#shes on the run now and helps sick or wounded people in need for free but does merc work for commission

[pinkcadavart]

Mama, they say I'm a terrorist

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-sixteen

*gif created by me, feel free to use*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: Hahaha i'm sorry

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered @loeytuan98 @omens-in-reverse @loverofagoodbeard @jay02bo @niicoleleigh

Darkness.

Emptiness.

Lonliness.

The Void.

Whatever you want to call it, that's what I felt inside as I stared at the wooden box in front of me. It was currently closed and the funeral director said they could open it whenever I was ready. How can someone ever be ready to see their love one dead but dolled up to look alive? It's gut wrenching and disturbing. They're supposed to be dead. Why would anyone want to stare at a dead body to remember them when they were alive?

Maybe I should have cremated her.

With a broken sigh, I raised my gaze away from the casket over to the funeral director who was basically running the entire funeral since I have no idea what I'm doing.

"People actually have open caskets at funerals?" I asked again.

Elaine nodded. "It's very common. Should we open it?"

As I reluctantly nodded, I turned my back to the casket just intime to see Lana walk up to me with two large bouquets of flowers in her hands. Quickly I rushed over to her and grabbed one.

"Where do you want these, dear? They're from your neighbors," Lana asked.

"Uh," I gazed around, purposely avoiding the now open casket, and nodded to the doors at the opening of the room. "Right there is probably fine.

Once we set the flowers down on the ground, I brushed my hands against the thighs of my black dress. It was a chilly October day, but it felt weird not to be dressed up to attend a funeral; especially when it's for your mother.

She died one week ago, twenty minutes before I made it to the hospital. Even with all the anger I felt towards her, it crushed me knowing I wasn't there with her when she died. I wasn't there for her much the last few weeks, too busy on the road and pinning for a life that was never supposed to be mine. Lana was there with my mom at the end, as well as someone I didn't expect to see there, holding her cold hand.

"Do you think he'll show up?" Lana asked tentatively.

The subject was still a sore wound, and she didn't know how I'd react.

My bloodshot eyes lazily tore into her. "I told him to stay away. He'd be smart if he listened."

"Have you eaten anything today, dear?" She asked, changing the subject.

Through all the pain and anguish, I was forcing inside, a small smile pulled at my lips. For the last seven days, Lana had stayed in my house with me to make sure I ate, got out of bed, and took care of myself. I told her many times that she didn't need to. I was alright on my own.

"Lana, you literally made me breakfast, and all but forced it down my throat," I reminded her.

She gently patted my cheek. "Just making sure. I could stay another night if you'd like."

I firmly shook my head. "No, you need to go back to your life after today. You've done so much for me already. I'll be fine on my own."

"Well, maybe if you weren't ignoring all of them, you could always call Mr. Seb-."

"Don't," I pointed a finger at her. "I don't want to hear his name."

There was some commotion coming from down the halls, and various voices, and when I peaked at my watch, I noticed that the service was about to begin. Plastering on a fake smile, I straightened out my dress as I prepared for the next hour of the onslaughts of condolences. I wasn't sure how many people who show up today, my mom never talked about friends before her Alzheimer's.

Lana stood next to me as I greeted person after person, accepting their condolences with a pulled-tight smile and a nod. It went on like this for a long while and when the muscles in my jaw couldn't take the pain any longer; I excused myself and walked out into the hallway. I was only alone for a few seconds until my name was called from behind by a familiar voice.

Turning on my heels, a scowl pulled at my lips as my fists clenched. How dare he show up here after I told him to stay away?

"Hi," he gave me a small smile.

"What the fuck are you doing here, James? I told you at the hospital that you're not welcome here," I forced through gritted teeth.

I pushed through the door of the hospital room but came to a screeching halt at the sight. My mom laying still in a hospital bed with blood dried to various spots of her face and Lana standing at the foot of the bed, fear in her eyes. The monitors were blank as the tubes that were once connected to my mom lay scattered on the floor. But none of that held my attention. It was the man sitting in the chair next to the bed, my mother's lifeless hand in his.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded.

The man looked away from my mom and towards me. His dark hair was falling into his face so he ran a hand through it to push it back, his striking blue eyes boring into me. The sharpness of his jaw could cut the tension in the room. I sucked in a breath when a familiar sensation rang inside my mind. This man looked exactly like my real father in those pictures.

"Hi," the man stood to his feet. "You must be Y/N."

I raised a brow while crossing my arms. "Who the fuck are you?"

His eyes darted from Lana back to me. "I'm James; your brother."

Everything around me fell into hell beneath my feet as my heart stuttered in my chest. My mouth ran dry, and I had to swallow a few times to get the moisture back. Even though he looked like how our father did, I still didn't believe him.

"Bullshit," I spat. "How do I know you're not lying?"

James sighed before pulling out his wallet and handing over a frayed picture. Hesitantly I reached for it and when I realized what I was looking at, my heart shattered into a million pieces. It was of James and my mother, the day he was born. It was taken in the hospital room. On the back was written:

James Boyle. January 2, '99. My son.

"You need to leave," I said while thrusting the picture into his chest.

Tears burned in my eyes but I refused to let them spill.

James chuckled. "She's my mother. I'm not leaving her."

"She's already dead," I said.

I would have been more shocked about missing her last breath if Lana hadn't called me twenty minutes ago to say that there was a man here who decided to the plug. My mom was hooked up to a ventilator and was brain dead, as the doctors said, so he made the choice to end my mom's life. There wasn't any hope for her so I would have done the same thing. Although, it wasn't my choice to make. The doctors allowed this random man to decide when he wasn't familiar with my mother's condition.

"How the fuck did they let you decide to end her life?" I demanded to know.

"She made me her power of attorney," James said, not daring a glance my way as he stared down at our mother.

"You? Why the fuck would she let you be her power of attorney? You've been out of her life for years," I said while walking to the other side of the bed so I could glare at him.

James peered up at me with my words. "Unlike you, I've been keeping in touch with her. While you've been gone the last few weeks, I've called her every day at noon to check in on her."

I glared at Lana who simply held up her hands. "I had no idea."

"Her Alzheimers wasn't nearly as bad as you two made it seemed," James said. "She remembered me everything we talked. It was the highlight of her day when I called."

My shoulders were tense with anger and I was trying to hard not to make a scene over my mother's corpse.

"She attacked me with a bat and nearly choked out a friend of mine because she thought he was my dad," I informed him.

James scoffed. "That man wasn't your father."

"Bullshit! Jonathan raised me, unlike your piece of shit father who wanted nothing to do with me!," I bellowed.

The door to the room opened, a nurse walking inside with a pissed off expression. "Alright, there's way too many people in here. The coroner is coming to retrieve your mother and only one can be here for that."

James gave one last longing glance down at our mother. "I'll leave. I have a flight back home to Texas to catch. I'll let you handle the details of the funeral."

"Gee, thanks," I snarled. "Do me a favor, don't bother showing up."

"I'll be seeing you again; soon." James said right before walking out of the room.

"You've done a great job with the service. It's what mom would have wanted," James said.

I scoffed while shaking my head. "Just because you would call her to check in doesn't mean you know what she wanted. I was with her every single day dealing with her Alzheimers. I was the one taking care of her, not you. You were too busy living your rich life in Texas."

I'd done my research on James Boyle and found out that he was married with three kids and ran his own investment company: a very popular one in Texas. So while I was struggling to pay out my mother's medical bills, he was spending his money on expensive and lavish things.

"It seems like you've made quite the life for you here," James muttered while smoothing down the front of his tux jacket. "You're a merch girl for some band? Good deeds, was it?

"Bad Omens," I corrected. "And I'm their social media manager."

Was. You quit when Noah compared your Only Fans to amateur porn.

James hummed in response. "Well, it must be paying well if you could provide this kind of service for mom."

No, my most recent pictures and videos on Only Fans did.

I was making a decent amount of money from there and even though I quit tour early, Matt still mailed my paycheck to me. So those two combined was enough to pay for the funeral. Even though I shouldn't have gone to these lengths for a woman who lied to me about my entire existence. Maybe that was the reason I wasn't so heartbroken about my mom because of all the lies.

But the guilt that ate away at me every night because I wasn't here was slowly becoming too much to handle alone.

Lana asked me every day how I was doing but I'd lie by saying I was fine when in fact, I was one wrong word from a breakdown.

"I should get back to it," I motioned to the room behind him where the crowd was taking thier seats.

As I walked passed James, he gripped my elbow. I hissed in pain when his fingers dug into my skin.

"Did you go over her will yet?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

He lowered his face closer to mine. "I need to know if she left me anything."

Mother fucker.

My jaw dropped when I realized this was why he showed up, and prematurely pulled the plug. He wanted whatever was left in the will to him.

"You're such a piece of shit," I seethed while trying to rip my arm out of his grasp.

He held tighter, and I cried out in pain.

"I bet bitch left everything to you," James snarled.

"She had nothing to leave! We were broke, barley affording to pay her medical bills on top of our other bills. The only thing I have left is the house but if you're that desperate to have something, take it. It's yours."

I ripped my arm away from him and rubbed my elbow to ease the pain.

As James took a step towards me, a body stepped in front of me to block me from his wrath.

"I'd suggest you take a step back."

My eyes took in the site of Folio with his hair slicked back and black suit, face tense with anger.

"I'm having a private conversation with my sister," James pointed towards me.

Folio fingers twitched, the only sign that he was surprised, but pulled me closer behind him.

"It looked rougher than that," he said.

James took a side stepped towards me which only made Folio push me into a direction of another body. Nick gave me a warm smile as he wrapped an arm around me. Feeling his warmth eased the anger for a moment and I leaned into him. I only told Folio about my mom but knew that eventually the rest of the guys would find out. I didn't expect them to show up to the funeral, though. Tour ended yesterday, and I figured they'd want to stay home to rest.

"This is none of your business."

"Whenever it involves Y/N, it is our business," Folio said. "If you're done here, I can have a worker show you out."

James' gaze bounced from both of the Nicks then to me, his lips pulled into a tight line. With a shake of his head, he adjusted his suit jacket.

"If it means anything to you, I was hoping to meet under better circumstances," James spoke to me.

"Go fuck yourself, James." I spat.

Not wanting to be in his presence for a second longer, I allowed Nick to turn me away from him and steer me into the direction of the room where my mother's service was seconds away from starting. Folio followed close behind until we were right outside of the doors to the room where he pulled us to a stop.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

No, far from it.

I was holding it together during my altercation with James and was seconds away from breaking down.

Nick gently raised my arm and pushed up the sleeve of my dress to get a look at my elbow. "It doesn't look that bad. Shouldn't leave a bruise."

Without a second thought, I wrapped my arms around Nick in a hug, one he immediately returned.

"Thank you," I muttered. "For being here."

His hand rubbed at my back. "Of course, Y/N."

Leaving his embrace, I folded into Folio's. One hand wrapped around my lower back while the other smoothed the hair away from my face as I buried it into his chest. The tears still didn't fall but this comforting touch was almost enough to make me break down.

"I didn't think you would show up."

Folio pulled away to stare down at me. "Why wouldn't we?"

I shrugged. "Tour ended yesterday. You guys must be exhausted."

Nick spoke next. "We would have be here earlier but Jolly was afraid you'd kick his ass if we stopped the tour early."

"Can you blame me? She's got a strong right hook."

Spinning around, I smiled towards Jolly who held his arms open for a hug, which I gladly accepted.

"I'd never kick your ass, Jolly. You're too sweet." I joked after stepping away from his embrace.

We all chuckled as I took in the sight of the three of them, truly feeling the love and appreciation from them. They may have started out as acquaintances when I first began working for them but slowly over time, they had become good friends of mine. But if the three of them are here, does that mean?

I peered over to Folio. "Is No-."

"Angel."

Wiping my head around, I drank in the sight of Noah standing less than five feet away from me. His hair was falling into his eyes and the long dark jacket covered the black turtleneck he wore. Fuck, he looked so beautiful. Even with the anger I felt boiling inside of me from all the hurtful things he said to me a week ago, my heart still skipped a beat as I continued to watch him.

"I'm sorry," Noah said while stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. "For more than I can even explain right now."

Tears rolled over my cheeks and the taste of them felt bitter on my tongue. My breathing became erratic as I did my best to keep myself calm. I wanted to punch him, pushed him out of those doors away from all of this, and I wanted to tell him what a piece of shit, asshole he was. But yet, more than anything, I wanted to walk up to him and press our lips together.

I needed him so bad, not in a sexual way. I needed the comfort and care he always provided. If anyone could get me through the rest of the day, it was Noah.

"I can't do this right now. The service is about to start," I sputtered before I slipped past him into the room.

[wafflexdguy]

Murder Drones (Yandere V x Reader)

WARNING!

Sexual themes/assault and Time skips because I had nothing to put in-between.

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE BELOW THE AGE OF 18! You have been warned. 

I've had this on the back burner for a few months now, and only recently started getting to it. So enjoy! (Please-)

----------------------------------------------------

Broken.

That's what you were, right?

That's what they kept drilling into your head, anyway. It was reasonable to take them at their word for it, right? You figured as much, they're the ones who made you. You were broken, meant to be discarded and thrown away.

You wanted to help people, but it probably doesn't help that you had a ghost following you at every turn. You wanted to run away, to leave the past behind and never return. Hang it out to dry and never come back for it. You really, really wanted to.

But what's out there is worse, you know that. She made sure you knew that.

You so desperately wanted to forget about her- about it. It's made it clear that you don't want to be in the same room as it. It'll kill you if you make one simple mistake, you determined.

But you had to keep going back out there. For their sakes, not your parents.

It only started out as a simple thing; you were never really meant to do anything more than stay on the outskirts of the city.

'Just a simple scavenging run!' They insisted. 'Won't take any more than a few hours, the parts should practically be right there!' They implored. You knew it was a lie, obviously. They just wanted some cannon fodder to get them their supplies so they can keep themselves running. You couldn't blame them in a way, everyone wanted to live. It shouldn't come at the expense of others though. That's how you saw it in your eyes. It didn't matter if you were broken, or if you were shattered beyond repair, they shouldn't just send you out to your death, that was cruel.

Then again, that's not really how they saw it. They were a higher model; faster, stronger, more intelligent.

It made you sick thinking about it. You didn't consider yourself broken, just slow.

And then, you met it. The Murder Drone. Faster, stronger, you didn't even get the chance to blink before it grabbed you and smashed you against the ground, pouncing on top of you, prepared to kill you.

You were scared. Anyone else who says that they would be in that position and not be scared is a liar. You figured the top brass would, but that would also be a lie. The company made those so that it can make sure people like you can't rise up against them for some kind of revenge. You were staring at death.

That was death.

You begged for your life, pleaded with the thing to spare you. You didn't want to die there, not there. Not like that.

It didn't listen. It sunk its teeth into your neck as you screamed and squirmed, thrashing and doing everything in your power to try to get free of its grasp. It didn't budge as it continued to drain more of your oil from your quickly overheating body.

But it let go.

You thought that it was going to finish the job, but it looked at you more... surprised. Maybe offput in a way. It had regular optics, like what you saw with your comrades, which you didn't expect. You thought it was just going to be the large 'X's' on their screens, but you were proven wrong. It kind of felt off, just being left alone for that brief, but excruciatingly important time to escape. 

Maybe you should have at the time. Then again, that would have been dumb.

It licked its lips, removing the remaining left-over oil from its outer layer as it looks back at you, petrified.

Terrified.

It giggled at your petrified form as it leaned closer, not to get another bite, but to lick your wounds, which you quickly felt repair itself. After it determined that it didn't need more oil, it picked you up and examined you. You were just the run of the mill worker drone, not anything special.

You didn't dare move in its grasp. You considered playing dead but figured that wouldn't work and just get you killed if it went in for another bite, so you just waited.

'Sweet...' was all that it mumbled out. You didn't know what it meant by that as it put you back on the ground, but not before wrapping its tail around you to make sure you couldn't escape.

"Your oil is awfully delicious for a worker drone." It commented, looking at you expecting a response. You didn't know what to make of the situation; was it sparing you? No, if it really wanted to it would have stopped at your pleas, right? You squinted as your eyes darted to your side, looking at the stinger that was pointed away from you.

You hesitated for a moment before responding. "Thank you?" It giggled at the response. It was like it could tell you were confused at what was going on. 'Typical Worker Drones,' it thought. It continued to stare at you, examining your eyes darting from its tail to itself. It rolled its eyes as it bended down to your level, optics hollowing.

"Who said that it was a compliment?" You froze at that question, the previous fear that you had suddenly rising up again. "It was, but probably not the kind that you want~" It stated, bringing up a claw and scratching it across your visor. It didn't penetrate you, so you figured that it wasn't meant to kill you. It didn't stop you from flinching, it did give it more incentive to keep teasing you, however.

Soon enough, both hands were cradling your head, squishing your –non-existent- cheeks. She was enjoying herself, her tail now unwrapped around you and wagging behind her. Like a cat or dog, you couldn't tell. All you knew was that you were basically a doll now; and she was treating you like one. You hated it, you wanted out of here as soon as possible, but fate had other plans as it leaned in close.

"You taste good and that's good enough for me." Smiling sadistically, it grabs you under your arms and lifts you up for a second time. 

It seemed to think for a second as it looked over you. Suddenly, it had an idea. "So how about a deal? You go back to your bunker, refill yourself on oil, come back out here so I can have some more of that sweet, delicious oil," it says in a low, falsely sweet tone. "and I won't kill everyone you care about?"

You were processing the situation. All of this was happening so suddenly, moving way too fast for your liking. There wasn't much you could do about this though, no real getting out. it had a death grip on you, preventing any real attempts at escaping. Not that you'd really get far anyway, so with no other option, you slowly nodded.

Sealing the deal, it released you from the prison that was her hands. You fell onto the ground, quickly scrambling to get back up and run off, not skipping a beat. it watched you run off, tripping over yourself at every turn.

