#the maw came to dinner -> HOW THE FUCK

[bookwyrminspiration]

okay just gonna lay down defeat on this one. I do not understand the Maw. or chitin

[ythankucaptainmccoy]

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader (The Living Kill Too) Ch.4

I don't own any characters other than Jack and Josie. Warning: blood and gore, mentions of past sexual assault and zombies. Just as an FYI I may be posting more often. I broke my L2, L3 and L4 Vertebrae being bucked off a horse so resting means more writing to keep myself from going insane with boredom.

The next morning you woke to see Josie by the back door packing all the food items from the cellar. “What’s going on”, you mumbled, still half asleep. “Ghost wanted to load up the food and supplies you got at the hospital into the truck. He said we will be heading back to your base tomorrow”, she happily replied. You nodded and went outside to see Ghost coming up the back fields in the old 1983 C30 red and tan chevy. 

When he pulled into the back yard he shut the engine off, and approached you. “How are ya’ feelin’?”, he inquired. “I’m sore, but I’ll be alright”, you said, letting your eyes fall to his feet. You felt dirty and you let that little voice nag at you for not fighting hard enough. Ghost knew better than you were truly alright because he wasn’t alright after what happened to him. The mask, his fucked up mind and his persona while wearing said mask was proof of that.

 “Is it okay if I take a look at your face? Want to make sure there’s no major swellin’ “, he explained. You nodded as he took your chin and tilted your face up. You could tell as soon as he realized how bad it truly looked in the light of day that he was angry. “I’m sorry”, you replied, trying to look down again. “Love ya’ have nothin’ ta be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault I swear to ya’ I’ll make him suffer more when we get back to base”, he hushed. 

“I thought you killed him”, you responded. “Nah love, I want him to suffer. No easy way out for him until I think he has paid for what he not only did to ya’ ,but what he did to Josie' ', he confided. You blinked a couple times then nodded as his hand went back to his side. You tried to help Josie load the bed of the truck, but she kept shooing you back inside. You made lunch as they finished loading the bed of the truck. 

“So what’s with the small livestock trailer? You could only get one cow in there”, you asked Ghost. “It’s for transportin’ that bastard back and the rest of the food”, he responded. As you cooked dinner you could hear the curses and yelling as Ghost dragged your attacker into the back of the livestock trailer. You stepped onto the back porch and watched in satisfaction as Ghost gagged him and punched him several times. 

Ghost looked up at you and nodded as if giving you reassurance that everything was okay. When the livestock trailer had been loaded the rest of the way Ghost secured it with a chain and padlock he had found in the old barn. When he came in you gave him his portion of food and soon Jack and Josie made their appearance from the living room. As you all sat around the fire trying to stay warm it started to thunder outside. 

“Great another night of storms”, Josie lamented. “Could be worse”, you replied. The night was unsettling. You could have sworn on several occasions you could hear dead screeching in the distance, but it was probably just a wild animal. Being the only one still awake you walked to the mud room to get more firewood. You could have sworn you saw movement outside, but played it off as your imagination.

Once the new logs were placed on the fire you sat back thinking over what had happened the last couple of days. At first you cried then the anger set in where you wanted nothing more than to make that asshole suffer. You were so caught up in your anger you didn’t hear the slams against the door until it crashed in. Ghost jumped up immediately grabbing for his rifle, and Josie woke and screamed as the deadhead showed its ugly maw letting out a shriek. Without even thinking you grabbed the poker for the fireplace and ran towards it.

All of the anger you felt about what had happened to you fueled you. You raised the poker above your head and hit it hearing a sickening crack. You swung over and over until Ghost grabbed your arm to stop you. “Is it dead?”, Josie inquired. “It was already dead to begin with”, you replied. “You know what I meant”, she huffed. You nodded as Ghost stepped out on the porch saying something about a perimeter check.

When you turned away from what you had done Josie was holding a crying Jack. She tried to quiet him, but nothing seemed to help. He cried even when Josie tried to hand him a carved horse you had as a decoration. It almost seemed like he knew something was very wrong, and it unsettled you that much more. 

Ghost came back saying he didn’t see anything out there, but it was strange that there was only one. Ghost stayed up to keep watch after that where you finally fell into a fitful sleep. When you woke it was mid-day and the clouds had lightened some. Ghost eventually came back in the house to inform you he wanted to search some of the small shops on the main street before leaving. 

You agreed to go with him and Josie decided to follow along. Most of the shops had been ransacked, but the local pharmacy still had some things on the shelf. You grabbed the cold and flu meds as you never knew if you would need them. Another thing you saw was a box of condoms and you shook your head as a memory hit you. 

—--------------------

“So what do you want me to get?”, you asked Kane. “We need more condoms," he laughs. “Oh do we now”, you responded. “Suit yourself I wouldn’t mind being a dad”, he told you seriously. You both had been talking about getting married and starting a family. “I’ll get ‘em”, you said through the phone. “Oh if they have those chips I like I want some”, he told you. “Alright I’ll get them and meet you at home”, you replied. You grabbed the condoms and chips heading for the cashier. 

—-------------------

You opened the box and took the foil packets full of condoms since you could use them as gloves if needed. Then a scream from Josie had you sprinting to the back of the store. She was holding a deadhead at arms length while holding Jack in her other arm trying to shield him. You pushed it down then used the poker to attack. You noticed how you funneled your anger of what happened to you to destroy the head. 

Josie looked at you as Jack started to cry. “Are you okay?”, you asked. She didn’t say anything as she started shaking. “Come on, let's get back to the house”, you assured her. “Can you take Jack?”, she questioned. You nodded as she took off her swaddle and gave it to you. You placed Jack securely to your chest and made your way back to the house. You made sure to let Ghost know you were taking Josie back to the house. Once back at the house you loaded the rest of the supplies into the truck then decided to check Josie since she had been so close to the deadhead.

Josie let you check her over as you relaxed, finding no bites or wounds. She was clearly shaken up and you let her relax on the couch as you made sure everything was good to go. When you finished up Josie was watching Jack playing. “You know I always wanted a family and a nice small town they could grow up in. I never expected for this all to happen and bring a child into a world like this”, she told you.

“No one expected this, there was no way you could have known. You have to be strong for Jack”, you explained. She nodded as you handed her the poker so she would have a weapon. Then you went upstairs and into your old room. There stood the safe that had your most prized possession. Opening it up you grabbed your bow that you had made yourself with all of the intricate carvings.

The quiver and arrows sat there as well waiting to be used. There were also other guns and ammunition that could be useful. Not knowing if you would ever be back to get them you took everything to the truck. Ghost still wasn’t back, but you figured he would scavenge anything and everything useful. You decided to make sure that the bow string was going to hold up.

In the backyard were some old round hay bales that were dark brown and black, but would make perfect targets. You hadn’t used a bow in so long, but you hoped it would be a muscle memory as you notched an arrow. You went through the motions and let the arrow fly hitting exactly where you were aiming. Smiling to yourself you worked on your quick draw and yeah you were a little slower than you used to be, but you were hitting all of your targets.

“You’re pretty good with that antique”, Ghost mused. You jumped, having been startled as he watched your amusing reaction. “Well I would hope so since I was a state champion with archery in my high school”, you responded. He watched you carefully as you retrieved your arrows. “How’re ya holdin’ up?”, he asked. You knew what he meant, but tried to school your expression to be nonchalant. 

“I’ll be alright, besides I have to keep my focus here and now”, you replied. He watched you closely, but nodded, seeming to be happy with the answer. Ghost mentioned something about getting ready to head out, and to give the house a last once over to make sure nothing of importance was left behind. As you were making a last sweep through the basement there was a small envelope with your name on it. The handwriting was Kane’s and you hesitantly opened it to find some letters.

“(Y/N) if you’re reading this then it means I’m no longer around. I’m sorry for not trying harder to be there for you. I wanted you to know I love you so much and it’s not surprising that you outlasted me. You were always the stronger one in the relationship. I hope you didn’t cry too much over me because I more than likely died protecting you and I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Promise me that you will continue to fight. I was hoping that we would be able to have a family as much as that sounds fucked up now, but I did hope to secure this area and to grow old with you. If you find any other survivors just remember to be wary, but also give people a chance. If you end up finding another just know I would not hold it against you to love again. You always did say that the greatest thing about the world was love.

P.S. I always thought that was BS until we got together. Until we meet again whether that’s soon or way later (hopefully way way later) I love you and stay strong

Love,

    Kane”

You wiped your eyes of the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. Then a small photo fell from the envelope. The picture was of you and Kane when you were assigned to his unit. Half of the people in the photo had died, but the others were scattered to the wind. You never really stayed in touch after the army, but you hoped they were out there surviving as well. 

Stuffing the photo into your bag you walked out to the truck. You squeezed into the middle seat since Ghost was driving and Josie was holding Jack in the passenger seat. You kept thinking about the letter and picture you had found that was now nestled in your pack. Jack fell asleep surprisingly fast as Josie kept her eyes out the window. Sleep claimed you soon after Jack had fallen asleep.

You woke to a small whimper from Jack and a shout from Ghost. When you looked at Josie her eyes were glazed over dead just like everything now in this wasteland. You panicked as she lunged her face toward Jack. Without thinking you shoved her against the door as Ghost yelled for you to move. Then you felt teeth sink into your shoulder as you reached for the door. 

It swung open and grabbing Jack you pushed Josie out the door as Jack wailed. Ghost had his gun trained on your head as he coaxed Jack from your arms. Ghost had pulled over to the side of the road. Before you could try to plead your case with Ghost his finger closed around the trigger and a sharp pain then darkness.

You jolted awake so hard it startled Ghost a little as the truck veered slightly. You quickly looked over at Josie who was fast asleep, and Jack was still sleeping soundly. “ ‘nother nightmare?”, Ghost questioned. “Yeah I feel like I’m getting them more often”, you replied rubbing your eyes. “It’s to be expected with what ya’ been through”, he stated. He looked at you briefly as you rubbed your eyes.

“Can I ask you a question?”, you asked. “Well ya’ just did”, he chuckled. The chuckle had your eyes widening, but he nodded for you to ask away. “When I stumbled upon you and Soap what happened before that?”, you blurted out. “We were out searchin’ for supplies when we ran across a band of guys who had made camp there. They shot at us, we shot back an’ Soap took a bullet that shoulda’ been meant for me”, he explained. “What were you doing out there?”, Ghost asked. 

“I was scavenging for food. When I told you that Kane died it was only two weeks before I met you and Soap. I was so disoriented after running for my life that I didn’t pay attention to where I was running. I got lost and basically kept wandering in and out of little towns. I had a week's worth of food with me so it wasn’t too bad until I realized I was out”, you explained.

“I was on the verge of giving up and ending it all before I stumbled into the outskirts of the town we met in”, you finished. Ghost kept glancing at you out of his peripheral vision as you admitted to thinking about killing yourself. How many times had he had those thoughts when his demons came calling. How many times did he put those thoughts to use to survive in a hostile environment.

He had seen the fire in your eyes when you had attacked that deadhead back at the house. He saw a little bit of himself in you even if it was a very small bit. He got a feeling or a need per say to protect you from any other harm. This was new, sure he felt some need to protect teammates, but this felt different like he wanted to take all your pain and make it his own. This was dangerous territory; he didn't need any attachments. 

Attachments could be deadly he had seen that even before the world went to shit. He shook his head a little as you yawned. “Do you want me to drive?”, you asked, not knowing what else to say. “Nah, besides here in the next couple hours I’ll stop so everyone can stretch their legs”, he told you. You nodded as you watched his hands on the wheel. Those hands that left heat on your body wherever they touched. The hands that held you when you were a sobbing broken mess.

He had taken care of you and as much as you hated to say it you started to look at him like you had looked at Kane. You chastised yourself knowing this was a horrible idea, but you wanted to get to know him. The silence consumed the truck cabin once again until it was interrupted by a yawn and a squeal. Jack was awake and Josie was still fast asleep. You carefully scooped him up into your arms and sat him in your lap as he pointed at different things. You told him the name of each thing he pointed at as he repeated them.

It was a game you both played until Ghost pulled off into a clearing. You gently woke Josie to let her know about the pit stop. Stretching had never felt so good, and right now you were enjoying the warmth of the sun. Ghost as always was on high alert as you grabbed some paper and walked into the woods to relieve yourself. You felt like you were being watched as you made your way back to the clearing.

When you made the clearing a shot rang out and Ghost yelled for everyone to take cover. You had a clear view of everyone and you could see that there were two shooters. One was starting to flank the vehicle that Ghost was hunkered down behind. You drew an arrow and fired, hitting the guy in the arm as he let out a scream. You notched another arrow and let it fly, this time hitting him in the chest. He went down, but you had stayed in your position too long as you felt hot pain go through your leg. You spun behind the tree and dropped trying to keep from screaming. 

Your leg was bleeding but it had a clean entry and exit wound. You didn’t have anything to stop the bleeding and you peaked around the tree to see Ghost was gone from his position. You heard screaming and swearing. When you peaked again the guy was in hand to hand with Ghost. You quickly crawled to the trailer and took position behind it. You notched an arrow and came from behind cover where Ghost was winning the fight.

In another couple moments Ghost plunged his knife into the guy's throat. He then did a quick perimeter check. He yelled for the all clear and that's when Josie and Jack appeared from behind a large tree. The adrenaline was wearing off and you collapsed to the ground. Pain from your leg was making your vision blurry with tears as you lay back and tried to breathe.

“You’re gonna’ be alright luv just hold on”, Ghost’s voice soothed. You watched through blurry eyes as he pulled his belt off with one hand. If you hadn’t been in pain you would have deemed that the hottest sight you had seen since the world went to shit. “I have ta’ apply a tourniquet”, he said accent getting thick. You nodded as he applied his belt above the wound and tightened it. “What are we going to do”, Josie asked. 

“We are gonna’ get her in the truck and drive like hell to the base”, Ghost explained. “I have ta’ pick ya’ up now luv”, he informed. You nodded as he slipped his arm behind your back and the other under your knees. Once in the truck Josie got in with Jack and Ghost hitting the gas as you try to stay conscious.

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie rubbed at his temples, a headache starting to set in. Whether that was from blood loss or the insanely loud alarm that was still blaring in this hell hole, he wasn’t sure. 

Steve was fussing over him, despite how many times Eddie insisted he was fine. He was bleeding, yes, but they all were in some way or another. Yeah, the bite wounds hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t dying, he knew what that felt like, and in comparison this was nothing. Steve’s frustrated tears were more painful than the claw marks anyway.

“Stevie, I’ll be okay, really-”

“Just shut up,” he hissed, or at least tried too. It came out more like a sad little sniffle, “What the fuck where you thinking?”

Eddie didn’t really have an answer for that. He hadn’t been thinking, critical thought had basically left his brain the second they stepped foot into this place. He had just moved, pushing Steve right out of the way of the bigger and better stream of demon bats, spilling out of another brand new hell portal.

Only a few of them managed to sink their teeth into him before El got it closed, and Steve and Hopper managed to pull them off before any real damage could get through. Maybe that was the one good thing about this place, flying monsters were a lot easier to handle in closed corridors, especially when you had a psychic wunderkind with you.

“It’s called being chivalrous babe,” Eddie tried, wiping a few of Steve’s tears away. Steve leaned into his hand, always willing to accept Eddie’s touch, even when his hands were covered in filth. 

Steve glared as he nuzzled into his hand, probably resisting the urge to choke him out, as he examined his bloody chest,“And it’s going to get you killed.”

He wanted to tell Steve the truth, that it didn’t matter if he died as long as Steve and the kids made it out alive. That he didn’t care if they’d only been together a few months, he refused to live in a world without Steve in it. He wanted to tell him he loved him, that dying for him would never be off the table, but the already devastated look on Steve’s face was enough to make Eddie hold his tongue. 

And…it felt like if he admitted everything out loud, it would be accepting the idea that they weren’t making it out of here. Eddie shrugged,“Still worth it.”

Steve was just about done with his haphazard first-aid, and Eddie took the opportunity to lean his pounding head against Steve’s, frankly nasty, shoulder, shuddering at the gross squelch sound it made. Steve’s clothes were completely saturated in Upside Down bullshit, but it's not like his hair could get anymore disgusting, and any kind of touch was comforting, for both of them. 

They were safe, for now. As safe as you could be when facing the end of the world and cooped up in a glorified storage closet in an underground government facility. He hated this place, and he’d hate it even if it wasn’t invaded by monsters. How El managed to grow up in these sterile, lifeless halls and come out the other side how she was, he had no idea. 

Eddie watched the others as Steve wrapped the last make-shift bandage around his chest. Will was fiddling with the radio, trying to get an update on Dustin’s side, while Hopper was cleaning the blood from Eleven's face, and Dr. What's his fuck was babbling to both of them, a plan on the edge of forming. Joyce was wrapping up Hopper’s leg, the blood still seeping through her clumsy efforts. 

How Eddie and Steve became the lucky ones to be in the literal maw of the monster, he didn’t know. One minute they were accepting a nice dinner invite to the Byers’ place, more than happy to help Joyce and Hopper start the whole being gay is okay conversation with Will and Eleven. Eddie never thought that he would be considered a role model for the burgeoning bi-curious youth of Hawkins, but he’d take it. And if he had to guess, Steve was supposed to be the star of that show but he was more than happy to be his leading man. 

And then the next they were watching literal demons start escaping from the cracks in the earth. Maybe it shouldn’t have been so shocking, Venca had never disappeared after all, not really. But Eleven had gone after him, in that weird psychic way that Eddie still didn’t fully understand, and she had said she found him, didn’t kill him, but did enough damage to free Max’s soul. 

She had woken up, screaming her brains out, but she had woken up. And that had been enough. 

Vecna had slinked away into the shadows, no monsters to be found, but the presence was still there, trickling into their world at a snail’s pace. El didn’t know what to do about it, she didn’t even know if she could kill him, she had barely managed to save Max, and that was without him having a physical body anymore. 

So they waited, what else could they do? And they got a year, a great fucking year in Eddie’s opinion, the best year of his life. And just like that they were facing the end of the world again. At least things were clearer this time around. 

Two things. Kill Vecna and hide Max. Neither had been as easy as they’d hoped. 

“Will, do you copy? Are you there?” Dustin’s crackling voice asked, the radio finally getting through. 

Everyone’s head immediately swiveled, anxious for an update. 

“Yes!” Will gasped into the receiver, “We’re here, are you all okay?”

Dustin paused, “We’re all alive? Did you find him?”

“We found him, but…it’s bad.”

