without going in deeper, he seemed happy if moved by all of their attention.

“How else can we help you?“ Kaldur asked, growing more and more angry with silence and inability to do anything of use.

“N'thin’” ghost slurred “Lithewally. ‘m suwe you want t’ help buh… buh… ‘m already dead, you c’n't do ‘nythin’. You c'n't save muh. No ned f’r you t’ see it. F'rget ‘bout it”

Nobody said anything to that, because what could they say?

Robin opened the door solemnly and M’gann carried Phantom over to the bed while everyone else came in, dragged in by both concern and morbid curiosity. Phantom refused to settle in though, desperately looking at each of them.

“Please, promise you'll forget about that” he begged again, in the surprising moment of lucidity.

“We will” Someone lied.

“Thanks. Now go,” Phantom said with a choked up smile before going limp like a puppet without strings. For a long moment nobody moved, just staring as Phantom’s body laid unmoving, as if they were watching a car accident that they just couldn't drag their eyes away from.

“Rigor mortiss is settling in” Artemis posted out with horrible emptiness in her voice. Robin suddenly looked ill. Wally put down the cookie plate on the nightstand with a loud clatter, before booking it out of there and dragging Artemis and Kaldur out with him. M’gann caught Conner and Robin, both still to stunned to move on their own, and lead them out at much slower but still quite hasty pace.

First gut wrenching scream rang out before the door fully closed.

There was no way they'd ever forget that.

[artbyblastweave]

So, Wildbow pretty famously retconned Browbeat to death because he got sick of fan jokes about every new character secretly being Browbeat under a new identity. I've got mixed thoughts on that.

Unfortunately for all, my de facto reaction to that kind of meta-level contrarian stunt is "Power Move TBH," even if it was broadly comorbid with a proximity to the fandom that kind of blew out Ward's kneecaps with a .50 cal. Overlooking the fact that I think it was really sincerely funny, there's an argument to be made that it trims the fat; adding an additional heroic casualty for a grand total of seven out of twenty two named heroes operating in Brockton Bay at the time of arc 8. Browbeat is also specifically an independent hero who was headhunted for the Wards relatively soon after his debut- a distinct dynamic from the other wards who get pulverized, from the superheroic family business of New Wave, or the adult professional superheroes who bite it. This is a very Taylor shaped guy, the same kind of just-starting-out teenaged cape with an uncertain future. Him getting unceremoniously pulverized for the bad luck of having a front-line power therefore presents a bit of a "there but for the grace of god" moment for Skitter, if you choose to look at it like that. This is the kind of thing an editor would probably make him do anyway, if he wasn't cut entirely. But the thing is that I am kind of attached to the original outcome for Browbeat, which is that he dips. I think it actually adds some subtle verisimilitude to the story. The number of heroes we actually see is significantly lower than the alluded-to headcount in the early arcs; more indie heroes are alluded to then ever actually appear, and a combination of Leviathan casualties and departure during the ensuing civilian exodus is usually how I've seen that discrepancy squared. But it hits better if a named character cuts and runs. In the story as currently written, every hero who lives, remains in Brockton Bay to try and hold the line. I kind of liked the version of the story where that wasn't the case, where you can infer that at least one of these teenagers went, you know what, I'm not so completely committed to heroic altruism at the age of 16 that I'm gonna hang around to do it in a town without running water, I'm going to pursue a less horrible gig elsewhere. That's not really a thing that happens too often in Big-two comics, and if it were to happen it would likely be painted as a notable departure from expectations. But one of Worm's major themes is that unlike in the comics, there's a gigantic spread of motivations and personality types amongst the officially designated heroes, and it's a nice reminder that all those different personality types are going to have different thresholds for throwing in the towel and moving on to greener pastures. Or it was, until he just died instead

[puckinghischier]

Surprise…?

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: luke gets hurt during a game

notes: y’all i think i struggle writing luke for some reason. i just never seem to really like what i write when i write for him. wtf am i doing wrong 😩

request: can you do a post on luke Hughes getting badly injured the game at umich and both older brothers are there and get worried over him and major fluff

i strayed away a bit from the michigan aspect because i don’t feel comfy writing about college hockey players, so i changed it up a bit. i hope you still enjoy!! 🫶🏼

[3.3k]

~

There weren’t many times you regretted moving to Jersey, but right now was one of them. The constant traffic within the city wasn’t something that usually got under your skin, but today it was the absolute bane of your existence. Of course, you were in a hurry. A big one. You had approximately thirty minutes until puck drop, and you needed to get there before that puck hit that ice. No exceptions. You hadn’t told Luke what you were doing, so he probably already expected you to be there, wondering why you’re not in your usual seat for warm-ups.

As if he could hear your thoughts, your phone buzzed with a message from Luke, not being able to read what it said while trying to weave in and out of traffic.

“Quinn, can you see what Luke just sent. And then tell him I’m on my way. I don’t want him worrying that I’m not showing tonight,” you ask the Hughes brother currently in your passenger seat.

Quinn grabbed your phone from the cupholder, listening to you rattle off your passcode so he can open Luke’s message.

“He asked where you were, and if you were already there. Wanted to know why you weren’t in your seat for warm ups,” Quinn confirms your thoughts, looking to you for an answer.

“Tell him I’m just running late. Be there before puck drop. And tell him I love him and good luck.”

You hear the sound of Quinn typing your reply as you increase your speed, cursing the people who want to drive below the speed limit in the fast lane. This is what you get for trying to be a good girlfriend and surprise your boyfriend and his brother. You get stuck on the road with New Jersey’s worst drivers.

In your defense, you were supposed to already be safely at the arena in your seats, but Quinn’s airline had different plans. His flight being delayed by three hours gave you barely enough time to run and grab him from the airport and make it back to the Rock before the hockey game started. The only thing saving your ass right now is the fact that if you can just get there, you can go through the player entrance and avoid the crowds trying to get in at the last minute.

“If you don’t calm down and drive like a sane person, we’re never going to get there. We’ll be squashed on the side of the road,” Quinn scolds you, grasping what your dad always called the ‘oh shit’ handles.

“If I can just get around these idiots in front of me we’ll be fine. We’re almost at our exit, then I just have to pull around back and we’re in,” you tell him, once again pressing the gas pedal a little harder.

Quinn stays silent the rest of the drive, closing his eyes once you start speeding around the other cars on the freeway, finally getting to the right exit and rushing to the underground parking that the players always park in. You pull your car into the spot next to Jack’s, barely even turning the car off before you’re jumping out and sprinting to the entrance.

“C’mon, Quinn! I know you can move faster than that! We only have a few minutes! Move it!” You yell over your shoulder, Quinn barely having gotten out of the car.

“Remind me to never let you drive ever again,” is all he says as he catches up to you, looking a little greener than before.

The two of you make it inside the arena with no issues, sprinting to your seats just as the national anthem finishes, both teams sending their starting lines out on the ice.

You had managed to snag Quinn a seat next to you, asking the team’s manager for a favor to help surprise their rookie defenseman. With no hesitation, he handed you a ticket and a locker room pass for Quinn, knowing how homesick Luke had been lately. You had thanked him a million times, asking him to keep it a secret from both Jack and Luke, not wanting either one of them to know until the day of. He gave you his word, and was also the reason you were given access to the player parking for the night, not wanting Quinn to be ambushed by fans going through the regular entrance.

You felt your heart rate start to slow once you were both situated in your seats, glad that you had made it in time. Neither Jack nor Luke had looked over and noticed you yet. You wondered if they were going to clock Quinn before they took their stances on the ice.

Your question was soon answered as Jack looked back and saw you, waving and turning to get Luke’s attention before he did a double take, noticing the brunette sitting to you left. Quinn gave a small wave, flashing his younger brother a smile as you watched Jack’s eyes widen, mouth curving into beaming smile. Luke had turned back, looking in your direction, a relieved smile on his face once he noticed you were finally in your spot, eyes too focused on your figure to notice Quinn’s next to you. It wasn’t until he looked over at Jack and followed his gaze that he finally noticed his oldest brother in the crowd, a Devil’s hat on his head.

Luke’s eyes flicked over to you once again, mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ to you, your only response a shrug of the shoulders and a smirk on your face.

The two brothers quickly focused their attention to the officials on the ice, lowered into their stances, waiting for the puck to drop onto the ice.

“You know they’re going to compete now, right?” Quinn says as he elbows you to get your attention.

“Why would they compete? They’re literally playing for the same team. It doesn’t matter who scores as long as the team wins,” you respond, confused at Quinn’s words.

“It matters now. They do the same thing when mom or dad come to watch them. They want the praise. They want to be able to out perform the other so they can brag about it to me after the game,” Quinn clarifies.

“I don’t know about that. Jack’s been good about trying to set Luke up for success all year, I think they’ll surprise you.”

Quinn gives you a skeptical look, not believing your words, but lets it go otherwise; his attention quickly stolen by the sound of the puck hitting the ice, followed by clashing sticks and skates scraping against the frozen floor.

Much to your surprise, Quinn proved to be right. All throughout the first period, the two brothers fought to get the puck, sometimes even fighting against one another. You noticed the odd looks from their teammates, Nico even skating over to Jack during a tv timeout to ask him what was up, not having seen the pair act like this before. You kept throwing glares at Luke, trying to tell him to knock it off, that they’re playing for the same team, but he wouldn’t look at you for more than a few seconds at a time.

As the second period started, the competition between Jack and Luke had nearly ceased to exist. You assumed they got their asses chewed in the locker room during the intermission, noting how their coach seemed to watch them like a hawk. Once the brothers started actually playing together instead of against one another, the Devil’s were scoring goals left and right, putting up four goals before the end of the second period, one Luke’s and two being Jack’s.

With only three minutes left in the second period, Luke was attempting to get possession of the puck from behind the net, fighting two of the opposing players for the black piece of rubber. He lost control of the puck, and in a moment of frustration, pushed one of the enemy players in the back, wanting out of the sandwich they had put him in. The player he pushed fell forward onto the ice, drawing a penalty on Luke. The official had blown the whistle, stopping gameplay, when Luke looked over at him, frustrated at the call.

What Luke didn’t see was the player who had gotten the puck come skating up behind him at full speed, pushing Luke so hard his skates came out from under him, causing him to land on the ice on his back. He was angled just enough, though, that his body slid at high speed straight into the bottom of the wall a few feet away, head bouncing off the boards along the ice.

You were on your feet immediately, hands flying to the glass in front of you, begging for him to get up. Quinn jumped to his feet next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, whether to comfort you or himself, you don’t know. Jack leaves his spot on the bench to skate over to his brother, falling to his knees on the ice, hovering above Luke.

Luke hadn’t moved yet. Not a foot twitch, a roll over in pain, or a thumbs up to let anyone know he’s okay. He’s laying lifeless on the ice, trainers calling his name, careful not to touch his head or neck. Your hand flies to cover your mouth, a sob making its way out of you when you noticed the stretcher being put on stand-by near the tunnel. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion, time stopped as Luke continues to lay, unmoving. Quinn tries to move you back from the glass, averting your attention from the scene in front of you, but your eyes are glued to Luke’s body.

You thought you imagined the twitch of his foot, thinking it was where the medics were tapping his leg, trying to coax him awake. When you finally see his body try to roll over, you let out the breath that you didn’t even know you were holding. Your relief was short-lived, however, when you hear the scream that makes its way out of Luke’s throat. You’re not sure which one hurt worse, him lying there not moving or the scream of agony that’s currently echoing through the arena.

Your knees start to give out, eyes blurring from the tears falling down your face. Quinn catches you as you slide down the glass, holding your sobbing figure in a crouched position.

“Quinn, gotta go. Gotta go, locker rooms,” you manage to say between sobs, trying to stand and make your way out of the stands.

“Okay, yeah, let’s go. Let’s get you out of here.”

The fans watch as Quinn guides you out of your seats and up the stairs. Most of them familiar with you, you and Luke not being super private with your relationship. A lot of them are still shouting obscenities at the player who went after Luke, demanding he be suspended. Some of them give you sad smiles as you pass, hoping your rookie is okay.

You finally reach the entrance to the training room, knowing this is where they’ll have taken him before they decide if he needs a hospital or not. You can hear them in there talking to him, unsure if you should enter yet or wait on someone to come out and get you. You stand at the doors, staring into space, when Quinn decides to speak up.

“He’s gonna be fine, Y/N. Probably a gnarly bruise, and likely a concussion, but it could’ve been worse. I know its scary, but I promise, he’s going to be okay. Might not even miss more than a game or two.”

All you can do is nod at the words, unable to do much else at the moment. You try to give a small smile, but you think it comes across as more of a grimace. You turn your head when you hear the door to the training room opens, revealing one of the team trainers.

“Oh, good, you’re already down here. He’s asking for you. Wants you to know he’s awake and okay. Nothing’s broken, just banged up and a mild concussion. Probably going to have him follow up with a doctor tomorrow, but for now he just needs rest. You can go ahead and go in. He won’t be playing the rest of the night,” the man in front of you finishes, stepping aside so you can walk through the open door.

You turn back to look at Quinn, seeing if he’s going to come with you.

“I’ll just give you two a minute first. Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you,” he tells you, wanting a minute to process his own emotions before seeing his baby brother.

You nod and turn to walk into the training room, following the trainer down a short hallway before turning the corner into a room with three different treatment tables, Luke’s long body taking up the farthest one. His head is laying back on a pillow, a large ice pack taped to his right shoulder. His gear is laying in a pile on the floor next to him, completely bare from the waist up. As you get closer, you can see the already purple skin forming in the exposed parts of his shoulder and upper arm. You gasp quietly at the bruised skin, causing Luke’s head to snap up at the sound.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he rasps out, voice raw from his screams earlier.

You stop on the side of the bed opposite to his injury, unable to say anything yet. Tears still streaming down your face, looking him over for any other signs of injury.

“Hey, no need to cry, angel. I’m okay, see. Just a little bruise. Nothing to be worried about. You should see the other guy,” he tries to joke, being told he left a dent in the wall where he hit.

You glare at him through your tears, unhappy with his weak attempt at joke.

“Okay, yeah, maybe not the time to joke just yet,” he brings the hand on his good arm up to rub the back of his neck, looking away from your tear-stained face.

“You were unconscious, Luke…you weren’t moving,” is all you managed, staring at his injured shoulder.

“I know, baby, I know. But I’m awake now, see?” he gestures towards his body with his good arm. “I’m just fine. Yapping ability unaffected,” he once again tries to bring a smile to your face, this time it almost works.

“God, Luke, if you could’ve heard the scream you let out,” you shudder at the memory. “It was the worst sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I thought my heart was going to rip in two right there on the spot. I don’t ever want to hear the sound again,” you finally look at his face, noting the small cut on his forehead, you assume from his helmet.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry you had to witness all of it. I can’t imagine how it must’ve looked,” his tone apologetic. “If the roles were reversed, I don’t think I would have been able to keep myself from trying to climb over the glass to get to you. But I promise, sweetheart, I’m fine. Told me as long as my head’s fine I should only have to miss two or three games to let the bruise run its course,” he grabs your hand, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“It was just so scary, Luke,” you sniffle, closing your eyes for a brief moment. You finally start to calm down now that his hand is in yours.

“I know. But now you get to play doctor and take care of me for a few days. Kiss all my boo boo’s better,” Luke wiggles his eyebrows at you, finally earning that laugh he’s been trying to get out of you since you walked in.

“That was probably one of the ickiest things you’ve ever said to me,” you laugh with Luke, fake gagging for dramatic effect.

Luke opens his mouth to say something else, but the the doors to the training room open, cutting him off. The familiar sound of skates against the floor making their way towards the two of you. Jack turns the corner, a frantic look in his eyes until he lands on Luke, awake and sitting up.

“I’m going to kill you for scaring me like that,” Jack points a finger, glaring at his younger brother. “I mean, why the fuck did you hit him, Luke! What were you thinking? You know how these guys are, they’re begging for any excuse to fight! They don’t care if you’re a 20 something rookie, they’re gonna hit back, dumbass!” Jack yells at Luke, throwing his arms around in frustration.

Luke winces at the volume of Jack’s voice, his ears sensitive to loud noises right now. Before you can get the words out to tell Jack to be quieter, Quinn enters the room and does it for you.

“Jack, be quiet for fuck’s sake. He has a concussion; you yelling at him is only going to make it worse. Yell at him later.”

“Well, it was stupid, Q. What he did was stupid,” Jack says in a normal tone of voice, still angry.  

“Don’t act like you’ve never done anything stupid on the ice before. Just because you never get caught when you hit people doesn’t mean you don’t do it,” Quinn walks over to stand beside Jack at the end of the table.

“You good, Moose? Looked pretty nasty out there from where I was sitting. Scared us, man,” Quinn asks Luke, tapping him on the foot. You note the redness of Quinn’s eyes, knowing how much he cares for both of his brothers. The whole situation shook him up, too, you were just too worried about Luke to notice at the time.

“Yeah, m’alright. Head hurts. Shoulder feels like it’s been run over by the ‘boni, but other than that I got off pretty clean. Nothing’s broken. Have to miss two games at least, more if my head ain’t right,” Luke answers Quinn, moving his hand so he can thread his fingers through yours.

“Your head’s never been right, Moose,” Jack says, causing Luke to roll his eyes.

Quinn leans over to bump his shoulder into Jack’s, shaking his head, unimpressed with his joke.

“Wait,” Luke starts, causing everyone to look up at him. “Are we just not going to address the fact that Quinn randomly showed up to the game tonight?”

“Yeah, how did you get here. Shouldn’t you be in Vancouver right now?” Jack adds, looking over at his older brother suspiciously.

Quinn looks over to you, causing the other two Hughes to shift their gaze your way.

“Surprise?” you say as a question, not knowing what to do with all the eyes in the room on you.

“You did this?” You look over at Luke, nearly eye level with him, even though he’s laying on the table beside you.

“Well, I know you’ve been struggling with adjusting to life here lately, and you were feeling pretty homesick, so I figured it would be nice for you to have both of your brothers in Jersey for a night or two,” you shrug your shoulders, not seeing the big deal with your actions.

“Tried to get your parents here, too, but they couldn’t leave work right now. They sent their love and apologies, though. Promised me they’d be at a game as soon as they could,” you added, wishing you could’ve had all the Hughes here tonight.

“I….I don’t know what to say,” Luke looks at you, so much affection in his eyes it makes you squirm.

“Well, a thank you would be a nice start,” you joke.

“Thank you. I love you. So much. If I could lean over to kiss you right now I would,” Luke brings your hand up to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back of your hand clasped in his.

“Please, for the love of god, don’t make me witness anything else painful tonight,” Jack interrupts the moment, earning a slap to the back of the head from Quinn.

“Don’t you have a game to go finish, jackass?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Jack jumps, forgetting about the last period that’s about to start. “See you at home, Moose, Q. You, too, Y/N. Assume you’re staying over to help take care of the patient, yeah?” He nods his head towards the injured one in the room.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Be safe, Jack. Good luck,” you wave as he turns to leave.

“I’ll go pull the car around, be back in a few to help you get this ole’ goon out of here,” Quinn announces before leaving you and Luke alone once more.

“So, you’re really going to stay over? Play nurse for me?” Luke asks, looking at you with puppy dog eyes, batting his eyelashes.

“Of course I’m staying over. I can’t trust Jack to make sure you’re not up and around doing something stupid when you’re supposed to be resting.”

“So, if you’re going to play nurse, does this mean we can stop on the way home and get you one of those sexy nurse outfits?” Luke asks, eyes hopeful.

“Maybe they should’ve just left you out there unconscious on the ice, you were less annoying that way,” you fire back, smiling at the laugh Luke let out, thanking your lucky stars your boy is okay.

[thestruidora]

How about this prompt with Dean Winchester x reader?

In my defense, the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.

Thanks!

Cry Wolf

Supernatural Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Werewolf Dean, Possessive Behavior, Some Angst, Fluff and Smut, Non-con Elements if you squint, Hurt/Comfort, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Blood Kink, Knotting, Alpha/Beta/Omega Undertones

Category: F/M

Pairings: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Summary: Dean gets bit by a werewolf during a hunt, forcing Sam on a quest to find the sire lycanthrope and cure his brother. Suffering the effects of the transformation, Dean is quarantined in the bunker all by himself. It really is bad timing when you come a-knocking, utterly oblivious, and with a bleeding gash on your upper thigh. Did I mention it was a full moon?

This is a one-shot. Here's the masterlist of my other fics: Masterlist

Chapter One

Bad Moon Rising

"Don't come around tonight, well it's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise."

You were limping, the cut on your leg sending a shooting pang through you every time you took a wobbly step forward. Getting in your car had been difficult, driving had been terrible, but leaving the vehicle and trudging down the asphalt road to the uneven terrain along the entrance of the bunker was the real bitch.

You banged on the side of the door, the metal continuing to vibrate long after your knock.

