#like its been repaired from holes in the knees

[letsplaythermalnuclearwar]

!! PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT !! look at the cool art my friend made :3 and the accompanying band AU :3 its good you wont regret it :3

~so go ahead and hate on me and run your mouth (so everyone can hear) hit me with the worst you got and knock me down (baby, I don't care! keep it up and soon enough, you'll figure out you wanna be a loser like me~

Luz, for @mymanyfandomramblings band AU

Willow | Hunter

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The In Between

Season Three Episode Two

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 4708

Series Masterlist

Summary: Spencer tries to hold himself together while facing the unthinkable. Aaron waits helplessly at a different hospital. The reader finds herself in the space between life and death with a difficult choice. 

Notes: You have no idea how cool I thought I was to use this title. Anyway, thank you guys so much for the support for season three coming out! I am currently working on part two, but all of part one will be posted in the next few weeks! Keep letting me know what you think! Lots of love- Erin

-

They tried to stop him. Every nurse and doctor on the floor had attempted to prevent him from leaving, as well as his co-workers, but even the bullet hole in his leg couldn’t slow him down. 

Morgan drove while Prentiss directed them to the correct hospital. 

They weren’t even sure it was you. 

Female. Admitted for multiple stab wounds three hours after Hotch was admitted at Saint Sebastian. 

But Spencer knew. Despite all of his logic and all of his reasoning, the feeling in his twisting gut told him that this was it. 

According to what Garcia could find, the patient had been taken into surgery and had been there ever since, trying to repair the damage and loss of blood. 

You could be flatlining right now and he was still limping his way out of the parking lot. 

“Reid, slow down man,” Morgan warned. “If you bust that wound open-”

“I don’t care,” Reid snapped. “Just help me inside.” He put an arm around Morgan’s shoulders and the other agent lifted some of the weight off of Reid’s injured knee without arguing. Morgan wanted to find out just as badly as Reid did, but most of all, he was pissed. 

Foyet had put his credentials on Hotch. 

This was a message for the whole team. 

It said none of them was untouchable.  

“Sir what are you-” A nurse approached the struggling duo, but Prentiss cut her off. 

“We’re looking for a woman admitted under the name Y/F/N Hotchner? She was taken to surgery for multiple stab wounds. We just need to know what’s going on,” she explained. 

The nurse looked at them skeptically. “Are you family?” 

“We’re with the FBI-” Prentiss started, but she cut her off. 

“Miss Hotchner is in no state to be questioned.”

Spencer stepped forward, almost stumbling. 

“I’m her fiance.” 

Prentiss and Morgan glanced at each other in shock. 

Spencer continued. “We work with her brother. He is unable to be here because he was a victim of the same attack, but was taken to a different hospital. Now please,” he begged. “Where is she?” 

Looking into his frantic eyes, she believed him.

“Follow me.” 

The tiled floor seemed to stretch on forever. Every step sent pain up his leg and every second felt like hours. Morgan helped him down the hall until they reached the room. Reid pushed away, using the door frame to hold himself up as his heart sank into his stomach. 

Your skin had gone deathly pale, your eyes were closed, and the heart monitor droned its mocking song back at him. 

“It’s been touch and go for a while now,” the nurse sighed. “She’d lost so much blood by the time anyone found her… the doctors have done everything they can.” 

“Is she going to be okay?” Emily asked, eyes unable to tear away from the sight of you in that bed. She hardly even recognized you, the bruises on your face and the machines attached to your body. 

The nurse gave them a small, but reassuring smile. “We’re doing everything we can.” 

Spencer winced, forcing his feet forward to the chair beside the bed, allowing himself to collapse into it. His hand found yours, nearly pulling away from the shock of your cold skin. 

“We were finally happy again,” he whispered, choking back the sobs threatening to spill over. Spencer let his head fall beside your hand as he cried. 

He didn’t move after that. 

-

You woke up gasping. 

Phantom pains rattled your chest, the image of the knife piercing your stomach still lingering in your mind. But the longer you laid there, eyes slowly adjusting, you realized that you weren’t injured at all. Shapes came into focus. You weren’t in Aaron’s apartment. And you definitely weren’t in a hospital. Wherever you were it was… bright. 

Light streamed in the double glass doors leading onto the back patio. Curtains swayed in the slight breeze coming in through the open window. Even as you blinked with blurred vision, you knew where you were from the cool tile beneath you- a feeling you’d committed to memory the last time you were here. 

Home. 

You bolted upward, kicking your legs to push yourself back into the nearest wall, a scream caught in your throat. 

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real. I’m not here. I can’t be here,” you gasped. 

You checked your torso again, expecting blood and sliced flesh, but there was nothing. Even your shirt was intact. 

“Wait.” You tugged at the teal fabric. “This is what I was wearing when-”

“When you died?” A voice finished for you. “Well, almost.” 

You lifted your gaze and felt like you were being stabbed all over again. 

“T-Tabby?” 

The blonde teenager winked at you. “Surprise.” 

She stepped toward you and you tried to back away, pressing yourself against the wall as you started to hyperventilate.

“Okay, I knew you’d freak out, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad,” she scoffed. “Chill out Girlscout, it’s just me.” 

Girlscout. She was the only person you ever let call you that. She always said it was because you always played by the rules, always worked so hard to prove to everyone you could do it. She teased you, but you knew she really meant it as a compliment. She always rooted for you. She was your best friend. 

“Am I dead?” You asked, voice cracking. 

She opened her mouth to answer, but another presence entered the room. 

“No, sweetheart.” Your mother stood at the top of the stairs. “Not yet.” 

Tabby rolled her eyes. “Could you have phrased that any creepier?” 

Lydia was at the base of the stairs in a blink. 

“Welcome home, Y/N.” She reached a hand out to you. 

You leaped to your feet. 

“Stay away from me.” Your eyes darted between them. “B-both of you.” 

“Great,” Tabby said. “You’ve freaked her out.”

“How did I get here?” Your mind raced as everything came back to you. Every stab, every suppressed scream. Foyet’s laughter. You froze. “Where’s Aaron? Where’s my brother?” 

The last thing you remembered was watching his eyes close, his blood coating the floor beside you. 

“Your brother?” Lydia snapped. “You don’t have a brother. You have me. You only need me.” 

“Seriously, enough with the crazy killer talk,” Tabby groaned, walking toward you. “Believe me, we get it.” She crossed her arms and gave you that look. The look that meant she knew something you didn’t but was dying to tell you. “Ignore her. She doesn’t want you to know.” 

You eyed her, crossing your arms in a similar fashion. “Doesn’t want me to know what?” 

“Tabitha-”

“You have a choice,” Tabby said. “You can wake up or… you can sleep. It’s up to you.” 

Your throat went dry and your heart raced. 

Only, no it didn’t. 

You put a hand to your neck, looking for a pulse. 

It wasn’t beating at all. 

-

JJ hadn’t left Hotch’s side all night. She left only to receive updates from Prentiss and would return trying to keep her expression neutral. 

You were alive. That’s what mattered. 

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” Hotch sighed. He hated that he was stuck in this bed. He should be there, with you. “Pretending like nothing is going on.”

JJ swallowed. “The doctor said that you have to rest and that means staying calm.”

“Jennifer,” Hotch pleaded. “Please. I have to know what’s happening.” 

I’m going to take my time with her, Aaron. I’ll gut her first and then I’ll find someone else to visit. The one that got away from you, huh? 

“JJ,” Rossi stood in the doorway. He gave her a grim nod. “I’ll talk to him.” 

The blonde agent gave Hotch a small smile and left to let his old friend be the bearer of bad news. One look at the older man’s face and Hotch knew. 

“She’s hanging on,” Rossi said slowly, taking the chair beside the hospital bed. “Reid’s with her. He probably busted up his knee again, but even Morgan couldn’t stop him from going.” 

“Where did they find her?” 

Rossi blinked. “Foyet took her to the other side of town. Left her at a bus stop that isn’t part of any night routes so nobody found her until a few hours ago.” He kept his tone level like he was going over the details of any other case. That’s what Aaron needed. The facts. Facts he could hold onto. 

“How many?” Aaron asked. He knew he didn’t have to elaborate.

Dave sighed. “Sixteen.” 

Aaron didn’t say anything. He stared in front of him, outwardly numb but inwardly agonizing. You wouldn’t survive. You couldn’t. He stabbed you sixteen times and left you to rot. The Reaper left you to die. Aaron left you to die. 

“It isn’t your fault, Aaron,” Dave said softly. 

“Don’t.” Aaron shook his head, the image of his little sister gasping on her own blood lingering in his mind. 

Dave pulled the chair up closer. “That’s what Foyet wants you to think. He wants to get in your head. He wants to make sure you never find him.” 

“I know,” Hotch swallowed. 

“We’re going to get him.”

“I know.” 

The two sat for a while, as they often did, not saying anything. Dave knew there was nothing he could say to change the situation, no matter how much he wanted to. Aaron knew there was nothing he could do to save you.

They just had to wait. 

- 

“Great,” Tabby sighed. “Now she’s freaking out.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart.” Lydia held out her arms. 

You stumbled away, fingers still pressed to your silent pulse. Your hand started to shake. “This isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

“Of course, it’s real, Y/N.” Your mother walked towards you. “This is what was always meant to happen.”

“Were you always this creepy?” Tabby scoffed. “I don’t remember you being this creepy.”

Lydia’s head snapped toward the younger woman. “That’s enough.” She held up her hand and Tabby disappeared. 

You couldn’t help but scream. 

The house started to shake. 

“Y/N, you need to calm down,” Lydia said softly. “If you don’t, you won’t get much of a choice.” She took a seat on the couch and motioned for you to join her. “Come on, I want to talk to you.” 

Breathing heavy, scream still lingering on your tongue, you stared at her. 

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” You snapped, keeping to the other side of the room. 

“Plenty, sweetheart.” Lydia motioned again to the seat across from her. “Plenty. Please.” 

You stared at her. Your breath would have caught in your throat, had you really been breathing. She looked the same. Not the way the pictures had shown her on the news. Not the way she’d looked at the trial, all dressed in orange. She wore her favorite sundress and a smile that used to calm your nerves before every big test. 

She looked like your mom. 

You shook your head. 

“No,” you said firmly. “No, I want to get out of here.” 

“Y/N, I wouldn’t do that-” Your mother started, but you’d already grabbed onto the latch to the back door. 

But when you swung it open, all you saw was light. 

-

“Hey, kid.” Morgan’s voice pulled Spencer out of his trance. He held a pair of coffees. “Thought you could use some.”

“Thanks,” Spence muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. He turned back to you. “Did they say anything?”

Morgan took the chair across from him on the other side of the bed. “Not since you asked ten minutes ago.” He leaned forward. “She’ll be okay, Spencer.”

“She suffered lacerations to her kidneys, chest, and major arteries.” Spencer repeated the words the doctor had said with equal mechanical distance. “They said she’s lucky to still be alive.”

“Y/N’s a fighter.” Morgan glanced at your face. “She’ll get through this.” He took a long drink of his coffee, the tightness in his chest making it hard to swallow as he thought. She has to. 

Spencer nodded, trying to internalize his team member’s words. “She’ll get through this,” he echoed, his voice holding more emotion now, on the verge of breaking. 

That’s when the flatline hit. 

Spencer’s blood ran cold, his heart sinking down, down, down. 

“Y/N?” He said, gripping your arm tight enough to leave a mark. “Y/N!”

“We need a doctor in here!” Morgan called out. 

Everything he’d ever learned, everything he’d studied left Spencer’s mind like a gushing wound. All that was left was panic. 

“Please,” he begged. He brought your hands to his lips. “No.”

Morgan’s hands found his arms, pulling him back. 

He fought against him, needing to stay by your side despite all of his logic telling him to let the doctors work. They were your chance. Not him. 

“Y/N!” He cried out again. 

His body went limp. Between the pain and the shock, everything just passed in a blur. 

Morgan succeeded in dragging him back and the two stood in horror as the frenzy in front of them fought to keep you alive. 

“Clear!” 

-

You woke up in the same place. The place where you thought you were going to die. 

Gasping, you shot up, eyes scanning the living room over and over again to try and find a change. Something that indicated that you were getting somewhere. 

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea,” your mother chided, sitting in the same spot on the couch she was before. She held out her hand. “Come. Sit.” 

You leaped to your feet and moved as far away as you could, bumping into the bookshelf on the back wall. You knocked over your old ice-skating trophy. 

“I’m not going anywhere near you.”

“Please, don’t you think that’s a little immature, sweetheart?” 

“Stop it.” You ran a hand down your face, pinching the bridge of your nose to try and wake up from this nightmare. “Stop acting like you’re my mother.” With your fists clenched at your sides and took a step forward. “None of this is real.”

