#the other one is still in its socket but he cannot see Shit out of it

[waywardwritesstuff]

Sleeping with the Shooter: A Crosshair X M!Reader

Crosshair X M!Reader (platonic/brotherly) Word Count: 1,489

Tags: fluff, comfort, platonic, intended to be brotherly (NOT INCEST)

Summary: It's been a while since The Bad Batch have been able to take a rest from missions on their home world of Kamino. But reader can't help but notice that things are changing, especially within the world of Clones. He seeks comfort in his brother Crosshair on the long journey home through hyperspace.

A/N: this is a self-indulgent one-shot I wrote for myself but I thought that maybe some others in the fandom could use the comfort from the ending of The Bad Batch. Enjoy!

Another long mission, another long flight back to Kamino, another sleepless night in the cock-pit of the Marauder. I was sitting in the cockpit, my legs up on the dashboard watching the light from the stars flash by us as we jumped through hyperspace. It was calming, serene, a gentle break from all the blaster fire, destruction and pressure of our missions. I was born to be a soldier, but this life was starting to feel less and less like mine. I’m starting to notice our disposability, it urks me, but there is nothing I can do about it, which bothers me even more.

As I continue to stare into hyperspace I feel a disturbance beside me. A creak confirmed my suspicion as the seat to my left now had the body of one of my brothers slumped into it.

“Tech’s not going to appreciate you having your boots on the dash.”

I shrug, “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him”

“Do you ever actually sleep?” Crosshair’s deep voice rattled out again.

“Do you?” I retort without looking at him.

He huffs continuing on whatever conversational path he had planned out in his mind.

“Your thinking too much again, aren’t you” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Blunt and plain.

But not without a hint of concern, something our brothers often miss when talking to Crosshair, I can hear it, the underlying emotions in his speech that our brothers cannot.

“How can I not-“ I respond “- its in my code, my programming” I knock on my head, a dull thud sounding back.

I sigh and continue to watch the stars as they whizz past us, focusing on one flash of light until it's gone and then focusing on the next, I can feel my eyes flitting around in their sockets. He sighs as well and I see him, in my peripherals, lean forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on the fingers of his curled-over shooting hand.

“What is it this time?”

“Us” I say darkly

“Us?”

“Us, our purpose, our reasoning, our next mission for the republic, us” I elaborate numbly.

He’s heard this all before and every time he tries to convince me that the Republic will always have a purpose for us, they made us, and they need us. The same old bullshit. He never sees how they treat our brothers. We come and go too quickly and our names just become numbers in a data bank, dust that litters the battlefields of the galaxy.

Crosshair maintains the silence without giving me one of his usually patriotic responses. I listen to his breaths, the nasally sound as his lungs push the filtered air of the ship in and out. As I’m watching the stars go by I don’t notice that Crosshair has stood up and walked over to my seat, I am too lost, in space and in my own mind. I nearly jump out of my seat when he puts a hand on my shoulder. Out of reflex I immediately turn and grab his wrist forcing it back.

“Shit” he cries and I let go of his wrist instantly

“Damnit it Crosshair…sorry” I mutter

“No, that one was my fault”

I inhale sharply and close my eyes for a moment, hugging my arms to myself before blinking them back open. Crosshair is still standing there, though noticeably a pace or so back from my chair. He looks at the ground thinking a moment before he looks at me and nods his head in the direction of our shared room. If you could even call it that.

I was the second biggest compartment of the ship aside from Storage, it was deck out with standard issue barrack bunks, with a few personal touches of course. Wrecker and Tech on one set, Wrecker's bunk is always decorated with Lula sitting in the corner by his head and Tech, as usual, has fallen asleep with his data pad hanging loosely from his fingers. The next is Hunter and Crosshair’s bunk, Hunter’s bandana hangs on the edge of his bed and Crosshair's bunk is empty, though I know he keeps a chest under his bed with some nicknacks from missions and planets we have visited, but I never bring it up. And lastly, Echo and I, Echo’s bed is also empty and mine is covered in a few bits of graffiti here and there.

My bunk is on the bottom which is why I assume that Crosshair is gesturing towards my bunk instead of his own. He climbs into my bunk and gestures for me to follow. The notion takes me aback slightly, none of us have had to share a bunk since we were younglings, not out of necessity or choice. We used to do it when we were still developing in the Kaminoan facility, making sure to stay close to one another. Minus Echo of course, we weren’t joined by him until much later. But Crosshair had always been off put by the idea of sharing sleeping quarters when there was an option to sleep apart, even when we were kids, so this gesture was not something that was normal for him to so willingly offer.

However it would seem that Crosshair could see what kind of struggle I was facing in my head, my programming though good for tactical advantages and strategy is not ideal for anything else. Maybe my state had become more noticeable as of late. I would need to make sure to rein that in as to not screw up future mission.

I climb in beside him in my bunk and he shuffles over so that his arm is bent underneath me. I rest my head on his chest and once I’m settled he curls his arm over my shoulder and cups the back of my head, placing his gloveless fingers into the mess that is my hair. The softness of the touch from his hand takes me by surprise, it was unlike him to be so gentle. He was swift, aggressive and tactical, it was his design. But his nature was not his design, he could be gentle, and he was very calm at times when he chose to be. I know this, and yet still the gesture does not fit with the image I have of my brother.

My head rests on his torso, right where the red marking that we all share on our breastplates would be. His heart thrumming a steady rhythm under his ribs, I follow the sound in my head, counting the time between each beat thump bump thump bump thump bump. The sound of it and the gentle but sturdy feeling of his torso underneath my chest had made me feel safer than I ever had. All I had known was War but this…this made me feel like I could have faith in the hope of life after war, maybe one where me and my brothers have freedom and true autonomy.

I divert my attention to his hand in my hair and focus on the bend of his fingers that are cupped around my head. The smoothness of his palm. Maybe tonight won’t be a sleepless night after all. I know how the brain responds to stimuli that are connected to memories and feelings of being safe, but I know all of that in theory. Not in practice.

Following this train of thought my mind wanders and I get lost, staring into the wall above Wrecker's head on the other side of the compartment. Briefly I wonder if Crosshair needs this as much as I do, and he’s using me as an excuse and guise to get this attention he needs, whatever the case I am happy to give it, not only for myself but for him. I know what Crosshair is like, he never takes care of himself, he takes better care of his rifle than he does his own mind and body.

I am pulled out of these thoughts, my eyes suddenly refocusing as his other hand comes into view of my face. I think that maybe he is just moving in his sleep and waiting for him to settle down again, but he isn’t moving like he’s asleep, his hand is moving lightly towards my face, almost as if cautious. He is still awake. His hand finally come to rest on my cheek, the barest contact between my face and his hand, but he holds it nonetheless and whispers something

“You’re a good kid” I bite my lip at his statement, and my eyes begin to sting. What the hell am I crying for?

‘It’s the stimuli to positive attention after an absence of it’ I remind myself.

I breathe deeply and absently I nuzzle into his hand and hum contentedly. And with that, at least for tonight, I am at peace and drift off to sleep.

I take requests if you like what you see then send in something per my guidelines

[demcnsinmymind]

@shctsfired sent : sender kisses receiver to shut them up. Oooops | VARYING KISSES PROMPT | Always Open!

Hiding out in a high rise penthouse's supposed to be all about the perks - no matter how trashed the place has gotten all thanks to the years of abandonment. Even with all the vandalism and natural destruction, the place is fucking marvelous to look at, and Lance cannot even begin to imagine what it must've been like back in its heyday. He only knows that he'd always been looking and working towards owning a place just like this one day.

Giant flatscreen (cracked and bent at a dangerous angle away from the wall), top of the line entertainment system (ripped right out of their sockets and scattered all over the floor), even a whole gym and fucking pool (having lost most of its water to apartment units below it, more of a pitiful green, moldy waterfall now). It'd all be fucking great if it weren't for the fact that the streets below are crawling with infected and CEDA creeps, looking for them, trying to get back on their trail.

They've climbed all the way up here to get rid of them for the night, keep a look out, find some other place out in the distance, somewhere they can run off to come first light tomorrow. But being up here? Still seeing them down below like sea monsters in the deep black, like they're facing the mariana trench? Knowing that there's no other way but back down? Hearing all the noises? Even after weeks on the run...it still has him on edge. Freaks him the fuck out. So he tries to battle the fear the only way he knows he can - by babbling. Rehashing. Talking, pretty much nonstop.

Telling Harper all about said old flatscreen, the old DVD collection surrounding it, praising a few films, shitting on the rest, anything that comes to mind to keep himself occupied, cheer himself up, keep himself calm. He's in the middle of an extra passionate rant about one of the shittier movies, turning around to show her the cover when she's suddenly right in front of him, her lips on his, preventing any more words from getting out of his mouth. Except for a surprised, undecipherable noise, of course, because there's no way in hell he's seen this coming.

The shock lasts only for a moment, then he's kissing back, an old habit that truth be told, he's surprised to find he still has in him. After all, it's been god fucking knows how long since he's last kissed anyone, and that is reason enough to kiss back all the more enthusiastically. Soon enough though, his brain catches up to everything that's going on. And no matter how little he likes it, he ends up breaking the kiss and gives her a half mischievous, half confused and questioning look.

"Uhm...okay" he starts, chuckling a little as the curious frown intensifies. "For the record, not complaining, but...I was kinda in the middle of something? What's that about?"

[skelanonymous]

First - Killermare

Words - 3.1k

I decided I needed more happy Killermare, even though I’ve literally written a ton of it. I should write literally anybody else next…>_>

-

Killer entered into the kitchen with a tense back, casually perusing the fridge with a wince. He’d taken a hard hit on the side during the last fight with the Stars. Probably cracked something, but nothing was falling off so he didn’t bother too much with it. His determination would hold him together.

He grabbed the carton of milk and took a swig straight from the container.

“Other people use that you know.” 

“Too bad for them.” Killer turned around to grin at Nightmare. He’d recently gotten into his Boss’s VERY good graces and no broken bones were going to keep him out of it. “Well if it isn’t small, dark, and Lovecraftian.” That got a chuckle, a rare thing to hear from Nightmare. It made his target soul ache something awful, hearing that cute sound and not being able to do anything with it, not nearly close enough to Nightmare to capitalize on the opportunity. 

“As good with words as with a knife, hmmm?” Nightmare stood in his space, touching along his arm unconsciously. Killer tried to keep his mouth in check.

“I’m also pretty good with my hands.” God damn idiot brain, hitting on his fucking god level boss. There’s fucking with people and there’s shooting out of your league. He just smiled through it. “Whatcha need Boss?”

“I’m moving a wing of the library and needed an extra pair of hands.” 

“And you knew how talented mine were, so you came right to me?” Killer slid the milk back into the refrigerator. He leaned back on his left side to keep from agitating the right, elbows on the counter, a picture of relaxation. 

“Something like that.” Nightmare laughed again. Killer held in the pleased sigh, standing up, crossing his arms behind his head very delicately.

“I’m all yours Boss. Lead the way.”

They wandered down the hall directly towards the library, Killer keeping step just behind Nightmare, letting him stare all he wanted without being caught. Those strong thick tentacles swayed around his back, framing his ass for Killer to appreciate along the lengthy hallways. He rarely went over this way unless Night summoned him here.

Nightmare already cleared small sections away, stacks of meticulously organized books littering the floor. He gestured to a pile.

“Start here and work clockwise. I’ve laid it out to make it easy enough for you to do without me babysitting your progress.” 

So began replacing them on the shelves. Killer hid the winces of pain from stooping and bending fairly well, silently moving until he hit a tiny snag. He reached up to place one on a tall shelf when he flinched into the wall.

His body hit the shelves and dislodged an avalanche onto his head. He almost moved away before one smashed into his cracked ribs.

"Son of a fucking bitch!

"Killer!" Nightmare raced over to unbury him. The tentacles made quick work of them, stacking haphazardly off of Killer’s winded form. His hands were on Killer’s forehead in an instant, checking for cracks, diligently looking over him after hearing the cry of pain. Killer groaned angrily when he was cleared off.

“Fucking Blue and his fucking blue attacks. Ugh.” Killer couldn’t sit up, pain still blossoming fresh in his chest. Night paused in looking him over.

“Were you wounded on the last mission?” His single eye penetrated his two, pinning him under it until he relented, grimacing with a gesture to his ribs he’d been carefully avoiding.

“Yeah. Stars got a good hit in on me. Was fine until the book hit it though.”

“Clearly not, considering you lost your usually impeccable balance!” Nightmare’s tentacles wrapped Killer up to get him standing without making him bend the wounded area. “Come with me. Healing magic is easiest when accompanied by intent, wrapping it will make it easier.” He grumbled and took off towards his room, Killer hobbling after to keep up. 

Walking into Night’s room changed the mood. He suddenly felt out of place, surrounded by luxurious purples tones and dark wooden furniture. Night had gestured to the bed before wandering into his private bathroom.

His bed was comfortable. Killer’s nerves ruined any enjoyment of getting into Nightmare’s room, jittery from the moment he was directed to sit on the plush comforters. Nightmare returned with a roll of bandages and an unimpressed look.

“I thought you were smart enough to know how to care for yourself.” He moved in front of him. “Take off your jacket and t-shirt.”

Thankfully Night was too focused on unraveling the bandages and gathering antiseptic to see Killer’s face go red, suddenly very aware that he was in his boss’s room, said boss’s hands about to be on him after a request to undress. He pulled them off smooth and casual, but his grin practically cracked at the edges. 

“What the hell?”

Night’s hands hovered over the cracked ribs, flinching back at the small break that Killer had dislodged from its setting.

“Yeah, it’s not great.”

“Killer!” Night growled at him. “Why didn’t you seek treatment before THIS?!” He gestured to the crumbled ends of the break from grinding against each other. “This is entirely fucking curable! It’s ridiculous you didn’t, at the very least, wrap this!” The growl travelled up his body, baring his teeth at him, tentacles cracking like whips at his back. Killer didn’t move, but his voice took on a nervous edge.

“I’m a dead man walking boss. I’ll just keep going forward until I can’t anymore.” Healing magic was taxing. All of them were terrible at it besides Nightmare, who never offered, only taking over when he was clearly needed. They never want to bother him to ask for it.

“I could’ve fixed this sooner.” Nightmare pinched the bone into place with a click. Killer gasped in pain. He wrapped it tightly, uncaring about Killer’s harsh pants while doing so.

“We only take it when you offer. None of us wanna annoy you.” Fuck, he was so falling out of Night’s good graces for this. After he worked so hard, some dumb break was gunna take him back to zero. He fisted the plush comforter. “Your time is important.”

“To whom, when you dust from accumulating injuries that I can’t see?” 

“The multiverse I guess.”

“The multiverse doesn’t give a shit about me or my time. This is all I have.” Nightmare pinched his nasal crest after finishing. “You serve me, but I cannot do this alone. Your lives are valuable to me. I thought you, especially, would know this Killer."

"Why do ya say that?"

"Because of how important you are to me." Nightmare's hands grew warm with gathering magic, mending now that everything would heal correctly. "All of you are valuable, like the supporting beams holding the castle aloft, but you are more integral. You are the center pillar. As my right hand, as long as you stand, I have faith in my ability to recover. I believed you to be my most valuable asset, but if you’re going to just let yourself turn to dust, then I’ll-”

“No!” Killer’s soul snapped into a heart shape, eyelights flickering in time to meet Night’s inquisitive gaze. “I’m not dusting on you just like that.” He grabbed Night’s warm hands away, taking them up in front of his startled cyan face.

“K-Killer?” He brought them up and kissed the phalanges as one would do to their king.

“If you’ll continue as long as I am by your side, then I’ll remain with you until I die.” Killer’s sockets went half-lidded, struck by the emotion his inverted soul let in, his silly crush amplified ten-fold by Nightmare’s faith in him. He’d never seen his boss look so confused, eye wide and frantically searching Killer’s. “What’s wrong boss?” 

“You-I’m...what’s-why all-”Killer’s hands had long since gained a mind of their own. He slid wordlessy off the bed into Night’s space, silencing him with a casual touch on the cheek, fondly caressing the bright greenish glow. 

“Shouldn’t have told me I meant so much to ya cuz I’m gunna take that to heart.” Then he swooped down to kiss him.

Killer pressed their teeth together firmly, tilting their heads to line up for deepening the kiss. He relaxed into it, holding Nightmare close while getting a taste, slowly touching and teasing Night's tongue with playful flicks. He could feel the very hesitant kiss back before they parted for air.

"Feeling shy Nightmare? Don't worry. I'm bold enough for the both of us." 

Killer laughed into the next one, leaning into it to force Night's response, groaning at the feel of the shy tongue in his own mouth. He could feel his small partner shaking in his arms when they broke apart.

"Killer…" It must've been awhile since Nightmare got with anyone to sound so needy. 

"I'm here. Wanna have some fun Nightmare?" He whispered it into Night's ear, smiling at the trembling he could still feel against his ribs, lost in the heady feeling. Night devolved to breathy pants, which Killer dove into before he felt tentacles lay solidly against his chest to push him back.

"Killer, wait, I can't-I'm not prepared for this." Night's flushed face told a different story, but he didn't fancy being killed.

"I've got lots of patience. I'll just make you feel good until you are." Killer's mouth slid down to Night’s neck, sucking on the bone to the high pitched whines, sending all his thoughts south, ecto eager to form at the slightest provocation. His haze broke under the Night's firm push out of his space. 

"Killer, stop." 

His back connected with the bed, wincing from his still (though much less so) wounded bones. The rejection stung worse.

"Sorry boss." That HURT, knowing he'd fucked up pretty royally. God, he'd forced himself on Nightmare right after he'd been given a shred of attention. He was such a fucking idiot. "I'll keep my hands to myself." His eyelights poofed decisively. He almost couldn't bear to look at him, but he needed to see Nightmare's face at least once.

Night hadn't stopped shaking. His tentacles attempted to hide him from view, face fully blushing, head still tilted away from the fresh mark Killer had left, noises leaking unfiltered from his trembling body. 

"S-s-sorry. I-I c-can't handle it-t. Too much." Killer grabbed his shirt and hoodie from where it lay beside him.

"I'll leave you be. Maybe annoy Horror or something, I don't know." Anything to not be here. Playing it off would make it easier to take, even if it meant no second chances with Night. He slid his clothes back on. "Come find me when you got the next mission lined up."

A tentacle wrapped around his ankle before he took the first step.

"Why are you leaving?" His voice was airy, light, breathless.

"I'm a dick, but not that much of one. I went too far, I'll give ya some space for a day." He shrugged, a drop of hate splashing on the floor. He'd describe his emotions as 'in shambles.'

"I don't want space. I just need a minute."

"I don't know Boss. Shouldn't rush that kind of thing." He could stomach taking advantage of people outside of this castle, but betraying the ones inside it, those who guarded his back and knew where he slept (and cared about but he'd never tell them that), it turned his mood sour. It ate at the pit of his stomach and it’d eat through him entirely if he didn’t get the fuck outta dodge.

"What thing?"

"Being assaulted, harassed, whatever you wanna call it. And being the person who forced themselves upon ya, don't think I should be here." He tugged at his ankle again, but Night hadn't relented.

"Killer, I didn't stop you because I didn't want it." He avoided Killer's eye roll.

"Uh-huh." Killer really didn't want to resort to cutting off the tentacle. It wouldn't hurt him, but it'd suck and prove he was an asshole, so he pulled harder. "Say I believed you. Then why?"

"Killer, I…" Nightmare looked like he wanted the carpet to swallow him. "I've never kissed anyone."

"...What?" He stopped struggling against his restraint. "There's no way. You're telling me, five hundred years of existing, and you hadn’t had your first kiss?"

"Yes." And Killer commited a cardinal sin without thinking.

"But Dream definit-" Is fucking Ink or Blue or Cross or all of them, he wanted to say, but Night was quicker.

"I am aware." Nightmare's glare was potent, but Killer's confusion was denser. "But he is lovable, unlike me."

"You're lovable." It slipped out in-between all the mental gymnastics. He wasn't sure he wasn't being fucked with still. "So you haven't…" How to phrase this delicately, he wondered. "...slept with anyone?"

"Killer, I haven't kissed anyone. Why the fuck would I have slept with someone?"

"You gotta know how unbelievable this is." Talking wouldn't reassure him, so Killer leaned down into Night's space again, stopping just shy of his teeth. "You're telling me that someone as fuckable as you's been ignored all this time?" Nightmare's single eye widened with the flush. Killer smoothed out his tone, dropping it low to hold him at the edge of his words. "Nice juicy peach you are, no one's tried to pluck you up? I can barely look without salivatin'." He lapped at his teeth, careful to keep his hands in safe places. He wanted to see how inexperienced Night really was without ruining his chances forever.

Nightmare's tentacles laid limp behind him, all the tremors coming from his real form, whose hands had raised to snatch at the shoulders of his hoodie, gripping tightly when he caved under the languid licks at his mouth by letting Killer in.

Patience led this one, Killer carefully taking over every inch of Night's mouth. The slower pace served to work up his partner faster. Nightmare's calmness abated, tentacles waking up to come and clutch at Killer's form, Night crawling onto him, transforming the kiss into a frenzy of desire that Killer surrendered to, as long as Night was leading the way. The tentacles touched plenty of hot spots, but he kept his own hands on innocent ground. Night's confidence could crumble under too much of a good thing.

"Take a breath, Nightlight." Night shivered against him after breaking apart, so much sensation his body was unaccustomed to. "I gotcha." Killer rubbed soothing circles into his back.

"I can see how that could escalate." Nightmare finally got out. It made him laugh. 

"Yeah. It's pretty easy to get carried away." He kissed the top of his skull before laughing again. "You give handsy a whole new meaning though."

"Sorry." The sweet little monster in his arms barely resembled his boss, hiding his face by burrowing into Killer's chest. 

"Don't be. It's pretty hot." His lewd grin made Night blush again.

"I would've thought my corruption would be the ugliest and most disgusting part of me." He punctuated it with said appendages undulating behind him.

"Boss, I just kissed the fuck outta you and I've never known you without it. Trust me, not a deterrent." Killer stroked down one to make Night's spine curl. "If you learn how to use ‘em right, they're pretty useful in the bedroom."

"Don't call me Boss when we're like this." Night whispered softly. His face caught between a glare and something soft, he was starting to come back to his senses.

"That might be too much power Nightlight." He grinned at the tiny glare. "How was your first kiss then?"

"Nice." Nightmare sighed as he sat up, unfurling all the aching limbs. The usual persona rebuilt itself. But now, Killer knew how easy the composure was to break. "I'd like to repeat it sometime."

"I'm all yours." He'd never get sick of that face if Night was willing to let him see it. They rose together from the floor, Night reestablishing the space between them.

"I'll have to talk to the others about not bringing injuries to me. Time spent on them is not time wasted." He straightened his sweater, presentable before opening the door. Killer choked the urge down to mess it up again. “The idea that you would’ve rather lost a rib than speak to me is absurd.”

"Yeah." They better not take his catch. Fuck them.

"I'm not going to kiss them Killer. The sour look is atrocious on you." Night's brow raised. Caught red handed. Killer laughed.

"Can you blame me? I know the kind of filthy degenerates who live here; I'm one of them. I don't want 'em to take a bite outta you." Subconsciously, he shook his sleeves to feel the weight of his multiple blades.

