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genshinluvr · 9 months

Text

Well, Shit.

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Toddler!Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: Well, Shit. This isn't supposed to happen. How did this even happen in the first place? Yanqing was tasked to watch over you while General Jing Yuan and your traveling companions were out on a mission. Who knew it would end up with you turning into a toddler?

Note: This is a short fic. I guess this can be part 2 of "Yanqing's Babysitting Service" since I mentioned the reader getting hit in the face by Luka's arm situation in this fic. I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I think it would be a cute and fun spin-off to Yanqing's Babysitting Service. I'll link it down if you want to read it— this can be read as a standalone if you're not interested in reading the first part. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None that I know of

Word Count: 4k

Part 1 of Well, Shit. [Yanqing's Babysitting Service] (Can be read as a standalone fic)

Yanqing looks at the sight in front of him in horror before looking around to see if anyone else was around when it happened. Yanqing gulps nervously before running his fingers through his hair and closing his eyes. This cannot be happening right now. Especially when he is the one that’s tasked to watch over you while the others are away on an important mission on the Xianzhou Luofu. What could have caused this mess?

Yanqing collapses to the ground, covering his face with his hands as he tries to calm down. How would the General react to this? Heck, how would the others react to this? Everything was going well until this happened! The first time Yanqing was tasked to babysit you, you ended up in the medical center in Belobog because Luka’s arm flew off and knocked you out cold. Then again, Yanqing would rather have that happen again because it’s better than whatever the heck is going on right now!

“Please, this can’t be happening. General is going to kill me if he finds out that [Y/N]—” Yanqing’s inner monologue is interrupted by someone tugging on the sleeve of his hanfu.

Yanqing uncovers his eyes to see large eyes staring at him curiously. Standing before him is you— only it’s not really you. You’re not the adult you were. You’re a child, no, a toddler no older than three years old.

“Y-Yanqing,” you whimper out softly.

Aeons… you’re an adorable baby, and Yanqing doesn’t know how to react. Should he laugh? Should he cry? Yanqing is supposed to be the child here, not you! And yet, here you guys are— the role has switched, and Yanqing doesn’t know what to do. The others should be back from their mission in a few hours, and Yanqing has no idea how to turn you back to your normal self. Wait a minute. If you’re physically a toddler, does that mean you think like one too?

Your bottom lip starts to quiver as tears start pooling in your eyes. Yanqing’s eyes widen with panic as he gently shushes you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you. Yanqing lightly bounces you, patting your back while looking around for help. You grab Yanqing’s hanfu and rest your chin on his shoulders, whimpering occasionally.

“It’s okay! Don’t cry, [Y/N]! I know it’s scary right now, but try to be strong for me, okay?” Yanqing coos, peeking at you to wipe your tear-stained cheeks.

You sniffle and nod, bottom lip jutting out. Yanqing smiles and lightly pinches your cheek before walking around the Xianzhou Luofu with you in his arms. It’s a good thing your clothes shrunk with you because Yanqing wouldn’t know what else to do if the clothes didn’t shrink with your person.

“Aw, man. What am I going to do?” Yanqing whispers. “How are we going to turn you back to normal?”

You bury your face on Yanqing’s shoulders, rubbing your eyes with your fist. Yanqing stops in his tracks and looks at you worriedly. You yawn and blink at Yanqing slowly. Fuck, was he supposed to know what that means? You begin sniffling, a small cry emitting from you. Panic kicks in as Yanqing tries to figure out what’s wrong.

Yanqing lightly pats your back and bounces you, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. “What’s wrong, [Y/N]?” Yanqing asks softly, quickly wiping the tears that threaten to roll down your cheeks.

You whimper out, “I‘m sleepy.”

“You can sleep in my arms for now, okay? I’ll find a place for you to sleep,” Yanqing coos, patting your head.

You nod glumly and rest your head on his shoulders, holding onto the fabric of Yanqing’s hanfu, and close your eyes. Yanqing isn’t around children often, but when he is around children, he’s not the one who’s dealing with the needs of children. Instead, he would be the one to stand there awkwardly while the mothers and fathers of the children tend to their needs.

Yanqing walks into the Seat of Divine Foresight with you in his arms. You have yet to fall asleep, and Yanqing is glad you haven’t cried or thrown a tantrum yet. Yanqing doesn’t know where to take you, so you can take a nap other than General Jing Yuan’s office. Mainly because there aren’t many people in the General’s office and because the General’s seat is the first place to pop up in his mind when he thinks of a place for you to nap on.

Yanqing sits you down on the seat where General Jing Yuan’s desk is, and you sprawl out on the chair before curling into a ball. Within seven minutes, you were out like a light. Yanqing sighs in relief and rubs the back of his neck as he paces back and forth in front of the white-haired General’s desk.

“What am I going to say to the General when he and the others return? I don’t know how this happened in the first place!” Yanqing screams internally.

Yanqing walks over to the chair and sits at the end of the seat, resting his chin on the armrest and sighs. Yanqing peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, making sure you’re still asleep. How in the world did you end up aging backward? You were fine earlier today until a little less than an hour ago.

The doors to the Seat of Divine Foresight open, startling the poor blond boy. General Jing Yuan, the Stellaron Hunter, the foreign merchant, the Astral Express crew, and the people visiting from Jarilo-VI enter the white-haired General’s office. Yanqing stands up and looks over at you worriedly and then at the newcomers.

Thankfully, they’re too distracted to notice Yanqing’s presence. Yanqing debates on whether he should carry you out of the General’s office without being seen or let everyone discover the predicament you and Yanqing got into. Yanqing chews on his thumbnail, watching the group converse with one another, still not noticing Yanqing’s presence.

“Yanqing! I see you and [Y/N] have returned from your day around the Luofu early,” General Jing Yuan says, startling Yanqing.

Blade crosses his arms over his chest. “Speaking of [Y/N]. Where are they?” Blade asks, raising his eyebrows at the blond boy.

Yanqing feels his heart gets caught in his throat. Yanqing laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. What is he supposed to say? It’s not like he can make an excuse and say you’re in the restroom when you’re sleeping on the General’s chair right behind him. Yanqing subtly covers you and adjusts his ponytail, still trying to find a way to answer Blade’s question.

“[Y/N] told me they will not be making an appearance until they get Immortals Delight,” Yanqing lies, internally wincing when the words come out of his mouth.

Almost everyone raises their eyebrows at Yanqing’s response. Dan Heng and Welt Yang coincidentally hold the sweet drinks up for Yanqing to see. Yanqing exhales loudly— the others mistake Yanqing’s sigh as relief rather than defeat. Yanqing purses his lips and nods slowly. Great, okay, so what is Yanqing going to do now?

It’s not like he can hide you any longer. Yanqing gestures for the others to wait a moment before turning around. Yanqing bends over to wake you up from your sleep. You crack your eyes open, whining softly. Yanqing quickly shushes you, trying his best not to panic when he knows the others are watching him with eagle eyes. Yanqing looks over his shoulders, giving the audience an awkward smile.

“Please give me a moment! Maybe turn around and don’t look yet!” says Yanqing, gesturing to them to turn and have their backs facing his and your direction.

Luocha raises his eyebrows at Yanqing, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you hiding from us, Yanqing?” Luocha asks, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

Yanqing ignores Luocha’s question and continues to lift you and carry you in his arms. You wrap your little arms around Yanqing’s shoulders and bury your face into his neck as you try to go back to sleep.

Yanqing would have melted from the cuteness, but he’s too busy worrying about how the others are going to react to seeing a miniature version of yourself. Yanqing turns around to see the others staring at him. Yanqing bristles and glares at the group, pointing an accusing finger at everyone, ignoring the gasps and wide eyes from them.

“Hey! I told you guys to turn around and not to look yet!” Yanqing exclaims.

Sampo points at you. “Why do you have a random child in your arms? Where’s my Gumdrop, Yanqing?” Sampo demands, making his way toward the blond boy.

You peek from Yanqing’s shoulders, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles. Sampo stops in his tracks when he gets a better look at your face. You stare at Sampo and blink at the gobsmacked indigo-haired man. Sampo begins sputtering, pointing at you and looking at the group with wide eyes. You lay your head on Yanqing’s shoulder, eyes glazed over before yawning.

“[Y/N]?” Welt asks softly, tilting his head to the side.

You look at the brown-haired man and look at him curiously, mimicking the brunette by tilting your head to the side like a curious puppy. The brunette sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding when March, Dan Heng, and Caelus look at him quizzically. Despite the trio not saying anything, Welt knew what they wanted to ask.

The child in Yanqing’s arms is indeed you. Aside from the clothing, your hair is the same, and so is your face… but younger. Dan Heng looks at the nervous Yanqing, pointing at the dozing-off child in Yanqing’s arm.

Dan Heng clears his throat to grab Yanqing’s attention. “How did this happen?”

“That’s the problem, Dan Heng! I don’t know how all of this happened! One minute, [Y/N] and I were hanging around the Luofu, and the next, poof! [Y/N] is de-aged!” Yanqing explains, tapping his foot on the ground anxiously.

You squirm in Yanqing’s arms, kicking your feet lightly. Yanqing puts you on the ground before looking at the men (and March) nervously. You look around the Seat of Divine Foresight, eyes bright with wonder and curiosity. You look at the large group of very tall people before cowering in fear and hiding behind Yanqing’s legs, peeking from behind.

Caelus steps forward and squats down, smiling at you. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, [Y/N]. Do you recognize any of us aside from Yanqing?” Caelus whispers.

You grab Yanqing’s pants and nod hesitantly. Of course, you remember the really tall people! Despite turning into a toddler and not being able to think and communicate like your normal self, you recognize everyone’s face. Gepard squats beside Caelus, looking at you curiously.

“Do you know how this happened?” Gepard murmurs.

You shake your head. “No,” you mumble.

Luka pouts and turns to the others, clutching his chest. “They’re so cute and tiny! Their little ‘no,’” Luka coos, cupping his cheeks and squealing softly.

You lean against Yanqing and rub your eyes with the heel of your hand. You tug on Yanqing’s hanfu to get General Jing Yuan’s blond retainer’s attention. Yanqing looks down and sees you holding your arms up in the air. Yanqing lifts you up and carries you in his arms while you bury your face into his shoulders, mumbling into his shoulders.

March bounces over to you and Yanqing, looking at you with curiosity. You peek from Yanqing’s shoulders and look up at March. March smiles widely and waves at you, cooing softly when you shyly smile at her and wave in return. March squeals softly and pokes your cheek. You bury your face against Yanqing’s shoulders after, making March laugh.

“You’re so cute! Yanqing, let me hold [Y/N]!” March says, holding her hands out for the blond boy to hand you over to her.

Yanqing’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “What! No way! I’m not handing [Y/N] to you until they return to their normal self!” Yanqing protests, taking a step back.

March’s jaws drop, and she stomps her foot on the ground. “Huh!? Aren’t you going to feel tired if you hold [Y/N] for a long time?” March exclaims, propping her hands on her hips. “Mr. Yang! Yanqing refuses to let me hold [Y/N]!”

Yanqing and March continue to glare at each other while Welt and General Jing Yuan sigh in unison, pinching the bridge of their noses. Not only do they have to figure out how to turn you back into your normal self, but now they have to deal with March and Yanqing arguing over who gets to hold you.

General Jing Yuan clears his throat. “Yanqing, I believe you should put [Y/N] down. We should reintroduce ourselves to [Y/N] so they won’t feel uncomfortable around us despite knowing who we are,” says General Jing Yuan.

Yanqing makes a disgruntled noise before complying with the white-haired General. Yanqing puts you on the ground and holds his hand out for you to take. You place your little hand in Yanqing’s bigger hand and let the blond boy guide you to the center of the Seat of Divine Foresight.

You and Yanqing walk down the stairs— Yanqing makes sure to go slow and help you down the stairs, making sure you don’t slip or trip. You stick close to Yanqing, gazing at the group curiously. Everyone looks friendly, especially the two men holding Immortals Delight. Your eyes are glued onto the sweet drinks, tempted to ask the two men if you can have the drinks.

Luocha chuckles. “Despite turning into a child, [Y/N]’s love for Immortal’s Delight remains,” Luocha comments, turning toward Dan Heng and Welt.

You point at the drink, glancing up at Yanqing. Yanqing looks at the two men holding the beverages and at General Jing Yuan. You tug on Yanqing’s hanfu to grab his attention, silently asking if you can have the sweet drink.

Dan Heng hums, stroking his chin. “I’m not sure if someone as small as [Y/N] should be drinking two Immortal’s Delight,” Dan Heng murmurs.

Upon hearing Dan Heng’s hesitation, you pout and give Dan Heng puppy dog eyes, your bottom lips quivering. Dan Heng looks away, sighing. How can he say no to your puppy dog eyes? Dan Heng looks over at the brown-haired man, who’s also looking away from you. Welt clears his throat, not saying a thing.

You continue to point at the drink. “Please…” you trail off, blinking away the tears forming in your eyes.

Welt sighs in defeat. “Alright, you can have this drink. But you can only drink one, alright?” Welt says, walking up to you before kneeling before you.

You stare at the older man before looking at the Immortal’s Delight in his hands. One drink? I mean, it’s better than not having any, right?

You nod. “Okay,” you say softly.

Welt hands you the Immortal’s Delight, patting the top of your head as you latch onto the straw and sip the sweet beverage happily. You look at Yanqing, smiling widely. Yanqing smiles and ruffles your hair before looking at the white-haired General pleadingly. Blade points at you, his eyebrows raised. You stare at Blade, pointing at the Stellaron Hunter while looking at your blond babysitter.

“Baldie?” You squeak.

Sampo and Luka pucker their lips and look away, stifling their laughter. Blade stares at you blankly, trying to process what you just said. Were you trying to call him Bladie? Did he mishear you by any chance? Given the facial expressions on everyone’s face, Blade, in fact, did not mishear you.

Sampo whispers to Luka, “[Y/N] just called Blade ‘Baldie.’” Sampo wipes the tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he tries to keep his composure.

“And they said it with confidence, too,” Luka snickers.

You’re confused about why the others are trying to hide their laughter after you said Blade’s name, but you didn’t question it. You’re drinking Immortal’s Delight, and it tastes amazing. The drink is so good, and you want to get your tiny hands on another Immortal’s Delight.

Blade clears his throat, slightly glaring at you. “I think you mean Blade, not Baldie,” Blade corrects you.

You shake your head stubbornly, pointing at the long-haired man again. “Baldie,” you state.

Caelus nods, pointing at the now irritated Stellaron Hunter. “Maybe [Y/N] knows something that we don’t!” Caelus says, walking over to Blade and reaching for Blade’s hair, only for Blade to slap his hands away with a scowl.

You soon finish your Immortal’s Delight. Soon enough, your eyes land on the Immortal’s Delight that Dan Heng is holding. You point at the drink, glancing at Yanqing. Yanqing laughs nervously and scratches the back of his head.

“I think you’ve had enough, [Y/N]. It’s not good if you drink two Immortal’s Delight. It’ll make you feel sick,” Yanqing says, squatting down beside you.

Almost immediately, you pout and look at the blond boy with teary eyes. Yanqing starts to panic and looks at the others, alarmed. General Jing Yuan walks to you and hands you a Steamed Puffergoat Milk. You look at the drink curiously before sniffing it. You lift the cup to your lips and take a small sip of the Steamed Puffergoat Milk.

Gepard chuckles. “It seems like [Y/N] likes it,” Gepard says, watching the white-haired General and his blond retainer panic and make sure you don’t chug the Steamed Puffergoat Milk.

General Jing Yuan wipes away your milk mustache and carries you in his arms, chuckling. You wrap your arms around General Jing Yuan’s neck and rest your chin on his shoulders. The Immortal’s Delight and the Steamed Puffergoat Milk filled your stomach up really well, and now you’re in need of another nap. You yawn and close your eyes.

“Has [Y/N] eaten?” Dan Heng asks.

Yanqing nods. “That’s the thing! [Y/N] and I had something to eat before [Y/N] turned into a child. The downside is that I have no idea what caused [Y/N] to be de-aged,” Yanqing explains, crossing his arms over his chest.

March turns to look at the Xianzhou men worriedly. “There is a way to turn [Y/N] back to normal, right?” March asks. “I don’t know if I can handle seeing my best friend as a toddler for more than a day.”

You peek at March, blinking at the pink-haired girl. You yawn again and rub your eyes with your knuckles. General Jing Yuan pats your head and has you rest your head on his shoulders. You comply and snuggle up against the white-haired General.

