#while gagging from sobbing hysterically

[cowardlycowboys]

what's funny is i finally finally see my therapist next Tuesday but like I don't need her anymore I'm good now

#omg kiera no one cares #I'm not every other day I'm like it's fine I'm slowly getting back to a stable mood i can kill myself later and then suddenly it's like #actually I'm never moving on ever and i have to kill myself right this minute please god let me die i can't do this i don't want to do this #while gagging from sobbing hysterically #but it begs the question on whether or not I'll like actually tell her anything that I've been feeling because it depends!! #she can't admit me to the hospital tho so like i can be as free and open as i want and fear no risk all I'll get is a stupid safety plan #i throw away as soon as i leave her office because if you think I'm ever actually asking for help you're dead wron #I'm good (lying)

[webslingingslasher]

Hi Mm this is socks lmao, but could I request something with reader having a horrible day where everything goes wrong, nothing feels right, and she's tired of like carrying the world and everyone one else on her back and Peter is just the sweetest guy ever babying her and hold her while she cries? Yep that's me, but with no Peter

sowwy it took so long, i had a few requests for this and put them all in one giant pot. i also hope everyone here is feeling better ❤️

Totally broken, you just needed someone to hold you. 

It had been an awful day of an awful week of an awful month. Punch after punch, you couldn’t take anymore. Holding yourself the entire walk to the frat house, only allowing yourself to sniffle and keep a steady flow of tears, nothing too hysterical to pass in public. 

Almost tripping over a curb you choke back a sob, all you could do was manually breathe and think of the path to the house. You weren’t even sure why you wanted to go there anyways, you’d never gone to Peter before all upset and choked up. 

And knowing him, he’d hate it and send you away informing you that taking care of your crying mess wasn’t in his job description. 

Focusing on breathing, you knocked at the solid door and prayed Peter would answer, save for any of his brothers mid breakdown. But, like most of today and this week, things did not go in your favor. 

“Trouble?”

He wasn’t your boy. 

“Is Peter here?” shoddy breaths, you’re about to collapse in a sob, you shouldn’t be here. “Actually, nevermind, I’m,” you inhale sharply, tears skip down your cheeks, “I’m, um, gonna go home.” 

Spinning on your heel a warm hand closed around your wrist tugging you inside, “no, you’re not. Parker would fucking kill me if I let you leave like this.” Wiping your cheeks and trying to pull away, “he wouldn’t want to deal with me, I should…” shaking his arm off and trying to make a dash before he caught you by the hood of your jacket. 

Gagging you pull at the neckline, “what the fuck, Ethan?” 

“Parker!” He calls up the stairs, adrenaline killing your tears, trying to pull away but useless in his grip. Jerking the fabric, trying to release it from his hold, “let go, Ethan!” 

“Parker!” Wincing at the shriek in your ear, “see? He doesn’t care, I sho-” 

Your shoes squeak on the floor, holding your jacket as far as you could from your neck when Ethan dragged you across the landing of the house, fumbling into his chest to stop the tension. He was being anything but gentle, raising his fist to pound at the wall. 

“Parker! Get the fuck down here!” 

While trying your last attempt to break free, Ethan twists the hood in his hold, causing you to pause in an awkward position, if you moved you’d be choked. “Ethan, I swear to fucking god I’ll-” 

“Park-” 

Stomps on the stairs.

“Say my fucking name one more time, Keznek, I fucking dare you.” 

Like a deer in headlights, you freeze. The second Peter hits the landing his frustration was washed into concern, not even caring his brother and best friend was watching, pouting all soft. You weren't crying anymore but the evidence showed, written all over your face was a cry session.

“My baby,” feathersoft, his words scooped you up and held you. Ethan’s hand dropped the second Peter took a second step, abandoning post and taking the stairs two steps at a time. Standing in front of you, his thumbs run under your eyes, “why’s my girl so sad, hm?” 

Suddenly, that lump in your throat you’ve been swallowing won’t stay down. Blinking fast trying to stop tears, which fails useless as your bottom lip trembles and he’s being so soft and he’s never been this comforting before. A sob escapes, the dam breaks. 

Peter’s never seen you cry before, you’ve called him once before while upset and he thought that hurt him. Watching you cry and desperate for air makes him break, he’s never had a girl come to him so broken. He doesn’t even know what to do or say, “give me a cuddle, c’mon, I know how happy that makes you!” 

Instantly you’re wound around him, exhaling shaky breaths in his chest while he scratches slowly at your back. Tears bleed through his shirt but he doesn’t say a word, he thinks he might be making it worse because you’re getting worse. 

Racking breaths made him push you away, he was genuinely scared you’d pass out. 

“Okay, c’mon. Take a breath and follow me, okay?” Choking as you gasp, his hand holds yours tight until you reach a room off the kitchen, Peter sits on the edge of a couch and holds your hands. “Deep breath, baby.” You try to do it but fail, whimpering an apology. “I’m not asking you to stop crying, I just need you to breathe.” 

It’s weak but he takes it, “one more for me,” it’s smoother this time, rubbing at an eye to clear your vision. Gulping, you force yourself to take another deep breath, this one ceasing the tears for the moment. 

Peter pushes himself backwards to sit on the couch, patting the small spot next to him you follow the command. Your butt in the small space, legs thrown over his lap. “You almost knocked yourself out, trouble.” 

He’s trying to lighten the mood but you just feel vulnerable and sad, resting your cheek on his shoulder you sniff. Voice breaking at the words, “I’m really sad, petey.” And fuck, he hates that nickname, but the way you uttered it, like a child with a terrible confession, made him want to hold you and never let you leave. 

Hands tickle up and down your legs, “wanna tell me why?” 

Blowing a shaky breath you shug, a tear falls when you blink. 

“I mean, everything?” To Peter, it sounds like you’re holding back and he won’t stand for it, not until he knows what made his girl cry like that. 

“I’m here for you to unload, I’m trying to take that,” he gestures to your body, “and put it here,” crumpling the tension into a ball and forcing it into his heart. 

“I failed my math test, I was fired from the campus store, Zoe and Lana are fighting and they want me to pick a side but I know they’ll get over it and then I’ll always be the asshole that chose a side, and to top it all off my sister called me and I felt like it was my job to give relationship advice cause,” you give a dry laugh, “obviously, I’m in the right position to tell people about their shit boyfriend.” 

A shit sandwich, you were right. Everything was wrong. 

“What can I do for you?” 

Because he feels helpless, but he’s done more than enough already. 

“Just… hold me.” 

“I can do that.” 

And he does, even a little longer after you said you were finally okay. 

#peter parker blurb #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #my writing #frat!peter

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

I can’t stop writing little vignettes, moments from random parts of my bard durge Killian’s life. Should I be putting them on AO3? I don’t know. But I need to get them out of me like an exorcism.

Anyway, have a moment of internal crisis set a few years before BG3, after he and Gortash have been working together for some time but before they’ve really gotten the Absolute hoax off the ground. Very “prayer of forgiveness” inspired.

It’s Durgetash, but not nsfw beyond a bit of murder between friends. Canon-typical dark urge behaviour.

———

The body twitched and moaned from where it hung from the rafters, a noose fit snugly around its neck and its arms bound behind its back, toes scrambling for purchase on the stool below its feet. By now, the gag in its mouth was soaked through from all its blubbering and its face glistened in the low light, streaked with tears and spittle.

Killian lay on the bed only a few feet away, unmoved by the plight of a soul that was already committed to Bhaal. He strummed out a few ominous chords on the lute while he waited. A funeral dirge for the sacrifice, a calming melody for his own nerves. It was a shame to make Father wait so long for a sacrifice in the name of theatre. It was the sort of thing that Orin would do. But this was important. A test. An apology, perhaps.

Orin may have been sorely misled about the way in which their father demanded death, but she was right about some things. About the beauty in a well-executed kill, for one. Almost… romantic.

Kill sighed and flexed his toes as he plucked away – new boots still stiff, the leather yet to be broken in. Already they were dotted in flecks of blood splatter from bludgeoning the sacrifice before dragging it here. Soon enough they would be soft and supple and dyed a coppery maroon by the blood of his victims. Their victims.

The lock to the chamber door clicked and Kill sat up straight, tossing his lute aside. The body quit its struggling, going still as if it hoped whoever lay beyond the door would be its saviour. A hysterical notion, for the both of them.

The door swung open to reveal the Chosen of Bane, who took only a moment to assess the scene laid out in his bedchambers before stepping towards the man hanging from the rafters, unperturbed, to look up and meet his eyes. The captive began to grunt and thrash frantically, a wordless yet desperate plea for mercy, but Enver Gortash only rolled his eyes and turned away to face his co-conspirator with a scoff.

“Couldn’t you have taken a moment to lay down a few rags? It takes forever to get the blood out of the floorboards. I’ll have to get a wizard in.”

There was a spark of amusement in the admonishment. The man hanging from the ceiling’s frantic grunting quieted back to muffled sobs. Killian stood to meet Gortash and pressed a dagger to the body’s lower back, forceful but not hard enough to break skin. It whimpered, then went silent.

“I promise I’ll make it clean,” Kill purred, his eyes heavy-lidded with something like intoxication. The drunken feeling of death so near, at his fingertips. Of something else, at his fingertips. With his free hand, he reached out and ran his fingers over the sleeve of Gortash’s cloak. “New?”

“Do you like it?” Gortash smirked and tilted his head as if he was suppressing the impulse to do a twirl. “I just got back from the tailor.”

“Very archducal,” Kill said. “You should get a portrait done.”

Gortash’s smirk didn’t waver. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” He gestured to the man hanging from the ceiling. “Special occasion? Some Bhaalian holiday I don’t know about?”

Kill drew back and shrugged, suddenly hesitant. “Not exactly. You weren’t the only one with a sartorial consultation today. I went to see a cobbler this afternoon.”

That smirk didn’t falter, but it froze, the expression on Gortash’s face suddenly all too still. “Is that so?”

“Father’s orders,” Kill murmured.

Gortash made a noise in the back of his throat, something like a laugh, but swallowed whole before it could escape. He turned away and looked up again at the tear-streaked face of the captive man. “Well, out with it. Have you made me an orphan or not?”

“Don’t act like you’d be sad,” Killian hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits again. The dagger in his hand trembled against the body’s back, threatening to draw a portrait of his shame upon its spine. “I’d only be hastening the inevitable.”

Gortash took a moment to consider this, then turned back to meet Kill’s eyes, that smirk brightening into a true smile.

“So not.” His excitement was palpable— and certainly not out of any concern for the Flymms. His eyes flicked to Killian’s feet. “And you even bought new shoes!”

“Your mother was very persuasive… it must run in the family,” Kill said, his shoulders hunching, his voice dripping with venom. Like he wasn’t sure if he hated himself or Gortash more, and that hate was fueling something unspeakable within him.

Gortash laughed, swiftly grasping Killian by the shoulders, bringing their faces mere inches apart. The crackle of energy between them was as heady as the scent of blood in the air, and Killian struggled to decide whether to fight against it or give in. “You defied your father for me. Your god,” Gortash said, his voice just shy of awestruck.

Killian did struggle. Hate was a mortal’s most powerful emotion. The most holy. And gods above and below, did Enver cloud his mind with a wet swirl of billowing heat— not heat— righteous, unholy hatred.

“They’re still going to die–and by my hand, I swear it. I will do as my father commands,” Kill insisted, but dropped his dagger so he could bring his hands to Enver’s sides, slipped beneath the brand new cloak, soft, velvety, lovely. He felt himself falter, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper, almost fond. “But I saw no harm in a small delay to allow you a bit of vengeance first.”

With a jubilant, throaty laugh from Enver, their lips crashed together and Killian nearly stumbled back and fell into the bed. He steeled himself, twisting an arm around Enver’s waist as images flashed behind his eyelids of his own body laid bare, flayed and forgotten, on the bloodstained stone of his father’s temple. Enver pressed forward, bringing them closer together, and Kill clawed at him, desperate, needy, almost forgetting his purpose for coming here in the first place.

A prayer, an apology. A test.

Just as he was about to fall back and lose himself entire, he kicked out, sending the stool beneath the sacrifice’s feet flying across the room. It let out a strangled cry as the noose tightened, then went blissfully silent as its neck snapped clean.

Killian felt the rush as the sacrifice’s life left its body, the pure and perfect euphoria always granted by his father. And still, insanely, absurdly, unconscionably, he found himself leaning more fully into Enver Gortash’s arms— and the abhorrent answer to all of his heretical questions filled his soul like the rush of blood pumped by his foul heart.

This wasn’t hate, but it was something pure. Something perfect. Something absolutely vile.

Sceleritas would have a fit. And his father— he would never—

Please forgive me.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #durge #the dark urge #enver gortash #durgetash #gortash #oc: dark urge #dark urge x gortash

[avvail]

About your latest post: plot twist hero is the civilian and "hero" is an imposter???? Drama😌

continued from this prompt

They took the last few steps down into the depths of the basement, eyes sweeping over the civilian’s form in a slither of confusion. They seemed to only grow in hysterics upon seeing Villain, writhing in their restraints and sobbing harder than before.

This shouldn’t be their problem. It really shouldn’t. What Hero got up to was their business, and their business only. There was probably some noble explanation for this, right? The thoughts didn’t sit right with them. The civilians cries were shredding their throat, and Villain couldn’t leave them here like this.

“Alright,” they sighed, rolling up the cuffs of their sleeves as they stepped closer. “Sit still, darling.”

The civilian was panting hard, eyes wide and filled with tears as they glanced frantically between the villain and the stairs, as if they were expecting someone to stride down behind them. They loosened the gag, watching the way the civilian flinched at their touch. Bruises were lining the collumn of their neck, and surfacing on various places on their body.

The more they looked, the more they were struggling to convince themselves there was a reasonable explanation for this.

When they tugged the gag down, the civilian’s voice cut through the air in a terrifying scream.

“I’m Hero!” They shrieked, shaking and yanking frantically against the restraints. “I’m the real Hero, they’re...they are—they’re pretending to be me! Please, please, Villain, please help me.”

The criminal was taken aback by the words. They winced slightly at the hysterical volume, leaning back ever so slightly as they writhed and thrashed around in panic, sobbing violently. Villain took a moment to drink in those words, as the civilian—this Hero—begged desperately with a thick tongue.

“Please, please, it’s me,” they wheezed, shuddering pathetically. “We...W-We first met on the bridge, a-at night, you were with...with that old supervillain, I-I can’t...I don’t...please believe me.”

It was hard to believe it really was Hero.

They had never seen them as a civilian, only acquired their address from some helpful acquaintances. They had also never seen Hero like this.

So vulnerable. So scared. It made their heart skip a beat, and Villain didn’t know if it was from anger, sadness, or glee.

Gently, they eased their hands on their shoulders, feeling them shiver and flinch under the touch. The criminal tried to keep their mind clear in a situation this dire, and confusing.

“I don’t have time to play twenty questions, or decide if what you’re saying is really the truth.” The hero opened their quivering lip to say something, but the villain stopped them by raising a hand. They quickly fell silent. “But you need to calm down. Take a few deep breaths and watch the stairs while I untie you.”

The hero did as they were told, without much resistance. It was interesting to see them so obedient for once. As they unloosened the ropes, they could see dark, red marks antagonising the skin, bruised with purple and brown lines.

“How long have you been down here?” Villain finally spoke, helping them up. Hero could hardly even stand on their trembling legs without a support. They grit their teeth, holding back their whimpers of pain.

“I...I don’t know,” they croaked, sniffling. “It feels like so long. The last time I saw you...it was at the town square.”

“We’ve fought many times at the town square,” Villain hummed, brows pinched in concentration as they led the hero up the stairs, careful of their throbbing bruises.

“Y-You...You said you liked my hair,” they whispered, their breathing starting to pick up, afraid the criminal didn’t believe them. “You got me in that...stupid headlock and started asking me what conditioner I used a-and—”

“I remember,” the villain interrupted, amused. “It made you squirm.”

“It did,” Hero sobbed, their fingers clinging into the fabric of their shirt. It wasn’t long before the piece of information made the amusement fade, brows furrowed.

“One month,” they murmured. “That was one month ago.”

Hero sucked in a sharp breath through their teeth, their eyes darting frantically around them when they finally breached past the depths of the basement. They were scared that imposter would be right around the corner.

“They replaced my favourite vase,” they mumbled quietly, wobbling against the villain’s side. “Fuck...”

“Come on, now,” they smiled, wrapping an arm around their waist and keeping them pressed steadily against them. “Let’s get you out of here first, and then you can sort your house out.”

As the night fell, they emerged quietly from the back door, sneaking through the alleyways until they made it a significant distance. The hero had gone flushed and hot, in which Villain had no choice but to sweep them off their feet and carry them the rest of the way.

They were pleased to see that red tint on their ears, something they hadn’t seen for a while.

“Villain?”

The voice brought them out of their gaze. “Yes?”

“Will you help me?” They whispered, eyes fluttering closed. Villain cocked a brow.

“I’m already helping you.”

“With the fake me,” they frowned, curling into their warmth. “Will you help?”

The criminal offered a smile, quirking on the edge of their lips.

“I’ve been flirting with someone else for the past month,” they chuckled. “I wasted some good lines. I can’t wait to hunt them down.”

#ask #hero x villain #villain x hero #hero and villain #villain and hero #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #hero villain #villain hero #hero #villain #civilian #writing #my writing #writing snippet #snippet #not a prompt #avvail #avvail prompt

[anexperimentallife]

Since the rights have reverted to me, this is the story I WAS getting paid to license as the basis of a video game until the deal got canceled unexpectedly after a year of development(for understandable reasons I won't go into here). There's a lot I'd change about it now (I'm a better writer now, for one thing, and my understanding of problematic tropes is better now--this was the first story I ever sold, and was originally published in the anthology The Crimson Pact, volume 2), and my Quiet World setting has morphed and expanded quite a bit since then, too. This will be getting a rewrite, with additional characters (some of whom you'll meet if you play the dialogue-only demo linked to below). But anyway...

HERE’S THE ORIGINAL STORY--ENJOY!

(also here's a link to a playable dialogue-only version of the first three chapters of the mobile game version--which is quite different)

Karma

by D. Robert Hamm (about 15,000 words)

We hit the interstate like an unguided missile. Needles of frozen rain and jagged blades of wind beat my face numb and turned what was left of my dress into a full-body ice-pack. Even with the heater on ‘incinerate,’ I couldn’t stop shivering, but the outside air was all that kept me from gagging on the smell of my own puke and the rusty stench of blood, so the window stayed down. Between the black pavement and blacker sky, the air was wet and gray. It sucked the vitality from my headlamp beams well before their natural time, but that was okay. I wasn’t paying much attention to the little they revealed anyway.

The man in the passenger’s seat either didn’t feel the cold or was too stoic to show discomfort. The dashboard glow turned his short white beard to green and deepened the age lines in his face. Gods, I’d loved that face growing up. It was my grandfather’s face. But right then, I could barely look at it, because this wasn’t my grandfather, just a sad, confused spirit wearing his body. And even though he was one of the good guys, that didn’t mean it was easy to take.

“You’re going to catch cold,” Not-Grandpa shouted over the storm.

“I’m… what?”

Since last night I’d been shot at, whipped, and electrocuted. I’d watched a good man beheaded and disemboweled before my eyes, and learned things about myself, my family, and especially my past, that had already driven other people into padded-room territory. I was marinated in a vile concoction of blood and various other body fluids, quite a bit of it my own, and had spent the last however-many hours fighting horrors that should never have existed. In the middle of all that—because I’m an overachiever—I took time out to kill a man I loved.

And this guy was worried that I’d catch a fucking cold?

Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. The kind of deep, full-body laughter that doubles you over and makes your stomach muscles ache for days afterward. The kind that shreds the lining of your throat and rises in pitch to rapid staccato squeaks, like sneakers on a hardwood floor. I held back the worst long enough to wrestle the car onto the shoulder, then let go. The laughter turned to howling, the howling into screams, the screams into sobs, and the sobs into a quiet whimper that finally, gods finally, tapered off, and I could breathe again, in great, ragged gulps. I wiped away a rope of snot hanging from my nose and sat hunched over with my eyes closed and my forehead against the steering wheel, shaking, while the rain pummeled my back with tiny, ice-cold fists.

