#ideas only a man who's had to claw his way out of the clutches of death would have...

[vullcanica]

Angel fits into a very specific breed of respectable old men in civic duty occupations and a 10 pm bedtime that only the trashiest most eventful of youths followed by a decade of burnout can produce. You can catch a glimpse of that if you hand him any 60s manufacture gun or rifle and watch him perk up in unnervingly fond recognition. Or put him in a situation where the opportunity to craft a molotov presents itself. Never quite kicked the pyromaniac tendencies either. Can still hotwire cars, but simply chooses not to.

He spent some 20 odd years drifting about. Back before he was Angel and even before he was officially Nikolai by ID, he called himself Арсен - Arsenic. Used to live out of rented rooms and fit all of his belongings into a backpack. Travelled Europe by foot and stolen cars, made a living off the maddest odd jobs. Got briefly sucked into petty organized crime before flying the coop, erasing his footsteps along the way. Acted out his vigilante dreams the entire way through until he got caught and met his husband (funny story).

He's a reasonable and dependable man these days, more than he ever has been, but the evidence of a bygone life is still stamped on him and sometimes it shows. Don't trust him around fire...

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 1.1: Unfamiliar.

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

Gavriel Huffman’s consciousness drifted back in pieces, slowly. The first sensation he registered was the pain. A throbbing, burning ache in his side that shot throughout his body with each ragged breath he took. His hand twitched reflexively, wanting to clutch at the wound, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish.

He groaned, eyelids fluttering open before having to close them as his blurry vision was assaulted by the bright sunlight peaking through the cracks of the window blinds. Gavriel winced, turning his head slightly to escape the light. The movement sent another jolt of pain lancing through his body making him grit his teeth. The pain, though familiar, was sharper now, less numbed by adrenaline.

His instincts screamed at him to assess his surroundings, and with great effort, he forced his unsteady vision to focus. What he saw made him slightly more awake with disoriented alarm.

The room was cozy. Unbearably so. The walls had warm tones of colors that made the room feel welcoming. The bed he laid on was draped in a checkered quilt with a few stitches here and there. It wasn't as feathery soft or as luxurious as the one he had back in his place, but the worn down cheap quality of it only made them feel more homely in comparison. The air was filled with a subtle, comforting scent, and the one Gavriel noticed immediately was the smell of baked goods.

It was the kind of room he had only ever seen through windows in neighborhoods he didn’t belong in.

Gavriel’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. He didn’t belong here. The dissonance between his bleak, gritty world and this gentle, almost absurd comfort was jarring. It made his head spin, not just from the pain.

He hadn't been thinking very clearly then, but he could vaguely recall memories of the rain and the blood soaking into his clothes and him collapsing into unconsciousness, but everything after that was a blur. How had he ended up here?

Where the hell was he? His hand felt heavy as he reached up to touch the wound in his side, and he was surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. The dressing was hastily done.

He pushed the blanket aside, revealing his current state. His torso was bare, the bandages wrapped tight around his injury, and he was wearing pants that definitely weren’t his. The worn, clean fabric was more snug than anything he’d ever put on.

He frowns at this. Gavriel didn’t trust kindness. It's a luxury reserved for people who hadn’t been forced to scrape and claw their way through life.

With a grunt, he forced himself upright, teeth gritting as another wave of pain rippled throughout his body. He braced himself on the nightstand, the wooden surface creaking under his grip, and scanned the room for any signs of danger.

His eyes landed on a small framed photo on the nightstand. It showed a cheerful looking man with a wide goofy smile and a thumbs-up, standing next to… what he assumes to be his family, accompanied with a clean and comfortable-looking set of clothing sitting there waiting for him to wear alongside his glasses.

He reached out for it, seating the frame on his nose bridge and ears. Gavriel turned to squint at the image, something tugging in his head as he tried to place the face of that male toon. Then his mind flashed to the moment before he went unconscious. Someone had crouched down beside him when he was dying in that alleyway.

But why? The idea that someone had helped him, patched up a criminal covered in blood, was almost laughable. People didn’t do that for him- for them. At least, not in the place where he belongs.

Currently though, that wasn't his main concern. His dark eyes narrowed. Where the hell was his gun?

His fingers instinctively moved to his waist, but the comfort of the cold metal wasn't there. Gavriel sighed as a familiar wave of dullness washed over him, pulling him in a state of rumination. He was still hurt, still vulnerable, and that meant he was in danger, no matter how deceptively safe this place looked. He clenched his fists, not even giving a wince at the painful ache in his body.

All of this made him feel rather numb and confused, but it doesn't show on his face which he'd trained to never waver even in danger.

The dull ache of his wounds, the confusion of being in this unsettlingly mellow room, and the disorientation of having just woken up alive when he very well should've been dead in an alleyway somewhere. It all pressed down on him heavily. His mind felt like it was wrapped in fog, every thought coming in with a painful throb. He tried to think, to piece together why he hadn’t bled out in that alley.

He knew that his injuries had been severe enough to be fatal, the kind of wounds that left little hope for survival. A few hasty bandages and dressings wouldn’t have done much to stop the life bleeding out of his dying body.

Yet here he was, hurting but very much still alive. He rubbed his forehead, the motion sluggish from pain as he racked his brain for an answer. It wasn’t until he sat there for a hot minute that realization struck.

Oh, right. He was in a city reigned by the Toon genre.

It was common knowledge to all that the Toons leaned heavily on the whimsical side, or more specifically, it was the environment itself that exuded this sort of vitality. One that let its residents survive otherwise fatal mishaps with only a moment’s comedic daze and maybe a few tweeting birds circling their heads.

He couldn’t be bothered to recite the specifics of it. Something about places in the Toon genre having stronger healing properties or some nonsense like that. But now, in this moment, the absurdity wasn’t so easy to dismiss as it had been the very thing that had led to him surviving his death, a miracle in of itself.

Gavriel’s hand reached up to softly graze the large scar on the side of his neck, healed yet still deep and harrowing, which told stories of a much darker time. Touching it had been a habit he'd developed a long time ago in times of stress or simply whenever he contemplated.

He had no patience for the whimsical workings of this place, no desire to analyze the wonders or whatever it was that had saved him. The only thing that mattered to him was that it had and he's alive because of it.

It didn’t change his wariness though. If anything, it only made him more resolute to understand who had brought him here and why.

Then Gavriel hears the door click open.

---------------

Jack Desmond stepped into the bedroom, carefully balancing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of warm porridge in the other. He didn't have anything special in his kitchen at the moment so he was only able to put together a simple meal, figuring that even the scariest man in the world deserved something warm and filling in his stomach to help him heal. That was, if the food hadn't already gone cold by the time he awoke.

Jack wore his usual friendly smile, ready to show the stranger some hospitality when he froze in confusion the moment he saw that the bed was empty.

“Huh?” Jack murmured, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of where the man might have gone, but there was nothing.

"Hugh!"

Coffee and porridge spilled to the ground as the cup and plate he'd been holding came crashing down on the ground, splattering everywhere.

Rough hands closed around his neck from behind. The force of the grip was firm, not quite strangling but strong enough to hold Jack in place.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples, his hair standing on its end. It felt like his heart was caught in his throat, he didn't even dare breathe too hard.

The presence behind him was suffocating, a dense aura of danger which didn't fit with the comfort of the room they were in.

The hand holding him didn’t need a weapon.

It didn't take much for Jack to instinctively realize that he was currently bordering the line of life and death, a primal understanding that this man could end him effortlessly if he choses to.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he tried to swallow but can't, his mouth dry as a desert. It was as if time had slowed down. He could feel his heart thundering inside, each beat thudding louder and louder in his ears as he stood there, unable to do anything but wait.

The silence was deafening. Jack's mind told him to yell, scream loudly for help, but he couldn’t even force out a sound.

Jack felt his breath hitch as the man’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the suffocating silence. The voice was hoarse from fatigue and pain, but it still carried a commanding weight to it as he spoke.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded, each word slow and deliberate, laced with a barely restrained irritation. "Where am I and why am I here?"

Despite the fear pressing down on him, Jack’s mind raced, and something other than terror roused his senses. He sniffs subconsciously, his nose picking up a change in the air. That sharp, metallic tang that made his stomach twist.

"I-I’ll tell you everything you want to know," he stammered. "But please, d-don’t move too much." He could smell it. The fresh, unmistakable scent of blood. "You're hurt, s-sir…"

With those words, the room fell into silence again. The man behind him didn't say anything, as if contemplating Jack’s words, yet the grip around Jack’s neck remained firm. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, and Jack held his breath, waiting for a response as a cold bead of sweat rolls down his face.

Finally, after what felt like a forever, the grip released. Jack released his breath, silently gasping for air as his feet planted into the ground, trying to steady his balance after that terrifying experience. Slowly, he turns around, stumbling away slightly as he looks up to face the much larger man.

Gavriel stood there, towering over him with one hand clutching his wounded side, blood seeping through the bandages and staining his skin anew. With a shadow cast over his face, his sharp glare intensified.

His dark eyes narrowed, scarred face twisted into a pained look of irritation. Even when injured, such a sight would be enough to intimidate anyone with the sheer menace he radiated.

But as Jack’s heart raced in his chest, his gaze drifted almost unconsciously to Gavriel’s wound. The fear was still there, pressing down on Jack’s chest, but something else was too.

Concern.

The sight of the reopened wound stirred something deeply instinctive and kind in Jack, something that momentarily outweighed his terror. He couldn’t help it. Despite the terrifying glare, despite understanding that this man could kill him if he wanted to, Jack’s eyes lingered more on his injury rather than his scary appearance.

“You’re bleeding again,” Jack whispered, his voice small but genuine, before he presses his lips, meekly looking up to meet the man's eyes. The words had slipped out before he could stop them, his worry winning over self-preservation for just a second.

Gavriel’s glare remained unwavering, burning with a mix of suspicion and impatience. “Answer my questions,” he ordered.

Jack nodded quickly in agreement, returning his focus on the wound, which now had blood dripping from Gavriel’s side, pooling on the floor in droplets.

Jack frowns, a wave of empathy coursing through him, and he took a small step forward without thinking, wanting to help.

Gavriel reacted instantly, his expression souring like a cornered animal. His lips pulled back into a nasty snarl, and Jack immediately froze, eyes darting back to the man's face, his look carrying a clear message.

Don’t come any closer.

Jack was hesitant, but he took a shaky breath and showed Gavriel his palm, trying to show him that he meant no harm. “I just… I just want to help.” His eyes showed nothing but genuine concern, a warmth that was out of place in the tension.

For a moment, Gavriel didn’t move. His gaze bore into Jack with an intensity that made the toon feel exposed but Jack holds his ground, knowing that the man in front of him was in pain and had only been acting out of self preservation.

Jack cautiously inched closer, his hands still raised, palm facing upwards to try and ease the man that he wouldn't do anything bad to him. The closer he got, the more he could see the strain in Gavriel’s features. It was a silent battle between the pain and the effort to appear unwavering.

Finally, he reached the man’s side. Gavriel's eyes followed, but he didn’t stop him as Jack extended his palm towards him. Jack's hand flinches and hesitates for a second when Gavriel's grip on his wound tightened… Jack steels himself and gently touched the lower side of the man's hip, his fingers being stained with the blood that ran steadily down it.

Despite not being injured himself, Jack still winced sympathetically at the sight. Though Gavriel’s face showed no change, Jack didn’t miss the way the muscle around the injury flinched at his touch.

“Okay… okay.” Jack murmured, his voice soft but determined. His mind buzzed with worry, already trying to think of what he could do to keep the wound from worsening.

With a pang of dread, it finally dawned on him in fullness that this was only the beginning of him having to temporarily keep this dangerous man in his apartment.

Oh, boy. This was going to be a long week.

_

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

[mv1simp]

Slow Down♥️

Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader (SocialMedia!AU)

I’m so down if you’re ready, I’ll show you if you let me, girl (she said fuck me like I’m famous, I said okay)

You and Max Verstappen are very well known in the media, for having one of the most volatile rivalries in the sporting world. But Ferrari’s Princess and Redbull’s Mad Max send shockwaves through the paddock when your PR teams confirm you’re officially dating. The public have a hard time believing it…until your sex tape gets leaked on Twitter a month later. Social Media!AU

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, trying my hand at a SM! AU for the first time!!, dom! Max and switch! Reader, size kink, sexism, max being a feminist king

Everyone always said there was a thin line between love and hate. Frankly, you find it to be sexist bullshit, rolling your eyes everytime some interviewer or your friends or trainer would make some sly comment about so what’s going on between you and Max, with a suggestive wiggle of their eyebrows. Nothing, just him trying to run me off the track repeatedly and giving me 4 bruised ribs in Singapore when he clipped me illegally, you say with an annoyed tone. You know that if you were a man, and not the first female driver in decades in F1, you wouldn’t be getting randomly shippedwith all the drivers. And for gods sake, Verstappen off all people was the most laughable idea. The man was either being a violent menace on the track or an immature twelve year old off it, you think vehemently. You two had stayed well out of each others way in your Haas seat last year, with you leading the mid pack in the suboptimal car but Max remaining well out of reach at the front of the pack. But this year, you’d earned yourself a Ferrari seat and were ecstatic to finally be able to compete for a WDC.

That was, until you and Max Verstappen suddenly started to keep getting caught in each others crosshairs. What started as polite indifference between two coworkers blew up into a PR frenzy, with you and Max completing for the top step in the podium every race weekend. He thought you a reckless driver, getting lucky in a rocket ship this year and trying to sink her claws into something she can’t handle. You thought him over arrogant, a man who couldn’t handle losing to a girl, his fragile ego unable to handle losing a 4th WDC to a Ferrari driver who was only in her second F1 season.

And then, two months out from the end of the season, everything changed between you and Max. On a night out in Monaco with your friends, celebrating being home from triple headers, you’d had the unfortunate experience of being cornered by some drunk, sexist creep who thought he was entitled to touch you. He’d been stronger than you expected, pinning you in a dark alleyway and you just when you starting to freak out, Max of all people practically threw the guy off you. He’d angrily spat at the drunk to pick on someone his own size or he’d break his jaw next time, before leading you to his car with a gentle hand. Normally, you found Max’s far larger frame to be annoying, another way for him to intimidate you when he glared downwards. But that night you couldn’t help but be grateful for the muscular, tall man and his attentive blue eyes as you willingly follow him with wide, doe eyes.