“Guys, it’s me.” You announced. A dark, heavy cloud loomed over your head, covering the big full moon that shone in the sky. Soon little beads of water were beginning to fall on top of you. “Come on, it’s starting to rain!” Still, there was no response.

You cursed under your breath and took your phone from your pocket, calling Sam one more time. As it had happened in your previous attempts, his voicemail was all you reached.

“Shit.” Your thumb hovered over Dean’s name, about to press the call button yet again, but a gearing sound stopped you in your tracks.

The bunker’s door was cracked open by an inch, wide hazel eyes meeting yours through the gap.

“Dean?” You could only see a sliver of his face, but his pupils were incredibly dilated, almost obscuring his irises entirely. His mouth was agape, and he panted for air as if he had just run for miles.

“Hey, kiddo.” You cringed, not only at the condescending nickname that he had forced on you years ago, but also at the rasp in his voice. It was gruffer than usual, deep, and full-bodied. “Whatcha doing here? Is Sam with you?” He looked over your shoulder, eyes darting around to inspect your surroundings.

“Uh, no. I’ve been trying to call you guys, is this a bad time?” You placed one of your hands on the side of your wound, wincing at the ache. With the other hand, you held onto the wall in front of you, uncomfortably shifting your weight.

Dean noticed the rip in your pants, a dark red spot tingeing the fabric of your jeans, and instantly his expression changed. The furrow in his brow disappeared and his face lit up, a glint you had never seen before flashed in his eyes, making them appear greener for a second.

The door of the bunker swung open, revealing the disheveled image of the older Winchester.

His hair was messy, as if he had tossed and turned in bed. His lips were split and swollen, as if he had bitten on them till the skin broke. And the navy blue shirt he wore was drenched in sweat, the light material stretching under his biceps and his heaving pectoral muscles. You didn’t remember him being that ripped.

“What happened?” He asked, focus unwavering from the gash on your thigh, tongue poking out to wet his parched lips.

“I had a run-in with some demons. Those sons of bitches did a number on my leg.” You explained, not liking the way he didn’t look up at you, appearing to be entranced by the seeping blood coming from your damaged skin.

Dean refused to say anything in return, or maybe he simply wasn’t capable of doing so. He just stared at your injury with a kind of sinister awe.

“I don’t wanna impose or anything, I was just kinda hoping Sam could patch me up.” You added at last, those words seeming to snap him out of his stupor.

“I can do it.” He blurted out, not giving you any time to think before he wrapped his hand around your wrist and tugged you inside.

You cried in pain when you stumbled into the bunker, not prepared to move your thigh so abruptly, his grip too tight where he held you without letting go.

“Sorry.” He murmured, noticing your discomfort but not loosening his clasp.

The wet sole of your boots squelched on the vinyl floor and you felt a rush of relief to be sheltered from the increasing rain, if only that feeling could’ve lasted for longer.

Dean slammed the door behind the two of you, the click that reverberated in your ears signaling that it locked as it closed.

“It’s fine.” You said, in regards to his apology, and offered him a weak smile while you pried his closed fist from your wrist with some difficulty. For some reason, he didn’t seem to want to let go.

You took a few shaky steps towards the foyer’s balcony, resting your arms on the railing of the staircase and looking down at the antechamber of the bunker, all the blinking lights from the old control panels catching your attention.

“Where is Sam, anyway? He’s not answering his phone.” You question, with your back to Dean, but no reply comes your way.

You shrug it off, assuming that he merely didn’t want to disclose his brother’s whereabouts. It was none of your business, after all. Like most things the Winchesters get involved in, it’s probably highly dangerous and way above your pay grade.

You can’t even begin to remember how many times you tried to participate in their world-saving crusades, be useful somehow, only to be flat-out prohibited by Dean. He’d say you weren’t ready, that it wasn’t safe, that you were too young, and so on until you stopped showing interest altogether.

Now, you hunt on your own, only seeing them from time to time. But you like it that way, you like having no one to bark orders at you, you like proving that you’re good at your job without anyone’s help. Unless, of course, you screw up and get hurt, in which case you do need someone’s help.

“Do you even know how to do it? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna need stitches.” You inquire about your wound, the abused tissue throbbing even as you stand still.

You sense movement behind you and Dean’s hand appears at your side on the railing, his torso touching your back and his nose tickling your nape. You hear him inhale deeply and then let out a sigh of pure satisfaction, the hot air landing on your neck and sending a tingle of goosebumps up your arms.

“What the hell was that?” You turn to face him, forcing some distance between the both of you, absolutely shocked at the quick turn of events. “Did you just sniff me?”

“No, of course not.” He shakes his head, almost as confused as you are. He scans you up and down, licking his lips again, and his eyes glaze over before he puffs out a breath and fights to recompose himself. “I mean, yeah, a little bit.”

“Why?” You elongate the syllable, thinking that maybe, if you really enunciate your words you might be able to get some sensible answers from him.

“It’s just that-” He advances on you and you back away from him, your ribs hitting the railing when you have nowhere else to go. He stops in front of you, invading your personal space and caging you with his big arms. “You smell so fucking good.”

He hunches over you, bending his spine till the tip of his nose touches your temple and his lips graze the high point of your cheek.

“Dean.” You call to him, but he fails to acknowledge you in any way. “What are you doing?” You try again, more forcefully this time, and he ignores you just the same. There’s a continuous vibration coming from his chest that sounds awfully similar to a purring animal, almost like he wants to soothe you into submission.

His left hand grabs the fat of your hip, bunching up the hem of your shirt and squeezing under the fabric, abnormally long nails nipping at your skin. His right hand, however, entangles itself on the hair at the base of your scalp, pulling unceremoniously so as to expose your neck to his exploration.

He mouthes on your pulse point, huffing as he pants and nuzzles against you. He doesn’t exactly kiss the sensitive skin as much as he runs the plump pillows of his lips up and down the span of your bared throat, drawing invisible shapes of his choosing.

He then finds a particular spot he likes best, right behind your ear, and fixates on it. Completely lost to the world when he lolls out his tongue, longer than what is humanly possible, and licks where the taste of your natural scent is the strongest.

The moment you feel the wetness of his saliva laving at your flesh, you jolt jarringly, pushing at his chest with all your will, and it’s like trying to move a mountain with the way he doesn’t even budge.

“Stop!” You yell, mustering as much assertiveness as you can into your tone before you give him a final shove, sending him three to four steps backwards.

Dean seems to awake from a daydream, eyes flashing to a fluorescent green and back to his normal hazel. He stares at you with a frown, unable to catch his breath, attempting to take a step in your direction but you raise a finger at him and he halts.

“Stop it.” You order and his frown deepens, looking wounded and unhappy, but he obliges.

You spear a glance at the stairs to the side of you, your only escape route since he was currently blocking the door from where you came in. You could race down the steps and lock yourself inside of the many rooms in the bunker, but with your leg the way it is, you wouldn’t make it past a single step before he caught up to you.

With your index finger still raised at him, you support your weight on the railing and move to make your descent down the stairs, planning on taking it one slow step at a time.

“You’re hurt.” He states after you swallow a lament while on the second step, visibly itching to come closer. “Let me help you, I can carry you.”

“No. You’re gonna stay right there.” You command, doing your best to not let the pain show in your features as you drag yourself to the floor below.

His feet inch towards you while he eyes you like a disobedient puppy, knowing full well that there’s nothing you can really do to stop him.

“You’re gonna stay right where you are, and we’re gonna wait till your brother comes home, and then we’re gonna sort this out.” He’s at you before you finish your sentence.

You yelp when he snatches you suddenly, pulling you below your shoulder blades and lifting you up, your only option being to wrap your calves around his hips and brace yourself onto the back of his neck to keep from falling.

He carries you down the rest of the stairs, short-winded and with droplets of sweat rolling down his forehead. He burns you, not only with the heat of his unblinking gaze, but also with his unnaturally high body temperature. You had never felt someone’s skin this hot in your life. You didn’t understand how he could be standing, let alone holding you like you weigh nothing.

“Ok, you can put me down now.” You say when you get to the antechamber, but Dean’s grip tightens on you and he continues to walk into the war room.

“Everything’s gonna be fine.” He’s mumbling, and you’re not even sure he’s talking to you or to himself. “I just need to-” He drops you on top of the light-up map table in the middle of the room, with surprising care and delicateness. “I just need to scent you.”

“What?!” You exclaim in disbelief, trying to move away but he restrains you, sinking his claw-like fingernails into your nape as a clear display of dominance. You whimper at the sting and he leans over you, purring louder than before.

“Dean, listen to me.” You can’t shake the feeling that you’re attempting to reason with a crazy person, but you have to try. He’s much stronger than you, bigger and faster, even more so with one of your limbs impaired. Talking him out of this is your only chance of preventing whatever he has in store for you. “You’re sick, you must be delirious from a very high fever.”

“Love your taste.” He’s clinging to you, head tucked into the crook of your neck as he laps at you with his tongue. The moist, flexible muscle undulates across your collarbone when he goes further down, pouty lips closing in to suck at the juncture of your shoulder, right above your artery. “Wanna bite you so bad.”

“You’re not making any sense.” He’s completely disregarding your words, though he smiles at your breathy tone.

You press your mouth shut and close your eyes when he rakes the pointy edges of his teeth over your veins, not wanting him to hear or see how his ministrations are beginning to affect you. You hadn’t realized until that moment just how sharp his canines were, closer to fangs than anything else.

He tugs at the collar of your shirt, ripping the cloth with outstanding ease and exposing your bra. By that point, your own breathing was labored, the mounds of your breasts bouncing up and down in their tight confinement as you heaved.

Dean’s irises are radioactive green when he feasts his eyes at you and proceeds to stick his face in your cleavage. He groans like a madman and pulls at one of the cups of your brassiere, your right tit spilling out and being clutched by him almost immediately.

He traps your nipple between his index and middle fingers, teasing it to a stiff peak and you shake at the burst of pleasure. You grab at his forearms to steady yourself, swallowing down a moan that threatens to escape you.

“Let me hear you.” He yanks your head back from where he holds you by your scruff, as a dog would do to another, and you let out a whine at the bestial way he handles you. “That’s right, don’t hold back on me, give me everything.” He takes your puffy nipple into his mouth, suckling and biting, and a fire spreads through your lower abdomen at the sinful sensation.

Once he ceases his assault on your boob, the tumid bud is covered in his spit, the chilling air from the ventilation system making it that much more sensitive.

His hands fly to unbutton your pants, and you’re so dazed from his heady presence all around that you allow it for a minute, only moving to intercept him when he has both of his hands hooked at the waistband of your jeans and is already tugging them down.

“Dean, we gotta stop this.” You beg him, a considerable amount of your restraint lost as you fail to convince him, his hands too strong for you to swat away while he peels off your jeans. The material sticks to the dry blood around your cut, making you flinch, but he continues till the garment hits the ground, cooing an apology for your discomfort. “There’s something wrong with you, you’re not yourself.”

He pays you no mind, transfixed by the image of you laid in front of him only in your underwear. He looks even bigger than when you first arrived, thick neck bulging with raised veins and rippling muscles straining under his shirt.

“You smell ripe.” His voice is hoarse and booming, a feral edge emanating from him when he kneels before you. He brings his head close to the gash on your upper thigh, hypnotized by the blood that oozed from it, filling his lungs with the scent of your arousal mixed with your blood. “You’re good enough to eat.”

The ends of his white teeth sparkle in the artificial light coming from the lamp in the ceiling, appearing to be razor-sharp. It gives him an ominous aura that causes you to shiver under his unrelenting glare, and he smirks at you, wrapping his hand around your legs to prevent you from moving.

His lips graze the inflamed skin around your wound and you squirm at the contact, fearful of what he might do next. The talons at the ends of his fingers scratch at you as a warning to stay still, and you do, gasping when you feel the scrape of his tongue on your tore flesh.

“This can’t be happening.” You say to yourself as you watch him hunched over you, smacking his lips at the taste of your blood, as if you were a rare delicacy and he was hungry.

His first couple of licks stung, causing the muscles of your thigh to contract involuntarily, a torrent of purrs coming your way in an effort to alleviate your distress. But as his saliva coated your broken skin, the soreness subsided and the pain was numbed. All you could feel then was the strange but far from unpleasant sensation of his continuous lapping, a spark of neediness shooting up from where he was laving his tongue at you, making your middle throb and pulsate.

He grunted, looking up at you as if he could sense your craving, as if he could smell it. His left hand travels up your leg, stopping by the fabric of your panties, pushing it to the side, and uncovering your glistening cunny.

You feel his licking on your cut becoming sloppy as he salivates and his fingers move to caress the top of your pussy. He presses gently on the hood of your clit, revealing the swollen bundle of nerves to his eyes that shine with a desperate desire.

“Look at how wet you are.” He mutters, mouth colored with a slick shade of crimson. The pads of his fingers rub up and down your slit, gathering the moisture seeping from your clenching hole to massage your flushed bead of pleasure. “You’re so precious.”

The praise goes straight to your pulsing center, molten lava settling in the pit of your stomach, and you mewl shamefully when the back and forth of his fingers makes your pussy gush.

You never thought Dean would do something like this to you. He had always treated you like a baby sister, while he was the overbearing, overly protective older brother.

He’d comment on the length of your skirts and on the tightness of your blouses, going so far as to deny you rides to places if you didn’t change into something he thought of as appropriate.

He’d hang around you at bars, hovering too close, keeping any and all interested guys from interacting with you.

He had always seen you as a kid, and now there he is, sucking on the lacerated flesh of your thigh like it was his last meal and fingering the sopping place between your legs.

“Please!” You cry out, no longer sure if you’re pleading for him to stop or to keep going.

“You want more?” You answer your own internal question by nodding enthusiastically to his, and Dean groans and drools on your open cut as he inserts two of his long, thick fingers into your scorching hot cunt. “You need more to cum, princess?”

Your lips form a perfect o when he breaches your tight, gummy walls, stirring your insides until he finds the spongy, tender spot he was searching for and fucks it with come-hither motions, over and over, again and again.

“Oh, my God, Dean!” You wail, high-pitched and wanton, losing all your inhibitions and bucking your hips in time with the flicks of his wrist as he drills his callused digits inside you, roughly and repeatedly, without giving you time to adjust to his incursion.

“That’s right, squeeze my fingers.” His voice was low and heavy, laced with untamed ferociousness, akin to the rumbling of a snarling wolf. But even with his lips gleaming with the ruby substance from your wound that he insisted on licking, speaking between the obscene slurps, Dean managed to rein in his most primal instincts to encourage your free-fall into bliss. “You can let go whenever you want, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

You revel under his coaxing, under his reassuring words. You didn’t know how much his approval would affect you, embarrassingly loud wet noises coming from your soaking folds while he hits that place inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and your tongue loll out.

All your life you dreamed of having Dean’s validation, and now he was showering you in it, your cunny fluttering at his constant moans and grunts of elation, even though you haven't touched him once. His satisfaction came from giving you pleasure.

That burning euphoria mounts up and up till it snaps and you fall down the precipice. A rush of pure, untainted ecstasy overtakes you and you scream, the drive of his fingers scissoring your spasming walls prolonging your orgasm.

As you lay there, atop the light-up table, a panting and heaving mess, Dean slowly withdraws his fingers from you, making you squirm and whine at the absence.

There's some movement happening around you, the rustling sound of clothes hitting the floor along with the metallic clank of a buckle. You barely register the lack of his mouth on your injured leg, any ounce of pain that you once felt coming from it having been entirely erased.

You sense him grabbing the sides of your panties and ripping the fine cloth with quick, firm hands, and you still can't find it in yourself to react while the flimsy pieces of fabric are rendered into useless scraps that fall off of your body.

But the blunt end of his dick searing into you is what brings you back to reality, the feel of his girth stretching you in ways you didn't even know were possible being too much to ignore.

The whole thing was too much. The position that you were in, with your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips yet again just so they don't dangle off the table. The noises coming from both of you, broken sobs that begged for more of that violent jolt of adrenaline. And, of course, the incomparable sensation of being split open by the biggest cock you've ever taken.

“You're doing so good, kiddo.” You make grabby hands at him when you hear him call you that, whimpering pathetically, and he leans over you to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips.

Some sick part of your brain brings forth all the times he hugged you when you were still a teen. The way his huge hands would squeeze the small of your back and your tits would rub up on him as you stood on your tippy-toes to receive his embrace. The way he would linger a little too long and bend his neck to steal a whiff of your hair.

He pinches the side of your belly and you gasp, his tongue seizing the opportunity to force its entrance into the warm cavern of your mouth. You scratch the skin of his nape and pull on the short hairs on the back of his head, moaning at the slick, pornographic kiss.

His lips close around your tongue and he sucks on it, slurping noises filling the room as he pounds into you, his heavy balls hitting your dripping pussy and squelching over and over.

“Keep taking all of it.” He breaks the kiss to whisper in your ear, filthy words in that baritone voice littering you with goosebumps. “Be a big girl and take all of this dick.”

You let out a puff of hot air and nod at him, promising to do your best as he spears the fat head of his shaft in and out of you with abandon.

His sweat begins to blend in with yours and you tug at the hem of his shirt, wholeheartedly annoyed at the fact that he was still wearing it at all. Dean chuckles, all sharp and pointy teeth that could rip into you and take out a chunk of your flesh, but instead, he spoils you and removes the offending garment, putting his hands over his head and pulling the shirt from behind till it is off, tossing it aside without a second thought.

You grope the span of his torso, from his broad shoulders to his barrel chest, and then his defined abdomen. There was definitely something unusual going on below the surface, an unlimited potential he kept trying to contain. As if he could grow bigger, become somehow larger, change right before your eyes.

You feel your way through the taut muscles under his skin, running your palms down his powerful arms and back up to his wide neck. He gulps under your scrutiny, your hands catching the way his throat bobs and his pupils shrink then dilate again, seemingly as mesmerized by you as you are by him.

He takes your right hand and brings it to his face, mouthing the pulse point, scenting you as he fucks you, the hammering of his length into your cunny growing erratic. He licks and sucks and scrapes his fangs on your wrist, almost to the point of breaking the fragile skin, groaning as you whine desperately.

The more he rams into you, molding you to the shape of his absurdly hard member, the more you come to terms with the fact that he has ruined you to any other man. Because why would you seek someone else's touch when you know only Dean Winchester and his monster dick have the power to obliterate your pussy?

With his free hand, he applies pressure to your clit, swiping the rigid pearl up and down and side to side, ignoring your pleas for mercy as you find yourself on the verge of overstimulation.

“Come on, kiddo, give me another one.” He commands, tone silky and honeyed, but still imposing and domineering in a way that if he were to tell you to jump, all you could do would be to ask how high. “I know you can give me another one.” He keeps going, thumb relentlessly playing with your pleasure point. “Cum again for me.”

You yell, honest to God yell, unsure if you can survive the wave of heat that burns in your loins when your cunt compresses around him, all the nerve endings in your body vibrating simultaneously while you cum.

Because he fucked you so good, because he rubbed you just right, because he said so.

As the dam breaks, a sudden spurt of hot, slippery fluids pours forth from your slit. A copious outflow of liquid cascades from you and lands on Dean's pelvis and his lower stomach.

“Fuck!” You elongate the word, sobbing due to the unmatched delight you experience like you never experienced before. The feeling boarding on too much and not enough at the same time, Dean's fingers continuing to grind against your center even as you squirt all over him.

“What a messy girl.” He grins, iridescently green eyes sparkling atypically, fingers finally quitting their assault on your raw clit, your cunt contracting around his veiny cock from the aftershocks of your mind-blowing release. “Spraying your juices everywhere.” He tuts and pulls out from you, inch by inch, agonizingly slow.

You give out a pitiful lament at the loss and at his taunting words, the noise that comes from your throat utterly unbecoming of a grown woman, but you can't seem to care at this point.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know I-” Dean interrupts your expression of regret with the full weight of his dominant hand landing between your legs, slapping your puffy folds, and making you writhe on top of the table.

“Don't fucking apologize.” He snarls, leaning over to bury his nose in the crook of your neck and swipe his tongue on your feverish skin. “You did so good, I'm covered in your scent and everyone's gonna know.”

You mewl like a bitch in heat when he starts to jerk the span of his shaft on top of you, the mushroom head catching on your entrance from time to time while he strokes himself from base to glans. Precum weeps from the bulbous end and mixes with your own wetness.

“Gotta mark you now.” He tells you like it's the most normal thing in the world, like it's obvious. His hot breath tickles your neck, the tips of his sharp teeth almost piercing your soft flesh and you shiver at the idea that he still might just lose control and do it.

You crane your head down and do your best to steal a glance at the steady rhythm he's building, managing to stare in awe as he pumps the meat of his member.

The tender tissue is flushed and throbbing in his firm grasp, his balls tensing up, full of pent-up energy. You can't believe how big it is, beautifully cut and well groomed. Painfully hard and thick, so thick you don’t even understand how it had entered you.

He grunts and squeezes the round edge before picking up his pace, not knowing where to look as his eyes roam from your swollen lips to your pert nipples, and then your quivering pussy.

