#work on bloody flora

[oobbbear]

The concept of spending months or even years on a project scares me I can’t even sit through an afternoon working on this one thing

[ferritins]

IN A STITCH, IN A PINCH | J. TODD

SUMMARY: you’ve developed something of a friendship with the Outlaws, but you’re not quite sure about what the irascible Red Hood thinks of you.

WARNINGS: graphic description of burn injury, oblique reference to canonical parental drug dependency, reader is a meta.

NOTES: bringing back an old work! Re: the burns treatment depicted here - my area of study was clinical microbiology, not emergency medicine; everything I know about burns is relegated to opportunistic Staphylococcus aureus infection and how Gram negative skin flora influence wound healing. Take none of what you see in this fic as medical advice; if you do have a severe burn, call 999 and get your arse to an A&E ASAP.

After an extraterrestrial incident in your city that ended with something to the tune of 5 and a half million dollars worth of property damage and you knitting Arsenal's torn-open back together in a moment of adrenaline-fuelled insanity, you've developed something of a friendship with the Outlaws.

What that really means is that you periodically come off your shift at the hospital to find 2 mercenaries and an alien princess divesting your fridge of it's contents, and get wheedled into using your meta abilities to heal wounds that would otherwise take them out of play for a good few months.

You're under no illusions. You're aware that a healer is a useful contact to have, that should the situation necessitate it they'll take the few scant inches you can give and run a mile with them.

However, you're also aware that being a meta is a risk and that it pays to be liked and valued by dangerous people.

It's a friendship of convenience, but a friendship nonetheless.

Kori picks you up bodily and spins you in a tight circle until you're giggly and dizzy when confess her favourite shirts of yours are always freshly washed, just in case.

Roy gives you a vulgar wink when you order his shirt off to take a look at where his back scarred over, but faithfully applies the Vitamin E cream you give him for the scarring, trusting you to ease his discomfort, and sneaks bottles of your favourite elderflower cordial and the tins of Zambuk you can never find in the US for you to find when he leaves.

The only one you can't quite puzzle out your relationship with is Jason. He's taciturn, stands watch faithfully as Roy and Kori pull you into friendly hugs and dizzy spins, pepper playful kisses on your cheek and rub their knuckles into your hair. He rolls his eyes at his teammates' antics, huffs through his nose at your fussing.

Sometimes though, he'll call you sweetheart in a low rasp as he bumps you away from the sink to take over doing the dishes.

Sometimes, you think you catch him watching you with something unnameable and warm in his eyes.

You're not expecting your front door to fly open and damn near off the hinges late on Saturday evening — just as you're fresh out of the shower and only just into your pyjama shirt & shorts, might you add — but your alarm and annoyance die on your tongue when you see Roy and Kori's grim faces and the way that Jason sways despite both of their considerable strength holding him up.

You smell the odd, sour-smoke char of burned flesh as they pass you to ease Jason down oh so gently onto your sofa, and your gut goes cold with fear. The burn, once you get his shirt cut open, is not as extensive as you'd feared, but it's still something from a horror scene.

It's a third degree burn, skin mulberry-red, weeping and blistered in a long arc that curls up from his right hip to just under his right pectoral.

"Bloody hell." You breathe, horrified.

You run to your room, digging out your first aid kit, and drop to your knees by the couch as you tear it open.

Roy snorts, bitter as cyanide. "Yeah, that's a fairly accurate summary of the situation, sweets. The only reason he's still alive is because he dodged and got a glancing blow from the energy beam instead of a direct hit."

You look up from Jason's side.

"I'll need you and Kori to get some things." You say, hands shaking at the prospect of the task in front of you. "I can reduce the severity of the burn to a first degree, maybe, but it–"

"What do you need?" Kori snaps, terse. You reel off a list - topical antiseptic, light bandages, a banana bag & an IV kit, amoxicillin - and then look to Roy.

"I need you to get him to take some co-codamol. It'll kick in in about 10 minutes given his enhanced metabolism, but I can't do anything until he's got painkillers in him."

Roy's brows tighten further.

"Jason doesn't do opiates."

"Roy, if this was anybody else he'd be hooked up to IV morphine! If I start working on him without him having painkillers, he'll go into shock which could kill him." You exclaim.

You make low, soothing sounds when Jason tenses at the shouting, only to groan at the fresh wave of agony in his side.

The sound of Jason's pain seems to be decisive enough for Roy, who moves round the couch and grabs the box of effervescent tablets, dissolving two in water and coaxing Jason into drinking it down.

When the glass is empty, Roy is back to his feet, quick as lightning. He strides to the door, shepherding Kori out of your apartment.

"We'll be back with everything you need in half an hour, tops. Please, help him."

Jason comes out of the shrieking adrenaline of agony to the sound of your voice, and a slight cotton fuzz in his head.

Narcotics, then, but a fairly low dose for him to still retain this degree of alertness. Feeling the encroaching spectre of that terrible pain just barely held at bay, finds he's grateful for the medication.

He goes to prop himself up on his elbows, only to strike a line of phosphorus-white flare of pain down his side that has him hissing breath through gritted teeth.

Above him, you make a startled sound, press a hand to his sternum to keep him down. His eyes catch yours, and he sees the relieved sag of your spine and shoulders at the alertness in his eyes.

"Thank fuck you didn't go into shock." You sigh. "Stay still, I've just about got this down to a second degree burn. I've just got your hip."

You snap off your nitrile gloves and lean forward, cupping his face in your hands. "Don't make a habit of this. You'll kill us off with stress if you keep on nearly-dying."

As if on cue, the front door opens and Roy and Kori come into the living room, pharmacy bags clutched tightly in their grips and fragile hope in their eyes.

When they see Jason's alert eyes, the slow knit of skin and sub-dermal tissue and hear his sheepish grumbling in, response to you, their smiles are like sunlight.

Healing the burn is slow going, taking a full five evenings after your shifts.

Roy and Kori are intent on Jason staying the full course of treatment — settled by a, literally, on account of Kori, flaming row when he asks for his helmet and body armour —and though your entreaties are quieter, they're no less insistent.

It serves him right, probably, but it's driving him to distraction.

Specifically, the feeling of your hands over his skin is driving him to distraction.

He's not sure whether it's mercy or the sweetest of torture when you approach him, eyes darting down his body in a way that's half-assessing, half appraising before the heat-shock of your touch makes contact, pieces his skin back together.

(The thing is, Jason's attuned to everything about you, has been ever since you pulled Roy's flayed skin back shut whilst the city was still smoking behind you, totally unafraid in scrub trousers and a hoodie.

He's got it bad, and it's not exactly subtle.

Roy and Kori haven't missed that, or the way he reacts to you, judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smirks as they lean up against the wall and watch you work.

He hopes the glare he levels at them over the top of your head communicates exactly what he'll do to them if they open their mouths.

It all comes to a head on Monday evening, when you come home from your OR shift, duck into the shower and then come into the living room in a too-large grey t-shirt and deliciously short sleep pants.

Jason's heart stops for a second. He lets his eyes flit despairingly over to Roy and Kori as you prep your kit, watches their unrepentant grins with a burning resentment towards them.

Having you this close to him, worry-soft and lit like a Rembrant from the lamp on the side table without being able to touch you is the closest thing to hell there is. You're close enough that he can smell the overlapping, inoffensive fragrances of your facial skincare products, see the faint pearlescent sheen of the residue of some serum on the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the soft line of your jaw.

Your nitrile-gloved hand settles gently on the raw new skin just above his hip and he jumps, his own broad hand flying up defensively to catch your wrist and still your movement. It's a mistake he regrets immediately.

The skin of your wrist is still tacky-soft with still-settling moisturiser, hair curling damp where the spray of your shower caught it. Jason's mind spins an unbidden reel of your hands, smoothing lotion over the plush expanse of your thighs, the line of your neck and the gentle swell of your décolletage, the curve of your hip.

He presses his eyes shut tightly.

He feels feral, the hungry bones of him blown open and exposed like the hull of a shipwreck. He wants to worry marks the shape of his mouth into your thighs, your neck, across your collarbones. He wants your knees bracketing his hips, the weight of you on top of him.

God, he wants–

"Are you okay? You're not in too much pain, are you?" He hears you ask.

He knows he's in far too deep when the thought of tasting the way the words roll off your tongue flits across his mind.

"Sorry." He croaks, releasing your hand. "Instinct."

(Roy turns to Kori with a snort, murmuring low so you can't hear.

"He's been watching like he wants to eat them alive since the first time we met and it's a miracle he's got enough blood north of his waistband to be capable of speech, but sure. Instinct.")

[callsign-rogueone]

you're somebody else - b.s.

Brennan Sorrengail x Reader words: 1.7k 🏷: IRON FLAME SPOILERS. reader uses she/her pronouns. angst, angst, angst (but a happy ending!) blood, discussion of injury, scars and stitches. inspired by / titled after the song by flora cash

Your fiancé has been dead for six years. You’d read his name on the death roll, and burned his belongings in an offering to Malek. 

Now he’s standing thirty feet away from you with both of his sisters, breathing and moving, reacting to something they’d said.

He’s alive.

Your grip on your bag falters, and it falls to the floor with a soft thud. 

Everyone’s eyes turn to you. The younger of the two Sorrengail girls recognizes you instantly, her lips parting in shock as she takes you in for the first time since Brennan’s graduation from Basgiath. 

Her gaze shifts to her brother, whose eyes are now locked with yours. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, unable to pull your eyes away from the man in front of you. 

You make no move toward him; don’t leap into his arms like he’d imagined for years, don’t hug him as tightly as you can, don’t cry tears of happiness. Your boots are still glued to the polished floor of the hall. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, “I…”

You flinch at his voice, the sound you’ve only heard in dreams for the last six years.

The tall man standing beside him, who you distantly recognize to be Fen Riorson’s son, motions for the two girls to leave.

“It’s good to see you again,” Violet says softly. You’ve always had a soft spot for her, had written her letters after you’d gotten the news, sharing in her grief. 

Mira only gives you a lingering glance as she follows her sister, leaving you alone with Brennan.

“You’re hurt,” he says gently, seeing the tear in the right thigh of your pants and the bloody gash beneath it. “Can I mend you?”

You remain silent, but you nod once in affirmation.

You pretend the hands on your leg belong to anyone else, keeping your eyes forward while he kneels in front of you, working to close the wound.

He finally speaks. “My love, I’m so-”

“Please don’t call me that,” you interrupt, and he feels a pain rival to that of the arrow he’d taken to the chest, the one that should have killed him. 

He’s silent, letting you continue. You’ll likely have as much pent up emotion to release as his sisters did when they found out. Thankfully, you choose Violet’s path over Mira’s, eviscerating him with words rather than fists. His nose still doesn’t feel right; mending himself has always been difficult.

“I still mourn you,” you tell him. “I've lit a candle for Malek every night in your honor since I got the news. To have my life crumble around me, to find out we’re at war, that I’ve been on the wrong side the whole time, and then to find that for six years, you’ve been alive, but you never once thought about writing to me to tell me any of it…” you shake your head, pressing your lips together to hold in a sob.

You steady your breathing after a moment. “I’m glad you’re alive, Brennan, I really am. But my Brennan, the man I was supposed to marry, the one who wrote me love letters in ancient languages, is still dead. He has been for years.”

You reach into the chest pocket of your flight jacket, placing something cold in his hand and closing his fingers around it. He doesn’t need to look down to know that it's your engagement ring.

“Thank you for the mending,” you say, picking up your bag. 

He waits until your footsteps have retreated back into the hallway, letting loose a shuddering sob.

Marbh sends him a wave of warmth and empathy. If there is any being who knows how much it had hurt Brennan to be away from you so long, it is him.

“Your brother needs you, silver one,” Tairn relays to Violet, a resigned quiet in his tone that has the cadet slipping away from the group to run back to the assembly room.

When she arrives, she finds Brennan sitting on the floor, knees tucked to his chest, sobbing. It’s a sight she never wants to see again; it just feels so wrong. 

Brennan had always been the strongest of the siblings, the tree that could weather any storm, a perfect balance of their mother’s intense strength and their father’s calm intelligence. It was always her crying after an injury, Mira or Brennan taking her to the infirmary for Nolon to mend it, soothing her all the while.

It’s her turn now to hold him as he cries, murmuring reassurances.

“She’ll come around,” Violet promises, though there’s a nagging feeling in her chest that says you might not. “Prove to her that you are the same man she fell in love with, that you are still worthy of her, and she’ll come around.”

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

You don’t speak with him for two days, only seeing him stand on the dais at Battle Brief. 

It had stung to hear Devera refer to him as Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh. He’d changed his name. He really isn’t your Brennan anymore. 

He catches you at breakfast — none of your squadmates had come with you from Montserrat, so you’re sitting alone at one of the long tables.

You look up at him silently, letting him speak first. 

He lays a thick bundle of papers on the table in front of you. “The first year of letters,” he answers before you can ask, “that I was too much of a coward to send.”

You look down at the stack of aged parchment. There have to be at least twenty letters there — one a week since July, when he’d been sent to Aretia.

By the time you look back up, he’s gone.

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

A week passes, then another. 

He’s nearly too busy to worry about you, between the arguments among the assembly, the arrival of the gryphon fliers and the subsequent issues integrating them, and his duties mending the injuries resulting from the animosity there.

Someone steps through the door of the infirmary, panting as they limp an injured rider forward. “She just collapsed. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Brennan realizes it’s you they’re holding up, his heart pounding. He wraps an arm around your waist to take you from your friend, and his hand slips against your side, warm and wet with blood. 

He guides you onto one of the empty beds, pulling up the sticky fabric of your shirt.

The messily-wrapped bandage around your torso has absorbed all the blood it can, the row of stitches underneath torn open. You must have done this yourself in an effort to avoid him, and it didn’t hold.

At least the wound doesn’t seem infected.

He presses a clean palm into the skin, apologizing when you whimper and flinch away. “S’okay, pretty girl,” he soothes, brushing the hair from your forehead gently.

You don’t seem to hear him, your eyes still closed. Fuck, how much blood have you lost?

It’s easy enough to mend the wound, but it’s going to scar — it’s not fresh enough for him to make it disappear without a trace.

He washes the blood from his hands, pulling up a chair beside the bed and watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep.

He has no idea if you’ve read the letters he gave you had changed your mind, or if you’d read them at all. You may very well have burned them. You’d be right to, after the way he’d lied to you.

You might never take him back. This may be his last chance to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin against his. 

He takes your hand gently, intertwining your fingers and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, squeezing your palm three times — three times means I love you, you’d told him years ago.

His heart nearly stops as you squeeze back weakly; once, twice, three times.

—————————————————————

You blink the sleep from your eyes, your gaze settling on Brennan sitting beside you, an ancient looking book in his hand, pen between his teeth and a notebook covered with nearly incoherent scribbles in his lap.

Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you’d thought.

The book and notes are quickly abandoned when he realizes you’re awake. “What the hell happened?”

“Godsdamned gryphon bit me because it didn’t like the order I gave it’s flier,” you explain, stretching your aching muscles. How long had you been asleep?

“And rather than seeking professional help, you stitched it up yourself?” He asks in that same stern tone he’d always used with you after you put yourself in danger.

This time you don’t find it endearing. 

“Yes, I did, like I have for the last six years every time I’ve been injured,” you snap. “The way people do when they don’t have a mender with them.”

He holds his tongue, realizing how many scars you’d acquired over the years. Since he developed his signet, he’d always mended even the smallest of scrapes for you, but now stripes of scar tissue run across your skin like rivers on a map, ghosts of past wounds, some healed better than others.

He imagines you sitting alone in your barracks room with a needle and thread, a folded shirt clenched between your teeth as you sewed the wounds shut.

“Please come see me next time?” He asks softly, genuine concern in his voice. “It could have gotten infected, or worse. And if your friend hadn’t been there…”

You sigh, guilt tugging at you. “Okay.”

“Thank you. Get some rest,” he encourages, turning to gather his things.

“I read some of the letters,” you say, and he turns back to face you. “I’m still hurt, but I’m not angry. I don’t think I could ever be angry with you. You’re a good man, Bren. You’ve done great things for these people.”

The weight on his chest lightens, but he stays quiet, waiting for another heartbreaking line.

“Can we start over?” You ask in a whisper, looking up at him. “Can we try to be us again?”

He smiles. “I’d love nothing more, sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters at the word, as if you’re hearing it from him for the first time. In a way, you are.

[youryanderedaddy]

Love, Loss, Fire

Summary: In times of vampire oppression, you decide to fight back. This attracts the attention of a certain human hunter who's had his eyes on you for a while - waiting for an oppurtunity to strike. Commissioned piece. tw: nsfw, female reader, non - con, possessive behavior, vampires, hinted apocalypse, degradation, biting/blood sucking, hinted inprisonment, murder (not reader) Part 2

You stepped carefully through the forest as the moon raised higher and higher, lighting up the sky in warm, fluorescent blue. You swiftly swiped the sweat down your brow, kneeling deep into the mud in a desperate attempt to push the shapeless piece of metal further into the ground. You suppressed a frown as the bare soil slipped through your fingers, thin and barren. It was a painful reminder of what was once earth. Actual, fertile earth that filled the autumn air with the humm of birds and the scent of healing herbs. This soil, on the other hand, couldn’t heal anyone - it was just a means to trap a beast. A predator.

You looked at the naked stars, trying to guess whether midnight had already fallen. You missed watches. You missed the web and guides and tutorials - you missed computers. The series of numbers on the screen that seemed so bizarre to you now; just like an antique of the past. It was a hard pill to swallow, the realization that humankind once created life and technology, and even culture. Laughter. You didn’t remember the last time you laughed or let yourself rest - but could anyone blame you? With the hunter attacks now more frequent than ever, it was a whole miracle that you were still breathing; that your psyche wasn’t completely crumbled and rotten. You knew many lost their mind or sold themselves to the demons. You had heard the stories mothers whisper to their daughters in the dead of the night, the songs the elders don’t dare sing after dark. You shook your head. You had no time to reminisce. The steps were getting closer now.

You quickly hid behind the wild bushes, crouching as close to the ground as your shaking knees would allow you to. Your hand gripped the container tightly, your eyes scanning the sign “Extremely flammable aerosol” with little hesitance and a pitiful amount of hope. You could hear the boots digging into the grass, the sharp heels destroying any resemblance of flora. There was a low, guttural humm to his every movement - teasing you, slowly, but surely approaching with each passing beat of your thumping heart. The whole universe had slowed down, covered by an oppressive layer of silence, except for the sound of your pounding lifeline and the predator aching to end it with one sharp bite. No deers or foxes, or even hedgehogs in sight to distract him or quench his growing thirst for blood. It was just you and him.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” His voice cut the silence in two, smooth and sharp like a knife. So silky and soft you could feel your whole body stiffen, fighting the involuntary ticks of fear taking hold of your frozen limbs. You squeezed your jaw, cupping your cheeks so tightly you couldn’t produce a sound no matter how much your insides seemed to try and scream. You pinched your thigh, hoping to remain conscious - hoping to survive just one more time. After all you had managed to run so many times in the past. It was always frightening, the type of terror that leaves you immobile for hours after, but you had done it. Time and time again, and that meant something. That meant that you still had fire left. That you weren’t going to bend the knee and break. 

“A full moon.” The hunter observed with a trail of melancholy, stepping closer to your trap. You held your breath, praying to whoever was listening that this would work. It had to - otherwise everything so far would be meaningless. Every life lost, every family torn apart. Every friend or lover lost to the hunts - to slavery and eternal torment. To shame. “It reminds me of your mother. It was a Bloody moon, do you know that?” You knew he was staring at your direction, a dangerous, barely contained smile threatening to spill all over his cruel lips. He was looking for a reaction - a slight crook of your nose, a twitching of your hand, a tear down your cheek. He couldn’t see you if you were an unmoving force, an object. “When I killed her, the moon was completely red. It was a sight for sore eyes.” He finally smiled in that nasty, crooked way. You could feel it. “Her screams were beautiful.” The vampire clicked his tongue. “But I’m sure yours would be breathtaking.” He took another step towards the trap - he was now on the very edge of the razors.

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t screa–

“A bear trap.” Bane grinned, sending shivers down your spine. By this point you were shaking like a leaf. “What a smart girl you are.” He paused to fix the collar of his white shirt. Not a single wrinkle on the fabric. Just blood. “Too bad I’m not a bear.” His voice suddenly dropped, taking on a more sinister note. Your heart stopped. “I’m more of a snake, really.” He kicked the metal trap across the ground, and it landed inches away from you. You were getting light - headed. “Although my venom works in… other ways.” His demonic chuckle was enough to make your empty stomach rumble, fear setting in deep into your guts. 

Bane jumped over the hole you had dug gracefully, almost theatrically. If you weren’t so scared, you would have been annoyed at his constant need to assert dominance with even the smallest gesture of his perfectly white finger.

“You wound me, darling.” The hunter leaned against a tree, crossing his hands like a disappointed father - like a preacher ready to start a mass, yet the sadistic twinge of amusement didn’t leave his face. “You know I can smell this cheap, ratty metal from miles away. I thought you knew me better.” His eyes gleamed dangerously, orbs both emerald and poisonous green. He was so close to your hiding spot you could feel the ice radiating off his dead body as he oh so slowly raised his hand. 

Panic tore into your chest, digging its ugly nails, kicking and fighting to be let out, and you instinctively uncapped the bottle of sylic gas, leaking it into the forest. You took a deep breath and covered your mouth, preparing to turn blue before you could inhale again. You mentally apologized to any surviving crop or flower you were about to kill due to the toxic fumes, but had to remind yourself through tears that sometimes the end justifies the means. And now the end was so near you could taste it, with the Terror of the night unmoving and cold.

