#its like sort of pushing where the sound comes out and where the shapes need to be forward

[geoffrey]

i had a lisp when i was growing up bc i have tongue tie that they just never did anything about so im a tongue thruster. and its funny bc in years of speech therapy they tried to teach me the appropriate mouth posture regardless of the fact my tongue cant really do all that (i can not make an R sound by touching my tongue to the roof of my mouth it doesn't reach) (i can not make a shh sound when my teeth are closed) so instead if you watch my mouth it does like lisp posture stuff like my tongue between my teeth when i make an s sound but i've just tuned it so it really doesn't sound like i'm lisping

[gladiatorcunt]

- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!

all roads lead to death valley

cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2’s a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, reader’s inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the south’s sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where they’re from

wc: 4.2k (unedited)

what if instead of star wars it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 wars

consider commissioning me!

Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldn’t start. You’re used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldn’t afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.

“No, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?” You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.

Nope, “Tough shit.” Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.

“ ‘You havin’ trouble?” A masculine voice shouts from behind you.

You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once you’ve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horse’s dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the man’s fluffy hair softens the blow.

“Um…. yes, sir. I am actually. My…. my car won’t start and I’m all out of gas.” You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.

“Well that ain’t no biggy, I think I can help with that.” The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. “Stay here, R2.”

You’re standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.

His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But it’s so much bigger than yours, and there’s strange heat coming from his skin that you’re hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just can’t be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because there’s no ring. Not that you’re seeking anything out, but in the town you’re from, you’re lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.

Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that you’ll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and he’ll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that you’re listening by ‘hm’-ing and nodding every so often, but it’s hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while he’s fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.

Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, “R2’s a good horse, won’t give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an… acquired sense of humor, but I reckon we’ll get back just fine.”

He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. You’d be embarrassed that Anakin’s having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, it’d suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind that’s a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.

Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal that’s a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.

“They gotta switch pastures every so often.” He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, “And it’s a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.”

You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isn’t one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time you’ve ever ridden a horse in a long time. You’ve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horse’s movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you don’t panic and seize up. R2’s not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.

“The Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it don’t mean nothin’ if i’m all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my ma’ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.”

All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. You’re no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar you’d have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.

“Why’d you name your horse R2?” You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.

“Oh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.” He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.

Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isn’t even thinking that deeply about what he’s doing. He’s not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. You’re already missing the comforting weight of Anakin’s herculean body when he’s pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.

You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, he’s pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. You’re quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.

“I’ll be damned…”

You’re supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, you’ve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you don’t fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying “That’s just how he is, leave him be!” or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!” You choose to believe it’s the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakin’s lead.

You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you weren’t catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because he’s hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesn’t notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you won’t remember the blood on the man’s temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakin’s gun, because you didn’t witness that part.

He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, “ ‘s alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where he’s goin’. Had a knife with him, probably lookin’ to rob somebody blind.”

Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight’ sign. You’ve grown up around guns, you’re more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but it’s not like Anakin’s the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still… killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?

“Maybe we should call the cops, he can’t hurt nobody like that…” You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.

There’s a scratch on Anakin’s face that’s still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he could’ve lost it. You’ll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that there’s no seeing to it right now. You don’t want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, you’re not even sure why you want to, it’s like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and it’s like you’re back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say that’s how you know it’s love, that’s how you know it’s fate.

“You don’t got the stuff in ya to be a killer, that’s just fine, darlin’. ‘Cause I sure do.” His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.

Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasser’s skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, there’s probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderin’ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.

But there’s a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.

“Welp.” Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. “Better head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, don’t want to lose you to the coyotes.”

It’s said like “kai-yohtes.” You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time you’re out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angels’ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe it’d be somethin’ like a meteorite.

As is the case with many things, it’s easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakin’s, dirtying them, it’s almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldn’t you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but ‘easy come and easy go’ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.

You’re back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.

It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when you’re about to leave it. That’s how you’d want it to feel, like you’re rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people you’d never thought you’d see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. You’d be the happiest you’ve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. There’d be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything that’ll only make sense when it’s someone’s turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightnin’ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if you’re good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.

Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.

“That rat bastard had it comin’ to ‘im, hun.” He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. “The Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.”

You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. “I just… most everyone in my life I've known that’s died did it when I wasn't there. I’ve never had to actually be there when they… you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” And that’s all he says, regardless of the truth.

It’s what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. You’re starting to think that you certainly don’t have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. You’re remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, it’s a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hair’s all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.

It’s tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.

You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.

His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. It’s exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. There’s no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you won’t be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.

Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like they’re the only part of your body. There’s an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and you’re sad that you’ll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.

He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesn’t try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like he’s using your tits to self soothe. You’d do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.

“This means somethin’ to me, hear that? ‘m always gonna remember my first.” He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like he’s a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.

He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. It’s crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakin’s jeans, you can tell that he’s excited to finally put it to use. You’re glad that there’s some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. It’s the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You don’t let yourself pout, Anakin’s making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy ‘thwop!’ as it slaps against Anakin’s abs.

Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condom’s packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakin’s shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. You’re lucky he didn’t have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch would’ve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. It’s weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way you’re swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakin’s dick inside of you when you’ve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.

“I want this pretty pussy weepin’ for me, I’m awfully sorry honey but i’m not stopping till it’s gushin’ all over me.” He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.

“Mmm- It’s okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.”

You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like there’s a fever in his brain that’s gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. There’s no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakin’s cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasn’t always keeping a sharp eye on how much he’s bullying you. He doesn’t try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long it’s been since he’s had your car “taken to the shop”.

His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of ‘umph!’ to the resulting sting. Anakin’s jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. You’re on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near stranger’s dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until he’s the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.

You don’t mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. ‘Don’t be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.’ Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.

“Need ya to keep squeakin’ sweets.” He orders. “Don’t want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.”

It’d be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, you’ll be willing, because rope burn isn’t something you want to become your new normal.

“Chin up, buttercup,” He says almost bashfully despite how hard he’s pounding your puffy cunt, “We can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.”

You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like you’ve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakin’s employees would be nerve wracking, it’s nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their boss’s cum from oozing down your leg. Anakin’s discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much you’d let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. You’ve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.

When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, there’s the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.

“I forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?”

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai

[amalainse]

"life spring"

— gojo satoru

tags ට lite somno (consensual), praise kink, pussy job, riding, vanilla and full of so much love its gross, morning sex, lowkey sub satoru, established marriage, fix it fic of sorts

a/n ට i listened to hozier the entire time i wrote this. so thats how you guys know im serious about the vanilla sex.

───⠀౨ৎ this is the married life that gojo deserves and it's his and sometimes he can't believe its all real. (1.4k wc)

the room glows like pure gold, spun from the sun's waves.

its warm and it smells like home and satoru's eyes blink open slowly before shutting again. there are other colors too ; pretty cherry blossom pinks, hazy greens and blue the color of the sea. a gift from the first years — from nobara in particular. it's supposed to mimic stained glass.

satoru wants to cling to his dream for a moment longer. a boat, rocking gently at sea. you and your smile as you took turns pushing each other overboard. but the fuzzy feeling is lifting and faster by the second.

a bird cries and sings its morning song. satoru opens his eyes and grins.

the first thing he always sees when he wakes up is you. whether thats when your curled up under his chin like you want to burrow up under your skin. or if its like now—with your face inches away from his, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, grinding down on his cock.

satoru reaches out to pull you down, and breathes your name against your lips. not quite kissing, just breathing the same air. bucks up once and twice, smiling at your cheeky grin. like you aren't more undone than he is.

"'morning, satoru" you giggle, kissing him finally, sounding breathless.

his fingers find your waist, secretly delighting in your bareness. hums appreciatively as your weeping cunt rocks down against his cock—fully hard now. "its a very good morning"

he has no shame at all in admitting he loves this—loves when you take charge. when you go for what you want. you had spent so long being meek, trying to blend into the background. hoping to fade away. but you've come into your own, and satoru likes to think he's apart of that. how he gives you the stability, the comfort, to chase what you're after.

"did you cum yet?" satoru asks, fingers tracing shapes into your skin.

you shake your head, lip caught between your teeth. but you know to keep your eyes open—focused completely on him.

"that's my good girl" satoru says, proud. you let out a shaky whine, pace faltering. "my pretty wife, so wet for me"

your hands come down to frame his chest, nails pretty against his skin as your hips grind in tight little circles that have him groaning out. and then your hand grabs his dick—holding him right where you want him, oh god—grinding more firmly against your clit.

"that's what you needed baby? needed my dick, didn't you?" satoru asks, like you both don't already know the answer. pleasure zips up his spine as your movements grow faster, sloppier. the pressure's enough to keep him on the edge, enough to make him feel like he could cum, maybe—but doesn't. it's the best. his hand rubs your back, moves your hair out of your eyes. "i don't mind sweetheart, its your dick. my hot, perfect wife"

you sob, muscled thighs trembling as you chase your high. your nails dig into his chest and he knows your searching for it now—the perfect stroke that'll finally make you cum.

"my perfect sorcerer wife is so strong" satoru whispers, gently caressing your stomach. "so beautiful. i'm so lucky. you gonna cum soon aren't you, baby? gonna cum messy too?"

you nod, another broken sob falling from your lips, fractured uh-uh-huhhh, satoru. you change your angle, and suddenly the wet sounds of your pussy sliding against his cock fill the room.

"yeah," he says, nodding, a wistful sigh leaving his lips. "can you hear yourself baby, hear how fucking wet and sloppy you are?"

and that's what does it for you—slumping down into his neck with a wail, as you take his hand and lead it down to your cunt. he knows what you want immediately, rubbing you fast and hard as you cum.

"you did so good," he says, sticking his fingers into his mouth to suck off the taste. your hips shake and quiver with the intensity of your orgasm. you don't answer for a long minute, and he can feel the soft puffs of air against his skin.

"hi" you breathe, finally, smiling at him

"hi" he says back, like a dork. you snuggle in closer, fingers brushing up softly against his cheek. satoru smiles and briefly closes his eyes. he can feel the smile breaking out onto his face, impossible to stop. never did he think he could be here, and have this : softness, laughter and smiles. peace.

"mm, and what are you laughing at?" you ask, leaning up on one elbow.

satoru opens his eyes. grins cheekily. "you. i was thinking your head looked like a raisin"

your mouth opens and closes in disbelief. the hand that been so gently caressing his face moments ago pinches his cheek sharply. and then you get that familiar mischievous look in your eye.

"no wait—" he protests, far too late. you descend upon him, jabbing your fingers into his sides, and his stomach and the side of his neck—where he is most ticklish. satoru writhes on the bed, loud peals of laughter bursting from him as he tries every yielding term in the book.

"oh yeah not so funny now is it?" you goad, although the sound of his laughter drowns you out.

"okay, okay, okay—"

a loud thud, and satoru falls of the bed and crashes to the floor in a heap of too-long limbs.

"oh shit" you mutter, and he doesn't need six eyes to tell him that you're covering your mouth with your hand to hide your laughter. you lean over the edge of the bed, eyes crinkling in the corner. age has done well by you. "baby, are you okay?"

"i think i broke my back" satoru groans, and massages his lower back to nail the point in further. "i'm getting so old"

"oh please" you snort, rolling your eyes, "you're only 39"

"that means i already have one foot in the grave!"

you roll your eyes again, pulling him up on the bed. "yes, you old old man. practically dead already"

"its been a good run" satoru says dramatically, tossing his head back onto the pillow. "i'm going to die happy now. 10 long years married to the love of my life"

"mmm" you hum, noncommittally, reaching over to feel up on his cock. his back straightens and he gets hard again embarrassingly fast. "do you think you have enough life left to handle me riding you?"

satoru pretends to think about it, massaging your right tit, slightly smaller than the left—fitting so perfectly into his hand. "try not to squeeze my soul out of my body and we're good"

"good," you say, settling on top of him again "i want you in me"

"fuck—baby, you can't just—" satoru gasps, as you breach yourself with his cock in one hard thrust. all coherent thought tumbles from his mind, gone with the wind, when he feels your warm cunt flutter around him and then squeeze. "you're doing that on purpose"

"am i?" you ask cheekily, smirking, riding him hard and fast. your ass smacks down against his thighs loudly, and when he dares to look at the place where the two of you are connected—he sees the ring of white around the base and has to screw his eyes shut to stop himself from cumming. he groans, tossing his head back, arm shielding his face from view.

ten years, and he still has to fight from busting his load the minute you get your cunt around him. ten years and he still keens, still mumbles shaky gasps and praises into the air. hands squeezing delicately around your hips, occasionally going to cup your ass—to help you along.

not that you need it. you grind down, hand massaging and squeezing at his pecs, as your go in tight circles around his dick. then you rise back up, letting him slip all the way out before slamming back down again.

you lean down next to his ear, taking his lobe between your teeth and biting gently. "baby?"

"y-yeah?" satoru asks, voice high, thrusting up into your tight heat in short aborted pumps of his hips. "you need something from me?"

"mmm" you moan in affirmation and he can feel you smiling against his cheek. "i want you to cum in me now"

satoru's grip on your hips turns bruising. he holds you still and shoves his dick into you over and over again, loud in the silent room. so good he can't think, broken praises and curses spilling from his lips. he brings you down and slams up into you one last time before doing exactly what you ask of him.

[t34-mt]

tepueh pu, the domesticated que'arsaeb animals of maanuls that act as a "sheperd dog" for them, but for the ocean obviously. more info and images below ->

tepueh pu are a tiny aquatic animal of the que'arsaeb reign meaning it has 6 limbs and its body is segmented in distinct parts, It also means they have a sort of "bone" exo-skeleton with rough skin on top. their front limbs who serve no purpose but to do courting dance and occasionally help themselves to crawl around.

The fur-like things around the eyes and front limbs are purely for courtship, they are not made out of modified feathers as feathers are exclusive to the silieus reign, instead its sort of bristles that are quite rough to the human touch. maanuls do find it entertaining to see them court and as a result of that, they get excited during the part of the year when they court. Creating safe temporary spaces on the beach usually being circle-shaped, all maanuls do is watch them perform and fall over, if they cant get up they come and assist them to put them on their feet again. Tepueh courting consists of them desperately trying to get on their feet (usually being pushing themselves onto a rock to balance on their feet, but more commonly maanuls help them to), then the bright ones will shake their arms. Extending them and vigorously shaking the bits that have the bristles, that when rubbing against each other rapidly, create a sound that can be compared to sand being shaken in a jar. the brighter the bristles, the better the sound, and the bigger the moves is what will attract a partner. Said partners are the dull ones.

