#screams. cries chews on floorboards

[cranbytes]

we were just two moonshiners on the cusp of a breath, and I've been burning for you, baby, since the moment I left

[jellyfishoreo1206]

Comfort (Gavril)

This will be a series w/ all the Bubo characters (Gavril, Angelo, Nostre, Daniel, Aku, maybe Tooth too) Love it when my brain comes up with ideas when I have several other WIP's to do

I was crying earlier and my brain in the middle of it went, "but what if the Bubo Characters were here."

WARNINGS: EMOTIONAL, CRYING, CUSSING, OVERALL BAD BAD DAY, ANGST IG??? I HAVE NO IDEA THERE WILL BE LOOTS OF FLUFF THO

Gender-Neutral Reader

----

You felt like crying, screaming.

Everything was shit, every single hour that went by, every single minute, every single second felt long and torturous. Your body felt heavy, head heavy as it pounded with a throbbing headache against your skull, vision blurry.

Why did today of all days in the year have to be so shitty? You woke up late for work, got coffee all over your work clothes and didn't have a spare, got chewed out by your boss because how you forgot to do something yesterday and how you were "representing" the workplace, didn't eat lunch because you forgot to bring your wallet, and so many other things that made you want to wallow into the ground and forget about everything.

Anger, misery, sadness, irritation, annoyance, depression.

You want to cry so bad, you want to break something. Throw something. Anything.

But the moment you walked through your door, the dams broke. Sliding down to the floor, you cried your heart out, you cried out to no one as the bitter tears spilled down your face, dropping onto the floor. It felt pathetic, on your arms and knees just because nothing went right today, nothing went how was suppose to, crying out everything you had to the shadows around you. Wailing out to only the silence that surrounded you.

But it couldn't be helped, keeping every single thing bottled up over the last few months, constantly filling up the cup. This was eventually bound to happen. It was only a matter of time before the water spilled over the edge.

It felt like hours hunched over on the floor, a puddle of tears forming as your wails soon turned to soft hiccups and quiet sniffling. Your throat hurt from all the wailing, nose filled to the brim with runny snot, vision blurred and puffy from the tears with more coming, your limbs going numb from how long they were on the ground. Yet you didn't want to get up, you didn't have the energy to do so.

You stayed there for a few minutes longer taking several deep breaths, building up your energy, before slowly standing up from that position. Your joints popped as you started moving, relieved to be moving again.

You felt disconnected from the world, everything around you seemed to have been numbed down. You felt bland, empty. Every limb in your body felt heavier than before, mind becoming foggy the longer you stood there staring off into space. Your brain went on autopilot, searching for a place to rest, which was the couch.

The fog felt like a long-awaited hug, a hug that feels like it's enveloping your entire body, a hug without warmth. It's just, there...

Curling up on yourself, you laid there wide awake as not even an ounce of sleep crept into your mind as the hours ticked by, you didn't even bother checking the time. Didn't bother getting up.

It was just so easy to just stay there, not worry about anything else, in the moment. Letting the clouds fog your mind as you let your body relax into the cushions.

After what was probably two hours, you hear the familiar sound of footsteps upstairs, creaking against the old floorboards. You didn't even bother panicking about who it was, you didn't feel ready to come out of the comforting fog yet. The footsteps went down the stairs, right next to the couch, yet you didn't feel an ounce of fear go through you. Heartbeat as calm as it could be, beating against your ribcage in a calming manner. Whoever it was can do what they want, you don't even have a care to give.

"Y/N?" You perked up a bit, eyes glancing up at the person looking over from the stairs. It was Gavril, hood still on as his eerily bright eyes shined through the dark. It still scares you how bright his eyes are in the dark, staring at your form unblinking, intensely. Like a kind of cat of sorts. Maybe a perk from the goo. He quickly descends the rest of the stairs, pulling off his hood to reveal his dark curly hair.

You didn't move, just letting a sigh pass your lips as you stared off again. You should've been more excited that Gavril was here, it's been 3 months since you last saw him in person. But you literally cried everything out hours ago, your brain to exhausted to make a reaction. Gavril approaches closer, to where he's hovering over the couch. He seemed.., concerned about you. His brows were furrowed as he had a slight frown on his face. It doesn't seem like he knows how to act whenever someone is like this. He slowly reached out a hand, brushing some of the hairs out of the way that have fallen over your face in a gentle manner.

For a couple of minutes, that's all he does, over and over. Eventually he sits right next to you on the couch, your head in his lap as he gently combs his fingers through your hair.

It feels nice, to be right against him as his touch left a certain type of warmth in your nerves, filling your mind with a good emotion you can't quite put a name to. Eyes fluttering close, you enjoy the gesture, further relaxing your body into his as he continues the gesture. The events of today slowly melting from your mind as the seconds pass.

When his hand was about to pull away, your own grabbed at his wrist, refusing for the affection to be over so soon. "Not yet.." Your voice is hoarse, from your lack of words in the past hours and from the crying. Gavril hasn't said anything, he doesn't point out how you sound, all he does is cup your face in a comforting manner. Exhaustion hits your body like a train, as your mind slowly fades in and out from consciousness, not processing anything around you as you let yourself go.

"I'll be here in the morning.."

...

How did you end up in your bed?

Groggily, you looked around. Yeah you're definitely in your room. Couldn't tell the time though, it was cloudy outside and made the whole room darker, can't tell if it was early morning or the afternoon. You don't remember making the walk upstairs last night, all you remember was curling up on your couch and..

Gavril.

"Fuck, Gavril!" Quickly getting out of bed, and nearly face-planting into the wall, you scrambled out of the room and downstairs to see if he was still here. To see if he actually stayed.

After finally taking the last step, you hear a soft humming from the living room. Glancing over to your right, and there he was, patiently sitting there with something in hand. A old rubix cube you were meant to solve. His coat was discarded, some rips and tears in it, folded neatly on the couch arm as he kept twisting and turning the cube. Didn't seem like he wanted to figure it out, just needed something to busy his mind and hands. Fucking shit, you missed him so badly..

Coming up right behind the couch, you wrap your arms around him, smushing your face into his hair. Which probably wasn't a good idea since he didn't take a shower but you brushed off his smell, only seeking his touch. You felt him jump a bit beneath you from the surprise embrace, but quickly relax as he realized it was only you, returning the gesture as best as he could.

"Hey dear," He coos, drawing patterns into your arm after placing the cube down, "Good to see you better."

"It's good to see you again."

"Yeah? Did you miss me that much?"

"Obviously I would.."

Your hand came up to his hair, playing with the curly ends of them. He seemed to enjoy it, letting out a small hum. A comfortable silence falls over you two, only the quiet breathing of you and Gavril's filling the air.

"Do you...want to talk about last night?" He sounded hesitant when whispering out the question, he seemed unsure in what he was doing. You found it sweet of him that he wanted to make sure you were okay though.

You mulled over the question in your head, thinking it again and again. Do you want to talk about it? I mean, you cried your heart and soul out last night so it should be fine, right? But there's the chance that might make Gavril uncomfortable. He was asking, but there's the benefit of doubt.

"..Just a bad day was all."

"Mm..." He stays quiet for a few moments, thinking something over, "Who do I have to kill?" He attempts what you think is a joke, but you can't tell whether he is actually serious or just trying to cheer you up in some weird way. Eh, he's your weirdo anyway.

"Don't. I love you Gav, but I swear to God do not kill someone just because they made me sad," Pulling your face out of his hair, you lean down to plant a small kiss on his cheek, "unless I ask you too." A cheeky smile makes its way onto your face, jumping over the couch just to sit right beside him. Looking at his face, it seemed to be flushed, a slight look of embarrassment on his face as a wobbly smile takes place. His adorableness just seems to intensity whenever he's flustered, you don't know why but it just makes you fall harder for him.

"Did you eat anything?"

"I, uhm..no not really?"

"You ate everything in the fridge again, didn't you?" His gaze averted to the side as he lets out a nervous chuckle. Letting out a sigh of slight disappointment, you slump onto him, closing your eyes. "'s fine, I needed an excuse to go shopping anyway.." You can't blame him, to be honest. He must've been starving and food must've been scarce. You're surprised he isn't dead yet, or in jail.

"Is it alright if I come?" Thinking it over in your mind, you think of the pros and cons of him coming along.

"..Sure." He's probably going to tag along either way, no matter which answer you chose. But that's fine, you love your skrunckly little rat man either way.

You just hoped he wouldn't try and steal a wheel of cheese, again.

[yandere--stuck]

13 yan prompt list with hank from madness combat?

I hope you like it! ^^

13. “sure, i’ll let you run away. but if i catch you… then it’s fair game for me to do what i want.”

---

You held your breath as you crept across the old, wooden floorboard of the safehouse. Your heart rabbitted in your chest as you hoped and prayed with everything you had that no noise would be made.

Darkness surrounded you, but your eyes had adapted to it, seeing the outlines of furniture and the walls. Even if you couldn't, you had been trapped here long enough to have a mental map of the base.

You just wanted to stay somewhere safe, had pleaded with the man to let you stay just for a few days if it meant you'd be able to rest while out of the Auditor and his grunts' sights. You thought you were lucky when Hank let you in. You were grateful to him and his friends. 

You hadn't expected Hank to become so attached to you. You were flattered when he seemed to take a liking to you - quite a feat according to Sanford and Deimos. You were intimidated by the strong, silent man, at first, what with his tall stature and borderline unreadable attitude. But, soon, his presence grew comforting. It was obvious how he gravitated toward you, and you were charmed by how patient he was with you, especially when he taught Sign Language to better communicate with one another. You found that underneath Hank's stoic visage and killer instincts was a charming man with depths you hadn't expected. How deeply he could feel for those he cared for. He was more than ready to use his combat training for protection, not solely out of malice or for a job.

You were falling for a man who could kill anyone in almost an instant, and yet he was so gentle with you.

You were smitten, and so was he… But, it wasn't meant to be. Hank's work was dangerous, far more dangerous than even living on the run. He and his friends were actively targeted and hunted down by A. A. H. W., and you risked your life even staying with them. You appreciated their kindness immensely, and you would never forget Hank… Maybe, one day, if this all ended, you'd see each other again.

But, that wasn't enough for Hank. You? Leaving? No, no, he couldn't allow that. Hank had only just found you, someone he was something akin to a soulmate. You made him believe in them, after all. He hadn't ever met someone he was drawn to so immediately, until you. You were special. You made him so happy, so calm. The itch to fight that scratched beneath his skin had dulled and changed into the urge to protect. Protect you. He couldn't let you go. You'd die out there without him, surely. 

He refused. At first, you thought he was joking, only to grow increasingly concerned and irritated at him refusing to let you leave. Hank's patience with you quickly deteriorated, the strong man grabbing you as you attempted to go for the door, pressing you close against his chest as you squirmed in his hold. Hank wasn't used to holding someone in his arms that he didn't intend on killing, his grip a bit too tight and leaving bruises on your skin.

As he wrangled you back into the confines of his room, Sanford and Deimos ignored your cries for help. They knew what their friend was like. Neither of them wanted to get in between Hank and you, Lord knows what Hank would do to them in his rage.

Hank restrained you on the bed with his blankets and sheets, locking the door behind him. You found yourself trapped inside the same building you had once thought a safe haven.

You regained his trust. Hank slowly removed the restraints one by one. Then, you weren't allowed to leave his room, but could remain unbound. Then, allowed you to go about the building, but having to remain constantly supervised. Hank's allies continued to not help even in the slightest, even acting as though everything was normal. And in return, you did the same, even if just to gain your captor's trust.

And tonight, Hank let you sleep beside him with no restraints. It was now or never. 

You had gotten out of bed as slowly and quietly as possible, holding your breath and hoping that no floorboards creaked. You had made it halfway toward the exit, pale streaks of moonlight ran across the floorboards through the slit in the curtains-

A hand tight on your shoulder. Out of shock, you went to a scream, but a hand pressed over your mouth, muffling your cry. 

Hank.

You squirmed in his grip. You bit at his hand, only to chew fruitlessly on his leather gloves. Hank held you for a long time, waiting for you to tire yourself out and go slack in his grip - and, eventually, you did, heaving with strain and effort as you went limp.

Hank turned you to face him, removing his hand from your lips as his brows furrowed, looking almost hurt by your escape attempt. It was terrifying l, but at least he hadn't flown into a murderous rage. You could work with this.

"... Please, Hank," You pleaded once you found your voice. "You have to let me go, you can't keep me here against my will. Please. This isn't you. I know it hurts, but, this is for the best for both of us."

You searched his face, even harder to read in the dark, for something, anything that meant he understood you, that he was going to let you go.

Slowly, Hank let you go, letting you down to stand. Just as you were about to thank him hightail it out of there before he changed his mind, Hank raised his hands.

“Sure, I’ll let you run away," He signed, pausing to read your expression before continuing, "But if I catch you…  Then, it’s fair game for me to do what I want.”

What...?

You tried to change his mind, begging him to reconsider. But, he ignored you, simply holding up one finger, then another, then another.

1… 2… 3…

You raced out the door, heart pounding within your ribcage as you ran with all your might. You wanted to believe you could make it, that you could escape… But, you already had a feeling Hank wasn't far behind, already.

[chil2de]

Hi!! if possible can i please request yuuta having a girlfriend that’s his childhood friend? (So like instead of rika it’s y/n and she doesn’t die) that loves to dote on him cause that boy needs some love. Thank you!! <3

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE THIS MADE ME SO SOFT!!!!! ohmygod!!!! growing up with yuuta would be THE best onshdhfsh thank you sososos much anon this was such a pleasure to write! i don’t know why but the “and she doesn’t die” had me screaming LMFAOOOO

enjoy! no warnings, just old fashioned cute fluff and heart wrenching moments! thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for the best boy mwaaah you deserve eternal happiness! hope no insects bite you during these warm months <3

“okkotsu!” you cried out, feminine and shrill voice ringing in the air. the cicadas chirped melodiously, calling out their delightful songs in the spring air.

the young boy staggered around, losing his balance from spinning too fast. his fragile hands reached out, pulling in small grabby motions towards your innocent and joyous face.

you were always so optimistic, even when you were younger. yuuta could only huff and wail as his caretaker hauled him away from the playground, gesturing it was time for him to come home. thick and messy tears spilled out the corners of his eyes which hadn’t yet endured countless sleep devoid nights.

he was so far away, but that was okay because you knew you’d see him the very next day.

“okkotsu! promise to play with me again tomorrow!” you cupped your hands, exclaiming as much as your little lungs could endure. yuuta could see the tears heavy in your gaze, but even then, you prevailed. you grinned, all for him.

ever since the very start. till ‘death do us apart.

-

“okkotsu! come oooon, don’t cry, okay? (y/n)’s got your back! see, see?! look! they don’t bite!” you braved a smirk on your features, beckoning the shy and introverted young man over. his face looked uncertain and his lips wobbled as though he could crack at any moment. he took a few cautious steps, maintaining his distance between you and the furry animal on the floor.

“r-really? it won’t bite?” he coughed, reaching his unstable fingertips out.

“eh?! that’s the first time you’ve spoken to me! your voice is so nice! it’s so cool! hey! can i hear it again? pleaaaase? i know you’re shy but i’d really like to hear it! hey, okkotsu, say my name? pretty please?”

“um- i, uh.. it’s okay.. you can call me yuuta.”

-

“yuuta! you’re going to be late for your first day of junior high! i totally told you to wake up on time too!” you stood with your hands rested firmly on your hips, face stern and tone impatient.

“sorry! sorry- it’s um, my hair. i don’t know how to style it.” he admitted, albeit sheepishly by trailing the last few words off into a murmur. you only gave him a sigh before kneeling down behind him, propping yourself up to take a look at his hair in the reflection of the mirror.

