#something something graphic depictions of loyalty in the works something something

[yennao]

Ain’t a damn thing happening between these ears rn, so here’s a real old sketch I never finished. Love its energy. Just CBA.

[yanderes-galore]

Hi Panther,

Transformers ask? May I please make make a romantic yandere request for a oneshot with Yan!Tarn with a Neutral!Bot reader and propmts 2, 30, and 46. I was thinking of the idea in fannon where Deceptacon culture dictates the dominant con claws or bites a nasty wound that scars as a mark as “Mine” usually as a mate.

Sure, I'm not well versed in Transformers fanon as I try to keep it as canon as possible. Yet the concept seems pretty basic so I'll try.

Still relatively new to the comics and I'm not that far so if information is off, that's why.

Energon is depicted as pink in this as the comics usually use this as the color from what I've seen.

Yandere! Tarn Prompts 2, 30, 46

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you!"

"Those lasting marks are signs of our love!"

"Even monsters can love, can't they...?"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Marking/Injury, Delusional behavior, Forced relationship, Possessive behavior, Not much plot... mostly just a kidnapping scene/plot, Transformer fanon HCs as a plot point, Mentions of "Mate", Cybertronian/Cybertronian, Bleeding, Vague implication of stalking, Graphic scene (?).

"You'll tire eventually, that's fine, I can wait."

Tarn's calm and patient when pursuing what he wants. Patience is something he's had to learn in his line of work. That and loyalty.

Tarn knew eventually he'd have you in his claws. Honestly, he couldn't wait for it. He had been eying you for a long time as a potential partner for himself.

You're a neutral party... something that can easily be changed once he has you. Part of him originally wanted to take you in to convert you. Now it seems he has... ulterior motives.

Tarn has never considered a Conjunx Endura. He had loyally followed Megatron's teachings and that's where most of his life has gone. Then he saw you... Decepticon potential in his eyes.

That and Conjunx Endura potential.

Even as you run from him in a pitiful display, Tarn indulges in the chase. It's a little game to entertain himself before he claims you. He'll allow you to think you have a choice in the matter.

Oh, naive bot... you never had a choice the moment he picked you.

"You're making this harder than it has to be. Your spark is safe with me. All you need to do is surrender!"

At this point he's taunting you. Tarn is already plotting how to corner you. Each movement he does is calculated, predicting your every move.

Right... until... you're right where he wants you.

Tarn feels excitement swell within him when he finally manages to corner you. He sees you run into a dead end and realize you're trapped. You stare at him with many emotions swimming in your optics.

Tarn sees confusion... fear... and aggression. Fear is the strongest emotion that clouds your vision. Tarn can tell you have a vague sense of who he is.

Pride fills him while he steps closer.

"Game's over, my little Conjunx Endura. I do believe you've worked us both up enough."

Tarn's voice is teasing... while barely concealing a deep hunger within. You stare up at him with more confusion and disgust than fear for a moment. The looks you give him drive him crazy.

Oh... he picked well.

"Now... will you come with me willingly..." Tarn drawls, trapping you between him and the wall.

"Or will I have to get the D.J.D involved?"

Reluctantly, as he expected, you agree to come with him to his base of operations.

To him, that's already a good sign you'll be a behaved partner once he marks you.

---

Sounds of metal on metal echoed through the room. Pain coursed through you and it was all you could even think about. Even with the red eyes glaring down at you in possessive aggression... your mind only thought of the pain.

"I took you in for a reason..." The Decepticon hisses out. You hear your own metal creak as he digs his claws into you. You swore you felt Energon trickle down. "I chose you to be mine... my mate... I think I've waited long enough to mark you."

Tarn then pulls your chin to make you focus on him.

"Haven't I been nice and patient enough with you?"

You shudder against him, trying to break eye contact to see the damage. Tarn doesn't allow you to look and brings your eyes back to him. For a brief moment you see the look in his eyes soften.

"Those lasting marks are signs of our love." Tarn hums, sitting you up. You see him pull his claws out of the wound and catch a glimpse of vibrant pink liquid dribble down them. You feel ill and the pain throbs... you decide not to focus on his claws.

"It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you." Tarn praises you, eying the Energon on his hands. "A mark as deep as this will show every Decepticon I claim you."

"Am I going to die?" You heave.

"I'd never let you." Tarn replies, already preparing to call over Nickel to stop the bleeding. "You'll live... and have a pretty scar to remind everyone of what has happened."

Tarn then leans over you to brush his other hand across the side of your face. His eyes hold what appears to be adoration... but it's wrong. Anyone who really loved you wouldn't gouge a hole into your side so you spilled Energon on the ground.

"After this you're no longer a neutral party... you're a Decepticon." Tarn continues, gaze never leaving you. "I've claimed you, I've marked you, and I plan to brand you when you heal."

Tarn's tone sounds confident and pleased. You narrow your eyes at him and try to push him away. He doesn't budge.

"You're a monster... get away from me...." You hiss. Tarn makes a displeased scoff before leaning away from you. You'd take time to convert.

He'll just have to find more patience it seems....

"Even monsters can love, can't they...?" Tarn muses. "Eventually you'll understand."

Tarn presses his mask to your forehead and you flinch back. It was meant to be a comforting kiss. To you... it's anything but.

"Nickel will nurse you back to health." Tarn tells you, picking you up to transport you. His grasp his tight... Energon still dripping from his claws. As he walks with you, his gaze meets yours again.

"Until you're well rested... I'll be waiting, Conjunx Endura."

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Everyone, please read this.

It's about Chuuya getting Hanauso, the Hanahaki variant in which flowers grow out of your neck when your beloved one is lying to you.

SUMMARY:

Dazai loves Chuuya.

Chuuya loves him.

There’s something square about that statement that soothes Dazai’s raging anxiety.

When they married, it was in spite of their organizations. In spite of his fragile mental health, in spite of Chuuya’s dangerous life. They are soulmates, and their loyalty to each other comes first.

Now that Chuuya might die with a necklace of Loving Memory roses blooming from his neck, choking him with every passing day, they are willing to sacrifice everything to choose each other again.

[Or: Married Soukoku loving each other above all else.]

More info under the cut.

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Relationship:

Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Characters:

Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Armed Detective Agency Ensemble (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Language: English

Words: 11,518

Chapters: 1/1

[stygianheart]

write a ZoLu fic about ZORO relizing his feelings

Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: One Piece (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences  Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Summary: Roronoa Zoro knows he’s loyal to a fault. And maybe that loyalty is only for his Captain and Crew. But realizing his loyalty for Luffy is also something more, something more personal and emotional, was not what Zoro wanted. And he definitely didn’t want the voices in his head to get so loud. But hey, we never get what we want, do we? In which Zoro figures out he’s in love with his captain and is in great denial, all while struggling through emotional repression and a bunch of shit he doesn’t deserve. Go figures.

W h a b a m .

You’re the second person to ask this, but I had already given in. (What is it with you people, you’re relentless—)

I will never forgive you all for converting me into a ZoLu fan. Ever.

Anyways, the fic will update once a week! Most likely on Sundays. Enjoy! (Share it if it you like it or something, idk)

[deityoftherain]

the bloodhound's fool - Unhealthy LimL!Scottishbeans Canon Divergent Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 1,812

Summary: Scott is still on his green life while most of the server is not, resulting in him running for his life. He can only run for so long, however, and Joel is a rather persistent foe...

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

"It doesn't have to be this way, Joel!" Scott called over his shoulder as he weaved through the trees and tried his best to avoid the blasts of crossbow fireworks. Joel had always taken a liking to those, even though they often didn’t work well for him. He was nothing if not persistent, a quality Scott found himself admiring from time to time. Now was not one of those times.

"Yes it does, Scott!" Joel insisted, voice both distant and far too close for comfort. "You're still green! You need to die, and I need more time!”

Another firework went off, only narrowly missing Scott, but the force of the blast threw his body into a tree. Scott tossed his arms up to protect himself, his arms gaining red indents that show off the indents of the tree.

Fuck, that hurt. Scott hissed through gritted teeth, doing his best to ignore the pain as he pushed off from the tree. He stumbled the first few steps as he tried to regain his bearings before continuing to run. There wasn't time for him to stop and take a break. He just had to keep moving.

Scott didn’t even have to look at his communicator to know his hearts were low. He could feel the strain in his body as the heart regeneration worked to repair his body. If he wanted even a slight chance, he needed more fuel.

With a silent command, Scott opened his inventory and grabbed the first piece of food he could find, not bothering to look for more than a few seconds. It wasn’t like he had time to take his time, or to be picky. He just needed something.

Scott’s limbs screamed and pleaded for rest, but Scott knew that he wouldn’t be able to get back up once he stopped. He needed to keep up his momentum; he needed to keep moving! He could rest once his time dipped below sixteen hours, making him a yellow life. Maybe then will the others get off his trail.

