#which is more invasive so it makes sense it bruised

[nondivisable]

I forgot how easily I bruised. people were so concerned about me today (bigass bruise on my arm) and I had to be like "oh no I just got a shot"

[oracle-of-dream]

(switch ceo!jay request!) (sub/bttm leaning) ceo!jay who was being escorted out of an event after drunk man jumped on stage while giving his speech, almost successfully attacking jay if not for the reader stopping him in time. heading home, jay felt tired and took a shower, after getting out he sees the reader on the couch and decides to sit beside him, while doing so he finds a bruise on his forearm, feeling guilty he offers to nurse it himself, the readwr refuses but after a bit of back and forth he managed to get the reader to sit sitll while he gets an icepack. and while they're sitting there, they just casually have a conversation, making intense eye contact, the readers staring at jay's lips which he notices. one thing leads to another, and suddenly they're making out.

u can decide how the smut part will go 😭 i'm not very good at it, but ik and can trust in ur abilities! pls take ur time, have a wonderful day and i hope ur not feeling pressured w all the requests coming in! :]

CEO's Bodyguard

Summary: It's your job to keep Jay safe. It's another large-scale meeting with many guests–more like potential hazards. Keep him safe, and bring him home. That's all you're concerned about.

Warnings: Male Reader, CEO!Jay, Bodyguard!Reader, Slight Violence, Blowjob (Jay Rec.), Cum swallowing, Forced Deepthroat, Begging, Control Switching/Power dynamics, Hair Pulling, Spanking, Breeding

Wordcount: 3.59k

"Welcome, and thank you all for coming," Jay said. The room gave applause to receive him. He raised his hand to silence the room. Jay led into his speech, which he'd practiced multiple times while you drove him from place to place. You'd heard it what felt like a hundred times. Your knees and back ached from standing for so long. It was necessary for Jay's safety, you're number one priority. Most of your duties were more like being Jay's secretary, even as his bodyguard he always gave you tasks to take it easy on you.

You've worked for Jay over the last year and a half. Jay's father became unable to lead his company anymore, forcing Jay to take over. As a young CEO, more than a few people were willing to try and take advantage of him. Jay's nature, or his hate for people attempting to manipulate him, has made him enemies who would rather see him removed from power. Jay started hiring bodyguards a while ago but ended up firing each after a few weeks. The interview process was invasive and dismissive; a one-on-one meeting with Jay. Alone. He probed you with strange and meticulous questions; ranging from your family and friends to your finances. Jay always seemed to know more about everything than everyone else. He was extremely well-informed and investigated you for your interview. But the last question was the one that stuck out to you.

"Finally, y/n. This is your last question. If our lives get entangled, closer than originally anticipated, would you still be able to do your job?" Jay asked.

You tilted your head. "Entangled how?"

"...If you were to, seek a deeper relationship with me."

You straightened up rigidly. "O-Oh! I'd never dream of it, sir! I must protect you."

"But, if it were to happen, will it impede your work."

"Never! I'd protect you, in whatever situation!" You were a little desperate for a job, and more than willing to say whatever you needed to. You didn't think twice about it when you said it, but afterward, you couldn't stop thinking about the response you'd given. Or, why would he ask a question like that?

You were so lost in thought, you didn't realize someone was approaching the stage! A man, clearly drunk, stumbled as he made his way up the stairs behind the stage. Jay was so focused on his speech that he wasn't aware, not that it was his responsibility to be... There was no time to rush backstage and run after the man, you'd have to approach from the front!

You rushed the stage. Jay's eyes snapped to you, he maintained his cool but you could sense his concern. You jumped on stage, rolling cleanly, and you stood between Jay and the man.

"You don't deserve that spot!" He shouted as he swung at Jay.

You blocked the man's swing. He grabbed your other arm and twisted it, making you grit your teeth as you connected a blow to the man's head and his head slammed into your chin. The man fell to the ground and you caught him. You kept the man from hitting his head and dragged him away. Jay cracked a joke about the man having too much to drink and carried on with his speech, this time with you standing at a distance behind him on stage. As he concluded his speech, you directed him offstage.

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the unconscious man. "What was that about?"

"Just someone who had a bit too much to drink. Let's get home, for now, sir. You've got an early morning tomorrow."

Jay sighed. "Of course I do..." You guided him to the exit, and your employer said their goodbyes to his business partners. He was always so good at keeping a smile, even when he was more than a bit exhausted. You'd seen him run on no sleep for almost two days, having back-to-back meetings all day, and still kept his face up. The night sky was empty, the stars hidden behind the skyscrapers. Jay looked up at the sky, searching, as you had a valet bring the car forward.

Jay spoke without looking back to the ground. "Do you ever think about what it would be like to see a star up close, y/n?"

"I don't think I have, sir."

"I think... It would be the most beautiful thing ever." You didn't know how to respond, especially when he got into moods like this. It didn't happen often in front of you, but maybe it was a sign that he was getting comfortable around you. Sometimes he'd ask you philosophical questions throughout an entire car ride, most rhetorical as he knew you didn't know what to say.

The two of you stood in silence until the car arrived. Following protocol, you scanned the inside and outside for anything suspicious. Once you confirmed its safety, you opened the door for Jay and allowed him into the car. In the driver's seat, the car was programmed to navigate you back to Jay's penthouse. You drove without a word, but the pain in your jaw kept flaring every few minutes... That bastard might've bruised your jaw or even broken a tooth. Another thing to take care of now...

"You okay?"

Jay's voice snapped you out of the autopilot you were in. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. What did you need?"

"You keep touching your chin and rolling your jaw. Are you okay?"

You could see Jay staring at you in the mirror. "It's nothing to worry about. I think I just scratched myself earlier."

Jay's eyebrows furrowed but he turned and looked out the window. "I can't have my bodyguard getting banged up. If you're not able to take care of yourself, who will protect me?"

"If I remember correctly. When you hired me, you told me you didn't need me."

Jay scoffed. "Well, at the time I didn't. But things changed, and now I do. Is that an issue?"

"No, sir."

"That's what I thought." Jay crossed his arms. "If you've got an issue with our arrangement, then speak and we can have it amended." You chuckled softly. He was the cutest when getting protective over you, but also somehow defensive when you called him out on it.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Jay drifted off to sleep, softly snoring in the back seat. His soft caramel skin and slicked-back dark hair shined in the streetlights that passed. His cold expression melted away to reveal the man you knew. This was when he was the most authentic, silently sleeping. No cameras, phone calls, meetings, or clients, just Jay being alone with himself–and you, of course. Originally you thought it was weird to sleep in the same house as Jay, insisting that he'd be safe in his home alone but when he offered double your salary to move in you couldn't refuse.

As you pulled into the driveway, putting the car in park, Jay stirred from his sleep. He stretched and wiped the sleep from his eyes, acting like he'd been awake the whole time. "Jesus, that felt like forever, I'm glad to finally be back home."

You nodded as you opened his door from him. "Of course sir, I apologize about how long it took to get you back home safely."

He looked at you, reaching out but hesitating. "It's not your fault. It's just traffic." He yawned. "Let's just go." You tried to hold it in, but couldn't stop your body's reaction to also yawn. As your jaw stretched open and you breathed deeply, you winced softly as your jaw faltered in pain. Jay's eyes widened. "I knew you were just trying to be tough. He did end up hurting you..." His face moved to a pained expression as his eyes scrolled over you, looking for more injuries.

"Sir, it's nothing. Just some soreness."

He held up his hand, silencing you. "You'll let me take care of that. Now. I won't have you complaining about it tomorrow." When Jay was insistent there was no turning him around from what he wanted, even as you protested. He led you inside, upstairs to his bedroom. "Sit on the bed, I have medicine in my bathroom."

As he drifted off into the bathroom, you moved near the bed obediently but awkwardly sat next to it. You knew Jay was a clean person, he would be bothered if your dirty clothes messed up his sheets. Jay's bedroom was one of the biggest rooms in the house. It was painted a dark gray with a monochrome color scheme. all of the artwork he'd made was on his walls, matching the darkly colored motif of the room. Even though it was all so dark, there was so much emotion poured into it, you couldn't help but smile slightly.

After a few minutes, Jay emerged from the bathroom in different clothes with a first aid kit. He wore a large dress shirt and flowy pajama pants, and his hair was slightly damp from rinsing out the product in it. He sat on the bed. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"My clothes are dirty."

"Then I'll come down."

"The floor isn't clean. You'll get your pajamas dirty, you can apply the medicine up there. I'll sit tall." You sat on your knees, back straight, looking up at Jay as you waited for him to begin applying medicine.

He rolled his eyes as he opened the medicine box. He started applying medicine to your jaw with his left hand while his right gently held your face in place. "You really should be more careful." He experimentally dragged his finger along your jaw until he hit the spot, making you wince away from him. "I... care about you."

"That's very kind, sir."

Jay gritted his teeth. "Y/n. The rules."

"Sorry... Jay." It was a part of the house rules that while you lived there, at home specifically. You weren't allowed to call him sir or mister. You were required to refer to him as Jay.

"It's okay. And I'm glad you're doing your job, but it's not often I see you getting injured."

"I was just a little distracted today. It won't happen again."

He raised an eyebrow. "You, distracted? By what?"

You looked Jay in his eyes. "Your speech. It was really captivating. I couldn't stop listening."

Jay's mouth parted softly as he looked away, focusing on your jaw. "Well, I'm glad you liked it."

"You're really persuasive. And your speaking voice is always so clear, it's hard not to listen closely."

"Y/n..."

You continued. "Even the way you were styled today really brought you to the centerpiece of the whole event."

"Y/n. Stop talking. That's an order." Your mouth was filled with cement, unable to speak–even breathing was difficult. "You know I'm not very good with compliments..." Jay tucked his hair behind his ear. "It makes me shy."

You blinked slowly, watching Jay's careful expression.

Jay avoided your eyes, leaning in to look closer at your chin–leaving only a few inches between you. "Is there anywhere else it hurts?"

You shook your head.

"Honest?"

You nodded.

Jay scratched his ear. "I don't believe you... I just want to–" Jay hesitated at touching your collar. "C-Can I... unbutton your shirt a little? Just to see." You reply by sitting up taller, raising your chest out to Jay. His hands slightly shook as he undid the first few buttons at the top of your shirt, sliding your tie off too. He opened it, revealing your bare chest to him. His fingertips ghosted over your skin before pulling away. "Y/n, I think I'm close to making a decision that I don't know how to make. What should I do?"

"What decision, Jay?"

"I think I..." Jay hesitated biting his lip. "I think I want to be closer to you."

"Closer to me? Like how?"

Jay rolled his eyes as his cheeks turned a soft pink. "Jesus Christ, y/n! You really need me to spell it out!?" Jay took your hands and guided them to the buttons on his shirt. "Undo them," He commanded.

"Jay–"

"Please don't make me say it twice." You focused on unbuttoning Jay's shirt, as you slid it down past his shoulders and revealed his bare torso. His hips rolled up slightly, pointing out the hard cock that throbbed inside his pants. "You've got one chance to back out. If you don't want to go further, say it and we'll pretend like this never happened," Jay muttered as his eyes dropped to the floor.

"I'm so honored you'd consider me, sir. I don't think I'm worthy of you... But if you want to have me tonight, then I am more than willing."

Jay's eyes locked with yours before his gaze dropped to your lips. "Don't call me sir," He mumbled before leaning in for a kiss.

Jay's lips were plush pillows that bounced off your lips. He placed his hands on your shoulders, fingers tensing and gripping your skin as you deepened the kiss. Your hands threaded into Jay's hair, still slightly wet, which earned a moan from your boss. He pulled away from the kiss, wide-eyed and pink-faced.

"I-I didn't– That wasn't me!"

"Then who was it?" You chuckled.

"I don't know!" Jay hit your shoulder. "Just hurry up and do the next part." Jay laid on his back with his eyes closed.

"The next part?"

Jay lifted himself on his elbows. "Aren't you going to stick it in me?"

"You wanted me to fuck you?!"

"You're getting that now!?" Jay facepalmed. "I'm not very experienced with a man, so I don't know how to do this... So, help me please." His pupils dilated as he begged for you. Jay had never been so vulnerable with you before, and you couldn't lie that it was turning you on more than you thought it would. You'd imagined having sex with Jay but imagined him as more of a dominant top, or even a power bottom. but to see him so... submissive. It was the hottest thing you'd ever seen.

"Did you prepare yourself at all? I don't want to just 'stick it in' and hurt you."

Jay covered his face. "Yes... That's what I was doing in the bathroom."

He was so cute. "Oh, so you planned on seducing me tonight then?"

"Y/n, I swear, if you don't hurry up and fuck me. I'll fire you right now."

You smiled. "Oh? Jay, I thought the rules of the house were that we're equal here. Aren't we supposed to treat each other nicely?" He grunted. "Then how about some foreplay or something?"

"You can suck my dick with your foreplay," Jay spat. You smiled as you slipped his pants off in one motion, making your boss yelp as he covered himself. He was commando under his pants, and his cock was already leaking.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer." You smiled as you moved his hands from his crotch to your neck. His cock twitched in the air as you pulled Jay to a comfortable part of the edge of the bed, his legs hanging over the side. You slotted yourself in between his legs and kissed his tip. His knees twitched at your touch, brushing against your head. You kissed his tip a few more times, his pre-cum sticking to your lips.