“Gonna make you smell like me.” He mumbles, muscles straining and veins bulging, steaming ropes of white bursting from his urethra and landing on your face, on your boobs, and on your belly.

Dean roars as he covers you in his spent, dense and sticky and endless shots of cum painting you. You whine in surprise, licking off some of the substance that got on your lips. He tastes rich and tangy, full of a power unknown to you but still palpable, making your tongue tingle and your throat burn when you swallow.

He's out of breath and so are you, but he doesn't allow you time to recompose yourself since he's already rubbing his release over your belly, taking a glob of it and smearing it on your slit. You thrash about because the feeling is too overwhelming, but he holds you in place and pushes his seed into your welcoming hole.

“You look gorgeous like this.” He says, reverence in his tone while he bites your earlobe and stuffs you with his essence. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

You don't know what to say, you don't know how to act. You hadn't expected to be categorically ravished by the man you had always seen as an older brother today.

In the back of your mind, you knew he wasn't that Dean, the Dean you knew your whole life, at least not fully.

Something inhuman drummed beneath his emerald eyes, the familiar hazel long gone by now. And any shadow of doubt that you might have had about his feral state is pulverized when you feel his length harden again against your inner thigh.

There’s no refractory period and you scream as he bullies that fat dick inside you once more, feeding it into you more carefully this time.

“Holy shit!” You're hoarse, sinking your nails into his shoulders and drawing blood.

How can he be hard? How is that even possible?

He hisses when he bottoms out, filling you to the brim. His rough hands find leverage on the meat of your hips, clasping each side firmly before he begins to pound into you. He uses you as a cock sleeve, lusciously scraping the ridges of his hard-on against your clammy walls.

You can't find your voice, the room spins around you, and your head bangs on the hard surface of the table in time with his thrusts.

You can feel everything. Every nook and cranny that he reaches in you. The twitch of his shaft every time he hits your cervix. The furniture that supports you creaking below.

“Mine.” He proclaims, the smacking of his sweaty skin on yours upping in tempo, the dirty noises the two of you make bordering on offensive. “Say it, say you're mine.” It's an order and you want to comply, but your brain has turned into a scrambled, useless thing so all that comes out of you is a prolonged whimper.

Dean isn't able to handle your unresponsiveness, growling loudly and inflicting another slap where you are most sensitive, a broken sob erupting from you at the contact.

“Tell me who the fuck you belong to, kiddo.” His voice is so velvety it makes your eyes roll.

He’s everywhere all at once, you can’t see or hear or smell anything else but him. Somehow he’s still growing inside you and your lungs burn because you keep forgetting to breathe. You forget your own name in favor of being the center of his world in this moment.

“I- I'm yours.” You croak out, tears getting caught by your lashes, convinced that the speed in which he pumps in and out of you should be criminal. “I'm yours, Dean."

He pulls violently on your hair and howls, guttural and wild, the base of his member expanding impossibly larger still and stretching your opening when he begins to cum inside you. You try to pull away, but you physically can’t, not with the way he pins you down and plugs your cunt with his knot.

How did that happen? How did you end up here?

“This isn’t real.” You think you say it out loud, but maybe you didn’t and there’s no way of knowing for sure.

You can still feel him pulsating and ejecting spurt after spurt of his milk into you, purring so loudly you can’t even hear your own thoughts.

He rests his head on your chest, the both of you stuck to each other until you don’t know when, but he seems content with that. His fingertips draw irregular shapes up and down the expanse of your arm as he regains his wind much quicker than you do.

You stay like this with him, and at some point, he senses something you don’t and tenses up, straightening his back to look to the right of him, careful not to tug where he’s joined to you.

“Dean!” You faintly catch Sam’s voice when he shouts, but it’s muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The younger Winchester is standing by the end of the staircase, features overtaken by shock, a syringe filled with blood in his hand as he stares bug-eyed at the scene before him.

His brother on top of you while you lay naked on the table in the middle of the bunker, covered in cum and trapped on his dick, eyes dazed and blissed out, panting through parted lips.

Dean looks at Sam, then at you, then back at Sam. The supernatural glow in his irises dies down and he seems like his true self for the first time since you got there, brows furrowing while he clicks his tongue and considers the situation.

“Listen.” He raises his index finger at the furious brunet, a sheepish grin on the corners of his mouth. “In my defense, the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.”

[mcu-coworkers]

Complete

Summary: Life for you and Miguel was greener on the other side. 

Word count:2.5k+

Warnings: slight child birth complications, pregnancy. Other than that  nothing much.

A/n: This is pt.3 to “Where Do Broken Hearts Go?” I wanted to give you guys something to read while I work on Pt.3 to “You?” so I hope you guys enjoy the third and final bit of this story, see you guys soon!xx

Tag list:  @marcswife21 @greeknerd007​

Parts: I  II III^

CREDITS TO THE OWNER^

It had been months since you’re little get away with Miguel, 7 to be exact and six since you found out you were pregnant.

And 3 since you found out it was a boy.

You’ll never forget the day you found out.

Miguel had come home early from HQ to take you to a surprise dinner date, he’d been thinking about it all day.

He found it a little weird you didn't come to the entrance when he opened the door like you usually did.

“Amor, Ya llegue.” He yelled out walking into the house.

Still no response.

“Lyla checks for heat signatures.” he said as he began looking into the rooms.

You didn't mention going anywhere and last he checked you were home.

“Low heat signatures detected on the…the bathroom floor.” she said, realization hitting them both.

Miguel made record time running upstairs and into the bathroom where he found you on the floor.

“Ay mi amor. Lyla check her vitals.” he said, picking you up and laying you on the bed.

Lyla began doing a scan on your body when she found something strange halfway through.

“Um Miguel, there's uh..” she paused, not sure how to say it.

“A what Lyla what's wrong with my wife?” he asked, getting annoyed.

“A baby.” she blurted.

Miguel froze.

Suddenly you began to stir, eventually opening your eyes.

“Miguel? Honey- oh ow..” you said rubbing your head.

Sitting up in bed you start taking in your surroundings, a bunch of holograms that all look like a big blur.

You looked back at Miguel who had what probably is the biggest smile on his face that you could have ever seen.

“Mi hermosa luz, eres mi todo. (my beautiful light, you are my everything.)” he said, taking your face in his hands.

Confused but delighted by the compliment you rubbed his arm, “Gracias mi vida?”

“We're having a baby.” he said, finally deciding to fill you in.

Gasping in shock you looked at Lyla who confirmed that statement by showing you a sonogram of a little bean in your belly.

Miguel laughed at your reaction and pulled you in for a hug.

Finally, he thought.

His world was complete and all thanks to his beautiful wife.

“Thank you.” he said as he kissed all over your face.

“It takes two to tango O’hara don’t forget to thank your biggest asset.” you said giggling, you could feel him smiling as he continued to kiss down your neck.

Ever since that day Miguel made it a priority to have yours and the baby’s checked frequently.

Very frequently actually he just wanted to make sure all was well the Miguel O’Hara way.

At 4 months you began to feel cramping sensations so the doctor recommended indefinite bed rest and that devastated you because Miguel was finally taking you to the Spider Society to meet everyone but with this news there was no chance.

Two months later you feel yourself at your best and hoping the doctor sees that too.

“Are you ready mi amor?” Miguel said, peeking his head into the kitchen.

“Yep.  I   hope the bed rest order gets lifted or  I   actually think  I  ‘ll go insane Miguel.” you said slightly waddling over to him.

Your bump was getting bigger and walking like a normal person was getting harder.

Giving him a peck on the lips he followed you out the door smiling at your little walk.

-----

One more month.

He made you do one more month of bed rest before granting you freedom.

As soon as you heard those god sent words you were ready to get out of that hospital and go for a nice long walk.

….At the spider society.

Not to mention that throughout your entire pregnancy your attraction to Miguel only grew stronger.

Just the thought of feeling him inside you again would have made you cum on the spot.

The doctor said sex was normal but the closer to the due date the less like bunnies and more like turtles.

Whatever it was  you’d take it.

You wasted no time as soon as you got home.

“Amor?” you called out.

“Yes?” he said as he went into the kitchen to grab a drink.

“ I   need you.” you said bluntly, beginning to take off your maternity clothes.

“Is everything okay? ¿Te sientes mal? Que pa- oh.” he said as he stood in the entrance of the living room.

“ I   need you.” you said one more time walking over to him slowly, grabbing his hand and bringing it down to your hot core already dripping for him.

“Baby- fuck.” he said trying to refrain from going back to his rough ways.

Turtles, turtles, turtles he thought to himself as he laid you down and gave you everything you wanted.

After a night that was much needed you laid together on the couch as he rubbed on your belly.

“Miguel?” you said tracing patterns on his bicep.

“Hmm?” he hummed in response, eyes feeling droopy.

“Can we go to spider society?  I   wanna meet everyone, please?” you asked sweetness dripping from your voice hoping it would work.

“Whatever you want Princessa, it's yours.” he said pulling you in closer and dozing off into a deep sleep.

Smiling to yourself you fell asleep content, and impatient to get to HQ.

----

To be completely honest, Miguel was halfway to dreamland when you asked him about going to HQ.

So when you reminded him in the morning and asked what day he’d be taking you it practically caught him off guard.

“ I   said what?”

“Ay Miguel, aren't you the attentive one? You said you’d take me to HQ this week.” you said, serving him his breakfast with a bright smile.

Cursing himself for slipping up he looked up at you and smiled.

“Friday mi amor,  I   will take you on friday.” he said, earning an excited squeal from you and you waddling over to kiss him on the cheek and rant about all the things you wanted to see.

----

Friday couldn't have come any sooner for you but for Miguel it could have.

Once he told the team about your upcoming arrival they were just as over the moon as you were.

Jess and Peter B. were planning a surprise baby shower after hearing you elected to not have one given how tired you were and Miguel's persistence of you getting rest only solidified that decision even more.

The real kicker was that not even Miguel knew about the surprise so decorating and planning had to be swift and silent.

But at last, it was friday and you had picked your prettiest sundress and waited patiently for Miguel to come get you.

While you waited you thought about the weeks you had left with your little guy, the time was getting closer and you for one couldn't wait to have him in your arms.

Miguel walked through the portal just outside the living room and walked into a sight that made his heart skip a beat.

“Funny,  I   told Lyla to send me home but  I   think she ended up sending me to heaven.” he said as he leaned down to kiss you on the lips whilst rubbing on your belly, making you smile.

“Hi baby, let's get going, I don't wanna keep anyone waiting.” you said extending your arms so he’d help you up.

Nodding in silence he reopened the portal and let you go first.

Walking in he made sure to stay close to you and explain a couple of things.

“If you or the bay get too overwhelmed just tell me and we’ll go strai-” beore he could finish that a very excited Peter B. was coming down the hall.

“Is that who  I   think it is? My god she is Beautiful Miguel. Hi, I'm Peter B. this is May Day. I'm the only spiderman with a kid.” he said pulling you in for a hug.

“For now.” Miguel said, smiling down at you.

“It’s nice to finally meet one of my husband's best friends, not to mention this cute little thing. May  I  ?”you asked, reaching out.

“You do not have to ask,” he said, handing a smiley May Day over. “Do you wanna see the pictures  I   took of her? You are absolutely going to flip.” he said, pulling out his phone.

“Oh  I‘d love to.” you said taking her from him as Miguel tried to interject.

“Amor, maybe you shouldn't hold a baby-” he tried gently following you closely.

“Corazon it's fine! Look at her, she's a feather.” you said cuddling your face with hers.

“Wow, Never thought  I‘d see the day someone told my buddy Miguel no.” Peter B. said, mesmerized by your being.

“Keep walking Parker.” Miguel said, and there he was.

Eventually Peter B. was able to lead you to the room where the shower was and the surprise was overwhelming to say the least.

Miguel would have ripped out a couple of throats had the act upset you but you were over the moon especially after meeting Jess.

After making sure you were okay Miguel allowed himself to relax and enjoy watching everyone meet the love of his life and adore her almost as much as he did.

No one would ever love you as much as he did. Not even close.

After hours of talking and laughing Miguel decided it was finally time to go home.

“Alright this was fun but we should get going, you need to rest.” he said putting his hand on your lower back.

He was right you were a bit tired but there was still so much to learn, “Pero amor Im still getting to know everyone! Where is LEGO Peter, your best man?Is that plush spidey?” you asked looking around you could swear you just saw someone holding a plush spidey.

“ I   know  I   know but we can come back another time, Ya lets go.” he said urging you on.

“Okay fine,” you said, turning to say your goodbyes while he opened the portal.

“Oh oof hold on.” you said clutching your belly whilst holding on to Gwens arm.

“Everything okay momma?” she asked as Miguel ran over.

“Yeah it's just a braxton kick, give a second im alright.” you said taking deep breaths trying to reassure Miguel.

And just as you were about to stand straight your water broke.

“Oh my-” you heard Peter B. say while everyone else's eyes just widened.

“Shit. Alright come on we gotta go.” Miguel said, picking you up swiftly.

“Miguel you can’t take her in this state, It could hurt the baby we need to get her to the infirmary now.” Lyla said, appearing over his shoulder.

That statement only angered Miguel.

This isn't where he wanted to be when his son was born but now he had no choice.

Running you up to the infirmary he laid you down on the bed as Lyla plugged in your vitals.

“This is actually happening.” you said taking in the moment. You were about to give birth to your baby boy at the Spider HQ.

“It's okay baby, just take deep breaths.” he said as he kissed the top of your head.

You really thought you were hallucinating it when a spider doctor walked in the room to help you deliver your baby.

Nope this was entirely real, Miguel was holding your hand looking at the doctor with a look that could kill.

Which probably would if he risked anyone's health.

Two hours is what it took for you to fully dilate and thirty minutes is what it took for you to bring him to the world.

Lucca Gabriel O’Hara.

He was perfect.

Miguel didn't want to let him go at first but the nurses needed to check him and make sure everything was alright.

It was more than alright, it was perfect. Ten toes, ten fingers, and one cute little face that you already loved so much with all your being.

Your body felt overly exhausted but you wanted nothing more than to hold your baby.

While you did just that Miguel admired the scene before him. Nothing would ever top this moment.

“Mr.O’Hara a word?” the spider doctor asked to pull him out of the room.

“Everything alright?” he said, feeling a weight in his chest.

“Well yes and no, because your DNA was morphed to be 50% human and 50% spider the baby took a lot from your wife in its time in her stomach,” he paused hoping Miguel was catching on.

“We’d like to keep them here to ensure her body doesn't go into shock from his departure, and give you guys an idea of just how this baby will be growing all things considered.” he finished as Miguel looked back at you and Lucca.

“Alright, how long?” he asked hoping it wasn't long at all.

“Two weeks, one to analyze initial growth, and a second to compare data. Their health will come first of course.” he said reassuring Miguel.

“Fine but no guests until she allows it. And  I‘ll tell her.” Miguel ordered as he walked back into the room.

Giving you a soft smile he told you the news and you couldn't have been more excited, it probably would have shown more if you weren't so tired.

“Miguel, will you take him? I'm pretty tired.” you whispered, Miguel realized the heart monitor was starting to slow down.

Taking the baby he rang for the doctor through his watch.

“Hold on baby don't close your eyes okay? Stay awake for me.” he asked, panic began setting in the further away the beats got.

“I'm just so tired Miguel, just need to close my eyes and…” you said letting your head fall to the side.

“Baby? Y/n! Lyla!” Miguel tried but it was no use you were out cold.

Just like that, the doctor and Lyla were present and at your side.

“Just like   I   said, her body is in shock. After giving so much energy to the baby the sudden loss was too much to handle.” he said as he injected you with something that brought your heart rate back to normal.

“So what? She needs what she gave him back?” Miguel asked, if he were calm he’d understand and probably take care of it himself but you were his wife.

He needed you to operate properly and right now his mind was nowhere near capable.

“Yep. These next couple of weeks will be a bit hard on her but she's a tough one,  I  ‘m sure she’ll be just fine.” the spider doctor assured.

And eventually, he proved to be right.

In all instances actually.

You turned out to be just fine, Lucca was a spider baby growing astronomically but still at the rate of a human baby, and you could finally go home after two weeks.walking out of that infirmary felt like a relief to Miguel.

As you said your goodbyes to all the spiders who gave you company when Miguel had to step away Miguel opened the portal home.

Walking through together you smiled as you stepped in your home again.

Your smile grew when you realized your home had been decorated with all kinds of spider decorations to welcome baby Lucca home.

“Welcome home baby.” Miguel whispered, kissing your cheek.

“It's good to be home papi.” you said, turning to give him a peck on the lips.

“So good.” Miguel replied, kissing you some more.

He felt whole again after so long, the feeling he longed for was back and he was never letting it leave again.

[skeedelvee]

Carry On Countdown Day 20 - Teeth

For this year's COC I've decided to put together daily fic rec lists! Let me know if you find any new favorite reads from these <3

For todays prompt I've gone with fics all involving teeth! Vampire teeth! Werewolf teeth! Goblin teeth! Dragon teeth!

Hungry Like The Wolf by @adamarks and Theflyingpeach

One word: toothsome

This one is incomplete, but I love it and think of it often

Rated E, 18,984 words

I think I’m bad at this. I’m the only one I know that’s not part of a pack. That’s never been part of a pack. How do werewolves get into packs anyway? - Three years ago Simon was changed and left without a family, left to die. He's learning how to live, but tired of feeling alone. At least he's got his best friend to help him find his way. And what's with the mysterious, definitely-not-hot, weird smelling guy that just moved in next door? This is a story about finding love and finding your place... And maybe eating a few dog treats along the way.

Oral fixation by Multifanfic666

Rated E, 2,945 words

Baz has been having too many lollipops and has a cavity and Snow has to put his fingers in his mouth to help him out. Yes this is smutty ;)

I feel by @facewithoutheart

Rated M, 1,813 words

After visiting Oxford for Christmas, Baz comes home to Simon.

come here often? by Xivz

Rated E, 4,289 words

BITE commercializes itself as an adult establishment, but, to those few who know, it’s a vampire club. A place where Normals get glamoured and bitten (or more) and sent on their merry way. Simon Snow knew what he was looking for when he signed the waivers and paid the admittance fees, what he hadn’t realized was that he’d wind up with Baz Pitch.

Bite me by @orange-peony

Rated E, 7,109 words

“What the fuck is this?” he asks, showing me a bag with Lush’s logo on it. “A bath bomb,” I explain. “A bath what?” Or a fic about bath bombs, saying what you want and vampire biting.

Greener Grass by @captain-aralias

Rated T, 39,411 words

Sometimes I try not to look at Baz just because I know that if I do, he might look at me – and he’ll find me out. Realise who he’s with and change his mind. Sometimes I don’t look at him because I know that I’m not going to be able to see him after I break up with him, and I have to get used to it. But today, it’s just because I don’t want to look at myself. Because somehow (thanks to another kind of goblin also taking against me) I’m in Baz’s body. And not in the scary way that I think he was trying to push for a few months ago. In an even more scary way where I actually am him. And he’s me, which is much worse. -- A 'Wayward Son' bodyswap - about vampires, communication, and learning to like yourself. A story for everyone who wished the second book had been about getting past trauma as well as living with it.

Show Me Your Teeth by Poptartsss

Rated E, 4,630 words

We come home from the pub in the unusual way. Usually we get home, get settled. Throw on a movie. Make dinner. Stop paying attention to the movie, slowly find any excuse to touch and taste and be on top of one another. Tonight was a bit different. For no particular reason, we just needed to get on with it. Or: Maybe Simon-- just a little bit-- fetishizes the vampirism part of his vampire boyfriend.

Goblins Fuck by Theflyingpeach

Rated E, 2,221 words

I’ve got two dicks up my ass and one down my throat. Not how I thought I’d be spending a Wednesday after work, but I guess it’s better than heating up a frozen dinner and having a wank.

take a Picture by Humbum

Rated E, 4,001 words

I can’t handle it anymore. Him. Baz. It’s been absolute torture. He’s driving me fucking insane. He’s so cute. Like tooth rottingly, heart stoppingly cute. It’s a lot to take in on a regular day. But these past few days have been a proper test on my nerves.

✨Gratuitous self rec✨

First Moon by me! @skeedelvee with art by @hgari

Rated E, 4,302 words

Set post AWTWB. It's the first full moon since their adventure in America, and Simon is in for a life changing transformation. Or: Simon turns into a were-dragon and has to navigate his growing needs with Baz.

If you have any recs that fit the prompt that I've missed, feel free to leave them in the comments! There's plenty of gaps in my reading so there's a good chance I may not have read it

Also I've had a hard time finding if some people are here on Tumblr, so if you know someone who hasn't been tagged, feel free to leave that in the comments as well <3

@carryon-countdown

[mazzystar24]

Addie do you think his (Ryan/Eddie's) ear is deliberately purple in the BTS video??? BC some people are saying it looks like an injury but idk if it's a shadow but also it shouldn't be a shadow there...