The clock embedded into their very beings, counting down the seconds with a faint tick, tick, tick that only seemed to grow louder the further he ran. It pounded against his skull and left only dread in his gut. It couldn’t be much longer now, could it?

Tick…

Scott sniffed back the tears welling in his eyes, blurring his vision. He couldn’t afford to lose his senses right now. Any minor mistake or disadvantage he had to shoulder could be the very reason he doesn’t make it out alive. 

Please, stars above, find favor in me once again. Help me.

It was a selfish prayer, and an unlikely one. Only a fool would ask for mercy, knowing that each and every one of their fates was to die. Limited Life wasn’t called a “death game” for shits and giggles, after all. Still, the plea was prayed, coming into existence by a desperate man’s self-preservation.

Tick…

Unfortunately for Scott, self-preservation has never been his strong suit. One may claim that to be a strength, praising him for his loyalty, dedication, and team-minded attitude, but that was only part of the story. Those things were true, yes, but Scott always cared far too deeply for those he came to love, even those who were destined to betray him. 

Tick…

Scott’s body was a tool, a weapon, something to be used for the benefit of others. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t matter if he gave himself to them willingly, as an offer or as a sacrifice. It didn’t matter if they betrayed him. It didn’t matter if they stabbed him in the back and shattered his trust. At the end of the day, the outcome was the same. Scott’s body was theirs. It had always been theirs.

BOOM

One of Joel's projectiles finally managed to hit him, using his back like a bull's eye. The force of the explosive knocked him off balance, Scott stumbling forward a strangled step or two before ultimately face planting on the ground. Dirt streaked his body, and it didn’t take a genius to know that the bruising would be grotesque. A small part of Scott that was still concerned about how he presented himself to the world hoped that he looked better than how he felt.

The hearts Scott had managed to regenerate were gone as soon as they appeared, used to mend his battered body. At this point, Scott just wanted to quit and let Joel take an hour from him. Just let Joel have what he wanted so badly, triggering a respawn that would take away Scott’s current suffering. Maybe then he would be allowed time to breathe, time to exist without fleeing. Was working this hard to prevent the inevitable worth saving some of the already mere hours they were allowed? With his death, and then Tango’s, they could have Yellow Peace.

Yellow Peace that would soon turn into Red War, into the murder of those they cared for.

Scott staggered to his feet, one hand cradling his back as his vision shifted and morphed. It was disorienting, and it felt like he had stared directly at the sun while on a boat sailing choppy waters. Scott’s ears rang something fierce, blocking out Joel's cheers and the ticking that had previously haunted him. 

Fuck me. Scott thought bitterly, a sour taste on his tongue. The adrenaline that had kept him going slipped away, leaving him hypersensitive to every wound, bruise, and strain. Scott’s body ached, throbbed, screamed…

Joel finally caught up to him, approaching like a bloodhound cornering their prey. A smirk grew wide on Joel’s face, his eyes gleaming with his manic bloodlust as they often did in this environment. Joel used his inventory to switch out his crossbow for a diamond sword. "You can't run now, Scott!"

Scott leaned against a nearby oak tree, using it to support him. His chest shuttered, trying to keep air circulating through his lungs. Hair stuck to his face and tears involuntarily trailed down his cheeks, yet he smiled. "Kill me, Joel."

The eagerness Joel exhibited dimmed for a moment as confusion furrowed his brow. "What? Why aren't you fighting back? I don’t need you to go soft, Scott! I don’t need your bloody pity!”

"I have fought," Scott breathed out, voice barely above a whisper, "and I’m not going soft on you, nor is this pity. You’re a formidable threat, and you won my life fair and square. I don't want to run any longer. Take it, Joel. Take me, Joel. Murder me. Please."

Debate creased Joel's face as he crept closer, still on guard. "What blummin' game are you playing?"

"No game," Scott promised, eyes fluttering closed as he braced himself for Joel's blade. "Just letting you take what you want. Take me, Joel. I’m yours."

The edge of Joel's sword rested against Scott's neck, applying just enough pressure to break the first layer of skin, but not enough to separate his head from his body. Joel's other hand held Scott against the tree, pinning him with enough force that Scott couldn’t move even if he wanted to. 

“I’m yours,” Scott repeated, breathy and rumbley. His heart thumped in his chest, but he wasn’t sure if it was from all the running or from being pinned by an attractive man. Scott kept his eyes closed, refusing to give Joel the satisfaction of watching the light drain from his eyes. With how eager Joel had been, Scott had expected the death to be swift, but it wasn’t.

Scott wasn’t sure how long it had been when he opened his eyes again, but when he did, he found Joel staring intently at him, as if he were studying Scott’s face. Why hadn't he been granted the mercy of a respawn yet?. At this point in time, Joel murdering Scott was beneficial to them both, so Scott didn’t understand why he was taking his time.

Joel's breath was warm on his face as he stood much closer than Scott was used to with him. Joel normally liked to keep his distance, though Scott never really knew why. The best he could guess, Joel held some sort of grudge against him that he refused to forget. A pity, really. Scott would have liked to team with him once upon a time. Who knows? Perhaps they could have worked well together. 

Scott’s lips parted slightly, hungry for the man who hated him with every fiber of his being. More blood bubbled around the blade still against his neck, reminding him this wasn’t some sort of sexy fantasy. To cover his shame, Scott darted his tongue out to wet his lips before inquiring, "What are you waiting f-?"

Before Scott could finish what he was saying, Joel's lips were on his. The kiss was hot and starving, almost like Joel was trying to eat his lips over kiss him. Joel's teeth were sharp, breaking the fragile skin of his dehydrated lips. He hadn’t had time to hydrate with all the “fearing for his life” he’s been doing. Despite its roughness, Scott melted into it, into Joel, returning the kiss just as fiercely. It was harsh (even causing his lower lip to bleed) but brief, Joel pulling away far too fast.

"I hate you," Joel claimed sharply, like he hadn’t been the one to initiate, but Scott just laughed airily. He had accepted Joel's unconventional displays of affection fighting against his bloodlust long ago. There was no point fighting it, and making the others think he had truly lost his mind. Joel would not acknowledge this kiss, just as he had ignored the ones in past. Scott was Joel’s dirty little secret, his guilty pleasure, and Scott was too entangled in his web to escape.

"I know, Joel." Scott ran his tongue against his pierced lips, the taste of his own blood mixing with their spit. Bittersweet affection towards the other man spun around like a tornado within him. It was toxic, ill-advised, and harmful, but Scott longed for another kiss, another touch, another anything, but his wish was unlikely to be granted. These were the cons of loving someone who refused to love him back. "I hope the time is worth it."

Joel curled his lip into a snarl before letting it relax. His hold on Scott loosened for only a moment before he tightened it again. "I'll make it quick."

And quick he did make it. Scott almost didn't process his words before the sword pierced his throat and the shuddering agony of a respawn pushed his soul from his body. The pain his body suffered was gone in a moment, only leaving a phantom lingering of Joel's touch and blade behind, but nothing could fix the pain he carried in his very soul… the pain of loving Joel.

[starcrossedlovrs]

Marauders meets My Chemical Romance: The second book of the series “May Death Never Stop You”: “Danger Days” by me, starcrossedlovrs (AO3).

Rating: Mature. Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

After the devastating loss of his closest friends and his fiancée, James Potter finds himself in a perilous situation, forced into an uneasy alliance with the enigmatic Regulus Black. As they embark on a desperate mission against Voldemort, James must navigate a world of darkness and deception, grappling with his own grief and forbidden desires. In this sequel to I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, loyalties are tested, and love becomes both a weapon and a refuge. Will their fragile bond survive the shadows that threaten to consume them, or will their pasts destroy any hope of a future together?

An excerpt of the 19th chapter “Oh Wait, Oh”:

Three days had passed before James finally opened his eyes. In the dark he searched for Regulus, but he wasn’t there. James stretched his aching arms, feeling the stiffness in his muscles. His throat was parched, and his stomach gnawed with hunger. The last thing he could remember was Regulus tossing him a bottle of water before he’d passed out.

Regulus.

For a moment, James let the thought of him linger. If he wanted, Regulus could be nice. Even to James. Maybe…

The sound of someone climbing the ladder interrupted his thoughts. A moment later, Regulus’s head appeared through the trapdoor, his eyes widening slightly when he saw James awake.

“You’re up,” Regulus said, flipping on a small lantern, and James could’ve sworn there was relief in his voice.

“Yeah, just woke up. How long was I out?”

“Three nights.” Regulus settled on the other side of the room, watching him closely. It was different from the way he usually looked at James. This was more intense, like he was searching for something.

James frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “What? Do I have drool on my face or something?”

Regulus shook his head, but didn’t stop staring. “No.”

“Then what is it?” James’s voice was more nervous than he intended. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Regulus hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You talked in your sleep.”

