#the faceless fuck needs to die

[therabbitof87]

You see this at your door. What do you do?

[no-face-no-shame]

[tacticalprincess]

how would konig react to reader getting jealous?? ps i love ur writing!!

jealousy is könig’s weakness. in his twisted brain, it’s one of the upmost proofs of devotion. you wouldn’t be this worked up if you didn’t truly care about him, and that thought makes his heart swell in his chest and his dick fill in his pants.

watching you pout and refuse to talk to him after he was oblivious to some civilian flirting with him— grazing her hand along his bicep, batting her eyelashes up at him— he would be so confused at first. he thought she was just thanking him for his service, why are you dragging him away now? it all clicks for him when you mutter “more like begging you to touch her cervix” and he can’t help but smile to himself. so you fear losing him just as much as he does you? (that may be a stretch, but he’ll choose to believe it.)

he loves the role reversal, it’s about time you get a taste of how he feels about you on a daily basis. the head rush it gives him to see you care about him so much is addicting. he’ll start purposefully putting himself in position to be flirted with, which is getting increasingly easier when he’s clad in all his military gear— unfortunately for you, women love freakishly tall masked men nowadays. the way you wrap yourself around him, making your presence known and staking your claim on him for everyone to see, makes him want to give you everything. he surrenders so easily, letting you drag him home and forgetting all about the faceless person he used to make you upset. you’re just so adorable and possessive when you’re jealous, he can’t take it seriously. it always ends the same; him comforting you, swearing he’ll never leave, as you bounce yourself silly on his broad lap.

“‘s my cock, right, köni? tell me it’s mine.”

“it’s yours, liebe. every inch.” his voice is wobbly and shaky with adoration, looking up at you like you hung the stars whilst you work yourself on his meaty, throbbing dick. gummy walls clenching him tightly, almost threatening. you’ll tell him no one could handle his fat cock expect for you, empty his heavy balls like you can, and he’ll go cross eyed, “die fraumeiner träume— fucking made for it. the only cunt i’ll ever need.”

it’s hard not to believe him when he goes all stupid like this, ready to pray to god just because the feeling of you can’t be explained by anything natural. you have nothing to worry about, schatz, can’t you see you’ve ruined everyone else for him?

[msafterhours]

No Promises

Reader POV x Joo Kyulkyung (Zhou Jieqiong)

~2.7k words

“We were meant to be together sounded so much sweeter when it felt like we had forever.”

There's something beautiful about intentionally making the wrong decision. Like, sure, it sounds crazy to step into the line of fire and say yeah, come on universe; take your best shot, but it’s also kinda fun, no? Granted, soaring down the streets of Seoul with the wind whipping against your jacket and the rain pouring past your helmet is maybe a bit much, but you left any concerns you might have had in the dust long before the sun set. Besides, this is far from the first time you’ve acted with the type of reckless abandon reserved for those who have yet to live long enough to have something to lose.

That calculus changes when you re-enter Seoul: speed limits shift from suggestions to mandates. After a third red in a row rips an extended groan from your chest, you spend the moment inspecting the streets you’ve traversed a thousand times. You’re met by the familiar sight of Gangnam-gu’s glimmering lights, gleaming skyscrapers, and garish nightclubs each casting their own unique reflection onto the shimmering street below. On most nights, you’re able to let the mess of colors fade into the background, but tonight, it feels uncharacteristically gray. Even then, it’s all so loud, from the rainfall on the swarms of umbrellas to the downcast expressions of the faceless crowd—hell, even the red light you’ve been keeping an eye on seems washed out.

Right as you’re wondering if you’ve been transported back in time and cast in a 1940s sitcom, a sudden flash of color at the far edge of vision completely derails your train of thought. You turn and are met by a sight pulled straight from a modern drama: a student close to your own age wearing a soaked banana yellow top and skirt clinging to her legs as she hides under her highlighter pink backpack like it’s some shoddy umbrella. It’s … not a pretty sight.

Or at least it wouldn't be, if not for the rest of her. Her long, dark hair cascades down past her shoulders and clings to her face, obscuring your view of her finer features, yet every aspect of her from her posture to the placement of her steps projects a practiced poise that monopolizes your attention. Everyone else fades from your vision as the light turns green and she turns the crosswalk into her personal runway … though the effect is kinda ruined by the urgency with which she scurries through the rain.

A feeling from deep within urges you to act—that and the person behind you honking their horn since you’ve spent the four seconds since the light turned green frozen in place. You release the brake, accelerate forward, and veer your motorcycle to the side where you know she's heading. With a quick step onto the soaked pavement and a tug on the strap of your helmet, you greet the rain with the widest of smiles, then feel it shift into a smirk as you call out, “Ouch, aren’t you a sad sight to behold. Need some help with that?”

She turns and stares, mouth agape, as she processes the sight of you. Your first glimpse of her leaves you stuck mirroring her expression, mouth agape in disbelief because she's gorgeous, with a sharp jawline that contrasts perfectly against her soft skin. It’s a face sculpted to show on billboards … and one whose disbelief shifts into a smirk as she remains unaffected by your reaction. Your eyes travel upwards past those invitingly soft lips, along the bridge of her nose, all the way up and meeting her own, where you’re all too tempted to lose yourself in them. Eventually, she breaks the silence and asks, “What. The. Fuck. Are you doing? Are you trying to die?”

“Of course not, don’t you listen? I already told you, I’m trying to help,” you say back, smile widening as her skepticism refuses to fade whatsoever. “I just figured that while we’re both out in the rain, only one of us wants to be, yeah? I'd be doing something wrong if I didn't at least offer to get you there faster, so I ask again: do you want my help or not?”

As you offer her your helmet, you see the distrust finally start thawing, just enough for her to crack a smile of her own. “This is insane—you’re insane. But you also seem fun, so why not?”

You hand her the helmet and exchange names, and as the girl you'll come to know as Kyulkyung repeats yours back to you, you watch as her eyebrows relax and the distrust starts leaving her eyes. As you go through a brief crash course—how to wear a helmet, where to sit, etc.—her posture slips too, hints of comfort and fatigue settling in as her shoulders slump. Yet through it all, her eyes remain locked on yours, causing an unexpected pang in your chest as you turn to climb onto the bike. It fades slightly when you turn back to her, offer your hand, and ask, “Okay, you ready?”

Even as Kyulkyung shivers and shakes like a leaf in the wind, the fire in her eyes burns bright as she dismisses your hand and climbs atop the bike with ease. Her arms wrap around you, sending a shock of heat through your system and your heart rate into the stratosphere as she asks, “Do you happen to know where the PLEDIS building is?”

“Funnily enough, I do,” you tell her, smirking with sinister intent as inspiration strikes. “What’re you, a trainee or something?”

“No …” Kyulkyung murmurs, averting her eyes as she continues, “I just have a really good reason to want to be there before 11:00.”

“Sure. Yeah. Totally,” you say. Her eyebrows raise; yours respond in kind. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth. You continue. “You, the ‘School of Performing Arts’ student—in said uniform—strutting around Gangnam of all places. You’re gonna try and convince me you’re not a trainee, just that you happen to have a ‘really good reason’ to be at an agency before a very specific time of night.”

“Are you trying to say something?”

“Two things actually: you’re full of shit and you’re out past curfew.”

“You sound pretty sure of that.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Why would it even matter?”

“Because I like being right, and you apparently hate being wrong. Aside from that, if I need to get you back before curfew, we’re going to have to book it, run a few red lights, pray that we don’t get pulled over—”

“Alright, enough,” Kyulkyung interjects, eyes rolling with a gymnast’s grace. “You’re not wrong, but let’s just focus on getting me back in one piece, alright? I’m pretty sure they care more about me being alive than on time.”

“We’re not going anywhere until you say it,” you insist. “Go ahead, tell me I’m right.”

“You’re actually serious?” she mutters in disbelief. You opt to let the silence act as your confirmation.

“Fine. You’re right: I’m a trainee. Happy?” Kyulkyung grumbles, grimacing as a grin overtakes your expression. “What gave it away?”

“I dunno, you kinda just seem ‘that kind of pretty’,” you say with a shrug. “Something about the way you walk too … honestly, nothing about you comes off as normal.”

“Bit rich for you of all people to say that, don’t you think? I wouldn’t exactly call this a ‘normal’ way to spend a Friday night.”

“I wouldn't either,” you admit, smiling wide as you respond. “But are you—the trainee—really gonna be the one to lecture me about running headfirst towards an enticing risk?”

“No, I'm not,” Kyulkyung says, her grip on your ribs tightening. “Though I might not be so kind if you keep me out in this rain any longer.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” you wheeze out, struggling to catch your breath as you paint on your most dramatic pout. “You’re no fun … but you are kinda cute, so I guess I can cave just this once.”

“Good,” she replies, smiling in smug satisfaction. “Now, let’s get going! I’m cold.”

“As you wish, princess,” you say, revving the engine and speeding off before she gets the chance to respond.

You immediately lose any semblance of newfound confidence as the unfiltered brunt of the elements threatens to overwhelm you on your first time riding without a helmet. First, it’s the scent of rain. Then, it’s the rain pummeling your brow. Finally, it’s the noise. Your motorcycle roars and the cars passing you scream off into the night as they pass—it’s all just so fucking loud and every single sensation threatens to pull your focus away from the road. Yet even amongst the brutal weather of a stormy night, Kyulkyung’s thoughts resonate through your mind clear as day. You feel her heartbeat race as you accelerate out of a turn, feel her cling to you tighter at every hint of yellow in the stoplights above. Without fail, she wordlessly pleads for you to choose caution, and, without fail, you do whatever she asks.

At one such intersection, you ask a question of your own: you let go of the handlebar and place your hand atop hers. Kyulkyung's response is just as silent, but she needs no words to tell you yes as she intertwines her fingers with yours as you wait together. Even through the drenched material of your glove, the heat of her touch wards off the cold, sending a surge of warmth through your shivering body as you both stare ahead into the awaiting darkness. You revel in the sensation as long as possible, right up until the light turns to green and you’re forced to pull away.

As she embraces you once more and you accelerate forward, a realization cuts through the fog and arrives at the forefront of your mind: you just met this girl and you already know you’re never going to be able to say no to her. And that’s … okay?