“how on earth are you so tall already? we eat the same food, you know. slouch over a little.” you pinched his cheeks before glossing over his hair.

when you ran your fingertips through his hair, you felt butterflies and anxiety rock your stomach.

that’s never been there before.

you’ve touched yuuta countless times, whether that was accidentally hitting him, holding his hand to cross the street…

so why was it different?

you could feel yuuta’s body tense up and run rigid underneath your touch.

that definitely wasn’t there before.

“relax. it’s me.” you cooed quietly, roughing up his hair into different styles.

“like this? looks like you just woke up, sorta, but i think it’s cute.”

yuuta’s heart rate skyrocketed through the roof and his breath hitched.

“cute?” he reiterated, chewing out the phrase like he’d never heard it before in his life.

“hm? yeah-“

you caught his gaze in the mirror, eyes half lidded and attention averted. the tips of his ears were tainted a deep red with small flicks of blush painting his cheeks.

“eh?! nononono- not like that i’m- i just think it suits you, you know? oh, crap, would you look at the time? okay we gotta go and leave!” you clambered out of his bedroom, thudding the door shut behind you.

yuuta only gawked at you with bewilderment, lips slightly parted and fingertips outstretched in his failed attempt to stop you.

he turned to himself in the mirror, studying his features before running one hand through his jet black locks.

“cute, huh?” he muttered, avoiding his own judgemental gaze.

-

the bittersweet part about growing up with a childhood friend is change.

for all the time that you’d spent with yuuta, you didn’t realise that your relationship with him was something to not take for granted.

especially with those around you who would kill for what you two have.

you’d always get mundane questions from high school girls who thought they could have a shot with him, “what’s his type?” “do you think he likes me?”

meanwhile you only played along with their charades, laughing inwardly when he was actually extremely introverted.

“so? what’s the deal with you and okkotsu-san? you guys dating?”

“no. we’re just friends.”

“seriously? you guys are always glued at the hip. you know he has a picture of you in his locker, right?”

“yeah? so do i. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it’s kind of a shame, he’s such a nice young man.. gone to waste like that..”

“what’s gone to waste?” yuuta inquired with an indifferent tone, plopping down beside you with his bento box. the classmate sat opposite you only gave him a phony cheerful temperament, twirling her index finger around her hair.

“oh! okkotsu-senpai! we were just talking about you! how was your da-“

“please leave.”

you could only gape at him in your peripherals, sputtering on your sandwich as you watched the life drain from your classmate at his monotony. yuuta didn’t spare you or the girl a glance as he worked to unpack his lunch, hell the guy even murmured a small itadakimasu as if nothing happened.

“wh- okkotsu senpai?”

“listen.” he let out a deep sigh before proceeding.

“whatever shot you thought you had with me? it’s gone out the window. don’t disrespect (y/n) in front of me like that again.”

“you’re making us uncomfortable, so get up and go.” he motioned with his chopsticks, giving her a dead gaze towards another table.

the girl scoffed, mouth hung wide open as she picked up her bag and stormed out of sight.

whilst your face was as blank as a stone, internally, you were only screaming in the depths of piping hot hell visible from the sun itself.

baby girl? that was when you noticed how fucking fine of a man yuuta grew up to be.

“that was seriously nerve wracking.. my stomach hurts so bad right now” yuuta coughed through a bite of his sandwich, refusing to meet your gaze.

you slapped his back, because, holy shit??? awe painted your face like you just witnessed your own child talking or walking for the first time.

“what the shit? yuuta? are you kidding?”

“oh, huh? did i overdo it or something?“

“no?! are you kidding? that was fucking awesome! i swear! this is why i love you-“

oh.

uh oh.

oh no.

yuuta let out a shrill squeak unbeknownst to any human being able to produce such a volume. it was a cross between a floorboard creaking, a mouse sniffing and him choking on his food. the poor boy had to excuse himself to the bathroom, hacking and sniffling in an ugly fit of coughs from the food that got caught in his windpipe.

your blood rushed to your head, veins lit ablaze, bones rattling as you could hear the chatter pound and drill into your skull, scoring you deep and down into your bones.

“did she just say she loves him?”

“i totally knew they were going out!”

“i can’t believe it…”

“do you think he’ll reject her?”

it replayed over, and over, and over. what a fucking fool you felt. did he even feel the same?

that’s why i love you.

i love you.

i love you.

a blob of black clouded your vision and you could hear the glass breaking.

yuuta sat himself back down, excusing himself.

you could hear nothing but the tune of his heartbeat. or was it yours? it sounded too heavy to belong in either of your bodies.

his voice came as a wobble because of his anxiety, but this was the one thing in his life he’d be absolutely certain of.

“that’s okay. i love you too.”

-

“yuuta? you okay? you’ve been spacing out for at least five minutes. something on your mind?” you lightly shake your boyfriend, grip reassuring but firm. it takes a couple of seconds for his gaze to gloss over as he returns back to reality.

“sorry. was just thinking about our childhood, that’s all.” his voice comes out deep and masculine. it doesn’t have that tremor as it used to before, like he’d break down at any minute.

you can say with absolute certainty as you stare up your entire 5’10 boyfriend that he’s matured well.

his hand snakes around to your waist, pulling you into him for comfort.

some ways better than others, you suppose.

“can we stay home today?” he hums, resting his chin on top of your head,

“same as ever, yuuta, aren’t you? it’s fine, i’ll tell nobara my period’s making me act up. she’ll understand-“

“hm? you’re not due for another week though, right?”

you crease your eyebrows as you type out an apology to nobara for cancelling plans, glancing up at yuuta curiously.

“how the heck do you know that?”

“i’m not supposed to? i’d always count your cycle so i wouldn’t irritate you on the wrong day. besides, don’t you think it was too convenient for you to always find snacks in your locker when it rolled around?”

“those snacks were you?! oh my god! i was trying to figure that out for forever!”

“i know. i remember you ranting to me about it.”

“you just sat there?! yuuta! you’re so cheeky sometimes, i swear!”

“only for you.” he chimes, peppering a soft kiss onto your head. you smile against him, though unfortunately pry out of his familiar and welcoming touch.

“i’m gonna step out for a second tho, ‘kay? i think that’s itadori at the door with my chocolate and painkillers” you snort, giving yuuta a bold wink as you put on your best act, keeling over and clutching at your abdomen as though you’re on death’s door.

“you’re awful.” yuuta chuckles, slumping down onto the sofa to hear the events unfold right in front of him.

you clear your throat and slouch your shoulders as you pry the apartment door open.

“(y/n)-senpai! i came as fast as i could and i brought you some of your favourite sna- oh, okkotsu-senpai! hello!”

“hi there.” he leans his head back, giving itadori a small wave.

“i won’t interrupt you guys so get well soon! and fast! cause i wanna hang out with you! bye!”

you cradle the necessities itadori brought whilst gleaming at yuuta with a wicked grin plastered on your face from ear to ear.

“you want anything?” you cock an eyebrow, showing him the arrangement of snacks.

it’s not the answer you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome. it made you feel warm inside, like eating warm and soothing soup on a cold winter’s day. this, for you, was okkotsu yuuta at his best, stripped clean and vulnerable.

you’re the only one who he can relax around, act like the world is carefree. like he’s young again, prancing around in that dingy colourful playground he met you at.

“i want you to kiss me.”

[tooweirdforyou]

Straw Hats With A Shipmate Who Feels Useless

A/N : this was really sweet and sad to me when I thought about it so I wanted to write it. Hopefully y’all enjoy.

Summary : The Straw Hats react to their shipmate feeling useless and a burden to the crew.

You didn't understand why you were still on the ship.

The group had just left from Water 7 with a new recruit, Franky, Robin came back, Usopp had returned to join the crew once more and you all just managed to get past the marines.

Throughout the whole time on Water 7 and Ennies Lobby, the goal of retrieving Robin back from CP-9 from Lucci and the marines, you were completely of no help at all.

Literally. You couldn’t help Nami and Sanji with their separate battles with the CP-9 members, you couldn’t aid Chopper and Franky with their battles, Zoro and Sniper King with the cuffs and two CP-9 Zoan agents, and MUCH LESS, Luffy with Lucci.

You spent the whole time just struggling to get past the chaotic mess from Franky’s family, trying to find where Robin was, and let’s not even start on trying to even find your way through the maze of the building you were in.

When you found Zoro and Sniper King, you tried to aid them by attacking the Zoan agents to the best of your ability, but it didn’t take long for them to knock you out.

Then with Sanji who was completely soaped up from Khalifah and Nami currently fighting against her, you tried to help Sanji return to normal but only ended up just freaking out and growing frustrated that you weren’t able to do anything so you left him to find the others to help.

When the crew finally made it to the top, where Robin was free and Luffy still fighting with Lucci, you constantly needed to be protected by Zoro, Robin and Franky since you weren’t aware of your surroundings.

When the whole thing was finally over, getting back to Water 7, you just kept to yourself to deal with your injuries, refusing Chopper’s help with a simple smile.

“I’m fine, Chopper. Focus on the others and yourself. You worked hard.”

And then you would avoid them throughout the several days, waiting until Luffy finally convinced Franky to join them on their newly built ship, the Thousand Sunny.

Of course by then, the others got over the whole chaotic mess and were just relaxing. But the thought and memory kept eating at you and you couldn’t relax at all.

Not wanting to bother others, you only kept quiet most of the time and would offer small smiles to them so they wouldn’t worry.

So here you were.

Chopper was in the medical bay with Robin, Nami in the kitchen with Sanji and Luffy, Franky and Usopp on the main deck together, and you were sitting, leaning against the railing, continuously thinking about the events that had occurred.

Unable to stop the deep frown that forms upon your lips, you glance down to the floor of the ship, bringing your hands to your head and knees to your chest with your elbows resting upon them.

"You can stop that now."

Hearing a sudden voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you glance beside you, seeing Zoro with his arms crossed and eyes closed.

"Oh, Zoro.. I didn’t see you there."

Zoro opens an eye and stares at you, ignoring your comment. "You’ve been quiet ever since Ennies Lobby. If it’s about what happened, who cares. Whatever’s bothering you though, we’re here to listen. So don’t keep it to yourself and just tell us."

You purse your lips and turn back to the floorboards. "There’s nothing on my mind, Zoro. Sorry if it seems that way, I’m probably just feeling tired, so I-"

Zoro only stood up and made his way over, you watching him crouch down in front of you with a rather serious expression with narrowed eyes. “What is it?”

By then, the others were all outside on the deck, staring and listening in from where they were.

No one said a word to interrupt, just listening in since they too, noticed how quiet and different you’ve been acting.

You just bit your lip before looking up at him with a smile. “I’m fine, Zoro!”

You stand up and brush off your clothes before smiling at the others who were watching. “I’m okay, I’m just feeling tired lately is all. I’ll go get some sleep.”

Luffy stares blankly at you, the others not convinced either but they didn’t say anything as they watch you begin heading to the bedroom.

When you finally close the door, you lean against it silently before biting your lip and clenching your jaw.

You were silent for a moment, thoughts running through your mind.

‘Even the others are starting to notice huh?’

Unable to hold back the tears forming in your eyes, you silently let them fall as you clenched your fists and held your head down in shame and humiliation.

‘Why did Luffy invite me onto his ship? I’m not fit for a pirate life. I much less don’t deserve to be on the ship of the future Pirate King..’

You punch the ground hard, feeling your knuckles throbbing with pain and a bit of blood forming as you continued to punch the ground in frustration.

‘Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why me?!’

You continued to sit there and cry in silence, unable to stop the flowing tears as you bask in the misery you held.

Unknown to you, the members could hear clearly of your not so silent cries and anger with punching the ship. None of them said anything.

Deciding that it was enough, you knew what you had to do tomorrow.

-

When you woke up from your bed the next day, you were dehydrated and exhausted. You ended up crying yourself to sleep after crawling into bed.

So you got up, made sure your face was washed so it wasn’t so puffy and red. After you deemed yourself decent, you headed up to the kitchen where you found the crew eating.

They all turn to you in silence, a few offering smiles to which you return with your own small one and began heading to the fridge. Sanji was washing dishes, Zoro and Franky sitting on the couch whilst the others sat at the table.

It was quiet.

You open the fridge and grab a bottle of water, opening it up and taking a sip before exhaling softly.

You grip the bottle in your hand after you closed it tightly and then spun on your heel to face the crew, giving them your best smile.

“Hey! So..”

They all look to you, listening closely to see what you had to say.

“Yeah?” Nami asks with her sweet smile, patiently waiting. “What’s up?”

You saw how kind they were towards you, making you chew on your lower lip at their kind expressions.

It made you hesitate on your next words, but you knew you had to.

“Um.. the next time we go stop at an island..” you awkwardly shift your weight to the other foot as you cleared your throat, trying to recollect your thoughts.

“Can..can I maybe stay there? I can stay at the island, or maybe find a trade ship that docks there and ask if they can stop at another island or something!”

Silence overtook the crew.

They certainly weren’t expecting you to say that. They did expect you to insist that you were okay, or maybe talk to them about what happened yesterday.

They never would’ve thought that you would suggest for yourself to leave the crew.

“..No.”

Everyone turns to the owner of the voice, to see their captain with his head lowered and his hat sitting tightly on his head.

“Luffy?” You furrow your brows at his sudden rejection to your suggestion. “Why?”

“You’re asking me why? I already said no, I refuse to let you leave!” Luffy looks up as he shouts, eyes narrowed at you. The outburst startling the crew.

“Why not? I don’t belong here! I’m not fit to be a pirate, much less this one! I don’t understand why you want me here when I’m of no use!”

After having dealt with Usopp’s argument and leave of the crew in the beginning of Water 7, the crew definitely didn’t have the heart to handle another situation like that.

“What the hell are you talking about, [Name]?! I invited you into my crew because I liked you and the crew likes you, so of course you belong here!” Luffy argues, clenching his fists. He didn’t want another repeat of Usopp’s situation either.

“[Name]-Chan, lets calm down and talk this over.” Sanji reasoned, Nami nodding her head in agreement. “[Name], it’ll be okay, lets—“

Usopp couldn’t say anything, the memory of his own event flashing in his eyes and the regret running through his mind.

Chopper was too afraid to interject, tearing up at the thought of you leaving.

Robin frowns slightly, closing her eyes and waited to see what else would happen before stepping in.

Franky was the newest recruit and didn’t think it was his place to stop anything happening yet, but if it grew further, he’d step in.

Zoro was just silent, his eyes closed, but you could see how tense he was.

“Luffy, please! I’m telling you, I’m just useless here! I have no place on this ship. I’m not a cook, a navigator, an archaeologist, a sniper, a swordsman, a shipwright, a doctor and I’m not a muscian!.... I.. I don’t belong here, Luffy.. please.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you drop your arms to your side, clenching your fists tightly that your nails dug into your own skin to make it bleed.

The others were stunned, unable to say anything as Luffy was growing even more irritated and annoyed with you. “Shut up, [Name]. You’re pissing me off.” He bluntly stated, shocking the others.

He widens his glare at you as he stood up. “YOU’RE MY FRIEND! IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU DONT HAVE ANY SPECIAL POSITION HERE! YOU’RE ON THIS SHIP BECAUSE YOU’RE OUR FRIEND AND WE’RE YOURS, RIGHT?!”

Hearing his words made you gasp as you shut your lips and felt your tears falling faster at it, Luffy getting ready to lunge at you but Franky and Sanji held him back.

“SO STOP CRYING AND DON’T EVER THINK OF YOURSELF AS A BURDEN! I’LL SCREAM IT TO YOU AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS EVERYDAY UNTIL YOU FINALLY REALIZE IT! WE WILL NEVER MAKE YOU CRY TEARS OF SADNESS BECAUSE WE’RE YOUR FRIENDS! ANYONE WHO MAKES YOU SAD IS GONNA FEEL MY WRATH AND I’LL KILL THEM!”

You sobbed harder at his words, dropping to your knees as you brought your hands up to your face to cover it. The bottle long forgotten as the others just stare and Luffy finally calmed down, panting heavily.

They turn to you with small smiles.

“He’s right, [Name].” Nami says softly, Robin nodding along. “Yes. We’re always by your side. You are always our friend, and always welcomed here.”