"Hurry up already," He grunted. "In your mouth!" He pulled on your hair, pulling you down as you slowly took him into your mouth. "Ahh fuck, you're so warm!" His head fell back as he guided you to bob your head, pulling and pushing you as he liked. "Your mouth–it's warm! So wet, and tight too!" When his tip hit the back of your throat, you tensed as you felt the urge to gag which made your throat clamp down onto Jay's shape. "Oh fuck! That! Again, do that," Jay moaned as he forced your head down, forcing you to gag and gurgle on his cock. "I'll–I'm gonna cum! Please, swallow!" He grunted. You leaned forward, ready, as he spilled his load into your mouth. "Take it, swallow, drink it all!" Jay's voice got raspy and desperate as his eyes rolled back from the explosion in his head.

"I didn't think you'd finish that fast..." You wiped the spit from your mouth.

"Well, you didn't have to suck it. And you asked for foreplay..."

"I'm not complaining. Just, remember, I plan on cumming tonight too." You smirked at him. "You had your fun, but now I'll be in charge, okay?" Jay frowned but you weren't asking. Before you could give him the chance to ask any questions, you flipped him onto his stomach and slipped a finger inside him.

"Oh~ you could've given me a warning!" Jay moaned as he ground against your finger.

"You didn't need a warning. And, don't you think you should be grateful? I'm stretching you a little extra, just in case."

Jay scoffed. "Why? I said I did it, didn't I?"

A crack rang out as you spanked him. "Jay, where did your manners go?" Jay's jaw hung open, still reeling from being spanked. He'd never been spanked before, but his cock twitched from the pain.

"Again."

"Again, what?"

Jay groaned into the sheet. "Spank me again, please."

"What a nice boy," You cooed as you spanked him again, harder than before. "You're a good boy, aren't you? You just forgot your manners a bit." You spanked him again. "Beg for it."

Jay turned to look at you. "Are you loving this? Hitting and bossing me around? I'm not begging for shit." His hair was a mess, his skin glistened with sweat, and his ass was turning red.

"Jay~ don't misbehave. I'll have to punish you a bit." You reached forward and pulled Jay's hair, making him wince.

"W-Wait!"

"Manners."

"P-Please. Don't pull on it..." Jay begged softly.

You released his hair, kissing his neck as an apology. "Much better. Now, can you beg for cock? I want to hear you say it."

Jay remained silent. You gave him another smack for encouragement. "Fine! Y/n, please fuck me with your big cock!" You said nothing and rubbed Jay's ass softly. You didn't think he'd say it... "Oh fuck you! You wanted me to say it."

"Language," You warned. "If you wanted my cock so badly, that's all you needed to say." You pushed your tip into Jay's waiting hole.

"Oh, holy fuck, you're huge. It's so much..."

"Jay. That's just my tip."

Jay arched his back, waiting for you. "I know that! Your tip is just big!"

You pushed until you hilted Jay, burying your cock completely inside him. "You're squeezing like crazy, Jay."

Jay was a moaning mess under you. Even as he twitched around you, he made himself moan. "Oh, my–fuck me!" He shouted as you slid out before slamming back into him. Over and over, you pounded into him.

"Don't make me do all the work, Jay," You grunted as you pushed him forward. He held his breath as he moved himself on your cock, fucking himself into the mattress. "Can you try harder?" You pushed down on his back, making him hit that spot, making him scream louder. As soon as you found his spot, you took back cover as you fucked into it. "Wanna cum, Jay?" Jay let out a series of moans and groans, forming a semi-approving answer. "Ask for it then," You smirked as you pulled out completely, letting your cock rest on his ass.

"Y-Y/n! You can't–Please! Please! Let me cum on it, I'll cum from your cock so much. I'll even let you finish in me, just let me cum!"

"You said it, so I'll take that. Go ahead and cum then." You slammed back into Jay completely as his hole welcomed your cock with a tight squeeze. Jay's moans went high-pitched as his back arched more and his eyes rolled. He was drooling on the sheet as he came all over the edge of the bed. You didn't take much more after him, this orgasm squeezing you for everything. "I'm gonna cum in you. I'll fucking breed you into being my husband!" Your hips stuttered as your climax washed over you, your cum spilling into Jay as he moaned again. "Every drop, keep squeezing it," You ordered.

When you both came down from your highs, you took Jay into his bathroom and started a warm bath for him. Jay occasionally twitched from the sensation of you helping him wash the cum out of him, he was too embarrassed to ask you to do it but you could tell he didn't know what to do.

Your boss stroked your jaw. "How's it doing?"

"It's a little sore from sucking cock but–" Jay punched you. "It's much better. Thank you, Jay."

Jay rolled his eyes. "If I'm going to be your husband, you're going to need to call me something else."

Your mind rolled back to what you'd said earlier in the heat of the moment. "Jay, I didn't mean it like that–"

"You think you can just hit it and leave? You're stuck with me. And I'm not letting you go. So, your husband is demanding that you call him that." Jay held his head high as his eyes gleamed.

"Okay... Husband." You chuckled as you kissed his forehead.

[diejager]

Okay so imagine this RBF Horangi is sneaky when it comes to his friends step daughter he watches your expressions whenever him and Konig decide to fuck you; you always grimace at Konig’s display of affection whenever he deludes himself into the fantasy of your shared love and yet you always seem to somewhat relax around him. On the day that Horangi made you squirt he realized he had opened a Pandora’s box (literally) so he decides to play a lil trick on none other than Konig. As they see your mother off they immediately jump your bones and right when the opportunity arises he spikes Konig’s drink which knocks him out and Horangi decides to whisk you away from your big bad papa Konig but being sure to leave him a lil note telling him that you were always meant to be with Horangi

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, non-con drugging, kidnapping, squirting, possessive behaviour, tell me if I missed any.

He began to see a difference in his relationship with you and the one you had with König. There was a distinct discomfort you portrayed on your face whenever he touched you, his hand lingering on your shoulder and lower back while you waved your mom off on her month long business travel. König was too delusional to see the wince that pulled your lips thin and teary eyes staring down, adamant to not look at either men, but you didn’t react as strongly to Horangi. A small grimace or a few stray tears, but you weren’t as tense or withdrawn by his side, more relaxed under his touch and more opened to his affection. 

He figured it was because he made the decision not to marry your mother, staying as the father’s best friend figure that always came by to drink and laze around with your stepdad. This decisive act was a game changer in his mind, the best decision he could’ve ever done compared to König. Granted, his giant friend was the first to see you, branding you as his object of obsession before Horangi was introduced to the family. He hadn’t been bothered with he idea of sharing you, he never was, especially with someone as trustworthy as König, yet he kept seeing this common trend with you: your hesitation, your reclusivenes, and your little frowns. 

It called to him like an abandoned kit would, a poor and neglected kitten that was ripe for the picking and pitifully adorable, mewling and stumbling for affection and care. It simply made sense if he was the only one to care for you, no? When he was the first to make you squirt, tasting your bitter slick at the back of his throat, tongue licking it from his scarred lips and cheek, sucking his fingers clean and licking your cunt of all your cum. It was all he could think of, the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of you around his fingers and the pretty sounds in his ears.

You called to him, your every thought, your ever cell, your very being called him to possess you, making you his alone. All he had to do was act upon his invasive thoughts. He spiked König’s drink when he wasn’t looking, sharing their usual drink in the evening while they let you rest from the last rough fucking, they rambled and watched the Tv, jumping from one random subject to another without so much as a slip of his tongue about his plan. He knew his betrayal would sting both of them, to have your trusted friend stab you in the back and to throw away a long and precious relationship would hurt them, but Horangi had to have you. 

And when König’s head bobbed with sleep, ultimately slumped forward, his beer still in his grasp, Horangi slipped out of the couch, up the stairs and into your room. He stood at the door and admired your naked and bruised skin, purple welts swollen and cunt still wet and crusty with their loads. He dressed you carefully, aware that any fought and quick movement would wake you, scare you from following him and wake König with that sweet voice of yours. He left with nothing but a few bags and identifications, anything from clothes to jewellery and appliances were useless to him, he could buy them anew and give you better versions of them. 

Whatever you wanted was yours, all you had to do was to follow him and marry him. He wasn’t delusional, he knew you were meant to be him, it was written in the stars as much as your being belonged to him to love and provide.

[smashmallowsblog]

HOLD MY ARM

It was a sunny morning, the corridors of Shredder's mansion were silent and lightly lit with the natural glow that reflected through the windows, from time to time it was possible to hear the delicate sounds of leaves moving with the gentle wind. In front of this peaceful silence, in one of the rooms was Dulcy, she had her eyes closed but she had been awake for a few hours just to make (or try) her mind a little lighter.

Her left arm was immobilized with an Orthopedic cast, her right cheek had a small bandage covering a small bruise, her right ankle had an almost melted ice pack that she was forced to change every night, perhaps she could consider that he wasn't as swollen as he was a few weeks ago.

She was putting together the pieces from the last few weeks, it was crazy, it happened so fast. She remembered the lair being invaded by Splinter and April.

That particular night she was on guard, but the night was a little stranger than usual, from the roof she witnessed two familiar figures approaching, she watched them from above as they thought they were successfully invading the place, she informed the others and asked Anton and Ivan to position themselves in case something happened, after which she attacked them with Tiger Claw commandos and when the foot surrendered them they were informed about the invasion and about needing all the help they could get.

After hearing the proposal she turned around and sincerely commented to Shredder "You know master, that makes sense, we could make a temporary truce and guarantee our safety."

"Yes, you can! For once in your life you could do something nice for everyone!" April exclaimed.

In silence, Shredder was reflective but already had his own decision on the matter.

____

After the foot came together and started to approach central park, everything started to gain more rhythm. During the war she had kind of panicked when she felt a threat of a supposed end of that world, she herself felt remorse for all those she knew (and even those she didn't know). She didn't want to die like this.

In the middle of the battle, she was caught by surprise during her duel with one of the dinosaurs and with one wrong move she sprained her ankle, unfortunately giving up was equal to her end, for a second she chose to ask Tiger Claw for help but changed her mind. Seeing him busy defending the human teenagers, for a moment she was a little proud to witness the cat doing something good. Her mind quickly returned to her own fight when the dino-man hit her in the stomach, she hissed in pain, but took advantage of the opening to climb up his arm to his back and wrap her arms as much as she could around the soldier's neck.

She tried hard to knock him down from behind and managed to pull out her teaser with the intention of holding him back for a while, she managed to do this but unfortunately during the fall backwards he fell against her and crushed her in the process and ended up breaking her own arm. She pushed the huge guy aside and slowly crawled to a tree away from all the chaos, for a while she watched from afar until the moment she witnessed Splinter himself fighting Shredder's attacks. "Idiots." She grumbled to herself and thought how they could face each other during the chaos before them, didn't they care about their family being at risk? She then remembered her own parents, her niece, her brother... How were they feeling at that moment? Did they worry about her?

Her thoughts were interrupted after seeing that Shredder had fallen while Splinter walked away. Tiger Claw ran to catch up with his boss, she continued watching until she saw the cat pick him up and start a small speech about the clan, she grimaced. to the scene and with a mocking tone she began. "Now he's going to start the marriage proposal."

She watched him leave the scene while the rest of the Hamato clan finished the fight, she waited for the dust to settle for a while longer until she noticed that a van was approaching and the foot Clan was preparing to leave central park. "Wait a minute, he doesn't even want to bother looking for me?"

_____

Across the yard the rest of the foot was housing Shredder in the back of the van. Xever walked hurriedly to the vehicle and suddenly bumped into Anton, who stopped suddenly and consequently made Celly, who was right behind, hit his nose on his back, making the fish stumble forward again, irritated by the attitude, Xever said. "What's your problem?" ? If you wait any longer here it will turn into bacon."

Anton ignored the comment and started comparing the amount they started with at the beginning of everything. "Wait a minute, don't you think someone is missing?" Anton asked thoughtfully and placing his hands on his hips he continued. "I remember we were outnumbered."

Ivan then chimed in "Did the dog die?"

"I'm here,stupid." Chris replied irritably.

Celly and Xever exchanged thoughtful looks until they both finally understood and shouted in unison. "Where's Dul--" "THE LIZARD IS GONE!!" Anton interrupted them and turned around, moving the two out of the way, with the help of his visor he quickly started looking around the park and managed to spot Dulcy a few meters away.

"I found it!" Anton exclaimed. He and Ivan quickly went to meet the lizard and carefully helped it to its feet. Anton noticed the condition of her arm and ankle at first, so he carefully supported her on the other side so that she could stand upright and slowly they began to walk.

"I can carry you there buddy, it will be much faster." Ivan commented to his partner.

Anton imagined the scene and thought to himself about the rhino hurting her by accident. "I think we better walk just in case baby."

On the way Ivan tried to support her with a hand on her arm but stopped abruptly when he heard a sound. "AAH!". In response, he timidly muttered one. "Sorry" and continued the path more carefully.

Chris watched them walk towards them and noticing Dulcy's arm he commented. "Are we going to let Steranko do this? He could break it in half, that wouldn't help much."