But he just grinned. 

His nostrils tightened for a split second, taking in the deadly poison. Bane slowed down, looking around, but there was little sense of distress on his sharp, cubic features. Then he quickly, unceremoniously dragged his wrist over his lips, muttering words you couldn’t hear - and instantly a silky black piece of fabric wrapped around his neck up to his cheeks. From afar it looked just like a scarf, but you could make out the thin platin lines. Damn it. He knew. He could anticipate all your moves now after months of playing cat and mouse. He could read you like a book.

You were beginning to sweat and your feet were sinking into the mud. You tried to move from one leg to the other, shifting the balance, and that was your first, and perhaps most fatal mistake - the realization hit you the moment your eyes landed on his. The vampire laughed. A scorching hot, humiliating laugh echoed all the way to the mountain hill behind you, icy and sticky down his throat. You shook your head, refusing to accept the grim reality standing before you, but it was too late now.

“Aah…” The hunter purred contently, bringing his hands together, excited like a child. “Seems like I caught you again, little mouse.” He whispered, his honeyed voice bursting with barely contained thrill and satisfaction. “Come out now - no point in hiding.” He titled his head playfully. “I promise I won’t bite.” He chuckled throatily, baring his fangs as he took that dreaded step that separated you. Now he was towering above you with the only thing keeping you away from his gaze being the absolute darkness and a couple of heavy branches. 

It was nothing short of degrading - the way he played with his food, the way he kept you dancing in his palm while poking here and there with his claws. You couldn’t take it anymore - you made a run for it, light like a bird on your feet despite the starving hunger and fatigue. 

“Not so fast now, little one.” The predator asserted, his clenched jaw proof of his quickly thinning patience. If only he knew that your own patience had run out months ago, maybe even before the apocalypse started. “You don’t want to upset me, do you?” He smiled in a mockery of gentleness, the thinly veiled threat stopping you in your tracks, completely paralyzed. “Be a darling and come to me. I’m honestly getting a bit bored of our little game.”

You hesitated for a moment. Something was wrong - terribly wrong today. You had managed to outsmart him time and time again, but tonight he just seemed untouchable. Drunk on power. And for all your unwillingly gathered knowledge of vampires and their demonic powers, you couldn’t exactly put your finger on what was different. Yet you could feel it buzzing and thumping under his flesh, the aura of force - the stench of evil. 

“Come to me.” Bane hissed, voice devoid of its previous playfulness. He wasn’t playing around anymore. And just like that your feet started moving on their own, despite your mind’s painful protests. There was nothing you could do to fight his voice in your mind, hypnotizing you; making you bend. You broke into a cold sweat, looking at your wrist - you had forgotten your bracelet, the only weapon that could be used against his mind control. You were screwed. The game was over.

“Good girl.” The hunter whispered once you found yourself in his arms, squeezed against his chest like an insect. The unhuman hardness and coldness of his skin should have frightened you, but it was his tone that truly terrified you - just how tender it was as opposed to the clear bloodlust in his pale green orbs.

“You’ve done well so far.” You tried to avert your gaze so you could at least save yourself the humiliation of his sickly - sweet words, but his magic kept you still in place. “You’ve kept me entertained for a while now, little human. I think I’m starting to become attached to you.” He offered you a sleazy little grin while he stroked your hair, imagining the way it would feel to pull on those messy locks. “So attached, in fact, I’ve decided to keep you for myself.” He licked his lips slowly, and you almost choked on your own spit. Did he plan to…? 

“You should be honored to have been chosen by me. Most nosy little humans who cross my path end up in a ditch. But you…” He stopped mid-sentence, groaning in pleasure, eyes turning scarlet. His whole face was reddenning as his heartbeat fastened, growing more and more excited the longer he felt you struggle against him. Your raw fear was delectable, and he couldn’t wait to taste it. “You are different. I can’t bring myself to kill you.” His head lowered towards your ear. “I need to have you.” He whispered, and you took a step back, feeling his control crumble as desire overtook his senses.

“I would never belong to a leeching bloodsucker like you!” You uttered through clenched teeth, using the vampire’s distracted state to pour the acid drops you had hid in your pocket all over his knees, causing him to crouch in pain as his flesh burned hot. The magic hold he had on you weakened and finally disappeared completely. 

You didn’t waste any time, running towards the hills as soon as your body could move freely. Soon you were greeted with an overwhelming amount of paths, all surrounded with similar looking trees and bushes. It was already long past midnight and the sky had taken on the darkest shades of gray. You didn’t stop moving even when you lost his steps behind you - you kept going until you found a large old oak, and you basically slipped against it, knees weak and mushy. The adrenaline almost knocked you out, but you couldn’t let yourself lose consciousness just yet. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Bane clicked his tongue, materializing before you from thin air. You tried to scream, but it was futile. The whole forest was empty. “Such a bad pet. Running away from your owner.” He leered sadistically, finding sick appeasement in your puzzled expression. How did he find you? How was it even possible to be so fast? “I really ought to punish you so you don’t misbehave in the future.” He chuckled to himself before turning towards you. “But that can wait.” The hunter shoved you against the tree with little regard to your comfort. He took off his mask, throwing it to the ground. “I’ve been eyeing that little neck of yours since the moment I saw you.”

The predator grasped your throat, tilting your head so your neck would be bared for him. You inhaled sharply, preparing for the pain, but it didn’t come just yet. Instead he licked your wet cheeks, moaning at the salty, slightly bitter taste of your tears.

“Please don’t.” You gasped inaudibly, body stiff like a stretched string. All you got in return was a sharp laugh. “Your little weapons can’t save you now, little girl.” Bane teased with glee, placing a small kiss against your throat. You cringed at the ticklish sensation, but deep down you knew this was only the beginning.  

The hunter opened his mouth, purposefully prolonging the moment and your anticipation. He slowly sank his fangs into your warm, vulnerable flesh - enjoying the way you squirmed beneath him with no way to free yourself. All you could feel was pain. Red, hot pain traveling from your neck to your arteries, your blood mixing with his venom. Breaking into a sweat as your body tried desperately to reject the venom. Relaxing against your torment as you let the pain consume every inch of your being. And then it began to subside, replaced by an entirely different feeling that you couldn’t name. Suddenly your insides were burning again and your skin was pricked by a thousand tiny explosions. A gentle caress wiped the sweat off your forehead as your eyes rolled back. An aching whine escaped your parted lips. You needed more. You wanted to beg for more—

He pulled away.

You quickly lost your balance, staggering backwards, confused and light - headed due to the blood loss. You prepared to hit the ground, but this small mercy wasn’t granted to you, because in the next moment the vampire was onto you, holding you tightly. As if the tiniest movement would make you stumble and flee into the grim nightly nothingness - as if you were the most precious thing in his world.

You were met with eyes of vivid ruby, the gems staring into your core and tearing you to pieces. You should have been frightened, body paralyzed by suffocating dread - but instead you couldn’t look away, hypnotized by the demon before you, and all the magic colors that surrounded him. His lips looked so soft and gentle, dripping with blood that was unmistakably yours. A part of you that now undeniably belonged to him. 

“I can’t get enough of that expression on your face.” Bane mumbled quietly as he pulled you closer to take in your scent. You couldn’t move an inch. “I can’t get enough of your… blood.” He continued, voice shaky with uncontrollable lust and need, unbecoming of a monster in a human form. 

His words sobered you up, breaking off the trance you had fallen in. You shoved him off, taking a step away. The vampire stumbled back, his eyes darkening at your disobedience. “Silly girl.” He grinned sinisterly as his expression hardened, and he pointed towards you with his thin white finger. His golden locks fell gently over one raised eyebrow, contrasting the sheer intensity of his sharp features.

“Kneel.” He ordered, and your body followed automatically - without hesitation. The vampire towered over you, gleefully toying with the buttons of your shirt before undoing the first one. “You know, this is something I really admire about you, little one.” He caught your chin in a bruising grip, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re so weak - so helpless. And yet you never. Stop. Fucking. Fighting me.” He exaggerated every word, applying more pressure to your skin, marking it for all to see. “And I love it. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted nothing more than to push you down and make a mess out of you.” He admitted shamelessly, offering a nasty little smile at the end as he crouched down to your level. You were going to be sick. 

“Yet you always manage to run away. Every single time. Such a smart little human.” The hunter taunted you yet again, ripping off the torn patched up hoodie barely sticking to your chest. “You really know how to drive a man wild, little minx.” He whispered, lowering his head to latch onto your bare chest with a lewd pop, covering it in hundred wet kisses - making you shudder with discomfort.

“Y-you’re no man.” You uttered with difficulty, voice shaky and uneven. Your fists clenched together despite the violent fright inside you begging you to play nice - to beg for mercy and forgiveness. “You’re just a monster.” You spat out, holding back the hot tears pricking in your eyes. “I hate you.” You added quietly, trying to lose yourself in all the endless frustration and detestment. But even your anger wasn’t enough of a distraction - you were still in the mouth of the lion.

“Mmh, keep going, darling.” The predator growled, pinning your hands down. “Hate me as much as you can.” He kissed your throat, letting his fangs linger against the bristled skin. “Call me a monster again. Don’t hold back, baby, be ruthless.” He gently cupped your breasts through the bra before releasing the hooks all together, leaving you bare and defenseless. “Because when I am gone with you…” He grinned. “You will hate me even more.”

Bane didn’t hesitate to spread your legs roughly, reaching to take off your trousers. Suddenly you felt extremely vulnerable - you were laying there half nude like a feast for his eyes only. The rage was long gone, now replaced by an entirely new feeling. Debasement. 

“Aww, gamer much?” Your tormentor stopped to have a good look at your panties, chuckling at the joystick pattern. You could feel your sides burning and you made a desperate attempt to close your legs, but the noble had different ideas - he slipped your underwear to your knees, exposing your untouched core to the cold midnight air. “No need to get shy, darling. I think it’s adorable.” He insisted, your silent pleas falling on deaf ears. “But I guess you got the bad ending this time. I mean…” He bit his lip in a terribly lewd way. “Just look at you. Writhing beneath me like an obedient little slut–”

“I am not a slut!” You cut him off, growing more and more agitated - your nerves stretched beyond repair. You couldn’t stand listening to his crude remarks or looking at his eager lips, ready to devour you. You covered your face. “I’ve n-never… I’ve n-never even…!” You tried to explain, but you couldn’t finish the sentence because the tears just bursted out before you could stop them, white and shiny like little pearls on your cheeks.

The hunter grew eerily quiet. Then he slowly removed your hands from your face, and pinned your wrists back to the ground. The message was clear - no use fighting it. 

“You’re a virgin?” The vampire whispered more to himself than to you, while his gaze was still boring invasively into your hips. You averted your eyes, looking away in silence. Dissociating. “Ha! So it’s true.” He laughed mockingly, letting his hands roam all over your quivering thighs. “Oh, darling, we’re going to have so much fun.”

With that you could feel him trace small circles across your skin until eventually his palm met your pubic bone, his long fingers resting against your entrance. You writhed, trying to kick him off, but his other hand wrapped around your leg like a cuff and brought it down with inhuman strength. Bane then rubbed his fingertips along your slit in a torturously gentle manner, making you jump in surprise. He started pressing his thumb against your clit slowly, prolonging the uncomfortable eye contact between the two of you with a self - assured smirk that you wanted to wipe off his handsome face - but the curling of his fingers inside you prevented any thoughts of action. 

“You’re already getting wet for me. Such a good girl.” The hunter noted, almost giddy with satisfaction as he kissed your sweaty forehead. You opened your mouth to deny it, but all that came out of it was a broken gasp due to the sudden change in rhythm. The noble had finally penetrated you with two fingers, thrusting in and out with a nasty sloppy sound. “Shh, don’t talk. Just stay quiet and pretty for me, doll.” He purred down your neck, taking in the pure look of shock on your face when the stinging pain turned to pleasure. After that the man assumed a steady pace, only speeding up or down when he wanted to see your hips buck in desperation. You could picture what your expression looked like right now, and it made you blush even more.

“Open your mouth.” The vampire commanded in a low, guttural way, his eyes now scarlet like the blood on his fangs. You hesitated for a moment, shaking your head, and he shoved his fingers in between your lips unceremoniously, grinning. “Don’t defy me, little one. It won’t end well. Don’t forget I hold your life in my claws.” He hummed lightly, which made the threat appear even more cruel. You let your muscles relax, letting his fingers explore your throat. Despite it all, you still weren’t ready to die. “Can’t be fucking you dry now.” The monster sneered, using your spit to lubricate his digits. After a few long, tantalizing moments he let you breathe - and your walls clenched down on nothing, throbbing in painful emptiness.

“W-why are you doing this to me?” You sobbed, ashamed of your body’s reaction to the torment. “You already defeated me, do you also need to humiliate me?” You mumbled pitifully, hoping to appeal to whatever human was left in him - but the answer was none. “Would you prefer me to take you raw, little lamb?” He smiled sadistically, staring at you from above. He seemed like a malevolent God with vengeance for anything ungodly. “Not even I am that cruel, darling.”

Bane kept going for a while, enjoying your quiet moans each time he hit a sensitive spot or brushed against your clit - and all the petty little insults you threw his way only seemed to stir him more. “I think you’re ready to take me.” He remarked, breathless, palming himself through his black slacks. The manipulation of your warm, malleable body had made him rock hard, and he couldn’t wait to feel your insides flutter around him. He lined himself up against your hole as you looked on, helpless and terrified.

“Look at me as I defile you, little mouse.” The predator ordered in a deep voice, slowly sinking his length into your quivering quim. You clenched your teeth tight and looked away, refusing to become a willing participant in your own assault. But then his fist wrapped around your neck, squeezing, and you were forced to look at him. “I said look.” He hissed with venom, tightening his grip. “I want you here and present.” He pushed his cock deeper into you, licking his lips. “I want you to feel every inch stretching you out.” He finally shoved himself around you, groaning at your velvety tightness. 

“F-fuck, darling, you feel so good.” Bane thrust into you once, twice - several times. Your sobs were stuck at your swollen throat, making it hard to breathe, much less protest, but if you could, you would have screamed with full lungs. You weren’t sure whether it was the sting of the stretch, the feeling of a foreign body inside you or just your inexperience, but the heaviness and warmth of flesh on flesh made you feel hot all over. 

“I am going to m-make you mine.” He moaned lewdly, gripping your hair and just pulling. You were going to lose your mind. “I will mold you into the perfect little pet, mmmh, just an… ngh… just a mindless little toy for my amusement.” The vampire swore, drunk off your pussy and the way it was sucking him in - your body didn’t care how much it hurt. It wanted more. “The bloody humans… t-they don’t need you anymore. You’re much more useful as my little f-fucktoy.” He kept debasing you, all his senses tingling with overwhelming pleasure as your hole milked him dry. “Ha-ha.” A maniacal chuckle amidst it all. “And to think you were their leader with your silly little weapons and spells. What a joke.” He pumped into you with even more ferocity, a twinge of jealousy on his face. “You were always destined to be mine. All mine.”

“N-no, I am not yours–” You suddenly evoked, finding his sadistic obsession suffocating. You were stuck underneath the beast, your back soaking in the rain as he took you apart. Once again the lamb had been sacrificed to the wolf.

“You can deny it as much as you want.” The noble mouthed, kissing your neck with scorching hot, unbearable passion. “But your body knows who it belongs to. Just look at how well you’re taking me. All of me.” He bit you again, this time just teasing - barely breaking the skin as he picked up the pace, now fucking into you like the feral demon he pretended not to be. “I want to see you blissed out again.” He sucked at your jugular, scraping against your neck until he could see the pretty blue bruises forming - and he licked them. “Fuck, I’m close. Cry for me, doll, make me cum with your pathetic little pleas. I want to hear you sing.”

You couldn’t keep quiet, you needed to let it all out - the pain, the fear, the grief. Your progress, your plans for the future, your friends, your family… all lost to the monster and its greed. So you cried - you broke down and wailed, begging for mercy as your misery echoed through the forest. Too bad no one could hear. 

“Just like that.” Your enemy purred, pounding into you in short, sharp thrusts. You could feel something warm and thick fill you up, and you shivered from the horrific discomfort of unfamiliarity. The human anatomy was being challenged in front of your eyes, and you were forced to bend and break in whatever twisted way he wanted. “Take it, take it, take it–” He barked over and over, lost in orgasmic pleasure as he spread your legs further apart to gain better access to your soft insides. “Fuck.” He pulled out sharply, letting his seed pour out down your thighs.

“So pretty.” The hunter hushed, pulling you into a smothering hug. It was too hot. Too much - but you were too tired to fight. “You did so well, darling. So good for me.” He cooed in your ear, stroking your wet hair with his big, strong hand that had just taken everything from you. You found some strength within yourself to swat it away, but the monster just laughed softly, kissing your wrist. “So strong too. You must have some energy left if you still have fight in you.” He sneered lightly, looking away for a split moment. “Does this mean you’re ready for round two already?” He taunted, grabbing your hips roughly to rub himself against you.

You freezed completely, still in place. Shivering. You could feel the sniffles tightening your chest once again.

“I’m just joking, my love.” Bane chuckled, loosening his grip on you - but the predatory spark didn’t leave his lovesick gaze. “You’re so jumpy.” He gloated, caressing your shoulders in a soothing manner - although you didn’t find any comfort in his arms. “It’s okay. You will have plenty of time to adjust to me soon.” He promised gently and covered you with his long damp cloak. You looked up, confused. 

“It’s time to go home.”

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Crash Landings (Adam x Reader)

CW: Rough sex, Dub con, sex pollen, degradation, pussy slapping, fingering, compromised ability to consent Rated: AdultSummary: After taking damage to his wings, Adam has no choice but to make an emergency landing in a clearing of purple flowers, unaware of the unique flora of hell. While he waits for his flight feathers to regrow, he's met with some rather unexpected side effects of exposure to Hyperrigidus Purpureus pollen. His luck this extermination had been shit but when a pretty little demoness all but trips over him, he is pretty sure his luck was about to change.

A flower fic for @redvexillum- the least I can do for designing the banners for RedFoxTober.

Adam soared through the air, spinning toward the ground as he tried to gather his wits. Feathers fluttered around him, knocked free by the force of the explosion and compromising his ability to take control of the nosedive he was currently stuck in. 

They would grow back quickly enough. In an hour or two he’d regrow the shed flight feathers enough to have lift again. In the meantime, he had no choice but to try and regain enough control of his descent before he crashed into some building or impaled his wing on a fucking tree branch or something.

A patch of purple caught his eye. A clearing, flat and fairly deserted. It was too close to that damned princess’s hotel for his liking, but it was his best option. It didn’t look like there was anyone nearby that could try to fuck up his chance for a breather. He hit the ground with explosive force, sending dirt and flowers into the sky. 

“Shit!” Adam yelled, batting clumps of dirt and flower petals as they rained down on him. “Fuck! Goddamnit.” 

The bitter taste of vegetation invaded his mouth as he inhaled, preparing to let out another string of outraged curses. Instead, he wheezed, coughing and sputtering out the offensive taste as he climbed out of the small crater he had created. 

As he walked, seeking shelter in the small patch of forest, Adam examined his wings. The flight feathers were in a state of ruin. Those that hadn’t been ripped out were singed or broken. Golden blood dripped from the tips of feathers where blood feathers not yet ready to emerge from their keratin casings had been broken open too early. 

Adam grunted, digging through the ragged feathers to find the bleeding numbs. He wrapped his fist around the first one he found and pulled. Pain stabbed through his wing but he kept the pressure steady, pilling the feather out of the skin of his wing. After tossing the bloody feather to the side, he put pressure on the opening until it clotted. 

“Fucking hot ass mother fucking weather.” Adam mumbled, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his robe, groaning when it did nothing to remove the sweat from his skin, instead rubbing along his battle helmet. Had it always been so fucking hot down here, or was it worse on the ground? “Fucking sweating my goddamn fuckin’ balls off.” 

Adam pulled the helmet from his head, desperate for some air. Sweaty brown hair stuck to his skin as he again wiped his forehead. He tossed it to the ground at his feet, needing his hands free to pull the baggy robes up and over his head. It was too fucking hot to be wearing them. Stupid fucking robes. 

The hot air caressed his arms, doing little to cool the fire that seemed to build inside him. He needed to sit down, get his bearings, and rip those bleeding feathers out. The sooner they were gone, the sooner they would start to regrow and he could go back to killing these lowly fucking cunts. 

He sat under a tree and got all of three feathers out before groaning, leaning back against the tree. It was too fucking hot. He fanned himself, but found no relief in the action. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, working the buckles free from the strappy leather shirt he wore. 

It was an unneeded layer of protection, but one he wore out of habit. Sinners couldn’t hurt him, not in any substantial way. That didn’t make taking blows any more fun, though. Clacking of metal and the groaning of leather seemed too loud in the patch of trees he took shelter in as he pulled the zipper down his chest. 

Hot air caressed his chest, doing little to cool the flushed skin. He just needed a few minutes to let the sweat dry, that was all. He was just trying to make sure he didn’t get a heat rash. 

“Fucking bullshit,” Adam groaned as he shifted, pants constricting around his thighs. The heat had him sweating everywhere, resulting in all of his clothes pulling at his skin. The grip on his cock was painful. 

“Stupid fuckin’ shit,” Adam groaned, as he worked the studded belt buckle around his hips free, working the fly of his pants open. This would look so bad if anyone found him like this. He just needed some fuckin’ airflow. 