Nami stood up and began making her way over to your side, crouching down beside you and wrapped an arm around your neck. She smiles brightly at the sight of you sobbing at their kindness.

Franky started tearing up, wiping his eyes. “HOW EMOTIONAL!”

Chopper and Usopp were also sniffling, trying their best to not cry but they couldn’t help it.

Snot already running down their nose as Chopper jumped down and lunges himself into you, clinging on, with his own loud sobs filling the room.

Sanji and Zoro only smiled at their captain’s effect and your figure, knowing that you finally learned how your crew and friends felt.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on top of your head, ruffling up your head a bit and you slowly glance up to see Zoro pressing his hand down on you, a small smirk present on his lips.

"No one is at fault. No one is useless on this ship. The captain invited you onto his ship because you are our friend, someone he cares about and would risk his life for. Everyone on this ship would risk their lives for each other, even if it meant death. You are now part of our crew so that means you too. So don't ever say those words again."

Listening and agreeing with the swordsman, they all offer you their signature smiles, your eyes widening more at them as you wipe your tears.

Seeing their contagious smiles, you couldn’t help but give your own genuine smile through your tears.

"Thank you.. everyone.”

Luffy, no longer feeling the anger from just moments prior, secures the hat on top of his head before grinning widely at you.

“Of course!”

You weren’t a burden. You weren’t useless. There was always a place for you here. You were part of their family, and they’d die for you.

-

A/N : This might seemed a little rushed or all over the place, so sorry ;-;

[donutcats]

just finished watching both andrew garfield spiderman movies and I’m absolutely enraged that there was never a third. it’s CRIMINAL. he was the best spiderman, hands down point blank I’ll die on this hill. HE WAS THE BEST SPIDERMAN!! THE ANDREW GARFIELD SPIDERMAN MOVIES WERE THE BEST AND I CRIED AT BOTH OF THEM!! SCREAMING CRYING TEARING AT MY WALLPAPER CHEWING ON MY FLOORBOARDS!!! THERE WAS SO MUCH UNTAPPED POTENTIAL THEY WERE SO GOOD !!!!!

[gintrinsic-writing]

LU + Courage the Cowardly Dog

Starring Wolfie and Courage! The crossover nobody asked for but I was delighted to write. This is Part 1 of 2~

-

Twilight stepped into the portal, anticipating the cool, flickering miasma as it engulfed him.

Wolfie stepped out. 

The cloudless sky offered dim starlight, as though smog clung to the air. The moon was nowhere to be seen. In every direction, the horizon stretched under flat, arid desert like a smile pulled too wide. Only the occasional tumbleweed and scraggly shrub offered any variation along the dry, cracked sand.

Wolfie spun around in a circle, nose held high as he sniffed for his companions. But the weak breeze carried only notes of small lizards and sandstone.

He howled, low and short, then listened for voices, ears swiveling alertly. Cicadas answered his call. Frustrated, Wolfie chuffed and put his nose to the ground, but he couldn't even detect the bitter tang that usually accompanied a recent portal. It was like he had just... been dumped here. Where was he? Was this Hyrule's land? Or Legend's? The desolate environment certainly fit their homeworlds. 

The portals--they still don't really understand them. Not their origin, nor their real purpose. Wolfie supposed it was only a matter of time until something like this happened. It was weird, though, to be so isolated in an unfamiliar world. Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember making the active decision to transform into Wolfie... 

Had the portal truly forced him? 

Sighing, he closed his eyes and focused on shifting back to Twilight. His mind centered, pooling around the Shadow Crystal, then-- 

Pain, and a coldness so severe he felt stiff, corpse-like. His body stayed as Wolfie. 

He was stuck.

Deeply unnerved, Wolfie shook his whole body as though he could fling the coldness from him like water. It helped a little. He looked up, trying to find a constellation he was familiar with, something to guide him through this mess, but none of the stars were recognizable. In fact, they were all bland pinpricks of light, dull and indistinguishable, with equidistance between them. Something was wrong with this place. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

Were the others even here? Were they separated as well? Not knowing what else to do, Wolfie threw his head back and howled again, carrying the note as long as he could. It was a hollow sound, flat and without echo; when it trailed off, he tensed, hoping and hoping. 

This time, something howled back. And Wolfie knew he had made a mistake.

The noise seemed to come from all around him, emanating from the cracks in the ground. Sand shifted, and shadows that should not exist suddenly spilled from the dried crevices like scars that had begun to bleed. 

Wolfie jumped back, but the shadows reached from him. The next limpid breeze carried with it a susurration that grew louder with every second, multiple voices that soon bellowed as one until Wolfie heard his own howl thrown back at him--a garbled, distorted mimicry that Wolfie knew, intuitively, was as hungry as it was mocking. 

He turned and ran, feeling the oppressive shadows at his back, licking at his paws. The desert lay otherwise still around him, indifferent to his fear.

After a couple minutes, his muscles began to burn, and only adrenaline allowed Wolfie to keep sprinting. He could see the shadows coalescing in his periphery, could tell they were growing larger and swifter even as he began to tire. 

If this was the Twilight Realm, then it was a version his Hyrule had been spared. 

He felt trapped in a vacuum, running without gaining distance. His panting was loud in his ears, and his heart beat heavily in his chest. The shadows reached for him, grasping with too many fingers, and Wolfie put on a burst of speed he wasn't sure he had the energy to repeat. 

Suddenly, the horizon changed. There was no transition, no subtle reveal. One moment, there was desert. And the next, as though born from a mirage, there were two buildings; one large and square-shaped, the other long with a row of doors. Nearby, flickering with artificial light, there was a sign. The alphabet was unfamiliar, and yet somehow, impossibly, Wolfie could read it. "KATZ MOTEL. No vacancy."

The shadows' whispering grew with fervor--a predator recognizing the potential loss of prey. The sand groaned as it shifted, new cracks forming under the weight of the coagulating darkness. 

Wolfie ran for all he was worth. The door to the larger building seemed to glow with a sickly yellow light, and he aimed for it desperately. Time seemed to slow down, each second growing heavy with the malicious desire of the darkness behind him, pulling and pulling and pulling at him to join the dust crunching underfoot. The unknown lay behind that door, but death nipped at his heels. 

With a scared, guttural growl, Wolfie bodily threw himself at the door. The cheap latch snapped under the force of his weight, and he frantically spun around, claws scraping and sliding on old, rotting hardwood, to shove the door closed again. 

Outside, the darkness howled one last time. Then silence, like some pernicious default, reigned once more.

Wolfie didn't move for several minutes, panting as he pushed his weight against the busted door. The front wall had a single window, and the light that filtered in from that strange sign flickered erratically. He was afraid to stare out the glass, knowing that something might stare back, but he forced himself to look. Nothing but flat desert landscape could be seen. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Wolfie finally glanced around the room he was in. It was sparsely decorated and poorly maintained. Dust clung to every surface, and some of the floorboards were irreparably warped and stained. Ignoring the small sign that read "No Dogs Allowed," he put his paws on the counter top and saw a single bell, a few keys, and a glossy magazine showcasing various spiders. His eyes lingered longest on the keys, but he didn't have a way to carry all of them conveniently. Especially not if he had to fight or run again. 

Finally, he turned his attention to the only other things in the room--a thick door built into the back wall. A padlock was attached to the knob, but none of the small keys on the counter looked like they would fit it. 

Curious, Wolfie put his nose against the very narrow gap between the door and sniffed. 

Blood. Decay. A rancid, metallic stench. 

He drew back with a snort, shaking his head. The odor clung to his nose. He swore he could almost taste it. On the other side of the door, there was a light scratch. Wolfie firmly decided he didn't want to investigate.

He returned to the front of the room, curiosity warring with trepidation. He really hoped the  others were having better luck that he was, wherever they were. Nothing looked or smelled right. Was this even Hyrule? 

He thought about trying to switch back into Twilight again, then dismissed the idea; that coldness lingered in his bones, a warning. Tail low, Wolfie returned to the window, tilting his head one way then the other as he listened for... anything. Besides the occasional cicada and the low, unnatural hum coming from the sign, there was nothing. Even the breeze was gone. He studied the other building, straining to make out any details through the haze, when he saw a flash of movement by the farthest door. 

Before Wolfie could make out any details, there was a loud, pitiful, "Aaaahhhh!"

Wolfie didn't let himself think about it; he shouldered open the busted door and raced outside, drawn toward that fearful scream. The desert sand was warm underneath his paws, blessedly lacking in unnatural shadows. Within seconds, he reached the other building, and the haze cleared as though demanding witness to a piece of horror. 

A small, purple dog was tied to a post. He chewed frantically at the rope with yellow, rotting teeth, whining and moaning as the rope held. At the other end of the porch, speeding toward the dog with deadly intent, was a spider the size of Wolfie's head. 

"Oh no, oh nooo," the dog cried.

[just-a-creep-babe]

Jeff Smut!

Commissioned by the wonderful @followingyoucuseyoureawesome! Thank you so much, it’s greatly appreciated uwu 🌸🌞🌸 

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

22.) “Look at you, I've only started using my fingers and you're already shaking.”

56.) “Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you.”

58.) “Do you know how beautiful you are? It's truly distracting.”

99) “You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in the kitchen until you walked in.”

The house is dark

Motionless and quiet, you almost trick yourself into believing you imagined it—that you hadn’t actually heard the door opening, or the unmistakable treading of shoes against dry wooden floorboards

You chew your lip and wrap your arms around yourself

Part of you knows exactly what to expect, and yet you refuse to acknowledge it

You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t realize he’s behind you before it’s too late

Your body’s slammed into the counter, knocking the wind from your lungs and leaving you gasping under something hard, something firm

“Mmh... You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in the kitchen until you walked in”

His voice is deep and raspy and hot as he groans into your neck

A hand tangles itself into the soft fluff of your hair and he sharply tugs back, wrenching a cry from your lips

He sighs—a breathy hum that vibrates in his chest behind you

“My dearest, precious little (y/n)~”

He inhales, deeply and unabashedly, like he’s imprinting your scent in his memory

“It’s been too long. I hope you haven’t forgotten me, have you?”

The jagged angles of his smile brushes over your skin as he speaks

“L-leave me alone!”

He chuckles

“You’re always so cute when you try to fight me off. As if you’d ever stand a chance~”

His arm is around your throat and then he’s dragging you back, further into the house and further from any chance of escape

Not that you’d actually try to run from him

No, you’d only make that mistake once

Still, your sense of self preservation kicks in and you’re squirming and screaming at him to let go

He ignores every one of your complaints

As he pushes open a door and forces you down on a bed—your bed, you realize he’s much too familiar with the layout of your house

There’s a wild, obsessive look in his eyes as he gazes down at you

“Tell me, have you been thinking of me, (y/n)? Because I haven’t been able to get you out of my head”

He tugs at the button of his jeans and you find yourself crawling backwards, desperate for some distance, until your back’s hitting the wall behind you

“It’s fucking annoying, really,”

The bed dips beneath his weight as he moves towards you

“I can’t help but think you’re doing it on purpose—forcing me to obsess over you like this—but I know it’s not your fault. You’re just too perfect for your own good”

You’re frozen as he reaches out, large hand caressing your jaw, fingers pressing into the squishy flesh of your cheeks

He yanks your head up so you‘re meeting his wicked gaze, lips hovering over yours

“That’s why you fucking belong to me. Nobody else could possibly appreciate you like I do. Nobody deserves you, (y/n). Nobody but me”

The kiss is anything but gentle as he crashes his mouth against yours

It’s urgent and determined and already has you whimpering beneath his imposing size

Your hands find purchase against his chest, pushing against him, but it only spurs him on even more—flicking the wet warmth of his tongue between his rough chapped lips

He tastes like blood

There’s the sound of fabric ripping and then your pajamas are gone and you’re way too exposed beneath him

His mouth is pressing into your jaw, your neck, your throat, biting and sucking and nipping at your skin like he’s been starved of your taste for far too long

“Such a soft, pretty little thing~”

“S-stop it!”

He ignores you, and instead brushes a finger over your slit

You try to kick him off but his free hand clamps around your leg and he straddles the other

His thumb nestles against your clit and you stiffen at the contact

“Mmh, atta girl~ Let me touch you and I’ll make you feel nice and good”

He watches your every reaction through dark, heavily lidded eyes as he slowly rubs your sensitive pearl

You squeeze your eyes shut, fisting the sheets to stop yourself from grinding down onto him

He tilts his head

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It's truly distracting”

When you refuse to acknowledge him, he jams two fingers into your tight, soaked entrance

You cry out, hips jutting up involuntarily, meeting him halfway as he twists his fingers against your pulsing sex

In and out, his calculated pumps have him coaxing an embarrassing amount of slick from your spongy walls

You hate how it feels so fucking good, how your body responds so well to his touch

“Look at you, I've only started using my fingers and you're already shaking~”

He reaches a certain spot inside you that has you gasping his name, bucking up into him for more—you need so much more

But instead of giving you what you want, he pulls away, and you’re left empty and disappointed

Piercing eyes drink you up—your panting, shaking form, as he brings his soaked digits to his mouth and licks them clean

“Mmh, such a good little girl for me. Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you”

His hands are pulling you up into his lap and then he’s lying back and your legs are straddling either side of his face

The few seconds of hesitation on your part are enough for him to grasp your thighs and shove them down onto his scarred mouth

“A-ah!”

The response of his tongue pushing up into your heat is immediate

He completely devours you, his pink muscle reaching just the right spots with his nose bumping your clit every time you squirm

You’re clenching and gasping and moaning around him

Your thighs are shaking, thoughts overwhelmed with the feeling of his tongue lapping at everything you’re offering

You can already feel the threat of an orgasm building from your drenched core

“J-jeff! Fuck, I—I can’t—!”

You grasp his charred hair for support, riding his face, feeling your body burn with every flick of his tongue between shuddering walls

And then before you know it, your body stutters, hips buckling forwards as you cry out his name

Ecstasy rakes up your form in seemingly endless jolts as you cum against him, panting and shuddering like an absolute mess on top of him

The euphoria of your climax becomes all too much but before you can pull yourself away, a hand roughly smacks you back down

“‘M not fucking done yet” he growls

Cupping a hand over your mouth does little to muffle your desperate cries as he delves back into you

“S-stop it! I can’t—i-it’s too much!!”

But he’s shameless and merciless, flicking over and over at your overstimulated nub until your body’s brought back to the brink of another orgasm

You can only scream and pray he’ll stop by the time you‘re forced over the edge a second time

And even then, he eagerly drinks you all in, his hands like vices around your trembling thighs

It’s only when he’s had his fill does he finally let you go

You‘re shaking, tears threatening to spill from the intensity as he murmurs what a good girl you’ve been for him while licking your arousal from his lips

You can taste yourself on him when he pushes his mouth against yours

And you’re too tired to try to shove him away, knowing it won’t work anyways, so you simply accept him

You hear him undo the rest of his pants, giving himself a few pumps before calloused hands are parting your legs

A new kind of panic introduces itself as the tip of his swollen cock brushes over your puffy folds

“N-no, stop it!”