Eddie almost laughed at that, bad was the understatement of the century. The piece of shit had gone completely insane, cooped up in the creepiest playroom that Eddie had ever seen. Which was saying something considering how unhinged Vecna was to begin with. Something had happened to him since the last time, and all of those detailed plans and fancy words had been replaced with complete chaos and disarray. They weren’t even sure if he was in control of his powers anymore, not when gateways would open and shut randomly, some even shutting before his monsters could get out. Eddie never thought he would see a demogorgon decapitated by a closing portal, but here he was.

Now, it didn’t even seem like he cared if he lived or died. He didn’t even seem like a he anymore, just a malevolent force of rage and hate, that was losing control on every level. The hive mind was fracturing, the monsters easily agitated and distracted, which was one point in their favor. They were all barely hanging on as it was, Eddie didn’t even want to think about what it would be like if all these things could think beyond killing. 

“But you guys can still kill him right?” Dustin asked, panic edging in his voice.

Will bit his lip, hesitating, “He’s protected by all those things, I don’t-”

El shook her head, hastily sitting next to Will to take the receiver, “I can still do it.”

Joyce and Hopper glanced at each other, looking just as lost as the rest of them felt. Joyce stepped forward, trying to be gentle with her words, “Sweetheart, you’re too weak-”

“So is he,” El interrupted, “I can feel it,”

“You can’t take him and all of those things at once!” Hopper insisted, kneeling down to her level, shaking her the slightest bit in his desperation, “He’ll kill you!”

“If he wins, we will all die.”

“But-”

“But could you just take him?” Steve asked, cutting through the noise. Everyone turned to stare at him, confused. 

El nodded, “I can kill him.”

“But just him?”

“I…I do not know,” she admitted, looking away.

“So they just need to be separated, right?” Steve pressed, “If you can get him alone, then we have a chance.”

Eddie stared at him, catching on to what he was getting at, his stupid, smart, self-sacrifing Steve.

“Divide and conquer,” Eddie breathed, catching on,“You want to distract them.”

Steve shrugged, “I’m the fastest runner out of all of us. A few gun shots, a look at me, they’d all come running.”

It was definitely possible. Ever since those demons had come back they were remarkably easy to distract, always focused on eating the closest living thing to them. It could work. It could be their best shot. 

But Eddie didn’t give a shit if it meant Steve dying, “They’d rip you apart!”

“Not necessarily,” Owens piped up, “This place held psychic children for years, there are places to hide.”

He fished into his pocket, pulling out the keycard he’d been using since they got here, “There’s a room, where they used to do the most dangerous experiments. The glass is bulletproof, government grade. I’m not sure it will be enough, but it’s your best shot.”

Steve nodded, a determined look on his face. Eddie knew that look, it meant that there was no talking him out of it. 

Well two could play at that game. 

Owens was still going, a solid plan starting to form around Steve’s idea,“When they start chasing you-”

“Us” Eddie interrupted, staggering to his feet, “When they start chasing us.”

Steve stood with him, brow furrowed, “Eddie-”

“Don’t even fucking try,” Eddie hissed out, snatching the keycard from Owen’s hands, “I’m coming with you.”

He was hurt, sure, but it was mostly surface level, and his legs were probably the least mauled thing about him. Steve looked ready to argue, but shut his mouth at the look on Eddie’s face. 

He turned to the group instead, “We’ll be the decoys. They come after us, and you go after him.”

No one seemed particularly happy with the plan, but it’s not like they had a choice. Hopper gave them the pistol strapped to his hip, grumbling, “You’re both too young to be doing this shit.”

Eddie shrugged, not really having an answer for that. In fact, he completely agreed. This was the last place on the planet that any of them should be in. 

“Go down the hall, one shot. Then back, two lefts. Then swipe the card on the right. It will lock automatically,” Owens instructed, going as far as to write it on Steve’s hand, “If we win, they should die with him and we’ll come get you.”

They left the room after that, not wasting any time as they quietly made their way down the hall, hearts thumping in their chests. They could hear them as they got closer, the collective sound of the hoard breathing, standing guard. 

They stopped at the corner, the last hiding spot before they could be seen. 

“You ready?” Eddie whispered, glancing at Steve. 

Steve shook his head, biting his lip before grabbing the front of Eddie’s shirt, dragging him into a bruising kiss. It tasted like monster blood and Steve, and was probably the most disgusting kiss he’d ever had. 

And he never wanted it to stop. 

Steve let him go, too soon, with a sad smile, “Now I am.”

They stepped out together, Eddie covering his ears as the shot rang out. It was a blur after that. Neither of them looked back as they sprinted down the hall, but they could hear screeching behind them, and the ugly noise of talons hitting linoleum. 

Eddie had never run that fast in his entire life, but they both made it, slamming the door shut behind them. It was only a few seconds before the monsters rounded the corner, immediately jumping against the door and clear windows, their claws screeching against the glass. 

“I told you the morning runs were going to be worth it,” Steve gasped out between breaths, hands on his knees. 

Eddie nodded, eyes skimming over the still standing glass. It was the first time Eddie could really look at the things and they were heinous. Wet, slimy skin, rows of teeth that spanned on forever, all salivating as they pressed against the glass, the shrieking never stopping. 

The noise was only gathering more of them to the same place, and Eddie didn’t doubt that they had gotten all of them, not when he was looking out into a sea of demons. 

The minutes passed, ten, twenty, thirty, with the well of monsters attacking the glass never stopping. How long did a world-altering final showdown take?

Then he heard it, the first crack. The glass was fucking breaking, government-grade his ass. The second wasn’t too far behind, but this time paired with visible lines, crawling across the surface. 

He could feel Steve’s hand slip into his, squeezing as their eyes stayed glued on the hoard of monsters. The hoard of monsters that was probably seconds away from getting to them. 

Steve tightened his grip on Eddie’s hand, grimacing, “I think we’re going to die.”

Eddie shook his head, ignoring the tears that were already starting to gather in the corners of his eyes,“Baby, we’re not going to die-”

Another cracking sound, more and more fractures making themselves known. Steve was pulling at his hand, hard, hard enough to make him face him. 

He was fucked up, they both were, bleeding from different claw marks and bites, covered in the black blood of those monsters, and the red of their own. 

He looked resigned, resigned but determined, “I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you, it’s terrifying.”

They both flinched at another loud crack, more and more spider web lines skittering across the glass. Fuck, Steve was right, they were gonna die. Three months. He had only had him for three fucking months.

Eddie put his shaking hands on Steve’s shoulders, staring into those big brown eyes, “I love you too, of course I love you. You were the best thing that ever fucking happened to me."

The tears were flowing now, for both of them, no stopping it.

Steve rested his forehead against Eddie’s, voice shaking, "I wish I could have spent my life with you,” 

It wasn’t fair, none of this shit was fair. They didn’t deserve this, Steve didn’t deserve this. All that fighting, for years, just to die in this pit? 

“The next one,” Eddie managed to gasp out in between his tears, “If there’s anything after this, I’m going to find you, understand me?”

Steve smiled, somehow still managing to look devastatingly beautiful underneath all that filth, and that just made Eddie want to cry harder, “You swear?”

“I swear.”

And then they were kissing, what else could they do? Eddie closed his eyes as their lips met, if he was going to die, he wanted Steve to be the last thing he saw. 

It didn’t take long for the glass to finally shatter, flying in all directions. Eddie could feel the air move, could feel them all scrambling towards them, eager to get the first bite.

He kept his eyes screwed shut, and kissed Steve harder as they both went down. He didn’t want to see it, never wanted to even imagine watching the man he loved be torn apart. 

He felt long teeth sink into his ribs, the pain sharp and stinging. He waited for the next bite, heart in his throat as he tried to mentally prepare to be eaten alive, again.

But then…nothing. He could hear the sound of bodies falling over each other, the scrape of talons on the tile, but that was all. Seconds passed, enough time for Eddie to snap his eyes open, in disbelief that he was still in one piece. He clutched at Steve, relief flooding him when he was staring back. He was bleeding from a scratch on the head from their fall, and a monster had sunk their teeth into his calf, deep but not deep enough where he couldn’t walk.

Dozens of bodies surrounded them, and besides the two limp creatures they had to pry away from their skin, none had gotten the chance to reach them. They both clung together as they looked around. The things weren’t just dead, they were disintegrating, disappearing into floating dust. 

"W-we're not dead?" Steve asked out loud, like he couldn’t really believe it, “Holy shit, we aren’t dead!”

Eddie could barely believe it either, but on the off chance this was some near death hallucination, he wasn’t going to waste it. He grabbed Steve’s face, kissing every dirty inch of it, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve gasped out, somewhere between a laugh and a sob,“Are you okay?” 

Eddie nodded, ignoring the oozing bite on his side. In comparison to what could have happened, that was nothing. They helped each other up, both a bit wobbly from blood loss and still shocked at the fact they survived.

They heard them before they saw them, footsteps getting louder and louder from the hallway. He could hear Will talking into the walkie, probably trying to calm Dustin down, “We’re going now!” 

The group rounded the corner, all of them looking worse for wear, but they were all there, and that’s what mattered. 

“They’re alive! I told you they would be fine!” Will’s face didn’t match the confidence in his voice, the kid looked like he was ten seconds away from crying in relief, and the rest weren’t far behind. Eddie wasn’t quite sure, but he could almost swear he heard Dustin and Robin sobbing through the receiver with the rest of them, a few insults mixed in with their happy tears. 

They told them everything on the way to the hospital. El won, all of them lived, and the hell known as the Upside Down was gone for good. There were some more details in there, sure, but Eddie wasn’t listening fully, too busy being grateful to be alive and trying to wrap up Steve’s leg in the back of the van.

He got the broad strokes, what else did he need? 

The hospital was a mess, but by some miracle there were enough beds for everyone. Half of them had to stay overnight, the other half longer, but they were all still alive, somehow. 

It was hours later, Eddie was sitting up in his hospital bed, staring out the window. He couldn’t really sleep without Steve on a good day, but on the day they almost died together? No shot. Even if he was fully aware that everything, and everyone was fine, Eddie was stuck, staring into nothingness. 

He missed Steve, which was stupid considering he’d seen him an hour ago, but he still did. He wondered what he was doing now, only a few rooms away, and he wondered even more if he could get away with sneaking to his room. The staff was beyond busy, maybe no one would notice?

Eddie startled when he heard a knock on his door, too lost in thought with his silly plans. It was late, and the nurses didn’t knock. He perked up a little, already hopeful for it could be, "Come in?"

He grinned as he watched Steve slip inside, still in his own hospital gown. He limped over to the bed, sitting on the edge with an apologetic smile,"Did I wake you?"

“Not even a little,” Eddie said, deciding that he was too far away. He grabbed for his arm, mindful of his bandages, as he pulled him into his lap, his favorite place to be, “You’ve ruined me Harrington, I can’t sleep without you anymore.”

Steve gave a quiet laugh, relaxing in Eddie’s arms, “Me either.”

His presence was like a magic switch had been flipped, and suddenly Eddie could feel the exhaustion from the last forty-eight hours seep in. He kept Steve close to his chest, avoiding his side as he laid them down, one on top of the other. 

Eddie kept a hand in Steve’s hair, playing with the strands as they whispered to each other, “Hate being away from you.”

Steve smiled, pressing his mouth to Eddie’s collarbone in a half-kiss, too tired to give him the real thing, muttering against him,“Today fucking sucked.”

“It did, didn't it? But there’s nothing but up from here baby.”

Steve hummed against him, his eyes fluttering closed as he whispered, “I love you.”

Eddie would never get tired of hearing that. He’d never get tired of saying it. Here he was, a drug-dealing, high-school dropout who had almost been eaten alive twice, who had Steve Harrington love him. 

It made him feel like the luckiest man on the planet. 

He was still petting Steve’s hair, tired but a touch too happy to fall asleep yet,“Y’know, I had a big romantic plan for telling you that for the first time.”

Steve opened up one eye, peering up at Eddie with sleepy interest, “Really?”

“Mmhm, I was going to make you dinner-”

Steve tried to hold in, but a laugh still managed to slip out,“You were going to make me dinner?

Eddie rolled his eyes, the guy knew him too well, “Okay, I was going to pay Nancy to make you dinner and take credit for it.”

Steve grinned, both eyes open now as he listened,“Go on.”

“I was gonna pack it up, drive us out to Lover’s Lake at night, do some stargazing. There’s supposed to be a meteor shower in a few weeks, was gonna do it then. Adds to the romance.”

Eddie omitted the part where he was going to wish for Steve to say it back, ready to take up superstitions he didn’t even believe in for a chance for this man to love him. He went on, his voice dropping the slightest bit, “Would have brought a bunch of blankets and pillows, make the van all comfy before I fucked you nice and slow.”

Steve licked his lips, cheeks pink as he stared up at him, lovestruck, "And then what?”

“Was gonna wait right before you came. You always make the prettiest face when you’re on the verge, I’d be able to tell. Was gonna whisper it in your ear, watch as it sunk in while you fell over the edge,” Eddue kissed the top of his head, teasing, “But then you had to ruin it with your near death confession.”

Steve gave a small laugh at that, but he was breathing a little faster, clutching onto Eddie a little tighter as he spoke, “You know…if I were you, I wouldn’t let that plan go quite yet.”

Eddie smirked, “No?”

“Nope. In fact, consider this a verbal contract. You have to do it now."

“If you insist.”

“I really, really do.”

They grinned at each other like idiots, the exhaustion of the day finally doing them both in. Now that he had Steve tucked next to him, Eddie was more than ready to let sleep take them away. He was so close to passing out he almost didn’t hear it, Steve whispering into his skin, “I still like our version more.”

Eddie smiled, answering before finally letting sleep take him, “Me too.”

[gayphob1a]

Don't Blame Steve

TW: Smut whoops

“Hands!”

“Yes, Chef!” Steve yells, running as fast as he dares to the sous without being reprimanded for creating a hazard. The saucier he had been stationed with shoots him a warning glare, and he knows after this rush he’ll have his ass handed to him on one of the maitre d’s silver platters for abandoning his position, but he’s been given explicit instructions. When the sous calls, he is to run, not walk. He can take the wrath of a measly saucier if it means his chef de cuisine won’t be involved in this particular dispute. 

The man is horrifying, a dark void that pulls everyone in with his initial charisma, only to snap in an instant and leave you feeling like an empty shell of your former self. He runs his kitchen with an iron fist. Hopper himself would cower in Timothy’s presence. Not even swinging a bat into the flowering maw of a demogorgon could hold up to the terror he instills. The sous, though better, is no walk in the park either. She seems like a sweet woman at first, Rosie, but if her call for help goes unheeded there’s no telling what she may use as a weapon. Steve thought, based on this fact alone, that they may even get along the first time he saw her throw a metal spoon across the kitchen in a fit of rage, but this idea was quickly thrown out the window when he narrowly avoided an egg timer hitting him in the head with enough force he very well may have been on the receiving end of another concussion. And at the hands of a 54 year old woman no less. 

Steve comes skidding to a halt at Rosie’s side, close enough to smell the bourbon leaking from her pores and he desperately hopes she’s just horribly hungover. The last time she showed up drunk he went home with burns burgeoning on third degree. Why Timothy never picks up on this, or chooses to ignore it, he doesn’t understand — considering he once came in and was immediately reprimanded for his untied shoelace. 

“I need you on mise. Running low on shallots and cilantro for garnish.”

Steve tries not to roll his eyes, but well, he’s never been the best at keeping a handle on his facial expressions, and Rosie must pick up on some slight twitch in his expression or the exasperated sigh in his “yes, chef.”

“What? Do you think you have better things to be doing? We’re in the weeds and I’m running low on fucking garnishes. Maybe if you were half decent at staging I would have had everything I needed before we were getting fucked in the ass.”

“No, chef. I’m sorry, I’m on it.”

“Good. I don’t miss twice, kid.”

Steve spends the rest of the evening rush by Rosie’s side, dicing in silence like a well-trained dog. He almost misses the call for closing, overstimulated and exhausted both physically and emotionally. All through his closing duties, he’s berated by Sam, the saucier he abandoned firing dishes on his own. He almost doesn’t think he’ll make it through the night, but like always, he does, and drives home on autopilot, hardly registering the traffic as he listens to one of Eddie’s heavy metal tapes to release some of the tension thrumming in his veins. Since culinary school, he’s developed more of a taste for Eddie’s music, finding comfort in the thrumming baselines and heavy drums that make his teeth rattle with how loud it blares through the speakers.

He trudges up the stairs to their apartment, his every muscle alighting in pain. His head is pounding, and he tries to remember the last time he drank water, but days are starting to blur together and he’s not sure he even has today. Still, none of that can stop the smile that erupts over Steve’s features when he sees Eddie waiting for him with dinner set out on the table, despite it being 10 o'clock at night. 

“Hey baby. Rough day?” And Steve just melts into the way Eddie can read him in an instant, falling into his arms with a heavy sigh. He nods silently and inhales Eddie’s scent. He’s just showered and he smells like sandalwood, Steve’s favorite scent. It reminds him of the fact that Eddie changed the bodywash he uses when he discovered that tidbit of information. Eddie isn’t even a particularly huge fan of sandalwood. He doesn’t hate it or anything, it just wasn’t really on his radar until Steve said something, and now he may even love it for the way it makes Steve nestle into his neck and take in deep breaths, sighing at the way it mingles on his skin.

Eddie is no chef and Steve knows that. He doesn’t expect perfection — in fact, after nearly 11 hours of perfection, he prefers a little chaos and junk food. Eddie always delivers, plating up a simple turkey sandwich and potato chips with a vase of flowers and candlelight. 

“I love you,” Steve sighs, settling into his seat which Eddie pushes in for him, leaving a kiss on the top of his head. 

“I love you too. And I saved you plenty of hot water for a bath when you’re done.”

Steve tucks into his sandwich, eating like he’s been starving in a desert for months. Eddie watches with pure adoration on his face, eating much slower and stopping Steve every couple bites to remind him to drink the ice water he put out. After the first half (Eddie cut his sandwich into triangles. However juvenile, Steve has always found it easier to eat them this way and Eddie finds it adorable), Steve is ready to talk. He regails the evening and the vicious humbling he received after closing in as much detail as he can muster, but frankly the day starts to slip away as soon as he gets home. Maybe it’s the repeated trauma, but his brain has a way of compartmentalizing in a matter of hours. There’s just one complaint that never seems to go away.

“And I’m not even getting paid for any of this!”

Eddie gave up asking if working in kitchens was really worth it after the first week. Steve’s answer was always the same. Despite the mental and physical toll, his goals remained clear. He was going to get through this stupid stage and get a real job in a kitchen until he could save up enough money to one day open his own place dedicated to all the recipes that made him fall in love with cooking in the first place, everything the kids loved when he experimented in the kitchen for them.

