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[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Bruce crashed to the ground.

The bright green portal that brought him here snapped shut above him leaving him stranded in an unknown location. He had just managed to stand up when he heard someone call out to him.

"Hey!" A boy with black hair and blue eyes came running up to him, "Are you okay?"

Bruce grunted, glaring at the small creature trailing behind the child through his cowl, "I'm fine. Where am I?"

"You're in Unova, smack dab inside the Pinwheel forest." The kid said, "What an unlucky place to land."

"Unlucky how?"

Aside from giving him a disapproving look, the child was unfazed by his tone. "The Pinwheel forest got its name because its a natural maze. The monsters here are weak but you might find yourself going in circles if you're not careful."

Batman thought for a moment, "monsters?"

The child smiled and Bruce thought he looked like his other children before the boy excitedly introduced his "partner pokemon": Aron

The Aron in question made happy little noises as it approached and nuzzled its metal face into the side of Batmans boot. Cute.

"Oh, by the way, my names Danny. Do you want me to take you to town? There's a professor there that you can talk to. She might not be able to help you get back to your home world but maybe she can find someone who can."

Batman narrowed his eyes at him, "How did you know I wasn't from this world. Thats not usually the first conclution people jump to."

For the first time since Danny had met the Batman he actually squirmed a bit. "Anyway, let's get started! It's a long trek to town!"

It took them about two days to get out of the forest. Danny had thankfully lent him use of his equipment and food. It was nice having a tent to sleep it when the rain hit on the first night, even if it was a little cramped. Aron curled up between them to soak up thier body heat like a housecat.

It was also a relief that Danny could cook, though Bruce had no idea where the child was storing all of this stuff.

Danny ran off into town, saying that people were going to ask a lot of questions if a guy dressed as a bat came strolling into town and if he was going to be staying in this world for a while it was probably best to get him some normal clothes.

Bruce reluctantly agreed and after telling him his sizes the kid ran off to the store, leaving Aron behind to "protect him". Bruce hated relying on a childs generosity to get by.

Soon enough the kid came back with an all black outfit, saying something about it suiting him. Bruce left to change and came back to Danny giving Aron and his other pokemon Staryu some Oran berries.

After that they finally set off to town.

The professor was nice, if infuriatingly calm about giving literal monsters to random children. The professor even offered Bruce a pokemon egg since he was probably going to be in this world a while.

Bruce accepted the gift, wondering what he was getting himself into when Danny got excited.

The child explained that he was a treasure hunter/explorer by trade that survived by finding things he could sell in shops but he wasn't a very strong trainer and had to be careful where he went due to the presence of powerful pokemon.

Danny then asked Bruce to travel with him to be his bodyguard.

Bruce was very displeased to discover people set thier kids loose into a monster infested world around the age of ten and horrified to know the actual survival rate of this stupidity.

Bruce agreed to protect him and got registered as a pokemon trainer and was given the egg and some pokeballs. Danny offered to teach him how to catch pokemon as Bruce planted a listening device somewhere.

They set off back into the pinwheel forest to catch Bruces first pokemon and to start thier journey.

Meanwhile, Dannys excited to travel with someone who seems like a proper dad.

It couldn't hurt to pretend, right?

[missterious-figure]

okay- this may be a repeat but last time it glitched and I don’t know if you got this one- super sorry if this is a repeat of my other question!

Okay- I may or may not be really into blood and feathers Toby- so I got this idea of someone like Y/N being his trainer before the Kato incident. Would Toby keep them around? Would they be his safe space? Or would they keep away from them as well? What if after he started disappearing they went looking for him- like a ghost hunter? I just thought it was interesting.

Once again! Super sorry if you already got this question! I just didn’t know!

P.S.- I bet on twenty pure gold drachmas that Y/N is a rabbit.

Oh, no worries! Don't be afraid to send an ask more than once, because I definitely didn't get this one before. This is a very interesting idea...

...

"Toby?"

The only thing that answered was the artificial rain drumming on the damp foliage.

"Toby!"

You could have sworn he had headed in this direction. But now your lead was gone. This made no sense. You saw him walk away into the safari immediately after his performance, and you had been right on his heels. You stood there, scanning the for the green harpy. The harpy you were supposed to take care of. Some job you were doing...

You sighed, but continued further. You weren't giving up on him. You needed to make sure he was okay. You searched for hours. Every time you heard so much as twig rustle, you checked it out. You'd either find a bird or a harpy. But not the on you were looking for.

Finally, you collapsed under a tall tree, exhausted. You curled your legs close to your body as you called out one last time.

"Toby..."

Even though it was quite humid, you shivered because of how wet you were. You gently rested your head on your knees, and quickly fell asleep. As soon as you conked out, a shadow emerged from the thick of the brush. As he stepped into the light, his features became clear. He was stocky for a peacock harpy. Broad shouldered and muscular. A train of greens and yellows trialed behind, him, being carefully lifted slightly above the ground. His face was shadowed by a black cowboy hat. A black bandanna covered his nose down.

The spurs on his boots rattled quietly as he approached you. He knelt by your side. Hesitantly, he used a glowing green claw to lift your chin. You were out cold. This was the third time this month you had tired yourself out in the middle of the safari zone. He carefully put his hands beneath your back and knees. Pulled you closer to him, resting you in a bridal position in his arms. He slowly stood up, and quiet as a ghost, began walking back to the casino.

As for the rabbit thing: no comment :)

[racheyace]

Lightning Ridge - Part One

A young Shifter wanders into a town crawling with hunters, Hendrix plans on laying low but when he catches wind of one particular hunter who is after the same Shifter that he’s been tracking himself, his curiosity gets the better of him. Offering to join the man on his quest he can only hope he can track down the dangerous shifter, saving the lives of innocents all the while keeping his secret hidden.

TW: mentions of murder/eating people, giant spiders, some swearing, mentions of death, mentions of drug use

G/t Shifter story, the idea came from a prompt I read a while back by @maplesyrupandgt. I’ve just come back to writing after recovering from an injury to my writing hand of all things, but I’m back and posting short stories and prompts to get me back in the swing of things. This will be a Four Part Story so keep an eye out for more to come!

Approx 3.2k words

Part One - Here

Part Two

The rain beat down hard on my shoulders and I knew I’d have to stop for the night, my eyes had caught sight of distant light coming from this direction and I had hoped to stumble across a small village in search for cheap accommodation. What I didn’t expect to find however was currently staring at my face menacingly, urging me to turn around and go back the way I’d come.

A sign was posted a few yards from the small village, and it read:

‘GIANT’S BEWARE’

And Another:

‘GIANT SLAYERS WITHIN’

The signs were large enough that any shifter would be able to read it in their Giant forms, what was unnecessary was the graphic image of a shifter having its head cut off by a human that was scrawled under the blocky letters above it.

“Charming” I said to myself.

It was known among shifters that most humans didn’t know that ‘Giants’ as they called us, were not in fact Giant’s at all but a special kind of shape shifter that could grow into their large forms at will, or sometimes against their will. For that reason, I deemed it safe to enter, no one here would know what I was, I’d just have to keep a low profile as always.

My boots trudged heavily through the muddy streets until I found a tavern, the sign out the front told me that there was availability inside, perfect. I pushed open the double wooden doors and was greeted with a waft of warm thick air filled with music, laughter and the smell of smoke and whiskey.

I inhaled deeply, soaking in the pleasant sensations, I’d get a drink once I’d secured a room for the night. I found a coat hanger near the entryway and placed my wet jacket onto it along with my fedora, feeling somewhat warmer and dryer I headed straight for the bar with my best panty dropping grin.

“A straight whisky darlin if you don’t mind?” I asked the young barmaid from behind the counter, she gave me a playful wink while pouring a fresh glass without even looking at it. She slid it across the polished counter to me and leaned over.

“What’s a pretty face like you doing here?” she asked, flicking her long black hair over her shoulder.

“Just passing through” I said casually. “I was hoping I might find some accommodations hereabouts.”

“Well, you need look no further, we have a few spare rooms tonight, just a single?” She asked hopefully, she briefly glanced around to see if I had come in with anyone else.

“Yeah, just a single.”

She handed me a piece of parchment to sign, a guest log, I scribbled a fake name in as I usually did and handed it back to her along with a generous payment, she gave me a set of keys and then asked. “Where are you headed to?”

“Oh no where in particular, I enjoy exploring, I’m a bit of a nomad.” I shrugged, taking another heavy slog of my drink. “Might head toward Lightening Ridge tomorrow.” I said offhandedly.

The man beside me at the bar, scoffed, I hadn’t even noticed him sit down until now, the barmaid and I both looked at him curiously, waiting for an explanation.

“You haven’t heard the rumors?” He asked, looking at us incredulously, his dark hair and darker complexion gave off a mysterious air in the already dim lighting of the tavern, his shaggy hair keeping his face in the shadows expertly.

“That’s Giant territory up that way.” He explained, turning to address us properly.

“Is that so?” I asked, I hadn’t heard of any territory being claimed as ‘Giants Territory’ ever, most of the time shifters mainly lived amongst humans. Of course, there were the rare kind who took advantage of their sheer strength and sought to harm and press their power over others.

One shifter in particular I could think of, we’d crossed paths a few times, I had actually been tracking him for a long time after hearing the first reports of a Giant terrorizing villages. I’d found him about a year ago, warning him of others who were hunting him, I tried to get through to him with reason, but he wasn’t interested in hearing any of it, in fact he very nearly killed me.

I’d kept my distance then but continued to track him for a short while until I lost his trail. It had been months since I’d had any firm leads and I wondered if my instinct taking me this far East had finally paid off. Perhaps he had taken over Lightening Ridge claiming it to be his own.

“What makes you think it’s Giant Territory?” I pressed further.

The young man finished off his drink and indicated that he would like another.

“I’ve been assigned to hunt a Giant living in that area, he’s set up camp there for a while now, many have gone in, but none have ever returned.” he said forebodingly wiggling his fingers for emphasis.

I shivered but not because of the stupid theatrics the man was displaying, but because in all likelihood Blade was killing if not eating the men who had entered ‘His’ Territory and the thought turned my gut to ice.

“Perhaps I could assist you.” I said resolve set, I was sure this was the shifter I’d been after, and I wasn’t going to let him get away again, especially knowing he was now murdering civilians.

The young man laughed loudly but I kept my expression neutral, and his laughter died down to a look of pure disbelief.

“You’re not joking? Are you?” He asked and I shook my head, he gave a heavy sigh. “Look I appreciate the offer, but I generally work alone, besides I don’t wanna get distracted looking after you when I’m trying to slay the beast.” He explained, all good points.

“I’m a hunter as well.” I lied. “I actually know of the beast your after, been on his tail for months, I think I could prove useful.”

He gave me a skeptical look; I was sure he was going to turn me down again and then I’d move to plan B which would be tailing this man in order to find Blade, but he held out a hand instead.

“You don’t get in my way.” He said sternly. “When we find the beast, it’s every man for himself, I wont risk my neck to save your ass if you do something stupid, you hear?”

I couldn’t help the smile edging onto my face, and I grasped his hand.

“Deal.” I said, so much for keeping a low profile.

“The names Ryder, I’ll meet you down here an hour before sunrise.” He said stiffly before rising from his chair, intending to head in for the night.

