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archangel-5 · 1 year

Text

Blue flames

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ only

Okay so this is my first ever story so any critique is accepted! I’ve been wanting to post one for awhile and finally gained the courage to write this. So with that I hope you enjoy!

TW: all characters are in their 20s. Pro hero/villain, pet names, rough sex, fire, burning, noncon (at first), biting, slapping, teasing, overstimulation, brat taming, punishment, praising, unprotected sex, humiliation, clit/nipple play, oral (both mxf), multiple orgasms, squiring, choking, spanking, hair pulling, brief mention of kidnapping

Please if I missed anything let me know!

You’re dating the infamous number two pro hero, Bakugo Katsuki. He’s always away for work saving the world from villains. In fact, that’s how you two met.

You had been kidnapped by the League of Villains when Bakugo came swooping in to save the day and you’ve been in love ever since.

So when you get the text that Bakugo will be home late tonight after being away for 2 weeks your heart leaps into your throat. It’s a Saturday so you took advantage of the day and spoiled yourself with a facial, nails done and even your hair touched up.

By the time night rolls around you’re curled in bed in a sexy little lingerie set with a book waiting impatiently for Bakugo.

*****************

You feel a brush along your cheek. Stirring awake, you crack your eyes open to pitch black and a dark figure standing over you. You blink the sleep from your eyes when the hand that was brushing your cheek starts to wrap around your throat.

Your eyes widen in surprise as a gasp escapes your lips. “Bakugo” you pant, heat flooding your body.

Silence follows as his hand tightens even more, his form drawing in closer. You stiffen as he leans in, hot breath fanning your ear, and inhaling your scent deeply.

You squeeze your thighs together trying to ease the building tension there. You hear a chuckle close to your ear,” you wet for me, babygirl?”

Your body tenses and you freeze as you recognize the voice.

You’re about to scream when the hand around your throat tightens even more, cutting out any sound that would have escaped.

“We’re just getting started, baby girl”

Your eyes adjust to the darkness as you take in the form hovering above you. Dark hair tousled lazily, crazed turquoise eyes peer down at you, a grin stretched across his face showing sharp canines.

Dabi.

You shudder under his stare unable to move as his eyes rake across your body. Remembering what you were wearing you try to pull the blanket higher to cover your exposed flesh.

The grip around your throat makes you pause as he rips the blanket away with his other hand.

“Aw, don’t be shy”, still holding his devilish grin,” you know, we’ve missed you over at LoV headquarters.”

You try to squirm out of his grip without success.

“I’ve missed you, baby girl”. Dabi leans in close to your face, his grip on your throat easing as you gasp for air.

“Bakugo will be home any moment and he’ll kill you!”, you frantically try to push away from his grasp to the far side of the bed but he snags your ankles dragging you back to him, straddled between his thighs.

Dabi chuckles darkly. “Oh you mean this text?” His phone screen flashes on momentarily blinging you as he shows you the exact text you had received from Bakugo. Your face goes pale.

“And you got all dressed up for me too” Dabi eyes you hungrily. “Such a slutty little whore”.

You’re wearing a black lingerie set that’s completely see through. Your pierced nipples on full display.

Dabi tosses his phone onto the bed once again washing the room in darkness. “Oh you’re going to begging for me, baby girl, trust me.”

“I will NEVER beg you Dabi!” You spit out.

*smack*

Your head snaps to the side as fire erupts across your face.

Dabi sneers,” Looks like someone is still a little brat. Maybe I need to finally teach you a lesson on obedience” he pauses “and there is nobody here to protect you from me this time”. His grin stretches wider pulling his scarred skin taut.

“Don’t touch me!”

Suddenly you’re flipped onto your stomach. One hand pushing your face into the mattress as his other hand grips both of your wrists behind your back at a sharp angle. Your legs still straddled between his. “You open your little whore mouth again without permission and this punishment will go on longer” Dabi hisses into your ear “do you understand, babygirl?”

You nod your head briskly and a shiver runs down your spine as you hear him groan deeply. He releases your head as you once again gasp for air right as a searing smack rings out. A burning sting spreads like wildfire across your ass and then another against your other cheek mere seconds later.

A muffled scream emits from you as another smack spreads stinging warmth against your skin.

“Shhh baby” Dabi rubs your ass where he smacked it easing some of the pain “look at me”.

You try to turn away but he grips your chin tightly, wrenching you back to look at him. Tears weld in your eyes.

A wicked grin spreads across his face “aw is my little whore going to cry?”

“Though this is your fault. If you hadn’t run away from me I would have no reason to punish you, my little spitfire.”

You try to blink away the tears stinging your eyes. Another burning smack to your ass has you whimpering. A sinful chuckle rings out in the dark room.

“I’m going to burn my handprint onto the flesh of your ass so you’ll always be reminded of me”.

Another final smack fills the room bringing even more searing heat to the skin. This time you scream out in agony, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Dabi groans loudly, clearly getting off on your pain and tears “that’s it babygirl, scream for me.” He clenches his teeth peering down at your red riddled ass, a perfectly seared handprint on one cheek.

“Fuck my little spitfire, you make me so fucking hard”.

He removes his right hand from your ass to grip his own growing erection. “This is what you do to me”.

Your eyes follow his movement and widen as you notice the huge bulge growing between his legs. You gasp.

“Mmm you like what you see babygirl?” Dabi lazily strokes his cock through his clothes. “You’re going to be begging for this cock”

You struggle in his grip again, his left hand tightening around your wrists even more.

“Spread your legs, I want to see how wet my little whore is for me.”

“Get off me Dabi! Bakugo is going to fucking murder…”

*smack*

Blinding pain spreads across your ass, a scream tearing up your throat as fresh hot tears stream down your face.

“Now what did I say!” Dabi growls into your ear. “Spread your fucking legs. Unless you want more punishment” a glint of challenge flashes in his eyes.

Reluctantly, you slowly spread your legs. Your face still pressed into the bed and both arms gripped behind your back.

You feel Dabi lazily rub your ass easing the burning pain upon your flesh. Then slowly his hand dips lower between your thighs and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Look at me” Dabi grinds out between clenched teeth. You squeeze your eyes tighter. “Do not make me ask again”.

Reluctantly your eyes flutter open finding his eyes in the dark easily. “That’s it, thats my good little whore.”

His right hand once again dip even lower between your thighs. You feel his long slender fingers find your clit easily through the fabric of your panties, rolling small circles around the bud.

You hold back a moan before it escapes. “Keep looking at me baby girl. I want you to watch me taste you.”

His fingers pull your panties to the side and swipes them through the folds of your wet cunt. Dabi groans deeply. Making sure you’re still watching, Dabi stares directly at you as he brings his fingers to his mouth and flicks his tongue out for a taste. You catch the glint of metal on us tongue. His eyes roll back and lids flutter closed as he pushes his fingers into his mouth to suck your wetness off him.