The ride home had been silent, you nervously clutching the large sleeves of the hoodie Max had given you from his backseat. And when you’d thanked him for his help, saying you appreciate him looking out for you even though he hated you, he looked at you with genuine surprise. I don’t hate you, he’d said. Well, I suppose we have had our differences on the track. You snickered at this, muttering that’s one way of putting it. Max chuckled, making you peer at him curiously as you’d never heard him do that in your presence. He was actually very handsome, you noted, without an angry scowl on his face or that Redbull helmet covering him. Then you tell your tipsy brain to shut up because where the hell had that thought suddenly come from?!

But really, I think you’re a pretty amazing girl off the track, Max continued. It must be hard being the only female driver, but you always have something good to say to the dumb interview questions you get. And I’m not going to stand by and let any woman be felt up by some creep. Even if it’s the Princess of Ferrari, he adds with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at this, stepping out of his car as you reach your apartment. And when you offer him his hoodie back, he tells you to keep it. You can use it to stay warm at the next race - it’s Brazil, very rainy. Did I mention I’m called the rainmaster, incidentally? You burst out laughing at his lack of subtlety, and he smiles at having distracted you, making the scared look in your pretty doe eyes from earlier disappear. Fuck off, Verstappen, you giggle, and for once your words have no real bite.

By the time your second F1 season is over, and you’re receiving your trophy for the world championship at the Prizegiving Gala, the first female to do so, you and Max Verstappen have became good friends. Maybe something more, from all the time you’ve started spending together off the track gaming, playing padel, and going out drinking. You were far too afraid to ever say something to him, knowing the media response to the first female driver dating a fellow driver would be absolutely brutal. Besides, you had no idea if Max remotely felt the same way about you - his type seemed to be pretty models, not aggressive drivers who spent half her time plotting his downfall.

You’re surprised when he finds you at the after party, late into the night, where everyone is too plastered to note that the fallen Redbull champion is taking the winning Ferrari Princess to a private level on the yacht. If you think I’m going to apologise for breaking your winning streak, you can try again, you announce dramatically as you grin at him, 5 drinks in and pink lips loosened, letting him know you were jesting. Wouldn’t have it any other way, Princess, Max hums, coming to stand so close to you that your heart rate quickens when you feel warmth radiating from the taller, muscular driver. Besides, I’ll be taking the cup next year, anyways. Enjoy the high while you can, he says in his Dutch accent, all cocky.

You let out an outraged gasp at this, forgetting how close you two already are as you step towards him, accusing hand pressed against his firm chest. But before you can say anything, Max’s gorgeous blue eyes drop down to where your manicured nails are touching his pecs. And then he looks down further, to where your plush tits have pressed up against his abs, your cute red corset minidress pushing your cleavage up temptingly. There’s no mistaking the dark desire that swirls in his intense gaze as he looks back into your wide doe eyes. And then he’s leaning in, finally, you think, and then your brain wakes up and you remember who’s in front of you. We can’t, Max, you say breathlessly, dazed by how attractive he looks when turned on. Why not, the Dutchman demands, cocky as usual. You don’t want this, Princess? His large hand brushed your jaw, tilting your face upwards when you try to look away. Your breath hitched from the contact, and you’re sure he can feel how fast your carotid pulse is beating. It’s-it’s not that I don’t want to, you say with a blush, making a pleased smirk appear on Max’s lips. But I’m the only female driver on the grid, the public would tear me apart if they found out I hooked up with another driver on the grid-

Fuck what anyone else thinks, Max says passionately, the familiar spark of defiance in his eyes. I know the fallout from something like this would be much harder for you as a woman than me, and I waited till after the championship fight finished. No one can contest you didn’t win the cup with your own sheer skill. But now that it’s finished, I can’t hold back anymore. Your jaw drops from Max’s heated confession, never having guessed the handsome blonde would reciprocate your buried romantic feelings. And I don’t mean some one night stand or summer fling, he continued boldly. I want to be your boyfriend, I want you all to myself properly.

You must have had too many G&Ts, you hear yourself say distantly, cause you’re not even a little bit cute and shy like you normally are off the track, Verstappen. He smiles gently, knowing you were using humour to deflect from the swirling emotions within you. Maybe, he murmurs, bending down to rest his forehead against yours. Or maybe you look so fucking gorgeous in this red dress I knew I couldn’t hide how I feel anymore. When he feels your hand graze his chest, pulling him just a bit closer, he knows what you want. Pressing the gentlest of kisses to your glossed lips, he pulls back to make sure you still wanted more.

But he didn’t need to have any doubts, because you’re staring up at him sultrily, desire having darkened your own wide, doe eyes. This time you’re pulling him back onto your lips, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders so that there’s not even a millimetre of space between you too. He groans against you as the months of tension come to a head, the two of you languidly exploring each others’ mouths with your tongues.

Even if you’d woken up the next morning regretting your decision, there was no way you could turn down Max’s offer of a relationship. Because even if you had still hated him, the sex that night on the yacht has been so incredibly mind blowing, by far the best orgasm you had ever experienced, that you knew you’d never meet anyone who could fuck you so perfectly again. So you hesitantly said yes, let’s try this for real, Max over a late hungover brunch the next morning. The rest had been history - the two of you had spent the last 7 months in a secret relationship, not wanting the chaos of the media to ruin your relationship before it could even start properly. Max has proven time and time again you’d made the right decision saying yes, being the perfect boyfriend, dedicated to all your needs and wants, spoiling you endlessly and making you laugh whenever you had a bad day.

Sometimes things were hard, of course. Like when you two had tensions during a race, your private relationship doing nothing to dampen the competitive spirit you both shared. But you’d both make up after, whether it be with a long debrief and strategy talk on how to avoid an incident next time - or your personal favourite, some angry make up sex. Like you’d suspected, Max was an absolute sex god and you two enjoyed a very healthy sex life, exploring each others kinky preferences. So when you’d have to be away from each other for long periods, busy with planning and meetings at your separate team bases, your boyfriend came up with a solution once the nudes and phone sex didn’t quite hit the same.

Filming yourselves during sex seemed like a certain recipe for disaster, given how famous the two of you are and the consequences of anything got leaked. But the temptation was too great as weeks drag on without the touch of your boyfriend - so you agreed, just this once, to try it out.

Well, that had certainly been the plan. But the video had been so so nice to watch again and again anytime your pussy ached for Max that you can’t resist making more. And then last month when your teams had finally given the okay for an official announcement on your relationship, and the media response had overall been surprisingly positive, you two get too comfortable and Max accidentally sent the video over DM to you, instead of the encrypted chat you normally use.

And that was when shit hit the fan.

No, Max, go away, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to see anyone ever again! The blonde Dutchman sighs he leans his head against the closed bathroom door with a worried expression on his face. You’ve locked yourself in his Monaco penthouse’s bathroom for the past 4 hours, not coming out despite how much he’s pleaded. Please, schatje, he tries again. I know it’s bad, but we’ll get through it together. Twitter had already banned any links of the video and both your PR teams are doing damage control and so many of the grid drivers and journalists were calling out the website that had leaked the tape. Please, I just want to see you, you can’t be locked in there forever and reading all the stuff online alone.

When you don’t reply, only sniffling through the door, he sighs again and slides down the door, making himself comfortable. A few minutes later he hears the door unlock and your red, crying face peeking through. Oh, schatje, he croons soothingly as you drop down into his arms and bury your face in his thick neck. He rubs soothing circles along your back as you sniffle that Everyone’s saying such horrible things, Maxie. How am I going to face going on the paddock ever again?

He reassures you firmly that you two would go hand in hand, united on the paddock with your heads held high, because you’ve done nothing wrong. He’d been doing the media game a lot longer than you and knew this scandal, like everything else, would get blown over with time. After your quiet sobs settle with his comforting words and tight hug, you pull back to look at him and apologise for shutting yourself away and not checking in on him. It’s your leaked tape too, you say anxiously. How are you feeling about it, baby?

He eases your concern again, telling you honestly that in the grand scheme of things, although it was a little mortifying he’s had worse in the media. Besides, it’s gonna be satisfying to crush whichever little fucker leaked the vid, he says vehemently. Any anyone who’s saying any bullshit sexist comments about you sleeping your way into F1 or anything is getting hit with a defamation lawsuit from legal, he declares, making your heart swell from his protectiveness. You still aren’t convinced, though. Are you sure, Max? I remember in that particular video, you can’t see much of my body but there’s definitely a lot of shots of your…

Dick? Your boyfriend finishes with a deadpan expression, That’s fine. Besides, I’ve nothing to be embarrassed about. You know the hashtag Verstappen’s third leg is trending on Twitter now? You giggle at his nonchalance, making Max smile at seeing you cheered up. You’ve finally having processed what happened enough to maybe see a bit of humour in it. True, I suppose it could have been worse, you muse. The Las Vegas video could have been the leaked one. Imagine how batshit the fans would have gotten if they saw the handcuffs were for you, not me. Max laughs genuinely, blue eyes looking fondly at your mischievous expression. The familiar Ferrari fire he adored was back in your own pretty doe eyes.

Or worse, the Barcelona one, you tease as you lead him to the kitchen to start making dinner. Scrolling through hundreds of posts and spiralling was calorie consuming work. I think Twitter would have shut down if they found out Max Verstappen likes being called daddy in the bedroom.

Your boyfriend’s face goes adorably pink as he stammers at your unexpected roast. Hey-hey now, schat, that was just one time okay? You’d just accidentally said it and it caught me off guard-

You grin playfully, giving him a kiss on the cheek because he looked too cute to resist. Sure, baby, so off guard you lasted 5 seconds after that. His face goes even pinker, reaching the tips of his ears now as he shyly looks away. For all his fierceness on the track, you loved how sweet the Dutch Lion was off it. Giggling, you put him out of his misery by handing him a knife and tell him to get to work chopping the tomatoes. You knew no matter what came your way, you would be fine with Max by your side.

—————————————————————————

A/N: okkk so what did u guys think at my first attempt at a social media AU ahaha. You know I love to yap I fear I included too many Twitter screenshots, I ALWAYS GET CARRIED AWAY. Anyway this was super fun pulled me right out of my writers block!!! Hope u enjoy xx

[monstersholygrail]

A monster boyfriend would be fantastic.... Can you imagine him coming to your defense when you have a toxic parent? I'm on the obese side but very short. Last night......a parent called me lazy and fat....despite my efforts t olose weight for health reasons. Now, I feel too scared to eat.

I cried so hard, and wish I had some intimidating boyfriend that would've made my mom shut up and come to my defense. Also, I feel like monsters would not care so much about human standards of beauty. (Even at my healthiest weight, I wasn't like stick thin)

Oh, hunny, I feel you. I’m in the same boat. I’m so sorry you went through that. You are absolutely beautiful the way you are. Do what you need for your health but know that being skinny doesn’t equal being healthy. Please eat, love, because making sure you’re eating all your meals is a part of health. I know that a monster would love you no matter what and would embrace you entirely.

I’ve been through a similar experience and I know I would’ve loved to read something to comfort me so I hope this can comfort you <3

Perfection to Me

Monster bf x chubby fem!reader - tw fatphobia, toxic parent[ing], hurt/comfort, protective bf, body worshipping, multiple orgasms, creampie

You had been so excited. You had recently gotten your very first boyfriend and you were so excited to introduce him to your family and friends.

Of course, all of your friends had been a bit surprised when they first met and they were faced with a huge and intimidating monster. But in reality, your monster bf was the sweetest man you had ever met. He was protective and he cared for you more than you ever could’ve imagined.

And he proved it to you time and time again how seriously he took your courtship. How deeply he considered you already to be his mate. Not shying away from using the term regularly.

All of this just drove your excitement to the point where you couldn’t wait to introduce him to your mother. To show her you’d finally found someone.

That excitement slowly dwindled. More and more as the night went on. It had all been going so well. Your mother greeted your monster bf with delight. Clearly happy, if not surprised, by his presence. It was easily overlooked.

But then the comments started. Snide in-passing comments. Comments about your relationship, your weight, and worst of all your eats habits.

You focus on staring down at the table, trying to keep your tears at bay. Having been so used to swallowing down these comments without a retort. Luckily your monster bf isn’t.

A loud slamming of fists rattles the dinner table, causing you to look at your bf with a sharp gasp. From the corner of your eye you can see your mother do the same.

“Who do you think you are?” Your bf snaps, his hands clenched. Only barely holding back his simmering rage.

Word after word he had been tortured by your mother’s lashing tongue. He had no idea how you must be feeling. But after seeing the tears in your eyes he could no longer sit back and take it.

“Excuse me?” Your mother asks, eyes wide and partially frightened by the aura which radiated from your monster bf.

“Was I not clear?! Who do you think you are to be speaking to my mate like that?” He questions, standing up. Only making his form that much more intimidating to witness. Not willing to listen to any bullshit from your mother.

“Well, I.. I am her mother!” Your mother replies weakly, visibly shrinking back in her chair.

“I have known mothers that eat their young who are kinder than you,” your bf lashes out, claws sinking into his own skin. You wince seeing it, your worry for him growing. Not wanting him to hurt himself because of her.

“How dare you!” Your mother shrieks, hand clutching her chest.

“Baby, plea-“

“No!” Your bf snarls, head whipping to face you, and stopping the excuse from leaving your lips. His arm joining it to stop you from reaching for him.

But as his eyes meet yours, they immediately soften. He leans down, licking and nuzzling into your cheek in a silent apology.

“I will not stand idly by and watch as an insignificant disrespects you,” his voice rumbles into your skin as he moves down to your neck, scenting you. Marking you as his to care for now.

“Insignificant!”

Monster bf tenses hearing your mother’s voice again. Returning to his full height he glowers down at her.

“It is a mother’s job to nurture and protect,” he states simply, making his opinion of her treatment of you quite clear.

“I am protecting her! Protecting her from herself and from everyone out there,” your mother finally snaps. Standing up from the table even in the face of your bf.

Your bf bristles, needing to pause for a moment. Ensuring he doesn’t lose control of himself. After a silent beat he slowly walks around the table and towers over her.

