#link to ao3 in the title

[dual-domination]

How about this for a theoretical fic summary:

Shen Wei has been somehow cursed and sealed away underground. The Iron Triangle accidentally find him.

Hi there, Fixa! Thank you so much for the ask! It took me a while to answer because it ended as a whole fic, I think I got a bit excited writing this... So here, have the beginning bc this thing is almost 10k, so I'm posting the complete work on AO3 😃

Of fallen gods and forgotten sacrifices

Xiaoge stepped lightly on each of the narrow stones that formed the sinuous path. Full of lichen, the slippery stones were the only way through the gigantic monuments that have been fallen for millennia.

He followed the scent. Without a draft, it was uncertain how the scent was carried there. But he felt it, green-leafed vines, fresh and alive. Fresh was also the scent of blood, which he must be used to, but this time, it burned his nostrils.

Turning back a step, he looked at Liu Sang in silent questioning.

Liu Sang nodded, he could finally hear something. When Xiaoge reached for his hand, the young man tapped in his palm with a fingertip, "Dripping slowly."

Xiaoge tapped back, "Can you smell it?" And Liu Sang shook his head in response. It was too far for him to smell whatever it was that was dripping.

Before letting go of the auburn-haired boy's hand, Xiaoge left him one last word, "Blood."

Behind them, distant and late, Pangzi and Wu Xie balanced each other on the stone path, swallowing their curses every time their feet fumbled and one almost threw the other against the monuments - which Xiaoge had already warned not to touch.

Usually this was an invitation for them to touch anything, but something held them back this time. The fallen monuments maintained the grandeur of times of glory and their stone faces evoked The Three Sovereigns, Fuxi, Nuwa and Shennong. But there were five colossal statues there, in the remains of that temple, now shrouded by a mountain and pine forests. 

Reaching the fourth statue, Pangzi looked at Wu Xie, seeking some hint as to who the guy depicted there was. 

Wu Xie ducked his head, observing the carved lines of that face that time hadn't erased it's beauty, he spoke low, "The Mountain God, Kunlun."

"How do you know?" Pangzi couldn't remember hearing that name in years - a god forgotten by men so long that little was known about him.

Wu Xie continued to look at the statue, slowly raising his hand, dragged down by the discomfort in his chest.

"Once wasn't just stone," he whispered as his fingertips touched the icy, smooth surface.

It only lasted a second, Pangzi slapped his hand, "Aiyo, Tianzhen! Xiaoge already told us not to touch the statues! What if you arouse the wrath of one of those grumpy old gods?"

"Not this one. Not him." Wu Xie let go and continued on his way with Pangzi, who ignored his friend's brief rambling.

A few steps further and they reached Xiaoge and Liu Sang, who had stopped along the way to look at the fifth statue.

Pangzi opened his mouth to ask about that statue, but Xiaoge raised his finger in front of his mouth, reinforcing what he had asked them before about keeping quiet there. Liu Sang, who had overheard the conversation just now, just rolled his eyes – he might die because friends not only couldn't stop touching what they shouldn't, they also didn't know how to keep their mouths shut.

And then, Pangzi and Wu Xie also gazed at the face of the fifth statue.

Wu Xie didn't show any reaction, but if Pangzi wanted to speak before, now he was speechless.

That face was just...

Pangzi stared at the statue until his head tilted to look at it from another angle, and every way he looked, there wasn't a doubt there. He knew that face very well - and for many years. He looked at that face almost every day.

He turned to face Wu Xie, with even more questions, hoping Wu Xie shared the same doubts as him, but Wu Xie's face was blank.

Then Pangzi pointed to the statue and gestured, the question becoming clear, "Who is he?"

Wu Xie shook his head, showing that he didn't know the answer; Liu Sang did the same.

Pangzi looked at Xiaoge, who nodded. He knew who the fallen god was.

Even though he had no idea why he knew the face of that god. Or it just seemed. The striking resemblance was what had stopped him and Liu Sang from continuing down the path.

Despite claiming to know, Xiaoge didn't bother to provide anything that could serve as an explanation at the moment and indicated to the group that they should proceed.

Pangzi wanted to protest, but since Wu Xie and Liu Sang could wait to hear what Xiaoge might say about it, Pangzi pretended that he could too, but it kept spinning in his head with every step forward.

Flashlights lit the rest of the way, to where the last statue's hand emerged from between the rocks, holding two intertwined dragons in its palm and the fire that rose from their open mouths. 

Beside the stone hand, the closed doors seemed to have become one, the cracks that started on one side, digging into the other. Dry vines hung down the walls and wrapped around the doors, nature's addition or a last lock to prevent those doors from being crossed - already ineffective.

The smell of fresh vines and blood was so strong there that Xiaoge assumed that the others were finally feeling it.

Liu Sang could hear the dripping coming from behind the doors, a drop falling into an overflowing container.

Around, no other sound than the four breaths. The silence was absolute, no echo from paths already traversed or from other chambers. Just the suffocating stillness of a temple that had become a tomb of those once worshipped.

Xiaoge unsheathed his sword and cut through the dead vines in a single move, making the center that joined the doors appear. Sheathing his sword back, he missed Hei Xiazi, the mercenary must have caught up with them by now.

He turned to Liu Sang, who didn't need any questions – there was always a point on expeditions when Xiaoge would expect Hei Xiazi to already be there. This time, that point was now.

When Liu Sang was about to shake his head, he heard something different coming from behind the doors. Trying to pay attention and define what it was, he was unprepared for what came from behind Pangzi and Wu Xie.

"Mute Zhang, are you going to stand there without opening the door for the rest of the day?"

Xiaoge would roll his eyes if it was like him. Maybe he was doing it, internally. Liu Sang definitely rolled his eyes, mainly because of the fright that Wu Xie and Pangzi took.

"Ai, you want to scare me to death?!" Pangzi complained, as he turned around to purposefully shine the flashlight in the mercenary's face, hitting an innocent Xiao Hua instead.

"Where did you come from?" Wu Xie wondered if he had been so distracted by the statues that he hadn't noticed the others close behind.

"Zhurong's hand," Xiao Hua replied, "There is a passage behind the dragons."

"Zhurong," Wu Xie muttered the name of the fifth god to himself.

"Yeah, this guy," Hei Xiazi spoke as he walked past them until he was beside Xiaoge in front of the door, "the fire god who helped Pangu separate the skies from the earth. Or at least that's what is written in some books out there."

"Xiaoge," Pangzi had another complaint, "why did you tell us to be quiet and this one comes in talking loudly and it's okay?"

But it was Xiazi who responded instead, "C'mon, do you think those guys over there will wake up? They're deader than any corpses we've found so far." Then he turned towards the head of the last statue, now in the distance. "Well, maybe not all of them, but... yeah, it's not dangerous at all."

"Do your job," Xiao Hua wanted to finish that and get out of there, go back to where he had cell phone reception and continue the dispute in the online game he had been playing against Wu Erbai for the last few days.

"Hua'er, don't rush me so cruelly," Xiazi moved closer to the door and those who still had their flashlights lit lowered them. Pulling his glasses from his eyes just enough to look over the top of the lens, Xiazi watched the seal form in the center of the door, glowing in a faint golden light. "That's right, guys, the lock is a seal with Fuxi's eight trigrams. It looks like this thing here was closed by one of the dead guys back there."

"And then how do we open it?" Pangzi had a feeling the answer would be another joke.

"I think," Xiazi pushed his glasses back before turning to the others, "ah, never mind. There's an easy way." He grabbed Wu Xie's arm and pulled him closer to the door, with a grunt of protest that even Liu Sang could not understand. "Here, Wu Xie, you place your hand right here, in the middle of the seal." But he didn't say where the middle of the seal was, or where the seal was at all. Xiaoge was the only one who could vaguely see what was clear only to Xiazi.

Maybe it was just a matter of obviousness, because it was always Wu Xie who touched what he shouldn't and things happened.

Wu Xie placed his palm exactly in the center of the seal.

The sound of a heavy piece of massive bronze dragging between stone latches echoed throughout the entire place, making Liu Sang cover his ears with his hands.

When the sound ceased, the door was still closed.

"We're not there yet, but almost." Xiazi scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"The trigrams," Xiaoge said, trying to observe Wu Xie's face, but it was more expressionless than his own.

"Of course." Xiazi shook his finger as if he was forgetting the most obvious thing in the world.

"Wu Xie, you now draw the trigrams exactly in the sequence they are combined on the seal."

Xiaoge again tried to see the seal more clearly, but he still only saw broken points of what Hei Xiazi could see as a whole.

Hei Xiazi, however, had no idea what the sequence was or even if there was one. He had bets and guesses, like he always did.

Wu Xie raised two fingers and started tracing invisible designs over the doors. With each sequence of strokes, the sound of a new metal gear echoing inside the doors overlapped the previous one.

When he traced the last combination, he brought his palm to the center of the seal again, and then the entire seal glowed visibly for everyone, as well as all the trigram combinations that Wu Xie had drawn on the door. 

Circling the seal, two dragons flashed and disappeared, as did all the golden light. And the doors began to drag themselves through the stones uneven by time, forcing themselves open, causing the surrounding environment to shudder with the movement of the huge pieces.

That's when the smell of blood really reached everyone.

Xiaoge worried, it wasn't the smell of human blood. Besides, what they had come here looking for wasn't just any kind of living thing for it to bleed.

"Wu Xie," Xiaoge called to his friend, who was still in the same place, looking into the darkness of the closed chamber.

"I guess whatever we were looking for," Wu Xie replied, "it's not what we found." He lifted the flashlight again and flicked it on, stepping through the door.

[sanguinesmi1e]

A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 (you're here) Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Art of LBM

Danny was still lying under the Specter Speeder, mind reeling as the words “they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms” ran in a loop through his head. Could that really be true? Is his death attached to the portal, forever lodged in the doorway, preventing it from closing?