Dabi emits another long groan “Fuck. You taste so good spitfire.”

Your body betrays you as more heat pools between your thighs at the scene unfolding before you. Your body wanted this. Needed this. But you’re not going to admit that. Especially to him.

Dabi releases your arms and for a brief second you have freedom. Before you can even react, Dabi is directly behind you, pulling your lower half to the edge of the bed and lifting your ass in the air while your upper half is pushed into the sheets. He kneels between your spread legs, eye level with your wet cunt.

Before you can comprehend what’s happening, Dabi leans between your legs and inhales your scent. When he pulls back you are just able to see the crazed look in his turquoise eyes peering into your bared flesh.

“You’re going to be screaming my name tonight. I’m going to make you’re so dumb for my cock that nobody will ever be able to fulfill your needs. The pain and pleasure I bring you will be ingrained into the very essence of your being. You were made for me. My little spitfire”

“Dabi, do-“ a load moan slips past your lips as Dabi’s tongue delves into your folds. Your hands grip the sheets tightly, eyes clenched shut.

The sloppy sounds Dabi’s making as he sucks on your clit is sinful. Tongue swiping through and pushing into your entrance, pumping in and out a few times. Your walls clenching around him.

He pulls away for a second and spits on your puckered hole. Returning his mouth to your pussy, he uses one of his hands to tease the entrance of your ass. You jerk away at the intrusion but are dragged right back to him.

Dabi growls “you are mine and I will do whatever I want to you. This tight little ass is mine and I’ll fuck it if I want to.”

“Do. You. Understand” he grinds out. Your only reply is a whimper.

You yelp as a sharp smack hits your pussy. “I asked you a question whore, now answer me”.

“Yes!” You gasp out.

“Yes, what?”

You fight back more tears “Yes I understand.”

“And?”

“And I am yours to do with as you please”. A tear slips free streaming down your cheek.

A pleased grown is his only reply. He dips his head back between your thighs, slurping you like a starved man. You feel the intrusion at your puckered hole once again.

“That’s it baby girl, relax. Let me finger your tight little ass.”

Another suckle to your clit has you trembling, a long moan filling the room. His finger slides deeper into your ass, and then another finger is added, spreading you wider. You alreadyfeel the orgasm building in the pit of your abdomen.

Trying to hold it back unsuccessfully, Dabi gives one last suck to your clit and delves his tongue deep into your cunt as the wave crashes over you. Your eyes roll back, mouth agape on a silent scream, thin sheet of sweat covering your body.

Dabi laps at your cunt as you come undone. “Again babygirl. Cum for me again”. He doesn’t stop.

Fingers scissoring your ass and pussy, mouth wrapped around your swollen clit.

“Stop, please, I can’t” you manage to moan out.

“You will fucking cum again brat, then you will beg for my cock.” Without a beat, you’re flipped onto your back, legs spread wide while Dabi towers over you.

Staring up at him with dazed eyes his gaze finally reaches yours. A glint of admiration? Love? No, that couldn’t be. But just as fast as it appeared it was gone in a blink.

“My perfect little whore. I’m going to ruin you.”

Before you can react, Dabi crouches once again between your thighs. Goosebumps sprouting across your skin as cold air hits your center. A dark amused laugh emits from deep in his chest as he blows cool air on your pussy.

He then grips your hips pulling you to the edge of the bed so he has better access. Without pause he licks a stripe through your folds, a tremor shaking your body as he hits your puffy sensitive clit. You bite your bottom lip to hold back the groan wanting to escape.

How can you even be enjoying this!? It’s wrong. Disgusting. Violating. But you can’t help but want more. Right now the only thought in your mind is chasing the high.

You feel Dabi’s palms heat up where he’s gripping your hips. Not unbearable but uncomfortable. That feeling is replaced with hot pleasure where Dabi is sucking, licking and delving with his tongue.

Never before have you felt like this with anyone. Not even Bakugo. A fresh wave of shame washes over you. Breaking from the trance you’ve been put in, you squirm against him only earning a sharp sting to your clit where he bit you.

You yelp in pain but just as quickly, pleasure is electric through your sensitive nerves as he suckles you. Dabi removes one hand from your hips, two fingers sliding into your cunt with ease.

This time you can’t hold back the gasp that erupts from you. Telling him how much you’re actually enjoying this. Damn body.

Dabi doesn’t even falter. His fingers slidding and curling, hitting exactly where your g-spot sits. His tongue lapping at your oversensitive clit.

You squirm against him, not fighting to get away, but to pull him in to you.

“Mmm yes, cum for me my little spitfire.” The vibration against your core sends you over the edge.

Heat rushes through your veins. Where Dabi grips you with a heated palm doesn’t even compare to the wildfire overtaking your body.

Your walls clenching around his fingers, legs shaking as you squeeze them around his head. But he doesn’t stop. Before your orgasm even dies off you’re climbing that hill once again.

Fingers curling, mouth devouring, a pleased hum against your core. You’re gasping for breath, whole body trembling uncontrollably.

“That’s it baby girl, again” he growls out against you. And with that you topple over the edge into the abyss.

A scream claws up your throat, walls clenching around his fingers, your whole body writhing. His hand grasping your hip wraps around your middle firmly holding you in place. Fresh tears stream down your face.

A sensation, something you never felt before but almost like you have to pee washes over you.

Frantically, you try to push Dabi away “Dabi stop!” You gasp “I’m going to pee!”

Holding you firmly against him, he ignores your complaints. With one final push and curl of his fingers and suckle of your clit, a warm wet sensation erupts from your core.

Body trembling, shame and embarrassment hold you in a tight grip.

As Dabi pulls away from your center you’re finally able to catch your breath. Towering over you, you glance up at him. A wicked, devilish grin is plastered across his face.

Clear liquid drips from his chin his, dark shirt wet around the collar.

“Fuck. That was so fucking hot baby. Who knew my little spitfire was a squirter. Lucky me”. He smirks down at you.

You lay there dazed, pussy still bare, chest heaving as you come down from your high.

Dabi licks his lips peering down at you hungrily, like a starving beast hunting its prey. Hunting you. You were completely under this man’s command. With no quirk of your own, you were powerless to this villain. It was either do as he said or death.

When he moves his hand towards you, you flinch. Dabi pauses momentarily before wrapping his fingers around your throat almost delicately bringing you to a sitting position.

He exudes enough pressure to know you can’t get away but not firm like he had before cutting off oxygen. His thumb strokes your throat lightly sending a shiver through your body.

“Sensitive are we?” A pull on one corner of his lips emitting a cocky attitude. You give a soft whimper, still holding his gaze.

Dabi’s gaze travels down your body stopping right at your chest. He brings his other hand to one taut nipple rolling the sensitive bud in his fingers. A gasp leaves your lips but he doesn’t look away from your breasts.