"It would be so interesting if YOU were helping, don't you think?" Celly snapped at him.

"And why don't YOU make it a ball of yarn?"

"The least I could do was carry a leg!"

"It would be something useful, don't you think?"

A muffled scream caught their attention as it was uttered "SHUT UP AND GET IN THE VAN!" Inside the vehicle, Tiger Claw who was busy taking care of Shredder until that moment was oblivious to the subject of the conversation and suddenly appeared, then sticking his head out of the van, he ordered them to enter immediately again but was surprised by a weakened Dulcy. passing by his side without saying a word.

The tiger opened his mouth to say something but Anton unconsciously interrupted him."Dude, let's make a stop at the den okay? I can arrange something for...that, she can hold out for a while, I think she might be in a lot of pain and-"

"Just sit down we're in a hurry now!" The tiger replied irritably.

Anton fell silent, scared by the tiger's response and quickly sat down next to Dulcy to support her arm more carefully. He looked at Tiger Claw who was already taking the wheel, when he opened his mouth to throb again, Xever (who was already taking one of the seats) caught his attention. "Let's just keep our mouth shut and keep it steady until the destination."

Anton looked at him and turned his attention to Tiger Claw but Ivan also chimed in. "Be quiet comrade."

Anton didn't say anything to both of them, when he looked at Dulcy who was already almost unconscious next to him he said softly "Hang in there dragon."

___

A knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts, opening her eyes quickly she turned around and made eye contact with Tiger Claw.

After staring at him for a few seconds she changed her expression and said rudely, "You entered the wrong room."

He entered and closed the door behind him, as he approached her he began "I just want to talk..."

_________

Note: I've had this in mind for some time and after seeing some of my friends writing I became more motivated to move forward.

You might come across the punctuation but I'm not an active writer so this might be common for me.

Maybe I'll move on from this.

[blithe-imperial-underling]

Blithe's encrypted journal

About 900 words; cw bruises

1 2 3

#Blithe Imperial Underling

Encrypted Journal Entry: Path to the mudhole

When I'm feeling disheartened, like today, it helps to remember how I ended up in a rebel hideout on a stinking mudhole of a planet.

It started when I left the security lab on the morning after the plant-monster wrecked @imperial-strategist's quarters. I was halfway across the plaza with my bag full of laundry when I was waylaid by a trio of stormtroopers. They must have been convinced I was a threat because, by the time they were through with me, I was locked in an ISB interrogation room, freshly bruised, and thoroughly confused.

It was a lot to deal with before my first cup of caf.

It seems the number of peculiar events in Commander Echo's security lab—particularly the sabotage of the lab and then the invasion by the botanical experiment run amok—had piqued the interest of the ISB. Echo's work in the lab is directed by Imperial Military Intelligence, but the ISB has nearly unlimited authority when they suspect an internal security breach.

After what seemed like hours of silent waiting, an ISB agent swept into the room like a human storm cloud and immediately began berating the stormtroopers who had brought me in. She was a square-jawed brunette in her middle years with brows that gave her an expression like a grumpy Kowakian monkey-lizard so, since I don't recall her name, I'll refer to her here as Liz.

As an off-duty officer's aide armed only with my laundry, I was hardly a threat to the troopers, Agent Liz told them in a tone that dripped with disdain. What had possessed them to use such aggressive methods in my arrest? The troopers claimed they thought I was "fleeing the scene", due to my civilian clothes and duffel, which cooled her ire somewhat, but she was still visibly irritated when she dismissed them, saying she'd handle things from there.

Despite how frightened I was, I relaxed a bit when she released the binders holding me to the chair. Her objection to the troopers' treatment of me also seemed encouraging, so I dared to hope I'd just be debriefed and sent on my way.

That optimism was short-lived.

Agent Liz tapped at her datapad before explaining that, while my personal record prior to coming to Coruscant was mostly spotless and Commander Echo's reports cleared me of the attempted destruction of the lab on his first day there, her ISB superiors were unconvinced of my innocence. Given the severity of the prior night's events, she said, they were reluctant to take any chances.

I blinked at the words "mostly spotless" and bit my tongue to keep from interrupting her. Mostly spotless? What in the darshing hells was that about? I gasped, appalled, when Agent Liz answered my unspoken question by handing me her datapad.

It turns out I'm a naïve fool.

Tenly, my one real friend during my stay on Ord Mantell, appeared on the screen in what was clearly a surveillance image. Below the image was a list of offenses. Tenly and her brother Dey are both kriffing rebels.

How had I spent so much time around them and never realized?! But their files were right there in my hands; the Pantoran siblings' guilt was undeniable. I had put my trust in a couple of rebels.

In hindsight, Dey's initial dislike of me makes a lot more sense. I knew he had some reservations about the Empire, which I chalked up to his not being human, and thought he just needed more evidence of the good the Empire does for the galaxy. But I never suspected Tenly of anything unsavory. And I never dreamed either of them could actually be traitors.

[Images from Blithe's personal datapad: Tenly and Blithe on Ord Mantell]

The ISB's concerns about me now made perfect sense. The last people I spent time with before I became Echo's aide are on an ISB rebel watch list—though clearly this was a recent development. Commander Echo would never have offered me a job, otherwise. And the office I was assigned to on Ord Mantell was plagued with security issues, which I reported, but which now could easily make me look suspicious.

How could a graduate of the SA Group be so oblivious? And those years I spent working in Imperial Outreach designing, among other things, methods for reminding Imperial citizens to be wary of insurgents in their midst. Had they taught me nothing?

As I processed all the evidence, shame soured my stomach like I'd eaten a whole plate of bad pikobi eggs. I expected that Agent Liz was now going to tell me everything that gives my life meaning–serving the Empire and serving as Echo's aide—was now over. I steeled myself for that awful verdict . . . but it didn't come.

Thanks to Commander CT-1409's confidence in me, Agent Liz said, the ISB was willing to give me a chance to prove my loyalty and make up for my failure on Ord Mantell.

All I had to do was go undercover and gain admittance to the rebel cell that Tenly and Dey were part of. Just pretend I'd become disillusioned with the Empire and claim to have stolen information to give to them as proof of my defection. To this end, the ISB would provide me with "stolen" data that would pass inspection by the rebels. They would also implant a tracking device in my arm so the ISB could keep tabs on my whereabouts.

Echo had been consulted, of course, Liz assured me. He knew and approved of this opportunity to redeem myself. And if I succeeded, I would be welcome to return to my job as his aide. That was really all it took to convince me.

Of course I would do it to save my job, and to serve the Empire to the best of my ability. But what matters most is restoring my commander's faith in me.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Glad you like it lol

1: I know you said in a much earlier post that Jake develop his powers from fending off a bully but what did he do to the bully? (Unless you already answer this & im blind lol ) did he threw the bully, punch the side of a wall or locker and it cracked, accidentally shot a starbolt burning the bully, etc…

2: how did mar’i develop her powers?

3: what type of crime does the duo face on most days? I can see thieves & gangs of bullies being the main bad guys.

4: how often does the duo fight crimes? Everyday, once or twice a week?

5: what’s their phone Lock Screen & Home Screen background?

6: I know gross out humor ain’t their thing but does the duo use their butt as a weapon? like a flying hip attack, like kitana from mortal kombat or R. Mika from street fighter five. For humor: I can see either of the duo, most likely Jake, squatting over a goons face & striking two piece signs while making a silly face while Chris takes a picture XD

1) Based on this post by the ever excellent @/dar draws, Jake accidentally fired a starbolt at that bully, sending flying into a wall. Thankfully said bully at most some bruises and his shirt burnt off but not so thankfully Jake was distraught as he had no experience in doing that but moreso out of rightful fear of legit hurting someone with his powers kicking in so suddenly. The bully was the one suspended for invoking the situation in the first place while Jake had a lengthy conversation with his parents and sister afterwards over what they can do about this turn of events. Jake had to take at least two days off school before coming back with some light power dampers at his insistence so he can blend in better.

2) Mar’i in contrast to her brother develops her powers pretty much at birth due to her Tamaranean DNA being stronger than her human half. Upon a mere few minutes after first coming outside Kory’s womb, Mar’i was so joyful upon first ever seeing her parents, she began lightly floating in the air before Kory gently had her back in her arms. From there over the course of next two years, more of her powers began flowing in. For instance, Mar’i fired her first starbolt at two months, exhibited super strength at four months, and began to have some enhanced senses of smell and taste by the time she’s one year old. By the time Jake was born, Mar’i pretty much developed the near full power set

3) Chris and Jake, when not facing against legit supervillains, full blown alien invasions or psychopathic rouges including Zsasz, often find themselves taking down more petty criminals and gangsters within both Bludhaven and the slums of Metropolis. They also contend with corrupt business owners, predatory loan sharks, and even guiding drivers to safely traverse insufficient and dangerous roads until said roads are cleared for much needed renovations. Most interestingly, a lot of their patrols and capers take place within the neighborhoods and boroughs of both cities which have notable alien and other dimensional sentient populations, for instance ‘Little Tamaran’ back at Bludhaven.

4) Usually about four days out of the week during school quarters and just about six out of seven days of the week during summer vacation, spring break and winter vacation. On the days when they don’t patrol, it’s spent either catching on catching to whatever homework they would’ve missed before or likely spending time with their respective families.

5) Chris

- Lock Screen: A Superman Logo

- Home Screen: A Family Picture fearing Martha, Pa, Clark, Lois, Kara, Conner, Jon and himself during the Smallville County Fair when he was nine years old.

Jake

- Lock Screen: A Classic Flying Graysons Poster, much like one of the few hanging on the walls back home

- Home Screen: A Selfie of Chris and Himself during a break on patrol together

6) Okay now that seems a lot more plausible for the two of them to such poses for photos during particularly easier nights on patrols or even more commonly after taking down a rampaging big monster. You can expect that happening to Cinderblock quite a often after he’s taken down. The fact he sees that very often when looking up his files only furthers his drive to challenge the Duo

Edit:

Hmmm…..I say for the first part (of Question #6), maybe they do those moves if they feel especially energetic and excited during a supervillain battle @gothicghost2000

[this-genius-isnt-mine]

“Everyone mourns the first blossom. Who will grieve the rest who fall?” - Leigh Bardugo, King of Scars

A petal is an unremarkable thing. 

Hundreds of petals fall. Slowly released from the bud and dropped to the floor of his shop. To mourn any one of them is fruitless. He sweeps them up with routine aimlessly understanding. It would be with common sense that he should throw them away, and yet. He holds the pink petal in his hand. Tender flesh, wilting, separated from the home which once held it so tight. Its blush hues almost mirror the cool mauve flush on his knuckles, bruised from an accident earlier in the day with a pot. He raised the flower himself, watched it bud small and sweet growing, growing, his own blood and sweat tint its shades. Dozens upon Dozens like it shrivel and weep in the bag. They never stop falling, not as long as he grows flowers there are always more petals. Bags of them. He grips the single pink petal tight. He should throw it away, it's unremarkable, and yet. He sighs. He sets the petal gently in the bag. The first petal he’d seen today. He loved each flower and kept each one close. But this one. He stares at drowning in the sea of fallen blooms. He couldn’t mourn all of them, but for some reason his heart seemed determined to try. Of course, the one he held onto was that one. He laughed and laughed. 

An unremarkable thing. 

A Hundred petals. He thinks it’s been around a hundred petals, but he’d long stopped counting His body keeping its own internal tally. The bud built in the pit of his stomach was a seed dropped on earth as he opened the shop for the day. It then germinated its roots as hours passed. Weeding through his abdominal cavity wrapping around his intestines as the sprout breached his lungs. As he took a break to eat he could feel each nutrients sucked in by the sprout and spurring on the infestation invasive features creeping up his guts. Vines tenderly wrapped each bronchiole and each capillary climbing higher and higher as he closed the shop for the night. He waved goodbye to the last patron, swept up the petals which had fallen during the day, carefully stuck his key in the door and just as he turned it the bloom burst into his throat unremarkable, a typical day's work. A hundred petals, now. Vivisected and Hacked from his throat. A blood-blush petal mocks him as it floats down into the trash he kneels over. Blood, His life blood, His work, His petals. Identical to the ones he holds so dear, that they hold so dear. Dozens of Dozens sprout from within him , tilled by his longing, fertilized by his blood, and planted and pumped to life by his heart. They never stop falling. The bags of petals he sweeps from the floor but cannot throw away. The petals he saves taunts the trash can of petals hacked from his throat. An unremarkable thing is love. Are petals. They come, they bloom, they die. They never stop falling. He can never stop falling in. He mourns that each petal tossed into the trash a petal that bloomed on a plant which he could love. His own terrible wilting stem. A body needing to be sheared. He could not love these petals borne from something he can’t give himself to. He was never made to bloom into loving. The petal wilts into a pool of blood, spit, and stomach acid. He hacks but nothing can cut the vine. Nothing can shear love out of him. Of course of all the people to make petals for. He could never love. Never stop falling in it either. He hacked and hacked

It wasn't a remarkable thing.