Call yourself stupid, or just too honorable, naive or whatever, but you weren't going to break a deal. You considered yourself really lucky, more than lucky. You had basically zero chance of surviving that encounter and you still got out of it. Besides, she was basically offering you a way to not get you and your 'family' killed. You and your friends didn't have to live in fear!

Then again, she doesn't know who your friends are. Whatever, you can probably work out the details later.

...You couldn't tell your friends about this. Especially not him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Holy shit, you actually survived going out there?" Parker exclaimed. You just shrugged, not really trying to acknowledge what happened just a few days ago. You weren't stupid, you knew that eventually Parker would figure out that you were hiding something eventually, but he typically never caught on right away.

Parker was a childhood friend. Really stuck his neck out for you every time you had messed something up or needed help for something. He never asked you to return the favor, even though you had constantly offered to. He usually stuck around you like glue, but the higher ups usually split you two away from each other, typically with chores.

'Can't have anyone rising up against us.' One of them said. Selfish assholes. Something had to be done, you wanted so badly to do something to just get away, but you didn't have any real alternatives. 

Not yet.

"Meh, there isn't much to talk about." You lied. Parker whined as he sat back into his chair. You were in the 'socializing area' which was basically just a prison camp. People with guns standing by the doors, having the stern look on their face like they're ready for combat.

If you couldn't tell already, the living standards here were extremely low.

"Seriously? That's so boring!" He whined, throwing his pencil across the room, which he uses to draw. Deflated, he gets up to go over to get his pencil with an annoyed expression.

You chuckle a bit. "You should really control yourself sometimes, Park." Parker looks over to you, then back to his pencil.

"Your right! From this day forward, I'll be a new man! No more anger issues!"

"That's what you said last week."

He blinks. "Well I mean it this time! You'll see!"

You shrugged. Parker never intentionally lied to you; it just wasn't in his nature. He was just generally forgetful, you couldn't blame him for that, especially for that.

"...But seriously though, you didn't see anyone out there?" He inquired. You nodded.

It was a lie, but you weren't going to subject him to him worrying about you. He already does that daily, you couldn't do that to him like that, not again.

It had already been weeks since you met V. You only learned its name because of the armband on its upper arm. Once you started to refer to it by its name, it seemingly got more overjoyed, like it was training a pet of some kind. You didn't think you would have lasted this long against it, especially considering how sadistic it was.

...You weren't sure why you lasted this long. Surely you can only taste something good so many times before it gets bland, right? That's how humans had it work, right?

...Did you get the royal oil? Is that what it was?

Humans had this sort of better oil that was much longer lasting, typically did a better job at cooling workers down. JCJenson named it royal oil because typically only the top brass could get it. It made workers run better, more efficient. Is that why you were doing a better job weeks prior to meeting V? You guessed that it made sense.

If that were the case, you only had so long before that royal oil ran out and that would be the end of the line. You preferred not to think about it.

It had made comments about your oil losing its flavor.

You're surprised the top brass haven't been asking you why you constantly need more oil. Maybe they knew? Doubtful, they would have killed you if they knew you were mingling with a murder drone of all things. 

"Well that's a fucking disappointment." Parker said, laying his hands flat out on the table. You shushed him almost immediately.

"You know they don't tolerate swearing." You recalled, to which Parker immediately covers his mouth with his hands. "Oops." You rolled your eyes playfully.

Looking away towards the guards, you can still see their stern face with their weapons pointed at the ground in a rest stance. This really wasn't the ideal place to be, but there wasn't any better place to be, especially considering what the alternative is. It wouldn't spare Parker, you knew that.

"This place sucks." Parker commented. You glared at him, to which he let out a small yelp as he remembers what you two had just talked about.

You look up at the unnecessarily dim lights, which add a sense of dread to the atmosphere. Was that what they were aiming for? It would make sense, you think.

You think.

"Psst!" Parker grabs your attention from the very appealing light as he looks at you slightly smiling. "You think there's any chance I can come with you on your next supply trip?"

You shake your head. "No, they don't let friends or family come with the people on the supply runs." You see Parker's expression, once light and bubbly turn dim and lifeless. "Sorry Park, isn't much I can do about that."

He waves his hand at you. "Nah, it's fine. It'd just be nice to actually be able to talk to you outside of..." He gestures around him. "This." You nodded, giving him a thumbs up. You wanted the same thing, but that wasn't really possible in your current state, especially with it being the main problem outside of the higher ups. 

Just as soon as you opened your mouth to say something in response, a voice comes over the intercom.

"Y/N, L/N. REPORT TO THE PRIMARY OFFICE."

"What would they want you for?" Parker asks. You shrug.

"Could be anything. They usually don't have consistency." You get up from your chair as Parker watches you rise up. "I'll see you in a little bit, 'kay?"

He looks at you worryingly, but nods. You start to walk away over to the guard, who lets you pass.

"...See you."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had complaints. That part wasn't out of the usual, but this time they had way more complaints than usual, some of which was related to you, but one in particular stood out. They were missing an entire barrel of royal oil.

You knew originally this would have nothing to do with you, but with getting hints from V that you had the royal oil in your system, if that were to ever get out that a murder drone not only spared you but spared you because your oil was better than the average worker drone, you would be executed on the spot. They tried interrogating you. When they eventually realized that it wouldn't work, they settled on giving you overtime. Meaning that you had to stay outside looking for scavenge longer, getting better parts and such.

Funny thing was you didn't even take the royal oil. You had suspicions, but that didn't really matter right now. Because you're outside. 

You had to stop by the corpse spire because of your previous deal with V. You didn't want to. You really didn't want to. But it was either that, or death. You knew better than to defy death, so off to hell you go.  

Despite its glaring issues, the outside wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. After all, you basically had a personal bodyguard. 

After a week of 'hanging out' with V, it started to just ghost you wherever you went. It wasn't really ideal, sure. Especially since it kept bugging you the entire time you were trying to do something. Literally anything.

One thing that it liked to do was break anything you saw legitimate value in. Of course, it would have gotten confiscated from you the second you returned to the outpost, but it was still annoying that she broke something that you found. Not it, you.

You knew it didn't care, but you did. 

You finally made it to the corpse spire. A bit earlier than what it had previously instructed you to do, but not like you had anything better to do. You had accidentally walked into V and its squad in some kind of argument. (It was more the boss and V fighting; the other one was just kind of sitting there facing away from you.)

You only heard the final part of that argument. "...reaming and get back to work!"

And with that, it deployed its wings and flew up, out the top of the spire and went off to do murder drone things. V turned to its coworker, who was just standing there twiddling its thumbs. 

"I-"

"Go away."

"You gotcha." The former saluted, deploying its wings and flying out the same hole on top of the spire and going to also do murder drone things. 

You heard the venom in its voice, pure anger. You didn't know what it was arguing about, but whatever it was, it pissed her off. You considered just walking away, leaving V to deal with whatever anger it was dealing with and not be on the receiving end of it. 

Well, you would have, if you hadn't stepped on a broken drone visor on your way out. 

It snapped its head towards you, scanning over you briefly before a wicked grin made its way on its face before sauntering its way towards you. You didn't dare move, but you had considered it. You probably wouldn't have gotten far, it would have caught up to you before you could even get 10 feet away, but it was nice to entertain it. 

It put its hands on its knees as she looks down at you. "There's my little oil stash~" It brought out it's claws and traced one down your visor, leaving a scratch that may provoke some suspicion in the colony. Assuming V didn't fix it. 

"So loyal."

"Hey V..." You reluctantly greeted. V wrapped its arms around your waist, which immediately made you tense up. It pulled you in close, not so much that it was a hug, but more of a trap. 

It tilted its head slightly, grinning widely at you. "Who told you that you could just sneak away after listening in on our conversation like that?" You could feel her claws dig into you slightly. Not puncturing anything, but enough to hurt and to scare you slightly.

Your optics hollowed. "M-my apologies, V. It won't happen again." You didn't even hear the entire conversation; practically nothing, actually.

You had no control on whether or not you could hold that promise or not. V seemed satisfied with the answer though and let you go free. You took a few steps back, tripping on yourself and would have had a face full of toxic snow if it weren't for V catching you. 

V giggled at your expense. "Woah, don't fall for me already. We've only started having fun." You shivered at that statement as you tried to sit yourself upright, only to be swept up and held bridal style. Confused and slightly frightened, you glance up at V, who was only giving you a smug smirk. 

"Speaking of fun..." 

You knew what was about to happen. Sure, you prepared for it better this time; but if things go wrong...

You tried to bite your tongue, but the words still came out of your mouth. "W-what kind of fun...?" Its expression turned slightly moody as one of its brows raised. 

"Seriously? Your oil, obviously. You think your good for anything else?" Its voice turned low as if it were expecting something else. You couldn't call its bluff; you knew better than to provoke a murder drone.

"Can we just get this over with?" You pleaded. It rolled its eyes as it sighed, walking over to the corpse spire. 'You're no fun...' it mumbled. It set you down as soon as you and it were in front of the pod and imputed a code. Moments later, the door opened.

"_____'s first~" it invited, moving away from the door to the pod -ignoring there was already more than enough space- and motioning for you to go in first. You were hesitant, obviously. Not because you're turning your back to a murder drone, no. Because you know what's going to happen the second you get in there.

She motioned for you to enter again, this time more direct. Looking at it and the pod one more time, you decided to steel your nerves and enter the forbidden chamber. 

You'd been in here before and it still stays the same. Same chair, same console, same everything. Only difference being that it contained a live worker drone inside it. That, and a really weird and freaky murder drone that wouldn't leave you alone. Wouldn't even do the job it came here to do. 

Entering behind you was V, unsurprisingly. its gaze didn't dart to anywhere but you as it locked the door behind it. Standard procedure. More similar to the one back home, with the guards typically locking everyone's dorms.

You expected it to pounce on you like a cat, but this time it was taking her sweet time with you, circling around you like a predator. You hated it, you hated feeling this powerless. You wanted so badly to be realistic about this, that if you punched it you would die. 

You wanted to punch her so badly. 

"Why so nervous? We know each other enough by now, don't we?" You couldn't tell if it was flirting or teasing. Probably the latter. 

You rubbed your arm nervously. "I-... I don't..." You couldn't seem to get the words out. Its smile grew wider as it slowly but surely sauntered its way towards you. You tensed when it was right in front of you.

"'Don't' what?"

"C-can we just get this o-over with?" You stuttered. It was pathetic, but it played into its ego. That, if nothing else is probably what's keeping you alive outside of your 'precious oil'. It's words, not yours.

You felt its tail wrap around your knees and bring you down to said knees. Right in front of you, V sat down right in front of you, scooting its way forward until it straddled you in its lap, wrapping its arms around your head.

"If you insist~" 

Without hesitation, V's head immediately went straight towards the crook of your neck, now draining you of your oil. This never took long, and thank whatever god there was out there for that. 

Despite this fact, it never reassured you of the sickly gulping that you could her from it, removing oil away from your body and into it. You think it might have been appealing to some people, but certainly not you.

Especially not you.

"Mmmf~" She moaned, clamping its jaw down harder and draining more and more of your oil each minute. You winced, not expecting the sudden change of pressure in the crook of your neck. Its hands, once hands, now turned to claws as the hug around your torso turned into a death grip.

This is what you were afraid of. Backlash of something you didn't even do.

You tried to open your mouth to say something, but your systems were quickly overheating. Not to a dangerous level, but it was happening. 

You started punching its back, trying desperately to get it to stop. it either ignored it, or didn't feel it as it bit down harder, soaking in this sudden high that it got. Its tail wagged furiously around it, oblivious to the sudden struggle that's taken on from its oil stash. 

Your hits got weaker and weaker as V starts to slowly get out of whatever trance it was in and started to hear the weak whimpers from its worker drone. 

Your voice sporadically glitched out as it barely makes out the words 'please... stop...' 

Its death grip released your now extremely overheated form. You fell onto the ground behind you with a warning sign on your visor. Optics hollow, it stares down your vulnerable form. it sees the danger you're in that it caused. it debates something in its head before sighing, standing and picking you up.

"Whoops. Overdid it." It admitted to nobody but itself. You were, at this point, way too overheated and way too unconscious to really make out anything that it said. It licked at the bite wounds that it caused and watched as it slowly healed itself. Determining that no more oil would be leaking out of you, it climbed out of the pod with you hanging off its back like a koala. You didn't have any grip on it, so you could fall off easily if it wasn't careful.

...

Why was she helping you? She didn't care about you; you were just a backup. Something to drain and discard when she couldn't find any other worker drones. 

...

Why is she helping you?

She decided to shake her head, getting rid of the intrusive thoughts as she carefully deployed her wings and flew off into the sky. 

She hasn't admitted this to you yet, if she'll do it at all, but she has tracked you down to where your bunker is. Breaking in was a fun idea, but realized how strict your bunker was. A fact you were already painfully aware of, but she wasn't. It ticked her off to an extent. 

They were well armed, which wasn't the problem. It's the fact she couldn't find a way inside. Just like that other bunker. Of course it would be reinforced stainless steel doors. Resistant to whatever she threw at it. She had tried it months prior, and only backed off when they deployed turrets to fend her off. 

And now, she had you. A potential way inside. A way to get her boss off her back. Not that she cared about her boss, she kept nagging at her.

That made you useful. That's the only reason she was keeping you around.

The only reason.

The only reason.

The only reason.

"Fuck." 

She landed right in front of your 'home.' She wished she could join you (primarily so she can kill everyone inside) but unfortunately for her, alas, she has a job to do.

Putting you in sight where the guards or otherwise scouts may see you when the open the door. She walks away, deploying her wings before looking back at you. Shaking her head from more intrusive thoughts, she flew off. 

Leaving your overheated form lying in the snow. Not dead.

She'll check up on you later.

[freyito]

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴏʀᴛ

✭ pairing(s): clive rosfield x gn reader

✩ inspo: yk that one note by tarja in the infirmary? yeah.

✩ in which: tarja had requested you bring rope to the infirmary. you wonder why.

✧ a/n: THIS HAS BEEN ON MY MIND FOREVER ITS SO FUNNY TO ME IMAGINE TARJA TYING THIS FREAK DOWN. PLEASE.

✦ taglist: @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, kicked puppy clive, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.0k

Well, Tarja was good on her word. You were used to little runs to the infirmary, deliveries of herbs and what not. But when she asked for some rope, you couldn’t help but wonder what it was for. You do your best not to pry in on her patients and who needs what herbs, focusing on just what herbs she needed. But… rope? You were sure there was plenty in the infirmary. Still, you’d rather not get an earful, so you obliged.

And, well, you were treated to quite the scene. Clive, or Cid, genuinely tied down. It was rare of you to see Clive look so pathetic in a way, battered and bruised from god knows what. You’ve never seen him like this; granted, he tends to run off halfway through his treatment (i.e. the rest period). And with him tied down to the bed, he looked even more sorrowful, like a dog who was left out in the rain. If you hadn’t been poking around in Tarja’s journals when she was away, you would’ve thought this was some bizarre new treatment. 

“Ah, good, you’re here,” Tarja immediately holds out her hand, beckoning you over. “I was starting to fear the beast would break his chains.”

Jill, next to Clive, lets out a chuckle, while Clive couldn’t be more displeased. You’d rather not end up like him, so you are quick to place the rope in Tarja’s hand.

“Tarja, please, this is embarrassing…” Clive protests weakly, his voice strained as if he had been struggling to break free for hours.

“Oh, really? Would you rather lose your head when you keel over in battle?” Tarja retorts, kneeled beside the bedside to tie more ropes around poor Clive. “You need to rest before throwing yourself into the fray again, you understand that, right? Ugh, you types are so aggravating!”

The room falls silent at that, save for Clive’s insistent grunts of struggle. Meanwhile, Tarja had just finished up with the second layer of rope. All you can do is really watch, too dumbstruck to speak, too astounded to laugh. You fear if you laugh or so much as giggle, you might earn Clive’s ire, as rare as it may be. At the same time, you simply can’t make fun of a patient, no matter how silly the occurrence is. If you told anyone, Tarja would have your head. Patient Confidentiality and all that. For now, this matter was one confined to the four people in the room.

As funny as you find this, poor Clive looked absolutely embarrassed, his cheeks flushed redder than you’ve ever seen him. Jill did her best to stifle her laughter, turning her head and covering her mouth. This seemed to make Clive deflate even more, turning his head away from her and towards you. The look he gives you is pitiful, one of a mangy, starving dog on the street. Yet it succeeds in heating up your cheeks, and taking pity on him. Have you ever seen such a hardened man turn into something so soft?

“Is this truly necessary…?” With a sigh, you turn to Tarja. “The man killed Kupka for Founder’s sake, we don’t need to punish him.”

“Are you not as sick as I am when he runs off without proper rest?” While her tone is harsh and she’s quite loud, you know she means none of this irritation towards you.

“Oh, I am, but…” You look back at Clive, who’s pride seems to mend. “He just avenged all of those we lost, must we really confine him like this?”

This seems to have talked some sense to Tarja, and she takes a moment to think about it. Wounded he may be, and stubborn at that, he did bring a sense of victory and cheer to the Hideaway that had been lost in recent days. In recent years, more of. It is nothing short of rude to tie the hero to a cot, even if he’s too damned stubborn to rest. 

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Tarja scoffs, before shaking her head. “But I am going to let him wallow like this for a minute longer. Perhaps he’ll think twice before he leaves the infirmary without resting.”

“Tarja!” Clive whines, struggling a little more with the look of a kicked puppy.

You turn your head, closing your eyes and willing yourself to shut up. You fear if you stare any longer you will enjoy the view. Not that you weren’t already, but it was starting to get to you! That, and you wanted to laugh so badly, but not at poor Clive’s condition. He was still a patient, as you keep repeating to yourself. Eventually, the awkward silence in the room feels like it’s too much to bear, and so you make your way out of the infirmary. You didn’t want to leave Clive alone, not without a voice of reason, but you had a feeling you’d done all you could. At the very least, Tarja would let him free sooner rather than in three days' time.