He pins your flailing hands above your head, murmuring quiet little coos of don’t worry, and you’ve been so good, I’m gonna reward you

And then he’s pushing himself in, inch by inch, breaching your entrance that immediately clamps down on his hard length

When he bottoms out, swollen head brushing against your cervix, your gut tightens almost painfully, a shuddering moan dripping from your lips

He groans into your neck and starts rocking back and forth

In and out, he’s thick and heavy and you’re already feeling stretched out and sore

It’s all too much

“It’s like you were fucking made for me” he curses under his breath

And then he’s building a steady pace that has you clawing at his back 

He starts pounding into you hard and fast and absolutely filthily and it’s got you crumbling beneath him

His strokes are deep and you’re squeezing him unbearably tightly 

He groans against you, mumbling that you’re so fucking good for him

Your back arches, pressing your chest up into him and then you’re cumming again, screaming his name until your throat burns and your voice is raw

He snarls, and with a few quick more thrusts, his cock twitches and he’s painting your insides white as your walls spasm around him

You’re absolutely exhausted by the time he pulls out

You can feel his cum dripping from your thighs

He mumbles something to himself—about taking you someplace in the woods—but you’re honestly too tired to even care anymore

You let yourself lie back and readily welcome the deep, dark blanket of sleep as it finally falls over you

[dakogutin]

nightmares and cuddles

thank you to @swottypotter​ for hosting this comfort mini-fest! and to my beta @windywings who helped me get into the mind of a ten year-old hehe

9/27 prompt: gratitude

summary: harry thanks moomy and dadfoot for being brave with him

word count: 2.1k

ao3 link

---

A blinding flash of green light. Screaming— a woman’s. Deafening explosion then a piercing ring as everything turns dark once more… Forehead burning…

Harry woke up in cold sweat, panting. He felt adrenaline coursing through his veins as he sat up, hands subconsciously running through his untameable wild hair. The silence made his thoughts yell louder and the darkness felt eerily inappropriate to his turbulent feelings.

This wasn’t new; the nightmares, the insomnia, the constant panic in his restless mind alerting him that Voldemort was by his bedroom door— a forceful pull back to consciousness. Sleep has been a challenge for Harry, he’s set the bar so low that sometimes he forgets it’s not normal to wake up crying in the night at all.

That doesn’t mean it gets easier each time.

Harry hugged his knees tight, cursing himself through harsh sobs for not being brave enough to face his demons alone. Everyone tells him that both his parents were brave, so why wasn’t he?

The worst part is, he doesn’t even understand why the vivid flashes of weird images in his dream cause him to fall apart this quickly. He just feels embarrassed. Stupid. Mad— in both definitions.

It was getting more and more difficult to breathe as he refused to let his cries out; the lump in his throat obstructing his air flow as it simultaneously intercepted with his continuous sobs. Harry sounded like he was choking through air but at the same time felt like he was drowning in it.

He pulled his blanket up to his chin and looked to his window, contemplating on whether or not he should move to open it, when he heard the doorknob slowly click open, the sound shattering the silence of the room… 

Harry jolted and an involuntary yelp escaped his restricted throat. Instantly, warm but strong hands wrapped around his apparently trembling self, gently holding him in place and stroking his back in a soothing manner.

“Breathe, Harry…” The voice said. “Come on, do it with me.” A deep inhale followed and Harry felt his body slowly relax as he focused on mimicking the action.

More minutes passed until Harry finally felt calm enough to snuggle into the soft but firm arms around him. He opened his eyes and saw locks of black hair by the person’s shoulders and felt guilt replace the momentary ease in his stomach.

“Padfoot, did I wake you? I’m so sorry…” He rubbed his eyes from the stale tears there.

To his surprise, Sirius huffed a laugh. “Nah, Moony woke me up.” Harry felt the hand resting on his back still its movements. “But I’m kinda glad he did.”

“Why?”

Sirius was quiet for a while, like he was mulling over his answer. “So you didn’t have to go through this alone.” he said simply.

Harry knew those words meant more than they suggested. After all, Sirius only hinted about his own past, never really giving Harry the full picture. Harry wanted to finally ask about it, but a concern persisted in his mind. He leaned back to face Sirius properly, “Why did Moony wake you up? Is he all right?”

Sirius broke into a soft smile before fiddling with Harry’s disheveled duvet. “You really are your parents’ child, Harry. Just like them you’re uncommonly kind. I went here for you yet you go asking about others as soon as you can.”

For a second Harry felt conflicted about this comment. The looming thought of him not being able to live up to his parents’ braveness suddenly entered his mind once more. “No, of course I am thankful you’re here. It’s just that… well, with the moon just yesterday, I couldn’t help but wonder…” Harry couldn’t finish this sentence as he found himself too distracted with Sirius who was shaking his head.

“Listen, kid, I don’t mean it that way.” He grinned, ruffling Harry’s unkempt hair. Then he sighed, looking more forlorn this time. “We— er, couldn’t sleep too, you see.”

“Is he still awake?” Harry blurted, eyes scanning around Sirius’ features in the dark.

Sirius already scooped Harry in his arms and stood up. “Let’s go wake him up if he isn’t still. Merlin knows it’s time for my revenge.”

“Are you sure it’ll be okay?” Harry asked tentatively, gripping onto Sirius’ shoulder.

He scoffed. “As long as it’s us. You know Moony can’t hate us— even if he tried. We’re irresistible like that, Prongslet.” Sirius winked.

And for the first time that night, Harry cracked a smile.

--

Sirius glanced behind at Harry, a sly grin etched on his face. Harry put a finger to his smiling lips, shushing his godfather. At this, Sirius placed a finger over his own lips, as if scolding himself as well. Harry quietly giggled before Sirius carefully opened the bedroom door where Remus rested.

Together they tiptoed to the rising and falling lump of sheets on one side of the wide bed, only his tawny mess of hair was visible. But as they approached, stealthily avoiding the creakier floorboards, a startling grunt sounded from under the sheets.

Sirius hastily carried Harry to sit on the bed and spoke, “I present you this offering! Please don’t impair upon me your wrath for disturbing your slumber.” They snickered as Sirius also hopped on the mattress, rocking the bed slightly as he laid beside Remus with Harry right in the middle.

Remus simply opened the blanket with his arm for Harry to settle inside, the younger boy quickly complied, feeling himself immediately comforted by the warmth around him. Harry felt his forgotten drowsiness washing over him.

After a period of silence, Harry heard Sirius softly speak. “Hey, what about me?” He couldn’t help but chuckle at this.

“What’d you think, Harry? Should we invite the gaudy nitwit inside our cave?” Though facing away, Harry can hear the grin in Remus’ slurred words.

“Sorry Padfoot, I don’t think you’ve earned your place yet.”

Harry knew it was all in good fun but he was too soft on Sirius after calming him down from his earlier ordeal, he told this to Remus who pulled down the blankets, revealing a giant black dog where Sirius previously sat.

“What do you mean? What happened?” Remus sat up, piercing eyes steady on Harry.

“I’m fine now.” Harry chewed his bottom lip. 

Remus looked unconvinced but acquiesced, sighing. “I’m glad Padfoot could be there for you then.”

At Remus’ reassuring smile, Harry felt this newfound courage to open up more about it. “It’s just the same nightmare again.” He then felt a cold nose press to his arm. Harry scratched the dog’s neck then fully wrapped his arms around Padfoot, burying his face in the soft shampoo-smelling fur.

“Do you want to talk about it, pup?” came Remus’ voice beside him as he felt a gentle hand rest on his back, it reminded him of Sirius’ soothing pats earlier. 

Harry doesn’t know what it was about Remus that makes it so easy to want to talk to him. Maybe it was the underlying desire to want to be comforted; that while Sirius’ presence always inspires him to be brave, Remus’ presence is more on reassurance— telling him that he doesn’t have to be brave all the time. He’s never been more thankful they balance each other so well and that he was blessed with both of them all to himself.

As quick as that gratifying thought occurred, he felt an unsettling churn in his gut.

He turned his head so his face was visible to his other godfather. “Is it selfish that I sometimes forget my parents?” 

Harry sat curious as silence hung in the air. He sat up to face Remus and felt the familiar gentle incentive of being vulnerable. He was aware this was a rather sensitive topic but he wasn’t planning on backing out of it now that they’re willing to engage.

“You have to understand, Harry…” Remus began, “Sirius and I always bring up your parents because we miss them so, so much. It’s cruel that we got to spend so much time with them while you so little.” He patted Harry’s cheek. “It’s perfectly forgivable if you sometimes… forget. Moments you shared with them are ever so scarce, Harry, it’d be quite impossible to keep holding on to them all your life.”

Harry sniffed, indignant not to cry twice this night. Just then, he felt Padfoot gradually shift back into Sirius behind him. 

“You’re not selfish for feeling too happy to think about what you’ve lost. Remember that.” said Sirius.

Remus gave an approving smile to Sirius before sighing wistfully. “We feel guilty about it too, Harry.”

“About my mum and dad?” Harry asked softly. This part about his parents was new. Neither of them deliberately bring up the events after they graduated so needless to say, Harry’s interest was piqued.

They both nodded then Sirius replied, “We talk about them a lot because you’re a living reminder of them, pup. It’s just uncanny.” He smiled, shrugging.

Harry smiled back.

Remus chimed in, “Look, we know we will never fill their shoes in your life—”

“No that’s the thing…” Harry interrupted.

Both his godfathers looked taken aback by the sudden loudness of his voice but waited for him to continue.

“When I think of parents, I just now think of you two.” He stared intently at the ruffled duvet. “I can’t help but feel like these nightmares are punishments for it.” Harry felt Sirius pull him into a crushing hug and heard shuffling before feeling Remus join them.

Remus was first to pull apart and maybe it was the dim lighting but his eyes appeared to be glistening. He then heard Sirius behind him. “You are not to be blamed for anything, Harry. You hear me?” The ten year-old turned to glance at his speaking godfather and nodded.

“I’m sorry about these nightmares Harry.” Remus says. “But you shouldn’t think of them as punishments. They’re nothing more but bad memories. It has absolutely nothing to do with your relationship with Lily and James, alright?” He tilted his head to level with Harry’s gaze under his ducked head.

“And besides,” Sirius spoke. “Who says you’re limited to just one pair of parents?” he grinned.

Harry hung his arms around their necks. “Thank you.” He mumbled, pulling their heads together, feeling their cheeks press against his own. Harry poured all of his profound gratitude through his tight grip before pulling away and beaming at them.

A thumb swiped his cheek and Harry realised he had apparently failed to keep his tears from flowing until then as he looked up to Remus smiling softly at him.

“Well, I’d say you telling us that we’re nearly good enough replacements for your parents is the highest form of compliment in my life so far. And this is coming from me, who got voted Witch Weekly’s most charming smile of the year — and I was still a student!” Sirius beamed.

Remus rolled his eyes as he leaned in for a whisper. “Still lost to Gilderoy Lockhart, though.” He then made his voice louder, positioning to lie back down. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

Harry giggled. He was about to make a move to head back to his room but Remus was already making space for him in between them on the wide bed.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at Remus. “Just this once I won’t say anything to that since I’d rather savour every last moment we can sleep with Harry still here.” He then shifted into a lying position with them.

“Damn right.” Remus mumbled.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at this. “What does that mean?”

“Hogwarts, Prongslet. This is your last year before you finally become an official student there after all.” Sirius replied, yawning. “Couldn’t wait for you to become our little prodigy.”

“Sirius.” Remus said warningly but was simply met with a lazy chuckle.

That’s right, Harry mused. Soon, he would be surrounded by other magical children. He suddenly wondered how different his life would’ve been if he were raised away from the Wizarding World, but then he just couldn’t— and that was all because of Sirius and Remus. Harry felt overwhelmed by this relief.

“Moony?” He called to the darkness.

“Hmm?” came his response.

“Padfoot?” Harry called once more.

“I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

Harry doesn’t know which of them did it, but there was a kiss near his scar and he felt his cheeks strain from him grinning so much that night. Not quite what he expected since being woken up, but undoubtedly the best turn of events since.

[undeadsnorlax]

Can Anybody Tell Me Why I’m Lonely Like a Satellite?

heyyy my first fic for @badthingshappenbingo​. starting things off with my favourite space boy

Ao3 link

Prompt: Loneliness

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV Series)

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, angsty as hell

Wordcount: 2603

A day in the life of Luther on the moon.

***

Wakey-wakey.

“Urgh…” Five more minutes…

Come on. You need to get up.

Luther groaned, rolling onto his back and squinting up at the blank metal ceiling. It took him a few more minutes to open his eyes properly, and a couple more to roll over and check the clock with another groan. 22:47.

“It’s early,” he mumbled, swinging his legs around and rubbing his face down. Well, early in his sense, at least.

Fifteen minutes won’t kill you. Means you could go to bed earlier later tonight, technically.

Luther considered this and nodded, slowly getting to his feet and walking toward the door-

Thunk!

“Every time!” he cried, rubbing his forehead. He’d learn to duck eventually.

He stretched his arms until his fingers brushed the ceiling, then placed a hand at the bottom of his back and arched it, grunting at the dull crunch his spine made.

With a few more stretches, he dragged his feet over to the counter, smiling at the small potted umbrella plant there.

“Evenin’ Ben,” he said softly, large fingers stroking the leaves before picking up the tiny watering can.

Hey Luther.

Luther let out a sigh, tapping one of the radars beeping away on the workstation below the plant.

Something wrong?

“Nah, nothing.”

He shrugged and went about doing his other ‘morning’ chores. Checking the base’s oxygen levels, collecting any trash, seeing if there was any response from home.

Nothing. Of course.

Luther dressed in his space suit, taking the bag of trash out and dumping it with the rest.

He allowed himself a moment of freedom, pure gleeful joy as he bounced light as air across the moon’s surface. He’d been up here two and a half years and this part still never got old. He was in space!

He pushed off from the ground hard, floating a foot higher before landing with a weightless thud. Grinning behind his helmet, he tilted his head to look up at the Earth in front of him.

It was awesome, thinking about how one planet could contain so many billions of people going about, living their lives.

Including four of the ones he’d grown up with. What would they be doing right now? Vanya would definitely be going to bed, and maybe Allison was doing a late night movie shoot. Klaus would probably be partying and Diego doing...whatever he did.

Luther let out a heavy sigh, his grin fading. No use in wondering like that. Just reminded him of how everything fell apart.

He was brought back into focus by his stomach rumbling. He clasped at it for a moment, staring blankly at the stars, before trudging back to base to eat.

Running low on those.

Luther narrowed his eyes as he opened a packet of soy paste, slumping down heavily on the nearest chair.

“I know,” he said quietly, squeezing every last drop into his mouth ravenously.

He also knew this would do nothing but numb his hunger for only a few hours, knew this wouldn’t have been enough food for him even before his accident. For as little as he did physically up here, his body still craved energy, and this shit just didn’t cut it.

You asked Dad for more, right?

“Every time.” Luther glared at the plant. “I’m due more soon, okay? Today or tomorrow…”

He drummed his fingers against his thigh, staring at the empty packet. Reluctantly, he went to the box and got another, pretending it was something more elaborate instead. One of Grace’s amazing dinners, a rich beef casserole in a thick red wine sauce, with potatoes and vegetables, maybe some kind of pie for dessert, with ice cream-

He groaned, swallowing the mouthful of saliva he’d formed at the mere thought.

Not helping?

“I miss real food.” He rubbed his middle, feeling at least a little more full, enough to concentrate on work.

Have you checked your bandages?

Luther licked his lips, before shaking his head, looking away like a naughty schoolboy getting a scolding.

Do that. Please? It’s been a few days.

“Okay, okay.”

He went to the cramped bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror first. He looked rough.

Dismissing that observation, he slowly zipped down his top, careful to not get it stuck on his body hair.

How’s it look?

“Better. Honest.”

The bandage itself, on his right side just above the ribs, looked a little grubby, dried dark brown stains having seeped through. Carefully, he picked at the medical tape keeping it in place, wincing every time it caught a stray hair, but managed to rip it off and inspect the wound underneath.

A laceration done in such a way there was a small chunk of flesh missing, but it was healing nicely.

Luther reached for his first aid kit, pouring out some antiseptic onto a cloth and pressing it down. He winced again, gritting his teeth, but knew it was all worth it to help it get better.

As he prepared clean bandages to patch it up again, Ben chimed in.

It was scary when you did that. You were so scared.

Luther’s gut churned with unease, remembering the frantic, near manic state he went into a few days prior. It wasn’t the first time it had happened either. A sudden burst of wild emotion overwhelmed him, forcing him to his knees as he tried to let it pass, but the feeling inside him just got worse and worse.

Are you okay now?

“I don’t know.”

He bandaged himself up again, before he traced along a similar mark on his stomach, healed now into a bright pink scar.