James’s stomach dropped. What had he said? His mind raced, trying to remember anything from those hazy days, but all he could recall was Sirius.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Uh, and what exactly did I say?”

Regulus’s gaze didn’t waver. “You thought I was Sirius. You… you told him something.”

James swallowed hard, heart thudding in his chest. What did he tell Sirius? No, what did he tell Regulus?

“And by something you mean…?”

 

If you want to continue reading, here is the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58061965/chapters/147820018

[rosewaterandivy]

tabernacle, reconstructed

Summary: tabernacle - house of worship, a dwelling place (archaic).

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, if you squint (it's really more of a character study)

WC: 1.2k

Warnings/Themes: 18 +, MINORS DNI. Graphic depictions of violence and sex. Psychological horror/trauma, memory loss, body horror, dark and sacrilegious themes, and mutual corruption.

A/N: please re-read the warnings/themes section above because this is not for everyone. if you can't watch a David Cronenberg film or have issues with any of the warnings above, please move along. and before you can ask, yes, this is a quasi-winter soldier!au

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not.

Enjoy! 💜

series masterlist | playlist | currently spinning:

previous || next

November 1992

For as long as you can remember, there’s been a knife twisting inside of you. 

An ache.

Not debilitating, of course. But just uncomfortable enough to keep you alert and moving.

Stowing your weapon underneath your coat, you step lightly over the mangled bodies and puddles of blood against the gleaming tile floor of the mezzanine. 

A wet slice cuts through the air, a soft puff of air released as another body hit the floor. 

You wait at the entrance, watching droplets of cold rain flow down the glass door. You hear him before you see him, know his gait well enough by now to anticipate his movement. Hand finding home on his left arm, you allow yourself to be escorted into the dreary winter night.

Warmth flees from your hand, though the cool metal of his arm is hidden under his coat. Stolen from you like so much else; no matter.

He’s quiet after a job. Well, he’s more quiet than not, really, but especially so on this night for some reason. 

Passing under a streetlight you pause to adjust his cravat, lips moving imperceptibly. “Lovely job as always, mon lion.”

His mouth curls up, ever so slightly, bemused. “Much obliged, ma louve.”

The rasp of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, pitched lower to avoid suspicion and slightly hoarse from disuse. Your fingers smooth the silk fabric against the column of his throat, watching as he swallows. A brief close lipped smile and you’re off once more.

Into the cold Moscow night.

Someone has been trying to contact you.

The old woman at the pharmacy tells you as much and passes you a scrap of paper hidden under the palm of her hand. 

���Be careful, my dear,” she whispers over the crinkling plastic bag. 

You nod, pocketing the paper and make your way outside. 

The paper burns a hole in your pocket as you descend from the street to the subway platform. A quick case of the joint quells your nerves— just the 5 o’clock rush. 

Retreating to the back of the car, you pull a newspaper from your bag and set the note below the fold. 

Laika.

Your heart thuds in your chest as you read.

Tretyakov Gallery. 6 PM.

Committing the information to memory, you crumple the note and let it fall from your hand as your exit the car. It falls between the train tracks and will soon be demolished beyond all recognition. 

Everything, it seemed, was coming to a head.

December, 1989

Another stint of playing fake aristocrat and no one was the wiser. 

A month ago, as the Berlin Wall came down, the pair of you attended the Berlin Ballet’s production of Swan Lake. Regimes rose and fell everyday, and it didn’t matter. A simple change of leadership or economics wasn’t going to effect lasting change.

For something like that, more immediate action was required.

An easy mission, get in, get the intel, and get out or, stay for the ballet. Your first without a handler, a test of loyalty, if you will. How ready Moscow was to put its faith in the pair of you: the asset and his protege, the she-wolf and her lion, Adam and his Lilith.

“Entschuldigung.”

A man apologizes for bumping into you at the bar. Tall and broad, the faintest traces of 5 o’clock shadow coming in. 

You partner catches your eye from across the lobby, brows furrowed in concern— hazel eyes bordering on molten gold in the light. 

A nod and a smile to both men, assuring one of your safety and the other of your attention.

“Not at all,” you murmur back in English, ear catching the slight clipped nature of his speech. A dead giveaway to the trained ear. “What’ll you have?” 

He doesn’t seem to catch your meaning. You nod to the bar expectantly.

“Oh, uh, vodka.”

Turning from him, you order and turn back to the American. 

“Far from home, no?”

He laughs, “Surprisingly, not the farthest.”

“Oh?” Your palm meets the crisp edge of the highball glass as you pass it to him. “A world traveler, are we?”

He sips without the expected flinch. “Something like that.”

And then, the American does something very interesting indeed.

September 1990

Robin has always had a knack for languages. Took joy in the simple pleasure of a new conjugation or well honed nasal inflection, rolled r’s, and an indiscernable accent.

It only made sense that she’d pursue languages in college. What was unexpected is that the CIA would take notice. They first made contact while she was working through her capstone in Slavic languages when Hop showed up during office hours.

“Hey kid,” he greeted, in his usual unassuming slouch. As it turned out, he’d been working with the Feds for longer than the party had realized. A quid pro quo for keeping El safe and out of the government’s hands— you do this for us, and the girl will be safe.

“Y’know,” she replies, turning from her reading, “You don’t look like a Ralph Emerson from Russian 101 to me.”

“You caught me.” Hop says shutting the door, settling into the club chair in front of her desk. “Got some news for ya.”

“Really?”

She tries not to let her eagerness show through, learned through hard, long years to keep the hope at bay.

He nods and slides a worn paper across the desktop.

Murray’s cramped handwriting is discernable enough, to the trained eye.

S.H. = KGB asset; per LAIKA

The breath Robin had been holding stutters out.

“D-does this mean—”

“We don’t know,” Hop allows, “Yet, at least.”

“Who’s Laika?”

He prizes the note from her fingers, “That’s classified, junior.”

She bristles at the name, “I have a badge y’know.”

“So do I.”

It wasn’t much, not by a longshot. But if this Laika’s intel was sound, then there was hope.

November 1992

The American met you at the gallery, as planned. Extricating yourself from your partner, however, was more of a trial than you’d bargained for.

“C’mon darlin’,” he drawled from the bedroom, sheets rumpled about his waist and hair askew, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Just stay in bed,” he takes another drag, smoke plumes falling from his ruddied mouth. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I know you would, pодной,” you step out from the bathroom securing a necklace around your neck. “But I can’t get out of it.” Pausing in front of him, you turn your back and ask, “Zip me up?”

He begrudgingly obliges you and promptly pulls you into his lap. His right arm snakes up to splay his hand against your collarbones, a warm comfort you know is meant to sway you. 

Turning in his grasp, you smile and brush an errant lock of hair from his face. “I won’t be but a moment,” you promise, plucking the cigarette from his lips and taking a drag for yourself. 

You allow yourself a moment to study him. Bed-mussed hair, longer and darker in the winter, framing his chiseled face. Hazel eyes, always quick, with a halo of gold. Stubborn skin clinging to the vestiges of summer, the faintest hint of bronze coloring him. And kiss-bitten lips, your handiwork, naturally.

“I’m doing this for us,” you say, passing the cigarette back to him and moving to rise.

He cocks his head in interest, eyes flitting down your form. “Okay malishka,” he allows, pressing a kiss to your wrist. “I’ll see you soon.”

Quickly turning toward the door, you reluctantly drop his hand and gather your belongings. You take a steadying breath before opening the door. 

See you soon.

If the American pulled through, that wouldn’t be true for long.

[k--havok]

soft touches, godless hands tainted love, holy grin no one can save me from my sin

Soft Touches, Godless Hands

An Adult Sci-fi/Fantasy Romance Series

· ─── ❖︎· · ─────── ·❖︎· ─────── · ·❖︎❖︎❖︎· · ─────── ·❖︎· ─────── · ·❖︎ ─── ·

Summary: Sapphic | Enemies to Lovers | 3rd Person POV | First Draft | Series

God has turned away from His flock of angels. The Golden City has grown cold and silent. And no angel knows why, not even the Seraphim, the ones who serve His Throne directly.

As angels begin to Fall, transforming into demons, the universe is thrown into chaos. Darkness is spreading, and cracks are beginning to form in the fabric of Space-Time.

With the population of angels dwindling, the seraph, Auriel, is tasked with the job of the archangels; to protect the third dimension and the beings that dwell on the planets within it.

Auriel is sent to Earth to follow up on reports of demonic activity. But as Auriel investigates the growing chaos, they realize there is more than just demonic activity afoot.

The demons know something that Auriel, and the rest of the angels do not. But to work with demons is heresy, especially the demon known as Beelzebub, the one who has Fallen the farthest, and broke Auriel's heart millennia ago.

To righten the universe, it may take more than Auriel's prowess as a seraph. There is something evil afoot. And perhaps the demons are not the propagators.

But if that is the case, then who is?