“Hendrix.” I answered honestly. “I’ll be here.” He gave me a curt nod before heading up the stairs to the Tavern’s rooms.

“Boy you do have a death wish.” The barmaid was shaking her head whilst cleaning a glass. I gave her a small shrug before heading up the stairs myself, and I wondered if the barmaid had noted that the name I put on the guest log, was not the name I’d given to Ryder. I supposed it didn’t matter, in all likely hood we’d leave before anyone else arose the next morning and I’d never see her again.

With that I hunkered down onto the small cot within my room and urged my racing thoughts to quieten, though regardless of my efforts my excitement at having finally got a lead was too much to give me a good night’s sleep and morning came all too quickly.

I rolled out of bed and stretched my aching limbs, sleeping on a different surface every night didn’t bode well for my back. I wandered to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face briefly glancing my disheveled appearance in the mirror. Ryder had been right to worry that I wouldn’t be useful in a fight, where he was toned, I was more malnourished with my poor muscles trying desperately to make themselves known.

My dark blue eyes popped against my freckle-stained face where my cheek and jaw bones jutted out. I wasn’t much of a fighter, more a survivalist, but I had been training since my last meeting with Blade and I was confident I’d be able to take him this time.

I brushed my fingers through my shoulder length sandy blonde hair and pushed away from the sink, I’d guessed it was about an hour before sunrise now and if I didn’t get a move on, Ryder would likely leave without me. I slung my satchel containing my meager belongings across my chest and headed down the stairs.

“Ah there he is, I was thinking you might have come to your senses overnight.” Ryder joked, putting on his own hat and jacket, ready to head out the door.

“Not a chance.” I smiled, and followed him outside, the air was fresh and held the sharp bite of winter closing in, I longed to be back inside the warm tavern, but I also wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity, especially if I could put an end to Blade’s rampage once and for all.

It was bad enough that he was putting the identity of our kind at risk but using his power to harm others was something I just couldn’t stand for.

I followed Ryder as we headed further east, following signs for Lightening Ridge, it was approximately 200kml away from SheerWood, the village we had just come from, and would be about a three or four day walk with minimal stops.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself Hendrix.” Ryder asked, the sun was beginning to rise, and we had walked in mostly comfortable silence until that point, I had gathered that he preferred not to grow attached to his travelling companion in case he died once we faced the shifter, his question caught me off guard.

“There’s not much to tell really.” I shrugged, preparing to spin off the usual story I give people. “I’m a nomad, I travel all over, got no family to hold me down so I’m just out exploring really.”

“Bullshit, you’ve been tailing a Giant for peats sake, there is more to you than just drifting with the wind.”

I bit my lip, I hadn’t really thought that one through, I’d forgotten that I’d told him I was a hunter back in the tavern.

“Well, you know I pick up a few hunting jobs here and there as a travel through, no big story, sorry to disappoint.” I covered quickly, it wasn’t an unheard-of story and totally credible if I do say so myself.

He didn’t seem convinced, but he also didn’t seem frustrated at all, like he understood that not everything was okay to be shared with a total stranger.

“Well, I suppose I’m much the same as you, grew up in a small town and as soon as I was able, I up and left, took up hunting jobs and make my living that way, I must say it’s not a bad way to see the country.” He glanced at the surrounding forest appreciatively.

“Do you have any family?” I asked trying to continue to keep the topic on him.

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen them in years, they live way out west in the desert, my mum, dad and sister, as far as I know Kailani is still there tending to the farm with them, farm life just wasn’t for me you know?”

I nodded, the lifestyle had never interested me either, come to think of it I wasn’t really sure what kind of lifestyle called to me. I supposed travelling and exploring the country was okay, but the thought of settling down somewhere was intriguing, even if it was an impossibility for me.

“What’s Kailani like?” I asked, my mind wandered to my own little sister, she’d been only five years old when I left home, when my abilities had made themselves known.

“She’s kind.” He said wistfully. “She was always very reserved, especially around our parents, she was never shy about giving me a hard time though.” He chuckled at a memory playing over in his mind. “Last I heard she was seeing a fella, she’d make a good wife, I just hope she’s happy.”

“I suppose that’s all any of us can ask for.” I said quietly, hoping the same was true about Ella.

A twig snapped to our left and we both paused, Ryder held up a scarred hand indicating for me to keep quiet. I scanned the area, but I couldn’t see much of anything off the trail, the forest on either side of us was dense with underbrush.

After a few moments I was going to tap Ryder on the shoulder and suggest we keep going, it was probably just an animal skirting too close to the trails, that’s when we heard a soft hiss disturb the silence around us. And that was all the warning we got before the large Arachnid made itself known, its many eyes flickering like embers in the dense forest and its large hairy legs moving faster than they should have been able to.

“Duck!” Ryder shouted, I was going to question why I would do such a thing, and to instead suggest we run but I crouched low to the ground anyway and narrowly missed a projectile of sticky silk that was shot toward us. Ryder had rolled out of the way and brandished his sword, crouching in a fighting stance and ready to leap at the thing.

I dug in my pockets for my dagger, and then realized it was woefully too small to fight a creature this large. Of course, normally when I encountered giant spiders in the forest, I was much bigger and would simply crush the creature with the heel of my boot, I’d never thought I needed a larger weapon when I was usually the largest creature around.

Of course I couldn’t grow right now, not with a hunter standing right there, I rolled as the creature made a move toward me and I narrowly avoided one of its sharp claw-like legs from spearing me through the middle. I watched as Ryder pounced on top of the thing, using his sword to strike at the Arachnids thick exoskeleton.

The spider seemed to pay him not mind, not finding his efforts of any concern at all and instead kept on moving toward me, the spider positioned itself over me and spat more sticky silk covering my left hand and pinning it to the ground. My breath hitched and I felt myself expand a few inches, breaking my hand free of the sticky substance.

I focused on stopping the growing energy within my body, reining it in for now. I wasn’t about to die at the mercy of an insect.

The spiders’ pincers sliced awfully close to my neck, and I jerked my body upwards pushing the heels of my boots into the spider’s face.

With only a second to make the most of my distraction I backpaddled on my hands and knees crawling under the spider and then out into the open. I dug in my bag frantically and pulled out what I hoped might do the trick, tearing off a part of my sleeve, I picked up a stick nearby and wrapped my shirt around it.

The spider had its eyes on me again and let out another hiss, I doused the cloth in whiskey and then struck a match, creating a large fire stick that I brandished at the spider. It threw its body backwards showing off its front legs in a display of aggression and in doing so threw Ryder from its back, he landed in a heap dropping his sword a short distance away from him.

With the flaming stick in one hand, I inched closer to Ryder’s sword, causing the spider to back up further.

“Ryder!” I shouted kicking the sword toward him, he got the hint grasped the sword and then stood directly underneath the beast. I backed up and as the spider came down Ryder expertly placed the sword between the spider’s thorax and abdomen and then it went limp, its body falling heavily on top of Ryder.

I concentrated and allowed myself to grow only a little, just enough so that I would be strong enough to push the beast off of Ryder, with a grunt of effort I rolled the spider off of him. Ryder lay there breathing heavily, his whole body covered in unidentifiable spider guck, I focused on my own breathing shrinking down to an acceptable height though my body protested.

“You look like hell.” I stated, holding out a hand for him. He grasped it with a slimy hand of his own and I cringed a little at the sickening feeling.

“I’d look a lot worse if it hadn’t of been for you.” He said completely awe struck, he walked over to reclaim his sword from the spider’s belly and then looked over at me, his hazel eyes flashing.

“That was some quick thinking back there.” He said, voice still laced with amazement. “I mean, after seeing you brandish a dagger of all things, I had my doubts, but… that was something else.”

I brushed it off, throwing the fire stick on the ground and stamping it out before putting my matches and flask back into my satchel.

“I work well under pressure.” I shrugged, and his eyebrows reached the sky.

“I’ll say.” He said clapping me on the back. “In any case, well done lad.”

I chuckled nervously and followed him as we continued down the trail. Thankful that I had made it out of my first encounter with an aggressive creature and lived to tell the tale, secret still intact.

“Ha, that’s funny…” He started, looking me up and down as I caught up walking briskly beside him.

“What’s funny? That I’ve only got a dagger to defend myself with? Yeah I know the truth is I lost-“

“No, not that.” He cut me off. “I just could have sworn I was taller than you.”

PART TWO

[impala-dreamer]

Tourniquet - Chapter One

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

All The Damage That This Dark World Does

It had been raining on and off for days and the ground was little more than a muddy expanse that swallowed up the soles of their boots like quicksand. 

The forest was dark and the air rang loud with the requiem of nature. Birds sang low and sad; branches crackled underfoot. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled and the hunters froze. Each set of ears turned towards the sound and eyes darted about while tired minds calculated distances. 

Bobby’s gruff whisper broke through the rain’s symphony. “‘Bout a half a mile east.” 

Dean nodded and Y/N squared her shoulders. 

“And where’s the rest of them?” she asked, tone a little harsher than it needed to be as she glared at the old man. 

Dean shot her a look but she didn’t flinch. Mary shifted uncomfortably between them, not wanting to get involved. 

Bobby adjusted his cap and shrugged. “Gotta be close. They’re hunting us as sure as we’re hunting them.” 

She sighed. “So which way do we go? I’d rather not run right into the pack.” 

Dean cleared his throat and cocked a brow her way. She wasn’t going to let up and he knew it. 

“Why don’t we split up,” he suggested, looking at Bobby and his mother. “You guys go south, we’ll keep heading west.” 

Mary nodded. “OK. Just stay safe.” She smiled and Y/N half returned it. 

Bobby huffed. “You two be careful and holler if you get in trouble.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes and set off before Dean could spin around. 

“Why are you such a bitch to him?” he asked, easily catching up to her with his long stride. 

“You know why.” She swatted at a low hanging branch and groaned. “That’s not Bobby and it’s fucking creepy.” 

Dean laughed at her. “It is Bobby-” 

“Not my Bobby.” 

He sighed. “You get used to it.” 

“No thanks.” 

Another howl, this time closer and followed by another. 

Y/N stood still and tall, listening with her entire being. Dean came up behind her and she held a finger to her lips, ordering him to be silent. 

The earth was damp. The fallen autumn leaves were too wet to make a sound, but she heard the squelch of mud as a creature ran through it. The being gained speed, and the wind picked up, chilling their faces as sure as the adrenaline prickled their skin. 

She nodded towards his right and Dean raised his pistol, gripping it tight and following the line of sight into the dank woods. He squinted and a mess of black, matted fur moved behind the trees. 

“Shit.” 

Y/N flipped off the safety on her gun and steadied herself. She took a breath, gave him a wink and set off to the left. 

He knew her well enough to understand the plan without conversing, and Dean moved off to the right. They’d wrap around in a circle and meet behind the beast, hopefully catching it off guard and raining silver down upon it. 

It was a good plan. Solid. Proven. 

Y/N moved swiftly through the trees, careful to tread lightly through the muck and avoid the fallen soldiers of the wood. The rain picked up and with the distance now between them, she lost sight of Dean, but she wasn’t too worried. They were professionals, after all. 

Another few yards and the tree line gave way to a clearing. Y/N wondered for a moment if she’d gotten turned around in the forest, but her internal compass told her she was going the right way. 