In shock? Probably. Hysterical? Definitely. Look, I make sandwiches at my family’s restaurant for a living, okay? Sandwiches.

Not-Grandpa waited until I quieted down before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was the dozenth or so time he’d said it. The line of his mouth stayed hard, but his eyes and his voice were soft and broken. I believed him. Had to believe him.

“I know.” I didn’t mean for it to sound bitter. He’d saved my life after all, and he deserved better than that. I just didn’t know if I could forgive him for not being who I wanted him to be.

A little too “in media res” for you? Yeah, me too.

So here are the vitals: My name is Karma Miranda Rodriguez. I’m twenty-three years old, five foot six, with brown eyes, light brown skin, and dark brown hair that I keep boy-short. I claim to be a size five, and I dare you to say otherwise. I like strawberry daiquiris, support equal rights for supernaturals, am indifferent toward long walks on the beach, and . . .

And oh, yeah—apparently, I kill demons.

Eli’s Borderland Station, my family’s restaurant, has been the only twenty-four hour eatery on the Kansas City Plaza since back before the Jasonites outed the supernatural community (aka, “The Quiet World”) and we had to coin the term ‘daylighter’ to differentiate plain vanilla humans from those touched by the paranormal. During the riots that followed the Jasonites’ little party, and all through the Apocalypse Wars, my Grandpa Eli and Uncle Garston kept the restaurant open as a free kitchen-slash-aid-station for refugees and emergency workers, and turned the upstairs apartment—which is mine, now—into a de facto headquarters for various peacekeeping forces.

So alongside our Absolutely Killer Turkey Sandwich (made from, according to the menu, genuine killer turkeys), we serve up a mean side-order of history. Obviously, a lot of things have changed since the AWs; for instance, the Plaza, always an upscale shopping district, is now a level four Private Patrol Zone with the best law enforcement money can buy. As you’d expect, our main business is well-heeled shoppers whose sidearms are more fashion statement than personal defense, but we try to keep prices reasonable enough for the average college student, too.

No amount of money will buy you a table or a bar stool in our VIP lounge, though, even if every other seat in the house is taken. The lounge is permanently reserved for veterans, proxies, bounty hunters, elites, and so on. It’s where people with code names like Halloween Jack, Lucy D.T., HalluciNathan, and so on come to catch up with one another, trade information, or just relax. Grandpa and Uncle Garston are technically civilians now, but a lot of the VIPs still use their call signs from way back when, so if someone in armored leathers with notched weapons and a stare that looks like they’re counting the ways they could kill you with one finger says they’re going to see The General and Body Mass, they’re not talking about some secret mission, it just means they’re headed our way for the lunch special.

On Tuesday nights we lock up for a few hours of uninterrupted cleaning with my special patented Karma Rodriguez closing procedure. This involves, among other things, lots of dancing around with brooms and mops, and other Weapons of Mess-Destruction, and me in a casual dress singing along with loud music at the top of my lungs. It’s effective. The more I can make work feel like play, the faster and more efficiently I get things done, and as proof of that, what used to take three people on Tuesday nights now requires only two.

At thirty seconds to zero-dark-thirty on a drizzly February evening, when my grime-fighting partner Jayden and I were the only ones left in the restaurant, I locked the front door and hit the music. My mix for the night was weighted heavily in favor of pre-Apocalypse rock—music that was old before I was born. It was a minor tragedy when it cut off about ten minutes into the shift, right in the middle of David Bowie’s Rebel, Rebel. Jayden and I both trailed off a cappella.

“I didn’t hear you singing if you didn’t hear me,” Jayden said. “We stick together, and nobody can prove anything.” He fixed me with what would have been a deadpan stare if not for that quirk at one corner of his mouth that I thought of as his, ‘our little secret’ smile.

I put on my best film noir ‘tough dame’ voice. “It’s always secrets with you, isn’t it? Fine, I’ll play your game.” Staying in character, I headed upstairs with an over-the-top hip-swaying sashay, to reboot the router while Jayden kept cleaning.

I can’t be objective about Jayden, so I won’t try. He was one of a kind. Literally. Part Aosidhe, part Graealfinsidhe, and part daylighter, Jayden was a medical miracle, and he got the best from each branch of his ancestry. Six and a half feet of lean muscle, flawless skin, hair like pale gold silk, and . . . you get the idea. His ears were only slightly pointed, and with his hair down, he could pass for an exceptionally pretty daylighter, if not for his eyes. Whiteless, and bright turquoise in color. They suited him.

And yeah, I know. If only I wasn’t his boss. Jayden had something of a ‘mystery man’ air about him that only added to his status as local lust-object. Among other things, the way he dressed like a wastelander (only cleaner) but acted like a gentleman fueled speculation. He kept his past and his private life just that, though—past, and private. It was like the world was in love with Jayden, but Jayden wasn’t sure how he felt about the world and didn’t want to lead it on.

When I got back from confirming that the router was indeed fried, those exotic eyes of his were fixed on the big screen in the main dining area. I came up behind him and stopped, gaping. “What the . . . ?”

Just north of us, people were fighting in the streets and looting, while Hushville—Jayden’s neighborhood—burned.

“Short version?” Jayden said without turning around, “They busted the wrong guy for the Taylor murders, so they released him. He lasted a whole three hours.”

“They didn’t give him police protection?”

“He was under police protection when it happened. Now everybody has a conspiracy theory, and apparently with every conspiracy theory this week, you get a free Molotov cocktail kit. Speaking of which . . . ” He rewound a few seconds and paused on a burning apartment building that I recognized as his. “Great firebomb, huh?”

“Wow. I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, his back still to me. “I carry everything really important with me.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to leave you alone?”

He paused, as if considering. “No.”

“Okay. But know what? Fuck cleaning. Help me get the trash out, then haul your duffel bag upstairs. You’re staying at my place tonight.”

Jayden turned and looked at me as though I were speaking Swahili. “Your place?”

“You just lost your apartment to a xenophobic asshole with a fire fetish, and you need crash space. Friends do that kind of stuff for each other.”

That earned me a confused look. “No, I just . . . Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” He seemed utterly bewildered. So much for his famed stoicism and unflappability. Ah, Jayden. Such a strange, strange boy. I ran up to get my coat and pull on a pair of jeans under my dress, and Jayden and I dragged the first can out into the alley.

I remember the air tasted of cold grease and wet pavement. I remember the electric buzz of the street lamp, and the way its dirty light turned the drizzle into sparse gray streaks like anime rain. I remember the exact cadence of the trash can’s scraping and banging as we dragged it toward the dumpster. How screwed up do things have to get before taking out the trash is a fond memory worth replaying in your head?

We didn’t hear the patrol team until they entered the mouth of the alley, running hard toward us, shouting at us to get inside. The woman’s name was Lawson. She’d lost her helmet, and a sheen of blood covered the left side of her face. Her partner, Hall, had a crack running down the side of his faceplate, and his body armor was shredded in places. They both carried their weapons at the ready, scanning the roofline as they ran.

Before they’d even finished their warning, a clot of shadow and sickening angles detached from the rest of the dark. The Shashashkuhun slaughter-spider—How did I know that?—dropped from the roof and—The Shashashkuhun and the bad people are making us walk a long way again. I don’t say how tired I am because I am almost eight years old, and that means I’m a big girl, and because it would make Mommy feel bad that she can’t carry me that far. Mommy and me are in our nightgowns because we were asleep when they—Where were these images coming from?—landed in the alley behind them. It was an impossible thing, eight or nine feet tall, all mottled ochre-and-black chitin, with eight spiked and bladed spiderlike legs from which it took its name, serrated mandibles beneath great protruding compound eyes, and short, thick, writhing tentacles suspended from the underside of a bulbous, misshapen central body.

I shouted my own warning, but Hall was already emptying his magazine at the thing as he backed toward us. Lawson either tripped or dove in our direction, twisting in mid-air to land on her back. She raised her shotgun, and—grabbed us, and it was really late because both moons were out, but they let us put on our boots before they made us start walking. Mommy tried to fight them and she shot one of them but they beat her up and cut her cheek really bad. But she is still the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. It was real people, not Shashashkuhun, but they don’t act like real people. Mommy says they have bad things inside them called Qlippoth. I think they are telling the Shashashkuhun what—made it roar as she hit the pavement.

The monster’s cry was like a foghorn made of cats and feedback, a spike that shoved through both eardrums. Lawson had hurt it, taken out one leg, in fact, but it wasn’t enough, and Hall’s automatic gunfire cut off with a sickening, meat cleaver sound as the spider sliced through his neck. Hall’s head flew from his shoulders and bounced against the alley wall while the spider eviscerated his body before it could hit the ground, as if he weren’t–to do. A man tried to run away today, but they caught him, and instead of shooting him a Shashashkuhun stuck one of its sharp arm/leg things in him and cut him open and played with his insides until he stopped screaming, and I cried, but I won’t cry anymore, because I’m a big girl, and—dead enough already. Even as far back as Jayden and I stood, hot, sticky wetness splattered our faces.

The monster tried to leap toward us, but its missing leg threw it off balance. Lawson’s shotgun was out of ammo, so she fumbled out her .45 and taunted the slaughter-spider while edging toward the side of the alley opposite the door. Sacrificing herself—big girls don’t cry. The demons usually kill everybody, but now they only kill people who try to run away or stop walking before they tell us to stop or people who fall down and can’t walk anymore, but sometimes when somebody falls down they let somebody else make a travois, which is a kind of sled thing that you drag—to give us a chance to get away. My gun was in my purse inside, but even if I’d had it on me, I couldn’t loosen my grip on the trash can, let alone force myself to move.

I caught Jayden’s eye. I’d never before realized–when I feel like crying I think about Daddy. Daddy is a general, which is a kind of soldier who tells other soldiers what to do. He is a long way away fighting other Shashashkuhun, but when he comes to save us, the Shashashkuhun and the bad people are going to be sorry. I am going to be a soldier like Daddy when I grow up and—how much he and I communicated without speaking, but with that look, I knew we’d done the same math. One of us might—just might—make it to the door. If we left the other one to die along with Lawson.

Fuck that.

Once I���d made the decision, the tension drained from my body—I am nine years old, and I have been in the prison camp for over a year. They tell me it is time for the laboratory again, but if I pick someone else to go, they will leave me alone today. If I choose my mother to go they will leave me alone for a month. They seem surprised when my answer is to hold out my wrists for the cuffs. I am the daughter of a general and a hero. I do not run, or let others take my pain. And no matter what they do to me, I won’t let them see how scared I am—the way the fear had, sublimating into the night and leaving me perfectly relaxed. Jayden gave me that ‘our little secret’ smile, and I knew he got it. He understood. Not just what I was about to do, but why.

When anything you do will end in death, make your final act one of defiance.

And so it was that we, about to die, in the most futile and ridiculous gesture in the history of futile and ridiculous gestures, screamed our defiance in the face of death, and charged the monster that would surely kill us.

With a fucking trash can.

We slammed into the slaughter-spider and fell hard, with the trash can bouncing between those giant legs and spilling its slippery contents out onto the already-slick blacktop. The slaughter-spider screamed at the impact, even louder than when Lawson had shot it, and nearly toppled. A serrated leg missed me by inches, and I rolled away, but I’d only be able to dodge for so long. My only regrets were that since I hadn’t properly prepared this body, I would die along with it—again, where the hell did that thought come from?—and that so many things would go unsaid between me and those I cared about. Including Jayden, if I was being honest.

Something hard in my coat pocket bit into my side as I rolled. I’d forgotten about the taser I almost always took with me when I left the restaurant. Even if it was still charged, it wasn’t salvation, but at this point salvation wasn’t an option. Victory was what mattered, and victory was nothing more nor less than continuing to fight until the inevitable happened. I pulled out the taser, flipped off the safety, and sent 50,000 volts into the center of that mass of tentacles, along with all the fury I could muster. The slaughter-spider jerked momentarily, and Lawson took advantage to pick up a piece of steel rebar from the junk pile in the alley and plunge it glove-deep into one of the slaughter-spider’s faceted eyes. Jayden followed with a sharp piece of broken two-by-four into the other.

And as though someone had flipped a switch marked ‘alive/dead,’ the slaughter-spider fell . . . in slow motion, like those television broadcasts of building demolitions. After one final spasm, it was still, and the alley was silent for several seconds except for the buzz of the streetlight. After barely long enough to begin to accept that we weren’t dead, answering cries to the spider’s death scream split the night.

We staggered inside the restaurant as the first new creature hit the pavement, and got the bars across the door just before another slammed against it. I slapped my palm against the ward sigil and spoke the syllables to activate it, then ran to the front and did the same there. After grabbing my gun and other weapons from upstairs and activating still more wards, I hit the ‘dim all’ switch and met up with the others in the kitchen. Lawson used a cabinet as cover, her shotgun aimed at the door, and Jayden . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I’d been gone perhaps two minutes, but when I returned, Jayden stood transformed, a grim-faced cross between a modern wastelander and a wild warrior from legend, in a combination of armored biker leathers and Fay armor. The hilts of two matching blades extended over his shoulders, and his jacket sleeves were pushed up to reveal Sidhe archery gauntlets—the real kind, not the department store knockoffs. Other weapons clung to various parts of his body, strategically placed so as not to impede movement—blades, throwing disks, bolas, and quivers and bandoliers of bolts and arrows for the quick-load mini-crossbow in his hand and the compound bow housed in a slender case across his back. He shrugged bashfully—Jayden? Bashful?—when he caught me staring. So this was what he meant when he said he carried everything important with him.

The booming of another hit on the door jerked my attention away from Jayden. After a few more tries, though, the spiders seemed to realize that it was futile, and ceased their efforts.

Now that we had stopped racing time, time slowed to let us catch up. Whether from the endorphin rush or something else, I felt disconnected, an observer watching from inside myself. In the dimness, Lawson and Jayden were pale, oh so pale, and heartbreakingly beautiful against the gray and charcoal shadows. I stood with chest heaving alongside them, seeing and feeling and hearing everything as though for the first time, in love with it all. Because we, who moments before had been dead, were alive and more than alive, were filled with life until we could burst from the pressure as it strained against the insignificant scraps of skin and flesh that could barely contain it.

A single glossy drop of blood formed at the tip of Lawson’s finger, creating itself until it was real enough to float downward and finally join its comrades who had already emigrated to the floor to form a puddle, and Lawson was falling, falling, falling behind it as if to join the puddle herself.

I shook out of my trance barely in time to help Jayden take Lawson’s weight. She was conscious, but weak. “It’s okay,” I told her, “We’re going to get you taken care of. Did you call for backup?” Lawson shook her head weakly, closed her eyes, and made a sound between a chuckle and a sob. “Nobody left to call. Even if the radio worked, nobody left to . . . ” she trailed off and seemed to fold in on herself. I’d seen what that thing did to Hall. I didn’t need her to tell me what had happened to the rest of her squad.

We got Lawson into the VIP lounge and onto a folded-out hide-a-bed, and raided the crisis closet. There was more in there than I’d realized. We patched up Lawson as well as we could and got a saline drip going with something for pain and nausea. It was only after I’d given her naproxyn, though, that I thought to wonder if it thinned the blood the way aspirin did. What if she had internal injuries? Was there anything else I was supposed to be doing? At least I remembered to elevate her feet and make sure she had plenty of blankets. Beyond that, it was a matter of, ‘do no harm,’ with a supersized side order of, ‘hope I don’t fuck this up.’

Damn it, I wasn’t qualified for any of this. Grandpa was the one with the certifi—Duh! Grandpa could talk me through this, and we needed to get word out anyway. Our phones may as well have been paperweights, though. No signal, whether due to the riots or something else. If all else failed, Lawson said that after too long with no contact, it was corporate policy to send in what amounted to the wrath of the gods to investigate. The restaurant was pretty much a fortress—even the ‘glass’ was actually transluminum—so theoretically speaking, all we had to do was stay buttoned up for a few hours and wait for help to arrive. And not go nuts in the meantime.

I’d cut away most of Lawson’s uniform, but the rest needed to come off to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Her partner had died saving us, and I’d be damned if she followed suit because of me. I asked Jayden to leave the room, but Lawson put a hand on his arm, winked, and flashed a weak smile. “‘Sokay. I like your boyfriend,” she said.

“Just a friend. It’d probably break my ego to date somebody that much prettier than me.”

“‘Just a friend,’ my ass.” She smiled and closed her eyes, slurring her words, and rolled her head around on her pillow. Her own smile didn’t so much fade as disappear. “Thanks, guys. You did good. I just wish . . . ” Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, and it didn’t take a psychic to know how that sentence was supposed to end.

After helping Lawson down some broth with a little liquid protein and Nutri-All added, we let her rest. When we were sure she was asleep, and that her breathing and pulse were regular, Jayden and I crept out of the room to treat our own injuries, mostly scrapes and bruises.

It seemed like there was something about what had happened in the alley even stranger than the attack. A flash of knowledge or memory. But whenever I tried to access it, it slipped away. Probably the kind of thing that takes over for some people in emergency situations, like the woman who supposedly lifted a car off of her toddler, or the accountant who found himself standing over the bodies of three would-be muggers, with no memory of what had happened. The other disturbing thing was that I was so . . . blank. I should have been shaking. I should have been horrified at Hall’s death, and at the deaths of the rest of their squad. It’s not that I didn’t care, I just kept feeling like it should have affected me more. We should have been . . . I don’t know, mourning them or something. Maybe I couldn’t let myself feel it yet.

I knelt behind Jayden on a tablecloth on the floor, dabbing antiseptic onto a scrape on his upper back. “So everybody dies,” I muttered, “and we end up with road rash. That’s fair.”

“That’s survivor’s guilt talking,” he said.

“Yeah, well.”

“Lawson’d be dead if not for you. We all would.”

“I had help.”

“Your idea, though.”

I’d been swabbing the same area for maybe a full minute, no longer aware of what I was doing, until Jayden spoke again. “You were wrong, you know.”

“About what?”

“About the ‘prettier than you’ thing. I don’t think anybody is. Nobody I’ve ever seen. And I see into the infra-red and ultra-violet, so I see more than you’d think.” I could almost hear that, ‘our little secret’ smile. “It’s not a peeping thing,” he added quickly, “It’s just my normal vision.”

Blatant change of subject, but not unwelcome. I’m pretty sure I blushed. “Yeah, well thanks. But hey, I like the way I look and all, and I’m not fishing for a compliment here, but—realistically speaking—if you’ve never seen better, you must’ve been living in a cave.”

“Actually,” he said, “a Graealfinsidhe separatist conclave, until five years ago. It was carved into the side of a mountain, so I guess it counts as a cave. Never talked to anyone about it until now. I stand by my statement, though. I decided that if we lived, I was going to tell you that. Tell you everything.”

I blinked. “I’m . . . honored. And I’m not complaining—I mean, look, you’re not the only one who decided out there to reveal some things; guess almost dying does that. It’s just, the guy I’ve been crushing on for two years now is suddenly . . . Why me?”

I caught myself stroking his hair, and was about to stop when he tilted his head into my hand and sighed. We sat there like that for a while before he answered. “I want you to know me.”

Coming from him that night, there in the dark on the hardwood floor with the smells of grime and antiseptic assailing our senses, with death waiting outside the door, those were the sweetest words ever spoken. Sweeter in their simple, naked honesty, than any candle-lit declaration of love, more beautiful in their artlessness than any sonnet delivered on bended knee. I couldn’t stop the wetness on my cheeks, and I didn’t want to.

“Yeah, well, there’s something I want you to know, too.” I pulled him back against me, brushing my lips along his cheek. He turned his body in my arms until we found each other’s mouths and lost ourselves, and entwined around each other on that blood-streaked tablecloth on what might be the last night of our lives was the only place I ever wanted to be.