No wonder everyone walked around hell half naked. It was so fucking hot. 

He wasn’t sure when he had pulled his cock out or when he had gotten hard. It hadn’t been intentional; he was just trying to get some airflow around his fucking balls. The sweat had them sticking to his legs, the pull of hairs against sweaty skin causing stinging discomfort. 

Somehow that led him here, to be sitting on the ground of a hellish forest with his cock in his fist. Sweat poured down his back as he stroked himself. The pace had started lazy, just a way to occupy himself while he let the wounds heal and feathers regrow. It was a distraction from the way his wings fucking itched.

Before long, his pace was disparate as he fucked into his hand. He squeezed and gripped; he caressed and thrusted and yet he could not find release. The oppressive heat of hell was keeping it from him. 

“Fuck,” he panted, thankful he was alone at least. 

Or he thought he was. 

Though he was too distracted to hear it, you ran through the forest. Bare feet slammed against the forest floor, not sparing a thought to the way the branches and rocks cut into flesh. It was better to be cut up by the forest than by the Exorcist that you were fleeing. 

Panting breaths slipped from your lungs as you ran, desperate to keep the whine from your voice. There was no way for you to know how well those winged killers could hear. Though you were fairly sure you had lost the one that had been hot on your tail before you ran into the cluster of tight trees off to the side of the road, you didn’t slow. 

The trees grew more sparse as you ran, feet leaving bloody smears against the dirty ground. With explosive force, you burst from the underbrush into a small clearing, hardly large enough to be called that. 

Pink hair flew into your face as you jerked back, tripping over roots as you tried and failed to find your footing. The last thing you had expected was to find a man in the forest, let alone one that looked so painfully human. 

You fell to the ground, hands just in front of his black leather boots, full of buckles and metal. For a moment, you just laid there, dazed and looking up at the man holding his erect member in his hand. 

He was so human looking, so soft in a way you hadn’t seen since landing in hell. Brown eyes looked down at you, wide. Metal necklaces and earrings glittered in the dim light as his fist moved slowly up his length, as if he couldn’t help himself. 

You blinked your unnaturally pink eyes at him, unsure what to do when faced with a human in hell before you took in the rest of the sight. A crumpled white and gold mass of fabric sitting at his hip, a black-horned helmet sat next to it. You gasped as you realized golden wings stretched out behind him, smears of golden blood marked the tree trunk he laid against. Above the fluffy boyish brown hair floated a golden halo. 

This man who looked so human was far more deadly of a killer than any of the demons in hell. 

“Please,” you whispered, rising onto your hands and knees. “I- I won’t tell anyone about this if you just let me go.” 

Adam’s eyes ran over you, taking in the dark marron of your sweatshirt and the ever so light pink of your pleated mini skirt. Such a contrast between modest and slutty. Horns and bat wings reminded him through his lusty haze that you were little more than just another disgusting sinner. 

“How are you not burning up?” Adam asked as his hand slowly moved down his cock again. “It’s so fucking hot here.” 

“I-” your eyes widened as you recognized the purple flower petals in his hair. “It’s not. It’s you, the… the flowers. It’ll go away in time. I should-” 

Adam lunged forward, grabbing you and pushing you down onto the ground. He sprang forward with such sudden force you hadn’t had a chance to finish your sentence, let alone try to escape. 

“Please,” you begged, “Please, let me go. I’m trying- I swear I’m trying to be better.” 

“What do you mean it’s the fucking flowers?” Adam hissed, sitting on your hips to ensure you couldn’t get away from him. You tried to ignore the way his cock stood out from his pants, bobbing with every move either of you made. 

“Their pollen,” you gasped, eyes wide as the first man grabbed your wrists, pinning you down and putting an end to your struggles. “It makes people horny.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” Adam hissed, “How do I fix it?” 

“You just have to wait it out,” your breath caught in your lungs, hating how your sweater had ridden up in the struggle, exposing your abdomen. 

Adam leaned forward, his cock brushing directly against your skin as he prepared to say something. Instead, his eyes grew wide, and he groaned at the fleeting contact. “I’ve been doing that.”

“You just have to wait,” you whimpered as he folded over you, thrusting his cock lazily against your stomach. “You won’t be able to take care of it on your own.” 

“And with a partner?” Adam shook the shredded petals from his hair, sending dirt and bits of flower raining down on you, not sparing a thought to how it could land in your wide eyes. “If I had some to fuck?” 

“Faster,” you whispered. “Please, I don’t want to die.” 

“What if we made a deal?” Adam thrust his hips against you again, smearing precum along your skin. “That’s what you fuckin demons are all about, aren’t you? Deals?” 

“What?” 

“You help me ride out this fuckin’ bullshit,” Adam leaned closer, brown hair brushing against your pink hair in what surely had to be a strange sight. His wings fluttered out from his back, golden blood dripping onto the ground as he shifted, forcing a knee between your legs. “And I don’t kill you, this year at least. How’s that sound?” 

“You won’t kill me?” Your eyes grew wider as his knee pressed higher, pushing your thighs apart. “If… If we-” 

“You’re lucky, you know.” Adam said, taking both of your wrists in one large hand and shifting, letting his gloved hand run over the skin of your thigh, pushing your short shirt up around your waist. “Bitches fight over who gets to fuck me. You’ll be the only demon bitch who can say she fucked the first man. The fucking original dick. Fuck, you’re so lucky.” 

“I am,” you agreed, not feeling lucky in the slightest. “I’ll do it, please. Just don’t hurt me.” 

“Fuckin’ damn right you’ll do it,” he grabbed the band of your panties, a thong that didn’t cover much anyway, and pulled. The elastic cut into your skin, burning as it stretched. The band around your hip ripped first and then the gusset was cutting into your thigh. You spread your legs in a attempt to flee from the pain, opening your naked core to him. The ripped panties hung around your knee as he dropped them. 

Adam leaned back, taking in the sight of your pink cunt. It was darker than your pink skin, a rosy color that he was eager to get his hands on. 

You hated how your body flushed at the attention. Men like Adam were just your type. Fuck boys who took what they wanted. Assholes who used and took and demanded. His hand pushed your sweater up, greedily exposing your breasts. 

“No bra?” Adam tsked as he took in the sight of so much unnaturally pink skin. Your nipples were rosy and dark, much like your folds. “Fuckin’ slut,” Adam said as he harshly palmed your breast. 

“Ah!” you arched into his touch, body betraying you as his fingers dug into the flesh. The squeezing pressure let up for a moment before he was pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pain flashing through your mind. 

His hand left your breast, letting the warm air of hell soothe the pain. His touch was far from soft or teasing as he ran his hand down your body. Fingers dug into whatever softness he found. 

He positioned himself between your thighs. The way he brought his hand to his mouth was sensual. He pinched the leather of his gloves between his teeth, first to pull open the buckle fastening the glove around his wrist and then at the tips of the fingers. He tossed the black glove to the side, letting it fall atop the heap of his robes. 

Your hips bucked as he wasted no time running his fingers through your folds. He was greedy, selfish. There was no teasing in his touches. 

“Fuckin’ slut,” he groaned, wiggling a finger deep into your hole. “So fuckin wet. You want to be fucked dirty, don’t you?” 

You whimpered, hips working as his finger thrust slowly into you. The sensation expanded as he entered another finger into you, thrusting in and out. There was little resistance. Your opening was shamefully wet. 

“What has you so wet, hum?” Adam asked, fucking his fingers into you harsher. You hated how the squelching sound of his fingers in you filled the clearing. 

This wasn’t something you wanted, not really. But you were willing to do it, to fuck him if it meant he wouldn’t kill you. What you wanted and how your body responded were two very different things. 

“You’re fuckin soaked,” Adam sneered as he pulled his fingers from you, holding them up so you could see the way your slick covered them, strings of it hanging between the digits as he spread them. “Fuckin’ eager whore, aren’t you?” 

He kneed your legs apart, slotting his hips between your legs as he lowered himself down. The head of his fat cock nestled against your folds as he looked down at you as if you were the most disgusting thing he had ever seen. 

“What is it, hm?” Adam asked as he parted your folds with his head, moaning at the wetness that pooled around him. “You’re suck a fuckin’ slut. Going to let the fuckin’ first man fuck you in the woods. Fuck you on the dirty ground.” 

You moaned at the burning stretch of his head pushing into your opening. He hadn’t spared a second to run his cock through the folds, to collect the slick on him, to ease his entry. He didn’t give a shit about you as he sank deeper. 

“Fuck,” he moaned, “going to get fucked by the general.” 

“Please,” you whined, hips wiggling as you tried to work your slick over his cock and ease the burning strain of your hole around him. “Just fuck me,” 

“Fuck, fuck,” Adam moaned as he spread your walls open with his length, slowly bottoming out. “Look at me while I fuck you, bitch.” 

You fluttered your eyes open, coming face to face with the angel general. A blush colored his cheeks, flushed from the heat the flowers put in his body. His cock spread you wide and reached deep. The first man had been gifted with an impressive tool, far more sizable than any of the men you had been with in life or in death. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, back arching as he thrust into you. Your nipples scraped against buckles and the zipper, a painful change in sensation that paired with the stretch of him. 

“That’s right,” Adam said, pulling out as you whined. “Beg for it.” 

It took all of Adam’s self control to not plunge deep into your sopping wet cunt. Instead, he pulled further back and grabbed you, manhandling you onto your hands and knees. 

“Please,” you whispered, begging less for Adam’s cock and more for him to get on with it. 

“I don’t believe you want it,” Adam slapped your ass, the stinging pain forcing a yelp from your lips. The sound of three more sharp strikes echoed through the forest, each one blooming into a heated pleasure that made it hard for you to remember that you didn’t want this. 

“Please,” you begged, less sure of what you were begging for as you leaned back on your knees, seeking the full feeling of his heavy cock in your cunt. “Please, fuck me.”

“That’s right,” Adam sneered, smile curling as he fucked into you harshly. The sudden punch of his cock against your cervix knocked the air out of your lungs. “Fucking beg.” 

He refused to move, twitching inside her as he waited. Like hell was he going to let some fuckin hell flower control him? It was one thing for the fucking flower to make him fuck a slutty little fucking sinner like this, but he would not let it decide how he fucked. Pulling out, he sat and waited, watching your core clench, seeking him out. 

Adam was the original dick. He was fucking since fucking was a thing. He didn’t need some fucked up hell flower to tell him how to fuck. He spat, watching the glob as it hit her quivering hole. 

“Please,” you whimpered as you felt his spit splatter over your folds. “Fuck me.” 

Your control was slipping. There was a line between wanting to fuck Adam because he was going to kill you otherwise. Looking down at the ground, you saw the shredded purple of the petals, knowing full well in that instant why you were so wet.

“Fuck,” Adam moaned, thrusting harshly inside of you again, knocking the air from your lungs and sending you face down onto the ground. “Just like that, bitch.” 

You blinked your eyes, trying to breathe as he fucked harshly into you. That purple petal, hardly more than a shred danced on the dirt, carried by your gasped cries. His belt stung as it bit at your ass, each thrust slamming it into you. 

“Fuckin’ take my fat cock. Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ lucky.” He moaned, thrusting into you as he folded over you. Strong hands grabbed your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples under his hands. “Fucked by the first fucking man. Fucking dirty slut, you like that, don’t you?” 

You moaned deeply in response. That wasn’t enough of an answer for him, though. Adam’s hand left your breast, only to swing up and slap it in a stinging blow. You clenched around his cock, moaning deeply at the strike. 

“Fucking whore,” Adam said, “answer me.” 

“Yes,” you moaned into the dirt. “Fuck, yes.” 

“Good slut,” Adam praised, pinching your nipple as a reward. “Who’s fuckin’ you?”

“A-Adam,” drool ran from the corner of your cheek, collecting on the ground as he fucked into you harder. 

“That’s right,” Adam said, “Right fuckin there. Take it. Take my fuckin’ load like the greedy bitch you are.” 

He came with a moan, never slowing his thrusts. You cried out at the burning heat of the ropes of his hot cum, shooting into you without warning. His pace never slowed, even as his seed stung in the small rips his size had caused around your opening. That pain was just one more thing that bloomed into pleasure. 

“Please,” you panted, “want to, want to cum.” 

“No,” Adam said, pulling her up onto her knees by the breasts. “You can fucking cum when I’ve had enough.” 

“Adam,” you whined, as he continued to fuck up into you. The change in position had your back arched and the painful size of Adam had him pressing against your stomach with every thrust. 

“Fuckin’ whore,” Adam said, “Bitch ass slut,” his sweaty head rested on her shoulder as he continued fuckin up into her. “Why the fuck am I still so fuckin’ hard?

“F-f- fuck,” you moaned, struggling to say anything. When you reached down, hoping to stroke your clit and push yourself over the edge, Adam grabbed your wrists. “Fucking flowers.” 

“Going to fuck you till I’m done,” he promised, “fuckin use you up.” 

That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. Your core clenched around him as you let your head fall back, resting on the shoulder of the man who was driving you to such heights of pleasure. 

“Please,” you whined, “Please- fuck! Please use me,” 

“Damn right,” Adam moaned, breath cascading down your chest, washing over your overheated breasts. “Fuck. Best cock you’ve had all fuckin year. Best fuckin’ of your life, huh?” 

“Y-yes!” you cried out as he slapped your breast, nipple stinging from the impact. “Best fuck- fucking.” 

“Never gonna have someone as good as me,” Adam promised, running his hand down your body, pressing into your stomach. Pressure built inside you as you were pushed closer to the edge. His cum and your slick poured down your legs, smearing into his leather pants as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. 

“No.” you flexed your fingers, nails digging into your chest where Adam’s still gloved hand had your hands pinned. “Please, please, Adam, please, I want to-” 

“Fucking dickmaster,” Adam grunted as your core squeezed the life out of his cock, “Call me dickmaster- ah! Fuck, when you cum.” Reaching down, he ran the pads of his fingers over your clit, stroking it. You thrust your hips as he worked his fingers over you. Drool ran down your chin as he continued spearing you on his massive cock. “You can do that, can’t you, my little demonic slut?”

“Yes,” you chased the pleasure he was giving you, hips working against him as he fucked you dumb. “Fuck, yes. Please. Please. So close, Adam.” 

His fingers left you for a moment before a stinging slap hit your clit. You cried out, tears running down your face as he fucked you through the pain. He slapped your swollen clit three more times, driving you closer to the edge with each blow. 

“What the fuck did I say, bitch?” Adam grunted, fucking into your sloppy hole harder, twitching inside you. “Fuck, so tight. What are you- fuck- going to call me?” 

“Dick-” you gasped, legs and small bat wings trembling. He let your hands go, reaching up and wrapping a hand around one of your horns and yanking your head back. He forced your back to arch, ass pressing into him as he continued thrusting harshly, chasing his own release again. “Dickmaster, fuck.” 

“Good girl,” Adam praised, catching himself off guard as he turned his head, planting a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Good fuckin’ slut. Come on now, cum on the first cock. Come on my cock.” 

“Fuck,” you gasped, back aching at the way he had forced you to arch it. He slapped your clit again and again, fingers running over the slick nub between blows. “Fuck, fuck,” you cried out as he yanked on her head again, “I’m going to, fuck, Dickmaster, I’m going to-” 

“Go on, slut.” Adam said, yanking at your horn as he slapped your clit harder. Each strike clenched your cunt around him as he moaned. “Cum on my cock,” 

You did, with a scream that echoed through the forest. “Adam!” You chanted, switching it out with “Dickmaster,” when he slapped your overly sensitive clit again and again. 

“Fucking slut,” Adam grunted, shoving you forward as you convulsed around his cock. Strong hands gripped your hips, dragging them up without a care for the way your nipples scraped against the ground as he fucked into you, riding each wave of your orgasm. “Fuckin’ whore, cuming on my cock.” 

“Ah!” You couldn’t make your limbs work as each wave of your orgasm crashed into eachother, blurring together in searing white hot pleasure, “D-dick, dick… Master. Fuck, Dickmaster.” 

“That’s fuckin’ right,” Adam said, seed spilling into your cunt, squelching out of your hole with every thrust he made into it. “Fuckin’ whore,” Adam whispered as he collapsed over her, spent.

Both gasped for breath, trying and failing to fill burning lungs you shuddered, twitching around his cock. Above you, in the sky, holy trumpets sounded, as they always did, twice a year to single the beginning and the end of the extermination. 

You survived another year, doing whatever you had to do in order to make it out the other side alive. Never had you thought fucking the angel general would be what it took. 

Adam pulled from you, his cock leaving, letting a river of his cum run from your hole. It tickled as it trickled down your folds. For a moment, he stood over you, running his ungloved hand through his sweaty hair. Finally, the sweat on his skin was drying and his cock softened. 

He wasn’t sure what to say to you at the moment, so he said nothing, tucking his dick away in silence. You laid on the ground, ass in the air, skirt still thrown up around your hips, seed running from your hole and dripping off your clit onto the dirty ground. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, he grabbed his phone. 

He walked around the side, taking in the fucked out look on your face. The sweater you wore, a mockery of modesty, was bunched around your shoulders, displaying your breasts. 

You hardly registered the sound of a camera shudder snapping as Adam took pictures. Your wings twitched as you lay gasping for air. Adam moved around you, ensuring he could look back on this and know exactly the way your pink hair fell across your fucked out face, the way your nipples looked dragging across the ground and most importantly, the way your cunt dripped with his seed. 

“Thanks for a good time,” He said, kneeling behind you for a moment for a closer look. “Fucked yourself into another year in hell, good job slut.” 

“Adam,” you moaned, blinking at the sound of his voice. 

“That’s right, whore-” A wet slap echoed through the trees along with your lusty yelp as he delivered one final blow to your abused cunt. “Don’t ever forget how you got yourself another year. Maybe you can remind me next year.” 

You groaned, tears running down your face, dripping into the dirt as you came back to yourself. Blurry eyes watched as Adam slipped the robe over his long frame and shoved the helmet over his head. He spared you a digitized wink as he fluttered his wings, leaving you exposed as he took off, joining his band of bloodthirsty killers as you lay exposed on the ground. 

Just as he had promised, he left you used up. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

[crxshed-skxlls]

— ❝ Ethereal Sickness

Slenderman x M!Reader

Word count: 2K+

Plot: You are a private supernatural investigator, working under the whims for any haunting experiences your way. You soon get lost in the forest, and It wasn't long before you realize you are not the only one in this place..

NSFW tags: Dubcon, Prey/Predator themes, exhibistionism, Tentacles, Monster Fucker, Sadomasochism, blood play, power imbalance, degradation, rough sex

You had a sick feeling ever since you came here. Your eyes scan the forest interior with a small reluctance. Some people reported in your emails of a potenially supernatural experience, and you were intrigued. Your mind was always captivated by the macabre and mysterious. You had a weird fascination ever since the playful stories of Bloody Mary and Charlie Charlie. You take a deep breath, inhaling the thick air of the forest as you sigh. You take a couple more steps in the woodlands, hearing the faint crushing sound of leaves and twigs under your shoes. You carry a small camera, just in case there were any spirits to capture. You pause as you hear a twig snap behind you -- whipping around only to see.. Nothing but a small squirrel scurry up a tree. You sigh in somewhat relief. You're admittedly a little nervous, anticipating any strange encounter that may lurk around the corners.

Though, you assume your thoughts to be your subconscious toying with you. You sigh and turn back around, walking deeper in the murky terrain. Undoubtedly this forest was pretty, but a subtle hint of unease settled inside. The fogged, moist atmosphere made things a bit blurry for you to see. The dark, lush flora meshed with the paranoid thoughts of someone lurking around. You are soon snapped into reality again as you see a strange sight. Your eyes widen in intrigue as you notice a weird page in the distance, hanging a few muddled feet from a rotting tree. You start to move by yourself, curiously wandering to the strange picture. It depicted a strange drawing with symbols you couldn't recognize, seemingly created with dirtied charcoal. You delicately take the page from the tree, carefully examining it. However, you accidentally smudge some of the charcoal. It left a black residue. Weird. This picture seemed to be fresh.

You collect the page as evidence, looking around to see if you can find anymore near. It was only then you hear another subtle sound of leaves crunching – making you dart to the general direction. This time, there was nothing there. Your heart starts to drop as you feel a sense of dread and paranoia. You quickly start walking in a different direction, only to see another page faintly in the distance. You felt as if eyes lingered over you, but maybe you were just being paranoid. Sometimes chills are a good thing, it means your doing something right at least. You could practically feel the paranormal air thicken as you go on to the other page. This one seemed much older in quality, only a big symbol in the middle with an eerie note; You feel a knot nervously bubble in your stomach as you read the scribbled writing. The phrase stated,

HE IS ALWAYS WATCHING

You pondered curiously. Whom might "he" be? You quickly collect yourself as you soon see something in the corner of your eye– a startling figure. You turn your head, only to find nothing there. This was strange. Not once did you ever feel such unsure paranoia. Irrational thoughts caved into your consciousness as you take the second page with a lump in your throat. Despite your paranoia and irrational behavior, you chalk it up to your nerves. Something that something in the distance was amused by. Amused, and out of sight, lies an ancient entity. He went by many names, by many legends. However, he coined "Slenderman" more infamously. He had been watching for a bit now, observing your odd behavior with a predatory gaze. As if a tiger stalking down its prey in a well forested area. Slender pleasantly toys with you, practically ogling your irrational reactions.