Themes:

Grey morality, foreshadowing/mystery, eldritch horror, cosmic horror, bringing order to chaos, friends to lovers to enemies to lovers, our relationships make us who we are, figuring out who you are, LGBT+ themes, giving in to temptations, longing for more, becoming worse but whole, learning to accept yourself, true evil does not exist.

Contains:

Graphic depictions of gore, violence, torture, cannibalism, and body horror. Depictions of mental illness. Religious persecution, imagery, and abuse. Graphic sexual content. Eldritch Horror. Co-dependent relationships. Misgendering. Genocide. Religious Bashing.

Main Characters:

Auriel

| They/Them | Seraph | Protagonist |

Auriel is one of the remaining four seraphs, who reign over all other angels and only kowtow to God Himself. Auriel is a seraph of Chasity, one of the seven heavenly virtues, and has spent the longest amount of time within the Golden City compared to the other seraphs.

Auriel is known to be no-nonsense, clever, and loyal to other angels and God as well. They have a strong, unwavering faith for themself and others. They are a minimalist that does not care for appearances, material wealth, or beautiful visas. At least, before they traveled to Earth, that is. Likewise, due to staying in Heaven for the majority of their millennia alive, Auriel does not care much for the Third Dimension or material world. Although loyal to a fault to God and the rest of His angels, it is an intense loyalty that succeeds everything else, even Auriel's sense of self.

Despite their virtues, Auriel is arrogant to the point of prideful. Logical to a fault, Auriel knows that they are among the most powerful angels, and does not hesitate to use that fact to intimidate foes and remind friends and subordinates alike. Likewise, Auriel is neurotic, and struggle when things are not under their control. They value routine and predictability over spontaneity. They have little humor, and the majority of the time remain serious. Despite their outwardly calm demeanor, Auriel lives in a constant state of stress and anxiety.

As a seraph, Auriel does not have a true body of flesh and blood, taking on forms of different creatures mattering on the need at the time.

In their human form, Auriel goes by Abigail Torres. They have brown skin, long black hair, and brown eyes. Their features are plain and unremarkable with a rectangle-shaped body. They wear plain clothes in the neutral colors of brown, white, black or gray consisting of loose trousers that allow them movement and a blouse.

In their true form, Auriel is made of energy and the light of the cosmos. They do not have the same senses as material beings, but can sense other angels, demonic activity, the passage of time, as well as wrinkles and faults in the fabric of space. Their true form burns with a holy light and fire, strong enough to sear and destroy those of the Third Dimension by merely existing. In their true form, Auriel is an eldritch creature consisting of many wings and eyes which they keep tucked around themself. These eyes do not "see" as a human would; each eye is dedicated to keeping watch of different parts of the universe, Heaven, other angels, and demons. Their body is mainly quadrupedal, but they do have opposable thumbs and can still choose to be bipedal if they wish. They do not have a real face or facial features, and so it shifts constantly, twisting with their own power and their emotion. Auriel's true form is a colorful one, and alight with thousands of colors, many unseen to the human eye.

Beelzebub

| She/Her, He/Him | Demon | Antagonist/Protagonist |

Beelzebub was once one of the seven seraphim. The third to Fall after Satan and Lucifer, Beelzebub was stripped of her holy light and her angelic name. After being stripped of such things, she was left with herself. Dubbing herself "The Lord of the Flies," Beelzebub set her sights on the Third Dimension to continue the rest of her bidding.

After being stripped of her connection to God, Beelzebub was left with only himself. Although such exile may have wrought others, Beelzebub was always confident in himself. Beelzebub is also known to be smart, and is always plotting or scheming. He tends to think his plans out thoroughly, and is good at reading other angels and demons alike. Beelzebub is also opinionated, charismatic, and humorous.

After her Fall, Beelzebub found herself enjoying tinkering with different Third Dimensional machines. She also has a soft spot for insects primarily found on Earth. She enjoys collecting and breeding rare insects.

Beelzebub still has many vices that grip him. Alcohol and sex being the two primary ones. But on Earth, Beelzebub is welcome to sink into his greed of power and material objects. Beelzebub walks as a false idol among humans, hoarding wealth for himself.

To walk on Earth, Beelzebub must possess unused human bodies, as he does not have the ability to create flesh and bone from scratch. Corpses are her go-to. However, demonic magic is not gentle or patient. And so it twists the appearance of whatever body Beelzebub tries to possess, and her true nature almost always shines through. Although Beelzebub can hide these changes from most humans, some of the more small, subtle shifts are noticeable to those perceptive enough.

Oftentimes, Beelzebub's human forms sport two curved horns, pointed ears, claw-like hands, fangs, and ashy or pale skin. Insects, especially flies, tend to follow him. Despite possessing corpses, Beelzebub usually does not smell. Beelzebub oftentimes also has insect wings sprouting from her back; usually that of a fly.

Links:

| #stgh | #Auriel | #Beelzebub |

Tag List:

If you want updates for this WIP, please let me know and I will add you to the tag list!

[peachym00]

Chapter 11 is here👀

🔥79k🔥 ❗️Explicit❗️Graphic Depictions of Violence ❗️✨ Slow Burn ✨ Mafia Pete ✨ Angst with a Happy Ending ✨

When he and his grandmother owe the minor family a debt, Pete finds himself pushed deeper into the mafia world than ever before. Working for Vegas sounds like Pete’s idea of Hell. But when feelings develop and lives are on the line, will the Devil finally admit he’s met his match?

⬇️❗️TW Description of death❗️⬇️

Pete was out of breath when he finally realised where his father was. He’d ridden as far as he could before dumping his bike, hoping to go unnoticed. He hated him, yet the twisted bond of father and son loyalty was a burden he carried on his shoulders permanently. It forced Pete to follow him into whatever dire predicament he found himself in.

He just…couldn’t help it.

It looked like he was in the middle of some shady drug deal when he approached a side alley and found his father there with three shifty-looking guys who appeared far from friendly. It wasn’t unusual for Pete to see him in such situations. He was so used to it that he carried spare cash hidden on his person, with the sole purpose of bailing his father out when he owed someone a debt.

There was something about this particular encounter that felt different in a way that Pete didn’t like. He did not recognise the men surrounding him, which, though not unheard of, caused alarm bells to ring in his mind this time. The clothes they were wearing suggested they were not locals. Clean and put together, slick back hair, shiny chains and gold teeth didn’t belong in the back alley of a rundown village. These were not the sort that his father predictably did business with.

Hidden in the shadows, something in his gut told him that he should stay put. That he shouldn’t run in to save the day like he usually would. His feet were stuck, refusing to walk forward no matter how hard he tried to move.

He wished he were closer as he watched the men pin his father to the wall, speaking close to his face in hushed tones, saying words that Pete couldn’t hear. It was amazing they had gotten to that point without his father making a scene. The trouble he was in must be significantly worse than usual. And yet, still, Pete could not bring himself to move even when one of them pulled out a knife—a switchblade that was not unlike the one currently in his pocket.

His hand moved, feeling the shape of it in his jeans, his body freezing even though he knew he should help. That was his father, his useless, piece of shit father, about to be killed, and the only thought going through his mind was that he wished he had the guts to do it himself.

But alas, he was frozen. Stiff in the darkness as he watched his father be brutally stabbed. Over and over and over and over. And even when the men left, he still didn’t want to move. The body of his father, lying there crumpled on the filthy floor, dead. He didn’t know how long it took him to shuffle out of his hiding place, but he made his feet walk toward the body. A morbid curiosity made him need to look. The need to witness the light absent from his eyes, the still pulse, the unmoving chest.

The sight was harrowing, but he could only feel relief.

After calmly walking back to his motorcycle and driving back to the casino, he got off his bike and threw up.

Someone rushed over to him, but he couldn’t tell you who.

His memory is blank after that.

Link to chapter one ➡️ here ⬅️

Link to all chapters ➡️ here ⬅️

[dhr-ao3]

A War Within

A War Within https://ift.tt/W7kFv6Y by emerald_urges Years after the Battle of Hogwarts went south, Hermione Granger—now the Order's sharpest mind and deadliest duelist—embarks on a mission to retrieve a powerful artifact from the castle’s ruins. But when Draco Malfoy, her equal and opposite under Voldemort’s rule, thwarts the mission, they are forced into an unbreakable bond. Now, Hermione is caught between her loyalty to the Order, a trauma-bonded, codependent relationship with Harry where the lines between friendship and something more have blurred, and the unquenchable pull toward the Death Eater she despises most. Words: 11395, Chapters: 8/8, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/F, F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood Additional Tags: Dark Draco Malfoy, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, War, Dark, Non-Consensual Undertones, Canonical Character Death, Minor Character Death, Blood Drinking, Post-Coital Tension, Light BDSM, Emotional Manipulation, Grief/Mourning, Ownership, Enemies to Lovers, Shameless Smut, Unbreakable Bond/Bonding, Trauma Bonding, Forbidden Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Fast Sexual Burn, slow emotional burn, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), threat of self-harm via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/2FNxaoE August 04, 2024 at 08:54AM

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Pulling Me Under

Fandom: Grishaverse: Six of Crows Summary: Kaz has struggled with water his entire life. He didn't expect being caught out in a storm while walking home to be quite so detrimental to him, however. Warnings: Canon-typical Kaz trauma, graphic depictions of panic attacks, graphic descriptions of corpses, and mentions of slavery Word Count: 4,190 Ship(s): Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa/Nina Zenik/Matthias Helvar/Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck

Archive link!

