#thunder in our hearts; lightning in our veins

[stardust948]

🍄⚠️🛠️

WIP ask game

🍄Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___” 

Waterbender who can summon dangerous thunderstorms + Firebender who can redirect lightning = the baddest battle couple you ever got jumped by

⚠️Which wip you're most likely to finish or update next?

Most likely Brave is the heart that loves

🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

Exactly how the Royal Fire Nation family can be stripped of their dragon powers in Zero Eclipse.

[apocalypticwafflekitten]

The Mermaid

Dhawan!Master x Fem!Reader

A/N: This started out as an archetype character study. And now, a year and three months later, its one of the best stories I've ever written, with some of the best smut I've put to the page. Oh how the turn tables. Vibes: Mermaids and Cassandra by Florence + the Machine, and Abstract (Psychopomp) and DeSelby (Part 2) by Hozier Also, I want to give a huge shout out to @insane-brit for beta reading this for me! She was the biggest support as I was writing this story and I can't thank her enough for her feedback!

Original Imagine/Summary Thingy: You and the Master are visiting a human colony far, far in the future. But there’s a species native to this planet which plagues the small ocean-front village. Mermaids they’re called. After the old Earth myths. When the villagers attempt to separate you and the Master, they realize all too late the mistake they've made. When a storm rolls in and and an eerie shape crawls up the shore, the village shuts it's doors and you and the Master must face the consequences of their actions. Will you and the Master reunite? Or will the Mermaids take a bite out of the old Timelord's hearts?

Warnings: 18+, No Minors, Explicit Sexual Content✨if you’re younger than 18 or have no age in your bio, I will not hesitate to block you.✨ Sexual Warnings: Porn With Plot, Sex + Telepathy = Needy Whiny Timelord, So Much Kissing, Dry Humping, Clothed Sex (sorta), Thigh Worship, Licking, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, So Much Praise, Switching/Undefined Power Dynamics, Eventually Service Dom Master, Fingering, Nipple Play, Unprotected PIV Sex, The Most Reverent Smut I’ve Ever Written, Post-Sex Cuddles Warnings Unrelated to Smut: imagery of drowning/character nearly drowning; storms, thunder and lightning; alien possession; blood/bloody imagery/mild gore; minor character death; the reader is described as having hair, though length isn’t specified; the reader is described with a certain eye color, but that’s the result of an *ehem* temporary condition and isn’t meant to be the reader’s real eye color; characters considering their death; pining; angst with a happy ending; this man is whipped for you. I think that's all, but let me know if anything else needs added!

Word Count: 17.1k

Masterlist!

His fingertips barely brushed yours. It was enough to feel your touch, but not enough to take hold of your hand before the village men dragged you out of his reach.

The Master’s hearts plummeted, adrenaline raged through his veins as he tried to run after you. He jolted hard to break the grip of his captors, but the village men held strong, keeping him in place as the others dragged you to the edge of a nearby cliff.

The Master cried out your name, still trying to pull himself free from the hands digging into his shoulders and sides. His hearts were racing, he couldn’t breathe, images of you falling into the sea played over and over and over again, jolting through his mind in a blind panic.

“Throw me over instead! Throw me to the Mermaids! Do anything you want with me! Just let her go!” He demanded of the villagers.

“Hush, heathen!” One of the men admonished, slapping the Master across the face. “The Mermaids are hungry and the woman is unimportant! You are all we need tonight!” The man approached the Master, his hot breath dragging across the timelord’s face, “And believe me alien, were it not for the request of our gods, you would both be over the cliff tonight! There is no place for your godless practice in this settlement!”

The villager’s face contorted with the deepest, most seething rage he could muster. His face reddened, eyes wild and mad, and his fists clenched white. And yet it paled in comparison to the budding fury searing hot across the Master’s face. This growing, heaving anger blooming in his chest would squash the villager’s life force like the tiny, insignificant insect it was.

But then he heard your voice, your scared, strained voice, crying out for him and it all died in an instant — his rage fizzling out until only concern remained.

The Master’s eyes snapped to you, but it was too late. He only got a glimpse of your terrified eyes before you were thrown over the cliff side, crying to the gray foaming ocean below.

“No!” The Master yelled, trying once more to pull himself to the edge. He managed to break the villagers’ hold on him for a second, budging a few inches closer to the cliff. He wanted to see you. He had to see you. Certainly you’d caught a rock on the cliff side, or you were able to hang onto the edge somehow. You just—you had to. You had to have survived. You couldn’t leave him. Not now. Not when—

–he heard the splash of your body landing in the cold waves below. He froze. His mind went blank and all the seaside fell silent. There was no more hungry wailing. No more pleas for help. Even the drums were quiet for a moment.

Pain shot up his knees when they hit the ground. The grass beneath him was cold and hard. The Master’s eyes were still fixed on the edge of the cliff as a massive, heaving weight settled in his hearts. Even the dusky sky, with all its cloudless stars, couldn't console him. The comfort he usually found in the endless night sky was hollow and empty as tears pooled in his eyes. He didn’t fight when the villagers started to drag him away, staining his billowing linen shirt with the dirt you’d been standing on. He just kept staring at the spot, hoping mindlessly, begging for you to reappear or for him to wake up from whatever nightmare this was.

But nothing happened.

And the only thing he felt was the gravel beneath his feet as the men dragged him away.

The water hit you hard. The cold cut through your clothes, your skin, your muscles, all the way down to the bone until you were sure you’d never move again. Your eyes burned in the saltwater. The sky was blurred beneath the waves. Even the brightest stars didn’t make it through the blinding waters.

You felt somewhere between life and death. The waving, lapping surface above slowly disappeared as you sank into the deep blue vignette below. You wanted to swim to the surface - every synapse fired, jolts of electricity begging you to reach out, to grasp at the water until you found air, but your limbs wouldn’t move. They hung at your side like lead, dragging you down toward the sea floor. The water was cold and pain screamed throughout your body and you just kept sinking.  

And sinking 

And sinking

Until something brushed against your leg, trailing behind it a melodic hum.

You jolted - your body awakened from its frozen stun. Your lungs burned and your body ached, but despite that, you fumbled with your floating linen dress to find the knife you’d strapped to your thigh. 

In a matter of moments, you were swarmed by ravenous, hungry beings — native aliens if you remembered what the Master had said. Their huge eyes shined shades of blue and silver in the shallow water, their gray bodies slim and gaunt with hunger. Their thick, long tails glittered when they got close enough to the surface and—

The Master!

What—what had happened to him? What did they do to him after you fell? You remembered hearing him cry your name as you fell, but after that, there was only the cold, wet sea. You didn’t know where he was. Your heart was racing, beating out of your chest as if trying to beat its way to the surface. You had to get back to him. You had to find him. You—

You jolted as a searing, stinging pain stabbed through your shoulder, waking you again from your panicked recollection. 

You shook your head and swung the dagger, slashing blindly at the aliens around you. The blade slashed something - one of their tails if you guessed - and a dark, thick substance bled into the water.  

The melodic humming wrenched into screeches, scraping dissonance in your ears. It hurt. You wanted to run away, far away, and never hear that awful screaming again. But the water was so thick and you were so tired and your shoulder hurt. The pain was still coursing down your arm, thick and burning in your blood.

The mermaids still swarmed, biding time to see if you were prey they could ravage for their hungry, bloody mouths to feast upon. They swam around you like a frenzied beast made of so many hungry, bloodthirsty things. They moved in some undulating shape surrounding you, growing ever closer, still screeching into the waters. 

You lashed out again, slashing what felt like one of their gray, lifeless faces with your small knife. For once, you were glad the Master had insisted you take some sort of defense with you. The thick, bloody substance was warm against your hand, distracting you from the wailing uproar.

With one last slash, the mermaids broke apart their frenzy and dove to the deep, leaving you to float among their blood. Perhaps they were too weak to fight for their food, or they saw you as too much of a danger to hunt. You didn’t care. 

Your shoulder burned, but at least it was keeping you awake. You did your best to right yourself in the ocean and tread the darkening water. The cold night air nearly took the breath from your lungs once you broke the surface, but that didn’t matter. You could see the shore. You weren’t too far off. You just had to make it to the sand, then you could rest. Then you could breathe. 

You tried to swim. Despite your shoulder and your aching muscles and the ever-biting cold, you tried, but with every move you felt that horrid pain seep through your blood again. It burned worse and worse with every movement until everything felt ablaze. Your throat, your fingertips, your ears, even your skin felt like it was seizing with white-hot pain. You did your best to stay awake, but by now you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe. You only felt the raging, convulsing pain twitch through your body before you succumbed to it and the dark waves surrounding you.

The grainy sand was rough against your face.  

The sand?

When had you…?

You blinked. The breeze was cold. Icy waves stung your body as they rolled onto shore. You shivered as you tried to lift yourself off your stomach. Your whole body ached from…from what?  

The Mermaids. Right. You’d been thrown into the ocean and they swarmed you. You fought them off with a knife and then…

Your shoulder burned and you were quick to press your hand to it, trying to remember why it hurt so much.

Night had fallen since you blacked out, the jeweled sky winked and blinked down at you. The moon shone beautiful and alluring in the corner of your eye. It reminded you of someone.

Who…who was it? Who did it remind you of? It was right there on the tip of your tongue. He was your friend….Your best friend…someone you—

You felt something change - something tick, and suddenly, blooming hot across your chest was a seething, thundering, rage. 

And then the rain began to fall.

The villagers didn’t worry about the rain. They lived by the shore. Storms were common; even more so at this time of the year. 

But some who lived closer to the shore noticed a shape crawling its way up the sand towards the village. It pulled itself from the water like it was made of the water, dripping muddy sand and salt from its long, clawed fingertips.  

As the creature drew closer to the village, the more curious residents tried to get a better look, and those with a strong will to live drew themselves and their children back into their white, wooden, thatched houses.   

As the shape drew closer, those curious few noticed, as it stood, that its silhouette was vaguely human-shaped. It seemed like…but no, it couldn’t have been…but anyone who saw the shape approaching, they could tell you: it looked like a woman. Like a human woman. She wore a linen dress, stained by the ocean water and what looked like blood. Her floating gait dragged her up the shore, closer and closer to the cast-iron gateway that separated the village from the sea. But there was no way a person could come from the sea like that. This small village was the only human settlement for miles in any direction. Any islands off the coast were too far to swim from. This woman’s circumstance should be impossible. There was no feasible way unless… 

Some who were watching turned their eyes to the cliffs, then to the sea, then to her, and a shiver ran down their backs. The moonlight seemed to haunt the cliff side and gleam off the waters, and when it refracted off the sea, every beam of light seemed to point to her. Just steps away from the gate, she stepped into the full moonlight, bearing to anyone watching what happened when their ritual went wrong. The woman glowed in the cool light, and something petrifying, something terrifying seemed to roll off her with every rise of her chest, as though every breath she took was stolen from the lungs of those watching her. 

The whole village saw her. From their windows they watched her trudge through their home in some otherworldly, inhuman, alien fashion. Parents covered their children’s eyes for fear of her. Others shuttered their windows. Yet there was some beauty about her. Something alluring, tempting, despite the trail of blood down the back of her dress and the long claws overgrowing the ends of her fingers. Even as the rain muddled her shape and she stepped further and further up the hill, the villagers continued watching as though they couldn’t stop.

One villager, enchanted by her sublime beauty, did not hide as the others had. He stared from his front door as she walked up the cobble road to stand beneath the village’s arched gateway. Her skin was dappled with scales glinting silver in the moonlight. Frilled fins peeked through her wet hair, dripping a halo of droplets to her shoulders. She stopped beneath the archway, closing her eyes and turning her head to the bleak sky. She smelled the air, looking for something, or someone. After a second, after listening to the breeze, she seemed to find what she wanted, turning her head to the church at the end of the road, atop a hill.

The villager was drawn to her, and when he took a step down the stairs of his porch, the stairs creaked – a whining cry for the shining storm ahead.

Her eyes snapped to him, and the villager met the piercing, glowing color of cresting waves and sea foam. Her gaze was made of the sea - just as cold and empty and inhuman as the waters on the horizon. When she looked at him, lightning cracked across the sky, pinning him where he stood. 

He stumbled back up the steps and scrambled his way through the door of his home, trembling as his hand gripped the doorknob. Part of him longed to step back outside and run to her, but the fear with which she had bewitched him trembled in his heart and he settled on watching her through his window. He sent a prayer to his gods in the hope she might pass through their village and cause no harm. Or that the gods might smite her before she could ruin the ritual.

Either way, while she was here, in his line of sight, he would watch her shape disappear through the village, dripping saltwater and seaweed in her wake. He would admire her beauty, and dream of falling to her feet with the rain.The rain itself healed at the tips of her toes. A wall of it as far as the eye can see all falling in line with her every step. She was walking rage, making her way up the main road, prowling to the church like a funeral procession. Her glowing gaze cast only to the stark white steeple. To him.

There was a landing on the way up the hill; A small plaza decorated with white flower garland and a mosaic tiled floor. And on that plaza, there were guards meant to protect those in the church this night. They were little more than regular villagers with guns and spears. Still, they blocked the path to the stark, white building.

The flower garland was heavy, drooping under the weight of the rain, and still it drooped further. With every step she took, the rain fell harder, smattering against the mosaic floor in a sheet of palpable rage. Rainwater puddled in the grout, spilling up and over the tiles until it flooded the plaza. Roaring thunder made the ground tremble. Lightning wailed across the sky. Her eyes flashed silver upon her prey, breathing heavy like some feral creature, hunting, hungry, licking her teeth, yearning for the taste of sweet blood.

One guard, someone she recognized from before, came to stand in her way, blocking her path to the church. He raised his rifle, something threatening in his eyes despite his trembling hands.

“You will not pass us, girl! The ceremony must go uninterrupted! It is the will of our g—“

She ripped her claws through his soft belly, snarling as his eyes widened and slowly glazed over. His throat bubbled with a painful groan, and blood seeped from his lips before he slumped and fell off her claws to the wet mosaic floor. 

The rest of the guards were too scared to move. They stared as she tasted the warm blood from her claws and heard her pleased hum as a twisted smile curled onto her face.

One of the guards whispered, quiet as he could, to the other beside him while the creature was distracted, “This must be one of the mermaids come to shore. I’m sure of it.”

“No,” the other guard refuted, “This is the woman we threw over the cliff! The mermaids must have changed her.” 

“But how?” 

“I don’t know. Though, rumors say only a bite—“ 

Thunder cracked above them, lightning flashing as she pinned the guards with a wrathful glare, her claws licked nearly clean. Any other remaining guards had run off as soon as they snapped out of their shock, leaving these two to the woman. 

They looked to one another and backed away, turning and running and almost tripping over themselves to get away from her. They didn’t even look back to see if she was following them.

She wasn’t. She didn’t care about them. Instead, she wiped any remaining blood from her claws on the dead man’s coat and turned toward the church. Up the hill, she could see faint light shining through the windows and the warm glow from the lamps that hung just outside the front doors like beacons.  

She went to them. Her eyes never left the shuddering old door or the warm halo of light from the oil lamps as she stepped over grass and gravel to reach the church. The rain grew heavier and heavier - a near whiteout by the time she reached the worn, wooden doors. It pummeled her shoulders and thumped angrily against the church’s roof.

With a crack of thunder that shook the small building, she slammed the door open and lightning struck behind her, flashing the small chapel in white-hot light - her warning to all in the small room. 

Through the group of men who had turned to gawk, she saw him – someone…familiar. Someone she knew…someone she—

“We know not what you are, woman,” one of the villagers spat, “but you will not stop the ceremony! The gods have demanded he—“

Once again, she ripped through this villager’s belly, grabbing at his throat to watch him die before dropping his body to the ground.

Some men ran. The others died. She rent their bellies to ribbons, spilling blood from their throats, breaking delicate skin, biting with sharpened fangs, all until the villagers were motionless puddles of blood and viscera, their weapons strewn across the ground, glinting at her feet like seawater.

When all was still, she breathed in and let out a calm, relaxed breath, looking down at her blood-soaked hands and the smatterings on her dress. Rain still pattered on the roof.

A quiet voice called her name. Her name?…She’d forgotten she had a name.  

How do you forget a thing like that? 

She turned to find the voice’s owner tied to a post, shoved down to his knees on the dirty wooden floor. His pants were dusty and stained from the ground. He was looking at her. For a brief second, she smiled at the sight of him. She didn’t know why, so she shook the expression from her face. What was he doing to her? Why had she come for him in the first place?

She knew him. It bothered her. Something about him was familiar to her…somewhere, hidden deep within her, she knew he was important, but despite the feeling of familiarity that bloomed warm and soft when she met his charming, brown eyes, she didn’t know why. Some other part of her mind urged her to kill him like the others, but the only thing she could focus on was the red stain across the chest of his linen shirt. A stain she hadn’t caused.

He called out her name once more.

Her eyes snapped, piercing and unnatural, to his. His voice was honey-smooth and just the sound of it sent waves of calm across her body. With apprehension, she approached him, slowly stepping towards this familiar man. His eyes were wide, staring into her own with something like disbelief in them. Something pulled her to him. Something inside her. Something fond, and happy. Something like–

She couldn’t kill this man. Never him. 

She kneeled in front of him and reached one of her bloodied hands out to hold his face. With the other, she grazed his shirt’s bloody, torn fabric.  

She didn’t know why she reached out to hold this man. Her hands moved on their own. The skin she felt through the ripped linen was cold and cut, but the wound was warm - wet with spilled and still-spilling blood. He was still bleeding. She looked into his eyes for a moment more, then they drifted and followed the dried tear stains on his face down to the wound across his chest.

The Master shuddered. Your hands were cold, touching his skin in ways you never would. You were lifeless behind the glowing eyes that bore into his own - their unnatural shade so unlike your own. Every move you made was stiff, every time you blinked he felt a moment of relief. You were not you. He knew right away. And any time you looked at him, he felt a shiver of the cold ocean ripple down his back. And yet, he still felt the tiniest second of relief when you’d slammed open the church door. Not all was lost. At least not yet.

“Darling, what's happened to you?” He whispered once more, something fearful shaking in his voice. 

Without a word, she rounded the post and cut his ties.

The Master’s arms fell to his side and he took a second to stretch them, touching the burns the ropes had left behind. His eyes never left her though, and he noted the long, talon-like claws that you’d used to cut his ties.

You rounded the post again to face him and offered a bloodied hand to help him up.

He hesitated, but took your outstretched hand, standing as you turned and led him out the chapel door.

There was no other option, really. He never would have left you. Though he hesitated in taking your hand, there was no universe in which he didn’t. You were his companion and you’d been by his side through so much. Even now, you still came to get him. Even when you weren’t entirely yourself. Even when he’d failed you. 