I'm not sure if they're a unisex species, they might just be random individuals who get a certain boost of hormones that gives them bright bristles and they have to perform for the others who are dull, or if they're just bright males and dull females.

Like i said they're very pathetic on land, meaning maanuls carry them when they need to be transported on land for a reason. Central north maanuls who need to migrate once a year due to temperature drops in the far north have to carry their Tepueh pu on long distances, thus they use these attire, where they attach 2 tupueh pu per side, transporting 4 in total. While I'm talking about north maanuls, every other maanuls would also use this attire to transport multiple tupueh pu. Although said attire has regional variants in terms of designs, a rough look at what a northern one would look like here ->

as seen in the example, tupueh pu can have different color variations per region, While this is not the final look of northern tupeuh pu there would be light coloration from mutations. Tupueh pu are purely bred to be working species not a pet, so while color mutations are seen as a fun thing its not their priority or what they're searching for. While not a family pet it doesn't mean children do not play with them from time to time in the water. However, tupueh pu can be used as a service "pet" in the water for maanuls with blindness or other disabilities affecting vision that would require a service pet to navigate in waters. tupueh pu are never bred to be fancy but to be useful to maanuls, they're very grateful to have them and treat them with great respect.

While they are not house pets it doesn't mean they cannot be pampered outside of working hours by maanuls, being given treats, groomed daily by owners, and being treated with care for the smallest illness they could catch.

the breathing holes of tupueh pu are on each side of their back, due to being aquatic for quite a while their opperculums had the time to shift to a more convenient place for quick gasp of air at the surface. Their maanul owners however do not, maanuls when wanting to breathe before swimming again need to get on their back once reaching the surface, as their opperculums are placed here. While technically they could push air to enter their vocal vents and redirect it to the lungs its not something they do as they do not inhale enough air using this method to feel comfortable.

ocean shepherd as a concept (final version will be posted separately)

warning The cattle shown here is not the final design, they will not look like this once ocean sheperd as a concept are done and fleshed out in the future. this is just an example

ocean shepherd, or just called shepherd among maanuls, originally i thought of them guarding a group of smaller animals (small fish) tho the idea of one or three large slow domesticated cattle sounds more cool in my opinion and also easier to contain for maanuls overall. their cattle would need maanul assistance to live comfortably, maanul coming near them by canoe or even swimming if they're not so far. usually always have at least one maanul by their side who shifts their guarding job with other fishermen after a period of time. I imagine said cattle to be kept in a shallow kelp forest where it has all the food it needs, and little to no predators around to worry around. Maanuls might even sit on their backs during their shift duty because the cattle is docile and doesn't bother them doing it, plus they also need to get on them when they pamper them (by cleaning them)

this is my rough vision of it for now, while i have tupueh pu (tho its quite bare bones on this post) , i just need to design the cattle now, then write a whole long post about how maanul sheperds works.

- - -

the vague shapes i did to figure out tupueh pu (in chronological order)

heres some fun stuff, i wanted them to be awkward looking, those penguins from subnautica were on the back of my mind while doing them, creature design is just doing vague shapes for me

[talenlee]

3e: Winners and Losers In Lawful Space

Planescape is a silly place.

Dungeons & Dragons is a wholeheartedly silly game, and it’s important to remember that what makes it silly is an expansive growth out of a particular root. It is a tree of many branches but thanks to the way that it encourages people to build their own things on top of it, it has become a sprawling kind of folk narrative and generally accepted consensus material that then a company comes along and tries to augment and supplement. Still, as much as a corporate mind is at the head of what gets published, what gets handed to that corporation is going to derive from the mind of a dork who likes D&D. To that end, D&D’s lore is a constant push-pull between the kinds of nerds who like organising lists and the kind of nerds who like to invent new types of dragons they want to have sex with and they’re all trying to integrate one another’s material because that’s how nerds demonstrate mastery over a topic.

The result is that D&D lore is composed of parts that neatly and smoothly fit together and parts that should be airbrushed on the side of a van, and all subjects exist in a space between those two points, on a spectrum. And nowhere is this more evident than in the way that 2e’s setting Planescape introduced elements that 3rd edition tried to hide.

Planescape, as a setting, exists very close to the ‘airbrushed on a Van’ side of things, and it’s extremely obvious when you look at its roots in 2nd Edition. In this space, much of what makes Planescape Planescape was codified. For those of you unfamiliar, Planescape is a setting made up of the idea of ‘planes’ as distinct, discrete universes with their own rules separated not by time and space, but just by barriers or magical boundaries. You know how Narnia is supposed to work, with the wardrobe? It’s like that, but there are a lot more wardrobes and they all go to different places. Think a sort of multi-level Isekai scheme.

Anyway, it’s a setting with like, multiple whole universe-sized worlds, that may or may not have planets inside them, some of which follow a very narrow set of identifying rules, like the elemental plane of Fire, which is full of Fire, or are just like ‘here, but a bit weird,’ like Bitopia, which is a whole plane that is mirrored vertically at a certain height. If you look up in Bitopia, you see another whole country up there – that’s why it’s called that. Also everyone there is bisexual.

Planescape sought to build out more of that structured universe and then in each structured space, fill it with interesting notions. But the structure is a little odd, in that it’s hard to make an infinite number of chairs organise neatly, someone is always putting out one more where they shouldn’t. That means there are tidy diagrams of the Planar cosmology, and then you look inside any of the bubbles in that diagram and find it’s full of gibberish.

It was in 2e that, as far as I know, we were introduced world-wise, to the characters of the Modrons.

There’s a whole writing form that involves referring to Modrons in deliberately obtuse ways, with Modrons being the individual, plural, categorical, and utility terms for this people, but what you need to know about them is that Modrons are weird lil guys that are made out of a basic geometric shape – pyramid, cube, dodecahedron, all the way up to sphere (or down to sphere, depending on who you ask). They are truly perfect Lil Guys, a byproduct of a plane of true law and order which doesn’t in any way cohere to what humans (the people playing the game) necessarily assume about law.

They make a lot of sense in a storybook kind of way where you don’t need to have big answers for what they are or how they work or even how their philosophical bias towards pure lawfulness works. In the world of 2ed, where sometimes things that sound like they should be well explained, clear rules are kinda yada-yada-yada’d in a space that you might imagine is flavour text, the Modrons left a bunch of questions unanswered and seemingly, that was good. It was good that they were heavily ambiguous because what was the life cycle of ‘an orb?’ Any answer made them less mysterious and pushed them away from the oddness that they represented.

Anyway, 3e was an attempt by a serious company to do serious things and that’s why when they went back to talk about the Creatures That Lived In The Lawful Planes, they came up with the Inevitables.

Inevitables are the demons of small minds, writ large. Literally, the point of an Inevitable is to be a Lawful Neutral version of a Demon, an entity that exists purely based on rules, coalesced out of a world made of rules, and with nothing holding them back from expressing that. Each of the Inevitables is meant to respond to a rule in the universe and then enforce it. They are self-appointed near-immortal construct cops, and they’re meant to oppose things and people that break the rules that they, specifically, are meant to care about.

These rules are completely out of whack, though, because one of them is meant to enforce say, justice, another the inevitability of death and another, the way the desert is a fixed ecosystem that nobody should try and change or interact with. And in that case, there are a bunch of plants that the Inevitables are going to have issues with, that don’t seem to be capable of forming complex political allegiances.

There’s a really interesting distinction between Inevitables and Modrons, to me. Modrons are weird and interesting but also, there’s nothing they can do that answers a question. Inevitables are a fun challenge that’s supposed to be present to oppose players or potentially be recruited into an adventure, but not for too long. But Inevitables, the 3e attempt to populate Lawful Planes with A Kind of Guy, sort of fell apart and are now more of a trivia question while Modrons have endured into 4th and 5th edition.

I don’t think there’s some greater, better reason for it or anything. I don’t think that Inevitables failed because they were Bad Design or something. But I do think that for me, the way that Modrons represented Weirdness was much more interesting than the ways the Inevitables sucked weirdness away with their simple, clear consideration of certain things as being part of natural reality.

After all: Inevitables would hunt down people who extended their lifespans because ‘everyone must die.’ But Inevitables were immortal. That’s a pretty interesting thing to juxtapose and maybe a character could struggle with that.

Or maybe they could make a big speaking trumpet and demand that everyone else refer to them as a Spokesmodron which is, in my opinion, much funnier.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[lunarmoves]

in the aftermath of the pizzaplex's fire and your acquisition of a new roommate, you had yet to grow accustomed to a little... quirk of theirs that you hadn't expected to arise: their need to be in the same room as you all the time.

which wouldn't be a problem in itself if it wasn't literally every. single. room. in your apartment.

"sun!" you snapped as you heard the telltale sound of your bathroom door creaking open over the pattering stream of your shower. you were pretty sure you'd locked it. "come on, again?! what did i say about privacy?"

you could see his silhouette emerge through your curtain, tall and slender. a huff escaped your lips as you peeked around its edge to see him standing in the fluorescent lighting of your bathroom. his hands were clasped together in front of his chest and his eyes immediately latched onto your face with a little twitch.

there was a small pause as you frowned at him. then he spoke with a mild inflection to his voice. "you were taking too long."

"sun," you said, exasperation thickly lining your words, "i was in here for barely five minutes."

his rays spun slightly to the left, eyes creasing as he squinted at you. "that's five minutes too long!"

you had to resist the urge to drag a hand down your face. sun only watched you, something ephemeral passing over his faceplate that you couldn't quite catch. you sighed and ducked back behind the curtain. "fine! stay there while i finish, please."

you knew from past experience that he wouldn't leave no matter how much you threatened him, so—utterly resigned as you were—you let him hang around as you sped through the rest of your shower. his shadow swayed side to side idly, gaze no doubtfully still latched onto the little gap where your curtain stretched desperately to reach the wall. you kept an eye on it just in case.

with a squeak of the faucet, you turned off the shower and squeezed out some of the water from your hair. then you reached out to grab your towel hanging from a hook just beyond the curtain, pulling it quickly towards you so you could pat yourself dry and wrap it around your body.

and with reluctance lining your fingers, you dragged the curtain to the side and blinked up at sun standing closer than before—hands twisting themselves together.

he grinned down at you, head bowed forwards. a white pupil stared down at you against a backdrop of indecipherable grey. "done?"

"yes," you huffed and reached out a damp hand to push against his chassis. he moved to the side with your ministrations as you stepped out of the bath and made to grab the clothes you'd set on the sink's counter. before you could, though, sun reached out a large hand and swept the bundle into his grasp.

you gave him the stink eye, but he only spun his rays eagerly at you. "allow me, friend!"

"fine, fine." you rolled your eyes and exited the bathroom, not bothering with the lights since sun would flick them off as he followed. you beelined straight for your room, your lithe sun-shaped shadow sticking closely behind you.

"just dump those in the hamper." you waved towards said hamper as you walked over to your dresser to start pulling out your pajamas.

"can do!" sun saluted and made his way over to it to toss your clothes inside. the bells attached to his wrists gave a little jingle as he did so.

you picked out a large shirt and tossed a glance at sun over your shoulder, where he stood in the middle of your room and watched you with those blank eyes of his. "remember what i told you, bud? give me literally two minutes to change."

sun swayed on his feet a little, a sort of unwillingness sticking to his wired frame. "but—"

"sun," you said in a way that left no room for argument. you pinned him with a serious look and pointed to the ajar door. "out."

like something straight out of a kid's cartoon, sun slumped forward, arms hanging loosely in front of him like a puppet cut from its strings. you had to suppress an eye roll at his theatrics. "heartbreak be my downfall in the end! oh woe is me!" you followed after him with a snort as he sighed loudly and turned slowly around to trudge out your room. "does love not sway your actions against me—"

"yeah, yeah," you interrupted him once he'd passed over the threshold of your bedroom and turned around to give you as much of a puppy-eyed look as he could for a seven foot robot. "two minutes, man."

before he could distract you again with some dramatic tirade, you shut the door in his face and locked it. for certain, this time. you eyed the knob, then trudged deeper into your room to go through your nightly routine. a glance at your door showed a shadow lingering just outside of it and you huffed quietly.

hair was dried, lotion was applied to your skin. you tugged your undergarments and pants over your legs before grabbing onto your shirt. and just as you were about to tug it on, you heard a faint click.

your gaze immediately snapped over to your bedroom door, and you had just enough time to throw your shirt on before a familiar face poked through the gap. rays spun impishly at you as you placed your hands on your hips and glared at the perpetrator. "dude, seriously?"

"two minutes were up!" sun replied defensively and stepped further into your bedroom. his grin was stretched wide over his face, gaze firmly cemented onto your own.

you pinched at the bridge of your nose. "sun. you really need to give me more privacy. i have boundaries and you need to respect them, okay? both of you." lord knew moon wasn't any better.

sun cocked his head at you, the quiet of your room disrupted only by a quiet whirr that came from his chassis. and there it was again—that look that glossed over his face too quickly for you to decipher properly. you shifted uncomfortably, damp hair sticking to the back of your neck.

"privacy," he mused quietly to himself. then, after the drop of a beat "we do not understand it."

"we have had this conversation before, i'm sure." you sighed with all the exhaustion of someone who had too much to deal with too soon.

"yes," he agreed easily, approaching your form closer until he stood mere feet away. a chill settled around you, accentuated by the way sun watched you attentively. "we still do not understand."

you opened your mouth to go through your usual spiel, but before you could, sun bent forward so that his face was level with your own. your jaw clicked shut as you were forced to stare into pinprick pupils threatening to drag you under.

"we do not understand," sun whispered, and the change was so stark that your heart stuttered in your chest. "we have given you all that we are and more," he mulled in a clipped manner, inscrutable. "bared ourselves to you. bent backwards at your every call and whim." his gaze pierced through you in an unyielding strike.

you pursed your lips together, something cold settling itself in your chest. "i didn't—"

but he cut across you before you could finish, his eyes widening in an intense stare that you had a difficult time uncovering where this was all coming from. his smile grew taut like a string about to snap.

"it is only fair you return the favor, friend."

[runaway-dreamers]

Could I ask a Wally x Reader reunion request? Like reader found a way to leave Home and go back to their world, but they learn they can’t return for at least a month or two.

And they do eventually come back apologizing to Wally and then to everybody else. Some angst ending with fluff?

