#this is so strange to try to voice/write out

[wholoveseggs]

Small Victories

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

[awkness]

Serial killer!Platonic!Yandere Older Brother & Genderneutral Teenage Reader (Part 1)

(Part 2 coming soon)

You don't have the best home life. With your father being a violent drunk and your mother out of the picture, there's little to love about your home. The only silver lining is your older brother, Ben, who's practically raised and protected you your whole life and makes living in this household easier.

But in a surprising turn of events, your father is declared missing, and Ben is granted temporary custody of you. As time passes, you grow more concerned with the circumstances of your father's "disappearance", Ben's behavior, and just how safe you are in your own home.

Content Warnings: murder, gore, isolation, manipulation, physical violence, briefly mentioned child abuse, child endangerment, and general yandere shenanigans. If there's anything I forgot to list here, let me know :3

Authors note: first time posting my writing, hope you like this! This is a bit of a slow burn and features a slightly amoral!Reader. Readers age is left ambiguous

You'd like to think you were good at sneaking around the house. Years of having to creep around at night as your father slept had taught you a lot about the right way to hold yourself, which floor boards to avoid, how to open doors so that they didn't make noise. Tiny bits of knowledge and skill that all seemed to have been in preparation for this moment.

There's a full moon tonight, and you can see it shine through the curtains on the back door window, the only light in the house. Socked feet carefully move through the kitchen floor as your heart rate picks up. Your shoulders slowly hunch in on yourself as you close in on the door.

You haven't felt terror like this before. It's so much different from the horror movies you used to stay up late and watch as a child, or even the fear you felt when your father came home from his business trips. This was different. It twisted your stomach into nauseating knots and sent your heart up to your throat, making its terrified, rapid beating the only thing you could hear. You were beginning to feel lightheaded, and everything around you had this strange and distant quality to it, like the whole world had shrunk down to only two things: the backyard door, and your brother.

Was he still looking upstairs? There hadn't been any noises from there in a while. Now that you thought about it, you haven't heard anything in a while. The thought causes tears to start to form in your eyes, and you swallow hard and try to blink them away. Not now. Not until you're out.

Clammy hands grasp the cold metal of the doorknob, and you almost let out a sob in relief. Shaky, you begin to undo the lock, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet house. You cringe as the door opens and lets out a long, loud creak, breaking whatever illusion of stealth you had.

Distantly, you recall a memory of you complaining about the noise to Ben. He had told you that he wasn't going to fix it, that it was better to keep it that way, just in case anyone tried to break in, he would hear it. You wonder if he ever thought about someone trying to break out.

"(Y/N.)"

For a brief, horrible moment, everything stops. Your mind, your lungs, your heart, they all seize up in fear at your name. You were never supposed to be afraid of his voice.

Your lungs squeeze painfully, and you take in a sharp breath, chest heaving. Legs tense, instincts desperately urging you to leave, but your mind kept you rooted to the spot, running through the scenario in your head. Even if you sprinted now, full speed, you would have to stop to undo the latch at the gate to leave the backyard. It would only take a few seconds, and that might be enough for Ben to catch up to you.

"(Y/N), look at me."

If it were anyone else, you would have bolted by now, legs tearing across the lawn as you made your escape. But it was him. Your brother, the same man who cooked your dinner, who helped you do your homework when you didn't know what you were doing, and would then help you cheat when he couldn't figure it out, either. The same voice that would tease you, scold you, nag you, and encourage you, and now kept you from leaving. Against your will, you turned around.

He was standing in the kitchen entrance, bathed in shadow. You could barely see his bruised face, the moonlight only outlining his features just enough for you to see the crazed, panicked look in his eyes, and his chest heaving like he was the one being chased and not you. If you hadn't seen it when you stumbled upon him in the basement just ten minutes prior, you could have missed the blood on his shirt.

But you hadn't, and it was all you could stare at.

For a moment, it's all you do. He stares at you, while you stare at the blood between you two, not a sound to be heard as you both stand, as if under a spell.

He finally breaks the silence.

"Close the door."

You look up to meet his eyes, and the brief act is enough to snap you back to your senses.

You run.

By all means, you tried your best, you really did. But whatever edge that the adrenaline gave you was no match for Ben's superior speed. He was taller than you by nearly a foot and used to run track when he was in high school, of course he would catch up to you.

You were halfway to the gate when he snagged your arm. A short, abrupt shriek leaves your mouth and then his other hand covers your face, smothering any noise you were trying to make.

In one quick, fluid motion, his arm lets go of your hand and then firmly locks around you, back pressing against his chest, the same blood-covered chest you saw before, stained by the body of your poor, mutilated father in the basement you saw only minutes ago, the body hardly recognizable as he had began hacking his limbs into small, easily disposable pieces. His decapitated head lay carelessly on the floor, empty eyes that seemed to plead to you for help as you watched numbly, stricken dumb until Ben finally noticed you staring.

And now he's dragging you back. Back to the house, down the stairs, to the basement, where he'll pin you to the table and do the same thing he had done to your dad-

You lost control of yourself. There was no thought behind what you did. You thrashed and kicked like a wild animal, screams trying to rip through your muffled mouth. You struggled like you had never struggled in your life, and it meant nothing. He was almost at the back door, and you hadn't slowed him down a second. In a fleeting moment of lucidity, you think to hook your leg on the door and to try and slow him down. It works, but only for a moment. With a sharp pull, your leg gives and suddenly you're back inside, helplessly watching the back door swing close. The sound of the lock latching breaks you out of your fit, and dread sets in, stilling your body as you finally realize you can't break free.

As your breathing starts picking up, you finally hear your brother talking, who seems to have been speaking to you for a while. His voice is the same gentle, calming tone one would use on a skittish animal while trying to get them to calm down. It makes you feel ill.

"Shhhhh, it's alright (Y/N), you're fine, you're fine. I need you to relax, alright? C'mon, kid, deep breaths, just like that, you're doing good. Breathe with me."

You feel his chest move against your back as he begins to breathe deeply. The slow, rhythmic movements bringing back emotions from memories of him calming you down from previous anxiety attacks and similar situations begin taking over and give you a false sense of security. Against your better judgment, you relax, if only slightly, against him.

"There we go, that's it. Just take it easy."

And for a second you both stand like that, completely still, as the weight of everything sinks into the both of you.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to let go of you and I need you to promise me you're not going to try anything. No screaming, no running, no nothing. Is that clear?"

It takes you a second to realize he expects you to respond, and you nod quickly, hoping it doesn't seem too enthusiastic.

He sighs and lifts his hand from your mouth. When he doesn't hear your yell, and releases you from his grip, only for him to take your hand.

"This is... going to be a long talk. Let's go sit down in the living room."

Without waiting for you to acknowledge him, he drags you towards the living room, and sits down, having you take the seat next to him.

Enough moonlight peaks through the blinds for you to see Ben. He's hunched, leg bouncing a mile a minute, bruised and bloody hands clasped together, as he shifts in the seat, trying to get comfortable. You don't think there's much of a point. This isn't going to be an easy conversation, there's no point in stalling.

You're reminded of a similar conversation you two had on this couch. Years ago, he sat you down (albeit, under much less distressing circumstances) and told you how mom wasn't coming back home. That she was divorcing dad and leaving you both with him. At the time, you thought it was a little silly how nervous he was. Of course she was leaving. She hadn't been home in months, and even before that, she hadn't been involved enough for you to care about what she did. Her being out of the house for good was a relief to you. A strange stab of guilt runs through you as you remember hoping your dad would leave your life permanently, too.

Ben's leg hasn't stopped bouncing, you see he hasn't looked your way since you sat down. If he's waiting to figure out how to start the conversation, you know you'll be waiting all night, and that's the last thing you want to do. You're going to have to be the one to break the silence.

"You killed dad."

Not the most elegant opener, but it's simple and to the point, so hopefully the bluntness will make it easier for Ben to talk.

He takes a sharp breath and glances down, bouncing becoming quicker. You hate how you feel guilty for making him uncomfortable.

"Yes." He replies, "I did."

He unclasped and clapsed his hands again, and then stared into them, like they held the answers he was looking for. Time passes, and for a moment, you think you're going to have to speak again, but he beats you to the punch.

"He was drinking again. I mean, he always drinks, but it was a lot more than usual. It was the only reason I came down there. He's always making noises down there, but this time, with all the beer he was going through, I thought he finally kicked the bucket, you know? Just a crash and then nothing. So I went to check it out."

He takes a breath and shifts in his seat again, and you can only sit there and watch as he struggles through his story.

"I come down and he's on the ground and his eyes are closed, so I go to check his pulse. That's when he springs up and grabs me, starts yelling in my face about God knows what."

That part is true. You remember hearing that a couple of hours ago, but hearing dad yell is a fairly common occurrence. Common enough that the neighbors wouldn't think much of it, anyway.

"I try and get him off me but he starts hitting me. I can't get him to stop, so I start hitting back. But he wouldn't stop, he..."

He pauses for a moment, a shadow passing through his face. You don't want to interrupt him this time.

"When I realized what I was doing, he was gone."

He sighs and wipes his hand over his face, the shadow recedes and it returns to its previous anxious look.

"If I had called the police and told them what happened, they wouldn't believe me. And even if they did, they would have taken you away from me, and I..."

His face pinches in a way you've never seen before, almost like he's in pain. His eyes glisten with tears.

"I don't know what I would do if you were gone, (Y/N). I couldn't live with myself."

You look down, face heating up with a shame you don't understand.

"If I could hide his body, wait a couple of days, and report him missing, it should be fine. Not like he has any friends, and the neighbors don't care about him. They know he's a drunk who takes off for weeks on end, so it's not like him going missing this is suspicious. And while he's missing, I should be able to get custody of you. Not like there's any other relatives to take care of you. I've got a steady job, I'll be able to take care of you. It shouldn't be a problem."

You look up, and you're taken back to see him staring at you, with a sad, almost pleading look.

"I didn't want you to see that, (Y/N). You weren't supposed to be involved. I honestly thought you'd be asleep by now. I knew I should of locked the door, I should of..."

As he spirals, you start to zone out as you consider everything he's said. You know he's lying. Maybe not about everything, but there's either parts that he's purposefully leaving out or making up. Perhaps, given some time and some well thought out questions from your end, you could parse together the real story, but... did you want to?

Your father is dead. There's no fixing this. You also don't have any other relatives nearby, and the ones you do have you either haven't seen in over a decade or haven't seen at all. If your brother isn't the one taking care of you, that means you'll be put in the foster system. Considering your age, you know your chances of being adopted are slim to none, and the horror stories you've heard of other kids going through the system are enough to make you shudder. You don't know if you could make it.

Yes, he killed your father, but it's not like you ever liked the man anyway. And watching Ben dismember him was... horrific, to say the least, but you can understand it, from a logical perspective. In order to move him, it makes sense that he had to take him apart, even if he seemed a little too emotionless and callous during the whole process.

That only leaves one thing left to consider: do you think Ben will hurt you?

You stare at this grown man, this murderer, your one and only brother, as he sits in front of you, talking himself to the almost to the point of tears, trying to convince you that everything wasn't as bad as it was.

That's been your whole childhood, hasn't it?

You barely remember a time before mom left, and dad would be out most of the time, so it was Ben cooking you breakfast and walking you to the bus stop, making sure you had a lunch already packed in your bag. He would be the one to ask you how your day was, to make you dinner, and to watch whatever movies you wanted, even if he was a little too old for your shows. He would smile and play along with you, just because it made you happy. In those moments, you could pretend you had a normal, functional family, and you were grateful for him.

When dad was home, Ben was the one who made sure everything was safe. And when dad was too drunk and wandering about the house, you would sleep in his room, and if dad ever tried to get to you, Ben would put himself in between you two, protecting you at the price of a broken nose and a handful of bruises. And then when it was over, and you would go over to him and tell him how sorry you were, only for him to put on a brave face and tell you that he was fine when he was clearly not. If you insisted, he would placate you by letting you bandage him, but he would do it with a smile on his face, making little jokes as you patched him up that would have you both coming out of it with a smile.

Everything he did was to make your life easier. This isn't any different, isn't it?

You reach out and take his hand, and that's enough to stop him mid-sentence.

"It's okay, Ben. I understand."

He blinks at you owlishly, clearly not expecting you to say that.

"You do?"

The disbelief is evident in his tone, but you don't blame him for it. You can hardly believe yourself, but it's the truth.

"Yeah, I don't blame you. Besides, what's done is done, we can't change that."

You take a breath, readying yourself for what you need to ask next.

"What do you need me to do?"

This shocks him more than your previous words, and he shifts, looking visibly uncomfortable with your question.

"I don't want you to be involved-"

"But I am." You interrupt. "I know what happened, so I'm a part of it. I need to know what I need to do."

You see him swallow, and you watch his face as he slowly takes in your words, the weight of them sinking in, his face morphing from anxious to somber.

He takes his hand out of yours and puts it on your shoulder.

"The only thing you need to do right now is to go to sleep. We'll need to go over our cover story soon, but that can wait until tomorrow. It's late, and I know you're tired. I can take care of everything from here."

He squeezes your shoulder and makes a motion like he's going in for a hug, before jerking back, thinking better of it.

Instead, he looks at you, a sad, grief-stricken look on his face.

"Goodnight, (Y/N). Sleep tight."

"Goodnight." Is all you reply before he lets you go. He gets up and makes his way to the basement as you watch from your spot on the couch.

You know you both won't be able to sleep well tonight.

You stumble down the stairs, still half asleep, grumbling while trying not to trip over your own feet.

It had taken you a while for you to fall asleep, yet your body had refused to let you sleep in. As soon as the sun rose, you did as well. Unusual, given that it was summer and you always slept in, but you suppose the stress of last night and your upcoming talk with Ben wouldn't let you rest for longer than a few hours.

As you make it downstairs, you enter the kitchen. The first thing you notice is Ben, newspaper in hand, reading at the dinning room table. Or at least it looked like he was reading. After watching him for a moment, you noticed his eyes unfocused as he stared off into space.

In broad daylight, you're able to take a better look at his injuries, and it's much worse than it had seemed last night. He's got a busted lip and bloody knuckles, with several bruises across his arms. It makes your stomach twist in the familiar way seeing him hurt always does. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than usual. Did he stay up all night?

At least he changed his clothes. The blood from yesterday is gone, replaced by the familiar sight of him in old, ratty pajamas.

"Good morning." You say, more to announce your presence than anything else.

He jumps in his seat, newspaper crinkling in his hands, seemingly taken completely off guard by your arrival. Yeah, he definitely didn't get any sleep.

"Good morning." He finally replies a little too quickly, folding the newspaper and laying it down as he got up. "How did you sleep?"

You shrug. The banality of the question contrasted uncomfortably with its context, making you not want to linger on it. "Better than I thought I would. You?"

He awkwardly shuffles in place, obviously not having any idea what to do with himself now that he was standing, but refusing to sit back down. "Uh, couldn't get any. Was busy."

The weight of the words brought an uncomfortable lull in the conversation, and your eyes wandered as they tried not to look at his.

"Well, uh, you gotta be hungry, right? Why don't we go out to eat? I'm sure there's some restaurants still open, we can sit down to eat, or swing by that doughnut shop you like."

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out, given you look like... well, that." You gesture to his injuries.

He looks momentarily confused before the realization hits him. Self-consciously, he hides his wounded knuckles behind his back and looks towards the ground.

"Breakfast at home is fine, too. My pancakes are better anyway." He says a little too tensely, the joke not quite landing right.

The next thing you know, the kitchen is alive with the sounds of cooking as he quickly whisks the ingredients together, and then begins pouring them into the pan.

You walk over to the pantry, scanning the shelves.

"We don't have any syrup."

Ben lets off a soft groan, and you wander over to the freezer.

"Well, pancakes without syrup aren't the worst, just a little dry." He grumbles, more to himself than to you.

You open the freezer, inspect its contents, and announce your discovery.

"We have ice cream."

You turn back just in time to see the questioning look he shoots you.

"Ice cream? For breakfast?"

"Well, considering the night we had, I figured we could use a little pick me up."

He sighs, and his brows furrow as his cheeks heat up, his face a strange mix of irritation and shame. Under normal circumstances, you would never be able to get away with this, but considering everything that's happened, you can imagine it won't take him too long to cave.

"Hm, well- fine. Just this once."

You nod and grab the tub of ice cream. You suppose there were a few perks to watching your brother dismember your father in front of you. Maybe later, you could ask for that game you've had your eye on...

A plate of fresh, hot pancakes is put in front of you before you can fully finish that thought, and you search in the cutlery drawer for the ice cream scoop.

"Leave the tub out for me."

"Will do." You reply.

