#the pick scrapes Awaken something in me

[belle--ofthebrawl]

I wish you would write a fic about just how much of a crush Aurora has on Mountain (bc I cannot stop thinking about the harvest blessing fic)

I don't know if this is what you wanted but it's what I wrote and we all have to deal with that now. (Bonus just for you: weird ghoul lore)

Aurora was born of gluttony. All tongue and teeth and wailing starvation, no matter how much she stuffed into her small body it was never enough. She remembers the clawing ache of hunger in her stomach more than anything else of her time in the pit. Her fellow hunters learned to leave when she was in the area very quickly; lest they be considered prey as well.

Aeon was the exception to this. He tried to steal her food, a downed behemoth who's killer she had killed and eaten in turn, stomach still hollow with the desire to feed. She’d been near mindless when she fought him and feeling the poke of his cock on her belly awakened her to an entirely new form of hunger.

This one at least, was easier to satiate.

“You're quintessence, like me.” He'd panted in the afterglow. “You're not going to survive on what everyone else does.”

She kissed him, and tasted his emotions on a tongue she felt no desire to chew on. When he slid his fingers inside her, curves them just right, she finally felt full when she whispered her name and he whispered it back in reverent awe.

Two mouths were surprisingly easier to feed than just her own, she was pleased to discover. And though a duo-pack was hardly a respectable number, she grew fiercely protective of Aeon, forever grateful for the way he took care of her appetite no matter how it reared its ugly head.

And walking through the portal with him, hand in hand to their new lives, was the closest thing to a blessing she would ever receive. This body could eat and be filled for much longer than her old one.

This was how she fell in love with Mountain. After an eternity of fending for herself, for Aeon when his head ached too much to hunt, there came this giant of a ghoul that radiated nothing but acceptance. His first action was to give her a soft blanket and lead her to a table where she sat down and was served food she couldn't have even dreamed of before. Bread that was soft with a crackling crust, a hearty golden soup he showed her to dip it in. Meat falling off the bone, she never thought cooked meat would taste better than raw. And he let her snap the bone to scrape out the marrow, even offering her a strange and soft paste to mix it in. He called it butter. He filled what was empty, asked her how she felt and when she fell asleep at the table after gorging herself, he had picked her up and carried her to a wide, square nest space and tucked her in. She fed on the kindness of the action unconsciously and woke with the knowledge he would provide for their odd little pack.

Love as a romantic act was unfamiliar to her. She loved Aeon, but it was a different feeling from what she felt towards Mountain. Aeon was practical and familiar; she knew him like the back of her hand. She wanted to prove herself to the large earth ghoul, prove that should he ever be incapacitated, she could care for him as well as he cared for everyone else.

Hunting on earth was different. She wasn't used to small prey. But she was a quick learner and soon presented the earth ghoul with a clutch of dead creatures with long ears and soft fur, plump and well fed on the lush vegetation of the surface, to see what he could do with them.

And he taught her how to cook. He let her have the second fattest “rabbit” for herself, to snack on as he readied his knives and pans and bottles. She learns about brining, and seasoning and cooking meat slowly so it was juicy and flavorful. Hell was so hot that corpses burned up quickly, devoid of the magic intrinsic to surviving the flames, so all meals had to be as quick as possible. This “slow-cooking” is maddening, but he opens a cupboard, unwraps something and gives her a large rectangle of foodstuff the color of rich, fertile earth. It smells bitter with an underlying sweetness and she nibbles the corner of it, savoring the way it melts and spreads over her taste buds. When she eats it, there are little crunchy bones mixed in and he laughs when she tells him this.

“Almonds.” He corrects. “Dark chocolate with almond toffee.”

Her purr when he ruffles her hair startles them both. 

“Like hearing that.” He says. “Better sound than your stomach rumbling, huh?”

She decides she's going to give him a thousand chocolate bars in return if he keeps looking at her like that, with an emotion so fulfilling it keeps her satisfied for three days straight. Even when the rabbit stew is done, she doesn't take a huge portion for herself like she usually does. She lets others eat as much as she wants, pride welling up when Mountain tells them she caught the rabbits and they congratulate her with with wide smiles and warm eyes. 

She kisses him after the clean up. With a full belly and full heart, she's still got a third appetite to calm. He understands without words. Takes her to his bedroom where he put her through an agonizingly slow warm up. Prepares her until she's tender and dripping, tests her with his fingers and fits himself in; they feast on each other until the sun sets through one window and rises again in the other.

She still bites him though. Sometimes she still doesn't understand which hunger drives her, but he's willing to help her navigate it. Sometimes this emotion is so much she feels it fill her stomach up completely, crawl up her throat and she waits to choke on it but she never does. And with his help too, she learns to say the words that help it stop hurting her in such a strange and wondrous way.

I love you.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | awakening force⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The thrill of your newfound power lingered as you walked home. A shiver danced down your spine—a delicious mix of fear and exhilaration.

You were no longer just Y/N. You were something more, something... powerful.

Reaching your house, the murmur of conversation drifted from the kitchen.

Inside, you found your mom chatting with a couple perched at the table—Hiro and Shisuki, your parents' old high school friends.

You vaguely remembered them stopping by a few weeks ago to celebrate your dad's promotion.

Hiro, tall and tan with a shock of lime-green hair and light brown eyes, flashed a friendly grin. Shisuki, his wife, offered a wan smile. She was pale and slender, her lavender hair mirroring the color of her eyes.

You noticed something subtly off about them. You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

Your mom, ever watchful, intercepted you before you could linger. "Y/N! There you are, sweetie. Let me see those hands." Her voice held a familiar edge of worry as she inspected the scrapes from your encounter with Bakugo.

Before you could protest, she whisked you upstairs, muttering about "rough-housing" and "being careful."

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to a quick bath. Wrapping a towel around your head, you picked up a rag and began drying your hair as your mom hurried downstairs, called upon by your dad to help entertain the guests while dinner simmered.

Alone in your room, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor, you replayed the scene in your mind.

The memory of your helpless rage, the shove that sent Bakugo sprawling— it all felt distant now, overshadowed by the chilling realization of what happened next.

The way Bakugo crumpled, his whimpers replaced by a strange, terrified silence—it was like you'd flicked a switch, taking control of him not with your body, but with your will.

Suddenly, the image in your mind flickered. Bakugo's tear-streaked face contorted, morphing into an older visage. Golden-brown eyes, framed by a mess of unruly blond hair, stared up at you with an unsettling intensity. A wide, toothy grin stretched across his face, revealing a chipped canine tooth.

The boy—no, the young man—held a chainsaw in one hand, the whirring blade a constant hum against the silence. Yet, despite the weapon and the wildness in his eyes, the most unsettling aspect was the way he looked at you.

It wasn't just fear or submission; it was a kind of god-worship, a bizarre adoration that promised nothing but utter obedience.

The distorted voice echoed in your mind, the words spoken with a reverence that bordered on obsession. "You... have control..."

You blinked, the mental image dissolving like smoke. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the echo of the phantom voice lingering in your ears.

The room seemed to vibrate with your nervous energy. You grabbed a stray pillow, squeezing it until your knuckles turned white.

This power... it was intoxicating, a forbidden fruit that promised both dominion and danger.

The memory of Bakugo's terrified face warred with the strange, exhilarated feeling of controlling the distorted figure in your mind. It felt wrong, alien, yet strangely exhilarating.

You practiced the word in your mind, a mantra of your newfound power: "Control." The word resonated within you, a dark promise of possibilities. Curiosity gnawed at you. Could you do it again?

Glancing out the window, you saw a familiar sight—a plump robin perched on the sill, its head tilted inquisitively.

This little visitor often graced your window ledge, a welcome distraction from the monotony of your days.

Today, however, it served a different purpose. It was a test subject, a pawn in the game you were starting to play with your own abilities.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed the window open a fraction. The robin cocked its head again, then with a bold chirp, hopped inside.

It fluttered around the room for a moment, its bright red breast a splash of color against the now-beige walls (you utterly despised the pretty-pink-princess aesthetic and threw an absolute fit until it was gone).

A cruel amusement bubbled within you.

This was your domain now, and this little creature was subject to your will.

You focused your mind, picturing the bird in your control. "Fly." You willed the bird to take flight.

It obeyed instantly, launching itself from the floor in a flurry of feathers. You guided it through the air with your thoughts, a puppeteer manipulating its movements.

The bird performed aerial flips, swooped low to the ground, then ascended again in dizzying spirals.

A giddy smile stretched across your face as you willed the robin to perform another daring maneuver. It swooped low to the ground, skimming the throw rug with its wings before launching into a spectacular corkscrew climb.

You felt a surge of exhilaration, a sense of power you'd never known before.

This—this was your Quirk!

Suddenly, the urge to share your newfound ability with your parents overwhelmed you.

You bolted for the stairs, the excited chirp of the robin echoing in your wake. Reaching the top of the stairs, you paused.

Your parents were in the living room, your mom topping off two glasses of whiskey for their guests.

"So, how's Y/N doing these days? Anything new?" you heard Hiro ask, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

"Oh, you know," Wino replied, his tone dismissive.  "Same old, same old. Still no sign of a Quirk manifesting."

A bitter taste filled your mouth.

Here you were, bursting with the revelation of your newfound power, only to be dismissed by your own father.

Hiro chuckled, the sound sharp and unpleasant.  "Poor kid. Stuck being Quirkless in a world like this.  Rough luck."

Your father laughed along, a hollow sound that grated on your nerves.

Mei, ever perceptive, picked up on the shift in the conversation.  "Dinner will be ready soon," she announced, her voice laced with annoyance.  "Wino, please try not to discuss such sensitive topics about our daughter while I'm here." With a huff, she turned and stalked back towards the kitchen.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

You stood frozen on the stairs, the joy of your discovery replaced by a cold anger. They didn't believe in you.

They pitied you.

You stared at them, a cold emptiness settling in your chest. Their flippant dismissal of your prior Quirklessness, the way they treated it like a minor inconvenience, stung more than you cared to admit.

Without a word, you turned and retreated back up the stairs, the robin fluttering after you with a soft chirp.

Reaching your room, you sank onto the bed, the bird landing gently on your shoulder. Staring down at the bird, a flicker of defiance sparked in your eyes.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You reached out a hand, gently rubbing its soft feathers.  Focusing on the bird, you willed it to fly away.  "Fly," you whispered the order once more.

The robin launched itself into the air, soaring effortlessly around your room. A surge of satisfaction coursed through you. You could do it again.

You were powerful.

For the next hour, you spent time honing your newfound ability. It was like playing a video game, but with a living creature as your avatar.

You sent the bird on dizzying spirals, weaving through furniture and dodging obstacles with practiced ease. But as minutes turned into an hour, the thrill began to wane.

The bird, once curious, now fluttered erratically, its tiny body exhausted by your relentless commands.

You released your control, and with a tired chirp, the robin landed on your outstretched finger. You stroked its soft feathers, a sense of boredom replacing your amusement.

A different idea took root. You remembered the innate feeling that nearly swallowed you as you willed Bakugo under your control.

With a deep breath, you focused on the bird, visualizing a pressure building within its tiny body. Staring intently at the robin, you willed that invisible force to constrict its organs.

The bird froze, its bright eyes filled with sudden fear. You broke eye contact and released the pressure. It chirped weakly, its body trembling.

You hadn't seen any outside physical harm, but the raw terror in the bird's eyes was enough.

The robin let out a relieved chirp and took shook its feathers, before looking up at you, waiting for its next command.

As the bird sat before you, a surge of exhilaration washed over you.

You hadn't just controlled something; you'd inflicted pain, a mere taste of the power you now wielded.

A chilling realization settled in your stomach—this wasn't just dominance; it was manipulation on a terrifying level.

Suddenly, a familiar voice jolted you from your introspection. "Y/N! Dinner's ready, honey!" It was your mother's voice, laced with a warmth that seemed to pierce the fog of darkness clouding your mind.

With a sigh that carried the weight of the world, you sat the bird down and pushed yourself off the bed, heading downstairs. Every step felt heavy, a chore rather than a movement.

As you reached the bottom stair, something strange caught your attention.

It was a smell. Not unpleasant, but amplified.

Your mom's familiar scent of lavender soap and cinnamon rolls mingled with the sharp tang of cleaning supplies. But these were just base notes. A new layer of perception had been added.

You could smell everything with a startling clarity.

Your father's cologne, a cloying mix of citrus and musk, suddenly seemed overpowering.

Shisuki's perfume was a sickly sweet floral that made your stomach churn. Hiro's scent was worse—a combination of stale beer and something vaguely acrid, like sweat that hadn't quite dried.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you came to a screeching halt. The world smelled different, and not necessarily in a good way.

Then came sight.

You recognized the scene unfolding before you—your mother setting dishes, your father laughing with a man by the TV. But a chilling disconnect settled in your gut.

You knew who these people were supposed to be—your parents and their friends, Hiro and Shisuki. Yet, their appearances seemed...wrong.

Your mother turned, her smile widening at the sight of you. "There you are, sweetie! Come sit down, dinner's ready."  She gestured towards the table, her familiar voice a grounding presence amidst the sensory overload.

You shuffled forward, eyes glued to the couple beside your parents.

Hiro, you vaguely remembered, was tall and tan with brown eyes and lime green hair. Shisuki, his wife, was pale and slender and had hair the color of lavender with matching eyes.

But staring at them now, their features seemed blurry, their colors muted.  Like someone had smeared their image with dirty fingers.

You tried to focus, to etch their appearances into your memory.  But the harder you concentrated, the more their forms dissolved, details slipping through your grasp like sand through your fingers.

Panic clawed at your throat.  What was happening?  Why couldn't you remember their faces?

A sudden realization dawned on you. The heightened sense of smell came at a cost. You could now only distinguish people by their scent, but your ability to differentiate faces seemed to have dulled.

It was a strange trade-off, one that mirrored how a dog identifies others through scent.

You had gained a quirk, yes, but it came with a price—quickly, you darted your eyes down to your plate, unable to bear looking at the distorted couple any longer.  But even that small movement seemed to draw attention.

"Honey, is everything alright?" Mei's voice filled the room, laced with concern.

You wanted to scream, to blurt out your questions: Were those really Hiro and Shisuki?  Was your mind playing tricks on you?  But the words wouldn't come.  The fear was paralyzing.

Stealing another glance at the couple before forcing your eyes back to your plate, you mumbled, "I don't feel very hungry anymore."

Your mother's eyes widened significantly, a hint of worry flickering across her face.  "Oh, sweetie," she began, her voice taking on that fretful tone you knew all too well.  "Is there something wrong? Maybe you don't like what I made? I could fix you something else—"

Before she could launch into a full-blown worry spiral, your father cut in.  "Y/N," he started, his voice heavy with irritation, "stop acting childish and just eat your dinner."

The room fell silent.

You felt a prickle of defiance rise within you, but it was quickly squashed by the overwhelming confusion and fear.

You stared up blankly at your father, then reached across the table for your water glass, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a clink.

"You know what—" your father started, his voice rising in anger.

But before he could explode, Shisuki interjected, her voice firm but strangely calm.  "Wino," she said, clearing her throat slightly, "why don't you take a breather? Maybe go outside for a smoke or something?"

A beat of silence followed, then Hiro spoke up, his voice warm and friendly.  "Yeah, man. Take twenty.  We'll keep an eye on things."

With a heavy sigh, and a final glare in your direction, your father pushed himself away from the table.  "Fine," he grumbled. "But someone's gotta go get some dessert. There's nothing decent in this house."

Without waiting for a response, he stormed out, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, the air crackled with a tension you hadn't noticed before.

Shisuki, with a cruel edge creeping into her previously saccharine voice, leaned towards your mother and remarked, "Honestly, I don't know how you two deal with it, Mei. All that screaming and tantrums—it's no wonder people are rethinking having kids these days. It honestly makes us so grateful we don't have to deal with any of that with Yumi."

Hiro, previously sporting a smug smirk, let out a bark of laughter that grated on your nerves.  "Yeah, Shisuki's right. Yumi's such a sweet, well-adjusted child. Always top of her class, never a complaint," he chimed in, his voice laced with a smugness that turned your stomach.  "Y/N? She's a walking advertisement for abstinence if I ever saw one."

The words struck you like a physical blow.  Your breath hitched, and a hot ember of anger ignited in your chest, growing with each passing insult.

You clenched your fists so tightly your nails dug into your palms, but it wasn't enough to contain the surge of power that threatened to erupt from within.

Your mother, bless her heart, attempted a feeble defense. "She's just going through a tough phase, that's all," she stammered, her voice wavering. "She'll grow out of it."