Oh wow I ignored you accidentally bae my notifications ate this

I don’t know it doesn’t look like a shadow at all it’s definitely discolouration

But a bruise would be more irregular I feel? Like bruises usually have more of a margin to them so you can usually see where they were impacted and then where they weren’t like if you look up bruised ears even you’ll see it’s like the top section would more likely be bruised then the rest would be more minor or untouched and even when the whole ear is bruised you can see the margins of the bruise and usually bruises have more than one color so like some bits would have more red some more blue some yellower and some greener but this looks like when you’re in the cold too long like he was in cold water or something which seeing as how he’s dripping wet and Angela Bassett was complaining when they shot the cruise ship episode the water was freezing I’d bet it’s probably that again

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

The Heart of Your Home pt 4

Summary: Arthur comes across a woman in need. What he thought was a simple good deed would take him down a much further path than anticipated.

Warnings: Cursing, there is mention of canon-typical violence, bodily injury, and brief smut in this chapter.

Word Count: 8,072

A/N: This chapter was a blast to write...things are coming along nicely!

It seemed to be warmer than usual today. The sun beamed down on the shawl on your back as you quietly trotted down the beaten path toward Valentine. It was beautiful out, and you decided not to waste the day inside. 

You’d told Frederick your plan; restocking simple ingredients in town. The reality was though you just wanted to enjoy being out and about for a little while. Another cold rainstorm swept through New Hanover over the previous days, once again drenching the land in dreary cold wetness. Mud was fresh and splattered against your mare’s hooves and the bottom of your boots, though you hardly minded. 

It was smart to stay inside while Frederick handled business, you knew that well enough. He’d arrived back home just yesterday. After a warm welcome and a desperately needed night spent together, you were itching to be free from the confines of your homestead. Funny, it almost seemed as if you were switching places.

The thought made you snort; you couldn't handle business like him, and you knew he couldn't cook or perform any sort of housekeeping to save his life. Switching places would surely doom the both of you to return to your original home. 

But as he kept assuring you, soon he wouldn't have to travel as much. Soon you would be wealthy enough to acquire household help. Soon, soon, soon. 

You sighed at the thought, reflecting the very same images that danced in your mind just days before. Bright-faced children running amuck in the yard, while you and Frederick watched on fondly from a spacious porch. When he was home, his optimism drove those dreams a bit closer to reality. He’d return from his trips with a few more stacks of money, as well as a gift to adorn you with. This time it was a ruby necklace that sat against your collarbone, the stone heavy against the hollow of your throat. You idly touched it on occasion, not used to having something that large and expensive. It may be worth more than your wedding ring. 

Thundering hooves nearby ripped you from your thoughts. You looked up, expecting to see someone ride past you in a hurry, only to spot a riderless horse. It appeared in the right side of your vision to cross your path just a few yards ahead. Its gray coat shone slick in the sunlight, stirrups flying free against its flank as the beast streaked by, head high in fright and ears forward. 

You blinked in surprise, and then gasped in surprise. It only took you a second to recognize which horse that was. 

Whose horse that was. 

The poor stallion seemed frightened, disappearing into the brush off to your left just as the crack of a gunshot fired somewhere nearby, followed by many more. You flinched, and your mare scooted beneath you in her own sheer anxiety. A shrill cry escaped your mouth as you clung on to the saddle, willing yourself not to slide off into the mud below. She quieted a moment later, although your body was still tense and your heart raced. Gunfire could mean anything... 

There hadn’t been any more commotion following, but sheer concern is what kept you rooted in the spot. Glancing toward where the stallion ran and back to where the gunshot originated, you quickly decided the next move. Whatever caused that gunshot signified danger, and you'd best avoid it for now, even when your growing anxiety for who might be involved gnawed at your insides. 

Steering your mare off the path, you dismounted just before the thicket of bushes and trees, standing on your toes to peer through the leaves and branches in hopes of spotting the runaway horse. Unfortunately it was too thick to see, and you sighed and forged ahead, pushing aside the greenery while half stumbling on roots. It wasn't long until the snowcapped Ambarino mountains loomed in the distance. A sheer cliff dropped into the ravine below. Movement caught your attention, and the stallion appeared in your view, pacing anxiously along the edge. You were thankful he was smart enough to stop before toppling over to certain death. 

“Hey,” you say, gentle but loud enough to catch the beast’s attention. His ears pricked and his head raised, a loud snort expelling from his nostrils. 

You reached toward him slowly. “It's okay, you know who I am,” you kept your voice low and soothing, as if he could understand you and knowing full well he didn't. But to your surprise and relief, the stallion visibly calmed. His head lowered as he approached you, sniffing your hand. You smiled and rubbed his nose before reaching for the reins, tugging him forward. “Let's get you away from here.” 

The way out was more of a struggle than it was going in, perhaps it was because you had trouble balancing while simultaneously guiding Arthur’s horse. You stumbled and stomped, yanking your skirt free of sharp twigs and thorns awkwardly with one hand, while ensuring you didn’t accidentally rip on the bit in the stallion’s mouth. Soon enough you emerged where your mare stood waiting, her blue eyes brightening at the sight of the two of you. She nickered, stepping forward to greet the stallion as soon as he stepped into the open. He reciprocated the gesture, the fear from earlier had all but vanished. 

But then your heart skipped a beat remembering the gunshots, your own anxiety blooming again. Arthur was proficient with a gun, that much you knew, and you hoped it was from his own weapon that discharged the fire. There was that chance it wasn't, and worry roiled in your guts at the mere thought of him laying lifeless on the ground... 

No, stop that right now, you mentally scolded yourself. Arthur would be just fine, he had to be, this was the man that killed a pack of wolves without hesitation and faced a Grizzly without so much as a scratch. You mounted your horse with determination, gripping the reins of the stallion in one hand as you steered them both in the direction of the gunfire. 

You kept moving at a quick trot, soon finding the stallion had a longer stride than your horse. He of course was larger than your compact mare, and any faster gait would guarantee you being left behind as he surged forward. He thankfully seemed to realize this and kept side by side with you, his head high as if just as anxious to find Arthur as much as you. 

The bridge up ahead signaled how close you were to Valentine, although the sight that soon loomed into view was what stopped you in your tracks. 

Carnage. Pure, raw carnage. Bodies littered haphazardly throughout the bridge and on both sides, pools of blood staining the earth. A disheveled wagon was off to the side, indicating whatever animal pulled it was now long gone. A lump in your throat formed and your stomach churned. You’ve only seen a dead body once in your life; a dead grandparent, but in a coffin and appeared as if they were sleeping. Not this trauma... 

You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat as a myriad of thoughts rushed through your head. What happened to these people? Why did they die like this? Who murdered them? And worst of all, was Arthur among them? 

A sound off to the side was enough to rip your attention away. Just beyond the bridge, someone stumbled wildly into the road. A survivor, you hoped, or a killer... 

Whoever it was seemed to have spotted you, as they made a beeline hurriedly across the bridge, skirting around the victims as if they were nothing but rocks in their wake. A spike of fear coursed through you, but the stallion nickered. 

And then your name was shouted through the still air. Relief flooded through you instantly with the recognition, your breath rushing out in a swoosh when you realized you’d been holding it. As Arthur drew closer, you could see he wasn’t unscathed. His hat was off, exposing bloody and bruised streaks across his cheeks. His crimson shirt was stained with mud and what appeared to be a darker red substance, blood. He had a slight limp to his gait, though that didn’t stop him in his haste. 

He stopped just before you, his face full of surprise. 

“What happened?” You demanded, observing him before flicking your eyes back to the battlefield behind him. “Who are these people?” 

“O’Driscolls,” he growled, hands clenching into fists. “They…they ain’t the friendliest of folk.” 

You nodded in understanding. While you thankfully hadn’t had a personal experience of the O’Driscoll gang, you've heard they liked to peruse Valentine and the surrounding areas for unsuspecting victims. You'd once arrived in town to witness a hanging of one of the nefarious members, but you steered away, too squeamish to follow the event through. “Did they kill all these people?” You asked, although you weren't sure if you wanted to hear the answer. 

“No,” Arthur answered. “All them bodies ARE the damn bastards,” he spat on the ground, saliva tinted red with fresh blood. 

You hadn’t expected that answer at all. Your gaze snapped to the carnage again, and the sickly feeling in your stomach returned. It occurred to you now that the lifeless bodies were that of men, their revolvers either in their still hands or resting on the ground next to them, glistening silver and red in the sunlight. It was a bloody battle, but truly, how many of them were victims? How many of them were there in total? At least a dozen, maybe more. Surely they couldn’t all be part of that gang? Taking a shaky breath, you looked to Arthur again. “How...?”  

Arthur didn't answer. He instead approached his horse, reaching to tug the reins from your hand. You let go and watched as he patted the stallion with a smile, as if he weren’t covered head to toe in injuries. He mounted the horse with ease, but you caught the wince as he settled into the saddle. “Thank you for bringin’ him back to me,” he said finally, giving you a quick glance before rubbing the horse’s neck. 

You gave him a weak smile in return, though it vanished when you got a better view of his wounds. The cuts on his face were deep and the skin around them was bruised a dark purple. Streaks of blood meshed with the stubble along his jawline. He looked as if he fought ten people at once. Your heart sank, the concern for him growing. It troubled you to see him in such a state. 

“You should head back home,” he said. “No tellin’ how many more of them are around.” 

You nodded as he began to urge his horse forward, and you couldn’t help but to ask, “Are you going to get looked at?” 

He paused, and then shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be fine.” 

This didn’t sit right with you at all. No one in their right mind would even say that when there was more blood than skin showing. You worried he was worse than he appeared and wouldn’t realize until it was too late. A pit formed in your stomach at the thought. As he tapped his horse into a walk again, your mouth spoke faster than your mind could comprehend. “Wait.” 

He stopped again, looking back at you curiously. 

You should suggest that he at least have himself looked at by the doctor in Valentine, but the following words set a different intention. “Come back home with me,” you offered. When he opened his mouth to answer, you added, “You're a mess, and you need to be patched up.” 

The curious look turned to bewilderment. “It ain’t that bad,” he said dismissively with a shake of his head. 

“You can’t see yourself,” you pointed out. “But you look pretty rough.” 

He mumbled something under his breath. You weren’t quite sure what he said, but it sounded like, “I’ve had worse.” 

“Arthur,” you said sternly. “You just said you weren’t sure if there were more out here...you’re in no shape if they are, they’d be all over you. So if you please, follow me back, and I will tend to your wounds.” You were neither doctor nor a surgeon, only proficient at handling minor injuries. But it would make you feel better to ensure he wouldn’t die from his wounds later. And if they were worse than you could handle, maybe your intervention would persuade him to seek a professional.  

Arthur studied you, as if trying to find a way to deny you. A long moment passed before he finally sighed and relented. “Alright.” 

You flashed him a genuine and grateful smile this time, your uneasiness settling just a bit. Without another glance toward the bridge, you turned and pushed your mare into a lope, leaving the scene behind. Arthur was close behind. 

It didn't take long for you to reach your home; the travel time being cut in half in the urgency to leave the sight of death, as well as your growing concern over Arthur. After depositing the two horses into the barn, you ushered Arthur inside, setting him down at the table. As you bustled about grabbing clean cloth, a bowl of fresh water, and plucking from the meager medicine store you had, you’d only vaguely realized Frederick was not in the house. 

You didn’t take time to ponder this, as you placed everything on the table and turned to assess Arthur. The man sat before you in a slouched position, arms resting on his thighs, eyes turned toward the floor. He almost looked ashamed. 

“Look at me,” 

He did, slowly straightening to meet your gaze. The wounded side of his face seemed to become more swollen in the short time it took you to get back here. Your heart fell at the mere sight, wondering who was wicked enough to even attempt to mar his face. You dipped the cloth in the water and bent down, carefully pressing it to his bruised skin. He flinched slightly, his eyes narrowing in pain. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, slowly erasing the now dried blood from his skin. As you worked, your gaze slowly shifted from the wounds to meet his. You were faintly surprised that he was staring, but you were so close to him, you figured it was hard not to, especially when working in such a delicate area. This was the closest you'd been since the day he rescued you from the wolves, and you never noticed how beautiful his eyes were. Pools of light blue with hints of jade green, like the depths of the clearest pools of water you'd ever seen. Your heart stuttered slightly, and you shifted quickly back to caring for his marred cheek, slightly embarrassed having stared that long. 

He let out a slow breath, the tension slightly releasing from his body. “You a doctor?” he asked quietly. 

You smiled and shook your head, grateful that he didn't question your prolonged stare. “No, but my mother taught me a thing or two,” you explained. As the remaining blood cleared from his face, you were able to properly assess how deep those wounds are. Thankfully, they looked superficial; no stitches needed. Thank goodness, that would’ve been a terrible spot to work on. 

What would work was a salve. Swapping the cloth for a tin, you popped the lid open and ran your finger through the greasy substance before dabbing it along his skin with just as little pressure as you did while wiping. Arthur offered a slightly sharp intake of breath, but otherwise made no other noise or movement. 

“I know it stings,” you say soothingly. “But it helps.” 

He nodded once with the slightest of movement to not mess up your handiwork. Once the angry exposed flesh had a layer of salve, you stepped back to look for any other wounds. It didn’t take long for you to spot the clean rip of his shirt along his bicep, the frayed edges stained dark with blood. 

There were other stains too, although no other rips or tears in the fabric. You just hoped most of the blood wasn’t his. “You’ll, uh, have to remove your shirt,” you pointed out, slightly sheepishly. “That gash on your arm doesn’t look good.” 

Arthur seemed to hesitate for a split second, then did so without question, unbuttoning the shirt to reveal a union suit beneath. The second set of buttons followed, exposing his torso. A glimpse of his paler skin allowed you to realize how clean he was, and as he shifted to gingerly remove his arm from the sleeves, it seemed as if he'd gotten away with much less than it appeared. 

You scooted the chair closer to his side with the cloth in your hand, your other hand braced against the uninjured part of his arm to keep steady. His skin felt warm beneath your palm, and the muscles were taut as you drew the rag across. As more of the wound was revealed, it was plain that this was deeper than you'd like. 

A sigh escaped your lips, and you stood up to retrieve the suture kit. 

“That don’t sound good,” you heard Arthur comment. 

You rounded to face him, a needle and thread in your hands. To emphasize, you held them up to eye level. “Not quite.” 

Arthur grimaced a little but said nothing. Instead, he reached around to the satchel he’d draped across the back of the chair and dug out a bottle of an amber substance. You couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles flexed when he uncorked it, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a swig. Strong and resilient, you thought, as a flush of heat crowded your cheeks. 

He set the bottle onto the table, and you took your place again, banishing that thought from your mind. Carefully, you threaded the suture material through the needle, your unoccupied hand once again returning to its spot on his arm. Before piercing his skin, you paused, thinking back to the day your mother taught you. How long had it been since you were just a teenager, in the kitchen of your parents’ home? A young stable boy had gotten dragged by a neighbor's energetic stallion and sliced his leg on a broken piece of wood. You watched in awe as your mother made quick work of the nasty gash, closing the skin up expertly. She then passed it on to you with a smaller wound, which even with her guidance, did not look as neat and tidy as hers. 

“You ever do this before?” Arthur’s question snapped you from your thoughts. 

You blinked and took a breath. “Once,” you admitted. “But I remember how.” 

Arthur said nothing, giving you a lingering stare before taking another swig of his drink. The earthy, bitter smell of whiskey hit your nose, and you contemplated taking a drink for yourself to ease the sudden anxiety that welled in your chest. Instead, you sat up straight and delicately pinched the skin between your fingers and made the first pierce. 

He made a small noise at the back of his throat as your slightly trembling fingers made the first knot, though sat as still as a statue as you continued. You were slow, ensuring no mistakes were made. His skin bled slightly from your ministrations, and you were careful to wipe away without disturbing or unraveling your work. 

You took a momentary break halfway through, flexing your fingers for a moment while your other hand simply rested on his arm. Even as Arthur seemed to relax, most likely from the alcohol, you could still feel the hard muscle beneath. Your eyes swept over his arm, noting the defined curves and planes. He was built with the thickness of a tree, a sense of strength and power radiating through his person. It was a result of hard labor, his torso decorated with tan lines and old scars. Your gaze then shifted down slowly to his hands, now resting in his lap. His fingers were dotted with blood, trailing up to the leather of his fingerless gloves. 

The obvious signs of a fight. 

“Arthur?” you spoke his name quietly, wondering if you should be even asking this at all. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you...kill those men?” you breathed out, though your heart started to race with anticipation. The question had been lingering for a little while. 

He looked at you then, his beautiful eyes searching yours for what seemed like an endless second, the corners of his mouth downturned in a slight frown. Finally, he sighed and looked away, “Yes,” he answered gruffly. 

You knew it. Hell, you had the feeling when you found him back there. You couldn’t exactly count how many of them laid slain in the road. You remember that day with the wolves. A whole pack it seemed, and Arthur took them out effortlessly. Humans were different, but still...one man against many... 

He must’ve taken your silence wrong, because he then said, “It was either me or them. And the world’s better off without them in it.” 

“How?” you asked. “I mean...you took all of them on at once?” you amended when he gave you a look of concern. 

Arthur took a deep breath, taking another swig of his whiskey before looking at you again. “I was ambushed at the bridge. One o’ them snuck up behind me and yanked me off my horse. It weren’t an easy fight, but I managed,” he shrugged as if it were a daily occurrence for him. 

Your stomach twisted. “You’re lucky you’re not dead,” you murmur, turning your attention back to the sutures. 

Arthur didn’t wince when you pierced through his skin again. Instead, he shrugged a second time. “I ain’t that easy to kill,” he answered a-matter-of-factly. 

“You speak from experience?” you countered, peering at him again. 

He hesitated for a second before sighing heavily, “More than I’d like,” he mumbled, his helping of whiskey lasting a beat longer than before. 

You wanted to ask more, your mind sifting through the stories he’s shared with you. The states he’d traveled between, the jobs he’d gone on, the people he’d met. It only made sense that the downsides of those jobs meant...facing potential death. You felt as if you were only scratching the surface of this familiar, yet mysterious man. 

Silence fell. Arthur continued to sit still while you finished the sutures, your thoughts spinning like a tornado. The deeper you went the more the curiosity and a strange sense of admiration welled within you, and while you hated to admit it, there was a small twinge of fear. This was a man that faced dangerous predators and spoke of it so nonchalantly, and now learning he was perfectly capable of taking down a dozen men without any fatal wounds? 

You finished the last suture, and you wiped the last of the excess blood away to admire your handiwork. Fingers traced over the unaffected skin, feeling for any residual issues. Nothing felt taut or uneven. “Anything feel off?” You asked quietly, your fingers lingering, and you realized you'd been tracing the dip of his muscle, where it connected to the swell of his shoulder. So well built... 

You stopped abruptly, hoping he hadn't noticed. 

What you hadn't realized is that he did notice, his eyes first on your hand, then he met your gaze. You froze, heat striking through your cheeks. 

“No,” he answered. “Feels okay.” 

You nodded, promptly standing up to clear the supplies, but to also hide your flushed face. Just as you placed the suture kit back to its home, the opening of the door startled you. 

Whirling around, you were half surprised and half relieved to find Frederick strolling in. The thumping of your heart slowed just a fraction, until you saw your husband’s eyes land on Arthur, who was already half out the chair. Arthur froze immediately. 

Frederick’s gaze snapped to yours, confusion and alarm clear on his face. 

“Frederick!” you exclaimed after the uncomfortably long moment of silence. “Uh...where were you?” 

“l heard those gunshots, and knowing you were out there, I got worried and went to find you,” he explained, his eyes constantly shifting back to Arthur. “Who might this be?” 

You looked to Arthur who met your gaze. The man looked quite uncomfortable and sheepish, as if he was caught doing something he shouldn't have. You took a breath and looked back to your husband. “This is Arthur,” you started. “He...well, he got caught up in that fight. I came across him and offered to bring him back here to fix him up.” 

You watched as the two men now stared at one another, Frederick’s scrutinizing gaze studying. Arthur hadn't adjusted his clothes, and his half-bare torso and newly stitched arm was out, solidifying your story. 

“They were O’Driscolls, the ones who caused those gunshots,” you added in the tense air, purposely keeping out the detail about Arthur killing them all. “Arthur was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

Frederick frowned, and his body seemed to relax a touch. “O’Driscolls,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I've heard they're nasty work. You're quite lucky you escaped with just a few wounds, even luckier that my wife came across you.” 

“Yeah,” Arthur mumbled in agreement, adjusting his clothes to cover himself back up. He flinched ever so slightly when the fabric grazed over his angry skin. With his shirt back in place, he began to stand up. “She's quite somethin’ with them stitches.” 