The guy clearly knew what he was talking about. The bit about why his ghost friends and frenemies caused so much chaos as they unleashed their obsessions on Amity Park made so much sense. It would certainly explain a lot of his interactions with ghosts after he died. 

 Danny silently cursed himself for not destroying everything in the lab before they got here. He and Jazz hadn't worried about the portal schematics, because they honestly didn't have any way to open a portal, only cycle energy in a recursive loop that shouldn’t have done anything. No one, not he and Jazz, not their parents, not Tucker or Technus, had been able to figure out why it had worked when Danny was inside. But if the machine was able to sustain a portal that was already opened. . . He wondered idly if he could light a fire that looked accidental and would both destroy the lab and leave the two men enough time to escape. It’d probably be too risky. And who knew what destroying the portal would do to him. Fully kill him? Destroy him completely and shatter his core? It might be worth it to prevent anyone from gaining this knowledge. 

No wonder Lex Luthor was interested in this business. A child was murdered in this basement, and for all Tim knew, the child’s soul could still be trapped here fueling a Lazarus Pit that connected the world of the living to the afterlife. What Luthor could do with an interdimensional portal or even a single sample of Lazarus water. . . Tim shuddered to think.

On the one hand, he was grateful that Wayne Enterprises secured the business before Luthor had the chance. On the other hand, he felt rather ill to think his family had directly enriched mad scientists who performed child sacrifices. At least he had full faith that between him and Oracle, they’d hunt the Fentons down and make sure justice was served.

“What is to be done for the child?” Tim asked Constantine. “Is his soul tied to that machine?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just his death.” 

“You’re gonna have to explain the difference to me, ‘cause I’m not sure I see the distinction.” Tim said wryly. 

“I guess. . . Hm. You could think of it as the moment of transition drawn out endlessly like a plucked string whose note never stops vibrating. Like life is the anchor point of one end of the string, and the afterlife is at the other end, and the child’s death is the note created when his soul crosses from one side to the other. The soul is the bow causing reverberations, but the reverberations are the actual death itself. The effect of the soul’s passage. And in this case, the portal is amplifying the death so it doesn’t end like a normal death ‘note’ would.” Constantine leaned in to examine some of the runes that were part of the array. “Not a perfect metaphor, obviously, since you bow perpendicular rather than parallel to the string, and death and souls are nothing like music, but you get the idea, right?”

Tim was still caught on John Constantine saying the words “death note” together unironically in a sentence. He was going to have to share that with Steph later. Maybe with the whole family group chat, even. “Yeah, the metaphor makes sense, as much as any of this occult stuff does to me.”

“Whatever. As for whether there’s anything we can do for the child, I think we’ll have to try and summon him if we can.” The Brit started pulling items out of his trenchcoat’s inner pockets. “We need to ask what the spirit wants done, before we go messing with things we don’t understand.”

“Alright, need anything from me?”

“Yeah, move this stuff out of the way so I can draw a circle.” Constantine directed Tim to shove aside a few stacks of boxes, something called a Fenton Ghost Weasel, and together they shifted a coffin-shaped iron maiden that for some reason was labeled Fenton Stockades. Then he set to work chalking a circle and runes on the ground.

Finally he sat back and dusted chalk off his hands. “That should do it.”

“Will this be bright too?” Tim asked warily.

“Eh, might be? Shouldn’t be too bad.”

Tim grabbed an auto-darkening welding helmet with a green “Fenton” sticker on it off the workbench and slipped it on.

“Alright, here goes.” Constantine began the summoning ritual.

While Danny debated arson, the other two had finished clearing a space and chalked some kind of circle onto the floor. He tuned back into the conversation when he heard the trenchcoat guy begin a traditional incantation for a summoning. Were they trying to summon him? Danny really hoped it wouldn’t work. 

When people tried to summon the Ghost King he could almost always ignore the pull. This pull, however, was very strong and immediate. It seemed proximity made a difference, or this guy was just better at summonings than the average cultist. Before Danny could accept the inevitable, he was pulled bodily — literally! — out from under the vehicle and across the floor, still flat on his back on the Fenton Under Car Creeper, with the Specter Speeder’s ecto-engine hugged tightly to his chest. The wheels of the Fenton Creeper (not to be mistaken with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick) sped him straight to the summoning circle. Still very much in human form. 

This was his first real look at the guy called Constantine, and he couldn’t help a horrified yelp. “Eugh!! What the fuck is wrong with you, dude!?!!” 

His lapse in attention made him lose the battle with the summoning spell, and it gripped him, pulling him through the convolutions of the spellwork even though he was already lying half across the circle, and forcing him to change into Phantom in the process. It was such a disgusting sensation, like he was one of those squishy water filled tube snake toys that look like a fleshlight, and someone squeezed really hard and abruptly so he turned inside out and went flying to go splat against a wall (or in this case, against the ground inside the circle of chalk). He tried and failed not to retch.

The younger man in the crisp suit whom he’d already identified as Mr. CEO-Timothy-Drake-Wayne looked at him in startled bafflement, while the older blond, still smoking his cigarette, (gross, and was that thing never ending?) was probably looking at him. Maybe. It was really difficult to tell, because he was a frankly vile sight. Danny winced and swallowed down nausea. “What have you done to your soul?”

“I — what?”

“Trypophobia central, man! Ugh that’s gotta be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. Can’t you cover it up?”

“Who are you?” Timothy Drake-Wayne interjected.

“I’m the dead guy? You literally just summoned me.”

“Constantine said you were a child”

“I mean, I was?” Danny looked down at his obviously twenty-something year-old self and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I was fourteen though. These things happen.”

“Not typically, no. The dead tend to be pretty unaging.” Constantine said. 

“Dude I’m not having a conversation with you while your soul looks like Escher’s swiss cheese nightmare. Anyways, some of us do. Heck, I know a guy who constantly shifts from infant to old man and every stage in between. It’s pretty distracting when you’re trying to get him to let you fix the timeline again.” Danny continued to look anywhere but at the blond man. “But if it’s so important to you, I can —” He got an abstracted look, and slowly de-aged himself until the two men stood over a fourteen year old boy with snow white hair and glowing green eyes.

“That does not help. No.” The guy whose soul looked somewhat like a bleeding tooth fungus said. He turned away and started doing something magical. Danny hoped it would mask his soul in some way, but so far all it did was make Danny feel like he needed to pop his ears.

He also felt particularly uncharitable, so he didn’t revert to his natural age, and instead tried to see how young and cute he could make himself appear.

“So are you just haunting this basement? Seems hazardous, given the former proprietors.” Timothy tried to redirect the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as distressed to see the ghost of a child, but his eyes darted surreptitiously to the Lichtenberg figure Danny used to always hide under gloves.

“Nah, haven’t been back here in years. I mostly live in my Infinite Realms haunt these days.”

“You . . . live? Is that just a figure of speech?”

“It’s rude to ask about a ghost’s nonliving status, you know. Highly taboo to ask how a ghost died or poke into the circumstances of our deaths without permission.” Danny admonished. Making himself younger than fourteen took more effort than he expected.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Timothy raised his hands placatingly to the boy who now looked younger than Damian. “What brings you back to Amity Park?”

“Uh, you summoned me? Are we still not clear on that?”

Tim looked pointedly at the Fenton Creeper and the engine Danny still held. He’d shrunk down to the size of a four year old, and the engine really should be crushing him given it was bigger than his torso now. He quickly set it aside, and turned his biggest puppy dog eyes on Tim.

“You were in here already, and you looked pretty alive for a moment there.”

“I can look lots of ways!” Danny focused really hard on looking as cute, small, and nonthreatening as possible. He thought it was working when all of a sudden there was a pop! and he was smaller than he’d ever managed before. 

Timothy Drake-Wayne looked like a giant. The other guy, who had thankfully managed to put away his soul somehow, wore scuffed oxfords bigger than Danny. Hell, he could probably fit his entire self into one of Constantine’s shoes if that wasn’t a bizarre thing to do, and they weren’t already full of stinky feet. Holy shit what happened to him!?

Tim blinked down at the cat? Snake? Ghost. . . thing at his feet. What the fuck. A moment ago he was talking to an adult man whom he’s pretty sure was dead and he’s very sure was trolling them. Now his interlocutor had turned into an adorable creature with soft white paws, a long twisting tail, big pointed ears that swiveled like a cats, and a humanoid face that should’ve been creepy but was actually eliciting cute-aggression in him. Tim blinked again. The little baby ghost creature blinked enormous green eyes back at him. Then it yawned, revealing three rows of needle sharp teeth that looked like a cross between what you’d find in the mouth of a shark and a cat. Yikes.

“Does that mean the interview is over?” Tim asked him.

The creature just blinked up at him again, then zeroed in on his shoelaces, pupils expanding until only a narrow band of green ringed them.

Yup. The interview was over. Those paws hid some wicked claws which could apparently slice through leather with ease. Oh, Tim really hoped ghost scratch fever wasn’t a thing. At least the ghost looked sufficiently contrite after he yelped, and it waited while he removed a shoelace to sacrifice as a toy.

If Damian ever met him, there would be a new member of the family. Maybe he should name the creature preemptively so they didn’t have a cat-snake named Bat-Ghost in Wayne manor. 

“Do you have a name, little baby cat-snake ghost? Little baby ghost man?” He cooed as the miniature monster dashed back and forth, intent on shredding his shoelace.

The ghost paused long enough to chirp, “Li’l baby man!” before launching himself at the string. Even shocked, Tim’s reflexes had him whisking the toy out of the way, and the ghost went careening under a cabinet.

He wedged himself in the gap, landing face first in a dust bunny, and quickly wriggled backwards with an indignant squall. His wordless protestations cut off as he fell into a violent sneezing fit that thankfully dislodged him from beneath the cabinet.