Shisuki scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive. "Oh, honey, this is more than just a phase," she condescended, her eyes flickering towards you with a cold, calculating gleam. "What you need to do is take her to a professional. There are specialists who can deal with these...issues."  Her voice dripped with a false sympathy that made your skin crawl.  "After all, I am a child psychologist. I've seen my fair share of troubled youngsters."

Wino's absence hung heavy in the air, his departure emboldening the couple like vultures sensing weakness.  They felt free to dissect you like a lab rat, their words slicing deeper with each cruel pronouncement.

Mei, clearly struggling, could only stammer a weak response, overwhelmed by their condescending assault.

Then, a horrifying realization dawned on you. They weren't just talking about you—they pitied your parents for having you, while in the same breath, celebrating their own perfect child.

A dangerous glint flickered in your eyes, mirroring the growing inferno within your chest.  The memory of Bakugo's compliance surfaced, a chillingly sweet reminder of your newfound power; the image of the robin, tweeting in alarm, hapless and in your mercy.

For a terrifying split second, the world seemed to blink. Shisuki was crumpled sideways, her head lolling at an unnatural angle as crimson bloom spread across her once-pristine white blouse, a silent scream trapped behind her lips.

Hiro slumped forward, his chair clattered onto the floor, eyes wide with terror as a similar stain blossomed on his lime-green shirt. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a sickening counterpoint to their choked gasps and desperate clawing at empty air.

Their bodies convulsed into a grotesque form of flesh and bones, their lives draining away before your very eyes.

The image was so vivid, so real, that you almost choked on a gasp. Your breath hitched, the taste of iron flooding your mouth. But before you could succumb to the darkness, a flicker of self-preservation sparked within you.

No, they won't get the better of you.

With a deep breath, you wrestled the power back in, forcing it down into the churning depths of your being.

Slamming your fork down on the table, the harsh clang echoed through the room, effectively halting the conversation.  All eyes turned to you, surprise etched on their faces.

"I'm not hungry anymore," you declared, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor running through you.  "Good night."  Without waiting for a response, you pushed yourself away from the table and headed towards the stairs.

"Honey, wait!" your mother called after you, her voice laced with concern.  "Are you sure you're alright?  Maybe I can make you a sandwich..."

You paused on the bottom step, the sound of her fretting already starting to grate on your nerves.  "No, really, I'm fine," you said, forcing a smile.  "Thanks anyway."

As you ascended the stairs, you could hear your mother's voice trailing behind you, a mixture of concern and indecision.

Reaching your door, you spared a final glance back at the scene unfolding downstairs.  Shisuki and Hiro were engrossed in conversation again, their faces devoid of any worry about your abrupt departure.

The moment you were out of sight, however, the conversation shifted.  Their voices, though lowered, were still audible.

"Honestly," Hiro scoffed, "what a useless child.  Quirkless and a constant burden."

Your mother gasped, a sound of wounded pride. "Hiro!" she protested.  "That's not fair.  And besides, Wino and I are Quirkless too, remember?"

Shisuki, her voice dripping with condescension once again, waved her off dismissively.  "Darling, at least you two contribute to society. Your husband's a decent accountant, and you tutor those college kids on the side. But what good is that girl?  She's a walking black hole of wasted potential. Honestly, she'd probably be better off in some kind of...  well, you know."

Their words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken implication a sledgehammer blow to your already fragile ego.

Your hand instinctively closed around the doorknob, knuckles turning white. A cold fury burned in your gut, fueled by their callous disregard for your feelings.

As the last of their conversation faded away, you finally closed the door, the sound a small act of defiance.

Slumping against the cool wood, you slid down to the floor, knees pulled tight to your chest.  Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palm until a crescent moon of pain bloomed.

The heat in your chest bubbled over, a volcanic rage threatening to erupt.  Your body trembled, wracked with a potent mix of anger and fear.

Flashes of the power you wielded, the intoxicating satisfaction of controlling Bakugo and toying with the bird, looped through your mind like a cruel highlight reel.

"I...need it," you muttered, the words barely a whisper.  The urge to unleash that power, to silence the voices that taunted and belittled you, was overwhelming.

But then, a soft chirp pierced the storm raging within you.  You glanced up to see the robin perched on your desk, its head cocked inquisitively.

The sight of the small creature, so full of life and innocence, was a much-needed anchor.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, legs wobbly like a newborn foal.

Stumbling towards the bird, you reached out a hand.  It chirped again, a single, questioning note, before hopping onto your outstretched palm.

Walking over to the window, bathed in the soft glow of the twilight sky, you gently stroked the bird's head.  Below, you could see your parents saying their goodbyes to Shisuki and Hiro.

Their laughter, strained and forced, grated on your nerves.

Eyes going blank, you entered a state of intense focus. The world narrowed, the air crackling with invisible energy. Walking back to your bed, the small bird remained motionless on your finger.

You settled against the pillows, propping yourself up for a better view. "Fly." With a chirp, the bird nestled in your hand took flight around your room once again. Its tiny wings beat a silent rhythm as it zipped and zagged.

With a sigh, you dropped your hands, severing the mental connection.

Well, kind of.

The moment the bird was outside of your window, a harsh caw ripped through the air.

"Caw!" You recognized it instantly—the hunting call of the large falcon that had been terrorizing the smaller birds lately.

Right on cue, a blur of feathered fury streaked into view, diving for its prey

Just as the falcon was about to snatch the smaller bird in its talons, you clenched your fists, focusing your power inwards. It was a forceful contraction, like crumpling a piece of paper with your mind.

Staring intently at your clenched fist, you imagined the falcon instead. You envisioned every detail, its sharp beak, powerful wings, and piercing eyes.

Then, with a flick of your wrist, you imagined it crushed, its body crumpled like the paper you'd envisioned earlier.

A beat later, a sickening thud echoed from outside, followed by a strangled cry.

You scrambled to your window, flinging it open despite the cool night air.  Below, on the sidewalk in front of your house, a gruesome scene unfolded.

Shisuki and Hiro, caught completely off guard, stood frozen in shock.  Blood splattered across their clothes, a horrifying reminder of the falcon that lay lifeless at their feet, its body mangled beyond recognition.

You stared, the image searing itself into your memory. A wave of apathy, as familiar as an old friend, washed over you.

The dream, the impossible dream, of a life with Pochita—a family built on fear and adoration, flickered through your mind.

Even if you'd been devoured by Chainsaw Man himself, even if you'd been granted a twisted rebirth in that blood-soaked world, the machinations would have continued.

Schemes and plots would have brewed in the dark corners of your mind, always focused on the same objective: eliminating the blonde parasite, Denji, and securing your place at Pochita's side.

But here, in this mundane reality, such grand ambitions felt pointless.

With a sigh that carried the weight of extinguished dreams, you slumped back against the pillows.  The power you possessed was a burden, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked within you.

Maybe, you thought with a flicker of morbid curiosity, there was a way to use it for good.

But for now, the allure of apathy was far too strong to resist.  You closed your eyes, the image of the lifeless falcon and the horrified faces of Shisuki and Hiro swirling behind your eyelids.

The future is now stretched before you, an uncertain path riddled with both possibilities and perils.

Would you become a conqueror, wielding your power for dominion? Or could you learn to control not just others, but yourself?

Who knows? But there one thing you do know...

The game had just begun, and the choice was yours.

A/N: Ahh, denji my bby 😭❤️

[sweetsugarcakes]

Hi! How are you? I saw your requests are open and I couldn't let this chance pass.

So, I want to request an Azula x gn reader, where reader is originally on the Gaang's side, but in a fight against Azula and other fire nation people Azula gets wounded and gets unconscious. Reader sees her, but instead of taking her prisoner, they feel a strange kind of sympathy (✨️love on first sight✨️) for Azula and flee and hide with her. When Azula wakes up, things get a bit dramatic maybe but a happy ending would be nice.

I hope you like the request! Have a great day :)

hii im doing well ty for asking :)

this is so cute of course I’ll do it🩵

Azula x gn! reader

The Gaang was in your village as they were trying to hide from the Fire nation and their princess Azula. Obviously you didn’t like the Fire nation you couldn’t stand them one bit. So you helped the Avatar and the rest with their journey that they were going to set off. But before they could leave you saw the battleship coming to the village. Everyone had retreated and so did you. You watched the fight unfold seeing Aang and Azula going at it and occasionally Katara jumping in to save Aang. Toph and Sokka took care of the soldiers.

Eventually Aang did his air bending sending Azula a few yards as she hits a building making the rumble going down on her a bit. You saw she had a scrapes on her face and hands, she was clearly unconscious. The Gaang came up to you and gave you gratitude on taking great care of them. They got on the sky bison and flew away from view. Luckily your village seemed to not notice that the fire nations princess was still here and she was unconscious. Originally, you would take someone from the fire nation prisoner, but something in you screamed to help her. You went to the broken building seeing her laid out and senseless. You knew this was wrong and you’re practically helping the fire nation doing this. Without anyone looking, you picked up Azula and put her arm over your shoulder.

Moments later, you had taken her to your home where your father was on the shift of protecting the village from any Fire nation. Azula was sleeping on your bed meanwhile, you got your health supplies when she wakes up so you could heal her. While you were taking out the ointment you heard the bed creek and the blankets rustling. You saw Azula awaken rubbing her head and her hair fallen down. She immediately glared at you as she got off the bed and rushed to you putting her two fingers with her super long nails against the skin up to your neck. “Who are you?” She kept looking at you. “[Name]” You said as you looked down at Azula. “Hmm where’s the Avatar? I know you helped them. Where did he go?” She demanded as she then winced at her back. “I’ll tell you but please take it easy. You’re still hurt and injured.” You said calmly and smiled trying to ease her anger. She still had her suspicions about you but she saw your health supplies and sat down. “I’m a princess. I don’t need help from you!” She said in a stubborn tone. You chuckle “I know but I want to help you.” You got out some bandages and ointment for her.

You went up to her. “Hold still it’s going to sting.” You warned as you put the alcohol on a cloth and rubbed it on her skin to disinfect anything form hee opened wounds. You heard her gasp and glared down at you. “Not so harsh!” She yelled as you rolled your eyes. You kept treating her wounds. Under all the toughness of Azula she couldn’t help but find your kindness a bit weird. Usually from being in another nation, they would’ve locked her up or killed her when she was passed out. But she could help to find your compassion…nice.

As you were done with her face you moved to her fingers. They were a bit bloody as you cleaned them and wrapped them in some bandages. “Is that better?” You looked up as she gave a nod. You got up and went to your desk. “Why did a peasant like you help me?” Azula chuckled mockingly. “I don’t know something told me to help you.” You didn’t look at her but her face was a bit surprised, for some reason she felt her heart skip a beat. She also was intrigued that you didn’t get mad or offended at her calling you a peasant. “I’m grateful for your compassion but I’m going to go back to my ship.” Azula got up still a bit in pain as she went to your mirror trying to do her hair. You saw her struggle and fighting with her hair. “I’m guessing you never did your own hair?” You asked as she just grunted. You walked over to her. “Stop let me.” You stopped her by holding her wrists and pulling them away from her hair. She wanted to fight back and shout at you for touching her but then saw you do her hair. You put it in a high bun like how she had it before and put her hairpin in. “There…” you pulled away seeing her being pleased. “Thank you peasant.”

You rolled your eyes as she was about to leave but stopped herself. “Why don’t you join me on my journey? You could be quite useful” She grinned at you. You knew if you didn’t go with her it wouldn’t be good but you also wanted to. Somehow you found her captivating even if she was a fire nation royal. “Sure.” You say as you see her grin from ear to ear. “You’re a very interesting peasant. You won’t leave my side unless I say so. You’re like my assistant.”

You two snuck away from the village trying to get back to Azulas ship. You left a note for your father lying in the writing. You couldn’t tell him the truth. You arrived at her big ship as she walked and you followed. The soldiers got in line and bows at Azulas presence “Princess we were worried where were you?” The captain asked as she grins. “[Name] had helped me! Now they are my assistant and if anyone gives them trouble or talks poorly about them you’re going to be burned alive! Got it?!” She demanded in a strong voice as the soldiers bow. “Yes Princess!” Azula turned to you. “Like I said you don’t leave my side, you’re with me now.” You nod as you couldn’t help but feel warm at the possessiveness. “O-ok princess” you smiled gently as she grinned. “Good! Come with me and tell me where the Avatar went while you check on my wounds.” She demanded as she walked to her throne. You smile and nod while you followed her.“Maybe she isn’t so bad”

this was so fun to write. I really hope you enjoyed it and wrote it the way you wanted. 🫶

have a great day also!! :)

[little-reader]

“The Son of A Monster.” Ch.5

Masterlist

Warnings; Death, blood, Slow-burn, Sexual tension, Gay awakening (For both), Cursing, Negan is the Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie apocalypse

<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3

You sharpen your knife, toning out the annoying scrape against the metal. You hummed the song “Do You Remember The Rain.” and peered over the porch to Rick and Michonne talking. They were leaving for something. You weren’t quite sure, but you guessed supply. Your dad will be here in a few days. 

Iris was walking down too, drinks in hand and smiling when she looked up. You smiled back and waved, getting up and placing your knife on the railing. “Let me help you.” You said, grabbing the cups from her hand and setting them on the porch steps. You captured her hands and helped her up the stairs, letting her sit in your previous spot.

She held her stomach as she leaned back, groaning slightly. You handed her the drink and sat on the railing. “Why’d you bring the lemonade?” You asked, taking a sip and humming. She shrugged and rubbed her stomach. 

“I wanted to.” She paused and sat up. “Start thinking of names.” You coughed and looked at her. She only smiled and raised her eyebrows, handing over a piece of paper. “I get to pick one of their names and you the other.” She said You looked down at the car. It had a line in the middle and on one side, it had two different genders and names. 

Baby A

Girl; Nova

Boy; Oliver Rome

You smiled and took out a pen, placing the sheet on the railing before writing down names.

Baby B

Girl; Isha

Boy; Ian?

You gave the card back, and she smiled. “In your shadow.” You said, kissing her cheek. She tucked it into her black sweater and got up. 

“I’ll see you later.” She walked off, waving to Carl with a smile when she passed him. Lucky, instead of hating her because she was married to you, (Mostly) everyone Loved her. They thought she was kind, sweet, helpful, and pregnant with twins.

You sighed and plopped back into the seat, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. You looked at your knife and placed it down. You cracked your neck and leaned back, relaxing as you closed your eyes. There was a slight breeze where the opened trees lay and where you sat. You Breathed in the smoke and breathed back out, allowing your nose to smell the tobacco coming out. 

The breeze stopped briefly, making you open your eyes and peer at the younger brunette by the stairs. “Carl.” You asked, tilting your head at him.” He hummed and looked over with boredom writing on his face. “You gotta’ look after your sister today?” You questioned, only to get a slight head shake from him as he walked inside. 

You sighed, threw your cigarette on the ground, and smashed it, getting up from your seat. “I didn’t just ask for no reason, Carl.” You stated, walking in after him. He turned with one eyebrow raised and took off his hat. 

“I don’t feel like doing anything today, Y/n.” He said, brushing through his hair before placing his hat back on his head. You huffed and groaned dramatically, throwing yourself backward and whining like a child. 

“Come on! We're supposed to be friends. Do you know what friends do? Trick question.” You asked, walking over to him. He rolled his eyes.

“I only said Yes because you wouldn’t leave me alone,” Carl said, heading upstairs. 

“Is that your final answer? If it is, I need you to repeat it, I didn’t catch any of that.” You said, following him once again. He sighed and slammed his room door. You huffed once again and left downstairs.

You went outside, rounded the house, and climbed the side of it, reaching the window where Carl's room was. You banged on in. Carl looked down at you through the window with disapproval. “Let me IN,” You yelled, hanging onto the side of the roof like a cat in a tree. Carl laughed and opened the window.

“You're a dumbass, you know that right?” Carl stated, closing his window when you were finally in. You flipped him off and fixed your shirt. Before he could say anything else, you interrupted him.

“I’m going somewhere, that means your following.” You said, Throwing Carl's shoes at him and unlocking the door. 

"Do I have a choice-"-Nope."

You yanked him by his hand and pulled him down the stairs. You picked up your bat and bag as we went to the “escape wall” and climbed over. You felt the slight breeze from the top as you quickly went over the wall and slowly climbed down. Carl then jumped down beside you and huffed, fixing his hat.

“It's rude to huff at people.” You say, smiling at him slightly as you begin to walk into the woods. Carl only huffed louder and more dramatically. You smile and huff louder than him while you turn. “Hush pretty boy.” You said, flicking his hat and walking deeper into the woods. 