The two men standing side by side caught your full attention, and your gaze flicked between them in curiosity. Frederick was not petite by any means, but Arthur had a few inches on him, and harnessed a thicker build. Broad shoulders and toned arms, clothes that were generous in outlining his strength. Your husband’s clothes, while kept neat and tidy, sagged in a few places. He’d also put on a few pounds since moving out here, indicated by the slight strain in the buttons of his shirt. Complete opposites. 

“Say, you look quite familiar,” Frederick said thoughtfully, peering at Arthur. 

You could have sworn you saw Arthur tense, but you said, “He’s the one who fixed our roof.” 

“Ah!” Frederick’s face lit up with a smile. “Well, no complaints here. You did some fine work!” He clapped his hand on Arthur’s better shoulder. “Why don't you stay for dinner? My wife’s cooking is simply divine!” 

You hadn't expected Frederick to invite what was, to him, a complete stranger. Regardless, his offer was a pleasant surprise. You hid a smile, knowing Arthur was very aware of your cooking skills. When you glanced over, you observed a slight frown on Arthur‘s lips. 

“I wouldn't wanna intrude any more than I have been,” Arthur awkwardly explained. 

“You're not,” you said quickly, and when Arthur turned to look at you, you added, “You went through a lot today, at least rest up for a bit before heading back out.” 

Arthur stared at you for a moment, and then offered a half shrug. “Sure.” 

You set to work after that, immediately diving into dinner prep while Frederick and Arthur spoke to another at the table. Your husband was chattier and more enthusiastic, countering Arthur’s quiet responses. He wasn't uncomfortable, you could tell, but it was evident the previous fight took much more out of him than he was letting on. As you bustled around the kitchen, Arthur’s tired frame would linger in the corner of your eye. He didn't seem to be uncomfortable, which you were thankful for. 

A pot of stew was simmering on the stove, the aroma slowly filling the air of your home. You stirred, occasionally adding a pinch of the last of your herb stash, realizing you'd completely forgotten about your shopping trip to Valentine in favor of coming to Arthur’s aid. How ironic was it that you came to his rescue like he did that day when you met? You even brought his horse back to him. The roles had been reversed, you realized, and you giggled quietly to yourself. Although you hoped it wouldn’t become a common occurrence between the two of you. 

A few more moments passed before you retrieved three bowls from the cabinet, ladling generous portions in each. You carried them carefully to the table and set them down before sitting at your usual spot. Arthur went to move, obviously thinking he was in the wrong spot, but Frederick grabbed the chair you were in earlier to sit on one end. It left Arthur sitting across from you just like every other visit, even though it was Frederick’s normal spot. 

“Eat up, now! You won't find anything better for a hundred miles!” Frederick encouraged as he began to help himself. 

Arthur briefly met your gaze, a small smile touching his lips as he spooned in a mouthful. It was the same stew you'd served him the first time he visited your home, and you hoped he recognized that. 

As he swallowed, Arthur sat up straight with a grin on his face. “You're right, this ain't half bad!” He exclaimed. 

His enthusiasm made you smile, and it was obvious he was putting on a show to appease you in front of your otherwise unknowing husband. Frederick then added, “As I said, you will find nothing else like it!” 

The remainder of the meal was quiet after that, save for the spoons scraping the tin bowls. Arthur was the slowest to finish his meal, which you couldn't help noticing. Normally he would scarf it down in a heartbeat, but his eyes were heavily lidded, and often times he’d pause to yawn. You could hardly blame him after today. 

He sat back from his now empty bowl, stifling another yawn. “Thank you,” he groaned, stretching and rolling his bad shoulder with a slight wince. “That hit the spot.” 

You inclined your head in response, your eyes flicking to the window next. It had significantly darkened since you'd arrived back home, and you wondered exactly how much time had passed since. Something twinged in the back of your mind, almost like a silent warning. You weren't sure exactly why, but the thought of Arthur venturing out there so fresh after his injuries didn't sit right with you, even though you were well aware he had every capability to take care of himself. 

“Arthur, why don't you spend the night?” You offered. “Rest a bit more.” 

Arthur stared at you, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “I—” 

“We do have a guest bedroom,” Frederick interrupted, gesturing to the closed door next to your bedroom. “You ought to, I can see you're in need of a good rest.” 

Arthur was shaking his head. “It ain't necessary.” 

“I insist,” you said gently. “Please, you're practically dead on your feet.” 

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but whatever argument he had was interrupted with a deep yawn. He rubbed his palm along his face and sighed heavily. You knew he couldn't deny that, from the look of plain exhaustion and reluctance to debate even further. He didn't even have to say anything, just nodded. 

You smiled inwardly in relief, and then bustled toward the guest room. Upon opening the door, you were greeted with a slightly musty smell from the disuse, but not overpowering enough for the need to open the windows. You stepped in further and reached for the silhouette of the oil lamp on the nearby nightstand. A few seconds passed before the darkened room was bathed in amber light. The wash basin was full of water and had a clean rag next to it. The bed was neatly made with sheets that were hardly used. As you were finishing your brief survey to ensure everything was in order, you felt a presence hover in the doorway. 

You turned to see Arthur standing there, waiting patiently as he leaned slightly on the frame. His entire body sagged despite what you guessed to be his best efforts at hiding it. Your heart lurched at the thought of him denying your offer instead, heading out in the darkness like this. 

“The bed’s ready for you,” you gestured. “And the basin...” you nodded toward the porcelain piece. “Please make yourself comfortable.” 

Arthur nodded again, silently. He stepped in further, closing the already small distance between the two of you. He stopped, staring down at you with an expression of mild concern. “Y’ really don't have to do this,” he muttered. “You've already done so much.” 

You peered up at him, staring into those gorgeous, steady eyes. They were almost hypnotizing. “I don't have to, I want to,” you said with a warm smile. “I don't mind.” 

Arthur let out a small, humorless chuckle. “You're too sweet for your own good.” 

Sweet. You were thankful for the dim light, because your face flushed. You broke his gaze, eyes drifting to the bed again. “Sometimes people forget to be kind,” you explained. “It never hurts to remind the world.” 

He hummed shortly in response, and your eyes locked to him again. His face displayed thoughtfulness. 

You wondered what he was thinking, but your curiosity was staunched by the greater need for his recovery. Instead, you took a breath and said, “Goodnight, Arthur. Frederick and I will be just next door if you need anything.” 

As you turned, you caught his nod in your peripheral. You headed out of the room and closed the door behind you, although you could feel his lingering stare just before the knob clicked into place. 

—- 

Arthur awoke as something shifted around him, a gentle movement that didn’t rouse him until there was a sudden weight upon him. His eyes fluttered open, facing the room swathed in a dim glow of the oil lamp on the nightstand. Something on his thighs felt heavy, and his gaze fell upon a pair of legs straddling his. Panic struck him as his eyes blinked rapidly in the desperate attempt to see who was trapping him. 

His vision adjusted, and your name slid from his mouth in surprise. “What’re you doin’?” He gasped; voice still rough with sleep. His brain seemed sluggish as he scrambled to comprehend what was going on. 

You smiled down at him, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “You seemed kind of lonely, Arthur. I thought I might give you some company,” you explained softly. 

He opened his mouth to reply, confusion only growing. Instead, he seemed to focus on what you were wearing. The thin white material of your nightgown was bunched around your waist, exposing your thighs. Your figure was silhouetted in the light, accentuating your shape. 

You knew he ought to look away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. 

You might have taken his silence for acceptance, because you leaned down until your face was only inches from his with a whisper of his name on your lips, a hand rested on his shoulder slowly descended to his chest, where his still hammering heart thudded against your soft palm. Your mouth hovered over his neck, dangerously close to his pulse point. The sweet scent of perfume surrounded him like a silk scarf. He inhaled quietly, breathing in the delicious aroma— 

His hands at his sides balled into fists. What were you doing? What was he doing?! You are a married woman, and him? How was he allowing this? His mind screamed at him to stop, to push you off, to rush out of that house and never darken your doorstep again. 

But he couldn’t find it in himself. “Wh-what about your husband?” He managed to say, hoping his last saving grace would be for you to realize your infidelity. 

Your body straightened up, and your smile turned impish. “What about him?” You asked in an innocent voice, your finger tracing the opening of his union suit. Even with just a few inches of exposed skin, your touch felt like fire, just as much as it had before when stitching him up. 

Something pooled deep in his belly. An old, yet familiar rush of excitement and arousal. He gritted his teeth, guilt seeping into his mind. 

“Don’t think he’d appreciate this,” Arthur pointed out, his eyes immediately falling to your hand. Why couldn’t he just reach up and grab your wrist? 

You giggled softly, your hand dragging along his abdomen. “What he doesn’t know,” you began, stopping where the blankets covered him, just above his navel, to peel them away. Arthur tensed, realizing now there wasn’t much else between the two of you. Your palm continued its journey down his body until resting on his now obvious, traitorous, erection. “Won’t hurt him.” 

The weight of your hand against him, even when only blocked by the fabric of his union suit, felt wonderful. He couldn’t help the groan that rumbled from his throat, his thoughts melting away. 

It didn’t stop there. Your other hand began to unbutton the line down his suit, slowly exposing more and more before his length sprung free from the constriction, upright and ready. His body pulsed with want, the burning need to feel your skin against his. 

You granted his unspoken wish, wrapping your fingers at the base. You pumped once, experimentally, before picking up a smooth rhythm. Another moan bubbled from his mouth, quiet, desperate. Your touch felt like pure heaven, soft and warm and just right. 

“Fuck,” he sighed out, tilting his head back. Any lingering resistance faded with his resolve. 

“I’ve wanted you, Arthur…” you murmured breathlessly, your hand still working him from root to tip. “I know you want me too.” 

His breath came in a shudder. “I…” he trailed off, unable to muster up even a denial. His better senses told him to refuse, to stop you, to leave. But how could he with you here, exploring him so freely, so intimately? 

His thought became clouded with the slow build of his pleasure. A carnal urge awakened within him, a desire to claim you in a way he hadn’t done with anyone in so long. Another groan escaped, low and quiet. His hand reached for you, resting on the warm skin of your thigh. It took every inch of restraint to not flip you over and bury himself within you at that second. 

“I told you,” you cooed, the smile remaining on your face. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.” 

Any following words failed to leave his tongue. All he could think about was your soft touch, your warm body, how good it felt to be… 

His eyes snapped open. What faced him was the same room, although your absence was more than obvious. The oil lamp was off, and the room was almost pitch black, save from the beginning rays of dawn turning the sky a cobalt tinge before the sunrise. 

It was a dream. A silly, stupid dream, he thought to himself. Though the ghost of your body on his seemed to linger, too tangible for it to be just a figment of his imagination. The uncomfortable strain in his pants brought him further into reality, as he shifted and winced from the acute onset of pain that reminded him why he was here in the first place. 

His entire body ached, his muscles stiff. He groaned and slowly sat up, trying his best to ignore his hard length and the simultaneous pain plaguing his limbs. His head was swimming, both from the recent dream and the memories of yesterday flooding in. It'd been such a busy day, Arthur had been hunting when those damned O’Driscolls ambushed him at the bridge west of Valentine. He’d fought multiple men before, but not without a toll on himself. The pain was familiar, the scars baring more stories than any normal man could holster. Health cures usually took the edge off, along with a bottle of whiskey and a good night’s rest. 

He wouldn't have even given his injuries a second thought if you hadn't shown up. 

He rubbed his sore face with his hand, groaning deeply again. Shame welled in his chest for even having that dream, the way it felt so real, the way his body responded to you... 

Arthur had to get out of there. 

He jumped up at an instant, ignoring the protests in his body as he grabbed his hat and gun belt which were resting on the bedposts. He adjusted himself, although he doubted anyone would be awake at this hour to even notice. The floorboards creaked and the hinges moaned as he moved to open the door, slowly pulling it open to face the kitchen. 

To his surprise, a soft glow painted the room, just barely illuminating the furniture. It emanated from the fireplace, he realized, and saw a figure sitting in front of it. He blinked as his vision adjusted, and his heart skipped a beat. It was you. 

Your figure bathed in the glow of the dying fire, swathed in a nightgown. Upon his entry, you turned to look at him. 

Arthur froze under your gaze, suddenly feeling guilty. The memory of the dream still too fresh, he looked away. “Uh, I’m headin’ out,” he announced quietly. 

“Oh, alright,” 

Your voice caught his attention. It sounded thick and raspy. He looked at you again, this time noticing the glazed appearance in your eyes. Your cheeks shone wet. You’d been crying. His stomach churned at the sight, although he couldn’t exactly place why. “You okay?” he asked against his better judgment. 

You took a deep, shuddering sigh, looking down at your lap. In your hands was a small piece of paper. “No, not really,” you mumbled with a sniff. 

Arthur frowned. He wanted to inquire more, but his other thoughts urged him to just leave. However, he stayed rooted in the spot. “I’m...sorry to hear that,” he awkwardly replied, unsure what else to even say. 

You wiped your palm across your face, a pained smile crossing your lips. “It’s my husband. He left for another business venture.” 

Of course, that was usually the story. It was so often that Arthur sometimes forgot you were even married. Regardless, you seemed to be so cheery even without Frederick’s presence. Why was now any different? 

“You’d think I’d be used to this by now,” you continued. “But it doesn’t get any easier. I just...miss him,” your voice broke slightly. “Seems like he spends more time out there than he does with me.” 

A swell of sympathy gathered in his chest, along with annoyance. Your husband left you alone too frequently, without protection, and the run-in with the O’Driscolls solidified your potential danger. If you’d arrived just a few minutes earlier at the bridge yesterday, then you would have been unknowingly caught in a massacre that you wouldn’t have survived. Hell, it was a miracle you’d been out here this long and only had that one encounter with the wolves, as far as he knew. How long would that dumb luck last? 

A lump formed in the back of Arthur’s throat. He swallowed it silently, pondering where this spike of anxiety came from. He cared about you, he realized, a little too much. “How long ‘til he’s back?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” you answered sadly. “After you went to bed, a colleague of his stopped by. They were speaking amongst themselves, I didn’t really listen. He told me not to worry about it but then I woke up to this...” you held up the piece of paper. 

Arthur reached for it and plucked it from your fingers, leaning in to read in the fire light. 

My dearest, 

I deeply apologize for having to inform you like this. I will be traveling to New York this morning for an opportunity that I could not refuse. If all goes well, this may be the biggest financial success I’ve achieved since first arriving here. We will be one step closer to the life we are destined to live. 

I’m not sure how long this will take, but I promise to write frequently with updates if this lasts longer than a week. 

With all my love, 

Frederick 

A pit of frustration grew in his stomach. The persuasion of money was an all too familiar tale he'd acquainted himself with many times, often with another price to pay. That being said, Arthur was careful when it came to plotting heists, whether it was by himself or with others. 

You and Frederick were far from the outlaw life, but leaving you here on the promise of money for the unforeseen future, in the wake of a large O’Driscoll attack so close to your home, was beyond reckless. 

A curse bubbled in the back of his throat, but he kept it down. As much as he’d like to curse the bastard out, he knew it’d make you more upset. Instead, he said, “At least he let you know where he was goin’, but I know it ain't easy for you right now.” 

You nodded slightly in agreement. “I'm sorry you found me like this,” you laughed humorlessly, wiping your face again. Your other hand settled on your neck, which he realized held a ruby necklace, your fingers toying with the pendant that seemed to almost harness its own fire within the facets. He hadn’t noticed it before. 

Was that the kind of man Frederick was? Adorn you with gifts in the wake of his absence? Arthur bit back a sigh, the sympathy only growing beneath his ribs. “No need,” he said quietly. “I get it.” 

You met his gaze again, the silence other than the faint crackle of the fire encompassing the room. It held for a beat too long, and you stood up and closed the distance, wrapping your arms around his torso in a tight embrace. Arthur tensed from the unexpected contact and readied the automatic response to back away. 

But...he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He allowed strangers to hug him for reasons beyond his understanding, and he could barely reciprocate when they were too lost in their own emotions. This however, was different. The tension eased from his body, but keeping himself neutral he didn’t return the hug, instead raised his hand and placed it on your upper back. 

The warmth of your body seeped to his. Your scent wafted to him, still smelling like the floral perfume he detected earlier when you were tending to your wounds. A flood of memories suddenly came rushing back, from those quiet moments in the same room, to the damning dream he had. 

Suddenly, you stepped back, eyes snapping to the ground as you tucked your hair behind your ear sheepishly. “I’m sorry, how silly of me,” you spoke with a flustered tone.  

Arthur couldn’t find a response, finding himself empty when devoid of your touch. He breathed out, fingers flexing at his sides. “It ain’t silly,” he murmured finally. 

You offered a watery smile to him, the sadness etched deep in your face. “I appreciate it, but I’ve held you up long enough,” you admitted. “Don’t linger on account of me.” 

He’d almost forgotten that he was in a hurry to leave, a hurry to get nowhere other than to avoid his own embarrassment. In the past five minutes, the energy shifted so drastically it was almost surreal. That rush to leave stretched further and further away, and the urge to stay for your comfort was beginning to overwhelm him. 

But he knew he couldn’t. What else could he do than to just sit and watch you cry? He had no advice to offer, no other words of encouragement. It wasn’t his responsibility. 

Arthur finally nodded. “’M sorry,” he simply said, reaching out once again to place his hand on your shoulder. Another sentence hung heavy in the back of his throat, but he kept it to himself. You deserve better than him. 

Your face turned to glance at his hand, and then back to him, a flicker reflecting in your eyes. No more words were exchanged before his hand slid away, and he turned to leave. 

Maybe he should stake the immediate area out for the next day or two, just in case. 

[calmlyerratic]

“Prongs, are you stoned?”

James’ brow knit further in confusion, only affirming this speculation.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered. “Look at his eyes."

Remus' eyesight was impeccable, but Sirius had to squint through the dim lighting. James' eyes looked a little bloodshot and much greener than usual.

“Well, just look at him Moony—he’s high as a bloody kite!" Sirius barked in half-laughter. "That stuff from greenhouse seven does a number on you, eh mate?” He winked at the tall red head, who gulped.

James and the red head exchanged a bizarre look and Sirius burst out laughing.

“Oh this is brilliant! Do you have any more? And why in Godric’s name wasn’t I invited?” Sirius tucked a strand of dark hair elegantly behind his ear, eyeing the red head. “Who are you, anyway?”

The red head was very white. He clutched his wand in one hand and his half-eaten brownie in the other.

“What the bloody hell is going on!”

Sirius snorted. “Blimey, must be good stuff?"

Remus' lips pursed slightly as he bit the inside of his cheek. “Who are you?”

“I'm Harry Potter.” James answered, in a way that quite convinced Sirius he was.

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from my fic, Encounters of the Future Sort by CalmlyErratic, read it here on Ao3 :)

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[flockofcrowsinatornadoofcreation]

Headcanons/theories

• Lloyd's has "traffic light" eyes, starting out reddish brown until he gains his Golden Power, when they turn a golden brown color. After he is possessed by Morro, his eyes turn hazel green, slowly turning greener during the year Wu is gone (due to increased training with/using his Power). By the time the Sons of Garmadon show up, Lloyd's eyes are jade green.

• When Lloyd loses his Elemental Power after fighting Garmadon in S9, his eyes turn a dull brown color until he regains his Power.

• Lloyd's eyes are slitted like a cat's eyes and are highly reflective. When Lloyd gets really excited about something, his pupils expand (like a cat on the hunt)

• Lloyd's eyes actually glow a bit. When he uses his Elemental Power, his eyes glow brighter. If he uses his Power for too long or too much, his vision starts to "go green".

• When Lloyd gets super angry, his eyes take on a red tint.

• Lloyd has fangs! They're not as impressive as Garmadon's and are rather small, but they're sharp!

• When Lloyd gets really upset or angry, the lights start flickering due to his Power reacting to his emotions.

• One time, he got so upset that he he accidentally blew up half the power lines on the block + all the lightbulbs in the building.

• Garmadon's blood is dark purple. Similarly, Lloyd's blood is darker and slightly more purple than human blood.

• Morro cut Lloyd's wrists to keep him weak, which made him easier to control.

• Morro did this so much that it became a habit for Lloyd, even after Morro left.

• Kai found out about this habit one night when he went to the kitchen for a glass of water and found Lloyd trying to bandage himself with one hand. Kai -- freaked out by the sight of Lloyd's blood -- had frantically tried to find Lloyd's attacker before Lloyd stopped him. When Kai asked what had happened, Lloyd began to explain but got emotional. Kai helped Lloyd bandage his arm and clean up, then offered to talk about it.

• Kai told Nya (naturally), and now every time they find Lloyd even hinting at having cut/thinking about cutting, the siblings drop everything and immediately initiate a cuddle session.

• The cutting got worse after the Harumi Incident and The March of the Oni. One especially bad night, Lloyd accidentally cut too deep and just barely managed to wake up Kai before he collapsed from blood loss. Kai had called for help, waking up the entire team. Once Lloyd woke up, Kai and Nya made him tell the rest of the team what had happened.