A/N: Welcome to the first installment of my Polycrows Whumptober collection! This is not affiliated with any groups or pre-set prompt list for either Polycrows or Whumptober because I can never find those and I'm not in groups that make them, haha. I thought that it would be fun to do something during October for them to just kind of get it out of my system and I was in the mood to write angst, which is how this ended up coming into being. I try to always write aftercare into my fics that deal with heavy subjects so even though the focus of these fics is going to be on the angst, there will be care and comfort towards the end of them. Each oneshot will come out on an interval of five (so fifth, tenth, fifteenth, etc.) until the end of the month. Thank you all so much for being willing to check this out and I hope you're prepared to come on this ride with me! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

Kaz looked on at the flames that were licking at the sides of the stone building. They had already caught onto the straw thatch in a beautiful burning blaze, the signature purple that the Dregs used whenever they had to utilize fire during their heists. His heavy overcoat kept out the late spring chill that clung to the ground in the form of dewey droplets, trying to reach out and grasp his legs whenever he held still for too long. His cane was clasped in his hands in front of him, keeping him steady and present.

His heart was racing with giddiness and pride. He hadn’t had the best crew for the mission since his own Crows had been distanced from him recently, but he had still managed to pull it off. He was glad that despite Wylan having to do work with the Merchant Council he was able to provide Kaz with the firepower that he needed to take down the other Barrel Boss. If Kaz had to actually rely on the other explosives expert that he had under his employ then nothing would have gone nearly as well as it did.

He turned slightly when he heard the huffing and puffing of the crew that he had assembled for the job. “Rotty,” he nodded his head towards the other man.

“Boss,” the man in question gasped, bracing himself on his legs. Kaz felt a stir of discontentment at how exhausted his crew already was after such a small heist. It wasn’t like when he had infiltrated the Ice Court, or even some of the smaller jobs that the Crows had to do when they were trying to take down Rollins and Van Eck. Still, he was making due with what he had.

“Well done,” Kaz rasped. He was trying to improve morale and loyalty out of something other than fear like Nina had suggested so that he was less likely to have people that were willing to sell him out now that he was in charge of his own group. After all, what was fear of him if someone was actually torturing one of his men? If they knew that he cared for them in some capacity and would do work to avenge them or get them back, then they would be less likely to spill secrets. He still struggled with the idea that any of the Dregs could be as important as his Crows were, but Nina was right when it came to the inspiring loyalty part.

Roeder and Rotty glanced at each other, both smiling and clapping each other on the back. They were talking in hushed whispers about the praise that they had just received but Kaz could still hear it clearly from where he was standing a few feet away from them. It was infuriating to hear what felt almost like gossip when he was well within earshot, especially when one of the men that was doing it was supposed to be his new spider.

“Make sure that you get back to the Slat before the Stadwatch find out what we did to this place,” he called. He turned on his heel and began to march down the muddy path so that he could get to the trail he had taken to get there. He knew that despite the fact that he was being friendlier with his lackeys, they knew that they weren’t to follow him unless they were explicitly told to. 

He was now known for being fair and good to the people that worked for him, but absolutely ruthless to the point of being borderline cruel to those that tried to hurt him or his Crows. More was known about him than had been when he was nine and wandering around the streets while stealing every stray kruge and watch that he could. People didn’t know the exact relationship that he had with the five people that slept in the same room as him and that he took on all of his most lucrative jobs, but they knew that they were close. Most also understood that Inej was the soul of his little operation and he was more lenient in the punishments that he gave when she was around. That meant that he had to deal with more people coming after him when the Wraith as docked in Fifth Harbor. He had even had a few people try to use her being there against him, until she had stabbed the first man in the heart that she had since the Van Eck job. She never lost her ruthlessness and she had never become less dangerous, she just spent less time using it for what Kaz wanted and more time using it for herself.

Kaz felt his heart ache in his chest as he thought about her. The only time that they really got to see each other for longer than a week at a time was during the winter, when the waters got perilous enough that she didn’t feel comfortable bringing her crew out sailing. The slave trade also died down in the winter months for Ravka and Fjerda because it was harder to find vulnerable young people to take when the world was white with snow. It was just barely edging into late spring, which meant that she was going to be on the longest of her trips because the most resources were available to her at that time. He didn’t know how long she would be away and where she would be docking to get the rest of her things when they needed to restock next, but the loss of her next to him in bed felt like it was going to last forever.

Matthias and Nina had returned to the woods of Tsibeya after a brief excursion to Os Alta so that Nina could work with the Heartrenders and Fabrikators that might be able to give her some answers about her new powers. They were still trying to figure out what the parem had done to her body and what her life would look like now that she had come out on the other side. It was slow going work that required her to go back to Os Alta so that she could talk with Kuwei about it often, which meant that she was also away from their little bubble of safety. She usually brought Matthias with her and the two of them would spend the bits of extra time that they had while waiting for their boat to bring them back exploring the forests near Fjerda without crossing the border. According to Matthias, they were looking for the wolf that he had been partnered with back when he was a druskelle. Kaz would have once dismissed what they were doing as childish and sentimental, but he knew what he would do to be able to get even a piece of his life before Ketterdam back.

Wylan and Jesper were only away for the weekend. They had business to attend to at one of the farms on the very edge of the city that would take them all day and made it too difficult for them to come back even to the Van Eck mansion. It wasn’t something that they did very often even if Wylan tried to present himself as an upstanding citizen that didn’t make bombs for a notorious crime boss on the weekend. Most people in the Barrel knew that he had been or was involved with Kaz, but no one was stupid enough to open their mouth where dangerous people might be listening. Jesper went wherever Wylan went, which Kaz was only okay with because of the near-assassination attempt that had happened not long after word had gotten out about how important they all were to each other.

Needless to say, the home that Kaz was going to return to would be a lonely one. They had laid off most of the staff so that they had to deal with less people on the regular, which was a necessity for them all. That meant that the servants quarters were usually mostly empty except for the four people that they had kept on. Marya kept to her wing of the house where she wasn’t disturbed unless she wanted company. Kaz had his portion of the house where he did work, though never official business, and it was usually bursting with partners. Today it would be empty.

He tilted his face up when he realized that the bright light of the full moon had been sapped suddenly from the earth around him. For a moment, he was very concerned that it had something to do with Grisha. There were tales from one side of Ravka that the tides used to be linked to the moon when people still worshipped the old gods. After everything that he had seen, he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that someone could move the heavenly bodies to their own will.

It ended up being the far more likely reason, rather than a Grisha loaded up on the dangerous drug they had worked so hard to keep away from every government. Clouds had rolled in off the coast, where they had become loaded and burdened with sea water, so that they were coating the sky in a thick black blanket.

Kaz growled, low in the back of his already hoarse throat, as he pulled the lapels of his jacket up around his neck. He pushed his hat down further onto his head so that it would cover more of his hair and then kept on. He had strained himself too much that night when he was helping get his team into place and the pressure change from the storm had made his leg begin to ache something fierce, so he couldn’t press on as quickly as he wanted to. He was going to have to keep the steady pace that he had set back when he had left the burning wreckage of their job in his wake, even if it meant getting caught out in the rain.

Somehow, the first drop that fell trickled right down his neck. It landed just where his hair stopped and ran all the way down the length of his spine. He stopped walking and leaned heavily on the cane in his hand as he tried to fight back the sensation of bloated, pruned fingers pushing and grabbing at every part of his body. He tried desperately to focus on the hard ground beneath his feet and the fact that he was so much larger than he had been back when all of that happened.

It didn’t work.

His mind dragged him back to the night that he had woken up, fully woken up without the haze of fever hanging over him like a death shroud, on the Reaper’s Barge. He could remember the smell that had dripped through the air, the smell of bodies being burned so that the ashes could be disposed of in a place that wouldn’t bother anyone. He could remember the smell of rot and seawater that had soaked into his pores and coated his mouth. He could remember the feeling of his brother’s cheek beneath his finger as his hand gilded over the sweat-and-water soaked skin, bumping over each of the pocks that had been created from their illness.

Worst of all, he could remember the feeling of suffocating beneath the bodies of the plague-dead when the barge tipped too far in one direction and sent him toppling beneath a pile. He had gasped for breath and gotten only seawater and the stink of rot in return for it. He had sobbed until his eyes were free of tears and his chest ached something fierce, but no one heard it and no one ever would.