I may have gotten a tad bit excited by this ask.

[Part 1 ◇ 2 ◇ 3]

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

At the end of all I knew, I find the beginning of you and I.

The Everyday Life of Wally Darling

Word count: 2,070

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Demands piled high, and you were only so fast to fill them. You were tucked in a corner by the espresso machine. The revolving door of needy customers never slowed, their unspoken requests needing tending to. The jaded opening baristas were already planning what to get from the bar a few stores down . One coworker was taking orders and making small talk at the register, another was next to you pulling shots. Your feet remained in two squares, turning to and from the machine grabbing milk for the sweating ice cups and hissing steam wands.

A whisper from a passing shadow, "Smile more, you're scaring the customers."

You duck your head pulling your cap low. With shaking hands you attempt to pour milk into a pitcher only to have it spill, split by the edge. Rag in hand you wipe away the mess, but the blurring of your vision makes it difficult. The room threatens to spin as if wanting you tossed off your feet. Your stomach twists pushing your heart into your throat. Your body steels for the expected impact. Nothing changes, and the line keeps moving. Standing there inside your head allowed orders to pile.

Idling there disrupted the flow, "Y/N, this one needs regular milk, did you grab the right one?"

"Mhm, yes, yes. Regular." You barely finished your sentence, your voice fading. The cup had been placed on the counter where a hand extending from the growing mass snapped it up. You watched it until it was out of view, absorbed by the bustling chaos.

Turning back to the machine, something red glints off of it. Your single dangling earring taps against your jaw, but the weight of it soothes you. You sigh softly and the side of your lip lifts into a quick smile. It was a bright red apple cut in half with two little black seeds on it. When you touch it you can feel the smooth rise and fall of its shape.

A tap on your shoulder caused you to jump in surprise, "Take your break, Y/N, you're distracted."

With a nod you stepped away. The smile on your face flattened to a thin line as you grabbed your bag. For a moment you thought about leaving and heading straight home. The comfort of your couch called to you, but you knew leaving would cost your coworkers their break. Instead you slipped out of the store and walked to the gas station a few blocks away.

Reddish-brown leaves were falling from twisted branches high above you. The breeze rattled them, shaking them loose until they fluttered down, settling on the ground. Life felt like it slowed to a crawl with the colder months rounding the corner. You briefly thought about what sort of soups Poppy would be making, and if Howdy was stocking caramel apples. The gas station came into view.

Inside the parking lot, tucked behind the old building, was a dumpster. Around it were old buckets, crates, and wood in various stages of rot. Reaching tree branches from the other side of the fence formed a canopy overhead. There was a touch of coziness here as the sound of busy life faded into the distance.

Your favorite overturned crate was still here just as you had left it. Before sitting down you removed a carefully wrapped container from your bag. Half of this morning's blunt rested inside along with your lighter. Held between your lips, you attempted to light it. The flint struck once, twice, three times before a strong enough flame was lit. You held it to the snubbed blunt letting it take hold. The embers burned a bright red as you inhaled. On the exhale you let yourself comfortably slump against the fence, shutting your eyes.

This passing summer had been unbearable, but in the autumn chill you found yourself asking for its return. The cold ran deep soaking into your bones and mixing with your blood. You pulled your scarf up over your ears. Each puff untethered you. Smoke drifted out from your nose caressing your skin as it drifted up, the wispy tendrils passed easily between the strands of your hair.

Your hand trailed over the earring feeling along the shape of it. It was originally part of a set, but the other side had been lost in a pocket between here and there. It had been a gift, one made specially for you. Lovingly shaped by careful hands. If the other side remained in Home, you imagined he kept it close to him at all times. This gave you comfort as you remembered the time spent there.

When you first arrived in Home, you were greeted by a whole cast of friendly faces. Julie created games for you to play. Frank and Eddie would take you bug watching. Howdy always found ways to indulge your sweet tooth. Barnaby invited you out on strolls, imparting wisdom and bad jokes. Poppy taught you how to bake. And Wally was there every step of the way. Life back in your reality wasn't as grand, as you came to remember, but it hadn't been your choice to go. Just like it hadn't been your choice to leave. You were ripped away from all you knew and fell through a hole in the universe.

On an outing you brought up your confusing feelings while bug watching. Eddie had suggested that you at least keep it an open idea, and Frank agreed. There were no clear paths and not many options. Choices weren't a choice unless they were found to be possible. Everyone stressed that should the time come, the final decision was up to you.

You weren't fully convinced to stay or go, but at the time you couldn't rule out any foreseeable options. Despite how close you all had grown, you had felt that you couldn't fully belong. They all knew how homesick you were, especially Wally, and his words were still clear in your mind.

"Hmm, that is a tough one," Wally spoke slowly, his eyes looking thoughtful, "If you found a way home, you could properly answer that question. It would be undeniable, neighbor, whatever your deepest desires are."

You tried to remember things as clearly as possible, but every memory led back to the end. His laughter turned to screams, his hopeful eyes brimming with terror, hands struggled to hold on. The pull of the void was too great, and you fell into the endless darkness. All you remembered was his face laced with regret. He was shouting frantically as you were swallowed whole. All you could do was watch as the darkness consumed your vision. Twice you had fallen, twice you had to confront your mounting losses.

That day played on repeat in your head. You tried to scrub the fading fragments in search of subtle meanings. Were those little glances something more? The softening of his eyes, the pink of his cheeks, was that something you only imagined? Your bag was crumpled on the ground near you. With a rough shake you undid the partially closed zipper and pulled out a beaten up notebook.

Page after page were filled with grainy crayons and smooth colored pencils. Splatters of smudged paint obscured the already warped images and words. Those scribbles had been notes you kept while living in Home. You smiled fondly as your thumb rubbed the coarse texture. It ended up a collective journal meant to be shared. Everyone had pitched in and wrote something about their day.

It looked like the pages had been stained with a painter's used water cup. Over these stained pages you had tried drawing each of them from memory. It became harder to remember what they looked like, but eyes remained. Each one detailed and alive, but lacking familiarity.

Drops of rain fell onto the page popping your bubble of solitude. Your break was over all too soon. As you put everything back in your bag the thought of walking away returned, nagging and incessant. It coiled around your stomach and squeezed itself into a ball. Nothing about this was right. You left the gas station without a word heading towards the bus stop. They managed without you for five months, they'll survive one shift.

—------------------------------------------------

"Howdy has some caramel coated apples all neatly packaged at the bodega." Frank was at the kitchen sink washing a pumpkin. They were scrubbing in particular circular motions, dunking it into clean water every now and again.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Howdy said he got them specially ordered." Eddie was at the table sorting through some letters.

"I know it's just you at the post office, but I wish you wouldn't bring work home." Frank dumped the brownish water down the sink. They took a clean rag and patted the pumpkin dry.

"You're right, there's always tomorrow." Eddie chuckled as he packed the partially sorted mail up and slid the box under the table. He leaned back in his seat with a loud sigh. The sound of a knife splitting the gourd filled the kitchen.

Frank spoke up, "So.. Have you noticed Wally around lately?"

"I see him walkin' often. More so than usual, and very slowly, too." He drawled, waiting for Frank to share what was on their mind.

"Earlier today, he declined another invite from Julie." Frank's words dripped with growing concern. Their frown was even more pronounced than usual. Eddie could read the tension on his husband's body.

"I noticed that change in him, yes, but it's to be expected. Loss can-"

"It's our fault." They spoke harsher than expected.

Frank left the knife in the flesh of the pumpkin. The piece flopped to the side as it was let go. They leaned against the edge of the sink. Each passing second marked by the dripping faucet.

Eddie started, "Now, Frank, don't think that way. It won't help nothin'."

"No, Eddie, no. We both told Y/N to keep it an open option," Their eyes filled with tears, "And now look, they've gone! Vanished!"

Another long silence. Eddie was staring at the table. Though he wanted to remain strong for Frank he knew that he couldn't deny those feelings any longer.

Eddie spoke with emotion thick in his voice, "Wally leaves letters addressed to Y/N."

"Yeah?" Frank turned away, pain evident on their face, "And what does he say?"

"He says he wants to find a way to get these letters to 'em. I told him I'd find a way," Eddie chuckled at this, but his eyes were wet with unshed tears, "There's no impossible task for a guy like me."

They eyed Eddie's profile, "I think we could make that a reality," Frank spoke quietly.

Eddie narrowed his eyes as he sat up straighter, "How so, darling?"

"Dear, and don't be mad," Stepping away from the sink, a flicker of fear crossed Frank's face, "I was looking around the area Y/N was last seen, uh, for the void Wally keeps talking about."

"And why would you go and do something dangerous like that?" Eddie was trying his best to remain calm, he stood up from his seat and walked closer to his husband, "What if you went and got dragged down, too? Who knows what's on the other end of that thing!"

"I get it! I really, really do!"

"Is that so, Frank?" Eddie responded.

"Hear me out, please?" Frank stepped closer to Eddie, arms crossed and eyes searching.

Eddie softened as he looked into Frank's eyes, "Please be careful, that's all I'm asking of you," Eddie spoke softly as he embraced Frank.

Frank sighed, relaxing into the hug, "I think I found the hole."

"What? What do you mean?" Eddie looked down at Frank. He was holding him by his shoulders squeezing ever so slightly.

"I.. dropped a note through it not too long ago. It's right next to a field of wild pumpkins." Frank shifted on his feet.

"Was the note for Y/N?" Eddie asked. His hands rubbed along Frank's arms.

"Yes, and, well, see this is where it gets strange."

Frank stepped away from Eddie. Their bag was resting by the kitchen doorway. They picked it up and brought it over to the table where they dug around for something. Eventually Frank removed a notebook, and inside the notebook was a neatly folded note.

Frank looked at Eddie, "I got a response."

[whats-it-mean]

Mc eats jade’s mushrooms and chaos ensues ☆

Jade and floyd x reader (separate)

A/N - This is somewhat spicy?? Its got mentions of aphrodisiac but nothing explicit, just the teeniest bit off innuendo, i guess

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── Jade ver.

It was common knowledge among students of Night raven college that Jade spent plenty of his time out and about in the mountains, searching for his precious mushroom specimens.

Most people on campus found this odd, as they did everything to do with the so called fish mafia, but you had a certain interest around the young man (and whatever piqued his own interest).

That said, it was no surprise that when you waltzed into the kitchen of the empty Mostro lounge, hoping to catch Jade on the off chance he might be there, you found his most recently acquired mushrooms sitting bunched together along a counter in his absence.

As usual, there was a wide variety in shapes, sizes, and colors, each one containing its own propertied to tell it apart from the others, since he had no need to collect multiple of the same species unless it was for a recipe. That was what he had told you.

As you peered along the counter, simply admiring the small treasures Jade worked so hard to collect, you noticed a small clump set aside from the rest, with a note next to them.

You attempted to read said note, but it was unintelligible, and could only lead you to assume Jade had been in a rush when he wrote it. The only word you could make out in the rushed and slanted handwriting was…

Your own name…?

You stared, dumbfounded, at your name in his writing. Something in your stomach fluttered at the sight of it, but you pushed the thought aside as you began to question yourself.

Why had jade written a note about you over his mushrooms..? It was odd indeed, and you found yourself pacing around the kitchen for longer than you’d like to admit trying to figure it out.

Maybe they were set aside for him to give to you..?

Jade did prize his mushrooms, so it made sense that he might think it’d be some sort of compliment to gift them to you… But then again- what where you supposed to do with them, in that case..? You were everything short of a talented cook, and none of your typical recipes included mushrooms- And Jade knew this, since you had yet to try any of his recipes until he offered you some.

“Maybe they’re to eat on their own…?” You mumbled, reaching down and staring intently at the shrooms, which felt as though they stared expectantly at you. Some might think that overthinking something as trivial at this was odd for Jade or the prefect, but when something came from him, you couldn’t help but overthink it as you turned the fungi over in your hand.

Although, once coming to that conclusion, you wasted no time in popping one of said fungi into your mouth.

My my, prefect, not one of your smartest moments…

“If he was going to give it to me anyways, he wont mind me eating one now, so…” You said, words coming out garbled between chomps, your voice sounding as if you were trying to convince yourself of a lie.

And, just like clockwork, the door opened perfectly on cue, making you jolt as you reeled around to see the always-serene face of a certain merman.

“Ah, prefect! Sorry, I wasn’t aware you were here, pearl…” He said, trailing off as he noticed you chewing. He paused, taking a few steps towards you. “What are you- eating, pray tell..?”

You felt yourself begin to sweat as you tried desperately to swallow as quickly as time would allow you.

“U- Um-“ You coughed out, forcing a very unconvincing smile as you swallowed hard. “Just…. A mushroom-“ Oh, you could practically feel the doom that awaited you as Jade’s smile dropped just a bit. You had never seen him look so… nervous.

“…Pearl, what made you think—“

“I’mlikesupersorryIjustthoughtmaybetheywereformeand-“

Your words tripped on each other as thy tumbled out with incredible speed, you failing at providing an Explanation.

Jade only stared at you in an oh so uncomfortable silence as your words faded out.

“…The note I left…” He started, pausing as though deep in thought. “Was to remind me not to give them to you. That’s why your name was there.” He said, then flashing his familiar smile at you, eyes closed as though everything was fine. You blinked.

“Wh- Why-!? A- Am i gonna die-!? Was it poisonous- O- Or—“ This time, the words came out even faster than before in your panic, before Jade raised a hand to silence you, although doing nothing to stop the rising fear in your chest. Or, at least, you thought it was fear. It was an odd feeling, the way your heart was beating so rapidly- But, surely, you told yourself, that was fear. Of the mushrooms. And, obviously, had nothing to do with the man in front of you whom you couldn’t help but notice was handsome in a way you had never thought about before, which, for some reason, made the heat in your cheeks grow hotter, and—

“Prefect.” Jade interrupted you from your racing thoughts. 

You glanced up at him, only to find yourself unable to meet his eyes as your face grew even more warm.

“Those mushrooms were….” He paused, and you could just barely notice a faint blush on his cheeks as well. “A form of Aphrodisiac.”

You couldn’t stop the rapid-fire thoughts as you turned bright red, vaguely remembering Crewel mentioning that word… ‘Aphrodisiac’… A drug that brings about.. desires….? No, no- you thought, that had to be wrong- Jade was your friend! Your close friend- Your- Friend. Your friend who you… definitely.. did not.. have any sort of… desire.. for… 

But none of that mattered. the only thing occupying your mind was the fact that he was, in fact, kissing you.