[everestphillips]

date: May 19, 2024 Everest's Birthday

The demigod did have to admit, it did feel awkward doing this on his birthday. Generally, he used to spend it with strangers who cared more about the party than him--which he might have preferred. So having to talk to Aphrodite was definitely out of his comfort zone. But if he already went through all things that he did, what's so hard about having a conversation with the higher being you just discovered was your estranged mother?

Usually, when they make connections with the divine, it's best to be in a place that means something to help them stay grounded. However, Everest decided to do something different today. The demigod sat in front of the enchanted vanity before dropping his domain, revealing all that he hid on a daily basis. He expected a quip, or a gasp as a reaction from the vanity, but instead he received a tender response. "Beauty still exudes from you, the scars and bruises only paint over a stunning canvas. Don't be afraid." It was strange being comforted by a mirror, but he didn't question it anymore. Nothing made sense any more that it started to somehow become coherent for him.

But the reveal of his true self wasn't what was he afraid of, it was the conversation that he was about to have. Everest was in a red satin robe and matching shorts, walking away from the vanity to the edge of his bed, where he sat waiting patiently, appearing like a child waiting to have an assuring talk with a parent.

"Aphrodite?" Everest asked, awkward on how to communicate his feelings properly. "I know I've reached out a couple times before, but every time I have, it felt like I was a chore to respond back." He recalled back to the offering he made for her, only to have her respond days later. Or how he pleaded for her help during the invasion only to be left alone. Maybe he just didn't understand like he usual, but it was becoming increasingly hard not to misconstrue her intentions. "Am I not enough for you? For this cause?" Ev blurted out accidentally, his head sunken with immediate regret. "I... I am trying--I am growing.... It may not be as quickly as people want me to go, but maybe you can help me," Everest said with conviction, despite the fact that he was fidgeting with the seem of his robe. "I decided to speak with you on my birthday, because I want you to grant me your assistance as a gift. Give me a sign of who I need meet, what I need to procure, where I need to go. Anything at this point. I want to keep getting better. I want to be of help. I just get lost sometimes."

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Revelations Part Two - a Malevolent fic

Tears welled in Odd’s eyes, dripped down his cheeks as he played. And just as he had hoped, as he had gambled, he felt the King in Yellow’s presence. Closer than usual. In fact, allowing Odd to feel him directly. In fact—

“Why do you weep?” said that deep voice, which buzzed through the ground even when quiet.

Odd let his violin peak, crescendoing to a high, tremulous note—and then he cut it off, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s been a week, huh?"

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

----------------

Carcosa was quiet.

It was a nervous kind of quiet. Nobody fully understood what the hell had happened, and the rumors did not clarify. Some said an attack. Some said an invasion. Some said somebody overcharged Faroe in the market and now everyone was boned. 

Larson was pissed. He’d missed it! Some kind of craziness, the Saint nearly killed, and he’d missed it! The fuck!

The Librarian didn’t know, either, and kept flipping to different images which only confused him more. Larson only knew he was now confined to two places: his room, and the archives. There wasn’t even family dinner happening at the moment.

Whatever went down, it had been big. 

He would find out. Somehow.

Eventually.

#

Odd was just glad that, relatively speaking, everyone seemed to be okay?

No one had seen Parker or Sunny yet, but when he’d swung by their room with a plate of food, he could hear them talking within. There was warmth, comfort, joy—he’d had to sit down for a while, behind a nearby plant, and just let the feeling of relief wash over him.

Faroe was not doing well. Odd suspected she had a case of broken heart, and that was something no one could really fix.

Not that he didn’t try. He found her and Nibbles out in the lower garden and settled beside them with his violin, playing a rambling song, focusing on being steady and grounding. Before long she’d scooted over to lean against him, a tricky proposition when playing the violin, but Odd had managed.

She gave him a hug when he finished. He’d need to keep an eye on her. She wasn’t okay.

Arthur… Arthur was the tricky one. Arthur had slipped into a kind of full-body, all-encompassing grief that Odd didn’t know what to do with. He’d healed Arthur’s bruised jaw, and Arthur had not even fought or complained which was…

Perhaps that was why this was so jarring.

I am the King in Yellow.

Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.

Odd should not be here for this.

But the claim made sense in a weird way. It did. John was too… similar. One could make jokes about being cut from the same cloth, but Odd could find the echoes of the King in John’s voice, his mannerisms, everything else. Though just how this could have happened…

No one told Odd to leave.

Arthur was still, so still. “No,” he said patiently, too patiently. “You’re John.”

I am, said John. But I am also the King in Yellow.

Arthur was too still. “Okay.”

That’s all you have to say? Okay? And John (King?) was too amused about this earth-shaking conversation.

“I’m not in the habit of feeding your bullshit,” said Arthur, who’d somehow gone even more still.

It all felt like something fragile on the edge of a knife—balanced, but for how long?

Arthur, John soothed, voice going to melted chocolate—and this time he must have triggered something, because Arthur’s face went pale, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“Don’t,” Arthur warned. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing, you’re not the King. You’re John.”

I remember Lilly, Arthur. She matters. She’s why I chose my name.

And the stillness shattered like ice in a pond. “Then why the fuck are you bringing it up, huh? It doesn’t matter!”

Silence, as if waiting for that pond’s ripples to still. If you lost your memory of life as a father and husband, would you be the same?

Arthur’s gasp was painful.

Odd should not be here. He swallowed, wanting to look between the two but only able to focus on Arthur, who hunched as if in pain.

“How could you say that?” the man whispered.

Because it’s true. I’m John. I’m your John. I haven’t lost anything—even if I am fucking embarrassed about how the last months have been, John added in a mutter.

Arthur laughed weakly and wiped his eyes. “You have been… a handful.”

A grunt.

“Fucking possessive. ”

Silence.

John’s hand was lightly tracing runes on the bed—nothing wild, ones Odd had seen used often for crowd control and other tense times. All they did was take the edge off wild emotions.

But Arthur didn’t know he was doing it.

Arthur, said John. We need to talk to Hastur. We can’t both… be here like this.

“We’ve managed for most of Faroe’s life,” Arthur quipped. 

Odd got up, moving silently to gesture at John’s hand and shake his head.

John’s eyes snapped up, following him; sharp, confused.

Trust him, he mouthed.

John’s eyelids flickered. Then he stopped.

Whew.

We can’t both be King. And if Sunny ever comes into himself, it will be three of us. It will be a disaster.

Arthur sighed and un-kidney-beaned. “I don’t think it’s going to be nearly as big a deal as you think.”

Oh, won’t it?

That question, that challenge, asked that way, made pain flit across Arthur’s face for some reason. “Yeah. You’re stuck in me, remember? There’s no threat to the power structure here,” he said a little bitterly.

I crushed the assassin.

Odd’s eyebrows shot upward.

Arthur’s eyes went wide, a strange contrast to John’s gaze through them (which was focused on Arthur’s hand). “What?” said Arthur, flexing his fingers. “But… how?”

Arthur believed him. That meant something.

I extended my essence from you. It’s why you passed out.

“Extended… John, what are you talking about?”

We need to talk to Hastur.

“John. Extended? Passed… I…”

You don’t remember much until Parker.

Arthur rubbed his jaw and winced. “No, but… you can’t do that.”

I did. And I made him suffer.

Arthur’s expression changed. This wasn’t his own hurt; this was concern. “John…”

He nearly killed you. He’s lucky I let him die.

Okay, now Arthur was edging toward afraid. “Maybe we should talk to Hastur.”

Odd knew he would regret saying anything. “I think that’s a good idea. Tensions were high, things… happened, a lot of things that people don’t really understand yet. He may have some insight.”

Arthur hunched. “Yeah. Confirmation, right?”

You’re wise, Odd. I see why he likes you, said John with loftiness bordering on condescending.

“Oh, quit it,” said Arthur, popping that kingly bubble at once. “I’m sorry. He’s going through a phase, apparently.”

A phase!

“Don’t we all?” Odd said, mildly, but at least it seemed Arthur wasn’t quite afraid anymore. “What a time to get your memories back, though.”

Arthur hesitated. “I really passed out?”

You… stopped.

“Stopped?”

John fell silent.

Arthur pursed his lips, thinking, then nodded. “So I scared you, is what you’re saying.”

I did not say that.

Arthur placed his right hand gently on his left. “I got scared after the poison. You stopped, then. I was fucking terrified, John. I thought I might have lost you.”

John took that in silence.

“Poison?” said Odd quietly.

“Someone tried to kill John.” Arthur pressed that left hand to his chest, over his heart. “Fucking almost managed.  We haven’t figured out who yet, either.”

So this was court intrigue, in the home of a Great Old One. Huh. Who knew it would feel absolutely shitty?

(But damn, would it make for good songs later.)

“Let’s go find him,” said Arthur, rising, swaying, sitting again. “Fuck.”

“Maybe a medic?” suggested Odd.

“No, we… we’ll just… some healing magic, maybe?” said Arthur.

John hesitated. I don’t feel comfortable casting magic through you right now. Not until we… are sure you weren’t harmed.

“Medic, then,” Arthur conceded.

“I’ll help you get there,” said Odd, and did, and left him there in the hands of conjured nurses, who fussed over Arthur as if he were their favorite chicken come home to roost.

#

Odd wandered off to find Hastur. 

Hastur was rarely around this time of night—usually a few more hours before he’d show up absolutely torn to hell and back—but who knew? The last couple of days had been a little unusual.

Carcosa didn’t really travel in the normal sense, as far as Odd could tell; when it was in-between places like this, one couldn’t just jump out a window and find themselves somewhere in the Dreamlands. It was mist out there, aggressively nothing; it wasn’t overly pleasant, and staying away from the far walls was a good plan in general.

But Carcosa wasn’t in-between now. It seemed they’d landed.

Out there, a stunning night silvered somewhere new. Hill country, evidently, which meant the Lake created open space where there had been none before. Twinkling lights far, far away indicated a city of some sort, though there was no way to be sure just what it was.

The stars gave some indication: they were far east, way further than Odd had ever followed the Path. The wilderness of Mhor was not kind to foot traffic. What were they doing out here?

He had a suspicion. Namely that this was far, far from anyone who might show up at the gates, begging for an audience, while Hastur tried to mitigate this calamity.

Odd didn’t bother sitting; he stood, proud and tall, tucked his violin under his chin, and he began to play.

The song that wept from his violin made his previous ones look like the first forays into music by a child. It arced and danced, it screamed the way Parker had when Sunny did not respond, it sobbed with Faroe’s grief; it reflected Arthur’s music, borrowed and transformed, threaded through with Arthur’s pain as his family fell apart, and his best friend’s suffered, and he feared for John.

Tears welled in Odd’s eyes, dripped down his cheeks as he played. And just as he had hoped, as he had gambled, he felt the King in Yellow’s presence. Closer than usual. In fact, allowing Odd to feel him directly. In fact—

“Why do you weep?” said that deep voice, which buzzed through the ground even when quiet.

Odd let his violin peak, crescendoing to a high, tremulous note—and then he cut it off, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s been a week, huh?”

What had to be a half-step for Hastur closer, but was more than the length of Odd’s body. “Yes. It has. Why do you weep?”

“Lots of things to weep about right now,” Odd said, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “My friends are hurting. Faroe is devastated—I can just tell she blames herself, because she’s ten and she doesn’t know any better. Arthur blames himself, because the assassin or whatever-the-fuck was sent after him. Parker thought Sunny was gone—though the last time I swung by to check on them, I heard them both talking. But that’s going to be a hurt that lingers.” He took a shuddering breath. “Where’d you take us?”

For a long moment, the only sound was breathing. “I don’t know why I hesitate,” Hastur mumbled as if to himself, then finally answered. “Far east, at the edge of the Hungry Sea.” He moved closer again—barely an inch this time, hardly noticeable.

Oh. That was very, very far. Odd nodded. “Pretty far from any potential enemies, then.”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean you’re going to take a few nights off from zipping away and fighting people?”

Hastur went dead still. It was funny, after seeing Arthur do the same thing; one had to wonder if they came to that response independently.

A beat. Only breathing.

“How do you know that?” Hastur said, low, and it wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it wasn’t super friendly, either. Wary. Tense.

Odd was very, very far from anyone that would find him, assuming there was a body left to find. “I’ve seen you come back some nights, torn to shit,” Odd said, voice even. “There have been rumors going around for a bit about you being on the warpath, but I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself. It can’t be directly related to Faroe, or Arthur; you wouldn’t be subtle about it if it was. You’re not just… conquering. Any number of people would have said that the places you went to had changed hands. And you’re very, very careful to be hidden while you do it. So.”

“So smart,” Hastur said as if to himself, barely audible, and he moved yet closer. Almost in reach now. “A keen observation. You are correct… and it seems you’re wise enough to keep this to yourself, as well, since no one has approached me.”

“What good would it do to blab?” Odd shrugged, helpless, but made no move to step away. “Arthur would be furious if he knew, I’m sure, but he’s got enough on his plate. Dis is brilliant, but this is almost certainly not under her purview. That would leave me tattling to Dagon, and while he’s a trusted member of your court, I don’t know him—either he’s already in the know, or he’s not, and those are decisions best left to you.” He took a breath. “Except for this one. This… What the fuck is going on?”

A beat. Only breathing.