It was relatively quiet, with few groans here and there. They would stop when you threw a knife at them. You watched the ground as you walked, but still acknowledged the world around you. You glanced at bushes here and there, looked into the mud, and listened to each and every sound.

“Boring.” You whined, huffing at the silence. “You bore me.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ toy,” Carl said, raising his eyebrow. You raised your arms in defense and laughed. Carl raised an eyebrow at your response. “You act like I'm Woody from Toystory.” He said sarcastically.

You laughed again. “Well, if you are woody,” You stopped and put a finger on your chin, tapping it twice. “That makes me” You pointed to yourself. “Buzz lightyear.” you did jazz hands as he looked at you stupidly. 

“Did your mom drink in the womb?” You gasped and hit him on the arm when he walked by. “I’m just asking, you act like you have a disorder or something.” 

(I am switching from the Second POV to First person From here on out :) )

I glare at him and Hit him again. “That's offensive you know,” I said as we continued walking. 

We stopped in the middle of the woods when we came across a lake. It had a lake cabin and a road leading down to a hill with fields. “This what rich people used to buy?” I started as I looked out at the lake with my hand covering the sun. Carl only shrugged.

I looked around, nothing out of the ordinary, so I walked around the lake. “How crazy would I be to jump into this right now?” I asked, dropping my backpack and taking off my shoes. Carl just stared at me in disbelief. 

“Walkers can be in there.” He said, pointing into the dark, green water. I shrugged and stripped down until I was in my boxers. “You are crazy, Your gonna fuckin’ die in there,” Carl shouted as I dived in. Carl watched bubbles go up and then stop. “Y/n, it's not funny.” He shouted from the edge of the lake. He put his backpack down and crotched by the edge of the water.

A firm hand pulled him down by his ankle as he yelped and was pulled in. A hand held the back of his neck and arms had him pulled into the other person. A finger went over his lips, which of course made Carl freak out, There wasn’t much he could do from in the water, but a scratch. 

He was pulled back up and onto the wet mud as I held my face. My het hair covered my eyes as I had my mouth gaped open and blood dripped down my cheek. “You asshole.,” I said, staring at him.

“Im an asshole? You pulled me under!” He half yelled, shoving my face angrily with his hand. “Thought you were dead, and then you pulled me under, what the hell is wrong with you?” He said angrily, shoving me off and trying to get up. The mud under us made him slip and slide as he went backward and his ass landed on my stomach. I felt the wind be knocked out of me as I coughed and shoved him off. 

“Oh my GOD..  you fat ass.” I wheezed as I got off of the ground. I coughed and grabbed onto the grass, making my way up. Carl glared at me as I laughed at him. “Get up dumbass,” I said, seeing that the whole side of his face was covered in mud.

“You shoved me into the fucking.” Carl grabbed a pile of mud. “MUD.” He yelled as he threw it at me. I flinched and covered my face as it landed on my stomach with a splat and rolled down. For some reason, that made Carl laugh out loud. 

“Oh, that’s funny to you?” I asked, shuffling my foot under the mud, that move made Carl stop laughing and plead with me. “I thought it was funny, but when I do it, it’s not?” I asked, then kicked the pile of mud onto him. 

His mouth opened in shock when it covered the other side of his face. Carl wiped it off and tried standing this time, he balanced himself out as I held out my arm for him to reach out and grab. He refused and started to walk. “You’re gonna fall, Woody.” I teased. Of course, he ignored me. And of course, I was right as I watched his feet slip.

I started to laugh loudly, and It was cut off by a scream as he grabbed my hand at the last second, pulling me down with him. “You fucker.” I said, pulling my face out of the mud and spitting out. I wiped it out of my eyes and looked down at him with a glare.

His hair is now covered in mud, as well as his back and clothes. Both of us sit up and cough, wiping the mud off of each other.

We lay in the field, covered in mud, and looked at the sky. Carl had his flannel beside him and wore his white t-shirt as he leaned against his bookbag. He had re-did his eyepatch after drying off and sent me back into the water to grab his hat.

Carl sighed and looked over towards me. “How did you stay underwater that whole time?” He asked, his brows together. I yawned and sighed.

“My dad made me do a bunch of sports. Baseball was one of the main ones, he coached that.” I said, looking at him. He looked a little confused by what I said. “My dad worked as a gym teacher and a coach before the world died… but he got fired a few months before everything happened,” I stated, playing with my hands. “My mom would take me to the beach on hot days, but mostly a pool. We would have competitions of who could stay under the longest, whoever one got to pick out supper or lunch.” I said, looking up at the sky and smiling.

I felt Carl’s fingertips touch mine and looked at him. He was looking at the sky with a bit of a saddened look. He started to speak. “My mom… She and My dad would get in fights, though she would be the only one fighting. Even after the walking dead, they fought. But she protected me from every bad thing out there, or tried to at least.” I watched his eyes close and I moved my fingertips closer until they touched each other. I watched our hands. 

Our feet squashed onto the concrete as we walked back home. We walked closer than earlier, our arms skidding together as we spoke. “You think elephants are still alive?” I asked, looking around. Carl looked up at me like I was stupid. “Well, you never know…. They could be the last ones standing.” I joked.

Carl hit my arm and laughed a little. “That wasn’t funny.” He said and stopped laughing almost instantly. I laughed loudly and hit him harder.

“You're an ass,” I said, bumping our shoulders together a letting out a little laugh. He nodded while smiling. I watched the trees sway in motion with the wind as it blew through them. 

We got home shortly and climbed back into the walls without anyone noticing, thankfully. I ran upstairs with Carl chasing me into the bathroom. “Fuck you, I’m getting one first,” I yelled as he pulled my foot from the stairs. He managed to get passed me and tripped my legs up. “You ass!’ I said, landing on the top floor. I heard the door open and the shower turned on in a matter of seconds and huffed, getting off of the floor.

I entered the bathroom, almost tripping over Carl's clothes, and looked at the mirror, peering at the cut on my face that was now covered in dirt. I turned the sink on and splashed water onto my face and wiped the blood off. I looked at the closed curtain and hit it. “You're a dick,” I said, sitting on the toilet seat. Carl only laughed as I took off my shoes and socks. “Turn around,” I said, hitting the curtain. “I’m getting in,” I stated, opening the shower curtain.

Carl huffed and turned around before I got in. I grabbed the shower head and pointed it at my head, rubbing the dirt off and watching it sink to the bottom of the tub. I looked down at Carl's slighted hunched-over body as he washed off the dirt on his arms. I grabbed the soap and rubbed it through my hair, rinsing it quickly. My eyes roamed his back, there were a few freckles and one scar. Without thinking, I rubbed my finger over it, making Carl's head sharply look over. 

I mumbled a quick “Sorry,” before taking my hand off. His eyes looked at my torso and widened a little. Scars scattered around, large cuts, two bullet shots, and scratches that have yet to heal. I laugh and rub the mud off of my stomach. “I’ve had quite a few interactions with some bad people,” I muttered. “I don't show these much. My dad hates them, felt like it was his fault,” I said, closing the shampoo and placing it back on the rack.

“Was it?” Carl asked. I paused, looking down at him. 

“You still haven't gotten the mud out of your hair,” I said, wiping the soap I had in my hand in his hair. He pushed my hand away and huffed as he started to scrub his head. I got out of the shower as the water dripped down my now wet boxers and hair. I grabbed a towel and dried my hair quietly as I heard the shower turn off. I put my towel over the rod holding the curtain. “I’m gonna go throw our clothes in the washer,” I said, grabbing the clothes off the floor. I heard him hum as he grabbed the towel off of the rod. I walked downstairs slowly and to my bag, grabbed my dirty clothes out of it, along with my jacket, and walked into the laundry room, throwing the clothes into the washer. 

I threw in some detergent and turned it on. I hummed as I walked out and walked down the hall. I hear my radio go off in my bookbag as I walk into the living room. I sighed and Ignored it as I went upstairs. Carl was reading some comics in his bed with fresh clothes. “You got extras I could borrow?” I asked, pointing to his closet. He nodded as he flipped his page. I opened it up and all there were was boring plain clothes. I grabbed the black rusty jeans and black long-sleeve shirt before putting them on and plopping on his bed beside him.

Chapter 6☝️🤓

[demonrubberduck]

MinaxJonathan, knife, waiting for the Czarina Catherine while Mina is gradually changing more and more

His and Hers Knives

(Summary: PG-13 for mentions of suicide and a swear

Jonathan has knives for Dracula, or for anyone else who might try to separate him from Mina, and Mina has a knife of her own.)

The gentle scrape of blade upon whetstone did not awaken Mina. It was a quiet, soothing sound, though Jonathan doubted even the passing by of a circus could rouse her from her slumber before she was ready. Regardless, he tried to keep quiet while she slept, and he doubted this sound would have even bothered her before she’d been bitten.

Not that he was the sort to sharpen knives in the wee hours, before. Much had changed in the past few months. He wasn’t the same man who had set out on a train to Buda-Pesth and beyond for an ailing Mr. Hawkins.

A few more strokes had his kukri knife razor sharp. He set it aside and drew another knife, a Bowie, from a sheath within his waistcoat. He wet the stone, then began sharpening its blade. 

He kept four knives on his person, these days. The kukri was the most obvious. It was the statement, and the other concealed blades whatever punctuation it required. Let it not be said that Jonathan Harker wasn’t communicative.

He sharpened the Bowie, then his boot knife, and finally the curved karambit. This had become his nightly ritual, almost a knightly ritual, as he watched over Mina’s unnatural slumber. Dracula had come upon her in their bedchamber. Never again. Though Dracula was far away, concealed in the bowels of the Czarina Catherine, Jonathan still kept his vigil.

It wasn’t only for Dracula that he sharpened his blades. Van Helsing and Seward’s eyes were ever on Mina, assessing her sluggish pulse and her sharpening teeth and that terrible burned mark upon his pale forehead. If they could not hunt down and destroy Dracula to free Mina’s soul, they would come for her.

And if they did, they would find Jonathan. 

There would have to be a strategy to the order in which he addressed them, he knew. If they brought Godalming and Morris along, they would have to be dealt with first, though he’d have to be wary of Seward’s right hook if his phonograph entries were to be believed. Van Helsing would be last. Though his brain was the biggest threat to Mina’s continued existence, his body was slow and frail with age, and with the others gone, he would be easy to dispatch.

“Jonathan.”

If the two doctors came alone, that would be better. They might, if they underestimated Jonathan’s devotion to Mina. Then he could silence them, and catch Morris and Godalming unawares. 

“Jonathan.”

It wouldn’t be easy to take a life, but he could steel himself for Mina’s sake. A man had to protect his wife. ‘Til death do us part,’ what weak resolve was that? He would be hers beyond death, beyond ‘un-death’.

“Jonathan!” Chill hands and an insistent voice drew him from his dark thoughts, and he finally blinked and saw that Mina had awoken and taken his hands in her own around the hilt of his kukri, which he must have picked back up at some point of his musings. Mina’s hands looked ethereally pale against his.

“My love, where were you?” she asked. Here she was, so sickly pale, yet worried about him. He shook his head.

“Lost in thought.” He put the knife down so he could take her hands properly. “I’m sorry.”

She kissed him, just a chaste press of lip to lip. They had not known each other as husband and wife since she’d been bitten. Mina felt herself unclean, and though Jonathan thought her still as pure and holy as an angel, he would not press her into couplings she did not enthusiastically welcome. These light touches would suffice him. 

“I fear I’ll be asleep again soon. Come lie by me, while we still have time.”

Jonathan sat his kukri on the bedside table and joined Mina in bed. She pulled something from beneath her pillow and pressed it into his hands.

It was another knife, in a leather sheath, its handle wrapped in a black ribbon tied securely in a knot.

“I asked Mr. Morris to get me a blade. It’s a fine one, isn’t it?” Mina motioned for Jonathan to unsheath it.

He drew it out. It was a simple boning blade, thin and straight, almost delicate, especially when compared to his kukri. Jonathan ran his finger along the flat of the blade, then against the silk ribbon-wrapped hilt.

“I see you decorated it.” 

Mina smiled at him. “Yes, it’s silly, but I wanted to make it my own. Will you show me how to sharpen it?”

Jonathan nodded. There was nothing he could deny her, except… except that which she’d asked at her ‘funeral’. 

“In the daylight hours, when you’re more awake,” he promised. He slid it back into its sheath and handed it back to her.

“Good. I need it to be sharp.”

“God be willing, you’ll never get close enough to Dracula or any other enemy to need a sharp knife,” he said. He reached over and picked up the kukri. “That’s what this is for.”

She smiled again, lips closed. All of her smiles were like that, these days. Hiding her teeth, fearing the day they became fangs. 

“I know it is. Each thing has its purpose, Jonathan. This knife is not for him. It’s for… it’s for me.”

Her voice caught, and Jonathan looked up at her sharply.

“No,” he said. He reached over to take the knife from her, but she drew it away and cradled it to her breast. He could have wrested it away from her, but he couldn’t bear to handle her so harshly, so he drew back, letting her keep the little blade.

“Listen to me, husband,” she pleaded. “I can feel myself changing. I am clinging to the same hope we all are, but… but we must be ready, in case that hope fails.”

“That is what the kukri is for,” he said again. “If we cannot be together as man and wife, then I will serve you as your protector and thrall, and keep away any who would harm you. You can have my blood, my body, my life. As long as we’re together, I don’t care about anything else!”

“But I do!” Mina’s voice rose to match his own in volume and passion. “Perhaps you could find it in your heart to love me as a vampire, but I could not love myself. I must be human, or else I must be a corpse. If you love me, listen to me.”

Jonathan loved her, and so he listened. He forced his hand to release the white-knuckled grip on the kukri’s handle.

“Go on, then,” he whispered.

She nodded, and her eyes shone with tears as she continued.

“I borrowed a book on anatomy from Dr. Seward to be sure. This little blade should be long enough to pierce a heart. If Dracula escapes us and the transformation is upon me, I want you to…”

A sob interrupted her, and she swallowed hard. “I want you to use it on me. I’m very afraid, but I think if it’s such a thin blade, and if it’s plenty sharp and in the hands of someone I love… I think, then, that I could bear it.”

Jonathan couldn’t hold back his tears at the thought of that, and both of them took each other by the hand, crying. 

“A-and I would w-want you to go on with your life, and find happiness, but…”

“Without you? There could never be such a thing,” Jonathan interrupted. 

Mina nodded, and wiped a hand at her eyes. “I know, my love. And if that be the case, then, this knife can be for you as well.”

Jonathan drew her into his arms. “Thank you, my dearest. Thank you.” Her words delivered to him such profound relief that he hasn’t known since she’d arrived by his side at the Hospital of Saint Joseph and Saint Mary in Budapesh to marry him. He could face whatever peril, so long as at the end of it, he ended up where she was, be it heaven, hell, or their home in Exeter.

“It’ll be romantic, in a way,” Mina said, head nestled into his shoulder, her tears beginning to soak through his nightshirt. “Our hearts’ blood, mingled together on one blade. Together to the end.”

Jonathan nodded. “I c-can draw up our wills, that we will be buried together, in the same coffin, with this knife laid beside us if you’d like.”

He felt her nod against his neck. His wonderful, perfect bride and her obsession with the macabre. How he adored her.

They held each other until their tears had all been shed, and then Jonathan wiped first her eyes, then his own with his handkerchief. 

Mina’s eyelids began to sink lower, her pulse slowing. She yawned, but made barely a sound. 

“I fear… I cannot stay awake much longer….” 

Jonathan lowered her down onto the bed. “Sleep, love.”

He tucked her in, and took his seat once more. Now he had five knives to sharpen during his vigil. He held the kukri in his right hand, the little boning knife in his left, considering both. Dracula would die, or the Harkers would. 

He raised the kukri up, admiring the deadly sharp edge of the blade. It would be Dracula or the Harkers, and they knew where Dracula fucking slept.

[tcwmatchmakingau]

The Sixth Language (Part 4)

Pairing: Waxer x Fem!Reader (single parent)

Rating: M (18+ minors do not interact) 

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; gentle femdom; body worship; oral sex; PIV; oh, my god, it’s happening!

Read the full series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“I need to tell you something,” you whisper, and just then, his teeth scrape across the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

“Now?” he asks in a voice thick with lust, not stopping his progress across your shoulder.

You writhe against him with a moan of pleasure, but somehow, your rational brain prevails. “Yes.”

“What is it?” he asks, gently tugging your neckline further down so he can explore the soft flesh beneath your blouse.

As much as it pains you, you drop your legs from around his waist and raise a hand to his chest to give him a soft push. He stops instantly and takes a small step back. You immediately miss his warmth. 