Eddie has to drag Steve out of his seat to the bathroom when they finish. Steve’s body aches so bad he could fall asleep at the table. It wouldn’t be the first time and Eddie isn’t letting that happen again, lest he be charged with Steve’s complaints of sore everything in the morning. He draws the bath and puts in epsom salt for the pain and lavender scented bubble bath because it eases the knot in Steve’s mind that has his shoulders permanently pressed to his ears. He helps Steve over the ledge of the tub and gently lowers him into the steaming water. It’s the perfect temperature, nearly scalding just the way Steve likes so he can enjoy the water’s warm embrace as long as possible. They remain quiet as Eddie massages Steve’s legs, working the knots out of his calves and running his thumbs up and down the arches of his feet. Steve lets out an occasional contented sigh, relishing in the fact that Eddie enjoys pampering him just as much as he needs it after a day like today. 

The few unpredictable strands of Eddie’s hair that can never be contained by a bun, no matter how neat, are starting to form loose ringlets. Steve reaches out to wind one around his fingers, moves his hand to his boyfriend’s steam warmed cheeks, and draws him in for a delightfully slow kiss. Eddie’s hands travel up Steve’s legs to his thighs, raising them slightly from the porcelain of the tub so he can run his fingers over his taught hamstrings like the frets of his guitar. He plays Steve nearly as well, no, better, and Steve sings his praises into Eddie’s lips.

“Feeling better?” Eddie asks, his forehead pressed to Steve’s, their breath intermingling in heavy puffs between them. 

“Much.” Steve replies. He closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation of Eddie’s fingers all over him. His firm, deliberate strokes graze higher up Steve’s thighs, ghosting between his legs and Steve chokes back a whimper. The bubbles hide the way he’s been steadily growing harder, but Eddie’s hands reveal all. He’s not always in the mood after work, but the princess treatment, as Eddie likes to call it, makes his heart swell… amongst other things.

Steve tries to stand, but the bath is still warm and Eddie’s hands hold him in place. “Just relax. Let me take care of you sweetheart.”

“I want to touch you,” Steve whines. 

“You will, but we can take it slow tonight, right?”

And Steve’s mind is foggy, sure, a combination of the long hours and Eddie’s expert touch, but he doesn’t think he’s that foggy until the words just kind of slip out of him. “Yes, chef,” he moans. 

A hand flies up to clasp over his mouth and his eyes go wide. Eddie is silent, watching like a hawk, his hand still and gripping onto Steve’s thigh in a vice grip. “I– I don’t… I’m so sorry. That just came out. Fuck.”

“Woah woah, hold on there big boy. It’s okay. Look, you don’t have to, I know you had a long day, but maybe just… say it again?”

“Y-yes chef.” Steve tries it out, wondering if it will feel foreign in his mouth, but it doesn’t. It feels natural, like an extension of himself, bearing himself raw to Eddie in a rare way he never has before. He wants to feel Eddie prodding at this part of him, taking him apart piece by piece like he has to every other aspect of his soul until now.

“Jesus christ. How does anyone get anything done in that kitchen with you around?”

“You say that every day.”

“Yeah, but now I mean it. You’re walking around all night saying ‘yes chef’ like an adorable little slut. I wouldn’t be able to think straight.” Eddie splashes Steve with the velocity at which he moves his hand to his dick, gripping tight enough to make Steve moan. His head falls back against the tub, the ends of his hair grazing the bubbly warm water. The contrast of cold porcelain against hot skin makes him realize just how hard his whole body must be flushing, damp from the water and sweat mixing on his skin. His hands find the sides of the tub and hold on for dear life as Eddie’s hand pumps and twists up the length of his shaft. He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, staring, taking in every expression and breathy noise he releases. 

“Just relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me.”

“That’s right. Good boy.”

Eddie’s hand speeds up, sloshing water up all around Steve’s chest. Heat pools in his stomach and Steve feels his balls draw up, nearing the edge in record time from the praise.

“Wait,” he says, dropping a hand down to still Eddie’s wrist.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, stopping instantly, concern lacing his voice. 

“‘M okay. I don’t want to cum yet. Want to fuck you.”

Eddie hums. “I thought I was taking care of you?”

“You can take care of me while I fuck you. Ride me into the mattress.”

“Fuck, Stevie. Let’s go.” Eddie helps Steve out of the tub, drying him just enough that he’s not dripping into the carpet. Steve’s skin is red hot, the heat bubbling over into Eddie’s chest as they collide in a sloppy kiss, hardly breaking apart as they stumble to the bedroom. 

Eddie pushes Steve down onto the bed and hovers over him, admiring. He’s hard and aching, leaking against his stomach and he pulls Eddie into him, crashing their lips back together so hard their teeth clack against one another. Eddie is still fully dressed and that just won’t do. Steve’s hands roam Eddie’s body, feeling and squeezing until he reaches the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. Eddie has new tattoos all over his chest, including Steve’s bat, and he loves to kiss over it, sucking bruises into the outline until it’s puffy and sticking out, raised against his milky white skin. Eddie undoes his belt hastily, pulling his pants and underwear off his hips until they fall to the ground with a clank of his belt buckle against the floor. 

“Lay back, I want you inside me.”

Steve groans. “You need to prep?”

“What do you think I do all day when you’re gone baby?”

Steve reaches around between Eddie's cheeks and sure enough he’s loose and pliant, ready to take Steve’s considerable girth. Steve twitches pathetically, precum spurting out of his tip all over the happy trail leading down to his pubes, thinking about Eddie laid out in their bed playing with himself, moaning wildly alone while he waits for Steve to trudge up the stairs to their little apartment with no promise he’ll even be fucked at all. 

“You ready for me?” Eddie asks.

“Yes chef.”

“Shit you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“I may have some idea.” Steve smirks, his eyes tracing over Eddie’s frame to his throbbing erection.

“Steve.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” Eddie straddles Steve’s hips and grabs his cock, lining himself up to sink down                       in one swift movement. 

The room is filled with the sound of their moans, their scents mingling together in a heady musk. Eddie’s hands find themselves on Steve’s chest, squeezing his pecks, a juxtaposition of soft skin and hard muscles sprinkled with thick hair. He bounces up and down at a ruthless pace, grinding his hips down with a little twist each time he sinks to the hilt. Steve falls apart under him, his face burying in the pillow beneath him, catching the cries and spit that pool on his tongue. He wants to plant his feet, drive his hips up and pound back relentlessly, drag more of those wanton moans from Eddie’s throat, but he’s so exhausted, the pleasure only adding to the led in his bones, so he lets Eddie take what he needs, let’s him dedicate his heart to Steve’s pleasure. He’s going to come already after being driven to the edge not five minutes earlier, but he needs to stave it off, hold back until he can be painted with Eddie’s cum. 

But Eddie knows him all too well. Knows every sound, knows the meaning of every pleasured grimace on his face. “Don’t wait for me honey. I want to make you feel good.”

“Can I…”

“Cum inside me baby. Want to feel you fall apart while I milk it out of you.”

Those words are all he needs, coming in thick ropes that paint Eddie’s walls. Steve is sensitive, crying out Eddie’s name as he keeps riding the last of Steve’s hard on, chasing his own pleasure. 

“Come on, Chef.” Steve wraps a hand around Eddie’s dick, stroking him hard and fast. “Need to see you cum on the fly, please.”

“Fuckkkk,” Eddie moans as he cums all over Steve’s chest. He falls boneless into Steve’s open arms. Steve wraps his arms around his neck and rubs a gentle hand up and down his back, kissing the hair matted with sweat against his forehead. 

“We need another bath.” Steve giggles.

“I’ll get a wash cloth. We can shower in the morning,” Eddie sighs, squeezing Steve back and letting his affection pour out in droves. He lifts himself off of Steve and feels his spend leaking out and making a mess. “But maybe we sleep on the couch tonight? I’m not changing the sheets.”

Eddie scurries off to the bathroom so he doesn’t drip all over the carpet and returns a couple minutes later to towel Steve off. He picks Steve up, throwing him over his shoulder to carry him to the living room, neither of them being bothered to even put on boxers. Eddie puts on a movie and they drift to sleep in each other’s arms, a tangle of limbs and shared body heat so they can both fit on the small couch. The next morning they shower together as promised before Steve has to leave for the restaurant. All day, with every call of ‘Yes, chef!’ he can’t help but think of Eddie and smile to himself. He doesn’t think working in a kitchen will ever be the same again.

[stabby-sheepy-writes]

Flesh of the Cattle

Genre: Horror/Romance, 3.5k

TW: Cannibalism as a Metaphor, Implied Homophobia, Violence, Euphemisms for Lesbian Sex

AN: I wrote this piece largely to explore a worldbuilding idea surrounding cowboy werewolves, and it turned into a horny lesbian piece

Summary: Have you ever been so fucking horny for a hot cowgirl that you want to turn into a monster and eat her alive?

When I woke up this morning, I was informed by a young boy in uniform that my husband had been drawn, quartered, and decapitated by the town hunters. I was given a pamphlet of condolence, 100 silver dollars for my trouble, and the invitation to see my husband’s head where it was strung up in the town square if I saw fit. The clergy would come by later this morning to cleanse my house of the beast and its corruption from my walls, and the butcher would come in the afternoon to take the remains of the slaughtered cow in the middle of our—now my—fields. Terry Gomez, the victim of the attack, was being seen by the town doctor and to be put on a week of bed rest to recover from his newfound nerves and ravings. 

“They did a real sight to him ma’am,” the young boy stated with a glimmer in his eye, as if the event stood alongside the latest outlaw coming to town to linger in the saloon, and not the death of a man, “caught the beast in the middle of the fields with one of yer ranch hands”. 

Not a man—I sighed as I opened the pamphlet to see the black and white photo of a half skinned, half furred face, blood still dripping from the maw—a werewolf. 

“A shame, he was a good husband. I’ll have to donate his things to the church.”

“Oh no, ma’am, can’t have that,” the boy chortled, as if I was still naive and young, “their sickness and sin sits in their stench. Best to burn it all with the body of the beast. Can’t leave even a bone behind.”

   I nodded, unsure whether I wanted to simply go back to sleep and call it a wash for the day, or rip out the neck of the uniformed boy standing on my porch and leave him to dye the porch red beneath him. The color would match the preacher’s shawl, who was bound to be showing up within the hour with his cursed sons and their herbs and holy water. Before I could make a decision that I would possibly regret, the bell of my kitchen timer pulled me out of my thoughts, reminding me of the morning apple pie I had in the oven and that I, in fact, still had things and people to live for.

“Yes, you’re right, Rather a shame, that,” I retorted quickly, cutting off the rest of whatever the boy had to say as I shut and bolted the door. 

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

My husband and I would never talk about the nights he came in late from the fields, once or twice a month, clothes in tatters and blood coating his hands and mouth. He would strip at the door, leave his clothing in the wash basin for me to sew up the next morning, and would go into the washroom to scrub the blood off of his skin. I would offer him dinner, a meal I had cooked after having already eaten my own, and he would decline.

   “And how many cows this time?” I would ask, once he was freshened up and coming to join me, dragging the wash basin behind him to get a start on salvaging the tatters from his clothes. Always he would answer with 1 or 2 heads, barely a noticeable loss in our massive acreage. 

“And will Terry be fit to deliver to the Pueblos in the morning? Or will he find himself ill?”

“I believe he’ll be finding himself under the weather, I’ll see to the delivery myself tomorrow,” my husband would answer, humor and satisfaction tinting his words as red as the water in the wash basin, hanging the cleaned cloth over the wire at the fireplace to dry and retiring to his bedroom for the night. 

In the morning I knew he would wake up with the sun to butcher and skin the cattle in the field, load the meat, bones and the hide to the wagon and set off for the tribes to sell and barter for thread and leather. He would come home with clothes to replace what he had ripped and tattered, as well as a piece of jewelry to thank me for my vigil, and always, always, a gift for Terry. My husband and his hunger would be sated, those nights, the blood from the fields long soaked into the grass. 

After he would go to bed, I would ignore the ravening in my belly and loins and devour the dinner I had made for him whole, counting the days until I could control myself no longer.  

◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢

The wormwood burnt in my house from the clergy burned my throat and eyes for the first week, and yet a widow in mourning was best not to be seen until at least a month after the death of a husband-turned-beast. Gifts were left from others in town—food, cloth, medicines and thread—the whispers of gossip tickling my ears as clergy burnt incense in my home to banish sin from the very grain of the wood before leaving me to my allotted solitude. Thus, I was stuck in the house, my windows and doors opened wide for the stench to escape when she came to my doorstep. 

A knock on the wood drew my attention from the kitchen, revealing a tall, tanned woman standing on my porch, blonde hair tied back in a braid and a brown cattleman of leather hide perched on her head. Even from the distance I could tell she was a head and shoulders taller than me, the muscle of years of farmwork boasted through her buttoned-up shirt. Her features were sharp, lips already pulled into a sly grin as dark brown eyes drank me in—a gaze I returned, trailing slowly down from smile to neck to waist to boots, and back again. 

“Mornin’ ma’am, you the woman with the husband trussed up in that town square?” 

Her voice was smooth and dark like coffee, her eyes inspecting the inside of my home even as her nose wrinkled at the pervading smell. 

“And what would give that away? I know you ain’t from around here,” I retorted, feeling my stomach start to tighten as she crossed the threshold and maintained a polite distance away, watching every move like she might spring towards me in a bid to eat me whole. 

“Could smell the wormwood from the bar, and figured you needed a new ranch hand since you seem to be down a pair of hands. I need the lodgin’ and the work, won’t ask for nothin more than a bed to sleep and food to eat.” 

Her eyes ripped through me, and my stomach rolled itself into knots. 

“Not runnin’ from nothin, are you, stranger? I’m not going to be taking kindly to any trouble on these fields for the next few seasons,” my hands twitched as her weight shifted, eyes drawn to the small flash of the tanned skin of her hip before snapping back up to meet an amused gaze. 

“Nothin’ that’ll be able to catch up to me here, I can assure you that, ma’am.” 

It was an answer I’d have to take—common sense bid me to send the woman off, tell her to walk the 2 miles back to town and find herself a new ranch that didn’t already have the stink of wormwood soaking into its bones. But hunger bid me differently.

“And your name, ranch hand? Unless you’ve left that behind with trouble, too.” 

She smiled, a toothy, sharp grin that could make a nun ache and politely took off her hat to give me a proper nod: “Lobelia, ma’am. But you can call me Lobo, everybody does.” 

The joke wasn’t lost on me, but neither was her sharp, daring stare. Despite the ache in my torso, I hummed and pointed back out the front door towards the quarterhouse—”Quarterhouse is about half a mile on the other side, next to the horse barn. You passed it walking up here, so you should know where it’s at. We’re working with around fifteen-thousand heads of cattle out there, so get comfortable. We start work at sunrise.”

The other woman nodded, hat settling back on her head as she turned to leave. My eyes couldn’t help but slip down as she walked, swallowing heavily and thinking of the meat sitting on my kitchen counter. My mouth opened before I could think—a newfound habit I was already dreading: “And Lobo?” 

She turned, amusement still sharp in brown eyes, and I gritted my teeth into a smile of my own, “Keep any trouble off the east acres, the pastor’s boys like to walk it at night these days. They like to check up on the cattle, you know how us rural ranches tend to…lose a few heads, at nights.”

I was met with a wink and a “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am”, and then I watched her walk off.

When she left, I closed my front door to prevent any more unknown visitors, and turned quickly to ravage the meat on my kitchen counter—barely pausing to shred the parchment and the butcher’s twine before tearing into it raw. 

The hunger sated, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the phantom tingles of knowing, brown eyes on the back of my neck. 

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

I did not know hunger until my early teens, when my family sent me to an all-girl’s school in the North. They wanted me to learn math and business, so that one day I might make a valuable wife to one of the sons of the many powerful ranching families in Arizona.   

Northview Conservatory stunk of wormwood, a measure they said meant to keep out the beasts, burnt every morning mass. Yet the girl who sat next to me in class taught me what a beast was, everytime she came to class with her skirt rolled up at the hem in order to match the fashion of the times. Blonde hair in a high ponytail, a kiss of pink to plump lips that begged to be bitten, piercing blue eyes that made my chest flutter and stomach ache every time they focused on me. 

I would have killed to keep those eyes focused on me. 

Hunger, those days, had felt exciting and new. I felt it for every pretty girl I saw, eyes following every bend and curve, mind picturing the blood flow and warmth beneath. The daydream of sinking my teeth in and eating my fill until blood dripped down my chin filled my waking moments, the subject changing every few weeks or so. But that blonde girl with the blue eyes stayed consistent, taunting me every day. I ignored the preaching of the pastor against hunger, against sin, allowing the hunger to grow and fester. 

One day we took a trip to the city—the girls all done up in our sunday bests, the nuns lightheartedly chastising us for vanity but reassuring in the same breath that they, too, were once teenage girls. I remember that trip the blonde girl let her hair down from her ponytail, and I thought to myself that I would have her, that night, teeth kissing flesh starting from where the bottom of the skirt touched her legs.

I learned that day my hunger was different when I watched the corpse of a man be engulfed in flames, the fur on his body patchy and coarse from malnourishment and tar. The execution was an event, a showing of triumph against sin. The man—the beast—had hungered and devoured to his end.

“But what had he done?” I remember asking, dread filling my chest as every eye turned to pierce my own. Those blue eyes burned the brightest, with curiosity and an emotion unknown that burned in the pit of my stomach. The Sister guiding us that day hushed me, a pitying glimmer in her eye.

“It is a beast, dear. A monster that devours the innocent for its own desires, to sate its own hungers.”

“But what was his name? He is a man, is he not? A man like you or I?” 

The Sister shook her head, her expression warning me to hush before I said something that needed to be acted upon, “Beasts have no name, child. A beast is a beast, and what makes a beast is their hunger for flesh. It would be wise to leave it there.” 

The realization shocked me silent for the rest of the outing that day, and yet blue eyes followed me as I moved. The rumbling in my stomach felt sinister, would the taste of the very flesh and blood I craved sate me? Or would I grow only more monstrous? And yet the blue watched, like a deer taunting a wolf. 

Later, when we were grown and our graduation dresses had skirts that couldn’t be rolled at the hem, I was able to gain my answer with those same blue eyes and long, blonde hair. A sanguine taste that left me hungrier all the way home, where my arranged husband was waiting. 

◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢

Lobelia took to the fields as naturally as one with her build and clear experience could be expected to. She sat naturally on a horse, eyes sharp and expression full of ravenous joy as she worked with the other hands in herding cattle to their fields. I watched from the porch, eyes following every movement as she bent and twisted and hunted. Her brown eyes met my own, sharp and wild with adrenaline, ripping straight through me to the growing pit in my stomach. 