Tim suppressed his laugh, and asked, “Little Baby Man? Is that what you want to be called?”

The ghost pawed most of the dust away from his nose, but spider webs covered his face and a big dust bunny perched atop his head like a fascinator with a cobweb lace veil. He looked Tim right in the eyes and nodded, dislodging the dust in his hair and setting off more sneezes.

“Li’l Baby Man” he confirmed. He placed a paw on Tim’s shoe and chirped, “Tim!” Then he pointed his tail at Constantine and said, “Gross!” with narrowed eyes.

[paranormal-peri]

Not enough Peri angst? Fuck it, I’ll do it myself.

Welcome to the Paranormal Peri blog!

Paranormal Peri is an FOPANW Angst/Whump fanfic. Read AO3 tags for CW.

Peri wakes up and discovers he has been captured and brought to a paranormal investigation facility. His wand confiscated, his wings broken, his sanity actively decreasing, and his kid nowhere to be found. He tries to remember how this all happened and find a way to escape. All while being poked and prodded by curious and heartless humans. If he doesn't find his wand and escape soon, he might as well just explode into confetti.

OR:

Peri is captured and brought to a paranormal investigation facility. Lots of whump and angst shit happens.

(Post Best of Luck, Pre-Season Finale)

READ FIC HERE

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NEW CHAPTERS MONDAYS! (AO3)

I'll be posting updates, art, sneak peeks, and rebloging any fanart on this Tumblr blog.

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Fic FANART/ART BLOG: @paranormal-peri-fanart

Fic SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

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Author socials:

Main art account: @foxflamingo

Angst/Whump account: @unconsciousnonhuman

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[kittenofdoomage]

Let me take you back...

.... to when this happened:

I'm still not over it. Naturally, I wrote something for it. It's below the cut. Happy Friday! 😘

Carnal

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Word Count: 1651

Warnings: smut, blow jobs/oral sex, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, drunk!Sherlock, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, slight cockwarming, unbeta’d (we die like heroes)

You had been surprised to open the door to Enola and a very drunk Sherlock when you’d not been expecting either of them. Getting him up the stairs had been a challenge; Sherlock weighed about the same as a small elephant, and you had to hold your giggles at Enola’s repeated remarks about his ridiculous size. Once he was inside the apartment, he managed to move under his own power - just about - refusing assistance when it came to removing his coat and allowing it to hit the floor with an ungracious thud. He quickly landed on the chaise longue with one arm slung over his face, mouth half-agape as he got himself comfortable.

“You can sleep in the guest room,” you whispered to Enola. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Are you certain?” the younger girl asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m certain,” you replied, shooing her off, well aware she probably hadn’t slept in a proper bed for weeks, and you knew Sherlock wouldn’t actually mind. Despite his outward exasperation at his little sister, he adored her, and wouldn’t deny her one night of comfortable sleep. Enola smiled and headed off, content to leave her big brother in your capable hands.

Sherlock grunted as you unlaced his shoes, pulling them off one by one, offering no resistance but no assistance either. As you moved further up, going for the buttons on his waistcoat, he grabbed at your wrist, lifting his arm from his face to shoot you the most inebriated grin you had ever seen. “You should buy me a drink first,” he slurred, and you smirked at him.

“I think you had enough to drink,” you scolded. “Now let me get you out of this before you fall asleep and strangle yourself with your tie.”

He pursed his lips, blowing out a puff of air in irritation, but his grip on your wrist loosened, allowing you to pluck the buttons of his waistcoat undone, yet he gave no indication he was going to move for you to actually get it off of him. You clicked your tongue in impatience, lifting your hands to get his tie undone, only to find your fingers encased in his much larger ones.

“Sherlock -”

“You’re so gentle with me, my lady,” he murmured, kissing your fingertips. “Why do you take such good care of me?”

You smiled despite his intoxication. “Because someone has to,” you chided gently, attempting to pull away. “And you know very well why that someone is me.”

“Mmm, yes,” he chuckled, “because you love me.”

“Yes, dear. Now will you let me get -” His lips brushed your palm, and lidded lust-drink eyes flitted up to you. “Sherlock -” He grinned again, pulling your hand down to cover the bulge in his pants, and you sucked in a breath, glancing towards the door to make sure you were alone. “You’re incorrigible.”

A low chuckle greeted the slight, but you were already kneeling beside him. “Yet you remain,” he breathed, releasing your hand. “Let me feel that pretty mouth on my cock, sweetling.”

You glanced backwards again, letting your fingers find the fastenings on his trousers; he was already achingly hard underneath the material, springing into your palm as soon as it was free. Sherlock moaned when you stroked him, clinging to the low back of the chaise as he closed his eyes in bliss. “You are a bad influence, Sherlock Holmes,” you hissed.

“As I recall,” he mumbled, “you did not require much influencing.”

With a scowl, you leaned in, swiping your tongue across the thick tip, tasting the first beads of his essence, and when you looked up at his face, his teeth were buried in his bottom lip, an expression of pure ecstasy covering his handsome features. Once upon a time, you had believed such carnal indulgences belonged only in brothels, or at a stretch, in the wedded bed chamber - this was neither, but you’d quickly found that there was pleasure to be had in someone else’s enjoyment. The sound he made when you took him into your mouth was enough to prompt a rush of warmth between your thighs.

“Yes,” he groaned, hips undulating as you began to take him deeper, letting your saliva ease his path. One large hand came up, resting against the side of your head, guiding without pressure, and you moaned around him, squeezing your legs together to try and stem the throb growing there. “Don’t stop,” Sherlock hummed, arching on the chaise. “Mmm, your mouth feels perfect…”

Your neck was beginning to ache with the odd angle and the height of the furniture, so you pulled off of him to adjust yourself, only to find yourself pulled up and onto the chaise longue with him, manhandled until you were straddling him, skirts bunched around your hips. He grinned up at you, clearly still inebriated, though you didn’t protest when his large hands made their way underneath your skirt to the thin fabric hiding your skin.

“Too many layers,” he grumbled, tugging at the material, and you yelped as he gathered it in both hands and pulled hard, smirking up at you when the satisfying tear followed. Your protest at the loss of another set of undergarments was lost when his thick fingers prodded at your sex, and you gripped the back of the chaise as you slumped forward, gasping in surprise. “That’s better,” Sherlock muttered, arching up to kiss you suddenly.

A single digit sought out your entrance, finding you already wet, and you whined into his mouth as he used one hand to torment you, using the other to make the hole in your clothing bigger. His cock was trapped underneath your bottom, twitching and hard enough for you to feel it through the layers; you tore away from his mouth to breath, and he moved again, lifting you easily to force two thick fingers into your slick channel. The penetration knocked the breath out of you, and you bit your lip to stop yourself screaming and disturbing anyone else - the last thing you needed was to be caught in such a compromising position.

“That’s it,” Sherlock grunted, watching your face with a satisfied grin as he worked his fingers inside you, coaxing out your arousal until your body began to tremble. You couldn’t stop the way your hips worked against him, your traitorous body seeking out more friction, and you closed your eyes as you felt your walls clench around him, unwilling to see the smug look on his face.

Your orgasm was slow, a shudder that ran through you over and over. Sherlock murmured his approval, withdrawing his fingers, manhandling you until you were poised with the thick tip of his cock at your entrance. No amount of protesting would stay his enthusiasm, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself crying out as he pulled you down, splitting you open in one hard stroke. He paused then, chest heaving, clothing disheveled, that one unruly curl falling into his eyes as he allowed you a moment to adjust. You shivered as you forced yourself to relax, feeling him press deep, almost missing the smile spreading across his lips.

“What?” you whispered, self-conscious under his heated gaze.

“This may not be the best place for this,” he muttered, reaching up to grope your chest through your dress. “I should conduct myself better.”

You smiled shyly. “Would you like to move? Perhaps to the bed?”

“No,” he exhaled, pulling you down to kiss you. “I shan’t.”

His free hand snuck back underneath your skirts, cupping your bottom through the ruined fabric of your undergarments, and you moaned into his mouth as he began to force your hips back and forth, creating the smallest amount of delicious friction inside you. Fresh moisture coated his cock, allowing him to increase the movements, and you found yourself panting when you pulled back, held in place by his hands.

“We must be quiet,” you whimpered, pressing your cheek into the palm of his hand.

“Mmm,” he agreed, staring up at you hungrily. “Yes, you should be quiet.” His hand moved, covering your mouth, and your eyes went wide at the rush of heat that filled you. “That’s it, sweetling -” A grunt followed the affectionate term and his face twisted in pleasure just as your pussy began to tighten around him. You could barely keep your eyes open, silenced and forced to breathe through your nose by the hand covering your mouth, unable to move more than he allowed by the hand on your rump. It took embarrassingly little to wring the pleasure from your body, and all you could do was gasp into his palm and quiver around him.

He didn’t slow even when you went a little slack, using his superior strength to manipulate your body on top of his, spearing up into you over and over. Usually, he would withdraw before the crucial moment, but this time he didn’t stop, and you found yourself suddenly craving it, falling into a final climax of your own as he spilled into you, warmth filling your insides and leaking out around him. Even when he was done and he pulled you down into a last kiss, he didn’t seem to care for the consequences of what you had done - his eyes fluttered shut, a ghost of a smile on his lips as his cock continued to twitch inside you.

“Sherlock…” You tapped his face lightly, and his eyes opened with a second of bewilderment before he smiled at you. “You finished… you… inside…” The heat in your face was unbearable, but he kept on smiling, closing his eyes again, apparently unconcerned that he was still buried inside you.

“Oh dear,” he drawled, sounding anything but upset at what he’d done, sighing happily as he wrapped his arms around you. “Then perhaps I shall make an honest woman of you.”