• Now, the whole team helps support Lloyd on his bad days. Zane bakes cookies, Cole and Jay play harmless pranks to make Lloyd laugh, Nya makes sure Lloyd has taken care of himself, and Kai puts on Lloyd's favorite movies; even Pixal helps by keeping Lloyd distracted building mechs!

• Kai, Lloyd, and Nya are the RGB Siblings and nothing can change that.

• Lloyd loves it when they play with his hair. It's very soothing for him, and he sometimes falls asleep while they do this. Kai and Nya know how much Lloyd loves it, and they play with his hair whenever they can.

• Cuddle sessions with the RGB Siblings are the best. Kai and Nya put Lloyd in the middle, with them curled around him on the sides. The siblings talk about their day, playing with each other’s hair. They usually fall asleep like that, with Kai falling asleep last. Kai likes to make sure his little brother and sister are asleep and warm before letting himself fall asleep.

• Kai and Nya are fashion icons. They have taught Lloyd their ways. No one is safe.

• Cole actually looks more like his mom than his dad, but it comes across in a masculine way. Cole's dad is a tiny Italian man, so Cole must have gotten his frame and coloring from his mom.

• Cole is colorblind!

• Cole is Black/Italian, Jay is White, Zane is either very pale White or Black in his "human mode" (he's normally White, but for his Snake Jaguar disguise, he was Black), Kai and Nya are Hispanic/Filipino, and Lloyd's human side is of European descent.

• Jay and Lloyd are the Meme Team

• Cole had no idea that his mom was the previous Elemental Master of Earth until Master of the Mountain

• Zane secretly remembers his time as the Ice Emperor. He fights to keep up his cheery, innocent front, but he worries that he might slip. He fears that he could hurt someone if the Ice Emperor returned.

• After thinking long and hard, Zane gave Pixal and Lloyd a copy of his shutdown code. He told them it was "just in case", with no further explanation given.

• Nya relies more on her strength than her powers, so she's thicker and stronger. Lloyd is younger and relies more on his powers than his strength, so he's skinnier and smaller.

• Sleeping

• Lloyd: Almost always sleeps flat on his back in what Kai calls "soldier mode". This is due to his strict training at Darkley's. He stays that way until morning, even when having nightmares. As he gets older, though, he sleeps in a more relaxed position, and grows to be a more restless sleeper. Lloyd is the fastest waker, being on his feet even before Zane (also due to Darkley's training + pranks).

• Zane: Zane "sleeps" either on his side or on his stomach. He doesn't sleep like a human would, instead slowing most of his systems to conserve energy. He takes exactly 10 seconds to wake up, without fail. He likes to "sleep" near Pixal. He also "sleeps" less than a human would.

• Kai: Typically the last to fall asleep, Kai is a fairly heavy sleeper. He likes to cuddle with Lloyd and Nya. Kai sleeps however feels most comfortable at the time.

• Nya: The most restless sleeper. She wakes up at weird times and can't get back to sleep. She cuddles with Lloyd and Kai.

• Cole: Cole is the heaviest sleeper, and it often takes several tries to wake him up. Typically sleeps star-fished or on his side, and sleeps the longest.

• Jay: Always sleeps hugging a pillow, without fail. Fairly restless, sometimes sleeptalks or sleepwalks.

• Pixal: Likes to "sleep" hugging Zane. Her wake up time is slower than Zane's at 15 seconds, and she typically "sleeps" longer than Zane.

• Wu: Who knows if he sleeps, tbh

• Garmadon: He snores, and typically sleeps with his eyes open(?) Even as Sensei G, he sleeps the least compared to everyone else on the team.

• Echo is still out there, waiting for someone to find him

• Lloyd died when that part of the Monastery fell on him after the Oni attacked, but FSM let him choose to go back

• Zane is the tallest, then Cole, Kai and Nya (they're the same height), Jay, and Lloyd is the shortest.

• Aging is different for Elemental Masters, and each Master ages differently than the others. This is why Wu looks really old, Garmadon looks old but not as old as Wu (even though he's older), and Maya and Ray look the same age as they did in the memories (Maya perhaps looks younger than she used to!) This may also explain why Lloyd appears to be 13-18 years old, but Misako is like 60 with a full head of grey hair. He just ages slower (?)

• Speaking of ages, Lloyd isn't really sure when his birthday is or how old he is. It's not his fault, he just wasn't told.

• His first birthday party was a huge surprise for him (and for everyone else). It all started mid-September, when Lloyd was sent on a week-long solo mission by Wu and Misako. Once he had left, Misako asked the others what they were getting for his birthday. Everyone was so confused, having had no idea that his birthday even existed. Misako explained that Lloyd's birthday was on September 22nd, then asked if Lloyd hadn't told them. Kai said that Lloyd didn't know. Everyone rushed to buy presents, hoping to make it the best first birthday ever. When Lloyd got back, the team threw him a surprise birthday party.

• Kai made him a pocketknife -- a Smith family tradition!

• When Zane gets too emotional, he can short-circuit. One time Jay scared him and he freaked out then dropped like a stone.

• The Ninja's favorite activity to do together is laser tag. They all have equal skill at laser tag, and they can't break anything. They try to go as much as they can.

• Wu has a pic of the Ninja passed out on each other on the couch of the Bounty after the Final Battle (before Rebooted). It's a really cute picture, and Wu plans on framing it and giving it to Lloyd when he officially becomes a Master Sensei, to remind him of how far he and his team has come.

• Lloyd just really likes space. Some nights, if he can't get to sleep, he sneaks out and stargazes from the tallest thing he can climb. Others may or may not join him to talk about life.

• Zane and Cole are the "parents", Kai is the "big brother"

• Lloyd (still) calls dragons "dregons"

• Kai sometimes thinks of Lloyd as his kid. He always denies it.

• Lloyd's favorite food in any universe is dumplings!

• Lloyd purrs in his sleep sometimes. It fascinates his siblings. His purring sounds like a tiny motorbike.

• Lloyd knows how to sew. He stitched the lettering on the S8 gis himself.

• No one really knows how or when he learned how to sew. Some say he learned it at Darkley's, but he ties his knots like Zane.

• He actually taught himself by watching others for functionality, then learned how to use it for art from Cole.

• Zane is secretly a fashion icon, but he still dresses like an old man half the time. He doesn't want to overshadow the iconic RGB Siblings.

• Example of Icon Zane: "You don't need a rebreather." "Yes, I know, but I like how it completes my outfit😁"

• "Zane, you're a nindroid. You have infrared sensors. You have night vision. Why are you wearing glasses?" "I enjoy the aesthetic."

• Pixane stuff!

• They absolutely adore each other

• When Zane got back from the Never Realm, it was hard for Pixal to let Zane out of her sight for a while

• They love to go on dates, especially to cafés during rain/snow storms. They enjoy the aesthetic.

• Since Zane gave Pixal half of his heart, they sort of feel what the other is feeling. This is usually limited to extremes, and doesn't usually cross realms. This link persists even after the two get new bodies after defeating the Overlord and getting scrapped.

• Lloyd was extremely touch-starved from Darkley's. During the first few seasons, Lloyd had to learn how to react to physical affection without breaking down into a clingy mess of tears

• Remember the Uncanny Valley Effect? Yeah, people get that about Lloyd. There's just something about him that feels off. People can instinctively tell that he's not completely human, even if they don't realize that. The same goes for Wu and Garmadon.

• Fav tea flavors (cus I want to)

• Cole: Something about the man screams orange spice tea.

• Lloyd: I think the whole fandom can agree that his favorite tea is peppermint tea. Adds an excessive amount of sugar.

• Kai: Whatever that smoke-flavored one is. Jinsung? I think? He really only drinks it rarely (re: more of a coffee person).

• Nya: Black tea, if any. She drinks it without anything added, no ifs ands or buts.

• Jay: Lemon or ginger tea.

• Zane: Honestly, he feels like a chamomile tea type of guy.

• Wu: Team chamomile as well. Definitely an herbal type.

• Garmadon: Black tea with tons of sugar. Doesn't even make it into a drink, just swallows the tea bag whole and dumps a few tablespoons of sugar down his throat for good measure. Mostly does it to get a reaction out of Kai others and to make Lloyd laugh.

• Pixal: Tea? What is this tea? She only knows the bitter truth of cold black coffee.

[generatia]

* . °•★|•°∵[A Rainy Sotenbori Night]∵°•|☆•° . *

Just a little Majima x Reader Fanfic I made, y/n is a doctor and she forgot her umbrella after work [Read More] * . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

It was a rainy night in Sotenbori, the smell of petrichor perforating through the city streets. Rain drops descended onto pavement in heavy blobs rather than subtle rain making all of the usual denizens who roamed the streets at this time fall away into the multitude of bars and clubs that littered the streets to escape the rain's wrath. Occasional lightning split the night sky giving a brief look into the dense clouds that loomed above the mesmerising neon signs illuminating the streets, a roaring sound of thunder often followed sending even the bravest souls indoors in fear of its rage, afterall no man was stronger than nature. 

In front of a convenience store underneath the awning stood you, impatient and very wet. 

“Crap, I can’t believe I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

Your uniform has been absolutely soaked through. The shirt you wore was heavily damp and sticking to your body in a cold, uncomfortable way pressing itself tightly against the remaining warmth of your skin, luckily you chose to wear a bra today although that didn’t take away from the shame you felt when others passed by and could almost see it. In the end you folded your arms tightly around your chest still holding your bag of groceries which were experiencing their own miniature flood inside the bag. Your black pencil skirt was now clinging to your figure firmly and the heels you chose to wear specifically today were completely ruined by the rain with each step creating a small squelching sound from the amount of rainwater in them. Nonetheless, you weren’t deterred. With one hand you took your phone out of your bag and flipped it open to try and call a cab so that you could at least try and get home before you caught some sort of illness or, before the flood waters of Sotenbori washed you away. You pressed the dial button and put it close to your ear and within seconds…

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your phone had run out of battery. Technology, reliable as always. You shoved the phone back in your bag almost flinging it off of your shoulder and leaned against the window of the convenience store with your hands folded around your chest silently pleading and begging the heavens to stop just for a moment so that you could at least walk the short distance back to your apartment but the rain was unrelenting, a beast which couldn’t be tamed. It seemed jealousy was consuming you as you watched some of the people who remained outside carrying an umbrella, a shield against the cold water falling from above. Not only that, they were bundled up in coats and jackets, something that you seemed to be lacking as you missed the weather forecast this morning, opting to instead stay in bed a little while longer. Seems you regretted it now as you watched each person pass on the street growing greener with envy each passing minute. 

There was an old man with an umbrella who was walking his dog. Why does he need one and why is he walking his dog in the rain at this hour? There was a man who was clearly stumbling home drunk barely holding onto his umbrella, maybe if he passed out you could take it from him… no that was an evil idea too heinous even for you.

“[Y/N]-chan, what are you doing here?” And then there was him.

He practically materialised in front of you. How could you have not noticed him sooner, were you so deep in your own thoughts that you let him practically stand in front of you. You quickly snapped out of your trance and looked up at the voice, it was Majima. He stood just a little bit outside of the awning allowing for droplets of water to fall onto his snakeskin jacket and lathering his hair in water making it stick to the sides of his face, its fullness dampened by the rain. The drops that fell slid down his chest and onto his abs, it’s rude to stare but you couldn’t help it the man was built like a statue you’d find in a museum. His trousers also stuck to him like glue revealing his lean figure, yet despite that you couldn’t help but think he looked handsome and mysterious that way, a little badass even but you could never tell him that or it’d go straight to his head.

Majima wasn’t any better either, he couldn’t help but stare at what you were trying to conceal. He could see your full figure now that the rain had kindly clung itself to your clothes making sure each centimetre was accounted for, he felt as though he was being exposed to you in a way he shouldn’t be able to see and it made him blush a little. To him you had seemed so vulnerable and so beautiful at a time like this with the neon lights of the street signs illuminating your features and reflecting inside your eyes like a kaleidoscope. It was a mesmerising site for any man to behold, yet he was the lucky one. His eyes greedily assessed your body hoping for a moment that no one was around so that he was the only one who could gaze at your allure. 

After a few seconds the moment of silent and longing gazes was broken. 

“Majima-san, it’s good to see you. I just finished work and stopped by the store when the storm hit. I may have forgotten my umbrella…” At that last part your voice trailed off a bit as if you were ashamed that you had forgotten it, growing slightly quieter hoping he wouldn’t hear it but as always, he did. You shuffled your feet a bit, a telling sign you felt as though he was going to reprimand you for it. You did promise him that you would try and take better care of yourself but here you were soaked to the bone and feeling miserable about the whole ordeal. 

“Eh, is that so,” he walked up closer to you now so that both of you were beneath the awning. He positioned himself next to you brushing his arm close to yours, the smooth, wet snakeskin rubbing against the nylon of your blouse. The sudden contact made your skin prickle with goosebumps and a feeling of heat washed over you from head to toe warming your insides for a quick second, butterflies in your stomach alerting all your other senses to high alert. “Then I guess I’m gonna have to wait with ya ‘till the storm dies down, ain’t I?” He leaned back against the window with you, flashing you a half smile as he took out a cigarette from his pack and slid it between his lips. 

You got a better look at his face now that his features were slightly more illuminated by the signs, he looked exasperated and worn out. His posture and tiresome features betrayed the confidence he tried to upkeep while attempting to light his cigarette and doing so poorly. He kept fiddling with the lighter opening and closing it but no flame erupted from its tip. 

“Damn thing won’t light.” He muttered under his breath, looking disgruntled at his lighter.

“Wait, let me.” You took a lighter out of your bag and turned towards him, one hand flicking your lighter open and the other cupping around the flame so that the breeze couldn’t extinguish it. It was a small moment, yet an intimate one. He watched you as the flame lit the tip of his cigarette, his hazel eye focusing on your features. “Well ain’t ya a doll.” He took a long drag of his cigarette and puffed out a dense cloud of smoke into the air, it twisted and turned with the shape of the wind creating hypnotic swirls. You took out a cigarette of your own from your bag and lit it, taking a puff. The rain pattered on the awning furiously.

“Tough day at work?” You broke the silence between you. He smirked and took a drag. “Thas one way of putin’ it.” He sighed heavily, looking out towards the street keeping his gaze focused on the few people that passed by. “What about you missy, didn’t I tell ya to keep better care of yourself?” His tone was inquisitive and playful, he was teasing you for your forgetfullness but this time you could fire back.  

“Says the man who looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days.” You chuckled while taking another drag of your cigarette. You had made him swear to you that if he ever had a sleepless night again he could come over and the two of you could lay in bed together until he felt tired enough to sleep. Yet he has yet to ring true on his promise and you could tell his insomnia was beginning to wear him out. 

“Yer got me there.” He lifted one hand in defeat, surrendering to your remark. “Guess both of us got things to work out huh?” His look was almost somber, there was something bothering him and you knew but he seemed very reluctant to give up any information, was it worth pressing about? He wasn’t the usual outgoing, exaggerated and overwhelming Majima you were used to, it seems like you were getting a glimpse of the true man behind the mask, here in the storm he was no longer the Mad Dog of Shimano but Goro Majima. Before you could further pry into Majima’s personal life however, he asked his question first, “How’s yer work goin’, boss still working ya to the bone?”

You exhaled softly, “As always. I haven’t seen you around the clinic recently though, I kinda miss your surprise visits.” There it was, your chance to finally ask where he’d been for the past few days and you took it. He’d been very silent for the past couple of days which was very much unlike him, knowing your relationship with him was still in its early stages you tried to make it seem as though you weren’t overly concerned and wanted to give him the space. Yet deep down inside it ate away at you, of course he would still call you when he had the time but those were very brief calls just to check in on you. It made you worry a lot.

Hearing those words made Majima stand a bit taller, his ears perked up at the sound of your words ringing an alarm bell in his head. “Is that so [Y/N]-chan?” He grinned as his eye moved in your direction. Your cheeks immediately turned a shade of pink realising what you had said, you gently nudged his shoulder with your elbow. He snickered at your faint attempt to fight back the embarrassment, he thought you were cute when you got so worked up. Despite his mocking tone you leaned your head against his shoulder which took him by surprise. There was a moment of silence between the two of you as you watched the smoke from Majima’s cigarette floating up towards the roof of the awning, the pitter patter of the raindrops above only getting louder. “You always made my day a little brighter. Even when it rains on days like this, just being near you makes me feel better.” You said looking down towards the floor averting making eye contact as you spoke. “I wish that I could make you feel better too.” Majima’s body tensed a little bit, he knew he wasn’t exactly his usual self but he didn’t realise it was so bad that even you could notice. “Eh don’t worry your pretty head about me, it’s nothin’ to be concerned about. Just that bastard Shimano breathin’ down my neck is all.” He flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the ground where it went out almost immediately. He moved his shoulder slightly from underneath your head and put his arm around you bringing you closer to him, you stumbled slightly and regained your balance by his side, one hand pressing against him. “Yer a sweetheart for worryin’ though.” “Promise me that’s everything?” Your words sounded almost like a plea. They sounded weak, but that's all you felt like when you were around him. He was the only man who could ever make you let your guard down, he tore the walls that you had built up around you and let himself in. 

He looked down at you, despite being soaked to the bone all Majima saw in front him was beauty. He loved just how open you were when you were around him and hoped that one day he could pour his heart out to you on another rainy night in Sotenbori just like this one, but maybe in the comfort of your home. There were so many things he wanted to tell you about himself that were always at the tip of his tongue, on the cusp of being said and yet he had always held back in fear of losing himself in you completely. He was guarded and unable to let go just yet. He lifted his gloved hand to your chin and held it up ever so slightly then pressed his lips against yours, his goatee prickling your chin. A sudden rush of euphoria coursed through you, a heat swelled inside your chest and the butterflies in your stomach felt like they were about to burst. “I promise ya, that’s all that's botherin’ me.” You knew it was a lie, a sugar coated lie, a white lie. It still seemed like he needed time and you were willing to give it to him, after all he was a member of the Yakuza and had many secrets held within himself and the scars on his body. They told a tale you were yet to uncover, one piece at a time you’d patiently chip away at his defenses. You wordlessly nodded in acknowledgement, giving him a peck on the cheek feeling his warmth.

“Seems the rain isn’t going away any time soon…” You proclaimed, the rain had only fallen harder the longer you were standing outside the convenience store. The awning above you began to fill with water creating a dip above you. “Seems like it, ain’t your place nearby though?” Majima wondered if he remembered the address correctly, even second guessing himself. 

“Yeah but, I don’t wanna get more soaked than I already am.” You pouted, your body began to shiver from the cold breeze that penetrated the city streets. Your skin felt as if there were daggers slowly stabbing at the softness beneath the wet nylon. An idea sparked in Majima’s head, an idea that might have to take a little convincing to spark into fruition but an idea nonetheless. He grinned a toothy grin as he looked down at you. “If ya don’t wanna walk home how bout I carry ya instead, ay?” Your eyes widened a little at the idea, but before you had the chance to respond Majima took off his jacket and put it over you revealing his bare form. He looked as if the gods themselves had sculpted him and your eyes were immediately drawn to the hanya mask on his back, it was an immaculate work of art and told his story with its many colours and perfect lines. You wondered if one day you could uncover the story of the hanya mask, if he would lay in bed next to you and tell you how he became who he was today, the man so many feared and yet you loved. “So, I’m gonna carry ya and you’re gonna put the jacket over us both how’s that sound?” You smiled as you cocked one eyebrow up in disbelief at his suggestion, the Majima you knew was slowly creeping his way back to you. 

“I don’t think I get much of a choice here.” “Yer right ya don’t.” Before you could say any more he lifted you up off of the ground and hoisted you up on his back. You squealed momentarily as one of your arms locked itself around Majima’s neck and the other lifted the jacket over your already soaked hair. “Majima! You could’ve at least given me a warning.” Despite your reprimand you giggled as you pulled yourself closer to him, feeling his body warmth despite the cold temperatures outside. Did the man ever even feel the cold with the way he only walked around in the snakeskin jacket, you pondered. “Sorry darlin’ but I’d rather be warm in yer bed than stand out here all night.” He began to cackle as he started walking out of the awning into the cold and stormy night making his way up the street to a nearby apartment complex that was just a couple minutes away. You clung onto him for dear life, face pressed against one of his shoulders, this close you were able to fully take in more than the smell of the rain, his cologne. It was a strong odour from this close, he smelt like frankincense and honey with a mix of saffron. The scent was simply intoxicating to you as you closed your eyes and imagined yourself laying next to him in the comfort of your bed away from all of the blinding neon lights of the city and away from the uncomfortable sensation of rain soaked clothing growing more apparent on your body.