She cocked a brow at me, a teasing smirk breaking across her lips, and the ache only grew. I had not spoken to her since her hiring, she had yet to be assigned to collect the allotted food from the main house’s kitchen, and yet every day our eyes locked at least once. The grin she would send me, knowing and equally hungry, would send shots of heat through me and leave goosebumps behind. This burning in my stomach was a hunger I was used to, a heat and pain that was constant yet bearable, and yet being on the receiving end of such hunger was…thrilling. 

The opportunity came for conversation, one afternoon, when I stepped out to the cow herds to inspect the state of the newer heads of cattle and the healing brands in their rumps. The cows always flinched away from my presence, instinct I figured, for these were too young for it to be from memory. My focus on them left me distracted, leaving me to jump in surprise as a low whistle sounded from behind me. 

“Shouldn’t the owner of a ranch have better things to do than follow a ranch hand?” Lobo chuckled, sauntering around from the other side of the cow where she had been previously out of sight. It was a shock to see her here, the work with this herd already finished for the day, and yet here she was. Like she had known I would come here, and had hunted me down. 

Her hand dwarfed mine where it came to rest on the side of the cow, calloused on the pads of her palms from hard work, tanned from many hours in the sun. I ignored the rising heat in my cheeks and instead huffed, lifting my hand away.

“Hardly following, these are my fields and my cows. I may go where I wish,” I snapped back, harsher than I intended and yet the flush in my face betrayed me anyway. Lobo chuckled down at me, eyes slipping over to focus on the cow beneath her hands, fingers scritching behind its ears and letting out a small giggle at the happy wiggle the cow gave beneath her hands. I watched her, my chest tight and my throat dry, wanting desperately to make conversation but not knowing how to start.

“So, how have you been adjusting to the work? The other hands giving you any hassle?” I hummed, slipping around to check on another cow if only to avoid those brown eyes that lingered over me. The animal let out a huff beneath my hands and flinched away, but stayed put overall as Lobo stepped to its otherside, boxing it between us. 

“Been fine, work is good, food even better. Must say, I’m a real big fan of your cookin, ma’am. Gets me hungry just thinking about it,” Lobo smirked, hand patting down on the rump of the cow between us. 

“Well, you’re fed with the cattle on this ranch. I’m glad to hear it’s to your liking, and that you’ve found your accommodations suitable,” the cow surged forward, a push to get out from between us, and I swore as I backed away to avoid being trampled. Lobo let out a low whistle as she surged to get in front of it, the animal cringing backwards in equal fear--trapped between two predators. With nowhere to go, and a comforting scritch on the top of its head, the animal soothed, and I stepped away to give it space.

Lobo let out an amused huff, adjusting the hat on her head, “Not real good with them things, are you, ma’am?” 

I sighed and shook my head, “Never have been. They’ve never been able to sit still for me.” 

“A shame,” Lobo grinned, shooting a pointed look “she acts like you’re going to eat her alive.”  

It was a question, I knew. A question that leaves husbands hanging from town squares, and cattle dead in the fields. But my stomach growled, and I gave an answer all the same.

“At this rate I very well might, but I’m sure you know the joys of eating cattle.”

 The blonde woman gave a hearty laugh, a genuine smile breaking across her face that sent a renewed emotion tingling down my spine, “That I might, ma’am. Tell me, you get hungry often?”

She was stepping closer to me, and it was like she was growing before my eyes, taller and more beastlike as the sun was starting to approach the horizon. I hummed, stepping back to put space between us again, “Rather direct question, is that not?”

“Can’t blame a girl for getting curious, can you ma’am?” Lobo kept the distance between us, but every muscle seemed prime to spring. She would eat me alive if I let her, that hunger shared between us red and ripe.

Hunger leaves husbands hanging from town squares. But this was my ranch, now, and I was not my husband. 

“Well, I’d love to have you for dinner, Lobo,” my eyes glanced to the sun, calculating out the hours before the moon would rise, “perhaps you would join me tonight, after the hand’s finish the last chores.”

Her eyes followed mine to the sun, doing the same math and the smile full of fangs growing only hungrier: “Will we be eating at the house?”

The thought drew a small chuckle out of me, reminded of the many early fights I had with my husband, and my resolution to never clean blood out of floorboards again, “No, the west fields. Much easier to tidy up, afterwards.”

Lobo’s laughter filled the fields, even as we parted ways. My stomach pitched and rolled with each high and low of her voice, hunger warm and waiting. 

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

My husband and I never talked about the nights that I didn’t come home from the fields. The moon would be in the sky, shining down like the eye of God to watch as I would finally indulge. Finally sate myself, and become the monster I am. 

My body would change with the moon, my jaw filling with fangs and my nails turning to claws. I would set upon the cattle in the back fields, furthest from civilization, and I would feast. Their cries would sing in my ears, different each night that I would lose myself, sweet like song every time. They would bend and I would rip into the flesh, pliant and powerless beneath my hands as I ate my fill. 

After the frenzy I would sit in the fields and stare up at the sky, my mouth and hands stained and grass around me watered with the result of hunger repressed too long. The bodies would sit around me, heads counting to the 10s, 20s or some nights, 30s, the remains of a feast still gasping and recovering beneath the full moon.

The prize of the night would always be beneath me when I came out of frenzy, her flesh still bare and beautiful in the light. Chest heaving and eyes pleading beneath me, and my fingers would drag up along her belly, along heaving ribs, towards the throat to grip and feel the breathing beneath my palms. The cattle would change every time, eaten whole and left to soak into the grass until another came to take its place, but always those eyes would stay with me. 

Never before had I met eyes as hungry, as monstrous, as mine. Hunger was mine alone--mine to revel in, to power my body to eat and dine on the flesh of cattle until finally someone would come to feast on me, to devour me whole. 

But until then, I would continue to eat my fill, waiting for the day a monster as hungry as I comes to rip me apart.

[mealvaan]

Reticent

"How's the Den lately?"

Meindo shrugged half an ilm, and with it Vahri'to's star shuddered. Sure, his world had been only earthquakes as late, especially in the moons that he'd watched her volcano grow dormant and develop a crust over its maw.

Still he got up and tried again. He wasn't a scant teenager with his pants down his ankles. He was the One-Eyed fucking Royal.

"Get up to any interestin' shit over the sennend?"

Okay, so that wasn't the killer line he'd been hoping for.

"Not really," Meindo parried with ease. Maybe he'd have to pull out the big gun and let her tank it, none of this piddly small talk nonsense. The Beast had been on her mind lately.

"You hear from that b— I'a lately?" The nickname tripped off his tongue at a weird angle. Meindo noticed, as for a moment she stopped picking at her ramen with her fork...

"Nope," she said curtly.

... then she went right back to the excavation. Business as usual.

He wondered if this was how she treated Vahri'a. Lip service. Not that their self-appointed patriarch had never deserved it; he bore his teeth at any attempt to talk eye-to-eye until their conversations had been whittled down to the talking points. The first son killed any sentiment that was born after him. If Dalamud exterminated the west wing of the Shroud, then Vahri'a did the same to fun at the dinner table.

For once, Vahri'to called a ceasefire for his shots at the man's portrait on the wall. Maybe that was a bit harsh... said To, never, in defense of his older brother. But for one, they so rarely ate at a dinner table. How was he supposed to know that they were a place of conversation, not for sating his terminal hunger in pitch perfect silence?

If the Meindo he'd been dealing with all summer was the wall Vahri'a came up against, then maybe Vahri'to had been set up for success those many years prior.

Vahri'a set a skint table and needed everyone to be grateful, or it'd eat the sod up at night that he left even one of eleven other mouths wanting. So easily would the guilt corrode what little food they had, to the point that shutting the rest of them up was better than letting it in.

Vahri'to swooped in after Vahri'a raised his sister for the near epoch he was gone and plied her with buffet plates, firsthand clothes and a flock of profanities that she could barely even pronounce the first time around. Perhaps if it'd been the other way around — if Vahri'to had stayed behind in the Shroud, and Vahri'a abandoned them to pursue delusions of grandeur at the ripe of age sixteen — Vahri'to would've been the stepping stone for his brother.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been generous. That generosity had gone a long way, tee-up or not.

"Uh, I've been seein' someone lately," Vahri'to admitted, tail between literal tapping legs. How boyish he must've seemed; how stupid this olive branch felt in his hand.

Meindo's eyes flickered up at him. She slurped down her bite.

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

"What's she like?"

This was the hard part. Fang to tongue, then fang to cheek, anything to keep the game from slipping. But then no, this was meant to be a gift — a real gift, of actual gab, and if she caught a glimpse of his fang on his bottom lip then so fucking be it.

"He's pretty nice. I met him at the Platinum Mirage. He doesn't gamble none, though. He's a butler."

Meindo's eyes rounded out to blue moons. How benignly they reflected his own, that which shimmered at his own admission.

Silence settled over them like a blanket. It suffocated him no longer. He consulted the stars of her visage and understood, palpably, unmistakably, what that meant to her.

Vahri's only daughter. Yet he let her shoulder the star of it alone.

"That's cool," Meindo eventually said, running her tongue over the tiniest smile.

[steak-n-popotoes]

FFxivWrite '23 - 3 (Free Prompt)

(tw body horror, blood)

The sound of Eryna's cursing rose above the murmurs of dinner conversation until the latter was suppressed into a stunned silence. The Brave who had bound her hands shoved her from the doorway into the banquet hall, and she hit the floor in an undignified sprawl, tangled in her evening gown. If she'd had her tome, she would be slinging far more potent curses.

"The fuck is this?" Caranar shouted, breaking the spellbound silence.

The familiar Brave's voice rang out in practiced clarity. "This woman stands accused of poisoning her royal majesty Nanamo Ul Namo. And as suspected accessories to the crime, all members of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn will be detained for questioning!"

The headache that had haunted Caranar all evening quickly began to swell into an angry red pulse. His hand drifted back for his lance, but stopped halfway as he recalled how he had been advised to leave his weapon behind. Bloody formalities. He laid the idle hand on the back of a chair. It could be thrown if need be.

"Should you demand further proof, a vial with traces of the substance used to poison Her Grace was found upon the assassin's person." came a shrill, smug voice.

Failing to locate the source of the slander, Caranar instead realized that Beef, who had accompanied Eryna and the Sultana to her chambers, was standing silently amidst the Braves. Surely he had seen the truth of what had occurred. "Beef, tell them they're wrong! Eryna would-"

Beef continued to stand almost completely still, breathing in shallow, rapid breaths; eyes unfocused as they stared through their surroundings. One of the Braves kept a firm grip on his shoulder, but his hands were not bound as Eryna's were.

"The boy is an important witness to the crime, but I'm afraid he's in shock due to the audacious actions of the accused."

Caranar's hand slipped from the chair as his headache doubled in intensity. The pounding in his ears split the farcical speeches into incomplete patches, and It crept from his skull down his spine, forcing him to clutch his head and double over in pain. "Bastard..." He felt eyes begin to shift from Adeledji's spectacle to his own.

"This cannot be... Nanamo... Nanamo... NOOOOOO!!!"

" ...it falls to the Monetarists of the Syndicate to govern... ...would be more than happy... ...planning Her Grace's funeral... ...bury your precious sultana... ...glad to be rid of that burden."

The pain had flooded from Caranar's core through his extremities and threatened to wash him away. Beef's still form and Adeledji's curled grin were stuck fast in his mind as his vision clouded over with red.

" ...had her killed you black-hearted bastard!"

"Bastaaaaaarrrrddddd...!!" Caranar could vaguely sense the touch of someone's hand on his shoulder. He tried to shrug it off, but after a few short moments it returned.

"Caranar? ...alright?"

L'kozu's voice split through the sea of rage enveloping his mind. He clung desperately to it as a man half-drowned.

" ...was grateful that someone thought to cut her strings."

An unholy squirm and twist wracked Caranar's body in an agonizing wave that forced him to his hands and knees. Beneath the skin, each and every bone ground and gnashed against one another like a rabid, ravenous maw. He realized his own mouth was open in a furious, pained snarl. The hand on his shoulder persisted.

"...THEN MOCK HER FROM HELL!"

The cloying reek of blood slammed into his senses with the weight of the ocean. Was that him? Had he done that? Beneath the layers of flesh and fury his body was building, a white-hot emotion reawakened. It strained against the chains that bound it, aching to break through the skin and inflict itself upon all the hapless nobles and soldiers and bastards and betrayers trapped with it in the hall. That emotion...

"It's going to be alright, Caranar."

...fear.

The last he felt was an elbow driven into his neck, struck true before the nerves could entangle themselves within sturdier defenses. The world and its woes drifted fast away, and within that deep darkness, his greatest fear was caged once more.

[rhodeybugg]

Before The Dawn; Chapter 7 Smitten

She really wished her mind would stop playing tricks on her. The manor was too big. The hallways didn't make sense, and it was unbearably cold. "Tessa?" There was no response, only the echo of her words around her.  It was dark outside. Darker than normal, she couldn't see anything.  It SCARED her. "N? V? Cyn?! Come on, this isn't funny, where are you guys?!" She followed the path she knew, or at least she thought she knew, every hallway looked the same. Tessa's room was quiet. Too fucking quiet. Drones don't have hearts, at least, to her knowledge, none of them did. Maybe N, but not her. Not her or V or Cyn or any of the other thousands of drones out there. But something sank in her chest when she crept into the doorframe of Tessa's room. The human was asleep, nestled into her blankets, her back facing the door- but that wasn't what J was afraid of.  What made her freeze in place, was that ....thing up in the rafters, just above Tessa's bed. It tried to blend into the darkness, but she could make out bits of its features as it leaned over the edge of the wooden beam. There was a long, slender tail that hung down and curled around another beam; she could make out the outline of sharp, metallic claws digging into the wood the creature was sitting on, balancing its body as it leaned over Tessa like a hawk stalking a field mouse. Two bright gold eyes stared down from the darkness, and she could have sworn she saw a flash of its teeth and a tongue brushing against them hungrily. She wanted to move. She wanted to scream at Tessa to wake up, to scare this thing off, but no matter how hard she tried, no sound came from the drone's voicebox. The sound of wood breaking hit her audio receptors. The creature had untangled its tail from the rafter it was using to balance, and was now posed like a cat preparing to pounce. Wake up.  It inched forward. Wake up. The creature's jaws split open. She could see every individual tooth in the creature's maw, diving down towards her human. It's not real. Wake up! Claws hit flesh. MOVE!!

And then, she felt her body collide with the hardwood floor. The sun was on her face. She could hear N speaking. 

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

"You're holding it too low!" Clang. "..Like…like this?" "That's better! Just a little more to the right." Clatter.

Zara winced as Tessa swung again, finally making contact with the sword. They had been at this for hours. When the Elliott manor's ballroom wasn't being used for fancy gatherings or dinner parties, it was used as Tessa's personal swordfighting classroom. Somehow today, she’d talked Zara into joining her, leaving the two fifteen-year-olds in the ballroom with swords. …Which was never a good idea, especially not when one could barely hold up the sword, and the other was Tessa. "You have to keep your legs in position, otherwise you'll lose your balance." Tessa watched Zara fix her posture. "Shoulders up a little more." She placed her sword down, walked over to Zara and placed a hand on her shoulders, giving them a gentle, but firm push.  "I'm trying! You have to remember, I've never done this before!" Zara sighed. "I know!" Tessa went back to her spot, picking her sword back up and turning to face Zara. "You're learning, though! You're doing really well!" Zara glanced down at her sword. "Are you sure? Because it feels like I-" CLANG. Zara's sword flew from her hands and clattered against the tile as it slid away. Tessa threw her own sword down and slid behind Zara, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other very lightly around her shoulders. "Don't worry about it." Tessa teased. "You're doing fine."  Zara, still startled and caught off-guard, stayed still in Tessa's grasp, staring down at the arm that wrapped loosely around her waist, feeling the heat rush to her face.

"...Five bucks says they kiss." Cyn leaned her head against the railing of the upper balcony. "First off, you don't have any money." J glared at her and crossed her arms, leaning over V to watch the two girls below. "Second, no, they won't." "Counterpoint." Cyn held up a finger. "Yes, I do." She held up another finger, never taking her eyes off of Zara and Tessa. "And yes they will."

Tessa held Zara in place for a moment, before glancing over her shoulder and tilting her head. “...You good?”  Zara opened her mouth to speak, only able to get out a strained “YeAh.” “What’s got you all blushy?” Tessa snickered, letting go of Zara and allowing her to retrieve her sword. Shit. She stared down at the ground. “Oh! Er- Nothing, nothing at all, just..thinking? “About?” Tessa leaned down to be in Zara’s vision.  “...Someone.”  Zara felt more heat rush to her face. She knew her blush was absolutely beyond hiding- she’d gone and outed herself, it was that obvious. “Ooh?~” A look of burning curiosity appeared on Tessa’s face as she leaned closer to Zara. Zara shrugged her head into her shoulders, desperately trying to hide herself as she began fidgeting with her hands. “Y…yeah.”  “And who might this someone be?” Tessa got a little closer as Zara sunk to the ground, crossing her legs, still trying to collapse in on herself. “....I mean…you don’t have to tell me.” Tessa scooted closer, now at Zara’s side. “....But as your best friend, you are legally required to tell me.” She grinned. This was it. This was where it ended, she’d end up confessing and be really awkward about it and Tessa wouldn’t reciprocate and she’d hate her and then she’d go back to not having any friends and she’d die alone and- A hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her spiral. “...Zara, dude, breathe, you’re scaring me.”  “...S..sorry.” Zara looked down, still fidgeting with her hands.  Where was she even supposed to begin? “...well, she’s…really smart-” “Always a bonus.” Tessa leaned her chin against her palm, listening intensely as Zara spoke. “- and she’s got a fantastic sense of humor, and dazzling green eyes and she makes me feel all soft and fuzzy and she’s-” Zara stopped, glancing at Tessa and smiling. “....She’s perfect.”  Tessa leaned back. “...Well, she definitely sounds interesting.” She stared down at the floor for a moment, then back at Zara. “....Am I ever gonna meet this she someday?” Zara didn’t answer. Her gaze remained locked on the ground for a few moments, before shly looking up at Tessa, their eyes locking for a moment. “...I uh…well, you already know her a lot better than I do, actually.”  Everything was silent. She hated it. She was waiting for it, for Tessa to realize, and hate her for it. Tessa gave her a puzzled look, and Zara simply motioned back to Tessa with her head. She felt her heart stop as Tessa’s eyes widened, and she put a hand to her chest. “...me?” Shit. shit, shit, shit, fuck, even.  Zara gulped and glared back down at the floor. “You love…me?” She didn’t sound upset about it. She didn’t sound disgusted or angry or any of what Zara was expecting her to sound like. Instead, Tessa sounded more thrown off about it.  Zara hesitantly nodded. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” She started to get up, but instantly fell back down the second she felt Tessa’s hand on hers, her other free hand reaching out to gently cup Zara’s face, forcing her to look back at Tessa. “It’s okay.” Her grip tightened a little on Zara’s hands. They were soft. She never wanted to let go. They sat there for a moment, holding hands.  The world could have stopped around them, for all they seemed to care.  “...I..Feel the same way.” Tessa smiled, now blushing as well- nowhere near as intensely as Zara still was.