"You act as though there are many vying for my affection. People used to throw rocks at me for walking by their homes, and now they try to kill me. I'm not surrounded by suitors." He said this while walking down the hall towards the still upturned library. His strides were confident, power inherent is his manner, carried with a royal grace that Killer could only ape with minimal success. The only reason he wasn't swamped with competition was everyone had been too chickenshit to make a move. 

"Ya also thought I wasn't interested and nothing has ever been less fucking true." He pushed his luck a little further, stepping in front of Nightmare to kiss him quickly. The chaste thing was almost too much considering the shakes. "I'll just keep doing it if ya don't say anything."

“We need to reassemble the library.” He huffed through, walking by with weak knees, Killer trailing just behind. “This wasn’t an invitation to touch me at all times.”

“Only some of the time then?” 

“Shut up.” He humored the request once inside Night’s treasured library. 

Back to quietly organizing, clockwise, his talented hands flipped them onto shelves with ease now that he wasn’t hindered by aches. It was quick and effortless like it should have been the first time. He’d begun humming by the time he placed the last one, not expecting the hand on his shoulder but welcoming it as he had earlier the same day. Night silently pressed something into his palm.

“I trust I don’t need to explain.” Killer’s fingers closed over the silver key, smiling and spinning it on his pointer while leaving the now neat library. Guess his league was a lot wider than he thought. It wasn’t an invitation to his bed, but the invitation to his heart was just as good.

“Gotcha loud and clear boss. See ya soon.” 

-

They CUTE.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 287: Family Reunion

Previously on BnHA: The Tomura For One VS Deku And Pals clusterfuck reached new levels of clustfuckery as AFO possessed Tomura’s body and stabbed Kacchan and Endeavor. Shouto was all “good thing I leveled up offscreen so as to be able to fly around whilst carrying 400lbs worth of people”, and did just that and it was like, damn, son. Meanwhile Deku’s rage went Mach 100, and he kicked Tomura’s ass for almost two whole seconds, but in the process he apparently forgot that IF TOMURA TOUCHES HIM THAT IS VERY BAD, and so he stupidly let Tomura touch him and Tomura was all “GAME, SET.” Fortunately for Deku, his quirk plays by its own rules, and so the chapter ended with us cutting to the METAPHYSICAL OFA/AFO PARANORMAL DREAMSCAPE OF MYSTICAL BULLSHIT, where AFO!Vestige was all “lol Tomura y u mad”, and Nana!Vestige was all “SUP DEKU, YOU’RE JUST IN TIME, LOOKS LIKE IT’S ASSKICKING O’CLOCK.” I’m paraphrasing a bit, but that’s more or less the gist of it.

Today on BnHA: AFO is all “well if it isn’t Tomura’s grandmother who I murdered that one time”, and Deku is all “?”, and AFO is all “fucking vestiges, man, wild”, and Deku is all “??”, and AFO is all “ANYWAYS GETTIM TOMURA”, and OFA is all “NOT SO FAST”, and Deku is all “???”, and really, same. AFO then goes off on some wild tangent about how Deku is unworthy because he couldn’t protect everyone and needed help from OFA and got mad about his friends being stabbed, which is such a cold take it gave me hypothermia, but it ends up not mattering since Deku and Tomura both wake up seconds later with OFA still in the possession of its rightful owner, HOW ABOUT THAT. The chapter ends with the LoV approaching on Gigantomachia’s back with Dabi practically salivating at the mouth, and Toga trying to reignite an old fandom blood feud. Toga why would you do this to me. Toga.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSS

[CROWD LOSING THEIR MINDS] FINALLY THE NANA HAS COME BACK TO BNHA!! IF YA SMELLLLL WHAT THE NANA IS COOKIN!!!!! [RINGSIDE BELL CHIMING WILDLY] [LOUD AIRHORN NOISES]

“chapter 287: mistake” omg. yeah I’ll say you made a mistake, AFO. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THESE FLEETING LAST MOMENTS OF YOUR SHITTY EVIL LIFE

(ETA: so in all seriousness this must be referring to AFO’s belief that All Might/OFA made a mistake in choosing Deku, right? “I can’t believe you went and chose this shounen manga protagonist as your champion, what were you thinking.” I’ll just put this out there: however many comic books AFO read as a child, it clearly was not enough.)

wow Deku how slow are you

yes you’re inside OFA you dimbulb, did you think your clothes suddenly vanished out of the blue and the ghost of Nana just randomly appeared in the real world by some freak coincidence?? can you believe this kid. breaks his arms a measly 10-15 times in a row and all of a sudden he can’t think straight, get it together Deku

but also brb having a moment at the fact that his thoughts immediately run back to Kacchan, even with all of this nonsense going on and Nana about to lay the beatdown on AFO’s potato-lookin’ ass. forget that noise, all he wants to know is whether or not Kacchan is all right. fuckin’ geez. AM I OVERREACTING HERE A BIT. probably

(ETA: ALSO!! the way he just trails off!! “Kacchan is...” and then he can’t bring himself to complete the thought. oh my god my heart.)

HOLY SHIT

okay,

damn but this man sure knows how to ruffle my feathers. as eminently detestable as ever!!

could it be any clearer here that AFO is not on Tomura’s side?? for a moment I thought he had actually grabbed him by the back of the head in order to get him to look. but nope, he’s just resting his pointing hand on top of his head instead while he’s all “HEY TOMURA LOL IT’S THE GHOST OF YOUR DEAD PATHETIC GRANDMA”

for those keeping track at home, this would be the first time that Deku has heard this information -- that Tomura is Nana’s grandson -- and possibly the first time Vestige!Nana has heard it as well. Nana died when Kotarou was still a child, so for all we know the Vestige!Nana didn’t even know she had a grandson, lol. TODAY ON “MAKESTE RANTS AT LENGTH ABOUT THINGS THAT WILL PROBABLY BE ADDRESSED WITHIN THE NEXT THREE PANELS”, anyway moving on

lmao for the record I fucking LOLed at this giant question mark immediately bubbling up over Deku’s head

no idea what AFO is about to ramble on about now, haven’t read that far yet. but let the record show that Deku’s immediate reaction to hearing “BTW NANA IS YOUR ARCHNEMESIS’S GRANDMA LULZ” is everything I could have hoped for

(ETA: fandom nailed the shit out of this one with the confused Mr. Krabs meme lmao.)

okay so now AFO is monologuing at length about how he would sometimes have “riveting dreams” about the previous owners of all the quirks he stole. but once he gave the quirks away they stopped bothering him?? holy moly let me just take all the notes

okay so he’s saying that Vestiges are created whenever someone has their quirk stolen by AFO. but if they then disappear when he gives the quirks away, does that also mean that whoever receives the quirks also gets the original owner’s Vestige bundled in every time?? that would be wild okay hold up let me read the rest of this

so he’s saying that the Vestiges are actually the “consciousnesses” of the original quirk owners, which have become embedded in their dna or something. SOUNDS INCREDIBLY DUBIOUS TO ME LOL but on the other hand this is a world where children can be born with airplane heads, so my disbelief can hardly afford to pick and choose what it’s gonna be suspended at! anyways though, how does he know he’s the only one who was able to converse with them? did you conduct detailed six-month follow-up interviews with everyone you gave quirks to or what

and if it really is the case that this ability was formerly exclusive to him, isn’t that more evidence than ever that OFA and AFO are actually THE EXACT SAME QUIRK oh whoops am I getting ahead of myself again, sorry

MEANWHILE TOMURA IS ALL, “GRANDMA?”

“WHY AM I HERE, WELL LET ME TELL YOU A STORY, GRANDSON. YOU SEE THAT MAN GROWING OUT OF YOUR RIBCAGE THERE? WELL IT’S JUST THE FUNNIEST THING, ACTUALLY”

WAIT SO IS HE SAYING THEY’RE SOULS OR NOT??

this makes it sound like they won’t ever get to rest, which sure sounds like a soul thing to me. well whatever, soul, consciousness, I guess it’s just semantics at the end of the day

anyways though, so this asshole is finally done talking (I’m sure that won’t last), so now we can finally have the heartwarming reunion we’ve all been waiting for

sigh

-- actually, no, not “sigh”!! you know what!! because Tomura says “whatever the reason”, but that’s only because he doesn’t actually have a fucking clue about the reason. like, I don’t know if the knowledge that AFO killed Nana would be enough to give him pause, but if he knew the whole story and knew that AFO was behind not only Nana’s death, but the rest of his family’s deaths as well... now that would be a whole different thing

anyway. but at least it’s becoming clearer now why AFO spent all that time raising Tomura up as his heir and brainwashing him even though he seems to have been planning this body takeover the whole time. it’s all because he loves making people miserable! yaaaaay

btw HAS NANA HAD THE EXACT SAME MOLE ON HER CHIN AS TOMURA THIS ENTIRE TIME WTF. am I just the least observant person who ever lived lmao

lol wtf

ground: [randomly starts exploding]

Deku: “ONE FOR ALL IS BEING ERODED!!!” LOL IS THAT WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE, OKAY THEN. I’ll take your word for it

y’all I cannot fucking get over this “AFO growing out of Tomura’s hip socket like a fucked-up ventriloquist dummy” shit though

you do realize that absolutely no one can take you seriously right now, right?? it’s important to me that you know this

WHAT’S THIS NOW

seems like SOMEONE has had it up to here with a certain SOMEONE ELSE’S bullshit lmaooo bye Felicia

I SAID GOOD DAY!!

you guys why is he not dying!!

-- OH DAMN

love how Deku is just lying there like “YOU KNOW THOSE DAYS WHERE YOU’RE LIKE, THIS MIGHT AS WELL HAPPEN.” poor Deku

(ETA: where in god’s name is OFA Prime standing. why are my thoughts fully consumed by this lmao.)

are Nana and OFA Prime even doing anything?? why are they sticking their arms out like that. wait hold up is this all a big metaphor for the back-and-forth going on between Tomura trying to steal OFA and OFA being all “actually no you can’t, please enter your password and click on all the boxes with bicycles in them to prove you’re a human first”?

OH SNAP OFA PRIME SAID NO THANKS

“SORRY BRO WE’VE ALREADY MADE OURSELVES AT HOME HERE”

I have only just noticed that metaphysical!Deku has the same scars as actual!Deku. and yet his arms are not currently broken! that doesn’t really seem consistent to me but whatever!! maybe he saved right before the boss battle, that would be smart of him

anyway, that’s great and all that OFA Prime is here helping out, but I really wanted to see Nana fight AFO in a one on one though so I’m a bit disappointed. also why is it only the two of them?? where are Banjou and the others. of all the times to be sleeping on the job

FOR FUCK’S SAKE, THIS MAN

WOULD YOU STOP. WOULD YOU JUST QUIT IT ALREADY

oh shit hold up

doesn’t this confirm that the reason he wanted to transfer his power to Tomura is because he believed it would make him strong enough to finally take OFA because of Quirk Singularity? jesus christ. and here he was so sure of himself. but it turns out he doesn’t actually know shit! you can’t just fucking take OFA like that ya dingdong that’s not how it works

(ETA: SO, A THOUGHT -- is there any sort of subtle hinting here in the way that he words this? “if your strength is combined with mine”, as opposed to “if my strength is combined with yours”? no idea if the admittedly-so-small-as-to-be-almost-inconsequential distinction between those two sentences exists in the original Japanese or not, but I find it very interesting that the English wording implies that he’s the one adding Tomura’s strength to his own, rather than vice versa.)

now he’s insulting Deku!!

excuse me sir WHO ASKED YOU anyway. and never mind that being consumed by an, AND I QUOTE, “unquenchable” rage is your protege’s whole THING, and that he also needed your help to avoid being burned to a crisp a short while ago. where do you get off I swear

(ETA: also just want to point out that in the panel before this one he says that he’s been “watching through Tomura”, which pretty much confirms that his consciousness or whatever is alive inside of him all the time. Tomura is definitely not getting rid of this guy any time soon.)

WOW

first he calls Kacchan useless, then he calls Deku a simpleton, and don’t even get me started with Nana. just, you guys. this man is just... a very, very rude man

NOW OFA IS ALL “THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT MAKES HIM SUCH A GOOD PROTAGNIST YOU BUTTMUNCH” AND OMG PREACH

“DESPITE HIS COMMON SENSE” sdfkllk my man he already has one brother roasting him, take it easy guy

AHH WHAT

IS THIS BACK IN THE REAL WORLD

YEP

hahaha nice try Tomura

so Deku’s all “I didn’t lose my power! BUT” and I assume the “but” is the part where his arms are still broken and shit, and meanwhile Tomura’s body is almost healed up now finally

they’re both wiped out and now AFO is again petitioning Tomura to let him take over goddammit

“you won’t lose your mind” yep, he sure won’t! scout’s honor!! pinky swear!!

meanwhile Deku is getting fucking desperate flkjl;k my baby. and Machia is going to show up any second now too, probably. what else can fucking go wrong at this point

oh shit I shouldn’t have asked

get ready to rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrruuuumble, probably

OH MY GOD

WELL AT LEAST SOMEONE HERE IS HAVING A GOOD TIME. jesus

so as soon as he heard Endeavor was there he got all, “TIME FOR THE BIG REVEAL”, is that right? WELL JOKE’S ON YOU TOUYA, YOUR DAD DOESN’T SEEM ALL THAT CONSCIOUS AT THE MOMENT, SO THAT’S GOING TO DRAIN A LOT OF THE TENSION FROM THE SCENE WHEN YOU GO ALL REVERSE DARTH VADER ON HIM AND HE’S ALL “ZZZZZZZZ”

meanwhile Toga is having unsettlingly quiet angst

jesus christ Toga this is all we need right now

“WAS JIN-KUN NOT A PERSON” sdkfjlk Horikoshi I swear. please have mercy on this fandom. this is the debate that refuses to die!!

but seriously ffs, the issue isn’t that Jin deserved to die, it’s that the countless people whom Jin would have either directly or indirectly killed didn’t deserve to die either. people don’t only become people when you attach names and faces to them! we all loved Jin because we’d gotten to know him, but that doesn’t mean his life was inherently worth more than the lives of all the people he would have killed. sometimes there’s just no good answer

like, it’s just crazy to me that because the heroes are all “we want to protect everyone!” but then aren’t always able to do so because that’s literally impossible, whereas the villains are all “we don’t care about anyone other than the select few people that we actually like!”, the villains somehow wind up getting the better PR. it just so happens that it’s infinitely easier to be loyal to the interests of a few people as opposed to ALL THE PEOPLE. like, no shit, it’s easier to stick to your moral code when you barely have a moral code. and so the villains can kill thousands and no one bats an eye, but if a hero fails to save even one person they’re hypocritical moral failures. like what the hell

BUT ANYWAY, sorry to go off on a tangent there lol, it’s not really a big deal. I’m just preemptively trying to stave off more discourse about it lol but who am I even kidding

anyways lol, but of course they won’t kill you unless they have no choice, Toga. but when it comes to catch-22 situations, it’s a bit much to infer that the heroes don’t consider the villains people just because they opt for the choice that spares more innocent lives. I sure as hell don’t want my babies out here killing people, but to say that they can’t no matter what or else they’re no different from the villains is just...

anyway so the chapter has now just ENDED, just like that!! on a shot of Ochako’s face!

I SENSE ANOTHER THROWDOWN COMING. and it had better not be a total letdown like the last one! NANA BARELY DID ANYTHING HORIKOSHI, WHAT THE FUCK. I started out with such high hopes lol

but I will settle for Toga VS Ochako, and Deku VS Tomura: The Sequel: Shouto’s Revenge! SPEAKING OF HEROES WHO HAVE NO QUALMS ABOUT MURDERING PEOPLE lmao

[thermporia]

Oh I absolutely want to hear about the other two. Tell me everything.

college is sapping my energy, so i will just write this in bulletpoint format. cw suicide self harm and all that fun stuff

poppy

funny little man

he has to constantly be on something, otherwise he is actually going to have a nervous breakdown. he has nervous breakdowns anyway.

he hates talking to people. hates it.

like, hed rather run a cheese grater up and down his arm. he has done this before, and will do it again.

he legitimately wants to die a lot of the time, but hes weirdly apprehensive about actually doing it.

he likes to play russian roulette with the LD50. will this dose kill me??? lets find out

his vision is horrible without glasses he cannot see jackshit

smells bad. id describe it as blood and isopropyl alcohol.

cant drive

hes stuck forks into sockets just to feel a little something

lives in the basement, with his 2d gf baiken (its a body pillow and its covered in everything imaginable)

hes pretty sure his insides are rotting and peppered with holes

he wants to prove it but he cant without dissecting himse-

he has the thought above and thinks its a great idea to quell his anxiety surrounding the theory

he literally gets hospitalized because of this (joke)

that one picture of the anime girl holding her hand out to you through a noose

he is constantly being tossed between "i could not care less. i want to return to the soil" and "i am going to die, i dont want to die yet"

weird fetish guy.

really weird fetish guy. hes playing 5d fetish chess.

iris

pathetic taller man

he owns a gun, i dont know how he got it. he calls it his raifu in private

raifu

he talks a lot of shit for someone who will legitimately cry if you dont think hes the coolest guy ever

"why wont people like me im an alpha male and im really smart"

he believes that he was meant to be born as a cis guy but is not because his mother ate a lot of tofu or something

like he will not eat soy bc he thinks itll fuck up his transition

he wears shoes that give him a height boost

he despises it when people are taller than him

hes trying really hard to be the cool unaffected aloof guy and hes just not very good at it and hes SO upset

he really likes how some of the people he hates present themselves but hed never say that

like hed wear dresses and even more pink, shit from claires? but no, hes so fucking obsessed with being "A Real Transgender".

even if he did, he'd still say hes A Real Trans and not a Trender bc (convoluted reason)

he falls for misinformation hook line and sinker if it slots in neatly with his worldview

he needs attention, affection, and adoration. without it, he withers like an overdramatic houseplant.

hed never do drugs by himself, but if you peer pressure him?? yeah.

he gets really offended by the idea of talking about sex stuff in public, like he wont shut up about keeping stuff in the bedroom

if you so much as imply you fuck he will not shut the fuck up

smells bad, like too much expensive cologne.

also a weird fetish guy, he hates this part of himself more than anything

[poptod]

Hi you beautiful person! If you’re still taking requests then I would like to request for Ahkmenrah! Sorry if this is too long but how about y/n is a cat burglar and breaks into the museum to steal sum shit (they notice the lights on beforehand but thought that it was just the night guard). But then they notice that there’s, like, A LOT of “people” still present at the museum. They already took a few things so they go to hide in the Egypt exhibit till the coast is clear but then when they notice that the sarcophagus is wide open and the mummy isn’t there they get rly freaked out and about to leave the exhibit but run into Ahk and he’s rly confused and notices that they’re a thief and even tho he was raised to be cruel to thieves he felt rly drawn and hypnotized by y/n (it was love at first sight for him). He simps so hard that he lets them go only if they leave the stuff they tried to steal but they refuse to leave empty handed so Ahk simps again and gives them one of his pieces of jewelry to have. They’re confused but go with it then dip through the window and Ahk watches them escape into the night from the window with a dreamy look on his face. And Larry’s behind him like “wtf just happened?” Sorry again if that was too long! Please take as much time as you need if you decide to do this <3

notes: anon. ANON. i love you and i love this idea, idk why i never thought of this but i fucking adore it thank you WC: 1.6k

+

Grappling hooks––the fevered dream of a madman that worked only partway in theory, and not at all in practice. Still, you liked the look of them, and kept one seated on your belt while you used a more practical means of breaking and entering.

Very rarely did you ever break into buildings who still had their lights on. For this you would have to make an exception; the museum, which you had scouted out every day for two weeks, always had its' lights on. That would not deter you. American and British museums were essentially always corrupt in some way, unwilling to return the stolen artifacts of foreign countries. You kept that at the forefront of your mind, a little smidgen of motivation, as you jammed the window lock open.

The wind brushing against your dark coat vanished as you entered, sudden air conditioning bringing the temperature to a more pleasant 70 degrees. Hanging off the side of a building with no leverage but a small, outer windowsill had left your fingers numb, joints aching with built up pressure. You shook them out, clicking your pocket knife shut and stuffing it in one of your pockets.

For a minute you remained in the shadowed hallway, listening closely to the sound of footsteps, and watching carefully the shadows casted on the wall to your right. Your brow furrowed––that couldn't be right. The only person who was supposed to be in the museum was the night guard, which last you checked there was only one of them, and maybe the director. You could hear the footsteps of a whole crowd, the murmuring hum of distant conversation, and the vibrating beats of music coming through stereo speakers.

Taking a tentative step forward, you kept your hand poised over your knife just in case. As many times as you've done this, you can't recall any time that you've robbed a place while the owners were still inside.

You came to find out about two minutes later that while the owners are in fact inside, it wasn't them making the noise. Peering out behind the wall, you could see far off the balcony, into the entrance of the museum where a congregation had gathered. It's not... normal, though. None of them are wearing normal clothes. Actually, it looked more like they stole all the exhibits clothes, which would partly explain why all the exhibits were empty.

"This is not normal," you mumbled beneath your breath to yourself, mimicking Harry Potter's voice. Third movie.

You quickly retraced your steps, returning to the window you crawled into. Once more you went through the hallway, double checking everything, and picking up what valuables you could find in the vacant rooms. The Greek section payed off, as did the Chinese, but before you could move to the next era the night guard came walking down the hallway with a group of people in tow. He doesn't seem all that bothered by the fact that none of the exhibits are there, and that all of his friends are wearing the clothes of the exhibits.

And then you saw it.

A monster of entirely bone, whose teeth bared constantly in sharp, jagged lines. The backbones creaked and cracked against each other when its' neck moved, pulling its' heavy skull to watch the people with empty eye sockets.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

Where was the exit? You'd gone down two flights of stairs, up one, and down one, but you couldn't remember the order. There had to be an exit on this floor. When the group passed by you, you darted in the opposite direction, paying no attention to the artifacts as the walls blurred around you.

Your breath began to catch up with you soon, heaving your chest up and down as your legs burned. Before your body could give out on you, you slid into the next hallway, ducking behind one of the massive pillars and finally collapsing. Three minutes passed before you could breathe normally. Only then, with most of your wits back about you, did you notice the hieroglyphs your nails dug desperately into on the pillar.

More footsteps outside the long, Egyptian hallway sent you padding deeper in, till you found yourself bumping against the open glass case around a golden casket. The face, which you would've expected to be on the head, was instead cast aside as the top was open. Inside––nothing. Scraps of linen and spells written in an incomprehensible language.

"What the fuuuuck," you whispered to yourself. "What the fuuuuck..."

What the hell is going on h-

Something bumped against your back, sending you stumbling forward before you could just barely stabilize yourself. You whipped around, eyes wide as you came face to face with a man bearing an outrageously golden crown, and donned entirely in Egyptian cloth.

Entirely dumbstruck, your mouth hung open, and you said nothing as the man stared at you in the same bewilderment.

"Why do you have that?" He suddenly asked, eyes falling to the gold and lapis necklace dangling out of your bag.

You stuffed it back inside and said, "mother's."

"Yes," he chuckled, "my mother's. I was buried with that and I'd rather appreciate it if you gave it back."

