#not like this is gonna be an entire sprawling fic but still. i want there to be some sort of conistency

[donghuamuqing]

I need to work on my aot au i havent written in EONS

[screampied]

Pls write a Toji fic where at any point he says he fucking loves your pussy 😞 Toji’s dirty talk is just different

toji being obsessed with your pussy ★

cw. fem! reader, brief p in v, degradation, spıt, ōral (f! receiving), overstim, hair pulling, mdni.

it was no secret— toji fushiguro was a nasty man,

the nastiest. especially whenever it came to being propped up between your legs. whether it’s giving you ruthless thrusts to where your toes are all curled up and numb, or . . he’s shoved face first right between your plush thighs. it was hard to differentiate whether his slick mouth or his dick in general was the nastiest of the two. currently, he’d have you sprawled out on the bed. your ankles instinctively lock against his slim waist as he’s pounding into you again and again. “shit, ‘m gonna fill you up again, baby,” he’d groan, grabbing ahold of one of your legs. it dangles as you’re just being fucked stupid. the most doltish expression marinated against your face before he brings your ankle up to his mouth to give it a teasing kiss. “mhm, always know how to take me everytime. wet girl, ‘s fuckin’ sloppy just for me.”

“t- tojiiii,” you’d whine out in pathetic babbles.

due to his thick size and even thicker girth, the stomach seizing that churns all throughout your lower abdomen comes so easily that you’re panting.

hot, parching breaths of airy air aerates out of your sheeny parted lips before he’s balls deep. you’re clenching down onto him tight, gripping him with all your might like a vice and he sucks his teeth from the addictive rapture. leafy, cunning eyes of his stare into you and a hand of his gingerly wraps around your throat. “fuck, f-fuuuck. inside, ‘toj. i can’t take it.”

“course ya can,” he snickers, grinding his beefy body against yours before he sneaks a kiss against your trembling lips. the strong taste of alcohol resides on his tongue and you moan before he precipitously pulls away. “hold onto my arms, sweet girl. ‘s gonna get a bit messy, heh.”

as he continues to mercilessly drill into you—he lets off a four second groan. it’s so low that you can hear the baritone growl from underneath it. it’s sexy. you stare up at him with glossy eyes, the way he elongates the single syllable in such a gruff tone.

it makes you throb, toji’s head throws itself back as he’s starting to flood your womb with such goopy amounts of his cum. it trickles into you in ropes, satiny rich ropes that leave you feeling entirely fulfilled.

fulfilled in a filthy way though,

“. . goddamn,” he huffs as his chest steadily raises in and out. your shaky legs still envelop around his slim waist as he’s pumping you full of cock. the vicious wet squelches that came out of your own cunt was so lewd, he never wants the noise to stop. “such a messy girl. mhmm,” and he slowly pulls his pulsating dick out. gradually, he’s purposely taking his time and smirking at your little irritated whimper. devastatingly enough, your gaping entrance now feels completely empty once he’s not inside of you anymore. all you feel was the freshly soaked viscous wads of seed shoved all inside of your walls. still gushing, he leans down and brings his face right up against your legs. “mine.” he purrs, poking out a single thumb to spread your puffed, swollen lips open. toji happily gawks at the mess he created, you’re still trying to catch your own breath as you’re slumped back against the cushioned bed frame.

it’s so sticky—he flicks his tongue near the right side of his mouth. it swipes against his inclined scar and you can hear his breathy chortle right between your legs.

you knew what that meant,

he wanted more, he was still hungry and he was gonna clean you right up—after all, toji didn’t like putting things to waste. especially if that ‘thing’ was nothing more than his precious cum.

“f- fuck, toji,” you moan, your hips wriggling a bit as he pries your legs apart from each other. as he moves you a bit, you wreathe from his weight thwacking against you. with the way his cum droops out of your fluttering entrance.

oh, it was such a sight to see.

a fat thumb of his goads toward your dampened, oozing slit before he gives your sloppy pussy a single kiss. toji doesn’t even flinch at the taste of himself now starting to go against his tongue.

it’s bitter anyway—barely with a taste to it but with a concoction of your sweet arousal, it tasted appetizing,

you tasted appetizing.

“you’re s-so nasty.” you puff, tugging ahold of his ravened strands. he’s always loved whenever you did that. as he’s still swaying his hips against you, you take it upon yourself to comb a few curling fingers into his rumpled hair. toji simpers, showing you nothing but a sly, hungry gaze. “t- toji, mhm.”

“yeah, girl. duh, nasty just for you though,” he whispers against your pussy. his breath was warm, feverish even. with each movement he moves closer, lolling out his tongue to get a good enough taste, you’re throbbing right in his mouth. your back naturally arches and he hums, slurping in your syrupy fervor. “fuckin’ love this pussy, ‘s sweet. sweet ‘n sloppy. listen to how she tries to give me little back talk, baby.”

and you grow mute—feeling him purse his lips, moving away to only then bring a big hand towards your slick opening. as you’re convulsing time and time again, he slithers two thickset fingers inside of your entrance and you whine. another hand of his starts to give your cunt a few rude spanks. you jolt back, moaning with your exposed breasts harmonizing with your unsteady movements. “ooh,” he snarls, hearing the slosh. it’s so wet, a few spurts of your juices even lands directly underneath his chin. he licks it with his tongue before giving it another spank, and another, and another.

swatting a palm repeatedly against your pussy, you’re continuing to drag and scrape his face closer between your thighs. “like that, huh. fuckin’ messy girl,” and he spanks it again before blowing against it. “my messy girl. my messy pussy.”

and toji starts to make out with your cunt. literally french kisses against it with tongue—his lengthy dark lashes close shut before he latches his lips against your swollen walls, feeling your body twitch in response. “heh,” he exhales deeply before departing his spit-coated lips away. his scar tickling against your entrance and another whine dies out of your throat. “keep this up ‘n ‘m gonna propose to this sloppy cunt, right princess?”

and he’s not even talking to you anymore, nor is he looking at you—he’s talking to your pussy, as if it, could reply.

“exactly,” he jibes, gifting you a final mean spank against your folds before flipping you over. you gasp once he pulls your hips against him. a hand of his squeezes a fat chunk of your ass before he spanks it. the recoil of your ass makes him groan. “mhm, not done though. gimme that arch again baby, bend against me. gonna take my time with you, messy girl.”

[mariasont]

hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!

Some Profiler You Are - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual

wc: 2k

"Do you want to sit down?"

No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.

You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.

Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.

You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.

You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.

"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.

You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.

Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.

What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.

The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.

"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.

He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."

"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.

Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.

"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.

"Point in case."

"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.

He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.

This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.

Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.

"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."

You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.

The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Shit."

You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.

Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly  underestimated.

You're never going on a date again.

I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?

But there are a couple factors to consider.

Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.

Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.

And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked. 

Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.

You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.

"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.

You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.

"Fuck, Hotch."

You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut. 

His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"

He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.

"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet. 

He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.

"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.

He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."

"Definitely."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”

You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.

He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.

Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.

"How's it feel?"

You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.

"I couldn't sleep for three days."

"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.

"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."

You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."

"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."

"Why?"

"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"

Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.

Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.

"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."

He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."

The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.

"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."

"Hotch, I..."

He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.

"Say something."

"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"

He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"

But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."

You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[chronicdisasterwrites]

alcohol isn’t for the weak gojo satoru

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru, shoko ieiri

genre + warnings: -underage alcohol consumption, a lot of swearing, reader slaps gojo around, pining, overall FLUFF!

word count: 3,380 (i was gonna write more but i’m lazy)

authors note: So this is the sequel of my fic “gotta keep these kids on leashes”. The dynamic quartet is back and up to no good yet again :3 There will for sure be a continuation and it just might end up being a series going through their lives. Also, this takes place before Riko and Toji, so basically their teenage days when everything was good and dandy :’)

enjoy this chaos <3

“You absolute, fucking lightweight.”

With tired bones, eyes, soul and mind, Geto’s glare remains steadily fixed on the drunken mess sprawled on the ground before him. Gojo Satoru was a complex human being. The strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the world; the first person in 400 years to possess both Limitless and the Six Eyes, his strength knew no bounds - except when it came to alcohol.

“Suuuguruuu~” Gojo slurred along with several incoherent words mushed in between giggles.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Geto leaned his head against his ajar door and shut his eyes, thinking of all the incredibly painful ways by which he could murder and then dispose of his best friend’s wasted body. His anger wasn’t uncalled for, of course. It was a long day for Geto and all he wanted to do after spending an entire day killing one particularly difficult curse followed by a couple extra (albeit easier to defeat) surprise curses was take a nice long shower, go into his dorm and sleep like a corpse. He had a feeling it was too good to be true when he didn’t get 30 calls from Gojo by the time the sun had set and he had stepped into campus. He was even more surprised when he got out of the shower and came back to 0 notifications from the “pain in everyone’s ass” sorcerer. Gojo always knew when Geto had missions, and more so he would always know when Geto would be gone for the entire day. On days such as this one, he would usually go and bother literally anyone else he could find around him; when desperate, Yaga, but that would never end well for him, so that would only be reserved for very special occasions.

“Satoru, just why…” Geto sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and wondering what he did to deserve this torture.

“I had soooo much fun t’dayyy,” Gojo slurs and laughs much too loudly considering the time.

“Les go out, the night is youuung like you and me and Mochi and Shoko- but…” He pauses, sits up then looks directly at Geto, suddenly serious. Geto squints, expecting something stupid as per usual.

“...Not like…” Cracks appear on his half-assed poker face and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as his lips twitch. “Not like…Yaga AHHAAHA-”

Laughter explodes from his chest as he falls back on the ground, rolling around clutching his stomach as if he just cracked the world’s funniest joke. Geto on the other hand, was not phased. In fact, he was preparing to be violent. Inhaling and then exhaling deeply, Geto stood straighter, thinking of ways he could make this night go his way. A few weeks prior to this moment in the present, Gojo along with his posse played an almost funny practical joke on Geto, which ended up costing him a date with a girl and 10 of his brain cells. Since then, Geto had been pondering day and night on exactly what he could do to get Gojo back. There were a few weaknesses the strongest sorcerer had which Geto knew of. One being, his obvious lack of alcohol tolerance, and two being his stupidly obvious crush on you. (not Shoko, although he definitely finds her hot).

Geto knows all about Gojo’s embarrassing feelings for you but he still has no solid evidence on whether the feelings are reciprocated or not.

Suddenly, his train of thought comes to a stop as his eyes glint with mischief. He grabs Gojo’s arm and starts to drag him along the hallway. Gojo doesn't even bother standing up to walk. Instead he lets his best friend drag him like a sack of potatoes, with no care in the world as to where he might be taking him.

“What the heck?! Suguru?! Where are we goin-”

They stop and Geto aggressively knocks on a door. Freshly painted, different from the rest. Immediately, he drops Gojo’s arm and sprints back to his dorm before Gojo’s little brain could even begin to process what had happened.

“Satoru…what the fuck?”

You rub your eyes and glare at the drunken mess sprawled before your dorm door and rub your eyes again, hoping he’d disappear the next time you look. He doesn’t. And you actually hear a mechanical click in your brain when the idiot starts grinning as if it wasn’t 3am and he didn’t just ruin your perfect slumber. Yet again.

“Mochi!!! You’re here! I missed yo- HEY! OUCH! WHY- STOP HITTIN ME-”

“I SHOULD KILL YOU-” slap

“IDIOT,” slap

“WHY CAN’T YOU EVER LET ME SLEEP IN PEACE?!” slap

You wanted to throttle him. But you figured 3 slaps were enough for now. You honestly felt kind of bad seeing him curled up in a ball on the floor and you worried whether you went too far or not.

“I’m sorry… I just missed you s’all,” His voice was soft, gentle even, and that made you feel even worse. Your shoulders slump and your head drops as an exasperated sigh escapes your mouth.

Why is he like this?

You crouch next to his curled up form and stare at his disheveled silver hair. He doesn’t look at you, in fact his eyes remain closed. His hands cover his ears and he literally looks like a kicked puppy and you feel so awful. You roll your eyes and sigh.

Ugh, damn him.

“Okay. Satoru, I’m sorry for hitting you.”

He doesn’t move.

You pinch your nose bridge and decide to take the high road. He is drunk after all, you think. Reaching out, you run your fingers through his soft hair. His shoulders relax at that and the corner of his mouth quirks up ever so slightly. You stifle a laugh at his childishness and grab his chin, tilting his head to face you. Finally, he opens his eyes and stares at you as a gradual, natural smile slowly takes over his face. You smile back and at the back of your mind, you think how stupid you two must look right now. In the middle of the night, your dorm door wide open, Satoru sprawled on the floor of the hallway, you crouched near his head while the two of you stared at each other like something straight out of Spiderman. Except, you won’t kiss him. That’s never going to happen.

You let go of his chin and flick his nose. He huffs a short laugh, rubbing the spot and attempting to return the favor. You grab his wrist before he could deliver the blow and say, “You still drunk?”

Satoru hums, eyes shiny, “A little?”

He grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, snorting as you glare at him.

“Y’know… you don’t look as scary with your face like this,” He emphasizes his point with ‘awww’s’ and ‘you’re so cuteee’s’ and you can’t help but laugh at this blatant humiliation. You move his hand away and stand up, holding out your hand and expecting him to take it.

“Alright, c’mon. Get up.”

Satoru groans much too loudly and proceeds to throw his arms down and stretch his legs like a starfish.

“Noooo, just stay w’ meee,” He whines like a petulant child and you smile.

Damn him.

You consider bringing him into your dorm and spending the entire night with him doing nothing. Maybe talking, laughing. But you quickly discard that horrifying thought. He’s Gojo Satoru. Your best friend. Nothing romantic could ever happen between you two because he is Gojo Satoru and you are nobody. He is the one person who could even come close to changing the world. He holds the balance of the universe in the palm of his hands. He is everything, and you hate that. You hate how much he means to you, and you hate how much he has on his shoulders. You hate the fact that you can’t even help him ease those worries. You might be strong, but you’re not nearly as strong as him. He knows it, everyone knows it. So, you ignore these feelings. You bury any semblance of hope, of potential ‘maybe’s’ and ‘what if’s’ and you keep your guard up. After all, he is your best friend and you’re his. That’s it.

But then, why does he keep looking at me like this?

“Mochi?” He mutters, eyes suddenly clear and gaze fixed at you. You hum. He waits a while without saying anything and then sits up cross-legged and holds his hand out. You ponder for a moment and eventually you hold his hand and he attempts to pull himself up with your help. You steady your feet and help him up and… wow, he’s ridiculously tall.

You clear your throat and let go of his hand, to which he makes a little noise of protest. You roll your eyes and put his arm around your shoulder, ushering him towards his dorm, “Alright Satoru, let’s put you to bed.”

He nods his head one too many times and starts to walk with you, slowly but surely. You held onto him as he held onto you, and you walked at his pace. He smelled nothing like he usually did. The pungent odor of sake wafted off him in waves and it almost made you want to throw up. He was dozing off, eyes almost shutting. Those cerulean blues were almost a shiny navy color now. You wonder what made him want to drink so much tonight. So you asked.

“Satoru?”

“Hm?” He looks down at you and musters a tiny smile. You hold his waist a little tighter.

You rephrase the sentence a few times in your head before asking.

“Why’d you drink so much tonight? Is everything okay?”

He stares at you for a while, then purses his lips and tips his head down, exhaling loudly. You know something happened, but you don’t know what it could be. Satoru was always an enigma. He was always an open book, and yet so mysterious at the same time. He always kept a smile on his face and always did the stupidest shit. Yet sometimes, he would change completely. His eyes would look sad and distant, he wouldn’t talk as much, he’d look out the window like some kind of tortured main character in an indie movie. Satoru was never easy to understand. He has his vices.

Finally, he looks at you with hazy eyes and a soft smile. Using the arm slung over your shoulder, he holds you in a headlock and kisses your forehead. You can’t see your face but you can feel just how red it must have become. You struggle to try to get out of the headlock but to no avail. Even when drunk, Satoru was still stronger than you and you hated that with a passion. He laughs and releases you, returning his arm back over your shoulder as he leans against you, basically using you as a crutch to walk.

“Satoru?! What the fuck was that all about?!” You sputter. Angry? Not really, it was nice. You’re more confused and freaked out, and why do you feel drunk when you’re the one who’s completely sober?

“No reason, you’re just cute s’all,” He giggles and ruffles your hair. You glare at his stupid face and he laughs again.

“Plus, I had nothing to do all day. Suguru was gone, you were busy and Shoko was-” He pauses. “Well, wherever she was.”

You sigh and pick up your pace which makes Satoru look like Bambi trying to walk on ice for the first time. He giggles all the way there.

—

Fucking finally…

You open the door to his dorm while dragging Satoru’s half limp body inside.

“Alrighty, now lie down,” You say as you gracefully lay him down (more like unceremoniously drop him) on his bed and take his shoes off. Satoru groans and proceeds to almost slip off the side of the bed. Thankfully, you noticed and pushed him further away and more towards the center of the bed. You leave his clothes alone and stand up straight, turning to leave.

“No, wait,” His hand grabs your wrist, without any force whatsoever and you think you’re going to straight up melt when you turn back around to see him looking up at you with ridiculously childlike eyes it’s not even fair.

“Stay, please.”

Your breath hitches and you know you have to leave. You have to wake up early in the morning and also you are not going to spend a night with Gojo Satoru while he’s drunk. It's not a matter of safety; you know he would die before ever hurting you. It was more a matter of heart.

“Satoru…” You try to wrench your hand free from his grasp.

He lowers his hand and wraps it around your fingers. His voice is quiet as he says, “A lil’ bit. ‘M sorry…”

You quirk an eyebrow in confusion, “For what?”

Your question is met with only snores. You shove him and call his name to which he opens his eyes with a “huh?”.

“What are you sorry for?”

He looks bewildered, “Oh um…”

You wait.

He continues sleepily, “For ruining your sleep.”

You chuckle as his hand slowly falls to the bed and snores fill the emptiness.

“Idiot.”

You pat his head and leave.

—-

Satoru wakes up very cold. And wet. Not in a good way.

“Woah- what the fu-”

“Rise and shine, princess,” Suguru announces with a shit-eating grin on his pretty face. He keeps the empty glass on Satoru’s side table and crosses his arms.

Satoru rubs his drenched face and stares incredulously at his so-called best friend, confusion etching his hungover face, “What the hell was that for?”

Suguru snickers, “It was for ruining my sleep last night.” He sits on Satoru’s bed and crosses his legs, resting his head on his hand, enjoying Satoru’s discomfort.

Satoru groans and puts his pillow on his face. His muffled voice says something Suguru makes out to be, “My head is killing me.”

“Not surprised, you were completely wasted.”

Satoru moves the pillow and glares at Suguru, to which he only receives a grin.

Suguru asks liltingly, “So? What happened last night?”

Satoru gets up and makes his way to his bathroom, the sound of water and teeth brushing resonating around the room. Suguru waits for a reply that doesn't come.