A wolf’s cry made her sure.  

The grass was tall and free, untouched by blades or trampled by tires. She pushed through the weeds and a flash of memory struck her. 

The sweet smell of spring; the tickle of grass against her cheek. Rusted metal and chrome gleaming in the sun. The smell of burgers burning on charcoal. Perfect green eyes. 

Y/N shivered at the sensory overload and blinked into the clearing. She was taller than the grass now and so much older than her days in the junkyard.

She took a deep breath and heard her name. 

From across the field, Dean emerged from the trees and shouted her name. He spun his hand in the air and she cocked her head, staring at him, confused but smiling. He was just as beautiful as the first time she’d seen him, though a bit more broken down and tired. 

Again, he yelled for her, and the slow motion world around her cranked back up to full speed. 

“Y/N!” 

She heard it then- the horrid, hungry growl. She smelled the dirt, the wetness. Felt the fear as her body tensed. 

Y/N turned and the wolf attacked. She pulled the trigger but it only made the beast more aggressive. 

Powerful jaws clamped down on her defending arm; razor claws ripped through her flesh. The wet ground accepted her body as they fell, the mud curled up around her as the grass gave way. 

Two shots rang out and the wolf was hit. It reared back and leapt over her, gunning for Dean. 

Y/N flipped over in the mud and tried to get up to help him, but her arms gave out and she sank down, her face cradled by the soft grass. 

One more blast from the gun and she heard the monster fall. Boots splashed through the mud and she felt Dean’s warmth as he fell to his knees beside her. 

Big hands turned her carefully and Dean scanned her face. Her eyes were rolling, her lips curled into the sweetest smile. 

“No. No. No.” His bottom lip trembled as he peeled back her jacket and saw the damage. Her chest was torn, her stomach ripped open and gushing blood. He pressed his hand into her middle and she cried out. 

Pain spread through her at his touch and then subsided. 

She grabbed at his arm, wrapping her fingers around the canvas sleeve. 

“I… I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Her voice was quaking as badly as his hand and he closed his eyes, shook his head.  

“No.” 

She smiled, laughed a little. “Yeah.” 

Again, he shook his head, refusing to let her go. “No.” He sat up a bit, craned his neck over the tall grass. “Bobby! Somebody! Help!” 

Weakly, she lifted a hand to his face and guided his gaze back down to her. 

“Hey. It’s OK.” 

He raged inside. Grit his teeth. “It’s not OK!” 

Blood rushed beneath his hand like a dam had burst on a river. Her skin paled, her eyelids fluttered. 

His heart raced, breath quickened. “Please don’t. Don’t leave. Please.” 

Her shoulders twitched inward and the pain returned. She cringed but kept her smile, unwilling to go out like some terrified victim, some damsel in distress. 

“Dean…” She pet his cheek, wiped away a hot tear. 

“Please.” 

“Do you remember when we met?” 

He chewed his lip, closed his eyes, and took a breath. 

“Yeah, Y/N/N. Of course I do.” 

Her fingers tensed on his cheek. “You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. You still are.” 

“Don’t say goodbye to me, Y/N/N. You can’t.” He turned his face and kissed her palm, grabbed her wrist with both bloody hands and kissed her fingertips, kissed her knuckles, kissed every inch. “You can’t leave me.” 

With her free hand, she tugged at the chain around her neck and pulled the necklace free. 

“Here. Take this back,” she whispered, hardly able to spare the breath to speak any longer. 

Dean gasped and dropped her hand, ran his fingertips over the old lug nut pendant. “You… you still have this? After all this time?” 

She laughed painfully. “Of course I do, you idiot. I never take it off.” 

He closed a fist around it and shut his eyes, trying to erase the tears and be strong for her. It was all ending and he knew it. She had just moments left and he couldn’t let her go without letting her know the truth. 

“It’s my good luck charm,” she said under a harsh breath. She coughed and the taste of iron flooded her mouth. She swallowed it down and held on. 

“Didn’t do you much good today.” 

She smiled and closed her hand around his. 

“I’ve always loved you, ya know. You… you were always it for me, Dean. Always. I’ve… I’ve loved you since that first day by the stream. I’ve never not loved you. I just need you to know that.” 

He shuddered, sucked in an uneasy breath. “I knew, Y/N/N,” he confessed. “I always knew. I… I love you, too. So fucking much.” 

Her eyes lit up for a second and she shook her head sadly. The tears broke free and refused to leave. 

“Then why? Why didn’t-” 

She couldn’t finish the words, but he understood. 

He pressed his hand lightly to her forehead and smiled. “Come on. I’ve told you a thousand times, Y/N/N. I don’t deserve someone like you.” 

He leaned down, held her cheek, kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. 

Y/N closed her eyes, safe in his arms, and felt the sweet pull of sleep yank at her limbs. 

“Shut up, Dean,” she whispered. 

He laughed gently. 

She smiled. 

He would be OK.

Dean stared into the fire, watching through bloodshot eyes as the flames licked at her silhouette. 

Her necklace gleamed in the pyre’s glow and he closed his fist around it, holding it tight. Despite the heat of the fire, the metal was cold against his palm. 

She was really gone. 

She’d been there almost his entire life, always at his side when he called, always there to stitch him back together. But now she was gone. 

He’d watched a hundred bodies burn over the years, said goodbye to every friend he’d ever had, but this was too much. There was a piece of him gone, a wound had been carved out of his chest that would never heal. 

So many things he should have told her, so many times he’d taken her for granted. Guilt pulled at him and grief chewed at his veins. So many years wasted. So many nights he could have been alone with her, happy and loved. 

The blaze burned hot, the wood crackled. 

Dean stared silently, drowning in his pain. Forever the man she loved. Still the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. 

The boy with the green eyes.  

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[greyskyflowers]

I think it's so powerful that all the strawhats represent the ideals for a good adventure. They're the gods you'd pray to before setting off on the adventure of your Iife.

💙💙💙💙

There are things to be done before one can set out to follow adventure and hear the welcoming call of the sea. They must find and honor the Gods and Goddesses that they hope to carry on their journey.

You know exactly which ones you want to carry. You've always know.

Your parents are happy but still cry as they watch you gather your gifts and offering, their little one all grown up and ready to set sail. You assure them they have time because you're expecting it to take time to find all the ones you want to carry.

The first is easy. The sun god who plays in grassy fields and shore lines, always found under summer skies. You ask him for adventure, happiness, and the will to follow your dreams.

You leave your old hiking boots, laces fraying and heels worn but it's your favorite pair. They look well loved with a flower scribbled by your best friend on the side in faded ink, a black spot from where you got too close to the bonfire making marshmallows, and a hundred memories pressed like dirt into the soles. They've been on so many adventures with you but they can't go on this one.

You leave a photo of your family, brother and you front and center with big gap tooth smiles. It's old, years ago, and it has tape stuck on the back from hanging it on your wall but it looks perfect in the sunlight.

You leave a four leaf clover, hardly anything worth offering really, but you've always loved the idea of picking up luck on the side of the road. It feels right to leave it even though it's lost among the other flowers and grasses on the edge of the field.

The last offering is carefully wrapped in thick cream linen, a combination of dried meat and crackers. It's not a lot but the meat is from a local hunter and the crackers are your favorite.

They say this god has a big appetite and a even bigger heart.

You hope he's full when you leave.

The second god is your favorite, although you never admit favorites outloud, it's disrespectful. He's older, something ancient, and strong.

He's harder to find and you wish for your old boots by the time you find a spot worth stopping. You find him in the forest when you ask for protection, strength, and devotion.

It's dusk and everything is caught in shadows, the late summer humidity has sweat running down your face. There's dirt on your hands and some blood from where a very aggressive stick got in a hit but you feel like he'd approve.

You settle on a flat stone under a fallen tree, tangled in moss and ivy.

You leave a bottle of rum. It's old, dusty, although you tried to wipe all the age off earlier with the hopes of making it look more expensive than it actually was. The bottle is pretty though and fits well in the hand.

You leave rain water, caught from a downpour last night and sweet on the tongue when you went outside to collect it.

You leave a old pocket knife, confident in the offering but hesitant in how it will be received. It's small, hardly even the size of your palm, and it's dull from age and broken. But it was your great grandfather's and you think it's spirit will be happier here than tucked away in a box.

You leave incense, the smell of something warm and earthy. The humidity has made everything too wet to worry about it catching but you still sit with it for a bit while it smokes before gently putting it out and leaving.

You get home later than planned and your mom scolds you, but laughs when you tell her you got lost on the way back. She knows exactly who you went to see.

The third is a goddess, known for good fortune and guidance. She lounges in sunbeams and chases lighting, gold hanging from her wrists.

It's storming when you visit her but the hair on your arm stands up more as a greeting than a warning.

The little stream at your feet will quickly become a river, and once the rain dries it will go back to a small dip in the ground. Right now though, it's all her.

You leave a gold coin, not worth much but you made it shine as bright as it could. It gleams even under the storm clouds.

You leave a broken compass that's always stuck pointing north. It makes you think of the stars and specifically the northern one that always hangs in the sky over your house, and you hope this will be accepted.

You offer a orange, which looks oddly out of place next to the dark, wet earth and grey skies. It's ripe and beautiful, you picked the prettiest one you could find.

The edge of the stream is growing wider, carefully pulling at the offerings like it's curious.

You leave without looking back, they'll find their way to where they need to go.

The fourth god always has good hiding spots, some people having never even found a good place to leave his offerings.

He's steadiness and bravery, the children say he tells them wonderful stories when they get scared at night.

This one is odd and you debate where to find him. You shouldn't have worried though. The answer, it turns out, is right under your nose. Literally.

You bed is hardly off the ground, just enough to shove some things under when you don't feel like cleaning. It was big enough to hide all the monsters when you were little though and maybe, just maybe, it's big enough to hide a god.

You offer the book your mom always read you when you were little. It's not the same book since you no longer have that one, but this will work. You hope he likes it enough to read it to the children he comforts at night.

You leave a small, potted plant. It honestly has a better chance of life with a god than to stay in your hands. You can practically feel the poor thing give a sigh of relief to be free of you. It's kind of ugly, prickly, and oddly colored, but you love it. You hope this God has a better green thumb than you.

The last is another non physical offering. You smile and suggest a game. You offer two truths and a lie.

That night you think of everything that scared you when you were little and you fall asleep to dreams overrun with old fears.

The offerings are gone when you wake up and you had the oddest dream about a man with a ridiculous nose who asks for two truths and a lie.

The fifth god is a little harder and it takes a while before you find someone who welcomes you into their kitchen.

It feels odd to ask a stranger but the man is happy and curious at the request. He's not someone you know well but you've seen him around the town before. He's the only one you know who still has a spot in his kitchen for a fire and uses it.

He asks a lot of questions at first but you find it easy to get carried away in the conversation. The food is almost ready when you remember why you came.

You apologize for the inconvenience but he waves you off, watching as you carefully set your offerings just off to the side of the hearth.

You leave fresh, baked bread. It's not very pretty because you've never been very good at the visual part of cooking, but it tastes good. You added in some honey from the beekeeper down the road and it's just the right amount of sweet.

You leave a small cup of salt water. You're not sure why that one feels right but it does. The glass makes the water look blue and it's like a small part of the sea.