It made him shiver - just the thought of it. He’d failed you. Not even the cold, needle-prick rain falling against his face could shake the thought from his mind. He had watched you fall over the cliff and done nothing to stop it. His mind replayed the splash over and over and over and over and— 

The blood on his face was still warm. It was an odd turn of thought, but a breeze kicked up and he felt the chill of it drying on his cheek. Your bloodied hands were an image he couldn’t get out of his head either. He remembered the faces of the men you’d killed - their surprise, their lifelessness. And with their faces came the same thought:  He’d failed you. Hell, he could hardly get you to carry more than a pocket knife with you - you weren’t a  killer. And yet, because of his failure, you had slaughtered those men in a fashion too similar to his own - all blood and guts and ribbons of unrecognizable flesh. Even now, as you guided him along the cobble path, down to the plaza, he could see the gutted body of another you’d killed and the bloody footsteps you left in your wake. For once, the sight of death and destruction made him nauseous.   

He had imagined dying here. Another odd turn of thought as he followed you down the hill. He would have let it happen. The villagers could have finished their ritual and his body would waste away to nothing under the sandy soil. In Time, even his bones would rot away and feed its ever-churning, ever-ravenous appetite. Or perhaps he would have rested with your body, in the sea - torn apart and eaten by the Mermaids. All in all, dying to the sound of the rain after all these years? It would be an okay way to go. And if you were gone, he was fine with dying. There wasn’t much of a point in traveling without you. You’d changed so much in his life, and all for the better. He was happier now. He saw new beauty in the universe. And you, by the stars, you, were like some sort of…beacon for him. Someone that reminded him what it was like to enjoy life again. You centered him. Grounded him. Even something as simple as your shoes at the TARDIS door were enough to calm him. He couldn’t bear it if you were gone. Those little reminders of your absence – your shoes, your sweater in the library, your favorite book. They would remind him how he failed you; how he never told you he loved you. He couldn’t face it again without you.

He shook away those thoughts. He had something to live for right in front of him. You’d saved him and he had to return the favor. You had smiled when you first saw him - when he said your name. It was just a tiny thing, but it was there for a fraction of a second. That meant you were still alive in there. You had to be. He knew that if you were still alive, you were fighting tooth and nail against whatever was in your head. He knew you wouldn’t give up, so he wouldn’t give up. And goddamnit, he would not fail you again.

The sound of a creaking porch pulled the Master from his thoughts. He felt the villagers’ eyes watching. He saw quick movements in his peripheral - people hastily shutting window blinds and slamming front doors shut. He saw recognition in their eyes. They were practically broadcasting their fear. You must have come this way before. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what the villagers thought of you. You weren’t a monster. You could never be a monster in the Master’s eyes. But all these people knew of you was what the Mermaid had wrought upon you. He was tempted by the thought of setting the place ablaze. It was the villagers’ fault that you ended up like this. Why not make them pay for what they’d done to you?

He knows why though. You would hate it. And then you’d give him that look that punches a hole through his hearts and he’d never be able to recover from that. 

So he had to find another way to make it up to you. 

But how?  

He considered for a moment whether you might remember something about it. He hadn’t considered asking you until now. You hadn’t said anything to him since finding him in the church. He didn’t even know if you could talk. But anything was worth a shot right now. He’d take any idea or scrap of information he could get.

So he asked you, squeezing your hand like he usually did when he wanted your attention.

“Darling?” 

You didn’t answer. You didn’t acknowledge that he’d said anything. You didn’t squeeze his hand back like you usually did. You just kept walking. The villagers, in their homes, kept staring through their peep-hole curtains, following the two of you with haunted, fearful eyes.

“Love, can you tell me what happened to you? Do you remember anything?” The Master pleaded.

Nothing once again. Just the sound of the ocean and your dress dragging along the pathway. The Master was beginning to wonder how much of you was left, or if there was anything left of you at all.

He could feel the tiniest sting of rage bloom in his chest. It urged him to fight – to kick, scream, and claw at you until he figured out what was wrong. He wanted to rip the mermaid from your mind and salvage what was left of you.  

But he never would. He could destroy civilizations, he’d burn this village to save you, but in the face of potentially hurting you, he deflated. Any thought of rage fizzled out and he was left with a heavy weighted sorrow lodged in his chest.

“Please darling.” As quiet as his voice was, there was no mistaking that the Master was pleading with you.  

At some point, a few steps beyond the white cast-iron gate, the Master stopped asking questions. He’d wait to see where you were leading him. He couldn’t take your silence. The weight of your hand, still holding his, was heavy enough.  

The tide was high, lapping hungrily at the sandy beach and the bitterly familiar cliff face on the shore. The rain had started to lighten up, but it still drizzled down onto the shore, still healing at your feet like a loyal dog. From where he was, just beyond the gate, stepping into the sand, the Master heard something from far off the shore. It drifted up into the air, harmonies building and mounting on one another as they glide across the breeze, right to the Master’s ears. The melody tempted him toward the water, bright, alluring,  hypnotic. 

And you were walking straight toward it, as if there was nothing in the world that could stop you.

The wind picked up, whipping your frilled fins and hair in every direction. The howling breeze grew stronger and stronger as the Mermaids’ song grew louder and louder. More harmonies, and a mounting dissonance clawing through the tone, and in a moment, the Master found the answer to all the questions he’d been asking.   

“They bit you.” He stopped dead in his tracks and didn’t move when you continued to pull on him. His voice was quiet. Beneath it though, at the sight of the puncture wounds and the red trail of blood down the back of your dress, was the same heating anger from before, urging him to loose his rage upon the alien inside of you. 

The Master quelled his bristling anger. This wasn’t the time. He had to focus on the problem at hand: you. You didn’t stop. You kept trying to pull him to the sea, uninterested in his observation or in stopping. 

You stared at the ocean with glazed eyes, listening to the mermaids’ harmonies. You couldn’t tear your eyes away if you wanted to, as if there was something magnetic in the alluring tones. You started walking again, and this time, the Master followed until you’d nearly reached the lapping tide.

“That’s not the direction of the TARDIS, love.” The Master whispered, pulling on your wrist to keep you from stepping into the sea.

Something about that clicks and you turn to him, slowly and hesitantly. The Master sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your face. 

Nearly your entire face is blank and emotionless. Nearly. It's your eyes that are different. Your strange, alien eyes are brimming with tears. They’re wide and scared and lined with the trails of tears already shed. The Master could see you in those eyes. They weren’t the right color. They weren’t human. But within them, beyond their seafoam color and unnatural glow, he saw  you. He saw fear, he saw fight, he saw the eyes of his companion, doing her best to fight for her life, even as she was trapped in her own mind.

You’re still alive.

The Master slowly approaches, testing the waters. He holds your face in one of his hands, the other coming to rest along your neck. When you don’t react, save for looking into his eyes with something deep and pleading, he lowers his head and touches his forehead to yours, releasing a  deep, shuddering breath before letting his hands slide from your cheeks to your temples.

In your head, he hears you crying out for help – your pleading voice screaming out for him to hear you.

“--Please! Please Master! I can't stop it! It's gonna drag me into the ocean! It’s going to turn me into a mermaid! I don’t want to become one of them! I wanna go back home to the TARDIS! I wanna go back home with you!!! Please Master! Save me!”  

The Master pulls away from you in shock - his hearts plummeting to the gritty sand.  Had you been screaming in your head like this the whole time? Guilt shot through his hearts and if it weren’t for his desperate need to protect you, he might’ve died on the spot. He presses his forehead to yours once more, fingers to your temples, and in a matter of seconds your sleeping body drops into his arms. The Master clutches your limp body close to his to keep you from falling to the sand as endless waves of relief and guilt and heartbreak flush through him. He kisses your forehead and as soon as he stands with you, he’s off like a shot, sprinting to his TARDIS as fast as his legs will carry him. Never mind the Mermaids’ melody turning to ravenous screeching. Never mind the village’s hunting party gathering together to avenge their dead. Never mind the painful whip of tree branches as he ran to the bordering forest. The Master had to save you, and nothing in all the universe could stop him. 

The first thing you notice is the weight of something cool in your hand. Cool and smooth. When your eyes crack open, the world is blurry and you can’t quite tell where you are. The room you’re in is warm. The ceiling is white.

And next to you is the Master, resting his head on your lap, his cool hand in yours. His usual purple jacket is thrown over his shoulders, barely hanging onto his back with how he’s lying now. He’s snoring softly, and he’s thrown an arm over your legs as if he’s protecting you. It’s odd to see him sleep. In all your time traveling with him, you’ve only ever known him to sleep when he absolutely had to, and never while you were traveling with him. Getting to see him look so peaceful is a treat - one you intend to savor.

You want to kiss him.

The thought comes out of nowhere, but you don’t deny it. It's been a tempting image for months now - the first thing on your mind for weeks. You’re not surprised that it pops into your head.

You shift, wincing at the soreness that weighs down your whole body. You notice that you’re no longer wearing your ruined linen dress. Instead, you are wearing your pajamas, and your personal pillow is supporting your head. Your head hurts a little and you hope that readjusting will help ease the pain. 

It doesn’t. All it does is shift the Master and jostle him awake. He startles a little and sits up, but the moment he lays eyes on you he relaxes and smiles, “Ah. There are those beautiful eyes. Back to normal, as they should be. How are you feeling?”

You struggle a little to sit up, pulling the blanket up with you as a comfort. You don’t fail to notice that although you’re in the med bay, you aren’t lying under the scratchy blankets that usually covered the beds here. Instead, the Master had brought your favorite blanket and draped it over you. Your favorite book was lying on the table beside your bed too, next to a book about the planet you had visited. You smile when you notice the Master’s sweet gesture. 

The moment sours a little though, when you try to think of why you were lying in the med bay. You shift a little, turning to look at the Master for answers. 

“I’m feeling alright, but what happened? I remember standing on the beach screaming in my head, and the next thing I know, I’m here, in the TARDIS med bay. What happened to me? What happened to the Mermaid?”   

The Master tenses, not sure how to explain in any casual way that he’d rushed you back to the TARDIS at inhuman speeds because he was afraid he was going to lose the only person in the universe he actually loved anymore. That was too much to explain right now, so he decided to stick with the facts. Taking his hand from yours, he started to wring his hands together, trying to figure out where to start.

“Well, after you saved me from the church, you uh—you blacked out on the beach and I brought you back to the TARDIS. The Mermaid was a more complicated affair. I had to reach inside your mind to get rid of it. It was a nasty fight, but it was well worth it. You’re you again, and you’re safe now.”

You nod once again, doing your best to connect what you remember to what the Master was telling you. 

“How long did it take?” 

“Hmm?”  

“Getting rid of the Mermaid? How long did it take? It feels like I slept for years.”  

The Master hesitates again. There was more weight behind that question than you could ever imagine. Of course, he would never mention how hard of a fight it had really been. He’d never tell you how he had gone blind with rage, burning the mermaid until its crisp ashes faded away from your neurons. He’d never tell you how delicate he’d had to be, or how fragile your mind was afterward. And he would certainly never tell you how scared he really was when he saw the extent of the mermaid’s attachment. He didn’t care how long it had taken, not noticing or caring about the hours he’d spent burning the Mermaid from your mind. He was determined to keep going until the Mermaid was gone, his own exhaustion be damned.

He also couldn’t begin to explain the fervency with which he’d tried to remind you of yourself. He brought in your blanket and pillow and read your favorite book to you – the whole thing, even the annotations and drawings you’d left in the margins. He spent hours telling you stories of your travels - the ones that hadn’t gone terribly wrong of course. He had done everything in his power to make sure you survived. He’d even sat beside your bed and outright begged you to remember who you were when you woke up. But he’d never be able to tell you that.

And yet, when you reach out and run your thumb under his eyes, no doubt soothing the heavy bags that were bound to be there, he had a feeling that somehow you knew. He didn’t have to say anything, and he could admit that right now he didn’t really want to. He just wanted to sit in this moment and bask in the warmth radiating from your hand and the comfort it brought to have you touch him.

After a moment though, the Master startles away from your touch. He had leaned too far into it, starting to lose himself in the feel of your hand on his face, and he very well might have kissed you if he hadn’t stopped himself. He stood quickly and stepped away to pace around the med bay. 

You were startled by his reaction, but nevertheless brought your hand back to your side and changed the subject. “Thank you for bringing my book and blanket. They make it more bearable in here. Do I need to stay in the med bay or am I good to leave?”

“No, you’re clear to leave, but you’re welcome to stay here until you feel comfortable getting up. The Mermaid was a force inside your head. And quite a powerful one at that. You might be dizzy for a little while, but that’s all. Any physical effects - your scales, fins, etc – dissolved while I was taking the Mermaid apart. It didn’t leave anything physical except for the bite wound, but I was able to heal that up. Your book and your blanket were meant to help kick you back into gear - remind you who you are and all that.”

A small smile crosses your face and your eyes light up a bit. “Does that mean you read to me while I was passed out?” 

The Master gave you a look. “Shut up.”  

Your smile shifts - far more mischievous now than before. “Never.”  

There you are. Back to teasing him and being a general pain in his ass. An endearing pain in his ass, but a pain in his ass nonetheless. 

The Master leaned against the counter opposite you, feeling a little bit better after seeing you return, for the most part, to your normal self.

“I will admit, seeing you let go, letting the rage inside you loose, getting to see you rip your enemies apart - that was something beautiful. Something awe-inspiring, really. I’ve seen stars collapse with less fury than was in your eyes. Truly inspiring.” The Master lied, hoping you wouldn’t notice, hoping he sounded like his normal self and not like he’d been horrified, worried beyond belief, and physically exhausted for hours on end. If you were back to normal, teasing and laughing at him, then he could play normal too. 

But of course that backfired, and it seemed you believed his lie a little too well. Your face fell, and then your brow quirked up.

“Then why did you change me back?”

His reply is instant.

“Because you asked me to. I would do anything you asked me to do.” 

The Master pauses - it only takes a second to realize what he had said. Your wide eyes suggest you are doing the same. He hadn’t thought before he spoke and the words fell from his mouth before he could stop them. For a moment, the Master had let his hearts do the talking for him.

He takes a deep breath.

“I would have changed you back regardless. That thing - the Mermaid that was possessing you - wasn’t you. I’d rather travel with you and all your boring human morals than watch some alien walk off to destroy worlds with your body. I never would have let that thing take you. Really I should go back and kill the lot of them. Every last one of those things should die a slow, painful, death, drying out in the dead grass above them for what they did to you.” He was offended that you’d so much as considered him leaving you to the Mermaid’s whims.

You just look at him for a moment before uttering a quiet “Thank you.”   

The Master nods, a sincere look glinting in his eye before he lets the matter rest. There is silence for a moment. A heavy silence. You play with a loose thread on the blanket’s stitching, and the Master watches you. Despite answering your questions, the Master felt like there was still something left unsaid. The room is still tense and you seem lost in thought. 

There’s something you have been avoiding, he could tell. Something is lingering in your mind and he figures he knows what it is. The Master steps towards you, stopping beside your bed. You still don’t look up at him. He sits in his chair and takes your hands in his.

“Darling, how much do you remember?” The Master asks, taking a tentative step to understanding your experience in all this. 

You hesitate before answering and find yourself unable to meet the Master’s eyes.

“All of it.” You pause, swallowing nervously. “I killed people.”

The Master hears the guilt heavy in your voice and completely abandons his chair, shifting to sit next to you on your bed, squeezing your hands tighter than before.

“No, No. Remember Love, that wasn’t you. The Mermaid was using you. Feeding on any little emotion that would give it an excuse to kill. It took your wants, your anger, and twisted it for its own. It was hungry and it used your body to hunt.” 

You’re quiet, stewing in guilt for another short moment. You gnaw on the inside of your lip and  stare at the Master’s hand holding yours. 

“I remember wanting them gone - the villagers and the guards.” Your voice cuts through the silence, something heavy weighing in your tone.

The Master’s eyes bore into you, “Why?” 

You finally look up and let your eyes meet his.

“They were blocking the path to you.”  

A beat passed. Time slowed, or maybe it stopped altogether. The Master’s eyes lock with yours and you’re not sure what you see swirling in them.

And then before you know it, he’s kissing you. Full body, hands cradling your face, pressing as much of himself against you as he can kissing you. His lips almost bruise yours, you can’t kiss back for a few seconds he comes on so hard —

— but he pulls away for a second, breathes heavily, and stares at you. There’s a millisecond between you – only the sound of your heaving breaths in the air. You look at him and give a small nod and he dives for you, leaning over the bed, ramming your back into the sheets, all but climbing on top of you. You kiss him with the same fervor as he had before, hands slipping to his back to pull him even closer until you can feel his body against every part of yours. His hands pull at your waist and rake up your sides and he shivers when you moan against his lips. His whole body can feel it rumbling, his mind can feel it, it’s stronger than the drums and he’s addicted. He needs to feel it again. 

His kisses slip from your lips down your cheek to the column of your neck. They’re sloppy and desperate, penning his ages of yearning along your skin. The hitches in your breath are like prayers to an old god and he’s reveling in the worship. Your hands in his hair fire pleasure down his spine and it curls hot in his stomach. He grows more and more desperate, more and more ravenous as he kisses you faster and faster, making his way back to your lips like a man starved. He cradles your head in his hands and pulls away with a low growl.

“Darling.“ He pants hard, resting his head in the crook of your neck. He feels you catch your breath, the thump of your one heartbeat echoing in his ear again. Your breathing becomes smooth, steady, and it soothes something within the Master.

You start to leave little kisses in his hair and a couple on the shell of his ear and he feels like melting right into your lap. You’re so soft with him in this moment. He nuzzles into your neck and wraps his hands around your waist. The Master stays there for a minute, content to let you press soft kisses to his hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. 

Eventually, though, he has an idea. You know he does because his head whips up fast and he looks you dead in the eye. There’s something soft in his eyes though, and his gaze warms as it settles on you. He brings his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and gently nuzzling his nose against yours, “Let me in?”  

It’s a question, not a demand, whispered to the vulnerable space between you.  

“I know you’ve been through a lot lately. The Mermaid was in your head, and then I dug around in your mind for hours. It's okay if you don’t want to let me in.” His voice is the gentlest whisper, and he leaves the gentlest kiss on the corner of your mouth. 

You don’t answer with words, but he can feel you opening your mind. He’s flooded with a wall of hot, heady lust at first, but it ebbs into something gentle and soft and so, so warm. He felt safe - your safety, and your confidence in him to keep you safe. He feels the way your heart tugs you toward him at every moment, and there’s a heavy, weighty, yearning want that curls around him and settles in his hearts. The wave of it crashes over him and he has to pull away for a second, the force of it overwhelming his senses. He leans his head on your shoulder once more, biting the skin there to keep from whimpering. Even then, he still lets a quiet whine slip through his teeth as he shudders against you. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, leaning down to look him in the eye. You can’t remember another time you’ve seen the Master like this. He looks at you, transfixed in your eyes for a moment before responding.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s…it’s just…,” He pauses, looking off to the side like something long past is lingering in the corner of his eye. After a moment, he meets your eyes again and his voice shudders a small bit, “I-I can’t remember the last time someone  wanted me like this.”  