You can’t even move for fear of what he might do. Your ass is on fire. Every time you shift your weight the sheets rub it sending shooting, burning pain throughout. Hips where he gripped you tingle with heat.

In a second your top is gone, burned to nothing by his blue flames. Heat licked your skin but didn’t burn you. Your pierced nipples pebble at the sudden freedom. Dabi licks his lips as your chest heaves. “Fucking perfect.”

The way he stares at you, the words he speaks to you, ignites something in you. Almost a carnal desire to hear him praise you more. What the fuck was wrong with you. You actually fucking wanted this. Bakugo not even a thought in your orgasm riddled brain. You wanted to please the man that was standing right in front of you. The man who broke in to your home while you were sleeping. To violate you. To claim you. To make you feel good. Fuck. You didn’t know anymore.

When you were in the grips of LoV nobody had touched you, not sexually anyways. Dabi had never even glanced in your direction while you had been captured. So for him to say he missed you had confusion flooding your body.

Here you sit at the edge of your bed, one hand lightly gripping your throat, legs spread and chest bared to this man. Dabi kneels between your legs coming eye level to you. Chest heaving you wait in anticipation for his next move. He stares into your eyes, a fire burning deep within his. “This is all fucking mine” he mumbles. You gasp as he frees your throat to fondle both your breasts, rolling one pebbled nipple in one hand and bringing his mouth to the other. He sucks your sensitive bud licking and pulling the piercing, creating a painful yet pleasurable sensation racing through you.

“Please” you beg. Dabi ignores you, switching to your other nipple. “Dabi plea-“ a sharp sting cuts your words short as he clamps down on your nipple with his teeth and pinching the other one painfully with his hand. You try not to writhe in his grasp for fear of him ripping your piercings out.

The sudden pain in your nipples turn to pleasure as he continues his attack upon your breasts, licking, sucking and tugging the pebbled nubs. Your head lolls back as you close your eyes falling in to the grip of pleasure. Heat pools between your legs again. You’ve never had this much pleasure at once. Your mind a muddled mess as you let Dabi have his way with your body.

Dabi pulls away from your tits with a pop. Cool air attacks your nipples making them pebble uncomfortably. The villain stands over you once again as you peer up under long dark lashes. The fire in his eyes ignite at the look you’re giving him, dazed, showing complete and utter surrender to the whims of this man.

“Have I finally tamed the hero’s stupid whore?” Dabi jabs the words at you, cutting you deep as Bakugo flashes in your minds eye. For a split second you snap out of the trance you were in and jump up to try to make a run for it reaching your bedroom door. Just as you fling it open to sprint through Dabi slams it shut pushing your body against it. His body presses into your back. Able to feel his ever growing erection against your lower back, he breathes hot air caressing the sensitive area by your ear and you shutter. “As much as I love the chase, I tire of this game little spitfire.” One hand trails down between your legs slipping right between your folds as he easily finds your sopping cunt. You clench you eyes tightly shut.

“If I didn’t know any better I would think you’re enjoying it too babygirl” and with that his fingers dip inside you. Your body goes limp in his hold, his body now fully supporting you up against the wall. He makes slow teasing pumps with his fingers. It’s not enough. You don’t even realize that you started to rock your hips to create more friction until he suddenly pulls his fingers free of you. You eyes fling open searching his face in the darkness. Dabi gives a deep chuckle as you let out a little whimper stating your disappointment. “Open your mouth doll. I want you to taste how sinful you are.”

You do as he says, slightly parting your plump lips just enough for him to slip one finger in. Just as you’re about to bite down he presses another finger into your mouth halting you from calming down.

“Mmm you’re a biter huh” a groan escapes him “you’re just full of surprises”. You feel him grind his cock into your back. “Now taste brat.”

Your lips close around his fingers as your tongue swirls, suckling your wetness from him. “Don’t you just taste so fucking good? If I could survive on you alone I would eat you and only you for the rest of my fucking life.” Those filthy words hit you straight in your core. You’re absolutely drenched. Your slick is trailblazing a way down your thighs. An absolute. Fucking. Mess. And for Dabi of all people.

He pulls his fingers free with an audible pop. Dabi then spins you around so your back is pressed firmly against the wall pinning you with his body. His cock brushes against your lower stomach as he grinds into you. You hold his gaze with lust filled eyes. Dabi’s eyes dart to your lips as you bite your lower one. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip then gently forcing its way in. Your lips gently close around him, flicking your tongue against his thumb. Your eyes flutter closed as he moves his other hand around your throat squeezing firmly.

You don’t even realize that you’re grinding on Dabi’s thigh that’s firmly pressed between your legs. “You’re soaking through my jeans babygirl. You dirty fucking slut.” At his words you look at him with half lidded eyes. “Do you want my cock? You want me to fill you so full that you’ll still feel me for days?” You nod your head, giving in completely. You cant even think straight. All that’s on your mind is chasing that high. At this point you would gladly fall into the embrace of the devil. And that’s what you do.

Dabi squeezes your throat harder. “Use your words doll.”

Whispering around his thumb still in your mouth “yes”.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, please fuck me Dabi” your lips quiver.

“I’m going to make you so cockdumb you’ll be a blubbering mess.” He releases his grasp on you “now suck my cock like the good little whore that you are.”

You slowly drop to your knees still holding Dabi’s gaze. He unbuttons his jeans, pulling the zipper down. He watches you intently urging you on. You bring your hands to the waist band of his boxers and tug them down just enough for his cock to spring free. You flinch back in surprise as it almost smacks you in the face. Your eyes widen at what awaits you, already knowing there is no way in hell you could take all of him.

A long, slender cock with a mushroomed tip and a slight curve stares directly at you. A large vein follows up the bottom of the length. A light dust of hair sits at the base of his cock where a weighty pair of balls hang below. A flash of metal catches your eye and that’s when you notice a jacobs ladder adorned.

You glance back up to him as he watches you “you want my cock, huh babygirl. Show me how bad you want it.” Your eyes dart back down to his cock. You grip the base of him as he lets out a hiss, tugging lightly a few times. “Don’t -fuck- tease me doll face.”

You lick a stripe along his piercings then take the tip into your mouth. Twirling your tongue around his crown you turn your gaze to him. His eyes reflect your lust filled desires. His hand snakes its way into your hair tugging tightly, pulling a few strands loose. You wince in pleasure and pain. Your body so confused by both sensations as they begin to weave together.

You’re one hand stroking the base of his cock while you fondle his sack with the other. You slide his cock further into your mouth eliciting a feral groan. His other hand grips your hair bullying his way further into your mouth. Quickly your mouth meets your hand as he continues to bob your head repeatedly. Your tongue tugging lightly on a piercing. You forego gripping his base as you find his hip to perch your hand on for stability.