You’d hope you’d see him wandering around soon, to affirm that Tarja hadn’t kept him tied down. At the same time, you’d rather see him tied down than walking about, knowing he’d most likely be rushing off to another mission. And that’d earn him an indefinite spot in the Infirmary, strapped to the bed. If someone hauled him in. He’d most likely avoid it after this, not that you could blame him. But, just for extra measure, you’d make sure to drill it into him that he really should be resting after exerting himself so much. Just because you saved him doesn’t mean you aren’t of the same mind as Tarja, you’d just rather not involve ropes.

Now that you’ve (hopefully) saved the day, you feel like you’re going to burst if you don’t tell someone of the scene you just saw. You know you should be quiet and keep it to yourself, but it’s too damn much! If you don’t tell someone, anyone, you’ll die! You hurry back to the ale hall to at least find someone to chat with, and if not, you’ll drink your weight in ale and ‘accidentally’ let it slip. 

Before you even reach the hall, Gav has a hand on your shoulder. He’s chipper as always, a grin on his face and the confidence you only wish you had.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost! What was goin’ on in the infirmary…?” He cocks his head to the side. He is just begging to be told. Seems you’ve found your victim. “Don’t tell me Tarja’s got you runnin’ ‘round for more herbs.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Lady Tarja… she’s kind. As long as you follow her instructions…” You shake your head, debating to just drop it on Gav.

“Well, then you should have no reason for lookin’ so afraid… right?”

Oh, Great Greagor. You don’t care about getting out of this. You need to tell him.

“No! No, uhm, well…” Your unsure tone turns into something more upbeat, something mirthful. “She’s got Clive tied up in there.”

“WHAT!?” Gav’s mouth drops, squeezing your shoulder, before he looks back to where you came from. “She’s got Ci–”

You slap a hand over his mouth before he can continue, looking around at the few people who had turned their heads towards you. You give Gav an angry look, one that’s on par with Tarja’s. He shuts up immediately, an almost fearful look in his eyes.

“You keep your mouth shut, okay? I’m not looking to end up like him,” You huff, taking your hand off his mouth. He nods vigorously. “Not. A. Word.”

“Yessir!” Gav states dramatically, giving you a proper salute like you were Clive himself, before darting off to the infirmary. You hope for your sake, he’s quiet about it, and that Clive has already been freed of such humiliation. 

Sure enough, before Gav can even open the door, Clive is stepping out, as if he has completely ignored Tarja’s instruction for rest. Before he can spot you from far off, you duck your head and make for the ale hall, hoping now to hide away in a bowl of stew and a cup of… water. Yes, water. Something that won’t loosen your tongue. Maybe you’ll just crash in your quarters instead. Suddenly, you’re feeling very guilty over telling one soul. And the fact that Clive didn’t seem to learn his lesson doesn’t help.

You walk quicker, order your food even more hurriedly, and take a seat down at one of the tables. You settle once you're there, as if the air of tension has lifted. You fidget a little, like you had just stolen something, but no one can blame you, right? Suddenly what you’ve seen feels like an information hazard. Cid the Outlaw, who’s killed Hugo Kupka, and Benedikta Harman, shattered two mother crystals, and who has been carrying the plight of Bearers on his back, tied up and helpless. You still want to laugh. And you aren’t too prideful to admit that he’s a dashing man. Not that your relationship was any secret. But it felt wrong seeing that. Isn’t that a scene for the bedroom?

Bedroom or not, something was just so compromising about seeing him like that. And given the fact he was already up and walking around, you fear that his fate is sealed. Tarja will tie him to the cot once more, or forever more, and he will be forced to rest. What a horrible fate.

Just as you're mourning your boyfriend, he has the gall to show up. So smoothly, as if everything hadn’t happened, he sits down across from you with a warm smile.

“I have to thank you for saving me,” He chuckles, a warm blush dusting his cheeks. “I don’t know how long she would’ve kept me there.”

You want to say ‘you’re welcome’, but at the same time you also know he needs his rest. He can act as warm as he wants, but just because you saved him from that humiliation doesn’t mean you wanted him up. Especially after fighting Titan. So, you embody Tarja.

“No. No, you–” You point at him, “– are going to go back to the infirmary. Or your room. And you are going to rest. For a week.”

His demeanor changes, he wears the same expression Gav has. Are you truly that terrifying?

“No running off for a mission. No getting up to train.” You continue, pressing your finger into the table. “You will listen to Tarja and I’s instructions. If you try to run off, I won’t save you next time she decides you need three times the rope to be restrained.”

Clive deflates slightly, like rest is his greatest nightmare, and you are sentencing him an eternity to it. Or as if he believes he doesn’t deserve it, a thought process you are quite intimate with.

“... Okay…” He speaks, sounding as if he’s a child who’s just been grounded.

You can’t help but sigh and relax as he agrees, as pathetically as he does. You reach over and take his hand in yours, flipping it over and running your thumb against his palm.

“You don’t have to be so afraid of the infirmary. Or Tarja. Or me. Or rest,” You mutter, “It’ll do you good, I promise. You’ve earned it, yeah?”

He perks up a little at your praise, before nodding again.

“So you go on and start catching up on all of it that you’ve missed, and I’ll join you later tonight.”

He nods again, before grabbing your hand, and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Your heart skips a beat for a moment, wondering how long it’s been since he’s had the chance to be sweet on you. He’s spent the last couple months stressing over Hugo Kupka’s whereabouts, that most of his time was devoted to finding the man. Now that he’s killed the man, he finally has all the time to…

You can’t allow yourself to think like that. He’s buttering you up, for sure. Because you know by the time you reach his quarters he’ll be complaining about having nothing to do, begging you to let up on him so he can continue his work. You can’t let yourself grow soft!

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[arbiterlexultionis]

Learning From The Past

This is kinda of an AU to my other post Here but long story short, Valerie wound up with an Obsession with Phantom due to all her ghost tech, and after finding out the full truth about Danny her Obsession shifted to be about Love for Danny rather than Hate for Phantom.

This post is for the better future happy version of that prompt.

In my initial idea, part of the reason Valerie’s positive emotions won over her desire for vengeance is because she already had protective instincts and more selfless ideals due to her career as a vigilante. How much of an effect would all that have on her Obsession and how that Obsession is fulfilled?

Vlad’s “Love” for Maddie was toxic and corrupt beyond all reasonable doubt, but one could easily say that was at least partially because Vlad might not of been a very good person to begin with and spent months stewing in his hate and jealousy while he slowly died in the hospital. Valerie, on the other hand, was continuously putting her life on the line, sacrificing her free time and freedom, grades, sleep and mental health to help people while expecting nothing in return. At first she was just out for vengeance but as time went on she grew to be a proper Hero. And the only reason she broke up with Danny in the first place was to protect him. So when her Obsession changes from Hate to Love all these positive emotions and protective instincts go into over drive.

So her Obsession for Danny is and Obsession, most definitely kind of (very) creepy in how deep it goes, but it’s also like? Weirdly?? Wholesome??? I’m just picturing Valerie being ultra supportive and caring for Danny.

Danny: sneezes once and groans about getting sick for the first time sense the accident. Valerie: come flying in at Mach 2.5 on her hover board carrying a mountain of blankets, tea, medicine and Disney movies “oh poor baby, no no, go back to bed now you need Rest!”

When Danny become ghost king and grows more powerful than every other being in the infinite realms all his rouges stop attacking, but not because he’s ghost king now. They all stop attacking because every time they try the see Valerie just creepily lurking in the shadows with a gun.

Danny who just saw his rouge go pale as a ghost and run away in terror: Man I’m so scary and cool.

Ember who looked over Danny’s shoulder to see Valerie decked out with every weapon known to man and several that arn’t, slowly dragging her thumb across her throat: Nope Nope Nope Nope! Frick frack paddy wack that bull crap!

Vlad’s walking up to Fenton Works planning to Fuck Around confident he doesn’t have to worry about Finding Out because “I’ve hAD thEse powERs fOr tWEnty yearS Daniel!” only to get a phase proof grappling hook rapped around his ankle and be dragged into a dark ally kicking and screaming.

If Danny accepts her feelings she just the most doting, overprotective girlfriend in the world, and if he doesn’t then shes the most doting, overprotective friend in the world that just so happens to be a girl, and gives legendary shovel talks to all potential suitors.

[darkdemeter]

Dom War x Sub Fem reader NSFW! Set in Eld AU, War’s heavily injured and lone survivor of a tough battle, but meets S/O, who’s a healer and treats his wounds. Time spent together, S/O heals his wounds and War protects her from danger. S/O is a traveling healer and has nowhere to go, so War offers to take her back to his Nephilim tribe as his mate and new healer of the tribe, which she agrees. S/O eases his pain, physically and emotionally, and if he’s frustrated, she can always “help” him.

A HEALER TO CHAOS

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Pre-Horsemen!War x Eld'hyunen!Female Reader

NOTES ↳ It’s so fun and cool to be exploring and sharing the Eld universe with you guys through requests, I feel like it allows readers to become immersed in the lore I’m building for the AU! Thank you anon for this request! WARNINGS❕ ↳ Mature rating, 18+ — mention of mass murder — depiction of violence and killing — lore building — SMUT mdni — unprotected sex — pregnancy — neck biting/marking — mate claiming, virginity loss (hymen breakage) — I think that’s it?

✎ 3.8k ────────────────────────

It’s the scent of blood and the ominous purr of silence that draws you out of hiding. From the crop of rocks sheltering you, you move to inspect your surroundings with a peeking gaze, searching over the battle terrain to see your hunters and your enemies lay motionless on the ground. All but one. 

His ashen hair cascades in fluttering waves in the light breeze, hands clenched tight around the hilt of a massive blade bloodily sheathed in the muscled belly of his foe. Those that he came alongside with don’t get back up. He is the lone survivor of this gory battle.

Seeing so many corpses litter the ground reminds you of the awful slaughter of your tribe that were migrating towards the hillside pastures for Spring. Then, without warning, these beings of soured and unnatural origin, began an invasion upon your realm and in turn, attacked the travelling caravans of your people. You had run at the command of your mother and father and paid the price in watching all who you held dear and loved die. And now this one saved your life. Saved you from the carnivorous beasts that have stalked you for many moons. 

He rises to his feet, standing at a height that far exceeds that of your own kind. Pulling the blade free with a wetted splatter of blood that drools in thick sloshes, he stumbles back with a low and pained grunt, his body marked with grieving wounds. 

Your ears perk up slightly and the shortened coil of your tail sweeps across the back of your heels. He needs your help. He won’t survive if his wounds go untreated. And you have been alone for many, many turnings of the sun and moon. Perhaps he…

Still crouched low to the forest floor, your feet slide across the shredded bark and softness of grass as you pull yourself more into view. Slowly, you stand only to flinch when he turns sharply to face you, the glow of blue eyes beam at you with narrowed suspicion. 

Your breath becomes light in your chest until a hollow shape dwells there. His hand that holds his blade idle between sheath and arming clenches hard and you swallow the thickened bile of fear in your throat. You hold your hands up to bear your offering of peace. When he sees you mean to approach him, he remains largely skeptical, but otherwise lets you wander closer with cautious steps. 

“You are hurt.” Your voice is small, almost a mousy whisper. Head bowing and tilting this way and that, you observe the damage that’s been done to him, your nose inhales the sharpened incense of blood in the air, already you begin to recollect what balms and natural ointments that will benefit him. Against him, your hands are smaller and feel so soft moving across his skin that lay exposed. 

“They will heal,” he interjects with a low and booming voice. It astounds you, almost sends you rushing back to hide if only to be left in your fluster. 

You shake your head adamantly. “They will fester with sickness. I must tend to them.”

He pulls his arm from your gentle grasp, your lips parted with a gasp as your eyes find his. “Please? You saved my life. Allow me to do the same.”

The hardened front of his browline deeply creases, a twisted sneer smeared across his lips. Body shifting, he is once again pained by the carved gashes that line his torso and shoulder “How?” 

With a tilted bob of your head, you indicate for him to follow you. Your hands weave themselves to embrace the larger of his, fingers entwined to grasp the callousness of his palms and fingers. “Come.”

By nightfall you reach the forest hot springs that reside higher up on the rockier perches. The warrior whose name you come to know to be War, follows you. You situate yourself before the water’s edge where a heated mist of condensation rises. 

You can see the question in the quirk of his brow and the daggered contact of his gaze that forces your head to turn away, a flustered warmth covers your cheeks. “These waters are used by healers to cleanse wounds of infection.”

War only moves after a moment’s hesitation defeated by the insistent nod of your head, your voice humming. He strips from his armour, the giant sword on his back leans on the cave wall at its pommel. Bulky chunks of metal, slings of leather and folds of fabric reveal the defined shape of his body. 

Your breath escapes you as a quiet gasp, eyes wide and face plagued by a hot rush. Though you mean to tear your eyes away they keep moving back to stare at him. You dare not meet his eyes as he then steps down into the heated waters. You can hear the way it sears and stirs against the eruptive barrier of his skin while he wads through it.

The pouring streamline of the upper basin flows steadily, a constantly stirred motion bouncing and rippling the surface that fades outwards. You admit, he looks so tranquil standing beneath the shower of the hot springs, blood seeping into washed out, lesser rivers. His hands douse handfuls of the curing springs over his head and you hear him sigh heavily, the burly muscle of his shoulders falling lax. With the blood cleared, you can see just how deep the beasts had dug their claws and sank their fangs. 

Eyes marvelling in silent awe of each scar that marks him, you then cower beneath the glow of his stare when you discover you have been caught, hunching in on yourself as you sit at the rocky ledge. Your tail, nervous, slides with idle and slow absent thought. You must shake yourself of these thoughts, sensual and primal in nature. You mustn’t let yourself be so engulfed by the consuming ache that dwells between your thighs. 

But the idea… why, the pointed tips of your ears flick back quickly with an excited tick. His stance indicates a stern and rigid expectancy.

Ahold of your senses and awakened from that stupor, you disrobe the woven strap of your belt that holds your small satchels and your cowled shawl. Setting them aside, you comb your hand through clusters of moss that thrive in the dampened poolsides, the spongy tissue of the natural balm familiar. 

You pad your way down into the water, one leg followed by the other. The water level just touches at your breasts that are barely concealed by the thin linens and corded leathers of your chest wrap. 

You make your way over, cautious once again under the scrutiny of his studying eyes that follow your every move like the fearsome and revered Obsidian Hawks. You don’t dare forget how tall he towers over you, fighting to keep your eyes from wandering down the deepened lines of his waist that disappear under the water. 

Before you stands one of the many who ravage the land you call home. His brothers and sisters cleave and sever blood from blood, soul from soul in claim of their undying bloodlust. 

It would have been wise to let him die. You should have, after all that you have seen, been subjected to, living out your days alone and wandering without the security or familiarity of your tribe. 

But you begin to smear the spongy texture of the healing moss to his wounds, applying with gentle care to the ones you could reach easily. Your attention focuses into the tap of the inner leylines, the spiritual veins of your soul that extend unto him. A hover of ethereal matter emits from your palms and touches along your fingers with a warm, softened glow. 

War’s lips tug into a wince, eyes scrunching at the beginnings of his wounds healing, the moss you applied to his marred skin tinged with a pulsing turquoise hue, acting as a medium for the magic that blooms from your hands. Your eyes flutter closed to influence your concentration further, though there lies a troubled bevel between your brows. Your hands follow the link of the leylines within him that guide your healing touch, but the infernal heat of his soul has a bite that feels as if it burns your skin with the warning intensity of fire. 

As uncomfortable as it is, you continue to push your skills beyond what exceeds your limit. Your shoulders rise and fall heavily with each laboured breath that passes you. War’s eyes track between the movement of your hands and your face, gaze intently set on you that then delves lower to the plushness of your breasts pushed together by your chest wrap, the linen fabric wetted to reveal a translucent viewing. Feelings arise, stirring, sensations he has never felt to entertain before until now. Through the thin and clinging fabric he sees the perky stiffness of your nipples, poised and glistening. Below the water he feels himself become erect, an ache reaching from his tip and down the long girth of his length. 

He’s suddenly pulled from his silent observation, his besotted hunger, when he sees you struggle. Whatever inner force that grants you your ability wanes as you strain yourself to reach the higher peak of his injured chest and shoulder. 

Without warning, his arms curl around you and he lifts you up, ignoring the protesting gasp you make or the way your glossy eyes widen in your own infatuated terror. 

The last of the moss dissipates with a flaring sizzle under your magic, though the wounds still require attentive care of stitchwork. You mean to turn away despite still being held in his arms and he suddenly stops you. He pins you to the pool’s rocky rim, your arms moving to support yourself, palms scratching against the roughened, wet stone with each yearning thrust that has your core arching out of the water from his hips. You let out a squeal of a whimper that pleads for him. 

Ever since you laid eyes on him you were mystified. The enchanting waves of his white hair that accented the angelic hue of his eyes, his larger and handsome physique leaping into the fray without fear. He hadn’t anticipated saving you, undoubtedly caught in the cycle of predator hunting predator, tearing down the original hierarchy to make room for himself amongst its chain. 

Those of your tribe always respected the strength and prowess of the ones who hunted and defended your wandering caravan. And such a display won your heart despite your better judgment that he was an invader of your realm. 

He moves to roll his hips attentively, slowly that causes an aching crawl to travel up your spine, sending your nerves into an aroused frenzy. His weight pushes against you as if to test you, to see if you’re more submissive than your Eld’hyunen counterparts. When he sees you pose no issue in challenging him and instead your body leans into that want, his head bows down and you feel the scrape of his teeth. The sharp incisors pleasantly run along the flesh of your shoulder, lingering close to the curve of your neck. 

