#he's tired of hearing being a red head means he has no soul

[weakinthekneez]

the real reason crowleys hair is more red is bc he had a crisis and dyed it

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and Raven: Chapter 6 (The Wedding)

Chapter Summary: The day has arrived, the day the princess and her lord come to marry.

Notes: There is a steamy session, so MDNI !!! 18+ for this chapter,

Word count: 4275

Keep track of the story: masterlist

The camp was busy in the week leading up to Queen Rhaenyra’s arrival at Harrenhall and the Crown Princess’s wedding. Aemma herself scarcely saw Benji throughout the week, having to make quick preparations for her three ceremonies. They concluded Cregan would officiate the ceremony in front of the weirwood tree, Maester Gerardys would do the Seven Faith ceremony, and Princess Rhaenys would officiate for the Valyrian. Rhaenys, being the eldest of the Targaryen clan and grandmother of the bride, had the privilege and right to see her granddaughter bound her heart and soul to her new husband. Baela and Aemma worked on her maiden cloak. A beautiful black cloak with red accents that weaved along the edges, and in the middle is the sigil of House Targaryen, a three-headed dragon embroidered in red thread. To honor her Velayron's heritage, Aemma decided to replace one of the dragon heads with that of the seahorse. Alysanne Blackwood took the liberty to create Aemma’s marriage cloak, which the princess had yet to see, claiming it was her wedding gift to her and her nephew. 

Benjicot and Jacaerys finally seemed to bond with one another, with Benji helping Jacaerys train each day whenever they had the time. Aemma knew she should be happy that her older brother finally accepted her future husband. However, she was annoyed; she had hardly seen Benji this week due to the wedding preparations and any free time instead of spending it together. Benji is occupied with her brother or father. 

Aemma sighed in her bath. She got a letter from her mother stating that they were only a few days away and that she had a special surprise for her. She wondered what it would be; it couldn't be Rhaena and her three youngest siblings, for it was too risky. Maybe it was her wedding gown? Nevertheless, she would soon find out. Aemma stepped out of her bath and quickly threw on a silk chemise, for it was too humid for something thicker. As Aemma walked into her makeshift bed chamber, she gasped at feeling two strong arms around her waist. She soon leaned into the arms, catching the scent that can only be connected to Benjicot. 

“You shouldn’t be in here..” whispered Aemma, not meaning her words as she turned to face Benji. 

Benji smiled crookedly at her as he brought her closer and kissed her. Aemma threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body to him, deepening the kiss. After a while, Benji’s arms snaked down to her thighs as he raised her, with Aemma hooking her legs to his waist as he led them to her bed. Laying her bed, Benji kissed her neck, careful not to leave any marks. Then, to her cheeks before placing one on her forehead. They never went further than kissing, as much as they both wanted to. Aemma smiled at him; she would never tire of his kisses. Benji lay next to her, bringing her body to press against his as he drew imaginary circles on her thighs. This is how they usually spent the night: Aemma or him sneaking to each other's tents, sleeping in each other's arms, and quickly sneaking back to their own in the morning. So far, no one seemed to catch what the princess and the lord did each night. 

“How was your day today?” asked Aemma, looking up into his stormy eyes. 

“It was fine; your father and brother were explaining to me what to expect from the Valyrian wedding, but after a while, it grew awkward, and Jace practically ran out of the tent.” Chuckled Benji, remembering Jacaerys’s face turning bright red once Daemon explained the last portion of the ceremony. 

Aemma giggled. Yes, she supposed it would be embarrassing to hear that after the blood bonding and vows, Benjicot had to quickly bed her in the middle of the fourteen flames to ensure the gods of Old Valyria would bless her marriage. Usually, it would be done on top of the altar, but since they were in Harrenahll, after the vows, the flames would be taken to a tent, where Benjicot and Aemma would spend some time there before the feast. 

“What about you, my love?” Asked Benjicot as he pressed another kiss on her crown. 

Aemma sighed; she loved hearing those words come out of his mouth. 

“Aly and Cregan walked me through the ceremony that would take place in front of the weirwood tree…. They asked me who I wanted to present me… Jace or Daemon.” Aemma sighed; she was unsure. 

Technically, it should be Jace since her birth father was gone, but Daemon has been her father ever since. She did not want to disrespect Laenor, but she also wanted to honor Daemon. Benjicot thought for a second, knowing her words and concerns were valid. 

“Why don’t you let Jace do the Northern ceremony and have Daemon walk you to the Valryain one? That way, you honor both sides of your family without causing strain?” advised Benji as he was met with another kiss to his mouth. 

Aemma smiled at the kiss as she pulled away, laughing at him when he tried to continue kissing her. “You do know how much I love you?” 

Benjicot smirked, “Yes, but I never grow tired of hearing come out of your pretty lips.” 

Aemma giggled as she placed her head on his neck, “We should sleep if you are going to sneak out before the others wake tomorrow morning.” 

Benji, hmm, and he made himself more comfortable; he couldn’t wait until they could stop sneaking and sleep in the same bed.

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

The following day, everyone was off doing their daily routines; Benjicot and Jacaerys were training with Daemon and Cregan. Baela was checking with Alysanne about the marriage cloak. While Aemma decided to patrol in the sky, she felt guilty about neglecting Sliverwing and decided to fly over the camp. Just because her wedding was coming soon did not mean the war had paused; they needed to stay vigilant. Aemma was about to turn back when she heard a  Dragon shrill, whipping to the sound. Aemma scanned the air around her… When then, a golden blur soared out of the clouds. Syrax, her mother’s mount, greeted Sliverwing and her rider’s daughter. Then came out the Red Queen herself, Meleys, with her grandmother on top and someone behind her grandmother. Aemma gasped as she commanded Sliverwing to land, seeing a crowd gathering to greet the queen and her party. 

“Mother!” exclaimed Aemma and Jace, each running to their mother. Rhaenyra, teary-eyed, embraced her two eldest children in her arms. Baela ran to Rhaenys, hugging her grandmother. 

Rhaenyra took Aemma’s face, caressing her daughter’s cheek. “Oh, how much I missed you, my Pearl,” whispered Rhaenyra as she kissed her daughter’s brow. 

“I have missed you as well, Muna…” replied Aemma as she looked behind her mother, gasping at the man hugging Baela. 

“Gransire?” questioned Aemma as she saw Corlys smile at the princess. Aemma squealed with delight as she ran to hug her grandfather, who welcomed the princess into his arms and kissed her crown. 

“My little Sea Dragon, you did not think I would miss your wedding now, did you?” questioned Corlys as Aemma stepped back with a massive grin. 

“Oh, I am so happy you are here!” exclaimed Aemma, truly happy that Corlys’s health became well enough for him to travel away from Driftmark. 

Aemma led her family towards the camp as the Vale, Northern, and Riverlands men bowed to the Queen and her royal party. Benjicot was highly nervous; Queen Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys, and Lord Corlys were all a force to be reckoned with, especially concerning Aemma. Luckily, before Rhaenyra reached him, Daemon walked up, bowing to his wife. Rhaenyra froze. She was still upset with his decisions regarding Blood and Cheese. Aemma looked at her two parents and sighed. She, too, was upset with the events, but she also did not want her wedding to turn ice cold with two parents awkwardly dancing around each other. 

“Please, can we not make this awkward for a few days? Allow me to have a happy wedding, and then, if you want, you can continue ignoring each other, just not during my wedding?” Aemma pleaded with her parents in High Valyrian. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, nodded to her daughter, and gave Daemon a strained smile. “Of course…. Now introduce me to the lord who managed to win your heart.” 

Aemma smiled as she extended her hand as Benjicot took it, being led to the Dragon Queen. Benjicot gave a nervous smile as he clumsily bowed to his queen. 

“My queen, House Blackwood is honored to fight for you.” he greeted shakenly. 

Rhaenyra smiled at the young lord, finding it endearing how nervous he was. 

“Lord Blackwood, thank you. Again, I want to express my condolences to your father and brother. House Targaryen grieves with you.” 

“Thank you, my queen,” replied Benji as he bowed to her again. 

Rhaenyra nodded as she addressed the rest of the camp, asking them to stand and dismiss them so they could return to their previous activities. Rhaenyra then turned and motioned for her family and the young lord to follow her. Once she entered a tent set up for her, she sat and asked how the wedding preparations were going. 

“They are all set for tomorrow, Mother,” replied Aemma as she held Benji’s hand on her lap. 

“Although I did want to clear up one more thing now that grandsire is here,” she further explained as everyone turned to her and waited for her to continue. 

“Since I have three ceremonies, I need someone to present me for each one, and now I feel confident with my decisions on who I want for each. For the Northern one, I want Gransire to present me, the faith; it will be Jace, and the last one will be Daemon… each representing the most important men in my life,” she whispered, staring at each man, all who seemed surprised but overjoyed in being a part of her wedding. 

Rhaenyra's eyes watered, knowing that Aemma was missing Laenor and Lucerys more than ever. They should have been here witnessing her marriage, but fate was cruel. Everyone else in the room agreed with these decisions, and Corlys asked when the ceremonies would begin. 

Benji cleared his throat, capturing the room's attention. " The first ceremony is based on the old ways of the north. We usually do them at night. It will be small, and only family will be present.” 

“Then we should rest; we have a long day starting tonight. We need to make sure we are not exhausted before reaching the last ceremony,” commanded Rhaenyra as everyone stood leaving the tent.

“Aemma, please stay; I have something to give you,” asked Rhaenyra to her daughter. 

Aemma nodded, smiling at her betrothed as he left the tent. Turning to her mother, she gasped. Her mother held a beautiful ball gown, a black dress with red accents and sheer sleeves. The dress was gorgeous and would greatly complement her maiden cloak. 

“Usually, Highborn ladies would wear white to their weddings, but you are a Valyrian princess; you do not need to follow the ways of the seven,” explained Rhaenyra. 

“It's gorgeous, Mother,” whispered Aemma as she ran her fingers on the red accents. 

“I’m glad you like it. Now go rest; your grandmother, Baela, and I will go later to help you get ready.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

At the hour of the wolf stood the Targaryen, Velaryon, and Blackwood families beside the weirwood trees, all holding torches to light the darkest hour of the night, with Cregan Stark standing before Benjicot waiting for the Princess. It did not take long before they gasped at the sight before them. Princess Aemma truly lives up to her moniker as the Realm’s Pearl. Her beautiful pale hair was pulled into intricate Valyrian braids, her dress showing off her shoulders as it beautifully flowed down her body. Her maiden cloak proudly shows her Targaryen and Velayron heritage. 

As Corlys walked his granddaughter up to the tree, his eyes glistened with tears. Once they reached Benjicot, Cregan cleared his throat. 

“ Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” 

Corlys puffed up, “Crown Princess Aemma, of the Houses Velayron and Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman has grown trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods.” 

Cregan nodded as he turned to Benjicot, who glanced at him, gulping before nodding to continue. 

“ Who comes to claim her?” 

Benji inhaled as he stared at his princess and her grandsire, “Benjicot Blackwood, of House Blackwood, lord to Raventree Hall. 

“Who gives her?” asked Cregan, looking at Colrys. 

“Corlys Velaryon, of House Velaryon of Dritmark,  her grandsire in place of her father, Laenor Velayron,” stated Corlys. 

Rhaenys sniffed as she closed her eyes, remembering her sea dragon, as did everyone else. 

Cregan smiled at the woman he considered his sister, “Aemma, do you take this man?” 

Aemma smiled, looking in her beloved eyes as she answered, “I take this man.” 

Aemma reached out to grasp Benji’s hand as Cregan asked the couple to kneel and hold for a few minutes in silent prayer. Aemma and Benji both kneeled in front of the hearttree. Aemma stared at the face, closed her eyes, and prayed to the old gods, asking them to bless her marriage. After a few minutes, the couple stood as Aly Blackwood stepped forward, holding the marriage cloak that would replace the current one Aemma was wearing. Benji removed Aemma’s maiden cloak before handing it to Corlys, who stepped forward. Then Benji took the cloak from his aunt, smiling in gratitude, as she unfolded the cloak and draped it on Aemma’s shoulder. The Targayens and Velaryons gasped at the marriage cloak. The cloak was House Blackwood red, with a Black three-headed dragon in the middle; around the dragon were ravens that looked like they were flying around it. Rhaenyra, feeling moved, looked at Alysanne, mouthing a thank you as Aly bowed to her queen. With that, Aemma and Benji shared a sweet kiss, sealing their union in the eyes of the Old gods. 

As the families returned to the camps, Benjicot took hold of his bride and carried her bridal style through his tent. They would not consummate the marriage yet, waiting for the Valyrian ceremony later. Morning came faster than they thought, with Aemma changing her hairstyle to loose waves and wearing a tiara her grandsire brought from one of his expeditions. 

Both Aemma and Benji were nervous. This ceremony was the biggest out of the three, with everyone in the camp joining to watch the union of the Dragon Princess and her Raven lord. Maester Gerardys was waiting in the clearing as he would officiate the ceremony in the eyes of the seven. Again, Benjicot was waiting for his bride, feeling more nervous than last night with all eyes staring at him; he hoped he would not mess up the vows. 

Again, gasps were heard as Princess was led down the aisle, Prince Jacaerys walking his sister; both looked like dragon twins. As they reached Benjicot, Aemma kissed her brother’s cheek, whispering a thank you. Jacaerys kissed his sister back and clapped Benji on the back, nodding to him as he joined his family. 

Maester Gerardys clears his throat as he begins the sermon. 

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Once again, this allows Benji to cloak Aemma with her marriage cloak. 

Then Gerardys speaks to the crowd, “We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

The Maester then takes a cloth and binds the hands of the princess and lord as he says, “Let it be known that Crown Princess Aemma of Houses Velayron and Targaryen and Lord Benjicot of House Blackwood are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

After he speaks the word, he motions for the couple to begin their vows. Turning to each other, Aemma and Benji talk simultaneously. 

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… “I am hers, and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days… “I am his, and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days.”

Both staring at each other, Benjicot ends with reciting, “With this kiss, I pledge my love,” taking the princess’s face into his hands and placing a kiss, causing the whole camp to cheer for their princess and her lord. Benji flushes as he bows his head while Aemma bites her lip, trying to hold her giggles. 

As the camp makes way for the feast, the Valyrians walk towards a hill where all their dragons rest with fourteen flames in a circle. Rhaenys takes the center with Benjicot, and Daemon leads his daughter to the middle. Again, for the last time, Aemma is handed off to Benji; Aemma teary grins at Daemon and throws her arms around him. 

“Thank you for stepping up and being my Kepa,” she whispers to her father, 

Daemon huffs, trying to hold his own tears, and kisses Aemma’s brow. “I love you, my little sea dragon. Thank you for accepting me as your kepa.” 

Aemma turns to her grandmother, who hands her a dagger; Aemma creates a cut on Benjicot’s lips, taking the blood and rubbing it on his forehead after Benjicot does the same to Aemma. Then Aemma and Benjicot each cut their hands, pressing them together, allowing their blood to mix, creating their blood bond; then Rhaenys hands the cup of wine to the couple. As the couple drinks from it,  Rhaenys starts reciting the vows.  

“Hen lantoni ānogar, Va syndroti vāedroma, Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdeoma iārza sīr, Izulī ampā perzī, Prūmī lanti sēteksi, Hen jeny māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozūndesi, Syndroro ōñō jēdo, mazvestraksi.  (Blood of two, joined as one, Ghostly flame, and song of shadows, Two hearts as embers, Forged in fourteen flames. A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. The vow is spoken through time, of darkness and light.”)  