Filling completely full, the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. You try to protest and push him off as your supply of oxygen is cut off. “Shhh, relax my little spitfire. Relax your throat and take all of me. Can you do that for me doll?”

You nod your head around him. “Now that’s my good little whore.” You do as he says and try to relax as best you can. He grips your hair tight and pushes himself impossibly further when you finally reach the very base of him. “Good fucking girl. Yes you’re fucking taking all of me. I knew you could do it.” A hum from you vibrates around his cock as he groans. Releasing one hand from your hair and placing it against the wall above you to stabilize himself.

You take that opportunity to freely move up and down his cock. Lightly dragging your teeth along his piercings as he hisses “fuck you’re a little she devil. Don’t make me punish you -ughnn fuck- again.”

You take him deep again, choking on him as tears weld in your eyes and silently drip down your cheeks. You begin to bob your head again from base to tip, one of your hands moving to satiate the smoldering heat within your core. You don’t even make it to your clit before you’re ripped free of Dabi’s cock, pulled up into his arms and tossed onto the mattress.

Within seconds Dabi is on top of you. His knee splaying your legs wide. A surprised squeak emits from you as the sensation of his rough jeans rub your sensitive nub. “Dabi please.”

“Use. Your. Fucking. Words” he grounds out “tell me what you want.”

“I want your cock Dabi!” You cry aloud. “I want you to fuck me with your cock. Please Dabi, please!”

“Whatever my spitfire wants, she gets.” He gives you a wolffish grin. He pulls his shirt off painstakingly slow, and when you reach for his pants to push them off, he smacks your wrists away. “What an impatient dirty slut that you are.”

He tosses his shirt in the dark and slips out of his jeans and boxers. That’s when you get the full view of your villain tormentor. Scars riddle his body covering his lean frame. Muscles ripple along his stomach, biceps slightly bulge with every movement. Broad shoulders and a thin waist attach to toned legs and his saluting cock. A drop of pre cum glistens as it welds at the tip.

He crawls on top of you then brushes the tip through your wet folds. You whimper and spread your legs further trying to guide him where you really want him. He encapsulates one of your nipples in his mouth while fondling your breast. “Such perfect fucking tits.” He bites your nipple then laps at it melting the pain to pleasure “these tits are all mine. And this-“ he pushes the tip of his cock into your entrance eliciting a loud moan from you “is all mine too.”

He shoves all the way in, the tip brushing against your g-spot. You fight back pants and moans as he ruts inside you. Each piercing decorated along him sends a new sensation flooding through your system.

Dabi sucks and bites your breasts sure to leave his mark. Your hands thread their way into his dark hair finding purchase as he relentlessly spears into you.

“So -ughn- fucking tight.”

You clench your walls around him loosening a groan from deep in his chest. He releases your tits licking a trail up your neck, nibbling your earlobe, and bites your bottom lip. He teases your mouth open with his sly tongue, gaining entry as he devours you. Your fingers dig into his back creating crescent moons in his skin.

He continues to punish your cunt as he whispers in your ear.

“Your pussy is weeping for me.” You clench around him again. “Perfectly molded. Just for me.”

“Da- oh god- Dabi!” You manage to get out around pants and moans.

“Oh baby girl. God isn’t here.”

He’s right. Instead, it’s the devil incarnate. And you gladly let him in. You begged him. You craved him like a junkie looking for their next score. He injected straight into your veins creating the most intense high you’ve ever felt.

He pauses and sits up, still buried deep inside your sopping pussy. You lay there as he seems to be searching for something. Your curiosity is satiated as a light blinds your eyes. You blink away the brightness as you realize it’s the flashlight on his phone. He shines it to where you’re attached together, slowly sliding in and out. Mesmerized.

“Please” you whimper. Dabi brings the light to your face. Highlighting the tears tracking down your cheeks, bruised puffy lips and eyes rolled back in pleasure.

A sinister laugh fills the room “please what little spitfire?”

He continues his torturously slow pace drawing long sensual moans from you. “More, please. Fuck. Fuck. Please give me more.”

Dabi trails the light down your body showcasing every hickey and bite mark he left. “Tch. Since you asked so nicely. I’ll reward you.”

He quickly pulls out of you as a sound of disappointment escapes your lips at the loss of him. You’re flipped onto your stomach in an instant with your ass in the air again. You’re reminded of your sensitive cheeks as he brushes his hand across what you’re sure is red and angry from when he burned his handprint into your flesh.

Still with the flashlight on, he lights up your lower half, showing just how wet and messy you are between your legs. “Just look how sloppy you are for me. Fuck. It’s glistening with your cum baby.” You clench around nothing at his words. “Such a fucking slut. Whoring herself out to one of the LoV’s. Pathetic.”

That’s when Dabi lines himself up to your center and slides all the way in, the flashlight pointed to where he enters you. The sheets are tightly gripped in your hands keeping you firmly in place as he penetrates you. You’re a babbling mess, slinging incoherent words around. Dabi blinds you with the flashlight as he relentlessly fucks you from behind ,”what was that? You have something to say?”

You can’t even form words, your tongue lolls out your mouth, eyes rolling back as you rut your hips back to meet his every stroke.

You feel that familiar tightening deep within your belly as you come closer and closer to the edge. “I- ughnn- I’m going to -oh fuuuck- c-cum” you manage to form those words and just as soon he pulls out of you, once again leaving you completely empty.

Before you can argue, you feel a sharp sting at your puckered hole as he try’s to ease the head of his cock through the first ring of your ass. You jerk away at the sudden intrusion but Dabi pulls you back to him and embeds his fingers between your legs rubbing small circles around your clit. “Remember, just relax.” His voice calming and encouraging unlike before ,”feel my fingers stroke through you.” A finger dips into your folds as he try’s again to penetrate your ass. With more force he squeezes the tip past the first ring while pinching and rolling your clit between his fingers, quickly transforming the stinging pain to unbelievably new heights of pleasure.

“Yes that’s it. Take my cock in your ass. Ohhhh fuuck. You’re taking me so deep.” You writhe under his touch. So many sensations shooting through your body you don’t even realize when you reached the top again. “You want to cum while I fuck your ass? Huh you dumb bitch?”

Without pause or even shame you answer. “Please! I need to cum. Please please Dabi, let me cum!”

And he rewards you with three words “cum for me.” And you do, fuck do you ever. His fingers quicken upon your clit, his cock now sliding easily in and out of your tight ass. You push yourself into him, hands flushed white as you grip the sheets, mouth parted on a silent scream. A clear liquid squirts out of you completely dousing Dabi’s lower half and the blankets beneath.

“That’s my good girl.” The flashlight showing the mess you made and flashing to your face as Dabi says,” a hero’s whore no more. She belongs to the league now.”