“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” you confess. “And I don’t want to take this any further until you know the full truth.”

Waxer’s eyes widen, and his mouth sets in a firm line. He looks so serious, and you wish for the thousandth kriffing time that you’d just been honest from the beginning. What if he runs? What if he thinks I’ve been manipulating him all along? 

Your position on the countertop makes you feel vulnerable and ridiculous. You slide forward, and Waxer takes another step backward to give you space as you drop down to the floor. You can’t decide what to do with your hands; suddenly, it feels like you have too many of them, and you fidget for a moment until at last you wrap your arms around your torso.

You take a deep breath, and you tell the truth. “I have a daughter. Kaia. She’s two.”

“I know,” he says.

You blink. “You—you do?”

“Yeah, RTL told me.”

“I didn’t tell them about her, though,” you say, confused.

He shrugs. “They do a background check on all their applicants. It must have come up then. Didn’t you sign the waiver?”

You had; you just hadn’t realized how thorough they would be. It doesn’t matter now, though.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you ask.

“I figured you’d talk about her when you were ready,” he replies.

“So,” you begin, dumbfounded, “you’re okay with it?”

He laughs, and the nervous tension in your shoulders eases when you see his eyes soften. “Of course, I am. I wouldn’t have agreed to the match if I weren’t.”

“Okay, but you should know that she’s in the Terrible Twos right now, and she has, just, so many toys, and she always leaves them lying around, I spend two thirds of my life picking up tooka dolls, you have no idea, and she spreads crumbs everywhere whenever she eats, and she recently started doing this thing where she bites—”

A slow smile spreads across Waxer’s face as you ramble, crinkling the corners of his lovely eyes, and, Wait, has he always had that perfectly kissable dimple? And just as you’re complaining about the frankly ridiculous number of dolls in Kaia’s toy stash, he reaches for your hands, interlacing his fingers with yours, and draws you close to him, and then he lowers his mouth to yours, and your monologue fades into a sigh of pleasure as his tongue slides across yours. 

He kisses you thoroughly, but all too soon, his lips pull away from yours. Instead of letting you go, though, he kisses you again, first on one cheek, and then the other, and then he drops an adorable little kiss on the tip of your nose, and then the center of your forehead, and once on each eyebrow, until your entire face glows with happiness and you giggle helplessly against his chest. 

Giggling? Who am I? you can’t help but wonder.

“Was there something else you needed to tell me?” he asks between kisses.

You shake your head. Blissfully unaware of the existential crisis he has awakened in you, Waxer continues to sprinkle kisses across your face, and while you’re distracted, he slides his hands around your torso and up your back. By the time he returns to your lips, you’re pressed tightly up against him, and now he turns purposeful, devouring your mouth with a kiss that leaves you breathless and trembling.

You slip your hands under the hem of his shirt and glide your palms over his skin, caressing his firm muscles and exploring his body with your touch. As you skim over his ribs, he flinches, and you pause.

“Ticklish?” you whisper against his mouth. He nods, and you move away from the danger zone. “Don’t tell Kaia. She’s in the phase where she thinks tickles are hilarious, and she will torture you. We’re working on it.”

His eyes go soft, and he smiles. “Does this mean you trust me enough to introduce us someday?”

“Someday,” you nod, and his face lights up, but he doesn’t press the issue. “But right now, I have plans that are definitely not kid-friendly.”

“Oh?” he grins. “And what would those be?”

“Come with me, and I’ll show you,” you reply, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom.

You slide your hands under his shirt, carefully avoiding his ribs this time, and you tug the shirt off over his head. You suck in an audible breath when his body is finally revealed to you. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you breathe, raking your gaze across his torso. 

You already knew he was incredibly fit, but now that all that smooth, brown skin and dense muscle is on display, you’re in awe. He watches you with darkened eyes beneath hooded lids, and you reach out to grasp his belt, pulling him closer to you. He yields without resistance, and as you press your open mouth to his chest and begin to explore his body, he shivers against you.

Your flattened hands roam over his bare skin, fingers dipping below the waistband of his pants, gliding over the planes of his back and shoulders while your lips and tongue chart a path of heated kisses across his torso and up his neck. He clutches his arms around you as his breathing grows deep and ragged. You lick the salt from his skin, and when you click your teeth together softly next to his ear, he lets out a quiet, agonized whimper.

“I am going to take such good care of you,” you whisper.

He turns to look at you, his warm eyes intent with arousal as they flit between your eyes and mouth. You wrap your hand around the back of his neck and gently pull him down to kiss you. He kisses you with his entire soul, holding nothing back. No caution, no reserve, and you realize how dangerously easy it would be to fall in love with a man who kisses like that.

You press him backwards onto the bed, and you crawl up between his legs, skating your hands along his thighs. He’s hard beneath his trousers, and you tease him through the fabric before you continue your progress up his body to straddle his hips. 

“I want to see you,” he says in a low voice. “Please.”

You smile and draw his hands up to your blouse. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He begins to unbutton your blouse, brushing his knuckles softly against your throat, down your chest, between your breasts, over the soft skin of your belly, until the fabric falls apart, and he slips it down over your shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, trailing his fingers reverently over the slopes of your breasts, following the curve of your bra. You unhook it one-handed behind your back, and as it falls away, his hands ghost down to caress the undersides of your breasts, and then continue down your ribcage. His touch is feather-light, just grazing your skin, never digging into your soft flesh.

You lean forward to kiss him again, and this time, you make your way slowly down his jaw, down his neck, kissing and licking and gently sucking your way down his abdomen, until you reach his waistband. You unbuckle his belt while your mouth has him distracted, and by the time you reach your destination, it is only the work of a few seconds to unzip his trousers and slide them down his thighs.

His cock is absolutely rigid, straining toward you, but you’re feeling a little vindictive after the way he worked you up in the kitchen, so you take your time instead of giving him the relief he so obviously craves. You press a soft kiss to the inside of his calf, and then another, a little higher. You slide your tongue in a long, unhurried lick up the inside of his lovely, thick thigh, and then you blow softly on it and watch the way his leg hair prickles under the sensation. He makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whine, and his hips shift. His cock looks delicious, but you are determined to spend as long as you need to take him apart one piece at a time. Some things are worth waiting for.

You shift your attention to his other leg, and this time, you alternate a few tiny, soft nips on his skin in between kisses and licks. By the time you reach the top of his thigh, his chest is heaving with exertion, and his hands are clenched into tight fists on the bed on either side of his head. Interesting. You’re tempted to climb on top of him and pin those fists to the mattress while you ride him into the sunset, but you have a plan, and you intend to stick to it. Besides, you have to save something for the next round.

The instant your tongue cups around one of his balls, Waxer convulses with a tormented cry, his legs spasming and his abs clenching to jerk his head and shoulders off the bed. You laugh quietly and press your hand to the center of his chest, pushing him back down onto the mattress.

“Be a darling and stay where you’re told,” you murmur.

“Fuck, please, please—” he gasps.

“Hush, love. Lie back and let me make you feel good. Trust me,” you whisper, your breath hot against his skin, so close to where he wants you, but still not touching him.

When you gently suck his ball into your mouth, his entire body tenses, but he forces himself to lie obediently still beneath you, and when you shift to his other ball, he begins to chant something under his breath. You listen carefully and realize he’s reciting military regulations. I guess I’m not working hard enough if he can still remember his own name, let alone a reg manual, you think as a devious smile lights your eyes.

Waxer sees it and mumbles, “Oh, kriff.”

You release him from your mouth and turn your attention to his cock. A thick, glassy sphere of precum beads at the tip, and you gently dip your finger in it, drawing tiny, concentric circles around his head. When you pull away, the fluid stretches between you until the thin, translucent string snaps, and you bring your fingertip to your mouth and take a tiny, delicate taste of it. Your own quiet, pleased hum is drowned out by Waxer’s response.

Finally, finally, you lean forward and begin to move your tongue over his cock with the smallest, softest touches. You circle the head, swirling over his frenulum and flicking lightly over the slit, and then you kiss your way down his shaft and back up again. You work patiently, slowly increasing the speed and pressure, and by the time you take him fully inside your mouth, Waxer’s entire body is wracked with shudders. An endless stream of incoherent moans and pleading flows from him as you pleasure him with your lips and mouth and tongue.

“I’m close—I’m so kriffing close,” he gasps in warning. “You should—”

You cup his testicles gently with your hand, and when his legs flex in response, you slip your fingers down to massage the hard length of his shaft behind his balls. His reaction is intense and immediate. He lets out a harsh sob, and his hips arch off the mattress, inadvertently thrusting his cock deep into your mouth. He comes hard, his release flooding over your tongue, and you swallow quickly to keep from gagging from the sheer quantity. You keep sucking and licking his cock as his body begins to relax and his breath comes in deep, rough gasps.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he pants. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“It’s all right,” you say, releasing him momentarily as you flick tiny, gentle licks over his cock, which remains surprisingly firm. “I did it on purpose.”

He lies still, breathing hard as he reaches down to stroke your face with such tenderness that it makes your chest ache. After a moment, he pulls you up into a kiss. “Your turn.”

“Do you need a minute?” you ask.

He flips you over onto your back and begins to lavish kisses over your body, tugging your skirt and underwear off as he does. 

“What do you think?” he asks, rolling his pelvis against your thigh.

“I think those rumors I heard about clone stamina are true,” you giggle—again with the giggling!

“Shall we put it to the test?” he asks.

“I think so,” you reply gravely. “It’s important to research things for ourselves and not just accept everything we hear at face value.”

“So true,” he agrees, kissing his way down your body until he finds your clit and slides his tongue over it. “Kriff, are you this wet just from sucking me off?”

He gazes up at you with something like adoration in his eyes.

“That, and the way you worked me up earlier—Oh, kriff—” you gasp, your hips levitating off the bed as he delves into your pussy.

He quickly learns exactly how you like to be touched, testing and experimenting and paying close attention to your reactions until he has you trembling and moaning beneath him. When he’s satisfied that you are ready for him, he slides into you gradually, giving you plenty of time to adjust to his size, stroking your clit rhythmically all the while. Once he’s inside, though, the power of his body is undeniable. 

He slips his hands beneath your back and wraps them over your shoulders so he can hold you in place as he thrusts into you again and again. You wrap your legs around him and marvel at his strength as his hips and ass flex to drive his cock so deep inside you that you can barely breathe. And then you don’t think anything at all, lost in sensation and drowning in him.

—

A/N: Clone trooper jizz tastes like cinnamon roll topping. It’s canon.

[the-last-flame-au]

[ The Ember That May Reignite The Fire ]

"Cassandra Jones!! You cannot be serious right now!!" April shouted. It was rare for her to truly get mad and chew someone out and even rarer for April to cuss out Casey but this was something that couldn't be left unaddressed.

"Look- I couldn't just leave a baby out there to die. You're the one who's been telling me for years to do the right thing and now that I do it, it's still wrong?! Where is the logic in that O'Neil?" Casey defended herself while holding the dirty orphan she picked up on patrol a little closer to her chest.

Somehow this little creature had awakened a new side in Casey. A caring one. Not in the way she cares for the Hamato clan or the resistance. She started to care like a mother and all the small child had to do was cry.

The situation Casey had found the orphan was dire, her squadron had just pushed back a small group of Kraang hounds and were securing the area for supply runs when the child cried out beneath some rubble.

It was a human child that Casey picked up and something about that small, dirty face made her soft inside. The moment she had picked up the human infant he stopped crying, opting out for more content coos.

"Casey you are out of your mind! We are barely scraping by already! We cannot handle a small baby here! Our resources are limited!" April chastised Casey some more. "Just- just let me try okay? Maybe this kid grows up to be strong and bright. Maybe he's gonna be the

solution to the mess outside. Let me try and raise this kid. April please."

Whenever Casey got to emotional talk April couldn't keep up her tough demeanor. It didn't help that the small child in Casey's arms was malnourished and still adorable. April understood that these two would be an incredible little family and a major pain in her ass. "Fine. He's your responsibility though. You make sure he is fed, clothed, bathed, gets his shots, trains when he's old enough and most important of all: make sure that child is loved. If you wanna be a mom, do it right" commanded April.

Casey saluted, a sign of respect yet there was softness in both women. For each other and the small child that was now snuggled up against Casey's chest and sleeping soundly.

"He shall be named CJ!" Casey proclaimed loudly. It had only been a few hours since she brought the infant into the base and introduced him to her found family, the Hamato clan.

Mikey especially loved the little boy from the second he saw him. The child gave him hope. Hope that within all this death and destruction new life could grow. It gave him hope that his brothers didn't die for nothing. That there might be peaceful days again.

Mikey missed his brothers so dearly, he lost them when they were all just children. When they were thrust into a situation so much bigger than themselves, even bigger than the Shredder.

Michelangelo hoped that this child, CJ, would be the key to making everything up to his beloved brothers.

"May I ask what CJ stands for Casey?" Splinter spoke up. He was also excited at the existence of this little boy, he missed his own so much. Feeling like a failure of a father unable to protect them from the world, from danger.

"Well it stands for Casey Junior, of course!" Casey, now senior, proclaimed proudly. "Casey… Junior..? You named the child after yourself?" Draxum questioned. "Of course! There is no greater fighter than I so this shall set my son's destiny in stone!" shouted Casey.

Casey junior seemed unshaken by his mother's loud antics. While Casey laughed at her own genius she caught unimpressed looks from April, Draxum and Splinter.

The only one not paying attention was Mikey. He was busy holding CJ in his arms, enthralled by the little life he held. CJ seemed equally curious about Mikey, reaching for his beak and trying to grab at him.

The baby babbled away, incoherently but still very headstrong in what he wanted. Mikey entertained the young boy while the other four still argued about Casey's name choice.

"I will protect you CJ, I promise no bad thing will ever happen to you." Mikey spoke, though it was little more than a hushed whisper, just loud enough that CJ might hear but no one else. Mikey failed at protecting his brothers but he would not fail in protecting this child.

That, he swore to himself.

Story written by @spacemimz Art by @noxvee6

[2dmenenthusiast]

Last Night on Earth Pt.6

(Ethan Winters x Gn!Reader)

warnings/other info: suicidal ideation, referenced death of minor characters, serious injuries

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9

“Baker.”

The steady beeping of the EKG droned on in your head, the whiteness of the sheets a strong contrast to the red wounds decorating your hands.

“Baker.”

Explosions, screaming, blood. So much fucking blood. The faces of your dead comrades— your friends— were permanently etched into your brain, their lips moving with words that haunted your very soul.

“Why couldn’t you save us?”

“You left me to die.”

“You killed us.”

“It should’ve been you.”

It should’ve been you. It should’ve been you. It should’ve—

“Baker!”

You gasped, head snapping up to see your Captain standing in front of you with his hands held behind his back. Letting out a shuddered breath, you placed a hand on your chest and curled your fingers into your hospital gown.

“Sir, I—”

“Are you alright?”

It felt like such a loaded question. One you didn’t have the answer to. Physically, yes. Other than a broken leg and a few cuts and scrapes, you were fine. You were alive, which was practically a miracle. Mentally, however, you felt like your brain was on fire. Your thoughts raced at a million miles a minute, the only consistent thought going through your head being how much you wanted to die.

“I… I don’t know.”

He nodded, and sat on the edge of your bed. You held your breath. His presence didn’t scare you or intimidate you, but you felt anxious. Like he was waiting to spill news that would ruin your life. Your two best friends died. The only real friends you’ve ever had. WHat could possibly be worse than that?

“I want you to meet with the counselor we have on base. Get a status on how you're feeling.”

Your eyes widened. “Sir, I— I’m fine.”

“You couldn’t give me that answer when I first asked you.”

Your lips pressed together in a tight line, casting your eyes to your casted leg. You didn’t want counseling. Didn’t want to sit in an uncomfortable chair and pour your feelings out to a person who was being paid to care. You just wanted to heal up as fast as possible and go back into active duty. Throw yourself into your work until you couldn’t think about anything else.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t feel like I need—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you absentmindedly picked at the scabs forming over your knuckles, trying to distract yourself with something.

“After your meeting, you’re being sent home on medical leave. Your duty status will be pending until we go over your evaluation.”

You nodded, and without another word, your superior left. There was nothing you could do besides sink into the bed, tears trickling down your face and wetting your pillow.

It should’ve been you.

***

Skinny fingers dug into slushy mud as Mia came too, looking at her dirtied reflection in the water. She couldn’t remember what happened. She was talking to Ethan on the boat and then all of the sudden… blackness. No doubt the work of Eveline.