Benji felt an immense heat grow in his stomach as the candles around them grew taller, signifying that the Valyrian gods approved of this union. Aemma and Benjicot kissed more passionately, knowing that their blood had to mix, and Benji couldn’t help but feel a hunger erupt within him, tasting his wife’s blood in his mouth. Soon, the pair separated as the Valyrians each took hold of a few candles and placed them around the bed in the middle of the tent. Rhaenyra, gave a quick kiss to her daughter as she took her husband's hand, laughing as Jace practically dragged Baela as he ran away from the tent towards the feast. 

Once the tent closed, Aemma, also feeling the heat, turned to her husband; grinning widely, she practically jumped him, kissing him with so much hunger that Benji led them towards the bed. 

~~~~~~SMUT WARNING!!!! PLEASE SKIP IF NOT 18+ or NOT COMFORTABLE~~~~~~~

Benjicot couldn’t understand the heat building up in him as he began fonding Aemma, moving from her lips and kissing down her jaw and then neck, spending time sucking and biting where her pulse was. Aemma gasped at the feeling, spreading her legs, allowing him to rest more easily in between her legs.  

Benji moved his mouth on top of her bosom, Aemma’s corset pushing them up for him to kiss. Aemma mewled, pulling at his hair and making Benji groan at the sensation. Sitting her up, he began to unlace her dress, pulling it off, exposing her body to him and the night chills; Aemma, in turn, took off her husband’s shirt as Benjicot kicked off his trousers, leaving him in his breeches. 

Laying his wife down again, he took one of her perky breasts into his mouth, his hands slowly traveling in between her legs. Aemma gasped his name, running her hands through his hair. 

“Ben…please… yes..” whispered Aemma, feeling his fingers slowly tease her soaking cunt.

Benjicot grins, enjoying the sweet sounds coming out of his wife’s mouth before moving his fingers away, which makes Aemma whine. 

“Please, what, my love? I can’t give until you ask.” taunted Benjicot as he traced her thighs. 

Aemma playfully glared at him, “Touch me, Ben; I want your fingers inside of mhm.”  

She couldn’t finish as Benji slammed his mouth to hers, slowly easing one finger in her and pulling it out, adding another, and pushing in and out until he felt he could add a third. Aemma was withering underneath him. The feeling of his fingers going in and out of her was overwhelming. She gave a loud moan once she felt him use his other hand to rub her clit. Benji grunted, his own hard cock twitching with everything delicious sound coming out of the princess's mouth. Aemma felt a growing sensation in her stomach, nearing her climax before Benji stopped. 

“No, Please,” gasped the princess, watching as Benjicot removed his fingers and placed them in his mouth, sucking on them.  

Then Benji kissed her, letting the princess taste herself, and he rubbed his clothed bulge on her soaking cunt. Aemma whined again, closing her eyes as she grabbed onto his shoulder. 

“ Tell me what you want, my princess, for I am just your lowly servant meant to serve you,” whispered Benji as he placed his forehead. 

Aemma shuddered as she forced her eyes open, staring into her husband’s eyes. 

“Take Ben, Take me, let the whole camp know I am yours,” commanded Aemma.

Benjicot growled as he ripped off his breeches, releasing his weeping cock, and rubbing it on her entrance. 

Aemma nodded and sharply inhaled, feeling him enter her; he was large and thick. It was painful and pleasurable at the same time. Benji waited for a moment, allowing her to get used to him. Closing his eyes, he nearly finished her; she was warm and tight. Afterward, Aemma permitted him to start moving, groaning, and feeling him move steadily. Benji also groans, her walls clenching him with every thrust.  

“Faster…” commanded Aemma, to which Benji was more than happy to comply; moving faster and harder, he grabbed one of her breasts, fonding it as Aemma began meeting him with each thrust. Soon, both felt warmth growing in their bodies and the room as they chased their release. 

Benji groaned, picking up one of Aemma’s legs and placing it on his shoulder, going more profoundly inside of her, making Aemma moan loudly. Aemma began whispering yes as she dragged her nails down his back, giving him painful pleasure; feeling his release, he lowered her legs and kissed her as his thrust started moving choppily. 

“Yes, Ben, please, please, finish inside me…. Give me your babe. I need your babe.” Pleading Aemma as her climax washed over her. 

Benjicot soon followed after, shooting his spend inside her walls, moaning out her name, picturing her heavy with his babe. During their Climax, the fourteen Flames rose exceedingly before extinguishing, leaving the couple gasping in the dark.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Welcome back~~~~~~ 

Aemma held her husband close to her, feeling incredibly warm. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew they had to make some appearance in the feast. As she moved his sweaty hair from his forehead, she kissed him before trying to get up. Benji whined, not wanting to move, huffing as Aemma explained that they needed to be at the feast. Sitting up, he gave his wife a quick kiss before dressing. 

Once the couple finished dressing, they walked hand in hand to the feast; once the Blackwood knights saw their lord and princess, they began whistling, causing Aemma to blush. 

The royal family smiled at the couple, with Corlys, Daemon, and Jacaerys not making eye contact, to the amusement of the women. Aly Blackwood embraced the couple, and Aemma joked as if she should call her lady aunt now. Rolling her eyes, she explained that Aly was just fine. 

Everyone was enjoying the feast, making toasts and jokes around the camps. Unbeknownst to them in the dark distance was a knight wearing green with a golden dragon, staring at the celebration before galloping away, never being noticed. 

The festivities went well into the early morning before anyone went to bed. Aemma decided to sleep in her husband's tent, feeling whole. In what seemed only minutes, Jace awoke Aemma harshly, staring at her worriedly.

“Jace, what’s wrong?” asked Aemma as she sat up, noticing Benjicot still sleeping beside her. 

“Get dressed, wake Ben, and come to our mother’s tent quickly!” he stated, rushing out of the tent. 

Aemma’s heart was beating fast with worry. She woke Benji, quickly explaining while dressing in a red tunic and riding pants. Benjicot also followed as the two ran to the Queen’s tent. Rhaenyra let out a breath, seeing the couple enter. 

“Muna, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” asked Aemma, looking around the room and seeing grim faces. 

Rhaenyra turned to her daughter. “A letter came in this morning. Lord Darklyn is dead, Duskendale has fallen, and Lord Staunton has asked us to help him. The greens are moving,” the queen explained to her daughter and good-son, seeing both pale. Let the Game of Thrones begin.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith stares.

Constantly.

He always has. Even at the Garrison, Lance can remember him just staring. Endlessly. Like he was looking right through you, or like he was staring straight into your soul. Sometimes both at once. He’d never spoken one word to Lance before they went to space, but Lance remembers that stare with complete clarity. (Probably because he was on the other end of it more than he’s willing to admit, with all his attempts to get Keith’s attention.)

The staring doesn’t stop when they get to space. It doesn’t stop when they accept their roles as teammates, when Keith finally starts participating in their (totally justified!) rivalry, when they begrudgingly decide that maybe they can peel back on the arguing, a little. When they realise how well they work together. When they start working together on purpose, and some of those stares come with a small smile, a quirk of the lips, really, that brightens indigo eyes and shows the tiniest peek of crooked incisors. (When tragedy strikes, and the stare is blank. After tragedy, when the stare only gets blanker, and they don’t talk about what happens next but when Lance comes into his room after days of no response, sits with him quietly, brushes the tangles out of his hair and reminds him there are still reasons for him to get up. When they really become a team, just the two of them, red and black and the leader and his right hand.)

When the stares only gets softer and softer, and when Lance is the subject of them more and more frequently.

“What?” Lance snaps one day, frustrated and embarrassed and tired of being the only one that Keith looks at so closely. “What are you even looking at? You’re always staring at me, man, like you’re trying to fuckin’ read my soul, or something. It’s weird.”

Lance feels bad as soon as he says it. It’s defensive and mean and he tenses, preparing for Keith’s upcoming scowl, the argument.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead Keith smiles. Not one of his quick ones, a barely-there quirk of the lips, but a real grin, wide enough to make his eyes squint and face brighten. The fondness bleeds from him; Lance couldn’t miss it if he was the densest person alive.

Slowly, like he’s given Lance time to back away, he reaches foreword and tucks Lance’s hair behind his ears, even though it’s too short for that and doesn’t do anything, even though it’s clearly all about the gesture, an excuse to touch Lance gently.

Lance’s breath stutters on his inhale. Keith doesn’t pull away, resting his hand on the side of Lance’s cheek, not quite cupping it but not quite not cupping it, either.

“God, I’m so lucky,” Keith murmurs, almost too quiet for Lance to hear. (But no. Not impossible. Keith could’ve said it at one decibel and Lance would have strained himself to injury trying to hear it.)

“What?” Lance asks hoarsely, well aware his face is flaming.

Keith only smiles wider. “How could I not stare at you?” he asks, like Lance isn’t losing his whole mind.

Lance clears his throat. Then again, and again. And a fourth and fifth time for good measure because what the fuck.

“Keith, what — what’s going on —”

“I am so lucky,” Keith repeats, firmer this time. He has the same stupid look on his face, like he cannot help but he besotted with Lance, somehow. He opens his mouth again and Lance knows that if he has to hear whatever mushy thing Keith has cooked up then he is going to melt into a puddle of flaming goo. Lance shoots out and slaps his hand over Keith’s mouth.

“Stop speaking,” he orders, face flaming. “Explain what the hell has gotten into you.”

“Those are opposite instructions,” Keith says, muffled, because he is a jerk. His eyes are sparkling in amusement.

“I am going to whoop your ass, Kogane.”

“Fine, fine.” He pulls Lance’s hand off his face and then links it in his, holding them in his lap. He rubs his thumb over Lance’s knuckles as he speaks. “You remember the mall food court? Two days ago?”

Lance tilts his head. “Yeah?” He doesn’t know what the hell that has to do with anything. They had a supply run a couple days ago, loading up on cleaning mods and food supplies and million other things, and he and Keith had stopped for lunch at the food court slash restaurant.

“You, uh, you remember that waiter?”

Lance frowns, trying to picture a waiter. All he can really remember is how Keith had laughed so hard at one of his jokes that soda had spewed out of his nose. He feels bad, but he can’t picture their waiter at all.

“No?”

Keith scowls. It’s such a stark difference from his sappy look before that it’s startling. “That weirdo, stuck up shithead who wouldn’t leave you alone. He called you pretty boy three separate times.”

Vaguely, Lance remembers some light flirting as the waiter set down the cheque. He can’t even picture the guy’s face.

“I mean, not really. I get called pretty boy a lot.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke, but it makes Keith laugh. He looks relieved, like he’s been worrying about Lance and the waiter.

Like he’d been jealous.

The sappy look is back on his face. “Just made me think, is all.”

Lance’s throat is dry again. The air is charged, and Keith is staring again, eyes tracing every inch of Lance’s face.

Something is going to change tonight. He can feel it.

“Think about what?”

He’s leaned closer without realising. Keith smiles, noticing, and his hand comes back up to Lance’s cheek. This time he cups it blatantly, running the edge of a calloused thumb over Lance’s cheekbones.

“How lucky I am,” he murmurs, repeating his sentiment from earlier, “that we’ve got such a pretty boy on our team. On my team.”

Lance face flames. His first instinct is to deny it, vehemently, to ask Keith what the hell his deal is. Something ugly rears in his head, something hurt — how dare Keith make fun of him like that. How dare he mess with Lance about something he’s sensitive about.

But there’s not an ounce of meanness on Keith’s face. He’s looking at Lance in a way that can only be reverent, like Lance is the only person on the castle, the only person ever.

He remembers all of a sudden that Keith is the most honest person he knows. Keith, who can’t lie if he tries, who’s emotions are written all over his face all the time, who’s easy to rile up because he wears his heart on his sleeve, who puts every ounce of effort he has into everything he does. Who fights this war even though it’s hard for him because he loves everyone so much.

Lance blinks, and is more surprised than he should be to find his face wet. Keith’s face creases a little in concern, and he gently wipes the tears from Lance’s cheek.

“What’s wrong?”

Lance laughs wetly, more incredulous than anything.

“Mullet, if you don’t kiss me right this fucking second —”

Keith laughs. He doesn’t hesitate a second more, leaning in and pressing his lips to Lance’s, gently at first, then like he can’t get enough.

His eyes are closed, as he kisses.

Lance almost misses the staring.

[c4ttheart]

yuta okkotsu x gn!reader wc 700

TW mentions of sh, suicide. angst with an attempt at humor

his soul is feeble, crunching underneath your shoes like the earth you walk on. his heart is even weaker, it has been tossed, thrown and pulled apart by your hands.

but he stays, because you are the only real thing he has ever known. he stays, because he loves you. and he stays, because he knows that at the end of the day, it is your presence he yearns for. what he doesn’t know, is if you feel the same.

yuta okkotsu is fragile, nimble and most definitely comparable to a grain of sand. he is easily influenced by the wind, swaying and changing shapes whenever he is asked to. he is also insignificant, laying amongst his peers on a beach.

you are everything he is not. you are kind, and gentle, and impatient, and your mind is built like a fortress, unable to be broken when constructed. if he is the sand, then you are the sea. and gojo probably is the seagull. (he drops his shit on yuta whenever he feels like it.)

yuta likes flowers. he isn’t particularly fond of daisies, but he enjoys picking petals wondering if you love him or not. he finds that he likes a lot of things. you are one of them.

you have an odd way of showing your affection, squeezing his arm when you are overly excited, digging your fingernails in his skin or having random bursts of energy even when he knows you slept very little that night. he doesn’t mind the temporary marks or the walls shaking due to your little jumps, as long as he gets to see you grin like you have just discovered what living feels like.

but he is so, so wrong, because you do not live, you survive. although yuta is attentive, he fails to see the signs when he is too engrossed in not letting red seep through his cheeks when you look at him.

he fails to notice the meaning of the « i’m tired » you let out, or the scars on your upper thighs. he fails, and fails, and fails again. can he even do anything right ?

the grain of sand he has become is engulfed by the waves crashing upon the shore, silently nestled in the water, away from the light, away from all sense of rationality. he is far, far gone, drowning but not really. he doesn’t mind being cut off from the surface, the oxygen his survival depends on, because at least he is being sweeped around by your body of water. it is only when he is tossed upon the beach and his lungs receive much needed air that he connects the dots.

a letter is neatly positioned on his desk, perfectly angled and flat against the wood of the table. the writing is neat, and he wonders for a brief moment if the epitome of perfection themself has written this. his eyes go wide when he sees the familiar name and signature on the bottom, scanning over the paper to catch brief mentions of « sorry » and « i can’t do this any longer. »

his legs take him away as he rushes through the halls, daisy petals falling from his pockets, all uneven pointing to the sign that you love him not. he sprints, tumbling into corners and walls as if an angry maki was running after him. it is only once he is in the secured presence of gojo does he let himself take a breath, and his knees go weak.

he cannot bear the truth, pools of tears flooding from his eyes. he realises timberlake was right, you can cry rivers.

when yuta okkotsu reaches his room again, he swallows, and his breathing becomes ragged. his fingers skim along the paper, tracing every outline of every word you have written. his vision can only make it past the title before it becomes blurry, miserable sobs making themselves past his lips.

he stops once again when he has reached the ending. he reads the last sentence over and over until he is sure he can hear your voice reading it for him in his head.

« sincerely yours (because that’s all i’ll ever be), (name). »

you’ll always be his, and he will always be miserable. after all, he is just a grain of sand.

me 🤝 major character death and making the love interest loose sense of rationality