“No need to fret. We will try to find the solution to bring [Y/N] back to their normal self,” Luocha says, giving the pink-haired girl a reassuring smile.

It shouldn’t be hard to find the solution, right? You being a toddler for a few days doesn’t sound so bad. So far, you’ve been a pretty good kid aside from your love for sugar, especially your love for Immortal’s Delight and now Steamed Puffergoat Milk, thanks to General Jing Yuan. Not only that, but you have grown quite close with the General’s blond retainer.

You’re an absolute angel to Yanqing, but you can be a little bit of a pain in the ass to the others. Remember how it was mentioned that you’re a pretty good kid? Yeah, well, you’re a good toddler for selected people. You continued to call Blade “Baldie” despite the number of times you have been corrected by the visibly miffed Stellaron Hunter.

“Do you think [Y/N] is messing with Blade?” Gepard asks, watching the long-haired Stellaron Hunter chase you around the Xianzhou Luofu while you’re giggling mischievously.

Sampo nods. “Oh, for sure! There’s no way [Y/N] doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Sampo replies, sipping on his Immortal’s Delight.

Blade manages to grab you by your biceps and yanks you up. You thrash around in Blade’s grasp, face scrunching up with annoyance. Blade ignores your kicks and tosses you over his shoulders. You grumble and lightly punch his back, which feels like a thump to Blade. General Jing Yuan stops in his tracks and raises his eyebrows at Blade.

“I see you’re not too fond of [Y/N],” General Jing Yuan comments, smirking at the annoyed Stellaron Hunter.

Blade huffs, “They do nothing but cause trouble and drink Immortal’s Delight until they get cavities.”

Welt walks to Blade and holds his hands out. “Here, hand them to me if you don’t want to deal with [Y/N]’s shenanigans anymore,” Welt says.

Blade stares at Welt and then at the older man’s hand before walking off, leaving Welt standing there quizzically. General Jing Yuan chuckles while Welt rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. Welt was merely offering to take you out of Blade’s hair, and yet Blade didn’t want to hand you over. For someone who isn’t too fond of the toddler version of yourself, Blade sure has a funny way of showing his distaste for your toddler self.

“How much longer is [Y/N] going to be a child for? Don’t get me wrong, [Y/N] is adorable! But I miss messing with March with [Y/N] by my side,” Caelus says, frowning.

March does a double take, glaring at the silver-haired man. “You and [Y/N] have been teaming up to mess with me?!” March screeches, propping her hands on her hips while glaring at him.

Caelus opens his mouth to reply when he sees a familiar face walk into the room. Caelus nudges March and gestures toward the long-haired Aeon. Nanook walks over to you and Blade, snatching you off of Blade’s shoulders and holding you to eye level, your feet dangling in the air. You and Nanook stare at one another in silence.

“You ate that dessert, didn’t you?” Nanook mutters, eyes narrowing.

Luka looks at Nanook skeptically. “Huh? You knew what turned [Y/N] into a child the entire time!?”

Nanook ignores Luka’s question and continues to stare at you. You smile at Nanook sheepishly and nod. Nanook sighs, giving you a disapproving look. You pout at Nanook and kick your feet in the air. Nanook tosses you up in the air before catching you in his arms. It happened way too fast for the others to comprehend what had happened.

“Make sure not to eat something you’re not familiar with, alright?” Nanook says.

You sigh and nod. “Okay, I won’t. But can you really blame me? It looks like a regular Xianzhou dessert, and I didn’t think it would turn me into a toddler!” You say, attempting to get out of Nanook’s arms.

“Let this be a lesson for you not to eat too many sweets. It’s not good for you, especially Immortal’s Delight,” Nanook says, looking over at Mr. Yang and Dan Heng with a pointed look.

You reluctantly agree to Nanook’s comment. You can cut back on the sweets, but you’re not sure if you can cut back on the number of Immortal’s Delight you ingest. March stomps up to you, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows furrowing. You can practically see steam coming from her ears.

“You have some explaining to do! You pull pranks on me with Caelus!?” March asks.

Your eyes widen, and you peek over March’s shoulders, looking at Caelus. Caelus smiles at you sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. Well, shit. Just when you thought that turning into a toddler was bad enough, dealing with March’s wrath is even worse.

You turn to Nanook, whispering, “Can you turn me into a toddler again? Just so I can get away from March’s wrath.”

“No can do, Little One,” Nanook replies.

You groan and look at March with a sheepish smile while she continues to glare at you, tapping her feet on the ground while waiting for you to give your side of the story.

Note: I start school soon! Yay! 🥲 I am officially a senior in university, and that means I need to focus on school and try to graduate on time. I'm not sure if people read notes at the end of my fics, but I wanted to let you all know that I'm going to be on hiatus, meaning the Genshin and HSR isekai fics will be paused. I'm going to try to post something every now and then, but I (and the isekai fanfics for both Genshin and HSR) will be on hiatus. I'll announce it in a separate post soon. Since school is starting soon, this will be the last time I post invite links to my Discord server, and I will not be giving out invite links after the link expires. If you want to join, you can click the temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

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ghostssweetgirl · 1 year

Note

hello luv how are you doing? I’ll let you know u’r curring my depression. Could you please write an angsty pov with simon riley where he finds a fem reader on the old russian base on his mission??? so he sees her russian uniform and aimes his weapon on her but hesitates once he sees she’s unarmed combat medic?? and she kinda hides there in the from her comrades cuz they claimed her a traitor for saving an “enemy” soldier’s life?

if that’s too much and definitely not what you wanna write it’s totally okay. sorry. and thank u again hope u have a good day!!

omg hi anon! i'm doing good, but i hope you are doing even better! <3 yeah, i can do that for you :) hope this is okay for you!

cw: angst(ish), cursing, idk if i missed any let me know

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Combat Medic Reader

Simon was currently securing some intel from an enemy base, exploring what he thought was empty, abandoned. Just before he was about to leave and call it clear, he felt the need to check the only quarters with a closed door.

As he walked in, he instantly raised his gun. He didn't get a good look at first, just noticing her Russian uniform, but his finger let off the trigger when he saw her - froze, hands up, unarmed.

She was clearly beat up, bruises scattered amongst her arms, a neat gash on the side of her head. Messy, matted hair. Could tell you were exhausted.

"I'm sorry! Please! Please don't kill me," you begged.

"What are you doin'... here?" Ghost asked.

You swallowed as you tried to find your words, unsure if he'd believe you.

"Come on, spit it out."

"I am hiding here... from my comrades..." you started. "They call me a traitor."

"Traitor? Why?"

"I saved an enemy's life... They were unarmed, in so much pain," you sniffed, lips quivering as you cried. "They said... they said-"

"Shh, quiet down, now," he rasped. He didn't really know what to think. On one hand, he thought it was brave, heroic of you. It's your job. On the other, he didn't want to risk getting involved with a possible dangerous situation.

"Are they lookin' for you?"

"Yes... I know I need to get out of here but," you shrugged. "I don't know... They could kill me."

"None of that, now," he whispered. "Let's get you out of here first. I'll get you some place safe."

He led you back to a safe area, and helped you get into the passenger side of the truck. He hopped in the passenger seat, quietly sitting there as he took out his phone, sending a few texts.

"Suppose you could come with me," he spoke. "But, you can't wear... that. And don't go snoopin' around... or do anythin' to get yourself killed."

You nodded your head understandingly. "Yes, sir. Thank you... thank you."

He got out a few spare pairs of cargo pants and some shirts, tossing them down in the middle seat. "I'll stop somewhere soon. Let you change and... get yourself cleaned up."

You were beyond thankful he was helping you. Maybe this was your chance to start over, fully get away from your old comrades, from the military.

You feel cleaner than before, able to make yourself decent at a truck stop and get into a... clean enough pair of clothes.

Just as you expected, coming onto this new base, you were questioned by everybody. They had to make sure you weren't putting up an act, but they soon halfway trusted your sincereness.

You were shown to a spare room, and instantly plopped into the bed. Needing the rest as you now felt somewhat safe. It was very much awkward, so you didn't want to leave your room, but you were so hungry you had no choice.

It was late at night at this point, a little bit past 1200. Figuring everyone was asleep, you walked into the shared kitchen to find some grub only to be startled by the large presence before you, the man who saved you, a little bit dressed down than how you met him before.

"Hungry?" he asked. "Food in the fridge."

"Thank you..." you spoke quietly. "Hey... what's your name?"

He just looked at you before he answered. "Ghost."

"Thank you, Ghost..." you weakly smiled. "For saving me."

He hummed as he nodded.

"You didn't have to-"

"I know."

"I-I'm Y/N. Nice to... meet you," you chirped as you opened the fridge, picking up a container of leftovers that seemed decent enough to eat.

"Yeah. Well, have a good night," he walked away from you, not looking back as you watched his tall figure disappear into the darkness of the hallway.

A/N - I liked this idea a lot, I just hope I wrote it okay lol.

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dickgraysonsbitch · 7 months

Text

prodigal son

in which you and bruce bond over the worst day of your life (gn!doctor!reader)

warnings: swearing, injured jay, angst, no use of y/n, allusion to a story in which the prodigal son comes home to the lights all on, symbolizing that he was never ousted from the family

When you got the call, it was safe to say that you were scared. Shit. Fucking. Scared. Nothing in all your years of medical training could have prepared you for the sight of Jason Todd, the undisputed love of your life, (and his second, as he would often quip), bleeding out onto the dust-covered ground of the Bowery.

The phone call came in the dead of night. You’d just come off of a 36 hour shift, and while you were getting ready to relax and melt into your bed, your phone rung.

Jason’s burner phone. The phone he specifically stated would be used in emergencies. The phone that alerted Bruce of his location, something Jason despised, and wouldn’t use unless—no. You couldn’t let yourself swirl into despair. Not before picking up the phone.

“Jay?” Your voice quivered, and there was a pause on the other end of the call, a heartbeat that seemed to stretch into an eternity. Finally, a voice crackled through the line, a raspy, desperate voice on the other end, one you'd know anywhere, no matter how distorted it sounded through the speaker.

His voice sounded nothing like the confident, cool, and collected man that you knew. He sounded tired, wounded, and hanging on to every last breath, something you’d heard all too well at the hospital. “Baby,” he choked out. “Baby, I need you.”

Those four words were enough to send your heart into a frenzy. You had heard them countless times, whispered in intimate moments, but never like this. This was different. This was a cry for help.

“Where are you?” You whispered, attempting to cling onto your last strand of placidity. “Please, hold on, just for a minute.”

His breathing became more labored, his words slower. “The alley behind the Italian restaurant. San… San Maroni’s. It was an ambush, baby, I…”

“I’m coming, ok? Hold on for me, please.” You were begging, begging to not lose your person, not again.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your medical bag, your hands trembling as you rushed to the address he'd given you. The drive through Gotham's dark streets was a blur, the city's underbelly a place you'd only ever visited on Jason's arm. Now, it was a nightmare, and you were alone.

You turned the corner, terrified. The stench of blood and the dim glow of a flickering streetlight illuminated what you would come to call the most horrific scene that you’d laid eyes upon. The person that laid there, to you, wasn’t the Red Hood, the most fearsome man in Gotham.

It was your Jason. The man who woke up with you at three in the night when you got home from work to help you make Kraft Mac and cheese. The man who held you in his arms when you sobbed after having to admit a child, just five years old, into the ICU for a cancerous tumor.

Your voice came out a strangled gasp. This wasn’t him. It’s couldn’t be him. How could the strongest man you know lay there, his body stained crimson? Sprawled on the ground, his chest heaving, a pool of his own blood spreading around him? Multiple gunshot wounds riddling his body?

Tears welled in your eyes as you knelt beside him, carefully assessing the damage. Jason's voice was hoarse as he whispered your name, his face pale, but still, a faint grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He was conscious, thankfully, though his injuries looked serious.

Your mind immediately remembered your chapter on Trauma Care in medical school. Stabs, slashes… gunshots. Bleeding was solved by aortic clamping, and tourniquets.

"Hi, baby. You really know how to make an entrance," you said, your voice trembling as you began to work on stabilizing him. Your fingers moved with the precision of a seasoned surgeon, your training kicking in even as your mind was a whirlwind of fear and emotion.

Jason chuckled weakly, wincing in pain. "Couldn't let you forget that you're dating a walking disaster, could I?"

A few moments passed, each second passing all too slow, yet all too fast. It was minutes, hours, an eternity of trying to save the man you loved more than yourself, seeing him like this, but each second ticking with the speed of a bullet train.

“I received your distress signal, Jason.” A man, 6 feet tall, perhaps more, emerging out of the shadows, a long, dark cape billowing behind him. “What do you—” the man stopped short, but you forced your eyes back on Jason, trying to carefully mend a wound on his forearm.

The man, (who, though you were still in your haze, you had identified as Bruce), was still gaping, and slowly knelt down next to you. That’s funny, you thought, trying not to distract yourself from removing bullets from your lover, Jason always said that if he ever died, Bruce would walk away.

“Is he… conscious?” This voice, this voice wasn’t Batman. This voice was Bruce Wayne, discovering that his child, whom he failed to save once, was on the brink of death once again. “Was he responsive?”

You nodded. “He was conscious when I found him. I gave him a relaxant from my bag, just to… numb the pain, even if it was just a bit.”

The man nodded solemnly, his hands find their way around Jason’s injured forearm. You thought you could perhaps see his eyes watering, or even perhaps a tear beneath his cowl.

Jason’s breath stirred, and his heart rate picked up, (at least according to the portable heart rate monitor you hooked him up to). His eyes fluttered open, and for a tenth of a second, perhaps less, the glowed a bright, neon green. Then his heart rate dropped, and picked up again, like a morbid roller coaster. “Dad?”

He groaned, and you moved to stabilize his pulse, while simultaneously attempting to make sure the stitches you’d meticulously placed wouldn’t detach from his torso.

Bruce nodded, holding Jason’s hand tighter. “I’m here, son,” he seemingly choked out, before turning to you once again. “Is he stable yet?”

You nodded. “He’s speaking, which is a good thing, but I think he’s in the stage of pain where he’s experiencing hallucinations. It would be better to bring him to a secondary location, preferably one with more medical equipment. I don’t know if you own a hospital or something, but—”

“Bring him to the cave.” He said, abruptly.

“What?” This was shocking. Jason had told you how secure the Batcave was, and how vigilantes or other superheroes were the only ones even brought into its vicinity.

“It’ll save him. State of the art medical equipment, and my butler is a former combat medic. And you’ll be able to get some rest as well.” He nodded, solemnly. “Since he’s in a stable position right now, he and you can get in the Batmobile.”

“How did you—”

The Batman looked at the ground solemnly, all while picking up Jason in his arms. “I’m not a detective for nothing. You’re clearly a doctor, or a nurse of some sort, one with a connection to Jay, which is the only reason he was allowing himself to be treated. Your eye bags indicate that you haven’t slept in at least thirty hours. You also know my identity, so there’s no harm in bringing you to the cave as well. Jason is also more likely to cooperate with Alfred with you there.”

Wow, he’s good. You nodded and swallowed in awe, but more in admiration of his unexpected understanding. It wasn’t something you anticipated, after Jason’s tales of his father’s stoicism, but you couldn't help but admire the mysterious caped crusader, who had just invited you into his world, albeit indirectly.

Just before he got into the Batmobile, he turned to you, a single tear streaking his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. And in that moment, you knew that Bruce Wayne did not hate his second son.

The lights would always be on, for Jason Todd, prodigal son.

#jason todd x reader #bruce wayne #batman #red hood #jason todd #bruce wayne x reader #dc batman #batdad #batfam #batfamily

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sebstan2020 · 1 month

Text

Not Leaving

Chapter 44

Parings: Steve Kemp x Noa

Summary: What if Noa hadn't managed to kill Steve and hadn't been able to get away, what would have happened.

Alternative ending to Fresh were Steve wins against the fight between Noa, Molly and Penny

Warnings: Dom/sub, Psychopath, Kidnapping, Cannibalism, Captive, Handcuffs, Medical torture, Light bondage, Blood, Controlling

Noa searched high and low of the house, looking for any evidence or clues to who she was. If there was one thing, Steve was a damn good hider and kept everything under control which infuriated Noa. She searched the bedroom again, hoping to stumble upon something that would give her a memory. She had the photo of Mollie in the background. She hoped that if she looked at it constantly, something would come back but as of yet nothing. However there was one room she hadn’t searched yet, Steve’s office. He rarely used the office and mostly kept his work papers in there, insurance forms, research books, and reports he’d done over the years. But there was nothing stopping Noa from looking.