Scrambling up on her feet, she cautiously walked through the debris, and gazed up at the impossibly large, destroyed ship sitting in front of her. The sight gave her pause, and she tried to wrack her brain for where she recognized it from, but she couldn’t place it. But the looming structure made her feel uneasy, that she knew for certain.

Moving forward, her breath hitched in her throat when her eyes landed on Ethan, face down in the mud. She immediately rushed for him, hands grabbing his shoulders and trying to shake him awake.

“Ethan? Ethan!”

He didn’t even have a chance to awaken when waves of black mold came out of the ground and surrounded him, whisking him away. She screamed for him, watching with horror as her husband was taken, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Evie’s powers were far greater than anyone could comprehend, but with her current state, Mia thought it was almost remarkable how she was still so strong.

Taking one last full glance at the boat, she let out a deep sigh and squared her shoulders. Evie brought them here for a reason. And she was going to find out.

***

Yeah. Definitely burning these pants when you’re done with them.

You were grateful they were tucked into your boots and that the laces were tied tight, otherwise you’d have mud pooling in the bottom of them. Thank god for growing up on a swamp. Otherwise, you’d be tripping over yourself and getting your feet stuck. For how many times you’ve told people you hate to “eat dirt,” you think this would be a giant middle finger from the universe if the earth and gravity decided to suddenly betray you.

Not like most of your life wasn’t a giant “Fuck You”.

No, your greatest worry was the gators lurking around in the murky water. And the great idea to throw Lucas in with them may or may not have occurred to you during your trek to the boat. 

Who knows, with this freaky infection coursing through him, he might turn into some giant, weird human-gator hybrid.

Humagator.

Alliman?

Not important.

“Christ, where’s my fuckin’ waders when I need ‘em.”

Ethan owes you a new pair of boots, too.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’ve been this far down in the swamp. Actually, you don’t think you have. You hoped the ship wasn’t too far out from where you currently were. While the deep mud and murky water were a pain to deal with, you definitely preferred this over walking hours through cities that had nothing but sand for miles.

You gasped when the water rippled in front of you and something swam under the surface. You pointed your gun, ready for it to attack, but the mysterious creature swam right past you in the direction you came from. You stared off into the darkness for a moment and shrugged. One last thing you had to waste bullets on.

Christ, what was Eveline doing to them? Has she already decided to Kill Ethan and keep Mia all for herself? Either that, or she decided to take over and make him a part of her sick family. You hoped it wasn’t the former. God, anything but that. You wanted more than anything for them to be okay.  Like Ethan somehow used his knack for surviving and escaped Evie. Or he finally killed her. That would certainly be preferable.

It was so quiet out here, the only sound being the frogs hiding in the tall weeds and cattails, and the cicadas flying through the tree leaves. It was almost unsettling. Before Evie came to you, your family home was always bustling with noise. Whether it be Zoe and Lucas shouting at each other, or your father playing old music on his record player. There were many nights when you all would stay up late and play Black Jack, your brother always a sore loser, and your father taking a peek at momma’s cards whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. She always caught him.

The memories were painful to think about. So many happy moments you still could’ve had if Mia and Eveline never showed up in your lives. What added onto the hurt was the fact that you probably wouldn’t be able to keep mementos from the house. None of your family photo albums, or the blankets your mother quilted for you. No, the government would show up, and they’d have to torch it. All of it. There couldn’t be any risk of the infection spreading somehow. God, you dreaded the deep decontamination cleaning you were gonna have to get later.

They’d probably get in crevices you didn’t know you had.

Continuing on with a disturbed shiver, it wasn’t long until you finally came across the crashed ship. There was a giant hole in the side of it, rusted metal spread out all over the swamp. You wondered how something could do so much damage, and if it was Evie’s doing, you only just realized in that moment how powerful she was.

For the sake of survival, you decided against going inside of it, choosing rather to wade around it for any sign of life. Preferably not one of Eveline’s friends. The closer you got to the ship, your ears picked up on the groaning inside. If Ethan was in there…

Something else sounded in the distance, and you turned your head to see a small, wooden cabin at the edge of the water. Was that…static?”

You moved as fast as you could in the murky water, hands grappling for the raised platform and pulling yourself up onto the dock. The static got louder, and you practically busted the door down, the flimsy wood barely hanging on its hinges. When you saw the radio on the table, you almost broke down crying and scrambled for the receiver.

“Hello?! Can anyone read me?”

Silence. You clenched your teeth.

“Is there anyone there? Come in.”

Again, there was no answer. The radio dropped out of your hand as you fell to your knees, leaning your arms on the table and resting your head against them whilst sobs wracked your body.

You were going to die. No one was coming to help, and Ethan and Mia were going to meet a fate probably worse than death. Zoe would be left alone.

And there was nothing you could do to save them.

The exhaustion settled deep in your bones, and you cried until your chest hurt. Any lingering hope you had within you vanished.

What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

Then, the radio crackled to life.

“Alpha 1— this is Bravo 1— do you read?”

You let out a soft gasp and lifted your head, listening closely.

“This is Alpha 1. Report. Did you find anything?”

“A thorough search of the Baker property revealed zero survivors. Repeat, zero survivors. We did find evidence of a skirmish.”

“Eveline?”

Holy shit, they were looking for her!

“Negative. However, we did find several encrypted messages from the Baker’s son, Lucas, to an unknown third party. You can probably guess who that was.”

“Great. We’ve had reports he’s in the abandoned mines south of the property. I’m gonna have a look.”

“Roger that. We’ll meet you at those coordinates.”

“If you encounter Eveline, orders are shoot to kill. Repeat, shoot to kill.”

The transmission ended, and you sat back on your feet. Lucas… what was he doing? Who was he sending messages to? How the fuck was he involved in all of this?! After three years, you realized you still had more questions than answers, only scraping the tip of the iceberg when it came to everything you knew. You knew Lucas was always a wild card, but how much did you not know about him? About what he was doing?

But, people were here. People that were on your side for once and wanted Eveline dead just as much as you did. And they were military by the sound of it. That meant fire power. Enough to wipe out that bitch and your brother. You hoped you ran into them soon.

***

“Ethan.”

…

“Ethan…”

The darkness that filled his vision slowly dissipated, revealing the blurry image of Jack Baker in front of him. He gasped, raising his hands, and Jack quickly hushed his worries.

“I know, I know. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Ethan looked around curiously. He was back in the main house, sitting on the living room couch. Everything around him was distorted, like he was in some weird dream. This must be a dream if Jack Baker is sitting in front of him, acting like he was at peace of mind. Zoe sat next to her father, staring with a blank look on her face. And when he looked over at the other couch, he saw…

You.

A tingling shot through his legs as he immediately got the urge to get up and go over to you, quietly uttering your name. You just gave him a small smile.

“It’s okay, Ethan.”

He wanted to doubt that. Come to the conclusion that his mind was just playing one big trick on him, and Jack would slit his throat in the next two seconds. But when he looked over at your father, he didn’t get that unsettling feeling that’s been plaguing him all night. He felt strangely… calm.

“I never would’ve hurt you if I could have helped it. son.”

Ethan blinked. “What do you mean?”

Jack sighed, and shook his head. “I’m no killer, Ethan. Neither is Marguerite, nor Zoe.” He looked at you with a sad smile. “They’ve been helping you an awful lot, haven’t they?”

Ethan felt something warm envelop his hand, and he looked down to see your hand wrapped around his. He didn’t hesitate to curl his fingers, giving your hand a squeeze. It felt like you were really here.

“But that girl, Eveline. She did this to us,” Jack continued.

Ethan drew his attention back to your father. “What the hell is she? What did she do to you?”

It seemed like it was almost painful for Jack to talk about it, the way he sighed. “She infected us with her gift. That’s what she calls it.I found her near a busted-out tanker in the bayou. Everything changed after that.”

“So she infects you, and then she takes control?” Ethan could barely wrap his mind around what Jack was saying.

“No, not exactly. She just— she forces her way into your mind and your soul and… you can’t fight back. You’re connected to her, and you can’t resist the urge to…”

Ethan watched you get up from your spot, letting go of his hand so you could sit next to Jack. You put a comforting hand on his back, and he sighed.

“You become a different person after that.”

The pieces were slowly starting to come together for Ethan. “So… Mia sent me that message because of Eveline?”

“Listen, the girl just wants a family of her own. But you gotta find her, and stop her.” Your head leaned over to rest on your father’s shoulder, a sad looking washing over your face. Jack put his hand on your knee. “Ethan, free my family. Please.”

Ethan’s gaze landed on you as you stood and crouched in front of him, lips pressed together in a weak smile. You reached up and brushed a few blonde stray hairs away from his forehead, before your hand came down and cupped his jaw.

“You’re strong, Ethan. Stronger than any of us. You’ll make it through this. You’ll save us.”

Rising to your feet, you leaned down and gently pressed your lips to his forehead— Ethan’s eyes gently fluttering shut at the feeling— before walking out of sight. That’s when his vision slowly started to fade, the image of Jack becoming blurry in front of him.

When his eyes adjusted again, it wasn’t you or your father that he saw, but it was… black? He tried moving, but he found his arms and legs trapped, and when he tried flexing his fingers, he felt something wet squish against them.

Mold.

He was in mold.

There were muffled voices, but he didn’t have the opportunity to try and decipher them when light suddenly poured into his vision, and he took a deep breath. Mia frantically tore the mold away from his body before grabbing him and pulling him out, the mold sticking to his arms like it had become a part of him. He was dazed and confused, gripping his wife’s arms as he tried to get his bearings again.

“Wait— Mia, how?”

She shook her head. “There isn’t any time. You have to get out and find her.” 

He could barely register what she was saying, because the next thing he knew, she was shoving something in his hand and pushing him out of the room, shutting the steel door between them.

“Wait– wait! What are you doing?!”

“Saving your life… I won’t be able to resist for much longer.”

Resist?! He thought he cured her!

Through the small window, he could see Eveline appear behind Mia, and he felt rage course through him. This— Everything— It was all her fault!

“Now, go kill that little bitch.”

Mold covered the glass as he shouted for his wife, slamming his hands against the door in some attempt to push it open. Fuck, what was she going to do to her? A million different possibilities and fears circled through Ethan’s mind as he tried finding his way off the ship, the mold on the wall morphing into different messages right in front of his eyes.

It’s all your fault.

His jaw clenched, trying to ignore the pang of regret he felt for not trying harder to get back to Mia. But what could he do? Eveline infected her again. She’d kill him, and then there’d be no saving any of you. His mind drifted back to you, and worry clouded his mind. Shit, what was even happening to you right now? Did you and Zoe end up like Mia? Maybe you were both waiting outside the ship, ready to strike as soon as he showed his face. If you were doing Evie’s bidding, he could only imagine the hundreds of possibilities he might die tonight.

Ethan’s steps sped up into a jog when he could finally see the outside world waiting for him, taking a deep breath to make sure he was still here. The freezing water against his legs when he stepped off the metal ledge and into the swamp was confirmation enough, and he waded through the water as quickly as he could. His heart leapt up into his throat when he saw a wooden shelter a few yards away, pushing himself with a grunt despite every muscle and bone in his body aching. He had to push through it. He had to save Mia. He had to save you.

When he lifted himself onto the dock, he took out his gun with shaking hands, teeth chattering, and pressed his hand against the flimsy door. God forbid another one of Evie’s friend’s was in here. With a deep breath, he raised his gun—

***

The door to your left burst open, and you scrambled to your feet and whipped your gun out, holding it in shaky hands. Your chest heaved with deep breaths, eyes wide as you stared down the barrel of the gun pointed back at you. It took a second for your vision to unblur, making out a familiar head of blonde hair and features that were covered in dirt and debris.

“Holy shit,” your voice came out in a whisper.

Ethan huffed out a breath in relief, muttering your name quietly to himself before dropping his gun to the floor and closing the distance between you. Your own weapon clattered to the ground as you crashed into him, sweeping you up into a bone crushing hug, and your arms quickly enveloped him whilst you buried your face in his shoulder. You never wanted to let him go. Because if you did, he might leave again, and the chance to find him may be even slimmer than it was this time.

When his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, you could feel your eyes burn with fresh tears, fingers tightly gripping the back of his shirt.

“Fuck. You have no idea how glad I am to see you right now,” Ethan chuckled, his hold on you tightening.

You laughed and sniffled, and he slowly let you pull away. His gaze traveled up and down your form, like he hadn’t seen you in years and was committing your image to memory. His eyes lingered on your face, and you subconsciously reached up to wipe your cheek. You watched his brows furrow.

“Where’s Zoe?”

Any traces of happiness you had on your face quickly drained, and Ethan frowned. “Evie, she… I can’t even explain it. She did something. Zo’s unconscious, and– shit, I don’t know how to help her.”

You felt yourself about to cry again and wanted to scream. This whole night has been a series of ups and downs, an overwhelming feeling that you’ve felt more on this single night than any other for the past three years. You wanted to hold it together. But fuck, it was getting more difficult each passing second.

Ethan held out his hand, a small glass jar in his palm. “Mia gave me this. I think we can use it to stop Eveline.”

Your arms crossed over your chest. “Is she—”

“She’s alive. Just… We have to hurry.”

You nodded and followed Ethan out of the small shack, nothing surrounding you but mud and trees.

“There’s military here. Heard it on the radio inside. They’re looking for Evie.”

Ethan stopped in his tracks. “Holy shit. You mean there’s people here to help us?”

You smiled and nodded, and could practically feel the relief coming from him. “They said Lucas was hiding in the mines just off the property. My father told me about the mines before, but he said they were all caved in.”

“Maybe he lied. Didn’t want you and your siblings playing around in them?”

You hummed. “Maybe. Still, we should check it out. If Lucas is hiding there, maybe we could get some answers.”

If it was one thing you needed, it was answers. You were so fucking tired of being in the dark, left guessing without any sufficient information to go off of. You felt like you and your family were damn lab rats. Left scrambling while everyone else had the solutions and answers to whatever disease you were given. It made you so fucking angry, and it felt like the only thing you felt these last few years was constant anger. Coursing through you and dictating every thought and decision you made. At least it kept you alive. Kept you surviving.

Walking through the tall grass, you and Ethan eventually came across a large industrial elevator in the middle of a clearing. Your forehead wrinkled.

“The hell is this doing here?”

“It’s clearly not abandoned. It’s got running power.”

“Think this is the way Lucas has been getting into the mines?”

Ethan shrugged. “We’re about to find out.”

You swallowed and hesitantly pressed the button to open the doors, stepping in after him. When the doors shut and you began descending, you felt like you just signed your death warrant.

Next stop: Hell!

Letting out a huff, you glanced at Ethan only to find him already looking at you.

“What? Something on my face?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just… It’s good to see you. I didn’t think…” He pressed his lips together, eyes shifting away from you.

You reached out, grabbing his arm. “Hey. It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me. I thought you knew that by now.”

A small grin slowly stretched across his face, causing a smile of your own to form as well. Shit. You didn’t realize until now just how much you missed it. His smile. If you were honest, you didn’t know if you’d ever see him again either.

“I wouldn’t have, by the way.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Wouldn’t have what?”

“Forgotten about you.” 

You could feel your breath hitch in your throat, Ethan staring right into you.

“I would’ve never forgotten you.”

Clearing your throat, you tried to play off how flustered you felt with a small chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I mean, I make it pretty hard to don’t I?” you winked.

Ethan just shook his head, and the elevator stopped. The doors opened, revealing the bright white expanse of the salt mine around you. It was practically blinding. And weirdly ominous. You had no doubt in your mind that Lucas was probably expecting you to come down here, which meant he likely had more traps set out for you. You told Ethan to be careful, and took the lead.

Salt and rocks crunched under your feet, your breaths practically echoing off the cave walls. You almost preferred being trapped in the house than down here. Maybe because it wasn’t so empty, or underground for that matter. The thought of a cave in was enough to almost make you freeze, but you continued on. The sooner you get out, the better.

The telltale noise of Eveline’s monsters stopped you in your tracks, hearing moaning and shuffling just a few yards away. You silently pointed in the direction they were coming from, quiet on your feet as you and Ethan stalked forward. As soon as the creatures rounded the corner, you put three bullets in one’s head and watched it burst open, its body flailing to the ground. Ethan took care of the other one just as quick, and you released the breath you had been holding.

“I can’t wait to be rid of those fuckin’ things.”

Ethan stayed silent, which was odd. Normally he had some awful one-liner for you to roll your eyes at. This time, nothing.

“You gonna tell me what’s buggin’ you?

“It’s… hard to explain.”

You scoffed. “So is everything that’s been happening. I’m sure I can handle it.”