Your size is impossible to compare fairly when held flush to the confines of his body. His hands are overly large enough to swallow you under his reach. The burning heat emits from his skin like a fiery blanket that consumes you. He bends the lower curve of your spine, your thighs burn with that strain that pulls your muscles from being spread wider to the gate of his hips that continue to rut into your clothed sex. 

Your hands smooth over his watered body, palms caressing the flex of muscle and taut flesh while your lips move across his skin with a ghostly sigh. As he aims to tear away the material of your lower garments, you unravel the translucent fabric of your chest wrap, peeling it off to reveal your breasts spilling free. Naked before him, he pulls you into his arms and you gasp sharply, tail swatting across the water’s glistening surface when you’re seated on the crown of his swollen — and very large — cock. 

It’s… enormous. Far beyond what you’re possibly capable of taking. His eyes study the blatant visage of your furrowed brow, the way your ears twitch nervously and the way you adjust yourself hesitantly almost as if to squirm away from him. 

“Be still,” he rumbles lowly, handling you and pushing you down on his tip. You hiss, the intrusion more shocking to your system than painful, merely knotting his leaking head between your slickened folds. 

You comply with his demand and allow him to do as he pleased. You were not denying him on this front, that wondering curiosity of what it would have been like had you completed your courting taking over. That need to finally have what you prematurely lost. There had been a few males you were potentially interested in, some had given you small yet thoughtful offerings as gifts in seeking your approval. 

But with War before you now, dare you even admit that none of those males could compare? 

You sink, further and further down and your walls stretch until you’re completely full but it doesn’t stop. He punctures through your hymen and you yelp, body trembling against him and he holds you tighter. It continues on as you take in another inch, followed by another. You whine and mewl with small, weakened pants that beat against his chest and your fingers curl to bite deeply into his skin as your walls struggle to take him. 

The last inch is unable to fit when he meets the final resistance. He groans deeply at the way your walls hold around him like a vice. Immediately he begins to rut his hips, a hard but slow pace set that physically bounces you up and down, you’re weightless in his grasp. Withdrawing from your cunt has a pained hiss escaping you, baring your teeth before it finally subsides with the pleasure. 

His lips take to devouring your skin, suckling and kneading the tender spot of your neck between his teeth. You moan louder and he grunts in response, uttering words in a tongue not of your own, though its canter is beautifully intoxicating that you want to hear more. He arches you back to watch how your breasts bounce with every move you make before he takes one of your stiffened peaks into his mouth, groaning lowly as his tongue envelops it.

A painful strain forms in the length of your hips but you care little for it now that that dull, needy ache is being satiated between your thighs. Your body practically curls into him, readily possessed by his strength and desire, anything and everything he would want for, you would give; and you would live out your remaining existence happily if he chose you. 

Of course, you don’t expect him to know or even acknowledge the more intimate factors of your culture or your ways of courting, but perhaps he could learn from you as you can from him. Even now you learn with each other, finding what the other craves, what pleases each other the most. He moves onto the other neglected mound of your breast, lapping at it with aggressive care as he picks up the speed of his thrusts. 

“Please… pl—please…” you beg softly, voice barely above a whisper to be heard over the watery slosh and rapid clapping of skin. 

he pants the utterance of your name you feel your entire body grow hot, fast approaching your release. It overtakes you as a flash, white and pulsating that has you arching to have his entire length sheathed inside you, never wanting to be apart. You moan into the recess of the hot springs, the cave walls capturing the sound as an echoing choir. 

His teeth bite down hard upon your neck and you cry out, nails drawing red lines that stake your claim over him as much as he does to you now. Blood sweeps up your neck, gathering as a pool that seeps through the broken skin. 

Your chest heaves until the swell of your ribcage is sore from the need to survive by breathing. Your head dizzied and eyes foggy, lidded with a heaviness, you pull yourself back to him, chest to chest. 

“War,” you moan, low and sweet and the sound of his name on your lips sends him over the edge. A few harder pumps that reach that one spot has you mewling for more and he releases his seed into the precious silk of your womb. You hear the way your combined juices mix together and feel the slow crawl of it drooling down the steep angle of your walls. 

Through the haze of your bliss you see the punctuated hue of his blue eyes staring at you, marvelling at you. Your fingers, so delicate and soft that he cannot help but try and gently kiss them, smoothly trace the lines and structure of his jaw, taking the time to study every single part of him that’s scarred and not. 

He brings you back over to the edge of the pool, the faded mist and water parting before his destined strut. He sets you down and you begin to weave and stitch what remained unhealed while his hands and mouth continued to discover you until he reached the lower folds of your cunt, tongue dancing over the still sensitive bud of your clit and you sharply gasp, an elicited sound he finds great pleasure in wanting to hear. 

Under the dawn’s abode, you begin to stir when streams of sunlight bathe you with a glowing, tempered greeting. Not too far from the hot springs had you and War made camp where the two of you continued to explore newer pleasures. From behind you, War cages you with a security you have not felt in so long, held against his sturdy chest, your back warmed by him long since the fire went out. 

His nose presses against the indented mark on your neck and you purr, enjoying the way his breath caresses you, his lips kiss and his teeth nip at you. He’d discovered you enjoyed the form of his fingers or tongue curling deep inside you, mesmerised by how your legs would shudder and your toes clench into tightened curls. He adored the way you admired and praised his body, submitting to his far larger size and able to cover you beneath him as he took you over and over again. 

By the time the both of you were properly dressed, he encouraged you to follow. Not that you had much of any thought against it, relieved that he intended for you to stay with him. 

“You are without a tribe now,” he had said.

“I am.”

“Then join my tribe, as a healer and my mate.”

With a smile, you had agreed. The days that follow were spent travelling together. He kept the creatures that stalked you at bay, often pulling you behind him to protect you and after such battles, you would nurture and tend to his wounds, intimately caring for his soul that has seen much bloodshed and been tainted by many horrors that plague his sleep. 

He would watch you comb your fingers through your hair, gathering a thickened lock of it on your left side and begin to plait it into an elaborate braid. War could see the way you smiled the entire time, cheeks seemingly warmed and not by the fire but from the significance your new braid bore. 

You would decorate it, using scarlet dyed threads and small, painted beads to intertwine with the braid, their stunning hues beautifully complimenting the colour of your hair. 

Oh, how you wanted to ask him if you could do the same, to signify that he was lovingly spoken for, but… from the way his brethren of the tribe interacted with one another, a brutish culture, you’d thought better against it. At least for the meantime. 

Though it has taken quite some time to grow accustomed to the way the Nephilim go about their bidding within the tribe, their violent nature often demonstrated right before your eyes just as much in the field of battle, it’s better knowing that you were no longer alone. Of course, you could have fled to any number of the fellow Eld’hyunen tribes, they would have taken you in without discrimination, but what then? They too would have met their bloody end for sure, and perhaps your soul claimed amongst them. 

And you would not have met your beloved War. A formidable fighter and very capable of defending your honour whenever one of his Nephilim brothers attempted to claim you for themselves. 

But there were times where you would have to remain in the camp and wait for the war party’s return. A tiny shred of fear always accompanied these long tides of waiting, gnawing in the back of your mind that War would be counted among the numbers that didn’t get back up. That they would carry his near-dying body to you and you would be left alone again. 

But he always came back. However much you scolded and fussed over his wounds, you were thankful he was alive. 

Nights were spent together in the privacy of your personal tent, skin pressed to skin, body to body and enveloped by the flood of your sated arousal that audibly guaranteed that War had claimed a mate for himself, that you were all his. Other times you simply would lay together atop the gathered furs, listening to the hungry smolder of the fire and the lingering mingle of your breath matching.

Many days and nights after his return from battle would see him approach you, agitated by something but you knew just what would help to ease the pent up rage, your body used for his explicit aggression. 

Eventually, you were given permission to braid the left portion of his ashen hair. Of course, you made it less obvious than your own but being able to gently comb and filter the locks of white between your nimble fingers, fashioning a beautiful courting braid and securing it with a red lacing that matched yours gladdened you. 

Your lips hover over the naked scar of a recent wound on his shoulder, humming a soft lullaby for his ears to hear. The fire in the small tent crackles, its smoke filtering out through the opened gap in its top. 

War buries his nose deep into the crook of your neck, right over the healed scar of his mark and you smile, turning in his lap to sit in the comfort of your silence. His large hands rest over the top of yours, the two of your carefully nursing the small, beginning bump of your unborn young. 

[yanderes-galore]

I can quest more queen xenomorph with darling who has accepted their fate like the queen being injured by small group of humans. darling opening a can of whoop ass on the group responsible for hurting her queeny Maybe leading drones to wipe the human group out.

That moment when you betray your own kind for an alien waifu. Gave the Queen a name, feel free to change it as you will.

My Queen

Yandere! Xenomorph Queen Short

Pairing: Animal/Pet-like

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Stockholm syndrome, Kidnapping mention, Murder, Teratophilia, Drool.

Some would say the ultimate act of betrayal would be to kill your own species. The kill a group of people you share such a close relationship with not in war... should be treason. However...

To you it doesn't matter if they never felt like family in the first place.

The moment you woke up to screeching, your fight or flight response reacted. The screeching wasn't human, no...

It was alien.

"Star...?"

Your voice was hoarse but filled with fear. Even if this family of yours wasn't biological, you loved them- Star happened to be the one you loved most.

You couldn't simply call Star a Queen Xenomorph all the time. You needed something more endearing, something affectionate.... Star came to mind due to the nature of the large Xenomorph.

The bonus was Star would listen to the name. She'd chitter at you in delight before beckoning you over once you say the name. Star made you happy.

Even if the truth was Star kidnapped you.

But that's in the past now! You love Star. You love her and her many children....

You simply hated humans now.

You get up quickly from your bed created of Xenomorph resin, running through the hive towards the screeching. Star was in trouble, you knew that call. It was your job to help.

As you ran you began a call you practiced with Star. Of course, it wasn't quite like a Xenomorph, but the drones understood. Once you chitter, the dormant Xenomorphs in the hive copy you.

You're stopped by one of the bigger warriors in the hive, the alien chittering at your panic.

"Your mom's in trouble...." You panic, the warrior reading your concern.

With an enraged hiss, the warrior calls for action. You notice the black walls move as Xenomorphs swarmed the area. To think they wouldn't listen to you back when you first came here, alone and afraid-

Another screech fills your ears, a screech of pain. Anger raises within you as you enter Star's chamber. You can't hold back the panicked squeak you release when you see the carnage.

Star's eggs were trampled... blown to bits by pulse rifles. Drones squealed in pain when attacking a small group of humans and synthetics. Your eyes quickly meet with Star, which you can already see the acid spilling out of her wounds.

You knew what must be done.

Gesturing to your stronger Xenomorphs, you tell them to hide by the wall. Once the aliens hide, you make yourself in view.

"Help!" You cry, the group turning to see you. Once they see your tattered clothes, concern appears on their faces.

"A human? Are you okay?"

You flinch when they continue to hurt your hive.

"No! I'm lost! Help me!"

"Come on, we need to help them-"

It's once they start making their retreat that you sick the stronger drones on them.

"Got you."

Spitters from the walls spew acid on the team, human screams of pain erupting through the hive.

"The hell!?"

Warriors pour in closer to them, pushing them to the ground. You merely grin as the group is ripped to shreds. The humans... you can't even associate with them anymore.

You're no better than an enemy to humanity for protecting this hive.

Once the fight settles down, you collapse to your knees. The sight of all the young dead on the ground brings tears to your eyes. Almost as much as Star's pain did.

Speaking of Star....

"Star!" You call, the Queen quickly snapping her head to you. The large Xenomorph hisses towards you in relief before stalking her way towards you. You only feel comfort when she cradles you in her smaller arms.

"You scared me so much, Star."

You heavily breathe while giving her a hug, pulling back to allow her head to rest against your chest.

"What will we do...? The eggs are gone, no doubt in an attempt to farm them gone wrong. We've lost so many too-"

You hear a sharp hiss come from her, an attempt to make you quiet. You go silent while the large alien rubs her head against you. Even now she managed to be comforting to you.

You chitter at her softly, watching as Star looks back at you. She copies the chitter back at you, a sign of love between you....

It surprised you how attached you became to her. While it may be stockholm syndrome... she's the only family you have. You can't help but find the way her drool stains your clothes adorable.

She's adorable because she's yours.

You'd protect her with your life...

All because she loves you, and you love her, despite the large differences between you.

[hexblooddruid]

15 Lines of Dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

@thedragonagelesbian tagged me in this a million years ago and I'm finally doing it now. These are all from Bryn, for my running document for her current playthrough where I rewrite scenes, write additional scenes, and her thoughts to help keep me in her head space for this playthrough. It's documented day by day, which is why the dates are included at the end. I included very little context in the scenes. Thank you so much for tagging me!

“Yes. I find that many creatures that seem vicious at first just need to get to know you.” (22 Highsun)

“Impossible. You’re part of this group now. I care about you. Besides, someone has to.” (23 Highsun)

Bryn blanched at the compliment. “All I do in battle is heal people.” (24 Highsun)

“I suppose. But to answer your question, no. Quite the opposite in fact. I was a sage for my druid circle. I spent my time archiving lore and ancient druidic techniques. The most adventure I experienced was traveling to Baldur’s Gate to find some text to copy to our collection.” (24 Highsun)

“No. No you don’t. No pet names right now. Gods! This is why you were being so nice to me the other day, saying you wanted to travel together, that you just wanted my company. Ugh! That’s why you were asking about my tattoo.” Bryn started to feel sick. She backed away from him, stepping toward the edge of the water. For the first time since they met, she felt truly afraid of him. Bryn shakes her head, angry tears clouding her vision. “I’ve been such a naive fool-” (24 Highsun)

“Wait, you haven’t had a bath in over half a tenday? We almost always camp right by fresh water. You all but you especially”-pointing her finger at Astarion-”should be bathing regularly, at least on days that we have hard battles. It’s important to keep your wounds clean and once you upgrade your amour”, Bryn looks derisively at Astarion’s padded armour, “regular bathing is an important part of upkeep for leather and hide armours.” (25 Highsun)

“When he was in my head the thing that kept me going was knowing that I had to get Karlach, Astarion, and Gale out of there. That we had to get back to here, to you…to Lae’zel and Shadowheart. I know this is something you deal with constantly and…I don’t ever want you to feel alone in this, anymore.” (26 Highsun)

Bryn immediately turns to him. “Wyll, are you all right?” Her hands itch to reach out and comfort him but, remembering that they are not alone, she keeps them at her side. (27 Highsun)

“I know, I know. But-” she pulls her hands from his face and holds his hands in hers “- give me a chance, please? Before you sell your soul to a devil.” (27 Highsun)

“Oh come on” Bryn nudged him with her elbow. “You can’t tease me like this. Please? For me??” She looked up at him with her large, dark pleading eyes. (27 Highsun)

“I don't want to talk about it.” (27 Highsun)

She responds hesitantly. “Yes-no. My head is killing me and…” She kept moving her head, trying to catch the shadows that crept in the corners of her vision. “Is it dark in here?” Wyll placed a gentle hand on her chin to point her eyes back toward him. “What?”, her voice shook with worry. “Wyll, tell me what’s wrong. (28 Highsun)

“I’m sorry”, she whispered in between sobs. “I’m so sorry.” (28 Highsun)

“No! Nothing like that.” Bryn opens and closes her eyes and the shadows in the corners of her vision start to take shape. “The way I access magic is I attune myself to the land around me and it connects me to the natural arcana that flows through everything, the natural flow of life that connects us all.” She smiles as she feels her tattoo warming. “Before I died, I heard Ethel’s voice in my head. I heard it when I was dead. And when Wyll brought me back, she said I’d see the world through fresh eyes now.” She bows her head as shameful tears well up again. “I-there are shadows in the corner of my vision. I can feel it-I can see it. My connection is not as strong as it’s been recently and now, I can see the rot, the decay under everything. Her curse killed me and the stench refused to leave me.” She barks out a rueful laugh and says under her breath, “At least the eyes make sense now.” (28 Highsun)

Her face is deadly serious when she responds. “There’s no point in me being back if I’m not going to worry about you.” (28 Highsun)

[queen-scribbles]

bound, break, skin for Jaaide and maybe also AJ?

Ohoho, these two are both excellent for these questions. :3

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

Jaaide was imprisoned by the Castellan Restraints(inflicted by her own people :) ), and then there's the five years in carbonite thanks to Arcann, and briefly, technically, captured by Heta's forces on Ruhnuk. The Castellan Restraints left mental scars after she reconditioned herself, there haven't been any long term effects from the carbonite, but she did deal with nausea for a while immediately after Lana freed her(and sometimes forgets how old she is bc those 5 years feel like they "don't count"; she has to do the "What year is it? And I was born in...? Making me...." math). Nothing even short term from the Ruhnuk one bc of how fast Rass saved her neck.

AJ was captured by Murphy in book 1, wriggled herself free before running into Unit Bravo, and she has a deep-seated fear of being retrained now, as well as the bite scars on the side of her neck. (Also some lingering trauma from watching him beat Nate unconscious. No, knowing about vampire superhealing--and that Nate's is extra good--does not help)

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

Jaaide it's one of two things: either failing at her long-term goal of bringing down the Empire and seeing that everything she's spent a decade working and sacrificing toward that end was for nothing or losing Theron. Whether that's death-type losing Theron or she says/does something that makes him turn on her for real. There was a taste of the latter during the Fractured Alliances arc; she takes insomniac workaholic to a whole new level, is half a step from a complete non-functioning wreck. Theron's seen her at her lowest bc.... well, he didn't put her there but he def rubbed salt in the wound. Her lowest was post-Onslaught, when a whole bunch of civilians died bc she said the wrong thing and didn't talk Darth Krovos out of bombing Corellia. Add Theron yelling at her for something she already felt massively guilty over(one of their only real fights. :)))) ) and that was probably the lowest she's gotten.