Yes. There’s something about her that takes the tension out of the knots in your shoulders, makes you breathe just that bit easier—at least when she’s allowing you to do so. It’s all too easy to ease into her embrace, all too tempting to take your time weaving your way through the tangled web of your home suburb’s streets. The thought proves far too tempting and you choose to do so, desperate to preserve the sanctity of these seconds spent together.

Unfortunately, the night only lasts so long and the road only goes so far, so you’re soon met by the familiar sight of your destination. You force yourself to ease off the gas, allowing your momentum to carry you forward until you come to a stop across the street from the building in question. With a sigh and a swing of your leg, you step off the motorcycle and turn to face her as you offer her your hand. This time, Kyulkyung accepts, taking it and joining you on the sidewalk. After loosening the chin strap, you gently pull the helmet off her head, granting you a glimpse of her parted lips before revealing the excitement and expectation in her wide eyes.

“So, what’d you think? Kinda fun, right?” you ask, allowing your eyebrows to lift in expectation as you await her response.

“Maaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyybbbbbeeee,” she says, drawing out that single syllable just long enough for smirks to overtake both your expressions.

“You know what? I’ll take it. And you—” you say, turning away for a moment as you unlock one of the side compartments of your bike and pull something out. “—should take this.”

Kyulkyung lets out the slightest squeak of surprise as she catches the umbrella you toss her, though the surprise is quickly replaced by the disdain and disbelief overtaking her expression. “Wait, you’re kidding. You have to be. You had this the whole fucking time?”

“Yep!”

“And you still felt the need to convince me to risk my life on that screaming metal death trap?”

“I thought it’d be a valuable experience,” you say, shrugging once more. “You can keep the umbrella by the way; it’s all yours.”

Kyulkyung’s sigh of resignation is all that keeps the street from falling into silence as you stand there, waiting for her to voice her thoughts. Eventually, she does so. “Give me your phone.”

“So greedy, honestly. I just gave you a ride and my umbrella, yet you’re still asking for more?” you scoff. Still though, you do as she asks, pulling it out of your pocket and unlocking it before handing it to her.

“It’s one of my toxic traits,” she replies as she taps away at the screen. “Everyone else seems to have gotten used to it, so I’m sure you’ll be fine, eventually.”

“Oh?” you ask, eyebrow arching as she piques your curiosity. “You hoping I’ll stick around?”

“No, I was just texting myself from your phone for the hell of it,” she says, sarcasm soaking her words like the rain-soaked streets as she finishes typing. “It totally wasn’t because I was gonna ask if I could get you coffee or something, as thanks for getting me home safe.”

Kyulkyung finally looks away from the screen, meeting your gaze with an infectious smile as she offers you your phone. “That’s unfortunate. I really like the thought of someone else paying for my drink.”

“Yeah?” she asks. A pause. Then, “Maybe we’ll just have to make it happen.”

“Maybe we will,” you agree. With that, you turn and remount your motorcycle. Before you go, you offer her one last smile as you bid her farewell. “I need to get back, but I hope you have a good night and good luck with—” you gesture wildly at the beautiful mess standing in front of you “—explaining everything I guess.”

“Thaaanks,” Kyulkyung grumbles, pouting as she shudders at the thought and ripping a warm laugh out from deep within your chest. As it echoes against the buildings’ frigid walls, her hints of a smile bloom into her own peals of laughter that harmonize with your own as they resonate as one.

“I hope you have a good night too,” she says softly after a short while. “Try not to die on the way home, alright?”

“No promises.”

Kyulkyung’s eyes roll once more, but there’s genuine gratitude in the nod she gives before turning away. As she disappears into the building’s darkened halls and vanishes from your sight, a chill courses through your veins, leaving you shivering as you adjust your helmet and take off down the road.

Barely a minute passes before you reach your apartment complex and the pale brick and light blue tones that define its color palette. After locking up your bike, you hike upstairs, step up to your door, turn the latch, and reveal … the silent darkness within. Empty, just like always. Muscle memory guides your hand to the switch, momentarily blinding you as the cool whites wash away the darkness to reveal the relaxing hues of your home.

While the sight normally instills a sense of calmness, it all seems to blur as the chill refuses to leave your body, rendering you seasick as your head swims. It remains even as you peel away your gloves and free yourself from the soaked leather of your jacket, leaving you shivering even as you turn on the shower and pray for it to heat quickly. As you wait, you decide to check your phone and see what message Kyulkyung sent herself.

You can’t help but scoff at the assumption, but it quickly shifts into a smile as you compose your response.

You (10:59 PM): When you read this, let me know if you got home safe.

I don’t want to put the time into making coffee plans if you’re not gonna show up

You (11:08 PM): You’re insufferable

You (11:08 PM): How’d everything go? Were you able to sneak back in?

Kyulkyung (11:09 PM): Oh, easily

You (11:09 PM): Not your first time pushing curfew?

Kyulkyung (11:09 PM): Definitely not

Kyulkyung (11:10 PM): And definitely not the last either

You (11:10 PM): Can't say I'm surprised lol

You (11:11 PM): I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend, even if the most interesting part has already happened

Kyulkyung (11:11 PM): Lol thanks, try not to get into too much trouble while I'm not there to supervise

You (11:12 PM): No promises

(My sincerest gratitude to @capslocked as always for their contributions towards bettering this fic. This was a draft I started a while ago that I didn't foresee myself finishing, but as I was editing it, I had the idea of posting little vignettes from the plot that I had written instead of making it a singular narrative. The plot I had in mind originally spanned something like 4 years, so just writing the highlights seems like a better fit (if there's interest for this story at all, I know it's an idol that's been away from the industry for a bit). Regardless, thank you so much for spending your time reading my work and I hope you enjoyed it!)

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Benevolent Hand

Khonshu x Fem!Moon Knight!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, masturbation (Fem), fingering, dirty talking, degradation(?), Khonshu wants to actually fuck you but won't admit it because he's a prideful shithead

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: did I stay up until ten last 4am to spit this shit out? Enjoy whatever horny poetry my sleep deprived brain supplies you. Be free, my horny little doves *yeets y'all into a field*

Also idk why but this gif does things to me

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

It was a dull, dead night. There were no evildoers to stop, no killers to send to the sands of the Duat.

Even Badr told you to go home and rest, you deserved it after your diligent work and devotion to your god.

But, of course... "settling in" for the night wasn't something you know how to do anymore.

You've been Moon Knight for so long you weren't even sure what normal people did during quiet nights at home, anymore.

You ate, showered, exercised in the cramped space of your seedy apartment, before sitting on the couch to idly flip through channels, clicking your tongue and reminding yourself to sign up for some streaming services or pirate some stuff at the local library.

You were so bored you settled on an old corny horror film from the 80s, R-Rated and strangely enough, uncensored. But then again, adult channels were still a thing apparently, so you settled in for some cheap blood and guts, stupid busty camp counselors and a masked killer.

But of course, the sex scenes were there, as well. It didn't show anything like porn would, but the actors did a good job of "having" sex beneath the covers, their bodies flushed and sweaty as they went at it like rabbits, panting and saying things to each other in shared breaths.

They were gonna die, that's how these things went. You have sex in a horror movie, you die. The psychos from Scream got that part right about the ole cliché.

But... The way they acted with each other, playing out the part of a couple very much in love and very horny had you... bothered.

You craved that kind of intimacy. Sure, you can go out and find someone to hook up with, have a forgettable one night stand with some idiot at a bar... but it didn't have the physical closeness that was acted out on the cheap flat screen in front of you.

Being a Fist of Khonshu was often lonely life. You couldn't engage in the seeming frivolity of a relationship that was seen every day you walked down the street. No bed warmed by another body, no good morning kisses, no... love?

You shoved those melancholy feelings aside for now, deciding to focus on the throbbing heat blossoming between your legs.

You bit your lip and slid your hand down your front, slipping it beneath the waistband of your pajamas and beneath your underwear, touching the slick wetness that began to coat and soak through the fabric covering you as the movie droned on.

Your fingers slowly started circling your clit as you breathed out a hot puff of air, eyes closing momentarily as you imagined it.

You, with a man who was head over heels with you, tangled up in the sheets.

Sweaty, groping hands pawing at slick skin, tongues dancing as you kissed like you were all the two of you needed to breathe--

Your fingers began to increase their movements, gathering your sweet juices on your fingers to lubricate your clit as you circled with more need.

You dropped your head onto the back of your couch with a pathetic groan, eyes closing as you let the mental image take a better shape, using the sounds from the TV to help mold the scene for you and your faceless, imaginary lover.

You grunted and kicked off your bottoms and underwear, discarding them on the floor as you spread your legs, one foot resting on the cushion to allow better access as your other hand groped at your breast over the fabric of your threadbare tank top.

"Fuck." You cursed aloud to yourself, falling back into your fantasy as your fingers played with your wet, puffed folds.

Your lover would slowly slink down your body, his lips and tongue pressing on your skin until his mouth reached your hip bones.

He would kiss your clit before licking up your slit, his tongue teasing your entrance, tracing it before he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves at the top.

You let out a heady moan, your toes curling as you held back the urge to plunge your fingers inside of you; for now settling on focusing your attention on your twitching clit.

You roll your hips in time with your hand, sliding your hand beneath your top to squeeze your breasts and roll your nipple between your fingertips.

Your lover would lick, kiss, nip, and tease you. He would rut his nose against your clit as his tongue--

Your mental fantasy bubble popped when you felt a very large, very warm, and very real hand slide down your torso, leaving a blazing trail beneath your skin in its wake.

"I sometimes forget how often mortals have these urges." The deep, raspy voice that the hand belonged to sighed out, his tone dripping with... disappointment? Boredom?

You snatch your hand away from your core and instinctively try to close your legs, to conceal your shame as the ancient being crowded around you, the dry smell of sand and spices assaulting your nose as his heat threatened to overwhelm you as he leaned over the back of the couch.

"K-Khonshu--!" You sputter, almost gawking as his bare hand slides to replace yours, his large, thick fingers spreading your lips and gathering your wetness on his digits.

