#taking the jacket = taking away his memories - leaving him bare and without protection = massive guilt

[histoires-en-bouteille]

I had an thought earlier today while doing a picrew of Ava

I haven't shared images, "pictures" of Ava or Todd here, but you may remember that Ava has white hair, and you may have guessed from the desert snipper that Ava always dress in full-black outfits. Todd, while dressing similarly, does have a few things in his outfits that make him stand out; including his jacket. While Ava's is completely black, Todd's jacket is leather brown - darker because of time, it's worn out, but it's still visibly brown. It's the most obvious feature for anyone who see the two accross the street: Ava is the shadow, dark mass with a white patch - her hair; Todd is somehow more appealing - more human-like. Brown jacket, brown hair, not always wearing gloves, more likely to smile.

But mostly, brown jacket. It's important to him, he got it as a gift from his mother, and nothing could make him part from it.

Nothing, except maybe one thing. One person.

He only told her once how important that jacket was to him. How much it meant to have it gifted to him, to own it and wear it, how it helped him thorugh the darkest moments, the bloodiest nights. He told him all of that while they were fighting - more than a week of silence followed that argument.

She never forgot. He never talked about it again.

Until he did. IT had to do with Ava's jacket being torn, or something of the kind, and her admitting that it was nothing more than fabric, that she could replace it and not care much.

"Take mine." he had said.

"Come on now."

"Ava, I'm serious," he had nodded, taken off the jacket, "take it. It's yours."

And she, her usual, brutal self, had declined.

"Keep that shit to yourself. You know what I always say about that thing."

They were masters of double meaning and subtle hints. But sometimes, frankness was the only option.

"Yeah I know, but I don't care, I'm giving it to you anyway. It's yours now, no taking back."

And she had rolled her eyes, and he had given her the finger. Even after all these years, he could always find a way to reach her. He could always bring warmth to that cold, cold heart.

"Whatever. You'll have to keep wearing it for now, because I still have a jacket, and you clearly have none to replace this one. Plus-"

"-brown suits me more? Hard agree on that."

And there it was. A smile, shy, but genuine and amused. His was always brighter. He was the brighter one. The touch of colour in a world full of darkness.

She pretended not to hear what he said after - the mere thought of it would twist her stomach and she hated it.

_

But the inevitable must happen. She couldn't change his fate.

_

Sitting on the edge of the hole she had just dug, staring mindlessly in the emptiness, she could hear the sentence again and again and again, repeating itself like a twisted curse.

"When I'll die, you'll be able to wear it. I won't be here anymore to tell you not to stain it. You'll do with it whatever you want."

And she would stare, finally, at that bloody jacket.

Literally, bloody jacket. Covered in dark red stains, one that wouldn't come off even if she tried to clean them off. And there she would sit, facing the dilema: to bury him with his memories of home, of love, and family - all of these things she ripped him off from, all of the things now forever stained with the blood that she spilled; or take it.

Take the jacket, and rob him from the last thing he had ever owned, therefore taking away everything from him: his home, his family, his safety, his life. His jacket. Take it, and carry forever the burden of his fate.

She could leave the jacket behind, and break her silent promise, but allow him to keep his fondest memories.

Allow him. Even in death, she would make decisions for his. Even in death, he wouldn't have a say in his fate.

She could take the jacket. It was her burden, after all, her promise to keep. But the idea of leaving him without any protection, without any memory...

And for what would feel like hours, she would torment herself with a decision that should have been avoided.

Somehow, it should have been avoided.

_

@chaoticvampirejedi @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[pseudowho]

The Silent Stars Go By

On the night of October 31st, Nanami Kento feels his death approaching. Knowing you are on the battlefield with him, and knowing he cannot die without showing you how he feels, he seeks you out...and subverts destiny.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, "last night on Earth" smut, truly desperate, frantic, semi-public, Shibuya ending rewrite

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Nanami Kento knew he was to die, on October 31st.

He was no arithmancer. A pragmatist at heart with a mathematical streak, he had, however, carried his barely living friend to safety, found the bodies of many others, punched a young man to death, and lived to tell the tale. The numbers divined great danger ahead, and, by the time a pink-feathered songbird had sung the perish song of Satoru Gojo, Kento could not deny the maths.

Kento could suddenly see no distant future for himself, as he once could. And yet between then, and now, there was one stark similarity; what future Nanami Kento did see, contained only you.

Behind his eyes flashed a montage of memory-- of midnight laughter-filled dinners at the Konbi. Of shielding you in battle, and you shielding him in return. Of you sitting on his lap, stitching his wounds with utmost care, before your reverse-cursed technique had fully developed. Of falling in love with you, and denying himself joy for believing he may give you none.

Being around you was agony. Being away from you was worse.

"I'll be heading underground," he had intoned to Nitta and Nobara, taking in their girlish features for the last time with a stab through his belly, "after I catch up with someone. Stay safe. Don't sacrifice yourself."

He was a hypocrite. He knew this. He would walk to the gallows, proud, if only he could take you in his arms and cry his love for you, first.

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Looking out over the city, having heard Yuuji's cries for 'Nanamin' only a few minutes earlier, you did not know you were being desperately searched for by Kento. You had determined yourself to find and follow Yuuji, the boy without protection.

The night breeze whipped at you, unhindered by walls and trees, on the roof of one of Shibuya's tallest buildings. Turning to leave, you felt a familiar warmth approaching. The man you loved opened the stairwell door, squeaking on its pivot.

Missing his suit jacket and tie, with his sleeves rolled up, he thrummed with raw, uncontained power. Something feverish stormed within his eyes as he looked to you. His steps were slow, and considered. The quiet calm of his voice was deliberate, soft.

"Kento, what...what are you doing here? Is that blood? Oh god, you're bleeding-- let me heal you--"

"Stop. It isn't mine. Just listen for a moment."

"Isn't yours? Then one of the others? We should get them to Shoko--"

"--I need you to listen, now--"

"--we haven't got any time--"

"I love you." The air fell still; a puff of blossom in suspended animation. You had not realised you were holding your breath until Kento's steps caught up to you, and his hands grasped yours. A melancholic certainty rolled off him. Flicks of blond fell over his forehead, that fervour still gripping him; gripping you.

"I love you. You are the purest truth I know. The warmest light. Anything I am, and anything I could have been, is at your mercy, and always has been."

The gut-churning adrenaline you had felt for the fever-pitch of battle was suppressible, before Kento's impassioned promise. That dam broke inside you, and the terror and adoration and injustice heaved out of you in one great sob. You needed his body flush to yours. Public decency took a back seat. So many years of restraint and doubt slid away.

You looped your arms around Kento's neck, one hand grasping his shoulders, and the other sinking into the back of his hair. Kento almost broke, himself, but couldn't; not yet. He had to show you. Needed to show you.

You felt him pull your head away from his shoulder, and you resisted, until his fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head. You were nose to nose. You could feel his heart booming in his chest, fresh from a fight you had not witnessed.

"If this is my last chance," Kento whispered, his nose stroking yours, "will you let me take it?"

"...what...what do you know...that I don't? Kento--"

"Please." Kento growled, his teeth gritted. You felt the twitching contractions of his belly, his hardening cock pressing against you. You couldn't resist his need to control this, and take what he needed, even if you wanted to. Your breaths ached in your chest. Silent, glossy-eyed, you nodded.

Kento broke, possessing your lips in one shuddering kiss. His hands and body squeezed at your softly yielding hips, all-consuming, trying to overfill himself with any scrap of you he could take. He dominated the kiss completely, selflessly, as thoughtlessly altruistic as he had always been. He groaned, panting through the taste of you, his tongue sliding against yours. His cock wept inside his boxers-- it was all too much too much but not enough--

You mewled, little hands gripping onto his collar, sending thunder to Kento's core. Kento pulled away, cursing, feeling the need to know the scars that pleasure etched upon your skin. You were scorched by his touch, too pliable now to do anything but bend to his insistence.

In blood and brutality you sought each other, beacons in the night with stars as your witness. They looked on, disinterested, as if fate held any regard for the lives of mortals, over gods.

With time as his final remaining enemy, Kento pulled you to his lap, sitting with his back against the low wall overlooking the city. He knew for whom the bell tolled. He would see his duty done before the final chime, and he stared into you in your entirety. Though neither a painting nor an ivory box, he handled you with kid gloves.

You straddled his lap, unbuttoning his shirt, and he whispered, groaning and bucking up against your clothed sex as he watched your nimble fingers press his opened shirt apart. Running your hands in reverence down his bared chest and belly, he could not have loved you more than when he saw his own desperation reflected back at him.

In another life-- in any other world-- I--

He lifted you, enough for you to kick your jeans and underwear off, his teeth bared to feel your core press against his aching cock. He spoke through your kisses, a fractured sentence punctuated by his apologies.

"I didn't-- didn't prepare-- no protection-- I can't-- can't stop-- please don't make me stop." He begged, reaching down to hook his cock out. You silenced him with one hand wrapped around his rigid length, and Kento stilled with a hiss.

--take you to dinner first, I'd show you the world-- fill you with its beauty before I fill you with mine--

"Don't care--" You insisted against his neck, "--don't care...need to feel you." Kento almost sobbed with relief to feel you hold him, stroking the head of his cock between your glistening folds. You let his cockhead and slit catch over your clit, shivering, intoxicated by the way he watched you with one hand splayed across your belly, the other on your hip, and blown pupils. He bucked his hips, needy, full of baleful possession.

--and we'd have a Victorian glasshouse with a garden you'd love-- and you'd plant wildflowers while I do the laundry--

Grasping your hips with a snarl as you stroked his cockhead down, Kento impaled you downwards onto him, the moment his cock notched at your entrance. You squeaked, pussy clenching with the sudden blissful invasion, your squirming making you sink lower. Kento felt a telltale throb of impending orgasm in his belly, and he was certain if you clenched one more time--

Your pussy full to the brim, you instinctively bucked downwards. Feeling Kento belly-deep, his trembling fingers dropped to your clit, and you felt Kento's abs twitching beneath your splayed hands. Feeling two clever fingers bracketing your clit and rolling from side to side, you squeezed him, milking his cock and locking him inside you.

--all the late nights and early mornings and train rides and arguments in sickness and health for richer for poorer--

"--love you-- I love you too." You sobbed into his chest, loose and warm against him. Kento saw stars, coming with a shout, thick ropes of cum spurting into you. Looking up at the euphoric agony on his face, and his fingertips bruising your ass as they pinned you down around him, satisfied you spiritually, in a way so alien to you.

You rolled your hips, drinking down every part of him. The long, powerful contractions of his cock inside you, his stilted low moans, his gasps of pleasure as your tight gloved heat continued to stroke him. Starved for him, desperate for more, you rode Kento to frantic overstimulation.

--so unfair this is so unfair, die for you like you'd die for me like I'd die for you like you'd die for me--

You realised with a happy squirm that he hadn't yet removed his glasses or harness. With his shirt trapped against his shoulders, and his lens steamed, fucking upwards and thrashing his head from side to side beneath you, you couldn't stop yourself. You felt the fullness of his creamy load still plugged deeply inside you, and pushed hard against him. Kento cursed, paralyzing you with a hushed roar of agony, and a hand grasping your throat.

"--asked you to make love to me-- not kill me-- but shit, if this is how we go, just take me with you-- take me with you--"

His fingers had never left your clit, now rolling it insistently, until you were the one wriggling and desperate. Still being stuffed with his cock and cum made your pleasure three-dimensional, and Kento's half-hard length began to stir to life again, still high off the adrenaline of punching a man to death. He growled at you with gritted teeth.

"--beautiful...good girl...not done with you yet...shit, keep it in, keep it all in...take me with you...please--"

With half lidded eyes, you grasped Kento's forearm. His hand still braced you with exquisite tenderness around the throat, a necklace instead of a noose. His second hand worked frantically against your clit while you moaned and begged above him, still speared on his cock, feeling him lengthen and thicken again inside you. You whimpered and keened, and Kento committed you to memory, just like this. He would close his eyes in his final moment, and see you, breaking like spun sugar above him, no sweeter sound than his name on your lips.

--bake for you on Sundays, and the bread would always burn, because we'll be too busy--

Kento continued stroking you, pressing kisses onto your forehead as he guided you down from your high. Cautiously starting to roll his hips up again, he moaned at the slick sucks of his cock sliding through his cum and yours. Unthreading his shirt through his harness, Kento threw it to the ground, before lying you down on top of it.

Otherwise fully dressed, with dried stains of blood rusted over his chest and back, Kento bore over you like a vengeful god. Here to take his spoils, he still handled you like glass, resting your head on one of his planted forearms, with a hand under the small of your back to protect you from the floor.

"...I've wanted you for so long-- you don't even know--"

"I knew." Kento faltered. His anguish at leaving you for certain death sharpened, with the sudden knowledge of past chances untaken. His heart clenched, aching down his arms, steeling himself. He couldn't help but lean into your hand, cupping his jaw.

Nuzzling his nose to yours, Kento melted at your smile twinkling up at him. He smiled back, suddenly bashful, lopsided with crinkling eyes, before biting down on one lip and slamming his cock down into you. Your gasp shook through you, clawing into the harness across his chest and shoulders, hearing Kento swear with pleasure at the intensity of a second round.

Kento barely pulled out, wrapped in your arms and tight cunt. He almost spat with anger at the simultaneous need to savour you, and the need to leave, knowing he could not have both. Duty to you held the greater weight and, feeling another orgasm creep through his back and balls far too quickly, he slowed.

Completely engulfed by the enormity of him, you stared up at Kento, made submissive under his emotional insistence, the thick aching stretch of him sheathed inside you. Your back arched off the ground with a guttural moan when Kento slowed, dragging himself through your core from ball to tip in long, languid thrusts, the whole length of his cock glistening with gluey white seed.

He swore he could feel every ridge of you, the mind-altering bend of his cock as it moulded to the curve inside you. He needed you to carry the shape of him forever, an unremovable flesh-memory. Something had changed in him as you carded your fingers through his hair, whispering praises to him, to try to hold him together.