You prepare your plate and set it down at the dining table, digging in as he finishes making his pancakes. When he finally sits next to you, you're halfway through your stack, already getting full. You watch him pick up his fork and knife, ready to cut off a piece, but instead, he just stops, eyes empty as they focused on the vanilla scoop slowly melting. Seconds tick by, and he still doesn't move, unaware of the time passing, or you watching him.

You suppose you could blame your lack of sleep on what you did next, or perhaps that innate sense of mischief that all little siblings are born with, but in your heart, you know better. Nothing could be as disturbing as watching your brother silently stew in whatever internal misery he was in.

So, without thinking, you scoop up some of the melting ice cream on your fingers and smear it on his nose.

His eyes went wide in shock and his body tensed when he realized what you had done. The rapidly melting dessert threatened to drip down his nose as he sat, and another painful moment of tension passed between you two.

Maybe that wasn't the best idea.

Before you can apologize, his face cracks into a small grin, empty eyes filling with much-needed warmth. You let out a breath as your shoulders relax, relieved at the familiar sight. He takes a small dollop of now melting ice cream from his nose and tastes it before he speaks.

"Didn't I teach you not to play with your food?"

"Not well enough, it seems." You quip back.

Then, with a mounting sense of horror, you watch him pick up a much bigger glob of ice cream off his plate as his smile turns into a devious smirk.

"I guess I was never the best role model, was I?"

Before he can smear the food over your face, you jump out of your chair and run to the opposite end of the kitchen where he gives chase. The two of you run around the house, carefree laughter filling the air, without a thought to anything that transpired the night before. Ben always had a way of making you forget your worries.

Everything after that was pretty simple. Ben talked you through the cover story and what your part would be, which basically amounted to "I was asleep when everything happened." That suited you fine, anything that minimized your time talking to the police was welcome. Ben handled most of that as well, spinning a tale about how your father was binge drinking more than usual, and then had up and left in the middle of the night. The only reason Ben hadn't stopped him was that this wasn't out of character for him to just up and leave with no car, no phone, or anything but whatever drink he had.

Which was true, it was a rather annoying habit that had your neighbors side-eyeing your family and complaining to your brother whenever they got the chance. It all seems to have worked out, though, as they provided great testimony when asked by the cops if this was unusual behavior for him.

Where the story differs from reality is that your father always managed to wander home. The way Ben tells it, he left and simply never came back. He had waited so long because he was sure that the man would return sooner or later like he always did, and didn't want to cause trouble when it wasn't necessary. Given your father's reputation, the cops believed him easily.

Soon after, your father was declared missing and your brother was appointed as a consevator on behalf of your missing father, allowing him to manage the house you lived in and pay the bills. He was also granted temporary custody of you, given that he was the only family you had in the area.

As for your home life, things were surprisingly normal.

In terms of your routine, very few things changed after those first few days. Sure, Ben often had to work late now and was more busy filling out paperwork to make sure everything was fine, legal-wise, but it had little effect on your life outside of those first few weeks. You settled back into the routine you had before: wake up late, and spend the day doing whatever you pleased. If Ben wasn't working late, you would both eat dinner before winding down and going to bed. Except now, there was no more waiting for your father coming home, or having to hide in your room and count the days before he leaves again. The peace you felt while openly sitting in the living room, with no obvious threat looming over you, was both exhilarating and disconcerting.

The neighbors seemed to act differently towards you. You would go out to pick up the mail and see them either out walking their dog or sitting on their front porch, taking in the summer sun. You would make eye contact with them and the look they gave you wasn't annoyance, or that vaguely pained look they gave when your father was being particularly loud the previous night. It was odd, some cross between pity and something you couldn't put your finger on at first until you finally connected the dots: suspicion. What if they knew, or at least suspected, that he hadn't just wandered off? Even without any clear evidence, it doesn't take a genius to see why you and your brother would want your father gone. After that, every time a person looked your way, you could feel their hidden disgust at you. They knew what you were and what you had abetted, even if they never said it out loud. Slowly, you stopped going outside, preferring to stay cooped up in the house instead.

Ben didn't mind much, even encouraging your hermit life style. But in all fairness, he didn't seem to mind much these days, always in high spirits, no matter the circumstances. The bad days were good, and the good days were amazing, especially when you both spent them together. The best day for him, though, was when he was appointed temporary custody of you.

After court, he had taken you out to a fancy restaurant in the good part of town and told you to order anything you wanted. It was the first time you held a menu that had lobster on it.

He even has a framed photo from the day hanging up in the hall, like it was some sort of celebratory adoption event, and not the day he was granted temporary custody of you because your father is missing.

But isn't it technically adoption? You know your father isn't coming back, so it only leaves Ben to take care of you. And that's a good thing, right? When you were a child, you had always fantasized about what life would be like if it was just you and your brother living in this house, no parents around. Child you would be jumping for joy, ecstatic about the turn of events. You should be happy, so why is it you can never look at the framed photo without feeling odd?

There was just one questionable development from this event, and that was your brother's habit of visiting the basement more often.

The only reason you knew was because you noticed the door was sometimes left open, and the occasional muddy footprints that would lead down into the basement. They would be cleaned up before you could see them again, leaving you wondering if you had only imagined it.

Your father... the corpse couldn't still be down there, right? What other business could he have down there?

You tried not to think about it too hard. It haunted you anyway.

One night, you had a dream. You were descending the stairs to the basement, flashlight in hand, trying to find something. As you opened the door, a pungent, rotting smell burned your nostrils. For whatever reason, your dream self had continued on, scanning the area, stopping once the frail, white light landed on a dismembered corpse.

You struggled against your dream self, trying to will them to run back up the stairs, but they continued, creeping ever closer to the foul, bloated pile of flesh, until the soles of your shoes were covered in the liquid runoff from the gore.

Suppressing a gag, you bend over, trying to get a better look at the corpse's face, only to see yourself.

That dream left you as scared as you were confused.

The stairs to the basement have always intimidated you for as long as you can remember. The lighting was poor and the stairs were worn, as if they were older then the rest of the house, letting off a creak with every step. The door itself was in bad shape, with paint pealing and a doorknob that couldn't lock half the time. The inside was bare and damp, only functioning as storage for whatever possessions your father, and now your brother, owned that they didn't mind mildewing over.

Though the fear lessened with age, you never had any reason to go down there, so you never had to fully confront it. You had mostly accepted that there was always a small, childish part of you that would be apprehensive of dirty, dark places like basements, and you were mostly fine with it. Unfortunately, recent experience had made it a full blown fear again.

Yet here you were, standing right at the edge of the stairs, debating on whether or not to go down.

You worry your lip, mentally sorting through your options.

On one hand, you had no business going down there. Ben said he would take care of it, and you trusted him, there's no reason to doubt him. But on the other hand, there was no reason for Ben to be going down there so often in the first place. If the body had been removed from the house, then what was he doing? Where was the body? Why had you never seen him enter or leave the basement? Could you just be making this up? But you know you saw the footprints going down there. And yet...

"(Y/N)?"

You startle and quickly turn around only to see your brother behind you, a nervous smile on his face.

"Everything alright?"

Your gaze lowers as you continue to bite your lip. You taste blood. You know you should quit, but a little blood has never stopped you before.

You hear a small sigh before he walks over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. His attempt at being reassuring, you assume.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me, (Y/N)."

If you weren't so consumed by your anxieties and fears, perhaps you would have thought over your words before blurting them out, but that wasn't in the cards for today.

"Is dad down there?"

You still hadn't looked up, eyes glued to his feet, but you could feel the mood sour ever so slightly. Or maybe you were imagining that too.

His voice came out hushed, but earnest.

"Of course not. What makes you ask that?"

"You've been going down there a lot lately, and you never have before, I just assumed..."

Your voice had gotten quieter as you spoke until it finally died out at the end, the ridiculousness of the statement seeming obvious when you said it out loud. You were making a problem out of what, exactly? Your brother going into the basement a couple of times? Is that really all it took to make you suspicious of him? You feel a lump form in your throat.

He speaks to you, tone even, slow and reassuring, like a parent to an upset child. Your face heats up in shame.

"The water heater hasn't been working right. I've been down there trying to repair it, but I haven't been able to keep it running hot water for more than a couple days at a time, so I have to keep going down to fix it. Do you remember yesterday when you told me something was wrong with the shower?"

You easily recall a memory of yourself taking a shower, the water suddenly going cold. You had got out to go complain to Ben about it. Why hadn't you connected the dots sooner?

You nod, and he gives you an encouraging smile.

"You've had this on your mind for a while, haven't you?"

You nod again, more vigorously as the lump in your throat turns painful, and your lip begins to wobble. You tried to swallow it all down as you began to speak, voice wobbly and frail.

"I've just been so worried, all the neighbors keep giving us funny looks, and I had this dream-"

Your throat closes as you choke over your tears. Without thinking you cover your face, shoulders bunched up as you try to hide yourself. This was stupid, why couldn't you stop crying?

Warm arms wrapped around you, comforting and firm, as put your hair

"It's alright, kid, you're okay."

Without thinking, you hug him back, the comfort too tempting to resist.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I didn't think it would be an issue. If I had known you would of been this upset, I would of told you about it before. I should of known better."

You struggle to repress your sobs as you shake your head and push away just enough to look at him.

"It's not your fault. I was being stupid, I should of said something."

He smiled and nodded, seemingly content with your answer.

"Why don't we go sit down and watch a movie? You can pick it out."

You nod back, and that's enough for him to give your shoulders a squeeze as he moves to let go, but you don't let him.

"Wait."

He looks back, expression encouraging as he waits for you to continue speaking.

"If he's not in the basement, where did you put him?"

His smile stays on his face, but it looks strained. His eyes lose that warmth they had before, an empty quality entering them. You're painfully aware of the fact that you and Ben are the only two left in the house, and how close you are to the basement. A chill runs down your spine.

"Do you really want to know that?"

His hands were still gripping your shoulders, and you had a feeling they would stay there until you gave him the right answer.

"No." You lie.

He lets out a breath, and so do you, both of you relaxing at your submission. His hands fall from your shoulders, going to your back as he guides you away from the basement.

"That's for the best." He says. "You don't need to be worrying about that, alright? That's what I'm here for."

You nod, at a loss for what else to do as he guides you towards the living room.

The next day, you notice a new lock on the basement door. Neither of you comment on it.

[ironstrange1991]

The Goatee Problem

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 0,600k

Warnings: None, just fluff.

A/N: This is just a small blurb I came up with instead of finishing my Defender smut. Didn't want to end the month with nothing so I am posting this. Hope you guys like it and have a short but very nice reading.

"Believe me, you don't want to see this"

Stephen's voice sounded a bit shaky and nervous and his insistence that you do not go into the bathroom had you worried.

"Stephen, just tell me what happened. Are you hurt?"

You tried again to open the door and this time he didn't try to stop you from entering.

He was standing by the sink, but he turned his face so you couldn't see him in the mirror's reflection. You walked over hugging him from behind and he sighed "My hands... are shaking more than usual today... I shouldn't have tried..."

He turned to you, his face still smeared with shaving foam, but the goatee you were so used to was gone. "I had no alternative but..."

"Oh..." Was all you managed to say before bursting out laughing. Stephen frowned slightly offended.

"That's why I didn't want you to see me like this" He said pulling the towel from his shoulder and wiping his face.

He was gorgeous. Of course it was weird to see him without the goatee, but he was still handsome without it.

"I am not laughing at how you look, but at all the drama you are making."

You caressed his strangely smooth face, your index finger tracing around his lips and down to his chin. Stephen's skin was extremely soft.

"I've had my goatee for years, I don't even recognize myself without it."

You nodded, still distracted by how much the sight of Stephen in that different way was messing with you. "Well, I can't complain, you're still as hot as ever"

His face flushed with your compliment which made the whole situation even cuter. You pulled him to your lips and the feel of his smooth skin was different and interesting at the same time. He seemed taken aback by the intensity of your kiss and he was the one who broke the kiss to breathe.

"Don't get me wrong, Steph. I want the goatee back and you're going to have to put up with Wong and America's jokes for a month, but it's not all bad"

He didn't seem to understand where there could be a bright side to that tragedy and you made sure to make that clear when you kissed him again and continued to kiss the corner of his lips, running your lips up his cheeks  until you reached his ear and licked his earlobe with the tip of your tongue before whispering "I'm sure it will feel very interesting between my legs"

He glanced at you completely intrigued as you pulled away and walked towards the bedroom.

"Did you like it then?" He asked still unsure.

You chuckled "Yes I did. Besides I'm sure in another universe there must be a version of you without the goatee."

He took a good look in the mirror and shook his head as if trying to encourage himself. "You're right, it isn't so bad."

"Don't get too excited tiger, I want my goatee back as soon as possible or you'll be sleeping on the couch." You warned.

“How do I face Wong and America now?” He asked, his voice sounding completely mortified “Shit, can’t let Stark see me like this.”

“Good lucky with that.” You said laughing while leaving the room.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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[cillsworld]

Help me doctor Crane✧₊⁺

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Ship|Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary|you run into Jonathan out of fear and he takes advantage of the situation.

Word Count|1344

Warnings|smut(18+!), age gap!, oral(m!rec), deep throating, chocking, crying?, kidnapping, innocent! reader, dub-con?

Notes|soo this is my first like smut writing or fanfic ever, well it's a drabble but ykyk. I think it's okay but I don't love it, also had no idea how to end it so it's a bit random but yeah😭 hope u enjoy! masterlist

"Oh look at you, such a pretty little thing.." His raspy but quiet voice sighed out, itching a part of your brain in the most pleasant way, his presence fully intoxicating you; from the odd way he smelt or how he held your face, squeezing your cheeks between one hand while mocking you.

"practically ran into the belly of the beast and why? Because you were scared?" the condescendence was dripping from his tone as he chuckled dryly, finding it hilarious that after being sprayed by one of his goons you had run to his arms for comfort, and now you're stuck here in his little 'base'; whining behind the cloth he had hastily stuffed in your mouth, struggling against the restraints he had put on you while your brain was still hazy, somehow managing to bind you to a support beam.

"what am I gonna do with you hmm?" He continued in a bit of an agitated tone, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared you down, "I could just.. kill you?" he muttered out and your eyes naturally widened, the dangers of this situation setting in, specially when you saw the gleam in his eyes, a muffled whimper escaped you.

"but that would be such a waste..." He was almost talking to himself now in a barely audible tone, his eyes dropping to blatantly check you out.

You tried speaking from behind the gag, wanting to have a say in the matter of your own life and death; he rose an eyebrow in response, reaching up to untie it, seemingly interested in what you have to say for his own amusement.

"please don't kill me doctor Crane, please! I'll do anything!" Your pleas were met with a very bored looking 'doctor Crane', seemingly sick of the generic lines he'd heard one too many times, but they were definitely different coming from a youthful, attractive girl such as yourself and caused a certain tightness in his pants.

Your frantic pleas were interrupted by a hum of his smooth voice, "anything? You'd do anything?" he repeated in a strangely slow tone, though it was unsettling you rushed to nod in response, not letting the chance of surviving letting slip.

He scoffed lightly, glancing downward in thought before taking leisurely steps behind the pole you were tied to, undoing the messily done knots to release your sore wrists, "let's test that theory then.."

Of course you tried to make a run for it but a hand in your hair and arm over your neck were quick to pull you back, so quick in fact that you were sure he anticipated your attempted escape which made you feel dumb for even trying.

"You didn't think it'd be that easy right sweetheart?" he muttered in your ear, his voice had a eery edge to it now that made goosebumps rise all over your skin.

"You're choking me..." Your now raspy voice spoke as your eyes started to well up from the burn in your scalp, your hands reached up to try and pry his arm off your neck though he was much stronger than you so your efforts were to no avail

"oh am I?" He spoke in mock pity, tightening his arm around your neck making you yelp as you started to panic even more, "could've just played nice but you just had to go and be a smartass huh"

"I'm sorry.. Please stop I'm sorry" you whimpered out as tears dripped down your cheeks, landing on the sleeve of his coat that probably cost an unreasonable amount of money.

Your ears perked up as the sound of sniffing reached them, his hands left you hair and neck before turning you around to face him while you took in quick breaths to fill your parched lungs, "smell so sweet.."

He muttered more to himself than you while playing with a strand of your hair, blue eyes looking over your flushed, wet and sniffling face, "how old re'you sweetheart?" His oddly soothing voice questioned as he cupped your cheek with one hand, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.

"I'm- uhm, nineteen.." He sucked in a sharp breath at that, his pale cheeks flushing lightly, "then you know what I want don't you? What you'll have to do in order for me to free you.." He questioned lowly,

You had a vague idea of what he wanted, but hoped if you pretended not to know you'd be able to escape faster, "what do I have to do doctor Crane?" You questioned back with a tilt of your head.

"Don't play dumb sweetheart" he retorted with a scoff, finding amusement in your antics.