"A rather needy thing, aren't you?" His voice murmured, almost a humored huff coming from him as his thumb circled your clit, sending bolts of pleasure jolt up your spine.

You bite your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to come out; shame blending in an intoxicating cocktail as your very ethereal and otherworldly benefactor began to pick up where you left off.

"You were being so loud a moment ago." He chastised, his fingers moving very quickly over your clit, his mind focused on how the little nub was swollen and twitched beneath his grasp.

"Don't bother concealing it from me, now, you needy little thing. You're like a cat in heat, right now." You could feel his voice rumble through your, your bones trembling and the deep baritone vibrating your clit as your hand gripped weakly at his forearm.

Your stubborn pride told you not to, not to give in, that this was probably one of the most shameful things a god could catch their follower doing, but...

Most gods wouldn't participate, now would they? Surely, they would chastise you, or walk away and leave you alone to tend to yourself.

When you didn't comply, he grunted and pulled his hand away, your dripping cunt lamenting the loss of his warm touch; hips chasing him for more.

The characters in the movie long moved past the intense love-making between the protagonists. One of them screamed as they found the dead body of one of their friends.

"Disobedient little runt. I will not give you what you want so easily, especially not if you defy me."

The threat was cold, and... oh, fuck it.

"I--I'm sorry." You whimpered, your head dropping back once more, this time hitting the stiff bicep of his other arm he used to brace himself on the couch.

"Good girl." He purred, his hand once more resuming his cruel, blissful torture.

You hiccuped and moaned, rolling your hips once more, this time into the touch of another as heat bloomed low in your belly; molten lava creeping through your veins like thick molasses.

Your chest heaved as his other arm curled around you, his hand taking the soft weight of your breast into his palm, kneading the mound of flesh and pulling your nipple in perfect synchronicity with his other.

"Oh, ffuuuh--" You panted, your body caged from behind as the ancient deity whose age was beyond counting helped you rub one out on your dingey, shitty couch in the dead of night.

You felt your womb throb, wanting desperately to have something inside--

"Poor thing." Khonshu tsk'd. "Could you not find someone--something--to satisfy you? Here you are, rutting against my hand like it is all you know how to do. Pathetic."

You moaned louder this time, arching your back at the words he spat at you. You weren't one for this kind of dirty talk... but having it come from him had your head spinning like you had just gotten off of the tilt-a-whirl on Coney Island--but in a sinfully delicious way.

"Perhaps I should have left you alone. You seemed quite consumed by your little fantasy." He mused, his thumb pressing so hard against your clit that it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

"What were you imagining, little dove?" He rasped lowly, the dry, smooth side of his beak sweeping against you, feeling almost cool to your blazing cheek as you leaned into it.

"A nobody? Playing house with you? Laying you down in bed and devouring you like a banquet, perhaps?"

Oh, little did he know how close to the truth he actually was.

Or maybe he did know, and was using it to merely drive you over that mind-numbing precipice you wanted so desperately to fling yourself off of?

You could never tell with him, not when he was playing his mind games.

"I... Uh--ah--" You whine.

Khonshu's fingers pull up enough to slap your clit, the sudden feeling making your body jerk against him as the sound of your went cunt was heard even over the volume of your forgotten movie.

"I am reciting rhetoric. I will talk, and you will listen." He growls, his hand sliding down, his palm grinding against your clit as his fingers toy with your fluttering entrance.

Oh, you were so close, so fucking close. If he would just--

"I don't understand how mortals can function when urges like these are so strong." He sighed boredly, as if he wasn't currently fucking you with his hand, teasing your needy hole but not giving what you were truly craving...

"You are destined for more than a pathetic little house with a yard and a garden. You were meant to carry out my will."

That irked you, deep down. Yes, you knew attaining that very thing was highly unlikely for you, but he didn't have to insult you for fantasizing about being normal.

"F-fuck you." You managed to spit out, eyes crossing as they rolled back into your skull, your voice lacking the conviction and venom you wanted it to.

"You seem to be doing just that, my dear." He tipped his head to the side in a jerking motion.

He gave you not a moment to ponder his words as he hooked a thick finger inside of you, curving upwards and pressing hard against that textured spot inside your spongy walls, making you cry out and lift your hips off of the couch

"...In a manner of speaking." He sighed, pumping his finger in and out, paying extra attention to that oh so delicious spot within you, mapping out your very insides with methodical precision, quickly finding the method to get the best reactions out of you as your walls clenched down around him.

"Look at you, so desperate that you are letting me do this to you." Khonshu mocked softly, a chuckle coming from him as his fingers plucked your nipple and his palm ground hard onto your clit.

"Do you like this? Your god giving you such special attention?"

You keened, panting hard as your orgasm began to swell, each pulsing wave battering down the shores of pride and resolve you had struggled to build over the years of serving out the will of this... god.

"Ah... You are close, are you not?" He teased you, "Let's see..."

He managed to slip another finger inside of you, a groan actually rumbling out of him. You never thought you'd heard a sound like that from him.

But then again, you never expected him to finger-fuck you in your own couch before, either.

"You're tight, little bird." He growled, his voice strained as he scissored his fingers in and out of you, shoving you forcefully to the edge of the shores of your oblivion.

"When was the last time you bedded anyone other than your own hand? Months? Years?" He huffed, pumping them in and out of you rapidly, now.

You were so close you could feel the waters of sybaritism that you could taste the very petals of a lotus on the tip of your tongue.

"No wonder you have been so testy as of late."

Almost.

So close.

Just a bit more!

He leaned over, holding you to him almost like a child clutching a beloved toy; only it was far from something so innocent as you ride his hand like your life depended on it.

Your mouth open, your tongue just barely peaking over your bottom lip as you finally dove into the warm waters, silently waiting for the petals of a lotus to fall onto the wet, writhing muscle; drowning in each drop as your orgasm dragged you out to tide, drowning you as your god dabbled with your most intimate parts in such hedonistic fashion.

You were so lost in your post-coital haze that you didn't even register his hand leaving you until his body retracted; leaving you bereft of his warmth.

You turned your head in time, your eyes bleary, blood-shot and faraway as you watched him turn, toying with the sticky wetness coating his skin.

"Don't fall into this trap again, little dove." The god of the moon tells you over his shoulder, before disappearing in a cloud of mist.

But most certainly not before you had taken notice of the prominent bulge beneath his bandages and robes...

[greenunoreversecard]

Just general cole in a relationship?

A/N: sorry this took so long, I got sad. Also, the only way I convinced myself was the promised word vomit of general and romantic. So, whoops you get both.

Back in Black->Cole general and romantic hc

General:

Bro is a stoner.

Says it helps get him closer to his element.

Introvert irl, but has the biggest social media presence. (Faceless, obvi)

Half Korean

Has curly as fuck hair

Always tired (lowkey narcoleptic)

Allergic to pollen

Super chill. To the point someone could commit a felony in front of hi and he'll give prolly zero fucks

Ride or die fr

Likes to join kai in doing unhinged shit, but denies if caught by Wu.

Mlm demisexual. I cannot see him with a female. (Which is the only reason I'll write him on this blog, bc it's male/trans umbrella/masc gn readers)

Romantic:

Helpless romantic

Pulls out every stop

Super inexperienced, bc people thought he was really weird when younger, so he's super new and tries to copy the movies

Assure him you love him for him, and he'll calm a bit.

Def wants to boogie in the rain with you

Also: giving love language is Def gifts and acts of service. Hes also touchy, but not as much as expected. His receiving love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service/quality time.

He makes playlists for you

Also, he Def does granny crafts so expect to have a hand knit sweater at some point

Loves to see you in his clothes.

Hes lowkey a gym bro, so expect him to ask you a million times w/puppy eyes to join him at the gym

Very protective of you.

You guys have weekly self care days.

Sends good morning and goodnight texts

Cook with him! Another love language for him (giving or receiving) is cutting/preparing fruit or just feeding each other in general

He has prolly burnt water at some point, so you got the stove stuff, but he can chop really well so he's willing to chopy chop stuff for you.

Loves to cuddle and nap together.

I also feel like he loves to read to you, or be read to. I see him as a book worm kinda

Lets you do his makeup.

Kinda sucks at emotions (motherless) so he's bad with comfort and oftentimes is avoidant of conflict and emotion.

Hes also hyper-independant, so please reel him in when he's going on a streak of angry 'I don't need anyone I can survive by myself'..

He does need others. He's prolly just hungry. Get him some soup and a hug.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Therapy Files 1: Dead Enough to be Alive

Screenshot Credit: @neverscreens

Summary: Carmy is headed to his first therapy appointment and his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tries to soothe him while he freaks out about it. (873 Words)

Warnings: Swearing, mention of vomit, passive suicidal thoughts, impending mental breakdown (no breakdown in this one), fem reader/generic lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! Sideblog for social stuff: @m-z-shoroi. If you want to filter out the therapy posts, the tag is #cb therapy files.

Day 1

I almost threw up the day of therapy.

It's funny how al-anon meetings didn't fuck me up this bad. Being a no-face in a room full of faceless sufferers somehow made it easier to summon and examine the pain of Mikey dying, of cooking consuming every aspect of my being until all that was left was this chewed lump of mangled muscle and bone fighting for some form of continued existence. I could rip it from my chest, hold it in my hand, turn it in the light. Look at all the faces, the thin spots, the gouges, the dents. Half the people there weren’t listening to me at all, were lost in the turmoil of their own pain and suffering, of the loved ones that were too far away to reach or so unreachable that they were gone. I didn’t mind it.

Half the time, I just needed to hear what I had to say, anyway. Something about the words coming out of my mouth, as stuttered, incomplete, inadequate as they were; something about hearing my own voice say them to me, of my voice hitting my ears—that was the important part. I’ve been through hell and back, I understand clearer than anyone else that I’m the most powerful climber I know. I don’t need someone to grab my hand and pull me out of this mess; I just need someone to know that I’m here. I need someone to witness my existence, my pain, my misery. I just need someone to come looking for me if I go quiet for too long. Just a face over the edge of the cliff. They don’t need to say nothing. They just need to exist.