“In this moment you are a far greater enemy to her than anything she will face out in the world…”

You watch as his words sink in. Your mother’s face growing pale and her mouth finally staying closed.

When he’s sure she won’t try and reply, your monster bf moves around her, heading back to you. He holds out his hand which you take without hesitation. Your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

It’s only when your bf immediately reaches with his free hand to wipe softly at your cheeks do you realize you had been crying.

“Come, sweet mate. I think it’s time we leave,” he says lowly as he gathers you up in his arms. You don’t even think about resisting, just letting your bf swiftly lead you out of the home.

You could tell your monster bf was angry. He was furious. And it showed in the way he ravishes you the moment you two get home.

As soon as the door closes behind you he’s plucking you up from the floor with ease and throwing your body gently down on the bed. Endless praises leave his lips, clearly setting out to replace every mean word your mother had uttered throughout the night.

He peels your clothes off slowly, despite the fact he was practically shaking with his restraint. Revealing your beautiful big body inch by inch. As soon as you are bare he pounces on you, showing how much he treasures every curve of your body.

His face nuzzles into your thick neck as he grinds his cock against your pussy lips, all while telling you how hard you make him. Not stopping until you come apart, dousing his length with your essence.

He makes sure to take care of every inch of you. Moving down to latch onto your nipples. Sucking and massaging at your supple flesh until you gush all over the sheets from the toe-curling stimulation. Your body spent but your monster bf not having finished with you, evident by the feral glint in his eye.

Taking his time, setting his own aching need aside, to slowly kiss down the curve of your stomach. His claws digging into your sides and loving how you fill up his hands.

Though his hands suddenly have a far better use as they spread your meaty thighs for him. He dives right in, stuffing his face into your fat pussy and completely smothering himself in your folds. His tongue devouring you like you’re the only thing he’ll ever want to eat again.

Fingers joining soon after, needing to fill you up even deeper as his tongue laps up your essence. His hand and mouth work in total sync till your body is shaking with the need to cum. His mouth sucks greedily at your clit while his fingers curl along your walls. As soon as he finds that sweet spot within you, you’re erupting all over his tongue. White dots briefly clouding your vision from the intensity.

Monster bf barely gives you a moment to breathe as he rises onto his knees, that look in his eyes only growing darker with each orgasm that overtakes you. His eyes rake over your limp form.

“You are perfection,” he breathes out before finally sinking into your tight cunt. You both moan as your bodies connect, your back arching as you show off that body that’s so beautiful to him.

He can’t hold back any longer as he furiously fucks his cock into you, bodies slapping together in perfect harmony. Growls and deep rumbling noises escaping him as your body brings him a pleasure he’s never otherwise experienced.

Together you two bring each other to orgasm after orgasm, never getting enough of each other. It’s not until neither of you can physically not move that you take a break.

“You hungry, love?” He asks as you two lay back on the bed, limbs completely wrapped around each other.

“Hmm, no. Not really,” you reply quietly, your appetite not quite having returned after dinner was interrupted. Monster bf senses this, his lip quivering as he visibly holds back a growl.

“Well, what if we change the venue, huh? You can eat off of me,” he suggests, a lighthearted smugness moving across his features. His free arm moving to rest behind his head while the other keeps a firm grip on you.

“Oh, well that changes things then,” you say through your laughter. Your bfs smugness grows as he shifts down and spreads out across the bed. Showing off his body to you. A body that’s goal is to give you more pleasure than you could dream of.

“Yeah, it does. You can eat a fucking feast off of me…” your bf says with a grin, all in order to bring more of that sweet laughter out of you. To have it tickle his senses. He’d do anything to make you laugh. He leans down and nibbles at your neck, causing you to giggle lightly. That’s it. “And that’s exactly what I plan to have you do.”

Monster bf doesn’t given you any time to respond before he’s back to kissing the daylights out of you.

[visualbutterflysworld]

Break of Dawn | Vhackerr

Warning: smut, uhh just real smutty, unprotected(use birth control)

so…i may have gotten this idea from mj’s song and read some…unholy things about vin so yeah cheers.

Vinnie sighed as he finally shut off his gaming equipment and stream. He had been streaming since 7 and it was now 1 am. Knowing you, you were probably already in bed.

Drifting off, Vinnie imagines you in a little shirt. Barely covering your thighs. His bare hands roaming over the smooth skin. Your small whimpers. Vinnie quickly snaps out of it to find out that he now has a boner.

“Fuck.” He mutters before thinking of his next move. He could jerk off and go to bed or he could wake you up and have you help him fix his problem. Being the mischievous man he is he decided to wake you up.

He quietly makes his way out and to his room. Silently thanking Hera for opting to sleep on the couch tonight. He slowly opens the door and closes it behind him.

There you are. Laying so prettily with the moon shining from the window. He resists the urge to touch himself before he slowly crawls on top of you.

He first starts with small sweet kisses. Rubbing up and down on your thigh. “Y/nnn.” His voice rings out. “Mm.” “Y/nnn wake up.” He placed a light kiss on your lips. He feels you moving around almost fighting the urge to wake up. He moves down to your neck and slightly nipples on the soft skin. “Y/nnn, wake up darling.”

“Vin?” Your voice sounded so raspy which turned him on more. “Yes, love. Wake up for me.” He starts to kiss your lips until you slowly begin to kiss him back. “What’s wrong?” You ask before slowly opening your eyes. “Nothing, I just really missed you.” Vinnie now moves downwards.

“Take this off for me.” He tugs on your(his) shirt. “Mph. You do it, Mr. Needy.” You huff before yawning. “For you? Always needy.” Vinnie tugs the shirt up and throws it somewhere in the room.

You take in a sharp breath as the cool air hits you. You claw at Vinnie’s shirt and he quickly takes it off as well. Vinnie moves his head down and places a boob in his mouth. He twirls his tongue around the nipple before slightly biting it. You arch your back in response. It isn’t long until he’s down and ripping your panties off.

“Vinnie, those were expensive!” You yell slightly. “I’ll buy you more. Just relax for me, Princess.” And soon Vinnie’s mouth is attached to your clit. Sucking on it softly as you whine.

He smoothly puts a finger inside and hums at the ease. “Vinnie.” You go to cover your mouth for a moment before moving it to clutch on the sheets.

It isn’t long before he places another finger and you soon come all over. Vinnie helps you through your high as you feel your toes curl. You’re breathless almost, staring at Vinnie with a drunken haze as he sucks of his fingers. “Such a sweet taste. Always so sweet. Like chocolate covered strawberries.”

He places his thumb on your already stimulated clit, curling it slowly. You let out a small moan. “Do you eat chocolate covered strawberries every day? Is that your way of making me want to eat you out every chance i get?” Vinnie question and you only moan in response.

He pinched your clit as you don’t answer. You squirm from the feeling. “I asked you a question.” “No, Vinnie. I…just please. I need you inside me.” You grab his hair and give it a good tug. “Who’s needy now?” Vinnie chuckles.

It isn’t long until he’s stripped and soon inside you, bottoming you out. He waits a second before he starts thrust. “Fuck, so tight. Such a good girl for me.” He whispers as he wraps his arms around you. You’re in heaven. Your toes curl. Back arched. Begging for whatever it is.

“I’m gonna go nice and slow. I’m gonna fuck you all night long.” He says and you clench at the words. He smirks, “mm my pretty girl likes that idea? Letting me be inside her till the break of dawn.” You nodded rapidly as you claw at his back. “Yes. Vinnie please don’t stop.” You say as you feel your climax about to erupt.

“I know that face. My girl gonna come? Be a good girl and come for me.” You arch your back at his words. Before you come Vinnie quickly grabs your face softly to kiss you. Heaven is what you both feel.

It was gonna be a long night.

Okay go read the Bible now you freaks!

[fandomnerd9602]

Taken

Wolf!Natasha x Reader

Based on idea by @supercorpdanbeau

Your wolf hybrid girlfriend clutched your favorite sweater in her claws just waiting for you to come back from your reconnaissance mission. It was just supposed to be a simple observe and report.

She needed you to come back to her. Her eyes scanned the horizon on the hill overlooking the targeted Red Room facility, just hoping that she’d see you coming back to her.

“Natasha,” Yelena came running up to her sister, “they got (Y/N)”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. The hair on her wolf ears and tail raised. “Which way?” Natasha asked, determined and yet scared at the same time.

Yelena reaches into her knapsack and pulls out two AK-47s, handing one to her sister, “we’re gonna get your detka back”

Natasha looked at your favorite sweater. She held it close to her nose and inhaled the deeply seated scent that was your musk. The redheaded wolf girl then raised her head and locked onto you.

You were being held captive in the deepest part of the Red Room facility. Tied to a chair with zip ties.

Dreykov, the mastermind behind the Red Room and all of its activities against hybrids slammed his fist across your face.

“You know who I am, yes?” He asked in a thick Russian accent.

“A guy who might need of a shower?” You retort, earning you another slam of his fist. “Sorry I misspoke, you definitely need a shower, dude.”

He raised his fist to slam it into your nose but he was interrupted by the sound of alarms going off.

“What is that?” He asked as his guards went to investigate.

“An alarm, dumbass,” you look at him coldly, “and right now I got the best backup coming to get me. Just pray she’s in a good mood”

She was not.

The thing about wolf hybrids is that as they get angrier, they tend to actually become more wolflike. So for Natasha, she looked like a full on redheaded werewolf.

Natasha ran on all fours, her nails sharpening and growing into full on claws. She jumped up the chain link fence the entire red room facility in a single leap

“Contact!” A guard shouted only for his shouts to be cut short by Natasha’s claws. Several guards tried shooting at her but she leapt, scurried, and dodged every bullet. Natasha made quick work of them all.

Yelena came in behind Natasha and could only be witness to the carnage.

Natasha charged angrily through the hallways, running on the walls, slashing throats, anything to get to you. She didn’t care all the matter to her was you. 

Two guards tried charging at Natasha. She gutted both and threw them through windows with ease.

Dreykov was pretty scared as the sounds of gunfire and screams echoed down the hall

“Untie me” you say, “and I just might get her to spare you”

Then came the wolf howl. She was close. Dreykov tried to pull out his revolver but it was stuck in its holster.

The door sprung open and Natasha threw a knife, impaling Dreykov’s hand into a nearby wall.

She looked around the room, Natasha was on pure animal instinct now. She saw you and your bruised face.

Her clawed feet echoed as she stomped towards the sniveling man that had been her tormentor all those years ago.

“I made you! I made the weapon you are today!” He tried to say as if that would somehow spare his life.

Natasha drove her claws right into his stomach, “no more” she growled.

And with a simple swipe to the side, Dreykov collapsed to the ground dead.

The werewolf before you marched over to you. In truth some small part of you feared this form of hers. It was pure animal. But you knew your girl.

“Hi honey wolf” you offered her a small smile.

The giant wolf knelt before you and sliced the zip tie restraints. She began nuzzling you, little sad whines escaping her muzzle.

“Oh baby” you pulled the werewolf close, kissing her muzzle and stroking her back affectionately, “it’s okay. I’m safe. You saved me”

Your werewolf slowly transformed back into her standard wolf-human girl form. Natasha began crying, she wrapped her arms around you.

“I thought I lost you” she said through her tears, grabbing your face and kissing you over and over, like you were her very reason to breathe.

I hold her close, rubbing reassuring circles into her back. “You didn’t lose me, baby. I’m safe. And that’s because of you”

The two of you nuzzle as Yelena runs into the room on all fours.

“Remind me to never piss you off” yelena retorts as she glances over the disemboweled remains of Dreykov.

Your honey wolf would go thru hell and back to find you. As you would do the same.

You, Natasha and Yelena made your way back to the sanctuary. For the next few weeks, Natasha did not let you out of her sight. She kept you cuddled with her on her cozy little couch in her wolf den. She almost lost you once, your wolf girl was going to ensure it never happened again.

The three of you would rescue many hybrids over the years and legends would be told someday of the wolf girl and her human mate whose love was strong enough to take down the Red Room and all its hatred.

You and Natasha had a love that strong.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @ma1egamer @julieromanoff @iiconicsfan25 @iamnicodemus @revanshand @russianredassassin @deafeningsharkslimeempath @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @texaswolf23

[svsss-brainrot-blog]

Hiii I saw you were doing snippets so I wanted to drop by. Hope you're doing okay <3

Here's an idea: Shen Jiu adopting a spirit wolf. (It's the wolf who adopted SJ but shhh) Maybe SJ managed to get away from WYZ after burning the Qiu's and happened to cross paths with one.

It’s the eyes that he sees first.

Large. Silver. Peering from the shadows where even the hallowed touch of moonlight does not dare to sweep.

He should run.

He cannot.

After so long being deprived of everything but the bare minimum to keep him alive, his body is weak where it counts. He managed to escape the scene of his first murder. He managed to escape the clutches of the demonic cultivator that followed, hoping the drugging flowers he brewed into tea were strong enough to kill the man where his weak hands were not.

He is not stupid enough to believe he can escape the creature before him. Not when he hasn’t eaten in days, and the bones of his leg send fire through him with every jostle. Broken, after a tumble down the jagged ravine in the dark.

Shen Jiu always knew the world hated him- he did not think it so ironic to die like this. A pathetic beast, made a midnight dinner for a wolf.

That didn’t mean he intended to make it easy.

“Bring it on, then,” he hissed into the night, brandishing the largest stick his numb fingers could find. “Do your worst.”

A growl reverberated from the shadows, those bright, unblinking eyes moving as the creature stalked forward, its pelt shining as it stepped out into the light.

It was huge. From the wicked black claws on the tips of each paw to the glinting ivory of its teeth, the wolf was probably as large as a man. It tilted its head up, scenting the hair with a huff.

Even in the low light, Shen Jiu could see the hackles rise.

Shen Jiu braced to swing his branch as fervently as he could, and several things happened all at once.

A flash of steel came at him from one side.

An all too familiar shout echoed in the night.

And the wolf pivoted at the last moment, redirecting its lunge.