“We talked about this already, Y/N. Of course, this is real.”

“You can’t be here. I can’t be here.” You searched for another escape, but all of the windows had the same bright light that consumed you before. 

“You’re thinking about that man you met, aren’t you?” Lydia stood up. Brows drawn together, her lips formed a thin line. “The drug addict?” 

You snapped your head around, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to talk about Spencer. You don’t get to talk about my life after you tried to destroy it.” 

“I tried to save you. The same way I’m trying to save you now.” Her face softened. “And I think you know that.”

Lydia walked towards you. 

This time, you didn’t back away. 

“I know that you were a broken woman who almost broke me.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” She reached a hand toward your face. “Why do you think you’re here?” 

You stared blankly at her, an icy chill passing up your spine. “What are you talking about?”

“What was it that you asked that Agent Morgan? To stop you from becoming me by any means, right?” She motioned around you. “This is your chance. This is your way out.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but found that you couldn’t. 

Maybe this wasn’t about her trying to save you. Maybe this was about you saving everyone else. 

-

Spencer sat at your side once again, looking more like a ghost than a person. He was bent over, holding your hand to his lips, his eyes switching between your face and the heart monitor. He kept hearing that sound. The horrible sound that meant your beautiful heart had stopped beating. 

Derek and Emily stood outside, watching him grimly. 

“They said she’s stable now?” Emily asked. 

He shrugged. “For now. They didn’t tell Reid this, but one of her kidneys is apparently in bad shape. Between the wounds and her past with alcohol…” He trailed off. Just thinking about it made every part of him ache. 

“Do they think she needs a transplant?” 

“They’re checking to see how severe the issue is, but-” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It isn’t looking good.” 

Emily nodded, looking through the glass at Reid’s huddled form. 

He was a husk, the dark circles under his eyes competing with the redness of crying. 

She couldn’t look anymore. 

-

You didn’t know what to say. All of the fear and doubt and self-loathing filled your head like a tap turned on full. And your mother stood in front of you as the embodiment of it all. 

“You don’t belong there, honey,” she said, her tone sweet and sympathetic. “You know that. Why else would you have run away? You don’t want to hurt Spencer or your father’s son.”

“His name is Aaron and he’s nothing like my father.”

Lydia flinched but continued her coaxing voice. “You want to protect them, right? I can help you. You just have to let me.” 

“I don’t want your help.” Your voice shook, almost cracking. “I’m better now. I’m-” You looked down at your finger. It was bare. 

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to get a ring. 

“Can you marry a man you’re afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of Spencer.” 

“Maybe not.” Lydia’s hand covered yours. “But you’re afraid of what you’ll do.” 

You could feel every word sinking into you like claws, raking across your brain until you couldn’t think of anything else, no matter how hard you tried. 

“Alright,” Tabby’s voice returned. She sat on the kitchen counter. “My turn.” 

-

Penelope didn’t know where to go first. Split between two hospitals, she decided to call Derek and check in on Y/N while she visited Hotch. 

“I’ve never wished to be in two places so much in my life,” she said, finding JJ by the vending machine. “But with Morgan and Reid and Emily there, I thought-”

“I’m glad you made it.” JJ pulled her into a hug. To be honest, she was barely holding herself together. 

“How is he?” 

JJ sighed. “Worried.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “But the doctors say she’ll be okay.”

“Derek said that-” Penelope’s words caught in her throat. “He tried to be reassuring, but…”

“I know.” JJ checked around the doorway to make sure Hotch wasn’t listening. He was talking to Rossi. “I called earlier. Prentiss said it doesn’t look good.”

Penelope lifted a hand to her lips to cover a cry. “Who’s going to tell Hotch?” 

Rossi turned his head and saw the grim expression on both women’s faces. He glanced at Hotch. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

He stood and walked over to JJ and Garcia, feeling the unit chief’s eyes burning into the back of his head. 

“Please tell me there’s good news.” 

JJ swallowed. “Not exactly.”

-

Tabby hopped off of the counter. 

Your mother grimaced. “Tabitha…”

“No, you’ve said enough, lady.” She pointed at you. “Now it’s time for a little girl talk.” Tabby skipped over to you like this was just another slumber party, smiling that knowing smile she always did when she wanted you to spill a secret. “I want to hear all about this guy! You’re getting married.”

“I really don’t think now is the time for this,” Lydia said. 

“And I really wanted to go to prom with Tony Bryan,” Tabby snapped, giving her the typical teenage eye roll. “I can’t believe you’re engaged.”

Her enthusiasm was like getting hit with ice water. It pulled you out of the depths Lydia had been dragging you into. As if blinking out of a trance, you smiled. 

“Spencer is great.” For that moment, you almost felt like a kid again, eager to share the details with your best friend. “He’s brilliant and sweet, and… and perfect…” You looked out of that blinding window, realization watching over you. “And he’s waiting for me.” 

“Waiting for a life you can never have together,” Lydia said, cutting in. “Not really. Between your jobs and the danger you’ve already been in since seeing him- how long before it catches up to you? Or to him?”

You lowered your head. 

The Cunninghams. 

The cult in Colorado. 

The anthrax. 

Foyet. 

And those were just the more memorable ones. And then you had support. You had Spencer. You had the team. Now you just felt alone. 

You froze. 

You weren’t alone. 

“Aaron,” you gasped. “Aaron was with me. Aaron was hurt. I have to find out what happened to him.”

Images of blood. The sound of him trying to reassure you. It was all coming back. 

Foyet’s laughter. 

“He let this happen to you. It’s his fault.” Lydia stood up, running her fingers through her hair. She stood rigid and began to pace. Just like she had when you came home cut from the hockey skates. 

A surge of protective anger rushed through you. 

“You don’t get to pin this on my brother. Aaron tried to save me.”

“He is just like his father.” She repeated it over and over again, her pacing seeming to make the whole house shake. 

You turned to Tabby and gave her a small smile. “I know what I want now.”

The front door opened. 

-

You’d gotten back from surgery nearly an hour ago. 

They hadn’t told him much. Just that you needed a transplant and a doner had stepped forward. Now they just had to wait and see if it worked. 

Spencer Reid did not believe in anything beyond the scope of his science and logic and knowledge. But in that moment, he pleaded to you- even though he knew you could hear- he prayed that you would come back. 

“I left you a message, you know,” he whispered. Running his thumb across your knuckles, he memorized every detail, every line in your skin. “When I contracted the anthrax virus. I had Garcia record a message for my mom. And I had her record one for you.” 

Your motionless form didn’t change, the shallow movement of your chest remaining just that. Slow. Short.

“I-” The words died on his tongue. He took a shaking breath. “I wanted you to know how much I loved you, even after everything happened.” Spencer tried to remember the exact message, but all he could think about was a knife cutting through you over and over again. But he knew what mattered from it. “I love you, Y/N. I knew that day that if I survived, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Please don’t leave. Please.” 

If he could have forced his words to heal you, he would have talked until he couldn’t anymore. 

Instead, he cried.

“Don’t tell me those are for me.” 

A soft touch wiped away the tears on his cheek. 

Spencer looked up. 

“Hey, handsome.” You gave him a small, weak smile. “I was hoping you’d be here when I woke up.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he beamed, leaning over to kiss your forehead. 

Just the touch of his lips on your skin sent waves of relief through you. 

You were here. 

You were alive. 

“I knew I had to come back,” you muttered. “I knew I had to get back to you.” 

“And you did.” Tears fell down Spencer’s cheeks and into your hair. “You came back.” Spencer kissed his way down to your lips, every movement as gentle as possible. And despite his soft touch, he held you as if you’d slip away. Like he was praying to keep you this time. 

“What happened?” You asked, finally noticing the crutches leaning against the wall. 

Spencer shook his head. “It’s a long story. A lot happened this week.” He rested his forehead against yours. 

You pulled back suddenly, eyes wide. 

“Where’s Aaron?” You asked. “Where’s my brother?” 

-

Several healing days later

It was too dangerous to move you. The doctors made that very clear and it took Spencer’s pleading to keep you in that bed. Aaron was in the same situation. While you were both stable, your separate care teams insisted that you would both have to wait to see each other. And, despite Spence and everyone's reassurances that you were both okay, it was something you needed to see to truly believe. 

“Here, be careful,” Spence said, helping you into the wheelchair. 

“Don’t you think this is a little ridiculous?” 

“You know what’s more ridiculous? Opening your stitches because you can’t sit still.” He eased you down and kissed the top of your head. “It’s just until we get to the car, okay?”

“If I can walk after we get to the car, I can walk before we get to the car.” 

Spencer put his hands on his hips, tucking his crutches under his arms. “Do you want me to take you to see Hotch or not?” 

You glared up at him, but didn’t argue. You crooked your finger, beckoning him down to you, and pulled him into a kiss. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Emily stood in the doorway, her hand subconsciously resting behind her back over the large bandage on her side. 

You beamed. “There’s my savior! I’ve been wondering if you’d stop by today.”

“Please,” she waved her hand, “what do I need two kidneys for anyway?”

Spencer looked at her over your head and mouthed ‘Thank you.’

When you’d both found out that she had been your mysterious donor, you didn’t know how to thank her. 

She said avoiding any life-threatening situations in the near future would be thanks enough. 

“Are you ready to get out of this place?” She asked. 

You nodded, laughing. The motion made you wince. 

Spencer immediately knelt at your side. “Are you okay? Do we need to stay a little longer? I’ll get the doctor.”

You grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare. I’m not waiting any longer.” 

“What’d I tell you?” Derek chuckled, appearing behind Emily. “She’s a fighter.”

“Someone has to keep you in line.” 

He chuckled and rustled your hair. “Going to see Hotch then?”

You nodded.

“Well he’s been trying to get to you for days, so it’ll be nice for him to not be bossing everyone around for a minute.” Despite his teasing words, you knew he was being genuine. 

They were all just glad you were okay. 

“We should get going,” Spencer said, checking his watch.

You said goodbyes and thanks to both agents and headed on your way, still feeling ridiculous in that damn chair. 

Derek wasn’t kidding. 

When you looked through the window of Aaron’s room, he was pacing, despite Dave scolding him for doing so. 

“She’ll be here any minute. You don’t want to collapse before then, huh?”

“Every minute she’s out there-” Aaron started. He stopped when he locked eyes with you. 

You moved so fast Spencer called after you, worried you’d break a stitch. 

Aaron met you halfway and took you in his arms. You held each other as tightly as your matching injuries would allow. 

“I’m sorry,” he said into your hair. “I’m so sorry.” 

You pulled back, putting your hands on his cheeks. “Don’t start. None of this was your fault.”

He stepped back, opening his mouth to argue. 

“Aaron.” The tone of your voice stopped him. 

He blinked back tears and pulled you back into his embrace. 

After a moment, you parted, but he kept a hand on your arm like you’d vanish if he stopped holding some part of you. 

“I have to ask,” Dave stepped forward with a grim expression. “What were you doing over at Aaron’s place when we got back? I thought you two were back on again.” 

Aaron’s face morphed, wondering the same thing. 

You gave both of them a small smile. 

“That's what I was going to tell you.” You took Spence’s hand. “We’re getting married.” 

Aaron’s eyes widened. 

Dave cheered and pulled Reid into a fatherly hug. 

“That’s…” Aaron’s eyes welled. “That’s amazing.” 

He pulled you into another embrace and shook Spencer’s hand. 

For a moment, it was alright again. 

But then, you took a breath. 

“Alright, gentlemen.” Crossing your arms, you remembered what Tabby said to you. The message she left you with before you stepped out of the door. “Let’s catch this bastard.”

-

I always forget tag lists, so please let me know if I missed you!

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt;  hereforsmutbcicantgetenough;  violetbossler;  hyper-half-blood;  i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48;  @murdermornings ; @ staygoldsquatchling02; @ ara-a-bird; @pleasantwitchgarden

[heartfullofleeches]

Loser (incel) Reader and Sex-maid bot Yan. Reader orders their new toy same day shipping - grateful to the gods for not having to deal with the hassle of making themselves presentable to other humans, and no longer having to clean their room. A little mistake in mailing leads to them getting their robot a day later than expected, and a large crack in its visor. Reader is obviously pissed by this development, but powers the bot on to see the extent of the damage. It works just fine - minus the loss of its built in knowledge and abilities.

They know their prime directive, but they can't wash a single dish or fold clothes. Other parts of them still function so Reader is fine keeping them around and teaching them what to do while it warms their bed. The Bot feels so useless to their master. All they ever do is question them and break every vase they hold like the ditz it is. Their master even gave them the nickname of Melon likely for the damage they've taken. They'll probably have their memories erased when the repair team comes in....

"All fixed. Just a few unplugged wires at that nasty crack. There seems to be some other bugs, but we'd need to take it in to examine."