I’m just dead enough to be alive at all, and in a room full of ghosts, that’s an easier thing to reconcile than trying to explain that to a fucking therapist (who’ll probably put me on some sort of watch list after probing me with a thousand questions about whether or not I want to die, how I plan to do it, how much of my plan I’ve enacted). I shouldn’t be pissed. It’s their job. Fuck only knows how many times they’ve had their 3:00 not show up only to find out the next day that their 3:00 would never show up for anything again. But how else do I explain these brambles of mortality, this barbed wire anchored in my skin. I can’t escape death.

He owes me a brother.

He owes me some fucking answers.

 Darling's hand landed on my thigh. "Baby, you're going to crack your knees on the dashboard if you don't stop bouncing your leg like that."

And I'm fucking terrified of therapy.

"Why are you terrified, sweetheart?"

Shit, I said that aloud, didn't I? "I just... I don't know." I raked my hair back. "I don't know."

"It's a little too late to cancel the appointment now—"

"I know, I know, I know." I pressed the heels of my hands into my cheekbones. I know. I’m not saying I’m not going to go; I’m saying I’m terrified. Those are different things.

She squeezed my knee. "Breathe, pretty boy."

I heaved a breath.

"You're gonna be okay, baby.”

"What if I'm not?"

It took her a bit to answer. "Then we'll do what we can to make it okay."

She can’t make promises, but right about now I need some of those. Promise me I’ll be okay? Promise me it’s not as bad as it seems?

The car turned, then stopped. Her cold fingers curled around my wrist.

"Hey. Look at me, Bear?"

I dropped my hands, but I couldn't make myself look over. Don't know why; it probably would've calmed me down to see her pretty face, but my eyes stayed glued to the hood of the car parked in front of us, the icicles hanging in front of the grill. Teeth. Fuck, I was clenching my jaw again. Heat surged in my chest, crawled up into my neck, only this time, the panic didn’t come with it—my eyes just stung. I only felt a breakdown coming.

She interlocked her hand with mine, brought the back of it to her warm lips. Pressed a kiss to it, just to the side, behind my thumb. She returned it with a plum-pink lipstick print on it. Jagged, sharp, blurred edges, but distinctly hers.

"Do you think that'll help?" She whispered, carding through my curls, tucking them behind my ear.

I’m trying not to have a meltdown, baby girl, I’m useless.

She pulled my shirt collar down and planted another one on my sternum, just below where the neckline would be. It bloomed a wave of coolness in my chest. A comfortable cold. This wasn’t ice against my chest; ice is sharp, jagged, a frozen lightning bolt. The kiss was milder, softer. Diffuse.

She replaced my shirt, pecked my mouth. “How about that one?”

How about you give me another one after this fucking appointment, hm?

Tags: @jess248, @catharticconsolation, @persymons, @morgthemagpie, @glitch0o0, @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly

[r0tting-rat]

I'm so sorry for what y'all are about to read but I can't get this out of my mind. Again I'm so sorry.

Premise: I did not finish Pressure and this is probably full of inaccuracies but WHO CARESSS

Tw: cannibalism, gore

Just think about it. Back when Sebastian had just released all the monsters in the facility, there must have been so many bodies around. Scientists, soldiers, whatever. There must have been so much blood. Anglers, Wall Dwellers, you name it! If Sebastian hadn't been a killer before being sentenced to death and experimented on, he surely became one that day. I can basically see him.

He's not just angry, he's fucking livid. He does not care about sticking to what is left of his morals, he has long abandoned them. The fact that he is killing humans doesn't affect him anymore, after all, he's a monster now. They made him a monster, so it's all their fault. What goes around comes back around, right?

There's only one problem, after everything in the shut-down facility settles and everything that is left is the gentle sounds of the water dripping down broken pipes, and the problem is that Sebastian hasn't eaten anything in days. He's getting weak, he's getting hungry, he's getting desperate, and he's running out of time. Walking down a long hallway, Sebastian slithers through bodies and scattered limbs, ignoring the painfully empty stomach and trying not to focus too much on the arms, legs and torsos surrounding him. Yes, he did all of that, but it doesn't mean he loves the view. The smell is even more atrocious than the visuals.

His stomach complains loudly, growling and lamenting with need. Sebastian hisses with discomfort, clutching his midsection. "Hold on for just a moment," he tells himself, "Just wait!" But he doesn't know when his next meal is going to be, and before he even notices it his three eyes land on one of the most recent corpses. His DNA has changed and with it his needs and instincts, so—for just a moment—he considers it. Sebastian, no longer the man he used to be, looks at the corpse of one of the soldiers sent by Urbanshade to kill him, and his stomach growls.

He knows he needs it, he will die if he doesn't eat anything soon, and it's not like anyone will notice! No, it will just be another disappeared man, a nameless face to Sebastian and a faceless name to Urbanshade, the guy is basically a nobody! No one will miss him. That's what he tells himself as he kneels down, next to the body, and with one of his three hands he pulls it closer.

"You're not human," he thinks as he peels away what is left of the man's body from his mangled chest. His arms are laying a little farther to the left. "This isn't cannibalism, you're not human." Yet, as the ache for food becomes louder, something in his chest starts to grow heavy. With calculated movements, Sebastian forces one of his clawed hands in the guts of the man—no, food—easily tearing the skin open so he can gain access to his internal organs. The sight is quite disgusting, and normally would be enough to quiet his appetite, but he can't afford to be picky. He reaches blindly inside the eviscerated man and pulls out a mass of something. His hand is dripping with blood, his claws are piercing just slightly into the deformed mass in his hold. It's soft. Analyzing what he is holding would only make everything worse, so, before he can stop himself, Sebastian shoves the entire thing in his mouth, and begins to chew.

The mass is wet, slimy, he has to force it down his throat when he swallows. Just the act leaves him breathless, like it had somehow drained him of all his energies. "This isn't cannibalism, so stop whining!" his brain screams at him, like it would somehow get rid of the feeling in his chest, which has now grown heavier than before. As he reaches for a second handful with a shaky hand, Sebastian begins to cry.

"You're not human anymore!" Another bite, more blood trails down his chin and into the collar of his shirt. The metallic scent strokes his hunger like a flame, invading his nostrils and filling his lungs.

"You're not human anymore!" With the third bite his teeth snap over something hard, probably a bone shard, and they shatter it like it was a bread crust, like they were made for it.

"YOU'RE NOT HUMAN!"

Sebastian shoves his face inside the corpse, devouring anything his teeth can reach, reduced to just a starving and sobbing beast. He eats and cries, unable to stop doing either of those things, and his tears mix well with the crimson tainting the lower half of his face. He uses his claws to get bigger bites, pulling anything at arms reach towards his gaping maw, and he is unable to put an end to the massacre. He pulls open the ribcage and reaches for what's inside. Muscles tear under the strength of his jaw, the taste of sweet and fresh meat makes him go delirious, fat slithers down his throat like it's liquid.

What is left of the man once he's done might as well be the carcass of a very large dog, or a pig. The remains—which are few—are unrecognizable, just a weirdly shaped thing covered in blood and with some scattered bones. If anyone were to find it they would guess it must have been a group of Wall Dwellers, and not the sassy merchant at the 50th floor, no, they would never blame him. Just picture it; Sebastian hunched over a corpse, heavily breathing and feeding off one of the new expendables. Ridiculous, right? Yeah, sure, his teeth are sharp like a great white's, but he would never do something like that! No, after all, he is your only friend in that hellish hole, right? You can trust him, and only him. No one else.

Don't ask what happens to the bodies of the expendables once they die, that's none of your business. It's not like you'll ever see them again. They are nobodies. You are a nobody. You're not expected to return.

[antimonyandthyme]

carcar the last of us au snippet

warnings: past character death, descriptions of the infected, descriptions of use of weapons and violence

What Carlos wants to say, in a way fashioned entirely after his father: That grave is about as deep as it needs to be. No one has the luxury to mourn. Stop fucking around and move on or die standing still.

What he actually says: “Do you need help?”

“No,” Oscar says, curt. “I should be the one to lay him to rest.”

“Okay,” Carlos says.

Maybe it’ll help Oscar, and Carlos shouldn’t begrudge him that. Help him avoid the scenario in which every infected thereafter shared facial characteristics with Charles. Max. A pretty mouth, a strong jaw. It’s his fault, after all. Carlos should have taken the time to bury all of that under the dirt. But all he could do was run.

There’s an almost relaxing rhythmic sound to the ground being hacked up, and a different kind of tanginess to the smell of fresh earth that lets him forget about blood for a moment.

He could be kind, sit at the foot of the grave and listen to Oscar talk about Logan. Why he thought coming back to where they grew up was a good idea. All these good ideas crumbling to dust, at every town they've witnessed that has eaten itself from the inside out.

Carlos closes his eyes. He doesn’t quite know what to do with another faceless loss, can’t add another number to his collection.

And anyway, Oscar's seen his fair share. He’s too good with the shovel for this to be his first.

Carlos clears his throat, when Oscar's finally done placing some leafy branch at the head of the grave. Flowers. On a grave. That’s some doe-eyed rose-tinted bullshit. There’s a strangled bird, caged somewhere to the left of Carlos’ chest. He doesn’t allow that bird any food or warmth or hope, for fear of softness. Can’t be soft if you want to survive.  

“We should move,” he says.

“We?” Oscar reels his head up. The loss carving its way down his cheeks haven’t fully dried, but he looks hopeful, almost like a lost dog. With how Carlos acts, he probably hadn't expected an offer like this. It should've been cut and dry. Getting you to your city, in exchange for a car battery.

“It’s a simple question,” Carlos says. “Are you coming?”

If he wasn’t already fucked all ways to Sunday, making his way along this forsaken earth with two rounds of ammunition and less than a quart tank of gas left, he’s definitely fucked now, adding a bleeding heart to their journey. But Carlos imagines Charles’ face if he were to leave a kid behind and—damn him for that. For being a ghost and still demanding good of him.

“Yes,” Oscar says.

Arguments and energy spent on arguments should be saved for the important things. Carlos throws what’s left of their shit into the back of the trunk, and wordlessly, gets into the driver’s seat.

