#this damn drawing fought me at every stop

[hanafubukki]

Can be seen as a part 2 to this fic (after some time has passed that is) or can be read as a stand-alone.

“Leave me alone human!”

“For someone who is chained to the ground and gravely injured, you’re pretty loud.”

“I’ll rip you from limb to limb.”

“Why don’t you get better first before we get there hmm?”

General Lilia Vanrouge screeched at you in the fae language, some of which you knew were curses. Ah yes, you can’t wait to make fun of your Lilia when you get back to your time. His cursing while playing video games had you easily recognizing some of them now.

Luckily for you and your ears, the General wore himself out. The wounds from the iron and those of the battles weakened him.

It didn’t help that he also had a fever as a result. You were put in this cell to help him recover. Humpty Dumpty- well, King Henrik, implied it was the least you could do.

A random human that was pick up by his men, who was using valuable resources that could go to his soldiers instead. Never mind the fact that you helped treat said soldiers and gather said resources.

The Knight of Dawn had clenched his fist, about to speak up on your behalf. But you simply grabbed his hand and shook your head. It wasn’t worth it. King Henrik would just make his life harder for talking back, and you didn’t want that. The Knight of Dawn dealt with enough, you didn’t want to add onto his troubles.

…But you also didn’t realize that meant staying locked up in this cell with General Lilia Vanrouge either.

The General wasn’t exactly happy when he first met you, and you couldn’t blame him. You just weren’t used to the open hatred from familiar eyes you would see everyday. Eyes that were always friendly to you, now burned you.

The first time you tried to provide him treatment, he had fought back until his wounds weakened him to an unconscious state. You had silently treated him then. Not a soul a witness to your tears.

As the weeks passed, the General gradually stopped fighting back, probably due to his weakening state…it didn’t shut his mouth though funny enough.

You were only let out for a change of clothes, a bath, a proper meal, and a bed to sleep in every few days. Even then, King Henrik made it seem as if that was too good for you.

You later found out it was due to the Knight of Dawn’s request that you were even allowed such accommodations. Your heart ached at the idea of what he must have gone through to get you this, as you knew King Henrik did not treat him well.

You breathed softly, you wished you could return home soon.

You were dressing a wound on Lilia when you felt him stir.

“Melea…Le…B…”

You took a wet cloth and wiped his forehead.

He must be dreaming about his family.

You knew all would be well in the future, but that didn’t mean current events didn’t affect you.

It hurt you to see so many struggle in a useless war, due to greed from one man.

Lilia clutched at his stomach, his sharp claw like nails reopening the wounds you had painstakingly bandaged.

You quickly grabbed his hands and sucked in a breath of pain. His nails dug into your skin, drawing blood. His grip could break your bones to tiny, incomprehensible pieces, but you held on.

You knew he wanted to be free and return home, to protect his loved ones. You were determined to heal him for that very reason.

“Damn it Lilia Vanrouge! You will get through this! You have so much to look forward to. So many people who love you! Now, stop being a prick and let me go so I can treat you!”

Surprisingly, he let you go. You ignored your bleeding, aching hands in order to reseal his wound.

“…will you be in that future?”

You froze, turning and looking into feverish eyes.

“Yes.”

General Lilia Vanrouge fell into a deep sleep for the next 10 days.

You were returning to Lilia’s cell when a knife was held to your neck.

“Human, where is the fae you captured?”

Ah, it seems rescue finally arrived for Lilia. It took them long enough.

You looked up into hardened, familiar eyes. Baul Zigvolt would have been a sight for sore eyes if he didn’t, you know, have a knife to your throat.

“I would gladly show you if you take that knife away.”

“You-”

“Besides, I was heading right in that direction. If you don’t want to be caught, you better hurry.”

You continued walking, listening to Baul grumble about frustrating humans. You couldn’t help the slight smile on your face as you remembered similar words said by his grandson.

You led Baul quickly and quietly to the cell that practically became a second home to you. No one in sight. You had noticed, unlike the men that the Knight of Dawn commanded, the men directly under King Henrik were…well, just like him: sleazy and lazy.

They let their guards down thinking The Right General of the Fae was too weak and couldn’t take any of them on. They even implied you were nothing but a sacrificial lamb should said Fae get angry, but of course, they would rescue you at a price.

It took you all you could not to spit in their faces or smash their heads on the wall. The self defense lessons Silver and Sebek taught you provided security that you would forever be grateful for.

It was due to this fatal thinking that Baul was able to infiltrate the base, as the men went to seek entertainment elsewhere.

When you arrived, you opened the cell door quietly so as to not hurt sensitive ears. The sun was high enough for the cell to be well lit.

You heard Baul hiss in anger before rushing to his general’s side. Lilia didn’t seem surprised to see him, telling you how he must have always known rescue would come for him.

“General!”

“Careful! You’ll-”

Baul recoiled from the burns the iron chains struck at him.

“I tried to warn you.” You shook your head. You sat next to Lilia, taking his hand in yours. From the corner of your eye, you could see Baul tense but Lilia motioned for him to remain calm.

You picked at the lock. Another thing to be thankful for, your lock picking skills, which you learned quickly from days you were locked outside of Ramshackle Dorm because Grim forgot the key or the door just wouldn’t open.

“You got it in one go this time.”

“I told you I had surprises up my sleeves. I just needed the right tools.”

“Hmm, so you say.”

Baul looked at both of you as if you both at grown two heads each. Lilia noticed his look and waved towards his feet. Where chains that should have been locked were open.

“Any longer, Baul, and I would have rescued myself.”

Baul stammered before apologizing. You turned away to hide your smile.

Within moments, the atmosphere changed. General Lilia Vanrouge had to escape and return to his men.

“Leave.”

“What?”

“You have to leave. You need to return to your troops."

Lilia clenched his jaw, looking at you. You couldn't return with him; you both knew that. It didn't stop him from trying, but you shook your head before he could even open his mouth.

"I can't go with you."

A human amongst the fae would not last long, at least not now. There was too much hatred.

You took the cuffs that had been his tormentor for so long and locked them around your hands. You chose to ignore the angry growl Lilia tried to hide at the sight of the cuffs now imprisoning you.

"I'll make it look like you escaped, now go."

"They'll hurt you."

You shook your head.

"The Knight of Dawn would never let that happen."

He knew you were right. The Knight of Dawn had visited several times, helping you treat his wounds and restrain him when the fever would have him lash out at you.

The Knight of Dawn had honor, as a fellow general and soldier, Lilia respected him for it. Lilia pulled one of his magic stones off his belt before offering it to you.

"Take this. Smash it to the ground if you need help, I'll find you."

You agreed and watched the two soldiers turn to leave. General Lilia Vanrouge hesitated before speaking, "You told me you would be in my future."

"I will be."

"You better keep that promise, YN."

"I will."

General Lilia Vanrouge and Baul Zigvolt vanished from your sight.

I'll see you both soon.

Part 3 (each part takes place after some time has passed) or can be read as a stand-alone.

Author’s Notes: I can’t believe this became a 1.5k fic, the way this bat fae drives me crazy. 😂💞🌺

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland x you #twst x you #Lilia Vanrouge x you #lilia x you #lilia x reader #baul zigvolt #twst knight of dawn #general lilia vanrouge #general lilia vanrouve x reader #general lilia vanrouge x reader

[narcissistshandler]

Can you fo reader x JongGun🙏

Like after Daniel broke his arm, he comes to your apartment, you might worried, teasing him or being jealous, and everything happens after that...

𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗘?

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 gn! reader x park jong gun

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 top!amab reader, bottom! gun, anal sex, masturbation (mentioned), jealous behavior, thoughts about hurting and drawing blood (in a romantic way), broken bones, and some sadism/masochism at the end

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 yeah, I didn't like the result of that (this has not been edited so please let me know if there is any mention/hint of the reader's gender)

He was already there when you arrived, even if you didn't notice his presence, one with the shadows of the room. It was as if he purposefully sought to hide and leave you with the uncomfortable feeling that you weren't alone, that there were eyes following you, and that there was something out of place - even if you didn't know for sure what.

And when you flicked the finger on the switch and the room filled with light, you couldn't help but jump when saw him sitting on your bed, with an unusual smile on his face, the eyes darker than usual, and wearing only one of your shirts. There was a tension there that you only felt when you stepped towards him and saw the spark of amusement in the curve of his lips, the excited insanity.

The air seemed to grow thicker, even though you merely tried to engage him in shallow conversation. Which you already had enough experience with to know it was difficult. Gun was reserved, in the best of words. He came and went as he pleased, had what he wanted and then disappeared without even an explanation.

What were you? You asked yourself every damn day. Your circle was smaller than it seemed, you heard his name quite often and it wasn't uncommon to bump into him, he also had the keys to your house, but that didn't make what you had something serious.

You tried not to think about it as Gun kissed you - ravaged your mouth as if he was furious with you, or at the very least, very excited. He was eager today - pulling your clothes off, biting your neck, fighting the fabric of your pants to get to your dick as quickly as possible. He was also talkative, 'I prepared myself for you while I waited', 'I thought about you while I did it', he said, knowing exactly how to tease you and leave you wanting him. 'I came on your bed, on your sheets, on your pillow', and you can almost smell him in your room after those words leave his mouth.

And his ass really was prepared for you, dripping with lube on your bed and his hard dick forming a tent under the shirt he had stolen from your closet.

You felt like a crazy person, like an addict who couldn't fight the source of the addiction. Gun only had to spread his legs for you, and like an eager puppy, you lined yourself up with a shaking hand on the relaxed hole and sank inside, where you belonged. What are we? The question came back to you. What does all this make us? Because you knew it had been months, maybe years, since Gun had slept with anyone else, neither did you.

You grabbed Gun's hands, somehow wanting to force him to answer the question that didn't even come out of your mouth and tried to hold his arms up. You wanted to know if he felt the same way. "Urgh," Gun groaned, and easily fought against your power. The sound full of pain and discomfort sounded alien in his mouth and it completely captured your attention. Only then did you notice that Gun wasn't moving one of his arms, which was swollen and turning red.

Your movements began to slow down, until they almost stopped. "Don't you dare!" He grunted, legs immediately wrapping around your waist and heels digging into your ass.

"You’re hurt, you need to go to the hospital," you argued, not being able to help but worry, but Gun wasn’t having any of it. Even with one of his arms broken, he moved as nimbly as usual and he easily reversed your positions so that he was now sitting on top of you, your cock not even leaving the heat of his hole. "You're fucking insane!" you moaned at the show of strength. Gun looked damn erotic on top of you, riding you, even with one of his arms limp at his side, wrapped in the long sleeve of your shirt.

"As if you didn't already know that," he replied, the smile wide on his kiss-swollen lips. "I came here to fuck, not get medical advice, so shut up and let me work."

But you just couldn't shut up. "What- ah, happened?" You asked through clenched teeth as you watched Gun's long, firm legs sink into the mattress with each rise and fall, his dick hidden under the shirt forming a wet spot on the fabric.

Gun responded to you without haste, releasing disjointed sentences and words as he mounted you, firmly and quickly, successfully taking the breath away from both of you. “Charles Choi,” he said, and then “fight” and a “brat” that he repeated a few times and that you didn’t think much of until you noticed who it referred to – Daniel.

"Daniel broke your arm?" You repeated his words, your fingers digging into Gun's thighs in a failed attempt to slow him down so you could make sure you heard him right.

Gun's smile seemed to get even bigger, and for the first time, you hated seeing him smiling.

"Why? Jealous?" And only Gun would think anyone would be jealous of someone taking blood and breaking someone else's bones. But then wasn't that what you were feeling? Not anger at Daniel for hurting Gun, but jealousy. Jealousy that you wasn't the one to hurt him, leave your mark behind on Gun's body and that Daniel was the one to get Gun all hot and excited.

That strange, possessive part of your mind stirred - you almost wanted to draw blood from Gun at that moment.

"You’re a slut," you accused, not at all denying Gun’s statement. He chuckled and swiveled his hips in a sensual circle, the good hand resting on your stomach. He was teasing you, you realized.

Then the notion hit you, you didn't need to resort to such methods to mark him as yours, after all, only you were capable of having him like this, naked, in your bed, with hot cheeks and fucking himself on your dick. You had already left your mark implanted deep into his body where you doubted anyone else would ever be able to be.

Your feet dug into the mattress, hips jumping off the bed to slam against Gun's ass. The sound he made was downright obscene, what looked like tears glistening in the corners of his black eyes, the psychotic smile still there. He was yours, it was the first time you noticed. He had chosen to come to you, because no one else knew this slutty side of him, because no one else could feed that side, only you.

Gun fell willingly against your chest, moaning and trying to move back against you, hungry, looking for more of your cock, more of the aggression and pain. Pain. One of your hands rested on his back, keeping him lying on top of you and the other wandered, found Gun's long fingers and then closed around his wrist, tightly and then, you pulled his broken arm.

The scream that came from Gun's throat would forever be etched in your memory; his cock twitched and spilled, further soiling the shirt he was wearing.

At that moment, you knew what you two were, complete lunatics who would always find in each other exactly what they needed. There were no longer any doubts.

#x male reader #x gn reader #x top male reader #top gn reader #x top reader #lookism x reader #lookism fic #lookism x male reader #lookism smut #lookism x you #lookism x gn reader #gun x reader #gun x male reader #gun x gn reader #bottom character

[sinsofstardust]

Sinful, soft, sub!Sammy thoughts on a rainy Saturday morning?

You pumped his length, keeping a tight grip in your fist, “You’re being such a good boy, Sammy baby… Just a little longer, okay? Can you hold on for me?” You were on your knees in front of the chair, staring up at him with soft doe eyes.

His face was twisting as he fought off his climax, “Please, I- Can I please?” He gripped the arms of the chair, his fingers digging into the leather, “Babe, I can’t- I can’t wait.”

“Yes, you can.” You slowed your strokes to an almost stop as your free hand caressed his thigh, “I always take care of you, don’t I?” Leaning forward, you flicked your tongue right below his tip, feeling the way he twitched in your palm.