You give him the kind of look that would normally annoy him. There’s something pitiful and sympathetic in your bright eyes, and he can feel your oncoming heartache. Heartache for him. For the years he spent alone. For every moment he spent trying to show someone he was worth the effort. That look was one he would generally turn away from, but in this moment with you, he didn’t say anything. He just fell further into your arms and pressed his forehead to yours again, yearning to feel your mind wash over him again.

“Oh, Master.” You whisper in the crack of space between you before cradling his face and bringing your lips to his again.  

Your kiss is warm and comforting, encompassing the Master in a feeling that’s entirely you. He felt your warmth and the absence of it between kisses, and realized he never wanted to be without it. It drew him in, roped and tied his soul to yours, and he never wanted to be free of it. He clung to you. His kisses grew frenzied, frantic as his hands grappled at every curve of your body, trying to pull you closer, closer, closer to him. You couldn’t be close enough, he could never pull you close enough.    

Your mind tingled on the edge of his, sending shivers through him. For a second he’d forgotten you had let him in, and now you were pushing yourself against him in the most intimate of ways.

He could hardly describe the soft way your mind flooded into his own, caressing every corner, passing every locked door, loving every winding turn– 

Loving?

You loved him?

He could feel it in your mind – that strong, gentle pull. He could feel it when you embraced the parts of his mind he bared to you, and when you passed by the things he hid without a word. He could feel it in the way your hands held him, the way they drifted over his body and touched him with reverence. He could feel it in the little moans you made when he kissed you, like a dam of yearning, of pining, being released between the two of you. It sent jolts of electricity down his body and straight between his legs.

It was all too much for him.

“I love you.” The Master all but sobs into your ear, “I love you. I love you. I love you. By the stars, Darling, I love you.”  

“I love you too, Master – love you so much.” You whimper into his neck, biting down on the skin there to ground yourself. 

The Master groans, climbing on top of you, pinning your body further to the bed. He kicks his shoes to the floor and pushes your blanket aside so that no part of you is hidden from him. He presses his body against you and you can’t help but moan when you feel his hard cock pressing against your hips, lightly grinding, begging for some sort of friction between you.

“Darling, you have no idea what that does to me.” The Master’s voice is ragged, his breathing heavy as he drags his cock against your hips rougher than he had before, “You can’t just bite a man like that.”

“What if I want to find out what it does to you?” 

The Master pauses all movement for a moment and meets your heavy, half-lidded eyes. He feels his whole body warm at your implication, the temptation in your eyes pulling him closer and closer to you.

“You're sure you want that love?” He whispers against your lips.

You nod enthusiastically, wrapping your arms around the Master’s neck to pull him closer to you. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Master.”

He shudders at the way you say his name, then nods, pulling himself off of you before helping you sit up.

“C’mere,” The Master picks you up off the medbay bed and wraps your legs around his waist, “Let’s take this somewhere more appropriate.” 

The Master had every intent of taking you straight to his bed and ravishing you on the deep purple sheets, but as he passed through the console room, he saw the briefest image flicker up from your mind. It was a positively wicked idea, and he loved it. He felt the wave of lust that bloomed through you as the image appeared and, with a grin, he changed directions.

“Master? Aren’t we going to your room? What are you doing?” You ask, pulling away from his lips as he sets you on the center console.

“What you want.”  

He leans close, kissing you again before pressing his hips to yours. His hands wander as they please and it’s only after a few moments that you feel the Master softly grinding against you. You pull away from his lips with a small gasp. 

“H-How did you–”   

“I can see it in your head dear. I could feel how much you wanted it.” The Master smiled, shifting you so you’re comfy on the console. “Why not treat you? Who am I to deny you?”

And there he was. The Master. Your cocky, confident, tease of a traveling companion. He smirked at you, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. His breath fans across your skin, and he’s delighted by the little shiver that shudders through you. 

“Do you like that love? Hm? Feeling me? Feeling what you do to me – what you’ve done to me for months aboard this ship?” He kisses you again, groaning against your lips with every new kiss. He grinds his hips against yours and you revel in the feeling of his cock, heavy between your legs. “Do you have any idea how many fucking times I had to fuck my hand and pretend it was you? You lean over the console and I can’t think! You hug me and there’s this stupid warmth that blooms from my gut to my hearts and I just want to kiss your face—Fuck, I can feel how much you want me…Is this why you haven’t let me in before? Afraid I’d see all these secrets you’ve been keeping from me?” 

The Master’s questions didn’t even process. You were too lost in the feeling of his body against you, the way he grinds himself against your cunt, the way he makes you melt into the console, letting yourself feel the waves of arousal from both your minds wash over you - tingling every one of your nerves until all you felt was sweet, sweet pleasure coursing over every part of you. 

Until that pleasure stops, and you feel the Master’s cool breath against your ear.

“I need an answer dear.” 

Your eyes widen and you pull back to look at him, surprise written clear on your face. He’s got a stupid, smug look on his face and you hate how much it turns you on. 

You keep staring for a second. You can’t make yourself speak, so caught off guard by the loss of sensation and the frustration that follows that words are impossible. So instead, you claw at the Master’s shoulder and tug him back against you, locking him in place with your legs around his hips. He lets out a surprised sound, catching himself on the console.  

You all but growl, fisting a handful of the Master’s hair to pull him up to look at you. You delight in the moan that tumbles from his lips and pull him close to you so you can growl in his ear.

“I want you. Now.” You demand. You tighten your legs around him and start to grind yourself against him on your own, his plans be damned. 

The Master breathes hard - a laugh breaking through as he catches his breath. Tipping your chin up with a finger, he looks at you with such hunger, “Oh Love, I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you, but look at what you’ve done to me…how can one person be so, damn, enticing?”

Each word came with short, heavy thrusts against your sex. The Master was starting to breathe heavier and heavier, and with every drag against your clothes, he felt himself melting further against you. He felt heavy with the way he yearned for you; the warmth between your legs lured him closer and closer to you until nearly all of his body was pressed against yours. Every movement, every thrust, every touch of your skin against his sent sweet pleasure tumbling through his body, begging for more, more, more. And he lost himself in you. Nothing mattered in this moment besides the bliss that bloomed through him every time he dragged himself against you. His body sang for you, and you sang back in sweet, dulcet whimpers against his neck, your fingers digging into his sides, pulling him ever-closer until he was barely standing anymore.  

It’s not long before his weight is leaned on you almost entirely. His eyes close, his head falls to your shoulder, and the Master moans- a deep, yearning thing – before whimpering into your ear, “You’re so warm, Love. So so warm.” 

You can’t even think about replying. The cool touch of his lips against your neck, and the warm, fuzzy pleasure between your legs leaves you feeling brainless. And with every wave of arousal through your mind, the Master lets out moans and whines that grow more and more pitiful as he continues to grind against you. His noises are irresistible. Your body is all but limp against the console and the only thing that grounds you to the world is the feeling of the Master’s hair in your hands. 

Your mind is intoxicating. The Master can’t tell where he ends and you begin anymore. Everything is so blurred and connected and warm and soft. You are soft, and he wants to stay here forever, melting into your body, feeling your kisses against his neck, until the only feeling he knows anymore is you. 

It’s not enough though. He can feel you yearning for more even if you aren’t saying it. He feels the sharp want for more on the edges of your mind and the Master growls. It isn’t enough.

You gasp when the pleasure stops again, whining as you feel the Master’s hair slip from your grasp. You’re going to protest until you hear a thump on the floor and a blinding, beautiful, tingling sensation races from your clit to the tips of your limbs.

The Master drops to his knees, knocking himself against your own knees as he scrambles to shove himself between your legs. He nuzzles his nose against your cunt, and drags his tongue flat against the fabric of your sleep shorts, digging his nails into the skin of your thighs. The feeling of his wet tongue through the fabric is like heaven. Finally getting direct attention to your clit after all this build-up is like breaking a dam inside of you and you’re greedy, keening, back arching off the console to press your weeping cunt harder against his face. 

The Master groans, clawing at your sleep shorts as he continues laving his tongue over them. He’s starving for you and anything he can get he’ll take with greedy abandon. He’s waited so long; he  needs to worship you, needs to taste you, needs to please you, and his impatience is getting the better of him. 

He leaves your pussy for only a moment to rip your shorts from your body, dragging your underwear away with them and throwing them somewhere behind him. 

His first thought was to dive right back into your waiting, weeping pussy, but he had just enough clarity left to wait and play with you.  

He instead takes hold of your calf, gingerly lifting your leg so he could place a kiss on your knee. Then another. Then he licked a stripe up the side of your thigh, delighting in the surprised gasp that flew from your lips.  

He did it again and again, dragging his tongue up and down your thigh until the skin was wet and you were squirming above him.

Your hand in his hair pulls him from his worship, distracting him with your half-lidded, pleading eyes.

“Please Master.” You whine, tightening your grip on his hair. 

“Please what, dear?” He responds with a renewed air of mischief in his voice.

You couldn’t answer, unable to find words for what you want. You whine at him, hoping he would get the idea. Instead, he gives you a devilish smile and a downright cruel look in his eye.

“I’m not sure what that means darling.” 

Before you can reply the Master leans down to your other knee, giving it the same attention he had given your first thigh, dragging his face up and up, leaving kisses and licking stripes until the skin was slick and wet. 

You whine again, keening, in hopes that the Master will have mercy on you and give you what you want. You know he knows and it’s frustrating you to no end that he won’t just give in and give it to you. 

Instead, the Master laughs and bites down on the meat of your thigh, leaving an imprint of his teeth in the soft flesh. Your sharp yelp sends a shockwave of pleasure through his body right down to his aching cock.

“I need you to use words, love. I don’t know what you want unless you use your words.” He rasped against the skin of your thigh.

You groaned, “Touch me.” 

“What? Like this?” The Master brought his hand up to your sopping pussy and ran his fingers through your folds, dragging them ever so slowly from your hole to your clit. 

You shook your head, meeting his eyes with something desperate and feral. 

The Master, however, remains infuriatingly calm, toying with you with such ease it makes you want to slap that cruel smile right off his face. 

“What is it you want dear?” 

You huffed, frustration fuming from your lips.

“Your mouth. Use your mouth.” You beg, finally voicing your desire to the Master. 

He grins, dragging his hand away from your pussy, turning to soothe his bite mark with his tongue. 

“See, wasn’t that easy love?” 

The Master places a delicate kiss on your clit before ravaging your pussy, licking and lapping like he had been when your shorts were still on.  

You gasp, heaving in a breath as the Master drags his wet tongue through your folds. You’re so sensitive after all his teasing that you tremble at even the lightest touch. The feeling of his cool tongue between your thighs is overwhelming, drawing coils in your guts and dragging you closer and closer to the edge.  

The cherry on top of it all comes when you look down through hazy half-lidded eyes. The Master’s eyes are closed, his hands grasping the meat of your thighs like they’re a lifeline. He’s razor-focused on memorizing the taste of you. You can feel his focus in your mind, and the slow way it melts into nothing but sweet pleasure. The feeling bleeds between your minds and for a moment it feels like a hazy high - your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your head falling back against the console as the Master fucks you with his tongue. Moans tumble from your mouth as he builds a steady rhythm, and you can feel the Master preening from your praising noises. 

But then you hear the Master whine into your pussy and a new, stronger wave of pleasure overtakes you. It washes through you over and over again; pleasure mounting on pleasure until the feeling is nearly unbearable.  

You crack your eyes open to take a peek and what you see sends a hot flood of arousal through you.

The Master had slipped one of his hands between his legs and was now furiously grinding his weeping cock against the heel of his palm. He all but melts into his own hand, his moans rumbling through you, his tongue pushing further into you than ever before. Through the connection you could feel his own pleasure growing - the same coiling heat in his body that you felt in yours.

“Master.” You call out breathlessly.

The Master kept lapping at you. Your arousal flickers through the connection, flooding his mind in a tidal wave and he can’t stop himself. He needs more.

“Master, dear.”  You call again.

The Master’s moans slip into whines, his hips roll hard into his hand. His whole body is tensing, wrapped and tied in the bliss he feels from the both of you. It builds and builds until he’s right there on the edge, his body begging for sweet release. Just a few more strokes and—

“Master.”

Your voice cuts through his haze and it takes every ounce of self-control the Master has ever had to stop.

“Yes love?” His answer is a ragged moan, betraying his displeasure as he pulls away from your pussy. His face is sopping wet and his eyes are heavy-lidded.

You smile at the sight of him and his fucked-out eyes.

“Are you gonna make it to the bed dear?” You whisper in his ear, a husky, sultry rasp edging the low tones of your voice. 

The Master breathes heavily and considers your question for a moment.

“Fuck.”  

He stands and yanks you up off the console, onto his hips and rushes down the hall, carrying you through the twisting, winding halls to his bedroom.

The Master’s room was elusive. In all your time on the TARDIS, you’d found a library, a swimming pool, a billiards hall, an observatory, and countless other unique rooms, but you’d never stumbled upon the Master’s room. Naturally, you were curious, and to tell the truth, you’d gone looking for the room a few times before, but by now you figured that the room was hidden in some deep, far-away corner of the TARDIS, never to be found by simple exploration.

Which is why it came as such a surprise to you how fast the Master found his room and threw open the door. Not even a minute after hoisting you onto his hips, the Master dashes into his room, closes the door, and slams you against it. You barely get a second to see the room over his shoulder before his lips are on yours, kissing you with new fervor.  

“You’ve got me weak in the knees darling. I can barely stand.” The Master mumbles against your throat as he plots fevered kisses down your neck.  

“Maybe we should move to the bed then, dear. Get you off your feet.” You gasp out through a moan. 

“Mmmmm I like that idea.” 

Without giving you time to think, the Master pulls you off the door and throws you onto his bed. Literally throws you. The little ‘oof’ you let out as you land makes him laugh a little. 

But in the space of a second, in the movement, you were no longer in the warm, safe confines of the Master’s oversized bed. Instead, you were landing in the ocean. Your back stings. Pain shoots through you to every nerve end and in an instant, you’re shivering. Freezing. You don’t dare move until you see movement in the corner of your eye. It takes a moment for your vision to focus, but once it does you see the Master hovering over you, calling your name. His hands hold your face, delicate and centering. The purple drapes above his bed remind you of where you are, and you’re finally able to take a deep breath.

You shake your head and come back to reality, putting on a smile to brush off the whole episode. “Sorry, I just…landing on my back–it reminded me of landing in the ocean and the Mermaid, and I just…” 

The Master can feel the fear rushing through you as your sentence fades off. It’s bolting behind your eyes even if you say you’re okay. Without a second thought, the Master pulls you to his chest and cradles you in his arms. His breathing is a bit heavier, and his arms are tight around you. When he speaks, it’s a whisper in the shell of your ear - something fervent and sincere.

“Never again. Never again, love. I promise I’ll keep you safe. You’ll never have to feel that scared again.”

You nod into his shoulder, letting yourself curl into him for a moment. The comfort of his arms does wonders to ground you and bring you fully back into the present. As he holds you, he nuzzles his nose against your neck and softly kneads your body’s curves. He breathes against your skin for a moment, enjoying the feel of you in his arms. 

After a moment, he pulls back to look at you.

“We can stop for tonight if you want. We can rest. I’ll watch over you while you sleep.” 

“No. I want this. I want you.” You insist, fiddling with a corner of his shirt collar. “I just needed a second. Please keep kissing me.” 

He nods with a warm smile. “As you wish, love.”

As the Master kisses you, your hands wander from the back of his neck down to the buttons of his clean shirt. You fiddle with a button and eventually get it undone, letting your fingers slip just under his shirt to feel his cool skin. You’re rewarded with a stunted breath and the Master’s hands gripping your body tighter against him. 

You slowly work at the buttons until his shirt is completely undone, hanging off his shoulders, framing his chest in a way that tempts your hands to roam across the new expanse of skin. But as your hands wander, you pause, pulling away from the Master with furrowed brows.

“You had a cut on your chest. I remember, in the church; I could feel the blood on your shirt. I saw the cut.” 

The Master takes your hand in his and presses it to his chest right over the place he had been cut.

“It’s okay love. I used the same medicine to heal this wound that I used to heal your bite. Fixed me right up. I’m okay. I promise.”  

You nod, taking a minute to admire the Master’s chest while you have the chance. And damn, the medicine worked. There wasn’t any trace of the cut. No scars, no lumps, no faint line to trace. Just his smooth skin, glowing under the room’s warm lamplight. Instead, you trace the lines of his muscles, from his pecs up to his collarbones, over to his shoulders to push his shirt off his back. 

“Like what you see there, love?” The Master coos, shrugging his shirt the rest of the way off. 

“Mmhm.” You hum, leaning forward to kiss along the Master’s collarbone, “I’m excited to see the rest.” 

The Master doesn’t get the chance to respond. Try as he might, the light laugh in his throat dies when he feels your fingers slip beneath the waistline of his pants. 

“Can I see the rest?” You ask in the small space between you.

The Master swallows hard. For once he’s at a loss for words. He’s too preoccupied by the tingling sensation left in your fingers’ wake to speak. He nods and suppresses a shudder.  

His eyes close as you continue to kiss his collarbones. He basks in the feeling of your soft lips peppering kisses from his shoulder up to his neck, and he startles a little when he feels your warm, wet tongue lick a stripe up his neck. You seem to pay no mind, contentedly kissing him and licking him.  

He tracks the movement of your hand, lazy though it is, as you slip further into his pants. Curiosity teeters in your mind as you wonder just how far you can go and, as you place a kiss just under the curve of the Master’s jaw, your hand slips below his pants to cup his cock through his boxers. The Master lights up with pleasure, and the noise he lets out as you grind the heel of your palm against his cock is decadent. You look up at him for a moment, admiring the way his face scrunches up as if he’s overwhelmed by the feeling. You watch him for a moment, appreciating how beautiful he looks before a sinister idea pops into your head. 

The Master feels you shift, turning yourself and him so you can lay him down against the countless pillows at the head of his bed with nothing but a gentle push to his chest. You pull your hand from his bulge and begin to wrestle with his boxers’ elastic waistband. His body jolts when a rush of cool air meets his skin, and his body tingles as you pull his cock from his boxers. It springs free and all that aching pressure from before releases like a deep breath. The cool air in his room is a nice wake up call, but what really gets him going is the look in your eye as your gaze settles on him.

“Darling, what are you—“

“—You’re so pretty…” you trail off in hypnotic admiration, dipping your head to kiss the soft tip of his cock, giving him a little suckle. 

The Master keens. He outright whines and fists his sheets in his hands as you continue to kiss and suck at his tip. Feeling adventurous, you take his head into your mouth, dragging your tongue slowly over his slit. 

And this is the day you learn that the Master, at least this version, can’t keep quiet when your mouth is on him. The moment your tongue traces his slit he moans, and he moans loud. He’s a mess of whines and whimpers and delectable throaty noises. You’ve completely disassembled him and left only the malleable, vulnerable parts of him on this bed. All with a couple licks of your tongue. 

