#on god the fog was coming and i could not outrun it

[burgertaco6]

It is me again, once more but much more detailed in writing. If you are easily queasy with your imagination i advise you not to continue reading. This happened earlier today, which sadly sent me home early, and i still quite toil about it for that means i shall not earn much gold in my pocket.

So, it all started during the car ride to work. I put my shoes on while my dad was driving, as i dont have my own car and today is that time of the month where my body rejects unused anatomy of fertility for a new refreshing batch of horomones. When this feeling, aching in my body begins to chew its way through my large intestine. I think "Ah.. Just cramps, i had a loose stool before leaving home and when i woke up, surely it is nothing." but surely it meant doom i was in denial of.

Stepping out of the car i get this wave of not being able to control my body heat, making my way to clock in thus confirming i am working, then getting to actual work with wiping everything down to pass the time until we clean theaters. Its always quite dirty, but i make sure its not with adhd boredom inspiring me to get every nook and cranny making stuff look good as new.

Thats when it truly hit me, alike the trucks on freeways over bridges carrying tons of cargo. "You need to throw up." My body told me, the tingling of sulfuric on the base of my throat. "But surely not, i've eaten and taken pain relief! We must keep going, we only work two days this week, it will be worth it-" When i am interrupted with "No. You need to throw up, N O W."

I hurried as fast i could so not to expel on the floor, which was not very fast, doing some kind of unnatural clench to my stomach while keeping composure around the customers, looking sickly may disturb them. As i go to the third stall its like if i had gone blank, all i remember is spewing up. The first time was chunky as it was my breakfast that'd just come up, slightly foamy with a horrible smell. After the first i was dizzy, all of that digesting energy was gone as my body couldn't' find anything to get nutrients from, the first day in the morning is always a cleanser. The gripping feeling of hunger triggered me to barf once again, this second time more horrible than the last. Its complete liquid with little to no food, digestive acids having been forced up from my small intestine to replace the emptied stomach. It was like a disgusting mucus as it had gone up my nose on its way out.

Lightheaded, about to pass out from lack of vitamins and nutritions, i flushed and stumbled my way towards the sink. I make sure to clean VERY well of my face to remove anything that may be left upon my lips or nostrils, next were hands for that is customary rule of employee.

Entering the room of two heads who were on their managerial duty for the day, printing end times and writing out papers, they look at me with concern. Im asked "Whats up?" and i go "I just threw up twice, and im in great pain. I am so very sorry." They do not ask further question, there is not anger in their eyes. They say "Go. Go home." I cheer internally, 'OORAH!!!', but cannot crack a relieved smile from the oncoming feeling of thousands of knives in my innards down towards my legs. Worried coworkers look on with anguish of me when i entered the break room, typically i rarely leave early unless its assisting another getting more hours, grabbing my bag and drink i intended for dunch. Calling my father from the cellular device in tears and shakey breath he arrives within a few minutes (work is not much far from home). Im given the magical pink foam such dubbed "Pepto Bismol" to help as i go acquire comfortable loose clothing to prevent struggling in removal incase of another tragedy, so i pass out in my plastic furs safety. Waking, i stay in the warmth with less barfy tipsy, reading the rest of which i borrowed from the library. My feline companion is curled up with me, for the room was quite cold with a pleasant sunbeam on the foot.

To say i regret leaving work is true, but to say i wished to stay in my condition is a honest denial. I wish those who were there with me a peaceful but eventful day, hopefully i am not looked at differently by the powerful ones such as those managers from my moment of weakness, i quite love my duties with passion but to have so little days and so little guidance on chores is making me rethink. But i continue to push on.

That is all of the tragedy from which happened today, not much else of event besides an angry old lady and small child with metallic plastic helium friend on a string. Live on my worms, remember to stay hydrated and active.

#needed me some pamprin BAD #(pamprin is a type of period focused medicine OTC) #on god the fog was coming and i could not outrun it #absolute heresy my stomach was speaking #maybe it was the leftover food idk #reaction images lmao i found them on pinterest #not really a vent #just using my tumblr as a diary :)

[toshidou]

hea r me out ,,, sub ghost ,,,,

oh anon, how i love you

word count // 1.3k

tags // 18+ only, sub!ghost, dom!reader, rope, handcuffs, vibrator wand, ghost calls reader mommy and it nearly kills him and his pride but he did it (proud of him), face sitting, cunnilingus, hair pulling, multiple orgasms (from simon, lucky boy)

Simon Riley is not a man who gets the opportunity to let go very often, if in fact at all. He knows what’s expected of him, whether it be the stern, serious lieutenant, or the Ghost, a mere myth to military personnel all over the globe. He knows the role he’s been assigned, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t go above and beyond the expectations set for him. 

He once foolishly thought that he was a man who could cheat his own biology, somehow convincing himself that he could outrun the stress and near debilitating exhaustion. That was until you offered him a rather different solution. An arrangement that worked well for both of you, he remembers you saying. You weren’t wrong. Which is how he finds himself handcuffed to the metal bars of your bed frame; Hitachi wand tied against the entire length of his cock. 

“I wonder what your enemies would think if they saw you like this, hm?” Your voice cuts through the fog in his head, forcing his blurred sight to clear just so he could drink in the vision before him. You sit on the end of the bed, maddeningly far from where his body lays prone on the sheets, watching him with wicked eyes as he jolts when the tip of the vibrating wand presses firmly against his frenulum. 

“Going to cum on your pretty stomach for me again, baby?” He doesn’t miss the taunt in your voice, trying to hide the way his cock twitches pathetically at your condescending tone, unable to do anything but part his lips and moan. Being vulnerable was not something he ever thought could come this naturally to him, but something about you made it so easy for Simon to just forget about his place in the world, about the near back breaking burden he carries on his broad shoulders on a daily basis. You help him feel free, by taking away that burden and replacing it with blinding pleasure; all he had to do in return was give you his submission. It was the easiest choice he’s made in a long time. 

“Use your words big boy, I know it’s a lot, but I need you to be a good boy for me, okay?”

“Yeah, fuck, ‘m sorry,” he doesn’t miss the fond gleam to your eye, nor the hand that slides from his knee down to his upper thigh, hissing through his teeth when your touch causes his leg to twitch, jolting the vibrator against his cock, “‘s too much, gonna go fuckin’ insane.”

You hum in response, lidded eyes molten with lust come to rest on the flushed red tip of his cock, pearlescent beads of precum dripping in rivulets down his veined shaft, straining against the rope that secures it to the wand. 

“You mean to tell me that my big strong soldier can’t handle a little vibration?” Any response he has dies in his throat the moment you flick the tip of his cock, shame seeping through his veins when he realises that he just fucking came. Again. He doesn’t know if he wants your mercy, or more, but his dick apparently makes that decision for him, still painfully hard where it lays twitching like a heartbeat against his abdomen. 

“Please,” He grits out, eyes shining with tears formed through over-stimulation, “Please turn it off,” but glassy eyes only serve to widen the grin that stretches so prettily across your face. 

“Please who, Simon?” Oh god. His head droops, chin meeting his chest as he debates whether taking the near torturous, incessant pleasure would be easier than dropping the last of his pride, the last barrier to full submission you haven’t quite been able to squeeze from his stubborn brain. The debate, however, is short lived, cut off by the click of a button and strangled shout as the vibrations kick up a notch, doubling his previous torment. 

“Please mommy, please fuckin’ turn it off, God,” The momentary humiliation dissipates the moment he locks eyes with you, chest heaving with relief as the wand is finally switched off. You look near predatory, pupils dilated so heavily not a shred of colour remains, sharp nails digging so deliciously into the meat of his thigh as you use him as leverage to kneel over his wrecked body. 

“There we go, was that so hard sweetheart?” He nearly preens under your pleased gaze, going near dizzy with how quickly he finds himself sinking under your dominance. It’s nothing like the authority he’s used to wielding, harsh and unforgiving; you control him as easily as one does a puppet, with precision and grace. And he’s fucking obsessed with it, obsessed with you. 

“Want mommy to sit on your face, darling?” You must instantly catch the way he’s eyes widen, how his arms strain against the metal bonds above his head.

“Yes fucking please,” he rasps, saliva quick to settle heavily on his tongue at the mere thought of you seated so prettily on top of his mouth, unable to think of anything other than making you cum on his tongue. He’s practically panting by the time you come to straddle your legs either side of his head, unfocused eyes darting between your face, and glistening folds, so desperately eager to have the taste of you coat his tongue, his lips, his chin, marked so clearly as yours. 

“What’s the magic word again, baby boy?” 

The reply comes so much easier this time. 

“Let me eat you out, mommy, please, I’ll beg if I fuckin’ ‘ave to, just-” Clearly you weren’t interested in hearing anything else he had to say, cutting him off by lowering the rest of your body to met his mouth and rewarding him with the sweet taste of your cunt. He’s sinking deeper, he’s just barely aware of the feeling of pure emptiness and bliss that rolls over his consciousness, no thoughts in his brain other than pleasing you. His tongue laps in strong, desperate strokes against your pussy, collecting every drop of your arousal and swallowing it down like he’s a man starved, as if you were an oasis amidst a barren desert. 

He’s rewarded with your hands forming a tight grip in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that has his hips lifting off the mattress, groaning as he feels the way his biceps flex against solid restraints, desperate to sink his fingers into the soft warm plush of your skin. 

“Doing so fucking well, making me feel so good Simon,” Saccharine words sooth his addled mind, forcing himself to stay afloat just so he can watch the way you begin to fall apart atop him, hips canting against his mouth as you start to ride his tongue with earnest. You barely cast a glance down at him, as if the only thing you care about is chasing the pleasure that lies beneath you. And it really shouldn’t turn him on, the idea that he’s nothing but a vessel for your pleasure, but it really fucking does. 

It only takes a mere minute or two until you’re falling apart above him, your walls spasming around his tongue, thoroughly drenching his face and throat with your cum. He doesn’t stop fucking his tongue into your twitching pussy until you’re dragging your hips from his face, revelling in the frustrated and disappointed whine that slips from his arousal slicked lips. 

“No need to sound so sad, baby, I’ve got a lot more planned for us tonight. So be a good fucking boy and let mommy ride your cock until she’s had her fill.” 

Letting go may not have come easily to Simon, but with you, it’s as natural as breathing.

#☁︎⋅writing #help #this was meant to be like 200 words #i blacked out #and then this appeared #i have no excuses #i am just too feral when it comes to this man #i need psychiatric help #good fucking god #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #cod mw22 #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost x you #sub simon riley #sub ghost

[jack-the-nibbler]

A Gentleman’s Treat

You learn the hard way that sometimes, restricted areas are best left alone. After all, Hunters are good at delivering punishments.

Fandom: Identity V

Characters: Reader, Jack (”Good Child” skin)

Words: 2,105

CW: Fearplay, digestion mention

“Come out, come out, wherever you are~! I’ll find you soon enough, poppet~!”

You gulped and crouched down more, trying to curl up as tightly as possible within the shadows. Damn it all…this was your fault. The Manor was divided into two halves; one for the Survivors, and one for the Hunters. Being quite the curious soul, you’d wanted to explore the Hunters’ half. The door there was locked, but there was a crack that was big enough for someone shrunken to pass through.

It had taken some effort to convince Kurt to let you borrow Gulliver’s Travels from him, but soon you were carefully holding the book. Reading only a few words had reduced you to the size of a lilliputian, able to slip past the door. It was quite gloomy on the other side, which you’d admittedly expected. And it had been quite harrowing keeping any Hunters from seeing you scurry about.

Unfortunately, you had eventually been spotted by none other than Jack. A charming, if somewhat awkward gentleman much of the time, but also an eerily calm sadist who delighted in the fear of his prey. The man could go from proper to sinister at the drop of a hat, and that’s just what happened as he pursued you. He’d chased you under a door, right into his bedroom. All you could do was crouch behind tins of paint and containers with brushes, praying that he’d lose interest. To make matters worse, you’d dropped the book in your haste.

“Oh poppet, there’s no need to be scared! I only want to play a little,” he called before chuckling. “You know what they say. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy~!” That low, gleeful edge to his tone sent chills through you. He was already a fiend when hunting you down in the Manor “games”, but this was far worse. At least if you were sent off on a rocket chair or “died”, you’d wake up back at the Manor as if nothing had happened.

Now you were utterly trapped; you couldn’t leave without the book! Not only would you be stuck like this for god knows how long, but Kurt would never forgive you! You couldn’t outrun Jack either…who knows what he’d do with you, or if you’d come back from it. You were left to stew in your fear; dread weighed down on you, only to vanish as a paint tin was pulled away.

“Ahh, there you are…~” Jack smirked and reached for you. Your heart practically burst out of your chest, your insides seizing. You had absolutely no hope of escape from the mad painter. Your muscles refused to cooperate as he grabbed you up. With his tall, lanky stature, it would be impossible to land safely.

“No, no, no! Let me go!!” you cried, struggling within his grasp. Jack held you up close, smirking and giving you a good view of his pearly whites. He was admittedly handsome in his current form-nicely sculpted face, tousled silver hair that covered his eyes, and a nicely tailored suit complete with a fancy black top hat. Definitely more pleasant than the horribly pale, faceless, jagged-mouthed, fog creature he often appeared as, but it did little to ease your terror.

“My oh my, you’re much cuter than that Explorer!” he exclaimed. “Speaking of, did you happen to be looking for this?” Jack raised his other hand, showing you the special copy of Gulliver’s Travels held between his fingertips. You gasped and scrambled for it, but it may as well have been a mile away. Jack shook his head and tucked the book into his pocket.

Your blood ran cold as you found yourself completely at the Ripper’s mercy. He was gentle at the moment, carefully rubbing your head with his index finger. It didn’t feel so bad…but you weren’t trusting him. Jack chuckled at your scared little face, watching you tremble as he brought you up to his mouth. His soft lips pressed against your head in a careful kiss, making you blush…but then the tip of his tongue lapped up your cheek. You immediately pulled away, looking up with wide eyes. Had he really just…?

“Awww, don’t tremble so much, luv! I only want to give you a little taste~!” You were given a close view of Jack’s charming grin…and his oddly long, pink tongue sliding across his lips. Warm breath washed over you as his warm, wet tongue laved along your front, each taste bud dragging over you. Jack licked you again and again, humming in delight at your taste. A soft sigh escaped him as he finally relented.

You whined and wiped your hand along your face, attempting to get at least some of the thick slime away. This proved useless as Jack gave you another two licks. You were able to catch a glimpse of his silver eyes underneath his messy hair. There was a teasing mirth in his eyes…but also a hint of hunger.

“Something wrong, poppet? Perhaps you’re realizing just how…appetizing you are?” A sick sinking feeling gripped your innards as it hit you. He was going to eat you.

“How could you be so cruel?!” you yelled. Jack gasped, holding his cheek in mock hurt.

“Oh luv, I’m not that bad! You’re lucky to have met me instead of some of my fellow Hunters,” he remarked. “Luchino might have experimented on you or used you as reptile feed. Joseph might have trapped your adorable self in a photo. Ann’s cat could have nabbed you, the less said about Yidhra, the better…but I’m sure many of them might have just done what I’m about to…”

You watched with wide eyes as Jack dangled you over his mouth. Warmth drifted up like steam as he exhaled, playfully snapping his teeth at your feet. You squeaked and pulled your feet away, not putting it past him to try biting you apart. Although, you quickly realized that it might be better than possibly being digested alive.

Jack slipped your legs onto his tongue, suckling and soaking you in saliva. His lips crept up your body, engulfing your hips, belly, and chest. You shook your head, quietly pleaded, but he only chuckled as he slurped you in. The Ripper’s tongue slathered spit all over you, happily tasting you. It swished you around, stroked along your form, pressed you against the soft inside of his cheeks.

You hissed in disgust, barely able to wriggle much inside his mouth. Jack’s tongue was relentless, keeping you trapped. Not like you could manage to pry open his teeth anyways. You weren’t escaping-that was cemented as Jack tilted his head back, pushing you backwards. Your eyes widened in horror as your feet slipped into the abyss of his throat.

“No, no! Don’t swallow!” you cried. You clawed at his tongue, but it was too slippery to give any purchase. The painter’s throat squeezed around your legs, threatening to pull you downward. Jack opened his mouth, taunting you with a last look at the world. With his teeth framing your view of his room, he gulped, pulling you into his gullet up to your waist. One more swallow sent you down, the light slipping from your view.

Jack’s gullet was tight, squeezing around you in a steady rhythm. You grimaced at the feeling, and an additional pressure. Jack was pressing a finger along the bulge traveling down his throat, delighted little hums vibrating around you. Of course the hunter would delight in your suffering-you were just a mouthful to him, nothing more than a snack for the cruel gentleman.

“Mmmh~…That’s it, slip on down, luv. You’re doing good…~” he cooed in a tone that might have been soothing. You whined as you were pushed deeper into his body, briefly stopping at a particularly tight squeeze. Just as you feared that you would burst, you slipped past the sphincter and landed within his stomach. It groaned around you, briefly squeezing as it determined the size of its new occupant.

You couldn’t believe it-you’d just been eaten. Jack had gobbled you up as easily as he would a tea cake or a slice of ham. You’d reluctantly gotten used to being prey for hunters, but never in the sense of actually being eaten! The air was humid, there wasn’t a speck of light-not like there’d be much to see-and every surface was slimy, slippery, and squishy. As you moved around, trying to get your bearings, the stomach squeezed around you. Jack let out a rather impolite belch a moment later.

“Oh, pardon me!” he exclaimed. “I must say, you’re more filling than I thought! And you feel so nice…I don’t think I’ll need to eat again until dinner!” A chill ran through you at the thought of your fate. You tried to sit up, only to be squished down again as Jack rubbed his belly.

Dread pooled within you again as you desperately felt around. There were only two ways out of Jack’s stomach, and you’d sooner take a flare gun shot to the face than take the lower route. Trying to pry at the throat entrance proved useless. It was too tight, only drawing a few giggles from your captor.

“Don’t fight too much, now! Or do, it feels so wonderfully ticklish,” Jack said. “You fit so perfectly, luv, almost like this was meant to be.” You were about to protest, only to hear the door open. Jack looked up to find Joseph standing there, his bright, pure blue eyes lidded in slight unamusement. “Why, good day! Have I been bothering you, Mr. Desaulniers?” he asked sweetly.

“You’ve been causing an awful racket,” Joseph said. “Anyways, the others want to know if you’re coming down for lunch.” Jack smiled, briefly muffling another burp.

“No thanks, Chap. I just ate.” Jack licked his lips, smirking as if he planned to have the Frenchman for dessert. Joseph grimaced, swiftly leaving the room. He’d never known that a Survivor had snuck into his territory, much less been gulped down whole by a fellow Hunter.

That little interaction brought a horrible realization. No one would know what had happened to you. Kurt would have an idea, but the others would only truly know if Jack taunted them with your fate. Is this really how you’d be remembered? A curious little fool who’d become a snack for a monstrous Englishman? Tears started to brim in your eyes.

“J-Jack, please, come to your senses…” you pleaded. “I don’t want to die in here!” That actually made the Ripper pause…then he chuckled warmly.