Wu Yanzi screamed as the canines of the beast tore into his skin, something dark splattering among the leaves and other debris of the forest floor. The sword he had attempted to fling at the young escapee thudded into the woods, thrown off course, and Shen Jiu pressed himself up against the trees until the painful howling of his latest captor fell to muffled struggles, and then silence.

His stick shook lightly in his hand.

He couldn’t run.

The wolf moved, hard to track in the darkness, with the low rustle of something dragging through the foliage. Away from Shen Jiu.

With a pained gasp, the teen rolled over, and began to drag himself away, claiming the sword that was left amid the roots along the way.

***

There’s a haze that comes with infection. Living on the streets, he’d learned to recognize it well, and now he can tell it’s come to visit him again.

His leg aches, angry and red with purple blotches after a day of struggling through the woods alone. So far, he has had no other trouble- only a brief encounter with a snake that was quickly handled with his stolen steel.

But he’s hungry. And it hurts, every time he struggles to push forward. If he laid his head down for just a moment, surely he can find the will to push further. Just for a moment…

Just… for a moment…

***

The branch whacks him in the face.

He startles awake with a curse, his leg throbbing in agony as he attempts to evade the attack, batting away his attacker with clumsy hands.

Something cracks in the brush above him, and Shen Jiu’s eyes dart up to meet another’s in the fading light of the sunset.

Large. Silver. Cloaked by swaths of sleek, white fur with a dark stripe down its ears and muzzle, and a patch on its forehead that looks strangely similar to a flower.

The wolf.

The great beast leaps from its place overhead, landing without hardly a sound, pacing a slow circle around him, its gaze too focused, too sharp.

“Come to finish the job, have you?” Shen Jiu snarls, baring his teeth. He has a sword now. He still can’t escape, but he could at least try to take the damn thing with him. Even with the dizziness that plagues him, he should at least be able to make it bleed.

He doesn’t expect to wolf to pick the aforementioned branch up in its teeth and throw it at him.

He splutters, throwing a hand up to guard his face even as something soft and smooth brushes against his wrist from within the bundle of leaves. Small white flowers dot the stems, and there, hidden in the center, is a cluster of plums.

Three of them, ripe and nearly bursting with flesh, practically begging to be eaten.

The wolf turns, and lopes away into the trees.

…The juice is sweet, and sticky where it clings to Shen Jiu’s chin.

***

His leg aches. He ignores it as best as he can, limping through the trees. Hunger does not gnaw at him so fiercely, but thirst has made its name known.

He finds a small stream, looking clear and clean enough. His body is weak as he all but dunks his head under, gulping down as much as he can stand without risking throwing it all back up.

After, he lays on the wide rocks of the bank, watching the sky wheel overhead as his body rebels once more.

He feels so hot, and cold, and sweaty, but it’s too dry and if he touches the water too much he’s going to die. Nothing quite makes sense and he can’t quite feel his own body anymore.

He’s so tired.

He wonders if this was the last experience he and Qi-ge would share- dying alone in the woods with no one there to care.

***

He wakes to something warm, and soft.

The scent of the woods surrounds him, pulls him close as his brother once did, whispering sweet dreams of far off freedoms and strength, and for the first time in a long time, Shen Jiu is slow to wake.

Let it be soft. Let it be warm. Let him have this, this one last mercy, before hell finds him once again.

The pulse of something safe, that latches on to that place hidden deep inside him, neither quite flesh nor phantasmal force.

Wu Yanzi had brushed against it, once, when he pretended to be a just and benevolent teacher. The roots that bound his spirit to his body.

His meridians.

He blinks his eyes open, one hand curling tight in the pale pelt that stretches next to him.

He blinks.

The wolf blinks back.

“If you’re going to follow me, that makes you mine,” Shen Jiu croaks. “That means I’m in charge and you have to do what I say.”

The pulse of qi he receives seems to be a happy agreement.

He allows the wolf to wiggle under him, lifting his small form onto its large back as it turns towards the heart of the woods.

He’s tired…

But… His leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

[convexicalcrow]

"Look, I know you're impatient, but just trust me, okay? We can't let them know ConCorp's behind this. Not yet, anyway," Cub said.

He was talking to Captain Jack, ConCorp CEO, who was currently sitting on the other end of the boardroom table, clutching a piece of melon in a claw that he was currently eating rather contentedly. The parrot seemed to pay no attention to him.

"What about Scar? Nah, nah, not Scar. He doesn't need to know. Besides, I told you before why we need Grian to front this. Not just because it was his idea, but because he's better at running things like this. And it keeps it all separate from me, so if it does end up failing, well, I can swoop in later to take over," Cub said.

The parrot chirped softly. Wandered across the table, gazing at things. Seeking more fruit. He caught Cub's gaze, and Cub laughed.

"Look, I promise I'll keep you updated, okay? Just let me work. I know what I'm doing," Cub said.

-

The meeting with Captain Jack had happened in Vexspace, of course, like all good ConCorp meetings, and it had happened just as the Hermetheus was arriving at their new home planet. Grian had been talking about running the shopping district on permits this season, something he'd been thinking about during stasis. Give each Hermit their own monopolies and see how that panned out. Cub had only gotten involved after Grian asked for help coming up with all the permits that might be needed.

Cub, of course, could see the potential. Monopolies for some resources could be very lucrative indeed. If this could infect the other Hermits with the same capitalist drive that ConCorp thrived on, well. They could go far indeed. And better have the Hermits in the arms of ConCorp than in the arms of GigaCorp. At least ConCorp was openly unethical. They wore their war crimes with pride.

And so it was that Cub spend much of the first day on the server, after they'd gotten geared up, locked in a dirt hole with Grian, figuring out permits, and how to sort them. Because, of course, if he rigged the distribution system well enough, perhaps he too could profit handsomely from it.

-

Hermit Time was a rather finicky thing. It happened when it happened. Once everyone had settled down in whatever space they wanted, it was easier to figure out where the shopping district would go. The permits were on their way, and Cub did not miss the hours spent crafting them all and sorting them into their iron, gold, and diamond tiers in the randomiser system he'd built. And then, once it was done, he stepped back, and let Grian run the show.

Grian sold it so well though. He was uniquely capable of ensuring the permit system was adopted by everyone. Unlike other Hermits, who didn't know exactly which permits were up for grabs, Cub knew which ones he wanted, and he would make sure he got them one way or another. Horns and fireworks, once he had those, he was set.

-

It's not that Cub was necessarily letting Grian fail, but the man's obsession with fishing up a mending book probably had wrecked his brain a little, so he wasn't at all surprised to find him rather reluctant to actually run the permit office once it had been set up. Hiring Scar and Skizz as Permit Office Enforcement agents definitely said a lot about Grian's care in selecting good people to help run the place. Cub had laughed when Grian told him he'd only hired them because they happened to be there at the time. Of course he did, that was the kind of slapdash Permit Office Grian seemed to like to run.

Cub didn't mind, though. If his Higher Ups wanted him to step in, he would, but they had other plans still. Give them a chance to fail on their own first. Patience. The time will come.

-

In some ways, Cub thought he was doing more permit office work than any of those three combined. He was fastidious about checking for permits being hung in shops, the presence of ender chests, making sure shops were kept in stock, all the work the Permit Office staff should be doing. He didn't keep his records out of spite, but perhaps he did send some anonymous mail to the Poe-Poe to tip them off if he found any egregious offences.

But of course, Grian would get lazy, the Poe-Poe would shirk their responsibilities, distracted by other crimes such as Doc's diamond ore thefts, and so the shopping district would lie neglected. And thus came the message from Captain Jack: It was time to step in.

-

Cub arranged a meeting once his ultimatums to Grian to step up his game went unanswered, which he knew they would be. He also sent summons to Scar and Skizz, just to get everyone together. Was calling it a disciplinary hearing a little strong? Well, perhaps, but it would get his attention. Set the stakes. Let them know he was serious. Well, the Higher Ups were serious. They wouldn't know it was him until he arrived.

Captain Jack was chattering in his ear as he floated down in front of the Poe Poe HQ where Grian, Scar, and Skizz were waiting for him. Cub wasn't always one for a dramatic entrance, but he felt this one mattered. Got himself a whole Permit Office uniform and a shiny gold badge, just to make it feel official. He was pleased they all showed up, and he definitely had to suppress a smile as he heard Scar reply, 'hello God' as he touched down in front of them, the slow falling having done its job.

It wasn't necessarily in Cub's nature to be dominant and bossy, but sometimes, it was just how things were gonna be, and it was vital to make it clear to them that he was in charge now and his orders would be obeyed. And, look, if he laced in a little Vex magic to sway the non-Vex, well, that wasn't a bad thing, right? The thunderstorm was a bonus, and honestly, he didn't mind the ominous evil atmosphere it created as he very calmly said things would be fine. And they would be fine, in time. All he had to do was make sure Grian didn't get in the way too much, and when the time was right, well. Perhaps Captain Jack would come to visit, and the server would once again belong to the ConVex.

[awkward-walking-potato]

PROMPT IDEA? (not x-man x wolverine but it can be if you’d like)

um a y/n that’s part werewolf and logan and y/n share comfort after her first transformation? (it hurt a lot lol)

like i said, can be with another mutant if u don’t want to write that :3

The moon hung heavy in the night sky, a silver orb casting its pale light over the sprawling woods surrounding Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. The mansion was a beacon of safety and learning for so many, but for me, it was a place of constant struggle—struggling to keep the beast within me at bay.

My mutation was a curse as much as it was a gift. While others had powers that could be controlled with practice, mine was tied to something primal, something that ripped through my body with agonizing force every time the full moon rose. Half-werewolf, half-human, I walked the line between both worlds, never fully belonging to either.

Professor Charles Xavier had been patient with me, trying to teach me techniques to manage the transformations, but no amount of mental exercises or meditation could change the fact that every time I shifted, it felt like my entire body was being torn apart. The bones twisted, broke, and reformed, stretching my skin until it felt like it might split at the seams. Every night, I dreaded the transformation, knowing the pain that awaited me.

Tonight, I couldn’t stay in the mansion. I didn’t want the others to hear me scream, to see the raw, feral side of me that emerged when the change took hold. So, I fled to the woods, where the only witnesses would be the trees and the cold wind.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I stumbled through the underbrush, the telltale ache beginning to settle into my bones. The transformation was coming, and there was no stopping it. I fell to my knees, clutching my sides as the first wave of pain hit me, a white-hot agony that stole the breath from my lungs.

The sound of bones breaking filled the air, a sickening crack that echoed through the trees. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, trying to muffle the scream that clawed its way up my throat. My hands dug into the earth, fingers curling into the dirt as my body convulsed, the beast within me demanding to be set free.

It felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes, but eventually, the pain subsided, leaving me panting and trembling on the forest floor. My mind was a haze of exhaustion and lingering torment, my body aching from the force of the transformation. I could feel the roughness of fur on my skin, the sharpness of claws where my hands used to be.

But the worst part was the aftermath, the moment when the beast retreated and left me in its wake—broken, naked, and utterly vulnerable. The transformation reversed just as painfully as it began, my bones snapping back into place, muscles tearing and healing all at once. By the time it was over, I was left curled up on the cold ground, shivering and crying from the overwhelming pain and exhaustion.

I didn’t know how long I lay there, tears streaking down my face, my body too weak to move. All I could think about was how much I wanted it to stop—how I wanted to be free of this curse that ripped me apart every time the moon rose.

That’s when I heard him.

The snap of a twig underfoot made me freeze, my heart lurching in my chest. I was too tired to run, too broken to fight, but when I turned my head to see who—or what—was approaching, my fear was replaced by something else. Recognition.

Logan stepped out of the shadows, his usual stoic expression softened by something I couldn’t quite place. He didn’t say anything at first, just took in the sight of me—shivering, naked, and covered in dirt and dried blood. His eyes, usually so hard and guarded, softened with an understanding that pierced through my haze of pain.

“Come on,” he said quietly, kneeling beside me. He shrugged off his jacket, pulling his shirt over his head and handing it to me without a word. The night air was cold, and the warmth of his shirt was a small comfort as I pulled it over my head, the fabric soft against my aching skin.

I tried to speak, to explain, but the words caught in my throat, and all I could manage was a choked sob. Logan’s hand found my shoulder, his touch gentle, but grounding, and he stayed there, waiting until the worst of my trembling had subsided.

“I get it,” he said after a long moment, his voice low and rough. “I know what it’s like to have your body ripped apart, to feel like you’re losing yourself every time the change comes. It ain’t easy.”

I looked up at him, the tears still falling, but something in his words cut through the despair that had settled in my chest. Logan wasn’t one to offer comfort lightly, but there was a sincerity in his tone that told me he understood—maybe better than anyone else could.

“It hurts,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “It hurts so much, and I can’t… I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Logan’s grip on my shoulder tightened just a fraction, enough to let me know he was still there, still with me. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said. “Takes guts to keep goin’ through this, to keep fightin’. But you ain’t gotta do it alone.”

I closed my eyes, letting his words wash over me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel completely alone in my struggle. Logan’s presence was a steadying force, something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

“Come on,” he said again, helping me to my feet. My legs were shaky, barely able to hold me up, but Logan’s arm around my waist kept me steady. “Let’s get you back to the mansion. You need rest.”

I nodded, too exhausted to argue, and leaned into him as we made our way through the woods. Each step was painful, but with Logan beside me, the weight of the transformation didn’t feel quite as heavy. He kept a steady pace, never rushing me, his presence a quiet reassurance that I wasn’t alone in this.

By the time we reached the edge of the woods, I was half-asleep, the adrenaline from the transformation wearing off and leaving me drained. Logan carried most of my weight, his arm firm around me, and when I stumbled, he caught me without hesitation.

As we approached the mansion, I felt a flicker of embarrassment—of shame—at being seen like this, so weak and vulnerable. But Logan’s grip on me never wavered, and when I looked up at him, there was no judgment in his eyes, only that same understanding that had been there from the start.

“You’re gonna get through this,” he said quietly, his voice rough but steady. “It ain’t gonna be easy, but you will. And I’ll be here when you need me.”

I didn’t have the strength to respond, but the warmth in my chest was answer enough. Logan was right—I wasn’t alone in this. And with him by my side, I knew I had the strength to keep fighting, no matter how hard it got.

Together, we made our way back into the mansion, leaving the darkness of the woods behind us. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a glimmer of hope.