The flashlight clicks off and you’re both washed in darkness again. Your eyes adjust quickly though as Dabi pushes you further on to the bed and flipping onto your back. He stalks his way to you, spreading your legs wide and forcing his cock back in to your pussy. It’s still pulsing from your last orgasm.

Dabi roughly fucks you chasing his own high now. “I’m going to cum in this tight pussy. And claim you. You’re going to be so full of my seed that it dribbles out before I even pull out.” Around clenched teeth ,”you’re going to be so cockdumb for me. Nobody else can make you feel this way.”

His fingers drop to your clit rubbing rough circles as his other hand grips your throat tight. You can’t even move under his touch. He hips sputter as he nears the edge. And with one final thrust you feel warm liquid flood your insides. He grunts above you as your walls pulse around him pulling him even deeper within. Dabi continues to attack your clit as you suddenly come crashing down for yet another orgasm. Your pussy suckling every last drop from him. He collapses next to you pulling you into his arms with his cock still buried in you.

“Good girl.” He praises you. “My little spitfire.”

That’s the last thing you hear as your eyes drift closed, your body shutting down with exhaustion.

**************

You awake to a steady stream of light hitting your eyes. You blink the sleep out of your eyes as you look about your room. Nothing. You’re alone in your room. It was a dream. Thank god.

That’s when you hear your phone announce you have a text. It’s from an unsaved number. Curiously you open the text and your face pales. What you see is a video. Of you. Another text pops up.

“Missing you already. My little spitfire😉”

That’s when you feel everything. The ache between your legs. The stinging pain where the sheets rub your ass. Your tender breasts littered with bite marks and hickeys. A handprint on both hips. Tears silently slip down your cheeks as you’re filled with shame. Disgust.

How could you do this. How could you do this to Bakugo. And with Dabi of all people.

Another alert sounds. A familiar, long, slender cock appears on your screen and heat floods your core.

You toss your phone without a reply, curl into a ball and weep.

*********************

#mha smut #dabi x you #mha dabi #smut #my hero academia #league of villians x reader #league of villains #choking #overstimulated

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jediknightobiwan · 3 years

Note

Boba smut, you say?

Could I get some dad bod Boba love post-Mandalorian season 2, if you've finished the new episode? Because our man definitely deserves some love after that shit. I personally headcannon him as being dominant AF, with lots of pet names, and a tendency to be a little rougher. Maybe some post-battle fucking to wind down in Slave I.

Thanks!

OFC We love Dad Bods here I will NOT tolerate Temura hate like at all. We don’t expect women to stay the same all their lives and we shouldn’t expect the same of men.

In talks with @emilykjh we decided that Boba decidedly, is a brat tamer so I’m definitely going along the dominant caregiver route with him.

Also tbh and probably shockingly I haven’t watched the new season all the way through AT ALL it was emotionally too much for me when it started so now I can binge it whenever 😅 I just learn things through gifs cause I don’t mind spoilers! So things may be very Vague when it comes to plot or I’ll just go with what I’ve gathered happens after the last episode. But let’s do some Older Boba stuff yes, everyone who understood the significance of Boba’s appearance better say thank you Mr. Temuera for your service.

Boba Fett x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Caregiver/Little BDSM relationship, Daddy Kink, Age Gap (cmon he’s in his 50’s), slight drool kink, slight degradation, slight choking

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

[[READ MORE]]

Your ears perk up at the sound of heavy bootsteps on their way and you quickly rush to clean up your little area. Ever since Boba had taken his throne and conquered most of the underworld you and him and Fennec who you adored had made a nice little home for yourselves. What Boba teasingly called your nest was a corner of his throne room that you (and Fennec) had padded and stuffed with pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, one very long and squishy pillow and a very very large cushion you called your tuffet. It was cute little safe space you sat, read and napped in when you wanted a little alone time.

It was usually a kind of organized chaos but lately you had let it get a bit wild and before Boba had left earlier he’d told you to have it cleaned up by the time he was back, and like a true Little who usually forgot orders once they were given and wasn’t reminded you had become distracted with other things. Which is why now you were slightly sweating under your soft robe as you scrambled to set everything in its proper place so he would never know you’d-

The steps had stopped echoing. You suddenly realized besides the slick of fabric between your fingers and your little pants that the room had actually been quiet for a minute or so. You swallowed a little hard but continued your work, spreading out soft blanket on your tuffet and then tucking it underneath. Finally, you smoothed your front and turned with a smile ready for your lover.

“Daddy! You’re home! See I uhm..I did my one chore today!” You were beaming, a little sweat on your brow and your voice was sweet and welcoming. In return Boba tilted his helmeted head at you in such a way that you knew what was he was saying without him needing to voice it.

Really? Did you? Is what that look said and you fidgeted slightly, lower lip jutting out every so softly.

Well-it still counts! Doesn’t it?? Your look said and after another moment of silence you hear a sigh come from him and he finally comes toward you with a gloved hand extended to cup your face.

“I suppose I’ll let it slide today,” he says, thumb gliding over your lower lip as his eyes bore into you from behind the visor. “I’m too tired to properly punish you for waiting until the last second anyway.”

The words were slightly worrying but if something was really wrong he would’ve told you, so you brushed it off and kissed his thumb gently.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise, reaching to cup his helmet in your hands and then bringing your foreheads together in a keldabe kiss. He hums deep in his throat, his way of saying that you’d better.

“What can I do tonight? A hot bath? A massage?” You gasped and jumped a little, grinning. “Both??”

Boba chuckles and removes his helmet, the smile still on his handsome scarred face. “How about just a massage pet? My old muscles could use it.”

“Ah you’re not old cyare.”

You giggle at his eyebrow raise and pat his cheeks then push gently on his chest plate to back him into the hallway and towards his bedroom. Once inside the large yet fairly bare room you begin the slow and intimate process of removing his armor for him. It was something you’d been doing for awhile now, ever since you’d settled into your roles. He did so much...it was one sweet thing you could do for him back.

The tension was practically melting out of your love’s shoulders as the beskar came off. Your arms had long since adjusted to the armor’s weight over the months of this sweet ritual and the warmth of Boba’s soft eyes as he watched you easily carry his prized possessions never failed to make you feel like the most important person in the galaxy. Your skin felt fully flushed by the time he was sitting on the bed and you’d removed his boots for him.

“My sweet little Dove...,” Boba murmurs, reaching out his now ungloved hands for your hips and bringing you closer, his face now level with your chest. You smile he nuzzles against your soft skin and hum happily, arms sliding into position around his broad shoulders without a second thought.

Dove. How you loved your pet name from him. You were his sweet thing, his Little, his pure (he insisted you were pure compared to him and you’d given up trying to convince him otherwise) darling treasure. Your soft lips pressed kisses to his head and you murmured, “My Daddy...,” to which you could feel his smile against your skin just stoking flames inside you.