“You leave me at odds with myself,” said Hastur, and the curling of the finer tips of his tentacles said he was serious and making a joke at once. “Do you have any idea how things would have gone for you in years past here?” Those tentacles rose, still not touching, but now—at some distance—on either side if Odd, not caging him in, no, but communicating that they could. “I suspect you do. One with your talent and intelligence—and evidently, ability to see through at least some of my wards—would know what it means, ordinarily, to approach a court such as mine.”

“I told you in our first conversation: I never, ever would have left this place,” Odd said, and his voice only trembled a little bit. His eyes darted, taking in the tentacles creeping around him, but he stood firm.  “In years past, I don’t know that I would have even survived my introduction to your court. I haven’t forgotten what it is you can do, Your Majesty. I know what a dangerous game I’m playing. But down there is a little girl—” He swallowed through the lump in his throat. “There is a very sad little girl that I want to make sure has her dad, because from the way you speak, it seems like you aren’t sold on this ‘restful sleep’ at the end of a few years business. It seems like you think you have no choice.”

Something changed.

Odd had no way to know just what, but something he’d said had hit home. The golden eyes behind that mask were wide, gleaming.

There were few times in life when the weight of someone else’s decision thickened the air like oncoming storm. This was one.

Odd took a deep breath. “I want to help you,” he said softly. “I could have fucked off. I could have written the Songweavers, I could have done a million other much smarter things than corner a Great Old One, throw secrets in his face, and demand answers. I have been thrown in the middle of this situation without a lifeline, without a gods-damned clue what the fuck is going on, but I have a feeling that no matter how we slice it, Faroe is going to get hurt. I want to protect her from that as best I can.” The rest came out in a shaky, horrible sigh. “Please.”

The god shuddered. That was a thing to see. “You wish to help her?” As if he needed it absolutely verified.

“The only thing I know for certain about this whole situation is that you love her,” Odd said softly. “And fuck, I barely know her, but I think I might love her too. She’s easy to love.”

“I do love her. Odd. Walk with me.” He slowly moved past Odd onto the balcony, which silently unfolded before them into neat, Odd-sized steps.

He followed, tucking his violin beneath one arm, aware of the sting of the cold air against the tear tracks on his cheeks. Beneath them the badlands of Mhor stretched, dizzying, silver.

If he was wrong… There were worse places to die.

Hastur had done something. No sounds from the city reached them now. Starlight made him void, a golden cloak and white mask floating in writhing darkness. “She needs all the support I can find for her,” Hastur said slowly. “A thing I am… inclined to reward well.” A volley, to see what Odd would say.

“I don’t give a shit about reward. I want her to be safe.” He eyed Hastur, a brief frown on his lips.

And that seemed to have cinched this decision. “Odd,” said Hastur in a calm, unremarkable tone, “in five years, I am going to die.”

Odd stopped walking.

For a long, long moment, he eyed the god beside him; his expression was neutral, though his eyes were sharp, calculating. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said, at last. “Gods like yourself… You don’t age, you don’t get sick. How do you know?”

Hastur seemed to be watching the stars. His mask was turned up, reflecting starlight. “Because the same Outer God which dropped you here as a joke has promised to kill me at that time.” He let a moment pass as if to let Odd parse that.

That information hit like Odd had been punched in the gut by a tentacle.

“My entire goal until that time is to ensure she is safe.” Hastur hardly needed to say who she was. “Along with… this strange family I seem to have gathered. She is a child, Odd. She will still be a child when I die. I must give to her a Dreamlands that will not seek to end her life, but will vie for her favor. I must.” He finally turned to Odd. “How do the humans say it? I’m… not my own man at the moment.” His chuckle was dark, and bitter.

“You really are dying,” Odd said, almost a whisper. “That’s why you’re leaving at night, and not telling anyone. You’re dealing with other powers you don’t have direct alliances with yet.”

“Yes. They will ally, or they will die. I will not leave her a trail of enemies—or opportunists.” Hastur bent lower, mask near. “And I do not tell my strange little family. Nor will you. They would grieve; they would fight against it, uselessly hurling themselves against that which cannot be stopped. I rather they are prepared, as best I can make them, so they may stand safe and strong when I am gone.”

Odd took a shuddery breath. “That’s why you keep mentioning that you don’t have time. And the way you spoke, on Faroe’s birthday.” He ran a hand over his face, up into his hair where it passed over the nubs of his shed antlers; he took a brief grip of his main antlers, the prong still sensitive after the shed. “When are you going to tell them?”

“At the end. I will give them time to yell, demand, blame, weep.” He sounded sad, but amused, like he expected nothing but the wildest drama. “But not enough time to damage themselves, or attempt anything that could garner his attention.” One tentacle neared Odd, then pulled back. “I tell you this in confidence. I tell you this because she will need support. Help. Friends.”

“That’s going to be a disaster. They’re…” He let out a shuddering breath. “There’s no good way to handle any of this. You’re going to die. Fuck.”

“There is no mitigation,” he said quietly. “And I dare not try too hard, lest he turn his attention to them instead.” His voice tightened. “Every moment I have with them is… become something beyond price or value. Perhaps this is why I have spared you—and yes, that is the right word. You know how it would have gone. But I never before appreciated… helplessness. And the terror of oncoming doom.”

Odd couldn't handle this. He turned away, looking instead toward the expanse of Mhor below. “So… what can we do, then?” He said at last, the tears welling up again.

Hastur’s sigh was deep. “I don’t know. I’m doing what I can, without inviting opportunistic attacks. Beyond that, I don’t know.” A smile touched his voice. “Does that frighten you? To hear one of my stature saying such things, admitting such things.”

“It makes me feel a lot of things,” Odd said thickly. “You… I spent most of my life scared of you, and others like you, but mostly just you. And you’re going to die.” He took another shuddering breath. “Fuck me sideways, that Outer God has a sick sense of humor. Another finger curls on the monkey’s paw, and—” He let out a bark of a laugh. “And I am focusing on myself, because I’m upset, and I’m not even important here. We have to figure out a way to keep Faroe safe in five years.”

“I have a way,” said Hastur, who, whatever else he was, definitely still was arrogant. “I am inviting you to join it.” Yet he’d already showed himself adjustable. Perhaps the arrogance was… not as concrete as it might have been. 

“Sure. Talk to me. I’m already in this far, may as well say I do, right?”

Was that relief? Odd had been watching this strange body language for a while now. That was relief. 

“My plan has several steps,” Hastur said, turning fully toward Odd now, as though the act of telling him was more interesting and more exciting than all the stars and all the arid beauty of these wastes. “She will be too young when I go; fifteen, with all of Carcosa on her shoulders? No. There must be a buffer, and that is where John and Arthur come in.”

“John’s not your offspring,” Odd said. “He has your memories. What is he?”

“A rare thing called a Forgotten One. He is a piece of me, unwillingly torn away.” A pause. “So is Sunny.”

Holy shit.

“Okay,” Odd said, soft. “That… makes sense. I know about Forgotten Ones. It tracks for Sunny.” His brow furrowed. “But John… You’ve claimed John as your offspring, not as a fragment. And he seems far too independent to be a true Forgotten One.”

“He is. He’s been with Arthur Lester for over a decade. He’s grown. Quite frankly, he’s doing things Forgotten Ones are not supposed to be able to do, but then, Arthur himself is something of an odd specimen, too.” Hastur must not have told anyone this. He was lower now, mask almost on Odd’s eye-level, tentacle-tips twisting. “I have announced him as offspring so he has a claim to step up—with Arthur—and fill the gap until Faroe is old enough to take her place. Parker and Sunny… were not in my original plan, but my hope is their brand of wisdom and their camaraderie will give the kind of aid John’s prickliness tends to evaporate.” He couldn’t seem to help himself. “Even the transformation of Carcosa is part of this. Soon, I will change it back to welcoming for all, and it will be clearly at her request, earning her favor among merchants and travelers that will not be quickly forgotten.”

“You really have changed,” Odd said, very quietly. “All of this, for them. For her. John must have split off… what, more than twenty years ago now? And since you adopted her… you changed.” Absurdly a small, helpless laugh bubbled from him, even as he sniffled and wiped at the tears that dripped down his cheeks. “It would be just my luck, I suppose.”

“I…” It figured a being wired like this might not realize he’d changed, or how much. “I… for her, I would change.” Hastur considered. “For her, I suppose I have. Arthur experienced both sides. I’m afraid I wasn’t very kind to him in the beginning.” And that felt like an understatement. “What would be your luck? You weep again.” And again, one tentacle came near as if to catch those tears, then pulled away.

“Vulgtmog was watching the situation with Arthur closely, you know? We know how he was treated. I was… gods, I was just coming into my adulthood then, going out on my own for real. And even through all that, he forgave you—and that man is keen. He wouldn't have forgiven you if he didn’t believe it.” 

The god… colored. It pulsed in waves, undulating; and even in the starlight, it seemed to be kind of purple. “I was not subtle in what I did to him,” he said quietly. “Perhaps only one like Arthur could forgive John and… myself.”

“Maybe. He’s something, alright; I’d be half-convinced he was mad if not for the fact he’d probably be enjoying himself much more.” Odd let out a choked sob, scrubbing at his eyes with his hand. “Poor bastard. He’s never going to forgive you, after. He’s going to think he could have done something. And you’re going through all this effort, just to never—” He stopped, choked silent by tears.

“He may,” said Hastur quietly. “But he will be alive to do so—and our daughter will be safe.”

Odd’s chest shuddered with the effort to keep calm; he tilted his head back, toward the stars. “Fuck me. I spent over twenty years running from the sight of gods, and then as a joke I am dropped in the lap of one that maybe, after all this time, would be worth worshiping; and you’re dying.” His voice broke—into a laugh, into a sob. “What a cruel fucking joke.”

Hastur pulled back. Not up; he seemed determined to stay at eye-level now, so the impression was almost like a train backing away. “You…” He stopped. “You… what did you say?”

“Just feeling rather sorry for myself, Your Majesty.” Odd said; abruptly he sat on the edge of the magical walkway, tail curling around himself, violin in his lap as he buried his face in his hands. “The irony is getting to me, is all. Find a god who’s worth it, and whoops, he’s marked for death. Don’t even get to enjoy thinking about—about worship or any of that before it’s just—” He made a gesture, like skipping a stone across a lake. “Gone! Don’t know why I thought it would be different. Been like that since I was born, you know, at least some things stay consistent.”

“You would…” The ancient, terrifying Lord of Interstellar Spaces seemed to have forgotten how to speak. “You…”

“Explains why you didn’t do anything. You didn’t want to leave me feeling shitty when it all happened; I get it.” Odd let out a sob. “Carcosa was always meant to be my last stop, because I just… I knew that once I got here, I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t want to. And as it turns out, maybe you would’ve been worth it all along, and I could have been—” His voice cracked and at last Odd decided that words would no longer do. Instead, he set his head on his arms and cried.

Another flash of purple over that dark hide, almost like some sea creature. Hastur reached. Hesitated. Considered. And then said a thing he might never have said in his long and selfish life: “May I touch you?”

Words were definitely hard right now. Odd nodded, head in his hands.

It was the gentlest touch. Stroking his hair first, then raising his chin. Hastur had produced a handkerchief. It was as gaudily gold as anything he’d ever made, and delicately, he dabbed at Odd’s face.

It wasn’t funny, really. “Are you still willing to help my daughter?” said Hastur.

“Of course I am,” Odd said, snotty and teary and feeling like absolute shit. “I’d decided already. Just… The irony isn’t lost on me, is all.”

The touch—warm through silk—lingered. Slowly tending. “You could still come to me. If you wished.”

His brow furrowed. “I thought… but you said no.”

“I said no to simply taking you. Melting your mind to make you worship me. I will not do that to you, Odd. Ever.”

Odd sniffled. “Reassuring. That meant a lot. I appreciate it,” he said, trembling. “But I don’t know what this means. I don’t know what it is you’re asking of me. If it was before, I could make a pretty compelling guess, but now…” His voice cracked. “You’re dying.”

“Nothing can stop that now,” Hastur said softly. “But I could still give you such good things until all is said and done.”

“Good things, huh?” Odd cracked a fragile smile. “It’s not going to make it so you can stay, or ensure I help out. You don’t… have to. I’ve committed, for Faroe if no one else.” He shuddered. “Gods, this hurts. But if it will make you happy, why not? What do either of us have to lose?”

Hastur tilted Odd’s face toward him. “Will you let me make you happy?” 

Which was an incredibly vague question, all things considered.

And all things considered, Odd was all-in. “Who am I to say no to you, my King?” he said, smiling.

#

“I don’t care what time it is,” Arthur snapped again. “We’re seeing him now. This is a whole new development.”

We should wait until breakfast! John said again. This is ridiculous! It’s three in the morning!

“I don’t care,” said Arthur again, and pushed open the enormous throne room doors.

Music slid over him like warm oil, and he inhaled.

Hastur sat on his throne. It wasn’t time for Court; he wasn’t performing for anyone, but draped there like a cloak, tentacles largely limp, except for the tips which moved in time to—

Odd, who sat on a stone ledge right by the throne, making music.

The bard smiled as he looked up, his fingers working on his lute in a rolling melody that flexed and sighed. “My King,” he said, nudging one tentacle with his foot; he did not stop playing.