Paranoia had kicked in and after she looked somewhere, she made sure everything was put back in its original place. Steve was a smart man and he was bound to notice something obscure like an ornament out of place. The last thing Noa needed was for him to catch on to her. Luckily for Noa, Steve didn’t keep the office locked although that didn’t stop her from creeping in, being as silent as a mouse hiding from a predator. Bobby was watching her with confusion, tilting his head, lying submissively outside the room with his head on his paws. Noa turned and saw his sad face and sighed.

“Oh come on, you’d do the same too,” she said and a soft whined replied to her.

Noa looked through every book on the bookcase, every file in the e, every box filled to the brim with papers but nothing. It was all medically related and nothing of use to her. She stormed over to his desk, being more aggressive with her searching, rattling through papers and books. Still nothing though. But when she came to open the drawer, it was stuck, in fact, locked was the word. Unless he had something to hide, why would he lock the drawer? The office was technically a shared space not that Noa ever used it and neither did Steve and something about the draw being locked seemed fishy to her. She tugged on it again but it was definitely shut. This only made her more curious and her stomach tightened. There could be something in there, something that would lead her to her memory.

Finding an old screwdriver in the kitchen draw, Noa set on opening the locked draw. She shoved the screwdriver in, twisting and turning, feeling the lock give way and click, it opened. She drew a breath in, shaking and nervous and opened the draw. Inside wasn’t much, a couple of paper clips, some rubber bands and staples, the ordinary office stationery you would find. But one item caught her eye. A phone. An old one by the looks of it. Black with a purple case. Noa stared at the case and something flashed in her head.

She remembered. She remembers the purple phone case. Something very minor was now a core memory. She remembers using her phone with the purple case on. Immediately she knew this belonged to her and tried turning on it but of course, it was flat. Whatever was on this phone would lead her to the answers she needed. Luckily the phone wasn’t too old and she had the correct charger for it. Waiting silently beside it, she watched the screen intensely as the bar grew with life, the red block turning to green and the screen lit up. She was in. Snatching it from the floor, she tapped to open it, her eyes lighting up with stars in them, fingers shaking as she was so nervous to find what was on there.

Password

Her stomach sank and she gasped. There’s no way she’d remember her password. What was the point of even trying? Her eyes started to swell with salty tears and her lips quivered, her body shaking with grief which began to turn to anger. In a rage, she threw the phone across the room, hearing it hit something and smash. She felt like screaming, tearing the room apart. Why was nothing going right for her? Was everything all in her head and she was being delusional? She shuddered, sniffling back the tears and running a hand through her hair. In throwing the phone, she had broken their wedding picture, the one they had framed and kept in the living room. The glass was smashed to pieces and the frame snapped. Sighing, she padded over to clean it up.

Clearing the glass carefully, she picked up the frame which was useless as well and placed it in the small trash bag she had beside her. All that was left was the picture itself. She stared at the smiling faces of her and Steve, looking into each other's eyes with love and care, his hand cupping her cheek, her face slightly scrunched. She couldn’t remember a thing from what would be the happiest day of her life. Out of curiosity, she turned the picture over and she froze. She glared at the small writing on the back.

Photoshop

Surely not. Surely the picture wasn’t a lie. Surely it wasn’t a fake. Photoshop, is the software designed to make anything look real. To put your face on someone else’s body. And looking further into the picture, Noa noticed the flaws. The boobs were much bigger, the neck slimmer, arms with no imperfections. Noa had some distinctive freckles along her arms and body, ones she didn’t take much notice of but would notice anywhere in photos. This body was a clean slate. Even Steve, he didn’t look the same. The hands weren’t his, the fingers slightly stubbier than his long, neatly manicured ones, soft to the touch and gentle. Her heart began to race again and she ran over to her laptop.

She feared it more as she opened it up, noticing the wedding pictures tab and she clicked. Eyes wide and mouth tight, she slowly scrolled until it was there. The exact same picture, except with different faces, the original faces. Noa froze. The room went silent. The air grew thicker and she felt almost sick.

“No” she whispered.

Racing up, she ran to grab the wedding album they kept, holding every picture and memory from the special day. And they all matched. Every single picture. It was all a photoshop, a lie created by Steve. Every picture was of someone different, a happy couple smiling at each other, kissing one another, laughing at one another. Noa struggled to breathe, her body shaking and she couldn’t care to look at any more. She glanced at the diamond ring on her finger. Was she even married to Steve? Was it all just a lie?

Steve arrived home around six. He was completely exhausted. He had a huge order to fill and one of the girls wasn’t being very cooperative. After a long and painful surgery, he decided to finish up to head home as quickly as he could. All he wanted was to spend time with Noa, snuggled on the couch, drinking wine and eating cheese. He hoped she hadn’t had another panic attack. He thought about it on the way to and from the cabin if he should put her on some antidepressants, hoping to lift her mood and relax her. She was hell-bent on getting her memory back but the pills were keeping her in the state he wanted. Completely reliant on him and only remembered what he wanted her to. It was a cruel thing but if it needed to be done he wouldn’t hesitate.

As he entered the house, Noa came padding out of the kitchen smiling brightly.

“Hey” she greeted cheerfully and he was caught slightly off guard as she wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning for a kiss. He chuckled softly, staring down at her.

“You are in a good mood,” he said and Noa smiled.

“Well I had a good day” she shrugged.

“Good, I was going to call you earlier but I was so busy,” he said. He wasn’t lying for once, he truly was busy. He now had more work to do now that one of the girls was finished. He used her to fill the big order in and now he needed to find another girl to fit the room. He was thinking about finding someone different to the girls he’s kidnapped before. The market wasn’t interested in males, on females. They taste better and cost more.

“And I am starving” he sighed and he was about to walk to the kitchen when Noa stopped him, hugging him tighter.

“Let's go out for dinner” she suggested quickly and Steve furrowed his brows.

“Out?” He said.

“Yeah, let's go to a nice restaurant, we can make it a date night,” she said with excitement and Steve hummed. He wasn’t expecting this. He hoped to come home and dive deep into some rich buttery thigh steaks he cut the other day. But if Noa wanted dinner out, he wasn’t about to say no to her and he liked the idea of it being a date night.

“Alright, I’ll go get washed up” he smiled, moving to the stairs but Noa stopped him again.

“You look fine, let's go now”.

“I should wash up, I’ve been in surgery all day” he narrowed his eyes a little, wondering what the rush was.

“What’s the rush, we’ve got plenty of time” he chuckled.

“I know… I’m just hungry” was all Noa could come up with and Steve smiled, cupping her cheek.

“I’ll be as quick as I can” he whispered, kissing her lips before racing upstairs.

Changing to a black shirt and grey trousers with some smart shoes, Steve was freshly washed and ready. He brushed his hair back slightly, the silky locks gliding through his fingers and he spritzed on his cologne, smelling rich and masculine. He jogged down the stairs, padding into the kitchen. Noa was quickly changing as well and while she was doing so, he decided to have a quick snack as he was starving. He munched on the last pieces of ass meat disguised as ham to Noa, melting at the taste. It was sweet and succulent. He moaned softly and couldn’t resist another slice. He heard the bedroom door shut and quickly rolled the wax paper into a ball, popping open the bin to throw it inside. But something caught his eye.

There, at the bottom of the bin, staring at him was one of Noa’s pills. It was distinctive with its blue and white colour. He stared at it, his lips tightening. He hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was. He hoped she hadn’t been lying to him about taking her meds. How long he didn’t know but he was a smart man and she wouldn’t just throw them away by accident. Steve stiffened, his face tensing as well. If she was lying, and deliberately not taking the meds he wanted her to take, then he’d have to do something about that.

Noa’s footsteps altered him and he quickly threw the trash inside, wiping his hands and coming over. She looked beautiful, dressed in a cute blue dress with boots and her coat, smelling of floral notes.

“Look at you, you look beautiful” he grinned, cupping her face and kissing her sweetly. When he pulled back, he didn’t let go of her, studying her face. The pills had no effect on her face, her pupils weren’t dilated or anything so he couldn’t tell if she took them so there was only one way to know.

“Shall we go” she said and he nodded.

“Did you take your meds?” he asked, grabbing his coat.

“Yeah I took them earlier,” she said quickly, ignoring the subject and Steve hummed, his eyes slightly glaring at Noa from behind. If there’s one thing Steve wasn’t, it was a fool.

Hey I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think in the comments and if you could reblog that would be amazing.

@pattiemac1

@sebastiansluts

@charmed-asylum

@jabersplatt

@val-knj-blog

#steve kemp fanfiction #steve kemp #fresh 2022 #fresh fanfiction #fresh #fresh movie #sebastianstan #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction

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rebel-21 · 1 year

Text

How it came to be

Rocket finds his memory records in the Med Bay a couple of days after facing down the High Evolutionary. All he wanted was to fix the Ship and not have to be face-to-face with his past self.

It was a calm morning Rocket was on the ship doing some needed repairs. Their last mission with the High Evolutionary had done massive damage to their ship. If Rocket was being honest with himself it had opened massive old wounds for him as well.

As he slipped under some wire and twisted metal making sure he was low enough that his back wasn't going to touch the exposed wire. His own metal external screw never felt good when it hit live electrical currents.

Flipping on his back taking out a device from his mouth as he is fingers flew across the holo screen. His mind buzzed with excitement he would never get tired of this feeling. The excitement to fix to temper with. To try to understand the flaws in things.

His mind slips away hyper focused on his task at hand.

" Come on, where is it." Rocked mumbled pulling open draws frantically. He needed to find some wires to be able to finish rewiring the front of the ship. He thought he grabbed everything he needed this morning but apparently not.

Slipping into the med bay hoping he would find what he needed there. His eyes wandered around the room everything was trashed. Medical equipment was scattered around the floor. Needle med packs oxygen mask. His fur raised a little in alarm he hadn't noticed how trashed the place was.

He was so worried about getting his three family members off that psycho path ship. That he didn't fully register how ill he had become over those 48 hours he was in half conscious state.

As he slips on all four slinking around the room make sure to afford the broken medical equipment on the floor. He put pressure on his back legs to hop up on the medical table. To get a better view.

His eyes flicked to the right side of the room where there was a small counter with a sink. His eyes notice a strange-looking sphere-like object sitting there. It didn't look like one of his many small inventions. Leaping without second thought across the room his paws making barely any noise on the metal counter.

His nose sniff the object it smelt odd picking it up with his paws and rolled it around. It glowed bright yellow.

"Scanning fingerprint."

"Huh. What?" Rocket drops the thing in alarm to the sound robotic voice coming from the thing.

" 89P13 scanning memories."

"Wait what no?!" Rocket stuttered out in alarm but it was too late as an image appeared from the Sphere. As Rocket's eyes went wide in shock his heart started to beat in his chest faster reacting to the adrenaline spike that entered his bloodstream He felt light head and ill almost. Sire was looking straight up at him the way Rocket remembers him so many years ago.

The man looked much younger his face wasn't mangled, there was this strange gleam in his eyes that made Rocket's fur quiver

"Yes, that one." Sire pointed to a cage

As Rocket couldn't take his eyes off the scene in front of him. There looked to be eight little raccoon kits all huddled around much larger raccoons.

" once the babies have gotten their fill of their mother Colostrum we will separate them," Sire explained. " But we must not interfere the next two weeks. we have lost too many others from taking these specimens away from their mother so soon we must not fail this time."

echoes of three voices saying yes reach Rocket's ears. Rocket could feel tears running down his face his whole frame was shaking. His eyes could not take his eyes off the female raccoon.

"Mom?" Letting out a heartbreaking sob his knees giving out from under him. He was born in the lab with his brother and sisters.

" THAT ONE!!" Sire cried out bringing Rocket out of his shocked state. That foul human could always make Rocket stiffen in fear. Even now. He know he was safe. He knew his abuser was likely long dead. But in this moment his body and mind could rationalize any of that.

His eyes watch as Sire plucked one of the baby raccoons from the middle of the huddle.

"This one has fight." Sire sneered raising the little 2-day-old kit to his face. " want to watch this one." As the little baby squirmed in Sire's grip crying out for its mom.

" Oh yessss this one is perfect I have big plans for you little one you shall be great Addition to are 89 batch." Sire's voice was quite almost kind. " write down his Serial number 89P13."

Rocket felt like he was going to throw up. There he was a baby in the clutch of a madman. He watched Sire put him back down with his siblings as the video tap shut off. Before he had time to stop himself he projectile vomited all over the counter.

" Oh, Rocket." A voice spoke over his retching. He lifted his head up his whole body was shaking tears wouldn't stop falling down his fur. He could just make out a blurry figure.

"Quill?" His voice was strained his throat burned from the stomach acid. This was the second time in less than 2two days Quill had found him in his weakest state.

He watched Peter come to his aid, quickly grabbing the Sphere and shoving it in a draw.

" you shouldn't have seen that," Peter muttered. Grabbing a rag from a shelf above him. All Rocket could do is watch his best friend wash the damp rag in the sink.

"What are you…?

"Shhh." Peter hushed his broken friend raising the rag. Not even thinking about it, he gently dabbed Rocket's face with the wet cloth. " You're going to be ok. His voice was just above a whisper.

Rocket let out a heartbreaking sob. Those words hit him like a ton of bricks.

" Lylla…?"

" Who?! Peter asked. Wiping the last bit of vomit.

Rocket shook his head no. He wasn't ready for the conversation not yet. Looking up at the older man he called his best friend. As Peter too was crying.

Peter didn't push Rocket for answers the story and name would come on Rocket's terms not his own his friend deserved that respect.

" it hurts." Rocket cough out. His chest felt tight his head was pounding the tears wouldn't stop flowing.

" I know it does." Peter acknowledged his friends' anguish. Pulling Rocket into a tight hug. At first rocket's body was tight and stiff to his chest then relaxed nuzzling into his neck.

" The wounds are wide open Rocket but I promise one day those wounds will be scars and they won't seem so painful." Rocking back and forth as he spoke.

" It feels good to have friends." Rocket sniffed.

" It feels good to have a family." Peter corrected.

At that moment Rocket knew he truly was going to make it out of this. This time grief would not consume him. This time he would allow people in his life to help guide him through his grief.

He was going to be ok

#gotg3 #rocket raccoon #peter quill #fanfic

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hauntedjpegcollection · 6 months

Text

bloody nose

wc: 2877 au: camp counselor ch: benny, benji, xavier

The crying continues, even after the miraculous healing nature of the band aid. Benny smoothes it over and around the girls reddened ankle, watching big tears drip off her chin and onto her CAMP COLD HOLLOW shirt. Little droplets turn the baby blue a dark navy here and there. She sniffs bravely as Benny leans back and assesses her. More tears swell as she hooks the end of her (now properly messy) shirt up and rubs it against her face. He sighs and snaps off his gloves.

“Okay,” Benny says, tapping under Lorie’s elbow to get her attention. She sniffs even harder. She coughs on the wad of mucus that’s probably hit her straight in the back of throat. She sputters pathetically and then finally blinks wet eyes open to stare at his tattooed hand. Her eyes are shiny with the humiliated pain only a ten year old can feel. Her lip quivers, threatens even more tears.

“Tada!” Benny pops the word with enthusiasm as his other hand does a twirl next to her ear. Lorie jumps back at the sudden movement. Then her round, cherubic face lights up at the sudden reveal of a chocolate bar in his hand. Full sized, name brand, not even melted.

“For being so brave,” Benny says as he lets her shyly take it from him. There’s a moment where he feels a little squeeze around his heart as she softly tucks it to her chest, like hugging the little treat. “T-Tell your parents to s-send you in proper hiking boots.”

“Are there nuts in this?” She asks, plucking at the foil edged wrapping.

“I have every s-single one of you brats memorized,” Benny replies, tapping his temple as he shoves his chair away from the table she’d hopped up onto. He passes her back the loafer her parents stupidly thought would work for a summer camp. “I would never give y-you peanuts.” Her bashful smile continues as she slides off the table and wiggles her shoe back on. She makes for the door, but skids herself to a stop, like the rubbed raw ankle doesn’t even bother her anymore.