Impatient, he asks again, “Did you get your ass kicked?” Satoru gets out while putting on a new uniform jacket. He glares at Suguru until realization hits.

His eyes widen and he points a finger and exclaims, “You took me to her room?!”

Suguru processed that light bulb moment with wide eyes and burst into a hearty laughter to which Satoru only gaped mouth open and eyes unbelieving.

“You- you didn't remember how you got there but you remembered being there?” More laughter, louder this time.

Satoru scoffs and picks up his sunglasses, “I can't believe you…”

Suguru’s laughter dies down and he receives a slap on the back of his head for his incompetence. He laughs and rubs the site of injury.

As Satoru makes his way out of the dorm, Suguru follows close behind. He asks with genuine curiosity, “Did you confess?”

Nothing.

“Did she confess?”

Silence, except for the birds chirping cheerfully and the metronomic footfalls of the two boys.

Suguru sighs, “Did anything happen?”

Satoru puts on his sunglasses and shoves his hands in his pockets, “Nothing happened, as far as I remember.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow. Satoru rolls his eyes and says in a low voice, “Anyways, I'd remember if anything happened.”

Suguru smiles and ruffles Satoru’s already disheveled hair. He scoffs but laughs when Suguru laughs at his lovesick state of being.

“Forget it, Suguru. It’s never gonna happen,” Satoru mutters dejectedly, kicking a stone. Suguru stays silent.

“Like, she’s so… just- y’know?” His sparkling sapphire eyes glittering with admiration and so much love, Suguru can’t help but smile at his friend’s hopefulness. He continues rambling incoherently, hands waving around like it actually does anything to explain his feelings for her. In reality, nothing Satoru is saying makes any sense. Or more so, it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. Suguru, on the other hand, understands Satoru. So no words are required.

—-

“He’s such an idiot.”

You sigh and twirl your pen, “Tell me about it…”

Shoko knows all and sees all. She knows all about Gojo’s stupid crush on you and she knows all about your crush on him. She doesn’t approve of it, because she firmly believes you deserve better and Gojo is an immature idiot. But after countless sleepless nights of talking about life and love, she saw just how much you liked him, despite your lackluster denials to her allegations. You were adamant on hiding your feelings, even with Shoko. You don’t know why exactly you lied to her about this. Probably because it seems too out of reach, or maybe because you know she’d disapprove. But you know Shoko loves you with all her heart. She would support any decision you make, no matter how much she hates it. Your happiness is paramount and she will never make you feel less than or stupid for anything you tell her. You just can’t tell her about your crush yet, because it’s just too embarrassing and you can’t deal with Shoko’s side-eye.

Shoko closes the book she was reading staring at, kicks up her feet on the desk and crosses her arms across her chest. You look at her, then look at her neglected textbook and sigh, shifting your attention to your own textbook.

“Y’know you’ll never even pass at the rate at which you’re going…”

She says with a giggle, “Relax, will you? It’s just class tests.”

You muster your best side eye, to which she just snorts. She kicks back her chair and stands up, holding out her hand for you to take. You raise your eyebrows, silently questioning whether she’s serious or not.

“C’mon let’s take a break, we’ve been studying for hours.”

You put down your pen and cross your arms, properly facing her now, “You mean, I’ve been studying for hours.”

She shrugs, “That’s what I said.”

“Ha-ha,” you deadpan.

She actually laughs and tugs your sleeve, “Come onnnn.”

You sigh and hang your head. Shoko takes that as a sign to collect your items and pack them into your backpack and you know you’ve lost. You always lose to her arguments. She’s too quick and too laid back to ever lose an argument. Even when something really serious goes down, Shoko will be the last person to freak out. You can’t even argue with her because she’ll just come up with some random logic that you don’t even know how to counteract. You watch as she packs your stuff and you smile. She looks at you and smiles back, albeit in a confused manner.

“What?”

You shrug still smiling, “Nothin’.”

Shoko mutters a small “okay” and grabs your shoulders, hunching down to your eye-level and staring into your eyes with a kind of scary expression. Shoko has never been serious in her entire life, except for a few times when you made bad decisions.

“Listen to me, and listen well. I love you. I will always be here for you. Even if you and Gojo date and that doesn’t work out, you don’t have to worry about us, ever,” Shoko’s grip on your shoulders was ironclad.

Your eyes widen and face heats up furiously, “W-what? Where is this coming from?!”

“Because I am your best friend, you absolute braindead idiot! I know you. I don’t know why you’re not just coming clean with me but I’m here always, so come to me whenever,” she ends her monologue with a sweeter than sweet smile and stands up to her full height while you were down there stunned, touched and offended all at once.

You get up, put your bag over your shoulder and stare at Shoko concerningly, while she just grins.

What the actual fuck was that?

“Hey, let’s go get some food, I’m starving.”

You glare at her as she loops her arms through yours, “You’re paying.”

Shoko laughs, “No way. Gojo’s paying.”

taglist: @thepup356, @porridgesblog, @stray-npc, @daisy-the-quake, @reignsaway, @ainetx, @icarusignite, @mariapierce789

[grandlinedreams]

|| that opening paragraph in HOBAS will haunt me for eternity. You know the one.

|| warnings: drug usage (mirthroot), shotgunning, suggestive, touch of jealous Ruhn, confession fic (kinda)

Truthfully, Ruhn doesn't know if you'll ever stop finding ways to surprise him. Your presence in his bedroom alone is one ㅡ the request you've just given voice to is another.

He blinks at you. "Repeat that?"

Your eyes narrow, and you huff in frustration. "I said I wanted to learn how to smoke," you tell him. "Don't look at me like that ㅡ is it that weird?"

"Honestly yeah," he admits. He wants to ask why you're suddenly interested ㅡ but the shadows that flicker in your expression keep him from prodding too deeply. Instead, he untangles himself from the bed and strides towards his dresser, plucking the neatly rolled bundle from it. It'd been meant for him, Dec and Flynn later ㅡ but surely they wouldn't mind. He'd bought this time around anyways.

"Okay," he says as he returns to you, watched you eye the way he twirls the bundle between his fingers with practiced ease before he lights it. "We're gonna try something, since you've got a virgin throat."

You scoff at his grin, hoping he doesn't catch the way you shift just a little at his wording. You watch embers flare, the sweet-smelling smoke that curls from it ㅡ and then to Ruhn as he brings it to his lips. The end lights up as he inhales, long and slow ㅡ and then he's gesturing for you to move towards him.

You expect him to blow the smoke in your face, but Ruhn takes it a step further. Instead, there's the cool press of his fingers at your jaw, coaxing your lips to part before his mouth is on yours.

It's not a kiss, not quite ㅡ but it sends your heart racing all the same as he exhales into your mouth. Ruhn pulls away, settling back to watch with a grin as smoke curls from your mouth. "Now we wait."

You understand why mirthroot is so popular. It winds sweetly around your mind, eases you into a headspace that's a little dizzier, untethered ㅡ and you like it. Being sprawled out on Ruhn's bed with his hand in your hair is something you like even more.

"So," Ruhn drawls as he tucks hair behind your ear, "mind telling me why you've decided to smoke now, of all times? I thought you were dating that goody-goody."

You can't tell if the bitter edge to his tone is real or imagined, and you groan. "I don't want to talk about him." You roll away, staring at the blurry blink of little lights strung around the top of his room. He watches you, and feels immediately like an asshole when you speak again, voice too soft. "We broke up."

"Bastard," Ruhn says, trying for solidarity even though he's more than a little relieved that you're no longer with the other male ㅡ he'd met him once, and the memory of encounter still pisses him off. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," you answer, rolling back to pillow your head in Ruhn's lap and sending his heart stuttering in his chest. It's entirely unfair that you're unaware of the effect you have on him, truly. "But he said that it wasn't fair to him for me to act like I want to be with him when it's obvious I don't."

Ruhn raises an eyebrow, drifting his fingers over your forehead and down your temple to cup your cheek, thumb sweeping against your skin. "He accused you of being interested in someone else?"

"Not an accusation if it's true," you mumble.

Ruhn studies you for a long moment. "It's not Dec or Flynn, is it?" He forces himself to ask, hates how it ignites that bitter, green-eyed monster's attention at the thought of you being with either of them. You shake your head. "Then who is it?"

Your eyes lock with his, reddened by the mirthroot you've indulged in. "You," you say, so quietly that Ruhn almost has to strain to hear you. "It's you."

Ruhn stares at you for so long that you're grateful for the smoke that still addles your mind ㅡ you can blame your confession on that, since he's ㅡ

Kissing you. Ruhn's mouth is on yours before you can register that he's moved. His lip ring is startlingly cold, but you can't bring yourself to care about much beyond the way his tongue is sliding into your mouth. It elicits a soft moan from you before he's pulling away to press his forehead to yours, panting softly.

"Thank fuck," he swears quietly, "I don't think I could take it if it was Flynn or Dec." He leans to pepper soft kisses against your cheek and the corner of your mouth, and you blink dazedly.

"Wait, so does that mean you like me too?"

Ruhn scoffs, amused as he kisses you properly. "I think it's a lot more than just liking you," he mumbles, "but yeah. Have for a while, thanks for noticing."

You nip at his bottom lip for that, reveling in the hiss and pinch to your side that he retaliates with. "So what now?"

"Now," he says as he gathers you into his arms and flops back against the bed, "we wait for the mirthroot to wear off. And then I'm going to ask you out properly. Sound good?"

You blink, then cuddle closer, listening to the way his heartbeat matches yours. "Yeah," you answer. "Sounds good."

[darkscrossfire]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 Part one

Pairing: Obsessive!James Valdez x reader

Warnings: Pain, death, mentions of drugs, fire, possibly arson.

Notes: I couldn’t stand back and watch as zero James Valdez fics were made. I vow to try and complete this series 🫡 Also this is a very long chapter, be prepared.

 -> Next Part <-

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It infested my lungs. Burning me from the inside out and causing my vision to blur as if the devil himself had kissed my soul. My entire body was enveloped by the heat, my ears ringing. Debree beneath my skin was piercing, making my place sprawled across the floor painfully uncomfortable.

The bright light of the blazing flames filled the air, bright enough to make my eyes pinch in an attempt to try and adjust to the sight. The heat itself was enough to know that the entire warehouse had been enveloped in flames, but the sight of the inferno dancing in the night sky brought a shake across my entire body.

My attempt to stand was difficult, my knees weak beneath me. My hands ached, pressing against the floor, yet I found myself able to get upon two feet. My aching body curled in itself as I watched the embers continue to rise, not stopping once to spare any mercy. Warm tears spilt down my cheeks. What had I done?

My aunt Ana’s voice cried out to me, her arms wrapping around me as terrified sobs left her lips. Her hold was tight and painful, my limbs which already felt crushed becoming worse under her hold. A touch which was once of comfort how make me want to pull away out of fear of what she does not know.

The familiar sound of a car door shutting brought my attention away from the warehouse and towards the sight of James, stepping out his car. Horror covered his features, the flames reflected in his vision as it seemed to envelope his entire attention. His hand held loosely on the door, his lips parted. Guilt overwhelmed my entire being at the sight of his disbelief.

His eyes moved from the warehouse engulfed in flames to my petrified face. His eyebrows furrowed, a softness covering his face for a moment. Yet, beneath it all he senses something, and a knowing flashed across his face. As if he could read the guilt which burned within my soul. An unreadable expression crossed his face, and yet he stepped towards me, pulling me from my aunts grasp and tugging me into his arms. His hold was warm, the comforting kind.

His fingers tangled in the back of my hair, his breath tickling my ear. My tears stained his dark shirt, along with a few droplets of blood that came from the scratches I could feel all across my cheeks and forehead.

“It’s alright.” He whispered. “It’ll be okay.”

Yet I found myself unable to believe his words.

My feet were steady on the bottom of the railing, each foot slotted between the bars. It was enough to let me feel the breeze against my skin, slithering through my hair, without the complete danger of falling to my demise. Yet that danger still lingered. There was something so thrilling about having control of a danger in my life. My family’s business made any other danger impossible to control. The ever-looming threat of death was something I had grown used to, but not fond of.

I glanced down at the sight below me. Beneath the balcony sat the pool, the water deep enough to catch me if I were to fall but not enough to be completely safe. I would still likely crack my head open if I went in head first. It seemed like a fitting punishment.

“I hope you’re not planning on jumping.” His deep, familiar voice cut through the air. I had not heard James come onto the balcony, but he was quite good at that. Being quiet. “You shouldn’t be standing so high, you could fall.”

I didn’t glance back at him, emitting a soft chuckle. “You scared you’re gonna have to explain to my parents why I did a cannonball into the pool and cracked my head open?”

He returned the soft chuckle, his figure stepping closer towards mine, possibly to ensure a safe distance in case an accident did occur. “Something like that. Maybe I just don’t want to miss tomorrow night. I heard there’s gonna be tequila.”

I had almost forgotten about tomorrow. My twenty-first birthday celebration. My parents insisted that it was important to invite every single person we know, even if we despise half of them. James tried convincing them that it might be dangerous to invite that many people, especially since Epifanios men are out there.

I let out a soft chuckle. “Pote would never let you touch the tequila.”

His figure moved to lean against the railing, a soft shrug emitting from his shoulders as he stared out into the night sky. “Maybe not, but he doesn’t have to know.” He said with a soft smile.

There was a moment of silence as we both stared out into the sky, my hands gripping into the railing. Although his eyes were gazing upon the stars that filled the sky, I could sense that he wanted to say something, and eventually his gaze turned towards me, his eyes scanning my features for a moment.

“Somethings wrong.” He uttered, tilting his head lightly.

I looked over at him, cursing that he could read me like a book. He’s known me long enough to tell whenever my mood shifts, even if it’s just a little bit. I softly shrugged, “I’m fine.” There was a truth to that, physically I was fine, but my mind was filled with the memory of fire. A nightmare my brain could not erase.

His eyebrows softly furrowed, knowing that there was a lie entangled in my words. He tapped my elbow with his fingers, “Talk to me.” He murmured.

I didn’t meet his gaze, softly shrugging once more. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. My lips parting as if to speak. My words were caught in my throat. I wanted to tell him. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe he wouldn’t be mad.

“Is this about the fire?” He asked.

My chest tightened. Like a book.

I met his gaze, warm tears filling my eyes. His expression softened and he stepped closer to me, his hand placing on my forearm as he gazed up at my figure.

“It wasn’t your fault. You just happened to be there when Epifanios guys attacked.” He uttered, his eyes filled with intensity.

My lips parted, soft breaths escaping as I tried to speak, my head softly shaking. Just tell him. He’ll understand. Yet the memory of the way he’s handled past acts of sabotage caused a nauseous tug in my stomach.

I hesitated for a moment. “..James-“

My words were cut short by the sound of his cellphone ringing within his jean pocket. He turned his attention away from me, his eyebrows furrowing as he fished it out, taking a moment to read the name across the screen. My eyebrows furrowed in return, my chest aching. I decided to keep my words to myself.

“Shit.” He whispered, turning his back to me as he pressed the phone to his ear. He didn’t seem to focus on me any longer as he stepped away from the balcony, disappearing through the balcony door at the same time my mother appeared onto it, her eyes paying no attention to James.

I quickly blinked away the tears that had formed in my eyes, not wanting my mother to pry. She couldn’t afford to pry.

Her hands were pulling at the apron that was wrapped around her waist. She let out a small sigh, “There you are. Your uncle has just arrived, already so determined for dinner.” She spoke, a lightness to her voice, but her expression turned to a scowl as she realized where I was standing. “Get away from there! One day you’re going to give me a heart attack, you know that?”

I quickly stepped off the bottom of the railing, moving away from it to ease her panic. “Sorry.” I uttered.

She dismissed it with the wave of her hand, turning to step back through the balcony doors. I followed a few feet behind her, glancing back at the balcony for a moment before shutting the balcony door and retreating from my room.

Across the dinner table, I could sense a strange tension that my mother seemed unaware of. My uncle Jose’s eyes seemed to be burning holes into James’ soul, an anger lying beneath the surface. James didn’t reciprocate this expression, simply staring blankly back at him as my mother spoke into the air.

“Spencer thinks he may have found evidence that it was Epifanio that started the fire. Well make sure that Cabrón pays.” She said bitterly.

My heart began to softly pound in my chest, my focus entirely on my food as I tried to pretend that I didn’t feel guilt pouring out of my ears. The cutlery in my hands stilled, my stomach tightening. I had to move, to say something, something to make me not look so suspicious.

“What.. what did they find?” I asked.

“A lighter.” Uncle Jose spoke, his voice hard as his gaze was still entirely on James. “With the engraving of a bull on it.”

My heart felt like it stopped in my chest. My hands still couldn’t move and I still didn’t meet their eyes. My eyes pinned to the table. My heart began to pound faster in my chest. Although their gazes were upon each other, it felt as though their eyes were on me.

My lips softly parted in a moment of pause before I softly uttered. “How do you know it’s him?”

My mother scoffed, “All of Epifanios personal items are marked with that bull.”

The lighter belonged to Epifanio?

My eyes slowly trailed over to James, staring at the side of his face as realization dawned upon me and my stomach felt like it had dropped to my feet. His eyes met mine and we stayed like that for a moment, my expression unable to truly hide the horror that lay behind.

He didn’t say anything, simply uttering.

“Finish your food, it’s gonna get cold.”

I knew it was wrong, but curiosity got the best of me. I had to try it, even just once, to see what all the fuss is about.

I quietly snooped through James’ room, knowing that he kept his cigarette and lighter somewhere in his room. He was busy downstairs with other men, trying to uncover something important. I never knew the details, he never lets me know.

I shuffled through the top drawer of his desk, shuffling items around before my eyes widened at the sight of a gun inside. I quickly and quietly shut it, not wanting to mess with that. I had never held a gun and I didn’t plan to any time soon. I began looking through another drawer.

A small smile crawled on my face at the sight of the lighter and cigarette tucked in the second drawer. I quickly pulled a cigarette out of the box, taking the lighter before shutting the drawer and quickly sprinting out of James’ room.

His voice was echoing from the bottom of the stairs as he spoke to one of the men who he was working with. Listening out for a moment to make sure that his entire attention was on the man before him. It was.

I managed to sneak back to my own room, shutting the door and letting out a soft relieved sigh that I had managed to do all of that without being seen.

I slipped out onto my balcony, placing the cigarette between my fingers as I attempted to open the lighter with one hand. I had never done this before and was simply mimicking what I had seen others do, what I had seen James do.

I placed the cigarette in my mouth, going to flick the metal lighter open but pausing at the intricate design that had been engraved on the front.

A bull with large horns and roses surrounding it in a beautiful pattern. I traced my thumb across the detailing, wondering where James got this lighter from. Probably from one of his travels across the country.

As I began trying to light the cigarette, the sparks flickering in the night air. James’ voice rang through the air, his figure pushing my curtain to the side as he stepped out onto my balcony.

“What’re you doing out here? It’s late.”

I plucked the cigarette out from between my lips and placed the lighter and the cigarette behind my back as I quickly faced him, letting the cigarette fall from my fingertips and off the balcony. I couldn’t let the lighter drop, it would be far too noisy and far too obvious, so I kept it behind my back with it tightly held in my hand.