The second your tongue made contact, he was a whimpering mess, “Y-yes… Always t-take care of m- god… Please don’t stop.” He pleaded, his brows pinched so tightly, “Oh please, I’ve been so good. Just-.” He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath as a last ditch effort to subdue himself.

You loved to hear him beg. The soft, whiny tone of his voice was the sweetest song, “You have been good, my sweet boy.” You picked up the pace again, rolling your hand around his lubricated cock, “So pretty when you beg.” You pressed a kiss to his hip before dragging your teeth along the bone, “Look at me, Sammy. I want everything you’ve got.”

That was the permission he was seeking. His mouth dropped, face contorted into an almost painful expression as he let go, trying his damndest to keep his eyes on you. His release spilled over your knuckles as you worked him through it, drawing every last drop. You could feel his thigh muscles tensing under your hand as he muttered a slew of barely coherent ‘thank yous’ mixed with pitchy whimpers and grunts. When you were sure you’d gotten every drop out of him, you wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue over the flesh. Sam’s hands immediately went to your hair, balling up and yanking hard, “Fuck- No, I- babe, I can’t… It’s- awwe fuuuuck…” The overstimulation brought him to a second orgasm.

You released him from your mouth to gaze up at him. Tear stained cheeks and gasping breaths racking his body. You stilled your hand, holding him loosely as you peppered his cock with little pecks, “You did so well, sweet Sammy. Always my good boy…” You climbed up, straddling his lap as he relaxed into the furniture, “I love you, you know that?” Cupping his face, you gave him a long, loving kiss.

He took your hand, fitting his fingers between your own as he gave a lazy nod, “I love you too, but I’m in control from now on, okay?” His arms wrapped around you, hugging you to his exhausted frame.

“Sure, baby. Whatever you want…” You giggled, knowing damn well he was bluffing.

#sammy kiszka #sam kiszka drabble #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka smut #sam kiszka x reader #greta van fleet #gvf

[ezzydantes]

Soldier

Author's Note: This is a request from @mehiwilldoitlater. I hope I did your boy proud! Smoker finds out that his lover, y/n, was kidnapped after being found out by enemy pirates. Warnings: Language, Violence, and fluff towards the end.

Smoker's eyes widened in horror as Doflamingo landed in front of him holding you by your neck. The fear and panic in your eyes were enough to make the seasoned Vice Admiral's stomach turn as you fought uselessly against the one hand that continued to squeeze around your airway.

"You wouldn't happen to know who this little kitten belongs to, would you, Smoker?" the Heavenly Demon cackled as he brought you closer to his face and licked along your cheek, enjoying the fact that you were beginning to turn purple at this point, clawing at his hand and trying to kick out of his iron-tight grip. The warlord threw you to the ground with a sickening thud, that caused you to scream in pain as you landed on your side, most likely breaking some ribs. You immediately began trying to move as far away from your kidnapper as fast as you could only to be stopped by Doflamingo pinning you down on the ground with his foot while he stared at your lover.

"Y/N!!!" Smoker shouted as he began to rush towards you.

"Ah..ah...ah...", the blonde tsked as he applied a bit more pressure to his foot, causing you to scream again, "any further and I may accidentally squish your poor little lover."

"Ah... CHASE!" you shouted as you tried to push the giant's foot off of you, "Don't worry about me! Motherfucker, get off me!"

"The Hell I won't worry about you!", the Marine growled as he spit his cigars out and readied his weapon, "GET OFF MY WOMAN, YOU BASTARD!"

The Logia Devil User lunged for the Paramecia User, being caught off guard as the latter kicked you up into the air towards the him, causing the younger man to drop his weapon and catch you. This gave the Heavenly Demon a chance to charge the both of you, knocking you and your lover back a good ways into a solid stone rock. "Chase!" you called his nickname as you tried to remain conscious enough to shake him awake, knowing that the warlord was making his way towards you both.

The white-haired man immediately engulfed you in his arms and caged you against the rock, trying desperately to keep the blows from Doflamingo reaching you. You began crying as you saw the inexplicable pain that the Marine tried to hide from you as he squinted, continuously bracing himself after every hit to make sure that you didn't feel any of it. "Baby!?" you cried out again as he tried to muster a painful smile.

"I got you, Baby Girl", he grunted as he tried to convey through his eyes what he couldn't physically explain right now as he took blow after blow.

He would die for you if he had to... if it meant protecting you in this fight, he'd gladly lay down his life, but he wasn't going to give up that easily. He had to get you out of there and to Tashigi and the rest of G5. He knew they would keep you safe as they knew the nature of your relationship to their leader. You were his childhood sweetheart, the only person in this world who had stood beside him for all these years. He'd be damned if after everything he lost you now and especially not to a piece of shit like Donquixote Doflamingo.

In between the barrage of fists and kicks, Smoker managed to dodge long enough to pull you to him and shoot off into the air. "Hold on, Baby Girl... I'm going to keep you safe", he coughed as he tried to keep his wits about him flying through the air, avoiding Doflamingo's aerial attacks as well as make sure he didn't drop you.

"Vice Admiral! Smoker!" he heard the shouts of his crew and he gripped you closer to him, kissing your forehead as he lowered himself just enough that he knew they could catch you. "I'm going to draw him off...."

"Chase! That's suicide!" you gripped him tighter, trying to make sure he couldn't drop you. If he was going to die, you were going to die with him. "Not without you!"

"STUBBORN ASS WOMAN!" he shouted as he pulled you from him, "We will both die if I cannot get you somewhere safe so that I can fight him with no worries."

Tears began pouring down your face as you realized he was doing this to protect you, to give himself a fighting chance to get back to you. "You better come back to me, Soldier!"

He chuckled as he swooped down and around again to avoid another attack from the warlord. "Yes, Ma'am", he promised, "Even if its on a stretcher for the dead... I'm coming back to you."

You kissed him as hard as you could, letting him know that he meant everything to you, before you let go of him as he dropped you into G5's awaiting arms. "Mrs. Smoker!" they shouted as they scrambled to get you away from the fray. "Be careful, she's hurt pretty bad!" "Watch it! Smokey will kill us if anything happens to his girl!" It was then that all of your injuries began to take a toll and you passed out as soon as Tashigi reached you. "Y/n!" she shouted as her face turned to darkness.

There were so many memories that you seemed to be reliving over and over. The first time you and Smoker met. The first time you both admitted to having feelings for each other. When he left to join the Marines and you had to go months without a word before finally getting letters. The first time you saw each other after he graduated from being a cadet to each promotion after that. His promise to love and protect you forever. The ring you knew he kept in his quarters that he thought you didn't know about.

After what felt like an eternity your body slammed back into consciousness and you awoke with a gasp and a grunt as you couldn't necessarily sit up in your current state. "Baby Girl!" your lover whispered as he gently caressed your forehead while kissing your lips carefully before cupping your face, "You're still here.... here with me..."

The white-haired man eased his forehead against yours as his non-existent grip on your cheeks began to increase in the slightest bits of pressure, fearfully trying not to cause any pain in your condition, "You almost left me.... "

Your tears were enough to let him know that it was not your intention to ever leave him as it was never his as well. Your eyes began to focus a bit more and you noticed all of his injuries. You scowled at him as you began raking your eyes all over him, assessing the damage. "You fucking, Beast.... " your voice hoarse from all of the shouting and the pain that had finally caught up to you.

"Right back at you, Sweetheart..." your Marine chuckled painfully as he grunted while situating himself precariously against you and gingerly taking you into his arms. You melted into his embrace.

"How did he get to you?" Smoker quietly spoke as he nuzzled into your neck, content to hear you breathing.

"I'm not exactly sure... one minute I'm in the kitchen talking to my cousin on the transponder snail and the next I'm flying over the ocean in that bastard's grip", you whispered back as you caressed your fingers through his white hair, enjoying the slight growl you solicited from him.

"I want you to move in with me at my post", he adjusted his head so that he was staring into your (e/c) eyes, taking a second to appreciate the light and life behind them.

"Stop looking at me like I'm dead, Baby...", you wrapped your arms around his head gently pulling him closer to your face as you peppered sweet kisses all over his bruised and battered face. You pulled away just enough to trace the scar over his face. "Takes more than Doucheflamingo to get rid of me."

"I'm serious, y/n..." Smoker stops your fingers caressing his face and gently kisses the inside of your palm before placing it on his chest, just above his heart, "Marry me... come be with me, Baby Girl..."

Your smile makes his heart skip a beat as you lean in and kiss him on his lips, once, twice... and the third lingered for good measure. The way the two of you always kissed before being separated for long periods of time. "I'll marry you, Chase... just always come back to me Soldier... that's an order."

"Aye aye..." he chuckled once more before pulling you into another kiss as he settled against your chest and fell asleep to your heartbeat, enamored by your voice saying, "I love you, Chase..."

The pair of you falling into a blissful sleep that was ruined the next morning by the G5 crew and Tashigi panicking trying to find the Vice Admiral only to find him passed out in bed with his lover. "Get the Hell outta here!" Smoker growled as he winced sitting up and trying to cover you as well.

You couldn't help but painfully laugh at the antics and knew that there would never be a dull moment with your soldier and his crew.

#white chase smoker #one piece x reader #one piece

[kangaracha]

daffodil + chan

a song

the prompt: daffodil (a god bows before a mortal)

read it on ao3

---

"You have no power over me."

running through his hands like water, and suddenly the earth is not his to control. The skies do not turn with the twist of his head, lightning does not fork in the air when his eyes, dark as night and yet still lit by some unearthly light, fall upon you, his mouth wide as if to gasp for a breath he cannot take-

And yet, still, it shivers down your spine; the magic that draws you here even as you rip it apart, the prize of your conquest to rip the world into two.

"Take it back," he hisses through his teeth, the ground trembling with every syllable that slides down his tongue. You watch his mouth as it forms the words, the flash of teeth behind thin lips reminding you of the way that the swordsman you'd fought through to get here had smiled at you - the last of his seven challenges, the last of his demons, or angels, or citizens of the sprawling, damned city he claimed as his kingdom.

And here you stood, at the pinnacle of the eighth, and stared him in the eye without cringing away because now you knew the truth. Now you knew that what he whispered in the dark was a lie and what you saw with your eyes wasn't always true, and though he may be a god and a king amongst beings that you could never hope to rival, a god can only hold as much power as you give him. A god can only claim dominion over a beast that bowed to his dogma. 

You see now that you are no beast. You are no believer in any lie he utters to the darkness.

"Take it back," he says again, the note of his voice changing. He pleads, his brow furrowing and his shoulders curling in as if waiting for the final blow. "Take it back now, before it's too late."

"I can't," you tell him, and you watch him fall to his knees, and you know that it's wrong and your heart pounds in your chest and it

like the ground does at the impact of his knees, crumbling into the pieces it was in when you first took his hand, alone on the side of the road with only one thing to call your own. And what was that thing, the little warmth you'd held to your chest in the dark and the cold? What had you traded away for the comfort of the house that crumbled around you now? Why had you destroyed him to get it back, where was it now, why did it not appear within his hands at this, the hour of his reckoning?

"Please," he spits into the cold ground, the dirt and the leaves and the curl of ivy that grows up the walls around you, old and ancient and not yet sprouted from its roots all at the same time. His hands curl in the dirt like he can reach down and pull the earth to him, like he can stop the wane of his power if he just tries to hold on a little bit tighter. "I know what you want, and I don't have it. I can't lose-"

Broken, fragile thing. Small god of limited earth, crouched at your feet like he might worship you instead. You'd thought him all-powerful once, and then you'd thought him severe and his servants and beasts and playthings petty, and then you'd thought him

because he'd smiled at you in the garden that bloomed from his own hands when you expressed your desire for a flower to tuck in the braid of your dark hair, and his hand had been soft in yours, and when he looked out across his kingdom and the clamouring faces of the people he'd brought to live there, he'd looked at them the same way that he'd looked at you.

Beneath your foot, the ground cracks, fracturing outwards like a spiderweb. It's your heart, you realise morosely, sinking from your chest and into the depths of the earth, disappearing with whatever he'd taken from you; and it was a wretched thing and it had betrayed you a hundred times over, but you still mourn at the loss of it and all the dreams it had carried with it. It blooms in your flowers in the corners of the room, embeds itself into the land and sings along with the song of his power, a thing you can hear but cannot touch, a beast once born that now does not belong to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath like mist in the cold air, and even without your heart, you can't bear to see him so cold.

Your hands reach for him without permission, your body kneeling in the dirt before you can stand your feet firm upon the earth and refuse to move. He flinches away, but your fingers are soft upon his chin and the curve of his jaw, gentle when they brush the soft dip of his neck. "I only wanted to know what it was," you tell him with a voice that cannot hold itself steady. "I thought if you loved me, you would give it back." It's the only voice you have - you are not like him, or like Felix, speaking with many tongues. You don't have any power of your own.

"It's because I love you that I can't give it back." His voice is hoarse, every word a knife that he swallows without ever once flinching. "It's because I love you that I couldn't tell you what it was."

"But didn't I deserve to know?" you question. "Doesn't my life belong to me?"

Finally, his eyes rise, looking up at you with a fire that belies the cold of his skin. "Of course it does," he gasps, and his hand reaches up, dirt-stained fingers dragging at your cheek. "That's why I gave it to you, and I never asked for anything else."

"But you wouldn't give back what you took in the first place."

The sudden violence of his voice crumbles the walls and fractures the sky, the clouds blooming te dark colours of a bruise. The absence of his hand on your cheek stings in the cold; his face turns away, screwed up in regret and a pain he won't allow you to feel. You lurch forward before he can disappear, drawing him into your arms; stiff shoulders, spine of beaten steel, slow beat of a heart you once held in your hands. 

He'd stood so tall and unmoving in the morning light, when you'd first walked down this path, and now in the dark of the setting sun and the ending of the earth, his weight slumps into your grasp, his resolve melting into the warmth of your body. "I didn't want you to suffer again," he says to the soft cotton of your shirt and the curve of your collarbone, his breath a whisper against your skin. "I couldn't watch that, when you asked me to make sure it would never happen again."