[yesihaveaobsession]

Looped In Time

Alastor x female reader

Summary: Like Groundhog Day the reader (you) are experiencing a endless time loop, she asks The Radio Demon to get her out but that involves a deal.

Y/N- Y'all might argue and say, " Groundhog Day." but the real ones know it's actually "Mystery Spot."

You woke up again. Again? Yes. You found yourself trapped in an endless time loop, with no idea why. Each time, you died in the most outlandish ways: Frank, Sir Pentious's Egg Boi, shot a lasher, it hit you, and then you woke up in your bed. Another time, Cherri Bomb threw a grenade in the hotel lobby, and there you were again... waking up in your bed. Normally, you'd have no idea what day it was in Hell... but you sure as hell knew it was Wednesday.

You wanted to pull your hair out at this point; you needed out. So, you went to look for the man you knew who could help you: the Radio Demon himself. Said demon was returning from his radio tower. He was much taller than you, so you practically had to jog to catch up with him. You didn't want him to disappear, so you shouted.

"Alastor! Just the guy I wanted to see." Alastor stopped and turned to face you with his smile. "So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Not wanting anyone else to hear what charade was tormenting you, you grabbed his claw and dragged him into your bedroom, shutting the door and locking it.

Alastor let out a chuckle. "That is one way to get your point across." Was he mocking you? You finally turned to face him. "I'm stuck, you baboon."

"Stuck?" He smiled, but his eyes showed confusion. "I'm stuck in an endless time loop that never ends, and I can't do anything about it!" You ran your hands through your hair, trying to catch your breath.

"That does not sound very pleasant at all." Maybe this was a bad idea. He seemed to enjoy watching you struggle. And God, did you hate it.

"No shit! I somehow die in the dumbest ways and wake up, and it's Wednesday. In fact, this is the hundredth Wednesday I've lived through!" Alastor sat on your bed with his legs crossed over each other. "Sounds... frustrating."

You finally looked over at the deer demon, who clearly was enjoying it by his grin. But he did want to help; he saw the desperate glint in your eyes. "You do realize that you are essentially in Hell currently, yes?"

Seriously? "Yes," You replied flatly. "And you know the only way to break the cycle, yes?" He stood from the bed and made his way over to you, clutching his cane, bending down and sliding a finger down your chest, then pausing and looking up at you.

"No, tell me." You gripped onto the flaps of his suit jacket desperately. Just where he wanted you. "Perhaps I can offer you a way out of this tiresome cycle. But, of course, everything comes at a price." Your giddiness came to an end when he said this. "I'm way smarter than making a deal with you." You replied, letting go of his suit and crossing your arms. To think this was the game that Alastor played. He also knew that getting through to someone looking for help like you was a lot easier.

"I assure you... the price is very reasonable..." He said with animated hand gestures. You were now glaring at him. Was this sensibly a price to pay? Although you weren't sure if he believed you or not. You didn't know how to get out. A part of you felt like Alastor put you in this to get something out of you.

"You're not getting my soul." You spoke. He smiled more. His arms were behind his back, and he started to circle around you, slowly, like you were his prey.

"Oh, you will not have to sell me your soul. Just your services, if you agree to my terms." Terms? What terms? You thought to yourself. You felt your heart start to pound in your chest. The tension between you and the seven-foot man was weighing down on you.

"Why do I feel like you're mocking me?" You pushed, knowing he was hiding something behind those yellow teeth. Alastor chuckled. "No mocking here." He let out a sigh before continuing. "Only a simple contract, and you'll be free of the time loop for good... at least, that is my offer." Alastor held out his hand, with his antlers growing from his head. You took a step back. "Do you have some demands that, if met, would break you out of the loop?"

"I was hoping you'd help me without a deal."

"That technically is not an option, my dear." His hand remained stretched out in front of him. You weighed your options. "Why?"

"Think of this situation as a business transaction, my dear. There are no freebies in this plane of existence. There is a price to pay for everything. And I am only being so generous to you because I want something in return, from you."

Either way, you needed out. "Deal." you replied and shook his hand, you woke up in your bed and looked at the clock it said Thursday, you let out a sigh of relief only to realize you don't know what you agreed to.

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

A child's fear and apology.

From @strawberryscarecr0w's post about Auron having a nightmare. My idea of what happened in that room with the gun, choking (He didn't men too he sorry- please). I apologize in advance-

Auron was standing somewhere? looking around everything seemed...oh no.

BANG

Flinching he saw a door cracked open, light bleeding out of a fireplace. He knew all too well what would be behind that door if he creaked it open. But he didn't have control of his body, slowly he walked to the door and involuntarily opened it. There, right there, was him, younger, way to young to be holding that fucking gun. Breathing became more quicker as he looked to the floor where the younger version of himself was looking.

It was him, laying down holding the bullet wound where the younger him shot. Not deadly but if not treated quickly can kill him. Haunting eyes looked at his younger self, then he chuckled, god he hated that fucking chuckle had had. His skin crawled when ever he did so because he did it when he had the upper hand...

That bastard got up, as if he was bullet proof. Younger him backed up in surprise clutching the gun and raising it only for it to sound off a click. Fuck he needed another bullet! Hectic breathing was all AUuon could hear as his younger self stepped back to get distance looking for the other bullet in his pocket. But shaky hands dropped it and it rolled to his step dad.

"Fuck-" The older man lunged fore Auron's younger self hands turning into claws and becoming demon like. Auron's older self yanked the kid to him and they merged?

"What..." Chuckling was his answer as he looked up to the older man in front of him. Fuck he was shorter and younger again, his body is trembling before this man again. The years of being away from this man cracking the confidence he built over the years is being ripped away from him. Again.

"Didn't I tell you boy? You can't hurt me!" Cold dead hands held him and shook him. Resentment of the man before him caused Auron t finally move, so he grabbed for his throat. Snarling Auron gripped as hard as he could, fuck this lowlife for hurting his mom, Trish, Faust, and him!

He was able to get that waste of space off of him and on his back where Auron held tight. The older man squirmed as he slapped Auron's arms and clawed at his hands. Just shouting his name, Auron Auron AuRON AURON-

"AURON!" Screeching as he finally snapped out of it and saw he was.....chocking Rook?!

"What-ACK-" A punch was thrown at his throat and he was kicked in the stomach off of Rook. Who was gasping for air coughing up saliva that was coming up their throat. Pained cries were heard as Rook got to their knees on the bed looking at him in fear. No no no no no no!

"Rook I-" Reaching out his hand was slapped hard.

"Don't TOUCH ME!" Rook curled into themselves to make them seem smaller in the bed. They flinched when they saw his face "Just...not right now please." On the floor Auron felt numb, he hurt them? He fucking HURT THEM. Tears began to fall as he looks at his hands and buries his head in them. fuck fuck fuck-

"Auron...it's ok-" Snapping his head up he shouted "NO IT ISN'T! THIS IS NOT OKAY ROOK!" He closed his eye as Rook flinched at him. They were shaking, he was shaking fuck this really is a shitty night. A creak was heard as Rook slipped down to where Auron was sitting, they were looking at the floor with tears. Fuck the bruising on their neck was dark already.

"I know, I just....I want to make you feel better. I'm sorry-" Auron let out a pained noise.

"No. Don't apologize if anyone has too it NEEDS to be me. I'm so fucking sorry Rook. I...I- ffuck I'm-" Warmth engulfed him as Rook held his waist. And began to sob, "I...I was so fucking scared Auron....What happened?" Auron just held Rook as he sobbed too. He felt like that same kid again, crying because his step father pushed him too hard again during training days.

"I...I need to tell you something. It'll explain how this happened. And Rook?" Eyes peered up to him, puffy and wet from sobbing their heart out. "If I ever do that again please. Hurt me." Their mouth dropped at those words.

"NO! I would-" Auron gave them a pleading look and they stopped. Looking into his eyes they nodded, Auron then breathed before thinking here to start.

"My step father, I shot him when I was younger." Arms gripped him tighter as his lover said nothing.

[star-going-supernova]

SBI idea: Feral Freddy who’s completely losing it over his son boy and all the confused animatronics watch as he goes on a war path <33

I just want more feral Freddy going bonkers over Gregory getting hurt :)

As you can see, I decided to throw a handful of prompts together for this ficlet. I haven’t put much thought into this AU other than to say, for the sake of having the satisfaction of letting Freddy go feral on him, Afton has not been springlocked. So, if that’s not telling enough, then I’m sure the title is, lol. Warning for blood and a bit of gore!

The Bite

The knife sank in to its hilt, and there it stayed as Gregory fell to the floor with a suddenness like his knees had been kicked out from under him. A soft noise of confused pain left him, and already, a glassiness had come over his eyes. 

Afton laughed. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t have done so—and perhaps he would have been more careful to stab his young victim in a more secluded location—if he’d known about Freddy. 

With the echo of Gregory’s summons in his head—the button had been spammed, either in impatience or panic, and Freddy always assumed the latter for caution’s sake (and had been wrong only once)—Freddy turned the corner into the atrium in time to watch Gregory finish falling onto his back, where he blinked sluggishly up at the ceiling. 

Freddy saw this, and the knife, and the growing stain of blood on Gregory’s shirt, and the man standing over him, laughing laughing laughing away. And then Freddy saw red. 

Afton didn’t have longer than a second or two to register the loud, crashing footsteps heading his way before he was tackled to the floor by a three hundred and fifty pound robot. This, as one might imagine, wasn’t very good for his health. 

Most of Afton’s ribs snapped on impact, and his skull bounced against the tiles with a resounding crack. Just as quickly as he was thrown to the floor, he was reeled upward, Freddy crouching over him and clutching handfuls of Afton’s shirt. His claws pierced the fabric and sliced through his chest. 

Blank black eyes with mere pinpricks of white pupils glared down at Afton. Freddy roared in the man’s face, his jaw hinging open wide. And then he pulled the dazed man forward, leaned down himself, and engulfed Afton’s entire head all the way to his chin in his maw before biting down with the force of a hydraulic press.

The prior history of animatronic bites, while gruesome, nonetheless looked like mere nibbles in comparison to this bite. For the fact remained that Freddy did not have a particularly cavernous mouth.

Afton’s head more or less exploded. Blood and mush burst out through the narrow gaps between Freddy’s teeth, and absolute gore plopped wetly to the floor. 

Freddy opened his mouth. His razor-sharp teeth had nearly decapitated Afton, and it was only by a few fleshy threads and a determined spinal column that the ruin of his head—the parts that weren’t liquified, that was—didn’t splatter at Freddy’s knees. The mess hung around the stump of the man’s neck like a deflated jellyfish.

Freddy turned his head slowly, mechanically. For a bot that had otherwise seemed so alive before, it was chilling to see. 

A short distance away, Vanny eeped in fear when his dark gaze landed on her. She raised her hands in the universal sign of surrender. 

“You will call for an ambulance,” Freddy told her lowly, “and you will unlock the pizzaplex, and you will not attempt to escape.” He stood up to his full height, and only then dropped the limp body. The remains of Afton squished to the floor. 

Hands shaking, Vanny nodded rapidly. She couldn’t quite look away from her boss’s splattered gray matter. 

Ignoring her, and with the threat dealt with, Freddy turned his attention to Gregory. Feeling quite distant from himself, he knelt beside the boy, who was trembling faintly and thoroughly in shock, and examined him. The knife, he knew, could not be removed. 

With bloodstained, gentle hands, Freddy lifted Gregory into his arms. Gregory seemed only barely aware of him; one of his hands fumbled against Freddy’s chest, leaving a small, smeared, bloody handprint over the lightning bolt. 

Freddy’s warning systems blared in fearful rage. He strode from the room as evenly as he could, trying to keep from jostling Gregory.

• • •

An hour later found Freddy in Parts and Service, making use of the animatronic-sized showers and rough cleaning brushes. Though more than one human’s blood stained his hands and chest, he focused only on Gregory’s, fiercely, angrily, harshly. He scrubbed with enough force to scratch his paint, and he scrubbed where the handprint had been long after it had been washed down the drain. 

Chica joined him at some point, his awareness of his surroundings dulled, and she carefully cleaned away the blood on his teeth and jaw and all the other places Gregory’s was not. 

She did not comment on the spot of exposed silver on his chest, where the orange and blue had been completely scoured off. 

• • • 

It was a month before Gregory was well enough to return to the pizzaplex. After hours, naturally. He ducked through the halls, skillfully evading the STAFF bots, and he couldn’t contain his grin when he knocked on the door to Freddy’s green room. 

Freddy was plainly confused when he opened the door, and it took a second for him to look down. Gregory’s smile widened. 

With an inarticulate noise of profound shock and relief, Freddy swooped down to scoop Gregory up, inhumanly fast. He laughed as he settled against Freddy’s chest, and the tight wrap of metal arms around his body didn’t scare him. He knew exactly how dangerous Freddy could be; his memory of That Night, after being stabbed, wasn’t the clearest, but he remembered enough. 

“You are here,” Freddy whispered, voice verging on glitchy. He hugged Gregory impossibly tighter, yet never too tight. “You are alive.” 

“Thanks to you,” Gregory said. “You really saved me, y’know.” 

“I thought I would lose you, superstar. I thought—”

“You didn’t. And you’re not gonna. I mean, you definitely made sure that psycho could never hurt me again.” 

Freddy growled. “He deserved nothing less.” He let Gregory sit up—encouraged it, even—and Gregory kindly didn’t tease him when Freddy’s eyes flickered the way they did when he was scanning someone. 

Perched mostly on only one of Freddy’s arms, Gregory allowed his protector to examine him, even going so far as to pat him down as thought looking for hidden injuries. And when Freddy was satisfied with the rest of his inspection, his eyes zeroed in on the exact spot the knife had been. 

Gregory lifted the hem of his shirt and felt Freddy spasm. The scar wasn’t that bad, all things considered. As it was, the actual knife wound was fairly neat, just a line of slightly raised red scar tissue. The scars from the resulting surgery and stitches just made it look worse. More… extensive. 

Freddy’s thumb brushed lightly against the skin near the injury, but not surprising at all, he didn’t actually touch it. 

“See?” Gregory said, letting him look for a minute before dropping his shirt back down. “They patched me up, and now I’m just fine. Doesn’t even hurt unless I try twisting around.” 