Weaving in and out of the alleyways and streets, you and Majima had finally reached your apartment complex. What surprised you was that Majima had enough strength to even lift you up the stairs to the second floor and only let you get off once the two of you were right by your door. He let go of you gently so that you wouldn’t fall or stumble making sure you were ok afterwards. You quickly unlocked the door to your apartment and the two of you went inside finally escaping the stormy Sotenbori night. You placed the soaked groceries onto the table and breathed a sigh of relief finally being able to take off your soaked shoes in the hallway. Majima beat you to it, already being half undressed and laying on the couch trying to catch his breath while inadvertently staining your couch with rain water. You did tell him not to run too fast but he simply didn’t want to listen, opting to instead run as fast as he could so he could get you home. You dry off whatever groceries were saveable from your bag and sort them out in the kitchen while listening to your boyfriend panting on the couch like a dog gasping for air. 

You go to grab a couple of towels from the bathroom so the two of you can dry off from the rain and walk back into the room sitting on the couch next to where his tiresome body lay, his arm covering his eye. You watch his chest rise and fall for a minute soaking up his good looks, despite him being exhausted and out of breath you still felt an attraction to him that no one could explain. Your heart ached with longing for him no matter how close or how far he was, you loved him, perhaps too much. 

Eventually when he caught his breath, he let out a maniacal cackle as he rose up ever so slightly to prop his head up against your thigh.

“I ain’t doin’ that again that's for sure.” He said between desperate breaths. You caressed his cheek with your hand feeling how warm he was, his sweat now mixing in with the rainwater that was dripping from his hair. You took a towel and put it under his soaked hair, wrapping it around and gently ruffling it to try and dry off the excess rain. He closed his eye again and smirked, “Ya know I could get used to this kinda treatment.” 

“Could you now.” You said with a snarky tone, your half smile betraying the sarcasm in your voice. Majima looked up slightly and smiled, “Who wouldn’t want a pretty lady like you pampering them, aye?” His words turned your cheeks red and although they weren’t visible in the dimly lit room illuminated only by a neon yellow sign outside he could tell that his words made you blush. He knew exactly what to say to elicit a reaction from you, you were putty in his hands that he could mold however he wanted.

“Oh shush.” You nudged his head playfully, letting out a small giggle at his compliment. “Thank you for getting me home.” Your words were sincere, they rang deep in Majima’s ears and he opened his one eye and looked up at you, his hand instinctively reaching to your face despite it being in an awkward position. 

“Don’t mention it, doll.” You pressed his hand closer to your cheek holding it there for what felt like an eternity. You could still hear the downpour outside and see the raindrops falling against your window, the scenery was serene. A moment to remember when you encounter inevitable sleepless nights.

“We should get out of these soaked clothes before we catch a cold.” Your voice was almost a whisper. 

“Would that be so bad? I’d give anything to have ya nurse me back to health.” He grinned, pulling his hand away from your cheek so that he could make use of the towel you threw at him earlier.

“Not if we’re both ill.” You chuckled, beginning to unbutton the blouse, it was so soaked you were sure you’d have to wring it out before throwing it in the laundry basket. Stray droplets of rain could still be felt on your body. Majima sat up with the towel still around his hair, leaning back as he watched you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, even now you could feel his stare penetrating straight through you almost as if he could see the soul of your being. You stopped unbuttoning midway through and glanced at him.

“Can I help you?” You said mockingly, one eyebrow cocked up. 

“No, no, no please, carry on. I was enjoying the show.” “Pervert.” You smirked, throwing another towel at him hitting him square in the face.

“I getcha home in one piece and this is the thanks I get?” He scoffed playfully, upping the dramatics to make himself appear hurt by your words. Feeling a bit confident you got up off the couch and sat on his lap straddling him, he was shocked by the sudden action so much so that he didn’t even let out a breath. You lifted his chin with your finger and looked him directly in the eye. “If you’re enjoying it so much why don’t you do it.” His expression quickly changed from awe to mischief, it didn’t take much for him to get going. He liked the controlling side of you, the bold and brave woman beneath that was shrouded in a shy facade. It excited him. Wordlessly he took off his gloves and tossed them aside obeying your order and undoing each remaining button of your blouse slowly so that he could savour the moment. When he was done you let the blouse slip off of your skin and fall to the floor, his hands now resting on each hip feeling the heat of your body as he looked up at you. “Still enjoying the show?” You caressed his cheek, feeling the stubble of his goatee. “I’d enjoy it more if this weren’t in the way.” His finger hooked around the middle of your bra and pulled you in closer inches away from his face. Did his lips always look so enticing? They were like a forbidden fruit.“That's something you have to earn, Lord of the Night.” You jested, pressing your lips onto his. 

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

[alex-journal]

Hay Fever

Summary: y/n has hay fever for the first time, and it isn’t fun. Pronouns: They/them

The Straw Hat crew was sailing on the Grand Line, course set to the next island. The last one was a beautiful fall island, the weather got warmer, not as warm as the summer, and the wind brought a grassy smell. y/n sneezed, as the wind tickles their nose. “Did you catch a cold? I told you it wasn’t warm enough to swim in that lake!” Chopper scolded him like a worried mother - or as then overprotective doctor, that he was. y/n laugh, “Na, everything is fine. I don’t feel sick, just a sneeze.” “I'll make you a broth to boost your immune system. Better safe than sorry.” Sanji handed Chopper, y/n and Usopp their lunchtime snacks and tea. “I am fine, but thanks Sanji.” y/n was sure they weren’t sick but appreciated how much the others were worried about them.

-

The Straw Hat crew took two more days to reach the new Island, and y/n had to endure more teasing because of their sneezing. The Crew was sure they caught a cold, even tho y/n swore they felt fine and just have an itchy nose. As they reached the new Island, it made more sense, for y/n at least.

This one was a beautiful spring Island and everything was filled with life, and pollen. They were greeted by a beautiful scenery filled with blooming flowers and lush greener, birds sang a happy melody and the wind carried everything over to them.

Everyone was excited to explore the Island. Luffy was so eager, that Nami had to order him to help Franky to anchor before their Captain would just jump over on the Island before they were close enough to set over with the Mini-Mary. y/n wanted to explore the island too, but the Crew thought they had a cold, so they were on house arrest - or better ship arrest - and have to rest and keep an eye on the Sunny with Chopper and Zoro. Not the fun they had hoped, but Nami made it clear that there was no point in arguing with her. 

While the others explored the Island, the three were left on the Ship. Zoro took a nap, Chopper were in his Room preparing some Medicine and y/n stand on the deck not knowing what to do. Their eyes were heavy and watery, but y/n wasn’t tired. Even if they were tired, their itchy and runny nose made it impossible to rest. Combined with the couch, it felt wore than the last flu. y/n swore they weren’t sick, but this wasn’t normal and the first time they felt like this. y/n tried to ignore their discomfort. What ever this was, it wouldn't stop them from what ever they're going to do! But the only thing they could do was to sniff, sneezes and coughs - which annoyed Zoro. “I’m gonna get sick, just listening to you, Sniffles!” Usually nothing could wake up Zoro from his nap, nothing that wouldn’t threaten his life at least, but y/n concert seemed to be life-threatening if it kept Zoro from sleeping. “Sorry, Zoro…” y/n sniffed and waked away. y/n went inside and sat in front of the aquarium. It was a little bit better, the cough stopped and breathing was a little bit easier, even tho y/n had to breathe through their mouth. You only appreciate what you had when you don't have it anymore. “WE ARE BACK!!” Luffy announced in full volume. y/n looked tired as they stepped outside to great the adventurers. “Hey, did you find something cool?” y/n asked and sniffed again. “Look! I found a cool bug!” Luffy said and shoved a big purple flower in y/n face. They saw the blue shimmering bug, sitting in the center of the flower, but they also smelled the pollen the beetle kicked up as it rubbed its legs. Without a warning, y/n sneezed, and the only thing left was the stem in Luffy’s hand. The bug landed on the ground, the petals and pollen flew around and filled the air. y/n couldn’t apologies, because that flower set off a chain reaction of sneezes and y/n stumbled backwards. “Noooo! My bug!” Luffy cried out and tried to catch his shimmery friend so that y/n couldn’t step on him. The rest of the crew quickly noticed y/n struggling. Robin used her Devil Fruit Powers to catch them, before falling. “It seems you have a severe case of hay fever, y/n” Robin stated as y/n tried to stop sneezing. “My nose burns…” y/n wined as they finally could do more than sneezing and crying.

“You should stay inside and don’t come in contact with anything from this island.” Chopper advised, but it was difficult. The Crew tried to find a place for y/n to rest, but no matter where they went, they were still affected by the allergens on the island Everyone and everything had contact with the pollen, so even after a shower and cleaning, y/n had difficulties breathing. “I am sorry... That you lost your cool bug...” y/n sniffed as they sat beside Luffy in the aquarium bar. “Ah, don’t worry. Hope you feel better soon.” Luffy smiled.

- As they finally left the island, y/n started to feel better. Their symptoms slowly faded away, and they were able to enjoy the journey with their crewmates again.

Although they were disappointed that they couldn't explore the beautiful spring Island, they were happy to finally breathe freely again. Chopper made sure to do his research and take any necessary precautions to keep everyone healthy and safe next time, and prepared allergy medicine for every future adventure. Just in case, they encountered another spring-like island.

[seosejun]

Soloist SEO SEJUN debuted at the beginning of last year with the critically acclaimed mini-album, NEW GAME, which achieved immediate success. The album sold nearly half a million copies, and his debut song, MELODY, took home seven music show wins. He followed this up a few months later with another EP, to much of the same success. His meteoric rise to fame and fortune is an obvious by-product of the little over a year he spent in 1V1, a fan-formed group from survival show Last Act. By the end of their fifteen-month temporary contract, 1V1 was on even ground with the show’s winners, ENCORE, having sold over a million copies with their first and last full-length album.

The ten months since his last music release have come as a surprise. While it was obvious he wouldn’t maintain the breakneck pace of 1V1’s releases, the quick turnaround between his first two albums seemed like a promising sign. Now, it looks like those signs were misplaced.

That isn’t to say Sejun has spent the last ten months in radio silence. He’s active as a model and an influencer, gracing the covers of Vogue and Elle Korea to name some examples. He also co-wrote the debut album of former group member KIM CHAN late last year. When it comes to his own music career, he seems to have become completely inept.

With each passing day, it becomes increasingly evident he’s moved on to greener pastures: his streaming career. Sejun’s Twitch and personal YouTube channels 세유화 (SEYUHWA)—a portmanteau of his name and Kim Sowol’s poem “산유화”—made their debuts last summer. Since then, he’s streamed almost every day, sometimes for ten to twelve hours at a time. He spends most of that time playing video games—namely Overwatch 2—and occasionally engaging in the usual parasocial conversations with fans. Given that his appearance on Last Act and 1V1’s entire concept both revolved around video games, it was only a matter of time before his solo career did the same. Inheriting the group concept is not enough, Sejun needs to wholly embody it.

From an outside perspective, C Entertainment appears to support his new ventures. His streams sometimes features his manager, KWON INSOO, as a gaming partner rather than a supervisor. Sejun has yet to speak out or complain about his new management. Knowing his propensity for talking shit, his complaints would be known if he had complaints to make. Viewers were also quick to notice that he seems to be happier and more animated streaming than in either of his solo promotional periods, leading fans to wonder if he still wants to be an idol.

Not everyone is as enthusiastic as he is for his new career. He gained notoriety during Last Act after a recording of him flaming his League of Legends teammates in voice chat surfaced. Although tame by gaming standards, it was not the best look for an idol hopeful. Similar controversies would continue to plague him throughout his time in 1V1, though they did nothing to hinder the group’s success. With his freedom to apparently do whatever he chooses, Sejun has once again found himself the target of those who dislike his disregard for an idol image. Some of his streams also feature former 1V1 member ALEX KANG, who retired from the entertainment industry after the group’s disbandment. Though these collaborations were once celebrated by casual kpop fans and die-hard Supports—1V1’s fandom name—alike, Alex’s insistence on distancing himself from the kpop industry and his tendency to ban people in his Twitch chat who ask too many questions about his idol experience have furthered soured some netizens’ opinion of Sejun.

When asked about the state of his music career or if he’s preparing for a comeback, Sejun is uncharacteristically vague. In responses to comments on his Instagram posts of his latest brand deals, he's “working on it” and hopes fans will “wait a little longer.” He elaborated a bit further on streams, assuring fans it isn’t the fault of his management like many of them assume, but rather his own choices. He doesn’t say much more on the topic.

For now, there's nothing for fans to do but wait as he's asked.

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Outcast ("Stolen" Alternate Ending)

Sooo...I might have started writing this shortly after @idiotwithanipad 's posted chapter 12 thinking it was the final part, but then came the Epilogue so I deleted it.

But I really need to write angst, as torturing comfort character is best therapy, so consider this a non-canon What If where Gore Mary did wipe Silver and Amy's memories.

Tw: extreme angst, discussions of lobotomy.

-

"Dreams about something nice, Ally."

Despite being heavily scarred and burnt, his brain obeys his Mistress.

When he eventually wakes, there's the hint of a blissful smile on his face for the first time in...Well. Enough time for a hundred great empires to rise and fall. The morning sun gently caresses his eyelids as he comes to. It seems almost a shame to wake up and yet he's also left with such a sense of peace and joy that he can't even be disappointed for it to end. No ringing in his ears. No screams echoing from the past.

Shifting slightly on a patch of soft, long grass, he stretches out his paws and gives a yawn.

"Morrow."

He opens his eyes, the familiar forest around them. Looking rather brighter and greener than it's usual dim and misty setting.

Lifting his head, he sees Mistress sat upon her curved tree that usually served as her 'throne' of sorts. Before her, on the bed of blue flowers, Mistress' cub slept peacefully on her side, hands folded beneath her head, looking content in her own dreamworld.

"Dids thee have a pleasant slumber?" Asked Mistress, rather blandly.

Grunting, he nodded.

Yes. Oh yes, he...He...

The dreams slip through his fingers like sand, whatever faces or places that had filled him with such rare peace and delight, quickly fading away before he could grab them. Damn it. All he was left with was the feeling that his dreams had been Good. And he supposed he should be grateful for that.

Mistress nodded, turning back to gaze at her child.

"I is glad."

The creature rose, scratching at his ear with his paw and shaking his mane before padding over to her. Had Mistress given him the sweet dreams? Usually she simply soothed his pain and made it quiet for a brief respite but to give him dreams as well?

Had it been part of her apology to him? For everything that happened at the Strange Wall with the other versions of themselves? Silly Mistress. He's already forgiven her for that. She's already done more than enough for him. One betrayal would not be enough for him to want to leave her. Never.

He made a huffing noise to call her attention back.

"Yes?" She looked to him...her tone strangely sharp.

The creature sat and signed.

'Mistress want break? Me watch Cub?'

That was usually how it worked. Mistress had a lot of work to do, many patrols, overseeing the outside land that belonged to Her. Once he was awake, it was usually his duty to protect the girl.

Which was a job he much preferred when she was asleep.

And yet, Mistress' smoke rose a little at the suggestion.

"That shall nots be necessary...thanking you." She seemed to shuffle a bit closer to the girl, fingers clutching her apron; "If thou wishes to be of service than it woulds be of great favour to me if ye scouted the western area, please."

All the way on the other side of the land? At the other border?

'There danger?'

"Mayhaps. Mayhaps not. But I cannot survey it myself when I must also watch over my darling girl." She explains.

The creature frowns. There must be a reason why Mistress feels so compelled to watch her herself right now.

'...Cub okay?' He asks, concern biting at the walls of his chest.

She looked okay. Same inane grin stretched across her face. Cheeks a little paler than when she was awake but that was normal.

"She be well. I simply wish to be close to her." She raised her eyes to him, ember irises glowing; "Needs I remind thee of the turmoil I has gone through while she be gone?! When...when she were trapped in that there mirror world?!"

He flinches. No, no, of course not. Mistress' agony once she realised the girl who she had brought back was not Noisy Cub had been painful to watch. True that she seemed to have distracted herself for a time, focusing on desiring to keep Noisy Cub's quiet and seeing twin as her own as well, but that didn't lessen the longing she felt to have her own Cub back.

And, while it might pain him to admit it, he'd missed that mind numbingly annoying laugh too.

He retreats. Of course Mistress will want to be with her daughter. Will take time to feel safe to leave her side again. He remembers feeling from...

Well. Long, long ago.

"Ally." She calls.

He turns back.

Mistress stares at him, her lipless mouth tightly shut, looking as though she's about to say something.

Then she shakes her head and looks back at her daughter.

"There be no rush for thee to return. Spend as much time scouting the border over yonder as long as thee can. Best makes it thorough." She orders.

He nods. If that is what Mistress desires, so it shall be.

-

It doesn't take long for the euphoria from his blissful sleep to wear off, seemingly the farther he gets from his 'home' - which, more recently, has been the grove in the woods containing the bed of cornflowers where Mistress' cub slept.

Pain returns in crackles and sharp bursts around mid day. Not just inside his head, but his entire body seems to be feeling the effects of some...fight? There are no bruises that remain and yet the last time his muscles ached this badly had been when he'd had to wrestle a bear twice his size to prove himself Lord of the forest.

Was it all delayed from his battle with his other self? The one who could summon Sky Fire? Or from Mistress throwing that giant fireball at him? Maybe but...this felt...more recent. More...physical, rather than some elemental attack.

After pacing back and forth across the western side for a few hours, he's certain there's no danger about. The hotel has been abandoned long enough and the building dilapidated, no one dares to venture here much except teenagers trying to scare each other by daring their friends to go inside the Haunted House.

On his way back, he gazes up at the window of the east wing bedroom. No sign of Cub's silent friend. Might still be too early for her to rise.

In fact...shouldn't Cub be awake soon? Hadn't Moonah been almost full when he went to sleep?

But when he raises his eyes upward, She's just about visible in the clear midday sky. She looks to have just started to wane.

Had his sleep been so deep and restful that he'd slept through the entire three nights that Cub was awake?!

Huh. Good.

A double month of sweet silence for him to enjoy, he tells himself with a grunt. Though he's surprised anyone could sleep through Noisy Cub's giggles and chattering and way too tight hugs. How could such a skinny thing squeeze the wind out of him so easily with those arms?

If he asks Mistress nicely, will she let him sleep just before the next full moonah too?

Only joking, he assures to himself. Cub would be jumping all over him, pulling his mane and beard and yapping in his ear, no matter how deep his sleep, demanding him to play. She is Mistress' Cub, and thus part-Mistress. Not like he can refuse her summons anymore than he can from her mother.

When he arrives back in the grove, Mistress has barely moved. Instead of sitting atop the low branch, she kneels beside Noisy Cub and waves a hand over her head, commanding those smoky tendrils of hers to slither into her daughter's mind. Perhaps helping her to dream well too.

Leaves rustle as he steps closer and she looks up at him. She glares, her focus broken, black limbs dispersing.

"I tolds thee to remain on the West side!"

He flinches at her tone. Had she? He thought she'd simply told him to make sure he'd done a thorough patrol before turning. And he'd been there nearly six hours.

'It all clear' he reports, bowing his head slightly.

"For now, maybes! The sun shall be lowering into the stomach of the Earth forthwit, and all the thugs and vagabonds shall be upon us!" She tells him, fearfully; "Can ye not oblige me this request?!"

He let's out a slight, confused grunt.

'Mistress sense bad folk come? How know?'

"Does thou question a mother's intuition?!"

He shakes his head.

She stands tall over her sleeping daughter, several long, snaky arms of smoke writhing beside her, flames flickering in her eyes.

"I feel it doth not make sense for the two of us to remain in this spot when the land be so spread out. Perhaps it be more practicals if thou remains in the western woods."

He blinks.

'Mistress....send away? Did...me do wrong?'

The wraith seems to take a deep breath, exposed ribs expanding and held tight for a moment. She shut her eyes.

"What coulds thee possibly have done wrong?" She mutters through gritted teeth. It's not an answer. Just a question repeated. One he's just as confused over. "And thou is not being sent away, do nots be silly....T'is merely a better way to ensure our land be well guarded."

Mistress floats a little closer and fixes her eyes on his.

"Thou doth wants to ensure the little'ens be safe, does thou not?" She asks, her raspy voice lower than normal.

He nods. Of course. Cubs most important thing. Even Noisy Annoying Cub.

But why does Mistress seem so off with him? As he skulks away, he can't help the feeling he did something to make her this cross.

Was she still cross with him for defying her? For not blindly following her orders to retrieve all the cubs at any cost?

But...no. Mistress had realised she wrong. Mistress had wept in his arms. She promised to show him what had made her lose her mind so...

Wait. Had she shown him? That was what she had been going to do but...

"Rragh!" He groans, gripping his head as a sudden surge of pain shoots through.

A pulsing agony tears across his frontal lobe. The more he tries to remember, the hotter it burns. So he stops.

-

Days and weeks pass with far more monotonous boredom and loneliness than he's felt in centuries. There is nothing worse than a few pesky squirrels to make this side of the land interesting to guard. Sure, he gets plenty of time to lay down and nap, but even those lack the relief he used to feel.

When he does return to Mistress' woods, she usually comes to meet him just outside the treeline, so he can give her his report. Nothing. As usual.

