#hunched over and dragging the mass of wood behind him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grim-faux · 2 years ago

Text

3 _ 31 _ Intermission

First - An Echo Rebounds through the Silent City

Above, scant traces of light snuck through gaps in the wood slates, each feathery glaze dimmed as the floorboards creaked. Beneath the crackle of dry kindling traveled the thoughtful gurgling of the Viewer, currently rooting through the furniture and throwing around heaps of rubbish. Thick gusts of powder and delicate soot trickled through the massive cracks. The heavy waves choked his breathing and burned his eyes, but he managed to blot out the worst and scrape the residue from his watering eyes.

He decided the Thin Man must be safe, since this was the first Viewer he stumbled onto in forever (technically, it found him). It was distracted with sorting him out from the ruble atop the floor, and Mono was being too clever. All the same, he hadn’t been able to figure a way of dealing with the Viewer. The deranged creature pursued him relentlessly, and he hardly got the chance for rest – aside from his hide place beneath the floor boards.

The denizen of the signal would stall periodically to claw at the floorboards separating him from it; if not for his rash movement to keep beyond its reach, it might've snagged his coat. What was once the only place he found for safety, had morphed into a trap that he could enter but escape became the puzzle. A puzzle he was not allowed time to work through.

Mono was well versed in flinging himself through viscous webs soaked in silt, the hat bent over his head snared the brunt of the veil, and kept his eyes from soaking the mass slathering his coat. Kids got skilled with the flee through cramped spaces – beneath a long row of beds, through narrow gaps under shelves, or hunched low behind scattered furniture. In the gloom and with his head tucked low, seeing became impossible; no place or time was allowed for second guessing, getting turned around, or getting stuck in a crevice.

He knew which swirling patches of gloss to dive into, could feel the scant huff of a draft against his hands and face as he dragged through the stuffy hollows. Second chances didn’t happen, caught was caught.

While he rebounded against his hyper tuned instincts, the Viewer slammed itself against the floorboards in its drought of withdrawal. It managed to splinter the gnarled paneling and heaved up mounds of timber. Amid its frenzy of lashing for the perceived signal, the creature only managed to crush the weakened bones in its forearms as it plowed and tilled the floor. Sinew crackled and burbled beneath the gashes forming in the surface of its skin, only the tattered rags of its sleeves kept the ruined flesh from sagging off the pulverized bones – none of this slowed the Denizen of the Signal.

Somewhere in his lengthy navigation of the harrowed warren beneath the floorboards, Mono did find a break among the supporting pillars that was not flooded by flailing arms. High above a serrated edge glistened in the cracked paneling, the ledge was much too far for a running leap. He was not put off so easily, and after a hasty search his sharp eyes picked out a pile of drywall crushed into the ground below. Without the help of a teleport he made the leap, and barely caught the gnarled edge! With the brittle slivers chewing into his palms, he still made the climb and hoisted his leg up onto the floor. Long before the Viewer realized he had slipped away.

Despite his harrowing escape, the room he stumbled into didn’t reveal any secret passages or dark niches that he could slip into and detach the roaming adult.

From a gray doorway to the side of the room, the Viewer screeched as if it were dying.

Mono scrubbed the grit from his eyes as he moved, barely stopping to give the room another search up and down. The room contained no furniture or piles of ruble to hide in or around, but on the opposite side of the barren space stood a bent doorway. The gaping space beyond hung dark like a yawning maw, but much more inviting than the featureless room he staggered through.

The Viewer crashed into the room, right as Mono ducked out into a cluttered corridor. From somewhere, the dull murmuring of a television program churned across miles of walls. He didn’t pay heed to where the mumbling crawled forth, but focused on the not so discreet Viewer thundering through the abandoned room. A crunch rocketed through the walls, and the air along with the brittle panels beneath his feet quaked.

A swell of fear bubbled in his chest as the lights above flashed. He leapt over ruble and the occasional box, while dreading if the Thin Man should appear in a sputtering-pop. However, the flickering lights didn’t accompany any sort of striking tingle in his nerves. The storm outside was bad, but it had been some while since they had ventured beyond the walls of this building. It had been safe.

Until the Viewer barged in.

He hadn’t let his guard down, but Mono was in the middle of digging out an interesting item forgotten in a cabinet. It was some sort of jar with a weird lid, and a cord attached. The top had a handle he could haul it by, and in the process of dragging it from the room, a Viewer erupted through another wall!

Shredded the tattered wallpaper, the chalky plaster, and boards buried inside. Sometimes the walls crumbled for no reason and unexpectedly, but the Viewer came barreling through without warning - squealing. He had to abandon the strange jar and dive into a broken slot beneath the cabinet, moments before the Viewer trampled the glass and crushed the metal components. It had no heeded the glass scattered across the floor, and instead knelt in the glittery field to claw at the cupboard Mono was shielded beneath. When it emerged, he thought evading it would be the typical routine. Naturally, he had been wrong.

The Viewer was relentless in its pursuit since its explosive announcement. They were always terrible and relentless, but he knew this entire area he had been foraging through. Even with all that know how’s and his memorized pathing, he fought with every ounce of his skills to get away – only to barely keep out of its grasp. It didn’t make a different to it where he squeezed into, how long he managed to elude its gnarled stare. Whenever the Viewer was met with a blockade, it simply tramped a new route; it never lost track of Mono for long.

As expected, the Viewer tore its way out of the room he did flee from. Mono didn’t see while he kept tunnel vision ahead, but it made a distinct racket somewhere. Then he did catch a glimpse of it, as he rushed past an open doorway among the many in this corridor. How it reached that room from where he left it, was a complete mystery, but Mono wasn’t about to stall and work that out.

He picked up the pace, nearly stumbling over a rotted cable strewn among scattered garbage. At his back, the Viewer flew out of a completely different room and collided with the wall right behind him. Mono kept up his pace, but this remained a persistent challenge with all the ruble or broken gaps in the slates. The shining bulbs didn't offer anything, aside from mischievous shadows he had to double guess his footwork over.

Further along the path and on one side of the corridor, the lower portion of the wall hung in tattered boards and wispy wallpaper. Mono skid across his knees and clambered through the leathery veil, which tore easily against his intrusion. The rumbling yammer of the television became its loudest once he was on the other side.

The floor slopped toward one corner, while the much of the leveled section lay ruined and buckled in jagged breaks; he took care with each hop and leap, what with the threat of falling through a massive break. He was accustomed to precarious movement, even with danger bearing down on him.

In the faint light cast by the television, he couldn’t find an opening or any spot on the wall he might climb. No furniture or other clutter was present, or anything that he might could hide behind, aside from a desk over near the television. As for the noisy device, it was only kept in place by a rumpled fold of carpet. As Mono maneuvered about, the boards cackled about his weight. One beam snapped free and vanished into the murk below, but with his excellent reflexes, Mono caught the nearest ledge with his fingertips and dangled. After hoisting himself back up to solid slates, he was leery of movement and always swift to relocate. He traded off walking with crawling, depending on how the floor panels jeered at him with their creaky fanfare. The television didn't offer enough radiance to calculate his sly footwork, but he was making progress and able to examine the walls peeled back from the inky veil.

That was until the Viewer began clawing its way into the room, for a change of pace. It smashed at the brittle wall from the other side, causing the treacherous floor to wail and toss Mono about. For sure the punished barrier wouldn’t hold out, which prompted Mono to cross the floor for the desk. He needed to buy time and elude the Viewer; that is, if the floor didn’t disintegrate. No crack had yet revealed itself, but the Viewers increased frenzy tainted his focus.

Where the floor tipped to the corner, Mono took a tattered patch of carpet and used it to secure his balance. He worked his way toward the desk, the slates inched apart and became increasingly unreliable. At this point, he was barely able to stay upright or move, not without using the carpet to scale the crumbling floor. And reach the television beside the desk.

He could maybe try and tune the television, and find a way out of the room. A place elsewhere and far from the Viewer. But also, get lost from the Thin Man. He was annoyed with the Thin Man for teasing about his struggle with the powers, but getting lost again would be worse.

During his distraction, the Viewer burrowed through the weakened portion of the wall and moved to rise. In the process, the adult had ripped apart of its shoulder and the curly, matted hair stuck up on its head in gaudy heaps. This new weight was more than the floor could tolerate, and the stacked pressure bore down upon the Viewer’s feet. The floor moaned while the twitching figure took its sweet time to inspect the room. It’s dislocated shoulder sagged and clumps of hair dropped from its scalp, more of its unhinged shape came undone as the floor suddenly buckled.

To Mono’s glee, the Viewer toppled to its knees and crumbled to its pulverized shoulder. The impact further traumatized the abused planks, and several boards shot skyward to crash against the ceiling. Then the boards swelled and rolled under the carpet Mono clung to.

The television sputtered and coughed static, the pulsing light glimmered and buzzed as the entire unit tumbled to where the floor sank beneath the Viewer heap. Mono managed to launched himself aside, narrowly avoiding peril though the television was close to crushing his foot when it barreled by. His finger nails snagged threads of the carpet before he went skiing out of control.

On the other side of the floor, the Viewer flopped backwards across the floor. Unfortunately, it became hung up on a splint in the boards bent upward, and wasted no time scrambling for a hand hold on the floor. As it once more pulled its sagging limbs together, rising and localizing its weight into a single spot, the weight tested the patience of the floor. Even the walls stretching high above groaned in sympathy, the Viewer mindlessly clawed its way to its knees and struggled to find a salvageable position.

As the ceiling began to rain flakes of sawdust, Mono brought his attention to the carpet and began seeking a way to scale the steadily creaking slates. So far the only door he spied was separated by a growing chasm, in the furthest corner from the desk. He might be able to slip by the Viewer and reach the space in the wall where he first entered. A broken knife tumbled down the incline, but became snagged by its bent blade on the threads of carpet.

It was instinct more than anything that compelled Mono to move then. He untangled from the carpet and rolled into a tackle of the hilt for the knife, and with its weight keeping him centered, he hauled the weapon to the overturned television. The showtunes persisted to garble while the floor whined, the Viewer squealed oblivious to the demolition it wrought and failed over-and-over to rise.

If not for the crooked blade dragging at the carpets threads, Mono too would be skidding to where the Viewer now hunched over. After loosening the weapon from its anchoring, Mono flicked his gaze from the television to the Viewer - the creature was nearly lined perfectly with the blocky device. He adjusted his footing on a bed of splinters, and heaved the blade high.

With four or five mighty lashes of the blunt blade, the tangled threads snapped free, along with the television. The box began with a slide, but hit a kinked board and flew into a hostile rollout. Right as the Viewer managed to dig its fingers into the soft wood. It did not get one foot raised, before a corner lashed across its upper arm and pitched it backwards. Somehow, it’s broken arm became tangled on (could’ve been a cavernous crack) in the boxes side, but regardless, it sailed after the television and zoomed off the ledge of the floor.

After its heels vanished over the edge and a long, drawn on silence followed, an echoing clatter at last belched from the depths below. The television and its crooning melodies, along with the gurgling wail of the Viewer, cut off entirely.

Mono kept himself anchored by the broken knife, the remains of the blade currently wedged into a crack in the floor. The room was dimmed now, if not for a discarded lamp beside the desk he would have to go by sound alone to decide where he was. The floor insisted on chuckling at his reprieve, but it was no longer threatening to toss him aside like a flea. He took a moment to catch his breath, and a little more reeling back from the events to take stock of what happened. And how he tricked.

Once he recovered by a smidgen, Mono abandoned the blade in favor of climbing his way back to the opening in the wall. He was uncertain where the door in the corner might take him, and he was less certain if he could jump the chasm and pass through the solid wood panel with the scraps of energy he might've held onto in all the flee. The Thin Man wasn't here to jeer at him for not trying.

He could actually stand on the mostly stable floor and walk through the sizable tear the Viewer left for him. That was great, one less threat to roam through the lower floors. Still, he wasn’t sure where the Viewer came from, he also didn’t have spare time to dwell about where deranged creatures sprouted from. Monsters found their way into everywhere, they never stopped searching for children. Which was why Mono never sheltered long in a good place.

It wasn’t worth the think about either, and didn’t compare to how hard Mono worked to keep the busy. For a while longer, he and the Thin Man would be safe and didn’t need to worry about dangers lurking. The mystery of where the Viewer clambered in from would have to wait. He wasn’t certain for how long he was forced to elude the persistent monster through the corridors and stacked mazes of rooms. His most important objective now was return to where he left the Thin Man, and make certain he was still safe.

Most of the lamps didn't work through the twisted halls he currently backtracked through, but enough light crept through segments of corridor to give hints of illusive breaks in the walls, or the hidden pitfalls in floorboards. It was easy enough to recognize a particular corner with a heap of broken furniture, or how one particular door hung on its last hinge and creaked a specific cue. After some navigation, he recalled a crack in the wall which punched up into the crumbling access tunnel, and gave him passage to the upper floors he had wanted to return to.

The vertical hollow was narrow, dank, and much darker than should be possible. Brief patches of light seared through breaks in the plaster, and the televisions crooned the usual tunes in the rooms he clambered past. Mono didn’t need the gleam to guide his footfalls on the makeshift ladder (built by the previous travelers), though he appreciated the glimmer when one bar snapped and he was suddenly dangling one handed in the murky chute. With a hiccup he resumed climbing, this time a bit slower and more cautious of his weight on the wobbly planks.

After all of the scrambling and hurrying through more corridors, he barely has it in him to get one unremarkable door pushed open. Fortunately, the door swung inward without much persuasion, and that left him with no more of a struggle to force the panel back into the warped frame from the other side. He dropped to his knees when the latch clicked in the slot, secure. Safe.

Two more jobs to run. Mono needed to examine the rooms through and then see if the Thin Man had stayed, and didn’t do the leave. Easy enough. He could carry on for a bit longer, and this area was in better condition than the lower floors. Really, he had nothing to worry about.

The two smaller rooms did suffer the water damage he was accustomed to, and he nor the tall thin man ever stayed long in the drafty places. Except when Mono scouted, to give the walls his rigid scrutiny, and make sure no crack was changed since last he visited. Nothing, aside from the noisy water burbling through from wherever the water came from. Only the side of the building with the kitchen space had windows, and one other room over in that area had floors flooded with stagnant water.

Further down the corridor awaited a smaller room with a slanted table, and then the kitchen place. The hall held the tempered glare of bulbs, about half or more had burst, and the fresh scatter of glass sparkled on the floor. He didn’t recall the lights being ruined since last he came through, and that did worry him more than a floundering Viewer. It was a small detail to be mindful of, especially with how hushed the corridors appeared on his return.

Mono huddled in beside the frame of the archway, peering through the gloom and into the hazy kitchen. This is where the Thin Man came for quiet and alone. Through the velvety atmosphere, the warble of static swept across the rumbling gale of wind and prattling of rain. Within a lash of lightening, the lithe silhouette at the table glittered. The Thin Man lounged back with his legs propped up on the tables top, his hands crossed over his lap, and his head tilted far back. It was amazing how his hat doesn’t ever slip off, but the Thin Man was also never wet either. From a suspended bulb, a whisper of light soaked into the deep etches of the stony face, and another blaze from the nearby window eclipsed the sketchy outline.

It all looked in order, and the Thin Man was rest. One spindly hand dug into the crook of the other arm, until the knuckles turned skeletal.

Okay.

With the man in the hat accounted for, Mono could focus on a last go over of the rooms. In case. The kitchen, especially, if not for dangers, but to make sure nothing was getting at the food he collected for the Thin Man. After satisfying his inspection of the box piles, it was back to the other rooms, some soaked wall to floor.

Most of the furniture abandoned in the crumbling spaces settled in melt, rot, and all smelled gummy with mildew. Good flee routes lay scattered around in wore out holes and pockets in the cracked baseboards, but even bundled up in the discarded clothing (mostly unraveling and filmy), the rooms frigid draftiness repelled his presence. However, he did have a nest fixed up in the other side of the dwelling, where it was more dry.

Once more he scouted through the bigger room, where the main door waited. The door was still secure, the dust on the floor panels and the carpet was as he remembered, thick and undisturbed. He sniffed the air, taking in the familiar tint of smoke and decayed wood, or musty clothing and sodden drywall. All the tinges of abandoned, and therefore safe.

For now.

Following all of this busy, Mono was very much ready to tuck down and rest himself. Not sleep, but half. Get off his legs and be blank for a bit. Tricking the Viewer wasn’t the hard part, but fleeing from it. The relentless chasing, it’s hate and agitation for him was not wavered. But it was gone. He didn’t have to worry about it crashing through the doorway, screaming. Gone. TrickedTrickedTrickedTricked…..

A narrow corridor went into a spare room, which contained nothing but some cabinets and other furnishings. A place to get cornered, but it was dry and had plenty of hide-holes and slots he could cram his body into. In the room he preferred, a crumpled cabinet lay at the base of the floor. A lone door hung over a compartment of the cabinet, partially covering the interior space. That was where he added scraps of dry cloth and whatever else was soft, mostly for camouflage.

He crawled under the broken door and burrowed into the heaps of cloth. After wriggling around and getting all the folds in their right layer, he went still and took a deep breath. Only the side of his head poked out, to watch the room and listen for danger noises. One eye fluttered shut periodically to rest his vision, leaving him to rely on the sounds of the room – the expected creaking, the dull rumble buried deep in the walls, and the ever-present burbling of water like a retching pipe. Except, the water was always in the walls, chipping at splinters and rusting out nails.

Mono kept his legs tucked tight into his chest, ready for spring and sprint. Someone should be on watch, but this isn’t pack. The Thin Man doesn’t watch, because that was Mono’s job. But Mono was worn to the barest of threads, and only felt relief now that he could tuck into his dusty haven. He has no scraps of food to show for the extensive exploring, but he still had a few bits of something hidden somewhere, to nibble later. It was tempting to sample some of the Thin Man’s share, but the man and his hat had been bothered by everything.

That was why he went to the lower floors. Another argument, and the Thin Man didn’t get it. Mono needed to get away from the Thin Man too, and get busy with his scouts and foraging. The whole fiasco with the Viewer obliterated whatever irritation he felt towards the tall man, but he sensed the agitation lingering in his nerves. It always felt like an electric shock, same as the ones he felt whenever he tricked a monster into a shallow pool.

Sometimes rest was hard, even when he can't do anything else but stop. Calm down from the running and being chased, of the hyper analyzing ever frayed edge in the environment - a lost second could mean an end. He kept jolting awake, barely a blink in the black. It was a grating suggestion that his mind needed to snap off and be dark, but he had spent so long awake he forgot how to be still. He didn’t realize he was shaking, that’s not weird or anything. He’s cold, or hungry, or he pushed himself beyond his limits with the monsters. The ravenous stress entangled him, now that he needed to collect himself.

So much can happen when his eyes shut. This he knows better than anyone. His restless thoughts plowed through everything he would have to do when he roused. If the Thin Man should decide to visit the other children, or, if Mono could chase the Thin Man somewhere new. Search for fresh supplies. Do more picture speek. It was his job to be on top of everything, and keep his Thin Man safe. All kids had to be that way, or they wouldn't make it.

She....

He didn't think he would ever see H̶͎̒e̵̘̓r̶̫͑ ever again. For a time, he did the search. He wanted so badly to understand what happened. Why would She do that? Why? But his seeking came to nothing, he couldn't find answers. Worst of all, he probably would never know for why She did, and thinking about that made his whole body ache.

Did She prefer company, and not pack? He shrugged, under the heap of shirts. He couldn’t fumble through those mysteries endlessly. Not after he s̷̝̉e̸̬͝n̷̠̒t̴̜̔ ̶͔̑H̷̺́e̵̛̞r̴͇̓ ̵̨̀â̷̭w̴̟̎a̴̧̎y̴̠͝.̶̦́ He had so much to… he didn’t know if understanding would make it more bearable, or if it would hurt more. He didn’t need such horrible thoughts crowding important planning. Not when he had bigger jobs and other trouble to work through.

He gulped at the lump in his throat and wriggled down more. Everything felt hushed, from his tremors to the air. He dipped into that empty sort of sleep that eroded the numbing buzz in his head. When next he awakened, he probably wouldn’t recall anything about where he went. What he saw. That would be nice. Forget. Sometimes forgetting seemed wonderful, and abandoning the terrible haunts that found him while the rest at last soaked him with its hollow solace.

With another long exhale, his muscles unwound and the thoughts evaporated. Somewhere, the spiteful gale crashed into the building and the walls bellowed with the song he was accustomed to. He listened to his own shallow breaths and the steady pulse in his chest; a reminder the world chased him and hated him. But for a while, his head found silence and he was isolated from the terrible world.

While he disconnected from his weary limbs, a steady buzz wound through the murk beyond the cupboards walls, and whittled gently at his nerves. The faint click rebounded elsewhere, a sound he knew better than the wind and rain. Those prying sensations he paid no mind, even as the rhythmic tick-ticking approached his swaddled nest. Not until a set of hands slipped through the fog of his drowsy musings, and slender fingers looped around his waist.

Mono made an undignified grumble and lashed out for the sturdy side of the furniture frame. His fingernails dug into the fibrous wood, but the grip was much better at negotiating. With a sharp tug his hands snapped away, and he was reduced to lashing at open air. “Muhn.” More asleep than he previously thought possible, he couldn’t make speek other than throaty gibberish. He blinked blearily at the pulsing bulb, its pale glow and erratic glimmer bombarded his poor soured eyes.

“I̸̘͂t̷̹̾ ̷͕̂Ì̶̮s̸̼͑ ̴̥̇À̶͙l̴͉͋r̷̞͝i̷̧̐g̵̘͐h̵͎͌t̴̤̂,̵̪̚ ̴͎͌C̴̯̓ḧ̴͕́î̷̻l̵̪̓d̵̺̕.̶̈́ͅ,” rumbled the Thin Man.