“Bye, Counselor Benji!” She nearly yells it, with a big, excited wave to the other man in the cabin. Benji, sitting on the medical desk across the room, lifts a hand in a friendly, lazy wave. He twirls a drum stick in his other hand idly, without much thought, a cassette player peeking out the back pocket of his jeans.

Once the kid is gone, Benny kicks the door shut.

“You’ve gotta st-stop hanging out in here.

“Didn’t realize you owned the cabin, mate.”

“S-suck my dick, Benji.”

“Got a magnifying glass ‘round?”

Benny makes a furious fisted gesture at his hip with a curling sneer of his lip while Benji rolls big, pretty brown eyes. Then Ben is pulling his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and putting two between his teeth. As he does, he wanders closer, fishing out his zippo from the silly little lab coat he gets to wear. Pretend doctor shit, Medic Cabin privilege. A breeze rolls in from the cracked window that Benji sits near, well welcomed because of how hot and stuffy it’s becoming as summer continues on. His booted foot sits on a rolling chair, steel toe bobbing out some rhythm that only lives inside his head. Benny slaps the zippo across his thigh and lights either cigarette.

Without a word, Benji extends a hand. A cigarette gets tucked between his fingers as Benny pockets the lighter and then leans against the wall opposite his friend. They both take drags at the same time, smoke suddenly filling the little space.

“We still got seven weeks of this shit,” Benny says, picking tobacco from his tongue. He flicks it away and then stares at Benji. He’s awful about the counselor uniform; had ripped the sleeves off his the second he was given a shirt. And they’d got him a size up because—well, Benji’s not small. But that only made it fit fine around his shoulders, but short at the waist. That was the style these days, though, apparently. Benny noticed plenty of bare stomachs.

“Mm.”

“Crazy th-that they actually added another two weeks,” Ben lies.

“Yeah?”

“And they poisoned th-the lake recently. With radioactive crocod-di-diles. Wild shit, Benji.”

“Heard that,” Benji replies in a sleepy voice, fist tucked under his chin as he stares out the window. Every once in a while, the drum stick twirls again. Benny stomps forward and shoves himself into Benji’s space—which has the reaction he’s expecting. Two firms hands at his shoulders, shoving him back. Benny puts his weight forward, turns his head so he can look out the window and see exactly what distracts Benji.

“Volleyball your thing?”

“Fuck off,” Benji snaps against, shoving harder. He’s much stronger than Benny, who tumbles back onto the rolling chair and slides all the way to the other wall again. Only, he’s grinning ear to ear in that sneaky, somewhat nasty way he smiles. Benny slumps in the chair, throwing an ankle over his thigh and tilting his head. Benji’s cheeks go ruddy, but he shamelessly turns his face to the side—peripheral to the counselors setting up the volleyball net outside.

“You have bad taste,” Benny comments after a moment of silence between the two of them. Benji takes another short pull on his cigarette. Benny starts inching his way closer on the rolling chair. He knows better than to really work himself into Benji’s space—and he doesn’t really want to. He’d only popped that personal bubble to get Benji out his own fucking head. Moody, dramatic loser. Benny feels an overwhelming affection for him.

“Xavier’s so st-straight, you could use him like a ruler.”

“That’s a big assumption, yeah?”

“That Xavier’s straight or th-that you’re absolutely staring at him right now?”

Benji’s spine curves more as he finishes the cigarette and pops the butt into a soda can that Benny has been using all week for just that. He twirls the drum stick again, taps it a few times against his thigh. His silence only slightly unnerves Ben, because usually Benji’s hard to shut up. They have that sort of back and forth, this comfortable, if not snide banter. But then again, what queer hasn’t had the disgusting and horrific guilty sensation of looking at someone they shouldn’t look at (just looking, sometimes, that’s enough, that’s more than enough, that’s the sin all along)?

Guilt prompts Benny to continue.

“I’m f-fucking with you, Benji,” he says in an exasperated tone, throwing hands into the air. “Stare at the guy all you want—he’s hot, but he’s also sort of stupid—”

“No he’s not,” Benji immediately defends, sliding off the table. His boots are heavy and loud on the wooden floor. Ben starts to raise his hands in bored defense—but then his friend’s shoulders jump. His eyes pop wider, hands curling around the windowsill as he pushes himself close to the glass. “Fuckin’ hell, that—that look like it hurt.”

“Oh great,” Ben moans, scrubbing a hand down his face. He slowly pulls himself from the chair. The leather creaks as he does. “What kid t-took a ball to the face?” He pauses briefly to make a disgusted, snickering sound. But Benji doesn’t look amused—instead he flits to an immediate panicked expression. He swivels, hands awkwardly dropped by his thighs. Benji is shorter than Benny, but he’s never felt smaller. He’s thickly defined and loud in his fashion. In that moment, he looks incredibly fucking freaked.

“He’s coming to the cabin,” Benji says.

“Who?”

“Xavier is—do these windows open all the way?”

“What?” Benny watches Benji start to yank at the window, to try and crack it further open. It barely budges. Benji tries again, a vein popping in his bicep as he pulls harder. His boots scrabble across the flooring somewhat.

“Man, you wouldn’t fit even if it f-fucking did?” Benny laughs hysterically.

“This isn’t funny, dickhead,” Benji seethes between clenched together teeth.

“No, this is hilarious,” Benny replies. Instead of helping, he crosses the meager medical cabin. He goes straight for the little supply closet and opens it. It’s stocked mostly full because summer only just began—stocked with both supplies and also the hidden cache of alcohol he’d gotten just for the counselors. Benji might need it sooner than later, now that Benny thinks on it.

“Have fun with that,” he says with and closes the door.

—

Xavier cups a hand underneath his chin as he walks. The blood from his nose is thick and syrupy, metallic on the back of his tongue. Tacky all across his skin, miserable in combination with his sweat. The middle of his face throbs, a mean hot pulse that almost stops hurting altogether. He has to blink away tears as he steps through the door to the medical cabin. Xavier’s other hand awkwardly fumbles for the knob and yanks it close.

“Ben—I took a fucking volleyball to the face. Mouse—that bitch—I know she was aiming for me—”

It’s stuffy inside the cabin. Hotter, too; the sweat in his hair is itchy and the drying blood across his face and hand makes his skin crawl. Xavier stands there, staring at Benji, who stands there as well, staring back at him. For a long moment, nothing at all seems to happen. He’s sure—well, something happens somewhere in the world. Car accidents and babies born and all that other shit, but between them there is simply Benji staring at him, covered in blood and Xavier staring at Benji—in a ridiculously fucking short version of the camp counselors shirt.

His dizzy, addled brain takes a very long time to catch up.

“Uh,” he says, intelligently.

“Looks like it hurt,” Benji replies, gesturing a hand up. His other twirls a drum stick effortlessly. He has very nice hands.

“What?”

It makes Benji grin. He has a menacing sort of smile. A bit of a smirk that is a little too knowing. Xavier never seems to say the right thing in front of Benji, always finds himself losing all his sure fire confidence. Xavier is good at talking—or at least, he never seems to run out of the ability. He makes people laugh, he makes the girls around him flustered. Xavier swallows the blood in his mouth and tries smiling. It stretches the skin and makes the pain worse, but he doesn’t stop smiling.

“It’s not so bad.”

“Ben’s, uh. Think he went t’get somethin’.” Benji starts toward the desk. “Or he’s wankin’ off to car magazines. The car’s, by the way, mate, not the people in it. Real weird guy that one—I’ll get you patched alright.”

Xavier swears he hears something for a moment (a thump, maybe, or a something heavy thudding), so he looks around the cabin—but Benji is sort of magnetic. His eyes keep straying. They wander right back to him. Benji bends over to continue rifling through things. His shirt falls forward a little. The dark brown expanse of his back is briefly revealed, so Xavier immediately looks somewhere else.

“Sit?”

“Ha,” Xavier laughs, slowly taking a seat on an old rolling chair. “Bark.”

“Wassit?” Benji asks, his own laugh soft. A bit of the meanness to his smile has faded. The sarcastic curl of his sneer has dulled. His brows are tucked in together as he holds a little red first aid kit, confused but amused at the same time.

“You said sit,” Xavier jokes. He uses the leverage of his long legs to slowly pull himself closer to where Benji stands. The astronomical height difference between them suddenly feels oddly palpable. Benji is not much taller than Xavier even when he’s sitting as he is. “I’m like a good dog, is all. Woof.”

“Real good boy,” Benji replies smoothly and it makes every cell inside Xavier’s body feel briefly alive and on fire. He doesn’t understand where that comes from, why that pulls such a reaction from him, straight from his chest. How that feels better than anything anyone else at the camp has said to him. No amount of girls toying with his hair or playing with his hands, or staring at him from under their eyelashes has made his body have that reaction.

“Tilt your head forward, though, yeah? Backward’s just gettin’ it all down your throat. I’ll clean your hand, first—s’alright if you bleed on the floor. S’what you’re supposed to do when you’re hurt.”

Xavier goes quiet then. He holds out his hand. He does as he’s told, leaning himself forward, chin tilted toward the ground. Fat drops of blood hit the wooden floor and make audible little plunking sounds. He tries to focus on that, but when he glances up, instead he gets to watch Benji use alcohol wipes to clean up his palm. The nose is always dramatic. Xavier knows that because he plays just about every sport he can get himself into—and he’s broken his nose more than once.

The blood thins out to a cherry color. Benji bites his tongue in concentration. He hums a bit. Xavier tries so hard not to comment what he’d usually do in this situation; look at how big my hand is, haha, look at yours? Jeez, that’s crazy. Wow. You should hold my hand, just to see. Xavier has that one practically fucking locked and loaded—but it’s for the girls that take his big palms and ask about his star signs and offer to tell his fortune. His mouth goes dry without the blood wetting it.

“Think it’s broken?”

“No,” Xavier replies quickly. He tilts his head back. The bloods stopped, dried mostly on his lips. He resists the urge to rub at it—secretly hopes maybe Benji will start cleaning that next. He looks ready too, but instead simply puts a finger under Xavier’s chin and leans in closer. He smells like hair product of some sort, a nice soft but masculine scent. All those insane black curls are barely held back by a claw clip, something he’s seen his sisters using before. Xavier blinks rapidly.

“I’ve broken my nose twice, so I’m, like, totally good at telling. When it’s broken, I mean. Which it isn’t—I’d know.”

“Looks like y’didn’t need Ben after all, yeah? Need me t’get—it’s in your teeth a bit, actually.”

“How would you get it out of my teeth?” Xavier asked, brows pulled in confusion. Benji stares at him. There is a pretty dark red color to his cheeks that disappears beneath his facial hair. “Oh, you didn’t mean—uh. I can—I’ll wash up. Actually—”

Xavier stands suddenly. Their too close all at once because Benji had gotten so close to help him. He stumbles around the rolling chair. Xavier hooks a thumb over his shoulder, walking backward.

“I probably could just go shower. I should—I’ll do that. The steam—helps. It’ll—help swelling? Probably reduce it.” His now clean hand finds the door knob again and he jerks at it. “Thank you! By the way. Benji.”

“All good, Xavier,” he replies.

“Would you wanna hang out, by the way?” Xavier pauses, the door to the cabin pushed open. The outside air feels just as warm, but somehow soothing against his even hotter skin. His face burns still. Bloody flakes peel off and he can only imagine how fucking insane he looks, how deeply weird he’s being. Very uncool.

“Yeah,” Benji says quickly.

“Cause I got a canoe actually—oh, nice.” Xavier laughs, taking one step down the wooden porch of the cabin. “Right. The lake’s really pretty at night. You’ll like it. You haven’t been out on it yet, have you?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh sweet, I’m your first.” He presses his hand to his forehead, eyes squeezing shut. The pain has dulled to a sweet, bothersome throb. “Your first canoe buddy, is what we tell the kids—I’ll see you, Benji. I’ll swing by the second counselor cabin later.” Then Xavier finishes his awkward exit, stumbling down from the steps and out onto the dirt path that’ll lead back up to the full campsite area.

“I’d kill myself if I were you,” Lark comments, making Xavier scream and jump. His slender, form materializes from around the cabin, bloody volleyball in his hand. “Want to send this home as a souvenir first?”

“Shut up,” Xavier snarls, snatching it from him. “I’ll tell my mom not to send us any more care packages if you say one more fucking word.” Lark doesn’t, to his credit, say anything. But he does laugh the whole way back.

—

Benny slowly opens the door to the supply closet. He steps out and stares at the slightly ajar door that Xavier had left. The noise of the campsite is muffled, a low rumble of kids screaming and laughing, and counselors. A little dotted trail of blood shows his exact path from inside to Benji, and then back out again.

“Don’t,” his friend says, in a low threatening tone. Benny begins fumbling for his cigarettes once more.

“I take it back.”

“Don’t.”

“Th-that guy is not straight.”

#jlb #bp #xw #jlb x bp #xw x bp #camp au #writing

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skyloftian-nutcase · 2 years

Note

I love the detail you give when ppl have questions. And I am losing it because of the examples with names. I'm picturing Wind using his like pirate scouts knowledge to sling like. Twilights arm and Legend is there to and he just shouts "LEGEND WIGGLE YOUR FINGERS" to try and distract Twi from the discomfort and Legend goes along with it like in your example and Twi shouts about not flipping off the current medic

Twilight grimaced as Wind worked carefully to try and splint his arm. He would have just downed a potion and been done with it, but they'd been coming back from bathing in the river when they'd been ambushed. He'd only had his shadow crystal to protect him, and Wind had been even less prepared. Twilight was ashamed at how vulnerable he'd left his brothers.

Well, his brother, singular. Legend had not been vulnerable. The veteran knew better and had packed a few items. That allowed Twilight to protect Wind without concern.

But it also meant Twilight was the one who got hurt.

"Look, it's fine, I'll just ask the old man if he has any fairies," Twilight muttered, too put out to actually push the sailor away.

"The camp is too far for that, and we don't know if he has any fairies!" Wind argued, his brow creased in concentration as he finished tying a cravat. "This will at least make sure you're not hurt while we head that way, and in case you need it after."

Twilight flinched and bit back a groan as tying the cravat jostled his very clearly deformed and swollen arm. His knees nearly buckled from the pain shooting up his arm.

"I'll need to check movement again when I'm done," Wind said a little worriedly. When he'd asked Twilight to move his fingers earlier the rancher had nearly screamed in pain. Taking a deep breath, he suddenly yelled, "Hey, Vet! Wiggle your fingers!!"

"What? Why me, I'm not even--"

"BECAUSE I SAID SO!"

Legend rolled his eyes, extending a finger upward and making Wind stare for a moment before laughing.

"Vet!" Twilight shouted disapprovingly at the rude gesture. That gave Wind the moment he needed to tie the other cravat. Twilight gasped, leaning forward a little, and Legend was by his side in an instant, stabilizing his other shoulder and bracing him.

"You're in no condition to lecture me about anything," Legend remarked, his smirk softened by the gentleness of his tone.

"Right, all I have to do now is the sling," Wind said to himself, nodding and reaching for the makeshift sling he'd put together.

Once Twilight was properly cared for, Legend led the way back to camp, holding his ice rod with a white knuckled grip, eyes alert. Wind walked behind Twilight to ensure no monster surprised them from behind.

When they reached camp, Time was the first to notice, and Wild soon followed. Both fussed over the rancher, Wild grabbing his quiver of arrows and saying he was going to patrol for more monsters, but instead Warriors took up the patrol while Time offered a fairy to his descendant. Twilight thanked the small creature and then was gifted with some hearty soup from Wild, who hovered over him as he sat beside Time.

By first watch, the Ordonian and his wildling had both fallen asleep on either side of Time, who played his ocarina peacefully.

#you ask skye answers #lovely hyah-lian #your username cracks me up every time btw XD #and I love answering medical questions and try to make them easily understandable so hopefully they are #lu time #lu twilight #lu legend #lu wind #lu wild #writing

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spaceacethespookypansfanfics · 1 year

Text

Makeup Is hard With Fangs

This is a short fic that I originally wanted to be a 5+1 but it ended up taking too long so I just kept it as is. It’s based on my headcanon that Kevin does not believe Streber’s a vampire (he just rationalises it to be something else lol) and my friend and I’s shared headcanon that Streber’s fangs just fucking destroy his lipstick sometimes. Enjoy. I know nothing about makeup.

“Keviiiinnn.” Streber cries from across the house, in the bedroom probably. Based on his tone, Kevin knows exactly what the problem is.

Streber has no doubt messed up while applying his lipstick. Again. This almost always happens.