You could barely register it but you were sure you felt something on your lips, something so sweet and perfect that smiled in a way that only Jade could when he kissed you with more force than you thought was possible, and in the back of your mind you knew you that in this moment you would go much further than kissing him as ‘just friends.’

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── Floyd ver.

You’d always known that Floyd despised mushrooms, so it made sense that Jade would end up offering them to you, stating that Azul was busy and he needed a taste tester for a new kind of soup he’d been trying.

However, he had a certain glint in his eye that made you think he just might have ill motives… and, knowing Jade, that wasn’t out of the question either. The most suspicious thing was that he had specifically asked you to eat when you were around Floyd- His excuse was “So that you may see his annoyed expression and enjoy it the way I do”, or something of the likes of that, but overall his smirk said otherwise.

However, the soup smelled really nice, and you were too insecure to refuse him, especially when he loomed over you, sharp teeth shining as he did so.

And so, here you were, sitting across from Floyd, a small bowl of mushroom soup in front of you, and Floyd’s face scrunched up in disgust just as Jade had said would happen.

“Ew.” He stated, eyes narrowing down at the bowl in front of you, a small spoon stirring through it in a feeble attempt at stalling from you. “Why shrooms? They’re so gross. And jade is always on about ‘em. Which makes them more gross.”

You stopped your stirring before lifting a small spoonful of your meal to your lips, hesitating slightly at the memory of Jade’s smirk, before gulping it down quickly.

“I like them.” You stated, trying to avoid conflict. “And jade offered, so…”

Floyd’s face only contorted further. “They’re Jade’s mushrooms? I don’t trust that…” His expression darkened. “He’d better not be plotting to hurt my Shrimpy, or…”

As Floyd went on about things he could potentially do to his brother, you felt an unfamiliar warmth creep up your cheeks at the word ‘My’. You were… his…?

You shook your head and gulped down another spoonful of soup to dismiss the thought.

“They’re just mushrooms.” You mumbled. “What’s the worst they could do..?” You breathed, bringing yet another spoonful to be swallowed.

Floyd deadpanned at you. “A. Lot.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Well, then, smell it or something. You’d know if there was something bad, right? Then you can be sure.” The words left your lips carelessly, as you pushed the bowl over to him, just hoping he would stop talking about Jade. This wasn’t about Jade- You wanted him to talk about you, to think about you, to-

Since when had you been thinking thoughts like this…?

Once again, you brushed aside the though as you lifted your gaze to Floyd’s, his eyes trained on you as he sniffed the bowl just as you had absentmindedly asked, although his gaze on yours did nothing to stop the way your train of thought had been going.

After a moment’s thought, realization dawned on Floyd’s eyes and a blush crept up on his face as he slid the bowl aside- not back to you, but away from the both of you.

“Hm? Is it bad..?” You asked, genuinely surprised at his behavior.

“I…” He trailed off. You caught yourself going red again- Floyd at a loss for words was a rare sight to see, and the blush on his face made something in your chest tighten-

“I think he put an Aphrodisiac or some shit in there, Shrimpy—“ His voice stopped your thought, but only momentarily as that word rang out in your head. Aphrodisiac? Isn’t that-….?

The feeling in your chest only grew as you opened your mouth to speak.

“Wha…?” You mumbled, barely able to compute anything other than how good looking he seemed to be in that moment, the way his hair fell into his eyes… you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Shrimpy… I.. ah….” Similar thoughts ran through his mind to his own surprise. Why was your blush so damn cute!? And why did he want to get so close to you in that moment…!? He couldn’t understand, but without any warning he felt himself leaning in closer to you.

And, oh god, when your faces met it felt like nothing had ever tasted better, nothing had ever felt so good, the way his arms wrapped around your waist and how you couldn’t help yours from clinging to his neck as you leaned back until you could feel your back against the wall… As much as he hated to admit it, without Jade’s mushrooms, Floyd wouldn’t have had the courage to do this…

And now that he did, he wasn’t stopping any time soon.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── End

[suddenly-stickmin]

A Drive Through The Forest Pt. 1

Clement Warrantine grabbed the large brim of his black top hat with one hand and pushed it up, while the other stayed firmly on the truck wheel.

He grumbled to himself as the hat slid right back down, obscuring his vision of the road.

It was bad enough he had to drive through a thick forest in the middle of the night, it was bad enough the dusty-blue truck the Toppat Chief lent him was in such shoddy condition that its headlights were nothing more than weak, fuzzy yellow beams, it was bad enough there wasn’t a single lamppost anywhere on this road, he did not need his hat making this ride more bothersome than it already was.

He adjusted his blue-tinted, round framed glasses and slouched. He could take the hat off.

He could.

He took a deep breath.

But he won’t.

The top hat was important. It was a necessity. It showed how far he had come in life to reach the position he was in today, from a lowly truck driver…

…To a stick who was now the Toppats’ driver.

The sudden sound of static made Clement jump. His eyes darted over to the walkie talkie that sat in the passenger seat. He grabbed hold of it and brought it to his ear, ready to hear any updates from Macbeth, but when he realized the sound wasn’t coming it, he looked over to the radio instead.

He tossed the handheld device aside and fiddled with the knobs until the static stopped, and all that was left to fill the silence was the low rumble of his truck as the tires drove over the dirt path.

Clement put his focus back on the road. He’d been driving on it for what felt like hours, with nothing more than the view thick pine trees surrounding him. He was starting to wonder if he was making any progress at all.

He glanced over to his rearview mirror where a creased map hung from. He fixed the ends of his short, thin, black parted mustache before looking at the map. He squinted. He could just barely make out the red markings and notes in Macbeth’s handwriting, specifying that the road he was on was indeed a short cut to the airship’s landing spot.

It certainly didn’t feel like it. This just felt like another excuse to get him to drive for hours on end again.

He rolled down his window a bit to let some fresh air in and fixed his posture.

At least he was doing something more than delivering produce and furniture like he used to. At least he was actually being a part of something bigger, from helping with heists to bringing fellow Toppat members to different locations to suck them dry of their wealth.

Locations such as those big, fancy, over-the-top casinos with their flashy, obnoxious lights, or those sleek, polished banks with walls thicker than the airship’s. The sort of places ran by sticks who had the luxury of always staying home. They didn’t have to drive hundreds of miles to get what they needed, they didn’t have to worry about a deadline so much to the point they ruined their well being just to make it on time, they probably never even thought about those who delivered their precious jewels or their luxurious furniture. The drivers were nothing more than an extension of their property.

Clement gripped the wheel tighter. His nails started to tear into the worn down, brown fabric that covered it.

He may have a few gripes with the clan, but compared to his previous occupation? Those gripes were nothing.

Clement suddenly passed by a yellow, diamond-shaped sign. His eyes lit up. He had no idea what it said, but it was a sign. There were other people around here. He wasn’t driving in circles. He was finally making progress. Perhaps he was nearing the end of this dreadful forest.

He pressed down on the gas pedal. The truck let out a low rumble as it sped up.

He passed by another sign. Clement’s eyes scanned it in anticipation.

‘UTILITY WORK AHEAD’

He passed by another. It was noticeably crooked.

‘SLOW'

Then he passed another. It’s bottom half was horribly dented.

‘ROAD NARROWS’

Then another. It looked like someone tried to rip the sign off the post.

‘NEXT EXIT—‘

The rest of the text was unreadable.

He pressed on the gas pedal more.

He drove by a large, yellow excavator that had its bottom half covered in dry mud and rust. It teetered off the edge of the road.

The walkie talkie started to buzz, “This is Macb… How’re you doin’…?”

Clement’s eyes started to dart around. He grabbed the talkie and spoke into it, “Doing fine. Tired, but fine.”

He noticed more and more abandoned construction machines just barely out of reach of his headlights.

“It looks like this road is being worked on.” He continued, “A shame they couldn’t have finished before I had to drive through here.”

“Ha! That’s construction for ya. They nev…When ya ne…” Macbeth’s voice kept cutting off.

Clement kept his eyes peeled. Whatever was being worked on here must’ve been abandoned, but why leave the machines? Why keep the signs—

Clement’s truck suddenly ran over something. His body jerked up and his head hit the ceiling. A loud BANG shot through the air.

Clement’s eyes widened.

The truck started to sputter and slow.

And then it stopped.

Clement hugged onto his walkie talkie and took some deep breaths.

“Good gr…Did ya get shot or somethin’?!”

Clement steadied himself. He pressed the button and spoke again, “No. Ran over something.”

He peered into his side view mirror to see what he had hit, but it was too dark to tell.

“Do ya…spare?”

Clement kept staring into the mirror, “Yes, but—“

“Go ’n…it.”

Something didn’t feel right.

“Maybe it isn’t…” Clement’s voice dwindled as he slowly grabbed the wheel again and pressed on the gas pedal. It let out a pathetic cough and barely inched forward.

He pressed harder. The truck hacked and didn’t move.

He floored it. Through the sound of his truck spitting its life out, he prayed for it to move. He prayed he didn’t have to step out. Yet it never budged.

Clement got off the pedal.

He kept staring at the darkness ahead. There was nothing in front of him, only a dirt road consumed by the night, and what looked like hundreds of bugs now drawn to his lights, yet he felt a gaze pierce through it all.

He brought the walkie talkie close to him, holding it the same way he would with another person’s hand for comfort.

He slowly pressed down on the button, “I’m going out to inspect the damage.” He said as he opened the door and stepped out.

He walked over to the front of the truck and knelt down, swatting at the moths and mosquitos that surrounded him.

He swallowed as his eyes adjusted to the headlights hitting his face. He was able to make out the two flat tires with… Large gaping holes and nails stuck to the rubber.

What did he hit?

“Clem…It lookin’…?” Macbeth’s garbled voice came out.

Clement stood up, the cold night’s breeze grazed his face, “Not good. I think I’ll—I think you need to send someone over.” He walked past the truck and towards… Whatever he hit.

“…Wha…You need…Now?”

Clement squeezed his eyes shut and spoke again, “Yes, yes I know this is sudden, I know. I’m sorry, but—“ He stopped when he saw what laid across the street.

A large chunk of a dead tree that had hundreds of jagged nails and broken tips of drills hammered into it, along with barbed wire hastily wrapped around. He didn’t like the strange, brown stains on it, nor the strong smell of rust.

He took another step closer and knelt down to get a better look. Small rocks dug into his knee as he studied the—

A snap echoed through the forest.

He shot back up.

He brought the device back to his face.

“Macbeth, someone’s here.”

“…You…Need…” Static overtook Macbeth’s words.

“Macbeth, I need you to send someone to me now.”

No response.

“Macbeth?”

The static grew louder.

“Macbeth!?”

“…Hide…”

Clement rushed back into his truck, threw the device in, and locked the doors.

He scrambled back into position and floored the gas pedal as if it’d suddenly work again.

He frantically shook and jerked the gear shift as if it’d make a difference.

He kept hitting any and every button he could on his truck, he mashed whatever blinking light he saw and turned anything that could be turned. The jutted, loud sounds his truck made, the puffs of smoke that’d leave the tailpipe, Clement thought the truck was going to burst into flames—

Then there was a knock at the window.

Clement stared through the windshield, trying to avoid whoever was next to him, but he could see their hand out of the corner of his eye.

They knocked again.

Clement reached for the glove compartment and turned his head right as he opened it.

Another stick stared back at him.

Clement could just barely make out their mangled beard and wrinkled bandana that was tied over their head, along with the tens of moths that fluttered around them.

“You one of ‘em construction workers?” Their voice was husky and southern.

Clement hesitated for a moment. He narrowed his eyes and tried to study the sliver of expression on the other stick’s face. It was too dark, though.

“What?” Clement finally responded.

“Those big men in those bright vests ’n fancy hats.” The stick said. He took a step closer to the truck’s window, “You have one of ‘em fancy hats.”

Clement shifted back. His eyes flickered down just in time to see the stick’s arms… Move…? Reposition something…? His throat tightened.

“No, I—I didn’t even know there was construction going on, I—“ Clement looked around as if there was anything more than darkness surrounding them. When he looked back to the window, he saw the other stick had gotten even closer, “…I thought this road was abandoned. I was using it as a short cut. Didn’t think anyone lived out here. I can leave.”

The other stick didn’t say anything for a moment. The sound of rustling leaves and chirping bugs filled the silence.

“Open th’window more.” The other stick said.

Clement blinked, not even trying to hide his discomfort anymore.

“Open th’window.”

Clement’s fingers twitched. The window was already a crack open, just enough for the other stick’s eyes to pierce through, and even that felt like too much.

Yet Clement obliged.

He reached a hand out and pressed a button on his door. His truck let out a low hum.

His eyes darted back to the cracked open glove compartment. What glanced back at him was his last resort.

Before he could say anything more, the stick grabbed onto the truck door and leaned in. Their face was an inch away from Clement’s. Clement took the chance to finally study them.

He had a long, bushy, beard that was the same shade of brown as the bark on the pine trees. His brows were thick and slightly raised, his stained, orange bandana was adorned with loosely lined, coral-colored flowers, while his eyes were wide and wild, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Clement felt his glasses start to slide down. As soon as he pushed them back up, he saw something move—move—in the stick’s beard.

Clement couldn’t help but yelp and try to move away.

The other stick backed up and covered his beard.

“Don’t mind ‘em.” He said. A centipede sprouted from the hair, crawled across his hand, and went back in, “Where ya headin’?”

“I’m going to meet some friends.”

That wasn’t necessarily a lie.

Clement moved away from the glove compartment and snatched the map off of the mirror. He handed it to the stick.

The stick grabbed it with a dirtied, blistered hand and locked eyes with Clement for a moment too long before he moved closer to the headlights to get a better look at it.

As he did that, Clement was able to get a better look at him.

His strange, hunched stature, the way his hands shook slightly—

There was a stained, double barrel shotgun in his other hand.

Clement’s heart pounded.

He was stuck in this forest with a savage.

He was going to die here. He was going to get mauled.

He was going to get his head blasted apart and remains splayed across the trees.

That explained the empty machinery.

That explained why it was so lifeless here.

This stick was insane. This stick was going to kill him.

Not if Clement killed him first, though.

The truck might be stuck here, but he will be no sitting duck.

Not tonight.

Clement reached into the glove compartment and grabbed onto his pistol, but before he had the chance to yank it out, the other stick handed the map back to him.

“Shoot, you really ain’t a part of that construction crew, are ya?” His tone had turned lighthearted so quickly.