 He had seen many mortals before; humans carelessly roughhousing his domain. He growled quietly at the thought of those leeches.. However, you were intriguing. You captivated him with the delicate ways you would handle your surroundings, how quick it was for you to shudder and shiver with nervousness. As much as he was known for his careless nature towards humans, you had certainly caught the wrong eyes. Meanwhile, you were still wandering in what felt like a conflicting trance. Both your mind and body telling you that you must go; flee… However you were lost in the mysteries and captivated by the pages. There was a sick feeling in your stomach; nausea kicks in as you feel a presence linger in the air. You spin around – your heart skipping a beat as you see a tall figure. You quickly start to flee, running as fast as you can as your adrenaline causing you to beeline to the opposite direction. What a lovely look for you to an eyes of a prowling creature.

The air becomes more thick and cold as you dart through trees, hoping to get it off your trail. Whatever it was it was not human, and it definitely seemed unfriendly. Slender catches to your pace as he patiently watches you crumble physically. You aren't too athletic or anything, but your body told you to keep going. You had scattered the pages behind you somehow during the irrational running, but you didn't look back. You kept going until you hit a rock, stumbling down a harsh steep hill. As you tunbled, you can feel the scrapes and gashes unwantedly scrape your body – only to fall a couple inches from a tree. You let out a whimper as you catch your breath, sitting upright only to be met with the being in question. You didn't want to admit it, but you were weirdly enraptured by the way he gazed at you. You were scared – no, terrified.. Though something about the way he stood so grand in front of you made you flushed. You take a shaky breath as the figure grew near.

" What might we have here… "

You gasped, surprised at the low voice that rang in your ears. You look on curiously as his voice teased. Slender looks down in a confused but curious glance as you shiver and tremble on the ground. You watch as his black, slender tendrils slide out of his back. You gulp nervously as you try moving back, only for Slender to swiftly smacks you to the tree. You yelp painfully as he pins you to the tree, your eyes betraying your focus as you watch Slender leans in closely.

" Wh– What do you want fr- from me?  "

You croak out as Slender's skeletal hands ghost around your abdomen. Even without eyes, Slender was observant to your fear. He drank the look of terror from your face, the bloodied gash along your cheek made his grip tighter on you. It wasn't long until you watch as Slender's facial skin moves. You gasp, horrified as you watch Slender's skin tear and crack. It showed Slender's mouth, sharp teeth and a long black tongue with ripped pale skin.

" I want you to be a good meal for me. "

" W- wait !! "

You shriek and squirm as he moves down to your neck, feeling his mouth open wide. A different tendril floods your mouth, unexpectedly choking you. You squeezed your eyes shut, expecting the ethereal being to take a good chomp of you… But he doesn't. Instead, you feel the slimy, wet sensations as his tongue laps at your neck. You gag on his tendril, letting out a small moan as the stinging feeling of your wounds is lapped up by his sickly black tongue. He pulls away for a moment, taking in the delicious iron taste in his mouth of your open wounds. He stalks your body in a way that feels possessive, territorial. You feel yourself trickle another moan on the soft tendril as the man lifted your shirt, cold air hitting you as he wanders. You were unsure of this, at least with the delirious and disoriented state you were in. 

The tendril in your mouth soon pops out with a slick pop – allowing you to gasp. You dont dare to utter any words though, trembling as you watch Slender tenderly lick your abdomen. You let out a moan as he licks up, trailing to your chest. You try to squirm away, but he has you firm to the tree. He sighs abruptly, his warm breath causing you to whimper out. It was only then you gasped, feeling something slick paw at your crotch. You attempt to wiggle out again as your breath hitches, looking at Slender with worry –

" Wait – Wait please I don't know if I can – "

You beg and plead through breathy moans and shaky replies, Slender growling in a guttural tone. He creepily smiles as he watches tears prick your eyes, licking his lips. You couldn't help but feel yourself throb as you see your own blood plastered sickly on his "lips". He soon claws away your dirtied shirt with a swift rip, causing you to land your head back to the tree in a shiver. The mix of unpleasant cold and dirty pleasure had you reeling. For what it is though, you didn't expect such a beast to be almost gentle with you – and you have backtracked that statement as he rips your pants away. You shriek out with a gasp, your face flushing redder as you look away from Slender. The tendriled being laughs coldly, his tentacle palming at your throbbing erection.

" You really are a sick meal, are you? Such a mortal like yourself would keep struggling– but your different. "

He hisses with a predatory gaze. The degrading made you whimper, only before crying out as he bites your tender flesh on your shoulder. You yell in a weird mix of pain and pleasure, the sweet twinge of agony as he laps up more of your blood. You feel the man's tendril pull down your boxers, leaving you bare naked. Your cock springs out shamefully, precum laced at the tip. Slender giggles in almost amusement. His big hands trailing down your tendered waist. You lay your head in embarrassment, weakly kicking your legs in protest. Slender's tendril swirls around your dick, tracing the peculiar veins that popped out. You shamefully groan, letting your head fall back more as you marched. Slender hisses in delight.

" Wow, so shameful to moan for such a monster. What do you think others would think seeing you like this, hm? "

Slender taunted, grunting as he unzips his pants. What came next was something indescribable; almost unbelievable. Your eyes widen at Slender's huge penis. It wasn't like any other humans though– it was a thick, black tendril with a slick feel. As his other tendril leaves your cock, he let's his penis slide against yours. You both let out a moan, one more surprised than the other. He was several inches bigger than you, and you were average to say the least. You shiver out a moan as he bucked his hips into yours, the slimy texture of his dick lubricating yours. You moan again before letting out a breathy gasp as Slender's hands raise your legs. You were folded between the being and a tree, tears spilling out of your muddy face as you watch helplessly. Your eyes widen at such a suggestion, shaking your head.

" N- no way! That's not going to fit in me! "

You cry out, watching as he examines your cute little hole. It was already laced with some of your own precum, watching as you clench to nothing was both arousing and amusing to the man. He looks at the mess he made, aiming his slick dick to your hole. You begged more, pleaded even. He teased your ass with the tip of his cock, swirling around your entrance. You moan at the unusual feeling, panting slightly as your dick twitched between you two. Slender leans to your bloodied, bitten shoulder to lick the gashes he marked onto you. You hiss in pain, wincing at the twinges of pleasure it brought you. Your stomach knotted up as it pulled more heat, becoming almost unbearable. Slender noticed this, even as your cock twitched. You both knew what was coming as he laughed darkly.

" Already coming, are we? Such a shame. It hasn't even got to the fun parts yet.. "

Fun parts? You shiver from what he staged. You were already becoming undone, and he still had more plans? Your thoughts are soon interrupted by a harsh force and a painful twinge. Slender had finally slipped his dick into you, bottoming in one strong move. You leans your head forward, biting into the man's clothes shoulder with a scream. The mixed pain and pleasure had got you to spill out �� coming onto your abdomen and chest as you heaved and moaned in the being's shoulder. He grunts at the twinge of pain, his dick slick as he moves inside of you. He grunts as he pulls halfway out before plunging back into you. You arch your back as you moaned out, feeling Slender set a ridiculous pace. His quiet but guttural moans rang in your ears as he rips inside of you. It was only then you had completely lost yourself when you felt him curl into your prostate. You whimper and moan out shamelessly as you put your hands on Slender's shoulders to stable yourself.

" Mm - More! God, more sir– "

Your meek voice sent Slender into a predatory growl, slamming into your prostate as he draws more of your noises out. You could only feel a flood of pain from the ache of the tree scraping your back, your bitten shoulder, and some other injurgies. However, pleasure flushed your body as you come for a second time. Your cum lands on his suit as he slams into your ass. You let out more "sirs" and "pleases" in the air.

" Awwh you – Haah – foolish being.. Such a slut you became, darling."

The petname and moans he let's out sends you overboard. You feel twinges of overstimulation kick in as you lay almost limp in the being's grasp. He lays his head to the tree holding you, letting out more moans as his hips sputter into you.

" Please – no more!-- haah– cant– "

" Yes you can. You will take what I give you– "

Slender interrupts your pleas as he grips the soft flesh of your thighs, sinking his teeth back into your shoulder as he spurs on one more time. You cry out with a yelp, feeling the twitch inside you before you felt him cover your insides with his sticky ropes. You both pant in silence, only hearing your breath as be pulls out of you. Slender moans slightly as he watches his seed spill out of your hole, the mixed of sweat and other bodily fluids clung to you as you pant. You feel exhausted as your body comes down from your high, blinking slowly as you look up at Slender. He looks down as he let's go of you, letting you gently fall to the bottom of the tree. He marvels at his creation, and you look up at him like he was an angel from hell. He was pretty terrifying, but he also looked so hot as he watches the mess he created. 

You were drenched in fluids, and naked. The blood from your shoulder had trickled it's way down to your soft chest. Your nipples perked up from the neglected attention it had. You had mud and gashes that covered you a in spots. You had Slender's seed spill out of you as your cock softened. You were filthy, disgusting, and a mess. Slender gawks at you with a smirk, leaning down towards you. You look at him with half lidded eyes, shakily breathing as you lay limp against the tree. You shiver and tremble with the cold wind as he lays his eyes on you. It wasn't long after he took in such a sight he grabbed you, picking you up with his arms. You don't have any strength to protest, whimpering as he looks at you. Something was definitely different however.. His gaze was softer, and his hold on you was different. Instead of the hard, possessive grip he had, it was replaced with a gentle but firm squeeze.

" You're mine now. You will be mine for as long as you live. Do you understand me? "

You give a weak nod before your eyes start rolling in the back of your head. You pass out right then and there. Your consciousness leaving your body as you lay limp, blissfully ignorant to what you had just endured.

-

You then wake up in your house. You were clothed and covered in the warmth of a blanket. You would be lying if you thought it was all just a dream until you felt it hit. The ache of your body made you grunt as you turn. You noticed something on your nightstand however. It was your camera and a crinkled note. Just like the papers in the forest. You look to see it's one of the ones you had picked up; ALWAYS WATCHING lingering in your head with not fear – but a longing. You sit the page down as you flop back onto your bed, sighing as you plop your face in the soft pillows below. You then drift back off to unconsciousness, the last thing you see is a figure at the corner of your eye as you peacefully pass out.

[biteofcherry]

Darkness between the stars

Darth!Steve Rogers x female reader

Author's Note: On my recent wave of feels after Anakin's cameo in Ahsoka, I couldn't stop thinking about powerful Jedi Steve Rogers, who was once galaxy's hope, turning dark. This is very loosely inspired by Anakin's storyline, without going full on Vader-look (because Steve's face is too pretty to cover it with that ugly helmet; sorry, I make the rules here).

summary: You followed your Master when he gave in to the dark side, not believing the twisted values the Emperor spew, but because you couldn't imagine being anywhere other than by Steve's side. Even if you accepted the fact Steve's heart may forever belong to the woman he once loved.

warnings: angst; hurt/comfort; soft dark!Steve Rogers; some power imbalance; choking kink; implied age gap (since Steve was the Reader's Master), but Reader is of age

The threat of thudding footsteps caused a spike of fear among the Imperial officers passing in the corridor outside - you sensed the stench of it. You could easily imagine them scattering away as quickly as possible, or trying to blend with the walls.

As cowardly as it was, it was also wise. Finding yourself in the path of an angry Sith Lord would end badly.

Thankfully, the medical droid stitching up your leg had no real human feelings, so it continued its work without a hitch even as the seal to the med bay opened and Steve stormed in.

All in his towering, dark glory.

Black robe swiping the floor, deadly lightsaber strapped to the utility belt, shiny buckles on the reinforced leather gloves on his hands. 

Darth Nomad. Sith Lord.

Once upon a time a great, idealistic Jedi Master, Steve Rogers.

Though the Jedi Order no longer existed and his path had turned dark and bloody, he still remained Steve to you.

Only in privacy. Always in your heart, even as you addressed him as Master or Nomad when other's ears and eyes were on you. He owned you; his claws ran far deeper and clutched stronger than Palpatine’s influence on him.

You harbored a crush on your Master for years, hiding your thoughts and longing every day. As well every night, when you rested in your chamber at the Jedi temple and he returned into the arms of his beloved wife in her lush suite.

When you followed Steve to kneel at the Emperor's feet and pledge loyalty to the dark side, you perfectly sold the lie of the ambitious, proud apprentice who was bitter the Jedi were too weak. You claimed to want to continue your training and be on the winning side, the side of true power.

What you truly wanted was to be with Steve, even if it was only to suffer unrequited love as you helped him drown the world in blood.

The Emperor somehow bought it, or maybe simply thought it useful to have you serve the Empire, no matter your actual motivation. 

However, Steve saw right through you.

He didn't confront you right away. Not for months. Until the two of you were on a solo quest, treading through the lush flora of an outer-rim planet, searching for an ancient artifact - much like you used to do as Jedi.

Did he catch you looking at his profile too long? Did he sense the change in your heartbeat whenever he was close? Was your Force bond so strong that he glimpsed into your desperate dreams?

Or maybe Steve simply knew you so well, after all the years. 

When he reached for you, when he touched you, you knew it could deepen your later suffering. But you still gave in, if only for one night. If only you could taste him and fall apart under his command this one time. 

But it wasn’t just one night. Nor a few chance encounters over the years. 

Whatever it was between the two of you, has become a regularity. A wicked norm that sated, as well enhanced the craving that’s been burning inside of you. It seemed there was never enough; the desire for him simmered beneath your skin every day and your desperate love pushed you further into howling darkness. 

Eerie, that love was what pushed Steve to the dark side as well. 

There were other factors, layers upon layers, but it was the heart that sealed the deal. For the both of you. 

Your tragedy was that Steve’s heart would never be yours. 

So you fed off on everything else you were given - Steve’s attention, his lust, his protectiveness. 

Which was why he stomped through the Executor like a deadly storm cloud - in his case, literally deadly - led by rage.

You knew it was mostly directed at the scum who dared to wound you, but some of it was also at you. For being careless in your small mission, which you attempted to keep secret from him. 

His black cloak floated ominously around Steve as he stepped inside; his fingers clenched into fists, stretching the leather of his gloves.

“How serious is the injury?” Even in anger, Steve’s voice remained calm. 

You opened your mouth to say it’s not that bad, but he gave you a pointed look that meant he wasn’t talking to you and that you were in serious trouble. The kind that may end with your ass bruised. 

“A level two blaster wound to the thigh,” the medical droid reported. “It missed the artery and the muscle will rebuild with the protein enhancer we’ve injected. Patient’s skin has been sutured.”

Steve’s gaze flicked to your bare leg, eyes narrowing as he assessed the dressing over your wound. The droid wasn’t bothered by it, but if a living person was here instead, they’d sweat in fear of his disapproval. 

“The patient may experience impaired mobility for the next day. No other complications are expected.”

Steve nodded, his eyes still on your leg. Though his trimmed beard gentled the sharp line of his jaw, you still saw the nervous tick of muscle. Then his gaze shifted along your half-dressed body and settled on your face. 

He stepped closer to the bed and cupped your chin. Scent of familiar leather pleasantly dispersed the annoying smell of medical antiseptics. 

“I’m gone for two days and you get yourself in trouble, Stardust.” Steve squeezed your chin a tad harder. “Should I keep you at my side at all times, like an irresponsible apprentice freshly in training?”

“Or-” he leaned in; the blue of his eyes searing like his old lightsaber- “maybe I’ll confiscate your weapon and keep you as a bedwarmer only?”

Before you managed to utter I’m sorry for failing, Master, Steve was lifting you in his arms. Stealing your breath with the gesture.

One arm beneath your knees, the other under your back. Your heart stopped for a moment, then rushed in a rapid pattern as he carried you out of the med bay.   

It had to be a bizarre sight - the Dark Lord of the Sith, most feared in the whole galaxy Darth Nomad, who snapped necks with a flick of a wrist; was carrying a woman through the Star Dreadnought.

However, no one dared to stare, or even flick a curious glance your way. 

Steve showed softness when you both laid spent after fucking, or simply wrapping an arm around your middle when you were sleeping, but he never carried you like that. 

Even when he wanted you in a certain position when he fucked you, he either told you to do it the right way, or used the Force to bend your body how he wished. 

Being cradled in his arms, out in the open, soothed that deep longing for true care on his part. Taunted you with deep feeling that you knew would never be real.

“Something’s troubling you.” Steve stated when the double-sealed entrance to his (and yours) chambers closed behind you. “And it’s not your injury, I sense.”

He crossed the space to the bedroom, where cold blue light changed into unsettling red that you learned to associate with safety. Black and red used to mean the enemy, the danger, even death, but Steve made you love it. Conditioned you to see it as the setting you belonged in. 

“Well, my failure in successfully finishing my deal on Serenno,” you shrugged, but instantly cringed as you felt that lie failed miserably.

You weren’t a bad liar. When it came to Steve, however, it was as if the ability was malfunctioning. 

At least ever since he slipped his gloved finger between your lips for the first time and softly commanded you to admit how much you craved him.  

You yelped as Steve suddenly dropped you onto the bed. The muscle in your thigh spasmed, sending a painful jolt. Fingers gripping the dark sheets, you breathed through the wave of ache as you lifted your gaze to look at Steve.

His black robe dropped to the floor. He set his lightsaber down on the black, lacquered table, then unbuckled his utility belt. It fell to the floor with a dull thud. 

“You do not lie to me, Stardust,” Steve’s glare was a warning as he braced his hands on his hips and waited for your honesty.

The reason hidden deep in your heart could bring you more trouble than withholding the truth from Steve. You feared speaking it aloud may cut you out of Steve’s life completely, if he learned that you were desperate for so much more than his cock. 

But there was no way of hiding it from him for long. Not when he was on a hunt to rip that truth out of you.

Steve would get to it one way, or another. One could perhaps be a sexually torturous way, but there was also a chance of him reaping it from your mind with the Force. 

You took a deep breath, forcing a cold sheet to form around your fluttering heart and make you seem indifferent to your own emotions, like you did at the beginning of your life on the dark side. Your fingers tightened their grip on the smooth, dark sheets.

“Your gesture startled me,” you admitted. “I know I’m of certain value to you, as a lover and as a former Padawan. Being carried like that, like you cared, incited foolish thoughts in my head.” 

Steve’s eyes narrowed as a frown marred his forehead. His head tilted slightly to the side, his gaze never allowing yours to drop. 

“Elaborate,” he requested, but you knew that despite the calm tone it was a command. 

“It almost ignited a stupid hope to have your heart,” you spat out bitterly, “which would never happen, I’m aware, Master. I know there was only one woman who had your heart and it lies buried with your wife.” 

With the woman who wasn’t strong enough to pull him off that edge of destruction, nor had the guts to fall with him and rule by his side. 

Steve’s hand shot forward, fingers curled in an open grip. The yank of incredibly powerful Force pulled your body upwards, as if you were a featherlight ragdoll. He made your body flow in the air, inches above the floor. 

The pressure around your neck cinched. He wasn’t touching you, yet it felt as if Steve’s gloved fingers were wrapped around the front of your neck, squeezing your throat. 

It spiked fear and adrenaline, but also roused your body in ways no other lover ever could. 

Your body froze in place right in front of Steve, the Force still keeping you hanging in the air. 

“You are right to say my heart was buried with my wife.” Steve growled through clenched teeth. “It’s left in the past that we burned to the ground.” 

A gasp escaped your lips as Steve’s hand firmly wrapped around your neck. Though he still used the Force to move your body, it was also his sheer strength behind his movement as he walked you backwards until your back met the wall.

“You’re not in my heart, Stardust, because I no longer have one,” his hot breath tickled your cheek as Steve’s face inched even closer. 

“You’re not my love. You’re more. You’re  m i n e.”

What filled your heart felt similar to the overwhelming lightness you used to be connected with, once upon a time.

The Force eased back and your body sagged, but Steve’s hand was still firm on your throat. Holding you up as your toes tried to reach the floor and give you some support. 

No, he wouldn’t let you down easily. He would drive in the point that he was your support. He was your sustenance. He would hold you up, as well destroy you. 

“You’re my fucking everything!” 

Steve bit your bottom lip, making you cry out at the sudden sting. Then the flick of his tongue soothed it before he swiped between your parted lips. The way Steve kissed you was more consuming than the darkness you dwelled in; more burning than the lightsaber’s blade. 

When he pulled away, your lips were swollen and tingling, and your cunt was pulsing with need. 

“You’ll repent for endangering what’s mine-” Steve’s chuckle was a brush of tempting darkness as his free hand slid up your wounded thigh- “tomorrow, when it’s fully healed.” 

“Yes, Master,” you moaned as his fingers changed their course and teased your folds beneath the short, medical robe. 

[zoeykallus]

Hello there! May I ask for a big favor? Could you write about Tech, after THE FALL, you know? About how he survived, maybe badly hurt, and how Hemlock wants to experiment on him. But female reader is an assistant scientist or nurse working there, and they fall in love, and she frees him?

Aloha!

Sorry for the late (and very long) response! Okay, this is something I can get behind. Hold on, I got you.

Tech x Fem!Reader One-shot - AFTER THE FALL

Warnings: ANGST/Hurt/Injured Tech/Tension/Fluff/Comfort

______________________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

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First, euphoria floods him as he is slowed down more or less gently by the branches of one of the huge trees. But then he hits a thicker branch that breaks several of his ribs. Tech can't breathe for a moment, falling further, he slows down as he continues to fall through a tangle of branches. He loses his helmet, the branches whip him in the face, leaving bloody bruises. Then he loses his goggles. His hands automatically shielding his face as best he can. He can barely see, but he knows the ground is getting closer. The impact is hard, not fatal thanks to the tree, but extremely painful nonetheless. His right shin breaks, the sound unnaturally loud, and the pain travels through his body like a lightning strike, sharp and violent. The impact on the broken ribs does the rest. At first, his breath catches and his voice gets stuck in his throat. But finally a scream comes across his lips, shortly followed by a groan, his breath heavy with pain. But not only pain, also panic is spreading. He is badly injured, defenseless, in the middle of a forest full of alien flora and fauna and the Imperials who will surely search for his corpse soon and if he was unlucky, they would find one too. Tech lost his weapons in the fall, his visual aid, helmet and probably a few other things. For a moment, he wishes he had just died quickly, cursing the tree that gave him false hope only to take it away.