Kevin knows it’s because Streber was born with weird teeth that make him look like a vampire so it’s not really his fault but it’s still annoying the amount of lipstick the man goes through because of his teeth.

“Hold on.” Kevin calls back from the living. He hauls himself off the couch with a very old man sounding groan that should be considered unbefitting of a 21 year-old like him. He gets away with it though due to the lingering effects of getting stabbed in the leg not too long ago. It’s likely psychological at this point (as he’s considered fully healed by medical professionals standards) but Kevin’s leg will just sporadically start throbbing from minutes to hours. And it hurts. Makes him feel old.

Kevin ambles his way across Streber’s house to the bedroom (he stayed over for a stay-in movie night date). The door is already cracked ajar so Kevin just pushes it open with his hip, his arms crossed. The door creaks when he hits it.

Inside, Streber is sitting at his very Victorianly Gothic vanity that has no mirror—who even still uses furniture like that except vampire wannabes?—his makeup box strewn across the vanity’s top. In his hands is a broken black lipstick.

Streber turns towards the door. His face is a mess, lipstick smeared across his lips and even on his two weird fangs that don’t fit in his mouth, the main cause of his predicament. That and the fact this fool doesn’t ever use mirrors. Distressed tears bubble in Streber’s eyes, his chin quivering.

Well shit.

Kevin can’t scold Streber for not using a mirror now that he’s about to cry. It’d just make him a jerk.

“Need help?” Kevin asks, stepping fully into the room, uncrossing his arms. He can bring up the mirror issue again later.

Kevin makes his way over to Streber and his still very ridiculous vanity. At this point, Kevin knows exactly where everything is in the drawers of the vanity. He grabs the bag of cotton swabs and walks over to the ensuite. It’s a routine at this point, for Kevin to help Streber with putting on his face whenever he stays over.

Kevin dampens a cotton swab in the sink before returning to a distressed but not yet crying Streber. The lipstick on his two fanged canines and around around his lips looks just awful. Kevin swears it wasn’t until they started dating that Streber became so bad at doing his own makeup.

“Alright. Hold still.” Kevin leans down and grabs Streber’s chin with one hand, not gently, but not harshly either. Streber’s face is ice cold under Kevin’s fingertips, a shock that no matter how many times he experiences it, always gets him at first touch.

Kevin rubs at Streber’s fangs with the damp cotton, cleaning the makeup off with a slight bit of elbow grease put into it. “Seriously, Streb,” Kevin starts, his focus now on the makeup around but not actually on the man’s lips. “How does this happen?” Kevin wipes away the last of the lipstick, the cotton swab now a very dark grey and Streber’s normally ghostly white skin a raw shade of pink where Kevin had rubbed clean.

Just so Streber doesn’t get too upset, Kevin leans in for a quick peck before finally letting go of his face. “There. All clean. Maybe use a mirror this time.” Kevin throws the cotton swab in the little dust bin by the vanity.

“But wait—Kevin, I still need help. Please?” Streber grabs Kevin’s arm before he gets too far away to reach.

Kevin looks over his shoulder at Streber in disbelief. "Seriously?" He faces Streber again. “I’ve seen you with makeup before. Why are you suddenly so bad at it whenever I’m around?” He didn’t mean for it to come out so harshly but he speaks before he can really think about what he’s saying.

“Just. Help, please?” Is all Streber says, dodging the question like a champ. Kevin sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. Streber twists on his stool to face Kevin, smiling like a pleased little bat who just swindled his way into getting pampered by his boyfriend.

“So really, you just suck at makeup is what you’re telling me. Why wear it then?” Kevin has been teasing Streber for weeks now since the last time he “needed” help.

“No. I don’t suck at it. You’ve seen me do just fine.” Streber crosses his arms, frowning. It only achieves in making Kevin’s heart swell with how cute he looks, his fangs reminding Kevin of a sad little bat.

“Then prove it.” Kevin challenges Streber completely on a whim. He says it before he even thinks about any possible fallout. He figures Streber can prove it by just putting on his face without messing up or asking for help. Simple.

“Wait. Does this mean, you’ll finally let me dress you up?” Streber immediately uncrosses his arms, seeming to have moved past any sense of irritation from Kevin’s teasing.

“What? No. Just do it yourself without my help.” Kevin leans away from Streber as if worried he’s about to be snatched up and beautified instantly.

Streber’s face falls a bit. “Oh come on. Please? Just this once? I’ll never ask for your help ever again if you let me do this.” He clasps his hands together and holds them under his chin, doing his best pout.

Kevin forces himself to look away before he breaks instantly. He weighs his options, taking a peek or two at Streber’s adorable face.

God, if he isn’t weak to this man’s face.

Streber can get Kevin to do just about anything if he pouts hard enough shit if he doesn’t take advantage of that fact all the damn time.

Still, the idea of having to stay still for however long it takes to put on goth makeup sounds excruciatingly mind-numbing to Kevin. He just doesn’t have the patience or attention span to sit still that long. And the idea of having to wash it all off after also sounds annoying. Kevin’s seen Streber’s nightly routine enough to know washing off makeup is far too tedious for himself to want to deal with.

Kevin’s sure he’s come to a decision but one last look at Streber has him wavering on his resolve. It’d make him happy. And he’d finally stop asking to dress him up. And he’ll stop asking for help with his own makeup.

“Fine. Alright. Fine. You can put makeup on me. Just, don’t make me look bad, please,” Kevin finally relents, shifting forward again so Streber can reach.

Streber’s face goes wide in astonished glee and he lunges at Kevin, wrapping his arms around Kevin’s neck and squeezing him in a very tight and happy hug. “Thank you! You won’t regret this, I promise.”

He’s laughing in a way that sounds much too mischievous not to be concerning.

Guess they’ll just have to see how it goes. Kevin resigns himself to his fate and enjoys the chilly embrace of his boyfriend.

#fanfic #candybats #spooky month fanfic #spooky month kevin #spooky month streber #candybats fluff #established strevin #romance #spooky month #Streber is a vampire #Kevin just rationalises it #he does not believe Streber is a vampire

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galaxythreads · 2 years

Note

some lore for you screamed for so long perhaps? i read all 8 (at the time) chapters of that on a 3 hour plane ride it kept me going through quite possibly the worst turbulence i have ever experienced

I'm so sorry about the turbulence. :( That sounds un-fun. Fun fact, I haven't been on a plane since i was 18 months old. I have absolutely no reference for that irl, lol. XD

ANYWAY.

LORE FOR YOU SCREAMED FOR SO LONG WE FORGOT TO CARE ANYMORE <- link to story

i have been planning some form of this story since 2018. In the original version, there was a massive plague going on. I'll probably still write that version actually. It's different enough from this one that it can stand on its own two feet.

CHAPTER ONE:

I was inspired to start the story several months after Loki got there after reading a Darcy/Loki story on ff.net I never finished

""I don't want to be buried. Cremate me." He instructs, swinging his quiver across one shoulder. "Or drop my body from the sky for the dogs to pick at, I don't really care. I'll be dead." " -- this is 1000% based off of Shane Madej from Buzzfeed Unsolved loudly declaring how he wants a sky burial

CHAPTER TWO:

"The looming figure in front of him gives a curt nod, and something smacks him in the back of the knees, and he goes tumbling into suffocation all over again," -- In the end you will always kneel.

Actually, the above torture is a slow form of suffocation. Someone ties a rope around your neck and hands that are connected together and suspends you enough that you have to stand on your toes. When your feet come out from underneath you, the rope on your hands tugs on your neck until it tightens until you either suffocate or manage to stand upright again thus relieving the pressure.

----

"He feels the surge of intense, overwhelming heat against his already raw, blistered skin before he even feels the brand press against his back, burning into muscle, bone, anything and everything, and he wont, can't—pain pain pain pain—

He screams—

^^^^ the above scene is the source of THIS scar, "Some of the worst scars are white and puckering against Loki's back and they look older than all of this" (chpt 9) and it will be discussed in further detail later. It's actually very important to the story. All of the dreams are. Nothing was put in there "just because"

---

"Hill hates all of them because the fact they're on the same floor is her fault." --- rather than having Fury in charge of the Avengers, I decided that it would probably be more realistic if Hill was. Fury is a busy man.

---

I learned some Norwegian for this fic solely so I could know on a basic level when the sentences didn't make sense, lol. XD

---

"All of them have made an effort to learn how to learn with Loki's flashbacks, but the only people who have had any real success are Thor and Steve." --- This is because Steve looks like Thor and Loki's brain is not super great at telling them apart when he's a mess.

---

"Clint forces out a thin breath, then says, "Do you want a sandwich?"

There's a long lull as if Loki's struggling to understand him. Clint repeats the question."

---

I dreamt about you getting your back burned open.

BACK INJURY IMPORTAAAAANNNCCCEEEE lol. XD all of you would be exhausted if you know how much I've been trying to subtly state this.

---

Natasha and Clint are legally married in this fic and have been for several years, but I never make that explicit because it doesn't matter to either of them so it's not important to the narrative. They are, first and foremost, partners. (Natasha proposed)

---

"Natasha is quiet for a second, then she tags on, "Ya tebya khochu."

Clint chews on his bottom lip, "Ya tozhe khochu tebya,""

This is Russian for "I want you," and then "i want you too." I think it's a little bit more meaningful than I love you.

---

Clint doesn't remember being taken to S.H.I.E.L.D. for the first time. When Coulson dragged his sorry butt there for medical after Barney tried to beat him to death, Clint was unconscious.

I have spent so much of this fic paralleling Clint's relationship with his brother with Loki and Thor's.

---

"Beside that is, predictably, an open tissue box.

Clint doesn't know what it is, but he's never been in a S.H.I.E.L.D. conference room without one. It's like the janitorial staff is worried that a group of covert spies and government officials are going to spontaneously..."

I work in janitorial. There is an ungodly effort put into making sure the tissue boxes never run out.

----

"If you're done saying I love you," Fury looks pointedly at Steve and Tony, the latter of whom smirks. Steve buries his head in his hands.

I have a lot of internalized homophobia issues despite being lesbian, but this is my first gay joke in a fic and I'm really, really proud of it. I know it's not very good or even comes across as a joke, but I felt so proud putting it in here all the same. Acceptance of self is real, y'all.

---

when i was listening to this chapter as i edited it, the speech to text reader read "asgardr" as oosgar and it was really funny to me.

---

CHAPTER FOUR:

this was the first scene I wrote for this fic.

the Chitauri do not refer to Loki by any other pronoun but "it." this is an effort to dehumanize him. (NOT to say that those who go by it pronouns are not human, love you guys (gender neutral))

---

"You are weak, like a mewling, crawling baby animal. But don't worry, because where you failed, your not-brother will succeed." --- Am I making a pointed jab at how awful Mobius calling Loki a mewling kitten was? Yes.

---

(chpt 4 vs 8)

---

This is one of my favorite interactions in the story. Loki has been lying through his teeth about his feelings most of the fic up to this point and then Clint asks him and Loki tells him the truth.

Loki and Clint have a very strong bond, even then.

---

CHAPTER FIVE:

everyone got a specific name-sign in this chapter. Loki's is grumpy-L because he's a grumpy little guy. XD No, it's cause he's grumpy but the L stands for his name

---

"Karma coming to collect its debt." -- a reference to my friend @widowronin's SPN story.

---

"c"-- by his brother

"b"-- by the circus of crime and Coulson

derogatory -- by his brother and the circus of crime

---

Waaaaay too much of my writing was inspired by Buzzfeed Unsolved now. XD

---

^^^ this is actually referring to Frigga and Odin's relationship, not the chitauri

---

CHAPTER 6:

^^ reference to Vibranium

---

the actual plan for the cafeteria scene:

"The Avengers eat breakfast or something at the facility and the SHIELD agents are generally nasty to Loki. One of them starts a fist fight and Loki defends himself until the Avengers bodily pull everybody off and are like “no.” Loki is a little banged up, but nothing serious. Clint breaks some guys nose, though. Bruce looks him over and is visibly agitated. Says that the agents shouldn’t have hurt Loki. Loki’s like, okay, sure, but I did kill like, a lot of people, so they’re entitled. Bruce is like, “:/” "

---

this was intentionally framed like the beginning of Black Widow with Yelena. Thus to indicate that Natasha now sees Loki as a brother.

---

Loki intentionally says something unrelated to the situation to calm Clint down. yes, this was a reference to Clint and the sandwich thing. It worked so well then, why not now?

---

this is an important clue that will help us later

---

^^^ Gamora and Nebula

----

^^^ Loki dreams about Clint's brother trying to kill Clint. In the next chapter, Loki's brother tries to kill Loki. These scenes were placed on top of each other on purpose. NARRATIVE PARRALEL.

Also. by the gods am i projecting hard into this fic with clint and barney lol.

---

^^^ I still cannot believe that @worstloki made this for me, and then the post sort of blew up. Last time I looked it had like 250+ notes and LOTS of tags discussing how wonderful the story was. It literally floored me. I still am baffled and deeply humbled. Thank you.

---

CHAPTER EIGHT:

this scene was originally written from Clint's pov. I have it in a junk document somewhere. This is probably going to be Loki's only POV in the fic, but we'll see. I just though it would be really good to see Loki's thoughts about all of this, given how pivotal this moment is in the story.

----

chpt 8 vs chpt 5. DIRECTLY MEANT TO PARALLEL EACH OTHER.

---

^^^ this is the above meme. In the fic. You're welcome. XD

---

Parallel to the first thor, anyone??

as far as thor is aware in this scene, Loki just killed their parents and his world so the fact that Loki is actually worthy of Mjolnir is absolutely BAFFLING to him.

---

CHAPTER 9:

I made the executive decision that odin and Frigga's relationship is...strained, to put it mildly.

---

most of the time Siygn is a princess of some distant realm in fics, but no! she's queen here. XD

---

reminder!! "Far" is the formal way to address your parent in Norwegian.

---

Odin doesn't swear once in this conversation.

ALSO. Loki purposefully tries to intervene before giving up quickly because Odin and Frigga fighting is a common occurrence and he knows it's useless to stop it.

---

the way this chapter is set up is that you SEE what Odin and Frigga did to Loki with the flashback to Thor watching over Loki. You are supposed to think "Uh, wait a sec"

THIS is NIce?

for reference:

"Loki is thin, more a skeleton than a person, skin dragged against bone and pulled taut in some grotesque imitation of death. There are layers upon layers of gauze over Loki's entire forearms, covering up the horrible scars and stitches keeping his arms attached to his body. Beneath that is purpling and black bruises several inches thick encircling his wrists. There are open wounds almost everywhere in various degrees of healing, bones still bent awkwardly out of place that the doctors distastefully said they'd need to reset so it could heal right. Loki isn't stable enough for them to try yet."

but yeah. It was nice.

---

Btw, the title "You screamed for so long we forgot to care anymore" is NOT a reference to the Avengers.

It's Loki's thoughts to Odin and Frigga. Years of torture, of suffering and pain, of screaming, and they seemed to grow more apathetic to it with time.

I will probably reblog this with more thoughts once the fic is finished, but yeah. I have put a LOT of effort into this fic. And I am still baffled as to how it has so many people reading it. When the number processes in my brain every couple of weeks I feel horrified, lol.

YOU SCREAMED FOR SO LONG WE FORGOT TO CARE ANYMORE <- link to story

#ysfslwftca #writing lore #fics #my fics #answered

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penflicks · 1 year

Note

Hi! Would you consider writing for riventrix? If so, can I ask for some hurt/comfort? <3

"We're not talking," Riven said as soon as he opened the door and saw it was Beatrix standing there.

"Andreas has collasped." Beatrix's lip quivered. "They think he has epilepsy or something, and Rosalind was covering it up. But now she's gone and there's no one to help him."

"Oh." Riven had the urge to hug his ex. "Sky, I think the door was actually for you." He took a step back so Sky could listen to Beatrix's explanation.

"Where is he now?" Sky shook Beatrix's shoulders and all her strength crumbled. She burst into tears.

The two boys could only stare at her in sock, they'd never ever seen her cry; nor had they really thought her capable of it.

"In. The. Greenhouse." Beatrix managed between sobs.

"Come on, Terra will be looking after him, we can bother her about an update." Riven found himself taking Beatrix's hand and didn't say anything as she clung to it and sniffles into his arm.

Sky grabbed his shoes and jogged after them.

In the greenhouse, Andreas was sat on one of the beds listening to watch Terra was saying.