Surprise comes in the pause of your breath and the still of your arms, the jump of a heart you're not sure you still possess. "I asked you to make me forget?" you question the world behind his back, and into your neck, he sighs.

"You couldn't forget," he murmurs. "She was dead before I found you, and when I took her from your arms - you couldn't forget. There was nothing I could do to fix what had been broken. And then you begged me to let you forget, so I remembered her for you." He pauses, his throat hitching like he's swallowing something down. A sob maybe, or the tears he will never let fall. "I can't give her back though. She's not here anymore."

You push him upright, your hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face. Brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes, wiping at the blood that drips from the cut on his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, because the answer is incomprehensible. "Why did you let me go this far?"

"Because I was scared," he admits, and his teeth clench and his spine stiffens against the urge to hide away from you again. "Because I'm a wretched, evil, stupid thing who thinks they can-"

His words die in your throat; vile, wretched things that you store away to spit out later, into the ground where they belong. He is none of that; he is soft, and hesitant, until your fingers find the sharp curve of his hip and the lines of his back, dragging him closer and his lips open like there is nothing in the world to devour but you and

#sorry about the images everyone but tumblr wouldn't let me keep my aesthetic #and i refuse to bow to any shitty website #how tf do you align text on here #anyway #stray kids #bang chan #stray kids chan #bang chan x reader #stray kids x you #y/n without the y/n #lee felix #is mentioned #lee know is also in here if you can spot him #roo writes #the fight i had to a) finish this and b) post it #anyway 7k written for the last three days #a lil treat for #well for me because keeps refused to write me a fic and i got desperate #but for the love of god please someone read this please someone talk to me #i feel like i really cooked with this #one hour of my life spent going down a rabbithole #oh what else was i going to say #vaguely inspired by labyrinth #we went way off the labyrinth rails but #it's there #alright shit alright i'm gonna post it lets go i'm nervous

[slytherhys]

12 Days of Christmas - ACOTAR Edition

In the spirit of the Holidays, I will be writing & posting short stories about the ACOTAR characters for the next 12 days. Please note that some will be shorter than others and that this is simply meant to be a fun time for everyone that loves these characters as much as I do!

PS. I'm open to requests.

AO3

5th day of Christmas - Cookie Decorating

I'm dedicating this to Elisa for giving me so many good ideas for this challenge. I love you and you're the best and I hope this story does your idea justice.

It's just cookies! (Archeron Sisters Bonding)

If anyone happened to enter the kitchen of the townhouse, they would probably be extremely confused at the sight before them. Alarmed even.

Feyre stood hunched over a tray of cookies, a look of pure concentration on her face as she gently drew different patterns with the pipping bag in her hands. Stars, and snowmen, and Solstice trees appeared under her sister’s talented hands, each one looking more mouthwatering than the other.

On the other end of the counter, Nesta stared at the tray in front of her with disdain, holding the pipping bag in her hands with what could only be described as a death grip. There were already two cookies decorated, though Elain couldn’t be quite sure of what they were supposed to be. She wasn’t sure Nesta knew either if the frustrated look on her face was any indication.

When Elain had first suggested to her sisters that they all bake cookies for their family it had been a fiddle attempt at spending more time with them. Sure, she had only vaguely mentioned the fact they’d be baking them from scratch, but Elain had been confident enough in her skills that she had expected things to go smoothly. Looking around her, she couldn’t help but grimace, very much regretting the suggestion that any of her sisters step foot in the kitchen in the first place.

There wasn’t an inch of the kitchen counter that wasn’t covered in either burnt parchment paper or whatever ingredients had been used to bake gingerbread cookies (Elain couldn’t quite recall why cheese was one of them, but she tried not to think about it). Solstice-themed cookie cutters were pilled precariously by the sink, where every single baking tool Elain ever owned now seemed to be.

Out of the four batches Elain had originally planned to bake, only two remained. One had ended up in the trash, burnt and possibly toxic, while the other had been eaten by both Feyre and Nesta. Stress-eating, Feyre had offered as an explanation at Elain’s affronted glare.

Now, Elain couldn’t help but crave something to nibble on too. The baking should’ve been the hardest part of it, but Elain was close to tears as she watched both her sisters decorate the cookies. Between Feyre’s perfectionism and Nesta’s utter lack of talent, it was all Elain could do not to kick them out of her kitchen. Out of her house. Mainly as Nesta cursed rather colourfully for what was probably the tenth time in the past thirty seconds.

“Remind me again why I agreed to do this?” Nesta muttered under her breath as she tried to draw a smiley face on the snowman in front of her. At least that’s what Elain assumed she was going for.

“We’re bonding.” Elain said exasperatedly, hovering behind her older sister. “Stop squeezing the bag like that or else you won’t have any icing left for the other cookies.”

“I’d like to squeeze your neck, instead.” Nesta grumbled.

Feyre snorted. “I don’t think we’re very good at bonding, Elain.”

“If it helps, I don’t think you’re very good at baking, either.” Elain mumbled, biting her nails as she fought the urge to help Nesta. Her fingers were tingling with the need to reach for the pipping bag and just show her how easy it was to handle it. Or how unnecessary it was to completely strangle it.

Nesta eyed her cookies with a tilted head, then eyed Feyre’s cookies with envy. “How is it fair that I’m competing against Feyre? She’s a cauldron-damned painter.”

“This is not a competition.” Elain said, eyeing Feyre’s cookies. They did look beautiful, but Nesta didn’t need to hear that. Not when she was trying so hard. “This is a friendly, innocent activity. It’s just cookies!” She tried to be cheerful, but she feared she was edging lunacy. By the look her sisters gave her, she probably looked it as well.

“And if it were a competition, you’d at the very least get a participation medal.” Feyre smirked, ducking down just as a gingerbread cookie flew in her direction. She narrowed her eyes at her older sister. “That’s not very friendly of you.”

“Please, don’t waste anymore cookies.” Elain whined. At this rate, their friends would be lucky if they could get one each. “We don’t have the time to bake another batch and I refuse to bother Nuala and Cerridwen on Solstice.” Was she hyperventilating? It certainly felt like she was.

“Ladies,” A familiar voice sounded from behind Elain, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and watch as Rhysand strolled inside the kitchen. Not when it looked as if it had felt victim to one of Cassian’s drunken pranks. “Why is Elain having a meltdown?”

Feyre smiled, leaning against her mate as he reached her side. “We’re very bad at bonding.”

“And baking. Very bad at baking.” Elain added, mildly terrified as Azriel and Cassian too appeared in the doorway.

“Can’t be that bad, can it?” Cassian grinned, peering into both trays. He shrugged. “They look edible.”

Azriel grabbed a cookie, eyebrows rising as he tried to understand exactly what he was looking at. He didn’t seem to entirely agree with Cassian’s statement. “I’m guessing Nesta decorated these?” He asked, a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t be a dick.” Cassian said, chewing the head of a snowman. “They’re…” He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he eyed the plate in front of him. “abstract. Right, Nes?”

Nesta gave him a blank stare. “Sure.”

Azriel shook his head, trying to hide a smile as he eyed Elain. “Did you bake anything?” Was it her or had that felt more like an accusation than an innocent question?

Bastard.

She felt her face heat as everyone’s attention turned to her. “N-no.”  

Azriel narrowed his eyes, knowing smile on his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Why would she bake anything?” Feyre objected before Elain could say anything. “She asked us to do it with her.”

“And she trusts us.” Nesta added. Then paused, turning to her sister as if suddenly unsure. “Right?”

Elain nodded quickly, ignoring Azriel’s taunting smile as she focused on her sisters instead. “Of course I do!” She assured them, because she truly did.

Even if she had gotten up at dawn to bake a few batches as precaution. 

#archeron sisters #feyre archeron #elain archeron #nesta archeron #rhysand #azriel #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #12 days of christmas acotar edition #christmas stories #12 days of christmas #christmas writing

[ghostkeegan]

Eternally Damned (Vampire! John Price x Fem! Reader)

02. Life for a Life

Eternally Damned Masterlist and Summary

Part One

You awoke with a throaty gasp. Panic shook down your spine as your eyes frantically searched for a familiarity.

Nothing.

You brought your hand up to your neck, you remember the bitter sting of teeth ripping through the flesh, but as your fingertips brushed the surface of the skin it was smooth, completely healed.

That’s when you fully began to grasp where you were. Your back was resting against the flush material of soft silk. Your eyes trailed around the unfamiliar room. Countless bookshelves lay tall among the walls, whimsical trinkets placed in the spots where novels didn’t dwell.

The curtains fluttered against the rainy weather, and as you began to panic more, you realized it was still pitch black outdoors. You hadn’t been unconscious long.

Your hands dropped to your jacket, only to find that the article of clothing was no longer wrapped around your shoulders. Instead you were only in your plain black t-shirt. You patted your jeans pockets realizing your dagger and stakes weren’t there either.

“You’re awake.” A chillingly low voice spoke from the doorway, causing you to flinch. You felt your heart stop at the dull crimson color of his eyes, vampire.

You rushed to get up, but the vampire made no move to advance. Instead he watched almost in amusement as you scrambled to the corner of the room. Your eyes darted, attempting to look for some type of weapon.

“You won’t find your weapons here.” His accent was strange, the twang was obviously scouser, but it was rough around the edges, not typically like the century old vampires you hunted. That means he was newer to the turn, meaning he was likely thirstier.

And it seemed he was playing with his food.

You insisted on not talking, instead your eyes flickered to the wooden headboard of the bed. If you kicked it hard enough it may splinter off into a stake. If you didn’t take that chance, you’d end up dead either way.

You lunged for the wood, but it seemed the vampire knew what you were already doing.

In a quick flash, he blocked your path to the wood, and as you made a cheap move of trying to punch him, he caught your wrist in a steel grip.

“Just kill me while I have some dignity left.” You gritted out as you fought against his impossible hold. 

Your father was dead. So was your mother. All due to these undead motherfuckers. At least it wouldn’t be your burden to bear anymore. Yet your heart fought against you, if anything in this life killed you, it wouldn’t be a damn vampire.

With your free hand, you reached for your neck, pulling your silver crucifix from your throat, before plunging it deep inside the vampire’s neck. The creature grunted, releasing you as his skin burned black for a moment at the silver touch.

The material never killed them, but it was enough to hurt like a bitch. You had clearance to kick at the headboard, watching it splinter before you ripped off the wood, satisfied with the sharp point.

“You going to kill me, love?” He taunted as he pulled the pointed necklace from his neck with a sharp tug, he threw the silver across the floor, it sliding a few meters away. 

“Torture you first, for killing my father. Then I’ll kill you.” You threatened, holding onto the stake, ready for him to make any movement.

His eyes seemed to glow brighter for a moment, before he let out a mocking chuckle. “I didn’t kill your father.”

This through you for a loop. Sure, vampires lied all the time, but the intensity of his voice had you second guessing. Your grip loosened on the stake, not enough to not be able to use it, but enough to listen first.

You decided to hear him out, then you’d kill him.

“I saw you, hold up his necklace. You dropped me out of a tree.” You retaliated, your nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Different bloodsucker, love. That one was an old enemy of mine. He’s been drawing in hunters for the last month, ate every one of them. Except you.”

“Why not me?” You asked, watching the vampire roll his eyes as if it was obvious.

“I got to you first. I will admit it took quite a bit of strength not to kill you, your blood was everywhere. I’m sure by now Makarov won’t stop until he finds you.”

“Makarov?” You question, your eyebrows raising slightly in the whole situation. A vampire just saved your life, while another was trying to kill you?

“Yes, I’m afraid since I stepped in you’ve become his most important target.” Great.

“I didn’t ask for help.” You grit out. Now you had to watch your back. If this vampire was speaking the truth, you’d be screwed. Forced to constantly watch over your shoulder and being confined while hunted.

“No. But you need it. Now more than ever.”

“I don’t need you.” You shivered, the simple suggestion that you needed a vampire’s help made you feel dirty. Like a grime that could not escape you.

He flashed in front of you again, his canines almost poking out of his mouth as he towered in front of you. Quickly, you placed the stake against his ribs, right where the cold, dead heart would be.

But he leant in against the stake.

“I can smell you from a mile away, pet.” He inhaled, as his eyes fluttered shut in a sickening pleasure. “If it wasn’t for my scent masking you, he would have ripped out your pretty throat by now.”

Your eyebrows rose for a split second. You knew that vampires could smell humans, but for them to mask scents from other vamps? This was completely new territory.

“What is it that you want then? Why save me?” You asked, your teeth clenched at how wrong this seemed. You were a hunter, he was your prey. Your father had died for the cause, now you were saved by one.

“Simple. I want Makarov dead, so do you. You’re the queen on the chess board, pet. That means you hold the cards. After Makarov’s dead I can finally stop my eternal suffering and bite the dust. I’ll even let you drive the stake.”

Now this seemed to sweeten the pot. With a satisfied huff, you lowered the stake, throwing it across the room with a loud thud.

“Fine. Life for a life, my debt is paid.”

A slim smirk wove across the vampire’s face, as he dipped his head in some type of greeting.

“Captain John Price.” He greeted, not bothering to touch you.

#cod #call of duty #captain john price #captain price #john price #modern warfare #captain price x reader #John price x reader

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Yellow City, Chapter Nine - a Malevolent AU

Arthur is getting a lot better at goals.

Real goals, not imagined.

And like a rock thrown into water, he is making ripples.

Chapter nine of Yellow City, a continuation of Cloud City. Note: explicit content.

AO3

--------

In dreams, Arthur remembered. 

In dreams, Arthur saw. 

In the beginning, four years ago, Hastur took Arthur unto himself to remake as he willed, for Arthur had been laid bare. 

# 

It began with healing. 

Arthur fought.  

“No! I don’t want… stop!” he tried as power flowed through him, soothing tortured nerves, easing blood flow, calming fever. 

His ear was half-gone, blown off when he’d used the black mirror, and the taper in his lobe exploded. 

“No,” Arthur moaned as Hastur replaced it with something that did not feel like an ear, did not feel like flesh, and Arthur wept. 