Kento looked drunk. His eyes were distant and hyperfocused all at once, his breaths and groans gruff, his voice gravelly with emotion as his mouth muffled against your shirt.

"--sorry, I...can't move my hands...hurt you, I--" Kento grasped your shirt between his teeth, ragging his head from side to side with a growl to lift it up over your breasts. He did the same to your bra, gripping the cups to yank your breasts free. They bounced out, full and peaked under his hot, frantic breaths.

Kento nosed at them, pulling his cock from you slowly, only to slam back into you with enough force to leave you writhing and whimpering. His mouth and nose played with your breasts, nudging, sucking and biting, hungry and obsessive. Something primal glimmered in his green glass-concealed eyes, as your mounds jiggled every time he fucked into you. The visual stimulus of you spread beneath him, your tight pussy slick with his cum, doe-eyed and completely willing, sent him spiralling towards his high.

"God I wish I--wish I could stay-- more than anything...cum with me, please please please--"

His thrusts became frantic, rough and sloppy with no warning. Kento's eyes darted from your face, to your breasts and pussy, and back again, drinking in the shock and ecstasy plastered over your face. You were trapped within the humid embrace of him, erotically overstimulated by his smell, his desperation, the constant stroke of his weeping cockhead against your spongy soft spot.

You didn't realise how close you were to orgasm until his position shifted, his trimmed honey-gold trail now rubbing against your clit. Clinging onto him, and rubbing upwards to meet his thrusts, you begged for Kento to help you. Your begging was Kento's last straw, and he gasped, his seed slugging out in lazy, creamy trickles against your overstuffed cervix and pussy.

Barely able to see straight, Kento kept rubbing his rigid pelvis against you, gruff and messy while you felt the drag of pleasure through you, softer than bare feet through hot sand. Kento whispered to you, sweat mingling on your foreheads pressed together; "...don't regret a thing...won't regret a minute-- wish this was different...deserve more..."

Panting in each others embrace, the dreadful horror of reality seeped back into you both. You could hear cries in the distance, the rumble of battles. You fought an unwinnable fight. Silent, and pensive, you jolted out of your reverie to hear Kento groan above you, reluctantly pulling his softening cock free. He knelt, dewy-eyed, watching the gluey drip of his cum from you, moaning and shivering as he held his half-hard cock, nudging the cum back inside with his tip.

The sudden emptiness almost made you weep. You felt the same terrible foreboding emanating from him as you had when he arrived on the rooftop. Kento smiled down at you, heartfelt and reassuring, pressing a folded pocket handkerchief to you before pulling your underwear back on over it. He kissed you delicately, from toe to knee while you giggled, before planting one lazy kiss and nuzzle onto your belly. You grasped his head there, scratching gently at his scalp with your fingernails.

"Stay with me, Kento. Just stay." You pressed, knowing in your gut that his decision was already made. His sigh creaked the leather of his harness with broad, corded tugs of his shoulders.

"They need help, underground. I'm one of the few First Grades available. It's only right that I go down there."

Kento's words, as always, rang with decisive finality. Before you could begin to talk again, he interrupted you smoothly.

"You will not come with me."

"You can't stop me."

"Shoko needs you. Your reverse cursed technique is second only to hers, and she's in need of support. It's the proper thing to do."

You squirmed with guilt, knowing you would choose to let Shoko suffer over Kento. Kento glowered down at you, stern, as if he hadn't just fallen apart inside you. You swallowed, a coil of doubt inside your belly.

"...don't be a hero, Kento." Kento frowned as if he didn't understand, and you insisted. "Don't be a hero. Get yourself out first. I mean it." Kento hesitated, looking out over the city lights, the breeze ruffling his mussed hair. He pulled his shirt back on, threading it under his harness.

"...alright." He lied. He paused. You both stood, sticky with each others' cum cooling between your legs. Nuzzling nose to nose, it felt so surreal to have to toss aside post-coital softness, in exchange for the cold embrace of battle.

"Go to Shoko," Kento whispered against your lips, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "and help her. Please. Do as I say."

"Promise you'll come back to me." You hushed into his kiss, beseeching him. He softened, deceptively reassuring, while hearing his clocktower chime.

"Always. I'm all yours. Always." Planting one lingering kiss to your forehead, you watched Kento's retreating back, his figure disappearing down the stairwell.

You wondered if you'd ever trust anyone other than Kento, over your own instincts.

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Shoko was surprised to see you, her cigarette drooping as she raised her thick, dark eyebrows.

"Kento told me you wanted me." You insisted. Shoko shot Yaga one questioning look. Yaga shrugged, arms folded.

"We haven't spoken to Kento all evening." Shoko assured. You felt a flash of panicked rage in your gut, knowing he'd lied to you. Knowing he was taking himself to an unwinnable battle. You grabbed Shoko by the arm.

"Where are they? His team? Where is he?"

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Kento was bloodied, missing an arm of his shirt, his vision obscured by the incessant bleed of a head wound. Pushing out of Dagon's domain, he knew he was exhausted, already skirting his limit. He felt a monstrous wave of Cursed energy, so much deadlier than his own.

A volcano-headed Curse approached him, its hand outstretched and hovering over Kento's abdomen. Naobito and Maki already smouldered in agony, and Kento felt the sickening weight of failure in his chest He had only a moment to protect himself, and he may have coated his body in Cursed-energy in its entirety, had he not filled his death-sentenced mind with thoughts of you.

He expected fire and flames...and felt you. When he protected his right half, you had arrived at the edge of a knife blade, and protected his left. The volcano-headed Curse faltered, stepping back with a scowl.

Kento looked down at you, knelt at his side in a braced position. His clock stopped chiming, in a moment of twisted fates reserved previously for the gods alone. He considered that you were, perhaps, a goddess, and he may be your vassal. You looked up at him, bristling with rage, and Kento's heart swelled.

"I'll tell you off later. For now...we have a fight to finish."

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By the end of the night, Itadori Yuuji had gained a brother and retained a beloved father figure. Nanami Kento cast his eyes over Choso with a hum of resignation, considering he may have another boy to look after, too. The patch-faced curse who may have been his executioner in another life, met its end. He witnessed an old friend who was not an old friend, cast a battle royale over the length of Japan.

Gazing in mute horror over the devastation left behind, Kento felt a hand slip into his own. His ears flushed red. He cleared his throat.

"I'm-- I'm so sorry--"

You laughed, your hands over your face. Kento's eyes glimmered with mirth. He plaited his fingers in yours, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, mumbling against them.

"My hero."

[atinyslittleworld]

The Void Series

Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

Summary: After Y/N's relationship with her ex turns dangerous, she escapes to her best friend Mingi’s place, desperate for comfort and safety.

Word Count: 1,1k

Genre: comfort, hurt, friends-to-lovers, angst with a fluffy ending

Warnings: mentions of manipulative and threatening behavior, emotional distress, implied intimacy

The night was heavy with a suffocating silence as Y/N ran through the streets, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to hold back her tears. The pain in her chest was unbearable, and the fear that gripped her heart was like a vice, tightening with every step she took away from the house she once called home. She had no other choice—she needed to get away from him, from everything he represented.

When she finally reached Mingi's door, her hands trembled as she knocked, her body shaking with the remnants of the terror she had just escaped. The door swung open almost immediately, revealing Mingi’s concerned face. He didn’t need to ask her anything; the sight of her tear-streaked face, the way she was trembling, was enough. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she broke down completely, the sobs wracking her body.

“What happened?” Mingi's voice was soft, but there was an underlying tension, a protective edge that made Y/N feel safe. She buried her face in his chest, trying to find the words, but it was too hard. Everything was too hard.

“He threatened me, Mingi,” she finally choked out, her voice trembling as she clung to him. “When I told him it was over, he said he’d… he’d hurt me if I left. I had to get away, I didn’t know where else to go.”

Mingi’s grip on her tightened, his heart pounding with anger. The thought of someone threatening Y/N, his best friend, made his blood boil. He tried to stay calm for her, but the fury was there, just beneath the surface. He couldn’t let this slide. No one was going to hurt her, not while he was around.

“I’m going to find him,” Mingi growled, already moving to grab his jacket. But before he could take another step, Y/N clutched his arm, her eyes wide with fear.

“Mingi, no! Please don’t,” she pleaded, her voice shaking. “I’m scared, I don’t want anything to happen to you. Please don’t go. Just stay here with me. I need you.”

Her words hit him like a ton of bricks. Seeing the fear in her eyes, Mingi stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t bear the thought of making her feel worse, of causing her any more pain. Slowly, he let the jacket fall from his hands and turned back to her, wrapping her in his arms again.

“Okay, okay, I won’t go. I’m here, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he held her close. “I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

She nodded, her head resting against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It calmed her, knowing he was there, that he wouldn’t leave her side. But the memories, the fear, the pain—it was all too much. She just wanted to forget, even if only for a little while.

“Help me forget, Mingi,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just… I need to forget about him, about everything. Please.”

Mingi hesitated for a moment, searching her eyes. He saw the desperation there, the need for comfort, for escape. He would do anything to take her pain away. Without another word, he gently guided her to the couch, sitting down with her, his hands cradling her face as he looked into her eyes.

“Whatever you need, Y/N. I’m here,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt his warmth, his gentleness. Mingi was her safe place, the one person who never let her down. And right now, she needed that comfort more than anything.

As he held her, Mingi’s hands began to move, running softly over her back, her shoulders, down her arms, comforting her with each caress. His touch was tender, careful not to startle her, but it was enough to make her feel grounded, to bring her back from the edge of the abyss she had been teetering on. Slowly, he started to press soft kisses against her skin, starting with her forehead, then her cheeks, each kiss filled with unspoken promises of protection, of care, of love.

Y/N melted into his touch, the tension slowly draining from her body as Mingi continued to caress her, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on her skin. Every kiss, every gentle stroke of his hands, was like a balm to her wounded soul. She focused on the feeling of his lips against her skin, the warmth of his body against hers, letting it push away the darkness that had been closing in on her.

For that moment, nothing else existed but the two of them. Mingi was there, his presence strong and reassuring, his touch gentle and loving. And for the first time that night, Y/N felt safe. She knew she wasn’t alone, that Mingi would be there for her, no matter what.

As she rested in his arms, her breathing finally started to calm, her mind slowly drifting away from the pain and fear that had consumed her. Mingi’s hands never stopped moving, his touch never wavered, and she let herself get lost in it, in him.

“I’ve got you, Y/N,” Mingi murmured against her hair, his voice a low, comforting rumble. “You’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

[scuttling]

Devil You Know

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries Pairings: Damon Salvatore/female reader (future) Word Count: 2,107 Tags: Just canon typical violence/blood so far, Episode related 2x14 Crying Wolf Summary: Damon's in love with Elena, would do anything to keep her safe—including forming an alliance with a mysterious newcomer who just might change everything. A/N: I consider this a teaser I guess, as plan to write the rest of season 2's storyline! I hope you like it :)

Keep reading below!

Damon goes to the historical society tea party because he needs to confront Elijah. 

It’s absolutely the last thing he wants to do, after blowing off Jenna’s friend Andie, who will almost certainly be in attendance; the last thing he wants to do, knowing that Elena and Stefan are on some romantic getaway to her family’s cabin by the lake. But he needs to protect her, which means finding out more about Elijah and the deal he’s made with her, which means he gets dressed and goes to the party, puts on a smile, charms the pants off everyone like he always does.

It’s not easy, but someone’s gotta do it.

Damon is just walking away from Alaric, heading into the study on Elijah’s heels, when a pretty young woman grabs him by the elbow of his jacket. She fits in at the tea party, in a white sweater, long, tan skirt, and heels, but he can’t remember ever seeing her around town.

“Whatever you’re about to do, don’t,” she says in a low voice. A human wouldn’t have heard it, her lips barely move, but he can and she must know that. 

“And who are you?” he asks, cocking a brow. He doesn’t take advice from people he does know, and definitely not from people he doesn’t; all the same, something about her intrigues him, though he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Someone who’s not about to let you make the biggest mistake of your life — or afterlife, whatever you call it.” She lets go of the fabric of his jacket, then smooths it out where she’s wrinkled it. “Trying to kill an Original is suicide, so don’t.” 

She says it with an air of finality, almost authoritative, then turns away from him like she’s going to leave. 

He can’t let this girl leave, but he can’t let Elijah go either. He’s torn, feels two warring senses of urgency, looks briefly toward the study and then back to her retreating frame.

“Wait—who are you? How do you know–what you know?” She turns back, hair falling over her shoulder, and shakes her head like she’s frustrated that he’s even bothering to ask.

“I know, and that’s all that matters right now. Look, I have to go; I shouldn't have come as it is.” 

Damon grabs her arm to stop her from turning again, to stop her from leaving, but she frees herself with one firm, no nonsense tug and walks out the door without ever looking back. 

A mystery for another time. Elijah’s in the study, and Damon’s going to do what he came for in the first place.

-

He gets stabbed in the neck by Elijah because of course he does; he never claimed to be rational or sensible, to think things through or weigh the consequences like his brother. He acts on instinct, with more emotion than most people probably imagine him capable of, and then deals with the aftermath as it comes. 

The aftermath of this situation is a very sore throat, and a growing headache, as he mulls over what little they know, over and over and over in his mind. 

“Today was a bust,” he punctuates with a sip of bourbon. He says it to himself, to the room at large, but Ric answers anyway.

“Yeah, that Elijah’s one scary dude. I’d think twice before I trust that dagger and some ashes to do the job. You’re gonna need more info.” Damon frowns.

“But I’m out of sources.” Ric stands to pour another drink, grabs Damon’s glass and does the same. When he hands it back, Damon has a flash of memory from earlier in the day—the tea party, the mystery girl who knew more than she should—and he smiles a little to himself, pleased. “Actually, you know what. There might be one person who can help us out.”

“I’ll take anything we can get,” Ric says, drinking down the remainder of his bourbon in one sip. Damon stands and does the same, grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. 

As they head for the front door he starts brainstorming, deciding where they are most likely to find her. Strangers always seem to gravitate toward the Grill, so they should probably start there, ask around, find out if anyone who’d been at the event remembered her.