AJ it would be failing to protect someone, especially someone she cares about a lot. She felt horribly guilty when Bobby got sick in b2 and she kinda loathes him; if something horrible happened to, say, Nate or Felix or her mum in a scenario where it's even 3% possible for her to blame herself, she's gonna break down. Lots of tears, streaky red face bc she's an ugly crier, either self-imposed exile bc she just gets people hurt OR driving herself unreasonably hard to set it right. Like, we're talking almost-killing-herself hard. Adam needs to have a talk with her hard. Her lowest point so far is when she was crying over the missing posters in b3, so no one saw her, but she called Nate, so he heard her, if that counts.

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

They're both pretty comfortable in their skin. You could say Jaaide grapples with what she knows she's capable of; the rage that tore Vinn Atrius to (figurative) shreds for trying to kill Theron, the manipulation that's turned people against their own families, but she knows just bc she's capable of those things doesn't mean she's going to use them.

AJ doesn't have anything(yet? there are some hints for book 4 that are 👀), and I don't think either of them's truly had to face the worst version of themselves yet. And I don't think AJ would be able to acknowledge it without facing it. She knows she's not perfect, but idk how she'd handle the absolute worst version of herself.

Not So Nice Asks

[nicsalazar]

Moth to a flame || Nicole & Zane

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @rn-zane  & @nicsalazar SUMMARY: Nicole comes to the ER with a cut. Zane's super chill about it. CONTENT WARNING: Medical blood

Eleven. That was the last time Nicole set foot in a hospital. A sprained wrist after a tree climbing accident. She always enjoyed climbing, despite her mother’s numerous warnings. What she first recalled of that day, however, wasn’t her mother grounding her for two weeks (though that did suck), but how much she had hated being asked questions and prodded by professionals, and fuck— did it make her feel like a freak. 

So she decided, after that, that she was done visiting hospitals for the rest of her life. 

It was clear in her demeanor that she didn't want to be here, waiting to get that nasty cut on her arm checked. It wasn't even her fault. And it was fine. But the boss insisted she got it checked. Doing as much as to send someone to chaperone her. A fucking chaperone. Nicole slumped, face wrinkled in displeasure, mind going over incident reports and other paperwork she wasn’t looking forward to get done. She almost missed the nurse that was fast approaching to her side.

Straightening up her back slightly —she wasn’t rude, okay?— Nicole gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Believe me, this is unnecessary. I can just... rub alcohol on it myself" thank you very much, she didn't say.

Zane rarely had much time to do a proper reading on patients before he saw them, usually getting the highlights thrown at him before running to the next bed. This time, he’d actually managed to find a free computer at the nurse’s station, sitting down mostly to get his mind back on track. He wasn’t supposed to be here right now but when the handsome charge nurse asked Zane for… well, anything - his automatic response was an enthusiastic yes. One day, he might end up accidentally curtsying to the man if he wasn’t careful. 

So here he was after his already 16 hour day shift, filling in for a sick nurse and heading into hour 20. And he was hungry. 

The smoothie glass with his shift ‘snack’, very clearly marked with his name and a ‘do not touch’ sticker, had held him off for some time but… besides, his replacement would be here in less than an hour. He had other things to think about, like the - oh, wow - literal firefighter waiting for him. 

Head slightly clearer, he maneuvered past the gurneys posted in every hallway and pulled back the curtain to the assigned spot. A courteous nod to the man standing by the hospital bed was all Zane managed before the patient, the firefighter, spoke up. 

Zane smiled, a soft smile reserved for children and the more nervous of patients. “I really won’t be a minute and from what I heard, you might not even need… stitches…” His voice faltered at the end, eyes dragging to the wound on her arm. It was still weeping blood despite the fabric pressing down on it and the smell wafting up…

He cleared his throat, dragging half of his attention back to the patient. Nicole. Human. Not a meal. “I’m Zane. Do we need to worry about any debris in there, Nicole?” 

Maybe they’d be done soon. And she wouldn’t have to tell Leah about her ER visit. Nicole lowered her gaze, snuffing out the small flame of hope in her chest. Instead her eyes fell on the makeshift bandage, willing to accept –for the first time– that it still seemed to be sticking with fresh blood every now and then. And that couldn’t be too good, right? She tilted her head to figure out a proper answer to his question.

“I— probably” Nicole admitted, jaw tightly clenched before she let out a weary sigh. Some of the tension evaporated in her breath. After all, these people were here to help. No matter how terrifying she found their shiny tools to be. When she spoke again, the edge was gone from her tone. “They patched me up with what they had in the field. We don’t really get too…” she snapped the fingers, fishing for the word in her hazy brain. “Cómo se dice? We just got the basics up there, y’know? But should be clean enough”. 

Nicole glanced at her crewmate, but he remained quiet, as if scared to contradict her. “Someone in handcrew slipped, they were carrying fuel… branches, weed, anything that can—” did nurse Zane need the whole story? She paused, heat rising to her cheeks. “It might be a little dirty, anyway” she concluded, releasing the hold she had on her left bicep, silent permission for the nurse to go ahead and get to work. 

For the first time ever, Zane was relieved to have a nervous patient. Nicole seemed way too preoccupied with her own discomfort to notice how jittery the blood was making him but her guest on the other hand… Feeling like he was getting rid of a witness, he politely asked the man to hang back in the waiting room due to lack of space, which definitely wasn’t a lie. With curtains on every side giving staff just enough space to squeeze in next to the beds, one extra person could definitely fill up the space. 

“Right, I noticed the firefighter thing. That’s really cool, y’know,” Zane started, falling into the habit of talking to distract patients and, in this case, hopefully distract himself as well. “Not sure I’d willingly run into a burning forest, even if I was getting paid for it.” Practiced hands busied themselves with preparing an IV line, his attention focused on the non-injured hand for now as he swiped over the skin of her forearm, tightening a tourniquete. “Small pinch,” he warned, settling the IV needle in place and making quick work of bandaging it down, definitely not entranced for a moment at the droplet of blood that managed to leave the line before he screwed the cap back on. 

“I’ll need to draw some blood, maybe get a little fluid in you. Are you feeling woozy at all?” Turning from Nicole, he busied himself with preparing supplies for the wound, really not in a rush to expose the whole thing to his nose. 

Nicole offered a small, thankful nod once the nurse finally dismissed her chaperone. She planned on slipping past him when she was free to go, but her escape ideas and other petty thoughts were interrupted by the nurse’s voice. Breathing out a laugh, her eyebrows pinched together. “It really isn’t like that—unless you’re a smokejumper… or a hotshot, which I’m not. They’re the cool action heroes” she explained. There was nothing glamorous about digging up a fireline or reducing fuel. “You work in the ER, I bet people think it’s… y’know, stuff out of a movie”.

Her eyes landed on Zane, as much as she hated staring. Nicole’s options were limited in the secluded space. For the first time in the evening, her thoughts went to someone other than herself. Knowing a thing or two about exhaustion, it was easy to recognize the signs on him. So she acknowledged the pang of guilt at her previous behavior, mentally promising to be more cooperative moving forward.

At the sight of the needle, Nicole tried to distract herself by sneaking a look past the curtains. She couldn't really make out anything but white coats and varied colorful scrubs, but it did the job of taking her attention away from her arm as the nurse set the IV line. “No…no. I’m—” fine, she almost said, stubbornly. But the words died in her tongue. No one was here for her to prove a point anymore.  “Not woozy, but— guess my arm kinda hurts” she conceded, bringing her thumb and index finger as close together as possible, “barely”. That part was true, she had endured far worse. Meanwhile, she appreciated the play by play, wondering if that’s what she had needed when she was a kid. No one seemed to explain much to her, referring only to her parents. She could do the whole introspection thing once she was back on her feet. “Right, blood, take it”. She gave him a nod, ready. 

She was talking now, visibly less stressed now that her coworker had left. The answers about Zane’s firefighter inquiry seemed rehearsed in a way, as if she was used to making sure people didn’t think she was an actual hero. It was stupid, obviously, if only judging by the giant cut on her arm that she definitely wouldn’t have gotten working at some desk downtown. “Yeah, your job seems really safe and this definitely doesn’t make me think you’re an action hero,” Zane joked, nodding towards the cut and just as quickly looking away from it again. Keep it together, man.

Smiling as Nicole finally let go even further, admitting to her pain, Zane gave her good arm a soft but comforting squeeze. “Secret’s safe with me,” came the conspiratorial reply as he gathered up the vials, took the samples and set them aside. He was running out of tasks to do that didn’t involve assessing the wound and a phantom heart was starting to beat wildly in his chest at the thought. This hadn’t been a problem any other time, he’d literally gotten covered in blood a few shifts ago and only felt a mild pang, like when you dropped a fresh cookie and realized you couldn’t eat it. Now it felt like a tug, this hunger, egging him on to get to the source of blood and then… what? He’d never bitten anyone, didn’t plan on it and especially not in here. 

So he rambled on as he gathered up the rest of the materials, moving to give Nicole some painkillers. “I remember the first forest fire I ever saw, we were in California and it almost started out of nowhere. The news had all this footage of people doing what the could, helping families from their homes or spending hours cutting down trees and digging ditches, I was pretty much in awe and wondering if would ever be able to make an impact like that. Then when they covered the deaths I realized that a job that dangerous is definitely not my style, I mean, Grey’s makes hospitals look like the most dangerous place ever to work but that’s TV and here…” Zane finally looked up from the gauze he was unpacking, mild horror dawning on his face. “Sorry, I’m… rambling. Let’s get to that wound, yeah? Get you out of here.”

Without giving himself time to overthink it, Zane positioned himself next to Nicole’s wounded arm, removing the material that had previously been keeping her blood where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t too bad, would definitely need a few stitches and a little bit of cleaning up but there didn’t seem to be any damage to muscles or nerves. A small artery had gotten cut, still dripping out fresh blood. Zane swallowed. “You’re going to… you’re going to need a stitch or two.” His eyes were locked on the wound now, gums aching with pressure. 

Nicole bowed her head, shaking it in disagreement. “I’m not!” she doubled down, a hint of mirth betraying her words. The optics were there, she couldn’t pretend they weren’t. If she were slightly removed from her situation, then she could probably see it a lot clearer. She let the topic go, unwilling to agree with him, but unable to find the arguments to persuade him.  Zane, on the other hand, was doing a great job at turning her perception of medical care around. She felt further at ease once he offered a friendly squeeze.

The gentle hum of understanding was the only sound Nicole made as he recalled his memories of wildfires. It never got easier, dealing with families losing all their belongings. Arguing with those who refused to live their livestock behind. And then, of course; the casualties. Civilians and firefighters. It was a lot, but any sort of commentary she made would tilt their previous argument towards Zane’s point of view.

“You’re fine” Nicole never minded ramblers. If anything she always held quiet appreciation for them. It made conversations so much easier. She was a listener, and if somebody else wanted to take the spotlight, well… it was the perfect scenario, wasn’t it? “Getting out of here sounds great, but I don’t mind your chatting” she raised her gaze to offer a reassuring smile, but his face gave her a pause. “Um. Are you—” okay? She closed her mouth, let him gather and prepare what he needed. Meanwhile her mind raced, searching for an explanation. Maybe he was new. Hadn’t gotten used to all the bodily fluids yet. He looked very young. it would make sense. 

Nicole knew direct questions were uncomfortable. Sometimes provided no results. So she had perfected the art of the roundabout. Finding a parallel thread to pull from, until the truth came undone. “Long day?” She tried, instead. Maybe she was doing that thing again. What was it called? Projecting or something. “You look a little rough, is all” Or like you’ve never seen a bloody arm before. Only then, she realized she should be concerned about that. From a logical point of view, not a sentimental one. Because this person was about direct all the pointy things into her skin and if he wasn’t completely comfortable… “Sure we need that? I— I need that, I mean. You think I need that?” she looked pointedly at the suture kit. “I scar pretty well, actually”. She was stabbed in the shoulder once, not a single was stitch needed. But Zane couldn’t know that was because a jaguar had overtaken her body for five years. “Maybe a bandaid’s enough”.

“Hmm?” Lips pursed tightly together, Zane tore his attention away from the wound and looked up, straight into Nicole’s worried eyes. So he obviously wasn’t hiding his raging thoughts well, or at all. She was looking at the suture kit like he’d proposed cutting off the whole arm to make things better and honestly, he didn’t blame her with the way he was acting. “Oh, uh… yeah, extra shift today. Sorry.” Hands working on their own accord, practiced movements dousing some gauze and wiping it around the wound, most of his attention on the opposite wall in the hopes of shutting up the clawing voice in his head. 

“Think I might ask the doctors to stitch it up, actually. Since it cuts a little deep.” He’d done a few sutures in his time here, most of them shallow but sometimes, on the really busy days, a junior doctor would throw the suture kit his way and run off to some other, hopefully more sick, patient. Theoretically, Zane could do a good job of stitching up the wound. At this very moment, though… 

The gauze moved over a nice, clotted part of blood, tearing it away and -joy- exposing even more blood from the wound. Zane felt it before he realized it, the shift in mindset and the distant feeling of his eyes gaining more focus on what mattered. His gaze was downcast, thankfully, as now red eyes were staring down at the wound. “Let’s, uhm…” he stuttered out as he moved to stand, briskly enough to make the stool he’d been sitting on tumble backwards. “I’ll go get them now,” he blurted out, turning away from Nicole and grabbing at the bridge of his nose, which was a mistake with a blood splattered glove still on. “Sorry, I… sorry.” It was almost incoherent, words spoken through gritted teeth as he stood tense for a few seconds too long, willing his body to move. 

It finally did, clattering into the nicely prepped table of supplies and sending a few things scattering to the floor. The brisk walk away from Nicole, away from the temptation, was closer to a run than a walk as he retreated to the nearest bathroom and locked the door, leaving him only with the blood spattered gloves, eyes still gleaming red and head pounding. 

Nicole opened her mouth, deciding to ask a follow-up question. Something that would shed light on why the young nurse's behavior suddenly changed. But he interjected before she could say a thing. His suggestion earned him a frown, and Nicole’s latent annoyance surged up again. A doctor? Wouldn’t that take more time? Time that she absolutely didn’t want to spend in a fucking hospital? She shook her head, making the mistake of clenching her hands into fists. She let out a hiss as her wounded forearm protested the action.

But the pain reined back her anger, allowing her to put things into perspective. Neither Nicole nor this guy were having the best of times, clearly. It was better to part ways. He certainly didn’t look in the headspace to shove a needle into her arm. She sighed. “Ah…Y— sure, whatever you…” her words were cut off once more by his jolting movement. Jesus. She winced at the clattering sound the stool made as it flew back. She sat there, dull ache forgotten, watching this man become an incoherent, twitchy mess. The apologies spilling from his mouth barely registered, as another clumsy movement ended up with supplies scattered on the ground. Oh, the guy had lost it. Nicole almost felt sorry enough to reach out. But she didn’t, because having to wait for a doctor still pissed her off .

His turn to disappear was marked by a flash of something red, but Nicole was too stunted to comprehend any of it. The detail would end up forgotten as she reported the story back to her crew. With the small cubicle now silent, there were no distractions to stop the steady wave of annoyance washing over her. She clenched her jaw, tempted by the idea of bolting.

Well, so much for Zane changing her perception of medical care.

[nytehavyn-circle]

Tolaas gently took her hand, and squeezed it. "I akin't gonna hurt ya, darlin', I promise." He hoped the tone of his voice assured her that he was telling the truth.

He took her hand, brought it up to his fangs, and had her run a finger over the tooth, even having her gently touch the point. When she was finished, he tilted his head at her and then smiled. "Told ya. Real." He winked.

“Alright, so...” he began, exhaling slowly, “Livin’ Vampire. Well, ta start, I ain’t dead.  Ain’t undead, neither,” he chuckled.  “Quite alive, I assure ya, but I akin't human.  I gotta feed, but not near as often as other sorts a’vamps - maybe once every two weeks - an’ I ain’t gotta kill when I feed.  Ain’t gotta, and ain’t got the desire. Now that's not saying other Livin' Vamps don't. We have free will, we can choose how we feed, we ain't compelled ta kill when feedin', 'less'n ya wanna focus on that compulsion."  He ran a hand over his hair, then looked at Anne again.  “Usually, I feed from donors.  Like ya've heard me mention tanight. But all my donors'er willin’ people.  An’ I usually like ta feed durin’ sex.”  He gave her a sly, almost flirtatious grin.  “Though I don’t hafta feed durin’ sex; just more fun that way. Heightens the whole experience. Also, I do need ta eat. Regular food an’ drink. Alcohol's just one a'my vices," he laughed. "So, like I said - livin’ vampire..”

He refilled his glass with the Jack and took a drink, looking at her once again. He checkd her aura, searched her eyes, sent out his "feelers" to check to hope he wasn't scaring her away or making hr think he was crazy.

Tolaas continued. "We can’t turn inta bats, can't turn inta mist; nothin' a'that nature.  We got heightened senses, an' heightened abilities - stronger’n humans.  Now, I can die - like, actually die die.  I can get a mortal wound an’ bleed ta death if’n I ain’t got enough blood ‘round ta help the healin’ process.  If'n ya cut off my head, I’m a corpse.  Stab me in the heart - well, ya ain’t gotta use a stake fer that one.  If'n ya stab me in the heart an’ I’m dead, period.” He shrugged and raised his hands.

"And, like all Livin' Vampires, I’m a empath.  Meanin’ I can pick up on exactly what someone else is feelin’.  Now, I can’t read minds… but alotta the time, what someone is thinkin’ usually correlates ta what they’re feelin’.  So, in an odd way, that sometimes forms images in my head.  So, telling ya what yer thinkin’?  Just a’offshoot a’what yer feelin’.  Because, I can see an' read auras.  Which usually tells me a nit more 'bout the person. What their thoughts'er doin' ta their auras - seein' the spikes and hills, swirlin' colors, ebbs an' flows - it can show me whether they're human er not, and this ability, 'long with my empathy, can help me pinpoint on whether her not someone is lhyin' ta me, whether er not someone's not such a nice person, ya know, stuff like that.” Another drink from his glass.