“Die?” He said. “Oh sweetheart, no one is allowed to die here! This has already happened a few times before you arrived. I assure you, the reformers work just as well with digestion as they do with bleeding out. It won’t be your end.” That…was quite a shock. You sat there in the gurgling darkness for a good moment.

“You…you mean it? I’m going to be fine?” You asked. Jack gave an affirmative hum.

“Cross my heart, or what’s left of it. I was actually planning to spit you out at some point this time.” He replied.

A wave of relief washed over you. You were still trapped in a Hunter’s guts and soaked in slime, but at least your story wouldn’t end within the churning depths of his belly.

“Of course, I could digest you if you wanted, let you revive later. You’d look lovely on my hips, dear.” Jack said. That brought a new bout of squirming and yelling from you. He laughed and patted you again. “Alright, I won’t! But do get cozy; it’ll be a few hours before I let you back out.”

You carefully nestled into the folds along his stomach walls. While Jack went about his business outside, you listened to the inner workings of his body. Up above was his somewhat erratic heartbeat, the rush of air through his lungs, and content humming. Below was the low groaning of his intestines, and you could almost imagine the sound of his blood flow. As gross as this should have felt, it was oddly relaxing now. Soothing, even.

The gentle rocking motion of his gut as he walked cradled you. You’d gotten used to the darkness, damp warmth, and even the slime. You gave a soft sigh as you were slowly eased into slumber. It was soft within your captor’s tummy, and the thrill of your little adventure had worn you out. And the gentle rubbing told you that Jack didn’t mind you taking a small nap at all, safely tucked away inside him.

#safe vore #nonfatal vore #unwilling prey #prey pov #pov vore #soft vore #idv vore #male pred #gentleman pred #fearplay #mouthplay #teasing pred #shrunken prey #g/t vore #vore writing #this is very self indulgent smh

[wishes-in-the--markmark]

It's Been a Long Time Coming // Fog Close

Mark tought these day were behind them. After the fog had not rolled in last year he thought maybe some curse was broken. He only thought about it for a moment last year and then not again until now when he was trying to outrun it. It wasn't particularly fast, but it was relentless. He was loosing his edge, chest aching and legs burning, but he fought. "No! NO!" Something bad always happened in the fog. He always lost himself to it. The fog starts to creep up as his speed slips away like the pressious oxygen from his lungs as he breaths harder and harder. "NO! FUCK!" Suddenly its upon his like its always been right there next to. Oh like old friends, how it feels like you never parted. The familure splendor of being beside youself, face to face with your own features. Remixed, tuned to a different fequency, but familure all the same.

"Where am I... are we? Is this orientation?" Of course it was Mark talking, but not the Mark you started this para with. It's the Mark you started with though. Fresh faced to Greek row.

"Do you suppose we could get a more obvious metaphor about running from yourself?" He fixes his suit and cracks his neck, you know him you love him. It's Dark.

"Not these fucking guys again." A deep huff comes another more youthful face of his. "I don't want to do this again, can't I just have a fun one?"

"Come on, we know better than to run from the inevitable." a cocky white suited motherfucker has the nerve to scoff out after showing up after his expiration. To be fair, he does seem to be a ghost or ethereal in some way. He meets eyes with the washed out pink hair variant who doesn't comment. He just watches with concern, pulling his coat in tighter like the cardigan would shield him from involvement.

"I... um... How are so many of us here and time is still this stable?" Oh god what's this guy even gonna do here? Shouldn't he be in space?

"There's enough of us that I think we can take out the two perverts. Let Rosanna off of baby sitting duty this time." Sounds like something a rooster looking red haired dork would say. Mark, our Mark, Mark prime, rolls his eyes.

"Ah you speak of Rosie possie babysitting but accuse others of perversion?" Gunslinging extraordinaire, serial killing son of a bitch. "I'll still let you take me out though. I Like the way you think!" Wilford.

Mark stood looking at each of them as the fog seemed to move on from them. It was still thick all over but it didn't feel like it was choking him out or picking him apart, breaking him down. He watches all these chunks of him as they chatter and bicker, feeling just the slightest bit thankful that he at least didn't disappear this time. He tries to stay calm but some how hearing his own voice so much had his fists clenched and his jaw tense. Just before he could yell for quiet it goes silent all on its own. When he looks around all of them are looking at him. No, past him.

Just behind him, tucked cautiously to his side, was a child. He wasn't great with ages, could be 6 could be 10, he was small either way. "That's new." Mark mutters and turns to face him, partly wanting to scoop down to his height but feeling a little uneased by the theme that was clicking into place. "Hey pal... um, are you..." He falls quiet as the child wordlessly slide his tiny hand into his own, then looks up into his eyes. "What are we doing here?" He asks and looks at all the other variants, then back to Mark. Our Mark... but they're all our Mark. Different pieces, different times, but it's all him laid out in the fog laden field. They've never been so quiet or calm before. Never so focused on one thing all together. "I... I don't know, kid.... but we'll figure it out."

It's been a long time coming.

#yyhalloween #yyfog #Its been a long time coming #closed #the mcu eras tour

[forgotten-chapters]

I covered every inch of the camper with post-it notes. I placed little pieces of paper with my handwriting on every wall, every surface. God, I must have spent at least two hours writing down every single memory of ours that I could possibly put onto paper. I knew there would never be enough post-it notes in the world to hold all of the words I would use to describe my love for you. I knew as I wrote our love story in cliff notes, that I would hate the ending.

Throughout our relationship, I wrote you letters, made you homemade cards with little love notes inside, and made scrapbooks of our trips and memories together. When we were doing long-distance, I remember driving to see you play in a small town six hours from home. It was around Valentine’s Day, so we decided to exchange gifts that weekend. With every gift I ever gave you, I always made something by hand as well, and this particular time was no exception. I took a deck of cards and wrote ’52 reasons why I love you, on every card; a little keepsake for you to hold close while we were apart. Writing down reasons why I adored you was as natural as breathing; I would have spent my life putting pen to paper about how much I loved you. Instead, I am overflowing with all of the words I never got to say to you. I am full of the emptiness you left me with.

I wonder if I will ever write another love letter or if it is just another one of the things that I have stopped altogether since you. I find myself on a tumultuous ride of experiencing hope one moment, but then being reminded of the broken promises and betrayal that have left me so wounded, and that hope gets taken away from me. I am in a continuous game of tug-o-war between my past and my future – I am right in the middle. I find it so difficult to actually be present because my mind always takes me back to the past. And when my mind does explore the future and what I desire most in life, it’s so close I can almost feel and touch and experience all of the joy and love – but I don’t know how to get there. I find myself in a constant state of limbo; my life feels like it has a big comma in it, or rather, a giant question mark. I know that I have to reconcile with my past in order to move forward, but it requires so much from me, and most days I don’t feel like I have the strength to go up against everything that haunts me. Most days I feel too weak to fight another second; I can’t see the proverbial torch guiding my way in the darkness. I find myself flirting with giving up; with saying, “You win. I will never be able to outrun your memory.”

But then I remind myself that you didn’t deserve me; you didn’t deserve the version of me back then that cherished you more than anyone ever will. You didn’t deserve the sacrifices I made for our relationship, for you. And you sure as hell don’t deserve me now. You don’t deserve to take up any more real estate in my mind, my body, the very soul that lives within me. And so I will live to fight another day, and another day after that. Until there comes a day where my nervous system doesn’t live in a constant state of fight-or-flight, until the day comes that I see a white F-150 and my chest doesn’t tighten and get crushed by the weight of my loss. I will shed every cell in my body that you ever touched, every inch of my skin and strand of blonde hair that you put your fingers on. I won’t dream about you anymore; I won’t see our babies in my dreams and see our ring fingers adorned with the wedding bands we picked for one another. One day my dreams of you won’t be so lucid; they will be enveloped in a thick fog and I will no longer wake up thinking that it’s real – that it’s still you and me. One day, I will see that you weren’t my real soulmate, because soulmates don’t abandon, betray, and cheat. Soulmates don’t inflict severe emotional pain on the one they claim to love; they want nothing more than to protect and love and cherish. Soulmates do not make promises they never intend to keep, and they don’t break hearts for the pure sport of it.

I may be damaged by everything you put me through, but I hold onto the notion that you couldn’t have possibly been my true soulmate because you did every single thing that my ride-or-die would never do. You broke me into a million pieces, but lucky me – the mess you left me with will become a fucking masterpiece, a total knockout that you’ve never kissed, touched, or tainted with your dirty hands and blackened heart.

[disgustingtoast]

secret [m. murdock]

A/N ahhh I forgot I had written this!!! Its just been sitting in my drafts!!!!

wc: 0.8k (idk why everything I write is short??)

summary: you were never supposed to know.

warnings: none

It was a mistake. You honestly hadn’t meant to do it. Even so, as you stare at your boyfriend where he stands on the opposite side of the bedroom it’s apparent he hasn’t quite grasped that yet. He’d probably broken some world record for the speed he’d accomplished as he shot across the room. His attitude is oddly irate- a drastic change from his previously lovey-dovey mood and you marvel at his duality. With his shoulders squared and face twisted downward into a scowl he looks ready for a fight.

Your legs slip silently out of the silk sheets and you slide forward until you’re perched on the edge of the bed. If you hadn’t been eyeing him so closely you would have missed the way Matt moves. It’s hardly noticeable- how his feet shift backwards just barely like he’s preparing to run- but you make note of it immediately. A smile itches at your lips. Matt Murdock? Afraid of you?

“Don’t come any closer.” His voice is sharp.

“C’mon Matty,” You rest your hand beside you on the bed as an invitation for him to sit down. “I didn’t mean to do that, I promise.”

His defensive stance falters for a split second as he registers that you’re telling the truth but his guard is back up almost instantly. “Did you know?”

There's a pause as you mull over the question. “I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He snaps.

So that definitely wasn’t the right answer. Holding back your laughter is nearly impossible now that he’d switched from mildly annoyed to positively peeved. You knew your boyfriend was dramatic but seriously? "Fine. Foggy told me. Now will you come sit down?”

He looks absolutely betrayed now. Although, you suppose, if your best friend spilled the beans to Matt about your biggest secret you’d feel stabbed in the back. As entertaining as this was you figure it's been going on too long. Despite Matt looking like a caged tiger backed up against the wall of your bedroom you stand from the bed and inch your way towards him.

“Matt, you're being ridiculous.” You take a couple steps.

He presses himself up harder against the wall like it would magically suck him in and away from the confrontation. The door to the room was on the adjacent wall barely more than ten feet away. He could easily outrun you and escape but he seemed too busy looking like a deer caught in headlights.

A few more steps. Your arms are held outward slightly in case he decides to bolt. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Matt cringes when he feels the shift in the air as you move closer. “Yes it is.”

You’re now standing in front of him with a few inches of space between you. Matt can feel the brush of your breath against his face and he flinches when he hears the rustle of your shirt. You watch his face contort in fear as your hand creeps closer to him.

He can’t seem to speak. He wants to. Wants to stop you. But no words seem to form on his tongue. Despite his less than conventional eyesight he knows your hand is nearing the very specific spot in his side. The metaphorical chink in his armor. After what seems like an eternity Matt finally seems to regain a steady stream of thought, mind clearing from the fog of fear that was suffocating him.

“Wait don’t-”

But it’s too late. The pads of your fingers are already digging into the side of his torso. He doesn’t even have to time to stop himself before he’s squirming against the wall, laughter bubbling from his lips.

Joy floods your chest as you watch Matt laugh so carefreely. It was rare that he wasn’t uptight and anxious. “God, I should have done this earlier.” Your free hand finds its way to his other side and begins the same treatment.

That nearly makes Matt double over. His laughter is loud and echoes out in his almost empty bedroom. You’re about to pull away to give him a break when his deft fingers clasp around your wrists and tug them away from his midriff. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. When you meet his eyes you feel your heart start to race. He looks absolutely breathtaking with his pink cheeks and the dark brown of his irises sparkling like jewels.

“You weren’t supposed to find out.” He’s trying to scold you but the smile curling at his lips betrays him.

“Being ticklish isn’t a crime Matthew. But does provide for some excellent blackmail.”

A groan rumbles in his chest and he rests his forehead against yours in defeat. His fingers tighten minutely around your wrists at the idea of you tickling him again. “I need to have a talk with Foggy.”

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #WAS THIS OKAY??? #IDK HOW I FEEL ABOUT ITTT #also lmk if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes #I only read over it once

[azuregiggles]

Home Again

3.7k words.

Summary: Karl is attempting to outrun the monsters that chase him and the voices that echo in his head. On his escape route he meets an unusual being who helps him realize that maybe things aren’t all what they seem.

WARNINGS: Angst, Tickling, Light bondge?, Derealization? But its fluffy in the end :)

Karl’s breathing was heavy as he crashed through the woods. Over bushes and under branches he didn’t dare look back. He knew his pursuers were close behind. Monsters who’s hoarse cries echoed through the trees behind him. That screaming, that heavy screaming. He couldn’t bear to hear it any longer. He had one thing on his mind. Escape.

Every shadow and shifting twig made his heart jump into his throat. DANGER. They were chasing him. They wanted to capture him and drag him back to the den he’d woken up in. Back to that prison of lies. They wanted to laugh and watch as he slowly lost his mind.

His mind raced as. Fast as his legs and heart. HIDE. He needed to lose them. RUN. RUN. RUN. He couldn’t bear the voices that screamed in his head. They weren’t his yet they told him what to do. They were the only thing that seemed to be constant in his life these days and so he listened. He followed the instructions to not stray from the path.

One voice told him where to go STAY ON THE PATH, it rang again. “This is the FOREST there is NO PATH” Karl screamed in reply. The second voice called his name the same way the monsters did. They knew his name and never stopped calling it, hunting him and haunting him simultaneously.

Their faces were unknown, their intentions unclear, their voices all torturous and painful. He continued to run as fast and as far as he could, slowly growing tired. The sun was setting. The voice in his head whispered, slowly growing in volume. Dark. Cold. Danger. Danger. DANGER! The voice yelled and Karl skidded to a stop, only inches from careening into a deep ravine. Lava boiled down below, soon to be one of the only sources of light. Waterfalls along the edges roared in Karl’s ear and amplified the echoes in his mind. LAND IN THE WATER. JUMP. SAFE. RUN. HIDE. He stepped forward.

“Don’t” a new voice, a more physical voice rang in his ear.

Karl spun in a circle but he couldn’t see anyone. ALONE. HIDE. JUMP. THE WATER. DANGER. He turned again to see the faint glow of torch light approaching slowly as his hunters ran towards him NO TIME. RUN. Karl looked into the gorge and his stomach turned.

“Come to me Time Traveler, Shapeshifter, Karl Jacobs.” The new voice spoke again. This time Karl noted that it was soft and comforting. When it spoke it was like two people with the same voice speaking in unison.

“Where?” Karl shivered in place. His inability to identify the voice’s location made him all the more cautious. ENEMY. DON’T TRUST. RUN. STAY ON THE PATH. “WHAT PATH!?” Karl screamed at his own mind.

“This way Karl. Follow the lights.”

Karl turned to the torchlight that grew closer “NO! I won’t go back to them! They’ll kill me!” LIGHT. TORCH. DEATH. HUNTERS. MONSTERS. DANGER. The voice in his mind reassured him.

“Not the torch Karl. The lights. Look to the east.” The soft voice almost whispered, the comforting tone slowly drawing Karl from his panic.

Karl turned east and watched with awe as dozens of little lights rose from the grass. Fireflies. They gathered in two lines creating a path out of their glow. A few swirled around Karl in a warm breeze. The trail led across the ravine and continued into the woods on the other side. “How do i cross-“

A stone bridge built itself, spanning from where Karl stood “Come now” the voice called like an old friend.

Karl found comfort in realizing that the voice had direction now, he could tell it came from the woods beyond where the fireflies lead. He stepped onto the bridge DANGER. RUN. ESCAPE. The voice in Karl’s head screamed louder than ever, it was almost deafening THE PATH. THE PATH. STAY ON THE-

“SILENCE” the comforting voice commanded and the presence within Karl head retreated. The echoing ceased.

Karl was suddenly aware of the sounds that had previously been drowned out. The crickets chirping, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the evening birds’ song. He could hear the cries of his hunters, their voices clearer, they almost sounded human.

“Come along then Karl. This way”

Karl took a sheepish step onto the bridge as if it’d collapse. With each step forward the stones behind him would vanish. He couldn’t go back. The gentle glow of the fireflies brought him peace of mind, the warmth of the breeze eased the tension in his every muscle. “Who are you?”

“A friend. A protector. Come see me. Let’s talk about the people chasing you.” The lights made a way through the wood.

“Can you stop them? Are you here to save me?” The soft glow left no trail behind Karl as he walked into the growing darkness. He sped up as the screams and shrieking of his hunters echoed through the air beyond.

“So full of questions. I can promise you safety. Come now. Quickly, we have little time before they come for you.”

Karl began to sprint after the firefly trail. He soon tripped into a clearing with an enormous tree. It stood at least 50 blocks high, its branches were widespread as if it was trying to reach across the forest. The strangest part, however, is that it was green. Not just the leaves which had an almost neon glow about them but the trunk and branches as well. It’s roots above the dirt we’re almost as tall as Karl. He wandered towards it slowly. Thousands of fireflies danced around it in the grass.

“Come to the tree Karl. It is where you’ll find me. I’m here to help you.” The soothing voice called to him.

“Where are you?” Karl asked again as he reached the center of the clearing. He put his hand gently on the bark. The tree shuddered and from its branches descended a tall creature with four arms. It was dressed in a long green cloak with the hood drawn up over its head and a porcelain mask with a wide open smile hid any sign of its face.

“Welcome to the center of the forest. This is a place not often seen by mortals. I have brought you here for a reason.” The creature drifted down much like a leaf before landing directly in front of Karl. It was when their feet hit the ground that Karl realized how tall the thing before him truly was twice his own height at least.

“What do you want from me?” Karl was too afraid to run.

“I want nothing from you that you are aware of. I am going to assist with that which has been troubling you. I am XD guardian of this world. You have been brought to my home.”

“You’re a guardian? Can you save me from the monsters that chased me here?”

“What monsters? Nothing hostile can reach this far into my woods.”

“They’re not like skeletons or creepers! They’re more like humans, b-but one has horns and a tail like a demon, th-the other has golden wings. They’re hybrids or something.”

The god chuckled and held out two of their hands, a light blue mist swirled between them. Slowly it became an image of Sapnap and Quackity. Both had tears streaming down their faces as they held up torches and screamed in search of their missing fiancé.

Karl nodded and backed away from the image “They know my name! They had me trapped in their house , I-I thought they were going to kill me so I ran. Th-They’ve been chasing me and they want to kill me. My inner voice told me so!” Karl was frantic and clung to the god’s robe.

XD’s interest peaked “Oh? An inner voice? Tell me about this voice.” The was an almost mischievous undertone to his previously monotone voice.

Karl nodded “Yes, it helps me understand what’s going on around me. It keeps me safe.” DONT “It makes sure I don’t stray from the path.” NO! DANGER! RUN! PLEASE! RUN!

“I thought so” the god sounded like a disappointed parent as they sighed “Karl allow me to clear the fog from your mind.” They held up the vision of Sap and Big Q “These two are searching for you not hunting you.”