Those plans are cut short by werewolves. Goddamn werewolves.

“You know what the great thing about buckshot is? It scatters through the body. Maximum damage,” the one he knows to be Jules says, the one he hates with every fiber of his being. 

They’ve got him chained to a chair—an antique that’s going to be a bitch to restore after this—with some kind of inverted spike collar on him, and he is leaking blood from a hole in his neck for the second time today. It’s a new method of torture for him, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little terrified of the potential outcome.

This is how he knows he loves Elena, really, truly loves her, he thinks. For anyone else, he’d have given up a long, long time ago, out of both boredom and self-preservation. Damon would kill for almost anyone—he kills mainly for himself, anyway—but she’s the only one he’d die for now that Katherine has fucked them all for the last time. 

“Where is the moonstone?” Jules yells, pulling him out of his thoughts with a cock of her gun. One of the wolves pulls on the collar, which hurts like hell, but Damon just shrugs, smarmy as shit. Jules rolls her eyes. “Vampires.”

“At least vampires have the decency not to enter someone’s home without permission,” someone calls from the foyer. Damon can see that it’s his mystery guest, still dressed for the party, as she strolls casually down the hallway and into the parlor, toward the werewolves. Jules takes a good look at the girl, brows tight, as if she’s trying to place her, but the other wolves growl—actually growl—at her, nostrils flaring. It’s clear they know who she is… and that they actually fear her. “If I were you, I’d go. Now. Before another one of you gets hurt.”

Whether she’s referring to Mason or someone else he doesn’t know about, it doesn’t make a difference; the male wolves run out of the house in a blur, and Jules must trust her pack enough to know to follow, because she speeds past the girl and out the front door with the rest of them. 

Damon is impressed. Very impressed.

A minute later, when the house is quiet and the girl seems satisfied the wolves are gone, she steps toward Damon; her heels click across the wood floor, and in that delicate skirt, that pristine white sweater, she yanks at the chains that have him bound to the wooden chair. They nearly crumble in her hands, breaking apart and freeing him from captivity.

Now he’s kind of terrified again. Terrified, and a little turned on, and really fucking confused. 

“Should have let them kill you,” she mutters as she unlocks the collar, her hands slick with his blood but no less precise. She pulls each wooden stake carefully away from his neck, and he sighs his relief when the device is completely off, discarded on the ground. “Do you always have such a knack for getting yourself into dangerous situations, or have I stumbled upon a no good, very bad day?” 

“Hey. They broke into my house,” he reminds her, standing, and what’s left of the chains join the collar in a heap on the floor. The girl lets out a long sigh and puts up her bloody hands in a gesture of irritation.

“Because you’re fucking with, quite literally, the most powerful, ancient beings, things you know next to nothing about, even though I told you not to.”

“No offense, but I have no idea who you are, what you are… Those guys obviously did, and I’m getting now that you’re kind of a big deal, but it takes a lot more than a mysterious girl leaving a cryptic message at a town event to get me to change my mind.”

With another sigh, she sticks out one of her hands, and after a pause he gets what she’s after, reaches out to complete the handshake. 

“Hi, I’m the new resident vampire slayer. Happy to make your acquaintance.” He tries not to show that his mind is a little blown at this, that the prim and proper, frankly beautiful girl in front of him is a killer of anything.

“Vampire slayer? Is ‘hunter’ not cool enough this year?” She drops his hand, then wipes the blood from hers against the fabric of his black henley; it’s not enough to clean them fully, but now they’re merely stained red and no longer dripping with the evidence of his prior torture. 

“Hunters are usually guys with personal vendettas, who spend too much time shopping at the army surplus store,” she says with a completely unsubtle look at Ric, who remains dead on the Persian rug. Either she doesn’t care, or she’s spotted the Gilbert ring, knows what it means. “Slayers are different; we’re born with innate power, similar to what you develop when you transition—though I guess it’s all the same when you’re on the wrong end of a wooden stake.”

She takes a step back as he takes a step toward her—toward Ric, really. She watches as Damon lifts him up and drops him onto the sofa, so he can wake up with a little more dignity, at least. “So, vampire slayer. Are you from around here?” he asks as he turns back. He grabs their glasses from earlier, and a third, and fills them all with bourbon. He offers her the drink, which she accepts, sips. 

“I get around,” she says lightly, carefully avoiding his question. She walks around the room, exploring, as he cleans up, rolls up the soiled rug so he can dump it later on. “This is my first time in Mystic Falls, though I know all about its… rich history.” She takes another drink, this one deeper, like she’s tired after such a long day. He knows he is, so he can understand the feeling. “I’m drawn to where I’m needed, and I wasn’t needed here until the moonstone came into play. Now you've got doppelgängers, werewolves… I’m just fortunate you dealt with the vampires in the tomb on your own, or we’d be in a hell of a lot more trouble.”

“Hey, I’ve changed since then; I was an idiot in love,” he explains, then he fully realizes that’s bullshit; he’s still an idiot, and still in love—or, more appropriately, in love again. 

He throws her a playful smirk, but she’s not laughing when she comes closer and locks eyes with him. It’s the first time he’s looked at her and seen what must be her darker, more dangerous side.

“Love is not an acceptable excuse for your actions, and if you ever give me reason to, I’ll put you down without hesitation. It’s important that you know that.” Her eyes flick over his, as if ensuring that he’s gotten the message, that he understands her loud and clear. “Even when I help you—if I help you—my loyalties are to the slayers who fought before me, who fight alongside me. No one else. If any of you harm an innocent person with intent, I will kill you.”

Damon contemplates that for a moment, he really does; there’s no shortage of people who want him dead, so adding one more to the list isn’t really as impactful as she may believe. He can’t help thinking, though, that if she’s on their side—if she’s willing to fight with them instead of against them—they might actually have a chance against the werewolves, the Originals. They might actually have a shot at eliminating the threat instead of outrunning it, at protecting Elena once and for all. 

It means giving up human blood, which isn’t his favorite thing to do, but he’s done it before, can do it again. Will do it for Elena, if that’s what it takes.

“You have my word, slayer,” he says, peering down seriously into her eyes. For once, he means it. “You help us keep Elena safe, and we’ll all be on our best behavior, or you get to wipe out every creature of the night that lives in Mystic Falls.”

She nods, after a moment, then drains her glass of bourbon with an exaggerated, satisfied smack of her lips. 

“Alright then. First things first: who’s Elena?”

[angels--trumpet]

Human Gojo Tiger Yuji

Hello I have some worms to share with you, please enjoy my little drabble.

Au: tiger hybrid Yuji, hybrids are pets, fix it(kinda)

SFW

Gojo finds him in a box one day curled up tight with its tail tucked around its body and head pushed down hidden under a raggedy hole covered hood. His hands tucked into the pockets of his uniform pants while he hunched over the tiny soaked body, it wasn't even shivering, just laying there in the soaked through box. It looked pathetic.

Gojo reaches down to pick it up, and the touch immidetly gets a reaction from the little hybrid. Jerking his head up and baring its teeth in a visious snarl then stopping abruptly as it looked up at Gojo. It's eyes immidetly overflowed with tears, the tiny body pouncing right into the mans chest. 

So surprised by the reaction Gojo barely realized his had let the little cub touch him, chubby paws wetting his uniform jacket as it clung on for dear life nicking the skin underneither, but Gojo couldn't find it in him to care. 

An exotic breed that only the rich could afford to get and then thrown away when it became too much to handle. 

From the looks of it, the poor thing had been in a great many fights, a jagged scar ran down his brow near their eye, a star burst right on the corner of his lip, and the tip on one of its split tail was gone like it had been cut off. It was obviously young given its size, a tiger Gojo assumed from the strips and the rounded ears one with a split tail no less this one would have sold for quite the fortune if it wasn't for all the damage done to the hybrid. 

So Gojo took him home.

Gojo didn't have a great morality, honestly, so he didn't have a leg to stand on, but something about this one in particular made him angery. Like the injuries could have been prevented or the treatment of them was too harsh.

The little thing called itself Yuji.

He was 15 dispite his size and wouldn't tell Gojo where he had come from or where he received his injuries. So Gojo didn't press him, instead he bathed him and dressed up in over sized clothes, and used him like a stuffed animal for the night. He slept better then he had in years.

Most of all he learns that Yuji was extremely protective, of not just him but his students and specifically his underclassmen Nanami.

Gojo learns that Yuji can use cursed energy, had several techniques hidden in his tiny body, and was incredibly strong, durable, and fast. It was honestly kind of cute to see the little guy run on all 4 legs like a cat out of hell.

It was clear something had happened to Yuji before that made him this way, often staring off into space lost in a memory or screaming awake from a nap Gojo finally successfully make him take. Gojo could not help how easy it was to love yuji, to want to care for him specially when the little thing was so affectionate with him.

Yuji would not let him go.

Months began to pass, and Yuji became more aggitated and nervous, panicky until the night of Halloween and Gojo had to go on a mission.

Would not let Gojo leave the tiny apartment without him clinging onto his shirt, so that how Gojo left. Yuji telling him things about the future, telling him about being sealed away, telling him about Kenjaku.

Everything the cub said was true, as much as he hated it, it was true.

Gojo didn't have the heart to destroy his best friend all over again, choosing instead to push away from the crowd of people. He still had a job to do. Kenjaku  had looked at Yuji like he knew him, eyes narrowed in annoyance while the cub snarled back, not backing down from the glare. 

It wasn't the last time they would meet

Extra bits!

Ok so! Canon happens but Yuji dies fighting Sukuna alone because everyone else got curb stomped by him, he gets a second chance but in a univers as a hybrids which are sold as pets.

He was born a stray and his grandpa was also a hybrid stray, he was being watched over by a nice lady at the vet but eventually he does pass away and Yuji is alone, it was a bit faster because they couldn't get help fast enough so Yuji is orphaned a lot sooner.

Yuji is a tiger with a split tail making him very rare but he's was born with all his scars from the past.

Yuji let's go of Gojo only long enough to go find Mahito and kill him (with Gojo watching his back and Todo helping him) he took the fight personal because he was still mad about Nobara and Nanami from the past life. 

Yuji like a tiny little power house, so he doesn't need much help at all but they just wanna make sure Yuji okay. When things are calm again Yuji lives a very pampered life as Gojos best friend and life companion He does get bigger but only about the size he is in the Manga so he still able to just Cling onto Gojo like he's a backpack.

Gojo and the rest treat Yuji like he's his own person even tho by law he is only a pet untill Gojo gets tired of it and pays off people lmao. 

They have like 12 cubs together and live happily ever after the end lol.

Yuji however still choses to stay as Gojo's tho, he just ends up taking the mans last name through marriage.

[shadsthequeenofthepotatopeople]

SW Clone kinktober

Day 10: public sex

Feat: Boss

NSFW 🔞

Boss watched the woman dancing on the table.

He was transfixed, unable to look away as he slowly nursed his drink. The club was as busy as it usually was, though he appeared to be the only clone. Not that anyone would notice him, of course, not out of armour and dressed in civvies, with the hood of his jacket pulled up. It wasn't that he was ashamed to be here, but he certainly didn't want any of his men knowing his preferred hunting ground.

The pantoran woman spun around, her silvery hair trailing behind her. Boss felt his trousers tent a little at the way her breasts swayed, her mauve nipples contrasting so perfectly with her blue skin.

She finished her dance to the appreciative whistles of the other patrons. Boss didn't feel jealous, of course not. She wasn't his. He'd shared many steamy moments with her, but she still wasn't his. Protective, maybe, but not possessive. Everything was fleeting, and he'd learned long ago to simply enjoy the things that he had, no matter how brief.

Her eyes met his across the room, and she smiled, arching a suggestive eyebrow. The next girl arrived on the stage, and the pantoran walked off, still holding Boss' gaze. He picked up his drink. He sipped. He waited.

She joined him within a few minutes, her breasts now hidden (barely) beneath a thin, satin dress. It was almost pearlescent, shimmering as she walked across the club, floating behind her and giving her an ethereal quality. To Boss, she had always been a goddess at any rate.

Without waiting for an invitation, she swung her legs over to sit on his lap, taking his drink from him and knocking it back smoothly.

"Good evening, Boss," she said in her heavy accent, smiling at him.

"Lyra," he replied, inclining his head.

She peered at him beneath his hood, her teeth white, her beautiful skim soft looking, and her golden tattoos crinkling on her cheeks as she smiled.

"I did not expect to see you back so soon."

Boss huffed a laugh, discreetly casting his gaze around the room. Most of the patrons had their eyes glued to the new girl on the stage, while the remainder were engrossed in attempting to score one of the other many gorgeous women dotted about the lounge. He turned his attention back to Lyra.

"I did not expect to be back so soon."

She chuckled, a beautiful sound that rang in Boss' ears.

"Did I leave you wanting more, Commando?"

Boss' trousers tightened even further at the memory. By the way Lyra squirmed on his lap, she was aware of his arousal. Her eyes danced with unspoken promise.

"I see that I did."

She smiled, shifting until she was straddling his hips. Boss leaned back in his chair, watching with a smirk as she settled into position.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, suddenly remembering his manners.

Lyra shook her head, draping her arms around his neck and leaning forward in such a way that her breasts threatened to spill out of her sheer dress.

"Not now that I'm comfortable. I don't want you going anywhere."

She pretended to fidget into a more comfortable position, but Boss knew she was really using the opportunity to rile him up even more. He let her.

Slowly, she leaned in until her breath fluttered against his cheek.

"What is it that you desire this evening?" she asked suggestively.

Boss licked his lips. His cock hardened further.

"Lady's choice."

She laughed again, throwing her head back and warranting the brief attention of those nearest their table.

"I have a few ideas," she mused, her eyes taking on a mischievous quality. "That is, if you trust me?"

Boss nodded. It felt odd to admit that he trusted someone that wasn't one of his brothers.

"I do."

Her grin widened.

"Good."

She placed her hands on his chest, gently kneading the taught muscle beneath the grey tunic. Boss closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. Her hands slowly slid lower, until they were resting on his hips. He resisted the urge to grind against her. Lyra leaned closer, her lips brushing against his in a teasing half kiss. Boss found himself trailing after her as she pulled back. It was pathetic how needy he was for the woman.