It hurt in this place. Everything hurt, every time he opened his eyes and tried to comprehend more than three dimensions, a world that misshaped time like mud squeezed through clenched fingers.  

Hastur healed all his wounds, and all his little illnesses (There. Now your heart will beat for many more years, unhindered), kept him and cleaned him and touched him and would not let him die. 

Arthur refused to eat. 

Hastur made him, anyway. 

Arthur begged for death. 

Hastur did not grant it. 

Faroe. 

Arthur was a remarkable human (according to Hastur, who knew humans, or at least thought he did), but even he could not hold on to sanity forever. After three weeks of simply being in Carcosa, denied death, Arthur could take no more, and he let go.

The cracks and scissures formed by Faroe’s wedged truth shattered, and his thoughts fell underfoot like pieces of filthy mirror. 

# 

In the beginning, Arthur woke. 

The room shifted, blurred, settled (damn hangover) into his Cloud City apartment, perfectly safe to look at, ordinary in every way, and his partner (Hastur, for years now, Hastur) stood over him with odd limbs undulating and an eager, deep growl. 

“H… Hastur?” Arthur mumbled, feeling like his lips and tongue might be made of caulk, of cotton strands and pine tar. 

“Arthur,” rumbled He (funny Arthur couldn’t recall him having a body), cupping Arthur’s face with one tentacle (and his ear felt weird), directing his stuttering gaze. “Look upon me. Ah… I can taste your madness. You are ripe for picking.” 

So none of that made sense, and Arthur weakly shoved at the limb under his chin. “Quit it.” 

Hastur leaned in, frissoning all over in anticipation (and Arthur felt that delicate tremble against his throat). “Your mind aches. Your thoughts tremble. Love me, Arthur, and I will make it all better. It is time. Look upon me, and love me.” 

And Arthur looked (and Hastur slid between cracked thoughts and seeped beneath splintered floorboards of the rickety mind-shack Arthur had built)

And Arthur loved (and always had because Hastur was his partner and it was the most natural thing to do). 

And Arthur spoke. “Wh… where’s… the…” His lips were nearly numb. He licked them. 

Hastur was growling (purring?) and brought a glass to his lips. “Beautiful,” he murmured. 

Arthur drank. Some sweet juice; a fruit he couldn’t place, had never encountered, but oh, it was so good. He licked his lips again. “Late?” 

Hastur had no eyebrows to raise. He gave the impression anyway. “Late? For what?” 

“We… have a… client,” Arthur said, and rolled (slowly, agonizingly, every muscle aching) out of bed and onto the floor with a thunk. 

Hastur seemed to find that funny. 

“Ass,” said Arthur without rancor, and pulled himself up. “What… what did I…” It was so hard to think, like jumbled pieces of glass in a bag, clinking, impossible to put together without drawing blood. 

Yes?” Hastur prompted, and tugged down Arthur’s second-best suit jacket (yellow itchy thing, too itchy, and Arthur began tearing it off almost at once).    

“Don’t let… don’t… let me drink that much again,” said Arthur, disrobing like an irritated toddler. “This isn’t any good. If I…” His thoughts stalled. 

Hastur tried again, tucking in Arthur’s button-down shirt (a different fabric this time, just as yellow, but Arthur did not like it on his skin, and had handfuls of it in shreds as he staggered away).  

Arthur made it to the sink (some kind of… basin?) and splashed (perfumed) water on his face. 

Hastur fussed again, and Arthur let him. Wherever, whatever. He needed the help today to look put-together. “If I puke and lose this client, I’m blaming you,” said Arthur. 

Hastur rumbled. “Well, we can’t have that. What are you trying to do?” And he helped Arthur into (another yellow thing, this one soft as whispers, absolutely sheer and hiding jack shit, but it felt good, it felt light, airy, unconstricted, and Arthur did not tear it away) a trench coat.  

“Solve the case, of course,” said Arthur. 

“What case, my little detective?” 

Arthur turned to glare at him, and the world spun (too much too big too angled too wrong). 

Hastur steadied him. “Careful, Arthur. We can hardly have you wounding yourself after all the work we’ve put in, hm?” 

Whatever that meant. “The cat.” 

Hastur’s many limbs went still. “The… cat?” 

“Yes. You know. Mrs. Nickerson’s cat.” 

“I do not know a Mrs. Nickerson,” said Hastur, thoughtful, sounding almost confused. 

“You’ve got to start reading the case files,” said Arthur, taking his hat (there was no hat) and adjusting his tie (there was only a wide collar of a light, lacy gold that didn’t itch). “If you’re going to make full partner, you need to.” 

Hastur looked delighted. “Am I close to making full partner, Arthur?”

“Close. But you know that. Did you get blotto, too? Guess today’s lesson is how to handle a case when both of us are stupid hungover,” Arthur said (because it made sense because that’s why Hastur didn’t know because they’d handle this together like they handled everything). He headed for the door. 

He did not feel or register Hastur picking him up, carrying him away from the wall he’d been about to run into, and letting him out the front of this temple like releasing an animal to the wild.

# 

It was too bright, and too fucked up, too leaning and tall and strange, and Arthur fell to his knees, whimpering, aware for all of two seconds that he cowered under two fucking suns, that utterly inhuman beings stared his way, that he wore little more than a sheer napkin and shivered In humiliation and a light breeze.

Then the glass shards in his broken mind shifted, clinked, and he saw the rain-spattered sidewalk of Cloud City, the elegant bronze towers dimmed by eternal gloom, the ordinary dark windows staring at him like eyes he’d grown used to, living here for so long. 

And he stood. And then 

(Is that… a human?) 

(Hastur’s human. That’s the one who stopped Y’golonac.) 

(Oh, shit. He’s fucking pretty.) 

(Of course he is. Did you think Hastur would bother—) 

remembered where the clues led, and what the ransom note threatened, and he turned and ran. 

His square-toed oxfords slapped the wet cement (his bare feet slapped on the smooth, golden pavestones) as he ran, and Hastur—who had no need to run—floated alongside him, looking utterly fascinated.  

“Little detective,” said Hastur, his many tentacles just hovering around Arthur as if to keep him from running into a telephone pole. “What are you doing?”

“He’s gonna kill the cat!” Arthur cried. “That’s what the note meant! That’s the riddle!” 

(What’s he shouting about?) 

(I don’t—) 

“Oh?” promoted Hastur. “So you’ve solved a riddle?” 

“Worthy does as worthy is,” Arthur recited off the top of his head, feeling his jacket pockets (he had no pockets) to find the note. “Cat’s paw claim is sure to fizz. Wills and airs both be choked out. Can’t catch me, I am a trout.”

Hastur laughed. “What?” 

Arthur ignored that laugh. He knew Hastur sometimes struggled with empathy, and it was okay, he was growing, he was learning. “It’s a play on words! Air… heir. The cat inherited it all, and he’s gonna choke the cat so he can get the Nickerson fortune!” 

“Really?” said Hastur. “Well, that certainly is crea–” 

“There he is!” Arthur howled, yowled, bellowed, and flung himself physically at Thomas Nickerson, ungrateful grandson of belated Helen Nickerson, spoiled all his damn life, rotten with wastrel indulgence, and cut out of the will because he’d already spent more dough than there even was to inherit, and Thomas held the fluffy white cat by the throat right out in broad daylight because he was going to choke it and throw it into the Lake (and that’s where trout came in), and— 

Arthur tackled a servant carrying an armful of white linens.

He was far too small to knock the deeply confused being down. The servant spooked, anyway, three of its mouths sending up a panicked sort of hooting, trying to lift the linens, to which the human—an actual human—clung like its life depended (oh, like his life depended, that was kind of obvious, actually) on it.  

“Give me the cat!” Arthur snarled. “Let go! You fucker, you’re going down for this!” 

And everybody in the square (so many) stopped to see just what the hullabaloo was about, and Arthur battled (thought he fought a man half his age and half as smart) to rescue the still-breathing, panicked cat. 

Hastur laughed. 

And Hastur laughed. 

(And the servant chirped wildly, and Hastur waved his tentacles and informed everyone that yes this was happening and the human would have his way.)  

Arthur stumbled back, clutching sheets and towels, talking to them as soothingly as he could, petting between where he thought they had ears.  

The servant took off. 

“Go ahead and run!” Arthur shouted. “I know where you live!” 

Stunned silence. Gods stood, mouths agape, staring with more eyes than usual. 

Hastur laughed. 

“Aw, cut it out, he can’t help having a flat face,” said Arthur, bringing the cat (warm fabrics) over. “Look at him. He’s so scared. It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay. We’ve got you now. Nobody’s going to hurt you ever again.” 

Hastur was laughing so hard that golden tears splashed down his face and onto the pavestones like sparks, like drops from the sun. He struggled to speak. “You… ah… saved the cat, little detective?” 

Arthur nodded, grim. “We saved the cat. That’s what matters. Let’s go get him some tuna, and then get him home. I think we got a can in the office.” 

Hastur’s laughter resumed. 

# 

Nine years, Arthur thought as he opened his eyes this morning. Nine years was a long time to be together.

They’d solved many so cases. They’d saved so many lives. Their reputation was solid as Lester and Yellow, Private Investigators, so when Arthur had offered to take Parker in as part of that asshole’s probation, the judge agreed.

Truly, Arthur and Hastur had never hit a problem they couldn’t solve.

Except one.

Nine years. That was too long to have let this particular goal go. Arthur rolled into his partner, determined, because he’d still never made Hastur breathy, and today, by gods, Arthur would make it happen.

#

Arthur was drowning.

Arthur was bobbing to the surface for air though he’d never swum.

Arthur was

(“He’s beautiful like this, isn’t he?“)

(“About to be filleted like a fucking fish? No!“)

desperate to make Hastur sound like that, to bring him to the point of groaning, to

(“You are jealous. I understand.“)

(“Fuck you. I’m not.“)

(“You are, and you will watch as punishment.“)

find the place, discover the touch, unearth the spot that would make his partner shudder the way his partner made him.

Hastur was a hard nut to crack.

(“Oh, gods, what’s he doing?“)

(“Worshiping me.“)

And Arthur wasn’t quite sure what he did, how he did it, but somehow, he got Hastur to bloom.

To open, to spread, to expose some unknowable part of himself that Arthur chose to taste in spite of unknowability, and Arthur explored, kept his tongue busy and his hands busier (lucky birth defects, so many dicks to choose from), focusing and concentrating until 

(Hastur’s breath quickened)

(So did Parker’s)

He earned a groan. 

Hastur’s shudder, all those limbs writhing and twisting like waves, the heat flashing through Hastur’s hide like some kind of liquid fire just beneath that dark surface, and then

(“Oh… gods…” and Parker made a sound like going briefly airborne at the crest of a hill before coming down hard)

Hastur rumbled and the room caught on fire.

Not the room. Hastur’s pleasure, spilled and burning, and Arthur pushed through that small pain to hang on to this wildly difficult victory he’d dragged his partner through.

At some point, it blurred.

At some point

(Parker’s moan, soft, trying to stifle it, somewhere over in the corner)

Hastur took over, but he never said my turn, he never started the filleting, and when he wrenched Arthur’s climax from the roots of his soul, it hurt and fulfilled and emptied and eased and slowly calmed Arthur’s shakes and coaxed him back to breathing without screaming and wrapped him tight in the impossible incredible many-muscled limbs Hastur was lucky enough to be born having.

Arthur could barely move. The burning from Hastur’s pleasure still lingered, there, but not terrible, a pleasant heat, like the sensation after a spicy meal.

“My little detective,” purred Hastur, and closed Arthur’s eyes.

#

He woke gradually, warm but not burning, empty but not drained, and happy for it.

No thoughts. No memories. No things to shake this feeling, this safe place, this being-wanted, this—

“I don’t wanna,” said Parker, hoarse.

“You must,” said Hastur, amused. “The magic took you; embarrassment will not save you from dehydration.”

Them.

Parker.

Alive. 

He remembered.

Faroe. Parker. Asenath. Hastur. Shub-Niggurath. Dag—

Dagon. He had something to do for Dagon. He had… there was… 

Arthur’d had a plan, known it was good, and could not recall what It was for the life of him.

“Fine,” Parker said.

“There we go, my little traitor,” said Hastur.

Parker coughed, then spit. “Fuck you!”

Hastur laughed softly.

“I fucking swear. You get off, and you’re more of a dick than you were before!”

“Drink. Your. Juice.”

That one was a command, dark and terrible, and Arthur shivered though it only passed him by like a stampeding Waste Beast.

Parker apparently drank because he fell silent.

Arthur shifted. If he opened his eyes, would he lose his plan? He didn’t have his plan. He needed to get his plan back.

He had to be mad to find his plan.

“There you are, Arthur,” Hastur purred, turning his name into something not safe for kids.

Arthur chose to open his eyes.

It hurt and stabbed and made his eyes water until it didn’t.

Gloomy. It must be late in the afternoon. “Fuck, did I sleep all day?” he said, wiping his face.

“We are fine, little detective,” Hastur purred, touching a cold glass of some indescribable juice to his lips.

Arthur drank thirstily. Whatever Parker’s problem was, Arthur didn’t share it, and this was delicious. He finished the glass. “I had an appointment today. Did it get moved?”

“Yes, of course it did,” soothed Hastur, who seemed to be in a pretty good place and wanted Arthur to stay there, too.

“Oh,” said Arthur, and considered this seriously. “I’m not late?”

“You’re not late.”

“I… I still need…” The plan was there, clear as crystal. How could he have forgotten? “What’s your goon’s favorite food?”

Hastur purred. “Which goon, little detective?”

“Miss June’s. I don’t know her last name. Not trying to be disrespectful.”

“Her last name no longer matters. And her favorite food is fish.”

“Fish. Yeah, that tracks.” The plan was coming together. “Do we have a bunch of fish?”

Hastur chuckled darkly. “We certainly can. Why?”

“I want to pay her to go someplace. Wait, she’s not here listening, right?” said Arthur, raising his head to look around.

Parker stared up at him, looking wrecked. His hair stuck out. He was unshaven. He looked like he’d seen the ghost of his grandfather.

“No, little detective. She is not here,” said Hastur. 