"So until we can find anyone mind fairy to muddle around in my brain that's it? I'm retired?" Andreas snarled.

"You heard what my dad said when we called him! You need to be under observation by a qualified and trusted mind fairy to make sure Rosalind didn't fuck anything up in there before they'll do anything. I'm sure Saul-" Terra was interrupted by Andreas snarling in frustration and kicking a nearby bin.

"I'm not having my life fenced to Saul a second time! It's bad enough that he got my son and my job, now I'm to lose my job to him again?" Andreas slumped over his knees. "Why can't I just have his luck? He always comes out of things fine."

"Dad?" Beatrix all but pulled Riven with her as she went to his side. "What if we went to the first world? They have medication for it there? That way you could stay as headmaster until they can find a mind fairy who can fix it."

She remained clinging tightly to Riven's hand and he had a feeling that if he moved away she would fall apart again. Would staying here, comforting her really be such a bad thing? Rosalind was gone and maybe things between them would be different without Beatrix's evil murder grandmother forcing her to betray everyone all the time.

"You want to go heisting for pills, Little Storm? Is that it?" Andreas gave her a tired smile and the tension drained out of him. "Go on then, gather a team and fix your old man."

Beatrix hugged Andreas tight, still holding onto Riven and he found he had no choice but to join the hug too. Sky was going to kick his arse for it later, but then there was a weight at his side and he realised Sky had been pulled in also.

"Think of it as your end of year assignment. I want to see your plans first thing tomorrow morning," Saul said from somewhere to their left where Riven hadn't even noticed him.

Riven grinned, if getting back with Beatrix meant the most fun end of year assignment he'd ever heard of them it was going to absolutely be both giving it another go. After all, post heist sex was a must!

#fate the winx saga #fate winx saga #ftws #Riventrix #Riven #beatrix of eraklyon #I'm not sure this is what you wanted but this is what ended up happening #Hope it's ok

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bracketsoffear · 1 year

Note

I voted for Monica, but I feel the need to defend Clarimonda because they're both "eh" choices for me and I mostly picked Monica to avenge Sheevsweep, so here's some evidence from "The Spider."

"Since the window was very low, he hung with his knees practically touching the floor—a sign of the great discipline the suicide must have exercised in carrying out his design. Later, it was learned that he was a married man, a father. He had been a man of a continually happy disposition; a man who had achieved a secure place in life. There was not one written word to be found that would have shed light on his suicide… not even a will."

"On Friday morning, he came in very excited and spoke, half humorously, half seriously, of the strangely attractive power that his window had. He would not elaborate this notion and said that, in any case, it had nothing to do with the suicides; and that it would be ridiculous of him to say any more. When, on that same Friday, he failed to make his regular evening report, someone went to his room and found him hanging from the cross-bar of the window."

"It was only later, after what happened to the medical student, that anyone remembered that when the police removed Sergeant Charles-Maria Chaumié's body from the window cross-bar a large black spider crawled from the dead man's open mouth [...] When in later investigations which concerned themselves mostly with Bracquemont the servant was interrogated, he said that he had seen a similar spider crawling on the Swiss traveling salesman's shoulder when his body was removed from the window cross-bar."

"it was I who was chosen. Why? Because I was the only one who hinted that I had some plan—or the semblance of a plan. Naturally, I was bluffing. These journal entries are intended for the police. I must say that it amuses me to tell those gentlemen how neatly I fooled them [...] I take it as a good sign that I've begun my task by bamboozling the police.

[...]

'Ah, if only you had a plan. Then...' On the spot, I announced that I had such a plan, though naturally I had no such thing. Still, I hinted that my plan was brilliant, but dangerous [...] Still, I promised to describe it to him if he would give me his word that he would personally put it into effect. He made excuses, claiming he was too busy but when he asked me to give him at least a hint of my plan, I saw that I had picqued his interest. I rattled off some nonsense made up of whole cloth."

I find it interesting that one could take this as Clarimonda sees Richard manipulating his way into the room and decides to show him how it's done.

"I haven't yet said anything about Clarimonda. It is she who is my "third" reason for staying here. She is also the reason I was tempted to go to the window during the "fateful" hour last Friday. But of course, not to hang myself.

Clarimonda. Why do I call her that? I have no idea what her name is, but it ought to be Clarimonda. When finally I ask her name, I'm sure it will turn out to be Clarimonda.

[...]

I ought to say that she noticed me before I saw her; and that she was obviously interested in me. And no wonder. The whole neighborhood knows I am here, and why. Madame Dubonnet has seen to that.

[...]

At first, the idea of establishing some relationship with her simply did not occur to me. It was only that, since I was here to make observations, and, since there was nothing in the room to observe, I thought I might as well observe my neighbor—openly, professionally. Anyhow, one can't sit all day long just reading."

"She sits there, spinning on an old-fashioned spindle [...] It appears to be made of ivory; and the thread she spins is of an exceptional fineness."

"What does Clarimonda look like? I'm not quite sure. Her hair is black and wavy; her face pale. Her nose is short and finely shaped with delicate nostrils that seem to quiver. Her lips, too, are pale: and when she smiles, it seems that her small teeth are as keen as those of some beast of prey. Her eyelashes are long and dark; and her huge dark eyes have an intense glow. I guess all these details more than I know them."

"It is a curious sight: her delicate hands moving perpetually, swiftly grasping the thread, pulling it, releasing it, taking it up again; as if one were watching the indefatigable motions of an insect.

Our relationship? For the moment, still very superficial, though it feels deeper. It began with a sudden exchange of glances in which each of us noted the other. I must have pleased her, because one day she studied me a while longer, then smiled tentatively. Naturally, I smiled back."

"I tried to read, but I felt much too uneasy. Instead, I sat down at my window and gazed at Clarimonda. She too had laid her work aside. Her hands were folded in her lap. I drew my curtain wider with the window cord, so that I might see better. At the same moment, Clarimonda did the same with the curtains at her window. We exchanged smiles.

We must have spent a full hour gazing at each other."

"I waited until I was invaded by an irresistible need to go to the window—not to hang myself; but just to see Clarimonda. I sprang up and stood beside the curtain where it seemed to me I had never been able to see so clearly, though it was already dark.

Clarimonda was spinning, but her eyes looked into mine. I felt myself strangely contented even as I experienced a light sensation of fear.

The telephone rang. It was the Inspector tearing me out of my trance with his idiotic questions.

I was furious."

"I read two or three pages only to discover that I haven't understood a word. My eyes see the letters, but my brain refuses to make any sense of them. Absurd. As if my brain were posted: 'No Trespassing.' It is as if there were no room in my head for any other thought than the one: Clarimonda."

"Today, I saw a much smaller spider, a male, moving across the strong threads towards the middle of the web, but when his movements alerted the female, he drew back shyly to the edge of the web from which he made a second attempt to cross it. Finally, the female in the middle appeared attentive to his wooing, and stopped moving. The male tugged at a strand gently, then more strongly till the whole web shook. The female stayed motionless. The male moved quickly forward and the female received him quietly, calmly, giving herself over completely to his embraces. For a long minute, they hung together motionless at the center of the huge web.

Then I saw the male slowly extricating himself, one leg over the other. It was as if he wanted tactfully to leave his companion alone in the dream of love, but as he started away, the female, overwhelmed by a wild life, was after him, hunting him ruthlessly [...] Then they fell to the window-sill where the male, summoning all his strength, tried again to escape. Too late. The female already had him in her powerful grip, and was carrying him back to the center of the web. There, the place that had just served as the couch for their lascivious embraces took on quite another aspect. The lover wriggled, trying to escape from the female's wild embrace, but she was too much for him. It was not long before she had wrapped him completely in her thread, and he was helpless. Then she dug her sharp pincers into his body, and sucked full draughts of her young lover's blood. Finally, she detached herself from the pitiful and unrecognizable shell of his body and threw it out of her web.

So that is what love is like among these creatures. Well for me that I am not a spider."

"I greet her; then she greets me. Then I tap my fingers on the windowpanes. The moment she sees me doing that, she too begins tapping. I wave to her; she waves back. I move my lips as if speaking to her; she does the same. I run my hand through my sleep-disheveled hair and instantly her hand is at her forehead. It is a child's game, and we both laugh over it. Actually, she doesn't laugh. She only smiles a gently contained smile. And I smile back in the same way.

The game is not as trivial as it seems. It's not as if we were grossly imitating each other—that would weary us both. Rather, we are communicating with each other. Sometimes, telepathically, it would seem, since Clarimonda follows my movements instantaneously almost before she has had time to see them. I find myself inventing new movements, or new combinations of movements, but each time she repeats them with disconcerting speed. Sometimes. I change the order of the movements to surprise her, making whole series of gestures as rapidly as possible; or I leave out some motions and weave in others, the way children play 'Simon Says.' What is amazing is that Clarimonda never once makes a mistake, no matter how quickly I change gestures."

"It is hard for me to be sure of my feelings and harder still to think of anything that doesn't relate to Clarimonda or, what is more important, to our game. Undeniably, it is our game that concerns me. Nothing else—and this is what I understand least of all.

There is no doubt that I am drawn to Clarimonda, but with this attraction there is mingled another feeling, fear. No. That's not it either. Say rather a vague apprehension in the presence of the unknown. And this anxiety has a strangely voluptuous quality so that I am at the same time drawn to her even as I am repelled by her. It is as if I were moving in giant circles around her, sometimes coming close, sometimes retreating... back and forth, back and forth."

"I was sitting at the window, trying with all my might to stay in my chair, but the window kept drawing me. I had to resume the game with Clarimonda. And yet, the window horrified me. I saw the others hanging there: the Swiss traveling salesman, fat, with a thick neck and a grey stubbly beard; the thin artist; and the powerful police sergeant. I saw them, one after the other, hanging from the same hook, their mouths open, their tongues sticking out. And then, I saw myself among them.

Oh, this unspeakable fear. It was clear to me that it was provoked as much by Clarimonda as by the cross-bar and the horrible hook. May she pardon me... but it is the truth. In my terror, I keep seeing the three men hanging there, their legs dragging on the floor.

And yet, the fact is I had not felt the slightest desire to hang myself; nor was I afraid that I would want to do so. No, it was the window I feared; and Clarimonda. I was sure that something horrid was going to happen."

"I told him that I was getting to the bottom of the matter, but I begged him not to question me just then. That very soon I would be in a position to make important revelations. Strangely enough, though I was lying to him. I myself had the feeling that I was telling the truth. Even now, against my will, I have that same conviction."

"Yes, the game. We played it again. And nothing else. Nothing at all.

Sometimes I wonder what is happening to me? What is it I want? Where is all this leading? I know the answer: there is nothing else I want except what is happening. It is what I want... what I long for. This only.

Clarimonda and I have spoken with each other in the course of the last few days, but very briefly; scarcely a word. Sometimes we moved our lips, but more often we just looked at each other with deep understanding.

I was right about Clarimonda's reproachful look because I went out with the Inspector last Friday. I asked her to forgive me. I said it was stupid of me, and spiteful to have gone. She forgave me, and I promised never to leave the window again. We kissed, pressing our lips against each of our windowpanes."

"If only I were not so frightened. Sometimes my terror slumbers and I forget it for a few moments, then it wakes and does not leave me. The fear is like a poor mouse trying to escape the grip of a powerful serpent. Just wait a bit, poor sad terror. Very soon, the serpent love will devour you."

"I have made a discovery: I don't play with Clarimonda. She plays with me.

[...]

I had gone through a long series of gestures at the window, and not one of the patterns had been mine.

I had the feeling, once more, that I was standing before Clarimonda's wide open door, through which, though I stared. I could see nothing but a dark void. I knew, too, that if I chose to turn from that door now. I might be saved; and that I still had the power to leave. And yet, I did not leave—because I felt myself at the very edge of the mystery: as if I were holding the secret in my hands.

'Paris! You will conquer Paris,' I thought. And in that instant, Paris was more powerful than Clarimonda.

I don't think about that any more. Now, I feel only love. Love, and a delicious terror.

[...]

it occurred to me to rub the side of my nose; instead I found myself pressing my lips to the windowpane. I tried to drum with my fingers on the window sill; instead, I brushed my fingers through my hair. And so I understood that it was not that Clarimonda did what I did. Rather, my gestures followed her lead and with such lightning rapidity that we seemed to be moving simultaneously. I, who had been so proud because I thought I had been influencing her, I was in fact being influenced by her. Her influence… so gentle… so delightful.

[...]

It seemed to me that it was not I who was doing all this. It was a stranger whom I was watching.

But, of course, I was mistaken. It was I making the gesture, and the person watching me was the stranger; that very same stranger who, not long ago, was so sure that he was on the edge of a great discovery. In any case, it was not I.

Of what use to me is this discovery? I am here to do Clarimonda's will. Clarimonda, whom I love with an anguished heart."

"I have cut the telephone cord. I have no wish to be continually disturbed by the idiotic inspector just as the mysterious hour arrives.

God. Why did I write that? Not a word of it is true. It is as if someone else were directing my pen.

But I want to... want to... to write the truth here... though it is costing me great effort. But I want to... once more... do what I want.

I have cut the telephone cord... ah...

Because I had to... there it is. Had to...

We stood at our windows this morning and played the game, which is now different from what it was yesterday. Clarimonda makes a movement and I resist it for as long as I can. Then I give in and do what she wants without further struggle. I can hardly express what a joy it is to be so conquered; to surrender entirely to her will."

"She takes the cord. It is red, just like the cord in my window. She ties a noose and hangs the cord on the hook in the window cross-bar.

She sits down and smiles.

No. Fear is no longer what I feel. Rather, it is a sort of oppressive terror which I would not want to avoid for anything in the world. Its grip is irresistible, profoundly cruel, and voluptuous in its attraction.

I could go to the window, and do what she wants me to do, but I wait. I struggle. I resist though I feel a mounting fascination that becomes more intense each minute."

"I won't, and yet I know very well that I have to... have to look at her. I must... must... and then... all that follows.

If I still wait, it is only to prolong this exquisite torture. Yes, that's it. This breathless anguish is my supreme delight. I write quickly, quickly... just so I can continue to sit here; so I can attenuate these seconds of pain.

Again, terror. Again. I know that I will look toward her. That I will stand up. That I will hang myself.

That doesn't frighten me. That is beautiful... even precious.

There is something else. What will happen afterwards? I don't know, but since my torment is so delicious. I feel... feel that something horrible must follow.

Think... think... Write something. Anything at all... to keep from looking toward her..."

"He found the body of the student Richard Bracquemont hanging from the cross-bar of the window in room No. 7, in the same position as each of his three predecessors.

The expression on the student's face, however, was different, reflecting an appalling fear.

Bracquemont's eyes were wide open and bulging from their sockets. His lips were drawn into a rictus, and his jaws were clamped together. A huge black spider whose body was dotted with purple spots lay crushed and nearly bitten in two between his teeth.

On the table, there lay the student's journal. The inspector read it and went immediately to investigate the house across the street. What he learned was that the second floor of that building had not been lived in for many months."

Ah damn, I think I picked the wrong one.

OK, that settles it, vote Clarimonda.

#asks #character propaganda #web poll #suicide mention

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breedaboyd · 8 months

Text

Something Something Thanks, Sigmund Freud ~ Klaber

(Gif by me.)

Pairing: Eli Klaber ✕ Stephan Wolff (FTM!OC).

Word Count: 3.9k+

CW: Cumming in pants, fluff, lactation, trauma.

Wolff has been...different this last week or so; more irritable, tired, mopey and oddly secretive, which Klaber would expect towards maybe Cyrus or Hauke but him? Never.

He wonders if maybe he's done something wrong. He's tried to be patient but he's starting to feel very close to the edge. Klaber remembers that his mother always told him to leave people well enough alone when they needed time but this is Wolff! He's determined to figure out what's wrong with the medic, or at least make him seem less, well, wrong.

Wolff has even started asking for his own room, something he never used to do, and it's gotten under Klaber's skin. That and he won't eat meals with the team anymore, which is strange. It's eating him up inside, not knowing what's wrong with him, especially when no gone seems to care.

Klaber sits at the dinner table, staring into his full plate. If Klaber ever leaves a scrap of food, you know some thing's wrong. Everyone is glancing uneasily at one another. No one speaks.

"You okay, man?" Langstrom begins.

"Yeah."

"Something's up." Cyrus sighs resolutely. Klaber just keeps staring at his plate.