But there’s something at the edge of the Master’s mind that keeps him from falling into the dreamlike haze he’s so close to. Something that’s been on the edge of his mind since he threw you on the bed. Something that’s eating away at him from the inside out. 

You almost died.  

There’s a slight tremor in your arms as you’re holding yourself above him. You’re exerting more effort to do so than you should, and in that instant, any trace of a haze snaps away and the Master resolves to himself that he’s going to take care of you tonight. After everything you’ve been through, it’s the least you deserve.

The Master reaches a hand down to your shoulder, gently squeezing to grab your attention. You pull off his cock with a questioning look. 

“Darling, as much as I love feeling your lips around me, you need rest, and I can’t wait to fuck you. Save that for another night. Come up here and kiss me.”

You have half a mind to protest and insist that you’re fine, but your muscles are aching and you know your body is tired even if your mind is racing, so you place one final kiss on the Master’s cock before crawling up his body. 

When you’re level with the Master you nuzzle your nose against his.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hi.” He smiles back.

You let out a chuckle and dip your head down to kiss him. Your free hand tangles itself in his hair and his hands roam your back and sides. He takes a mental note of the spot you flinched at - seems he’s found a ticklish spot. Could be useful in the future. 

You, on the other hand, are fighting the urge to jolt away from the Master’s ticklish touch while trying to admire the man - the alien - beneath you. You still can’t believe that you’re here, in bed with an impossible man who just so happened to tolerate you out of everyone on earth. After so many months of yearning, you’re here. Spiced honey and the smell of cloves drift up to your nose and you feel the Master breathing beneath you. It’s almost too much for you to take, so you lean forward and slam your lips to his.  

He makes a surprised noise but quickly falls into the kiss, letting your flood of emotion rush through your connection. He moans as the feeling wades through his mind and sends aching want through every muscle in his body. 

The feeling deepens when you drag your tongue along his bottom lip and nip a little at the wet skin. He keens and opens his mouth, reaching out to meet yours. You gasp the moment your tongues meet and for what feels like ages, it’s a dance of your tongues licking into each other's mouths - kissing and sucking and little bites on one another’s lips, all the while your calming weight rests on the Master’s hips and his hands rest on your sides and the both of you are lost in the feel of one another as it flows through your mental connection. 

You’re the one to break off first. You take deep, heaving breaths and you close your eyes for a moment, just trying to focus on getting air back in your lungs. When you open your eyes, you see the Master watching you. He looks at you like you’re the last star left burning in the universe. 

And for another moment you sit like that. You catch your breath and the Master plays with the hem of your sleepshirt.

“Love?” 

“Hmm?” You recognize the gleam of an idea in his eye.

“Let's get this shirt off of you.”

You nod with a smile, holding your arms up so the Master could drag your shirt over your head and off your arms. He throws it to the side and helps you out of your bra, adding that to the pile of clothes at the end of the bed. 

When you’re finally undressed, the Master lets his hand rest on your hip and rubs his thumb in soothing circles. He takes in your naked body and admires the sight before him. He drinks in the sight of your skin in the warm light and the way the gold reflects in the color of your eyes.

“You’re beautiful love.”

You feel your cheeks warm and there’s something about the way the Master looks at you that floods molten heat between your legs. 

You lean back down to kiss him - feel his cock twitch against your ass when your lips meet and you let that molten heat between your legs do the thinking for you. 

You start to grind your hips against him, slowly inching back until you’re grinding against his cock.  

You start to get lost in the feeling, letting go of your inhibitions to focus solely on your pleasure and the Master’s, but just as you’re starting to fall into a haze, the Master’s voice reels you back to reality.

“Darling?” 

“Hmm?”

“Guess what?”

“What?” You’re genuinely confused - completely clueless at the edge of your haze.

But soon you’re letting out a surprised yelp as the Master rolls, flipping you under him with a joyful laugh. The sound of your laugh rings through the room soon after, and the Master swears he’s never heard anything so beautiful. 

“I guess I should have seen that coming.” You say, adjusting to be a little more comfortable under the Master. 

“Probably, but you’ve had a long day, so I’ll let it slide.” 

You both chuckle a little and the Master leans back down to kiss you. He’s sweet and soft and there’s no place in the universe more comfortable than this.

As the Master kisses you, he sneaks a hand down his body and starts to work his pants down his legs, taking his boxers with them as he goes. 

“Won’t be needing these now will I?” 

“Certainly not.” You reply with a light laugh.

His pants and underwear end up in the pile at the end of the bed, and when he climbs back up to you, he’s caught off guard by the look you’re giving him. It’s warm and happy. You’re admiring him.

The Master hovers over you and watches as your eyes and hand trail over his chest and abdomen, “You look so pretty,” you whisper up to him, “Where have you been hiding all this, hmm?”

There’s a sharp inhale and the Master feels something deep within him ache. Something good. Something long neglected. And like letting go of the deepest breath, his next words flowed from him.

“Oh darling, I love you.” 

The Master presses his body against yours as he comes down for a searing kiss, nearly losing himself in the comfort of feeling his skin on yours; in the ambient heat that radiates from you. It doesn’t last long though, as the Master quickly refocuses on his goal - nay, his job - this evening: making you cum. He pulls away from you, running his nails along your scalp and delighting in the happy noise you make.

“It’s about time you got your reward huh, love?” The Master prompts.

“My reward?” .

“Mhm.” His nails continue to rake across your scalp. 

“What for?” 

“Oh you know,” he starts, feigning nonchalance. “surviving a freezing cold ocean and an alien possession, saving my life, being the most beautiful woman in the universe. Seems deserving of a reward to me, don’t you think?”

You look surprised for a moment, but eventually agree, a bashful warmth heating your cheeks as hot arousal floods your pussy again. “I’d like that.” 

“A reward it is then.” The Master smiles. 

He wastes no time shuffling down the bed until he’s between your legs. He lets his hands glide over the tops of your thighs before gently coaxing your legs further apart. He settles there and admires your pussy, running his thumb along your inner thigh, just off to the side of where you really want it. You’re not entirely certain, but you think you hear a breathy “beautiful” slip under the Master’s breath.

“Do you want me to touch you love?” The Master teases, letting the edge of his nail ghost along your folds.

He delights in your shiver and the eager, “yes” that barely makes it past your lips. He considers teasing you further, but what kind of reward would that be? You’ve worked hard enough for it as is.

“As you wish, darling.” 

The Master delves a finger between your folds, feeling the leaking pool of arousal that’s been flooding your pussy since he sat you down on the console. His cock throbs as he smears your arousal all over your cunt.

He’s a little greedy. He can’t help himself. He gathers some of your arousal on the tips of his fingers and brings them to his mouth, tasting you once again. Your taste sends a jolt right through his cock and he moans loud around his fingers.

“Mm, I’ve missed that taste.” The Master groans, “So tempting. So sweet.” 

Your own moan brings the Master back to you and your hips as they start to cant against the empty air.

“Oh I’m sorry love, got a little lost there. I’ll give you what you want.” 

The Master runs his fingers through your folds and your body lights up, every nerve crying, begging for more as he teases the edge of your hole. 

His fingers run up the length of your pussy until he finds that sweet, beautiful bundle of nerves that makes you cry out for him. He rubs circles on your clit, adjusting his technique until he finds the perfect rhythm to make you whimper and buck up against his fingers. His hand sends sparks through your body - quick laps of pleasure along your skin so good they almost sting. His other hand is running up and down your thigh, slow enough so his fingernails leave tingling trails in their wake that make you writhe. Your hands grapple at the Master’s sheets, needing something to ground you in the moment.

“Master, please—“ you beg as his fingers continue to work your clit. 

“Yes love?” He waits for your response with a knowing smile.

“Fuck me.” you gasp out, “I don’t wanna wait any longer. I want you.”

The Master huffs a laugh and gives you a warm look, “As you wish, love.”

He pulls your legs up and wrestles a soft pillow under your butt, making sure you’re good and comfy before settling between your legs. He takes a moment to drag himself between your folds and listen to your needy moans as his tip rubs against your clit. He doesn’t play around too long though. He’s determined to give you everything you want tonight, so he notches his cock at your entrance and slowly starts to work himself into your weeping hole.

“By the stars love, you’re so tight - hugging me so tight I can barely move.” The Master groans as he starts to gently thrust into you.“Look at the way you gush over me. You’re getting me all wet darling.” 

You can only whimper in response, too distracted by the stretch of his cock and the wonderfully full feeling to form proper words.  That’s not a problem for the Master though. He can feel it all flowing freely through your mind to his and it washes over him like a shower of compliments. 

He practically preens, feeling your pleasure and satisfaction wave over him like high tide - licking at every nerve, every exposed inch of skin until he feels hot. He picks up his pace, thrusting into you. Your hands are clutching the bedsheets for dear life as you writhe under the Master’s body. You hear a groan from him and something else unintelligible before he pounces on you.

“Stars, you’re so fucking hot.” The Master growls.

He leaps forward, slamming his lips to yours in a searing kiss as he begins to thrust his cock into your needy pussy. You moan against his lips and press your body against his - one of your hands tangles in his hair and tugs. He thrusts at a brutal pace, toying with that sensitive spot inside you. 

The Master breaks away from the kiss to trail countless wet, sloppy kisses down your throat. His tongue laps at your skin, leaving cool, wet trails in his wake. He works his way down to your breasts, punctuating every kiss with a thrust of his cock. 

He gives an experimental lick to one of your nipples and the breathless moan he gets from you is enough to quell his curiosity. He takes your nipple in his mouth and runs his tongue over it, paying close attention to the way your body shivers in response.

He cradles your other breast in his hand and toys with your other nipple - tracing around it with his nail until you whine - a breathy “please” falling from your lips. He rewards you with a pinch and works your two nipples until you’re writhing beneath him, thrusting your hips up to meet his own. 

The air shifts a little. You can feel something heavier and weightier starting to bleed through the Master’s mind into yours. You can’t place a name on the emotion, but you think it has to do with the Mermaid and everything that happened before you woke up in the TARDIS med bay.

 The Master pulls away from your breast to rest his chin on your chest. His hips slow. He holds one of your hands in his.

“Look at me love. Let me see your beautiful eyes.” He smiles when you look at him with bright, gleaming eyes. His voice is adoring when he speaks to you: “That was the Mermaid’s worst crime: changing your eyes. Changing you.” 

The Master starts to lay reverent kisses on your chest as he slowly grinds into you, letting your pleasure build subtle and slow.

“Look at you. So strong. So beautiful.” The Master murmurs, “You deserve this love. You’ve done so good today.” 

He seems like he can’t stop. All his emotions from earlier today are pouring from him like some stampede of thought.

“You saved me. In more ways than one. More than just today.” The Master admits against your warm skin, “How did you do that? How did you save a thing like me?” 

You don’t have a response; the answer is as much a mystery to you as it is to him. But you can move your hand down from his hair to hold his jaw and run a thumb over his cheek to acknowledge him. You can smile up at him and draw him in for a kiss, and let all your emotions flood through his mind until all he feels is the depth of your love for him.

The Master moans and pulls himself up from your chest. His hips pick up pace again, grinding into you harder and faster until he builds a steady rhythm.

“You’re perfect y’know that?” He groans out with a renewed vigor, “Absolutely perfect.”

He listens to your moans and feels your body’s reaction. He adjusts his thrusts until you’re a writhing mess beneath him, whimpering and whining as you listen to his ceaseless praise. 

“You beat the odds and bent that fucking Mermaid to your will. You brought it up the hill. You slammed that church door open. You’re the reason I’m still alive, love.” The Master has to pause, fighting off his release. The sight of you practically glowing in the lamplight below him is too much. All your soft warmth and quiet strength is overwhelming. He’s so proud of you that it overflows both of your minds and cascades through your bodies. It’s too much all at once. 

“You saved me.” He whispers against your lips.

“And you saved me.” You respond, leaning up to kiss him.

It’s like a switch is flipped, and now the Master is frantically kissing you and thrusting into you like an animal, desperate to give you everything you want and more. 

“I’m yours, darling. Entirely yours.” He pants into your ear. “The universe is yours if you so wish.”

Your moans are music to him; every thrust he gives is punctuated by your sultry, fucked-out voice and he’s convinced it’s the only sound that matters anymore. That is, until you card a hand through his hair and groan into his ear.

“Master, I’m close…” 

He groans, and takes that as a challenge of sorts. He won’t finish until you do, but he’s so damn close it’s getting hard to hold on. 

You notice his erratic thrusts; his shaking arms; the way he holds his breath and does everything he can to stave off his own release until you’re satisfied.

In an effort to help you, he reaches a hand down to play with your clit like he had before, drawing the most beautiful gasps and moans from your lips as your pleasure mounts - building into something tight and unbearable. 

It only takes a couple more thrusts and one last  circle on your clit to—

“Master! Don’t—don’t stop, I—please don’t stop! I—I’m—“

Your vision whites out. Your body writhes beneath the Master and wave after wave of pleasure slams through you until all that’s left is a boneless lump on the Master’s bed. For a moment, you’re entirely wiped out. You’re unable to move or think. You’re vaguely aware of the wetness between your thighs and the Master shuddering above you, heaving his breaths as he recovers from his own release.

You come down slow, enjoying the light airy feeling and the hazy pleasure that lingers afterwards. You twitch as the Master pulls his cock from you and leaves a little kiss on your clit. He quickly crawls up the bed to check on you.

“You alright there, love?” He smiles down at your fucked-out face. He’s still breathing heavy and the sight is beautiful to you.

“Mmhm.” You nod and smile back up at him. 

“How are you feeling? Done for the night or do you want more?” He asks, wiping a stray drop of sweat from your face.

He can feel your slight hesitation and quickly tries to reassure you: “It’s okay, love. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Wanna make sure you’re taken care of.”

You nod, pulling a pillow into your arms.

“I want more…” you admit into the pillow, a bashful tone overtaking your voice.

“And how do you want it?” 

You look up at the Master to see him smiling. You return that smile with wide, excited eyes. His question is enough to reassure you and you answer him with one hundred percent sincerity:

“Fuck me into this mattress, Master.”

His cock twitches and he takes a shuddering breath.

“As you wish, love.” The Master purrs.

A few rounds later, you feel very thoroughly fucked into the mattress. Your bones feel like they’ve dissolved into jelly, and you’re little more than a puddle of hazy, happy pleasure.

And then there’s something warm and wet between your legs, reeling you back into reality. 

The sheets are askew, the support pillow is halfway across the room, and you’re certain your nails left scratches all over the headboard. 

And then Master is there, between your legs, cleaning you up with a warm washcloth. 

“There you go, love. Comfy?” 

You nod lazily and make grabby hands at him with the most convincing pout you can muster. 

The Master laughs. “Alright, darling. I’ll be right there.” 

He sets the washcloth aside and returns to his bathroom for a short moment, coming back out with a couple glasses of water. 

“You don’t have to drink this now, but you’ll probably want it when we wake up.”

You look straight past the glasses on his bedside table, focusing on him, how he moves, and how he’s joining you in bed. 

You scramble under the soft purple duvet and hold up the other side, inviting the Master in. He chuckles and slides in bed to be immediately smothered by your clingy cuddles.

He cuddles you right back, tangling his legs with yours and holding your body close to his. He covers the both of you in his deep purple duvet and turns to tell you goodnight.

You’re already passed out though, clinging to the Master’s body and using his chest as a pillow.

He laughs to himself and turns off the bedside lamps, then settles himself in the bed and falls right asleep with you.

The Master wakes a few hours later to the feeling of your body moving. You’re still asleep, just adjusting a bit. The room is still dark. He can see you well enough though, and takes this time to admire you and everything you had done yesterday.

He’d meant every word he said last night. He was astounded by your strength. He was proud of you for surviving. For saving him. 

But there was still this little voice in his head telling him that none of it should have happened; that you shouldn’t have had to save him; that that’s not your job when you’re traveling with him.

It’s not long before guilt starts to settle in, ruining what sweet afterglow he could have had as he admired you.

A small rustle next to him reels him back to reality.

“G’mornin’” you yawn and stretch out against the Master’s body.

“Good morning, love.” The Master says as he turns away for a moment to switch on the bedside lamps.

He laughs a little when you scrunch your eyes closed, and fight to let your eyes adjust to the new light. He gives you a warm look, taking in the features of your face as you slowly open your eyes.

“Have I ever told you how much I love the color of your eyes?” He whispers.

“I think you’ve mentioned it a time or two.” You smile up at him before noticing that something is just a hair off in his expression, “What’s wrong?” 

“Hmm? Oh, nothing’s wrong. Just enjoying my view.” 

“No. You’ve got that look on your face. The one you wear when something’s wrong, but you don’t want to scare me so you pretend everything’s fine.” 

“You really do know me, don’t you, darling?” 

“That I do.” You give a little sassy nod and wait for the Master’s explanation.

“Fine. It’s the trip. Yesterday.”

“What are you thinking about?” You sit up, giving the Master all of your attention.

“I just…yesterday was supposed to be a fun, seaside trip. I wanted to take you to the ocean and watch your face light up when you saw the beach - you’re always talking about how much you love the beach - and I just wanted to make you happy. But instead, I got it wrong. I almost lost you.” The Master reaches out to hold your hand - like he’s making sure you’re still here.

“Master, that isn’t your fault. None of it is your fault.”  

His gaze focuses on your fingers as he quietly inspects them.

“Isn’t it? If I had got the date right, none of this would have happened. You would have stayed safe.”  

“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. Even with a time machine and your Time Lord super powers, you couldn’t have known.” You insist.

“I should have turned us around the minute I felt suspicious–” 

“It’s not your fault, Master.”  

“–but you looked so happy when you rushed out the TARDIS doors–” 

“Master, it isn’t–”  

“–and the way your face lit up when you heard the sound of the waves? How could I ever say no to that face? I couldn’t, so–” 

“Master–” 

“–so I let you go. I let you explore and I–” 

“Master.” 

“I put you in danger. Like I always do.” 

The look on the Master’s face was a punch to your gut. You could see tears starting to well in his eyes and a look in them that said he was trying to fight them back. You wrap your arms around him, bringing his head to rest on your chest before any could fall. 

“It’s not your fault, Master. It’s not your fault.” 

“I–I could have done m-more to save you. To keep the villagers from harming you.” 

“But you did save me. I’m still here. I’m right here, holding you, running my fingers through your hair – the same old me it’s always been.” You pause to rake your fingers through the Master’s hair, “Neither of us could have known how the villagers would react to us. Neither of us were prepared for anything like it. But we survived. And I’m still alive because you saved me.”

He nods into your neck, hugging you closer to him as his body shudders.

After a moment, he looks back up at you, wiping his eyes and cheeks before you say anything. He just keeps staring into your eyes, looking at you to make sure you’re really still there - making sure he really had gotten all of the Mermaid out of your mind. 

You notice the bags under his eyes. They’re still there despite how long the two of you slept. It makes you wonder. 