The narrowing of your eyes gave away what you tried your best to keep hidden––the numerous treasures concealed in your duffel bag.

"You're robbing us, aren't you?"

You said nothing.

"Why are you stealing our belongings?"

"Why are you acting like they belong to you?" You finally replied. "They belonged to people long dead. Just because you're wearing the robes doesn't make you the Pharaoh, and – and why the fuck are you dressed in Egyptian clothes?"

"Well I was, again, buried in this. It's this or the linen and the linen reveals a little more than people would probably like. My name is Ahkmenrah," he bowed slightly, taking your gloved hand and kissing the back of it, "the Pharaoh from the sarcophagus."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

"Doesn't matter what you believe. What matters is that you return what you've stolen," he said, straightening himself out and outstretching his hand. As if you'd return what you've taken.

He waited for a good minute, and when you didn't relent, his expression grew weary.

"Do you want me to get the night guard?"

"No," you said quickly, eyes darting up in panic.

"I will let you go, free of punishment, if you return what you've taken and leave. Come back when you're not looking to steal."

"I am not leaving here empty-handed," you hissed, stepping closer to get up in his face. To your surprise (though you didn't dare show your surprise on your face) a blush began to fill his cheeks.

"I... uh.. y - oh Gods," he grumbled, shaky eyes darting all across your face but never meeting your gaze. "Fine. Fine, you – take this. If you return the other things you can take this."

He stayed rooted to the spot, but bent to pull at his skirt. At first you almost stopped him, already convinced he was about to strip down, but when he ripped at the silk your mouth hung open in silence.

"Ever learn about the history of textiles?" He asked you as he handed you the long strip of golden fabric.

You shook your head no. The cloth barely weighed anything, softer than anything you'd touched, and nearly thin enough to see through it.

"Much Egyptian and Arabic fabric is revered for the talents your people have lost to time. It's a special recipe you cannot replicate with any modern tool. This'll bring you a fortune if you find the right person," he said, cocking his head to the side as he watched you carefully. "It's gold sewn into silk."

Only a moment of thought passed before you dropped your bag, kneeling in front of the Pharaoh and pulling at the zipper. His sandals slid away from you as he gave you space, and soon you were pulling out different necklaces and combs, setting them on the floor in front of him in silence.

"I don't know where the exit is," you mumbled as you carefully pocketed the silk, moving back to your feet.

"How did you get in?"

"Through the window."

"... ah. I'll show you to one of them, then."

He snuck you around the museum, showed you how to avoid the crowds, and at each turn you memorized the path. If you ever wanted to come back for anything else, you would need to know such tactics. Soon enough he was showing you to a window a story off the ground, and though he was hesitant to allow you to leave out it, you informed him you quite adept at climbing walls.

Clambering out the window, you paused with your foot notched into a dip in the outer wall.

"Why are you helping me like this? You didn't have to do that," you asked, and though it wasn't a question you had been thinking of, there was a very sudden urge within you to have it answered. "Aren't you a Pharaoh? They hate thieves, right?"

"I.. um, well, there's... I suppose – you caught me in a good mood," he very obviously lied. You raised a single brow questioningly, but made no further attempt to pull the truth out of him.

Instead, you ducked out the window, falling quickly into the snow and rushing off into the dark of night. A moment later he heard the revving of a car, and then the squealing of tires sliding against the pavement roads. Ahk sighed softly, the tension in his chest giving way as he rested his elbow on the window's sill, his palm pushing against his blushing cheek.

"What the fuck was that about?" Larry asked from behind him. His dreamy expression immediately gave way to embarrassment.

"Nothing," he quickly insisted. "Just... being a little softhearted."

[ravenadottir]

In Love Island UK, I watched 2 bombshells coming in as TWINS. I forgot which season it was though. Now I'm playing the stick or switch recoupling in S2 and everyone's talking about how similar MC was with Blake. And my imagination being so weird, what if it was MC's twin and not Blake? Like, they hate each other so MC never talked about her. They could be identical or fraternal. What do you think the scenario would be? 👀

SHEESH! my god, anon! why do i love this so much though!?!!

ok, so first things first, i think you’re talking about jess and eve, from season 6. i love how they go “we’re not gonna fight over a man” to then fighting over who’s gonna choose callum! lol

ok, in the scenario where mc’s partner switches to her sister?

THAT SISTER IS WICKED! that’s a lot of flavor for just one prompt ask! lol FUSEBOX SHOULD TAKE NOTES ON YOUR IDEA. i would pay gems to confront them, istg! a sister, cousin, friend. someone close coming in and stealing your partner? pff, i would love to see it.

i’mma use lucas for this one, if you don’t mind. and the sister being fraternal twin, the shock would be much bigger once they find out. ‘cause i reckon none of the boys would dare switching if they knew they’re related.

this is the prompt for a telenovela love island the game and it’s just so galaxy brain, i cannot with you, anon! ((i’m picturing all sorts of paola bracho memes in my head rn)) and take a shot every time the word 'evil' comes up 🥴

- mc’s eyes would go wide, filled with shock, anger, popping out of its sockets with the surprise

- the absolute silence because no one knows what the hell is going on, and the boys exchanging looks with the girls

- her sister’s stance is smug and defiant after they reach the firepit for the reveal

- as they stop, on the first step, holding hands, the boys are of course upset because lucas switched, but as they see your reaction, they’re puzzled

- the girls as well. shocked and a little disgusted, but still, because lucas switched to someone new

- mc opens her mouth but she can’t speak. not a word comes out and now, her fist closes on the side of her body

- the boys are ready to hold her back if they need to, and they mention getting up, especially bobby and gary

- her sister has one brow raised, waiting for her reaction with a grin, the most playful mc has ever seen

- mc’s mind goes blank and she moves towards them, immediately grunting

- the boys and girls move to stop her, bobby and gary almost not being able to

- the sister furrows her brows with am innocent and confused look, almost shrugging

- lucas moves in front of her, “i’m sorry, but i clicked with her. i couldn’t help it. i’m sorry you’re upset, and i’m sure you’ll want to talk to me about it...”

- mc’s focus is now on him, showing teeth, warm cheeks and neck, full-on red eyes, “that’s my sister, you c***.”

- everyone’s heads turn to look at the sister, SHOCKED. mouths hanging open, eyes wide, girls covering their mouths, boys moving to hold mc back, because she WILL attack her sister

- lucas “wait... what?” he turns to see the girl behind him, now noticing some similarites “whaaaa...” under his breath

- “you’re such a fucking c...” before mc can finish her sentence, noah stops her, taking her away from the firepit before she says something that could cost her place in the villa

- the girls immediately go to her rescue, no exception, even shannon who doesn’t even know her

- bobby and gary get water and alcohol for her, if she drinks

- lucas is terrified for being played like that during casa amor

- everything goes to shit when he arrives at the roof terrace to apologize. she almost flies from gary’s and bobby’s grip onto his neck

- “i didn’t know!”

- “i know, but you’re still a fucking idiot, you know that?!”

- lucas sleeps outside, the girl is in bed, alone, but doesnt give sign of moving outside or to the couch, because someone so evil wouldn’t just walk away. she would force her presence upon everyone

- the bright side might be the single boys want to cuddle mc that night, also in the daybeds, making lucas move to the roof terrace or the stretchers

- the next day is pure tension, everyone ignoring the girl, except for shannon, who’s gonna be the messenger between the og girls and the evil twin

- NOTHING ELSE IS TALKED ABOUT, except for mc’s wicked sister stealing her man. another perk i guess! no one is daring to discuss jakub or noah, or anything that isn’t mc’s situation

- the sister is not intimidated, changing clothes, putting makeup on in the same room, and despite lottie’s attempts of making her feel uncomfortable, she doesn’t give a shit, because well... she must be insanely mean

- the dumping ceremony arrives at night, and the sister is M-A-D that her sister can save lucas but she can’t stay

- when she’s dumped, she’s the one who almost gets to mc, but she’s escorted by the security from the villa

- she’s dumped and lucas proceeds to be traumatized, thinking five times before any decision he makes from now on

- the girls comfort mc, having a full pampering day in the dressing room, and a party comes on that night

- the producers reached out to her sister, because “rates would go off the charts” but she agreed because she - is - E-V-I-L.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Concept: RED Spy is down, his watch damaged and the knife blasted from his hand by a clever strike from a BLU. His ribs ache from the force of being hurled bodily into the unforgiving soil of Teufort’s rocky ground, and he grits his teeth into a snarl. 

He can fight without his knife, he lived this long as a Spy prior to this whole mess of a contract... but it would not be easy. His ankle feels damaged, twisting as he rolled and Spy curses at the misfortune; still, his arms were hale enough to enact a chokehold when the opportunity arose. 

The sun disappears as looming shadows block the light, and hearty chuckles linger in the air, the malice behind the sound sending a shudder through the espionage agent. He understood, this was... well, it was personal to a degree, if he had a downed BLU then of course he would think nothing of enacting some quick revenge for a past death/insult.

But it was also their job. He hoped to take at least one down with him, if possible... but it would not be the end of the world to die here and now, later he could hunt them down and delight in the gurgled screams as his butterfly knife pierced their spinal columns. 

Blood dribbled slowly from the shallow indentations in his bottom lip wheren a few teeth had pierced accidentally during the heavy impact. Spy’s tongue darted out automatically to catch it, equally thrilled and revolted by the taste of the coppery substance... 

He grunts as a heavy Texan boot digs into his side, and two voices laugh uproariously as if the world’s wittiest joke had just been exchanged. They would pay for tha-...

His vision flashes sharply a second later, pain radiating through his face like an explosion as a steel-capped boot makes contact; without even consciously registering it, Spy knows his nose is broken. That was a sensation he had become all too familiar with in the past. 

He cries out as something heavy crunches down on his legs, efectively trapping him. 

“Aw, don’t be such a wuss Spah, I manage to carry that around when it’s full all’a the time!” the BLU engineer coos, his expression worryingly unhinged, though not unfamiliar... the RED Engineer had made the same face a truly disconcerting number of times in the past. 

Indeed, the toolbox weighed more than one would suspect, and if his ankle had not been shattered before, it certainly was now. There was only one solution, if he could but find it... where was his-...? 

“Oh laddie, don’t go looking for your pretty little pistol... our spook went and knicked that when ye blacked out for a second, like the delicate little crossaint ye are.” BLU Demo taunted, crouching down over the RED. 

Spy did not recall blacking out, but that’s not generally a good sign...

“You are, as ever, outclassed here, mon frier.” came a smug voice so like his own that it irritated to no end, as the BLU Spy faded into visibility.

If this had been the first death of the day, or even the twelfth, then perhaps he would not have stopped trying to find a solution. Beady blue eyes darting subtly around until some ingenious escape plan came to light and he could be freed from this mess...

But it wasn’t, and he was so, so very tired. Between the Pyro, Sniper and a number of rather lucky swipes from the BLU Medic, Spy had been dying all day long. He would love for this to end quickly... but given the location, and the unlikelihood of help arriving in time to curb the enthusiasm of the currently losing team surrounding him... Spy felt that things were not in his favour this day.

Hovering gently across the room, the intel gleamed innocuously, cruelly. A beacon that lured them all to their deaths day in, day out on these damn capture the flag campaigns; a beloved sight for both the teams’ benefactors. 

And so they died, day after day, for nothing more than a glowing briefcase with an ever-changing array of useless paper inside. Why, last week there had been a recipe for some fried chicken with eleven herbs and spices... useless, though Engineer had been eager to try it, as had another fried chicken afficiando on the team. 

The week before? A number of magazines, a short story about some science fiction show he was certain may have been written by one of the Pyros, and a crudely drawn map to different households that Spy could not make heads or tails of...

A slap snapped him back to reality, sending fresh waves of sizzling pain through his face as the damage to his nose once again took his full focus. 

“Looks as if he’s back with us again.” BLU Spy said, radiating smugness from every pore as he flicked out his knife with unnecessary flourishes. “Good evening Monsieur, seeing as you will be staying with us for some time, I would hope you will be an obbliging guest... and not miss out on the festivities. Such as,” he said, pointing the blade directly at a blue pupil, “when I remove your eye from its socket, hmmm?”

“Hey, I called dibs on ‘im first boyo.” BLU Demo exclaims, swatting at the blade-wielding hand, and trying not to look too pleased as it scored a deep groove across Spy’s face. Spy hisses at him through clenched teeth, loathing the man. “He needs those eyes to see what ol’ eyelander and I are gonna do tae him, aye?” 

“Just don’t go hogging him, I’ve had to rebuild a dozen sentries today because of him. Not to mention my back’s achin’ somethin’ fierce from all the damn backstabbing the little red weasel’s gotten away with.” BLU Engie interjected, groaning as he stretched, fingers and spine making awful audible pops. The man flexed his gloved hand and the mechanical whirring sent chill straight down the Spy’s spine. “Now see, I’m thinkin’ that fair’s fair only if’n I get to pull yours right on out of that body of yours. Whatcha think about that, you filthy RED?”

It would technically fall under ‘fair’, but not anything Spy particularly wanted to experience. Before he could open his mouth in his own defence, with a smooth ‘Gentlemen, please...’ the mechanical fist slammed in from the side. Bile rose automatically in his throat at the sensation of a tooth dislodging and blood filling his mouth. The BLUs seemed wildly unhinged today, beyond their normal bloodlust... but they had lost all week long, so they may be getting sanctions and penalties from the Administrator.

His head whirled. When was the last time he’d had more than a few hours sleep this week? The last time he drank some actual water or ate something substantial? Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d not insisted on skipping the team lunch during ceasefire, in order to do some covert surveillance in the enemy intel. 

Consciousness flickered. 

There were delighted but angry voices jabbering back and forth about ‘waiting their turn’, and ‘going a little easy to start because the french fry had to last’...

And then, there was screaming.

It was almost like a bad horror movie, with the sounds of screaming, crunching and swearing flickering in and out. Little snippets of a full scene that he could not comprehend as his battered head swam...

In the sudden silence, loud and grotesque for the heaviness of it, all that could be heard was a sharp, angry series of breaths.

Spy blinked frantically, trying to ascertain what had happened, trying to cling to the here and now when all his body & mind wished for was to give in to the swirling darkness. 

A figure coalesced before him, eyes seeming to glow with a feral light, body and bat completely splattered with blood and gore, expression half in shadow. 

“S-Sco-...?” Spy tried to get the word out around damaged molars and a outhful of blood. Everything throbbed, but the silence was a symphony of hope to his ears.

“Don’t worry, they won’t fuckin’ touch you again, Spy. I got ‘em.” growled an unusually serious Scout, his fist shaking around the bat’s handle. He seemed frozen, a figure in a portrait surrounded by the broken corpses of the BLUs, uncertain what to do next.

A wheezey exhalation from Spy seemed to snap the runner out of it, and he knelt to shove against the toolbox pinioning the espionage agent to the ground. It clunked to the ground with a heavy metallic finality, and Spy sighed at the sudden freedom. 

“Ya look like shit, Spook, so we gotta get ya out of here before those guys fall outta respawn lookin’ for revenge.”Scout says, mouth running while his eyes dart over the mess that the normally immaculate espionage agent made. He slips an arm under Spy and they slowly work the man into a sititng position.

Ankle’s definitely shattered, Spy notes with a true lack of enthusiasm.

“Scout... just prop me against the wall there and take the intel. Once it is secured, they cannot touch me anyway, as the humiliation round will keep me safe.” 

“And just who the fuck do you think you are ordering me about like that?” Scout objects, eyes never once leaving Spy’s face. 

“Someone who wants to win as much as I do?” Spy hazards.

Scout leans back on his haunces, crouched by Spy. He tilts his head, “Ya a real bastard, ya know that? I don’t care about the intel, we gotta get you outta here. But if it means that much to ya...”

In a frankly ridiculously fluid movement, Scout is up, across the room and back again before Spy could blink. The intel snapped to his back like a magnet.

Spy is hauled to his feet with minimal protestations, an arm over Scout’s shoulders and the runner’s other one about his waist. The majority of his bodyweight was resting on the runner, and Spy felt rather despondent about their chances of surviving like this.

He said so.

“The others are coming, don’t worry about it.” Scout grinned. 

Heavy machinegun fire could be heard above near the BLU spawn, along with delighted maniacal laughter. The REDs were here, and judging by the beeping of a sentry, they were spawncamping like no tomorrow.

“See? We got this. So don’t worry about it.” Scout shrugs as they begin the slow ascent up the corridor and hiopefully towards a dispenser. Spy lurching along and trying to think of other things as each jostling movement created little discomforts. 

In a momentary pause, he looks to the runner. “Merci, mon... fils.” 

The words felt too big for such a narrow corridor to hold all at once.

Scout laughed, half in delight and half from awkward nervousness. “Yeah, yeah, you better thank me. I saved ya butt in there!”

They continued hobbling towards the rest of RED for a long moment, before Scout said, looking anywhere but at Spy. “Don’t worry about it... Dad... I got ya.”

Spy could not help but smile through a mouth of bloody, broken teeth. Suddenly, the world felt a little brighter... 

The End

[charlie-boio]

The Only One For Me: Part Two

Summary: Everyone gets assigned a magical allegiance once they turn 16: Healers, Electrics, Shifters, and Darks, who were more often referred to as Voids. Once you reach 25, you no longer age until you meet soulmate.

After being outcasted by the world so long ago, Stiles Stilinski gave up on ever subjecting his soulmate to being with a Dark and decided that if the world would only ever treat him like it, he’ll be exactly what they wanted him to be: Void

Word Count: 10,098

A/N: My dudes I cannot BELIEVE I thought this ENTIRE story would be a 5k word fic lmao in total its over 16,000 words!! Also I know I said Wednesday but better late than never. Some of you wanted to be tagged which I’m so happy that you enjoyed the first part so much to be tagged in part two. This is the final part so I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I did. I do have new stuff coming soon! Anyways, I’m super proud of this so I hope you enjoy it too!!

**WARNINGS: NFSW! Self-harm, mentions of suicide, angst. On the smut side there’s fingering, oral (female receiving, mentions of male receiving), multiple orgasms (first detailed smut lmao). 

 The house shook after the door slammed shut. You laid there slumped on the ground, with a dumbfounded look on your face.

What the fuck just happened? We’re soulmates, we’re supposed to love each other…right?

You knew the stories of people who had met their soulmate then immediately were separated from them or if they couldn’t satisfy the sexual drive that heightens significantly after meeting. A lull falls over the both of you that could easily be described as a depression fog that clouds you both until you’re reunited once again.

You could already feel it heavy in your chest. Your heart pounded loudly in your eyes while you sunk further into the ground, sobbing loudly. What was wrong with you? Were you truly so unlovable that your soulmate hated you?

Mustering up your strength, you managed to pull yourself up from the floor, feeling embarrassed since your underwear had been torn to shreds by Stiles. You hurried yourself to Allison’s house, crying in her lap about everything that happened as she did her best to reassure you. Nothing worked. You went to bed, feeling worse by the second.

Too top everything off, you had killed someone. Someone you had known, and while he had taken a liking to shitting on Voids once he had gotten older, you couldn’t help but remember the sweet kid from grade school who had sat with you because you were new. And you had killed him, _and then proceeded to have sex?! What the fuck? _Those thoughts sunk you even lower. The tiny rational part of you that knew if you hadn’t of killed Adam, both you and Stiles would be dead, but you weren’t listening. Instead, you listened to the part of you that was convincing you that you were the worst person alive.

No wonder Stiles doesn’t want you. Who would want someone who just kills anyone then fucks someone else? You’re disgusting, pathetic. You don’t even deserve a soulmate.

Scott promised that he’d do everything he could to make Stiles talk to you, but every time he walked the long trail back from the Stilinski home, he never brought Stiles back with him. For five agonizing days, he actively avoided any sort of interaction with you while your thoughts spiraled deeper into self-loathing. He had to know that if you two continued to avoid each other like this what the consequences were; he couldn’t want that for you or him, could he…?

On day six you had decided that enough was enough. You had decided that you would invite him over, make him dinner, and you two would talk. You’d make it clear that you two could take it at whatever pace he felt comfortable with since he took extreme caution in who he’d let in his life. All you wanted was someone to spend the rest of your life with, and if that took some time, you were okay with that.

You gave yourself at least a thousand pep talks in the mirror, put on a cute blue sundress with sandals, and made your way up to his house.

Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, the nagging voice in your head begged you to turn right back around and crawl back under the covers, and your confidence was draining by the second. Nevertheless, you persisted, and before you knew it, you were standing in front of his door. Raising your hand, you attempted to knock on his door. However, something was blocking you from reaching the door. Confused, you tried again to knock, only to have your hand whipped backward, nearing removing your shoulder from its socket. You stood there for a second, dumbfounded, before the door finally swung up, revealing an extremely unhappy Stiles.

“What the fuck do you want?” he said, voice dripping with malice, making your stomach drop to the floor. His gaze pierced right through, jaw ticking in irritation.

Panicking, you said the first thing that came to your head, “Did you put a forcefield around your house to keep me out?” Stiles’ eyes hardened, his scowl deepening. Clearly, not the right thing to say as you mentally cursed yourself.

“You and Scott, who keeps pestering me like a goddamn dog. Now, I ask again, what do you fucking want?” he raised his voice at you, nearly shouting. You began to play with your fingers nervously. A dark voice in your head began to shout louder that you shouldn’t have bothered coming.

“I…I thought we needed to talk about this-“

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

You fumbled for a second, you could feel your breaths become shallower. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go.

“Look, I don’t know why you don’t want to, but this is pretty important. We at least need to-“

“LOOK! There’s nothing to do, there’s nothing to say! I don’t want anything to do with you! You really thing I’m the type of guy to go around having a soulmate? No! I’m a Dark, and I’m Void! I don’t want a fucking soulmate, and I decided that a long time ago, so you need to get used to it. I don’t want to see you, talk to you, in fact, if I could, I would kick you out of my town! So do us all a favor, and get the fuck off of my property!” And with that, he slammed the door, once again leaving you alone.

The voice in your head laughed at you. Pathetic. You really thought that’d work. Are you two actually soulmates? Because if you were, you would’ve known that wouldn’t have worked. Obviously. Over and over those thought plagued you, and the tears flowed down your cheeks faster than you could process. Quickly placing a hand over your mouth, you tried your best to cover your sobs, not wanting to seem like you were begging for his attention. Well, you were, but you had a feeling things would only end up worse if you stayed here crying. He’d likely come out and just keep yelling at you.

Gathering up your shredded dignity, you turned around and began the lonely walk home.

*

Stiles thumped his head against the door, sliding down until he was sat against it. He banged his head three more times, each time harder than the last. Two sides of him were competing, the one wanting nothing more than to spend every ounce of his time with you, showering you with love and affection, showing you just how much he cared, how much he’s always cared. The other part was telling him how you’d want nothing to do with him, that you deserved far better than what he could offer, and he should just let you go and leave you to your life without him in it because that’s what’s best for you. Unfortunately, the latter part of him is winning.

Scott was up at his home every single day, telling him he should at least talk to you, and Stiles wanted nothing more than to do just that. Instead, he told Scott to fuck off every time, and eventually he put up that shield around his house, keeping everyone out. Stiles treated Scott the same way he treated you; he told him he wanted nothing to do with you or Scott, and that everyone should just leave him alone.