His fingers feel for the com on his wrist, unsuccessfully. He pulls off his glove with his teeth to feel for it more effectively. His fingers slide to the com again. Broken. "Kriffin hells," Tech groans in pain. It doesn't matter that he's still alive, without a com, with his injuries, without his goggles, in the middle of nowhere, his chances of survival are practically non-existent. He can only see his surroundings dimly, blurred outlines, blurred colors. The pain is bad enough to make him nauseous. Tech tries to breathe against the pain and rummages blindly with his fingers in his remaining belt pouches for the emergency painkiller. Some of the pouches are torn from his belt, and the belt itself is also hanging by a thread. He finds what he is looking for, hastily injects himself in the leg. The drug works quickly, the pain slowly subsides. Tech allows himself to breathe for a moment. The pain may be temporarily relieved, but his situation has not changed. He is afraid, for the first time in his life he is really frightened. It's a more than uncomfortable feeling. He is alone, helpless, his brothers think he is dead. Tech feels the wind brush across his damp face, and he realizes he's crying. "Pull yourself together, Tech, you're a soldier, you're smart, you'll find a way out," he says to himself, trying desperately to believe his own words.

But he can hardly move despite painkillers, he doesn't even know where to go, can't see his surroundings properly. Tech tries to crawl, but he repeatedly has to give up and lie down. The hours pass and the painkiller begins to wear off. The pain slowly creeps back into his body, steadily, increasing. On impulse, he calls Hunter's name, the big brother who always bailed him out, even as a cadet. He knows no one can hear him, but it's a helpless, automatic impulse. At some point he begins to drift, he's not sure if he's just tired, if he's dying, or just passing out, Tech just knows that his senses are fading, little by little, slowly enveloping him in darkness.

Lights, echoing voices, the smell of disinfectants, are the first things that reach Tech's senses as he slowly regains consciousness. The ground on which he lies is cool, hard. He can't immediately make out the words being spoken around him, he only understands snatches of them. "... the wounds will heal.... much potential.... take good care of him.... this will be an interesting project" Slowly he feels parts of his body again. The pain is just dull now, like an echo. Tech feels sluggish and suspects that he has been given strong painkillers. It is relatively cool in the room, he feels that all his equipment has been taken from him. The fabric on his skin is not that of his blacks, he has been clothed. He blinks several times, noticing that his vision is clearer. Tech wants to feel his face to see what visual aid he has been given, but he cannot lift his arms, there is resistance. He has been strapped to the surface on which he is lying. A figure appears next to him, his gaze clears, and he looks into the face of a woman, he finds her pretty, and somehow she seems familiar to him, but he doesn't immediately know why.

A man's voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"You are not to make small talk with the project, only inject the serum".

Startled, you look up and into the face of Doctor Hemlock. His blue eyes are cold, despite the implied smile on his lips.

"Do what I told you and run some scans, then I need you in my office".

"Yes, Doctor," you say quietly, opening the small case of injections.

Hemlock looks at Tech, their eyes meeting.

"We'll see if we can't improve you," he says to the restrained Tech.

"Enhance?" the latter asks in alarm.

"A serum used for genetic manipulation, it should theoretically unlock more hidden abilities," is the brief explanation he receives, "I'm not going to lie, this whole thing could get very uncomfortable, painful, but a seasoned soldier can take a beating, can't he?"

With those words, Hemlock turns away.

Tech watches Hemlock disappear again, then his gaze twitches back and forth between you and the small case.

"This is a dangerous experiment," Tech says quietly, his tone clearly resonating with his unease, "genetic manipulation is a delicate thing."

"I know," you say quietly, taking one of the injections from the case.

Tech begins to struggle against the restraints, whereupon two Stormtroopers he hadn't noticed before start to stir. You pause and say to the men, "He's strapped down, no danger of escape, and no danger to me. There are other, more dangerous projects you should be monitoring."

The men look at each other, finally one says, "Fine by me. But call us if he gives you any trouble"

You nod curtly and wait for the troopers to leave the room. Tech is still writhing in his restraints on the table, but can barely move a millimeter.

"Calm down, Tech," you say gently.

He sees you coming closer with the injection and his breathing quickens, panicked.

"Now listen to me carefully," you say seriously, "I've switched injections. This room is video monitored, but without audio. So try to keep a low profile"

Tech blinks several times. The tone in your voice, conspiratorial, serious but gentle. He's torn between hope, fear and doubt.

"I switched out the injections. This is just saline and some food coloring to make it look just like the serum. Nothing at all will happen to you from this injection."

Tech frowns critically and says stubbornly, "Why should I believe you?"

You sigh softly and say, "I know it doesn't inspire confidence that I'm working with Hemlock. I just want to take away your fear, you'll see that nothing will happen to you from the injections."

"If you really want to help me, free me," Tech says shakily.

" This is not something I can do so easily-"

"Then why should I believe that nonsense!" he interrupts you angrily.

You push up his sleeve, feeling his muscles tense. He is still squirming uselessly in the buckles with which he is tied to the stretcher.

"Be reasonable, Tech, you're too badly hurt to try to escape, the baccta will take a few hours before you can walk again without assistance. That being said, this facility is well secured. Lots of troopers, droids, alarm system, lockdown mechanisms. You wouldn't get far, we need a plan first. Crosshair and I have been working on it for a few days. I just hope I can fool Hemlock with the serum long enough to get it done."

Tech's eyes grow wide, "You talked to Crosshair?"

You nod and say, "Daily, since he got here."

"How is he?"

"Better than you at the moment, even though he provoked Hemlock several times in the beginning, and he was often disciplined"

"Disciplined?" asks Tech brightly.

"Torture by electric shocks. Hemlock calls that corrective education."

Tech grits his teeth, then looks at you questioningly, "So you're helping him too. Why are you helping us anyway?"

You put the needle in place and Tech flinches briefly as he feels the sting.

"Because what's happening here isn't right. There are a lot of disobedient clones here, clones who have defied orders and Order 66. You guys have been through more than enough already. At some point, this nightmare has to stop. I only came here with Hemlock because I thought we could make a difference for the clones. But I soon found out that Hemlock had other interests and missions. So at first I started to ease the circumstances for the patients as much as I could. And little by little I managed to trick Hemlock into replacing the serum and so on. But it's only a matter of time before he figures it out. The doctor is anything but stupid, at the moment he's just very busy, with many… projects, probably the only reason why he hasn't caught me yet."

Tech blinks several times. The injection is over; at the moment, he feels nothing.

"You're taking a big risk," he says quietly.

You nod nervously and say, "I know if I get caught there will be no punishment, only execution."

The days pass, Tech's wounds heal, and you regularly send messages back and forth between the two brothers. You secretly pass on plans and ideas. But something is missing. The guys need floor plans, accurate data on troop movements around the compound, and information on all security and surveillance systems.

Getting this information is damn dangerous for you, but still you do it, little by little, skillfully, using the access codes of other employees among others. For days on end, you're under a constant flow of adrenaline, always in danger of being discovered. But you've finally gathered everything that's needed, except weapons.

"I don't know how to get weapons, the medical staff doesn't have weapons, only the troopers, and they're unlikely to give me their weapons willingly, I'm not a fighter," you say dejectedly.

Crosshair growls softly, "I'll figure something out, you've already done more than enough".

You say quietly, "I've given Tech all the information, like I did you".

Crosshair wants to nod, but his head is strapped to the table as you give him the fake injection.

"Good," he mumbles softly.

His serious face softens a little when he sees your worried expression.

"Don't worry, it's up to me and Tech now. You did what you could. Maybe you should come with us."

You look at him in surprise.

"Come with you?"

Crosshair shows a barely noticeable smirk and says, "Yeah, sure. Tech would be very pleased. If I remember correctly, he had quite a crush on you back when you were working on Kamino."

You pause in your movement, surprised.

"What?"

Crosshair laughs softly, "Don't tell me you didn't notice. From the moment you started working in the infirmary, he regularly hurt himself on his tools or fell, which miraculously almost never happened to him before you showed up. I told him several times it would be easier to just ask for your com number, but our Tech was just too shy. He was very disappointed when you suddenly disappeared."

"I had been transferred to Coruscant, unfortunately," you say quietly, still intrigued, surprised, and flattered by the news. You liked Tech back then, too. He always told a lot of stories, he had whole stories to tell to every question you asked him.

Suddenly Crosshair's expression changes, his eyes shift to the right, looking behind you. You hear the typical sound of troopers in gear.

"Hemlock wants to see you, it's urgent," growls one of the two troopers who have entered the room. You turn around and see that both men have their weapons at the ready.

"But I'm still not-"

"Right now," the second interrupts you.

Panic rises in you, burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. He must have figured out what you were doing, you think nervously. Crosshair thinks the same thing and automatically braces himself against the restraints, whereupon one of the troopers smacks him in the forehead.

You sit in the chair opposite Hemlock, at his desk. The desk is so gigantic that you both seem quite small next to it. Behind him a huge panoramic window, forest, mountains and clouds can be seen.

You have your hands folded in your lap, nervously kneading your fingers.

Two troopers stand at the door in a guarded position. Hemlock in front of you is calm, he doesn't seem furiously angry as you expected. Not at all. He seems strangely composed, calm, collected. You are not sure what would have frightened you more. There was something strangely, ominously subliminal about this calm, something you couldn't directly grasp, but it was there. Like a monster waiting in ambush.

"I know what you've done," Hemlock says quietly, after an awkward, seemingly eternal period of silence.

"Doctor?" you ask cautiously, still clinging to the hope that you're here for different reasons than you think.

"Please don't insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."

You remain silent, not knowing what to say anyway.

After what feels like an eternity, you sigh, and somehow some of the tension that has clung to you for so long falls away.

You say indifferently, "I would say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie."

Hemlock laughs softly.

"I have to admit, you have more moxie in your bones than most troopers I know. You may not be a fighter in the usual sense, but girl, you have guts."

You blink, trying not to let on that you're confused at the moment and don't quite know where you stand.

Hemlock claps his hands a few times, making you frown critically.

"You need to use that grit more constructively!" he says, suddenly sounding excited.

You want to sound cool, to say something cheeky, to not mince words, but his demeanor elicits only a confused, "Huh?" from you.

"I know," Hemlock says indulgently, almost understanding, "You think you're doing something good here, for these men. But you're missing the big picture."

As he stands up and comes around the table, you automatically stand up as well, prompting the troopers to point their weapons at you, but Hemlock waves them off with a simple gesture and the men lower their weapons.

You back away a step as he walks toward you. Hemlock stops, reading your posture, your demeanor.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, I wasn't planning to hurt you," he says calmly and finally continues explaining, "Now this big picture I'm talking about is why we're all doing these projects. The reason why all these projects are necessary."

You shake your head and say, "Nothing justifies what is happening to these people here".

Hemlock raises his finger and corrects you, "Clones, my dear, clones, not people. Copies of a man, not even a particularly honorable one. Copies of a bounty hunter. But that's not the point. What I'm getting at is the big picture. The purpose of these experiments."

"Improved soldiers for the Empire"

Hemlock smiles.

"That's right, my dear, that's right. Better soldiers, for the protection of our Empire and all the people who live in it, for the protection of every single citizen. Yes, we are experiencing setbacks and some of the clones are suffering terrible agonies, but the end certainly justifies the means in this case"

You shake your head and say, "No it doesn't, it shouldn't."

Hemlock shrugs.

"Wait until your home world is attacked, and no adequate protection is in place, then I'm sure you'll think differently"

Hemlock walks slowly, leisurely up and down. His gait is supposed to make you think he is relaxed, sure of himself, but the fact that he is walking up and down at all already exposes his inner turmoil.

You watch him and finally ask, "Why so restless?"

Hemlock stops, turns back to you, and looks at you critically.

"I'm thinking about what to do with you. Basically, you sabotaged me and probably broke some other rules that I don't know about at the moment. Normally I wouldn't think twice about that, but you're a very good assistant, despite everything"

Your heart hammers nervously in your chest.

"So you won't have me executed?"

Hemlock clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"No. But I need to make sure you don't do something so reckless again".

Distracted by an unusual flying Omicron shuttle you see through the panoramic window, you say something absent-mindedly.

"And what do you have in mind, Doctor?"

Before he can discuss what exactly he means by that, the power goes out, for a few seconds, then the emergency power comes on and a shrill alarm sounds. A metal shield covers the huge window, blocking your view of the shuttle.

Hemlock seems tense. He tries to contact someone, but the com systems don't work. Your pulse is racing, nervousness, excitement. You know this can only be a sign that Tech and Crosshair are on the run. The Omicron shuttle, must be their brothers.

It's a satisfaction to see Hemlock panic, trying to make contact with his men, trying to grasp the situation, figure out what's going on. But then he spins around, furious, and he sees the smile on your face before you can hide it.

The doctor reaches into a drawer at his desk and pulls out a blaster from it, pointing it at you.

"You! This is your doing, this has something to do with you and those clones from the 99 batch!"

You blink, suddenly back in fear mode. You're relatively sure, that blaster in his hand, isn't set to stun.

The sound of a plasma cutter distracts you both. Someone is cutting through the metal guard and glass on the paned window.

"What the hell-"

With a clang and a thump, the material comes loose and falls into the room, directly behind it the ramp of a shuttle and an armed Tech in full gear. You barely have time to react, or say anything. Tech stuns Hemlock and the troopers with quick, well-aimed shots, deftly puts the weapons away again, and finally reaches out his hand to you.

"What are you waiting for? Come here!" he calls to you.

Your heart pounds in your throat as you grab his hand, and he gently pulls you toward him and into the shuttle, closing the ramp immediately after. He gently but firmly pushes you into a seat and straps you in.

"Hold on tight, we're not safe yet".

As if his words were the cue, the shuttle suddenly comes under fire and Tech rushes back into the cockpit. Crosshair sits at the gun, across from you sits a giant who grins kindly at you, next to him a clone who has almost more prosthetics than body parts on his body, also with a smile on his face.

The evasive maneuvers are violent, daring, you are jolted back and forth in your seat. You know Tech is at the wheel, and he's one hell of a pilot. Hell of a good one. Your hands are clutched to the seat, you're getting hot and cold, your pulse is racing. It's like the worst, gnarliest roller coaster ride of your life. Tossed back and forth in your seatbelt.

Then, finally, the shuttle settles into a steady position, and you hear the typical gentle noise of hyperspace.

Tech comes back out of the cockpit and looks at you.

"Are you all right? You look a little light-headed," he says with concern, and unbuckles your seatbelt.

You're dizzy and reality hasn't quite gotten through to you yet, but you finally nod and say, "Sure, I'm fine."

"I guess she's not used to combat maneuvers," the giant says with a laugh.

Crosshair, climbing out of the gun seat, laughs softly, still wearing the suit from Hemlock's facility.

"Tech's maneuvers take some getting used to," he says, winking at you.

Tech is indignant, "My maneuvers are extremely effective and have saved us several times, including today"

You slowly stand up, but your wobbly knees shake, and you practically fall towards him.

With a "Woah", he catches you, with his arms around your hips, your hands braced on his breastplate.

You look up and as your eyes meet, Tech's ears flush red.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks quietly.

In the background, Echo pushes the rest of the group into the cockpit to give you a small moment of privacy.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Crosshair still trying to look around the corner, but a hand on his collar pulls him away.

You blink and look at Tech again.

You laugh softly, nervously, his arms around your middle releasing a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. Almost automatically, your hands move to his shoulders.

"Sure, I'm fine. It's just like Crosshair said, I'm not used to this kind of flying. Impressive, I didn't think we'd escape."

Tech smirks flattered.

"Thank you for not leaving me behind," you say softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, whereupon his ears turn even redder.

Tech blinks several times, then smiles nervously and says, "You didn't think we'd leave without you, did you?"

You grin at each other.

Still smirking, Tech says, "This time I'm not letting you go without asking for your com number."

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@starwarsnerd111

[wrathkitty]

How to Train Your Phantom - The Star Wars/PotO coffee shop crossover that nobody asked for

The Palais Garnier had a long and storied reputation as being the place to work if one had aspirations of a career in the theater. Alas, however, not even the Garnier was immune to the dreadful reality of budget cuts. 

Messiers Handre Solo and his partner, the absurdly mustachioed Firbacca, had proven to be miserable failures at balancing a checkbook. The opera house’s coffers had taken a severe blow during their tenure. Erik, being in possession of keener financial acumen than his managers, had successfully staved off most of the bloodletting, but serving both as both full-time ghost and part-time broker was exhausting. As a result, he had not been paying terribly close attention the morning his auditors presented him with the list of Things That Needed to Go. Instead, he blithely signed on the dotted line in his trademark red ink, read the fine print once he was home, and garroted his entire financial team at the start of business the following day. 

Complimentary hair styling products, gone. Pick-up and delivery hat cleaning, gone. Anachronistic Eiffel Tower, gone. Monkey music box, gone. 

(Not much of a loss; it had been a Life Day gift from Little Sultana and Erik was certain the damned thing was cursed, as it tended to start playing of its own accord, generally when he was being spied upon by nosy sopranos or wrapping up a session of primal scream therapy – but it was the principle.)

But most horrifying of all…the Starclef Cantina. Gone.

Fronting the cost for phthalate-free wig wax? Steaming his own fedoras? Taking it upon himself to paint historical inaccuracies into the background scenery, rather than paying someone else to do the dirty work? Scouring every bloody antique shop along the Boise to find a suitable replacement for a mangy musical tchotchke?

He could write these losses off on his taxes. But losing the Starclef? Unacceptable!

How to Train Your Phantom: Surrounded by incompetent ballet droids, burdened with budget cuts, and wholly unwilling to operate a coffee maker, Kylo Erik must face – no, not that face – the Dark Side of his black despair. Why, why did Christarey Daae, the most passive aggressive barista in all of the Empire Populaire, also have to be a soprano?

I'm tagging mutuals, but I know you guys might not be in the PotO fandom, so please let me know if you want me to untag. Also I'm tagging others who are in the PotO fandom that I follow but who may not know me (hi!), so please let me know if you want me to untag as well.

@flora-gray

@djarins-cyare

@last-of-cheese

@dindenimchicken

@wheel-of-fish

@blueboxfive

@illuminaughti-online

@opera-ghost

@glassprism

@reileth

@ababysupernova

@sixhours

@leithatnight

@brck-shthouse

@harriedandharassed

[kifkay]

Winx characters as Chaotic Things I have done

Bloom: fully burned a vegetable soup, to the point that when I finally took the pot off the stove — there was no water or vegetables left, just the slightly charred bottom of a cooking pot. I was home the whole time. I just fully forgot.

Icy: as a seven/eight year old, got into a screaming match with a couple of older teenagers because they were making fun of my baby cousin.

Sky: ate like 1/3 of a charred (not overcooked, fully charcoal-black, burned) pancake that I thought my mom left out for me. got food poisoning. still went and taught a lesson to a girl I tutored, twenty minutes later.

Stella: when presenting a product in front of a gallery of university professors and prestigious organisations (as a stupid high-schooler, no less), accidentally roasted a venerable professor by calling his courses boring and outdated. (i was nervously rambling)

Aisha: the chain on my bicycle (the one that allows you to stop it and control the speed with which you’re going) fell off while I was riding it. Instead of stopping and making the two minute walk to my house, I pedalled towards it, full speed. couldn’t stop in time. FULLY passed my house. the road was bumpy as hell, so, naturally, I crashed into the ground and tore the skin on my knees. I had to walk back, ashamed, bloodied and lugging a fucking bike behind me.

Musa: live in a big city, have no orientation in space. still kinda can’t tell you which street around me is which. once, was tasked with retrieving a pizza we ordered from a cafe. walked around for about thirty minutes and didn’t find it. I was living in that neighbourhood for three years at that point.

Flora: was in an intense argument with my cousin (we were both like eight at that point) and, to stop it, I kissed her on the cheek mid-sentence. (it worked)

Tecna: my primary school had a tradition of choosing one kid to be the “Elder”/Leader of the class, which basically made you a teacher’s pet in official capacity. I was one. During one of the lessons, the teacher had to leave class and asked me to make sure the rest of the kids did not get too loud (how I, their nine year old peer, was supposed to achieve that escapes me to this day). naturally, the class got very loud very quickly in their absence. so I, in a way I was never able to replicate since then, perfectly mimicked the teacher’s voice telling them to shut up — to the point that my classmates legitimately believed that to be them speaking and got spooked.

[skinnyazn]

Lick Your Wounds

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 1/? Notes: Thank you to @solidly-indulgent for inspiring the fic with their request of Jag getting injured and Ghost being sad feral, also inspired by how freaking hot and humid it’s been in FL lately, I literally just churned this out at work today oops, maybe one or two more chapters, eventual smut but not yet, sorry not sorry if there are grammatical errors; I can't fucking read,

Part Two | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST

“Ghost, what’s your status?”

Sweat rolled down your temple, trickling the length of your neck before settling in the crook of your collar bone. The humidity was thick, suffocating. Like you could cut it with a knife and it would still cling to you. The jungle was alive with noise.