Clement stared at him.

“I’m sorry for this whole mix up. Guess yer one’o th’finer folks.” The stick glanced at the front of the truck then back to Clement, “I’ll fix up yer tires ’n give ya directions to a diner, how bout that? We’ll go together.”

“Together—?” Clement sputtered, “I don’t even know who you are, I—I need to meet with—do you live here or—“

The stick ignored his worries and walked off into the darkness.

And all Clement did was sit there.

He should’ve shot him.

He should’ve followed that stick to wherever he was going, grabbed the tires, and shot him.

But instead he remained, waiting for his ‘help’ to arrive so they could go to a diner together.

[chaosheadspace]

very curious about Nightmare Hob :0 !!

Good pick! This would have been my big bang fic if I would have had the time for the big bang (I dropped out).

Essentially Hob starts dreaming of the heart of the Dreaming after 1989 and starts repairing it, slowly making his way to the castle. Because he's there every single night (in this people are supposed to mostly stay in their own dreamscapes) he absorbs some of it's power. Eventually, he rescues Dream from the fishbowl.

Snippet:

Robert Goulding streaks his hair with artificial white and lines his face with wrinkles that are not of wisdom and age but of carefully applied paint and lies. Robert Goulding uses some of his carefully placed investments to build a new inn, *the* New Inn, out of nostalgia for the old one. Robert Goulding dies of an unfortunate heart attack at fifty-seven, and in his place steps his long lost Nephew, Robert Gadling, with every intention of honouring his uncle's memory and keeping the pub running.

He is a teacher, and he enjoys football, and sorting out new menus for the pub. He is fast friends with most of his employees, he is kind, he grows out his hair again. Slipping on his true name feels good. It would feel better if someone would call him Hob.

When Hob dreams, he dreams of the road, of the wasteland, of the distant promise of a destination. He walks. The ruin does not come closer. It is the only thing he dreams of, now. Hob would suspect that being ditched broke him, somehow, were it not for the deep sense of peace he feels every night.

After two weeks, he gets tired of it. He sits down right there on the road, digs his fingers into the dirt between the stones and looks up into the never changing blue sky and sighs. He has yet to meet another living being.

After a while he focuses on his surroundings, the dusty, barren earth, and picks up a loose stone that belonged to the road once. He digs about a bit, pushes his fingers into the soil next to his knee, where a brick is missing. Shoves the stray one into the hole he made, and feels like he accomplished something, certainly more than he ever did walking. At least he gave that poor old road something back.

The stone doesn't quite fit, jutting out a bit above its neighbours. If only he had—

There's a clatter next to his knee, and when he looks, there lies a bricklayer’s wooden hammer. With a satisfied sound, Hob picks it up and puts the brick in properly. It makes perfect sense to him like this. He needed a hammer, and so he got one. When the brick is level with the one next to it, it changes.

The vibrancy of its colour intensifies, and it fills out into the shape it must have had a very long time ago, almost like it had drawn a breath. The one next to it changes, too. Hob makes another pleased sound, a sound of wonder. He digs away more dirt on the other side of the brick and uses his fingers to right the brick beside it that had been pushed over and down into the earth. When it touches the other ones, it changes, too.

Yes, this is better than wandering, Hob decides. He twirls the hammer once, and gets to work.

[mayasaurusss]

Day five: visiting a video-store. I did this as quickly as possible! I wanted to make headcanons, then I liked the plot of this too much and one thing led to another so, here! There is mentioning of an oc-friend. I couldn't keep the reader's friend nameless so she'll be called Ollie!

"Come on, hurry up!" the voice of your friend calls, muffled through the door of your apartment. "Comin'!" you finish putting on your scarf and shoes, hurrying to open the door where your friend is waiting for you.

"Finally! It felt like you were taking forreverrr" Ollie says, rolling her eyes and turning to look at you. "What?!" humming, she looks you up and down, almost scanning you. "Interesting choice of clothing" you look at her dumbfounded, then at your clothes, then at her again. "What's that supposed to mean?!", she shrugs, playing dumb with you, "Nothing! Let's just go". "No no no! What was that supposed to mean?!"

Ollie huffs, clearly bothered "Do you really have to go to this... vintage movie place?" she asks you, fiddling with the buttons of her jacket. "We went everywhere you wanted. Don't I deserve a threat too?" you answer her, thinking of how you went to at least three different clothing stores.

"Yeah it's just...maybe we could have done something more funny. Like clothes shopping. Or even watching a movie" she says the last part as if it's an accusation of some sort, likely calling you a nerd in her head. You pinch the bridge of your nose and bite your tongue, telling her "We can go watch a movie later".

A friend of yours has told you about this place. He told you that he comes here often, searching for classic and more obscure movies. His exact words were "Whatever you need, she has it".

The vibrant color of the icon shines underneath the light rain, written in black the words 'While you were streaming' pop up from the white background. "Ugh, it looks so tacky" Ollie wines, shielding herself from the rain with her bag.

"Well, you can always stay behind and get wet if you wanna" you step towards the door, hearing her mutter something beneath her breath and follow you. When you enter, a bell chimes above you and with its sound you're brought into a small, colorful world.

The insides of the store are lightened by various coloured insignia. One shines above the cashier check, which promotes movies picked by the staff. Shelves are filled with a multitude of different DVDs genres, from the '80s to 2010's. The latest movies all sit in a corner of the shop which hasn't still been tidied up.

"Still think this place is lame?" you turn around to look at Ollie but she has already gone off, searching for God knows what in the corners of the store.

You, on the other hand, have really no idea what you should pick. There's too many choices and you don't have the time to make any decision. The answer to your problems comes to you, in the shape of a stunning woman. "Hi! How can I help?" the woman asks you, giving you a smile. She looks so cool that it makes your heart skip a beat. You don't even notice that you didn't answer yet.

"Uhhh- Hello? Are you there?" she waves her hand in front of you and breaks you out of your tranche. "Oh. Uhm yeah! Sorry, I wasn't very focused" your cheeks start to heat up and you rub them with your fingers to shoot the sensation.

"I could tell. Do you need something?" she rests her hands on the counter and you can't help but wonder at how they look, how they flex, how they'd feel wrapped around your-.

You try to push your thoughts away, ashamed and mortified by them. "Uhm, I want-wanted to watch a movie tonight but I don't have any idea which. Do you have any recommendations?".

You see the older woman's eyes lit up, as if you've lit a fire that laid dormant for a long time. "Well, first let's round up a bit. What genre do you like?" she rounds up the counter, letting you see her in full view. Despite the cold weather, she's wearing a brown short sleeved shirt and a pair of blue jeans. When she turns around to look at you, you notice a pair of scars on her skin. They have healed a long time ago, but their lines are still embedded on her.

"Uhm. H-horror, comedy, those kinds of things..." you hope she didn't notice your stares, you would feel dirty and weird if she had. "Ok, perfect. To get into the Halloween spirit, I suggest you watch any of the Addams Family movies" she takes a couple of vhs tapes and hands them to you. "The originals are also pretty good" she continues to pull out tapes and push them in your arms. "Then, as the month goes on, watch progressively more scary movies. You can go with Scream, Friday the Thirteenth, Nightmare on Elm Street and so on".

"If I were in you, then, as Halloween gets closer, I'd watch movies like The Exorcist, Veronica and The Blair Witch Project" by now she managed to create a pile of tapes, which are in danger of falling all over the floor if you make a wrong move.

"You know, when it came out I was in my early twenties. I bought a ticket the first night the movie aired" the woman tells you, looking for yet another tape in between the shelves, which by now are significantly less crowded than before. "At the time, we weren't sure if it was real footage or if it was just acting. To us, it felt very real. I remember I was pretty shaken up the nights after" she remembers how, for the days to come, she was scared to leave any light off inside her home and had to constantly hum a tune or the silence would have made her hear things.

"Well that's all" she returns to the cashier check and opens a plastic bag with the store's logo on it, carefully stacking the tapes on top of each other. You'd feel bad about telling her after she meticulously put all the tapes in the bag, so you interrupt her. "I - I am sorry, but I don't have the money to buy all these vhs tapes..." you feel like you've made a fool of yourself. She was so nice and helpful and you don't even give her the shadow of a coin.

She gives you a calm smile "Oh don't worry, it's in the house". You gasp, earning the woman's attention, "Really?!". "I mean, you gotta return them, but yes" finally the last tape is in place. She makes sure they are all stacked up and hands the bag to you, which feels heavy in your hands.

"Is this the store's policy? To return stuff?" She starts to tidy up around the table, randomly moving things out of the way. Her eyes seem slightly nervous "Well, yeah. But I don't give my precious tapes to just anyone".

"But you look like you could be a movie nerd, so I gotta, how do you say...educate you on all kinds of movies" as if she has found some kind of deep hidden courage in her heart, she meets your eyes and winks at you "besides, you look cute, so I'll give you a free pass". You can feel your heartbeat in your ears and your face suddenly seems to get dangerously hot. You try to move your lips, to say anything to her, but nothing comes out.

"You finished or what?". Of course, Ollie comes in, ruining the moment. Not that you were having any, your incredible social skills aren't enough to grant you the strength to have a normal social interaction.

"Y-y-yeah I have just f-finished" anyone could tell that you were having a hard time controlling the heat in your cheeks. "Fantastic. I'm gonna wait for you out" Ollie is about to step outside the store before the woman stops her. "Haven't you gotten anything?" she asks, looking if Ollie has any suspicious tape-looking thing hidden in her bag.

"I dunno, there's nothing that fits my style here" she says shrugging, walking out of the shop, followed by the ding! of the bell. "Whatever you say" the woman gives a little smirk at your friend's antics and resumes tidying up. You feel so embarrassed, both by Ollie's actions and the blatant flirting of the woman. Your voice stutters a bit as you try to give an explanation to her "Uhm so, my friend is kind of an asshole. Don't mind her". She smiles at you but doesn't answer.

Fuck it. You only live once, no?

"Uh... I have to go, but" you take out your phone, already on the add contact screen. "I would like you to give me more suggestions. Mind... Switching phone numbers?". She seems a bit taken back by your words, like she didn't fully expect to hear them. A small smile appears on her lips, a genuine one. One that she doesn't give to customers. One she hasn't made in years.

"Sure" she grabs a sticky note and quickly writes her number on it. Her calligraphy looks worse than usual, thanks to the nervous shaking of her hand. "Here" she gives you the paper and watches as you store it in your wallet. You smile at her, so sweet that it makes her heart beat fast. She wonders how it would feel to have your lips pressed on hers.

You thank her for being so gentle and helpful with you. You wave and proceed to step towards the store entrance.

"Wait!" her voice catches your attention sks you turn back to see her give you a small, confident smile, "I'm Vanessa, by the way".

[peiskos-and-apricity]

Fated to Fall ~ Sindri x Reader [Pt 5]

Tw: Disassociation

|Chapter Selection|

|Previous Chapter|

-

You paced for a while outside, curses and rage-filled words falling off your tongue in murmurs. You had never felt so small, so useless, so discarded.

It hurt

It hurt to be left here, to have no way out. As if you were an animal. You didn't deserve this. It wasn't your fault- IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT!

After a few minutes of the held-back anger bubbling and brewing under your skin, you let out a fury-filled scream before taking the ax on your back and throwing it at a nearly tree-shaped branch of the Yggdrasil.

In a crackling sound the ax left your hands, glowing yellow and white flecks of light following it before it landed in a sudden bright explosion that sent you flying backward with its sheer force. You quickly covered your head as you landed and bits of the tree splintered and shot in all directions. It was seconds later that the clanking of your ax was heard a few feet away as the remnants of the explosion ended.

Slowly your arms fell, your eyes glued on the place the Yggdrasil once stood. Instead, there was nothing more than flecks of yellow light and a crack of gold that stood alone in the air. You knew it would soon fade, but that didn't make staring at it any less stomach-dropping.

Your anger was gone, overtaken by the shock of what you had caused. You didn't move, you couldn't.

You hadn't meant...

You had never, not in so very long at least. Even if it showed in small shines you had never been so out of control of that part of yourself. Like your grip on it was weakening, falling out through bursts of emotion you usually controlled so well.

You sat stunned on the ground, your mind slowed and quiet now. So quiet in fact that the only words you could hear were the ones usually so silent against the others.

This was why your name never graced the walls of the Jotnar.

You were their unnamed monster. A name better left unwritten to those who would hear the story of the giants. You were no savior, no child of their kind.

You were a monster marked in gold.

"Hey! For the love'a- pull yer damn self together!" you were suddenly pulled from your stunned shock when Brok shook you, where upon you blinked back into existence before immediately pushing him away. You quickly stood to your feet and stepped back, your throat tight as you looked at the dwarf who, despite the destruction you had caused, didn't seem fazed.

"Ain't no needs ta go pushin' me every fuckin' time" he commented as he stood. You didn't move for a long moment. Your shock still held strongly onto you, those previous words once so quiet now echoing through your head. Brok brushed himself off before turning around to the destruction. He shook his head a bit.

"What went and blew yer fuckin' lid?" He questioned before turning back to you. You couldn't find the words in your throat, let alone have any fall off your tongue. After a long pause a solemn look soon took over your features. You shook your head slightly as if it would shake off the reality of what you had caused before turning to go grab your ax.

With the shock still flickering through your shaky hands you simply couldn't bring yourself to address anything that had happened. You had gone so long, had controlled it so well, only for it to come out in accidental destruction caused by your inability to stay calm.

So you numbed. You let all your shock and disgust and hatred and- and anger. You felt it leave though not in any way relieving. It instead fled from your body like the ocean before a tidal wave.

"That bad huh? Well c'mon then. S'go get all them splinters off ya 'for Sindri gets back" he continued as he waved you over. You were confused a moment before you noticed the slight gashes that covered your skin, the pain numbed. You blinked away your confusion, grabbing your nearly destroyed ax before following Brok back inside more out of a need to find any sort of distraction than any actual want to return into your temporary prison.

The place was quiet besides the sound of yours and Brok's feet along with the crackling fire left simmering. You continued to follow Brok into the workshop where you quickly took a seat, setting your ax beside you.

Your face was cold, empty. It was familiar, this emptiness. At least you assumed so given the nonchalant way Brok disregarded your clearly dazed state. He instead took the ax at your side with a whistle.