With a satisfied sound, the pantoran lifted herself off of Boss' lap. He huffed in disappointment, though she only raised herself a few inches, just enough to fumble open his flies and tug off his belt.

A hot flush blossomed in his chest and his pulse picked up as she dragged out his manhood.

"Are we doing this here?" he asked, glancing about warily at the other patrons.

Lyra giggled, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Why not?"

Boss supposed that the room was quite dark. And all other eyes were currently fixed on the woman atop the stage, who was viciously grinding against the pole like her life depended on it.

Lyra took his silence for confirmation, and gave his cock a few lazy strokes, before sinking down on it. Boss sighed in satisfaction as she settled on him to the hilt, her cunt wet and warm as it clenched around him. He wasn't sure why the fact that she wasn't wearing underwear was so damned erotic.

Lyra began moving, slowly at first, hitching her hips, her golden eyes boring into his. Boss caressed her waist, relishing how soft and pliable she was.

Boss couldn't say how long it lasted. It could have been five minutes or an hour. He lost himself in the rhythm set by the woman above him, the smell of her perfume, the sound of her wet pussy around his aching cock. He couldn't tell if anybody saw what they were doing in that quiet corner of the club. And he didn't much care at any rate.

[pluumed]

@venstm sent -> By the time touya had reached shelter the rain had plastered his jacket to his sides, his blanched fists balled at his sides trembling with the cold. Anger still simmered within him, hurt and rejection betrayed by hot tears that stung at his eyes. His father’s thunderous voice rang in his ears, the cold, dismissive narrowing of his eyes as they admonished him for using his quirk burned into his memory. It was his father’s power, the searing heat of hellfire that seethed beneath his skin, it didn’t matter that his arms bled, that the traces of that uncontrollable fire were engraved upon his skin, he was strong. All he had wanted was his father’s recognition, instead, he felt his father’s glare peel back his skin more than his quirk ever could. His hands splayed on his thighs, head hanging, breaths heaved unevenly, it’s a moment before touya even recognizes the sensation of someone staring at him. His chin jerks up, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands as if he were ashamed to be caught in the act. part of him wants to bare his teeth, channeling that rampant indignation at this stranger but something about his wide innocuous stare makes him hesitate.

❝ there’s … enough room for two in here y’know and i wasnt..❞ he shakes his head adamantly, as if saying it wasn’t convincing enough. ❝ i wasn’t crying.❞ mustering his courage he steps under the cover of the shelter, coming to sit beside the other, his knees instantly drawn to his chest, feet planted firmly on the metal seat. ❝ your wings…❞ how could he not notice them, their striking red color, the way they seemed to curl around the other protectively. ❝ you’re soaking wet.❞ as if he wasn’t too. Finally, as if resolving himself to some sort of peace offering he extends his hand, his fingers still half covered in bandaids he’d haphazardly stuck on, burns peeking out from beneath them, red and angry. ❝ i’m touya, if we’re gonna both stay here you should say your name too.❞

it was long before the rain started to fall that keigo realised the danger he'd put himself in by leaving the house without permission. it was long before his feathers were soaked through with cold rainwater and his thin shirt clung to his frail body that he realised how much he didn't want to go back. he didn't want to listen to his mother complain about the tv not working. he didn't want to run and hide as his father threw whatever wasn't nailed down at the young boy. he... he has to go back. he has to go back because his father will likely kill his mother if keigo doesn't take the brunt of his frustrations. he has to go back. he isn't sure if it's a fearful shiver that shudders down his spine and through every single feather wrapped fearfully around him - or if it's the cold finally working through every inch of him as the feeling in his fingers and toes finally dies down to nothing at all rather than the distant stinging he'd grown accustomed to up until this point.

tears swim in keigo's vision when a figure appears in the entrance of his shelter - the sudden appearance pressing the smaller boy back against the cool glass and gripping his knees tighter to his chest as if the movement would force his assailant to take mercy--

the other boy sits down next to him.

mutely, in some kind of frozen terror, golden gaze remains fixated on the other boy as he speaks. touya... touya invades his space - his shelter and suddenly the light of the distant street light through a haze of rain is no longer the only light keigo can see by. suddenly he finds himself unable to look away from those sapphire hues that watch him from above the offered hand. gaze shifts, staring dumbly at the hand held out towards him. the gesture alien to a boy used only to the way hands can cause him pain. then, he realises what's asked of him. the brighter boy's voice finally sinking in through the fog of terror keigo still can't quite see through.

"kei... kei..." gingerly, tentatively, does the boy lift a trembling hand to gently touch his fingertips 'gainst touya's palm before retreating back into his cocoon made up of crimson feather and fear. only when he's hidden away again does keigo manage to find his voice fully. "keigo. i'm... keigo."

golden hair clings to his face, grimy shirt doing naught but keeping the cold against his skin as keigo's face barely peeks out from beneath the safety of his wings. touya's face doesn't look like his father's does when he's angry... it doesn't even look like his mother's vacant expression when she talks to the boy. that's... that's good. that means he isn't angry - right? that means that keigo isn't going to be kicked out into the rain again and made to find another shelter from the driving cold and water. finally, as if the effort is monumental even to simply raise his voice enough to be heard, keigo looks to touya and softly, barely a whisper will ask him: "are... are you lost as well, touya?"

[blorboselfshipping]

Stolen Moments

Feel really bad about yesterday, I can barely focus on what I need to do, so I slacked off and wrote this instead.

Outside the window, the wind ripples through the leaves, the branches waving in a dramatic dance. It serves to distract Rose for a few minutes, but after the pattern becomes hypnotic, she can’t stop her thoughts from turning back to what sent her into a spiral in the first place. She shudders and wraps Logan’s jacket around her tighter. 

From her place in the window seat, she leans her head against the glass and dully gazes out, trying to tune out her thoughts once more. 

Half an hour, maybe an hour passes, she can’t tell. Time goes so slow and so fast when she feels like this. But eventually, there’s a knock on her door. She doesn’t move.

Another knock, this time with a voice calling out.

“Rose? I know you’re home, babe, can I come in?” 

Her eyes flick backwards, but just return to the view before her without an answer. Even through the wood, she can hear Logan's sigh.

“I just... want to know if you’re ok. If you need space, that’s ok too. I get it. But I’m gonna be right here, if you need me.”

A tiny blip of emotion sparks in her chest, through the fog. It’s enough to get her up on her feet and to the door. She turns the knob just in time, just as Logan pulls his hand back. She keeps her head down, her gaze focused on that broad, strong hand, reminding herself just how gentle they can be. One night, she’d peppered kisses on his knuckles, one for every memory that had been plaguing Logan in the dark. If she could be there for him, she could trust he would do the same.

So she lets her gaze travel up to his face. 

Anyone who knows Logan, who’s worked with him, who’s fought with him, would say they rarely saw him with such a soft expression. But it’s more than that. Even as the corners of his eyes soften, looking back at her, there’s a sad understanding in his blue eyes. A look that says I know you’re hurting and don’t know what to do about it. A look that says You’re not alone and I’ll help if you let me. 

Eyes locked on each other, Rose feels something shake loose in her chest and her jaw twitches against the release. She steps back to let him in. He follows her through, quiet for a moment. 

“Can you talk about it?” Not, do you want to talk about it? He was asking her if she could. She shakes her head, wraps her arms around herself, and stares at the carpet.

Logan has many sighs to express himself. He sighs when he’s bored, sighs when he’s tired of someone’s shit, sighs when he’s content. This sigh is short and quiet; a sigh of understanding.

“Come on, then.” He takes her hand, gently pulling her along. Rose resists for a moment, confusion furrowing her brows. Logan glances back, his blue eyes still so comforting. “Doesn’t do you any good to be cooped up in here, alone with your thoughts. Let’s go for a ride. It’ll help. Trust me.”

If he does, she can.

Her feet slip into their shoes by the door and she trails behind him. Logan doesn’t let her lag behind for long and falls back to lay a protective arm around her waist. Rose squeezes her eyes shut against the sudden wave of emotion his simple touch drags to the surface of the dark ocean in her chest. It feels like too much and like she’s still starving for more at the same time. 

The hallways are blissfully clear all the way to the garage. By the open bay doors, two helmets already hang from each handle of Logan’s midnight blue bike, ready to go. Rose’s green eyes flash to Logan briefly, suspicious and questioning. Logan only gives a small grin, shrugging.

“I always want you with me for a ride, darlin’. Guess we both needed to get away.” Her eyes soften and she lets her own smile creep across her face. Logan clips his helmet on, passing hers over, and settles into the low seat. While Logan’s dense body makes the bike sink a good few inches, Rose barely shifts the frame as she slides on behind him. She lets her body fully relax against his broad back, soaking up his body heat and the scent of his cologne. 

A turn of the key, a quick gun of the throttle, and they’re off down the drive. Rose grips Logan at the waist at the first acceleration, burying her face into his shoulder as they pick up speed. The mansion melts away and soon they’re on the open road, gray asphalt and faded white lines whipping by underneath them. 

Rose doesn’t bother to pay attention to where they’re going. She claws her consciousness back into her body, taking in all the sensations around her to try and ground herself again. Logan’s shirt is soft against her cheek, his scent fills her nose, the muscles under her hands expand and contract around his ribcage with each deep breath. She can’t help but twist her hands tighter into the fabric, like she’ll fall away, fall back into the pit in her mind if she doesn’t hold on. 

Logan says nothing against it, only releases one handle to stroke her hands soothingly against his side. She finds her breath and tries to take note of sensations beyond Logan. The vibration of the bike beneath her thighs, the guttural roar of the engine mixing with the howl of the wind around them, the warmth of his leather jacket that surrounds her.

Finally, finally, she peeks up and they’re so far from the mansion, so far from the city, they’re surrounded by forests. Sunlight burns through the trees, golden afternoon light cut by purple shadows cast from the thick trunks. It reminds her of a camera shutter, clicking back and forth to catch a moment in time. Time stops being too slow, stops going too fast, it’s only this moment here with Logan, playing over and over again. For as long as she wants, for as long as he wants, just the two of them frozen in time but also stretching endless forever. She feels her mind come crashing back in but it doesn’t hurt anymore. Like the leaves that shake loose from the branches in the wind, her thoughts go flying off, unable to keep up with this moment. This moment here with Logan, the one he gives her like a gift, a stolen, shared memory, for only the two of them. 

With a final shudder, Rose burrows her nose into the crook of his neck and lets the thoughts all go. Even if it all came crashing down again tomorrow, she has this. She has Logan and this precious moment he’s given her, to hold forever. This must be how it feels for him to get out, unlimited freedom and no end in sight. She understands why he craves it so much and it makes her want to cry, to get to feel it with him. He wants her to have this, wants to connect this feeling with her, to share one of his few happy memories with her. 

Out of the black depths, she feels the waves calm and lets his love hold her up, up against the beautiful blue sky above them, the same color as his eyes. Peace like this is hard won and she plans to stay in it as long as possible. Against the sensitive skin of his neck, she whispers how much this, how much he means to her.

She doesn’t have to see his face to know he hears her. She only needs his fingers entwined with her own to know he’s saying it back. 

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

game over

In the wake of the worst end, Aubrey & Kel confront their regrets.

When Aubrey gets home from work, she finds Basil stretched out across her bed.

“Aubrey, Aubrey, Aubrey!!!” he gasps, flitting to his feet. Like it’s some huge surprise, finding her in her own apartment. “I’ve been waiting!!!”

She doesn’t answer.

…What? It’s not mean. It’s not like he can actually hear her.

Aubrey isn’t crazy, okay? She knows he isn’t real. He's just some stupid memory that her stupid brain spat out after all the guilt and shame finally shoved her off the deep end. There’s no such thing as ghosts. If there was, she wouldn't have had to miss Mari so much, and none of this awful shit would even have happened.

He’s not even a very convincing daydream. Even if Basil wasn’t dead, it’s been years since he looked at her like that. His whole face shining with hope and adoration. Like she was—someplace safe.

“I’ve been soooo bored,” Basil burbles, trailing after her like a baby duck while she shrugs off her jacket and wings it at the couch. “I read all your books again but, Aubrey, you r-really don’t have very many books!! What do you do when you get lonely without any books to keep you company??”

Aubrey doesn’t have that problem, because Aubrey doesn’t get lonely. And she definitely doesn’t need company. Not anymore. Lesson learned, bridges burned, etcetera etcetera. The whole friendship game is a lot more trouble than it’s worth. Aubrey could take it or leave it.

It’s not like she didn’t try. She found a family once. Then they threw her away. Then she tried to make her own family, only she got the math wrong, and wound up with a mob of fucking murderers. A pack of bullies who would harass the world’s most pathetic little squirrel until he was ready to die just to be free of them.

(…Free of her.)

She’s not just talking a palmful of pills, either. Basil was so hungry to die, he was willing to do it in the dumbest, messiest, most painful way imaginable.

Can you even imagine driving a pair of pruning shears through your gut? Aubrey can. She tried it once. Not to kill herself, obviously—Aubrey’s not a quitter—but just to see how it would feel. Spoilers: it felt pretty fucking bad. She barely broke the skin before she lost her nerve.

And Basil was always reading those nerdy old paperbacks. Swords and magic and brave little nobodies who went on to accomplish great deeds. With all the bloody pre-industrial warfare he’d read about, he would’ve known that a gut wound is one of the worst ways to go. And somehow, that still sounded like a better time than living for another second with his own personal torturer asleep on his couch. 'Gee, I sure wish my old pal Aubrey would be a little nicer! Guess I’d better drive a pair of round-tip scissors through my fucking chest! Will I bleed out before I’ve finished digesting my organs? There’s only one way to find out!’

“A-Aubrey,” Basil sniffles. He’s still trying to smile, but she can see his eyes reddening. “Wh-Why are you ignoring me?? D-Did I… do something wrong?”

Fuck. Fuck her, she can’t fucking do this. She is so fucking pathetic.