It would be remiss of me not to tag @deandoesthingstome (though I don't know if you even read Sherlock, I just don't wanna get yelled at for not tagging you 😅)

[caspira-writes-fanfiction]

GIT BEVVER SWOON :(

"Get out"

Moxie and Millie blink back at their boss. They were both concerned, but it was Millie who spoke up first.

"Are you sure you don't want-"

"It's been a very long day and Loonie needs to get home now." There was no smile on Blitz's face, and any pleasantries in his voice were worn thin. He couldn't be having whatever conversation Millie wanted to force on him right now.

"Right, it's just. The van..."

"Is mine" Blitz finished her sentence "And you have two god damn seconds to get out of it before you're both out of a job."

Moxxie slid off of Millie's lap and opened the car's front door. He jumped down to the sidewalk in front of their apartment and reached for Millie's hand. He motioned for her to join him. Millie frowned, but did as Blitz asked and got out of the car.

Blitz sped off as soon as her feet touched the ground.

Loona had fallen asleep as soon as she'd hit the floor of the van back in Sloth. Blitz considered leaving her there for the night, but couldn't bring himself to do it. She deserved her bed, even if might be a fight to get her there. The growl that Loona gave when Blitz told her it was time to get up was far less scary than the bits of feather and blue blood staining his seats.

Blitz hadn't known Stolas could get hurt.

He was tougher than his emotions, smarter too. With a deep breath and the familiar pinch of his claws digging into his palm, Blitz was able to swallow down his emotions and forget about them. Loona needed to get inside.

The doctor had said Loona may be out of it for a little while after receiving her shot and the fight they endured to get the hound her vaccine had been tiring. His daughter was all growl and no bite by the time they'd gotten back to Pride. She was hardly a fight as Blitz got her upstairs and tucked into bed (or well, dropped off at her door. Blitz wasn't allowed inside her room).

She might be the one thing he hadn't ruined.

The van needed to be cleaned. Blitz knew how to clean blood out of upholstery, he knew how to clean Stolas's blood from upholstery, it's not as if they hadn't had their fun before. Stolas hadn't been afraid of knives or pain. He fucking asked for the bear traps. Blitz had seen Stolas hurt many times, he'd always been fine.

Blitz hadn't known Stolas could get hurt.

Blitz stopped by the kitchen before starting his work on the van. He poured dish soap in a large bowl until it covered the bottom and filled it with hot water. He grabbed towels, additional cleaners, and a wire brush. He grabbed a bottle of liquor from the cabinet, there was no way he was doing this without a drink.

Starting was the first step. Blitz started on the bottle before he started on the van. He didn't know where to start with the van. Feathers, he supposed. He could pick up feathers.

There were too many feathers.

How many times had the feathers been annoying? A disturbance? They were something to disrupt a meeting when Blitz would accidentally cough one up. They were something that needed to be preened, which meant watching Stolas groom himself for hours sometimes after a rough night between the two of them. They were itchy, and ticklish, and annoying. But these feathers were damaged. These feathers were sad. There were so many of them.

Blitz didn't count how many feathers there were in total but there was enough to make a small bouquet of them. He wondered how many more were back at Striker's. Blitz cursed himself for forgetting a trash can. He couldn't abandon the small collection of feathers he'd collected. He put them on the front seat for now.

He needed a break. Blitz sat on the floor of the van with his feet dangling from the opening in the side. He pulled his phone out and took a drink. He looked through his photos: Loona's adoption Day, Lunch with M&M, him and Verosika, him and Fizz. He stops on the picture of him and Stolas. The Royal loved documenting their time together but he didn't know about this picture. He didn't know the way Blitz smiled while Feathers hooted quietly in his ear as he slept. Stolas didn't know that Blitz took pictures of them while Stolas was sleeping, when Blitz was allowed to be his most vulnerable.

Blitz focused on a blood stain in his peripheral. He looked back at the photo. The two images couldn't be any more different.

He hadn't known Stolas could get hurt.

Blitz brought to the bottle to his lips and tipped it back once more. He rolled up his sleeves and got back to work.

Working was easier than thinking. It was easier than feeling. It accomplished something, more than feeling ever did. Blitz scrubbed until his arms hurt, until his chest heaved from exertion and he couldn't feel anymore because everything hurt, so nothing hurt. Her only managed two of the stains. He hadn't yet touched the worst of them.

If Stolas dies he might have to sell the van. He couldn't even begin to think about that.

"Stolas is fine. He's a prince, he's....powerful. He'll be fine." There was nobody around for Blitz convince other than himself, and even then he didn't feel that convinced of his words.

His answer is weren't at the bottom of that bottle. The world was swaying peacefully. Blitz had tipped over tipsy but was still able to feel his face and several bruised ribs from earlier today. He abandoned the van and walked off.

It wasn't hard to find a distraction in Pride. Wether it be drugs or sex or some other vice, Blitz was sure to find something that would help him numb. He was too far from the Royal circle to walk, but if he could have that's where Blitz would have ended up. Instead he ended up at a bar.

Blitz lasted two drinks before getting kicked out, but managed to swipe a bottle of something off the bottom shelf on the way. He could feel a throbbing in his jaw from where he'd been punched, but the rest of his face was sufficiently numb. He swayed along the sidewalk as he returned home. He had almost forgotten why he'd even gotten drunk in the first place.

The bloodstains were still in the carpet of the van. The seat might as well just be dyed to match at this point. No, die it black. This shade of dark blue is sickening.

No it's not, blood is cool!

Blitz thinks today he might side with Fizzarolli. There is nothing cool about the attempted murder scene in the back of his van. Blitz isn't excited at the sight of this, he's horrified. It takes a lot to gross Blitz out. He sits on the sidewalk for a while to catch his breath.

Soap and water and elbow grease hadn't been enough to get the stains out. He tries something more stringent. Bleach may eat away at the fabric if he doesn't stop scrubbing, but at least the blood will be gone.

I think you should come and save me!

Blitz hadn't known Stolas could get hurt. Stolas hadn't even sounded scared on the phone. Had he been scared later?

"No, fucking stop it!" Blitz slapped himself with his own tail. Worrying wasn't going to do anything. He didn't want to feel right now.

This wasn't his fault. Blitz couldn't be to blame. He didn't know how much danger the prince was in, it wasn't his job to protect Stolas, he had a duty to his daughter. It was all just.....really bad. It wasn't his fault.

Then why did Blitz feel so fucking guilty?

He found half a pack of cigarettes under the passenger seat and took another break. The burn of the smoke was nice. The immediate little rush that came to his head after the first smoke was nice. The stars were nice.

No, the stars were Stolas.

Blitz looked up at the sky. There weren't many stars that could be seen from the streets of Imp City. With the lights and Blitz's unsteadiness they all sort of blurred together. The stars were falling, Stolas was hurt. He hadn't known Stolas could get hurt.

"Fuck, Birdie." There was no coo in reply, no gentle hoot, no amusing quip that went halfway over Blitz's head half the time. Blitz turned his head and remembered just how alone he was.....On the edge of his van, talking to a bird shaped blood stain, doing everything in his power to just forget. If he could erase Stolas from his memory, he could save himself from the pain of losing him.

Blitz touched the skull on his choker, his only living memory of his mother. Tears sprang to his eyes.

For a moment Blitz considered lighting the van on fire. All he would have to do was drop his cigarette in the right spot. He could even stay right where he was, he could blow up with it. That would save everyone so much pain. It wasn't his fault Stolas got hurt, but Blitz knew deep down it was.

Blitz only entertained the thought for a moment. Loona was inside, sleeping and unaware of what had happened today. He couldn't have her wake up to that. He knew she would be fine on her own, but Blitz didn't need to die today. Not everyone had left him just yet.

Blitz finished the last of his drink and thew the bottle outside hard enough to shatter it. He took off his coat and wadded it up until it was vaguely something he could hold onto. He curled on the backseat next to the larger blood stain. He tried not to think about it. Blitz looked at his phone one more time, at the photo Stolas was never supposed to know about, but now may never get the chance to. Blitz had done everything in his power not to feel but he couldn't help it.

Stolas might die and it was all his fault.

Blitz started to type out a message to Stolas. He wanted to wish him better, to tell him he was sorry he was hurt. He considered apologizing for not being there. He fell asleep before he could do much more than type out one message, let alone send it. It was his best attempt at telling Stolas how he felt.

GIT BEVVER SWOON :(

[fentoaster]

Dead On Your Feet

Happy Ecto-Implosion everybody!

I was fortunate enough to be paired with the lovely and extremely talented @probably-dead for this first year of @ecto-implosion!!! My dear friend and I cannot overstate how excited we are to share what we've been working on, and I hope you all check it out!

Summary:

Danny returns home from a ghost fight, sick, hurt, and exhausted. Thankfully, he's got two best friends to pick him up and get him back on his feet - or even better, into his bed.