He told himself that this is for the best. He learned a long time ago that he couldn’t be loved. Not by anyone. Not even you…

He sat there against the wall, feeling worse by the second.

The next two days dragged from him. A part of him hoped that you would show up again, but you didn’t. He knew he had driven you away for good. He didn’t leave his house or bother to eat, none of it really feeling worth it. Stiles spent most of his time in bed, simultaneously sleeping way too much while having it feel like not enough.

On day three, he felt his forcefield shake, meaning someone had tried to at least knock on the door. He ran from his bedroom, hoping it was you. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed when it was Scott on the other side.

“What do you want,” Stiles muttered, not having any energy.

“Oh? No ‘Fuck you,’ for me today?” Scott’s tone was biting, and his face wasn’t friendly. Stiles looked at him with shock, he hadn’t spoken to him like that before. “Look, Stiles, I’ve tried to be nice about this whole ‘you avoid your fucking soulmate’ bit, but enough is enough. You need to at least talk to her! You’re soulmates for a fucking reason! You consider me your friend, right?”

“Yes, I-“

“Then quit shutting us out, shutting _me _out, and shutting y/n out because let’s not forget the fact that she saved your fucking life. Without her, you’d be dead, you understand? Even if she wasn’t your soulmate, you should at least, the very fucking least thank her!” Scott slammed his hand against the forcefield. “All any of us want is for you to be happy, and to get out of your deep mistrust of people because look around! This entire place is filled with Darks and people who don’t give a shit about your magical allegiance if you’re a good person. We’re not going to cast you away, Stiles, all we want is to help you,” Scott’s tone changed from anger to sympathy as he spoke.

The forcefield Stiles had been maintaining began to fade away, mostly out exhaustion on Stiles’ end to keep it up. Still, he couldn’t help but let his walls start to crack after all these years of keeping them up.

“Scott…I don’t deserve her. I’m not enough,” Stiles whispered, holding back his tears. Old habits die hard.

“You don’t know that,” Scott took a step forward and placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just talk to her man.” Scott continued with his speech, but Stiles stopped listening, suddenly feeling and overwhelm urge that something was wrong.

“Scott…where does y/n live?” Stiles said so quietly that Scott almost missed it. Scott noticed instantly his tone wasn’t of resolve to see you, but of panic.

“Um, wha-“

“Where does she live?” Stiles said, louder and more urgently. He grabbed at Scott’s shoulders, panic in his eyes while Scott’s also widened in fear at how Stiles was acting.

“Um, three houses from Allison-“

“Is she there now?!”

“Uh-ye-yeah I think-“ Stiles didn’t bother hearing the rest of what Scott had to say as he shoved him aside and bolted down the path

Please don’t be too late, he thought. Please, don’t be too late!

*

You had decided that day that you’d end your life. You had read countless stories on how soulmates who had been separated or died before they got to know each other. The survivor usually killed themselves after they’ve aged another ten years. Usually, the were miserable the entire time with their powers draining to the point where some couldn’t even access their abilities anymore. You didn’t want to come to that fate. If it was inevitable, you’d get it out of the way, saving yourself from years of grief and giving Stiles the life he wanted.

You sat next to the bathtub, swirling the water around with your hand. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you had it on; you weren’t going to get in. Maybe to make it easier?

You looked at the silver dagger, a gift from one of your old friends who were driven out of your hometown for being a Dark, and decided it was now or never. Picking up the blade, you pressed the tip to the skin on your wrist, tears streaking down your cheeks. You didn’t want to die; you wanted a life with your soulmate, with Stiles. But he didn’t want you…God, you’ve never felt so unlovable in your entire fucking life.

Taking a deep breath, you let the blade slowly cut through your skin, seeing the crimson blood leak out slowly.

Then the door flew open, startling you and causing you to jump. You jerked your head in the direction of the open doorway with Stiles standing there. He was breathing heavily, his forehead covered in sweat. Seeing the knife in your hand, his eyes widened.

For a split second, neither of you moved, unsure what to do.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Stiles sprang into action, rushing toward grabbing. Forcefully, he ripped the knife out of your hand and flung it toward the wall where it stuck like a bullseye. Gently but with fever, he grabbed your shoulders and ran you over to the nearby sink, turning on the water and thrusting your wrist into the stream. He used his finger to wipe away at the blood.

“It’s not that bad…it’s not that bad…” he whispered, mostly to reassure himself. After cleaning out the cut as best he could, he ran around your bathroom, frantically opening drawers and cabinets until he found the first aid kit. He pulled out the disinfectant and began to work, cleaning the wound and bandaging it up as best he could. He took in a shaky breath once he realized that you were going to be okay.

Meanwhile, you had merely been staring at him, eyes wide while you watched him work to patch you up. This didn’t make sense. I thought he didn’t care…

You two stayed like that for a few minutes, you staring at him while he stared at your arm, his thumb smoothing over the bandage. Every so often he would dip down and press his lips to your wrist.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard Stiles mumble something, but you couldn’t decipher it.

“Hm?” you hummed softly, trying not to scare him away.

“Why…” he whispered, finally lifting his head to look at you properly, tears welling in his eyes.

You were confused. “What?”

Suddenly, he grabbed your shoulders roughly, forcing you to stand and walk backwards until your back was pressed against a wall. Tears fell openly across his face while he looked at you with a mixture of pain, panic, and…love?

“Why? Why would you do that? Why would you even think to…just please! Don’t do that please just tell me why?” Stiles was pressing you, his voice becoming shakier with each passing word.

“BECAUSE YOU DON’T CARE!” You shouted angrily. Stiles jumped back, his eyes wide with shock and fear. He still held you at an arm’s length away. You took a deep breath before continuing. “Look…if you want to spend the rest of your life alone without…without a soulmate, go right ahead. I won’t stop you. I want you to live the life you want. But I can’t follow that path. I won’t lie, this past week and a half has been absolutely miserable, and I won’t let myself spend the next years just withering away. I won’t, I can’t…I’m sorry” your voice faded away once you were finished speaking.

Stiles dipped his head low, not meeting your eye. His grip on your shoulders tightened while you two stayed there for another few moments of agonizing silence.

“I want everything for you,” Stiles spoke, voice wavering as his tears fell quicker than they were before. “I want you to have the life you deserve. A life that you want for yourself, a life filled with every opportunity that you could ever imagine. But…I’m a Dark…all my opportunities are gone, the world just won’t let me have even a chance. I can’t give that to you, I can’t give you want you deserve.”

“But what about what I want?” Stiles’ eyes snapped up to meet yours with a hopeful look in them. “What I want, more than anything, is you. My soulmate. I want you with me. I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet you and show you just how much I care about you. I don’t need anything else. And I promise you, Stiles, that no matter what hell you went through to get to where you are now, I promise I’m not going to run away. I’ll be right here, by your side. Like how we are meant to be. You’re the only one for me,”

Stiles head fell forward until your foreheads were pressed together. You could hear him take in shaky breaths as he tried to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said, I just-I don’t-I’ve never had someone like you in my life before. I shouldn’t have ran away that day…I just got so scared that I would fuck things up, then I went ahead and fucked things up. I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

He moved his head to the crook between your neck and shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He continued to mumble constant apologizes while you reassured him. You could feel his warm tears soak the front of your shirt as he breaths became less ragged until finally his breathing was slow and deep; your heartbeats in sync with each other. The depression fog you had felt after that day slowly began to lift with a sense of peace washing over the both of you.

Stiles was the first to pull back, taking one step away. You looked at each other, the sexual tension dropping in out of nowhere.

Seriously? You thought. You can’t wait? We’re having a moment! Of course you knew how it was with the first few days interacting with your soulmate. Biology stops for no one.

His hand slid down until you two were holding hands, giving you a small smile in the process. The other hand ran through his hair nervously.

“Um…th-that day, uh, after we-um-after we-“

“Had sex?” you offered. A deep blush settled onto his cheeks, his eyes widened at your bluntness.

“Uh, yeah, well…” Stiles trailed off, gripping your hand tighter.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” you said, gently placing your other hand on top of his. “I’m not gonna bolt out the door at a personal question. We’re soulmates, we should probably know each other pretty well, or at least know what our favorite color is,” Stiles laughed at your comment, and while it wasn’t a long or loud laugh, you still felt accomplished.

“…yellow,” Stiles said with smile still split across his face. “It’s yellow.”

You smiled back at him, giggling at the irony. “So’s mine,” He grin brightened. “So…what did you want to ask me?”

Stiles pressed his lips into a thin line before clearing his throat, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. The sexual tension laid thick between you two, appear almost out of nowhere. “Were you a virgin before we had sex?” Sex wasn’t something he often talked about, so talking about it so openly, especially with you, still made him a little uncomfortable.

You squeezed his hand, silently congratulating him for that minor win. “I was. I had a boyfriend back in my hometown…Adam…”

Stiles eyes widened, his jaw falling to the floor. “You dated the guy that almost killed me?” He nearly shouted, tone harsh.

You scowled at him. “I killed him, Stiles, to save you. I…I didn’t even think twice…” Your face quickly changed from anger to…sadness? No, that wasn’t right. Stiles had seen that look on his face numerous times. Guilt.

He panicked slightly, unsure of what to do. He’s never really comforted someone before. Looking back now, it seems like everyone else was always taking care of him. With his panic rising, he blurted the first things he could think of.

“Thank you, y/n. Seriously. If you hadn’t of done that, I wouldn’t be standing here right now…with you,” you looked at him with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Fuck. He wasn’t good at this. “Um…I think it would also be good to talk to someone about it…”

“Not you?”

“Y/n I-“ love you. He’d almost said it but caught himself. He did, he had loved his soulmate from the second he found out he had one, but he had just gotten you after nearly losing you. He didn’t want to scare you away. “-care about you. So much. But…we’ve just met. Right now, we don’t know too much about each other, and believe me, I plan to spend every single moment I can getting to know you, but I am in no position to give you advice about this because I don’t know how to help you,” he squeezed your hand gently, moving the other to cup your face, his thumb wiping away the stray tear. “Awhile ago, Scott had dragged me out to see a therapist that’s around here. I only went twice, but honestly I wish I had kept going. She was really helpful, and she said things that I just wasn’t ready to hear, so I got angry and left. But she’s part of the reason I was able to venture out of the house once in a fucking blue moon…or go to dinner with Scott and his friends-“

“You know, they’re your friends too,” you whispered.

Stiles nodded, more to reiterate that point to himself. “I think you should see her. She’d be able to help you know a lot more than I could. But I’ll tell you this: Y/n, it wasn’t out of malice what you did. I promise. If you hadn’t of killed him…I would’ve died. And I think he would’ve killed you after finishing with me. No, scratch that. I don’t think. I know. Come here,” he pulled you forward until your cheek was pressed against his shoulder, his arms around you again, only this time it was him comforting you.

“You underestimate yourself, Stiles. I feel a little better thanks to you,” Stiles hummed, the vibrations hitting your cheek. “Would…would you come with me? It’s not too late to go back…”

He hesitated for a moment, then answered, “Yeah, I’ll go with you. I owe her an apologize. I owe a lot of people an apology…” you shushed him quietly, not letting him sink into his usual self-loathing. This time, you pulled back, smiling up at him. He returned the smile, making you realize just how little you’ve seen him smile, but loving it all the same.

Of course, the sexual tension from earlier had decided to hit you both like a goddamn truck. You’ve got to be fucking me, you thought. Despite what you knew, you tried to suppress your desires, not wanting to mess up this moment with him.

Unfortunately, Stiles had already felt it, and you saw his nervous ticks return. An awkward silence joined the room besides the heavy sexual tensions, clearly a perfect combination. This continued for a few painstakingly long minutes, neither of you sure of what to do.

Stiles cleared his throat, “Um…how-how come you never…did anything with him?” he asked tensely, trying not to break the delicate peace you two had achieved.

“Well…he wasn’t my soulmate,” you said slowly. “Once I had found out about them, I had felt guilty for taking that step with someone else. Even if I was drunk.” You shrugged. “But if you had sex with others, I’m not gonna freak out or anything, that’s just how I felt. I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to.”

Stiles looked down at his feet. He had felt the same way before, but once the world abandoned him, he thought he’d never meet his soulmate. He silently cursed himself, regretting every other sexual encounter that he had. “I’m guessing that wasn’t how you imagined your first time would be,” he said sadly.

You shook your head. “No, it wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t like it,” A smile flickered across his face. His hands slid down your body before they were settling on your hips, pulling you close to him. Your eyes looked into his honey ones. He bit his lip, his stare full of lust, want, yet it was also pleading with you.

“Can-can I try again?” he whispered, nearly inaudible. But you heard him, and all you could manage to do was nod, unable to find the words.

Tentatively, he moved his hands until they were gently cupping your face before he pressed his lips to yours. It was different from before. It was soft, almost like he was afraid to break you. Your hands moved to wrap around his neck, bringing both of you closer together than before. You felt your hearts beat together, signifying how this was all meant to be.

Slowly, the kiss became more heated, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His hands roamed freely around your body, ghosting over your breasts to settle back on your hips, giving them a squeeze.

“Jump,” he breathed out between kisses. You happily complied, wrapping your legs around his torso once again, only instead of him pressing you up against the wall, he walked out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, placing you down gently onto the mattress as he hovered over you, smiling down at you before kissing you once again. He slid his hand up and down your thigh before lifting it up and slotting it against hip, rocking his hardened cock into your core while you rolled your hips up to meet his needy thrusts. Everything happening was slowly, but deliberately.

Leaning back, Stiles skimmed his hands down the hem of your shirt, tugging for a second before lifting it above your head and tossing it over his shoulder, not caring where it landed. Since you had forgone a bra, your chest was completely bare to him. He bit his lip, looking up at you, his once honey brown eyes were now almost jet black, blown wide with lust. He moved his hands to cup your breasts, squeezing them roughly, his lips brushing at your neck.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered into your neck, causing you to moan out and arched your back toward him. “’M gonna take care of you, ‘M gonna take such good care of you baby I promise. I’ll fuck you so good…so good,” He continued to palm your tits before dipping down and sealing his lips around your nipple, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak. Frantically, you grabbed the back of his head, threading your fingers through his dark hair before grasping them roughly.

“Fuck, Stiles…” you moaned, closing your eyes tightly at the sensations he was giving you, his tongue moving expertly across your chest, leaving angry red marks in his wake. You relished in the feeling, never wanted it to end.

Reluctantly, he removed his mouth from your breast with a pop, reaching behind him to remove his shirt and toss it. He shifted down further, feather touching your body until he reached the waistband of your shorts. Looping his fingers, he dragged them down your legs slowly. Too slowly. After they were thrown off you, Stiles massaged his fingertips into your thighs, spreading your legs wider to expose your covered core to him. Leaning forward, he kissed the inside of your thighs, trailing around your panties and nibbling on your hipbones. His fingers slid up and down your covered core, feeling your wetness through the soaked panties.

“Stiles…please, please…” you begged. He looked back up at you, his movements stilling. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“As you wish, anything for you my dove, anything,”

Not taking as much care as before, he threw your panties off you, groaning at the sight of your glistening folds. Adjusting himself so he was on his stomach, he circled his hands around your thighs, placing one final kiss on each one before he dived right in, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out instantly at the contact, your hips leaving the bed to roll into his face. That barely lasted a second while his arm snaked around and pressed your hips back down.

He began to suck on your clit harshly, flicking various patterns across the bud. His other hand moved to probed at your entrance, circling one finger around before he was sinking it in knuckle deep. He swirled his finger around slowly, thrusting a couple times before adding a second finger into your warm wet core. He glanced up to look at you, only to find your head thrown back in ecstasy, soft moans exhaling through your lips.

He tipped your head forward. “Open your eyes dove, I wanna see you fall apart please,” Stiles’ voice was low and sultry.

You pried your eyes open, but they so heavy, every limb in your body felt boneless. “Stiles…I-I don’t know how long-“

“Keep them open as long as you can baby, I know you can do it,” Stiles’ mouth was back on your clit, slick sounds filled the room as he pumped his fingers at a speed that was nearly incomprehensible, but his eyes were on yours, pupils dilating even more at the state you were in.  Your moans grew louder, his name spilling from your lips over and over again. The coil in your stomach tightened further while you clenched desperately around his fingers, drawing him in further and further.

“Stiles, I-I’m close!” you panted out.

“S’okay, baby, let go I’ve got you, I’ve got you baby,” And with a particular thrust of his fingers and another harsh suck on your clit, you came undone. Closing your eyes tightly and throwing your head back, you orgasm crushed over you, shaking your entire body as you grabbed the sheets of the bed. His tongue continued to work against you, lapping up all your juices from you. You jerked and spasmed in his grip, toes curling at the over-stimulation until he pulled away, smiling cockily at you and wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

Stiles hovered over you once again, bracing himself on one forearm while the gripped your right hip. He peppered kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and across your face. Meanwhile, you were sucking in deep breaths trying to calm your racing heart. He smiled down at you, kissing the tip of your nose and giving you time to recover from your intense orgasm.

“You okay? Was that alright, not too rough?” he whispered, his tone sweet and laced with adoration. You nodded, still breathless.

“It was perfect,” you whimpered.

He smiled against your skin, moving his kisses from your face to your jaw, trailing down to your neck. “Good,” he said. “I wanted it to be perfect. I want _everything _to be perfect for you. I want absolutely everything for you, my dove,” he continued to kiss your neck softly, not pressing any further to let you recover. “Do you want to take a break? We do have to keep going,” your heart melting at his words, a smile tugging at your lips.

“It’s okay, I want to keep going,” you said confidently.

“Good,” he smiled genuinely at you, placing a chaste but sweet kiss to your lips. You sighed into the kiss, disappointed when it ended all too soon.

Stiles moved to stand, undoing the belt on his jeans quickly. Popping the button, he dragged his jeans down with his boxer. Your eyes widened, staring directly at his cock. It was large, bigger than what you remembered, although your last experience had been a lust-filled blur you can’t really remember it. Honestly, it felt rude to stare, but you couldn’t help it. The head was leaking with precum, and instinctively you bit your lip.

After a moment, you flicked your eyes up to see Stiles’ gaze already on yours, a cocky smirk stamped on his face. “Whatcha doing?” he said teasingly. You blushed, now doing everything in your power to avoid looking at his dick.

“Um…is-is it gonna fit?” Stiles laughed loudly at that.

“Baby, it fit before!”

“Well, I wasn’t really pay attention before!” Now you were laughing, breaking the awkward tension that had started to form. You sat forward, reaching your hand out to stroke him before he stopped you.

“Tonight, my dove, is all about you,” he said, pushing you gently back to lie among the covers again.

He crawled up toward to, spreading your legs wide and slotting his hips against yours, running his cock up and down your folds, which were still completely soaked from your previous orgasm. Stiles tipped your head forward again, the playful look from before was gone and replaced with a serious one. His eyes, however, expressed such love for one, that maybe one day he hoped to be able to find the courage to explain how intense his feelings are. Instead, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

“Are you sure?” he checked one last time. You smiled at him, nodding your head.

Placing another kiss, he lined himself up at your entrance and slowly began to push himself in. You gasped, still not used to having someone inside you. He took his time, moving his cock in inch by inch until he was seated in you completely, his hips pressed up against your own. He bit his lip, trying not to cum just by being inside your warm, wet, and tight pussy.

Your hands grabbed at his shoulders. “Move, Stiles, please! Please!” you begged.

“I’ve got you, dove,” Slowly, he moved his hips back, pulling out nearly all the way before sliding back. He started slow, but each thrust into you was precise, hitting all the right places inside you. The pleasure was building in your stomach as he got deeper and deeper inside you. He was taking his time fucking you, not wanting to rush anything.

Your legs wrapped around him, locking together at your ankles so he was able to sink even deeper into you. His hot breath was against your neck, moaning out your name.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight baby,” he said, thrusting in between each punctuation. “You feel so good, so fucking good, oh my god. Fuck! You’re so warm, s’good. You were made for me, dove, made for me in every possible way,” With each thrust, he picked up his speed while your fingernails dug crescent shaped moons into his skin, your mind becoming foggy with only his name running through your mind. You felt every throb of him each time he pounded into you while his whispered filthy things in your ear, spurring you on even further as you got closer and closer to the edge for the second time.

“Want more baby? Need more from me?” you let out a moan, unable to find words. He chuckled at your fucked-out state. Stilling for just a moment (you let out an uncomfortable whine), he shifted your leg to settle over his shoulder. He picked a grueling pace, thrusting into you again. By now, your moans were loud, you were pratically screaming out his name as he fucked you into oblivion. Somehow, Stiles kept up this punishing pace, chasing his own climax.

Eventually, his thrusts grew sloppy and needy, his orgasm nearing closer and closer.

“Stiles-“ was all of a warning you could muster that you were close too. He looked at you and pressed two of his fingers against your lips, slipping through into your mouth. You sucked on them languidly, Stiles’ eyes slipping shut as he groaned.

Pulling them out with a pop, he slid his hand back down, pressing hard against against your overly abused clit. One quick circle around the bud was all it took for you to come crashing over the edge, cumming harshly as your orgasm took over your entire body, flooding all of your senses like fire rushing up through your veins. Every single part of you shook, waves of pleasure flooding over you while Stiles fucked you through your orgasm until he came himself with a shout of your name on his lips, his cum coating your walls. That was the last thing you remembered before blacking out completely.

When you came too, you had another pair of panties on along with his shirt, and you were tucking under the covers. You pried your eyes open, only to find that Stiles was nowhere to be found. You panicked, thought that he had left you again. You stood, maneuvering on shaky legs toward the bedroom door. Leaning against the wall, you opened the door as best you could.

“Stiles,” you called. No response. Dread pooled in your stomach as your anxiety heightened even further. Did he leave again? “STILES?” you shouted.

“Baby?” he said, sounding far away. You let out a breath, relieved. You heard him climb the stairs, taking two at a time. Stiles peered around the corner, shirtless with only his boxer briefs on and a glass of water in his hand. He rushed up to you, placing a quick peck on your forehead before running into the bedroom to place the glass of water on the nightstand. Walking back to you, he scooped you up and carried you bridal style back onto the bed. “What’s wrong? Why did you get up?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I-I got worried…it seems a little silly now,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

Stiles chuckled, then nodded over to the floor, “My pants and shoes are still here dove, I highly doubt I’ll be going anywhere without those,” he said, his tone playful. You looked to the floor, a giggle on your lips as you laughed at your obliviousness. “And besides,” he said, leaning and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, “I’m not going anywhere.” Stiles shuffled you around until you were laying a cheek on his chest, his heartbeat thumping steadily against your ear while your legs tangled together.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Go to sleep, my dove.”

*

You two spent the next week in bed, pretty much just fucking the entire time. Sometimes it was slow and loving, him thrusting into you slow and deep, dragging out your experience together. Other times it was rough, him tugging on your hand as he pounded into you with godlike speed. You’d ride on his cock, tits bouncing for him while he left fingerprint bruises into your skin, he’d have you on your knees choking on his cock, or he’d pound you from behind, pulling your back against his chest while he muttered what a good girl you were for taking him so well.

In between the sex, you two would talk about everything and nothing all at once. You found that he still had a little trouble opening up to you, which you knew would take some time. However, you would be here with open arms whenever he felt ready. Nevertheless, you still saw parts of him that you never expected: he was shy, sweet, but at the same time he was really funny. Even a little charismatic at times. You could also see just how much he cared about other people. It was buried, yes, but there.