“Okay. Here’s what I wanna do. I want to hire her to come with me today, and I know we don’t have the extra budget to pay her properly.”

"Budget is not an issue,” said Hastur. “She will go where I say.”

“Sure, but I won't rob a dame of her time. I want to bring her with me to meet Dagon.”

Hastur went still.

“But... why?” said Parker, voice high, sounding lost.

“Because no father should be without his kid,” said Arthur, low, rough, and then fell into 

(rolling twisting screaming sobbing)

something. A headache. Maybe being hungover. Yeah.

Parker was standing (when had he done that?) and staring at Arthur with wide-eyed horror.

Arthur’s cheeks itched, and his breath was unsteady. The light was different, as if time had passed. It felt like he’d been crying, and tears had dried on his skin. That made no sense. He tried to scratch.

“No, no,” Hastur gently chided, and cleaned his face.

Arthur immediately forgot about it. “So that’s what I’d like to do. I mean, we have that appointment. Might as well bring her along in an official capacity so… you know. She won’t just take off.”

“Wait, we're back to that? I’m not getting this,” said Parker, and scratched irritably at his five o’clock shadow. “Is this about the vote?”

“No,” said Arthur. “Dagon couldn’t be bribed, anyway. I mean, he’s not a good person, or anything, but he’s like a lot of these mob bosses: they have a set of standards, their own right and wrong. If I tried to bribe him, it’d backfire.”

Parker stared. “But what are you trying to do?”

“You have been answered,” said Hastur. “And… perhaps he is right. I have… kept her from him, though it was my right. It has also been my right to return her.” He seemed thoughtful. “And he did treat my pet very well.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” said Parker.

Instead of answering, Hastur changed the subject by picking Arthur up and dressing him. “Sing for me, Arthur.”

Immediately, Arthur sang, lilting into a folk-song that grew more haunting as he went. “‘Oh, where are you going?’ said Milder to Moulder / ‘Oh, we may not tell you,’ said Festel to Fose / ‘We're off to the woods,’ said John the Red Nose / ‘We're off to the woods,’ said John the Red Nose.”

Hastur chuckled darkly. “Of all things for him to choose…”

“What?” said Parker. “It’s just an old bar song.”

“Is it, though?” rumbled Hastur.

Arthur loved this song. It suited his voice, and he could make it achingly sweet, hinting with just tone at how dark it could be. “‘Oh how will you cut her up?’ said Milder to Moulder / ‘With knives and with forks,’ said John the Red Nose / ‘Oh that will not do,’ said Milder to Moulder / ‘Great hatchets and cleavers,’ said John the Red Nose.”

“It is a song of sacrifice and justice,” Hastur said. “It speaks of hunting a giant wren—a mythical bird so large it required a wagon to manage it—which would then be cut up and given to the poor. Humans sang this when deposing kings and portioning out their wealth! We chose to let them keep this one when we rebuilt the world.”

Parker shuddered. “Why?”

“Because originally, it was a sacrifice to us,” said Hastur.

Arthur was into it now. “‘Oh who'll get the spare ribs?’ said Milder to Moulder / ‘We'll give 'em all to the poor,’ said John the Red Nose.”

“Beautiful,” said Hastur, who meant it, and cupped Arthur’s face with one tentacle.

Arthur had forgotten the plan. The appointment. Everything except that touch and approval. He stared at Hastur, enraptured. In love.

(Which wasn’t quite what Hastur had wanted but who could complain?)

“Dagon’s waiting,” said Parker sneakily.

“Yeah,” said Arthur, mind jolting miraculously onto its tracks like a train dropped from the sky. “We should go.”

“Very well,” said Hastur.

Parker wasn’t done. “I’ve been looking at that letter from the Keeper,” he said.

“Mm,” said Hastur, who was smoothing down Arthur’s suit (sheer yellow cloth) and making pleased sounds.

“Matches other shit I’ve been hearing, you know?” said Parker. “When I was with Y’golonac.”

Hastur paused and looked at him. “Explain.”

“There isn’t another human here, apart from the witches and me,” said Parker, “and unlike all the rest of us… Arthur hasn’t died. He’s hasn’t been really claimed. He’s fair game.”

Hastur was very still. Arthur sat in the tangle of his tentacles, fiddling with the tiny tips wrapping around his fingers. 

Parker shrugged. “My god—”

“I am your god now,” Hastur growled, warning, several of his limbs lashing.

“My god said once you got bored, he’d take him. Was gonna use him to torment me.” Parker shrugged again.

“You are trying to get me to hurt you,” said Hastur like far-away thunder. “No.” He put Arthur down.

Arthur headed for the door. “Let’s move, fellows.”

“I’m saying there’s a fucking pattern,” said Parker. “Shub-Niggurath talked to him. The Keeper threatened to take him. And I am not telling you this for your fucking sake, which you damn well know—”

“Should’ve castrated you,” Hastur muttered as if still considering it.

“—but for his,” said Parker. “Because I hate you. But he… he’d be worse off. With anybody else around here, it’d be worse for him. And I owe him that much.”

“You owe him? After he took your life?” said Hastur mildly.

“I was going to take his,” said Parker to the floor.

“How delightfully honest,” said Hastur like it tasted bad as they all stepped into the daylight.

Arthur took the lead, jogging, then stopped and turned. “Fish! I need fish. In some kind of container with ice, so it doesn’t go bad. That’d be a fucked-up bribe, right? Rotten fish?”

Hastur, sounding amused, produced a beautiful wooden box out of thin air. It was carved, top and bottom, with runes that changed with every blink. “What lies within will not go bad.”

“Perfect. Hastur, you’re a genius.” Arthur took it. “Where’s June?”

“Hastur,” said Parker.

“Play along,” warned Hastur.

Parker sighed. “Hastur. He’s not gonna be solving any fucking cases in a freaky old library, is he? How’s he gonna be if he can’t solve cases, huh? How do you think? What’ll he have left to think about? I’ll tell you what, he’ll think about Fa—”

Hastur gripped him by the jaw. “You want to be punished,” he said. “I know this. You seem to think the only two options are permitting you to be offensive, or smacking you around. There are many other options, and I warn you now that you do not want to know what they are.”

Parker trembled.

“You two okay?” said Arthur, suddenly and inconveniently aware.

“I think we understand each other,” said Hastur, and let go.

Parker looked pale again. “Fuck,” he said quietly.

“Parker?” said Arthur. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Oh, look,” said Hastur flatly. “Here she comes.”

June no-last-name-anymore came jogging around the corner, eyes only for Hastur, clearly already on the job.

Hasur held up one hand, palm facing her.

She stopped.

Arthur cleared his throat. He thrust the box into Parker’s hands and adjusted his (non-existent) tie.

“Are we really doing this?” said Parker.

“Shh,” said Hastur.

“Miss? Could I have a moment?” said Arthur.

June tore her gaze from Hastur reluctantly.

“I’d like to hire you,” said Arthur, cutting right to the point. “Just an escort deal. A few hours. You don’t have to bodyguard, or anything.”

June looked back at Hastur.

Arthur took the box back and held it out. “It’s fish. Enough for at least a few good meals. You do the escort job, it’s yours.”

“I serve the King,” she said, her voice husky (hot, Arthur thought).

“Hastur, help me out here,” said Arthur.

“Do as my pet wishes,” said Hastur. “It seems we will be entering more elaborate schemes, now that we have a bigger cast. Delightful.”

“Who are you even talking to?” Parker said.

Hastur chuckled low. “Little traitor, we always have an audience.”

Parker looked around.

Perhaps The Defiler, in spite of sycophants, did not garner much focused attention outside of immediate need, but Hastur…

With the Hastur the Unspeakable, it was always a show (and Parker knew that), but the addition of his absolutely loony, lovely human guaranteed a special kind of entertainment (and Parker had not known that).

The ones Arthur tackled complained. The rest got a good laugh out of it, and from all windows, from entrances to the deep, from between the cracks in tree bark, from around shady corners, thousands of eyes watched.

Parker hunched, shoulders slowly rising toward his ears.

“Lead,” said June. “I’ll follow.” She flexed her hands, long and tipped with claws (and Arthur saw strong hands, scarred hands, hands that maybe got their knuckles often split).

“Let’s do this,” said Arthur.

“Yes… with a detour,” said Hastur. We shall swing by the warehouse.”

“Sure,” said Arthur, and took off (again) at a jog.

Parker groaned and followed.

#

No father should be without his kid.

This was not a good idea.

No father should be without his kid.

This was the most important idea.

Arthur’s awareness already trembled before they reached Dagon’s enclosure, and people were speaking but it all just became smeared vowels, and the day was hot but he wouldn’t remove jacket or hat, and the sweating maybe was due to what he now did instead of the hot, hot, day, and he knew Hastur asked if he wanted to stop but he knew he could not stop or he wouldn’t be able to remember this plan again because it hurt too much.

It mattered. At least one father here should get his child back.

He was hitching, crying, when he ran through the hedge into Dagon’s enclosure, followed by Hastur this time (whose side trip to Nath-Horthath’s temple had taken so little time), and Arthur was pretty sure he called Dagon’s name.

Reasonably sure.

He might have said She’s here she’s alive please look at her she’s alive but maybe he just thought that instead.

And there was roaring (too much) and trembling ground (too much) and the box was lost and Arthur was lost and the world turned upside down and lightning words clashed in a growl-language battle above his head.

Arthur fell to his knees, covered his ears, and screamed.

#

He didn't know he'd gone unconscious until he woke.

Shade. Cool water, dripped onto his head from a handkerchief (a bit of yellow cloth, torn from somebody’s garment). Arthur came to, feeling like he was waking from a dead faint, barely able to keep his eyes open, dizzy.

Parker sat by him, dabbing his forehead.

The storm of sounds was gone. Had it even existed? It seemed like a bad dream. Birds chirped. The gentle sound of lapping waves caught his attention (because water was bad, the Lake was bad, the ocean was bad), but when Arthur turned his head and squinted, he saw clear, shining water, not at all the scum-skin pond that had been before, and he had absolutely no idea where he was.

“He fixed it up,” said Parker, who’d been on enough crime scenes with Arthur to read his expressions pretty well. “Since you been here. He cleaned it all up. Guess that timing was good.”

“What?” said Arthur. He felt like an overcooked noodle. “Where’s Hastur?”

“Knocking at a damn door that won’t open,” said Parker firmly.

“What?” said Arthur. He felt like fruit so rotten that picking it up meant being knuckle-deep in mush.

Parker sighed. “Why in fuck should I even tell you? You won’t remember.”

Arthur huffed. “Try me, you asshole.”

Parker side-eyed him. “Fine. Turns out your girl June was indeed one of Dagon’s—his line, anyway, though not directly his. But after… fuck.” Parker looked away for a moment. “I didn’t know how bad it got, okay? I didn’t know. I thought… I thought getting rid of the gods would be good. I didn’t know that it would’ve been curtains for all of us.”

Arthur stared at him. “Having trouble following you, pal.”

Parker rubbed his face and sighed. “After the Fire of Y, and Earth got locked up by Shub-Niggurath, and so fucking few humans remained, they harvested everybody they could here, and when all the pure-bred humans were gone, they went after half-bloods. That includes Dagon’s family, since he made most of them. Look, there just… weren’t any humans left. Okay? Shub-Niggurath had her witches, and the rest of the gods hadn’t… I don’t know. Planned ahead.”

“How could anyone plan ahead for something like this?” said Arthur gently. “The Fire of Y killed billions.”

“More than billions.. Because it took out lives here, too,” said Parker.

Here. As opposed to there. Here, which was not Cloud City.

Arthur almost lost the thought, then closed his eyes tightly, putting his hands over them and breathing deeply. Not now, he thought. Don’t lose it now. Stick with it. Keep it together.

“You okay?” said Parker.

“How could the Fire of Y destroy people in another world? Do you mean the gods fucking eating everybody?” said Arthur, each word carefully chewed on and chosen.

“No. This is the Dreamlands, Arthur.” Parker sounded hollow. “It exists because people dream. Everything in it comes from dreams. So when everybody’s dreams turned to burning radioactive nightmares, followed by mass extinction…” He sighed. “The Dreamlands are fucked. Fucked, Arthur. There aren’t enough humans left to dream it into better shape. Not even the gods are safe out there.”

Arthur’s breath was quick, shallow; it was so hard to hold on, felt like standing on a ledge, maybe high on the outside wall of a building, barely pressing against the brick by core strength alone. “Dagon threatened to throw me out there, though. Like a joke.”

“It was a threat. Because even if you did survive, Hastur could never have found you. It’s hell out there. Why in fuck do you think they’re all here?”

“They’re… what’s here?” said Arthur, sure the world was trying to spin to the right, then resetting, then spinning to the right again, over and over, vertiginous.

“All the damned gods,” said Parker. “Your fucking King in Yellow gets away with so much because this is his home. He read the writing on the wall. While everybody else was freaking out and trying to get humans, he reinforced his city. He made it big, with places for everyone, with enough power and enough protections that when the gods needed a place to go, they had one. But he’s fucking in charge.”

That’s why I can do what I want and nobody can tell him no. “But he’s not. The Outer Gods…”

“Don’t get involved much. The one who gave the formula for the Fire of Y? Banished. The Keeper? In her weird hidey-hole. Shub-Niggurath? In her Wood. They fucked off, Arthur, abandoning everybody under them just like those gods abandoned us.”

“But they didn’t,” said Arthur, his voice weak. “They saved us.”

“Saved.” Old bitterness seeped through, virulent and acrid. “Saved us for what? For them! The few who are left, trapped in those fucking cities, dying off slowly.”

“No,” said Arthur. “No. My family was from Harper’s Hill. It was a little tiny village. We traveled to Cloud City. We weren’t born there.”

“I know that, fucker,” said Parker. “That isn’t my point.”

“Then what is your point, Parker?” And Arthur threw his last chip on the table. He sat up and met Parker’s eyes, knowing as he did that he wouldn't have long in clarity. “We fucked it up. We destroyed the world. They didn’t have to save us.”

“We didn’t come up with the Fire of Y!”