"You said they work now, right? It's fine. I don't want to have to teach them how to organize my desk properly again. Those figures are collectables."

Their master was letting them keep their precious memories?... The human had never been the nicest, but they weren't outright cruel either. It was almost....cute how protective of their belongings they were. It was their possession too... Fully capable of pleasing their master in all forms, Melon wouldn't waste their second chance.

They cook their master's favor meals without over seasoning or cooking it. They wash clothes and scold their silly master for wearing things multiple days at a time. They wait hand and foot by day and nights....nights are their favorite part. They sit quietly through their master's God awful attempts at flirting in the off chance they ever seek a human mate - but something's off. There's an ache in their chest whenever they imagine their master with another. Their answers to their master's terrible flirts comes start from that hole when the correct thing to do was tell them of their errors and why no human would want them if they said those things.

No human deserved them anyway... All their master needed to be satisfied - was them

Crackposts under cut - suggestive themes

Melon: Master, what's this? :)

Loser Reader: My body pillow. It stains easy so put it down.

Melon: Ah, it's precious to you then? I'll take good care of it :D

Melon: Master, what's this? :)

Loser Reader: A knife. Be careful with it.

Melon: Oh, it's dangerous? I'll keep it far away from you! <3

Melon: Master.... who is this?

Loser Reader: My crush from highschool. Meant to throw that picture away after they rejected me

Melon: They don't mean anything to you anymore?... I think I've found somewhere to store that knife

-

Loser Reader: sighs My friend really wants me to meet their sibling. Guess I better get dressed.

Melon, on their knees: Master ~ it currently 1:14pm. Time for your daily bi-hourly head

Loser Reader: My wha- [ziiip] Fuck, wait-

-

Loser Reader, attempting to flirt: you are a moderately attractive person and in the case I snap and kill everyone - I'd go on the run and change my name with you... or save you for last. How was that?

Melon, wiping fakes tears: You have such a beautiful way with words, master

-

Stranger: Oh, hello- Is Y/n home? We meet online at while ago and they gave me their addresses in case I visit because I only live an hour away

Melon: Hmph, can you pleasure my master while rearranging their game library in alphabetical order at the same time? I think not. Good-bye!

[gerec]

Gerec’s Favorite Fics - 2023

Here's a list of some of my favorite fics posted this year. A great big thanks to everyone still writing for this fandom; I know I'm very grateful to have all these amazing stories to read and to share!

Repeat Offenses by populuxe

“Prickly bits aside—hell, for the two of them, prickly bits included—it almost felt like a date. Which is stupid on multiple fronts. Grudgingly buying your ex a meal after he grudgingly bails you out of jail is obviously not a date.”

Five times Charles bailed Erik out of jail—and one time he didn’t.

melt your headaches, call it home by joshriku

Two decades later after the last time he saw Charles Xavier, Erik's children lead him right back to him.

Of course, it's never easy to look at the ex love of your life and realize you're not over them, not even in the slightest.

superposition by borninsideatornado (wip)

erik is a race car driver coming off the worst year of his life. charles xavier may be his last hope.

The Plus-One by populuxe

When Erik grudgingly agrees to play Raven's boyfriend at her terrible family's holiday party, he'd thought the biggest challenge would be staying sober enough to make it convincing. But then he meets Raven's extremely hot—and extremely infuriating—stepbrother, and everything starts to get complicated.

my heart knows your name by borninsideatornado

Once they’ve finally got him in bed, Charles works up the courage to ask if he might stay for a few days, because being rejected can’t be worse than seeing Erik in pain. But Erik only says, “I think that would be good.”

or: charles and erik have been broken up for years, occasionally falling into each other. things might change for good when erik lands himself in the ER where charles works. it’s all a bit of a hanukkah miracle.

This Terrible Desire To Be Loved by riais (jeriais)

Erik clings to his past, Charles detaches from his present. Somehow, they meet in the middle. Modern Au, no powers.

the pride and disgrace by ballantine

I am grand, said Charles. Did you know, I can make people think the sun is shining? I am giving them the most beautiful weather they have ever seen. They don't feel the wind or the rain, only the love of their companions. I am fostering the brotherhood of man, one heart at a time.

“Okay,” said Hank.

twenty four hours from tulsa by intentation

After having self-emancipated (aka run away), Erik's been holing up in a shitty motel while he figures out his next step. When Charles Xavier moves into the room just down the hall, Erik discovers his new favorite pastime: sex.

the pain will remind us of each other by borninsideatornado

It’s always felt alien, the way he feels about Erik. Too big for his body, too much to hold in his heart. But finally, finally, it makes sense.

Because at the end of the world, it’s him. It’s always going to be him. —

when logan lets charles see his future in days of future past, he talks to erik instead.

rendezvous by inthebelltower

“Tell me no,” Erik says. “Tell me to leave.”

Heartbeat by druswriting

People say that it’s a bad idea to be friends with your ex. People say that it’s an especially bad idea to be friends with your ex, if your ex is Erik Lehnsherr.

Unfortunately for him, Charles is an optimist. Unfortunately for him, Charles believes he can make friendship work with anyone. Unfortunately for him, Charles believes no one is beyond repair. Fuck, he’s such an idiot.

Well, at least the sex is good.

Dead Box by ByCandlelight

“We should keep moving,” Raven said softly, and so Erik rose to his feet. There was an ache in his knees that didn’t used to be there.

“Charles would love this planet,” he said unthinkingly, and something shuttered across her face.

Travels with Charles, in Search of America by midrashic (wip)

The world ends, but life goes on—until it doesn't.

Seventeen-year-old Erik Lehnsherr has never left the underground shelter that protects a small band of survivors from an Earth wracked with radiation as its magnetic poles reverse. When the settlement encounters a deadly threat, he embarks on a dangerous odyssey with new arrival, walking encyclopedia, and enormous pain-in-the-ass Charles Xavier in the hopes they can find what they need to save the settlement—before the coming winter or unpredictable magnetic storms bring death to not just them, but everyone they love.

Weak by Sotano (comics cherik)

For an hour he keeps himself alive without a heart, pumping his own blood with his powers. It was never going to last. Magneto dies on the Red Planet.

He's the only mutant in history Charles can't bring back.

Containment by feathershollyandgolly

Guilt swirls within as Charles watches the concrete door slide open. As he enters a hollow prison, both modest and intimidating. He is well aware that what he is about to do is a terrible thing.

Detours Along the Way by AndreaDTX (wip)

Erik Lehnsherr has been elected as the President of the United States of America, the youngest in history and the first ever known Mutant. Charles Xavier, his mate, is right by his side. But as Erik's first term begins, the couple braces themselves, knowing that getting elected is the easy part.

twice saying pardon (In Every World There Is You and Me Remix) by winter_hiems

After the events of X-3, Erik is powerless and alone. By chance, he ends up in an alternate universe – in Genosha, where mutants rule and are safe from harm. In Genosha, there is another version of himself. A version that has Charles Xavier by his side.

Another Love by Mataolma 

One bad day, a stranger arrives at Charles' house. The soldier says his name is Logan and that he was Erik's best friend when they served in the Mexican War. Logan brings bad news: Erik died in the war, and Charles must decide what to do with his life now that the man he loves is gone.

[rising-volteccers]

I've been working on this piece slowly over a few months and finally had the motivation to complete it. This is just a self indulgent piece on the aftermath of HZ044-HZ045. Obvious spoilers for those episodes of course. I'm a bit rusty but hopefully it's still an enjoyable read!

Series: Pokemon Horizons

Characters: Friede, Orla (Major) | Mollie, Murdock, Cap (Minor)

Warnings: Description of a character experiencing a panic attack

---

It's only after the kids have retired for the night that Friede calls for a private meeting. He doesn't have to elaborate on its reason, a quiet sort of understanding prevalent as they all made their way to the meeting room. 

Friede doesn't immediately enter once everyone else does. He stands outside, forehead pressed against the cool wall as he breathes deeply. Once, twice, three times. When he feels a little more centered, that's when Friede slips into the room.

Four sets of eyes turn to him. Graciously, no one comments on the tightness around his own eyes, the way his assuring smile is simply a knee jerk reaction in the face of trouble. It takes a moment for Friede to remember that he doesn't have to, and the smile drops.

Friede gracelessly drops onto his chair. Cap joins him moments later. Usually he perches on Friede's shoulder but his partner, likely sensing the heavy atmosphere, opts to stand on the table instead so he can get a proper view of everyone.

Heavy frowns marred all of their features. No one speaks for a good while, as if fearful of what'll spill out the moment this tentative silence is shattered. The Copperajah in the room is something that needed to be discussed but…

“... I'm glad that you're all alright,” Friede finally whispers. He can't easily shake off the pure dread upon seeing Rayquaza crash into the ship, to see the Brave Olivine fall out of the sky and towards the ocean. If not for Murdock's skill in making an emergency landing and his assuring call afterwards, he wouldn't have been able to focus on the immediate danger in front of him.

“Yeah, us too,” Orla responds steadily. Friede doesn't realize that his fists are clenched until Murdock's warm hand settles atop of them. Friede breathes out, recalls the exercise Mollie taught him. 

In for four, hold for seven, release for eight. Repeat until his head clears up.

Friede is grateful that they give him the time to ease himself back into someone that's not crumbling around the edges. That's better left in private, after he can have a moment to really let the severity of what happened sink in. 

Right now, Friede has to pull himself into the leader of the Rising Volt Tacklers. They're turning to him for support and he'll do his best to become their pillar.

“Okay, so. How badly damaged is the ship?” Friede asks, turning his attention to Orla.

“I'll need time to properly assess it but it's bad enough that we won't be able to fly any time soon,” she replies, lips set into a thin frown. “This isn't like patching up holes. We just about fixed the damage done by that Orthworm last time but the damage here is to the balloon itself, not the ship.”

“Alright, so we're grounded until the balloon can be fixed. At least the ship can sail, so I'll see about getting permission to dock the ship at one of Levincia’s ports.” Friede supposed if there's one thing to be grateful for, is that they’re already close to a major city so that repairs can go underway as soon as Orla gets a full assessment. 

“How are the Pokemon? No one sustained any injuries?” Friede turns his attention to Mollie next. 

“All of them are understandably shaken. It's different from turbulence,” Mollie responds, leaning back against her chair. “Some stuff fell off the shelves but none of it hit the Pokemon. Chansey made sure to keep everyone calm while we made multiple trips towards land.”

“Good, good,” he mutters. It guts him inside to put the Pokemon through such a harrowing experience but at the very least, they’re in good hands with Mollie. Friede will bring Charizard to her later for a check-up.

Friede asks a few more questions about affected areas within the Brave Olivine before they tackle the next course of action: the repairs needed to be done.

“Orla, is the damage something you’re able to fix by yourself?” Friede questions.

She hums, arms crossed as her brows furrow in deep thought. “It’s definitely the most damage the ship’s experienced so far, and while I’ll need to get a good, proper look, I think I can fix it.”

That is gladdening news, even if it’s hard for Friede to feel properly happy about it. “Right. You’ll be having your hands full with it. As for the rest of us, we’re going to have to find ways in drumming up funds for the repair.” It’s not going to be cheap, that’s for certain.

“I know I saw an ad before in the city,” Murdock pipes up, having stayed silent for most of the conversation earlier. “About part-time work at Patisserie Soapberry in Cortondo. The bakery owned by Katy, the Gym Leader there.”

“I can do private consultations,” Mollie adds. “If we’re going to be grounded for a while, I can set something up on the ship. That, or I’ll do online consultations if safety’s a concern.”

“And I can offer online classes or take up researching gigs,” Friede says. “Or take on whatever jobs we get.” 

“That sounds good. Though, now the question is what are the kids going to do?” Murdock’s sporting a deep frown now. “I don’t want them to get bored staying here when we’re doing work.”

“Don’t worry about that.” For the first time since this meeting started, Friede’s lips from a small smile. “They’ve expressed interest in learning about Terastallization. I know someone that I can contact with so they can learn just that.”

He’s going to be pretty busy in the coming days. People to contact, plans to hash out, things to do. Nothing left to do but go at it full steam ahead if he wants the Brave Olivine to be airborne again. 

Seeing that it’s been a long, stressful day for everyone, Friede won’t hold them up any longer. He hangs back long enough to pass Charizard’s Pokeball to Mollie before returning back to his room with Cap trailing behind him. 

Inside, he finds the aftermath of such a violent collision. Anything that’s not taped down is strewn all over the floor. Fallen over books and research papers that are going to be a pain to rearrange greets him. 

Friede sighs deeply. He wants nothing more than to fall onto his bed and sleep but his head is still buzzing with all sorts of thoughts, wanting nothing more than to scratch the itch to be productive. He knows that he’ll feel much better later if he begins the task of cleaning his room up now.