[dremiruu]

ok ive seen like five posts here about not finding enough eah chatfics so here we go

eah chatfic masterpost

(these are all the fics i could find on ao3 - if you ever find one thats not on here dm me and ill add it)

• "Grimm is a bitchass motherfucker" by Karmahatesme

• "Be Gay Do Crime" by JooDeeLee

• "Ever After High Text Chain" by YuquisLeftEarlobe

• "These Fairytales are MONSTROUS!" by Emixion | mh/eah crossover

• "Operarion: Apple" by DarlingTheLesbian

• "wonderlanders are absolutely unhinged" by mysolareyesgrowpolarized

• "Kitty Ruins Everything" by DaisyDoo

• "you've reached your destiGAYtion" by curious_chimera (orphan account)

• "It's Not The Chat Fic We Wanted, and We Didn't Need This Shit To Begin With" by Shipping_Sushi

• "HeexTok" by nuclearspiders | mh/eah crossover

• "Monster Ever After" by nuclearspiders | mh/eah crossover

• "gays, homosexuals, gays" by M1NTCHoCoK1tty

• "Chatlog of a Toaster on Fire" by The_Lavender_Creator

• "Ever After Monsters" by urfavtransrat | mh/eah crossover

• "Villainy, in a General Sense" by young_authoress

• "Not really anonymous" by ShyLittle_Frog

• "The 'End the Pining' Project" by MessOfContradictions

• "the words of the prophets are written in gay teenage groupchats" by cherryhibiscus

• "No Hetero" by MangoQueen

• "EVENT PLANNING COMMITTEE" by orphan account

(id tag allthe blogs that asked for this here but i already forgot which ones which so im counting on tags, reblogs, the small size of the fandom and the universe to direct this to them lmao)

heres who i remember has been asking: @smileyfacemojisworld @lionmythflower

[nightshadedumplings]

Blessing/Curse: Chapter 1

Summary: A nun is tricked by a demon into believing that it's an angel, and convinces her to carry its brood. Later, the rest of the nuns volunteer to carry their own set of "holy" children, before realizing too late that something is very amiss.

Story contains: horror elements, rapid pregnancy, demon pregnancy, lactation, breastfeeding, hyperpregnancy, dubcon, coerced sex, labor, and birth.

--

While dressing herself for the day, Agatha was interrupted by a voice in her ear. She was startled, but didn't lose her composure.

"Sister Agatha. Be not afraid. Listen to my words; you have been given a divine purpose."

She didn't answer, keeping still and raptly attentive.

"The number of angels has dwindled, since many have fallen and been cast out. Your purity and devotion have been seen in the eyes of the lord, and you have been chosen to become a mother of angels."

Her brow furrowed, as she attempted to grasp what she was being told. The angel didn't speak more after a few moments, and she hesitantly responded.

"A mother of... what does this mean? I don't understand."

"You will carry and birth angels for the lord. Your virtue will remain."

"You mean..." her hand absently touched her lower belly, slim and flat beneath her habit. "But... why does he need me?"

"Do not question the will of your creator. This is a holy task, one not to be taken lightly, nor for granted. Another, more pious woman will happily carry out this destiny, if not yourself."

"No, no! I..." Agatha never wanted children, and the idea of pregnancy had always horrified and even disgusted her. It was part of why she joined the convent. Of course, she was also devout, but never having to marry and be used as a broodmare had made it all the more appealing. Now it was her own god who wanted to use her for her womb. Her eyes closed tightly and she balled her hands into tight fists, thinking hard about her answer.

"I'll do it," she said breathlessly, her faith winning out.

"It is decided," said the voice, sounding eerily pleased. "Lay back and spread your legs. Accept his holy light."

Taking a deep breath, Agatha shakily did as she was told, laying prone on the hard, stone floor. Suddenly, she felt her skirts being lifted, and her undergarments pulled aside. "Oh!" she gasped as she felt as if her legs were being held, and something hard and warm was pushing inside of her. As it entered her, she began to see the angel mounting her. It looked like nothing she could ever imagine, and its divine beauty was so immense, she quite forgot that it was impregnating her.

There was no pain, despite how large the shaft pumping inside of her seemed to be. She gasped and moaned as the angel thrust into her, over and over again, pounding her virginal cunt. The pleasure was so much that she nearly took the lord's name in vain.

The angel gripped her thighs, holding them in its tight grip as it released a fluid inside of her. It was hot, and she could feel it shooting into her womb. Despite everything, she felt a pang of regret and dread, like she'd just made a very big mistake.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the angel was gone. Looking around, Agatha scrambled to her feet and fix her habit. Her hand absently touched her abdomen, and she couldn't help but wonder if anything that had just transpired was even real.

As the moments went by, she felt a warmth in the pit of her belly. It began to feel as if something was pressing out from the inside, like something was... growing, inside of her. She gently pressed her hand to the area, and as she touched it, she gasped, feeling it slowly push out.

It was morning, and she couldn't stay alone in her room all day. What would the other sisters think if they saw her with a swollen belly? Would they even believe her if she told them what happened? Or would she be shunned and excommunicated?

Breathing shallowly, she leaned her back against the door and slowly looked down at herself. Her breasts were sore, and her belly was feeling heavier by the second. It wasn't visible through her habit yet, but when she pressed and smoothed it down, she could see a small bump forming.

"Sister Agatha? It's time for morning prayer," a voice preceded by a knock at her door called, giving Agatha a start.

"Coming!" she answered, feeling her voice come out as tight and shrill. She straightened out her dress, making sure her belly wasn't visible, though she knew it couldn't be, at this size. With great apprehension, she opened the door, attempting to smile warmly at the sister standing there, but she felt it came off as forced and tense. However, if it was, it went unnoticed, and the sister turned to head towards the chapel. Agatha sighed quietly and followed, resisting the urge to feel her belly.

With each step, she felt as though her belly were growing. She hadn't expected it to grow so quickly. Frankly, she hadn't really grasped what she'd been agreeing to at all. It had all happened so fast. It still felt more like a dream than reality. Maybe it was, and she was imagining the swelling in her belly. Desperately, she hoped that to be true.

Quietly taking her place among the sisters, Agatha began her prayers, but her mind wandered. She could feel her belly growing, and her breath caught in her throat as she felt soft twitching from inside of her. A cold bead of sweat ran down her temple, and she tried her best to steady her breathing. It felt like she was completely breathless, as if she'd just run across the convent.

Minutes past, but they felt so much longer. After prayer was mass, and after mass was breakfast. Would her belly have grown so large by then that everyone would see it, its round, heavy girth jutting out from beneath her black habit, announcing to everyone that she was heavy and swollen with child?

Shuddering at the thought, she gasped softly, feeling her belly brush against her dress. Glancing around, no one seemed to be paying her any attention, but how much time did she have before she was so huge, it was impossible to look at anything else?

She prayed to end her pregnancy, to take it back. She knew it must be a sin to pray for something like that, but she couldn't do it. She never should have accepted this task, but it happened so quickly, and it didn't feel like she had much of a choice.

Still, she could feel her skin stretching as the young in her womb grew. Her chest felt tender and swollen, growing larger alongside her pregnant belly. The urge to touch and feel her burgeoning mass was becoming unbearable, but she couldn't draw attention to herself like that.

But hadn't the angel said she would carry angels? She had thought it meant that she would have to go through this multiple times, but what if it had meant that she was carrying more than one?

Agatha realized that she was sweating and breathing shakily and tried to steady herself. Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed that she could get back to her cell without anyone noticing her belly. She couldn't think of anything more humiliating than the entire convent staring at her big, swollen pregnant belly.

Suddenly, the other sisters were moving. Prayer had ended without Agatha noticing. She went with the group, trying to position herself so that no one could see her belly, which, when she looked down, was sticking out enough to be noticeable. As she walked, she slowly realized that she was walking oddly, trying to hunch over to hide the mass of her baby bump. It was difficult to walk this way, and her belly seemed to be weighing her down, too. Softly grunting, she bit her lip to try and stifle any more noise that may come out as she waddled along.

Almost out of no where, she felt a sharp kick from inside her belly, so startling that she couldn't stop herself from crying out and grabbing her belly. Every woman around her stopped in her tracks, all of them turning to stare at her, the sound of gasps and shocked exclamations filling the air as they saw Sister Agatha standing there, clutching at her big, obviously pregnant belly.

The murmurs didn't die down, but only increased, a few of the sisters crying out in fear as they saw that Agatha's belly was still growing.

"What is this...?! What's happened to you?!" one of the older sisters asked, coming to her side and holding her arm.

"A-an angel... visited me this morning," Agatha panted, unable to stop cradling her growing belly. Her belly button had popped out at some point, and was sticking out visibly under her habit.

"I-it said... it asked me to... if I would carry more angels... for the lord," she explained, feeling desperate, hoping she would be believed. At the very least, no one could think she had broken her vow of chastity and gotten herself pregnant the typical way, not with how she was growing so quickly.

The sisters looked dumbfounded, still shocked and horrified as they watched Agatha's belly swelling up before their eyes. She looked overdue, but the growth wasn't stopping.

"Let's get you lying down. Come," the sister at her side said, still holding her arm to help her down the hall. Agatha kept a hand near the bottom of her belly and waddled along, completely humiliated at the spectacle she'd become. She began breathing heavily just after a few steps, not used to the weight she was carrying inside of her, and it was only getting heavier.

As she waddled along, the sisters all followed, surrounding her and talking amongst themselves about her situation.

"She's huge!"

"Her belly is growing, look!"

"How many does she have in there?"

She already looked full term with twins, and needed to stop to rest. Leaning against another nun, Agatha groaned, rubbing her overburdened belly. She could feel little kicks from all over, and it slowly dawned on her that she was carrying multiples.

"Come, just a little further," one of the sisters to her side said, still holding her arm. Agatha moaned, slowly waddling along with her.

"She's getting really big..."

"Is she going into labor?"

There were no contractions, and her belly showed no signs of being done growing. She looked and felt so large, her heavy breasts bulging just on top of her full belly. Already, they had to stop for another rest, with Agatha looking heavy with a set of triplets. Desperately, she hoped the growth would finally stop, but she just kept swelling up, bigger and bigger, with each passing second. She couldn't help but cry out, watching herself becoming more and more gravid in front of everyone.

They kept on like this, with her heaving her massively pregnant belly along for several steps before having to stop to rest. It felt like an eternity, and her belly felt enormous. She was utterly huge, full to the brim with babies, and only getting larger. Her belly had the appearance of being full with five full term babies, making her cry out a little at the sight of herself.

"Almost there, come on, sister," the nun helping her along said, trying to encourage her to take a few more steps. The weight of her belly was becoming too much, and it was only getting heavier with each step she took.