In return, he learned so much about you. You told plenty of childhood stories, from when you broke your leg by falling down two steps of stairs (“Hey! I was frail five-year-old!”) to the time on Halloween when you dressed as a werewolf and instead of saying “trick or treat!” at the door, you howled.

Things weren’t always so easy, once your little sexapade ended. A lifetime trauma of neglect wasn’t going to disappear overnight, and neither was the looming guilt that you killed someone. Early on, it had been frustrating when Stiles got into his moods or had a bad day. He’d reverted into his cold exterior shell that wouldn’t open for anyone, not even you. All you wanted to do was help and he wouldn’t let you. Some of the bad days, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. Other times, he’d get angry at your mere presence. He’d shut you out and you’d angry, only for him to come around and apologize. You had decided that this wasn’t exactly healthy and came up with a solution that seemed to work for him. He’d tell you if he was having a bad day, and you’d ask if he want to talk about, wanted you to distract him from it by talking, wanted you to just hold him, or wanted to be left alone. You thanked your therapist for the idea, and it worked wonders.

Even for you, when you had your first bad day, Stiles was in a particularly good mood, and you didn’t want to spoil it for him with your own troubles. But he was smart and caught on pretty quick that something was wrong. You had immediately started sobbing, thinking you had ruined everything when he used your own tricks against you.

The only caveat was when you both had a bad day, but overtime, your guys’ bad days became less and less frequent. You had made it a point for Stiles to go outside at least once a day, either with you or Scott, and to join all of your friends for dinner whenever they got together. Of course, he’d been reluctant to go, but eventually he did more than just sit there with a brooding look on his face. He made small comments every now and then, even allowing himself to chuckle at a joke or two. It was small progress, but progress, nonetheless.

It had been three years since you and Stiles had found each other, and for the first time in a long time you were nervous, pacing back and forth around the living room of Stiles’ home. You had asked Scott for help in distracting Stiles while you got everything ready. Slowly, your negative thoughts overcame you. Maybe this was a bad idea… you thought. Maybe it’s not too late to fix it! Unfortunately, just as your resolve to do this had dwindle, you heard the doorknob turn. You gasped, turning to see Stiles walk through the door, a small smile on his lips as his eyes met yours.

“Hey Stiles,” you said, forcing a smile as best you could.

“Hey, my dove,” he responded, taking quick steps over to turn. Placing his large hands on your waist, he pulled you closer, leaning down to kiss you, which you happily returned, thinking that you had fooled him. Obviously, you had been wrong.

“Bad day?” he muttered into your lips. “What do you need from me baby?”

“Um, uh, not a bad day,” you stuttered.

“Nervous? You haven’t been nervous in awhile baby,” he squeezed at your waist reassuringly.

“Well, um, I-“

“Flustered now too? Are you sure everything’s okay?” Stiles peered down at you, worry swimming in his eyes.

You couldn’t handle that look in his eyes much longer, “I sold my house!” you blurted out.

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline as his jaw fell open. He took a few steps back, scratching as the back of his neck nervously. “Um…come again?” he asked.

You sighed, willing yourself to focus your gaze on him. “I, uh, sold my house. There was this really nice family that was moving in, and their budget was super limited and I felt really, really bad honestly it was just so spur of the moment and-“

“Y/n, where are you going to live?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Um, I was kinda hoping I could move in with you?” you said slowly. Stiles mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as he finally understood. “Look, I’m already here nearly every single night with you, and we’re actually running out of homes here because it’s no longer just single people coming it’s whole families! And I really don’t need the space especially since all my time is with you, which I absolutely love by the way, and they were pretty desperate to find a home so next thing I knew I was offering up my house, and your really should’ve seen their faces, and-“ he cut you off, grabbing your face roughly and pressing his lips against yours, slipping his tongue inside with ease.

Pulling away, he smiled at you. “I would love for you to move in with me,” Stiles said with a goofy grin on his face.

You squealed, jumping into his arms while he spun you around, both of your laughter filling the air.

“So, should we go and get your stuff?” Stiles asked after setting you down.

A blush crept onto your cheeks as you smiled nervously. “About that,” you drawled out. “I, uh, may or may not of had Scott distract you so I could move in all of my things,”

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, jerking his head to look around the room. “Um? It literally looks the same baby,”

“Well, there wasn’t much to move, considering I had practically all of my belongings here for almost half a year now,” you said, with a sudden realization. “But there was something I had to move over, wait here!” you ran over, placing a quick peck on his cheek before into your now shared bedroom, opening a box and filing through all the different pieces to find the letters that you had written to your soulmate before you knew it was Stiles. Gathering up the small bundle, you excitedly rushed out to a waiting Stiles. “Um, when I first heard I had a soulmate, at six, I had wanted to write you a whole bunch of letters, but my parents restricted me to one a year, so,” you chuckled nervously seeing Stiles’ eyes widened, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Wait here,” he said quickly before running out of the room. You sat down on the couch, a little confused. When he returned, your jaw dropped to the floor with the enormous pile of letters, nearly overflowing and falling out of his arms because there were so many. “Um, my parents didn’t restrict me, but looking at it now, maybe they should have,”

“Holy fuck Stiles!” you laughed. “How many are there?”

“I think I lost count after around sixty-four...?”

“SIXTY-FOUR?” By now, you couldn’t stop laughing at the absurdity of it, but at the same time your heart melting at the fact that he cared so much for you then, even if you didn’t know him.

Stiles smiled fondly at you. “You should read some of them, I probably should’ve kept them in order…”

You chuckled, plucking a random one from the pile and tearing it open. This one was from when he was nine, telling you about some of the new friends he made in fourth grade, how he loves science and hates English, and how he finally has all of his grown-up teeth in. He also complimented you, saying that no matter what you looked like, you were already the prettiest girl in the world. You smiled at how adorable he was, only for it to turn into a sad one as you wondered what happened.

The next letter was a cringey one from when he was 13 and writing some God-awful poetry (“Hey, Romeo and Juliet really hit it home for me!” he had told you.) You cringed the whole time reading it but smiled at his efforts.

The last letter you grabbed was from when he was 15. His birthday was a few months away, and Stiles was spending his time wondering what his magical allegiance would be. He seen some of his older friends with powers, and they looked cool as fuck! He also mentioned how he now despises science thanks to a teacher named Mr. Harris, and his girlfriend had recently broken up with him. He said how sorry he was for dating her, thinking maybe she was you, but now he knew it wasn’t, and he was going to try his best to be patient waiting for, but he was just so excited to meet you so he could spend the rest of his loving you. He signed it “Love, Stiles” that’s how he signed every letter.

“You had a girlfriend?” you asked, a hint of teasing in your voice.

“Yeah, uh, she broke up with me when she tried to kiss me, but I couldn’t kiss her back.”

“Why not?”

“Because she wasn’t my soulmate; she wasn’t YOU. I wanted my first kiss to be with them, and she had gotten really angry and broke up with me on the spot,” his smile faltered as he talked. “I really wish I had kept that mindset…” he trailed off, not meeting your eye.

“You know, I’m not angry at you for that,” you said sympathetically.

“I-I know, I know!” he said quickly. “It’s just, I wish it could’ve been as special as yours was,” Stiles reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another letter. “This is the final one I wrote to you. I had just turned sixteen,” he whispered.

His hand was shaky slightly as he held it out for you. You knew that he was opening up to you like never before.

Slowly, you opened the letter. It was shorter than the other ones you read.

Dear Soulmate,

I’m fucked. Forever fucked. Oh God why did this have to happen to me? What the fuck did I do wrong?

I thought I could be different, but I was wrong. Even my parents are still afraid of me, afraid of what I can supposedly do. I won’t use my powers. I won’t, even if it does slowly kill me.

They all hate me now will you hate me too?

Please don’t hate me

I love you.

Tears welled in your eyes. You looked up at Stiles, only to see him avoiding your gaze, much more interested in the floor.

“Stiles,” you said quietly. He looked up at you, his shoulders slumped low. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I want to,” he said, his eyes fixed onto you. “I want to…”

He shuffled for a second, scratching at his face and running a hand through his hair. He leaned heavily against the wall, his head low again. “It was instant,” he started. “The change. One minute I had loads of friends, and the next they all despised me, throwing insult after insult. Some just pretended I didn’t exist. Quite honestly, I don’t know which hurt more, but either way, they all abandoned me when I needed them the most,” Stiles took in another shaky breath before continuing. “Everything changed. I got detention once for breaking a pencil and going up to sharpen it. I became what everyone thought I would be not because its who I am, but because they made me feel I had no other choice. I started getting death threats everyday that they just became normal. I tried reporting them, but everyone just assumed I was lying because I’m a Void right? It’s in my goddamn nature!” His voice had risen considerably, feeling something shift inside of him now that he was letting this part of his past go.

“My parents were the only ones that still loved me, and they burned down my fucking house because of it. They killed the only people who were willing to give me a chance, who were willing to love me despite everything that had happened to me, and I just got so angry that day. So fucking angry. I decided to throw everyone out of this town. I didn’t want to kill them, I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t mean to start this whole safe haven bit, but once people heard, Darks just came here so they could finally live under the sun, because they knew exactly what I had been through.

“Now the whole world has changed. Some safe havens didn’t even need to fight! Their governor or whoever the fuck just said ‘Hey this place is open for Darks! Don’t like it? Fuck off, then,’ and people just accepted it. They’re all over the entire world now! All because I just wanted the people who used to love me to go away, I didn’t intend any of this…and sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if you had known me back then…would you still love me?”

“Stiles, of course I would still love you!” you exclaimed, the tears streaking down your face. “You’re parents loved you-“

“They had to. I was their only son…”

“And I was my parents’ only daughter, and they didn’t think twice before throwing me out into the streets,” you said, eyebrows furrowing. “They throw me out without even a second glance. That’s how a lot of Darks ended up in the dark corners of the world; their parents threw them out. But not yours, Stiles, because they truly loved you,” you stood, walking slowly over to stand in front of Stiles. His cheeks were shiny with tears, but his eyebrows weren’t furrowed, and the tension in his face was gone. You reached up to cup his face in your hands. “I know you didn’t intend it, but you changed the world for the better. And…I’ve learned that the people who truly love you won’t care about something you have no control over. They love you for you, just like I love you, Stiles”

His arms snaked around your waist, settling on your lower back while he pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you. So much. I’ve loved you since the second I’ve heard about even having a soulmate. I loved you that first day I saw you eating ice cream with our friends. I’ve loved you my whole life…you’re part of the reason I didn’t succumb to my isolation. I thought about getting rid of those letters, but every time I tried, I couldn’t do you because I love you, and deep down, I knew that you loved me too.”

“I do love you, Stiles,”

“I know, if there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure about, its that you love me, and I love you,”

*

“Congratulations on the engagement!” Stiles said, patting his friend on the back.

“Thanks man,” Scott said, smiling his big goofy grin. “I’m so excited to finally marry her, when are you gonna pop the question for y/n?”

Stiles smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, I have a plan,” he said rather nonchalantly.

“Will I be informed of this plan?”

“No,”

“Bro! Come on, I’m your best friend,” Scott made it a point to bring that up nearly everyday since Stiles told him that.

“I know, BUT you’ll tell Allison, who will then tell y/n, making it not be a surprise anymore, and I want it to be a surprise,”

“Fair enough,”

They continued on for a moment in silence. Not the awkward silence from years before when Scott had to drag him out of the house, but a comfortable one. One between good friends.

“Hey,” Scott said, stopping in his tracks for a moment. Stiles looked at him concerned. “I just wanted to say how proud of you I am. You’ve really come a long way,”

“So has the world. How many safe havens did you say there are now?”

“I think it’s around 250?”

Stiles whistled lowly at that. “Oh, um, thank you,” he said, with more awkwardness then he had intended.

“Of course,” Scott said sincerely, saving the moment.

“Um, actually, if you don’t mind, I could use a favor,”

“Anything,”

*

It was a lazy day for you. Stiles had woken you after a night of mind-blowing sex to tell you that he was leaving for a bit to hang with Scott. You didn’t mind. After all, you were pretty sore. You could use the extra rest.

Unfortunately, you had slept another five hours, sleeping through Stiles entire visit with Scott. You would’ve kept sleeping too, had Stiles not woken you up.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said sweetly, gently shaking your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you whined. “More sleep,”

“Baby, its almost one in the afternoon!” he laughed incredulously at you.

You sighed, peaking one eye open to look at him. “So?”

“So,” he drawled. “I have a surprise for.”

You shot up at his words. “For me? It’s not my birthday or our anniversary…”

“Come on now, I can’t surprise my lovely girlfriend just this once?” he said, tone a little smug but you didn’t mind.

“What is it?”

He smiled, holding out an envelope for you, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t nervous about it. Giving him a playful but confused look, you took the envelope and peered inside.

“Plane tickets?” you looked up at him, a smile spreading slowly. “Where are we going?”

“Everywhere. Anywhere. I’ve always wanted to travel the world, and when I found out I was a Void, I didn’t think it was possible, but with the way the world is now, I don’t see why not. I picked out our first destination, but after that, its up to you,” Stiles took your hand in his, squeezing gently. “I was also thinking that, even though I never meant to, I started this massive shift in the world. I want to do more good, and I to abolish the safe havens so that we don’t need sacred places to live. We could live wherever we want to live because we’re no different. I’m hoping with you by my side, you could help me with that.” He smiled at you hopefully, and it took you no time to think of your answer.

“Yes, yes of course!” you exclaimed, pulling him down to kiss him passionately.

“Alright, we’re leaving today. Quick! Get dressed! Start packing we’ve got a lot to do baby!” He kissed quickly again before running off, babbling on for what you and him needed to do.

In no time at all, you two found yourselves at the front gate, a bag in one hand while the other held tightly onto him.

He smiled brightly, a light in his eyes twinkling. “We could change the world, my dove,”

“Together?”

Stiles smiled down at you. “Always.”

And with that, the front gates opened for you. Hand in hand, you two walked out, ready to change the world.

Tags:

@beaubinxie​ @writingsbychlo​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @0castergirl0​

[fellulahh]

Imagine - Mammon interrupts MC’s alone time

NSFW

-

Mammon was rummaging through the drawers of your room one day when you were out getting your nails painted with Asmo. And on this occasion he wasn’t looking for something valuable to sell - he was actually looking for goldie. Lucifer had once again confiscated the card and Mammon was so desperate to find it, he was willing to turn the whole house upside down - including your bedroom.

He was making his way through the last drawers of your dresser beside your bed when he was about to give up. He pulled open the last drawer and instantly became flustered at the site of your panties. His cheeks exploded in a crimson glow before slamming the drawer shut again.

“Why she gotta leave those laying around?” He muttered under his breath.

Not wanting to find anything else that may cause him to have images in his mind that he probably shouldn’t be thinking about, he went to leave the room. He poked his head out, looking both ways before immediately diving back in.

“Shit” he mumbled, panicked.

Asmo and MC has returned from their trip out in Devildom and MC was walking straight toward her room. Thankfully, she was too busy looking down at her D.D.D to notice the white haired brother trying to sneak out of her room.

Although it wasn’t unusual for MC to return to her room with Mammon already inside, given that he was still in a state of fluster, he definitely would have been questioned for looking so suspicious. So, Mammon being Mammon, decided that the better option would be to hide. Eyes darting around the room, he saw the space under the bed and dived under, wriggling his body far back enough so that he wasn’t in site.

The door swung open and in came the unassuming MC. Mammon cursed under his breath “what idiot hides under the bed? She’s come home to you in her room thousands of times!”

He watched her dainty feet make their way across the floor, kicking off her shoes as she made her way in. “Finally” she sighed, as there was some audible fumbling. A piece of material dropped in front of the bed and Mammon’s eyebrows furrowed.

Slumping into the chair on the opposite side of the room, Mammon heard MC quietly hum to herself. “What’s she doing?” He wondered. Mammon peeked out from under the bed, wanting to see his human. Like a turtle’s head going back into its shell, Mammon retreated back to his hiding spot instantly. With wide eyes, his cheeks grew a furious red tinge as he stared at the floor. “Oh no...”

“Mmm” he heard a moan across the room.

Shit shit shit!

Even though he saw her for a second - just a split second - he knew exactly what she was doing. Slumped in her chair in nothing but her underwear, MC’s head was back and her fingers were pressed against the small fabric of her panties.

Mammon breathed quickly, his heart thumping harder and harder. He tried to control himself but unfortunately he didn’t hold much control over the growing bulge in his boxers. Perhaps if he blocked his ears and thought about Lucifer punishing him that would cool him off?

“Oh...Mammon”

Too late.

Mammon’s eyes were just about ready to burst out of their socket. He mentally kicked himself as MC moaned his name. His stomach was doing flips - “she said my name! The Great Mammon.” More moans were heard across the room and Mammon’s trousers grew tighter by the second.

Not wanting to hide under the bed any longer, Mammon backed out so that he could stand behind it. MC’s eyes instantly widened and she grabbed the nearest cushion to cover herself. “MAMMON!” She shouted

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to scare you...or see you do that” he spoke with rosey cheeks as he scratched the back of his head looking anywhere around the room but her eyes.

“Why were you under my bed?!” She questioned, quickly grabbing her silk dressing gown, marching toward him.

“Well you see...” he started. His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to conjure an answer. “I guess I was..hm...well” he placed his hand on his chin, MC still glaring at him.

“I cannot believe you!” She exclaimed “I can’t believe you let me do that in front of you - have you never heard of boundaries?”

“Yeah well you’re not so innocent yourself, I heard you say my name!” Mammon defended himself quickly.

MC’s eyes widened once more and her lips parted. Both of them were speechless, their cheeks were red and their heartbeats were pounding against their chest - MC still had an ache between her legs and Mammon’s prominent length was barely suppressed by his trousers. They looked into each other’s eyes for the first time since their awkward encounter, both of them wanting the same thing - not that either of them would admit it.

With a quick sigh, Mammon spoke barely above a whisper “i—I need to go.”

He brushed past MC - even her scent stirred up feelings in him.

“M-Me too” MC breathed to herself, quickly shutting the door and making her way back to her chair.

[rhmg-au]

Prequel part 1.

Thinking of some endings for the final confrontation, would try to get them out once I complete the prequel first.

This AU belongs to @rhmg-au . Please follow them, reblog their art, give them fanart, support them in any way possible, etc.

TW: Torture, blood, gore, restraints

(Mod Swanno: Edited with the read more option due to length and content!)

Eyes fluttered rapidly in the dark, the aching pain ran rampant throughout his entire body, the tears in his uniform exposing his skin to the coldness in the room from the lack of heat inside. Two figures seem to be in front of him, chatting with one another.

He let out an involuntary groan of pain, causing the two to turn to them. They look familiar.

“Awake already, Price? Thought you’d be knocked out for at least for few more hours.”

At that statement, the memories flooded back to him, as if he was in the sea in the middle of a big storm, only he was alone on a boat, the lighting and crashing waves wanting to throw him off the only thing keeping him from drowning.

The fighting, the snapping, the discovery.

———

A knock was heard on his door, he was in one of the rooms made for soldiers who needed to rest after a tiring mission or just stay for a break from their duties. His mind was wandering in its own little world, trying to think of ways to get rid of that monster he calls his general, he’s not noble anymore, after what he witnessed him doing to a Toppat, though he is a criminal, it was still so cruel to strip him of his memories and forcefully turn them to their side, and how it was carried out was…too brutal to watch or even hear for that matter. How could he live with himself after such a heinous act?

Those thoughts were carried to the back of his mind when that sound caused by a hand repeatedly hitting the door from the other side to get someone else’s attention inside.

“Rupert? May I come in?”

It’s him, it’s time to play the role of the actor again.

“You may, general.”

Galeforce entered the room as soon as the request to come inside was approved by the soldier, closing it behind him. His smile looked so normal that no one would ever guess that he did so many terrible acts behind that mask.

“What is it you need, sir?” Rupert asked, straightening his posture, and making sure to wipe his face clean from any form of an expression full of hatred. He cannot reveal his true feelings towards the man, or anyone for that matter. They can be loyalists to him, blinded by their duties to ever consider siding with him. No one is safe to talk to about his issues.

“Are you…actually loyal to the government, Mr. Price? I was informed by Dr. V that you were acting quite strange these past few days, and she has a suspicion that you’re a traitor.”

These words caught Rupert off-guard. They knew? How…how could they know? He thought he hid it so well, concealed it from everyone, how, just how?! Did someone snitch on him? “I, I am loyal sir. I was just thinking about my next missions those past days is all.” He was praying that he would buy it, he couldn’t risk to be found out of his resent. He knew it wouldn’t be anything but bad.

“Then tell me…do you know about the latest piece of technology we developed?” What was that supposed to mean? Naively, he shook his head, realizing too late that he made a crucial mistake by doing that.

Galeforce’s smile contorted into a smirk, one that is full of malice. That never meant good, at all. “A device that allows us to know who is lying by just hearing their words and their tone. Think of it like a lie detector, but a better version.” He took out the little gadget, the design was rather basic, just a square shaped piece of metal with antennas sticking out, a screen was visible with lines rapidly going up and down. Such a simple yet complex device. And it’ll be used for an occasion like this. “It’s still in the alpha stages, consider yourself honoured since you’re the first one we’re using to test it.” He took a good look at the lines. “And would you look at that, judging by the way the lines are moving, it detected that you’re lying.”

“No, no sir, are you sure it’s just a misinterpretation? An error?” Rupert knew that he was screwed, yet he still tries to deny it. Anything to get him out of this situation. Anything.

“Sorry to say, Price, but Dr. V told me these lines represent when someone is lying. It is no bug for sure.”

That was the answer he was dreading to hear.

“Now, do you remember what happens to those who are traitors? Or, for you, a potential traitor? You have quite the disdain for me, and that leads to backstabbing.” Galeforce pocketed the device, that grin turning sadistic now.

There was nothing left to hide. He saw through his facade, and now he has the information that he harbours distaste for him.

“You really think I would let something like that slide? What you did was absolute torture! How could you consider yourself to be human after what’d you done?! He may have been a Toppat, but you didn’t have to go to the extreme! What the hell is wrong with you?! Did you even think about how the Toppats feel?! That you took away someone who was so valuable to them, both personally and usefully, did you ever consider that?! Tell me, was there a time you even felt some sympathy?!” He couldn’t contain his rage anymore, he had to snap. It was in there for too long for him to ever hold it back, he may hate the Toppat Clan, but even he couldn’t deny that what Galeforce did crossed the line.

Galeforce didn’t responded, instead he took a step forward. Then another one. His face blank, showing no emotion, no care, no concern, no astonishment, no happiness, only apathy. Before he eventually leapt out and attacked him, like a wild animal would when it sees potential prey.

Rupert didn’t hesitate to fight back, both of them knocked to the ground. He raised his hand to counteract the opposing one ready to strike, catching it in time before it could land a hit on his face. Immediately afterwards, he caught the other hand that threatened to finish what the other arm wanted to begin.

“You could’ve been a valuable soldier here, had you not raise this hatred inside of you.” Galeforce taunted, ripping his hand out of his grasp and grabbed his hair that still stuck out from his hat, pushing his head forward.