"I want you" you let out a little squeak of surprise feeling the force of his hands on your shoulders, pushing till you were sitting on your knees.

"To be on your knees and suck me off, is that clear enough for you?" He questioned with a mocking tilt of his head, squishing your cheeks between one hand as he did so, "y-yeah.." You responded quietly with a little nod.

Your shaky hands reached for his zipper, glancing up at him before pulling it down and unbuttoning his pants to reveal his covered bulge, you were about to pull his boxers down but paused, letting your fingers rest on the cotton hem.

"I've never.. done this before doctor Crane" you voiced your nerves quietly, chewing on your bottom lip as your cheeks flushed from embarrassment, his face softened slightly at your confession.

"I know.. I'll help you" he responded in a soothing tone, running a hand through your hair, he reached his other to pull down his black boxers to reveal his hard dick.

He took pleasure in the way you started at it in awe, "go on, touch it" he told you quietly, you tentatively brought your had and wrapped it around his base, looking up at him with wide eyes as he wrapped his hand around yours and guided it to stroke him.

"now wrap your lips around it and suck" he ordered impatiently, removing his hand from yours as you got the hang of it, you did as he asked and took his tip in your mouth, letting your tongue lick the beads of pre-cum off his slit, a groan escaping him that urged you on, getting bolder as you took him half way and hallowed your cheeks.

His hand tightened in your hair as he started thrusting in your mouth in sync with the way he was making your head go up and down on his dick, "there you go.." He muttered out, basking in the little whimpers escaping you as he went deeper and deeper.

As he started breaching your throat barrier your squirming grew and his pleasure increased at the tightness of your throat, he let you go for a moment to take a breath before pushing you all the way down till your nose was buried in his pubic hair, triggering your gag reflex as you tried to push yourself off, "calm down and take it, you've gotta work for your reward darling"

He muttered out as your eyes started watering, your whimpers and muffled mewls sending waves of pleasure straight to his brain and making his eyes roll back into his head, his hand tightening in your hair as he started rutting into your mouth, letting his body be controlled by the pleasure while panic induced you from the lack of air.

You felt his cock twitching in your mouth before he pulled out and let you fall back on your elbows, he aimed himself to come all over your face and exposed cleavage, most of it going in your mouth as you tried to breathe.

He tucked himself back in as you tried to collect yourself, he grabbed your face and collected most of his come on his finger and shoved it in your mouth, "swallow" he instructed simply and you did as he asked, cringing at the taste.

He removed his finger with a pop and straightened himself up, brushing a hand through his hair before looking down at you, "you should run into me more often sweetheart"

[kybercrystals94]

Stolen Time

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 4 | "You really think you're going without me? Not going to happen."

Rated: G | Words: 4,213

Author’s Note: Is this idea unique? Nah. Did I write it anyway? Absolutely I did. *throws another Tech-lives fic into the fandom*

The sensation of falling is not unfamiliar; however, the sensation of helplessness, of utter resignation, of a broken heart…these catch like a sob in Tech’s throat. Mere seconds stretch into an eternity. The devastated expressions of his siblings are seared behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. He wishes they hadn’t witnessed him fall. It will haunt them, he knows. He never wanted that for them. However, he’d rather that they live with the trauma than die trying to save him. The price of his life for theirs is one he willingly pays. 

He just hopes that the impact kills him instantaneously.

***

He breaks the surface of consciousness with a breathless gasp. When he moves to sit up, a weight on each of his shoulders holds him back. A soothing voice speaks incomprehensibly and close, warm breath on his face. Tech continues to choke down gulps of air, his lungs greedily accepting the panicked doses. 

Words begin to take shape in the voice above him, and he hears his name, spoken so softly and gently that Tech knows that the speaker loves him. But he doesn’t recognize the voice, although his mind feels thick and muddled. Perhaps he simply cannot remember. 

“Easy, Tech, you’re safe. Shhh, you’re safe.” The weight on his shoulders lifts, and a heavier weight folds around him instead. It startles him until he realizes that it is an embrace, arms threaded behind him, pulling him close. “I missed you. We missed you. It’s alright. Shhh.” 

He doesn’t understand why the voice continues to hush him, as if he is making any noise at all. And then he hears it. Feels it. Shuttering sobs, hot tears, trembling limbs. But he doesn’t understand why. 

“Where am I?” he chokes out, “Why can’t I see?” 

“Your vision will come back,” the voice says, now close to his ear, “It’s a side effect of being in stasis. You were there for a long time.” 

Stasis…

“Who are you?” Tech asks next. “Why do I know you?” 

The voice does not answer for a long time, but the embrace holding becomes impossibly tighter. The face against his neck feels wet. “Oh, Tech. It’s me…It’s Omega.” 

“Omega?” Tech’s mind cannot reconcile the little girl of his memories with the woman’s voice speaking now. 

You were there for a long time. 

Years. Lost. Gone.

I missed you. We missed you.

His sister. His brothers. 

“We’re on our way back to Pabu,” Omega says. She pulls back, the weight of her embrace gone from his chest. It leaves an ache in its absence. Before he can despair, hands wrap around his, holding fast. “I haven’t told them that I’m coming…that we’re coming. They wouldn’t believe me unless they saw you with their own eyes.”

“Hunter,” Tech gasps out. “Wrecker?” 

“And Crosshair,” Omega adds. “They’re safe.” 

A knotted pain in his chest loosens, one he hadn’t recognized was there until Omega said the name. They’d found Crosshair. They’d brought him home. This time, Tech knows why he begins to cry, and knows that it is his little sister that gently comforts him. 

***

His vision comes back as Omega said it would; however, his sight remains impaired without his goggles to assist. Omega hands the lenses over, cracked and damaged from his fall, evidently, long ago. He doesn’t put them on. They won’t do much good in their dismal state.

Glancing up at the young woman sitting next to him, Tech experiences a strange and hollow grief. “You look older,” he says. “Much older than I remember you.” 

Omega smiles. “Wait until you see our brothers,” she tells him with a wink. It is meant to be humorous, but it just sends another wave of grief. That is what Tech is afraid of, if he is honest with himself. They will have aged while he has stayed the same. Having matured with them concurrently all his life, the reality that they have carried on without him is disheartening.

“Are they happy?” Tech asks, fingers tracing lightly over the broken glass of his goggles. 

Omega considers the question carefully. “Yes, they are,” she says at last. “They weren’t happy when I joined the Rebellion, but it was a different sort of sadness, I think. I might be older and stronger and wiser, but I’ll always be the little girl from Kamino, won’t I?” Omega chuckles. “Always my little brothers’ kid sister.” 

Tech can appreciate that sentiment. He releases a huffed chuckle. 

“But how are you feeling?” Omega asks. “It must be overwhelming.”

“It is,” Tech agrees. “It does not quite seem real. Like it might be an elaborate hallucination.” 

“If it would help,” Omega says, the edge of her lips quirking into a mischievous grin, “I can pinch you.” 

Tech snorts, rolling his eyes. “That is not necessary. I only said it doesn’t quite seem real.” 

Omega shrugs. “Just putting the offer out there.” 

“You have become quite adept at flying,” Tech says, shifting the subject away from himself. He hasn’t seen more than Omega’s little vessel hurtling through hyperspace, which does not take any sort of talent; however, the comment seems to shift something in Omega’s stance. She looks proud, as though he has just paid her the highest of compliments. 

Perhaps he has. 

Omega leans back in the pilot’s seat. “I hope so. That’s kind of my job now.” 

“Indeed?” 

Omega spends the hours of hyperspace recounting to Tech everything he’s missed. While his sister is animated and entertaining in narrative, it is shared with a subtle detachment. After all, she is sharing her past, her history. He is catching up, trying to understand the circumstances which have shaped the future he has unceremoniously stepped into. 

And while he listens with rapt attention, it also breaks his heart.

***

Omega’s flying skills are fully demonstrated as they approach the familiar island on Pabu. Omega guides her ship toward the base of the island rather than the landing pad at the top. When Tech opens his mouth to ask, Omega answers before he can get a word out. “Oh, you’ll love this, Tech. Watch.” 

With the practiced ease of a veteran pilot, Omega brings them nearly to the surface of the ocean, steering the ship into the gaping mouth of a cavern, neither wings nor fin scraping any sort of stone. Deftly, she activates the landing sequence, bringing the vessel to rest on the floor of the cave.

“Where was this when the Marauder was destroyed?” Tech retorts. 

Omega sighs. “Hindsight is much clearer than foresight,” she says. “In our defense, we were trying to load the ship to flee Pabu at the time.”

Tech is fully aware; however, the sharp sting of loss is still persistent. 

“If we give them a minute, I’m sure they are on their way down from the house,” Omega says, standing and stretching, her spine and shoulders popping loudly in the now silent ship. “Hunter has a radar for incoming ships.”

Tech looks out the viewport. The cavern has been lit up with strategically placed light sources, likely activated by their arrival. The island is already dark, several hours into the night cycle, although the evening is young enough that their brothers would not have gone to bed yet. 

Omega walks back into the main hold and begins shoving items into a leather bag. Tech watches her, feeling unsure what to do with himself. He does not have anything, possession or otherwise. If Omega notices the awkwardness, she does not show it, and merely slings the strap of her bag over her shoulder before lowering the ramp. 

“And there they are,” she says softly, tossing him a grin over her shoulder before she descends the steps two at a time. 

Tech hears them, their voices familiar but strange. More conversational and emotive than he remembers them…with the exception of Wrecker, of course. He sounds exactly the same. They greet Omega cheerfully, questions about her wellbeing and health tangling over one another. Is she being careful? Has she been getting enough sleep? Enough to eat? Resting between missions? Omega patiently answers each one, and Tech can hear an indulgent smile in her voice. 

“You should have told us you were coming home,” Hunter admonishes lightly, with absolutely no heat in his tone. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Omega says. “Because I found something…someone…and I brought him back just as soon as I could.” 

Tech knows that that is his cue. He inhales a deep breath, but it shudders weakly when he exhales. Stepping into the doorway, he finally sees his brothers. Without the benefit of his goggles, their expressions are smudged to his view, but they go completely still, frozen in place as they stare up at him. To his mind, it has only been a few short hours since he has seen them, and with Crosshair, long months.  

But to his brothers, it has been nearly a lifetime. They have mourned him, honored his memory by living as he hoped they would always be able to live: free and safe. He does not know how they will react to seeing that he is alive, preserved just as they last remembered him. A living, breathing ghost. Time has stopped once again when none of them move. Tech doesn’t know how to set the chrono ticking again.

To his relief, Omega breaks the silence. “We discovered a warehouse containing hundreds of cryo-cycle stasis pods. From the intel we’ve decrypted, it seems that Hemlock kept what he referred to as promising specimens that he thought might be useful in future projects. When Project Necromancer was shut down, the coordinates to the warehouse were lost. We recovered dozens of survivors, Tech being one of them.” 

Although Tech has already heard this news, Omega having shared the details of his rescue as soon as he was coherent enough to comprehend, he hears it anew from the perspective he might have if the roles were reversed.  

He imagines the shock alone is incomprehensible. Painful even.

“You mean he’s been alive all this time?” A voice asks, shattered with jagged edges. “We could have found him…Hemlock might’ve told us…” 

It takes Tech a moment to process that it is Crosshair speaking, his most severe and unyielding brother’s voice bloodied and raw.  

Omega shakes her head. “No. We can’t think like that,” she says firmly. “What matters is that he’s back now. We have our brother back now. Wondering what we might’ve done differently won’t change anything.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

“I don’t remember anything after my fall on Eriadu,” Tech supplies weakly, stepping down from the ramp. “I…had no awareness until Omega found me.” 

He hopes that the knowledge is a small comfort; however, it seems to have the opposite effect. Tech desperately wishes for the lightheartedness of several minutes prior, when he was still out of view, and Omega’s presence had brought their brothers immense joy. 

But suddenly, the mood shifts again, an unruly tide determined to be unpredictable. Wrecker laughs, the sound reverberating off the uneven cavern walls, echoing back at them. He rushes forward and envelops Tech in a familiar, bone crushing embrace. It entirely dispels the air from Tech’s lungs, and he gasps for breath even as he smiles. 

“We missed you, Techie!” Wrecker tells him, lifting Tech bodily from the ground. 

Tech wheezes out, “I would say the same, but it only feels as though I took a prolonged sleep cycle.” 

“Let him breathe, Wrecker,” Omega says, but she is laughing too, the gentle chide ignored for several more moments before Tech is released to a looser hold, Wrecker’s arm still around him. 

Hunter comes forward next and puts his hands on Tech’s shoulders, dark eyes searching Tech’s face for something Tech doesn’t know. “You haven’t aged a day, have you?” his oldest brother asks. 

“Well, that is the design of the stasis pod,” Tech tells him. 

Hunter laughs and pulls Tech close, his embrace nearly rivaling Wrecker’s in its intensity. “And you haven’t changed at all, my brilliant little brother,” he says softly.  

Tech feels the irritating sensation of moisture gathering in his eyes at the gentle words, but he does not wish to cry in front of his brothers. He has done quite enough of that in front of his sister. 

With some effort and not a little regret, Tech disentangles himself from Wrecker and Hunter’s grasp. There is one brother he has not seen since the destruction of Kamino, has not directly spoken to since he stepped in to draw Wrecker away from Crosshair’s cruelty. 

“Let it go, Wrecker. Crosshair has always been severe and unyielding. It is his nature. You can not change that. He cannot change that.”

“Why are you defending me?” 

“I am not. Understanding you does not mean that I agree with you.”

If Omega’s stories are anything to go by and bear any weight of reliability, it seems that Tech was wrong. Crosshair could change, did change, has changed. Tech wants to see and speak to his returned brother for himself, apologize for not pushing to recover him sooner. 

But when Tech steps around Wrecker and Hunter, and they all turn to where Crosshair had stood, the space is empty, gone like a shadow banished by light. 

***

It takes much convincing, but Tech is finally allowed to search for Crosshair on his own. He suspects that their conversation is better done in private. Omega offers him a few places that their brother might have disappeared to, but Tech is fortunate enough to find Crosshair in the first one. It is a tree house near the top of the island, built by his brothers for Omega and any children who might enjoy it. This late in the night, the little structure is seemingly vacant, but Tech climbs the rungs of the rope ladder anyway. Crosshair sits across from the narrow opening in the floor, back against the short wall, one leg out and one drawn up with his arms crossed and propped on his knee. 

“Hello,” Tech says, pulling himself up and settling himself across from Crosshair. 

Crosshair’s face is turned down, and even if he lifted it, Tech could probably not read his expression in the dim light. “Omega already told you about all of our hiding spots?” Crosshair asks. 

Tech hums, glancing around. “Not all of them, I’m sure. She only gave me a brief summary of the most likely locations.”

“I’m surprised you snuck away,” Crosshair says. “I didn’t think Hunter would let you out of his sight for the next ten standard years.” 

“That is a gross exaggeration,” Tech muses, “and I did not sneak anywhere. I told them I was going, and they let me. You on the other hand…” 

Crosshair makes a scoffing noise. It is so achingly familiar that Tech feels a tight fist of emotion lodge in his throat. It does not take much effort to imagine that this is one of the many times that Tech has sought Crosshair out, sitting with him in the quiet of a supply closet until he was ready to return to the barracks. They had always been able to communicate in silent moments, a steady presence when words were inadequate. 

The silence between them now, however, is stilted and strained. A weight and a distance. 

Tech desperately wants to fill it. Before he fell, when he thought they were going to rescue Crosshair from the Empire, Tech had rehearsed what he might say. But now, against Tech’s will, with years passed, his practiced words have expired. Crosshair has come back, has changed, has grown older in both body and mind. A few months to Tech are now years and memories to Crosshair. 

Tech does not know what to say, does not know what reparations have already been made. What he could add, what he should add, what he should leave to rest. 

He wishes he had asked Omega for more insight rather than a basic history of events. 

To his surprise, it is Crosshair that fills the silence instead. “They told me it was you that first wanted to ignore my warning message.” 

“Only because it was I that found it first,” Tech says. 

“I told you to hide.” 

“We were never ones to follow orders, were we?” Tech asks with a grin. 

“You shouldn’t have died,” Crosshair says, voice thick. 

“And I didn’t,” Tech returns. “Merely an extended absence.” 

Crosshair growls at that. “Merely,” he sneers, but Tech recognizes the grief. It is a reflection of his own. 

“Not merely,” Tech amends. “I do not regret my attempted sacrifice. But since I did not perish, I regret that I have missed growing old with all of you, seeing Omega grow up.” 

“It’s my fault. If I hadn’t…if I had just come with you on Kamino…” Crosshair cuts himself off.

Tech sighs. “Do not try to shoulder the weight of shared blame, Crosshair. We might have all made different decisions with different outcomes. I am sorry we did not try to find you sooner.” 