“But the voice-“

“Was wrong” XD interrupted softly “They want to take you home. To make sure you’re safe. Look closely, don’t they seem familiar?”

LOOK AWAY. Karl looked closer and a warmth rose in his chest as he realized their expressions showed concern and fear rather than malice and hostility. “They’re… worried?”

“Yes”

“About me?”

“Correct. That voice you’re hearing is wrong. These two care for you greatly. They love you.”

LIES! the voice screamed with more force, taking his mind. “You’re lying” Karl backed away. RUN. Karl tried but was effortlessly lifted by the god.

XD held the struggling semi-human with no effort “Please don’t make this difficult Karl. I can assure you I only wish to help.”

“No! Let me go! HELP!” Karl shrieked and kicked the air. “Put me down you monster!”

XD gave an indignant huff “Monster? That’s rather rude.” They carefully began to knead Karl’s side. “All three of you need to calm down. Now will you listen Karl?”

“Yes! Okahahay! Plehehease juhuhst stahahap.”

The fingers stilled “Do you want your memories back Karl? I can get them for you.”

The time traveler froze. “You can do that?” He felt elated when the god nodded “How?”

“It’ll take some convincing that voice of yours but no worries, I’m very persuasive.” XD chuckled and laid Karl against the root of the tree, making sure the position was comfortable. One of their large hands pinned both of Karl’s hands above his head. “I need you to trust that I won’t hurt you okay?”

“O-Okay” Karl was giggling as his nerves ignited with how vulnerable he was. A vine slowly curled around his wrists allowing the god to have use of all four hands.

“Now let’s see if we can’t convince that voice of yours to come out, shall we?” XD wiggled a single dull claw into each of Karl’s sides.

“Aaah! Wahahait nohohoho” Karl whined and kicked helplessly. He could hear two sets of giggles apart from his own. The voices in his mind was, laughing?

“I knew you were in there. Now come on out and leave the mortal alone. Both of you!” XD’s second set of hands dug into Karl’s ribs.

All three shrieked and began to beg “STAHAHAP NAHAHA PLEHEHESE” GOHO AWAHAHAY. A white circle of light appeared over Karl’s belly button.

“So that’s where you’re hiding.” The smirk could be heard in XD’s voice. Two hands now clawed into the hollows of Karl’s armpits, the third massaged his hip and the last hand wiggled a single claw into Karl’s bellybutton.

To say the man screamed would be an understatement. Karl squealed so loud he was sure he’d wake the entire forest “NAHAT THERE PLEHEHEASE NAHAHAT MY BUHUTTON”

XD chuckled “Weak spot?” They chuckled again as the mortal frantically nodded and kicked.

OUT! LET ME OUT!

XD withdrew his hands. From the ring of light on Karl’s belly appeared two blobs, one black and one white. “There, no more misleading little voices.” They picked up the two blobs from the grass.

Karl, who had been thankful for the ability to breathe, was quickly driven back to hysterics as XD used one hand to claw his belly to keep him distracted.

“You both have some explaining to do” Quackity and Sap’s voices were drawing closer causing the god to sigh “We’ll talk later, give me his memories XC I know you have them.”

The white blob had an X where it’s eyes would be and a deep frown that resembled the letter C. It shook its head no.

The black blob looked a bit more angry with a V where xyr eyes would be and a downward bracket for a mouth. >[ head butted XC and made a series of angry chirps and squeaks.

XC gave in and burped out an orb of blue light. It squeaked in frustration.

“Very good. Now both of you stay quiet.” XD hid them in the sleeves of their cloak. They ceased tickling Karl and couldn’t help but grin beneath their mask at the sight before them. Karl’s cheeks bright red and his eyes teary. His hair was a fluffy mess and he giggled from the phantom tickles.

“Is ihihit ohohover?” Karl snorted. He found relief when XD nodded.

“Look what I managed to get.” XD held up the blue orb.

“Is that?”

“Your memories” the god confirmed.

“How do I get them back?” Karl looked at it in confusion as XD cradled him, removing the vines from his wrists.

“It’s like a pill. But wait until they find you. It’ll help with the rush.”

Karl would have asked for an explanation but as the god put him down, the moment his feet hit the floor the world spun and the clearing was gone. Karl was left with a glowing blue orb and a lot of questions. He slowly became aware of the voices that screamed not too far away and walked toward them.

“KARL! Where are you!?” Quackity sobbed as he screamed into the night.

Sapnap sat on a rock and tried to calm himself “Fuck! We lost him, he’s actually gone.”

“Don’t talk like that! I don’t care! We’re finding him and bringing him home!”

“He doesn’t even know what home is Quackity! He doesn’t know us!”

“I don’t care! We’ll find a way to make him remember , he HAS to! I said I was going to marry both of you assholes and I meant it!”

Sapnap’s tail and horns ignited and he punched the closest tree “He can't remember that we’re engaged! You can’t force him to marry us! Face it, even if we find him he’s GONE” he saw the betrayed look in Quackity’s eyes and punched the tree again, knocking it over “FUUCCCKKK” he fell to his knees “What do we do?”

Big Q hesitated “We keep searching. We’ll tell everyone what’s going on and have them keep an eye out for him. We’ll get him back. We just-” he paused hearing a branch snap. He spun with his torch to see Karl standing there shyly. “Karl! Oh my god!”

Karl held up the glowing blue orb.

“Karl what is that-“ Sapnap was cut off as his forgetful fiancé looked him in the eye and popped what appeared to be a glowing marble into his mouth. “I- Karl! Spit that out!”

Karl swallowed it. The blue glow spread to the rest of his body and Karl fell to his knees as his memories started flooding back. His childhood, his time travels, his fiancés. His mind became stuck on the two men who rushed to his side and were currently cradling him.

****Flashbacks****

Karl had finally worked up the nerve to ask Sapnap, his longtime crush, to hang out one on one. Sapnap, of course, caught on immediately and teased Karl into a flustered mess throughout the entire day. By the end of the date Sap had to ask Karl out because the time traveler had been too shy.

**

Karl and Sapnap had finally agreed today was the day, they were going to ask Quackity to be their boyfriend. It had been a long process to work out and ensure they were all comfortable and emotionally able to handle the situation. The day was sunny and warm, when Quackity agreed it felt all that much warmer.

***

The three men sat together on a picnic blanket basking in the warmth and the breeze of the day. They all laughed and smiled about the dumbest jokes. Karl and Sap joked about how Quackity finally seemed to be at ease whenever it was all three of them instead of just one on one.

"Sh-shut up assholes! This whole poly thing is new to me." Quackity giggled and argued.

Karl wrapped his arms around Q's waist and kissed his cheek, Sap repeated the motion from the other side causing the duck's face to go red.

"I hate you both" Quackity chuckled.

"We love you too," Karl and Sap said in unison.

****

It had been a lovely trip to Las Nevadas. A place built up by Quackity to show his boyfriends. They'd gambled, spent time in the pool, eaten amazing food, and even taken naps together. After a week of being spoiled came the cherry on top. Quackity dropped to one knee and pulled out a black box with two rings. He'd hardly had time to finish the question before he was smothered by hugs, kisses and a million yeses.

***** End Flashbacks *****

Karl teared up and came out of his daze. He was leaned against Sap who had his back against a tree fast asleep. Quackity was pacing back and forth in the torch light. “Ducky?”

Quackity froze and turned to Karl, eyes wide. “What did you say?”

Karl began to sob and held out his arms “D-Ducky, Quackity! I love you!”

Quackity beamed as tears began to swell. “You remember me?” He laughed his frustration away as Karl nodded, standing. He yanked Karl into his arms and tangled his fingers in the brunette’s hair. “Holy shit I’ve missed you.”

“Is Karl awake?” Sap’s voice was heavy with sleep. He grunted as he was tackled back to the ground by Karl. “What the hell. K-“ he was cut off by lips smashing into his own. A light blush dusted his cheeks.

Karl sobbed and cradled Sap’s face, looking him in the eyes “Hi Kitty. Sapnap. I’m so sorry I forgot about you.” Karl was promptly pulled into more kisses by both of his loves.

The three laid in the grass slowly calming down. Karl was blaming himself and the other two weren't having any of it.

"Karl, it's alright. It's not like you were in control of what happened." Sap reassured him. "We're just glad to have you back."

"You're not allowed to beat yourself up." Quackity added.

"What do you mean!?" Karl's chest heaved and his voice broke "I FORGOT both of you! I-I ran away thinking you were MONSTERS I don't deserve- AAAAHHH"

Sapnap smirked from where he was laid across Karl’s legs, chin on his waist and hands poised on his hips. "Did you forget about this~" he gave a low chuckle that made Karl shiver.

Karl turned bright red "N-No…"

Quackity purred in the oldest's ear "Karl~ are you still ticklish?" His fiancé squealed and craned his neck away.

"Stahahap guhuys, nohoho!"

Sap chuckled once more, pushing the hem of Karl’s hoodie up "Well, well, well~ what a delicious looking belly you have my darling Bunny~ Mind if I have a nibble?"

"Sahahahappy, Kihihitty dohoHOHONT AAHH!" Karl was cut off by his blaze fiance nibbling his lower belly, using his fangs to his advantage. "SAHAHAP NOHOHO" Karl twisted in Quackity’s hold and kicked what little he could with Sap on him.

Quackity giggled and, not wanting to be left out, vibrated his fingers into Karl's ribs. He indulged in the shrill shrieks that followed. The contrast between Q’s rough tickles and Sap’s slow paced nibbles was maddening.

Karl twisted back and forth trying to dislodge the attacking fingers. "DUHUHUCKY STAHAHAP" he relaxed between his lovers, too emotionally and physically exhausted to really fight back. Not that he wanted to. He vividly recalled how tickling was an important and constant part of their bonding. They used it to cheer each other up and pester one another. It was practically their love language.

Sap looked up at the others “You guys ready to go home? I don’t want mobs to sneak up on us.”

Karl was still under attack by Quackity who now nibbled on his ears. “Okahahay lehehet’s gohoho.” Q moved to nibble on Karl’s neck, his golden fangs grazing over the hypersensitive area. The time traveler tried to scrunch up his shoulders in defense but the duck hybrid had already locked himself in place. “QUAHAHAHACKITY NAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEASE!”

“Say my name again.” Q demanded before resuming nibbling.

“QUAHAHAHACKITY! DUHUHUCKYY”

“Once more”

“JEHEHERK!” Karl earned himself a raspberry “AH! QUAHAHAHACKITY!”

“Good” Q ceased his attack “Never forget it again. Promise?”

“I prohohomise. I’ll never forget my Ducky or my Kitty again” Karl grinned, hugging each of them as the trio stood. All three knew it was out of the time traveler’s control but for now that promise was something to ground them after months of feeling they were fading away.

Hand in hand the three wandered home with Karl falling asleep about halfway. Sapnap easily carried his love on his back. Quackity pushed open the front door and started to pick up the few things Karl had knocked over during his rush to escape. Sap carried the slumbering man to their bedroom and softly laid him down in the center spot.

“Do you think we’ll still have him in the morning?” Q asked, walking in.

“After everything that’s happened today we better.'' Sap chuckled.

“Any idea how his memory came back?”

“Not really. But that marble he ate…”

“But where’d he get the marble?” Q’s tone had dropped. “Did he always have it or did someone give it to him?”

“I don’t know. Can we not talk about this tonight?” Sap’s tail wrapped around his fiancé’s waist pulling him close. “It’s already been a lot to process. But I understand your concern. Just, please not tonight.” He yawned and kissed Quackity.

“Fine, we’ll figure it out later” Q sighed softly.

“Kitty” Karl muttered in his sleep “cuddle me Ducky.”

Both men smiled down at their sleeping love and climbed into bed on either side of him. Sap rested his head on Karl’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Quackity nuzzled into Karl’s neck. The three slept soundly through the night and when Karl still had his memories the next day they were elated. Home felt like home again.

#mcyt tickle #lee!karl #ler!sapnap #ler!quackity #ler!dreamxd #words of azure #azure fic #dsmp tickle #mcyt fic #dsmp fic #karl jacobs #sapnap #Quackity #dreamxd #karlnapity #karlnapity tickle

[bagsley]

my top ten favorite wincest fics of all time... completely unsurprising that over half of them are candle beck!

Last Day on Earth by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam has one day to live. You can imagine how Dean feels. (Probably my favorite wincest fic of all time. Dean’s frantic heart-stopping terror over Sam is just the most familiar version of him, you know?? It feels so true.)

Dean turns on his brother, fists Sam's collar and hugs him very hard. His face feels hot and slippery against Sam's neck, and Dean doesn't care, thinks clearly: fuck it. Fuck it, as Sam hugs him back just as fierce, fuck the highway and the night sky and the scripture being read in the background, the heavens and the earth and the light, the cattle and the creeping thing and anything else you can name. Every matchstick, every initialed square of sidewalk, every abandoned heart--fuck it all.

Ascalon by candle_beck

PODFIC

There are dragons in the world. (Breathlessly beautiful. Fantastic use of second person pov.)

You've always loved your brother and you've always been fucked up on one level or another, and somewhere along the line it got all screwed up in your head, all your history rewritten.

You love Dean because you're fucked up. You're fucked up because you love Dean. Being fucked up and loving Dean are the same thing.

Until at last, inevitably: the manner in which you love Dean is fucked up.

You should have seen that coming.

But he makes you so stupid.

American Myth by candle_beck

PODFIC

As long as you have a car, you are free, and other lies my country taught me. (Sam and Dean lose home, but only for about five hours.)

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?” Dean asks, a lace of impatience through his voice. “Apparently I bug you just by existing, so really, Sam, what do you want?”

That blows through Sam like a hurricane, blasting out the corpses and debris, the black curse shadowing his life, the twenty-odd years of vigilante violence and brotherhood, stripping him down to the elemental, and he looks at Dean feeling crystallized, thinking in astonishment, you.

Flying Weight by fleshflutter

Recently soulful Sam, vampire Dean. Sam feels in constant bitter competition with the ghost of his soulless self. (Whew.)

There's a moment he remembers very clearly, one of the last he does remember: He's in the graveyard at Stull, and his arm is drawn back, fist clenched with the force of mountains, and the sun catches his eye, and just for a heartbeat, Lucifer is blind, can't see a damned or blessed thing. That's when Sam sees Dean.

That's the moment Sam hangs his humanity on.

Welcome to Fog City by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam's one blind spot is big enough to drive a truck through.

It was also mortifying, paralyzing at times, but Dean wasn't even horrified so much as familiarly resigned. Already he'd grown up as a refugee with demons trying to kill his whole family, and now he was irrevocably attracted to his kid brother too. Clearly Dean Winchester's life was a spectacular cosmic joke, a series of rugs to be pulled out from under him, and luckily his sense of humor was dark enough that he could at least appreciate the absurdity of the whole thing. This was just one more ridiculous cross that God had given him to bear.

So Dean went on through the highway world. Radio stations delighted in informing him that the hits would keep right on coming, and Dean didn't know what to expect next. Leprosy, maybe. A plague of locusts. The violent loss of one of his hands.

Instead, Sam left, ran away to California one lovely day in the late summer. It was not the worst thing that could have happened, but it was certainly in the top five. The weight of that particular cross had nearly smashed Dean into the earth.

Second Map of the World by candle_beck

They're on a lucky streak, and then Sam does something ill-considered, and the plot thickens.

Dean drove out of Topeka as if trying to outrun the shock wave of a nuclear explosion. Ninety, a hundred, a hundred and ten miles an hour, blowing past strings of red taillights, huge rattling trucks like dinosaurs with loose bones. Dean had the tape turned up loud enough that the speakers fuzzed. His hands were locked on the wheel.

The Firefly that Loved Metallica by fleshflutter

Dean's soul in a bottle.

[Sam] faces down demons and drives a four-day old corpse across the country on a hope so thin it wouldn't stand up to a light rain.

Waiting Games by Nutkin

Sam's having sex visions.

Dean's dug into himself deeply, become this tricky maze of raised hackles and sensitive spots that he's starkly open about. So open about, in fact, that it's like they've been worn into calluses, like they aren't even vulnerabilities anymore. He can bark out at Sam that he's the most important thing in his life, and it doesn't sound like he's admitting something private - it's just the same way he'd say, Give Satan my best, before ending a spirit. He picks and chooses the things he's embarrassed by, the things he lets become issues, and the way he feels about Sam isn't one of them. It's not a bruise that can be pushed on - maybe it was, once, but in the time Sam was off going to keggers and building a fort of textbooks and love letters, Dean just cemented it into one of the things that drives him.

Be Awake by candle_beck

Dean has a concussion.

"I'm sorry," Sam said as he sat Dean down on the bed, stepped back. He had a hard flush on his face, a downcast shadow in his eyes. "Shouldn't have gotten mad, I, I shouldn't have left you out there."

Dean shook his head, smiling dazedly at him. Sam's edges were blurred and his hair looked funny, fuzzing out like a halo, but the lines of his face stayed sharp, Dean's last remaining constant. He couldn't remember what Sam was talking about, but he said:

"It's okay, Sammy,"

because it was, and Sam would see that, Sam was smart. Dean wanted to get that serious look off his brother's face, win a smile from him no matter how far south the night had gone, but the fog was building in his mind again, rolling down hills to obscure his cities, ground his airplanes, wreck his ships.

Dean held his wavering head steady, fixed his eyes on Sam's face with the last of his focus. He managed to say, "Exit light," and then pitched backwards on the bed.

Gone Again by candle_beck

Harrowing and suffocatingly, inevitably heartbreaking. They never stood a chance.

The dream is different this time.

This time they’re in a motel room and the walls are on fire. It’s Sam’s fault; every time he touches something it goes up in flames.

Dean can hear his hair crackling and he jerks his head, watching the sparks fly. Sam’s close enough that Dean can see the firework reflection in his eyes. He flattens his hand next to Dean’s head and an outline of fire flares around his fingers.

“You gotta stop,” Dean says, barely able to breathe. These motel rooms are as flimsy as cardboard; if one part burns the whole thing will go.

And Sam’s laughing and shaking his head, licking at Dean’s throat and it’s hotter than fire could ever hope to be.

“I was made for this,” Sam tells him. “So were you.”

Dean’s eyes are raw and torn and wet but it might be blood. His shirt is smoldering and growing holes like black-edged tumors that Sam follows with his fingers, smearing soot on the bare skin of Dean’s stomach. Stuff that won’t wash away, like the blisters Sam’s mouth is leaving on Dean, the mad incendiary glee in his eyes.

#wincest #fic rec #spn

[bichlordstories]

13: Sports Festival

Oooohhh boy! It’s about time!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

“What.”

Aizawa fell silent after the biggest fucking reveal since leaning All Might’s secret identity.

The said man rubbed the back of his head while looking down with a guilty look.

“...I’m the biological father of (L/n) (Y/n).”

The room was still silent until Aizawa stood up from the teacher’s lounge chair with a narrowed eyes.

“...do they know you are their father.” Aizawa demanded.

“Well... you see... no.” Toshinori admitted.

Aizawa’s tired eye twitched as his scowl grew more.

“So... you decided to tell me... before you told your own child???”

‘And Midoriya...’ All Might thought.