He still fumbled for something, anything, even though he was pulled upright and far-far from his cozy shelter. “Nhn. Sleep. Stop. Was… have.” He’s so muddled and frustrated, not grasping why or any reason to bother him when he was all hidden away. In all its rarity, he was sleeping on his own; the man in the hat was as relentless about his rest time, about as relentless as the Viewer he escaped. And in this instant he needed it, actually wanted to combat the night terrors and find a soothing nothingness. He might’ve actually stood a chance.

“Indeed you were. F̸̢́o̴̻͂ŕ̷̟ ̵̰͋Ò̸̞n̴̚͜c̴̩̿ẻ̷̻.̶̘͊”

The Thin Man coddled him up to the blinding white collar, pressing on him with fidgety fingers. That didn’t stop Mono from snarling and fighting to push away. He couldn’t twist around or bite the fingers, and chewing on the coat didn’t really do anything. It did make him feel better. Didn’t do much, but feeling better was the most he could manage, among his garbled noises.

“Y’lev for sleep,” he burbled, while trying to wriggle free. This was a losing battle. The fingers kneading into his back made him fight more and growl his frustrations, which went dismissed. “No. Y’stop. Down. Want… leggo.”

The static rustled as the Thin Man shushed him. When the Thin Man made to leave, he always put Mono in his nest place. He didn’t care that the Thin Man had to go look for the other children. He was still so angry with the man in the hat and after all the things he said. It still confused him about the big speek, but whenever the shrieking and static brewed dark around the man in the hat's shoulders, it warned him the Thin Man was not happy in the slightest.

Finding an interesting treasure might’ve made up for the trouble. If the stupid Viewer hadn’t trampled it. Mono didn’t want anything to do with the Thin Man, he just wanted to forget how bad he messed up.

“M’sleep. Sum’rest,” he murmured. With no real meaning as to why that was his argument. He resolved to lock his fists into the coarse knit and exhaled, relinquished to this. “Was sleep,” he burbled. The fingers kneaded his back, a little rough but it was fine.

“I know,” the Thin Man hummed. “I needed to make sure you Ẁ̴̘e̸̺͑r̵̯͂e̶̯͘ ̷̢͝S̴̛̖a̵̝̎f̸͎͝ẻ̵̘,̴͔̚ and here. When I cannot see you, İ̴̯ ̴̜͒W̷͎͘o̵̙͒r̸̪̚r̸̘͌y̶̮̕.̶̱̾ You disappeared, and I did not… Ŵ̴͜e̶̛̮l̶͇̍l̶̞͝.̶̜́ ̷͕͗Ǐ̸̜ ̸̼͒C̸̽͜o̸̡͋u̴̫͑l̴̛͜d̵͕͑ ̵̘̎N̶̝̿o̴͍͌t̶͔̑ ̷̼̉S̵̪͠e̷̫͆n̷̛̝s̷͔̄ẽ̵̠ ̴̭̎Y̵̺̒õ̴̡u̷͎͠.̷̩̆ I̷̹̕ ̴̱̍W̸̝̏a̴͇̋s̸͔̽ ̵͇͐Â̶̫ḽ̵̆o̶̙͛n̷͖̓ę̸̏.̸̻̕” The Thin Man made some other noises, but it was too rumbly or crackled in his ears.

But the gentle roll along his back felt very nice, along with the pressing at his spine. “Okay.” He doesn’t resist sleep. He can’t, not even when he’s ruthless and alert. The rich haze of slumber oozed into his consciousness and drowned him. The Thin Man paces, holding him. Already, he has decided where to scout when the man in the hat is gone.

The hands cup his body tighter and shake. The Thin Man might be trying to speek or tell him a story, but it’s too staticky. He can’t figure if the Thin Man is mad or what was wrong. He couldn't recall what they fought about earlier, but the eyes beneath the hat glistened fiercely. Then and there, Mono didn't care if he went searching for the man or his hat, but never found him.

“Und’eh-sand,” he murmured, in case the Thin Man asked. “Am un’stand. Un’errr sand. Un'deh-sand.” The static buzzed through his skin as he plunged through the murk, it became so loud he felt nothing but the sizzling deep inside his bones. It became all he felt as his body and self-dissolved, until he was nothing but a wispy suggestion tethered to a fractured consciousness.

And then the Eye on the door shut, and the hinges creaked. The intruder was a child he might’ve once known, but the invader was strange and unfamiliar. Before he could look for them, the child had gone. As before, he was alone. And forgotten….

The girl and him traveled across the city. They moved through the drenched streets, taking shelter inside buildings when they could find a way inside through broken doors, shattered windows, or collapsed walls. Him and Her had been drenched before, when they waded through the Hunters bog, and crossed together on the big water. The endless water was the coldest he’d ever been in a long while. The rain fell endlessly, the droplets needles to stitch through their skin. They could never stop long enough to dry their armor fully, and the few times the rain let up, a thick fog clung to the rooms and roads of the city of perceptuality.

Cold was a constant in their travels. And being hungry. Without food, they were cold, and being too cold made it hard to get around and find food things. And in the city's atmosphere lurked a danger that Mono did not grasp, aside from his hyper-tuned paranoia. Evading danger was their world, but this unknown threat lurking somewhere was only a suggestion for now; it's impending entrance and the mayhem to follow settled in Mono's awareness.

Soon. Soon. Your questions will be no more. And so too, will you.

The Pale City was vastly more different than the other territories him and Her traveled through. The most frequent creatures they encountered became the Viewers, which always came paired with a television. At times an entire pack, or just one alone idolized the flashing screen and the noises rebounding from within the box. The Viewers didn’t give interest to anything else, and hardly visited the kitchen spaces – which was where the stashes of food would always be kept (aside from the plates leaning beside their chairs).

Viewers cropped up everywhere, more so than Snatchers or other strange creatures with uncanny quirks. His old pack was familiar with the Viewers and their habits, and kids picked up from their pack on how to get around the adults without rousing hostility. Don't get spotted was the first essential, and don't mess with televisions that worked. Don't even look at the screens or get close. Mono never made trouble with his pack when it came to televisions, and he knew how unassuming a passive adult could be when it was calm. Until someone dropped something, or was spotted unexpectedly. Remembering walls splattered with red always made him shudder.

His and Her desperation for food pushed them to be bold and forage, while a Viewer hovered in the room next door. Even with the certainty of his conclusion, neither of them had learned what the Viewers do when the television stopped working. The creatures did nothing but gargle with nonexistent throats and watch the screens, but he had never seen one without a television to occupy it.

She hid under a chair at the table, while he poked through the cabinets. Most of the dishes that would sit in those cabinets, currently sat stacked across the countertop or dumped into the sink. Some of the plates and cups cracked from the weight. The broken window above the sink vomited water across the counter and fouled the dishes of anything they could worth scavenging.

At last, Mono did find a jar of food paste and a package of crackers. The crackers he hauled from the cabinet easily enough, and lowered to the floor from over the countertops side. The parcel plopped against the floor, the noise was enough to jolt the girl from her rigid watch of the doorway, and the Viewer beyond seated on the couch.

She took another glance back to the doorway, before crawling out from beneath the chair and creeping over to the wrapped bundle. With skill he’d only seen from the Hunter, the girl gutted the stiff coating of the food and pulled out a cracker (guts) from inside. Not a sound, but for the soft crinkle of wax unfolding, and then the mashing on stale bread.

All was going well. Mono worked to pull the jar down, but not the same way he hauled the lighter and soft wrapper. He pulled himself up into the cabinet and shuffled aside the few other boxes, and in the manner of lowering the crackers down, lowered the jar to the shelf below. However, he misjudged how high the jar was from the counter, and instead of the base plopping onto the flat surface of its bottom, the corner hit the countertop and the entire container tipped over and rolled.

Mono pounced before the jar went off the edge, but couldn’t fortify his balance with the weighted object. Both he and it went over the edge and crashed onto the floor.

He and Her didn’t waste a second. The clatter was LOUD, and goop spread across the floor. The girl and him scrambled to a pile of garbage in the corner of the room and dove behind it. That was where they waited for moments, then longer. No sound crashed from the other room, where the Viewer camped. Still, they waited, huddled against the other and trying to be as small and invisible as possible. It was times like this when Mono despised the bright color She wore.

It was vibrant. Striking. The color buzzed against his eyes like the static television screens vibrated through his bones. The color stood out against the drab backdrop of furniture, the walls, dusty carpet patches, and... everything. Unlike his coat, brushed with rust and dirt from his travels, and the threads matched enough with the discarded clothing that frequented the city.

He curled around Her shoulder, ready to engulf Her with his own coat when the Viewer lumbered in. They remained tense until their joints ached and their eyes became a gummy mess, from staring and not blinking. It was only a long time later, when the rain outside the window ebbed, that he began to wonder if the Viewer was still alive.

She hissed at him, when he uncoiled and moved from the garbage heap. “Shh,” he replied back. He didn’t turn back, but stayed crouched and crept along the wall. All the way to the doorway, and peered into the room where the Viewer was seated, mesmerized by the television yammering on about in the garble speek only the Viewers understood.

For a while longer he observed the Viewer, waiting for it to react or... change its behavior in any way. From what he could tell, the Viewer had not moved from the recliner it sat upon. It gurgled to itself, fully taken by the screen. Did it not hear? The swirling static in the screens never made sense to him, but he'd seen a few Viewers faces. Not many had eyes, and that looked grotesque. Some monsters got around dark areas without vision, but those creatures had to hear.

While still watching the doorway, he backed away and moved over to the broken jar, to inspect the damage. Every few steps, he shot his eyes back to the door, and listened for the bludgeoning clomp of danger thundering. The sound of danger never ignited.

He prodded at the package of crackers, but paid care not to traipse on the glass or the food goop. He wondered if the goo was salvageable, despite the chunks of glass gleaming like tooth snares among the slop.

“Psst. Hey.” He risked turning to her and beckoned. “Hey.” He frowned behind the paper bag when She ducked back down, and out of sight.

Whatever. She was the one always getting caught.

He shoved the package aside, clear of the glittery shards, then worked to pry out another layer of crackers. He’d seen desperate kids dig into food stuff that was embedded with shiny glass, and it never turned out well. Either they tore their lips and tongue apart, or later they would curl up and stopped moving. He was ravenous, but he was smarter.

And She was being an idiot.

After he was chewing on the crackers for a bit, She did emerge from the garbage heap. He made a lot of humming and smacking sounds and really went at the crackers. He was also curious for if the Viewer would emerge if he made too much happy sounds. Monsters hated that.

Did they lose themselves so deep into the Signal, they didn’t react to anything? When they first navigated the buildings – crawling through vents and braving the open rooms – the Viewers frightened them. They frightened him. Yet they pressed on, him taking Her hand, since they had no other pathways to get around in safely. If they didn’t keep moving, they would not find food. And they would stop. Or eat glass tinged with food smells.

That incident with the broken jar did make Mono very curious about the Viewers. He knew the television entranced them, that the Signal burned in them the same way it buzzed through him. But no one creature tore away from the screens for anything, not even when a room was collapsing - him and Her barely made it away before the ceiling caved in.

Whenever they stopped in an area to explore through, and search for tools or anything to get them through the locked doors. He tested what the Viewers might react to, in terms of sound. While She was off scavenging in another room, Mono would drop things or move objects around. In a noisy manner. He didn’t get near the Viewer, and always made certain he had a hole or gap to squeeze into just 'in case'. Noisy children die.

The Viewers never reacted to his outrageous practice. Either they were all the way deaf and blind, or couldn't care of anything that wasn't the televisions. Something in the screens tethered the creatures, the world around them ceased to exist. The only dead Viewers he came across were the ones in the streets, bloodied and mangled - he'd seen them tip off the roof edges and vanish into the mist below. They cared about nothing but the Signal's lullaby in the transmission. And Mono wondered....

Once he was satisfied by his conclusion, he demonstrated for Her.

“Hey. Look.” He stalled behind a Viewer, who stood plastered to large boards nailed into a doorframe. It practically melted through the wood and stuck in the gaps, which was perfect. “Hey. Hey.” He jumped up and down, and stamped his feet.

Of course, the Viewer did not even wince from its trance. From the other side, static and blinding radiance gleamed across its unkempt body. And the folds of flesh, oozing through the openings. It moaned in a most pitiful way.

She tackled him, and they had a rassle. He was snickering, and She was biting his shoulder, trying to lock onto him and cover his face. They fought, he squealed to prove his point. She tried to throttle him. She began to make as much, if not more, noise as he was, and they separated.

He was still rolling on the floor and cackling, not a care in the world. The Viewers were oblivious to them! It was the best thing in the entire city. A region where monsters didn’t care what you did, where you were! He could almost deem the Viewers friendly, if not for the rare occasion She and him had to scurry out of a room due to an absent television. Overall, the most danger in the city was the derelict buildings that could scarcely hold the weight of two children. Or the chasms and sodden roads, or any piece of the city that was not bent on hurtling down upon them. Compared to the School Prison and the Teacher and the Fake children, this was a sanctuary!

If they stayed out of the Viewers way, they would be fine. She still didn’t trust his deduction, but what did She know? Ever since they came into the rain, she had gone quiet. It was around the time she found the color. He wanted the color gone, but despite its flaws… he liked it too. It was Her. That was his S̶̫̕i̶͎͋x̶̩̊.̴̼̀

He could no longer recall where the skittish little girl in the cardigan had gone, or what she had been like. He only knew H̸̠̐ḙ̶̏r̴͓̋,̵̟͘ and that color. This was important.

Despite the relentless rains, the landscape of the city had many places to offer shelter. And plenty of areas where they could explore with some borrowed safety, to find foods or interesting artifacts.

They stopped in a room that was abandoned of televisions, and no Viewers lurked in the corridors. The halls and rooms hung empty and musty throughout the vertical maze of a tattered building, but their relentless foraging rewarded them with a few scraps of stiff meat chunks. While they sought onward for anything more substantial, she and him got into a wild chase of a seek game. She started it, by heaving a rolled up sock at his back and bowling him over.

She was always faster than him, but She was also not very good with the hide. Or climbing and navigating through tight areas, such as the passageways beneath floorboards. Despite that, Mono spent more time as the seeker, because She was able to evade him all the same with reckless leaps across gaping floors, and deshelled rooms.

When they tired of the game, She went off to explore through a kitchen space and scrounge up anything that was not ruined by water or insects. She probably was distracted by the insects, more than digging out tins or boxes that might hold preserved edibles.

Mono wanted to wander around and get a better look at the place. A window in one of the rooms sat high in the wall beside a bed, but he could reach the sill from a leap off the mattress and look out. The lower portion of the glass shielded him from the rains, but it kept him from seeing much of anything outside or below. The onslaught of rain usually made it impossible to see the roads and paths – even if he didn’t know how to reach them, or decide on their direction inside a building. Yet, in the distance and through the thick threads, the gazing light upon the Signal Tower glistened bright. The Tower itself was all the way obscure, but the glaring beacon was always clear, no matter how far away or how dense the rainfall was.

His breath fogged the chilled glass as he stared at the blood-red star. The only color he knew of in this place, aside from Her. In a way, it was beautiful. But the red made him think of the things the Hunter pulled out of skins, and the specks that exploded from children bodies. It was a warning of danger, and a promise of something… he didn’t know what. Not yet. He would learn though.

“Is call for,” he mumbled.

It always hummed for him, through the dark spaces in the back of his thoughts. Always present, but he didn’t know what it would say if he could understand. Like the Door and the Hall. It was a recurring dream and he always wanted to see that door up close, and learn what was behind it. He had seen a door like it somewhere, but he didn’t know where from. It was his earliest memory, before he really knew of a distinction between memories and dream haunts.

He was with the bigger kid and the smaller kid. The bigger kid taught him and smaller kid how to explore, how to stay hidden, how to flee dangers. He felt like he was always with the bigger kid and the smaller kid, but he couldn’t recall when he had seen the door, or for why he left it. The Door was important. It was waiting for him out there, somewhere.

Nothing existed before the Door. Which was why he thought he came from whatever was behind the door. He was meant to be there, or he left that place. He didn’t know about which. If he could go back, he wondered if he could reach the door. The television showed him the way, but he didn't know if reaching the door in that state was the same as finding the door somewhere in the Pale City. Something told him the Tower. Begin at the Tower, and all your questions would be answered.

Somehow, the Door and the Tower were connected. But he didn’t know—

“Hoi.”

She pulled herself onto the windowsill and tugged the back of his ankle. The touch startled him, but he recovered without snapping.

“To rest,” She rasped.

Yes. They needed to rest, and watch.

While the food stash held out, they spent time in the building navigating around the corridors and other rooms they could get into. The lack of Viewers was good, and they only really worried about the creaking walls or swaying halls. It wasn’t an alarming threat, but they always kept close together and hunted around as a tag team.

That short time in Together was wonderful.

She found a crevice in the wall, beside the back leg of a bed. They added pieces of cloth and whatever else was soft to the pile, and snoozed in a tangle of fabric and limbs. Such times to have sleep and recuperate rest was wonderful, and to snuggle into the rare warmth without the threat of danger crashing in, was such a scarcity. Together was best.

To be safe, they never lingered for long in any dwelling, but roamed to other areas of the building levels up and down, or climbed out of windows and crossed the precarious stretching planks of makeshift bridges left by other travelers. As long as they could find a food place and edible stuff, escape the downpour, they could keep moving. In the traveling, they stumbled into rooms with interesting items that they had never seen before. It wasn't often when they would spare time for trivial adult things, if not food it was worthless. However the curiosities could help them think better later, and devise new puzzle solving skills.

They found a dresser full of junk. It had a glittery box full of metal chains, and shiny stones. It was pretty stuff, but not useful - the chains were rotted and snapped. She found a kind of mallet with needles sticking to one end, but the needles didn’t poke and weren’t sharp, instead, they were soft, and loaded with brittle hair clumps. They found dusty colors and thick chalky colors, all of that got onto everything and made them sneeze.

He drew speek for her, and he tried to share pictures. She had not been very share with him as of late, and it worried him.

“Is Tower,” he muttered, as they climbed onto a sill to climb out of a broken window. “Make trick.” He sat there, with Her beside him. “If get, make better. For the change. You hear?” He turned to her.

She didn’t utter a sound, and the dome hood concealed her face in shadow. All but the thin line of her lips, drawn into a narrow scowl. He could tell she was full of much think and hiding that from him. But he could tell. This was how it started in his other pack.

This was the closest he had ever gotten to the Tower. She didn’t think much of his clever scheming, yet, she hadn’t abandoned him. It was probably out of necessity – even with together, the city was perilous to navigate alone. He’s certain neither of them would have come this far, not without... someone.

If they stumbled onto other kids, what would happen then?

As they sat on the sill, debating the course to take, he wrung out his sleeve. And let it soak water from the rain once more.

Would she go with the other kids? Leave him? If he could show the new pack his plans, would they want to travel with him and help? Or… would they turn on him, too? The Tower called to him. Something had to be done, something had to be undone. She was the first child he did the speek about his plans.

The rain began to pick up, the steady drum across the building side turned vibrant and dazzling like swirling sparks. She scooted over the windows cracked frame and dropped down from the rocky ledge, to land deftly on a greasy outcropping of bricks bulging from the wall below. She gestured up, and hissed at him. “Here.”

Did She think he was strange? Did She suspect he was… danger?

He gave the paper bag a shake, adjusted the mask, and then slipped down the ledge to join her. They didn’t have to deal long with the increasing hostility of the pellets, before they found another window that was torn open. It was another dwelling long abandoned, the only television sat in the corner of the room with a shattered screen. Clothing hung from the broken glass of the box's interior, in papery tatters but laid it in the usual fashion they had seen through their exploration across the city.

Mono stalled to stare at the remnants of a silent story, trying to piece apart the plot and meaning. For a while he associated the clothing and televisions with the rain, but he could recall when they first arrived to the city shores. The dry stores and empty buildings had clothing left out, and the thundering shoes the adults liked to wear. He had seen plenty of shirts hooked onto pants, dangling from the maw of splint televisions. One time they saw a Viewer throw its entire body through the screen, an eruption followed, and the creature ceased moving. Where did the bodies go, that once inhabited the clothing?

The last span of time they explored around as pack, it was more quiet. Tense. He could feel everything was... wrong. Something about Her changed, and She turned more distant in all the time they traveled. It made Mono nervous… probably more nervous than the thought of reaching the Tower itself. They were getting closer, even if it didn’t look like that.

He could feel that. Did the Tower somehow know?

That thought was stupid. It was a building, and whatever inhabited the walls made the Signal. If they tricked that, then the city would be better. He didn’t know what better meant, but maybe it meant the monsters would die. Maybe they would leave and go somewhere else. A somewhere with another Tower, and a different Signal, far from him and Her.

Those thoughts kept him going. He would make it happen. They killed the Hunter. They escaped the Teacher. They trapped the Doctor, and dealt with that. They could do it. If they had together, then nothing could stop them.

Sometimes it felt like She was hiding from him. Or just avoiding, since they didn’t get much time on their own. The cold was harsh, especially when foods became harder to come by. The color and coat made Her impervious to the biting weather. And that made Her distant from him.

He scooted under a low desk where she was hiding, and he tinkered with a few of the odd items discarded there. She was pulling the laces out of a shoe and occasionally gnawing on the sole. He hauled over a bundle of cloth flowers, though now they didn’t resembled flowers; the arrangement was more of sticks tangled with cobwebs, with bobbles that crunched if he bit them.

“Hey.”

She tried tearing the rubber sole away from the leather cover, but nicked herself on something. She jammed Her hand into her mouth and licked the cut. And growled.

“Make better,” he assured, while tracing lines in the dust. “If hurt Tower. The Tower for bad. But to trick, then change come. Hmm?” He sketched the long parallel lines, then the point at the top. “Is for together. That right. We make work. I show.”