im gonna b 100% honest im not sure of the meaning of half the words i wrote but ermm lmk if u want the suicide note bc i alr have half of it written down

[hobisstar]

What are you hiding from love?| Yandere!Jk x Reader III

Summary: Being in a relationship with Jungkook you’ve always noticed the signs, the red flags if you will. Being so in love with him you ignored them, until the people you loved dearly started disappearing one by one.

Warnings: Murder, Jungkook victim blaming ( like he will say i killed you because you are too stupid or whatever), Possessiveness, Mentions of Smut, Controlling, Locking up YN, Attempt Suicide.

Viewers Discretion is advised.

Taglist: vante 🫶🏾

A/N: This is made to be scary! That is all. I honestly dont like mixing smut with yandere because i read yandere fics to be spooked not horny lol. This chapter will contain attempt suicide.

2 months.

2 bloody months.

It’s been 2 months since yn found out about what jungkook does as a so called hobby.

He’s promised to let her roam around the house if need be and that he didn’t break.

The only thing was when he was at work or out of the house, he made sure she was in his office locked away from the eye.

Yn currently, was tired. Tired of being treated so nicely but so terribly at the the same time. He loves her but keeps her locked away. Why?

She swore she’d never tell a soul about anything that she has seen, as long as he lets her live peacefully, that is.

But, every day Jungkook left for work, Yn was thinking of different ways to get out. Being locked up the only way out was the window.

Residing on the 5th floor of the apartment building, the window was the only option. That was death awaiting her. Yn knew that.

But what else was left to live for? When your lover has had so many hidden lies, a life you never imagined. A life you assumed wasn’t even in his blood.

The signs were always there. But being so love yn ignored the flags.

Thinking maybe he just wants to make sure I am protected, maybe he wants to keep me safe.

This all was things she thought of plenty of times.

With a rush of adrenaline Yn went into thinking. Yes, the window is the only option, but she didn’t want to die. Maybe she could just break the window open and attempt to jump, maybe someone would see her and come help her right?

Without any other thinking she started punching at the window. Hurting yes, but the pain was washed away with the feeling of wanting to be free.

Yn continued to punch at the window seeing little cracks and not caring if her first and hands where covered in blood. She wanted out.

“One more hit..” she thought and with that one hit she heard the glass shatter and freedom was waiting for her.

Looking down she saw the ground and her heart dropped to her stomach. Would this really be the end? Al because of the being locked up? I mean he loves her, but it was suffocating.

Jungkook was smiling as he got out of his car with dinner and flowers. He stepped into the building and seen his neighbor standing at the front desk. He waved but she looked worried.

“Jungkook! Oh thank god your here! I think someone broke into your home! I headed glass shatter-“

Dashing to the elevator he aggressively pressed the button. “Fucking come on!” He yelled impatiently as if he didn’t just press the button 1 second ago.

He kicked the door and went for the emergency stairs. 5 cases of stairs? No problem. His heart was in his stomach but he swore he could hear it in his ears. She wouldn’t hurt herself to just get away from him would she? Of course not… or maybe Jungkook was wrong. What if someone broke in and oh god…

With that thought he finally reached the stairs and lucky for him there home was right next to the emergency exit. Jungkook quite literally kicked the door down and saw Bam barking at the office door.

“Baby! Baby are you in there?” He yelled through the door ,not hearing a response. Without thinking he kicked the door handle a few times and it fell to the ground.

Pushing the door open he entered the cold room and gasped.

Yn was sitting on the window frame backwards. Facing the door, well now him, Yn let a tear roll down her cheek. “Baby… whatever you are thinking about doing right now… we can talk it out, yeah? We don’t have to get hurt while doing this…” he calmly approaches her talking small but huge steps towards her.

The softness of his voice made her only want to lean back faster. “ we can’t talk, Jungkook. I’m done being in here…”, “ is that was this is about? Baby, I’ll stop locking you in here for good but please get down from the window…” at this point Jungkook was crying without even noticing he was crying.

“No! I want to be free I want to leave.” Yn stated and scooted back even more feeling the glass stab her in her hands and In the back of her thigh.

“Let me go…” she mumbled looking back at him and he froze.

“You-Your doing this… to leave me? Why aren’t I good to you?” He moved closer carefully, not wanting her to leave. “I don’t want to die! But if this is the only way to get away from you then I’m willing to take that risk…”

Without thinking Jungkook jumped and grabbed her pulling her off the window quickly which sent her into gasping feeling the glass that was in her thigh come out.

She didn’t fight she didn’t cry. What’s the point? Yn knew she wasn’t going to jump she loved her life but just didn’t like the part of this. She felt jungkook wrap her in his arms and he cried as loud as he ever cried.

It’s only begun, maybe she can use this as a way to get out of here? What if he went crazy and killed her himself? What if he actually pushed her out that window? So many thoughts ran through her head at the moment of being in his arms.

“Never say that again baby,” he looked at her tears dropping from his eyes to his cheeks, down to his shirt. “ I love you too much to loose you, why don’t you understand that?”

Maybe this was the end. Maybe this was just a sign to let her go in Jungkook eyes.

She was willing to kill herself then be with him…

He had a decision to make

[littlemisspascal]

Getting Lost is Being Found

pairing: joel x female reader

rating: M. 18+ only.

word count: 5.4k

summary:

When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasn’t a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. “You’re one of them.”

“I am,” he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. “But I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.”

warnings: black dog/hellhound au with hints of a bigger plot that I'm too tired to dive into. reader is referenced as smaller + younger than Joel. alpha/omega dynamics. slices of life. time jumps. non-descriptive smut. fast burn/love at first sight. biting. blood. rough handling. language. non-major character death(s). thunderstorms. reference of reader's parents. nudity. sneaking in a CoD reference cuz why not

note: Trying to remember how to write for the fun of it. This is the result *awkwardly throws out into the universe*

i.

You stand on your bedroom’s balcony, concrete tiles cold beneath your bare feet. Your eyes look towards the horizon, fingers tightening around the wrought iron railing.

A storm brews. The sun is swiftly retreating behind the distant hills, leaving the city dark and cold in its wake. Electricity taints the air, the hair on the back of your neck prickling -

And then you hear it, harmonizing with the thunder’s rumblings, the ghastly howls of the Black Dogs chasing down the scent of their prey.

ii.

Nightspyre, for all its blackouts and seediness, isn’t the worst place to call home. Not when you’re collared and marked by an Alpha, not when your Alpha has stared Death in the eye and made Her flinch. Not when retaliation for every spilt drop of innocent blood emerges each sundown in the guise of hulking shadows and gleaming red eyes.

The collar had been your request. An old-fashioned tradition dating back centuries, replaced in recent years by sharper, more permanent means of securing a mate. Your mother, rest her soul, had treated her collar as her most prized possession every moment of her short life. Red velvet with a gold tag inscribed with your father’s name. Gone are the days Omegas gathered and gossiped over the patterns and colors adorning their necks. Bitemarks are the present trend, judged and compared by the size, placement, and number of teeth.

They’re advertised as the ultimate display of devotion. A lifelong promise between an Alpha and their chosen mate. A claim warning off others from sniffing too closely. Simply put: a marked Omega is a loved Omega. 

But you learned the hard way when people saw your mark, they didn't see love. They saw something cruel. Something monstrous.

Only when you began wearing a collar you'd fallen in love with after seeing it in the window of a thrift store, adorned with faint golden moons and stars, did the concerned looks and judgmental whispers gradually stop. Convinced them maybe your Alpha wasn't so heartless as they initially believed.

After all, everyone knows monsters don't know how to be gentle. It goes against their very nature. Everything they touch dies an agonizing death.

iii.

“Do you think it’s possible? To know someone your whole life and also know nothing about them at all?” you ask, fingertips tracing the jagged edges of the bite beneath the curve of your collarbone. It’s a hideous thing made in a frenzied moment of raw need, consequentially stained your favorite sheets irredeemably scarlet. 

Your Alpha looks up from where he’d been dragging his tongue over the knob of your hip bone, replying, “Of course.” He moves to hover over you, bracketing your head with his arms, fogging your senses with his distinct scent of petrichor and woodsmoke. “As long as lies exist, no one’s ever truly known. Just pieces of ‘em.”

“Pieces, huh?” You touch his face now, thumb lifting his upper lip in the semblance of a snarl, revealing a glimpse of too-sharp teeth. “I wouldn’t mind collecting more of yours, Jo–”

A warning nip to your hand, blood hot under the surface. “Careful what you wish for.”

iv.

Lightning bathes the living room in a flash of white. Outside the city is wet and dismal, but here, inside, it’s flickering candlelight, and your Alpha is pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, body more shadow than flesh, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to pretend the hand on your cheek has fingers instead of claws.

v.

Three years ago you first saw Joel during one of the worst storms in Nightspyre’s long history. You’d been new to the city after finishing your degree and securing a job there, still a rookie navigator of its maze of cobblestone streets and alleyways. The weather was a fickle tormentor, you quickly learned, swapping between dry heat and violent downpour seemingly at whim. You’d entered a restaurant for a late supper in cloudless twilight, and exited an hour later to bone-chilling rain hurtling down from a pitch black sky. And it had been a miserable discovery for you to make whilst shivering beneath the front entry of an abandoned church, paint-chipped with boarded up windows, that absolutely nothing looked familiar in the rain. For all you knew, you’d tripped and stumbled into a completely different world.

A lightning bolt streaked across the sky, your eyes following its descent from the heavens, and that was when you first saw it. A black dog prowling amongst the faded and cracked tombstones, tail unnaturally stiff, seeming completely indifferent to the pouring rain—and ‘dog’ seemed like an insulting descriptive at the time, too small and domestic for the behemoth canine, but calling it a wolf didn’t settle right with you either. It was…it was…

It was staring right at you now, crimson eyes cutting across the distance and the darkness like searchlights. You froze, heart lodged in your throat, and it was such a bizarre thing, to be in the presence of something as simultaneously terrifying as it was so eerily beautiful. And the longer you stared, the more convinced you became that this was no ordinary creature. There was a dreamlike quality to its appearance, blurry around the edges, like it could change shapes at any second. 

Fuck, maybe you had tripped into a completely different world.

Another bolt of lightning bathed the cemetery yard in white light, the dog’s figure caught in the flash. Its black fur was thick around its neck, adding further bulk to its already broad body, and completely dry all over despite the puddle forming at its paws. You heard the uptick of your rampant heartbeat. Instinct screamed at you to run, but something else made you stay. A conviction you both were meant to share this moment together.

And it scared you how much that belief didn’t scare you.

Darkness swallowed the light again, taking the red eyes with it. You remember how you’d stood there until the clouds changed from black to gray, rain losing some of its vicious sting upon striking your skin, and you’d returned home in a numbed state of exhaustion and confusion. In the days that followed, you didn’t get sick from the incident, not even so much as a sniffle, adding another layer of oddness to the whole ordeal. And that dog…you couldn’t shake it from your mind. 

You wanted to know more about it. Any and every last scrap of detail you could find.

vi.

Welcome back! Your recent internet searches:

black dog breeds

massive black dogs with red eyes

black dog folklore

hellhounds

People also searched for:

fairy hounds

perro negro

okuri-inu

the hound of the baskervilles

dogs in folklore, religion and mythology

vii.

“You realize how ridiculous you sound, right?” Abe told you, wiping at his glasses with a cloth, a nervous twitch in his fingers. “The Black Dogs are a silly legend to scare children. Anyone who says they’re real is selling something.”

“I’ll tell Professor Ratna you said that,” you replied with a smirk.

Your quest for answers revealed everyone had an opinion one way or the other on the topic of massive red-eyed, dark-furred canines. Most thought they were myths limited to the boundaries of their pages in books or the online web. A few though, spoke in hushed murmurs, casting around wary glances, as if afraid of accidentally summoning one from the depths of the earth. Others talked with booming voices and gesticulating hands, telling you everything you wanted to hear like they’d been waiting for this conversation their whole lives. 

One homeless drunkard who dwelled in the alleyway next to 57th Street Tavern explained through slurred words, “I’ve seen ‘em, twice I have. They’re big brutes, shaking the ground when they walk. But–but they leave nothing behind. No tracks. Scary fuckers, they are. And they know it–they feast off fear, then they feast on flesh.”

You asked him how he’d lived through the close encounters unscathed and he shrugged off the question. “I ain’t never hurt nobody. The folks they hunt down, they’re already going to hell. The Dogs just bring ‘em there faster.”

You’d visited Professor Ratna next, catching the older woman in-between classes during her lunch break. She’d politely entertained your inquiry rather than outright scoff at it as the rest of the university faculty had done. “My specialty is mycology, not folklore, so I am no expert on the subject,” she said, taking a sip of tea. “That being said, I’d urge you to be cautious if you’re going to continue going around asking these questions. Few things happen in this city the Dogs don’t know about.”

“Makes it sound like they’re keeping the city hostage.”

She set down her teacup and looked you straight in the eye. “No, my dear. They are what keeps the city safe.”

You had left her office even more unsure of your own convictions than you’d felt when you arrived.

“Well, if you’re ever unlucky enough to come across one, run the other way as fast as you can,” Abe said, hesitantly looking up to meet your gaze. “Don’t even think about trying to pet it.”

The thought honestly hadn’t crossed your mind until then. It sounded like the quickest surefire way to lose a hand, perhaps even the whole limb. But if you had taken the chance at the church, you couldn’t help but what would the pelt have felt like –

Thick, dense fur like other canines? Or deceptively smooth and oily like a serpent’s scales?

(The answer, as it turns out, is a curious mix of both.)

viii.

The next day, a man knocked on your front door. He was tall, body thick with muscle and marked with smatterings of freckles and–oh. Your gaze stopped on his abdomen, refusing to dip any lower as realization turned your brain to mush. 

He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Nude as the day he was born.

He wasn’t saying anything either, brown eyes sweeping over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. In another setting, preferably one without nakedness, perhaps over a candlelit dinner, you would have been flattered by the attention but as it was –

Pressing closer against the safety of the door, you took a tentative sniff of the air. His Alpha scent knocked into you like a tidal wave, barely stifling a reflexive whine in your throat. He smelled like thunderstorms, electric and pungent, like wet grass and ozone all blended together. And something else beneath the surface, something distinctly fiery. Smoky. God, you wanted to drown in that scent.

But first things first –

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The Alpha’s nostrils flared, followed by a low rumble from the depths of his chest that had your grip on the door tightening to keep you from doing something embarrassing  (shamelessly flinging yourself at him came to mind). “I followed your scent. Mint and vanilla.” Another inhale, deeper this time, eyes darkening. “Sassafras.”

His voice was hoarse, grating. Sounded like he hadn’t used it in months, maybe even years.

Your thoughts deserted you again, leaving you to dumbly stare at him for a moment. “Um.”

You’d dated a couple Alphas in the past, nothing that ever developed seriously and that was mostly due to the fact they all didn’t like your scent. Scent-compatibility was an essential factor when it came to bonding–after all, you’d be smelling that scent for the rest of your lives together so it was better to be a pleasing one. One described it as boring, another said it was too clean. Whatever that meant.