"Klaber, what is it?" Voller asks, taking a sip of his after-dinner coffee and taking a drag on his cigarette. The blonde grinds his teeth and sighs raggedly, putting his fork down. The clatter of utensil against dinner dish echoes in the hotel's dinner hall, he hadn't even realised that the others had set theirs down.

"Herr Doktor." He says simply. "He's been actin' weird lately. How come he won't eat with us no more?" Cyrus and Voller share a look. They clearly know something. Something they're not telling Klaber. "Did I do somethin' wrong?" He asks but the other men stay silent. "Come on! Why's he so mad at me? And why don't you guys give a shit?" Klaber's voice quivers slightly, the older men noticing.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Klaber. Stephan has been getting antisocial in his old age." Voller says dismissively, taking another drag in his cigarette. Klaber sniffs and slides his chair out, noisily standing up. Everyone looks away, Cyrus being the sole one to watch as he storms out.

Klaber gets halfway to the elevator before he feels a tug on his sleeve. He spins and Cyrus pulls close, exasperation in his eyes.

"Klaber." He breathes, his eyes flashing as he releases his hold on the other man's arm, holding the hitman's gaze.

"What?"

"Stephan's not mad at you." He says and Klaber's heart flutters.

"Okay, then. What— Why— He's—"

"He's embarrassed." Cyrus says simply and Klaber shakes his head, confused.

"What? Why?"

"Stephan...has a hormone problem. You know he's..." Cyrus pauses, not sure how to put it in a way that Klaber would understand. But, of course, he understands, he practically knows the medic inside out. "Not like us? He's...changed a little. Not much. But it's noticeable. And he doesn't want you to see him like that."

"What are you talking about?" Klaber asks and a few guests turn to look at them as they walk past.

"Fuck, I told him I wouldn't say anything..." Cyrus grumbles. "He's just struggling at the moment but he's going to be okay. He's not angry at you, he's not overly sick; he's just—" And before Cyrus can finish, Klaber's taking off down the hall, hitting the elevator buttons and disappearing upstairs. The hitman grimaces and shrugs. Sorry, Stephan, he tried.

Klaber tears his way down the corridor to the Wolff's lone room. It looks small, cramped, for a man like him, judging by how close together the doors are. He tries the handle. No dice. So he kicks the fucking thing down. Wolff bolts upright in his bed, shocked and in a panic, his hair messy and unbrushed. He's in nothing but a vest and some loose boxers, they look like a pair of Klaber's. The only light in the room is the flickering of the TV so Klaber can't see him all that clearly.

"Klaber, what—"

"Stephan! Tell me, what's been happening?" He's standing in the door, fists clenched as his sides, jaw set. "There's somethin' you've not been telling me." He stalks forward, closing the door behind him, thankfully it stays shut. The medic folds his arms over his chest and tucks his legs in, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"Klaber, please leave." He says lowly and the blonde shakes his head.

"Not 'til you tell me what's been goin' on."

"No." Wolff grits. "I'm not going to tell you."

"What's wrong?"

"You have to go."

"Have I done anything wrong? Can't I—" Wolff's biting his lip now. He needs a smoke and he needs one now. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and Klaber starts towards him.

"Klaber!" Wolff hisses, the syllables short and sharp, stopping the blonde in his tracks.

"Herr Doktor, if you tell me to heel, I will and I'll make it up to you. Whatever I've done." Klaber says and the medic sighs because, God, he's so devoted and so sensitive. "Please, Herr Doktor. What's wrong?"

"Bitte, bitte, just please—" Wolff mumbles in his mother tongue, turning away and folding his arms tighter. He turns the bedside lamp on and turns off the TV and Klaber can finally get a good look at him. Cyrus was right. He's changed... He looks bloated, swollen even, Klaber can see it mostly around his hips, thighs and face. He looks...fuller, healthier than he has been in forever.

"Herr Doktor, just tell me. Please." Wolff reaches to his nightstand, to grab a cigarette and his lighter and, as he untucks his arms from his chest, Klaber notices something, eyes narrowing. "Herr Doktor, your vest is—" And Wolff immediately tucks his arms around his chest again, cheeks going bright pink. His vest is wet. Why is his vest wet? And why is he trying to hide it so badly? Two damp spots either side of his chest. Surely, it's not something to be that embarrassed of if he spilt something or— Klaber stops, face alight with shock. He takes a deep breath and steps forward, pushing the medic's legs apart and kneeling between them, gently tugging away the defensive arms. Klaber carefully looks up into Wolff's eyes, his own boring in to icy blue. "Are you—" Wolff takes a couple deep breaths and nods, face still scarlet.

"Ja." And they're alone together, for what feels like the first time in months. "I-I'm not pregnant, don't worry. Haven't been able to get pregnant for at least five years now but... My hormones are all..." He waves his hands uselessly, taking a small, shaky drag on the lit cigarette between his fingers.

"But this is— I don't—" Klaber says, still almost coy with the older man. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to see me like...this." The medic says, voice quiet and soft. His arms drop to his sides, the material of his vest dampening more and more with every moment that passes. The older man sighs and takes a drag of his cigarette, avoiding looking at the other man's face.

But there's something deep in Klaber's hindbrain that switches on at the thought of Wolff like this. He looks healthy in a way Klaber could barely imagine for the medic. He's only ever seen the older man look thin and frail and sickly all the time they've known each other, he's become almost desensitised to it. But seeing him like this is just...wonderful. There's something there, a bundle of nerves, a collection of neurons, in the back of his head, that just light up.

It's sudden and shocking and powerful and Klaber can't help himself. His mouth latches on to one of the wettest parts of Wolff's vest, tongue pressing hungrily against the thin fabric and lapping up the liquid trapped between it and the skin. "Klaber!" The older man gasps out as his body runs hot. "Klaber, no! That's—" But the blonde wraps his lips around the older man's clothed nipple, gently tonguing at it. He just looks so... So... There's no other word for it; motherly. And Klaber's caught between his sudden need for maternal affection and his undying adoration for the man before him. He prays that the medic can give him both. Seeing the medic like this, even if it is just a hormone imbalance or a touch of menopause, has done something to Klaber, changed him. Suddenly, he's back to being that boy in Kentucky; fatherless, motherless, a rebel without a cause, just looking for someone to show him a little tenderness but too scared to ask for it.

Before Klaber knows it, his mouth is filled, sweet, milky fluid flooding over his tongue as his kisses shift to the other side of the older man's chest. "Klaber, don't... No... That's— Wha—" He releases with a loud sucking noise, warm milk dribbling down his chin and making Wolff shiver, then looks up to meet the medic's icy-blue gaze. His bright-blue eyes are wide, he looks vulnerable, nervous and so lovely that it hurts. "But I'm not— You can't just— Not without asking, te kibaszott hülye...¹" He says lowly and softly, clearly no malice behind the words. Klaber draws back, releasing his hold on Wolff's arms and swallowing audibly.

Wolff's undervest is nearly transparent, see-through where it's wet with saliva. Through it, the blonde can see the medic's nipples are pink and hard from the attention the other man had given them. Wolff sees him staring and blushes, the pink spreading down his chest and up to the tips of his ears. The medic looks so vulnerable, so scared. That, paired with the healthier glow of his body, makes him seem decades younger.

"Herr Doktor, please. Please..." Klaber murmurs softly, lips pink and wet and gorgeous. He's all tied up in knots inside, confused and anxious. He's silent for a moment, unable to look at the other man, before sighing, breathy and deep. "I... I miss..." Klaber's voice fails him. He sounds broken, tired, afraid of being hurt.

"What, Eli? What is it?" The medic asks, gentle and worried.

"I... I miss..." He balls his fists so tight that he almost draws blood with his fingernails, looking up, meeting the other man's gaze, a shadow of genuine fear in his expression. "I miss my mom." He breathes and Wolff reaches for his hand, threading their fingers together.

"Liebchen." He says, realisation hitting him right in the stomach. "You're years too late for that kind of attention." A whining sound escapes Klaber, his head dips and Wolff swears he can hear the other man sob. "Liebchen, don't. Don't cry. Don't cry."

Grief hits Klaber in the chest like a battering ram. It's not just missing his mother, it's missing home, it's being an outcast at such a young age, it's being gay in the fucking Forties, it's all the awful things he's done. All the killing he's done. It gets to him. It feels like years worth of hurt, bursting like a dam in his chest... No wonder he's so miserable. And worse still, he feels like a fucking asshole for pouring all this on a man who only ever cared about him. But maybe that's his problem, maybe he's just always been an asshole. An empty excuse for a man.

Wolff gently takes Klaber into his arms, stroking his back and letting him sob into his shoulder, hushing and cuddling him. It feels as though hours have passed before Klaber's able to speak, just a weak whisper, choked out between sobs.

"Sorry, Herr Doktor, didn't mean to—"

"Shhhh, let it all out."

"That's not what I—" The blonde shakes his head, biting his lip and trying to stop the tears running down his face. "I'm just so fuckin'—" He curls tighter into the older man's arms, more hot tears roll down his cheeks. He sniffs a couple times. "So fuckin' stupid and weak and—"

"No, none of that." Wolff snaps sharply, grabbing Klaber's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. "I don't want to hear anything like that out of you ever again." Klaber feels better but still ashamed. "Eli, look at me. Liebchen, stop that." But he's too far gone, voice quivering and catching in his throat.

"But I'm stupid and I'm sad and I fuck everythin' up! And I ain't got nothin'—" Klaber sobs and Wolff grabs his face, holding him still, staring him down.

"Elias Klaber. You have me." He says and it pierces through the haze of self loathing. "You'll always have me." Klaber sniffs and hiccups weakly, tears making his lashes stick together, eyes puffy. "And you're absolutely perfect. My mutt, my pup, my Liebchen."

"Stephan— I've just been so lonely and I was so scared I'd done something wrong." Klaber whines, shaking under the medic's soothing hands. He wraps his arms around the older man's shoulders and squeezes tightly. "S-Seeing you like that...d-did something to me..." He stops and takes a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to settle a little. "I'm sorry... Herr Doktor..." His voice lowers again. "I don't wanna presume anythin' here but... Could I... Uh... Was wonderin' if I could—" Wolff looks at him expectantly, eyebrow raised and he bows his head, mumbling. "Um... I mean that..."

"Spit it out, Liebchen." The medic chuckles. It makes Klaber flush, eyes darting to the floor for a moment.

"Was wonderin' if maybe... If you'd be okay with me... Y-Y'know... Like before...?" He asks, voice low and shy. A small smile curves the medic's lips as he cards a hand through Klaber's thick hair.

"You want to drink from me again, Liebchen?" Wolff asks and Klaber looks away again, flushing even hotter.

"Y-Yeah... Kinda... Is that— If it ain't okay, I—" He meets the medic's gaze for just a moment before dropping it again, focusing on the sheets to avoid Wolff's eyes.

"Come here."

Wolff shuffles back to sit at the head of the bed as Klaber toes off his shoes and strips down to his boxer-briefs before laying the older man down. There's a kind of warmth to his skin that the blonde's never felt before, a sort of vibrancy. Klaber looks down at him and, oh, he's just perfect. The medic's wearing that easy, infectious, stunning smile, his eyes are alive and the cold blue sparkles with something like lust and affection, he almost looks happy and that means everything to the younger man.

Wolff looks gorgeous as his fingers move beneath the hem of his vest, gracefully teasing up the fabric, up his stomach, revealing that trail of light hair that leads from his navel into his boxers. He pulls it up and over his head, his mane of white hair splaying out along his shoulders. He throws the vest to the side and Klaber fully takes in how gorgeously full his chest looks; rounded and pert, the rosy peaks of his nipples still stiff and swollen from the attention Klaber had given him earlier. The younger man can hardly believe this is happening, Wolff sighing softly as he brushes his fingers through Klaber's hair.

"J-Jeez... Herr Doktor, you're so—" The blonde breathes. He carefully spreads the medic's legs, seating himself between them and leaning in, both hands gently gripping the man's hips through the boxers. He rests his head in the crook of the medic's neck, breathing in the scent of him; it's warm, soft, and something sharper that Klaber can't name. Klaber slowly moves his mouth to the older man's chest. He strokes a thumb over Wolff's right nipple, feeling the heat beneath the skin and how engorged and stiff the bud is. Wolff shivers under his touch, gasping when he trails his tongue over it. Klaber wraps his lips carefully around the stiff, swollen bud and moves his tongue against it gently, warm milk dripping into his mouth.

"Klaber..." Wolff breathes, sliding a hand through the younger man's hair, pulling him tighter against him. His breath comes heavy, he huffs quietly and his body rolls up against the other man. He twists his fingers in to Klaber's blonde locks and starts petting him, murmuring sweet encouragements. The taste in the younger man's mouth is sweet yet slightly bitter, his cock twitches with interest as the flavour coats his tongue. He sucks greedily, occasionally swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh, mouth full of Wolff's plump chest. When he hears the older man's soft whimpers, he has to force down a groan. Wolff's caught between pleasure and embarrassment. It feels so good; the weight of Klaber's head against his chest, the heat of the younger man's mouth around his nipple, the overwhelmingly warm tingling sensation that seems to run right through to the older man's cunt and, God, Wolff hopes Klaber can't hear how wet he's getting.

Klaber begins suckling from him, not just teasingly taking the milk from his breasts but drinking from them, gulping it down. Wolff whimpers and whines under his attentions, too sensitive. The first few deep pulls of milk bring an immediate flood of hot wetness to his cunt. His nipples tingle when the younger man's tongue laps them, sending shocks of pleasure through him. "Thaaaat's it, Liebchen. Good boy..." The older man hisses through gritted teeth, blushing hotly. He reaches up to gently palm at the other side of his chest, massaging the sensitive tissue with his fingers. Milk dribbles from him and down his side, soaking into the sheets, thick and sticky and hot.

Klaber suckles greedily, his hands slide up from the medic's hips and over his ribs, stopping where the swell of Wolff's chest begins. He slowly pushes his hips forward, rocking the bulge in his boxers against the medic's thigh. "Klaber... Pup..." Wolff chokes out, catching his hand in Klaber's, groaning lowly in to the man's hair, dragging him even closer. "D-Don't forget about the other one, pup..." Klaber switches to the medic's left breast, pawing him softly as he continues drinking from him. The liquid pools on Klaber's tongue, rich and sweet. But it doesn't seem like it's going to stop.

If anything, the stream just gets faster. One of his arms wraps tight around Wolff's waist, holding him against the younger man, and the medic yelps softly when he feels his leg pushed between Klaber's, the cotton of his boxer-briefs rubbing up against Wolff's thigh. The younger man feels like he could drown, there's just so much, but he's not complaining.

"Herr Doktor... Oh, God, fuck, you're so—" Klaber groans, letting the liquid pool in his mouth as the older man squeezes hard at his chest, encouraging the flow. "Ah, fuck, please..." He's noisily swallowed every drop Wolff has to give, but he's still eagerly pressed up against the older man's chest, the medic grinding his thigh up against Klaber's dick in an attempt to give the younger man some relief.

Klaber's cock is painfully hard in his boxers and he's leaving damp spots on the material just by rubbing against Wolff's leg. He's needy and wanting and the medic is the only man who ever gave a shit about him. "Fuck, fuck, please, Stephan... Oh, fuck... Can...probably get off like this... So much... So sweet..."

"You want it? Do you, Liebchen? Make sure you don't waste any." The medic gasps hotly, the heavy rise and fall of his chest only stopping for a moment as he squeezes another spurt of milk out, catching it on Klaber's tongue. The fluid fills the younger man's mouth and he swallows again, his belly nearly full thanks to Wolff. "Such a greedy little pup, aren't you, Liebchen? Swallowing all of my milk?" The older man goes red in the face, turning it into the pillow and barely containing a moan of deep arousal as Klaber humps his thigh.

"Thank you, Herr Doktor... So generous..." And it's like a fucking floodgate opens, pleasure crashing over Klaber in waves, almost overwhelming. The blonde gropes and massages Wolff's soft, tender chest, needing just one more swallow before he can cum. He gulps audibly, a long stream flowing down his throat as his breath comes hard and fast. "Gonna... Gonna cum, Herr Doktor...!" He cries, practically suffocating between the medic's breasts, muffling these beautiful blissed-out moans on the man's chest as he rocks and grinds against his thigh. "I'm c-cummin'... Ohh, fuck!"