When he marked down the two small shapes beside the Tower, she reached over and rubbed them away.

“No.” She wrapped her arms around the ravaged shoe and turned over on her side, facing away from him. “Uh-ugh.”

The paper bag crinkled as he laid down on his side and prodded at her bumpy spine. “You. C’mon. Fix. It hurt, so hurt back. Right?” He tried once more to recite her name. It was hard, and strange. She could work out his name fine, but Her sounds were always so much a struggle.

After an embarrassing amount of failed tries – mostly him practicing the sounds all wrong – She rolled over and glared at him from beneath the rim of the hood. He kept trying, making soft echoing sounds behind his mask whenever he blew.

She released the shoe to reach under the paper bag and mushed at his face.

“SiiiiiiX,” she pronounced.

“Ssssss…” he hissed, and grinned as She mashed his cheeks. “Eeeh-ck.” She swatted at his brow, sort of rebounding and causing a racket to go off inside his paper bag. Of which he couldn’t see out of, with the eye holes wriggling all over the place. “Seeee’ick.” Another slap.

“Mono. No.”

“Hmm. Yeah.” Slap. He nipped Her hand. Another slap, but served Her right for reaching into his mask. “Ssssss…” he trailed on, going quiet as his eyelids drooped. He couldn’t see very well with the mask bent and askew, but he felt Her wriggle up against him and tug him in closer by his collar.

“Six,” She reminded, against his neck.

“Hmm. Okay.” He wrapped his arms around Six’s hooded head and tucked his face into his arms. Blearily, he wondered if She wanted to do watch, or if She could see with her coat hood all squished over her head. It wasn’t important, though. They searched the halls and rooms all over, and inspected every gloomy corner.

“See,” he hummed. “Is fix for make. Big trick. Make hurt and stop.” Mono snuggled closer to his favorite person until no obnoxious draft cut between them. She exhaled against his shoulder.

“The bad. Shh.”

“Mmm,” he agreed. “But I show. The big trick, and then better. I keep you safe.”

He didn’t know if any of his plans would come true, or if he could manage the clever trick he planned. It was all he had to think about, in between the travel and the scavenging for dusty scraps. The losing of pack, and the quiet staring of his friend. Somehow, he would make it so, and show her how to chase dreams and overcome the terrible dangers that sprang from the shadows.

Around the secluded pair, the building groaned as the winds blasted at solid rock; the invading water coursed through the walls like blood through some nameless behemoths veins. Out across the torrential storms crashing across the city streets, the Tower stood tall and proud and sung its serenade to the lost Denizens of the Signal. The piercing light upon its spire pulsed rhythmic, emulating the heart beat tempo of a estranged beast hiding from the world that worshipped it.

And deep within the Towers fortress, a room awaited with a lone occupant, listening to the ticking chime of a clock embedded in his soul. As the hour wound closer to a fateful meeting, the hands upon the metaphorical clock face hitched and ground. The walls of the room are nothing but cement; the insidious presence of the flesh, was now expertly hidden by the tenants will. He had no more patience with such trifles, it would soon only be he and The child.

Miles across the city, Mono was none the wiser. This was the last hour he would spend with his dear F̴̲̃̔ṙ̴̪ī̸̻̯͝ë̸̟́̚n̶͈̓ͅd̶̦̊.̷̳͙́̄

#little nightmares #mono #the thin man #thin dad #feral mono #six #feral six #little nightmares fanfic #little nightmares fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #thin dad fic #I needed to back up the story because backups be very important #mono (after a hard day at kid job I need to rest)#the thin man (ah there is my emotional support child)

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phantomenby · 3 years ago

Text

Boo

therightnutsack asked:

Could I request something similar to sweet thing but with the reader in a group of friends? It could be like a dark hide n seek where the reader’s the last one left alive

I hope this is ok? <3

"Stop being such a baby Kyle, they're just fucking trees," Maria was growing more irritated with her friend's whining, you could understand it I mean, these guys spend all day beating each other up but can't handle the woods?

Kyle huffed, trainers dragging along the dirt road as he trailed behind the group, coming to step beside you.

"I'm starting to think Maria is some sort of aspiring serial killer" you laughed at that, reducing down to a snicker when the girl glared back at the two of you.

You were hunched over, arms wrapped around you as you fought to keep warm. When your friends dragged you out of your cosy abode you hadn't expected to be taken up to the cliffs of your hometown. They weren't unfamiliar to you but you never went at night. No one went at night if they wanted to come back in one piece.

But Maria had it on good conscience that there was going to be an amazing bonfire, with drinks and weed. And boys. 'pretty pretty boys' she had said, sighing dreamily while her ex sulked besider her. He was here too, Louis, shaggy blonde air and his usual sports outfit.

Glancing around you realised how dark it was getting, even with you all having flashlights. The road was disappearing behind you and Kyle sent you a wary look, clearly also uncomfortable. He wouldn't pussy out though, too determined to be seen as cool by your idiot friends. He was still a new kid after all.

"Come on man," you reached for his shoulder, fisting his clothing and pulling him along as he began stumbling in the wrong direction, nodding to the path between the trees you were being taken through.

It was awful, dark, and the creepiest thing ever.

Louis and Anthony had taken it upon themselves to see who they could scare the worst. You had watched them slink off behind the trees multiple times, switching off their flashlights and making all sorts of noises.

Three times they had jumped out at you, and each time your companion screamed like a baby. You felt bad for him, but it was pretty funny.

Though the entire time you felt off, like you were anticipating something else. Eyes burned into the back of your head, branches shook when the wind was too weak to reach them and you swore you could see shadows moving swiftly beside you, words whispered all around.

Eventually, the trees began to thin out and you could make out a large glowing fire on the cliff known as 'the bluff', it was infamous for the mass amounts of deaths occuring.

There were four boys around it, already drinking and laughing with each other. You recognised them, they were fairly infamous, known for terrorising the boardwalk.

You could see the appeal, they were rather striking. Still, there was a look in their eyes that held danger, and the moment your eyes met the leader you felt your blood run cold.

Maria was pulled into the arms of the tallest blonde, his body lithe and lanky, it swayed like a tree and you could smell the joint in his hand from the other side of the bonfire.

You had all been introduced and the other three welcomed you, encouraging you all to sit down and cheering when Farah pulled out her backpack full of vodka, rum and cheap mixers.

Kyle stuck by you, sitting on the long you were sitting with your back against, bent forward with his elbows digging into his thighs as the two of you talked.

You were in the middle of talking about what you were doing over summer with your parents when you felt eyes on you, glancing up you met the dark brown pools of the only one who wasn't blonde. His face was stoic, stony even, he had barely talked even as Missy rubbed against him clearly already far gone. He smiled at you, flashing his teeth. It felt oddly threatening and you felt your heartrate pick up, thrumming in your ears as you fought to rip your gaze away.

"-hey, you ok?" you felt a hand place itself on your shoulder, firm and cold, when you looked up the one who had introduced himself as Marko was perched on your other side, Kyle watching him with a less than friendly look.

"Oh uh yeah, sorry just lost in my thoughts," you took a swig of your drink, letting it run down your throat. He smiled back, a devilish thing.

"We should play a game" everyone looked to David, whose voice had rang out over the conversations running around the fire, eyes bright as the sky.

Hide and seek. That was his suggestion, and everyone had readily agreed, buzzed and giddy. The woods were alot less scary when you could hardly think straight.

While your mind wasn't the clearest it was strong enough to view the imposing darkness as something to fear, anything could be in there, and with half of your flashlights out of battery you doubted this was a good idea.

But everyone else was eager and so now here you were, walking around in the dark with Kyle who was holding your hand in a vice like grip as he pulled you along. He was heading back the way you came, you could tell from the direction and the glances he took at the path you had taken on the way in.

In the distance, you could hear your friends shouting, the screams of glee as they messed around with each other.

Kyle stopped, grip growing even tighter, making you wince.

"Whats wrong?"

You could hear his breathing becoming laboured, something had spooked him. When you leant to look around him you saw nothing, only his eyes staring haunted into a darker part of the forest.

His own fear was spreading through you and you tried to look for what he had seen, when he didn't respond you pulled your hand back, "Kyle?"

At last his head snapped back, like he was pulled out of a trance and his soft green eyes met yours, "s-sorry, thought I saw something."

You let out a breath laugh, "s'okay man, come on, the road shouldn't be much further."

Moving to walk in front of him you felt his hand grab the base of your jacket, searching for something to keep him grounded. You had taken only a few steps when you heard a scream, this one was different, this one was out of fear. Gone was any playfulness of joy. Someone had been hurt.

"What the fuck-" you were cut off as a growl sounded from the dark, twigs breaking beneath the weight of some creature of the night from where Kyle had been looking.

Without a second thought you began to run, at some point Kyle sped in front, pulling you along with him. His hand around your forearm was the only thing stopping you from falling to the ground.

You could hear it behind you, it was fast and strange, sounding like it was moving from the ground to the trees.

Looking behind you saw only a flash of orange before it vanished upwards, like it had sprung into the sky.

Tears were building in your eyes and your vision became blurry. You were going to die. The feeling of impending doom was building and it was getting harder and harder to think.

Then you were falling, foot catching on an exposed root and falling face first onto the forest floor. Your companion didn't even look behind him to check on you, simply running ahead with the torch still in his hand, abandoning you.

"KYLE!" you watched the light disappear and sobbed, pushing yourself up and feeling where there was blood dripping from a shallow cut on your jaw. "Oh god..."

Darkness. That was all you could see. Even the stars shining down above you did nothing.

When you stood your knees almost gave out, scuffed with no protection from your cropped shorts, rocks buried into the marred flesh.

You heard it, the movement from before, creaking and snapping. Spinning in place you tried to track it, hunting for the creature. At last, it exposed itself, eyes still burning bright.

"Fuck this," you began to run in the opposite direction, adrenaline finally pumping through your veins, the only thing pushing your wounded legs. You went in the same direction Kyle had headed in, stumbling over the uneven ground, gripping the trees to push yourself faster.

It was stalking you, moving slower than before as it toyed with you.

Dwayne had been sent to find you, the others had already picked off your friends. It was an easy kill.

Something Paul had been hyped about once he had convinced some college chick to party with them. Soon enough she had brought a good number of friends along and they would be satisfied for a week or so.

You had been unexpected. A creature so special and sweet.

They were surprised they had never met you before, even though they could see from your mind that you had been to the boardwalk many times and grown up in the town. Hell, you even recognised all of them.

He had been watching you and your friend, hating how he pathetically clung to you. The boy was weak, most were when exposed to such danger.

But he had almost ripped his throat out then and there when he left you behind, not even caring to help you off the ground and pull you to safety with him.

David had caught him before he could get far enough, fangs piercing his skull and mouth covered to muffle his screams.

You were being led by them, herded.

Your form was fully visible to him, with his inhuman eyes. He could smell blood and see it dripping down your neck from a sharp cut. His eyes grew brighter as he breathed it in, the wind passed through the trees and the scent only grew sharper.

He could hear his brothers in his mind, Paul and Marko had thrown the bodies of your friends in the bonfire back atop the cliff, any evidence of them would be reduced to ash before the sun came up.

Now they just had to finish the game.

You were growing tired, you knew that, feeling your feet struggling to keep you going. You had already had a few near misses where you fell down and could barely get up.

The animal-creature-thing had stopped following you, and you were surrounded by only the sound of your own feet. Your chest was heaving, soon you would have to stop.

But you couldn't. From the screams you had heard the only thing left for you if you slowed down was a painful death.

Then a light shined dimly ahead. The road!-

Before you could step over the threshold where the forest met the open air you slammed into a broad chest, strong arms steadied you as you stumbled back.

"Found you"

You found yourself held firmly, unable to escape, looking up you met icy blue eyes shining down at you. "David y-you-"

He tilted his head, smiling, "what?", David pretended to look for your friend, really his body was just a few meters to your left, the neck still oozing what little blood was left.

"My friend he," your breathing was ragged, and it was only the feeling of his grip growing tighter that kept you from giving in, dark spots lining the edge of your vision, "he left me, d-did you see him? I think he went-"

Then he began to laugh, making you freeze, you had stopped looking at him for a moment and when you turned back you damn near screamed. Gone were the cold blue eyes you recognised, now replaced with the same fire from before, the same as the beast that had been chasing you.

His hands released you, letting you step back, in that momemtn you realised just how tall he was. How his form easily shadowed yours.

You took a step back, then another, and another, trying to escape as he followed your movements. Instinctually you turned, and set off in a sprint, turning right and running along the treeline.

Demonic laughter echoed behind you, carried alone by the wind, you swore it blew through your mind.

Around you the sounds of creaking and cracking ensued, figures moving through the trees and flashing by faster than your eyes could catch them.

Then the voices began.

Where you goin?

Your head flicked to the left, as the words passed by, feeling fingers graze your shoulder.

Yeah, don't you wanna play with us-

That one sounded like Marko, but you couldn't see him, you couldn't see anything. Surely you were nearing some sort of civilization.

A hand grabbed your jacket, yanking you back and turning til you were too dizzy to focus on where your eyes were pointed. Something firm was pressed against you, chest rumbling as the same eyes you were running from stared down at you.

"Oh god..."

Marko smirked, leaning down to your ear, "not god babe", he released you into the arms of Paul who wrapped around you, preventing any escape as you struggled.

"Awh poor thing, your hearts goin a mile a minute," you shuddered as his cold nose pressed to your neck, tongue flicking out to taste your heated flesh, the growl he let out went through you, "boy do you smell good."

"Paul," the boy paused before his fangs pressed to your flesh, hearing his leader's voice stopping him.

David joined them, looking at you with something you couldn't quite pinpoint, "not this one."

The lanky blonde huffed, choosing to nip you, relishing in the yelp you released. His hand came up to hold your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks, his grip bruising as he turned your face to his.

"You're coming back with us little guy," you flinched as Pauls lips pressed to your own, head reeling back as much as it could in his hold, "oh I like you already."

You were pulled from his grasp and when you saw the bare chest and leopard print jacket you knew it was Dwayne, the final of the four finally appearing. Your eyes refused to meet his own, not wanting to look into the bright orange hues that had replaced the warm tones from earlier.

He hoisted you up and over his shoulder, the muscle and bone digging uncomfortably into your stomach as he began to carry you.

They laughed as you struggled, David coming up behind his friend to flick away the tears falling from your eyes. The blue in his had returned and he mimicked Paul's earlier actions to make your own eyes stay on him, squeezing tighter in warning when you pinched them shut.

"Your ours now," your mind clouded and it became impossible to think, "let's go boys, our new pet is coming home with us."

#tlb #yander #*fire elmo*#the lost boys #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader #dwayne tlb #marko tlb #poly lost boys x reader #marko the lost boys #the lost boys fic

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hotwings0203 · 3 years ago

Note

HOWDY!! how are u doing?? Its that person who asked if you would write something for that deku imagine that @candy-hime wrote, about you and deku forced to live together and you corrupting him it could be you or reader but I just love that concept of corrupted! Deku 😩🙏🏾💕💕

Thank you, have a nice day/night!! 😪💜

OH HI HAHAHA MASSIVE BET, I think I’ll do a little bit of both. This will probably be a little self indulgent but I’ll still put it as an “x reader”!

Tw:noncon, misogyny, the reader is a bitch, vouyerism

It was a dare by your friends to live with Izuku Midorkya for a month if you really could handle any type of man.

You’ve dealt with Hawks’ cocky nature, Shoto’s bland comebacks, Bakugo’s constant state of rage- you’ve done it all. Any type of scummy or tiring man a girl has to date you’ve seen in all of these men. They’re practically walking red flags.

Until you’re forced to room with Deku for a whole freaking month.

You just don’t get him! Why is he always so cheery? What the fuck is he smiling about? And who the hell is he baking for? There’s only two of you in the house, it’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything.

You don’t buy it. There has to be some kind of catch to all this facade of a gentleman.

“Hey, Y/N?” He knocks on your ajar door and peeks his cute little face in. “Did you have dinner yet? I was gonna eat but then I thought I’d have some ramen with you-“

“Did I say you could enter?” You slowly lift your head up from your laptop and glare at him. “Are you some kind of pervert? What if I was changing?”

“N-no! I’m so sorry, I should’ve let you answer first, I just wanted to see if you were hungry-“

“God, what are you, my dad? Is that what you want? For me to call you Daddy?” Sneering, you jump up from your bed and stall towards the door.

Deku stumbles over his feet to retreat after seeing the look on your face. “No! Not at all, what? Come on, I didn’t mean any harm-“

“Yeah? Then knock before you enter closet perv.” And with that, you slam the door mere inches away from his startled face as hard as you can, uncaring if the low this on the other side of the wood was his connection to it swinging shut.

“What a fucking brown-noser,” you mutter loud enough for him to hear.

It’s odd how long you wait behind the door before you can hear his footsteps retreat.

A week later you decide to amp it up a notch. There’s no way he’s so fucking green, there’s gotta be some twisted thing inside him that makes him tick.

And so on the day of his turn to do laundry, you decide to dump your fanciest and sluttiest undergarments into the laundry basket.

He’s in some dorky apron when you catch him kneeling over the bag, ruffling through clothes and spraying them with detergent like the good little boy he is.

You perch on the couch behind the laundry room and wait. He doesn’t hear a thing with his headphones blasting some stupid happy-go-lucky songs in his ears.

Eventually he pulls out your lace g-string, and stares at the crumpled mass in confusion. He unravels the lace and stares at it for a good minute or two in surprise you think.

But nonetheless, like the chivalrous man he is, he shakes his head and slaps his reddening cheeks to get over the shock before reaching for the spray.

This was your cue.

You make sure to sound out of breath and extra irritated when you flounce over to his kneeling form and snatch the garment out of his hands.

He jumps a bit and takes his headphones off when he sees your hand descending.

“Oh, it’s just you. You scared me for a sec’ there,” he laughs sheepishly and rubs his neck. “I was just doing the laundry, sorry if that looked weird.”

“Looked weird? You’re fucking disgusting, Dick-u. I’ve been looking for these for days now, and where do I find them? In your grubby little hands.”

His jaw drops open.

“Huh? No, you’ve got it all wrong! It was in the basket, I swear! You must have misplaced it by accident or something.”

“Oh, so now you’re calling me a liar? You think I’m crazy or something? Im not the one sniffing girls’ panties!”

He frantically waves his hands to negate your accusation but you merely spit on the floor next to him.

“Don’t touch my shit again you fucking freak. Go buy a pocket pussy or something since you can’t keep it in your pants.”

At this, he pinches his eyebrows together and starts getting up.

“Hold on, what’re you being so aggressive for? I told you, they were just in here, I’m not that kind of guy.”

He steps towards but you don’t back down. Rather, you jab a finger in his toned chest and bring yourself face-to-face with him.

“Dont fucking walk up to me like that you douche. You’re the one in the wrong here, so I wouldn’t be so aggressive, like you said. Come at me like that again and I’ll fuck you up.”

With the lace in hand, you barely contain your smirk as you storm back into your room, relishing in how Izuku stands like a statue in the same place as you left him, his hands curiously curling into fists and his nostrils inflated.

But behind the safety of your door, he doesn’t continue any shenanigans.

He stays relatively quiet and out of sight for a couple of days, and you start to get bored again.

So this time, you put all your cards on the table and do a double whammy.

One night you call Katsuki, a fuck buddy of yours for a while and use him to help you get off.

You’re not really horny, but the blond side does have a way of getting you there. Luckily, your room is right next to Deku’s so your plan is executed to the best extent.

“Katsuki, oh Katsuki, please. Fuck, fuck yeah, ‘wanna hear you cum for me baby, I want you to bruise my cervix,” you babble loudly as you shove two fingers in your pussy and use your thumb to press on your clit.

“Yeah, you fucking whore, you like that? You like knowing that a shitty nerd like him’s prolly getting off to you calling my name like a slut? I bet you do, keep fucking yourself to my voice, do it otherwise I’ll bruise your ass black and blue when this month’s over.”

“Kat-Katsuki please fuck meeee dadddyyyyy oh fuck-Kacchan!” You cry out and cum violently around squelching fingers.

You put the phone down for a moment to catch your breath, but hear nothing from the other room.

Your face falls as Bakugo rambles on the other end. You hang up with him mid-sentence and remove your fingers from your legs, licking it off absentmindedly and thinking of your next move.

The next morning, you don the tiniest pairs of shorts you have in your closet that accentuates the shape of your ass and the skimpiest bra you can find that shows a peek of the top of your nipples.

You tie your hair up and amble out into the kitchen where he already is, reading something on his his phone and sipping form a black mug.

He barely darts his eyes and lifts the corners of his mouth in a hesitant greeting when he sees what you’re wearing.

He chokes on his drink and does a massive double take, juice spilling from his open mouth.

You raise an eyebrow and smooth your baby hairs, rolling your eyes and walking behind him to grab your own cup.

“See something you like?” Water trickling is the only sound in the room apart from your quip.

“Uh, n-no. Just swallowed wrong I guess.”

“Wonder why,” you drawl with a bored voice and edge closer to his back.

He’s hunched over, mindlessly scrolling too-fast on his phone to be deemed as actually reading anything. You recognize this form of coping from people like yourself who try to find distractions at parties where you don’t know people, just flipping through tabs to look like you’re actually doing something.

As you walk around him again, you make sure to train your eyes on his own, hounding he out for the moment he slips.

And slip he does, but only after you pretend to stretch and lift your self on your tippy toes in front of him, your shorts hiking up to show some cheek.

It’s only for a moment, but while the cup is against his mouth and his phone in his hand, his eyes dart to the exposed skin, then back up to your triumphant eyes.

“I knew it.”

He sighs and puts his cup down. “Knew what?”

“That you were a sick little virgin who gets off on staring at girls.”