“What was I supposed to do? Watch you turn someone into a relentless slaughtering puppet to do your dirty work? That isn’t how anything should go!” Rupert gave him a hard punch, directly on the nose. He wasn’t sure if he broke it, but blood poured out from the openings, a good indicator to confirm his suspicions.

Galeforce didn’t get knocked out, though the sudden punch to the face disoriented him for a few seconds, giving the resentful soldier enough time to rip himself out of his grasp and push him off, making a break for it to the door.

He didn’t make it, because of course he didn’t.

He was yanked back by his uniform, the grasp so tight and so harsh that he felt the cloth made to create this suit tear, and before he knew it, he was thrown against the wall, black starting to tease around the edges of his eyes from how hard his head hit the concrete.

“It’s the least I could do, trust me, I would do much worse.” Blood dripped down from his nose, staining the floor with the crimson substance.

“I don’t need to see them to know you’re a horrible person. I’ll beat the shit out of you and I’ll expose you and your heinous deeds.” Rupert shakily got up, it was rather hard when you’re close to blacking out from a strong hit on the head, but it was manageable.

“Still being cocky as ever? That’s biggest downside to you, always so certain you can do everything no matter how impossible it may seem. How cute.” Galeforce’s smirk increased in size as he approached him, taking him by the neck and lifted him off the ground, feet barely touching the floor. The soldier threw his hands onto the wrist of the general, suffocation is very likely if he was not released soon.

“It’s…not impossible…to get you…dismissed…” With his windpipe blocked, air couldn’t get inside to his lungs, affecting his breathing and speaking abilities.

“Dismissed? Why, so many ridiculous ideas run through your mind these past few days huh?” Galeforce released his grip on Rupert, letting him fall to the floor gasping for breath for a moment.

“They’re…logical…not ridicu…lous…” Regaining his strength albeit a bit slowly, he threw his fist at the general, aiming for his chest. The sleeve on the arm of his clenched hand was caught, yanking him to his feet so violently that another tear was made in his uniform, as well as causing pain to his arm due to how hard it was pulled, almost out of its socket. It took all of his willpower and gritting his teeth to not scream from the pain travelling up the limb.

“You must be forgetting that I’m a general, the public believes me as a good-intentioned nobleman who brings criminals to justice. Nothing can ever convince them otherwise.” Galeforce brought his face close to the soldier’s, letting him see that wicked grin close up, which only succeeded in letting his glare darken. He took ahold of his arm, tightening the grip instantly, as an attempt to prevent escape.

“Not if I get evidence, your acts are inhumane, no one deserves a fate like that.” Rupert spat, bringing his knee up and kicking him right in the stomach, using all of his strength in that one blow.

This action caused Galeforce to stumble back, releasing his grip on his arm in the process. Taking this opportunity, the soldier opened up the door, running out of the room. He needed to get out of here, now.

The attempt at escape didn’t work, as the general caught up with him easily, sending him crashing to the floor as he felt a heavy weight fall onto his body, He looked up, the black around his eyes more prominent.

Before his irises could see who was there, even though he already knew who, a fist collided with his head, causing the void in his eyes to finally take over.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out were these words:

“Really thought you could get away? Now, you’ll face the consequences.”

———

Everything was made clear now.

“What is this place?” His voice sounded weak, probably from the lack of water. “Are you going to robotize me like Green? Is that it?”

“No, something much worse. But now that you mentioned it, it would be a great idea. For now though, we have something else planned.” Galeforce answered, that grin so sinister it might as well be considered taking a spot on the most evil smiles list, if one was created that is.

“I would like to turn you into walking weapon, but I still need to monitor Green for the time being. Consider yourself lucky.” Dr. V added, sharing the same smirk as the one on Galeforce.

Rupert tried to throw a fist in either of their faces, but when he did, his hand never moved. Instead, he was greeted with the coldness of a metal cuff holding his hand down on one of the arms of the chair he was sitting in. It’s likely his other wrist was also in the same state as his left one. Though it should’ve been expected, it still shocked him. He was being restrained.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that you aren’t going to be able to leave. You’ll spend the rest of your days here rotting away while we make you realize just how stupid you are to doubt my acts of protection.” Galeforce informed, as if the feeling of the bindings on his wrists weren’t made clear to him enough.

“Protection?! You call that protection?! You hurt someone beyond the point of acceptance and you call that protection?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Despite his throat hurting after such an outburst, Rupert called him out on that statement of absurdity. Still thinking he’s a hero after everything? Even criminals don’t deserve that happening to them.

“It’s for the greater good. Besides, would you want a cyborg to be roaming free with those crooks?”

“He’s still human!”

“Criminals aren’t humans if they don’t have morals.”

“And you aren’t human if you feel no sympathy for them! Think about the hardships they went through that forced them to turn to crime and we never noticed! If anything, it’s the government’s fault!”

“…Dr. V, do your work.”

“Yes, sir.”

The blonde took out a pair of surgical scissors from her lab coat, walking over to the soldier, who is now struggling in the cuffs that held him in a one spot.

“Let’s begin the lesson, shall we?” Dr. V said, holding the surgical scissors over his face for a moment before snipping a part of his skin with them, blood immediately dripping out from where she made the cut.

Rupert grounded his teeth together, not wanting to give either of them the satisfaction of hearing him in such pain. He knew it would only bring more trouble if he gave them the reaction they wanted to hear, so no screaming. Just endure the pain all enough for something else to occur that causes them to leave. Like boredom or duties.

When no strong reaction came from the soldier, Dr. V dug the blades of the scissors deeper into his flesh, sliding it along slowly and painfully, intending to stop at his cheek if no signs of a scream comes soon. This was only the beginning. The next stages are much, much worse.

Despite the fiery pain growing inside of him from the scissors digging into his skin, Rupert still didn’t give them what they wanted out of him. His teeth were gritted so tightly together to suppress it the best he could. Blood started to leak into his mouth, that metallic taste made clear from the get go. He has to stay strong, this wasn’t the worse thing that happened to him. Seeing Dave getting fired and him going missing were much worse than experiencing torture…

Nothing, no reaction. “You’re stronger than you look. Impressive, but not too impressive.” The doctor pocketed the now bloodied scissors back into her lab coat, the remains of the crimson substance staining the white colour of the garment. She then took out a scalpel, this time instead of his face, she targeted his arm, plunging the sharp edge of the blade onto his shoulder.

The soldier bit down on his bottom lip as to let his teeth rest from the pressure they were under from grinding against each other for so long. Blood slipped out from the bottom lip due to how hard he was biting down on it, the metallic taste more prominent now.

Dr. V’s face contorted into frustration. “Don’t bother trying to hide your pain.” She advised, taking the scalpel out from his shoulder, that crimson substance affecting colour of the metal to make this surgical tool, now just like the scissors sitting inside of her lab coat. She clenched her hand into a fist and made it collide with his cheek, the one that isn’t soaking with blood from the cut. The force in the punch was hard, bound to create a bruise.

Rupert felt his head snap to the side momentarily, causing him to quickly look back to the woman in front of him. “How do you call this revenge if you only really want the Toppats?”

“Anyone who sides with Toppat Clan is called revenge.” Dr. V answered, making an incision on both of his wrists as he spoke, acting and speaking nonchalant about it. “I told you, masking your pain would make things worse. Cooperate with us.”

“You just need to give him a little push in the right direction. As I said before, he’s as stubborn as Green when he was a Toppat.” Galeforce said, his first words in a while.

“And how do you suppose we shove him where we want him to go?”

“Allow me to handle it. I’ve known him for quite a while now.”

The general stood in front of Rupert after Dr. V backed away. He leaned in close to him, whispering something in his ear, his breath causing a shiver to run down his spine. Surprisingly, his eyes widened at what was said, horror written all over his expression.

“Y-you, no you couldn’t-”

“Don’t worry, I trust him enough. But if I find out he’s been going behind my back…”

“Don’t you fucking hurt him! It’s me who you’re mad at, so just do whatever the hell you want with me but leave him alone!”

“I will take action if that’s the case, and what can you do in your current state?”

“This.” Rupert lifted his legs up and slammed them into Galeforce’s chest, the general taking a few steps back due to the impact. Man that hurt…

He looked up after a few seconds, Dr. V coming by his side to check if he had any injuries, pocketing the scalpel beforehand. “Chain his legs too. I’m not letting this happen a second time.” He checked his belt and took a pair of handcuffs from them, handing them out to her.

Dr. V nodded hastily, snatching the restraints quickly and cuffed the soldier’s ankles to the legs of the chair, despite his trashing interrupting some of the progress. “There we go.”

“Someone will find me here, and you’ll regret all of your actions.” Rupert promised, the glare so dark you could probably see a shadow brooding across his face. He’d struggled for a little bit more before giving up, the burning pain playing a part in why he stopped.

“You are in basement of lab, no one knows of this.” Dr. V said, immediately crushing any hope that he may have. Green most likely doesn’t know of this too. “Let’s continue now, shall we?”

Before she could pull out the blood covered scalpel however, Dr. V was stopped by the sound of beeping. “One sec.” She took out the communicator she brought down here, in case of the event someone made a call to her while they were doing what they were doing.

“Hello, this is Dr. Vinschpinsilstien speaking, how could I be of service?”

Rupert saw this as an opportunity, an opportunity to get outside help. It doesn’t matter who it is, the Twins, Victoria, Hayden, Charles or even Green, he can get out of here if he just yells at the communicator. He hated asking for assistance for anything, if he had to be honest, but at this moment, he needed help, he can’t escape by himself.

He was about to shout, to scream, to cause a scene to get the attention of whoever is there, but at the last second, his mouth was harshly covered by Galeforce, both hands were on him to block out his cries for help. Still, he called out anyway, muffled by the hands on his mouth, barely creating any noise.

“…Ah yes, I will be at the lab Green, just come along and I’ll attend to you.” The line cut off soon after Dr. V finished her call with the cyborg.

The opportunity passed…gone.

Galeforce released his hands from Rupert’s mouth as soon as the call was finished, allowing him to take in deep breaths and finally talk properly. “I’ll…I’ll scream down here and…Green will hear me. It doesn’t matter that he’s rewired, he will notice that something’s wrong with me down here.”

“And that is why you shouldn’t speak so soon.” Dr. V said, taking a piece of cloth out from her lab coat, using it as a gag as she wrapped it around his mouth, muffling his words once again. As soon as she finished tying the knot, she and Galeforce left for the door, opening it up to reveal stairs, his only way to freedom if he can get out from this stupid chair. Light temporarily pouring into the room as it was opened up, but soon it was closed, denying any  light from projecting itself into the room, leaving him in the darkness again.

What now?

———

Every passing day was torturous.

Literally.

Beating after beating, his blood spilling out from his system, eventually creating blood stains on the floor, chair and his uniform. The smell of the dried up crimson substance still lingered.

Any cry for help was muffled from the gag, guaranteeing that no one could ever find him here while Galeforce and Dr. V continued to teach him the lesson.

Every gash, every bruise, he even got some broken bones some days.

Whenever they went away, he cried and cried to himself, tears mixing in with the dried blood that stains his face. His spirit breaking down everyday. He still held onto hope, but it seems his grasp on it is fading away slowly.

“Someone…please…find me…I can’t hold out for much longer…”

[sparxwrites]

To Die, To Sleep (to sleep, perchance to dream)

(i started writing this two and a half years ago, and only just now worked out what i actually wanted to do with it. true story. mad props to matt for providing me the lovecraftian kick in the pants i needed to get it done.)

cw unreality / nightmares, blood, spooky shit

[ao3]

When Caleb opens his eyes, he is sat at the kitchen table of his childhood home.

There is the familiar scratch of his initials in front of him, carved in to the solid, weathered wood with his first knife when he was nine. He’d been beaten for that, his father angry and his mother exasperated, but there his initials had stayed until they’d burned to ashes with everything else. There is a hot mug of weak tea in his hands, as scarred and calloused as they were when he closed his eyes mere moments ago.

And there is Mollymauk, sat across the table from him, healthy and well and resplendent in his carnival coat. Exactly the same as the day he had died.

“No,” says Caleb, quietly. His voice is the kind of steady that comes with shock. He cannot move. “No. You– you are dead. I saw you die, and this… I saw this place burn, too. What is this?”

Molly shrugs. Light glints yellow and orange and red off the rubies in his rings, off the gold of his jewellery. “It’s your dream, my friend,” he says, and his voice hits Caleb right beneath the ribs. “You’d know better than I. I’m just here to play my part, that’s all – and then I’ll be off. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Dream. The word slides off Caleb’s mind like blood off a blade. “I am going mad,” he says. The hearth crackles softly behind him, making music of the wood that feeds it. “I must be. That… that must be it. I am going mad, again.”

“Ah, well,” says Molly, mildly. “That seems a little harsh on yourself there, Mister Caleb. But, it’s your dream, I suppose. You can be as mad as you want to be.”

Caleb wraps his hands tighter around the uneven earthenware mug, feels the heat of it seep down to his bones. It feels a little like the heat that fire-casting brings to bear on his palms, except safer – and then the walls catch his eye, the streaks of charcoal-soot creeping up their sides, and nothing feels safe any more. “I do not want to be mad at all.”

“And I don’t want to be dead.” Molly grins, a little manically, and swings his legs up to rest his boots on the table. They are caked in the thick, stagnant mud of Shady Creek Run, rimmed in a scarlet crust. “But we can’t always get what we want, now, can we?”

There is a spot of blood on his silk shirt. As Caleb watches, it unfurls, like a flower. Like an opening eye.

It starts to spread.

“I…” starts Caleb, and stops, sighing, grinding the heel of one palm into his eye socket. His head hurts. His head hurts. That seems unfair, somehow, for some reason he cannot quite grasp. “I did not want you to die, either. You should not have died.” There’s flickers at the corners of his vision when he pulls his hands away, red and orange.

“Like your parents shouldn’t have died?” asks Molly, pleasantly. There’s orange in the red of his eyes, too. Yellow sparks, in the centre, like dying stars. He folds his hands over his stomach, and grins wider, and doesn’t seem to notice the blood. “Pity, isn’t it, really. People dying. Seems to keep happening around you.”

Flames begin to lick at the base of the walls. There is smoke on the air. Fire on the horizon, all around.

Caleb swallows, hard, and feels the motion like a knife through his throat. “I do not want to do this,” he whispers, and his voice is scarcely audible over the increasingly hungry snap-crackle of the flames. The whitewash is turning black, the walls eaten through with fire like termites, racing up the supporting beams. The house turns into a cage around him, riddled with fire, glowing with heat. “Please, I– not here. Please. Not here. Not now. Not this.”

There is a woman in bed above him, he knows, and a man, too. They are asleep. They are in each others arms. They love each other very much, and their son, too, whom they are so, so proud of.

Caleb knows this, in the same way he knows which way is north, in the same way he knows when the sun will rise and set. In the same way he knows exactly how their screams will sound, when the hungry fire eats them alive, down to bones and ash.

“I don’t want to do this, either, and yet… here we are.” Molly spreads his hands in a half-shrug. There are eyes tattooed in the centres of his palms, in ink the same red as blood, as fire. As Caleb watches, they blink. They are watching him back. “Your dream, remember? All I’m doing is following the script.” He sighs, heavily. His shirt is full red, now, a deep and glistening ruby. His skin is pale, thin and papery, his tattoos jewel-bright against their bloodless canvas. “Wish I didn’t have to. I really, really do.”

He looks sad, but Caleb doesn’t know if he can trust that. Doesn’t know if he can trust anything, here. The fire is halfway up the walls. The house creaks around him. It’s groaning at the seams, ready to give.

“I don’t,” says Caleb, and there is pain through his head, through his eye, like a knife. He blinks, and when the blink is over, the world has been consumed by flames. It is hard to hear over the roaring. It is hard to think through the heat. “I don’t understand. Why– why are you here? Why are, why are your eyes–”

They blink at him, all nine of them, through the red of Molly’s shirt. He shouldn’t be able to see them, but he can. The peacock across Molly’s back trills, and fans its tail feathers, and Caleb feels the sharp, wicked pain of his skull being pried open. This cannot be happening. This cannot be real.

Dream. Mollymauk had said dream. The word has a meaning, but Caleb cannot reach for it through the flames. He cannot think, under the weight of all those eyes.

The house is on fire. The eyes are blinking. The house is burning. Molly’s silk shirt is soaked through with blood, so wet it’s dripping, and he’s still smiling. His skin is thin, so thin. There is something underneath it, thinks Caleb, in a moment of sudden and horrifying clarity. There is something under the skin, under the blood and the tattoos, and he does not know what it is.

“…My cue to leave, I think,” Mollymauk says, quietly, with a smile like the wicked edge of a glass scimitar. “Goodbye, Mister Caleb. Until we meet again.”

He pauses, and for a second– his eyes are not his own. They are red, yellow-orange with flame, and they are vast and ancient and distant and wrong. The thing beneath his skin is pressed close – close enough the Caleb can see its shadow, looming closer still through the blood.

“I hope,” says the shadow, in Mollymauk’s voice, with Mollymauk’s tongue and teeth and lips, “for your sake, that that’s a long, long time.”

A beam falls from the ceiling, charred black and laced through with glowing coals, bisecting the table. The soot it throws up obscures the scene, obscures Molly and his scarlet shirt and his technicolour coat. The red glow of his eyes is all that remains, blood red and brilliant, piercing through the smoke – and there are nine of them, each as real as the last. None of them are his own. All of them are watching Caleb.

“Mollymauk!” cries Caleb, and his voice is raw like he has been screaming. Perhaps he has been. There are screams ringing in his ears. Perhaps they are his. “Mollymauk, wait–”

Mollymauk does not wait.

Caleb wakes up.

[demonprosecutor]

OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS... YOU KNOW THE SONG.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

innocence, like all things, succumbs to the touch of death and time - both in conjunction and never not coexisting with each other. it was a difficult pill to swallow at times, but the naivety of childhood could never weather the storm that the real world presented. a sad notion, but a necessary one. your thighs had ached and chafed with the hours of riding upon amydros - you had never ridden this far nor this long without rest. “alright, let’s rest.” you say aloud, pulling on the reins until the horse trots to a stop, towards a bend in the path where you slid down its back, and tied the leather strips around a sturdy branch.

even if winter had always made you nervous on principle (you’ve heard stories of bodies contorted in the throes of winter as lord thanatos had claimed their souls, or of crops failing and leaving a town starving for the next spring), you find relief of the cold on your aching muscles, a brief respite really. By then, your anger had cooled and subdued into a faint irritation. You were never someone who could hold their anger for a sustained amount of time without being weary.

with the edge of the cloak, you brush off gently-fallen snow off of the surface of the flattest rock you could find there, and carefully made sure that the cloak was at your bottom before sitting down. you had always taken your oaths seriously, always taken the truth seriously, but now? amid the snowy emptiness, placing yourself at the forefront of your secret fears of having to traverse the outside world without a safety tether was frightening.

maybe zagreus thought that your inherent fears would force you to remain in the town? that hypothesis makes you flush with indignation, crumpling the cloak between your hands. how dare he?! you weren’t... some... some civilian in distress that needed saving, you were an independent person capable of holding their own in any scenario.

“maybe lord hermes could glean more answers?” despite the distance between the two towns, you found that they held a camaraderie with each other that resulted in frequent trade during the warmer months and therefore, you had managed to catch the information that there was a rather robust temple dedicated to lord hermes. it makes sense, traveller towns tended to venerate that god above all else, well, the aspect of travelling at least. amydros nickers quietly, ears flicking. 

“at least you listen.” you stand up before the chill could seep through clothing and onto skin, walking over to stroke the strong flank of your horse. “zagreus never bothered to listen. always talking, always stumbling through conversation like a newborn fawn...” your hands curl into fists, pressed against the warm fur. “--- but he was always so kind.” zagreus’ warm smile came to the forefront of your mind, mismatched eyes twinkling like stars. “always made me feel like i was... like i was an equal.” 

by then, a flush rises to your cheeks. “and he is, erm, handsome... and sweet and endearing. like a puppy!” a look up and you see amydros leveling a rather judgemental look. as if to say: really? you were angry at him and now... you’re gushing about him

you slap your cheeks hard enough for it to sting, shaking your head. That was... a moment of weakness! you were still incredibly angry with him and you were going to give him a piece of your mind. Once you saw him. Then you’d hug him tightly because you were worried. zagreus did not know how terrible mortals could be, and you’d feel a lot better with him around.

you are alone.... 

amydros, to the horse’s credit, does not rear back in alarm at the voice that echoed around the clearing. too much like anura, you hold your steed’s reins close, heart thundering to the beat of amydros’ panicked breathing. even then, the most prominent thought that manages to sluice through the anxiety was: again?!

a nearby tree creaks, a mighty oak standing tall and bereft of its leaves, yet it shifts - the whorls on its trunk shifting into the closest approximation of a face. a dryad, an ancient, prideful one, if you had to guess. but most of all, something within your chest eases gently, unfurling like the drying wings of a butterfly. as though you were a child that had roused from a nightmare and found solace in their parent’s arms. they were good. above all, this dryad was a kind one, you could tell.

the stiffness of your shoulders lowers slightly, the smile upon your lips warm and assured. “gentle dryad, it is... wonderful to see you in spite of this bitter winter.” you never forget your manners and rifle through your bag, extracting a slice of bread that was given by menelaia before you left, and held it out - an offering to a near-god.

the dryad shifted its eyes to peer at the bread before the trunk cracks open with a thunderous sound, a gnarled wooden arm unfolding from the depths of the tree like an insect leg that carefully plucks the offering from your hand and returns. the air warms briefly, a signifier of its delight, its ineffable gratitude at recognition. nowadays, people forgot to thank the everyday spirits that resided in this world, ones that aided the gods and kept the earth and oceans as verdant and thriving as it was. “thank you, sapling.” it speaks in an ancient tongue, one that you should not understand, but with the magic of the divine, you were able to. a language so ancient, and so lost, it made your bones shudder at its strangeness. “you seek someone.”

you nod, eyes downcast. “yes.”

“a precious someone.” they say gently, a rumble of thunder in the distance, and you cannot help the aching smile on your face. “someone you care and adore.” they unfurl your heartstrings and read between the lines like the ancient rings of its home. wise because of its years and kinder because of it.

“yes. how did you know?” sometimes things weren’t meant to be asked, but you couldn’t help questioning this matter of mind-reading. “is it that obvious?”

a branch creaks downwards, a lone green leaf brushing over your hair, “love is the easiest to see, always so bright and vibrant. yet...” it brushes away a tear at the corner of your eye. “you are filled with such a terrible sadness, sapling.”

and you chuckle at that, tilting your head, “since when is that a new thing? are not all living things with terrible sadnesses?” you grab your arms, crossing them and rubbing them as a way to comfort. “he left me behind. to protect me from whatever evil this journey will birth. but i was ready to be there next to him! i was ready to protect him in my own way.” you weren’t exactly sure what that looked like, but you were prepared to sacrifice - after all, it’s not like you had much at stake.

the dryad stares at you, eyeless sockets like the void, but infinitely more comforting. before it sighs, “i will help you--”

“why?” you interrupt, cautious as ever.