Hastur seemed to stir as if from deep meditation. “My own,” he said, and held out one enormous hand. “Come to me.”

Arthur stood there. 

He’s holding out his hand.

“Is he okay?” whispered Arthur. “He sounds weird.”

Fucking… how should I know? Yes!

Hastur chuckled, low. “Come.”

“Okay,” said Arthur, slowly approaching. “Why?”

“Because I wish to have you near me,” said the King.

Arthur exhaled slowly. “We need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course, my own.” And Hastur paused. Looked over at Odd.

It was a distinctly… considering look.

Hastur, said John, his gold fuming, his voice rising. I am the Ki–

Hastur grabbed them, and Arthur yipped.

“Hey,” Odd said, and promptly whacked one of Hastur’s tentacles with his tail. “You know he doesn’t like being grabbed. Be nice.”

“Ah, true,” said Hastur. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur stared in his direction. “Did you hit your head, or something?”

Hastur chuckled again.

I… hey! I wasn’t…

Hastur put them down.

I am the King in Yellow! John blurted out with significantly less drama than he’d planned.

“Yes, you are,” Hastur agreed, which deflated whatever was left.

“Would it be best if I leave?” Odd stretched out a bit, toes flexing in his boots.

“Not at all,” said Hastur.

“John remembers,” said Arthur. “Everything.”

Hastur stilled. “Everything?”

From before. Everything. All. Of. It.

Hastur picked them up again, but this time to bring them close and study. 

Arthur didn’t wriggle this time. “Is he okay? He said something happened.”

I murdered the assassin, growled John, and I did it too quickly.

“John,” said Hastur slowly. “Exactly what did you do?”

A good question, really. I…I reached.

Hastur waved his enormous hand just beside Arthur, almost like brushing away cobwebs.

Arthur shuddered, inhaled.

[“He’s all right,” said Hastur slowly, “but you are very lucky. He didn’t tear. John… you grew.”]

John huffed. [I have been. It’s nothing new.]

[“This is.”]

“Excuse me,” Arthur said tartly.

“It’s personal, between the two of them,” Odd said, hushed. “About John. I’m sure he’ll fill you in after.”

You’d have known if I’d hurt him! You’d have felt it! John blared, and fear made his voice slightly higher.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “I don’t understand what I’m seeing, though. Don’t do that again until we know, John. You’ve stretched him.”

A pause.

“He what?” said Arthur.

What the fuck does that mean? said John.

“When I know, I’ll tell you,” said Hastur, and put them down with a sigh. “It’s always something with you two,” he added, and his tone was fond.

Arthur smoothed his robe down. “So. That was less upsetting than I feared.”

But… but I… I am the King in Yellow! John said.

“You always were,” said Hastur.

John didn’t seem to like that. When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem so momentous.

“Oh, it is momentous,” said Hastur. “So is this: Odd, for your first city-wide performance, do you want help? Or would you like to charm my people in their entirety all on your own?”

Arthur blinked. “Performance?”

“Odd is particularly talented,” rumbled Hastur, “and our city needs… help after the events of the last few days. If he performs, spirits will lift. This is guaranteed.”

“So it’s not on me,” said Arthur with clear relief, then caught himself. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Hastur and I have been talking. You’re shouldering a lot already, Arthur; it’s about time you had someone who could help, at least in this regard.” Odd smiled, warm, leaning back against the tentacle that rested behind him. “I think it depends on how grand a spectacle we want it to be. I can certainly perform myself, though we’d likely need some magical enhancements for my voice and instrument; not to say I wouldn’t enjoy a backdrop of accompaniment, but I’m more than capable of handling it alone.” He paused, tail flicking. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You shall have the greatest stage,” said Hastur like melted chocolate. “The best equipment. All will love you when they see you.”

Arthur, he’s leaning into him.

“Of course, that’s a given,” Odd laughed, low. “Hey. Will you give Arthur the day off? He and Parker might enjoy walking around the city, enjoying the rest of the festival. With protection, obviously, though I think John might be able to handle it.”

Arthur blinked.

Hastur hesitated. He looked at Odd. So gently, he touched Odd’s cheek. “That is wise advice.” It wasn’t agreement, but it also wasn’t a shut down.

“I… I haven’t done… anything like that since John,” said Arthur very quietly, and that swung the jury.

“Then it shall be so,” said Hastur. “And then…” He stopped.

“What?” said Arthur. “Then what?”

Hastur looked at Odd again. “We’ll see if there are to be more celebrations after. Go rest, both of you. It has been a trying week.”

Arthur, he’s—

“Thank you,” said Arthur softly. “Can we take Faroe into the city?”

“Not as she is,” said Hastur. “Disguise would be necessary. Let’s temporarily table that.”

“Temporarily,” said Arthur firmly. “She needs to see things outside of this place.”

“Of course, my own,” said Hastur. “Off you go.”

Thought he’d be more upset, John grumbled as they left.

“Don’t you think we’re really damn lucky he wasn’t?” said Arthur, and the doors closed.

Hastur looked at Odd again. “The evening has left me drunk.”

It didn't sound licentious. It sounded… pensive.

Odd strummed his lute, picking a song back up. “Good drunk? Emotional relief drunk?”

“Drunk enough to consider something perhaps… extreme. But then, you like extreme things, don’t you, Odd?” said Hastur.

“With consent and discussion, yes,” Odd said, tail flicking. “And with someone who is sober.”

Hastur couldn’t smile, per se. He managed anyway, a full-body thing. “Good. When I am sober, let us discuss your marking.”

[martianbugsbunny]

Who Makes You See Color (A CaptainCroc Soulmates AU Fic): Chapter 13

Hello, darlings, you all are about to read one of my favorite chapters! This is the one where Killian finally gets his turn at being yeeten, so you Killian stans (folk of good taste, if I may say so) better gird yourselves. Bad news for any Rumple stans, though, because he’s also getting clobbered in this chapter. I’m just throwing bad life twists at my dudes left and right here. Tags: @wastingstarsss Have fun!

Gold woke up feeling…fine. His neck was sore from sleeping on the couch, but the low mood and general ache were both gone. He felt a bit foolish for calling off work, and wondered if he’s just been overreacting.

He decided not to call Roger in. After all, it wouldn’t really be fair to him to go back on a day off. Gold would rather work, though, and it might be nice to have the shop to himself again.

As he was walking to the shop, bundled into a thick overcoat and a dark blue scarf, he passed by Doctor Whale. “Mr. Gold, if I might have a moment?” he asked, his voice shot through with the fear Gold associated with those trying to get an extension on their rent. He did own Whale’s apartment complex, yes, but as a doctor, Whale had never been one to fall behind on payments.

Gold didn’t really like Whale, and was loath to give him a second thought, and yet he stopped walking and gestured for him to get on with it.

“Roger Davies was recently brought into your employ, was he not?”

“He was.”

“Late last night he went into cardiac arrest. We were able to resuscitate him, but his condition is…not good. You should start looking for a new employee.”

Whale moved on, not having a clue what he’d just done. Gold stood there, numb, for a moment, processing what the doctor had said. Roger was too young to be having heart trouble. It didn’t make sense.

Gold shook himself out of his daze and wasted no more time getting to the hospital. Fortunately for him, he was well-feared enough that nobody dared to keep him from going to Roger’s side.

His condition was poor enough that he was in a room all by himself, not recovering in a group like the patients who had a chance. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the various machines that were hitched into his veins and shoved down his throat. After living in Storybrooke for twenty-eight years, most of which he had spent unaware that these machines were anything new to him, the medical devices used in the land without magic still frightened Gold. They seemed so invasive and unnatural—but if they could keep Roger alive, then they must be good.

“Roger, you don’t get to die,” Gold said. “Do you hear me? You’re going to see the curse broken, and I’m going to tell you how much I love you when you can understand what it truly means.”

Roger seemed alright, other than the machines. Gold hated when internal things went wrong; injuries where he could see blood or bruising made sense, they looked real. Internal wounds were mysterious and always seemed so out of the blue.

Maybe...it wasn’t really. Gold hesitated, then put his fingers to his own wrist. It was difficult for him to judge it accurately, so he took a deep breath and placed his hand over his chest. There. Buried beneath his own heartbeat was a second. The curse must be weakening; he hadn’t felt a second pulse since being brought to Storybrooke. (He probably would’ve thought he was insane, if he had.)

Roger’s heart—Killian’s heart—did know him, after all. His pain had found its way through their link and been subsumed. Gold shook his head. Killian Jones would’ve been able to withstand it; he, too, was immortal, and he, too, had been through a lot in his life. But Roger Davies had no clue about any of that. He believed that he was a simple, mortal man, and a mortal could never bear the pain of an eternal being. His heart knew well enough to take the pain, but his head knew little enough to be brought low by it.

“Damnit, Killian,” he sighed, squeezing Roger’s shoulder.

“Gold.”

Emma Swan stood in the doorway. She had been more confident, lately, and Gold had to admit she was a good sheriff. That might be a problem for him. “Yes, Miss Swan?”

“One of the nurses called. She said you forced your way into this patient’s room?”

Gold laughed quietly, shaking his head. “That may be a bit of an over exaggeration,” he said. “This patient is my—my employee, Roger Davies. I merely wanted to check on him. We’ve…become friends, in the past few weeks.”

Swan seemed to be testing her superpower on him. Her eyes narrowed. “Then why did you call him ‘Killian’ a minute ago?” she asked.

He couldn’t admit to believing Henry’s theory, even if it was the truth and he knew it. He was suspicious enough in general. “I believe you’re mistaken, Miss Swan,” he said. He put every ounce of Rumplestiltskin’s lying ability into that one sentence, hoping it would be enough to fool her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a shop to open.”

After that day, the shop was a less interesting place to Gold. He couldn’t look at a lamp without thinking of how carefully Roger cleaned it, or even at the windows without remembering how handsome Roger looked with his sleeves rolled up to scrub them. He developed a raw spot on his finger from twisting the ring Roger had given back to him, which he found himself doing whenever he missed Roger.

It was often.

His trips to the hospital were regular, but not too frequent, to avoid drawing attention from Sheriff Swan. He could hardly believe the way time seemed to just move on without Roger. It didn’t seem right. Gold’s world stopped for him, so why shouldn’t everyone else’s?

There was never a single day, in all that continuing time, when Gold visited Roger and didn’t repeat those three words. Roger might die without knowing it, Gold could never be sure, but he could at least try to make him understand.

[lastlycoris]

@livlaughlovio has replied to your post:

damn what'd ya do

It's a very long story and rant. This ended up being a super long post.

The tl;dr version is that father slaps his kid who got her brain tumor removed so hard it knocked her out - and I sliced the skin and subcutaneous fat of his abdomen open without actually opening his gut - and no, he was never in danger of dying.

District Attorney Dent tries to prosecute me for Attempted Murder (15-25 years) but is forced to downgrade it to 2nd degree assault (7 years). It later changed to a plea deal of 1-2 years because DA Dent was concerned the jury would exonerate me solely because the victim was a child-beating asshole regardless of what the law says - I believe this is what's called a "jury nullification". This plea deal included an evaluation at Arkham, because - I'm assuming this - the people prosecuting me all thought I was crazy.

And that plea deal got wrecked because I had a year of surgeries that now had to be rescheduled - which the other three neurosurgeons in Gotham City can't cover because my caseload is a little less than all of theirs combined. An arrangement was made for the sake of those patients seeking me specifically and the hospital, which is why I'm out on a sort of work parole.

--

The long story:

I came into the patient room with a father slapping the face of his middle-school aged daughter so hard it knocked her out. The only other person in the room was the mother, who was sporting bruises on the face herself.

In any case, his daughter's crime? Having a nasty locally-invasive medulloblastoma (type of brain cancer) and needing extensive, expensive chemoradiation prior to surgery.

Before I came in, I could hear lines like "should've let you die" and "a waste of money" kept coming out. I remember the room stinking of alcohol. And when I saw him hit her, I sliced a shallow thin cut across the abdomen with a scalpel I keep on my person - because Gotham - and he screams like I eviscerated him.

Later on, I learned he's her step-father, which makes sense. Animals are predisposed to making sure their genes survive, and killing the competition is one of those means to fulfill that. Compassion for others' young like you do is an exception rather the rule.

In any case, I called security to the room. I checked up on Wendy because I didn't take the effort of removing her brain tumor for someone else to kill her instead with a brain bleed. Her mother tried to check up on her husband - I just told her to "Just let him bleed. I didn't even touch the abdominal fascia" and that she has far more valuable things to worry about like the daughter he just struck. After security arrived and I kicked the screaming piece of garbage into the hall to let my patient convalesce in peace, I went on to my next surgery which was a subdural hematoma evacuation - essentially a slow brain bleed that is causing the brain to be squeezed to the patient's potential death.

It nearly got ruined when the police crowded the operating theatre and nearly broke the sterile field - so that's two surgeries the asshole nearly ruined. I told the police they could either arrest me and be potentially responsible for the patient dying on the operating table or they can let me do my job. They let me do my job.

The Gotham City Police Department later claimed I was holding my operating patient hostage. I told the court that the GCPD must've been projecting because I don't compromise duty for favors. That made the officers in the courtroom bristle something bad.