“‘Bout 20 meters out. There’s a good perch for you comin’ up on your right.”

“Copy.”

You continued to stalk through the foliage, thankful for the screaming cicadas that masked the sound of your movements through the dense growth of flora. 

“Visual on the compound.” Soap’s voice came through your comms evenly.

“Count?”

“Three around the perimeter, two on the roof. Jag should be able to take them no problem.”

“Copy,” you spoke again. 

You saw the perch Ghost was talking about. It was a wall of sorts, with vines reclaiming it. Some old vestige of humanity, forgotten to time. Huffing, you scaled the old stone. Laying supine, you slung your sniper rifle in front of you and peered through the scope. You could see the first target one on the roof, but the second was obscured by the dense jungle. The cicadas screamed on.

“No clear visual on the right target,” you spoke into the comms. “How do we want to do this?” You watched a mosquito buzz by and land on your arm. You slapped it, leaving a bloody splotch on your skin.

“Jag, take your shot on my mark. I’ll ‘andle the other one.” Below you, Simon waded further ahead; his camo blended into the underbrush. 

“Copy. What about the perimeter?”

“Soap, you take right, I’ll take center. Jag do you have visuals on the left?”

“Affirm.”

“Alright then. Work you magic.”

You smiled. “Always do.”

Soap scoffed on the other side of the comms. “We know. Hear Ghost blabberin’ about it all the fecking time.”

“That’ll do, Sergeant.” Ghost barked.

It wasn’t necessarily true. Most of the time his blabbering was muffled into your skin, the wetness of your mouth or the delicious heat of you. They usually came out as low groans. Sharp hisses. You hadn’t really kept what was going on between you two a secret since your rejoining of the task force. But you also didn’t air it out in the open. And when you fucked, you tried to be quiet. Easier said than done when Simon was pressed to his hilt inside of you, kissing your neck and gripping your thighs like it was his latest mission. Maybe you two weren’t being as quiet as you thought. 

“Right.” Simon’s basso voice brought your focus back. “On my count.”

The two men on the roof dropped quickly. The three on the ground followed. A smooth takedown. You slung the weight of your rifle behind you and scaled down the wall, landing with a soft thud. Some sweat splashed off you. 

“Fucking drenched here.” You mumbled to yourself. Soap’s chuckle could be heard on the comms.

“On me, at the entrance.”

A few minutes later the three of you were crouched low next to the perimeter wall.

“Nice of you to finally join us, bonnie.”

You smiled at Soap. Ghost rolled his eyes. 

“Jag, get up to the perimeter and guide us through. Soap, on me. The cunts will be well-armed inside the compound. Let’s keep things quiet and clean.” Soap and you nodded. “Right, let’s get up there.”

Soap shot a grapple to the perimeter wall.

“Ladies first,” he gestured, with his signature buoyant grin.

You clipped your pulley to the rope and ascended. The brief rush of air was a blessed respite from the heat. Hoisting yourself over the wall’s edge, you crouched down. Insects were already starting to buzz around the lifeless man on the floor. You tried not to get any of his blood on your boots as you stepped over him.

Ghost and Soap followed quietly behind. You pressed your body against the hot concrete.

“Christ alive, look at all that,” Johnny whispered next to you.

It was decent sized compound, hidden away in the Lacandon jungle. Stacks of crates littered the grounds, while armed men wandered about. Their radios blasted urbano music. In total, you counted 15 men out in the open, but who knows how many more were inside. Of course the target building was at the far side of the compound. It wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but it was doable. And, the blasting music paired with cacophony of tropical birds and insects made for perfect cover. Soap’s hand clapped your shoulder.

You nodded at him and Simon. “Good luck, boys.”

“Don’t need luck. We’ve got you, Jaguar,” Soap winked and then started to descend the rope on the interior.

Simon’s eyes lingered on you for a second too long. You held the gaze. Then he turned and followed Soap.

After silently taking down the first two men, Ghost and Soap moved quietly ahead.

“Walk us through, Jag,” Simon’s voice came over hushed and gravelly. Try as you might, it always sent heat between your legs when he rasped through the comms.

“One on your left, just around the crate. Use your knife.” Simon took him down with ease. “Got another two crates ahead.” You maneuvered the two through the complex from you perch, watching them exact their deadly dance. “Hold,” you spoke when the two came closer to the target building. A group of four men were lingering outside, chatting and smoking. “Coming up on four. Might be best to cause a distraction.”

“Can’t we just frag these guys,” Soap muttered to himself.

“How many left in the compound, Jag?” Simon asked.

“Two in the North East corner, and one at your eight o’clock. And the four ahead.”

You heard Simon let out a long sigh. 

“Don’t know how many are inside though,” you reminded him.

“Thas what I’m worried about.”

“Your call, L.T.,” Johnny huffed. “They’re gonna hear some booms when I demo the door anyway.”

You could almost hear Simon thinking. You wiped the sweat that was beading at your brow with the back of your gloved hand. Finally he said, “Jag, take the other three. Soap’s got these four. Be prepared for a fight after.”

Your heartbeat sped up. You hated unknowns but that was part of your job. So all you could say in return was “Copy.”

Each kickback from your M82 was a tangible reminder of the death you so expertly dealt. The three men went down with ease, painting the sun-scorched earth in red. And when Soap’s grenade went off, you sucked in a deep breath and honed your focus as you picked off the swarm of men that rushed outside. Time had a funny way of moving while adrenaline coursed through your veins. It was simultaneously slow and fast. Like each bullet left your gun in slow-motion while you moved from target to target. Schrödinger’s Time. 

There were a lot more people than you thought, but the steady breathing over the comms was reassuring that Soap and Ghost were handling themselves. Through your scope, you watched men’s heads swivel as they tried to spot you. But each tac from your rifle met them all the same.

“Take out that fucking RPG, Jag!” Simon shouted over the comms. It was jarring, Simon’s yelling amidst the gunfire and insects.

You pulled away from your scope to spot the target, but the compound was big. When you finally saw him, you lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. You’d hit your mark—watched him crumple. But his aim was already on you, and as his body fell a flash of orange emitted.  You began to move but felt the explosion of the perimeter wall below you. And then everything was crumbling in an eruption of dust. You thought you heard Simon screaming into the comms, but all you could think about as you fell was: who the fuck carries a rocket launcher?

[darklydeliciousdesires]

For the Love of Dogs - An Alfie & Beth Solomons One Shot Story.

I think writing that long overdue check in with these two made me realise how bloody much I'd missed them, besties. Here, another installment in their story. I do hope I will have more ideas for further stories to follow :)

Words - 7,890

Warnings - Mention of death, but lots of fluff!

She entered the house on complete, brain disengaged autopilot, her outstretched finger finding the keypad to the alarm system, punching the code in and then simply standing in the welcome hall, a home much, much too quiet for her liking. The heaviness of it squeezed her heart, sniffing hard, rubbing her thumb over the soft leather of his collar. A collar now redundant.  

Her beloved Cyril. Their beloved Cyril.  

“Come ‘ere, darlin’.” Beth wouldn’t have been able to get through it, the last goodbye with their faithful family dog, without her husband at her side. Sinking into the comforting bulk of Alfie’s embrace, she wept against his chest, hearing him sniffing back further tears of his own. He hadn’t been afraid to cry as they’d both sat out on the grass behind the veterinary surgery, Cyril wrapped in soft blankets in a dog bed provided by the staff, the birds tweeting as they’d told him how he was loved, how much of a good boy he was.  

The gargantuan mastiff had taken his last breaths feeling warm, calm and safe, his mum and dad right there with him. Thirteen years had come to a peaceful end as loving hands stroked his soft fur, leaving a hole behind in the lives of his family that far eclipsed his own huge size.  

“If it’s anything to you, thirteen is simply unheard of for a Bullmastiff to reach. You both cared for him exceptionally well, truly.” the kind vet had offered sympathetically. She’d also been the one to suggest they put him to sleep outside, a practice that they’d had to develop over the Covid-19 lockdown, and one she now offered as a much nicer alternative to pets being euthanised upon a table, in a room so many of them felt anxiety towards.  

The children were with their auntie Magda, their parents feeling it best they didn’t attend. It was heartbreaking enough for them as two adults; it would have been much too upsetting for the little ones to witness. Abe and Flora had said their goodbyes to him earlier that morning, sitting with him in their pyjamas, Beth calling the school and explaining they would not be attending on account of the event that afternoon, explaining she felt they would be too upset and distracted to concentrate in class. Luckily, the secretary had been understanding.  

Instead, Magda had booked a day off work and taken them out to keep their minds off it, Thorpe Park being her chosen destination for them to visit. “Ain’t no bother at all, sweet. I could do having a day with me kids, unwind a bit. Poor little mites. Don’t you worry at all, and I don’t want no money, either. I’m treating them, whatever they want, they get.” Beth had been eternally grateful to her children’s godmother for her kind assistance.  

Venturing into the house, Alfie pulled her wine bottle from the rack when they reached the kitchen, pouring out two glasses. He seldom drank, but felt like he needed something in that moment. His heart was truly broken, to be without the loving dog he’d had in his life for so long. Watching girlfriends come and go, his business empire going from strength to strength, meeting the woman who would eventually become his wife, adding children to their family, it had all been with Cyril by his side. 

His loss was profound, sitting down at the island, passing a glass to Beth. “To the best bloody dog who ever was, baby beast.” They chinked glasses, smiling sadly as they remembered Cyril fondly. Their first child, as they always called him. Beth still hadn’t released her grip upon his collar, and for the rest of the afternoon she held onto it, thumb still stroking the leather. 

“Would it be wrong of me if I decided to blow off my article and get pissed out of my face?”  

Alfie’s smile tilted his lips, reaching to stroke her face. “Nah, treacle. Did Mags say she was taking the nippers for dinner an’ all while they’re out?” 

“Yeah, she just texted me, actually. They’re currently at TGI Friday’s awaiting a plethora of their favourite foods.” She smiled at the thought, knowing how Magda loved it there just as much as the kids. “I don’t feel much like cooking for you and I, though.” 

“Ain’t no bother to me, darlin’. I was gonna suggest we order from that new Italian place we like. I ain’t much in the mood for eating, but a bit later I could probably see off a piece of that lasagne they do. Tell you what, why don’t you go for a nice, long soak in the bath. I’ve got a few calls I need to make anyway.” 

She took him up on his suggestion, kissing him before sliding from her seat, placing a kiss upon the collar still in her hand, too, before putting it up on one of the shelves behind the breakfast nook. She’d get to putting away all of Cyril’s other belongings at some point, but couldn’t face it right then. His bed they’d had to throw away that morning, the dog having an unfortunate bladder accident upon it. It had sealed to them that they were doing the right thing in putting him to sleep.  

His toys remained, Beth looking at them mournfully where they sat in the basket for that storage purpose, deciding to move them to a place the kids wouldn’t see upon their return. Picking up his plush frog, she couldn’t resist sniffing it, smelling his lovely fur upon it, her eyes filling with tears all over again. They had decided to have him cremated, the vet advising that his ashes should be back within the next ten days. She knew she’d be in floods all over again then, too.  

Trudging up the stairs, she felt weary with grief, knowing that she had to brighten by the time the children got back, for their sakes. She was expecting them to be upset, returning to a house without Cyril in it, although Magda had stated during various text check ins throughout the day that they seemed to be taking it well. Thorpe Park had proven to be a good distraction, it seemed.  

While the bath ran, she tidied up her little office area, smiling as always when her eye was caught by the framed article from The Times, her very first being published within the newspaper. It had been a gift from Alfie upon her moving in with him. She could scarcely believe it had been ten years since her move into St Mark’s House. It sometimes still felt like ten weeks ago.  

The smell of her Jo Malone bath oil caught her nose as she shuffled the last stack of papers, the notes of English pear and freesia crisp in their aroma, Beth stripping off her white shirt and jeans, placing them into the laundry hamper. “Need to get a load of laundry done.” she noted to herself, seeing the basket just over half full. It could wait.  

The hot water provided a nice, comforting surround of relaxation, her eyes flitting over to the wall by the stained-glass windows, once again viewing her paint swatch choices. She tired of white, wanting something a little different for the space. So far, the smoky blue was a definite front runner, but she also did favour the deep, mustard yellow, almost a dark gold in hue. Hmm. She’d live with the dashes of paint a little longer before deciding. The pink which Flora has suggested was a definite no.  

Once done, she got out, dressing in her favourite, comfortable loungewear set, heading back downstairs. The doorbell sounded just as she was about to head to the kitchen, her path swerved back out towards the front door.  

“She fell asleep about half an hour away,” Magda whispered, passing a sleeping Flora into her mother’s arms, kissing her cheek. She turned, giving her to a suddenly present Alfie, her husband stating that he would see to putting them straight to bed since Abe also looked shattered. “Got bellies full of pizza and chicken wings, they have. Had a right ole’ feast, we did. I swear, I reckon I’ve put on a bleedin’ stone and I only had the Jack Daniel’s chicken!” She then paused, reaching for Beth’s face, her thumb skimming the apple. “Bloody horrid, ain’t it? Coming back to a house without ‘em in it.” 

Of course, Magda understood the pain only too well, losing her beloved Claus only five months before to cancer. Luckily for her and Dennis, at least they still had Marley and Karma. She nipped that little slither of envy immediately, though. “It is, mate. It really is.”  

“Well, I know it ain’t much, but I got you a little something.” Reaching into her gorgeous Fendi tote, Magda pulled out a bottle of her favourite Casamigos tequila, handing it over with a smile. 

“Awww babe, love you,” Beth cooed, giving her a kiss.  

“Love you too, sweet. Open it up, get nice an’ sloshed, and thank me later. Right, I better get moving, gotta go feed his highness and walk the pups.” 

“Thanks again for taking them today, Mags. You made a hard situation just that little bit easier,” she spoke fondly, Magda waving her hand. 

“I had a right good time with them, babe. Always do.” Beth waved to her from the door as she drove away, thinking herself so very lucky. A little while later, the doorbell trilled again, Alfie answering it that time. The cause was in his arms as he entered the lounge, handing her a gigantic bouquet of beautiful flowers.  

“Whoever sent these fuckin’ mugged off half the Chelsea flower show, bloody ‘ell!” he exclaimed as his wife took the blooms, pulling the card from the top.  

“Sending all our love to you, Alfie and the babies. We loved darling Cyril so much, too. Lots of love from Mimi and Kinga xxx” 

Her heart was beyond touched at the generosity of her girls, getting together like that for her to gift something so lovely in her grief. They understood, though, how dogs truly were family. Those surprises didn’t stop coming in the wake of Cyril’s passing either, Beth’s breakfast with her dear Oliver a few days later yielding another beautiful surprise.  

“I hope you don��t get upset, darling, but Brett and I wanted to do something nice in his memory, so this is for you.” He passed the brown paper Habitat bag across the table, Beth pulling out a well wrapped, rectangular shaped gift from within. Tearing open the chic wrapping paper, her throat pinched with emotion, seeing a beautiful black and white photograph of Cyril that Oliver’s husband had taken of him the previous summer, lying outside on the patio, looking so regal in the fading evening light. “Brett says he was the most photogenic dog he’s ever met, and I quite believe that to be true.” 

She couldn’t speak for a few moments, sniffing hard, flapping her hand as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love you both so much,” she eventually managed, placing the framed picture down and exiting her seat to give him a huge hug. 

“And we love you too, baby. He was a splendid chap, old Cyril. Remember how scared of him I used to be, back when I first visited you at home? And then by the end of that night, he was sitting next to me on the sofa, resting his massive head on my shoulder?” His fond words sparked the memory, Cyril indeed taking to Oliver very much. 

She nodded, taking her seat again. “I do, yes. Gosh, it was so long ago. I remember when he first met Brett too...” 

“And humped the hell out of his leg!” Oliver finished, clapping his hands together with mirth. What he shouted, too! “Oh, my Jesus, he’s going to give me ligament damage! Queen down! Queen down!” Her emotional wobble was forgotten as she burst into hysterics, remembering Brett literally knocked to the floor while she’d wheezed, Oliver in tears, Alfie having to detach a rampant Cyril from the object of his affections. To Brett he had been known primarily as big gay dog ever since.  

They shared a few memories of him before their conversation moved on, both discussing work, Beth enthralled by his tales from New York Fashion Week, from where he had not long returned. He’d also brought with him another gift he alerted her to in the bag, some of her favourite American sweeties, two big bags of Milk Duds present when she looked again. How well he knew her.  

After breakfast, she had work commitments to attend, calling in at London Life and Style to discuss an article she’d submitted, her little sheen dented by the fact that the viper, also known as Madeline Arlington-Smith, had dissected it thoroughly.  

“I feel that if we leave this part out, this part too, it shall be more in accordance with the overall opinion and not merely a fanciful display of the world according to Beth Solomons.”  

She remembered back to being much more novice in her journalistic endeavours, seated in that very chair ten years before, taking the heat for an article Madeline had thoroughly given the bloodletting treatment to. It has preceded her first meet with her now husband, seeking refuge and Cabernet Sauvignon in a bar that belonged to him. “Then why on earth ask me to write the article, Madeline, if not from my own perspective?”  

“Because you are commenting on the zeitgeist from the perspective of your peers, not simply you, you, you. How does the subject make women of your age feel, what emotions does it drive, how does it affect you all on a whole? I would like a little more of that. We go to print in two weeks. Please have your corrections submitted within the next seven days.” 

The viper was not aware of it, but she narrowly avoided an outburst, Beth physically biting her tongue as she rose from her seat. “I will make sure of that.” Striding from the office, she felt her chest thickening, nodding and smiling at a few of the staffers as she passed them by on the way to the elevator. She knew it was because she was still raw over Cyril, she knew that, not being able to take her critique on the chin with her usual good nature. When she arrived home, though, she succumbed slightly. 

“That bloody bitch effing bloody woman!” 

Alfie raised his eyebrows, looking at her as he clicked a pen against his teeth. “Madeline’s well then, yeah?”  

“She’s right on bloody form, she is! Oy!”  

He chuckled at his wife’s continued exasperation, making a motion for her to take a seat on his lap. Welcoming her into his arms, he kissed her head, rubbing her back where she was tense. “How about I take you out for lunch, ay? Somewhere fancy, then we’ll go pick up the babies from school? I know you’re still heartbroken over Cyril, and as such you ain’t takin’ whatever the fuck the cobra woman told you...” 

“Viper,” she interjected with. 

He waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever the fuck they call her, she’s still a bloody snake, innit? So yeah, you ain’t taking it as good as you normally do, right, so let me take you out and get your mind off it.” 

Her face crept into a grin. “Can we go to Jean-Georges?"  

He could have guessed that’s where she’d request. “You bloody want caviar, don’t ya?” Her rapid nodding confirmed. It was only in the last few years that she’d really relaxed her moderately Kosher diet to such a degree, telling Alfie it was his influence, turning her into an equally bad Jew as he labelled himself. “Good job I’m worth a mint, innit? Fuckin’ wives and their disposition for pricey fish eggs, I dunno. Let me call Stace and see if she’s got a table.” 

Stace, or rather Stacy, was the Maitre'd at Jean-Georges at the Connaught, the hostess always taking good care of them when they visited, as she did with all of her exuberantly wealthy clients. “Stace! How are ya, flower? Yeah, ain’t bad, sweet, ain’t bad. Yeah, you gotta table for about an hour from now? You do? Lovely, treacle, yeah put me down, just me and the missus. Alright, love. See you in a bit.” He then turned to his beaming wife. “You’ve got twenty minutes to go and faff. Hurry up.” 

She placed a big smacker on his lips, rushing upstairs to quickly check her face, refresh her deodorant and perfume, and change into something more suitable for a restaurant with three Michelin stars. One pair of leather leggings were pulled on, along with her beautiful, grey cashmere sweater, her red Birkin bag selected, and contents transferred from her other bag, her feet jammed into her black Louboutins, and she was good to go.  

“Oh blimey, my hair!” Circling back, she quickly picked up her brush and gave it a once over, hearing her husband boom from the stairs.  

“Five minutes, Bethany!” He entered the bedroom, pulling off his sweatshirt, giving her an approving once over. “Love them lovely legs wrapped in leather.” A smack placed to her bum echoed through the bedroom, Alfie chuckling with mirth as he shed the rest of his clothes, heading to the ensuite and getting into the shower.  

“You said five minutes!” she yelled, giving his nudity an appreciative once over while leaning against the bathroom doorframe. 

“I’ll be out in twenty seconds, darlin’.” She had to envy him sometimes, how he could go from casual to restaurant ready in a matter of minutes. Styling his hair took him all of a minute, whereas for her, she’d battled through her thick mane with the straighteners for half an hour that morning. He dressed in a grey suit with a black shirt, not bothering with a tie, handsome, yet sophisticated and casual. A spray of aftershave had him ready with forty-nine seconds to spare. Yes, Beth had counted. 

One drive across London later, and they were being seated at one of their favourite restaurant by Stacy herself, who was as attentive and polite as ever. He ordered his usual sparkling water, Beth a large vodka over ice, since it went best with what she was soon to be enjoying. The way he worded it too, when her caviar arrived, she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Enjoying that, darlin’, having a load of sturgeon reproductive goo in your gob?”  

She almost sprayed half of them back out again. “Stop it! And yes, I am.”  

He chuckled, winking. “Anything I can do to put a smile back on your face, petal.” He paused, sipping his drink and taking another bite of his souffle. “Kids are taking it better than I expected ‘em to, ain’t they?” 