The last is a old note from a past girlfriend. It's worn from where it's been folded, the ink almost gone in the creases and the edges soft. You haven't been able to bring yourself to get rid of it and passing it on seems easier.

They say this God is a lover, a admirer of passion, and fullness for life. You hope he appreciates all the love you have left for him.

The old man insists on sharing his dinner with you so you leave full and with a laugh still laying on your lips.

The hearth is empty when you glance back.

The sixth one is always a fun god to find, known for playfulness and good health. The frozen grass crunches under your feet and a deer watches you curiously before darting back into the timber.

The garden is frozen and dead now but that's okay, there's life in the roots for next spring.

You leave your offerings by the garden gate, next to where the ginger and lavender grow.

You offer flowers from the garden, ones just found and still covered in the first frost. They're a little more brown then you had hoped but the frost was a little late this year. They look beautiful edged in white though.

You leave a handful of berries, a mix of your favorite. The blackberries stain your hand purple and the blueberries are round, rolling a little before you get them all gathered.

You leave a small tea candle. This one you leave burning, it's small and will go out quickly in the cold. It's white, and smells like peppermint. Memories of being coaxed into taking cold medicine cross your mind.

You hope the scent makes him think of healing, of being cared for, rather than sickness.

The seventh goddess is wisdom and grace, beauty in darkness, and the library loves her. They encourage offerings, more than happy to see you when you stop by one winter evening.

Your nose is red and your cheeks burn but you smile as the librarian fusses over you and goes to get you a towel to dry snowflakes from your hair.

It's quiet with her gone and the little corner behind the first shelf catches your eye.

The spot is warm, even with it being by the wall, and you place your gifts down.

You leave your favorite book. It's worn, the cover scratched and torn, notes inside from over the years. Part of your soul is stuck in those pages. All the times you were lonely and would read to forget for a bit, all the sleepless nights where curling up to read would eventually lead to drifting off in uncomfortable positions, it's all in this book.

You leave warm tea. The cup is something you bought second hand but it's beautiful with hand painted flowers and a rim like gold. The tea is your favorite, not caffeinated but soothing. The warmth from the thermos thaws your hands as you fill the cup.

The last offering is a little different but you think she'll like it. The secret leaves your mouth quietly and rushed, something you've never spoke aloud or told anyone before. Telling her has your chest feeling lighter and life fills you lungs.

The librarian comes back with a towel and a small smile to the offerings before urging you to sit down and stay awhile.

The eighth god you find down at the docks, tucked away between boats and building materials. He's creativity and creation.

The spot you settle on is a little quieter than the main walk ways and you feel less like your being observed.

The wood is soaked with salt water from the tides when you set down your offerings.

You leave a nail, old and brown. You pulled it from the walls of your home, the same one you grew up in. It's from the foundation of who you are and what made you. It's a little bent, a little odd, but it represents home.

You leave a firework, a small one you stole from your brother before he could set it off somewhere he shouldn't. It's just a simple one that will pop and sparkle for a few moments but those are your favorite kind.

The last offering is a soda. You spent a little more money and got something special. It's sealed in a skinny glass bottle and bubbles slide along the side when you move it. It's made with the good sugar, a treat that you don't often allow yourself.

You leave with knees damp from the wet wood and end up spending a good part of the day talking to the workers and breathing in the sea air.

The ninth god is for perseverance and hope, and he's sad in some ways.

You find him in the cemetery under a old cypress tree. It feels a little lonely so you decide to sit for awhile, you don't have anything else to do. You offer your gifts while you sit.

You leave a silk handkerchief that you painstakingly made yourself. It's bone white and the edges are ruffled. You're very proud of it and you ignore how your finges feel the phantom prinks of a sewing needle.

You offer a bowl of ice and salt. This might be one of the oddest gifts you've given and you're not completely sure how you even got the idea. It's a pretty offering. The little, metal bowl you found has frosted up from the ice and left little sections of frost here and there. The salt is melting the ice faster than you thought though and the melted water is murky where it's mixed. You kind of give up on the gift after looking it over, offering a apology and using your nail to draw small animals in the frost. One side has a lion, a mane of little lines from his slightly oval shaped head. The other side has a whale, a large blob drawn with a small little tail.

The final offering is following your growing trend of verbal offerings. It's a joke. A really bad one you heard from your dad and even telling it makes you groan, but it also makes you laugh until your stomach hurts.

You leave with graveyard dirt stuck to the back of your thighs and a song you don't remember hearing stuck in you head.

With all your offerings given and your heart ready, you go back to the beginning.

The field is in full bloom and the grass reaches up to your waist. The small drop off at the far side hides a shoreline that's perfect for watching the storms roll in or the sun kiss the horizon. Your feet hang off the ledge over the sand just high enough from the ground to swing them.

The sea calls your name and it sounds welcoming.

💙💙💙💙

Listen when I tell you this ran away from me I mean it. I wrote this in-between tasks at work so please ignore any mistakes because let me tell you my fingers were speeding to keep up with my head.

[meli-writes]

Mechismo - No. 04 /// Hit List

(First) / (Previous)

The broken war-machine falls to its knees, embroidered with a hot-white trim in the three perfect holes of its precious, now-former, systems; spilled out, as black smoke, except for its heart.

That falls out after.

“Hey. Princess,” you say to her, brass hard-but-hollow, the used shells her imperial-blonde hair rushes into, as she breathes into the dirt pushed underneath painted nails, as boots tread on them before she can reach for her pistol.

“You,” she snarls, twisting on bent limbs. “Fucking asshole I’ll— Hey!”

You hoist her up at an elbow, till her few, furious trembles collapse into a copacetic dangle and watch a local, mouse-analogous species squeeze itself under some muddy shrapnel.

“Princess”, you mutter, “you wanna live. So you’re gonna yield to me, okay?” And that’s rhetorical, because ‘deathwish’ isn’t in her—

“Not a chance in His hells,” she shrieks, kneeing herself free, and reaches — not for her holster, which is still full — but for your face. Crack! You catch it after, bring it behind her back to lock in re-used, disposable cuffs. “I can… I can take care of myself,” she protests.

“I know. That’s the problem — I won’t let you hurt my people.” You yank her back, till she trips and is left leaning on you, “Now yield.”

“No,” she squeals, “why would I ever trust you again?”

You trusted me?

Fuck, Princess. You’re dense as tungsten-tips.

You baulk at her, unseen from behind, and reswallow the budding softness before she feels it, “Cos these guys will bleed you out for fun. And I’ll let them, if I have to.”

There’s a wet shuffle-over-fallen-log, the familiar pitter-patter of light, temperate rain on plastic poncho. Another hunter who’ll see her in a moment. So you rock her around, without mind to the furious look painted like camo on her face, and take her at the small of her back — and pull her into a kiss.

“Fuck— it really is,” the hunter starts to mutter, before the words catch in his throat.

You know him; too new not to take it by-the-book, not too dumb not to listen to you when it counts. “Sir, what’s happening?” he asks.

You have to make this count.

“What? She’s a pretty thing, ain’t she?” you muse, as if you’ve pinned her to the wall for nabbing extra rations, and not—

He’s got his rifle over his shoulder; tall-as-him, rounds as big as her cock; is too drilled to not be gentle with it. He’d seize up if you drew on him, and it’d take him too long to respond in kind. “I had a thing with her back in the royal college.”

“Uh huh — before you betrayed me,” she cuts in, and you will her to shut-up and wonder if she still loves fingers squib-loaded down her throat.

“Before they realised I was a saboteur, Princess,” you remind her, though her eyes look the same as the first time she realised it. “We were never on the same side.”

“Never on mine,” she hisses, her own heart fallen out too. “Trying to fake your own death and blaming it on me…”

You would fill into the silence, And it would’ve kept you away, and, Still you found me, if you weren’t aware of the audience, so stuff yourself with unload pride, “Offered to take you with me, didn’t I?”

She looks like she’s gonna cook-off, “You don’t know what I was—”

“Sir,” he reminds, and you look at him; realise he is gentle, because his rifle is kick-stood on the ground and you didn’t hear that. His hand rests on his holder, “She’s on the hit list.”

Pilots to be put down. Machines to scorch, so no one else can use them.

Pilots like assassins, in their bonded semi-mechs; merchant third-sons with an insecurity to smother in bodies and merc hires; and ex-noble fuck-ups with nothing left but what they can prove.

Pilots like her, who’ve seen the gun and are nuzzling into your shoulder so deep you can hear the little killer’s loose heart pressed between your chest and hers.

“Look— Fuck— I— I yield,” she whimpers.

You run a hand up her back, to rake through her hair and tip her back.

“Then scrap the mech,” you say past her, looking in her eyes and slipping to her that same fear, before swelling viciously upon her desperate sweetness, “I’m not done with this one.”

---

(Masterpost)

[oblivions-dawn]

It's Time

HELLO. IT HAS BEEN . . . SOME TIME. No, I am not dead--just annoyingly busy, and that makes finding the motivation and inspiration to write increasingly . . . . difficult. Alas, 'tis no matter, because I've decided I'll share not only some of the next chapter, but also a bit of another project involving my Hagraven, a certain Daedric Prince, and perhaps a housecarl. No, not the one you're thinking of. As for the next chapter of Breathless . . . for those of you that are caught up, well . . . . . >:3c Let's just say I have plans. I was tagged by @thequeenofthewinter @hircines-hunter @umbracirrus and @bostoniangirl21 and in return I tag . . . @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @stormbeyondreality @fallen-chances and . . . YOU <3 Enjoy my nonsense hehe

            A lone bird of prey circled the skies of the Reach, high above the Druadach Mountains. Alarmed gazes followed its dark flight, curious fingers pointed at its monolithic shadow, hushed whispers warbled with dreadful recognition. Craichnithrenn, they called it—a creature unworthy to be crowned umacrann, like all other hagravens made matriarch. It was other; it was rotten; it was dangerous.

            The carrion soon tired of its graceful morning glide and plummeted towards the craggy lands below. Wings unfurled; taloned digits splayed to grasp the ground with ease. It ruffled and preened its beautiful ebony plumage—so black that it merely swallowed the rays of the sun—then stalked forward, a small unassuming hut nestled between the remnants of ancient stone ruins.

            The moment it crossed the threshold, its silhouette shifted; a guttural hiss gushed from its throat as its body elongated and expanded into a human shape—until, half-transformed, something snapped. A sharp wail cut through the air, and the creature collapsed to the floor.

            They were stuck, trapped between bird and mortal. Even to broken wings, flesh was a twisted and unforgiving cage, and they would not yield to the change so easily. Every raspy breath was a dagger that sank deeper into their chest, a thousand needles dancing across their feathered, puckered skin.

            “You poor thing.”

            Another breath—the pain dulled, then slowly trickled away. Bones shuddered and creaked back into place: wings became arms, the beak receded, feathers shrunk, legs lengthened. Clawed feet uncurled as long crooked fingers loosened their grip.

            Raeyla’szah lifted her head.

-----

            “Yeah, I think I’ve seen your lizard friend—near that creepy door, by the old ruins. It’s just off the road past Falkreath; you can’t miss it.”