His fingers curled into a fist, zipping up his top again before he could do more damage to himself. Ignoring the urge hadn’t done much good the last few times, but maybe this time he’d figure out a way to not hurt himself again.

Doubt it…

He went back to sit at a console, rummaging through the mess of paper cluttering the table.

What’re you doing today?

“Going through these.” Luther scratched his chin as he thought, eyes skipping down the page. “Need to arrange them in order, rewrite them neater...pretty boring, right?”

What work isn’t?

Luther chuckled, splitting the paper into small piles. “Got that right.”

And then silence. Luther became engrossed in his work, only moving to either stretch his back or use the bathroom, and even that wasn’t often.

Sure, it was boring but...it was his kind of boring. One of his earliest memories was pouring over a book on the solar system, using it to try and figure out the constellations he could see from his bedroom window. Him and Five raced to have their hand up first during their physics classes.

It became a one man race after he vanished.

Luther tapped his pen against his temple, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind was drifting, thinking of his siblings again.

He tried not to think of Five too often, but he still wondered what the hell could have happened to him. Sometimes he wondered if his brother had just settled somewhere. Gotten taken in by a nice family who looked after him.

He didn’t like the alternative. The portrait that hung in the living room reminded him every day for over a decade of the alternative.

That’s how he tried to feel about Ben. He was in a better place. He was at peace. Happier, maybe.

Again. Better than any alternative.

He wasn’t even sure he believed in an afterlife.

With a heavy sigh, Luther pressed his head down against the desk, closing his eyes for a second...

Luther…?

He jolted to sit up again, muscles tensing for a moment before he relaxed, picking the piece of paper that had stuck to his forehead. “Wha’?”

Drifted off bud. Not long.

“Ah. Right.”

You have been working hard for a while.

“It’s not that long-“

Luther cut off upon seeing the time. Eight hours had passed since he started. “Oh. Dang.”

You deserve a break.

“No, I’m...I’m nearly done, it’s fine.”

Luther…

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t mean to snap. He flinched the moment he did, putting his head in his hands.

Look, I get it.

“No you don’t. You’re a plant.”

Luther turned on his seat to face said plant, scowling at the thing. “You’re a voice in my head.”

Helps though, doesn’t it?

Luther wrinkled his nose a little, turning away and tapping a finger against the desk.

Helps to have someone to talk to.

“Crazy Luther Hargreeves, all alone on the moon with a plant that sounds like the brother he let die,” he muttered.

You know that’s not true.

“It’s true enough.”

He suddenly became aware of another console that had been letting out several beeps. Luther gritted his teeth and made his way over, reading the screen.

DELIVERY INCOMING

ESTIMATED ARRIVAL 0823

“Told you more food was coming,” he said, going to suit up once more. He’d missed it landing with his quick nap by about ten minutes.

Out on the moon’s surface, Luther tilted his head back, taking a slow deep breath. He could see the pod the package came in at the usual spot, but he desperately needed some quiet.

Inside his base, there was always some kind of noise. Little things, the consoles and monitors gently humming away in the background, the soft drip of a tap he might have left on. Constant.

Even back home in the mansion after everyone left, he grew used to the creak of floorboards, the structure settling around him. Every opening door making him perk up and hope someone was walking through, coming back.

Outside, on the surface, it was silent. It was like he could hear his body working, every thump of his heart that sent blood coursing through his veins.

In space no one can hear you scream…

So he did. He bent his knees, and took a deep breath and screamed at the top of his lungs. Everything contained within his helmet.

Straightening up, he screamed again, a rush of catharsis overwhelming his brain. It felt good to scream. He should do this more often. Better than hurting himself.

His chest ached a little as he caught his breath once more, staring dazed at the ink black sky above him.

So much...nothing. The night skies were never this clear back on Earth and maybe now he was glad because being confronted with such a sheer vast nothingness every day was sure getting to him. Would explain why his plant was talking.

Luther scrunched his eyes tight, and went to get the delivery. He dragged it inside, changing from his suit once more and tearing the box open.

Anything good?

He glanced up, narrowing his eyes, before getting out smaller boxes of soy paste. He sighed, inspecting the writing. They always said they were different flavours, but he mostly got the same soggy muesli or stale bread taste with every packet he consumed.

That…doesn’t look like a lot.

“Shut up, I know…”

Luther set one aside and put the rest in his food cupboard. He didn’t take a chair this time, just slumped down on the floor and gently squeezed the contents through the packet, huffing heavily.

Luther, that’s not going to last.

“I’ll make it last,” he mumbled, unscrewing the top and sucking gently, trying to savour it, “I have to…”

He tried to focus on the gentle hum of the base instead, closing his eyes to help. He wasn’t sure what had happened in recent months that his food packages were becoming less frequent, and less in amount, but it didn’t help anyone to dwell on that. Dad was busy, he had stuff to do…

C’mon big guy. You know that’s bullshit.

Luther glared up at the ceiling. That was new. Hearing Ben’s voice had happened surprisingly quickly, the moment he decided to name his plant after him. He never heard anyone else’s voice, but having Diego’s growling in his brain was almost a welcome change.

Almost.

You really think he’s that concerned for you up here?

“Shut up…”

Should’ve gotten out when you had the chance.

“Shut up!”

Luther slammed his head back against the console, grunting from the quick hit of pain. When Diego’s voice didn’t go away, kept taunting the same message of should have gotten out when you had the chance, he did it again...and again.

Until there was silence.

Too much silence.

Using the counter for support, he got to his feet and went back to his desk, staring at the piles of paper in front of him.

“This mission is of the utmost importance, Number One.”

That’s what his father had told him after explaining he was going to the moon. He’d blankly affirmed, not pointed out how pointless it was to refer to him by his number when it was just him left (because look what happened last time he said that), and gone along with it.

His whole life, Luther had been raised to lead a team and save the world. His team had left one way or another, and the ‘world saving’ work he did was mostly thankless.

But here he was. On the moon. Part of the mission. Everything was part of this lifelong mission. All the data he was collecting, the experiments he ran, they were important for...something.

Luther stared at his hand, the greyed skin and dark fur that kept making him forget it was his hand. This was all part of it too, somehow. It had to be.

Otherwise…

He finished his work. Filed away the pages neatly and made plans to send them out tomorrow.

For a moment, he hesitated by the umbrella plant, reaching to touch it’s delicate leaves.

“...Ben?” he said softly.

Nothing. Of course not.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself back to his bedroom, grabbing his personal notebook from the side table. He flicked through the pages until he landed on the poem he’d been struggling with for the last week, tapping his pen against the words.

Constellations are families, each star has their purpose, their name and position.

They work together as something bigger, part of the galaxy’s nightly exhibition.

There must be times where they can do nothing but fight,

When it grows so tiring to always be shining so bright.

Luther clicked his tongue, frowning at the words. Of all the hobbies he could have taken to pass time up here, he never anticipated poetry, but he was really getting into it, having filled pages already, some of which he’d sent back...just in case Dad was curious.

He could just see his plant on the counter through the door. He went to call Ben’s name again, but he cut himself off and shut his eyes, focusing on the hum of the base once more instead.

The voice in his head was never Ben. Ben was dead. Five had gone long ago. Allison, Diego, Klaus and Vanya were back on Earth living their lives. Had been living their lives quite easily without him.

He’d managed by himself. He was exactly where he wanted.

In space. On the moon. Just him.

Number One.

By himself.

Like it had been for years now.

Tomorrow he’d wake up and go through this again. The self-doubt and the spiralling and the focusing on work so hard to forget what was really happening. Maybe his plant would start talking to him again.

But really they know that no matter how much they argue and moan,

Being a family at odds is far better than being one star all alone.

[slashthedice]

On the tenth day of Kinkmas...

@ghostsbabey gave to me: Billy Lenz with angry sex + distant/distracted sex!

The shrill shriek of the phone pierced through the silence of the stately sorority house. Its urgent cries begged for an answerer, but you weren’t inclined to give it one. You instead continued to flip through a magazine from the perceived safety of your bedroom. You knew who would be on the other end of the line should you choose to pick up the caterwauling device. You knew all the vile, horrid things he would spit into the receiver while he no doubt pawed at his hardened cock. It was the same song and dance, it had become his calling card. Now that you had the sprawling old house to yourself for the afternoon, it was his announcement of intention. And his intention was to come down the attic ladder of questionable structural integrity and fuck you silly.

But you were not in the mood.

Truth be told, you were growing sick of his antics. While it had once felt illicit and exciting to have him creep into your bedroom in the wee hours of the morning to wake you with his cock in your cunt or his tongue on your clit, you now found the interruption of your hard earned sleep aggravating. His threats and euphemisms over the phone had grown repetitive, and no longer sparked that same fire in your core. As a whole, Billy had begun to annoy you.

You had never ignored his calls like this, never just blatantly refused to partake in whatever perverse pleasure he got in tormenting others thusly. You wondered what he would do. Would he just continue to let the phone ring indefinitely until you were forced to either answer or go insane? Would he give up and take care of himself with the assistance of whatever dark fantasy played out behind his eyelids? There was always the slim chance that he would come downstairs to find you without the telecommunicative foreplay, but it was odd enough for him to be calling so early in the day, you doubted that he’d make a full appearance before the sun set.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The phone eventually went silent, leaving you in blessed peace. You went back to the glossy pages with a new sort of optimism, guard dropped as you believed yourself to have dodged the proverbial bullet. Your only warning was the creak of a rogue floorboard and a shadow falling over you as you lay on your stomach.

You turned your head just in time to see the blur of dirty cable knit sweater and disheveled hair as the object of your annoyance closed on you. He reached for you with shaking, eager hands. Nails blunted from being chewed upon dug into clothed flesh as he made to drag you down the bed towards him. He wanted attention so badly, but you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. You refused to react at all.

You could tell by the way he faltered that he had expected you to behave otherwise. He had been envisioning screaming, struggling. He had wanted you to fight him.

You didn’t even acknowledge him.

His normal spiel of filth and vitriol had devolved into sputtered nonsense as his anger and frustration grew. It wouldn’t have surprised you had he started foaming at the mouth as a rabid animal would. He was like a feral cat, hissing and spitting as he tore clothing from your unresponsive form. If you wouldn’t give him the reaction he craved, he would take it from you.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek to stifle a yelp as he ripped your pants and underwear down your legs and shoved inside of you without a hint of care. His cock dragged within your unprepared cunt, burning you with the stretch and friction. He gave you no quarter, allowing no time for you to adjust before he was thrusting into you like a man possessed.

Every slap of his hips against your own came with the bite of zipper teeth into the bare skin of your ass. You felt the brush of scratchy wool on your lower back as he frenziedly burrowed inside of your overwrought sex. You couldn’t tell if it was sweat or drool that dribbled onto your neck and back, and you didn’t care to find out. He slowed only to tear your shirt from you, leaving your back completely exposed to him. You couldn’t suppress the cry of surprised pain as it was ripped from your throat when teeth dug into your shoulder blade. He did it again and again, biting any bit of unmarked flesh he could reach without being forced to end his punishing assault of your lower body. You felt tears well along your waterline, the kiss of salt water burning trails down your cheeks.

You were tempted to apologize, to tell him you were sorry for ignoring him. That it wouldn’t happen again. It would be so easy to let those words spill across your tongue, but their taste was bitter and acrid. You would rather swallow the bile and bite your own tongue off than to let him think for a moment he had broken you. You remained silent.

[hughiecampbelle]

Molotov Cocktails (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,108

Inspired By: Cradles by Sub Urban

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt

A/N: As soon as I heard the song, I got the idea. It's pretty dark ngl and I know I promised writing for a different fandom, but ya gurl has been unhappy, and this makes me happy :) It's not my best writing, but I don't hate it lol and I think that's all I can ask for as a writer. Feedback is always appreciated 💜

~ FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. ~

The art hanging by their necks on the walls. The expensive rugs layed to rest. Papers, mail, important documents chewed up and spit out on his great wooden desk. A wonderland of flammability. How beautiful it would be, a light great enough only to be compared to the sun. A fantastic sight. A world wide wonder. Sitting on a grassy estate, closets full of cotton cloth and wool, the drapes long and heavy. There was no better home. So warm, so inviting and welcoming. Fireplaces were constantly lit to keep the grand room warm in the dead of winter, candles cluttered across the dining room table, around the bath tub, to soften the mood, add a touch of sweetness. An accident wouldn't seem out of the ordinary. A tragedy and a warning sign all in one. A red flag engulfed in flames.

You'd decorated it all, from top to bottom. If it were up to him, the bare walls and empty halls would have stayed just as they were. The icy floors would scratch from the bottoms of shoes, paint stained by cigarette smoke, every meal a dinner for one, held in his office every night and every morning. But he had you, and now every meal was for two. You asked for his insight on choices of furniture and decor, but he was a man of so few words, he simply trusted you to make it feel like a home, instead a of a big, lonely house. And you did. Every time he walked through the front door there was a comfort that enveloped him, that pulled him in, leaving the stresses of the day behind.

He used to melt on the couch, his arm around your shoulder, speaking softly of work and worries. For the first time, in a long time, he'd rest easy in the bed you made, the sheets starched, pillows soft. If you were there, closing his eyes was no longer a chore, not in your presence. Now the bed burned away, the couch crackling one seam at a time. Where he used to toss and turn, his hand searching for you, your touch, was so warm, a nest for light, for destruction. Moving to the bedside table, the creaky wooden floors and ash trays he was told to continuously empty, but never got around to it. Down the hall to the bsthroom, the other rooms in which his family would fill. Tiny footsteps and childish giggles running around after one another, pulling on hair and tripping over everything. The upstairs had always been his favorite. There he was allowed to rub the sleep in his eyes, think of nothing but where he wanted to be beside you, how much longer he'd get to rest before facing the day.

Tommy wasn't sure who had called him, only that he had to come home right away. His brothers followed, believing guns could fix any problem. The ride unbearably long, cursing himself for moving so far away. You'd liked the stillness of the countryside, the quiet. There you could hear the birds, your own thoughts. He would have moved anywhere if it made you happy. Smoke fled from the open windows, clouding up the glass, escaping through the chimney. Outside, a small crowd. Stranger, unfamiliar faces here to watch a show. Destruction had never seemed to entertaining. He pushed through them, a sickening smell growing more apparent the closer he got. His house, your home, up in flames. Wheezing, bleeding, struggling to survive. Frantic, he made a list of every name he knew. The help, chefs, maids, all of them safe. A sigh. Brothers, his sister, all of them out. A family meeting called just that morning, no one would dare miss it. A day, one of few, the house empty. Right?

A bottle of gasoline, a cloth stuffed into it. No one would suspect a thing. One by one thrown through the windows, shattering glass, bits and pieces exploding across the floors. It didn't take long for them to feel satisfied enough to run. They were going to teach those fucking Shelby's not to mess with them, kill one of their own. Someone was in there, their shadow light, falling across the curtains from one room to another. Whoever it was, it didn't matter. Anyone associated with that wretched family would learn. That blissful life would come to an end, they'd make sure of it. A panic threatening to rip his heart in two, Tommy ran to the door. The doorknob burning his palm, locked. His brothers not far behind, scared, unsure. Holding him back from ripping his fist on broken glass, from throwing himself into hell. He didn't have to be sure, he already knew. The roof crumbling, collapsing in on itself.

You were in there.

He'd kissed you goodbye quickly, without a second thought. You had things to do, errands to run, your fridge void of milk, your kitchen without flowers. Small things, things you wanted to get done before the real work kept you there late into the night. Shelby's pooling out of the doorway, a quick stop to the Garrison. If anyone needed anything, you were on your way. A few more things on the list. You'd always been so nice, kind, thinking of others. Bring your bags home, emptying them one by one. Flowers in a vase, it always made things a little more welcoming. Your list in the trash. That should have been the end, a task done, but it wasn't.