Kaz was only half-aware of what his body was doing in the present. He knew that his feet were on the ground and that his legs were shaking slightly, but he didn’t know if that was because of the strain he was putting onto the weaker one or because of the fear threading through his veins. His mind was a rushing mix of his own heartbeat and the screams that had torn through his throat for his bother to come back and save him from whatever nightmare the fever had caused him.

Most of all, he was aware that he was wet. He didn’t know how long he had been standing in one spot on the path that only he knew about with nothing but the memories of the worst time in his life to keep him company, but he was thoroughly soaked. His clothing was clinging to his body and felt as though it was suffocating him. It was pulling at every part of his form and trying to drag him down into the misery that would end in his death.

He forced himself to take a step forward.

He took another, and then another, before he was finally walking. The pain of his leg kept him grounded enough that the tides of the ocean were at bay so that he could tell which place to turn. He was still hearing his own voice echoing out over the vast nothingness that was the surrounding harbor. He could hear the sound of bodies popping when the gasses that had built up in their guts after their death finally got too much for the corpse to handle. He could smell the rot and the death and the plague like it was burned forever into his nose.

His hands fumbled as he got the lock on the front gate open with the key that he kept around his neck. He was numb from the cold and shaking with the memories of what true pain felt like.

By the time that he got up to the front door that would lead into the home that he had built with his own two hands, the one that he had secured for the people that had wormed their way under his skin to keep his heart beating, his hands were shaking too badly to be of much use. He grasped the key so tightly in his hand that he heard the leather of his gloves creaking dangerously. Something in the far back of his brain, the man that he had to let go when he realized that the overwhelming love he had for his partners was not something that was going to go away, told him that he had probably ruined them.

The wind was beginning to howl as it ripped over the rooves of Ketterdam. The voices of the dead, the dead that Kaz should have been a part of, came screaming at him as he sank down on his front step. He was crying now but he could barely tell what was a tear and what was the spray of the sea and his own flailing as he used his brother’s dead body as a way to save himself.

He was selfish, he was cruel, he was unworthy of love, he was a bad luck token, he was a monster.

The voices of the dead barraged him with their warnings and their condemnations of him and what they had seen him do. Sometimes it was the mother that he had never gotten to meet, sometimes it was the father that had died and started it all, and sometimes it was the brother that had been so foolish. Mostly it was the people that Kaz had to kill so that he could build his life, the people that he did feel guilt over his ruthlessness for.

His body hurt and his mind was screaming but there was nothing that he could do. He refused to let himself pass out the same way that he had in the prisoner carriage back when they were breaking into the Ice Court or in that freezing river. He was certain that if he gave up now, if he gave into the shards of water that were piercing into his bones, then he would never be able to come back.

But now he had something that he had to fight for, even if they deserved better than him. Inej would be furious if she found out that he had succumbed to the water swirling around his body without her being present to snap him out of it. Wylan and Jesper would never forgive themselves for not being there when he died. Matthias and Nina had already lost so much and faced so much death, they didn’t deserve any more. They had all given up almost every hope that they had of a shiny future so that they could be with him and he knew what kind of a sacrifice that was.

So instead of letting himself fall back into the comforting arms of the blackness that was pulling at the back of his mind, he fought and stayed in the blinding white cold. He shivered and held his body despite how fragile it felt, he screamed and sucked in the breathe that his muscles needed to live. He waited for them.

The storm raged on, as did Kaz’s mind. Eventually he had begun to think that the others weren’t going to save him. Inej wouldn’t be there to pull him up out of the waters like she had been when they were in the prison carriage. Wylan wouldn’t be there to talk practicality into his mind. Nina wouldn’t be there to soothe his heart with her hand even without her powers. Matthias wouldn’t be able to bring the grounding rage into his gut by poking just the right buttons. Jesper wouldn’t be there with his foolish smile and devious cunning. None of them were coming for Kaz because he didn’t deserve to be forgiven after the monster that he had been formed into.

He barely registered it when a pair of strong hands slipped underneath his armpits and pulled him into a standing position. He heard the sound of a lock slipping open, though he couldn’t feel his lockpicks against the slits in his gloves. The door creaked as it opened again and his mind chose to focus on whether or not it was a good think to have something that would alert them to the presence of others in their home.

“What’s going on?” he heard the voice of the man that he had been thinking of before everything had happened rush through his mind. It cut through the voices that the wind was bringing with them and the rushing of the water against his ears.

“Wylan?” he mumbled. His lips felt almost as though they were frozen together because of how cold he was. He realized that his entire body was quivering despite the warm hand that was resting on his arms. 

Several footsteps echoed through the lofty room that he had stumbled into with the help of whoever had helped him stand up. He felt a pair of large, calloused hands brush across his face. The callouses were on the tips of the forefingers and the palms, not across the entire finger, so he knew that it wasn’t Matthias. Even just assessing that his partners were around him served to bring him the rest of the way out of the panic that was clinging to the bottoms of his pants like rainwater. 

“Jesper,” he breathed as he collapsed forward. His body felt so weak and he was so cold, all he wanted was the safety of the people that loved him and for the cold to be gone. He hated the cold, it made his body and his mind ache.

“Hey baby,” Jesper whispered. He moved them over to the lounge that was arranged on the left side of the hall and sat Kaz down. He pressed a little kiss to the side of the other man’s face before he moved away from him. When Kaz let out a gasp of panic, scared that he was going to be left alone with the ghosts that had quieted but not entirely gone, the other man quickly explained himself. “I’m just getting you out of these clothes, sweetheart, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

Another body moved closer to him and he turned his head to see Inej. He didn’t know when she had gotten back or why, but she didn’t look pale and sallow like she had when she was hurt so he assumed that she was back for a very important reason. “We’re not going to leave you Kaz, not ever,” she promised as her talented fingers began to weave their way through his hair. He realized after a moment that she was undoing snarls and riding it of the dripping water so that it would stop slithering down his back.

“I got some clean clothes, Matthias has the blanket,” Nina said as she bustled into the room. She sat the clothing down in Inej’s lap and then wrapped a towel around Kaz’s head. She made sure that she wasn’t covering his face with the fabric as she wiped away every single drip and drop of water. Jesper worked with her so that she could towel off Kaz’s body when he revealed it by shedding the other man of his soaked clothing.

It felt almost indecent, being completely naked while in the front room of their grand mansion, with all of his partners gathered around him. His darkest secrets were on display for anyone to see, the body that he had been born with that didn’t quite fit, the scars that had come from years of life with a gang, the softness that had developed after being coddled by his loves. He was about to say something about it but his entire form convulsed and his teeth chattered too loudly for him to get the words out.

“Shh, shh, we’re here,” Inej promised as she kissed the side of his face. She and Nina easily got him into a new pair of smalls and into another undershirt, though he noted absently that it wasn’t the binding kind. He noticed that the pajamas that he was stepping into were the woolen ones that he used when the nights were so cold that he wouldn’t be able to sleep without an ache if he didn’t use them. Matthias then swooped in with a blanket, using it to bring him away from the now soaked bench he had been on before.

Kaz looked down at the fold closest to his shoulder. He realized that it was the special blanket Nina had made for Matthias when they had gotten married. The inside was a set of furs from squirrels native to Fjerda sewn onto a thick cotton backing that was woven so that it made a flannel texture, that way both sides of it were pleasant to cuddle up in and kept the wearer warm.

He was brought up to the master bedroom that had the huge bed they could all fit in and then placed down in the center. He was left alone only long enough for the rest of his partners to hurry out of their semi-wet clothing and into something dry before they joined him. Matthias and Nina were on one side while Inej and Jesper were on the other, which felt almost as though they were representing the first people that he had fallen in love with and the last.

He glanced up and startled slightly when he saw Wylan walk in while clutching a mug of tea. “They got you in something dry, that’s good. Now I want you to drink this.”

“What is it?” he asked, trying to ignore the sore feeling that his throat was already beginning to take on. He must have been screaming in the storm, or maybe he had been crying.

“Ginger mint tea with lemon and honey,” the other man replied as he settled himself down at Kaz’s feet. He was wrapped up in his favorite shawl and had his feet tucked under him to keep warm, so he looked very domestic and cozy. Kaz liked being able to feel warm.

“I don’t like honey,” he groused as he looked down into the steam. It was warming up his hands, which was when he noticed that they had taken his gloves off and he hadn’t even registered it. Their bodies were ones that he knew well, that he trusted, and that held rapidly beating hearts.

“I know you don’t like honey. I’m trying to stop you from getting pneumonia, you podge. Now will you drink it?” Wylan chastised, sounding every bit like Marya did when they came back black and blue with new bruises.