But this Alpha—this strange, heavenly-smelling, unfairly attractive man liked your scent enough he followed it all the way to your front door. 

“I–uh,” you blinked once, twice, slowly rebooting your brain, “what was your name again?”

The question had a curious effect on the man, emotions rippling across his face, one after the other, looking lost, but only for an instant, before he swallowed thickly, throat bobbing in a distracting manner.

“It’s Joel.” The corner of his mouth dipped. “I think.”

“You think?” you echoed, eyebrows raising. Who didn’t know their own name?

He lapsed back into silence, but there was a defensive edge to it that wasn’t there before. 

You exhaled a quiet breath and gave him a scrutinizing look, gaze dragging all the way from his head to his dirty bare feet and back up again without pausing on any…intimate areas. You wished you could peel back his layers, cut straight through the weird aura and iron defenses and find out what was there at his center that he’d hidden away.

It must be something incredibly precious, you thought. 

Or something shockingly hideous.

“Tell me, Joel,” you crossed your arms to hide your trembling hands, “have we met before?”

The Alpha tilted his head, midafternoon sunlight turning the dark of his eyes into liquid gold. He swallowed again, then quietly admitted, “Once. A couple nights ago…”

You found yourself leaning closer. He didn’t move away. You could almost taste the rain, the howling wind, the thunderclaps, the lightning, everything wild clinging to his skin. 

“Are you–” You cut yourself off, glancing away. You worried your bottom lip for a moment, hesitant to release the words burning on your tongue, scared of their potentially devastating influence. 

“You’ve been asking an awful lot of questions around town, Sass,” Joel said, soft as a caress. “Haven’t you figured it out by now?”

And that – well, that just about confirmed every last suspicion you had.

When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasn’t a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. “You’re one of them.”

“I am,” he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. “But I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.”

ix.

“Any regrets, Sass?” Joel asks in the midnight hours.

“Hmm?” You curl closer, ear pressed against the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“If you’d known it’d be like this,” he whispers into your hair. “Would you have run away if you had the chance?”

“Maybe,” you say, and you feel more than see the sudden tension roll through his body, shielding himself from the hurt. “But I would’ve found my way back sooner or later. I’d miss you too much.”

Joel says nothing, doesn’t have to. The way he presses you into the mattress, moves inside you, against you, with roaming hands and searing kisses, becoming one — speaks volumes more than words could ever convey.  

x.

The south side of Nightspyre is a haven for smugglers and thugs, consisting of multiple rows of derelict warehouses and an understaffed police presence, half concealed in the smog produced by the factory district. The streets are sticky with unknown substances beneath your shoes, each breath burning the inside of your nose.

“Gets prettier every time I visit,” Tess says wryly, standing next to you and looking at a spray-painted dick on the side of a dumpster.

You shoot your friend an amused look. Her brown hair’s half-up in a bun, she’s tough as nails, and carries at least four concealed weapons on her person at any given point. Female Alphas aren’t a common sight in the city, but Tess’ intimidating presence fends off the inappropriate comments, striking fear into the hearts of even the biggest Alphas with one icy glare. She’s the perfect ally to have by your side.

“Let’s just grab Joel and get out of here.” You pick up the pace. Your eyes note the different colored ribbons hanging from the overhead telephone wires. Each represents an illegal activity, whether it be gambling or drugs. If one knows their code, these ribbons act as a map of the district.  

Tess holds a hand up, stopping at a crossroads. You watch as she looks to the left, center, and right, then up at the ribbons–red, orange, and black respectively. The code regularly changes depending on the month or weather or local events, memorized by those who frequently visit the area, but there is one warning that will never be made different.

“Beware the path marked by the ribbon dyed black,” you recite quietly. “For if you follow it, you’ll surely become the next meal of the pack.”

“Sure you don’t wanna grab a drink instead?” Tess asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the orange ribbon. 

You say nothing, adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag, and turn right – trusting that your friend will follow close behind, watching your back as she always has since you first met.

xi.

It's a wonder that there's enough of the body left to investigate, you think, crouching behind a car that smells overwhelming of weed and watching a group of men in police uniforms toss around ideas about who or what killed the dismembered and burnt corpse.

Deaths like this, they're how the myth of the Black Dogs continues to circulate and gain credence amongst the locals. The police, on the other hand, refuse to acknowledge them or the black ribbons pointing the way. They'll claim any other excuse under the sun - rabid wildlife, homicidal rage fueled by drugs or alcohol, deranged serial killers, hell even lightning strikes - but to openly admit beasts of folklore are responsible for the high fatality rate? Not a fucking chance.

They've tried setting traps a few times, reassuring folks they'll catch whatever savage thing is responsible for making the streets run red with blood. "Don't worry," they always say. "We have everything under control."

It’s you who should be worried, you want to retort, images flickering through your mind of sharpened teeth and paws the size of tires. Only a fool attempts to catch a hurricane in a glass jar. 

xii.

It’s another forty-five minutes before you find him.

You slide down a steep slope of dead grass, fresh mud from last night’s storm painting the sides of your pants, seeping into your shoes, almost dragging you face-first into the brown sludge of Pickett’s River if not for Tess’ fast reflexes. Eyes on the culvert pipe, you grit your teeth, remind yourself why you’re here, and step forward into the mess of sewage and soil and rainwater. Disgust is immediate, soaked above your knees, but you force yourself to take another step and another and another until you reach the large, ebony mass lying at the culvert’s gaping mouth, black mist emanating from his heaving flank.

“There you are,” you murmur, dropping to your knees near the muzzy outline of his head. Triangular ears twitch before they are concealed in a haze of shadow again. Your heart sinks, forcing a bit of levity into your tone. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, yeah? Our backyard is a helluva lot nicer than this shithole.”

“I’ll build a doghouse for him myself if it’ll save me from getting dragged outta bed at this ungodly hour,” Tess offers from somewhere behind you.

She’s smart enough to stay back, especially when the sound of her voice has eyes snapping open in a blaze of red, immediately narrowing into smoldering slits, lips curling back from bloodstained teeth, snarling in challenge. 

“None of that,” you scold, followed by a bop against his nose with your finger. He stills, some of the feral luster clearing from his eyes. His body remains primed to fight, muscles coiled, lingering side effects from last night’s hunt. “It’s over. It’s a new day.” A hot breath of air wafts over your face, flooding your nostrils with a concoction of coppery blood, damp earth, and sulfur. “Fucking hell, that’s awful. You, Alpha mine, need a toothbrush. No, scratch that, you need to gargle bleach to get that nastiness out of your mouth. Ugh.”

Joel shoves his head forward, rumbling a deep, guttural note as his wet nose pressed against the vulnerable tendon of your throat, a hint of teeth grazing your pulse. If not for the bitemark under your shirt and the history of early mornings identical to this one spanning across the course of your relationship, perhaps you might have screamed or fainted in fright. Given the circumstances though, you merely tilt your head back further, allowing him to drink his fill of your scent until he remembers.

He had explained once, his human memories were like sand in this form, his mind an hourglass torn between two lives. Your scent triggers the reset, tipping everything right side up again, memories falling back into place until the next hunt steals them back again.

You know when it clicks because Joel’s breath hitches, a violent shudder rippling along his spine. It’s always agonizing, watching him transform, listening to the grinding and splintering of bones and sinew realigning themselves. The cloud of obsidian mist begins to lighten, the once ambiguous outline of a colossal beast slowly, so painstakingly slowly merging into a man – naked, trembling from the aftershocks, clinging to consciousness by his own stubborn will. 

Brown eyes meet yours, blood smeared across his mouth and beard. “Sass,” he says, a dry rasp sending a wave of warmth all the way down to your frozen and wet toes. “Aren’t you getting tired of coming after me yet?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, smiling. “I think it’s good for our relationship. Keeps things interesting.”

He snorts. “Interesting. Sure, that’s a word for it. How many times’ it been this week? Two, three?”

“Four,” Tess chimes in, punctuated by a pair of jeans striking Joel square in the face.

“Mornin’ Tess,” is the low, sheepish response from your Alpha. He pulls the pants off his head, hair ruffled every which way. “Didn’t see you there. Is that a new haircut? It’s nice. Suits you.”

Your friend hums, unimpressed. She used to think you were cute together, that the twang of his accent was amusing, but after eight months of accompanying you in retrieving his naked ass from various sordid and revolting sites around Nightspyre she’s become immune to his charms.

You pull out a shirt and shoes from your own bag. “We’ve gotta get a move on. Police already think you’re strange. Don’t need to give ‘em another reason to dislike you.”

“Four hunts in one week,” Joel mutters under his breath as he begins dressing, a disturbed look in his eye, and you hear what he isn’t saying, unspoken words weighing heavily upon your chest like individual stones.

Four more damned souls.

xiii.

Sometimes you can’t find him the morning after a hunt, losing him amongst the creeping shadows, and you’re forced to wait, anxious and helpless, until there’s another storm, another hunt, another death to reunite with him. 

Those times, the house feels too empty and your bitemark aches something fierce, a brand seared against your skin. Nightmares plague your sleep until your sheets are a tangle of sweat and tears. The cloudless blue skies and starry nights are further personal insults, mocking your heartache.

xiv.

It’s a tricky concept to wrap your head around, the idea that Joel had once been a human decades, perhaps centuries ago. Time isn’t something Black Dogs keep track of and Nightspyre’s historical archives are in the city hall’s basement which floods every other rainfall. He’s older than you, that’s something you can confidently say. Less confidently you can guesstimate he was probably in his late thirties when he was turned.

Your first year together you tried to piece together his story, pestering him with whatever question crossed your mind. Were you born here? What were your parents like? Any siblings? Hobbies? Your attempts proved mostly unrewarding though - his memories of that life are few and flimsy, giving him a headache if he thinks about them too long - and by now you’ve learned he prefers to make new memories than dwell in the past.

The day he knocked on your door becomes his birthday. He turns forty and who gives a fuck if it’s accurate or not, certainly not either of you. You celebrate with cake and ice cream topped with hot fudge.

“My mother used to make cake like this,” Joel says after swallowing a bite. You look at him, your own spoon hovering in front of your mouth, ice cream threatening to melt, but his eyes are glossed over, lost in a memory, and you can’t bring yourself to move, scared of disrupting the moment. “She added chocolate chips in it. Made it sweeter. She’d let me lick the batter from the spoon.”

An image of a young Joel forms unbiddenly in your mind. You can imagine him hovering at his mother’s side, waiting patiently as she scoops and pours and mixes the ingredients, how wide he’d grin when he finally got his prize, smearing chocolatey goodness across his mouth.

“Your ice cream’s melting,” Joel’s voice yanks you back to the present.

You blink a few times, reconciling the child in your head with the Alpha in front of you, then look down at your spoon where, sure enough, the ice cream’s more of a liquid than a solid, blending with the cake and fudge in a gooey swirl. You stick it in your mouth, not really tasting, not really thinking except -

Next year you’ll remember to buy chocolate chips.

xv.

A horde of ominously gray clouds accumulates on the horizon, blotting out the sun. Standing together on the balcony, Joel drapes himself over your backside, chin on your shoulder, both your gazes locked ahead.

“Death is becoming greedy,” you say, mouth coated in bitter venom. You don’t care if She overhears, so long as you carry his mark you’re untouchable. Not even Her powers can disentwine your souls. Where one goes, the other will follow - and she needs Joel too much at the moment to let him go just yet.

“It’s not Her. There’s something else poisoning the city, rotting it from the inside out…” Joel trails off, interrupted by the first drizzling drops of rain, the distant clap of thunder summoning his alternate form to the surface. His fingers flex against your waist, forcibly swallowing down the growl building in his chest with an audible gulp.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

You don’t say tomorrow morning. Not anymore. It’s too specific, too painful when it doesn’t come true.

“See you in the morning,” he echoes, and gently turns your head, sealing the vow with a kiss. It’s chaste, sweet, foreheads coming to rest against each other, savoring the moment even as the rain pelts your skin and clothes. “Go on, get inside and get warmed up. And no matter what you hear—”

“Don’t go outdoors,” you finish, pressing one last kiss against his jaw. 

xvi.

Joel starts to age again. It’s a slow, gradual process for his body to remember what it means to be human. He still heals unnaturally fast, still answers Death’s call whenever there’s a soul to collect, but - 

There are flecks of gray peppered in his beard. Along his temples. They turn silver when the light hits them just right. Never once does he make an effort to shave them off or dye them. 

He needs glasses when he reads. It shouldn’t be possible yet somehow the dark frames make him look even hotter, especially late at night when they’re perched on the brim of his nose as those perfect lips silently mouth along with the words of whatever genre-of-the-week has snagged his attention.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask abruptly one morning. Joel’s in the middle of peeling oranges, making an attempt at adding more fruit to both your diets, and the kitchen air is oversaturated with citrus. “Dying?”

His hands pause, pensive lines creasing his forehead. It’s a sign he’s thinking hard about his answer, giving it the necessary time to form and develop. You wait, perched on the kitchen stool, pushing your toes against the floor to keep your leg from bouncing anxiously.

“I already died once, remember? This,” he says, gesturing towards his gray hairs and then at the house as a whole. “This isn’t dying, Sass. Not for me.”

You lean forward with your arms upon the counter. “What is it for you then?”

He looks at you for a long second, soft and fond, and smiles. “This is me finally living.”

xvii.

Loving Joel is easy, you learn. As natural as waking up with the morning sun, as necessary as drawing breath into the depths of your lungs. You don’t believe much in fate or destiny, but there are moments where he looks at you, like he can’t believe you’re the one who's real, and it feels like it’s always supposed to have been you and him. 

“Of all the churches in all the world,” you quietly laugh under your breath one night, head resting on his stomach. 

His hand stills in the middle of stroking a warm line down your spine. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shift just enough to press a kiss against his sternum, smiling to yourself at the hitch of his breath. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

Joel’s hand continues its movements again, but this time when it goes back up it carries on past your shoulder, pads of his fingers dipping into the teeth indentation marks there. 

And you know he’s thinking the same.

xviii.

Joel’s sliding home inside of you, all scorching heat and possessive growls, face buried against your neck. You wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, nails cutting scratches deep into his skin, drawing blood. They’ll be gone before he’s done with you. Damn healing factor, a blessing and a curse.

“I want to be like you,” you murmur carelessly against the hinge of his jaw, mouthing a kiss that’s more tongue than lips.

“No,” Joel grunts, and then he’s moving back, pulling out of you. You whine, a pathetic and desperate high-pitched plea of an Omega trying to appease her Alpha, to call him back to fill the emptiness threatening to devour you alive. He ignores it, grabbing at your face with a large hand, forcing you to look at him, really look and fuck, you’ve never seen him like this before.