He could remember it like it was yesterday... because it was. Midoriya was shocked to say the least, even more so when he learned that you didn’t know.

“You’re (L/n)-san’s father... and you never told them...!?” Midoriya said that night.

“Are you kidding me, Yagi?”

All Might felt a shiver run up his spine as Aizawa glared daggers into him, more than he has ever before.

“You have a kid, yet you never told them of your identity???”

“It’s for their own protection.” All Might said.

Aizawa placed his hand on his forehead and pushed his tangled, long black hair back, processing everything he was told.

“I understand if you wanted to hide your relation with them from the world since villains would love to eat that shit up, but you never told them!?” Aizawa spat All Might’s logic back at him.

“You instead told me. Someone who isn’t family, nor related to this family drama of yours- oh my god.” Aizawa turned from the blonde, trying not to strangle him.

“Aizawa, listen-“ but before All Might could finish, Aizawa whipped back around with eyes redder than hell itself.

“There is no relationship between you two. Nothing. I have more chemistry with them than you, and I only met them in person for a few hours total.”

“I know...” Yagi said in a defeated tone.

“Hell. You have more of a relationship with Midoriya than you do with YOUR OWN CHILD.”

Yagi flinched at this. Aizawa was right, and there was no arguing against the scruffy man.

“You realize that by the time you tell them, they will hate you for the rest of their life.”

The tall man covered his face with his hands as he slouched over in his seat.

“Yes.”

Aizawa’s red eyes dimmed a bit before closing them.

“It isn’t my place to tell you how to go about this, nor is it my place to tell them. But they will need to know.” Aizawa walked towards the door.

“Don’t you dare wait until your death.” Aizawa said.

And with that, he left.

What else was he supposed to say? In that moment, his mind was fogged up by the information dumped on him.

Today was the sports festival, the day where you would finally prove to him, to All Might, that his predecessor was a mistake.

Entering the field, you were met with a cheering crowd.

“And here we have Class 1B from the hero course!”

“Damn 1A, getting all the spotlight!” Monoma said through gritted teeth.

It was no secret that class 1A was favored over everyone else. Hell, the loud man, Present Mic, didn’t even mention the other classes with the exception of your class (though your introduction was nothing in comparison to 1A).

You didn’t blame class 1A, more so the pro heroes.

“Tch. They could have at least hid their blatant favoritism.” You muttered, earning some nods and sounds of agreement.

“What is he saying? He’s talking too fast.” Pony asked.

“He says class 1B is filled with capable students.” You lied.

The girl’s face lit up and she bounced with each step.

“Really? Thats really nice!” She exclaimed.

“Ahem-softy...” Kosei smirked.

Your head snapped to him, letting out a loud crack. He no longer spoke and chose to stare forward with sweat forming on his face.

You all finally stood in front of the stadium where a woman stood. She was... wearing something, though you could barely call it clothes.

“Yo, check out the assets on her!” A student with grapes for hair said to his blonde companion with a lightening bolt.

Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance as the two chuckled before the woman whipped her whip thing.

“Representing the students- BAKUGOU KATSUKI FROM CLASS 1A!”

Everyone turned to the blonde, who had his hands buried in his pockets. As the teen walked forward, the woman opened her mouth as if to say something.

And she did.

“And- (L/N) (Y/N) FROM CLASS 1B!”

You did not sign up for this.

Shock was evident on your face but slowly faded away. The same could not be said for your class, however. You could feel the pride radiate off of Monoma as you walked past him to the stage.

Once standing in front of a second microphone that was magically there, you looked down at your classmates to see Kendo giving you a thumbs up, Tetsutetsu pumping his fist up with a wide smile, and pony silently clapping in excitement. Everyone else in your class looked on in approval, which made you feel funny on the inside.

“I pledge...” the blonde began, locking eyes with you for a second before a smile grew on his face.

“...that I’ll be number 1.”

Cue the uproar. Students left and right yelled at the guy. Everyone was pissed.

Everyone except you.

You weren’t angry. No. You were... you were laughing.

Every single class quieted down when hearing loud, boisterous laughs coming from you. Your head was thrown back while your shoulders bounced up and down.

It was as if you were... a second All Might.

You immediately stopped and turned to look at Bakugou with a dangerous grin.

“You better not disappoint us then, Bakugou-san.” You said into the microphone.

“I want a good fight.”

Bakugou smirked at you, determination and sadism flashing in his eye.

“I’ll give you one...” he sneered.

‘They’re twins!’ Class 1A and class 1B thought in unison.

“Alright you two! Save it for the battle field.” Midnight said with amusement in her voice.

Meanwhile...

“...damn...” was all Toshinori could say.

In some ways, you were like him.

Watching you laugh his laugh... the similarities between some of your characteristics and his were beyond uncanny, especially since you are... more aggressive?

“I want a good fight.” Your voice echoed across the field, sending chills up and down his spine (and no doubt others)

Yeah.

Definitely more aggressive.

A race.

You were being pitted against each other... in a race.

You weren’t afraid to admit your disappointment in the wheel of fortune. But now isn’t the time.

You watched the students in front of you block the tunnel and chose to parkour the fuck out of the tunnel.

You hopped wall to wall over the heads of the students, leaving large cracks in the tunnel. You exited the tunnel before a bicolored boy shot out, leaving the entrance covered in ice.

Shouts of surprise were directed towards you and... that kid with the scar. The sled along side you, glancing at your form before focusing back on the race. The ice was creeping up quickly from behind you, almost touching your heels.

It was clear that he would freeze you if you slowed down even just a little. But there was one thing he didn’t have... your speed and strength.

You began outrunning Todoroki with ease, blood trailing and flying from your eyes, ears, nose, and mouth and onto his shirt and ice.

“Targets found... lots!” A robotic voice said.

Without warning, you shot up and barreled through the robot that appeared out of nowhere, tearing its head off. You continued on, swiftly dodging metallic limbs and tearing through any you couldn’t dodge.

“HOLY COW! Class 1B’s (L/n) (Y/n) is taking the lead while showing no mercy!!! They’re leaving chunks of metal in the path of the others!” Mic’s voice could be heard echoing through the arena.

“And LOOK AT THAT! Todoroki Shoto from class 1A made the area completely frozen over, keeping the rest from passing! How brutal!”

You turned your head to see Shoto following not far behind. He stared toward you with intent and pushed himself harder.

You kept this pace, staying in first place as Bakugou caught up to Todoroki.

You even created more and more distance between the three of you, using the minefield to deter them from speeding up.

A blast of light flashed behind you along with the screams of Present Mic before a body shot  past you.

You stopped in your tracks, unable to understand and comprehend what just happened... until you saw a mop of green hair.

Like a bull to the color red- or in your case, green, you charged the boy with gritted teeth.

Were you going to run past him or were you going to beat him once you caught up... that is up to you, dear reader...

The teen drew closer to the finish line, which fueled your rage and encouraged you to run faster.

Unfortunately, it was all in vain, as the greenette passed the finish before you. You shot past him after and dug the heels of your shoes into the dirt to stop you, leaving a trail dug behind you.

You panted, spitting blood and wiping the extra crimson liquid from your mouth.

“Oooooohhhhh! So close! Midoriya came in at number 1, making (L/n) come in at 2nd!”

You snapped your head back at a tired looking Midoriya, who went from tired to alert in a matter of seconds.

You were burning holes into the poor kid with your blood shot eyes. The said teen stood frozen, even as Todoroki and Bakugou passed him.

Not even Bakugou’s murderous aura could take Midoriya’s attention away from you.

Despite the crowd cheering loudly, it felt silent to Midoriya.

Up in the stands with the other heroes, All Might was watching all of this unfold.

If your dislike for Midoriya was not clear before, it was definitely clear now.