We dozed, and when we woke it was to Uncle Garston standing over us like a bearded, glowering mountain of muscle in blood-stained flannel, with one bandage around his head and another showing through a rip in his shirt, wearing a flak vest that didn’t quite close around his girth. In addition to his omnipresent Desert Eagle in its holster, he clenched an assault rifle in a hand so huge and meaty that the rifle looked almost like a child’s toy.

“Where’s your half of Eli’s find-me charm?” he growled.

“What? What happened?”

His nostrils flared, and he snorted like a bull about to charge. “Did I fucking stutter? Where is the gods-damned—” He stopped, took a breath, and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Sorry. L-word, all right? I didn’t mean to . . . Just, where is it?”

I told him where it was, and he sprinted out of the room. Jayden and I dressed hurriedly, and Lawson called out from the VIP lounge asking what the shouting was about. “That’s what I’m going to find out,” I told her. I ran upstairs, with Jayden behind me, to find Garston in the kitchen scattering the contents of drawers onto the floor.

“Here,” I said, “Right where I said it was. Now stop being Uncle Growly long enough to tell me what’s going on.”

“They took him. Don’t know why, or why they didn’t kill us, but those bastards—”

“Who? The Shashashkuhun? The Qlippoth?”

“Of course, the Shashashkuhun. Who else . . . ” He looked at me with an undecipherable expression. “How did you know about the Shashashkuhun?”

Yeah, how did I know? “I—I don’t know. But when the slaughter-spider attacked last night—”

“They came here?” Garston roared loudly enough to be painful. “Why didn’t you say so? Did they hurt you? And you, boy,” he turned to Jayden, “where were you when this happened?”

Gods. Could I get one question at a time? “I’m fine,” I said, “and Jayden helped kill one of the damn things, so you can back up out of his grill right now. They killed an entire patrol squad except for Lawson, though. She’s downstairs. But this is . . . ” I shook my head. This wasn’t right. “People don’t suddenly know things like that, Garston. And then not even wonder how.” My heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest. Anyone would be freaked out, but why now instead of last night? Where was this panic coming from? “But that’s exactly what I did. I haven’t thought about it since—and when I do, I get these pictures in my head. There were two moons, and we were walking to some prison camp or something, and I was a little girl, and they . . . ” I could hear my voice rising in pitch, but couldn’t stop the words from spilling out or the images from growing more and more solid. Garston and Jayden moved toward me, but I held up my hand. I could do this on my own. I slowed my breathing and counted my breaths, an exercise I had learned as a little girl. One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Little by little, the panic faded, and I opened my eyes.

“Better?” Garston asked.

“Oh, hell no,” I said. “Or yeah, better, but not good. What’s happening to me?”

“Something your grandpa and I were afraid was coming, and that fucker last night must’ve kick-started things. ’Swhy we made you learn all that meditation and shit. Important thing to know is you’re not crazy, okay? But right now, I have to go find Eli, and we’ll explain it all when we get back. Just try not to think about any of it until then.”

“No, you can explain on the way.”

Garston shook his head. “This ain’t a discussion, K-girl. I want you safe. Don’t worry about me. I’m just gonna find out where they’re headed and call in the big guns soon as I get someplace I can get a signal.”

“You’re right, it’s not a discussion. We’ll take my car; it’s faster, and I just charged it.”

Garston opened his mouth to argue, but Jayden jumped in. “Quick question,” he said, “Do you really think anything you say is going to stop her from following you?”

My uncle glowered, but Jayden spread his hands, “I didn’t make the rain, I’m just reporting the weather.”

Garston looked from one of us to the other and threw up his hands—narrowly missing my spice rack with his AR-15—and, grumbling, led the way back downstairs.

Jayden, with his preternatural senses, rode in the passenger seat with Garston’s AR-15, once again in full warrior regalia, while Garston rode in the back with the find-me. I drove. It was calming to have something active on which to focus.

“So,” I said once we were under way, “Tell me if I’ve got this right. Monsters kidnap Grandpa Eli and attack the restaurant, and you know all about them, right down to their inseam sizes, but you don’t think to say anything until they show up and actually start killing people? Oh, and I have random surprise knowledge and first-person scenes from a science fiction movie popping into my head, and you knew that was coming, too, but didn’t think to warn me about that, either. So if I sound just a little bit pissed off, it’s probably because I am. Care to explain?”

“It wasn’t . . . We never thought they’d come here, and just . . . you were so happy, not remembering. You could grow up and have a life this time. Meet a nice boy. Or girl. Hell, a dozen of each and a fucking toaster if that was what you wanted. But you’re the one that made yourself forget shit, and we figured you had a reason and we shouldn’t fuck with it. Maybe it was wrong, but if we’re guilty of anything, it’s trusting your own subconscious, so if you’re looking to be pissed off at somebody, you better put yourself right at the top of the list.”

Ouch. I pretended to focus on traffic for a little while.

“Sorry.”

“‘Sokay.”

“So, whatever ‘it’ was, it was that bad?”

Garston snorted. “Pardon the old war-dog cliché, but I still wake up screaming some nights, and that’s after decades with a PTSD specialist. See, we got what they call desensitized after a while, so they stepped things up a little at a time. When I remembered, though, it was fifteen years all at once, including the stuff at the end that would’a broke anybody unless they worked their way up to it. The good part is it doesn’t sound like it’s hitting you all at once, and like I said, there’s all that meditation and shit.”

“And I still have no idea what ‘it’ is. Looks like we’ve reached the point where not remembering is more dangerous than remembering, though. Agreed? Make me understand here.”“Eli’s better at this kind of thing than I am. It’ll sound crazy coming from me.”

“I challenge you to top the last couple of hours in the crazy department.”

“Okay. Here goes.” He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and went for it. “Your Grandpa Eli is a demon hunter who travels between universes by performing a ritual that lets him die and come back in other worlds, and he’s actually your father from your first life. You and I and a bunch of others got taken prisoner by the Shashashkuhun demons—who were working with the Qlippoth demons at the time—when you weren’t quite eight years old. Everybody thought we were dead, but we weren’t. We spent about the next fifteen years as live test subjects for demons, until we finally escaped.”

I pulled onto the interstate. The electric hum of the motor, the tires on the wet road, and the wind buffeting us from outside were the only sounds for a while. The drizzle had picked up into rain, and sandwiched between the black sky and blacker road, I struggled to see through the falling gray that sucked my headlight beams into limbo.

“So. You escaped. We escaped, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“By doing this death ritual thing.”

“Yeah. We got separated, and you took forever to get here, but one day you just sort of . . . coalesced is the word Eli uses. This perfect, beautiful little baby girl, looking exactly the way you used to. Eli picked you up and held you for the longest time, staring at your face and crying, and I said, ‘See? All the good things you’ve done, your karma finally caught up to you.’ And he said, ‘Yes, she finally has.’”

I drove. And I admit that I sniffled a little.

After a few minutes Garston said, “Well? You gonna say something?”

“This is probably the biggest understatement of the century, but it’s a lot to take in.”

“I warned you.”

“You did.”

Still trying to figure things out, we compared notes on the attacks. When Grandpa and Garston saw the riot footage and couldn’t reach me by phone, they headed to Garston’s truck to come check on me. That was when the demons hit them, about an hour and a half after the attack on the restaurant, roughly twelve-thirty or so, when we were still huddled in the restaurant thinking the monsters were right outside. Knowing all that didn’t help much in the ‘figuring things out’ department, though.

Jayden had been silent most of this time except for helping fill in details of our fight with the slaughter-spider. When I glanced over, he was frowning.

“So,” I said, “Regret getting involved with me yet, or do I need to work on that?”

“You’ll have to work on it. Had a thought, though. I’m still not getting a signal, and . . . ” He clicked on the radio. Nothing but static all the way up and down the dial. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” I said.

I caught up as close as we dared to the find-me charm, which bought us a few minutes to pull over and search for the jammer. Once we found it, in a waterproof casing fastened to the inside of a rear wheel-well, disabling it was simple. For something a little bigger than a pack of cigarettes, though, it had certainly caused enough trouble.

Jayden took the wheel when we got back on the road so we could run without headlights, thus saving juice and making ourselves stealthier at the same time. Garston made the call. Not just to anybody, but to Malachai Traeger, who doesn’t need a code name because, hey, he’s Malachai fucking Traeger. He might be a sweetheart when he’s not working, but according to local legend, he’s faced down gods. No, that’s not hyperbole. Handy having someone like that as a family friend, especially considering there was no way we could afford him otherwise.

Just knowing that Kai was on the job did wonders for morale, and we whooped triumphantly. Okay, I whooped. Jayden smiled, but for him, that counted. Uncle Garston’s whoop sounded more like, “Would you please shut your mouth while I’m on the phone?” but I claim creative license.

Why wouldn’t we be jubilant? We had a plan, and professionals to carry it out. We had a big head start, but Kai said he’d catch up as soon as he could, and make calls on the way to assemble a small recon team and get someone to the scene of each attack to do forensics. The recon team would figure out exactly what they were up against, and call in extra support as necessary. All we had to do was point the way.

The find-me led, and we followed, with occasional updates to give Kai our route. Once we got out of range of the last cell tower, we dropped emergency reflectors and other expendables at exits and intersections to blaze a trail, and considering we were well into unpatrolled territory at that point, I strapped on Lawson’s body armor just to be safe.

On a sketchily-paved county road at the corner of nowhere and nothing, something pinged the fender, and the front right tire blew with a ‘whump’ like a glove hitting a punching bag, Jayden fought for control and lost, and the world did cartwheels as the car flipped sideways into the ditch, coming to rest halfway down with wheels in the air. Jayden and I extricated ourselves from our seat belts and air bags while I called out to Garston to see if he was okay. He didn’t answer, and when I turned to check on him, he was gone, along with one of the rear doors.

With Jayden’s night vision, it didn’t take long to find Uncle Garston, laying spread-eagled in the bottom of the ditch with his head at an unnatural angle, and wheezing with every breath. I fought back the impulse to throw myself across him the way I had as a little girl, and knelt beside him instead. Jayden understood more quickly than I did what was happening, or maybe just accepted it more readily, and stood silently nearby.

“Least it doesn’t hurt.” Garston said. “Can’t feel shit, to be honest.”

“Kai should be here soon. We’ll get you to a hospital and you’ll be—”

“Come on, K-girl. This ain’t my first body. I know when one’s going.”

I felt like I was six years old again. “You can’t just give up. You’re my Uncle Growly, and you’re tougher than anything, remember?”

“Difference between giving up and knowing when to cut your losses. I need you to do something for me, now. It’s hard, and I don’t want to ask, but—”

“No. No, don’t make me do that again. I can’t.” Again?

“Yes, you can, K-girl. I don’t need the ritual, either, not if it’s quick and clean. If I’m stuck in this body for too much longer it’s over for real, though.”

“I call bullshit. You’re going to hang the fuck on, and that’s all there is to it.” I knew better. But until I admitted it, it wouldn’t be real.

“Karma, I’m asking you to do this because I can’t do it myself. You’ll get past it. Jayden’ll help you with that. I’d ask him, but I know you—even though he’d be saving me, you’d never be able to look at him again and I want better for you than that. So I’m begging you now. Please, do this one last thing for me.”

He coughed, drew in another wheezing breath and coughed again. I ran my fingers over that tangled, salt-and-pepper mess he called a beard and kissed him on the cheek, and after a little bit of struggle, I managed to free the Desert Eagle from its holster and hold it somewhat steadily in both hands.

“L-word, Uncle Growly,” I said.

“Love you, too, K-girl. I’ll be seeing you again.”

Garston closed his eyes. It took me a while, but I pulled the trigger. The big Desert Eagle knocked me on my ass and punched me in both eardrums. I turned my face skyward and howled while the rain sluiced thick, sticky warmth from my face.

And I remembered. Not everything, not even a lot, but enough to begin to understand just how fucked up everything was. To understand why they hadn’t wanted me to remember. Why I had made myself forget. Jayden stood back while I let it out. If he’d put his arms around me or offered any kind of support, I don’t think I could have handled it. He seemed to know that.

Although it’s the worst place to find it, there is strength in pain. Not if you stuff it down or deny it or revel in it, but if you accept the pain as yours. When I was done crying, I used that strength to pull myself from the mud, and hand in hand, Jayden and I helped each other up the slope to the car to assess the damage. Jayden made a frustrated sound beside me, and flipped open his cell phone to show me the bullet hole in the fender.

And that was when I put it together. “Jayden, this isn’t about Grandpa. It never was. This is about me.”

I laid it out for him.

Whoever planned this had learned my routine, knew it would be just me and one other person on Tuesday night, and knew we’d be in the alley with our hands full at some point. The idea was simple. Grab me and get the hell out of there. The spider was never supposed to kill me. But because of the riot, the Plaza had a bunch of extra security, and Jayden and I changed our schedule, so not only were the—call them minions—not all in place, they’d been spotted. Once they’d tipped their hand, they only had a few hours to act, so plan B was to grab Grandpa and use him as bait, leaving Garston alive to come tell me. If they just wanted me dead, why a jammer instead of a bomb, either on the car or in the alley? Or why not a sniper in the alley? And why would someone clever enough to think of making us carry our own jammer not think to look for a find-me charm? They had to have found it, but instead of getting rid of it, they incorporated it into their plan. Then, when we got to where they wanted us to be, they shot out the tire to keep us in place.

There were easier ways to do this. All of it. That someone had gone to all this trouble to show they could outsmart me and pull my strings meant this was something personal, and considering my age when the Shashashkuhun had taken us, it had to be something to do with the prison camp.

It took maybe thirty seconds to explain it all. “So, what do you think?”

“I think my girlfriend is either a brilliant detective or a criminal mastermind. What’s our next move?”

I had no idea.

Garston had brought an extra rifle and plenty of ammo. Jayden and I gathered everything and scrabbled to the edge of the ditch. The tree line was perhaps a hundred yards away on the other wide of the road, but in the darkness it may as well have been miles. I was thankful for Jayden’s eyes.

“I’ve got some movement, but nothing much,” Jayden said “They’re either waiting for their boss, or they just want to make us sweat.”

“Probably the latter,” I said. “We screwed up their plan. Whoever it is, now it’s even more important to show how clever they are. Both for their own ego and to save face. They’re going to want to talk. And gloat. I’ll try to stall them until Kai’s crew gets here. If I say anything horrible that doesn’t sound like the me you know, and I probably will—”

“No, I get it. ‘Words are weapons, sharper than knives.’”

Devil Inside. Now there was an appropriate reference. I nodded. “Just wanted to make sure.”

We watched the tree line in silence for a while. Rather, Jayden watched the tree line. I couldn’t see that far in the dark, so I watched Jayden and tried to stop shivering.

“So,” I said, “Bet you’re wishing you’d stayed at the restaurant about now.”

“No. Gotta admit, though, I normally don’t do the whole monster-fighting thing until the third date. But you’re special.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls who almost get you killed.”

Jayden seemed about to say something when a man’s megaphone-amplified voice shouted across the field. “Karma Rodriguez.”

“It speaks,” I shouted back. “And it knows my name. Should I be impressed?”

“You should remember mine. It’s Brallus. I’m sending over a field phone so you don’t have to shout.”

“Anything that steps out of that tree line dies, Brallus. Especially if it’s carrying something I think might go ‘boom.’” I was already getting hoarse, though. After a quick exchange we determined that both sides had access to walkie talkies, and that Brallus had no need for signal jammers this far from the closest cell tower.

“Alright, Brallus,” I said into the walkie-talkie, “Good people died tonight because of you. If that was supposed to get my attention, it worked.” I wanted to scream at him to give my grandfather back, but if there was any chance at all of that happening, I had to downplay how important he was to me.

“You expect me to believe you’re upset about those native guards?” he said, “What happened to the cold little demon-bitch who whored out her own mother for scraps and special treatment?”

What? Jayden caught my eye, and I shrugged, nonplussed. “You know that’s not how it was. And which of us is working with demons? I could swear that was a Shashashkuhun slaughter-spider I killed a few hours ago.”

“A temporary alliance. And better the Shashashkuhun than monsters like you. See, I know why the Qlippoth’s little experiment worked on you when it killed everybody else they tried it on. You were evil to begin with. That thing they put inside of you wasn’t an invader, it was a soulmate.”

Okay, best not to think about the Qlippoth putting anything inside me for now. Probably something I was better off not remembering. “Brallus, I was a child when they captured me.”

“Captured you? Took you home, you mean. Put you in with the real prisoners to spy on them, and anyone who caught on, you had your followers kill. Then when you and your little band escaped, you left the rest of us there.”

“Okay, do you see the flaw in your logic here? If I was somehow serving the Qlippoth, why would I want or need to escape?”

“How should I know how a demon thinks? After what you did to my brother, I stopped even trying to understand you.”

Riiiiiight. Not like I’d really expected logic to work, anyway. “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No idea? His name was Kolb. You used your powers to seduce him, then had him ripped to pieces when he finally gave in. As if he had a choice. I can still hear him screaming.”

Speaking of screaming, I didn’t need the walkie to hear him at that point. If the idea was to stall, as opposed to goad, I’d better take things down a notch. I keyed the mic, but before I could speak, the world went away. This world, anyway.

The stone is rough against my back, and Kolb has his hand over my mouth. His brother Brallus is supposed to be keeping watch, but he keeps looking at me funny, and he says they shouldn’t do this, but he breathes harder when he looks at me. Kolb thinks I am afraid of them, but I am just waiting for them to make a mistake. When Kolb tries to rip my top off, I bite his hand as hard as I can and knee him between the legs the way Mommy taught me. I still have a piece of his hand in my mouth, and it is gross, but I can’t think about that now. I spit it out and dig my fingernails into his eyes and scream as loud as I can. And then Mommy is there . . . That twisted . . . And he called me a monster? When I could speak again I screamed back hoarsely. “I was nine years old, you sick fuck. I’m glad Kolb is dead. I hope it hurt like hell and took a long, long time, and I’m just sorry they could only do it once. Now give me back my grandfather, you piece of shit, or I swear I will tear you open with my bare hands and feed you your own intestines.”

I was shaking with rage, and when Jayden touched my arm I nearly decked him before I regained control. He raised an eyebrow and indicated the tree line by inclining his head toward it. By the time I followed his eyes, he was already sending arrow after arrow across the field. The Shashashkuhun were attacking. There were at least a dozen or so—I was a little too occupied to count—a mix of slaughter-spiders and more humanoid-looking creatures—slothor, something inside me said—laying down suppressing fire with automatic rifles, but considering what it had taken to kill just one already-wounded slaughter-spider, we were well and truly fucked. So much for Brallus wanting me alive. The only thing to do was go down fighting, but that would probably be quicker and cleaner than whatever Brallus had originally planned. I picked up the AR-15 and took aim, and Jayden lay down his bow and grabbed the other rifle.

“I’m sorry, Jayden,” I shouted. Like sorry would cover this. “They don’t care about you. If you run they might let you go.”

Jayden’s only response was to keep firing. I had to give him the out, even though I knew he wouldn’t take it. Part of me found comfort in knowing he’d be there until the end, and the rest of me hated myself for that.

“I love you,” I yelled above the sound of gunfire. I should have said it months ago, and I might not get a chance to say it later.

“You’d better,” he said as he swapped out magazines, “And I love you, too.” He tried to give me one of those ‘our little secret’ smiles, but failed, and we pretended not to see the fear on each other’s faces. We downed two demons, but although that made them a little more cautious, they were still too tough and healed too quickly. By the time they were thirty yards away, we had only taken one more out of the fight, and were nearly out of ammunition. It would be hand to hand with the remaining ones soon, and realistically speaking, that wouldn’t last very long. We were about to die. The only question was whether we could take any more of them with us.

And that was when our miracle arrived. At first I thought it was more Shashashkuhun, but no, the demons were taking flanking fire from the roadside perpendicular to ours, and a three-wheeler with a sidecar leapt over the adjoining road and sped toward us down the center of the ditch. Malachai Traeger, tall and lean in brown armored leathers and that Boba Fett-looking helmet of his, jumped off the trike before it even came to a full stop, letting it stall out, and a slender Aosidhe woman in ill-fitting rust-colored gear followed from the sidecar, carrying four assault rifles with jungle clips. If I knew Kai, and I did, they’d be loaded with something to give us an edge. She tossed one to Kai on the run, and scrambled up the slope to hand one each to Jayden and me before taking a prone position and firing. She and Kai squeezed off disciplined three-round bursts, and Jayden and I tried to follow suit, focusing on the same targets. The Shashashkuhun didn’t simply fall back or retreat, they scrambled for the tree line. About half of them made it, and the gunfire changed to occasional shots and bursts as targets became less visible.