You remained entertwined for awhile longer, both just caressing each other sweetly and basking in the loving bubble you created each time you were together. And then you remembered what you were supposed to be doing and gasped, pulling away to look down at Boba.

“Your massage!”

Boba blinks at you in confusion for a second and then laughs, keeping a tight grip on your hips even as you go to pull away and get the oil. He gently grips your chin -effectively stopping your struggling-and brings your lips to his. You sigh softly into the kiss and simply melt like wax beneath a flame into his arms-apt considering it immediately stoked the soft fire that had begun to burn in your belly the moment you saw him into a good sized blaze.

A whine escapes your lips even as Boba depeens the kiss and pulls you onto his lap fully with your crotches rubbing together sinfully.

“Don’t laugh at me Daddy,” you whine, kissing his broad nose and then going back to his mouth. Your arms slide down around his waist and you squeeze, taking petty pleasure in the way his breath escapes him when you do. “It’s mean!”

Your Caregiver seems to, funnily enough, care, very little about your plight since as you whine he just hums and runs his big hands down to your ass and squeezes none too gently. He grins devilishly as you jump and kisses you again, lingering longer this time and swiping his tongue over your lips before he pulls away.

“So what if it is? You like it when I’m mean Dove baby...you know you can’t lie to me.” Boba jerks you closer to him and ruts his hips upwards against you, causing you to whine loudly as want shoots through your core painfully.

“Yeah baby that’s what I thought....you like it when I’m mean. Big bad mean Daddy...ain’t that right?” The older man swats at your ass when you don’t answer, your brain becoming mushy already from the feel of his body beneath your hands and his impressive cock only growing harder and longer against the apex of your thighs. “I asked you a direct question little Dove. You know I don’t like it when you don’t answer.”

After shaking your head to clear it just a little and your hands balling up his undershirt to hang on for dear life you manage a nod with your mouth open just a tad, unnoticed by you but very noticed by your lover. His eyes drop to your lips and he growls slightly, strong hands kneading at the soft flesh of your ass before he delivers two hard, stinging pops to your backside.

“Speak, cyar’ika, speak when Daddy tells you to.”

Maker you are just gone for him. You swallow the water that had gathered in your mouth at the rough handling and say clearly, full of need that that’s right, Daddy is a big bad man...your big bad man...and you even elaborate on how you love him so for it. Wetting your lips you rock against him as he basks in your obedience and drinking in his soft moan like wine, your lips rubbing against his.

“Let me massage you Daddy...I said I would...cmon. Please? Let me help?” The groan Boba emits tells you that he’s thinking of something else now, something with him on top but before he can open his mouth to give an order your bratty, slightly manipulative side comes out and you use your saccharine please Daddy do this for me or I’ll be oh so sad voice to plead to him.

“Oh please Daddy? Let me make you feel better. You said yourself you’re tired! You need a rest, just a brief one and then...” You untie your robe and let it fall, your whole body bare to him now, causing the erection between you to pulse. Your fingertips graze his throat as you tilt his face up towards yours and bite his lower lip teasingly. “You can massage my insides with that big cock of yours~ How’s that sound?”

Judging by the growl in his throat and chest- Boba likes the idea very much, and you have to fight to keep the smirk off your face. Drawing on some confidence just to tease him more you get off his lap and order him to strip and lay on the soft king sized bed the two of you shared. You could see his brown eyes narrow, debating on whether or not to just grab you and throw you on the bed and mount you like a fucking animal, but when he stood something popped in his shoulder audibly...and he stripped without a word.

The control you had over your face slipped and your grin shined out in full force as your older boyfriend complied to your demands. Really he was just a big softy with as much love to give as he had muscles and cute love handles. While he disrobed you found the bottle of massage oil he’d brought you back from one of his excursions that had multiple uses when came to making things easier, and fluffed the pillow in the middle of the bed that he always used. Your bed was so nice and so soft with lots of room for the two of you and yet Boba always slept in the middle, arms right around you and you near the edge facing the bathroom.

But you didn’t mind, you thought as you watched him lay down on his stomach with his head cradled by the now fluffy pillow and his tan body stretched out of the dark sheets. However he wanted to sleep-even if he sometimes squeezed too hard during a dream-was fine with you, as long as you were together.

‘Not gonna stand around all afternoon lookin’ at my ass are you?” You blinked and focused on Boba who was now smirking at you.

“Pbbbbt,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “No of course not! But if I was, who could blame me? It is a wonderful sight.” You climbed onto the bed as he chuckled. Knowing it would be uncomfortable for him and his still hard cock if you sat on his hips, you opted to sit more on his juicy ass instead. He hummed at the weight of you and relaxed into the pillow.

“Well if you think so it must be true,” he mumbles, “you are almost always right little Dove.”

“I am always right,” you corrected, dribbling the ever warm oil onto his broad back. He purred, and you knew it was because of the oil, but you liked to think it was because of you so you smirked. “That’s what I thought~”

You went to work then on his sore muscles, flexing your own to work the knots out with your skilled hands. Boba let his noises out freely as you worked; grunting, groaning, moaning and even at times whimpering with your palms smoothing over every inch of him you could reach.

The sun had sunk a bit by the time you were done and Boba rolled onto his back so you could finally straddle his hips. The evidence of your arousal from massaging him and his cute little noises was pressed against his balls. Your hands were on his chest and he was smoothing his own up your back slowly, sending shivers up your spine.

“My Dove...,” Boba starts on a soft sigh, his hands pulling down now to your hips to begin a gentle rocking. His cock was hardening again between the two of you and your own arousal was growing each second. “You love such a man like me? Old, a bit chubby, scarred?”

A soft sigh escaped you at the rocking, finally just a little bit of the release you had been craving since his return. You looked deeply, lovingly into Boba’s beautiful eyes. To you he was the most beautiful man in the galaxy, no matter how much he complained about his aching joints or how he was too old for you.

“Oh silly Daddy...” You sighed, taking the bottle of oil one more time and drizzling just a little on his perfect cock before taking it in your hand. His eyes darken as he watches you tilt your hips and line thick head of him up with your hole, his large hands gripping your hips tightly with anticipation. Taking the head of his cock you slap it against your hole before popping it inside and sinking down so slowly you knew his hands were going to leave bruises from gripping you so tight.

Once he was fully seated inside you you rotated your hips and opened your eyes just enough to give him a heady look. “As if I was destined for anyone else...”

You managed a wink before succumbing fully to your want for your lover, the fire he’d been stoking now turning into a raging storm with his thickness stretching you out perfectly. You both reached for each other at the same time and your mouths collided hotly as you bounced on him at an already quick pace. No time to adjust fully, fuck, Maker it just felt so good to be impaled on him again that you were frantic and starving for it. Teeth clashed, fingernails marks were definitely being left in sensitive areas and after just a minute or so you pulled away from the messy kissing to angle yourself better and slam onto Boba.