“They’re holding hands.” Cyn leaned over, nudging V in the side. “I see that!” V winced and leaned a little closer to the edge of the railing. J briefly considered shoving her over it. “I think they confessed.” N glanced over to Cyn, who held a finger to her lips.  “Shhhh, they’re saying something!” J crossed her arms and huffed. “...why are you guys so worried about it anyway? So what if they kiss? It doesn’t mean anything.” “Sure it does!” V glared over her shoulder at J, turning to grab N’s face, pulling him into a very aggressive, but passionate kiss. The second she let go of him, a “HIGH TEMP!!!!!” warning appeared on his visor as he fell over backward. “See?” “That’s just N.” J took a step forward, pecking V on the cheek. “It doesn't mean anything.”  An error briefly flashed on V’s screen as she shook her head. J could see the internal warning on her own system, appearing in bright red letters: “NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.”   “That doesn’t count.” V shook her head and grumbled. “They’re leaning closer.” Cyn tilted her head, watching the scene play out on the ballroom floor beneath them. “They’re not going to kiss. Tessa’s just being nice about it.”  “Why are you so against it? Zara would be a better partner for her than Salvadore.” V poked her head back over the balcony. “Why does she have to date anyone?” J grumbled. “All it’s doing is causing problems all around.”  “J.” Cyn growled, never moving her head. “What?” “Stop being such a romantic killjoy.”  J opened her mouth to say something, being interrupted by V, causing her to return her attention back to the ground.  “They kissed!” 

It wasn’t anything long. It was short, it was sweet, but it was loving. Tessa was the one who closed the gap, using the hand that had been resting against Zara’s face to guide their heads together. Zara didn’t resist. She knew Tessa, she knew that if she showed the slightest sign of hesitation, that if she backed off, she’d fuck up the whole thing. Tessa was gentle with her. She held her with reverence, as though she was afraid of breaking her, that the slightest movement would hurt her.  She melted into the kiss, feeling Tessa brush her thumb over her hand. She never wanted it to end, she wanted to stay in that moment forever, enjoying the feeling of their lips touching, holding hands with her crush, forever in that perfect moment. And just like that, it was over.  Both girls pulled back, lovingly staring into each other’s eyes, fingers still intertwined. Zara scooted closer, sitting so that their sides were touching, carefully laying her head on Tessa’s shoulder. Neither of them said anything for a moment. They didn’t need to- why would they need to?  Zara’s silence was contentment, still trapped in a loving daze, nuzzling her head against Tessa’s shoulder and holding onto her hand as though she was scared that Tessa would phase out of existence the second she let go. Tessa’s silence was less enjoyable. Internally, she was at war with herself. Yes, she loved Zara, god, she loved her. But how was she going to explain this one to her parents? And if they accepted it (which, she had her ways of making sure they would. She would make sure they would), how were they going to explain the situation to Salvadore’s parents? She’d gone and fucked up the plans, and now she was going to have to fix it.  “...Tessa?”  She tilted her head. Keeping her head against Tessa’s shoulder, Zara glanced up at her.  “...did you…mean it?” “...well, i just kissed you, didn’t I?” Tessa chuckled. “I can’t mean it any more than that.” “No, no, I mean…You didn’t…do it out of pity, did you..?” Tessa placed her hand under Zara’s chin, leaning down so that their noses touched for a second. “I meant it. I love you, Zara Rose. I mean it.” 

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

Anytime their parents weren’t around, they were holding hands. J hated it.  Sure, she wanted Tessa to be happy- and she was happy that Tessa was happy, but why a partner? Why someone else to take her away from them?  She did her best to sit between them when they could, forcing herself at Tessa’s side and silently glaring at Zara when she wasn’t looking. At least, she did whenever V and Cyn weren’t holding her back. ‘You’re being overprotective’, they said, and ‘She’s not going to make Tessa get rid of us or forget us’, and ‘J, I think you need counseling’. Zara was way too nice. She didn’t like it. Surely there was some underlying goal, she was only in it for Tessa’s family fortune, or she just wanted to play with Tessa’s heart. Tessa was definitely worth being chased after and loved, but normally people only drooled over her so they could get a hand in on her family’s wealth. How could Zara be any different? 

She really hated it whenever Zara started cuddling up to her at night. She’d taken J’s spot. And they were stealthy enough to avoid getting caught by Tessa’s parents. She still had to figure out how to explain her relationship with Zara to them- and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let Zara find out about her forced arrangement with Salvadore, because she didn’t want him. She didn’t want Zara to back off and lose feelings because she was being forced to be with him. She didn’t want Salvadore. She wanted Zara.  First, it was N. Then Cyn, and now Zara, an outsider, a fucking human, taking her spot, cuddling up to Tessa.  J had been reduced to sleeping at the foot of the bed almost permanently now, save for the days when Zara had to return home. 

The nightmares were getting more frequent. More demons in the rafters, dreams of her waking up in the drone graveyard, and dreams of a purple-haired drone that she could never recognize or remember after she woke up, but those dreams were always associated with her own death, a searing phantom pain in her upper body always jerking her from her sleep cycle.  …Maybe she really should go get that checked out

[thatzeta]

"Dani, I'm busy." Cassandra grumbled while her younger sister tugged her into the kitchen. "Dinner isn't until later anywa--"

The two stopped in front of Bela, who was staring at their pup. The wolf had gotten her head stuck in the large cauldron the maids used for stew.

"I..." The brunette began, tilting her head at the giant beast. "...how?"

"I think she got hungry and just... went for it?" Daniela supplied.

"Yes, now we have a giant canine that's wrecked half the kitchen because of her apparent blindness." Bela sighed.

A whine came from the giant metal pot.

"Not a sound from you!" Bela huffed.

Cassandra snorted, walking up to the sulking pup and graping around the large cauldron. "Gimme a hand?" She hummed to her sisters.

Bela sighed.

Daniela shrugged.

It took all of 20 minutes to get it off, the wolf had kept tripping on her own paws trying to back up. Once they'd got it off, they were met with a dirty pet.

"What was in the cauldron?" Bela grumbled.

"Tomato soup." Daniela hummed after a sufficient sniff of the air.

The wolf sat on its haunches, licking its on chops of the substance that covered its fur.

Cassandra couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, mess aside. She's pretty fucking cute even with a vat of soup dumped on her."

The pup yipped happily.

"No." Bela griped.

The canine's ears fell as Bela pointed an accusing finger at her.

"You made a right awful mess of this kitchen and you're going to face the consequences." Bela stated, face set in an unamused frown.

The wolf whined, laying down with her head on her paws as the blonde berated her; the other sisters simply watched, the prospect of their situation too hilarious to ignore.

A giant beast, capable of mass destruction and carnage, being told off by their older sister for a mess in the kitchen of all things. It was absurd.

"No walks for a month." Bela snapped.

The pup yapped, whining and whimpering as she nuzzled against Bela pleadingly.

"No, you're not getting out of this."

The wolf licked her cheek.

"No."

It nudged her stomach more insistently.

"...no."

The wolf huffed.

"Don't huff at me. Who do you think you're talking to?" Bela raised a brow, grasping the wolf's maw to make it look at her.

The beast whined, gazing at the blonde for a moment before licking a tomato soup covered tongue up the length of her body and rushing out of the kitchen.

Bela shrieked in outrage as she followed the great dog, snapping about walking privileges and belly rub limits.

"How much do you wanna bet she lets the punishment go and fucks her when she turns back?" Cass asked as she and Daniela walked after them.

"Why bet on it? We both know it'll happen." The redhead shrugged.

ngfjngdhnigh

Tomato soup in red fur sounds like a recipe for disaster. Gotta bathe her at least five times to be sure it got out 😂 (That's gonna be worse than the whole "no walks for a month" thing, let's face it).

Also yes, Bela will totally bend the woof over when she's human (and clean) again. Probably gonna top the crap out of her too to assert dominance (not that the werewolf is complaining...)

[dreaminlittlenightmares]

Dinner or a Show, Part 3 (END)

The continuation of the Dinner or a Show short...

Title: Dinner or a Show, Part 3 (THE END) Word Count: 1272 Characters: the Lady, the Thin Man, the Maw Crew CW: Heavy Language Use

The Thin Man stepped out the elevator and entered one of the main halls that lead to the kitchen area. He goal was to first tell the crew that he was in charge for the night. If that went as well as he hoped, the rest of the night should go smoothly. But, he knew he was still generally unliked by the the Maw Crew. Even with the Lady's words, he imagined this was going to be a uphill battle convincing them.

He ducked his head as he passed through a water-tight door. The delicious smells of cooked foods and lively chatter greeted him before he could make his appearance. As soon as he came into view, the warmth from both turned to quick iciness.

"You..." The Janitor sneered at the sound of the Thin Man's approaching.

"Da' fuck you doin' here?" One of the Twin Chefs stood up with a knife in hand.

"Gents...hi." The Thin Man held up his hands defensively. "The Mistress has asked me to take charge of tonight's shift."

"Why?" the other Chef asked quickly, "The fuck happened to her?" The rest of them rose from their seats, ready to pounce, in case he said the wrong answer.

"Nothing," the Thin Man answered calmly, "She's fine. She just wants to see me in pain as I try and succeed at doing her job." The crew didn't seem to like his response. "If I tell you we have a bet, does that change anything?"

"No," the Janitor and the Twin Chefs answered collectively.

"Guys. You know what...how competitive we are. She thinks she can do my job, and I think I can do her job. We just want to see which one of us fails first."

"So, where is the Mistress?" the Janitor growled.

"In Pale City," the Thin Man replied, "Trying to do my job. I'm here to do hers, but better."

"But, the Mistress didn't tell us about this..."

"It was a spontaneous thing." The Thin Man watched the three of them turn away and mutter something amongst themselves. "What?"

"Well..." started one Chef.

"Usually when the boss leaves, we have to put in the fail-safes in check," his Twin finished, "You know, just in case the ship sinks."

"The ship will sink?" the Thin Man asked, half alarmed and half with skepticism.

"Yes," the Janitor snapped, "Literally, in this case. I better get the Old Hag." He hopped down from his seat and hurried to the exit.

"Wait-" The Thin Man stepped forward suddenly. "What do you mean "literally"? The Maw will literally sink without her? Like...SPLOSH!...will actually submerge itself underwater?"

"Yes, you idiot!" The Janitor whirled around and barred his teeth. "I've tried to patch all the holes, but it's the Lady's magic that keeps us afloat. Why do you think she always makes sure things are okay here before you steal her away from us?"

The Thin Man was taken aback from this fact. He always thought the Lady was being overly diligent with her duties before she came over. He quickly thought if he could use his powers to keep the Maw afloat, but it wouldn't work. His abilities were too different from hers. "It's just for an hour or so, though..."

"Still more than enough damage done to the ship without the fail-safes," the Janitor replied quietly.

The Thin Man sighed. If anything happened to the Maw, he'll have to pay more than refunds. "Fine, I'll go get her." He turned to head back to the Residency. "Hope she doesn't think I gave up so easily..."

Once he was back upstairs, the Thin Man heard the gross sounds of sobbing. "Mistress?" He doubled his step to the source of the sound and found the Lady sitting in a fetal position near the t.v. He moved swiftly to her side and knelt down to touch her shoulders. The Lady gasped and flinched away fiercely. "Hey! Hey, it's just me..."

The Lady's face was runny and ruined. The Thin Man was alarmed by the distraught look in her eyes. "What happened?" He took a seat next to her on the floor, folding his long legs close to his chest.

The Lady held back a snivel and shook her head violently.

The Thin Man held her face in his hands. "Dearest, what happened?" He had never seen the Lady cry before...not like this. It scared him. When she didn't answer the second time, he repeated his question again, sterner but not too aggressively.

"N-Nothing," she finally coughed out, "I just..." The Lady wiped away her tears with her hands and sleeves.

The Thin Man backed away to give her space. He didn't want to press her, but his anger started to bubble. "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing!" The Lady held her knees close to her chest. "You really do that all day?"

"What?"

"The..." She pointed to her eye with a shaky finger. "Eye-Mind thing." Tears started to stream down again.

"What Eye-Mind thing?" the Thin Man asked.

"The thing!" the Lady shouted hysterically, "Where they replay what happened in the last episode!"

It took a second, but he got it. "Oh that...fuck." The Thin Man clenched his hand into a fist and looked away in anger. "They shouldn't have done that. They didn't need to. All you needed to do was create a new episode from scratch. Fuck..." A tiny jolt of electricity raced around his body, a clear sign he was angry by this.

"They wanted consistency." The Lady looked away, too; and wiped away some more tears. "How have you not gone mad from that?"

"Oh, I have," the Thin Man answered quickly, "On more than one occasion. The Eyes help me keep track of things, but even they get things confused. Some details get mixed up with different shows, story lines change or end up going to other characters; it's just madness in the long run."

"And Mono has to inherit that!?" the Lady exclaimed.

"Why do you think I work so hard trying to keep him from the worst of it?" The Thin Man looked at the Lady sadly. "It's one of the reasons why you're do important to me. Before you, I had all that running in my mind all the time. With you, I actually get a break from that. You literally keep me grounded."

The Lady smiled at the sincerity in his voice. "You sad boy. Okay, you have the worst job." She laughed at the end.

"Maybe," the Thin Man smiled more at her laugh than winning, "I wasn't allowed to get to your job. Apparently, the Maw will literally sink without you and your magic."

The Lady blinked. "Oh...yeah. I forgot about that." She saw him purse his lips. "Oh, stop. You would have been fine."

"Roger says otherwise," he joked. Then, the Thin Man leaned in closer to the Lady, and brought her knuckles close to his lips. He gave her a quick, soft kiss. "Truce?"

The Lady gave him a glance. She took back her hand and rested her head on his shoulder. "Fine. You can get the stupid bunny costume."

"I think we both lost in this regard, dearest." The Thin Man wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I could pay the refunds, but I think this needs more than that."

"Hmmm..." The Lady laced her fingers into his, and gave his hand a squeeze. "Spend the night?" she asked.

"Here?" The Thin Man thought it over, but there wasn't much to debate against it. "Sure..."

The two sat on the floor in easy silence, enjoying the company.

[readwing]

WELL I FINALLY SAW NOPE

TIME TO GUSH ABOUT NOPE

What was billed: scary (possible) alien invasion, isolated ranch

What we got: AN EMOTIONALLY TRAUMATIZED HORSE BOY RECONNECTS WITH HIS SEMI-ABSENT SISTER AND LEARNS HOW TO TAKE THE REIGNS BACK ON HIS LIFE WHILE ATTEMPTING TO TAME THE HORRIFYING MONSTER WHO LIVES ON HIS RANCH.

Also it’s a Western.

OJ, my beloved horse boy. Quite literally- like a horse when the movie starts, he has been broken.

Keke Palmer shines as Em, the entrepreneurial go-getter who’s looking for an easy win by, you know, capturing alien footage

And the alíen y’all-

What a fucking metaphor this movie weaves by breaking everything down to base animals. Everything eating and being eaten and feeding and being fed. “You don’t tame a predator, you come to an agreement.”

Gordy was never tamed; they learned the hard way when he was pushed too far. And god it was upsetting to hear how panicked he sounded during filming)

Jupe was broken, but he still tried to ‘feed’ the beast to make his own life easier. His fear response is to freeze. It saved him once; it did not save him again.

All the footage the director had of animals eaten other animals.

OJ’s refrain throughout “I gotta feed the horses, I’ve got mouths to feed.”

The fact that every time we see the humans away from the horses and the alien, they’re eating (fast food, cheap food in the car), have just finished eating (the dinner table as they discuss what to do), or are buying snacks (at Fry’s. The. Name).

And then the way it feeds. It eats you if you look at it. The spectacle will literally consume you for looking. And it prefers it that way.

Tie that off to the TMZ guy rolling up to the ranch.

Tie that to the crowd that got eaten.

Tie that to Gordy’s birthday (a time for cake) and the crowd that came to see it.

Tie that to the cameras.

Tie that to the fake eyes of the inflatable tube people, the giant balloon.

The maw in the sky. The bloody maw looking at Jube through the plastic table cloth.

Tentatively reaching out for an electric fist bump.

A being that kills all the electronics.

And still with all of that, all the horror and gruesomeness, there wasn’t really a sense of evil anywhere. Just humans. Just animals. Just scared horses.

To button up this ramble, a brief metaphorical toast to Jordan Peele: a director and storyteller who impresses. The one thing about his movies that stands out is how expertly clear they are as stories, as a vision. You could give someone else all the parts and pieces of one of his movies, but the results - truly stunning results - are surely all his own. There’s a breath of life in his stories. There’s beauty in how aesthetically normal and saturated his camera work is, and how he’s not afraid to pull the shot back and let the space around a character breathe.

Hats off to Jordan Peel. You earned the hat trick.

[imnotwolverine]

LOVE IS LIKE - Books and Babes

PART 1 Books and Babes | PART 2 >

Summary: As he travels home to London with his assistant Leah, Henry recalls some moments from his past, including breakups, ladies and that one book that keeps getting into trouble. 

Word count: 2.566

The song: Sweet - Love Is Like Oxygen 

Disclaimer: mentions of one-night-stands, breakups, bullying, hopeless love and weed smoking. Other than that it’s pretty much just comedic fluff 

--

LOVE IS LIKE... books and babes

--

‘Love is like oxy-gen,

You get too much,

you get too high..’

Henry mimed along with the music in his earpods, shuffling forward as the line of businessmen moved to the gate that would transport him to the plane taking him back to London Heathrow.

‘Not enough and you're gonna die--’

A short jab in his ribs made him look down at the glowing pink cheeks of his PA. She’d had to make a run for it.

‘Love gets you high-.’

With a quick fumble Henry killed the music, as he was greeted by one heavily panting Leah who pushed his lost book back in his large hands.

‘Found it.’ She smiled with another few long puffs, sweet sweat beading down her brow.