With a sigh, Ethan carelessly ran a hand through his hair and let his gun drop to his side. “I… I saw you, and your dad, when I was in the mold.”

You blinked a few times. “Wait, you were in the mold?”

“It has consciousness. We know it’s alive, right? So it makes sense. But Jack, he was speaking to me. Told me that— that Eveline was the one that caused all this and that he never meant to hurt anyone. And you…”

Your eyes were wide, brimming with tears as you thought about your father. Alive… sane.

“H-He… He looked okay? Like himself?”

He shifted on his feet, slightly nodding, and your hand came up to cover your mouth. So anything the mold infected, its memory lived inside of it, even if it was alive. Just another thing to add on to how impossible this all seemed. But if you killed Evie… maybe they’d finally be at peace?

“Hey, are you alright?”

You sniffled and nodded, resting your hand on your hip. “Yeah. Yeah, just— I’m glad. That he was himself. That… he has us.”

Ethan’s lips pressed together in a straight line, reaching up to squeeze your shoulder before you both pressed on. Unsurprisingly, you both ran into more mold creatures along the way, and you quickly began to realize you had zero idea where you were supposed to be going. You guessed forward was the best option, but you swore if you ended up trapped in this damn mine, Ethan was getting eaten first.

Fortunately, after seeing enough salt to last you ten lifetimes, you and Ethan came across a previously abandoned room, filled with empty tubs and empty science equipment, and a lone computer sitting on a table. You immediately searched through it, hoping it would give some clues to where Lucas was hiding, but what you read put nothing but horror in you, disgust slithering down your spine and sending a chill through your body.

“Thanks to you guys it’s been about a week since my head’s been clear and back to normal. And she STILL thinks she’s got me!”

The rest of the words blurred into nothing but a jumbled mess, something heavy landing in your gut and your chest constricting. Your nails dug into the edge of the table, and you didn’t hear Ethan say your name over your racing thoughts and labored breathing.

“Hey. Hey, you're okay—"

“He hasn’t been under her control… this whole fucking time?!”

It was like your word flipped on its axis. And everything you thought you knew turned out to be a bold face lie. Ethan’s attempts to calm you down couldn’t even begin to contain all the rage bubbling up in you in that moment. It was like a kettle boiling over, pressure rising and rising until you had to fucking scream. 

“He fucking tortured us!” You grabbed a metal pipe out of the tub. “Tried to kill me and my sister!” Swung at the glass beakers on the table, shards of glass flying. “Played his sick FUCKING GAMES!” The computer was picked up and thrown across the room, and the scream you let out could shatter windows.

Glass crunched under your knees when you fell on them, tears freely rolling down your cheeks and sliding down your neck.

“He was supposed to be my big brother…”

Ethan didn’t say anything, just crouched beside you and carefully placed his hand on your leg. Your breath hitched with a sob, breaths shaky and your fingers digging into the material of your jeans. How could you be so blind?

“I’m so fucking stupid, Ethan.”

He immediately shook his head. “Hey. No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.” You reached up, wiped at your eyes. “Thinkin’ this whole time my brother was only crazy ‘cus some little girl made him that way. That he’d never hurt us if it wasn’t for her. He always wanted to do this. He just needed her gift to finally get started. Christ, I’m such a fucking fool.”

“You’re not. You wouldn’t have survived this long if you were. Y-You’re smart, and strong—”

“Not nearly as strong as you.”

His eyes slightly widened. “Well, you know how to flatter a guy.”

You chuckled even though you didn’t feel like finding any humor in this situation, but leave it to Ethan to make you crack.

“I’m serious. You… shit. You come in here, practically guns blazing trying to find your wife after not knowing where she was for three damn years, and you just happen to stumble into the craziest home this side of Louisiana. And you lived. I don’t know if I’ve ever loved someone so much to go through all this shit for them. Especially after they stabbed me and cut my hand off with a chainsaw.”

He scoffed, pinching your knee and causing you to slap at him.

“Jerk.”

Glancing at the laptop on the ground, you watched its cracked screen glitch with the distorted image of Lucas's email. Then you thought back to what you heard on the radio. So he was working with someone. Some sick fucks more demented than him, and gave him the tools to carry out whatever he pleased. How could someone do this?

"What if he kills us, Ethan?"

Rough fingers brushed against your jaw, forcing your head to the right so Ethan could firmly press his lips against yours. You sharply inhale through your nose, body freezing and hands stilling because what the hell were you supposed to do with them? Slowly, your body relaxed and your hand came up to circle Ethan’s wrist as you carefully kissed him back. Your lips tingled, fog clouding your brain and your limbs practically fucking vibrating. This was not your first kiss. Not by a long shot. But god, if kissing Ethan didn’t didn’t make you feel like it was.

You finally pulled away with a quiet gasp, his hand not leaving your face as his thumb gently ran back and forth over your jaw.

“To get to you, he’ll have to get through me first.”

You huffed out a breath, too stunned to form a proper sentence, so you just nodded.

Standing up, Ethan held out his hand and helped you to your feet, giving you a quick once over to make sure you were okay. Of course, you were covered in injuries from head to toe, no doubt he was the same, but he found himself checking anyway for anything he might’ve missed.

“Ethan.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m okay.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and guided you forward through the next door. If you weren’t shocked already, the next room you stepped into certainly put you in that state. Photos of, what you assumed were infected individuals, hung on the walls, and files among files were scattered throughout the room. Every one you looked at, you saw similar words. “Virus” and “E-Series,” all of them talking about infections and experiments. One of the files mentioned weaponizing the E-Series, and the thought horrified you. Experiencing the horrors of this virus firsthand, you could only imagine what it would be like if it was spread around the world. 

When you got your hands on the file mentioning Eveline, you practically analyzed every word and went through the information with a fine-toothed comb. It all sickened you, how these people could do this to a little girl. 

“These sick fucks…”

You glanced over as Ethan walked over to the large case in the middle of the room, large plastic tubes running from it to keep whatever inside properly contained. When it opened, you saw a mummified child corpse similar to the one you saw on your mother’s shrine, and a violent shiver went through you.

“Holy shit.” Ethan spun to face you. “This is it! This is how we kill Eveline.”

Taking the vial out of his pocket, he placed it in the small compartment of the case, and you both watched as the corpse slowly calcified before another compartment opened, revealing a syringe with a strange green liquid inside of it. The “E-Necrotoxin,” you read.

It almost seemed too good to be true. That you could actually kill the nightmare that had been plaguing you these last few years. You imagine every different way this would go down, but to have it just within your grasp so suddenly…

Ethan grabbed your hand, tugging you forward and out of your thoughts. “We gotta get out of here.”

The hairs of the back of your neck raised, your body shivering as you felt eeriness wash over you. Something wasn’t right. No, this whole thing wasn’t, but something inside of you was screaming that something was coming.

As you made your way further into the cave, desperately hoping that the way out was close ahead, your boots sludged through muddy water, Ethan leading the way forward. Something sharp and loud pierced your eardrums, and a pained gasp ripped through your throat as you bent over and clutched the sides of your head.  There were hands on your shoulders and your name passed frantically over Ethan’s lips, but his words were muffled.

The ringing only got worse, blood trickling out of your ears and down the sides of your face, and you screamed when the image of Evie appeared before you.

“Eveline! NO!”

“Hey! She’s not here! You can fight it!”

Evie only smiled, and she was suddenly right in front of you, bringing you to your knees in the murky water.

“You’re gonna die. Just. Like. Mommy.”

She giggled maniacally, laughing at your pain and despair, and you were very aware of the hands shaking you all of the sudden. The scream that ripped through you bounced off the cave walls and had Ethan flinching, and Eveline’s image disappeared.

DIE!

The ground beneath your feet started rumbling, large rocks rolling to the ground as the mine began to cave in. Fingers gripped your wrist so hard you bruised, and Ethan pulled you forward so you wouldn’t get crushed by falling rocks. Monsters began pouring out from every dark corner, raising their long claws and slashing at you both. Ethan tried to shield you, but he couldn’t stop one of them from ripping through the back of your shirt and slicing open your skin.

You fell into Ethan’s side with a scream, but he didn’t stop moving. He tucked your body tight into him and dragged you forward. Because if you stopped, you were as good as dead. But with Ethan lugging your weight around, you were certain that would be the outcome anyway. You remembered your rules, how you told him that if there was no chance of both of you surviving, that he should save himself. Now seemed exactly like one of those times. But your body was too weak to protest against his efforts to save you. You simply reached up and gripped his shirt in your fist.

“Ethan… Don’t—”

“I’m gonna get us out of here, okay? Just hold on.”

Your vision began to fade in and out, barely able to see five feet in front of you. You must’ve blacked out at some point, because one moment you were dragging your hand against the rough cave wall, and now you were collapsed on your side, the cement floor cooling your burning skin. Hands carefully turned you onto your stomach, and you protested with a groan. You felt too much and nothing at the same time, your mind fading while your back burned with the fire of the sun.

“You’re gonna be okay. Hey! Come on, you gotta keep your eyes open!”

But god, your eyelids felt so fucking heavy. Every time you blinked your eyes, it got harder to open them again, and Ethan’s concerned expression in front of you began to blur into a flesh colored mess, his voice being drowned out by the ringing in your ears.

“Hey! Nonononono— no, you can’t. Hey, it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. Please—”

You felt wetness against your face, and Ethan’s voice faded into nothing as your eyes finally fluttered shut.

Taglist: @xdarkcreaturex

[gal-palanaeum]

Thinking, Overthinking, and a Pile of Letters by bridgeboy

Rated General, 6000 words, Khriss/Design and Cord/Rysn A philosophical treatise on the nature of love, masquerading as a fanfiction about two dorky scholars meeting for the first time. Design has questions, Khriss has answers... maybe. Beware spoilers across the cosmere!

Despite having her own office, Khriss preferred doing her research in the university's enormous library. Proximity to massive amount of information played into it, of course, but the bigger reason was that it was easier to get away from people and actually focus on her research. Her office was known to everyone at the university—why, it was known to practically everyone in Silverlight itself—and as a result, she had frequent visitors. The library, meanwhile, may as well have been a maze. It was easy to find a quiet corner far from distractions, and Khriss made a point to never hole up in the same study nook twice in a row; that helped make it much harder for people to find her on purpose. Of course, she'd still see other people as they wandered by, but they were just other users of the library; they never actually disrupted her.

Usually, at least.

Khriss looked up in surprise when she heard the scrape of someone pulling out the chair across from her. She'd been poring over maps of Western Roshar, and she'd been so absorbed in her thoughts she hadn't heard the newcomer approach.

They appeared to be a human woman, although Khriss knew that didn't necessarily mean much. Her long white hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and a tight, dark green dress showed off her frankly stunning curves. She seemed to be looking over the piles of assorted notes that were spread across the table.

"What are you working on?" the stranger asked.

Khriss ignored the question. "Who are you?" She was happy to talk about her work, but she wouldn't tell just anybody about it.

"My name is Design," the stranger said cheerily. She picked up one of the maps and started scanning it over.

Khriss wrinkled her brow, searching her memory for how she knew that name… Hoid's spren. Of course. She relaxed; Hoid was a pain in the ass, but he could be trusted—well, he could be trusted with knowledge of Khriss's current project, at least.

"I'm Khriss," she said. "I'm currently trying to get to the bottom of how a simple merchant on Roshar got a hold of one of the Dawnshards."

"Oh, Hoid told me about you. The famous scholar!" Design grinned. "Have you tried lifting up all your notes and checking underneath? Or… wait… that was a figure of speech, wasn't it?"

Khriss raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly. She'd never actually met a Cryptic in person, but she'd read about their tendency to take things far too literally. "So Hoid is in town, then? What's he working on?"

"I'm honestly not sure!" Design let the map drop back to the table, eyeing a stack of letters. "Something about Aons, probably. Or Awakening. Something with an A. He said he didn't need my help but now I'm bored. Can I look through those?" She pointed at the letters.

"Uh, sure." With her concentration broken and distraction-free environment disrupted, there wasn't really any point in trying to get much work done at this point. Khriss decided she'd indulge a few questions from Design, then send the spren on her way.

Meanwhile, Design helped her self to the letters and began reading through them. Khriss couldn't help but notice how quickly she moved from one letter to the next—much faster than the average human could read. Fascinating. Would Design be interested in letting herself be timed?

Barely a moment passed before Design looked up. "The note on top is right, I don't see anything in here about Dawnshards." She wrinkled her nose and frowned. "Why are the letters written in two different languages? Also, does my facial expression look sufficiently confused? I still have a hard time getting confusion right. It doesn't come up much."

"You look kind of confused but mostly annoyed."

"Damnation, I'll have to practice that some more. Anyways, the languages? It would be more logical for them both to pick one to have their conversation in."

Khriss nodded. "It's because they were in love," she explained. "From what I can tell, they were practicing each other's native tongues."

Design quirked an eyebrow. "What does learning a new language have to do with love? They seem to like each other from all the 'I miss you' stuff but what does language factor in?"

Khriss sat back in her chair. How was she supposed to explain this? "Doing nice things for someone is a way to show you love them, through your actions instead of your words. Learning someone's native language so that they can understand you better is a really big action, and a really kind thing to do for another person."

Design hummed thoughtfully. "Would solving a complex math problem for someone show that you loved them?"

"Um. I guess so? If the person on the receiving end was really struggling and needed help."

"Does that mean all teachers are in love with their students?"

"No, definitely not."

"Why?"

"You don't have to be in love with someone to care about them."

"What's the difference between loving and caring?"

Khriss opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. There was a difference, of course, but Design's questions had her all turned around. "I… I need to think about that. It's hard to explain."

"Okay!" Design said, surprisingly chipper given that her question hadn't actually been answered. She put down the stack of letters and stood. "Thanks for the chat!"

And then she walked away, leaving Khriss sitting alone in stunned silence.

Keep reading

[stobinesque]

phryctoria | chapter 3: two by three (theta)

Sometimes your gay awakening is just having someone to show you it’s possible. Steve is confronted by the reality that there are dangers around him that have nothing to with monsters.

CW: References to the AIDS Epidemic, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia

[1][2][3][4][5][6 & 7] | [Read on AO3]

Usually it’s a mix of fairly boilerplate cover-up stories and commentary that doesn’t raise too many eyebrows. But occasionally, a wild conspiracy theory will slip through. They’re always somehow both immeasurably off the mark, and closer to the truth than the official party line.

Since Starcourt, though, everything has been woven through with sensationalist fear-mongering about satanic cults. More days than not, Steve ends up tossing the paper aside with a scoff and rolling eyes.

Today, though, one of the headlines catches his attention and dumps a bucket of ice water over his head.

AIDS Victim Begins School By Phone

The article itself is fairly short—a single column tucked off to the side of page 5—but Steve reads it with a racing heart and bated breath, despite its fairly generic reporting.

In the midst of all the extra-dimensional and foreign-adversarial threats—not to mention the added shock and thrill of Steve’s recent self-discovery—both he and Robin had somehow managed to forget about this more mundane danger.

His hands are shaking as he looks down at the paper, and his vision blurs out of focus.

Is it already in him? Has it been in him all along? Something festering that he needs to cut away?

The skin of his thighs itches with the need to be scraped apart. New scars to join the old. But—but he promised Robin—

—he wants to just pick up the phone and call her like he’s gotten used to doing over the past few weeks. But he can’t. She’s in school, and he can’t call the school because what would he even say? They wouldn’t pull her out of class because a random former student is calling because his—

—his breath is coming in short pants and he’s gonna collapse, he can’t—

He falls to the floor and flails around until he manages to get his back pressed up against a flat surface. He can’t discern anything about his surroundings with his vision still a mess. He takes in gasping breath after gasping breath, but he can’t get any air because there’s a fist around his lungs, around his heart. His ears are ringing and he feels like a part of himself has detached and floated away to two years ago in the Byers’ living room or last year in the junkyard or, or—

He squeezes his fists. Tries to recall the feeling of lacquered wood against his palms.

He doesn’t know what to do. Where to go. Who can he—?

He doesn’t know how he makes it to a phone, or how he gets his shaking hands to key in numbers, but he does, and it’s ringing and ringing and—

“Hello? Byers’ residence.” Joyce sounds mildly apprehensive. And Steve only knows a little of what November of 1983 was like for her, but he guesses that answering the phone to the sounds of a hyperventilating teenager on the other side probably isn’t her idea of a good time.

“Joyce,” he gasps out.

“Steve? What’s wrong, baby, what’s going on?” She sounds well and truly panicked now, but in a ready-to-grab-a-pitchfork-and-torch kind of way, because Joyce Byers has never met a problem she can’t bully her way through (it reminds him a little of Nancy). Something about the obvious care and concern in her voice pushes the tears that have been welling up over the edge to streak down his face.