Freddy nodded slowly, not so much unbelieving as he was gradually coming to accept that as true. “I am… relieved. To hear that.” 

Relieved felt like way too small of a word for the desperate light in Freddy’s eyes and the way he carefully guided Gregory closer again with a hand on his back. Gregory went easily, happy to tuck his face against Freddy’s jaw. 

He knew he was safe there. 

[random-vore-blog]

May I ask for more sanegiyuu vore? It's so cuteee 😭😭

Of course! I am just gonna use an au I have cooked up. Plus, this gives you an idea of what happened to Giyu :3

Harpy's Lake Gem

The moon was up, its rays casting over the forest where mythical creatures resided in, illuminaring the landscape with its its gentle touch. The forest that held mysteries no human could solve, a puzzle too difficult for the human mind to complete. A foreign, but also familiar space for many who travel across the land to find the place.

Those who entered never came back. Many went missing upon entering the forest, many remains left out by the borders- a warning to any who dare to try to enter the forest without permission. Be it an arm or any other limb or a corpse, it didn't matter. It was still a warning.

But deep in the forest, a lake stood proud in the open in the heart of the forest. Its surface shone like gems, the water calm and at peace. The moonlight caressed the precious surface with care and a gentleness no one knew about. But as gorgeous as it looks from above and on land, there was a sinister aura that lurked beneath the surface- hidden from anyone by the facade of the innocent surface of the water.

The most deaths of humans occured here, in the heart of the forest, where no one would ever find the remains- gone and nowhere to be seen or to find their way out of this place. The lake was a trap- a deathtrap that had worked succesfully for the creature that resided in the lake it called home. It lured the next victims by just its voice alone, a song that no one could resist and follow.

A seastack on the far side, close to shore, sat comfortably with the water gently lapping at it. Ontop sat the cause of all the missing people that dared to enter the forest, right into its webbed hands.

A Siren.

Mythical creatures with the lower half of a fish and the upper half of a man, beings sailors told tales of- with a taste and appitite for human flesh, an appitite no human could understand. Its beauty hid away the sinister side deep beneath the surface. The beauty of the creature used to trick mankind, a facade to disguise their true intentions from mankind- violent beasts that drowned man for its own pleasures and needs. Sometimes feasting on the corpses of the victims it drowned.

The siren on the seastack had a beautiful tail as blue as sapphire stones with white diamond-shaped dots on the sides, the fins a transluscent baby blue colour, hair as black as a raven's with hints of almost invisble blue hues under the moon, dark blue eyes that pulled many in their gaze, fins acting like ears the same colour as the tail, the fingers a light blue colour that spread up to the elbow, claws a beautiful dark blue and webbing white, the upper torso covered in robes of red with a checkered pattern consisting of green and yellow.

The scales reflected the moonlight that caressed them, giving off a faint glow from the tail. It made the creature not only look majestic but also gorgeous and etheral, a beauty no one could take their eyes off of. A mask crafted over thousands of years to perfect the beauty.

The gentle sound of a song escaped its throat, sounding masculine in comparison to most feminine songs sung by the normal female sirens. Thus being identified as a male siren, a rare sight to behold as thete are few left in the world.

The fins on his head twitched as he heard something, another creature that he was all too familiar with. Someone the siren knew and had been friends with im the past, despite their historical rivalry, the wars both of these two mythical creatures had for thousands and thousands of years.

The siren turned his head slightly to look behind him, seeing all-too-familiar bird talons clutching onto the hard ricky surface, latched onto the stone to ensure that they don't let the creature slip off. He looked up, seeing a familiar face he had grown used to.

White hair that illuminated silver when light caressed the strands, purple eyes that glared daggers at him, scars on the face and lips formed into a frown. Dark green armour covered the chest, a black shirt underneath, a cloth of sorts hanging from the sides and tied to its waist, dark green pants that stopped right above the knee where the bird feet began to form. Black wings with white feathers at the edges, the tail matching the colour scheme of the wings. Green streaks right by the cheeks, feathers placed on either side where human ears would be acted as the ears.

" Shinazugawa-san."

" Tomioka."

The voice of the creature was a lot deeper and rough, as if it ate sand for breakfast instead of its preferred food. The hint of venom in the tone gave the siren, dubbed as Tomioka, an insight to what the creature wanted.

It wanted him for something, and that something he was unsure of. He couldn't place a clawed finger on what the winged creature wanted. And that creature was an expert at aerial hunting.

A Harpy.

Winged beasts with the lower half of a bird while the upper half was a human, arms replaced by wings larger than a human's body. Maybe larger than two humans stacked on each other. They came in many shapes and sizes, but they took on the species of any predatory bird. Their excellent aerial control in the air was phenomenal and more executed than any bird, surprassing their bird of prey counterparts.

" Is there something you need?"

The siren asked softly, a curious glint evident in the blue orbs that watched the Harpy with caution. He was aware that he was a delicacy for these aerial predators, nothing but a meal to them. He had to tread carefully if he didn't want to become Harpy food. However, he was unsure if the Harpy viewed him as a food source, seeing as he- identified by the masculine voice- never laid a talon on him.

" Does Kagaya-san need us in his presence?"

" No,"

The Harpy lowered his upper torso, bending it to be on eye level with the aquatic being.

" he does not need us in his presence."

Tomioka made a small frown, eyes squinted in confusion at the words that left Shinazugawa's- as Tomioka called him- mouth. The confusion did not leave his features, not until a talon pinned him against the rock, on his back. His back arched from the sudden contact of the cold surface, eyes widened as they stared at the purple ones that glared at him.

" It is you."

" What are-"

" It's your late night swimming that irritates me."

" Shinazu-"

" NO! Every time I patrol, I always see you swimming late at night!"

His jaws clenched in anger, body shaking with rage.

" And tonight is NO different! You think I don't notice the smallest of hints that you have insomnia?! Or the details like the dark circles under your eyes known as eyebags?!"

He growled, snarling at the being under his taloned foot, wings opened slightly to prove his point, to imply what he meant by his words. Tomioka just stared at him in disbelief, as if the Harpy had said that he had commited a crime...

" Don't try to hide it! I can see it from a mile away! Even Iguro can smell it from a mile away!"

" Sh-"

" No-! I am DONE watching you swim late at night when Iguro and I are on patrol!"

The pressure on the Siren's chest increased, before he was lifted up, off of the cold floor as his tail laid limp on the ground beneath. He had never seen the Harpy this irritated before, let alone concerned for his wellbeing. A warmth blossomed in his chest at the thought of someone caring for him.

" And I am going to do something about it."

He said dangerously low, above a whisper and his voice dripped with anger. Not only that, but the talons brought his face closer to Shinaguzawa's.

Before he could say anything, the lips in front of him parted, reavealing a cavern of flesh. Strands of saliva clung on the roof an anywhere it could cling onto, a tongue slipped out to give him a taste. He didn't react to it, however, as his attention was drawn to the pearly white teeth that were sharp and could snap him in half, crush bone. He was in a state of shock, not able to tell his body to move as it failed to co-operate with him.

It closed in front of him, and he stared at Shinazugawa wide-eyed.

" You taste better than I expected."

The Harpy murmured, tilting his head to the side, squinting his eyes in glee, something the Siren never saw.

Before long, the Harpy tilted his head straight and licked his lips. He- he wasn't going to- right? Tomioka felt a wave of panic hit him like a ton of bricks, a slap across the face full force.

The maw opened again and this time, his head was placed inside. He wanted to struggle, to scream and cry out for help, but his body refused, still in shock and trying to process what was going on.

It was warm, very warm. The humid air inside messed with his gills, threatening him to gasp for air a lot nicer than the dry air he was forced to inhale-! But he didn't, he couldn't. His body didn't belong to him as he was swallowed, body sliding down the now tight tube with ease like he was nothing. As if he was a small fish that slid down the throat of a crocodile... His skin got irritated by the dry air, unable to handle the warmth the air inside the Harpy provided. It was unbearable, and quite itchy.

By the time he got his body to struggle, it was too late as his head slipped into a roomier organ, the rest of his body following soon after.

It was hot, humid and with a liquid that filled tbe organ, stopping the itching he felt on his skin and scales. He panicked, body jerking away at the sudden pressure on his back. His eyes wide as realization of where he was dawned on him. He was in Shinaguzawa's stomach, a place he feared the most.

" Shinazugawa-san! Let me out!"

He panicked, body about ready to hyperventilate as the shock wore off, adrenaline the new booster to help his body to hyperventilate. His body shook.

" Let me out! Please! I beg of you!"

He yelled, trembling as his eyes were blurred by the tears that formed, jerking as a sob left his form. He held his head with both webbed hands, covering his finned ears that flattened against his head and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. The waterfall got out of the walls known as tear ducts.

" Please- please Sanemi! Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease-"

He repeated, unable to do anything but beg Sanemi to let him go, to not let him die in this place other sirens had died.

<_>_<_>

He stared at his middle in shock, where his hand would've been if he had human arms rested on the slightly bulged area his "meal" was in, begging for his life to be spared, pleading.

Did- did he not realize that he... oh no-! Oh nomonononono! He didn't-

Panic enveloped his body when he was called by his first name. Did his insomnia affect him to the point of not thinking rationally? That him and Tomioka were a thing? This- oh god... The thought of digesting a living creature and his mate alone made him sick.

He rubbed his middle, trying to soothe and calm the the hyperventilating Siren down as best as he could while he hummed.

" Hey- hey-! It's okay! It's okay!"

He wanted to calm down his poor mate, tried to reassure him that he was not in any danger- that they have done this before with comforting words! But they didn't leave his throat after he spoke or tried to speak again. The words evaporated from the tip of his tongue.

All he could do was push thrpugh it all and just head back to his place located on a massive and broad seastack where a cave was.

He opened his wings and crouched down, jumping in the air and took off, heading back to his cave- his home. He couldn't use words to calm Tomioka down... he'll just hope that he realizes that he is safe-

His feathered ears twitched as he heard shaky breathes, the heartrate of the siren inside the organ slow and at a pace he was familiar with- that he grew fond of. He sighed in relief, in time to land gracefully on the edge of the cave.

His talons scraped against the stone beneath them as he entered, checking his surroundings to make sure that nothing was out of the ordinary. Besides Genya sleeping in the mest he built for him.

It was a long night, and restless one. He was tired, wanting to gain energy for what the next day wpuld bring. He stopped in his tracks and laid down like a bird, eyes closing as he focused on the weight in his crop. He'll rest his eyes for a few minutes... It wouldn't kill anyone if he rested a little, right?

And so, he dosed off, joining his brother and Giyu in dreamland where everything that had happened was nothing more than an old and bad memory.

The End

Sorry if this is not what you wanted, but I did enjoy writing it! It was a lot of fun to play with these two boys I ship so much!

[graylinesspam]

There was something to be said about the strength of a soldier's hands. In the place she was in life right now, Ahsoka didn't know anyone who wasn't physically strong.

That was mostly due to the thousands of genetically enhanced soldiers that made up the bulk of her list of friends these days. But even outside of the clones themselves, Ahsoka couldn't think of a person she considered a friend that didn't have considerable strength.

Maybe counting Anakin was cheating. His hand was prosthetic after all. It was the grip of durasteel and the mighty but tiny servos in his arm that granted him his unmatched grip strength. Strong enough to loosen bolts with his fingers. But she figured he'd probably be strong with only flesh limbs too. There wasn't really anything about Anakin's physicality that could be described as weak. He was as much a soldier now as any man in armor.

So Ahsoka had gotten used to strong grips. The way that Anakin would jerk her back from danger. Or the way any soldier might grab her attention on the front lines when the explosions were too loud to shout over. A grown man's hands were just strong, and maybe a little rough.

Not that she was complaining, they never hurt her. It was just another aspect of the war that reminded her how rough everything was out here. It wasn't like she was particularly gentle either. She'd had to put muscle and strength into her limbs the same as them.

But maybe, occasionally, It was nice to be handled gently. She remembered how it had been before she became a padwan. When master Yoda's small hand still knew how to land gently on a youngling's shoulder. Or the way that Master Plo managed to pat her so softly with metal tipped fingers hiding razor sharp poisoned tipped claws below them.

She remembers being taught by the creche masters to be gentle with the younger kids. How to coordinate her small child hands into a gentle gesture.

But it's been so long since she's been able to.

Her hands are hard now. Swollen with muscles, yet lean with protruding tendons. Strong enough to crush a glass in her palm. Calloused from training and falling and catching herself on her palms until they crew rough.

But she needs to remember now, the lessons she's set aside for the war.

There's a child lost on some far off battlefield, nothing remaining of the home they once lived in. Ahsoka thinks it's a boy. He's small, near human, but with green skin. Mirialan maybe. It's hard to tell through the grime.

Ahsoka kneels on the gravel beside him and the sudden movement makes the child flinch hard. He begins to cry. "No, I'm sorry, hey, It's okay."

She offers an open palm to the kid but he only flinches back again.

An explosion goes off in the distance and Ahsoka has no idea how she can possibly do anything to make this kid less afraid while on the front lines of a battle.

He's shaking and clutching at his ears, tears wearing tracks in the dirt on his filthy face. He's curled as tightly as he can into a little space between the rubble, trying to disappear.

There's urgency in the coil of her muscles. She has to consciously relax them. She flexes her hand a couple of times willing it to be softer before she lays it gently on his knee.

He screams at the touch. Body shuddering harder as he sobs. He's so terrified it makes the edges of her vision go blurry.

"Hey," she calls softly, the end of the word drowned out by another explosion.

She doesn't have the luxury of coaxing him out. But she won't be rough either. She scoops him up under his butt, pulling him into the circle of her arms.

He throws his feet out to keep her away but Ahsoka only lifts him higher until he's practically standing in her lap, feet planted on her thighs.

She stands and his little legs dangle down, his face immediately curls into her chest hiding from the loud noises.

There are enemies approaching from the west. She can hear the sound of their metallic marching. She turns to the south east and begins jogging. The jostling startles him again and his little hands grip her around the upper arms, tiny fingernails digging into her skin. She can't stop to reassure him. There's rough terrain here and she has to move quickly.