You nearly screamed at the sound of breaking glass, of something rolling, then stopping. One by one, room by room. There wasn't enough time to run, to get out. You were surrounded, encircled, left to watch your world crumble. Flames cried over every surface. You moved from the kitchen, hoping to escape out the back, but the bottles were there, too. They'd been thorough. Find safety somewhere else. His office. Shield yourself, your skin, making your way too it. Pounding your fists against the glass, but it wouldn't budge. The goods along there walls just begging to burn. The air was hot, and heavy, the smoke stinging your eyes, your lungs. It was getting hard to breath.

It was Tommy's house, but you made it a home, a place of love. Strip it of everything, the floorboards, the brick walls, it still would have felt the same. It was you who made it feel that way, not the things in it. You made him feel at uome, at peace. Now his home was burning from the inside out and there was nothing he could do about it.

[lifblogs]

It’s Time We Had the Talk

TEASER Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel Pairings: Destiel Summary: While Dean is dealing with the Mark of Cain, and Sam with his own trauma, they are drawn to a hunt in Elkins, West Virginia, where they join up with Castiel in solving the deaths of two partially eaten college students. WARNINGS: DSLV (d - disturbing images, s - sexual content, l - language, v - violence)

TEASER

FADE IN:

EXT. ABANDONED SHOP - NIGHT

OPEN. Night. We see a dilapidated, two-storied shop of red-brown brick alone on the outskirts of town. Windows are broken in places, grass crops up out of the sidewalk and pavement. Door hangs in.

INSERT - SIGN

“Elkins Books & Wares” in fading paint on sign above door

BACK TO SCENE

A WOMAN

she crosses the street towards the building, white dress flowing behind her

SUPERIMPOSE: "Elkins, West Virginia”

INT. ABANDONED SHOP/ATTIC - NIGHT

An electric lantern casts shadows in the cramped attic. A trap door leads downward, and dried blood has stained the floorboards.

SUPERIMPOSE: "One Week Ago"

Two people, HUNTER, 20, and MARGOT, 19, are sitting on opposite sides of the room, as far away from each other as possible. Hunter is in jeans, and a sweatshirt that is emblazoned with “ELKINS COLLEGE.” Margot is in jeans and a college T-shirt. Margot CRIES. Hunter tries to hide his tears. Both of them are dirty and bruised. Hunter has dried blood on his face. There is dried blood staining Margot's shirt over her lower abdomen. She hugs her arms to herself.

MARGOT

Hunter, I don't want to. I don't want to do it!

HUNTER

But you heard what she said. She’ll kill us!

MARGOT

I don’t care. I’m not doing it.

HUNTER

Am I really that bad an option, Margot?

MARGOT

Yes!

Hunter gets to his feet, and desperately makes his way over to Margot. She kicks and tries to slap him away, SCREAMING.

MARGOT

No! No! Please don’t!

Hunter grabs her.

HUNTER

(growling)

I’m not dying because of you!

Margot SPITS in his face. Hunter descends on her, reaching for her jeans, getting in between her legs, trying to pull her face to his. She’s SOBBING, still fighting. Her shirt lifts up slightly, and we see the ugly wound underneath.

MARGOT

Stop! Hunter, stop!

FOOTSTEPS are heard from down below, unnoticed by them.

HUNTER

Margot, stay... still!

With a CRY, Margot gets in a good kick, and he FALLS back, hand now impaled by splinters. Blood. He CRIES out.

AWAY FROM Hunter, and Margot. Someone CLIMBS up to the attic.

The trap door OPENS, and we see the Woman from earlier, nearly radiant with her agelessness, yet elegant, and sensual.

The Woman observes Margot and Hunter.

She frowns.

WOMAN

Disappointing.

She lifts up her skirt, and DRAWS a long knife from a sheathe attached to her bare thigh.

Margot and Hunter scream.

MARGOT

No! No!

The Woman closes in on them.

The Woman reaches them and SLASHES Hunter's throat, cutting skin. His blood SPLATTERS on Margot. She SCREAMS and screams. His body THUMPS against the floor. The knife is raised again, glinting in the sparse light, and Margot’s voice is cut off. Blood SPLATTERS against the wall.

ON WALL

Light illuminating splattered blood, creating shadows. We see the Woman moving, doing something to the bodies.

FLESHY sounds of knife digging in again, the Woman not done yet.

RIP. SQUELCH. CHEWING.

FADE OUT:

END TEASER

TITLE CARD

[twistytwine]

Horror!AU Deleted Scenes: the scene replaced by everything leading up to the toilet scene

Yes, I can’t believe the “toilet scene” is something that I literally just wrote.

Deleted scene from Aemilius’ draft chapter.

Trigger warnings: Gore, injury, teeth-tearing, blood, dismemberment, yeah you get the gist

Disclaimer: In the original draft, Aemilius was meant to have OCD, but I cancelled that because I figured it’d be too cliche and I didn’t want people to think personality had anything to do with diagnoses and symptoms. 

Aemilius went over his plan as he ate his food, chewing absentmindedly and staring into empty space. YUL watched him but lost interest. Instead, it floated around the room, relooking at shelves and corners of the room. Aemilius observed it intently.

Indeed, he was growing weaker with every passing day, both physically and mentally. Constantly, he was feeling YUL’s grip on him, trying to tear open the pathway to connect with his mind, but Aemilius had never allowed it to. It was a terrible feeling, one that made him feel nauseous when he attempted to strengthen his guard, and it also made his head ache. He made sure to stay away from it as much as he could at all times to weaken its dreadful aura. 

He was going to have to escape soon and quick before YUL could possess him. 

Making sure to finish all of his breakfast for energy, he cleared his throat and assumed a confident position, crossing his arms and holding his head up high. “Ahem.”

YUL’s head twisted towards him. It said nothing, waiting.

“I can tell that you enjoy my work,” Aemilius continued carefully. “At least observing it and learning more about it.”

“I do not have the emotional capability to enjoy things,” was its response.

“Well, you’re interested in my work. I have something for you.” Aemilius walked over to one of his cabinets, opened it, and took out a large folder. It was filled with his own nonfictional writing about his life; it was almost like a diary, but he would find the idea of calling it one preposterous. He hadn’t read the folder in a very long time, but he supposed that it was interesting enough for YUL to investigate. He walked over to the entity and stood right in front of it so that his back was to the laboratory wall. 

YUL’s hands were already out. Aemilius put the folder in its hands. 

“This folder contains a lot of my work before my major alchemy projects,” he explained. “And it also contains plenty of information about me. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to learn a bit more about your host, would it?”

“I already know what I need to know.”

Aemilius stiffened. For a moment, he thought it was going to refuse the folder, but then it opened it and pulled out a paper. He had to stop himself from sighing in relief. 

“But you are correct Aemilius. It would be useful to know more about you.”

Its head tilted down, and it began to read. Aemilius waited a few moments before slowly moving out of its way so that it was only facing the wall and not him. It didn’t notice.

Aemilius’ heart pounded in his chest. This was it. This was the moment. He very carefully tiptoed away, keeping an eye on YUL in case if it looked at him. But the only movement it had was turning its head from side to side and turning the papers. Aemilius’ mouth went dry as he stared at the floor of his laboratory, eyes darting to each and every individual line in the wood. It didn’t feel right just walking like this. His face was heating up, sweaty.

Right foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Right foot. Left foot. Left foot. 

The floorboards creaked. Aemilius froze in his tracks. He anxiously gawked at YUL. Its movements stiffened, and its head turned upwards as if to sense the sound. Then it steadily looked back down, continuing to examine the papers. 

Aemilius had to stop himself from sighing in relief again. Instead, he held his breath, continuing the same pattern. It was necessary for him to stay quiet and sneak out. It would work, he knew. Right. Right. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left. He kept looking back. He wasn’t sure if YUL was turning its head to glance at him every time he turned around. Right. Right. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left. He wondered if he was allowed to breathe. 

The door. Right. Right. So close. Left. Right. He carefully outstretched a hand, looking down at his feet as they stepped over the lines of the floorboards. Very slowly, he pulled open the door…

“Where are you going.”

Aemilius froze, eyes immediately darting to YUL. It was staring straight at him. Its head had turned 180 degrees. 

“Nowhere,” Aemilius said quietly. 

“You are not allowed to leave.”

“I-I know that, however--”

“Why is the door open.”

“It’s open, well, because--”

“Close it.”

Aemilius tried to swing the door open and dart outside when suddenly something latched onto him and dragged him back. He yelped as his shoes scraped against the wooden floor, irritated and anxious that he touched the lines. He was whipped around to look directly into the eyes of YUL. A sticky, gooey back tendril was wrapped around the alchemist. 

“It seems that you made an attempt to mislead me,” YUL stated. “It was in order for you to escape the lab. You have spotted my weaknesses and used them against me.” It pulled him closer, its beak almost poking between his eyes. “I will not allow you to do that again.”

“I-- fine. Yes, I was trying to escape. I won’t do it again.” A lie, but he couldn’t say anything else right now.

YUL didn’t appear satisfied, however, because it pulled back its tendril and let Aemilius fall onto the floor with a thud. It glided over to one of the tables next to his homunculus and took many of his tools with a dark cloud of smoke before gliding back to where the alchemist was. He came back onto his feet, backing up frantically. 

“Put my tools down!” he hissed. “There is no reason why you should be putting your filthy hands on them!”

“Filthy is not an accurate word to describe any part of me. And I have a reason that I am using your tools.” It paused, hovering in front of him. “My patience is not expressive however it is running very low. I need you weakened so I can finally possess you. I have been waiting for a very long time.” 

Before Aemilius could react, the gooey black tendrils of smoke launched out towards him once more, pulling him towards YUL. He clenched his teeth and grunted, trying to pull away, but he couldn’t. Once more, he was right in front of the frightening entity. Then it pushed him to the ground, kneeling on him and pressing its metal knee onto his chest. He squirmed and kicked to no avail.

“You can try all you want,” he snarled, “but I will not break.”

YUL tilted its head curiously. Aemilius glared right back up at it. 

“O-kay.”

A metal hand launched from the side of its cloak, pinning down one of his arms. He tried to shove them off, once again, to no avail. And then another arm launched out, this time with sharp, pointed-- were they even fingers?! They appeared to be more like shining blades, gleaming. Aemilius’ eyes widened, and he tried desperately to break free from YUL’s grip.

“I have read in your journals that you do not like substances such as blood,” YUL stated. “However this procedure will be gory and will cause you major injuries. It is recommended to not speak as I perform this operation.”

Before Aemilius could say anything else, YUL rose its sharp fingers before chopping directly down onto his wrist, completely splitting his hand from his arm. 

Aemilius let out a horrendous scream, curling and writhing. Blood splattered from the open wound. YUL stayed where it was. It pulled back its sharp fingers into its cloak before taking its other remaining hand and covering Aemilius’ mouth, muffling his cries of pain. He curled up, cradling the stump of his arm against his chest, letting out heavy, sob-like breaths as his eyes dribbled agonized tears. He gawked in horror at the wound. His stomach churned. Nausea pounded into his head. He choked and looked up at YUL, who was as cold and still as ever.

“It appears that that has given you great distress,” it said blankly. “However I believe it isn't good enough yet.” 

“Wh… hh…” He coughed, gasping and choking.

It tilted its head again, staring at the hand that was covering Aemilius’ mouth. It seemed interested. It slowly took its hand off. Once more, another hand launched out from its cloak and grabbed one of the tools it had. A small plier. It forced Aemilius’ jaws open, taking the plier and gripping it onto one of his teeth. Aemilius groaned, unable to see through the tears of pain in his eyes. 

YUL internally counted to three before forcefully tugging the tooth out of its socket. Aemilius let out another scream as blood trickled from his mouth. YUL took hold of another one of his teeth and counted once more. Aemilius squirmed, desperately trying to snap his head away. YUL did not let go. It pulled the tooth out. He let out a strangled cry.

“Are you giving up yet,” YUL asked. Before Aemilius could even make the attempt to answer, YUL took the pliers and reached deep into his mouth, having the pliers take hold of one of the man’s back teeth. His tongue was covered with droplets of red. YUL’s hand tightly gripped onto his jaw, keeping his head still. Counting internally again, it yanked the tooth out. Aemilius only let out a weak, raw rasp. YUL finally let go and stood above him, watching him curl up.

“That is enough,” it said. “But you must stay quiet. You must not arouse suspicion. No one can find you.”

Aemilius held his bleeding wrist against his chest, his other hand clasping his mouth. He was shaking profusely, eyes squeezed shut. His tongue tasted the bitter, coppery blood in his mouth. His gums were swollen. His head was thudding. The blood was getting all over his lips and clothes, spilling onto the floor. He was dizzy. He felt as if he were about to pass out. All that he could do in response to YUL’s question was look up at it in fear and humiliation while groaning and whining weakly. 

YUL tilted its head curiously, watching him shake. It picked up his chopped off hand, observing it. It continued to dribble with red.

“You will be underneath my control very soon.”

[lustresky]

hochelaga [peter parker]

summary: Peter never really had a ton of positive male influences in his life, and at this point he had given up his hopes of ever having one— that is, until he meets Happy. 

wc: 4200ish.

themes: angst, peter’s a misunderstood and troubled teen, some happy stuff in the end (cuz i physically can’t write shit that doesn’t end in a happy ending ok), trust issues, happy cares about peter, some family fluff because i just want peter to be happy ok:’’(

warnings: cursing (da usual), underage smoking & mentions of nicotine addiction, me trying to be deep haha yikes!

a/n: title is a song by alexandre poulin. (it’s a really good song, i highly recommend listening to it in the background while reading/listening to it after! i translated the lyrics in english but it isn’t an exact translation, i changed a bit of the words to fit in more with the story!!) i recently listened to it again and it inspired me to write this. a lot of fics have tony as a parental figure in peter’s life, and he was my first choice for this fic too, but in the end happy just... made more sense. but honestly?? idek if this fic makes any sense. hopefully it does lmao

if you have any questions about this fic, feel free to send me an ask!

please note that the plots of CIVIL WAR, INFINITY WAR & ENDGAME are excused in this fic. 

available on ao3.

T’es pas mon père, tu t’prends pour qui? (You’re not my dad, who do you think you are?) Tu sais rien de moi pis de mes amis. (You know nothing about me or my friends.)

Peter scoffs to himself as he hears May laugh in the living room; he hisses at the contact of alcohol on his skin, groaning at the large gash on his forearm. He quickly bandages it up, making sure to wear a long sleeve shirt in order to hide the large white cotton wrapping around his injured limb. 

As soon as he hears footsteps, he swiftly hides the first-aid kit under his bed.

May opens his bedroom door, still wearing her work clothes and a huge smile on her face. “Peter!” She grins, walking towards him and grabbing his arm— the one that had been sliced open just an hour ago. He inwardly winces, but keeps on his indifferent face. 

He has a front to maintain. 

“Come on! I have someone for you to meet.”

Ma mère ’n’a ramené des ben plus tough, (My mom has brought home tougher guys,) Moi, les gars comme toi j’les mets dans ma poche. (Guys like you are nothing to me.)

 Peter trudges to the living room, mentally preparing himself to see another man that he knows he would hate in a few days’ time. 

To his surprise, however, he’s greeted by a man who’s the exact opposite of the image that he had been used to. Where the black leather jacket had been, there’s a formal black suit— complete with a tie and all. Where the gelled up hair and five o’clock shadow had been, there’s curly, salt and pepper hair with a white beard to match. 

Where a smirk that seemed to size him up had been, there’s a genuine smile.

“This is Harold,” May introduces the man in front of him with such a wide grin that her eyes crinkle. “Harold “Happy” Hogan.”

What kind of fucking name is Happy?

Harold clears his throat and offers his right hand to Peter; a first for all the men that May had brought back home.

“I’m Peter.” Peter says, taking his hand. The man gently grips it, hands warm yet firm at the same time as he shook it with one of them on top of Peter’s own. “Nice to meet you, Harold.” He adds, forcing out the manners May had ingrained in him even if he doesn’t like it.