Even as the other students caught up to you and filled the field, you continued glaring at the greenette.

~~~~~~~

Shit’s gonna get gooooooood...

Just you wait.

#bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #blood sport

[courtlyharlequin]

🌙 AAHH!! This event is so adorable! Congratulations on the milestone! Can you please make my request have a spooky vibe? "Floyd ran up to me enthusiastically and pulled me into an embrace. I stiffened out of instinct and fear, feeling a desire to escape his grasp and run away." I admit, I'm a bit scared of Floyd.

Leviathan

Warning(s): Nudity (nothing spicy but just in case that’s not up someone’s alley), poor attempt at spoopy content, open-ended ending, implied death

A/N: Thank you so much anon! I changed “ran” to “swam” though so I hope that’s alright with you. I enjoyed writing this so thank you for requesting~ I got carried away though… oops.

A/N²: This would make sense if you read the prologue to this event.

With every step you took, you huffed and puffed your chest in a futile attempt to outrun the ambiguous figure cloaked by the forest’s mist. You were certain that you had collided with something, but when you regained your composure, not a single soul was present. Just you. You had heard a voice ask you, “Are you lost, little lamb?” with an eerie voice. You couldn’t be mistaken. Those words were audible and the speaker was nearby. You were sure of it and yet, here you are– shrouded in a thick fog, all alone.

Being all alone is not a problem as it is an inconvenience, but being all alone in a forest filled with god knows what- and at night no less- was a sticky wicket to put it lightly. Yes, your arrogance was partly to blame, but there was no time to dwell on such trivial matters regarding your concerns about a white rabbit. No, no! You had to find a safe haven, a sanctuary of some sorts, somewhere to take shelter and rest your sore limbs. Judging from your drowsiness and the position of the moon, it was an absurd hour– late, late, late into the night. You were famished. Parched too. You wanted to collapse onto the dirt path at this very moment, but the thought of being eaten alive by wild beasts revolted you enough to go onward.

After an eternity of you aimlessly wandered around the intricate arrangement of tree trunks and foliage, you came across a clearing. The mist was heavier and the smell of petrichor was dominant. Water! There must be water here. You followed the path, leading you to a body of water, a loch as people around this area would call it. You sighed in relief.

As you walked up to the shores, you stared into your reflection. A sight for sore eyes, you were. Worse for wear, but relieving nonetheless. The image of yourself offered solace. Crouching down on the banks of the loch, you cupped the murky waters into your petite palms and gulped down every last drop, leaving you breathless when you finished. The sensation of your thirst being quenched by the cool liquid was refreshing, but insatiable. You reached for the loch once more, but stopped midway.

Crunch.

“Who’s there?” you yell over your shoulder.

Silence. Then a growl. Your muscles tensed. You pulled your hood closer to your face. You stood up to peer into the woods. Glowering amber eyes met yours. A growl matched those distinct features. Biscuits. Just when you’ve found some peace and quiet. There was nothing to fend against them. You steadily bent down to grab your basket. The only plan you had in mind was to make a run for it. No destination in mind. Simply the desire to see the sunrise and nothing more. Feeling the stiff fibers of the handle, your grip tighten onto the handle. You closed your eyes. You inhaled, digging your heels into the soil, preparing to spring up from your squatted position and run as fast as your legs could carry you.

But to your surprise, danger emerged from the waters as something terribly slimy wrapped itself around your left leg. You yelped, turning around to meet a cryptid, a serpent with humanoid features. His eyes were mix-matched, holding a hazed yet crazed expression. His (to lightly put it) abnormal features striked sheer terror in your bones. With wild beasts racing towards you and a snake-like monster attached onto your leg, the only option was to the sides. Your efforts were futile, however; there was a death grip locking you into your place, pulling you back. Resistance prevented you from falling into the water, but you fell flat on your face. You hissed on impact. Grabbing the rock and soils that lined the loch banks, scrambling like a feline in water, you tried to break free.

Your voice cracked, “Help. Someone help me!”

Deep down you knew no one would come for you. You were alone before. You will die alone as you are now. You let go of the shore, letting the serpent drag you into the lake. A cold rush washed over your languid figure as you sank. What a fine night. The moon was lovely, shining brightly over the loch. The serpent’s body was still coiled around your shin. It was thick and slimy, sending shivers down your spin every time you kicked your legs around. To your surprise, the coil loosened. Although, you didn’t have time to swim away– let alone catch your breath.

The cryptid was a fast swimmer. It was right before your eyes now. Everything was so clear. From its facial features- sharp jawline and strong cheekbones, you assumed the creature was male. That, or his upper body being well defined [humanoid] muscles being a dead give away. Aside from his abdominals, he had hair. It was a darker color than his complexion with a black fringe to the left of his face. He also had the fins, claws, pointed ears, and all– like any loch monster. He had a tail too. Ah yes, the tail. A very long tail that resembled that of a sea snake though the color of it said otherwise. What kind of sea snake was turquoise? Of course, that was not your main concern.

It was the look in his eyes.

He, indeed, had mix-matched eyes. One was a faint yellow, illuminating the dark waters. The other was a stormy gray. They bore into your soul as if they were searching through every inch of it for your deepest, darkest secrets. He reached for you.

In response you swam backwards, distancing yourself from him which only resulted in him swimming towards you and firmly grabbing your small figure by the shoulders. His deranged expression kept you in place.With the last of your breath fading away and your limbs giving into fear and fatigue, you closed your eyes and prepared yourself for the worst.

Instead, something warm graced your lips. This sensation stirred butterflies in your stomach. You gasped, finally able to catch your breath yet they immediately returned to the heat source. It was addictive, more refreshing than a breath of air. It was– Hold on a minute…!

Your ears fluttered open to the sight of the loch monster kissing you. His eyes were closed too. His nose was scrunched due to the awkward angle he claimed your lips at. The intimate act was rough, forced even, but he cupped your cheeks tenderly while also keeping you afloat. Your eyes widened, wriggling out of his grasp, kicking yourself away from him. He followed you once more.

Raising a hand, you slapped him. He hissed.

“You monster!”

“Sure are feisty for someone who was just drowning a minute ago,” he mumbled, rubbing his cheek, “Not even a thank you.”

“You– I can breathe? Underwater. Holy hell, I can breathe underwater!”

He circled around you, now by your shoulder. His tail was loosely coiled around your person due to the circular motion he swam him. You were worried he might devour you, but paid no mind to it.

“I should’ve just left you to the wolves.”

“What a rude loch monster you are.”

“Eel.”

“What a rude eel you are.”

“I have a name yanno.”

“Right then, Mr.Eel, what do you call yourself?”

“Floyd, Floyd Leech,” he said.

“Charmed. I’m (y/n)(l/n), Please to make your acquaintance. Thank you for saving my life.”

You did your best to bow, but the water had a will of its own, lurching you forward. To counter, you failed your legs around to swim backwards. Floyd’s tail tightened around your thighs to pull you back.

“Imma call you Shrimpy. You swim backwards just like a shrimp.”

“Then I shall call you a lake monster.”

“Do you want to die?”

His sudden inquiry stopped you mid kick. His tail squeezed your legs together, slowly making its way to your stomach. You coughed at the pressure, trying to pry his appendage away from you.

“N-No,” you said meekly.

“Didn’t think so, Shrimpy~” he beamed.

While it was a long shot since he was a water-dweller, you figured you might as well ask: “Say, Floyd, would you happen to know how to get out of this forest?”

He burst into a fit of laughter. You nervously laughed as well.

“Shrimpy, we’re out of the forest.”

“No, I meant–”

The eel intertwined his webbed fingers with yours. You flinched at the slimy texture of his hand. Floyd grinned at you before swimming towards the surface, pulling you up along with him. No effort was needed on your part as he was dragging you towards land. All you had to do was swing your legs here and there.

 Occasionally, he would look back to see if you were still conscious. You smiled back at him and he’d return the gesture. Before you knew it, you had risen to the surface. You gasped for air, clutching Floyd’s hand. He waded his way to the shore and let you climb onto the rocks while he propped his elbows to watch you attentively.

“Shrimpy, take a look,” Floyd said.

You scanned your surroundings. Was there something he wanted you to see? There were only tall trees and an eerie fog that hugged the banks of the lake. The moon was still high in the sky though a bit dimmer than it was before you fell into the body of water. You turned to your companion.

“We’re out of the forest,” he sighed.

“No we aren’t. We’re in the middle of the forest. The trees are still surrounding us. I want to go to Wonderland.”

“What did that rabbit put in your head…”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, Shrimpy.”

“So do you know the way out or not?”

“It’s a bit fuzzy, but I can be of some use,” he said, crawling onto the banks.

“Wait. Wait. You’re not supposed to be on land. You can just show me some pointers and I’ll be on my way,” you yelped, pushing him back into the waters.

“Fine. Fine. See that path that you came from? Go straight that way and when you hit the fork in the road, go left and then keep going straight until the next fork. Go left for all the forks.”

“That doesn’t sound so hard. I’ll be on my way now, Floyd. Thank you for helping me,” you cooed.

He grunted and huffed. You scooted forward and kissed his cheek. Grabbing your trampled basket off of the ground and adjusting your cloak, you sprinted off to the path the eel pointed to. It was so simple. How did you manage to get lost? Silly (y/n)!

The paths and forks were short too. It didn’t take long for you to see light at the end of the pathway. Excited, you picked up your pace. When you reached the end, your enthusiasm faltered,.. The loch?

No, no. You must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, but no matter. You can always start over from the path you came from. A water break wouldn’t be so bad either. You crouched down before the murky waters, cupped it gingerly.

A voice stopped you from taking another sip: “Back so soon, Shrimpy?”

You spun your heel: “Floyd?”

There he was. You savior from moments ago. In the flesh. On land. Human...and nude. Dropping your basket, you took off your cloak and wrapped it around him– all with a profuse blush creeping up your cheeks.

“What are you doing on land?”

“I came for you.”

You stared intently into his eyes. He shot you one of his signature smirks. You let out a small laugh as you tied the cloak’s ribbon around his neck.

“Let me water it down for you, Shrimpy: I came for this-!!”

He grabbed you by the face, pushing you towards the loch as he kissed you once more. Oh goodness...you felt dizzy. Light on your feet, you fell onto the ground. Floyd towered over you as you gasped for air, choking and sniffling on your own tears. Water soaked the ends of your hair. One hand reached for your neck and the other reached for the loch monster that quite literally took your breath away.  

Floyd leered at you before waving you goodbye as darkness engulfed your vision.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #event fic #lost in the woods event

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

You Have to Wake Up

Chapter 2 is done, woo! Read it on AO3 here. 

Read Chapter 1 first, probably.

Day 8: Rebirth

The world fades out the closer he gets to the edge of it, until he’s standing in a strange grey fog. He takes another step forward, and he’s suddenly back in his room in Neil’s house, back pushed up against he door, Neil’s hand fisted in his shirt. Neil is hissing something at him, but he can’t hear it over a familiar whisper. It isn’t inside his head anymore—he can tell that for sure. It’s…distant somehow, but it’s still there, cold and hollow. At the sound of it, he remembers that he had hoped to never hear it again. He doesn’t remember all the reasons why, but he remembers feeling trapped inside his own mind. He shudders despite himself. 

This is who you were, the voice whispers to him, fear and helplessness and humiliation. Billy sets his jaw at that. I made you better. He feels himself shove Neil away, his body seemingly acting on its own. Stronger. He shoves Neil again. I protected you when no one else would. Now he’s standing over Neil, fists clenched at his sides. He can feel the excitement thrumming in his veins, the desire to step forward and pay Neil back for everything. And he wants to, god, he wants to. But something feels wrong about it, about his eagerness. It doesn’t all feel like his. With an enormous burst of effort, he takes one step back. He’s shaking with it. 

“Fuck this,” Billy spits, and he doesn’t know if he’s talking to Neil or the voice or both. He turns to walk out of the room he hates in a house he hates. As he leaves, he hears a snarl that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He smiles a little to himself. 

He walks until the world fades to grey again, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

“I can do this,” he mutters to himself, and if that’s as bad as it gets, he absolutely can. He’s been pushing back against the person Neil wanted him to be for a long time. He can push back against the fucking voice too. He takes a step forward and immediately realizes that that isn’t as bad as it’s going to get. 

He’s in the driver’s seat of the Camaro, parked outside the middle school. Max’s wrist is in his hand and she’s looking at him, her expression pure disgust. Underneath that, though, there’s real fear. 

This is who you were, the voice says again, a little louder now. So much anger, and so little control. So ready to lash out. So brave in front of people who were weaker than you. The voice laughs, a little contemptuously. Every time it speaks, Billy gets more flashes of memory. An abandoned warehouse, covered in rats. Hiding from the sunlight he normally would have sought out. He shakes his head to clear it and drops Max’s wrist. She recoils against the passenger side door, as far from him as she can get. 

“I hate you,” she hisses, and he sees the tears in her eyes that she refuses to shed. She pushes her way out of the car and slams the door a little too hard behind her. He buries his face in his hands. 

She hates you. She fears you. Doesn’t it make you feel powerful? You can give in to it, the voice purrs at him. You don’t have to fight with yourself this way. 

“Fuck off,” Billy mutters, and gets out of the car. He sets off in a random direction. As he walks, he tries to replace that memory with other memories. Max doesn’t sit like that in his car anymore—she doesn’t. He pictures her like she was just a few days ago, relaxed, leaning back against the passenger seat while she tried to suppress a laugh. She had turned to scowl at him, but there wasn’t any real fury in it. 

“You’re such a fuckface,” she had said, with something suspiciously close to a smile. 

“It’s better now,” he mutters to himself, less certain than he’d like. The voice seems to take that as an invitation. 

For how long? it asks calmly. How long before you lash out again and it all crumbles? How long until she fears you again? Billy asks himself the same question all the time, so he doesn’t have a good answer for that. He walks faster. When the world fades out and he steps into a new one, he wishes he hadn’t hurried. 

He’s back in the house in California, the only place he’s ever thought of as home. He’s ten and he’s watching his mother pack. 

“It’s not forever, baby, I promise.” She pauses in what she’s doing to reach out and touch his face. “I just need a little time to figure things out,” she says, mostly to herself. Billy knows what happens next. He knows that he cries, and that he begs, and that she leaves anyway, and that she doesn’t come back. He also knows that he would have begged much harder if he had had any idea what his life was going to be like without her. He stares at her for a long moment, a little disgusted with himself that he still, even now, misses her. 

She knew, the voice whispers. She knew what you were, even back then. She ran from you. 

“She didn’t,” Billy whispers reflexively, but it cuts deeply; Billy remembers now that the voice lived in his head for only a few days, but that was plenty of time for it to dig through his memories and find the most painful moments. His deepest fears. He worries, for the first time, about what’s coming next. About how much worse it’s going to get. Still, he can’t be here anymore. He turns and stumbles blindly down the stairs and out the front door. He walks toward the ocean, hoping it might bring at least a fraction of the solace it used to. Instead, the voice follows him. The people who were supposed to love you the most couldn’t do it. Why do you think that is, Billy? 

The words themselves are bad enough, but they come with new memories. Memories of his hands, holding people down, subduing them so they could be taken. Memories of himself attacking Max’s friends. Attacking Max, bringing that fear back into her eyes. Bringing the monster a sacrifice. 

You helped me, the voice says. Have you asked yourself why I chose you? It’s because I truly saw you when no one else did. I knew what you were. 

“Stop,” Billy whispers, picking up his pace. It’s a mistake, probably, but he can’t be here anymore. It raises too many painful questions. He walks straight toward the water, half-hoping it will end here. It doesn’t.  

The grey fog appears between one step and the next, and then he’s straddling Steve and he can taste blood and he’s not stopping. 

“No,” he whispers to himself, recoiling. He scrambles backwards. He hears the nerds screaming behind him, but he can’t take his eyes off of Steve, moaning softly on the floor. He’s only half-conscious and his face looks worse than Billy remembers. 

This is who you were. They all feared you. Isn’t that better than being afraid all the time? Billy feels himself trembling at the rush of memories, at the way El had touched his face at the end, at what it felt like to die. He doesn’t know what it means, but he knows he has to get out of here. He scrambles to his feet and runs out the front door, though he knows it’s futile. After all, he can never outrun himself. The fog is barely a flicker this time, and then he stops abruptly. For a second, he forgets how to breathe. He’s standing in the parking lot at the pool. It’s long enough after closing that the summer sun is starting to set. Steve is leaning against the Camaro, smiling at him. Billy feels himself walk across the parking lot, shoulders tight, eyes burning. He tries to stop, tries to turn around, but it’s like his body has escaped his control again. 

This is who you were, the voice whispers. You destroy everything you touch, even this. Especially this. It was always just a matter of time. You were always going to end up here. You can never truly escape. Billy knows that the voice is right. That he took his anger and his frustration and his self-hatred and his fear, and he aimed them at Steve. The one person who deserved it the least. He closes his eyes and drops to his knees. He won’t watch this; living through it once was bad enough. He knows what he said, knows that he aimed too close to Steve’s heart, knows that he shoved Steve back a few steps after promising himself that he would never put his hands on him like that again. He knows that he crossed too many lines to ever come back from it. And then he made it worse. He flirted with Karen Wheeler, and then he made an actual plan to meet up with her. And then he crashed his car, and the voice arrived, and he died. 

He curls into himself, hands coming up to clutch at his head. He doesn’t care if El thought he could do this; he can’t. He’s willing to give in, if this will stop. He starts to say that, but his hand closes around something unexpected. He opens his hand to look at it. It’s a crushed daisy, from the flower crown El gave him in the meadow. He stares at it, and suddenly he’s somewhere else. 

Billy is on a blanket under a tree in a clearing. He’s stretched out on his back and Steve is sitting cross-legged next to him, his knee touching Billy’s hip. It’s a warm spring day, and Billy feels a little drowsy. He’s watching Steve, his hands busy with the small pile of flowers in his lap. Billy remembers this day vividly. He had been thinking, in that moment, of what it took to get here. The weeks of resolutely staying away from Steve, partly because of Max and partly because it hurt too much to see how Steve’s shoulders tensed up every time Billy got close to him. The way he took an extra set of notes in all of the classes they had together and slipped them into Steve’s locker every afternoon. His awkward, halting apology, delivered only after Steve had stopped tensing up at the mere sight of him. Weeks of brief, tentative conversations over shared cigarettes in the parking lot or outside the arcade. Late nights at the quarry, laughing and feeling less alone than he had in years. A first kiss on the hood of the Camaro, under the stars. 

“What are you doing?” he asks a little sleepily. Steve smiles over at him. 

“Daisy chain.” He holds it up to show Billy, who smiles back. “Haven’t you ever made one?” 

“Not for years,” Billy replies. He remembers his mother’s nimble hands, showing him how. The memory throws a chill over his happiness. He stares at Steve’s long fingers, expertly twining flowers together. 

“You should hate me,” he says abruptly, fully awake now. Steve glances over at him, seemingly unfazed by the turn the conversation has taken. 

“Maybe,” he says calmly. After a pause, he adds, “There are certainly people out there who should probably hate me.”

“I hurt you,” Billy says. Steve sets down his daisy chain and turns his full attention to Billy. 

“You did,” Steve agrees. “But you gave me space afterwards. And then you apologized. And more importantly, you demonstrated that you meant it.” 

“I could hurt you again,” Billy says. Steve nods. 

“You could,” he agrees. Billy doesn’t know what to say to that. Steve watches him for a long time, and then picks up the flowers. He reaches over and twines the daisy chain twice around Billy’s wrist. He ties it off so it will stay. “I think,” Steve says finally, his voice soft, “that it takes time to change.” His hand is still warm around Billy’s wrist, but he’s staring down at his lap. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking that there’s something wrong with me that makes people leave.” Billy starts to say something, but Steve shakes his head and continues. “And I’m trying to be better, but I’m going to fuck up. I’m going to react to things based on that fear.” He looks back over at Billy. “You’re probably also going to fuck up,” he says matter-of-factly. Billy just blinks at him, so Steve continues. “It doesn’t have to be evidence that you’re a terrible person. It can just mean that you fucked up. I think what matters more is what you choose to do after that.” Billy stares at him for a moment, surprised, though he probably shouldn’t be. Steve has always been insightful about people.  

“Where did that come from, Harrington?” he asks, trying to break the tension, his voice a little rough with emotion. Steve shrugs and looks back down, but he has a little smile on his face. 

“I hang out with a lot of really smart people,” he says. Billy sits up so he can take Steve’s face in his hands and press a kiss to the corner of his lips. 

“Pretty sure that was all you, baby.” Billy knows what happens next in this memory—he kisses Steve until they’re both gasping with it, and then he spreads him out on the blanket under the tree and—

—but he doesn’t have time for that right now. He would love nothing more than to stay here with memory Steve, but he has a lot of things he needs to say to actual Steve, which means he has to wake up. He quickly kisses Steve on the cheek and then stands up. 

“I love you so fucking much,” he says, just to practice saying it out loud because he hasn’t yet. “I really hope you still want to hear that when I get back.” Steve just smiles at him. Billy walks to the middle of the clearing and looks around. He knows the voice is here somewhere. 

“You’re right,” he says. “All of that is who I was. And it’s who I still could be. But it’s not who I am.” He wonders, then, if El’s wording had been intentional. Don’t forget who you are. Probably. She’s a smart fucking kid. He continues. “It’s not who I have to be. I get to choose. And I choose to be better.”

They won’t take you back, the voice says. And if they do, you’ll just destroy it again. They’ll never really trust you.

“Maybe not,” Billy shrugs, “but maybe they will. So I’m choosing to try. Now where the fuck are the exits in this place?” 