The Aosidhe woman took off toward the other end of the ditch. Kai waved me a little further down the slope and plopped down next to me, flipping up his faceplate. “Would’ve been here sooner, but someone left a surprise for us. And by the way, that trash can did quite a bit of damage. Not fatal on its own, but more than it should have. Same with the taser.”

“So their weaknesses are aluminum and electricity?”

“Nope. I have a theory about that, but—”

The radio squawked. Brallus wanting to know if I was still there. “Yeah, I’m here, Brallus. You’re down a few troops, though. Seems like this might be a good time for you to surrender.”

“Not when I still have something you want.”

I made sure the mic was off, and explained to Kai what was going on, then asked, “Can your people get to my grandpa?”

“They’re working on it, but we don’t want to put him in any more danger. Stall.”

Along with everything else, Brallus was playing a power game. He couldn’t just tell me what he wanted—He had to make me ask. “Okay, what do you want?”

“You, demon-bitch.” He didn’t speak the words so much as spit them. “Wearing thrice-blessed iron manacles, in a circle of containment. Then I’ll let the old man go.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Traditional anti-demon thing,” Kai whispered. “This is good. Keep him talking.”

“I see a couple of problems with that,” I said. “The first of which is, gee, wouldn’t you know it, Brallus? I’m fresh out of thrice-blessed iron manacles.”

“Funny. I’ll send over the restraints.”

“And what’s to stop you from double-crossing us once you have me?”

“I don’t think you have much choice.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“He’s rather . . . indisposed.”

“Look, do you see the other hole in your logic here? If I’m this evil demon spawn you claim, why would his life mean enough to me to risk my own?”

“I don’t know, nor do I care about your reasons.” Of course. Hadn’t we established earlier that Brallus was immune to logic? “I’ll give you twenty minutes to decide how important he is to you.”

“If you kill him, you lose your leverage.”

“True, but I don’t have to kill him. How do you think he’d like living without his lips? Or maybe his eyelids?”

That was when I knew that no matter what, even if it cost me my own life, I was going to kill that son of a bitch, and anyone who got in my way.—The worst part isn’t what they do to us. It’s what they make us do to each other. I am strapped to the table trying not to cry while my mother stands over me with a hot iron. They give her a choice. She can take over torturing me, or they will burn out my eyes, one at a time. If she still refuses, they will cut out my tongue—but not all at once. They will draw it out. They make it very clear just how long and how horribly they can make me suffer while keeping me alive and awake.—

“You touch one hair on his head, and I’ll make the prison camp seem like Club fucking Med, motherfucker. I’ll . . . ” I don’t even remember the rest of what I screamed into the walkie-talkie at that point, only that my hands were shaking so badly that I dropped it. I was wiping the mud off when Brallus’ voice broke in again.

“I’ll turn this back on in twenty minutes. Have your answer ready.”

Oh, I had an answer for him, all right. I was going to put him in a hole where no one could hear him scream. I was going to cut off his balls and feed them to him. I was going to—

“You know you can’t hand yourself over, don’t you?” Jayden said.

My voice came out harder than I’d intended. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You think I don’t understand the risk? Would you do it for someone you love?”

Jayden’s voice was quiet when he answered. “You already know the answer to that.”

Oh, smooth. I was bitching at a man who’d proven twice in the past few hours that he’d stand beside me even if it meant dying. I hung my head, blinking. What the fuck? One minute I was ready to kill, the next, I was fighting back tears.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I said. “It’s just so messed up right now. We started the night being attacked by monsters. And do we run from them like, oh, I don’t know . . . sane people? No, we chase them into an unpatrolled zone like some kind of demon-food delivery service, because yeah, that was bound to turn out well. But what other choice did we have? They took Grandpa and we had to get him back. And Garston . . . I lost one of only two people I consider family tonight—no, correction, I blew his fucking brains out, and I don’t dare even slow down long enough to let myself feel it yet.” I heard my voice rising, felt my control slipping, and I didn’t care. “Apparently my entire family is from some alternate universe, and I’m remembering things from a past life where I was tortured by demons for fifteen years starting when I was eight years old—Let me tell you, it wasn’t a good time. I am this close to completely, absolutely, permanently, and irrevocably losing my fucking shit, and the only reason I haven’t already lost it is that all of this is so utterly bat-shit insane that I can’t even focus enough to go properly crazy. I—”

Jayden knelt and pulled me to him hard, covering my mouth with his in a kiss that, for just that moment, was more real than anything else in existence. Solid and tangible proof of a connection with another human being. One who would support me no matter what the odds. When we broke the kiss Jayden remained, holding me firmly but gently, grounding me.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say, “I just . . . I’m doing the best I can, but I honestly don’t know how much I have left in me. I’m trying to be strong, but I’m so fucking tired of being strong right now.”

“And you are strong, Karma,” Jayden said. “Just stop taking it all on yourself. Nobody’s that strong.”

Kai shook his head and sighed. “The kid’s right,” he said. “Most people’d be ready for a rubber room after half of what you’ve been through in the past—what’s it been, five hours or so? I’ve been close to the edge myself a couple of times, and I deal with fucked-up shit for a living. No shame in needing somebody to pull you back.”

I swallowed and nodded, and Kai continued. “That said, as much as I don’t want to push you any further, we’ve got a deadline to meet. You gonna be okay?”

There was a question I’d heard before. “Ask me that in a couple of years. But let’s do this.”

“Okay. Give me your hands. I have to check something.” Kai knelt where Jayden had been and took both my hands in his. A familiar, subtle energy, both warm and cool at once, circulated through me. Something in Kai called out to that energy, but it was like the call was in a foreign tongue, a friendly language that I could almost, but not quite, understand. Kai became somehow more real, more solid. I had an impression of immensity, of a bright column of light almost too intense to look at, that feathered outward like three sets of giant wings, and of a voice like singing multi-tonal bells and pipes accompanied by a chorus of beautiful, almost human voices. Kai removed his hands from mine, and the vision faded.

“You’re a—” I started.

Kai cut me off. “Don’t go there, it’s not what you think. I’ll explain later, but for now let’s just say the Quiet World is a hell of a lot bigger than most people think. There are some people who don’t even know they’re Quiet Worlders. Like you.”

I swallowed.

“So what am I?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Not the same as me, but similar enough that I’m betting your power—at least one part of it—works about the same way mine does. At least there’s one thing we can both do.”

“Are you telling me I’m a—”

“I said don’t go there. Now about this power . . . ” After he told me I sat blinking, trying to take it in.

“You’re telling me that I turned a trash can into a holy weapon? And I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.”

Kai winced. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but basically, yeah. You channel energy into objects, and if something’s got a supernatural weakness, well . . . You’ve seen the results. You’ve already done it unconsciously, and we have about ten minutes to figure out how, so let’s get with it.”

When Brallus came back on the air, I told him I was ready. He sent the more humanoid of the remaining Shashashkuhun across, pulling what looked like an old barn door on makeshift runners, marked with containment circles. Assuming they were specifically keyed to demons, they wouldn’t affect me, nor would the blessings on the restraints. Unfortunately, though, the chains would hold me just like they would anybody else. Brallus insisted I strip down to my bra and panties to make sure I wasn’t hiding a weapon, and while that made sense on one level, it was also creepy, considering. The kind of pseudo-succubus he’d convinced himself I was wouldn’t mind stripping, though, and the idea for now was to play into his expectations.

So I stepped up into the containment circle and made a show of it, shimmying and tossing my head as though dancing to some private, raunchy music—which is a lot harder than you’d think when you’re soaked, and shivering uncontrollably. When I got down to my underthings I ran my hands down my sides, did a little wriggle, and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. “Sure you don’t want me to keep going?” The demon eyed me and licked its black lips as it came closer. Gods, I was going to be sick if the thing actually touched me.

At a word from Brallus, it backed away hurriedly, and someone in the tree line fired a warning shot. “No tricks,” Brallus shouted. “You, with the long hair,” meaning Jayden, “Chain her up. And do it right, or the old man suffers.” So far, so good. Part of the plan depended on either Jayden or Kai getting up onto the platform with me.

The cuffs and collar were fastened to a ring in the middle of the platform by chains that wouldn’t allow me to raise myself up past a crouch, and secured by large, medieval-looking padlocks. As Jayden snapped the last lock in place, I lowered my head, ostensibly in defeat, but in reality to hide my smile at the feel of cold metal hidden beneath my foot and the chemical smell in my nostrils. The drizzle hadn’t let up, and would already be diluting the acid, but all the acid had to do was weaken the wood where the ring was bolted.

It took forever for the monster to slog across in the mud pulling me behind it. This would work, I kept telling myself. For the most part I believed it, too. Until Brallus stepped forward, placed his hand on the platform, and spoke an activating word. After that I was too busy screaming to think about much of anything.

When I came to, I was huddled on my side in the fetal position, shivering, in a pool of my own vomit and urine. At least I’d landed on the multi-tool when I fell, keeping it hidden. The air was damp and cold, but a tent kept the rain off of us. Brallus stood nearby with arms folded, glaring at me. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, fairly well-muscled, with close-cropped, thick, dark hair. The overall effect was like someone had brought a G.I. Joe to life. A .45 sat holstered on his right hip, and a coiled whip hung from one wrist by a leather strap.

“Killer turkey sandwich,” I croaked, “No mayo, black coffee, apple pie.”

“You have no idea how difficult it was to treat you like a human being, or to keep my food down while looking at you. And by the way, please try to move again. The outer circle is containment, the inner one is pain, as you’ve already discovered. So sorry your foot was touching it when I turned it on.”

“Kinky. If I were fifteen years younger I bet you’d be creaming yourself. Again.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I was scared shitless, and trying to hide it from him any way I could.

It wasn’t a good tactic. I barely saw the whip coming in time to take the lash on my arms instead of across my face. It was a half-hearted strike and didn’t quite draw blood, but it stung like hell, and I cried out despite myself. The whip gave me an idea, though; I just wasn’t ready to try it yet.

Brallus was red in the face. “Soaked in holy water. It should have burned you, but I guess that’s just one more mystery we’ll have to solve. Some old friends want to see what makes you tick, and I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it. If there’s anything left when they’re finished, you’re mine. Think about that, demon-bitch.”

I thought about it, alright, and I didn’t like the pictures in my head. “What about The General? Did you let him go?”

In answer, Brallus pointed behind me to where Grandpa was tied to a post by his wrists with his head down on his chest. He was breathing, but unconscious. “I’ll release him at a more appropriate time. For now, though,” He pulled a baby monitor—talk about creep factor—from his cargo pocket, switched it on, and set it on top of the nearby field table. “Feel free to scream at me as much as you like. I’ll be listening.”

He muttered what I supposed were instructions to the monster who’d dragged me here, then swaggered out of the tent. Smug bastard. The man demon growled when it looked my way, but immediately averted its many eyes, as though afraid to look directly at me. I guessed Brallus had him convinced that I was dangerous. I took advantage to inspect the pain ward more closely, careful not to move any part of my body over it. I was no expert, but if I was right about it, my idea should work. I wrapped myself around the ring, and worked it back and forth, covering the motion with fake, body-wracking sobs, augmented occasionally with very real dry heaves from the stink of my own fluids, until I’d gotten it as loose as I thought I could by hand.

I was determined to stay alert for a chance to work on it with the multi-tool, but I was at that point of exhaustion where inanimate objects move in the corners of your eyes and normal background noise becomes voices on a far-away radio. The pain and growling in my stomach reminded me that what little I’d eaten in the past few hours was either smeared all over my skin or lay in a noxious pool beneath me, and the last time I’d felt warm or dry seemed like a lifetime ago.

My body finally said, ‘enough,’ and as if my brain was trying to convince me to stop fighting sleep, I could almost hear a lullaby in a woman’s soft mezzo-soprano, familiar and comforting. I held the song against myself and let it pull me down into the welcome dark.

I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes, but when I opened my eyes, the demon guard’s misshapen head lolled to one side in sleep. It had to be a trick, I thought at first, but then again, we’d left Brallus short-handed, and who knew how much it took out of these things to heal as quickly as they did?

I turned at a low hiss from Grandpa. He winked at me and wiggled the end of the rope. He’d gotten loose, but held it in place to make it look as though his hands were still bound. Thanks to the baby monitor, we didn’t dare speak, but I managed to pantomime my idea, and urged him to escape. He frowned and shook his head no. I hadn’t really expected him to leave me there, any more than I’d have left him or . . . Gods, I didn’t want to tell him about Uncle Garston. I set to work with the multi-tool, digging around the ring to which my chains were attached. Once I got it out I replaced it, took a deep breath, and with an encouraging look from Grandpa, got ready to put on another act.

“Brallus,” I said toward the monitor. The demon guarding me jerked its head up, awake, but other than that, nothing. “Brallus! Please, I’m cold, and I’m hungry, and I know you don’t care about that, but I’ll tell you things you want to know. All I want is a blanket and some food. I’ll cooperate. I didn’t know how bad it would be without my power.”

Still nothing.

“This body’s getting weaker. It’ll get sick. What if it dies? What then? All this for nothing?”

Something rustled outside, and Brallus entered the tent glowering. He spoke a few words to the demon in an ugly language, and the beast left. I did my best to look small and pitiful and afraid. The afraid part wasn’t hard, and I figured that being scared at least meant I was still sane.

“I sent it for food, water, and blankets. I’ll have it bring them in once we’re done here.”

I bowed my head, doing my best ‘humbled prisoner’ act, and reminded myself that as long as those wards were active I’d be unconscious from pain before I could get my hands around Brallus’ throat. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

“Don’t thank me. I’d rather watch you suffer.”

I bit my lip. Have to play this just right. I couldn’t have him get pissed and walk away. I needed to get hold of that whip.

I kept my head bowed. “I know. But I’ll keep my end. I’ll tell you everything.”

“And how would I know it was the truth?”

“Because my best chance of survival, or at least a quick death, is to cooperate.”

The best lies contain at least partial truths, and I sprinkled in just enough to make things sound plausible, given that there was no way he’d accept the unvarnished version. Some things I had to blatantly fabricate, though. For instance, I claimed that the riot and Grandpa were both parts of long-term plans to gain power in this world, and that when I agreed to trade myself I did so thinking that Brallus couldn’t hold me (that part was true) and I’d have my pawn back for free. After a few minutes, it was time to bait my hook. With head hung low, I offered to tell the truth about what I had done to his brother, and said that I’d write a confession. He bit, and I started reeling him in.

Another thing about lies. People will buy into almost anything as long as it confirms what they want to believe, and unless I had seriously misunderstood Brallus’ expression when his brother was trying to molest me, Brallus’ tastes ran similar to Kolb’s.

So I spun a Lolita story that would have made Nabokov proud. Although I barely kept from gagging as I did it, I confirmed all the lies people like Brallus and Kolb tell themselves so they can sleep at night, and credited myself demonic powers to further absolve Kolb of responsibility. Brallus’ breathing quickened, and every so often he’d unconsciously moisten his lips with his tongue. Yeah, I know. Makes you want to throw up, doesn’t it?

“And you’d write this out as a confession?” he asked.

I hung my head. “With witnesses, if you want, to prove I wasn’t coerced.”

He steepled his hands and sat watching me. “You know this doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. Still, I was hoping maybe . . . ”

I let the pause hang there until he prompted me. “I knew you’d have an ulterior motive. You were hoping what? That I’d unchain you and let you go?”

I shook my head. “No, just that if I cooperated and told you everything you wanted to know, maybe you wouldn’t turn me over to them.” I wasn’t even sure who ‘they’ were, but I assumed the higher-ups in the Shashashkuhun hierarchy.

“That’s out of my hands.”

“No, you can convince them. And you can . . . use me any way you want.” Emphasis on the ‘use.’ And then, for the bit that would set me free. “And if this body doesn’t please you, I could help you find young girls, like I was back then. Boys, too, if you want them. I could make them either submit or fight back, whichever excites you more.”

His face went slack and pale. The last thing people in denial want is to have their proclivities thrown in their face. “You. Dare.” Brallus stood and unfurled the whip. I crouched and threw my hands in front of me as though cowering, but as the whip wrapped around my forearms and bit into them, I grabbed and pulled. Brallus teetered, off-balance, but didn’t fall. We played tug-of-war, and Brallus was winning until Grandpa threw himself at Brallus’ back and knocked him across his own wards.

The wards flashed with electricity, and Brallus screamed, convulsed, and passed out. I used his body as a bridge to get out of the containment circle, then Grandpa grabbed his sidearm and his keys. Grandpa offered me the .45, but I waved it away in favor of the keys, and told him to deactivate the find-me charm—which would signal Kai and his group to attack. I should have taken the gun and put a bullet into Brallus’ head, but I wanted him awake and alert when I killed him. As I finished with the locks, scrambling noises outside said that at least one demon was on the way back to the tent. I grasped the chains that had held me and swung them in a slow, but accelerating circle while I used what Kai and I had discovered about my power to infuse them with what energy I could.

When tall, dark and revolting poked its ugly head into the tent, I swung my chains with everything I had, and sent it staggering back. The power in the chains flashed, then diminished, but did not completely fade, and the demon’s face blackened across its eyes where I’d hit it. I swung again and again while Grandpa flanked it with Brallus’ .45. On my third blow, the demon’s skull cracked open, spattering me with blood and brains.

Gunfire and other battle noises announced the arrival of our allies, and by the time I’d secured Brallus and stepped out of the tent, the fighting was over. Filthy as I was, I threw my arms around Grandpa’s neck, telling him how much I’d missed him, how worried I’d been, and babbling about Jayden.

Grandpa looked away, with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not your grandfather.”

“I know. Uncle Garston told me. Dad.” I grinned.

“You don’t understand. I mean—”

I heard movement behind me, and turned to see Brallus low-crawling toward the tent flap to escape.

Reunions would have to wait. I ran toward Brallus swinging my chains, and opened a gash across his back with the bolt end of the connecting ring. He bellowed and fell forward, and I went to work on him. Not his head, though. That would be too quick. This man had killed my friends, kidnapped and tortured my father, forced me to kill the other man I thought of as a parent, and those were only the tip of the mountain of things he had to answer for. He rolled onto his back snarling and tried to catch the chain, and got a broken arm for his trouble. He succeeded in pulling me off balance, but I don’t think me landing with my knee in his solar plexus was the result he was going for. While he gasped for breath, stunned, I raised my arms into the air and smashed a double fistful of chain into his face.

Once he was unconscious I let up, simply because it wasn’t as satisfying to hit him when he couldn’t feel it. I wanted to kill him. I wanted it more than I could remember ever wanting anything. But I didn’t. No, not because of some cliché like, ‘he wasn’t worth it,’ or, ‘that would be stooping to his level.’ Oh, hell, no. I could have killed him and slept the sleep of the just, but it came down to a question of practicality. I had questions for the bastard, and if I killed him, I’d never get the answers. I left him to Kai’s tender mercies for the time being.

One of the proxies loaned us a vehicle to get back to civilization, and Jayden and I set out to find where Grandpa-slash-Dad had gotten to. The drizzle had become a downpour by the time we found him on the side of the road staring at the spot where Garston had died. Correction: where I had killed him. I stuffed that thought down as best I could. Kai’s cohorts had already removed the body, but someone must have told him. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved that I didn’t have to break the news, or guilty that he’d had to hear it from someone else. I finally decided on feeling guilty about feeling relieved. Jayden kissed me—yes, vomit and all—and said he’d be close by, then wandered off to give my grandfather and me some time alone.

I stood behind Grandpa and put my hand on his shoulder. I didn’t know what to say, or even whether to call him Grandpa or Dad, so I didn’t say anything. After thirty seconds or so, he broke the silence, and I didn’t think I’d ever heard him sound so frail or tired.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry. I thought I could get Eli back, but then I was . . . He’s in here somewhere, but he’s buried deep.”