--

“I’m just saying.” Oscar’s insistent. He’s spent the first half an hour of the journey staring vacantly out the window, but apparently, country music’s where he draws the line. “If for some reason this car caught on fire—”

“Don’t you even dare,” Carlos says. The thought of losing the Sienna makes him want to shrivel up and die. With luck, they managed to jack a vehicle with a working CD player. Tunes are a necessity in what is essentially a never-ending road trip. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“If it did,” Oscar says, “and I only had time to save one album—”

“Zach Bryan,” Carlos says.

“No,” Oscar says flatly.

“Dios mio. I should have left you back there.”

“You nearly did,” Oscar points out, but it doesn’t sound accusing. At Carlos’ furtive glance, he shrugs. “No hard feelings. I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that, gets his back all up. Ten and two on the wheel, lest he reaches for Oscar’s shirt to shake him until his teeth rattle. “What am I doing?”

“Self-defense,” Oscar says.

“I really should have left you.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Seemingly chastised, Oscar digs his teeth into his lower lip. Charles used to do that too, before he acquired the ability to unhinge his jaw and take larger bites. “You look out for your own, right?”

Carlos wonders if Oscar can see his trauma for what it is. The way Carlos has been tuned toward Oscar in the passenger seat, as if an infected would crash through the windscreen at any second. The way he’d swerve right, driver’s seat to the road, without a second thought, if it meant his neck would be exposed instead of Oscar’s.

He’s got nothing to offer but his own body.

“I’m doing such a great job of it.”

“Mate,” Oscar says warily. If he could hedgehog his way any further into the car’s upholstery, he would be so far back he’d be invisible by now. Zach croons in the staticky background, There ain’t no world in which I am good for you. Ain’t no world, now or ever. “I wasn’t saying you weren’t.”

“No, really,” Carlos says, a little hysterically, “I’m doing such a great job—”

--

There were things in the world that should not have applied to Charles. Spend upwards of two months to four years with him and you’d start to imagine that his fingernails never got dirty, or that his smile never got ugly, or that his face never got bloodied.

But he turned like everyone else.

His skin bleached itself until every single vein was visible, and his eyes lost all recognition. He could still speak, for the first bit. Said their names in what was almost a parody. Cahlos. Cahhhlos.

“We have to,” Max couldn’t finish his sentence, though he kept trying. “We have to—”

Charles lunged for them like a rabid animal. They cringed, but the tire chains wound around Charles hold fast, and he shrunk back. Before lunging again, and again. If Carlos were a better man, he’d put Charles out of his misery. Too bad he was a big fucking coward.

“Don’t,” Carlos hissed, absolutely feral, when Max squared his shoulders and took a step forward. “Don’t touch him.”

Max’s chest rose and fall in rapid succession. His eyes were glassy and hollow. Max, who Carlos had never seen shed a tear once, who they all joked would survive them all. He looked a gentle tap away from breaking. “This isn’t about our stupid feelings, it’s about what Charles would have wanted.”

“Fuck you,” Carlos said, to nobody in particular. To maybe himself. Charles was his responsibility when they went on the raid for food, and Charles was still his responsibility now. Till the end. He’d shown Carlos the bite on his calf, almost guiltily, and remained docile and quiet when Carlos wrapped him in chains, while Carlos breathed through what was most definitely a panic attack.

Easy, Carlos. You’ve got to care of Max now. Easy, come on, breathe Carlos. It doesn’t hurt much, not now anyway. Just. Do me a favour. Make it quick, alright?

Cahhhhlos.

“I’ll take care of it,” Carlos said, because all of this was his fault. In the chaos at the grocery store, he got separated from Charles for a harrowing two and half minutes. That was all it took. “Just. Just give me a moment. Just give me a second, alright?”

Charles snarled, snapping his teeth against the metal biting into his skin. This couldn’t be how Carlos remembered him.

“I’ll do it in the morning,”Carlos promised. I’ll do it after sunrise, so he gets to see it one last time.

In the morning, this is what he found:

Charles, chest cavity open, lying still like he was peacefully asleep.

And Max, bleeding out from a bite wound in his forearm, the gun used to lay Charles to rest tucked at his feet. His skin was paper white, but his eyes were still bright.

“I fucked up,” Max said. It was the way he said it. Completely accepting and calm. It made Carlos drop to his knees and hack out the nothing he had left in his stomach. Bile burned his throat raw. “I thought I could do it, so you wouldn’t have to. Sorry.”

Carlos trembled, pushed his forehead into the ground. The entire world was bearing down on him like a magnifying glass on an ant. He didn’t want to look up. If he didn’t look up, then this didn’t have to be real.

“Carlos,” Max said, more gently than Carlos had ever heard him. By some magnetic, supernatural force, it lifted Carlos’ head from the dirt. Max had enough in him to kick the gun over to Carlos, and life in him yet for the corner of his mouth to twitch up. “You can do it.”

Carlos shook his head mutely.

The expression on Max’s face morphed into something unfamiliar. Pleading. It would carry itself into Carlos’ nightmares and every single infected running after him after. “You can. Just don’t fuck it up this time.”

--

“I’m,” Oscar says. He sounds heartbroken for people he doesn’t even know. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

“You didn’t know,” Carlos says. He never should have said anything. Maybe it’s the kid, snapping, I should be the one to do it. Mirrors are a relic of the past, but Carlos looks at Oscar and sees the same jagged stubbornness lining all his edges. “I’m sorry about Logan.”

They pass the rest of the drive in silence.

[no-face-no-shame]

Whoever came with the idea that pharmacies should be closed throughout the whole weekend should be hanging in the streets

[silver99johnlocked]

FIRST TIME WATCHING THE SPN FINALE [Spoilers ahead]

I just finished watching Supernatural in September of 2024. I'm overwhelmed and needing to rant about it so here are my thoughts on the last 3 episodes of season 15:

First things first: There was one thing on my mind the entire time during the last 2 episodes. "Dead men wear no plaid". Dean didn't wear plaid for the last 2 episodes. Not a single scene. While sam wore plaid the whole time. Then when Dean made it to Heaven he was wearing plaid again

2- what the hell happened to everyone they knew? They all stayed dead? They mentioned Donna so I'm guessing she's alive. But what about Jody and the girls? What about Eileen? Why is Sam's wife a faceless woman?

3- when jack became god and bailed on them, why didn't they ask him to bring Cas back? They had asked chuck to bring Cas back. So why not ask Jack? It doesn't make sense. God was powerful enough to bring people back from the empty. He brought lucifer back. So jack with his powers is supposedly able to do the same. Right??

4- Bobby said that Cas helped Jack fix heaven. That means Jack did pull Cas out of the empty. So I'm guessing he's in heaven with Jack and Dean is able to meet with him whenever he likes. Right?

5- it certainly didn't escape my notice that Baby's plates were different in heaven and on earth. When Dean died, the plate was that "new" one, c something I guess. In heaven the plate went back to being KAZ. 😏

6- I knew Dean was going to die and I even knew the how. Had that spoiler beforehand. I gotta say, the way people talk about it...I was expecting something much more WTF. But to be completely frank, I actually kinda liked the way it went? I mean. It's like he said, that's the life he knew and wanted. He tried the white fence life and he was miserable. Plus, he would only do something like that again if he was with Cas.

He wanted to retire remember? After all the world ending issues went away. He wanted to be on a beach with sam and Cas, relax and just enjoy life a little, be happy. Well, Cas died so he didn't get his dream end. Which means he sorted out for doing what he knows: hunting, with Sam. But chuck is no longer there, they have free will, they don't have plot armor. They're just hunters, not the heroes of some epic story. Which means they die, they go on hunts and they risk their lives every day. In the end he died the way he always knew he was going to. And he didn't have anything holding him back you know? The only lose end was Sam, so that's why he pleaded Sam to tell him it was okay, that Sam was gonna be okay without him. He was so relieved, man. And I'm not gonna pretend like he isn't suicidal because he is. He's been so since early seasons. And sure it was very sad to watch him give up easily, not wanting Sam to call for help and stuff. But I get it. Plus, I do believe he was eager to see Cas again. And his smile when Bobby mentioned Cas. God

7- About the confession scene. I was absolutely hooked. The scene was just spot on. Dean's reactions were perfect. Honest to god I loved it. I could feel so clearly that Dean was having a hard time processing everything but damn I could also feel the love in him. He wasn't disgusted by the confession or anything remotely like that. He was so into the moment, so soft, he was crying. Fuck. And Cas. Oh Cas. He was so sweet. He knew how to get to Dean, he knew just what to say and how to say it. His voice was so soft and his eyes oh my god so adoring. I'm so not over it

8- a friend of mine mentioned that what they hated the most was that the last mention of cas when dean was alive is lucifer pretending to be him and using his voice. I agree that it doesn't do him justice. But fuck, the way Dean ran to the door. DESTIEL IS SO CANON. I know people wanted something explicit and yes I agree that not having some grand romantic finale like they would have had if it was a straight couple is very homophobic but damn.

I saw it, it was so clear to me and for real I'm elated about that. There was no foreshadowing, not trying to undo the gayness. They didn't make Dean run to the hills with some chick or do something heteronormative. It was there, the door was left wide open for anyone who has 2 neurons to see it. Cas confessed his romantic love to Dean. Dean was moved to tears by it. He was devastated when Cas was gone. The very thing he asked chuck for was to bring Cas back. If Dean had been the tiniest bit uncomfortable with the confession he wouldn't have wanted to meet Cas face to face again. He's the king of being awkward about feelings, the king of denial. He was so not in denial. He knew it wasn't gonna be awkward because he returned the feelings. I mean, being very very honest, if he were to friend zone Cas, I don't think he would have the guts to bring him back

[unclewaynemunson]

Tadaaaa here is the sequel to this post, which came from an ask that got me in a chokehold for days now so kudos to the lovely anon who sent that prompt to me! You can also read the whole thing on ao3 :)

As soon as Eddie got into the passenger seat of his Wayne's truck, he saw the whole world go blurry. He tried to blink away his tears, but it was no use – nothing ever escaped his uncle's notice anyway.

'Wanna tell me what's wrong, boy?' he asked while he started the car.

Eddie grimaced. 'You know how they say you should never meet your heroes?'