“I— N-nothing— Just— Can’t—” he can only get in one word between breaths, so he sucks in a great big wheezing one to finish, “Can’t breathe!”

“Oh, honey. Okay, listen to the sound of my voice, alright, Steve? I want you to try to take in one great big breath, okay? So breathe in for a count of five with me.” He hears her take in a breath, and then start counting soft and slow. Like a heartbeat. He tries to follow, feeling his lungs expand as air rattles in his chest. “Good, that’s good,” she says. “Now hold that for five, four, three, two, one.” He holds his breath, feeling how it fills out the gaping cavity at the center of him. “And exhale for five, four, three, two, one.” Steve lets the breath out, and his heart still feels like it’s racing, but when Joyce tells him to breathe in again, he finds that he can. He sits against the wall, slowly sucking in breaths as Joyce talks him through it, and eventually the tears start to clear as well.

Right when his breathing is starting to even back out Joyce says, “Okay, Steve, can you name five things you can see for me right now?”

“What?” His brain can’t make sense of why she’d ask that.

“Just try it for me honey, alright?”

“Okay,” he says, throat feeling rough and dry. His vision has cleared enough for him to look around and see that he made it to the hall phone. “Hardwood floors,” he starts, twisting the phone cord around his finger. “The phone cord—uh, it’s blue.” He doesn’t know if he should be descriptive or not, so he figures he may as well throw it in. “I can see, uh, the refrigerator in the kitchen from where I’m sitting. And there’s a, um, vase of some kind of fake flower on this little side table down the hall. Does that last one count as two things?”

Joyce laughs a little, sounding relieved. “Sure it does, honey. Now can you name four things you can feel, or touch?”

“The phone cord,” he repeats automatically, still looping it around his fingers. “and the receiver against my ear, it’s, uh, cool, and smooth. And I can feel the collar of my shirt pressing against the back of my neck. And, uh, my hair brushing against my forehead.”

“Okay, okay. You’re doing so well, Steve. You got three things you can hear for me?”

“Uh.” His left ear has been a bit wonky for months, and it’s hard to get any sound to register in it on a good day, and he’s got the phone receiver pressed up against his right, so he really can’t make out anything except— “I can hear you breathing,” he tells Joyce. And then he switches the side the receiver’s on and strains himself to figure out what other sounds he can pick out. “I think I can hear a few cars on the road outside? And the air conditioner in the house.” He switches the receiver back to his right ear.

“Alright, Steve,” Joyce says with an encouraging determination—reminiscent of a coach pulling someone off the bench in the final moments of a game. “Now give me two things you can smell.”

Steve lets his eyes slip closed as he takes in a big breath. “Farrah Fawcett hairspray,” he says, blushing a little. Joyce just laughs loud, and happy, like he’s startled it out of her, and he’s happy that he’s been able to make her laugh so much in spite of everything. He thinks she probably doesn’t get to that enough.

“So that’s your secret,” she says.

“You take that to your grave, Joyce.”

“Of course!” She says, sounding a little conspiratorial. “One other thing you can smell?”

Steve takes in another breath. His sense of smell has never been great, and it’s only gotten worse with each successive concussion, but he tries his best to pick up on anything aside from the hairspray he used this morning. He takes a sniff at the polo he has on today and says “Uh, my shirt, I guess? It smells kind of…lemony?” He thinks that might be from the body wash he uses.

“Good, good. Now one thing you can taste.”

“The coffee I had this morning before going to pick up Robin.” The remnants of it are bitter on his tongue.

“Alright. How’re you feeling, Steve?”

“Better,” he answers, and is surprised by how readily it comes—and that it’s not even a lie. His heart has slowed down, and he’s breathing easy again without having to concentrate on it. “How did you know to do that?” He and Robin can usually talk each other down from these bouts of panicky hyperventilation they both get, but it takes much longer, and often gets a lot worse before it gets better.

“It’s something Dr. Owens taught me to do with Will early on after he got back. It didn’t always work, because his episodes weren’t actually panic attacks, in the end, but there were times when it seemed to settle him back down after a bad dream.”

“Panic attacks?” Steve asks. He hasn’t heard the term before.

“Yeah, Steve. I’m pretty sure that’s what you were having.”

“Oh.”

“Do you get them a lot?”

Steve rubs and rolls the cord between his fingers again. “Uh, sometimes? More, now. After Starcourt.”

“Yeah.”

The two of them are silent for a while. Silence over the phone is always a little weird to Steve, when he can’t see the other person’s face to guess at how they’re feeling. But right now it’s not bothering him too much.

“After Will came back…Doctor Owens said he could have something called post-traumatic stress. At this point, I think we all probably do.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, probably.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” The way she asks sounds like she’s just as prepared to take a ‘no’ as a ‘yes,’ but is offering him the space if he needs it.

“I…I don’t know. It wasn’t actually about…” he makes a vague gesture to encompass ‘all of this’, even though he knows she can’t see it. “Wasn’t about Upside Down shit, or Russians, or monsters.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it,” Joyce says, too kindly.

Steve grimaces. He’s pretty sure of all the adults he has reason to cross paths with that Joyce Byers is the most likely to not be terrible about this but… “I don’t know if I can,” he whispers, sounding choked up again.

Steve thinks maybe she can hear some of the fear in it, because when she talks again she’s switched back into the sort of gentling tone that she’d used when he was still actively panicking. “I know we don’t really know each other that well, Steve, and I know that you and Jonathan have your history.” Steve winces. “But I’ve seen how you are with the boys—and with Max and El—and I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would make me trust you any less with them, or with Will, okay?”

Steve rubs a hand through his hair and lets out a whooshing breath. “Okay.” The line falls quiet again, and he thinks Joyce is giving him space to either speak up, or ask her to move on. “Have you, um, heard about Ryan White?”

Joyce, to her credit, takes the change of subject in stride. “I have,” she says, her tone considering. “I’ve been following along, actually. Reminds me of Will, a little.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees on an exhale. “Well, uh, I was reading a story about him today and I…I just remembered, all of a sudden, that there are things that could kill me besides monsters and Russian spies.”

“And for some reason that was scarier?” Joyce doesn’t sound judgmental. She sounds exactly like she gets it, actually.

Steve laughs, humorlessly. “Yeah. Can’t take a nail bat to a disease.”

“No, you can’t.”

Silence falls again, and this one feels final, though it still doesn’t chafe. “Joyce?”

“Yeah, hon?”

“Thank you. I don’t…I don’t even really know why I called, it was just…”

“The only number you thought would get an answer?” Again, she doesn’t sound judgmental, or accusatory. It’s all just easy understanding that feels almost impossible to believe. She gives of herself so much and so freely, and Steve has never known an adult willing to do that for him before.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m always willing to pick up the phone for you, Steve. Anytime you need.”

Steve nods, “Thank you, Joyce.”

“Anytime, honey.”

Steve hangs up first, not wanting to hear the empty dial tone echoing in his ear. He presses his head back against the wall and feels at once heavier and lighter than he had before.

Notes:

For anyone who doesn’t know, Ryan White was a teenager with hemophilia from Kokomo, Indiana, and who contracted AIDS from a blood transfusion in the early 80s. He was diagnosed late in 1984, and was initially too ill to return to school. When he attempted to return for the 1985-86 school year, he was barred from doing so by the school (and later the Superintendent), and accommodations were made for him to listen to his classes over the phone. The White family filed a lawsuit to overturn the school’s decision, which resulted in a months-long legal battle that eventually ended with Ryan being permitted to return to school the spring of 1986. The family ultimately ended up moving to Cicero, Indiana after repeated threats of violence in Kokomo. Ryan’s story and the White family’s advocacy helped to shift and destigmatize national perceptions of AIDS, though the family had to continuously push back against framings of Ryan as an “innocent” victim of the epidemic relative to people with AIDS who were gay and/or IV drug users. The article title in the fic is pulled from an AP article that ran on his first day of school that year, August 26, 1985. Similar articles ran on August 24, 1985 as well as August 26, 1985 in Greencastle, Indiana’s Banner-Graphic.

[born-to-lose]

Devil's Bells snippet #2

Liz & Jack meeting Phil for the first time

"Do you remember where the venue was when we drove by?" Liz asked Jack, laughing awkwardly as they climbed out of the van after finally finding a parking lot that wasn't packed already. Well, it was Paris, what did they expect?

"We gotta walk past this metro station right there of which I can't pronounce the name and then uh…" he tried to explain, but his confidence faded quickly. "I'm sure we'll find it. Eventually."

She raised an eyebrow but decided to follow the way he had just described and see where they were going. They arrived in the city early enough to have time to figure out where they needed to go before the show would start.

Walking past the metro station, they heard a young man's voice calling after them, accompanied by the sound of metal rings on the handrail of the stairs. "Salut ! J'adore vos tenues !" ("Hey! I love your outfits!")

The two stopped walking and warily turned around, spotting a tall and lanky guy with long wavy strawberry blonde hair, an earring, a half unbuttoned shirt, a black studded leather jacket, skinny jeans and sneakers scurrying upstairs. They had already seen some shady people in this city and didn't know what he wanted - at least Jack.

He wanted to open his mouth to say something along the lines of 'We don't speak French', but then Liz scraped together what she had studied at school and replied with a slight accent, "Merci ! Tu vas au concert de H.E.A.T aussi ?" ("Thanks! Are you also going to the H.E.A.T concert?")

"Oui, oui ! Vous n'êtes pas d'ici ?" ("Yeah, yeah! You're not from here?")

"Non, nous sommes… euh, je suis allemande, il est anglais. Mon français n'est pas super," she chuckled. ("No, we're… uh, I'm German, he's English. My French isn't great.")

Actually, her French was pretty good, but she was too lazy to make use of that more often than necessary if the alternative was simply switching to English, especially considering how fast French people spoke when they knew you understood their language but were a foreigner.

Jack watched in confusion as they talked without him understanding anything. He was relieved when they finally spoke English and the other guy came closer to them. "By the way, I'm Liz and this is Jack. What's your name?"

"Blaze. Phil Blaze," he answered in a low voice, taking a drag of his cigarette, before adding in a lighthearted manner, "Actually it's Philippe, but call me Phil, makes me sound less French."

"Your accent still gives it away," Jack joked and Phil shoved him in response, laughing "Buddy, that's about the best you get here."

The three of them hit it off right away. How often do you meet someone you can immediately joke around with like this? And in a foreign country at that.

As Liz and Jack didn't move and frankly looked kind of lost, he said, "I'm assuming you haven't been here before? I know the way to the venue, let's go!"

Making their way there together, they chatted enthusiastically about bands they listened to, bands who had influenced them, and concerts they had attended.

"What was the first album you bought?" Phil asked. "Mine was Van Halen's 1984, Hot for Teacher made me pick up the drums. Needless to say, it took me a while until I could play that song well enough."

Taking a pause to think, Jack replied, "Bella Donna by Stevie Nicks. I grew up on Fleetwood Mac's music and she was one of my first childhood crushes. Though I didn't actually buy it, I found it in a box with things to give away on someone's doorstep."

"Oh yes, she and Joan Jett were my bi awakening," Liz agreed before immediately adding with a contrived hair flip, "For me, Lizzy Borden's Visual Lies! I'm built differently I guess. Just kidding, I usually asked for CDs for my birthdays and Christmas so I owned a lot more before I started buying them myself."

"Can I ask you something?" After receiving a nod from her, Phil continued. "Is Liz your real name or did you take it from Lizzy Borden?"

She laughed, "You got me there! I'm not gonna give you guys my legal name though, it's not nearly as cool as my stage name, quite German."

Not too much later, they spotted a horde of glam rockers waiting outside what they were pretty certain was the venue. The doors were still closed so they had to wait a little longer, but even the way here hadn't seemed lengthy with their new friend and the last couple of minutes until they got in weren't going to be filled with silence either.

"Is this your first time seeing H.E.A.T?"

"Yeah, I love them and I've wanted to see them for a while, but bands always leave out all the other cities than Paris on their 'European tours', so now that I moved closer to Paris I finally get the chance," Phil told them excitedly before taking on a more frustrated tone. "Also to find some new musician friends because my old band just broke up three weeks ago and practicing drums isn't the same when you're just doing it for yourself. I've been playing almost non-stop in bands for about… five, six years now. Are you musicians?"

"Yeah! I mean, Jack plays bass, I sing and am a mediocre guitar player," Liz answered, mildly embarrassed, because despite all their desperate attempts, neither she nor Jack had been in a band before and Phil seemed like a professional.

"Hold up, do you guys have a band?" he asked full of hope.

"Well…" Jack started, glancing at Liz. "We would have one with you, and with a proper guitarist, so if you don't have any other plans…?"

"Fucking count me in!"

Just as they enthusiastically welcomed their new bandmate with a handshake and a pat on the back, loudly talking about how happy they were to get one step closer to forming a real band and discussing where they might find a lead guitarist, the other guests started squashing themselves through the entrance.

The group followed the crowd into the packed club where they were greeted by purple and pink lights and the further they walked into the main room, the louder the sound of glam metal blasting from the speakers and people chatting became. The walls of the corridor were covered in memorabilia like posters and signed instruments from the bands who had played here before. Many iconic ones of those Jack and Liz recognized and got annoyed they hadn't gotten the chance to see them here.

One thing was clear before the support act even started playing: wherever they would end up on their mission to find the last band member, they were absolutely coming back for concerts in the future.

[booklemon]

Excerpt from Ch. 2

_____________________

Orrin involuntarily let out a small "oof" and looked down to find a cloaked woman pinwheeling her arms to remain upright. He reached out on impulse and gripped one arm to steady her on her feet. She let out a faint yelp as a shiny silver medallion bounced at their feet, the sound of it echoing off the nearby buildings. 

"In a hurry?" he asked her.

"I -- yes, I apologize if I startled you," she murmured. She took a step back from him, and he let his arm fall away from her. She was a head shorter than he, and she wore her hood so far forward it had to be blocking much of her vision. 

He regarded her in silence for several moments. She was peculiar. He couldn't see much beneath her hood, just a few wayward strands of dyed red hair and plump lips framed by an angular chin. She smelled strange. A mix of citrus and smoke, but tainted by vomit and sweat, which he supposed wasn't entirely abnormal for the people of this city. Underneath it all, though, there was something he didn't recognize -- something he could only describe as -- well, old. She had a dark, ancient smell to her that he couldn't place, but it was as if it sat deep within her -- far away from the surface. He didn't know what to make of it, but she appeared to be waiting for him to say something back to her. 

"Apology not necessary," he said finally. "You didn't." 

She pressed her lips together to form a limp smile and her chin darted quickly from side-to-side. He frowned and watched as her right hand trailed discreetly down her thigh, shrouded slightly by the folds of her cloak. She had a knife, if he had to guess. It would ultimately be useless against him but, regardless, he didn't feel like getting stabbed. He decided to try and put her at ease. 

"Truly -- it was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was walking. I mean you no harm."

The woman only scoffed and said, "That's kind of you to say, but I've never had any luck trusting random strangers at their word. Forgive me if I choose not to believe you."

Orrin smiled, letting his canines show. "Fair enough," he said with a shrug. "I'd be naive to challenge such sound logic." 

She gave him an upside-down smirk, but didn't move her hand from her thigh. She took another half step back and in one swift movement, bent to pick up the silver ornament that had fallen to the ground and dropped it into her cloak pocket. Her eyes never left his feet, which he found amusing. She was scrappy. The medallion made a small squelching noise as it landed in her cloak pocket. He thought again of her scent and frowned.

"Well, you have a good night, then," she said. She made to skirt past him but the sound of screeching metal behind him stopped her in her tracks. Orrin turned to see that the quintet of husky Propers from the club had somehow followed him down here. They piled out of a chrome hunk of scraps and stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle of the street, their gargantuan forms haloed by headlights. Their faces were dark but Orrin could make out the faint glint of a gold tooth in one of them. He stifled a snort. 

"Friends of yours?" the woman murmured.

"How could you tell?" he replied. 

She laughed, a light tinkling sound that awakened something in him he wasn't aware had been dormant. 

She spoke again. "I'll tell you what, I will help you cut them down and you can pretend our little encounter never happened. Deal?"

Orrin's brows jumped at that. "Keeping secrets?"

As she looked up at him, her hood slipped back a little and he caught her gaze. Eyes so gloomy, Orrin could swear an overcast sky looked back at him. She had an old Auror epithet tattooed underneath one of them. He wondered if she knew what it meant. She broke his gaze as a scrape of metal screamed past him and lodged itself in one of the Proper's legs. The man let out a yell that could topple buildings and he fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding limb as though it might detach itself and hop away. 