“Y/N, I wasn’t-“

“I also know,” you raise your voice above his and slowly walk over to the table on the other side across from him, leaning forward and making sure that your tits squish together as you drop them on the countertop, “that last night you were totally listening to me on the phone with Bakugo. I heard your grunts and disgusting fapping noises. You don’t have to make it so obvious that you don’t get any.”

And this time, regardless of his indignation and frustration, he can’t stop himself from watching your hands trail up the sides of your bra and slowly drag the material down, down, down until your perfect breasts spill out and embrace the cold granite.

You honestly have no idea if he jacked off to last night’s call or not, but he doesn’t seem to be denying anything.

His mouth opens the widest you’ve even seen it. His face is beet red, and he visibly starts to perspire.

Your hands mold the soft skin and squeeze until your nipples swell and peek out from between your ruthless fingers, but you still look as bored and slightly curious as ever.

“This is all you’re ever gonna get, you sad incel. Take a good long look at them since I know this is what you’ve been wanting this entire time now.”

His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

When he groans and starts to bring his down down between his legs, you strike.

“I guess I really was right. You’re not some nice guy, it was all a facade. Can’t wait to tell everyone how fucked in the head you are.” His vision starts to clear as you sneer at him again and start packing your tits back where they belong.

As you turn around, you call out over your shoulder, “Oh, and by the way? You whimper like a little bitch.”

It’s silent as you walk with your head held high back to your room, sure that you had broken him and that he was going to take his loss with his own held low.

You don’t really expect to hear the thunderous sounds of someone dragging their chair away and positively sprinting towards you.

You turn halfway and your eyes widen as you see him barreling towards you with the most terrifying expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“What the fu-“

But you don’t get a chance to finish your exclamation, because Deku body slams you onto your bed and immediately seized your wrists above your head. You can feel his hard-on rub against your mound as he straddles your flailing body and keeps you pinned between his muscles calves.

“Get off of me, are you fucking crazy?” You scream and toss your head side to side, trying to arch your back to throw him off of you-which only succeeds in pressing your mound against his.

“You teasing slut. All I’ve done is try to play nice with you, but you just had to fucking push it, didn’t you?” He rages quietly, his arms shaking in effort not to snap your wrists in half. You still as his jaw clenches and trembles, his green hair hanging over his eyes that reflect nothing but malice and hate.

You’re scared. For the first time this entire month with him, you want him away from you and off of you.

“Look, I-I messed up, I know, I’m sorry-“

“-You’re sorry?” He laughs high pitched and you cringe when he thrusts his face towards yours, practically brushing noses and seeing his bloodshot crazed eyes.

“Yeah, you will be sorry. After today, you won’t ever fuck with me again. Or at least want to. I’ll do whatever the hell I want with you though since that’s what you’ve been so hellbent on achieving, right?”

His scarred hands waste no time in yanking down your bra the same way you did before, except much less gentler than you did by yourself.

“No, no, Deku please, I’m really sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” You whimper and struggle again beneath him, which is promptly stopped with a loud squeal when he pinches your nipple.

“Shut up. Wanton bitches like you don’t get to beg for mercy.”

He smirks and lets his tongue flop onto your strained neck, slobbering like a dog all over you.

“This is what you wanted right? For me to put you in your place and fuck your needy hole? And you had the audacity to call me disgusting,” he laughs and draws back, mocking your wobbling lips.

“Oh, oh baby don’t cry,” he holds both your wrists in one hand and uses the other to caress your cheek, slapping it hard when you turn away from his touch. “You’re just gonna get what’s coming to you.”

He indicates what he means by grinding his hips against the front of your shorts, snickering as you whimper and dipping his fingers below the hem, teasing you cruelly.

“Whose whimpering like the bitch now, huh?”

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eyesofophelia · 4 years ago

Text

surrender || aizawa x reader || sloth

➼ chapter six of fern’s dante’s inferno collab: sloth ➼ masterlist for collab! ➼ banner credit: @sightoru ➼ word count: 5.3k even ➼ warnings: dark content, noncon, self doubt, death, guilt.

‘thou seest how sloth wastes the sluggish body, as water is corrupted unless it moves.’

struggling gears groaned against their rusted neighbors and rattled through the elevator shaft. you had thought that you would have been immune to the sound by now, but each screeching grind of metal pierced through your eardrums and sent shudders down the length of your spine. not only did you wrap your arms around yourself to quell your fearful tremors but to find some sort of warmth. the farther down you went, the colder and colder it became. the creaking elevator was beginning to seem more and more like your designated spot in the mortuary cabinet rather than your transport. at least you were not alone, although, you may as well be.

your companion was not ideal.

you couldn’t tell whether or not sir nighteye was a comforting presence or a chilling one. his tepid demeanor unsettled you while still bringing you some sense of relief.

so lost between the flashing images of your previous encounters and the fear of those that have yet to come, you hadn’t noticed the slowing of the elevator until it came to that familiar albeit jolting stop. it bounced for a moment, each vibration sent through you acting as an ominous countdown. dread bubbled deep within your core, threatening to release the bile just waiting to come up. what were you to expect? you were triumphant in the prior circles, but your ‘victories’ thus far felt hollow at best. while physically you had escaped each circle, you couldn’t help but feel that bits and pieces of your soul had been left behind along the way.

finally, the elevator’s motion slowed to a stop. you swallowed hard, balling your fingers into fists against your sweating palms. trying to center yourself, you forced your focus onto sir nighteye’s voice as he began to speak. “this,” a long, skinny finger gestured to the glowing red six above the elevator door, “is sloth. you must remain vigilant here. whatever you do, you must not give in.”

his words were almost as chilling as the shrill screech of the elevator doors parting ways.

“oh, and,” that ominous glower appeared in his eyes once more, “good luck.”

you turned over your shoulder some, feeling the resolve you had tried so desperately to build crumbling away now that the doors were open. with a deep breath in, you willed yourself to move forward into the darkness.

remain vigilant.

you scoffed internally at his words. easier said than done. the least he could do was give you some sort of help. he was the one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place, right? he should have just left you in those woods, you could have figured out--

you stopped dead in your tracks as you started to take notice of your surroundings. fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, some of which were shattered while the rest flickered and buzzed. a wall of broken windows laid to your right with only a vast darkness behind them. it was abysmal. in the reflection of the shattered panes, you saw the image of yourself scattered within jagged pieces. for a moment, you could have sworn you saw someone standing behind you but found no one when you turned.

looking around once more, you continued on down the hallway, keeping an eye on the doors to see if there was anyone around. each door was marked with letters and numbers. you couldn’t help but be reminded of a school with each room that you passed. the further down the hall you went, the heavier the air felt. goosebumps infected your body and made every hair stand up on end. even your legs were beginning to feel weighted, as if they were starting to sink down into the floor with every step.

you must not give in. sir nighteye’s words pushed you to persevere against the gut instinct telling you to turn back. you had already come this far, you couldn’t stop now. to stop now would mean that every trial and tribulation you had faced already would be all for naught. you had to get to your mom. if she was somewhere in this place, past all these damned circles, you would find her and take her home.

your thoughts were halted by the sound of footsteps behind you. whipping around, your eyes searched frantically through the flickering lights to find whoever may have been following.

it was empty, save for the shattered glass and crumpled papers littering the floor. the pounding of your heart within your chest was deafening, but you tried to swallow it down with the lump in your throat. you just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone or something was watching you. a malevolent, foreboding presence. having to resist the instinct to call out for whoever--or whatever--was shadowing you, you started to turn before you heard more footsteps coming towards you down the hall. they sounded close, too close to not be able to see the source, but the hall still remained empty. panic gripped your core and forced you into flight. your eyes just barely caught the chipped, red markings on the wooden door as you pushed your way into the classroom closest to you.

1-A.

muttered curses spat past your lips as you practically flung yourself over a desk after barreling into the room. it slid across the linoleum with a jarring screech, causing you to wince both in pain and with fear that you had definitely given away your location. your body lay frozen, heaped over the desk in tense anticipation for the sound of the door opening. frantically your gaze tried to adjust to the dark, only having the light coming through the window in the door to illuminate the room.

it was definitely a classroom. desks were scattered all around in some sort of disarray. some of them were broken and laying in pieces while others were still assembled and in their rightful places. you slowly pushed yourself up from the almost toppled desk, subconsciously brushing the dust and dirt from your front. for now, you felt as though the danger had passed. no longer did you hear the phantom footsteps, only the familiar buzzing of the lights outside of the classroom. with a sigh, you turned to leave.

as you turned to step towards the door, you froze in place. a strange ruffling sound started from the corner of the room. cold sweat formed on your back as the sound just seemed to get louder. as you got the courage to turn around, your knees started to buckle. a tall, looming figure was slowly emerging from a yellow cocoon. a mass of inky dark hair shrouded his face from you. you squinted in the dark to make out whatever details you could, but jolted back when his gaze suddenly pierced through your own. it was glowering and red, baring down at you like the famished glare of a wolf. the thick locks of hair started to stand on end, giving him a much more malevolent appearance as he remained half hunched in the corner. a straight row of glimmering teeth were bared to you in a menacing smile, causing you to gasp and turn to make your way to the door. again, sir nighteye’s message rang through your mind:

remain vigilant.

a material that was both metallic and malleable shot forth from the darkness behind you, wrapping around your ankle and dragging you back. you cried out as you fell hard into one of the desk chairs, struggling to see what had pulled you down through the darkness. your eye finally caught something, trailing it back to the figure encroaching on you as he stepped fully from the yellow sack.

eyes like embers pierced through you, anchoring you to the spot. you hadn’t noticed it in the corner before, but you cursed yourself for not looking more carefully. as he stepped forward, you felt your breath hitch within your throat, fingernails biting down into the wooden desk surface. your mind screamed for your muscles to move. internally, it begged for you to run or hide away, but the closer he came, the more you sunk down into the chair.

you must not give in.

“so, you’re the one he sent.”

deep, gruff voice filled your ears and sent a shiver down your spine. it was flat and lifeless, but still holding the same baleful aura that radiated from him. it felt as though there was no effort behind his words, no emotion. just a cold, detached voice that glued you to the seat beneath you. as he stepped forward, you noticed his hands in his pockets. he was wearing some sort of dark jumpsuit that hung loosely around his form with a long, coiled material around his neck. it was stretched out on one end, leading down to your ankle.

he pulled me down with that? you thought, blinking up at him with parted lips. though you wished to speak, your throat was closed up in fear. he seemed familiar somehow, as if you had seen him before, but you were unable to place it. all you could do was stare at him, which only seemed to displease him further. the grip around your ankle tightened enough to make you wince, watching as he moved to stand just in front of you.

“why are you here?”

subtle disgust laced his tone, watching a very slight sneer form over his face. suddenly, the room came to life. a low buzzing hum started from above you both before the fluorescent lights flickered on. you squinted through it, blinking to try and adjust your vision to the sudden change. a hand raised instinctively to block your eyes, peering through the slits in your fingers to the man that had appeared from the once shadowy corner. now, you could make out the golden sleeping bag slumped against the walls, laying unzipped and deflated.

your attention was snapped back to him as he stepped directly into your line of vision. you could get a good look at him now, noting the way his long dark hair fell back down around his scruffy face. there was a scar beneath his eye, both of which were now just as dark as the vacant space outside of the windows in the hall. like a blackhole, you felt yourself getting sucked into the intensity of his stare. somehow, you finally managed to break away from his magnetism and force the words from your lips.

“i need...to find my mom.”

he noted your hesitation, something resembling disappointment reflecting in his eyes. for what felt like an eternity, he stared down at you, as if daring you to try and move. even if you wanted to, you weren’t sure that you could. the longer you held his gaze, the weaker your muscles felt. even willing a finger to move seemed to take more energy than you could expend. still, you tried to cling to what little strength sir nighteye’s words had given you before. you got through the other circles, you could get through this one…

....right?

“it’s too late for that.”

finally, his response came, and you couldn’t help the twinge of pain from within your heart. the devoid tone he held threatened to suck away the small sliver of resolve you had just made for yourself. you watched as he stepped around to one of the desks beside you, leaning back against the top much too nonchalantly. his movements were sluggish and tired, he too seemed bogged down by the energy of this place. it was a crushing weight that only seemed to grow more and more intense the longer you spent here.

and it didn’t look like you would be leaving anytime soon.

“your mother is in the ninth circle. you won’t make it past here.”

the matter of fact manner in which he spoke sparked annoyance within you. with furrowed brows, you spoke determinedly against the crushing weight. your eyes narrowed at him, forcing yourself to meet his bloodshot stare with this newfound façade of bravery.

“i’ve made it so far. who are you to say i won’t make it out of here?”

you couldn’t tell whether your words displeased him or surprised him, for his features remained flat and lifeless the entire time you spoke. it was only the slight twitch of his brows that gave you the sense that his own annoyance was brewing.

“you lack the conviction.”

his words took you back for a moment, lips parted and jaw slacked in the shock of his declaration. the...conviction…? did he think that you didn’t truly want to save your mom? your eyes remained narrowed slits as they stared at him, finding the strength to speak to him again.

“you don’t know me.”

“i know all who enter here. this is my domain.”

anxiety pooled in your stomach as he revealed himself. so, he was the one in charge of sloth? you had not expected to find him so quickly, but you also hadn’t expected someone quite so...gruff? was he supposed to be a teacher here? he looked...homeless. shaking the thought from your mind, you tried to focus on him again. for now, he was answering your questions, right? you might as well take advantage of that.

“your domain? so, you’re the one in charge here?”

instead of answering, he just stared at you with that empty gaze. he seemed tired and lethargic, but, every so often, you saw a glimmer of something within him. something chilling. you knew you should have been trying to make a break for it and run, or trying to figure out a way out of here, but you still couldn’t get yourself to move. all you could do was force yourself to speak and try and find some answers. figuring he wouldn’t answer that question, you spoke up again.

“what do you mean i lack the conviction?”

it seemed that was the right question to ask, as he kicked up from the desk and stepped forward until he was finally looming over you once more. again, your breath hitched in your throat, raising your chin so that your eyes could follow his own. despite his shaggy appearance, he was handsome. even more so than before, he seemed familiar to you, but you could not place him. all you could do was stare.

“you couldn’t do anything to save her before. what makes you think you can now?” his words took you aback, feeling the threat of tears building in your eyes. the omniscient way he spoke down to you was tearing away at your determination to make it through. how could he know anything about your mother? how could he even begin to understand what it was like to watch your rock in life waste away and having there be nothing you could do to help her? for your entire life, your mother was there for you. every hardship you came across, she was there to offer kindness, love, and worldly wisdom. if only she was here now…

“she was sick...there wasn’t anything i could do.”

your voice was barely a whimper, struggling to push past the emotion that had risen up your throat. countless times you had wondered whether or not there was something that you could have done differently. that somehow, some way, you could have managed some miracle to help her get better. realistically, you knew there was nothing you personally could have done, but the way he spoke down to you only rehashed those feelings of guilt and denial that you thought had long since been buried. “not anything?” his head fell to the side, tilting towards his shoulder and shifting long hair with it. “i've heard every excuse there is. regardless of your reasoning, you will end up here. they all do.”

at that, your head shot towards the door as you heard a wailing cry in the distance. more and more started to come forth, echoing down the long, vacant halls. they were just beyond the door, crying for someone to help them. for a moment, you thought you heard yourself among the cries.

your attention only snapped back when another end of the scarf he wore wrapped around your neck and forced you to look back to him. fire burned behind his gaze as he stared down at you, pulling at his scarf to yank you to your feet. instinctively, your hands gripped the cloth around your throat, struggling to pull it away enough to breathe. he wrapped it around his fist and pulled you even closer, almost gagging you with the scent of brimstone that seemed to radiate from him. you shuddered at his closeness, feeling your stomach twist into knots, but you couldn’t look away. again, the magnetic pull of his gaze forced you to look at him.

“do you hear them?”

meekly, you nodded, almost unable to hear him over the crescendo of wails coming from down the hall. you struggled to try and keep your head, desperate cries of agony drowning out logic and reason and replacing it with guilt.

you lacked the conviction.

“they’re just like you. try as they may, they will never succeed to free themselves. what good is a hero without the strength to do what must be done?”

a...hero?

realization hit you like a brick as you suddenly recognized the man before you. he was a teacher at ua high school. you had seen him on the news quite a few times trying to clear up the distrust for heroes that was growing in society. it always seemed that he was trying, so how did he end up here? the thought plagued your heart with dread.

if even a pro-hero could end up here, what would that mean for you? it was almost as if he could sense the dejection creeping in, the corner of his lips starting to twitch up into the ghost of a smirk. slowly, he started to circle around you, the part of his capture device around your ankle starting to coil itself up your leg as he did. your throat suddenly felt dry and hoarse, unable to even force yourself to speak. weakly, you tried to pull at the tightening cloth around your neck to no avail. was this how it would end? stuck in the sixth circle? you had barely been here for ten minutes, but it already felt as if you had been trying to escape for years.

“i was met with a choice once. i had a chance to help, but i didn’t have the confidence to do it, yet i still had the nerve to become a hero. i was a mockery, as they all are. as you are. your cowardice will bring your failure. there is nothing you can do to change it,” he stepped up behind you now, his voice low and sultry against your ear. it was the first time it had changed from its dull monotone, “so why even try?”

why try? you had to...it was the only way that you could get your mom back. it was the only way that you could survive everything that you had already been through. you had to try, but you couldn’t find the strength. your body felt heavy, like a sinking weight drifting into the depths of dark waters. sullenness was creeping in, nurturing the seeds of guilt he had sown within your mind and heart.

was there a point to fighting on? even if you could reach your mom, would you be able to bring her back? would bringing her back even be worth the struggle? he was right. you weren’t strong enough to do it before, what made you think you could do it now when the odds were stacked even higher against you? again, you cursed sir nighteye for dragging you into this mess.

your hands which still struggled to pull at the bind around your throat were starting to weaken in their fight against him. he pressed himself against your back, using the scarf to pull you flush to his torso. you could feel his hand at your hip, anchoring your backside upon his pelvis. a gasp betrayed you, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“stay here. where else is there for you to go?”

the hand at your hip was shifting forward, slipping towards the hem of your skirt. you could feel the rough pads of his fingers just brushing the top of your thigh. the same goosebumps you got before infected your body like a plague once more, travelling down your spine with a little shiver. again, you found yourself at the mercy of inferno, becoming nothing more than a doll in the hands of a sinner. through the fog settling in your mind, you managed to pray for help. for someone to help release you.

“surrender to me.”

you were unable to fight against the pull of your leg by his scarf, parting your thighs for his hand that roamed you freely. it slipped between your legs, gripping the tender meat of your loin with the same hunger that had reflected within his eyes earlier. like a spider, he had laid his trap with ease and caught you swiftly in his tangled web. you struggled to move away from him, but your motions were half hearted and tainted with defeat.

what was the point?

you could feel his hand slipping up to your panties, pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. you wanted to cry out for help, but all you could manage was a meek moan, once again betraying yourself. no, no, no, you thought, eyes desperately searching the room for some way out, this can’t happen. i need to get out of here.

i need to find my mom.

“w-what are you doing?” you just barely choked out, peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“for satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.” again, his words took on that headiness he had lacked before, running his tongue up the expanse of your neck and to your ear. it disrupted your thoughts, bringing out a soft groan from you.

each time your mind found some sort of clarity, he dragged you away from it with more devilish touches. his fingers started to circle you, sending another chill down your spine and tremor through your legs. whenever he spoke, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. his breath was warm on your skin, almost seeming comforting against the cool air. for a moment, you wondered how bad it would really be to just let it all go…

you must not give in.

again, those words plagued your mind and tried to force you away from the growing heat between your legs. he had warned you this time, tried to prepare you in some way for what was to come from this circle, but all you had done was complain. you cursed him for bringing you into this mess when you were the one who agreed to follow in the first place. again, you felt guilt twinging your heart. you were too much of a coward to do anything for your mom. you were a fool to believe you could have moved past this.

“surrender.” his voice in your ear was reeling you in like a siren’s song, dragging you further and further down into the depths. his touches made you feel like you were sinking almost into sleep. your legs gave out, the full weight of your body being supported by him. his attention turned to the silent tears that streamed down your cheeks as you stared absently up at the ceiling. you could barely register the feeling of his tongue sliding up your face to collect the salty trail that rolled down. with every touch, you felt more and more of your energy being siphoned from you. between this place and him, you were being drained of everything you had left.

i’m sorry, mom. i just couldn’t do it.

finally, your eyes closed. you couldn’t help but wonder how sir nighteye would feel about your failure. would he be disappointed? or would he remain indifferent?

what would happen to your mom if you stopped here?

it was that question that brought your eyes to open again. you tried to ignore the starved bites to your neck and the hands that continued to touch you. to find your focus through the fog in your mind was a struggle, but you somehow managed as you continued to think of your mom. memories of her came flooding in, a lot of which you had buried deep since her passing. they hurt too much to remember before, leaving you too afraid to relive them for fear of ripping open the wounds again. now, you didn’t care. you forced them to come to the surface. with every thought of her, you felt your strength starting to return. you know he could feel it too, as his opposite arm started to circle around your waist and keep you pressed against him. as if trying to erase the strength you were building, his hips moved along your own, rubbing his arousal against your backside.

the temptation to fall back again was great, but you forced yourself to break past it. with a shove, you pushed yourself away from him. you hit the cold linoleum with a hard smack, feeling blood starting to drip from where your forehead had smashed into the floor. the fabric of his capture device had pulled you down, but it was loosened now. bleary eyed as you tried to catch your breath from the impact, you looked over your shoulder to see where he was. his vacant stare was alight with burning embers once more, smoldering down at you with such great intensity. again, his hair rose around himself.