'Hm?'

'Well, I met mine. On the fucking train. Just yet.'

Wayne shot him an incredulous glance.

'What was the Black Sabbath guy doin' on a train?'

'What? No, it wasn't... No.'

'The Hobbits guy?'

'Jesus Christ, Wayne, Tolkien died like fifteen years ago, keep up.'

'You want me to keep guessin' or you gonna tell me?'

Eddie rolled his eyes.

'Yeah, no, you wouldn't guess it right anyway. It's this poet.'

'Don't think I ever heard you talk 'bout poetry before,' Wayne remarked.

And that was exactly the thing. Ronan Right had been something... private. Something between Eddie and the faceless blob in his mind that embodied Right – and maybe Jeff. Okay, and Jeff's mom. But it wasn't someone he'd talk people's ears off about on any occasion he got, like he did with plenty of other musicians or writers that he'd get all obsessive about.

Until Steve, that was. Steve, who had been casually listening to his music. Steve, who had recognized the book in his hands and effortlessly opened the floodgates of his obsession. Steve, who had said the most beautiful things about Corroded Coffin without even knowing who Eddie was. Steve, who had talked with him about their shared passions for hours. Steve, who he now somehow had to merge with Right in his mind.

Steve, who seemed so perfect that it made all of Eddie's alarm bells go off at the loudest possible volume. Because this couldn't be real. This was something straight from a disgustingly sweet romcom scenario, and if there was anything Eddie could be certain about, it was that his life was no romcom.

So during the short walk from the station to Wayne's car, Eddie's head had already come up with a dozen scenarios that were completely spiraling out of control – even though they'd all make for great songs, no doubt about that. Steve would die some kind of tragic death on his way to their first date. Steve was secretly addicted to crack. Steve was a stalkerish fan who had lied to him about being Ronan Right to get close to him. Steve would cheat on him on their wedding day.

The list of possibilities was endless and terrifying – while the list of possibilities for this having a happy ending, on the other hand, was exceptionally short.

'Was it that bad?' asked Wayne while they headed out of the city.

Usually, Eddie enjoyed amping up his dramatics to a maximum around Wayne, providing the much-needed balance to his uncle's calm and steady demeanor. But right now, Eddie felt himself deflate in his seat. He couldn't bring himself to make a show out of it.

'No,' he said, quietly. 'He was perfect.'

And Wayne must've heard it in his voice, must've picked up right away that this wasn't Eddie being dramatic, that something serious was going on here, because he gave him this look that was cutting way too deep into his heart.

'Nobody can be that perfect, you know,' Eddie continued. 'It's impossible. And he – he gave me his number. And I just know that if I call it, and we get to know each other better, I'll get crushingly disappointed sooner rather than later. Because something has to be, like, disturbingly wrong with this guy.'

Anyone else than Wayne would probably tell Eddie that he was being ridiculous, that he should get over himself and call Steve; that he should allow himself to let good things happen to him or some shit. But Wayne wasn't just anyone. Wayne was the one person who knew exactly what Eddie meant. The one person who had seen from up-close the shitshow that Eddie's life had been, who had retained a front row seat through all of it. And he had had his own fair share of misery himself, Eddie knew that much. He was too old and had gotten punched down too many times to still hold naive illusions of the possibility of good things.

So he didn't give him some bullshit advice. He merely patted Eddie's knee and turned up the radio.

---

Ever since Eddie had left Hawkins, it had become a habit of him to stay with Wayne for a couple of weeks every now and then. For all his desires to get the hell out of that town when he was younger, he still spent way too much time at his uncle's trailer. But it wasn't Hawkins that he came back for, it was uncle Wayne.

It was home. And it helped him breathe whenever the city got too intense. Helped him get detached from everything that distracted him from the shit that actually mattered. Helped him get his head right when Chicago was threatening to make him lose it.

Time seemed to move differently in Hawkins than in the city. Slower. More naturally, too, somehow. Maybe it was because of the lack of nightlife and flashing neon signs when the world was supposed to be wrapped in darkness. The fact that he could still see the stars when he stepped out of the trailer at nighttime. Maybe it was the quiet, which allowed him to actually hear himself think. Or maybe it was the predictability of it all: Wayne waking him up with a cup of coffee in the morning, the two of them sharing cigarettes on the porch, Eddie helping Wayne with some chores and then trying to write new songs until well into the night, when the world was his and his alone.

He kept reading Right almost religiously, but it was different, now. Now that he could hear Steve's voice say those words, now that he could envision the way in which the sun shone on his hair through the dirty train window and the shape of his hands clutching a walkman that had Eddie's music in it. It was all different.

After a week, Eddie had a whole album worth of songs about the deception of things that seemed perfect. He hadn't been able to write even one song about things ending well, about things working out. That wasn't his life. Things never worked out. Why would they, for a boy born in a household where the trifecta of poverty, addiction and violence was all he had ever known? In the five albums he had produced so far, he'd never experienced a lack of demons to write about.

So no, he wouldn't be calling Steve, even though he had read the number that was written down on the sleeve of his own album so often that it'd probably be impossible to ever erase it from his mind again. He'd protect himself, this time. He'd cherish the hours he got to spend with Ronan Right, the memories that were already starting to feel like a fever dream, and not let his heart break any further. Not this time. Not again.

---

'Got mail for ya.'

An envelope landed in Eddie's lap.

'What's this?'

'I dunno, 's your mail,' Wayne answered.

Eddie didn't recognize the handwriting and the Indianapolis post stamp didn't give him much of a clue either. It didn't make sense that someone would send him a letter at his uncle's place.

He frowned, roughly tore open the envelope and pulled a single sheet of paper out of it. It was neither directed at nor signed by anyone, but that wasn't necessary for Eddie to know who sent it.

'What is it, boy?' Wayne asked, a worried edge to his voice upon hearing the choked sob that freed itself from Eddie's throat.

Eddie knew that the words were only meant for him. But he and Wayne were a unit, always had been, ever since Eddie moved into Forest Hills. So he wordlessly handed the paper to his uncle, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes.

Wayne assessed the text with a wrinkled forehead, holding the paper at an arm's-length in order to read it.

'That from the boy you met on the train?'

Eddie nodded.

When his uncle looked up from the letter, Eddie caught an almost unfamiliar look in his eyes. It was soft, hopeful. Optimistic.

'You know I ain't any good with words, like you, or this – this poet,' Wayne said. 'But this...' He pressed the letter back into Eddie's hand. 'This looks like he knows you, Ed. Like he sees you. For all that you are.'

He didn't tell Eddie what to do; that wasn't his style, never had been. But what he did say kept bouncing through Eddie's head unceasingly, making him unable to sleep, unable to write, unable to think about anything else.

---

Eddie desperately wanted to say something meaningful when Steve picked up the phone. He wanted to thank him for reaching out, to apologize for being too much of a coward to call earlier – but what came out of his mouth instead was, 'How did you know where to find me?'

'Eddie, is that you?' It sounded like Steve didn't quite believe it.

'Yeah – yeah, it's me,' was the only thing he managed to get out of his mouth.

'Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped,' Steve told him. 'I just – I couldn't get you out of my head and it all felt so right, you know, like fate or some shit, so I just had to... I needed to try. And I knew your name, and that you were staying with your uncle, so I got help from some friends and they managed to find your uncle's address.'

And as if Eddie hadn't been enough of an emotional wreck over the past week, his vision got blurry with tears yet again.

'Sorry, was it – did I go too far?' Steve sounded nervous.

Eddie could perfectly envision the way he would be frowning and anxiously running a hand through his hair; as if they had already shared a whole lifetime of getting to know all about each other's mannerisms instead of a few stolen hours on a train.

He hated the idea of Steve thinking he had done something wrong when all he ever did was so fucking right, so he determinedly shook his head, then realized Steve wouldn't be able to see that, and started scraping for words.

'No, Steve, you... You're perfect. And that scared the shit out of me, because so far, my life hasn't really done perfect. Most of our songs, they're – well – creative retellings of my own shit.' Now that he started talking, the words actually came a lot easier. 'They're all real, at the core, when you peel away the layers of, like, monster slaying and fantasy imagery. Like, everything underneath all that, it's all... me. Damage, betrayal, fear, violence – all that shit is true. Life hasn't been kind to me, Steve. And I was convinced that you'd only become an addition to that long list of crap, because you seemed way too perfect. I never thought I could have something good. And you're good, Steve, you're so fucking good. So I couldn't believe it.'

A long silence ensued at the other side of the line. Then, a sigh.

Then, 'Eddie,' in the softest voice possible, like his name was something breakable. Eddie didn't remember ever having heard his name said like that.

'I think that was exactly what I heard in your songs. Why I kept listening to them. Why they inspired me so much.'

Eddie tried to swallow away the lump in his throat, suffocated by the emotions bubbling up inside of him.

'I wish I could hold you, right now.'

Eddie's breath caught. He knew exactly what he needed to do: he needed to stop running. He needed to trust that Steve could be right, for him. That Steve could be something good.

'I mean, you could come over to Hawkins and do just that, you know,' he suggested.

'D'you want me to?'

He nodded, again forgetting that Steve couldn't see him.

'Yeah, I'd like that. Probably still got half that cookie somewhere in my pocket, y'know. Maybe we could share it.'

Credit where credit is due: the line “He sees you, for all that you are” isn't mine, it's one of my favorite quotes from Schitt's Creek and I really wanted Wayne to say that to Eddie about Steve, so here we have it <3

@ My beloved 🥐 anon: I hope you like this ending, and that I came close enough to your suggestion to have Steve make Eddie a character in his next poem <3

Taglist: @kathorakiryu @goodolefashionedloverboi @undreaming-rambles @fangirlycupcake @ghouligans-central @henderdads @dolphincliffs @anglhrts @ajamlessbaby @yearningagain @vampireinthesun @xxbottlecapx @kissaphobic-kas @mad-h-w @booksandsience @obsessivlyme @ppunkpuppyy @barnes-bestgirl @capital-p-platonic​ @eddiemunsonmeltdowns @callme-keys​​

[milf-harrington]

the overwhelming feeling of being watched in the dark

steddie | 2.3K | read on ao3

---

There was something under Steve Harrington’s bed. 