“I was just looking at the sky.” I quickly spoke. How did he know I was out here?

He softly smiled, lightly shaking his head and he folded his arms. “You need sleep.” He motioned with his hand. “Inside, c’mon.” He turned away from me, expecting me to follow him, to which I did with the lighter still held behind my back.

I turned my attention back to my plate, slowly shoveling another forkful of rice into my mouth with a shaky hand as I tried to make sense of my realization.

It wasn’t possible. James loathed Epifanio.

Yet something in Uncle Jose’s gaze told me that my suspicion might be correct. The way he spoke of the bull in an almost accusing tone. He was right about who the lighter belonged to, but not about who he suspected started the fire. My mother still seemed all too unaware of the way he tore into James with his eyes.

After dinner I found myself ushered into my room by James all too early with the excuse of needing to get a good amount of sleep for tomorrow night. I didn’t want to go to sleep, my mind was all too plagued with the confusion of why James had the lighter. My mind wouldn’t accept the possibility of James being under Epifanios order.

I tried tucking myself into bed and putting myself to sleep, but something inside of me refused to fall to slumber. My hands clenched the blanket around my body in annoyance. My brain kept jumping back and forth over the topic of the lighter, refusing to accept what was an obvious truth.

I tried to press the thought away, telling myself it was ridiculous and that James would never betray my mother like that.

The sound of arguing stemming from James’ room made my eyes snap open, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion as I slowly sat up. I could hear that it was James and my uncle, but their words came out as a muffled mixture of noise. I knew it was wrong to invade like this, but I couldn’t help it, especially not after my realization at the dinner table.

My curiosity influenced my movement and I was unable to stop myself from slipping out my bed and quietly stepping out of my room. My feet made quiet steps towards James’ room as the sound became louder and the words being uttered between the two became increasingly audible.

“You think they’ll fuckin’ believe you?” James spat.

“You over her own brother? What a fucking laugh.” Uncle Jose spat in return.

“I have done more for this family than you have. While you were away dealing cocaine in Malta, I was here protecting them. I stopped that shootout in Dallas.” James voice hissed through the air.

I slowly stepped forward. The cold tiles beneath my feet were enough to stop me from being heard as I was able to lightly step on it. My footsteps could be very quiet when I needed and this moment was dire.

I stepped closer to the door, my gaze quietly peeking through the gap in the door, it providing the only stream of light into the hallway. I tried to quiet my breathing, watching the two argue within James’ room. James was stood by his desk, his arms folded as his usual stance. Uncle Jose was stood a few feet away from him, his finger accusingly in the air.

“The only reason i’m not taking your ass down right now is because of her. I don’t want to ruin tomorrow night. Not when we’ve been planning this for months. I won’t let you ruin anything else for my princesa.” Uncle Jose lectured.

James returned the angered glare. “Everything i’m doing is for her.”

Were they talking about me?

I couldn’t pull my eyes away, watching the two argue. I had never seen them like this before. Just a week ago they were laughing together with beers in their hands at my mothers get together. Yet now, they seemed to despise one another.

“You’re going to ruin her life. The moment they connect that lighter back to her, there’s nothing you can do to save her. No one’s going to spare her, not even me.”

My heart dropped. My own uncle just admitted to not caring if I was murdered. I wanted to step away, to get far away from here, but I couldn’t move. My body was stuck, my blood struck cold in my veins. Warm tears were pooling in my eyes, obscuring my vision.

“But it doesn’t have to be that way. I can pin all of it right back onto you. One call is all I need to get evidence of you working for Epifanio from an inside detail from one of his men. Unfortunately for you, Epifanio keeps records.” Uncle Jose spoke.

A part of me felt relieved, as if I was glad he did not want to bring harm to me but it was quickly replaced by the realization that he’d use James as a sacrifice to spare me from the murderous clutches of the cartel world. Neither were what I wanted. I felt guilt for putting James in this position. A part of me wanted to burst into James’ room and beg Uncle Jose to give me up, just please don’t hurt James.

“You won’t do that.” James spoke calmly.

Uncle Jose scoffed, “Oh yeah, and what makes you so sure?”

I watched through blurry eyes as James turned away from Uncle Jose, his figure stood in a way that blocked me from seeing what it was he was doing. Yet my answer came quickly as James turned around and the sight of a gun with a silencer attached to the end held tight in his grasp became clear.

Before Uncle Jose could speak another word, James lifted his arm faster than I could blink and the sound of a gun shot rang through the air, the silencer on the gun deafening the gunshot enough to stop it from echoing through the entire house.

I was unable to stop the quiet gasp that fell from my lips as blood splattered across the opposing wall, covering it like nauseating artwork. Uncle Jose’s figure fell to the floor with a sickening thud, his empty eyes staring at the ceiling with an everlasting expression of fear, a dark red stream running down his forehead. An terrifying silence filled the air.

James’ figure quickly stepped over his body, crouching down to snake his fingers into Uncle Jose’s pocket, slithering around before pulling out his cellphone and stuffing it into his own pocket.

I pressed a shaky hand to my mouth, unable to stop the warm tears that spilt down my cheeks, clearing my vision and allowing me to see the sight before me, the sight of my uncles corpse just laid across the floor as crimson began spreading around him.

James was staring right at me through the small crack of the door. His figure now stood and holding the gun in his hand as tightly and with as much determination as he had before. The expression across his face brought a chill down my spine.

My face fell and I quickly stepped away from the door, sprinting as quietly as I could down the hallway and towards my own bedroom. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breathing heavy as I slipped inside of my room and quickly crawled into my bed.

I pulled the covers up, trying to place myself as if I had been sleeping all along, but my body was far too rigid of a person who was actually asleep. I tried to calm myself down but it was futile, my body in a complete state of panic.

My heart was the only sound I could hear. My skin felt both ice cold and burning hot at the same time, as if unable to process how to react. My brain seemed to be following the same motions, my brain entirely blank yet filled with thousands of thoughts at the same time.

My door quietly and slowly opened. The dim light from outside flooding the room and providing a barely visible silhouette of James. I could feel the way he was watching me, the intensity. My heart was pounding in my chest, waiting for him to step into the room and place the silencer to my temple, sending me to the same fate that he did Uncle Jose.

I expected him to step into the room and shut the door behind him, leaving me to anticipate where his figure was in the lonely dark before he executed me.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just stood there for what felt like an eternity as my heart thrummed in my ears. There was a long moment of silence before he eventually took in a long breath and stepped away, quietly shut the door behind him, filling the room with darkness once more.

My eyes shot open, a shaken breath falling from my lips. My entire body felt frozen, unable to move. All I could do was stare at the opposing wall with the memory of what I had just seen playing in my head like a horror movie stuck on replay. This one was more terrifying than any other horror movie I had ever seen.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Go to sleep. It’s just a nightmare.

Go to sleep.

Just fucking go to sleep.

I couldn’t.

For the entire night, I lay awake with my eyes pressed shut in an attempt to wipe away the sight of Uncle Jose’s lifeless figure. Whispers of sleep kissed my being but I never managed to fall into it entirely, always jolting awake the moment I was on that edge.

I found myself fearing the morning, not wanting to see what lay before me when I would eventually be forced to leave the confines of my room. I worried that my mother would be next to have a bullet in her skull at the hands of James and that I would find her lifeless in her own bed. Perhaps I would be next.

The man I had trusted the most had suddenly become someone I deathly feared. My source of protection had now become my danger and there was nothing I could do but watch.

Tag List

@i-dont-know78

@drownedpoetess

@thedncingclown

@bluewingedangel

@aominewryne

@rcmupout

@thewayilovedjay

[snootlestheangel]

I would pay you my two kidneys for wolf!Simon licking and grooming otter!kyle

🫶

many please and many thanks

I won't take the kidneys but I'll take some cold chocolate cake to make me feel better about losing all the progress I had made very slowly throughout the day because now the first part is slightly different than it originally was supposed to be and I'm very upset now (which is why it ended up taking me like 2 weeks to get this done I'm so sorry 🥲)

Ghost definitely grooms everyone he can. He's learned not to lick Soap when he's shifted, otherwise he has to deal with a very upset bird. So what he does instead is lays his head down near where Soap is and sighs while licking his lips. Sometimes Soap will tease him by grooming himself, which usually leads to a husky level of dramatic tantrum. Nik and Price tolerate it, but Price laughs every time he sees their adopted daughter Bailey, a cat shifter, looking very angry with wolf slobber on her.

Granted, she's the one he's the most gentle with, and it's a form of bonding.

Enough yapping, here's the good soup.

Tagging @stuffireadandenjoy @bringinsexybackk69 (anyone else that wants tagged for this au please let me know. Even though this may not be an actual formal fic for a while its still gonna be something that stays consistent on my blog for at least a while)

The first time since the team's formation, the boys finally had some downtime. As shifters, they were familiar with the idea that the others would have different behaviors and quirks related to their respective species. It was rather easy for them to adjust to casual life together, yet for the most part, they still didn't understand where different boundaries were. Excluding their captain, they were all social creatures, yet bonded in different ways, and expressed their companionship in different ways. There was a good week where the sergeants and Ghost had awkwardly danced around each other as they learned individual boundaries.

Unfortunately for Gaz, Soap and Ghost had already formed a bond, something unique forged during their time in Las Almas. It wasn't surprising, actually. Gaz had heard stories of wild ravens and wolves forming close bonds, seeming friendships, and that sort of relationship was evident in Soap and Ghost. The two had quickly learned that Ghost didn't mind having his personal space invaded, much to Soap and Gaz's shock, and they learned Soap rather enjoyed sitting perched on Ghost any way he could. It was not an entirely uncommon sight to see a large Raven sitting on Ghost's shoulder as the lieutenant went about his daily duties.

But Gaz wasn't so lucky. He was an Otter, a seemingly oddball addition to the team. Bear, Wolf, and Raven all seemed to just work, it made sense. It's not like Gaz felt rejected, in fact he could see the desperation to include him on Soap’s face, the passing huffs from Ghost that Gaz never truly understood the meanings of.

So it's why Gaz was so grateful to have a space to himself where he could shift and take time for himself. The pool reserved for him was hidden away from the main portion of base, surrounded by a sprinkling of trees and a tall, thick fence for privacy. He spent a long afternoon doing laps around the pool, ducking through the tunnels placed inside, and jumping onto the platform along the far side. It kept him active, and after having been out of the water in proper otter fashion for far too long, it was stimulating. Something exciting and different from the dull thrum of life on base.

And nothing was better after a long afternoon swim session than heading to the nearby concrete pad and sunbathe after grooming himself. But as he approached his concrete pad, he noticed a glaring problem. A large Wolf was laying sprawled out on his side, soaking up every inch of sun.

Annoyed, Gaz ran up to Ghost's tail and lightly tapped it with his front paws, an annoyed squeal accompanying the action. The tail flicked but Ghost showed no other sign of acknowledging the otter's annoyance. So, Gaz moved on to attacking Ghost's large back paws, only earning a small grumble and slight kick. Desperation kicked in as Gaz hopped towards Ghost's head, and he jumped onto the Wolf's large head and nipped his ear. Ghost sat up with a start, and Gaz backed away to glare at the other as best he could. Gaz squealed and bobbed his head up and down in the most threatening way he could. Ghost stared down at him, mostly bored, before letting out a grumble, a yawn quick to follow. Gaz's efforts to chase him off must have been falling on deaf ears, or Ghost was lost in thought as he just watched the otter's antics. With a single swipe of his tongue, Ghost effectively silenced Gaz, pacifying him just like the otter were a wolf pup.

Gaz couldn't tell what made him angrier: the audacity Ghost had to treat him like a pup, or the fact it worked.

Gaz couldn't even think as Ghost continued to lick him. Well, lick wasn't the best term to describe the situation, it was more grooming behavior than anything else. And Gaz had quickly realized it had been too long since someone else had groomed him. He slowly curled against Ghost as the Wolf continued to groom him, using his teeth to gentle nibble Gaz's sore muscles. The repetitive motions were slowly putting Gaz to sleep, and he had rolled over onto his back. To think he had been so worried about fitting in with the other two's social circle, yet he had completely forgotten that he wasn't the only one to social groom. By the time his coat was dry, Gaz had fallen asleep between Ghost's front paws, and the Wolf had gently rested his head against the otter as he fell back asleep.

Gaz had nothing to worry about, after all.

[seancekitsch]

Cobweb Summer: A Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader fic

Aemond has liked you since he met you, so much so that your room in the Targaryen summer estate has an adjoining bathroom to him. He supports your indie Perfume and Cologne brand and makes sure you get invites to every red carpet event his family can pulls strings with. Aemond wants nothing more than to give you his mother's ring one day. the only problem? You've been in a PR stunt of a relationship with his older brother for the past two years, and you've just caused a public scandal. aegon x reader, aemond x reader

A/N, Warnings, etc: this came to me in a dream but im only gonna continue if like, people like this lol. drinking, smoking, toxic relationships, cheating, tmz is its own warning, this'll get explicit later

Aemond swipes up on the app for twitter, sick of all of the judgement and commentary he sees, and most of all, pictures of you. It’s not you that he minds, it’s the fact that in said pictures you’re wrapped around Aegon and smiling and showing off diamonds he draped you in accompanied by vicious rumors of infidelity and gold digging. It’s just as you said would happen, and he contemplates venmoing you a courtesy five to accept your inevitable ‘I told you so’ rant later tonight. 

BOSS BABE AND OLD MONEY: RECIPE FOR DISASTER? (Link: popcrave)

Of course Y/n would try to disgrace the Targaryens, she was a STARFUCKER at the end of the day. 

… tarnishing the Targaryen name…

Countless other tweets using words to describe you that make Aemond want to commit some terroristic crime. No one should speak about you like that, even if you called it ahead of time.

It’s almost exactly what you said they’d say when he found you on the balcony Saturday morning.

You looked beautiful, you always do, but this time in a perfectly disheveled way. You’re barefoot on the balcony of your bedroom, make up smeared, hair wild, your Vivienne Westwood dress from last night bunched up and wrinkled, your collar of necklaces askew and more than a few had turned so the clasps were resting along your throat. You were smoking one of his cigarettes, staring down below. 

“Rough morning?” Aemond remembers asking, and now feels stupid for even saying anything. It wasn’t like you to look anything other than put together. He’d come to your room that morning to find it empty, which was not unusual, ready to flop himself on your bed and smoke and chat shit before breakfast like he was doing every morning this summer. 

You looked at him, eyes red and rimmed with unshed tears, and something in Aemond broke. He’d seen you angry, seen you throw glasses and screech and threaten to stab his brother with your Louboutins. He’d held you in a way a boyfriend’s brother probably shouldn’t while you, hungover, did a social media wipe to purge Aegon’s reputation of the night before.

“Wanna watch the beans dry with me?” you asked. What the fuck? Aemond, puzzled, looked down below the balcony, and sure enough there were baked beans dumped onto the hood of Aegon’s white Range Rover. 

“Why beans?” Aemond asked, knowing it was probably deserved.

“Lysa informed me that once they dry you have to get the entire paint job redone,” you say, “But it’s been like two hours and they still look wet.”

“Hmm,” Aemond couldn’t think of something to say. He had no doubt Aegon deserved whatever got his car covered in beans. Aegon was always doing something. 

“Lysa also informed me that she found Aeg this morning in bed with Baela’s plus one,” you rolled your eyes, and Aemond noticed how pretty your make up from last night looked, even if smeared. 

Last night had been your birthday celebration, a bacchanal of a fancy dress party on the grounds of the Targaryen summer estate, a sprawling castle with a lake. You’d picked fairy tales as a theme, everyone in corsets and embellished Rococo era frocks and wings and suits of armor. You’d blown out the candles with your supposedly loving boyfriend and took pictures for the press and everything looked perfect. It wasn’t uncommon for you and Aegon to sleep separately, in fact, it was so common Alicent made sure you had your own room in both the regular house and the summer estate, which Aemond was sure you had to be thankful for. 

Apparently despite the party, all was not well, which was no surprise when it came to Aegon doing his part. Aegon had a habit of pulling these kinds of stunts, but never so publicly disrespectful as to let you and the maids find out. You were fine with indiscretions, as you had told Aemond once, but not with humiliation or disrespect. He could have someone’s on the side of this sham of a public relations stunt, as long as he didn’t make you look like a fool. You hadn’t had yours, whether it be from actual affection or just laziness, Aemond didn’t know. Which he figured was odd, as he thought he knew you well. You were his friend first before all of this mess, as it was. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, and he remembers how you scoffed at him.

“Why? It’s not like you would fuck someone at my birthday party,” you ashed your cigarette dangerously close to his hand where it rested on the stone railing. 

It was unsurprising when Aemond hit his older brother in front of the guests after breakfast.

In the aftermath of the weekend, all of the revelers have left, and Aegon in his ruined Range Rover having gone back to his penthouse in King’s Landing again to pretend to work from home for the firm. It’s not that Aemond hates his brother, he as quite a bit of love for him, but Aemond lost any desire to go clubbing or on a boys weekend with him once this arrangement between you and he began, and his temper has been more than erratic. 

Aemond knows you’re probably reading all of this, probably distracting yourself from work and making yourself sick. He pushes himself off the couch in the main parlor and takes himself through the seemingly endless corridors, through his bedroom, through your shared bathroom, and into your bedroom. He only needs to look up, to the little lofted study Alicent had contractors build for you; Alicent has quite the affection for you, most likely because of your importance to at least two of her children, and because the two of you gossip like fiends about your shared favorite authors. 

“I told you so,” you say, not even bothering to look away from your macbook, absolute venom in your tone. 

“What would you have me do? Kill my brother? Kill Isla?” He asks, quickly climbing the little spiral staircase with his long legs, “You say the word, I’ll do anything for my oldest friend.”

You don’t make any comment about how realistically you’re the only friend he has that he isn’t related to. 

“Who’s Isla?” You ask, only now looking at him. 

“She’s…”

“Oh,” you realize, “Never say that name again.”

Aemond grimaces. 

“C’mon,” he motions, urging you up from where you sit cross legged on your chair. You stay put, turning back to your phone. You unlock it and pull up your messages, then thrusting your phone into his hand. 

It’s a thread of texts between you and his brother. 

Aegon’s Number: TMZ will back off if I give you my mother’s ring, is that what you want? 

Your Number: That ring is Helaena’s. I want to break up. 

Aegon’s Number: Helaena gets MY family’s ring. I’ll give you mother’s family ring. It will look nice in your perfume ads.

Your Number: Charming, really Aeg. I told you not to humiliate me and you could not even do that. This arrangement is over, I’ll say it was amicable.

Aegon’s Number: What will the tabloids say about you and your little start up when we break up but you’re still deeply enmeshed in my family? Don’t forget that reputation matters to you. 

Your Number: Don’t forget I am Aemond’s friend first, you are a business partnership. 

Aegon’s Number: I love you too!

Aemond hums, scowling as he hands your phone back to you. He despises his grandfather and father for a moment, for putting you through this. 