“Nice to meet you too, Peter,” Harold smiles. “And Harold’s too formal—”

“Just call me Happy.”

Pis tu vas ben faire comme tous les autres, (You’d be just like the others,) Tu vas claquer la porte en mettant ton coat. (You’d slam the door closed whilst wearing your coat.)

Harold— no, Happy, stays over for dinner. Peter left the conversation to May and him as he focuses on the news being displayed on the TV while he chews on the food that she had prepared.

“Rising vigilante, Spider-Man, spotted!” The female TV reporter announces, hair swishing left and right as she animates her words with hand gestures. “Six thieves have been found, bound with the ever familiar web and with the oh-so-famous venom puncture holes in their necks!”

“As much as his work is appreciated by many,” The announcer continues. “Is his way of justice acceptable, when these men—” The TV flickers to show the mug-shots of the six men, now incapacitated due to the poison. Peter recognizes the one who had cut his arm immediately. “Have not yet faced trial? Tonight, we will be discussing this with J. Jonah Jameson, editor in chief of The Daily—”

The TV screen suddenly goes black. Peter groans at May as he looks over at her; her arm outstretched with the remote in her hand aimed at the now blank display.

“No watching TV while we’re eating dinner.”

 C’est moi du haut de mes 14 ans, (It’s my 14 year old self,) Qui veille sur le bonheur de ma maman.  (Who grows old because of my mom’s happiness.)

 Peter had quickly retreated in his bedroom after dinner, telling May that he still had homework to do.

The truth is that he just can’t stomach seeing Happy and his legal guardian sending love eyes to one another for another fucking hour.

Especially when he had already told himself numerous times in the past few years to never attach himself to any of the men that she brought home— no matter how happy they make her, because he knows better.

He tries to disregard their laughter outside of his bedroom. He tries to ignore the creaks of the floorboard as May sent Happy home. He tries to be oblivious to the peck that they both shared as a goodbye.

Tries; because his enhanced senses completely made sure that he notices every single one of them.

Much to his dismay.

 T’es pas mon père, m’as-tu compris? (You’re not my dad, don’t you understand?) J’les connais les grands secrets d’la vie. (I already know life��s greatest secrets.)

 Peter still remembers his first smoke.

He had been twelve.

It had been an experience— and when his senses got even more enhanced after he got bit, it didn’t take long for him to get addicted.

May doesn’t know about it. Just like she doesn’t know about him being a vigilante.

As soon as he hears a scream from an alley not too far from where he’s perched, Peter drops his smoke onto the cement— squishing and therefore extinguishing it with his foot.

He shoots a web onto the light pole to his right, hoping that whoever it is that he’ll save, that they’ll give him money for his services; just like what most people would do.

Peter lets out a breath, missing the nicotine in his lungs.

He’ll need it for another hit.

 Garde tes histoires pis tes conseils, (Keep your stories and advices to yourself,) Check, fais tes affaires, j’vas faire pareil. (Look, mind your business and I’ll do the same.)  

Happy comes over again for dinner.

As May cooks, they both sit on the sofa, watching the news.

“Spider-Man strikes again!” The same female reporter from a few days ago announces. “This time it seems that he has saved over a dozen people in a department store by binding the attacker in his webs and incapacitating him with his ‘venom’!”

Happy groans beside him and Peter looks up at him, annoyed. What’s his deal?

As if he can read minds, Happy looks back at him, a stern look on his face.

“Listen,” He starts, head downcast to stare at him in the eye. “If something like that ever happens to you, you go and run the other way— alright?”

Peter scoffs at his words and breaks eye contact. As if.

Happy doesn’t seem to be content with his answer. So stubbornly, he asks, “Peter? Do you understand?”

Peter subtly rolls his eyes. Who does he think he is? 

“Yeah,” He just replies back, not wanting to strike another conversation with another person who thinks that they have more power than him. 

He has had enough of those.

 Mais si jamais tu mets l’pied dans ma chambre, (If you even enter a foot in my room,) J’te jure que j’te paye des vacances. (I’ll make sure that you’ll regret it.)

 “Peter!” 

Peter quickly fumbles out of his suit, pulling the red and blue cloth off rapidly as he opens his closet door to stuff it in. At full speed, he grabs his venom and web shooters and locks them inside his desk drawer.

The footsteps don’t cease, and Peter only manages to get a shirt over his head and a pair of boxers over his legs before his door opens to reveal Happy; an eyebrow raised at him.

It doesn’t take long before the man’s eyes widen upon casting sight onto his bleeding legs.

“Jesus Christ, Peter, what happened to you?” He asks, opening the door even more to let himself in. “Are you okay?”

Peter doesn’t even try to keep the bubbling rage inside him as Happy carelessly welcomes himself into his bedroom; the only space that he has to himself. The only place that understands him.

“Yes!” Peter cries out, anger coursing through his veins. Fucking hell, he doesn’t have time for this. “Now please— get out!”

Happy, surprised at his outburst, moves backwards until his feet were a mere inches away from Peter’s bedroom door frame. “Okay, okay— I’m glad that you’re okay,” He raises his hands up in retaliation, sighing. “But still, what in the hell happened to you, kid?”

Peter doesn’t answer, instead he ignores the burning pain across his legs while walking towards the door with the goal of closing it. He grits his teeth in the process.

“That’s none of your business.”

 Ma mère pense ’t’es l’homme de sa vie, (My mom thinks that you’re the love of her life,) Moi, j’te donne pas trois semaines pis t’es parti. (Me? I’ll bet that you’ll leave after three weeks.)

 Peter had been genuinely surprised when he had come back home to find May and Happy in the kitchen, flour and eggs scattered everywhere.

Their smiles are bright.

Peter clears his throat, effectively gaining their attention as he crosses his arms across his chest. “What are you guys doing?” He asks, throwing a pointed look at May who just laughs at his question.

“What does it seem like we’re doing, Pete?” She replies, a huge smile still displayed on her face. “We’re trying to bake a cake!”

That still isn’t enough of an answer. “What for?” He adds; from what he remembers— which was almost everything, nobody has their birthdays today.

May just sticks her tongue out at Peter.

“It’s Happy and I’s first month anniversary, babe!”

 S’rais-tu mon père jusqu’à midi? (Will you be my dad till’ noon?) J’me suis mis dans l’trouble pis comme t’es ici. (I got myself in trouble, and now you’re here.)

 Peter curses at himself as he holds his head down in between his arms. 

The principal doesn’t say anything to him as the air remains tense.

“I’m sorry—” Peter’s head pops up at the unexpected voice. That isn’t May. “I had a meeting— I came here as fast as I can.”

Looking to his right, Peter sees Happy taking the chair beside him; his own face stoic.

“That’s alright, Mr. Hogan,” The principal gives him a tight lipped smile. “Now, shall we discuss why I called you here?”

Happy looks at Peter, an eyebrow raised. Peter doesn't— no, he can’t bring himself to say nor explain anything.

Everything is clear.

He had fucked up.

 Ç’a l’air qu’à l’école y auraient trouvé, (It seems that the school has found,) 10 grammes de shit dans mon casier. (The ten grams in my locker.)

 Peter had known that he should’ve been more cautious; he knew that his school had a strict rule against cigarettes. He had known.

However, did that knowledge still stop him from lighting one up?

No.

Is it a surprise that he was caught?

No.

Peter bites his tongue as he tries to even out his breathing.

The next thought passes by his mind and he can’t help but wholeheartedly agree.

I’m a disappointment.

 Faudrait pas l’dire à ma mère, (Please, don’t tell my mom,) Elle s’rait ben capable de trop s’en faire. (She wouldn’t be able to handle it.)

 Happy took him home.

The whole car ride had been silent; neither party focusing more on the road than one another.

Peter forces himself to speak up once Happy has parked his car in front of the brick building.

“Please..” He croaks out, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes. “Don’t tell May.”

God, he hated being like this.

A pause follows, and Peter worries for a second that Happy will spill everything.

However, the man beside him lets out a sigh as he places a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

He squeezes, and for the first time, Peter doesn’t flinch at the touch of a man.

“Don’t worry kid,” Happy says.

“I won’t.’

 Toi, tu sais comme moi qu’on passe par là,  (You know just as well as me that we all go through this,) Quand on devient un homme dans Hochelaga. (That this is how we grow up in Hochelaga.)

 May gives them both a bright smile as they enter the apartment.

“Dinner will be ready in a sec!” She tells them both; giving Peter a warm hug and Happy a peck on the cheek before sprinting back to the kitchen.

Peter just looks up at the man beside him who grew red at his guardian’s antic.

He doesn’t even try to stop the genuine laugh coming out of his throat as Happy looks back at him, trying his best to mask his fondness for May with annoyance. “What?” He scrunches his nose up at Peter, trying to act tough but failing as his flushed face goes against him.

Peter just continues snickering. “Nothing.”

The sudden happiness in his stomach’s overwhelming. 

 S’rais-tu mon père jusqu’à cette nuit? (Will you be my dad until tonight?) J’me souviens même plus quand l’mien est parti. (I don’t even remember when mine left.)

 After dinner, Peter had mustered up the courage to ask both May and Happy if they wanted to watch a movie. They both had said yes— but Peter knew that May never really had a thing for sci-fi movies, and so it isn’t a surprise for him when she had blacked out thirty minutes into ‘The Empire Strikes Back.’

Happy, however, still has his eye focused on the film. In fact, he seems to be enjoying it way more than Peter— which was a complete yet welcomed surprise.

He doesn’t ever remember having witnessed something so nice like this after his passing: May curling up against someone, a smile on her face as she slept; completely serene as the man who she loved cradles her back. It was a sight that pulled at Peter’s heartstrings, yet also tied them into pretty bows at the same time.

As the sounds of the movie fills the air, Peter realizes something which made him smile.

He can get used to this.

 Y avait pas grand temps pour dire « Je t’aime ». (There wasn’t really a lot of time to say “I love you.”) Entre la DPJ pis le HLM. (Between the CSS and the DSS.)  

After that night, May and Happy had started saying “I love you”‘s to one another more often.

He and Happy got closer— and slowly…

Peter let his walls down bit by bit.

 On pourrait p’t’être r’garder la T.V., (Maybe we can watch some TV,) Quand maman rentrera d’son shift au PFK. (When mom does her shift at KFC.)

 “What‘cha doing there, kid?” Happy asks him as he knocks on Peter’s door, slowly pulling it ajar.

Peter looks up from his papers, rubbing at his eyes as he lets out a yawn. He gives Happy a nod to let him know that it’s okay to come in.

The man then walks up beside him, a hand on his hip as he looks over at Peter’s calculations. He makes a face. “Yeah no, if you’re gonna ask help for this stuff, you better ask Tony and not me.”

Peter makes a face at him, not sure if he’s joking or being serious. What is it with him bringing up this Tony dude? He doesn’t even know who he is. 

 “Ask who?” He snorts, shaking his head. “Tony Stark?” He jokes.

“Uh, yeah? Who else?” Happy looks at him like he doesn’t know if Peter’s joking or not. “Tony Stark, billionaire, inventor, Iron-man? AKA the guy that I work for?”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Wait a minute—- this whole time you’ve been talking about Tony Stark and not your like— eccentric best friend?” He lets his jaw touch the floor in shock.

Happy just laughs at him. “Yeah?”

Peter blinks his eyes and shakes his head, and now it suddenly made so much more sense as to why Happy seems to always be in a full suit.

“Anyway,” Happy interrupts Peter’s thoughts, hands going in his pockets. “I was just thinking that you may want to take a break, kid— maybe watch a movie or something before you burn yourself out. Netflix just added Aliens, and May isn’t here.” He raises an eyebrow as his lip quirks up.

Peter’s ears perk up upon hearing the movie title. He’s been dying to watch the movie ever since Happy had suggested it, but most of the time he never got to as May had forbidden him to watch— as she so eloquently put it— “Those disgusting and disturbing movies.”

“Fine, fine—“ He waves off Happy, turning his front back to his desk, trying not to sound too giddy. “Lemme just clean this up.”

“It’s gonna be fun, kid, trust me.”

Peter just shakes his head, a hint of a smile on his face.

Happy turned out to be right.

 Ce serait drôle un jour d’aller jouer aux quilles, (It would be fun to go bowling, one day.) Ç’a l’air qui font ça dans les vraies familles. (It seems like real families do that.)

 May had suggested that they all go bowling one Sunday night.

Happy taught Peter and May how to strike.

Peter doesn’t know if, in the end, it had been a good idea as Happy ended up losing.

Still, Peter appreciates him going out of his way to teach him something that he doesn’t know. 

It had been such a long time since he hasn’t taught himself something.

It was a nice change.

 S’rais-tu mon père pour toute la vie? (Will you be my dad for the rest of time?) L’temps passe, pourtant t’es pas parti. (Time has passed, but you still haven’t left.)

 “Happy anniversary!” May laughs as she hands something to Happy.

It’s been two years since they’ve been together. Peter still can’t believe that time can fly by so fast.

Happy kisses her on the cheek as he pulls out something from his pocket; a small, velvet box.

Peter tries his best not to shake the camera in his hands. He already knew that this was going to happen— hell, he had planned it with Happy himself, but the happiness and excitement bubbles in his stomach and rushes through every limb in his body as Happy gets down on one knee.

If it isn’t for the fact that his eyes are getting teary, he would’ve laughed at May’s shriek.

“Will you, May—“

Happy didn’t even get to finish his sentence.

“Yes!”

 Moi, j’suis fatigué de jouer au tough. (I’m tired of acting tough.) J’ai dans l’ventre une carrière de roches. (My stomach is full of rocks.)

 Peter stumbles into his bedroom through his window, chest-heaving as he takes off his homemade mask. He grits his teeth as he continues applying pressure onto the wound, closing his window with one of his legs.

He hears a stack of papers drop.

Peter quickly whips his head around.

Happy’s face, morphing into shock— then disbelief, then concern, then rage, greets him back.

“Is this what you’ve been doing, sneaking out all these years?” He asks Peter, gaze hard and almost deadly. 

Happy rarely gets angry.

“Yes,” Peter wheezes as he stands upright; his lungs screaming for more oxygen. He winces as he continues putting pressure on the wound on his left shoulder. “I know, I know— I’m sorry but I’m—“

Happy quickly notices his discomfort. He drops his disapproving parental act for a moment and goes on full mother hen mode. “What— what is it, kid? What happened?” He moves towards Peter’s side in less than a second and Peter let’s his tired and aching body fall onto him.

“Bullet grazed me,” were the only words that he had managed to spew out through the pain.

Happy inhales a breath. “Do you have a first aid kit in here somewhere?”

“Under— under my bed.” Peter groans as Happy slowly let’s him sit on the ground; pain pulsating in his arm.

Within seconds, Happy has a needle in his hand and Peter’s trying his best not to wince nor flinch every time the sharp metal goes through his skin.

There was a pause— and then;

“I think it’s time for you to meet him.”

Peter looks up at Happy, making eye contact. 

The man’s eyes are glassy.

“Who?”

Another pause. Happy lets out a sigh.

“Tony.”

Peter shakes his head. “Why?”

Happy breaks eye contact as he sets the medical instrument back down in the box.

“Because you need to know that you aren’t alone, kid.”

 Pis comme c’est ma fête le mois prochain, (And since it’s my birthday next month,) M’emmènerais-tu voir une game des Canadiens? (Will you take me to a game and lunch?)

 Meeting Tony Stark had been an experience, to say the least.

An experience that had ended with a brand new suit.

 As Happy drives back home, Peter’s body shakes with excitement.

 Once they’re both parked, Peter almost bursts open the car door— but Happy has locked it before he can even try.

“Happy?” Peter asks, an eyebrow raised. “Can you open the door?”

Happy’s hands fell from the steering wheel and onto his own lap.

“Listen, kid,” He starts, clearing his throat. “When I told Tony about you— I didn’t think that he would, you know—“ He waves his hand towards the metallic suitcase on Peter’s lap.