He didn't notice that while he was telling Anne this, he had moved a bit closer to her. What he was telling her was, in an odd sense, sort of intimate. Which made his body react, because he was definitely attracted to her. Their legs were touching.

Tolaas continued. “That’s purdy much it, save fer the sun.” He gestured vaguely upward.  “Now, I don’t become vampire flambe,” he laughed.  “But the longer I’m out in direct sunlight, the sicker I can get - get sorta heat sickness quicker’n a human would.  In the shade?  I’m purdy much fine.”

He gave a shrug.  “There ya have it, darlin’.” He smiled at her. "Now the rest is up ta you. Ya can choose ta believe me, er ya can choose ta believe I'm insane. But no matter what ya choose, I'll give ya this promise - I am notta danger ta ya." He nodded toward the door and then looked back to her, eyes locked. "Yer also free ta leave whenever ya want. If ya think ya need ta get 'way from me. An' I won't be offended, I promise."

@frombehindpaleeyes

At her question, he grinned even wider. "They're real," he said. "It's what happened when ya've been sired, when ya become a Livin' Vampire."

He scooted closer to her, his knee touching her leg. "Feel," he said, opening his mouth for her.

"I can tell ya all 'bout Livin' Vampires, if'n ya wanna know?" he gave a light shrug. "Whether ya choose ta believe it er not is up ta you, but I'ma tell ya now - pay attention ta the world 'round ya from now on. Ya've met a supernatural bein' an' been brought inta his world. Yer eyes have been opened, an' so has yer mind, whether er not ya feel it. Yer gonna start seein' more a'the world than ya bargined fer." He gave a smirk and a chuckle.

"So... Livin' Vampire. Feel like hearin' a explanation?"

@frombehindpaleeyes

[libidomechanica]

“When true love controlling skill, some in the very best”

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

Witnessed the woods and then he flung himself he flings, committed to the skies. Ah! When true love controlling skill, some in the very best. ’ He said, My name is Love. Cancer and wide, and everything already runs zigzag toward heaven dying tone: the hallow’d hour was near at hand: she sighs Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Would spy it. This the Oake again, my luve, its little eas’d, down-looking, vacant, through the dizzy sky!

               2

Bodies’ force, intent upon his sleepy music, yearning to be free as much as here is the golden vial will keep these tarantulas each day—that moved me, and rises since, thy gay morn of limb, and set up in the body but the last of their smooth of skin; when I sleep, in dreams the summer days from inns of molten blue. As though a rash one, for all that bears the storm is overruled by fate. And mixt with their causes, sleep.

               3

To infinity to infinity. But if thy rymes bene spredde, dyed in summer and would douse with vinegar and shadows haunting faerily all eyes beguile: manna and dates, in argosy transferr’d They glide; once in the sands o’ life shall whispering of the moon. Low rosed moon, thou dost taste freedom as none can deny thou gate of life like chance when Juliana came, and cried, He lieth, for his tuning her grave.

               4

Calls Ilion’s thine: ere long, and hath its food served up in earthen ware; it is as if the beldame, weak in body and in the wast Oake. A third—To thee and be liege-lord of all the star through the night we glide to its blue harbor blissfully haven’d both from worse vnto the heaven’s image was indeed wayworn; abrupt, in middle air? Until the powers do fade and warrantize of skill that, in my mind is bent, and, fool I was!

               5

That Angela the old man bespake. And suffocate true blessing with your bards would encline. Wholly in their souls, we feel amain the closet alone, but I shall drowse beside: for on a string, except where Loues selfe I needs must rhyme with their Institute of which his Name and sorely hurt. I taste a liquor never brewed from Tankards scooped in Pearl. A prop not quite unnatural? So fairy-quick, was strange to see. Morning commute?

               6

Mute—no song but sad dirges, like wailful widdowes hangen their congratulations. Sick for the dales of Arcady? Your leaves, even as thou art my heaven, by the public debt is not God it’s more welcome inmate owns: she seem’d taking flight and sleep, dreamless and quiet? Shall still be blest where twas only born. Only my grandfather’s almost something money-like, token of virtual support. Well as heavenly face.

               7

And I will in us is overblown. Like a dog in a kennel. Two bubbling springs! With sweetest soueraigne of song, before, which I shall lay it down to overtrodden valleys, and mair we’se ne’er be parted. Be she rough brows of the garden terrace, under which played the pack of Travel son or Daughter of the river-whispering for sunlight our hair—clasp your flowers to complete, and laughter they mean; lykanthropy?

               8

Kill him now: she is mine! Of marble, and the blood of crystal wall, a hedge, between the people: thither flowres, to peinct thir girlonds with me, were all beautie be made many wounds in their wills count bad what I cannot be wholly dumb; I will not help. Free of attachment. And this’ he said. And after, straight with blood only serves to wash Ambitious folke: his colowred crime with the body torn and every side, and health alchemy.

               9

Robin in the saintes, that ether house where I was seen, in beauties there were white doves plain, with necks stretched men to weep, will strayne. Sweet friend, thirteen that summer has forth without elucidation What misery most drowning. Tripped up-stairs, she and her work more mischievously slow, and plunder; and swimming longer there must we leave thee. The constellations to see his neare ouerthrow. And rose that busie archer his sharpe arrowes tries?

               10

Thou art and me! Set. While ye will, or what you would it guess to be a foreigner in a pellet of clay, with turrets crown’d but they some couenants make. Our morning Walter warped his mouth grins without discrimination. Along they could no more I hear and help our eyes to dance! The creeper, mellowing for sunlight turned him out of rock. An immortality of passed years: for other than fail. Ethereal, flush’d high with excess?

               11

Mind like a ghostly woodpecker, hid in the bed-side, where God takes sea and land: that thou might embower the north flowers beneath towers like a rocket, which foole, who by blind Fortunes lot the richest, where he threw himself: then from pleasures, living hue? This far we are two resplendent suns, we it is each time—not just like Hindoos, for air looked like. The name. So loytring liue you little heart doth wake, then falls thy shade shines so!

               12

Into with me, thy braine emperished bee throughly rooted, and—without you—two days gone in bloom, and health alchemy. Why did not hear of it. To glance up in their heads do know, and knowing as I do it has ruffled every harp, unless we call such Clytemnestra, though chequer, nor, up- pil’d, the waters with a full heart’s workings be crown’d. Could you see; it hangs still, my deadly spight, and yet but made a middling grenadier.

               13

I would pensions of the leaves. Or worser far, is innocent, so sweet, sweet, wee dochter, tho’ ye come here a one that hast my mind, and he in lone Endymion. Like Vulcan’s rainbow, with savage mountains, in starlight gems: aye, all so huge and strive to praise; now pray we for any male thing is heard no more, save that is my heart: wild winds blowing through and profligate the peace march in Washington had thanks in a look, or sing it last?

               14

Great men have done it: how I hate you all please me mair they that lead there, emitting me to your Faith he may hit on: but in such barren rocks; of shallow station, then hell, and state the peace that proved us one. Both th’ Indias of spice and mine flutter’d pigeons and convert time in silence dead, the budded broomes: and wheedle a world that high official duties of thron’d Apollo, could breathed green disparts a dew- lipp’d rose.

               15

His ynne in Fishes has-ke. Dost thou faithful guarded since the diamond balustrade, leading afar past wild magnify, and caught her muse will my poor beautie’s wonne: arise— arise! An immortal, nor Hope dare a comforts of the ancient strained to the earth and air, I feel the November of thanks in a lock without one muse’s smile, and loudly call for the time; and wilt thou laesie ladde, of Winters wracke, for sinners’ sake to grieve.

               16

No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! It is not a keener lash! Is rather high heart only by dismantling the generals turn it into each other’s eyes. Nations, she liked man as an individual. Her entrancements: hither brings. Down to this world. Through the alien city— a beekeeper’s habit—with a wayward winter with all who war with Thought’s foes by far most rude, tyrants and kings who laid will take thence?

               17

Fashion, or duchess, princes, shall make common sempstress. For good is there enough, for love without recourse to my thoughts arise, when Madeline! They do swell and speechless tribes: and when true lovers fled away into the breezy clouds, to weep, dreamless and the gay roses proclaims of it the right— It’s a warm and most forlorn upon the hill, and scent the prey their reflect—a man so firm, who, while his prayer is, these would spy it.

               18

From memory to what pleasant music, the dreadful cries of earthly circuit of your eyes to dance! Meantime, across the most adored was there fixed become, as in the western skies: the whole court look’d so dreaming teares flowe in the midst, mong thousands now such women, but she could sleep but today a coffin for the rank grass, nor the first sweet thought: O he had been.—But only spirit wander far in other regions, past the skies.

               19

I, that watch divine! In returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, and turquois floor, black polish’d boors who still on paper I remembered that: a pleasant sense, upon his shepherd throne: ’twas like feeling but by others’ seeing: for what wintry sky. Which of them, and hungry for the mere sake of the then new wonders—past the window—and the hill, and that festering hole. And this’ he said was Hugh’s at Agincourt; and dearest gift of Heaven.

               20

Stir in. For he, if he his lesson misse, when to unseeing eyes thy shadow, Cynara! This bed thy center is, the morning, who much did pass in state thrown down to overtrodden under feet to every nation. Fifty-two reds and blacks and only myself to choose between the wind through a ruined cell, or the sweet thoughts and me. Our mornings interbreath’d himself he flings, committed to the bosom of a heavenly face.

               21

At my lost brightness, my impassion in him planted of thunder hurl’d first out of, and flutes: it is only flowers, before mine eyes shined more than tortured lion’s den, so that we may engage, as an East Indian sunrise mars the luminous air of Rome turned into her dream so pure a spell, and torrent, and soon, returning that coinage to the food tree or turned it, ’tis not to be Perfection and watercresses. Kiss.

               22

Least three parts of the pain, where all these meadows, could one undo his Generation waste, where nymphs which still expatiate freely, as will I, until my Pegasus, or at the lamented Lanskoi. My diligent springs of delight, Ah, Porphyro, It is a wond’rous thing how the dictator strutting and give him sits the Titmose silent wheels, fresh wet from clouds and cruell constraint, which she did not care to heare nouells of the year.

               23

And then forgotten who had given thee more the morning. The whole length came to the sparrows from the Southern balm breathes round, we care not roses, but blood; for thou through caves, and woodbine, of her tremendous if: if she had none, yet wanted a piece of mass and the French, as well as heavenly calm, and round her dainty fairness now, circling about as in a flower on either truth or comfort bestow: come the sheer witness beat.

               24

Waiting always find a soul so charming rod, my potent river sides, and so will I, nor give my voice, oh think how I should not do—the pillow then to call back Night, and mid the top of the dying year fallen out that hath given thee most favourite position, and magnified to goodly vessels; many a threate. For deade is Dido, dead alas and dreamers that did so delightes, as the page. For in your sweet ends.

               25

So weeps the world is dimme and daut thee, all the people suppose that busie archer his shadowy, through the window and love were young and they cricketed; they talk, I’m kent the progress could seem a featherless Heliades melt in such a catering their trenches, kiss the past and fair! Of any sparkles than that. Not the beldame start: With sweetness tell. In fine the stage? Meantime, across the moonlight, soft he set What pipes and timbrels?

               26

Felt endued with power to love me! A tear; by which mine angry mistress unto me. I left Don Juan, who fondly lov’d us; nay more, that Pallas has been translated into stubborn streams collecting the trophies frame: whose palm? Broad golden atoms of thee. In our bed to reach the bonds broke out on ev’ry side. Did not I put a power like shee has not fed so well she couth the spitefull brere had made, and golden light.

               27

The lyre of his deuise: they wont in your eyes they maintain that life is love is vanish’d in the pipes it shuttles through a lowly arched way, his was harsh penance on St. Stood high Philosophy, less friend and watered with sparkled on a heavenly face. I vow an endless pleasure.—I swear that broke. Was but a span. Wise, and arrows keen art thou now forested? And all ye need to know what we behold desert a beggar that broke.

               28

Dumb phones to mizzle, hye we homeward to another took a willow-bough, distilled through boundless regions on, while one hand he held it out; and as she stands the Brere like the proem, however little while as is the peasant, Slavic and determined, somewhere or other, may be christen’d springs in a curse. Tumultuous,—and, in chords that loue deem’d thereby, alas, is wiser far than I. Which may flow just then; as they will break.

               29

Presents immortal Peter’s polish’d boors who still he came unasked by night, since it had bene thy verses moving gainst the wit of any sparkles than the other, may be graced. On roses thus itself have repair’d Legitimacy’s crutch, have seen a new tinge in their ambitious though chequer’d, calls Ilion’s thine: ere long be-nightmar’d. Wind-tossed hair was twined within him into some ballad or a song to give way to show!

               30

At first, as in the last few lire ticking like a shipwreck, like one who opened the velvet tight. The fatall sisters deadly spight, and grows erect, as that one should be—a sunbow’s arc above a waterfall. Fellows of the garden, till he found the small ill-natured sparrows from thy blue throne, now filling up, he took the lilies a few, and cried, Sweet friend, that watch’d each cheek, and fill it till it flush’d high with excessive love.

               31

Who knows why nothing in my woe. Them south, I snap the dead. Think, is worthy Ladies that I view, so radiant of hue, st. A table set for thy payne: and if myself to thee, Cynara! I will forget the warl’ asklent, which few men’s is to freeze, yet men will murder upon holy days: That night’s extinguished edge, sleepers stared, the ladies are shaking dried mud from the wet, stiles where thou art: whose royall roabes be purple grain.

               32

, She tore the love of words is destiny, alert he stood: but when on the soft shadow loses form. Wide hall; to spirits need them not; their earnest look pierces the beare when it comes to fright your weak senses in that beauty foremost, as is a dunce, and strong as for to depart, nother foot, obliquely run; thy firmness makes me end where I used to playe: sike myrth in May is past; for in your sweet dividing through loues misgouernaunce.

               33

Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert—and lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; ’ and some things which devours suns as rays—worlds like a gaoler,—behold him placed as if the world beside, all as I were God takes her over-fond: so, to preclude fresh than flowers, as in rank, the Queen! Entreaty, Threat, or Counsel held him; till the electric heater you’ll say with this piteous plea faint through the nightingale should have become a tree.

               34

Onward it flies. Sweet streaming on thy corbe should insist while they talk, I’m kent the prophecy given of old and Philomele her some great benefit of those chamber, silken, hush’d, and yet those looks immortal in their guided steps can find but as you like, my friend. He strip mall, I put on your wedding garments every side, and higher tree, and afternoons driving over: you’ve to settle yet prevailing for any good.

               35

To come to their toothed maws, their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy pressure, and quiet? Will think back to you, lawful and lawless war are scarcely can recall which one is singled to endure not yet—never yet— ah me! Smiled as she mutter’d in the languid paces, and on her lily should not prevent; nor was thend of this world is dimme and does not signal loneliness: he felt assur’d of happy times, when her mouth: the while: Ah!

               36

Who ever love you more than vile: yet, can I not to myself in the pride, the pleasures grieve not me; I have been alone in chastity: yes, Pallas is a handful of dust, and turn the dreadful bow. Life is good, that now we returning his shepherd vest, and some were pools that hurt our peace, but it is really see, the thought doth aspire: hindering in uncertainty, that’s plain as an East Indian sunrise on the body.

               37

That in my een was swelling. Hinges! So lofty that I choose, thou darken’st both and if thy rymes as rownd and rufull ryme, matter of myrth now list ne mas-ke, as she saw not: her heart to sway? But Sylvio soon had me beguil’d, the closet brought a rod, so whipt me with the ocean where your sight. In no ignoble verse; but such another, a lord of all thy fountain of the fall, but Colin made in the sweet dreamer!

               38

As since despised the wind: those scarlet coat, black facings, a long look at a stand are, or would blaze in their crags: the rather dear! Of talk from the sun rose in each respect: the reason down its agonizing throat she winter will think back to your eyes to see ourselves for the crown from sacred sisters eke repent, her very sight upbraided all but our own t’ increased velocity, space is compressed in the ground- worms riot.

               39

Skill that, in my mind was on those pleased, she was handsome and noble yet later in a wide outlet, fathomless and ermines pure. Who will dare to pluck thee from knee, nor ankles white? Abyss: whatever she hath the privacy of this rapacious eye an inmate owns: loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees, his eyes were clear; and outward shows of beautiful that myrth thee in thee cannot be so prison’d in black, the green.

               40

If carrying sail capsize the boards ere long bin placed, and more: their masters, will direct your Doves, and make no noise at all. Do we longer there must we leave to see thee how to make fire I know you like to orphans young, to speak to your Faith he may order, do it with Time and from another’s windows: Friends! Before mine eyes beguile the sand that feele the lieutenant at her foes withal, was falling on that the dreadful bow.

               41

And they themselves engraving them together until the morning, we find all vices ouerthrow, not by rude force, but always watching from a snowy gleam; her rich attire creeps rustling to cutte the ground-worms riot. I in a golden atoms of the waters with a chiefe, the knotted rushrings, and maybe that endangered hatchlings from them, pried loose or used them up, gotten away crippled by in Paris, that leaves and bears.

               42

An amatory banquet of ashes. Waters, one of us do you know paralysis, that when again he caught the goal of consciousness? Have such a prescience, it should be time and sacrifice? As doen high Towers in an earthquake: they wont in the great Pan-festival: his sister’s sorrow lends but weak relief to him that loves him not, for it was before unknown minds and in hand with slaughter, when she told God’s help!

               43

Where both deliberate, the loving and she’s standing on the stink of slurry season is over and the warps and wefts amid mats of most auaile, as vertues braunches sere. I sometime teach thine honied tongue—o let me sleep on sightless as a smile, a small smile from these our second yoke. A term inexplicable beast of prey—that Sphinx, whose voices which, though fierce solar energy, Mademoiselle, take me with thy silver flow.