One by one, the other Proper men realized what she had done and whirled on the pair of them. Even with guns, they were still too slow. This woman was deadly. Efficient, brutal swings with a moon-shaped blade in each hand took down three men before Orrin could even draw energy from the sky. The last man backed away slowly before taking off down the street on foot, leaving the car running, doors ajar. 

Orrin let the aether crackling in his hands fizzle out as he took in the four Proper men groaning on the ground before him. One gurgled in agony, his throat slit. 

He turned to say something to the woman but was met with darkness. She had already gone. 

[doublearmbars]

fic: full werewolf off the buckle (part 1)

summary: the mox is a werewolf fic, part 1. A series of vignettes about how he copes with the change over time.

word count: 1581

characters: Jon Moxley/Dean Ambrose, Eddie Kingston, Seth Rollins

Read on a03 here or below the readmore

 He wakes up in the woods. There’s mud caked to his bare back, clumps of it matting his hair. Everything hurts. Not like he took a bad bump. This is bone deep and everywhere. He sits up, shivering. His vision is still too sharp for this body, but he can make out the back of the motel he’s staying at. At least he’s close.

 The bed of leaves he’s sitting in does nothing for the cold. It’s frigid. Early December in Indiana and he tastes blood on his tongue. He wretches and nothing comes up, the muscles in his back quaking.

 His legs aren’t steady but they’ll hold him as he leans heavily on the nearest tree to stand. The bark opens scrapes on his hands and the hot blood steams in the air.

 He limps around to the parking lot. It’s still early in the morning, just after dawn, nobody around, but his hackles are up. Naked in a motel parking lot is not a great place to be.

 His only thought is that Eddie can fix this. Eddie can do something. He can’t even think the pain is so loud right now. They were sharing a room, he remembers because Eddie made some joke about not bringing anyone home. He finds it, the rough sidewalk is cold beneath his feet. He knocks, putting most of his weight on the doorframe. When he hears the familiar grumbling coming towards the door his heart finally stops racing. The door opens and he tries to push his way in.

 Eddie Kingston is a solid wall. He’s still scowling from being rudely awakened, but his expression flip flops to something gentler when he sees who’s at his door, then back.

 “Get in here.” Eddie rasps, gesturing with a hand urgently.

 When he doesn't move, Eddie pulls him in by the shoulder, shuts and locks the door, quick with the flimsy chain. Eddie’s in his sweats and a big worn shirt, socks cause it’s freezing even inside.

 He’s still fighting to get his parasympathetic nervous system back online, eyes darting around, catches a glimpse of himself in the TV reflection, momentarily captivated by his own trainwreck of a face.

 “Mox, you with me?”

 Right that’s. He’s Mox. That’s him. It always takes a minute to remember. He turns to face Eddie.

 “It happen again?”

 He nods.

 “I heard you leave, thought it was for a smoke.”

 He shrugs, shakes his head.

 Eddie’s hand is on his chin, turning his head from side to side, inspecting. His head feels so heavy, like he can’t hold it up on his own.

 “Jesus Moxie, you look awful. You need help cleanin’ up?”

 He spooks, pulls back, shakes his head rapidly. It doesn’t make sense, Eddie knows him. Eddie has seen him. This is too far though, Mox is too raw.

 Eddie puts up his hands, backs up a step.

 “Alright, try this. I’m gonna grab you somethin’ clean and help you to the bathroom at least.”

 He stamps over to Mox’s bag and pulls sweats and a shirt off the top, then hands them over.

 If Mox had any energy left and didn’t feel like his joints were jello, he’d push Eddie away when he half picks him up, barely letting Mox put any weight down. Once he’s inside the door he shrugs Eddie off, and shuts the door in his face when he opens his mouth, brain tuning out the gruff complaints from the other side.

 The tub’s too small but he sits down in it anyways, just lets the water pelt his back. He can feel the dirt loosening. He doesn’t want to scrub. Scrubbing would mean acknowledging his body and he       can’t.    Thinking about it makes him nauseous. Washing the grime out of his hair, that he can do. He lets it stick to his forehead and cover his eyes. Any way he can have less sensory information to deal with is great.

 He sits for a while, turns around and lets the water slide down his chest. There’s blood under his fingernails, which isn’t unfamiliar. He puts one in his mouth, using a canine to scrape the muck out and spitting it into the murky water between his legs, then repeats with his other fingers.

 Eventually he does lather soap between his hands and does a cursory clean, standing and letting the remaining filth run down his legs and into the drain. He goes through the process of toweling off almost robotically, eyes closed, and gets dressed.

 Mox’s face in the fogged mirror is a reminder. He’s still here, he’s still human. Even if his body doesn’t feel much better, his brain is more together.

 He opens the door, and Eddie’s right there.

 “No arguing. Fucking freezing in here.” He says.

 Eddie has his blanket. Mox’s favorite, the one he commandeers every time he and Eddie drive together. Must have gotten it out of the car while Mox got clean. Eddie wraps it around Mox’s shoulders. He curls it tight around him, pressing it against his nose, his face, letting the soft fabric somehow soothe.

 “Thanks.” Mox’s voice is rough, almost a whisper. His throat is better from the steam in the shower, but not by much.

 “You hungry? Need something for…. Whatever the hell that was?”

 He nods emphatically. He’s fucking starving. Needs something that's not copper on his tongue.

 So Eddie practically feeds him cold pizza, and hands him two ibuprofen which he takes gladly. And when they’re done, both sitting on Eddie’s bed, nothing but the sound of the half-working radiator to listen to, Eddie yawns and stretches.

 “You’re sleeping with me. No buts.” His tone allows for no argument. He turns off the light and lays down.

 Mox wraps arms tight around Eddie’s middle, burying his face in his chest and tucking his legs up. Small, but inseparable from Eddie’s warmth. He feels Eddie drape an arm over him and pull the covers up. And he is warm and safe enough that the pain fades to dullness.

 _____________________________

 It’s okay for a while after that. Whatever happens to him keeps happening, like sleepwalking, but he always wakes up close to wherever he was staying. He also starts remembering more of the missing time. It’s so full of sensory input that trying to recall anything clearly is like standing in a wind tunnel of scent and sound. There’s flashes, like once in Florida remembering the exact taste and sensation of biting through a crocodile’s hide into the soft flesh beneath. But consciousness in the change still eludes him.

 As he moves up, it gets harder and harder to hide. Roadside motels in the middle of nowhere turn to larger chains in suburbs and cities. The wolf gets restless. It chafes under the spotlight. He really doesn’t want it slipping loose, not when he’s got two people whose careers are tied directly to his. Roman knows better than to poke at his secrets, but Seth? Seth clocks him so fast it scares him. Insists on going with to watch.

 Seth shows him the video later. It’s dark as shit and the quality is awful.

 In the video he- Dean- is standing at the edge of some woods. He’s sweaty, fidgeting. He jerks his neck one way, suddenly, like he heard something.

 It starts. A low keen in his chest, frantic breathing, and then his shoulder-blades snap in unison. He doubles over, and the sound he’s making is so human. More cracking bones, and a strange wet sound as muscle knits itself into new shapes. There’s a glimpse of his head as his spine realigns in a sickening roll, visible under the remaining skin. It snaps up, and one yellow eye barely catches the light. Something falls to the ground. Teeth. They rain from the bloodied wet maw as it contorts into a muzzle, tongue writhing like an eel. The wolf is on its knees, or it is until they fold violently back into digitigrade position, putting it onto all fours, back arching.

 It’s not a real wolf. Someone who had never seen a wolf in real life might think so, if you saw it in the dark, in passing. The back legs bend like a dog’s would, ending in massive paws, but the front retains something like an elbow, with a strange mix of hand and paw at the end. It’s the size of a small bear, and the fur, when it shakes off most of the blood, is tawny, shaggy and coming out in places. It turns its head towards the camera, pulls its long ears back, and growls like no other creature on earth can. Then the feed cuts.

 It should probably be horrifying. That’s his body, after all. Somehow it doesn’t scare him. It's comforting, in a way, to know that his pain is justified. That it's a traumatic event once a month like clockwork. He has experience with those.

 Seth said he drove away as fast as he could. That the wolf ran alongside until he hit the highway. He was real messed up about it, didn't ask to come with ever again. He was there after Dean changed back, which he supposes was the important part. But the shine of having a werewolf for a partner came off real quick after that. There would be no oversized dog kisses, no wet noses, no running with the wolf. Only Dean, before and after, and the beast between.

[jmrothwell]

Heya. I decided to revisit an old original work of mine and decided to share a few bits of it, from several different points in the story.

.

She awakens to find that she’s surrounded by darkness. No, it's not dark, there's just something covering her eyes. 

She attempts to move her hand but it won't move. Something is holding her arms down. 

In a feeble effort she tries to kick but that doesn't work either. 

What's going on? Why is this happening? 

She continues to struggle against the restraints when she hears the murmur of  voices from nearby. She cries out to them. 

Demands to know what is happening. Begs for their help  and her freedom. Instead they go silent again. 

“No. Don't leave me here alone.”  The struggle to break free resumes. Screams and please are shouted into the void. 

Somebody please help.

-     -      -

Elise sat on her bed, her breathing heavy. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. She tried to remember what had frightened her so much that it woke her, but she can't recall anything more than fleeting memories of black.

“It was just a dream” She whispered aloud as she looked around her own dark room, her breathing slowing back down to normal. 

Then she noticed how raw her throat was. She hoped she wasn't getting sick as she got up and went to the kitchen to fetch some water.  The cold ground sent chills through her bare feet and up her legs.  

It'd been a while since she’d woken from a nightmare like that. Dr. Zeidler had assured her at the time it was because she was in such confined quarters, shortly afterward she had been moved to this apartment and received more regular visits from Dr. Zeidler. 

She stopped short of her cupboard. What sort of treatment would cause her to have to be confined like this in the first place?

Her thoughts were interrupted by what sounded like someone tapping against a hard surface behind her. 

Elise turned slowly, her heartbeat picking up again, however she didn't see anybody. She was about to pass it off as her imagination when she heard the tapping grew louder and more insistent. 

She looked around for the source and noticed it grew louder the closer she got to her mirrored door.

She stepped in front of the mirror unsure as to why she was disappointed to see herself in her gray nightgown staring back at her. 

“Hello?” she asked, her voice coming out quieter than she had hoped. 

The tapping stopped, had she just imagined the whole thing? She shrugged it off and turned back towards the kitchen when she felt something brush past her foot accompanied by a metallic sound scrape across her floor.

Elise looked down to see a key with a small note attached by a string laying on her floor. Cautiously she picked it up, it easily fit in the palm of her hand and the metal was slightly warm like someone had recently been grasping tight to it. 

She admired the key a bit longer; it didn't look anything like the brass keys Dr. Zeidler had. This one's metal work was completely different. One end had been fashioned in the shape similar to that of a heart, the other end looked like jagged teeth, almost like the key was trying to smile.

Elise finally picked up the paper note attached to it and let out a small gasp. She saw her own name written in bold clear print facing up at her. Below it was written #2701-1832-AC.

 Elise briefly wondered what the numbers could mean before she turned the paper over to see in red messy thin lines written, Try it now.

Try it now? 

Elise wondered what was meant by that. Did whoever gave her this expect her to use it on her own door? Elise looked from the key to the keyhole in her mirror. 

She had always wondered what was on the other side, this could be her chance to get all the answers she had hoped for. 

This couldn’t possibly work, could it? For one thing it clearly wasn't the same key that was used to get out of her apartment by others, still she felt her feet inch their way closer towards the mirror.

Her mind kept racing, and before she knew it her hand was mere centimeters away from the keyhole. She let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as she slid the key in with no resistance. She closed her eyes and bit her lip hoping she wasn't out of her mind for even trying, and slowly she turned the key.

The small click echoed loud around her.

Her eyes opened wide as she heard the familiar sound and felt the door begin to ease open. 

It'd worked. She couldn't believe it. She could feel light laughter building up in her chest as she quickly went and put on a random sweater from her wardrobe over her nightgown and slipped the key into one of its pockets. She was sliding on her slippers as she began to step out of her apartment for the first time she could remember.

.

.

Lights which precariously hung from a barely held together ceiling flickered, each  flicker managed to illuminate a different stain on the walls or floor of the hall. Ofira’s heels clicked as she avoided the fresher looking stains. She grimaced as she felt shivers run down her spine that were unrelated to the crop top she was wearing. She always hated coming here. 

Thank the gods she had her knives strapped to her thigh beneath her shorts.

It didn’t take her long to reach the apartment halfway down the hall, the number 44 barely visible against the door. She adjusted the folder under her arm and unceremoniously began to pound on the door. She could hear someone shuffling within, soon she was greeted by a pale man who could be in his late 20’s covered in an overabundance of scars, tattoos, piercings and even a few fresh cuts. 

“Shadows below, woman, can’t you,” the man scratched what little of his black hair he hadn’t shaved from the top of his head. 

“Can it, Griff.” Ofira cut him off. She slapped the folder at a section of chest without any fresh blood on it as she walked past him into the apartment. “We’ve got a new job.”

“Please make yourself at home.” Griff sneered with a roll of his eyes as he slammed his door and began to rifle through the folder.

Ofira looked around, the only clear spaces were a square of empty kitchen counter and the mattress on the floor. She sure as hell was not about to sit where Griff slept and did who knows what else. Counter it was, she perched herself there and picked up a nearby container of takeout, smelled fresh. 

Griff practically growled as he snatched the container from Ofira and threw the folder back in her lap. Ofira twirled a strand of golden hair in her fingers as she watched Griff take a bite of food. 

What was this idiot doing? “Umm shouldn’t you be going and getting ready? I just told you we’ve got a job. Put on a shirt at least.”

“You kidding?” Griff scoffed between mouthfuls as he flopped himself on the mattress, “that looks like nothing more than a grab and bag, a ridiculously easy grab and bag at that. Come get me when there’s something more interesting.”

“I can’t keep covering for your ass.” Ofira spat back “They’re gonna find out you’ve been slacking.”

“Right and what are they gonna do, send you to come snap me up?” Griff could barely hide the laugh from his voice. 

“Ugh I would love to rip you a new one sometimes, except you’d get off on that.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Griff snorted and returned to his takeout. “If that’s all you came here about feel free to leave at any time. You know where the door is.”

“Why do I even bother?” Ofira let out an exasperated sigh and jumped off the counter.

It didn’t take her long to be back in the stained hallway from before. She just needed to get this job done. She’d get it done, get her-more than likely ridiculously meager-check and then go back to getting freebies from guys at the club. 

She flipped the folder open to look at the picture of the tanned, teal eyed girl there. “Time to find you, Ms. Dodgson.”

[in-love-and-jeph]

sorry babe, doll skin's love is dead and we killed her stays ON during sex

[ashandbrimstone]

listing out gareth headcanons because i can ok:

he’s a huge fan of glam metal, in fact van halen and tommy lee were both his “holy shit i’m into dudes” awakening.

he’s a huge softie for all animals, but cats specifically. he’ll force eddie to pull over the van whenever he sees a stray, and try (and usually fail) to get them to come home with him. he’s started to keep a stash of treats and wet food cans in eddie’s glove compartment “just in case”

he’ll absentmindedly tap his fingers along to the beat of any song that’s playing. he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but he always keeps perfect time.

he LOVES to collect shit, and he’ll keep little memorabilia from hangouts that now is scattered all over his room. polaroids all over his walls, his first ever beer bottle, his stacks of sticks and old guitar pics his friends would retire to his collection.

everyone in the band just kinda share all their shit together. they’ll trade pins and books and tapes. vinyls are off limits but they always share cassette tapes. gareth makes mix tapes and would give each of his friends a highly personalized one from his own knowledge of their music taste and what he’d think they’d like.

Gareth notices the little things from people. he’s incredibly observant, and one of the first to pick up on if someone’s feeling down and out. though, he’s more likely to gift them something small (like a doodle or a cool rock) than confront them about negative feelings.

Gareth admittedly has a hard time opening up, which is why once someone is in his circle, he’s an absolute ride or die. he has definitely gotten in his fair amount of fist fights, but he only picks them when someone tries to fuck with his friends.

He loves to draw, but is extremely embarrassed about putting effort into his art because he doesn’t think he’s very good. he still will doodle for his friends though, and is very touched to find that they all keep his scraps of art.

hes super careful about his hands, but since he gets into fights semi-regularly his knuckles are usually scraped up. his friends always spot him bandages whenever he needs it

that’s all for now thanks 4 indulging me 🫶🏻