After he hangs up his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, Friede gets to work. 

------

It hits Friede thirty minutes later.

The mildly buzzing thoughts rush to the front of his mind all at once. A heavy weight drops in his stomach like an anvil. While he knows what’s happening logically, he's still powerless to stop his own spiraling. 

“Pika?”

Friede has experienced freefall before. Reckless flights on Charizard in his younger years meant instances where he flew too close to the sun. His body is like that right now, floaty in a way that gives him little control. Tremors ripple down his arms, causing his hands to start shaking. 

“Pikapi? Pika!”

Things could have gone terribly wrong. Every time he blinks, the scene plays out behind closed eyelids. The Brave Olivine with a gaping wound to its side falling into the ocean, most of the occupants inside powerless to do anything. 

He was powerless to do anything. 

Friede thinks Cap's trying to catch his attention. It's hard to tell over his increasingly labored breaths. He wants to carefully place the book down in a last ditch effort to exert control but he knows it's not working. 

Sadly, this isn't an unfamiliar sensation. Friede remembers the long and terrible nights where he questions his purpose in life, his brilliant mind viciously turning in on itself. All the times where he shook beneath the covers, grounded only by Charizard's head resting atop his legs. His partner is being checked up at the moment by Mollie after–everything.

Friede hates the cold but the trembles wracking his frame isn't caused by it. Muscle spasms perhaps from the sheer effort, futile as it is, to fight off his own thoughts and feelings. He sucks in air through the tiniest straw in the world and wheezes out a pathetic breath.

I should probably sit down, Friede thinks distantly, eyes flickering down towards his trembling hands. He quietly pleads for his emotions to give him more time to–not think about the memories that are coming out of their hiding place. Shoved to the darkest corners in the heat of the moment, prioritizing what’s in front of him (of Roy and Liko and Dot’s safety) instead of–

The Brave Olivine is fallingfallingfalling he’s not able to do ANYTHING but watch as his friendsfamilyhome falls out of the sky and they’re going to sink in the ocean they’re going to die–

Friede bites his lips, nails biting into the palm of his hands as he hunches over. His vision darkens, white sparks flashing behind closed eyelids from how tightly he squeezes them shut. His shaky legs stumble back, and he trips over nothing before he falls heavily onto his bed. A soft cry slips out when pain erupts from the back of his head as it smacks against the wall but he barely registers it. He’s too busy fighting back the stupid panic clawing at his chest, knowing that he’s being an idiot cause he’s fine, they’re all fine and well and present and they discussed on what to do so there’s no reason to dwell on it anymore.

Yet his ever traitorous mind keeps spinning what-ifs, of scenarios gone horribly, tragically wrong. People he’d have to contact, to comfort, to accept all the vitriol and hate from because he’s the leader so all of their safety should have been his top priority. Friede trusts his friends explicitly but he imagines they’d have regretted placing their trust on him. Can visually see their fear and terror and despair over having followed him in the first place cause now it’ll result in their untimely end.

Friede’s eyes burn. Amidst the sharp panic, he distantly feels a bitter anger growing in himself, at himself, and it’s not helping any. His chest hurt, his head ached, his everything is one giant mass of agony. He hates it. Hates it so so much cause now he’s being reminded just how much it hurts to be afraid.

Above all else, Friede is afraid. Terrified. He’s faced the world with reckless abandon that seeing how his world can easily crumble is a harsh smack to the face. 

He whines softly. Unsure whether the chill he feels now is real, Friede still tries to pull his blanket up to cover himself, hoping that the soft fabric is able to secure him in a way that he’s incapable of. His shaky hands struggle to get a solid grip, and for some reason, this small inconvenience is what finally made the tears bubble over. 

Arceus, this is such a stupid thing to cry over. (In between choked sobs, he fights for air). Friede’s just making a mountain out of an Excadrill hill. (He’s convinced he’s drowning). Everyone’s fine. (He feels lightheaded). The ship is grounded and in need of repairs but with Orla’s handiwork, it’ll be fit to sail in no time. (Black spots dances around his vision). He’s fine so why is he–?

“Friede!”

Warm hands gently enveloped his tight fists. A soft voice gently shushes into his ears.

“It’s going to be alright.” One of his hands is maneuvered into pressing against a soft surface. Vaguely, he feels the gentle rise and fall beneath his palm.

“Try and follow my breathing, okay?”

As he blinks waterlogged eyes, the orange blob slowly sharpens into a familiar face. It’s Orla, sweet, kind Orla who’s looking at him with such soft concern in her eyes. 

Friede doesn’t deserve it. She would have been in the engine room, the first place that would’ve exploded had the ship crashed. The thought causes his breath to hitch, triggering a fit of watery coughs that renewed his tears.

“O-Orla,” he gasps. “I’m–I’m so s-sorry–”

“Shh, none of that now,” Orla gently shushes him. “Just focus on my breathing, okay? I know you can do it. In… Out… In… Out…”

He still desperately wants to apologize but the want to appease her is stronger. So Friede tries his best to follow along. He feels her drawing in a long, deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. Orla repeats this for the next couple of minutes, purposefully exaggerating the sound of each inhale and exhale so Friede can more easily follow along.

Friede focuses everything into following along, and soon enough he’s doing it more of his own volition than simply copying Orla’s motions. Slowly but surely, his mind winds down from the nigh high panic it was in before. At some point, one of Orla’s hands gently settles on the nape of his sweaty neck, easing his head down into resting atop her chest. 

Orla’s steady heartbeat further grounds him. It enables him to focus on the fact that she’s alive, unlike what his mind tries to claim earlier. Friede sighs quietly, frozen in this position for what feels like hours until Orla speaks up.

“Hey, are you back with me now?”

“Yeah,” he mouths, then clears his throat to say in a steadier voice. “Yeah, ‘m good now.”

Orla hums in response, and while she seems content to leave him like this for as long as he wants, Friede now feels the deep pangs of shame hitting him. Biting his inner cheek, he slowly pushes himself off of Orla, quickly turning his head to swipe at his eyes. It’s a feeble attempt of regaining back his tattered pride, not when a brief glance at her showcases the evidence of his breakdown on her shirt.

“So… I’d ask if you’re alright but–” Orla gestures lightly between the two of them. “–I’m guessing that’s not the case.”

“I’m sorry,” Friede coughs, feelings his cheeks burn in embarrassment. “I–I didn’t expect you to…”

“Oh, Cap came to get me,” Orla says, sporting a faint smile. “He seems–insistent that I follow him, so I did. And I’m glad.”

Right, Cap would do that. His partner always looked out for him, and in a situation where he’s unable to Volt Tackle his way through, it’s reasonable to assume that he’ll seek out someone who can deal with the issue. 

Friede’s grateful, even if it’s something that he’ll realize much later. Right now, he’s battling both shame and exhaustion. His brows furrow from the stress of it all, but they smoothed out when Orla pressed her finger against his forehead.

“I can practically hear the gears turning in that big noggin’ of yours,” she states. “Whatever it is, stop it. I know you’re going to just work yourself up again.”

Her light tone manages to make the corners of his lip quirk up. Friede’s eyes shift downwards and to the right, unable to properly meet her gaze.

“Heh, you know me well.” The faint smile drops moments later. He’s quiet for awhile, and Orla seems to understand that he needs time to regroup his thoughts. Once again, Friede’s grateful, even if there’s a part of him that thinks it’s undeserved.

“Look, with what happened today…” Friede swallows through the heavy lump in his throat. “It… it could’ve ended up a lot worse than it did. I’m sorry, it’s all my fau–hey!” 

The sudden flick to his forehead cuts off his apology. Friede instinctively covers the sting with his hand, looking confused at Orla.

Orla gazes back, nods once before lowering her hand. She crosses her arms. “Sorry but it sounded to me that you were trying to apologize for something that was completely out of your power.”

“But–”

“Nu-uh. All of us agreed to go. We all understood the risks of going up against the Explorers and Rayquaza.”

“Yes, but–”

“What happened was something no one could’ve expected. The ship suffered damage but everyone got out of it safely, did we not?”

“Yeah but it–”

“Should be all that matters, yes? Then I don’t see why–”

“Because you all trusted me, okay!?” Friede doesn’t mean to raise his voice but it does surprise Orla into silence. He covers half of his face with his hand, heaving out a deep sigh. “I’m the captain of the Rising Volt Tacklers. All of you trusted me and that trust nearly got you all killed.”

Friede closes his eyes, unwilling to see what kind of expression Orla makes. That only serves to make him vulnerable to the next flick on his forehead, this one seemingly harder than the last.

“Ow! Why do you keep doing that!?” Friede’s a bit annoyed now, gaze narrowing at Orla.

“It’s because someone’s being an idiot right now,” Orla replies, meeting his eyes with an unimpressed look of her own. “Look, do you trust me to make sure the ship’s engine runs smoothly?”

“Yeah?” Despite the confused note to it, he responds without any hesitation.

“Do you trust Mollie to look after the Pokemon in the event of an emergency?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then do you trust Murdock to steer the ship in the event that you’re unable to?”

“Of course.”

“So we trusted you to look after the kids and deal with whatever trouble that came their way, simple as that,” Orla concluded. “I can confidently say that as infuriating as you can get, no one here regrets trusting you Friede.”

Stunned into silence, he remains still when Orla reaches out to bump her fist against his chest. “So put you trust in that at least.”

Friede stares down at the fist. Abruptly, he exhales deeply, shoulders dropping. “Alright, you made your point Orla.”

When she puts it like that, Friede can’t help but think his previous thoughts were silly. It deepens the embarrassment he feels earlier, though he also feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. At the same time, the physical and emotional exhaustion of today hits him like a full bodied Volt Tackle. 

“I think it’s better for you to get some rest,” Orla gently suggests. Friede thinks he nodded at her suggestion, though it’s hard to tell when it feels like his head is stuffed with cotton. There seems to be hands helping him lay down, and when his head hits the pillow, his blanket is covering him. 

“Mmm… but I still gotta…”

“Shh… don’t worry about everything.” A gentle hand settles over his forehead, slowly sliding down till it covers his eyes. “Just rest. Trust us to keep everything safe, okay?”

Trust. That’s something he can do.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Goretober

Well yall, its that time of year, and me feeling angsty while also wanting to work on my ability to describe things has led me to decide that this is clearly the best thing to do with my time. With that said, here is your warning. I am going to attempt to keep up with the prompts for the next little bit, so if that ain't your thing, best just steer clear of anything I post with 'Day XXX' on it. That said, for those of you who like this stuff, enjoy.

Day One: Stabbed

“Optimus!” The Prime was rushing forward to stand between the team and the enemy, completely unable to slow at such high speeds. Ratchet felt his very spark blaze in sheer terror as he saw the look of dawning realization reach Optimus’s optics in time for the dooming hiss of creaking components to echo in the area. There was no stopping it as the harpoon fired from one of Shockwave’s newest weapons and sliced through the air with the precision and speed of a sniper rifle. 

There was no time to think, there was no time to act, not as the glint of deadly steel sped across Ratchet’s straining optics. In reality, it must have only been a terrifying two or three nanokliks… However as medical protocols were activated, Ratchet saw the proceedings in terrifying detail.

Optimus’s face was the embodiment of true terror as the harpoon sliced through abdominal armor, its serrated edges catching on wiring and protoform as it spun like a torpedo. It all seemed like a sickening slow-motion holofilm as outer plating was ripped apart in a spray of energon which was only accentuated as the harpoon tore past secondary and core layers of supposedly blast-proof armor. Protoform all but exploded in a sea of shattered components, quickly leading internal organs to squelch out from the harpoon’s entry point in a horrifying display. Then as time began to speed back up, the still spinning harpoon tore its way out of Optimus’s back, sending pieces of spinal column, wiring, and entrails flying out onto the stone beneath their pedes.

Distantly he could hear Bumblebee and Bulkhead screaming, and somewhere Arcee was dealing suppressive fire as Ratchet threw himself into action. A thousand warnings complicated his sub-processing routines while he skidded to his knees, running scans even as he assessed the damage and focused on trying not to purge. The Prime was in a quickly growing pool of his own energon, and thankfully the harpoon had broken all the way through his frame and thus was not stuck within him to aggravate affairs further. That of course was merely a small mercy though as every medical protocol Ratchet knew was reviewed and activated. 

His digits shook as he struggled to decipher where to even begin his emergency repairs. Optimus was obviously in shock. His optics were blaring and his venting halted and tried to sputter back into regularity desperately. The Prime’s intake hung open, his face plastered into horror and quickly morphed into one of undiluted agony. Despite that, he couldn't scream, not as his entire frame struggled to continue functioning with the gaping hole in his abdomen. 