That emotion in his eyes, dark and gleaming and intense – it’s fear.

“You don’t want to be like me, Sass. You can never be like me,” Joel says, and he doesn’t even try to mask the tremble in his voice. “I won’t allow it.”

You reach a hand up, purposefully slow and obvious in its approach, and curl your fingers around his wrist. He loosens his hold instantly, exhaling a ragged, shuddering breath like you’ve stabbed him.

“Okay,” you say, and that’s all.

His face is wet when it buries against your neck again.

xix.

There’s a secluded house on the city outskirts, an unextraordinary two-story dwelling with a yellow front door and a stepping stone pathway, known to its pair of inhabitants simply as home. 

Most mornings you can be found in the front yard, humming a song from your youth while painting your next masterpiece. Joel will sit in the shade on the porch steps, coffee in hand, watching you watching the world. There are plans to build a greenhouse in the back, another hideaway to retreat to when the world feels just a bit too large. A bit too bloody.

xx.

“It’s going to hurt,” Joel warned you, six months after you’d first met, peppering kisses against your shoulder.

For as many strides as Nightspyre’s made keeping up with modern law changes and customs, out here amongst the untamable hills and freak electrical storms people remained convinced the best and safest life for an Omega was at an Alpha’s side.

Unclaimed Omegas didn’t last long in Nightspyre. If an Omega didn’t find a mate themselves, then one was found for them. Didn't matter if they didn't like each other, if their scents didn't match. Having an Alpha mate was an Omega's golden ticket to a better life - or, at the very least, a larger cage where the bars weren’t so easily seen.

“Not from you,” you panted, tilting your head to grant him more access. He was still an enigma to you, so many layers left to unwrap, but you knew there was no one else in the world you wanted more as your mate than him. No one else made you feel the way he did. “It won’t hurt if it’s from you.”

His hands pinned your arms down, making you gasp, and then - then there were sharp teeth slicing through skin, biting, claiming, intertwining your lives together irreversibly.

You were his. And he was yours.

[buterccup]

could you do Nsfw HCs of Hoodie and AFAB! Reader if you have any?

Hoodie/Brian Thomas NSFW HCS

NSFW POST MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI 18+

Warnings: praise, degradation, dirty talk, mention of pp size, public sex, mention of slapping(Consensual ofc), Overstimulation, AFAB, sex toys(Vibrator), pet names, oral, blowjobs, sir kink, Punishment kink

Character(s): Hoodie/Brian Thomas x Reader

I feel like Hoodie is a big boy.

He really may not seem like it but he is.

Hoodie would always praise you for taking it in so well too. But that doesn't stop him from degrading you.

"You're taking it in so well darling~"

"You're so small but it's fitting inside your slutty pussy so well, doll."

Hoodie is the type to overstimulate and fuck his darling dumb.

Just the sight of you all teary-eyed and covered in his cum just drives him crazy.

And I quote "More beautiful."

And If Hoodie ever comes back from a stressful or tiring mission make sure you're ready for him to beeline his way to you.

This man would grip your hips like this is going to be the last time he gets to hold you only moving them to squeeze and slap your ass or thighs.

Hoodie doesn't care what your body looks like either, he loves you from head to toe.

And if there is something that made Hoodie unhappy or jealous he is always ready to teach his darling how to act.

Or if you need to be reminded how perfect you look to him he will always be ready to fuck you into thinking so. No matter how many times he needs to remind you, he will.

Sex toys.

Especially vibrators.

Just hearing you squeal and call out his name just makes him want to fuck you more.

Mostly all the toys he gifts you are black, red and purple because he thinks it goes well with your body.

Hoodie isn't the type to care where you both do it, he likes the risk.

Of course he wouldn't want anyone walking in but if they do, they do.

His favourite places to do it are while you are on missions together in one of the cars or in the target's house just for fun.

Oh and this man loves his blowjobs.

Just seeing you all pretty on his cock is everything to him

And the sight of his darling with white pearls of his cum running down their face- ah it's just a huge turn-on in his opinion

But he isn't opposed to treating you as well.

He just loves hearing your moans as he grips your thighs in his hands, squeezing them every so often, as he slurps your juices up.

This man eats you out like it's his last me.

Hoodie has a sir kink.

Just hearing your sweet voice call him "sir" as he pounds into your pussy makes him pound into you faster

"Who is making you feel this good?"

"You s, sir!"

It may sound weird but it feels like a breath of fresh air to him.

After having a hard time and being bossed about by Slender and hearing you call him sir makes him harder.

And if you wanted to, Hoodie also wouldn't mind having one or two of his friends join in the fun.

It's like Jeff, the trust you both have mean a lot to him. It just soothes his soul. And he reminds you that sometimes during aftercare. You are really the light of his world.

But also like Jeff if he sees you wearing his hoodie during or after sex it just makes him so flustered and comforted.

Aftercare is a must for this man.

He will do his best to make sure you are okay after your time together.

He will always go out of his way to treat you too.

Hoodie always makes sure to know if he went too far or hurt you in any way.

He really does care about his darling and he would hate it if he did end up hurting you.

Requests: Open

[gerryrigged]

dicktim - La Beau Au Bois Dormant

idea gripping my tired brain by the throat about Tim being struck by some kind of sleeping beauty poison or spell and falling comatose.

Except the solution is not True Love's Kiss but sending someone inside his soul to battle the dragon that will manifest from his inner demons to keep him imprisoned, forever.

The highest chance for success necessitates sending in the one person that the sleeper trusts most - often their love, hence the poison/spell's reputation, but not always.

And almost everyone immediately turns to Dick, like in you go, Nightwing, what are you waiting for.

Which Dick. Doesn't know how to react to, because. God he would give anything to be that person for Tim again. But he knows that he broke something between them when he stripped away Robin.

They've moved past it, they're...fine. But Dick knows. It's not the same. They aren't the same.

He can't help Tim with this. Tim probably wouldn't even want him to try. And that kills him, but he won't sabotage Tim's only shot to wake up because of his own desperate wish to still be the one Tim turns to first. His north star.

There's a ticking-clock time limit before Tim won't be able to wake up at all. They don't have any time to lose.

He looks away from everyone's expectant, demanding stares.

"Call Superboy," he says, voice scraped raw from his throat. "Or Kid Flash. They'll get here in time."

He can't stand the disappointment on Bruce's face. It makes helpless anger boil hot and toxic in his belly. Bruce wasn't here for everything that happened. He doesn't know.

(Dick's never told him. How badly he fucked up.)

"Wait, not his boyfriend?'" Steph says, raised eyebrows and gesticulating at nowhere in particular and Dick's churning thoughts sputter and die into frozen blankness. Boyfriend?

Babs shakes her head on the Batcomputer's view screen.

"They're not at that level of trust yet. They haven't even been dating that long, Tim definitely hasn't told him about - " she twirls a finger, indicating all of them. Red Robin on the medical bed, cowl pushed down and cape pooled around him. The Cave, vaulting overhead. " - all of this. And he won't thank us for doing it for him."

Tim...has a boyfriend?

Wow. His little brother used to always want his advice on love. Life. Everything. If he doesn't trust Dick enough anymore to tell him even that much... Well. It just proves definitively that Dick isn't the right person for this job.

(It hurts like Dick's vital organs are being crushed in a massive fist.)

"Time is ticking," Jason Blood says quietly, looking down at the open face of his pocket watch. At his feet, a circle of lit candles awaits someone to sit down inside and sink into an enchanted meditation.

"Father, clearly it should be you," Damian says, tapping his foot rapidly. His arms are crossed tightly under his cape in a way that he probably means to come across as scornful, rather than apprehensive. "Or Pennyworth, even."

Bruce shakes his head, troubled. "No. I don't think so. Cassie...?"

"No," Cass responds calmly. "Not me." She seems untroubled by her own denial, even though she and Tim have been thick as thieves ever since she returned to Gotham.

She's looking at Dick. She hasn't looked away from Dick this whole time, or let go of Tim's hand, folded in hers protectively, over his heart.

"It's still you, big brother," she says. Gentle and direct and devastating. "Go. Bring him back."

Not so long ago, Tim trusted Dick to catch him when he fell.

Or, he was depressed and passively suicidal and telling Dick what he wanted to hear. Maybe he even believed it, after the fact.

In the end, it doesn't matter. He's Dick's brother. Dick will always, always be there to catch him, whether Tim trusts him to or not.

Dick goes.

He faces Tim, sinks into lotus inside the ring of flickering little flames, and closes his eyes, heart in his throat.

He opens his eyes. A vast, jagged bramble forest looms dark above him. Far in the distance, he can just make out a spindly tower piercing the sky, a flickering little light shining at the top.

He hacks his way through the biting brambles of Tim's resentments, leaving blood and sorrows dripping from the thorns in his wake.

He fights the sly, sinuous dragon of Tim's despair, singing with every breath that he can spare, so that Tim might hear him and know he's not alone.

He wishes he could remember happy songs, bright and lively songs - wishes he could be the light in the darkness that Tim deserves, that he looked up to and chased after and for some reason tried to model himself upon, even when he was already so very bright himself.

But any song is better than none to pierce the lonely vault of silence, so he sings of pain, of loss, of faith and faithlessness. Of holding on past the point of breaking. He sings of two hands open and outstretched, waiting to be clasped and held.

When his voice falters, when adamant scales break his sword and claws shatter his shield, he throws himself at the winged serpent, letting it coil about him and grappling it in turn. Fangs strike at him again and again, piercing flesh and armor both, before he winds his arms around its jaws and holds them shut.

It hisses through clenched teeth about failures, his and Tim's both. He holds its jaws shut, and sings of two ships tossed in a maelstrom, anchored to each other, weathering the storm.

It hisses, venom dripping from its furious curled lips, about abandonment and betrayal. He holds its jaws shut, and sings about two robins, flying with an olive branch held aloft between them.

It hisses to him of ice unending, frozen hearts, shattered trust. He holds its jaws shut, and sings about the steady radiating warmth of a hearth, of a hug, of a new dawn. Of new beginnings.

He rests his forehead on the dragon's growling snout, and sings, "Come home with me. Come home to me. Tim, I love you. Tim, Tim, Tim."

The beast shudders and shivers. And starts to break apart.

The crumbling wings buffet and beat at Dick even as they begin to crack and collapse. Dick lowers his head and holds on tighter.

The massive coiled tail squeezes around Dick convulsively, thrashing and withering. Dick's ribs crack, but he holds on tighter.

Scales etched with Tim's regrets flake off and fall away, like a tree shedding razor edged leaves in autumn. Dick closes his eyes as they kiss and cut his already tattered skin, but just holds on tighter.

Eventually, the violent disintegration comes to an end, and all goes still and quiet.

Save for a familiar shape shaking and weeping in Dick's arms.

Dick opens his eyes, blinking away sweat and blood just to be sure. But yes. It's him. Blue eyes reddened with tears, staring in horror at the ragged torn-up mess of his older brother, come to rescue him.

"Tim," Dick sighs, bones papier-mâché from relief. And exhaustion. "Timmy. Thank god."

"Dick," Tim cries out, gripping him tightly in distress. He lets go immediately at Dick's wince, and tries to pull away. "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I'm - your wounds, we have to - "

Dick doesn't let him move an inch. "Shhhhhh," he breathes. "It's a dream, don't worry about it." Tim wriggles in protest at first, determinedly attempting to staunch some of the heavier bleeding, but Dick just holds him tighter. "Please, Timmy," he begs. "Please. Just let me."

Tim's breath hitches, then he wraps his arms around Dick just as hard as Dick is squeezing him, strong and anchoring. Dick's own breath shudders on the edge of a whine, and he buries his nose in Tim's hair.

-----

"Missed you," he whispers hoarsely, several minutes later.

Tim lifts his face from where he's been leaking a silent wet spot into Dick's collarbone.

"Missed you, too," he whispers back, as if they're sharing secrets and might be overheard.

Then Tim hesitates, before setting his mouth firmly. He meets Dick's gaze, and there's a fierce light in his still reddened eyes that transfixes Dick. He almost lost this. He almost lost Tim - so many times, more than he probably even knows about. He never wants to look away.

"And I love you, too, you know. That's never changed. It never will change." His brow is furrowed intently, gaze searching Dick's, like he can find and burn away any hint of doubt or disbelief.

"I know," Dick murmurs, warm down to his battered toes. Tim's alive. Tim's going to wake up, and keep living. Tim loves him, and forgives him, and still trusts him more than anyone else. "I do know. I - "

He releases one arm from its death grip, because he can no longer resist the urge to cup Tim's face, stroke a thumb across his cheek. Tim closes his eyes briefly as he covers Dick's hand with his, leaning into it, brows still drawn together. Like he's in pain, even though all the dings and scratches are on Dick, not him.

Dick's heart seizes.

He dips down, to the impossibly inviting bow of Tim's mouth, and kisses him. At Tim's small, quiet gasp, he gentles further, catching Tim's lips, pulling the full lower curve between his own in a soft tug. To his delight, Tim follows him, chasing his mouth, and they share the sweet cling and press, back and forth.

-----

Dick's wounds are somehow all still present upon waking. Magic, ugh, such a pain. The resulting frenzy of medical attention and getting bundled into another bed - too far away from Tim - like he's one foot through death's door isn't exactly fun, either.

(But still. Well worth it, for that first moment Tim's eyes flutter open and hazily lock on his. The world can keep spinning, now that Dick knows Tim is safe.)

As it turns out, Tim's recollection of what happened inside his own soul is equally hazy.

He remembers enough to melt bonelessly into Dick's chest when Dick sneaks over to share his bed, which dissolves the hard knot of worried tension in Dick's chest that he wouldn't remember anything, that he'd be back to subtle distance and awkward texts and not even feeling comfortable enough to share that he likes men, and Dick. Isn't sure he could have handled that.

So he ignores his aching ribs and multiple lacerations and puncture wounds and curls around Tim with his whole body, warmth and gratitude suffusing every aching muscle.

Tim...doesn't seem to remember the kiss. Which. Is a shame.

But Dick remembers it. Every moment is burned into him like the most intimate pyrography. That will have to be enough, until he can make it happen again.

(Tim's boyfriend doesn't stand a chance.)

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

Somewhere Between Hello and Goodbye | Ch. 1: The Infinity Necklace

“I love you too, Koo,” a faint whisper comes out of my parted lips as Jungkook’s eyes slowly close from the anesthesia spreading through his system, blocking any remaining signals of consciousness. Just an hour ago, this room was filled with our laughter as his teasing request to ruin our friendship bounced off the four walls, fueling the flush rising up my cheeks. Now, the same room is still, as if time itself has stopped, the walls, echoing merely the beeps of the heart monitor. 

As my body becomes numb to the cold floor, I lose track of time, dissociating into the far abyss. And as my eyes rest shut, it’s as if I can still feel his warm embrace, the way his grip tightens around my waist with every restless move I try to make. While hundreds of souls pass by my lifeless form under the dim lights of the main hallway, nothing but the scent of Jungkook’s vanilla musk lingers in the cold air. Koo, please tell me this isn’t real. 

"Mira, honey, wake up,” whispers of a familiar voice bring me back to reality as I feel a hand on my shivering shoulders. 

“Koo?” I reply momentarily, red, puffy eyes looking up in search of his being. One that was certainly no longer there, as my helpless hope ceased to exist upon seeing Tae’s worried face. Feeling my eyes swell with tears, his arms encompass my distressed self as my fatigued body gives into his warm embrace. Stroking my curls, his touch is gentle, cautious even. 