She almost trips over a tree root and has to quickly right herself before she goes toppling over onto the child. Over the explosions she can hear rustling, closer than she'd like. She ducks down behind a stump, the tree it used to be half blown off half splinters.

A boot crunches over rocks between blasts and Ahsoka can sense it's location, to the north east only a few feet away. She peeks between the splinters of wood and spies blue armor.

With a revealed sigh she stands again catching the moment the black visor turns in her direction. The trooper hurries over to her side. His hand, war beaten and strong, grips her by the shoulder and hurries her back the direction he'd come from.

They move more quickly with a precise destination in mind. Dodging rubble and come across very few droids along the way.

Their forces have constructed a hold point behind some mildly blow apart homes. She can see helmets and guns peeking at them from between the cracks.

She hurries into one of the buildings, the one with most of a roof, and meets several other troopers crouched inside. Vere and Denal among them.

One of them is examining the cuts and burns along her arms from her run in with the droids. Another tries to pry the child from her. He has red on his pauldron.

With as unwilling as he was to allow her to scoop him up, he has decided during their walk to this strong hold, that he likes it there and has no intention of leaving her arms.

His nails tear at her skin as he cries and shakes his head. She can see smudged under his ear is blood.

"Stop." Ahsoka demands and the trooper freezes his helmet somehow conveying a look of uncertainty. "Be gentle." She demands and moves his hands to the little boy's hips.

His fingers curl around the child with a foreign softness and he lifts as Ahsoka removes his hands from her arms.

The child cries and rubs at his ears again.

"I think he's been injured, his ears, from the explosions maybe."

Someone is spraying her with a field dressing of bacta as they tilt the child's head by his chin and rub at the smudge there.

"It's blood. Probably a ruptured ear drum." the medic muses. "Maybe a head injury though."

Rough or not, they're good hands, she thinks.

[huskynotwolf]

Stuck (not really,) — Martyn and Grian

From my fanfic Watchers and Hunters on Quotev

Martyn growled and looked at the wall again. He could hear all sorts of noises, especially the talking of Watcher guards. Grian was next to him, clutching his head like he was having the worst headache in his life. His parrot wings have resumed to a striking rainbow, no longer dull, but his emotions screamed for help. 

Grian could feel his sanity chipping away slowly the longer he stayed here. He had gotten Martyn to tell Pearl about what’s happening, and he had told him that she’s coming. Then, using extra energy, he’d told Martyn the direction to get here for Scar, Ren and Scott. Two different patrols, trying to save them, but still the little Watcher shivered. 

Martyn hooked his claws into the chipped walls of the cell and tugged. He managed to yank a tiny chunk of rock out, but it took him almost a full day. He couldn’t keep going even if his instincts told him to. Grunting in defeat, he went over the the door and threw the tough rock at the hinges. The rock split in two and clattered to the floor. 

Grian mumbled, mentally exhausted. He couldn’t find any escape routes, but he could only see Martyn, the one man who’d kept him alive for their time here, banging a chunk of rock he’d ripped out of the wall. “Martyn, stop. You’re just gonna exhaust yourself more.” He prompted. The golden-winged boy stopped for a moment, then sighed and walked over to him, sitting down in the hard floor. “Scar or Pearl, who do you think is coming first?” Martyn asked. Earlier the man had explained every Hunter, or hermit, he calls it, to me do I could know a tad bit more. “…Pearl has a Wolf, Scar has the teleportation guy. I have no idea.” I stretched out my senses, then recoiled as Martyn yanked me back. “Pearl. She’s closer to us. I have hope, Grian. Even if your kind didn’t, I have. You’re officially my best friend. Aside Ren, of course.” He gripped my shoulders. 

Martyn thought of Ren when he mentioned it. The man-Wolf he liked… they’d led a siege together a long time ago, he’d saved Ren once. And now Ren was repaying the favour by saving him. He sighed, hopeless, but walked around the cell. As he neared the corner, his talons suddenly made a hollow clink sound. “Grian,” he whispered, tapping that certain spot of the floor. The kid wadded towards him, and hearing the sound, immediately lit up. “Tunnel!” He squealed, knocking at the floor to see where the lid ends. 

“Just big enough,” Grian smiled. He frantically scraped at the sides with his claws and Martyn began doing the same. It wasn’t long before they dug up the whole lid. “Come on! What’re you waiting for?” It was as if his stamina and light was relit at the sight of the tunnel. Grain jumped in first, and his friend followed afterwards. 

Martyn and Grian began making their way out of the base of the Watchers, completely forgetting to close the lid.

Watchers PoV

“Hole. They went through the hole. I though it was sealed, Karrie.” *Anadil growled. Karrie hissed. “I would never know.” She resorted, turning to Ember. “Guard the other end.” The Watcher nodded and ran off. Then she turned back to Anadil and Dandelion. “I have sleep gas. Does that work?” Karrie studied its pin.

“It would work.” Dandelion muttered, ripping the pin off and tossing it into the cell. It clattered for a second and hissed, releasing the gas. Anadil slammed the door shut. “I don’t understand those stupid Hunters. They take our territory then say we took their’s, they stole from us, they say we killed them when they killed more of us, most that never returned…” The eagle-winged Watcher sighed. “And now our exiled parrot Watcher and the clueless Listener is under their influence.” Anadil slowly stalked away. Karrie understood why her friend was so down; they had killed off most of his family members, the only ones left were her and her younger sister, who died in her own hands. In revenge she’d attacked on of the Hunters and gave him a massive scar. She’d got scars as well from that encounter, but her loss was the most grief the Hunters have caused.

We’ll talk sense into Grian. He’s just angry we’ve exiled him. And the Listener.

***

Basically, if you’ve noticed, all of the perspectives were from Life Series winners: Grian, Scott, Pearl, Martyn and Scar. It would stay that way until the end of the book. Also, keep in mind that I’ve used multiple ships (Flower husbands, Scarian, Renchantyn and the Last Life Scott and Pearl.) Also, the book was based on Martyn’s Eyes and Ears au, so I’m just reusing it on this at this point.

*The name Anadil was from The School of Good and Evil. I just liked it so much I used it for our little sad Watcher.

—— that cat on the moon

Contents

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[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Birth - a Malevolent fic

It's time.

Past time, beyond time, long out of sight of the best time to do this.

Too bad. It's happening now.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

---------

The portal sat there like any old innocent vortex.

They all regarded it, thinking their own thoughts. Parker swallowed. “You're gonna be okay. Both’a you.”

Come back to us, said Sunny. Please.

“Survive,” said Odd softly. “We’ll accept whatever else comes. We just want you back alive.”

“We sure about not telling Faroe?” Tabby said.

“She'd feel helpless,” said Parker, who felt helpless. “I dunno what the right move is here.”

“It is to repair this situation and present her with a triumph,” said Hastur, who did not know what price would be paid, and feared, deep down, he would not have time to pay it.

“It is time,” said the Keeper gently.

Hastur held Arthur close, staring at the portal like it was an open maw.

“I love you,” Arthur said suddenly. “All of you. We're going to make it out.”

John made a low sound, clutching him.

Parker's eyes shone. “Yeah, yeah, you big lug. Go, already.”

Arthur smiled in his direction. John let go long enough to hold up his hand, a solemn farewell.

Hastur flew through.

#

It was a lovely day in The Wood.

Nibbles, Hastur thought, would regret not being able to come along for the trip home. Nibbles, however, would have chosen to stay with Faroe, and Faroe would not have been brought here even if she were in town.

He couldn’t risk her suffering if it went wrong. (It would go wrong if Arthur died, or John died, or they both died, or the Mother kept them, or the Mother killed him, or—)

There were many ways this could go wrong, but if Faroe were not here, she might take less damage. She wouldn’t have to witness the wrong. That seemed more important than anything else right now. She’d been harmed enough.

(He’d take responsibility if it went wrong, but if he survived, let her hate him, it didn’t matter, he was doing what he had to do, she had to survive, it was the entire reason he—)

H’AAZTRE.

Hastur’s first attempt to speak ended in a sort of squawk. (The Wood did not laugh at him. Really.) He tried again. “Great Mother. Creator of a Thousand Lives, Taker of a Thousand Breaths, I greet you!” And he executed the most beautiful bow he had ever performed, every tentacle up and posed around him like a peacock’s tail made claws, his robe gleaming and undulating in a wind of his own making, his crown slicing the air.

Her laugh was simultaneously kind and the worst thing he’d ever heard. It didn’t shake anything, but it made the soil dance. It didn’t rattle the trees, but what served as Hastur’s bones sang unpleasantly. It was neither cruel nor mocking, and yet at the same time made him feel so small. I HOLD THE LETTER FROM OUR SISTER.

From the Keeper. He had no idea what it said. “I pray, oh Great One, that its contents please you?”

NOT PARTICULARLY.

Hastur began to tremble.

BUT I AM NEVER FOND OF WHEN LITTLE ONES SUFFER. BRING THEM FORWARD.

Wait. That meant… she wasn’t mad? (Had she just mocked him? No… she’d… teased? Could she do that?) “Arthur; John,” said Hastur, removed the man from his hiding place within the cloak, and put him down.

Arthur looked a bit sweaty. Surely that had nothing to do with cramped quarters, however he liked to complain about them.

GREW LIKE A WEED, THAT ONE, said the Mother, and she clicked her tongue. HE’S ABOUT READY TO BURST LIKE—

“Like an overripe cherry!” came Kayne’s voice, high and cackling.

SHOO, said the Mother, but did not correct him.

Kayne’s presence here meant it was all about to go sideways. Hastur panicked. Hastur grabbed Arthur back at once, hiding him, for all the little good it would do. Hastur tried.

Arthur yipped.

Let GO! John snarled.

(Was it a trap? Was it time for the end, so early? Were they about to die? Was she giving them to him? Was—)

“Hastur,” said Arthur, muffled. “This is the only way to save John.”

Hastur made a low groan, like an ancient tree bent beyond its limit. Slowly, trembling, he put them back down.

Arthur sank to his knees. It was hard to stand. He felt so… heavy.

“I cannot fix this,” Hastur said, pretending Kayne wasn’t there (but he was, and ignoring him would make it worse, but then so would acknowledging him, so there was no way to win). “He is nearly an equal; a Great Old One cannot be so easily housed, especially growing as he is. I could fleshcraft… some kind of body, but it would adapt to his current condition no matter what we did, and then fail to fit as he grew. I cannot fix this. I am aware I will owe you anything I am able to pay.”

PAYMENT IS NOT YOURS TO GIVE THIS TIME, GOLDEN ONE.

(What? How? Had the Keeper… helped? Above and beyond their own deal?) “As you wish, Glorious One,” Hastur said, mask pointed toward the ground, his crown glinting as if about to drip golden tears. “I want them to live. I want them to thrive. Whatever that looks like, I accept it.”

(Had the Keeper meant friend?)

“Don’t hurt him,” Arthur said a little nonsensically, still on his knees. “Either of them. He doesn’t… they’re not trying to hurt anything.” His ears were bleeding. A drop hit John’s hand, and he panicked.

Fuck! Wasn’t he given protections? John snapped, wiping at the blood.

OF COURSE, YOU BOLD LITTLE THING. I AM NOT THE ONE CAUSING THAT.

A moment passed. Then John wailed. Take me out! Take me out!

Something stirred. Something too great even for Hastur to behold or comprehend. Something he could perceive only as mind-shattering gentleness as it swept past him, like a galaxy on the move.

John fell silent.

“John?” Arthur said.

HE’S FINE, LITTLE ONE. I HAVE ONLY CALMED HIM, AS I WOULD ONE OF MY OWN.

There may have been a soft, repeated suckling sound. Hastur did not care to ask.

LET US TAKE A MOMENT, ARTHUR LESTER, said the Mother, and suddenly, they were alone.

#

If alone could be subsumed, held carefully in the bottom of the ocean in perfect balance, unmoving and still inside a presence too big to comprehend, then this was alone.

He wasn’t afraid. There was no room for fear, none of the horrid terror that ended sanity and made mental cracks. This was equilibrium, though barely; this was existence in the heart of intangible reality, and though he could not bear it forever, Arthur was well-suited for a time.

ARTHUR. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU ARE HERE?

To save John, he said without words, beyond words and simpler meanings.

YOU WILL ALSO SAVE YOURSELF.

I'm not… as important.

THE THOUGHTS OF THOSE WHO LOVE YOU WOULD DISAGREE. LOVE GIVEN, LOVE RECEIVED—THIS IS THE NATURAL CYCLE. PERHAPS, LITTLE ONE, IT IS TIME TO LEARN TO LOVE YOURSELF, NOT ONLY OTHERS, SO THE CYCLE CAN FLOW UNINTERRUPTED.

Arthur fell silent.

She waited, patient as with anyone's first steps.

I didn’t know I could do that, Arthur finally said.

Amusement rippled through the essence that was Her. I KNOW. NOW. I FEEL THAT YOU OUGHT TO BE TREATED AS AN ADULT, AND TOLD WHAT IS AT STAKE.

The galaxy-ocean that held him shifted as if with some distant, impossible emotion. What’s at stake? John?

NO. YOU HAVE COME TO ME IN YOUR TIME OF NEED; THIS IS AS IT SHOULD BE. YET IN DOING SO, YOU HAVE SHIFTED THE BALANCE. THIS COULD PUT YOU ALL IN DANGER.

How? What balance? What about John?

Distantly, he heard John's voice, or its echo, demanding.

SO FOCUSED ON ONE ANOTHER. IT IS QUITE ADORABLE.

Please… John…

BOTH OR NEITHER, LITTLE ONE.

Both or neither. Both saved, or no one would be. This felt like applying a lesson, and Arthur immediately wanted to fight it just because.

(The galaxy-ocean shuddered as if with subtle laughter.)

There wasn’t a way around this, was there? If he were alone, he would fight; it was the principle of the thing, more than the topic. But this was for John. So. Internally, he bowed. Both, then. Please.

GOOD. HERE IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN. I WILL HELP TO BIRTH HIM FROM YOU. IT WILL BE A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE, AND GIVEN YOUR ENTANGLEMENT, THERE IS NO WAY FOR ME TO MAKE IT… EASIER. THAT IS PART ONE.