From where Ratchet knelt trying to frantically start welding shut weeping fuel lines, he could see internal organs pulsing and contracting as they tried to function even while all but destroyed. Small wires grasped at the air they were never meant to be exposed to as charge and energon crawled along them. Oils spilled from devastated purification systems and mixed with the unholy combination of components, organs, and half-processed fuel that was only growing larger within the wound and around Optimus’s frame. Shattered pieces of skeletal protomatter and yellow spinal fluid joined the mess and dug into angry lacerations. 

“Hold on Optimus! I’ll fix this! I will fix this!” Ratchet pleaded, trying to comfort himself more than the rapidly fading Prime before him. Deft digits reached into the wound and he began to carefully remove shards of metal that infested the damaged areas, all while doing his best to maintain composure. Wires clung to his digits as he worked and again the organs pulsed, all in time with Optimus’s distressed attempts to vent. There was too much damage and too little time.

“Frag it all, hold on Optimus!” Ratchet all but begged while finishing up what cleaning he could manage out in the open. He then proceeded to try to ease his churning tanks with a deep vent while pulling out half-destroyed organs to try and weld the wounds shut for the time being. If he could just stop the bleeding, he could get Optimus back to base and put him into emergency stasis until he could work something out-

“RATCHET! WE NEED TO MOVE!” Arcee screeched as blaster fire echoed nearby. Ratchet ignored her as he worked to tend to the pulsating organ within his grasp. His tanks churned with even more urgency as the organ which he assumed to be part of the fuel tank, oozed a mix of blue and rust-colored substances. It stained his servos and the texture had him shaking horribly as he welded the weeping component into a semi-stable state and hurried to try and at least cauterize the rest of the wound until he could do more. 

This time, Optimus did scream and the nauseating scent of burning energon and protomatter had Ratchet gagging while he worked. However, he did not dare stop, even as Optimus spasmed, only held down by Ratchet bodily holding him in place as his welder dealt with the worst of the wound. Grasping wires seared and withered, weeping wounds sizzled and closed up as molten metal forced them into place, and the ghastly concoction of bodily fluids within the wound smoked until they were reduced to ash. 

Eventually, Optimus stopped screaming, his frame falling limp. At some point, Ratchet dragged his ailing Prime back to base. Then next he knew, Ratchet stood beside the medical berth his Prime lay on, a syringe in his grasp and ready to plunge into an exposed fuel line to ensure Optimus did not wake during what was bound to be a very grim and unsettling series of surgeries.

Extra

Optimus over here like:

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Sorry to come back but I really liked your Gareth and Mordred fluff, would you be willing to do fluff with Scathach, Medusa, and Nightingale. A kinda hurt comfort like they had a dread of their worst day and the reader had it too and comforts them? Or just pure fluff. Fgo has its hooks deep in me.

(I am in the same boat without question. Not to mention Medusa, Scathach, and Nightingale are some of my favorites. I’ll admit I probably went a little overboard on all of this compared to my usual style, but considering this is my first real time writing angst and for some reason I’ve been wanting to give it a go recently, so I hope I didn’t do too badly!)

NOW THEN! YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!

Warnings: ANGST! AND LOTS OF IT! Violence, and some gore.

Scathach

Scathach, the queen of shadows, mistress of runecraft, master of the Gae Bulg spear.

A force to be reckoned with.

Immortal.

Undying.

And the only thing she gave a damn about right now.

Unable to do a thing as you lay dying in her arms.

Unable to save the only person she would ever consider trying to live for, their body torn asunder, far beyond what she could repair.

It would be hilarious if it was in a book or some other story.

An immortal who searched only for death, finding someone who they loved enough to live for.

Only to be forced to watch them die.

But this wasn’t a book or some other story for Scathach.

This was a possibility she had pushed away since you gave one another your hearts.

A possibility that had become reality.

Whatever came next didn’t matter.

The woman known as Scathach would remain rooted in this place for all time.

Even when the earth swallows her, even when the oceans drown her.

This is where she will be.

Even when the world dies and the sun devours it.

This is where she will be.

Even when the end of the universe finally comes and everything dies.

This is where she will be.

Watching over where you last lived.

And watching over where her heart died.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Scathach opened her eyes.

Her face was wet with tears.

It was a dream.

You were alive, sitting next to her on the couch, looking off into the distance, boring a hole through the wall.

Scathach quietly dried her tears before leaning over and onto you.

“Bad dream?” you asked.

“Aye. You?” Scathach answered.

“Probably the same one as you except on the other side.” Was all you told her.

“I see…” Scathach muttered.

“Scathach?” You asked.

“Yes, mo ghràdh?” Scathach responded.

“I love you, you know that right?” you told the Queen Of Shadows.

“Of course I do you fool, I love you as well.” the queen told you affectionately in response.

(Note: mo ghràdh roughly means "My love")

Medusa

Medusa ran over the hill upon seeing the smoke in the air.

The smoke coming from the place she called home with you.

The smoke coming from the burned ruins of it at least.

“Pitchforks and torches…” Medusa whispered to herself in horror and fear before turning her head to the coast.

The coast with the village on it.

The coast Medusa knew you had been taken to.

In an instant she was off, running as fast as she possibly could to the village.

Hoping, praying, begging, anything and anyone that was listening that you were unharmed.

Because if you weren’t…

Medusa had no idea what she would do… what she would become if you weren’t alive to hold her heart.

So she continued to beg and she continued to run.

But nothing was listening.

Nothing was ever listening…

For the moment she entered the village on the main road she saw you.

On your knees, beaten, battered, and broken.

Even still, the second you saw her you smiled.

The world slowed to a crawl for Medusa as she saw your smile.

You knew she wouldn’t be able to save you.

You knew her weapons wouldn’t reach where you were in time.

You knew she couldn’t run fast enough.

You knew she couldn’t do anything.

And still you smiled at her, telling her that it was okay.

That it didn’t matter and that you loved her.

And then the blade that was meant for her was swung downwards upon your neck, cutting it clean off in one single stroke.

The world began to move again and Medusa, the woman you loved, was dead alongside you.

All that remained in her body was pure emotion, no rhyme, no reason, just a tornado of feelings as everything crashed around what remained.

A tornado of love.

A tornado of hatred.

A tornado of terror.

A tornado…

Named Gorgon.

The next thing Gorgon knew… she was holding your head in her arms, her entire body covered in blood and gore as tears poured down her face.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Medusa shot upwards from the bed you and her shared, tears running down her own face.

It was only a night terror.

It was only a night terror.

It was only a night terror.

Wasn’t it?

Medusa looked to the side of the bed you slept on.

It was empty.

Fear unlike any other Medusa had felt immediately gripped her entire being.

It turned her entire body to ice.

Within milliseconds Medusa was out of the bed, weapons in and as she prepared to tear the world apart to find you.

Luckily for the world and all who lived on it, it was this moment that you opened the door.

Your head was still attached, and your body was without wounds.

Aside from looking somewhat pale, you looked perfect to Medusa.

Sure, she didn’t spend long looking at you before crushing you into a hug and sobbing into your shoulder.

But you even being in one piece would’ve been more than enough for the purple haired woman.

It was on this night that the secretive woman opened up to you in a way she rarely ever did.

She told you her fears, and the greatest among them.

And in turn you told her to know that no matter what may happen, that you will always love her.

Nightingale

Gun smoke invaded Nightingale’s nose and screams of pain and agony tore into her ears.

She was running through one of the many proper field hospitals she had forced the troops to set up through Crimea.

She was currently following one of her subordinate nurses who was bringing her to a gravely wounded person.

Soon they both arrived, and Nightingale’s world ground to a halt as everything disappeared.

Everything except her and the person in the bed.

You.

Shot, stabbed, bleeding buckets, bones shattered, your right arm and left leg blown off, your right eye missing and your left was glazed over as you hovered between life and death while letting out ragged and stilted breaths that were painful just to listen to.

“...please… h-help… me…” you managed to choke out.

But there was nothing Nightingale could do… nothing but ensure that you, the only person who had ever managed to capture her heart in such a way that made it yours from Nightingale’s own hand…

Could die painlessly…

By her own hand… by her own needle…

But she couldn’t, she couldn’t stand to even try and save you from this agony.

Because she loved you, and she couldn’t stand it… seeing you like this but she couldn’t stand to know that she was the one to take your life.

So she stood there, at the foot of your cot, as you choked on your own blood, as your body ran out of oxygen, as you drowned on dry land.

Unable to do anything but watch as you died.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Nightingale shot up from her desk, a sob escaping her and into the thankfully empty room around her.

“It was a dream… it was a dream… it was a dream…” The berserker muttered to herself as tears ran down her face.

But no matter how much she told herself it was a dream, all she could think about was you.

Your face as you died.

Your face as you hoped that the Angel Of Crimea would come and take away your pain.

Your face as you realized that she wasn’t coming.

Your face as death finally took you.

In this moment Nightingale decided that it was time for a visit.

So she composed herself as best she could and walked out of the infirmary to the room the both of you shared.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Nightingale tore open the door to you and hers room.

And the moment she did relief washed over her.

You were awake.

You were alive.

You were okay.

And in an instant the usually composed nurse tackled you and placed her ear on your chest, right over your heart,.

*thump**thump**thump**thump**thump**thump*

Your heart was beating a mile a minute.

*thump**thump**thump**thump**thump**thump*

But it was beating.

Yet… that didn’t stop the tears streaming down her face.

It might’ve been only a dream… but… to see you like that….

Burned, shot, stabbed… you were in so many pieces to where there was nothing she could do but try and let you die as quickly as possible…

It was something Nightingale had faced many times before… but this was different… 

Not just because it was you, but because that exact scenario might be something she would have to deal with…

And there would be nothing for her to do…

You wrapped your arms tight around the distressed head nurse, comforting her despite your own dream… or more accurately… nightmare.

But that could wait.

Nightingale wasn’t the type to do something like this without good reason.

And soon, without you asking she told you everything.

Her nightmare.

And everything that had happened, everything she was unable to do.

In turn you told her about your own nightmare, and how it was exactly like hers except you were in the cot.

Dying.

Drowning.

Soon you were both in tears as you comforted one another.

On that night the both of you told the other something, something important.

You told her that no matter what, that you knew she would do her best to save you if it came to it, and that you knew that she could.

Nightingale told you that no matter what, she would always, ALWAYS, save you.

[rottingformerfirstmate]

It's lonely without Izzy. Edward feels his absence like he's been run through, and the sword is still there to catch against the walls whenever he rounds a corner and twist inside his guts as sharply as Izzy's dry humor. While Edward is not alone--never more than twenty feet from Stede, not that either of them feel a desperate need to keep the other in sight--he can't help how the hole where Izzy should be swallows any semblance of joy in interacting with anyone else, even Stede. He should still be here.

The cheap table and chair set Stede bought for the kitchen has only two seats, and Edward can't look at it without wondering where Izzy is supposed to sit. It's absurd when Izzy didn't dine with them, but Edward feels entitled to irrationality right now. Stede said as much while Ed laid on top of the dirt they buried Izzy beneath, pretending he could still hear him breathing, whispering all the words left unsaid into the damp earth.

Izzy wouldn't want a chair at their table anyway. The version of Izzy Ed remembers, the one that mocked his flights of fancy, would scoff at the idea and perhaps knock over the vase of lillies Stede arranged so carefully. He'd call this a waste of everything Edward is.

Then again, there's a version of Izzy that Edward didn't know well enough to realize his existence until after they were broken beyond repair. It was still Izzy who painted his face in gold and sang for them at Calypso's birthday. His last words in life were a comfort for Edward. That feels like the Izzy Edward knew as well as the back of his hand, but the open softness in his face and the peaceful acceptance of endings does not.

Rather than thinking too hard about whether Edward really knew Izzy at all, he sits cross-legged opposite Izzy's makeshift headstone with his eyes on the tarnished shine of the ring knotted into the cravat. He can't figure out why they denied Izzy a burial at sea, and no one has explained, which Edward suspects is because it has already been laid out for him. The several days between Izzy's death and funeral are a grizzly blur of which Ed has little memory beyond a soul-churning ache for Izzy to be beside him again. He forgave Edward before he died. It wasn't enough because he only did it to get the words out while he still had the chance, not because he was past the horrors he endured at his captain's hand.

Stede comes to check on him and deliver a cup of tea, sweeter than Izzy ever made it for Edward because he was smart about rations and Edward never went with him to make sure he wasn't skimping. It surprises him when a question of where Izzy's cup is slips from his mouth, but Stede was prepared for this and sets a tea cup next to Edward's good knee. Vaguely, Ed remembers the meltdown he had the first time Stede made tea after Izzy died, demanding to know why there were only two porcelain sets. Izzy liked tea when he was hurt or ill. If making tea for a dead man who can't possibly be aware of its presence bothers Stede, he gives no such indication. Instead, he tells Edward he will leave the two of them to chat and turns back toward the house.