            Vigdis lurked warily by the jagged rocks that formed the Black Door’s natural alcove. It wasn’t ideal; she was exposed to the misty rain of the gentle storm that brewed overhead, and the needles on the tall evergreens did nothing to shield her from it. Her sharp ice-blue eyes constantly scanned the dirt road, her ears strained to listen for any signs of life.

            Although she hadn’t been there long, her patience was already worn immeasurably thin, and she had half a mind to knock. Just as an aggravated sigh left her lips, she heard the door groan open. Low mumbles floated through the air, mingling with rustling armour and shuffling feet. The hunter shifted impatiently and drew closer in an attempt to discern the conversation—

            A twig snapped beneath her boot. The voices hushed; silence immediately enveloped the atmosphere. With an annoyed flare of her freckled nostrils, she stepped out—

            Only for the jagged edge of a dagger to press against her throat.

            “You’re either really brave,” a familiar voice hissed, “or really, really stupid.”

            Vigdis rolled her eyes at the thinly veiled threat, then turned her head. Tanzanite eyes widened instantly in bewildered recognition.

            “Viggy?”

            The hunter snarled. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

[hisuianhellion]

An End to the Endless Sea

Violence. Blood. Death. Eldritch imagery/themes. You have been warned.

But you have also been invited to see a being of immense power fall to a beast of its own creation. The Crimson Beast is here. And she's not letting her prey escape.

Should you see an underlined word or phrase, do be sure to click it as well. It'll give you abundant context should you not be aware of Bloodborne.

There was a sense of potency to the air... The Crimson Beast settled herself upon a small hill overlooking the pleasant sway of waves. The rain had cleared from the realm, the quieting of the soft sobs of an orphan having managed to settle the skies in turn. A momentary reprieve as the clouds ceased their assault upon the emotions of the world itself. Aryn sat quietly beside the water's edge, the smooth caress of the waves a sound to match as he let a cloth run down his Bowblade. Bloodied, but not too badly battered, the other beastly Hunter peered up towards Crimson in silence as she stared unblinkingly towards the sea.

She was not a human, much like him, but Beasthood had "claimed" her in a way that none but two had ever visibly held any control over. Her fur was the color of the blood she had been bathed in countless times over, a deep red that settled upon her body with a flow not unlike the water abound. Her snout upturned, uncovered by the cowl she had used for the nights prior, bright blue eyes piercing through the overcast evening view of the open ocean despite one having a faint cover of a cloud upon itself. The hat she had worn for her stays in Yharnam had settled rather easily between her wolfish ears, and as she stood gradually, her body shifted to make sure her Hunter's Garb was still firmly upon it. Having a known tailor in the Dream made for an easy adjustment as she slipped her black cowl back on.

Aryn was wordless as he watched her begin to approach. The ease at which she moved, even with one of her eyes functioning in a less than ideal way, was always confident. Always lacking fear. Always exuding authority. Her hand reached over to the open air around the edge of the water as she passed by her companion for this Hunt, and grasped onto the open air. She knew the shade had been there. Aryn had cleaved it cleanly out of mercy to let the child rest... she simply had to make sure.

But her trek forward stayed firm. The wolfish Hunter quietly let her heels step along the water in front of them, shallow as it was. The sounds of the crashing waves was light thanks to the movement of the sea before them being calm... Anticipation was welling in Crimson's breast as she continued to walk forward. She knew what she was feeling. Her eyes were focused ahead. Her body was stalwart and steady. And even as the water deepened the further she walked...

Her stature never lowered. She stayed upon the surface. Her boots softly stamped down along the water, faint splashes of salty mist pushing up from each step while she ventured forward. But eventually... she stopped. A peer upwards to stare into the iris of the celestial sky above her, and the wind began to calm, ceasing in mere moments to allow a deathly quiet air to settle upon the beast. She didn't know how far she had walked. All she knew was that open water was in front of her, beside her, below her.

Below her... She knew what she was feeling. Her eyes ticked down. And she saw herself.

Freckles dotted a pale, sun-starved complexion. Bedraggled hair, never brushed but always combed, draped along her face with the peak of a light brown ponytail visible as the woman compared herself to her reflection. A light teal hoodie, too large but perfectly sized, blanketed her other self's torso. Glasses upon her eyes revealed a blue gaze matching Crimson's own, but the exhaustion in the mirror was apparent.

Crimson knew what she was feeling.

She slowly let her hand reach down. Her reflection matched. She knelt, placing a hand upon the water, palm to paw. The bottom of the sea could not be seen. Only two roses, plucked from their bush and forced to live in ways they couldn't dream of enjoying. One made it work. The reflection she saw was languishing... but could help.

Crimson nodded and loosened her arm to allow it to lay limp upon the water.

Rose gave a smile in response, her hand reaching out to grab onto Crimson's wrist.

The motion was smooth. Like gliding through air, the plunge held no friction. The sound of diving down pushed through the wolf's body as she was torn into the sea, her form subtly shifting as she descended. Her eyes stayed open as she squinted to let the surface tension settle while she was pulled under. Bubbles flicked about her body and through the water to flicker back to the surface... but as she felt herself falling...

So too did the bubbles' re-ascent towards open air stop. The other Rose was gone. In her place... was Crimson. A human once more. Her hair a bright red, yes, but her skin was once again light, her cheeks capable of feeling the water caress them easier, her hands gloved once more with no claws to be wary of.

Crimson felt herself float there for what felt like an eternity. Before her feet found purchase again. A glance down... and she saw the surface of the water. It accepted her. It welcomed her. It trapped her, her feet now standing upon a ceiling that should've been above.

Quietly, she peered about at the bubbles around her, warbling and flickering. Shimmering quietly in the light from below settling in... before they gradually began to shift down and away surface. Or rather, "upwards" towards the depths. Her perspective had flipped. As above, so below, her eyes peering up as her breathing stayed steady in the endless sea. One would've expected an abyss as they looked to its depths.

She simply saw the open water for what it truly was. And she knew what she was feeling as the stars above twinkled. They flitted about like bubbles searching for a surface, the colors of the sky unyielding in their beauty with hues the human language had yet to find descriptions for. Scarlet reds like her own fur, vibrant blues like her own eyes, purples and yellows and greens and oranges. Nebulae stretching out, curling around her sight and body to embrace her in the heat of the stars that granted this beauty. The stars themselves shimmered and bounced, moving as if dancing to the command of their canvas' painter. Planets twisted and turned in a slow ballet, Crimson's step allowing one to float by without interruption. Celestial bodies upon a painter's framed artwork...

And Crimson's eyes locked into one place to find the artist herself. A nebula. One pulled into a perfect iris, peering down from the center of it all.

That iris blinked. Kos. Kosm. The cosmos shifted, light warping around and below it. The painter had been watching. Waiting. Seeking to sway and swim about and claim yet another to her own bosom of control. But Crimson was not hers.

Death cannot be abided.

Crimson tilted her head as the voice, soft and somber, spoke like a song reaching her ears for the first time. The Hunter quietly began to approach as she settled a large, wrapped blade upon her shoulder. She knew this feeling.

Death has no place here.

Crimson's eyes squinted gently as she swiped a hand along the blade's edge. Moonlight from the cosmos around them clung to the metal to create a cutting edge far more shimmering than before, its size expanding as the Hunter continued to stalk towards her prey. This feeling was stronger than ever.

You and your kin are a curse. A force incapable of understanding its place.

"Only for gods incapable of understanding their 'lessers'."

Crimson truly knew what she was feeling. Her purpose in clear, crystalline clarity in front of herself.

She was Death. And Death could reach even the gods if change could not happen without their removal, her blade being pulled back and thrust upwards towards the god in her sights. It pierced. Pale blood spattered into the open water, fading just as soon as it had appeared.

The song began.

A siren's lament. A beast's rage. A bullet struck along the cosmic entity's arm as they swung their body to strike at Crimson. A guttural roar followed as her blade struck upwards to deflect the attack, swinging her body around to slam the moonlit edge into the back of the passing tail.

A mother's anguish. Another's fury. A call sounded out as Kos' waving hands clapped towards Crimson. Every star visible immediately shot down from beyond their limits to attempt to pierce through the intruder. One potently clipped the Hunter's shoulder, a grunt following before she countered with her own Call Beyond. And yet, the blasts did not come from her. They instead obeyed her in much the same way they had for Kosm... and all met their mark.

A god's fear. A usurper's righteousness. The cosmos were impartial, but unending. The massive god's hand gripped upon a nearby planet, swinging her arm smoothly to settle afterimages of it before her. A potent blue glow ripped along them all as they were flung viciously towards Crimson with reckless abandon. A shift to the side. A duck underneath. A prompt dispelling of the blade's potency as she tugged out her pistol and, as Kos attempted to slam down into the Hunter's body with her fists aglow with energy... a single bullet pierced the god's head.

Kos slumped, stunned at the impact as white blood splattered outwards into the water. And Crimson capitalized. Her arm pulled back. Claws reformed along her hand, piercing through the gloves as she snarled harshly. She thrust, jamming her entire fist sharply into the neck and upper chest of the cosmic being before her. She inhaled slowly. She gripped just as gradually.

"Death cannot abide a god that cannot allow the world to change... Sleep."

She ripped.

Blackness. Abyssal blackness. A void of nothing immediately greeted Crimson's eyes while she peered upwards. No stars. No planets. Nothing. A look at her hand... it was gloved once more. She looked about quietly to her sides. Nothing. She glanced below her. Nothing. She sighed out, that same tired expression her reflection showed settling upon her cheeks. Gently, she held onto her blade, stroking a finger along its edge. The runes upon it shimmered, and she quietly closed her eyes.

It only made sense. If you kill the cosmos... they vanish.

A look upwards, and she sighed out in thought, her grip on the blade tightening as she felt her lip quiver.

She just wanted to be free of it. Free of all of this. Free to explore without fear of losing herself... of losing those she felt her bonds developing with.

She just wanted to survive for the night.

She just wanted to live.

She slowly reached out, the adrenaline beginning to settle away as her cheeks tingled. Her eyes watered. Her hand grasped at the void, but never found purchase.

Crimson's hand settled above her, visible to none but herself in the glow of her blade's light, palm upturned. Like Gehrman. Like Maria. In an open prayer one last time. The one god that could even hear it, though, was dead... with only a Hunter remaining--

A clawed hand ripped down. "GOTCHA--" Breaching the surface of the water, it grasped directly onto her wrist, allowing her to latch on instinctively in return as her eyes widened promptly. She went to speak... and water filled her lungs immediately, bubbles of her air pushing up as she was yanked cleanly out of the sea's embrace and tugged up into Aryn's arms. "Crimson? Shit, she's waterlogged--" His voice sounded almost distant for a moment before she gave a prompt lurch forward.

Her hands hit the water, then sunk underneath of it, claws visible to her as she immediately expelled what water was within her. It spewed out messily and wetly into the open, salty expanse about, and she shuddered as she rolled onto her side. Her snout was visible again to her eyes, a sign that she was back in her beastly form. She panted softly in response, blinking as Aryn checked over her intently. His eyes scanned, his hands searched for injuries, and Crimson panted idly as the exhaustion finally began to settle in.

"... I think... she's gone..." Her eyes peered down for a moment, a cough racking her body in a quake. "... for better or... fuh-... for worse." Aryn paused his field medic assault with a bell in his hand, only to slowly lean back and smile a bit knowingly.