Crosshair shakes his head, and Tech hears a sharp intake of breath. He is moving before he thinks better of it, sitting next to Crosshair on the rough, wood slat floor. He wraps an arm around Crosshair’s back, drawing him into his side. The former sniper resists at first, leaning away, but Tech takes a metaphorical page from Wrecker’s book and holds fast until Crosshair resigns to be held. 

“I know that I am late to say it; however, it is true nonetheless,” Tech says in a low voice. “I am most relieved you found your way home.” 

“It was Omega’s fault,” Crosshair huffs. He swallows audibly and adds, “She brought you home too.” 

Tech smiles. “She does have an uncanny aptitude for finding things that are lost.” 

“How is it that you can say something profound and make it sound like an understatement?” Crosshair chuckles brokenly. 

“It is one of my many talents,” Tech says. 

They sit for a long time in comfortable silence.

***

Omega announces that she can stay on Pabu for two weeks. What is exploring the island to Tech is reminiscing to his siblings as they share stories and memories associated with every place they go. 

This large rock formation on the west beach is where Crosshair and Hunter taught Omega how to dive. 

This little fishing boat is the one they built together during their first spring on Pabu. 

These tide pools are where they spent nearly every Benduday in the summer. 

This is where they built a sand castle so big that it took the tide nearly a week to smooth it back to nothing. 

This clearing is where they’d go camping to practice Omega’s survival skills. 

This is the street Omega was running down when she fell and broke her arm. 

This is the food stall where they’d get their decanting day treats every year. 

Countless memories excitedly shared. 

And he missed every single one. 

It is the last afternoon before Omega leaves that their brothers return to the house early. They do not say it, but Tech can see that they are tired, their stamina not the same as it was when they were soldiers and younger. So they leave Omega and Tech and Batcher down on the beach, telling them they’ll have fresh caf ready for them when they come home. 

Tech and Omega watch Batcher chase after the moon-yos, the little creatures chattering at the lurca hound as they scamper just out of reach. Omega chuckles sadly, poking at the sand with a piece of driftwood. “She's getting old,” she mutters. “The moon-yos are letting her keep up.” 

“Batcher does not seem to mind,” Tech observes. 

“She doesn’t know any better,” Omega says. “She doesn’t know that time is a thief. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t know either. Just enjoy each and every day without wondering when it will end.” 

That is a somber thought. Tech turns his gaze to the water, waves calmly lapping the shore, unperturbed by the bleak conversation. 

“You will leave tomorrow?” Tech asks. 

Omega nods. “At sunup.” 

Batcher starts barking at something she’s found, leaping and wagging her tail. Omega smiles and pushes herself to her feet, going to see what the beast has discovered. 

Tech knows why his brothers do not join Omega in the Rebellion. They have already fought a war, fought for the life they now have, the peace they’ve now embraced. He discussed it with them late one night after Omega had gone to bed. It was not a decision made lightly, especially Omega leaving to join the Rebellion on her own. Hunter admitted that her ambitions clashing with his fear had led to many heated arguments in the beginning, until Omega tried to slip away into the night without warning. Omega is a warrior, a rescuer, a fighter. She is restless and uneasy until she knows she has done everything in her power to help those in need.

Tech understands her drive deeply. But to watch her leave again, he does not think he can stand it. He’s already lost so much time…

“Perhaps,” Tech says, softly, almost inaudible over the noise of the surf, “I will come with you.” 

Omega doesn’t hear him, but he’s already made up his mind. 

***

Tech wakes before the sun rises, but Omega’s room is already empty. She said her goodbyes last night to each of them, and Tech did not say a word about his plan; however, he had hoped to catch her before she left the house. He does not have much, but he snatches the small bag he packed and bolts out the front door, not as quietly as he would have hoped. The path to the cavern has become familiar enough that even in the dim light of approaching dawn, he finds his way quickly. 

He only slows his pace when he sees his sister ahead of him, just entering the gaping mouth of the cave.

“If you are under the impression that you are going without me, that is not going to happen,” he says as he comes in behind her. 

Omega stops short and her shoulders drop subtly, before she turns to face him, dark eyes weary. “Tech, you belong here, with our brothers. We just got you back…we can’t - we won’t - risk losing you again.” 

“That is not for any of you to decide,” Tech declares. “You have chosen that your path is with the Rebellion, and I have chosen that my path is with my sister. So much of my time has been stolen. I did not see you grow up as our brothers did. I did not help teach you or raise you. I can make up for that now.”

“Tech,” Omega sighs, “You taught me so much–” 

“Please, Omega,” Tech cuts her off. “I have already decided. Do not try to leave me behind, because we both know I can and will find alternate means. It would be much simpler this way.” 

That makes his sister smile, a battle worn grin that looks far too old. “I suppose you’re right about that,” she concedes, shifting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “But what will Hunter say?” 

“He’d probably say don’t take unnecessary risks, and watch out for one another,” Hunter’s voice calls out. 

Tech takes a steadying breath before he faces his brothers who have come in behind them. “Apologies, I did not mean to wake you when I left,” he says.

“If you hadn’t meant to wake us,” Crosshair says with a wry grin, “you wouldn’t have sounded like a herd of stampeding rancors as you ran out the door.” 

“Rancors do not move in herds,” Tech tells him. 

Crosshair groans. “It made my point, didn’t it?”  

“I was trying to catch up to Omega,” Tech explains, “I fully intended on returning to give my farewells before officially departing.” 

“You better have,” Wrecker says, scooping Tech up in his arms. “You keep an eye on little Meg. She’s a crazy pilot. Learned it from you.” 

“It’s called skill,” Omega retorts playfully. “But yes, I did learn it from Tech.” 

Tech wriggles out of Wrecker’s grip in time for Crosshair to sidle up and put a loose arm over Tech’s shoulder. “Make Omega come visit more often,” he says. 

Hunter nods. “And make sure she calls us at least once a week.” 

Omega rolls her eyes. “Guys, Tech’s not coming to be my babysitter. If anything, I’m going to be reminding him we need to call.”

“In that case,” Hunter says, pulling Omega into his arms, “make sure Tech comes and visits his older brothers once in a while, huh?”

Omega leans into him. “Of course. We both will. I promise.” 

It is well past sunup before Tech and Omega board her ship. He waits for her to move to the pilot’s seat, but she hangs back, watching him with a smile. “You wanna get us out of here?” she asks. “Modified this beauty myself…well, Echo helped. But you can let me know how she handles.” 

Tech grins. He does not need to be asked twice. 

END

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[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Hello! I am back again. I got a operator/slenderman plushy from Marble Hornets! The one that glows in the dark. It got me thinking, how would some of the creeps (slendy himself too) would react to seeing reader with a plush of them? More like a comfort thing that they bring around and such.

Here’s some boba and drinks drop off too, stay hydrated! ☕️🍵🥤🥛🧃🧋🚰

-🪱 anon

Summary: Marble Hornets reactions to seeing reader with a plushie of them

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/n: omg ty i love drinks my poor little mini fridge is overflowing with tea and soda! Also, happy 15th anniversary to Marble Hornets!!

Credits: Masky/Tim- Marble Hornets, Hoodie/Brian- Marble Hornets, Slenderman- Creepypasta, Divider- bunnysrph, lavendergalactic, Pictures- Pinterest

Masky

When he sees you with a plush of him, his first thought is "Where did you get that???"

Then he remembers the large amount of people who know how to sew plushies in the manor

And the fact that he's kind of popular in the underworld

He's still never seen a plushie of him before, and the fact that you went out of your way to get one makes him giggle

He calls it his "mini me"

He loves seeing you walk around with it, he thinks its so cute

Every now and then, he'll just take it and look at it

For example, let's say you're sitting on a couch

He'll find you and come lay on your lap, asking if he can see his "mini me"

When you give it to him, he'll just look at the details, seeing what they got wrong and what they got right

And when you ask if he likes it, he will grunt and go "yeah, 's cute"

Sometimes he finds it annoying though

Not super annoying just a little bit

Like when you're going to sleep together, he will hop into bed with you, only to see you already cuddling with the plushie

He will sigh and gently take it from you, place it somewhere behind him on the bed, and promptly cuddle up to you

"you're being so stubborn. The real thing's right here, y'know" he grumbles with a kiss to your ear

Hoodie

He thinks it's super cute!

Immediately he makes the correlation between the plush and Coraline

He'll cheekily ask if this is your way of spying on him

The first time he sees it, he holds it up in front of him like that one scene in "The Lion King"

He gives a big grin at it, so big you can see his gums sticking out

I think he likes it more than you do

He treats it like it's your shared child lol

Whenever you kiss, he will cover the plush's eyes

Whenever you go to bed, he will prop the plush up in between the two of you on a pillow and gently cover it with a blanket

You just giggle at his antics

Another thing you like to do- just to tease him a bit- is kiss the plush on its forehead, cheeks, etc around him

He will see it and raise a brow, as if to ask "What are you doing?"

And then you will lean over and kiss him in the same places

God forbid something ever happens with you two, because then your child will be in a split house hold

Because Brian will not just abandon his child like that

His child that you bought

Bought for yourself

It's his kid too guys

Slenderman

He doesn't really care about it

When you first show him, he simply goes "Oh, what a strange little creature"

When you tell him it's supposed to be him he tilts his head and asks to see it

He holds it like a baby and pokes its face before going "Ah, I see"

He hands it back and goes about his day

Every now and then you try to use it to get something out of him

"Love, I was thinking we could go out tonight?" You ask him as you approach his desk

He doesn't even turn his face in your direction, only continues writing as he says "I'm sorry dearest, I have too much work tonight"

You pout and clutch the plush in your hands "You always have work." You grumble "I bet plush Slendy doesn't have work" You say, looking at the toy in your arms

He still doesn't react so you amp up your antics a little " Would you like to go out tonight?" you ask the toy

In your best British accent and the deepest voice you can muster, you speak for the doll "Oh yes, darling. That would be wonderful, because I just love you soooo much"

He scoffs "You're being ridiculous"

You simply turn on your heel so you aren't facing him anymore "Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of me and my man going out"

He lets out a dry chuckle and a sigh before finally giving in "Let me lock up the house, then"

[mandiemegatron]

ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴ-ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ; ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ

ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʟᴀʙᴏᴜʀ) <- ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

ᴋɪᴅ x ᴄɪꜱꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ / ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ x ᴄɪꜱꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ; 18+, ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅɪꜱꜱᴏᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ. ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴇʀᴍꜱ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴛꜱᴅ.

Welcome and helloooo every-nyan!!! WOW this took so much longer than I expected and it's longer than the first chapter by over 1k words (I literally couldn't be stopped) and I'm hoping this will satisfy.... until the third chapter comes out 😈 mwahaha!

Thank you to all of my mutuals for the support and love, and a big thank you to @laidenbreecatchall for listening to me scream about this for hours and for helping me with ideas! You're amazing, I adore you, thank you so much for everything 💖

As always, a huge thank you and a million smooches for my beta @moss-woods, none of this is possible without you. I love you endlessly 💖💖💖

Without further ado... I present you with part two of Too Much Labour. This chapter is all about the Kid Pirates, so my fellow Kid and Killer lovers might just enjoy this one just as much as I loved writing it 🤭🤭🤭💖💖💖

You tried so hard to fit in.

Three months had passed since you'd fled the Heart Pirates and into, unfortunately for you, Eustass Kid, of all people. It had just happened to be your shit luck that the Victoria Punk was nestled off in a small cove off on the opposite end of the island.

Following behind him and his masked friend, Killer you find out, trying to keep the same pace as your shorter legs carried you as fast as they could. You shuffled your bag a little higher only to distract yourself enough to bump directly into Kid’s back. You fell to the ground, startled, as a small “oof!” left you.

“Pay attention, brat,” Kid sneered, barely throwing you a glare over his shoulder before turning around to snatch your bag from your hands.

“You look fuckin’ stupid tryin’ to act all tough.”

You rolled your eyes in return with an almost mocking look, allowing Killer to help you off the ground with a warm, heavy hand. You brushed off your butt and legs with a sigh, trying not to mumble out-loud as you gave Killer a nod in thanks before continuing after Kid.

You blinked a few times in shock as the Victoria Punk came into view, the huge dinosaur skull that served as the bow of the ship overwhelmingly shaking you to the core. Your pace slowed down and you could practically hear the smug smirk in Kid's voice when he barked out a laugh at your expression.

“Beautiful, ain't she? Nothing but the best for the future King of the Pirates.”

The sheer ego he spewed off himself as he spoke clutched around your heart as it truly began to sink in.

You weren't a Heart Pirate anymore.

You took a slow breath and tried to give Kid a winning grin, throwing up two thumbs as you shakily commented,

“H-hell yeah! It's impressive as fuck!”

Kids brow ridge rose and he grunted, his smirk turning a bit sour as he huffed and continued down towards his ship. “Whatever.” You barely heard his mumbling, your hands falling back down as you gave another sigh.

The same hand that helped you earlier landed on your right shoulder, giving you a slight shake as Killer's voice washed over you.

“Sorry about him, it's just been a weird day for us. He'll get over it.” He gave your shoulder a small squeeze before moving to follow after his best friend and Captain. “and you will too.” He called over his shoulder before motioning for you to follow as well.

You spared a glance over your shoulder towards the way you came, your arms wrapping around themselves as a strange chill settled over your skin. There was a whispering murmur between the trees and you could have sworn you heard your name…

“Y/N?”

Your head turns back to Killer and you straighten yourself out, feeling a cold hand crush around your heart as you take your first step after him, anxious but almost a little excited for a new journey.

Would you still be the same Y/N you were on the Polar Tang? What if the same thing happened again?

You blinked back angry tears as your head replayed the last few hours, reminding you over and over with every step you took that this would be worth it, that this would be different.

It would be different.

“You're in your head again, Y/N.”

Glancing up from chopping veggies for dinner prep to meet Killers masked visage, you sighed softly through your nose before frowning slightly and murmuring,

“I'm just… I'm fine, Killer, I promise.”

A warm hand meets your shoulder just like those months ago though your heart leapt into your throat this time, just like it did every time Killer touched you.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You gave Killer a warm smile, shaking your head slightly before patting his hand with gentle fingers, trying not to let your touch linger on his skin too long.

“Maybe later.”

You could feel the smile Killer gave you under the mask. Slight guilt ate away at you as he gave you a solid nod, squeezing your shoulder once before letting his hand fall from you.

Once prep was done and the food was cooking, Killer kicked you out gently, reminding you to come back later to help with cleaning up once everyone had eaten.

Sitting atop the large skull that served as the ship's bow, you scribbled in your small journal, trying to bite back tears as you poured your heart out to the small book. It had felt like so long since you'd seen the Heart Pirates, your family, and your heart ached to the point it felt like it had been ripped from your chest.

Snapping the book shut, you sighed heavily and rubbed at your face before looking back out to the vast seas. Taking a deep breath, you crossed your legs and straightened your back, letting your eyes fall shut as you tried to ground yourself.

Your eyes snapped back open when all you could see was Law's shocked and broken expression from when you jumped out of the Tang and ran. Steeling your expressing with a slight sneer, you grunted softly and made to get up when you suddenly heard,

“You look like shit.”

Your head snapped up and you met with Kid's fiery eyes. You could tell he was trying to read you, not saying anything else until you either snapped back or got up and walked away.

“... yeah… yeah I bet I do.”

Kid tilted his head slightly with a deep hum before holding out his hands for you to take. You shocked him slightly when your two hands gripped his metal one, letting him pull you up and nearly into him. His flesh hand steadied your shoulder and you stared at each other for a few moments, your cheeks slowly tinting a few shades lighter than his hair under his gaze.

After a few more moments of comfortable silence, he gently tugged your hands in his one, making you follow him as he turned to walk back in the ship. His metal hand kept a grip on yours, pulled back behind himself slightly as you tried to keep up with his long legs.

Your brows shot up in surprise when you realized where he was taking you, your heart skipping a beat as he pulled you into his workshop. He cleared some space off his desktop and patted it, watching you hike yourself up onto his desk and sit comfortably as your eyes took in the chaos of it all.

Eustass sat back in his worn chair, arms crossed over his massive chest as he finally comments,

“You're distracted.”

You stop taking in the wonder of his workshop to look back at him. Your fingers fiddled with themselves in your lap, anxiety beginning to eat away at your insides as you quietly replied,

“Yeah.”

Kid gives a heavy sigh, looking you over as if you were an incomplete puzzle with pieces missing.

He hoped you knew that he would rip his hands apart to their bare bones, broken wires and rusted scrap metal to craft the missing pieces inside you, if you'd let him.

As he continued to watch you, something in his heart screamed that you wouldn't, and he wasn't sure if it hurt more to know you'd never want him the way he wanted you.