“i do not have long on this realm and you were the first being that had shown me kindness, is it not fitting for one birthed from love to return love?” the ground breaks, a root curling upwards, breaking through the winterfrost that made it forest floor unmoveable. upon closer, you see a circle of gold hanging from the curve of the root. “forged from deep within the earths, when i used to boast more beauty than now. it is meant to guide you to your heart’s desire.”

you look at the ring, the metal warm and lovely - as though you held your hands against a flickering hearth. “how does it work?”

it laughs softly, a whisper of a breeze, bringing the smell of spring before demeter’s winter dominates once more. “bring it close to your chest and allow your heart to guide you, the ring will show you the way.” you pull back and offer your gratitude with a smile, a nod, watching as the dryad heaves one more mighty sigh before the trunk seals shut and the face fades into obscurity, once more like the trunk it was before.

you stand there, the ring clutched to your chest, just above your heart. it was strange to speak to a dryad that wasn’t speio, shaking your head to dismiss the cobwebs of memory that persisted. there was no point in sinking into nostalgia, it was better to do so when everything calmed down.

as the dryad had instructed, you closed your eyes and allowed thoughts to fall away from your mind - leaving you with the blissful emptiness that allowed your heart to speak freely, without obstruction. the ring warms, hot enough that you grow alarmed, eyes snapping open and peering down at the metal. it shone like a miniature sun, whispering sweetly before a beam of light shoots forward, between the trees and to the great beyond. “what the---” your brows furrow, as you wave a hand through the beam of light, disturbing it like ripples of water, yet remains steadfast in the direction it pointed.

was this what the dryad meant by the ring showing you the path to your heart’s desire?

suddenly buoyed by the thought of your journey made easier, you grin and untangle amydros’ reins from the branch and leapt onto his back, kicking your heels into his flanks. “follow the light!” amydros tosses his head, kicking up dirt and snow underneath his hooves.

the woods thicken, branches so numerous that it blocked the sn, the darkness illuminated by the magical glow of the ring, casting away the shadows that lingered at the edges of your vision. it was wise to allow the both of you to rest, but wolves prowled about in these woods - that and untold dangers. and you weren’t willing to boast your admittedly-pathetic fighting skills.

you had been following the path of the light, unwavering, wind stirring your hair and breath frosting in the air - but then it veers sharply to the right, into a darker path. “shit!---” you yank on amydros’ reins to halt his run, backing him up until you were in full-view of the deviation of the path. “why here?” the ring is brought to your face, pulsating with warm life, pointing into the darker woods, the branches curling about like an archway. unnatural, yet not. 

was this your heart’s desire?

with the reins clutched tightly in your hands, you turn your steed towards the dark void of the path, branches and rotted wood curling about. amydros flicks his ear uneasily, and you stroke his neck carefully. “easy. there must be something there.” with a deep breath and no small amount of courage, you both turn onto the path.

the trail was craggy. interrupted by fallen branches, stones and grooves. this told you that it was a path not regularly traveled by horse or by man, a thought that does not comfort you. after all, danger does not only lie with the mortal realm.

the thought to turn around arose the deeper you went down the path, but considering how tight the squeeze was, it wasn’t an option. trees shuddered, darkness encroaching and stifling enough that you couldn’t breathe. visions of red and crimson flashed before your gaze, screams shrilling in your ears, body shaking and fists curled tightly enough that it bit into your palms.

red and gold, red and gold. only the union of gods and mortal so bold ---- can end this all.

blood flooded your mouth, spilling down your chin, and when you think you cannot handle anymore... you stumble into an open meadow. the air was still, the grass and flowers frosted, yet alive - suspended between life and death. purple butterflies floated about, lingering at your side before floated off. the ring warms, the light pointed towards the figure standing in the middle, draped in reaper’s cloth and scythe held like a harbinger above the hood of lord thanatos.

he looked surprised by your appearance, just as you were by his. “what are you doing here? and... where is zagreus?” lord thanatos looks past you, expecting to see the prince stumble after you, but after realizing that he wasn’t there, golden eyes snap to you.

you slide down with shaky legs, wiping the blood away with the edge of the cloak, approaching lord thanatos and dropping to a knee. the cold immediately sunk into your knee, head bowed. “lord thanatos, i did not expect to see you here.” nor did you expect to have the ring show thanatos to be your heart’s desire, but you kept that fact wisely to yourself, face reddening. “---the prince isn’t here. he left me behind at a town, intent on pursuing his---” you pause, lifting your head before pushing yourself to your feet. was it wise to reveal why zagreus left? or were you going to set things in motion that should not occur.

“well?” he asks impatiently, his features deadpan, yet betraying enough that you knew it was better to speak. besides, zagreus had always spoke about the steadfastness of thanatos, about how he was to be trusted. you quickly pray that he was right.

“prince zagreus went to pursue his missing mother. in a place heavily shielded by magic. lord hermes had given him a map and i intended to follow, but he left me behind. i was given this,” you show the glowing ring, the beam of light disappearing into the darkness of his garb, “and it led me to you. it was meant to show my... heart’s desire.” it was said fast, yet your face warms. “the times are growing stranger, my lord...”

lord thanatos takes everything in, eyes falling shut in thought. “mmm. interesting, this is quite troubling news.” he hovers above the flowers, brows furrowed in a tight knot. death incarnate does not speak for some time, long enough that you shift in place uneasily. "things are changing. things are not dying and ancient evils are speaking within the wells of tartarus. zagreus' mother disappearing is the first step. the olympians will not intervene unless they need to," lord thanatos says this with a curl to his lip, derision evident. "instead they will use zagreus and whatever foolish individual that follows as tools."

(you suspect that he's speaking about you...)

"nonetheless, we cannot leave the fool to die. or meet a fate unknown." his scythe swishes in the air, purple eye blinking at you magnanimously. "i will aid you in your quest, groundskeep." lord thanatos was an imposing figure and to have him as an ally was.... well, it was comforting. there was no figure, no deity feared more, than this god before you. even the olympians feared what he could do; for through his touch, they could find their deaths as well.

"wait--- you're helping me?" your mouth drops open in shock, and this! coming from someone who had threatened you weeks ago....

lord thanatos arched a brow, "was i unclear in my declaration? i'm going to help you find zagreus and subsequently, his mother. it is a pain to have things... not die." there's something in his eyes that told you that there was something more to this, but you don't pry. the machinations of gods were not your concern. "i will speak with lord hermes and see if he could replicate the map he gave zagreus, let your magic ring guide you to him. meanwhile, here." lord thanatos reaches into his chiton, producing a small, little tattered mouse. patchworked with fabric and soft to the touch. it nestled comfortably in the circle of your arms. 

"... what is this?" you look up at death incarnate, cocking your head. why... was he giving you a child's toy?

much to your surprise, his cheeks took on a gentle, gold hue. as though he was embarrassed by your question. “his name is mort, use him if you are in trouble, and i shall come to your aid. but! only when you need it, i cannot always come. find zagreus, do not fail me. and, groundskeep? this is between us.” lord thanatos says this threateningly before disappearing in a flash of green light, temporarily causing spots to appear in your vision.

you are left alone, the earth heaving a sigh at the departure of death. the air stirred once more, the darkness lifting slightly and the strange, purple butterflies that danced in the meadows were gone. you looked at the little mouse, large enough to carry comfortably, and soft too! a quick look around told you that you were alone, save for amydros grazing nearby and took a slight sniff of the toy. 

it smelled of... lavender. of ash. the two smells of your dead town that dominated your nose. but instead of filling you with grief, you were filled with a strange sense of peace. you place mort at the bottom of your bag, where it wouldn’t fall out by accident and leapt once more onto amydros’ back.

the path that you had entered was brighter now, less stifling. the ring flickered to life and pointed northward - towards the town that menelaia had spoken about. you kick your heels and amydros thundered towards where he needed to be.

yet even with the ache of your thighs, the burn of your lungs, your thoughts went back to the god. what did he mean by things not dying anymore? what evil speaks in tartarus? perhaps these questions would be better answered with an oracle or a seer - if the town had any. “let’s hope we find zagreus by then,” you say aloud, amydros’ ear flicked back at you in acknowledgement.

but you weren’t that worried, zagreus had a way of avoiding trouble.

[buggeredson]

He can taste the conflict in the angel’s mouth and even that isn’t enough to dissuade him. The tongue beside his stills and he pulls back, kisses the corner of that irritatingly beautiful mouth, but when he goes back to invade it again it has formed a strict line, no entry permitted, and Crowley sighs as he rocks back on his feet and nearly falls over, stumbling back and laughing about it as one hand shoots out to grab the furniture, keep him upright. Castiel realizes only belatedly that he’s never seen Crowley act this way before. He’s witnessed inebriation, but never from the demon. Is he faking? Or is something more wrong than that? Castiel frowns, brow furrowing, and Crowley snorts with laughter from where he’s seated on the bed, struggling to take off his own shoes.

“You look consti-- const-- you look like you need to take a shit, darling,” he says, stumbling over slurred words and laughing it off. It’s very...un-Crowley, laughing off his inability to articulate as if his elocution means nothing to him, pawing at the knot of his tie with fingers too dumb to undo it properly. Cas steps forward and moves Crowley’s hands away, taking over the duties of unknotting the tie as the demon continues to chuckle from below him. “Water closet’s the other way, Cas. Maybe I’ll join you in the shower afterwards--”

“You are unwell.” It’s a statement, not a question, but its also an assumption, the kind that usually raises at least some of Crowley’s ire. But he continues to laugh. Puts his rather meaty hands over Castiel’s once the tie is undone and pulls him down so they’re a little closer to level. His eyes drop to the angel’s lips and Cas become aware of how chapped they are solely because Crowley looks like he wants to devour them.

“Guess I’m in need of some ‘Bad Medicine.’”

“Why would you need bad medicine?”

Crowley huffs at that and the moment’s over; he sucks in a deep breath he doesn’t need and lets it out in a short sigh, glazed eyes coming up to meet Castiel’s once more. “No, it’s--‘Bad Medicine,’ darling, has Dean taught you nothing? Bon Jovi? ‘Your love is like bad medicine’? Ringing any bells? No?” Cas stares blankly until Crowley sighs, and then chuckles again, and lets go of Castiel’s hands. “Nevermind.”

He starts unbuttoning his shirt now, swaying a small bit as he tries to focus, and Castiel stands useless before him, head tilted, feeling...small. Smaller, almost, than Crowley has ever made him feel--and this time on accident, no less. He stares at Crowley but his gaze is a million miles away when he becomes vaguely aware of Crowley frowning up at him.

“Y’know I was joking?” Crowley mumbles, a little defensively, and Castiel comes crashing back into the present moment, far away from the thoughts tumbling through his mind but not yet far enough to ignore them. “’S not like I expect you t’know all the music from--”

“That isn’t my concern.” Crowley’s eyes sharpen a bit at that and Castiel realizes he’s said more than he’d meant to. What he meant to be a placating dismissal before Crowley’s mood soured had confessed more than it had placated.

“That right? So what’s it, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Crowley is having none of it, trying to push himself up to stand despite the scant space between them making that a difficult maneuver. “What’s your concern?”

“Crowley--” But the demon of the hour is on his feet, and his eyes are drilling into the angel’s, and Castiel falters a small bit beneath them. There is silence for a moment, and then, as simply and coolly as possible--something studied from Crowley but not yet enacted--Castiel answers. “I was only thinking of the future.”

“Future,” Crowley scoffs, tilting his head back. Castiel can see he’s not buying it.

“I was wondering where...I would go.”

Crowley scoffs again, wordlessly this time, and drops back to sit on the bed again. “Honestly, angel. Had me worried there! Don’ need to go tonight. Bed’s big enough for two--” 

“When you are done with me, I mean.”

Crowley rolls his eyes and levels the angel with a still-slightly-inebriated glare that speaks volumes about his perceived intelligence in that moment. “I know sleep’s a bit alien, but there’s always telly if you don’t feel like staying in bed, you know.”

“Not tonight. Later.”

“Enough RIDDLES, Castiel,” Crowley groans. “What are you on about?”

“When you leave.” In the silence that follows, you could almost hear the twin heartbeats in the room. Tension takes hold and Castiel fixes his gaze on a far wall, pushing the rest of the words out now that the hardest three have popped loose. “Like everyone else does. When I have outlived my usefulness to you, I wonder where I will go.”

There’s silence again, and Castiel swallows hard against it. Words like that are almost impossible to retract, once said.

“You know I’m not using you. Well. This time.” Castiel feels as if heat has drained from his cheeks at that comment, and he wonders for a moment if he’s gone pale.

“I know,” he says, almost whispers. The room feels airless. Castiel does not look away from the far wall. There’s another rush of silence after he speaks and then--the creaking of bed springs, Crowley grunting, the pop of a human socket being unexpectedly stretched out. Crowley stands up in front of him but Castiel cannot make himself meet his eyes; he can almost hear the face Crowley pulls before, to his surprise, Crowley pulls him down onto the floor beside the bed. He does not resist.

“Someone’s done a job on you,” Crowley mutters as he seats himself beside Cas. He crosses his arms over his chest--shirt still open, still on--and closes his eyes, humming a tuneless note as he rests his head against Castiel’s shoulder. The moment now is quiet, not silent, but there is still cement weighing down Castiel’s gut.

“What are you doing?” he asks finally.

“Thinking,” Crowley replies. His tone should be short, or sharp, an slap across the knuckles for asking a stupid question, but it’s just tired instead. Castiel is about to ask another question before Crowley continues, “‘M very drunk. Thinking’s hard.”

“You should--”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Crowley lifts one finger and holds it against his lips, and Castiel finally glances over at the devil on his shoulder. Drunk, with his eyes closed, Castiel can almost see the man Crowley might have been all those centuries ago. His thoughts must not be going well: his forehead is pinched, nose wrinkling, and Castiel can see the beginnings of grumpiness seeping into Crowley’s expression. When he lets out an explosive sigh, Castiel only tenses: but nothing comes. Crowley opens his eyes and his expression becomes neutral again; he pulls away from Cas’ shoulder, and that almost hurts, but he only swings himself around so that he sits straddling Cas’ lap.

That, in itself, is a bit of a gift: Crowley so hates to be reminded of his vessel’s short stature, of how it sometimes limits his imposition, that he almost never allows himself to be held, let alone to straddle. But there he sits, one hand slipping behind Castiel’s head as he leans in, noses the angel’s hairline and then ducks his head to kiss just under his jaw.

“What are you doing?”

“Only thing I could think of: kiss it better.”

“Crowley.”

“Castiel,” he replies, mimicking Cas’ tone. He slides his tongue along Cas’ jaw--ever lewd, ever dirty--but gives his chin a chaste peck before leaning back. He trails large hands over the face Castiel has chosen to wear, traces cheekbones with thick fingers and grazes stubble with his palms, delicately running the top of one finger under Castiel’s right eye all the way up to his temple, memorizing.

“Bloody wonder they could ever leave you,” he says, almost to himself. He seems significantly less inebriated now than he had before, tracing over the bridge of a nose, the cracks in dried lips, even the curve of an ear. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Novak is a very--”

“Fuck the meat, Cas,” Crowley says, cutting him off yet again and looking into his eyes with a sudden intensity that wears even his patience down into silence. With Crowley, he’s become so used to borrowing human eyes to see, he had almost forgotten how much more was there. Now, he wonders if Crowley ever used human eyes to see him, or how long he had been staring with eyes that could see so much more. “If I could touch the rest without being burnt to a crisp, I just might--’cept then you’d be a sorry one, and I wouldn’ be able to see you again, an’ that’d make ME even sorrier.” Castiel could say something about the greedy nature of demons, but he doesn’t. Crowley keeps petting his face, but yes, Cas sees it now: whatever eyes he was staring with before, he’s looking at the angel now with eyes that can see it all: the cracks, the scars, the bruises. Broken wings. Faltering grace. Every inch of him, all the beauty of angel that he’s spoiled just by being...him.

Except that Crowley looks almost enraptured by it all. Castiel has rarely if ever seen such awe on the demon’s face. “Radiant. If the night could do shine instead of glow, Cas, that’d be what you look like.”

He couldn’t mean that. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” It was just the sort of language lovers use with one another--and Crowley, of course, was the consummate lover. (All possible entendres fully intended--and blamed on the demon, of course.) It was natural he would be fluent in this language, too, even if he had never used it before. “More than anything I am,” Crowley continued, “anything I could EVER have been...Cas, you’re so much.”

The tracing hands stop, holding Castiel’s face firmly between them. Crowley lifts up and kisses both of the angel’s eyelids, uncannily gentle, and then the tip of his nose, and then...he just...hovers. Breath ghosting across Cas’ lips. He waits there until Cas looks at him again, meets his eyes, and he holds them there still. “I could write poetry about you--and I’m a fucking poor sod at that, too.” Crowley cracks a smile again and kisses Castiel firmly, moving against him until they are caught in something languid and loving and very unlike them, Crowley trailing a hand down the side of Castiel’s neck and to his clavicle, center of his chest, back up again. Crowley’s kisses almost always promise sex. Not this one.

“Not leaving ‘til you fucking make me, angel,” he mumbles at some point between kisses, draping both his arms around Castiel’s shoulders so he can melt against him. “Can’t believe...waste your time on a fucking demon...so much better, could do better, too....” Crowley inhales sharply and holds himself just far enough away to pant against Castiel’s lips again, keep the angel at bay as he licks his own lips thoughtfully. He seems to come to a decision, teasing his way back into the kiss with just the faintest touch of tongue until Castiel follows his lips every time he pulls away, desperate for anything to do with them: words, kisses, anything.

“Worthiest fucking man I know, and he’s a bloody pigeon,” Crowley mutters before finally lifting his eyes back up to Cas’. “Selfish me,” he says, louder and more clearly now, “and even I wouldn’t want to keep on in a world devoid of you.” One last kiss and Crowley draws away completely, hoisting himself up from Cas’ lap and offering his hand to help the angel off the floor. Crowley yawns and strips his shirt the rest of the way off, belt, trousers, and all soon to follow, before crawling into the bed and patting the space beside him. Castiel follows suit much more meekly, head spinning from the information he’s still processing. Although neither one sleeps, both stay in the bed, silent for the rest of the night, lost in mutual warmth and affection.

[lover-of-skellies]

In Deep Water

Sooo... ye. I did a thing. This is supposed to be a lil recap kinda thing for Nep and Gill's past, since I hadn't posted anything for that yet. Hopefully it turned out alright,, but if it's not quite up to par, I apologize in advance ^^" I'm still really tired, and the fuckin angst in the beginning hit me right in the feels

There's some gore and violence, but for the most part, I don't think it's that bad. Nothing to be hugely concerned about, at least

All of this happens before Betta's born, so she's not in this part sadly enough

Chest heaving as he gasped for breath, the skeleton monster stared at the gruesome scene laid out before him; his favorite human was sprawled out in the snow, their eyes wide, and their face fixed in a clear look of terror. Crimson stained the snow that surrounded them, and from the side of their neck, their upper arm, and shoulder, there were large chunks of their flesh missing. One of their arms was torn clean off their body, and one of their legs had also been mangled and bloodied.

Looking down at himself, his eye lights constricted into the smallest of pin pricks, fear taking hold of his entire being as his gaze locked on the blood that stained almost the entire front of his jacket. His slippers were drenched in the scarlet fluid as well, and he let out a strangled cry, his sockets watering up with blue tinted tears. Beginning to tremble, his eye light shifted their focus to his hands, which were covered in the blood of his friend.

There was something that held a metallic taste in his mouth, and as he began to recall what happened, a wave of nausea washed over him. He doubled over, his nonexistent stomach turning. Hitting a certain point, he nearly doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach into the snow before him. His entire body ached and he broke into sobs, not bothering to wipe the last bit of vomit from his chin. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking as he began practically wailing, trying desperately to muffle his voice.

His soul trembled within his chest, and then small cracks began to form along the edges of it as he choked out, "Oh my god, oh no... oh shit, what have I done? What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I did... I didn't mean to, I swear. I... I've doomed us all, haven't I?"

Footsteps could be heard crunching in the snow and approaching him, and his feet remained rooted in place as he was greeted by the familiar voice of his younger brother, "SANS? SANS, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?! OH MY WORD, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE HUMAN?!" Sans' voice was weak, no more than a whimper as he responded, "You gotta get outta here, Pap... It's not safe." Ignoring his brothers words, Papyrus approached him from behind, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Sans flinched at the unexpected contact, his sockets widening, and as he slowly turned to look up at Papyrus, blood staining his clothes and coating the lower half of his face, the younger of the two looked back at him, clearly in shock.

Blue tears rolled down Sans' cheekbones and he trembled, his voice barely audible, "...I did this, Pap. I'm... I don't know what's wrong with me. You need to leave, I don't wanna hurt you too." The taller brother sighed deeply, momentarily closing his sockets. Opening them again to look at Sans, he chose to completely disregard the blood on his clothes, leaning down to very delicately wrap his arms around his elder brother, tugging him closer to himself and lowering his voice, "I'm Not Going Anywhere, Brother. Not Without You." Sans let out another sob, acting on impulse as he latched onto Papyrus, attempting to hide his face.

Their moment was interrupted as another voice pierced the silence, its tone laced with venom, "You... Of all the things you could've done, you broke the ONE rule I gave you! Just how foolish are you, Sans?!" Sans whimpered, sniffling and reluctantly peeking at the person who'd addressed him. Immediately recognizing them, his sockets widened again and he turned to fully face them, panic written on all of his features, "I never meant for this to happen, I swear! I didn't... I didn't wanna do this. I'm so, so sorry, please forgive me! I'll do anything to make it right!"

Crossing their arms over their chest, the deity narrowed their eyes, scoffing at his words, "You're such a half-witted fool. Spilling human blood was the ONE thing that was prohibited! As long as no human blood was spilled, I gave you and your people COUNTLESS YEARS of peace and prosperity. I protected the lot of you, and you've taken that for granted!" Sans held his hands up and immediately shook his head, "N-No, I haven't! Honest! Please, forgive me! I'm begging you!"

They merely rolled their eyes, "I cannot, Sans. If I were to let it go this once, who's to say you won't do it again, hm? You yourself can't even be certain of that, can you?" Sans pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his voice as tears continued pouring from his sockets. Papyrus frowned, clearing his throat and gaining the attention of the deity, "Um... Excuse Me... May I Say Something, Your Greatness?"

The deity nodded, silently giving him their permission to speak. The younger of the two skeleton brothers wasn't sure what to say or do, but he spoke anyway, his magic beginning to radiate waves of what felt like some sort of hopeful desperation, "I Know My Brother Has Broken A Rule You Set In Place, That Meant The World To You. I Can Assure You Though, He Didn't Mean To Do This. It's Not Like Him To Do These Sorts Of Things, I Promise. Just Look At Him... He's Crying And Pleading With You For Your Forgiveness. If It's At All Possible, I Humbly Ask That You Look Inside Yourself and Try To Pardon Him. Please. Just This Once."

The divine being arched a single eyebrow, "Are you defending his wrongdoing, Papyrus?" In response, the skeleton in question shook his head, "No No, Absolutely Not. I Agree That It Was Very Wrong Of Him, But Please... Please Forgive Him. Grant Us Your Kindness, And We'll Make Sure This Never Happens Again." Sighing, the god rubbed one of their temples, squeezing their eyes shut. The skeletons remained silent, save for Sans' broken sobs and whimpers, awaiting their God's decision.