Had he known that bringing you home for his birthday after meeting at a professional development course would mean you being subjected to Aegon for two years now, he would have never brought you. 

“Let me get you out of here,” Aemond offers, hoping a dip in the lake or a game of croquet will bring you some joy. 

“Can’t,” you sigh, “I’m doing damage control.”

You point to the screen, a bunch of analytics pulled up and at least thirty tabs open. 

“Can I keep you company then?” Aemond asks. You shrug noncommittally, and turn back to your laptop. 

Aemond gathers a bunch of pillows, and lays on his stomach amidst them on the floor. Silence settles peacefully between the two of you, and it’s genuinely nice. 

Aemonds phone vibrates, and reluctantly, he reaches for it. 

Reading the notification, he realizes this is probably the last moment you and his family will have peace for quite a while. 

He decides against showing you his phone. 

[neteyamyawne]

🪷 — Forever : Parted

୭ ˚. Pairing : Widow!JakeSully x fem!na'vi!reader 

୭ ˚. summary : request

୭ ˚. Parts : pt1 pt2 pt3

୭ ˚. Song : Happiness is simple

୭ ˚. Warning : angst, age gap, hurt, no comfort, death of a major character, blood , gun shots, mildly graphic, mourning, sadness, heartbreak, little platonic fluff , hate from Jake if you squint, kinda open ending?

୭ ˚. Word count : 3.4k , not proof read

"word" - dialogue , ** word ** - flashback

୭ ˚. Note : Tsu'tey is alive bitches!!!! No one dies in my world (hehe🤭 except for one in this fic 😭)

୭ ˚. Extras : This is my first ever series, i did the best i could, not gonna lie i cried myself too, idk if y'all would like it or not so please leave your views ☺️🫶🏼

୭ ˚. Glossary : [Ma'sa'nok] - my mother, [Ma'sempul] - my father, [Palulukan] - Thanator, [sa'nu] - mom,  [tsaheylu] - neural bond , [paysyul] - water flower, [öeya tsmuke] - my sister (possesive)

Laughter filled out of the Olo'eyktan's tent, children zooming in and out as flashes of blue and cream ran across the clearing in front of the tent, life was simple, neytiri sat near the fire, the meat slowly braising inside the pot, vapors of the seasoning wafting throughout the premises, Jake was sprawled in his hammock for once enjoying the day off as tsu'tey took over for the rest till eclipse, his sleep was interrupted as lo'ak jumped on top of his chest wheezing any air left in his lungs as Jake caught his son while coughing, neteyam, kiri and spider laughing as the old man was in distress, clearly enjoy the view neytiri adjusted her hold on tuk, who was strapped to her chest, shaking her head she turned back to the stew.

Footsteps were heard as y/n walked into the leaders tent, all the children ran towards her screaming their lungs out "Aunty y/n!!!!!" As she was tackled to the ground , her pouch filled with various trinkets fell aside as she hugged the group of kids on top of her giving them all a tight squeeze, finally Letting her go, she brought out the pouch giving them each a piece she collected or made , neteyam got a armband, lo'ak and kiri got lots of beads made or picked specially for them by their aunt y/n, spider got a new necklace which he took and went running to show it to norm and max, chuckling at their antiques she got up from the ground dusting herself as she made her way towards neytiri

~ y/n pov ~

I sat down beside Neytiri taking the little tuk from her wrap, she cooed as she looked at me, big golden eyes and soft little nose twitched now and then, even though I say i do not have favorites! Really i don't but this small bundle of joy will definitely get whatever she wants with simple boo boo eyes and I'm not ready for her to use it as weapon against me

Today was Jake and neytiri's date night as he says so, I'll be looking over the children for them, neytiri still hesitates a bit before leaving as her motherly instincts are still up, not because she doesn't trusts me, just because it's the first time leaving tuk after giving birth to her, she was like this with neteyam, lo'ak and kiri as well, i give her a reassuring smile as i say "tiri, i have taken care of them countless of times, what's one more addition to that? It's better than what lo'ak used to do anyways" with that Jake took neytiri's hand laughing at the joke, as they took off on their ikrans , turning around and looking at the kids i couldn't help but remember my childhood with neytiri…

My parents were respected warriors and hunters of the clan, but life is not always joyous, the day i was born , ma sa'nok passed away giving birth to me so mo'at took me under her wing even being 5 years younger than neytiri she never let me feel secluded, she would always take me with her everywhere she went, sylwanin used to say "eywa knew if these two were to be real sisters they would have already claimed the entire land as their own by the time they both pass their iknimaya"

No matter what anyone says neytiri was , is and always be my sister, not by blood but by soul, after i turned 6, ma sempul was attacked by a palulukan in the end loosing his life due to extreme blood loss, and the Olo'eyktan's family took me in completely, neytiri stood by my side through everything, after that incident, if we were seen together everywhere now we became inseparable, attached to the hip if you must , years passed and still the bond stayed the same.

Matching tops to communal festivals, matching beads in our hair, having the same hairstyles and even have the same hoop earrings, she was the sun to my moon, mo'at was more than happy to see her girls happy together and then came in Jake sully as everything went downhill, with her bringing him to the clan, mating with him even when she was promised to tsu'tey , she had expressed her disdain about being promised to tsu'tey after sylwanin died in the RDA attack but it was final even i couldn't do anything, tsu'tey's rage for Jake betrayal, neytiri pouncing on him to protect Jake, everything was just falling apart, the war left a big abyss in everyone's life, we almost lost tsu'tey that day, and i couldn't forget the feeling of his blood on my hands as i sew him up, the hours of praying to eywa finally coming to an end as everyone was settled over, no one can ever forget that day to their dying breath..

Soon Jake was chosen as the Olo'eyktan as he became the toruk makto, tsu'tey his right hand man, life turned for good when neytiri found out about her pregnancy, never have i seen the clan so happy in my life, that day was as cherished as neytiri was, my heart swelled as i got the new honor of being an aunt, the day i held neteyam in my arms i thought I'd die from happiness itself, neytiri smiled from the cot she was laying on after hours of labor she was utterly exhausted but still she clasped my arm as i looked at her as she said " promise me öeya tsmuke, if something were to ever happen to me, you'll take care of my children and Jake" i looked at her flabbergasted "nothing is gonna happen to you ,tiri, you'll be alright" i knew she was saying this because of the near death experience she just went through but even the thought of losing her was unbearable, "promise me y/n, please" and in that moment i didn't know what to do so i promised her….. which turned out to be a curse as of now-

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Blood dripped down my fingers as my hands were shaking with my mind still in denial as i sew up the cuts and gashes on her body, my desperate state causing the needle to slip as i cussed doing my best to not just breakdown right then and there, tears pricked my eyes, blurring my vision but i pushed everything back, cleared my mind as i worked beside mo'at, she wasn't doing any better than i was….

** Today was the first raid after last week's fiasco, the humans tricked the bombs, blasting many of our na'vi soldiers, the healing tents were filled with injured, i worked nights on end without rest to tend to them, but now was a different situation, they have made a fool proof plan, as i sat in the healing tent praying for everyone's safe return when the horns blared signaling the arrival of the war party i immediately got into action checking the salves and pastes when i heard a cry i prayed i would never hear "Y/N, MO'AT! Y/N? ARE YOU HERE- y/n quick- please do something!" My mind went blank as i saw Neytiri with blood pouring out of her torso as many bullets had pierced her while some were embedded, a long gash ran down her arm and stomach, i felt like time slowed down , my body automatically moving into action but my brain wasn't even thinking straight, it felt like i was underwater no air to breathe but my limbs were acting on their own to break the surface of the water, me and mo'at did our fucking best, removing the bullets but the blood loss was extensive, even if the logical part of me knew she won't make it, something in me held onto the hope that it'll all be okay…… Nothing was okay**

Tears lined my eyes, some Falling down freely as everything crumbled apart in my hands, Jake was screaming, mo'at was silent, as neytiri looked at me her eyes glassy as stopped me from the stitching grabbing my hand bringing it to her chest as she heaved out with difficulty "y- y/n , remem- remember our promise-" i couldn't even comprehend her words as sobs came right after, it was like all the air was sucked out of me as i shook my head but she went on " take car-" she was cut short with a cough as blood spilled out, my mind zeroed as i wipe it but she stopped me again, holding me firmly, even in her dying state her grip was just as strong as before " take care of- of them, for me, plea-" before i could even respond the life in her eyes flickered out like a dying flame, a screaming bubbled in my throat as it tumbled out but it was nothing compared to the man who sat besides his mate's dead body, no one on earth or Pandora has seen Jake sully scream for his love as he did now, the whole of omaticaya silenced at the sceams of a mate losing his other half, everything felt numb, like a void that sucked everything inn, leaving the man to grieve in private i stumbled out but my legs failed me as i crashed into the ground, sobs wrecking my body and i doubled over my knees, letting everything out, i lost my mentor, my rock, my sun more importantly my tsmuke, everything blurred over as i felt hands touch my shoulder but i didn't care who it was but the next i knew i was being engulfed in a hug, the warmth did nothing to soothe the cold that wrapped around me as i sobbed, a void in my chest that could never be filled again, seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours as i got up from my spot outside the healing tent, mo'at was seated beside me, she was fast asleep after all the crying that was done, i looked inside as Jake was still besides neytiri, my already fractured heart broke a thousand pieces at the scene, i turned around not wanting to look at Jake's mournful cries but i was met with the faces that will haunt me forever…….

Sitting down inside their Hut as everyone hugged me tight as they all cried for their mother, tuk hugged my neck asking what was going on but i couldn't even bring myself to answer that question before breaking into tears as they all slowly drifted into sleep but i sat there staring at the ceiling , silent tears flowing non- stop.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

I stood a little behind Jake as they lowered neytiri into the small hole dug into the hometree as she finally United with the great mother, tears smeared my cheeks as i watched, the peaceful look on her face can almost trick anyone into thinking she was asleep if they didn't know better, goosebumps running down my body as i watched Jake choke back on his sobs, he was the strongest man I've ever known and seeing him like that makes me want to hurl my stomach out, i walked forward gently throwing the flower petals onto her body, after me as did everyone else, as mo'at started chanting to eywa i couldn't take it as i turned around and speed walked myself into my tent as i curled into a ball and cried till there was nothing left, all that left behind was a husk, even though my mind knew she was gone, gone forever and never coming back, my heart still denied it, this was not how it was supposed to be, she was supposed to be here laughing and enjoying as we all ate together, not like this, all cold with no sense of warmth to ever return too, not like this with no one to turn when you have a problem, no one to hug when you have a bad day, no one… no one there to share your presence with…

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

A few months have passed on, Jake had thrown himself into work, working his emotions into war plans, his appearance becoming tattered more then ever but no one dared to question him, there were way too many raids throughout the week, warriors were getting exhausted but didn't once complaint as they went through every raid, more were getting injured but no word was spoken as it went on, but what did catch my eye was his behavior was just as same towards neteyam and lo'ak as it was towards the actual warriors, always making them do task way above their league as he walked away going into the war tent, sighing i knew if i intervened right now Jake would punish the boys even more but i couldn't just sit around seeing them miserable, as i got to them, they stopped in their tracks tensing up but when they saw who it was all tension faded away, as i opened my arms and they both stumbled into the hug, i squeezed them tight giving them both a kiss on their forehead as i told them " finish you work and come home, I'll make your favorite dinners" as they both smiled nodding and going to do their work with a renewed power.

After the food was done i got up wiping myself of the sweat , turning around i saw tuk laying in the hammock, it wasn't her laying down that concerned me, it was the sniffles i heard, as i walked over to her bending down a bit as i caressed her hair "tuk, sweetheart, what is wrong?" I got in beside her as she held onto me, her nose pressed into my neck as i felt her tears fall on my shoulder, i just rubbed her back , finally calming down i asked once again "what is wrong baby?" She sniffled before answering " is mommy never going to come back?" And my heart shattered hearing those words, how was I even supposed to explain to her what death was? But i tried my best " you see, when people grow old, they become weak, that's when the great mother calls them back to her so they can all rest in peace, we are all eywa's children, we all return back to her, but when they get their eywa's love is so strong they all stay there, you mommy is there as well, she's at peace and is watching over us, as the time comes we'll all meet her eventually" tuk just stared at me with big wide eyes as she processed the information, nodding she said "then i hope i see eywa as soon as possible" now it was my turn to stare at her with wide eyes " No, paysyul, you cannot do that, you'll see her when the time comes not before or after " giving me a nod of understanding she plopped her head right into my neck yet again clutching me close, few minutes later she was passed out cold as i held her close, neteyam and lo'ak got back as they looked at me , giving me smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes, i knew Jake had scolded them yet again, sighing i carefully placed tuk into the hammock, mentally remembering to feed her later, as i helped the boys to serve, while they ate their dinner i said "you boys stay here for a while, I'm going to your grandmother's to help her" they just nodded while lo'ak also gave me a thumbs up, smiling i made my way towards the healing tent.

As i got in, i saw kiri and mo'at talking, mo'at smiled as i entered "ahh ma child, come come" kiri looked up and smiled, squatting beside her i spoke "kiri, go home now, you've helped enough, i have made dinner, eat something, I'll handle this from here" she just looked down for a moment then nodding as she got up bidding a quick bye she went out, neytiri's passing was a lot harder on the girl, as she already didn't have grace now her, she became really quite talking only to me , mo'at and spider , as i got to work, i saw mo'at was a bit quieter than usual , eyeing her a few times i broke the silence as it was getting too much "what is it ma sa'nok? You seem quieter than usual" she turned to face me, her face a bit paler than usual as well, i got worried by the passing seconds of silence, she opened her mouth to speak but didn't, worried i asked again "sa'nu are you alright? Do you need anything?" As if with newfound confidence, her next sentence broke the ground i stood on "you are to mate with toruk makto, there has been a sign from eywa and it shall be done as soon as possible " as i processed her words the only thing leaving my mouth was "WhAt?!" And i was ready to bet the entirety of omaticaya heard me in that moment, she just looked at me with a calm expression repeating the words again, "you are to be mated to Jake Sully and there will be no exceptions" i just stared at her dumbfounded, without listening anything more i walked out, not wanting to hear another word…….

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

I sat at the edge of the lake me and tiri used to come too, dangling my legs into the water, flicking it now and then sighing, i mulled over what mo'at said , closing my eyes i reeled over the thoughts of tuk, kiri, lo'ak and neteyam, their faces zooming through my mind , groaning i knew i had to say yes, not just because of the sign eywa had showed but due to my promise to neytiri, my head hung down as i was lost in thoughts, finally hardening my heart, i walked back towards the healing tent, praying all goes smoothly, walking inside i saw eywa has turned her back to me, standing right in front of me with his back to me was Jake sully himself, inhaling a deep breath, calming my heart, i walked forward, mo'at seeing me smiled as Jake turned, his figure towering over me, his look almost looked murderous, i just hoped it wasn't towards me , my tail fell between my legs, i spoke "i agree for the union" Jake's head snapped to mine as he almost broke it, his annoyance evident as he said "you can't be serious right now? You really want to do that to neytiri!!?" My heart sunk at the words we haven't spoken after that day in the tent, now i don't even know if this was even worse but i kept my opinion firm as i turned to him, fear lingered but i bit down on it " i said i am ready for the union, i promised Neytiri and i won't let it down" he flashed his fangs at me but i kept stotic, mo'at took her que to leave as her work to get the word across was done, Jake gritted "you will take that back right now" , "it is eywa's will, we can't run from it Jake, it has to be done or it won't be good for any of us if the great mother herself is angered" i said, "so you're ready to give yourself up to a man who won't even look at you with what a mate should look?" I winced at the words but i knew i had to keep her promise as i nodded, he had a look of disbelief on his face but he took a breathe looking at me with a serious face he said the words that rocked my world " if that's your decisions then here's mine, i won't make tsaheylu with you, nor will i give you what a mate can give you but i will respect and protect you and that's my words but do not expect anything more from me" he scoffed and stormed out of the tent, i just crumbled to the floor bringing my knees close to my chest as i curled up on myself, repeating on and on that this was for good and for the Better future of the kids but my heart mourned for MY future as it saw everything crash down into ash….

I got up , chin held high, if the future I saw for myself wasn't going to happen then I'll make a different one and make it happen, for myself, for Neytiri as I walked out of the tent ready to face the cruel fate I was destined too…

A/n : i just finished this and i couldn't believe i wrote upto 3k, like i get bored to write 200 words essay and now I'm writing these big ass fics, I'm like 🥹😭🫣 anyway if you wanna be tagged then please go see the pinned post on my blog 💙🫶🏼

Yawne : @elriel-4-ever, @fanboyluvr, @callmeoncette, @lu-the-ghost-reader, @brisbriskett, @saltedcoffeescotch, @jackiehollanderr, @zoetrope1997, @yeosxxx

©Neteyamyawne2023 | All Rights Reserved. Do not repost on other platforms, copy, steal, or translate any of my works!

[zerolostwalks]

Fic writer asks:

4, 11, 16, 24, 44, 70

(there are too many great questions!)

Thank you thank you! They are really good questions!! (found here)

Long post is long so there's a read more cut. (Question 16. (How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?) gets especially long because I decided I want to discuss all my WIPs.)

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

This is a wonderful question, and honestly it depends. Some ideas definitely are me reading or watching something and forming an AU around that. Sometimes it's listening to music and a vibe strikes me that I am like I must write a story that fits this vibe. Other times, I'll be daydreaming and a single scene will pop into my mind and haunt me until I write it down which usually leads to creating the world and circumstances to allow that scene to happen. Sometimes I get an impulsive (in the cases of my darker angstier stuff intrusive thought) and my brain is like wouldn't that be messed up? (Like Crash Pad, Ch 11 solely happened because I built the backstory for the POV character and brain went, you know what't be really screwed up?)