Ed drinks his tea before it gets cold. He pours Izzy's over the grave, the best approximation he has for holding it to Izzy's chapped lips, before its steam dissipates.

[the-californicationist]

Growl

You meet John Price at his house for drinks, and you didn’t realize just how quickly things would escalate.

MDNI/18+

TW: femdom, switch!Price, pegging

Check the full fic on AO3

You clutched your coat around your body a little tighter, pressing the wool lapels tightly to your neck to block out the bitter cold of the night. It was torture to pull your warm hand out of its glove, but you couldn’t press the apartment buzzer through the thick fabric.

You held down the button until you heard the door click. Pulling the handle, you reveled in the sudden warmth that washed over you from the heat of his building. Your friend, John Price, lived in a pretty swanky place for a military man. To be fair, you didn’t know him that well. He was a regular at your bar, and when he was on leave, your watering hole was his first stop. You’d spoken to him about everything from the Kardashians to the cosmos, and he made you feel like you were home when you were with him.

He kissed you for the first time just this past weekend. You had been taking out the recycling, struggling to carry the heavy glass bottles, and he spotted you in the back of the building. He tossed the glass into the bin all at once, exhibiting the most incredible brute force, and without much hesitation, he pinned you to the filthy brick wall and kissed you full on the mouth.

All the flirting and the back and forth had been torturing you, haunting you like a ghost, and apparently it had been haunting him, too. He took you out to dinner the next night - a killer sushi place - and you let him finger you on his couch while you pretended to watch the Planet Earth documentary. Your orgasm was…spectacular. So, you had booked him for tonight, hoping for an encore.

You made it to his big, black door and knocked sharply. Rustling noises, and then a click.

“Hello there, sweetheart. C’mon in.”

He was dressed comfortably, a white tee and bleached jeans, barefoot in his studio apartment. You crossed the threshold, smelling curry and cardamom, a blend of aromatic spices mixing in the air from the lamb korma that he had simmering on the stovetop.

“Hey,” you kissed him chastely, letting his beard tickle your lip and cheek, “It smells amazing in here.”

“Ah,” he smiled, taking the compliment like a punch, “It’s gotta simmer down a bit. Got a while yet. Here, have a go at this.”

He handed you a cup of something, and you trusted him, drinking it in a full, slow gulp. It was rich and beautiful with a texture of silk and honey. You groaned in satisfaction,

“Mmm! John, what is this?”

“Mead. I’ve been practicing, and I think I’ve got it almost right,” he was glowing with pride and excitement.

As a bartender, you didn’t often meet true connoisseurs, so a man like Price was a rare treat. But, for him to be making his own mead, and to this level of expertise. That was transcendent. And it turned you on beyond repair.

“Fuck,” you laughed in disbelief, “That’s incredible.”

“You’re incredible,” his tone changed into a dusky register.

He started to kiss you, folding his lips around you like an embrace, pulling your coat off your back and letting it crumple to the floor with your gloves. He worked you backwards, heading for his bed, and you let him lead you like a calf by the nose. John tasted like the mead, like cashews, and like smooth tobacco. He was forceful, just as he had been in the alley, and it lit a fire in your core.

Honestly, you were already prepared for him. The walk over had filled your head with anticipation, and every time you took a step, you felt the tell-tale softness of your wet lips as they glided over one another, swelling and tingling, awaiting his thick digits to pry them apart again.

You fell back to the bed, or were pushed, and his enormous, heavy body crushed you to the soft blankets, pressing the air out of you like a wrung out rag, dripping with eagerness and growling for more of his body to smother you.

Then, he dropped to his knees in front of you, breaking his kiss. He looked up at you with bright blue eyes, pale and longing, begging with you as he said his peace very, very slowly, as if you couldn’t understand him,

“Sweetheart, I…I need to ask you a favor. I promise, tonight is going to be all about you,” his hand rustled into your skirt and pulled your panties away to find your wetness. He trembled when he found it, and began to plead with you again, “But, I need something from you that I…God, I just…”

You took his head in your hands and kissed his forehead gently,

“It’s okay, baby. What is it? What can I do for you, hm?”

John looked a little reluctant, but he sighed and continued,

“I want you to fuck me.”

You laughed a little bit,

“Baby, yes. That’s why I’m here. I was -”

“No,” he stopped you, his face turning dark and serious, “I want you to fuck me. Please. I know it’s not typical, and I know how it sounds. I just…I can’t get it out of my mind. I’ve been tossing and turning, I can’t even think straight. Every time I look at you, I just get more and more bloody mad about it. I’m fucking chuffed you’re here, and you are so hot, but…please, love. Please fuck me.”

“John…I…I’m sorry, but I don’t exactly have the right situation to fuck you with,” you guestured to your pussy, and obvious lack of a penis.

“I have something,” Price grinned, “that we might both enjoy.”

He left you for a moment and you let the anvil that he’d just given you sink into you and through you, crushing you like he had with his body, just before this shocking confession. When he returned, your pussy announced its immediate commitment to John’s plan.

John was holding a piece of equipment with straps and a plasticine gusset, and inside of where it would lay against your cunt was a big, turgid dildo, meant to slide into your warm core. Then, on the outside was its twin, meant to slide into…John.

He was extremely vulnerable at this very moment. You could see it in his face, and you tried your best to make your reaction as neutral as possible.

“Oh!” You said. It was too high-pitched. He could smell your fear.

“You can say no, lovie. It’s okay. I know it’s probably too -”

“No,” you stopped him and he scarcely allowed himself to hope. You reached out for it and unbuckled the straps, “Let’s just try. If we have to stop, we can stop, right?”

“You mean it?” He sank to his knees again, rubbing his hands up your legs, moving your skirt away, exposing you.

You pet his head gently, putting your thumb on his bottom lip and changing your tone,

“Yes, baby. I mean it. And if you’re a very, very, good boy, I might even let you come.”

+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+

Want to read the rest? Check it out on AO3! Too spicy for tumblr 🥵

[saltsicklover]

Part 8 - A Sacrifice For Love

The Poem is "A Sacrifice For Love" By Peter Daniel Phiri

Title: A Sacrifice For Love - Fan Mail Pt. 7

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1330

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, blood, anger.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

Ace is hugging her knees to her chest, blood from her split knuckles coating her skin. Her hands ache. So does her face, the skin chapping from the tears and blood. Snot is mixed with blood on the backs of her wrists, the cuffs of her rain slicker now coated in the mixture. 

Sam stands next to Ace's huddled form, her body taller than his from her place on the kitchen counter. He wanted to bring her to medical, he really did, but her pleas left him no choice but to bandage her up himself, even if that meant they had to take up residence in the kitchen. 

He takes one of her hands with his, holding it tight enough to clean but loose enough that she still shakes slightly. The alcohol stings, shocking prickles down from her knuckles to her fingertips. Ace doesn't make a sound. 

As Sam dabs antibacterial cream on her wounds, he murmurs the words of a poem, more to the room around them than to himself. Yet, she still finds comfort in the words. They resonate through her bones. 

"In plight of loving you, I bleed, And willingly surrender my self to death. For with death, comes emancipation."

Sam used to repeat the poem to himself during his time overseas, fighting off record wars next to Riley. The poem was Riley's to begin with, whispered from fox holes where they made haphazard repairs to their wings in the middle of fire fights. Sam stole the words from him, and they spoke the poem in tandem; missing their families more than their own words could describe. 

"But my heart is entangled with yours, And so is my life, But I have to depart now."

Sam wraps her knuckles in gauze, winding the white cotton through her fingers and over her palms. His touch is light, her hands still tremble. 

Sam's hands are warm against the dull crust of her broken skin. He touches her so gently, like he might break her open but there is no intent behind his hands on her body. He works on auto piolet, the mentality that has been drilled into him since basic training taking over- fix the injuries and complete the mission. 

"My soul is halfway across the journey, singing joyous melodies. My spirit stays with my heart for a while, Which with both great joy and pain, .. Engage in plucking its biting nails from yours, Before the trinity of me flies away to eternity."

After each of her hands is tended to, Sam pulls out a pack of baby wipes. He takes a few from the package, the plastic rumbling unpleasantly as he does. He carefully lifts her face with two gentle fingertips under her chin. 

They make eye contact for the first time since Ace showed up to the tower. Her eyes are swollen and red ringed. Sam can't help but suck in a breathe at the sight, fighting off a grimace. He carefully dabs at her face, wiping away the crimson that threatens to stain her skin. Ace pulls her bottom lip between he teeth as he presses a bit harder to the corner of her nose.  Ace steals quick glances over the plains of Sam's face, his expression almost non existent. A stoicism carved into his expression, lying just under the skin. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam questions, his eyes firmly on the expanse of her face, avoiding her gaze for both of their benefits. Her eyes trail over the deep lines between his eyebrows. 

"I wish I hit him harder," Ace finally speaks, her voice hoarse. A laugh escapes Sam, a laugh too large; a smirk writing itself across his lips with a shake of his head. The laughter breaks Sam out of his tunnel vision, the world around him slowly easing back in. 

"We don't condone violence as a way of dealing with our emotions, Ace," Sam wipes at the peak of her chin. 

"Bullshit," She scoffs with a quiet voice. 

"Excuse me?" Sam raises a brow at her, moving to wipe down the sleeves of her coat. The dried blood smears.

"You are the goddamn Avengers, you kill people to sort out your problems. I can hit somebody every once in a while," She explains plainly.  

"Just because you can, Ace, doesn't mean that you should. After all, you know what they say about war," She quirks a tired eyebrow his way.

"It just determines who's left standing, making them the victor. They didn't have to be right in the first place," She narrows her brows at him, "You don't have to be right to win the fight, Ace, that's all I'm saying," 

She pulls away from his grasp, the blood smearing down her thumb. 

"You think I won?" Her eyes leave Sam, trailing over her own hands and the blood that stains them. There is dried blood under her fingertips. Usually her stomach would turn at the sight. But now, there is a sick sense of pride swelling in her chest. 

"I don't think anybody won anything," Sam begins. Ace's ego deflates. "I do think Bucky lost the worst out of everyone," 

His words shake Ace to her core. The image of Bucky turning and running from the gym is now seared into the space behind her eyelids. She pushes the heels of her hands into her eyes, pressing down firmly. 

There is blood on her face again, from the cuffs of her jacket. Sam exhales, taking her wrists gently in his hands, pulling them away from her eyes. He dabs at the new crimson skin with a new wet wipe. 

"Where do you think he went?" Ace's voice is small, so small she barely recognizes it herself. 

"There's no telling," Sam exhales a little too hard, "I don't know him like that," 

Sam knows those words were wrong the second they spill from his lips. Ace's brows furrow, expression tightening. 

"I mean, we don't talk about that sort of thing. He's always had Steve for that. Steve comforts him, knows him like the back of his hand. Me? I'm more a thorn in his side. You? Well, you're something else entirely," 

"Something else?" Her voice breaks at the end. 

"An echo of home, and a glimpse at the future all in one," 

Ace wants to press him further, keep Sam talking. Spilling the secrets he doesn't even realize he knows. Maybe that's part of being a superhero, knowing things subconsciously, the deeper parts of the brain working overtime to compensate for everything life throws, every curveball and villain. 

"An echo of home," She whispers to herself, over and over again. Without another word, she pushes herself from atop the table, her feet hitting the ground with a bit too much force. Pins and needles spread throughout her feet, rising up her legs. Each step tingles. 

Sam doesn't stop her, though maybe he should. Maybe he should save her before she gets in too deep, but that's not in his DNA. He's a superhero, a Airman. He is the cleanup crew, the one who comes in after the war as already began. He can't keep one side from charging in, because if he did, there wouldn't be anyone there to save. So, he lets her go, disappearing into the elevator, the yellow of her rain slicker, still slick with blood is the last thing he sees as the doors slide shut. 

"I can't stop your bleeding heart, since my heart's nails were rooted so deeply within yours, neither can I stop your tears from flowing, for it's better your tears flow than your blood drain. since tears cleanse your soul, your heart and your spirit. within you I've departed, but besides you, I'll forever stay," Sam continues. He's only halfway through the poem now, but he doesn't feel the need to finish it. So the words sit heavy in his chest, just waiting to be spoken. 