“Master, how long did you spend removing the Mermaid from my head?” 

He hesitates a moment and a guilty look starts to overshadow his eyes. 

“Ten hours.”   

Your eyes widen - practically popping right out of your head.

“Ten hours? Straight?” 

The Master nods, solemn. 

You are silent. Dumbstruck. You give the Master a look that pleads for an explanation or some rationale to explain what he was thinking. Ten hours straight to remove the alien in your head?

“It was a delicate process. One wrong move could have killed you and there was no way in hell I was going to let that happen. I thought I lost you once last night, nothing in the universe could have stopped me from trying to save you.” 

“Master I–” The Master isn’t done.  

“Losing you, love, for however brief a moment, shattered me. I thought you were dead. Really, truly, there’s-no-coming-back-from-this dead. I didn’t even fight the villagers when they dragged me to the church. Or when they restrained me. Or when they were setting up that stupid ritual. I could only see the terror in your eyes as you were pushed over, and I could only think about how I couldn’t save you. I didn’t try hard enough to save you. I got distracted and I—“

“Master.” Your gentle voice pulls him from his rambling. You pull him into a hug, hoping it will help ground him.

“I’m scared of losing you.” The Master admits in a whisper against your neck. “I’ve never been more scared than I was last night.”

You place a kiss on his cheek and cradle his neck in your hand. You know there isn’t anything to say in response.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually he sits back up and cradles your head in his hand.

“Yknow, this whole traveling thing…I need you with me. It’s not worth it to travel the stars if you’re not here. If I had lost you last night…I’d–I’d lose myself. I don’t know what I’d become.”  

“You didn’t lose me, Master, you saved me. We saved each other.” 

The Master nods, pulling you back into his arms. He places a kiss just under your ear and nuzzles into your neck, taking a moment to appreciate how it feels to hold you.

You almost miss it, but right as you close your eyes, there’s a mumble against your ear.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Star and Mood Dividers By: @cafekitsune

Ocean Divider:

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Eighteen - Miguel has killed your ex, and now you fear he'll kill you. Ch 19

As if on cue with the blissful silence, the skies open up and lightning streaks across the sky, thunder cracking, Miguel’s car shaking with the sound. Are you next? Is Miguel going to kill you? No, why would he send you to his car if he was going to kill you?

He slips into his car and turns it on. You’re sitting in the passenger seat, face buried in your hands, trembling. You both say nothing, and you flinch when the car takes off.

“Y/N…are you okay?” Miguel asks, his voice soft.

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask, equally as soft, unable to keep the fear out of your voice.

“No, never, I had to kill Todd. It’s what you wanted, what needed to happen.” He says, looking over at you, begging you to understand.

He’s covered in blood, soaked, hands bloodied, lips, chin, neck, his hair is wild and his eyes…you’ve never seen such hunger, such barely contained rage.

Horror creeps down your spine, I wish he’d just fucking die. “Are you in my head?”

“Only when you allow me to be.” Miguel says, his right hand on your knee reassuringly, the hand that slammed Todd into your car and left a human sized dent in it. The hand that brushed through your hair, that made you soup, that cupped your cheek and guided your lips to his.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” You say, resting your head against the cool car window.

“It’s okay, mi dulce, it’s okay, just breathe.” He soothes, running his fingers through your hair. “We’re meant to be together; I have waited decades for you to return to me, and now we are together again. Do you not feel it?”

“Feel what?” You ask, eyes on the road outside your window.

“That we are soulmates, bound together, our souls, our bodies calling to one another.” He smiles at you, fangs on display. “It is why you respond so well to my touch; your body knows only I may give you pleasure, only I may touch you.”

It’s too much, the mix of fear and comfort, his words, his fangs, the feeling of his hand, still bloodied, running through your hair, you pull on the door handle frantically. “Let me out.”

“Y/N, I can’t, I’m driving.” He says in a measured tone, one that sets your nerves on edge.

“Let me out of this fucking car.” You demand, yanking on the handle, fingers forcing the lock up, frantically kicking the door open, the wind rushing, whipping through your hair, the streetlight blurry as they whiz by.

“Ay coño, y/n are you crazy?” Miguel yells, swerving the car into the shoulder with one hand, the other grabbing your arm, keeping you from jumping out.

You tear his arm off you and stumble out, darting into the nearby woods, adrenaline rushing through your veins. It’s dark, cold, rain pouring down on you, slowed only slightly by the thick leaves of the surrounding trees.

You can hear him calling for you, when you cast a glance over your shoulder his headlights are hazy through the mist.

A vampire, he’s a fucking vampire, you can’t deny it now. No human being would have the strength to slam Todd into your car like that, no human being can read minds. And now he’s saying you’re soulmates?

“Y/N, please don’t run from me, you could get hurt.” Miguel’s voice is distant, you think maybe you’ve gotten a good head start.

You try to run as quickly as possible, heart pounding in your chest, branches catching and scratching at your skin, your lungs burning. You can feel Miguel behind you, and you cut a sharp left, hoping to throw him off course.

His fingers catch on the edge of your jacket, and you fumble with it letting him pull it off, as you spot a clearing up ahead.

A smallish river cuts the clearing in half, and hope sparks within you. Vampires can’t cross running water, not without it weakening them. Pushing forward, you slog through it, collapsing on the opposite bank.

You push your soaked hair out of your face to see Miguel, hair and clothes plastered to his skin, your jacket in his hand, his eyes glowing a brilliant red.

“You can’t cross, so just leave me alone.” You yell across the river, fingers searching for some kind of weapon to defend yourself with. “I won’t tell anyone, I’ll leave the city, the state, I swear, no one will ever know about this.”

“You can run, but I will find you, I will always find you y/n, we’re bound. What part of that do you not understand?” He cocks his head to the side and takes a step forward into the rushing river, then another, then another, punctuating each word with a step.

“No.” You cry, scrambling back, sand and gravel slipping beneath your feet.

“It’s only me, y/n, I will not hurt you, please, I don’t want to scare you, but you cannot keep running from me.” Miguel says, his hands out placating, your jacket slung over his shoulder.

His crimson eyes are swirling, and they’re beautiful, brighter than the lighting that streaks across the sky, and you let him approach, let him pull you to your feet and drape your jacket around your shoulders.

You want him, want him to take you here, in this clearing, in the middle of the storm with your ex’s blood covering his body.

“Calm yourself, there is nothing to fear, not from me.” He says, drawing your jacket tighter around your body, keeping a tight hold on you.

You feel that syrupy haze disappear, and your mind is clear once more. “You’re a vampire.” You say, breath coming out in short bursts.

“Yes,” he says.

You stand there, staring up at him, mind going a hundred miles an hour. “And you think we’re soulmates?”

“I know we are.”

“How?”

Miguel looks down at his hands, the ones clinging to your arms, keeping you captive. “I remember everything from before, our life together, from the moment I first saw you to the day they buried you. I could not save you; I tried so very hard y/n, you must believe me. I clawed my way out of Hades to return to you, but I was too late.”

His words strike a chord within you, tugging at some hidden string in your mind. You pull at it, and everything comes crashing down. Your eyes meeting his for the very first time, sneaking out to meet him, dreaming of him as you were forced to sit with Todderick at the many balls his family threw. It hurts, remembering hurts, a knife in your chest, flames in your lungs. You see Miguel, fighting against the guards, trying to reach you, your hands outstretched, the secret knowledge that you two have married, have consummated your marriage only the night before lingering in your mind. You can feel the tears on your face, the poison burning as it travels down your throat, your last gasping breath, Miguel’s name on your lips as the darkness overtook you.

“Miguel I…” You’re at a loss for words, memories swirling around meshing with your current ones, adding a lens, the true color of each interaction blooming before your eyes.

“I know.” Miguel says, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest.

TL: @obi-mom-kenobi, @poutysprouty, @oharasfilipinawife, @laysmt, @cicithemess, @unabashedcroissanttreefan, @lynxslokley, @thedevax, @generalkenobitrash, @keiva1000, @wilmontana987, @caslistener, @lotionlamp, @chrishy973, @havkjhdecs, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @prowlingforfood, @crystal-crax

[star-farer]

arteries, veins and capillaries

Summary: Fate mocks you with your brother's face, yet the weapon sits cradled in your blood-stained hand. AU: Canon Warnings: Heavy topics, Generally dark themes, Mention of death Taglist: @kybercrystals94, @fionas-frenzy

Author's Note: I do have to clear up the fact that I view both and neither Hunter and Crosshair as at fault for their actions. They are complicated characters and they have complicated thoughts and decisions. Any prejudice in this piece is completely from their perspective and does not share my thoughts on similar matters.

“Go ahead. Do it.”

The blaster is aimed with a mastered precision. No one knows the beauty of a perfect shot better than Crosshair.

Down the barrel, he stares at the dark tattoo edging tan skin, two sides split with a half-skull. It isn’t perfect, more along one part of his face than precisely down the line of his nose.

The intended imperfection swears fealty to rebellion.

Grey-gold eyes haunt him with their defiant gaze, peering past heavy ridges, chin tipped down as if he were prey. Calculating, fierce, keen.

Yet Crosshair holds the blaster.

Hunter can easily wrestle Crosshair and win. Prying the blaster from his inflexible grip might prove difficult — severe and unyielding as he is — but deflecting the hand, pinning the wrist away, it’s a mere bat of the eye to disarm him for one as skilled as the Sergeant.

Breath catches itself like a web in Crosshair’s throat; Hunter presses the space between his dense eyebrows against the muzzle. One of them crooks up, a line jagged against a corner over unimpressed amber.

“Waiting for our senses to dull?”

An old joke between the two of them. His eyesight is far sharper than any human’s, any clone’s. He is the only one who understands the intense burning, stinging, pricking, screaming agony settling within sockets.

Even if it will never be as sharp as Crosshair’s. Even if he has never blinked blood from his eyes like tears.

The Kaminii’se have engineered their enhancements to last for as long as possible. Products with a longer lifetime are preferred to those that need to regularly be replaced.

“Don’t get lost in that head of yours, Cross’ika,” chuckles Hunter, dry and empty.

Having his eyes gouged out would be less cathartic; his nickname is shot at him carelessly, like tossing a shard of cold transparisteel. Lands right in the soft muscles of his heart, icy tendrils slipping swiftly along the walls and freezing his lungs.

Hunter steps forward. Crosshair grinds his heels into the floor, refusing to step back.

The muzzle will engrave a circle into Hunter’s flesh.

Crosshair could brand him forever with a flinch of the trigger.

“Do it, you shabuir. Kill me.”

Stoic. Hunter is Stoic. Tech used the word to describe their Sergeant first. It encapsulate his character perfectly.

Jaw clenched, fists curled, shoulders tense, eyes dark. He never lets his emotions get the better of him.

It had entertained Crosshair endlessly to try and get a rise out of him. Nettle him into a rage, goad him into a temper.

Jostle him to humor, shake him to laughter.

Glimpses and flashes, sudden and fleeting, it’s all of Hunter’s psyche he has ever caught. Rare as hypergems, Crosshair keeps his tongue when he finds them, careful to scrutinize the Reticence that is the Sergeant of Clone Force 99.

He’s never seen such fury and loathing in the death-inked face before. Even if Crosshair aims the blaster at arms length, his destruction hollows him with his brother’s eyes.

His brother’s eyes.

Kindness, exasperation, amusement, irritation, fatigue: These he has met along the cords that bind their gazes.

Anger, this savage. Hatred, this ruthless. An enemy has caught half of Death’s Stare and been reduced to a puddle of tremulous fear.

When did Crosshair become the enemy?

“Pull that kriffing trigger,” commands Hunter, his bared teeth the lightning before the thunder in his voice.

“Or what?”

The web in Crosshair’s throat spreads thicker and wider, choking him. His voice was found, even if it had strangled him senseless to spew it at his judge, jury and executor.

Laughter threatens to throw him into hysterics. The terror running alongside the blood in his veins. His vibrating pulse screams shrill and silver.

He’s yanked by the collar of his cuirass, dragged forward to peer into eyes he knows better than his own.

“Or come. The kriff. Home.” Hunter’s mouth is a writhing line, roaring anguish playing along his jaw. “Hut’uun.”

Hut’uun.

He sees black. He sees red.

Hut’uun: Coward.

In their own kriffing tongue.

Never. Hunter has never spat that insult at him. Not when Hunter has been cut with it a thousand times.

Not when Hunter has borne its shame since time immemorial.

Hunter, a Cadet, jaw clenched where he’s on his knees, shoved to the floor and forced to pick up the remnants of his splattered tray. Hunter, a Shiny, fists curled tight where he stands, jabbed back by the shoulders and enduring the sneering reprimands. Hunter, a Commando, shoulders tensed where he sits, rammed on either side in the gunship and ignoring the snide looks hurled viciously his way.

Hunter, a Sergeant, eyes dark where he towers over the kneeling lower-than-life-form, knuckles on one hand pale, torn and bloody where it had slammed against the reg's jaw, refusing anything short of justice for having accused his squad of cowardice.

And now, Hunter accuses Crosshair of the same.

An ember kisses wood, Crosshair’s soul is a bonfire of wrath, heat licking within his chest. Just as quickly, oil is flooded down, the salt in his spidery wound, attempting to douse the ire.

The ember: The insult.

The oil: The choice.

“What home?” The blaster falls from his grip, steel tracking its descent. Hands press against the plastoid ridges of pauldrons, a white skull watches him between the gaps of his fingers.

The steel rises to bend daggers into his face. “Don't give me that osik. I'll rip out that damned chip with own bare hands if I have to.”

He means it. Hunter always says what he means. Crosshair knows a liar when he sees one.

And Hunter isn't lying.

He stumbles back when the grip releases him, falls down to the floor on his back. Finds himself staring up at his brother's form, merciless and weighty in the way it is wrought.

The predator and its prey.

“So,” a clattering of a weapon kicked, scuffing against his arched knuckles, his gloved palm is cold against the durasteel ground, “You gonna follow orders or not, Crosshair?”

To follow: To kill.

To disobey: To come home.

And, to accept he is what Hunter declares him. To accept he is a coward.

His fingers rise and curl around the hilt of the blaster, drawing it under his caving palm. Eyes never dart away from Hunter's shadowed face.

A hint of a smirk, a huff of grim humor, Hunter remains the unrecognizable nightmare, no longer beloved flesh and blood. A phantom of his former steady self, he shrouds his mad horror over Crosshair.

“Death it is then.”

There are only a handful of men in the galaxy in this standard hour who are glad to have left behind their blaster cartridges. The ring reflects in Hunter’s wide eyes, an arch of hyperspace blue.

“Wrong.”

Crosshair is one of these men.

[hope-to-hell]

Home (the cure for what ails ya). Eddie x Venom. Post-Venom 2018. Smut, stretching metaphor past its breaking point. Our boy is alive, sure, but he’s had a rough time and would really, really like to go home. Trouble is, where’s “home” when he feels like he’s numb and drifting?

——

There’s this moment between lightning and thunder when it’s like all the air has been sucked from the world; it’s a void, a vacuum, a little peek into the far reaches of space. Eddie knows the thunder is coming, can feel it shivering the air before it happens, but he doesn’t quite believe it, not in his deepest self. He can feel the empty space between light and sound but it’s not until thunder rattles the windows and thuds through him from heart to guts that he really gets it.

What’s there to believe?

Dunno. The majesty of nature, all that shit. It feels—

It feels like being separated, like the moment when he was suddenly all alone and he knew, he knew, that Venom had pulled up stakes and left him— fuck— burning away in wispy trails and if it weren’t for all the fire he could compare it to ink in water, but there was fire, and then the empty gut-punch void, and then silence.

Their reunion isn’t like the movies, when the battle-torn hero appears just at the moment when all hope seems lost. It’s at the end of a days-long nothingness where Eddie’s sponged and bandaged, his blood drawn six times a day, until he’s all bruises and blown veins and goddamnit, I just want to go home. And he goes the fuck home— or at least to his apartment; home is an alien concept now with the way his heart still feels like it’s in free fall— he chokes down a dull beige meal and waits for something to happen.

Hey.

There’s that shuddering thud of his heart beating against something— no, in time with something— but he’s waiting to decide if he dares hope, because if he breaks any further there’ll be no way to put the pieces back together. He counts the seconds and tries so fucking hard not to expect anything, but come on. It’s Eddie. He’s always been all-in, jumping without a plan for the landing; he needs and wants so badly and his guts are tied in knots.

Hey.

Can’t. Can’t do it. It’s spilling over, catching at him and pulling him open til he’s raw; it’s rumbling against his nerves and twining around his veins—

Hey—

In the storm there’s a void that light has touched but sound has yet to follow; there’s no way. No fucking way. He’s losing it— lost it— left it in the bay with shriveled ash and fire that fell in petals from the sky; thunder catches up to lightning and rattles his heart, punches all the breath from his lungs, sends his pulse up through the roof and it can’t be, it can’t, he tried to bury those days and if this is just his lonely mind playing tricks he’s gonna—

Eddie.

Oh.

Sometimes thunder roars loud enough to shatter windows, raining shards of glass on the street below. Sometimes it whispers, barely audible but still felt in the blood. It’s primal, rough, inexorable; it simply is, no matter how far away.

This is a moment that shouldn’t be happening; it’s impossible. He’s— Venom is— was—gone, and if he could just make himself believe it— this can’t possibly be happening, and yet—and yet there’s that kernel of hope that he couldn’t quite crush. And in this impossible moment, he blooms outward in trails of slick blackness, all his bone and sinew covered and caressed and oh fuck, he missed this.

Missed you, he doesn’t say; the words rattle through him but there’s no outlet, not now, not til this settles down to embers. Needed— need you. It’s the most nakedly honest he’s been in forever, and it’s tearing silent through him but all he can say is a spit-soaked you—

Me.

And that’s all there is to say. It’s so sappy, so ripped-bodices-heaving-bosoms-romance-novel cliche, but it is what it is and for Eddie it’s a shattered window falling back up into its frame; he can feel Venom sliding night-black through his veins and across his skin. There’s nothing like it, not even fucking; it lights him up and he is home, you are—

We are home. Now let me take care of us.

Eddie’s yes is all tangled up, lost in his own thick wet oh god oh fuck please now but it is there, reverberating all through him with a deep and rasping echo. With shadows flowing sweetly all through him, he lets Venom take the reins; in the blink of an eye he is stripped bare. His clothes are falling all around in shreds and it doesn’t matter. He could be naked in the street and still he would give himself entirely to this. And so there’s Eddie, arms out and head back, body bowed far enough that on an ordinary day he’d crash to the floor but this is not an ordinary day and so he is held aloft; he is weightless; he is

Mine.

All his almost-words are soaked in brine, in seawater and copper and the thought bursts into being: the water was cold, yes, but he knows the Bay and he should’ve been bound up tight with the chill of it, should’ve been hypothermic at least, but— when you can’t do anything else, you’ve just gotta live. Right? And he’s shutting up because now he knows; his blood was pumping hot and their limbs were moving there in the water and now they are here: renewed and needful and oh fuck there are tendrils tugging at the corner of his mouth and stroking over his tongue and ok. Ok. Shutting up now.