‘Leahhh.’ Henry sighed and shook his head with a laugh. ‘You know you didn’t have to do THAT.’

She chuckled. ‘And have you bother me all flight? Ohhh no, none of that.’

‘Like I’m such a pain.’ Henry winked, shuffling forward now the line before him was slowly funnelling down the long white tunnel into the plane.

‘Sometimes..’ Leah gave him a playfully chastising look before starting to quickly dig down her bag to find her ticket and passport.

‘Piers?’

Henry wanted to knock on his brother’s bedroom door, but halted, hearing something peculiar arising from the small confinement his oldest brother was hiding out in. Was that a..girl he heard giggling? Putting his ear flat against the rough oak wood, he listened more closely.

‘Do you like that?’ He heard his brother ask. The girl giggled again.

‘Stop it! Hahaha. Piers! Stop it!’

Henry felt his muscles tighten and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Was that Ellie? The blond girl that lived a street away? And was Piers...hurting her? His older brother truly was strange now he had full on hit puberty. Frowning, Henry looked down the hallway, his ears now picking up the sound of feet climbing up the stairs.

‘Did you call him for dinner yet?’ Marianne puffed out as she dragged a full basket of dirty laundry up the narrow steps, her face not managing to poke out over the large pile. Henry quickly straightened up and swallowed.

‘Eh..’ With a sharp knock he finally rapped on his brother’s door. ‘Piers! Dinner!’

Inside he could hear the panicked kerfuffle of what may have very well been clothing zipped up, but again Henry couldn’t be sure as he looked back at his mother who now lowered the basket in her arms. One conspicuously raised eyebrow from her was all it took to burn his cheeks a bright pink.

‘I wasn’t listening!’ He squeaked, though Marianne knew better.

‘Sure you did sweetie.’ She winked at him then tilted her head in the direction of Piers’ room. ‘Piers honey, don’t forget about what me and dad told you!’

With a swift swing the door was pulled open and one both terribly embarrassed and terribly annoyed Piers appeared in the door opening. ‘FUCK mom! Did you really have to --’

‘Language young man! ..Especially in front of ladies.’ Marianne looked over the shoulder of her lanky teen son to find the shy expression of one equally embarrassed Ellie.

‘Hello Mrs. Cavill...’ She squeaked before noticing the fiercely blushing young boy next to Marianne. ‘..Henry.’  

Henry felt his chubby cheeks burn even more. Oh why was he like this with girls?

‘This is not working out...It’s not you, it’s me...’ Her words swam in the back of his head, tumbling around like his brain had turned on the dirty laundry setting of his conscience. Henry felt nauseated, tired and utterly empty as he lay here on the couch of his friend, his hands folded over the phone on his chest. He had thought she was the one. Starry eyed and hair black as night. That smile throwing him off whenever he saw it. She was still the one, right? Why oh why did she not want to work through this? Why did this have to be the end? Why did she have to decide for him how to feel about all this? Why not put in the darn fucking work?!  

Looking to his right he heard the soft snoring of the puppy they had adopted only months ago. His body was all disproportionate with his floppy ears and oversized lanky paws. Henry sighed. At least he still had Kal.

‘Welcome Mr. Cavill and thank you for travelling with us.’ The pretty asian lady handed him back his boarding pass with a smile that was near inappropriately close to a flirt. Henry didn’t mind though. Mind a kind smile his large paw retrieved the most used book in his life: his passport, and stepped to the side as they checked Leah’s boarding pass as well. Leah did not receive that same flirtatious look, the asian lady barely offering Leah a glance as her eyes already roved on to the next business man who stepped in line.

Leah raised an eyebrow at him and Henry couldn’t help but offer his dear PA an even wider smile to compensate. ‘What’s the matter with you today?’ She asked, chuckling as her legs moved past him to start their way down the white tunnel of led lights and muffled blue carpet.

‘Absolutely nothing dear Leah.’ Henry smiled. Most women came and went in his life, but at least Leah was here to stay. Like Kal she was one of the few who were true friends to him.

In for it through thick and thin.

‘So what do you think of King Pellenore?’ Young Henry shuffled a little closer to the girl who was sitting on the other edge of the school yard bench. Rosy cheeked and hunched over in his hand-me-down blazer he eyed the sweet red haired girl that seemed to share his fascination with reading. They had worked together on a group project a week ago and he couldn’t help but be interested in her.

Finally she looked up, Anne, her brown eyes skittishly skimming over him before both their ears picked up the sound of a bunch of classmates laughing. Laughing at them. Him. With a small “o” on her mouth the girl quickly grabbed her belongings and rushed inside, leaving Henry alone on the bench, his hands nervously picking at his backpack as the other kids threw him some mean comments.

Fat Cavill. Nerd. Sissy. Fool!

Was he really such a failure with girls?

‘Kal! OH NO...KAL! Give that back!....naughtyyyy.’ Bent through his cracking knees Henry tried to reach for the book that his dog had snatched from the coffee table. But the pup was quick. With a cheeky side eye he glanced at Henry before sprinting down to the hallway, nails tapping on the slippery tile floor. He was near full grown now, but had antics in abundance - and sharp teeth to grab anything and everything he could drag around. Shoes, socks and his new favourite: books.

Chasing after the Akita, Henry followed him down to the kitchen; the home thankfully anything but large and with a few large steps he had managed to chase the dog into a corner, hands grabbing him by the collar before he pried the slimy book from his maw. ‘Oh well would you look at that..’ Henry sighed and tried to swipe some of the doggy drool off the leather bound cover. He had started to read King Arthur again, but his dog was clearly just as little a fan as his old classmates had been. Though of course the dog was not really being mean: he just thought it was time to go out, play, run, chase squirrels!

‘You are one cheeky bugger, you know that?’ Henry looked down at the Akita who sat down, looking up at him with big puppy eyes. It was hard to stay mad at him for long.

‘You sure you’re okay with this?’ Charlie settled down in the comfy hotel deck chair, the Californian sun burning down on their heads.

‘Why of course! I mean, I’ll still tease you like any good older brother. But you LOVE her you big Sissywat. Of course you’re going to marry her.’

‘Haa…’ Charlie sighed and looked at the pool where some women were lounging on sunbeds. ‘..well I guess here’s to the last days as a truly single man?’

Henry raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. ‘I really don’t get how people think you’re still single before the ring’s on the finger.’ He sniffled as Charlie shrugged.

‘It’s just a saying, Hen.’

‘Well single or not, you better take good care of her, will you?’

‘Of course! Each and every day, with every make-up stain on my blouse and every cold foot giving me first degree freeze burns beneath the bed sheets.’ Charlie clinked his beer with Henry’s.

‘For better or worse!’ The brothers laughed.

‘Don’t want to stay for breakfast?’ Henry sat up to see his late-night ladylove squeeze herself back into her skinny jeans. Her round butt cheeks didn’t seem to cooperate and he had to resist from pulling her back into the bed so he could convince her to stay. 

‘No, thanks.’ She inhaled deeply so she could zip up the tight jean fabric. 

‘Will I see you again?’ Henry internally scolded himself for sounding so insecure. 

The woman shot him a confused look. ‘I don’t think I’ll be in London any day soon. It was fun though. Hey,’ She crawled up onto the bed and Henry rolled onto his back in hope she’d at least give him a kiss, her body folding over him. ‘ah there it is.’ With a swift hand movement she retrieved her bra from behind his pillow. ‘Gotta go, my cab is here.’ She pushed herself back off the bed and grabbed her bag. With one last glance and smile she was out the door. ‘Bye Superman!’ 

Henry felt his heart sink. Oh Henry you fool!

‘OH CRAP!’  The woman in the business class chair next to Henry shot up from her seat, hands pulling a book away from what appeared to be a fallen over drink. ‘Shitshitshit.’ She quickly bit her lip and anxiously started to look around for something to wipe down the mess. Henry killed the music in his ear.

‘Love is like.. --’

‘Oh dammit.’ She scrunched up her nose as she realised how much of the juice had fallen over her book; it was just about ruined, pages soaking up the berry purple colour.

‘Here.!’ Henry sat up and quickly grabbed some tissues from his travel bag; having a slightly messy dog taught you to always be prepared.

‘Thanks.’ The woman breathed, some staff now also joining in to help clean the mess and put the book on a tray before it’d contaminate anything else. It took a good minute before it was all cleaned and gone, the brown haired banana-sock-wearing business woman settling down in her chair with a sigh.

‘You alright?’ Henry asked. It was the first words they shared after a whole hour of flight, her attention first having been preoccupied with her laptop or..reading, which now seemed out of the question.

‘Yea..yea..’ She shook her head and looked at Henry. Mediterranean turquoise eyes hidden behind thick glasses, her low brown-haired ponytail slightly disheveled after being smushed into the seat.

‘Was it a good book?’

‘Yea..just some..old timer. Good ol’ ..King Arthur.’ She hushed the last words as if she felt awkward about admitting she was reading a children’s book.

Henry blinked for a moment as he looked at her, his brain short circuiting before he turned to rummage through his bags again.

‘Oh am I..Is there something on my face?’ She grabbed for her glasses and took them off to look at them with squinting eyes.

‘No no, please. Eh..’ Henry raised the chewed and mauled, but ever loved copy he had bought himself all those years ago. ‘..just..coincidence I guess.’ He reached out his rendition of King Arthur and His Knights to her.

‘Well have you there. Leather bound too!’

‘And absolutely destroyed, also. I think these books just ..beg..to be harmed haha.’

‘You have a dog? Or..’ She pushed her glasses back on her nose and let her finger trace over the large indents.. ‘..bear..perhaps?’

Henry laughed. ‘No no. Just a dog. A large one. But, deep inside still very much a sweet pup.’

‘Apologies.’ A flight attendant halted as the glassed woman turned to look up. ‘We are seeing to the drying of your book. Though I’m afraid we do not have anything to get the stain out.. -’

‘Oh, that’s quite alright. Please.’

‘Could we perhaps offer you a new refreshment?’

‘Some wine would be great. WHITE wine..’ The woman grinned. ‘..less chance of stains.’

The flight attendant nodded, before Henry quickly interjected. ‘I’ll have one as well.’

‘Chardonnay, Sauvignon?’

The woman turned to Henry and with a dapper smile he picked their choosing.

‘You just gotta be yourself man.’ Henry’s skinny, beanie-hatted friend spoke, inhaling the saturating smoke of his Red Dragon joint. The whole room was some kind of blue, bean bags scattered around the Californian apartment, people lounging and chilling in their daze.

Henry inhaled deeply and felt the wooze of a broken heart and drugs fight an odd battle inside his heavy chest. He felt both extremely relaxed and extremely wrong for being here; shouldn’t he be trying his best to get her back?

‘What if I never find anyone to be with me?’ The chubby boy inside him spoke, unsure blue eyes peering out at the ceiling that seemed to move and dance before him. The whole world had slowed down, but his mind tried its best to keep going.

‘Hey,’ His friend struggled up from his beanbag, making Henry fall to his side. ‘you’re a good guy mate. You hear me? You’re a GOOD guy. And if you’d be gay I’d totally..totally do you.’ His friend burst into a fit of giggles before he cleared his throat and shook his head to clear his mind. ‘No, but really. Don’t change for the girl, ever. Yea? You’re such a good guy.’

Henry wondered if this is what Kal felt like. 

Good boy! Good boy! 

‘Where’s your book?’ Leah had to speed up to keep up with the light long steps of Henry as they moved through the long airport hall for their connecting flight. Henry smiled and looked over his shoulder.

‘Who said it again? If you love something, let it go?’

Leah frowned and with a few more fast steps got in line with him. ‘You are a handful! You know that Cavill? I ran my lungs out to--’

‘Leah. It’s fine. I gave it to someone who I’m sure will love it even more than I could ever.’

Leah puffed and, from the way her cheeks already burned, Henry decided to slow his pace.

‘And if she doesn’t appreciate it, I can always buy a new one.’

‘She? Did I miss something?’ Leah hoisted up the bag on her shoulder and shook her head. ‘You and your romantic antics.’

‘Incorrigible Cavill.’ Henry mimicked her voice, before smiling down at her. Leah rolled her eyes.

‘You said it first!’

‘One very high man once told me I just have to be myself. So that’s what I’ll do. And who knows..’ he hinted at a Valentine’s day poster they passed by. ‘..Love is like oxygen!’

--

Go to PART 2 > 

--

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira​ @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14

@beck07990​ 

[janekfan]

I'm a little hesitant about this prompt, because it might need a longer story to fill it, but based on reading your fics it may be to your taste for h/c? I've seen a few Geraskier stories where Geralt is cursed to lose his sight and hearing, but I'd be interested to read one where it's Jaskier who's cursed instead. You seem to like exploring growth in stories, and I could see Geralt having to step outside his comfort zone, learning to help and support Jask while they try to break the curse.

I was inspired by this prompt because in my youth, when families go to water parks and things, my mother insisted on holding my glasses so I wouldn't lose them, not realizing I cannot see hardly ANYTHING without them, just colors. She left me like half a dozen times in a throng of people and it was scary. And even though I kept telling her I couldn't SEE HER, she wouldn't listen. I felt scared and stupid because I couldn't keep track of my family.

So I hope you enjoy :D

Thank you for the prompt! @obscurebookwyrm

Sankofa

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965268/chapters/63119659

“Geralt.”

“Hm.”

“I. What do you want me to say?” Jaskier’s grip on his lute tightened and he had to forcibly relax himself so as not to snap it in twain. “That you should have gotten hit with it instead? That you should be the one waiting for the effects of a curse to take hold so that I? The mighty bard can be the one to protect us both?”

“Hm.”

“Need I remind you that had you not pissed her off, we wouldn’t even be here?”

“Hm.”

“Fine. Leave me at the next village and I’ll just succumb to whatever this ends up being while you continue witchering or whatever.”

“Hm.” Roach picked up her pace and he could hear Jaskier curse Geralt’s stubbornness as he loped after them.

Geralt was angry. Angrier than usual with the musician and definitely not impressed with his self sacrifice because now, if anything, he would be an even bigger liability. It was bad enough he fumbled along behind him, constantly jabbering, writing the most ridiculous songs. But now, Geralt had to wait and see what would become of him now that he’d been hit with some unnamed affliction. Geralt refused to admit that Jaskier was right. That it was better that the stronger of them was curse free and able to continue on unimpaired.

But he was now an even larger inconvenience and Geralt hadn’t thought that was possible.

And yet.

As brave a face as he was putting on, he could smell the sour scent of anxiousness as Jaskier filled up the silence with more talk about inane things, stray lyrics, random observations, all because he was nervous.

Nothing happened yet. Maybe nothing would happen at all.

“Geralt.” Even and steady, Jaskier’s voice hovered somewhere to the left of him. There was something strange about the quality of it and it immediately set Geralt on edge.

“What?” He couldn’t help the exasperation, it had been a long few days, and he felt Jaskier tense beside him on his bed roll.

“There.” He paused and Geralt knew if he turned to look at him he’d be worrying his lip between his teeth.

“What?” They were late as it is, the sun three fingers above the horizon already.

“There are no stars.” His whispering was shaky and trembling. Fear. It was flooding Geralt’s sensitive nose. What was this lunatic on about? Of course there weren’t any stars.

“It’s late morning. Of course there aren’t.” He rolled his eyes and began packing up camp. They’d eat on the move to make up for lost time. He nudged Jaskier with the toe of his boot. “Get up. You’re wasting daylight.”

“Daylight.” His hand was hovering over his face and he kicked him a little harder.

“Yes. Daylight. Move or stay here, but I’m leaving.” Instead of following his directions, Jaskier swallowed a few times, blinking hard and staring at his palm in between. “Jaskier.” Growling, grabbing the collar of his chemise and slinging him to his feet himself, confused when his arms shot out for balance and he nearly fell. “What are you--are you drunk?” No. He’d smell it. But it was all becoming a little too clear and Geralt didn’t want to be the one to say it aloud.

“No.” A weak exhale, a disbelieving laugh. “I’m. I’m blind.”

Blind.

The curse.

“Are you sure?” Geralt was a hair's breadth away from his face, examining his eyes, blank and vacant and staring off into the distance despite their proximity. There was nothing wrong that he could tell. Still the same cornflower blue he was so familiar with.

“I think I’d know.” He scoffed.

“Then we’d better get moving.” Geralt couldn’t help it, the thread of anger twisting around his words just happened. All Jaskier seemed to do was slow him down and get in the way. “Find a way to break this thing.” It took the bard three times longer to pack his belongings and Geralt became more impatient every time he dropped something or stubbed his toe or lost his balance. He knew it wasn’t fair. But this was all the bard’s fault in the first place and he’d have to deal with the consequences.

Jaskier played his lute even more and was even slower, not yet sure on his feet without the advantage of sight. Geralt saw that he kept his ear canted towards Roach’s hooves crunching on the stones, using her as a guide and he wondered if maybe Jaskier should be riding her instead. The music he was picking out on his strings was simpler and felt more like practice than anything new and he realized that he was comforting himself with easy exercises and wondered how long he’d insist on doing it.

All day, it turned out, and Geralt was just about on his last nerve, turning his irritability into action by setting up camp and batting Jaskier out of his way, finally just sitting him in the dirt. He stoked up the fire, tossed down Jaskier’s bedroll and stalked off to find dinner and clear his head before he started yelling.

When he returned with a brace of rabbits, Jaskier was gone and Geralt swallowed down the spike of panic in his throat, dropping his catch and looking for signs of a struggle and instead finding odd marks that looked like Jaskier had crawled across the ground. And he found him, cowering amid Roach’s legs, a dangerous spot for probably anyone else, but she was as calm as ever, letting him stroke the length of her forelimb. There were drying tear tracks on his face.

“G’Geralt?” His voice was small and wavering, barely above his shaking breath.

“Who else would it be?”

“I didn’t know where you’d gone.” He didn’t leave the horse. “I, I called out. But. And then. There’s a lot of noises in the woods at night.” This laugh was self deprecating, as though he knew how ridiculous he was being, like a child hiding from shadows.

But his whole world was in shadow.

“You’ve camped before. It’s foolish to be afraid.”

“Y’yeah. Of course it is.” He extricated himself from his position beneath Roach, petting her neck, and Geralt let it be. “Thank you for your protection, good lady.” She lipped the collar of his doublet and he rested his cheek on her velvet nose for just a moment before stumbling back to his bedroll.

“Here.” Jaskier looked confused. “The rabbit. Dinner?”

“Oh, uh.” He reached out, drawing his hand quickly back when he burned the tips of his fingers and slipping them into his mouth for a second. “Ha, it’s hot.” Geralt yanked his wrist and pressed the stick he’d roasted the meat on against his palm and watched Jaskier’s fingers wrap around it reflexively.