"I think I might lean towards 'better'. Look." A point upwards let Crimson's eyes adjust to the difference. There was no more iris. There was no more cloud cover in the least.

Only a broad open sky with the stars shimmering brightly and the cosmos' dance allowed to continue. She hadn't ended them.

She had freed them.

[inyri]

❛ why does it feel like this is goodbye? ❜ from the sentence starters 👀

 (I’m not sure if we’ll get here in long form- I’d thought so once, but given the current pace of my writing I suspect I’ll bring Equivalent Exchange to a natural close before we reach this point in the story, then continue Nine and Theron’s tale in shorter pieces. It's a bit of a cheat, but that's authorial prerogative for you.

Something lost is found. SWTOR. Nine/Theron.)

*

She sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Theron as he scuffs nervously at the floor with the toe of his boot. (Stars, she’s missed this bed, missed this whole apartment even if she doesn’t miss the Kaasi rain falling in sheets against the windows or the periodic assassination attempts- but ah, the view from the balcony toward the sea-)

“You look,” she finally says, considering his expression carefully, “like the tooka that ate the bulabird. What exactly did you do while I was off with Acina?”

He turns to make sure the door’s closed before he answers. “Oh, you know. Took a tour of the place. Sliced a few things- databases, mostly. Census data. Population records. The Intelligence database, for about ten seconds.”

“You-” she chokes. The fact that he’s still standing here means he probably got away with it, but- “I thought I told you to behave yourself. If they figure out what you did- I know you’re not keen on parallel work with the Empire, Theron-”

“I didn’t get caught.” He rolls his eyes and rummages in his jacket pocket for his commpad. “I didn’t get caught last time either, for what it’s worth, but I did find what I was looking for.” 

(Last time? That’s- oh, lovely brilliant reckless idiot boy, he’s going to get himself into far more trouble than she can fix one of these years.)

She raises an eyebrow as he holds the commpad out toward her. 

“I found you.”

She gestures up and down along her body. “Of course you did. I’m right here. I know that mess with Lorman looked like a near enough miss, but-”

Theron shakes his head vehemently, pressing it into her hand and curling her fingers closed around it. “No, you don’t understand. I found you- pre-Cipher you. In the archives.”

“Impossible.” Or it ought to have been; after Hunter she’d watched the Minister purge her file with her own eyes and even then there was nothing left of an old life in it, nothing left but a ghost. The Ghost. “Not in the Intelligence database. They burn all that out when we CIpher.”

“Not in the Intelligence database, no.” He crouches down next to her as her heart twists in her chest. It ought to have been impossible. It ought to have been. “But I followed a thread from the personnel records, and then another and then another and then I found this. Imperial Academy prospective cadet interview number 00-828317. Locked subfolder, but-” he shrugs.    

The number doesn’t hurt. They didn’t take that from her, before, but there’s a pressure building behind her eyes- too close to something that they did, then. Far too close. She takes a deep breath. “Did you see it?”

“Only the first few seconds, and not with audio- didn’t want Lana to notice before I could pull it off the network. She looks like you, though.” 

“I suppose she would.” She lets the commpad settle on her lap, looks down at it like it might bite. (It might.) 

After a moment Theron stands. “I should go. You don’t have to decide if you want to watch it now- I shouldn’t have assumed-” 

“No,” she says, reaches up for his hand without looking and her fingers lace through his. “Stay.”

He sits down beside her; she presses play. 

[she is eleven years old.

she is eleven years old and wearing a white blouse and a black skirt and her hair in two neat plaits down her back and she is standing, hands folded, in front of a table where four men and a woman sit in identical uniforms, backs to the camera. 

we’ll begin, says the man second from right. please state your name for the record.

she nods, and opens her mouth. mustn’t smile too much or they’ll think she’s silly, mustn’t pull at her plait or at her shirtsleeves, mustn’t-]

(oh Void oh Void oh Void it HURTS and he holds on to her- should I stop it? I can stop it- and she shakes her head furiously so he just keeps holding on)

[yes, sir, she says. it is important to show respect, father said. my name is N-]

It’s impossible. It’s impossible. 

It’s her name. 

She does stop the recording then, not because she wants to but because she’s going to bleed all over his damned commpad if she doesn’t. Her nose drips down onto her shirt until she pinches it closed and then she turns her head toward Theron as he mutters apology after apology into the top of her head. “I had a feeling,” she murmurs, “that was going to happen.”

“So that’s your name? N-” he almost says it aloud but stops himself, free hand pressed against his mouth. “Stars, I'm sorry. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“It may get easier with time. We can try more of the video later- I only remember a little bit. I thought it might all come back at once, but-”

Theron nods. “I hope so- that it gets easier, I mean. That it comes back. But your name, it… it suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah.” He kisses her hair, then her forehead, then the tip of her nose beneath her still-pinching fingers. “Though it’s weird- why does this almost feel like a goodbye?”

“To Cipher Nine? No. it's not-” she shakes her head. “It’s- hello, Theron Shan. My name-” she breathes in and the pain lessens and it wouldn’t matter anyway, all the pain in the universe would be worth it to see that look on his face again and again- “is Nyriala.”

[amrass]

Fanfiction updates and excerpts 06.16.24

Happy summer, everyone! The worst season lol. Late spring was intense and I'm still recovering, but we're experiencing a lot of nice rain, and I am engorging myself on coffee and books :)

I miiight open up for RDR2 oneshot requests sometime later this summer or early autumn, under a collection - or a fic at Ao3, most likely - called Barbwired Tumbleweed. So watch this space!  

As always, most of the fics underneath the cut are explicit and rather dark, with a focus on Morbell and Drisbell.

Main projects: 

Salt part 16+. Colm/Micah. Sugar daddy AU. Dark.

While carrying a large barrel of moonshine of his wiry, but considerably strong body, Toothpick paused beside Micah. He looked him over from head to toe, making him feel weirdly slimy.

"What do you want?" 

"Oh nothing, really. Just admiring Colm's taste, that's all."

"Not everyone can fuck their way to the top," Daniel commented, breaking the staring contest between them. Micah snarled at the implications, lighting himself a smoke and breathing like a dragon.

"That puts you two boys in the same boat, doesn't it? One boy for each brother. Oh, I like our bosses, I really, really do."

.

The Lost and the Lethal part 3. Gen? Biker AU in the 90s.

"Listen," Hosea began. "Bringing back this bad stuff with Annabelle, it's obviously meant to antagonize you."

"Damn right it antagonizes me," Dutch muttered.

"Only if you let it," Hosea said, tone sharp until the Duke meowed in irritation. Hosea petted him and said, more quietly, "You're good at ignoring Arthur when he's had too much to drink, no matter how much crap he comes up with. Use some of that skill for this." 

"Hey," Arthur said, feeling less like a sergeant at arms sitting between the president and vice president of a biker club, and more like a kid dragged into the quarrel of his parents.

.

These Days part 3. Arthur/Micah. Biker AU in the 00s.

He turned the water to its coldest setting. He'd done that often, before, so he didn't expect the dizziness when it came. Nearly falling, he grasped the wall to keep his balance. 

Legs shaking, he glared at the shower chair. 

"Fuck you," he said, and then laughed at himself for cursing a piece of furniture. The laughter was bitter, and he didn't let go off the wall. If shower chairs could gaze, this one did so somberly and purply. 

.

Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill. Arthur/Micah. A sequel to Through the Wilderness. Micah is a bounty hunter, hunted by Arthur, who has survived TB through the method of artificial lung collapse. Dark.

"But I guess that was a while ago. Last time I saw you, I didn't think you'd pull through! All skin and bones now, but better than all blood and coughs. Is it true that they cut out one of your lungs? Leave it up to a creature like you to beat a thing that kills most men. Better men, some would say. Not me." 

Let that silver-tongued bastard talk. Let him stall the massacre in the saloon. Let him put fuel to Arthur's rage so it'll burn them both.

"My boys tell campfire stories about you, you know. They say you take the shape of a big black dog, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the scent of blood. Can you smell it right now? We're planning to do some hunting soon. We're real good at it, too, cause you've been picking off the boys who ain't worthy of following me."

.

Slug. O'Driscoll Gang/Micah. Biker AU in the 80s. VERY DARK.

"Easy, baby," Toothpick says as if cutting the hair of a pet, not slicing up boxers. As soon as he steps back to look at his handiwork, Micah closes his thighs and pulls his knees to the side, hating to be exposed. The position remains awkward, all the duct tape on him leaving him in a sort of standing kneel rather than anything stable.

"Adorable." Toothpick puts the knife back in his boot. He begins toying with the waistline of the sweatpants, showing off the outline of an erection. Slowly, he reveals himself only to hide himself again, like he's teasing a lover with something wanted.

Cheeks burning, Micah wants to look away, but the tape keeps his head fixed in place. He's vaguely aware of Prince Albert piercings being a thing, but he's never seen one in person until now.

"You like it?" A step closer. Every muscle in Micah's body tenses. "It doesn't have to hurt," Toothpick croons. "Will it be your first? I like introducing boys to this very important part of life."

.

LOL what an excerpt to end with ... Ngl Slug might be my best work. Anyway, that's it! I'll probably be working on these until autumn :)

Hope you're all are doing great!

[thevillainsguild]

Hunter 2 - Pathogen - Begin

>Last train arrived at Anville Town. Please wait for the doors to fully open before stepping onto the platform.<

Doors opened and an eight foot figure ducked out of the doors, stepping onto the stone platform and looked around. The figure wore a large trenchcoat that covered their whole body, a hat that rest upon their head, and a featureless helmet with one smooth visor. Their footsteps are loud and noticable as they made their way to the stone stairs, observing the posted image of his targets face.

'In the woods.'

Walking past different tents not even caring to maneuver around those walking around looking at fliers, the tall figure arrived to where the path met the forest, and noticed in particular little speckles of spit, in the grass, he kneeled down and pinched at the grass and looked at his pitch black rubber gloves. It was pink in coloration.

'Diego.'

He didn't even need the biological readout from his visor, he knew from color and lack of care alone that that slobber belonged to him. And now he had a good sense that he was on the right track, and he made his way into the woods.

Hours later as the moonlight shined on down, the figure made his way to a patch of grass. Water soaking around his rubber boots.

'no rain. Hm.'

There was another wet patch further up ahead, someone was doing this on purpose. Even better Diego's DNA was detected in the first wet patch. Walking from patch to patch, examining the scenes, patch of grass after patch of grass, tree after tree.

Until finally the one showed up, on a single tall tree, speckles of dark brown dried up on the bark. Pathogen grabbed at the speckles, running his fingers across them.

>New DNA signature detected. Type AB, Black haired Male <

Perfect.

"You know I'm not in it for the money."

- - - - -

>Welcome to Nimbassa City, please enjoy your day<

A ringing, from one of the pockets on the coat, the figure reaches a hand in, ducking out of the train and walking past others, towering above them. And looking at the crowd, from their perspective a sea of red.

"what is it."

"you need to pull out, a third party has expressed it is very important that they capture the former Lieutenant and I've agreed to drop the fee for the next mission."