My stomach dropped, and my spine turned to ice. I backed away, drawing my nine millimeter, pointing it at the back of his head and thumbing the safety off. “Who are you? What are you? And what the fuck are you doing in my grandfather?”

“I—Nobody. Just another prisoner. Someone who tried to save everybody and failed. You did great, though. Saved everybody I couldn’t, including yourself. Including me. I’ll keep this body alive long enough to get it to a hospital, and then I’ll leave you all in peace.”

I lowered my weapon. “What do I call you?”

He turned toward me, and I averted my eyes to avoid seeing someone else behind that face. “I won’t be around long enough to need a name.”

There was nothing left but to go home. I took the wheel, with Not-Grandpa in the passenger seat and Jayden in the back. In the enclosed space, all the things I hadn’t been able to wash off hit me square in the face. That window had to come down, freezing rain or no. I eased us back to pavement, and then opened up full throttle, trying to outrun my own thoughts.

Nothing. It was all for nothing. I’d failed, utterly and completely, and as if to prove there was no justice in the universe, I was still alive—Then again, maybe there was justice after all. Maybe surviving was part of my punishment.

Which brings me to my laughing-slash-crying jag at the side of the road. The car was too confining, so I drove to the nearest rest stop, got out and walked to a covered picnic table. After a few minutes, Jayden joined me. As he’d already shown, he had a good feel for when to approach me and when to leave me alone.

“I was talking to, uh . . . ” He gestured toward the car.

“I’ve been thinking of him as ‘Not-Grandpa,’ for lack of anything better. And look, I already know I’m not giving him a fair shake. I can’t help it. And yes, I know we should try to help him find another—”

“About that. I know the whole deduction thing is your territory, but as the Watson to your Holmes, I figure I can come up with something once in a while, too.”

“Okay, spill, Watson.”

“Under one condition.”

At Jayden’s insistence, I gave myself a sponge-bath in the ladies’ room while he rinsed my clothes and laid out his thoughts and conclusions the way I’d done with him earlier. When he finished, I stood literally open-mouthed for probably a full minute, letting it sink in. If my power was, as Kai thought, something like his, there was one way to see if Jayden was right.

“Go on,” he said. “I’ll wait here for a little while.” Seemed like that boy spent a lot of time waiting for me. Then again, we’d waited almost two years for each other, so we should’ve been used to it by then.

Back at the car I took Not-Grandpa’s hands, over his objections, and focused on finding that same energy I’d felt with Kai.

There were no heavenly choirs, no columns of light. Just a face. Layers of faces, actually. The first one was a facade, the peak of a bearded mountain named Garston. Behind that one was a woman’s face, with long, dark hair, and eyes like mine. A face from another life. My mother.

Although it was Grandpa’s body in front of me, it was still my mother’s face I saw superimposed upon it. She turned away from me, crying. I was almost too stunned to form words, and my mouth opened and closed several times before I could make anything come out. “Mom?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—” she started, but a huge sob cut her off, and for a while, we just held each other and cried.

So much for this all being for nothing.

Maybe we all got what we deserved in the end, after all. We’ll be a family again for the first time in nearly two lifetimes, once we get Dad back from wherever inside himself he's hiding out and find Mom a new body (no idea how we're going to do that, but I have some ideas). Jayden got me, and at the risk of blowing my own horn, I’m not such a bad catch. The patrol officers—after everything I’d seen, I couldn’t believe that death was the end for them. Me, not only was I getting my family back, along with some sort of as-yet-unexplained superpowers, but also quite possibly the most fantastic guy in this or any other universe. I don’t know what I did to deserve any of it, but it must have been something pretty awesome. So even if it sounds corny—and I know it does…

I’m going to call it karma.

#my writing #urban fantasy #hopepunk #writing #karma #quiet world #my fiction #cosmic horror

[hermesserpent-stuff]

reader beware evil spoilers in there!!! Spoilers for transmutation of the soul~

--

Viggo swallows and grips the railing. He watches the waves rise and fall under the pale moonlight. Wind swirls around him, almost like it is trying to cool off the rage that burns him. The heat of his rage at himself threatens to tear him apart. He watches the waves as they rock the boat, watches the endless oceans that had acted as an escape route for children that had no reason to fear him or Ryker, but feared anyways. 

Could he have stated his intentions differently? More neutrally? More flowery? What could he have done to make the answer a yes and not a terrifying no that could be permanent? No. It cannot be permanent he refuses to accept that and-

“Long night?”

His brother comes to lean his back on the railing beside him, polishing one of his blades that really does not need polish. But Viggo cannot blame his older brother for seeking comfort in familiar motions. Viggo frowns down at the waters that keep moving, uncaring of the human fates that are made upon them.

“Yes. Too many thoughts. A southern fort with the Hysterics would be beneficial but Im not sure they are here.”

His brother hums in reply. Out of the two of them, Viggo was the planner. And he should have planned the offer of adoption better. He had known better!

Air comes out of his mouth in a hiss.

“Gods.”

He snarls at himself willing his brain to just shut up about his failure so that he could sleep for the first time in four days. 

“Viggo?”

His brother’s voice has an echo of worry he does not deserve. It is his fault, after all, that they are on this journey to find the two children. The two children he should have been able to keep safe. But he failed over and over. He feels tears warm his cheeks. He wonders if Hiccup had shed any more tears, fist in his mouth to silence the noise to hide away. He wonders if Dagur had to fight to keep his brother and draw blood with his blades and had his own blood drawn in turn. He wondered if either was less whole than he when he saw them last. Had a leg or arm been lost? Had they lost those delightful sparks of life that merrily burned in their eyes that lit up in defiance of a cruel world that had cast them aside? 

Viggo gags as he forces down sobs that threaten to rib him like the Raincutter’s talons that had tried to snatch away his own life. He clenches the railing, bending his head in defeat at the weight of his pain. 

“I… I'm sorry. I scared them off and I should have-”

A familiar warm hand comes to rest on his back. 

“It is my fault. I pressed and pressed you, brother. You never would have done anything if I had not been so pressing.”

“And yet, I was the one with the choice to act, brother dear. Have you ever known me to be someone who can be forced to do what I do not wish?”

He asks, while his heart screams. He is a fool. A fool that could be oh so clever and then fail at the most important moment. His tears warm his cheeks, but no tremble enters his voice and he is not sure that his brother knows that he is crying. He hopes not. His heart throbs and he tries not to crumble like the ash from a burning forest. Viggo has to go on. He does not flinch as Ryker punches the railing, sending rattles through the wood. 

“How can you try to take all the blame?!”

“I've always been the more selfish of us two, my dearest brother.”

He whispers deathly calm filling his voice as surety of his guilt soaks his chest.  His moves to be head tilting upwards as tears drip down his cheeks, touching his lips, slipping down to his neck, and then winding beneath his armor. The wind picks up as if agreeing and it spirals around them. Ryker hits the railing again and snarls ferally.

“You’re not! You aren't!! You have never been- you always- How dare you say such things?! Do not take on my guilt!”

Ryker snaps and snarls and hits the railing again and again, splintering it again from rage. A rage that is a screeching blaze demanding to be heard and felt and yet… Viggo looks to the stars and wonders for a moment what it might be like to join those lights in the infinite void of darkness that fills the night. He knows the stars would reflect in the water below if he just looked. That he could join those lights if he just stepped over the edge. But then he would not find the two.

“But I am-”

His sentence is interrupted as Ryker yanks his arms and grips both of his arms hard enough to bruise and Viggo is forced to look into his bothers pained face. Ryker is red with rage and grief and Viggo is silent in his tears. They stare at eachother. Ryker’s hand comes to his cheek, wiping the tear and leaving a thin trail of blood from his broken skin in its place. Viggo finds his tongue.

“I am chief. I make the calls. And I made the wrong one.”

He whispers, voice finally trembling.

“And I advise you. And my advice was wrong.”

Ryker’s voice is now hushed.

“Maybe you should both just say you hold part of the guilt and the other part belongs to those boys’ fathers for being unsuited to raisin’ either of them and get some sleep so that you might actually be of use tomorrow.”

Both startle at Gobber’s voice cutting in and the man raises an eyebrow. 

“I… yes. That would be wise.”

Viggo whispers. Gobber nods as they start to move.

“And treat that wound.”

Gobber adds. Ryker makes a small embarrassed noise.

“I.. didn’t notice that.”

Gobber snorts at Ryker's words. 

“You’re a lot like them you know. Hiccup was always overthinking and Dagur was a quick spark to rage.”

Both stutter a bit at the comparison. 

#hermes speaks #httyd #httyd au #stolen heir au #viggo grimborn #ryker grimborn #Youtube

[not-a-space-alien]

K&J x MMSS 3: Kane & Valen Part 7

Chapter 7 of the third crossover with @whumpsday!

In this chapter:

K&J masterlist

MMSS masterlist

K&J x MMSS crossover masterlist

SERIES IS 18+ ONLY.

Warnings:  Death wish/suicidal ideation, nonconsensual bondage/restraint, gag/muzzle, torture/aftermath of torture, burns/skinning, misgendering of a transmasculine character (non-malicious)

To be added to the taglist, contact @whumpsday

***

The hunters leave Kane alone for a bit while he heals. In the meantime, they begin regularly torturing Valen.

Kane keeps his promise and begs on Valen's behalf, and it works about a quarter of the time to make the pain a little less or the duration a little shorter. He wishes there was more he could do to help.

On the day that Kane is looking just barely healed enough to be able to coherently take a punishment, a hunter instead comes down and informs him that Jim Lieberman is coming to pick him up.

Kane is hysterical. He and Valen are going to be separated. The one good thing in his life, gone. And Valen will still be here, having to endure everything alone, unable to even beg.

Valen's brain short-circuits. Kane is hysterical at the thought of leaving. Kane doesn’t want to leave. It feels wrong to not want to leave, but then the crushing weight of it hits him. Jim was Kane's victim. The hunters are going to give Kane to Jim, but not Valen. They're going to be separated.

"No no no, PLEASE! Please don’t give me away, please let her come, too!" Kane wails, but his pleas go unacknowledged.

He clings tightly to Valen, sobbing into his shoulder. "I don't wanna leave you!"

In contrast to the distressed, wailing man clinging to him, Valen is once again silent and still, eyes glassy, face lax. They're going to take away his Kane, and Valen will be alone.

And Valen is dying.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have killed you.” Kane holds Valen close like he'll be torn away the second he loosens his grip. “I d-don't know what I was thinking. I'm so sorry you're here. I love you."

Like moving through a dream, Valen lifts a hand to Kane's arm, taking it gently. There's so many things to say, but he gave up on that long ago. He talks with touches, now. The animalistic brain that can only see what's in front of it is back. In this exact second, they are together, and this second is all that exists, and if he just takes it one second at a time, he can handle it.

A week later, when a hunter comes to take Kane away, he is not obedient. For the first time in years, he is defiant. He has found something worth the punishment for defiance.

He has to be pried off of Valen. Padded wrist and ankle cuffs and a padded muzzle are affixed to him, and he doesn’t even acknowledge the mercy of it. He struggles and screams and writhes, looking back at Valen, eyes full of terror.

Valen lies limp on the ground, looking up at Kane through his hair, eyes dull and hopeless. He does not even have it in him to cry anymore.

As soon as Jim removes Kane's muzzle and allows him to speak, Kane drops his head to the ground and tearfully apologizes profusely for everything, begging for mercy. And he's driven away, away from Valen, unsure of what horrors his new life will hold.

But when they arrive home, Jim is, somehow, kind. He gives Kane clothes, and a bed, and a blanket, and bandages his wrists, and assures him he won't hurt him, and says that the torture was bad. It's at the end of that first night, when Jim is about to leave him alone to rest, when Kane’s developed just enough trust to think Jim might honor his begging, that Kane dares to ask.

"Jim, I..." He drops to his knees. "Thank you so much, so, so much for your mercy. I can't possibly be more thankful for the kindness you've shown me tonight. B-but, and, and I know the last thing I should be doing is asking f-favors from you after what I've done, but... it's not for me. My, my friend, she's still there, with the hunters. She's not like me, she didn't do anything, she didn't hurt anyone."

Technically, Kane doesn't know this for sure, it was not something they discussed during their brief day of conversation. But it doesn’t matter. He would say anything to make sure Valen is safe. "Please, they're torturing her. Please, please, help her. I'll do anything, Jim, anything. Please, she didn't do anything." He's crying by this point, hoping Jim's mercy extends far enough for that and he won't just call him ungrateful, taking all the amenities away and leaving Valen to rot.

"Okay. Okay. Calm down." Jim says. "I'll help. No one deserves that shit. I'll help your friend get out of there, okay?"

Kane bursts into a flurry of thankful babbling that Jim cannot shake him from. He's never been so grateful in his entire life. Jim calls the hunters and requests the other vampire too. There's some hesitation, but Jim is able to talk them into it: all he has to do is play up that it would help him heal, to have another vampire in his custody. The thought makes him sick, what these hunters are assuming would help him, but at least it makes him able to get the other one out of there.

Jim has already driven a long-ass way tonight, and kind of wishes Kane told him about this sooner, though Kane had thought Jim was going to just me another tormenter, and hadn't thought asking for a favor would do any good until after they'd gotten home.

He asks the hunters to not hurt the other vampire before he gets there, and goes back down to tell Kane that the hunters said yes, and he'll be off to go get her as soon as he gets some sleep.

-

Valen spends that time lying on the floor exactly where he’d been dropped. Unresponsive to anything, even commands.

Kane is gone. Kane was the one who urged him to follow commands, to make things even a little better for himself. Kane had been the only reason he’d been putting in any effort at all into trying to make things better.

Valen knows now things will never get better. He is alone. He’ll be alone and scared and in pain for the rest of his life. That could be a day, or it could be a thousand years. He has no way of knowing, or of helping himself.

Some unknowable amount of time later, some hunters come down and start issuing him commands, to which he does not respond. The hunters wrangle his limp, uncooperative body to move him. He is put in padded wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs, which his brain manages to register as unexpected.

The hunters are unwilling to take off and replace the silver muzzle, which is the one thing he actually wants replaced. He is not told what's going on. He's wrapped up in a tarp, given it's daytime now, and taken outside to Jim. Being in the tarp is scary. Not knowing what’s going on is scary. But he dares not struggle, knowing the tarp is what keeps him from burning.

Jim picks Valen up, far too light. "It's okay. I'm taking you somewhere safe, alright? Kane begged me to come get you."

He can hardly believe what he's hearing. I'm taking you somewhere safe? That doesn't seem right. But...Kane begged me to come get you. Yes, that did make sense. Kane would do that, and Kane is good at begging.

He feels his hope returning a little. There is still love in the world, and some of it is for him.

Valen lies completely still and limp, pliant in this new stranger's hands, doing whatever he asks.

Jim hesitates for a bit, trying to decide where to put Valen. It's not that warm, so he thinks the trunk might be safer, just in case the tarp is jostled by his driving. "I'm gonna put you in the trunk just to make sure no sun gets to you, okay? It's a few hours' drive, and I'll take you out as soon as we get home." 

Valen does not respond. He thinks this sounds fine. But he cannot even make any sounds. He thinks he could probably nod his head, but he's just sort of resigned himself to being carried around and subjected to whatever is going to happen, and he feels no real desire to change that. Maybe Jim doesn't know that he can't make any sounds.

Jim does not know.

He has not seen under the tarp.

Valen has been told he's going to be taken somewhere safe, and with Kane, and maybe it was a lie, but in this moment he was safe enough, and only hurting a little bit, so he's content to just take whatever is going to happen to him.

He allows himself to be lowered into the trunk without squirming. Without moving at all, or making a sound. Maybe Jim thinks I'm dead, Valen thinks. Maybe that's why he agreed to come get me.

Jim gently places Valen into the trunk and drives home over a period of hours. He is really, really sick of driving by this point. He opens the trunk, takes Valen out, and brings him inside.

Kane is locked in the basement, but can hear that Jim's arrived home, and is so unbelievably excited. They haven’t even been apart for a full 24 hours, but he misses Valen dearly.

Jim makes sure all his blinds are closed, then unwraps the tarp. His hand flies to his mouth in shock: Valen looks even worse than Kane, and that's saying a lot. "Holy shit. It's, it's okay, you're safe now. I'm not gonna hurt you, alright?"

Valen uncoils from the center of the tarp, moving in a slow, dreamlike way. He looks up at Jim placidly, with soft, grateful eyes.

He blinks at Jim slowly and crawls forward a little, at Jim's feet, and leans into him, sighing contentedly. This is the closest to calm and safe he's felt in ages. He's in...some guy's house, which used to terrify him, but now this feels...almost normal.

At least this one’s not freaking out like Kane was. "That muzzle... it's burning you, isn't it? Can I take it off?" He knows that Valen is dangerous, that any vampire other than Kane is gonna have persuasion, but the evidence of the lack of vocal cords is right there. He has a padded one he can put on later- not now, but when Valen's had some time to heal up.

Valen tiredly looks up at him, almost uncomprehending. He nods slowly. Yes, please take it off. That would be so lovely. He hasn't had no muzzle on since that time when he'd had a brief stint of freedom with Kane. He already can't remember what it feels like.

The hunters had given Jim the key to it, but Jim hadn't realized the entire muzzle was silver at the time. He undoes the lock, then tries to pull it off, but it's stuck fast to Valen's face. "Um... you want me to do this fast or slow?" He realizes Valen can't answer that, and asks again, using his fingers to hold up 1 and 2.

Valen looks at him dreamily, barely here. There is nothing to try and escape from, but he can't bring himself to care about anything that is happening. It hardly makes any difference whether it comes off fast or slow. Anything hardly makes any difference at all now that he's away from those hunters. He is floating on a cloud that it feels like he won't come down from. He does not answer, instead gently wrapping his hand around Jim's fingers and nodding.

Jim begins to pick up on the fact that Valen is not all there, at least not right now. "Okay, I'm just- I'm gonna try my best. It'll probably hurt, I'm sorry. I dunno how else to do this." He pulls harder, tearing the muzzle from Valen's face, the skin ripping away with it.

Oh, that is enough to bring Valen back down to earth, slamming into the ground. He feels the pain now, having dissociated for long enough to block it mostly out.

Jim keeps apologizing the whole time, and has to stop halfway through, taking a squeamish break from the horrific sight of Valen’s mangled face. He returns to finish it as soon as he gets his bearings. At last, the muzzle is off, as well as half of Valen's face.

"I'm gonna grab you some bandages." Jim says, clammy and pale. "Just stay right there, okay?”

The muzzle is off. Valen still can't speak because of his missing vocal cords, and he's still beat half to death and back, and everything still hurts, but the muzzle is off, and Valen's head is clearer now. His face is throbbing, feeling hot blood dribbling down his neck, but he nods. That would be lovely, thank you. You're very kind.

Jim returns and begins covering Valen's face in gauze. He looks like he's cried a little, but hastily wiped his tears before returning to Valen. "I just don't understand how anyone could do that to someone." he whispers with horror.

Jim is kind, Valen decides instantly, and he would do anything for Jim. Valen doesn't understand how anyone could do it, either. He'd never understood it even when it'd been vampires tormenting humans.

Valen is looking forward to a time when he can thank Jim properly. He has no idea how long it will be, but he can be patient.

Valen lifts a hand to help Jim hold the gauze in place, grateful for it. He hasn't had a wound properly bandaged in ages.

"Thanks." Jim finishes wrapping Valen's face up. "Now that you're a proper mummy, let's uh, get these off too. You don't need 'em." He removes Valen's wrist and ankle cuffs. "I'll go grab you some clothes and then... you can see Kane, if you want?"

Valen leaps up in excitement, eyes sparkling. Yes, please, please, I need my Kane. Please give him back. He barely cares enough to revel in his wrists and ankles being free.

He saw the basement door when he was unwrapped from the tarp, and saw that it had silver on it. He guesses that Kane is down there. He points to it, a silent question, a look of urgency on his face.