As she waddled along slowly, she groaned, holding the sides of her active belly. Now, kicks could be seen from all over, her habit doing absolutely nothing to hide anything.

Quite suddenly, her belly began to grow even faster, making her cry out. The women around her did the same, shocked to see her swelling up so quickly. Her belly weighed her down, and Agatha felt her legs giving in just before she slid to the floor. Her back leaned against a wall and her legs had to be spread to make room for her swelling mommy belly.

Already unbelievably large, she was becoming impossibly huge. All she could see was her growing belly, and the rest of the sisters all surrounding and standing over her as she ballooned up.

The movement was so strong and frequent, it made her groan with how the babies kicked and pushed against her skin from the inside. As the litter inside of her grew to term, her belly cramped, painfully squeezing its inhabitants. "Oh...!" Agatha cried, shocked and pained by the feeling. Still she grew, and the pain kept coming back, stronger each time.

"Ohhh, please...! It hurts...!" she cried.

"She's going into labor!"

"She's going to give birth now!"

The commentary from the sisters around her furthered Agatha's humiliation. Why had god given her such a task? It felt more like a punishment.

Wailing as the most painful contraction yet seized her belly, a torrent of fluid gushed from between her spread legs.

"Her water's broken. She's going to need to push soon," one of the sisters said, hidden behind Agatha's incredibly swollen baby belly. Someone was lifting her skirt, uncovering the stretched mass of her overfull belly, exposing it to everyone. She could hear the sisters marveling at the size of her, staring as the babies inside kicked and squirmed beneath her stretched, brown skin.

Gasping, she felt fingers moving aside her undergarments and feeling inside of her. "It's time. Get ready to push, sister," the same sister from before said, her other hand on the wide expanse of Agatha's underbelly. "Now, Agatha. Push!"

On command, she pushed, shouting as she felt something round and heavy moving through her. It felt as though she were being pulled in half from the inside, the massive head of her first angel baby nearly splitting her.

As if she weren't uncomfortable enough, her breasts felt painfully full, as if they could burst at any moment. "Breathe, sister, breathe. You're going to have to push again in a moment. That's it. Alright, get ready, it's nearly time to push. Now, sister, push now!"

Agatha wailed as she bore down, feeling the head move just slightly down her canal. "That's it, keep pushing! Just like that. Push, push! It's coming!"

As she pushed, she suddenly felt a small release of pressure in her breasts, and something warm and wet spread over the front of her habit. Looking down, she gasped, seeing two dark spots forming, only barely visible on the black fabric. She was lactating.

"There's the head! Keep pushing, sister!"

It felt as though a gust of wind passed through at that moment, and Agatha felt a shift in the air, not unlike what happened when the angel visited earlier. Then, suddenly towering over her from just behind her belly was the angel. The other nuns began to panic, and as Agatha looked around, she gasped, seeing there were angels everywhere.

"Be not afraid," the one who visited her said, and the sisters began to quiet.

Agatha couldn't see everything that was happening, with her giant pregnant belly blocking most of her view, but to her side she could see one of the angels was kissing one of the sisters, and just past them, another angel and sister were doing the same.

Another contraction made Agatha scream and push, feeling the huge angel baby moving down her birth canal. Panting, she tried to look over her belly to see the sister who had been helping her deliver, but she was much too large to see anything. "What do I... - oh...! Ohhh, it's coming! I have to... have to push!" she whined as her body forced her to bear down.

Coming down for the brief reprieve between contractions, Agatha began to notice the sisters around her were moaning in pleasure. Struggling to see anything past her squirming belly, she saw to her right another sister being mounted by an angel. To her left, she saw more of the same, and by the sound of it, every woman in the convent must have been taken by an angel. All of them had leapt at the opportunity to fulfill a grand, divine purpose.

"Oh...! It hurts...! H-help me...! Don't... aahhahh...!" she moaned and shouted as she pushed, struggling to birth the first enormous baby of the litter planted in her belly.

Slowly coming into view from above, apparently standing over her from between her legs, was the angel responsible for her current condition. "Breathe, Sister Agatha. Let them come. Accept the pain; it is a worthwhile sacrifice." It knelt between her legs, just in front of her incredibly swollen belly. Its height was so impressive, that she could still see its glorious face gazing down upon her, wearing an expression she found difficult to identify. Perhaps a mix of pride and satisfaction. No, it couldn't be pride, but she struggled to think of a better word, and her thoughts were quickly interrupted by the unbearable urge to push.

"Push, Sister. You've made the perfect broodmare. So heavy with my children."

Agatha wailed and pushed, feeling the head slowly bulge her cunt. Had it called her a broodmare? The sound of it turned her stomach. This wasn't what she wanted to be. This wasn't how she wanted to serve god. Something about it felt terribly, terribly wrong.

The moans surrounding her were coming to a crescendo, and suddenly, the progenitor of the many babies kicking around inside of her was at her side, squeezing her huge, swollen tit.

"Oh!" she moaned as milk sprayed out, further dampening her dress. The angel took a single clawed finger and hooked it on the center of her hem, gently tugging and forming a tear between her breasts. She gasped, seeing her now more than ample cleavage exposed. It pulled the fabric aside, revealing both huge mommy milkers, with big, darkened nipples, completely transformed into the perfect nursing tits for feeding her babies. "Mm," she heard it murmur just before latching tightly and suckling.

"S-... ohh..." she tried to protest, but the unbearable pressure in her teat began to subside as she fed the creature that impregnated her so thoroughly. Gritting her teeth, she groaned and held her active belly as her babies kicked, struggling against the contraction squeezing and compressing them inside the already tight space of her overcrowded womb.

She pushed with everything she had, feeling a horrible burn in her pussy as the head stretched her wider and wider as it began to finally crown. However, the moment she stopped pushing, she felt the head receding back into her. "No...! G-get out...!" she groaned.

As she attempted to catch her breath, Agatha heard gasps and moans from the nuns around her. Craning her head for another look, she saw one of them seated on the hard floor holding her hands to a small belly that she hadn't had just minutes ago. On her other side, Agatha saw another with a similar little bump. They were all pregnant.

Another angel came to her side, wordlessly laying next to her as it held her leaking breast in its large hand. It squeezed, and milk squirted high into the air as Agatha moaned. The angel grinned, taking her tit into its mouth and gulping down her plentiful milk. In the midst of this, her belly contracted, forcing her to push. The entire scene felt like some kind of sordid fever dream, with two angels ravenously breastfeeding from her heavily engorged mommy milkers that she hadn't had this morning, while she vainly struggled to deliver the first massive child of the huge litter she was suddenly stuck carrying.

The angels had their hands on her heavy belly, feeling where the babies kicked and rolled around inside of her. She felt so huge, like a massive cow, used just for breeding and milking.

Pushing with all of her might, the head again stretched her painfully wide, its mass bulging out of her obscenely. One of the angels rubbed the wide swell of her underbelly, while its other hand held her breast and pumped more milk into its mouth.

"Keep pushing, Sister. Don't stop! It's crowning now, push hard! The head is nearly out!" The sister that was helping her before suddenly seemed to be back. Agatha couldn't see her, but she was certain she must have been accepting the gift from the angels into her womb. She did as she was told, screaming through grit teeth as she pushed as hard as she could for as long as she could stand to.

The other sisters seemed to be observing the birth again, only now they all had hands on their own growing bellies. Still, it felt humiliating having them all stand over her, with her enormous pregnant belly, swollen with big, active babies, bare and exposed, and her legs spread with a huge baby's head stretching her pussy wide. Worse still, some of the sisters were touching and feeling her big belly now, talking amongst themselves about it.

"What a big belly!"

"They're kicking so much. Feel there."

"She's just so pregnant. Will we all get that huge?"

The moment she had stopped pushing, her progress was once again erased. "It's too big!" she whined, frantically rubbing the sides of her impossibly distended belly, futilely attempting to ease her discomfort.

"It's alright, Sister. The lord never gives us more than we can handle. Breathe and rest for a moment. I want you to push hard, and for as long as you can when you feel the next contraction. Alright, get ready. Now, push now! Long hard push for me, Sister! That's it, keep pushing!"

Agatha wailed as she pushed, and pushed, and pushed. Even when she began to feel as though she couldn't stand it any longer, she kept pushing, feeling as though the massive head coming out of her would split her in half.

"Yes, keep going! It's coming now! Push, Agatha, push!"

"I'm puuushiiiing...!" Agatha screamed as the head finally burst free from her stretched cunt with a huge splash of amniotic fluids. Gasping and panting, she tried to catch her breath as she felt the child turning in her canal.

The amount of sensation overwhelmed her senses - the angels aggressively suckling from her massive teats, the sisters all feeling her overactive mommy belly, the painful contractions, and the enormous baby stretching her nethers impossible wide.

The sisters around her were gasping and moaning softly, and as she looked, she saw they had swelled up considerably, sporting what looked like nearly full term bellies. However, if her own body was anything to judge by, they all still had quite a bit of growing to do.

"Good, Agatha! The head is out. It looks... it's..." the sister delivering her babies trailed off as she got a good look at the baby sticking out of her.

"What? What is it- ohhh...!" she yelped, her laboring body compelling her to push again, the wide set shoulders of her inhuman offspring swelling out of her stretched pussy.

There was a murmur growing around her as the other nuns gathered to stare at her half-birthed baby. Some of the women gasped and shrieked at the sight of it, making Agatha's blood run cold. What exactly was she giving birth to? Her suspicions from earlier mounted, and her forehead beaded with sweat from the ordeal of giving birth and the fear of what exactly was growing inside of her.

"Just... keep pushing, Sister," her voluntary midwife said, her voice obviously shaken. Some of the other women seemed to be panicking, holding their swelling bellies in terror, frantically searching in vain for a way to stop the growth.