“...Course not,” she says gruffly. “Sorry. I’ll… get some new books?”

His face lights up. It’s cute. Basil was always so cute, before she ruined him. “R-Really?? Oh, wow!! Oh, oh, can I make you a list? There’s this one series I want you to read, and—b-before you say anything, I know you don’t usually like fantasy, but—! I think you’ll really relate to the heroine!!”

You’re a splinter of a broken mind, you stupid nerd. What could you tell me that I don’t already know? “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!!! She went through a lot, but she trained and trained so she could protect everyone, to make sure no one else would ever have to hurt like she did. She’s soooo cool and strong, and she always does what’s right. Just like you!!”

“Hah. Yeah. Sure.”

Read the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46429294/chapters/117015964

[ayda--demir]

berat-yalaz​:

“I like to think he trusted me enough that he’d have let you go in the end.”

And Berat really did believe that.

When she mentioned never selling, his smile faded. Given that she’d been the one to walk away from him, he’d spent a lot less time wondering whether she was still holding onto things they needed to let go. Maybe it was unfair to assume that she’d handled it better on the basis it had been her decision, even if his fault. The look in her eyes told him she meant it. The look he gave back very much said he was sticking by his suggestion. It was valuable to him, too, but they couldn’t keep living in the past…

“Sure, of course.”

It was then he realised they’d been so deep in the trip down a particularly painful memory lane, that they’d barely touched their drinks at all. Still, it seemed better to end things now on a good note. This was progress, he was sure. So he got to his feet shortly after she did, grabbing a hold of his jacket and leading her to the exit of the café. Once they were outside he turned to her with an amicable smile.

“Thanks for the drinks neither of us actually drank,” he said, offering a chuckle. “It really was good to see you, Ayda. Maybe we can not drink coffee again some time.”

--

She wanted to believe her father would let her go. That he would care about her happiness more than what it meant to have her involved in a lifestyle she hated growing up. 

But that was the past.

A small smile tugs on her features when he offers to walk her out. She knew what she had to do. It was one of the reasons she had asked him to meet her. She had to warn him about staying away from Nevra. The one that destroyed everything that meant something to them. 

Ayda turns to face him, her arms dropped to her side. Her heart beat starts to quicken and her palms grow sweaty. Don’t back out! -- but this was nice between them, and she wanted more of it. She hadn’t even realised neither of them had a sip of the coffee purchased until he said so. 

“I would like that.” The words came out before she could process them, her heart longing for him. A hand shoves into her pocket bumping into the ring box and reality comes crashing down. 

What was one more temptation?

Without thought, because what was thinking, Ayda closed the distance between them. She leaned up on her toes, sucking in a breath of air and let her lips crush against his. It wasn’t a deep passionate kiss, it almost felt like a goodbye kiss that lasted long enough before she pulled back and rested her forehead against his chest. 

“Benim için hep sen olacaksın Berat.” She whispers, the tears starting to slide down her cheeks. “But you, you’re always going to chase her.” Ayda takes a step back, a hand coming up to wipe under her eyes. It all sinks in and she can feel her heart breaking. 

“I saw you two kiss. You need to stay away from Nevra. It’s going to get you both killed and I don’t know how much longer I can protect you before there is nothing left of me.” She pauses. “Ayaz would have walked in on you two that night if I hadn’t been there. I was meeting Nevra for dinner."

She takes a couple steps back. “I never stopped loving you. I tried.” She sighs, shocked that she was keeping it together the way she was. Ayda turns slowly to walk away. She had laid all of her out there for him. “I regret it every day, leaving.” She whispers loud enough for him to hear.

The last thing she wanted was to walk away from him, but there was no other choice. 

She starts to walk away.

[darling-i-read-it]

Flashlight

Stephen Strange x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4k 

Warnings: nwh spoilers, the reader being protective of peter, brief talks of children lol 

Author’s Note: thank you so much for being here sophie <3 I hope you like the little banter I cooked up for you <3 <3 

Requested: by @captainsophiestark , Also, if you’re feeling it, could I request a fic with Jack Thompson, Stephen Strange, or Shang-Chi with the prompt “So now what? You’re just gonna chase after them with a flashlight and righteousness?” Preferably with some fluff, but feel free to pick and choose and take whatever parts you’re interested in writing or ditch the rest! Or ditch the whole thing if it’s not the vibe 😊 happy holidays and enjoy your writing while you’ve got some time and are feeling it!! ❤️❤️❤️

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

The Sanctum Sanctorum was larger than you ever thought it was. Stephen never left it and when you wanted to visit him, you got to enter the vast halls. The rooms were tall and the doors led to other worlds. You were used to the main room, the one that Wong always greeted you in. You were used to the basement that had forbidden books locked up on shelves. You were even used to some of the rooms with literal portals to other places. 

But you truly never understood the rest of it. 

“There’s no map?” you asked, walking beside Stephen. The sanctum was frozen over today. Something about a door being left open. You were given a snow jacket when you came in. He was holding a large book, twiddling it with his fingers. You glanced over, admiring the rings on his fingers. You wanted to ask if they meant anything, magically, or if he just wore them to be fashionable. 

“There doesn’t need to be a map. I know where I’m going.” You rolled your eyes. 

“What about visitors? I could make you a pamphlet. You could host tours.” 

“What makes you think I want to host tours of the Sanctum, a place where magic is kept and contained?”

“I don’t know. How much does being a sorcerer even pay?” It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I mean, you pay when we go out on dates but are you struggling? Do I need to help?” 

Usually he would give you a rather annoyed quip back but he remained silent. He was turning corners too quickly and you could barely keep up. He was distracted, fingers flipping through the pages of the book. You looked over his shoulder but didn’t catch anything you could understand. 

“Stephen?” You spoke quietly, hoping to break him out of whatever trance he had induced himself into. He had been distracted all day. You came to visit him just for lunch but lunch was over and now you didn’t want to leave until you knew he was alright. “What is it?” 

“I got a visit from Peter Parker today,” he hummed under his breath. 

“I haven’t seen Peter in a while. How is he?” 

“He didn’t get into MIT.”

“Oh,” you mused sadly. He was such a bright boy. Then you remembered that he had just been outed for being Spider-Man. It was nearly impossible to keep up with all the news on every superhero in New York. Hell, you just heard Daredevil was back in the streets after being gone. Hawkeye was out there somewhere with some girl who shared his taste for weapons. Though you supposed you should've reached out to Peter. “What did he want?”

“He wanted everyone to forget he was Spider-Man.” 

“Can you do that?” 

“Unfortunately yes.” He stopped walking, shutting the book aggressively. It caused you to blink. 

“Did you?” 

“Unfortunately. Yes.” 

“Oh.” You breathed evenly. “I remember?”

“Parker has a wonderful way of messing up my concentration. The two of you have that in common.” You would’ve laughed had you not been so worried about Peter. That was quite a feat to ask of Stephen. How much of it had actually gone into effect? Did his Aunt remember? Were you going to forget?

“Having your memory stripped away like that without your permission is demoralizing Stephen,” you said quietly. “You didn’t ask any of his friends? His aunt?” 

The two of you passed the threshold into a darker room Stephen to magically light some candles but he handed you a flashlight that was resting on one of the snowy tables. You took it wordlessly, a scrunched look on your face. 

“Don’t wanna burn the Sanctum down,” he muttered. “And I know. He seemed in dire straits and he did save the world once.” 

“Well he had help.” 

“You jumped right into a memory reversal spell.”

“That I did.” You pursed your lips, thinking of Peter. You couldn’t imagine. He was just a kid. All of the other heroes you knew were adults, mostly coherent with their actions. Except for Peter who was thrust into this world head first. He never got a chance to say no. Tony Stark gave him shiny machines and a promise of a fantastic life. 

Tony Stark was dead. 

You stopped walking. You put your hand gently on Stephen’s upper arm, not looking at him. 

“I should make sure he’s alright,” you muttered. Stephen was staring down at you, squinting in the darkness of the room. He could clearly see the cold in your breath. The concern etched in your eyebrows. He tilted his head down in judgment. 

“So now what? You’re just gonna chase after him with a flashlight and righteousness?” he questioned, sarcasm lacing his voice. You looked up at him through your lashes, a straight lipped look on your face. 

“How do you really feel?” “I did what he asked. He has to reap the consequences.”

“He’s a child.” 

“Children need to learn from their mistakes.” 

“Remind me never to have children with you,” you muttered. He grabbed your arm and pulled you softly closer to him. It wasn’t an aggressive tug, nor was it one that warranted much reaction from you. He just wanted to be closer to your face. You knew Stephen and you knew his moves. 

“We’d be great parents,” he said, voice oddly seductive. 

“That was too sultry to be serious Stephen.” Your smile had not returned. “He’s a kid. We can help him learn from his current mistake but I’d like not to help him make more.” 

“You’re so level headed. Great parent behavior.” 

“Stephen, can you just agree with me?”

“I agree with you. Let’s leave this very dark and cold room.” 

The two of you left the room, discarding your flashlights at the door. You were once agin in the windy hallways of the sanctum. 

“I can leave if you need to figure this out,” you offered. “I don’t want to be more of a distraction to you figuring out this problem.” He rolled his eyes.

“You’re not going anywhere. Wong has gone somewhere and I need help.” 

“You’re gonna make me read boring books aren’t you?”

“All in a day's work.”

“This isn’t my work. I’m your girlfriend.”

“I love when you remind me of that.” You opened your mouth to quip back when he stopped walking suddenly. You turned to face him. You rested a hand on his arm as he held his stomach. He didn’t look like he was in pain. Something had disturbed him. 

“What? What is it?” He groaned, not in pain but in annoyance. 

“There was just a rip in the time space continuum.” Your eyes went wide. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I imagine I’ll be getting a phone call from Peter Parker here, very soon.” You took a deep breath in through your nose. 

“Looks like I’ll be seeing the boy after all.” He nodded. 

“Seems like it.” He put his hand on your back and started to lead you away. “We should get prepared for some sort of large occurrence. You’ve lucked out of books this time darling.”

[cinnaminyoons]

( GUARD DOG – PT II. )

ミ☆ time heals all wounds. but what happens when they reopen?

⤷ PAIRING jjk x m!reader

⤷ WORD COUNT 3.0k

⤷ TAGS explicit + non-explicit murder, gore, knife/gun use, (another) torture scene, the lore!!, vv slight possessive jk

⤷ SERIES part one 

⤷ REQUESTED

for guard dog i’d say something about reader’s past bothering him like him missing his family or sum n goes to this place where he has a lot of memories as a kid, he leaves for a while (without telling jk cause he would wanna come too, but reader wants time just for himself ) and how jk would react because their is radio silence from readers side for a day or two. ITS JUST A SUGGESTION 😭 YOU DONT HAVE TO DO IT IF U DONT LIKE ILYSM!!!

for once, the skies are perfectly clear. there are no wispy grey clouds, no rhombuses of rain streaking down in the distance. the moon is full, glowing softly among faded stars, and casts shallow blue shadows over everything within its reach.

the curtains are drawn tight over the window next to the bed. the air inside is cool and still, and only the occasional rustle of cloth breaks the serenity.

the bedroom itself is bare except for necessities. light shapes are cut out of age-yellowed walls where shelves or sets of drawers once were. bi-fold closet doors sit slightly ajar next to the entrance to the room, and if one were to peek inside, they’d find nothing but dust-heavy cobwebs.

despite the abandoned feel of the room – matching the rest of the house – two figures lay entwined on the queen-sized bed. one of them stirs, his brow creasing lightly.

your line of work requires a light sleep. danger lurks around every door and in every corner, and depending on what it wields, it can spell out a very brutal end for you. deep sleep is a vulnerability you long ceased to have.

you lift yourself from the bundles of blankets – slowly, as to not wake jeongguk. he shivers unconsciously, folding his shoulders in towards his chest – the absence of your body’s warmth protectively over him is strange. he can never let himself fall asleep without you. his hands slide beneath his pillow.

something feels wrong. 

readily alert, you move off of the mattress and slide a stiletto switchblade off of the stool beside the bed. the blade flicks up with a satisfying and audible whisper as you stick to the walls and slip into the adjacent bathroom.

there aren’t voices downstairs. you put patrols in and around the perimeter for jeongguk’s safety, and those inside the house are some of your most trusted members. often, they play blackjack at the dining table.

jeongguk looks awfully exposed, hugging your pillow for its lingering heat, and the sight nearly drags you back to him. but there’s nowhere to hide in the hall outside – it’s a straight line leading down the stairs. if there had been a breach that was able to take out your best people silently, then you want all the advantage you can get.

the bedroom door opens. it’s almost impossible to tell but you strain your hearing, and the slight hush of cloth on the edge of the door gives it away.

a dark shape halts by the slit of the bathroom door. you do not breathe, do not move, despite being close enough to discern the shine of the buttons of a jacket.

movement is what draws a human’s attention. it is a remnant of their predator days. you have found that simply being still is the best form of stealth. hide the human outline and remain frozen as you do now, and even the keenest of eyes tend to fail.

the intruder turns and moves away, creeping towards the bed. the figure is tense and seems to falter partway through. it isn’t a hesitance to do the act – it is the gut feeling of a predator outmatched.

your arm shoots out around his neck. the blade is at his throat before he can blink. fat jewels of blood bead along it as he struggles fiercely, scratching at your bare arm.

“wake him and i’ll slice your throat open.” the edge of the knife presses against him – a warning. the slightest movement cuts it deeper. “who sent you?”

the man’s breath is sour like cigarette smoke. he chuckles roughly. “the prince’s faithful guard dog. an honour to meet ya at last.”

you push the blade into his skin a few millimetres. the man lets out a choked grunt. you lean down closer to his ear. “who… sent… you?”

with each word, you tighten your hold on him. he jabs backwards with his thumb where your eyes are – had your reflexes been slower.

his heavy boots stomp as he fights back. jeongguk’s shape sits up in bed, the blanket falling around his waist. when he stands, his hand slides out beneath his pillow and reveals a handgun.

he killed your people. he tried to blind you. he woke your beloved.

the anger simmering under your skin boils over as you drive the knife deep into his throat. flesh and muscle split easily under your skilled hands and the man flails, choking, gasping.

he claws at his throat, at your skin, his nails turning into crescents stained dark. the round whites of his eyes bulge out of his laughing face, threaded with red veins – it’s a blood moon, a damnation, a prophecy of the worst kind. in his death you see your own.

those eyes. those terrible eyes, rolling like marbles in their sockets.

you drop the body hastily and it thumps heavily to the floor.