There’s no relaxing into this, not quite, not with need singing through his veins and twitching his hips into the air; there is only the feel of Venom strung all through him, staking his claim with a silk-smooth projection wrapped around Eddie’s cock, another winding up into his ass until he finds something that makes them howl; it’s over far too soon and yet it doesn’t end. Very good. More. Again.

Again? Wait, what, I—

It’s good. We liked it. We want more.

What a fucking time for Eddie to be getting all misty-eyed over a goddamn pronoun. He could say it’s from the projection pulsing thickly on his tongue or the aftershocks that roll all through him; he could say it’s from the feeling of being stretched open and blanketed by Venom all at once. He could say it, and it would be true, but it wouldn’t be the whole story.

We like this. We want

We want

Loss is a hole, a void, an endless fall without a landing. It’s a golden ring locked away in a drawer. It’s rain dimpling the water on the Bay, and all the little fish that mistake it for a meal. It’s a wound that never heals, but only stings a little less with time. It’s bad takeout and worse beer and it’s being shoved into the background so fast that it’s trailing sparks across his vision. He’s floating, the room gone fuzzy at the edges; he’s so fucking close, and all it takes to send him flying is the soft wet slide of the projection withdrawing from his mouth only to brush against his lips.

Ready? Here we go.

Sound surges into the space behind the lightning and rips through Eddie’s veins; it’s taking him apart from the inside and all he can do is feel it. He’s really, truly full now, every cell seeming to pulse at once and it’s too much, too much; he’s hurled over the edge and he is falling

but

he is caught, held tight; he is jelly-limbed and panting and he is

home.

[clumsiestgiantess]

First chapter of Alexis and Erica’s story (idk what to call it yet but suggestions are welcome)

all chapters linked here

A sudden explosion vibrated through the ground beneath me.  Blinding light scorched my eyes for only a moment, and my ears rang in the silence afterwards.  Someone was calling me, but I was too shocked to respond.  

What happened?

[They were trees] 

Another blast of thunder startled me from my stupor; I looked wide-eyed out the basement windows as rain flooded the ditches beneath them.  I hadn't realized how bad the weather was until then.  Sure, I’d heard the rain, but I'd assumed it was just that: rain, not a raging storm.  My dad had been calling me to see if I'd heard the thunder.  Of course I had.  Was there anyone within a five mile radius who hadn't? 

As I sat staring out the rain-drizzled window, another bolt of lightning touched down so close I could see the tree in our yard that was hit, now blackened and charred on one side by the strike.  I stood up, backing away from the window beside my head.  Suddenly, I didn’t feel very safe, even if I was underground where the storm supposedly couldn’t get to me.  The summer storms were early this year.  They’d come back in full-force.  As alarming as they sounded, I had been enjoying their rumbling ambiance — until now.

Yet another flash nearly blinded me and I stepped another few paces away from the window.  Its explosion still rang in my ears.  The few basement lights my dad had so lazily forgot to replace sparked up with new life, and for a quiet few seconds, everything was fine.  Then, along with another eerily soundless flash, the bulbs that had been shining before crackled, buzzed, and shattered.  I looked around dumbfounded as all the lights flickered out, like candles all snuffed out at once.  Dad yelled something about the house being struck, but I could hardly focus on his voice while my vision dazzled in the afterglow.

I was so shaken that I couldn’t move from my hunched-over stance that I’d taken at the very last minute to protect myself.  Thunder rolled overhead, accompanied by the sounds of my family scrambling around one floor above me.  The basement, being mostly underground and without many windows, was almost completely dark without any working lights.  Where the ping-pong table and bar stools stood a minute ago, gaped a black void littered with glass from the shattered bulbs above me.  I straightened slowly in the dark cavern of the basement, unsure what to do.  I couldn't step any further forward.  The lights had shattered, meaning the way upstairs would be lined with shards of glass that I'd have to navigate through blindly. 

Another rumble of thunder rattled the small windows behind me.  I turned around towards them, hoping to gain at least a little more light, but with the sky an ugly blackened grey, it didn't help much.  The couch I'd been sitting on had to be right in front of me, though I couldn’t see it — my phone too.  My phone!  My phone has a flashlight!

Reaching for the couch so I could get my bearings, I felt around as my heart pounded in my ears.  I would be fine, so long as I had some light.  However, the couch I’d been sitting on a few moments ago was no longer right in front of me.  My stomach dropped like I was standing somewhere extremely high up instead. 

I stumbled backwards, falling onto the kids table behind me just as another blinding flash filled the room, illuminating the little cityscape my brother and I had built together on its surface.  As I fell further than wherever the floor should’ve been to stop me, electrical currents lashed through the air and seized my body like miniature versions of the lightning in the sky.  They burned, making me reach out for something, anything, to pull me out of whatever I was trapped in.  Light cascaded out of the darkness, filling my vision as sparking veins surged down and around me.  More and more currents of crackling electricity continued to latch onto me, tearing through my body as I writhed in pain.  Everything hurt like I was on fire.  Then everything was gone — lost to an ever-growing light as I tumbled through nothing.

Oof.  Less than a moment later, I landed forcefully on my back, knocking the wind from my lungs.  My vision slowly adjusted to the painful brightness that surrounded me moments after standing in almost total darkness.  I quickly shut my eyes and lay there, dazed.  Slowly, I moved a shaking hand to massage my temples, trying to ease away the pain as I sat up. 

After a long moment to recuperate, I shielded my eyes with a hand and tried to look around.  What the..?  I was in a field, with grass below me and the glaring sun shining high above me.  Even weirder still was the fact that there wasn't a cloud in the sky, except for a few small wispy ones on the horizon.  Where am I?  What happened to the storm?

Once my eyes finally adjusted, I stood.  Keeping my hand up to shield the sun, I looked around, but nothing seemed familiar.  All I could spot was a forest and mountains in the distance, so I started off in that direction, hoping I'd come across a trail or cabin or some form of civilization when I got there.  As I trekked the distance to the forest, I realized that the grass beneath me was all pristinely short.  The field couldn’t be natural; the grass should've grown up to my shins at least. 

That’s good, right?  One of those 'signs of civilization' I’m looking for.  If I followed the cut grass I might find a house or a park entrance.  Twice I had to stop to rest my legs, which spasmed unexpectedly.  I had my suspicions that the electrocution I experienced earlier was behind it.  I was very lucky I hadn’t died. Determined to find out where I landed, I kept walking towards the forest.  Surely there would be someone out there who could help me figure out where I was.

However, what I'd thought was a forest at a distance seemed to be something else entirely when I got closer.  The 'trees' were really just low bushes that only came to the edge of my knees.  It was strangely unsettling; a whole field of small bushes with no actual trees in sight.  These must be some kind of fruit bushes, right?  And the grass is cut because this is someone's farm and this is their garden.  That was a much less unsettling explanation.

Why I randomly appeared in the middle of someone's field, I had no idea, but if this was a garden, I didn't want to go trampling through it.  I changed course and walked along the edge of the bushes for a while, hoping against hope it would lead me to whoever owned the place.  As I walked alongside the bushes, I began to notice more and more concerning details.  There seemed to be multiple types of strange bushes all clumped together here, and some open patches there.  In fact, nothing was ordered in any obvious way and there wasn't even a fence around it to keep animals out.

My train of thought switched paths.  It's a wild patch of bushes.  Those exist, right?  Of course they do.  Whoever owns this property, whoever mows the grass here, must've found the bushes growing naturally and decided to mow around them instead of cutting them down.  Deep in thought, I didn't react in time to avoid the rock sticking out of the ground in front of me.  The tip of my shoe hit it at just the right angle so that my leg was thrown from under me.  When I tripped, I fell directly into the bushes.  Ow.  My face was a bit scratched up; I felt it on my hands and knees, searching for any major cuts.  Thankfully I hadn't gouged my eye out.  I glanced around the underbrush, pulling myself up from the ground.  The scenery under there was vaguely.. familiar — like I’d seen it before, though it wasn’t that same thing.  I froze, and an unnerving thought crossed my mind.  Slowly, confusedly, I lowered my head all the way down and looked up at the bushes from the ground.  They were trees.  From ground level the bushes looked exactly like trees.

I quickly scanned my surroundings and found that, from my new perspective here, the grass would in fact be up to my knees, if not higher, and the distant forest I thought I saw earlier really was a forest at this height, with underbrush and shrubs to match.  What is this?  I could feel my heartbeat quickening as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. 

Hearing a bird call, I tore my head from the ground and sat up, dreading what I would find.  A flock of birds flew from a bush-tree nearby.  Every bird was about the size of a pin.  The whole flock combined was still smaller than any real bird I knew, besides maybe a hummingbird.  What is happening!?  Am I going crazy?  I tried to think through everything that had happened, kneeling in the field surrounded by small broken trees.  None of it made sense.  The pieces didn't fully click until I heard a scream echo from the edge of the woods.

My heart flew into my throat and I flinched at the sound.  Still in shock, I slowly shuffled over to where I’d heard the noise, bending my head lower to see under the treetops.  At first I saw nothing, only empty forest.  Then some small movement caught my attention as something disappeared behind the trunk of a nearby tree.  Without thinking, I grabbed the tree, or bush, or whatever it was.  I meant to pull it back so I could see behind it, but I ended up pulling it right out of the ground instead, misjudging my strength. 

Another scream pierced the silent air followed by someone faintly shouting "Run!"  I watched, too shocked to move, as a young couple ran deeper into the woods, the taller of the two couldn't have been much larger than the length of my hand.  I sat up, my vision spinning.  Everything, the plants, the birds...  This wasn't my brain misinterpreting strange things, the whole world was somehow shrunk to an incredibly small scale.  Either that, or I was somehow massive.  Both sounded ridiculous — too impossible to be true.  Yet, I was holding an entire tree in my hand.

After I finally snapped out of my daze, the people had long fled.  I stood wearily and dropped the slightly crushed tree, a fresh sense of fear overcoming me.  Is this my world; did the weird light grow me somehow?  Did it take me to a really small world?  And if this is an entirely new world, how do I get back to mine?  How do I get back home!? 

I dashed off in a panic, running off the way I came.  This time I had no trouble getting across the field — adrenaline doing most of the hard work for me.  When I arrived at the spot I'd first woken up in, I stooped, desperately looking for any signs of the strange electricity, or any familiar thing I could use to get home.  Nothing.  I was trapped.  I scanned the horizon in all directions, searching desperately.  The sun was just starting to set, soon it would be pitch black out here in this empty field, and I was starting to dread the possibility that I'd be sleeping in the grass that night.  

Tears balled up in the corners of my eyes as my vision blurred.  I sank to my knees and curled up, wishing I was back in the basement of my house.  Being in a dark room during a power outage in a monster storm was infinitely more comforting than this.  At least then I'd know where I am; what world I'm in.  With blurred vision I looked to the sky, begging for whatever brought me here. 

Please!  Please take me back!  I want to go home!  Above me, the sky had faded from blue to gold to pink, and finally settled on a bluish inky black.  My tears had dried on my face, and I was exhausted.  I curled up on the ground and accepted defeat.  Maybe if I sleep and wake up all of this will be a dream.  After what seemed like hours of laying dreary and restless in the grass, I heard what sounded like machinery rumbling.  

I got up instantly.  My head spun from sitting up too quickly as I tried to pinpoint where the noise was coming from.  As the strange sound grew closer, I could tell the source of the noise was behind me, where the forest was.  It grew louder while I searched the field; the thing was getting so close that I could hear it making more of a whirr than a rumble.  What is that sound?  Suddenly, lights flickered on in the sky and I stood, thinking they must be flashlights, held by people my own size.  But as they neared and the noise grew even louder, more and more light filled the field in front of me.  My hopes of being rescued were short lived at best.  An awful sinking feeling came over me as I realized I was not being saved.  

Helicopters the size of my forearms came barreling up the field faster than I could react.  Blinding floodlights suddenly attacked me from all sides, and I could hear faint unintelligible shouting over the cacophony of the helicopter blades.  I could just make out a man’s voice yelling “Take it down!”  My brain screamed at me to do something, so I did the only thing I could do: run.  I ran like my life depended on it, which it probably might.  I had no time to think; I just ran like mad towards the darkest place I could find, half blinded by light and half blinded by darkness at the same time.  

Through my confusion, I could make out a large shadow ahead of me.  Another part of the mountain range loomed in the dark up ahead and I dashed towards it.  The mountains were a few feet taller than I was; if I could just get further ahead of the helicopters, I could hide in their dark shadows.  With an extra burst of speed, I was able to put enough distance between me and whoever was chasing me to find a place to hide. 

Scrambling over cliffsides, I was able to find a craggy overhang that jutted out significantly from the rest of the mountainside.  The crag cast a large shadow beneath it, big enough for me to fit under.  Quickly, I slid under the overhang, slicing my leg on a rock in the process, but that was the least of my worries.

Alone and in pain, I watched wide-eyed as floodlights circled around overhead.  Whoever was up there searched the ground thoroughly, but I was safe under the cover of the shadows, which only darkened with their lights from above.  Finally, my pursuers split off in different directions, giving me a moment to breathe and think. 

How did they know I was here?  The only answer I could think of was that the people I ran into in the woods earlier had called the army after me.  Or maybe a plane had spotted me overhead and now the government was out to get me.  Whatever happened, one thing was certain: I was stuck there until those helicopters left.  What happens when morning comes?  The thought had only just occurred to me after I'd been sitting there for about an hour.  Once the sun rises they'll easily be able to see me here.  

My only options were to keep running or turn myself in.  If I turned myself in, whoever was searching for me up there would probably lock me away and do experiments on me or whatnot, so I guessed I'd just have to keep running.  I groaned silently at the thought, my legs were tired enough from racing through the field and being hugged up tight to stay under the rock above me, nevermind the fact that my right leg was throbbing from the cut.  Thankfully the slice wasn't too deep, I hadn’t lost too much blood.

I couldn’t tell how long I’d been under the overhang for — not even by the moon; it wasn't in the part of the sky I could see in front of me.  Everything ached from sitting scrunched up under the rocks for so long.  I so badly wanted to stretch myself out, but then it would only be a matter of time before the helicopters spotted me.  Wait.  What was that? 

The noisy churn of an engine silenced my thoughts.  Soon, a rugged vehicle came barreling down the trail that passed by my overhang, seemingly following the helicopters.  It came to a sudden halt as the trail abruptly ended with a wall of rock.  Someone, presumably a park ranger of some kind, stepped angrily out of the car.  "I guess I'll wait out this crazy search party from under here.  Don't know what they're looking for, but it can't be good."

I held very still as a figure stepped beneath the ledge I'd been hiding under.  Really?  I thought, exasperated.  Of all the places someone could stay in the entire mountain range, why did they pick this one?  What are they even doing out here in the middle of the night, anyway?  Silently, I begged him not to notice me, and for a while he didn't.  The man stayed in the front of the overhang, looking out into the dark while I pressed myself into the rocks behind him. 

"Ugh, ew, what did I just sit in?"  A small light flickered on in front of him, illuminating the rock I'd cut myself on.  "Is this.. blood?"  Oh no.  The ranger returned to his truck and a fog light suddenly cut through the shadow I so desperately hid in.  The beam of light traveled agonizingly slowly.  Sliding down the bloody trail, to my leg, then all the way up to my face.  The man gasped and stumbled off the truck once he saw me.  

With the light pointed at my head, all I could see of the man was his silhouette, outlined by the glow of the searchlight as he slowly backed away from me.  "Oh god, oh shit, what are you?  I- You must be what they're looking for up there.”  I held completely still, a bit shocked at how small his voice sounded, though I knew I shouldn’t be.  Step by careful step, the ranger backed away from me until he’d cautiously slid the driver’s seat door open and reached inside.

“Fox Den, this is Scout Four, I have a.. I- I don’t know what to call this in as, but-“  "No, wait!" I cried out, "Don't let them know I'm here!"  Talking only made it worse.  He spoke through his radio in a hurry now, waving his arms wildly at the sky as the helicopters circled back at the sound of my voice.  "IT'S OVER HERE!"  Two of the spotlights to my left turned and started heading my way; I had to stop him.  I didn’t want people searching for me on the ground as well as in the air; they’d find me in no time.

Like a reflex, my hand shot out and grabbed him, but to my surprise he wiggled free and started screaming louder.  The choppers were closing in, there was no time; their droning hum echoed loudly off the cliffs.  I slammed my fist down on the light and reached for him again, grabbing him as tightly as I could and yanking him back under the ledge.  With the floodlight destroyed, the shadows quickly covered any trace that I was there.  A few nerve wracking seconds passed as the spotlights flew by overhead and I breathed a sigh of relief.  They hadn't spotted me.

"Don't scream," I whispered once I felt it was safe, "and I'll let you go, I promise."  I didn't want to scare this poor person.  They were already freaked out enough as it was. The man was silent in my grasp, so I slowly unclenched my fist.  Little snaps and crackles echoed as I released him, and his body limply fell into the palm of my hand.  Oh no.  No, no, no.. 

Quickly, I scrambled into the moonlight, staring in horrified shock as his corpse — mangled beyond recognition — was revealed.  I screamed, dropping his body and clinging to the rocks in terror.  What have I done!?  I desperately rubbed the tears from my eyes as blinding light was thrown into my face for what felt like the millionth time that day. 

"No!" I yelped in terror, "I didn't mean to kill him!  I swear I didn't mean to!"  Choking on a sob, I tried to run blindly, but only tripped and raked my hands over the rocks surrounding me, tearing up my fingers.  Blood trickled over the mountainside as I grasped the rocky cliff to right myself.  I turned to the choppers just in time to see projectiles launching directly at me.

I squeezed my eyes tight as tears streamed down my cheeks.  I could only hope that my death would be quick.  When the projectiles struck, electricity surged through me and I cried out in pain.  They weren't trying to kill me, they were trying to subdue me.  It would be easier for them to drag me away if I were knocked out.  More rounds were fired off as I desperately fought to stay conscious.  I refused to be put under.  But as the second round hit its mark, I spasmed and my vision went dark.

I hope y’all like this because there’s a lot more to come.

[reddamselette]

1.6k words

THE BLADE traveled through each realm. Broken skin that leaked ichor of palms separating the skies, the winds, the seas, death and the afterlife coated silver. Golden drops of ink dripped through their fingers and onto the floors of their abode.

No one had known the reasons they were called. No one dared to ask for a single word wasn’t spoken. Only glances of the Unseen and the Underworld’s witches and deities were stolen. Very few thought it wasn’t possible to feel the mortal emotion of anxious fear. Yet they had. Anxious fear slipping into indestructible bones and flesh that willed to shapeshift and change. 