"Banged this one up bad didn't ya?" He commented, your eyes falling from him and instead to your wounds. Glancing to your right you noticed the bandages he had left beside you. You promptly went about dressing your cuts. They still didn't feel all that painful even with bits of glowing gold dripping through the crimson red. It made you cringe a little, seeing the glow. But you dealt with the wounds quick enough.

Slowly the silence of your mind came crashing down, cascades of such loud sounds running through your head. You attempted to breathe, to numb further. You had to. You had to choke down all that was burning through you. Numb it. Just numb it all.

Your attempts at apathy were the only thing keeping any of them alive.

It...it wasn't your fault. None of this was. You weren't like this, like him. It wasn't you when those explosions came. When you couldn't swallow it all down anymore. Why was it that you weren't allowed to feel like others did? Cursed to calm yourself or risk harming those around you, harming yourself. You never asked for any of this.

You wouldn't have been pushed this far if he would just listen-

You stopped yourself at the thought, guilt overtaking the moment you let it set in. You weren't sure if it was because deep down you knew you had no right to blame him. Not after all he'd been through, not after he had grown so much in your absence. Or if maybe you did blame him. Because he never changed fast enough for you, he never grew into who you needed. Because it was too late. Because you would always know him as the ghost your mother loved. The shadow you never stepped near. The monster that never needed to speak to instill deep fear in you.

But mostly...mostly the guilt came from the fact that you needed someone else to blame. That you needed a reason for what could have brought this on to you. Because in the absence of anyone else, who else was there but you? A monster among monsters, yet you dare judge those among you?

"...feelin' a bit better now?" Brok suddenly asked as he broke the silence you hadn't even realized had formed. You looked up from your spot to see his back turned as he worked. His voice was softer than his usual flippant tone. While it had been years now since the last you'd seen him it seemed almost as if nothing had changed. Nothing but the fact that his already strange voice felt even more painful now as it asked that silent question. That question he had never gotten the answer to even on your journey up the mountain and through the many passages your mother painted onto rock faces.

He'd seen you like this more than once, all those years ago. You had been pieces then. Shattered at your mother's death. You traveled alone but he had always been there. Always around the corner, always a few steps ahead. You weren't sure why he had taken such pity on you in those moments. In fact, you had tried to keep him away in fear you might hurt him with your outbursts. But he never listened, as stubborn as he was. You supposed he didn't like being told what to do and helped purely out of spite.

But that question. It always caught you off guard no matter how many times in how many different ways he phrased it. Because you couldn't catch this man speaking much of any sort of comfort, no matter how distraught you were. So when his voice grew softer and he couldn't turn to meet your eye, it always felt so...strange. As if you weren't supposed to have heard him. And you'd respond as if you hadn't, holding onto your silence. Because how could you ever explain it?

You only turned back down to your bandages, continuing the tedious motion of covering your wounds. Silence suffocated the air and it somehow was harder to breathe than any other of these moments you'd had with him.

Thankfully said silence didn't last long as the front door flung open, frantic feet flooding in.

"Brok! Brok are you in here?!" Sindri's voice called out in almost a panic.

"Over here ya panickin' tilat!" Brok yelled, his usual tone returning immediately as if nothing had happened. Sindri's head turned towards the workshop, relief falling on his face as he did.

"Did you see what happened outside? There are pieces of Yggdrasil all over the place! What happened-" his eyes paused as they fell on you, bandages still held in your hands with the final wound just covered.

"To you!" He exclaimed, his hands motioning in a way of shock and confusion with a look that asked if you were alright.

"They went ahead and met one of them young Lindwyrms s'what they fuckin' did" Brok didn't miss a beat with the explanation, his tone showing no indication of his lie. Sindri didn't even think twice about it.

"Really? Strange" Sindri spoke in an almost befuddled tone

"They usually keep to themselves quite well!" He added, almost as if he was trying to convince you of something. You gave no response and his eyes quickly fell back to his brother.

"In any case, I'm glad neither of you are dead" he stated as his previous panicked tone calmed, a huff leaving as he finally caught up with the situation. Or at least the version he knew of.

"I'll just uh...head back to work" he spoke slowly, a bit hesitantly you might even add, before walking off. He looked as if he had meant to say something, but hadn't. For a moment you thought maybe Brok's face had given away his bold lie, but you severely doubted that. Especially as the golden-plated dwarf didn't share the same short pause towards you as he walked off.

Brok turned to you, a look all too familiar in his eyes.

"I'm fine" you answered before he could say anything. But there was still that air of knowing he always gave off. As if he'd always be able to see through you, to stare through your being and still give so little away as to what he had gained from such a search. Your eyes prodded back with their own recognition of him, but with as much as the two of you had been through you still had such a hard time figuring him out. He never let anyone see anything he didn't want them to and considering how easily he was able to lie to his own brother, you knew he was quite capable of deceiving you. Or was it more so that no one really suspected him of anything more than what he always so blatantly showed?

"I know you are" he answered, walking past you and further into the shop, his eyes finally leaving you. You breathed a bit of relief at that, but his words set you further on edge. This had to be one of the more strange encounters you'd had with him. Fimbulwinter had changed him. Hel, it had changed everyone. So you weren't sure why his change felt so much stranger. Or why his sharp tone as he passed felt so much worse.

Your lips parted to say something. Anything. Just a word even. But there was only silence that followed as your lips slowly closed once more. What even was there for you to say? Nothing he would care much to hear. He had done you service enough bringing you down from the sudden violence that had consumed you. That was enough. That was more than most were willing to do. That was more than you could have ever asked out of him.

"They's gonna be gone awhile. Best find somethin' ta occupy yer time while they ain't here. Don't know whys you even fuckin' stayed-"

"I didn't want to" you quickly spoke back, a sudden sharpness on your tongue as you felt your anger flare at just the mention of it. The moment you noticed it you froze yourself, swallowing the feeling with a breath. You couldn't afford to have another of such events.

Brok's movements stopped for a moment as he took a short glance over his shoulder to you. He then soon went back to his work, turned away from you all the while.

"S'that what happened?" He asked, implying the reason for the explosion of the Yggdrasil branch. You once again only found silence as an answer, too afraid that any words to leave your mouth would only bring the potential for danger. You didn't really need to answer though. It was easy enough to assume. After all, you were fine before you started talking to Kratos.

He said nothing.

-

Hours had passed. Excruciatingly boring hours. Hours with nothing to do and no one to talk to. The dwarves had been so busy they hardly took note of you as they moved around. You didn't mind it, they were pretty busy people After all. Then again it wasn't like you liked the silence either. Nothing to occupy your mind as all of your equipment was either damaged or left at home. So you aimlessly roamed hoping that maybe you'd come across something while simultaneously wanting nothing there at all. You were driven by a need to occupy your mind but a fear that any task you take up would somehow be dangerous. It was times like these when you'd begin a new carving.

Knives against wood had always calmed you, but you had left your satchel full of supplies at home, a place you currently couldn't go due to being trapped here. You had thought to ask one of the brothers but thought better of it since they were so occupied. So you wandered.

That was until you noticed Sindri in the forge. He paced back and forth as he grabbed things and, seeing as he looked to be preparing to leave to somewhere, you approached. But he had been so absorbed in his task that he hadn't seen you, nor did he as he turned back and forth. So, after a bit of silence waiting for him to notice you standing at the bench, you spoke up.

"What are you doing?" You asked, causing the dwarf to jump nearly ten feet in the air at the sound of your voice. His head whipped toward you, relaxing a little once he'd seen you, though remaining a bit tense.

"Oh! Well, I was uh- I was about to head out! Why? Do you need something?" He asked before slowly turning back to the task of preparing for wherever he was heading off to. You shrugged your shoulders a bit, even though he wasn't looking at you anymore.

"No. Just looking for something to do and you looked busy so..." You trailed off as he nodded to you. The conversation died for a moment before you decided to ask another question.

"Where to?" You asked as you leaned on the table a little. Maybe he'd let you come. Maybe you'd even be lucky enough to get your stuff from home.

"Niðavellir" he answered simply though his answer greatly piqued your interest. So much so that your relaxed posture changed to go upright, your eyes fully staring at him.

That's where the three had headed off to.

"Can I join you?" You asked, your voice a little too eager. He stopped what he was doing, turning to you with a stiff movement. His face was cautious and his hesitation had you quickly hoping to convince him.

"I can give you something in return if you'd like. I...I don't have much, but I've got some hacksilver at the house. Not a lot but some. Or if you'd prefer I'd be willing to do a favor of some kind. I'm not any sort of god killer but I can stand my own where I need to." You rambled on, trying to pursuade the still mostly stranger to allow you to join him into what was likely more than a few secluded areas. Which, you know, isn't exactly easy.

Finally Sindri was able to manage a response.

"That won't be necessary. I can bring you-"

"Hold your fuckin' horses now" Brok spoke up as he appeared and walked into the forge.

"You's ain't prepared ta step one fuckin' foot in no place, let alone Niðavellir. You's better get some damn equipment first" he chastised and you shot him a light glare, one more full of annoyance than any sort of anger.

"All of it's back at the house. A place I didn't have the luxury to look through before being brought here" you shot back sarcastically, a smile finally cracking itself on his face at the comment.

"Well I'm sure ol' numb nuts here ain't got's a problem takin' ya ta go grab yer lil' toys then" he replied, his usual self returning finally. It relaxed you a little. You didn't like the way his eyes stared when he was worried. You turned back to Sindri with an expectant look.

"Do you?" You asked, it seemed to fluster him a moment as he stumbled a bit before he spoke again.

"Well I um- well- of course not! Sure thing!" He spoke, swiftly pushing a whole table of tools into his bag. As he did Brok handed you the ax he had finished. It looked better than it did even before the explosion, though that was to be expected from the dwarf. However what had changed was a new rune held on the top of it. You eyed it down before turning to him with a questioning look.

"Just in case you go blowin' yer lid again. Should help" he murmured before quickly walking off. You hardly had any time to stop him when Sindri stood in front of you.

"After you" he spoke, gesturing to the door. You gave a nod, moving towards said door as he followed. You took a final glance over your shoulder towards Brok who, despite the smile on his face, gave an unfamiliar apprehensive stare.

You quickly turned forward as you decided it better than seeing such a foreign look in his eyes.

| Next Chapter |

[decks-writing-blog]

Couldn't Leave You Behind

Summary: Eli and Kleiner are chased by a pack of houndeyes and a bullsquid.

[A/N] I had the idea to write about Eli losing his lower leg and making it have an Elisaac vibe because if I want content for this ship, I gotta do it myself, then I figured I should probably google it to see if there was a canon explanation for how it happened that I could adapt to what I wanted to write. And turns out he lost his lower leg because he got attacked by a bullsquid when helping Kleiner get over a barrier and into City 17 which actually feeds me shipping them, dude lost part of a limb to help Kleiner, that's true love right there. (Seriously, how is this a rare pair when that's a canon event between them? Where are all the old man fuckers in the Half Life fandom?) So here is my take on that event.

Content Warning: blood and gore, Eli's foot gets hit by bullsquid acid and is somewhat graphically described.

~

Breath burned in Isaac’s chest, his heart beating faster than it probably ever had before. His legs and sides ached, sharp and insistent, begging him to slow down or stop before he collapsed. Ahead of him, Eli’s lead was growing bigger and bigger; that jogging phase he’d had back before the Black Mesa incident, coming in to help him once more. Behind Isaac though, the lead he’d had on the pack of houndeyes and single bullsquid chasing them was shrinking. Their barking, gurgling, and thumping of their feet on the decaying road, growing louder as they gained on him.

A hiss that he now recognized as the bullsquid preparing to spit came from uncomfortably close behind him. He sped up… or tried to; he didn’t have much left to give. With a splatter and a hiss of an entirely different sort, acid spit splattered onto the ground just to his left, prompting him to hop to the right with a small yelp. The bullsquid’s aim was worse when it was in motion. A rather interesting data point in that it was currently the main reason he was still alive.

Up ahead, Eli reached the barrier. He’d be justified in jumping up and hoisting himself over it, leaving Isaac to make it or not entirely on his own. Like the sentimental fool he was though, he didn’t. Instead he skidded to a halt and turned back. “Hurry Izzy!”

Isaac would’ve loved to shout back that he was running as fast as he possibly could but didn’t have the breath to spare for even a single syllable. If he survived this he was going to have a jogging phase too, get himself in some kind of better running shape lest he ever find himself in such a situation again. That was looking more and more like a rather big ‘if’ though as he didn’t have much left in him.

Another hiss and splash of acid, this time just to his right would’ve had him yelping again if he hadn’t lacked the breath to make such a sound. It gave him another incentive to keep going though despite feeling like he might collapse at any moment.

Just a little bit further and… he almost crashed into the barrier next to Eli. How the fuck was he going to get over it? Its top was just in reach – the reason they’d chosen this as their entrance point into the city, it was the least secure barricade their scouts had spotted. He reached up for it anyway, scrambling to pull himself up it despite having spent all his strength on the run over. He was doomed; he’d run all this way just to…

Instead of hoisting himself up too as expected, Eli put himself under Isaac and pushed him, giving the exact boost he needed to get over the barrier. He tumbled over it with an undignified yelp, landing hard on his shoulder on the other side but alive. Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself up to his feet as fast as he could force himself to help Eli in whatever way he could.

He was just in the time to catch Eli as he toppled over the wall with his own yelp, more a scream really. Naturally catching him sent Isaac right back to the ground with Eli on top of him this time, knocking whatever little breath he’d had left out of him. Painful but he was alive. They’d made into City 17.

Eli groaned and rolled off of him, blessedly making it easier to breathe. Isaac would’ve gladly just lain there next to him while they caught their breath but… Eli’s face was scrunched up with pain. He’d been hurt somewhere. Damn it.

Isaac sat up, ready to get to work searching for which bone had been broken but there was no need as the injury was impossible to miss. Eli’s foot had been hit with acid spit. It had eaten through his shoe and lower pant leg, melting into his flesh and revealing bone. It was hissing, steaming and bubbling as the acid continued to eat through it.

Still desperately trying to catch his breath, Isaac quickly pulled his pack off and dug through for one of the spare water bottles. Carefully as he could while still being quick about it, he poured it out over Eli’s foot, moving it back and forth over the whole injury. Eli hissed and tried to jerk away, forcing Isaac to move after him. Before resuming pouring the water, he used his other hand to grab Eli’s knee, holding it still.

By the time the bottle was empty, the acid seemed to have mostly been washed out of the wound. But just to be sure, he pulled out another one and poured the whole of that one out too.