“how did he get in here?” jeongguk asks, swinging his legs over the edge. “we have to go. now.”

“you stay,” you reply. your voice sounds odd in your own head. “i’ll go check it out. get some rest.”

something unreadable passes over his face as you grab the body by the back of the collar and drag it out of the bedroom. you close the door softly behind you.

the walls in here are thin and jeongguk hears every bump down the stairs. thud-thud-thud-thud. you’re not being gentle at all.

he sighs and returns to bed, but doesn’t lie down. he watches the entrance, expecting your return at any second.

after a minute, he thinks you might be cleaning yourself off. these sheets are white, after all, and stains are an extra irritant to an already stressful life.

after the next two minutes alone he gets out of bed. he takes his gun with him and rests his finger delicately on the trigger as he descends the stairs, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

he’s grown up in this life and has developed an instinct for this sort of thing. he listens for creaking floorboards in the shadows and watches for swaying curtains. he swipes a torch off of the dining table, where four hands of cards lay face-down, and clicks it on.

the bodies of his most loyal members lay scattered. they fell where the others wouldn’t see and as jeongguk searches the house, the unsettling feeling of realisation sits in the pit of his stomach.

the house is boarded up and triple-locked, yet no signs of forced entry. no sound of it, either. the intruder had been inside before they even arrived.

the open back door squeaks on its hinges. jeongguk steps over the still-warm body of their uninvited guest, crumpled like a dropped sack of potatoes. he swears under his breath as the white torchlight sweeps over the back porch.

fresh, uneven ruts have been marked into the soil at the base of the steps, as if someone’s heels had dragged along the ground, kicking and struggling.

the dirt is dry and crumbling, sticking to the soles of his feet as he follows the grooves around the side of the house. three of his perimeter guards are slumped in the shadow of the rusted garden shed, furrows in the dirt leading to their boots.

he’s not a religious man, but he knows the three brothers had been. he closes his eyes and whispers a quick prayer, for what it’s worth.

moving away, the torch illuminates a patch of dark red, soaked up by the earth. he crouches to inspect it.

not yet a dark brown. soil clumps together. the blood’s fresh.

after that, there are only footprints in the dirt, though deeper than the single one before. large shoes, no drag marks – probably someone jeongguk’s height, able to dead-lift a man several metres to the street quietly and efficiently.

the dusty footprints lead onto the cracked footpath. the large tree that bursts through the concrete obscures the prints, and they disappear near the curb.

jeongguk lowers the gun and clicks off the torch. he spins on his heel and stalks back the way he came, his fists clenched tight. he never gets a goddamn break.

—

“where is he?”

his fist slams into the man’s face and the man makes a pitiful choked sound, saliva dribbling down his chin. his left eye’s swollen shut, his nose is crooked, and blood drips into his open mouth.

“i told you,” he mumbles thickly, lips sealed with dried blood. “don’t kill me, i didn’t tell no lie, they took ‘im there—”

“yet he wasn’t,” jeongguk interrupts, flexing his tattooed hand as he pulls on a golden knuckleduster. he turns his hand over and the diamonds embedded in it sparkle under the white light.

what a wonderful gift. beautiful, yet fully functioning. he’s been told that the diamonds actually make it more painful if he hits them just right.

he turns back to the man in the chair. his eyes are hard and stony. a light pops in the ceiling.

“i’m not going to kill you,” he says. “i’ve passed that point. while you won’t see some of your little friends again, know that i can make things a hell of a lot worse for you.”

jeongguk steps forward and lifts his hand, and the man flinches. he grabs a fistful of damp hair and tugs his head from side to side almost playfully.

“we’re stuck here together until you give me what i want.” he walks a slow circle around him, shoes clicking against the concrete. he stops behind him. “and what i want is to have what belongs to me… returned to me.”

“i s-swear i’m tellin’ you all i know! i’m not the guy you want, i’m just some—”

“think. think harder. tell me absolutely everything you’ve heard. and if you’ve got nothing else after that,” he shrugs, pressing the cold brass knuckles against the man’s cheek, “then throw your workmates under the bus. they’ll be more forgiving than i ever will be.”

—

it has been three days since jeongguk last slept. he’s running on fumes and revenge. he’s using every connection he has, every eye on the street. despite his meticulously put-together suits, the edges of his fingernails are crusted with red.

his father would be furious in that cold, sneering way of his – everything he taught his son melting away because of that boy. how funny it is to be killing for the person meant to do it for him.

“the cemetery.”

jeongguk leans forward, tilting his head. he sticks out like a sore thumb in his burgundy blazer and oxford shoes. to seem less conspicuous, he had rolled up the blazer’s sleeves and taken off his tie, though its effect is still ‘business casual’.

“cemetery – can i get directions there?” after a moment, unused to pleading, he adds, “please?”

the young woman behind the counter lifts an eyebrow, frothing milk in the coffee machine. “it’s far west, a few kilometres from the edge of town. there’s a hill with a big cross. if you follow the road, it’s impossible to miss.”

“don’t stay once the sun starts to go down,” a male co-worker adds helpfully. “and this isn’t about superstition. it gets real dark real fast out there. it’s hopeless if you want to get back on foot.”

“thanks,” says jeongguk. “i’ll find my way.”

the woman holds out a large coffee in a takeaway cup. “hope you find him. i don’t think i could deal with having my boyfriend full-on disappear like that.”

jeongguk accepts the cup and nods, not bothering to correct her. you’re more than boyfriends. “have a good day.”

they – the only two running the coffee shop – wave as he exits. he dodges parents struggling to hold onto a screaming child covered in ice cream and takes a sip of his drink.

it’s good coffee. small communities always make the best stuff – none of that big-city bull where everyone’s tired and stressed and underpaid, making flavoured liquid that they call coffee.

jeongguk feels strangely at ease in the town. nobody knows him here – only that he’s a foreigner searching for a local – and it’s quite nice to not have to constantly look over his shoulder. he can enjoy his coffee and the quiet.

he slides into his rented blue kia, places his cup in the holder, and goes on his way. it’s early afternoon, almost two, and the sky’s grey. something’s building in the distance, big and dark – likely a storm. if all goes well, he won’t stay long enough to watch it pass.

the woman’s right. the cemetery is right there on the edge of the road, placed on top of the nearest hill.

there are no vehicles nearby but there is a clean puma duffel bag dumped in some dry grass on the road’s shoulder. jeongguk unzips it, revealing a salad of guns. a sawed-off with loose slugs in a side pocket, a five-shot revolver with two bullets, an assault rifle with an extra clip. he doesn’t recognise any of them.

he zips it shut and tosses it into the backseat of the car. he treks up to the cemetery entrance and pushes open the black wrought-iron gates. the gravestones are polished and wiped down, and the flowers and wreaths aren't too dead-looking. the oldest must have been left in the morning.

a lone figure kneels under a tree. it’s so still that a passing eye might mistake it for another tall gravestone, but jeongguk would recognise those shoulders anywhere.

the cold tip of a gun presses against the crown of your head.

“do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?”

your head turns a few degrees. “yes.”

a short breath of wind sweeps the hair from your face. on your forehead, slicing through your right eyebrow, is a shallow cut held shut by two butterfly stitches.

“i haven’t killed in years,” he says placidly, pushing the gun harder into your skull. “yet you… you… drive me insane.”

“that’s love. s’what it does.”

“my hands are filthy,” he hisses, “because of you.”

“i told you not to do that.”

“i don’t listen to you.”

a dry smile pulls at your lips. “no, you don’t.”

he clicks his tongue and shoves the handgun back into his waistband. “why are you here, yn?” he asks, voice flat. “why didn’t you return to me the moment you could?”

no sweetheart, no my love. he’s angry at you – justifiably.

“wanted space to think.”

“i would’ve given it to you, had you asked.”

at last, you raise your eyes to his face. both of you know he wouldn’t. he loves you too much to let you out of his sight like that.

jeongguk steps forward next to you and crosses his arms. he scans the gravestone you’re kneeling in front of. a bunch of white lilies, tied together with a purple ribbon, lay below the name. another one sits under the grave beside it.

he says, eyes trained on the etched words, “you were born here.”

“i was.”

“my father meant to kill you.”

“he did.”

jeongguk glances at you. “i’ve never asked this, but… why didn’t he?”

“you’re talkative today.”

he glowers.

you let out a long sigh. “bad choices, running away, starting anew in a small town where nobody knows them. standard story. maybe age was getting to your father or something – he said keeping me alive, given to you, balanced my family’s betrayal.”

he knows his father was all about power. he must’ve made a connection between you as the representation of your family, and jeongguk as the representation of his own. charging you to take care of jeongguk, the son of the man who killed your parents, was a sick play of power and hierarchy.

you lift your gaze to him once more, studying him. “you look fuck-awful.”

“and you’ve seen better days.”

after a heavy moment, he kneels beside you. the wind picks up, curling his inky hair around its fingers. “how long did they keep you?”

gently, you take his wrist and check the date on his watch. no scratch nor dent has befallen it. “two days. after that, i made my way here.”

“what did they want?”

“shockingly, me. their boss even came down to speak to me personally about switching sides.” his hand tightens around yours. “then i gunned down his cronies and let him run with his tail between his legs.”

“good.” he shifts so that your thighs touch. “you’re mine.”

the two of you sit there for a while, kneeling in the dirt with the charcoal waves of the sea glittering past the hill. the fleur-de-lis spear-tipped fence seems dull in comparison to the churning water. 

jeongguk inhales sharply, lowering his eyes to the two gravestones. same death date, same last name. “not really the ‘meet-the-parents’ situation you dream of.”

“no, it isn’t.” you shake your head and get to your feet, brushing the dirt off your knees. “i’ve spent enough time here. let’s go home.”

maybe it’s the sleep deprivation finally breaking through his fraying nerves. coffee and adrenaline can only get one so far.

when you’re several metres away, back turned, jeongguk inclines his head towards the gravestones in a slight bow. “i love him like nothing else,” he says quietly. “i’ll take care of him as best i can.”

with as much dignity as he can muster, he pats the dust off his slim trousers and returns to the cemetery gates. you wait against it, staring at the vanishing road with your arms and ankles crossed.

wordlessly, you extend a hand. jeongguk takes it. if you’re thinking anything, you don’t say it, and neither of you turns around for one last glance. death is death and it will win one day, but until then, you’re content with knowing you will be facing it together.

[landoncrris]

Memory Loss Part IV

*TW: memory loss is mentioned

Once you made it inside and the door was closed behind the two of you, protecting you from the cold weather, you stepped out of your shoes and let out a little yawn. You hadn’t noticed how tired you really were until now and you longed for laying down in comfortable clothes. Mason grabbed your or rather his jacket to hang it on the rack before getting rid of his shoes. After your little moment in the car neither of you knew whether to mention it or not and while Mason felt a little more confident now, he didn’t want to push his luck. You on the other hand longed for more. Feeling his skin on yours had scratched the part of your brain that – hopefully – had stored all those lost memories. It had brought a strong feeling to the surface. A feeling that had your heart beating faster whenever you looked at him. You didn’t know whether it was an actual memory or if he had made you fall for him within only a week, but at that moment it really didn’t make a difference. “Mase?” He looked at you, warm brown eyes meeting yours with a questioning look and a small smile on his features. “Do you think…I mean…”, you stopped and took a deep breath. “I erm…Can I have a hug?” For Mason, the world stopped spinning right in that moment. The way you stood there fiddling with your fingers and your eyes turned towards the floor asking for him to hug you had him on the verge of tears again. It reminded him so much of the very beginning of your relationship. You had never been the most confident person and struggled with speaking about or showing your feelings, but with him everything had been different, and he’d seen every ounce of love in your eyes and had felt it in every single one of your touches and kisses. “You never have to ask for a hug, love.”, he quietly said to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere. “C’mere.” You raised your head to look at him, standing there with open arms to welcome you against his chest. It didn’t even take you a second to step forward and lean against his body, searching for his calming scent in an embrace. Your arms circled his waist, gently grabbing the fabric of his hoodie, while his went around your shoulders to keep you safe and warm in his arms. You felt his heart beating violently in his chest, one of his hands reaching up, to cup the back of your head and you knew in this exact moment that there wasn’t a place this earth could offer that would feel as safe as being wrapped up in Mason’s arms. “You told me to ask whenever I needed something, remember?” He barely understood what you were saying because of the way your cheek was smushed into his chest, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. Mason chuckled and squeezed you a little closer to him, his cheek laying on top of your head now. He felt home. “Yeah, you’re right.” His fingers gently caressed the back of your head, carefully combing through your hair. He never wanted to let go, he never wanted to live another day without you in his arms. For him, it was an incomparable feeling that could not be exceeded by anything or anyone. No Champions League or World Cup win could ever match the feeling that flowed through him when he held you. All he ever wanted and all he could ever want was right in his arms.