"You know I'm not in it for the money. And we both know you are." Silence on the other end of the receiver and then beep of a disconnected call. A huff comes from Pathogen before walking out of the train station, surely he was quickly trying to call the other guy by now.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Hfbndndndndndndnndndndndnfndnd

🧡🧡🧡Ori'vod congratulations again🥺🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡 you deserve all of it and more🧡🧡🧡

Luv uuuuuuu Steph🧡🧡🧡

(Saw the one you did with Hunter hfjndndnndndndnd👀🧡)

If it’s okay I would like to request something for the event too:

Fox with the dialogue prompt "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe now."

Anything else i am letting you decide. I am just in need of soft Fox holding me lol and I know for a fact that I will luv the story bfbdnndndndnndnd😂🧡

Promise

Fox x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Fox x Fem!Reader

Tags & Warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort, nightmare

Word Count: 300

Author's Note: Ness, my beloved Kih'vod 🥺 Thank you so much for sending in a request for my event. You know I would write anything for you 😘 Your wish for soft!Fox is my command, darling! I hope you like it! Please enjoy 💚

Fox ran. He ran as fast as he could, sprinting down the dark streets of Coruscant in the rain. His boots splashed in puddles of water, soaking the black fabric under his armor, but he didn’t care. He needed to get home. He needed to get to you. After he received your emergency comm, he tossed his data-pad to a corrie and left without a word.

When Thorn suddenly fell ill, Fox picked up a couple of the night shifts, which meant you were left home alone. He knew you had trouble sleeping and he knew this change would be a struggle for you, but the first few nights seemed to go well, so he didn’t worry as much. Then his worst fears came to life. You had a nightmare and he wasn’t there.

Fox pants as he enters the apartment, dropping his wet armor and kicking his boots off as he crosses the threshold and moves towards the bedroom. He opens the door to find you sitting on the floor, back leaning against the side of the bed with your head buried in your knees. Your muffled tears break his heart.

Fox drops down onto the floor next to you, pulls the duvet off the bed, and drapes it across his lap to put a barrier between you and his damp blacks. He gently shifts you onto his lap, wraps you in the blanket and holds you tight. “Shhh, cyar’ika,” Fox soothes. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

“It was so scary,” you cry with a shaky breath. Grabbing fistfuls of the duvet you bury your face into Fox’s neck for comfort. “Please, don’t leave me.” 

“I won’t leave,” Fox whispers while rubbing your back.

“Promise?” you ask.

“I promise,” he answers. “Rest here, in my arms.”

Event Masterlist

Masterlist

A03

Tag List: @nahoney22  @kixs-husband @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @verndusk @starrrgazingbunny @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @moon-wrecked @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu

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[sparrow-orion-writes]

The Omen

This prompt inspired me to write a lil bit for CS so! Here we are!

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

The ink-black lit up with a shock of blinding brightness, splitting the sky into cracked fragments above their head. Rain hit the floor with a force so great that they could only flinch at the contact to their skin, leaving red spots on bare arms.

Talk about an omen of bad luck. She'd never seen a clearer sign of land she should not be treading on.

Dea sucked in a deep breath and leaned back against the wet bark of the tree, snuggling against it as if the blistering, scratching skin, could offer some warmth to her. Ahead, she could faintly make out Aspen's thin, soaked body, indifferent to the downpour.

The light flashed across the sky, followed by a furious bellow that made her want to curl up in the dirt and screw her eyes closed. It echoed, back and forth, like a hunter stalking its prey.

Dea startled at a hand on her shoulder. She had forgotten about the siren boy, who seemed utterly calm to the heavens opening. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead what came out was a soft and soothing hum; a song that reminded her of the way her mother used to sing her to sleep. The same warmth of that memory pricked at her skin, as if song alone could battle the way her fingers seized in the biting cold.

"You will be okay," he sang sweetly. For once, it came without snark, without sarcasm, without even disdain. She imagines there are many times this boy has been cold and alone in the rain. She imagines he would not like to talk about it. "We mustn't lose Aspen, though, otherwise we will find ourselves very lost."

He held out his hand. She took it without shame or guilt, her eyes brimming with hot tears of fear as she clung to him.

Lightning struck once more, and in the distance she could see the thin wisps of gold indicating a short fire. She was thankful for the light, as brief as it was. The forest would not allow itself to burn. Not this one, anyway.

"Have you ever been into the feylands before?" she asked, clinging a hold of him as mud seized at her boots.

"No," he shook his head "...but it is just another world, different from mine, different from yours, but understandable, learnable, as anything is."

Thunder growled hungrily, the trees bending in the building winds, becoming gates and hands and walls in the process. Ever-changing, ever-moving. Aspen's form began to fade in the distance. Dea tried to shout after it, but air could hardly be found.

It needn't have mattered, anyway.

She ground to a halt with a suddenness that startled Caspian. He stood rooted beside her, waiting, watching for what she saw. There, in the distance, a light.

And then it approached with a speed unknown to her.

Caspian all but dragged her to the ground, perched behind a lichen-bathed oak tree, in time for a glorious heat to sear around them. A heat so painful she couldn't even scream. Caspian, however, wailed with a shriek that absorbed every cell in her body. She writhed in the cold mud as it overcame her. The dreaded song of a siren in pain.

That was all she knew for a moment. It was the longest moment of her life.

And then the heat was in her. It blurred her surroundings in gold and encased her in warmth. It bubbled in her veins and split every cell in her body, before morphing them back together again. The very fabric of her felt unravelled, for a brief - horrific, and beautiful - moment.

And then she was simply sat in the rain. A rain that had become a shower.

And in it, light.

[mayflysdie]

run baby run, run for your life.

I did not proof-read this. I wrote this while in class lol.

I was thinking about making it a smutty fic but I don't think my writing is good enough for that - oof.

Warnings: dark themes. (lmk if I need to add anything to this)

His brown eyes contain a primal darkness, hidden by his mask. However, his eyes tell a story of a strong and dangerous passion that captures me with its sinister hold. His head gives a little tilt as his gaze lulls away. Then, his shoulders pull back and his eyes stare into mine; a chill runs down my spine and the alarms in my mind ringing.

He stands nonchalantly against the wall, with his arms folded across his chest. His pose gives off a clear warning - he is a predator stalking its prey, and I realize that this prey is me.

He indulges in this ritual every now and then, especially when he has been away on prolonged deployments. He seems almost driven by an instinctive craving; a hunger to hunt and possess me.

With inexorable intensity, he stalks me like a wolf, relishing every moment of the pursuit. His delight only intensifies as he sees me scamper before him, shying away from his advances. Gripping me ever tighter in his grasp, he finally makes the kill - and mine is a fate that cannot be escaped. a clear game of Wolf and Rabbit. 

He looms, a seasoned hunter, quietly observant of my every movement. His predatory gaze piercing each fiber of my being, honing itself with anticipation for the impending strike. Awaiting my signal, to ignite the chase.

My gaze sweeps the room, seeking an optimal course of action for fleeing. A flood of adrenaline and fear pulsates through my veins, coaxing me to make a dash away, yet my inner voice vehemently advises otherwise, cautioning me that any sudden movement will set off a pursuit.

“Run baby, run for your life. i’m going to tear out your heart and it will always be mine”

Like a wolf's final growl of warning, fear rains down my spine and propelled me into action. I leapt over the couch, hurrying towards the backdoor. Thankfully, the sliding door was already ajar which granted me a swift escape route. Not wanting to linger, I sprint outdoors without sparing a backward glance. The sound of the boots pursuing me made abundantly clear how near the predator was.

The rapid strides that I took brought me to our backyard, through the shrubs and into the depths of the woods. He was close behind me, running at the same speed. The only thing reverberating in the night air beneath the pitch-black sky were the steady rhythm of my feet and his heavy breath.

as if the wolf turned into the grim reaper, an intense and eerie air has pervaded me from the back. I can feel my neck hairs standing on end, as if a hand is attempting to encircle it. My heart rate has accelerated, realizing the finality of the situation.

"you're mine"

A faint whimper escapes me as strong arms are wrapped around my waist, lifting me up. He quickly readjusts his arm so one is still holding me securely around my waist, while the other gently covers my eyes. I can feel his hot breath fanning against my neck, even through his face mask. The combination of tobacco and a woodsy scent fills my nostrils.

I shudder, my senses in overdrive as his hands cover my eyes. Trembling, I call out for Simon, and after some time he removes them from me. He spins me around, and before I have a chance to blink I'm met with a hard surface at my back and his hungry gaze upon me.His bulky physique restraining me against the trunk of the tree, his hands on either side of my head. I slowly raise my arms and remove his mask, unveiling a look of unrestrained desire. without wasting a moment, his lips attach to my neck. hungrily nipping and biting down. i whimper as the bite is sure to draw blood. I clutch handfuls of his tactical vest, my fingers needing something to hold onto for stability.

He slowly draws back from my neck, gazing deeply into my eyes with a menacing grin on his face, his lips inches away from mine.

" you will always be mine"

[himbogiants]

Oneshot requests #1: Innocence of the Damned

A/N: Hi! Welcome! Incase you haven’t seen, to get back into the flow of writing I am taking requests! This here is a request featuring my favourite- parental g/t! It is a little dark as those tropes are my preferred genre but I will list all warnings beforehand. Thank you so much @gt-jar for request! I look forward to writing the others now that college is closed up before my exams, next request should be out tomorrow :)

Content warning!: violence, gore, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse.

(Also side note this story feature humans with some animalistic features, ears, fangs and tails- but they are humans)

—————————————————————

It was safe to say Jasper was getting real tired of the cards he was being dealt in slime ridden dump folks called a city. As crook himself he was no angel, considering the fact he played what one would deem a rather vital role for one of the many gangs, The Black Cats. His job? Rather simple. To hunt down those in debt to the Black Cats club and gambling den, simple on paper, though as per usual reality was not so doting.

Hunting down the sorry souls was easy enough. Most characterised by their idiocy, as one who willingly shook the hand of any money lending devil would be. As a hunter of such men, his reputation lingered about the leery alleys, lived on in the bated breaths of wary whispers, haunted with frightful glances. In short his reputation was enough to draw most out quick enough. If they were smart, with cash in hand and no more than a seething glare burning into the brickwork below, it was the preferred option. Those who lacked brain cells were a different story. And it never had a happy ending.

He didn’t feel pity, he couldn’t- not in his line of work. They dug their grave, wether they left bloodied and broken or not- with the rumours of corruption in the stock market, there was no doubt these pathetic sods would now and forevermore be paying back the scraps they earned for the rest of their days in this miserable shithole.

They’d done this out of their own stupidity, selling their lives for the brief comfort of a coin in hand; a hint of wealth and good fortune- only to waste it away at the tables, feel the warmth of alcohol in their rotten veins and a endure fist fulls of powder.

Loan sharking was a gluttonous business alright, the greed of men its life blood. But business was business. Money was money. And a job was a job. Jasper was not one to neglect such facts.

Tonight’s job was no different, or it so it had seemed.

The rain was that irritable indecisive state, a vexing inbetween- not quite what you’d label a downpour, but not a clear night by any means. More synonymous with mist or fog than anything. A typical scene of an ominous night in a classic picture show.

He was glad he’d worn the cowboy boots tonight, it would save his trench coat the dignity of sopping amongst the pavement. Aside from the rain not a soul was in sight, the city was a ghost town.

Muffled music from one of the many bars nearby was the only sign that there was indeed life to be found. Rain always pulled in the desperate folk. His boss would be pleased with that much. More so when this job was complete.