"Yeah, he's down there. He's okay. I haven't hurt him and I'm not gonna. I'll let him up here in just a minute, alright? C'mon." Jim takes Valen's hand and leads him to his room, where the clothes are, and begins rifling through his closet again.

Valen follows him half-heartedly, keeping his eyes trained on the door. When Jim brings him into the bedroom, Valen waits patiently. He would rather go down right away, but if Jim doesn't want to see him nude, he can wait. He is so very eager, though.

But this is okay. Jim obviously thinks torture is wrong, and he's being given clothes, and this place seems nice, and his Kane is here. This will be okay for a while, he thinks.

Jim gives Valen a change of clothes, a pretty basic comfortable t-shirt, sweatpants, boxers, and socks. "I'll wait outside, just come out when you're done changing, okay?" He leaves the room and shuts the door.

Hm? Jim wants him to change in private? That's different. Why would either of them care? This is just Valen, after all. Oh well.

He changes into the clothes eagerly, sorry to get them a bit dirty with his soiled body, but they're comfy. The socks are the best part. They're thick and fluffy. He patters out when he's done, absolutely beaming. He points downstairs. Now? Please?

"Yeah, alright. Let's get you guys a reunion." 

***

K&J x MMSS crossover taglist:

@barebarb

@cc1010foxy

@emcscared-whumps

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@pigeonwhumps

@secretwhumplair

@some-thrilling-heroics

@t0rture-me

@thecyrulik

@thejinglingcourtjester

@vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff

@whuarri

@whump-cravings

@whump-my-heart-away

@whumpycries

@wolfeyedwitch

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

#whump #vampire whumpee #MMSS #K&J #angst #whumpblr #hurt/comfort

[bunnyramen]

Tw/Death/Talk of Self Sacrifice

Despite all he’d done, fighting himself, fighting the spot, jumping from dimension to dimension, they still couldn’t save his dad in time.

The kicker was that an hour before him, Rio had come in contact with a patient that had a venom symbiote. While police were shooting to kill the alien that was destroying the hospital, a bullet ricocheted and hit his mother.

It severed an artery in her arm, and she bled out before anyone could get to her.

When he came back, he was met with family members and police telling him the news.

He was never ok with losing his Dad and he never will be ok with it. But losing his mom on the same day, it was too much for him.

So, as Miles watched both of his parents lowered into the earth, no tears could come out.

Flowers upon flowers were laid on both of their graves by Rio’s side of the family, candles, and favors peppered the recently laid dirt.

Everybody was waiting for the other shoe to drop as they watched Miles watch his parents be laid to rest.

Miguel couldn’t say anything to him, and if Miles could think, he’d tell him to never show his face to him ever again.

He doesn’t know why he bothered to show up.

His friends set their versions of objects on their graves, which Miles half appreciated.

Peter B brought a Puerto Rican flag for Rio and a pair of sunglasses for Jefferson.

Peni laid out a mechanical piece shaped like a heart.

Spider Noir had a bouquet of gray roses while SpiderHam brought goofy gag glasses.

(His universe didn’t have much that wasn’t hilarious since people don’t die traditionally)

Hobie, who had worn different color shoelaces out of respect for Miles, put down a candle with one of his lucky guitar strings wrapped around.

Pav brought a small statue that sat between their graves.

Gwen gave them one of her favorite drumsticks and a picture of Miles she had taken.

Margo couldn’t bring anything since she wasn’t there, but she did give him a side hug.

Ganke bowed twice to his mother and father, and once to him.

People tried talking to him, sobbing family and friends from all over the city and even further comforting him, his comrades trying to give their best condolences, but he really couldn’t care less about all that right now.

He tore off the tie he had hastily knotted and failed at doing so because he couldn’t quite remember the way Dad showed him because he was.. numb.

His fingers were numb as threw his tie on the ground.

His head was numb to thoughts that weren’t his parents.

Maybe a glitch will come and undo all this as if it had never happened.

But the multiverse was fixed for the most part.

The probability of things like that happening...

..Zero to none.

He wanted to scream.

What hurt most than being an orphan in just one hour, was that he never got the chance to say he loved them one last time.

He touches his freckled cheeks, the ones his mother gave him, as he breathed a heavy sigh through the lips he got from his father.

Miles plopped down between their two graves, being careful of the stuff people had laid down.

“I never got to tell you guys the biggest secret of them all.” He whispered, “I’m Spider-Man.”

At first, something bubbled in his gut. A warm feeling of.. laughter.

It started as a scoff that led to a chuckle, then a full-bodied laugh came over as he fell backward in tears.

“The biggest fucking thing I was worried about was you abandoning me because of that, and I guess it came true!” Hot globs of anguish flowed down his cheeks, as his laugh grew manic and loud.

He didn’t stop until someone stood over him.

“Miles, you’re hysterical. You need to take a deep breath.” Miguel reached a hand out to try and pick him up, but Miles grabbed his wrist.

With all his Spider-Man strength, he squeezed it and as he looked up into the eyes devoid of much emotion, he had a single thought as his mouth abruptly clamped shut to end his howls.

“It should’ve been you.” He didn’t dare voice it even if at that moment, he wish it would happen just for a second.

He didn’t voice that very real expression of anger, but he did say something a little less harsh.

“I’m allowed to be whatever the fuck I want to be right now.” He lets go of Miguel’s wrist, letting his hand fall limp on the grass.

He didn’t even feel like laughing anymore, just laying there lax, his eyes taking in the oddly clear blue day. If he thought hard enough, this is what it would feel like to be dead.

But there’s no light in a deadman’s eyes, only darkness.

So he closed his own.

He briefly wondered what his Uncle saw right before he died.

If anyone tried to save his mom as she felt her organs shut down from the lack of blood.

What his dad thought about right before that fatal shot to the head.

After a few moments, someone picked him up as they sat on the grass near his body, putting his head in their lap.

He could smell who it was before he opened his eyes, Tía Daniela always smelled like fresh-cut roses.

It didn’t help that she looked so similar to her big sister, just a little more soft and huggable. Even with that, he could still see his mom.

“Let it out, mi amol.” She put a warm hand on his chest, his heart thudding against his sternum, trying to get out from whatever he was keeping in.

He took a sharp, stuttering breath as he sobbed loudly into her skirt, gripping the fabric between his sticky hands. She cradled him against her as if shielding him away from everything.

He didn’t care if all of Brooklyn heard him, he didn’t give a single, solitary shit.

He hoped he was loud enough to wake the dead.

Miles cried until his chest felt it would cave in, something sitting heavy in his chest that wouldn’t get up no matter how much he begged.

“I want.. I want them back. I’d give up my own life just for that to be.”

Daniela cupped his cheek with one manicured hand, “Don’t you dare say that, boy. You know your parents would say the same if you took their place.”

Even in the face of her grief, losing one of her big sisters, here she was comforting Miles.

She appreciated her so much, more than he could voice at the moment.

“We’re gonna take care of you, I promise you that. You’re one of our babies.” She smiled down at him with tears in her eyes, “Oh, I wish I could take this pain away from you.”

Somewhere in between her saying that, and some other family members coming over, he must’ve fallen asleep.

That must’ve been what happened or else he wouldn’t have woken up.. wherever he is.

He’s sure as hell not home or with family, no matter how cozy the bed feels or how comforting the decor is, he doesn’t know where he’s been taken.

His wrists were empty of his webs.

And he wasn’t wearing the suit from the funeral.

Shit.

Hearing voices downstairs, he decided to start there. Miles turned on his invisible, planning to get the jump on whoever it was that kidnapped him.

Who the hell kidnaps a kid at their parent's funeral anyways?

They’ve gotta be sick.

His shoeless feet allowed him to walk on the wall of the stairs, stepping over what looked like family photos.

The voices became clearer as he was in clear view of the living room next to the stairs.

“Don’t you think someone should’ve stayed with him so he doesn’t freak out?”

That was Hobie’s voice.

“Why would he freak out?”

Miguel. (He was still feeling conflicted about talking to him.)

“Oh I don’t know, imagine waking up in a house you’ve never been in, undressed by unknown people plus finding that his webs are stolen.”

“I should go check on him.”

Tía Daniela is here too? But.. that would mean...

He stood on the stairs, looking over the railing, everyone sitting on homey-looking couches. He looked back at the photos he stepped over, they were mostly of Mayday.

Must be Peter and MJ’s house.

Speaking of which, the little girl seemingly looked up at him and pointed. Everybody brought their gaze to where she was giggling and staring, and Miles decided there was no point in hiding.

He uncloaked himself, everybody gained that same pitied look people gave him when his Uncle Aaron had passed.

Except for Hobie, but he didn’t mind. He just had a natural resting bitch face.

“Miles, hey buddy..” Peter was beckoning him to come down with a few swings of his hand.

“Are you feeling hungry?” Mj asked as she made a space on the couch between Daniela and herself for him.

Miles shook his head, “How’d I even get here? What did you tell my Tía?”

“I carried you here through a portal.” Daniela explained, “Peter told me.. everything. He trusted me with such a secret and I’m very grateful. I’m able to better understand what’s going on, even if I don’t quite get what it means to be Spider-Man or ‘canon events’.”

“We brought you here because bringing you to your actual apartment would’ve been too much. Were we wrong about that?” Peni asked, Miles nodded wordlessly.

“Sorry that your folks answered the last roll call, kid. “ Spider-Noir’s wording for their death nearly made him chuckle.

Miles shrugged, not having a clue what to say.

“I know you must not know what to do now, man.” Ganke adjusted his glasses, “My parents would be happy to have you as their kid.”

Miles half smiled, “Thanks, dude.”

“You could come live with one of us. You know any of your family members would be more than happy to take you, Papi.” Daniela wrapped an arm around his shoulder, kissing his forehead.

He was filled with gratitude that everyone was opening their homes up to him, however.. he wished so badly that he could go home to his parents.

Make his dad stand still for a sketch or help Mami with cooking.

But that wasn’t possible now, not in this lifetime at least.

“Actually, and smack me if this crazy-“ Peter felt a tiny smack from Mayday, who he playfully pouted at, “-you could always stay here with us. This is just a suggestion. You’d be able to still go to school, and of course, visit family and friends in Brooklyn anytime. I know you’re in a tough position, and I’d never ask you to make a choice now but-“

“I’ll have to think about it. I’m still pretty.. tired and it just feels.. so strange.”

“Of course, Miles. You got all the time in the world.” Daniela hugged him close.

—-

I only wrote this much but I’m conflicted on who he should stay with. Any ideas?

#I recently lost a family meme we a few days ago so this stemmed from that #not really a vent thing more of a how sad can I make this before I get sad for miles #*Member I meant member 😭 #I LOST A FAMILY MEME GUYS PASSED DOWN FROM GENERATIONS 💀 #anyways #miles morales #Tia Daniela #random aunt oc #rio morales #jefferson morales #peni parker #peter b parker #Margo kess #gwen stacy #miguel o'hara #tw death #I used the possible canon death of movie jefferson and canon death of comic rio #spider ham #spider noir #hobie brown #spider punk #I looked up sources for Ganke and Pav if they’re incorrect or harmful please let me know so I can fix them #as well as for Daniela #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #sorry if this is all over the place #Ganke Lee #pavitr prabhakar #astv

[theworldsfastestsloth]

Lonely As I Am, Together We Cry II

PT II PT I

Ruby slows her breathing and relaxes her limbs. 

She’s been in enough fights to know when you should punch and when you should play dead. 

And the woman on top of her is deadly. 

This is definitely a “play dead” situation. 

Ruby knows she’s made the right choice when the still unnamed woman above her loosens her grip and smirks at Ruby’s seeming submission. 

“Smirk all you want,” Ruby thinks. “I’ve been under heavier, uglier, assholes than you.” But Ruby is still yet to learn exactly who she’s dealing with. 

“Tell me, sweet girl,” the woman mocks as her hand trails from Ruby’s chin down her arm over her stomach and … lower.

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” She’s laughing as she cups Ruby. 

Ruby laughs too.

Ruby throws her head back and laughs and laughs and laughs. She laughs as loud and as hysterically as she can.

“Spit. Scream. Cry. Throw up if you can- men don’t fuck with gross girls.” The only real thing her actual mother ever gave her was that piece of advice, and she’s learned that crazy is as good as gross. 

Maybe this isn’t a man but the rules still apply. 

No one wants to fuck with crazy. 

So Ruby keeps laughing. “Of course!” She gets out through her hysterical sobbing desperation. “I’ve been in the Los Angeles County Foster System since I was 9! - You- you found me under a bridge!”

She keeps laughing. Laughing so hard at the least funny things. 

It works. 

The woman retracts her hand immediately and gets off the bed. She looks shocked and disturbed. “That’s good,” Ruby notes. 

It was an act. It was just an intimidation tactic. The woman had no intention of taking things any further.

So no either this strange, dangerous woman is completely freaked out, completely disgusted, or… 

Maybe it’s something a bit more. 

Yes, Ruby thinks there’s a bit more to that reaction. Maybe this woman has a bit of a conscience, a bit of a soul. 

Another thing Ruby has learned well is that no matter how strong a body is, it can be bested by just the slightest softening of its heart. 

A conscience and a soul is a great place to start. Play weak, play vulnerable, play sweet, play scared…play the victim - then go for the heart. 

Ruby is still giggling on the bed and the woman has schooled her features when the door to the room opens.

Ruby’s giggles cease immediately and she sits up quickly, her head and stomach reminding her at the quick movement that she was drugged last night - but she hopes the drugs that are making her nauseous are not also making her hallucinate because…

She’s saved.

She can’t believe it. She’s being rescued. 

No one besides Linda has ever even tried to save her.

And now Captain America has come for her. 

But then…

“Hey Nat,” he speaks softly, addressing the redheaded woman standing by the bed who had just slapped and accosted her. “How’s she doing?”

Ruby’s hope dies as fast as it came and she remembers why it’s better not to have any to begin with. 

“She’s-“ the woman goes to answer but before she can Ruby has leapt out of bed and is making a mad dash.

She’s not naive or nearly stupid enough to try for the open bedroom door- but the pills -or maybe the disappointment- are making themselves known, and she makes it to the toilet just in time to throw up the little water she drank earlier and slimy, yellow bile.

There’s nothing else to purge, she hasn’t eaten in a while.

She hears the woman whine, “I just washed her hair!” And then large fingers are pulling her clean hair back from her face and a large hand is rubbing her back in what’s meant to be soothing, but makes her continue to gag. 

“Jesus, Nat,” Captain America demands of the woman - Nat- who is now leaning propped against the bathroom door with her arms crossed. “How much did they give her? What did they give her?” He sounds distressed. 

Ruby notes this with interest. 

“Dunno,” Nat shrugs from the door. “A lot of something good- she woke up less than an hour ago.”

“Natasha…” Captain America growls but it sounds exasperated. 

“What?” Natasha scoffs, “She’ll be fine, she’s just tired and dehydrated.”

Captain America stands from his crouched position where Ruby is still resting her head on her folded arms on the toilet seat. 

“This isn’t what you said you wanted, Nat. You said you wanted to help. Judging by this it doesn’t seem like you’re off to a very good start. This - and that palm print bruise forming on her cheek.” 

Ruby lifts her eyes from the toilet seat to watch this Natasha person’s reaction. She looks chastised. She looks meek. 

“I’ll go get some more water and something to eat,” she murmurs before turning on her heel and leaving the room. 

Ruby has found her feet again when Captain America turns back to her. “Do I need to introduce myself?” He half jokes.

Ruby does let out a small, scoffing laugh at that. “No,” she replies. “I’ve seen your PSAs”

Captain America offers her a small self deprecating smile and a dip of his chin in response.  “Come on, Kid. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Ruby freezes stock still at that.

“I think I’d prefer to stay standing,” she insists. She injects more fear into her response than she’s actually feeling. She lets her body tremble and her eyes go wide- steps back until she hits the lip of the tub. 

She is scared and she’s not certain - and he’s not here to save her- but she’s pretty sure he’s not here to hurt her either. And she does need him to help her.

Play scared. 

Captain America understands what she’s implying immediately. He sighs. “Ruby, I promise I am never going to hurt you.”

Ruby looks down and lifts her hand to cradle her throbbing cheek.

Play vulnerable.

“Damn it, Nat.” Captain America sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“You can trust me,” he insists as he approaches Ruby slowly with an outstretched hand. 

Ruby regards the offered hand for a moment before smiling shyly up at him and cautiously taking it.

Play sweet. 

Natasha is standing by the bed when the two exit the bathroom hand in hand holding a bottle of water and a bowl of something. 

She narrows her eyes a bit at the scene, before setting aside the food and turning down the covers on the bed. 

Shes smiling gently when she turns to face the two and offers her hand to Ruby as well. 

One thing about Ruby- Ruby is keen. She’s already noticed the rift that is forming. 

Another thing about Ruby- she’s calculating. She knows how to turn a rift into a chasm. This wouldn’t be the first relationship she’s ruined by planting a few seeds. Seeds take root when they’re nurtured. Roots can be very eroding. 

She glances up at Captain America and he nods at her encouragingly. Ruby sees the flash of irritation in Natasha’s eyes when she turns back towards her and hesitantly takes her hand. 

She regards Natasha wearily as she goes to climb back into the bed- but her trembling legs give out on her and she trips backwards only to be caught by the same hands she was just holding. She whispers out a small “thank you” as Captain America  picks her up and places her back on the sheets.

Play weak.   

“We’ll be right back,” Natasha tells her kindly as she pushes some of Ruby’s still clean hair behind her ear. “Please eat.”

With that the other two leave the room and Ruby picks up the bowl and the spoon. 

She eats slowly and contemplatively. She still has a lot to figure out, but she feels much more in control than she did an hour ago. Hell, she might even be able to turn this situation to her advantage. 

She’s just finished eating when Natasha and Captain America - Steve- Ruby thinks his name is- come back in the room. 

“You really should try and get some more sleep,” Steve offers, but it doesn’t sound much like a suggestion. She’s not going anywhere except this bed right now.

“Yeah, ok,” Ruby agrees easily. “I am pretty tired.” 

Steve beams at her compliance. “One of us needs to stay with you just in case- you still have a lot of something,” he gives Natasha a sideways glance, “in your system.” 

Ruby holds her breath. She really hopes it’s him, but of course-“

“Scoot over, sweetheart,” Natasha instructs with a teasing smile, but once again those sharp teeth are on full display. 

But Ruby just shifts to the far side of the bed as Natasha climbs in beside her and settles down. 

Captain America regards them with a fond smile before bidding them goodnight and leaving the room, turning the lights off behind him.

Ruby is actually exhausted and just on the verge of sleep when an arm snakes around her waist and she’s yanked none too gently into Natasha’s front. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Natasha husks in her ear. “But go ahead, Ruby, play the victim- see how that works out for you.” 

Ruby is beginning to see that perhaps she might need a Plan B. 

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #dark natasha #dark natasha romanoff #mcu x reader #black widow #natasha romanov #dark natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel mcu #natasha x you

[jammyjams1910]

Emetophobia

Ship: Donald x Jamie

Key: ❤️=Donald 💛=Jamie "Slanted speech" =Thinking/thoughts

Cw: V0m1t1ng, panic attacks & anxiety, emetophobia (obviously)

(I'm not good at writing stories ok?? 😭 Don't judge me)

It was late at night that Friday, about 1am to be exact, and Donald was fast asleep while snuggled up in the covers; he was busy dreaming of the day he finally married his sweet little angel, Jamie. The lovely Caledonian was happily in dreamland while something was going on in the bathroom not that far from the bedroom.

His dreams were abruptly interrupted when he suddenly heard distressed sobs and wobbly breaths. His sleepy eyes slowly opened and he quickly realised that he's been on his own in the bed this whole time.

"Huh..? Where's Jammy..?" Donald thought to himself, until he heard the distressed sobs again, and it wasn't long before he recognised the sweet voice that he loves. He immediately jumped out of the bed and started wobbling to the bathroom; his legs were shaky since they've just been asleep, but that was the least of his concerns at this point; he can hear his sweetheart crying, and that's all he cares about now.