Peter, not a clue as to where the conversation is going, doesn’t respond.

“I just—“ Happy sighs. “You’re a smart kid. I have absolute faith in you and what you do.”

“I trust you, Peter…” Happy looks back at him, making eye contact. His voice wavers.

Peter swallows the lump in his throat. He ignores the familiar feeling of tears welling up in his eyes as Happy says one last thing;

“Just… be safe. Please.”

 Pis si personne entend pis que c’est juste une fois… (And if no one else hears, and it’s just once...)

 The wedding had been extravagant.

May had been wearing the white dress that his grandmother had worn; a family tradition, she had said.

Happy had worn his best suit.

Families and friends had attended. Joyful music had played.

A few of the Avengers had even showed up, wishing them both happiness.

As Peter clicks through the pictures that had been taken, a warm feeling blossoms in his chest upon seeing a specific one.

It’s a picture of him, May and Happy. The two adults were showing off their rings to the camera as both of their arms were wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, squeezing him into a one armed hug in between them both. All three of them had their lips curled up into the brightest smiles that they had ever had.

It’s his favourite.

 Voudrais-tu que j’t’appelle papa? (Would you want me to call you dad?)

Peter looks at the black packet in his hand.

He shakes his head and promptly throws it to the garbage can.

Peter then swings himself home, going through his window as always to get inside. Today had been an uneventful day.

As he takes off his suit, someone knocks on his door. “Hey kid, you free for a bit? We wanna show you something.” Happy calls out.

“Just a sec!” Peter replies, putting on a hoodie and pajama pants.

As soon as he’s done he walks to the living room, seeing May and Happy on the sofa with a pile of papers on the coffee table.

Peter quirks an eyebrow. “What? Is this some sort of test?”

“No, Pete,” May chuckles at him, shaking her head. She intertwines her arm with Happy’s. “Just… sit down, will you?”

Peter does as he’s told, sitting down onto the armchair adjacent to the sofa that Happy and May are both sitting in. “Well?” He asks as soon he plops down.

Happy clears his throat. “Well—“ He starts, placing a hand on top of May’s hand. “Your Aunt— that is, if you want to call her your aunt and not… I don’t know, your mo—“

Before Happy can even finish his sentence, Peter stands up. His eyes landing and focusing themselves on the papers.

There, written in big, bold letters are the words: ADOPTION FORM.

May, upon his sudden reaction, untangles her arm from Happy’s and instead places a hand on top of Peter’s. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Pete—“

Peter looks up at May, and this time, he lets the tears fall free.

Instantly, May’s arms are around him— and it didn’t take long before Happy’s own are around him too.

“Peter? Are you okay?” May fumbles with her words, unsure on how to address his sudden outburst. “We don’t have to—“

“No,” Peter replies as he lifts his head up from their arms. “I— I want to.”

Happy, still unsure, pipes up. “Are… are you sure, kid? I mean, I understand that maybe it’s a bit too fast—“

Peter just shakes his head. He’s sobbing, but his whole body is filled with joy and excitement and glee and he’s so sure that he wants this. 

“I am,” He says, as May and Happy wipe the tears off of his face.

“A hundred percent.” He smiles.

and as always, requests are open! pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! :]

[qhostqizmo]

the truth can be hard to swallow

I wanted to name this piece bad o/mens but then realized some fandom folk would find this and be sorely disappointed so thought better not

- - - - - - - - - -

Alone. Just like before. Wasn’t this the way it was supposed to be?

No. No, this wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t what she wanted at all. This was never what she wanted; the smothering silence, the dull ache in her chest, the feeling that she wasn’t good enough. She would never be good enough. Not for herself, not for anybody.

‘I need no one.’

A lie. Pretty lies, keeping the world at bay. If she kept them at arm’s length, they would be safe. She would be safe. They wouldn’t need to fall to the misfortune of being around her; or the bane of knowing her, and she would not be tricked again. No one could get under her skin if she didn’t want them to. No one could break her more then she already was. Haunted by words and wounded by piercing dagger tongues of others; damned by her own demons which whispered and spat her own self-loathing and hatred back at her.

Nevertheless, Essätha’s heart betrayed her. She craved. She wanted the things she passed from town to town; the smiles on the faces of others, the ordinary life, the jokes, the friendship shared. It made her sick to want. Beautiful things she could not have, and people reminding her with every sneer and curled lip as gazes met that she never would.

She opened her eyes, staring ahead blankly.

Maybe not everyone despised her…

The unlit fireplace, cold and empty, allowed a breeze to sweep down and chill her to the bone. A shiver coursed through her veins and into her aching joints. The musky odor of mold lingered in the air. With a snivel, she pivoted on the creaky floorboards to examine the remainder of the dark, dingy, dusty room.

Curtains draping the cloudy windows were chewed to rags; lined with holes and brittle from bugs eating the fabric. The only sitting furniture in the room; an impressively large sofa, had its metal springs breaking the surface and was filthy. Like the shades, it too was a mass of holes and scratches from pests eating away at it.

Something about this place seemed familiar. Maybe because so much of it was such an echo to her own soul; void and forgotten, left to rot and wither away.

Essie escaped the eerie room to walk the path of the hallway. She avoided stepping on the most warped boards and near the holes that riddled the floor, revealing slivers of light to the first floor. Below and among the other rooms of the imposing house, she could still make out the muffled conversation of her allies sorting through the building.

Breathing heavily; coughing as she inhaled the choking stale aroma of the air and dust, she covered her mouth.

Alone. Alone. Alone.

What was wrong with her?

What isn’t wrong with me, she thought with bitter scolding to the small, longing voice in the back of her head.

Pacing down the adjacent corridor, her mouth parted in surprise. A ladder that entered to the attic, partially pulled down and leaving a gaping maw open to the loft. She inched closer suspiciously, half expecting something to jump down upon her.

Nothing did.

Squinting suspiciously, Essätha examined the old wood. None of the dirt upon it looked like it had moved recently; still caked on it layers. Strange though. She wondered if the steps had unlatched itself with time. Perhaps the catch had gone bad? Certainly the estate itself was spooky and ominous, but it was unlikely people would depart leaving this open?

She took the rung, and pulled it down the remainder of the way. More dust fell upon her, leaving her staggering and coughing as she stepped away.

Definitely unused.

With no paw-prints and no scat immediately in sight, she tentatively tested a boot against the bottom step. It was firm, and steady. Curious, she tested the next, and the next; gradually climbing up to poke her head up at the top.

Nothing spectacular. As with most home owners, it appeared this room had been used as storage space.

Still, she wondered if they’d left anything useful behind. Maybe a magical heirloom, or some books that might come in handy for study…

Clawing her way the remainder of the way up, Essätha swung her legs over and crawled on her hands and feet cautiously across the baseboards. They softly groaned, but didn’t appear overly worn. She got on her feet, and brushed as much of the dust off her slacks as she could. So far so good, she hadn’t fallen through at least.

Various boxes, old lamps, neatly organized files, and portraits greeted her. She cared little for these, as they eyes appeared to follow her judgmentally as she moved slowly around the room.

I know I’m a hideous creature, you need not point it out, she thought sourly, glaring at one extraordinary well detailed painting of a man who appeared to be sternly glowering towards her. He appeared quite youthful in the painting; not entirely attractive or unattractive, but plain. Many of the drawings were actually uneventful; images blurring together. Some had more defined noses, or a broader forehead; some older and some younger, but they weren’t spectacular. It was difficult to tell if they were related or not.

Traversing the room, she paused curiously at a desk behind a row of boxes. It had parchments lined upon it, and a dried out ink bottle. The spot appeared to be a little nook for privacy, hidden out of sight. It offered a slanted view of the only window up here; small, but one that could offer decent light in the day to avoid keeping a lantern on. She wondered what they’d been writing…

Stepping closer, Essie’s sharply darted her eyes over the faded, yellowed paper. Stained with time, the pigment of the ink barely legible and handwriting atrocious and difficult to read. Her feet dragged her closer, trying to inspect the delicate pages without daring touch them, and ruin whatever may be written on them.

‘Talon of the Raven Lord, You are hereby charged, by the order of His Glory…’

She exhaled sharply, stepping away from the table. Her rear bumped into one of the boxes on the floor. It fell over, spilling out paperwork and scattering it upon the floor.

Essie’s eyes moved to the bumbling mishap, and all the letters.

‘Talon of the Raven Lord-’

‘Talon of the Raven Lord-’

‘Talon of the Raven Lord-’

“Oh Gods,” she wheezed, taking a side-step away from the tainted parchments. Nervously licking her lips, her gaze shifted hastily from the mess, towards the desk.

With horror, she realized that the ink upon the paper began to steadily darken. As if written new, the paper, too, began to change; taking on a soft manila over the fragile yellow-age. A droplet of red began to bleed out from the corner. Nausea swam in her stomach, staring at the frayed edges reform and for more of the off-colors to grow bolder splotches of crimson.

From above, a drip splashed against her nose. Essätha reached up, stepping away from the study as her fingers swiped at the liquid upon the bridge of her face.

Her digits came away stained crimson.

Against all better judgment, her eyes moved towards the ceiling.

With empty eyesockets and rotted flesh hanging off of bones; and what remained of its clothes, a corpse offered her a twisted, welcoming grin from above.

A terrified scream tore through her throat, making it feel raw. She fumbled backwards, her eyes unable to tear themselves away from the dreadful sight. The figure moved; its head cracking to the side like an intrigued bird. Fragments of bone from the neck vertebrate rained down, and the undead thing began to climb with gangly arms, like a spider, from rafter to rafter and down the side of the wall with the grace of a spider.

“Where are you going, Essätha?” the skeleton cooed in a masculine voice, its teeth clicking together as it laughed. Old blood flaked off its matted hair, and what remained of its scalp. Fresh blood oozed from beneath its ribcage, and left splotches and smeared imprints of its hands where it gripped.

As it spoke, a chill ran over Essätha. She found it possible to tear her eyes away; finally, and back towards the scuttle. She lunged for it; knees hitting the floor.

It rolled upward, slamming shut before her very eyes.

Someone distantly cried out her name in alarm.

“Look at you,” the creature scoffed, reaching out with bony fingers. “You are just a girl. Only a frightened child.”

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, whirling away. She scooted back on her rear, using her hands to scrambling out of its reach. As it coaxed towards her; curling its fingers, she raised a hand to wave a shaky gesture; muttering the ancient draconic words of a spell.

A skeletal hand appeared; pale transparent and ghostly with a blue aura. It reached out; gripping the abomination crawling towards her by the face.

It loomed at her. The sickening appearance of a grin with what remained of the flesh on its cheek stretching up into a smile. More grimacing in appearance, but delighted.

“Oh Essätha, you can not get rid of me so easily.”

“H-How do you know my name?”

The skeleton laughed; husky and raspy. Its entire body shuddered violently, and maggots and flies came rushing out of its abdomen. Appalled, Essie drew herself further away.

“I know all of your names,” it sang. “Abernathy Harding, Adela of Rivesee, Amon Thomad Illiad, Penimra Korvis, Pri’cha Sunspot, Ravamora Carnivale, Sulhadur of Vuulthidel… And you, dear Essätha Meduza.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she held out out her hand as though it would keep the corpse away like a bared shield. Her other jerked and shoved at the attic’s door, but it wouldn’t budge. It didn’t so much as creak under her weight as she bore all of herself upon it. Anything was better then this unholy sight; even falling face-first into the floor below.

“What is one little Yuan-Ti doing so far from home?” the figure chortled, inching closer. “I forget myself; this one does not have a place to call their home.”

Her breath hitched, and a ghastly wash of sweat peppered her temples as she leaned away. Her face was drained of color, and her eyes round and wide enough to show her whites and the thin slit of her pupil.

“S-Stop.”

“You are a broken thing, aren’t you? A lost, broken, unsightly thing.”

“Leave me alone you don’t know me!”

“I know you better then you know yourself,” the monstrosity argued sweetly. The tones of is voice changed; altering until it sounded like a chorus of people were talking at once.

Gasping through a spring of tears, Essie was left to forfeit the door. She scurried backwards as the creature crept forward, allowing it to take a place on all fours, standing guard above the only exit she had. Below, the continued bellowing of voices, and a sharp thudding against the floor, reminded her that someone had to be looking for it. But it was muted; growing quieter. It existed less and less, and she could feel the hope dashed and draining from her chest until she was saturated in loneliness and terror.

Trapped and desperate, her eyes scanned the area for any sign of help. Her gaze paused on the lone window; much too high and too small for her to fit through, but her common sense had left her. Instead, forcing herself on shaky legs, she reached up for it. It lay out of reach of her fingertips.

“Where do you intend to go, little snake?” the Multi-Voices echoed, drawing on each syllable. When she did not answer; clawing at the wood with her nails, it spoke in Many-Voices of amusement, “What catastrophe’s you have wrought, dear Essätha. Do you think the next hiding place you claim will be any safer?”

“Please,” she whined, her heart hammering against her chest. Just a few more inches, that’s all she needed…

As she lunged and scratched the walls, a haze of black descended from the ceiling. She cringed, sliding down to her knees as the force of dark magic swirled like a storm’s black cloud above her head.

Another series of laughter; too many to count.

“You want to run, don’t you?” the Voices taunted. “You are a coward; only looking out for themself. You are going to fail them. People don’t fail you, do they, Essätha? You fail them. It’s what you do. It’s what you’re best at.”

Hiccuping, she sagged lower on the floorboards. All of her hope, her energy, her faith, her will; it was all gone. She had nothing. She felt weak, and tired, and empty. Helpless as a newborn babe, curling up into a ball against the wall. Her tears welled up to the surface, spilling over onto her cheeks silently as her breath hitched uncomfortably in unending silent sobs.

“You wonder why they do not trust you; why they do not want you. What is there to devote, from something so undependable? You are never there. They call you flighty, and skittish behind you back. If you are not ugly on the outside, perhaps it is the nature of what is inside that wards away everything you touch.”

“Stop it,” she whispered hoarsely, rocking herself. Tears spilled over the dams, rushing out, falling upon her clothes and the floor.

“No one is coming for you. No one wants you. No one is going to protect you; a stupid girl, a fragile child. What do you have to offer them? What importance does Essätha Meduza of nothing have?”

“STOP IT!”

Her cry unanswered, the being rattled closer. “They pity a poor Yuan-Ti; an animal tangled in their grievances. Better to be rid of it, but you are an obligation now, aren’t you? You do not really believe they could like you?”

She turned her head away, rancid breath close enough now to begin billowing over her as the creature whispered, “You do not really believe Lord Amon Thomas Illiad could possibly love a monster like you?”

Twisting her face away, Essätha shuddered violently. Her stomach churned, wanting to toss her last meal. The odor from the undead beast was becoming worse by the second; burning her teary-eyes and nose, making her skin crawl; as if any of the insects occasionally tumbling out of it were not already possibly skittering upon her clothes.

“Look at me.”

Ignoring the demand, she kept her face turned away; eyes squeezed shut.

The skeleton clattered closer still. It hissed out in a clear, singular voice this time; a foreign tongue she did not know nor understand, and grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to spin her face towards it.

Either by fright, or some unknown force, her eyes opened wide and frightened. She stared up into the unsightly view of the corpse’s face.

“Such a disappointment,” the Many sighed with sorrow, stroking her face with the back of its other hand. “Such potential, wasted.”

Essätha whimpered, trying to ball herself even more. She could not close her eyes. She could not close them, what was wrong with her? Why could she not look away? This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t possibly be real.

Within the black of its sockets, twin flickers appeared. She squinted, but could not turn away. It was quiet. There was no banging, no screaming, no hollering of her name. No one was coming.

No one was coming for her.

The pin-pricks of crimson suddenly flared up, revealing licks of flame. They began to burn a searing blaze, but emitted no light or no warmth.

Many roaring echoes of laughter; all different but sinister and gnarled as the twisted bony fingers touching her, began to fill the room, her head, the space. They were everywhere.

Essätha let out one, final scream.