“Yes, we fucking did. Just because somebody said ‘here’s how you make it worse’ doesn’t absolve us! It makes us the bad guys, because they knew it would be worse, knew it would cost lives—not just soldiers, but children, grandmothers, cats and birds and puppies—and they did it anyway!”

Shouting, for whatever reason, had kept Arthur focused through that, and for a few moments more.

Parker stared.

The world smeared. Cloud City’s Priest Park spilled over it Carcosa’s wild glory like paint, and Arthur could actually see it, actually look around without it hurting so much, and so he did.

Dagon sat cross-legged by the water (and she barely came to his knee). Before him stood June. Neither made eye-contact; they spoke quietly, words Arthur could not hear, but seeing them like that, seeing them talk, was all it took to undo him.

“Hey,” said Parker, thumbing away some of Arthur's tears. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s good. I… are you still there? Fuck. I was trying to explain…”

“You don’t have to. Family… family’s important,” said Arthur.

“But I do. Listen. Something’s going on with your god, okay?”

Dagon raised his enormous hand, bigger than June’s whole body (about the size of a loaf of bread in Arthur’s mind) and somehow, gently, lightly brushed her cheek with his knuckles.

Parker sighed. “Your god is possessive. He traded for June fair and square like… I don’t know. Centuries ago. Before the Fire of Y. Dagon agreed back then because who the fuck cared? He had thousands of offspring. But she’s the only one now.”

“I know she’s all he’s got left,” said Arthur, hearing estranged family, mother dead, siblings killed in war. “She ran away because she wanted something more than her father could offer with his crime shit, but she ended up with a mob boss, anyway.”

“Uh.” Parker took a moment to adjust. “Sure. But. But the thing is… Hastur gave her back. I don’t think you’re getting this. He gave her back. He doesn’t do that.”

“I told you before, Parker,” said Arthur. “He’s not who he was. He left that life to work with me to help people, instead of hurting them.”

Parker stared. “You can’t be right,” he whispered. “Gods don’t change.”

The world still tried to spin. Arthur lay down in the soft, clean grass. “Where’s Hastur now?”

“Trying to visit the Keeper.”

Arthur blinked at him. “Why?”

“To bribe her.”

Arthur frowned. “Why?”

“Fuck if I know. I think so she leaves you alone.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“What are you, two?” said Parker.

Arthur stuck his tongue out.

Parker laughed weakly; it came out wheezy, creaky, as if he hadn’t done it in a long time. “Yeah, go on, you whacko.”

“I’m… I’m tired,” said Arthur.

“Thought you might be. Just fucking rest. I’ll keep watch.” Parker stared over at Dagon and June. “Fuck, he’s being weird, too. But you only talked to him for like thirty minutes!”

Arthur snored.

Parker stared. He swallowed. He looked down at his hands. At the fingernails that had been ruined by fungal infection barely a month ago, and now were shiny and strong.

Breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers over them both. A fish leaped from the water to catch a bug and splashed back down, joyous.

Parker shook. “If I were a crazy man,” he said to nobody, and only said because there was no one near, “I’d almost think my god wanted you so bad because of whatever this is. Fuck. You got to me, too.” He looked at Arthur in the grass, staining his golden sheath, unselfconsciously splayed in sleep like a child. “What the fuck are you?” Parker whispered.

There was no reply.

-------

Notes:

The song Arthur sings is called Cutty Wren. This version is sung by Chumbawamba (yes, Tubthumping Chumbawamba) because the world we live in can be an amazing place.

#malevolent #malevolent fic #malevolent au #malevolent fanfic #hastur/arthur #kiy/arthur #arthur lester #kiy malevolent #tw:explicit

[hawkinscommunitypool]

purple gel pens part one — harringrove

soulmate au where every mark on your soulmate's skin appears on your own

( part two here )

the first sign of steve's soulmate came when he was seven. a little drawing of some waves patterned over the inside of his wrist in blue marker appeared at the end of march. it was only one line, curved up to points across his wrist, but still it was from his soulmate, the one person who was destined to love him forever. he'd practically shrieked in delight, immediately hopping up and running to find his dad.

at first, the man had been annoyed that steve had bothered him in his office. but then he'd grinned in amusement when steve thrust his wrist in the air to show off the drawing. "she's talented, son," steve's dad told him, and steve ignored the way his chest didn't quite feel right at that sentiment.

he snatched a pen off of the desk, ignoring his dad's annoyed shouts as he practically slid back into his own bedroom, carpet burn be damned. 'hi' he wrote across his forearm, tongue poking out as he focused on making each letter as perfect as his hand could manage. he sat back on his heels to admire his work, grinning at the way the word stopped just before the edges of the waves his soulmate had made.

steve watched with fascination as a doodle of a smiley face appeared on his forearm just below the greeting he'd written moments prior. there had been a delay, like his soulmate had taken the time to run and tell a parent about the new discovery too.

from then on, steve always carried a pen with him. his arms would be littered in doodles and conversations, discussing favorite foods and how someday his soulmate would take him to the beach because he's never seen it before. while steve used a blue ink pen he'd stolen from his dad, his soulmate used what looked like a glittery gel pen, in purple ink. the colors matched well together, creating an ocean-like pattern of art across his arms and legs.

he'd look forward to when days turned to night. steve would rush through his dinner, fly through his homework with little care to what was being written on the pages, all so he could leap into bed and watch his skin for any sign of conversation.

'how were basketball tryouts?' the purple words curled onto steve's calf, the two of them running out of room on their arms. he knew it would be washed away when the two of them inevitably showered, but for now he could look back on prior conversations and smile.

'i made the team for sure' steve wrote back. 'would you ever come to one of my games?'

a pause, a longer one than normal. he wondered if he scared off his soulmate, wherever they may be. he imagined them curled up in bed too, eyes on their legs as they fought to come up with the right answer.

'i'll be your best cheerleader.' came the response, allowing steve to breathe again. soon after, though, came a question written just underneath the promise. 'are you pretty?'

there it was. it seemed an odd question, a strange wording to ask someone like him. though, steve eventually realized, his soulmate only knew what he ever told them, and they hadn't so much as exchanged names. it had been his soulmate's idea, wanting to keep it a secret so they can find each other naturally. it'll be more fun that way, they'd written.

pretty was how people described his mom. no one ever called his dad pretty, steve realized. so did his soulmate think he was a girl? should he correct them?

steve sat there with his pen against his leg, trying to form the right words. he didn't want to lie to his soulmate, he finally decided.

'i'm a boy' he wrote out, chewing on the pen tip as he waited for an answer.

it was much quicker this time, coming in neat scrawl, 'i bet you're a pretty boy then.'

steve's chest filled with warmth at the thought that his soulmate thought he was pretty. 'you've never seen me, how do you know?' he wrote back, grinning so wide and for so long that it hurt.

an answer never came though. steve stayed awake hours after the lights had gone out in the house, waiting for any kind of remark from his soulmate. none came though, nor did it come the next day or even the next week.

in fact, he wouldn't hear from his soulmate again for another eight years. the only proof he had that his soulmate was still alive was the bruises that blossomed across his chest and the burn in a perfect line across steve's words: 'i'm a boy.'

even at seven, steve knew what that meant.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove imagine #stranger things #soulmates #soulmate au

[docholligay]

Yeah before I respond to anything else, i'm making this its own post because I think y'all had a LOT of really fantastic ideas of how to deal with the Inevitable Suck and power through anyhow.

My thing ended up being: "Could I say I did my absolute best, and know it was true?" It did not go well today ahaha, I was dizzy, I swear to god I have never ever sweat like that before, but you know what? I did it. I did it, and I did not quit, and for me, the being fast is REALLY NICE, but the not quitting, that's what makes me feel good about myself. Did I push myself? Did I reach the end of my tether?

What I ended up doing is roughly this, playing a little running game I like to call, "Uh oh, you drew for the London marathon." I put in for the London marathon every year, because if you aren't British, you can't qualify, you have to lottery draw, (Or very very expensively buy your way in) which I think is totally fucking fair. I put in for it every year because it often takes YEARS to pull. I can't actually train for a marathon until Jewlet goes to school (Or i should say, I am unwilling to make the compromises to do so. That's more honest). You need a 15 minute mile over 26.2 miles to make the time cutoff. I have a theory that I can run half a mile, walk half a mile, for that distance, and make the time cutoff, and hate my life but cross. And you know what? THAT DID IT! Half a mile is great because it's fast enough that being able to speed walk is always JUST at the horizon, and then by the time I've walked half a mile I;m ready to try again. I told myself at the outset that sub-13 was the goal, and I made that, and I am happy enough with it. I can tell that I fought for it every mile, and I think that's a fair enough thing to ask of myself. If I can't be FAST, I can be TENACIOUS.

Yeah this is a really good point! Something I tell myself often is, "If I never fail, I'm not finding the end of the rope" and at the end of the rope is where we find success. I think you and I have talked about this before but I've heard so often that people whose brains work like mine can't meditate, and I just don't think that's true, in that the basic idea of meditation helps me get back to sleep better than most things, but I had to get out of the way the idea that "You have to clear your mind of everything" is the only pathway to success. Teaching myself to nonjudgmentally tell myself "We're not dealing with that right now" has been insanely helpful.

I do tend sometimes to be out of my mind, but yes! If you go, "I want to stop," and let the answer be, "Hm. Sounds like a you problem," I know I always feel like I've pushed it, and that's important to me, to feel like I've driven myself past the point. Today I think i maybe even overplayed my hand a little--I sat in a quiet hallway of the Y for a good ten minutes after the run before I tried walking to the locker room, and i had sweat so damn much that I was shivering ahahah. But I'm totally fine now, all to the good, a little tired but i feel like I did something good and tough today, and that matters to me.

[sea-owl]

Here we go, the first part of the Peneleus Featherington AU. Feel free to send in asks or requests about this au too if you want. Reading your guy's thoughts really helps get the creativity flowing.

"Your wife has birthed a baby girl my lord," the midwife announced, letting him into the room.

Lord Archibald Featherington could only sigh. His third daughter, and if the doctors were right about Portia being unlikely to conceive again, his last child. What were they going to do? The Featherington estate could not be allowed to fall from his family's hands.

"Leave us," Archibald ordered.

Portia's grip tightened on her daughter, though her face did not show anything but a fondness for the new baby. "I was thinking we call her Penelope, after the queen of Ithaca. She was such a clever woman in that story. Maybe our little one will be just as clever."

Archibald did not say anything. Portia was always reading stories of myth, particularly of greek and roman descent.

Porita held her little Penelope closer. "Or how about the name Peneleus. He was one of the generals who fought in Troy." She's been sitting on this idea for a while, her backup should her baby be another girl.

Archibald finally speaks. "Portia we needed a son. I needed an heir, not another daughter."

"And we shall raise a son," Portia shoots back. "If the doctors are right and I cannot conceive again, then make Penelope your heir."

"A daughter cannot become a lord."

"No one knows we had a daughter."

Archibald pauses. It is not an unheard-of thing, though it has been decades since anyone attempted to do this. The last to do so though had been caught and the family forced to give up everything. For their sake Penelope better be as clever as the woman she was named after.

"If the baby makes it to her first birthday and you do not bare a son then she will be named my heir."

When Penelope turned one, she became a son named Peneleus, and her father's heir. Then when she turned eighteen, after the death of her father she became the new Lord Featherington.

Searing kisses, and hungry touches. The taste of alcohol on both of their lips, but neither of them cared. All they wanted was each other naked and by all that was holy they were going after it.

Finally, finally. Mine, mine, finally mine, he chanted in his thoughts. One hand reaching up to take her hair out of its ponytail, while the other explores between her legs.

"C-Colin," she gasped as he began to suck marks on her bosom.

"Oh Pen," he breathed out, the urge to chant her name like a prayer was ready to burst from his lips.

Colin Bridgerton shot up from his sleep on the drawing room couch. Cheeks hot from the dream he just had. That damn dream that's been plaguing him for a month. Every time he had it, he felt so guilty after. To imagine his friend in such a way. God if Pen knew Colin was transforming him into a woman in his dreams, he's sure he get his ass kicked. And Colin wouldn't even try to stop him.

He needs to take a walk, clear his thoughts of Pen-

"Colin! I see you are back from your visit to Scotland. How is Francesca?"

Speak of the devil.

Lord Peneleus Featherington, a longtime family friend, and an honorary Bridgerton, stood in the doorway. He was on the shorter end with a rounder build, but he was soft in a way that Colin associated with women. Red curls tied back into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, and brown eyes that always seem to see everything around him. He has remained unmarried even at twenty-eight, though not for the lack of trying of most debutantes. His way with words, and kind smiles has made him quite popular among the ladies of the ton.

"Peneleus," Colin greeted. "Francesca is doing well, though don't tell Anthony but she might have a new gentleman."

Peneleus smiled. "She has found love again? How wonderful. I remember Eloise telling me how upset she had been when the Earl of Kilmartin had passed."

"Yes, it really is." Colin has to stop staring at his friend's mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm actually here to discuss business with Viscount Bridgerton. I am leaving for my cousin in-law's home, Romney Hall, in a few days and there a few investments I want to be kept up to date on. Your brother has also put money into those investments and has agreed to keep me informed."

"Look at you finally traveling," Colin teased. "I'm going to have to learn your cousin in-laws secrets. Seeing as you rejected me all those years ago."

Pen shot Colin a small smile. "You know I had new responsibilities then. I could not leave my poor sisters with just my mama to help them make a match."

Colin chuckled. Even though Pen was a boy he was not spared from Portia Featherington's horrible fashion choices.

"Besides, Phillip is the only one who can help me with this predicament I have found myself in."

Colin looked at Pen, studying his face. It had gotten paler since the last time they saw one another. Peneleus also looked exhausted, and dare Colin say it, terrified.

"Pen are you okay?"

Was it Colin's imagination or did Peneleus cradle a hand to his stomach?

"I will be in a few months."