“They really are, yes,” she confirmed, smoothing more of the beluga onto a toast point. “Better than me, I think. I burst into tears as soon as I opened Oliver’s gift earlier.” She’d shown it to him before they’d left, Alfie placing it upon the hallway table, next to one of their wedding pictures. He’d loved it, assuring her he’d call Oliver and Brett personally to offer his thanks later that evening when they’d both be at home.  

“Kids are so much more resilient than we give ‘em credit for, I think. Flora had a little wobble this morning on the way to school, but she was fine by the time we got to the gates. Told her about rainbow bridge, she seemed to like that.”  

The rainbow bridge story. Her heart fluttered at his tenderness with their youngest. Leaning over, she gave him a kiss, Alfie accepting it, albeit with a slightly affronted look.  

“Ugh, get away with your fish eggs! Bleedin’ stink horrid, they do!” No, he was definitely not a fan of the delicacy. Still, it didn’t stop him from buying them for his wife whenever she wanted them, though. They followed their starters with a steak for him, Beth choosing the grilled lamb, much too full for dessert. He did, however, stop by at her favourite chocolatier on the way back to Chelsea, spoiling her a little more, purchasing a few treats for the kids, too.  

Once home, Beth sat with the children in the lounge, going over their homework tasks with them while Alfie returned to his office. While there, he found himself periodically checking his watch, the habit pure muscle memory. At 5pm every night, he’d leave his desk to walk Cyril. Sighing, he ran a hand down his face, absently stroking his beard as he leaned back and thought of his furry best friend.  

God, he missed him.  

They’d known for a while that his declining health meant only one thing, both making the decision not to keep pumping him full of painkillers for his arthritic hips, and eventual failing organs. It wouldn’t have been fair, they’d decreed, to keep him going just for the sake of their hearts. He’d outlived his life expectancy by three years, it was his time.  

Rather than continuing viewing his acquisition profits for the last month, he found himself looking through various dog rescue sites, smiling at the sweet, hopeful faces of the residents. He decided right there and then that when the family were ready, they’d rescue as opposed to buying a puppy. Maybe they could take in more than one? He’d only been looking for a few moments when he felt uncomfortable, knowing it truly was too soon to even consider any dog other than Cyril being in the house, no matter how cute they all were.  

Weeks passed, the family getting used to the lack of his presence within the house, life carrying on. For Alfie, with the kids being on their half term break from school, he threw himself into being a present dad, knowing his empire wasn’t going anywhere and would certainly not crumble for him taking time away from it, enjoying days out with them in abundance.  

It was while he was out with his offspring one morning that Beth decided to take up an offer extended to her and try something new. Mimi had been raving about her love for Thai boxing for a good few months, attending both mid-morning and evening classes at her local gym, finally talking Beth into attending one with her.  

“You know Abe thinks you’re a ninja now, don’t you?” she spoke as they ran through warmup stretches, Mimi chuckling softly.  

“Well, if you enjoy it and keep it up, he’ll be able to say you are, too!” 

“Oh no,” she scoffed, reaching to her toes. “I’m still smelly fart head. And Nagatha Christie, thanks to him overhearing Alfie calling me that.”  

Mimi all but exploded laughing. “Oh my god, he doesn’t change!” She remembered back to when she’d been dating him, him calling her exactly the same whenever she incisively bent his ear over something. “So, where did you say they’ve gone today?” 

Taking to the floor, they sat opposite each other, legs wide and feet pressed together, taking turns to pull back on one another’s hands to experience the deep stretch. “Chessington World of Adventure. They’ve never been before, you should have seen them this morning. God, Mims. The squealing!” 

“Awww,” she cooed, leaning back as she softly gripped Beth’s hands. “I can’t wait for Lis to be big enough to appreciate all of this and go there, too. I was actually talking about it to Josh a while back, but I can never remember it’s called Chessington, so I was calling it Chesterton Theme Park and he was like, “erm, what, babes? Where’s that?” until I realised that I was flubbing the name. Typical me.” 

It truly was. Mimi would not be Mimi if she wasn’t getting her words confused. Beth still wasn’t over her recent blunder of calling chicken pasta Alfredo, “the Alfred pasta.” Her and Kinga had fallen apart completely while a totally nonplussed Mims had continued browsing the menu. She was a pure joy if nothing else.  

As Beth very rapidly discovered once the gloves had been put on and focus mitts brought out, Mimi was also one hell of a mean shot with her fists. Then the kicks happened. 

“Jesus bloody Christ!”  

“Oh, don’t be daft, mate. I’m not that strong!” Mimi exclaimed, a well-placed kick sending Beth a couple of feet backwards.  

She gathered herself, holding the kick pad firmly once more. “I beg to differ!” 

By the time they were done and meeting up with Magda for a little shopping and lunch, the latter having enjoyed a blissful morning of nothing due to her booking some time off work, Beth could barely move.  

“Alright, tin man.” 

Magda’s words earned her a scowl, Beth kissing her cheek. “It isn’t funny, she beat me up!” Turning, they both witnessed a triumphant Mimi flexing her muscles, cracking up at herself and moving to greet Magda.  

“Tiny, little blonde Bruce Lee, is it?” 

“Not quite,” Mimi muffled from the crush of Magda's usual, warm, bone crunching hug. “But you should come!” 

She should have expected the face she got in reply to that. “My love, the only exercise I get is running me gob. You know that. Right! Let’s go be fancy bitches then, shall we, ladies?” The women were heading to Mecca, otherwise known as Covent Garden, their favourite place to shop. Magda’s contact at Chanel and subsequent discount didn’t hurt either. Not everyone was a wealthy as Beth.  

She still found it bizarre, though, even ten years into being the girlfriend and then wife of a billionaire, to be able to spend an unlimited budget on herself. She and Alfie did offset it by giving an awful lot of it away to charity, though. Or, as Beth often did, heading to the bank, withdrawing a few hundred pounds and giving out little wedges to any homeless people she happened to see along her way. It made her feel better about the huge divide in the country between the very wealthy and very poor.  

Still, the Chanel employees relished in seeing her name down in the appointment book, knowing they were about to receive a very nice commission.  

“Mrs. Solomons, welcome,” she was greeted by Leighton with, the chief sales attendant. “Oh, this cardigan is a dream! Is it an Oscar?” he asked courteously, smoothing the black cashmere of her sleeve.  

She leaned in close to whisper. “No, it’s actually M&S!” 

His mouth dropped open. “Oooh, I love a good bargain! Can I offer you ladies a drink? Coffee, juice, champagne?” Of course, they all chose the latter. Once furnished with drinks, Leighton allowed them to browse unassisted, Magda deep in conversation with her friend Hannah, who managed the store while Mimi picked up a bottle of her usual perfume, and Beth browsed the bags.  

She ended up choosing two of the boy bags, quilted effect design with a chain strap, one in grey and another in pink. The pink one was hidden, though, since the recipient wasn’t her. She ferried her choices to Leighton, asking him to gift wrap the pink one, moving to the shoes and selecting a pair of turquoise sandals she liked, too. Those, a skirt and pair of trousers later, and she was done. 

Once Magda was done chatting, choosing a scarf and a new pair of sunglasses for herself, and another item also not destined for her, they paid for their purchases and left, hopping into a taxi and heading over to Shoreditch. They had a table booked at Camino, Mimi’s favourite tapas restaurant, a meal she had no idea she was being treated to by her friends in lieu of being able to celebrate her birthday with her on the actual day, Josh taking her for a long weekend in Italy the following week. Hence the purchases at Chanel not destined for their own wardrobes. 

“Right then, little miss almost thirty-two,” Magda began, bobbing her tongue between her teeth as Mimi cringed. 

“Oh, don’t remind me! I was twenty-one five minutes ago, I feel old!” 

Beth snorted, lifting her eyes from the menu. “Oh, stop it. I just turned forty!” 

“And I’m hitting the big five zero in six months, so you’re still the bloody baby of the group, ain’t ya?” Magda chimed, giving her a soft poke on the wrist. “Anyway, as I was saying, since you’ll be enjoying pasta and cannoli's over in the motherland on your actual birthday, you get your gifts from us now. Happy birthday, babe.”  

Mimi’s mouth fell open when from beneath the table, two double C branded boxes were pulled out and passed to her, a long, high pitched squeak emanating. “Oh my fucking god! You didn’t!” 

“We did, now shut your gob and get ‘em opened!”  

She did, choosing Magda’s first, her mouth flying open again when she pulled out the long, gold and blue Chanel nameplate style necklace within.  

“Oh, darlin’,” the lady herself cooed, Mimi in tears as she immediately put it on and then rushed to hug her. “You like it, then?” 

“I bloody love it, Mags! Thank you so much, I love you!” 

She was so touched, Mimi always so sweet when presented with gifts. “Love you too, sunshine, and you’re welcome.” Taking her seat again, she then moved onto Beth’s present, almost passing out when she saw the bag she had so coveted within, her hands flying to cover her open mouth with a gasp.  

“Beth!” Those hands then began to flap, more tears coming. “Oh my god, oh my god!” Once again, she was out of her seat, wrapping Beth in a huge hug. “I love it, and you! Thank you!” 

“You’re welcome, darling,” she told her warmly, kissing her cheek a few times. “We know you’ve had a rough year, so we wanted to spoil you a little.” 

Indeed, it had been a bad year for Mimi, finding out in January that she was pregnant again, but sadly losing the baby just a week before her first scan. She’d been so sad for months about it, her friends trying hard to pull her out of her funk and be there for her during her period of grief.  

Beth knew the pain well, she and Alfie suffering the same between her having Abe and conceiving Flora, so had been a pillar of support for her during that time. It was also one of the reasons why she’d taken up Thai boxing, needing something to take out her anger at the injustice of losing her baby on, choosing the sport to help in catharsis. The fact that she happened to be very good at it and already training for her orange belt was a mere bonus.  

After enjoying their lunch, they were about to get a cab back over to Chelsea, since the women were heading back to Beth’s for a girl’s night that evening, when one of them saw something in the near distance she couldn’t ignore. Thai boxing had also made Mimi very brave where conflict was concerned. 

“Oi! Oi!” She shouted, pointing. Her heels were off, Mimi sprinting barefoot up the street, Beth and Magda turning to search for what on earth had caused their friend’s sudden reaction.  

“Oh, shitting hell,” Magda quietly hissed, beginning to run after her as they witnessed the object of Mimi’s anger, Beth hot on her heels. “I know she’s got all this newly found Thai boxing mettle, our Mims, but she can’t take on some scummy roadman by herself, fuck!” 

A roadman was Magda’s preferred slang term for an undesirable man, usually donned in sports clothing, who stank of weed and thought himself to be some kind of hard arsed gangster. A large dog upon a lead that was much too large for purpose was usually involved, too, which in this instance was what had drawn Mimi’s attention. Or rather, the way said roadman treated the animal in question. 

“Stop it! You can’t treat a dog like that, what the fucking hell is wrong with you?” she exclaimed, the young man of about twenty yanking the poor, skinny but still sizable, dark grey dog by the heavy choke chain around his neck. “He’s just a baby, you bastard!” 

“Yo, what’s it to you, though, yeah?” he spoke, sucking his teeth. “Ain’t got nuttin’ here, girl. No business with me, ya get me, blud?” 

“You’ve got a bloody chain about the size they use to secure fucking motorbikes around his neck and you’re yanking him up the street! I’m not standing by and watching that shit, mate! Fucking stop pulling him!” 

The man even had the gall to smirk. “Ain’t nuttin’ to you. Yo, don’t touch me, fam!” He tried to shake her grip on his arm loose, Mimi fighting to secure the lead from his grasp, people all around stopping to stare. “Fuck, I’ll fuckin’ stab you up, bird. Ya get me?” 

Magda and Beth arrived with them, the former immediately imposing herself. “Threaten her with a knife again, boy. Go on, sunshine. Fucking dare ya.” 

“And who are you, old lady? What ya gonna do, yeah?” 

Magda laughed, still imposing into his space. “Who am I? Someone who grew up on the fuckin’ roughest estate in Brixton is who I am, you little roadman twat. I’ll take the chain you’ve got round that poor animal's neck and fuckin’ knock every single one of your fuckin’ teeth out your mouth with it if you threaten me or my friend again. Ya get me, blud?”  

Her mimicking of his vernacular drew a few laughs from those watching, Magda unblinking, Beth feeling her pulse escalate with nerves. Just then, her focus was drawn by the sudden feeling of softness pushing against her hand. Looking down, she saw the dog moving closer to her legs, Mimi successfully yanking the lead free from the grip of the man still facing off with Magda.  

She crouched to him, stroking his crinkles. He was shaking. “Hello, lovely boy. Are you alright? Goodness, this chain is cutting into your neck, you poor soul,” she cooed, checking him over. He was in a state, that was for sure. She recognised his breed, but he looked the furthest from how the huge, proud looking Neapolitan Mastiff should have appeared. He was young too, she noted, nowhere near the full-grown size but still, so undernourished. Looking into his big, soulful eyes as he softly thumped his tail and licked her hands, covering her in a generous slick of slobber, her ears caught the tail end of Magda’s tirade.  

“Now, I’ll give you a choice, mate. Walk away and leave the dog with us, or I’ll fuckin’ get the law on ya for animal abuse and threatening my friend with a knife. What’s it to be? Because you ain’t lookin’ after that dog at fucking all, are ya? Look at him, barely out of his puppy months and he’s skin and bone! What’s it to be?”  

She stood firm, the man shrugging before cussing under his breath, his teeth sucked again before he simply walked away. He didn’t even fight for his dog, so little was the care for the creature beyond having a status symbol at the end of a lead. A few people applauded, a man coming forth and offering his hand to Magda, telling her how well she’d handled it.  

She then turned to Beth, taking the lead from Mimi and handing it to her with a curt nod. “Don’t say I never give you nothing.”  

Immediately, tears spilled from her eyes, hugging the dog as she cried into his soft, yet dirty fur. He stank of cigarettes and weed. “Oi, come on, babe. Hold it together, eh?” Magda continued, crouching to put her arm around her, Mimi dipping too to offer support. “Right, nearest pet shop. He needs a bit of proper dog clobber and not this nasty chain. Look at it! You could tow a fuckin’ Jeep out of a bog with it! Poor puppy, Christ! He can’t even be one yet.” 

A quick hail of a black cab got them the transport they needed to reach the nearest pet shop, the large puppy more than happy to head along with the three kind ladies who made such a fuss of him. 

“He’s a lovely chap, ain’t he?” the cabbie chirped, looking in the rear view. “Please make sure he don’t slobber on me seats though, girls! How long you ‘ad him for?” 

“About five minutes,” Beth quipped, the cabbie looking confused. “My besties here commandeered him from a roadman lad who was mistreating him, so yes, I went out handbag shopping and ended up with a couple of them, and a dog, too.” 

“Bet you couldn’t pick one of them up in Chanel either, right?” His words had them laughing, obviously noticing the branded bags they all carried from their little splurge in that very store. Once at the pet superstore, they paid him with thanks, Beth taking some tissues from her blazer pocket and wiping up where the dog had dribbled on the floor.  

“I can’t take you in on this,” she spoke, removing the chain. “Are you going to be good and stay with me, or do I have to put my back out and carry you?” He must have weighed a good twenty plus kilograms already, Magda noting on the way over that he was probably under a year in age. “Come on.” She made a kissy noise with her lips, the dog tilting his head before lolloping along with them, pinning himself at Beth’s side.  

Just twenty-five minutes into his new life, and he seemed to feel safe enough to revert to how he should have acted. Carefree, silly and happy, as all puppies should. He drew a few questions from the staff, Magda explaining the story while Beth sorted him with a new collar and lead, another member of staff coming over and advising on a harness, too.  

“You’ll of course need to come back and fit him with a larger one once he’s fully grown,” he spoke, making adjustments, noting the state he was in. “Flipping well done to you all, too, taking him away from that vile person. I can’t bear to see animals mistreated.”  

It was one of those pet superstores that also contained a veterinarian clinic as well as a groomer, Beth pleased to learn that they actually had a few appointments spare for each a little later, waiting around for forty minutes after making the purchases of food, a new bed, toys and everything else he needed before going in to see the vet.  

“From his teeth, I would estimate he’s around eight months old, no microchip either, so we can pop one of those in for you, too. I’m going to say I very much doubt he’s had his vaccinations either, so I can start a file for you with a card. I will recommend a course of wormer and flea treatments as well which we sell down in the store. Can I take your details please, Mrs. Solomons?”  

She duly gave those details, the vet speedily typing them into the file. “And the dog’s name?” 

Oh. She had no idea. Thinking for a few moments, she felt a little on the spot, feeling like it should have been a decision she consulted Alfie and her kids over. It then came to her in a flash, the perfect name for her brand-new companion. 

“Wilson.” she smiled. After all, they had been on Wilson Street when they’d found him. Once his microchip had been sorted, the little wounds caused by the chain upon his neck bathed and flushed, the vet made a few more recommendations, Beth taking Wilson’s new vaccination card and thanking him.  

They then went to the groomers section of the store, Beth remaining with him while he was attended to, for the sake of it all being so new and not wanting him to feel like he was being abandoned. The colour of the water that ran off him made her insides pinch. She guessed he’d likely never been washed. She was only surprised he didn’t have fleas or skin conditions, the state he’d been in. 

Once bathed, Beth held him while he was dried, Wilson swiping at the nozzle for the dog dryer with his paws, comically trying to bite it as well, his large, floppy ears he hadn’t quite grown into flapping around all over the place. He tilted his head back, his big, blue eyes staring at Beth with all the love and trust in the world, his tail thumping. He knew he was safe, and it melted her heart to see him accept his new life so willingly. She could only imagine just what the hell he had come from.  

With some flea treatment and wormer purchased, another cab was called for, Mimi calling for an Uber pet service, the girls and Wilson all piling in.  

“Oh god, I hope Alfie doesn’t go mental at me for bringing him home. Thank the stars you two are staying for dinner, he’ll make less of a scene with his best mate and the woman he’s terrified of there,” she exclaimed, both snorting with laughter.  

Magda pointed at Wilson, reaching to rub his ears. “How the flip can anybody go mental at this face? Look at him! Bloody lovely thing, he is!” He was, that much was true, but just nine weeks after Cyril’s passing, Beth worried that it was much too soon to consider another canine companion. Then again, what were she and her girls meant to have done? Let the poor creature remain with the scumbag who previously owned him? Taken him to Battersea? He had a new start right there waiting for him. It seemed silly to bypass such a fated meeting.  

Once back at home, Magda grabbed as many bags as she could, Beth leading Wilson to the front door while juggling his new bed under her other arm, Mimi bringing the rest. Placing everything in the kitchen, Beth unfastened Wilson from his harness, the three standing back while watching him begin to explore his new surroundings.  

“Might be a good idea to steer him in the direction of the back door, just in case he isn’t house broken,” Mimi suggested, Beth widening her eyes. 

“A very good point, my friend! Oy, could you imagine if he pissed up the sofa before Alfie even gets home to either love him or shout at me?” 

Magda snorted. “Babe, he ain’t gonna shout, you’re fine! Look at him, bloody little smasher, he is! Besides, didn’t you tell me you guys wanted to rescue? Well, he was rescued, so there you go.”  

Following the dog, they all herded him in the direction of Alfie’s office, Beth jogging to open the door that led to the garden. Once outside, his nose didn’t leave the floor, tail wagging, letting out a few excited baby barks as he sprinted across the patio, chasing a butterfly. Three hearts all melted immediately, Beth’s then catapulting into her chest when she heard the front door opening.  

“Stay out here with him, let me go and face the music.” Turning she strode through the office, welcoming her family, Alfie’s eye as eagle as ever. 

“What’s with this, this shifty look on your mug, ay?” he spoke slowly, pointing at her face and giving her another kiss.  

“Um... something happened today. Kids, go and take your coats off and wait in the kitchen. Abe, sort you and your sister a juice each, there’s a good boy.” 

His eyebrow rose. “And?” he spoke, the kids obediently trotting off down to the kitchen.  

“And...” she began, hearing a little commotion, and a soft yapping bark before turning to see Wilson slip out of Magda’s grasp and come hurtling towards them. “And we have a puppy.” 

“What the fu...” he began, his eyes widening as his mouth dropped open. “Hello, you! Fuck, look at you, bloody hell! Little tank, innit? Bit thin though, ain’t ya, ay? Hello mate!” Reaching down, he easily lifted him into his arms, Wilson showering him in puppy kisses. “Oi, no biting the beard, yeah?” More washing continued. “Where’d ya get him from? I thought you birds was off up Covent Garden? Last time I checked, they didn’t sell no mastiff’s up there!” 

“You’re not cross with me?” she asked, her hand rubbing Wilson’s wriggly legs.  

“Nah, darlin’! Bit surprised, like, but I ain’t mad. Look at him, he’s a right little champ, ain’t ya?” 

“Told you,” Magda called, ducking her head back in from where she was smoking a cigarette, swiftly going on to explain what had happened, Alfie and Beth joining them outside.  

“Bleedin’ might’ve known you two would have something to do with it!” he exclaimed, pinching Mimi’s nose between his fingers. “Thinking you’re some kind of street fighter, takin’ on roadmen, you fiery mare!”  

Mimi beamed, giving him a few playful punches. “Worth it though, wasn’t it? Puppy boy here got himself some lovely new parents and a lovely new home!” 

“Yeah,” Alfie began, setting him down on the ground again, Wilson lolloping off, “a home he better not bleedin’ take to chewing. Ain’t having none of that game, I ain’t. You got him toys and all that, baby beast? Or we gotta go out again?” 