“you think you can run?”

you didn’t have time to answer before he was on top of you, trying to pin your arms down by your head. you screamed and twisted your body beneath him, crying out as he shoved his knee into your hip to pin you down. despite his strength, you still struggled and fought as much as you could. no matter how he touched you, or what words he said into your ear, you would not give up here.

“you think you can escape me?”

his lips collided within your own, violently claiming yours and invading your mouth with his tongue. the heat that had radiated from him before was nothing like it was now. it threatened to burn you as he forced himself upon you, a bruising grip on your wrists as he tried to keep you down.

you understood now that the bondage of guilt was self imposed, but you knew he was going to do anything to keep you beneath him. to keep you here in this place, stuck with all of the others who fell into laziness and apathy. those who lost their care to do what was right because they could not find the strength to surpass what they found to be too difficult.

again, you heard the wailing cries of the students outside of the classroom, begging for someone to release them, but that was just it. no one was going to come to release them.

they had to find the strength to release themselves.

with all of your might, you shifted on the ground and pushed up with your leg. your voice was found again, yelling out as you propelled yourself up and threw him off of you and into the podium at the front of the room. his head smacked against the metal, grunting in response. in that moment, you felt the cloth around your leg and neck fully release itself, and you scrambled up from the ground while pulling away the ties. without hesitation, you ran for the door and pushed yourself out into the hall.

the halls were no longer empty, but lined with students. they were battered and bruised, their training uniforms practically ripped to shreds. you gasped as you stepped out from the classroom and felt your foot starting to sink into the ground. looking down, you saw that the floor was no longer the solid linoleum it was before but had become mud. the students struggled against it, weakly lifting their legs to no avail and crying out as they couldn’t release themselves. they reached for you, gripping your shoulders and begging for you to save them.

panic was settling in your heart, fearing that it would beat out of your chest from how fast it was pumping. you turned over your shoulder to see the man in the classroom starting to stand up, the red in his gaze seeming even more intense than it had been as it found you in the doorway.

it was now or never.

you forced yourself again to use all of the strength that you could muster to push past the suffering students and move down the hall. your muscles were aching against the pull of the mud trying to keep you back, but you pushed yourself to keep going. you couldn’t stay here. not with them. not with him.

you couldn’t give up.

you knew he was behind you, moving through the thick mud with much more ease than you had, but you couldn’t turn back to face him. you kept your eyes ahead, shoving past those who were in your way. the hallway was starting to fade into darkness, the fluorescent lights going out one by one as you made your way beneath them. at the very end sat the elevator, illuminated only by the numbers that were counting up to six. sir nighteye was returning for you.

“you won’t be able to save her. you might as well stop here.”

the man’s voice called after you, trying to lure you back to him. the temptation was great, especially as you felt your body start to slow, struggling to fight the exhaustion that was settling into your bones. you were panting; your chest heaving as you tried to force air into your burning lungs. fire was ripping through your body, threatening to seize your muscles, but you still kept on. you kept playing those memories of your mom over and over in your mind to help push you farther and farther away from the man. you could hear him behind you starting to speed up, angrily yelling for you to just give in. it almost seemed as if he was desperate for you to stay.

the elevator doors started to open as you got closer, the familiar face of sir nighteye looking at you from the inside. in some ways, it almost looked as if he was pleasantly surprised. with a final bound, you lept inside of the elevator shaft, just barely missing the end of the man’s capture scarf as the door started to close behind you.

with your chest heaving, you pressed yourself against the wall and watched as the doors closed just before his reaching hands made it to them. relief flooded you as the elevator began to descend, never thinking that you would be so thankful to hear the chilling grind of its gears once more.

“i didn’t think you would make it.” you scoffed at the words from the man beside you, shooting him a glare as you tried to readjust your clothes.

“gee, thanks.”

your gaze turned up towards the numbers before turning to him again.

“what’s next?”

#aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #shouta aizawa x you #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x y/n #bnha aizawa #aizawa smut #mentioned #dante's inferno collab #dante's inferno #mha #bnha #collab #tw noncon

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lokislastlove · 4 years ago

Text

Come One, Come All! (Dark!Loki x reader) p.2

Summary: A girls night out to the fair takes an insidious turn.

Warnings: Noncon/Rape, Knife play, Oral (m&f), Smut, Bondage, Kidnapping

This is a dark fic! 18+ ONLY! Explicit Adult content. Please READ THE WARNINGS! Do not continue if these matters upset you!

Authors Note: Here is part 2, for those who have taken a chance on my trash, thank you so much!! I hope I don’t disappoint. ❤️

Chapter 2:

You feel your chest seize and you start to shake as your heart rate skyrockets, your body and mind dissolving into a full blown panic attack as you feel around the black box imprisoning you. You are only locked in for a minute before you hear rustling outside and you are thrown into the wall as the whole box shifts and turns.

“What the fuck. Oh my god, someone help! Please let me out!” Your voice cracks as your pleading grows more desperate with each passing minute.

You try to hold out hope that it’s a prank or part of the experience but after what you were sure had to be at least ten minutes of begging to possibly no one, you sag in defeat. Your eyes burn with hot tears, the temperature inside the box rising the longer you sit there. Stewing in silence and sweat, you listen to anything that might tell you where you have been moved to but the joyful bustle of the carnival fades early on.

You fall asleep hunched at the bottom of the box, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. You don’t know for how long but you are awoken roughly as the box tips over sending you face first into the solid surface. You grunt and stretch out, turning to lay on your back.

“Open it” you hear faintly.

The wall above you is ripped off instantly by a singular muscular arm. Startled, you gasp but manage to hold in the pathetic squeak when you look up into piercing blue eyes shrouded in unruly golden hair. Your own eyes widening as you take in the sheer mass of this man.

The muscles under his sun-kissed skin ripple as he huffs and stands straight. He scratches his bearded jaw, looking over to the darker figure you could barely see standing across from him.

“Yes I can see why you liked this one. Inquisitive eyes. A bit of fire in there, yes?” The hulking blond man raises a brow and smirks at you.

Had you not been in your current situation he would have been the type of man you could drool over for days. But considering the fact that you appear to be kidnapped, his physique only enhances your trepidation.

“Where the fuck am I?” You demand, fighting your soft-spoken nature.

“Yeah, there’s that fire” the large man chuckles deeply. “Want me to put her on the wall?” He asks looking back to his silent counterpart.

“The wall?” You mutter, panic rising again at the prospect of being ‘put’ anywhere.

“Yes, then you may go. Thank you , Thor” The darker mans voice drones, sounding bored.

The larger man, Thor, leans down and goes to grab you, making you scream and try to slap away his arms which is clearly ineffective, considering his bicep is the size of your head. He grabs your wrists easily and pulls you to your feet, you try going limp but he hardly seems to notice as he drags you out of the box. You start kicking and flailing wildly as he tosses you against a hard flat wooden surface attached to the wall. You sob as he takes one of your arms and stretches it straight out and snaps a mounted metal cuff around your wrist. You reach over with your free hand and try to unclasp the lock but he catches you and stretches the other arm out to the other side, rendering you completely helpless.

Arms spread wide, you feel exposed and vulnerable, especially when he traces his hand over your breasts before stepping away. That’s when you finally look at the thing you are mounted to. A circular wooden board painted red and white like a giant target, with you at the center.

“What the hell is this?” You tremble.

“Ankles too, for now” the dark suited man directs from across the room.

“Oh, well aren’t you a lucky girl” Thor chuckles under his breath before kneeling down and spreading your legs, attaching each to a similar iron restraint.

“Please. Please let me go” you plead softly to the bulky blond as he stands straight and smiles at you.

Thor brushes his thumb under your eye, catching a stray tear before sucking it into his mouth and humming.

“So sweet.” He praises before winking at you and leaving the room.

Your eyes settle on the lithe figure facing away from you. He’s tall and although he’s not as thick as Thor, you can tell he doesn’t lack strength either. He sheds his jacket and lays it neatly across the desk in front of him.

“If this is s-some sort of joke, it’s not funny” you stutter.

You watch in horror as he slowly turns to look at you, leaning back on his desk and crossing his ankles.

“You’re a clever girl, does this feel like a prank to you, darling?” His voice is as smooth as silk.

“Why are you doing this? Where are my friends?” You question, dreading the answer.

“Oh they will make fine prizes for the highest bidder. But you, darling… you caught my attention.” He explains blithely, slowly unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

“Lucky me” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him as a wave of anger washes over you at the mention of your friends.

“Indeed.” He smiles cruelly.

“I swear to god if you hurt my friends –“ you fume before getting cut off suddenly.

You barely see the silver glint as something small whizzes through the air toward your head. A sharp silver blade sinks into the board next to your head, the shock causing you to choke on a gasp. It was mere inches away from your eye.

“Care to threaten me again?” He smirks, holding another knife in his right hand, the sharp point of it delicately pressing into the middle finger of his left hand.

You gulp as your body shakes uncontrollably, your life seemed to flash before your eyes in that moment. How did he throw that so fast, you say to yourself, the target behind you making more sense now. You shake your head in response to his question, voice lost amongst the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Very well” he nods once, with a small smile.

Your eyes are glued to the dagger in his hand, as he flourishes it about casually. Your muscles tense every time he tosses it gently in the air before catching it.

“Now, I want to know how you solved those riddles so quickly today” he asks lightly before throwing another dagger, this one splintering the wood inches away on the other side of your head. “And no lies.”

You squeak and close your eyes, body trembling so badly you aren’t sure how to form words anymore.

“I – I don’t know. I just did.” You manage to stammer out. “Please stop.”

Another dagger flies through the air, landing with a thud between your thighs.

“Oh my god, please! Please” you cry.

“You know some people could figure out one, maybe two, within the time limit. Most just get the answers from those who went before them. Others just come back repeatedly, mindlessly searching for the keys. But you… such a clever girl” he purred, pushing himself away from the desk still clutching another knife.

“You can hardly blame me for being curious” he continues, taking slow steps toward you.

He stops before you, admiring your terrified expression before dropping his eyes down your body. You pull on the restraints and shift in discomfort at his close proximity. He smiles as his eyes connect once more with your own, his pupils blown wide.

“I’m sorry, okay. I wasn’t trying to – I won’t ever do it again. Just please let me and my friends go,” you beg.

You watch him smirk and sniff at your pathetic pleas, both fully aware you have nothing to offer. He turns and calmly walks back to his desk.

“Ugh let me go you fucking creep! What do you want from me?” Anger and panic causing you to lash out desperately.

He turns and flings another dagger at you, but this time you feel a sharp pain under your arm. You look over to see the dagger pinning your shirt to the board, slowly staining with blood.

“Oh my god!” You scream shifting your arm away from the dagger. “You cut me!”

“Barely more than a scratch. You’ll survive.” He assured you coolly with a roll of his eyes.

You feel the slow flow of warmth trickle down the underside of your arm and you whimper as you watch him near you again. He stops in front of you and pulls the dagger from the board, releasing your shirt. He admires the blade for a moment and then reaches out to you, making you flinch away. His eyes flare at your reaction and he tuts disapprovingly.

“This shirt, however…” he mocks, sliding the sharp end of the blade under the hem of the fabric along your stomach, “I’m afraid it will not.”

You gasp as he brings the knife up cutting through the flimsy material with barely any resistance. You cry as the cool air breezes over your exposed stomach. The useless cloth hanging loosely off your arms.

“Better” he coos his appraisal, as he glides the tip of the knife from your neck to your navel.

Your chest heaves as the reality set in like a boulder dropping in your stomach. You can’t believe this is how your ‘fun night out’ is going. Cursing your luck as you wonder why the hell your intelligence only seemed to lead you to trouble and scummy men.

“All of this because I solved your stupid riddles” you gripe, shaking your head in bitter disbelief.

“Stupid?” He repeats, his face twisting in disgust at the insult.

“Yeah, what is it? You have a problem with women smarter than you? No, that can’t be it, you’d have to be used to that by now.” You sneer.

You don’t know where this boldness is coming from, but something about this man makes you angry, and you figure, what do I have to lose?

His face twists in anger and he slams the dagger into the wall above your head. Your head is now caged in by three sharp knives and yet you suppress a flinch.

“That, wasn’t so smart, darling.” His lip curls in amusement as he backs off slightly and grips the rounded edge of the board spinning it until you are hanging upside down.

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen

#dark fic #dark loki #dark loki x reader #tom hiddleston #come one come all

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letsfluxshitup · 4 years ago

Text

the winter festival (ao3)

tw: violence, angst, suicidal ideation (very different from my other fics woops)

It was a festival and it was an execution because what's a festival without a little politically charged murder.

If history was going to repeat itself Quackity may as well help it along.

Ranboo stood hunched in front of him, wrists tied behind his back, expression resilient and strong. So calm for a kid facing his imminent demise. Ranboo leaned down of his own accord, forcing eye contact at an equal level.

Equals.

They weren't equals. Ranboo was a traitor and Quackity had an axe and they were not the same.

He shoved Ranboo down, landing him on his back, axe held high over his head. He straightened his back as he stared down at Ranboo.

"I know what you were doing. I know you're working with Technoblade." Quackity hissed between gritted teeth. Ranboo's expression cracked, fear leaking through at the raised axe.

Quackity focused on his chest, on his heart, instead of looking into mismatched eyes.

Ranboo would respawn. Quackity would not.

"Listen, Quackity-" Ranboo started, stuttering slightly.

"Quackity, don't do this." Tubbo interrupted, hand outstretched towards Quackity's raised arms. "You're not Schlatt, don't act like him."

Quackity jerked slightly, static filling his ears. He wasn't like fucking Schlatt.

He snorted.

"You're right." He tilted his head slightly, looking to Tubbo, shoulders relaxing slightly.

He snapped his attention back to Ranboo, making eye contact as he spoke again.

"Schlatt pawned off the dirty work to others. So, you're right. I'm not like him." He brought the axe down hard, and axe met wood.

He'd missed.

He blinked, looking up, having reflexively closed his eyes.

Philza.

Of fucking course.

"Philza, get out of the way." He dug his heel into the ground, stumbling slightly as he pulled the axe out. He hadn't thought he'd swung that hard.

Philza stood still, clipped wings flared out in front of Ranboo, the enderman hybrid sprawled on the ground from where Philza had knocked him to the side.

Philza looked... Different.

The normal Philza was relatively laid back, posture lax and expression calm.

Now, though, wings raised high in defense and face closed off and cold...

It was easy to see why people feared the Angel of Death and the Antarctic Empire's co-leader.

He had a sword gripped tightly in hand, and was looking Quackity over. Sizing him up, analytical in every movement.

Without thinking Quackity rushed forward, swinging wildly. His axe was easily caught and deflected away, sending him stumbling to the left.

Apparently, good balance was important and throwing your body weight forward wasn't the best strategy. Philza sent him careening to the ground like he was nothing.

He flipped around quickly, wings flaring slightly as he scrambled back, dragging the axe with him. Philza stood over him, looking vaguely amused.

Quackity quickly got to his feet, face flushed from being knocked over, brushed aside, so easily.

He had a clear shot towards Ranboo, and he lunged, again, because he doesn't fucking learn, huh?

Quackity wasn't entirely sure what happened, vision swimming from the abrupt movement, as he landed on his ass again. Philza stood between him and Ranboo, frowning down at him.

"Your quarrel is with me and Technoblade, Quackity, not Ranboo." He said, voice sharp and just on the edge of irritated. "Ranboo's just a kid, he has nothing to do with this."

Quackity blinked up at him, heartbeat loud in his ears. Normally, talking came easy, one of the few things he was good at. But now the words stuck behind his teeth, acidic on his tongue.

He was still crouched on the ground, Philza standing in his way. Philza had been a problem before, refusing to say where Technoblade lived, and openly opposing them.

Philza was a threat.

Philza's brow furrowed at the blank look on Quackity's face, stance relaxing slightly.

"I didn't hit you that hard, did I? Are you-" He didn't get to finish his sentence, blunt side of the axe catching him across the jaw in a, frankly, really fucking lucky shot.

Philza hit the ground hard.

He ignored the shouts from Ranboo, Tubbo, the faceless mass of people in front of the stage, and raised the axe again.

Threats needed to be taken care of.

Before he could swing, something sharp and curved caught him across the neck from behind. It ripped him backwards, throwing him to the ground like he was nothing.

He gasped roughly, wind knocked out of him and throat aching from the pressure. He blinked rapidly, vision clearing to-

Technoblade.

Huh. He looked weirdly calm. Their last fight had been a flurry of thrown words and snarls, but Techno looked... Indifferent, now.

Quackity decided he hated that look.

He started to sit up, desperate to get to his feet again, but a sharp kick to his chest stopped him.

He wheezed again as he lost his breath, head connecting harshly with the ground. He felt the taste of copper fill his mouth from where he'd bit his tongue.

There was a jeer from the crowd, faces blurring together, and he was reminded of another time with blood on his tongue and tears in his eyes.

He wanted to fight, and scream and curse and do something. He pulled in another desperate breath, stifled by the boot crushing his chest. He'd felt a definitive crunch from the stomp, and it was getting harder to breathe.

He should fight.

Or.

Or, he could give up here. Let go. Technoblade wasn't all bad, Quackity knew. He was a threat to the government but he wasn't a threat to the people.

Well.

You know what he meant.

He wondered then, if he'd disappear like Schlatt or be cursed to wander forever like Ghostbur.

And it would be a curse, wouldn't it? The universe's last kick while he was down.

He knew what he preferred.

He knew what he deserved.

His blinks were lasting longer, eyes blurring. He could make out enough to see that Techno wasn't looking at him anymore, deep voice arguing with another voice.

Techno's heel was steadily digging more and more into his chest, pressure becoming unbearable.

It was too hard to focus, a ringing in his ears steadily climbing in volume.

Suddenly, the weight on his chest disappeared, Techno moving to squat next to him.

"Quackity? Quackity, can you hear me?"

Quackity blinked, confused, because Techno's mouth wasn't moving, face still blank.

He hated his indifference. He remembered before when he'd snort at his stupid jokes, mock his messy wings and help him fix them.

How did they end up like this?

The voice chimed in again, Sam's cool hand coming to cup his cheek, carefully turning his head to face him.

The creeper hybrid looked so concerned, as he lifted a healing potion to his lips.

It would be so easy. To close his mouth, turn away.

Die, here, with everyone watching.

A bitter mockery of Schlatt's last moments, his enemies standing over him, his last friend at his side, and the release of death ahead of him.

He understood, now, why Wilbur had begged Philza to kill him, instead of facing the consequences.

But he wasn't Wilbur.

He wasn't Schlatt.

He opened his mouth, and he drank.

#quackity #technoblade #philza #ph1lza #ranboo #mind the warnings uwu;;;#flux writes #hurghj idk why the ao3 link is being weird #ok to reblog ;]

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gravegroves · 4 years ago

Note

Can I ask about 2 and 8 for the wip tag game?

I've already talked about 8 (search #tag game in my tags and you'll find it).

But omg thank you for asking about 2!!

2. Like a Bat Out of Hell, Indiana

Oh man, oh man. This. This right here? This is my baby. My precious. The one I wrote so self indulgently that even if no one else likes it, I LIKE IT. And I'm completely okay with that.

El and Hopper fail at closing the gate at the end of s2, Billy appears at the Byers' house just in time and so begins a mad dash across the country, trying to outrun the end of the fucking world.

Tw: death (no one we care about though)

Excerpt:

The sound of a car roaring into the driveway has Steve's heart crashing up into his throat and they all turn to watch as headlights dance across the living room walls, sharp and blinding, like a goddamn beacon of hope.

And Steve doesn't have time to think about why the deep rumbling of the engine sounds so familiar.

He moves the kids now or they die.

"Get to the car, now!" Steve screams, just as the window at the end of the hall explodes inward.

Max gets to the door first and tears out of the house, sprinting toward the high beam lights with the boys hot on her heels.

"Billy!" She screams and goddamnit she can't mean--

She reaches the car, yanks the passenger side door open and pushes the front seat forward, shoving Dustin, Mike and Lucas into the back before diving in herself, righting the front seat in a practised move just in time for Steve to jump in after her.

And yep. There he is.

Hargrove's expression would be hilarious if they weren't seconds away from being overrun by a horde of carnivorous monster dogs.

"What the fuck do you losers think you're doing?!" Billy roars, eyes bugging slightly when he recognises Steve.

"Harrington?!"

Steve grabs him by the collar and screams into his face: "Just fucking drive!"

A loud crash has them both snapping their heads to the side just in time to watch as a hundred Demodogs or more come rushing out from behind the Byers' house, heading straight for them.

Without another word, Billy yanks the car into reverse and accelerates before hitting the breaks. Steve's stomach swoops as their momentum lets the wheels slide over the gravel to land perfectly on the road.

He grabs Billy's arm, yanks on it like it might shake some urgency into him.

"Hargrove, go!"

"Seatbelts! Get the seatbelts" Max yells at the others.

That's what she's worried about? Steve thinks, even as he reaches over his shoulder to strap himself in.

Then Billy puts the car into gear and guns it forward and they go from 0 to 70 mph in ten seconds flat, zooming down old, twisting back roads and Steve honestly can't believe that Hargrove's insane, wannabe NASCAR driving is gonna be what saves their asses tonight.

"What the hell are you doing all the way out here with my sister, huh?" Billy yells, taking his eyes off the road to look over at him and Steve might seriously have a fucking heart attack.

"Eyes on the road!" He exclaims, foot searching the footwell for a break pedal that isn't there, "For real, man? You want to do this now?!"

"Or you can get out and fucking walk, amigo," Billy snarls, swerving around another Demodog leaping for the hood of his car, "What the hell is up with these dogs?"

"Billy, stop it! Can you jus-- look out!" Max shrieks, her arm shooting between them to point straight ahead and the kids all begin yelling as the flower-in-bloom-faced ugly fuck grows larger in the windscreen at an alarming speed.