The uncomfortability increased as the king of the gods began to speak, his words carried by the clouds and echoed like thunder across the waves. Such as the subjects in royalty, one by one, they bowed their heads shutting the blinds of their thoughts to grant privacy. Privacy that was given as mockery for the king gazed at the horizon from his balcony on countless occasions like the skies that see and know all. “I have summoned each one of you here at my request.” He turned as the blade made its way towards the twelve thrones. The blade sliced the hands of grapes stolen, love that was forged by man, and twin chariots in orbit. Lightning rose in the atmosphere, within each syllable like a spell casted. “By the Fates, an oath will be created. An oath that will last for centuries as your presence binds you to these grounds until the end of time.”

Hearts of the divinity ceased to beat as if time rose the depths of hell and froze over. Many had the urge to call out yet none did. Their voices were stolen just as their choice of say had—a choice that was to haunt them for eternity.

The king and queen dipped the point of the blade into their skin, gold poured from their wounds like the rivers that were ruled and was given to the Sun and the Moon. Their fingers of light and darkness enveloped the handle and met in between dawn and dusk, threads of gold and silver tied their bodies and stabilized their feet to the ground.

The Moon pursed her lips, glancing at her brother in concern yet the Sun only remained forward, sparing no look. But she knew. And she understood. Eyes of the stars glowed white as the kingdoms of Olympus, the Seas, and the Underworld fell into a dark ocean of the night sky with winds as cold as ice blowing through in tides. Her voice echoed in the minds of every god and goddess present. “For millennia to come, the creation of the Divine Laws by Fate shall be known and learned, acknowledged and embedded. Listen and listen well: from this day forward, you shall be the subjects to the Moirai…and for that, interference in the lives of your children–demigod and divinity alike, is forbidden. The balance of the realms shall remain untouched until our ashes have been spread throughout chaos. Heartbreak and melancholy seen by the moon will follow if it is broken.”

Vibrant vines of green and the seeds of spring decayed, burned by a burst of heat and flames of a crashed chariot that carried the cries of a familial vow broken apart and tossed away.

By the Sun, his eyes began to glow gold in contrast. Rays of light lessened the darkness of night as colors melted into one another and sun seeped from his body to coat the kingdoms of Olympus, the Sea, and the Underworld in endless heat waves. The palm of his free hand was spread towards the sun as he spoke, his words reverberated and echoed aloud. “Bound by ichor and the cycles of the sun, forbid this oath to never be forgotten. Heed my words and my words alone, no power of three realms in reality shall break it. For if it is broken, tragedy and death seen by the sun will follow. In the name of the Moirai��”

“The oath is sealed.” The Moon dissolved the blade into her palms, one that marked many now coursed through her veins as the ungiven words of agreement were now locked with a key. The threads of gold and silver were released and outrage began.

Many were unfazed. Little was drawn of the blank expressions etched onto their shifting features and returned home. Yet so many mothers failed to move and didn’t dare to shed a tear as threatening glares were shot in the way of those heartless. And so many fathers screamed in distraught. They hadn’t known it then for the phrase had not been invented yet. But the rage of a man was nothing compared to the rage of a woman.

And like it, the gods were unable to abandon their duties.

Days passed agonizingly slow as times changed and less hours were given in the daytime. Time was nothing in the face of grief and the reflection of sadness.

As the sun was to rise in the mortal realm, Light asked in question, "What am I to do if I am no longer able to aid my children as they pray for help?" The Light dimmed as clouds covered the sun, submerging the terrain into casted shadows. He couldn't bear it. The void of warmth he worked so hard to spread among his worshippers and those he favored. Even he hadn't foreseen such a thing happening. Had they purposely hid his eyes beneath a blindfold? To take his sight away as leverage to ensure his obedience?

The Sun shook his head, offering a soft hand on the shoulder of his student and the clouds soon drifted away into blue skies. Yet the light remained dark, its heat scorched the grounds and gravel, dried the plants and threatened to set fire. "You must remain calm, Apollo. It is to prevent your presence in their lives, never to prevent your blessings."

"What does it matter? It is all the same." Apollo sighed deeply, the light brightened overwhelmingly so as the seas glimmered and the winds whistled throughout the mountains. "I envy my sister for never bearing children. But a blind man can tell she grieves just as they do. Just as I do."

Down under in a land disliked and disgusted by many to touch, the Underworld groaned, cracks splitting the grounds apart as tears of lava soaked through. Darkness seemed to have engulfed the lands, all falling silent with no nerve to move as the Underworld trembled in the wake of bound words of ichor. Ichor that burned in his veins like its fiery counterpart. Ichor he would have removed without a second thought.

However, the rage of Death calmed. Embraces of a familiar garden slipped into his skin like liquor, echoes of pomegranate and whispers of promises made late at night. Life held Death in her arms and kissed his cheek with a soft smile. “Do not despair, my love.”

“Damn it all. Damn it all for the forsaken oath only binds us. Never the others. They are too heartless to understand.” In the far distance, Cerberus whined and howled. The three-headed dog laid to rest in the garden of his mother, weeping floods for his father.

Eventually as time passed and none had left the lands where death and its cherished roamed, sleep floated through like a lullaby and the spells of a witch locked herself away, neither never to be seen again. And like an unspoken agreement between those who called it home, Life and Death locked its gates for centuries to come. Only the spirits of passing were allowed to enter with Life, allowed to leave for spring.

Somewhere in the mountains—far, far away from the kingdom known to rip free will from those above it, laid two of its deities.

Words spoken out of admiration and adoration for others, lips were laced with alcohol but the intention was there. "Your daughters must protect those who cannot protect themselves. I ask of you, aware that it is beneath me but please, your daughters must protect ours as well." The vines of grapes and leaves wilted and rotted with wine spilled on stained floors in mourning. A door closed in the heart of his soul, one connected to well-known friends he had made in the time alive. He had little to blame for he would've done the same. It was a shame Wine was unable to become as intoxicated as his followers. He had nothing left but his own sanity to give to embrace what he inflicts.

Fire met fire. Pleading flames and uncomfortable, searing hot flames like the light of the sun that shone. Flames itched for a spear, a dagger coated in the iron of his enemies, of the abusers and ill of his daughters. He could no longer travel or teach his warriors all they could know. War had never wanted to leave their lives alone like mortals because they would have eternity as he did. Yet he was forbidden to grant everlasting life. War clenched his fists, blazing eyes set on marble. "I will do what I am able to, friend. Had it been on my own terms with choice, I'd subject the lands in endless bloodshed."

Over time, writers gifted with artistic ability and those lucky enough to experience these events wrote of the oath. Legends painted in quill and ink onto coffee brown paper. None had ever gotten close to the truth.

Lost in thousands of years of mystery and text, none had ever discovered what led to the truth. It begged the question.

What harmed the balance of all mortal and divine to drive the Sun and Moon to oversee an oath and create the laws known as Fate?

[converse-universe]

May I introduce you to Marianas Trench and their brand new song Lightning and Thunder. If someone doesn’t make an absolutely epic Good Omens video with this song…

I wish I knew how to do it myself, honestly.

I mean read the damn lyrics:

It was so faint that I

Thought that it didn't work

I said it's okay but I

Missed that you saw it first

And it felt like it took forever

Now this moment's all we've got

So can we just stay awhile

A second's faster than we thought

Twist of fate

In the dark

Face to face

With who we are

Put away

What we lost

Compensate

With what we got

All it takes

Just get through one last show

Before our hearts both break

And we can both let go

And jump

Now we're falling

We'll never ever be the same

Fate is calling

It's turning burning in my veins

It's stronger and harder

Than lightning and thunder

And this is only just beginning

I'm afraid of

What if it isn't what it takes

But what we're made of

You cut it but it never breaks

It's stronger and harder

Than lightning and thunder

And this is only just beginning

I guess I felt estranged

Couple of years go by and now so much has changed

But sometimes I feel my mother and father in the room

It's like their hands are on my shoulders

So I think they feel us too

Twist of fate

In the dark

Face to face

With who we are

Put away

What we lost

Compensate

With what we got

All it takes

Just get through one last show

Before our hearts both break

And we can both let go

And jump

Now we're falling

We'll never ever be the same

Fate is calling

It's turning burning in my veins

It's stronger and harder

Than lightning and thunder

And this is only just beginning

I'm afraid of

What if it isn't what it takes

But what we're made of

You cut it but it never breaks

It's stronger and harder

Than lightning and thunder

And this is only just beginning

This is only just beginning

This is only just beginning

Lightning and thunder

Yeah

So, yeah. Also why is every song about them? This one hit me personally because it’s uplifting and hopeful, but it sure matches Aziraphale and Crowley too!

Okay. Enough random ramblings. Please enjoy this great song.

[faelliely]

Relationship: Lightning McQueen/Jackson Storm

Rating: E

Jackson’s the only one who can possibly understand, the only one who’s broken his records. They’re the fastest men alive and gambling your life for a living means everything else dulls by comparison. Maybe he’s fucked up for wanting this, but he can’t blame himself for yearning the thrill, needing to feel alive.

The race had barely ended when that signature jet black sports car rolled up outside his trailer, tinted windows down and electric track pulsing through the stereo at max volume, the deep rumble of the engine rattling the door frame Lightning was leaning against. Neither of them had even had time to change out of their race suits, the adrenaline of over 200 m/ph still singing in Lightning’s veins.

“Hey, champ,” The rookie took a deep drag of his vape, exhaling the smoke around his words. “Get in.”

And he’d be lying if he didn’t say everything about Jackson’s aggravating personality was kind of hot. Really hot. Rolling his eyes he slid into the passenger seat, threw a poorly-formed excuse back at his crew when they asked if he was really going somewhere with his rival, and Jackson slammed the pedal to the floor, the idling engine roaring to life as they tore away from the track and into the twilight.

Weaving in and out of traffic, Lightning had no idea where they were going, but naively trusted that the other knew what he was doing. There was no way they were obeying the speed limit, Jackson running every red and downshifting to rev the engine as he crossed the double line to pass slower vehicles. Driving like an absolute dick, though Lightning knew he could trust his control, that this was child's play to the talented rookie. Despite his cool demeanor, casually smoking with one elbow resting on the window sill, eyes lidded and lazily gripping the wheel, Lightning knew he was showing off.

And it was working. Unfazed and competent, dark hair in his eyes, shit-eating grin on his pretty face as the smoke curled past his lips. He was raw sex appeal, and the heady bass was hardly the only thing thumping in Lightning’s heart.

They pulled into a parking garage and Jackson killed the engine, beckoning the other to follow him wordlessly. Lightning had barely taken a step into Jackson’s hotel room when the other was on him, fisting one hand in the front of his suit and slamming him up against the closing door, forcing it shut and crushing their lips together.

When they’d started this, Lightning had been taken aback by how aggressive Jackson had been in every aspect of the act. Now he recognised it as passion, craved the energy, gave back as good as he got.

As they broke for air Lightning dragged down the zipper on his own suit, exposing his overheating skin as Jackson latched on to the column of his neck, dragging his tongue up his thundering pulse and sinking his teeth in below his jawline. They had an agreement to no marks where the cameras might see, which meant of course the rookie pushed that boundary every single time they did this.

He’s still so riled up from their race. Lightning hauls him back in for another bruising kiss, tasting the bitter chemical of the vape mixed with a spice that was undeniably him, forcing his tongue past his teeth in an attempt to claim some dominance and taste more. In response he’s pushed to his knees, Jackson shedding his suit over his defined muscles and dragging all 8 inches of his cock out to slap it against Lightning’s face like a complete fuckboy. Three barbells through the frenulum and a ring through the head, because of course a pretentious prick like Jackson Storm had a pierced dick.

They’ve done this enough times now for him to know the drill. Lightning runs his tongue across each piece of metal and swallows down as much as he can in one go, Jackson letting his head fall back so he can look down his nose at him. “You look pretty good from this angle, at my feet.”

Lightning snorts derisively, letting his teeth scrape the underside in retaliation. “Don’t get used to it.”

Jackson roughly fists his blonde hair, forcing him down his length, tears springing in Lightning’s eyes as he struggles to take everything he’s given.

“Don’t tell me our veteran can’t handle me?” Jacskon coos, relentlessly guides the immense length of him past his lips until he chokes. “Oh wait, we already knew that, mister second place.”

It’s always the same kinds of insults, but the humiliation burns through him hotter than any other sex he’s ever had. Lightning thinks there must be something wrong with him, to want this from the man who’s taking everything from him. Knows he’s only a few months off retirement if he can’t keep pace with this asshole, still wants him as deep in his body as he is in his head.

They impatiently move to the spacious double bed and Jackson carelessly tosses him the small bottle from his luggage, makes himself comfortable against the headboard while Lightning shamelessly crawls atop him, so turned on he’s able to slide two fingers into himself with little resistance. He keens, canting his hips forwards so he can feel those barbells drag against his hardness. Can see the thick desire in Jackson’s eyes even as he won’t let himself reward Lightning with any kind of noise.

Personality aside, Jackson is everything he craves. Conventionally attractive, fit, over 6 foot, skilled, sharp and smart, exudes that bad boy aura. But Lightning’s also everything Jackson desires, too. Being in his thirties is hardly old, barely a line on his youthful face, and Lightning’s always been a pretty boy; Jackson knows, had his poster on his wall since he was a kid, was arguably his sexual awakening in his teens. He secretly owns every model spread, not that he’ll ever admit it. But to have the real Lightning McQueen under him like this, to be able to break the legend both on the track and here. It’s the biggest rush of his life, more than just winning, more than being the best.

When Jackson ruthlessly slides the entire length of his cock home in one go, Lightning chokes out a moan, strangled and breathless. He can feel his heart racing, feels every one of those piercings pop past his rim, can barely hear the other mocking him over the white noise ringing in his ears.

“Nobody else gets it. Only I can fuck you like this. Not your fans. Not your dead mentor. Definitely not your little absentee girlfriend. Me.”

And that’s really it, isn’t it. Jackson’s the only one who can possibly understand, the only one who’s broken his records. They’re the fastest men alive and gambling your life for a living means everything else dulls by comparison. Maybe he’s fucked up for wanting this, but he can’t blame himself for yearning the thrill, needing to feel alive.

“I fu-” Lightning drops his head onto his forearms, grits his teeth and whines into the hot air. “-cking hate you.”

Lightning may loathe the man, wants to grind him into the dirt with everything he has, but he’ll never say no to him, to this. Knows he’ll never feel this with anyone else.

“I know. Now shut up, you’re killing my boner.”

Lightning knows it’s a lie, that the rookie loves it when he talks back, doesn’t want a kill unless it’s a fight. Jackson slides his thumb in beside his cock and pulls, Lightning’s jaw dropping in a silent scream. It’s so much, too much.

“Mm, it hurts.” Lightning moans, hands scrabbling for purchase on the comforter as Jackson drags him wider, can feel his orgasm rush up to meet him with the pain of it.

He’s felt himself fly, weightless as he’s thrown back in his seat, the smooth exhilarating hum of his car beneath him as he went faster than anyone before him. It’s not too dissimilar, he thinks, to how it feels to get lost in this pleasure, thrilling and mindless, a rush that leaves him operating on instinct and desire.

Jackson’s thrusts are relentless and deep, piercings grinding against his prostate and making him see stars. Lightning’s eyes are wet with tears, rolling down his face, he glances back to see Jackson’s wolfish grin and hungry eyes drinking in the sight of him shaking apart. Lightning can feel the other get impossibly harder inside him at his tears, smiles with all his teeth when the pace only gets rougher.

Jackson wraps one race-callused hand around his throat and rumbles that deep baritone against the shell of his ear and he’s gone.

“Come.”

His head spins as he comes from his cock alone, keening and spattering the crisp hotel sheets. With the pressure against his windpipe he can’t breathe, gasping through the throes, sending him higher. It’s easily the hardest he’s ever come, his vision whiting.

“Guess you are faster than me after all, old timer.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Barking a laugh Jackson fills him with warmth, rasping a curse, grip on his hips bruising as he drives home. Lightning feels his cock twitch in interest as it leaks out of him and drips to the bedspread, right before Jackson pulls out and pettily pushes him into the splatters of their own come. Lightning gives an unmanly shriek as the cold liquid contacts his heated skin, just makes Jackson laugh more.

It plays with him more than it should, being drawn close, intimate after what they’ve just done. This is meant to be a quick fuck for relief, not anything more. Still jolts through him when the rookie draws him in for a long, slow kiss, wiping away his residual tears with his thumb.

“Thanks, babe.” Jackson murmurs between kisses, winding their fingers together and making Lightning’s heart skip a beat. That is until he uses that hand for leverage, pushing Lightning off the bed and ruining his afterglow, giving him a sharp, patronising smack to his ass.

“Now get out.”

[eclipseofthemoonsmood]

Together Against The Sisters ( TTS Oneshot/ War AU )

So uh yeah I was cleaning and this song came on and I got the idea for this and decided why not write it and post it here too? I'm also on Wattpad as DisneyReferenceQueen :3 Hope you'll enjoy?

Corona was on the verge of eternal darkness. The dark sunlight shone down on the doomed kingdom. Rays etched in shadow light spread across the land. An eclipse was happening in the sky.

Something awful had happened. 

Cassandra, wielder of the moonstone, and Princess Rapunzel, incarnation of the Sundrop, had both been possessed by a great evil against their wills. A demon, Zhan Tiri, had etched herself into their souls, so that they might become her Generals to lead the armageddon against the world.

The rest of Corona, powerless against these possessed wilelders of Godlike powers, were forced to do the one thing that would save them. But also leave an eternal scar on their kingdom. 

They had to kill the Princess, and her half sister. Cassandra. The two possessed sisters were now under the demons control, waging eternal darkness and fire for the world. Corona was forced to wage war against them.

There was no dawn on this eve of war. No sun rose over the horizon to start this battle that would surely be the end. Captain Eugene Fitzherbert and his Lieutenant, who was also the Royal Engineer of Weaponry, Varian, were leading the charge. There they stood with an army of a thousand. Cascades of dark light shone over their gleaming golden armor as they stood at the edge of the palace courtyard.

 A giant black rock potruded from the great wall of the castle, and there stood the two possessed sisters. 

Rapunzel’s golden hair glowed almost a burning bright color, it almost didn’t seem to contain healing powers, it was almost as if the powers had reverted to harmful products. It was like it burned the same heat as the sun. Her once green eyes were now completely black. Reflecting the demon that had a hold on her soul. 

Cassandra stood next to her, her black rock armor and blue hair bright as her pale skin reflected moonlight itself. 

Captain Eugene Fitzherbert and Lieutenant Engineer Varian stood with stone cold gazes on the two girls. The only thing that betrayed their cold eyes was a single tear cascading down their face.

 It seemed as if everyone’s souls, including the tainted, were harmonizing and lamenting over the coming bloodshed.

Varian stepped forward, his eyes showing hurt and sadness and guilt as he looked Rapunzel and Cassandra. His voice rang out against the silent air. “ Moon, enlighten the night,

the dark side of light,

I gave you devotion, my blood and my life.