It hadn’t always been there– once upon a time, there’d been nothing but empty space between the bed-frame and the dark blue carpet lining his bedroom floor. Once upon a time, he’d sleep sprawled across his bed like it was bigger than it was, arms and legs dangling over the sides carelessly, no thoughts spared towards monsters that could be watching through the gap in the closet door. 

No thoughts spared towards monsters at all.

Until three years ago, when he found out one had apparently been running around in the woods behind his house. Of course, he found out about that little tidbit of information after he’d fought the thing off with a baseball bat that Jonathan Byers had stuck nails in. 

Curiously, in November of 1983, Steve developed a troublesome fear of lights.

After the shitshow at the Byers house, he couldn’t stand the quiet buzzing of the bulbs or the way adrenaline gripped his throat every time too many appliances made the lights pulse. Lights flipped on, or off , without warning threw him into fight or flight mode, one hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. 

So instead he kept the lights off as often as he could, relearning the shape of his house in the dark, right up until Halloween of 1984. 

1984 brought junkyards, traversing an underground maze while concussed, and the chittering screech of dogs-that-weren’t-dogs. His hallway at night became a winding tunnel with the potential to fill with writhing, faceless, bodies whose heads peeled open like some sort of fucked up banana, and suddenly lights didn’t seem so bad. 

And then, like the universe just couldn’t help itself, 1985 left him with blood in his eyes and drugs in his blood and the chilling understanding that some very bad people had some very sensitive information about him and his friends. 

By his 4th brush with death-by-alternate-dimension, his new fear of the dark had become a downright hassle. Embarrassing and impossible to logic his way out of.

Steve was frozen in the doorway of his bedroom, watching Eddie take his rings off. He did this thing where he'd poke his top lip with the tip of his tongue, concentrating hard on twisting each bit of jewellery off before reaching forward to drop it onto Steve's fancy writing desk. They clattered against the wood, ringing sharply when they skimmed each other, and Steve was trying very hard to focus on all of that and not the sight of Eddie’s ankles exposed to the underside of his bed. 

A grown man could fit under there and Steve knew that because sometimes he hid under his bed when the world was too much. 

Eddie looked over his shoulders, eyebrow cocked somewhat playfully. He was always some level of playful, like he didn't know how to exist in the world without turning it into a game. “You planning on standing there all night?”

Steve’s eyes dropped from his face to the space between the carpet and the bed-frame. A man could fit under there. Someone who knew his name and had his keys because his pockets had been emptied when he and Robin had been captured. 

He swallowed, trying to ignore it, and looked back to find that Eddie’s expression had softened into something else. Something concerned. “Stevie?”

There’s someone under the bed , he wanted to say. Even if the logic wasn’t foolproof, the connection had already been made in his head and there was no thinking his way out of it. Someone could fit under there, so someone had fit under there and now if Steve turned off the light they were both going to die. 

He glanced at the light switch, sitting innocently by his shoulder, and a cold panic coiled tight in his stomach. 

“You can keep the light on.” Eddie offered, gently, fiddling with his hair. “I’m not going to judge you man, I’ve needed the bathroom light on since I was a kid. And after the shit you’ve seen?” He blew air through his lips, cutting a hand through the air. 

And Steve knew that, had been there on some of those nights. The ones where Eddie kept his bedroom door open because sometimes the kid that still existed in his brain got scared of things that hadn’t happened in over a decade. 

But it didn’t work the same for Steve. After so many years of not being afraid, of having no reason to be, he still found it almost impossible to sleep without total darkness. Like the damaged part of his brain was ringing alarm bells, but the older bits still recognised the safety in the shadows.

“It’s not that.” Steve admitted, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling childish. There’s someone under the bed, he wanted to say. Could feel the words squeezing his throat like tails and vines and the hands trying to hurt. If I turn the lights off I don’t know what will happen.

God, his bat was under there– the one with the nails driven through it, crooked and rusted with old blood. Whoever was under there probably already had their hands wrapped around it, waiting for the cover of dark to use it.

There were lots of things under Steve’s bed. They weren’t always there at the same time, but the possibility of them was burned into the wooden slats holding his mattress up.

The Soviets had known his full name. 

There was a lot you could find out just by knowing something like that, especially with a name like Harrington in a town like Hawkins. And yeah, Starcourt had burned down, half the base blown up, but there had been survivors because some of them had dragged Hopper off to Russia. 

Which means there were still people out there who might know his name.

Most of Steve’s nightmares were set in that base. 

Eddie was looking more worried the longer Steve went without saying anything, just standing next to the light switch and not doing anything. He bit the inside of his cheek, cracking the knuckles on one hand to assure his friend that he wasn’t being Vecna’d or anything.

He should check.

He’d probably look like a fucking weirdo but there was something under the fucking bed and there would be until he could make sure there wasn’t. It was a reckless sort of certainty that burned through his stomach, tight and cold around his throat. 

---

read the rest on ao3 'cause i didn't wanna post the full thing on here

[libraryofgage]

Prompt 31 of this OTP prompt list! I've got ideas for quite a few of them, but if there's one you're particularly eager to see, just lemme know ^_^ I wanna try to write a little Steddie everyday, whether that's a ficlet here or working on the Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins WIP lol

Prompt: “Why’d you— why’d you do that?” “B-Because I promised you I’d do anything to keep you safe.” 

---

When Steve had realized they were really going after Vecna this time, about to walk into his lair and fuck him up, he'd made a promise to himself. He was going to do everything in his power to keep everyone safe, especially Eddie and Dustin, especially when their final plan made those two the demobat distraction.

Steve has also learned over his past few Upside Down adventures to trust his gut. Going through some life-threatening scenarios tends to strengthen his intuition for danger and general Bad Events. So, when he's following Nancy and Robin to the Creel house and feels a horrible stirring in his stomach (something beyond anxiety and fear and stale bread sitting wrong), he stops.

"I'm going back," he says.

"What?" Nancy asks, spinning on her heel.

Robin, meanwhile, meets his gaze. A silent conversation passes between them through looks and half-gestures and a singular grunt from Robin at the end. Their entire conversation can be boiled down to, simply, "I've got a bad feeling."

Interestingly, going through Russian torture together makes people trust each other's bad feelings.

"Okay," Robin says, nodding once before looking at Nancy. "It's not like we need him anyway. I think we're pretty kick-ass on our own."

"But the plan," Nancy protests, her brows furrowing as Steve realizes she's more upset over the change in plan than she is his leaving them.

Steve places a hand on her shoulder, smiles reassuringly, and says, "Don't worry, Nance. You'll kick Creel's ass, I'll make sure Thing One and Thing Two don't get themselves killed, and we'll all go out for pizza when this is over."

Nancy stares at him for a few seconds before sighing. "Okay. Don't die."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Steve can see the trailer before he gets to it, and he can see the demobats creating a fucked up storm cloud as they stream off in one direction, and he can't hear any of the music that should be playing. The demobats seem determined to reach something that's running away, and Steve gets a sinking feeling in his chest.

He knows it isn't Dustin. Eddie wouldn't let Dustin put himself in danger like that unless it was over his dead body, and there's no way Dustin would let Eddie die unless he happened to be out of sight. Which it seems he is now, and Steve knows things must have Gone Bad to get to this point.

Steve shoots across the Upside Down, racing to reach the demobat swarm. Their screeching fills his ears, echoing and bouncing around his head as he gets closer, and he can start to hear Eddie screaming, too. The words are muffled and covered by the demobats, but he has no doubt Eddie is calling them some insulting name and embracing his Ozzie Moment.

When he's a few feet away from the edge of the swarm, Steve starts swinging with reckless abandon. He takes out demobats as quickly as he can, trying to ignore the grime and viscera that layers on top of itself and his skin as he goes. The demobats get more than a few bites in, and more than a few tails lash at his ankles and wrists and whatever else they can find, but Eddie's screams that grow increasingly more terrified spur Steve on.

After an eternity of faceless bats and black blood and his arms screaming from the exertion of constantly swinging his bat, Steve finally gets to the center of the storm. In the eye, he finds Eddie on the ground, a tail wrapped around his neck and demobats descending on his sides, and Steve sees red.

He doesn't actually process any of his actions. He only knows that one second he's watching Eddie become a demobat main course, and the next he's standing over Eddie, decapitating demobats, yanking them away, slamming them into the ground, swinging his bat at the ones that dare to get closer.

Adrenaline and desperation are the only things keeping Steve going for what could be seconds or hours or days; he really can't tell. His focus has tunneled to only allow his brain to think about protecting Eddie and killing flying demon rats. Even when he hears Eddie screaming his name and grabbing his leg, Steve can't spare a moment to think about him beyond "Eddie would be easier to protect if he didn't move around."

Steve doesn't kill the entire swarm. There are too many, and he's only one man. But he does hold them off until...until something calls them away. One second he's feeling overwhelmed--his heart beating out of his chest and his vision blurring red from the blood dripping down his forehead--and the next, the demobats are screeching one last time before shooting off into the sky.

He would pay attention to where they go, but Steve can only take long enough to confirm that they're gone before he's collapsing. He doesn't hit the ground. Instead, Steve hits Eddie, who had stood up at some point only to fall to his ass once more from Steve's unexpected weight.

Holy fuck, Steve just wants to nap. And he's halfway to closing his eyes and slipping into sweet, sweet oblivion when he hears Eddie, his voice absolutely wrecked from screaming and brimming with some emotion Steve can't place right now, ask him, "Why'd you---why'd you do that?! You could have died!"

"So could you," Steve manages, forcing his eyes to focus long enough on Eddie to realize he's literally being cradled in the guy's arms right now. It's surprisingly comfortable, and he can hear Eddie's rapid heartbeat from this position. "Besides, I promised to keep you safe."

"No, you didn't!" Eddie squawks, and Steve makes a mental note to mock him for it later. "I would've remembered that, Steve!"

Steve huffs a weak laugh, stifles a yawn, and lets his head fall onto Eddie's shoulder. He'll think about Eddie not calling him by some ridiculous nickname later. "To myself. Promised to keep everyone safe. 'specially you, Eds," he says, flashing a faint smile that's probably only more worrying because of the blood staining his teeth.