Smooth as butter, Billy avoids the gaping creature in their path, not taking his foot off the accelerator for even a second. Steve's heart beats a drum solo against his adam's apple. His fingers feel fused to the edges of the seat, holding on for dear life.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that?" Billy turns to look behind him and Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw hurts, barely restraining himself from yanking Billy around to face forward again.

"Hargrove, I swear to God--"

"Oh god, look."

Steve turns his head the slightest amount to see Lucas pointing out of the window at the treeline to their right.

Demodogs.

Lots of them.

So many slimy, greyish bodies that the forest floor has all but disappeared and transformed into a churning sea of dark, slick oil.

More worryingly, they're all running in the same direction as the Camaro.

Fuck.

"What the…" Billy falters when he looks out of the window at the treeline, then seems to shake it off, placing his undivided attention back on the road for once.

He speeds up to pass a whole group of the beasts trying to cross to the other side, narrowly misses being cut off entirely by the mass of Demodog bodies. Steve releases a hand from the seat only to clutch at the grab handle on the door. He closes his eyes, swears he can feel his stomach fall out of his ass when the wheels on his side of the car lift into the air for half a beat.

"Shit, we're gonna die!" Dustin wails, voice wobbly as Billy jerks the wheel again to avoid a creature charging straight for them. If the kids weren't already packed in like sardines they'd be sliding around back there, seatbelt or no. "We're definitely gonna die! This psycho is gonna kill us before the monsters do!"

Billy scowls into the rear-view mirror and grits out "Hey kid, you're welcome to get out and walk."

"You literally tried to run us off the road a week ago--"

"Not the time, Dustin!" Max snaps and shushes him.

"We need to get to the gate!" Mike blurts out, leaning forward to speak directly at Steve. Demanding. "We need to help El!"

Steve doesn't even have the faintest idea of how to begin doing any of that.

"Dude, we can't just go back there, are you crazy--" Lucas pulls him back and they continue to argue in harsh whispers.

"If you losers don't shut the fuck up, I'll crash this goddamn car just so I can take you all with me." Billy barks, knuckles white on the wheel.

"Oh my god, see! What did I tell you?" Dustin exclaims, "He's dangerous, Steve!"

Yeah, well, he's all that we've got, Steve doesn’t say. "Shut up, Dustin."

They turn into the first proper residential street and Billy misses a tree by an inch as he tries to avoid colliding with five demodogs hunched over something on the road.

Oh god, was that a body?

"Harrington, where the fuck am I going?"

Steve closes his eyes, overwhelmed and completely out of his depth. They might have been the B team, but there hadn't actually been a plan B--

"Fuck, fuck! I don't know--"

"Billy," Max pleads, voice shaky with terror, silencing them all, "My mom…"

Billy sighs explosively before turning down a side street, barely slowing down.

"Shit."

*****

It's not just Max's mom, but Dustin's mom, too. Lucas's family. Mike's family.

They reach Old Cherry Road first and Billy barely allows the car to come to a full stop, Demodogs further down the street are taking notice of them already, stalking forward, mouths blooming excitedly. Steve eyes them warily until a garbled oh fuck from the back seat draws his attention to the other side of the street and--

It's bad.

The porch light sets the stage for a grizzly scene at the Hargrove residence. A woman lies directly beneath it, like the opening shot to a fucked up play, her head of red hair spilling over the top step.

She's very obviously dead. Steve can see where she must have tripped on the welcome rug -- awkwardly stiff and upturned between her feet -- and he can only hope she got knocked out in the fall and didn't feel a thing that came after. There isn't much left between her head and her knees except for a dark patch of gøre.

The headless body of a man lies slumped against a truck parked in the driveway, one arm stuck through the open car door, half torn off within his jacket. Blood still running down the concrete incline, pooling in the roadside gutter.

"Oh, you Bastard," Billy spits, barely a whisper.

The longer Steve stares, the more horrifying the scene becomes.

He doesn't want Max to see this. Or Billy.

Max doesn't make a sound.

Billy slams his fist against the steering wheel a couple of times, then peels away from the curb before the Demodogs can get too close.

*****

Dustin's house is dark. There's no car in the driveway.

"I told her Mews had been seen in Loch Nora. She must still be out looking..." Dustin trails off quietly. Shellshocked.

It's almost midnight. Steve doubts she's still out looking for a cat. And if she is...

"I wanted to keep her out of the way."

No one says anything.

They drive.

*****

The Sinclair house is dark, too, no lights on except for the motion sensor activated ones over the empty carport.

Billy doesn't bother slowing down. The area is absolutely swarming with creatures already.

"It's so late. Where..." Lucas falters, scanning the houses they pass, like he made a mistake and his home will appear any minute now. "Where did they go?"

"I'm sure they're okay, man," Steve tries, but it feels flat, false, "If they're in a car they could make it out. Your mom too, Dustin."

Billy grimaces, but says nothing.

"What?" Steve demands.

"I was just here looking for Max. They were home."

He keeps a laser focus on the road now, on avoiding the monsters spilling out onto their path, growling when he's forced to change down a gear before aggressively working his way up in speed once more, jaw clenched tight.

"You probably caught them on their way out." Steve insists.

Billy looks doubtful, but he nods anyway. Neither of them enough of an asshole to take a kid's hopes away like that.

They move on.

*****

"Let me out," Mike says, quietly. Trembling. Hands pushing against the back of Steve's seat like he'll be able to bend it out of the way through sheer force of will.

No one moves.

The front door to the Wheeler home is open, door splintered where the deadbolt held, but the wood didn't. The car is parked in the carport. All the lights are on.

Karen Wheeler's corpse lies forgotten and half devoured on the front lawn.

In the driveway, a tiny yellow sock lies next to bloody drag marks disappearing into the grass--

Oh god...

"Let me out."

Steve's lips move, but he can't seem to draw breath enough to produce sound..

Billy seems to shake himself out of a daze, takes a deep breath beside him. "Nah, kid."

And Mike just snaps.

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" He screams, punching and kicking the seat in front of him.

Steve leans forward out of the seat and puts his head in his hands.

"Let me out! LET ME OUT!" Mike shrieks, begs.

"No." Billy says again, evenly.

Mike's voice breaks on a wordless scream.

Steve wants to do his own bit of kicking and screaming, but someone needs to keep their fucking head in the game or they're all going to end up dead.

By some twisted turn of fate that someone is turning out to be Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hysterically, he remembers hearing about Billy abandoning Carla Green to walk home alone from the quarry after she'd scratched the Camaro's dashboard with her fake nails by accident.

Mike kicks the back of the seat again. Billy says nothing.

All the kids are crying, now.

Mike's screams eventually taper off into babbling sobs and Dustin does his best to comfort him through his own half-choked cries. Lucas is whispering to a sobbing Max, his own breaths hitching and heaving uncontrollably, on the edge of breaking.

Steve's eyes sting, hidden behind his hands.

He lifts his head up and glances over at Billy, still tracking the side of the road, the edge of the trees. He looks so normal that it almost throws Steve for a loop. He wants to grab Billy by the collar again. Shake him. Scream: what part of this aren't you getting?

"The fuck is going on?" Billy hisses, almost to himself and oh, right.

"Later," Steve promises, hoarsely, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough to see stars.

"You know what they are?"

"Yeah." Steve says after a great deal of swallowing past the lump in his throat.

If Hargrove's voice betrays even a hint of emotion Steve knows he's gonna fucking lose it. Luckily, the guy keeps his shit together so Steve can keep a lid on his.

"You know what kills them?" Billy continues.

"Heat," Dustin says, voice thick, "And, like, bullets."

Billy nods, "Alright, how warm are we talking?"

"They don't like warm weather or daylight, but I don't think it kills them. Weakens them, maybe. Sends them underground."

"Fire will." Steve says, pulling at his hair until it hurts, dragging himself out of foggy despair and into the present where he's needed. He accidentally runs his gaze past Karen's body and tries not to dry-heave.

Mike is still crying behind him and god fuck, they should get out of here. The kid shouldn't be seeing this.

"Where do we go?" Max whispers, like she read his mind. She sounds as lost as Steve feels.

Billy revs the engine and turns to Steve, "Any requests?"

Steve thinks about the huge empty house waiting for him, a gaping nightmare at the edge of the woods. He balks at the thought.

Where the fuck do we go?

"Just get us out of Hawkins."

#anon ask #tag game #my precious #gravegroves writes #harringrove

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corruptedconfessions · 4 years ago

Note

You obvs don't have to boo but something along the lines of AOB Werewolf.. Alpha Aizawa in rut finding omega reader wounded~ "You taste even better than you smell"... "Shut up and take it". Ily <3

Ily2 bb <3

Day 2 of Monster a day content~~ This one is s p i c y

Tag List:

@writeiolite

@hqbbg

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

You were whimpering, cowering away from him as you tried to curl your wounded leg in on yourself, flinching and whimpering when all that did was shoot pain through your entire side. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

You had just been trying to get home after accidentally staying out too late, taking a short cut through the woods to try and get back before your heat started. You knew it had been one dumb decision after another, deciding to go over to a friends house despite being so close to your heat, being careless and losing track of the time until it was already past nightfall, still choosing to leave and try and run home even when you felt that familiar heat starting to bubble in your gut.

And look where it had got you, crumpled among the dirt and leaves on the forest floor, clutching your swollen and twisted ankle, unable to even stand up, let alone limp your way back home. If that wasn’t bad enough your phone had broken in the tumble down that had caused said twisted ankle, and already you could feel the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, slick pooling together between your thighs, soaking through your underwear.

You tried to look around, think of anyway to help yourself out of this mess, anything at all, but your mind was going fuzzy as your heat set in. There was little more you could do other than whimper and chirp fearfully into the silent forest, staring out into the darkness with wide frightened eyes.

A twig snapping behind you had you spinning round as best as you could, a soft frightened noise bubbling out of your throat as you watched a large hunched figure stumbled out of the woods, lips curled back into a snarl as he stepped towards you

“I could practically smell you from the other side of the forest…”

His voice was nothing more than a wrecked snarl, deep and vibrating, making your own throat throb in pain at the sound of his shredded vocal cords. His hunched form slowly made its way into the clearing, stepping out of the darkness and letting you see him fully.

He towered over you, easily over six feet even with him practically bent in half, hair (fur?) covered every part of his body that wasn’t covered by the thin pair of pants that already seemed to be straining against sculpted bulging thighs. Though it was the other bulge that was straining against the fabric that had you whining weakly in need, baring you neck for him as you pitifully tried to spread your legs, yelping softly when you moved your injured leg again.

As he stalked closer to you his alpha scent washed over you, both soothing and stoking the heat burning under your skin, pulling another needy keen from your lips as you bared your neck to him, trembling weakly against the forest floor as he approached you. Sharp teeth brushed against your throat, scraping the skin and sending delightful little shivers through your body as he sniffed your neck before slowly dragging a wet lick right across your scent glad, pulling a high pitched desperate moan from you.

"You taste even better than you smell…"

You shivered, unconsciously pumping out more of your heat scent as that deep rumbling voice rolled through your body, leaving you quivering as slick dripped between your thighs. Keening again you gasped as a deep feral growl came from the man with his face still pressed flush against your vulnerable neck, feeling as his lips curled back against your neck to bare his teeth, a low snarl coming from him.

Within an instant you found yourself flipped over, crying out in pain as you were jostled, forced onto your knees as your head was shoved down into the dirt, ass pulled up high in the air. Mounting position. Your inner omega throbbed with need, another gush of slick adding to the mess pooling in your underwear even as you squealed, yelling and whimpering loudly in pain as you tried to kick out with your good leg, being rewarded with a large clawed hand grabbing the back of your head, shoving it down into the dirt as the other shredded away the clothing covering you, leaving you exposed, slick now freely pouring down your thighs as your ass was pushed up higher.

"Shut up and take it"

You tried to muffle your soft whimpers and cries of pain, the noises you couldn’t stop being absorbed by the dirt below you and your ragged breaths as you tried to breathe around the dirt flooding your senses, head spinning. Your cunt was throbbing, heat rolling off you even against the cold fall air, your thighs were shaking, ankle throbbing in pain, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on any of it as hot breath suddenly panted across your heat, leaving you twitching and clenching down on nothing, a loud desperate cry bubbling from your throat.

“Alpha!”

You shrieked, yelping into the dirt when sharp jaws snapped at you, narrowly missing your ass but close enough for you to yelp, trying to scramble forward despite the inhumanly strong hold pinning you down. Whining into the dirt you forced yourself to quiet down again as the wolf draped himself over you, finally letting go of your head just for his clawed hands to clutch your hips, sharp claws sinking into your soft flesh, dragging another pained whine from you.

Drool dripped onto the ground next to you as he thrust roughly against you, cock bumping against your ass with every thrust, catching on your hole just to miss. It took several tries, desperate pleading cries from you and frustrated snarls before he finally hit home, lubed with your slick he thrust all the way inside at once, basking in your pleasured squeal.

Immediately he started fucking you earnestly, hips slapping against yours as he fucked you hard and deep, barely giving you time to even breath as he pushed you into the dirt.

You were left gasping and crying out weakly your blunt nails scrabbling against the dirt fruitlessly as you were dragged back onto his cock over and over again, your ankle throbbing painfully as you were forced to stand on your toes to keep up. Every drag of his dick against your walls had your cunt fluttering, clenching down on him. The fear and pain pumping through cutting through the heat haze that had settled over your brain, but it didn’t stop your body from milking his cock like it was what you were made for, clenching down on him every time he pulled out, desperate to keep him inside.

Low feral snarls and grunts and your loud squeals and moans filled the quiet forest, the wet sounds of your cunt taking his cock seeming deafening to your own sensitive ears as he started fucking you harder faster, his growls getting louder as his rhythm stuttered. You found yourself gasping and whining too, heat pooling in your stomach despite the pain that throbbed through every inch of your body, if anything the pain almost seemed to make the pleasure feel all the more good. Even hurt and scared your body could only focus on one thing: Pups.

Which was exactly why you keened, crying out loudly when you felt his knot swelling at the base of his cock, pushing against your entrance with every thrust, threatening to push into you. Despite yourself you desperately rocked back against it, pushing yourself down harder on him as you whine and drooled for his cock like you were made for it. His claws sunk deeper into your hips, your blood dripping off of them and onto the forest floor but all you could focus on was his knot swelling…swelling…You whimpered up at him as he leaned closer over you, drool trickling down your neck as he opened his jaws, his sharp teeth resting over the back of your neck, resting over your mating spot. Just the idea had your stomach jumping, a soft pleading cry bubbling from your lips as he kept thrusting.

You screamed , arching back against the larger male as his knot finally popped into place, pressing right against your soft spot as he growled and grunted, practically frothing at the mouth around your neck as he jerked his hips, humping you desperately. You shook in his arms, gasping and moaning in pleasure as he rocked against your sweet spot, unable to hold back anymore.

The feeling was apparently mutual as not long after he was roaring loud against your neck, your ears ringing from the intensive of the sound as he pumped you full of his cum. You trembled, jerking back against him desperately as he pumped you full, chasing after your own orgasm just to have it ripped out of you as he sank his fangs into your neck. You screamed, tightening around him, cumming hard as you felt your bond snap into place, forcing you to fall limp, relying on him to hold you up as you whited out from the pleasure pumping through your veins.

You weren’t sure how long you were out but when you slowly came back to your senses you were lowered down onto the forest floor on your side, a warm tongue lapping at the back of your neck, cleaning the mating spot as he ground his cock up into you, basking as your cunt fluttered around his knot, squeezing down on it weakly.

You’re ankle ached worse than when you first hurt it, your neck hurt terribly, and you could feel the cuts still oozing blood from your hips, leaking out onto the forest floor. And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were stuffed full of cum and warm, a mass of heat pressed up behind you, making you feel safe. Sure, he may still be trying to hump you right after the fact but what else could you expect from a werewolf right?

#yandere #werewolf #monstermonth #fantasyau #aizawa x reader #reader insert

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foursideharmony · 4 years ago

Text

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 5)

Summary: Roman confronts the other Sides.

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: Violence and threats of violence, nightmare imagery

Word Count: 3,194

Read on AO3: here

“Won't be long now,” said Mr. Beaver as the group rounded a low hill. The sun was just starting to sink, and the resulting shadow made them all the colder. They had been on the move for nearly twenty hours, with only brief and infrequent rest stops, and had long since begun dragging their feet. Their trail made a continuous ragged line through the snow.

“I can't feel my anything,” Patton moaned.

“Well if nothing else,” said Mrs. Beaver, trudging alongside him and patting his hand, “they'll at least have decent campfires where we're going.”

Another twenty-five or so minutes brought them around the base of that hill and the next one, and then the Beavers led the group up the slope of a third and tallest hill. “And here we are,” said Mr. Beaver once they reached the summit. “The hill of the Stone Table.”

The hilltop was a broad space, clear of trees, with a grim gray construction in the very center: the Stone Table itself. It seemed like the whole snowscape of Narnia spread out before them, all the way to the twinkling ocean. It would have been a lovely view if not for the circumstances that had brought them there.

No one greeted them. They thought at first that no one was even there, but Virgil pointed to a hunched figure crouched on the ground some distance away from the table, tending the embers of a small fire by means of an awkwardly long poker held at full arm's length, as if she were afraid to go too near it. She was very slender, with lightly tanned skin and misty pale green hair that stuck out from her head in bristly locks, falling down to merge with her dress, which was the same color and texture.

“Ailim, is that you?” said Mr. Beaver.

“Oh!” said the woman, rising to her feet in one motion, more gracefully than any human could manage. “Beaver...I wasn't expecting you.”

“Ailim...where is everyone?”

She shook her head with a sound like leaves rustling in a breeze. “A few are nearby, keeping to cover. As for the rest...they are safe in their homes. Where else would they be? Aslan has not come after all. Of my people, only my conifer siblings and myself are even awake. The rest of our cousins still sleep.”

“Ailim is a dryad,” Mrs. Beaver explained. “That's the spirit of a tree. In her case, a fir tree.”

“And you must be the humans of the prophecy,” said Ailim. “Do you know why Aslan has not returned?”

“B-beats me, Miss,” Patton said, teeth chattering. “The story seems to have hopped off the rails at some point.”

“Oh, how rude of me not to notice how cold you are. Do come sit by the fire. She crouched to poke up the flames, and used an equally long-handled set of tongs to add another log. Soon it was crackling nicely, and the Sides were clustered around it, sitting on small boulders that had been cleared of snow and soaking up the warmth.

“It doesn't bother you?” Virgil said as Ailim fed the fire again. “Burning wood? I mean, if you're a tree too...”

“This was all fallen and dead already when it was gathered,” she explained. “No Narnian of good heart would ever cut down a living tree, or even take so much as a single branch. Sometimes an aged dryad who knows she will die soon will bequeath her wood to those who need it, but living trees are sacrosanct. Or,” she added sadly, “so it was before the White Witch came.”

“We'll figure something out,” Patton said. “I think…I think the Witch is hurting someone we care about too.”

“In the meantime,” Mr. Beaver cut in, “this lot needs food and rest.”

“Of course,” said the dryad. “There are shelters in the thickets on the southeastern slope, and provisions. Tap three times quickly and twice slowly on the large boulder and the fauns will let you inside.” She met each of their gazes in turn. “In the morning we must hold a council of war.”

*******************************************

At least Jadis's bed was comfortable enough.

Roman had found it eventually, after wandering the frozen castle for what felt like hours. It was only a broad, thick slab of ice on the floor, but it was heaped with enough blankets and furs that he was adequately shielded from the worst of the cold, both from the frigid air of the castle and the bed itself. He crawled in, his head still spinning, and wrapped himself in layers of bedding like a caterpillar forming its cocoon.

Sleep came quickly, but proper rest did not; Roman's dreams were full of ice and crystal and stone and snowflakes that came spinning down out of a black sky like tiny sawmill blades. Where they touched him he flinched and bled, and his blood was the pale turquoise of a glacial core. It whispered to him in sounds that were almost words and phrases in a language he only partially understood.

Perhaps he thrashed or cried out in his sleep, but if so, no one noticed or responded.

And with the coming of the dawn, Roman opened his eyes...and knew who he was. And what he was.

*******************************************

The war council never happened.

After their long trek, the Sides had just enough energy left to swallow a few mouthfuls of the stew the fauns had prepared and fall asleep on rough cots in a den of sorts excavated from the hillside. The Narnians hadn't the heart to disturb them, and they didn't wake until the sun was well over the horizon, and then only because a strange, piercing sound was blaring from outside the shelter, coming from some distance away. It was like a horn, but shriller, and it set their teeth on edge.

Bleary-eyed from stolen sleep, they bustled out to find their hosts interrupted in the act of preparing breakfast. “What's going on?” Patton yawned. “Is it time for the council meeting thingie?”

“We're not sure,” said one of the fauns, whose name escaped him. The peculiar sound continued at intervals of a few seconds, and seemed intended as a signal of some kind.

“Something is approaching!” came Ailim’s voice from the hilltop. “Let us all gather as a show of our numbers!”

“What numbers,” Virgil muttered, but he joined the other two, and the Beavers and fauns and other handful of Narnian citizens now emerging from their respective shelters, in hiking back up to the summit, where Ailim was waiting with another dryad, taller and wirier than herself. They got there just in time to see, bursting through the trees on the northern slope, a Dwarf they barely recognized as the White Witch’s driver. He was blowing on some kind of wind instrument that appeared to be made from silvery crystal—or perhaps ice—which was of course the sound they had all been hearing. Behind him, further downslope, there was some kind of commotion that wasn’t yet visible through the brush and piled snow.

“Narnians!” bellowed the Dwarf. “Make ready to receive your most exalted ruler, the White Warlock!”

“What?” Virgil growled.

“White Warlock?” said Patton. “No, it’s supposed to be the White Witch. A scary lady! I remember that part!”