“Just eat. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

They didn’t. Not the next day, nor the day after that, but Jaskier was trying to adjust more and more each day despite how he seemed to be withdrawing. It was easy to forget he was blind and Geralt was easily frustrated by his sense of direction, or rather the awful lack of it. More than once, he’d misjudged the path and toppled into the bushes. Twice, Geralt had come back from a hunt to find him trapped in the corner of their rented room. He’d gotten turned around and hadn’t been able to figure out how he was boxed in by the bed, the small table, a chair. Jaskier laughed it off.

He’d been upset each time.

At the market the next day, Geralt told him off handedly that he was heading to the blacksmith, and to catch up when he was ready, because usually he wanted to dither about at the stalls looking at some trinket or another. When he’d finally realized, tapping his foot and waiting for a blind man who didn’t know his way around this village to somehow find him, he followed his scent, laced with terror, to an alley where he’d pressed himself up tight to the wall, protecting his back. They didn’t speak, Geralt just grabbed his wrist and dragged him back to the room. Told him to stay there if he couldn’t figure out how to find his way around.

The hurt on his face cut like a blade.

“Get down and stay down.” Geralt shoved Jaskier’s face into the dirt, both of them narrowly avoiding decapitation when the beast attacked out of nowhere. Caught flat footed, Geralt found himself pinned to the ground, struggling under the weight of it and hooking his thumbs in the corners of its maw to keep the teeth from closing around his head. Fetid breath came closer and closer and he thought for a moment this might be it when the resounding crack of a tree limb colliding with the side of its skull stunned it enough for Geralt to kick it off him. He used the momentum to roll and draw his steel sword, cutting off its head with a wet and sickening squelch.

“Geralt?” Jaskier, covered in black ichor and mud, stood swaying in the road, clinging to a length of splintered wood, blind eyes wide with shock. And then, panting with horror, Jaskier fainted dead away.

He’d lost him again.

“Fuck.” Geralt didn’t know where or how long ago and began retracing his steps, scenting the air and picking up the faintest traces of the oils he’d used last night in the bath. It was tainted by the smell of fear, acrid and sharp, and he ran.

Saw Jaskier pinned up against a wall by a larger man than he, a broad, ugly hand clasped over his mouth and a knee between his thighs. He was struggling to breathe, high pitched whimpering slipped from behind his attacker’s palm and he grabbed a fistful of hair to slam the back of Jaskier’s head into the wall behind him.

The brute didn’t notice the knife slipped between his ribs until it was too late. He’d die in this place and Geralt wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

“Who--” He sobbed, choked. “Geralt?” Tears cascaded down his cheeks, slipped off his chin.

“Who was that?” Why couldn’t he be kind to Jaskier when he needed it most? Why did he let his own fear of the situation manifest as blame?

“He’d. Solicited me in the tavern and I told him no.” He shuddered. “I thought he might be following but.” He swallowed with a wet click. “You were walking so fast, I lost the sound of your steps.” Drawing a sharp intake of breath he swept a hand through his tousled hair, trying to calm himself down. Geralt could hear his heartbeat hammering madly away behind his breastbone.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaskier flinched at his volume, hugging himself around his middle and casting his face to the ground, and if Geralt was a stronger man he would tell his bard that this was not his fault. That he was scared of what he almost let happen.

“I. You were angry.”

“What?” With the heel of his hand, Jaskier scrubbed at his face. His bruised face, the imprints from where he was held darkening around his mouth and neck.

“You said I needed to figure this out and. I.” Had been snatched off the street by a predator and very nearly badly hurt. “I forgot my dagger back at the inn.” He took a deep breath, and then another. “I’m sorry, that was. That was stupid.”

“Hm.” It wasn’t. He should have been safe with Geralt in broad daylight. This time he took his hand, laced their fingers together and squeezed. “Let’s go.”

Exhausted from his earlier panic, Jaskier could barely stand when they reached the room, and Geralt helped him the last few steps to the bed, divesting him of doublet and chemise to expose even more bruising. He should have killed the guy slower. Much slower.

“Sorry. I’m sorry you have to do this.” Barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have. This curse.”

“Hush.” Geralt wrung out a cloth in the wash basin, touched it to his face and caught him when he jerked away in fear and surprise. “It’s alright. Just me. I’m going to get you cleaned up, Jaskier.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Muttering, he reached for the flannel.

“I know. Just. Relax, alright?” He swept it up his arm, lingered at the space between his neck and shoulder. “I’ve got you. I’m. Going to do better, Jaskier.”

“What do you mean?” This time, he allowed the touch and Geralt dabbed at a cut on his lip before rinsing and wringing again.

“You’ll ride Roach. In towns, I won’t let you out of my sight.” Jaskier was relaxing, blinking sleepily.

“You can’t babysit me all the time, Geralt.” Though he detected the hope that he wouldn’t have to keep doing this alone beneath his voice.

“No. But I can take care of you until we find a way to break this. Like I should have been doing from the start.” Jaskier’s head was nodding as he fought to stay awake. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Geralt let Jaskier sleep in. The man was dead to the world, bruises stark on his pale skin, and no doubt exhausted from the day before and trying to manage as a newly blind being basically traveling alone. They had to get moving. Maybe Yennefer would understand how to break this curse or at least point them in a direction. But they had to find her first.

“Jaskier.” There was no response, not even a twitch, and Geralt spoke his name louder, and louder still before shaking him awake and dodging his flying fist. “Jaskier!” Nothing but panic in his face and Geralt was tired of seeing that there. He settled his hands over his shoulders, cupped his neck on either side. “Jaskier, what is it? A bad dream?” That wasn’t uncommon after an experience like he’d had.

“Geralt?” His breathing picked up, tears lined his dark lashes. “I.” The witcher snapped his fingers on either side of his head and watched his stricken face stay the same. “Geralt?” This time he drew Jaskier into an embrace, hugging him tightly and allowing him to do the same.

Because he couldn’t hear.

[solynaceawrites]

Subhuman

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, fem!Reader Tags: Smut, PWP, Porn No Plot, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Masturbation, Monster Sex Rating: Explicit Summary: The first time you have sex with Dante after he returns from the underworld, you learn just what it means to be his mate. Note: This came about after an interesting conversation in a server about Dante’s dick when he’s using SDT. Specifically, how it’s shaped. It’s also my first true foray into what I would call monster-fucking fics, so, uh . . . I hope you enjoy?

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The first time you’d seen Dante’s Sin Devil Trigger, you’d been trying to haul Nero’s dumb ass out of Urizen’s throne room. Your first thought had been, what the fuck, followed quite quickly by, that’s a nice ass, and you’d done your best to shove both of those to the side, as being stuck in the middle of a demonic tree was not the best time to be ogling your lover. The second had been a glimpse from the distance as he dove into the underworld, just a streak of burning orange across the sky and into the ground. You’d been more than pissed that he’d left, especially without so much as a good-bye, and you’d made that known to Morrison when he gave you the deed to the Devil May Cry. “He better not come back,” you’d said irritably, “unless he wants me to shoot him.”

But Dante’s disappearance, particularly after seeing that new form of his, left you with a rather particular problem. You’d told him once that you loved all of him; that love had extended into your sex life, and it’d been becoming more frequent for the dick he fucked you with to be scaled instead of flesh, for the hands that dug into your hips to be tipped with claws fit to tear through steel. You didn’t have much of an interest in finding someone else to date—Dante had truly been one of a kind—and there were times when the nice, normal dildo you kept tucked away in your bedside table just didn’t cut the trick. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. They’d always worked fine whenever Dante had to take an overnight job. It was the fact that thinking about Dante led to you remembering his easy grin and the way he felt curled around you at night, making the pain of his being gone much more apparent. The easiest option was to think about his other form; that one hadn’t made you coffee, or kissed the top of your head in passing, or told you how much it loved you. The problem with that was it was a bit disorienting thinking about a demonic dick while using a human one. So, you’d found a website that hosted an . . . unusual assortment, and selected one you thought was probably the closest match to a cock you’d never gotten to see.

You’d gotten one you could actually use, since some of the sizes they offered were a bit much.

The day it arrived, you’d closed the shop and gone to the room you used to share with Dante. The dildo, a model with a name you forgot almost as soon as you read it, was mouthwatering. Thick and ribbed and the size of your forearm, with a girth you couldn’t fully fit your fingers around, and you’d been careful as you used it for the first time. A lot of lubrication and plenty of time to let your body adjust around each inch, and you’d been so full that you’d come as soon as the base brushed your mound.

It was a particular favorite after that. You had a rather extensive collection of toys, from vibrators to dildos to other assorted odds and ends, and any time you’d been missing Dante’s demon cock, you’d pulled it out. Sometimes, if you were particularly riled up, you’d use a vibrator against your clit, and those were the times when you were so shaky-legged afterwards that you needed a day to recover fully.

That’s not to say you didn’t just miss Dante, because you did. The best you slept was with one of his shirts clutched to your chest, and you’d always leave a few slices of pizza untouched whenever you ordered in case he showed up and was hungry. Of course, leave it to him to pick the worst timing to come back home: you, taking a well-deserved shower that you weren’t expecting to be interrupted by the devil hunter, and if he’d gotten smacked between the eyes with a shampoo bottle, he more than deserved it. 

Two weeks short of a year since he’d left, Dante had been back. You’d yelled at him, cried more than you ever had before, and he absorbed it all, his grin turning to a sheepish smile and then outright guilt the longer you laid into him. Part of you felt bad for it. He’d probably been expecting something out of the movies, where you ran into his arms and kissed him senseless, like you had when you’d been reunited in the tree. But he hadn’t chosen to leave you behind then, and the hurt you felt not only at his leaving but at his sauntering back in had quashed that little protest. And when he’d tried to make it up to you the way he always did, you told him he could either keep his hands to himself or sleep on the couch.

Life hadn’t exactly gone back to normal in the following month—there was a lot to talk about, and you did, and he listened—but just having him back was a good enough start as far as you were concerned.

“Dante,” you call. When he doesn’t answer, you pull your head from the fridge, frowning at the empty seat behind his desk. You need his help deciding what to do for dinner and, unless he wants an anchovy-pickle-mayonnaise sandwich, the two of you are going to have to get something delivered. “Dante!”

“Bedroom!” he shouts back.

You take the climb the stairs and head into the bedroom, intending to ask him if he wants lo mein or pizza, only to freeze when you see him sitting on the bed, cradling that damned dildo in his palms. “Uh . . .?”

Dante grins at you, and you try not to flush under his heavy gaze. Sex has been off the table while the two of you work through the hurt his leaving caused, and, with him around, you’d taken to carrying the dildo into the bathroom with you whenever you needed some relief. You must have tossed it onto the bed after your afternoon shower, probably intending to put it up after you got dressed only to forget, and while you don’t think he’s angry, he certainly seems bemused. “Nice toy,” is all he says.

“Uh.”

“Color’s especially interesting. In fact, I’d say it looks pretty damn similar to mine.” He taps the rubber before dragging his finger along a prominent ridge. “Even this. I’d known you missed me this badly, I’d have bent you over the desk as soon as I walked in the door.”

“What do you mean, if you’d known?” Your voice is harsher than you intend from your mortification, and Dante blinks as you stalk forward to yank it from his hands. “Did you think I was having parties while you were in the underworld?” It’s not fair to say, and you know it’s not, but there’s a vicious satisfaction when he frowns. You toss the dildo onto the bed and fold your arms. “I missed you like hell. I’ve told you how hard those months without you were. So, if I wanted to buy a dildo that reminded me of your dick to help with that, it’s none of your business, and you can forget bending me over anything while you’re at it!”

He doesn’t argue, which helps your irritation a little. “Sorry, doll. It just caught me off guard. Though . . .” The way he tilts his head reminds you so much of a big dog that it’s ridiculous, especially with his shaggy hair. “You know you can have the real thing, right?”

“Maybe I like it better,” you retort.

You know the challenge you’re laying at his feet, and a thrill goes up your spine when his smile takes on a predatory edge as he stands. “Is that right? Maybe we should test it, just to be sure.” Dante peels his shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his chest, broad and covered with fine silver hairs. This was why you’d wanted to wait on sex for a while. The moment he lays on the charm, your anger goes right out of the window, which isn’t always the best thing when there’s an issue to solve. For now, though, you decide that it’s fine, and you lean against the wall and cock a brow. Come and get me.

There’s a flash of heat that has you wincing. When you open your eyes, it’s to see the horns and claws and fangs you’ve dreamed of since the first sighting in the tree, and you hold your breath as Dante prowls towards you, his claws ticking against the hardwood floor. He crowds you against the wall and peers down at you. Dante’s already a good head taller than you when he’s human; now, you have to crane your head back to look at his chin, and he kneels to be eye-level with you, his maw parting so his tongue can slide over your cheek. The rough surface of it has goosebumps breaking out along your arms as you think of what it’s going to feel like rubbing over your clit, and when it slides over your lips you part them to suck it into your mouth. 

Dante growls, his breath fire-hot where it fans along your cheek. You almost don’t notice him cutting through your clothing until cold air caresses your skin; with a gasp, you draw back, and his hand grips your waist to pull you up so his face is level with your chest. “Pretty,” he rumbles, the sound thick and foreign and full of gravel, and you grasp at his horns when he curls that ridged tongue around your breast. The tip flicks your nipple, making you squirm from the prickles of pleasure it causes, and, with a laugh that’s ash and smoke, he rubs over it firmly.

And, gods above, you’re probably going to finish from that alone.

It’s heaven: rough and slick and warm, his saliva thick as it coats your flesh, making the friction so much silkier. You tug at his horns a futile attempt for more, though what more is, you don’t know. Not like he can do much else with his teeth the size of daggers, but his touch has awoken something greedy within you that clamors urgently for attention. When he shifts to give the same attention to your other breast, you nearly sob, and your nipples are peaked and stiff and tender by the time he’s through. 

His  hands cup your rear and lift you, yelping, so that your sex is in front of his mouth. The claws on his wings hook your wrists to pull your arms above your head as he braces your knees over his shoulders, and you can’t stop the whimper you let out when those teeth graze your mound. There’s a low rumbling from his chest as he breathes you in, and then you watch as his fangs part as his tongue slides between your folds. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whine. “Dante . . .”

He licks you exactly how you like—his tongue thick and flat and rubbing firmly from your ass to your clit—but the texture is something else entirely, and you’d be rocking desperately against him if he weren’t holding you still. He slips it within your weeping sex, and you nearly scream when it folds on itself so he can lash the tip against your quivering pearl; it hadn’t seem so long at first, but now you understand why he’s got difficulty talking in this form. Not that you care if he speaks or not. As long as he keeps fucking you like he is, he can stay quiet. Every time his tongue flexes within you, you keen, and his answering pants send heated air along your labia and thighs, only heightening the pleasure that you’re already drowning in. You come in no time at all, but he doesn’t stop. Dante keeps right on working your body until a second orgasm follows hard and fast on the heels of the first, leaving your back bowing as you cry out his name.

Your legs are too weak by the time it fades for you to stand. Dante carries you easily over to the bed, lowering you back down so your head doesn’t smack into the fan, nuzzling your stomach and crooning sweetly against your skin. You don’t know what he’s doing, but something about the sound relaxes you so you’re limp when he deposits you on the mattress. Then you catch sight of his cock, and you lift yourself into a sitting position, your eyes wide.

The damn thing is huge. Dante already is, but this form of his adds length and girth, and it glows the same fiery orange as his eyes and the cracks in his armor. The top of it is covered with darker plates that taper off as they wrap around the vibrant underside, and those plates are covered with tiny, ridged bumps; the shaft of it flares twice, thickening in the middle, and the flared tip that you remember has some sort of swirl that narrows it at the slit and has it widening into protrusions where it meets the shaft. At the base you can see what you assume are his balls, held tight to the shaft, and there’s a small part where it meets his pelvis that looks perfect for stimulating your clit. You think, is that even going to fit? Then, I’ll make it fit.

There’s fluid dripping from the tip that you have the most insane urge to taste. It’s thick, a bit darker than normal, and you lean forward to drag your tongue over the slit. Dante hisses a warped version of your name as you lap at the head, gathering as much of the precum as you can before swallowing. It tastes sharp and rich, with a faintly spiced undertone, and it leaves a tingling trail from your lips down to your stomach. You’re not entirely sure, but you’re pretty certain that it’s an aphrodisiac of some kind, maybe meant to either get his partner in the mood or make it easier for him to get that monster between his legs inside of them. Or both. 

Either way, you’re going to combust if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

But how to make it work? Humming, you shift onto your hands and knees, but it still doesn’t quite line up right. “Dante, I think—hey!”

The bed creaks warningly as he settles between your legs. His thighs press you nearly wider than is comfortable, and the heat of his body blasts against your back when he leans over you, one of his clawed hands bracing next to your own. You study the armor plating at his wrist for a moment, but the feeling of his head nudging insistently at your opening has you digging your fingers into the quilt, a breathless, “Please,” falling from your lips.

 Slowly, he pushes it within your opening. Your mouth hangs open in a groan as it stretches you; there’s no pain, just the same tingling you’d felt when you swallowed his precum, and you realize that your assumption was right. Still, as he carefully thrusts deeper, you’re not sure how much of it you’re going to be able to take, a thought that’s reinforced when the head of him is fully inside and your walls squeeze around it. He’s barely gotten started and you feel fuller than you ever had in your life, and when he presses forward so your lips open around the first flare of his shaft, you cry out, your legs trembling. The second flare sliding leisurely into your sex has you coming for the third time, all of this little ridges you’d noticed and the ribbing along the sides more than enough to have your head spinning. By the time his hips are flush to your rear and his sac is nestled snugly against your clit, you’re boneless in his grasp, and you understand, through the haze, one very clear fact.

Dante is going to ruin you.

He moves slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to his size as he pants hotly against your shoulder, and you mewl every time he rocks his hips. You’re honestly not certain how much more you can handle; each tentative thrust has those flares and ridges stretching your cunt, presses the head of him against something within you that adds a faint dash of pain to the overwhelming pleasure. His teeth prick your skin and you gasp, scrabbling for purchase against the sheets as his hips pick up the pace until you’re rocking over the mattress, rocked forward by every powerful roll of his hips. The sound of his body driving into yours fills the room along with your desperate cries, and all of it only seems to spur him on. The heat radiating from him ramps up as his claws tear through the quilt, and his fangs become better acquainted with your shoulders and the back of your neck, each mark he leaves drawing a moan from your throat.