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

Oh geez. But there are so many good fics!! At this moment the immediate top 3 that jumped in my head were:

-It's a supernatural delight by @invisibleraven (JatP fic) -Trip of My Life (Every Time You're Touching Me) by @daintyduck99 (JatP fic) -Prince Charming's Jacket by hitechlatte (Rise TMNT fic)

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

So most of my fic ideas are in some WIP phase. (I'm serious when I saw I need a focus schedule to help me out) We Run Together - This next chapter is all Reggie being all anxiety riddled because Cam and Bobby take him shopping . . .still not sure if we're gonna get to the plane ride this chapter or next. Bobby's first since turning and Reggie's first period. . .it's a miserable affair for the two of them. I have this mental image of them during a layover just sprawled in the waiting away noses shoved in some sort of fast food bag or peppermint bag fighting off the queasiness of being trapped in a metal tube with a bunch of people, including young kids. . Hello Baby June, Goodbye Heart - I keep going back an reading what we have for the next chapter and all our notes. I don't know how much Ash is ok with me gushing about details bu I'll just say the stuff we've got planned it's literally that meme of "give me fic. 'you have to write it.' no write only fic." A lot of of my JatP wips are on rotisserie skewers in my brain right now, rotating, coming into view, reminding me of their presence, enticing me to work on them. And they ALL have moments that I am like, you were the scene! The reason I started this fic in the first place and I still haven't gotten to you yet!! . Crash and Burn - Gotta get through this last chapter of Crash Pad, which is gonna be fun. But then Glowing Embers!! Aaaah, the Donnie POV side of Crash Pad!! Especially Ch 9-11 of Crash Pad like I am at that point of must write this that I have worked myself into a frenzied state where writing is no longer possible . Finally the Donnie Double AU - This AU has so much angst potential. Right now I have two planned fics for it. An unnamed one where Mikey goes after the Donnie Duplicate to try and coax him back to the lair. Only instead he sets him off. And like I said, it gets angsty. The Donnie Duplicate 1000% believes he is OG Donnie, it is hardwired into him, no amount of evidence is going to convince him otherwise. Also hardwired into him is the belief that the only way to get his life back is to kill the entity that stole it from him i.e. OG Donnie. Which leads me to the second planned fic Meant to Be(working title, it may change). This is the reader insert(possibly OC) led fic. Essentially the premise is Donnie Duplicate runs into MC, and initially begins clinging to them out of an 'I just lost my entire support system' desperation that turns into a really unhealthy obsessive possessiveness. When I say it is pulling a lot of vibes, especially the planned ending, from Meant to be Yours from Heathers the Musical I ain't lying. In fact most of the vibe songs I am pulling for this lean into dark and angsty feels. Straight up have been listening to a song called Stalker's Tango on a loop for planning parts of this fic

24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

Hmmmmmm, this ones tough, if it was bad advice I most likely purged it from my mind. The thing is sometimes what is great advice for one person and their way of writing may be terrible advice for some one else. Like even the write daily advice, I think this is great advice. But it needs to be tailored to some extent. When I got back into fic writing I worked myself to the point where I am now needing to reevaluate my expectations of me and my writing. Because I can no longer keep up with the way I wrote a few years ago. The same advice I would have thought was great then would kill me now.

44. What mistakes do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you?

This question would be easier if I had a regular beta XD. Personal mistake of my own that I keep noticing, I don't let the story breath enough.

70. When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

I have no hesitations telling people I write. I might not always discuss what the stories themselves are. But the brilliant thing about fanfiction is I don't have to, I can just talk about the joy of exploring the characters outside of canon, exploring how they would behave in different circumstances. At my sister's wedding a couple years ago, most people didn't even care about the what I was writing, more on the how I found the time. Because this was when I was in peak production mode, where I was slowly burning myself out with the sheer amount of writing I was doing without pacing myself at all.

[daimyosprincess]

wip game: Sharp Objects

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it.

Thank you for the ask bb! Ok so I've had this idea kicking around my head for a while and I hope to get to write it after I finish with Ex Libris and Twin Suns. I've got about 3k in little scenes written where I've had inspiration.

It's gonna be a multi-part rivals (not really enemies, but def antagonistic) to lovers (but still very antagonistic lmao) fic set during the later part of the Empire. Reader (which may change to an OC) is a bounty hunter that goes by "The Jagiir," or Jag for short, (a jagiir is the Star Wars equivalent to a jaguar I've decided) who competes with Boba as they fight their way up the bounty hunting world. It's going to be deliciously spicy and lil toxic but that's life baybee

Enjoy a lil snippet below the cut 🤭

As always, my work is intended for 18+ audiences even if there are no explicit sexual content.

As always, my work is intended for 18+ audiences even if there are no explicit sexual content.

18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“That was my fucking bounty.”

You grin into your drink. Looks like Fett had finally arrived. “Hmm? What bounty?” you ask with mock innocence, blinking up to stare into the green helmet above you.

“Don't act like you don't know.” Boba grits out, balling his fists until his leather gloves creak in protest.

He's obviously pissed, but you're in a good mood and want to test your luck. “Oh, on Eelayis? That's funny, because as I recall that was a Guild bounty,” you reply cheekily, taking another swing of your spotchka, “not a private one with your name on it.”

“I'm not in the mood for your antics, kitten.” He emphasizes the pet name, knowing you hated that one the most. If you wanted to push buttons, he could too.

“Then what are you in the mood for?” you retort, reaching up to jab your finger on his chest plate playfully.

You were having entirely too much fun, Boba thinks. He grabs your wrist and pulls himself down to your ear. “Is that your problem, little princess? Nobody to fuck you like you need?” Your muscles tense in his grasp, your intent sharpening.

Running languid eyes up and down his broad frame, you smirk. “Why? You looking for someone to fuck, Fett?”

The smoldering look in your eyes almost does him in, makes him slam you down and fuck the disrespect right out of you then and there. Almost. Instead he turns on his heel, purposely letting the butt of his blaster knock your drink into your lap. Brat.

“You son of a-”

The rest of your words are cut off by the shattering of glass on the back of his helmet. Whipping around, he finds you smug-faced with your arm still outstretched from your throw, completely unabashed. You knew you'd crossed the line and weren't sorry in the least. That was fucking it. 

Lunging towards you, Boba crashes his armored body into yours, shoving you into the booth wall. Knowing he has a codpiece, you opt to kick his knees out and roll him off you into the floor under the table. Scrambling out of the booth, he catches your ankle, sending you sprawling and your chin crashing into the dirty cantina floor. The sharp taste of blood fills your mouth and your mind stutters at the impact. Kark that hurt.

The room around you has exploded into chaos: Tsar's was one of those seedy joints that was always one punch away from a riot. Boots fill your watery vision as other patrons begin settling their own scores above you. Forcing yourself to focus, you kick at Boba's hands grabbing and pulling on your legs. You definitely pushed it too far with him this time, but you just couldn't help yourself—his domineering attitude just begged to be tested. And who better to do it than you?

Taglist 💖 @agirlnamejacq @burningfieldof-clover @marierg @acatalystrising @dukeoftheblackstar @imarvelatthestars @saradika @nintendobl00d @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @historianwithaheart @andrakass2 @samspenandsword @liadamerondjarin @sleepingsun501 @sgt-morgan @rescuethewretched @rexxdjarin @ladytano420

some others who have interacted or might be interested (lemme know if you don't wanted to be tagged in the future) 💕 @writingwintermoon @ghostvizsla @hes-all-and-hes-more @thirsty-boba-fett-posts @erinthevampire @vorpan-yaimi @becks-things @kakashibabe02 @pickleprickle

@thefact0rygirl @bobathirstaccount @baba-fett @popupguidetothegalaxy @galacticgraffiti @psybrepunk @jangosweat @janghoefett @zinzinina @starlightrows @rain-on-kamino @rosethornxs @reluctant-mandalore @twistedstitcher27 @jocasta-n @literallydontlook @arandomnerdsblog578 @deewithani @kurara123 @bucketfvcker

[99corentine]

first off, you've probably seen the many comments i've left cross platform for GHD. But you have so inspired me, i've been in a bit of a rut with my long form fic (130,000 and im not sure im even half way through yet) and i've been so worried that there's no way to have a 300,000 + fic without the quality decreasing, or the characters become stale, but you have shown me it's possible, and inspired me to keep going, so thank you!

I'm taking a break from reading fic for now, but im so excited to start tooth for tooth! Anyway i just wanted to let you know what an influence you've had, and that you have become my favourite ao3 author!

much love xoxo

Aw, thank you very much! Great longfic is entirely doable, and these days is my preferred form of writing I think - I used to prefer shorter form stuff, but I'm not sure sure I could write anything without a sprawling plot now. However, it's a bigger commitment for both the author and the reader (I for one never have time to read longfic myself...) so it definitely comes with its downsides.

If you end up reading Tooth for a Tooth that's great! But yeah, it's 136K words and we're still in Act 1, so it's gonna be another huge commitment to write AND to read.

Something to bear in mind is that GHD took four years to finish; I have no idea how long a 375K word megafic is supposed to take but four years doesn't feel unreasonable to me. Basically I'm saying that these things take time and you have to set realistic expectations for yourself. In addition, creativity is a river, not a tap, you can't just turn it on and off. There were times I wrote a new GHD chapter in three days, and other times it took over three months, that's just how it goes sometimes.

But to finish, I'm really glad you liked it and it inspired you to keep writing!

[bromcommie]

for the ask game: 💕 📚 🎨 !

Hi hii, thanks for the ask! :) 💕 - I answered this bad boy here!

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

Oooh, there are...so many. Right now I will take any chance to praise @dharmasharks for her beautifully vivid, painfully tender (I know I keep saying that, but I really have no other word for how it makes me feel) historical AU fics which I'm enjoying so, so much as I go through them (If by any chance you see this—hopefully that doesn't sound too stalker-y, and if it does— apologies. It is entirely the fault of your compelling writing.) I'm not going to go into too much detail with individual commentary right now because my brain is at its limit + I've already yelled incoherently about Till there were no more wolves in the West on here and I've still yet to finish it (I'm so close! And it, like several of the other non-AU ones that I ended up reading ~on accident~, deserves a well-thought out response!), but I really, really recommend literally anything she writes. Maybe I'm biased on account of how all of the fics I've read hit just my preferred mix of characterization, angst, humor, historical detail and commentary and well-backed, well-worn history between Blorbos #1 and #2, replete with gentleness and conflict and truly electric dynamics (I mean that in every sense of the word. The sex is amazingly written, too.) but they are also just objectively wonderful. A+ on all counts.

Two other fics that I read somewhat recently: #1: The Name in the Mouth by Rave, which took me out at the fucking knees. Mindblowingly woven nonlinear narrative that very beautifully (and very, very painfully) examines Bucky's state post-CATWS, his trajectory from the helicarrier to Bucharest both physically and mentally, and his relationship to his Jewish identity. The voice felt so distinct, and everything from the storytelling structure and epistolary segments and contrasting bits of memory and present-day observations with both horror and a bit of humor scattered throughout to the dialogue and OCs and historical background (down to the sources referenced for real-life events) was absolutely pitch-perfect and often felt like an extremely well-timed and executed punch to the gut.

Fuck me. I'm gonna be thinking about this one for a long, long while.

2#: The Old Words by kvikindi, which, funnily enough, is another introspective, sprawling character study—this time of (predominantly TFATWS era-focused) Zemo. And look, it's not something I ever thought I would be all that into, however: this fic absolutely blew me away with its brutal introspection, the characters' dynamics (that somehow still feel true to canon whle being infinitely more thought out), and the near-intimidating level of care and detail paid to constructing both Zemo's personal (often horrifying) history and voice as well as a Sokovian history and culture, told in an almost mythical way and feeling as much like its own living, breathing thing as it does an omage to several Balkan countries. All in all, an impeccable, unexpected gem. 100% canon to me now, because it's exactly what I would've wanted to see if I'd told someone, "Hey, can you please rewrite the entirety of the shitshow that is the MCU's Sokovia to not be an insensitive, fumbling parody of something that is clearly based on a real country?"

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Uh, any? Honestly if anything I'd written ever made someone want to make fanart, I'd be honored. It'd knock me on my ass. But if I were to pick from the stuff I've posted on AO3, I'd have to say the bar dream scene from Orpheus between fresh off the helicarrier Bucky and dream!Steve. Or maybe something with the Howlies from See What the Boys In the Backroom Will Have, because that'd just be very fun.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Yellow City, Chapter eighteen - a Malevolent AU

The vote.

A few nasty surprises.

A Michael Jackson cameo (sort of).

A day, Hastur thinks, like that day, hundreds of years before, when the entire trajectory of reality felt changed.

Chapter eighteen of Yellow City. One chapter left, folks! TW: the fic is explicit.

AO3

----------

Arthur lay before Hastur like a work of art. Which, Hastur decided, he was.

Sprawled, spread, displayed and devoured, he lay clean but reddened, soothed but spent, and he watched Hastur with an expression that felt like the culmination of all the worship and adoration Hastur had ever wanted at any time in his life.

Better than what he’d wanted, in fact.

Maybe that was why he kept giving Arthur his way. Maybe that was why he kept letting this absurd human be defiant, or change how things were, or make his own rules.

Maybe. Hastur wasn’t sure. His usual mode of function (feel like doing a thing = do it) was not working as normal these days, because even when he wanted something, sometimes Arthur wanted something else, and Hastur felt like doing the something else instead even though he sort of didn’t.

Well. They had a long time to figure it out. Whatever it was.

“Vote’s today,” Arthur murmured, his lips still pink and plump.

“Yes,” rumbled Hastur.

“I want to go.”

“I cannot vote to save your world, Arthur,” Hastur reminded him gently. If Arthur had forgotten…

The expected tears did not come. “I know,” said Arthur. “I want to be there, anyway.”

“To… give a rousing speech?” Hastur dragged the tips of his tentacles down Arthur’s pale skin (still pale, in spite of all his time running around outside, because Hastur knew how to protect his things), drawing runes of protection that reddened, then disappeared as if sinking into Arthur’s flesh.

“Maybe,” said Arthur. “It’s important to be there.”

“Yeah,” Parker agreed from the side. “I think we should be.” He lay, too, on the bed, under a pile of tentacles, looking sleepily at them both. “It’s gonna be a fucking mess.”

“It will.” Hastur wished they could stay here like this instead. That would be much nicer. “You will need to look the part. This is a formal occasion.”

“Sure,” Arthur mumbled.

“If only you would let me drape you with gold as you deserve,” Hastur lamented. 

“Big fucking baby,” Parker muttered, and Arthur laughed.

Hastur huffed at them both. “You’d be lovely if you let me do what I wanted.” There it was again. Let. He could do what he wanted already. Nothing was stopping him. Except... he wanted them to want it, too. He didn’t know why. Arthur’s fault, probably. “Let me adorn you,” Hastur said. “Bring you gleaming into the sun, so that you are brighter than the distant stars, so that you remind them all what might be lost if they choose to end your world.”

Parker rolled his eyes.

Arthur did not. “Do you really think it’ll help?”

“I do,” said Hastur, because he did. It would have helped him, if he’d been on the fence.

Arthur took a deep breath. “I don’t… I don’t like how they feel.”

So much for that idea. “I know.”

“Can we do it temporarily?”

Ooh! “Yes.”

“Why don’t you just fucking tattoo him, you want everybody to know whose he is so bad?” said Parker.

Hastur huffed. “I dislike tattoos.”

“Why? Just because they're not shiny?”

Hastur paused a moment too long. “No,” he said firmly. “They are more difficult to move around, and I prefer changeable beauty.”

Parker snorted. “Sure.”

“You promise we can remove it all after the vote?” repeated Arthur, looking stern (and naked and lovely and so very vulnerable).

“Yes.” Hastur had no problem with this promise. 

“And I won’t feel them.” Arthur set his jaw.

“Fuck’s sake. Who’s the baby now?” Parker said.

Arthur turned his head to glare at him. “Just for that, you get to dress up, too.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

Hastur rumbled. His limbs slid over Parker, heavy and possessive. “Yes. You should.”

Parker sighed. 

“I will if you will,” Arthur challenged. “Unless you’re afraid.”

“Afraid? The fuck you say,” said Parker.

“Let me,” urged Hastur. “Let me. Let me.”

“Fine, you big toddler,” said Parker.

Hastur picked him up and held him close to his mask, letting power wash over and through him, filling his lungs and his mind with golden grace. “Toddler?”

Parker held very still, shuddering a little, flushed and breathing quickly. “Yeah. Whatcha gonna do about it?” he said, breathless as if he’d been running.

Hastur did not take the bait, lovely as it was. “I want them to see you as I do: worthy. Elegant. Deserving of beauty, even ephemeral.”

Parker reddened, and not from trained desire. “So you wanna lie.”

“Parker,” said Arthur softly as if that hurt him.

“You will learn in time,” said Hastur with patience he felt was quite laudable, and began to dress them up.

#

For sake of the vote, the rest of Carcosa shut down.

It went quiet, still. Birds were silent as if sleeping. Breeze no longer played in trees. Color seemed slightly leached, somehow, faded, bled away. There was absolutely no sound. Parker hadn’t realized just how much noise was gone until he found himself making most of it. 

Not that he was noisy. Just… made some jingling sounds with every step now.

He did not mind. Not like this. Hastur had listened, and Parker really liked what they’d come up with.

Both humans wore some kind of makeup or paint that made their eyes larger and their lips fuller. It patterned down their skin in runes, words of power wrapping them like fantasy. That’s where the similarities ended.

Arthur had taken whatever Hastur wanted; permitted nipple piercings (eyes closed and turned away, though clearly he felt nothing as promised). Golden, diaphanous cloth draped across Arthur’s chest and down his hips. Some kind of strappy sandals criss-crossed their way up his calves, showing off the definition he'd gained with all that running. And of course, there were the chains: body jewelry, hair-fine and glittering, draped across his shoulders, clipped to his nipple rings in a wildly complicated spiderweb-thin pattern, and dripping down like twinkling bits of fire just below his belly button.

Good for him.

Parker had gone a different route. The cloth he wore was still pretty gauzy, but it was deep purple. Under it…

He didn’t know what the material was, but this? This felt like armor. It started around his throat with a black torque, not sealed closed; from it, black chains fell across his shoulders and chest and down, placing lines of fine, dark links across his skin in a wide, somehow strong pattern. It felt substantial, if not heavy; it felt like it could turn a knife-blade, which was silly because it was just chains. They were fine and smooth. There was no protection.

It still felt pretty good. So did the piercings. Very good. Parker was beginning to realize he liked the feeling of these things a lot more than he expected to, and couldn’t be sure if that was good or not. Felt good wasn’t reason enough because… 

Huh. Because he’d had to push into things that felt bad his whole life, so he didn’t trust things that didn’t. He wondered what Tabby would make of that head doctoring.

Behind them, Hastur had come out in all his glory. The contrast to this near-colorless place was sharp and striking. His gold made the suns look tame, and his white mask shone like glass. His crown—insubstantial, floating—sliced the air, leaving strangely jagged afterimages that faded slowly. Fire sparked from his fingers and the gold bands on his tentacles. 

He felt ready for war. That was Parker’s impression. Ready for war. 

Parker swallowed. “Should we, uh. Be wearing weapons, or something?”

“No,” said Hastur. “Nothing you could wield would make a difference, and my own wrath should be enough.”

Arthur seemed to be… sane. Present. Grim. “What are we going to do if the vote goes wrong?”

Hastur sighed. “I don’t know.”

“There has to be something," Arthur said.

Hastur stroked down Arthur’s back. “There will be something. Hardly ideal. But something.”

“Fuck that guy,” said Arthur, low.

Parker was silent.

“We don’t blame you. You know that, right?” said Arthur.

“What?” said Parker.

“We don’t blame you. Do we?” said Arthur.

“No,” said Hastur. “You were used. You were faithful, for which none can fault you.”

“Right,” said Parker, who saw plenty of fault.

“You are mine now, regardless,” said Hastur.

Parker snorted.

“You are,” said Arthur.

“Not like you, though, right?” said Parker, and it came out sharper than intended.

“What?” said Arthur.

“He wishes to be marked,” said Hastur. 

“Oh!” said Arthur.

“I’m not sure I can. He died.”