I trusted your stars,

they were once my guide,

but now they are falling along with the Sun-”

Eugene stepped forward next, his voice raw with emotion against his lover.

“ Keeper of flame,

breaker of day,

I gave you my sword, my heart and my faith.

But now the sky is burning,

And I scream and wonder

when did your fire become so (cold)?

Cold winds will come like a storm,”

Both of the men’s voices harmonized at the demon possessed sisters.

“ destroying everything, everyone we love.

Time has come to recall,

the days of old,

when both, day and night, were bound by the dawn.”

Eugene: “We are the mountains, the woods, the fields” 

Varian: “We are the rivers, the shore and the sea..” 

Eugene: “What's worth fighting for?!”

Varian: “The reason to win?”

Both: “our land, our home, the air we breath!”

Eugene: “May thunder be our voice!”

Varian: “With lightning in our veins!”

Both: “Our hearts our beating power, roaring our claim!”

Eugene: "What lives beneath the sun,”

Varian: “Is written in the stars!".

Eugene: ”Why can't you understand?”

Both: “One by one, we'll fight

Side by side, we'll fight

Together!~”

[GUITAR SOLO]

And so the battle begun. Fleets of royal guards and drafted soldiers stormed up the steps of the kingdom. Rapunzel lassoed two men with her hair, the golden hair burned brighter with evil light and the men groaned. They seemed to be getting burned by the power. Cassandra flicked her hand and a dozen sharp black rocks burst from the ground. 

And so, the war waged. It was not recorded how many hours the battle went on. For the sun and moon did not set or rise throughout the battle. But it felt like hundreds. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was a thousand. 

Then it happened.

Suddenly the bloodshed stopped. The bodies were buried. The sun and moon separated. And for the first time in what seemed like years, the sun rose and the moon dawned on the kingdom. 

But at what cost?

Varian and Eugene, both scarred and battle beaten and bruised, emerged from the demolished palace, war torn faces grim and broken, but victorious. 

Both Varian and Eugene: 

“A new day shines, 

the storm has gone,

May rain wash away all the pain from our souls…

Time has come for rebirth,

to rise like the sun,

From now, day and night, will be bound by the dawn.”

******************

Anyway yeah that- that could've been better I wrote this in like a span of 20 minutes I swear I can write better.

[stormchsr]

A few things have happened recently that have caused me to reminisce about the past which led me to how I started writing. A long and interesting story but I won't bore you. Instead I will post some of my old poetry starting with the one that inspired my screen name that I have used since I discovered the internet, many years ago.

~

~~~~ Untamed Passion

~

Lightning streaked across the sky

Thunder crashed the night

She moaned softly in my arms

I understood her plight

~

Somehow the power of nature

Was coursing through her veins

It drew her like a magnet

She could not fight its reins

~

She was not the type of woman

To seek shelter safe and warm

She grabbed my arm, we raced together

Into the fury of the storm

~

A bolt of lightning pierced the night

Some would call us both insane

But our passion mounted with the storm

As we made love in the rain

~

The storm was now upon us

The lightning very near

But our screams of passion

Were the only sounds that I could hear

~

On and on the tempest raged

Till with it we were one

Storm and souls and fused together

When it all was done

~

The storm had gone, it could not match

The strength of our desire

Torrents of rain could not begin

To quench the fire

~

This time we made love more slowly

There was no need to race

But in our hearts we hoped tomorrow

Would bring another storm to chase.

~

~~~~~ Del Reed... aka Stormchsr

[poem-today]

A poem by Isaac Rosenberg

Dead Man’s Dump

The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketed with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And the rusty stakes like sceptres old To stay the flood of brutish men Upon our brothers dear. The wheels lurched over sprawled dead But pained them not, though their bones crunched, Their shut mouths made no moan. They lie there huddled, friend and foeman, Man born of man, and born of woman, And shells go crying over them From night till night and now. Earth has waited for them, All the time of their growth Fretting for their decay: Now she has them at last! In the strength of their strength Suspended—stopped and held. What fierce imaginings their dark souls lit? Earth! have they gone into you! Somewhere they must have gone, And flung on your hard back Is their soul’s sack Emptied of God-ancestralled essences. Who hurled them out? Who hurled? None saw their spirits’ shadow shake the grass, Or stood aside for the half used life to pass Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth, When the swift iron burning bee Drained the wild honey of their youth. What of us who, flung on the shrieking pyre, Walk, our usual thoughts untouched, Our lucky limbs as on ichor fed, Immortal seeming ever? Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us, A fear may choke in our veins And the startled blood may stop. The air is loud with death, The dark air spurts with fire, The explosions ceaseless are. Timelessly now, some minutes past, Those dead strode time with vigorous life, Till the shrapnel called ‘An end!’ But not to all. In bleeding pangs Some borne on stretchers dreamed of home, Dear things, war-blotted from their hearts. Maniac Earth! howling and flying, your bowel Seared by the jagged fire, the iron love, The impetuous storm of savage love. Dark Earth! dark Heavens! swinging in chemic smoke, What dead are born when you kiss each soundless soul With lightning and thunder from your mined heart, Which man’s self dug, and his blind fingers loosed? A man’s brains splattered on A stretcher-bearer’s face; His shook shoulders slipped their load, But when they bent to look again The drowning soul was sunk too deep For human tenderness. They left this dead with the older dead, Stretched at the cross roads. Burnt black by strange decay Their sinister faces lie, The lid over each eye, The grass and coloured clay More motion have than they, Joined to the great sunk silences. Here is one not long dead; His dark hearing caught our far wheels, And the choked soul stretched weak hands To reach the living word the far wheels said, The blood-dazed intelligence beating for light, Crying through the suspense of the far torturing wheels Swift for the end to break Or the wheels to break, Cried as the tide of the world broke over his sight. Will they come? Will they ever come? Even as the mixed hoofs of the mules, The quivering-bellied mules, And the rushing wheels all mixed With his tortured upturned sight. So we crashed round the bend, We heard his weak scream, We heard his very last sound, And our wheels grazed his dead face.

Isaac Rosenberg (1890-1918)

Isaac Rosenberg died in the Battle of Arras on April 1st, 1918.

[mysteroads]

Summary: Charles is having a perfectly relaxing day off, until he gets a text from Lydia asking if he knows how to set a broken bone. Emergency Dad Mode is activated.

It was the perfect sort of day to relax at home.

Charles Deetz sipped his tea and watched rain hammer down as if it had a personal grudge against the entire world. Lightning forked across the sky, almost instantly followed by the type of booming, kettledrum thunder that sent adrenaline zipping through the veins of anyone caught under it. Charles relished the tiny thrill, then took another smug sip. Yes, this was indeed perfect.

A thud above his head that was not from thunder interrupted his quiet. Frowning, he glanced up. Another thud. Were the Maitlands moving things again? They’d said they were planning on staying in bed today to better enjoy the storm, much as he was doing. Perhaps they’d gotten bored. Well, he didn’t mind if they rearranged the entire house, so long as they didn’t ask him for help. Not today. Today was his day off, and he intended to do absolutely nothing.

Then his phone chimed. Frowning, he went to the end table by the sofa where he’d left it plugged in. He’d left it on ‘do not disturb’, so the only ones who could contact him were emergency services, Delia, and Lydia. Delia, out shopping with some art buddies, knew better than to text him today, and Lydia was supposed to be out of cell service herself until this evening. The text was from Lydia, and it made his blood run to ice.

Did that CERT thingy you went to last month cover broken bones?

He dropped his tea in his haste to call her. His frantic call immediately went to voicemail and he received an automated text: Can’t talk now, sorry! :) A few seconds later, he got a real text from Lydia, I’m fine, Dad. Chill.

Collapsing onto the couch, he let out a long sigh, looking sadly at the puddle of spilled tea soaking into the carpet. After getting his heart under control, he texted back. Yes it did. Why do you ask?

Because BJ broke his arm.

Again, his heart seemed to stop for a second, but he recovered more quickly this time. Beetlejuice had become part of the household after his (sudden, but inevitable) return a month after the infamous ‘moving in week’. Charles had reluctantly learned to accept the mischievous monster because Lydia adored him and the feeling was mutual. It helped that “BJ”, now out from under his curse of invisibility and freed from an obviously abusive parent, was more hyperactive than murderously manic. He could actually be funny sometimes. But Charles hadn’t realized that the demon could be injured beyond quickly healed scrapes or comedically removed limbs. Exhausted from magical overuse, yes, but injured?

How did that happen? 

Too long to text. Can you come up here and help me? Hurry, please.

They were back? Charles blinked in surprise, then emergency parent mode activated in his brain and he heaved himself to his feet and into the kitchen, where their big first aid kit was kept. Lydia and Beetlejuice had been to the Neitherworld, and had planned to spend the day there. That they were back so soon spoke to real trouble. 

He raced up the stairs and to Lydia’s door. He paused to catch his breath and calm himself down, remembering the CERT training. Staying calm was the most important thing. You couldn’t help anyone if you were too panicked to think clearly. As he let his heart slow down, he heard Lydia through the door: “Don’t bother with the glamor, Beej. You said you need all the energy you can get to heal, didn’t you?” The words didn’t really register with him, only the worried tone, so when he opened the door he was taken completely by surprise.

Beetlejuice sat on the floor next to Lydia’s mirror, hair white with streaks of sickly yellow, one arm held tight against his chest. There were other changes to his appearance, major changes, but Charles didn’t get a chance to really take them in because the startled demon made a shoving motion with one hand and sent him flying out of the door and into the wall outside. THe door slammed after him.

“Beej!” Lydia shrieked. 

Groaning, he rubbed the back of his head, feeling a dull throb he knew would turn into a full body ache later. The door flew open and Lydia rushed out to him. “Dad! Dad, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, looking around for the first aid kit. It was a few feet away, luckily unscathed. “Maybe I should’ve knocked.”

“I should’ve warned you” she apologized. “He didn’t want me to tell anyone.”

“Because I’m fine!” snarled Beetlejuice, his voice even raspier than usual.

“No you’re not!” Lydia snapped over her shoulder. “Shut up and sit still, dumbass.”

Beetlejuice answered with a snarl. 

Charles stood up with a hand up from Lydia, rubbed his face, and grabbed the first aid kit. Then he looked at Beetlejuice. ‘Don’t bother with the glamor,’ she had said. Now he understood what she meant. 

Beetlejuice had never looked normal, but he’d been human enough. The… being huddled next to the mirror was definitely not human. How he’d hidden those truly impressive fangs and claws all this time was a true mystery. And those eyes. Charles did his best not to stare. Yesterday, he would’ve said Beetlejuice had yellow eyes. They weren’t yellow. They were gold as pirate doubloons and harvest moons, and just as luminous.

Remember, Charles, be calm. Taking a firmer grip on the kit, he headed into the room and knelt down next to Beetlejuice. The demon huddled back away from him. He had long, pointed ears, currently pressed tight back against his head. Charles would never admit it aloud, but they reminded him of a frightened puppy, and on any other person he’d call them cute. But that wasn’t what was important. He turned his attention on the arm Beetlejuice held against his chest.

“Will you let me help?” he asked, careful to keep his voice mild. 

....

[pwblogarchive]

September 2008

September 1, 2008

“are you ‘the rooster of illusion’ or a wild goose in a chase?”

im awake in their time and on your time too lately.

while you plan a puzzle it can be harder to put together when the pieces keep changing on their own. they all fit together. they all make sense in some way. even if they dont.

what if its a decoy to distract us from something fifty times bigger?

come on.

answers by monday or some rookie leaves their gun and badge on the desk forever.

600XX

Posted by xoat 1:42 AM

September 3, 2008

i am in love with the city that raised me.

seriously.

it messes with my head every time i am away.

i miss that place. the way eyes look and hugs from friends feel there.

boomerang my head. back to the city i grew up in.

Posted by xoat 1:20 AM

September 12, 2008

“fuck me gently with a chainsaw”

Been reading bret ellis lately.

i can almost see it. elvis costello watching you at my window.

one red. one blue.

lenses or pills im not quite sure as of late.

Sometimes I think I need you more than I should.

The elephant in the room is going off inside my chest.

Icicles in my fingertips.

Always feeling like we are just waiting on the world to end.

I wish this was easier.

I'm terrified you'll regret your best intentions.

"You are the reason behind my smile".

I've never grown up.

Stuck inside the palm of a fortune teller.

I'd tell you the future of everything.

If I only had a clue.

Real or imaginary.

Sometimes I'm not sure who is real and who is realistic.

Sometimes I feel each and every mile in my veins.

Counting the tiles on the bathroom floor.

Recounts of every attempt to quiet the world for just a little bit.

What would your mom say about the mess you (really) are?

Hide and go seek sickness (30 day detox).

What's wrong is the only thing that has ever felt right.

I (don't) wanna

I w(on't)ill let myself sometimes

Pull a hood up and turn the volume up on the headphones

Think of what it'd be like not to think at all

A funeral built for two

shudders in the thunder

lightning in our words

(you make my hair stand on end)

sabotage my head (it is an inside job)

ransom (letters) in bottles

letters sealed with broken hearts and tears

we're the dreamers that never win

make believe your way out of this

this isn't over by a longshot.

it's like a car crash in reverse.

or maybe even in slow motion

either way you don't see me coming.

but you always know the way fear tastes in your throat.

It's the end of the summer and I'm feeling (self) destructive.

Unsupervised and unwise

push it to the edge.

feel the rush of almost giving in.

I'm only at my best when I'm at my worst

Hot and cold flashes

indecisive choices

the red or blue pill

let's take them all and really escape reality.

let's hang out in the bottom of a well

rescue MEmories.

Posted by xoat 7:11 PM

September 20, 2008

“she”

was the saddest girl to ever hold a martini.

Posted by xoat 3:08 AM

September 21, 2008

“to you (unfinished, off the top of my head)”

It all started with some friends

a kick drum inside my ribs

Hes preaching electric into a microphone stand

Raise your red plastic cup

And Turn the laughter up

We fell asleep in the grass on the summer fest days

You'd never guess I'm still trying to get my head screwed on straight

All us believers still believe

Everytime we sing it loud

Someone shoulda thrown us in a cell and swallowed the key

Somebody shoulda told us to leave em be

They'll tell you everything about last night that you forget

I'm not ready for things to change

I miss you missing me in the good old days

Got stuck in the cell of you and me

I guess it still beat solitary

-----Worry worry

Put my head in such a f(l)urry

Freckle freckle

What makes you so special-------

One of these days yr gonna wake up in heaven

Laugh about that night you got four stitches above your eye

Never trust a friend that wouldn't bleed for you

Never believe in anyone who wouldn't drive through the night

(To you)

They never tell you in school you'll feel so alone

Wake me up again when were in the same time zone

The way I'd take a cornfield over a coast

Mulitply me times what you adore most

There were nights between yellow lines

When I confessed to you riding shotgun asleep under purple skies

They say

You get what you get

Well we Got lost in the middle of nowhere And you almost quit

Tonight Come together

Come apart

You can get lonely when u

Only read the charts

Called everybody I knew in this life

Can we get it together just for tonite

I miss old friends and "play it agains"

Please Send my love,

to everyone above

Posted by xoat 1:31 AM

September 25, 2008

“impulse writer.”

i feel like all three companions of dorothy combined in one- the heartless, brainless, gutless mess. i read a letter today where someone said they thought of me or prayed for me every night. i dont know how to take that. but this gutless, brainless, heartless mess feels lucky to even come across your mind. so thanks. thats it. good night. im not going to sleep..... but ill be quiet.

September 26, 2008

friends are the third most important thing to you next to your heartbeat and love...

a friend told me today:

Do you know the replacements song "they're blind". Its probably my favorite lyric ever about being on XXXX XXXXXX.

"The things you hold dearly are scoffed at and yearly judged once and then cast aside.

'Cause they're blind, they hold you too close to the light

And I see what they only might if they'd learn but they're letting you burn 'cos they're blind."

headlikeaholeblackareyoursoleidratherdiethangiveyoucontrol.

September 27, 2008

“impulse writer.”

i feel like all three companions of dorothy combined in one- the heartless, brainless, gutless mess. when we talk you like to throw my name in there, even though its just us. i dont know how to take that. but this gutless, brainless, heartless mess feels lucky to even come across your mind. so thanks. thats it. good night. im not going to sleep..... but ill be quiet.

(p.s.ithinkiwoulddrivethroughthenighttoyou)

Posted by xoat 3:09 AM

[victorianpining]

Chapter Twenty-One: Pure Lunacy

He looked at me. It sounds so ordinary, doesn’t it? ...But it did something to me, that one small glance. I felt it crackling over my skin like the skittering fingers of a lightning strike, the base rumbling of thunder humming in my chest. His eyes met mine and everything was more than it had been a moment before. The wind had always been there but I was suddenly hyper-aware of it caressing my skin, could taste the salt air on my tongue, could see the fragments of light glistening on the innumerable pebbles making up that lonely shore, could feel each and every beat of my heart, imagined I could hear the echo of his in perfect synchrony. It felt like I was the one who had just come back to life after a century underwater. Like I had been drowning, and he was air...

If you thought Watson had it bad...

But perhaps in your blood, perhaps stories flow in our veins, if you know how to read them...

Given the unique combination of this story's premise and its highly unreliable narrator, The Stories in Our Veins is a bit difficult to talk about in any amount of detail without spoiling it. Suffice it to say, it is a BBC Dracula inspired retelling of Holmes and Watson's romance that begins with Dr. John H. Watson traveling to Professor Moriarty's castle in Transylvania in hopes of securing a promising opportunity for his future and that steadily unravels from there.

This fic is a passion project if there ever was one. More than two years of my life have gone into planning, writing, and refining it, and at many points I despaired that I would ever be able to create something on par with the swirling, nebulous ideas that led me to take on the project to begin with. I never would have gotten there in the end without the emotional and editorial support of my beta readers, particularly @queerholmcs, @consultingwives, and @sightofsea. You all have my undying gratitude ♥️

To the rest, I bid you enjoy 🍷

Read The Stories in Our Veins on AO3

Listen to the soundtrack on Spotify

Cover art by the ever amazing @clytemenestras ✍🏽

[slumberdazed]

LUCIEN DELVAUX

witch. 23 years old. on the run | tag: #oc: lucien delvaux

paired with: stefan salvatore (tvd) / kai parker (tvd)

raw magic running through your veins. ancient witch coven. having a strained relationship with your parents because you accidentally absorbed their powers at birth and now they want to kill you. running, running, always running. being saved as a child by sheila bennet. missing mystic falls but never being able to return. being hunted all the way to the salvatore house with a stab wound and a smile. lightning storms and the pouring rain. the colour gold dripping into bright reds. trying so hard to push away the fear and bitterness, but not always succeeding. resilience. refusing to die, or be sacrificed in vain. drinking champagne you can't afford. longing so desperately to stay in one place. being pulled toward the darkness even though all you emanate is light, burning hot and ever bright.

playlist: the lightning in my veins, the thunder in our hearts