"What, what is it?! What's coming out of meee...?!" Agatha screamed as she pushed, monstrous shoulders splashing out of her, followed directly by the arms. The scene around her was becoming increasingly chaotic as nuns waddled hurriedly, as if trying to escape their own growing bellies, and others prayed desperately, begging forgiveness.

The "angels" nursing from her looked into her eyes with smug satisfaction, pumping her big motherly tits for more milk. The fear that had been lurking in the back of her mind since this the beginning was setting in in earnest, and she began to shriek in terror and pain as she pushed, finally expelling the first infant from her womb. In a few seconds, it was wailing, sounding almost just like a typical human baby, but something was off, something that she couldn't identify.

Some of the sisters were seated on the floor now, their bellies huge and cumbersome and growing bigger still, their legs splayed and hands pressed to the swollen sides of their distended middles, crying out in fear. Agatha still hadn't seen her baby, the thing that had triggered this shift. Could it look so different from its father? The "angels", or whatever they were, were terrifying, just like it was said in the scripture. What could be so much worse that it incited such horror? What had she given birth to?

[renae-the-turtle]

Art for my fanfic, Charmy and the Dad Talk; I did the drawing and line art, and @alcadanon did the colours using alcohol markers!

Link to the fic here:

[camsthisky]

okay, 24 with any of the brothers, leo , and draxum please? your writing style is great! but no pressure <3

24. "Help them! Please!"

ao3

Leo is not Baron Draxum’s biggest fan. In fact, if Draxum was involved in any normal situation, Leo would make sure he was at least an entire borough away from the yokai who’d dropped him off of a roof. Preferably an entire city away, if possible.

As it is, this is not a normal situation.

Leo has Mikey cradled in one arm, his other wrapped around Donnie, only keeping his twin standing by his grip on the lip of the battleshell. He’s so beyond stressed right now that when Draxum answers his frantic kicks to the front door, Leo can’t help but blurt out, “Help them. Please.”

To his credit, Draxum is only taken aback for a second—a second far too long in Leo’s opinion, but he knows he probably wouldn’t begrudge anyone else that second of bafflement, and he forces his habitual aggression to the side in favor of focusing on the reason for showing up on the guy’s doorstep.

Mikey’s breath is labored where he curls himself under Leo’s chin, arms slack around Leo’s neck. Donnie is dazed, hardly holding himself up. Leo doesn’t have a free hand and none of their gear is working and it’s all Leo can do not to panic as Draxum recovers from his second-too-long bout of shock and ushers Leo into the apartment. 

Leo drags Donnie over to the couch, lightly pushing his twin onto the couch, where he slumps over onto his side with a groan. Leo’s never been more grateful to hear his brother make a noise. He promises after this he’ll never try to run away from Donatello on a hyperfixation lecture warpath. At least for the next month, or two.

“What happened?” Draxum demands, crouching down next to the couch by Donnie’s head.

Leo grits his teeth, carefully setting his youngest brother onto the orange bean bag chair in the corner of the room, proof that Mikey will always be the kindest of them by miles. The way Mikey’s weight sinks into the bag keeps him sitting somewhat upright. Easier on his shell than laying flat. Not very supportive. It’ll have to do.

“Something—I don’t know—triggered Mikey?” Leo says, undwinding tape to wrap his fingers around his baby brother’s wrist. The scars on his arms are faint now, and Leo avoids them with practiced ease. It’s been over six months since they’d even really been a problem he’d needed to work around.

“Triggered?” Draxum asks, sounding more baffled by the second. Leo’s irritation rises a degree. “Michelangelo did this?”

“Yes? No?” Leo hedges. “I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly right at the center of it, otherwise I’d probably be down for the count, too.”

“Did you see anything?”

“A flash of light. I felt something weird, like static electricity, maybe? Donnie yelled and I ran over in time to watch them both pass out.”

Draxum’s brow furrows. He’s inspecting Donnie, who seems awake enough to realize that Draxum is in front of him. Leo’s purple-banded brother bares his teeth and growls, “If you touch me, I will throw you off the roof.”

“Relax, Don-tron,” Leo says, trying his hardest to inject at least a bit of levity in his voice, even though he knows he fails immensely, too distracted by the way Mikey still isn’t waking up. But it’s the only way Donnie won’t try to fight Draxum, and as much as Leo hates it, Draxum is a genius when it comes to mysticism and the like. They need him.

He also tries to pretend that Donnie’s grudge against Draxum for dropping Leo doesn’t make his heart warm. Not a great time to be sappy, but it’s a stark reminder that no matter what, Don’ll always be on Team Leo against anybody who tries to hurt him.

Still, now isn’t really the time.

Mikey’s pulse is racing underneath Leo’s fingers, but despite his third check in fifteen minutes—once the moment he’d gotten to both Donnie and Leo, barely saving Donnie from spilling to the ground and regrettably missing his baby brother by inches; once halfway to Draxum’s when Donnie woke up dazed and confused and Mikey didn’t—there doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him. Mikey, for all intents and purposes, should have a clean bill of health.

“How’d we end up here?” Don grumbles, even as he hesitantly lets Draxum check him over, probably taking Leo’s failed attempt at lightening the mood as a cue to cooperate. “Thought we were getting pizza.”

“That was before Mikey decided he was gonna throw a mystic rave, invite only. Congrats on being the only one to make the guest list, Don.”

“You’ll be fine,” Draxum says, interrupting Donnie before he can snap back at Leo. 

(So Leo is stressed. Humor is how he copes. Riling up Donnie is a good distraction from the fear Leo is desperately trying to sidestep at the moment. Sue him.)

“You’re not a doctor,” Donnie tells Draxum matter-of-factly.

“I’m the leading expert in the mystic arts,” Draxum tells him, frowning in a put out way that has Leo wanting to snicker. He would if his baby brother’s pulse wasn’t still pounding away under his skin like his heart is trying to escape his body. “I think I would know if you were affected by your brother’s backlash. The symptoms are temporary. Just a minor shock.”

“Hate to see what a major shock would be,” Leo says under his breath, and then louder, “If Donnie’s fine, can you get over here and help me?”

Draxum stands and crosses over to the bean bag chair. From the corner of his eye, Leo sees Donnie gingerly sit up, tapping at his bracer. Tough luck on that one, bro. Mikey’s rave had wiped out all of their tech and then some.

Draxum settles on Mikey’s other side. He draws a symbol in the air, hands glowing dimly with power as he lays a hand on Mikey’s head. Leo keeps his grip on Mikey’s wrist and watches. 

The next minute is one of the longest in Leo’s whole damn life. Leo counts Mikey’s heartbeats, and Donnie finally moves over to sit next to him when he hits eighty-three. 

The glow fades from Draxum’s hands, and Leo leans forward. 

Draxum runs a hand over his face and sighs. Leo’s practically nonexistent patience snaps.

“Well?!” he demands, only relenting at the soft nudge Donnie sends his way. Donnie’s probably still orienting himself, and still he’s reigning Leo in. So much for Team Leo. Although, both Leo and Donnie have come to an understanding that when it comes to teams, Mikey’s takes precedence over any of theirs.

Mikey will never have to go without his big brothers’ support. Perks of being the babiest brother.

Draxum sighs. “I’m not exactly sure what he was trying to do, but it looks like he’s just exhausted himself. He’s running on empty and most likely strained his body, but it seems like nothing rest can’t fix.”

Leo sags forward, burying his face in the bean bag, a muffled, “Oh thank the pizza supreme in the sky,” making its way out his mouth involuntarily. 

All of the adrenaline leaves Leo in a rush, and after a few quiet moments of regathering the broken pieces of his facade, he shifts just enough that he can see Draxum. 

“Thanks,” he says, quietly, not quite ready to start putting the mask back up. “For, ya know, being here.”

Draxum nods, looking as awkward as Leo feels. “We’re not on the best of terms, but I would never turn you away if you’re in need of help.”

“I know,” Leo says, both grateful and resentful of how true the statement rings. “That’s why I came.”

[grasslandgirl]

SUBSTRATE

[Fig/Gorgug. modern/no magic restaurant au. 27k. tw for discussions of alcohol/drug abuse, sobriety, and recovery]

SUBSTRATE (n) 1. an underlying substance or layer. 2. the surface or material on or from which an organism lives, grows, or obtains its nourishment. 3. the material on which a process is conducted. --- “Do you miss it?” Gorgug asks. Ice leaks into Fig’s stomach. “Miss what?” Drinking? Drugs? The burn of tequila down the back of her throat? The smoky-sweet haze settling under her skin until she feels liquid and calm? The buzz at the back of her head, but one she can control; one she can ride out like a surfer on a ten foot wave? Feeling human and likable and electric and real? Yeah. She misses it. “Performing,” Gorgug clarifies. --- or; gorgug, fig, and sobriety

as always, all my love to darling carnation boy and fellow figgorgug warrior jamie @gilears without whom this wouldn't exist <33 also so much love to my bestie @uwusillygirl for also agreeing to help beta and edit this so it's fucking legible !!! this fic is very personal and full of a lot of projection, but also deals heavily with discussions of sobriety and alcoholism/addiction, so please heed the tags, warnings, and author's notes appropriately and keep yourself safe <333

happy junior year!!

YOU CAN READ IT HERE ON AO3

[fairyniceyeah]

⏳🐿️ Spelling Colour with a "U"

Title from Playing with Paint (Mayfly Rap Unit)

Summary: Hongjoong struggles with differentiating between being ATEEZ strong captain and just being human. The Mayfly rap-unit and his members help him find balance again - especially as his food intolerances get in the way.

CW: emeto, insecurity

Whumpee/Sickie: Hongjoong

Caretaker: Minhyuk (BtoB) + Bang Chan (SKZ) + Changbin (SKZ) + HAN (SKZ) + Seonghwa

Whumpees: Yunho + San + Jongho

Caretaker: Hongjoong + Seonghwa

tumblr won't let me post the chapters here for some reason - until I can fix it, please be content with the ao3 link!