Donald slowly and gently opened the bathroom door to find Jamie on her knees by the toilet. They were right in front of it with their hand over their mouth, there was a gross orange looking substance in the bowl as well, in which he quickly realises that it's their puke. It was all coming together; judging from the substance in the toilet and Jamie's distressed crying on the floor, they must've felt sick and had to vomit while their pudding was fast asleep, and Donald knew how terrified they get when they're sick - especially when it results in vomiting.

Donald refused to just watch this happen; he didn't want to force Jamie to their feet, so he got down to their level and tried to comfort them at least a little.

"Sweetheart.. och fock.. why didn't ya wake me up..?" He said softly into their ear with a concerned tone. Jamie didn't even notice he was even there. They aggressively sniffed and turned their head to his direction.

".. Nienie-.. I-.." They couldn't finish their sentence but Donald didn't care, he just threw his arms around their weak fragile body and held them closely while they cry into their hand; Jamie was refusing to move their hand off of their mouth since they was so scared of vomiting again, but they knew it wasn't over yet, which made them feel even worse.

Suddenly Jamie started to gag once again which made them freak out even more, this signalled Donald to act fast. He quickly flushed away the vomit so neither of them had to look at it anymore, and he carefully got his angel to lean over the toilet bowl. Jamie was getting hysterical this point, so he kept holding them close to him.

"Shhh, it's ok.., yer gonna be ok, honey.."

Jamie's rapid and uncontrollable hyperventilating wasn't helping the situation at all.

"Shhhh.. deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths.. it'll be over soon" Donald was obviously very worried for his precious angel but his voice remained soft and reassuring. Jamie was getting tired from breathing so quickly and crying uncontrollably so they tried to do as he said. At this point Donald didn't care about how long they would be in that bathroom for, there's no way he'd just leave his angel during a time like this.

Jamie's gagging returned again so Donald grabbed their hand tightly as they leaned over the toilet bowl.

"It's alright, just let it out.." It didn't take time before Jamie did let it out, as they vomit again, they started squeezing Donald's hand hard enough to break his bones, but he couldn't care less even if his hand does break. After that round the puke was quickly flushed away and Donald was sweet enough to wipe their face clean and let her gargle a bit of cool water to rinse the taste out of their mouth. This whole time, tears were continuously falling from Jamie's red puffy eyes, and so Donald got an idea.

"Aye, lemme get some stuff, just.. wait a sec yeah?" Jamie didn't have the energy to say anything so they just nod weakly. Donald rushed to the bedroom and was there for about a minute.

He quickly returned with two pillows, a white fluffy blanket, both their phones, and a little plushie that he gave Jamie as a gift. Neither of them knew how long they're gonna be in the bathroom, so Donald decided to improvise.

After setting everything up, it was both of them leaning against the bath with their pillows against their backs, the blanket resting upon their laps, and Jamie was holding the plushie while still tearing. Donald then passed them their phone.

"So.. ya know when I asked earlier, why didn't ya wake me up..? Ya know I care aboot yer.. "

"C-Cos.. you.. *sigh* you were sleeping and.. I don't wanna disturb you.." As Jamie replied, Donald got to their level and wrapped his arms around them.

"Hey.. sweetheart.. yer the person I care the most aboot ya know.. I couldnae care less if I was asleep..-" He takes their hand

"-I'd rather nae sleep at all and can take care of ya, than stay asleep and leave ya alone while ya sufferin'.. and why? It's cos yer my sweet wee angel.. an' I love ya.." Jamie looked downwards in guilt, now wishing that they woke him up in the first place.

".. 'M sorry.. ok? Sorry.."

"Nae nae, dinnae be sorry.. I'm nae tryna tell ya off or anythin'." He cups their wet face gently and his voice became even more soft and sweet.

"I just want ya to know how much I love and care aboot ya, kay..? Ya haven't done anythin' wrong.." He gives them a gentle forehead kiss and smiles softly.

"Teh, d'ya know how adorable yer are?" Donald knew full well that his charming nature is one of Jamie's biggest weaknesses, which is very true because Jamie was now blushing brightly.

"Ya wanna text yer mum? Maybe she can help ya feel better, even if its a wee bit."

".. She's not gonna be online.." This reminded Donald that it was in fact now 2:14 am, so of course Jamie's mum would be asleep.

".. Hm, fair." Jamie was watching Daz Games, their favourite youtuber, play Depth 6 when Donald thought of a question to distract them.

"Aye, why d'ya sometimes call me "Nienie"? Whit 'sit mean?"

".. It's from the "nie" part in "Donnie", y'know.. Donnie, Nienie? I.. thought it was cute.."

"Hehe, creative as usual." Of course Donald was gonna charm Jamie again.

"Och-!" He quickly realises something and leaves the bathroom to get something from the kitchen, but leaves the bathroom door open so Jamie can still see him. After no less than a minute, Donald returns and sits down next to them while holding a glass of water with two small-sized ice cubes floating on top. Jamie could tell what his intentions were, so they just look downwards at their phone.

"*sigh* I know it sucks, mo leannan but.. will ya at least try to keep drinkin'? ..Just some wee sips? For mee..?" Donnie hoped that his innocent act would somehow persuade Jamie, but it wasn't that easy for them. He wiped away their pitiful tears and kept them close.

.........

4:46am

Hours passed by just like that, and after more dreaded vomiting, tears, panic attacks, reassurance, flushing and tiny tiny sips of water, Jamie finally fell asleep in Donald's arms; they were absolutely exhausted after having to deal with one of their worst fears for hours.

"Och.. it's finally over... *sigh* ma poor wee angel.." Donald decided it was finally time for bed, he bridal carried Jamie back to the bed, laid them on their left side, and quickly returned everything else; the pillows back under their heads, the fluffy blanket sloppily tossed over the covers, phones on charge, and he let his angel keep the little plushie. Also, he made sure to replace the melted ice cubes with new ones in the glass of water.

Donald so desperately wanted to give Jamie one of his cheeky squeeze cuddles, but he knows that they're still weak and recovering, so he gently lays his right arm over them and kisses their delicate face before falling back into dreamland.

.......

9:35am

Morning came eventually, and Jamie was still asleep, but Donald was just glad that they were getting rest. He giggled to himself softly and was gently stroking their head for about a few minutes.

Eventually Jamie's sleepy eyes open slowly to the face of her pudding.

"Hey darlin', ya feelin' any better?"

"..Hmph.."

"Hmm.. do ya feel like yer gonna... you know.. again?" Jamie just shakes their head which made Donald feel a little better.

"Heh, I'm glad, do ya think ya can drink a wee bit again?" They shrugged, they really weren't sure, so Donald carefully placed the glass to their lips. Jamie was hesitating however.

"Hey.., dinnae worry, just tiny wee sip, ok?" Eventually Jamie made themselves suck it up again and took another tiny sip of water.

"There ya go" He continued as he moves the glass away. "Ya know, I'm really proud of ya; I know this is fockin scary for ya, but yer did really well. And.. I love ya.. so much, I hope ya never forget that."

"I.. mph.. love you, too.." Jamie replied while blushing; they may not be the best at speaking clearly, but its not like Donald ever minded at all. They went into each other's arms and spent another hour cuddling, slowly drifting away from reality and everything.

End

#ttte #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #ttte donald #ttte jamie💛 #self ship comfort #ttte fanfic #tw: emetophobia #emetophobia #my story #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #self ship fanfiction #self shipping #ttte humanised #ttte humanized #ttte humanisation #ttte human au #ttte human

[gratisdiamanten]

if you’re still accepting requests, do you have anything from the lawyer!daniel story (sorry i’m terrible at names 😅😅)? ❤️

No problem! I know the one. Hope this is what you're looking for!

Max's mouth quivers, a long string of mucus inching down into the toilet. He leans his forearms, in his dress shirt already, on the seat, as he lurches forward again, gags, eyes and nose streaming with tears, gross sobs, the kind that make you sick and swollen for the whole day after. Thinks of nothing, nothing at all for him to be crying about. Give you something to cry about, his brain echoes, an uncanny mimic.

Daniel walks into the bathroom, flips the light on, and Max recoils, gasping wetly.

"Max, baby, it's four in the morning," he says softly, squinting down at him.

"I can't sleep," he croaks.

"Can you—hold on," he says, running a hand over his face. He reaches for the linen closet, wets a handtowel, sits on the ground by him. "Sit for me?"

Max lumbers down into a sitting position, clumsy, too hard and too fast. Daniel sits down on the floor with a sigh, starts with his eyes, painstaking motions like he's polishing fine china. Touches his eyelashes with his thumb where they're wet and spiked, a featherlight brush of it. Then under his nose, his mouth. With the back of the cloth, his salt-stained cheeks and the tracks that merge at the apex of his throat. He feels everything, excruciating, the ring of the electricity, the rush of blood in his ears, the creak of every joint.

"Let's brush your teeth," he says, so quietly he barely does more than whisper. "Then we'll lay down together for a while."

Daniel does it for him. Max lets his jaw hinge loose. He's loose everywhere, no wonder that they. He thinks. There's not much to think about. Not much to think about, less to remember. Daniel helps him rinse his mouth, wipes toothpaste away from the corners of his lips.

Daniel lifts the blanket for Max again, then crawls in beside him. "I'm here," he says, one hand on Max's face. "You're safe here. I'm here.

"What if they take me," he whispers. "If they make me see them."

"You won't, I saw the witness list, I've talked about it, you won't. None of them." Daniel's voice sounds rubbed raw like a sidewalk-scrape. He rubs the tense little point under his ear, the taut muscle. "Right now you're here. And at the end of the day you come back here and we rest. You don't have to do anything else." He presses his lips where his thumb just was, just there, under his ear, that tender little spot, fine hair.

Max has never been kissed there before, he thinks distantly, almost hysterically. Everything, and no one's gotten their mouth there. The fear of it all. He puts himself in his hand like a teacup. Today he will shatter. He will shatter again. Daniel, though, is not afraid of every little razor-blade piece.

#digging graves for birds #asks #anon #my fic

[gargoyle-flouride]

When the Dust Finally Settles

Chapter 1

Eddie stumbles as his feet carry him away from his trailer, not even thinking about where he was going, just anywhere but the inside of his trailer. He’s still in complete shock from what he just saw. He’d never been this scared in his life, not even when he was little and he still lived with his parents. His hands are shaking so much, he can barely get the key in to start the van. He hasn’t even run that far, but he’s struggling to breath and his ribs are starting to hurt. This is starting to be the very shitty ending to a very shitty day, he thinks as he finally gets the key in, gravel flying as he drives away from the trailer. Away from Chrissy. 

He feels like he’s losing it. Did I imagine what happened to Chrissy? Should I go back? No, he can’t go back, that would only cause further suspicion on his part. He doesn’t understand what just happened, all he can think about are the flashing images of bones snapping, Chrissy’s eyes. He shakes his head, blinking as fast as he can, trying to bring himself back to reality. Am I crying? My face is so warm and it’s only spreading further down my neck. I hate this, it feels so itchy. He wishes he didn’t have to leave her there, that he could call her parents himself. More than anything, he wishes that he could reverse time. 

Eddie has completely and utterly spaced out, he doesn’t even realize where he’s been driving to until he stops in front of Gareth’s house. Through the window, Eddie can just make out Gareth’s family eating dinner. He can’t bother them, not with this. They’d only invite him in for dinner and there’s no way he could eat right now. Then there would be questions. They would never believe him if he told them what happened to Chrissy. There’s no use in me being here, they wouldn’t be able to help anyway. Pulling away from the house, Eddie realizes that he really doesn’t know where he can go. He can feel the panic setting in now, his face is getting hot again as his heart starts pounding in his chest. He’s breathing so fast it’s making it hard to think. Where do I go? Where do I go?! Blinking back tears, he’s coming up blank. All he can do is drive forward and hope he finds somewhere to hide by dumb luck. His breaths are coming out in short gasps, but he knows he can’t pull over, he doesn’t know if anyone has found Chrissy yet. Chrissy, no matter how hard he tries he can’t stop thinking about Chrissy. Then his car hits a branch. The snapping noise sends him over the edge. All he can hear is the sound of Chrissy’s bones snapping on repeat. He just wants it to stop. He doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing anymore, it’s like he’s choking, drowning. Maybe he is drowning. At first it’s just one tear, then he’s sobbing hysterically. He’s almost certain he’s drowning now. He can’t hear anything other than the sound of bones snapping. Not the tires on the road, the whirring of the engine, just a crunching and spattering. Eddie can barely see, his whole body is shaking and his ribs ache. Actually, his ribs are more than aching, they’re killing him. 

He knows the only way to get the feeling of being pierced in the side to stop is to calm his breathing, he’s just not sure he can do that. The image of his uncle flashes across his mind. Wayne, Wayne would know what to do. He would shush Eddie, rub his back, tell him stories to distract him while putting on a pot of water to make Eddie some tea. Just the thought of Wayne calms his mind a bit and he’s able to slow his breath, just a little. Just enough to be able to think past the pain radiating through his ribs, enough to take one deep, shaking breath in. Big mistake. That breath only made it feel like a sword was being dug deeper into his ribs. He gags, gasping out a breath, coughing as the pain only gets worse. Now he’s crying out of pain. He’s gasping, screaming, pounding his fists weakly against the steering wheel with a dull thud. He feels pathetic and for a brief moment, he’s glad he’s alone. Can you imagine, he thinks for a second, if anyone saw me like this. Man, I’d never live this down. If I make it out of this alive. 

His vision clears, just a little, just enough to be able to focus on driving again. His tears have all dried up, he has no more left to give. He still can’t breath, but he’s looking around and he starts to recognize where he is. A broken fence post, a speed limit sign, a small pond next to a massive tree and next right is Reefer Rick’s house. Eddie slams the brakes and makes a wild turn to the right, the seatbelt pushing against his ribs, causing him to let out a grunt in pain. Only a few more minutes down this road and then… well he’s not really sure what. Rick hasn’t been home in almost a year after getting caught, there’s no chance of him coming to help Eddie. Without Rick, there’s no reason for anyone to come snooping around. That thought is more of a hope though, it’s not like he’s the only person in town who knows where Rick lives. This is the safest bet he has. I’ll just lay low until… Until I starve to death I guess. 

The house finally comes into view and Eddie lets out a sigh, regretting it instantly, his ribs whinging in response. Eddie’s van slowly creeps to a stop in front of Rick’s door, engine groaning as he turns the car off. He can hear a faint ticking noise and the sound of steam rising off the engine block. Everything else is so eerily silent, Eddie thought he would be more relaxed, but he’s even more on edge. Every slight russell of the wind through the trees, a twig snapping in the distance, a bird taking off. Everything is making him twitch. Eddie still feels like he’s spiraling, can’t catch his breath again. He’s not even inside yet, far from safe, he needs to get inside quickly. Maybe he should hide his van first? Man, that may have been my best idea of the entire day. He puts the key in the ignition again and throws the van in reverse so fast, he’s not even conscious of what he’s doing. He backs up just a little before driving further into the property, looking around wildly for somewhere, anywhere to put his van. He’d never wished for a smaller car before this moment, not that any of that will matter anyway. I’ve never been this far back on the property before. The road takes a sharp left behind a small cliff, creating a little ravine. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than leaving it directly in front of the house, signaling to anyone who happened to come by that he was there.

After parking, Eddie climbs out of the van and frantically looks around for anyone or anything that could be creeping up on him. He breaks into a slow run, not able to go very fast, being virtually unable to catch his breath. Even with his car hidden, Eddie doesn’t feel any safer, not until he has successfully jimmied the locks and gotten inside the house. The place is pretty much baren, items scattered all over the floor from when it had been raided when they arrested Rick. With no one to pay the electric bill, the power was completely out. Eddie didn’t dare entertain the thought of there being a backup generator somewhere, acutely aware that movement at Rick’s house would cause unwanted attention. Immediately, he began searching for a flashlight, anything to drive away the creeping darkness. He had only been here a few times, never past the kitchen off the front entrance, he had no idea where to look. Much like the police, Eddie started throwing open drawers and cabinets, taking note of what food looked edible after their year alone in the dark. He’s about to give up, resigning to living in the darkness for the time being, when he finds a flashlight in a lower cabinet next to other items that have no discernable organization. If this wasn’t the home of a drug dealer, Eddie would have questioned the mental state of the owner. I have no room to speak, I just broke in.

Eddie finally feels like he’s hit a stroke of luck until he tries the flashlight and… nothing. He can’t help but start crying again out of frustration. His ribs have been taking up all his attention pain wise, he doesn’t notice until just now that his head is starting to throb. Great, he thinks, and I bet there’s no water too. Knowing he’ll find out sooner or later, he reaches for the faucet, flicking it on, and nothing comes out. He’s not even angry, he’s decidedly disappointed. Just another day for the shiny Munsons. I don’t think we’ll ever catch a break. He lets out a small chuckle, reminding him again of the sharp pain in his ribs. That’s it, that’s enough, I don’t care who finds me like this. If I don’t get this off now, this pain will be what finally kills. In one swift motion, Eddie is ripping off his shirt and his binder, finally allowing himself to fully expand his lungs for the first time since this morning. The pain is still there, but far less severe now that his ribs have full mobility, no longer squishing all his organs with each breath.

It’s interesting, Eddie kept his stride most of his life, despite the constant fear of being outed lurking underneath. Now that fear is almost gone, despite him being topless and completely exposed. It’s been replaced by a fear much worse, that he was going to die an innocent man accused of murder. His breathing starts picking up again. Comfort, I need comfort, he’s thinking as he picks up his shirt and slides it on, dashing out of the kitchen and further into the house for the first time. He’s completely lost his head, shaking and crying while frantically looking for anything resembling a blanket. Eddie wants to check the bedroom, but even in this state he feels like it’s an invasion of privacy. Then he remembers, there’s a trunk behind the couch, one where Rick hid the drugs under some blankets, trying and failing to cover up the smell. Eddie opens the trunk and is just thankful that the police hadn’t taken the blanket, though he’s not sure why they would. Wrapping it around himself, he breathes in the smell of cigarettes and weed. It smells like home, he thinks, finally relaxing just enough to feel exhaustion creep over him. Standing up fully, Eddie shakes out his shoulders and makes his way to the front of the couch, sitting down, dust flying up around him. This throws him into a sneezing fit, only making his ribs ache and head pound more. It’s been a long while since Eddie has had a migraine, but it has also been a while since he’s cried like this and he could feel one coming on. The thought of getting up to find his binder was way out of the question. His eyes won’t stop leaking these damned tears, he’s in pain and exhausted, there’s no way he’ll be getting up until tomorrow. For now, he wallows in his sorrow, thinking about Chrissy again. Thinking about her family and letting out a choked sob, curling in on himself with his head in his hands. He feels like such a failure, like he could have stopped her death somehow and missed the mark. How do you stop the supernatural, if that’s even what that was. He chokes out another sob as images of Chrissy flash across his mind again, her body bent far out of shape, lying on the ground of his trailer. Chrissy, alone, having died in fear and completely unresponsive. There’s nothing I could have done, Eddie thinks, trying to calm himself, but it only serves to make him feel useless. Even more pathetic than he had felt before the day had started in his glorious trailer. So there, on the dust covered couch in Reefer Rick’s abandoned house, Eddie curls up on his side under a musty old blanket and cries himself to sleep, fearing what the next day will deliver.

#steddie #stranger things #fanfiction #trans eddie munson #gore #angst #slow burn #character death #anxiety #depression

[apexpredatordetmer]

It is almost funny how things could easily go wrong in the blink of an eye...

He had thought they were safe, thought he could be naïve for a time, at peace; but of course those that have powers never could have such things that when seen as monsters and unnatural abominations that the world still saw Andrew and Matt as...

Taken over by HABIT left him bitter again, angry that he was easily corrupted again.. violated to be used and nearly killed by someone he trusted and loved.. the father that he, either by accident or cruel fate, had gotten caught and caged some years ago..

He was the Apex Predator and they knew it. And when anyone threatened him or his love and children, well, ask what a lion would do to those that threaten their cubs.