The silence crept on, turning almost suffocating as you stared each other down, feeling smaller and smaller under his intense gaze until he finally snapped in a sharp tone,

“If you don't want to be here, we'll drop you at the next island.”

Your heart immediately sank and tears filled your eyes, your hands curling around each other tightly til your fingers turned white. Your mind turned dark, thoughts swarming with the fear of being left behind and forgotten about until Kid piped up again, this time his voice a little softer as he asked,

“You've been struggling this whole time, haven't you?”

You broke down.

You covered your face, not wanting him to see the bitter tears that swept down your face as you barely got out,

“I thought he loved me, man…”

Silently sobbing into your palms, you didn't notice Kid sigh with a roll of his eyes and stand from his chair until you were suddenly surrounded in warmth, flesh and metal pulling you to a chest of muscle.

Weak fingers gripped at the front of Kid’s open shirt as you openly wept into him, no longer caring about feeling weak in front of your now Captain. One of his hands awkwardly ran up and down your back, his cheek resting on the top of your head as he frowned at the back of his workshop door.

He was determined to make you see that you were worth so much more than the pain that shit head Trafalgar gave you.

You weren't sure how long you'd been sobbing into Kid's chest, only pulling away when a deep voice cleared their throat over by the door. Looking over with sad, blurry eyes, you took in Killer who stood with his arms crossed, watching the display with an air of near disappointment around him.

“So you'll tell him but not me, eh?”

There was a joking tone to Killers words, pulling a small smile to your lips that caused both men to relax slightly.

“... just don't want to-”

Your words cut off as Kid squeezed you, cutting off your thoughts as he quickly bit out,

“You're not a bother and you're not annoying, God I'd wish you'd shut up sometimes.”

You froze at his words, brows furrowed as you pulled away enough to look up at Kid. His cheeks tinted a light pink as he huffed, looking past Killer as he continued,

“You think I'd let an annoyance join my crew? You think I'd let some weak nobody stick around? You're not either of those things so stop thinking we're gonna do what Trafalgar did to you.”

His flesh hand gripped the bottom of your face, his thumb brushing away the stray tears that spilled out as he finished with a tired,

“I'm not fuckin’ stupid.”

Killer moved closer, one of his hands brushing your hair over your shoulder and behind your ear gently as he agreed,

“You're one of a kind, Y/N. We see that - we see you.”

Killer leaned in as best he could to press his mask to the top of your head as if pressing a kiss to it. He stayed for a moment before pulling back, picking up one of your hands and holding it as Kid's own moved from grasping your face to moving the strands of hair from your eyes.

There was something between them that you weren't sure about until now, and while something in your heart tugged you towards them, it still felt like there was a boulder in your stomach.

It would be the same.

Your eyes shut and you gave a small sigh before asking softly, “... can... can I have some space?”

Both men went rigid, slowly pulling away before looking at each other. It was like a telepathic conversation was happening between them and finally Kid huffed and nearly stomped out of the workshop, causing you to flinch at the heavy thuds from his boots.

There's a soft sigh from Killer before he follows him out, closing the door behind himself. The second it clicked shut, tears welled in your eyes and you quietly sobbed into your palms.

It would be the same.

-

7 whole days of silence from your Captain caused your anxiety to fly through the roof of the Victoria, feeling on edge and like you were walking around shards of broken glass.

“Is he that upset?”

There's a shrug from the masked blonde before he replies,

“I mean, you rejected him-”

You huffed and spat back,

“I didn't reject him, OR you for that matter. All I did was ask for space and he took it fuckin’ personal…”

You pause in chopping your veggies, huffing again before taking a step back to fix your hair, taking out the messy bun and redoing it, making it a little tighter.

“He took it as rejection,” Killer adds with a stir to the bubbling pot. His signature spaghetti sauce boiled away, the warm aroma wrapping around you like a gentle hug and pulling you from your thoughts as you went back to your veg.

“Pans ready, you can start to sautée at any time,” Killer reminds you and you're quick to add your ingredients to the pan. They sizzle and crackle softly as you add a few seasonings, giving the veg an expert flip in the pan with one hand.

“I get that, but it's irritating as fuck that instead of coming to me and going like, ‘hey, what did you mean by that,’ he just immediately thought ‘she doesn't want me’, and that's not-”

Killer's hand meets the top of your head, causing you to look up at him as his unique laughter flutters out of his mask.

“You're aware he's stupid, yeah?”

You blink up at him for a few moments before sighing out a tired, “Yeah…”

Killer gives your head a small pat before going back to his sauce. “You're overthinking things. When has Kid ever given you the feeling that he's an emotional conversationalist?”

Your lips purse into a thin line as you flip the veg again, mulling over Killers words. He had a point.

You wouldn't tell him that, though.

“Kid isn't a talker, he takes action instead. He won't ask you how you feel about him because how you act around him convinces him that you feel the same way.”

Your heart sinks as you think about all the moments you've had with Kid - the midnight talks, the tears over too many drinks, the night you spent curled in his arms after that terrible nightmare… you shook your head, trying to rid your mind of the recent memories.

“... that makes sense.” Your voice is almost too soft as you finally reply, giving the veg another shuffle in the pan. “I never want to hurt him.” You make a point to look up at Killer again as you add, “Or you.”

Killer stops and turns his mask towards you, taking in your honest and genuine words before he gives you a small nod. He's thankful for the mask as his cheeks burn, glad you're unable to see what you do to him.

“I know.” He turns off the stove and moves the pot to a cold burner before reaching over you and turning off the pans burner as well. You flip the now slightly crispy veg one more time before moving it to a different burner as well.

“Do you?” You ask softly, turning to him with almost sad eyes as you continue, “Because I have tried so hard to fit in here and sometimes I feel so stupid, as if I'm trying to be someone I'm not, but I'm still me. I know I'm me, and you know I'm me, but how can you-”

Killer cuts you off by gripping your shoulders in his hands, giving you a slight shake as he silences you with a serious, “Stop rambling. You sound ridiculous.”

Your face scrunches up as your brain suddenly goes into overdrive, the words tumbling out of you without even realizing it.

“-be sure that I am me? I'm not me, I'm not the me I was on the Tang, I'm not the me I was before all that and I'm not the me I thought I was.” Angry and hurt tears burned your eyes as you choked out, “I don't even know who I am anymore.”

Killer pulls you into a tight hug, pressing your face into his chest hard enough that it silences your oncoming sobs. “No one's asking you to have it all figured out.” He murmurs against your hair, his mask slowly filling with the scent of your shampoo. “We just want you to be here, alive and safe. We just want you to be here.”

You cling to him, your fingers curling tightly around the back of his shirt as he adds, “It doesn't matter which version of you exists here, because this version of you is a Kid Pirate, and that's what you get to be for the rest of your life.” He gives you a small squeeze. “At the end of the day, that ultimatum will never change. You are a Kid Pirate. Say it.”

He gives you another squeeze and you muffle the words into his shirt, only for him to pull back enough and catch your chin in one of his hands. “Say it again.” He demands lightly.

“... I'm a Kid Pirate.”

“Again.”

You sniffle softly before huffing again. “I'm a Kid Pirate.” You can almost see the grin behind his mask as Killer demands softer, “Once more.”

You swear he's staring right into your soul as you look back into his mask. With a slow blink, you speak in a clearer tone, “I am a Kid Pirate.”

That unique laugh of his wheezes out as he gives your chin a little shake in jest. “That's my girl,” he murmurs before letting his hand drop back to your hip, his thumb gently roaming small circles over your skin. “Damn right you are.”

Your heart swells and something inside you begins to melt away, as if his touch was taking all the anger, pain and fear, sweeping it away with such a gentle touch.

In a moment of adoration for the man in front of you, you reach your hands up and cradle his masked face in your palms, pulling a quick, sharp inhale from the blonde. You're quick as you lean in, your lips pressing against where you assumed his lips sat under the mask for a good moment. You could feel his warm breath through the holes, fanning over your face like a gentle breeze until you pulled away, giving him a warm smile that felt more like you.

“Thank you Kil.”

Massacre Soldier Killer was stunned into silence for a good moment, simply staring you down with wide and confused eyes as you slowly stepped back. He was quick to grasp you, gently, lovingly, and bring you back into his arms.

“You… you kissed me,” he breathed out, unable to wrap his mind around that small, simple fact.

Your face burned bright red, redder than Kid's hair as you coughed out, “Uh yeeeah… yeah, I did…” You chewed the side of your bottom lip for a moment before asking, “W-was that okay?”

Killer’s arms tighten around you as he leaned his head down to rest his covered forehead against yours, his lips moving faster than light as he promised, “Yes, yes yes, of course it's okay, my precious, beautiful girl…” His laugh wheezes past his lips as he solidifies, “My girl.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, Kid stood cross-armed on the wall beside the door to the kitchen, a deep set frown on his face as he listened to you and his best friend fall in love. Something in his chest aches, like a grip around his heart and lungs as you laugh at something Killer says.

‘... Damn…’

The back of his head thuds gently against the wood before he pulls away from the wall, silently debating with himself for a moment before he finally turns and walks into the kitchen, seeing you plate up the mountain of sautéed veggies to be brought out with the spaghetti and sauce. You throw Killer a bright grin before turning to the door and your smile falters, falling slightly as you take in the ragged looking redhead.

“... Hi.”

Kid seems surprised that you're even speaking to him, glancing over at you before giving an awkward wave with his flesh hand.

“... Yo.”

You both stare each other down for a moment before you ask, “Are you still mad at me?”

Kid huffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his massive chest and goes to bark back when he takes in your sad eyes. He could read you too well, just wanting an apology from him for everything, and unfortunately his ego wouldn't let up.

“I'm not mad at you, never was,” his words seem honest though his tone is snarky, making your brain roll around like a wayward marble. “Don't worry, Killer’s girl, we're good.” He ignores your raised eyebrow and confused expression by looking at Killer and nearly demanding, “Is dinner ready? I'm fuckin’ starving.”

Killer nods with a hum and replies tightly, “Yeah, we're just bringing it out now.”

Kid gives him a nod of his own before turning on his foot and stalking out the door, not even stopping as you call his name. Your heart sinks but before you can wallow in your own misery, Killers laugh fills the space, causing you to turn to him.

“What's so funny?” You ask, clearly not in on the joke.

You can feel the grin behind Killers mask as he chuckles out, “Oh, he's jealous as fuck, that's all.” Your face changes into something a little more amused as you ask, “He's… jealous?”

Killer hums again and leans down to press a faux kiss to the side of your head before gripping the large sauce pot with both hands. “Yep! This has happened a few times before but phew, this is too funny.” He heads towards the door and you follow behind, carrying the large veg plate in your hands.

“How is it funny? Why is he jealous?”

Killer laughs again, looking over his shoulder at you as he replies, “It's funny because he thinks he's slick at hiding it, and he's jealous because he hates to lose, and twenty beris says he thinks you don't have a spot for him in that cute little heart of yours.”

Your brows furrow worriedly as you offer, “But I do!”

Killer laughs again, shaking his head slightly as a tinge of his own jealousy climbs up his throat.

“Well then, I think you should show him that.”

He can't see it, but you give a determined nod, your heart set as you begin to think over ideas as you make it to the mess hall.

-

“Come on, we gotta catch up with the others,” Killer rushes you the next morning, nearly pushing you up the stairs with a chuckle as you splutter and snark back at him. “Y-yeah well who's fuckin’ fault is that, eh?”

There's a rough pinch to your left buttcheek and a shrill screech leaves you, your hands waving away Killer’s touchy fingers and covering your behind the rest of the way up. You ignore the sad “Aw…” from Killer as you open the door to the main deck.

“Finally! Come on, let's get this shit over with. Here's your list, don't get lost.” Barks your Captain from his spot off to the side, expression grumpy at being awake before 9 am.

You take the list from Kid and you throw him the widest grin you could manage, ignoring the way he scowls at you with tinted cheeks. He gets himself comfortable in his Captains chair, one leg thrown lazily over the other with his arms crossed.

“You're not coming?” You ask, kicking the toe of your boot into the side of his own, the soft squeak of leather on leather meeting your ears.

“Pff, hell no. That's what you assholes are for,” he jokes, hissing when you kick him a little harder. “Oi! Don't be a bitch,” he barks at you, ignoring the sly grin on your face.

“Ooh, don't be so mean to me, I'll cum,” you tease back before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his scarred cheek. You then turn away from the now mouth dropped, gawking redhead, nearly skip over to Killer who is also staring down at you in slight shock. Tossing a wave over your shoulder, you take the list and Killers hand in your other hand before letting the blonde lead you off the ship and into town.

The walk was silent, almost heavy. Luckily, the weather was bright and beautiful, the sun shining on both of you and it warmed you right through.

“... that was interesting,” Killer finally commented, making you bark out a loud laugh, covering your face with both palms as you laughed out, “I'll be honest, I don't know where that came from.”

Killer’s arm wraps tightly around your waist, grunting to himself before he grumbles out a little pathetically, “You wouldn't even stay with me last night but you'll kiss him and cum for him…”

You laugh again, your arm resting around his hip comfortably as you sigh out happily, “Yeah…”

There's a silence between you both again before you both begin laughing, finally making it to town. He gives you a slight squeeze, leaning his head down to press a masked smooch to the top of your head before pulling away with a serious warning of, “Don't go too far. I need to be able to see you, understand?”

You roll your eyes before tearing the list in half, giving him the top half and keeping the easier things for yourself. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Don't worry, I don't plan on disappearing,” you joke, throwing him a wink before leaning up and pressing a few soft kisses to his mask. “You don't go too far either.”

Killer hums, pressing his mask against your kisses in response before murmuring down to you, “I won't.”

Turning away from you, you watch Killer stalk off into the opposite direction, trying to keep an eye on his blonde hair right up until he disappears. You know he's still close by, the market truly nothing large, but you still can't help but feel incredibly overwhelmed now. Taking a deep breath, you settled your nerves before finally looking down at your now shortened list, grinning at the easy items you had to grab.

You'd bought the first few items easily, even getting a bargain for the spice blends Killer had asked for, though at the next stall, you found yourself frozen in place as you took in the figure of a certain orange jumper covering a large, white bear.

Your swore your heart stopped, fear gripping you like icy fingers around your entire body as the bear turned. You tried to turn as well, keeping your face towards the wares on the table but a heavy paw quickly spun you, pulling a soft, surprised gasp from you as you took in two beady, watery eyes.

“Y-Y/N?!”

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Hey! Hope I’m requesting in the right place! If not please let me know and I’ll rectify that.

Could I request some Hunter on Pabu please? Something domestic and fluffy for the galaxy’s greatest Dad? I’d love to see him sitting outside during dusk trying to relax after a long day, only to be interrupted by something or someone loud…

I leave the rest up to you 😉 Also totally happy for it to be x reader or not, whatever you want to do. I hope that gives you enough to go off.

As a side note, thanks for doing requests. It boggles my mind how amazing it is that people write for each other. I love this part of the fandom 🩵

Moment of Peace

Hunter x Reader

Summary- Hunter relaxes after a hard work day on Pabu, only to be interrupted by Gonky and reader. Fluff ensues!

A/N- Thank you so much for requesting! I'm so happy to be able to fulfill your request, you are AMAZING! I wish I was able to make it longer, but I didn't know what else to write!

Word Count- 1,259

His view over Pabu was a sight he hoped to never forget.

Hunter looked out to the ocean, feeling an unfamiliar tinge of peace. Calm was a luxury, silence was strange, and rest was foreign. The thought almost made him uneasy.

Almost.

Hunter stretched his arms over his head, shirt slightly rising with his stomach peaking out. With a content sigh, he relaxed further into his chair. His eyes threatened to close on him, possibly from his long day.

He wouldn't have minded, he had all the time in the world now.

It was hard to believe for him, it took hours of convincing from you. To prove to him he deserved this. That he deserved this feeling of peace. The countless times you held his hand, cradled his head, or soothed him with your words.

After dedicating half his life to the Empire- the other running from them- he needed a break. It was beyond deserved.

You certainly thought so.

In any moment of doubt, your words echoed in his head. "The things you have risked for Omega alone, that is enough to earn your place."

With a smile he let his mind fade, and eyes rest.

While he was no longer fending for his life everyday, everyone still had to play their part on Pabu.

For a man of Hunters skill set, he was extremely useful. This typically led to many citizens coming to him for help on repairs, transportation, fishing, and harvesting.

Hunter had never complained once, simply grateful for the new life he had been given with you. That being said, he still had select days.

The seemingly never ending waves of heat and questioning, it was all worth it to come home to you. Not to mention the relief his muscles feel when he settles into his favorite chair on the porch.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he began his nap, but when his eyes opened the sun was almost finished setting.

His arm hair was standing, heightened senses on edge. Something was about to happen, he could tell.

Eyes shooting back and forth across the horizon, then head turning to look beside him.