“How bad is it?” Eli asked, his voice strained with pain.

“Uh… pretty bad.” The acid had eaten through the entire shoe and most of the flesh surrounding the foot, leaving bone and tendon exposed, much of it burned away as well. Further up wasn’t as bad but there was still a sickening amount of bone exposed with varying degrees of acid damage. “I don’t think you’re likely to keep this foot.” Isaac wasn’t a medical doctor but one didn’t need to be to see that there was no saving it. “I imagine once we get you to a medical professional, they’ll want to amputate it.” Especially considering the potential infections having alien spit splattered in one’s wound was bound to cause.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Isaac pulled off his lab coat and using the pair of scissors from the pack set to cutting it up so he could bandage Eli’s foot as best he could with his limited medical experience. It wasn’t clean but the foot wasn’t likely to be saved anyway. He started with his best attempt at a tourniquet around the upper thigh. “Why’d you wait for me?”

“Couldn’t leave you behind, had to make sure you made it.”

Isaac couldn’t complain about that, especially since he wasn’t sure he could’ve gotten over the barrier in time without Eli’s help. But if the bullsquid’s aim had been a bit more true, if the acid had hit Eli’s back, even with the backpack and the supplies inside, it likely would’ve had a far worse outcome than just him losing a foot and part of his lower leg. “What about Alyx? If you’d died because of me, she’d have no one.”

“Not true, she’d have you, Dog, and Barney. I couldn’t leave you behind, Izzy, don’t say I should’ve. I’ve lost enough people already. Besides, I lived, didn’t I? So it’s fine.”

It had come far too close though. But they had both blessedly lived and such luck wasn’t something Isaac wanted to question lest it not remain for long. So, in silence, he finished doing what he could for Eli’s injury before helping him stand. He had to lean heavily into Isaac, his arm around his shoulder as Isaac returned the gesture, helping him hop along on one foot.

It would’ve been preferable to have a medical professional come to him and carry him in a stretcher or wheel chair. But they didn’t have that luxury. They had to get to the safe house before the sun rose in a few hours and then they had work to do. Most of which Isaac would be doing alone now as Eli rested and got much needed proper medical attention. Being the heads of the resistance efforts really sucked sometimes but it was certainly better than many of the alternatives.

[knownangels]

hang out

wc: 1.7k

Someone grabs him from behind.

Benji lifts from his body, eyes shuttering like they always do, and bursts into motion. 

He drops to a knee as he spins out of grasp, shrugging away the shoulder pawed by a stranger’s hand. And then in a series of movements, he has the unlucky bastard’s knee knocked to the side, spun off-balance. It gets Benji in range. Benji’s awful in range. Up-close.

But in the back of his mind, he’s prompted into harsh movements by something even worse than in-range training. 

Betrayed, a little voice hisses. Compromised.

It’s that special rage that pushes Benji back to his feet, the body of his attacker in tow. It’s that rage that spins it by the shoulders to face him, momentum throwing the person into rapid, desperate stumbles as Benji walks them both forward. Directly, and without much care for gentleness, further into the depths of the alley. Towards the brick.

As his back hits the wall, Xavier makes a cartoonish sort of ack! sound. It’s so absurd Benji immediately snaps from wherever his head had gone. Not knowing whether it’s unintentional or intentional (but, knowing this one: with a desperate need for Benji to agree with his humor). 

That thought, really, is what snaps him out of it. That it’s Xavier trying to make him laugh, even with a forearm to his throat.

“Dude,” Xavier wheezes, grinning even as his breath cuts short. It makes him sound funny, and he must agree, because he’s grinning like a lunatic while he says it. “I just wanted to hang out.” 

*

They do. A not-so-carefully organized rendezvous whose coordinates were delivered in code over an agreed frequency. How Xavier manages to get this deep behind lines, Benji isn’t sure — but he figures it has something to do with the arsenal of networking and connections Xavier has established for himself amongst his group. Or so he assumes, based on how much the bastard yaps. 

For twenty minutes. For twenty minutes, they converse. They joke. For twenty minutes, (Benji counts as discretely as he can with glances at his watch) they circle the outer path of the city. It’s mostly an entertainment and commercial distract; these days, it houses a quickly dwindling array of shops and venues. 

“It used to be cool.”

“It’s still pretty cool,” Xavier says. He can’t stop looking above them, through the great glass dome encapsulating the city. “I mean, we don’t have anything like this —oh fuck! Is that a whale?”

Benji nods, but he doesn’t have the attention for it. Xavier’s darted down a path, eyes wide with childish excitement as he watches the great, dark shape in the far distance traverse the ocean floor like a hawk in the sky. Slowly, inch by inch, it fades the same mottled black-blue of the horizon until its gone, swallowed up by the dark water beyond.

Maran hates this place. He’d been here exactly once, to the comic store around the corner from where Benji leads them now. And then he had sworn, as typical, to never ever fucking come back. 

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” 

Benji snaps out of his thoughts. He’d been walking with Xavier close behind, the enemy soldier at his back —

The enemy soldier, Benji thinks, grounding himself. At his back.

He slows until Xavier passes him. His brow furrows. He feels no apprehension or fear or adrenaline; he should have. Xavier is armed. And Xavier is — Xavier. Benji’s seen him in the midst of it. 

“Yes,” Benji confirms. He steps up to the shopfront, shoulder to chest with the other man. “You said you liked music.”

Xavier tilts to smile at him. “Fuck, dude. I meant like — I go to the club and like music.” He gestures broadly at the store. “Not, like, actual real music. Or making it.” 

Benji shrugs. “Club music’s still music, mate. Got a decent beat.” 

“Tell me about it.” Xavier adopts a strange stance, then lifts both arms in the air and drops his chin as he bounces in place, unce-unce-unce of his own bad synth impression serving as tempo. When he stops, his hair’s a bit of a mess and his cheeks are flushed.

Benji clears his throat. “Ah, well. My bad. Can’t really recommend you clubs. Y’know. Considering. I, uh. Like this place,”

“Yeah? Can I guess?”

“Guess?” Benji asks, flustered. 

Xavier laughs. “Yeah, dude. What you play.” At Benjis surprised expression, his laughter bursts forth again. “Benji, come on. You’re totally obvious.”

“Alright, then, if I’m obvious. What?” 

“Hm.” Xavier says, eons of philosophers providing wisdom to that single, brief noise. “Saxophone.”

“Fuck yourself!” Benji splutters. He shoves Xavier, who stumbles a bit into the brick behind him. “Dickhead.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Xavier leans back into Benji’s space, as if forced by gravity. “Um. Bass?”

“Drums.” Benji holds up his hands, flexes them. “Couldn’t tell?” 

Xavier swallows. His eyes dart between Benji’s raised fingers, green finding brown in the gaps. “I was wondering.”

“Used shit sticks as a kid.” Benji says. He taps a finger against the window. “Like those.”

Xavier looks to where he points. “What’s that brand?”

“Why, you lookin’ to upstage me?”

Xavier smile stays turned toward him a split second longer than Benji thinks it ought to. Only after that lingering beat does his pale, freckled chin turn towards the store display. Brass and cherry-red candy paint acrylic guitars gleaming new behind an already glossy window. It looks like its cared after regularly and maybe even obsessively. There’s a bright yellow sale sticker in the bottom left, shaped like a star: voted best manufacturer by DRUM! four years in a row. 

“Never heard of this one. Don’t have it.” Xavier sways forward and taps the glass. “Amazon Basics. You can get, like, everything.” He frowns. “Uh, mostly because they like. Own...everything.”

Benji thinks back to his main supply pack, propped against the bottom of his cot on base. There’s a pair of worn and oil-darkened sticks tucked inside for luck. 

He frowns, staring at the laser-etched logo. “Mad.” He notes, drawing the vowel long. 

“What?”

“We’ve got a few — brands, I mean. Myself, m’kinda sentimental. Only used Yamaha growin’ up ‘cause they were cheap.” He looks up at Xavier. “Never heard of Amazon. Instrument company?”

“Dude.” 

Benji’s turn. “What?”

“Dude.” Xavier repeats, answering absolutely nothing. He takes Benji by the shoulders and shakes him. “You don’t have Amazon over there? Oh, fuck, that’s like…wicked inconvenient.” 

Benji blinks at him.

Xavier smiles wider. “Imagine overnight shipping. Same hour shipping. You guys got that?” 

Benji blinks at him again, then scoffs. “Mate, we’re lucky to get three weeks. You lot keep comin’ and pinchin’ the majority of our power source, remember?”

Xavier’s laugh is slightly delayed. Once it comes, it’s a big, bark of a sound. 

Then he sobers. Benji’s smile dies a bit, too. Suddenly the moment is too visceral, the conflict around them closing in less backdrop. 

It feels so different with you, Benji thinks. It feels slower. I forget. The fondness rolls his stomach with a knife-twist sharp like anxiety, serrated like fear. 

“Do you want me to break in and steal you the cool multidimensional drum sticks?” Xavier whispers. His voice is dead serious, pitched low. But there’s a little slippery twist to the words that lets Benji know he’s being…teased? 

He snorts. 

“Aw, you’re a right evil bastard, aren’t you?” Benji grins, spurned on by the shamed flush on Xavier’s face. “The family owned shop? I’d judge you.”

“I don’t want you judging me,” Xavier sing-songs. He tucks his hands in his pants pockets, swaying. “I just want you to like me.” 

Benji rolls his eyes. “You’re alright.”

Xavier takes a step. Benji has to tilt his chin up to keep their eyes level. 

“Just alright?” 

He lifts a gloved hand, pinches index and thumb together. “Fine. Bit better than alright.” 

Xavier must mean for his next look to be silly; outrageously flirty. But without trying, mostly because of how his eyes slip half-closed, he manages to land between coy and sultry. It, Benji thinks, is a dangerous place for him to be. 

“You gonna give it up any time soon?”

Xavier’s brows waggle. “Literally the second you say flip, I am fucking flipping.” 

“Can you?” 

“Fuck off.” Xavier laughs. His hands finally slip from Benji’s shoulders, although they don’t go without a friendly (friendly?) squeeze. “Maybe not, actually. Haven’t tried.” 

“I meant,” Benji laughs. “I meant if you’re gonna give up the act, Xavier.” 

“The act.” 

“The act.” Benji says.

“The…act.”

He throws his hands up in the air, laughing. “Fuckin’ hell. Got myself a shadow and a damn echo.”

But every light moment seems to catch wrong on the edges; when Benji tosses his head back, he sees not just the deep, sun-mottled blue of the ocean above, but each explosive orange burst of the battle outside the domed city’s safety.

He remembers, suddenly, that he stands in one of the most secure bastions of that — safety — left. Because of the man in front of him, smiling with his fingers tucked a millimeter beneath his sleeve. Benji glances down at that, and tries a hundred different ways not to romanticize the touch’s softness in direct comparison to the literal war being raged above. 

He tries, anyway. 

“When I found you in that alleyway,” Xavier starts, his fingers drawing circles on Benji’s skin, “I was going to kill you and loot you and sneak back home in your uniform.”

Benji wonders if he’ll ever tire of the up-downs of being around Xavier, the constant shifts in energy and tone — without the sensation of being yanked about, Benji likes being kept on his toes. 

“Now there’s a thing to admit,” Benji says wryly. “And of your own free will n’volition, too.” 

Xavier moves again. Another step. The smallest he seems capable of taking; he’s in Benji’s space, barely, and touching, but only just. Benji can’t figure out which side of the other soldier this is: purposeful or natural. 

“Shut up, I’m not done.” His hand trails up Benji’s forearm, squeezes. “When I got closer I was like, well no fucking shot. Right? You’re just —”

“Got a bit on you, hey?” Benji teases. His eyes feel heavy, but without exhaustion. “And you on me, suppose?”

Xavier blinks sluggishly at him. His mouth, lips slightly parted, splits into another wild grin. 

“Hah. That’s what she said.”

Benji gives him a quizzical look. “What?” 

“Wot?” Xavier shakes his head. “You don’t have The Office either? Man. This universe sucks.” He winks. “At least it has you.”

“Awful,” Benji amends, ducking his head slightly. “Amended to awful, not alright.” 

“Benji.” 

He glances up. Xavier cradles the side of his face like that means something. 

“We’re — I have to —” his eyes dart between Benji’s own. There’s an unreadable expression on his face. Xavier is not smiling. “I want — fuck. Can we kiss again?” 

Benji nods, tongue glued thick to the roof of his mouth. As Xavier leans forward, ducking down in the grim blue light, he catches one last glimpse of the fiery battle above. 

One they both should be fighting. 

[sunshiline-writes]

A Rose Amidst Thorns #12: The Beginning of the Nightmare

This chapter took me a while to write because I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with it. Well... I have a few ideas. Things are about to get REAL wild now. Thanks for reading!

CW: POC whump, Lady whump, Caretaker whump, deaf whumpee, mentions of hand whump, creepy/intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, crude language, guns, defiant whumpees, broken nose, blood, thoughts of death, fear of death, beat down, punching and kicking, bruised ribs.

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The cicadas sang in the heat, a loud communal hum. A coyote sat under the mezquite tree, blood coated its mouth. Its pelt was almost a sickly grey color twinged with yellow. It was emaciated, bones nearly sticking straight out of its skin. Underneath its paws was another coyote, and golden coat, well fed. Somehow the starving coyote had ripped out its throat, half of it on the dirt in front of it, the other half was hanging from the other's jaws. 

The coyote opened its jaw, tongue hanging out, oddly shaped. It looked awkward but a voice came from its mouth, hoarse and raspy. Like it couldn’t quite get out the words. 

Never underestimate a starving dog, Solomon. 

**

Solomon woke in a cold sweat. Breath catching in his throat. His mouth felt like cotton. He sat up from his place on the floor, running a hand over the different indents in his braid. Counting them. Taking a few deep breaths. How long had it been since he had a dream like that? Something that had spoken to him, some sort of warning. It was still so clear in his brain. He still felt like he could reach and touch the coyote in front of him. 

He stared at the ground for a moment longer before a sound made him look up. Miguel was watching him. His eyes were less far away and they were filled with concern. He was here, at the moment. Solomon wanted to keep it that way. 

“I’m okay,” he signed quickly, offering him a small smile. “You’re awake early.” 

Miguel frowned and simply shrugged. Solomon started to stand, pushing himself up, using the bed as leverage to help him stand. His body ached. His joints in his knees cracked as he moved them. He was getting too old for this. 