Easily he took them down without care. Seattle was their home, his home, his territory. And he nearly brought down the home with ease while still shielding Monica and their children. Hearing their cries enraged him.. but Andrew when in a rage lost himself..

The blast was unlike his own. It hit him hard, tearing into his invisible barrier like paper and smashing him into house walls, trees, and finally hard ground and blackness... Andrew was once again killed off for a minute.. His body looking so battered and broken that it was almost confirmed he was dead.

But the Order saw this before, in Andrew and Matt, and other of his unnatural species. Andrew would return alive and ready for round two in hours if not sooner. And they had little care for some unstable creature...

Monica was a fighter as were their daughters that already had some flight and ability to shield, but it was not enough. One hard enough hit with the gun and the barrier and they were out like lights. 

“Filthy traitor mating with some freak.” A man laughed, “shame given how pretty she is.”

The weapon used on Andrew was a success if not a tad overkill. They were here for something else. The girls were already failures in their eyes, but the one that Monica held so tightly even unconscious was their target. “Thomas Detmer.” The crying baby was pried from his mother’s arms, screaming for her, rattling the broken house. “So small yet so deadly already, he will suffice”

“Sir they got the other subject. A dragon human mix”

“Any sign of the half-fae?”

“Negative. It’s lover is retreating with Subject Zero’s mate. Should we stop them?”

“Nah, if William didn’t come for him when he was shot than doubtful he’d come now.” Besides, they got what they wanted. 2 out of 3, not a bad night. “Lets go”

---

Monica would wake in hysterics. The home was beyond salvageable, their girls were weeping as they found their father in a mess she would’ve given everything to shield them and herself from. Andrew was alive and recovering, but it was a sight that made her gag... worse is--

She was on the phone, and screaming into it, calling the one that Andrew had trusted with his life.. Tom Killian. Her cries and hyperventilating was probably not helping. She did what she could.

“Andrew is down. Our c-child-- they took our baby! Andr- he can’t move-” She didn’t care if he answered or if it went to voice mail, Tom was going to get an ear full of Monica’s voice screaming at him, begging him for help, for anything. She sobbed as she dropped the phone, “we gotta get out of here... help your father-” and the phone turned off, be it by dead battery or a jammer. They were leaving but where is unknown.

@thedragcnbrother

#thedragcnbrother #blood tw #kidnapping tw #immortality sometimes sucks i realize

[tojigasm]

Imagine Tojo’s reacting to his s/o using their safe word

Oh anon, he'd stop literally everything. Toji acts so tough and shit but you know damn well if you gave him even a small inclination that you were in pain or uncomfortable,,, especially by his own doing - he'd feel so bad. I changed it up a little bit, I hope that's okay, enjoy! <3

*cw & tw: 18+ minors dni, please dont interact if this is potentially triggering to you!! Degradation, daddy kink, toji being an asshole, mentions of neasua, cursing, noncon kindish???, fluff, head injuries (concussion), soft toji + toji feeling like shit

Toji was upset and when Toji got upset, Toji got rough. He had you on the floor of your bedroom, your body bent uncomfortably while Toji stood above you; using your body to support himself, the position pressing your knees into the cold hard wood of the floor.

He hadn't even given you anytime to prepare when he sank his cock into your hot pussy - there was no comfort or kindness in the way he thrusted into you - completey detached from you, only focused on chasing his own pleasure as he pushed your body onto the ground, sinking deeper into your heat.

You had tried to keep up, you really had. you tried telling him was too much, too rough, too fast. "daddy, p-please-" you were cut off by Toji's large palm hitting your cheek and pushing your head onto the floor roughly. A hot gasp flew from your lips, you didn't have enough time to prepare yourslef for the impact - a loud crack! echoing through the room when your head made contact with the cold wood.

Toji continued to thrust into you - oblivious to the pain you were in - the upper half of your body moved limply against the floor as he pounded into you.

"That feel good, slut?" he curled himself over you roughly, grabbing the side of your head to turn you towards him, keeping your temple pressed against the floor. "Like bein' daddy's lil' fuck toy?" he seethed.

Tears pooled in your eyes; your head was starting to hurt, blood pulsed hrough your skull - throbbing as you struggled to keep your eyes open against Toji's brutal force he had on your body.

You tried looking to Toji, hoping he'd see how tired you were, how sick you felt and take mercy on your battered body. He only got rougher once he met your blood-shot eyes, his grip on your waist tightening.

"Daddy, please...please," you felt like puking, you could feel the bile in your stomach twisting and churning with every thrust - you were so tired, voice weakening.

"Please what?" he hissed through his teeth, lips pulled back in a snear when you began to sob at his words.

"Please... please stop," you cried hysterically, your breath caught in your throat making you choke - you coughed roughly, gagging on your own spit.

"Shut up." He spit.

You could only cry as Toji fucked you into the cold, hard floor - your legs had given up long ago with only Toji's grip on your hips keeping you semi-lifted in the air to meet his thrusts. Your sobs had begun to slow, the heavy feeling of neasua returning and making you groan.

You were just so tired, your head hurt so bad, you just wanted to sleep - just wanted all the pain to stop - just wanted Toji to pick you up and hold you and make it all better.

It was starting to get harder to keep your eyes open as your body suffered Toji's brutal thrusts. He spoke to you visiocusly - you couldnt tell what he was saying, his words were jumbled sounding and distant. Toji's body slowly became a blurry outline as you struggled to focus on him.

"Yeah, you like that? You fuckin' slut." Toji leaned down to watch your expression, "like daddy fuckin' you - oh shit," Toji stopped and grabbed your face rougher than he meant to - the force of it making you whine - he cupped your jaw to turn you towards him.

Your pupils were dialted and you could barely keep yourself up, much less awake. Toji felt his heart drop into his stomach - a sudden realization of just how rough he was being with you coming to him in the form of your near coma-indouced state.

"Y/n, sweetie, c'mon," Toji felt sick to his stomach at the sight of you: your skin was clamy and overheated. he pulled out of you before picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom.

"Mm, Toji?" you whined, voice hoarse and weak. The two of you were sat in the tub, you in Toji's lap, his chest to your back - the heat of his skin made you keen.

"Hey, honey" His voice was shaky, "really gave me a scare there, haha" this side of toji was making you uneasy - you'd never seen him be anything but dominant and in control of a situation - seeing him so scared was making you upset.

"'m okay" you slurred, looking up to him, eyes still lidded.

Toji stroked the skin of your temple as you spoke to him, nodding with you. "baby..." his voice was quiet, a pout on his plump lips. "m'sorry, I was bein' really rough," He cupped your body up to his, resting his cheek on the top of your head.

The neasua returned, the water helping to soothe your state somewhat but the feeling of being moved worsening your stomach. You began to shiver lightly, small bouts of chills running up and down your spine.

"You cold, sweetheart?" Toji moved his head to look at you.

You shook your head softly, "n-no, 'm head hurts," you moved a hand to touch the side of your head that had been pushed into the floor.

"Don't touch, baby" Toji whispered, pulled your hand away and holding it in his own, stroking your skin with his thumb for a minute.

"Honey, 'm so sorry," he kissed the top of your head, pulling you into his chest, "'m sorry i didn’t listen to you and 'm sorry for callin' you those mean names." he spoke softly.

You reached your hand up around your head to pat his cheek weakly as you fought off the urge to sleep, your head was growing heavier, "t's okay," you slurred.

Toji gave a watery chuckle at that, holding your hand to his cheek with his own before turning to kiss the inside of your palm.

"'m gonna call the doctors and see if I gave you a concussion." he gave a weak chuckle, sniffling and moving back to look you over again as he stroked your back softly.

you nodded, head resting against the hot skin of his chest as you drifted off.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji zenin

[bokugaos]

msby main 5! strapping you to a sybian <33

tw — gangbang, sybian, restraints, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, facefucking, gagging, blow jobs (m. receiving)

your chest is heaving as you calm down from another orgasm. how many times have they pushed your body to the edge? you’re.. you’re not sure anymore.

it is difficult to focus on it when all you have to go on is the spasming of your muscles which haven’t quite stopped around the third time they were teased into contracting until you bit your tongue almost bloody.

your thighs are shaking, trying to push against the bonds keeping you on the infernal thrumming seat, but you’re weak. you can’t do anything but have your whole weight on the sybian, pushing the vibe in deeper. its humming against you is making you go cross-eyed. it is aching now. definitely aching.

“p… please stop.. it’s enough, right?” you try. you don’t talk back to them most of the time and there is no use in getting upset now. they have been ignoring all your pleadings since you were woken up by your first orgasm.

you think it was your first. you’re not so sure anymore.

you’re not sure how they even managed to drag you from your bedroom to wherever this is without you being aware of anything.

they have their face turned towards you but are not reacting one way or another. you’re not sure they are even listening to you. meian has a remote in his fist with which he uses to manipulate the speed and intensity of the toy you are sitting on, but he hasn’t changed anything in a while.

as your muscles start failing you, you are forced to sit on the base of the vibe they pushed into your asshole, making it vibrate with the sybian. you feel yourself going cross-eyed, your belly muscles clenching pathetically as all those sweet little nerves in your entrance are being stimulated.

you’re not used to this. not at all.

bokuto likes to stick his cock up your ass every once in a while as atsumu’s got you bouncing on his cock or when you’re riding his face, but...

shit. you can already feel another one coming. your toes are curling to the point of spasming muscle pains. you try to gather yourself enough to regain some control over your thighs, but there is nothing to be done about it. your body is failing you.

someone moves. you raise your head by a mere inch, just enough to see sakusa come closer towards you.

you stare at him with teary eyes as you start sagging to one side on the saddle you’re strapped on. there’s no way for you to slip off this infernal thing.

you watch as sakusa begins to open his pants, his cock springing free, which he shows off to you. he curls a hand around it and gives it a few pumps, the slick red head is pointed right at your face.

he waits for a moment, as if to give you some time to take in the beauty of his dick after leaving you all alone with the sybian for this long, then reach out and fist fingers in your hair.

you are pulled forward, and you open your mouth without a token protest. tears are at the corners of your eyes as you look up at his torso, your own body on fire as you try to fight against yet another orgasm. you hiccup noisily with the cock still in your mouth, your fingers flexing and clenching into tight, big fists again.

it’s a fucking sight, it is, watching sakusa feed his thick cock into your mouth, and watching your eyelashes flutter in contentment and your pussy gushing some more.

about a half an hour ago, you may have still had a chance of getting into heaven. that has officially gone out of the window.

sakusa is staring down at you without expression. there is no sound coming forth. no reaction. you suckle and play your tongue across the tip, but he is simply staring down at him, not moving one way or another, letting you fuck your mouth on his cock while you try so very hard not to come.

you’ve taken as much of sakusa’s cock as you can into your mouth, but he’s still barely showing you any reaction. instead, he motions for hinata to come closer. and once the latter is kneeling next to you, he takes his hand and presses it to your abdomen and pushes down, forcing you at a different angle.

your eyes fly open and you groan around sakusa’s cock, grinding your hips down on the rubber dick in earnest now.

“good girl,” the curly-haired murmurs, almost absentmindedly. you catch the way hinata’s cock twitches at that, although the man is focused on seeing your eyes water up, whether it’s from the cock in your throat or the praise, he doesn’t know.

you keen in the back of your throat and sakusa throws his head back at the vibrations it sends up his shaft.

he loses control of his hips for a moment and thrusts shallowly into your mouth. your knuckles go whiter where they’re gripped onto the sybian.

“should we turn the speed up?” hinata says, voice lower than you’ve heard it in a while.

sakusa looks down and nods right as you hear atsumu chimes in, “yeah? i bet she’s gonna like that.”

you look up through your eyelashes, tears streaming down the sides of your face. god, you’re a sight like this, with your mouth stuffed full of cock and holding onto the vibrating machine like your life fucking depends on it. you look desperate and like you will come any minute. you keep yourself awake as best you can and take sakusa down further as if to emphasize it.

spit and precum drip off your chin and onto the machine you’re straddling every time you move your tongue, trying your best to make sakusa come even though you fear you might lose all control of your body once you reach another climax. and you’re so close.

you feel like you’re not going to live through another orgasm.

the machine slows down and your eyes roll to the back of your head, momentarily satiated. sakusa steps away, and you use this opportunity to catch your breath, until you realize with a jerk that you have to try to move away. the machine keeps buzzing on a low hum beneath you. your skin is damp with sweat as hinata strokes over the curve of your thigh and runs his fingers through the thatch of your curls with a smile. "you must be so sensitive right now."

your mouth curves in an exhausted smile in hopes of igniting pity in him as you shift on the sybian, trying and failing to lessen the stimulation.

and then meian kicks the dial, turning it to full power.

your eyes fly open and your mouth opens in a violent scream. your back bow dramatically and you come in an instant, continually making loud, wailing noises somewhere between screams and cries. it looks like someone reaches inside you and pulls the few weak spurts of cum out of you. it looks painful.

you’re whimpering and crying, cunt still gushing, but you manage to speak. “n-no… more, p-please..!” your words are incredibly slurred and you can’t open your eyes, but you’re conscious enough to form a sentence. you sob, moving weakly on the rubber cock still buried inside your ass like you can’t help it.

even after what you just said, you still seem to want it, that or your body isn’t even listening to your brain anymore.

you’re positively sobbing, but they’ve never seen you this desperate, it seems hypnotizing.

you’re a writhing mess, looking like you want nothing more than to just fucking come so they’ll stop. actually, that curling in your stomach is eerily familiar.

“alright, my turn,” bokuto says, and at the sound of his voice you drag your eyes open and manage to tilt your head downward to hide yourself. bokuto is standing over you with his hips to your face, and his cock is a fucking mess, red and twitching, coated in cum and precum.

he softly cards his fingers through your hair. you look up at him through your lashes, and tears webbed in them that catches the light. he pitches his hips forward, getting you even messier than you already are as you slobber all over his cock.

you moan in frustration, a distressed sound. you probably can’t even feel the vibrations at this setting after how long you’ve been on it by now. you’re crying in earnest, not just tears from taking bokuto’s cock but actual, real, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

sweat drips down your chest and mixes with the now dried cum on your lower abdomen. you’re in absolute hysterics, bucking down on the light vibrations like you want to get away, and you keep chanting pleas for them to show you mercy, and you’re not even sure if you want them to.

“one more, sweet girl, you’re gonna be so good for us,” meian decides, moving for the dial and turning it up again, notch by notch.

it is all an uphill battle, of course. one you are destined to lose. you sob when your aching body starts spasming once more, your hole clenching around the unfamiliar thick presence spreading you open, body convulsing and out of your control as tears stream down your cheeks and the air freezes in your lungs.

your back curves the opposite direction, sending you hunching forward. your scream is muffled, sweat drips down your face and the side of your mouth, which is still stretched around bokuto’s cock. meian turns the dial once more, and then a final time. you squeak, like there’s so much pressure in your lungs that’s all that could escape, your entire body is twitching violently.

you think bokuto is at least pulling his cock out of your throat for the duration. you’re not entirely sure. everything goes dark around him as you spasm in your orgasm.

#msby smut #bokuto smut #sakusa smut #meian smut #hinata smut #atsumu smut #bokuto x reader smut #msby x reader smut #meian x reader smut #sakusa x reader smut #hinata x reader smut #atsumu x reader smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader sm

[battlinghurricanes]

Fodder

[AO3 link if you want to read it there]

-

(I wonder if Deiphobus would have actually gone out to help Hektor face Achilles if he hadn't been injured the day before. Would he have tried? Would they have let him?

AU where Athena still uses Deiphobus to trap and kill Hektor but she doesn't have to take on his image. Deiphobus hasn't been injured and he tries to go and help his brother and Athena ensures no one stands in his way. All she needs is for Hektor to stop running. So Deiphobus goes and Hektor stops and he has the support of his brother beside him. But Achilles has the support of a goddess, one who warps Deiphobus's devotion to Hektor into the opportunity to butcher them both)

-

Achilles kills Hektor and half kills Deiphobus.

Tugged beneath the bottomless red ocean of pain, the world slides away for a while. The voices of the Achaeans bleed through like the screeches of gluttonous crows, their words a loss but their smugness blatant and shrill. He thinks he sees Hektor move, but only from the stab of an irreverent Argive sword, he finds when he tries desperately to focus his swimming vision.

Pain rips through him at a callous jostle, his belt stripped to bind his hands. Hektor is lashed behind the chariot and Deiphobus is dumped inside.

He will serve well, Achilles thinks, to round out the Trojans he stole for sacrificial slaughter, an atrocity so inhuman no other man would admit to even considering it. But Achilles’ grief is an inhuman, irredeemable monstrosity in and of itself. He takes to butchery with ecstasy to slake his abhorrent bloodlust with the abandoned corpse of his lover as paltry justification.

The chariot bears the brothers ever further from their home. Deiphobus watches with outrage the indignity of Hektor’s body dragged behind the cart, loathing Achilles beyond anything. Mustering all his strength, he claws weakly at Achilles’ ankle and pulls back a broken wrist in return.

Hektor’s hair has come loose now. He would hate that, Deiphobus thinks, then gags on the urge to sob hysterically, stifled only by the agony of three broken ribs.

When they reach the Achaean camp, tears have spilled from his eyes and bile pooled in his mouth from his choked, wretched grieving.

They put him with twelve others- twelve others, he shudders with another visceral gag- bound and pinned in by Myrmidon spears. They’re still damp and pitiful; Achilles corralled them out of the Scamander. He sees two of his half brothers, Ascanius and Telestas. Sees a friend, Maltheon, who looks halfway to the House of Hades already, sprawled on his side with eyes closed, wheezing shallowly.

The luckiest of all of them.

The eleven other Trojans flinch and shiver and whimper when they arrive. Not because of Deiphobus; Hektor’s corpse is in sight. One man keens aloud and recoils from a swift strike to his shoulder.

Achilles abandons them, but not Hektor. His chariot heads the rest as the Achaeans drive around the carefully arranged body of Patroclus, further inside the camp, but still within view. There, after three cruel circuits, does Achilles dump Hektor’s body, a barbarous desecration. Deiphobus looks upon the empty eyes of his brother who he loved above all and wonders if he will ever be buried.

(He knows Hektor deserves so much more than that, but all the rest has been stolen away. His son, his wife, his home, Hektor should be there and Deiphobus would rip the world apart if he could see it done. But reality is cold and irrevocable. He shouldn’t have told Hektor to fight. He should have given him the chance to run. Deiphobus is going to die now anyway, he should have- used his death to let his brother escape Achilles’ massacre. He should have... This should have......)

The Argives mourn and feast through the fall of night. The smoke and shouts and throbbing chaos only compounds upon Deiphobus’s delirious, injured daze. The Argives retire, though men remain to guard them, and he sleeps less so than faints, unaware till the morning.

It is no mercy to the Trojans, only a prolonging of the inevitable. Achilles still hungers. His depraved disregard for any life other than his own will devour still so many more.

The Achaeans will never know. They will never learn that Achilles requested Zeus to cut them down, murder them, for Achilles’ own gratification. A request Lord Zeus answered.

Under the morning sun they build a pyre for Patroclus, only one of the many victims of that vile request. They pile timber, pass in procession, cut their hair. They lay offerings, make sacrifices. Then Achilles turns to them and the Myrmidons drag them forward.

The youngest, Palmenus, trembles violently. Maltheon’s head lolls, unresponsive.

One by one, Achilles slits the throats of the thirteen Trojans, soaking his hands in their blood. As he waits to die, Deiphobus gazes at the body of Hektor, laying discarded, alone, beyond his reach.

The vision fades as he dies.

Limp, his corpse falls into Achilles’ arms and he drops him and all of them at the base of the pyre, fodder for the fire. A fire that refuses to burn, but once more Achilles prays and once more the gods answer and the fire roars to life and consumes them.

#the iliad #trojan war #deiphobus #achilles #hektor #hector of troy #my writing #tw death #tw sacrifice #this thought hit me this morning #this was rough to write tbh #but i think it turned out good #gonna try and draw cute stuff now #(i was gonna reblog my og post and add this but i wanted it to show in tags)