So this conversation had just gone right off the rails. Parker hunched (enjoying the way the fine, dark chains slid over his skin) and clenched his fists. “Didn’t want it, anyway.”

“Yes, you did,” said Hastur, not letting him get away with that. “And so do I. But I… do not yet know how to accomplish it.”

“Even if I’m willing?” slipped out.

“Yes. You have died. Your soul is not the same; even your dreams no longer affect this world. I have been putting thought into it, Parker. I will find a solution.”

And that.

That right there.

That. “You have?” said Parker in a small voice.

“Of course,” said Hastur, like that was obvious, like that was a given, and now Parker was pissed because he felt himself tearing up and there was fucking makeup to worry about and this was all incredibly stupid.

Arthur walked closer and bumped him lightly. “Hey. It’s going to work out.”

Parker sniffled, swallowing it all back. “Fuckin’ fairy tales.”

“Sometimes they’re real.”

“Maybe.” He licked his lips. They were nearly to the pavilion. “Maybe… I hope so.”

“That’s the first step.” Arthur gave him a smile he wanted to kiss off that stupid face, and then they were arrived. 

#

The Pavilion of Contracts had been completely swept clean. All the plinths were gone, and the damage from removing Y'golonac erased. Gods now filled this space, packed in rows, somehow hoarding shadow so that even now, in broad daylight, they were a mass of darkness and gleaming eyes.

The presence of the Mother might have had something to do with that. The moment they stepped in, Parker shuddered to a halt. Hastur stabilized him. “I got this,” Parker muttered, stubborn as always, and staggered forward.

Arthur didn’t find it so difficult to keep his feet. He doubted he’d be read in as to why, but he’d take it for the blessing it was.

This was a different silence than currently gripped the rest of the city. This was thick, and layered, and rich with meaning Arthur could feel like little leaves sliding all over his skin. It was funny. This was the biggest, most important thing he’d ever been part of, and it felt like… well, not the most important. It felt like this was just the next step, and they were nowhere near this mountain’s peak. Arthur took a slow breath and looked around.

In the center of the pavilion rose two strange stones. They were black, squared, cracked with luminescent gold glowing in their depths. And in the top of each was a slot, long and narrow and opaque. They looked identical to him, but apparently gods knew better. One of those boxes would hold the votes to save the world. The other would hold the votes to damn it.

Arthur clenched his teeth. Always this way, wasn’t it? The big guys having power over the little guys, choosing fates. Never fair, never right, but it always happened this way, and—

He closed his eyes and shook his head, sharp. No. That wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t a bunch of politicians who’d schemed their way into power over equals. This was about tragedy, and people—including gods—forgetting themselves in the wake of it. This had to do with purpose.

Each of these beings were born from and for some aspect of reality. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, separated, playing with mortals like toys when the opportunity arose, and otherwise just dicking around. This was supposed to be… supposed to be…

Harmonious, sounded his memory in a voice he knew so well, but one he weirdly couldn’t place. And yeah. It was supposed to be that.

No wonder this didn’t feel like the peak of the mountain. It wasn’t. The peak would be harmonious. The peak would be some brand-new path gashed through that stone, a pass that hadn’t existed before, a completely new thing.

It mattered. It mattered so much. Arthur moved forward.

Hastur stopped him. “Not yet.”

ALL MUST COME, the Mother said.

So who was missing?

Arthur looked around the gathering, fighting the comforting pall that kept trying to transform everything into understandable, mortal trouble. A large, red-faced man with a beer belly wavered and transformed into an enormous monstrosity the color of old blood, bulbous and strange. Not Callahan. T’kppa. A servant of Kissi…  no. Of Y’golonac.

Arthur closed his eyes again, breathing hard. He could do this.

That one—Richard Armand, one of the wealthiest men in the city, always smiling, with his fingers in every pot, the most scheming and dangerous… no. This was Atlach-Nacha, the Spinner in the Darkness, who did indeed have his limbs in every pot, but was no smiling politician.

Dawson didn’t run power for the city. He was Dygra, a gigantic, sharp-edged creature who looked like the gleaming purple inside of a stone Arthur had seen once in a museum. 

Nath-Horthath was not a tall sun-bronzed man, but a wild-looking humanoid with too many golden wings and a face like a lion’s. 

Morrissey Dagon was just Dagon, Father of the Deep, the Crafter of Waves, the Golden Patriarch, a monster of ocean waters who had not been to the ocean in a very long time.

And Mama Laveau—

Arthur lost a few seconds, and found himself braced against Hastur, standing in a different part of the pavilion, and it took him another few seconds to work out what happened. Oh. He’d happened. Because Kissinger had arrived… and he hadn’t come alone. With him came slithering, slumping, dripping and leaking, shambling and reeking, dead gods.

No. Not dead. Exploded.

(He’d brought his entire gang, he’d broken them out of prison. This wasn’t right, wasn’t fair, and Arthur had tried to get in the way.)

Arthur closed his eyes and shook and forced himself to remain present.

These were pieces of gods who’d broken their Contracts. The ones that had somehow been stolen from Earth where the witches had kept them—and it hit him now that they still didn’t know how he had done that, but at least now they knew why.

All gods got a vote. Even guilty ones, about to be sent to Outer Darkness to be erased. Even ones who were half-dead, miserable, suffering the consequence of their choices… and rescued by the Defiler from their prisons.

Oh, no. Oh, no. How fucking many were there? They kept coming and coming, slithering in, grunting with effort, but here, cognizant, aware, and standing with Y’Golonac. Oh, fucking hell…

“Can he do that?” somebody whispered.

“I mean, they’d get freed anyway, once we vote to Harvest,” someone else muttered.

The murmurs rose, confusion, unsure. Valid questions and stupid ones. Hastur was very still. It seemed real damn crowded in here now.

It was Y’golonac who spoke into the buzzy conversation, loud and sticky-sounding. “Let us vote. We are ready. Get this over with, shall we? Why put it off? What is there to fear?”

NOT ALL OUR FAMILY HAVE YET ARRIVED. Oh, the Mother sounded weary, tired, pained. 

Arthur had no idea who all these beings were to her. Children? Relatives, certainly. “What was the plan?” he murmured. “They violated Contracts and paid, right? What was the plan after that?”

“I don’t know,” said Hastur. 

“There was no plan,” said Y’golonac, sliming his way over through the thickening gloom, which stole more daylight, which stole more color. “They were simply going to languish forever.”

Hastur stood tall, cloak billowing, the only remaining point of color in the pavilion. “That is a lie. Why, not even being sent to Outer Darkness lasts forever, does it, my brother?”

Shots fired, as it were.

Y’golonac growled, the mouth in his stomach grinning horrifically, the mouths in his hands wriggling their tongues like maggots. “Fool,” said the Defiler. “You would’ve benefited. Now, you’ll languish like the rest of them, starving slowly… and you’ll keep giving yourself to this prison until you’re the only one left in it, surrounded by howling, hungry winds, not even your humans alive, and then—”

“Will you just shut the fuck up?” Parker bellowed, and it was his police voice. “We get it! You’re a poor fucking loser. We get it. Done? Because it’s over for you. You lost. And you know what? This is all gonna go on without you!”

“Little one,” Hastur said quietly.

“No,” Parker growled, fists clenched. “I paid for what he wanted. I paid. And for what? What good did it do? His perfect world he’d promised was a lie!”

“Hastur, control your human,” said someone like Parker was a yipping dog.

Somehow, Parker got louder. His voice could crack stone. “You all wanna show yourselves gods? Do you? Wise, and mighty, and glorious, and so much more than I am? A stupid little human who got fooled? Then don’t get fucking fooled!”

“Oh!” said someone, as if that hadn’t occurred to them before.

Movement. Too fast, and Arthur couldn’t quite make it out, but the next blink, Y’golonac was closer, and Hastur was holding Parker close, surrounding him with arms.

No one moved. Parker puffed like an angry bull.

“Traitor,” said the Defiler.

“False god,” said Parker.

A wave of low ooooohs rolled across the crowd.

CHILDREN. The Mother sounded so damn tired. ENOUGH. THIS SOLVES NOTHING. TAKE YOUR PLACES. 

Y’golonac smirked at them both. “I hope you enjoy dying slowly, brother, knowing, in the end, that I was right,” he said, and slimed his way to the other side of the pavilion where his horde of discharged, dishonest, disreputable gods waited, looking horrible, sporting holes and gashes and missing parts.

“He’s wrong,” said Arthur, firmly. “As long as there’s life, there’s hope.”

“You are so young,” Hastur said softly, as if not really meant for other ears.

“Maybe I just know the difference not giving up can make,” Arthur said. “Parker, you good?”

“Yeah,” Parker muttered. “Wish I could fucking deck him, though.”

“I would not advise you try,” said Hastur.

Parker sighed. “I know.”

“Without help,” added Hastur.

“What?” said Parker.

And then a door appeared in the middle of the square. Simply appeared there, pop, with the barest displacement of air.

Funny, how nobody else seemed to know what that was. Arthur beamed. “The Lady!” he said.

“Put me down,” said Parker.

Hastur did, and the door silently opened.

The presence that arrived did not fit the body of the small woman who stepped from the door. She moved like a warrior, if her attire didn’t quite reflect it; flowing black silk with subtle patterns that hurt the lingering eye brushed the ground as she walked, and her bodice glittered with thousands of razor-sharp black beads that gleamed with deadly promise. The points of a crown, sharp as needles, pierced through the veil that flowed around her head. Lace obfuscated her eyes but not the curve of her smile, painted blood red, a silver hoop through the lower lip.

There was a moment of dead silence.

Parker blinked at her, then squinted, as if he couldn’t quite see her clearly. “Tabby?” 

“Missus…” Arthur closed his eyes, swallowed hard, opened them. “Tabby.” His smile was real. He was struggling, but still fucking here, hanging on by his fingernails.

HAVE YOU COME TO VOTE, LITTLE SISTER? said the Mother, who was not talking to Tabby.

“I have, as is my right,” said the Keeper, her voice reverberating through the floor as she walked past, head held high.

Gods murmured, uncertain what the hell was happening.

As the newcomer passed them, though, her lips quirked into a little smile. “We clean up nice, huh?” Tabby whispered, waggling her fingers at Arthur and Parker.

“Uh,” said Parker.

“You did it,” said Arthur. “You came.” His eyes filled. “You came.”

“Is that… the Keeper?” someone out of sight said, and now everyone was talking, mumbling, arguing.

“You really came,” said Arthur, stepping away from Hastur to take Tabby’s hands.

Hastur froze, one arm out. He didn’t quite dare stop him.

“I gave you my word,” the Keeper said softly, giving Arthur’s hands a gentle squeeze. Their head turned. “Damn, Parker, welcome to the Hot Girl Club,” Tabby said, teasing. “You look good, man. And I’m not even into men.”

Parker went beet red. “The… um.”

“Don’t you dare flirt with a man right in front of me.”

Tabby frowned. “Even if it’s Yang?”

“Especially if it’s Yang.”

“Nobody’s flirting,” said Parker, sharply. (Hastur looked relieved.)

“Easy, boy. Still monogamous,” Tabby said, snorting.

“Everybody knows that,” said Arthur cheerfully, like this wasn’t a pavilion full of stressed and muttering (and rotting) gods, a boiling center of a storm.

“They certainly do now.” The Keeper turned their head, then, taking in the scene, the unpleasant surprise Y’golonac had brought, and sighed. “I suspected as much. Unfortunate, but I have faith in you.”

Arthur swayed a little. “I have faith in them. It’s going to work, no matter what Kissinger brought.” He shook his head. “After this, we’re going to figure out what fucking judge is in his pocket, to let those guys out for this.”

“No judges may be involved, but remember: even felons have a right to a fair say.” The Keeper sighed again and gave his hands a squeeze. “I must take my place. When all of this is done, hopefully we can speak more. Arthur; Parker.” She gave the two of them a demure nod, stepping away; and then focused her gaze on the god behind them. “Hastur.”

He audibly gulped. “Keeper.”

The Keeper straightened her back, and—hesitated. Her right hand extended, took her left, and gave it a squeeze. “Your gift was well received, and appreciated,” the Keeper said, gave him a polite nod, and walked away.

Hastur seemed speechless. Parker eyed him.

OUR FINAL FAMILY MEMBER IS NEARLY HERE. The Mother shifted, and everything (air ground gravity reality) shifted with her. THE VOTE BEGINS NOW.

And before anyone had a moment to step forward, the air above the voting boxes split. No; it ripped. With a sound like a thick towel tearing.

A hole appeared, strange and lined in a grid as though it were a drawing, blueprints of itself, and it stretched out and down, flaring like an enormous trumpet, forming something like a path.

From that hole came music. “Suuuuunny day, sweepin' the clooouuuds away. On my way to where the air is sweet! Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?”

And from the hole came a man.

He danced down that grid-lined path, sort of curved forward to keep his white fedora on his head. His outfit—a pinstriped white suit and tie with a dark blue shirt, black shoes and white spats—fit him like a glove, but did not at all interfere with his dancing.

He moved like gravity didn’t matter, like leverage was just a bad dream, bending at the ankle to impossible angles, spinning so his jacket flared like a cape, and stopping on a dime, posed, one knee up, one elbow curved as he kept his hat low on his face.

And the power that came with him literally sucked the air out of the place.

The Keeper gasped, air be damned, clutching her hands to her chest. “Brother?”

“The Betrayer!” someone yipped, and everyone started shifting back. A few smaller gods ran for the exit.

Parker struggled to breathe, followed by Arthur. Growling, Hastur pulled them close and made a bubble of air for them.

The man reached the end of the tunnel as Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street? played again, children singing in melodic approximation. He spun one more time, stopped with an inhuman quickness, and smiled. “Good morniiiiiing, Carcosa!” The words echoed wildly and unevenly, like from a broken speaker system.

The air returned, fast enough to ruffle feathers and make fabric flap. THAT WAS UNNECESSARY.

“I didn’t even bring the camels, and you’re still not happy?” he said, smiling so his teeth shone unnaturally in this unnatural gloom.

The Mother’s sigh shook the room. MAKE YOUR VOTE.

“Now, hold on, hold on! I get a little bit of time. You promised,” said the man, finally standing to his full height. He was taller than Arthur by quite a few inches; handsome enough, smiling easily, but his eyes…

Parker took a step back.

The movement caught this man’s attention, and he turned. Froze. His jaw fell open. “What the fuck?” he said, sounding insulted.

What was this about? Arthur tensed.

“No fucking… no,” said this man, this Betrayer, and strode right toward them. Just a man, he was just a man, but his shadow filled the entire voting space. Just a man, he was just a man, but every step shook something in Arthur’s core, made his heart stutter, tugged at his subconscious like something forgotten.

Hastur pulled Arthur closer.

The Betrayer stopped. Bent forward. Stared. “No, that’s the whole thing,” he muttered as if to himself. “That checks out, but that can’t be.”

Hastur moved back again. “These are my humans.”

The Betrayer ignored him. “You can’t be here.”

“I have broken no laws!” Hastur snarled.

The terrifying not-man looked up. “Yellowjacket. I don’t have a problem with you, but I will if you don't shut up. It’s him whose a problem.”

“Me?” said Arthur, quiet.

The Betrayer’s face twisted, ugly, as he mimicked. “‘Me?' Yes, you! You can’t be here. And you…” He looked up at Hastur. “You fucking found each other? What the fuck!” He stood. “You can’t be here. I checked before I went away. There isn't one here. You aren’t here. This can’t be here.”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Parker said.

The Betrayer stared at him. He shook his head. “Very funny, someone! Real hilarious!”

“These humans are mine, by right and choice,” said Hastur slowly, evenly, and did… something. Arthur shuddered. The Yellow Sign appeared in front of his heart, floating and glowing and ephemeral, and faded.

“Yeah, yeah, marked, shmarked, whatever, but how did you even find an Arthur?” The Betrayer started pacing. “No! No, no, that doesn’t work. How the fuck did this happen?”

“Why’s he know your name?” Parker hissed.

“I don’t know!” Arthur hissed back.

“Shhh, both of you,” Hastur said.

The Betrayer stared again at Parker. Stared as if Parker’s presence threw him completely off-balance. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Clearly, somebody’s fucking with me. Dad’s got a hard-on for that guy, but you make no sense. So. Don’t got time for this shit. Anyway!” And he spun and ran, dress-shoes clicking, right across the pavilion. Gods scattered like chickens before a truck.

At full speed, he went to his knees and slid, dramatically, wildly, arms out, to stop at Tabby’s feet. “Babydoll!” he proclaimed.

The Keeper gasped again, rocking back on Tabby’s heels, and turned to look at the Mother.

HE IS FREE TO INTERACT UNTIL HE LEAVES, THOUGH NO HARM IS PERMITTED, FOR OR AGAINST, she said.  YOU MAY REFUSE.

The Keeper did not refuse. “Please don’t blow up my wife,” she said, almost too quickly, and promptly threw her arms around his neck, knocking the white fedora to the ground. “Big brother!”

The murmuring rose again all around them, like tide. Hastur pulled his people closer to him.

“Cute,” the Betrayer finally said, patting her gently, not quite a hug, but not a rejection, either. “She treat you right? She good in bed? Because if she’s not, I can drop a few centuries of know-how right in her head before we leave, you know, like a late wedding present.”

The Keeper leaned back and slapped him.

He grinned. “That had to make you feel better.” And he turned his face to offer his cheek again. “Go on. Get it aaaaaall out of your system.”

“Talk about her like that again, and I’ll kill you,” she said gravely—and then, quietly, began to sniffle.

He made a tsssk sound. “No, nope. No tears. Not the plan, babe. Let’s put a pin in that for now.” And he skittered backwards, sliding on his rear as if the pavilion were iced, to lean against one of the voting boxes. “So! We got a few minutes. Convince me, peons.”

No one moved.

The Keeper wiped at her eyes beneath the veil. “Arthur,” she said between hitching breaths. “Tell him. Please.”

“Arthur?" grunted Hastur.

Arthur stepped forward.

Hastur pulled him back.

Arthur looked up, reaching to place one hand over the tentacle on his shoulder. “Let me do this.”

Hastur didn’t move.

“Let me do this, Hastur,” said Arthur.

The god trembled heavily, head to toe, and removed his grip.

“I’ll go, too,” Parker murmured.

“It won’t matter,” Hastur said.

“Yeah, it will,” said Parker, and followed on Arthur’s heels.

Arthur walked forward. Had the Pavilion gotten bigger? Maybe; it sure seemed like every step barely covered the ground it should, like the sky swung above him and circulated stars, like the man (Betrayer) grew bigger and bigger until he towered above everyone… even though, sitting and slouched, his eyes were about at Arthur’s waist.

Arthur stopped just out of reach. Parker stood to the side, arms crossed.

The Betrayer waited. He focused on Arthur, eyes narrowed, mouth smiling—a dangerous look, an angry look, as though Arthur being here had for some reason insulted him.

The clock was ticking. The vote waited. And Arthur suddenly knew this wasn’t going to work if he stayed sane.

He wouldn’t be quick enough. Wouldn’t be thorough enough, wouldn’t be able to follow his instinct to what made this man tick.