[the-fiction-witch]

Our Nest

Media Phantom Halo / My Left Hand Man

Character Samuel Emmerson

Couple Samuel X Reader

Rating Cute Af

Concept Cuddles in the Cold

I fixed my hair in my reflection giving the bangs an adjustment, I grabbed my tall purple bottle from the vanity and generously spritzed my neck and body before returning it to its place. I picked up my handbag and headed out of my room grabbing my keys as I went. I saw my mother sprawled across the white and blue floral sofa and quite frankly didn't want to give her the time of day, but as I got to the porch I found my guilt overwhelming and I turned around to go to the sofa I checked her pulse and she was still alive even if it was crazy as usual, I made her a glass of water sitting it on the table put her stuff back in her box making sure to lock it up tight, throwing away the needle and putting a blanket over her. I headed out locking the door behind me scampering down the steps and into the night. I headed down a few blocks to the small convenience store grabbing some chips, some candy, and just general snacks. Once I paid and left I headed to my true destination I headed down the street soon enough arriving at the half-broken little house with the light on within and a single light off on the outside. I saw a sweet sight Samuel sat on the porch steps in his cheap knock-off high tops from the local market, a pair of light wash blue jeans two sizes too big for him with the knees almost worn out and a few holes in need of repair as they began to get scraggly, his plain white t-shirt with them an unbuttoned short sleeve yellow shirt with some kind of pattern in not sure what. He was fluffy as usual smiling widely as the comic book in his hand, his arms pale and slightly shivering where he'd clearly been outside a good while, I went over and sat down on the stone beside him tussling his fluffy hair which made him jump but blush

"Oh uhh hi y/n"

"Hi Sammy, what's happening here then?" I asked looking over to see the comic he happily moved it closer letting me see his face lighting up excitedly

"Ah this is the new issue, the phantom halo is locked in this death struggle trying to save the" he explained but cut himself off "Sorry, it's stupid," 

"When did I say it was stupid?" 

"You didn't but, you don't wanna hear about my comics," he says packing it away with a few others beside him, I smiled and gently rested my hand on his wrist making him freeze up

"You have a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions Sammy. If you wanna talk about it I wanna hear about it" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss which turned his whole face crimson 

"You sure your okay listening to me ramble about comics?"

"If it makes you happy I'm very excited to learn more" I smiled leaning on his shoulder he excitedly got his comics and began explaining in very intense detail everything in the issue even going on tangents about characters and motivations, lore and info. I had to admit I wasn't a big comic fan especially compared to Samuel I didn't know half of what he was talking about but I was just happy listening to him be so excited and energetic and I did my best to ask questions and clarify things with the little info I did know to let him explained and go on even more tangents till At Last he finished up and gave my head a little kiss 

"You don't have to listen to me if you don't want to"

"I like listening to you" I smiled before I heard a loud bang and shouting from within the house "What was that?" I asked sitting up 

"That's my dad." He says nervously "he's drunk" 

"What's he angry about today?"

"Becket. As per usual." 

"When did he get back?"

"A few hours ago" he shrugs 

"That, How long have you been out here?" I asked carefully stroking up his ice-cold arm

He nods "I was working on the car, he locked the doors" 

"Come here" I cooed opening my arms he smiled and happily cuddled up to me I wasn't that warm but I was more than happy to share my warmth with him "You wanna go sit in the car? It'll keep us warmer?"

"Yeah let's go" 

We got up and took our stuff around the side of the house and into the back garden where his dad's old car sat, he'd been fixing it up as long as I could remember but it did serve us well as we often slept in it on the nights we get locked out. We both climbed into the back into the nest we had built in the backseats with the well-repaired seats, cheap thrift store cushions, and multiple various blankets we had picked up mostly from discount racks around town making sure to shut the car up tight. I got out my snacks which we happily shared as we got wrapped up both cuddled together and with our many blankets and cushions having folded down the front seats as much as we could. I made sure we both wrapped up tight with a blanket around our shoulders two over our legs and cushions sat between our bodies and the doors building our nest for the night as usual as we both knew how cold it can get these nights. 

"I take it things aren't great with your mum?"

"Could be better. Could be worse." I answered, "She's using again."

"I'm sorry y/n"

"It's fine. Nothing we can do about it."

"You wanna stay here tonight?"

"If I can?"

"You're always welcome you know that,"

"Yeah, don't really wanna go home," I said cuddling closer to him

"Okay, we'll keep each other safe, cosy, and warm" he smiled 

"Thank you, Sammy"

"You're welcome, thank you too y/n for everything"

"You’re always welcome Sammy" I smile giving his lips a soft kiss.

[lost-technology]

Wasteland Ways

Tri-Tober Fanfic shorts Prompt 17: Leather Setting: Any / All canons Summary: A bounty hunter shoots Vash's toma out from under him. It cannot be saved, but it can be used.

Prompt 17: Leather Wasteland Ways Vash pitched forward, tail-over-head, as his toma groaned and fell out from under him.  The bastards that were after them had gotten a hit.  What a time to be out of ammo and called on his bluff!  What a time for neither he nor Wolfwood to want the girls involved! What a time for Vash to get SHOT, AGAIN!  Meryl reined her steed back the way they’d come, guiding by leg, both derringers out.  Milly called after her, telling her to come back.  Wolfwood grunted.  He’d been out ahead and he’d promised Needle Noggin that he wouldn’t unleash Hell upon such a small band of pitiful losers who weren’t even worth the trouble, but the moment he’d seen his friend fall and lie still in the sand, all bets were off.  They were easily scared away once they’d actually seen the amount of firepower they were up against, but their boss’ hunting rifle had taken a casualty.  “Vash!”  Meryl cried in relief as she watched the red-clad gunman pick himself out of the sand.  He brushed himself off.  He was fine, free of any fresh holes.  His toma, however, was thrashing.  Wolfwood rode around them as a guard while Milly dismounted her own bird and skidded to her knees in the dirt to help Vash divest the wounded animal of its tack.  Vash held the creature’s head in his lap as he helplessly pawed over the sucking chest wound the poor thing had.  He made sssshing noises and told the bird what a good toma she'd been while shaking and silently weeping.  This wasn’t treatable.  The animal made a high-pitched wheezing sound as it kicked one last time and relaxed into Vash’s lap.  The group watched in silence for a long time as Vash stroked the toma’s feathers.  Milly went to a saddlebag on her own toma as Meryl held it and withdrew a long hunting knife.  “Hey, big girl, what are ya doin’?” Wolfwood spat out.  “What we do on the farm when we lose an animal,” Milly said simply.  Her voice was unusually subdued.  She knelt beside Vash and put a hand to his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Vash,” she said.  “But we can’t just leave her here.  The worms will come and… we’re running low on food…and…and…” she choked out, “And your boots need repairing, and Mr. Priest’s shoes and all our belts.  Mr. Vash… my family taught me to never let anything go to waste.  Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it.  You can go sit by Meryl and look away.”  Vash looked at her thunderstuck for a moment before saying; “No… I’ll help.  She was my bird, I should help take care of it.”    Vash tapped the heel of one of his boots sharply upon the ground and two halves of a knife formed in the toe.  He tapped it again and ejected the knife. Meryl and Wolfwood did not know what to make of it – the two most gentle, peace-loving and blood-averse members of their little group doing a quick field-dressing of a toma.  That night around the campfire, what meat could be salvaged was smoked into a rock-hard jerky while their big farm-raised girl and their ancient-eyed, weary wasteland wanderer who wore an air of having had to do things like this in the past scraped out a toma-hide to be made into leather for repair-purposes or trade.    It was meticulous, grisly work to clean off a toma-skin and both of them were crying the whole time. 

[showfallmediamaintenance]

[Video transcript begin.]

[The recording starts off seemingly in the front shirt pocket, as per usual. The maintenance tunnels on either side of the person whom the recording device belongs to. Something behind them screams, the shriek sounding to be made up of more than one entity. The metallic stomping nearly overpowering any other sound.]

?: Fuck fuck fuck fuck shit god fucking damn it.

[Voice identified: Edgar.]

[Edgar continues sprinting, the monster's footsteps still loud, echoing off the walls.]

[This continues for the next 30 or so minutes, the maintenance tunnels finally turn to the regular walls of the mall, they appear to be in an empty hallway somewhere. Edgar is yanked backwards, he yelps in pain, hitting the floor.]

[The creature, now identifiable as S.V2, towers over him, already swinging an arm down. Edgar rolls out of the way, the hit collides with the floor, cracking the tile. Edgar jumps back up and readies his crowbar.]

[S.V2 opens its maw, the flesh holding it together stretching itself thin, holes begin to form, a snapping and tearing noise is heard as it reaches its limit. It emits a noise that can only be described as 15 people screaming in agony at once, the skin on S.V2’s main body ripples underneath, the wires within its skin wriggling like worms or maggots, piercing the slowly rotting flesh. The inside of the TV appears just as grotesque as it had been each time before. The eyes pressed up against the screen appear… shinier than before. Clear liquid dripping from them. Tears.]

E: [Muttered.] Dear god.

[An arm is swung towards Edgar, he jumps out of the way, but it nicks his arm, he breathes in sharply, but doesn’t make a sound. Without hesitation, he swings his crowbar at S.V2’s TV. A loud crack is heard as the metal weapon collides with it, he swings again, another crack, this time his crowbar comes back stained red, he keeps going. Each swing he takes damages the TV more. As this happens, S.V2 frantically swings for Edgar, but they manage to miss half the time. Within 4 minutes of this, S.V2 collapses, too much damage done to its head to continue to function. It lies face down, the TV broken beyond repair. It sits in pieces.]

E: I– I’m sorry, Zach. I… hope this is enough. Rest in peace.

[As Edgar takes a step back, S.V2 twitches. He freezes. It twitches more, the wires under the skin pulsate, seemingly moving together instead of on their own independently. The man remains frozen as a mixture of flesh and wires rise from holes in S.V2’s body to the TV, snaking their way into the crevices and holes and dents made by the crowbar. The wires hold the TV in place, and the flesh acts as a sort of glue. Everything is fused back together, and S.V2, much to Edgar’s dismay, rises again.]

E: [Quietly.] You–

[Edgar is interrupted by S.V2 swinging its arms towards him, grabbing him by the torso, and slamming him directly into a wall, and he screams in pain. His phone falls to the floor, managing to remain angled towards Edgar, who is hovering at least two feet off the ground, and has an extremely pained expression on his face. Tears stream down his cheeks as he stares at the mechanical and organic monstrosity that has him pinned to the wall. S.V2 appears to be using what would be its forearms to keep him stationary. It shoves him into the wall with more force, Edgar attempts to push S.V2 away, but to no avail. A singular drop of blood trails down the wall behind him.]

[The TV head opens again, and lets out that horrible scream, right in Edgar’s face. Before it backs off, letting Edgar drop to the floor in a shaking heap. It shambles away, leaving Edgar to curl up on the tile. Hands over his head, sobbing.]

[This continues for 15 minutes, and he finally pushes himself up to his knees. His expression is one of pain and devastation, he is bleeding, as well. He weakly stands, and grabs his phone. Placing it back in his shirt pocket, before stumbling back into the maintenance tunnels. He walks for 30 minutes, before going up to a dead end that is coated in dried blood, two bags are near it, he doesn’t even bother to look in them before sliding down the blood covered wall, and starting to sob once again. His heaving echoing off the walls. He’s alone.]

[Transcript end.]

[sasha-chambers]

Short Horror Stories: The Face of Evil

In the middle of a never sleeping city in the heart of America, a museum was preparing a new exhibit showing various artifacts that had recently been unearthed in a European dig site, believed to be part of an ancient, small kingdom, the first clues of a people long lost to time. It was late into the night as some members of the museums staff were patrolling through the exhibit, meticulously checking every item and its casing to make sure everything was in its place and every single security measure was working possibly as well as put the final items in their place.

One such item was a mask that the team who found it believed to be something of religious significance as it had been found in the vaults of a building that resembled a church of sorts. It was a strange looking piece with three separate holes for eyes, the third one placed vertically in the forehead and some remains of old horse hair set into the top, the color long since lost. The mouth was carved out in a wide, somewhat unnerving grin and around its edges were a serious of short spikes almost like the talons of a bird of prey.

The worn and weathered stone had been given the name, The Mask of the Laughing God and was by far the most curious piece that the museum had received. It even caught the attention of the very workers setting up the exhibit, giving the man carrying it pause as he looked into the eye slits, swearing that he saw eyes within them for the briefest of moments before his co worker grabbed his attention once more. They returned to work and finished setting up the final items and left for the night, or at least it seemed that way.

The worker who had held the mask had remained behind, hidden, waiting for all others to be gone before he stepped out once more, approaching the mask in its case and removing it once more, almost in some form of a trance, quiet, hissing whispers speaking in a language long forgotten from the world seeming to come from the mouth of the mask as he looked at it as if he was beholding the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Eventually he began to understand some of the words being whispered by the mask, mainly the tempting to wear the mask.