Billy sits up with a gasp. He looks around a little frantically. It smells like decay and the concrete floor of the warehouse is cold and rough underneath him. He rolls onto his hands and knees and vomits until there’s nothing left. He spits a few times and then just focuses on breathing. There are particles floating in the air, and everything is eerily still. Billy is still working on breathing when the wall next to him opens up and familiar hands drag him to his feet. He gets hauled through the wall and then he’s standing on the same concrete floor, but the air is much clearer and the wall is closing up behind him. There are lights and there’s noise and he ignores all of it to step closer to Steve and bury his face in his neck. He half expects Steve to recoil, but Steve’s arms come around him and pull him close. Steve just holds him for a long moment. 

“I’m still so fucking pissed at you,” Steve eventually whispers into his ear, and Billy tries to laugh, but it devolves into a coughing fit. Steve clings to him even more tightly. “You can’t pick a fight and run, and then get possessed and die before we even have a chance to talk about it, you absolute fucking asshole.” Billy feels a rush of pure relief. Because he clearly isn’t dead, and because Steve is angry but he’s here, and he’s holding onto Billy like he still cares. Like he hasn’t given up on him, even though maybe he should have. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry,” Billy whispers into Steve’s neck. “I love you so fucking much,” he adds because he needs to say it. Steve goes still, and Billy holds his breath. 

“You’re such a dick,” Steve whispers, but the hand that he brings up to the back of Billy’s head is exquisitely gentle, and his voice is shaking with emotion.

“I know,” Billy says, and then they’re both crying, and there are people all around them, and Billy feels two bodies collide with him from behind.

“I knew you could do it,” El says solemnly at the same time that Max says, “I knew you were too fucking stubborn to die.”

“Language,” Steve says automatically, and Max snorts, and then Billy is laughing and crying at the same time. He’s exhausted and he’s filthy and he only has the vaguest idea of what just happened and Steve is probably going to be pissed at him for a while, but he’s so, so happy. Because his shitty choices will always be a part of his story, but maybe they don’t have to define him. 

Maybe he gets to start again. 

#Harringrove April Challenge #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eleven #this got out of hand #it was supposed to be a lil less everything #but here we are #I think I love it?

[ahsoka-lives]

Apprentice Part Two InquisitorCalxReader Soulmate AU

A/N :This plot is a ton of fun to write and a real stress reliever. I hope you all enjoy very much and I always enjoy feedback, I’ve especially loved reading the tags!! gif by @witch​

Warnings: Swear word(s), angst?

Word Count:2k

The transport ship was frigid and humming with electricity. You sat in silence next to a couple of troopers while Kestis was in the cockpit co-piloting. Your hands were still trembling from the adrenaline and every subtle whisper made you flinch.

“We have to stop for fuel sometime, do you think they’ll let us get something to eat?” A trooper asked his partner beside you.

“Our only stop is the hangar, try to find an MRE in there.” His partner grunted without turning to face him.

There was only four of them, you could probably slip past them when the ship landed. You quickly shook that idea out of your head when you remembered that you probably couldn’t outrun Kestis. You had no idea why you were even trying to plot an escape, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, was it? There was no way for you to know what lies ahead of you with Kestis or with your newly discovered ability and it made you feel restless.

Kestis barely spoke to you before boarding the transport and that didn’t help. You wanted so badly to make him explain what his plans were or what their plans were. From your knowledge, the Empire isn’t exactly friendly to Force-sensitives.

The ship jerked forward as it landed in the massive Imperial hangar. Troopers were at attention surrounding the ship as they awaited the arrival of the Inquisitor on board. Kestis was standing in the doorway of the bay with his helmet secured onto his head. The troopers next to you sprung to their feet and raised their hands to salute him while you watched from your place on the bench.

No way you were saluting anyone.

He strode over to you and gestured for you to stand. His helmet may have shielded his eyes but you could feel his eyes burning into you. Not wanting to show any amount of intimidation, you stared back into the mask with a blank expression.

“Hold out your wrists.” He said plainly through his modulator. You hesitantly raised your wrists up together for only a moment before you saw what was in his hands.

“Why do I need those?” You jerked your hands away from the metal cuffs in his grasp.

“Security has to determine you as non-threatening before you’re permitted to walk around without them. Wrists. Out.” He opened to cuffs expectantly.

“Fine.” You grumbled and allowed him to handcuff your wrists in front of you. The troopers formed a line in front of the main door with space in the back for you and Kestis to stand. One hand gently grabbed your forearm and the other rested on the small of your back. His head lowered slightly to sit near your ear.

“For the record, I don’t think you're threatening to a fly.” He chuckled quietly before straightening out his posture to lead you down the ramp. You had yet to see his face but you were sure there was a smirk on it. 

You stood in awe at how many troopers were ahead of you. They lined up on either side of the ship, perfectly still as you passed. At the end of the line was a man who was dressed in all black. He was dressed in fine clothing that you’d rarely seen on Bracca. He must’ve been a man of power.

“General.” Kestis nodded to the man.

“Master Kestis, well done once again. Take the girl to interrogation, they’re expecting her.” He instructed without even offering you a glance. The grip on your forearm tightened as he led you away from the General and toward the elevators. “And Master Kestis?”

Kestis stopped abruptly and turned his head to meet the General’s eyes. “Yes, General?”

“Congratulations.”

-

The Inquisitor stood on the other side of the two way glass as you laid strapped in the cold metal chair. You were tugging on the restraints and huffing in frustration, your eyes scanned the room for any details that would clue you in on what was to come. He was looking forward to hearing the information they got out of you, there was so much to learn about his newly acquired apprentice. 

“State your name for the record.” The man started while glancing at you.

“Y/n.” You didn’t meet his eyes instead, you were staring straight ahead with that same blank expression.

“Y/n what? I need your full name.” 

“It’s just Y/n. I could give you the name of my adoptive mother but I doubt that would be of use to you.” Your expression faltered and a hint of something came over your face, the Inquisitor took note of this.

“And why is that?” He continued with an eyebrow raised.

“Because she’s dead.” You revealed, your eyes flickered to his quickly before returning straight ahead of you.

The man only nodded in response and typed on his datapad. 

“How long have you been aware of your Force-sensitivity?”

“6 hours maybe, give or take a few.” You sighed and let your head fall back onto the thin cushion. These questions continued on for another 30 minutes, each one more tedious than the last.

“What do you know of the Jedi?” This question left the interrogator with an urgency you didn’t quite understand. It left a thick fog of tension in the room and those behind the glass were feeling it too. 

“I- I only know the Empire outlawed them but I don’t even know what for. Why does any of that matter?” Your eyebrows furrowed and you leaned forward in the chair. 

“We have what we need.” He all but ignored your question before leaving you alone again. You let your body fall back into the chair, you wanted answers too. You screwed your eyes shut and took in a shaky breath, what the fuck were they planning? This is not how you wanted any of this to go. Meeting your soulmate was supposed to be the best moment of your life. It wasn’t supposed to involve government interrogation and helping your soulmate murder someone. Tears started to form at your waterline and you choked back a sob. 

The sound of the door opening again made your eyes fly open, you blink away the tears and look at the Inquisitor standing in front of you. 

“What’s the point of all of this?” You asked in a tired voice. 

He stood there motionless for far longer than you would have liked. You opened your mouth to ask him to say anything, to do anything but stopped short when his hands hesitantly lifted the armor from his head and finally revealed his face to you. 

He had a small smile on his pink lips. Red hair flopped back with a few loose strands falling over his pale face. There were a few scars that had completely healed on his face but he looked far too young to have as many as he did. ‘Good looking’ was an understatement and you took a mental note to thank the maker that he didn’t look like a monster under that helmet. 

“You did well, Y/n.” His now unfiltered voice praised. “You won’t need the cuffs on our way out.�� 

“You mind taking these ones off?” You asked and tugged lightly on the restraints.

He only nodded before kneeling down on one knee in front of you. He removed the ankle restraints first before making quick work of the ones on your wrists, it was obviously not his first time. Once freed, your wrist was quickly taken in his hand, his eyes taking in the words on your skin, his words. His thumb rubbed over it gently and the smirk on his lips persisted. Your chemical compatibility made this comforting but the reality of the situation put you on edge.

“Kestis?” You broke the silence first. 

“Cal, you call me Cal.” He cleared his throat and took a step back to give you room to stand. 

“Why did he ask those things, Cal?” You were almost afraid to ask and your fear was reflected in your eyes. Cal recognized that fear, he’d seen it a thousand times in other eyes.

“To find out who’s side you’re on, which I told them was unnecessary because of our relation.” He explained simply. “It was also to determine if you’re in need of conditioning.”

His blatant arrogance and confidence in your loyalty while impressive was not unfounded. Every minute spent next to your soulmate strengthened the bond between one another. Soon being separated would have negative effects on them in many ways and there was nothing either of them could do to prevent it.  Your upbringing didn’t allow such insight but Cal was more than aware of this, he was even looking forward to it. 

“Conditioning? For what?” Your voice was panicked and you took a step away from him.

“It’s common practice for when we get any new recruits but you’re not just a recruit. You’ll be my apprentice, y/n.” His words were sinking deep into your skin and your brain felt like it was taking in too much at once. “I’m going to teach you how to properly wield the Force. You showed real promise with the strength you exhibited on that boy. In fact, if you hadn’t scared yourself off I’m sure you could’ve brought him to the ground.”

“I could have saved him?” You murmured with disbelief washing over you. 

“Save him? Gods no, he was dead the second he decided to play savior.” He assured and secured the helmet in his hands.

“What did he do to get a death sentence?” You weren’t sure why you were pushing the subject but Cal seemed to find it funny. He chuckled lightly and ran his fingers through his hair, the helmet was put back onto the table. His eyes scanned your face with an unclear intent and his legs moved to close the distance between you. 

Your breath caught in your throat as he towered over you with a suspiciously gentle smile. His hands cupped either side of your face tenderly and your hands reflexively gripped his forearms, the contact brought a strange sense of relief to your tense body. 

“All of this will make sense soon, I’ll show you, I’ll teach you.” His thumb gently swiped over your cheekbone as you fought the desire to close your eyes and melt into his warmth. “But if you keep talking like that, I’ll put you through conditioning myself, sweetheart.”

-

“Transport is here to take us up to the ship, Sir” The trooper reported to Cal who nodded in response. His helmet had returned to his head as did his intimidating demeanor.

“Come on, the sooner we get up there, the sooner you can get some rest.” His distorted voice instructed and an arm extended to lead the way. You walked side by side, your poncho enveloped you making you feel shielded from the onlookers.

They probably wanted to know why someone in Cal’s position was hanging around some scapper from the yards of Bracca. You felt the distaste for their eyes on you growing the more bold their chatter got and Cal could feel it. Part of him wanted to tell you to cool off, some of these people were your superior officers now but, the other part of him knew that if he was right about you, they wouldn’t be your superiors for long. He knew that the Force gave you to him for a reason.

“That anger you feel, I felt it when I first came into the ranks, too.” He said in a hushed tone. “If you play your cards right, they’ll be bowing to you in no time.”

The hair on the back of your neck stood up at his words. You weren’t sure if it was excitement or fear of the idea. How could you know? After spending your entire life in one spot, you didn’t know what you wanted besides the obvious.

“I’m not sure I want them to bow, just have some respect for me.” You sigh and step onto the wide platform of the transport ship.

“You might not think that now, y/n...” His masked face was mere inches from yours as he spoke. “...once you get a taste for this life and the power that come with it, you’ll never have enough.”

You wanted to deny it and tell him that power wasn’t something you wanted. And this was partially true, power isn’t something you craved but a small part of you recognized that you couldn’t dismiss the notion entirely. Was he pushing you down a path you didn’t want for yourself? You’ve spent your life waiting for your prince charming to come and sweep you off your feet and take you away from Bracca. It was going to take a lot more for you to run away from him now. 

#inquisitor!cal #calquisitor #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #jfo #star wars #soulmate au

[fierypen37]

Victory is in Your Veins: Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 Day One Hundred and Sixty-Three: The Dragon Queen

 In the dimness, Daenerys could see in Rakharo’s face that her plan would not work. Her bloodrider mopped the sweat from his brow and accepted the waterskin Irri offered.

“They draw water from a stream, khaleesi. It will not work,” he said. Daenerys bit back a groan of frustration, thumping her head back down on her bedroll. Not a breath of wind tonight, instead the air hung thick and oppressive. Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades, beneath her breasts. Irri had found a buckthorn grove not far from their small campsite. If powdered and smuggled into their drinking water, the poison would dissolve their bowels. A feigned curse would be enough to warn away any further attacks on the local Lhazareen. It took some convincing for her bloodriders to consider the plan at all. It was considered a poor victory should they succeed.

Daenerys exhaled a sharp breath, peering up at the overcast night sky. Their Lhazareen guide found an enclosed cave in the jagged stone of the Painted Hills. She called them ‘mother-nests.’ By Daenerys’ reckoning, the Hills were similar to the Mother of Mountains for the Lamb Men. In the three days since arriving at the Painted Hills, she and her small council had tested first one plan, then another. Kovarro plucked the spitted pheasant roasting over their smoky campfire and poked it, testing the cook. Licking the grease from his fingers, he set it back in its place.

“There is no other way, then. I have to confront the riders directly,” she said. The fire was reflected in Rakharo’s black eyes, his face settling into a stern mien.

“I cannot allow it, as blood of your blood. Khal Lanno is a skilled rider. He or his men will cut you down.”

“You will not risk yourself for these--” Irri began, then broke off at Daenerys’ weary placating gesture. Gods, she was tired of quelling squabbles between them.

“It must be done. Scout the valley tomorrow. I go to summon my children,” Daenerys said, rising and wiggling through the narrow passage to the plains.

On the ridge overlooking the Painted Hills, the plains slept silent around her. The stillness was unnerving after a fortnight buffeted by unceasing wind. Daenerys looked up the clear open sky, dazzled by the stars. In her books, she learned the Westerosi names for the constellations, often drawn in different patterns than what she’d learned in Essos. She found the Moonmaid, and the Ice Dragon. Daenerys screwed her eyes tight shut, casting her senses out and up. Searching, waiting. There! A faint tug, a glimmer.

“Drogon,” she said aloud. The leathery flap of his wings, the strive of his muscles. A breeze teased her face. Opening her eyes, she found Drogon gliding down to land at her feet. Flying and hunting on the plains nourished him. While no larger, he looked more muscular, sturdier. Drogon made a low clicking sound, dragon love-words. Daenerys sat cross-legged and Drogon crawled onto her lap.

“Hello, my darling. I shall need you and your brothers’ help tomorrow,” she said. His claws fisted in her tunic, but as with their play, he never gripped too hard to break the skin. Daenerys stroked her hands down the smooth scales of his neck, his flanks, his wings. Drogon hummed rhythmically, almost a purr, arching his back into her touch. Daenerys met the amber-red of his eyes, and sought that inner stillness. The glimmer was there, pulsing like the heart of a flame. Drogon. Tense with focus, Daenerys sought to touch the wavering glimmer. Drogon, she thought. A beckoning, of thought of welcome. Her hand on his side felt the rise and fall of his breath, synced with hers. It was working! It was—The focus wavered, dissipated like fog. Daenerys slumped, trembling from the effort. Drogon shook himself, butting his head against her chin. She blew out a sigh.

“That’s progress. We’ll have to make do.”

 Day One Hundred and Sixty-Four

 Irri shook her awake after what felt like scant heartbeats of sleep. Long into the night, the group of them etched out a plan. Rakharo and Kovarro would sneak into the Dothraki camp below, drink and game with the riders. Find a way to untie the strings of horses. Irri and their Lhazareen guide would cause as much mischief as they could: cut tent supports, loose captive herds, stoke cookfires. Sow chaos so they may reap destruction.

“Do not endanger yourselves. Hear me? I will not have you harmed,” Daenerys said to each of them sternly. Irri embraced her with whispered promises. Kovarro tugged Daenerys’ braid playfully. Rakharo cupped her chin and held her gaze, all his characteristic good-nature mellowed into seriousness.

“I swore to protect you. I intend to do so from this day until the day you sit on that Iron Chair,” he said. Tears filled her eyes, touched by their loyalty, by the risk they took for her sake. She swallowed them. A khaleesi could not weep.

“You do me honor, blood of my blood,” she said, her voice firm and even.

Daenerys stood alone with the sun kissing her shoulders, buffeted by the winds of the plains as she watched them pick their way down the canyon. Nervous energy tingled in her hands, her belly. A glance overhead found the clear placid blue of the sky. No sign of Drogon, Rhaegal, or Viserion. They will come. I must trust them.

She shouldered her pack and set off. Her path was narrow and rocky. More than once, she skittered down the switchbacks on her bottom along with a small avalanche of reddish pebbles. Don’t look down, the shepherdess had warned.

“Wise advice,” Daenerys muttered to herself. Dizzying empty air waited for her if her careful concentration broke.

At last, she was on solid even ground. Daenerys craned her head, taking in the steep walls of red-brown stone with a window of blue sky above. She licked her lips, tasting dust and sweat. The heat of exertion was quickly cooling, and she shivered in the deep shade. Daenerys groped in her pack for her waterskin. She rationed a sip. It might take them all day to goad the riders. Daenerys peered through a crack in the stone. Her position was in a slot canyon at the north end of the valley, too small for a horse to ride through. Should the plan fail, it would be where she would hide until her bloodriders could smuggle her away. What remained unspoken was that if they failed, if they were unable to tame the khalasar, then on foot, they could not outrun them. And Dothraki were grassland hunters since the beginning of time. If they did not win, then only death waited for them.

She could see the camp in the distance. Daenerys sat at her post, leaning against her pack, torn between nervousness and boredom as the sun climbed in the sky. Thoughts buzzed around her head, as annoying as stinging midges. Gods. This was madness. How had she agreed to this? Disaster or success lay on a knife’s edge. If Khal Lanno’s men caught them, Rakharo and Kovarro’s deaths would be prolonged and gruesome. Worse still if Irri and their guide were caught. The shepherdess had been wise enough to leave her crook and shawl behind, but what would she do if they were caught? Without a guide, the Lhazareen plains would swallow her whole.

A fine vibration drew her from her worries. Horses! She crept from her hiding place and onto the dry yellow knee-high grasses of the valley floor. Daenerys shaded her eyes, squinting into the distance. In the camp, there was a confused scrum of movement. Men and horses running this way and that, her bloodriders’ work, with any hope. Dark plumes of smoke danced in the wind. Irri and the shepherdess had succeeded.

“Please win free safely,” she whispered.

Stir the khalasar up like upsetting an anthill, lather them up into a confused mess. In that, they had accomplished their goal. She waited, alone on the plain as the sun beat down. Sweat trickled down her back beneath the weight of her braid. Despite the heat, Daenerys felt cold as the horsemen seethed.

She knew the instant an outrider saw her. His ululating shriek cut through the air. Daenerys marshalled her courage, though nausea roiled in her belly. Another rider took up the call and with startling swiftness, the scrum became a charge. Dozens of mounted warriors galloping toward her. The ground shuddered beneath her feet at the thunder of hooves. Fear slicked her skin with cold sweat. Should she run? Should she dart away in case they sent an arrow after her? Instead, she shouted with all her strength: “Drogon! Rhaegal! Viserion!”  

She screwed her eyes shut, shutting out the terror, the approaching riders. Groping through the dark, she sought the faraway glow of Drogon. The thunder rumbled louder; the shrieks shred her ears. Drogon! Drogon! DROGON!

It wasn’t a glimmer but a blaze, like the bleeding star that streaked across the sky.

Daenerys opened her eyes.

“Dracarys!”

A stream of black fire scorched the earth between her and the approaching riders. Drogon shrieked. Rhaegal’s green fire and Viserion’s white soon joined his, engulfing two horsemen. The dried grasses caught and the fire spread, mellowing from dragonfire into a milder orange. Horses shied and bolted in terror, despite the lash of their rider’s whips. Daenerys watched as several horses fell in their haste to flee, crushing their riders beneath their weight. The shrill screams of broken horses filled her ears. One rider was able to goad his mount through the fire toward her, but Drogon descended, claws and fangs shredding his face to a bloody mess.

“Dracarys! Dracarys!”

Rhaegal and Viserion swooped and darted through the air, burning at her command.

Their battle cries had sharpened to cries of pain and yes, even fear as dragons danced above them. The colors of their fire twined together. Daenerys walked through the blaze unharmed, scanning the plain for her own riders.        

“Khaleesi!” Kovarro’s voice broke through the roar of the fire, and the din of the chaos. Thank the gods. He pulled his twitchy, blowing mount to a halt. Lather dripped from the rein-line on its thick neck, the lolling brown eye watched her fearfully.

“The others?” Daenerys asked, as Kovarro hauled her up behind him.

“Rakharo headed north with the other two. Come khaleesi! We ride!” The horse lunged forward, away from the fire.

“Māzigon, trēsi issa!” {Come, my sons!}

They galloped off, leaving Khal Lanno’s men to burn.    

 ~

 Day Two Hundred and Eight: The White Wolf

 By his reckoning, he and the Summer Islander were roughly the same age. Tall and slender with a soft crown of springy black hair and eyes as golden as a shadowcat’s. She wore a leather collar, so she was a slave as he was. Not a worshipper, judging by her huddled posture, and yet no stranger to harsh treatment, judging by her watchful eyes. Had Morrgys really thrown an innocent into his cell and expected him to rape her? You are a wolf. You did what a wolf would do. No, he was a man. A man of the North, a man of honor. Jon went to one knee in a liquid-smooth motion.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently.

“This one’s name is Missandei,” she whispered.

“Missandei. They call me Zokla timpa, but my name is—Jon. Jon Snow.” For a long, unsettling moment, Jon tried to think of who he had last spoken to in such a calm, polite way. Or had shared his name, other than to Morrgys. He couldn’t remember. Something inside him quaked at the thought. Had he forgotten gentleness and kindness? He would find it for this girl. She would know no violence from him. Her posture relaxed slightly, though still wary.

“Jon Snow? A westerner?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Your Valyrian is terrible. Like a drunkard with a burned tongue. This one can speak Common,” she said, switching languages mid-sentence. Even her accent is lovely. Jon chuckled low in his throat at her apt description of his Valyrian.