With a flick of his hat he gave himself an internal debrief. A mouse. A stingy pesky conman who had played one to many games in avoiding debts. Pulling strings, jumping loopholes; his boss wasn’t a patient man, and his patience was wearing thin. He’d been big in his part of city, though mice and rodents alike were seen as nothing more than rotten pests, they’d never garner much respect- though respect wasn’t something one could achieve easily in these whereabouts. He’d seen a few killed off in horrific ways he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy- though rethinking that statement maybe he would. Crushed, snapped, thorn, swallowed. Form of punishment like that would certainly send a message.

Overall, this specific mouse had some nerve considering his position on the social ladder. Though it made it easier for him, hunting down mice was practically in his blood- given his heritage. He couldn’t give a damn how it was handled, once the job got done.

He’d been spotted last in the outskirts, the entire city was more or less a slum but this specific spot entailed the poorest of poor- both in health and coin. It seemed his mouse was attempting to blend in amongst the addicts and beggars, he’d seen this all before.

What he hadn’t expected were three suited men packed into an alleyway. Not just any men. Hound Dogs. The Black Cats rival competitor, and lifelong enemy. Brilliant.

What was particularly interesting however was how they respectively took turns between puffing their cigars and dangling a much smaller, stout man. The mouse. His target.

Innards seeped from his stomach, one ear had been torn, his tail was gone. His breaths laboured, choking on his own blood and horrid cacophony that barely managed to travel, he cried pitifully brief snippets of words that turned into gargles.

Jasper flexed his claws in frustration. The man was no taller than four inches, with injuries like that he wouldn’t survive the night. The debt wouldn’t be paid- those dogs knew what they were doing. An insult to The Black Cats.

But there was three of them and one of him. Fighting over a dead man wouldn’t pay the debt, loosing his own life wouldn’t either, though this was clear hit from the Hound Dogs- and it wouldn’t be taken lightly. Revenge, would come in full. Enough damage had been done tonight, and pay back had to be planned proper and precise.

Adjusting his cuffs, the middle man spat out his wilting cigar letting it hiss to a dim in the soft rain before stomping it to into the ground.

“I believe we are done here.” He spoke rather gruffly.

Jasper eased his claws, though the urge to slit into a throat was raging at the thought of his boss hearing the news.

“Finish him off then. This rain is pissing me off and Brutus will want an update.”

Despite his vocal chords blocked with blood the target attempted a cry of mercy before he was dropped on the pavement, a foot was raised and Jasper only grimaced and averted his gaze as a sickening crunch followed, spatters of blood trickled down the freshly painted red wall.

There was snarl in regards to the red dots freshly adjourning the trios suede shoes and with that the three took off down the alleyway.

Jasper sighed aggressively as he pushed off the wall. That was that then. Or it would’ve been, had he not picked up on a brief scattering sound.

He paused midstep looking back in disbelief.

Unbelievable..there wasn’t a chance of survival after that. The mouse was as sure as dead by now. The smells of a fresh body couldn’t be denied, Jasper was all too familiar with the scent.

Yet there it was again! This time followed by a brief sniff. Jaspers ear twitched with intrigued, with narrow eyes he turned the corner, his outline ominously blocking the street lamps.

The corpse lay where it most likely would for some time, completely caved in on itself. Nobody ever cared when a rat or mouse passed. They were only labelled as vermin.

But that was besides the point.

What had made that noise?

More importantly, was there hope for this debt after all?

Holding his breath, he prevailed silently step by step. Sneak attacks were a specialty of his, but with smaller folk one had to be that of a phantom. Another sniff- this one undeniable. But where?

A whimper.

His eyes fell down in a flash.

The crates.

Suddenly a newfound determination his kicked them aside ferociously, it seemed his mouse had brought a little friend and a dangerous light cascaded over his face, only for it to dwindle.

His breath hitched.

Down below sat a boy.. nothing more than a..child. An extremely tiny child at that.

Jasper faltered and lowered his arms as if a spell had been broken.

The file had said nothing about family.

Nothing about a child.

If anything it was a known fact for local residents and tourists that most gambling men in the area were nothing more than single slobs whom society had given up on entirely.

Yet here sat this boy no more than three inches in height and ten years of age, ears pinned back hidden beneath a mess of dusty hair, tail wrapped around a battered leg. Reddened eyes pinned in a horrified gaze.

His diminutive form couldn’t press further into the wall if he tried and it was more than obvious from his stance the boy was going to dart in the opposite direction- right by his father’s body.

The sight was gruelling to behold for himself, and he’d grown used to this scenarios- it would surely scar the boy for life.

Something tugged deep inside him.

In his position pity wasn’t an option. He’d had this drilled within himself since he’d chosen this life.

But those eyes..that pure raw fear. The innocence in a city drowning in its own greed.

In the harrowing silence time stood still as the pair looked one another down.

Jasper could only think of his upbringing. His family. His little sister, his baby brother. His widowed mother- each one of their lives snuffed out in an instant. How it left him stranded at only thirteen.

How that agonising pain and anger had coerced his feeble mind into the darkness, jaws of those with silver tongues.

Jasper was aware of his sins. All too aware of the blood on his hands, his damned soul.. aware that at this point, there was no changing that. It was too late for him.

But it wasn’t too late for this boy.

As if time had snapped back, he broke the barrier, daring to step an inch closer. God he was small.

“Easy there son.” He attempted, raising his hands in defence, carefully grasping his hat, withdrawing his claws. He did his best to hide his fangs. His attempt lay in vain.

The rise and fall of the little chest hastened. He needed to act quick.

Biting his cheek at how his shadow swallowed the tiny child, bringing him to a position to get down on his knees as he continued, the words careful ringing in his mind.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, just..just keep your eyes on me alright.”

He had only successfully gotten one knee planted on the wet brick work- though it would seem to be far enough as in an instant the boy dashed to the right, the thought of freedom plaguing his being.

“Whoa there!”

Swiping for the tiny figure too sloppy for his liking, allowing a dodge and a dart, Jasper snapped after the boy.

Though regaining his posture slammed his hand down resulting in a collision. The boy smacked into him crumbling to the ground, Jasper winced.

“Alright now. Hold it son.”

The boy, seemingly understanding his. escape was off limits tucked his head into his oversized jacket.

It was a poor attempt, but Jasper credited the fact the boy wasn’t currently begging for mercy. He hated that spiel- though guilt subdued him, reminding himself given the situation begging for mercy wouldn’t be unwarranted.

Feeling the feeble boy against his rough hands Jaspers heart swelled. He’d never wanted a kid. Hell, he’d barely been one himself. This city wasn’t exactly the place for children.

Aside from that, settling down in this life wasn’t an option- too dangerous. Too many risks. The biggest one being leverage one could use against you.

Those with families kept them hidden, not even he knew where the boss secured his, and that man had practically raised him, albeit perhaps raised wasn’t the right word. Jaspers lifelong service to The Black Cats was his own form of payment. He unfortunately owed the boss his life, bastard that he was, and he’d spend the rest of his days fulfilling every command, completing his wretched errands.

Point was, children were never an option in this life. But yet, there was a feeling deep inside. There was an urge- undeniable need to protect this boy he couldn’t quite fathom- or ignore, no matter now hard he tried.

Although the boy wasn’t moving, asides from trembling that is, he didn’t want to risk anymore surprises. With that he cautiously wrapped his fingers surrounding the boy, cocooning his small quivering form, which in turned earned a whimper.

“Breathe, breathe” Despite it being out of fright, his commands were followed. He gently rubbed his thumb along the child’s spine as he whispered

“you’re alright- it’s alright. That’s it. Calm yourself. You hurt none?”

The boy was firm not to reply, Jasper expected as much but if he was going to help this child that answer wouldn’t do.

He attempted to glance over in his father’s direction but gasped as Jasper tightened his grip in the softest manner he could muster, regaining the child’s focus.

“Hey now, eyes on me kid. I don’t want you seeing that. Eyes on me, yeah?”

He stuck his thumb out under the boys chin and tilted it up to face him, a few more bruises making themselves apparent. His eyes puffy from crying opened once more, that harsh redness was amplified by two velvet pupils which met Jaspers own golden glare.

“There you are..” He whispered down to the boy, busy blinking out remaining tears.

“Now..you hurt?”

The boy didn’t respond. Jasper huffed, though he wouldn’t loose his patience. Scaring the boy felt wrong in ways he couldn’t process.

He tensed as he felt the minuscule tail wrap around his finger, a hug? A sign of comfort? Or a reply? Jasper couldn’t tell, but awe melted within him.

“That mean no?”

He waited for a signal but to no avail,

only after a few beats of bated breath the boy gave a hesitant nod. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. That much he could work with.

“Ah so you can understand me then.”

He doubted the boys father had even bothered teaching him the common tongue, Jasper remembered him well enough from the gambling hall to know he neglected this child with his presence in preference of poker chips- if that wasn’t obvious enough from the fragile state of his body, or the fact he barely had his own clothes. That wasn’t important right now though, that man was long gone now. He needed to get this kid talking.

“You got a name then?”

The boy nodded a second time, opened his mouth like a gaping fish then halted closing it, looking away with a look of shame. Confusion nagged at Jasper before an obvious realisation struck.

Oh..

“You can’t speak can you?”

No reply, of course. No wonder the little thing hadn’t begged for mercy- he couldn’t.

And there it was.

There was no doubting it this time.

Pity.

The rain began to grow heavier, reminding him that it was in fact drizzling and his clothes had begun to sop and dampen.

The boy was soaked to the bone, though Jasper figured the shivers were more out of fear than anything. It wasn’t a cold night, with the city adjacent to the swamplands humidity was at an all time high.

They couldn’t stay here much longer, with how thick the air had grown a storm was inevitable.

He silently watched the boy in contemplation.

Pity wasn’t allowed

Distractions weren’t allowed.

He’d just about killed countless. Beaten those bloody til they were but a footfall from six feet under. He didn’t take pleasure in this but he never felt remorse. Pity

But even his shallow heart couldn’t find it in itself to abandon this child.

He begrudgingly glanced over at the corpse polluting the alley with its odorous fumes, then back down at the boy, whose eyes watched him with an unmistakable glimmer of hope.

Disbelief, that someone was showing kindness..mercy.

The little tyke was beat, broken and looked a minute away from collapsing. Jasper didn’t imagine he’d eaten recently- or slept for that matter. He pondered how long his deadbeat father had dragged him about the city, different hideouts, different escape routes.

Yet, deadbeat or not, the kid was alone now. Hurt. Scared. Sad.

All of it would spur into a concoction of rage he’d seen before.

In himself.

No.

No.

He refused to let this kid go down the same path he had. Let this kid make stupid choices, fall into that hands that would take and take and take until there was nothing left to give.

It was decided

“Right then..” he opened up his pocket, with an encouraging nod carefully dropped the boy in, feeling him instantly scurry around out of shock, he looked down with softened eyes.

“Ease up there kid. You’re safe. I swear it- and that don’t come easy with me. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.”

He looked sincerely as if swearing the next part to himself, telling the child what he wished someone had told him all those years ago.

“Never again”

With that, he placed his hat back upon his head, leaving the alley for good just as the first rumble of thunder rumbled far above.