---

The District Attorney Dent tried to push for Attempted Murder during my preliminary hearing, but he was forced to bring the charges down to 2nd Degree Assault / Assault with a Deadly Weapon. Even back as far as residency, I was known to have a perfect tactile sense: even through the scalpel, I can feel the softness and density and depth I'm cutting with touch alone - and when asked to demonstrate, I stabbed a lemon to a depth of exactly 2.54 centimeters - exactly an inch. Had I actually been trying, I could probably get that down to the thousandths place - I do delicate vascular reconstruction work after all, dealing with vessels as small as 3 mm wide using special magnifying goggles.

If I wanted Wendy's father dead, he would've been dead; I never went through the abdomen and into his space containing his organs. I knew exactly the damage I was doing, which ended up working against me as DA Dent argued that it can't be a crime of passion when I knew exactly the damage I was doing.

He was right. I did.

Eventually, there was a plea deal because the DA was concerned that the jury might let me slide because the victim of my crime was such an asshole. Apparently cause jurors can do that.

My defense attorney convinced me to accept the deal because the strategy of "asshole victim" is unreliable. And he also made promises that regardless of what happens, I'd be out of Arkham Asylum within days at most - perhaps not completely free, but definitely out.

Speaking of Arkham, apparently my actions during the entire thing was enough for everyone to be convinced to send me to the state's insane asylum, which I never really quite got. My defense attorney claims it's the disaffected attitude I treated an "apparently dying", bleeding man by kicking him out of the hallway and simply going to work afterwards.

I cut him because he assaulted my patient. I then kicked him out the door because he was being loud and disruptive with his screaming, which harms my patient's healing. And I went back to work because I was the only neurosurgeon on call, and brain bleeds don't typically cure themselves. It's a very clean and logical order of events because I won't compromise duty. Supposedly, it made people concerned there was a screw loose in my head.

In any case, my defense attorney was right. It didn't take more than a couple days before there was a bit of an uproar at Gotham Memorial Hospital - when people realized they'd have to cancel every single one of my surgeries this year.

There are only four neurosurgeons in Gotham City because no one wants to earn lots of money and then get shot before being able to spend it. On top of that, my caseload is almost equal to the three of there's combined. Even outside the city, there are very few neurosurgeons that can perform the cases I do because I can push the limits of what can be done through the surgery in speed, accuracy, and precision. That is what having a perfect tactile sense means.

My parole ended up being a quiet affair. It helped that the asshole victim was being incarcerated on child abuse / endangerment charges (25 years) with and had no means to publicize his version of "injustice." The mother who was in the room at the time also portrayed my actions as heroic. It didn't quite excuse the use of the scalpel, which was why I was being charged in the first place, but I think the DA office was a lot more lenient on me than it would typically be for other criminals.

[movedto-mastcrmarksman]

@thefleetsfinest sent the MISTLETOE prompt -> 🌿🍒 x how ever many you want to write for however many muses of any combinations of our blogs. <3 -> well obviously there are three combos of babes i am going to start eith, but I might write more little things uwu

For whatever the real reason mistletoe existed, not the literal plant, but the tradition of hanging it in doorways and KISSING whoever was met underneath was one that Clint followed. Now over the years he has accused, with reasons that were false, that he was using this to kiss anyone and everyone. A seasonal form of Hawkeye harassment.

Now he did in fact kiss, and hey come on it was always a cheek kiss with consent, everyone thst would appear underneath where it was hanging. Somewhere along the way over the years he was sure the meaning if mistletoe and kissing was misconstrued but Clint kept with hanging some up. The REAL reason being was it gave him the opportunity and chance to dote affection for the many, MANY important individuals throughout his life. Fellow avengers, friends he otherwise didn't see often, the inner circle of people that at this point in time Clint could not find himself to be able to live without anymore (that was an alarmingly large circle).

It's a lame excuse he knows, but it felt necessary in many cases when he would again cite the other half wasn't easy to dote on or he didn't see often and OH LOOK OPPS before he move to plant a cheek kiss (pending any rejection). Most of which suffered and let Clint away with this. It's the easiest way to hide affection, to show some of that while giving a lame excuse to pass off than having to admit that the archer superhero's heart was a lot bigger than his chest and there were so many that he appreciated.

Now LEONARD MCCOY was someone who in category C of all places in his life. Primarily meaning he was someone whose come into his life and he didn't think he could live without, someone he trusted implicitly would be there for the next several hundred mistakes and failures Clint would make. Someone who would catch him when he fell again and again.

He's like a brother to him, at the beginning a civilian doctor who saw the injuries he occurred after he came back to life. Scrapping together the pieces of what happened to the world after his sacrifice. Captain America gone, his marriage with Bobbi got a whole lot more complicated when he found out she had been some pawn in a long con Skrull invasion (that further robbed of his sense of reality which he had already been grappling against after everything he vaguely couldn't remember eith Wanda). He wore a different suit then, took a different name because Steve Rogers was dead and he hadn't ever been able to admit how much direction in life that man had given him.

Everyone remembers how he antagonize him but came to trust him more than any man he ever before when Clint was young and in his twenties.

Leonard McCoy had been there when he was piecing everything back together. A lost man himself he would later understand and the southern doctor tended to his scrapes and bruises over the hardest years of Clint's life.

The only person he requested to call while awaiting his trial for the killing of Bruce Banner, the only person who saw him before he vanished from New York City when he needed to try to reclaim some sense of reality, of sanity, when he couldn't get the shake out of his hands because he'd remember the weight of what he did for Bruce. The arrow he gave him, the shape and weight memorable. Leonard knew all of that, listened for months as he struggled his way across the country trying to HELP others and himself.

The friend who got the calls from him when he was living LA and felt like life was okay as he watched Kate with pride resurrect a West Coast team.

So catching Leonard under the mistletoe, he had been on the list of someone who needed to be caught under it. Now his sponsor, best friend, the man who helped him with his own recovery, Clint hardly needed an excuse to show him affection. He thought he was quite affectionate but catching Leonard there was an agenda.

It's a the perfect excuse to show the man how much his friendship had value in his life. He's sure that Leonard knew, how could he not and if he didn't? Well, then Clint has really screwed up here.

Either way, he manages to catch Leonard under the mistletoe, recently hang back up for the man's invitation over to his apartment for quality time because he's family more then friend. His fingers curl into the man's right shoulder, bunching up his shirt and keeping him there. ❝ C'mon, it's tradition. You scared of a little green plant, Doc? ❞ He asks before he's going in for the kiss.

Now this was Leonard and the only way to convey how much he means is not slip of the lips on his cheek. He presses his own lips to the corner of Leonard's mouth, half onto his lips. He holds there, kissing the man and he's sure that he understand that this was platonic, that man was his brother and he just needed him to known and feel that love. That he was a cherished friend.

Clint pulls away, his face almost red because he held way longer than others and now knows what flavor of chapstick that Leonard applied. ❝ You kiss Linda with sunscreen flavored lips? ❞ He says when he pulls away, absolutely judging the man before he dips his head.

❝ I love you, buddy. ❞

[maac-sblog]

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[mediocre-daydreams]

you are in love | bonus fic

peter parker x avenger! reader

w/c: 843

notes: you don't have to read (un)requited infatuation, but i highly recommend it; there are parts that will make more sense if you do

this is a follow up drabble to the one-shot (un)requited infatuation

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

the team knew you were in love with peter parker before you did. it was obvious—

the way your eyes softened as you watched him make the two of you hot chocolate late at night when the remnants of the bad mission kept you awake,

the way you smiled a little brighter when you were with him,

the way you talked about him like he was the most precious thing to exist in every multiverse. 

the most frustrating thing was how oblivious the two of you were to each other’s reciprocated feelings. 

he was always there for you, even when it came to the smallest things. he buttoned your coat in the winter. he carried your favorite flavor of chapstick in his backpack.

he teased you, but not in a self-deprecating manner—his jokes made you blush. 

peter suddenly started double layering after he met you (and it had nothing to do with the fact that when you were cold, he could give you his hoodie).

you hadn’t carried your own textbooks since you’d become friends with him. (his excuse was that he had super strength, so it was the logical option.)

you had canceled your metro card subscription because peter was always there to swing you around. “it’s more convenient,” he claimed, “and it’s a win-win because i get more practice.”

both of you knew he didn’t need practice.

even though the two of you could dip into tony’s bank account any time, peter always bought you little things with his own money.

your favorite coffee at midnight, when you were falling asleep on your keyboard in the middle of an essay.

the chain on your neck was a gift from him; “it reflects the sunlight,” he told you, “and it reminded me of you. you’re my sunshine.”

on the quinjet home from missions, when a thundering silence settled over the exhausted team, you and peter existed in your own bubble.

shoulders brushing, knees touching, 

the two of you sat in silence on the way home. you didn’t need words to express yourselves. the two of you were both thinking, “i’m in love with you.”

you’d gone off-grid for a particularly difficult mission with a small team, and peter had worried about you for the week and a half that you were gone.

you came home bruised and covered in scrapes, but you were otherwise unharmed. you rejected dr. cho’s suggestion of staying in the med bay for a few days. 

instead, you ran into peter’s room and let him hold you in his arms for hours.

he was your caretaker for the next few days (though his domestic skills were severely lacking), bringing you burnt toast with butter in the mornings,

letting you wear his shirts, that you’d stick your nose into so you could breathe in his the smell of his cologne and the soup he’d make for you

even when you had recovered, he’d made you look him in the eye. he took your face in his hands and promised you he’d always take care of you. and he did.

being an avenger was not only physically tumultuous but emotionally scarring as well. nightmares were all too common. tony had soundproofed each bedroom, which had its pros and cons.

you and peter began sleeping in the same bed so that you could wake each other up if either one had a nightmare. but since you started doing so, the nightmares decreased in frequency.

it wasn’t a complete solution. there were still good and bad days. but it was enough.

bucky and sam were notorious meddlers. tony was a passionate shipper. and natasha was too observant for her own good. there was fun, lighthearted banter. but there was also invasive, out-of-pocket schemes.

peter told you he loved you because of a fight he had with sam. it wasn’t a cinematic kiss in the rain, or illuminated in the lights of a carousel, but the strange look on his face—which you’d later figure out was adoration—was enough to make it the most romantic moment of your life.

for a while, it was always “you’re my best friend,” he says. he kissed your cheek. he’d thread his arm through the crook of your elbow.

and in the span of one night, with one teary confession, it became “you’re the one i love.” it was never a kiss on the lips. it was never his fingers between yours.

you’d think things would change. but it was almost exactly the same as before. you’d already made your traditions. 

every new york winter, he’d build an army of snowmen with you and dance with you with flurries in your hair, spinning you around and around until you felt dizzy and he had an excuse to pull to close to his chest.

he’d already kept a picture of you on his bedside table. his walls were covered in polaroids of the two of you.

“to love peter parker is to lose your mind,” his aunt may said. but you felt perfectly sane. you were unbreakable because you were in love.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

peter parker masterlist | main masterlist

taglist: (comment to be added!)

@bambamwolf87 @yourallihave @im-a-slut-for-fluff

[delimeful]

Helpless (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, spiders/arachnophobia, mild violence

-

Halfway through the woods, Patton heard the distinct sound of someone mumbling.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head to listen with a fair bit of curiosity. The mumbling was quiet enough that he couldn’t make out any individual words, but he could more or less tell which direction it was coming from.

Whatever the source was, they sounded a little frustrated.

He hesitated. Virgil was always emphasizing how careful Patton needed to be in the woods, though how much of that was due to actual danger and how much was the drider being a worrywart over Patton’s ‘chronic inability to defend himself’, he wasn’t sure.

Either way, this didn’t sound like a dangerous wild animal, so it would probably be okay to take a little detour and see what the matter was!

He followed the noise off the trail into a thick copse of trees, eventually coming upon intricate silvery threadwork that wound between them. He was proud to say he only barely shuddered as he ducked past them, his fear of spiders mostly overcome by his affection for his friend.

The webbing got thicker the further he went, and eventually he came upon the source of the mumbling, which appeared to be a whole person, stuck against the outer edge of one of Virgil’s larger webs.

They looked up upon spotting him, eyes bright for a moment before taking him in and visibly dulling with disappointment, which, aside from sorta hurting Patton’s feelings, seemed an odd response for someone in need of help.

“Hello there,” he greeted, waving. “My name’s Patton, I live over at the nearby town. You seem to be in a bit of a prestickament!”

“No, I did this myself,” the stranger corrected, already looking past Patton with disinterest. “It is an attempt to meet with someone I would like to speak with, and they seem the skittish sort, so I would appreciate it if you moved on.”

Patton hummed, more than a little confused. Something about this seemed familiar. “What are you going to do if this person doesn’t show up, though?”

“My arms are free,” they responded, frowning at Patton’s persistence as they wiggled the fingers of their free hand demonstrably. The other hand was occupied with a worn-looking journal. “I will be able to eat and drink, and thus am in no danger.”

“My friend says these woods can get mighty cold at night,” Patton countered, undeterred. “Can’t you meet your friend in town, instead? Why does it have to be a drider’s web?”