Spelling Colour with a "U" - ao3

[naffeclipse]

Chapter 3: Pink Water

FNAF Detective!Sun & Detective!Moon & Bounty Hunter!Eclipse x Vigilante!Reader (SFW)

Splotches of cardinal red stain the white porcelain sink, dripping from his fingertips. Eclipse turns the cold bridge faucet and the water runs, stained pink as it swirls with your blood before washing away. Gone. He slides his long, dark fingers under the cold water, sensors sparking as he cleans out the coagulated bits from between the joints of his knuckles.

Word Count: 1,800~ Warnings: Blood, injury, and obsessive behavior.

A/N: Sun and Eclipse have one-on-one time, and you're there, unconscious during it all. Sun wants to make something very clear. Eclipse cleans up, somewhat.

[caspira-writes-fanfiction]

Moonlit Confessions

(ao3 link in title)

Blitzø visits Stolas in the hospital, but only when he thinks Stolas doesn't know.

The room was warm despite the evident starlight coming through the draped windows that usually signaled that Stolas should be chilly. He’d been in and out of sleep for the past several days, waking only long enough to eat if prompted or make a few observations about his surroundings. He had been able to relatively consistently remember that daylight=warm. Moonlight=cold, but if asked what day it was or even where he was, Stolas would likely be unable to answer without help. He wasn’t even sure he could answer if asked, he hadn’t spoken aloud in ages.

The magic he had used during the full moon had exhausted him of all his energy. He didn’t fight the sleep when it came, he knew his role right now was to rest: it was the only way he would heal. He also hadn’t tried to fight himself into wakefulness too often. Usually he awoke only to reposition himself or fix the arrangement of his blankets. This time as he awoke, however, Stolas found that he had a much more difficult time moving. There was something in his arms.

With just one eye squinting itself open, only able to see a blur of red with black and white stripes, Stolas reasoned that he was clutching to Impy, his unfortunately named beloved childhood stuffed doll. He still had the doll tucked away with his other possessions. He came out of storage on rare occasions when Stolas needed extra comfort, such as periods of illness. Curious, he thought. Nobody had come to bring him anything, he hadn’t remembered Impy being among his possessions while in hospital. It was with a movement of his good hand up to the imp’s head that he realized he was touching flesh and not fabric. Two more of the prince’s eyes blink open. With increased cognizance, Stolas realized that he could feel the rise and fall of the other’s chest as he breathed. When his eyes adjusted, he recognized the brand mark from the imp circus, tucked carefully under the Goetia’s chin. Blitzy was here.

It almost felt like a dream and Stolas was happy to convince himself of that, but the smell of booze that became apparent as Stolas became more awake settled him into reality. A disorienting reality, one he didn’t entirely know how to make sense of, but one that Stolas couldn’t help but take comfort from in this moment. Blitzy was here, all of the other details were negligible.

Stolas was warm, he realized, because Blitz had pulled the blanket up over them when he’d snuck into bed. He was having trouble moving because Blitz’s tail was wrapped around the two of them twice over. His face was buried in Stolas’s chest feathers and his arms were wrapped under Stolas’s, clutching to his back. While Stolas woke thinking he was holding onto something, he now realized that he was the object that was being held onto. Stolas tried to move, only slightly, but was stopped when he heard Blitz shift protectively and grumble in his sleep.

“No” It wasn’t an angry or upset no. It was quiet, a bit playful, concerned. “Shh, no jus’….no. Don’ move.”

Blitz was still very much asleep. Stolas found the concern that Blitz showed in his unconscious state endearing. He could feel his heart swell, there was no doubt he was blushing. Blitzy cared for him, even if it was just a quiet shushing in his sleep. How could Stolas do anything but oblige?

“Alright.” Stolas’s voice was no more than a whisper. His good hand rested atop Blitz’s head, scratching gently between his horns. He pressed his lips to the other’s forehead and kept them there in a prolonged, tender kiss. Stolas found it quite easy to drift back into sleep with Blitz tangled up in his arms.

Stolas awoke again hours later when the sun was starting to rise. Blitz was trying to sneak out of bed, and doing so rather successfully until he fell out of it. Stolas was still rather disoriented, he decided to stay laying still. He could hear Bliz standing up, he could hear him grumble and brush himself off, then silence for several moments.

“You’re still fucking sleeping” Blitzø’s voice was quiet, and just slightly fuzzy around the edges. Stolas wondered how much Blitz drank before breaking in here to still be inebriated in the morning. He wondered how much time had actually passed.

Blitz stumbled, he sighed. “You should’ve woken up to that. Or this. You should be awake right now going ~Oh Blitzy~ with your big stupid fucking eyes. You’re not supposed to….You shouldn’t...You’re not…” His voice almost cracked, but he stopped and swallowed before allowing that to happen. It was a few moments before he spoke again. “I didn’t know you could get hurt.”

Blitzø didn’t outright apologize, but Stolas understood what he was trying to say. The air hung heavy in the room, the silence clinging to both of them uncomfortably. Blitz’s breath hitched and Stolas could feel all of the air from his lungs leave as his chest crushed in on itself. Blitzy was crying. This was exactly the moment that Stolas wanted to reach out and pull Blitzø back into his arms and hold him, but he knew this was exactly the sort of moment Blitz would never let anyone else see. He knew Blitz would run the moment Stolas showed him affection. Stolas stayed as still as he could, he remembered his breathing, he remained “sleeping” while Blitz regained his composure.

“You look like shit, Birdie.” Blitz sniffed, Stolas imagined he was wiping away tears before they fell. Blitzy never let anyone see him show such vulnerability. Stolas wanted to believe that these emotions were fueled by more than whatever Blitz had taken before coming here. Stolas felt the blanket over him move. Careful hands pulled the blanket back up around him and tucked him in. “You can’t fucking die, okay? That’s an order.” Stolas could feel something hover over his face. He couldn’t tell if it was Blitzø’s hand or his lips. He never learned, nothing ever made contact.

Blitz’s boots click towards the exit. “If you do I’ll….I’ll kill you again.” Three more clicks. “Fuck!” His voice is a whisper, the boots clicked on down the hall. Stolas didn’t hear any more from Blitz.

Stolas didn’t sleep very well the rest of the day. His chest ached in a way he didn’t know how to categorize. He stayed tearful, he couldn’t decide if his tears were happy or sad. Both, he supposed. More of one than the other at times. Stolas had never been more conflicted in his life. How had he gotten here? He knew the answer, it was a reality of his own making, but that didn’t make it any less confusing.

He may not know how things would play out between him and Blitzø, but knew one thing: he was going to stay alive. He had to, Blitz had asked him to.

[cyraclove]

sunshine, blue eyes [Rated M]

Eddie unexpectedly comes to Chrissy’s rescue when Jason and his friends decide to pull a mean prank on her at the pool.

dirty work [Rated E]

A middle-aged Chrissy and Eddie make good use of their empty house while their teenaged children are gone. Chrissy takes advantage of Eddie being handy around the house.

scratching at the outlines of you [Rated E]

A direct sequel to mixing drinks and messages. Eddie and Chrissy navigate their new situationship turned relationship. Chrissy runs into a familiar face at Eddie’s bar.

still awake, playing chase with the sunrise [Rated T]

The Party hunkers down at Eddie's trailer to map out their battle plan. Max witnesses Eddie and Chrissy share a moment in the kitchen while everyone else is asleep.

the feeling in it [Rated E]

Eddie and Chrissy are in their 40s, watching their two teenagers go to prom and wondering where the time went.

lick the fuzz right off the peach [Rated E]

Chrissy asks Eddie about a certain activity they've yet to try. His head explodes.

mixing drinks and messages [Rated E]

At Robin and Nancy's suggestion, Chrissy tries her hand at Tinder after dumping Jason for the sole purpose of having a one night stand. When her date stands her up, the Chicago Transit Authority takes fate into its own hands.

honeycomb [Rated E]

Chrissy stumbles upon Eddie and another classmate alone in the woods. She knows she shouldn't, but she can't help but stay and watch.

and all my ghosts are with me [Rated M]

Chrissy copes with her grief after Eddie sacrifices himself to help The Party defeat Vecna. El and Max show up on the day of his funeral with news that no one can believe.

wishing, wanting, yours for the taking [Rated E]

After following doctor's orders for six weeks, Chrissy starts getting antsy about getting back into bed with Eddie after having their first baby. An unexpected change sparks something new for the both of them.

small hours [Rated E]

Eddie never thought that he could be a morning person until moving in with Chrissy. There's just something magical about Chrissy in the morning...

dénouement [Rated E, In-Progress]

It’s 1998 and Chrissy is starting her second year as a professor at Indiana State University. An unexpected connection with a new transfer student taking her Eroticism in Literary Fiction class throws her for a loop.

my little bit of something blue [Rated E, Complete]

Chrissy and Eddie reconnect after graduating from high school when asked to be members of Jonathan and Nancy's wedding party.

angels in the architecture [Rated E, Complete]

Since falling in love in high school, Chrissy and Eddie’s paths have diverged and they’ve been living very separate lives. Ten years later, they meet again by chance at a Christmas party thrown by a notable Chicago socialite, the choices that they’ve made coming along with them.

the light, the heat [Rated E, Complete]

What might have happened if Chrissy had lived and the Hawkins crew had to drive to Nevada to find El. One getaway motel mix-up later, Chrissy and Eddie come face to face with the feelings they've been trying to ignore.

[sygneth]

By the way, I've put this lil Holmes and Trevor series on AO3 in case anyone wants to bookmark it or prefers to read comics in there :)) Let Me Stay With You Tonight by Sygneth