Your head was thrown back beautifully as you screamed your devotion to him, to his perfect fucking cock that was literally making you drool even while you were split open by it. Boba growled seeing the slick moisture on your lips and he sat up, yanking you close with a strong hand on the back of your neck. His hips met a bounce of yours and you cried out-only to have the noise muffled by a big thumb in your mouth. His other arm was right around you waist, keeping you on him but unmoving.

“That’s my sweet baby...suck on Daddy’s thumb...yeah just like that-fuck.” Even cockdrunk you knew how to work your lover up, sucking on his thumb dutifully and as enthusiastically as you did your favorite appendage of his. You even took his one hand in both your smaller ones to bring the digit further inside and you could swear Boba pulsed so hard inside you you thought he’d finished for a second.

He pushed down on your tongue hard and dragged your jaw with him, and much to your initial chagrin and then immediate arousal, let a long stream of drool pool out and fall where you were connected with him. You moaned at the filth of it and at the complete submissive state you were in. Literally, you were in the palm of Boba Fett’s hand.

Boba groaned and smirked at you, looking at the wet spot and then back at you. “Such a good pet aren’t you? I love it when you get me soaked little one~”

Maker you felt like exploding right then! But he wasn’t done with you, oh no. He pulled his thumb from your obscenely wet mouth, sucked your salvia from it and then rolled, pulling out of you with a wet echoing sound. He easily manhandled you with your hips popped up and grabbed your pillow to bury your face in. He slid back home with no resistance and you moaned freely, your eyes rolling back and your lower lip getting caught between your teeth.

“Mmmmm my sweet little pet...such a good slut for me aren’t you? Always so needy...so ready for Daddy to come home and take care of you...” As he spoke he’d started thrusting into you, gaining in speed. “Fuck...baby, I love you so fucking much, so, fucking, much!”

Now he was straight pummeling you. Your voice was going to be nonexistent when he was through with you if this kept up, your nails digging into your pillow so hard your knuckles were white and you could do nothing but spread your legs wider for him like the slut he’d called you. You were Boba Fett’s personal slut, his little Dove and his soulmate-nothing in the galaxy could be better than this.

As he neared his end he made sure to drag the fat head of his cock along those special spots inside you he knew so well while his mouth bit and sucked on the external spots until your toes curled so tightly he joked that they may never uncurl, the smug bastard. His lips found your neck again in a sweet spot as he bent over you, slamming so deep inside you could taste his precum on your tongue.

“Cum for me baby,” he murmurs, callused thumbs flicking over your nipples before one palm encloses over your throat and squeezes the sides deliciously. “Cum for Daddy little one.”

It was no question, no suggestion, it was a demand. And like the good Little you could be when you wanted, you obeyed. One last scream was ripped from your throat as you were pushed off that ledge into white hot pleasure so perfect it enveloped your whole body. Boba held you as you became tense and then limp, his own release coming not far after yours (not surprising given how hard your insides had been squeezing him) and as always overfilling you in a way you could only describe as obscenely delicious.

“Good job little Dove. I’m so proud.” Came a voice from above and behind you. You knew it was Boba, you knew yet somehow a little voice in your head thought it was the Maker talking to you. Your lips quirked in a little smile as exhausted gasps left your now limp body, only held up by Boba’s hands and his cock that was still pumping cum into you. You felt lips along your neck so lovingly and you sighed contentedly.

“I love you...” you whispered, beginning to fall asleep with him still cradled inside you.

He chuckled softly and kissed the tip of your ear, rubbing your back soothingly before very slowly sliding out of you.

“I love you too baby...go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

It would be hours before you woke, cleaned up and tightly nestled into Boba’s arms as always with the two of you so close it was like you had been born that way. And when you did you squeezed his middle tightly enough for him to softly grunt and then settled back with him, feeling for all the galaxy like you were the luckiest person alive because no one could love you like Boba Fett. And you couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.

@emilykjh @sailorsquadgoals @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @ohdeargodnotyouagain @ihaveashield @ezraslittlebirdie @labyrinth-runner @asaucecoveredsomething @thisainttheway @anakinswhore @sleepwithacommunist

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba Fett x you #boba fett x reader #gender neutral reader #Star Wars #star wars fanfic #my fanfic

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ais-for-alex · 3 years

Text

The Music of Your Beating Hearts

Soooo, I wrote this awhile back on the Hazelnoot Discord and I told a couple people I would post it then I low key forgot so I’m sorry this is late but I hope y’all still enjoy this bit of tooth rotting fluff. As always the characters belong to @lumosinlove 🥰

They were coming back, Logan knew they were coming back. Finn and Leo had only left to run errands but without them home their apartment echoed with a weird hollow emptiness that tried to creep its way under his skin. He knew they’d be back, he knew it. Logan squeezed his eyes closed and let his body flop down onto the couch his face smooshing into the cushions, hoping that if he could just stop staring at their empty home the loneliness would ebb away. It didn’t though.

Logan reached out snagging his phone and air pods from the coffee table; it was time to try the one thing that never failed to make him smile. Soft gentle music filtered into his ears, his own voice harmonizing with the rhythmic strum of his guitar, the gentle tinkling of the piano blending into the melody. And behind it all Logan could hear two steady beats, quiet and subtle but so strong and sure, guiding the pace of the music with their rise and fall. If he listened close enough Logan could hear the soft laugh that Finn couldn’t hold back, he could hear his own hushed whispers, and Leo barely audible “I love you” only captured from the microphone Logan had pressed over his heart. He memorized these spots in the song wanting nothing more than to hear them blended into his music, he adored the imperfections because each time he heard them they guided him like a shepherds crook back to that night.

Logan could still feel it like it had only been moments ago. He could still feel the tingling zing under his skin as he collapsed, sweaty and panting into Finn and Leo’s open arms. There was no shortage of languid loving kisses as they each settled back into their bodies. Logan pressed a kiss to Leo’s sweat salty skin letting his head rest just over just partners still racing heart. Finn’s warm body was curled up behind him, forehead pressed into the dip between Logan’s shoulder blades, fingers tracing little patterns into the sensitive skin of his pelvis drawing shivers from his body.

The beat of Leo’s heart was steady and strong beneath Logan’s ear, it was a beautiful sound. It was the sound of life and love running through his partners veins and Logan couldn’t help but hum along with the beat. Suddenly, Logan was struck with an idea, he began to scramble up but found himself trapped by strong arms circling his waist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Finn groaned, hauling him back against his body and whispering the words into the join of his neck and shoulder.

“Fish, you gotta let me up, I want to go grab something.”

Finn just nuzzled in further and mumbled “don’t wanna,” Leo huffed a soft laugh at that.

“Come on. Mon amour, I won’t even be gone a minute. Please?”