“'Warlock' is a semi-archaic term for a male witch,” Logan observed.

“Guys, I have the worst feeling about this…” said Virgil.

More creatures were emerging from the trees on the hill slope, and it took the Sides a moment to realize that they were looking at a procession of monsters. First was a group of Goblin heralds carrying gonfalons that seemed to consist only of crosspieces crusted with masses of icicles. Then came a formation of Dwarf archers, and then several Ogres bearing clubs. Following this were a few Hags, hissing and pointing threateningly into the gathering.

(“What is this, the whole bloody entourage?” whispered Mr. Beaver. “Dear! Mind your language!” Mrs. Beaver retorted.)

As the procession reached the hilltop, it broke to its right, circling the space counterclockwise and fanning out along the other side of the Stone Table from the Sides and their allies, effectively corralling them—they could retreat, technically, but there was only one direction available; they would be easy pickings if they tried.

Finally, the White Warlock himself appeared, lounging in a fur-lined sedan chair on the shoulders of four massive Minotaurs. His crown glittered as he moved in and out of patches of shade and his robe was made entirely of ermine, with a train that trailed behind the chair for ten yards, held off the ground by a team of Yew-dryads, their short shaggy hair speckled with scarlet berries. The Minotaurs crested the hill, and one of them kicked snow over the smoldering campfire, extinguishing it. They eased the chair down, and the Warlock rose from his seat, stepped lightly to the ground, and turned to face them.

It was Roman...and he was wrong.

They knew what “evil Roman” was supposed to look like. The fans loved to imagine him, for some reason, and they tagged Thomas in their fanart of the concept often enough that the Sides were familiar with the consensus image: the haughty expression, the gaudy gold crown studded with rubies, and especially the transformation of his suit from pristine, heroic white to Disney Villain black.

It wasn't...it wasn't supposed to become even whiter. It wasn't supposed to gleam almost too bright to look at in the sunlight, so that even the ermine barely looked white by comparison. The gold braid wasn't supposed to be replaced with silver, nor the noble red of his sash with a dusky grayish mauve like dried rose petals under a veneer of frost. The crown was not supposed to be made of silvery ice, with only a single huge diamond set under the central point.

His hair was not supposed to be shot through with white strands that turned out, upon closer inspection, to be ornamentation of impossibly delicate ice filigree. His eyes were definitely not supposed to be gray, flecked with blue-green. And he was not supposed to be pale, but he was—paler than Virgil, if such a thing were possible, lacking even a cold-induced blush to his cheeks, yet without looking the least bit unhealthy. It was as if he had been molded out of ivory.

The only hint of warmth in his appearance was that diamond, which flashed all the colors of fire.

He was wrong.

“Hark! You are all guilty of high treason against the Crown!” he said without preamble, and his voice at least, if not the disdainful tone, was familiar. “Except you three,” he added with a curt nod at his fellow Sides. “However! We are in a lenient mood! Abandon your rebellion at once, and swear fealty to us, and you will not be punished...this time. As for you...” He addressed the Sides again, and for just a moment, his cold arrogance retreated, “...in exchange for your fealty, I will make you all lesser Kings in my court. Think of it! This glorious winter kingdom could belong to all of us!”

The Narnians shuffled on their feet, making no reply. The Sides traded glances, Logan frowning uncertainly and Virgil shaking his head with a haunted expression. Finally, Patton spoke.

“Roman...this isn't fun anymore, with you acting like this. This isn't how you said the story was going to go. Can we just...go home? We can talk out whatever's bothering you.”

It was shocking how quickly Roman's eyes hardened. “I will not be mocked,” he said, low and dangerous. “You have one day and night to change your minds...or else prepare for war. And these—” he made an expansive gesture at the creatures he had brought with him, “—are merely the outermost tip of my armies.” He returned to his sedan chair and the Minotaurs hoisted it up. The procession began to descend the hill.

“Down with the White Warlock!” blurted the taller Dryad, Ailim's companion. “Aslan is King!”

Roman's head whipped around to glare at her. Without a single word, he nodded to the nearest of the Hags, and she lunged at the Dryad, shrieking and making a throwing gesture. There was something like a flash of light in reverse—a flash of darkness—and the tall tree-spirit sank to the ground with a sigh.

“Muricata!” Ailim cried as one of the Ogres stepped forward and lifted the fallen nymph in one massive hand.

“Find her tree,” growled the White Warlock. “Cut it down while she watches.”

“No! Please!” Ailim begged. “She is my sister!”

“Take the other one as well. Let them both watch.” A second Ogre seized Ailim and began dragging her along while she screamed in terror and grief.

“Roman!” Patton gasped. “H-how could you?”

“Don't make me punish you as well!” Roman snarled. “Move out!”

The procession withdrew back down the hill, leaving the Narnians devastated and the Sides both bewildered and appalled. “So now what?” Virgil said, pacing erratically and pulling at his hair. “This is really bad, you guys. Super bad. We're not just talking rail-jumping here. Roman's taken a flying leap off...off something, I don't know, but there is something wrong with him. I thought maybe he was just throwing a surprise twist at us, but did you see him? That look in his eyes? This is so bad—”

“Virgil, you are spiraling,” said Logan. “Try one of your breathing exercises.”

“I don't understand,” said Patton. “Why would Roman go this far? Do you think he's mad at us for something?”

“It is possible,” said Logan. “He has undergone a number of upsetting occurrences recently, and his mood has not been the most stable. Then again, with his talk of 'swearing fealty'...perhaps he is simply craving validation.”

“Should we just give it to him then?” said Virgil. I mean if it's the fastest way to get him off the crazy train...”

“Unfortunately, I have to advise against indulging him in this,” said Logan. “While it may work in the short term to, as you say, 'get him off the crazy train'—which does not sound like a practical or enjoyable means of transportation, by the way—the likely long-term effect would be to encourage him to continue these destructive methods of addressing his self-esteem deficits.”

“Patton, you're the 'should' guy around here...what should we do?”

“I'm honestly thinking we should just leave. The best way to send a message that the game is no good, is to quit playing. He can grapple with his feelings as long as he needs to, and we'll be there for him when he's ready to come out and talk.”

“I would tend to agree,” said Logan, “but I doubt there is any way for us to leave the Imagination without Roman noticing, and in his current state he would be certain to take steps to stop us, possibly violently.” He began to pace rapidly, wearing a tamped-down groove in the snow. “However...perhaps one of us could make it back to the door undetected, leave, and come back with...additional resources.”

“What kind of 'additional resources' did you have in mind?” said Virgil.

“It occurs to me,” Logan said, still pacing, “that Roman is rather...comfortable, with the three of us. That may cause him to take our points of view for granted, which ironically makes him less likely to listen to us than to someone with whom he might experience more interpersonal friction.”

There was a beat while Virgil and Patton took that in. “Oh, no!” Virgil said after a moment. “If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, then...no. I can't agree with that.”

“Just so we're on the same page,” Patton said carefully, “you want to go get Janus? You think he could help?”

“I think his presence might shock Roman just enough to shake him out of his assumptions about how this story is meant to go,” Logan explained.

“You could be right,” said Patton. “Roman arranged all this because he hasn't felt much like a hero ever since we started including Janus in our discussions. But somehow he wound up going completely the other way, to being the villain. Maybe seeing Janus will remind him of what he's trying to avoid?”

“Okay, cool, so I'm outvoted. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool. So which one of us should go?”

“I was planning on doing it myself,” said Logan. “It would not be fair to ask you to carry out a plan to which you object, and between myself and Patton, I believe I have a greater chance of making the trek without getting sidetracked or losing my nerve. No offense, Patton.”

“None taken. It's an awfully long way to go by yourself, though. Are you sure you even know the way?”

“I have an excellent head for navigation and I believe I can triangulate the location of the door based on our travels thus far. I would feel more confident if I had some form of transportation, however.”

“I can carry you, sir,” said a deep but young-sounding voice from among the Narnians. It was the largest of those gathered, a Talking Bear not quite full grown but undeniably burly and powerful. “Name of Stoutpaws, sir. I'm not as good as a Horse but I'll do my best.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Stoutpaws. My name is Logan. If we start now, I estimate you can get me to my destination before sundown.”

“You're leaving already?” Patton said, fretting.

“Roman has only given us until tomorrow, Patton. Given the round trip, I need to use every minute I can to make sure I bring Janus back here before the deadline.”

Patton strode up and pulled him into a hug. “You be careful.”

“Likewise,” said Logan.

“I'll guard him with my life, sir,” said Stoutpaws. He crouched on all fours so that Logan could climb onto his back and then loped away down the westward slope of the hill.

“Gosh, things are happening fast,” Patton said, watching them go. “It all started so simply.”

“Come on, Pat,” said Virgil with a lopsided smile that got nowhere near his eyes, “you should know by now that nothing in this mind of Thomas's is ever simple. And on that note...we should probably pull this bunch together and come up with some contingency plans, just in case Logan doesn't get back in time.”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed noncommittally. “And someone oughta buck them up. They just watched two of their own get dragged away by the bad guys to be...” He trailed off.

“Don't think about it too much,” Virgil said. “Just...yeah, don't think about it.” The gathering was breaking up, the Narnians returning dejected to their hillside shelters. Patton and Virgil joined them.

Unseen in the snow-dusted brush nearby, someone was watching...

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #Platonic LAMP/CALM #dlampr #platonic dlampr #narnia #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #villainous roman

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aprxl-showers · 4 years ago

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sneak peek from my klance frozen fic on ao3

(( after they meet in Coran’s store and Keith begrudgingly agrees to take Lance to the North Mountain ))

***

“Okay... Lance... hang on, Kosmo likes to go fast.” ‘Keith the ice guy’ adjusted his grip on the reins as Kosmo transported them up the snowy slope. Lance had immediately shut down the whole ‘your highness’ thing, insisting it was weird because it was. It was dark, Keith’s lantern the only source of light apart from the moon.

“That’s cool, I like fast,” Lance laughed, putting his feet up on the front of the sledge. Keith swatted them down immediately muttering something about it taking ages to polish. Lance pouted as he inspected it. Once Keith seemed satisfied that Lance hadn’t ruined his valuable polishing work he turned back to face him.

“So,” he began, “Care to explain what made your sister set all this off?”

“I honestly don’t know how it happened,” Lance began, “It was my fault really.”

“Oh?” Keith seemed to take joy in that fact. Lance scowled at him,

“See, I met this guy and we got engaged and it was honestly so romantic but then she ruined the mood because she wouldn’t bless the marriage. She was lamenting on and on about how it was weird since we’d only met that day-”

“Wait, hold up,” Keith looked from him to the track ahead, “You’re telling me that you got engaged to a man you just met that day?”

“Yeah, anyway, so I got really annoyed because this guy’s really cute and we seem to really go together? So I said that I didn’t get her deal so of course she also got mad. Then, she tried to storm out of the party, a party thrown for her by the way, so I grabbed her glove-”

“Hang on,” Keith interrupted him, again, “You got engaged to someone you just met that day?”

“Yes, pay attention,” Lance rolled his eyes. Was that really the thing he was taking away from this? “Anyway, she wore these gloves all the time so I thought maybe she just had mysophobia or something, y’know, fear of dirt?”

“I know what mysophobia is,” Keith muttered. “But seriously, back to the engagement thing, how do you know you want to spend the rest of your life with this guy? Didn’t anyone ever warn you about strangers?”

Lance paused, looking Keith up and down.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, edging away from Keith who rolled his eyes, “But Lotor is not a stranger!”

“Oh yeah?” Keith’s tone was challenging, “What’s his last name?”

“Of-Northern-Daibazaal,” Lance replied confidently. Honestly, who knew any royalties' real last names nowadays? Keith didn’t look convinced,

“That’s not a last name. How about… his favourite food?”

“Dark Chocolate.”

“Really? I’m guessing half the stuff at that party was chocolatey and he took a liking to it? That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance spat out because that was exactly what happened however that didn’t give Keith the right to make assumptions.

“Sure. What’s his best friend’s name?”

“Probably a wonderfully respectable name, unlike Keith,” he jeered. Keith fixed with an exasperated look.

“Eye colour?”

“Silver. Super dreamy,” Lance chuckled, fake swooning, leaning into Keith’s personal space. Keith continued, undeterred, his eyes on the road.

“How about shoe size?”

“Shoe size doesn’t- Holy crow, Keith! That is inappropriate!” Lance hit him on the forearm.

“You haven’t had a meal with him, right?” Lance nodded. Keith faced him again, “What if you hate the way he eats? What if he’s super picky or is really rude to the servers? What if he has absolutely awful table manners?”

“Keith, buddy, my man, he is a prince,” Lance scoffed, as if that was enough of an explanation.

“Princes can be rude. I happen to know a very annoying one. Maybe you know him?”

“Excuse me. Anyway, I’m sure he eats very gracefully. And besides, does it matter? It’s true love.”

“It doesn’t sound like true love. You’ve known this man for less than twenty four hours and as soon as you get engaged your sister freaks out and freezes everything? Sorry to burst your lovely little love bubble but I think the universe might be trying to tell you something.” Keith shrugged. Lance’s defensiveness flared.

“I don’t see why you think you can butt into my affairs. What are you, some sort of love expert?”

“Well, no,” Keith seemed to deflate a little. Lance took this as a victory. Keith carried on, “But I have friends who are. They’re constantly talking about how ‘love is tough’ and marriage is ‘a whole lot of hard work but is worth it in the end’.”

Lance laughed, loud and unabashed. A confused expression crossed over Keith’s face.

“You? Friends? And what’s more, friends who are ‘love experts’? I don’t believe you.” Lance taunted, not realising they’d stopped until he heard the silence. “Wait, what-”

“Stop talking.”

“No, no, no, listen, I’d like to meet these love ex-urmph,” Lance’s sentence was cut off as he felt a gloved hand slap over his mouth.

“Shut up,” Keith whispered, tone more serious. Lance pushed his hand away from his face, about to complain when Keith shushed him, taking his lantern from the hanger and peering into the woods around them. Kosmo’s ears were up and they twitched every so often.

“What is it?” He whispered. Keith ignored him.

Lance observed as Keith leant further out the sledge. Suddenly, he retracted back with speed, tugging at Kosmo’s reins. Kosmo began to run, even faster than he had been going before.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit,” Keith repeated over and over like a mantra. Lance tutted at him.

“Language, Keith, you are in the presence of royalty!”

“Lance, please,” Keith was fully serious now. Lance picked up on his genuine expression and quietened his voice. It was then he heard noises from behind the sledge. They were being chased!

“What are they?” He scanned the area behind them. He couldn’t see anything.

“Yuppers.” Keith’s voice was clipped, “C’mon Kosmo.”

And sure enough, Lance could hear the noises more clearly now.

“Yup, yup, yup, yup.”

“Yuppers? What are-”

Out from the shadows, a large beast with glowing yellow eyes and short horns leapt up at the side of the truck. Lance shrieked embarrassingly high (he would deny this later) and kicked it in the chest.

“That was a yupper,” Keith confirmed.

“Oh.”

Lance looked over to Keith who was hunched over the back of the seat, sorting through his cargo. Lance started to do the same. Keith glared at him,

“What do you think you’re doing?” He pushed Lance back. Lance sprung up,

“Helping! What does it look like? There are weird glowy-eyed creatures trying to eat us.”

“No!” Keith shoved him back once again, “Don’t fall off. Stay.”

“I’m not a dog, man, and why not?” Keith had managed to make a torch using the fire from the lantern and a piece of old material. He held it out to keep the creatures down.

“I just don’t trust your judgement.” Keith’s words were distracted and hurtful. Lance’s cheeks burned.

“Excuse me?”

“Who gets engaged to someone they just met?”

“I can’t believe you keep bringing that up, it is none of your business!” He grabbed the nearest thing from the pile of objects in the back and raised it in the air. Ice tongs. Of course. “And plus, it’s true love! Duck!”

With that he swung the tongs forward. Keith ducked, luckily, and Lance smacked an attacking yupper square in the face. Keith straightened up.

“What the hell, Lance? You could have knocked me out!” He yelled, taking the tongs from Lance with his free hand, inspecting them for damage. Lance shrugged. However, with Keith’s attention elsewhere and the fire away from the side of the sledge, a yupper took the opportunity and got a hold of Keith’s coat, pulling him from the sledge. Lance reached out to grab the torch in mid air before it fell, watching in horror as Keith was dragged down. He heaved a huge sigh of relief when he saw Keith grab onto a rope trailing behind the sledge. Kosmo kept running, despite it all, but it was clear he was distressed at Keith’s endangerment.

Thinking on his feet, something he was rather good at, Lance reached down to a pile of blankets, setting them alight. He then tossed the extinguished torch into the trees at their sides.

“Help is on the way. Look out!” With relatively accurate aim, the burning bunch of material soared right to where the yuppers were beginning to pull at Keith’s clothing, the man in question crying out in pain at a particularly hard bite. He saw the flaming mass just in time, having the instincts to lower his head and the yuppers immediately broke away from him. Lance let out a whoop of victory, reaching down to help Keith up the rope. His hat had fallen onto his seat during the fall, its absence revealing dark hair and…was that a mullet?

“I can’t believe you almost set me on fire.” Keith let out a puff of air when he was safely back in his seat.

“But I didn’t! You’re not even going to thank me?”

“You just got lucky, I bet that throw was just a fluke.”

“Screw you, mullet!” Lance growled, angry at Keith for not acknowledging the fact he basically saved his life! Bad judgement indeed. His aim was impeccable thank you very much.

“What? My name is Keith and I do not have a mullet or whatever!” Keith fumed, hand instinctively rising to his hair, reaching for his hat. Lance felt a little better for getting a rise out of him.

“That’s debatable but alright,” he smirked, turning back to the road, smile fading immediately. Now, Lance rarely swore but he agreed that this situation called for a very well deserved- “Fuck.”

“What was all that about language earlier?” Keith joked, chuckling until he followed Lance’s line of sight. “Oh. Fuck indeed.”

Ahead of them was a steep drop and a large canyon. They were going too fast to slow and stop without falling off the edge. Lance leant forward.

“Ready to jump Kosmo?”

Keith was next to him.

“You don’t get to tell him what to do,” he shouted.

Before Lance could register what was happening, Keith had thrust a bag into his hand and was wrapping an arm around his waist. Without a word of warning, Keith threw Lance - chucked him as if he were cargo - onto Kosmo’s back with surprising strength.

“Woah!” Lance squawked in shock as he flailed in the air for a moment before landing roughly on Kosmo’s back. The wolf kept running as if it were nothing. Keith called out behind him,

“Jump Kosmo!”

And they were flying.

READ THE ENTIRE THING - ‘The First Time In Forever’ - ON MY AO3!! LINK IN PINNED POST AT THE TOP OF MY BLOG

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leenukeath · 4 years ago

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The essential cannot be seen (Darkest Dungeon fic)

So @sir-crypts recently published an illustration (here: https://sir-crypts.tumblr.com/post/636062084110680064/thing-i-drew-for-leenukeaths-fic-of-abomleper) of an Abomination/Leper fic I wrote for a discord server, I figured I’d share the story, set in the Darkest Dungeon game. Thanks again Sir Crypts for the lovely art.

The Essential cannot be seen Abom/Leper friendship (more?) fic by Leenu

He hated this.

Trudging his way through the murky brine of the cove, Baldwin did his best to keep his gaze forward lest it slipped to the loathsome companion in his back. He was supposed to be accompanied originally by Reynauld, but he (and the highwayman) had disappeared a few days ago and were nowhere to be found when the Heir had called them to formation. Which left him with the following company: a plague doctor, Paracelsus, eyeing with what seemed like curiosity whatever moved or crawled around them, an Occultist, Alhazred who kept his hand closer to his dagger than usual and … the thing that called itself Bigby.

Baldwin wanted nothing more than to leave this Abomination in the Hamlet and go alone, but since the fall of the crystal from the sky, the Heir had forced him and his companions to take the wretched creature with them on the crawls through the dungeon. And thus, the Leper was saddled with the rattling of chains behind his back. His eyes may have been focused on the way ahead, but his ears were listening and making sure no growl was coming from Bigby.

They had been tasked with clearing a sector of the cove, so far the battles had been manageable: the plague doctor’s grenades had done miracles against the pelagic creatures, and despite a few open wounds, the Occultist had kept everyone in one piece. The Abomination had decided to keep its tamed form, throwing his chains around and spewing bile over the enemies that the Leper happened to miss.

Then in the last room, the tune changed: a Squiffy Ghast started plucking on its rotting viola, sending bars upon bars of Maddening Shanties and Off Kilter Jigs.

Baldwin tried his best to hit the slippery skeleton, but whenever he hit, the things always seemed to jump back out of his reach. If only this creature had been the only enemy faced, the team would have cut it down with little combined effort, but it was accompanied by a Pelagic Guardian and an Uca Major. The latter one swinging its pincers with deadly precision, opening great wounds that drenched the seafloor with dark stains. The doctor was too busy stitching the team back together to throw any grenades, and the Occultist himself was struggling to replenish their blood levels, it was thus left to Baldwin and Bigby to carve their way through.

While the leper kept hitting the thick carapace of the Uca, the Abomination once more spewed his toxic bile over it and the Guardian, slowly dissolving their armor, too slowly however.

Another hit connected and the Occultist fell, his hand desperately clutched the skull in his hand to keep the flame from getting blown away as he begged: “This was not the deal we struck!”. Baldwin set himself up in a defensive stance to try and stop any more attacks from hitting Alhazred while Paracelsus fumbled with her vials when he felt something rush past him in a roar as it struck the beast.