#peneleus au #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #polin #bridgerton #it took me forever to decide how i wanted the second scene to go #i kept trying to put it in penelope's pov #but colin demanded attention

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)

Chapter One

Rated: M

Warnings: Character near death, blood and bruises (not too descriptive but still), You get a few sweet moments as a treat

Summary: Every bat needs its robin, right? No different for a knight needs his squire.

Chapter two

The howling winter winds rush past him, the roaring of the engine on the racer motorcycle mixed with i; narrowed glowing white eyes as races through the snow covered roads.

Christmas Day, you have been missing since the day before Christmas Eve. Moon Knight has been running on no sleep as he kept searching for you. It was this evening he got a lead in the form of a small SD card chip in the mail. It had files of your music… And a video file.

A video of you in your handcrafted Moon Knight costume being beaten by Bushman and his men, you fought for as long as you could before they overwhelmed you. The sick fuck taking pleasure in beating you with a crowbar. Over and over and over until your silver costume is covered in red.

Marc told you not to go on your own missions! Steven had hoped you would call him before you did anything brash! And Jake, he only blames himself for pushing you this far.

The building he tracked your phone to likely where Bushman called him from.

Damn this motorcycle! He needs to go faster, get to you faster! He has to bob and weave, the snow and ice on the ground slowing him down. Driving as fast as he can, he jumps off the bike allowing him to glide in the air letting the harsh wind carry him the rest of the way forward up to the building. A grappling used once close enough to go to the roof.

Jake shouldn't have let you go after your argument! He foolishly believed he snuffed out your misguided desire to help him, to be like Moon Knight.

It was spring when you met each other. Rather Steven met you on the bus when he accidentally fell asleep on your shoulder.

"Nah, man, you're fine!" Bright and smiley, American accent, "You looked like you needed it. Hope you didn't miss your stop though." You talk while stretching in your, what looks like a notepad. "Oh here, thanks for being my muse for the ride."

Still half awake he takes the piece of paper you give him before getting up.

"This my stop, uh, cheers!" 

Nice kid, the art you gave him was amazing. A picture of him sleeping.

Steven didn't think he would see you again and if he did it would probably be on the bus.

"Yo! Hi, you're the sleepy bus guy, right?" You met at the library he got a job at. "I'm (Name)!"

Turns out you are an international student from America going for your art degree. Your father lives here and you figure to go to college abroad.

"Imagine wearing white in the dark." Apparently you are History major (that's it no elaboration) and you love drawing. "Moon Knight? Seriously sounds like a Sailor Moon character… His name was Moonlight Knight, pft." Big fan and a critic.

Steven is trapped in the storm called you each afternoon on a Wednesday, you said Wednesdays is your day off. He would be at lunch eating and you slide next to explaining how you are going to fist fight your art history professor. Or, showing him from sketches you got done while on the bus here. You are harmless and he found himself enjoying the company.

"So you're saying you can teach me Hieroglyphics, Mr. Grant?"

Then things shifted. You asked if he could teach you everything he knows about egyptology. Steven didn't mind, you always nudged him to be open about his interests.

As time went on, as you asked more questions, Steven found out far too late why you were suddenly interested in Egyptology.

Specifically about a man in white.

"Moonlight!" He calls out from the darkness.

Moon Knight made it to the storage facility where he found your phone dead on the entrance. He slipped in through the roof. "Come on," The place is empty of anyone, full of crates, and cold. "Please be alive." He stopped praying a long time ago during his mercenary days, but right now he is begging you to be alive.

Something falls over in the background.

Logic is completely out the window as he is quick to head towards the sound. He is the only thing standing out in the darkness.

"Moonlight…" Marc moves his gloved hands to touch your swollen, bloody, half masked face, "I'm going to get you out of here." It is going to be painful for you to move and Marc fears reopening any barely closed wounds.

A struggling weze comes from you, "B-bomb."

Right because it would be too easy and leaving a loose end if Bushman let Moon Knight get his partner back.

"Save… Self."

Because so long as Moon Knight is around, vengeance can be delivered. That is how you view the vigilante who inspired you to become something bigger than yourself.

No one likes a copycat, the saying goes. You felt differently. If a person copies a cat, copy the right cat. The momo you follow as you started being Moon Knight. No matter how much research you did on this mysterious person (if they even are a person), you couldn't get your costume to be accurate to the one witnesses reported seeing.

You got a cape and cowl. It sparkles…

You found an outfit. Silver bodysuit with black leotards. It is not as hopeful as it sounds…

You got shoes! Okay, so you found out heels suck in a fight and jumping from rooftops. Sneakers are great and you got black ones.

Weapons are fairly easy to get when you steal them from the thugs you beat the hell out of. Yay to that.

Mask is big oof but you are sticking to black with cut out eye slits. Use make up around your eyes, real edgy.

Now… To find the crime. The tricky part about fighting crime is sometimes there are too many places to be at once. So you have to be smart about where you hit and you have to leave a message.

Graffiti a giant moon crescent was not your best idea but hey! Your involvement was on the news… Which would be good if wasn't for the fact your outfit looks so not great on phone camera shown on the news.

"That's embarrassing."

"What was that?" Steven calls from the kitchen.

"Oh, uh, nothing." Watching news on the small television. Committing to memory the thugs who will be jailed, if they aren't important enough. Gang stuff and all that. You feel like rooke as you enter this line of work, you know you are.

"Need a better suit." Leaning against the couch stretching your body out.

"Yeah, it's a bit on the daft side." Coming over wiping his hands with a kitchen towel.

Your brain almost thought of Daft Punk, "Yeah, maybe."

"Maybe they were coming from a costume party and got stuck on the wrong side of London."

Totally yup on the wrong side by mistake and not on purpose. "At least they broke someone's nose!"

"Maybe." Steven doesn't sound impressed.

The trail of blood on the snow leads down the path Moon Knight swiftly took with you in his arms. The building has blown up which would have not only killed you both. You often say "magic ain't shit if you got a gun or hands" as a joke when speaking about all superpowered people out in the world. All those powers yet instead of helping they add more problems.

Unless you're Spiderman. Completely biased to the guy.

His cape is wrapped around you as he places you against a tree. The explosion and building collapsing on top of him has exhausted whatever strength he had left. Khonshu's power could only do so much.

"Idiot." You struggle to speak knowing you have to stay awake.

"I'm an idiot!?" Marc yells with clear unfiltered hurt, the sort of hurt you didn't he would feel towards you. "Running off on your own to get Bushman when I ordered you not to go after him." The rant is about to start and he doesn't hold back anything. Not the burning hot tears or the panic when you start to daze off. "Stay awake, we aren't finished yet, (Name)." Desperate as he taps the slightly least damaged part of your face.

"Heh… You…" Coughing blood, "I hate Moonlight. Sounds gimmicky." Trying to lighten the mood.

"(Name)."

"Let me Moon Knight but ha ha cooler."

Marc's lips form a smile as best as he can.

You reach out touching his cheek, smearing blood on his cheek.

"(Name)! (NAME)!"

In exchange for your life,

"Come on, come on!"

Do you swear to protect the travelers of the night,

"(Name), wake up, you gotta stay with me."

To embrace my will,

Marc's voice comes very distant.

To assist in delivering my vengeance. To keep them afraid of the night?

You whisper soundlessly mouthing a single word.

"Yes."

#marc spector x you #marc spector #reader insert #fanfiction #moon knight #ao3 fanfic #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven with a v #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x y/n #moon knight x you #moon knight reader insert #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfic

[descendants-imagine-darker]

Does the war ever end?

(Part 5)

2016

There was chaos amongst the avengers. After six years Daisy had lived with and loved the people who had come into her life during that time. She learned from them, laughed with them and in moments that had resulted in her parents being furious with her - fought with them.

But now it was different.

Ever since Sokovia there was tension, her father’s mix of guilt and paranoia about what had happened and might come next was something that she didn’t enjoy witnessing as she worked with him in his lab A deep sinking of worry weighed in her when she decided to call it quits close to midnight and go to bed while he still worked.

She’d knew that he’d been working until the next morning when he dragged himself into the kitchen with bags under his eyes. Something was eating at him but every time she asked he’d reply the same “I’m fine kiddo”.

This morning started the same but it wasn’t. At two o’clock in the afternoon the entire team came back to the tower silent. Now they sat in the living room arguing about a new accord that had been passed through the United Nations and soon to be ratified.

She sat slumped in the stairwell against the wall after her father had told her to go up to her room.

The main argument had mostly been between her dad and Steve Rogers, a man who she considered her uncle. He’d taught her to draw and took her on walks to the park whenever he was living in the tower in New York. The argument that ensued broke her heart and terrified her at the same time.

The voices of Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Rhodey and Vision had been prominent during the discussion. All people that she adored as family.

“If we sign this we sign away our right to choose” Steve voiced, she could no doubt sense her fathers eyes rolling at the statement.

“ Yeah… oh that’s Charles Spencer by the way, he spent his spring break trying to make a difference building sustainable housing in Sokovia, not that it matters now because we were too busy kicking ass”

“The safest hands are still our own and not only that, this bill would put a target on anyone who is differents back - that includes Daisy if you haven’t forgot” Steve scolded.

“Maybe Tony is right, if we have one hand on the wheel we can still steer” Natasha cut in “But we have made some very public mistakes and we need to win the councils trust back”

Tony stilled at her “you’re agreeing with me?”

“Oh I want to take it back”

“No it’s too late” he half joking replied but his point still remaining the same.

“We need to be put in check, the rest of the world is nervous at a mostly U.S group sticking their nose in the rest of the world’s buisness ” he announced to the room.

Then he returned to his initial debate with Steve

“And Don’t talk to me about my kid Rogers, imagine what they’ll do to her without this as protection, I don’t want her in prison, frankly I don’t want her in this line of work at all!.. Anything I can do to keep her out of trouble is worth it, even if it means preventing her from using her power”

“She’s sixteen Tony! You can’t control her like you do with everything else!”

“I’M NOT TRYING TOO, Daisy is my kid and the issue of super powered beings puts her in danger especially since she was in Sokovia. The governments of the world don’t see us as hero’s cap, they see us as a threat with no jurisdiction and no way of protecting their sovereignty - in their eyes WE are the enemy!”

He paused, his exhaustedness showing through to the team.

“Daisy is powerful and we don’t know the extent of that, but if I can shield it now, stop her from being persecuted by the world then I will damn well try.

Whatever it takes.” He breathed finally.

Daisy’s hands clenched at his remark, not paying attention to the rest of the argument that was only escalating, she knew that her dad meant well but the anger at being labelled as the enemy was palpitating throughout her. The electric green energy of her power roiled across her clenched knuckles becoming more violent as her feelings grew more intense. Tears came to her eyes in frustration, she tried to stop it but it just grew more violent instead.

More tears flowed down her face as the energy in her hands only grew worse, she shook out her hands in an attempt to make it go away, instead a great blast shot out and melted the steel railing across from her as the door to her left clambered open. She choked on a gasp and tried to scramble away from whoever was coming out tripping and tumbling down the steps as she did.

She stared wide eyed from the bottom of the landing at Steve who had come through the door, luckily it was loud enough to cover the sound of her blast. They locked eyes for what seemed like forever, both of them breathing heavy, both understanding that the other was in pain.

Steve looked at the little girl that he’d known almost since he’d came out of the ice into this new life. She looked so scared curled up in herself and the realisation that she’d heard all the shouting from him and her dad made the turmoil in him rage deeper.

He shook his line of sight away from her, looking down noticing the melted rail as she slowly moved to sit up. He sighed in defeat and shook his head, he leaned next to it on his tail bone whilst pinching his nose, for a brief moment Daisy could see the great tiredness of the 93 year old. The text he’d received in all the commotion bringing a newfound sense of loneliness and pain weighed on him.

Daisy watched his shoulders shake before she called to him.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ok?”

He tried to regain himself “yeah, everything’s fine”

Her red rimmed eyes looked at him with a saddnes that had become residential in her expressions as of late.

“No your not… I see that look in my dads eyes, somethings wrong”

Her lip quivered “you just don’t want to tell me… you can be honest… I can handle it”

He looked at her fully again and his eyes softened “Peggy passed away”

“Oh, I’m sorry” she spoke meekly

“No” he cut her off “I’m sorry” he sank down beside her so that they were at eye level, he crossed his legs and took her hand.

“This shouldn’t happen…you’re a good kid, you shouldn’t be caught up in this” His words fluctuated between meaning but she appreciated that even when he was in pain he tried to make her feel better.

“I’m a danger”

“No” he said definitely again “your dad…” he let out another heavy sigh “your dad means well but”

“But people like us can’t be controlled, that makes us dangerous” she cut him off.

“It makes others scared, we try and do good but mistakes happen”

Daisy looked down thoughtfully “Are they gonna take me away?”

Steve shook his head “Your dad would never let that happen - I wouldn’t - none of us would ever let that happen” he squeezed her hand. There was so much he wanted to say but his thoughts mixed with his grief and confusion left him at a loss for words.

So he settled on this

“No matter what happens I want you to know that you are so loved and you will never be alone.”

They both nodded half heartedly, each silently acknowledging that in this new dawn

Nothing was known.

————————————

When you are in a situation when nothing is known it’s good to take stock of what you do know.

As of right now Steve is on the run along with Wanda, Sam and Steve’s newly refound friend Bucky as far as she knew.

She knew that her dad was growing more anxious the more Secretary Ross hounded him about Steves whereabouts and coincidentally Natasha’s too.

Daisy had never liked Ross, he’d always regarded her curtly and with what she saw as a sneer. More recent events hadn’t had made any difference. In fact she flinched a little harder at his barking in the next room.

“You listen here Stark, you bring Rogers and Barnes in or you’re done! got it?”

“I can’t find them any faster! Every time we close in he just doubles down, people will get hurt”

“Well quite frankly I don’t give a damn about people, I want them detained. And you need to remember you’re not the only one on the line here”

A dark pause hung in the air as Tony processed what he said “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

His head snapped to the door where he heard a shout and shuffling come from the hall way. As he entered two guards had restrained his daughter and were dragging her as she struggled trying to yell as one of them covered her mouth.