Breath quickened when he saw nothing was out of order, but his mind wandered to you,

You were inside, alone. Had something happened?

He was on his feet, but before he could open the door to his home- he heard a loud crash and a yelp.

He knew your voice immediately, it only drove him to slam the door open, running in. He didn't know what to expect, but he was ready to fight whoever he needed to.

Confusion flushed over him when he heard you laugh. Though, he didn't let himself settle until he saw you.

His feet moved as fast as his body would let them, coming to a brief halt when he was greeted by you in the living room.

A beeping and chirping noise also followed, almost like a greeting.

You were on your back, having fell on the floor. The cause of the crash and noise was Gonky, rested on top of you.

"Hunter! Oh, my savior!" You managed out, having a fit of giggles.

Gonky wobbled, unable to get up.

"What happened?" Hunter spoke, rushing to pull the power droid off of you.

It was easy for him to lift the unit and place him on his feet. Though, he was more worried about you, even in your laughter he stressed.

Now crouched down at your side, you answered him. "I forgot Wrecker had dropped Gonky off. When I came in to watch that new holofilm, he scared me!"

He fitted him hands under your arms to pull you up as well. You were aware that you could have stood on your own, but you let Hunter do as he pleased. It was another way he could make sure you were unharmed.

"How did you end up on the floor?" He looked you over, once you were clear of scrapes and blood- he followed you to the couch.

You heard the urgency in his voice, it was one your hadn't heard since your time on the run. "Hunter, I'm okay. Really, I just tripped over Gonky when I turned into the room."

He nodded, not looking so stiff anymore. "Are you okay?" You asked him.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Hunter." You gave him hard eyes, knowing you weren't getting the full truth.

He sighed, "My senses just... I guess I haven't felt them that extreme in a while."

It was daily that he still felt his heightened senses, they still came in handy. Altering him where to fish, or if a stray ball flew his way from children playing. Not to mention Wrecker and Crosshairs antics.

Of course he had a downside to them, always had. Everything was amplified, it was difficult sometimes. Though, the worst of it was when he felt the way he did a few minutes ago.

When it was about you or Omega, it felt different. More urgent, almost painful.

"Hey, its okay. I'm here." You lifted a hand to hold his tatted cheek, you smiled up at him. Gonky beeped over at the commotion.

"I think he's trying to say 'sorry'." You tried to lighten the mood.

It worked well enough, as Hunter cracked a smile. He even reached over to place a pat on top of Gonky's box. Just before he lounged fully back on the couch.

"Wrecker said someone needed to watch Gonky while he was on his fishing trip." You explained, leaning into Hunters side.

"I still can't believe he agreed to a week long boat trip." Hunter started.

"I'll give it a few hours, he'll be back tonight to get Gonky, I bet."

He put his hand up, "I say two days."

"You have a deal, Wrecker will never last that long." You grasped his hand in a shake.

A few moments of calm silence went by, "What does the winner get?" You proposed.

Hunter hummed. When you looked up at him you saw his eyes closed.

"The winner of the bet?" He looked at you, but you could see the heaviness slowly reappearing in his eyes. He was trying to listen, but now the adrenaline was gone. His exhaustion was coming back.

"How about the loser has to clean Gonky." He teased, slowly closing his eyes again.

You simply cuddled up to his side, wrapping an arm across his stomach. He responded with a gentle hand to your back.

"That's too easy."

"With Wrecker watching."

"Well, that's not fair! It'll take hours, Wrecker is so picky when it comes to Gonky." You light heatedly argued.

He smiled, chest rising in a deep laugh. "Then you better hope he comes back in a few hours."

You gave in, a competitive grin rested on your face.

Gonky beeped again, shuffling to a corner to rest himself.

Peaking up once more, you saw Hunter still fighting sleep. You leaned up, placing a kiss to his cheek. "Good night, Hunter."

He mumbled something in return, you assumed it was along the lines of 'I love you.'

You would both be proven wrong when Wrecker would complete his week long trip, braving the waters. His reasoning? He didn't have to bathe...

As gross as you thought it was, you and Hunter decided you were both losers. Keeping up your end of the deal, you both washed Gonky. Months of caked up dirt took almost all day to get off. Although, you couldn't have picked a better helper.

A/N- Thank you for reading!!! Please let me know of any typos or constructive criticism!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @dangraccoon @knight-of-flowerss

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Hi!

I loved reading the snippet “I Do” alot!

I was wondering if you could please continue? if you want to!

Love your writing as always!

Never forget to stay hydrated!

First up tysmm anon for the ask, and the super sweet ask! Please stay hydrated too < 3 I'm saurrrr sorry this is ridiculously overdue, a lot of stuff just came up. Enjoyy < 3

I Do, Part 2

Part 1

TW: Blood, (failed) murder attempt, minor violence, angst, knives

If the hero hadn't been preoccupied with the current situation, she would've taken the time to admire the stunning interior of the villain's mansion; sleek marble floors and dark plush carpets and wooden furniture that was the perfect mix of refined and simple. 

But it was impossible to focus with the criminal's hand in hers, feeling like a shackle around her wrist, the grip firm even if it didn't hurt. She wanted more than anything to rip her hand away, but until she knew her way around this place, she would have to humour him. It was still difficult to try and memorise whatever she could of the place when everything looked the same, a lengthy corridor that never seemed to end, but she would have to try.

The villain led her up a staircase and finally stopped at one of the many doors, twisting the doorknob with his free hand. "This is your room, and anything in it belongs to you. If you need something, ask any of the servants you see outside. And don't even think about trying something stupid, alright?" The villain's eyes narrowed, his gaze wary and mistrusting as he let go of her hand and walked out of the room

At least he was away from her, the weight of his hand against her sweaty gloved one finally having been lifted. She slammed the door, not caring if it potentially annoyed the villain. She pulled off the lace gloves, looking around the room to notice it was huge. At least in comparison to the one in her studio apartment. It had a pair of half-open French doors and pots of roses on the edge of the balcony, a four-poster bed with silk sheets, and a small, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It didn't make sense how, instead of a cell or something of the sort, she'd been given this room, especially when she noticed how infuriated the villain had been with her getting him locked up. 

Maybe this was temporary. Give her all this luxury for a fleeting moment just to take it all away. An old, but effective way to punish anyone, and she truly wouldn't put anything past the villain.

She wasn't going to stay quiet about it, though. If the villain was playing the long game, she wasn't giving him the chance to go through with it. Her mentor had always said that the best way to get rid of a problem was to get rid of the source. 

It didn't take a genius to figure out what "the source" was. 

Still ruminating over exactly how she would re-enact her plan, the hero's frankly poisonous chain of thought was swiftly broken by a knock on the room's door. “What do you want now, Villain?” 

 “I'm not. . .” a timid voice called out, “the Master said to tell you that dinner is ready downstairs, ma'am,” a servant continued hastily. 

And just before she would readily decline, the heroine realised she was absolutely in need of any chance she could get to be in close proximity with her nemesis-turned-husband. 

From the second she'd signed that contract, she'd essentially agreed to swallow her pride and step on her desires till they shattered into a million, almost negligible shards like glass. . .

She walked down to find the villain at the head of the table, his simple choice of a graphic t-shirt and a pair of pale blue shorts strangely disconcerting. “There's clothes up there, you know,” he mused, gesturing to her wedding dress. 

The heroine nodded offhandedly, giving the villain a response of sorts, so she didn't risk aggravating his ire already, but not one too entirely enthusiastic that it wouldn't seem believable. 

Still, the way the hero was barely picking at her food wasn't lost on the villain, his lips curling into a half-annoyed, half-amused smirk. He stabbed his fork into a piece of steak on her plate and ate it. “See? Not poisoned.” 

Admittedly, the hero almost felt like laughing at the villain's antics, but him being mildly amusing for a moment just wasn't going to erase years of accumulated hatred. And she wasn't entrusting her fate to the villain's mood. 

When he turned around, the heroine had slipped a knife up her sleeve, as slowly and carefully as she possibly could within the given time frame, and it was only her luck the villain had decided he was done and was already getting up. 

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and her pulse hammered under her skin, leaving her feeling as though the force of it was enough to tear through flesh. The fear weighed down on her like a cinder block, leaving her moving as though the world had suddenly turned into molasses. 

Her knife was inches away from Villain’s back, just one movement of the wrist, and all this hell would be over. She struck fast.

But his reflexes were faster.  

His hand snapped onto her wrist with a vice-like grip as he turned to face her, a calm, unreadable expression painted across his features as he tossed the knife away from her hand. “Didn’t I tell you not to think about trying something stupid?” he hissed, voice eerily cold. 

The hero didn’t hesitate to aim a kick to his shins, the momentary shock giving her enough time to force her way out of his grip. She tried to reach for a knife on the dining table, but her enemy was right behind her, pulling her back by the dress. Letting out a frustrated snarl, the hero clawed at his arm, thankful she’d kept her nails long, sharp enough to draw blood. She knew the scratches felt like nothing to a man as robust as the villain, but she needed a moment, just enough to finally pick up a knife off the table. 

And the villain seemed to fancy the same idea, a blade clutched furiously in his left hand, a sickening smile on his lips. He pulled her up to his chest, and anyone who didn’t know better would’ve thought the gesture was intimate, so the knife softly pushing into her neck and drawing a thin streak of crimson down her skin was an ugly paradox. The hero still had her own blade pressed to the villain’s side, a matching carmine just starting to stain his dark t-shirt. “What’s stopping you? Go on, darling, push it all the way. Break your little code for once, might even be fun,” he crooned, the same damned grin drawn across his lips. 

The hero swore, her form convulsing so vigorously with adrenaline and rage that she hadn’t even noticed the villain had lifted the knife off her neck as she pulled hers outward, having barely grazed the criminal’s skin. 

She was surprised he’d simply let her leave, running up to the bathroom in her room, cleaning up the blood on her neck. She can’t stand the dress anymore, throwing it off and being left with a tank top and a pair of shorts underneath. She was furious with herself for hesitating. Her ticket to freedom was almost between her fingers, and she’d thrown it ungratefully in the ocean, just because of a few manipulative words from that bastard. She felt as though she’d forgotten how to breathe, anger and pain and despair building up in her lungs and forcing all the air out.

A knock on the door pulled her swiftly out of her reverie. 

“Come in.”

It’s the villain. The expression on his face was a mix of resigned and irritated.

“What do you want?” she thundered.

The villain let out an exasperated sigh, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. “With this lack of pressure, I wouldn’t be surprised if you die from a tiny wound like that.” He almost took a step forward, but he went back on it, realising he’d probably just aggravate her even more. The man wasn’t dumb. 

She noticed that blood was still snaking down her neck, so she pressed harder at his comment. “Why do you care? You’re the one who gave me this?”

The villain rolled his eyes, giving the hero a look one only reserves for a petulant child. “I told you before I’m not looking to mistreat you. But I never said I’d let you irritate me as you please and get away with it unscathed. But I’m not here for this. I’m here to tell you that tomorrow, there’s some stupid event I’m meant to attend with my civilian identity, and I’m supposed to bring you with me. News travels fast, and sooner or later they’ll find out I’ve married someone. I don’t want them thinking I’ve got anything to hide.”

“I don’t understand why you’d come here and tell me this yourself. Don’t you usually send one of your many servants to do this?” 

To the hero’s surprise, the villain’s lips curved into a wolfish sort of grin.  “Because one of my many servants would be too scared to tell you that I’m not going to let you mess this up. That if you push me hard enough, you’ll regret it. So for tomorrow at least, you’re going to have to pretend you tolerate me. Put on a show for these people like you do for the public.” 

All the hero did in response was give him a blank look. For now at least, she would have to play along. 

“There’s painkillers in this drawer, by the way,” he said, gesturing to the drawer of her nightstand before walking out. 

The hero collapsed on the bed, exhausted and relieved to be alone for now. This was going to be a whole lot more difficult than she thought. 

You can’t win every time, the hero had come to learn. There are times when fate will twist against you, but it doesn’t mean that all is lost. A drawn out fight was never a surefire sign of defeat; it just meant that it would take more perseverance, more withstanding to win.  If she had to turn her nerves into steel and her heart into ice and her face into a mask, then so be it. 

Tagging for the part 2 : @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @adamswrongchild @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth @dragonmine-24 @detectivepetrichor @orangeduckweed @red-is-the-reputation4444 @alexii117 @prophecies-bestowed-upon-ye Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[thesilversun]

I don't need more fic ideas right now, but anywhere here's another one. -

Right at the start of the Di Feisheng amnesia arc, not long after he's woken up in Li Lianhua's bed, and they've done the 'I know I want you to live' scene.

Di Feisheng is looking round inside, trying to work out what kind of place this strange wheeled house is, when he finds his old Yingzhu armour, where Li Lianhua has been using it as a pot holder.

He's hit with a sudden return of some of his memories. It's a far from pleasant experience - horrible headache and dizziness, to the point he collapses (like he did when Fang Duobing catches him in the cave after zombie arc).

He wakes up again, he's in Li Lianhua's bed again. He's got his memories up to around the time he last wore the Zingzhu armour and nothing else.

Eyes closed at this point, because he still has a splitting headache, he can hear Li Xiangyi's voice close by. Had they gone drinking to celebrate the treaty? Or had they fought?

Nothing is forthcoming. Di Feisheng opens his eyes, and sees a man he doesn't know, but who is speaking with Li Xiangyi's voice.

He demands to know who he is. Li Lianhua tells him. Say's that he's his good friend, he'd written his name on his hand.

Di Feisheng looks at his hand. Li Lianhua's name is written there, but it make no sense to him. Why write the name of stranger there? Worse than that is realisation that there are new scars on his hands from fights he has no memories of, his knuckles more lined, older.

What has happened to him? Why can't he remember? The pain in his head flares and all Di Feisheng can think is that Master Di has managed to get to him. Who else could take his memories? He clutches his head, trying to ease it and keep control.

Li Lianhua not knowing that Di Feisheng can remember something now, goes with trying to replay the first time he woke up.

Di Feisheng gets flashes of it being said, and grabs Li Lianhua's wrist. Feels how there is both his own energy and Li Xiangyi's Yangzhouman in him and recalls the 'You tried to save me' 'You're dying,' he doesn't let go, 'Li Xiangyi, what happened to you?'

'He's not Li Xiangyi, I should know,' Fang Duobing tells him. 'I'm his disciple.'

'Who else has yangzhouman? I know him. I've jsut signed a treaty between our sects. We were-

"A-fei, please," Li Lianhua tries get him to be quiet and to let go of him. 'No, answer me! why are you different? why are dying? What happned to you.'

Di Feisheng getting more and more worked up, as he realised there must be a substantial missing period of time in his memories. "What happened to me?"

Fang Duobing, "He's not-" Di Feisheng grabs Fang Duobing's hand and puts it on Li Lianhua's wrist.

Li Lianhua trying to stop him, telling him a-fei is being ridiculous, it's nothing, that he really doesn't need to look.

Fang Duobing realises he is hiding something, and does look, a look of dawning horror and hurt on his face.

So Di Feisheng blows Li Lianhua's cover and revelaing the truth about who he is and the poison to Fang Duobing.

Li Lianhua standing there silently panicking not sure how he's going to talk his way out of this.

He's got Di Feisheng who remember's nothing of the past 10 years. And Fang Duobing who is staring at him, eyes rapidly filling with tears as he tries to process both pieces on information that have been dropped on him.

Anyway, going into the Mountains Red arc. Di Feisheng with only the memories of his 20 year old self, the horrors of the Di Fortress far closer in his mind. Fang Duobing being even more protective than before.

And Li Lianhua wondering if he can use this as an opportunity to run out on them both, because he's really, really not ready to deal with any of it. -- Anyway, this can join the increasingly large pile of fic ideas I have, but currently don't have time to write.

[emma23]

Just a simple tutoring:

Tw: aged gasp.

————————————————————————

"Oh, hello." Jonathan stood outside his front door, a recently lit cigarette in hand. "You're here early."

"Sorry, my shift finished early."

Jonathan smiled and took a drag of his cigarette. "I'm not complaining. It's a nice surprise." He stepped a little closer to you.

"So this is Mr. Levy's house," you said, chuckling nervously. "Sorry, I don't know why I said that."

Jonathan laughed. "It's alright. Come on, follow me." He led you into the fairly spacious apartment, holding the door open for you.

"Wow, nice house."

"Thank you," he said, closing the door behind him. "Can I get you anything? Water, wine, coffee...?"

"A tea?"

"Sure," he replied, making his way to the kitchen. "Take a seat, I'll be right back."

You took out a notebook and a pen while Jonathan returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea, setting them on the living room table. "What are you writing?"

"Just some notes for our tutoring session. Thanks again for helping me."

Jonathan sat next to you, his hand brushing yours as he took his cup of tea. "Of course, don't mention it. It's my pleasure."