*

Later that night you were sat on your bed, dressed in some comfy shorts and a matching hoodie, while you pondered over how to talk to Mason about the inevitable: your whereabouts. It was already difficult to think about it, let alone put these thoughts into words. You had already made your decision a few days ago, regardless of what had happened today, but putting it into words was still no small feat. Mason had gone to his room about 10 minutes ago and you weren’t sure whether he was already asleep. The thought of talking to him the next day had crossed your mind, but you had remembered that he would leave for an away game after breakfast. It was already bad to talk about it the night before he’d leave for an important game, but the morning right before most likely was an even worse timing. Taking one last deep breath, you got up from your bed to walk over to his room. You were surprised to find his door ajar, but little did you know that ever since you returned from the hospital, he had started to sleep with his bedroom door open so he could hear if something was wrong with you. The first nights he had barely slept at all because worry had kept him up. He had even got up once or twice to check in on you and whether you were still breathing fine. Of course, he knew that he was slightly overreacting, but he couldn’t help himself. You meant too much. He looked up from his phone when he heard you knocking against his door. “Y/n, you’re okay?” You nodded, stepping in carefully. Mason sat on one side of his bed, crisp white sheets bunched around his waist. The other side, which presumably had been your side, was untouched. The hardwood floor was partially covered by a fluffy grey carpet and there was a comfy armchair placed right next to the window. Everything was neatly tidied-up. “Can we talk?” He nodded. “Course.” Mason gestured for you to sit on his bed as well and you did; cross-legged and opposite of him. Attentive as he was, it wasn’t new to him that you got cold easily, so he held out a blanket for you place over your legs. “Thank you.” He simply nodded, not knowing what else to say when you were most likely going to start the probably most difficult conversation the two of you ever had to have without knowing the outcome.

“I erm…” You had no idea how to say what you wanted to say, so you started with the easiest part. “We both know that health-wise I’m only meant to stay with you for a week and with that week being over tomorrow, I really wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for me.” Mason felt his heart sinking at your words, that sounded nothing like the positive outcome he had hoped for after today. You had opened up even more and he had constantly been thinking about the best way to ask you to stay, but now those thoughts had gone out the window. “I know you don’t see it that way, but for me, nothing of what you did was a matter of course and I’d never take that for granted. You put me first, although I didn’t remember you or us at all. Instead of being mad and shoving whatever we’ve done in the past at me to make me remember, you held it all back. You’ve been nothing short of supportive and caring, never overstepped or made me feel uncomfortable. Thank you, Mason, for everything.” You had teared up at the end because it truly meant everything to you. Whether you were staying or not, this week had shown you that Mason was one of the best people you’d ever meet in your life and you were thankful to have experienced that for the week. Mason reached out for you, his hand gently brushing over yours, before gripping your fingers softly. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, y/n.”, he said and you knew he meant it. The way his soft eyes were locked on yours made it easy for you to see right into his heart. “I knew from the beginning that there was no guarantee that you would remember, let alone stay here or in my life, but you were still the person who had been the most important person in my life before. There was not a single second of doubt that I would support you along the way. Regardless of the outcome.” You squeezed his hand, a single tear making it past the last line of defence and he reached out to catch it before it even made its way to your jaw. It had never been easy for you to talk about your feelings and this situation with Mason this close to you made it even harder. You felt like throwing up or running away, but at the same time you so desperately wanted to get over with it. “I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for you and to be honest with you, I don’t even want to think about it. Losing someone you love without them actually being gone has to be one of the worst things a life could offer, and I know none of this was my fault, but I am still extremely sorry, Mase.”, your voice broke at the end, and you had to take a deep breath before you could continue and finally get the hardest thing off your chest. Mason gulped, nodding quickly and squeezing your hand back. There was no way he’d get any words out anytime soon. Not when he could feel his heart beating out of his chest and his bottom lip trembling. He was on the verge of breaking down and he would rather do that alone than in a room with you.

part 3 // naurr i’m so so sorry that it took me so long to read abxgwbjsdh but i desperately need to know how it goes 🫠 oh my god i just hope she stays i can’t do with a sad mason

[killmebythebeach]

A bunch of head cannons (Maybe too much). Also in talking about the characters.

I think Dream is that one design where his skin is just the static tv screen. He just constantly emits that fuzzy noise, Sam crafted him the smile mask that he can see through so he doesn't scare people.

George is just kind of the server itself. He's the same species as Hannah, but a mushroom and more powerful. If he stays awake too long, the server just kind of freezes. This is also a reason XD keeps him sleeping, it's his way of talking to George and he thinks the server is like his soap opera of mortals.

Callahan is sort of like the person who makes sure George doesn't get killed or dies while asleep, making sure he's surrounded by mushrooms and such. Deer hybrid <3

Alyssa joined the server because she knew all her friends were idiots and didn't want them to die immediately. But once the elections rolled around, she felt the pressure of choosing sides and ran away to the desert, only keeping contact with Ponk. She actually lives just a couple miles from Foolish's summer home. Her communicator actually died after a couple months and she had no way of charging it, so she lost contact with everyone.

Sapnap is a magma cube hybrid and can jump higher than most, his natural temperature runs hotter, and is fire proof. Bad found him in the nether when he was maybe 10-15 years old.

Sam was actually a normal creeper, but gained player like sentience from being struck by lightning. Instead of becoming charged, he gained intelligence and met the others on the server. Callahan taught him some Redstone, but from there he figured out a lot on his own. He's also a creeper centaur.

Ponk is actually a descendant of a fairy, a lemon tree. Their mask was also a gift from Sam because after the second or third time their tree was burnt, their immune system was weakened a considerable amount. Alyssa also wore her mask for them.

Bad is a size shifting demon from the nether, more specifically soul sand desert. He uses soul fire to gain strength, so because the egg died when near it, he was just a little weaker than normal. Because he's a demon he needs a tie to the overworld to stay there, he tied his soul and lives to Skeppy.

Tommy was grown in a lab to be a hero, project: THESEUS. The lab gave him small enhancements, like slightly stronger and just a bit more resilient, to make the Above Average Boy (TM). He then ran away to meet Wilbur. When Dream asked Wilbur if he wanted to come to the server, he asked if Tommy could go first to see what it was like. He also actually really likes gardening and making up funny songs to Wilbur playing guitar. He also made funny lyrics for his discs, but he's still a bit scared to take them out of his ender chest. Other than bringing attachment, Dream also exiled Tommy to see what his lab enhancements could do.

Tubbo is an adaptive hybrid! His hair was blond, shifting to brown when Wilbur found him, getting blue eyes from Tommy, growing small horns under Schlatt, parts of his skin being static when Dream was "helping" him with his presidency, and parts of his scars tinging black and green from Ranboo and Micheal. Tubbo also helped Wilbur write part of the anthem. He likes living in the snow because the Manberg flag had magma blocks on it, casting a heatwave over the country, and after L'Manburg blew up it got really hot from the exposed stone in direct sun.

Fundy can actually hold his breath for a very long time and swim very well because of Sally teaching him and his salmon genes. The yellow things on his hat are actually shells, and the stripes on his jacket are trans colors. Also with his dreams, he saw Eret was going to betray them but didn't think it was real, or didn't want to. He also saw Wilbur blow up L'Manburg but chose not to believe it, thinking his father could still be saved. He actually saw pretty much everything, but didn't quite understand what they were until after doomsday.

The necklace Punz wears is one of those picture lockets, but he lost the picture and can't remember what it was. The first time Dream paid him was when Dream asked for help and Punz made an off hand joke about getting money, and then Dream thought he was being serious. Him, Dream, and Sapnap were like brothers, and Punz got sadder every time he saw Dream pushing people away and diving deeper into darkness.

Purpled is an aliensent to see if the planet was colonizable, but then crashed and was stranded, all his communications down and his ship barely able to hover fifty feet off the ground. When Quackity blew it up, he essentially got rid of his chance of ever going home. Purpled's species can shapeshift, so he turned himself into the first person he saw, Punz. Eventually before trying to communicate with the native life forms, he edited his form a little so they weren't identical, keeping purple eyes and antennae, changing the colors slightly, and changing the voice up. When he moves away from the main SMP, Ponk makes sure to check up on him and that he has a way to check his communicator.

Wilbur came a month after sending Tommy. His father being a patron of life and his mother the goddess of death, he met in the middle being born as a human. The only reason Ghostbur was as active and present as he was was because he was so connected to both life and death. Since his corpse was decaying for as long as it was, Wilbur is now super weak, his flesh is thin and his eyes are rotted and gone. Much like Ghostbur, Wilbur in limbo saw what people said about him, and Ghostbur could hear that from the back of his head. Now Wilbur can hear what people say about Ghostbur and he hates it, not wanting to be connected to what he thinks like a shell of himself.

Schlatt is a ram (duh) and actually does the fainting goat thing. So when he died of a heart attack, no one knew at first if he was actually dead or not. His alcoholism stems from the revive book, as the possibility of tampering with death made him existential and scared, so to cope he drank. There are also a ton of other stuff other than revival in the book, but it's in galactic.

Skeppy was just a normal human, but after making the pact with Bad, Bad put a spell on him. Parts of him turned into diamond, protecting both his and Bad's lives. He however, is unaware of this. With the egg, he would just sit on it, the diamonds chipping away to make room for the vines.

Eret was cursed by the Wither Cult, giving them white eyes and a slowly deteriorating memory. Not sure what to do, Foolish dropped them off at the SMP. Sometimes they would dream about old memories from before the curse, but it was just glimpses so he could never tell what they meant. Once they were king, they made the Herobrine shrine subconsciously, not really sure what it was after. They also had a strange affinity of beacons and resurrection, some of their memories resurfacing when they tried to help Phil and Ghostbur revive Wilbur after doomsday. The reason people are more scared of their eyes than any other wierd eyes was because he generally looks like a normal human, but the wither along with their Herobrine origins creates an uncanny valley that people are shocked by.

Jack had red and blue irises before crawling out of hell, but after coming back the whites of his eyes also turned red and blue. He always wears 3d glasses so no one noticed, but he just thought no one cared enough to mention it. He also has a bunch of scars and burn marks that no one but him can see, therefore no one asks about them or thinks something is wrong, cementing the idea that no one cares about him.

Niki is a blaze hybrid (stole this from @/420technoblazeit) whose fire hair color changes based on strong emotion, something she bond with Tubbo for as a fellow shifter. A soft yellow in L'Manburg, brighter orange in Manburg, hot pink on Doomsday, a soul fire blue with the syndicate (which Techno hates), and a dead grey when she found out Wilbur was alive. She was also old child hood friends with Ranboo and Eret, leaving Ranboo for the SMP. Ranboo, unfortunatly, doesn't remember much more than her name. She also knows galactic from Ranboo, so she talks about her troubles to Shy the Enderman. She doesn't really know how to talk to Puffy anymore after Doomsday or finding out how she wants to protect Tommy.

Quackity can perfectly replicate someone's voice and, with a lot of effort, can completely change his form to another player. He also has very small yellow wings, too small to fly, so he almost always hides them. He used to constantly change his voice for jokes with Karl, Sapnap, and George, but he doesn't like doing it now in Las Nevadas, as he sees it as unprofessional. However, sometimes he uses when he visits Dream, changing his voice to people like George and Sapnap to make torture more effective.

In the In Between and Other Side, Karl actually looks like his old skin, or his natural state (the big purple one that inspired his sweater). But most of the time in the normal world, he looks human. With effort he can bring out the interdemential being thing, something only Quackity and Sapnap know about. The more he time travels, the easier it becomes to change, and he's even started defaulting to the other form.

HBomb is actually just a normal news reporter, sent to interview and record what's going on in the server, his first big story being the election. Upon Doomsday, the stress of seeing everyone alone, fighting, and disconnected, he ran away from the world, essentially becoming a cat lady. His undercover reporter persona is actually the cat maid. He eventually came back to the server to see how he could help after Doomsday, befriending Niki again and living with her in the underground city.

Techno is a piglin, so he's scared of soul fire. He forgot to tell Phil before he decorated the syndicate room, so he just suffers in silence. He also does better when around a lot of gold, like in the nether, and he feels drained and slightly weaker without it. Instead of just putting gold around the area (it would ruin his property value), he just hibernates. He has an emerald earing, like all of the syndicate, but his is a locket that unfolds into pictures of the syndicate.

Ant always wears a red hoodie, now ruined by the egg, that used to be Red's. On Red's death anniversary, him, Bad, Skeppy, and Sam would make cake and put flowers on his grave. He missed the last one because it was during the egg, but for a brief moment after Puffy killed him he saw Red. Red then promptly and bluntly told him to stop being a pussy (haha, cat) and that he shouldn't do all this just to get him back, one of Ant's motivators to make amends with the people he hurt while with the egg. Ant is also a shapeshifter, but can only turn into a cat.

Phil actually used to work under Foolish as a patron of life but then he had a son with the goddess of death, so his title was removed so he could be with her and he became an Angel of Death. Kristin noticed how sad he was after being released, so she gifted him wings. They were however, destroyed on November 16th. His chat also serves as messenger pigeons, which were used to send letters to Wilbur.

Connor is actually just a hedgehog who somehow befriended Schlatt. Even before the haunted mansion, Karl vented to him about his time travel troubles, not knowing he was a sentient player. As a hedgehog, no one really cares where he goes, so he goes outside the server limits to meet his friends from the haunted mansion.

Puffy is a distant relative of Schlatt, but instead of politics she went into piracy. With her mom, she went travelling the seas. One say, a storm came and wiped out her ship, her crew, her mom, everything but her. The reason she survived was because Foolish saw her and saved her. Unfortunately, Puffy hit hee head in the crash and doesn't remember anything.

Vikkstar is the equivalent of a big time celebrity, so of course his endorsement of POG2020 was a big deal.

Lazarbeam is literally just a ginger bread cookie.

Ranboo has actually met a lot of the smp before actually joining. He's met Niki, Fundy, Eret, Punz, and Dream at least. He also sees the inverted colors Enderman see. His suit was actually a gift from Eret before they forgot how to tailor. He got the crown from Techno after joining the syndicate, claiming he didn't want any syndicate members to look like trash.

Foolish came to the server most recently to check up on Eret, but he couldn't bring himself to leave again. When Puffy adopts him, he can't say no because he remembers saving her. His initial goal was to kill an ender dragon to claim the XD title and become a full god like DreamXD, but after realising someone already killed it he went into his totem if death phase. Upon meeting Eret, he got over it and they went on some silly adventures, Foolish now taking a more peaceful route.

Hannah is essentially a weaker George, as her power is tied to the plants themselves and not the entire server. She however has a lot more physical power because rose dryads like to fight because they have thorns. Since roses can be taken out a lot easier, she is essentially a glass canon. Also when around any plant, she can make it grow faster than normal.