If he survives, I don’t—Arthur paused, remembering. We need to survive.

VERY GOOD!

Arthur tried to pretend the praise didn’t matter. He didn’t manage.

I KNOW FLESHCRAFTING WELL, LITTLE ONE; I INVENTED IT, AS I SEARCHED FOR A WAY TO MAKE LIFE DURABLE YET CHANGEABLE, SO IT WOULD NOT IMMEDIATELY EVAPORATE INTO THE AETHER AND BACK INTO MYSELF. HERE IS PART TWO: BY DOING THIS, HELPING YOU, I RISK MY APPEARANCE OF NEUTRALITY. FOR THIS REASON, I MUST EXTRACT A COST… FROM YOU.

That didn't sound good.

He floated in her thought, in her concept, considering what this might mean. It said more than it said, he was sure; but right now, he couldn’t really feel afraid. What’s the cost?

I DON'T YET KNOW. Her patient amusement was sunrise and the burst of sweetness from biting into fresh fruit. YOU WOULD OWE ME, LITTLE ONE. YOU ALONE, ARTHUR LESTER.

Like it was even a question. For John… and maybe for himself, though that did not feel real. I understand.

I WILL CALL UPON YOU SOMEDAY, ARTHUR LESTER. I CANNOT SAY FOR WHAT YET; IT IS A RARE THING ONE SUCH AS I CANNOT ACCOMPLISH ON HER OWN.

I understand, ma’am. He was aware, vaguely, that even with protections, this communion was beginning to threaten his existence; he wasn’t exactly melting, but felt his edges, his self, growing soft and malleable.

SO YOU AGREE.

It was important he say it thrice. Yes. For J… for us.

SUCH A GOOD CHILD. VERY WELL. THE PACT IS MADE.

Arthur startled and fell onto all fours, in his body, ocean left behind. Something… something inside, in a place that wasn’t in his body but was so damn deep, tore.

Arthur screamed.

#

There wasn’t any damn warning. There was John fussing, then John apparently suckling the Teat of Eternity or something, and then Arthur suddenly screaming and falling forward, and Hastur reached—but the flash of heat and power that surrounded the man like an aura on fire burned.

Hastur yelped and pulled back, but only for a moment. His hide sizzled. His. And if it could hurt him, he couldn’t leave Arthur alone in it. He lunged—

Kayne was right the fuck there, and though he was small, human-sized, Hastur bounced off him as if he’d run into a speeding train.

Kayne somehow moved with him and pinned him to the ground, face right against his mask. “Let. It. Happen,” he said, threatening Faroe, Carcosa, everything, if Hastur did not. “I’ve wanted to see this forever, and it’s never happened like this anywhere else. If you fucking interfere, Yellowjacket, I’ll give you your daughter’s screaming bones.”

And he was gone.

Hastur rose, shaking, rattling. He knew this was truth. He could do nothing… but watch.

BREATHE, LITTLE ONE. YOU MUST BREATHE.

Arthur took a horrible, wet, strident gasp, and screamed—long, agonized, drawn out. He was red; blood and tears both slid down his face, and pink froth slipped between his lips.

John was incoherent; any words were lost in his howling, his repeated and short and brutal cries as if he were being sliced over and again.

It was too much. “I must be able to do something!” Hastur bellowed into the impossible wind, which seared him and made the ground glow red.

“Tell him to boil some water!” Kayne cackled.

“Wh-what?”

NO, H’AAZTRE. THIS IS NOT A THING YOU CAN HELP WITH. NOT EVEN USING THE MARK WILL HELP HERE. WHAT I AM DOING IS CRAFTING A HOME FOR A GOD WHO HAS KEPT HIMSELF DISTORTED TO FIT TO A HUMAN SOUL; THIS IS MESSY. THIS IS A BREACHED BIRTH ON A LEVEL I HAVE NEVER SEEN. STAY BACK.

Stay back. John heard that, but not much else. All he knew, could comprehend, was that something was taking him from Arthur. (And he also knew, felt, suffered that Arthur’s essence could not hold him, could not keep him, could not hang on, though Arthur himself tried.) It was agony, in more than pain; he did not understand, and it was despair.

And Arthur…

Arthur knew nascence.

#

Arthur knew this

this

this had to happen for him and for John and for John and for him and it had to happen it had to happen and it

this was more

p a i n

than he’d ever known in his life.

He’d known pain when his parents died know pain when Bella died known pain when Faroe died known pain when Daniel died known pain when

He’d known pain. This was not pain. This was so much worse.

Tearing

Extruding

Stretching

His s e l f blooming wide, and something being excised from him, and John felt further away, and Arthur could remember a time when John hadn’t shared his mind but not really not really and it hurt so much and was scarier than he ever dreamed and he wanted to take it back and

he could not

too late

he already owed the Mother and

too much and too late and John would die if he did not do this

For. John.

Arthur screamed.

#

As it was happening, Hastur thought, I don’t know how to explain this to Faroe.

It was a parting of self and a parting of flesh and a parting of soul until Arthur became a great opening to introductory life, and yet at the same time it was just a man on all fours screaming and bleeding from his face.

And over this loomed a reality even Hastur could not see, and it was intimate and horrifying and incredible and impossible and miraculous and gory and beautiful and unnerving all at once.

Arthur opened.

Opened but did not tear, opened but did not break.

And John… emerged.

There was a moment of seeing him, himself yet not, a Great Old One in dubious glory, unfurling like a leaf pressed in on itself and released, rising like yeasted dough in a warm place overnight, flaring like fire fed on potent and frightening fuel. John blossomed—and immediately began to die.

Hastur could not move. The power being flung around here (to keep Arthur alive to keep John alive to separate them in such a way that Arthur’s soul did not tear and John’s soul did not tear even though they reached for each other through the haze of mayhem and spells) forced him back as surely as a monstrous fist, and he could not reach them. He watched. And still did not know how to explain what he saw.

The Mother began to craft.

Where it came from, who the hell knew. Fleshcrafting was a rare skill and much sought-after, even rarer when done well, and this went beyond well and into brilliance. Mass flying to a thickening center, storm-shot electricity grasping to transform and scar, power being wound tightly like a ball of treacherous yarn, and in the center of it all, John… and Arthur?

TAKE HIM, H’AAZTRE, SO HE DOES NOT DIE.

And suddenly, Hastur could move (and still did not know how to explain what he saw). He lunged, burning, and grabbed Arthur (protected somehow in the inferno of power and birth and Hastur still couldn’t explain what he saw) and yanked him away from the danger zone, and Arthur seized in his arms as if his brain were on fire, and Hastur soothed, and tried to heal, and tried to calm, and still could not explain what he saw.

The Mother… made.

Darkness and matter and magic and will and song and chaos and joy and delight and anger and cruelty and sadism and mercy and empathy and hope and love and so many choices came together in a sphere beyond words to home a god both old and new.

Too suddenly, with a sound like a sucking void, it stopped. A massed ball like tentacled tar splatted to the ground, large like a bear, shapeless like congealing blood, wriggling with uncertain limbs.

“John?” whimpered Arthur.

“Arthur!” roared John, shaking the ground, shaking the leaves, shaking the very trees, and rolled toward them, weird limbs splatting, a horror of noise and movement headed right for him.

And Hastur understood. He rose into the air with Arthur. “No! You’ll kill him!”

The Mother held John back, one unseen and ineluctable limb around him. YOU DO NOT YET HAVE CONTROL OF YOURSELF, LITTLE ONE. IF YOU TOUCH HIM, HE WILL D—

She never got to finish her word.

Arthur… screamed.

The sounds he’d made before were nothing compared to this, this repeated, resounding, and ragged sound, a horror of noise and agony, and he writhed in Hastur’s grip.

“Oof, look at that!” Kayne’s voice carried over it all. “He looks like when you lean your knee against a table or something for too long and then you move and there's a dent there that just hurts like the Dickens for a while and—”

“ARTHUR!” John responded, limbs splutting, sticking, sizzling in the earth, but he was unable to pass the Mother’s grip.

LITTLE ONE, she tried again. YOU ARE NOT READY. YOU WILL KILL HIM. YOU MUST GAIN CONTROL OF YOUR POWER FIRST.

And Arthur, of course, made it so much worse. He screamed again as if trying to tear out his own voice box with the word like with a billhook.

John went mad. Biting, clawing, a thousand mouths opening and smearing into nothing, limbs briefly formed to arching points and immediately mushing dull, his entire self hurtling against the Mother’s barrier to get back to Arthur.

“Hastur, please,” Arthur suddenly said, gripping the hand holding him so high. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so much, please, do something, it hurts, it hurts, please, please!”

H’AAZTRE. I WOULD SUGGEST CALMING HIM AS HE REQUESTS, THAT I MAY HELP THE NEWBORN.

A dent in Arthur's soul. A dent in the shape of John. It was an incredible image, a fascinating concept, and clearly agonizing (if hopefully temporary). There was a time he'd have studied this for years. Now, he could at least ease the pain it caused.

Hastur used the mark. Hastur… swayed.

Arthur’s hitching breath slowed, and his cries went quiet, he turned his face up, doozy but adoring, and then collapsed forward over Hastur’s hand, gratefully asleep.

Arthur had asked. That… changed the use of this power, and Hastur felt weirdly vulnerable as he cradled him close.

The sudden cessation of Arthur’s screams left the Wood so quiet and so deep.

John tried, struggling. John slowed, still struggling. John stopped, panting, half-embedded in whatever part of the Mother she’d allowed him to maim, staring all around with a thousand rolling eyes he could not seem to control.

VERY GOOD. VERY GOOD. EASY. EASY.

“Arthur,” John moaned, his voice a glorious trumpeting and resonant and pure, a voice that could sing a kingdom into existence.

YOU WILL NOT HAVE THE SAME CHANCES A BABY GOD DOES, the Mother explained as though everyone were calm, and the resident mortal weren’t covered in his own blood. YOU DO NOT HAVE THE TIME TO GROW INTO YOUR POWER BECAUSE YOU ALREADY HAVE IT. THUS, YOU MUST LEARN TO RESTRAIN YOURSELF, OR UPON YOUR FIRST TOUCH, HE WILL EXPLODE. OR MELT. IT IS HARD TO PREDICT WHICH.

John… moaned. It was the most heartbroken, hollow, terrible sound Hastur had ever heard, and he clutched Arthur to himself.

H’AAZTRE. ARTHUR FEELS THE LOSS.

“I… could tell,” said Hastur, panting, staring at his other (all but puréed) half.

HE WAS VERY WISE TO ASK FOR YOUR HELP.

Hastur laughed; he couldn’t help it. “He’s never been wise a day in his life.”

WELL. PERHAPS IT WAS MERELY FORTUITOUS, THEN. YOU MAY TAKE YOUR FAMILY AND LEAVE.

“Already?” said Kayne from nowhere. “That was incredible! Did you see the mess?”

I SAW ALL, BROTHER.

“Fuck, I love it when that guy suffers. Did you see? Did you hear? Fuckin’… gourmet feast.”

Hastur shuddered and moved back, hiding Arthur within himself.

John didn’t take that well. Without warning, he lunged—if rolling, slapping, sticky tumbling could be called that—right over the Mother’s limb and for Arthur.

Hastur simply rose higher.

John had the power to fly. He did not know how to fly. He twisted beneath Hastur’s form, thin tendrils like cilia waving in the air, and he wailed.

The Mother was silent. She’d already spoken.

Well. There was nothing else for it, was there? Hastur reached and picked up John.

John snarled, produced six mouths, and bit in with all of them.

Hastur winced (it wasn’t that different from Gokar’luh as a babe, all teeth and silliness) but did not let go. “We owe you, great Mother.”

GO.

Shit.

Hastur bolted for the portal back to the Scriptorium.

#

Kayne made a sound like he’d had a great joint or a great fuck or a great meal or maybe all three, and flopped onto his back in the messy and unspeakable mud puddle John and Arthur had left behind. There, in the slime and slick of blood and who knew what else, he made a gore angel. “Fuck me, that was worth every penny I’ve invested in this timeline.”

WAS IT? The Mother sounded… not tired, exactly, but like she did after every birth—worn a little thin.

“Fuck. Yes. It was,” said Kayne. “I really ought to make a pain dimension just for them.”

OH? said the Mother, who wasn’t fully paying attention.

“Well. Maybe just for him. It’s about him—let’s not quibble. Certain yellow gods just make the best catalyst, ya know?” Kayne sloshed his arms and legs a little more, digging deeper into defiled mud. “Fuuuuuck me. Could run the whole show just on those two if I had to.”

I AM ABOUT TO CLEAN UP.

That was the warning.

The ground groaned like twisting ropes, like vines worming into walls, and an explosion of greenery stabbed its way up through the ground, through Kayne, through the mess that had been made. Fed on organic matter (and magic matter and soul snippets and whatever else had been spat), it launched into the air, piercing anything in its way, nearly reaching the first branches of the gargantuan trees. Then, just as quickly, it rotted, curling down, darkening, crackling and twisting and breaking itself apart until it rejoined the soil as new, rich loam, ready to feed the next generation of greenery.

And then it all happened again. And again. Punching through the ground, reaching for the sky like dreams, curling back down in glorious rot until it built the soil back up again to a soft, dark, beautiful mound of fertile anticipation.

It took a while. What was left behind after fleshcrafting like this could not be quickly cleansed.

Kayne was torn apart, or his guise was, ripped to shreds over and over, parts of him rotting to join that soil again and again, sprouting new leaves and flowers and questing roots over and over and over.

After, his guise completely gone, he lay there, panting, limp, smoking from his unreal and unsanitary form. “Best. Day. Ever.”

I AM GLAD YOU THINK IT SO. And the Mother went silent.

He had the sense not to push her further. He also lay where he was, in the still-redolent soil, until, hours later, the scent of horror and blood finally faded away.

#

Parker was pacing. Sunny tried to soothe him, tried to calm him, tried to help his partner.

Tabby was stress-crocheting. The Keeper tried to distract her, tried to educate her, tried to encourage her endurance.

And then Hastur appeared smelling of new flesh with Arthur smiling mindlessly and a writhing-shouting-amorphous-black-tentacled John. “We… survived,” said Hastur, and collapsed on the Keeper’s marble floor.