You took a sip. "Hmm, that's good, thanks."

Jonathan smiled. "No problem." He took a sip of his tea, leaning back on the couch.

"Soo..."

"Soo," Jonathan echoed, mocking you playfully before laughing softly. "You seem a little nervous."

You blushed. "Sorry, I don't know why I am."

Jonathan smiled warmly. "It's alright, relax. There's nothing to be nervous about." He took another sip of tea.

"I really care about this class."

"I can tell. And that's admirable," Jonathan said genuinely. "But seriously, you seem like a nervous wreck."

"Yeah, long shift."

"I see. You work a lot, huh?" Jonathan said, looking you up and down.

"I need it to pay for school."

"Right, I forgot you were a student," Jonathan said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Well, don't overdo it, okay? Take care of yourself."

"I try when I have time. Which is rare."

"I get that, but remember: your health is a priority," he said, giving you a serious look.

"My future is."

"Your future won't come if you overwork yourself," Jonathan said, his voice somewhat stern but with a hint of concern.

"What a poet you are."

"I try my best," Jonathan said with a smirk, leaning back on the sofa. "But seriously, don't push yourself too hard."

"Alright, I will try, Professor Levy."

Jonathan snickered when you called him "Professor" and rolled his eyes. "Please don't call me that when we're not at the university."

"Oh, just Levy?"

"Yeah, or just Jonathan," he said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Only my students call me 'Professor Levy.'"

"Alright... Jonathan."

Jonathan seemed to like the sound of his name on your lips and grinned. "See? It's not so hard, is it?"

"A little weird," you chuckled, sipping your tea.

"Hey, don't try and make fun of me now," Jonathan teased, lightly tapping your shoulder.

"It's okay."

Jonathan leaned back on the couch, his eyes never leaving your face. "You're a strange one, you know that?"

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really," Jonathan said, looking amused. "Most people feel more comfortable when they come to see me, but you... you're all tense and nervous."

"I'm like that with everybody."

Jonathan laughed softly. "Seriously? All this time, I thought you were so nervous because of my charming personality."

"Well, your charm might work on other teachers but not on me... little me... just a little student... really... too young..." You blushed as you realized you were babbling.

Jonathan couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter at your rambling, finding your little mess-up quite endearing. "Yeah? Too young, huh? Am I too old for your taste?"

"I'm 21."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "21, huh? Just when I thought you couldn't get any younger."

"What age did you think I was?"

Jonathan pretended to ponder, putting a hand to his chin. "I don't know... maybe 25?"

"Well, I was born in October, so you know, end of the year."

Jonathan nodded slowly, as if only just realizing the implications of the information you just provided. "Ah, right... so you're really only 21."

"I will turn 22."

"But right now you're still 21," Jonathan said with a smirk.

"Only four months, it's the same thing."

"Sure it is," Jonathan said with a chuckle. "I'm just pulling your leg, relax."

"And you, Jonathan... how old are you?"

Jonathan pretended to look surprised. "Are you interested?" he teased, before grinning. "I'm 45."

"Okay, well it suits you."

"Is that a compliment? You're just full of surprises today," he said, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth banter.

"It's your tea, I think."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, feigning offense, and put a hand to his heart. "You're giving all the credit to the tea—not me?"

"Alright, alright," you chuckled. "We should start the tutoring session."

Jonathan laughed and grabbed the folder on the table in front of him. "You're right, we should get started."

Jonathan went over your notes, occasionally offering suggestions and guidance. His brow furrowed with concentration as he spoke, and every so often he glanced up at you, his intense gaze studying your face for any sign of understanding.

"Soo?"

Jonathan leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Honestly, I think you're doing quite well. You've got a good grasp of the material."

"Yeah, but it's not perfect."

Jonathan smiled slightly. "No, it's not perfect. But nothing is, especially not when it comes to philosophy. It's all about learning and growing, and you're doing just that."

"Yeah, but..." You sighed. "That's why I prefer math. If you write the correct answer, you know if it's right or not."

Jonathan chuckled. "Ah, a math lover, huh? I see your point, but there's a beauty in the ambiguity of philosophy. Sometimes there isn't a right or wrong answer, only different perspectives."

"It's always maybe."

Jonathan grinned. "That's right. Maybe this, maybe that. The uncertainty adds to the charm, don't you think?"

"Maybe," you smiled.

Jonathan let out a hearty laugh. "See, you're getting the hang of it already!"

"I learn from the best," you chuckled.

Jonathan smirked. "Oh, you flatter me. Flattery will get you everywhere, young lady."

You locked eyes, the moment stretching out with a charged tension. Jonathan didn't break eye contact, his gaze locked on yours, studying every detail of your face.

You glanced at your watch. "Shit, it's already 8 PM. I have another shift."

Jonathan seemed slightly taken aback by the sudden break in the moment, but he quickly recovered his composure. "Already? Time flies when you're having fun."

"Yeah," you chuckled, quickly putting your things back in your bag. "Thanks for today, Professor Levy... I mean Jonathan," you blushed.

Jonathan grinned at your slip-up, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. "You're welcome. See you next time, little student."

At the door, your eyes met again, and time seemed to stop.

Jonathan's gaze held yours captive, an electric current of charged energy passing between you. The air thickened with potential, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

"B-bye Jonathan," you stammered, starting to hurry away.

Jonathan watched you go, a mixture of satisfaction and something else—curiosity, frustration?—on his face. The door shut behind you, leaving him alone in the silence of his apartment. He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as thoughts of you crossed his mind once more.

[nikolais-eyepatch]

Hey!! I saw you need requests so I wondering if you would like, if you could write for Akutagawa where he gets a crush on the waitress at the cafe he frequently visits and all of the mafia members try to set the two up. Have fun writing!!

(ill add a banner later, too lazy :thumbs up)

It was an unusually quiet afternoon at the cozy café tucked away in Yokohama’s bustling streets. Akutagawa, accustomed to the chaos of the Port Mafia’s daily affairs, found solace in this tranquil corner where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the gentle hum of conversations. Little did he know, a shift in routine awaited him that would stir his typically stoic demeanor.

As he sat by the window, meticulously sipping his espresso, his attention was drawn to a waitress weaving through the tables with effortless grace—You. You had a smile that could rival the sun. Akutagawa found himself captivated by your serene presence and the gentle way you interacted with customers.

Days turned into weeks, and Akutagawa’s visits to the café became more frequent. Each time he came, he found himself stealing glances at You, feeling a strange flutter in his chest whenever your eyes briefly met. His thoughts, usually consumed by missions and strategy, now wandered to thoughts of you—your laughter, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the kindness in your eyes.

Meanwhile, the members of the Port Mafia couldn’t help but notice Akutagawa’s subtle change in demeanor. Chuuya, the observant one at present, was the first to pick up on it. "Hey, Akutagawa seems different lately. Ya’ think he’s got a little crush?" he whispered to Gin during a meeting.

Gin, with her quiet demeanor, observed her brother with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She nodded slightly, acknowledging Chuuya's observation. "It does seem that way," she replied softly, glancing discreetly at Akutagawa who was lost in thought.

Soon enough, word subtly spread through the ranks of the Port Mafia. It became a whispered topic among the members during breaks, with everyone secretly rooting for Akutagawa—some out of genuine goodwill, others purely for the entertainment value of seeing Akutagawa flustered over a woman.

One afternoon, after weeks of silent encouragement and not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts from his colleagues (mostly from Gin), Akutagawa found himself alone with You in the café during a rare lull in customers. His body was tense, awkwardly watching you, unnerving and fidgeting with his teacup. Finally, Akutagawa mustered the courage to speak.

"(Name)...," he began, his usually composed voice betraying a hint of nervousness, "I... I wanted to ask if you would... perhaps... like to... join me for tea sometime. Not here, of course, but..." He trailed off, inwardly cursing his inability to articulate what he meant.

To his surprise—and relief—You smiled warmly. "I would love to, Akutagawa-san," you replied softly, her eyes sparkling with genuine kindness.

And so, amidst the scheming and teasing of the Port Mafia (especially Gin), a quiet romance blossomed between the enigmatic assassin and the gentle waitress. They stole occasional moments between their respective responsibilities.

In the end, Akutagawa discovered that love was as unpredictable and dangerous as any enemy he faced in the underground world of Yokohama. Yet, it was a risk he was willing to take, for You had brought a light into his life that he never knew he needed—a light that softened his edges slightly and gave him a reason to think fondly amidst the shadows of his mind.

[egrets-not-regrets]

Claude: A Difference of Identity

(From @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan’s Living Waters AU) MerClaude has a crisis of identity and couldn’t sleep. HarpyLenora wakes up and has a heart-to-heart with her adopted son.

Author’s Note: Whereas Jophiel needed his looks to change, Claude just wants his to stay the same.

I found that difference interesting and I wanted to write Lenora’s interaction with Claude too. Thanks @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me use your boy. He is a lovely. Thanks for helping me write his character correctly.

OCs: Claude (@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan), Lenora

Tagged: @shadowfirecat, @kit-williams, @bleedingichorhearts, @barn-anon, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @bispecsual, @ms--lobotomy

Lenora was fast asleep when Claude returned home to the family nest, having gotten Erriox’s message that he was called out last-minute to assist on a night hunt. Claude volunteered to accompany his adoptive mother that night. Not that Lenora really needed to be watched, but it was for their own piece of mind that one of them be at the home nest when Lenora is there, in case an Astartes intruder shows up. There was no way a single osprey harpy would be able to fight them off. It was… nice to go back home anyway.

The Raven Guard mer removed his armor and tried to settle down and go to sleep next to Lenora, being mindful with his movements so as to not accidentally wake the sleeping harpy.

He still hadn’t quite gotten used to this whole being adopted business. Not that he was complaining. Being around his newfound family helped quiet or at least muffled the voices in his head most days. Especially around his extended gannet family, with them being so gregarious and involving him in their social activities; the Primaris Raven Guard found it easier to distance himself from the voices in his head.

Can’t quiet us all. A voice said sardonically.

Others join in on the mocking laughter. We are part of you after all.

“Go away.” Claude hissed irritably, being careful to not be too loud.

Still, he doesn’t stick around the gannets for too long, the anxiety of being found out to be one of the traitorous Alpha Legion still ate away at his psyche. After the whole debacle with Zariel and his brothers nearly getting kicked out of the gannet colony and losing their bond to Lana, Claude became withdrawn and always made doubly sure his Raven Guard features were on him before interacting with anyone. He didn’t want to be kicked out. He didn’t want to lose all his new family who had been nothing but extremely kind to him.

They will know.

They will find out. It’s only a matter of time.

What will poor poor hybrid boy do then?

The voices chimed in.

Claude shifted uncomfortably and closed his eyes, trying to ignore them.

Even his Primaris brothers didn’t know about his… condition, except Cedric. Cedric knew, but not everything. Watching how they reacted to the elder Alpha Legionaries had him absolutely wilting. He understood why the others had reacted to the older Alpha legionaries like that. Especially with how strange and different they are from the rest of the chapters. How they seemed more to sow chaos and hatred and had their own agenda that was counter to whatever one else was doing.

Don’t ignore us!!!

Several voices rang out.

Claude startled himself upright, breathing hard and feeling sweaty. He quickly looked over to his adoptive mother, breathing a small sigh of relief when he saw that she hadn’t moved and hearing little change to her heartbeat.

It didn’t help that the older Alpha Legionaries seemed to have a penchant for harassing him despite Lana’s warnings and her stepping in to stop them several times. Throne love her, but her bonded Astartes only listened for that day and it started all over again at his next visit. It’s not like he hadn’t made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with them. Claude usually liked visiting his gannet family, but ever since Zariel and his brothers joined them, it made his visits so much harder to deal with. Granted, it helped to hang out with Mara, but he wanted to be free to interact with his younger gannet cousins too.

They’re onto you! How long can hide us? Hide you… you… you… away?

The cackling started.

Claude whimpered.

Maybe he might have to talk to Lana and Mara about it together. But Lana was hardly ever left alone. There always seemed to be at least one of the Alpha Legionaries accompanying her at all times. And he didn’t want to turn this into a huge deal like what Zariel and his brothers had.

They’ll find you out.

You can rejoin your Hydra brothers. Become one of them.

They are your true brothers.

Claude snarled at that, his tail whipping in agitation, his teeth sharpening, “They’re not my true brothers! They’re not my family! They’re traitorous assholes with their own selfish agenda!”

In his distress, he didn’t notice his rough shark skin had melted into smooth slippery skin and his eyes had turned teal.

You are no harpy.

You don’t belong with them either.

They’ll find your traitorous secrets. Once they do, they will leave you behind.

“Shut up! Shut up and let me sleep!”

She’s awake!

Claude turned around in a panic, seeing Lenora’s bright yellow eyes staring at him.

“Claude?”

“Don’t look at me!”

Now you’ve done it.

You even yelled at your mother. What a terrible child you are.

They giggled.

Claude flailed a bit, not knowing where to place his hands to cover… he wasn’t sure what he was going to cover with his hands. The big mer then deflated and sank on his tail miserably, covering his eyes. The more distressed he became, the more his form seemed to ripple and shift, his tail splitting into tentacles before partially reforming back into a tail.

“Claude, are you alright? Why do you not want me to look at you, fledgling?”

Lenora had been awake since Claude had started to talk to whoever was there? Himself? She wasn’t exactly sure. She knew he kept checking to see if she was awake and luckily, she had kept calm and still enough that the mer didn’t notice. But it broke her heart when her fledgling started whimpering. Then gave her concern when he yelled something about his brothers being traitorous assholes.

She saw a sheen of silver and teal wash over his shark or octopus-like body and circles of silver slowly appearing and disappearing. It was rather beautiful to watch if it didn’t also put poor Claude in such awful distress. Her son’s form reminded her of Zariel and his brothers, Lana’s bonded Alpha Legion mers. They were certainly a handful and had caused a whole lot of trouble at the beginning.

Though it wasn’t quite as noticeable under the glow of the bioluminescent algae, Lenora could maybe make out hints of black and the odd navy blue patches among the teal and silver rings that dotted his form. Claude’s teeth were sharper and his claws became more jagged. She had heard her boys talk about how Primaris are hybrid with loyalist and traitor gene-seed alike, but none of them seemed to know what blend they have. Which made sense considering how Jophiel had Iron Warrior features, but hadn’t truly known until Erriox told him.

Claude always seemed a little more subdued, like he suspected or knew something the others didn't. Cedric would always fuss after him for those chats, neither explained why it worried Cedric so much that Claude was so bothered by it.

She sees you.

Your mother sees.

You sure you’ll still be her dear “fledgling” anymore?

Claude felt nauseous, his hearts dropping into his stomach, “I… I should leave.” He muttered as he started to move towards the underwater entrance.

“Stay right there. I didn’t tell you to leave.” Claude froze at Lenora’s commanding tone, slowly curling onto the ground, his glowing teal-coloured eyes looking everywhere else but at his adoptive mother.

The others are going to hunt you down and kill you for lying to them.

Do you want to force Cedric to choose between you and them?

You know he’ll choose them over you.

“That’s not true!” Claude whined. His hands covered his earfins and his eyes were squeezed shut. Sparks of green lightning started to curl around his hands and shoulders.

Oh? This is fun!

Use your powers that will make this much more entertaining for us.

You really need to learn to control your abilities better.

Lenora sighed, she really didn’t want to use that tone on him, as Claude seemed to be one of her softer-dispositioned boys, but she knew he would bolt if she didn’t command him not to. Seeing the green sparks forming however made her hackles rise and the harpy started to edge away further from the mer despite her instinct of wanting to go and comfort him.

“Claude…? Fledgling…? Can you hear me?” She warily called out to him.

Cedric had warned Lenora that Claude has… magic but one that he can’t control, especially when he’s particularly upset, not as easily as Jophiel does. Also that if sparks start to curl around his body, to get out of the area, because he sometimes can’t control where or what his magic lashes out at, or whom.

“Darling? Claude? Can you hear me? I need you to say something…” she crooned.

“I hear you…”

Lenora frowned, her heart cracking at her son’s reply sounding so uncharacteristically small.

“If you’re listening, can you get yourself steady? You’re starting to shoot lightning out of your body.” She asked.

Claude took several deep breaths as he feels the bubbling-popping sensations rise within. After a minute or two, he started to calm down. At the same time, the shadows near him grew darker and started to curl around his body. He- he could shadow teleport. But Mother- had… she had ordered him to stay put. He should follow Orders.

Bad things happen if you do follow orders.

Aw… you are no fun!

Bad things happen if you don’t follow orders.