Any guest on the server? Corpse, Pokimane, Lil Nas? They were all Slimecicle. That's how he knows where everyone is from, even outside of Las Nevadas. No one else knows this. He's also ancient, if he met Phil they would probably recognise eachother. There was an actual Charlie Slimecicle who was not a slime, but after being launched into orbit this Slimecicle decided to impersonate him.

Michael Mcchill is a sort of bounty hunter. He came to the server after hearing of all the crime, assuming there'd be a lot of bounties to collect. However, he soon learned that no one really cares if you commit a crime. He then took to reading news articles made by HBomb to see if there were any past open bounties. But after reading for a while about the server's wronguns, mostly Dream, he began to sympathise with them. And he's also a speedrunner, so maybe he could help with some bounties across other servers!

This was a very long post and i apologize, but it was so fun to finally write all these thoughts down! I hope you liked them! I can't even fit all the tags I want.

[dodo-begone]

When you Wish Upon a Star

Pairing: Karlnapity x Reader

Request: Can you maybe write some poly karlnapity x reader fluff with a bit of angst?

Word count: 1.7k

Warning: memory loss, angst, cursing, loss/relationship strain, depression (?)

A/n: haha memory issues go brrrrrr. Sorry if it's bad, i wanted angst but didn't know how-

Your world was slowly becoming a monochrome film. So meaningless and alien to what your life once was. All color and life had left and all that remained was an empty shell of what once was. Your boys were no longer sticking together, acting like the loving couple that they are. Or were. You couldn’t tell what the status of y’all relationship was. It felt like everything was falling apart. Nobody was communicating with each other and they weren’t coming home sometimes, going missing for days on end with no contact.

Now sometimes business could be rough and long, so that wasn’t an abnormal thing. No, the issue was how increasingly common this “uncommon” occurrence was. Anxiety boiled in your chest with every night that passed without your lovers. Cuddling with just one wasn’t the same as with them all. You just wished everything would return to its original state; all four of your being a giddy and affectionate couple. Back to that honeymoon stage.

Everything was becoming so different, much less vibrant. Like a depression had fallen onto y’alls happily-ever-after. You only had Sapnap for comfort, and vice versa. There was no Quackity to rely on or Karl to giggle all the worries all away. And it was painfully obvious how it was affecting everybody, yet nobody did anything to fix it.

Quackity never came to y’all for comfort. He was always at his damn casino or scheming a way to end Techno’s anarchy. Slowly he just stopped talking to y’all like he loved you. Now you and Sapnap were like a war council, but even then he wouldn’t listen to y’all advice. He’d just rant to y’all about how much he despised Techno and wanted to kill him, destroy the damn god complex the man had.

But Quackity was blind to himself; he was on a high horse and saw himself as a worthy opponent, somebody who could subdue such a savage beast. Every time Quackity came home bloody and on the brink of death, it killed you on the inside. Why wasn’t he coming to y’all about the issues? Why did he think he was so alone in his endeavor?

And you didn’t even want to mention Karl’s condition. He was acting so odd now. More forgetful and aloof. It was like he was a complete stranger now. Your interactions were slowly becoming shorter and shorter, less meaningful and shallow. From meaningful, deep and loving talk during cuddle sessions to a curt, cold and disconnected. Sapnap even tried to get information out of him, but he stayed closed and guarded like a clam. Then he’d also come home with some injuries, but there was never an explanation for why he got hurt. Quackity at least admitted to what happened, so you knew what possible dangers he was facing. But Karl? He was an absolute mystery now.

Karl wasn’t the type of person to be so mysterious. Well, cold and mysterious that is. Definitely a mystery though, but so charismatic that you could easily push that fact aside. He used to be so cute and “unsuspecting”. Now that’s the same case, but subtract the “cute and unsuspecting” part. His newfound apathy worried you to no end. It was like he was completely detached from reality.

It was such a silly thing, but you wished for the stars, asking them to help you. Please, you needed your boys back. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep living through this cycle.

Quackity’s hyper-independence and Karl’s now apathetic attitude was disheartening. And the effect it had on Sapnap was heartbreaking. He kept blaming himself for the relationship for falling apart. You reassured him that it wasn’t his fault, but you were hypocritical. Telling someone that it wasn’t their fault that a relationship was failing yet blaming oneself for the same thing? Honestly it wasn’t just one singular person’s fault; everyone was to blame. Nobody was communicating, which harmed the relationship you once thrived in.

So you begged the stars for guidance, for a chance at mending your dying relationship. There wasn’t a way you could live without your lovers.

You should’ve been more careful for what you wished for.

________________________________________________

Sapnap commed you one day, which wasn’t abnormal by any means. You two talked throughout the day multiple times. That was the only consistent thing that was still steady. A constant in your ever changing lives. But when you got on call with him, he sounded different, desperate and panicked. Your anxiety started to peak when he spoke, but the subject of the call made time stop. No way- there was no way.

You fucking chunked whatever the hell you were holding or doing out of your hands. It was way less important now. Honestly you can’t even remember what you were doing. All you knew was that you had to get to them and swiftly. No time could be wasted. Sapnap needed you right now. Your boys needed you. Everything was on the line. Well, for you it felt like that. Your boys were your everything; if one more “unfortunate” accident occurred to them, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You were absolutely failing at protecting them. They protected and loved you for so long, and you wanted to protect them now.

Sapnap had begged, nearly demanding you come to Karl’s library that instant. Karl had apparently appeared there, and he wasn’t looking so good. He said he also contacted Quackity so he should be there too, but who knows if he’ll actually be there.

When the library came into sight, your anxiety both increased yet decreased, allowing joy to grow alongside it. The combination was odd, one that sounds like it shouldn’t be put together. Yet that’s exactly what you felt; bitterness and cold with some warmth hidden beneath the surface like a sun chasing the night way at dawn. You bolted into the building, frantically sweeping the immediate area for Sapnap and Karl. No sign of them. Your panic grew exponentially. Where were they? You yelled out, hoping to hear any sign of them.

Some commotion was made from your left. Walking closer to it, you caught sight of Sapnap’s shoes. He peaked around the corner to check the new visitor, and almost ran to you. The moment he stood, he hesitated. He took a step forward and stopped, looking between you and where you presumed Karl was. Ultimately he just took a few more steps toward you before turning back to Karl. When you arrived at Sapnap’s side, you dropped to your knees alongside him. There one of your worst fears faced you.

Karl lay on the ground, unconscious and bloody. He was so pale, it scared you. How long was he like this? What happened to him? Would he make it? You didn’t want to know the answer to it. Specifically, you didn’t want to know in case he wasn’t going to make it. Seeing him like this, it’d hurt too much to know the reality. You just wanted your old picture-perfect life back. Yes, it wasn’t absolutely perfect, but it was perfect for you and your boys.

So much time must’ve passed with you and Sapnap just watching Karl, tending to the wounds he had. It was fortunate that only his head showed clear signs of damage. Yet that was also a very unfortunate thing. There could be so much potential damage done and you’d never know if he was or wasn’t okay unless something happened to him.

You were so focused on Karl that you hadn’t realized that Quackity had joined y’all until he gently laid his hand on your shoulder, which shocked you out of your trance. Quackity’s eyes and face were red and puffy, tears trailed down his face and he was out of breath and panting. But he was here. You jumped up to hug him, pulling him down to the ground with you, Sapnap and Karl. Sapnap joined in the hug without a word. A sniffle left Sapnap, but you never mentioned it. This was a very stressful situation.

After a short period of pseudo peace, the exhaustion finally started to take ahold of y’all with the adrenaline slowly leaving your systems. Talking it out for a bit, after seeing how visibly tired everyone was, it was decided that y’all would watch over him in shifts. There was a small squabble for who’d be first; each of you wanted to be first to sate your guilt. It wasn’t long until a victor was declared; Quackity would take the first shift. Then Sapnap and finally you. The plan fucking pissed you off so much and there wasn’t a reason for it to. It just did, and you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. But you didn’t question it. If conflict could be avoided, then it’d be best to go along with the plan.

One moment you were blinking, trying to fight off sleep and the next Quackity was shaking you awake. You were so groggy and barely heard what he said. It must’ve been so obvious to Quackity that you just weren’t hearing jack shit, but he kept repeating- something. You actually had no clue if he was repeating something or just babbling. All you heard was noise and his mouth was moving. What could be so important that he was just fucking shaking you like a damn earthquake- oH SHIT!

Without a second thought, you jump to your feet and flop just a bit closer to Karl. You got up too quickly but you made it to your goal, kinda, so score! Scrambling to your feet, more accurately your knees, you view the situation.

All you could see was Karl sitting up and talking to Sapnap. That’s all that mattered though- he was alright. Karl was alive and thriving- okay that was debatable- but still! Your Karl was okay!

You’re on your feet in a flash once again, flinging yourself into Karl’s arms. The relief that washed over you was immense. Cleansing you of all your anxieties.

Yet he didn’t hug you back. Matter of fact, he did nothing at all. He froze up. Though it went unnoticed by you. Salty tears dripped down your face and splattered onto his jacket. Quackity joined in on your group hug, cry and babbling his apologies along the way.

Suddenly you and Quakity are shoved away, landing into Sapnap’s waiting arms. Saying you were shocked would be an understatement. Confused also couldn’t, yet they were the first words your frazzled mind could conjure.

“Who are you all?”

[eddieheart]

FIGHT

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairings: NONE

Words: 1032

Description: Billy’s perspective of the Billy/Steve fight scene.

“Am I dreaming or is that you Harrington?” Billy asked, walking towards the other boy.

“Yeah it’s me don’t cream your pants.” The other boy said.

“What are you doing here amigo?” Billy took out a cigarette, placing it in his mouth, lighting it and holding it with his lips while taking off his jacket, glancing at the living room window.

“I could say the same... amigo.” Steve replied awkwardly.

“Looking for my stepsister, little bird told me she was here.” Stealing another glance behind his rival Billy could see a tuft of red hair appear behind the clear glass.

“That’s weird I haven’t seen her.” Beside Max he could see a few other figures beside her, older boys.

“Small, redhead, bit of a bitch.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.” Billy walked forward, pulled his cigarette from his lips, holding it limply in his hand as he got face to face with king Steve.

His little sister, only thirteen, all alone in a house full of older boys. Including the school’s playboy, Steve Harrington, who’s not only eighteen, but who had the nerve to lie to him.

“Y’a know, I don’t know this whole situation Harrington, I don’t know it’s giving me the heebie jeebies.” Billy shook his hand wildly.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” He took another drag of his cigarette before speaking.

“My thirteen year old sister goes missing all day and then I find her with you, in a strangers house and you lie to me about it.”

“Man were you dropped to much as a child or what? I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said, she’s not here.”

Billy got as close as possible and pointed over Steve’s shoulder with his cigarette.

“Then who is that?”

“Oh shit. Listen-.” Billy pushed him onto the ground and stormed forward.

“I thought I told you to plant your feet?” He kicked Steve to the ground where he tried to stand.

Thoughts started to swim around in his head, so fast he could barely get ahold of them.

She’s thirteen. Max is a thirteen year old girl who snuck out of her house in the middle of the night to go to a strangers house, filled with older boys. Billy isn’t stupid, he knows what could happen to a thirteen year old girl in a strange house with strange boys.

When Billy finally got inside the asshole who’d made his sister cry was there, looking at him as if Billy were the bad guy. The edges of his vision started started to turn black.

“Well, well, well, Lucas Sinclair, what a surprise. I thought I told you to say away from him Max?”

“Billy go away.”

“You disobeyed me, you know what happens when you disobey me, I break things.”

Fighting was second nature, muscle memory, Billy didn’t have to think about it. Grabbing onto Sinclair’s shirt collar he picked him up gently and slammed him against the kitchen wall.

Snarling, he pushed his face closer to the young boy’s.

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me, maybe you will, stay away from her.” He tried before, to get him to stay away.

If Neil found out she was dating him, a black boy, he’d lose his shit. Neil would flip his lid and Billy would be on the receiving end of it. Billy would be the one getting hit, Billy would be the one getting punished, Billy would be the one who didn’t ‘protect’ his sister.

“Stay away from her! You hear me?” He yelled, pushing the boy harder against the wall.

“I said get off of me!” Lucas yelled, kneeing Billy in the crotch.

“You are so dead Sinclair! You’re dead!”

“No you are.” Steve came out of no where, flipping him around and landing a cheep shot right in the middle of Billy’s face.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all! I’ve been waiting to meet this king Steve people have been telling me so much about.”

“Get out.” That was the last straw, he was literally being pushed into a corner. Billy couldn’t leave without his sister and he could leave while this angry too. He needed an outlet, so he swung.

The boy let Harrington get in a few good swings, cheap shots. He smiled at the familiar sensation, it grounded him.

Billy grabbed a plate and swung it at Steve’s head, it shattered and he staggered back in pain. Stalking after the boy he hit him, over and over and over, until it all blurred together.

Instead of Steve he saw Neil, instead of Max he saw his mother. Poor, sweet and gentle, an angel on earth. Who his father had destroyed, who he’d destroyed.

It was all interrupted by a sharp stabbing pain in his neck. Billy launched an arm up and felt what seemed to be a needle in his neck. He stared at his sister in shock and confusion, what had she just done to him?

Trying to step forward he carefully ripped the needle from his skin, approaching his sister in confusion.

“The hell is this?” Billy’s throat stuttered and his body went limp. Vision blurred and swirled around him, a loud crash startled him.

“Shit, what did you do?” He asked before Falling back and hitting the floor with a loud thump. His ears rang sharply.

“From here on out you- do you understand? Do you understand!” The soft feminine voice slipped away to reveal that of his father screaming down at him.

His head jolted up, a baseball bat full of nails rested between his legs.

“Do you understand!” His fathers voice screamed.

“Screw you.” He managed to let out from his drug addled mind.

Tears fell from his eyes, he couldn’t move away, all he could do was watch. His body frozen in time.

“Tell me you understand! Say it!”

“What did we talk about!”

“I understand. I’m sorry, I’m sorry Neil. I tried I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt her, I tried I did, I really did. I tried!” His words were slurred as started screaming and sobbing, everything fell around him.

He was being swallowed up by a deep dark cloud.

@buggylad