When the entity opened their eyes and stared at the two with a look of firm resolution, Papyrus felt all the hope in his soul immediately die, shrinking back the smallest bit at their words, "Then so be it. If you'd defend him, brother or not, that places you on the same level as him. The two of you are to live out the rest of your days as the terrifying beasts that the humans have come to fear. And since Sans seems to love the taste of human flesh enough to go and violate the single rule I've ever given you and the rest of your people, that is the only thing you'll be able to feast on. It will sustain you, but it'll be the only food that will give any sort of satisfaction."

Still sniffling and trying to blink back tears, Sans stared at his bloodied hands, his sockets widening as he watched the tips of his phalanges grow sharper. He opened his mouth, trying to force out a string of words, but froze as his ecto tongue grazed his teeth, feeling how sharp they'd also become. As a second row of serrated teeth began to grow within his mouth, Sans cried out, pain shooting through his face.

His vision went white and he blindly tried to reach for Papyrus, unable to see. Fearing that he'd gone blind, he sobbed, "Pap?... Papyrus, where are you? Why can't I see?!" Papyrus began to respond, his voice dying in his throat as pain shot through his face, his teeth also beginning to change. When his own vision went white, he was frozen, his own sockets widening and beginning to water up as well. Watching them with a cold, blank expression, their god remained silent, appearing unphased.

As the skeletons' vision began to slowly return, they rubbed their eyes and blinked, once again freezing in place as they saw each other; they'd been given claws, sharpened teeth, and their sockets had gone white, without a single trace of an iris or pupil. Visibly frightened, Sans looked to the deity, "Hey, what'd you do to us?... Why are you punishing Papyrus too, huh?! He didn't do anything wrong!"

They tilted their head, still gazing at him blankly, "Well, didn't I just say you were to live out the rest of your days as terrifying beasts? You wouldn't have been terrifying if I left you as you were." Papyrus blinked, trying to process what just happened. Sockets watering up and orange tinted tears dripping down his cheekbones, he pulled his scarf over his face, filled with shame and fear. He resented the way he looked now, just as he resented the pangs of hunger within him that were urging him to devour the corpse that laid nearby.

As the other monsters began to emerge from their homes, Sans' crime revealed to them, his sockets watered up again and he fumbled for an explanation and an apology, and he watched in horror as their confusion and shock began to morph into disgust and anger. They began to shout at him, and as they began to summon their magic to attack, the crowd parted. Making his way through the gathering, the flamesman silently surveyed the scene before him. Sans looked to him, his voice pleading as he apologized more.

The realization sunk in, as to what would happen now, and Sans felt his blood run cold. Grillby's flames became hotter, and he cast a wave of fire at the skeletons, offering no hesitation or remorse. He was just as doomed as everyone else. Sans was quick to shortcut out of the path of Grillby's attack, taking Papyrus with him. Nearly choking as another sob left him, Sans placed himself between Papyrus and the gathering of angry monster, "Don't hurt my bro, please! I'm begging you! He's never done anything to any of you, and he didn't do anything wrong! He's not the one who did this, it was me! I'm the one you should dust! Please... dust me, but leave Papyrus alone. Please, I'm begging you..."

A rock was thrown, rocketing toward the shorter of the two skeletons and striking the side of his skull, causing him to cry out as a small crack formed, and as he tried to regain his bearings, a small figure darted through the crowd. He barely had enough time to process what was happening before a knife was drawn and they slashed at him, his sockets wide as tears dripped down his face. His ribs and sternum cracked and chipped under the blade of the knife, and he felt fresh blood begin to drip down his chin. Was that... was that his blood? No... it couldn't be. There was no way-

The small figure zipped around him and made a beeline for Papyrus, and he cursed. There was no way in hell they were going to hurt his brother. Something within him snapped and he lunged forward, tackling the human child to the ground. Hunger pulsed through him as he caught the scent of blood again, and he growled lowly, baring his teeth. They were flipped onto their back, and as they immediately tried to slash at him again, his eye twitched and his frown became a wide, crooked grin. He roughly grabbed their wrist, and with a sickening crack and their terrified, pained shrieks, their arm was torn from their body, their hand still clutching the handle of their knife.

He chuckled softly, his voice hoarse as he leaned over them and murmured, "Game over, kiddo. I'd say 'm sorry that it had ta go this way, but that'd be a lie. I never did like ya too much, y'know?" There was another shrill scream that he immediately silenced, his jaws clamping down on their rather thin neck. Serrated teeth now embedded in their flesh, he sharply jerked his head, effectively shredding their throat and destroying any verbal capabilities they had left.

He pulled back, looking down at the human beneath him, momentarily horrified at what he'd just done. Tears dripped down his face again and he trembled, hiding his face with his hands. Sans' mind grew hazy, and his sniffles and sobs shifted, gradually transforming into raspy laughter. A magic attack struck him and he yelped, momentarily surprised, before fixing his gaze on the crowd and narrowing his sockets, his twisted smile stretching across his face again as he rose to his feet. Oh, they were gonna pay for that.

As another barrage of magic attacks flew toward him, he merely shortcutted out of their way, trying to ignore pain he felt pulsing through him from his chest each time he moved. Papyrus' voice gained his attention and he looked up, his smile falling as his sockets went wide and he stared. Water flooded from within the surrounding forest, and as the other monsters caught sight of it, they had the same reaction that he and Papyrus did.

Some of them were frozen in fear, and some of them began to run. The water reached the town, crashing full force into the small shops and houses, destroying everything in it's wake, including whatever monsters who were unable to escape. Most of the towns' inhabitants were either killed by the impact, or drowned, save for maybe a lucky remaining few, along with Sans and Papyrus.

Instinctively rushing to Papyrus, Sans grabbed onto him, using his magic to maneuver both of them through the water, trying to find the surface. Just as everything seemed to be over, the earth below them began to shake and split open. A second wave of water hit them without a warning, immediately sweeping both of them into the deep pit that'd just been created, and as Sans pushed Papyrus to a more shallow area, adamant that his younger brother try to save himself, one of the remaining monsters appeared. Gripping onto Sans' jacket, they yelled and cursed at him, roughly shaking him out of anger, and he tolerated this for no more than half a second before he lashed out, turning them to dust.

As if his body was moving against his will, he licked their dust off of his hands, and then was quick to devour their soul, which was all that remained of them. Absentmindedly swaying his feet in the water as he used magic to keep himself in place, he looked around, the reality of the situation finally kicking in. He was horrified and he hated himself for what he did and what he'd become, shaking and erupting into loud, obnoxious laughter. He laughed so hard that tears began to run down his face, and carelessly discarding his jacket and letting it sink, he pressed a hand to his head, his sockets wide and his face fixed into a look of sheer, morbid delight.

Papyrus called out to him and he fell silent, blinking in confusion; his brother cried out for "Sans." He was Sans... right? Sans the skeleton? That was still him? No, no... it couldn't be. Not after everything that just happened. Not now that he'd become some sort of freak.

He shook his head, deciding to abandon his warring thoughts in favor of returning to his brother's side, right where he belonged. In time, the two very gradually began to adjust to their new lifestyle; while Papyrus lurked at the bottom of their lake and continued making his rounds, just as he did when he was trying to become a member of the royal guard, Sans busied himself with... other things.

Namely, tracking and hunting, and making sure the both of them were fed. He became detached and separated from his past self, embracing his life as a human eater with open arms. Papyrus wasn't sure how that was possible; personally, he hated this new life. He hated always being wet, he hated never feeling clean, he hated the huge lack of puzzle making, and most of all, he hated having to devour innocent humans to survive. To him, the humans were supposed to be their friends, not their food.

They stopped keeping track of how much time had passed, the events that brought them to this new life rapidly shifting into nothing more than a distant, fuzzy memory. One that both of them sometimes struggled to remember, at that. The forest was quiet and peaceful, and Sans took great joy in killing off the humans who entered, both for the sake of getting food, and also for maintaining the peaceful atmosphere.

Becoming bored with only hunting humans after a while, Sans took to hunting animals as well. Then, if by some small chance a monster wandered into their forest, he'd cut them down too. Papyrus was horrified, having found his elder brother licking monster dust off his hands and shirt. Eating other monsters was a taboo thing to them, and it had never been discussed before. Papyrus voiced his disagreement with it, trying to get his elder brother to see reason and stop, before he delved too far and indulged in this cannibalistic behavior anymore than he already had.

Sans, being Sans, was stubborn, refusing to stop. Papyrus continued trying to talk him out of it, but gave up after a great while, concluding that there was no point in arguing when Sans refused to listen or take anything into consideration. The two remained just as close as ever despite their obvious differences, and they'd gone on about their lives, just as they'd done before. Everything was normal and fine, and that was the end of it.

That was, until the day a promiscuous skeleton with purple eye lights appeared.

[limited-practice]

Unstable Structure

I was talking with @jet-teeth about this post https://jet-teeth.tumblr.com/post/190467330915/starstruckswordsmech-autobots-the-reason-why and the great art she drew of it, and I got such a clear image of Intense Sunder on the left poking out a block with his needle tipped finger, Horrified Hubcap on the right, and Fed up Ambulon in the middle, and just had to write something. It was a great excuse to think about my favorites and to write something silly and fun.

2757 words of Sunder, Ambulon and Hubcap playing Jenga are under the cut.

Ambulon looked balefully at the tower of rectangular wooden blocks on the table in front of him. “Remind me why we have to play this again?”

“Well,” Hubcap said slowly, “It’s because Swerve- you know, the owner of the bar we’re all in? The metallurgist that likes Earth a lot?”

“I’m well aware of who our alt-mode curious barkeep is.”

“Ha, yeah, right. So. This is one of his favourite games and- and I think it was his birthday the other day and he wanted us all to celebrate it with him, so he told us to get into teams so we could play it together? In teams and compete with one another? Or maybe it was the anniversary of his bar opening. Or was it because it was the beginning of the week and he liked the name of the day?”

Ambulon tipped his head back and stared at the stained ceiling.

>he desires the company of others because he is lonely.

Sunder lent forward over the table and looked intently at the stack of blocks he’d finished building.

>there is a gaping chasm of nothingness circling his spark, and he’s sacred that it will pull him into its black depths and drown him by soft degrees. But he should not fear the darkness. He should learn to embrace it. He should learn how to hold it close and kiss it with the softness it deserves. 

Ambulon swiveled his eyes to his teammate on his right. 

Sunder’s hollow eye sockets bored into Ambulon’s face. 

>you are never lonely in the dark. 

Ambulon swiveled his eyes to his teammate on his left. 

“Remind me why I got stuck on this table again?”

“That’s…” Hubcap bristled. “I don’t think you’re one to talk. Much.” 

Ambulon raised his head and sat up straight. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Out of everyone on this table you’re, well, the only Decepticon. Ex-Decepticon. Teamwork isn’t exactly your, uh, strength.” 

Ambulon lent forward and pointed a sharp finger at Hubcap’s Autobot badge. “Out of everyone on this table, I’m the only one who hasn’t murdered someone I worked with.” 

“That’s-…true. So. Well. Right.” Hubcap grimaced. “Sorry. Um. Didn’t mean to cause offence there, and-” 

“Yes you did.”

 >yes you did. 

“Look, can we just play? Please? I-…the two of you are looking at me and…and you haven’t even gone yet Sunder. You need to take your turn first because you built the tower.” 

>the first to make their move is ahead of those who allow the insidious vines of doubt and decay to wrap their oily lengths around them and s q u e e z e out the light that never had a chance to breed.

“So…you’re thinking about it?” 

Streams of dark air vented out of Sunder’s facial pipes and hung heavily around him, like a halo of corrupted smoke. 

>I am not like the others. 

Hubcap and Ambulon exchanged a look. 

>I was born to build by taking away. 

“Alright,” Ambulon said, in the weary tone of voice he used with a patient who thought they knew better but didn’t. “Let’s get this show on the road. If I lose to First Aid’s table then I’ve got deep cleaning duty for a month and I do not, I repeat do not, want that. So take a block away Sunder and let’s get going. Let’s get building. Let’s get winning!” 

Ambulon looked at Hubcap. “See, I can be a team player. I am a team player.” 

Hubcap’s eyes fixated on the peeling paint on Ambulon’s thumbs up. “…uh-huh. 

“I was part of a combiner you know. I’m the very definition of a team player, so don’t accuse me of not being one again.” 

“I won’t.” 

“I know what it’s like to not be supported or appreciated, and I won’t do that to others. I won’t do it to you, my teammates, who I trust and respect and- SUNDER YOU SLAGGING MORON WHAT THE FRAG DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T DO THAT YOU’LL- OH SHIT YOU JUST DID IT, YOU JUST DID IT.” 

Ambulon covered his eyes and Hubcap looked at the Jenga stack in horror.

One of Sunder’s needle tipped fingers was pushing a block at the very bottom.

“Why?” Hubcap whispered. 

>it is burdened by the sins of those crushing it from above. I am here to relieve its suffering. 

Ambulon dragged his fingers down his face. “We’ve lost. That’s it, we’ve lost. I’ve now got deep cleaning duty for a month thanks to you, you idiot.” 

Sunder tilted his head and looked at Ambulon in a way that lowered the room’s temperature by ten degrees. 

Several bots dotted around the room shivered and looked around in confusion. 

Ambulon glared right back at Sunder. “Don’t think you can intimidate me you self-important smoke stack, because you can’t. I was a Decepticon medic don’t forget. A Decepticon. Medic. I’ve seen things that would make your eyes jump back into your sockets and fall out again. In fact they’d melt out of your face. They’d run down your front and stain your plating and seep into your vents and cause a build-up of optical rust that would require seven separate surgeries to fix. And I know all of this because it happened to a senior ‘Con who’s name I won’t mention, and because I assisted with surgeries two, three and four and took charge of number six.” 

>the blocks are screaming. 

Ambulon shook his head and Hubcap twisted his fingers together. 

“I’m going to scream,” Ambulon said. “I’m going to scream out loud.” 

“I’m going to scream silently,” Hubcap said. “Very silently and very loudly inside my head. If that makes sense. Ha. I don’t want to make too much of a scene.” 

Ambulon gave him a curious sort of look. “Yeah you can do that, can’t you? Make things happen just by thinking about them?” 

“Well it’s not- ha, it’s not that straightforward. I mean it’s easy for me to block or boost a signal because it’s part of who I am and comes as easily as breathing. Not that we breathe anyway, since we don’t have lungs and aren’t exposed to an oxygen rich atmosphere a lot of the time, and I just mean that as an Outlier I can do the things that…yeah.” 

Ambulon tapped a world weary finger on top of the table. “As eloquent as ever, thank you.” 

Hubcap’s blue eyes darkened. “What’s your problem?” 

“What’s my problem? You want to know what my problem is? My problem is you and him and being on the losing team for this stupid game I didn’t want to play in the first place.” 

“That’s more than one problem.” 

“Have you always been the most popular bot in the room, or is this a recent development?” 

>quiet. Both of you. I can’t hear the blocks. 

“Because they’re talking to you?” Ambulon asked flatly. “Because they’re whispering sweet words of longing into your ear and begging for your tender touch?” 

>you can hear them too? 

“For the love of-” 

“You could, ah, move that block back?” Hubcap suggested. “And choose another one?” 

>no. 

“Right. No. Of course not. But.” 

>there is no space for doubt or time to dwell on it. It is a deceitful trick, and we must ignore it. We are moving forward, and cannot look back. 

Sunder pushed the block a tiny bit more. The entire structure wobbled. 

“You can’t look at it anyway,” Ambulon said, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “since you don’t have any eyes.” 

Sunder made a noise that could dissolve metal and evaporate acid. 

“Hey,” Ambulon said, looking sharply at Hubcap, who involuntarily flinched. “You could use you mind moving powers! Push that block back into place where it belongs, and allow needle-fingers here to rethink one of his life choices and to do the right thing.  

“Woah! That, urr, might be…” Hubcap glanced around nervously and lowered his voice to a hissing whisper. “Against the rules. It might be cheating. You want me to cheat?”

“Show me where it says so in the rules.” 

“I, ha, judging by the tone of your voice already know you know it’s not in the rule book, but- but we shouldn’t do it. I won’t do it. It’s wrong.” 

“It’s wrong of me to suffer deep cleaning duty because of the two of you.” 

“How is this my fault?” As always when he got pissed off and geared himself up to deliver a speech, Hubcap’s voice thickened and steadied and all his self-doubt and stuttering vanished. “I didn’t build the structure and didn’t make the first move, Sunder did. I didn’t even get the chance to build the structure and, depending on your outlook, therefore be awarded or burdened with the first move. I’m not at fault here! I’m innocent! I’m just trying my best to do the right thing and get into the spirit of the evening and I keep getting dragged down by your miserable attitude and I won’t, I won’t, be sent to prison again for committing the crime of cheating! It’s fair enough I got a long sentence because I was a traitor and a killer and was one push of a button away from re-starting the war, but I won’t go back to that modified solitary containment cell with no windows and bad smells just because you don’t want to do some cleaning in what sounds like a filthy medical facility!” 

Sunder trapped his tongue between his teeth in concentration and pushed the bottom block out further. 

“Are you done?” Ambulon asked Hubcap flatly. “Have you got all that out of your system now? Or are you going to work yourself up even more and have a spark attack and short circuit all the electrics and turn off the ship’s anti-gravity pumps?” 

“No,” Hubcap sulked. 

Ambulon’s face lightened. “Because if you did, then we wouldn’t have to play anymore! Every structure would get knocked over in the dark or come apart and fly away!” 

“You do…know that’s still cheating, don’t you? Or do I need to edit my speech and deliver it again?” 

>the cold shadow is almost lifted and our friend is nearly free.

Sunder poked his chosen block again, and the entire tower shifted. 

Ambulon sighed. 

“And it doesn’t work like that,” Hubcap continued, not quite ready and not quite willing to wind himself back down. “I can’t manipulate an electromagnetic signal unless I’ve been in contact with it first. And I haven’t had cause to study and absorb the ship’s gravitational system, so. No.” 

“What about the lights?” 

“What about them?” 

“Could you turn them off?” 

“I…yes. That would be an easy block. But I’m not going to.” 

“You could say it was an accident,” Ambulon pressed him. By now First Aid had seen the state of Ambulon’s table and was pointing and laughing at him. “You’ve blocked things by accident before, right?” 

“I…yeah. Yeah I have.” 

“Like what?”

>like what?

 Hubcap blinked at the sudden interest from both of them.

 “Uh, well, this one time I…accidentally blocked the signal to an energon refueling system and, um, racked up a six figure repair bill for it.”

“Why?”

>how?

 “Ha, that- well I was, um, in my room one morning and…having a good time and…finished, and…”

 “Please stop.”

>who were you with?

“Both of you can just stop.” 

“Uh, just myself. Yeah. It was intense.” 

Sunder leaned forward in interest. 

>what exactly were you doing?

“I’m not going to say this again.” Ambulon said, raising his voice. “I’m not! And I don’t want to. So for one last time just Stop. Both of you. Let’s veer away from this unpleasant diversion and focus on this stupid game instead.”

“Oh,” Hubcap said, his eyes narrowing in his flushed face, “I see. You’re only interested in this stupid game when it suits you, and when you want me to shut up. That’s rude. And unprofessional. I have nothing to be ashamed about!”

“Except you clearly are.”

“Yes, well, that’s my choice. Sort of. The point is that you shouldn’t make someone uncomfortable for something that happens naturally to their body. I thought you were a medic? And that you’ve seen things no mortal bot should ever have to see?” 

“Seeing is far better than imagining, believe me,” Ambulon said. “And just because I can cope with something doesn’t mean I want to expose myself to it.”

>talking of exposing…

The tower trembled and tilted as Sunder continued to push the center bottom block out.

>look. It’s nearly free.

“And we’ve nearly lost.” 

“Yeah,” Hubcap agreed miserably. 

Ambulon and Hubcap watched in shared fatalism as Sunder pushed the block further and further out, and the tower tilted and trembled more and more and more. But didn’t fall. It didn’t collapse. The block was sliding out and against all odds the structure was holding. 

They both lifted themselves up from their seats and braced themselves on the table with flat splayed hands, and watched the miracle unfold in front of them with wide eyes and open mouths. 

They were going to win. 

Despite everything, they were going to win. Sunder was going to do the impossible and build the magnificent and not lose and they’d all be hailed as heroes and- 

SMASH!

The tower collapsed instantly.

Sunder plucked out his chosen block from the pile of rubble.  

>you’re free now. 

Ambulon and Hubcap slumped back into their seats. 

“That was terrible,” Ambulon muttered. 

“It was a very poor choice,” Hubcap agreed. 

First Aid made a loud noise, and once he got Ambulon’s attention, he made mopping and sweeping and cleaning and vomiting gestures. Pharma laughed out loud and Ratchet rolled his eyes. 

Ambulon glanced down at the table. 

“I, err,” Hubcap began. “Sorry you have to do that. Go back to them. I know what it’s like to do something you don’t want to do in front of people you don’t want to be watching.” 

“Whatever. It’s fine.” 

“I’ll help you.” 

Ambulon looked up and narrowed his golden eyes, which were now burning brighter. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve already lost one bet, and I don’t want to be in debt to another person.” 

“It’s unconditional. I just…want to. For a teammate. For you.” 

A flurry of emotions blew across Ambulon’s face. “OK.” He looked down and away and back up. “Thank you.” 

Hubcap nodded. “And if…something gets blocked, like the codes to Pharma’s favourite food and drink orders out of every single dispenser machine there is, then, well, accidents do happen.” 

Ambulon smiled, and the flurry settled warmly. “Many accidents happen on this ship. It’s a chaotic place at times.” 

Hubcap nodded again. “So do we…start work now?” 

“Hell no.” Ambulon stood up and pushed his chair back. “We drink now. We’re the first team out of this contest, which means we get the pick of seats and don’t have to wait to be served. Let’s get that table over there and start a tab.” 

Hubcap stood up as well, and neatly pushed his chair back under the table. 

Sunder looked up at them, and a shadow crawled across his sunken face.

>you are both going. You are both leaving me in the debris of my unexpected failure. 

Ambulon tutted. “Stop sulking. We’re going to the table and you’re going to the bar to start the tab. You’re buying all of our drinks tonight.” 

Sunder stood up and smiled a smile that could carve through planets.

>what do you enjoy consuming, my medic friend? 

“The tears of my enemies.” 

>me too. 

“I thought you were more into memories and the reeking remnants of brain modules?” 

>I enjoy variety every now and again.

“Fair play to you. Come on team, let’s retire and drink and pass amusing judgement on others who think they know better.” 

>agreed. 

“Hell yes. I mean heck yes. I mean-” 

“And you’re buying the drinks the next time we play a group game and lose within seconds.” 

“Agreed,” Hubcap said immediately. “But…” 

“But that implies we’re going to lose again?” Ambulon supplied. 

“But that…implies you want us both as your teammates again.” 

Sunder took Ambulon’s hand, opened it, put the chosen block in his palm, and carefully wrapped his fingers around it to form a fist. 

>a momentum of our first time together. 

Ambulon glanced down at his fist. The small wooden block felt warm within in. “Thanks. I think.” 

>you are welcome. 

“Yeah. Yeah I guess I am.”