This vote mattered. It all mattered. Arthur took a shaky breath. 

He was afraid. To choose this, to option for madness… it felt like choosing to go in the pond again, after imaginary children, when he was already out of air.

Parker shifted his weight.

Oh. Yes. He’d come for support.

Arthur’s eyes filled, and he looked down to hide it. He didn’t need to be afraid. If he went too deep, his partners would lift him free. He wouldn’t sink too far. He’d be safe. No matter how this went, they wouldn’t let him drown.

Arthur looked up, met the Betrayer’s eyes, and stopped fighting himself.

#

He took off his hat. It was a fucking hot day, in spite of the thicker than usual overcast, and this Cloud City courtroom smelled like unwashed armpits and ass. Well. It was his city, and he still loved it. Sweaty or no, he wasn’t dropping this ball. “Sir,” he said, addressing Mama Laveau’s brother, the Lady’s brother, too, somehow, who’d been out of town on a 

(banishment)

“much-needed vacation” of the kind only really rich people could afford to do “for their health,” which Arthur damn well knew just meant that rich person had done something embarrassing.

Arthur couldn’t remember

(fire fire so much fire)

just what the guy had done at the moment, but that didn’t matter right now. They were all lucky he’d been brought in for the vote—and also lucky he’d be back on his ship after,  away somewhere. Away.

Arthur wasn’t sure he envied him. He wasn’t trapped in Cloud City. He could leave any time, though he’d be taking his life into his hands.

This guy was safe, and that made him not his own man. He might be more trapped than little old Arthur Lester, by circumstance and family and wealth. What a wild thought.

Betrayer Laveau studied him, peering as if he could hear all these thoughts. “‘Sir,’” he mocked. “Are you milquetoast or are you mighty?”

Uh-huh. Gibberish and insults. Like that would upset anyone over the age of six. “Thank you for being willing to come.”

“Ooooh, I dunno if you should thank me yet, Artie,” the Betrayer said, stretching. “I haven’t made up my mind. I promise you that where I go, a lot of these cowardly fucks will follow, especially since they know I won’t forget what they got up to after I was gone. You wanna convince me, Artie, you really do… and I don’t hear much convincing.”

And Arthur heard, Bribe me, because I run this town.

Typical. Assholes like this were a dime a dozen.

“Oh, Artie,” said the Betrayer, softly laughing. “Are you hearing this shit?” he said to Tabby. “Look at this!”

“Sir,” said Arthur. “Attention here, please. Leave the ladies alone.”

“‘Nyeh leave the ladies nyeh nyeh,’” the Betrayer mocked.

“Please, brother, listen,” said the Lady through sniffles. “For me?”

“Oh, fine.” Betrayer Laveau leaned in. “Kid. Call me Kayne. This Laveau shit is for the birds.”

“Don’t disrespect your sister,” said Arthur, earning (and ignoring) another laugh. “Now. Do you even know what the vote is about?”

The Betrayer sprawled on the ground, then moved his arms and legs as if trying to make a snow angel. “Uh-huh.”

Arthur acted like he wasn’t doing that. No need to reward bad behavior. “Good. Did you have questions?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Naturally not, since you already know you’re going to vote for the city.”

Kayne stopped and looked at him. “Do I know that?” he said, low and dangerous.

“Yes. Because your sisters both vouched for you. Because your brother-in-law said that you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing when you started the warehouse fire—“

“My brother-in-law?” said Kayne.

“—that took out both the orphanage and the zoo.”

Kayne stared. “The zoo?”

Arthur looked stricken. “I believe them, Mister Kayne, because they said you weren’t proud of what happened. So I’m giving you the chance to do this on your own terms—not me making your mind up for you, or some grand speech. You want to vote to preserve Earth more than you want it all to burn.”

Kayne looked at Tabby. “The zoo.”

“They’re down to a handful of small rodents, domestic dogs, and one incredibly persistent alligator,” the Keeper said, deadpan.

Kayne snorted. Then looked back at Arthur.

Arthur bent down to be closer to eye-level. “You know the right thing to do here.”

“Not a good hook, Artie.”

“Then think of everyone here who knows you being amazed. Maybe even moved. Your banishment will end eventually. No matter how nice it is in Biarritz, eventually you have to come home. What you do here today will influence the reception you get when you do.”

Kayne laughed. “It’s what I think of them, Artie, that matters here, and… I’m sorry, I can’t get over Biarritz. The fuck. Your brain is so full of… I can’t fucking…” He looked at Tabby. “Did you hear him?”

“Yeah, man, nuttier than a squirrel’s ballsack,” Tabby said. “But if Keeps has said anything about you, it’s that you’re smart. You can figure out what he’s saying.”

Kayne shook his head. “Why Biarritz?”

“Your family owns the best hotel in the bay.” 

More laughter. “They do?”

Arthur frowned and took off his jacket; it was so damn hot. “Did I get the pronunciation wrong?”

“In the Bay of Biscany. France.”

“Yes?” said  Arthur.

“Heeeey, Mistah Lestah—what’s France?” said Kayne.

Arthur blinked. His mouth opened, then closed. “I… don’t know.”

Kayne nodded several times. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.  Are you… did you leak into this place, or something?” said Kayne.

YOU HAVE TWENTY MINUTES LEFT, said the Mother.

“Right, right,” said Kayne. “So tell me, Artie: why vote for the Harvest?”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Come on, you know the case, don’t you? Both sides?” said Kayne, smiling sweetly. “Give me the reasons to vote for Harvesting.”

Arthur knew the reasons. Of course he did, knew this case inside and out, and not only because of the research required to 

(free)

hire Parker.  “Okay. You want to know why?”

“I do!” Kayne chirped. “Tell me why, mister man.”

“Because of fear.” Arthur made a sweeping motion, taking in the jury, the reporters, the packed public benches. “It’s fear. Fear of change, fear of never getting what they want, fear of everything crashing, and so they just want to take what they can get now because they’re sure it’s all over.”

Kayne glanced behind him. “That stinky group over there doesn’t seem very fearful.”

“There’s also bitterness,” said Arthur. “Not getting what they wanted. They broke the law, were punished, and want to get revenge.”

“That’s a problem for you,” said Kayne. “I like revenge.”

Arthur saw through this guy. “Sure, when you get to be there,” he said. “But you wouldn’t be for this. You really want everyone having that kind of fun while you have to miss it all?”

“You sly dog.” Kayne grinned and leaped to his feet as if spring loaded. “I would prefer to be part of a classic revenge-served-cold scheme, quite true, quite true. I gotta say, though, I’m still not convinced. I don’t care about doing the right thing. I don’t care about bitterness (except in the mouth). And I can make up for missing drama. One more try, Artie. Come on. Give it your best shot. No wrong answers.”

Fuck, this guy was a real piece of work. Hardhearted and he knew it; the kind of man who would smile the same shoving cake into their mouth or shooting someone in the head. 

Time for the big guns. One more try. “If you vote to Harvest, your sister, the Lady, will be hurt.”

Kayne’s smile slid away.

Arthur waited, holding his gaze (except not at all, not really, because whatever he was looking at was not eyes, because the eyes hurt-shattered-cut-sliced-distorted the inside of his thoughts like a broken mirror).

Kayne looked at Tabby. “Is he right?”

“You promised you’d take me dancing once I could leave,” the Lady said softly. “If they Harvest, there will be no places to go dance.”

Kayne sighed far longer than human lungs could possibly go. “Fine.” He stood, produced a long, black slip of paper with glittering purple edges, and shoved it into the left slot. “Vote: do not Harvest Earth, because my little sister didn’t want it, and I’ll remember how everybody votes when I come back.” And, whistling, he went to stand beside Tabby, clearing a space around him like a school of fish moving away from a shark.

Arthur wiped his forehead. He felt a little lightheaded. “Anything else, your honor?” he asked the Mother.

NO, LITTLE ONE. RETURN TO YOUR

(owner)

HUSBAND.

Arthur snatched up his coat and hat, wincing at the feel of wet shirt under his arms. He swayed. This heat wave had to end soon. It was utterly ridic—

Parker caught him, lifted him like he was nothing, and dragged him back to Hastur. He, too, was slick with sweat, but his body obeyed long enough to get them in Hastur’s reach.

Hastur yanked him close. “That ass,” he muttered, low. “He exposed you both to radiation.”

“To wha?” Arthur managed, trembling. 

Parker paled. “The shit that killed everybody?”

“I will repair you. Shh.”

“Shit,” said Parker, baring his teeth at the ground. “That guy’s a monster.”

Arthur looked at him. “I’ve never heard you use that word before.”

“He is. Listen to me. I recognize... he's a monster.”

“Hey. It’s okay. Hey. It’s done.” Arthur leaned in, rubbing one of the tentacles against his face. “It’s okay. It’s done.”

“Little detective, it has only begun,” Hastur rumbled, growling, as he alone did not move forward to place a vote.

It was a slow progress with the feel of a spinning galaxy. Bodies of power and gas and heat and light marched past, dropping their vote into one slot or another. Kayne stood near, cheerful, talking to Tabby about names like Fats Domino and John Travolta. Minutes passed, tight and anxious, then suddenly, music began piping in from nowhere, from everywhere, not quite loud enough to cover the mutters of disquieted gods.

“Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother, you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive,” Kayne sang along. “Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin', and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive!” He spun the Keeper by Tabby’s hand, and she laughed, hard, full skirt flaring and veil twisting as she twirled.

With a spin, she placed her vote into the left-hand slot, then returned to Kayne’s side.

"Fuck yeah," Kayne said.

“I curse now,” she said, cheerful. “I’m sorry you missed the first few times, but I’m happy to run through whatever swears you wish.” 

He tilted his head. “Yeah? You been practicing?”

“Fuck,” she said, rocking forward like she was proud of herself. “Bastard. Shitheel. Twatwaffle. And worst of all, beans.”

Kayne’s face was amazing. It was long, almost awed, maybe on the edge of laughing, maybe on the edge of wonder. “You really did practice!” He broke into an enormous grin. “That’s so good, babydoll!”

“Tabby has been coaching me. If you weren’t there to celebrate with me, I at least wanted to make you proud.” Her voice fell, little more than a whisper. “I missed you,” she said. “It’s been so hard. Tabby’s been the only thing that’s kept me going, you know. And then, with this… I don’t know that I will be able to go on, if it fails. If I fail her.” 

He glanced at her, but said nothing.

A pause. “I thought about it, you know. Oblivion. You called it the last thing you have left to do, and I considered it for myself. If we lost this vote.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Yeah,” he finally said, quietly. “This isn’t what I wanted for you. Not great.” He sighed through his nose. “Sorry, doll. Even I fuck up once in a while.” 

His tone was so mild. His face was not, and the gods made more space around him, slowing the vote.

“I forgive you,” she whispered. “I did a long time ago.”

He looked at her sharply. “Bad idea, doll.” But then he grinned. “Want some fun? Time for a quick-o change-o.” He snapped his fingers, and suddenly wore black pants and a leather jacket over a blood-red shirt and shiny red boots. “Wanna match?” he offered, and waggled his eyebrows.

The Keeper rocked on her heels. “Yes, please.”

Another snap. Tabby was dressed to the nines, every inch of skin covered but still, somehow, light. The heavy, formal dress had changed to glittering, sequined black, almost slinky if not for the way it flowed and flounced, the bell-shaped ruffles on the sleeves accenting the movement of her arms as the capelet across her shoulders fluttered. The veil remained, though it had pulled down from her eyes to make room for large, dark sunglasses.

“Better?” Kayne asked the Keeper.

“Yes,” the Keeper said. “I missed you so much.”

“It won't be for that much longer,” he said. “Not in the grand scheme of never ending, fucking boring eternity. And when I finally get outta there, you and me, we paint the town red, see? Red. Because blood. You get it.” He winked with great exaggeration.

“Fuck!” Parker shouted, finding himself wearing a weird shiny shirt open almost to his belly-button, and black pants that were bizarrely tight in the crotch and loose over his ankles.

Arthur looked at Parker, then looked down at himself. This suit (matching Kayne’s but he couldn’t clearly see it) had suddenly gotten so… uncomfortable. “Itches,” he muttered, and started stripping it off, because he couldn’t stand to have this material against his skin for another fucking moment.

Hastur didn’t catch it fast enough to prevent a few chains being pulled loose, didn’t catch it until Arthur made a pained noise, because he was busy shredding the enormous, somehow perfectly tailored shiny black suit he’d been wrapped in. It matched Kayne’s, too. It had no gold on it anywhere. Hastur reacted like he’d been burned, ripping it off and roaring.

“Easy,” said Parker, taking Arthur’s wrists. “It’s okay. I got you.”

Hastur grabbed Arthur, briefly panicking him. Overwhelmed and overstimulated, Arthur cried out. The feel of this cloth... Arthur twisted, half-naked, having pulled off the yellow fabric as well as what bothered him. “Ugh. It’s… fuck, Kissinger!”

They looked.

Y’golonac was lurching to the vote boxes, followed by his train of convicts. They left pitted stone in their wake, and slippery fungus that grew in bile colors, and the slight stench of rotting food.

Kayne watched him. 

Tabby and the Keeper watched as well, and though the god’s eyes were obscured, there was no disguising the expression on their shared face.

Y’golonac dropped his vote in. Began to slurch his way back. And instead, stopped in front of Hastur. “Brother. Your vote.”

“What of it?” said Hastur, who’d restored his golden glory, who’d removed the offensive costumes from his humans and buffed their jewelry up again.

“Now,” said Y’golonac. “I want you to do it now. In front of me, so I can watch your stupid little human’s heart break.”

“Oh, do you?” said Hastur, triumphant, eager. “Then perhaps you should have worded your deal more carefully.”

A few gods slowed, looking back and forth.

Parker frowned. “What’s he saying?”

Y’golonac growled; it was a wet sound, deep and unpleasant. “I gave you that piece of shit, and you give me your vote!”

“No,” said Hastur with such overwhelming patience it made Parker cringe. “I agreed to give up my vote to gain your unwanted priest. That is what we agreed on.”

Y’golonac stared.

Hastur’s face was a solid white mask. It could not smile. All his tentacles, however, could curl up, ends quirked, in the most mischievous, fuck-you expression Parker had ever seen on a non-human being.

The Defiler made a sound like melting rock, terrible and sputtering. “Vote!”

“No, no, I don’t go back on my word,” said Hastur mildly, pulling his humans close to him just in case.

“You’re holding up the line,” said someone who obviously didn’t know which god was holding up said line.

The Defiler made another sound, threatening and virulent, but Parker knew what he was seeing, knew the tension in that body language. That whole loose-skinned form trembled, goo squirting from various festering wounds, and Parker knew Y’golonac was afraid. 

This was it, after all. Impending erasure, looming tall. Some of Parker’s heart still felt sick over it. He did and did not want this, like his emotions had yet to catch up on current events. Justice would be served, and that was good. It still... hurt. For some reason. “So damn complicated,” he muttered.

Y’golonac hissed at them all again and turned. He spotted Tabby, stepped toward her, and stopped. 

“Psst,” Kayne stage-whispered. “This guy bothering you?”

“Terribly,” the Keeper said mildly. “He made me very, very upset, you know. Hurt one of my people. You know how much I liked them.”

Kayne smiled. “Did I ever tell you how much I love occupational therapy?” Some of those paying attention moved back, giving a little more space. 

The Keeper let out a tiny giggle.

“Every once in a while, a guy’s just gotta—” Kayne threaded his fingers together and cracked them, palms out—“practice the basics.”

Y’golonac stared at Kayne for a moment, the clear space where his head should be wavy like above a sun-hot road. “All things rot, cousin,” he said to Tabby. “A lesson you’ll learn soon enough.”

“That’s funny,” the Keeper said mildly. “Yanniek doesn’t seem to.”

All three mouths—the enormous one in his stomach, the filthy ones in his hands—gaped at her.

“Keep him,” Kayne murmured to her. “Will be absolute hell for them both. This guy will have no memory, but still have the connection, and the marked will have both, but no way to recover the god he served. Delicious torment. So!” He clapped his hands and announced. “Rule number one, peons: if you are rude to my sister…” His voice dropped, and each syllable made the ground shake hard enough to knock Arthur off his feet. “I will remember.” And Kayne 

(lunged shifted spun the world under his feet so he didn’t even have to move as Y’golonac sped toward him)

grabbed Kissinger by the back of his greasy collar like some kind of dog and

(big, big, he grew so fucking big, so Y’golonac’s bloated body hung from his fingertips like a pinch of wet cotton)

blew a kiss to Tabby and the Keeper and winked at them, and started for his weird exit, which still hung there, doing the opposite of glowing, and

(waved his hands and all the Contract-breakers suddenly flew through that hole, screaming, flailing)

shouted at the courtroom doors, “Now, you numbnuts!” until private security came busting through, in serious boots and carrying guns, and tackled the criminals brought out of jail for this purpose.

It was chaos.

Gods panicked. Some tried to flee, running in wild directions, even though within a walled city, they could only go so far.

Music blared. It was easy and slow and pleasant, thick with brass and young voices, and only made everything more chaotic. As the young man sang, Kayne turned on his weird graphed path and pointed at the Keeper. “Every time I think I've had enough,” Kayne sang along, “I start heading for the door, there's a very strange vibration piercin' me right to the core. It says, ‘Turn around, you fool, you know you love her more and more!" He winked and stepped through the hole. 

The hole closed, sucking back into itself. Y’golonac and his horde of law-breakers were gone.

Arthur shook, leaning against Hastur; his skin was red from where he’d scratched himself, but he was calm.

Parker breathed deeply. “Fucking hell… is this over yet?”

“No,” said Hastur, low. “And right now, we’re losing.”

“What?” said Arthur, lifting his head. “We can’t be. What?”

Parker peered. He could see no indication of votes either way, but then, he couldn’t see what made those boxes different, either. “How do you know? How’s it stand?”

Hastur was silent for a moment. “Those Contract-breakers tilted this just enough. There were so many.”

“But they’re not even here anymore!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Fuck,” whispered Parker. “What the fuck do we do?”

“Hastur,” Arthur said, gripping him, looking up, eyes huge. “Please. There’s got to be something.”

Hastur was quiet. 

“Hastur, please,” said Arthur, beginning to cry.

“I don’t… have the power to fix this,” Hastur said softly.

“You do! You do! You can do something. You can think of something. Hastur, please!”

Parker looked between them, and the pain in the god’s body language frightened him more than any of this so far. Parker swallowed hard. “We’ll find a plan B. It’s okay, Arthur. Lester! Lester. Look at me. It’s gonna be okay.” It was not going to be okay and he fucking knew it wouldn’t. He’d been an idiot to hope it would. To let people get him thinking any of this could change, that it could be saved, that—

HAVE ALL PRESENT VOTED? the Mother said. MY NUMBERS DO NOT MATCH THE LIVING IN THIS PAVILION.

“Not all have voted,” the Keeper said, her voice projecting; she stepped forward, her veil sliding back over her head as she slid back into her full regalia. “I apologize for my recalcitrance, and beg forgiveness. But I believe you will understand my hesitancy.” She raised her hand, the red-painted door appearing at her side, and it opened silently.