“I didn’t have a good teacher,” he answered in Common. It felt good to speak familiar words. Valyrian often sat heavy on his tongue, garbled and confusing. Jon poured hippocras in his sole cup and offered it to her. At her narrow look, Jon took a gulp. The sweet and spice slid down his throat thick as honey.

“Hippocras. A bit sweet for my taste, but a slave gets little choice,” he said. Missandei accepted the cup and drained it thirstily. Jon snagged the flagon to refill it. No food, really. Naught but a heel of bread and a paring of cheese, scarcely more than a rind. Jon offered it to his guest, in addition to the last of his roughspun blankets. Even in the heat of Volantis, the bowels of a slave’s quarters could be chilly before the sun rose.

“Thank you,” she said, tucking the blanket around her shoulders.

“You’re welcome.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Jon waved off her offer to share the remaining bread.

“What did you do for your master to punish you so?” Jon asked after a moment.  

“This one—I—ran from my master.” Jon’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Slaves were executed for as much. Morrgys, a native of Astapor, droned on and on about the infamous Walk of Punishment, where slaves were flogged and crucified as a warning against disobedience.

“Escape?” he asked, incredulous. Missandei gave him a narrow look.

“No. I . . . I thought I saw my brother in the crowd. I ran after him.”

“Oh. Did you find him?” Missandei dropped her gaze to the cup held between her hands.

“It—it wasn’t him,” she said. Jon nodded.

“I think the master sent you to me as a reward. For errm--” He broke off, raking his hand through his hair. Missandei saved him embarrassment.

“The pleasures of the flesh. Yes, this one knows.” Ghosts of old pain hid behind the words, Jon heard the echo of them. He risked laying a hand on her arm. She flinched, watching him with those wise golden eyes.

“I won’t harm you, I swear it. Though when the guard returns, we need to playact a bit.”

“I understand.” Awkward silence fell between them. Even in the best of circumstances, Jon had little skill with words. Robb was the one with the pretty manners, and Arya made friends with stableboys and lord’s daughters alike with ease.  

“It is said there are no slaves in Westeros,” Missandei said, chewing on the heel of bread. Not by that name, though the smallfolk are treated poorly.

“There are not. I was captured.” Missandei nodded in sympathy. Golden eyes watched him.

“This one has heard tell of you, Jon Snow. Whispers from other slaves. You defy your master.” The thought pleased him.

“I defy my master?”

“In Myr, you did not kill a boy in the arena, though it earned you punishment. Before that, in Pentos, you slew a villain who raped children.”

“How did—”

“Slaves are notorious gossips. What else is there to do?” Missandei said, with the barest hint of a smile. Jon returned the gesture.

“The Pentoshi was a brute and a coward, he deserved what he got. Earned me a week in The Pit,” he said. Missandei gave a discreet shudder. Masters apparently had similar punishments for house slaves. Jon slouched against the stone wall. An idea germinated in his mind. Perhaps his status as a defiant pit fighter could foment something. There were two slaves to every free man in Volantis. He’d heard Morbo muttering of a slave rebellion savagely silenced somewhere farther East.

“Could you . . . pass on my regards, and tell them to await my next fight?” Missandei’s mouth thinned into a frown. There was wariness in her posture, but he could see the gleam of a certain defiant hope in her eyes. Silence stretched on as she considered. He did not blame her for taking time to think. Masters would punish dissenters by the harshest means conceivable.

“This one will do so. Do you--”

The scrape of hobnailed sandals alerted him. He stood, quivering, like Ghost catching a scent. Getting closer. The guard was coming to collect Missandei.

“Follow my lead,” he hissed. Jon knelt and braced himself over her beneath the blanket. Missandei hissed, stiff and resisting.

“It’s farce, my friend. I swore I would not hurt you,” he whispered. Jon clamped a hand over her mouth, rocking against her in a pantomime of rape. He dribbled hippocras on her beneath the blanket. A sticky red stain on her thighs and grubby linen of dress. For her part, Missandei wasn’t still. She thrashed and clawed at him, snarling and hissing like a cat. She nearly kneed him in the stones. As the guard rounded the corner, Jon pinched her inner arm, hard. Missandei squealed.

“Enough, Zokla timpa!” the guard said, loosing the whip coiled around his chest while another unlocked the door. Jon growled and rolled off her. Missandei could have been a mummer in another life. The way she clutched the wet tails of her gown and screamed and sobbed would put any other player to shame. As one guard led her away, she caught his eye and winked. Jon leaned back against the cell wall, breathing deeply as if from exertion. A warm feeling bubbled in his chest. I think I made a friend.      

“Send my master my thanks,” Jon wheezed.

The next day, the Twins oversaw the slaves in day-to-day training. Manacled hand and foot, Jon lifted lead weights to strengthen his muscles. He gripped the iron weight and curled his arm up. The day was unmercifully hot, the air a choking, humid kiss. Sweat made his linen tunic cling to him. It itched and tickled as droplets meandered down his body. Irritably, he had tied his hair up away from his face.

“Slow. Controlled,” the trainer said, watching his form with gimlet eyes. In the training yard, the slave masters were cautious. It should be an easy place to provoke rebellion, but guards were thick and well-armed. Slaves only faced one another in the yard under the eye of their trainer.

Morrgys approached him, surrounded by the usual gaggle of bodyguards and serving slaves. One held a silken shade over the master’s head to shield him from the harsh Volantene sun. Morbo stood beside him, stiff and at attention. A cut beneath his left eye was a naught but a black scab now. His hair fell in a gleaming black fringe to his chin. Jon had learned Dothraki cut their braids when defeated in combat. Another loss then. The Dothraki was right be nervous. The slave masters did not tolerate failure. Morrgys had that gleam in his eye, of avarice, of cruelty. Jon knew before he spoke that he would be in arena again soon.

“Zokla timpa, you look fit.” Jon blew out a breath as he finished the set, easing the heavy weight down. His fingers ached, the burn slowly receding from his muscles.

“Yes, Master,” he said simply. If there was one thing he’d learned about Morrgys, it was that he loved the sound of his own voice.

“That slave girl was inconsolable, Kraznys mo Nakloz says.” Jon said nothing.

“Good boy. It was reward and punishment both.” The thought of Missandei suffering woke the red rage that slumbered inside him. Fucking worm.

“Master,” Jon said in Common so as not to stumble over Valyrian, “the girl is wasted as a body slave. She is intelligent. She could better serve her master as a translator, she speaks many.” Morrgys let out a bark of harsh laughter.

“How do you know this, Wolf?”

“She cursed me in several different tongues,” Jon said. The lie would bolster their fiction, and perhaps make Missandei’s life a modicum easier. Morrgys chuckled again, but he could see the idea turning in mind.  

“Good. Good. You will fight in the arena tomorrow. A special match ordered by the triarchs.”

“Tycho,” Jon said with a nod.

“Tycho, and more. An elimination games.”

Jon’s stomach fell to his toes. Much like a tournament, elimination games saw groups whittled down to a single winner. The only difference was, there was no rest in between. To win, he had to kill all the others before he succumbed to exhaustion. It would be his hardest test yet.

#fp37fic #jonerys fanfiction #victory is in your veins #Gladiator!Jon #Queen!Daenerys

[tentavamp]

Here’s a drabble (at least by my definition, it’s way too big otherwise) requested on Twitter for some Pirate Lesbians Jolymes. Not beta read, just meant to be a fun, quick warmup. Apologies if there are any mistakes I missed. This really ended up being an excerpt from one of those cheesy dumb romance novels on accident.

“So, the Platinum’s captain is your father? How sweet.” The ship’s current prisoner leans casually against the bars of her holding cell, hands locked firm to keep herself in place against the rocking of the vessel.

“What would you think if I asked him for your hand as compensation once my own crew comes back to get me? That counts as a lass for a lass, I think.”

“Quiet, you damned church bell! You’ve been at this for an hour now!”

Jolyne finally rises from her seat in frustration. There’s a rhythmic, aggressive clanking of boots as she stomps to stand the woman’s opposite, eyes locked in a scowl and her grip threatening to pull the knife from her hip. This pirate’s crew (she identified herself as Costello) made an attempt to board their ship during the night. It was clumsy, failed; they very easily plucked a prisoner from the chaos for their trouble. It seemed almost too easy, in fact. Jolyne, the captain’s daughter and general deckhand, had been ordered to keep watch and pry information when she could. As rightly guessed, the unfamiliar crew had heard of the Platinum’s success and wanted their own cut from the group’s last reward. The woman however, with dreads stained just a touch by sea salt and skin that glows gold in the rays that penetrate the ship walls, hasn’t personally left the girl alone since she took her position.

“And you aren’t pretty enough to be a siren! Quit while you still have some dignity, why don’t you!”

“But am I handsome enough to be your husband?” Costello replies, not a hint of expected sarcasm to her voice.

Jolyne’s lip twitches.

“I’m well-off for that already!” The girl stuffs her arms against her chest, turning away from the gaze that’s starting to heat up her face.

“I’m engaged to be wed to a man on the mainland! A rich, handsome man who could have me and our crew stable for life!”

“Does he know you’re a scoundrel and a cheat like me?”

Jolyne scoffs. “What the hell does that matter? He proposed and I said yes, didn’t I?! That means it’s going to be a marriage!”

Costello’s knuckles visibly tighten around the bars with the rising of a wave. She takes the opportunity to shift, straightening out to stand a few good inches above her jailer.

“Come here.” She requests low and soft, the accent falling off of her tongue in ways Jolyne has never heard before.

The captain’s daughter doesn’t comply. Instead, the prisoner gets a daggerish evil-eye shot in her direction from the corner of the girl’s vision.

“How many has it been? Many? Or is this your first?”

“That’s none of your business.” Jolyne can’t hide how tense she grows at the probing question.

“Preserving the sanctity of your political marriage, then?” The older woman’s lip curls.

“Perhaps I’m just ill-minded, but I don’t take you for one who looks at any man with eagerness.”

Jolyne finally turns to lock eyes with her charge, this glare filled more with melancholy than the last. She knows it’s malice, it has to be, but it’s wearing her down in a more intimate way than torture would.

“I’m not going to live selfishly as a spinster like you when I could aid my family...” She mumbles, wanting only to slough the weight from her shoulders with heroic semantics.

“So you’d rather them make you a tool for wealth than be free to love as you see fit?”

A lightly freckled hand rises from between the bars, cautious as to not draw alarm. It cradles half of the blonde streak falling over Jolyne’s face like one would a drooping flower, but the woman remains stoic in face of the attention. So stoic, in fact, that she leaves the pair lost in a moment’s silence with her refusal to respond.

“I can let you free, Miss Cujoh.”

The woman’s golden eyes grow wide when she feels a sudden, aggressive grip of hands around her leather vest collar. It yanks her against the bars, close enough for Jolyne to snort a hot bull’s-warning into her face.

“How dare you try to seduce me like this, you witch!”

“Oh my-“ Costello tries her best to suppress a cough, the feeling brought on by metal hitting her square in the sternum.

“You seem quite thirsty for something, Miss Cujoh.”

Both parties remain steadfast in their own ways, Costello with confidence and Jolyne with her burning red desire not to make a fool of herself. Being quite attracted to the thrill of danger, this woman is pushing the girl’s buttons just so. She teases her in a way that feels like a dare, yet seems skillful enough to hide its origin. Is it really the prisoner’s tongue working magic, or is Jolyne’s own stubbornness holding her to a flame? From the green tattoo on Costello’s forehead, Jolyne finds her focus trailing downward: down the woman’s sculpted nose, her years-worn lips, the scar that mars her chin and came a mere lick away from splitting the lower of the two.

“With nothing around but salt water and brandy, I suppose you’ll just have to drink of me instead...”

Jolyne hesitates, but takes her attitude all the way to the grave as she finally indulges the temptation. They kiss between the bars, the captain’s daughter panting her frustration with herself into the fellow pirate’s mouth. She can feel the other smirk against her and the subtle display of victory prods into her sensitivity.

“I only-“ Pause.

“Am doing this-“ Another pause.

“To shut your mouth!” Jolyne feels inclined to specify amongst her own efforts.

“Mmh. I’ll be quiet if it means having you this close, hermosa.”

Serving as a distraction to the noise she hears above-deck, Costello draws the girl closer with a tug. A skilled hand snakes down to Jolyne’s hip, the other around her back to brush under her messily-tied braid and hold her there. They don’t break away from their moment until there’s a loud thud directly above them, startling Jolyne into a daze.

“What in God’s name-?!” She pries herself from Costello’s arms, leaving the woman still reeling with an exhilarating rabbit-heart from the interaction.

“C-Consider my offer, would you mi sirenita?” She shouts as Jolyne rushes to check on the commotion.

“You won’t regret it!”

As Jolyne scrambles to the top deck, she’s very quickly directed by the rest of the crew to the sight of a ship growing in the distance. It barrels forward fast despite the Platinum’s late attempts to outrun it, having used a sudden layer of fog to sneak up on them. It’s no doubt going to be another attempt to overtake them.

“It’s the Green Dolphin again! She’s approachin’ off the stern! Got some death wish comin’ at us again so soon!” A deckhand exclaims.

Jolyne goes ignored by her father as he barks his commands to the rest of the Platinum’s occupants. Even still, a gear seems to set in place in her head as she puts two and two together on her own. There’s a furious hiss that’s forced through her teeth as she throws herself back down into the holding cells, only to find her charge’s cell door open, the keys gone from her belt, and the prisoner gone without a trace.

“COSTELLO, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jolyne cujoh #jolyne kujo #hermes costello #ermes costello #jolymes #stone ocean #part 6 #pirate AU #drabble #bone rattling

[chloefrazer]

with bloody knuckles (i’d follow you anywhere) [1/3]

title: with bloody knuckles (i’d follow you anywhere) relationships: nines rodriguez/the fledgling words: 4.9k  warnings: mentions of violence chapter: one of three summary: Mickey thought she lost everything as Griffith Park burned. As Kindred forces battled to control Los Angeles, she realized she finally had something to fight for.

            Griffith Park was burning. 

         Mickey had smelled the smoke, but thought nothing of it. A trap, Nines had said, and she scoffed. They could outrun a fire, Mickey thought; just head back down to the gondola before the flames caught up to them. Nines tried to tell her, tried to explain the exact amount of danger they were in. 

         She didn’t believe him. Now, she desperately wished she had. 

         One second, he was there, his hands on her shoulders, his icy gaze pleading, trying to get her to listen. The next, he was violently torn away, his hands ripped away by the jaws of the werewolf. Before Mickey could blink, think, do anything, he was gone. Tossed over the cliffside like he was nothing, the werewolf close behind. 

         Mickey was running. 

         She was running faster than she ever thought was possible. She could hear the thing, the werewolf, the monster, snapping at her heels. Her shoulder collided with the observatory’s door, splinters of wood snapping free from the impact. Razor-sharp claws dug into the floor, the beast trying to pull its massive body through. Mickey didn’t look back to see if it was following her. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but survive. Her Beast was screaming, howling; she could feel its fangs clawing at her chest. 

         A scream erupted from her throat as the wall next to her exploded in a cascade of plaster. She skidded to a stop, her knees sliding against the linoleum as she tried to duck out of the way. The werewolf shoved its maw through the hole, its jaw snapping, its fangs catching bits of plaster and wood. Mickey’s own claws extended from her hands, her Beast calling on the Blood to defend herself. She struck the werewolf’s snout and it howled, the noise causing a shiver of primal fear to race down her spine. 

         The gondola wouldn’t arrive for another minute. 

         Scrambling away, Mickey launched to her feet, careening down the hall. Her eyes found the exit and she raced toward it. When she was outside again, the smoke burned her lungs, but she ignored it. Between the fire and the werewolf, the Beast howled in her mind again. Mickey gritted her teeth and ran toward an adjacent building; it was small and she knew it wouldn’t do anything to protect her from the werewolf that was hot on her trail, but it was better than being out in the open. 

         As she shoved her way inside, she locked the door, and braced her back against it. She survived Sabbat packs, cops, Russian mobsters, vampire hunters, and fucking gargoyle, there was no way she was dying here.

         She needed to think. She needed a plan. She needed – 

         Wait. As Mickey’s eyes looked over the room, she noticed a power box. She assumed it powered up the whole observatory, but she wouldn’t know until she turned it on. A plan began to form in Mickey’s mind. It was stupid, it was reckless, but it was something. Once she turned the power on, she was going to have to run, faster than before, and hope to God the werewolf would follow. 

         Taking a breath she didn’t need, Mickey turned the switch on and ran like Hell. 

         The observatory lit up, just like she thought it would. As soon as she exited the smaller building, Mickey ran back through the door she came. She turned the corner, finding herself in the observatory’s lobby. She didn’t allow herself time to wait as she bounded up the steps toward the main platform. 

         The Blood sang in her ears as she propelled herself forward, her hand fumbling with the switch to open the large observatory doors. If her heart could still beat, it’d be pounding wildly in her chest. The noise of the doors opening must’ve caught the attention of the werewolf, just like Mickey hoped it would, because she heard a howl, followed by its charging footsteps. 

         With a guttural snarl, the werewolf launched itself upward. Mickey could see the hunger and bloodlust in its eyes as it pounced, claws extended, jaw snapping. 

         Got you, you motherfucker. 

         As the werewolf flew through the air, Mickey flipped the switch, and the observatory doors began to close. 

         By the time the werewolf landed, its body was caught between the heavy doors. Its ribs snapped under the impact; its body crushed as the doors closed shut. With a low whine and a shuddering breath, it slumped to the floor. 

         With the werewolf threat taken care of, Mickey felt her body slump to the floor. Her chest heaved with unnecessary breath, her stomach trying to empty its nonexistent contents. With her mind no longer focused purely on survival, the weight of what just happened settled in on her shoulders. 

         Nines was gone. 

         A feral scream erupted from Mickey’s throat, her vocal cords nearly tearing in protest. Her fists pounded against the floor, but even the pain exploding from her knuckles wasn’t enough to anchor her back to the present. Her grief was an ugly thing; it was bloody, it was primal, it was a volatile mix of righteous fury and unadulterated sorrow. 

         She was going to kill LaCroix. She was going to tear his unbeating heart out of his chest and burn Venture Tower to the ground. 

         First, she was going to need to live to see the next sundown. 

         Mickey’s mind was clouded in a fog as she made her way back outside and toward the gondola. She didn’t register the blood-tears that stained her cheeks, didn’t register the ache in her knuckles or the sharp pain in her ribs. When the gondola doors closed and she began her descent, Mickey didn’t recognize her reflection in the windows. 

         It felt like an eternity before she made it to the parking lot, but when she got there, she saw someone she didn’t expect to see. 

         “Come on, kid! Get in the car! The sun’ll be up, we gotta get the Hell outta here!” Smiling Jack said, opening up the passenger side door. Mickey didn’t ask how he knew she was here, didn’t protest, didn’t say anything, but she did what he said and got in. 

         The drive to Santa Monica was quick and silent. By the time Jack got Mickey to her apartment, it was nearly sunrise. She barely had enough energy to make sure the curtains were shut before she collapsed on her bed. The blackness of day-sleep swallowed her and as the sun rose on Los Angeles, Mickey was dead to the world. 

         The following night when Mickey awoke, Jack was still at her apartment. Hunger gnawed in her gut, ever present. She was still wearing the clothes she was in yesterday; the scent of smoke and blood clung to her like a macabre perfume. As Mickey wiped her eyes, her fingers smudged the dried blood that lingered there. 

         Jack quickly noticed that Mickey was awake and tossed a blood bag to her before speaking, “Wake up, kiddo, and look alive. You better get on your feet and be ready to move.” 

         Mickey caught the blood bag and tore into it, gulping down mouthfuls of blood. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying, but it calmed the Beast somewhat. She shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it into the corner. The walls of her haven felt too restricting, too familiar to a prison cell. She didn’t use this haven much; she preferred her office downtown. 

         “What the fuck are you doing here?”

         “You’re lucky I got to you first. Anyone else and you’d be a pile of cinders right now.” 

         Mickey frowned, moving around Jack to see if she had any extra clothes stashed away here, “What are you talkin’ about?” 

         “Get ready to run. Take everything you need. You’re never coming back here,” Jack said, continuing to dodge her questions. 

         “What happened?” 

         “LaCroix put out the word — he says you’re in league with the Kuei-jin, Ming-Xiao’s puppet, that you’re the one who set up Nines for her. See, he’s figured it all out, and now your death is a big bullet point in his new unity campaign. There’s a Blood Hunt on you,” Jack explained. 

         White-hot anger flared in Mickey’s gut. Her hands curled into fists and she felt her fangs extend. It made sense, of course. She was always just a pawn in LaCroix’s games, ever since he decided to spare her life. Her days were numbered, she knew that, but this wasn’t about just surviving another night. 

         Now, this was about revenge. 

         “I’m in league with the Kuei-jin?” Mickey’s voice rumbled like thunder.

         “He had to turn things around on you real quick since you found out about his deal with Ming-Xiao. This is his Plan B. Plan A was to kill you and Nines in Griffith Park. Now LaCroix is playing the victim. The way he tells it is you were his own childe, he trusted you with so much… and you took full advantage, sold out to the Kuei-jin and cost the people their hero. They’re saying Nines is dead and you killed him.” 

         A storm of emotions raged in Mickey’s eyes, each one like a flash of lightning. Anguish, fury, hatred, regret. She felt like a coward, unable to say the words out loud. 

         Nines was dead. 

         So many things left unsaid between them. Things Mickey was too cowardly to say. Because that’s what she did. She kept people at arm’s length so she wouldn’t get hurt; kept her walls up so high. Nines was different, though. He got closer than an arm’s length. He managed to get Mickey’s walls down, brick by brick. She still remembered that night in her office, the feeling of his lips on hers, a promise of more. 

         Mickey turned away from Jack so he couldn’t see her face or the stubborn tears that stung her eyes. 

         “Look, I’m here to help you — again — but, dammit, it’s time!” 

         “Time for what?” 

         “Time to make a choice.” 

         Mickey pinched the bridge of her nose. She had a thousand questions and no answers, “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” 

         “You’re gonna have to stay off the streets and stay on the move, ‘cause it’s open season on your ass. Vampires are gonna be bussin’ in from Sacramento to join in on this Hunt. You need backing, kiddo. You need the protection of one of the factions. Friends are the last thing you wanna be without right now, but you gotta get outta here.” 

         Mickey scoffed a humorless laugh, “You make it sound so easy.” 

         “I got a guy who can get’cha where you need to go. Interesting guy, you’ll like him, but this place is gonna be watched. He’s across Santa Monica, by the junkyard. Get there and he’ll get you outta town.” 

         She arched a brow, but didn’t ask; she wasn’t about to object to the help Jack was willing to give. She immediately began to pack up what little belongings she had here, but as she moved, Jack caught her elbow. 