Surging forward he was stopped by Ross’ hand on his chest forcing him back. Tony looked to him bewildered and horrified at what was happening. He couldn’t ignore his daughter screaming as he moved past trying to get to her as she was dragged further down the hall.

What Ross said next stopped him in his tracks.

“You’re daughter will be detained until Rogers and his accomplices are behind bars.”

“No way in hell!” Tony yelled back marching further down the hall. Two more guards eclipsed the ones taking Daisy away from him grabbing his shoulders and dragging him back to the Secretary. He struggled more as her piercing screams became fainter the further she was dragged.

Ross stepped between him and the path leading to her “The world is becoming a more dangerous place and after Sokovia it’s only a matter of time before she becomes a problem too. You want her released, bring them in.”

“You have 24 hours before her cell locks for good.”

“Where will you hold her?”

“only place strong enough for people like her”

“She’s just a kid”

“Then I suggest as her father you don’t fail her.”

————————-

This took a while and it’s super long but it’s an important transition for who Daisy is shaping up to be.

Like comment and share hope you like it

#bellatrix lestrange #crossover #tony stark daughter #tony stark #the avengers #voldemorts daughter #voldemort #harry potter #avengers civil war #avengers 2012 #steve rogers #pepperpotts

[shoto-brainrot]

Hate

Pairings: Shoto Todoroki x reader

Tags: Angst, Traitor AU

A/N: It’s a one-shot but there is possiblity of expanding it to a couple parts if there’s demand

+ + +

Even llike this he was still so beautiful... You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from his red and white hair.

You sighed. He hadn’t spoken to you in weeks. You’ve resigned yourself to just giving him space but you still hoped he would reach out. You found yourself jumping every time your phone buzzed or whenever anyone mentioned him. You strained to hear if he ever spoke but he didn’t even seem to be talking to Midoriya either. It’s been hell.

One night after dinner, he aslked you to follow him and you obliged.

It seemed different somehow and you felt your mind race as you followed his rigid form. Your brain whirled with errant thoughts, skirting to avoid the irrefutable fact that something was very wrong. You fought to not think about it but something deep inside of Shoto changed after his kidnapping.

He stopped, turning to meet your gaze. A moment passes.

...

"I hate you."

…

What..?

You were taken aback. The words didn't make sense and your mind took a moment to process. Your lips cracked open, inhaling sharply as comprehension settled in.

"You h..." Your voice was barely audible, unable to finish the sentence. 

You eyes dropped, voice cracking.

"Wha.. Did I do something?" Your voice trailed off and you muster the courage to look back up at him.

You blinked, looking into his eyes, searching. They were cold, gaze unflinching as he held yours. The surface was icy, a hint of molten lava underneath belied some sort of annoyance or restless impatience.

You felt your heartbeat rising to your throat, your legs trembled and your foot took a weak step backwards. 

He looked away, "Stop wasting my time and focus on your own path…”

His words blurred together as your head pounded,

“Don't you feel embarrassed that you've had to rely on me for this long?..."

Sho…

“I didn’t think I had to be this direct…”

+ + +

Shoto’s POV

Shoto didn't want to. Not like this... But he couldn't think of any other way. He stopped, turning to face you and the words fell from his lips.

He felt a pang of guilt as he saw it register in your eyes. He kept his expression empty, second nature to him now, but even that was difficult. As much as Shoto didn't want to, he still noticed every little thing about you. The sharp intake of breath.. the near-invisible trembling of your lips.. He felt his eyes prick with tears.

He could see it. You believed him. A part of him was relieved that he didn’t have to spend time convincing you, but it was still painful that you believed him so quickly. It hurt him to see that you were blaming yourself, again.

Your voice shook as you looked up at him, barely able to ask if you did anything. As if you could've done anything that could've made him hate you.

How many times did he tell you that not everything was your fault?

He scowled and your hands trembled in response. He looked away, frustration pulling at his lips. He steeled himself, drawing on every ounce of self-control to complete this... damn near impossible task.

He told you to focus on yourself, that he only allowed you to be near him out of pity. He winced internally. Not only was he able to parrot Endeavor's harsh tone, but he was able to capture the disdain as well.

Shoto was merciful, doing the bare minimum to ensure that the bond between you two was completely severed. He cut away at your ties with precision, expressing disgust for all the things you were insecure about. He hated every second of it, sickened to his core at how his words hurt you. His composure broke once but your eyes were too teary to see. He bit the inside of his cheek in a vain effort to keep focused. Not that it mattered, you couldn’t bear to look at him.

Shoto had no doubt that you would hate him after this, although he was certain it would be nowhere near the amount of hate he felt towards himself in that moment..

As he walked away, he wondered if this had been necessary.

Did the timing matter once it was revealed that he was the traitor? You would've felt betrayed and hated him regardless.

Wasn't it more merciful to do it now rather than later? It would be less of a shock when they eventually find out... He reasoned.

He wasn't sure, but he knew he needed to do a better job as he headed to Midoriya's dorm. He would be much harder to deceive. 

Once he was inside the stairwell, he braced himself against the wall. He finally let himself shed the tears he had been holding back. His tears froze and evaporated, cracking and sizzling as his body temperature reflected the grief raging inside of  him.

It's okay,

Shoto told himself. He wouldn't be here much longer. He wouldn't have to hurt his friends, or you, anymore.

#shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto #villain au #traitor au #angst #shoto x reader #shouto todoroki #todoroki shouto #shoto todoroki x y/n #shouto todoroki x y/n #fic #bnha #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #bnha fanfic #truth writes #shoto x y/n #shouto x reader #shouto #shouto x y/n #todoroki #mha todoroki #shoto torodoki #todoroki fanfic #todoroki angst #shoto angst #todoroki imagine #bnha imagines #mha imagines #shoto x you

[flowersarefreetherapy]

You Are My Sunshine: pt. 14

CW: Emotional angst, blood (mentioned), implied past violence

Thad walks down the street, hand tucked in his pockets, gaze scanning dark corners and alleys. A streetlight flickers and the hair on his neck raises. 

The text came through on Robin’s phone, buzzing on the bedside table while they were showering. Thad had been the one to grab it, turn it over, mutter a few choice words at the brightness Robin keeps their phone on. It’s from Ezra. He ran into Daniel. The street names are in a separate text. 

He grabbed his jacket and runs out the door with a barely shouted explanation to Robin.

Daniel is a fighter. He hurt his spouse. He hurt the young man Thad is slowly coming to see as family. And yet, yet there is something that draws him out into the night, that pushes him forward. Because Daniel isn’t just a fighter. There is a broken, hurt, scared child there who was the one to throw the first punch, who wants to have a home and a family. A hurt child Thad knows far too well. 

His phone vibrates. Thad pulls it out, glancing up every few seconds to make sure he is still safe. Robin. Asking if he has found Daniel yet. 

No. still looking. 

K. please be safe

Will do. I love you.

I love you too <;3 

Thad smiles and slides the phone back into his pocket. The next corner is where Ezra said he fought with Daniel. Fought. This has moved beyond shouted words. Daniel is dangerous, very dangerous. He’s killed people and hurt Robin and fought with Ezra.

I need to be careful.

No you don’t. You know why he’s hurting people. You would do the same. You did do the same. 

Thad sighs. The night air is cold against his damp shirt. There wasn’t time between helping Star and getting the text to change. It’s not horrible and he can handle the discomfort. It’s not the worst he’s survived. His eyes burn as he remembers Star’s sobbed words, the way he clutched Thad as if he was the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality. The memory burns and he shakes his head to rid himself of it. 

The street corner light flickers. Thad stops and stares at it. He could leave. Right now. Turn around, tell Star no one was to be found, that Daniel’s vanished again, just like before. Like he always will. This time, he doesn’t have the strength to fight away the judgmental voices. This is exactly what Daniel deserves. 

He’ll find someone to take him home. They’re trained to whore themselves out. It’s what he’s good for. 

Thad knows that isn’t true. Because he’s more than the hundreds of ways he knows how to hurt someone. He’s more than his past kills. If all Robin has told him over the years are true for him, then they are also true for Daniel. 

Take a step. Get him. Bring him back. 

His feet stay planted on the concrete. Seconds slip by. His fingernails dig into his skin, pulse pounds in his ears, marking the time he won’t count himself. Just a few more steps and there will hopefully be Daniel. He’ll talk him into coming back—

So he can leave? So he can hurt Robin again? 

“Damn,” Thad breathes. He closes his eyes and forces himself to take another deep breath. “Damnit, sunshine, why did you send me here?”

His thumb traces the outline of his phone. All he has to do is pull it out, tell Robin Daniel isn’t here. But he swallows back that anger again and again until he can breathe. Daniel should be here, with his bonded. He hates who they have been trained to be, but being together is going to be the best for them. Possibly. Ezra will complicate everything. 

It’s not for you to decide what is too complicated. 

Thad steps away from the light, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness around him. His senses sharpen and he takes a deep breath to calm the racing of his heart. A shoe scrapes against concrete. Not his. He lets out the breath and calls, “Daniel?”

The movement stops. Thad faces the dark doorway the sound came from, keeping his arms loose at his sides. The shadows shift, darkness layering on darkness to create a blurred outline. Thad forces himself to step closer.

“Daniel? Is that you?”

“How did you find me?” Daniel. The words sound warped, as if he is talking out one side of his mouth. 

“Training,” Thad deadpans. Let Daniel decide if it’s a joke or not. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A rough laugh. “Right. I’ve heard that one before.”

“I mean it, Daniel. We don’t want you out here overnight. It isn’t safe.”

“And being there is? You think I’m safer with you?” Another humorless laugh. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. I know your type. They only ever want one thing and that’s to hurt pets like me.”

Okay. If that’s how you want to play–no. Don’t stoop to his level. He’s hurt and lashing out. 

Also, Robin will kill you if you hurt him.

Thad swallows his anger enough to say, “I’m not the one who’s hurt someone tonight.”

Okay, so that didn’t go exactly like he wanted it to. Oh well. Daniel needed to hear the truth eventually and better to do it now when there’s no one else around. Thad readies himself for an attack, or for Daniel to yell at him, or use the commands he should never say but still knows. 

Instead, Daniel whispers, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt them.”

“But you did. Regardless of whether or not that was your intention, you did hurt my spouse.”

“. . . I’m sorry.”

Thad shrugs. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of. There’s nothing I can say that you haven’t already told yourself. All I ask is if you want to come back with me.”

Daniel steps fully into the light. His cut has reopened, dried blood running down his cheek. Come morning, his left eye will be black and blue, and he carries his weight on his right side. Everything that can be taken care of later, once they’re home and off the street and away from prying eyes. It’ll be good for both of them. 

“You-you want me back?” Daniel breathes.

“It’s safer than being on the streets.”

“I-. . . is Star okay?”

Thad manages a smile. “We’ll deal with that in the morning. For now, I want to make sure you’re safe and you’re not going to hurt anyone else.”

Daniel hutches his shoulders, his cheeks red under the blood and bruising. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“No one ever does.” Thad holds out his hand. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Tagging: @pigeonwhumps @blood-is-compulsory (please let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#emotional angst #angst #mentioned blood #implied past violence #daniel the protector #thad #robin #sunshine house

[mbti-enemies]

Hey! About that ENFP and INFP being different thing someone sent, I have some thoughts on that.

I'm graduated now, but when I was still in school there were two girls who were best friends from day one, let's call them B (ENFP) and S (INFP).

They were pretty different indeed, B was very social and loud, and I mean LOUD, she seemed to love being the class clown, very touchy and funny, she was so energetic it was hard to keep up sometimes, she laughed at everything, sometimes she'd be doing nothing and started to laugh at nothing apparent "I wrote a J that looks like a dog having a stroke" would be the reason (real example btw), she said the most random shit at the most random moments and everyone would laugh, never fought with anyone, if she was mad she'd just put on a frown and be quiet, everyone loved her.

S was noticeably more quiet, her voice was soft and low most times, - except when she was excitedly talking about something, which wasn't so rare if you actually made her feel listened (I know that because I was in love with her for a while, oh well, I promise I'm not biased), she must be some kind of life enthusiast - kind, very easily distracted too, was always reading, drawing, humming or talking, she was friends with everyone, even the teachers and school employees, magnetic almost, she was a great listener and advisor, she was very honest, but not in a rude way, it was more passive aggressive? I guess, when she decided not to like someone, she didn't mistreat the person but the difference in her face and behaviour was visible. And now this is very stereotypical but if she was listening to someone's vent and the person started crying, she'd usually start crying as well, I thought that was cute 💀

Now when they were together it was a whole new thing, they seemed to enter a private world, they had their own language that they made up, like legit a whole damn language, always laughing at everything the other said, always glued to each other, they arrived together and left together, pictures together on Instagram, they walked hand in hand and laid their heads onto each others' shoulders, hugs and kisses, very affectionate, their friendship was the nightmare of every teacher, even if they kept them physically apart, they'd be giggling at something only they seemed to understand, S once went to the principal's office because the teacher was being extremely rude about B's eating habits, apparently, and S started a discussion with the teacher, it was the literal first class of the day, it was intense, I'd never seen her so mad at someone, and I had seen her proper mad times before, oddly enough, i know INFPs have this reputation for being really nice and stuff, but S could get incredibly outraged sometimes in very specific situations, again, she never raised her voice, but everyone shut up in these moments, she didn't have to, but they had very much main characters energy, it just wasn't the same thing when they weren't there or if it was only one of them without the other, not that it was bad, but it was always better if there were the two of them.

They were quite different but also so alike in many ways.

Extra: We graduated 3 years ago, they're still best friends but have been dating for a year and a half now. I don't know how are INFPs and ENFPs ranked as a match, but they seem to work out pretty well, I don't know

- ENFJ.

stop anon my can’t take such a description of friendship that seems to touch the stars you can’t do this to me. nvm, it doesn’t even seem to, it actually does. the world is spinning.

anyways, i hope your love for infp left peacefully and felt beautiful despite

So, og enfp infp asker, here you go

#I’m reading a book now with friendships like this #I read it…. all the way; never quite believing that such friendships could be real #perhaps it was easier that way #but this ask is the final strAW #(Ty anon) #infp #enfp