And, oh, that was it! Virgil had just been telling him the other day about someone who’d gotten stuck in one of his webs just like this, a mage who had been all-too-delighted to see him. Patton had hardly registered how they’d met, since he’d mostly been very upset to learn that some people would try to use his friend’s body parts as potions ingredients.

“That’s because the drider is the one I’m hoping to speak with,” the stranger replied, as though it should be obvious. “I sincerely doubt they would appreciate an invitation to town.”

Patton stared at the little notebook for a moment, and abruptly put the pieces together. This must have been the stranger that freaked Virgil out so badly!

And he was lying in wait in one of Virgil’s webs… In that case, there was no way he could leave things like this.

“I don’t think the drider is around,” he offered cheerily. “Sometimes they migrate to different areas for different seasons! You won’t meet anyone while hanging around, so I’ll help you down!”

He circled around the tree where most of the webs were rooted, approaching the stranger’s edge of webbing, and found to his surprise that they really were stuck. How they planned to ambush Virgil while stuck in a web, he wasn’t sure, especially since the gambit hadn’t worked on the first attempt either. Magic, maybe?

“How do you know that?” the stranger asked, craning to look at him with sudden interest. “About drider migration cycles.”

Patton shrugged as he plucked at the threads of the web, testing each one to see where they led. “I’m a good listener, so I pick things up here and there. What do you do?”

It seemed to be the right question to ask, since the stranger perked up, distracted from his inquiry.

“I am a researcher,” they informed Patton. “I’m seeking out information on the more reclusive creatures that live in these lands, like driders! This is the first one that I’ve met in person, so if they’re leaving, I need to catch up right away.”

Patton slid the sheath off of the little paring knife he’d taken to carrying and started sawing at one of the threads. “Are you going to try to capture him?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as he could. “You know, for your research.”

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” they replied indignantly. “The behavior of any being would be unnatural and stilted while imprisoned, especially a sapient one. My research is meant to increase humanity's understanding of driders, not to put them on display for entertainment.”

Patton blinked at them, slicing through another strand. “You… aren’t looking to hurt them?”

“No!” They honestly sounded offended by the idea. “I don’t think I ever could, anyhow, the one I met was very large, and they would likely be able to incapacitate me without any trouble.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Patton asked, remembering the terror that had swept through him during that first encounter, when he’d thought the drider was a giant creepy crawly death dealer. Even after he realized, when Virgil yoinked him with his two front legs, Patton had been a little nervous.

“People are only scared of what they don’t understand,” they informed him, chin lifted stubbornly, “and I know more about driders than any other human. I don’t see any reason to be afraid.”

“Wow… You’re really passionate about this, huh?” Patton grinned as he sliced through the last of the support webbing, and with a few snaps, the researcher fell to the ground, only a few strands of silk clinging to them.

“Of course!” they replied, pausing to pull some of the softer webbing bits off of himself and folding them into a pocket of his bag. “The information compiled on them is often vague or outright misleading, and due to their reclusiveness and occasional aggression, nobody else has been able to correct these false accounts.”

They paused, studying the woods around them. “I am… uncertain on how I’m going to discern which area the drider has chosen to migrate to. I don’t suppose you have any idea?”

Patton patted their shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. I think there’s a friend of mine you should meet properly.”

—

“Virgil!” Patton called brightly. “I’m here!”

He had been leading the way through increasingly dense and shadowy foliage for a fair while, now. Logan glanced up from their connected hands to see exactly where he was being pulled to, his heartbeat picking up in speed despite the possibility that this was a cruel prank or even a mugging.

Sure, Patton had described the drider that he’d met a couple of days ago quite accurately, but that was no assurance that he was actually familiar with the being. Most of the townsfolk seemed peripherally aware of ‘Virgil’’s presence, after all, so Patton could have glimpsed him before. It seemed more likely than them being friends. Driders were notoriously solitary, and ‘Virgil’ had seemed quite averse during Logan’s encounter with him, after all.

There was a crack from above, like a branch snapping.

In the next moment, a heavy weight had dropped down from above, knocking Logan to the ground and forcing all the air from his lungs. As he gasped futilely, he realized there were two hands pinning his arms to the ground, and some very familiar fangs put on full display, mere inches from his face.

“Leave him alone,” a very angry drider demanded, his regular voice layered with harsh, gravely rattling.

Logan wheezed in response, absently noting that there were multiple small black eyes visible against the dark marks under the more human set of eyes and wondering just how the two different ocular sensory organs overlapped.

“Virgil, stop!” Patton’s hands appeared at the edge of Logan’s vision, pushing back against Virgil’s shoulders until he eased up, lifting his crouched spider half up only slightly, as though prepared to lunge at Logan again at any moment. “He’s fine! He won’t hurt you!”

Virgil’s glare finally flicked away, though it turned more bewildered-angry than murderous-angry once landing on Patton. Logan wasn’t sure, but he thought the smaller eyes remained locked on him. “This is the mage I told you about! It’s not safe, you need to get out of here--,”

“Mage?” Logan asked, his voice still coming out a little winded. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s not,” Patton said at nearly the same time, “I promise, he just wants to know more about you! Right, Logan?”

“I’m certainly not a mage,” he agreed, rubbing at his arm. The full force of a drider grabbing him… that was going to bruise. He wondered if there was a way to measure that power. “I’m not sure how you got that impression, I don’t have any of the tools mages often carry.”

Virgil looked back and forth between the two humans with clear consternation, and Patton was the one who answered. “Well, most people are afraid at just the sight of him. And… you weren’t.”

“Of course not,” Logan said, still trying to grasp the connection between his lack of fear and his alleged magehood. “I was enthralled. He’s very beautiful.”

Above him, Virgil made a choked-off noise and shuffled back, giving Logan space to sit up and regain full faculty of his senses. Virgil had turned his face away, and Patton was muffling a smile behind his hand.

“Was that… invasive?” Logan asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them. “I apologize, this is my first research voyage, so I may have become... over-enthusiastic.”

Virgil flapped a hand at him, as though trying to physically dispel his words. “What exactly does a ‘research voyage’ entail?”

Logan straightened up, trying to look as professional as possible while still sitting on the forest floor. He suspected there might be detritus in his hair. “It’s a journey undertaken by apprentice-level researchers to expand their knowledge in their specific field. Often, once they have thorough evidence and a compelling thesis, they will return to their teacher and present this in order to advance as a journeyman.”

Of course, Logan had no intention of doing that. He was going to spend as long as he could traveling and learning and compiling his knowledge, until nobody could argue that he wasn’t suited to the world of scholars.

“And your field is… spiders? Monsters?” Virgil asked, eyebrows raised dubiously.

“I am attempting to correct the misconceptions that are so rampant in bestiaries,” Logan corrected. “So many depend on them, but I’ve found very few actually capture the intricacies of the cultures and habits of nonhuman magical beings. They read more like old wives’ tales, passed down and warped with time, and both the scientific community and the beings in question suffer for it.”

“Huh.” Virgil tilted his head slightly, and Logan realized that at some point his smaller eyes had closed, the dark creases vanishing amidst the pockets of shade under his eyes.

“That sounds like the bestiary way to help people!” Patton added, and Logan watched in disbelief as Virgil’s expression relaxed further, the drider snorting softly.

“So all I’d have to do is… be a drider in front of you?” he asked, one of his back legs tapping against the ground in a remarkable imitation of the way a nervous human might tap their foot. Logan nodded. “I guess… it could work. And it’d be nice to have someone else around who won’t scream at the sight of me.”

“New friend!” Patton cheered, looking perhaps more delighted at the idea than Logan’s presence really warranted. “Only the spidaring are cool enough to be friends with Virgil.”

“Is the wordplay going to be a regular thing with him?” Logan asked, his face pinching sourly.

“Better get used to it. He’s punstoppable,” Virgil replied, grinning toothily when Logan shot him a betrayed look. Logan thought he seemed pleased, going by the subtle twitching of his pointy ears.

Logan hid a small smile of his own. Perhaps following Patton wasn't the unwisest decision he'd ever made, after all.

[chalkxtabletxtowers]

~Love can make you kill~

•Fandom: Helluva Boss

•Shipping: Striker x Reader

•Warnings: Manipulation (duh), but otherwise none.

The motel was dimly lit as you stepped inside. The last light bulb seemed to have given up months ago and no one seemed to care enough to actually fix it. Many of the rooms you could've gone in, were shut down and tightly blocked with wooden planks. It all looked very worn out, old and neglected, but it was probably also really cheap. This was the kind of place where criminals lived. The perfect place for your boyfriend.

The only thing that shone brightly into the dark, starry night, was a obnoxiously bright neon sign "Hideaway Motel" it said, the E had already given out and stopped glowing. The rest was red and yellow, a color mixture that stung in your sensitive eyes. Under there, it stated "The guy that tried 2 kill u def isn't here"

It seemed like the space wasn't there to add the proper sentences, but it still made sense to you. This all was so obvious and obnoxious, that you genuinely wondered if there were people falling for that stupid sign. You sighted as you stepped inside. There obviously wasn't a receptionist, the owner probably didn't even have enough money to pay for decent workers. How was this considered a hideout? You didn't even try to add a safe into your thoughts.

"There you are. I've been waiting for ya, my Darling"

A familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see the snake demon walking towards you, his boots making loud noises in the creaking wooden floor. "It was so lonely without ya company, especially at the festival! But now youre here, my favorite person in the entire world!"

He hugged you and wrapped his tail around you, and you would've sunken into the hug, like you usually did, but you knew something about the atmosphere wasn't relaxing at all. You just couldn't put your finger on it "I knew ya would come back eventually"

He whispered, his tongue slithering so close to your ear that it made you shiver. "Don't ever threaten to leave me again if you can't pull through with it. And we both know you can't, Darling"

He let go and sat down on the bed, crossing one leg over the other and signaling you to sit down beside him, which you did. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer once more, talking about the festival and everything he had seemingly experienced. "But you're hurt, Striker."

You noticed and pointed to the bruises in his face "Did something happen to you?"

You genuinely sounded worried, because you were. Guilt crept up on you, guilt for not being with Striker when he apparently needed you. Guilt for letting him get hurt by other people. "Yeah, there was this guy called Blitz on the festival, together with his colleagues from work. And one of them tried to fight me, but he was pathetic and I would've killed him, if I would've gotten the chance to. But fuck did his wife fight back."

You somehow knew this wasn't the whole truth, but also knew better than to ask any invasive questions. Striker wouldn't answer them anyway, or ask if you didn't trust him again. And you didn't know how else to prove anymore that you did.

"I told you not to pick a fight with other people that you aren't supposed to kill. It ends up in a mess and I don't want you to get hurt."

Sighting, you stroke over his chest and inhaled his scent. He always smelled like gunpowder, like hay and the droppings of the animals he took care off. This time, he also smelled like blood.

"I know, I know"

He raised his hands in defense "But ya also know how good my fighting skills are. And the wounds will heal. I'm not sitting here for no reason, Darling"

You just nodded, not interested in picking a fight with him. Not tonight. Not now, that you finally reunited after a argument, that had been your fault. But Striker wasn't very resentful when it came to this, which made everything easier.

"Ohh, Darling, there's this thing I've been wanting to ask you..."

His voice sounded soft, so full of love and affection towards you, that was there somewhere, just his own twisted definition of it.

"Really? What is it? You know I'd do anything for you!"

You eagerly said, watching as he stood up and walked around you and the bed in a circle. It always made you nervous when he did this, but it also almost immediately relaxed you.

"Just look at me Darling, other things don't matter right now. You know how I kill people if I get payed enough, right?"

He asked and you nodded, completely drawn in by him, like a moth that saw a lamp for the first time. You were close to burning your wings, but you didn't notice. His manipulation was too good.

"Yes, of course Striker" you replied, wanting to make him happy.

He just nodded in satisfaction "And you know how you were always against you doing that, which made me really sad, right?"

You nodded again. You had felt guilty for it, as you saw his disappointed glance everytime, but your point still stood. You weren't a pacifist for no reason. "Yes, I know Striker"

He smirked, knowing that everything worked as he wanted. He increased his speed, his tail brushing over your shoulders and chest "There is this royalty of Hell who's been cheating on his wife. Isn't that horrible behaviour?"

He didn't care about that, but he knew you would "And he's a bad influence for his daughter too! Darling"

He sat next to you and took your hands, which immediately caused you to look into his eyes, the wrongest thing you could've done. They were hypnotising in every sense of the word. "Do you want to kill him with me?"

He whispered, eagerly awaiting your response.

"I-"

You did think that royalty had the job to be a good example for other demons in hell. And what he had done didn't sound too nice, and it went against your morals. That, added to his fantastic manipulation, caused you to nod "Yes. Yes I want to kill him with you, Striker"

Striker smirked in success. That's what he had wanted. Seeing his dearest Darling kill send shivers down his spine. It would be amazing! And afterwards, you two could celebrate the victory and your first kill. "That's a good darling."

He gave you a kiss and gently pushed you back, looking at you again "Now. Don't you want to give me a little compensation for being gone for so long?"

You could have sworn you kept the whole motel awake for the night, and as you cuddled against Strikers chest in the morning, you knew you had found the demon for a life time.