His climax hits him like a ton of bricks and the noise he makes. It's like nothing Wolff has ever heard, almost painful, Klaber crying out and keening as his whole body shudders and arches, teeth and nails clawing at the medic's breasts, probably leaving marks, his cock jerks and twitches, cum soaking his boxers and Wolff's leg. His lungs are empty, like he hasn't got the air to shout but he does, gasping with a broken voice. "H-Herr Doktor, God..." He rides out his high on Wolff's thigh, his boxers soaked through as he stains the fabric, rutting like a dog against the medic. "B-Been so long..." He sighs as he collapses between the medic's legs, panting and moaning and full...

When Klaber finally stops panting, Wolff is petting his hair and running a hand along his back, beaded with sweat.

"It's nice to see you looking so healthy, Herr Doktor..." The blonde breathes after a long stretch of silence, looking up and meeting his gaze. "Is there...any chance...we could do this again? If I could — y'know... — drink from you again?" The medic blushes, his gaze flickering, then sighs heavily, biting his lip.

"O-Only if you don't tell anyone, Liebchen... If Herr Langstrom found out, I'd never hear the end of it." He sighs and Klaber nods, pressing kisses along the medic's side.

"Promise." Klaber whispers against Wolff's skin, gently licking any trace of milk he can find, like he hasn't already had his fill. "So, does this mean you'll be eating meals with us again?" The medic nods.

"Mhm. It's probably best if I eat properly if I'm..." He trails off and Klaber grins, licks his lips and wraps his arms around the medic's middle, drawing him close and resting his head on the man's soft chest. He feels around a little, just loving the sensation of the older man's body in his arms again. "Sorry, I was keeping my distance, Liebchen. I was just embarrassed. I didn't know how to deal with it. I guess I'm like you in that respect, Liebchen; don't deal with my feelings well."

"Are you gonna come back to my room tonight? Sleep in the same bed like we usually do?" The blonde asks and Wolff looks around at the scattered clothes and the wrinkled sheets.

"Why don't we stay here for the night then, in the morning, I'll move all my stuff into your room? Deal?" The medic sighs, that gorgeous smile — that makes Klaber go weak at the knees — spreading over his face.

"Best deal I've made all week." Klaber grins and the medic brings their lips together. The kiss is warm, loving, a connection that Klaber sorely missed the last week. When they part, the blonde's lips are pink and swollen. And it's the only place Klaber's ever felt truly happy; in Wolff's arms.

Translations:

¹ "Not without asking, you fucking idiot..."

#character: klaber #source: indiana jones #misc: chariot writes #type: oc

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kingcbras · 9 months

Text

Bloody lover. prt 1

!WARNING!

this story contains,

non consent sex — violences — hospitalized — paranoia - and trauma.

viewers discretion is advised.

In Johnny's dimly lit apartment, the air was thick with tension as Daniel stumbled in, his words slurred from too much alcohol. Johnny, on the other hand, was completely sober and focused on cooking at the stove. He turned to see Daniel, whose usually polished demeanor had been replaced by a disheveled, drunken mess.

"Larusso, what the hell happened to you?"

Johnny asked, his confusion evident but slightly chuckled obviously being a snarky jerk as he watched his old rival stumble into his life once more as they separated dojos again, it's been weeks.

Daniel's voice quivered with anger and regret as he rambled about how he'd ruined his life by coming back into it. Johnny's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of the situation.

"What do you mean, man? You came back into MY life," J

ohnny retorted, his patience wearing thin.

In a fit of rage, Daniel slapped Johnny across the face. Johnny, caught off guard, didn't react but continued to squint at Daniel, trying to understand what had come over him. Daniel's eyes burned with a mixture of hatred and an undeniable attraction to the blonde martial artist.

Without warning, Daniel forcefully kissed Johnny, who pushed him away, startled by the unexpected advance. In the process, Johnny accidentally hit the handle of a pan on the stove, sending a splatter of boiling grease onto his back. Pain seared through him, and he cried out in agony.

But Daniel was undeterred. He grabbed Johnny and pinned him against the wall, his kiss now fueled by anger and passion, though Johnny was still reeling from the burn, tears streaming down his face.

The room was filled with chaos and confusion, as these two rivals found themselves entangled in a moment.

Johnny's cries of pain filled the apartment as the searing burn on his back intensified. Despite his agony, he noticed Daniel's drunken stupor and the overpowering smell of alcohol. He desperately pushed Daniel away, tears streaming down his face, and attempted to escape towards the door.

However, before he could reach safety, Daniel's erratic behavior took a darker turn. A swift kick to Johnny's side made him let out a long, painful yelp. Then, Daniel's knee dug into Johnny's back, causing him to cry out even louder, his voice trembling as he muttered names in a desperate plea for help.

"Wait...wait...stop! Ahh! Stop...Larusso.. Sensei....Carmen...Miguel...!!! FUCKING ASSHOLE! "

Johnny's words were a mix of agony and confusion as he writhed under the pressure. But Daniel continued his assault, kissing Johnny's neck with a force that made him squirm away in pain.

Finally, Johnny managed to break free, ignoring the burning pain in his back, and ran out of the apartment, his shirt sticking to his injured skin which was soaking up his blood. He reached his car and sped off to the hospital, desperate to put an end to this nightmare and get the medical attention he needed.

The next morning, Daniel awoke with a pounding headache and the lingering regret of his drunken antics. Amanda had been serious about wanting a divorce, and that realization cut through his hangover haze. He knew he had to make amends, and fast.

Meanwhile, at the dojos, training had been canceled as Miguel grew concerned about Johnny's absence. He knew something was off when he saw Johnny's apartment door wide open, with grease and bacon scattered on the floor, blood smeared all over the wall beside the refrigerator and a small wet with some blood spot on the carpet where tears had fallen like he got crane kicked again. Maybe he did.

Miguel decided to call Johnny, hoping for an explanation. The call was tense, and Johnny's voice sounded strained.

[ongoing call. 0:01 — 7:19 AM.]

"Uh, hey sensei, I don't know if you're sober or not since everything is left unattended in your apartment... including your ...door??? Is everything okay?"

"Look, just come to the Valley Hospital real quick. Bring anyone, just not ...Larusso. Alright Diaz?"

"Oh... oh okay, sensei. Bye-bye."

[Call ended. 0:29 —7:20 AM.]

After the call ended, Miguel quickly informed Sam and his mom, Carmen, about the situation. Carmen, deeply worried, drove Miguel to the hospital, while Sam drove there herself, all of them anxious to discover what had happened to Johnny.

#cobra kai #william zabka #non consent #rapekink #johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #ck #cobra kai johnny lawrence #lawrusso #i dont have a rapekink pls

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puppyluver256 · 10 months

Text

[Image Description: A human interpretation of the Hollow Knight, the titular character of the game of the same name. They have very pale scarred skin, long white hair in a ponytail, black and orange eyes, and a missing left arm. They are wearing a grey tank top, green lounge pants, and a silver hair clip shaped like the horns their original appearance has. They appear to be looking into a bathroom mirror that is out of frame, presumably mounted over a bathroom sink that they are standing in front of. They have a finger up to their mouth and are examining the strangely empty space inside, as their tongue has been mostly removed. The background is the pale blue bathroom wall, an open wooden door, and a view into the hallway with a beige wall and green fluffy carpet. End ID.]

-----

Hello and welcome to How To Make The Asshole Responsible For Mostly Everything In Canon Somehow Even Worse In Your AU 101! (: Step right up, it's gonna be a long-un.

So yeah, I still don't have all the details hammered out quite yet, but I do have significant points roughly accounted for. Even after they've been out from under his metaphorical wing for like four or five years, PK has of course still left considerable marks on all his kids. In this human AU, PK (who I'm tentatively calling Paul King until I find something that's not so perfectly fitting even if it's a bit bland for a character like him) is a fairly influential religious leader whose faith involved some principles akin to the quiverful movement, along with strict control over his progeny and a belief that children--or at least his children--only serve as accessories to their parents and something to be seen and not heard. This led to a lot of neglect for the kids under King's roof, thankfully only three full-timers this time instead of the likely hundreds of thousands just due to the differences of how mammal reproduction works compared to insects (or wyrm + tree I guess lol), and that neglect led to a Lot of Crap.

In fact, only two of the things that happened to any of the three kids were the result of direct action on King's part, and sadly both of those things happened to Hollow. One was the event that was the catalyst for getting the kids out (again I'm still trying to nail this down, but it does end in the house blowing up), and the other (: was the one time (: Hollow had the courage (: to talk back (: and King decided (: to make sure that never happened again (: and the man has medical training (: he was a doctor at one point (: so the glossectomy was professionally done by him personally (': ('': (''':

Anyway, yeah, that little detail is part of how I'm carrying over the "no voice to cry suffering" part of the Vessels, though in AU Hollow's case it's less "no voice to cry suffering" and more "no tongue to give that voice clarity and also they basically just stop trying shortly after". The other two don't vocalize for different reasons, Ghost is just the bog-standard neurodivergent flavor of nonverbal for the most part (they could probably speak if they tried under the right circumstances, they just don't), and BV's silence is due to neurological damage as they had a seizure that affected a nerve controlling speech, and that combined with them falling down the stairs shortly after certainly didn't do them any favors. ...though the black sclera for all three, that's another thing entirely, let's just say that their old house was similarly close to the source of a certain substance like the White Palace is in the game... As to why Hornet's not physically affected by any of this? Her mom's alive in this AU, obvs she lived with her. And even though she visited as per custody agreement, and also her wanting to be with her half-siblings to give them some actual human contact that wasn't just the bare minimum to keep them alive, if anything had happened to Hornet while in that house Herrah woulda gotten more than a little aggro (: Thankfully the siblings are in a much better living situation now!

.......also since voidy stuff is in this AU and they've got some and they can do this:

[Image Description: The same image as above, cropped to Hollow's face. Four black tendrils have been added coming out of their mouth, with black handwriting reading "void tendrils" and an arrow pointing to the addition.]

Yup. At least eating's not as hard for them as it seems to be for most actual willing glossectomy patients??? ^^;

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are preferred as they let more people see my artwork! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

#hollow knight #the hollow knight #human au #jess drew the thing #sfw #image description #long post #child neglect mention #child abuse mention #body horror cw #just in case #that is for the void tendrils! not their scars and amputation!!#if you tag this as body horror then you'd better specify that's the reason or i'll kick yer ass!!!#...more accurately i'll either give you a stern talking-to or block you idk o_o;

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purgetrooperfox · 2 years

Note

30: “What if there’s no happy ending for us?” for Noctitra ❤️❤️❤️

man I have two ideas for this and they both HURT so here's the one I finished first. I'll probably finish and post the other soonish ;-;

[ prompt list ]

rating: T

pairing: Kit Fisto/Clone Medic Nocte/Dara Idella

characters: Kit Fisto, Clone Medic Nocte, Dara Idella (@spacerocksarethebestrocks)

tags: implied dysmorphia, polycule supremacy, established relationship, going grey, accelerated aging, angst, hurt/comfort

ao3

It's not vanity.

Nocte scowls at his reflection in the 'fresher mirror and pointedly ignores Kit hovering in the doorway.

It's not vanity.

For all intents and purposes, he's 25 standard years old. It's not vain to be unnerved by the ever-increasing amount of premature grey streaked through his hair. Maybe it's karma for teasing Fox when he went a few weeks too long without shearing the sides of his hair and revealed his own salt-and-pepper. Maybe Carrion's right, and he needs to stop internalizing so much stress, and this is a sign.

Raking his fingers through the discoloration at his right temple, he resigns himself to another stint of simply pretending this isn't an issue. If he feigns indifference for long enough, everyone will eventually believe it.

"It just seems rude," he admits, since Kit's still watching him, "that on top of everything else, I have to deal with double-time greying. Someone should really file a complaint with the longnecks."

Kit hums what might be an agreement and flashes a lopsided smile. "I think it makes you look dignified," he says. "Roguish. Like the protagonists in those old spy thrillers."

Nocte hasn't seen those old spy thrillers but he still has his doubts about that. "If you say so."

All he could do at this point is dye his hair and he absolutely will not be doing that. So he blows out a sigh and twists it into a braid - if only so it doesn't try to strangle him in his sleep - then turns to face Kit. To his credit, there's no discernible pity in the dark depths of his partner's eyes.

There's sympathy in droves, but not pity.

The words they need don't come easily at times like this. Stabs at humor save them from directly acknowledging one of the uglier realities of their situation.

As Nocte shuffles past Kit, he rises up onto his toes to plant a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth. The toll of the day's exertion on his body is rapidly making itself known, pressing down on his shoulders as he sheds his clothes and slumps onto the bed. Dara simply puts down whatever she was reading on her 'pad and reaches out to squeeze the crook of his arm.

To say that Dara's conservative with language would be a wild mischaracterization, but she's good at knowing when advice or comfort aren't needed. Or wanted.

Nocte tosses his shirt and pants toward the corner of the room and finally Iays down, curling onto his side and pulling Dare close with an arm around her waist. The familiar scent of her soap and detergent - lavender and citrus and linen - begin to ease his roiling anxiety. She trills softly, almost too low to be audible, and shifts like she's trying to burrow halfway underneath him.

"Comfortable, sweetheart?" he murmurs and watches her tendrils quiver happily.

"Mm." With her face mushed into his chest, it's a bit of a challenge to discern what she's saying. "You're warm. Comfy."

It doesn't bear repeating that he runs hot, another side effect of his heightened metabolism. "Someone has to be," he says instead, "or the pair of you would probably freeze."

"Ah, hell," Kit exclaims from somewhere behind Nocte before the bed dips under his weight. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever figure out the real reason we keep you around."

Whatever sarcastic remark Nocte would've made is strangled by the yelp that punches from him when frigid, ice-fucking-cold toes dig in behind his knees. Dara only offers a muffled giggle before curling her legs around Nocte's to warm them up as well. Then sticking her free, equally cold, hand down in his boxers to rest on his bare hip.

A chill rattles up his spine, because of course it does.

"You make an excellent heater," Kit comments. His arm comes to rest across Nocte, reaching just far enough to idly stroke Dara's tendrils.

Any other time, such an innocent statement would roll off him like nothing.

He knows he's more than that to them. He knows they care far more than they probably should. He knows they love him. He knows that there's a space for him, carved out with gentle intensity, between and alongside and before and behind them. They can rib him about being nothing more than a source of heat because he's so much more than that.

It scares him more than he ever likes to admit. Feeling scraped raw, he edges back against Kit and squeezes Dara and tries to center himself.

Acrid emotion threatens to rise up his throat but he stubbornly swallows it back down. It's a small miracle that when he eventually finds it, his voice comes out steady, "You'll need to invest in a heated blanket at some point."

As soon as it comes out of his mouth, it sounds entirely too morbid.

"I just mean… I won't be around forever," he retries.

The reality is that Nautolans live far longer than nat-born Humans. If he's incredibly lucky, Nocte will live half as long as a nat-born Human. Every day the war drags on increases the odds of him going down as one among thousands of casualties. Fulfilling his purpose.

It's not vanity to bemoan the signs of his accelerated aging when they serve as reminders of who and what he is. A fraction of a man with a fraction of a life, bred to replace someone exactly like him, to die, and to be replaced. An interchangeable part of an army of clones.

He forcibly unclenches his jaw when neither Kit nor Dara answers him. "It's not–" and this time his voice does betray him, breaking around a single syllable. Dara turns her face toward his and brushes the backs of her fingers along his jaw, waiting. "What if it's just not possible?" he manages to grind out. "What if there's no happy ending for us?"

What if I'm wasting your time?

What if this was a mistake?

What if I'm just intruding?

What if we were doomed to hurt from the start?

What if–

"Then we cherish whatever happiness we can get," Kit cuts off the downward spiral of Nocte's thoughts. "To have this, now, is worth it."

"We cherish what we have and we fight for the future," Dara adds, just above a whisper. "We all fight for it. Whatever it takes."

dm or fill out this form to be added to my writing tags <3

@willowworkswithwords @saradika @catboy-kenobi @dikut @voidika @certified-anakinfucker @milf-plokoon @secretlyatimelady @spaceydragons @tayylie @moonstrider9904 @thelove-ablepenguin @maulpunk @frietiemeloen @spacerocksarethebestrocks @zinzinina @quinnqueens @thefact0rygirl @misogirl828 @amyroswell @rain-on-kamino

#leocs #others' ocs #clone medic nocte #dara idella #kit fisto #oc x canon #leo.writes #asks answered

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