"Thank you, ally." She says, every time, curt and abrupt, before turning back to float into the trees.

Raising his paw to his chest, he rubs the skin above where his heart aches.

Why doesn't she talk to him anymore? He knows he's never been much to converse with but that never used to bother her. For over four hundred years, he's been happy to be her confidante. Happy to rest his head in her lap as she voiced her thoughts and feelings, just as the dark haired one with the bread in her mouth had encouraged her to do.

Now he's lucky if she grants him more than a few words. And whenever he tries to follow her into the grove, just to get a peek on Noisy Cub, just to check she's all right, Mistress turns on him with a fierce glare as if to question why he isn't getting back to his new post?!

So he goes back. Back to being Alone.

On the way past the house, he keeps trying to see Cub's quiet friend in the windows. Nothing. Should he check on her as well? Make sure the headless one is treating her right? She was getting good at signing, doesn't she want to come practice more?

One night, he dares to try to creep in and make his way slowly down the hallway.

Her father's head is asleep outside the door. As the creature moves past, his eyes snap open.

"I...You! Again! How dare you show your ugly face again after what you did?!" Lordy Head sneers with revulsion.

He blinks, stopping in his tracks.

What did he-? Oh. Lordy Head still hasn't forgiven him for taking Quiet Cub last time. But that had been so long ago now? Hadn't they cleared the air by then?

The head can't understand his 'language' so he simply gives a confused grunt.

"Oh. Right, you don't...Never mind. What do you want?!"

Head bit's tone was so similar to Mistress when addressing him. Like he was some disgusting stray dog constantly begging for scraps.

He raised a paw to the door. Just wanted to visit Quiet Cub.

"Ha, you're 'avin' a laugh, you...My Amy is fast asleep so she's not taking visitors. Least of all from the likes of you, now get lost!"

He grizzles, shuffling back. Were it not for the truce that now existed between the Inside and Outside groups, thanks to the cubs friendship, he'd have swiped the head off the table or carried it by gripping his hair in his teeth to some dark corner of the woods.

But then he hears a hum through the wall. Curious and confused.

Clapping of hands and stomping of feet.

"It's nothing, Poppet! Go back to sleep! Dad is dealing with it." Head bit calls. He shoots the creature a glare and mutters; "Leave now or I'll set HIM on you, ya hear? Go!"

He grunts and turns to leave.

Understandable that they wouldn't ever be besties, given what he foolishly did under Mistress' orders. But he hasn't been that hostile in so long.

And anyway, it's the middle of the night. This usually when Quiet Cub is wide awake and eager to 'chat'.

When he gets outside, he turns and sees...a face with two bulging eyes looking out the window.

He raises his paws. Just to say hello.

Before she can respond, her expression one of bewilderment and fear, the Lord's body wraps his cloak around her and bundles her away from the window.

-

"T'is natural for the cloaked one to be protective. There be no needs to take it personal." Mistress rather lazily replies when he explains to her what happened.

She is still hovering around Noisy Cub, working her magic to guide her dreams. This is the closest he's been allowed near her in days.

The creature continues, just feeling the need to explain in case Lordy man is keeping Quiet Cub inside against her will or being cruel to her.

"Tush to that, he worships that child. He merely be a worry wort and doth not wish for his little'en to leave the house excepts when we agreed the girls can meet for their play dates." Mistress turns to him, her sockets darkened; "Thou wilt see the child when Silver wakes and she visits here. Can ye not be patient?"

The creature shrugs. Sure he can, it's just...He didn't seem to have too much issue with her sneaking out now and then before. She's not an obedient Cub like Noisy. She's rebellious.

Think she big cub. Like to wander.

'Pi.....get hurt....wander....No...Listen to Fa-.'

He rubs at his head. The pain is getting worse. He tries not to remember but the inconsistencies and pushing him to try to think hard on what he might be missing.

It's like a butchered telephone line in his head constantly screeching, searching for a signal only to find static and piercing white noise.

"What's wrong?"

Mistress asks the question with that same irritated bite. No tender concerns. No familial care.

She hasn't asked how he is or offered to soothe his head since he woke up from that good sleep. He knows he could ask...wants to ask...but she's in such a tense mood and her focus seems to be fully on her cub. Makes sense. Mother should put cub first.

So he just shakes it off. He's fine. He's fine.

-

At the middle of the month, he spots Mistress journeying into the house, rising up to the second floor on a cloud of smoke and fading through the wall to the East Wing. Lordy and Quiet Cub's room.

Pushing his questions for what the two of them have to talk about aside, he takes the opportunity to creep into the grove.

It's New Moonah tonight. Time that she disappears, to briefly die and be reborn, leaving Her children in darkness for one night.

As he expects, Noisy Cub is tossing and twitching on her bed. Never good for her on New Moonah. Moonah light guides her dreams with good light, as much as Mistress' power.

This has been part of his duties for every month since she was found. He pads close to her and lays beside her head.

Gently, he tugs her close with his paw, letting her roll into him.

Whimpering in her sleep, she clutches at his furs. Except not in the annoying way as when she's awake. Fingers grip tufts like very small frightened cub. Brings her comfort as her mind lost in shadow. The anchor to remind her she not alone.

His other paw combs through her hair, carefully grooming her, picking out those leaves that litter her ebony locks.

'Fa...made crown...it spec-....help heal....'

Cringing, he ignores his own headaches, strange as they are. The tiniest flash of Cub offering something to him...except she's smaller. Hair different shade. Same bright blue eyes. Same smile, only not cursed.

Happy Cub. Annoying and noisy but happy...must keep happy....

"Get away from her!"

The shriek at first makes him tighten his arms around the girl, following his first instinct to protect cub above all else.

Bad move. A burst of flame shoots towards his head and he rolls away just in time before it can hit his head, moving past to scorch a tree instead.

Mistress floats towards him, her wraith from enlarged, smoke writhing in furious limbs out at her side, embers crackling.

"WHO GIVETH THEE PERMISSION TO LAY A PAW ON MY DARLING GIRL?"

He quivers, lowering himself as much as he can to the ground.

Mistress did....Didn't she?

She's never once taken issue with him comforting her before, or giving her a ride on his back when she's tired, or when they 'play' Noisy Cub's stupid games together if Quiet can't come out.

He points up at the moonless sky.

'It New Moonah...Cub have bad dre-.'

"Does thou think I be unaware of the time? That I cannots care for my own little'en?!"

No, he never meant to imply that. Just Mistress had other things to do and be stepped in, like he always has.

Mistress' tendrils coil around the restless cub and lift her off the ground. Mary takes her into her bony arms and cradles her close.

"Mummy's here, darling girl. Mummy will soothe those naughty dreams." She promises, lovingly, kissing her forehead.

She shoots another glare at him.

"Thou art not to enter this grove 'less I be present and give thee permission. Be that clear?!" Her tone turns from maternal and soft to spine-chilling regal and strict in a single beat.

He rubs at his chest. Why doesn't she...?

He nods. Because her word is law and he shouldn't question it.

"She is my child. Not thous. T'were thee who rescinded all rights of claiming her to me and those can't be taken back, not ever! Does thee understand?!"

Taken back? Does she think that he would ever dream of trying to claim Noisy Cub?

He would never...Why would....

For starters, it's enough stress simply being her co-guardian, being her full time parent would make his head explode. But most important, he knows she belongs to Mistress. He would never take child from her, what does she think he is?!

"Tell me thou understands! She is not thy child! SAY IT!"

Trembling, he ducks his head and raises his paws.

'Not...mine...'

Has no cubs. Cubs all dead. Cubs....gone up to stars.

Lucky to be allowed to be near Mistress' cub and Lordy's cub. But even that seems to be a privilege that hangs on a knife edge.

He watches Noisy Cub continue to whimper in her mother's arms. Her fingers flex, searching for the comforting fur that she's grown familiar with, that always helps her feel safe.

'Fa....Co...back...?'

Scars in his head flaring once more, he forces himself to turn away.

Sorry, Noisy Cub. Have to obey your mum. She know best.

-

If only he had some answers...if only someone would explain to him what's changed...

He has too much time to wrack his warped brain to ponder it. Try to pinpoint the moment. Lordy head never liked him, never trusted him, fine, maybe he gave him good reason and he can never forgive that. Honestly, the creature probably wouldn't either if it was his own cub who got taken, no matter the excuse.

But Mistress? Why?

Did it all come back to what happened with the other cub? Because he'd chosen, for once, not to obey her, not to force unwilling children to her side who were clearly terrified of her in her maddened and reckless state? Had she lost all faith in his loyalty because of that moment?

Well...he won't apologise. Never.

Mistress would have done the same if the roles were swapped. Damn, Mistress would never have let it get that far and he was a fool for blindly following her orders when Noisy Cub's twin was clearly in distress and wanted to go home. His own Sky Fire welding double had been right; he'd been nothing but a dumb animal following her orders religiously.

But Mistress not just goddess. She friend. Family. Sometimes have to protect family from other family...and from themselves.

He can't regret what he did, even if it now means Mistress hates him, even if he never gets to be allowed near Noisy Cub again...

The thought of which makes his chest ache in a way he never expected it to at such an idea.

No constant giggling. No tugging at his beard. No jumping on his back and daring him to toss her off if he can. No braiding his mane and then him grooming her. No playful swipes and pretend scraps, no piggy back rides, no curling up close to make sure she knows he's close as she sleeps....

If someone had told him a month ago how badly he would miss all of that once it was taken away from him...

-

Answers come when he decides to follow Mistress the next time he sees her entering the house again.

Can't get too close. But he manges to find a spot to crouch close enough to listen in as she talks with Lordy man, hearing snippets of their conversation.

All to confirm his worst fears.

"I tried, cloaked one. I dids sorely try." Mistress is sighing, sounding ever so tired and stressed.

"You be a braver soul than most to do so, Mary." Lordy responds, gently.

"Brave? Or foolish? I knows the two often skip hand in hand." She scoffs; "I thoughts I could erase it all. Start a fresh, go back to the norm...But I cannots. Every time I do lay eyes on him...I sees it. Where once I dids think I glimpsed the man beneath the beast, now Is do only see a beast."

"Can't say I ever saw what you did. Or the girls for that matter. But I did my best to trust him because you did. I can't anymore. The thought of losing my little girl again..."

"Yes. T'is the same fear that plagues me. I has not slept in weeks."

"Same. I think my Other Bit has slept more than me, ha, mostly 'cause he keeps her in his arms when she rests. Most of the time I'm out here, having to keep guard."

"I do apologise, cloaked one."

"C'mon, it's not your fault."

"I dids take responsibility of him. I thought I had resolved the issue but...T'is true. Our girls are not safe. Not when he be so unpredictable and could turn traitor at any time."

Traitor? The word felt like a spear to his chest. Is that what she thought of him now?

"As for what to do when my little'en wakes, I knows not. She will be eager to play with her fluffy friend and I wills have to supervise thems at all hours."

"I meant what I said. I can't allow my Amy to go back to those woods, even if you're there. Silver will have to come here for them to play, those are my terms."

Mistress sighs; "They will have so many questions and I is not sure how to answer them. I fear if we tell them the truths of what he did, they will think us tellin' tales."

"My Amy is already restless enough when I explained to her why I can't let her leave and that the creature isn't to be trusted. It's been quite a challenge to keep her inside this long. Be thankful your girl sleeps most of the time, huh."

"Piffles, cloaked one, ye be bereft if thy girl was not constantly awake to stomp her booties and glare ever so!"

A light chuckle from Mistress that he hasn't heard in many moonahs.

Sometimes...she used to joke with him, even if he couldn't do more than a light huff of laughter. They used to talk. He was once her confidante, not an Insider. Not a Lordy man.

"Haha, you are right. Just wish there was a way to resolve this. I know you still hold some fondness for the creature, Mary, but forgive me for wishing he could just...move on. Be out of our hair. Our daughters hairs. It would be for everyone's good."

"Hmm. I woulds only be able to see him go knowing he be at peace, in spite ofs all my misgivings and resentments."

Resentments. She...resents him...

Why?! What did he do?!

"Perhaps I dids make a mistake. Perhaps I merely formed a second box of Pandora, as from my girl's myths."

"Or...perhaps you didn't go far enough?"

A beat.

"What does thou mean?" Mistress asks.

"Well I'm no quack, but I've heard bits and pieces on how fiddling with the brain of demented folk can alter their states, make them more...docile, shall we say." He suggests; "Maybe manipulating memories wasn't enough. Maybe there is a way to go deeper to ensure the beast is 'safe'?"

He freezes. What are they....?

"Cloaked one. What thou is suggesting be a form of murder...To kill a 'soul' in a sense by changing their being beyond re-."

"On a human, sure, I'd never suggest such a thing, it sounds barbaric." Lordy man responded; "But c'mon, Mary, you worked on a farm. You domesticated animals however you could to keep them under control. That's all it is...and you know it. It would be no different than neutering a violent hound, or declawing a cat, or filing down their teeth. Parents make these sorts of decisions all the time to compromise allowing pets around their kids."

Pets. Violent. Domesticate. Every word made him want to wretch.

"He's not...I've never wanted...."

"I know, I know. But think about what he did. What he's capable of. What he could do again if you allow him to roam freely. Just...do whatever you can to make him come to heel. A simple furry companion who just does what he's told and wouldn't get such thoughts in his troubled head that would endanger the girls."

How is he a danger? When has he...

Okay, yes, he kidnapped Quiet Cub once. And maybe he hasn't always been the nicest to Noisy Cub but it was always under a layer of hidden affection. He'd never dream of...Never...

"...I 'spose it be an option. He might even think it a blessing to be completely free of all those memories, all they do is cause him pain...If his mind be as blank as a little'ens, he might be happier for it..."

Mistress is considering it.

He has to leave now. Can't listen to another word.

She doesn't even see him as human anymore...

Maybe he isn't. Maybe they're right. Maybe it would be better to take the pill to end it all. Let this broken spirit finally shatter and be replaced by someone new, someone innocent and harmless, free of all these scars and deep set wounds.

Mistress would want him again. Noisy Cub would be happy with her new empty headed puppy that doesn't bite or growl, only plays and wants affection, doesn't think or question or argue. Lordy man would have no issue letting Quiet Cub be around such a simple, toothless creature.

Everyone would be happy...with the real Rogh destroyed...

He pads back to the grove, confident that the two of them will still be talking for a time.

Color is returning to Noisy Cub's cheeks. She'll be waking in a few hours.

He nuzzles her ear.

Can't do it, Cub. He just can't. For as much as his brain torments him, as much as he's haunted by all that he's gone through, he can't choose to let Mistress destroy his brain completely. Take away all that makes him Rogh, whatever that still means.

What if, when he finally gets taken the stars, he doesn't recognise his own cubs when they come to greet him? What if all this suffering has been for nothing?

Whimpering softly, he gives her one last 'kiss' with his knuckles against her brow.

Mr. Fluff has to go now. Before you wake.

Will be so much harder to leave when she's awake, or if other cub here, they would try to stop him. Can't explain it to them. He doesn't fully understand it himself.

Lordy man wants him gone. Mistress doesn't want to worry about him. So be it. Mistress will be fine, she has a new Confidante now. A fellow parent. Human. Someone she can relate to, rather than having to converse with a beast. He can give them both what they want without offering his brain up on a plate.

On the way, he gives one last glance to the East Wing bedroom window. He wishes she had been stood looking out. Just so he got one last look.

Goodbye, Quiet Cub. Take care of Noisy.

Look after Sis...

No one knows about this cave, hidden deep in the woods near the boarder. Not been here since...

Since...

-I is not the one stealing babies from their beds!-

Hello, Lyssie Cub.

He settles deep in the back of the cave, nestling in shadow. He can hide away here for the rest of time. Lyssie Cub will keep him inside, make him stay put with that constant unforgiving glare.

Sniffling, he lays on his paws and curls up. He should never have left this place after the last time he failed a cub. Failed Her.

He'd been a fool, Lyssie. He'd stupidly believed he could have something close to a family agsin. That he could be allowed near cubs who he could take care of once more. That he had a...friend who saw him as more than a beast. As a man, even.

It hadn't lasted. He should have known. They all see him for what he truly is in the end.

He knows his place now, Lyssie Cub. He's back where he belongs. Caged and alone, his only company being her hatred of him that she no doubt carried until her final moments on this plane of existence.

As he tries to sleep, ready to begin his endless self imprisonment, his burned mind flares with the agonised image of two pairs of eyes looking up at him, little hands clutching at air.

Fada...Fada....Fada....Fa....

Sorry, Cubs. Fada not come back this time.

[oxygen-stealer]

I've got many many thoughts on resurrected Terzo :)))

More sketches and LOTS of headcanons below the cut

(Click for better quality btw)

So to start my explanation of how he could've even been brought back in the first place is because- yknow that hammer they hit head popes with to make sure they're dead? Yeah well the people embalming him didn't do that because he was decapitated and they figured that was probably a good indication that he was actually dead.

Well later on, The Clergy is starting to get a bit nervous with all of the power Copia seems to be growing into and they're looking for a plan B despite being out of heirs. Commence resurrection.

Upon first being revived, Terzo immediately lashes out, catching Sister Imperator with his claws. He's literally been in hell for five years and it shows in the fear on his face.

His skin is paler, greener. He smells of formaldehyde, his head is hastily stitched on his neck. Being in hell has also embedded slight demonic energy into him, it seems like the world warps around him, like his power leeches into the ground he walks on. He has flashes of his memories of hell but he generally tries not to think about it.

Now I also want you to imagine this:

Imagine you're a guy in a very high position of power that never really feels like he's good enough, then eventually you're forcibly retired and killed for not being good enough by people that should technically be below you and your asshole dad. Then suddenly you're dragged out of your glorious afterlife in hell because those same bozos want you to replace your absolute sweetheart younger brother (he's actually your brother now too???) because they also maybe want to kill him. And to top it all off your favorite ghoul was tossed back into the Pit like he was nothing right after you died.

You'd be pissed off right? Yeah well that's where Terzo is at.

All of his usual charm and whimsy takes a backseat for a low burning rage. He doesn't bother giving any of the siblings of sin the time of day anymore. The Clergy quickly recognizes that this was a terrible idea because this guy hates them even more than he did before and is one more situation away from snapping and taking someone back to hell with him. Maybe Copia, even as the antichrist, wasn't actually that bad.

Regardless, Terzo reluctantly becomes Papa again through some loopholes regarding living papas and what not. His new album takes a significantly darker, angrier tone than any other. Imagine the darker sounds of Cirice through most of the album. I'd argue that kinda darkness was very much present in Meliora but even that had some zest for life within it. Now, like, this music is made by a guy that literally died horribly and went to hell. This album is haunting.

During rituals he tries to kinda act like his old self because he does love his fans but you can kinda tell it's not the same ("heeyyy guyyyys I'm back :))" *barely contained rage*). You can also tell all of the ghouls are quite a bit more on edge than they were with Copia, you can cut the tension with a knife.

(The ghouls are not really concerned about Terzo himself, but rather what it means for Copia and themselves. They're concerned that the clergy's trying really hard to throw them all out. Which they are. Also none of these ghouls have really been around the other Papas, and they know Copia has been unusually friendly with them, so they're a bit weary about acting wildly as they usually would)

Really there are only two people Terzo isn't mad at. First, probably the only benefit of all of this in his mind is getting to see Copia again and getting to witness how much his awkward little brother (they actually were brothers too! He jokes he that he always knew it) has really grown into his skin as Papa. They catch up for hours, Terzo meets Copia's ghouls, they talk about his music, they talk shit about Nihil, reminisce, etc. It's been the one good thing about all of this. Terzo is heartbroken that he was taking Copia out of the spotlight because it seemed like he had grown into it so well.

And the other of course is Omega. Apparently, all of Terzo's ghouls had been thrown back into the pit almost the same day he'd died, but it was believed that Omega himself had killed a sibling of sin beforehand and left their body as an omen, greatly straining the relationship between the ministry and ghouls as a whole. Despite this, Terzo doesn't once stop asking for him. If they're going to bring him back they could've at least had the foresight to give him any kind of motivation to stay. He'll summon him himself if he needs to dammit.

In all honesty he misses him and the rest of his ghouls dearly. You'd think they'd be able to be together in hell but the reality is the different layers of hell aren't actually something most are meant to pass through unless you're a 13th century italian poet. So Terzo really hasn't seen any of them since he was alive and it weighs heavily on him. He knows wanting to summon Omega again is probably selfish and that his time back on earth is likely to be very limited, but he finds it difficult to think of anything else. (Omega would be thrilled, but the ache of being left again would still linger. He should've stopped to think about all of this before falling in love with a mortal but it's too late for that now isn't it?)

Of course, nothing lasts forever and Terzo's revived body gives out after a good handful of months. It's a wonder he didn't take anyone with him on his way out or that the Clergy didn't take him out themselves. That whole situation was a bit of a disaster so the Clergy decides that maybe Copia isn't that bad for now. Until they come up with something better at least.