         “In case we don’t see each other again, nice known’ ya, kiddo. Give ‘em hell; they deserve it.” 

         A slow, predatory smile tugged at the corners of Mickey’s mouth, “You’re goddamn right they do.”

                                                     _____________

         Mickey cut a destructive path across Santa Monica. With stealth on her side, she managed to stay hidden for the first part of the journey, but got spotted as she tried to cut through the parking garage. She didn’t know the guy, but he was fast, managed to get a few hits in, but Mickey had the advantage of anger. Her claws cut through him easily, and she left his body for the sun. 

         She got jumped again right outside the diner, a Nosferatu appearing out of nowhere. She called on the power of the Blood, a swarm of bats distracting the vampire long enough for Mickey to escape. By the time she reached the cab, her Hunger was back in full force. The taxi driver pulled out of Santa Monica quickly and headed toward the highway. 

         Jack said she needed protection, needed friends. She wasn’t going back to LaCroix, that was for damn sure. When she saw him again, he was going to be a pile of ashes. There was only one place Mickey knew she could go, but she wondered if she had the strength to face them.

         She wondered if Damsel would try to kill her the minute she walked through the door. 

         The taxi driver must’ve sensed her emotional turmoil. After driving in silence for a while, he spoke up, “You work for Prince LaCroix, don’t you?” 

         Mickey’s upper lip curled back in a sneer before she could stop herself, “Fuck no. LaCroix’s not getting anything out of me anymore. I’m done being his little puppet.” 

         “You are… an Anarch, then? A curious experiment, the Anarchs. They have lost many battles and more leaders — their rebellion has already failed in the eyes of many. Do you feel their notions of freedom have any real possibility?” 

         Jesus, who the hell was this guy?

       Mickey took a moment to answer. “Fuck right, I do. As long as a few believe, it’ll remain a possibility.” 

         Before Mickey found a place among the Anarchs, she had no purpose. She was aimless, just like she was in life; just trying to survive each night. The Anarchs gave her something to believe in. Gave her a chance to do something good. The Anarchs helped mold her into a person she could actually be proud of. Her past was muddy, she knew that. She couldn’t change the shitty things she’d done, but she could at least make up for her mistakes now. 

         “If the Anarchs managed to recapture this city, it would not be long before someone challenged them for it. Conflict is always an eventuality in their life. Could you spend an eternity this way?” 

         If Mickey had been asked this question months ago, she probably would have said no. She would have run at the first opportunity, put as much distance between Los Angeles and herself, but then things got complicated. She still had time to run, she mused, but that little voice in her head that always seemed to whisper flight over flight was silent. 

         She was staying. 

         “Absolutely,” Mickey said. Her voice echoed with an unfamiliar resolution. The conviction felt strange on her tongue, but not in a bad way, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides,” she paused, that predatory grin tugging at her lips once again, a flash of her fangs illuminated by the street lights, “conflict’s always been in my nature.” 

         It was quiet for a moment as the taxi driver mulled over Mickey’s words. There was something about him Mickey couldn’t place. She was almost positive he’d driven her around LA before. His sunglasses made it impossible to get a good read on him. She wondered how he knew so much; how he knew Jack. Was he Kindred, too? Mickey was pulled out of her thoughts as he spoke again.

         “The Anarchs have lost less than is thought. I hear there is one left who may be able to revitalize the movement. Maybe, though, it is just a rumor.” 

        Mickey’s eyes went wide. She didn’t dare let herself hope; didn’t dare set herself up for disappointment or to get hurt again. She already grieved once; she didn’t want to do it again. However, once a small spark of hope was ignited, it was hard to get it extinguished once it caught fire. Mickey clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. 

        “Who?” 

        “I know where you might find them, but you would have to be ready to commit to the Anarchs’ fight for this city. I could just as easily take you downtown to see LaCroix.” 

        Mickey’s eyes drifted outside, the highway flashing by in a continuous blur. She thought back to last night, how she felt when Nines was torn away from her. It felt like someone carved a hole in her chest, a void of murderous fury filling its place. She wanted to march down to Venture Tower and tear LaCroix apart, slowly, painfully, limb from limb. Her anger was amplified by the Beast, who was delighted at the idea of such primal destruction. 

        It wasn’t just about killing LaCroix, though. This was a war, now; a battle to free Los Angeles from those who wanted to control it. She’d been a pawn in someone else’s game for far too long. She was ready to finally stand for something.

        It wasn’t just about revenge, either. The loss of Nines made her realize something. Something she was too afraid to admit to herself before. She loved him. Christ help her, she loved him, and if what this taxi driver was saying was true then —

        One step at a time, Mickey.

        “No,” she finally said, her gaze returning to meet the driver’s in the mirror, “Take me to your contact.” 

        “If you share the Anarchs’ passion and would share the burden of such a fire, we will go to meet the last person capable of keeping them together.” 

        With that, the taxi driver merged lanes, and turned off on the exit toward Hollywood.

                                                    _____________

      Mickey stood outside the entrance to a hotel in Hollywood, her jaw clenched so hard her teeth began to ache. What would happen when she walked through the door? It felt like the entire weight of Los Angeles was pressed down on her shoulders. She made the decision to come here. It was the right one, Mickey knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

      She willed her feet to move, one step at a time, and came face to face with Skelter at the front door. Mickey wasn’t sure what kind of welcome she expected — she imagined many — but it certainly wasn’t: “Good to see you, sister.” 

      That familiar mask of detached calm slid into place, her face a picture-perfect expression of practiced boredom. “You, too, Skelter,” the question she was desperate to ask was lodged someplace in her throat, but she found the courage, and cleared the syllables free, “is Nines alive?” 

      “He’s inside. Motherfucker’s tellin’ some tall tales, sayin’ he wrestled a werewolf. You believe that shit?” 

      Mickey swore time stopped. Gravity shifted. She wasn’t sure which way was up or down. Everything she thought she knew was wrong. She thought Nines was dead. She saw him go over the cliff, the werewolf right behind him. She survived out of sheer, dumb luck. She was ready to mourn him, ready to grieve properly once LaCroix met the Final Death at her hand, but now everything was different. 

      Cracks in Mickey’s façade began to form, so she quickly said, “Just one? He got off easy.” 

      Skelter snorted, “Pfft, yeah, whatever, and the Pope’s my ghoul. Get in there.” 

      As Mickey entered the hotel lobby, she found the place mostly empty. She recognized a few familiar faces; Anarchs that frequented the Last Round. An elegantly tall, blonde woman stood near the front desk, talking animatedly with another, and she smiled brightly at Mickey as she walked by. With each step, Mickey felt her heart get lodged somewhere in her throat. What was she going to say when she saw him? Her mask of calculated boredom wouldn’t last, she knew that. Maybe she was tired of hiding behind her walls.

      As she reached the next floor, she found Damsel guarding the door. 

      “Jesus Christ, Mick, I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Damsel said, actually looking relieved to see Mickey in one piece. An odd feeling stirred in Mickey’s chest, something akin to a sense of belonging. 

      “Gonna take more than a Blood Hunt and a couple werewolves to take me out,” Mickey said, a playful cockiness to her words.

      “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Damsel exclaimed, “First Nines gets to kill a werewolf, now you? Ugh! Why does everyone get to kill a werewolf except me?” 

      Mickey chuckled, her shoulders rising in a shrug, “I’m sure there’s a few still skulking around Griffith Park if you wanna try your luck.” 

      “Nah, think I’d much rather kill LaCroix and all his other little corporate stooges right now,” Damsel said, the signature Brujah fire raging in her eyes. “Speakin’ of, you should head inside. Your puppy-dog eyes are about to make me puke.” 

      Mickey bit back the retort that she was ready to fire back, a bark of laughter escaping her lips as she shook her head. She really didn’t feel like arguing with Damsel about the existence of these so called “puppy-dog eyes”, so she simply laughed and said, “Fuck off.” 

      “Go on in. I’ll make sure no one interrupts,” Damsel said, “but man, I sure hope somebody tries!” 

      For a moment, Mickey stood outside the door that separated her from Nines; the man she thought was dead. The man she realized she loved. With shaking hands, Mickey reached for the door and quietly stepped inside. 

      When their gazes met from across the room, Mickey felt her knees go weak. 

      Nines was perched up on one of the tables, his clothes torn and stained with blood. His face was torn, too; it looked like it was barely holding itself together. They were only a few feet apart, but it felt like miles. Any coherent thought Mickey had in her head flew right out the fucking window at the sight of him. Relief wasn’t a strong enough word for what she felt. 

      Nines must’ve seen the look on her face; must’ve seen past the thinly held in place façade. His gaze softened, the Anarch leader allowing the briefest hints of vulnerability to shine through. 

      “Hey,” Nines said, his gruff and quiet voice sounding like music to Mickey’s ears. 

      “Hey, yourself,” Mickey replied, taking a hesitant step forward. The entire city of Los Angeles could have been burning to the ground right now and she wouldn’t have noticed.

      Ever closer still, like two magnets destined to clash together. Mickey struggled to find her usual bluster, the mask of self-assured cockiness she wore when she wanted to feel in control. She recalled some of the first words Nines ever said to her, way back when he saved her from that pack of Sabbat. 

      “You look like shit.” 

      Nines chuckled, then winced, “Shit, don’t make me laugh, my face is barely holdin’ it together as it is.” 

      “Rumor is you killed me,” he continued, his expression shifting into a somber one. Unnecessary breath hitched in Mickey’s throat at his words, but she said nothing and let him speak, “I knew you’d make it here in one piece. Hell, you got out of the park alive; that’s quite the feat.” 

      A warmth curled in Mickey’s gut at the praise, her hand rubbing the back of her neck in a sheepish motion. “Yeah, well, that was mostly dumb luck.” 

      Another step closer. Her hands ached to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was real. She took in the sight of him again, from the iciness of his eyes, the broadness of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, his bloodstained and bruised hands. 

      “Nines,” she sighed his name like a prayer, “I thought — I thought you were dead.” 

      He finally reached for her then and she obliged, closing the distance between them. His hands, his bloodstained, bruised hands, rested on her hips. She gripped his forearms, her eyes cast downward. Damn the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks; she was supposed to be stronger than this. 

      “Hey,” Nines said, voice softer than she ever heard it. This wasn’t the voice of the grizzled, Anarch leader. This was a voice of vulnerability, something he reserved for those he trusted, those he cared for. “Can’t say I got out without a scratch, but, I’m here, Mickey.” 

      Stormy greys met icy blues. Her hands ghosted up his arms, to his shoulders, until she was cupping his face in her hands. His stubble gently scratched against the skin of her palms. 

      “I didn’t know what to do,” Mickey continued. She had a habit of rambling when she was around him, she realized. As her mental walls came tumbling down, they were followed by a tidal wave of all the words she had been too afraid to say before, “I knew I needed to survive, but, after that, I don’t know. Was gonna kill LaCroix for what he did. Go out in a blaze of glory or something, I guess.” 

      “You don’t have to do this alone, Mickey,” Nines said, “you have us. You have me.” 

      LaCroix could have walked through the hotel lobby, handing himself over to surrender, and Mickey wouldn’t have cared. The only thing she cared about was how Nines’ mouth felt against hers. She surged forward, catching his lips in a kiss. The emotion behind the kiss startled even her. She tried to be gentle, tried to be careful of the wounds in his face, but even Nines seemed to not care about anything except the two of them in that moment. His arms circled her waist, his hands splayed against her lower back. One of Mickey’s hands cradled the back of his neck, her fingers combing through his short, cropped hair. 

      Her teeth caught his lower lip and he groaned, opening his mouth for her. Her tongue slipped in, caressing his own. Mickey signed against him, his hands pressing against her spine, bringing her closer still. Mickey poured every ounce of emotion into her kisses, everything she couldn’t find the words to say; not yet anyway. Nines responded in kind, responding to her passion with vigor. For a moment, Mickey wondered if he was going to take her, right here and now on this table, but he pulled away with clear regret. 

      “Now I think you are tryin’ to kill me,” Nines mumbled, his forehead pressing against hers. 

      “Sorry,” Mickey replied, not really sorry at all. She looked at him from under her lashes and for once, she didn’t shrink under the intensity of his gaze. 

      “S’okay. Let’s just, y’know, save this for a more, uh, opportune time.” 

      Mickey smirked, “I can think of plenty of opportune times.” 

      Another chuckle rumbled in Nines’ chest. He brought a hand up from where it rested against the small of her back to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. 

      “We made it out of Griffith Park, but someone clearly didn’t want us to,” he said, his brow furrowed in concentration. Mickey watched in real time as his own mask slid back into place; the mask belonging to the calculating Anarch leader, “We were set up and the list of suspects is short: LaCroix or Xiao.” 

      “Both of ‘em were in on it,” Mickey explained, her words laced with venom, “they’ve been workin’ together this whole time. When I found out, LaCroix decided to kill two birds with one stone.” 

      “What? The Kuei-jin and LaCroix?” Nines asked, incredulous. Anger of his own flashed in the depths of his eyes, “Even the Camarilla wouldn’t let that fly; he wanted an alliance with me because his other one failed.” 

      It was all coming to a head now. A spark of revolution danced between the two of them, waiting to see who’d ignite it first. 

      “That’s twice they’ve tried to have me killed. Not to mention how many times LaCroix sent you off on a mission hoping you’d finally bite the dust,” Nines continued, “and it’s not gonna end there, Mickey. It’s us or them. You got a preference?” 

      That feline, predatory grin was back in full force as Mickey said, “Where should I start? 

      “I’ve already sent troops to raise Hell over the city. The Kuei-jin think we’re busy with the Cam, so they won’t be expecting an attack. You know what’s gotta be done, right?” 

      Mickey knew what needed to be done when she woke up that evening. Nines was right: it was us or them. This war wouldn’t stop until LaCroix and Xiao were nothing but stains of ash on the floor. When Nines looked in her eyes, he saw a storm of revolution, vengeance, and hope. 

      “Xiao’s been in LA for too many nights. I’m gonna make tonight her last.” 

      Nines nodded, his hands cradling Mickey’s face. Her hands gripped his wrists. She still had plenty to say to him, but she bit her tongue. Once the war was over, they would have plenty of time to talk — plenty of time for other things too. 

      “Once you take care of Xiao, come back here. We can regroup and go after LaCroix tomorrow night.” 

      It took every ounce of willpower for Mickey to pull away. Before she got too far, though, Nines caught her wrist. He pulled her to him, his lips finding hers again. It was a soft kiss, gentler than she was expecting. The kiss he might’ve given her in another life, if they’d been granted peace and time. 

      “Would you listen if I asked you to be careful?” Nines asked, his voice as soft as the kiss he’d just given her. 

      Mickey couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at the corners of her mouth, “I like risk. You know that.” 

      “You’re so certain.” 

      Another cocky smirk, another lingering kiss. A low growl rumbled in Nines’ throat when Mickey pulled away this time. “Not fair.” 

      “Proved my point, though.” 

      Mickey finally moved away then, because she knew that the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave. With a final wink and a mock salute, she headed out the doors, and into the night.

#nines rodriguez #vtmb #vtmb fic #ship: rebel yell #writing: mine #and i feel tenderness in this chili's tonight #ch: mickey

[collecting-stories]

Mantra - Daryl Dixon

A/N: Was thinking about this song from VBS the other day. I’m 28 years old and consider myself agnostic but there’s something about this that makes me feel calm and grounded and safe. It’s a song based on the ninth verse of Joshua, chapter 1. Be strong and of good courage, do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the Lord your god is with you wherever you go.

Takes place after the prison. 

///

“...wherever you go.”  

“What?” Daryl turned around, raising his crossbow just enough that it wasn’t aiming right at you.  

Your eyes went wide, realizing you’re inner repetitive monologue hadn’t just been in your head. “What?” You repeated him.

“Ya said something.”

“No.” You shook your head. “Nothing.”

He squinted at you, trying to decide if you were lying or not and then turned away, beginning to walk ahead of you again. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to the outside, you’d done your fair share of time on the road and had outrun enough hoards of walkers that you were a seasoned professional at this point. So it wasn’t that at all. It was just the uneasy feeling that was sinking into your gut as you walked through the brush with Daryl. That same feeling you used to get when you were a little kid and you lost your mom in the grocery store or the mall. Though this time there was no magical made-up psychic-synergy to point the way to her, only a rather disgruntled redneck who was two seconds from calling it quits and setting up camp. There might not even be anybody to find.  

Daryl’s pace slowed again as he heard the same mumbling as before. You were humming something just low enough that he couldn’t make out the words. He thought about asking you again but it was clear that whatever you were saying he wasn’t supposed to hear so he continued to walk through the woods, ears alert for any sounds of walkers in the distance or possible food. Neither of you had eaten since he’d grabbed your hand and dragged you away from the prison. You hadn’t mentioned food but he’d heard your stomach groan in protest of hunger just a couple minutes before.  

“We’ll set up camp soon.” He spoke over his shoulder, not looking back at you. His mind was elsewhere. Were there any other survivors? And if so how were they supposed to find each other? What if he was stuck with you for the rest of his time alive and you never found anyone else? It wasn’t that he didn’t like you it was just that you were quieter, more than him, and it made him uneasy. That you had no clear skill in any type of survival setting whatsoever. And you were still humming. “Would you stop that?”

“Sorry?” You asked, stopping on the trail.  

“Stop humming. I can’t concentrate.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you could hear that.” You apologized, face getting warm from embarrassment.  

Both of you resumed walking, your focus straying from Rick and Michonne and Carl and the others to whether or not Daryl could hear you singing to yourself. You didn’t need any further embarrassment and you definitely didn’t want to come off like a scared child when you were in the middle of the woods with Daryl Dixon. He already thought you were incompetent, thinking you were immature would only add insult to injury and you weren’t keen on admitting it but you had a crush on the hunter. A miniscule one, so you would like to say, but how was it that fate had so orchestrated pairing the two of you? Yeah, Hershel died and you were incredibly sad but also, couldn’t it have been Glenn or Maggie who pulled you away from the prison? Why Daryl?  

He stopped a ways from a country club that had newspapers obscuring the windows, talking about finding shelter there for the time being, a regroup to figure out exactly what the next step would be now that the two of you were alone together. Despite the amount of times Daryl had told Rick that he wasn’t a leader he most certainly was. He’d taken immediate responsibility for both of your lives and had pushed aside any feelings of distress, sadness, or fear to take up the mantle of caring for your safety. It was admirable, and you’d have been more grateful, more proactive in helping him, if you weren’t still shaking like a leaf. Your mind was running off, cloudy with thoughts you hadn’t allowed yourself to process and you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling eight years old again, cowering beneath a fruit stand at the Shop ‘N’ Bag as you quietly sang yourself into calmness and imagined a life without your mother. She found you less than ten minutes after and the only difference now was that Rick and Michonne were not going to find you. It was more likely that you would find them, decaying and hungry in the forest.  

“Are ya even listenin’?” Daryl’s sharp tone cut through your fog once more and you looked his way, realizing you had been staring off at the golf course.  

“Sorry.”

“Quit apologizin’. Pay attention,” he replied, beginning to make his way toward the country club, “and keep up.”

“Yeah, okay.”  

The dining area was deemed secure enough for the both of you to stay there, at least for the night, and after removing the dead bodies left rotting on the floor you made yourself an area to lay down. There were some emergency blankets that had been left untouched and you made a bed for yourself and Daryl, humming subconsciously as you did. Daryl was lighting a fire when he heard the quiet humming start up again, the slip of a word every now and then. The first time he had ever heard it had been long before today, when you first met him. After he and Glenn found you in the woods, he’d heard the quiet murmur of indistinct words. Sometimes he had heard them in the prison, as you were doing chores and he tried, more than once, to listen long enough to distinguish some phrase. He wasn’t too familiar with most music but yours felt more obscure than anything else he’d ever heard. Like a foreign language he couldn’t interpret.  

“Yer humming again.” He wasn’t sure what else to do but feel annoyed whenever he heard it.  

“Sorry.” You seemed only apologetic that he had heard you.  

“What is it anyway?”

“What?”

“The song yer humming. What is it?” He asked, half expecting some country pop song from the radio’s top 40 hits.  

“It’s nothing.” You suddenly looked sheepish, embarrassed even. Maybe it wasn’t something popular from before. Maybe it was something more personal.

“Ain’t nothing if ya keep humming it nonstop.”

“Just something my mom used to sing to me.” You didn’t talk about family. Neither did Daryl, of course, but you seemed especially closed to the idea of sharing any pieces of who you had been with who you were now.  

“Like a lullaby or something?” He asked, not sure what had him still pursuing the subject.

“It’s um,” You picked at the blanket you were sitting on, watching him add a stack of hundreds he had swiped to the growing fire, “it’s a bible school song.”

“Bible school?” He snorted. That was definitely something Daryl had never done before.

“Yeah...um, it’s. It goes...’be strong and courageous, do not be terrified, do not be discouraged, for the lord your god is with you wherever you go’.” You sounded awkward singing it, embarrassment making you stutter over a few of the words. “My mom used to sing it every time something was tough...made me feel better.”  

“Nothing wrong with that.” Daryl commented, a different sort of expression on his face. Not so annoyed, softer than before.  

He would stay up for the first few hours, keeping watch while you took the first round of sleep. Before you could even consider trying to close your eyes, just as your head hit the pillow he looked over at you, partially illuminated from the fire that was still heating the small space around the two of you.  

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” You looked over, squinting just slightly in the dim lighting to better meet his eyes.

“How’s that song go?” He asked.

You smiled, beginning to recite the mantra of a song for him, voice hardly a whisper.  

-

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#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #collecting stories imagine