“It’s going to be okay Mira. Jungkook is a tough guy, he will be fine, alright?” he assures, wiping the tears rolling down my face, before turning his attention to Jimin's out-of-breath state as he rushes towards us.

“Sorry, the traffic was really bad,” Jimin explains to Tae before looking past his form as his eyes search my crouched body. 

“Mira, how are you? Do you want some water? I can grab you something from the cafeteria …” he goes on as the head surgeon and their team of staff exit Jungkook's room. Hearing the door close behind them, my eyes shoot up, slight hope regenerating within those tired orbs. 

“How is he? Can I see him? Please,” my voice was faint and shaky. Before proceeding with the prognosis the doctor clears her throat, looking over Jungkook's records. 

“The head injury experienced by Mr. Jeon has resulted in trauma that escalated dramatically, leaving him in a temporary coma. It is important to note that prior to our operation, the effects of the incident were seen in his inability to access the short-term memory in his brain. Despite meeting us just a few hours ago, Mr. Jeon was in visible distress, alarmed at the sight of “unrecognizable” doctors and nurses,” she explains, maintaining eye contact with all three of us, anticipating the potential inquiries that could come up.

“Fortunately, his vitals are good, which means that Mr. Jeon’s recovery shouldn't take longer than, I reckon, a week or two,” 

“What about his memory? Will he be able to recover it?” Jimin buds in, eyes still monitoring my state. Which to be truthful, was in complete shock. My body was experiencing everything and nothing all at once. At that moment, I could cry, hyperventilate, scream, yell, curse, and all of the above. But I didn't, instead, my eyes were trying to sneak even the slightest glimpse of Jungkook through the little window. 

“Doctor, could I please see him?” I plead, looking back at Tae and Jimin for their mutual help. 

“I'm sorry miss, but visitations are not allowed until the following day,” she says firmly, before being interrupted by Tae’s attempt at negotiation. 

“Please, doctor, could we stay just for tonight? We will leave first thing tomorrow morning. His family is all in Busan,” he explains. 

Looking back at the staff, the doctor clears her throat again before turning her gaze back on me with slightly furrowed brows. 

“Alright, but just for tonight. Please, do not disturb him,” her tone is strict and sharp. 

As my chest heaves up, I can feel my breathing speed up, throat tightening in the process. Eyes swelled up with tears, I pushed past the group of nurses and doctors and rushed toward Jungkook’s still body. His skin was pale and cold to the touch. Eyes closed, he looked completely helpless, form, small and fragile under the hospital lights. 

“Koo,” I whisper, before dropping beside him, intertwining my hand with his. Placing a gentle kiss on his soft skin, I wipe the teardrops rolling down my face before glancing back at Tae and Jimin, who stood still by the door frame. It’s their best friend, their brother, the baby of the group. Eyes scattering his form, they try to hold back their own tears, before coming in to comfort me again. 

As the night went on the room filled with silence, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each passing hour. Jimin went out to get us some food, while Tae stayed with me, gently caressing my hair as my head rested beside Jungkook’s. I didn’t mean to but I guess, my body couldn’t resist any longer, giving in to the fatigue as my eyes slowly shut. Falling asleep, I could feel Jimin covering my seated form with his jacket, as their voices became increasingly distant. 

“I can sleep on the floor, it's fine,” Jimin suggests.

“Are you insane? It’s cold and dirty, let’s just share the couch,” Tae says, before plopping his aching body on the soft cushion. Doing the same, Jimin exhales deeply, shaking his head trying to comprehend the aftermath of the situation. His analysis, however, was short-lived, as the two succumbed to their own fatigue, falling asleep rather quickly. And, as the beeping sound of the heart machine filled the atmosphere, I sneaked a quick glance at the couch, smiling upon seeing both friends covered under Tae’s jacket. 

- -

Staying true to our word, we were gone by the morning but as I looked back at Jungkook’s pale face the aching feeling in my heart grew stronger. 

“I’ll be back Koo, I promise,” I whisper into his ear, tearful gaze focused on his closed eyes. With hopes of receiving even the slightest sign of his consciousness, I wait just a little longer before covering his still body with the soft blanket. 

The following days were filled with visits from Jungkook’s faculty friends and work acquaintances, who brought anything and everything that once made him laugh. Eventually, as the room filled with his memories, the dim lights under which Jungkook slept became brighter, fueling back the life he was once so full of. 

“I hope you like it, baby,” I say softly, looking at the silver necklace around his neck. An infinity necklace. A symbol of never-ending love pillared on an unending bond between two people.

“Koo, you promised you wouldn’t leave. But, I guess, it’s my turn to wait for you now. I’ll wait for infinity if I have to. Just please come back to me,” my words mutter into the soft kiss on his forehead, as tears roll down my face. Leaning closer, I rest my head on his as we sit in the deafening silence. I miss his laugh and the little nose crunch that followed right after. I miss his bunny teeth and the way his doe eyes sparkled. I just miss … him.

- -

Laughter and chatter fill the lecture hall as the professor dismisses the class upon wishing everyone a restful winter break. Glancing at Tae, we exchange soft smiles before heading out. Although my body desperately needs this break, my mind and heart are just simply not at ease, so it’s hard to truly appreciate the free time. Especially, without the one person I was meant to spend it with. 

“I’m going to try out the bakery that just opened by our dormitory, do you want me to grab you something?” Tae asks with a boxy smile, eyes searching mine. 

“No, thanks Tae. I’m gonna drop by Jungkook, and see how he’s doing,” I say softly. Even though, we both know how he is doing. Unconscious and lonely. Nonetheless, I promised him I wouldn’t leave, so I tried to visit every day, becoming a familiar face to the receptionists working at the front. And, although Tae knows this isn’t the healthiest of coping mechanisms, he doesn’t have the heart to snap me out of it, so instead, he pulls me into a warm hug before we wave each other goodbye. 

- - 

Stopping by the flower shop, I grab a bouquet of tiger lilies which were Koo’s favourite, before heading to the hospital. As the winter season progressed, the days became colder and darker. But, nothing could stop me, especially not when even the mere thought of being beside Jungkook warmed my aching heart. So, there I was, rushing towards his embrace before being abruptly stopped in my tracks upon seeing the empty room. Nothing, and I mean nothing is left of Jungkook’s presence. Feeling my breathing increase, I double-check the room number, even though I’ve now memorized every inch of his premises. 

“Sorry, but where is the patient residing in room 9223?” I ask one of the nurses passing by. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon has been discharged,” she replies calmly, her smile slowly fading upon seeing the way my eyebrows furrowed with confusion. 

“Discharged? By who? How? I was here yesterday, and he was still unconscious,” I exclaim, voice now shaky. 

“Mr. Jeon was discharged early in the morning by his parents,” the nurse continued before excusing herself as the ringing of her pager filled the silence between us. And, as my eyes swell with tears, I dial Jimin’s phone number, hoping he would know where Jungkook is. 

“Mira?” 

“Jimin? Jiminah, is Jungkook with you?” I stutter nervously, tears rolling down my flushed face. 

“No, I was just going to call you. His room is empty, what’s going on?” Jimin explains, sounding just as confused. 

“I don’t know, apparently, his parents came to pick him up,” I shake my head, trying to regain my composure as my hands begin to tremble. Jungkook wouldn’t leave without telling me. Right?

Next l Index

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

for @tacoreib hey there, thanks!

prompt: thoughts on why supernatural creatures are in love with him

that's not written in prose, it's just me pretending to be literate and clever enough to analyse these characters in a meaningful way. it makes sense in my head, yeah? yeah

trigger warning for talking about the cat king and his dynamic (and its issues) with edwin

word count: 779 words

Well, the supernatural creatures in question are Monty and the Cat King. Let’s divide that cause I feel like their views of Edwin differ significantly but also unite in one aspect: they find Edwin exciting. And that’s wild, right? This Edwardian boy who reads tons and only rarely gifts anyone - who isn’t Charles or Niko - an honest smile.

Well, in general, we know that Edwin never got really along with other humans, up until he met Charles. And while Edwin seems to not be the biggest fan of cats – especially after the Cat King Drama –, I can picture Edwin finding solace in animals in his childhood. Nature and magic are deeply intertwined and Edwin also is quite handy when it comes to spells and such. Yeah, he argues a fair lot with Crystal and he’s incredibly close to Charles and finds a kindred soul in Niko, but in conversations with clients he’s cool and collected. He knows his way around the supernatural world and seems to fit right in, not like back in his school days. He is gentle and calm most of the time, no sudden movements and quiet competence. Those sound like good reasons for supernatural creatures to fall in love with Edwin.

Let’s start with the Cat King. For him, his attraction to Edwin is probably a form of asserting dominance. Sure, he calls himself a “consensual king” and gives Edwin an out with the whole counting-cats thing, but in the end he likely counts on Edwin tiring of his little game and caving. He has a following of loyal subjects, he has a throne, so he most definitely is used to a mix of admiration and worship towards himself. The Cat King has this aura of someone who knows that others desire him. Others, who know why he is so appealing.

But then, along comes this cute posh ghost with his little bowtie who seems utterly confused by his feelings and that’s what’s so exciting for the Cat King. It’s power over him. Later, it becomes apparent that that’s not all, that the Cat King really does feel something beyond attraction for Edwin and that most likely stems from him slowly growing attached to Edwin and his remarks during their little meet-ups, but especially Edwin’s flustered appearance. For the Cat King, this is what really attracts him to Edwin. This put-together detective who gets red in the face whenever the Cat King steps too close.

He does get better at their final meeting and seems much more genuinely fascinated by Edwin, that’s likely to do with the Cat King knowing and hearing about what went down – Edwin in hell, Niko’s death, the torture – and Edwin coming out of all of this… well, not alive, but with his head still upon his shoulders and still this kindness in his heart. To be kind in the face of all of this, that’d do it.

Now, Monty. Monty Monty Monty. Monty was never meant to become supernatural in any sense of the word. He was crow. Then, he’s suddenly a boy with real feelings and real impact on others, being able to communicate with them in a meaningful way. At first, Edwin was Monty’s mission. Make him trust you, lure him and Charles in – cause you realise Charles follows wherever Edwin goes – and leave him in his betrayal.

And that backfires spectacularly cause Monty never counted on Edwin being – again, kind. He does not openly show it but he’s by no means cold when he meets Monty. Honestly, his behaviour reminds me of myself being shy and anxious in social interactions. That might be read as disinterested but it’s not. Of course, when they meet, Monty is obviously just over the moon because wow, that boy’s pretty, right? That’s new to him, being attracted to someone, and that’s probably why Monty feels it so strongly. The astrology books are a way to get close to Edwin but then Monty wants to step closer and closer as he realises that Edwin genuinely invests his time into his conversations with Monty and becomes more approachable. Monty can see their progress. Someone is aware of Monty and deems him important, a small centre of the universe for a small amount of time.

Also, Monty is entirely new to this “being human” thing (aren’t we all?) and Edwin always seems incredibly confident. And he has every reason to be confident. He is a Dead Boy Detective, after all – he’s competent in his profession. For Monty, Edwin is the one who has it figured out while Monty basks in his attention. That’s why Monty seems to rotate around Edwin and finds him so exciting.

So there's that, I guess? additional thoughts are sooo appreciated, i love this fandom and id love talking with y'all about all this

[s-darling-art]

I would love to hear your thoughts behind the new tattoo you gave Jason! (I also wasn't a fan of the other one)

You 🤝🏼 Me

Hating that old design

But yes absolutely I can! It’ll all be under the cut because I’ve got a LOT to say about the design and lore of the swords

To start with the thought behind my original design was that the tattoos would disappear when the swords were summoned meaning that the tattoos weren’t just tattoo but the actual swords. A cool concept but my execution was NOT it and it’s just not my vibe.

I went back after that first design and looked through everything we know about the All-Blades for my redesign and this is all the information we get.

The blades are mystical and made of copper

Designed to kill magical beings and cannot harm anything else

Can only be summoned in the presence of absolute evil

Are powered by the wielder’s soul and blood

Can be summoned at will

Multiple swords and blades can be summoned depending on how much soul the wielder has

Some of this I liked, such as being powered by the user’s life essence, and some not so much, like only being summoned in ‘Absolute Evil’. Boringgggg and also limiting. So I made my own lore for a new design.

I wanted to lean heavy into the soul and blood aspect so the tattoos are a deep red brown like dried blood, and wrap around both wrists and his left arm in organic flowing lines. There are points on his finger, wrist, and chest that are highlighted with a little circle target design and those are actually acupuncture points that link directly back to the heart.

The only inorganic element are the solid bars that wrap around both wrists and they’re to represent the fact that the Blades are tied to Jason and him to them. They’re quite literally cuffs he cannot remove.

The cross guards are copper and the stone used as the pommel is a Bloodstone, also known as Heliotrope, which aside from being pretty are said to increase courage and motivation and benefit endurance along with physical strength.

My own lore of the Blades is this:

The All-Blades are powered by his soul and blood [and can be directly pulled from his own blood] though summoning too frequently will leave Jason weak and light headed as the blades draw the copper from his blood.

The blade portion of the sword is a solid manifestation of his soul [similar to Lantern constructs] and are warm to the touch. Depending on how much ‘soul’ he’s got, the sharper the blades will be.

Both the Blades and tattoos will glow when used or Jason is using magic, and hum and pulse softly to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

The Blades are able to harm magical and non-magical beings alike, though cannot harm Jason.

They can be ‘broken’ and will disappear when shattered. This hurts Jason and, depending on the severity, can manifest as a physical wound on his body.

It takes concentration and magical energy for him to maintain the Blades in physical form for extended periods of time and will get smaller as his energy tires out before disappearing.

He only has two Blades, they can change shape, design, and size and can be summoned together or individually.

[the-pen-pot]

Fangirling on chapter 41

'What?' Arthur's hands tightened, leaving creases across the rich, red fabric of his bedding. 'I don't understand. I thought you'd fixed that?'

'I have. It's where it belongs, but... ' He shrugged. 'I was in front of it again. Closer than before.' Someone had taken off his jacket and his boots, but he was otherwise still dressed in his usual clothes. He swept up the cuffs of his tunic, checking his arms, but there was nothing to show where the odd, brumal power had touched him. Only the old scars from his own misery met his gaze. 'I think it wanted something. I just can't remember what.'

That sounds ominous for sure. Something so powerful wanting something from Merlin and specially the fact that Merlin can't remember what?! I think in a previous chapter it was said that the Banador wasn't something evil or good, just more neutral but still.... I already have a seed of worry in my mind for the future.

'No!'

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed by his hip, his back to Merlin. He propped his elbows on his knees and pressed his head into his hands. Those broad shoulders shifted in a heave, and Merlin set the cup down with a clank, leaning forward to rest his palm against Arthur's spine. His skin was warm through his tunic, the muscles there strong and tense.

'You need to stop.' The words sounded wrecked, split right through as Arthur lost his tenuous grip on his control. The bond flared, and Merlin got a glimpse of the soul-deep fear that had taken root in Arthur's being. Not the sharp, adrenaline-surge of battle, but something hopeless and desperate. 'You can't keep doing this. Throwing your all at protecting Camelot – protecting me – and killing yourself in the process!'