The red creature pulled its horns out of the fleshy mass under the crustacean’s carapace it had dug itself in before starting to gnaw off its pincer, ripping it out after a few seconds of inhuman screeches. The Uca expired as it’s claw bled lymph all over the coral walls, and in response, the Guardian set down its shield over the Ghast. It hadn’t stopped playing for a second. Notes, bars, tunes, symphonies, … it had been playing the sounds of madness, and the team could feel their minds slipping into the abyss as the air brought forth ancient memories they wished were forgotten.

Bigby was the first one to snap.

The Ghast’s rotten fingers slid its bow over the algae covered cords, producing more of that unbearable sound, more of that noise that dragged painful memories with it...

The Abomination had started to lunge to take a bite out the skeleton, but his legs gave under him as he gripped his shaking head. Baldwin braced himself to defend the rest of the team from the new foe, ready to cut it down as soon as it bared its fangs in his direction. But to his surprise, Bigby started to shrink down until only his scrawny form was left on the briny floor: “It feeds off my essence, and now … I falter” he muttered as his trembles rattled his chains in a sick accompaniment to the squeaks of the damned viola.

The Leper himself was feeling his resolve falter, he could grab his human companions and run, leave these beasts to themselves and save the ones who were not yet damned in the Light. The Guardian started making its move and raised its bladed fist over the hunched Bigby, one strike would be enough, and all that Baldwin needed to do to rid the world of this creature was to hold back…

The viola’s notes rang, and his mind caved in.

The slimy head of the Pelagic Guardian split under the weight of the massive sword in the bandaged hands of the Leper as he pushed the Abomination back to his teammates:

“Mountains defy the consuming sea!”.

After pulling out the heavy blade from its fishy sheathe, Baldwin proceeded to wildly swing around wherever he could see the Ghast, he wasn’t counting his swings anymore, all he wanted was to crush those cords and find again the respite of silence.

Until he realized that he could not hear the viola anymore over his screams. As his vision cleared, he found himself surrounded in wood and bone splinters, the rush of blood roaring in his ears calmed down until he could hear Paracelsus and Alhazred stabilizing the shivering Bigby.

Over, finally, some silence.

The Leper was too glad to finally be granted this peace of mind, but it was short lived. The team made its way back through the murky paths, carrying themselves as well as possible, but it was clear the Occultist would not be able to guide the Abomination for much longer with his wounds. Thus it was Baldwin’s duty to hold Bigby on their way out of the damp tunnels.

He was not enjoying this, keeping this creature in such close proximity, but at least he could maintain an eye on it. Bigby was clearly not focused on the walk and tripped over nearly every single piece of coral on the way out, after a few near falls, he started holding onto the Leper’s bandaged arm, like a drowning man holding onto a piece of wreckage in a storm.

At first Baldwin considered pulling back and letting the damn thing find its way out by itself, but something stilled his hand. A warmth had seeped into his arm, a familiar feeling he had not experienced for years before … before his illness turned him into the feared creature he was now, forced to hide under the heavy bronze mask. As he felt the finger, human fingers, curling over his bandaged skin, he had a vague memory of fonder times, when the sun shone and he could feel the caress of the rays over his face, when he still had a family with his name…

He didn’t shake off the Abomination on their way back home.

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

Back at the Hamlet, the team dropped off their loot in the vault and went their ways. Paracelsus was eager to analyze the samples she had gathered from the cove, Bigby ran out of view and Alhazred had to get stitches at the sanatorium, accompanied by Baldwin who needed his weekly injection. He didn’t know how it worked, but it was enough to keep his disease stalled, though not enough to cure him.

After dropping off the Occultist, the Leper was left to his own device. He noticed that his hand was still slightly trembling, and it was not because of the needle that had been implanted earlier. The ghost of the tune still sang in the back of his mind, and he needed to get it out.

He took the steps to the Abbey and cracked open the door, he expected the Vestal tending to the sacred fire, or the Flagellant in his rapturous devotion. Not the huddled and chained being bowing to the altar, furiously praying: “The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us.”

Baldwin knew this feeling too well, it was something that needed peace of mind before the Light would grant him relief. The Leper went to sit himself in a corner of the church, lighting some incense, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath: In … Out … In … Out …

His heart was a war drum no more, just a slow tap reminding him that he was still alive.

In … Out … In … Out …

The tip of the fingers on his right hand had started to go numb a few days ago, and his eyesight was turning blurrier, this was probably why he couldn’t hit the Ghast at first back then. He had come to terms with his illness, he had no choice but to do so and accept that mortality would probably not come in a glorious strike, but in a slow loss of his senses as he decayed away.

In … Out … In … Out …

What had hurt most was the banishment, it was his choice, but he knew that if he didn’t do it himself, that choice would have ended up being taken for him. All who suffered like he were treated as outcasts, for the good of the people. But he had seen the colonies filled with the ones less fortunate than he, they were treated no better than monsters, he felt a twinge of regret toward his brothers and sisters in adversity.

In … In .. Out … Out.. In … In .. Out … Out..

Baldwin opened his eyes and saw Bigby, no longer shaking in front of the Altar, instead looking up to the Light, calmly breathing out his prayers of hope. Their gazes crossed for a few seconds of mutual acknowledgment before they went back to their respective communions.

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

A few weeks later, the two of them were sent together once more, this time in the Warrens to slay the Swine King. The Leper noticed that he was feeling less nervous with Bigby in his back, the rattle of his chains were a soothing sound over the squeals of the swine men roaming about these caves, and those very chains served well in combat to stun and slow down the enemy to let Baldwin push his sword into the enemy. The Vestal Junia was clearly still feeling nervous; but he figured that his presence alongside Milicent, the Arbalest, was aiding her in keeping her nerves calm enough to keep the torchlight up and their wounds closed.

Of course things were never easy for very long, especially when a Swinetaur decides to show itself. The squad set itself in position to face the massive enemy, but what they failed to notice were the two Swine Slashers lurking in the beast’s shadow. Only when the Arbalest fired her Rallying Flare did they find out too late. Baldwin did his best to try and let the first hook hit his plated armor, but was too late to dodge the swipe of the second one. The slash went upwards, leaving a mark upon his chin and hooking off his mask that went flying off into the piles of refuse, leaving his deformed face in view to the rest of the group. He didn’t need to look to feel his companion’s fearful gazes in his back.

More sword swings, more bolts, more prayers and a pair of horns put an end to the repulsive creatures. But at the cost of multiple open cuts that risked infection in the squalid conditions of the Warrens. Milicent suggested camping so she could dress up the worst of the wounds, a welcome respite, especially with all the food in their packs.

As the Vestal set down her sanctuary for the night, Baldwin noticed that Bigby had walked away, maybe to avoid distracting the nun during her important duty, he did not consider this situation much longer as Milicent had started unpacking her bandages and stitching needles. She was keeping her head down as she worked on him, averting her gaze from his face.

He could not blame her for it, but he had to admit that the waft of air on his face had an intoxicating feel after hours upon hours of treading through hot and humid tunnels. Though he was almost grateful for his lack of nose when he looked at the piles of filth surrounding them.

Speaking of those, as soon as the Leper was done getting patched up, Bigby walked out from one of them and approached him with something in his hand: “I don’t think you need to wear it, but if it makes you feel better, you can keep it.”. His bronze mask, still slightly stained with what looked like pig blood, but it seemed like the Abomination had tried to clean it the best he could with the rags on his back.

“... you went to look for it?” asked Baldwin as he took the piece of metal with slightly trembling hands, Bigby nodded: “I understand if you want to hide yourself. I just want you to know that … well, I don’t mind you taking it off.”.

Pulling back the few chains that had slipped off his shoulder, the scrawny man was about to walk away before the Leper spoke up as he grabbed a loaf of bread: “Won’t you stay by my side for supper?” he asked as he broke it in halves, offering one to his companion.

His answer was a small but grateful smile as Bigby sat himself next to Baldwin: “Thank you for this”.

The night in the Warrens felt less cold to the both of them with a shoulder to lean on.

Whatever happened with the Swine King, they were grateful for this moment.

#darkest dungeon #Leper #Abomination #ficlet

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stetervault · 5 years ago

Note

Steter fics from 2019/any Steter fics you feel like reccing

2019 Steter fics, let’s see… Here’s a bunch of random ones I’ve enjoyed over the past year:

Where I Want to Be by Tahlruil

Peter wasn’t exactly surprised when he ‘woke up’ in hell.

He’d known his wounds were fatal as soon as he’d gotten them. In truth he’d never expected to still be standing after his quest for revenge had been completed. What mattered was taking the Argent family down with him and making sure they died before he did. Peter had saved Kate and Gerard for last; they had looked into his eyes as they bled out. They had known that he was the instrument of their family’s doom and he couldn’t ask for more than that.

You Are A Call To Motion by neglectedtuesday

Here at Hale Industries ® we don’t believe in limiting one’s pleasure. That’s why we’re dedicated to bringing our clientele the best in Jackbot technology. Whether you’re a busy dom in need of a service sub or a baby boy desperate for an Alien Daddy, Hale Industries ® has the perfect bot for you. Built to your specifications, our customer service team is devoted to building a bot that will never fail to meet your needs. And if you discover something new you want to try, you can subscribe to our monthly upgrade packages in order to add or remove kinks at your leisure.

Hale Industries ® - The Only Limits Are The Ones We Place On Ourselves.

Here Begins the Land of Phantoms by Triangulum

Stiles is four and scared of the dark. There are things in the shadows of his room, whispering to him, showing him terrible, violent things.

There’s something in the basement, too. He can feel it while he’s sitting on the old, worn sofa, its presence curling around the edges of the room. He thinks he can see something sometimes, a mass shimmering in the corner, but he always looks away. He doesn’t want to know.

Peter is a demon that lives in the Stilinskis’ basement.

From Ashes Rebuilt by ambersagen

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Stiles finally admitted. He sounded sorry, smelled like anxiety and hunched in on himself as he fell back from Peter to land in the dented chair. “I heard the doctors telling your niece. She wasn’t quiet about it, and no one cares if I’m around anyway so I heard the whole thing, about your burns. I snuck in to see you.”

“Like a sideshow freak,” Peter sneered, starting to understand.

“Like a miracle,” Stiles corrected.

MCSZ-LW by Bunnywest

Mayor Whittemore gives John his widest politician’s smile. “It’s one of the best- a Halebot. You work so hard for the city, and with Claudia gone five years now, we thought you’d appreciate some company. A service bot is perfect. I mean, you deserve more than the standard gift certificate. “

“Would have preferred the gift card,” John huffs under his breath, but he plasters on a smile and makes all the right noises, because this is an elected position, and as jackbots go, Halebots really are the best. He just doesn’t know quite what he’s going to do with it.

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Care for Me, As I’ve Never Known by lavenderlotion

“Why…why did you offer me the bite?” Stiles asked quietly, the cover of night and the hum of the Jeep’s engine giving him courage he wouldn’t usually have.

Peter hummed thoughtfully, taking a turn smoothly. “That is quite the question you’re asking. I’m not sure the answer is one you would be happy to hear.”

A Love for Millennia (a story never told) by OneSmartChicken

Stiles had to go into the woods that night. It didn’t make sense. She was lured by the sense of adventure, but there was a more that dragged at her.

Or: Stiles is the only one to realize she and Peter are soulmates. She doesn’t mention it.

Wind Chimes by wynnebat

“Why are you here?” Peter asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I can understand curiosity, but Stiles, you have visited me nearly every day for years. It can’t be that simple.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s both simple and not. For him, who grew up with the wind, who is inseparable from it in the best of ways, it is absurdly simple. For Peter, who doesn’t trust the wind as Stiles does, it may not be. “The wind says you’re mine. That’s all I need.”

Robber Foxes (Have No Fears) by RayShippouUchiha (WIP)

In the end all Stiles really has left is his dad, a lonely house, the key and deed to the loft, and a chest filled up with emptiness.

A void, yawning right behind his sternum.

That and the laughter of a fox trapped right beneath his skin, echoing in the hollows of his skull, whispering behind his teeth.

Stiles should have known it wasn’t over.

Magic stains everything it touches after all.

Keep You (Safe) Within my Shadow by lavenderlotion

Stiles has never been scared of the dark. The shadows are his friends.

Into Eden by GracieBirdie

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he’d hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn’t turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Trust in the End by ShebaRen, Tahlruil

Stiles had always kind of assumed that the end of the world was going to be full of fire and panicking people. Nuclear warfare had pretty much been his guess as to how it would all go, but he could be flexible on that. His only certainty was that it would be man-made, because people always messed things up.

He hadn’t expected the end to be full of snow and freezing cold. He hadn’t expected to be so alone while it was happening, hadn’t thought he would be making a trek from California all the way up to - if his maps and bearings were right - Washington State. He definitely hadn’t expected for it all to happen while his parents were away on a trip for their second honeymoon.

Thankfully he’d fallen in with a wolf who had saved his life and then hung around like a bad penny afterward.

Making Marks by Udunie

Stiles woke to his phone ringing at four in the afternoon, because apparently, he’d never even heard of a healthy sleep schedule before, and also; hated himself.

He blindly found it in the pocket of his jeans thrown haphazardly to the floor, and blinked at it for a few seconds before picking it up.

“‘Sup, Lyds?” he asked, just because he knew she hated the nickname, and she did wake him up.

“I’m killing Jackson,” she announced with unusual honesty. To be fair, any kind of honesty was unusual from her, considering her and Stiles only reconnected recently - and it wasn’t like they were too close in high school either.

“Congratulations?”

You Just Got Ghosted! by Ragga

“What’s your name, angel?” little Stiles murmured even as his eyes fell closed, quickly losing his battle against sleep.

Stiles smiled. It was a little sad but also heavy with the knowledge that what he was doing was the right thing—heavy with the knowledge he didn’t deserve the moniker bestowed upon him.

“You can call me Mietek.”

Or the one where there’s time travel, feels abound, two Stiles in one timeline, and one of them stuck somewhere between the planes of existence. Yet a ghost can still manage to save the day and get the girl. Or the wolf. Manly wolf. Because Peter.

Toothed Morality (Send Me Flowers) by rightsidethru

“The world is a dark place, moje kochanie; it is one filled with monsters, always ready to gobble you whole. Be wary of the promises they give: seal every vow with blood and bone and Name. A True Name, one that will bind them to their word.”

“But how will I know that they’re telling the truth, Matka? Couldn’t they lie…?”

“You’ll know, mały płomień.”

Everyone is King When There’s No One Left to Pawn by Bittah_Wizard

The AU where Stiles is an old trickster—just not the one you’re thinking of.

Beefcake Mountain by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Shortly after moving back to Beacon Hills, the left hand of the Hale Pack opened a text from a mysterious number.

“Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I can see myself in them.”

What the f—

Wild Creatures by neglectedtuesday

The treaty is signed while Stiles is being laced into his wedding corset. Ink splatters parchment as a maid pulls the ribbons, tighter and tighter. Stiles’ breath and future are taken away, all to save a village. He is a sacrifice more than a bride. The maid assists in fixing a choker around Stiles throat. Her hands are cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. The choker is a string of blood red rubies, they reflect the firelight with a wet shine like an open wound.

First to Know by Twisted_Mind

They fold to their knees in the vee of his legs. His hands cradle their cheek and the back of their neck, and they lean into the touch, eyes closing. “It’s mine.”

“What’s yours, darling?”

They drag in a shaky breath, and look up into the face of the man they love. “The magic. It’s mine. My spark did this.”

Chances by SpookyMiscreant

Supernaturals have soulmarks, everyone knew that, but it was ignorant to think that supernaturals only fell in love with supernaturals. It wasn’t necessarily rare for humans to have marks, but not common either. Supernatural kids all anxiously await the full moon after their fifth birthday, but human kids let the full moon pass without much anticipation.Stiles’ mother had made him stay up that night in his underwear as she searched him with a flashlight, intent to see if he was supernatural like his father. The inherent problem here was that Stiles was then and always will be covered head to toe in moles, freckles, and birthmarks.

walk walk (fashion baby) by rightsidethru

Derek shrugged a shoulder and moved the chopsticks through the broth. “Cora’s decided that she wants to transfer out to Berkley, and Uncle Peter has decided to relocate here again. Unfortunately, his reputation is preceding him and not even the three grand we’re offering for the photoshoot is enough to get a model to stay.”

At hearing the amount of money that Derek was actually offering to pay someone for one temporary job, Stiles choked on his noodles and began wheezing for breath as he went into a coughing fit. “Three? Three grand? Three thousand dollars??”

Three thousand dollars would be enough to pay for his rent for the next few months. Or—pay for the upcoming month and give Stiles a chance to buy some of the more advanced books on magical theory that Elder Potter was willing to let Stiles borrow but not keep. Being able to buy his own copies… Stiles’ fingers twitched in almost immediate booklust.

“I’ll do it,” Stiles announced.

Cause I Want You (all to myself) by LadySlytherin

Stiles has an odd habit of licking Peter, seemingly at random and without much thought. Peter takes a lot longer than he should to figure out why.

Six Times Stiles Stilinski Licked Peter Hale…and one time Peter licked Stiles instead.

If I Could Kiss You Again by Triangulum

“Summer plans?” Peter asks, eyes on where Isaac is now trying to inch along the ceiling beam toward the wall where he can slide down a pipe.

“Leaving for Stanford in September. Saving the world and working in between now and then,” Stiles says. “Why, gonna miss me?”

“Considering I’ll be left alone with Derek? Yes,” Peter says.

“You’ll have Cora,” Stiles says. “And Isaac will be here to make up a few high school credits.”

There’s a shriek and a thud as Isaac loses his grip, falling on top of Erica and Boyd, sending them all to the ground in a heap.

“Yes,” Peter says flatly. “Thank god for that.”

Five times Stiles kisses Peter and one time Peter kisses him.

Orbital Distance by neglectedtuesday

Artemis, the capital city of the Moon, where movies are born and stars are made. The crown jewel of American cinema and simultaneously Hollywood’s biggest rival. The money may be dollars, it may be counted as the 51st state but the studios run this city, making cinema and waging war. No real bloodshed but equally cutthroat in its own way. Peter has devoured article after article about the industry, from in-depth journalism to gossip rags, desperate for every detail, every scandal, every glorious moon moment.

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

Rhythm of the War Drums by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)

The foreboding song of the drums rumbled through the stands above, made his heart, his blood pound with their increasing rhythm. He’d seen this so many times now, heard the sickening, morbid excitement of the rabble. He readied himself for the carnage, but even nearly a year after he’d first stood in this spot, it still filled him with dread.

As always, he watched the sandy arena through the barred steel gates. They vibrated with the movement, with the almost deafening sounds of the crowd and the drums. A sea of guards stood at his back, but they were not there for him…

Two Worlds Collided by Bittah_Wizard

It was always meant to be Stiles and Peter.

Always.

A Stranger Comes to Town by Bunnywest, DiscontentedWinter, Twisted_Mind

Peter claps his hands together once. “Right! Let’s start getting to know each other, shall we? We can all take turns introducing ourselves, and explaining who we are as writers. I’ll go first.” He stays standing, and spreads his arms wide for a moment. “As I hope you all know, I’m bestselling author Peter Hale. If there’s been a terrible mistake and you didn’t mean to be here, this is your chance to run.”

He gives another charming smile to the tittering biddies on his right. He sketches a dramatic little bow, and then goes on. “Twice a year, I come out here to teach The Masterclass on writing, providing new talent,” he winks at the MFA-wannabes on the left, tucking his hands in his pockets, “with a safe environment to share your work and equip yourselves with the tools for success. I’m looking forward to getting to know you all this weekend.”

Keep You Like An Oath by Green

After 7 years in prison, Peter has important matters to attend to — and at the top of his list is the young mate he left behind, unclaimed for their own protection. But, for all his good intentions, Stiles has always needed him — now more than ever.

Too Much Of A Good Thing by GracieBirdie

Stiles can’t just leave Boyd and Erica chained up in a hunter’s basement, and if the only person willing to listen to him when he asks for help is a formerly dead psychopath? Well, Stiles supposes he could do worse. But of course nothing in Stiles’ life is ever just that simple…

All The Things We’d Do by GracieBirdie

Stiles’ time travel spell doesn’t work out quite right but he figures he should make the best of it, starting with Laura Hale.

The Promises Of Yesterday, The Pledges Of Tomorrow by ShippersList

Stiles is a kid with serious concentration issues and definitely not a guide—let alone a guide strong enough to calm down a feral Sentinel wolf. It’s just not possible.

Thighs Verse by Bunnywest

I’ll give you what you need, pretty boy. And you can call me Sir.

The hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck prickle at that, and his dick throbs. He clicks on the profile and the picture that pops up is UN-FUCKING-FAIR. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, nobody should look like that. The man’s staring into the camera, a smile that’s almost a sneer on his face. And what a face it is. Intense blue eyes, cheekbones like cut glass, and a strong jawline covered in the perfect amount of stubble. His neck, what Stiles can see of it, is thickly muscled, and Stiles can see the beginnings of a tattoo that travels down. There’s the tiniest scattering of grey at his temples, and Stiles breathes out, “Oh yes, Sir,” as he drinks in the details on the profile.

Or, the one in which Stiles experiments with Grindr, and finds his Sir.

The Boy Sleuth by Shey

Stiles is eight when he discovers a box of his mom’s old Nancy Drew Mysteries in the back of the guest bedroom closet.

Magnificent Mischief by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“Marvelous Miss and the Magnificent Mischief!” the carnival barker shouted just outside the corridor with all the food tents. “Come see Miss Paige do amazing tricks with her talking raven! He not only speaks, but he jokes! He teases! He philosophizes!”

Escaping by Green

“We have to go. Now, Peter.”

Peter’s holding his apartment door open, standing in shock, looking at Stiles. “What? How do you even know where I live?”

The Chasm and the Clash by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Stiles has dreams of the Alpha after he dies. It makes no sense. He didn’t know Peter before… did he?

Did Peter know him?

And why does his head hurt so much?

#ask #anonymous #steter #teen wolf #fanfic rec #rec list

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