Eddie looks ready to say more, but Steve weakly and clumsily covers his mouth. "Just so you know, I'm passing out now," he says, his body and brain finally calling it a day once he gets the warning out.

Later, when he wakes up in the hospital, Steve will have to deal with several lectures from several people about how he shouldn't have been so reckless. He'll get to turn it around later by pointing out that Eddie would have definitely died without him.

Steve will also have to deal with Eddie staying behind and shooting him the saddest puppy-eye pout he's ever seen. It will devolve into an argument about how Steve would do it again, how Eddie didn't enjoy thinking he was dead, and how they both think the other is incredibly stupid. That argument will end with a spur-of-the-moment and intense kiss that's interrupted by Steve's heart monitor going out of control, leaving them both blushing and overwhelmed as a nurse rushes in and...and holding hands with tiny, amazed smiles as they stare at each other after the nurse leaves.

But that's all in the future. For now, Steve lets his eyes slip shut, comfortable in Eddie's arms and reasonably assured that Eddie won't go risking his life when he has to make sure Steve gets out safe.

[soaps-mohawk]

I am... Desperately waiting for chapter 9, no pressure, but I read the last two back to back and I gripping my sheets in anticipation. I was expecting to read that Ghost had a similar experience with his father, but then you threw me from the chopper with no parachute and no warning. Like holy fuck. Also he seemed... Upset that he Price was happy to make the Omega happy and get her what she likes.. is it because he was having difficulties moving past his trauma and nightmares as well?

If I had a way to just plug my brain into the computer and turn the images in my head into 7k words with little to no effort I would do it, believe me 😭

I mean, you're not entirely wrong. I'm using OG Ghost's backstory for this one too, like a lot of writers do, so that's definitely going to come into play later as well when reader starts revealing more and more of her backstory later on.

See, here's the thing. Ghost and death are best friends, right? They follow each other like shadows. Ghost has seen many, many people die and he has killed many himself, a lot of which were probably omegas that got caught in the crossfire. So you'd think some nameless omega getting shot in front of him wouldn't stick with him like that. Like yeah, that's pretty brutal for his first mission, but he's done far worse things since then. So, something like that shouldn't bother him.

Until, suddenly there's an omega being added to their pack. There's an unwanted dynamic being forced upon all of them and he's, of course, the least happy about it. They don't need some weak, mindless omega. They don't need a loose end, a vulnerability.

Then this omega shows up, and obviously something's off from the start. There's things not adding up, things not quite right with the omega and the situation. Suddenly this omega isn't some mindless subservient creature, it's a real person with a name and a face and he's sitting there watching his beta and Gaz and his Captain slowly fall for this thing that none of them had wanted. I mean, Price was fighting adding an omega for months before he was finally told no, you're getting one because the higher-ups said so.

So now, suddenly, there's this real, tangible thing in front of him. He's watching his beta slowly develop feelings for this omega and now he wants to pursue a bond with the omega and that's something Ghost will have to put up with, because of course he's not going to tell Johnny he can't. There's this real thing in their lives that would destroy each of them if something happened to it. He'd be forced to watch his pack, the only people he cares about in the world, fall apart if this thing was ever taken from them.

Now this nameless omega is beginning to take form in his dreams again. He's being haunted by something that happened probably fifteen years ago, something that had been lost in a haze of blood and violence. This omega that he couldn't save suddenly begins to have a face and a name, it's becoming real, something he can see, something he can lose.

The faceless omega has become the reader.

There's a real fear there now. Their lives are dangerous. They have enemies. If someone found out about the omega, it would be so easy to distract them, to tear them apart from the inside. He's scared for the first time in a long time because now there's something to lose. Something innocent and free from the bloodshed of their jobs, of their lives. Losing a member of the pack is something they all had to come to terms with. Any mission could be their last, they could die at any moment and that's something they've all had to accept. They were fine with that, they understood. It's part of the lifestyle. It's what they agreed to when they signed their names on the sheet of paper.

Now there's an omega.

Defenseless, blind to the true dangers of their lives, naive to the real horrors they're capable of. The omega didn't have a choice in this. If one of them doesn't return, then that's just the dangers of the job. If their omega is gone?

It will destroy all of them.

Well...that turned into way more than I expected but damn that felt good to finally say. Lord that's what I've been holding in ever since chapter 1 when y'all were asking "what about Ghost??" "What's Ghost's deal?" "What's going to happen to Ghost?" I've been sitting on this. I've been holding it in for so long you have no idea how good that was to finally put into words.

Obviously there's more and things will slowly get uncovered as the story goes on, but yeah. This...this is what that last little part of Chapter 8 means. This is really what Ghost was saying when he told the reader about his nightmares, about what happened to that omega he didn't even know the name of, the one he couldn't save.

It was never about some omega, it's always been the reader.

[themusedump]

The Horror And The Wild - a sentence meme from The Amazing Devil's 2020 album The Horror And The Wild. Feel free to adjust as needed!

The Rockrose And The Thistle

"I know the kindest thing is to leave you alone."

"I've run out of my words, my song."

"Just let me die."

"I could try to calm you down but I know you won't."

"And you'll wail, you'll scream, but I'll never stop 'cause it's all that I have left. "

"I know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone."

The Horror And The Wild

"They said it all comes down to you."

"You are that space that's in between every page, every chord and every screen."

"You are the driftwood and the rift, you're the words that I promise I don't mean."

"We're drunk but drinking."

"They thought us blind."

"Remember me I ask, remember me I sing."

"Give me back my heart you wingless thing."

"Think of all the horrors that I promised you I'd bring."

"You passed your fingers through my hair and called me child."

"I steal the hours and turn the night into day."

"How bold I was, could be - will be - still am, by God still am."

"Remember me I ask."

Wild Blue Yonder

"Without you, I'm stronger."

"How wrong you were."

"You told me I was younger, that I was filled with wonder."

"For you. I would have gone so much blonder."

"So one last time, love, come and rip my clothes off."

"Get a grip, we're grownups."

"Let's wander, till the fuckers demand an encore."

"So hold me, lover, like you used to."

"Every stone you threw, I stood on to better see the view."

"I surrender what was, what could have been."

"Every brick you hurled, I'll use to build this world."

"I'd bruise you."

Welly Boots

"A storm is coming on."

"What do you mean you've lost your scarlet welly boots?"

"Do y'know what they cost?"

"Wear a raincoat or it'll soak you to the bone."

"It's just like falling snow, I am above you and I love you."

"Don't you know that I'll be with you all along, as long as you are kind?"

"'Cause when it's cold, I'll wrap my scarf around you."

"Just because I left doesn't mean that I'm not still there."

"I get to watch you grow up now and make me proud."

"Get drunk for me, sing louder than you've sung for me."

"'Cause you were always strong."

"When you were young, you'd kick things just to see if they would fall."

"That girl, she's wrong"

"I'll stick up for you, even though you haven't got a clue."

"You haven't got a fucking clue."

"And I'm so proud of you."

"I'm not alright!"

"You were supposed to be my light and keep me safe against them all!"

"How could you leave me here!?"

"I know you're strong enough to do this on your own."

"I've been so scared."

"You left me here behind, do you not care?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to carry on without you here?"

Farewell Wanderlust

"You look like I need a drink."

"And you are?"

"I'm the hardest goodbye that you'll ever have to say."

"I promise you I'll be better."

"I promise you I'll try."

"It's my curse to try and make it right, but by trying make it worse."

"You brought me to this party but you left me here behind."

"So long to the person you begged me to be."

"You gave us such a fright. We'd hate to see your mascara drip into your pint."

"Let's take this outside 'cause we're one and the same."

"Our gods have abandoned us, left us."

"Take up arms, take my hand, let us waltz for the dead."

"I promise you I'm not broken."

"I promise you there's more. "

"Goodbye to all my darkness, there's nothing here but light."

"Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night."

"You brought me through this darkness but you left me here behind."

"Now take a good long look at what you've done to me!"

Fair

"It's what my heart just yearns to say in ways that can't be said."

"Today I somehow understand the reason I was born."

"I try so hard to make you laugh at me."

"Oh, darling, please be mine."

"It's not fair how much I love you."

"It's not fair, 'cause you make me laugh when I'm actually really fucking cross at you for something."

"How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do."

"I spend my days so close to you 'cause if I'm standing here, maybe everyone will think I'm alright."

"I know exactly what I want and it's this life that we've created."

"And if you asked me to, if you asked me, I would lose it all."

"Christ, you'll be the death of me."

"I'll spend my days so close to you 'cause if I'm standing here maybe everyone will think I'm cool."

"Where have you been?"

"It's not fair 'cause you make me ache, you bastard."

"I'll stand here with you."

That Unwanted Animal

"There's a second wind coming."

"You try so loud to love me. I cannot seem to hear."

"Can't you hear that scratching? There's something at the door."

"Be good to me."

"Can't you hear it?"

"What's the time Mr .Wolf?"

Marbles

"You couldn't lie then and you sure as hell can't lie to me now."

"You stole the best years of my life."

"Do you think I'm sexy?"

"If one more guy calls me darling then I swear to you and to God I will murder them all."

"All the bastards applaud when I show that I'm flawed."

"You're not flawed darling, you're just a little under-rehearsed."

"I don't know, but I'm here."

"I've loved you, for a hundred years."

"Certainly fucking feels like it."

"The minute I met you, the colours of my life began to pour."

"I'm scared of the dark."

"And now, even though you're mad and these memories won't stay. That's okay."

"'Cause then I get to meet you for the first time every single day."

"And I will wait and hope."

Battle Cries

"I'm at the brink, don't laugh."

"And that drink, will it fix all those questions unasked?"

"Who'll save you when you fall?"

"Who died and made you king of it all?"

"Who wins this war?"

"Now the wind feels so warm on the back of my neck."

"Don't be uncouth, be a man."

"Tell the truth to me, love, does my hair look as nice?"

"Don't lie with your eyes, you know I despise that look."

"I know that I've been through the wars."

"With you, I could summon the gods and the stars."

"I won't leave without a fight."

"I won't let you turn our last night into this."