'I'm not –'

Worry comming out as anger, I so, so get that! That is also my number one reaction.

Arthur laying down the rules is sexy. I'm just saying.😌

'I'm all right,' he promised at last. 'Tired as fuck and weirdly cold, but all right. None of what I've done so far has been unnecessary, Arthur. Camelot needed it.'

'Damn Camelot.'

'You don't mean that.' He tightened his arms around Arthur's waist. He wasn't the only one who was weary

The mental image of them sitting like that, Merlin hugging him tighter is giving me life! 😍

The others were worried. Even if not for the constant prickle of concern over the bond, he could feel it in the weight of their glances and hear it in the forced cheerfulness of their words. He wished he could put their minds at rest, but there was nothing he could say. How could he give them answers he didn't have? He had never thought to end up back at the Banador once more, and yet he could not deny the sense of its presence.

What had it wanted from him?

YES! I would also love the know that answer to that!

He could only do his best to recover from the strain of the past few days so that, when Arthur was ready, Merlin had the strength to help him move forward once more.

It's not even getting better for himself. It's getting better because Arthur might need him and he needs to be ready for that. Bless him!

Your continuing delight over this fic never fails to make me grin, you know. Arthur laying down the riles is totally sexy. 🤣 Sometimes merlin just needs someone to make him stop throwing himself headfirst into danger in the name of keeping the others safe.

Thank you so much for your messages, lovely, and for reading Hiraeth!

[luminouslotuses]

q!jaiden song dump………there’s a lot

anxieties (out of time) - the regrettes

what can i, what can i do? / can somebody give me a damn clue? / fear on my body like glue / can’t move, i can’t move, i can’t move / what can i, what can i say? / tellin’ myself that i’m okay / colors come after the rain

all of these anxieties / come over me, just let me breathe / are we just forever runnin’ out of time? / missin’ how it feels to really be alive / knock me down-down, up, back down / knock me down, i won’t back down

paint - the paper kites

this house has never been the same as before / it’s never felt warm, never felt warm / there’s something moving through the windows and walls / i’ve seen it before, seen it before / you left me living with a lingering soul / how little you know, how little you know

see where i am is where i’m wanting to be / i know what i need, know what i need / and there are many different places to see / i know how to dream, know how to dream / still there’s a wound and i’m moving slow / though it don’t show, though it don’t show

12345 - em beihold

and my neighbors’ screams are deafenin’ / so i’ve got the music blastin’ / feel the skin, the floor / the matches light the candle / hope it passes, smell the / one plant i can’t believe i kept alive / this must be what victory tastes like

instead of findin’ purpose / i could just sell insurance / or join a pyramid scheme / whatever the hell that means, oh / “you need a hug, are you alright?” / “nobody’s loved you much tonight” / only the mirror tells me i’m fine

before the line - dodie

i have an entire post on this one :]

not strong enough - boygenius

black hole opened in the kitchen / every clock’s a different time / it would only take the energy to fix it / i don’t know why i am

the way i am / not strong enough to be your man / i lied, i am / just lowering your expectations / half a mind that keeps the other second-guessing / close my eyes and count

there’s something in the static / i think i’ve been having revelations / coming to in the front seat, nearly empty / skip the exit to our old street and go home / go home alone

happy - mitski

happy came to visit me, he bought cookies on the way / i poured him tea, and he told me, “it’ll all be okay” / well, i told him i’d do anything to have him stay with me

i was in the bathroom, i didn’t hear him leave / i locked the door behind him, and i turned around to see / ooh, all the cookie wrappers and the empty cups of tea / well, i sighed and mumbled to myself, “again, i have to clean” / i sighed and mumbled to myself

and when you go, take this heart / i’ll make no more use of it when there’s no more you / and if you’re going, take the moon / then, maybe i will see you; in the night, i’ll see you

body and mind - girl in red

i’ve been in the deep end since i realized / there is a difference between body and mind / i’ve been at my lowest for the longest time / knowing my existence is not one of a kind

but i’ve had / my deepest cries for now / my heart’s out / my guard’s down

making the bed - olivia rodrigo

they’re changin’ my machinery, and i just let it happen / i got the things i wanted, it’s just not what i imagined

push away all the people who know me the best / but it’s me who’s been makin’ the bed / i’m so tired of being the girl that i am / every good thing has turned into something i dread / and i’m playin’ the victim so well in my head / but it’s me who’s been makin’ the bed

$20 - boygenius

pushing flowers that come up into the front of a shotgun / so many hills to die on

(take a break, make your escape) / gas, out of time, out of money / you’re doing what you can, just makin’ it run / (there’s only so much i can)

wait on me, i’m not ready / i still have to change, have to change, have to change

snow angel - reneé rapp

first to arrive, last to leave / what’s misery without company? / it’s hard to laugh when it’s hard to breathe

smiles hide what secrets keep / can’t tell a lie if you never speak / look in the mirror, she looks like me / but half-alive and twice as weak

if it kills me, i tried / if it kills me, i

[blindrapture]

WEDNESDAY MAY 25TH, 2011 ("world with empty eye sockets")

12:24 AM I think they’ve passed. I think we’re safe. ..I think I’m going to fucking sleep.

3:30 AM Donnie woke me up, she couldn’t sleep. Guess we’re heading off already.

3:41 AM Okay, I’ve put my CDs into one of those CD folder things. This is much easier to carry. I’ve got bags, I’ve got Tiger Stripes, I’ve got my Pot Noodles and my soda; I’m completely ready. Donnie, still tired, has got her share of snacks and drinks. She’s got a steel frying pan, too. And a T-shirt from something called “Bloomsday.” Isn’t that a department store? ..anyway, uh, we’re setting off now. Good luck to us?

3:45 AM Out of the neighbourhood. No sign of spidercats or anything yet. God, it’s bright for 4 in the morning.

4:18 AM We’re going towards the motorway. It’s the fastest way to London. ..I think. The high street is quiet, as always.

4:30 AM We’re nearing the motorway. Donnie’s quiet. Tired. I can hear a faint cawing noise. Like a crow.

4:42 AM The cawing seems to be getting louder.

4:59 AM Okay. I’m hiding behind a car. I don’t think the Big One saw me hiFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

5:01 AM It stopped. It’s turning back. What the fuck. YEAH YOU’D BETTER RUN. Okay, where’s Donnie, there she is, she’s behind that car, got it. We got everything? Good, good, good.

5:32 AM We’ve been walking down this motorway for a while now. We haven’t seen a single soul, just miles and miles of busted cars. I admit, I was kinda expecting to run into some other travelers or something.

5:50 AM Getting light. Very light. No sun, though. Just red.

6:13 AM We played “I Spy.”

6:38 AM Found a car, a big SUV, filled with good food and drink and whatnot. Time for a picnic!

6:40 AM “So why do you wear that.. outfit, anyway?” Good question. I dunno, really. I like to look distinguished, I guess. Makes me feel comfortable. And cool. Kinda like the Doctor or something! “Looks more like the Blues Brothers.” Yeah, there’s a bit of Blues Brothers influence, but that was really more of a coincidence. I wear the coat because of the slender man, and the hat’s inspired by Yahtzee Croshaw. But it’s all just influences, not really that important. “I think I’ve heard of Yahtzee. What’s the slender man?” Oh! Haha, the slender man! Goodness. It’s an urban legend, this tale of a man who’s seen in the backgrounds of photographs. He’s tall and faceless and wears a business suit and tie. Hella creepy when you read all about him late at night. Left a big impression on me. “Sounds cool. What does he do?” Nobody’s really sure. Usually, the people in the photographs with him go missing. Sometimes they’ll turn up later, disemboweled and strung up on trees. Sometimes they’ll turn up insane, sometimes wearing masks and being violent and unstable. Sometimes they simply won’t ever be seen again. ”..he’s not real, is he?” He’s not supposed to be. He’s entirely fictional; his creation was well documented on a Something Awful thread.

6:45 PM Moving out again!

7:02 AM We’ve still got a long way to go. I’d forgotten how tedious and monotonous motorways were. We’re probably gonna stop and rest soon. Maybe.

7:37 AM OH GOD NO WAY NO FUCKING WAY NO NO NO THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE oh, it’s just a dead guy in a business suit. Never mind. Hahahaaaa, never mind. Nothing, never mind!

7:45 AM Donnie’s getting tired. I mean, she seemed pretty tired when we first set out, but now she just looks exhausted. And I admit, I’m pretty tired, myself. We’ll stop soon.

8:11 AM We just passed Croydon. We’re closer than I thought. We’ll rest iHOLY COCK

8:13 AM WHY THE HELL DOES EVERYTHING WANT MY POT NOODLES

8:16 AM OHHHHHHHHHHHH GOD THIS IS BAD THIS IS VERY VERY BAD WHERE’S DONNIE OH MY GOD WHERE IS DONNIE There she is, next to me, never mind.

8:20 AM …it’s gotten quiet, so I’m going to write. You’re not going to believe this. …actually, you might. We were walking along when all of a sudden, BAM. All the cars on the motorway started to move. They moved into one giant mass, and they have formed a giant motherfucking cobra. Made of cars. I’m going to call it the Carbra. Getting past this thing isn’t going to be easy. We’re hiding behind a tree.

8:23 AM Maybe we should try talking to it. “….you want to try talking to it.” ..okay wow that was stupid.

8:27 AM Okay. Okay. I’m going to make a mad dash for the next tree. Tiger Stripes, give me strength.

8:28 AM fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckmade it.

8:31 AM Okay, now Donnie’s got the courage. She’s gonna make the dash.

8:32 AM YOU MOTHERFUCKER EAT PLASTIC GUITAR

8:35 AM OKAY WELL EAT POT NOODLE

8:38 AM EAT MORE PLASTIC GUITAR YOU MOTHERFUCKEasdfgh I just got smacked in the face with a tire

8:43 AM We’re running we’re running I got Donnie and we’re running we’re running oh my god AHHHHH

8:47 AM We’re hiding. Behind a truck. I sure as hell hope this isn’t, like… the Carbra’s penis or something. I hope it’s just a truck. Either way, we’ve got more problems. Motherfuckers can fly now. The zombies. The motherfucking zombies can motherfucking fly. They have wings now. ..motherfucker.

8:49 AM God, the sound of their wings flapping where the hell can we go

8:50 AM Donnie’s got an idea. I’m following.

8:51 AM FUCK YOU FLYING ZOMBIES FFFFFFFFFFFFFFF RUN RUN RUN RUN

8:52 AM I WISH I HAD A FUCKING GUN

8:55 AM Donnie led me to a shed on a hill. She’s locked the door. I like where this is going. >w>

9:01 AM Sitting by the door, listening for the flying zombies to go away. Yeah, this isn’t quite where I thought it was going.

9:05 AM We’re both yawning several times a minute. I don’t know how much longer we can stay awake.

9:07 AM Now that I’ve gotten a chance to really listen to those damn things, I’m less annoyed and more.. unnerved. The sound of the wings, that is. The flapping.. it sounds like.. swishing. Liquid swishing. But it also sounds like breathing. I’m gonna try to zone it out.

9:13 AM ….she fell asleep and is now across my lap. Shit. I’ve never, uh.. looked up what I’m supposed to do now. Do I.. do I feel her up? Do I kiss her? ..why am I writing in my journal when I could be doing all sorts of— fuck it, I’m just gonna sleep, too.

5:59 PM Note to self: “You have nice pants” isn’t a good compliment. It’s a bit weird.

6:14 PM This place has a stove. Had a Pot Noodle. It was tasty.

6:32 PM Fucking shitcrabs, they’re still out there.

6:38 PM There’s a basement door in this shed. It leads to a long staircase. I think it’s a rabbit hole. I brought this up to Donnie, and I think she wants to check it out. She’s nervous, though. Never been down one of these before. Then again, it’s hardly like I’ve been down more than once.

6:43 PM Led us to a shed that looks pretty similar to the one we were previously in, though the front door is now large and steel. I’m gonna break it down.

6:44 PM We’re in a small blue room. There’s nothing in here. WHERE’D THE EXIT GO Okay, we might be trapped. I’m gonna see if I can break the walls down OH GOD FLOOR OPENED UP

9:40 PM awake ow hey donnie Eah. Hi. We seem to be in a void. A black void. In front of us, a good five or ten feet away, is a lone door. But directly in front of us is the void; there’s no floor. Well, there are, uh… patches? Patches of floor here and there. I don’t know how safe they are to step on, though. NO NO NO WAIT DONNIE DON’T oh. Kay, the ‘patches’ are very safe to step on. Kay, we can easily cross, then.

9:42 PM The door led to a small office. There are several doors around us.

9:44 PM Upon trying a door, I was presented with a long corridor. At the other end of the corridor, I could see a giant screaming face approaching me at terminal velocity. I quickly shut the door. I hate this place. It’s all so typical horror shit but I hate it all the same.

9:45 PM Donnie opened a door and found some rotting corpses. She wants to open any more doors, either. So what are we gonna do?

9:48 PM We’ve looked all over. There aren’t any other options. We’re gonna have to open another door. Fuck.

9:49 PM We drew straws. I got the shortest one. Okaaaay here goes.

10:01 PM We climbed out of a manhole. In a street.

10:05 PM LONDON WE’RE IN LONDON OH MY GOD

10:12 PM We found a stationery store! Oh my god, they have tons of journals! I am so taking one. Perfect timing, too. This journal was just about to run out of

10:20 PM I got myself a new journal. Fancy. Pretty. Huge, too. Nobody’s here, so Donnie and I thought we’d just.. take stuff. We’re gonna look for a map. HMV’s gotta be close.

10:24 PM This street’s pretty weird. I can hear the laughter of little children. YEAH I HEAR YOU GUYS, THIS STUFF WASN’T SCARY IN THE SHINING, IT WILL NEVER BE SCARY

10:27 PM Found a bus station. Had a map. It says we’re at the wrong side of the Thames. Fuck. I can see Piccadilly on here, though. Should be there in an hour, I’d say.

10:31 PM Donnie’s been awfully quiet. Then again, so have these streets. Where is anybody?

10:35 PM We’ve hit the Thames. Bridge nearby.

10:39 PM Donnie says she’s been seeing things. Strings around corners, nearby, moving. Personally, I’m pretty sure that strings are the least of our concerns right now.

10:40 PM Hit the bridge. Crossing the Thames.

10:42 PM God, the Thames is a huge river.

10:45 PM I just heard a splash. Donnie’s here, she’s okay. Looked over the edge, nothing.

10:47 PM strings everywhere in the corner of my eyes

10:49 PM Past the Thames, we’re on the wrong other side of London now, no strings anywhere.

10:55 PM …gotta admit. This sure doesn’t seem like the right side of London. At least we know where everybody is now: They’re all inside the buildings! Looking out at us from the windows! Most of them look like zombies. Let’s.. keep our eyes on the road. <:D

11:00 PM Graffiti says “HMV this way.” Thank you, hoodlums!

11:03 PM The zombies are definitely very creepy. They’re all standing in the windows, staring out at us. 11:07 PM Hit Trafalgar Square. I know this place. We’re close.

11:11 PM Did I say “close?” I meant “halfway.” I wish it wasn’t so far away, dammit. Hey, where’d that door come from? urp

(Attached: “I live in a world with empty eye sockets. Countries grope for light switches, assisted by no one. Nature calls this ‘politics.’ I call it 'aftermath.’ Then again, I’ve been called much worse. I carry, in my hands, a book larger than life itself. A god handed it to me as a sort of graduation present. We’ve passed the final exams and now it’s time to leap blindly into the real world. I have seen this book time and time again in my travels– one could almost say my coming of age, if one so ancient as I am could have a definite age– but never have I had the chance to read it. Now that I finally have it, my eyesight is long gone. It was taken in one of my moments of passion, a rare time where I dared step up to nature. Back then, I had only one name: Derek Taylor, the name I was born with. Now my names could fill a book of their own. If ever they did, and for all I know they might, I’d keep it here in my library for others to see. And if they ever asked me the time of day, I’d say to them the same thing I said to the gods when they dared call me 'eternity’s historian:’ Nothing at all. There is no time of day, not now that the apocalypse has come and gone. There’s only the sound of rain to assure us of our existence, and the faint approaching red shapes in the void that even we the blind can see.”)

(Attached, other side: "Disclaimer: The logs go down a certain path here. If you are not comfortable with unconsensual sexual themes, skip to June 18th. This is the cleanest way to do this.")

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[dellyduck]

Traffic Court

Thanks to @kaderp, I have been down into a Pixar Cars rabbit hole for the past week.

She came up with the idea for this Cars X Ducktales AU (where the characters are still ducks, they just drive cars, thank you very much), and well, I simply had to rewrite at least one scene from the first movie into this AU.

I have lots of fun writing it, just like I’m having fun developing this AU with Kader in general, so if any of you are interested in reading, I hope you guys enjoy this “little” scene ^-^