He didn’t fight it anymore, but it felt good to recede back into the blackness. This time it promised him gentle hands and loving words, kisses and mugs of tea and favorite blankets draped over his shoulders. He drank the too-sweet tea and cuddled into the bodies that were closest to him, suffocating under their love and glad for it.

[kukos-satellite]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Lab Rats: Elite Force (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Chase Davenport/Kaz, Bree Davenport & Kaz, Kaz & Skylar Storm

Characters: Adam Davenport, Bree Davenport, Chase Davenport, Daniel Davenport (Lab Rats), Donald Davenport, Douglas Davenport, AJ (Lab Rats: Elite Force), Kaz (Mighty Med & Lab Rats: Elite Force), Horace Diaz, Oliver (Mighty Med & Lab Rats: Elite Force)

Series: Part 1 of Not friends, not enemies, just strangers..

Summary: Based on my Tumblr post and you can find the document right here: Twisted Loyalties and Words (concept idea) Google Document

┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉ ┉

I’m starting something new with my concept ideas to post them over here and Tumblr. I have multiple blogs scattered around this site, it’s not even a joke lol but here’s this [chucks this and hopes for the best]

[unseededtoast]

Rectify | Bucky Barnes

Part 3/37 | Part Two & Part Four

Summary: I've lived every day for the past five years looking over my shoulder. I knew they'd come for me, it was inevitable. I was foolish to think I could outrun my past. It's followed me everywhere I go, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Never would I have anticipated that the shadows would lead me to the light.

Bucky Barnes x OC

Series Warnings: Discussion of human trafficking, alcohol consumption, graphic depictions of violence, sexual content, discussion of suicidal thoughts.

a/n: Hi everyone, thank you for checking this out, I appreciate any and all support! This series is also posted on Ao3 and Wattpad if you prefer those formats/platforms! This is a completed series, and it's going to take some time for me to transfer it to Tumblr, so please bear with me!

"A few weeks ago we came into contact with one of Hydra's weapons...We found ourselves in possession of this weapon but we are unable to decode whatever it is Hydra installed."

The chains clink against the metal fixture on the desk as the handcuffs are released from my wrists. I rub them, feeling the small indents they left on my skin and stay seated though I am free from restraints. I watch Director Fury closely, knowing I'm not entirely free and am still under his command.

"I'll be right back, don't leave this room." He instructs and I remain seated, not willing to move and jeopardize the new start I have been granted. A few moments pass and he brings in a bowl of water and some plain white cloth.

"You need to wash up before you leave this room, there's no time to waste for your assignment." I grab the cloth and wet it with some of the water, cleaning off my face and hands of the dead man's blood. The water turns a dark reddish brown as I continue to wet the cloth after wiping off the blood. I wonder what can be so urgent that they're going to assign me to something only moments after I pledged loyalty. I find it very peculiar that they're giving me an assignment instead of placing me under observation for a while. For all they know I could be lying about everything, something seems off. But, I can't question it or I'll look even more suspicious.

As I finish cleaning myself up, Director Fury beckons me to follow him out of the room. I stand and follow the man,

"I want you to meet some people. They're working on a project dealing with memories. Perhaps you can enlighten them and speed the process up given your background. It would be most beneficial that our scientists understand this as much as you do. It's a time sensitive matter. But make no mistake you will be watched, and if you try anything we will handle it." He explains in an authoritative voice as he leads me through hallways. What can be so time sensitive about my work? I ponder the question and feel uneasy about what the answer may be but remain optimistic.

The Director opens a glass door, where there are two people working. I recognize one of them as an Avenger. The lab is full of top of the line equipment and the most advanced technology I've ever seen. My palms begin to sweat as memories flash through my mind, the same scenario, different years. But I know this time it's different, it has to be. There's just no way I pledged myself to repeat the same mistake all over again.

"Bruce, this is Adalyn Averina, and she's been so kind as to provide her expertise on the project." I'm grateful that Director Fury opted to leave out the grittier, less pretty details for my sake. I nod to Bruce, who I know is also the Hulk from numerous tv broadcasts I've seen over the years. I'm introduced to the other scientist as well, she's a grad student at a local university here on an internship. The Director leaves the lab wordlessly, leaving me without any specific tasking. I feel lost and very much out of place. Everything seems to be happening at a very rapid pace, and it's not only disorienting but peculiar as well. I rub my arm anxiously and look to Bruce for any sort of direction.

"Yeah, as Fury said I'm Bruce, it's nice to meet you Adalyn, welcome to the team." He warmly smiles, eroding away some of the nerves. I smile back and approach him at the table he's working at. I see he has microscope slides laid out on a table, and I try to decipher what they are.

"It's nice to meet you as well, I assume we're lab partners then?" My eyes break away from the slides and up to his, they glimmer with humor.

"Yeah, I guess you can say we're lab partners. Oh, these are all brain matter, the subject suffered from severe Alzheimer's. Tony's been on a kick about retrieving memories, some childhood trauma thing I think. It just so happened that the project aligned with Tony's interests." Bruce rambles on and I nod, following what he's saying though I don't even know what the project is specifically about, or what the goals are.

"Well, I don't mean to interrupt your own research, it's just that I've already conducted these studies. I still have more to do, but I've got this much down." I say, hoping he doesn't take offense. His eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Really? That's remarkable. Do you have anything published? I swear I've looked everywhere for this information." I shake my head at his question.

"No, nothing is published publicly, but I do have a substantial amount of experience under my belt. I can explain it all to you, if you want of course. I'm not trying to stop you from doing your own research." I say, becoming more comfortable in his presence.

"By all means, please. I'm all ears." He sits down on a stool and I nod.

I explain the very basics to him, the parts of the brain and their functions, and how diseases such as Alzheimer's wear away at the brain matter. I briefly explain that with electrical stimulation, some of the parts of the brain can be programmed, in a way, and that this method can be used for several different uses. I explain that memory retrieval is very difficult and usually has to be handled on a case-to-case basis; treatment has to be tailored to the individual's experience, it's not a cookie cutter situation. I spare the details of what my experience is, and thankfully he doesn't ask. Hopefully he assumes my experiments were conducted on lab rats. He sits in silence after I finish my spiel, he rubs his chin as he thinks it all over.

"I think you might be the answer Tony's been looking for. I don't know where he is right now, but when he gets back you'll have to fill him in. You've got some good stuff, how old are you by the way? You seem a little young to be this educated."

"I'm 24." I answer and he nods.

"Well, that's very impressive and I'm glad we've got you alongside us now." I smile appreciatively and look to the noise coming from behind me. I see a short girl dressed in the standard Shield uniform.

"I was sent to get you." She speaks to me and I nod, following her. She leads me to another part of the building and up to the third floor.

"I'm showing you to your room where you will be staying for the duration of your time here." I stay silent and follow her down the hall. The hall only has six doors in total, I'm guessing some other employees live here. She stops at the third door on the right and nods to me,

"This is your room, and I've been told someone will come retrieve you momentarily." She says and walks off, leaving me alone. Shield sure does trust new recruits a lot to keep leaving me alone. I don't know if I would be as trusting of someone with my background. But perhaps I'm under surveillance, and they're observing what I do. That would be the smart thing to do.

I watch her walk out of the hall and then turn the door's handle. The room inside is bare. There's a single bed in the middle with a nightstand on one side, a lamp beside the door, a dresser against the wall opposite of the bed with a mirror hanging above it. I walk inside and shut the door behind me, familiarizing myself. I see an attached bathroom, noting that it also is small and basic. I stare at the bed longingly, this has been the most exhausting day I've had in a long time. I sit on the bed and stretch, soaking in the little peace I've had all day.

Though I should feel anxious after everything that's happened, I know I'm in the safest place I could possibly be. I'm too tired to worry about anything, the anxiety will have to wait until the morning. I close my eyes and breathe in the cool, crisp air of the room.

Although my bed at home was far more comfortable, this one offers a sense of security that my old one could've never provided. And though it's less than ideal to be working for another organization, it sure beats being on the run for the rest of my life. I'm just nervous to see what the project is about, and why they're looking for someone with my skill set. A sudden knock on the door startles me from my momentary peace and I jump up to answer the door.

"Miss Averina, I hope you're finding the accommodations to be up to your standard?" Director Fury questions and I nod,

"Of course, sir. Thank you." I pay my gratitude and he starts walking down the hall.

I shut the door behind me and follow him. People stare as we walk by and I wish I could vanish. They could know absolutely nothing about me, or they could know everything, there's no way for me to tell. Ignoring the stares is easier said than done, but I focus on the back of Fury's bald head, hoping the light reflecting off of it is enough of a distraction.

"Time to meet your new team." Fury says, opening a door.

We step in and I see four people sitting around a table. I recognize them all. I feel uneasiness creep into me but I try to ignore it. I rub my palms together as I look at each of the people at the table. Luckily, I've already met one of them.