 “Would you want to come downstairs and eat breakfast with us?” 

The boy shook his head. Swinging his legs over the edge and getting himself up. He’d been needing less and less help lately. Sturdier on his feet. His left hand was getting stronger, but his right was still splinted and in the sling. In order to communicate he was rendered to single handed signs and spelling out his answers. Which frustrated them both greatly. But one of his exercises to strengthen that left hand was to sign the alphabet. Some of the letters were easier than others. He was trying at least and at the moment, that was all Solomon could ask of him. 

“I think you should join us for breakfast. It would be nice to have you there.” 

Miguel stared at him for a moment, pausing from making the bed. He chewed on his lip and Solomon sighed softly. Lately, it had been frustrating dealing with Miguel. His mind was far away half the time and the other half, they spent arguing. Solomon was so tired. He was half sure that Miguel was arguing for the sake of arguing. Probably because he wanted some semblance of control back. 

Most times when Solomon asked Miguel to join them at the table, Miguel refused. But today, Miguel nodded. Sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking up at Solomon. His hair was getting long again, waves going past the bottom of his ears. 

“Hen?” the boy asked, shifting in his sling slightly. 

“Yeah she’ll be down there too. Why wouldn’t she be?”

Miguel made a frustrated sound, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh. About last night? She asked me to do her hair. I just did her hair.” 

Miguel made a face, raising his eyebrows and then offered a small smile. Solomon couldn’t help but be endeared. He was still so young. To him there was no difference between platonic and sexual intimacy. He’d never really had a friend his own age that didn’t want something from him. 

Solomon pressed his index and middle finger on his thumb, shaking his head. No. 

“We aren’t like that. It’s.. difficult to explain. But we’re friends. She asked me to do her hair and she fell asleep. Nothing more.” 

Miguel kept smiling, nodding his head. Solomon put a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. He was at least getting his humor back a little. Which was a good sign, he wasn’t shattered. Well he had been, but Solomon was helping him piece together the broken parts. That was his job. Putting back together the people that Xavier broke. He wanted to do more. He wanted to be the person that could save them. But he was just as trapped. 

Solomon nodded toward the door, and Miguel got up. They made their way down the stairs. Today’s breakfast was pancakes. The table was already set, Xavier at the head of it, and there were two more plates. Henrietta placed another one when she saw Miguel was with him. Smiling softly at him. 

“Well, look who decided to wake up from the dead,” said Xavier, taking a sip of his coffee.  

Miguel refused to look him in the eye. Sitting down in his seat quietly, shifting in it idly. Solomon rubbed the bridge of his nose and moved over to where Henrietta was preparing to give out the pancakes. 

“Do you need help?” he asked, taking the milk that was on the counter and starting to pour it into everyone's cups. Xavier was the only one of them who drank coffee anyway. Solomon was more of a tea person himself. But still, they set the table together. Solomon served himself and Miguel. Xavier watched, the tension in the air thick. 

“So, he’s feeling better then?” Xavier asked, looking pointedly at Solomon.

Solomon nodded, picking up his fork and starting to pick apart the pancakes. 

“Yes. He’s sturdier now. Still weak, he's been doing exercises to strengthen his left hand. He should be out of the sling in a month or so. Then he would work on strengthening his hands more.” Solomon took a bite of the pancake, trying to ignore the growing anxiety pooling in his gut at the sight of Xavier’s darkened expression. 

“Good, that's good,” Xavier said, sipping his coffee again. 

Solomon didn’t say anything in response, letting the silence reign supreme. There was something different in the air today, it tasted stale and dark. Xaviers mood seemed to be in the same way. They ate mostly in silence. Until Henrietta stood up to take everyone’s plates. 

“Leave them.” 

“What?” 

“Sit down Etta,” Xavier said slowly. “I want to talk to you both.” 

Solomon shifted in his seat, hands placed on the table. Taking a deep breath. Wondering what this could possibly be about. What was it that he had done that could warrant such a foul mood? Solomon replayed the past few days. Could it have been his conversation with Henrietta the night before? It had to be. There was nothing else that could warrant this sort of reaction. 

“Xavier.. What is this about?” 

Xavier raised a hand, and Solomon stopped talking. Talking would do nothing here. 

“I want to know how long.” 

Henrietta spoke next, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “How long?” 

“Do not fucking act stupid with me. How long have you two been fucking each other?” 

“We haven’t-” Solomon and Henrietta said at the same time. A fist slammed on the table, shaking the utensils, making them clatter. Miguel flinched, staring at the table. Not daring to look up. But he was starting to shake and Solomon looked at Xavier. 

“We have never slept toget-” 

Solomon should have seen it coming. He should have known better, but he was still surprised when Xavier grabbed Henrietta by the back of her head and slammed her face into the wooden table. The cutlery clanked again and Solomon heard her gasp. Xavier let go of her head and her head popped up. Hands going to her nose, which was now certainly broken. Blood streaming down her face, over her mouth, through her hands that were now trying to staunch the blood flow. 

“Xavier, stop! We haven’t done-” 

“Shut up Solomon,” Xavier said darkly, now focusing on Henrietta. “How long Etta?” 

“You asshole! We haven’t” “Then why were you in his room last night? Why were you there?” Xavier said, grabbing one of her wrists and wrenching it away from her face. Twisting her wrist and Henrietta whimpered. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong! We were just talking!” 

Xavier growled and Solomon started to stand. The click of the gun stopped him in his tracks. His eyes glanced down to the gun in his other hand. The simple revolver that was cocked and ready. 

“Don’t fucking move, you stay right there Solomon.” 

“You’re a big man aren’t you?” Henrietta said, voice nasally and tense with pain, “Threatening him with a gun? What are you? Afraid of him?” 

Xavier laughed, dark and loomed over her, changing the gun's position from pointing at Solomon to pressing it against her forehead. Solomon felt like his breath was in his throat, choking him. He only stared, terrified, as Xavier grinned manically down at Henrietta. 

“What is it darlin’? Cat got your tongue?” 

Henrietta growled slightly, it sounded gurgly like blood was inside her throat. Solomon's hands twitched. Eyes glancing at Miguel who was watching the scene unfold in front of him with a blank expression. He was far away again, that was probably for the best. It meant Solomon could focus on what was in front of him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. 

“Xavier put the gun down,” he said calmly, surprised at the way his own voice didn’t even shake, “You don’t need it. Hen asked me to braid her hair, she wanted it out of her face.. Please. Just.. the gun..” 

Henrietta whimpered as the gun pressed harder into her skin. Then the gun uncocked and Xavier put it back in its holster. His grin died. His grip on her braid lessened and he instead ran his thumb over it. Staring at it. 

“You know.. I never quite liked the idea of braids,” Xavier said, untying the hair tie at the end and undoing it. “I do like the smell of her hair though. Even if it does smell like you, Solomon.” He ran a hand through it idly. 

“I just did what she asked..” Solomon said cautiously. 

Henrietta still had a hand covering her nose, even though the blood had slowed, it still dripped onto her blue dress. 

“Fucking,” the hand fisted her hair again, and he pulled Henrietta close to himself, nuzzling his face into her jaw, “Just shut the fuck up Solomon. Stand up Etta. Stand up.” 

“Xavier you’re going too far okay.. It wasn’t anything like you’re thinking. She fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake her.”

“I saw that. I saw it. She was asleep in your arms like that. Fucking stand up,” he shoved her forward, and she stumbled to stand. “Clean yourself up.” 

Then he looked at Solomon, working his jaw, as Henrietta took a rag and pressed it to her nose with a soft whimper. Solomon laced his fingers together and squeezed, as if the pressure would help. Their gazes met. Xaviers eyes were filled with hatred, burning with fiery rage. He leaned forward to Solomon, grabbing a hold of his jacket, and pulled him forward. Their faces almost touched, he could smell the coffee on Xaviers breath. 

“If you ever touch her like that again, if I even think that you two have talked without my permission. I’ll cut out your tongue,” Xavier pressed his forehead against Solomons, making Solomon shiver. “I don’t think a doctor needs his tongue to do his work. Yeah?” 

His stomach was pressed into the edge of the table, and one of his hands was on a plate. Solomon wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond to this. He was actually quite sure that it was a rhetorical sort of question. But Xavier didn’t release him yet. The man sighed softly, and coffee and shit wafted in his nose, and Solomon fought the urge not to gag. His world spun as he was thrown to the ground. He tried to scramble backwards, but Xavier was on him in seconds. 

Pain exploded in his cheek bone as Xaviers knuckles connected. Solomon raised his hands to cover his face as more punches were thrown. He heard Henrietta scream at Xavier to stop, but Xavier kept going. His vision went blurry as the assault stopped for a moment, his entire face was pulsating. He realized that Henrietta had tried to stop Xavier by grabbing him, but she was thrown to the ground too. Hitting her head against the cabinets. Her eyes glazed over slightly as she groaned. 

“Xavier.. Please stop. Just stop. I’m sorry.. I’m sorry.” 

A fist connected with his mouth and Solomon tasted blood. He choked on it as he was hit again and again. He was going to die here. Beaten to death by Xavier for something he didn’t even do. It was bound to happen eventually. He’d do something wrong and Xavier would lose it. 

A crash interrupted his thoughts and Solomon attempted to open his eyes. Only his left one would open. A plate was shattered on the floor around them. The assault stopped, Xavier stood up slowly. Turned around and Miguel was standing on shaky legs. Had he thrown the plate at Xavier’s head? 

Solomon groaned and turned to the side to spit blood on the floor, tongue going over his teeth. He had surprisingly not lost any. His head was filled with cotton and his world spun as he tried to push himself to his knees. A kick to his ribs knocked the wind out of his lungs, and he coughed. Falling to his side and curling up, hands over his stomach. 

“Please..” he begged. 

Xavier laughed, “You’re lucky Solomon. I think someone wants me to stop. Guess he’s feeling good enough to throw things at me. He has to be feeling well enough to sleep in his room now. And to take a punishment.” Another well placed kick to his ribs had him wheezing. There was the sound of more cutlery clanking as it bounced off Xaviers back. 

“Enough, Miguel.” 

Solomon didn’t look up, but Xavier was walking away. Solomon didn’t have the strength to stand or try to stop him. It was useless anyway. He couldn’t save him. Solomon couldn’t save either of them. 

Time flowed differently when someone was in pain, Solomon realized. His body ached and he barely registered that he was alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the broken plate. He didn’t try to get up or move. Solomon was unsure as to what was broken or bruised. 

It wasn’t long before Xavier came back and put a hand on his head. 

“You know, if you just minded your business instead of stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong, this wouldn’t have happened. You should have just left her alone. Next time.. You know better right?” Solomon groaned and Xavier grabbed his face, which throbbed, and clicked his tongue. “Hey, hey, look at me.” 

Solomon opened his eyes as far as they would allow him. Xavier was a blurred mess and he winced as Xavier squeezed his thumbs into his cheeks. 

“Now you know better right? You don’t touch Henrietta without my permission. Yeah?” Xavier was grinning at him. He looked wild. Like a coyote. 

Never underestimate a starving dog Solomon. 

“Ye..s” he slurred, and Xavier released his face. 

Solomon was unconscious before his head hit the ground. ***

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[drowning-in-cacophony]

to break and to keep

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 231: a promise to break

[Summary: promises are made, one to keep, one to break]

Some promises you make to keep.

Oaths. Swears. Bound in blood and in kisses, to treasure deep to your heart. Tightened like a ribbon across your chest. These you’d rather die than break. These you’ll take to your grave, or to theirs.

They make the promise to break it.

-

Somewhere in the dark, a stream’s falling.

Somewhere from her bitten lips, blood’s tracing a river. She stares at him, wide eyes and wet lashes.

“You’re sure about this?”

His eyes, winking jewels in the dim, and his fingers press their tips into the skin of her wrist.

“Very. If you are.”

She lets him trace her solemn nod, the shape of her skull and the flopping of the locks of her hair. Her heart thrums, a new instrument inside her chest. It’s a sound the organ’s never made before, anticipation crossed with nervousness, this sort of paralysing burning. Against her bones, they’ve wrapped a secret, one of the deadliest ones out there. His secret, smouldering like embers and made into the thing she’ll build herself around. His secret – the thing people would do anything to own, and now the only thing stopping them from getting it will be her promise.

Her oath, woven into her cells in a dim cave, somewhere a hundred miles below the surface. Like the place his secret will bury inside her.

The news will get out. The news will get out, and eventually – weeks from now, maybe years. Maybe days if they’re particularly unlucky – someone will come asking. Wheedling, convincing. There’ll be evidence to why she should spill. Atrocities, dangers. Does she want the blood of a million upon her shoulders, as tangy as the copper working its way from the tiny punctures her teeth have ripped into her mouth? Does she think her muscles strong enough to hold all of that, the guilt and the rage and the candles snuffed out without a care? Does she not have responsibility?

They’ll persist, push, and eventually, she’ll give in. Open her chest, carve it out, confess it all. The embers stitched into her very soul. Her promise, shattered at her feet, and her lashes will hold a constellation of tears, but they’ll tell her it’s all worth it, because of what he did. It’s worth it, they’ll say, even as a different ember ignites in their own eyes.

They’ll find him, with his secret revealed, her words ringing like a bell. They’ll find him, strip him back, drag him before their lord, watch in righteous fury as the punishment sets to begin. Of course, that would be where everything would go to shit. Embers would turn to a howling blaze, and the truth would fall as soundlessly as his head. Her skin would streak; the world would go on, a different path to tread. A worse one.

This – this is precaution. This is trust and foreplanning, because this is a promise he needs her to break.

His mouth ghosts her cheekbone, presses a touch against her skin. His fingers, still delicate-light against her wrist, and if she was to look down she’d see the glowing burn of their oath, sealing them together.

There’s a chance the promise might never need to come under the axe. There’s a chance this oath will just be an oath, her carrying his secret for the rest of her mortal life. But if that chance was wide, they wouldn’t be here.

In breaking this promise, eventually, tomorrow, at the end of all things, whenever – she’ll be giving him the only chance he might have. So even if it feels wrong, a betrayal of everything she’s ever been for him, she closes her eyes, feels his touch against her skin, and seals their oath. She'll do this, for him - and that's a promise she won't break.

-

And later, when she stands before all those concerned eyes, the devastation and ashes bright on their cheeks, she thinks about the stream’s drizzling, somewhere deep under the earth. The place where his gambit was formed, among the writhing muscles of her core.

She opens her mouth, and smashes it all open.