The sparks of lightning fade and flicker out fully. His eyes darted around, looking towards her and away as he closed his eyes briefly before focusing. The teal and silver tentacles slowly started to ripple, shift and meld fully back into a tail. Slowly his colors shifted back to Raven Guard black and gray. He looked back to normal except for his eyes, they still have a shimmer of teal that he’s trying, and failing to shift back to fully raven dark. His teeth crunch and clack as he tried to get his face back to raven lean, rather than rounder faced. His claws, he looks at and focuses as he slowly ensures that the details are back to what they should be. Then he loses concentration on the transformation, when Lenora moved again and the teal comes back into his form and his tail splits into octopus tentacles again and his shoulders slump in misery.

“Claude, can I come close to you? Is it safe to touch you?” The harpy asked.

The now octopus-like mer nodded, “It’s safe.” He responded morosely.

Lenora moved and positioned herself in front of her unhappy fledgling and cups his face in her claws. “Oh Claude, I’m so sorry this is causing you so much grief,” she whispered, “Is this what makes you so quiet and afraid all the time?”

His glowing teal eyes shift to look at the ground, “I’m an abomination.” He mumbled, “I’m just made up of traitor legion geneseed.”

Claude shook his head and gritted his teeth at their chanting. A few taps on his cheek drew his attention back to the harpy, the chanting briefly stopped.

“Claude, I need you to focus. It looks like something is keeping your attention. Do you hear something or someone?” Lenora asked gently.

Mother’s telling you to focus! So focus!

Tell her the truth. Mother would probably think you are crazy.

No one would believe you!

The voices laughed.

“I… um… I… uh…” Claude’s breathing shortened considerably. His eyes started to water as he tried desperately to hold back his emotions to at least form something to say that would make sense.

Lenora looked on worriedly as she saw his hands becoming claws again and the tentacles started moving in an agitated manner. She clasped her clawed hands against his earfins and then pulled Claude downwards to her chest. The harpy wrapped her wings around the mer and pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead, murmuring, “It’s okay. Take it easy, I have you... I have you. You’re safe here.”

Claude whimpered and buried his face into Lenora’s feathers, inhaling her scent, bringing his arms up to wrap around his adoptive mother tightly. She gently ran her claws through his dark hair.

“You’re safe here. I’m not going anywhere.” she cooed and pressed her lips to his forehead again, feeling her feathers getting wet from his tears, “Could you tell me what you’ve been hearing? If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s okay. We won’t talk about it no more.”

Tell Mother. Tell Mother. Tell Mother. Would she believe you?

Funnily enough, the voices seemed softer and blessedly muffled.

As tempting as it was to stay silent on the matter, Claude needed Lenora to hear him out. He was so tired of trying to hide everything he was all the time. So scared of being found out and kicked out of the nest and possibly losing his family. He didn’t want to continue to hide from his loved ones any more. There’s still a possibility that rejection might happen, but at least this would be on his own terms and in private. And he knew his adoptive mother would be gentle with him, even if she decided to reject him as her son. Shoring himself in preparation of being ejected out of his family, he told her.

“I hear voices in my head…and have been hearing them ever since I received the geneseed from the Mechanicum as an aspirant.” Claude mumbled into Lenora’s chest feathers, feeling physically and emotionally drained.

The osprey harpy nuzzled against his hair, “and this is a characteristic of the traitor geneseed that you boys talked about?”

She smiled sadly when she felt him nod against her shoulder. “And if I am correct, your looks being similar to Zarius and his brothers are also part of it too?” She gently probed, being careful not to spook her fledgling to keep him talking.

“Yes. And the claws. The teeth. And the lightning.” Claude replied unhappily. He focused on his breathing and the soothing pressure of Lenora’s hand stroking his head, slowly calming down and relaxing before reluctantly pulling away from his adoptive mother.

“I lied to you and Erriox. I’m not who I try to be. I’m sorry. Any judgment you have for me, I will accept. Even if I have to leave.” The big mer bent his head, contrite, and looked down onto the ground. A few taps on his forehead made him look back up at his harpy mother.

“My dear fledgling. Why would I want you to leave?”

“Because I have Alpha legion gene-seed in me,” Claude says, like it’s obvious, still completely miserable, “they are among the worst of the traitor legions. Face stealers, liars, social manipulators that weave hatred, fear, and misery into the fabric of the Imperium, and the Chaos Legions.”

The voices have gone silent. For now. But they will be back, and louder than ever. They always were. Perhaps they were the voices of other Alpha legionaries? He had not thought to ask others of the Primaris who were cursed like him. Afraid of their answers.

“And have you stole anyone’s face? Tried to manipulate them? Have you tried to sow fear and hatred among those around you?” Lenora asked.

“No!” Claude said suddenly, honest and fervent, “not- not on purpose, for manipulation, fear or hatred. I- I just lie about being this. You see what I am. You’re not blind.” He frowned at his last outburst, he didn’t mean to be so rude.

He tried to be honest about other things, and kept secrets others wished him to, unless it’s something that was hurting them. He’s been teased by some of his brother-cousins that he’s a terrible liar. Which was something that … he was conflicted on whether he likes that or not.

Lenora chuckled, unoffended by his comment, “Yes, the Alpha Legion and other traitor…”

“Night Lord.” Claude mumbled, might as well get it out now since there’s no point keeping that a secret.

Oh? Finally telling her everything?

Boring! Lies are more fun.

She seems like she still cares. But for how long will that last?

“… and Night Lord geneseed is part of you, but you still make your own decisions to not terrorize and hurt those around you. You are still Claude the Primaris Mer-Astartes, are you not?” She questioned, hoping that her son would be able to think his way through to gain some semblance of peace within himself.

“Come. Join me in my nest.” Grabbing his hand, Lenora led him to the nest Erriox and she shared.

“Erriox won’t mind?” Her son asked.

She smiled, “No. It’s fine, Jophie joins us like this occasionally.”

Claude took his place beside Lenora and relaxed, letting his tails, no, tentacles curl into the space beside himself, this form being a lot more flexible and squishy than his Raven Guard shark form. The harpy sat beside him, idly stroking his head, watching the glowing silver rings on his body as they appeared and disappeared.

“I’m curious. You mentioned something about hearing voices. What kinds of things do they say?” She looked at her fledgling inquisitively.

“Sometimes useful advice,” Claude says, “Mostly mean things. Intrusive thoughts, or Really Bad Ideas. Occasionally warn me of things to come.”

Aww… you’re so mean!

Hey- he said something nice first… usually he just says ‘shut up!’

Not all of our ideas are bad. You’re just no fun!

“I suppose that’s sort of helpful, but I certainly hope that you ignore the mean things they say about you… and their bad ideas.” The harpy frowned slightly.

“I’m usually able to ignore the bad advice and ideas,” Claude says honestly, “When I was younger and didn’t know better they got me into trouble a lot, so I learned which ideas to ignore, versus which ones I could follow without too many consequences.”

Lenora huffed, “They don’t sound easy to live with, but unfortunately they are a part of you. You seem to be doing a good job at managing that as much as you can.”

Manage us? Manage us, hardly!

We are stuck with you. And you are stuck with us.

“Thanks. I try.” Claude mumbled, giving her a small smile at the praise.

“Your gene-seed is only a part of you. What you decide to do is what makes you Claude.” Lenora smiled back.

Her voice dropped low and quiet, “I don’t think Erriox nor I ever told you boys, or if you don’t already know this: do you know harpies eat humans? I’ve been known to eat human flesh on the rare occasion, though I don’t actively hunt humans as my main source of sustenance. Even the gannet harpies have been known to assist the sirens in miring ships and killing humans when times are scarce. It’s not a pleasant look, but it is in our harpy nature.”

“Mer-astartes have also consumed human flesh,or other sentient beings’ flesh too,” Claude says, “We try not to, it’s a last resort sort of thing. For most pods… some are more… violent.”

Lenora hummed in acknowledgment, “We don’t have such social rules governing our nature like that, though our human prey nowadays tend to be poachers and those foolish enough to intrude in our territory without our permission.”

She let out a sigh, “What I’m trying to say is that some things in our nature are a part of us that can’t always be avoided, so we can only do our best to manage as well as we can, or use that nature to help us do good in this world. You might not like your abilities but learn to embrace and use them to aid you. I’m sure the changing ability from the Alpha Legion comes in handy every now and then.”

You should listen to her.

Smart Harpy lady- no wonder you stay with her.

Erriox is going to kill you.

She tweaked Claude’s nose playfully, laughing when he wrinkled his nose like Erriox does, “Don’t think I don’t see the extra gannet sneaking off to go hunting with your cousins to avoid the auntie gannets when you suddenly have something to do when we visit the Rock.”

She got you there! Pretending to be your cousins!

Sneaky mer! Avoiding your gannet aunties!

Such a rude child!

The voices laugh. Claude decided not to respond, he could live with that comment.

“Claude…do you understand what I’m trying to say?” Lenora asked as she laid down next to him, preparing to go to sleep again.

Claude nuzzled his adoptive mother, feeling more at peace with himself, “I understand.”

She nuzzled her son back affectionately and wrapped her wing over him, “I’ve adopted you as my fledgling so you’ll always be my fledgling. I would never kick you out for something like this. And I promise you that Mara feels the same way. So don’t be afraid to speak with her about your condition. Alright?”

You should also talk to the Alpha Legion First Born too!

Link up with the telepathic network. It will go so well for you.

Mara won’t be so understanding.

The voices weren’t quite as loud as before.

“Alright.” Claude said as he ignored the voices in his head and curled into Lenora, his face nestled into her feathers, finally able to fully relax.

“Good boy. Now go to sleep.” She kissed his forehead once more.”

“Thanks mom.” Came his sleepy reply.

Lenora’s heart melted. Smiling, she whispered, “You’re welcome, my fledgling.”

[copper-16]

Hello everyone! I have some good news - this morning after many months now of trying to figure out what has been causing the pain in my hand and fingers, we finally have seem to come to an answer! (shoutout to hand therapists, who are the GOAT in my book rn) If you felt like familiarizing yourself with hand anatomy, this is the post for you to continue reading!

I have a very strange case of tendonitis it seems. Usually tendonitis in the hands is from the extensor tendons - which run from the tops of your fingers into the wrist and up the arm. I've been wearing a wrist brace for the last several weeks to attempt to help this, but as it turns out that hasn't been doing anything!

My problem actually lies in the dorsal and palmar interossei, which are two sets of tendons that sit one on top of the other in between your knuckles, and they work to open your fingers and close them, respectively. I injured these tendons back in March, and they never were able to fully heal (it is apparently very hard to heal a tendon once it has been injured, because the threshold to reinjure it once you've done it once is a lot lower). They are localized in the hand, unlike the extensor tendons, which run up into the arm.

I've been given what my hand therapist is calling "the strap" (I fought for my LIFE to keep a straight face when he said that), which is basically to force me to keep my fingers together, thus resting the tendon in question (my main problem is between my pointer and middle finger). Once the tendon has been rested and actually fully healed, we can do strength training so that I have less of a chance to reinjure it. He said this kind of injury is very uncommon so he isn't 100% sure exactly what treatment plan he's going with, but hopefully resting is a good start and then we can go from there when I go back to see him in 2 weeks.

So I will now be making A VERY CONCERTED EFFORT to do NO more typing than physically necessary. Or just using my hands in general. I'm going to be ATTEMPTING to do voice to text writing (which is what I've switched to doing for texting)...we shall see if this is successful or not! I’m considering it a fun adventure in my books.

Or maybe for once I'll have long, detailed drafts that are actually well thought out instead of just jumping into something head first without much foresight haha!

[gothamcityneedsme]

on a literary level, i understand why people consider the house in hol to be horrifying, the single signpost of all that is terrifying in the unknown and impossible etc. but for me, even in the book, the scary parts were always how those things affected and changed men. (or like. How man survives in such a space).

the house never really terrified me. The man is worse than the minotaur

[a-moth-to-the-light]

Current Top 10 Bleachers Songs

Though I can't exactly say I grew up with Bleachers--I was 14 when I first heard of them--I feel like I did. Maybe it's because I actually did grow up with Bruce Springsteen, and didn't someone once call Bleachers a glorified Springsteen tribute band? I couldn't find the original reference, but I love Bleachers almost as much as Springsteen (who's only my favorite artist ever--sorry, Alba Reche, you're a close second I promise!!!), so I can't say that label is a bad thing. The Springsteen energy happening in their music is FANTASTIC, with some interesting electronic influences to spice things up! They released a new album last Friday, so it's time to do a top-10-so-far before I find any new favorites :)

1. Wild Heart

This is for all the kids who lived off the Love, Simon soundtrack in eighth grade, who huddled in their room and listened to "Wild Heart" over and over and over again and tried to work up the courage to ask their parents to take them to see the movie... but what if they guess? What if they figure out I'm gay? I'll just watch the trailers over and over again, listen to the soundtrack on repeat... Look, I like so much about "Wild Heart", especially the echo-y vocal effects and the way the chorus crashes in and the grumbling bass and the outro, but really this is my favorite Bleachers song as a salute to my past self. I'm sorry. And thank you. And I'm so proud of you.

2. How Dare You Want More

This song is layers and layers and layers, it's all the chaos and glee of a really great party, and I feel tipsy by the time that sax solo hits.

3. Hate That You Know Me

I thought this one was pretty weird for a longggg time, but it got me eventually. The production here is emptier than what I was used to from their first album, but over time, it started to feel less empty and more immediate to me, like I could just be hearing a couple of people giving the performance of their lives across the street. Speaking of which, shoutout to the backup vocalist who does those riffs--they bring out the best in this song's rhythm. Also, these might be my favorite Bleachers lyrics. They're fantastically fun to sing, without losing any meaning to the sonic whimsy!

4. Don't Take The Money

This is my comfort scream-it-all-out song--it has the perfect blend of genuine humor and equally genuine agony that I love so much in my favorite Taylor Swift songs. Experiencing the mortifying ordeal of being known? Singing, "I SAW YOUR FACE AND HANDS / COVERED IN SUN AND THEN / I THINK I UNDERSTAND / ... OH I UNDERSTAND" is the most effective cure I know.

5. I'm Ready to Move On / Wild Heart -- w/ Yoko Ono

Okay, sure, this is kind of just "Wild Heart" again. But I think it deserves its own spot, since it really does have its own thing going on. I'm not as much of an experimental production lover as I want to be--though I respect attempts to expand the range of sounds we think of as 'music', I still have a hard time actually enjoying the more out-there electronic stuff. But I'll listen to this one any day, weird buzzing noises included, because Yoko Ono's melody instantly cheers me up, and I find myself singing it constantly. Snow is falling! All the time! Snow is smiling! All the time! I'm ready! I'm ready! I'm ready! To move on!

6. I Wanna Get Better (cw: sui)

This one is... intense. I think that's what I love most about Bleachers, though, is that you get all this emotion wrapped up in these ridiculously catchy rock anthems. There's so much feeling that's fighting to get out of these songs, and so much in my heart that's fighting to get out when I listen--but then I can free it by singing along. These are songs that want to be sung along to, that invite your shared experience of things that are too heavy to carry alone. Hell, maybe that's what drew me to Bleachers, specifically, out of all the artists on the Love, Simon soundtrack. Because their music felt like coming out, even before I actually did; it gave me an escape, to a place where I felt like my secret, my big terrifying secret, had already been shared. Even for just a few minutes, I could get that weight of things unspoken off my shoulders. And suicidal ideation is hard to talk about, too. And I didn't talk about it for a long time--not for years after coming out. But I had this song to process it with, and for that I'm eternally grateful <3

7. Like A River Runs

Okay, this spot could belong to a whole bunch of songs on the Strange Desire album, but I'll go with this one, which was my most-listened song on Spotify Wrapped 2020. I don't think I've ever been able to relate to this song--I'm lucky to never have experienced the death of a close friend, or of a family member I knew well--but the production always manages to capture me instantly. I guess this song gives us another good explanation of why I feel like I grew up with Bleachers: their music sounds like how my growing up felt--this overwhelming rush of reckless joy in the present, combined with intense fits of yearning for the past.

8. Everybody Lost Somebody

COME ON MOTHERFUCKER YOU SURVIVED YOU'VE GOTTA GIVE YOURSELF A BREAK !!!!!

9. 91

I never really know what to do with this song, honestly--it's not let-it-all-out fun, like I usually expect from Bleachers. Rather, it's mysterious and reserved... but that makes it uniquely captivating, too. Its lyrics have beautifully executed time skips, and I love that string instruments are made central to the arrangement, rather than left to a low-volume layer in the chorus.

10. Rollercoaster -- w/ Charli XCX

I mean, Bleachers has some of the best hooks out there, and Charli XCX has a voice that makes any chorus a punch to the gut. A dream collaboration, for sure, and I wouldn't be surprised if this is my most-listened Bleachers song ever!

Honorable Mentions: Reckless Love, You're Still a Mystery, All My Heroes, 45, Big Life, Don't Go Dark, Anti-Hero (Taylor Swift feat. Bleachers)