Bruce sends a warm smile my way and I return it to the best of my ability, the others watching my every move. I take a seat next to Fury and wait for anyone else to say something, I cannot stand the tense silence in the room. From the status of the people in this room I'm concerned about what the project could be, it's obviously not something small if four Avengers are involved.

"So, it seems that we're in God's good graces as he's sent us someone who I believe can crack the code." Fury begins speaking, all eyes lingering on him except mine. I continue to look at the people in the room, knowing they could all single handedly kill me in a split second if they so desired.

"Bruce has already met the newest member of the team, but I'll let her speak for herself." Fury turns the attention to me and I nod shortly. I wasn't expecting to be put on the spot. I lick my lips and wipe the palms of my hands on my thighs.

"I am Adalyn Averina and I am a professor specializing in brain anatomy and physiology, with a focus in memory functions. I have an extensive background in this field and I am happy to help in whatever way I can." I keep my introduction short and sweet, not giving up too much information.

"Sorry, but with all due respect you don't look a day over 20. Bruce and I have been working on this for weeks now and haven't been able to figure it out but you just so happen to understand everything?" The man sits forward in his seat, looking intensely at me. This must be the Tony Stark charm I've heard rumors of. I nod my head, hoping to calm the rising tension.

"Yes, like I said I have extensive experience and research into this topic, I've been involved in it since I was a little girl." I see him internally trying to piece things together.

"Okay hold on. So you're like a child prodigy or something? And you have a Russian accent, I hear it. Fury where did you find her? You're sure she's not another spy?" Tony seems paranoid, and I can't blame him because I too find this situation unconventional.

"It is highly unlikely that she's a spy, Stark." Fury defends my credibility. Tony stays quiet but stares.

"She was in the lab earlier with me Tony, she knows her stuff." Bruce also sticks up for me. It's weird having Fury and Bruce defend me though I've known them both less than two hours. The blonde haired man sits up straighter in his seat and makes eye contact with me.

"I know Bruce and Tony have a scientific interest in your work, but it's a little more personal to me. If you can help us, I will be very grateful." I give him a small smile. I like him, he seems just as he appears on the television. He is the personification of honor.

"I will do my very best to help. I am unsure of what the tasking is, I'm still in the dark about that." I admit, looking between all the people at the table. The one redhead has been quiet the entire time, though she's been studying me with slightly squinted eyes. I hear Fury sigh and I look to him,

"A few weeks ago we came into contact with one of Hydra's weapons. The timing could not have been a coincidence, we've found a few Hydra spies in the past few weeks but we've eradicated them. We found ourselves in possession of this weapon but we are unable to decode whatever it is Hydra installed." I scrunch my eyebrows, concentrating on what he's saying. It doesn't make sense, I'm not a weapons expert.

As if I had run into a brick wall, it feels like the breath has been knocked out of me and my eyes widen a bit, there's no way they could possibly be talking about my Hydra mission, though it would all make sense. I suppress my anxiety and focus on the matter at hand. Fury turns in his chair and plays a video on a hologram.

I watch the scene unfold. Steve is fighting with a man on a highway that's been blown to hell. My stomach drops and I feel like I'm going to pass out. There's no way. My eyes are intensely glued to the video, and I watch as knives get twirled and punches are thrown. I watch as the metal clashes on metal, and I tear my eyes away from the fight being displayed. I stare at the table, trying to not hyperventilate. I hear the video pause and the room is eerily silent.

"Fury she looks like she's going to pass out." Bruce points out and I continue staring at the table.

"Do you know him?" The nice blonde man from earlier, Steve Rogers, asks. I meet his blue eyes and see the desperation in them. I nod my head, gripping the sides of my seat.

"The Winter Soldier. He was my mission." I manage to say without throwing up all over the table. This has to be some sort of nightmare I'm trapped in, there's no way this is reality. The rest of the table silently looks at one another in shock.

"Your mission?" Steve asks, leaning on the table, getting closer to me. I sense both curiosity and hostility.

"I worked for Hydra since the day I was born, my father was a man of Hydra notoriety. I was indoctrinated and trained. I had a special talent for understanding how people work, how the mind works. It was my job to improve what Arnim Zola created during World War Two. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't have a choice. I programmed their most efficient and deadly weapon and ruined a man at the same time." I admit. Steve stares at me with a blank expression, and I quickly meet his gaze with one of sympathy and regret.

The rest of the members take this information in and process it. There's no easy way to explain what I did, it's more of a "rip the band-aid off" situation and mend relationships from there. I feel shame and guilt wash over my body as I recall my earlier days working for Hydra. I remember every second of what I did, the pain I inflicted and the lives I've ruined.

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

Purple Shadows and Grey Eyes

by AllThingsFiction

Months after Jinx's attack on the Council chambers, both cities are still reeling from the disaster. War is on the horizon, and both factions are out for blood. The newely appointed Sheriff is trying to hold the peace, but with the Shimmer factories still producing the drug, Jinx on the run and Sevika nearly taking Silco's place, things are not as good as can be.

Meanwhile, Vi is put to the test repeatedly: staunch Zaunite or lapdog Piltie? With the latest drop down on a Shimmer factory gone wrong, Vi struggles with more than just her loyalties as even the strongest of fighters have a breaking point.

Words: 1982, Chapters: 1/5, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Jayce (League of Legends), Mel Medarda, Cassandra Kiramman, Tobias Kiramman, Jinx (League of Legends), Minor Characters, Original Characters, Ekko (League of Legends), Heimerdinger (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Jayce (League of Legends)/Mel Medarda, Caitlyn & Ekko & Vi (League of Legends), Jayce & Vi (League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends) & Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Ekko & Heimerdinger (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Drinking, Badass Caitlyn (League of Legends), Hurt Vi (League of Legends), Vi Needs a Hug (League of Legends), Vi almost dies, repeatedly, Protective Caitlyn (League of Legends), Good Parent Tobias Kiramman, Jinx is a Menace (League of Legends), Sevika is Sevika, Good Brother Jayce, War, wrote this in like an hour because author might be ADHD or something, Hospitals, Crying

from AO3 works tagged 'Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)'

[ao3feed-romione]

Viper's Tongue

Viper’s Tongue by platosmasterpiece

Sagitta Malfoy was perhaps more evil than anyone in her family. Known wild child, terror in the halls of Hogwarts and idolising her aunt Bellatrix, she was a force to be reckoned with. With the return of Lord Voldemort, a dictator her family had pledged allegiance too, Sagitta pledges her loyalty to him.

However, for the first time in her life, Sagitta is rejected of something.

And this isn't something she will tolerate.

Words: 1171, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: Multi

Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Sirius Black, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Andromeda Black Tonks, Remus Lupin, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, Original Malfoy Characters, Weasley Family, Luna Lovegood, Order of the Phoenix, Albus Dumbledore, Regulus Black, Theodore Nott, Death Eater Characters

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, Ginny Weasley/Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Dragon Riders, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43452169

[starcrossedlovrs]

Marauders meets My Chemical Romance: The second book of the series “May Death Never Stop You”: “Danger Days” by me, starcrossedlovrs (AO3).

Rating: Mature. Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

After the devastating loss of his closest friends and his fiancée, James Potter finds himself in a perilous situation, forced into an uneasy alliance with the enigmatic Regulus Black. As they embark on a desperate mission against Voldemort, James must navigate a world of darkness and deception, grappling with his own grief and forbidden desires. In this sequel to I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, loyalties are tested, and love becomes both a weapon and a refuge. Will their fragile bond survive the shadows that threaten to consume them, or will their pasts destroy any hope of a future together?

An excerpt of the third chapter “In The Dark”:

James moved through the cemetery with deliberate care, each step meticulously placed to avoid the crunch of leaves or the snap of a twig. His senses were on high alert as he approached the figure standing near Sirius’s grave.

Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking who it was—Regulus Black. James’s grip tightened on the shovel he’d found, memories of old animosities bubbling up to the surface. Regulus had always been a slippery bastard, snarky and cold.

In a sudden burst, James lunged forward, pressing the shovel’s shaft against Regulus’s throat and pinning him against a nearby tree. For a moment, Regulus looked genuinely surprised. Then, his lips curled into a sarcastic smirk.

“Potter,” Regulus drawled. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to sneak up on people in graveyards?”

“Shut up,” James hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Regulus didn’t flinch, his dark eyes locked on James’s with lazy amusement. “Paying my respects. Not that it’s any of your business, Potter.”

James glared at him, the anger boiling just beneath the surface. “You expect me to believe that? After everything you did to him?”

Regulus’s expression darkened. “You don’t know anything about what I did, or why I did it. But go ahead, play the self-righteous Gryffindor. It’s what you’re best at.”

James felt a surge of frustration, but something in Regulus’s eyes made him pause—something unsettling.

“If you’re really here to pay your respects, do it. But if you try anything…”

Regulus cut in, his tone dismissive. “I’m not interested in a fight, Potter. I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.”

If you want to continue reading, here is the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58061965/chapters/147820018