And what emerged may well have been a miracle.

A creature of flowing, graceful petals stepped through, pale pink fading into deep blue, Hastur’s silver chain draped around her form as she stepped forth. Behind her a large, bizarrely plant-like creature walked out on a range of tentacles, its five-pointed star face held high even as its eyes swiveled and took in the crowd. 

A pale, hulking form with a face composed of writhing pink tentacles emerged next, and behind that, a pair of clawed creatures with bulbous, tentacled heads and wings emerged, huddling close—followed by a massive spider that shirked the gaze of Atlach-Nacha and padded forth. 

A hunched humanoid in bizarrely tailored clothes, wolflike, squinting in the light. A squat, toadlike creature, clad in simple robes, a serene smile on its face. A tall, almost springy creature with a book floating above its shoulders in place of a head. 

Finally, a tall being with a conical lower body and ever-swiveling head and limbs on flexible stalks nervously brought up the rear, wielding a broom like a staff.

“They’re alive,” whispered Hastur, his voice surprisingly tight.

“You understand it is not safe for them to linger here,” the Keeper said softly. 

To say the silence was stunned was an understatement.

THEY ARE WELCOME, LITTLE SISTER, said the Mother, and she sounded so much less weary. CHILDREN. DO YOU WISH TO VOTE?

“I wish to cast my vote,” the petal-creature said, her voice hauntingly beautiful; the slip of paper she produced was simple, but she placed it into the left-hand slot and returned to the Keeper’s side.

The other creatures echoed her words in turn, stepping forth, casting their votes unilaterally to the left, and lingered before the open door. The last creature, the one with the broom, clicked its claws, voted with its slip against the Harvest, and scurried as best it could with its slug-like body to the embrace of its companions.

“They’re alive,” Hastur whispered again.

THE VOTE IS CONCLUDED. The Mother paused dramatically (it wasn’t like only some gods had the drama bug). BY ONE VOTE, THE EARTH IS NOT TO BE HARVESTED.

The place erupted, and thanks to wild emotions and magic displays, the word was very literal.

Hastur took his humans off the dangerously hot ground and approached Tabby and her people slowly.

Most of the creatures bolted immediately through the door and disappeared beyond. A few lingered at the door, peering through; the book-headed being, for one, the strange fungal clawed ones, the wolf-faced humanoid.

The petal creature and the star-headed one lingered, just within reach of the door. Waiting.

“Hastur,” the Keeper said, voice low.

“He’s not going to do anything,” Tabby said, reassuring.

“You trust him?”

“I trust Parker and Arthur will rip him a new asshole if he tries,” Tabby said.

Hastur ignored them all and spoke to the Keeper alone. “You saved them.”

“I am the god of lost and forgotten things,” the Keeper said. “And it is my greatest honor that they trusted me to care for them.”

The petal creature reached out a delicate limb, stepping forward, taking Tabby’s hand.

For a moment, Hastur was completely still. Gently, he placed the humans down, one on either side. Then he added one more surprise to the night’s tally: he bowed.

Parker stared.

The Keeper did not seem to know what to do with this development.

“You saved them, and I am in your debt," Hastur said.

“I think we have much to discuss,” she said at last. “But I must attend to my people. We will…” She paused, again, wringing her hands, and took a breath. “You and your partners should come by for dinner.”

“Proud of you,” Tabby muttered.

“Not tonight. I think we have all had enough excitement for one day.” She gave him a respectful nod. 

“I don’t suppose you… found any of my Dancers,” Hastur said in a carefully neutral tone. “The power I channel to preserve this city is, of course, not too much for me, but I could not maintain my connection with them and finish the spell to build this place. I cut them loose to defend the temple. I believed they all died.” 

The Keeper paused. “She is afraid you will be angry. That you would destroy her for her failure.”

The very tips of every limb seemed to tremble. “I would not be angry.”

Arthur looked the question at Parker, who shrugged.

Within the door, the sound of faint, gentle tapping sounded.

A new creature emerged, faceless, draped in ragged yellow silks; her limbs were lithe and pointed, delicate, and fear showed in every graceful movement. Trembling, she bowed; and then fell to her knees, prostrating herself, every movement haunted with the way she shook, as if sobbing.

Hastur reached, hesitated, looked at the Keeper.

She knelt, one hand on his Dancer’s shoulder. “It’s alright, darling,” she said, soft. “You know he keeps his word.”

The Dancer launched herself at him like an arrow from a bow.

He gathered her into himself like wrapping a kitten in a coat. She wasn’t visible, but her soft, whispery sobs made it through.

“What… who the hell was…” said Arthur.

“Mine,” said Hastur, low. “My creations. For thousands of years. But I had to…”

Parker’s sudden lunge was startling.

The flash of runes all over his skin—moving, sliding under the surface—made the white of his bared teeth shocking as he leaped by Tabby’s side and threw everything he had into one massive haymaker.

The thing that had been sneaking slowly near, hiding on the other side of the door, took it right to the face.

Hastur’s runes on him blazed, and Parker’s fist crunched the clear space above the shoulders of the small, startled version of Y’golonac, who went flying backwards, leaving a trail of bubbling slime as it slid over the pavestones.

“T’kppa?” someone shouted.

“A forgotten one!” someone else cried. “In T’kppa!”

“Holy fuck!” came from several corners.

“Fucker!” Parker snarled at it, and he spat.

Arthur gawked; the god had been knocked woozy. “How the hell did you…”

“Those runes he painted on us,” said Parker, still glaring down. “That’s good shit.”

“My brother split himself,” said Hastur in awe. “Just for a chance at doing harm? What a fool! I would never!”

“All things rot!” declared the servant-and-remains-of-Y’golonac.

Parker stomped once in his direction, making him cringe. “You ain’t touching her.”

“That’s him,” Tabby said, pointing at him with a grin on her face.

“The one you talk about?” The petal-creature asked, sing-songy.

The Keeper is the one who sighed. “Please go inside while I deal with… this.” The last word was not spoken so much as forced through Tabby’s teeth.

Hastur slid his tentacles down Parker’s back. “Well done, little traitor.”

Parker shivered; he stopped shaking out his hand. “Good help.”

TECHNICALLY, THIS ONE MUST ALSO BE GIVEN TO OUTER DARKNESS, said the Mother. HIS ATTEMPT TO HARM YOU HERE GRANTS ANOTHER OPTION. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO, MY SISTER? 

“I will send him to the Outer Darkness once I am finished with him,” the Keeper said. “If that is amenable to you and the court, Sister.”

UP TO YOUR DISCRETION. 

Parker’s eyes were pretty big. “He, uh. Gonna be a book?”

“And bring him the satisfaction of being near his marked? No.” Tabby—no, the Keeper—stepped forward, the tap of her shoes against the stone final. “It’s almost clever for him; leave behind a forgotten one in hopes of reabsorbing his memories and personality when he returns.” She faced the downed god. “But alas, just like with Yanniek, you’ve made the grave error of entrusting your work to someone who drinks in the misery you cause like a tick sucks at blood.”

The petal-creature and the plant-like being hurried into the door, the petal creature taking charge, sending everyone away.

“There will be no preservation for you, T’kppa, and none for you, fragment. But you will not rot.” She tilted her head and the world tilted a bit in turn. “A forgotten one goes to the Dark World; T’kppa, you are powerful enough that if I kill you, you shall simply die. But you have been entrusted with this fragment. I learned a rather fascinating technique to stitch together the souls of gods from the only one of my kind foolish enough to attack me. I am so very, very excited to see if it works.”

Hastur pulled Parker back.

Parker glared at him. “It’s fine.”

Hastur clearly had no trouble imagining what she’d described. “We should go. Leave her to her new hobby.”

“We’ll set up dinner,” said Arthur with bright and inappropriate cheer. "We'll choose some dates!"

Parker was a little red. “Fuck. Like she needed help.”

"You did well," Hastur repeated, and tension left Parker's shoulders.

T’kppa-Y’golonac snarled at her. “Do your worst. Everything rots… including you, someday.”

“And then new life gets reborn,” Parker muttered, almost inaudible. “That’s how it works, right? That’s how. So fuck off with your everything rots shit. That’s not the end. It’s a beginning.”

Arthur stared at him in awe. “Parker…”

“Well said,” the Keeper said, unabashedly fond. “Thank you for protecting me, Parker. I will take it from here.”

Parker’s face was red; the blush crept down his throat and chest, making his dark body jewelry stand out. “Sure. I… yeah. Let’s go.”

Hastur grabbed them both (and both were aware of the new, slender shape hiding in his robes), and flew the fuck home.

#

Arthur knew this feeling. The feeling after a case, after the big blow-up. After the bad guys went down in a shoot-out, or disastrous courtroom scene. They’d won. That absolutely would not protect them from the crash.

The next few days would be exhaustion and recovery,  maybe some depression. Arthur knew how to get through it. He’d have to teach these rookies.

“Fuck me,” Parker moaned, leaning back in the tub, letting Hastur hold him up enough to breathe. He lay limp like a dead fish.

Arthur ducked under again and, one more time, scrubbed himself. Whatever that material had been when Kayne Laveau changed their suit, it… it sucked. He swore he could still feel it, itching.

Hastur picked him up. “A mild allergic reaction,” he complained, did something, and the itching finally stopped.

“Ahhh,” Arthur breathed, and slumped against him.

And apart from them, at the other end of the pool, a Dancer bathed with grace.

Her ragged edges were smoothed; her rotted silk was healed. Her pointed limbs seemed sharpened, gleaming. She still moved slowly, if not with sorrow, then almost with penance. She did not speak.

Hastur did not ask her to do anything. He watched, making low and pleased sounds, hinting constantly at welcome.

“You had a lot of them, huh?” Arthur mumbled, draped over Hastur’s arm as if he had no bones.

“I did,” said Hastur quietly. “I… could not retain them.”

“Mm,” said Arthur, already nearly asleep. 

“It sucked for you, huh,” Parker murmured. “When that happened. The Fire of Y.”

“For everyone,” said Hastur mildly.

“But you did this… place,” said Parker.

“No one would have survived if I had not,” said Hastur.

“Yeah, yeah, but I’m saying… just… never mind,” Parker muttered.

“Your compassion is appreciated,” Hastur said dryly.

“Fuck you.”

“There you are.”

Arthur snored lightly.

“We won,” Parker said.

“Yes.”

“But it’s just step one.”

“Yes.”

“The Keeper… we… we were talking.”

“So you said. I look forward to being read into whatever scheme you’ve concocted.”

Parker huffed at him and went quiet.

Hastur sat in the water, robe billowing in it like seaweed caught in current. He watched his Dancer—the sole surviving Dancer—with something like wonder, and something like fear. This would cost him. He was sure. He’d pay it. Whatever it was. As long as it didn’t mean his humans. “You please me,” he said to the Dancer, who needed to hear it, then rose from the water.

His humans were exhausted. All they’d done, emotionally, physically—bombarded with fucking radiation, healed—they needed rest.

So did he, though he would not sleep. Today had been in many ways as shocking as that day, hundreds of years before. The entire trajectory of reality felt like it had changed.

And the Betrayer knew who Arthur was. That… was upsetting.

He had no idea how that happened. He’d been too spooked to ask questions tonight. Maybe… if they had that dinner (a terrifying prospect)... he could ask the Keeper then. Maybe she knew. Maybe she didn’t. At least there was still more than four thousand years left of the Betrayer’s banishment, so… it shouldn’t be an issue. Should not.

It made him uneasy, regardless.

Hastur dried everyone off and retired to the enormous bed, where he could lie and look at the stars that shifted according to his will. He missed the old stars; the night sky that would change according to somebody’s dream, somewhere. Not his own.

Someday, maybe, that could happen again. If Parker was right.

Hastur tucked his people in and lay down, staring at that sky, and let his mind drift silent.

---------

Notes:

So in case anyone was curious: The music Kayne came dancing in to What Kayne started out wearing (the "smooth criminal" outfit) The outfit Kayne changed to, discussing Travolta (and stuck Hastur in as well) Staying aliiiiiiive Jackson 5's 'Never Can Say Goodbye'

[beechersnope]

Tagged by @hrhgeorgerussell to post the first sentences of my WIPs thank you!!!

OK first off: the state of my WIPs folder is dire. I literally have hundreds of docs and I am notorious for starting something 5+ years before I actually sit down and finish it. I'm gonna choose ones I'm either actively working on or actively rotating, or started semi-recently before getting sidetracked.

Some NSFW under the cut.

Welcome to My Island (F1, Max/George): Somehow, George manages to log a solid chunk of REM sleep despite his neuroses. He only has a second or two to feel relieved about this before realizing that he’s hard, and that his erection is nestled perfectly against the small of Max’s back.

This one is on AO3 already so this is from the second chapter (unfinished).

Untitled F/F Lestappen Fic (F1, Max/Charles, Charles/Lewis, Max/George):

“George, I swear to God if you move, I’ll—” Max doesn’t have an actual follow through, but the half-threat is enough to still George underneath her.

This was the very first fic idea I had for F1 so it's very messy and I didn't know where I was going with it. Now that I know more about how races work and such I'll probably come back to it.

Summer Sun & Wildfire (F1, Max/Daniel): Max was supposed to die in Las Vegas. Sometimes she wishes she had.

This was the second thing I tried writing in the fandom so still in the awkward exploration phase trying to find out what works. I do want to come back to it someday because it had a lot of potential.

Red Light Spells Danger (F1, Max/Daniel): "I wish I could tell you how it feels without telling you what I did."

Still in the rotation phase for this one so this isn't necessarily the first sentence, just the only actual sentence I've written. Everything else is vague outline.

Untitled BBQ fic (F1/Seb/Mark): Seb is sprawled out on the tiled floor of the guest bathroom with the handle of her hairbrush stuffed in her cunt when the doorbell rings.

This entire fic is just toxic filth so we'll see when/if I finish it.

Untitled Succession/Yellowstone AU (F1, Max/George, Max/Charles): “Is it mine?” Max had been dreading—anticipating—the moment when Charles would ask, but she hadn’t been expecting to be ambushed in her childhood bedroom during a nap, before George had even arrived with the rest of the Russell clan in tow, before Max had even gotten a chance to make her announcement in the first place.

This is more inspired by the above shows than a true AU. I had a lot of ideas for this but got distracted by other projects before I could put together a true outline.

These are all longer fics; the rest are first lines from some shorter fics I've half-written.

They’re two-hundred miles off the coast of Western Australia when the storm hits. “Power’s fucked,” Seb reports after emerging from the engine room looking considerably sweatier than before he’d gone in. “It’ll take a few hours to fix, but I don’t want to risk frying the backup now while we’ve still got some daylight left.” (F1, Max/Daniel/Seb/Mark/Alex/Pierre/Kvyat)

They send porn to each other sometimes. Usually, it’s Daniel who sends it, feeling a bit vulnerable, a bit embarrassed, every single time, no matter what the subject matter is. And it’s not like he sends Max anything weird—most of the time, it’s just the same old shit, a blonde girl taking a big cock, getting her pussy fingered so hard she squirts, so on and so forth. It’s normal. He doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of. (F1, Max/Daniel)

“What is this meant to be, like some couple’s therapy?” Max complains, crossing her arms over her chest with an exaggerated pout. (F1, Christian/Max/George/Toto, Good Battle continuation)

[steevbuckk]

FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 16/100

a special post of my fav holiday one-shots ❤

Newly fallen snow by @buckybees

[Post TWS, 2 309 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

“Buck” said Steve, slowly, taking his hands. “It’s snowing”.

Recovering, adjusting, and not entirely sure he isn’t about to be snatched away again, Bucky celebrates his first Hanukkah since 1943. It’s not like it was before, but maybe, with Steve, that was starting to be okay.

Claw My Way to Your Heart by @wearing-tearing

[Modern AU, 6 546 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

“You didn’t name your pet?” Dr. Rogers raises an eyebrow at him, obviously amused.

“She’s not my pet,” Bucky argues, and the look Dr. Rogers gives him makes it clear he knows Bucky is lying.

kiss me underneath the mistletoe (show me, baby, that you love me so) by @its-tortle

[Christmas fic, 2 514 words, General Audiences]

Summary:

Bucky looks around the room with an ever widening smile, making no move to take off his coat or boots. He’s trailing snow onto the carpet, but Steve has never given less of a fuck.

Because Bucky looks radiant. He looks more glowy than Steve thinks he’s seen him in months, with a Cheshire Cat grin and tinted cheeks and lights in his eyes. He spins on his axis once, twice, three, times. He laughs at the angel bearing a rough resemblance to himself.

Steve allows himself to think this whole thing was a good idea. “You like it?”

Bucky turns back to him with an incredulous joy. “You’re kidding, right? I love it. I don’t even know what to do with myself right now, I love it so much.”

Stumbling Love by @gigi-gigi

[Christmas fic, 12 137 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

Steve’s alone at Christmas but an unusual invitation presents itself and turns his holidays into something else entirely.

Hooked on a feeling by @kalee60

[Roommates, 6 211 words, Explicit]

Summary:

Steve Rogers was in trouble. And not the kind that could land him in jail, or even earn him a fine or a sternly worded letter. This trouble started with a capital B and happened to be his roommate of three years.

He'd not intended to fall in love with Bucky, not at all - but he did, and now it was Christmas and he was starting to realise if he didn't say something soon, then he'd never find the courage to speak up.

But coming up with, and executing the perfect plan was far from easy, and on top of that - was Bucky even interested in him?

Steve finds himself with no choice but to put his harebrained scheme into motion and hope for the best.

It was Christmas after all, and wasn't that the most wonderful time of the year?

Happy Hanukkah, Bucky Barnes by Lasgalendil

[Holidays, 1 759 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

"I’m like a bad penny, huh,” Bucky asked when they finally broke apart. “I just keep turnin’ up.”

“Least one of us gets our Hanukkah gelt,” Steve said, and leaned in to kiss him again.

A Little More Light by @hotcocoaharrington

[Pre-War, 7 587 words, General Audiences]

Summary:

“C’mon, Stevie. There’s no way I’m lettin’ you spend the holidays all alone. Besides, Ma’s expectin’ you, and if you don’t show she’s gonna be real upset,” Bucky prods, poking his toe into Steve’s side. They’re sprawled out on Steve’s ratty old sofa, Steve perched on one end, intently focused on whatever he’s drawing in that sketchbook of his, while Bucky takes up the rest of the couch by stretching across the cushions.

Steve’s pencil stills against the page, and he sets it down, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips as he fixes a thoroughly unimpressed stare onto Bucky. “Using your Ma to guilt me into crashing your holiday celebrations is a dirty, dirty trick, Barnes.”

“How many times do I hafta tell you, you ain’t crashin’ anything. We want you there,” Bucky assures, and bends down so his head falls into Steve’s line of sight, which has dropped back down to his sketchbook. Bucky’s practically lying in his lap now, and he reaches a hand up to touch Steve’s cheek, soft and gentle. “I want you there.”

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