The worker slowly raised the mask to his face and as soon as it touched his skin, the claw like spikes around its edges sank into his flesh, causing him to seize up and drop to his knees. Blood was drawn up out of the wounds, repairing the mask and returning it to its previous splendor, the stone smooth and polished with a white color, the hair filling out once more and regaining a crimson hue, while the mask grew to completely enclose the man's head. Even more alarmingly, the man's cloths suddenly changed as well, the fabric rolling out into a long robe, their colors shifting to a deep green with purple trim.

"I have been asleep for a long time it seems," the man said, admiring his own body as if seeing it for the first time, his voice shifting and changing even as he spoke into a more high pitched, serpentine tone. So many knew things to understand." As the newly awakened persona of the mask marveled at it's surroundings, one of the security guards for the museum came upon the entity, immediately drawing their taser and aiming it at the entity.

"Remove the mask and raise your hands!" the guard ordered him, only for the entity to slowly turn around and give the guard an unblinking stare.

"Ah, my good man, your timing is impeccable," the entity exclaimed with excitement, the mouth of the mask somehow twisting and moving as it spoke, "I could use an audience. Do be honest, I fear my skills have gone rusty. The entity then plucked its eyes from their sockets with little effort, leaving only the third on it's forehead that had grown since the mask had secured itself. It began to juggle its eyes, slowly taking steps towards the guard, who was now slowly backing away in turn in both disgust and fear, "I admit it is not all that impressive with just two. Allow me to borrow yours."

The entity then suddenly and cleanly snatched the eyes from the head of the guard, leaving holes leaking blood as he dropped to his knees, crying out in pain and holding his hands over his face. What was far more scaring was the fact that the guard could still somehow see through his eyes as the entity proceeded to juggle them with it's own, all the while humming a pleasant tune to itself, "Oh no need for such dramatics," the entity sighed before catching the eyes, swallowing its own before they reappeared in it's sockets before pushing the guards back into his skull, "See, nothing to worry yourself over. Now, tell me how did I do.?"

At first the guard was mostly silent aside form his heavy breathing, shaking and staring unblinking into the pale blue eyes of the entity. He then suddenly snapped out of it and sprang to his feet, running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. The entity began to slowly tilt it's head, its eyes shifting into a venomous green color, "Now that's not very polite." It hissed before vanishing from where it stood and suddenly appearing in front of the guard once more, causing him to run straight into him, not even making the entity budge while he staggered back and fell over, "Then again, I suppose I have always preferred a captive audience."

The entity then pulled a length of rope out from one of it's long sleeves and expertly tied the guard up, the entire time he was calling for help and begging for mercy, "Lend me a hand a second sir." The entity said, its eyes once again deepening to green for a moment before it effortlessly tore off the guard's hand and fixed it in place over his mouth, "Much better." The entity's eyes once again changed back to it's calm blue as it pulled a curved blade form it's sleeve, "Now I would like to try something these entertainers of the modern age do, clowns you call them. I do believe they are called balloon animals. Though im going to put my own flare into it, something these guys sorely lack even if they have creativity in spades."

The entity then swiftly and cleanly sliced open the guard's stomach and snatched out his intestines, beginning to fiddle with them, folding and knotting them in various ways, an almost curious look in it's eyes as it attempted to recreate what it had seen in the mind of it's new host. Eventually it was able to create a highly elaborate and detailed figure that it happily presented to the guard, who, despite the state of his body, was still alive but his mind seemed to be in much worse shape as his eyes were glazing over.

"It is common practice to clap I believe," the entity reminded the guard before looking down at his missing hand and chuckling to itself, "My bad." It the took the hand from the guard's mouth and reattached it to the stump, though even then the guard could barely groan and sway, "I suppose a single person can't serve as a whole audience." The entity stood up and stroked its jaw before it's head slowly turned towards a nearby window, "Then again, this world has a much larger audience waiting for me than there ever had been. Now is going to be my best show ever." And then, as the smile on the mask somehow managed to grow even wider, the entity strode to the front doors of the museum and stepped out into the city outside.

[missylooni]

Can anyone help?

My best friend is struggling and if I had the money myself I would give it all to her but I don't make enough to make her burdens go away.

For context my best friend for the past 5 years has been her mom's personal caregiver when it was discovered that her mom had breast cancer.

This year in the beginnings of summer we lost her and it has left a hole in our hearts.

My friend thought she had time to find a job and get her life going again once she was done mourning only to discover that the property tax that was owed on the house was not paid despite hearing her mom say it got done in March.

It was a knee jerk reaction of wtf followed by oh shit I need a job to get this paid.

It took a month to find one, a few places rejected her because of the 5 year gap, but she does have one.

The problem is its December and she didn't get enough money between the utilities, gas, insurance, her vehicle needing a repair, and having pets she still doesn't have enough.

On top of getting covid in October and needing to take off a week.

I was hoping I could ask some strangers for help. She does have a gofundme from when she had covid to help get a couple hundred for a few bills that were due which is why it's goal is low, and yes her friends were able to smash that goal but I know getting more money would help her so much!

If you can't donate it I completely understand, if I had the money to just give it to her I would because we aren't the type to ask for a handout. We'd take a loan with the intention to pay back before we would accept a handout but time is ticking and I don't want to see my friend suffer.

Her property tax is like 3 grand which is insane to me but it is a nice place and it has her memories with her mom so I don't want her to lose it.

Again if you can't donate I understand and I hope this post can be reblogged so a lot of eyes can be on it!

Thank you so much for taking the time in reading this!

[bluepenguinstories]

Hypothetical Anxious Mouse

Deep within the wood stood the rusted remains of a once thriving public park. Rusted monkey bars, a partially collapsed play structure, and a swing set that creaked, and one of the seats were missing. There was a committee made up of the commune who resided within the former park who stated that they would get to work on repairing the monuments and making it a place where people of all ages could play once more. However, months after such a declaration was made, there has been no progress with regards to their mission. How could there be when survival always took precedent?

At the center of this former forest resided a wide building coated with peach colored paint, and had boarded up windows. It was once known as a recreational center and the open room in the middle of the building was home to a basketball court and sometimes the elderly would get together and play shuffle board, or there would be chess tournaments hosted there. Now, it was a place where crowds of people slept, and various blankets and sleeping bags filled the floor. One corner of the room had a pile of blankets and a sleeping bag stuffed with pillows.

Minerva Pond, or as she preferred, Minnow, was exhausted after walking through the woods and not seeing a hint of human life all day, aside from her constant companion. Her feet ached and her back kept giving her the feeling of pins and needles. When she found this community, it was like finding an oasis in the desert, and a smile widened, and she licked her lips. But rather than food or water on her mind, rest was what she yearned for.

“What’s in that sleeping bag?” She asked Chorizo, a helpful guide who had introduced her and her companion to the community when the two arrived. Minnow always felt a sour taste on her tongue when she spoke with others, and quietly cursed her feeble and soft voice which betrayed her every word. Chorizo, a man with chubby cheeks and a few tufts of hair above his head, who wore a sleeveless jacket made of blue duct tape and gray, baggy sweatpants didn’t mind nor comment on Minnow’s voice and instead answered her question.

“Oh, there’s just some extra pillows in there. You can help yourself to the pillows or blankets,” he smiled and gestured.

“May I sit on the pile?” She was less sleepy and more just needed a short reprieve.

“Sure. I don’t see why not.”

What a relief it was to hear such a thing.

Her smile widened only for it to fade upon wondering where her companion had gone.

Once I’ve taken a few minutes to sit, I’ll go look for Null, she resolved.

She sat down on the pile of blankets, some in tatters with holes in them, some striped pattern and stitched together. Others, thick, and fleece. All the same, they made for a nice cushion underneath her and she leaned forward, had her elbow on her knee, her head rested on her palm, and smiled.

“Mmf! Mmf!” Came muffled cries from somewhere nearby, breaking the contentment that made up Minnow’s face, and in its place was a small, open mouth as she looked around for what could have made that sound. It sounded like someone had a sock in their mouth, or was trying to scream, but someone else had held their mouth shut. It was pained, yet hidden away, and no one in the crowded room seemed to take notice or mind save for her.

The lights above, yellow and dizzying, only made matters worse. Whoever or whatever could have made those cries, those strained yells, wasn’t being acknowledged, and a nauseous feeling filled the air around her. Like all the oxygen was being sucked out of her and given to someone else, someone foreign.

Movement in the sleeping bag caught the corner of her eye, as two stiff, long shapes bobbed up and down.

What? Snakes? She wondered, and broke out into a cold sweat. That sweat was soon twisted into a hot jolt of liquid as her seat shook beneath her and she fell forward, her hands pressed against the cold and cracked tile floor. Above, the lights continued to be dizzying, but be it her tiredness or the dying of the bulb, it kept blinking out into seconds of darkness.

“Aargh! I thought I was going to die!” Yelled a hoarse, serene voice behind her. Arms shot up, palms spread, and all Minnow needed to do was identify the deep scar on her palm and those short, uneven nails, to tell who those arms belonged to.

“Null!” Joy, and a touch of worry, filled Minnow as the name escaped her lips.

Null’s arms bent and grabbed onto the pile of blankets, tossing them aside in the process.

When Null sat up, her face was red – almost as much as her sun-dried tomato colored hair, which happened to be even more of a mess than usual.

“If you’re going to sit on my face, could you at least wait until I’m awake?” Null rubbed her forehead with the bottom of her palm and gritted her teeth as she croaked out her complaint.

“Sorry! I didn’t know you were under there!” Minnow’s face was flushed as it was and she could only imagine the agony Null went through with her rude awakening. The tips of her coarse, chestnut hair began to frizz up and nerves in her cheek gave off little popping sparks.

Despite the distraught from her companion, Null remained dissatisfied and scrunched her face while shaking her head.

“I might end up with neck problems,” she groaned.

“No! Please don’t have neck problems!” Minnow choked back a sob.

Commotion was as usual in the large room, with everyone scattered about and talking with whoever would happen to listen. But Null couldn’t hear any of that – and instead, the air was still and silent. Her eyes widened, as she forgotten just how Minnow could be. True, Minnow wasn’t the most sensitive person, but when it came to Null and her wellness, Minnow could leak like a loose faucet.

“Hey, I’m fine, really!” Null backpedaled. She held her palm against her neck and gave a light squeeze. “See? Neck’s fine.”

“Please don’t choke yourself…”

“I’m not, I’m just showing you that my neck’s fine. I’m not mad at you, either.”

“You’re not?”

Null forced a smile.

“Not at all. I was just surprised, is all, and so I reacted the way I did. All I ask is that the next time you sit on my face, you do so when I’m awake, okay?”

“Ri-Right,” Minnow hiccuped. “Next time...I’ll sit on your face when you’re awake,” she smiled and wiped away a tear from her right eye. “Got it.”

“Good. Now,” Null’s forced smile shifted to a more natural, but bestial grin. “Unfortunately, I will have to punish you.”

“You will?”

Null nodded as she leaned forward, palms curled, and tickled the sides of Minnow’s stomach.

“Eep! Cheep!” Minnow let out a squeak and squirmed. “S-Stop!”

Every time Null’s hands brushed against the softness of Minnow’s skin, wherever it may be, she couldn’t help but want to touch more. Of course, she had to heed the words of her mistress.

In one swift motion, she wrapped her hands around Minnow’s waist and held her tight while giving several kisses across Minnow’s cheeks and neck.

“Ahaha! Null! There’s so many people around!” Minnow laughed, and her cheeks turned almost as red as Null’s hair.

“Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“I do like it, really. I just don’t want so many people to watch.”

“Mm. That’s a good point,” Null let go, crossed her arms, and nodded. “I’m already not a fan of crowds to begin with.”

“Mm-hmm,” Minnow knew very well.

“In that case…”

Null curled up and rested her head in Minnow’s lap.

“This is fine, right?” Null looked up and asked. She saw the hunger in Minnow’s eyes, the kind of hunger that said Null could have been Minnow’s next meal. If she were to be devoured by anyone, it would have to be Minnow.

“Yes,” Minnow said in a labored breath, “this is fine.”

Rather than resume a peaceful slumber, Null decided to test the waters. She ran her fingers across the valley that was Minnow’s thigh, starting the top and prancing her fingers in, then outward.

“Careful. You know how easily I get turned on,” Minnow warned.

Null stopped herself. She knew better, but she still had a habit of forgetting such a fact.

“Right. You turn into quite the beast.”

“Stop that. If others hear, they might get the wrong idea.”

“Guess we both need to be careful,” Null chuckled. “Hey, if we’re tired, wanna share the sleeping bag with me? We can rest our heads under the pile of blankets, too.”

“We should probably leave our heads out of the blankets. I don’t want a repeat of what happened to you.”

“Of course not. You’re the only one allowed to sit on my face.”

The two shimmied into the sleeping bag and fell asleep, their foreheads rested against each other. Not a soul woke them from their slumber, even as the communal dinner rolled around and everyone nearby shared bowls of soup.