Dante reaches beneath you to cup your stomach, keeping you lifted as he fucks you senseless. He growls something that sounds like, “Mine,” when he presses you up, and you nearly scream at the new angle, the new depth. Forget tomorrow or the next day, you’re going to need at least a week before you can go out in the field again. 

“Dante,” you whimper, “Dante, baby, please—”

He grunts and draws out, leaving you breathless. Then he takes hold of your hips and flips you onto your back before sheathing himself within you again, and this time you do scream as that protrusion you’d noticed earlier bears down on your clit as he fills you. Every time he moves, it presses and grinds against your pearl, lending a desperate edge to the coil tightening in your stomach. Dimly you’re aware of his face drawing closer, and you don’t hesitate to open your mouth when his tongue nudges at your lips, sucking on his flesh eagerly. You’re close, so close, and when he thrusts roughly enough to nearly knock you into the headboard as his tongue grazes the back of your throat, you fall apart, consumed by him. 

Wave upon wave of bliss wracks your body, which bows under and squeezes around his. And he doesn’t let up, rutting into you with growls and rasping groans that have your blood on fire until you’re dizzy and light-headed and your ears ring from the force of it all. You don’t know how much longer he works his body within yours, teetering on the brink of blackness, but you feel his tongue leave your mouth so he can sink his teeth into the flesh where your shoulder meets your neck, and the pain of that is blurred and diluted by the pleasure that comes when the first scorching wave of his seed fills you. On and on he comes, so that it smears along your thighs and pools on the sheets beneath you, so that you wonder if it’s ever going to end.

But end it does. With a lick over the wound he’s left, he draws out, and there’s a faint noise as he does so. More of his seed flows out, still hot enough to nearly be scalding, and you whine at the sensation of being so full and yet so empty at the same time. The sound of his footfalls shifts as he crosses the room from talons to bare feet; when he returns, he’s human again, and he kisses you gently as he lifts you from the bed. “Sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs. “It’s been so long, and I . . . Well. Guess I made a mess, huh?”

“A good one,” you mumble.

Dante chuckles and sets you down in the bathroom, and you watch sleepily as he fills a tub with warm water and your favorite bath foam. “You relax. I’m gonna go change the sheets.”

You nod, and he helps you into the bath, where you sink into the warmth with a groan. There’s a dull ache already forming between your thighs, and your shoulder is going to hurt like hell tomorrow if you don’t do something about it, but you’re far too tired right now to work even the simplest of healing spells. Besides, you think, he’d left that there as a reminder of his love for you, so you’re not exactly complaining. Dante comes back right as the water is getting cool enough that you want to get out, and he dries you off with a fluffy towel before once more picking you up and carrying you back into the bedroom.

You’re half-asleep by the time your head hits the pillows, though you manage to hold on long enough for him to turn off the lights and join you, his weight warm and familiar at your back. “Dante?” 

“Hm?”

“Welcome home.”

He pauses, his arm tightening around your waist as he buries his face in your hair. “I’m back, sweetheart. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

[border-spam]

Typhon

Typhon has only ever meant well.

The white lies, the sprinklings of exaggeration in his stories? Well, that just made people laugh, made ‘em happy. The bravado and bad jokes? Leda liked those, made her smile, and if Leda was happy then what else mattered?

Nothing.

Till she was killed.

Everything that built up to that night had been soul crushing, days of tears and rage as they screamed at each other and the undeniable end that approached.

Troy was dying.

8 years they’d managed to play pretend - a makeshift little family unit on a forgotten star -  that everything would be ok, when they all knew there was no way the boy would reach adulthood. Even Tyreen, too young to even really comprehend death, knew deep in her core some way.

They’d gotten 8 years, but they wouldn’t get another. Typhon sat on that rickety little bed he’d carved from Nekro-wood when the twins were born, sat for what felt like days now next to his exhausted wife, and waited. Waiting was all there was left to do, but they shouldn’t have expected an 8 year old to understand that.

They shouldn’t have ignored Tyreen’s outbursts, clearly confused and lashing out for attention while the back of her mind screamed how wrong her twin looked in his frail little body, eyes closed and chest barely moving. He knows now they shouldn’t have done that, how much it hurt her and why it lead to what it did.

But Typhon has only ever meant well.

When he passed out to Troy’s screaming and the crack of Leda’s stone skin as Ty wrenched her crushed fist from it’s grip, there was no expectation of anything bar dread. His last slipping thought as he blacked out, unable to process the horror he’d just witnessed, was the grim humour that tomorrow he’d be burying his son and his wife.

Waking up to a flushed, confused Troy asking where Leda was as he carefully sat up in bed while his twin curled around him, was like a blow to the skull.

He was alive. He was awake. It was a miracle. It had to be a miracle, what else could it have been? Whatever had.. had happened to Leda.. she must have done something, must be watching down on them from the heavens and healed their boy, that was it. That had to be it, and Typhon had sobbed with his twins, hugging their little bodies to his chest and promising he’d make sure they stayed safe, he promised Leda that day.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but Tyreen would choke him to death with her bare hands if she didn’t know Troy would turn on her like a switchblade.

He’d tried so hard to do what he’d promised, to keep them safe, but he’d never actually listened to Tyreen despite coddling her to a suffocating level. She’d tried to explain so many times, tried to tell him about the “bad feeling” in her stomach as The Leech wracked hunger pains through her tiny system that were too inhuman for her to be able to describe in terms he could comprehend.

She’d told him she wanted to leave, that there were people out there who needed her and Troy’s help, that there were so many lost souls she could reach out to and give belonging, but he’d just laugh and shake his head. Tell her that would be a terrible idea, that “the people out dere” would skin them both alive and sell their bodies to “da corporations” before they’d manage to say hello, and she’d hated him. The Leech squirmed in rage within her ribcage as it’s lure to Pandora was denied over and over while years passed, and Tyreen was forced to remain on Nekrotafeyo for far longer than she could bear.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but the looks he gave his daughter, the fear in his eyes and nervousness in his words only added to the dread she’d begun to understand as she got older. The realisation that her father thought she was a monster, and it might be true. He’d kept her trapped on a planet with nothing she hungered for, and the great maw swallowed pieces of Tyreen instead.

Troy was just forgotten.

Typhon hadn’t meant it, he’d not purposefully relegated his son to a provider that kept their larder stocked and bots functional, but it had happened anyway.

Tyreen was the one who needed attention, Tyreen was the one he needed to watch and keep close, she was the troublemaker. Troy was just.. Troy was just there, a lanky shape in the side of vision that was hyperfocused on his flighty twin, and it happened so slowly neither of them really noticed.

Troy was quiet, Troy was easy to manage, Troy didn’t complain or pout or have tantrums, he’d just do as you asked. Troy would scurry up rock-faces till twilight set and he couldn’t see clearly anymore, then limp back to camp with scraped knees and bloody knuckles and beam at being thanked for bringing back some Manta eggs

Troy would disappear for 10 hours and arrive home with a sack of glow pods, even though there were none for miles around, all just to see the smile light across his sister’s face as she leeched the plants and hummed their deliciousness.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but Troy was so easy to raise that his father stopped even seeing him.

It took about a year on Pandora for the rose tinted lenses to begin to clear for Troy about how things had been at home.

He was at Tyreens neck about it at any opportunity till then, jumped at any chance to remind her she made him come here and lied, to rub it in and make sure she was perfectly aware how much he wanted to leave, but it died down as he began to really see the truth of things.

Tyreen didn’t change, shed always wanted off Nekro from the moment The Leech sowed its seeds of influence through whispers in the back of her mind after what happened to Leda. She hated Typhon, but Troy didn’t, and still doesn’t years later despite having a far more realistic view of how poor a father he’d been to them. Can’t bring himself to want to cut him off completely when he knows how easy it is to make mistakes that hurt other people…

Typhon has only ever meant well, but the twins had been starving on that planet.

Tyreen in spirit, no life source more complex than animals to feed from meant The Leech constantly gnawed at the back of her mind demanding she leave, but Troy physically.

It hadn’t been so bad before, when he was younger. He and Typhon could easily hunt more than enough food together even if Troy mostly ended up carrying small loads and helping his dad as a kid, but by the time Typhon’s loss and fear had left him too concerned about Tyreen to let her accompany Troy and too paranoid to leave camp with him, things were bad.

They were very bad.

The twins are two sides of the same ravenous hunger. Tyreen’s ate her soul, but Troy’s decimated his body.

He’d take Grouse on long trips, the bots ability to carry a life saver even if he was too loud to actually help with the hunt itself, but there was just never enough food.

The animals on Nekrotafeyo were more energy than flesh, there wasn’t much on them in the first place, and coupling that with vegetation humans absolutely hadn’t evolved to eat, survival became a harder struggle every year that passed and bigger he grew.

Typhon was half his size and seemed to never pick up how much Troy was flagging, but that’s just how things were.

That was life, that’s how it is. Right?

Troy had believed that was the case till Pandora, and him actually getting to see how other people lived.

He’d been so proud of the few kilos he put on in those 6 months on Seifa’s ship.

She’d been insistent on eating way more often than he was used to and oddly grateful in a way he didn’t understand when he’d finish a meal, but when the first medic he’d let near him at Sol’s insistence when they’d entered their business partnership told him he was dangerously underweight, it had been a slap to the face.

He wasn’t, he’d put on weight. He was bigger than he’d ever been, you could pinch his skin now, so what were they fucking talking about?

Ranting at Ty afterwards had left a shitty taste in his mouth. She’d looked almost sad as she’d listened, told him he needed to actually trust her for once, that she wasn’t wrong about dad. That dad had been a fucking monster.

He couldn’t agree, wouldn’t. Stormed back to his room in their tiny studio space and brooded for hours - gnawing at his nails as Pandora’s night air turned frigid.

No one looked like he had when he came here. Dad had never said anything about him being thin. He was normal. He was normal, wasn’t he? He’d had no one to compare to, but…

No one here looked like he had.

He’d not seen anyone that thin, skeletal structure that visible. Hadn’t seen anyone yet who was normal and had cheekbone ridges you could see a jaw hinge through as it moved.

That hadn’t been normal, had it. He didn’t know and dad hadn’t said anything, acted like nothing was wrong for years.

He’d been starving, hadn’t he, and Typhon had slapped him on the back and thanked him for dinner every night instead of even hinting at worry. He’d been starving and the only person who could have helped him understand how sick he was had cared more about keeping his children by his side, than if one dropped dead.

So he stops bringing up wanting to go home. He stops defending Typhon if Tyreen needs to rage against her past in a monologue at night to help her shrug off the anger and get some rest.

He’s weird about food.

He won’t stand for waste when the Slums are hungry.

Neither can forgive their father for the childhood he caused.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but his children won’t speak of him at all.

[strangebrews]

@madam-metaphor​ asked: 69. Ventriloquist

So Eddie was still out of a job. Not an ideal state to be in, by any means, though he’d excused the situation on being busy with other, more pertinent things—diverting an alien invasion, for starters.

But it’d been 2 months since anything urgent had come up and here was Eddie during a Wednesday afternoon, on the couch with a microwave dinner in his lap. TV shows had gotten worse nowadays, he was thinking, no respect for plot anymore, just pure drama. 

His bills were piling up—the stack of envelopes was becoming painfully apparent on the island in the kitchen, giant red notices bleeding onto the paper—but it wasn’t like Eddie hadn’t tried. He had tried—at the grocery store, the pet shop, even the fucking video rental place—yet none of the leads had amounted to any promising offer. He was just unlucky, that was all, he thought and took another bite.

You’re very lucky, Eddie. I decided to live in your body. Venom regarded itself quite highly.

He was flipping through channels now, irritated with his lack of options, Venom’s head perched on his shoulder. A streaming subscription, that’s what he needed. Another bill added to the mound, but it was necessary, because, “I mean look at this shit,” he gestured towards the TV with his remote, mouth full, “You cannot expect me to want to watch this kind of crap.” It’d been some ventriloquist—third fucking episode in a row—and Eddie jammed his finger into the skip in frustration. 

Wait.

Venom pressed a tendril to the back button and slithered closer to the screen, head cocked in interest.

How did he get that little human onto his arm?

Eddie gave Vee a crooked smile. He would admit, providing Venom explanations of silly human behaviors was one of his favorite aspects of this cohabitation. “It’s not a tiny human. It’s a puppet—not alive. You stick your arm up the hole in its ass and make it do things.” He laughed, amused at his own explanation. 

Venom’s eyes glimmered. Don’t we do the same thing?

 The laughing stopped. “No, no we do not do the same thing—it’s different. It’s very fucking different. You’re supposed to make jokes, create a show, have people watch you.”

The glimmer intensified. Let’s do that.

“Do what? Become a career ventriloquist?” a slow nod was Eddie’s only answer.  

Venom’s proposal was unsurpring, actually. It had grown increasingly frustrated recently—angry that Eddie could walk the streets now without anyone suspecting anything out of the ordinary, providing no indication they knew Venom was living inside. But the issue was that Venom wanted to be seen—wanted everyone to know that Eddie was taken, that this was Venom’s Eddie. It didn’t want anyone looking at him. Considering him.

Venom had thrown a fit once or twice in public already, accidentally shoved someone out through the glass doors of a bus because they’d brushed up against Eddie a little too often. And that had been an accident—the person was fine aside from a few scratches on the nose—but Venom had been sternly warned that day to never try anything like it again. 

“I’ll rip you out of me, Vee. I promise I will.” Obviously it was an exaggeration, but the image it produced was painful enough for Venom to agree.

So this was its roundabout way of being present in public. They could star in a show together—much like the one on TV—and Venom would have an excuse to stay on the outside, make itself known. It was a perfect idea.

I would make a great puppet, Eddie.

Eddie just laughed and brushed the crumbs off the front of his shirt. He used to be an esteemed journalist. He was not going to become a fucking ventriloquist for the afternoon broadcast. It was stupid. It was ridiculous. It was not an option. It was—

+

They were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Venom’s head bobbing out from Eddie’s right hand, while another piece wrapped around his arm before cutting off entirely before the elbow. 

A puppet. A gooey, terrifying, alien puppet.

Venom had succeeded in getting Eddie to try the idea out—there was no harm in just trying, it’d argued. And yes, fucking had been a factor in the convincing process, but there was no need to focus on silly details.

They’d been glued to the same spot for nearly an hour now, Eddie trying to mold Venom’s mass into something a bit less menacing. He’d tried giving it pointed ears, a nose, some makeshift hair strands that were supposed to cover a part of Venom’s eyes, but they resembled creepy noodles, if anything else. The attempts were useless, so with a sigh Eddie gave in and moved onto the next issue. “We’ll just be really funny, to distract from the unconventional look.” Unconventional was his way of describing it, because there was no reason to hurt Vee’s feelings. 

Mouth movements proved to be a problem too. “You have to move it based on the shape of the words I’m saying. What you’re doing is not convincing at all.” Venom was just opening and closing its maw haphazardly, disregarding any authenticity. 

I’m meant to be a puppet. They lack the same facial mechanics. 

“Yeah, but—” Eddie cut himself off, because there was a point to be made here, he just wasn’t sure what it was. He set that aside for later. 

The tongue—the tongue had to go.

“It’s just a bit unsettling, is all, when you flick it all the way out like that, you know? Some might find it suggestive, others might think it's insulting.” So Venom curled it back into its maw, with some difficulty, but it’d managed.

Then they encountered an issue with the flow of the conversation. Eddie should have expected Venom to hit a few bumps in the road when it came to witty comebacks, but it really killed the vibe when it kept answering with things like Eddie, do you really think I look like a nasty talking tar ball?

Eddie even tried feeding Venom dialogue through his thoughts, but on the fourth failed attempt he decided they were done. “We tried, we basically failed. I’ve got more important things to do.”

Staring into your empty fridge so you can ignore your real problems isn’t very important. Eddie did not entertain Venom with a response.

+

Yes, he should have been looking for a job still, but Eddie chose to write a script instead. 

They had stopped after that fourth try, but returned to the mirror an hour later. Eddie was going to get it right—he was going to squeeze at least one original, funny thing out of Venom. 

On the seventh try he decided the only way out of this was writing a script.

Recording the video, with his phone resting on the dresser and the script hiding beside it, was also, just a one-off thing. A quick hyperfixation, nothing more.

He worked on their conversation for 2 days, smoothed out all the kinks in their performance during the 10 rounds of practice recordings. Venom could now shape its mouth around the words, kept its tongue inside, and even spoke at a higher pitch to make it more convincing. The pair was ready.

+

Uploading the video to Youtube had also been Eddie’s idea. He had not given up on the project, and neither had he given up on being in denial towards the fact that he was absorbed by said project.

“It’s just—I refuse to have wasted 5 fucking hours on this and keep it private, you know?” It was a weak argument, and he suspected Venom would have raised its eyebrows in doubt if it had any, but it stayed silent. 

He’d done some minimal editing. Nothing too fancy—just an intro and an outro, simple things he’d learned during his journalism days. “It’s not gonna get any views.” he was talking to himself at this point, mouse hovering over the Publish.

“It wasn’t even that funny.” The video had successfully appeared on the recent uploads page—Eddie had checked to make sure, but he didn’t necessarily care. 

“I’ll probably delete it in a day or two, anyway, mind you.” Venom continued to hide away.

+

Venom was only ever quiet for two reasons: it was tired, or it had won a battle with Eddie and had nothing more to say. This case slotted under the latter category.

Because Eddie had not deleted the video after a day or two—it was still floating around on the Internet and Eddie’s finger was beginning to cramp up from refreshing. And refreshing. And refreshing.

The result wasn’t anything major. It was only 100,000 hits in 5 days and the title was pure bait—kinda hard to pass up a video called “Famous Ex-Journalist Stuffs Hand Up Puppet’s Bumhole, Calls It Coping” (That’s a misleading title, Venom had noted. “I know, just trust me.”)

“It’s not even that funny of a video.” Eddie said again on the 6th day, but there was a smile tugging at his lips—nearing 200,000 now. 

Cooksucker3000 said your puppet is fucking dope, Eddie. Venom hummed along Eddie’s arms in satisfaction. The comments were its favorite part, for quite obvious reasons, and Eddie was too preoccupied with his own shower of compliments to correct Venom’s reading mistakes.

this is so hilarious!! 

i love the idea! 

good to see ur doing well - i remember u from tv! 

u r really fucking hot xx

Delete that. It has nothing to do with the contents of the video. So not all of the comments were Venom’s favorite.

+

When they hit 300,000 Eddie said, “Fine—I’ll write one more script. But after that, we’re done.” Venom did not put up a fight this time either.

Because fine, Eddie could say whatever he wanted, but they shared a fucking body at the end of the day—as if Venom wouldn’t have noticed him finishing up the 4th script of a series last night.