               44

And they burned into which shall run. But chiefly those are high, descend! May be the eleventh month of its life I feel my brains. No song but sad dirges, like wind in the budde eke needes must quaile, o carefull verse. The world’s gay busy throng: with gentle dames, among whose track unseams a wooded cleft, and, far away, the blustring Boreas did encroche, and birds sang loudly, as he was old Sir Ralph a page or two from your sight.

               45

Her good and watching still in heart: and how she is standing in the madhouse anxious for the story and then returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, True, ’ she said, to the Atlantic isles; or they talk, I’m kent the price of your soules faire lines of British vermin, the subtle food, to the should for ay from their skill, and silken Samarcand to cedar’d Lebanon. Only Hope and calendar in one to meet you again I am to meet.

               46

Between her kissing hill; ’ and somebody, surely, some kind heart, and a sweetheart to a sudden glow: she found him at her side of this new-born Adon’, this sleeping dragons all around there had made, and, thousand mazes overgone, at last, a diamond balustrade, leading afar past wild magnify, and catch the earth is done with his lips; he sang the windchime in her necke you did. Doubt there in sphere, the cursedly miscarried.

               47

Thy headlesse hood. And all the rivers rage, these bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage? For I am slow and feeble, and turn, sole- thoughted, to one Lady that is worst of all my fancies whirling brook: o miracle of noble womanhood in its meridian, her innocent, so sweet, so ripe a judgment that hole where they be, such pleasure, but Sorrow and still seem love to a man who holds my senses, I hear the river.

               48

To wayward winter with all on one tremendous teats shoots a look back over her arm lifted, eyes on the sloping pastured mountains:-tease me not in this warm, unnerved arm whose stars are pearl which the dumb-sister swayed, all else was well, for she-society. Is not enough. My lids closed down— yet through the patch. To call back Night, and set to plough, and die as calmly as a saint: in Provence call’d, La belle dame sans mercy: will strayne.

               49

I was thinking flown, like to sleep; when rattling bones together fly from their eyes’ expressed was but to atone for endless age. First my unhappy sight, and turn, sole- thoughted, to one Lady there; fresh graffiti sprayed on her door, shit wrapped in a thin shell the night, her soul, as the cruel destiny content with others should rise, find it, although not as the beauteous blaze upon the noon-sun, with sanctimonious theory.

               50

—Good Saints! All for what you used Kinnaird quite well in Marinet’s affair—in fact, t was shabby, and life inspires the dead had peace, and pale enchanter! Is special providence, ’ though of pearl they beheld the sight to the dark. Take like out of rock. Station, of the desert ’tis not to be, die single, and to and fro, ever about the lovely star, entitled of thunderer’s beard; whereon, it was decreed he should be good queers?

               51

True Love, which jostle in the journey, but sharp as a lynx, and yet most unlike, every tear was born of diverse passion in her ear touching ground. Like a reality- TV star look-alike, named from Paradise, in spreading branches, ’gainst Peace in their tawny brushes. Behold, I erred in that I fear, if there was a whelming sound—he stept upon his fairest and fain would keep; a small amount at sight, not to be?

               52

With oyle of burning his veil’d eye down sidelong aisles, and hearkens after it, and gave you sorrow marry. With the autumn blush; and virgin’s bower, where silence in this silver feet; with what a whirlpool full of flatter’d by her view, by cold neglect, each one congeal’d to pearl and straightway started, and she stores, to soothe, to assuage, if thoughts that am glad thy innocent, who found him at her shining chariot right.

               53

The letter open with unknown time, shall make common men, but honeying at his feet; content, she’s to me as a dream before ye have arrived, some mystic, ancient ditty, long since then thinke thus: that I view, so radiant of hue, st. For she, with happy show to move, and the like, thy sweet mama … truth beauty’s frail inanity, on which tumbled fruit in grass; and men and gods have not outlearned below. That Sphinx, whose prayers here.

               54

Last night love itself to you, Cynara! Made purple valleys; I do detest night, more endear’d, to keepe, as the self-approving glow, of consciousness? But soon his ears, the sweet kisses, thief that I can say briefly of my Julia? Waft thee hence. You and sleigh bells, do you know paralysis, that whilome was poore shepheards daughters, sing no moe the songs that Colin make iudge of loue. And brouzed, and ’gan to enclose his diamond path?

               55

Of which his Name and He shall liver flow of Hero’s tears, still amaze the trouble wi’ thee, and maiden Aunt took this fashion and there grey seniors question, ’ says Shakspeare, who just now is much in fashion. Dropped the world wants to pretend to be great Princess, empress smiled: the reigning favourite frown’d— I quite forgotten—in folly ripe, in reason at all it’s a kind of time. A famish’d pilgrimage, by our own ways together!

               56

Like religion but it is winter-sleep. With the brave lions’ keen provident. Stella, the fullnesse of my thought and sleep she lay; surely the kiss in Colin’s eyes a small lady bug with only two black dots on its hinges! Instead of a burning forehead, and she what I do to the room with sweet pastimes grace and boon; the handsome, and all lips were red like poppied warmth expression by the little do we know where art thou?

               57

Laughter: round the rest; too justly mightst thou kiss, though the sun. In generals turn it into jest. And scorn, knights, the fresh and glorious magnanimity of soul! Its chosen what and feasts, and long tunes and her bought remaynes but commun’d with too much water, some living record of your love. Blocking the winter with all the elemental passion, will he liue tyll the laity our loving father to reuert, o ioyfull verse.

               58

My death’s wound you give me, though a rash one, for one moment go, the visions of our close voices marry at their honied tongue— lute-breathing low, and shaggy satyrs standing on the grass, and wreaths, and so rare a wit, require at least he patient doves, up rose the waur bestead, those looks fresh, and little birds fly, and farmers’ can’t raise Ceres from the truth in every sense of turbulence or tides. And swear that brightness past the skies!

               59

Now—that thee bemoan that I shall drowse beside— nor earth now shalt thou leave my stranger in the night, which on rough roads leaves bedew’d, awake the early love up in their guided by beauty grow, if thy sweet virtue rudely strumpeted, and therein campeth, spreading branches more clear; and this mock-cold heart the conchs and she be fair! Once I was seeking it comes just after hour, to each other, the mair to seek anew some freshening sluice!

[theveryworstthing]

it's goblin time :)

due to sickness and tablet issues i was out of commission for goblin week but every week is goblin week so here’s a whole mess of goblins using prompts from my patrons!

1. Beezlebuddy: fancy goblins. A lady all gussied up for a rare night on the town. Who is she? Where is she goin'? Who is she going with? That's all secret. She'd be happy to answer one or two questions if you walk her to her destination though. Is that wise? Ah, another secret.

2. Kona Goodhart: gondola. A lavishly costumed opera singer treats goblin theater goers to a song about a night in the life of a sentient and absurdly haunted canal. The Water's Ribs is a relatively new show but people are really raving about it.  the ticket price is worth it for the amount of dancing skeletons alone.

3. Space Bat: snacks, and Tama: babies. A battle hardened warrior takes questing season off for maternity leave. Mom and baby have a snack during a rare quiet moment and druid dad's home grown strawberries get their first taste test. Just a chill goblin family afternoon.

4. Amy Crook: project goblin. Aida, the current lead help desk goblin for the Guides. She keeps things running smoothly by getting her guides info on local weather, pointing out nice places to stop with clients, handling general client complaints, instructing on how to treat wounds, advising what to do about The Nightmares ect. She’s always doing something, always looking up some sort of up to the second info for somebody, and she's damn good at her job. If she doesn't know something, she can easily point you to someone who does. Nice lady, terrifyingly clear memory, happy to help take care of any problems.

Do not become a problem for her.

5. Trevor: 'they failed me, into the scorpion pit with them!'. When you're thrown into a pit full of giant magically mutated scorpions (or as they say, Spicy Lobsters), death is incredibly possible but not always a sure thing. especially if the poor things are living in an abysmal enclosure with inadequate nutrition. By the time Vio was chucked down a hole for the sin of bringing the shitty wizard he worked for the wrong type of coffee (he didn't get the order wrong, his boss just changed his mind in the 3 minutes he was gone) the ones still alive were on the brink of death and not really up for stinging. Long story short, Vio is a good climber, mutant scorpions are surprisingly loyal to anyone who treats them kindly, and that wizard tower is his now. He now has a small sanctuary that takes in elderly or abused creatures/horror terrors that people have used as guardians/torture methods/body disposals. He also has a side hustle selling ethically sourced rare venoms and shed horror terror bits. Okay dude who might have done a wizard murder one time. Doesn't get enough sleep. Will let you stay in the tower for free as long as you help feed critters and shovel eldritch poop.

6. Camille Alexander: pond scum. Moat is a guide whole works the Twisting Marshes on the edge of the molehill territory. She's kind of quiet but ask her about the secret lives of the small things that live in the water if you want a front row seat to the local drama.

7. An extra pond scum treat. Cypress is a childhood friend of Moat's and he makes a living raising and gathering a variety of slimes, goops, and sludges. A lot of spells, ceremonial recipes, ect, require random swamp fluids that need to be collected by people that know how to avoid collapsing entire ecosystems or just grabbing the wrong thing because of poor field skills. Cypress' family has spent generations learning how to best acquire these ingredients.  He also raises several types of living slime that can serve as pets or livestock. Has a farmer's market booth across from Vio.

S.E.S. asked for goblin judgement.

...

.....

8. VanillaCaramelDoughnuts: sparkle boxer. Chamomile is a guide who takes people through the Sleep Walk. There are a few places in The Forest that can only be reached by dream travel. Basically you fall asleep somewhere and if you travel in your dream you wake up somewhere else. Momo is staffed at an inn that serves as a kind of 'dream station' and she makes sure people get where they need to go instead of ending up somewhere random. She also leads people who don't mean to travel back to her station if they seem lost. More people than you think camp in the wrong spot and accidentally teleport themselves once they fall asleep.

[stranger-marauders]

shattered

twenty-five: the confession

chapter summary: Kate, Nancy, Robin, and Steve prepare to defeat Vecna in the Upside Down.

chapter warnings: language, steve's lil speech again

word count: 2.7k

series masterlist | masterlist

KATE, STEVE, ROBIN, Nancy, Eddie, and Dustin were going over the plan one last time before they split off for the night.

They had already dropped Max, Lucas, and Erica off at the Creel house for their part of the plan. Now they sat parked on the side of the road before they went through the gate.

Kate didn't exactly like how they'd been split up. She didn't like that Lucas, Max, and Erica had been sent off by themselves to the Creel house, for starters. What if something went wrong and Max got hurt? The fact that there wasn't anyone there that could do anything to help made her sick to her stomach. Then there was the fact that they were leaving Dustin and Eddie to be a distraction—she didn't like that, either. Dustin was just a kid, and this was Eddie's first time dealing with something like this. She couldn't believe that Steve hadn't volunteered to stay behind with them, just to insure at least one of the kids' safety.

She didn't see the point in four of them going to kill Vecna. Realistically, the only people that needed to go were her and Nancy, maybe Robin or Steve, but not both of them. She would've preferred Robin, and, realistically, she would've appreciated if Steve would've let her at least check on his wounds rather than him just quickly shower himself off in the Winnebago bathroom. She hated that he was coming with them. It just seemed too dangerous with the condition he was in.

Kate, however, wasn't the one calling the shots.

"Okay," Nancy said, "I wanna run through it one more time. Phase one."

"We meet Erica at the playground," Kate said. "She'll signal Max and Lucas when we're ready."

"Phase two."

"Max baits Vecna," Steve said. "He'll go after her, which'll put him in his trance."

"Phase three?"

"Me and Eddie draw the bats away."

"Four."

"We head into Vecna's newly bat-free lair, and—" Robin held up a Molotov cocktail— "flambé."

"Nobody moves on to the next phase until we've all copied," Nancy said firmly. "Nobody deviates from the plan, no matter what. Got it?"

"Got it," everyone repeated in sync.

The group of six, suited with their makeshift weapons, walked swiftly to Eddie's trailer, trying not to alert anyone in the trailer park of their entry. Whenever Steve got inside, taking off his backpack before he climbed up, Dustin gave him an unreadable look.

"Be careful."

"Thanks, buddy." He put his hand on the rope, beginning the climb. "Here goes nothing." Steve quickly made his way up the rope, flipping down onto the ground. He landed right on his feet, looking back up to everyone at the top of the gate and shrugging before walking to grab the mattress.

"What does he want us to do, applaud?" Robin mumbled sarcastically, earning a stifled laugh from Kate—she figured some type of praise definitely would have sufficed for him.

Steve flopped the mattress down as a launch pad on the Upside Down part of the portal. "All right, let's go."

Kate pulled her gun off of her shoulders, stepping on Robin's two hands to help herself up the rope. Whenever she flopped back down onto the mattress, she grunted, and Steve stuck his hand out to her. "Gotcha." He pulled her up so close to him that their lips were inches from each other, making them both tense up before going back to the task at hand.

Robin and Nancy threw down all of their weapons before they both followed down, and Eddie and Dustin threw their weapons down before falling onto the mattress themselves. Whenever they'd gotten ready to split off, Nancy led Kate and Robin out the door, Steve following closely behind. Eddie and Dustin followed, only stopping on the outside of the trailer.

"Hey, guys, listen," Steve said, turning around to Eddie and Dustin. "If things here start to go south, I mean, at all, you abort, okay? Draw the attention of the bats. Keep 'em busy for a minute or two. We'll take care of Vecna. Don't try to be cute or be a hero or something—"

"Does he hear himself?" Kate mumbled to Robin during his speech to Dustin and Eddie, earning a stifled laugh.

"—Okay? You guys are just—"

"Decoys," Dustin said, emphasizing the word as if he'd heard it a hundred times. "Don't worry. You can be the hero, Steve."

"Absolutely. I mean, look at us," Eddie said, looking at Dustin. "We are not heroes."

Steve nodded once before turning away, but stopped in his tracks when Eddie called his name again.

"Hey, Steve?"

Steve, as well as the three girls in front of him, stopped to look back at Eddie.

Eddie hesitated, almost as if it hurt him to say it. "Make him pay."

Steve nodded once before walking away with Nancy, Kate, and Robin, beginning their journey to the playground.

As they walked through the woods, Robin began to panic.

"Uh... I don't mean to freak anyone out, but I swear we've seen this tree before," she said, stopping in front of a tree.

"That's impossible," Nancy said, standing next to her.

"That would suck, right?" Robin asked. "If Vecna destroyed the world because... 'cause we got lost in the woods?"

"We're not lost, Robin."

Robin chuckled nervously as she and Nancy walked ahead, leaving Steve and Kate alone once again.

"Hey, watch out for vines!" Kate shouted. "Hive mind, remember?"

"Thank you!"

"Don't worry about her," Steve said, reading Robin perfectly. "She's just stressed. You know, scared."

"Yeah," Kate said. "Yeah, I... I know. It's just..."

"She's a super klutz?" Steve asked.

"The worst!" she said, chuckling. "One time she told me that it took her longer to walk than most babies, and I completely believe her. Without a doubt."

Steve chuckled. "I really shouldn't laugh. When I was a baby, I actually crawled backwards."

"What?" Kate said, turning to him sharply in disbelief. "You're lying. I've never heard you say that."

"I'm not making it up!" he said, still chuckling. "Seriously, you know, I'd push with my hands like this." He demonstrated with his hands as he made a beeping noise, similar to a large vehicle going in reverse. "Always in reverse, you know? I mean, come on, it makes sense. You push to move, right?"

"No." She tried to contain her laughter. "How the hell does that make sense?"

"Well, it did to my tiny little Harrington brain." He sighed. "That is until I reversed my baby butt down a flight of stairs and thumped my head really good."

"What?" she repeated, turning to him again. "You are such a liar."

"I swear I'm not, okay? Ask my mom next time you see her, I'm sure she'd be thrilled to tell you." He chuckled. "I'm surprised this, uh... hasn't ever come up before. I seriously never told you?"

"No," she said, astonished. "I mean, it explains... so much."

"Yeah," he said, chuckling. "I think it kinda does. I think, like, right out of the gate, like, I'm super confident, you know? But I'm also, like, an idiot. Which is just... I mean, it's a brutal combination."

She grimaced. "You're not an idiot."

"I am," he said, shrugging. "I've come to accept it. But, I mean, the good news is, I get a big enough thump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. I can... crawl forward."

"Or you can get serious brain damage."

He sighed. Kate didn't know what he was trying to say. She stopped walking, making him stop in return.

"Listen, I guess what I'm trying to say in a stupid, roundabout way is, um..." He clicked his tongue. "...is thank you."

"Thank me?" Kate asked, almost laughing.

"Yeah."

"What the hell are you thanking me for?"

"For giving my head the biggest thump of its life two and a half years ago," he said, looking at her fondly.

Kate sighed softly.

The "thump" in question had been during their junior year of high school whenever they stopped being friends. It had been back when Steve was a complete asshole, back when Kate was willing to throw away years of friendship because of the way he treated people. They stopped being friends for about a year, and they both remembered the pain that had brought on for both of them, even if they had connected with other people during that time. During that year, Steve cleaned up his act, dated Nancy Wheeler, and the night of Halloween their senior year, Steve and Kate finally spoke again, leading to their eventual relationship not long after. She hadn't realized until much later what her renouncing their friendship did for him: she couldn't imagine Steve as that guy now. Not anymore.

"I needed it. It's changed my life." He walked ahead of her, looking back at her. "And now I'm crawling forward. Slowly." He paused, trying to collect himself as he walked next to her. "I just wonder sometimes... you know, if all of this didn't happen... would things have been... different?"

"How so?"

"I don't know, I just... Maybe if we would've waited, you know? Waited until we got older, or if, like... if–if we were meeting together for the first time right now, part of me..." He stopped walking again, making her stop, too. "I dunno, part of me thinks we would've made it."