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“Radiator Springs’ traffic court, come to order!”

Dewey was used to crowded places; being the center of attention, having people screaming and yelling at him – it all came with the fame, and he normally adored all that.

However, when the courtroom’s doors shot wide open and the eight or nine people who lived in that town started getting on his face for the mess he had caused, Dewey never wished a “crowd” would ignore him so bad.

‘I don’t know what’s worse,’ he thought grumpily, as Launchpad continued pushing him through the people and to the front of the room. ‘This, or that tent of old hicks yesterday.’

Nah, this was worse. At least yesterday, Drake was there to drive him far away from those bumpkins as soon as his contractual presentation was over. With these bumpkins right now, he was stuck.

Launchpad forced him to sit on the accused’s chair. All the other seats on the front were empty, included the judge’s, and the only other person in that part of the room with him was the short yet with a fierce gaze woman that had arrested him in the first place.

Said fierce gaze didn’t intimidate Dewey in the slightest – they couldn’t really touch him there, not with him being who he was and them being a bunch of nobodies.

“Officer, talk to me babe, how long is this gonna take? I gotta get to California pronto.”

“Where’s your lawyer?” The sheriff ignored him.

Dewey rolled his eyes, “Uh, I don’t know- Aruba, maybe. He has a timeshare there.”

“If the offender has no lawyer, the courtroom will assign one for them,” quoted the sheriff, lowkey looking as tired of Dewey as he was of this place. She looked to the audience of nine people, “Anyone want to be his lawyer?”

Immediately and collectively, the town pulled their chairs one step behind. Everyone, that is, except Launchpad.

“Gee, I’ll do it, Sheriff Cabrera!” The man shrugged, looking by no means bothered by that outcome. He joined Dewey on the accused’s table and the sheriff spoke again.

“All rise. The honorable Doctor Scrooge has arrived.” Her eyes fell on Dewey again, and she added only to him, “May Doc. have mercy of your soul.”

The Duck boy gulped, that so sure feeling that nothing bad could happen suddenly nowhere to be found.

The court’s doors shot open once more, “Alright! I wanna know who’s the responsible for wrecking my town.” The voice with a tick Scottish accent was as strong as the heavy steps that followed into the room. “Sheriff, I want his head on a platter. I’m gonna put him in jail until he rots. No, scratch that- I’m gonna put him in jail until the jail rots!” The angry man got to the podium and to the judge’s chair. “Then on top of that jail I’ll put another one until that jail rots. I’m-”

His voice died as soon as his eyes fell on Dewey; or more precisely, on the dirty racing clothes that the twenty-some years old boy was still wearing. On a shift, the expression of the old man in red hardened in a way that Dewey couldn’t help but shrink a bit.

After a long instant of quietness, the judge spoke again, “Throw him out of here, Sheriff. I want him out of my courtroom, I want him out of my town!” And to prove that his decision was final, “Case dismissed!”

“Yes!” Dewey was practically beaming. He expected this whole quadrille to be quick, but one single second? That’s what he called doing things in the Turbo Duck style.

He could hear the town’s citizens complaining behind him, but for the young racer they were as much white noise as Launchpad’s more pleased reaction, “By the Darkwing, looks like I’m really good at this lawyer stuff!”

Nothing in that place mattered anymore – he was free. And promptly after he stepped outside this building, he was going to hit the road and get to California, where he was supposed to be.

No one was going to stand on his way any longer.

“Sorry I’m late.” For a third time, the courtroom’s doors were opened, this time followed by a feminine, calmer voice.

Dewey turned his body to glare at whoever was delaying his moment of freedom- but all his annoyance flew down the drain as soon as his eyes took on the figure that had just arrived.

“Holy ebony…” Dewey found himself saying under his breath.

In fact, the soft ebony hair, descending in a long cascade, was the most prominent thing about that young woman. Which just made her more attractive when combined to her delicate face and that simple yet elegant spring dress she was wearing. A dress that, while not revealing by any means, still flattered her form very much, if he could say so.

Now the question was: what was a high-class, sane-looking babe like her doing in this carcass of a town?

“She gotta be from my attorney’s office,” It was the conclusion Dewey got to. Of course, somehow his agent had got a hold he was here, having “problems with the law”, and since his attorney really was away, they sent someone else. That made perfect sense. Just as the woman approached the front of the room, he activated his charm and called, “Hey, thanks for coming but we’re all set. He’s letting me go.”

“He’s letting you go?” She arched an eyebrow at the racer. It passed unnoticed by him how she stopped herself from sitting beside the other citizens when doing so.

“Yeah, you got lucky, your job’s pretty easy today,” Dewey laid back on the chair, his eyes taking their sweet time to admire her up and down. “All you need to do now is stand right there and let me look at ya.”

The woman’s expression was slowly morphing from confusion to a mix of incredulity and annoyance, but the young racer didn’t seem to notice because he kept talking.

“Listen, I’m gonna cut to the chase: you. Me. Dinner.” And now to the killer move - Dewey flashed her a half smile, with a click of the tongue and a wink, wrapped altogether by the finger guns.

She still said nothing, her face deadpanned. What was there to say, really, to such an arrogant asshole?

However, that was not how Dewey understood her silence, “Out of speech? I get it, I get that reaction a lot. But don’t worry, there’s no reason to be intimidated…” He gave her a side look. “Unless you want to be~”

“Oooo-kay,” The woman finally spoke - even if just to make him stop – with a forced smile. “I’m gonna go talk to the judge now.”

“Do what you gotta do, princess,” he sent another wink her way. Before letting her go, though, Dewey bended forward a bit, his voice losing smoothness as he warned only her, “Oh, but be careful. Folks around here don’t have their pins screwed all the way, if you know what I mean.”

As if to prove his point, he pointed with his head to Launchpad, who was right now trying to mimic Dewey’s finger guns move to his own reflection on the window.

The woman’s smile grew forced. So not only was the guy who wrecked their town an arrogant asshole, he also felt no remorse insulting the people who lived there? Oh, he had something else coming.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said back to the racer. Turning then to the redhaired man, her smile became more real. “Hey there, LP.”

‘Wait, what?’ Dewey blinked away in surprise. He didn’t know what shocked him more, the fact that his supposed attorney knew that guy, or the way Launchpad casually answered her back, with a cheerful, “G’morning, Emily!”

And as if that wasn’t confounding enough, the woman – Emily – quickly turned to the rest of the people in the room, “Hi folks.”

Just like launchpad, everyone returned the greeting amicably and casually, some also saying her name. As if she was a close friend who they saw every day.

Laying closer to Launchpad, Dewey questioned, “You know her?”

“Of course. She’s the town hotel’s manager… and my fiancée.”

“WHAT?!” Okay, lots of weird things were happening since last night, but that-?

Luckily, the universe hadn’t gone crazy, and Launchpad started crackling at his face, “Gotcha! Nah, she’s like a little sister to me. But I gave ya a pretty good scare, huh?”

While Dewey shot his “lawyer” an ugly stare, Emily reached the podium, looking up to the old, grumpy duck that was their town’s judge slash doctor. And he looked especially grumpy right now; shoot, she should’ve brought some baking goods with her. Well, her sweet smile would have to do.

“Good morning, Doc. How are you doing today?”

“Civils stay behind the fence unless they’re going to testify, Emily,” was Scrooge’s pragmatic answer, probably already sensing she wanted to ask for something. She really should’ve brought some sweets.

“I know that, I’m just passing by to say hi.” She feigned innocence.

The old man arched her a brow, “Very well, then: hi. Now go behind the fence with the others,” and before Emily could retort, “Actually, you may as well go home, since we’re done here.”

“Oh, come on, Doc,” Emily dropped her smile, a more serious and upset expression now, which caused Scrooge to haut before he stood up from his chair. “Are you really going to let him get away with it that easy? At least make him fix what he broke.”

“No way, I know his type. Car racer,” Scrooge pronounced the words like they were an insult. “Believe me, the sooner he gets out of here, the better.”

“But the town needs the road. And since he’s the reason it needs fixing, why not?”

“Emily, this case’s closed.” If he had his cane in hand, he’d knock it on the ground to make his point. “End of story.”

But by the way the girl simply looked at him, not seeming defeated at all, Scrooge feared it wouldn’t be the end of the story.

“Okay,” Emily started. “I didn’t want to do this, Doc., but you leave me no choice. Fellow citizens and friends!” Spinning on her wheels, she addresses the rest of the room loud and clearly, “You are all aware of our town’s proud history.”

“There she goes again,” Scrooge sighs to himself.

“Radiator Springs: a little piece of heaven built up with hard work and hospitality, by all of you, by our community,” Emily continued her speech passionately as she approached the audience. “It is our job and our pleasure to take care of the travelers who pass by our home while crossing the glorious Route 66.”

“Travelers? What travelers?!” raged Donald.

“Ignore him,” Fethry cut his cousin short, allowing the dark-haired girl to continue.

“But how, I ask, are we to care for those travelers if there is no road for them to drive on? Panchito, José,” Emily addresses the two men and partners sitting on the front roll. “What do you sell in your store?”

“Fashionable haircuts!” exclaimed Panchito, showing off a scissor from his pocket.

“You sure do,” Emily smiled at the answer, even if it wasn’t the one she was looking for. “But what’s your main business, what do you have the most at your store?”

“Tires,” this time it was José who answered with pride.

“And if no one can get to you guys?”

“We won’t sell any… tire…” the parrot’s smug smile fell at that realization, and it didn’t really help when Panchito hugged him in desperation, adding, “We’re gonna lose everything!”

“Mary!” Emily now turned to a woman in her early 60s, whose gray hair had only traits of the light blonde it one day possessed. “What do you sell at your store?”

“I sell breakfast, lunch, dinner, and gas. But especially gas.”

From another part of the room, Launchpad burst into laughs alongside Mary’s own husband, and the two women give them an annoyed look. All of that because the word “gas” had been said? Seriously?

“Okay boys, stay with me, please,” Emily asks them, before talking to Mary again. “And what happens if no one can come to your station for any of those things?”

“I’ll go out of business and… we’ll have to leave town,” the older woman admitted with sadness, looking at her husband in distress. The man was definitely not laughing anymore.

“And what will happen to all of us if Mary has to leave town and closes her business?”

That seemed the right thing to ask, because immediately hurried exclamations started being shared among the town folks.

“We’re all gonna starve!” screamed Launchpad.

“I mean,” Donald started. “Others here know how to cook, but we'd be stuck here forever without being able to fill our cars’ tanks.”

“And no more Mary's pancakes!” The redhead was pulling his own hair at the idea.

“So,” Emily’s voice was strong enough to gather everyone’s attention back on her. “Don’t you think the person responsible should fix our road?”

“The only person strong enough to fix that road is Big Al!” commented the oldest person in that place, a senior woman who couldn’t be less than 80.

“Elvira, Big Al died fifteen years ago,” Mary’s husband, Jamie, explained to her, causing Elvira to look at him like he was the one going senile. “Then why are you bringin’ him up?”

“Oh, he can do it.” For the first time since her speech started, Emily’s eyes fell on Dewey. There was no warmth in those green eyes for him, just a fire to defend her home and her friends. “You all saw his car. That thing has horsepower more than enough to get the job done.”

Dewey instantly felt his blood freezing. What had his car, his precious baby, to do with anything?!

“So, what do we want him to do?!”

“FIX OUR ROAD!” All the citizens echoed together.

“Yes! Because we are a town worth fixing!”

While the others cheered in excited agreement, Emily turned back to Scrooge at his podium, a victorious smile in her face as she simply shrugged. Scrooge released a heavy sight before screaming for order in the courtroom. Once everyone was quiet again, he paused his eyes on Dewey once more before passing them across each one of his friends.

“It seems…” the old man started, hating himself in his resignation. “That my mind has been changed for me.”

The town folks cheered once again.

“No!” Meanwhile, Dewey was groaning. If looks could kill, the glare he shot at Emily would’ve blown the woman up, especially when she looked back with that coy smile. “I am so not taking you to dinner anymore.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Goggles,” the nickname made his cheeks grow red, Dewey didn’t know if with anger or humiliation for her making fun of his racing goggles. “You can take Bessie instead.”

“Oh boy, you’re gonna work with Bessie!” Launchpad suddenly exclaimed, nudging the racer with his elbow. “I’d give away half a leg to be in your place.”

And against his best judgement, because Dewey knew he wasn’t going to like the answer, he asked anyways, “Who is Bessie?”

[wardogsong]

Frank would you stop being the Punisher if it brought your family back? Could you stop?

gray ghost the frank || inbox temporarily closed

"Who says I want 'em back?" FUCK. No. The words come out a little too quick and WRONG WRONG WRONG. It sounds like he's happy to have his family gone but there's nothing that could be further from the truth; not when he misses them with every fiber of his being and feels their absence like a phantom limb. It's the whiskey barely left in the glass— too much of it in his gut, muddying up his already banged up brain. Remorse washes over his tired battered features, screaming I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT and is chased by despair and disappointment in himself. Frank's a man aware that his social graces are severely lacking these days but this shit is something else entirely and it hurts him to have even mistakenly spoken of his family that way. His babygirl. His little boy. Behind the cringing closed lids of his eyes he sees them like he last saw them, red red red and wrong. Innocent angels.

SHIT, the only comfort he has in this world is the knowledge that they are safe beyond any pain that could ever try and touch them again. It's unfair, it's not perfect, they've been robbed of milestones as shitty as first heartbreaks and not getting into their first choice college; things he should have been there for to wipe their tears away. But AT LEAST, they're at peace. No shitbag boy will ever embarrass or reject his Lisa, no woman will ever rip Junior's heart out and step on it. He won't be dealing out shovel talks or dangling boys from windows for the audacity of doing them wrong. Nothing will ever touch Maria wrong again— she'll never stay up long nights worrying herself gray about them; about all the dumb choices that kids are bound to make as they grow up and test their wings— all the things Frank would have given them grief about like a hypocrite who hadn't done WORSE.

She'll never worry about anything ever again. None of them will. It's the only peace he knows.

Frank shakes his head, makes a face that says he intends to try again but first polishes off his drink— as if for courage or something. "Nah— I get it. That's a thing, now right? All these... uh... what'cha call 'em. The Enhanced. The-the-the weird shit fallin' outta the sky. People takin' a dirt nap then poppin' up like daisies again. Makes the question less uh— less hypothetical than it used t'be. I get it." He's spent the better part of two decades whiling away downtime in the desert with nothing to do but shoot the shit about every conceivable topic with his brothers. They've had deeper, weirder, and stupider conversations but everyone's played at least ONE round of 'who would you bring back if you could' and every associated variation.

"Somebody bringin' 'em back? S'no reason t'take the vest off. Somebody brings 'em back, first thing I'm doin' is loading for bear. I'd find 'em and uh— take 'em somewhere real nice. Real nice. Nice and secluded. Can't hear a man scream type'a place. They're gonna live so much longer than they wish— than they knew was possible with their guts hangin' out of them, but there's ways. Trust me, there's ways."

"Anybody ever touches them again? They're gettin' the PUNISHMENT they deserve, I'll tell ya that."

And if his family still lived beyond such a horror? How could he ever go back to them with his bloodied hands and his marked soul? No. No, there'd be no reason to put down the skull at all. It'd only be EVEN MORE reason to keep it on and live on as the memento mori that Lieberman had dubbed him. A reminder to all who even thought to intrude upon those restored lives that all men die— some more brutally and painfully than others, if they ended up in his crosshairs.