“Nope, all sorted. Hold on, let me go and get the kids.” Rushing back to the kitchen, she retrieved her children, telling them there was a surprise waiting for them outside. When they saw him, oh, their little faces. Excited squeals filled the space, happy tears were shed, and a very big, very wriggly puppy introduced himself with lots of kisses.  

Suddenly, the house wasn’t so quiet for the new member of the family settling in, the girls night turning into a family night as they all watched Wilson happily acclimatise to his new surroundings. He played with the kids for a full two hours before flopping into his bed, asleep within moments. Since it was the weekend as well as half term, the kids were allowed to stay up late, their dad treating them to pizza while Beth ordered in a Chinese takeaway for her and her friends, eating it upstairs in the cinema room while they watched Pretty Woman.  

While taking a pause between that and the next film, she came downstairs to grab another bottle of prosecco from the fridge, pausing at the entrance to the lounge. There, all snuggled up on a nest of blankets and floor cushions, her husband sat with the children stroking Wilson, who was stretched out on his legs. Noticing his wife there, he smiled, winking. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too. All four of you.” 

And by god, how she did. With the arrival of one dog who needed them just as much as they did him, their family was whole again. Wherever the spirit of Cyril was, she couldn’t help but think he’d approve, too.  

The End.  

[captain-krow-drozdov]

Two For The Price Of One

(Linked Universe/BOTW Wild/Link AU)

BOTW Link Has Two Braincells Souls

1. The Hero That Died 100 Years Ago (Link)

And

2. The Artificial Sheikah Soul From The Shrine Of Resurrection/The Player (Tech)

Upon Finding Out From The Old Man That Having Another Person In Your Head Isn't The Norm They Decided That Link Gets To Keep His Name And The Artificial Sheikah Soul Will Now Be Dubbed Tech (Once Joining The Chain Link Picks Up The Nickname Unity And Tech Picks Up The Nickname Wild).

Unity/Link Still Has Amnesia But Ends Up Gaining A Lot Of Their Memories Back Pretty Quickly After Finding All The Picture Locations And Wild/Tech Literally Just Got Here When They Woke Up In The Shrine So It Was A Learning Process For Both Of Em.

Unity/Link Is Good With Swords, Shields And Most Weapons Whereas Wild/Tech Is Good With Archery, The Sheikah Slate(Mental Connection Go Brr) And Stealth. Unity/Link Has The Heros Spirit And Wild/Tech Is Just Here For The Vibes And To Be A Chaos Enabler. (Unity/Link Was A Domesticated Chaos Gremlin By The Time He Died And Wild/Tech Is Going To Un-Domesticate Him If It's The Last Thing He Does)

They Are Unfortunately Both Idiots/Chaos Gremlins And Socially Awkward And Will 100% Play Mental Rock Paper Scissors The Loser Has To Deal With Socializing.

Wild Ultimately Looks The Same But Also Has Some "Something Supernatural Is Going On There" Vibes Like Sharper Teeth, The Fact That Their Eyes Glow/Eyeshine, Scary Good Night Vision, Always Cold, Movements/Vibe Just Off Enough To Trigger Some Primal Fear In Strangers, Their Blood Has A Faint Glow To It And When Wild/Tech Is In Control The Blue Glow In Their Eyes Is Brighter And More Noticeable.

Mentally However, Unity/Link Looks Like He Did Back When He Was A Knight Before The Calamity Hit And Wild/Tech Looks Like A Sheikah Recolor Of Unity/Link But They Have Ancient Technology Markings Near Their Eyes And Where Any Visible Veins World Be As Well As Blue Fire Eyes That Glow In The Dark Similar To Guardians/Ancient Tech.

At This Rate Unity/Link & Wild/Tech Are On "Do Not Separate" Levels Of Chaotic Head Roommates. They Can Actively Switch Out Who's Driving The Body At Will And With Enough Focus Can Copilot The Body.

They Are Actively Keeping Score Of Who Is Closest To Figuring Out That There Are Two People Behind The Mental Wheel Of The Champion Link (Four And Zelda/Flora Have The Highest Scores).

{I Offer Incorrect Quotes For The General Dynamic/Vibe Of These Two}

~

Wild/Tech: If you See Me Talking To Myself, Go Away! I’m Self-Employed And We’re Having A Staff Meeting!

~

Unity/Link & Wild/Tech: Am I a Boy? Am I A Girl? It Doesn't Matter. I'm Going To Burn Your House Down.

~

Unity/Link: Name A More Iconic Duo Than My Crippling Fear Of Not Being Worthy Of Being The Hero And My Anxiety. I'll Wait.

Wild/Tech: You And Me!!!

Unity/Link, Tearing Up: Okay.

~

Unity/Link, Trying To Put His Knight Training To Use: Ok We Need A Plan...

Wild/Tech, Currently In Control Of The Body Pulling Out A Bomb Arrow: We Have A Plan. The Plan Is Burn Everything Until We Are All That's Left Standing!

Unity/Link, Fighting And Losing To His Pyromania Demons: That'll Work =)

~

Unity/Link: Wild/Tech...

Wild/Tech, Bloody And Bruised From A Recent Tumble Down A Mountain Due To Ignoring Shield Durability While Shield Surfing: Oh No, 'Wild/Tech' In B-Flat.

Wild/Tech: You're Disappointed.

~

Wild/Tech: So That’s My Plan.

Unity/Link, A Trained High Ranking Knight: Are You Alright With Constructive Criticism? I Don’t Want To Sound Mean.

Wild/Tech: No, Go Ahead, I Want To Hear It.

Unity/Link: It Fucking Sucks We Are Going To Die.

Wild/Tech: That’s Not Very Constructive Of Your Criticism.

~

Unity/Link: I Prevented A Murder Today.

Wild/Tech, Who Watched The Whole Exercise Of Self Restraint Go Down: Really? How’d You Do That?

Unity/Link: Self Control.

~

Wild/Tech: I CAN'T DO IT UNITY/LINK!

Unity/Link, Laughing: I CAN'T EITHER!

Wild/Tech: I CANT FUCKING DO IT ANYMORE

Unity/Link: WELL I'LL TELL YOU WHAT WILD/TECH, YOU CAN GIVE UP NOW, OR YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT. BECAUSE I CERTAINLY CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT YOU, AND I KNOW YOU CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT ME.

Wild/Tech: . . .

Wild/Tech: I Appreciate It,

Wild/Tech: BUT LOOK WHAT WE'RE DEALING WITH MAN-

Unity/Link: Wild/Tech-

Wild/Tech: YOU GOTTA DRAW THE LINE SOMEWHERE!

Unity/Link: Wild/Tech We Gotta-

Wild/Tech: YOU GOTTA DRAW A FUCKING LINE IN THE SAND DUDE. YOU GOTTA MAKE A STATEMENT.

Wild/Tech: YOU GOTTA LOOK INSIDE YOURSELF AND SAY 'What Am I Willing To Put Up With Today?'

Wild/Tech, Motioning To Calamity Ganon: NOT FUCKING THIS!

[mayhemchicken-varneyposting]

Varney the Vampire, Chapter 2: A Conspicuous Lack Of Lizard Fashion

[Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

The other occupants of the house - two young men, their mother, and Some Guy - are awakened by a scream. They stand around talking about it for several minutes instead of taking action, but eventually conclude that By God, It Came From Flora's Chamber! We Must Investigate At Once! After Another Page Or So Of Pointless Dialogue, Of Course. And so, armed with pistols, a crowbar, and enough lines of pointless chatter to pay Rymer's rent for the week, the two young men (Henry and George) and the older gentleman (Marchdale) force the door to Flora's room. Henry rushes inside and is immediately tackled and bowled over by the vampire, who then rushes for the window. Marchdale whips out his 18th-century Glock 17 and fires on the creature; it's unclear whether the bullet connects. The vampire turns to look at them for just long enough for us to see that his face is now flushed with fresh blood; then he jumps out the window, cackling. The three men run after him; the mother, who is not named now or ever, runs into the bedroom and faints at the sight of the bloodied Flora.

They find the vampire trying and failing to jump over the garden wall, and spend several minutes watching him do this instead of doing anything to stop him. Finally, just as he manages to reach the top of the wall, Henry shoots him and he falls off the other side.

Chapter 1, for all its grammatical clumsiness, was decently engaging and fun to read. Chapter 2 rapidly introduces four new characters, gives the name of only one of them, and drops a solid wall of conversation between the four with almost no dialogue tags to distinguish them. The effect feels a bit like being dropped down an open manhole.

As Flora's line hinted in Chapter 1, Rymer has a remarkable anti-gift for writing dialogue. His plodding, stilted, meandering conversations sound like no human being who has ever lived, and frequently disregard the urgency of a situation in favor of being as wordy as possible. A small sample:

"Did you hear a scream, Harry?" asked a young man, half-dressed, as he walked into the chamber of another about his own age.

"I did—where was it?"

"God knows. I dressed myself directly."

"All is still now."

"Yes; but unless I was dreaming there was a scream."

"We could not both dream there was. Where did you think it came from?"

"It burst so suddenly upon my ears that I cannot say."

There was a tap now at the door of the room where these young men were, and a female voice said— "For God's sake, get up!"

"We are up," said both the young men, appearing.

"Did you hear anything?"

"Yes, a scream."

And on and on it goes. Boys, your sister is fucking under attack - you might want to move a LITTLE faster than this!

Eventually Mr. Marchdale, who is not their father but a family friend who is staying in their house for whatever reason, spurs the young men into action, and the three of them set to work prying open the locked door to Flora's room. Varney's feeding must be VERY loud, as they can hear it through the thick oak door:

"I hear a strange noise within," said the young man, who trembled violently.

"And so do I. What does it sound like?"

"I scarcely know; but it nearest resembles some animal eating, or sucking some liquid."

I will restrain myself from making the obvious joke.

The three men spend a few minutes forcing the door with a crowbar. Then, out of nowhere, the narration drops the following gem:

How true it is that we measure time by the events which happen within a given space of it, rather than by its actual duration.

Very ADHD of you, Rymer. I'm not about to armchair diagnose the man - I do not think this paid-by-the-line vampire story is particularly insightful of the way his mind works - but I will say that reading this story is what having unmedicated ADHD feels like. My brain, bereft of dopamine, is getting paid by the thought.

Anyway.

Henry runs into the room so fast that the candle he's holding nearly goes out; then Varney leaps at him from the bed like a cat with the zoomies and knocks the candle out of his hand, putting it out for real.

But Mr. Marchdale was a man of mature years; he had seen much of life, both in this and in foreign lands; and he, although astonished to the extent of being frightened, was much more likely to recover sooner than his younger companions, which, indeed, he did, and acted promptly enough.

Doesn't Rymer just have such a way with words.

Marchdale draws a pistol, which the narrator takes great pains to point out is a REAL gun, NOT a toy, and fires on Varney, which doesn't appear to do much except piss him off. Varney turns to him, and we see that his face is reddened with blood, and his eyes are now glowing and emitting little crackling lightning bolts. Yes, really. For a moment he seems about to pounce; then he changes his mind and leaps out the window instead.

"God help us!" ejaculated Henry.

I love reading 19th century books.

Marchdale gives chase, with Henry and George trailing behind him. At some point he manages to grab hold of Varney, tearing off a scrap of his clothing. The three of them find the vampire trying to jump over a 12-foot-high garden wall. For some reason, Varney's repeated failed attempts to jump over the wall are horrifying to them rather than comical, and they stand there watching him bound at the wall like a cat in a viral video, falling to the ground over and over again. It's not until he finally manages to reach the top of the wall that any of them think "hey wait, maybe we should try and stop him or something." At that point, Henry shoots him, and he falls down on the other side of the wall.

Next: We check back in on poor Flora.

[teevee-static]

Atreus and Angrboða snippet

This was conjured within the span of a few hours and hasn't been checked for clarity or spelling, but here I am posting it anyway.

This may or may not become a more complete story/fic. Let me know if I should put in the work to make it a more cohesive, fleshed-out story.

Also, I imagined Atreus and Angrboða being late teens here, maybe 18-19?

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

Atreus and Angrboða knew something was wrong the minute they stepped through the realm tear. They were on the way to see Kratos, Mimir and Freya in North Vanaheim for a quest they had planned.

What he hadn't expected was to immediately walk right into an issue as soon as he stepped foot in the realm.

The second their feet hit the ground of the forest, the trees and other flora were screaming "Danger! Danger! Not Right! All Wrong!". The emotions were so immediate and overwhelming that the pair literally staggered in place, overtaken by the sheer force and desperation of the warning, before sharing a concerned look.

Their backs meet as they move into a defensive stance, bow and paint readied for any threat. The trees and plants continue their warnings as they fall into step with each other, moving clock-wise as they scan the forest surrounding them. The closer they looked, the more the forest seemed warped with an unusual fog, as if it were some sort of illusion or a poorly remembered memory. The longer they stared into the depths of the trees the more they noticed the feeling of being watched.

Their magic begins to hum in the air, the force reverberating through each other where their bodies connect. Atreus holds a nocked arrow close to his cheek while Angrboða's hands glow bright blue and violet from her paint, the two tense at the same time.

Then all Hel breaks loose.

All at once Seiðr reavers leap from the depths of the trees in droves. They leap towards the two Jötunns with their swords and massive clubs swung high in attack.

The pair meet the attack with vigor, Atreus shooting sonic arrows into the reaver's bodies with such speed that they're dead before they even hit the ground. Angrboða unleashes a rainbow of color into the faces of the reavers, the explosions knocking them back and into each other.

They continue this way only for a moment before they are nearly surrounded, to which the pair quickly roll away from each other, causing many reavers to accientally kill each other in a collision of their thoughtless swings and attacks.

On opposite sides of the field now, Angrboða and Atreus farm through the droves of reavers, now split in two. Just as Atreus sends his foot through the heads of two reavers and a sonic arrow through the head of another, the ground begins to shake with large incoming steps.

He turns to see Angrboða finish off the rest of the reavers near her, avoiding the poisonous explosion of one dying, before turning to look at him with recognition in her eyes. The fight's not over yet.

--

Kratos knew something was off the moment he stepped through the portal in Vanaheim.

He was not as intuned with the forest as Faye or Atreus, but he could tell something was wrong by the complete stillness of it.

"Somethings wrong here, brother. I just got chills all over my bloody face!" Mimir says nervously down by his hip. Kratos grumbles in agreement.

Kratos feels Freya step closer beside him, looking at the surrounding forest with a disturbed, nearly confused look on her face. "There's… some sort of Seiðr magic polluting the forest, but I don't sense any scorn poles…"

Her voice trails off as the silence of the forest breaks into the sounds of fighting. The clashing sounded loud, as if there were groups of people fighting.

Together Kratos and Freya dart toward the sounds of the fighting, and together they take pause at the sight of who they see fighting. They stand like that for a few moments before Mimir cuts through their silence, "Well? Let me see what's going on, brother!"

Kratos lifts Mimir from his belt and up toward the sight of Atreus and Angrboða clearing through a small army of reavers. The number of reavers attacking them is nearly disturbing, as Kratos had never seen so many all at once like this.

"Well, shouldn't we go join them?" Mimir asks, golden eyes looking to Kratos.

"No," Freya says before Kratos can respond, an intrigued smile on her face, "Not yet. I want to see how they fight together."

A deep part of Kratos wants to ignore her and go help the two of them, but he forces himself to take a breath. He made a promise all those years ago. He trusts Atreus to be careful. He's been exploring the realms by himself for years now, this is nothing the boy can't handle.

And Angrboða is completely capable of holding her own, as she had proven while being pursued by Valkyries and saving them from Ragnarök with Fenrir during the battle of Ragnarök.

So, trust in the two of them overrides his need to help, and so he merely nods and continues watching in silence.

The fight is chaotic and unusual, but at the same time controlled and perfectly in sync. Kratos notes that it almost looks like they're dancing with each other.

It reminds him of how he and Faye used to fight together, though those times weren't many. They worked in complete unison, predicting each other's steps perfectly, most often working together without a single word shared between them.

He sees that now as the pair split apart from each other to avoid becoming completely surrounded, which he praises them mentally for. He watches as they clear through the now split group of reavers with ease, every now and then an arrow or a ball of magic would shoot across the field, stunning an enemy about to attack the other.

They make quick work of the reavers, and theres merely seconds of respite before the ground-shaking steps of a troll can be felt rattling their bones.

With a roar the troll steps out of the forest and into the small clearing, a large stone pillar clutched in it's left hand.

"Angrboða!" Kratos hears his son yell, his bow attached to his back and taking a knee on the ground. For a moment Kratos is confused as to why his son would leave himself so open like that, but his worries are immediately silenced by what follows next.

Atreus cups his hands with a nod, and Angrboða shoots off into a sprint toward him. The second her left foot meets his grip, Atreus throws her over his head and sends her flying into the air.

Airborne, Angrboða switfly lifts her dagger above her head and lands right on top of the trolls head, stabbing gruesomely into the troll's left eye.

The troll mindlessly swings his pillar in a pain-ridden rage, trying to knock her off, but magnificantly Angrboða holds on with the dagger.

"Ulfr hlaup!" She shouts, the air buzzes with runic magic and the bright colorful forms of a pack of wolves howl mightily into existence. They set to work attacking the legs of the troll.

"Blástr!" Angrboða commands again and runic explosion blasts straight into the troll's eye.

The explosion combined with the wolves causes the troll to fall quickly backward, and without second thought Angrboða leaps backward, falling from the troll.

She spins her body in the air and lands right into the arms of Atreus, who seemed to appeared seemingly out of nowhere to catch her.

Together they watch the troll land backward with a mighty "boom!", then both the troll and wolves dissipate into the air.

"Well, they sure know how ta' put on a show." Mimir says in Krato's hand. Kratos can only grunt in proud agreement.

Freya laughs softly beside them, her face beaming in pride, "They are certainly a lethal pair."

They watch the couple for a few more moments as they speak to each other, though too quietly for the trio to hear. They watch as Atreus morphs into his wolf form and dart between Angrboða's legs, lifting her off the ground and facing backward on his back. He sprints around the clearing in circles and sharp turns as Angrboða cackles in amusement, hanging on for dear life.

He watches Atreus shift back into human form, Angrboða falling off his back and landing in a careful roll, then standin up beside his son. She brings Atreus's head down to her mouth and says something into his ear that makes him flush so badly it reaches up to his ears and down his neck.

Mimir clears his throat and bellows down to the couple from where Kratos and Freya are standing, announcing their presence.

The two of them turn, unsurprised by their presence. Atreus's cheeks are still red from whatever Angrboða had said, so Kratos assumes that maybe it had to do with them watching them fight together.

"Kratos, Freya, Mimir, good to see you again. Enjoy watching us whoop reaver and troll be-hind?" Angrboða asks cheerfully, leaning against Atreus's shoulder comfortably.

"You two fight well together." Kratos says warmly, and Angrboða blooms at the praise. Atreus smiles as well, clearly happy at the praise as well, before it dims a bit and he sobers.

"I've got to say, though, even after killing all those reavers and that troll, the forest still seems disturbed." He says, his voice lowly trailing off as if lost in thought as he scans the forest, searching for some sort of answer.

"Aye, something seems off here lad. Something that is certainly worth investigating." Mimir adds pointedly.

[wejusthereforthefanart]

Nothing To See Here, Just Some Thorston Twins HCs

1. Even though Ruffnut calls Tuffnut her “baby brother” when he faked his own death, I like to believe they take turns being the first-born. Imagine they were born into chaos, where their mother passes out before she can see the birthing order and the only mid-wife dies of a heart attack while she’s still out cold. Literally no one in the world knows which of them was born first.

2. Their family loves to gamble, to the point that the Thorstons were known as the richest clan of Berk for two weeks and then lost everything the following day. This is how the twins adopted the mindset of “if you feel lucky, go for it” in everything they do. If they fail, they might win later anyway.

3. Technically, they have a secret language between themselves. But Ruffnut likes to make a bunch of random-ass noises to confuse everyone around her, and Tuffnut is still working on deciphering what his sister tries to communicate to him. 

4. They’re the best at distractions on missions, whether as live bait or utilizing their expertise on explosions. They’re the worst at interrogation, however, as they often forget what questions they were supposed to ask. On several occasions, it devolved into Tuffnut breaking down into an existential crisis while Ruffnut used the torture devices on herself out of boredom. 

5. They tie for being the second youngest out of the Dragon Riders. I don’t know why, exactly, but I like the idea that everyone’s birth order is Snotlout, Astrid, Hiccup, Ruff/Tuff, and Fishlegs. It just feels right, you know?

6. The first time they were ever separated for a day was when they were six years old. Ruffnut was sick and Tuffnut was forced to attend school alone. By lunch, he’d convinced himself that Ruffnut was just an imaginary friend who disappeared forever because he grew out of it, and screamed bloody murder when he returned home to find her sleeping in their shared bed. If he gets delirious enough, he’ll go back to thinking his sister is an apparition.

7. Ruffnut has a bucket list solely dedicated to pranks, which includes selling her cousin, Gruffnut, to pirates. She once bonded with Fishlegs over an interest in the expansive flora around Berk, only for him to learn that she used his own knowledge of toxic berries to poison him at dinner that very night. She’s never been trusted to forage for food by herself ever since. 

8. Tuffnut has secretly threatened, either directly or indirectly, every boy his sister has so much as implied to have a crush on. At one point, Snotlout found him about to cave in a fisherman’s skull with a mace because a twelve-year-old Ruffnut said he was “kind of cute.”