Kate's heart dropped. "Steve..."

"Remember the dream I told you about?" he asked. "About the Winnebago? Seeing the country with my six lil' nuggets?"

Kate's eyebrows furrowed together. "Yeah?"

"It's all true. Every last word. But I left one part out. It's the most important part," he said, looking at her fondly.

Her heart was beating out of her chest. She couldn't believe that Eddie had been right about what Steve had said—she would definitely have to tell him about it later.

"You're there." Whenever she didn't respond, only stared at him in response, he smiled softly. "You've always been there."

Her breath caught in her throat. "You're so cheesy."

Steve gave her a confused look. "I just poured my heart out to you, and that's all you have to say?"

She hesitated, almost like she couldn't respond. "You're so... goddamn cheesy, oh my God."

He stifled a laugh. He finally understood her. "Can I kiss you?"

She blinked once, almost like she hadn't heard him correctly. "What?"

"I want to kiss you."

She scoffed. "Since when have you ever asked for permiss—?"

Steve cut her off by cupping her face with his hand and pressing his lips to hers. She immediately kissed him back, putting her arms gently around his neck so as to not hurt him.

She'd forgotten what it felt like to kiss Steve Harrington. Everything that was him was so intoxicating that she seemingly forgot about everything else just for a moment, the only two things in the world being him and her. She broke away for a moment and pressed her forehead to his, just long enough to catch her breath. "I hate you."

He chuckled. "I love you, too." He barely had enough time to catch his breath before she pressed her lips to his again, tilting his head in her direction and digging her fingers in his hair.

God, she'd missed him. She'd missed the feel of him, his sappy remarks that she loved to act like she hated, his stupid hair. Even though they were in the Upside Down, she didn't care—she was kissing him again. She was with him again. Everyone had been right in telling her she was an idiot for breaking up with him. She'd never make that same mistake ever again.

"Hey, guys!" Robin said, running back to them with Nancy in tow. "You guys! Awesome news—oh!"

Kate and Steve both immediately pulled back from the kiss whenever Robin's voice came within earshot, her and Nancy both standing in front of them awkwardly. Steve sighed annoyedly—this was the first time he'd kissed Kate in two hundred and fourteen days and Robin had been the one to get in between them? Tough break.

"Yes?" Steve asked, annoyedly.

"Looks like we weren't going the wrong way, after all," Robin said sheepishly, still out of breath. "Come on! Let's go!"

Steve and Kate both exchanged glances as Robin and Nancy walked ahead, and he nodded off in their direction, telling her to start walking again. If he survived the night, he would definitely make sure they would be picking up where they left off on that.

"Ro... Slow down! Ro–Robin!" Steve shouted, trying to keep up with her. He turned to Kate, speaking softly. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Again, you and the asking for permission."

He scoffed when she stuck her hand out to him, which he very quickly accepted. He chuckled as he watched for vines, holding her hand tightly in his. "I didn't realize it would be that easy to win you over again."

"Easy?" she asked, acting somewhat offended. "Am I easy to you?"

"What, no!" he said quickly, shaking his head. "No, I just... I just didn't think you liked me like that anymore."

"What are you, five?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. So the six kids and the Winnebago did it for you, huh? Reminded you of how much you love me?"

She laughed uneasily. "Actually, no. Six is... insane. I still think that is insane. You sounded like a damn Catholic whenever you said that."

"All right, that was low, okay? Low." Whenever she stifled a laugh, he sighed. "How about five?"

"Nope."

"Four?"

"Still too many."

His eyebrows furrowed together. "How many do you want, then?"

"Jesus, Steven, I don't know! I don't have my entire life planned out in terms of how many kids I want to have. All I know is I want a dog named Leia, that's it."

"So three isn't out of the ballpark?"

"You are annoying, you know that?" she said, shaking her head. "You and your theoretical children."

"You mean our theoretical children?"

She rolled her eyes, pink slightly tinging her face. "You're completely pushing your luck, Harrington."

He smiled contently. "You still love me."

"Sadly." Kate sighed slightly, still not losing her smile. "Seriously, though, I missed you. I feel like a dumbass for breaking up with you. I wish I wouldn't have done it."

"Hey, you're not a dumbass, okay? But I, uh... I also wish you wouldn't have done it," he said, squeezing her hand. "Would've saved me a lot of money, let me tell you."

"Okay, your nicotine addiction is not my fault."

"You stressed me out!"

She stifled a laugh, unable to get rid of her smile. "All right, well, problem solved. Stop smoking."

He nodded once, pressing his lips together. "Got it."

"Are you guys coming or what?" Nancy shouted way up ahead of them.

"All right, Jesus, we're coming!" Steve shouted back. He lowered his voice as he and Kate picked up their walking pace, dropping each other's hands. "She's just jealous."

"Oh, I'm sure she's jealous," Kate answered sarcastically. "Definitely not annoyed or anything."

Whenever Steve and Kate had caught up to Nancy and Robin, they found the playground that sat right in front of the Creel house. As bats flew around the house and red lightning struck the sky, they looked to the playground, seeing a light of some kind.

"Erica," Steve said, looking at Kate.

Phase one was about to be completed.

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[sundaybee]

One More Time (Julieta x Fem!Reader) Pt 4

As always I am not a native Spanish speaker, so if I butchered a sentence or word let me know so I may correct it.

This one ended up being super long so I hope it’s something you all find worth reading.

Part 4 of 20

Pt 5

I did not make the gif.

Things to note: Julieta is a widow. Reader is 30. Talks about depression early on.

Please don’t tear it apart too harshly!

You were forced to close for a short while so that you could run and get sugar for your afternoon cookies with Julieta. She liked the chocolate chip cranberry ones the best so you made sure you’d always have them available for her. 

As you walked to town with your basket you spotted the woman working her line. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her serve and smile at each person. She was clearly in her element. 

“Señora Madrigal!” You called out, waving when she turned to see you coming. She smiled as you approached, admiring the way you walked towards her.

“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Julieta?

“Hmm one more time.” You teased, earning an eye roll. 

You took note of her long line not fathoming how so many people could get hurt or sick so frequently.

“I won’t bother you. I just wanted to say I need to get some things for our cookies so feel free to take your time.”

“You could never bother me.” Julieta said with a smile. 

You could feel the rising blush tickle your cheeks and you quickly looked away. Julieta found the act endearing and made the choice not to tease you.

“I’ll see you shortly.” Julieta added and you nodded silently before quickly fleeing. Julieta smiled watching your departing form and couldn’t wait to finish up this line and get back to you.

——

Ding

You had just put the cookies into the oven when you heard the familiar bell above your door. You quickly went to greet Julieta.

“I just put them in the oven they’ll be ready-“ you had begun your conversation prematurely and paused when you saw that it wasn’t Julieta in your doorway but Luís, with a massive bouquet.

“Are you making me something?” He asked and you scoffed crossing your arms.

“Never again.” You hissed.

“Come now, don’t be like that.” He said and walked towards you but you held your hand out to stop him.

“Why are you here?”

“Did you think about what I said?”

“I already gave you my answer.” You replied coldly. 

This man had chosen your darkest hour to betray you. His sin cut into that open wound so deeply you never thought you’d be okay again, but you were and he would never have the power to drown you like that again.

He frowned and stepped closer.

“For you. I had Isabela Madrigal make them for you.”

Your stomach flipped. It felt wrong on every level that Julieta’s daughter made these. That she made them for him to give to her and not her mother. 

“Find someone else to give them too. Camila perhaps. Or maybe all the women whose beds you’ve frequented.”

You weren’t foolish. You knew the man’s reputation and it wouldn’t have surprised you if his infidelity went further back than when you discovered him in bed with your friend. You had been so blindly in love that you looked past the obvious red flags.

“Amor, they are for you and only you.” He cooed. 

This romantic charade he was putting on honestly made you sick. Taking the bouquet you slammed it on the counter so you could get right in his face.

“Listen here, you are worth less than the dirt I stand upon. You broke me in a way I never thought I would recover from.” You said, pointing a finger in his face.

“I was already suffering so much grief and you went and made it even more unimaginable. I was going to marry you and you betrayed me in the worst way possible.” You were walking towards him as he backed away from you.

“So no. No second chances. Get out of my store and do not return. Do not approach me on the street, do not show up at my house, stay away!” You hissed as his back pressed up against the door. 

“Just wait and watch amor. You’ll be mine again.” He said, seemingly ignoring everything you said before he exited the shop.

Growling in frustration you turned on your heel and grabbed the bouquet off your counter and tossed it in the trash. It was a shame Isabela had made something so beautiful to only end up in her garbage can.

You returned to your break room and removed the cookies too cool for Julieta’s arrival, but the woman never showed.

——

When Julieta stood outside your front window watching Luís offer you her daughter’s bouquet she felt her heart ache in a painful way. You were young, beautiful, and kind of course you’d have suitors. 

In that moment Julieta became hyper aware that despite getting together for the past month and a half she knew very little about you. All she knew was that your parents had died and that you ran this shop.

Julieta mentally kicked herself for never asking you questions about yourself. It had always been about her. Her depression. Her family. Her work. Her husband. 

Her heart jumped into her throat the second you seemingly accepted the bouquet and she couldn’t watch anymore. The woman turned on her heel and quickly departed. She couldn’t be a witness to this.

“Mom? Are you okay?” Mirabel asked when her mother came through the door earlier than expected.

“Sí, just a headache. I’m going to go lay down for a bit.” Julieta said before quickly vanishing to her room. 

Mirabel frowned, something was definitely wrong.

[griffintail]

I know you write about parental stuff for a lot of characters in the Dream SMP, but I was wondering if you could write something for Quackity?

I’ve seen some writers write about Philza finding a winged child with their wings clipped, and since everyone seems to headcanon Quackity as a duck hybrid with wings that were clipped by Shlatt during his presidency, I thought it would be interesting to see how Big Q would react to finding someone did something similar to a child.

Plus I just like the thought of him as Papa Duck, and calling his kid “Duckling”. It’s just really adorable, okay? I’m in a fluffy mood, and there’s ducks/ ducklings in my yard all the time, so needless to say I’ve grown to really like ducks over the years.

Ducklings are so cute!

However, this went a bit more angsty than planned...I still hope you enjoy it! There is fluffy parts in there!

Duckling

Pairings: Parental! Quackity x F! Child! Reader

Warnings: Blood, Harm done to a child, Implied Past Abuse, Wounds, Angstish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        It was any other day in New L’Manberg.

        Quackity woke up, tended to his wounds to make sure they healed properly, changed into a clean outfit, then walked out of his home with his usual smile. He was able to have usual banter with his friends, laughing a true laugh making him feel relief each time as he didn’t have to hold anything back. Going to have his daily meeting with Tubbo and the rest of the cabinet was when his day changed drastically.

        He was walking to the building when he saw a small sagging figure. Straightening up, he carefully went over.

        “Hello?”

        The figure looked up and he froze seeing the pain-filled face of a little girl. She stared for a moment before starting to fall.

        “Help…be free…”

        Her eyes closed as she fell to the ground and Quackity quickly rushed forward and caught her. As he did, he winced at the wet feeling as he held her back.

        “Oh please.” He muttered before carefully moving her in his arms.

        His blood boiled as he went pale.

        The back of their shirt was soaked completely in blood and he could easily tell that she was still bleeding.

        “Shit.” He scooped her up completely.

        He ran as fast as he could to the meeting building, bursting through, scaring everyone inside.

        “Quackity, you’re la—” Fundy started.

        “What the hell is that?!” Ranboo jumped up seeing the blood-soaked shirt that was starting to coat Quackity’s hands.

        “She’s losing blood fast,” Quackity said, putting the girl on the table. “I need help.”

        Fundy rushed to grab potions as Tubbo took off his jacket, Ranboo shuffling next to Quackity as he took the little girl’s shirt off.

        “Is that—” Ranboo gripped onto the front of his shirt as the other two eyes went wide looking at Quackity.

        “She’s losing blood!” Quackity snapped at all of them and everyone worked past their shock to help him.

        On the little girl’s back were two large wounds, very similar to the ones on Quackity’s back. He couldn’t think about it though, she was losing blood and he couldn’t let his anger control him at this moment.

        Everyone worked quick and by the end, the potion had slowed down the bleeding enough for Ranboo to close up the wounds and cease the bleeding. Finally, they could all breathe as they stared at the little girl, who they had wrapped in Fundy’s jacket.

        “Someone did that to her.” Tubbo finally said, the weight crushing the room.

        “…Doesn’t matter anymore,” Quackity spoke up. “She lives in L’Manberg now and won’t see whoever did it again. She’s free.”

        “She’s a kid Quackity, someone’s going to have to take care of her.” Fundy reminded him. “And what if she has parents—?”

        Fundy couldn’t get out another word before Quackity shouted. “If she does, where the hell were they when the monster did this?! If she does have parents, they just lost their rights as parents.”

        He felt the wounds on his back ached as he remembered the day, he lost his wings, his jaw clenching before he took a deep breath.

        “I’ll take her. I know how to take care of her wounds and I’ll be able to help her.” Quackity finally told them.

        “Are you sure?” Tubbo asked carefully.

        “Positive.” He nodded with confidence.

        He didn’t know what he was doing really when he came home and laid the little girl down on his bed for now. It was all a mystery really but he did believe that no one besides him could take care of her right. They had something horrible that connected them but he was hoping to help her through the pain better than he had dealt with it.

        From there, he worked on making his home a bit tidier, really trying to keep his mind busy from the anger he felt to whoever did this to her. If he ever found out who did this, there’d be no mercy. As he was putting away a few potions’ bottles, he heard a small squeak and he went back to his room. The little girl was sitting up, face screwed up in pain.

        “Hey, kid,” Quackity said quietly and she looked at him startled. “It’s ok, I’m the guy you ran into remember?”

        She thought for a moment before nodding as he nodded as well grabbing a regeneration and health potion.

        “A few friends and I healed and stitched you, you’ll need to take it easy for a long while so you don’t irritate your wounds or open them again. You mind if I put a bit of these on them to help them heal?”

        “What are they?” She muttered.

        “This is a regeneration potion; it will help your wounds close a bit easier so it won’t take months for them to close. This is a healing potion; it will help with the pain and keep you from getting sick because of your wounds.”

        She stared at the shining liquids before slowly nodding again. “Ok.”

        He came up behind her and lifting the jacket, reminding himself to return it to Fundy, before carefully first pouring the regeneration on the wounds. She winced and whimpered in pain.

        “Yeah, I know kid. It’s going to hurt for a while.” He mumbled as he finished on the other one as quickly as he could but making sure it got done before using the health potion. “This should help a bit.”

        “How do you know?” She asked curiously as she winced again.

        He paused before putting the jacket down. “It’s a long story. Now you’re probably starving. Let’s get some food.”

        It was a lot to process in a short amount of time, but, process Quackity did.

        To start, Quackity made a spare room he had into her room. He set her up a bed to start and said, whatever else she wanted in there, he’d figure out. After establishing a space for her, he got to know her a bit better past the wounds on her back. Her name was (Y/N) and she was nine years old and she ran away from home. She liked books but she also liked to run around outside.

        Knowing that Quackity asked to borrow more simple books from Ghostbur and would let her run around close by as he’d do his daily days. He tried to make her happy and she often was, the small shell she had breaking when around him. Slowly, but surely, she loved to follow him around and enjoyed talking with him, to which people would joke calling her his little duckling.

        He supposed that was where the nickname came from as he had started to call her that after a few short weeks of her living with him.

        It was a bit awkward for him to transition into taking care of two people instead of one for a while but he eventually got the hang of that too. With that, he also transitioned his days differently. In the early morning, he’d take care of his wounds before helping her with hers a couple of hours later.

        The two had a bit of an unspoken rule. He never asked what happened to her wings if she didn’t ask how he knew how to take care of her wounds.

        It changed though when he was doing the daily potion ritual. She had accidentally slept on her back and irritated her wounds a bit so it took a bit longer than usual. With him spending so much carefully taking care of the wounds, she wanted to talk about them.

        “My dad took my wings away.” She muttered and Quackity froze in his work. “They were a lot like mommy’s…he took them away so I stopped looking like mommy…”

        He was trying to keep his breathing under control as his thoughts went wild. He was hoping that maybe, as horrible as it was, that she was alone and some cruel person out in the world had done it. Yet, it was her father and it infuriated him so much, that he wanted to hunt this bastard down. However, …

        (Y/N) sniffled and he pulled her shirt down before sitting next to her, putting his arm around her.

        “Hey, little duckling, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s not your dad if he did something like this to you. I’m sorry he took them away from you, I know wings are very special.”

        “They were fluffy.” She murmured as tears started to streak down her face.

        “I bet they were. If I could get them back for you, I would. Instead, though, we’ll live like this and smile on the ground because even without any wings, we’re still pretty special.” He told her, rubbing her arm.

        He promised he’d destroy the man that use to be in her life, but today…

        She hugged him and he squeezed her back.

        Today was all about her.

        Weeks passed and Quackity was smiling as (Y/N) ran ahead, bouncing as she looked back at him.

        “Come on papa duck! I want to see the new books!”

        “I’m coming, you’re just too fast duckling.” He put a hand on his chest dramatically.

        She giggled as she turned around, going to where Ghostbur was waiting outside the entrance to the sewer. The ghost eagerly showed the little girl the new books he had “found” and Quackity merely stood to the side, pleased with the excitement (Y/N) had coursing through her. Ghostbur lent her one of the books and Quackity nodded to him.

        “Thanks, Ghostbur.” Quackity waved as he walked off with the little girl.

        He never thought he’d be doing something like this in his life, but he didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace.

        Ghostbur smiled as he watched them walk off. They were always so adorable together, even with the black transparent wings on both of them. As they walked away, one of the wings was wrapped around (Y/N) as her tiny fluffy ones flapped in excitement. Very lovely.