“Fine, but less than a minute and I’m holding you to that. A second more and I’m coming to find you.” Finn made another dramatic groan but relaxed his grip letting Logan slip out of bed. True to his word Logan was back a moment later crawling into the warm spot between his partners.

“What’re you doing baby?” Finn asked curiously as Logan snagged his phone and connected a small microphone.

“Shhh,” Logan hushed softly, “try not to talk for a moment.”

Next to them Leo huffed a laugh at the absurdity of asking Finn not to talk, he reached out to trace his fingertips up Logan’s spine, “Sweetheart you’re asking the impossible,” he said teasingly.

“Hey, I can be quiet when I want to,” Finn replied indignantly, playfully sticking out his tongue in Leo’s direction.

Logan couldn’t hide the smile on his lip as he rolled his eyes and hushed his partners quietly. Finn looked down, watching curiously as Logan brought the microphone to his chest pressing it lightly over his heart. There was a long moment of silence with just their breathing and beating hearts to fill it. Finn looked at Logan with soft eyes full of love, the sheets rustled as he reached out and carefully brushed Logan’s mussed curls off his face. He threaded his fingers into that soft hair tenderly combing through until Logan finally looked up from the microphone still pressed to Finn's chest. Logan knew by the way he was hiding his grin, bottom lip caught between his teeth, Finn was about to lose it.

“Don’t laugh,” Logan whispered as quietly as he possibly could. Unfortunately though, that seemed to be Finns breaking point. Barely suppressed giggles bubbled out of him until in a final attempt to stay quiet Finn gently guided Logan closer, catching his lips in a soft kiss hoping to stifle his laughter.

“You’re impossible,” Logan whispered, finally pulling out of their kiss, Finn just grinned as he settled back into the pillows. Chuckling softly Logan turned to Leo, he carefully crawled over his partner positioning himself so he straddled his hips. Leo sighed as Logan settled his weight on him, he brought his hands up to rub up and down those strong thighs now stretched wide over his hips still bare from earlier.

“Your turn my love,” Logan whispered leaning forward to press the microphone over his heart. Leo looked up at him with sleepy dazed eyes, like the only thing tying him to consciousness was the grip of his palm against the firm muscle and warm flesh of Logan’s thighs.

As the silence stretched between them the microphone capturing that beautiful steady beat Leo slowly slid his palm up until it was pressed over Logan’s own heart. His eyes fell shut at the heat of Leo’s hand soaking into his chest, Logan couldn’t help but reach and lace their fingers together. He pressed Leo’s palm firmer against his skin almost like he wanted him to be able to reach inside and touch his heart. If he was honest though, he knew that both Leo and Finn had already touched it, they had cradled his heart in their palms cherishing it and protecting it like their own since the moment they had come into his life.

Sighing softly at the thought Logan let his eyes finally flutter open only to be greeted to the sight of a soft sleepy smile and cornflower blue eyes filled with more tenderness than Logan thought possible. Now that he was watching, Leo slowly carefully mouthed those three simple words that made Logan’s insides squirm with happiness, those words he wanted to etch into his skin to always have them close.

“I love you.”

Carefully, Logan switched off the microphone then placed it among various odds and ends on their bedside table before draping his body entirely over Leo’s. He tucked his face into the crook of his partner’s neck pressing a kiss just over the pulse point there. Leo hummed softly, shivering a little at the light kiss, he wrapped his arms around Logan and held him tight ensuring there wasn’t even an inch of space separating their bodies. Finn scooted a bit closer, he leaned up and pressed a kiss to the shell of Logan’s ear then relaxed back into their warm sheets. That night Logan felt love like he never had before, and as good as the sex was, and it was good, just the pure sweet intimacy of that moment was something he would never forget.

With the sound of his partners heartbeats playing in his ears Logan let the memories of that night wash over him, and it felt like cool ocean spray on a sun drenched beach, warm and balmy with love. He could feel the smile on his face as he watched the memory on repeat in his mind. The moment he heard the front door open Logan turned in his spot on the couch to watch his partners stumble through the door Finn tucked under Leo’s arm.

“Well you look happy,” Leo said when he caught sight of Logan laying on the couch grinning at them with a tender look in his eyes, “whatcha doing?”

Logan just held out his arms beckoning them to come be held, “Hmm, nothing much. Just thinking about these two guys I know, they’re kinda lame but I think you’d like ‘em.”

Finn made a slightly offended noise but it quickly got lost in laughter when he tackled Logan, pressing him further into the couch cushions and peppering his face with kisses.

Read on AO3

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o’hara #o'knutzy #writing #finn o'hara #fluff

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thesoloists · 4 years

Text

Unsweet Dreams

Summary: Bucky may be free of Hydra’s influence, but he’s not free of that of the Winter Soldier. He’s slowly coming to terms with that.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: PTSD, trauma and anxiety, brief graphic depictions of murder (assault & strangulation), chronic nightmares, fluff via post-nightmare comfort (if it’s any consolation, I tried to keep it balanced)

A/n: AHH, I’m so nervous! It’s been awhile since this corner of the interweb has seen my writing (I made a new tumblr and everything), so if whoever reads this could just, y’know, drop me an ask telling me what you think about this fic, I would really appreciate it. Also, I promise not all my fics will be this dark. I just needed the bit of catharsis at the end. :’)

Bucky used to live in constant fear. It was like a malignant tumor, slowly killing him and robbing him of the ability to live every damn day of his life.

To be in a crowd was like sticking him in a coffin full of nails. As he struggled to stay out of the swirl of hurried people, his anxiety would skyrocket to the point of short-circuiting his mental system. His whole body becomes stiff, his responses shortened and robotic, as he becomes helplessly overwhelmed by the blaring warning signs going off in his head. Until his brain, finding no other option, shut down enough to function on autopilot. Only when he was away from everyone, when his mind was sure they were a safe distance from the danger of the Winter Soldier, would he come back to himself. But, to be honest, was there ever a safe enough distance from such a mindless beast?

The idea of becoming him again was so crippling that before Shuri offered to fix him, Bucky would spend days at a time locked in his room and weeks without leaving the compound. Shuri said he would never be that man again, the crudely molded vague interpretation of one, anyway—not after whatever indescribable thing she had done to him with Wakandan technology that Bucky still finds respectfully confusing. Bucky wanted so badly to believe her, but why, even now, if she is as certain as she was then that the gangrenous part of him is gone, why does he still see him in his dreams at night? Sometimes standing before him like a ghost, void of his humanity, empty of soul, filled only with commands of murder and mission and the pain endured in every attempt to scrape away the bloodshed.

There’s no place in Bucky’s mind he can hide where the monstrous Winter Soldier cannot find him. In pleasant dreams of sandy beaches with the smell of salt on the open air, the beast will tear open a gaping black rift right behind him, grab Bucky by the back of his collar, and drag him into the void as his screams fall on apathetic ears. Where he ends up is a place where his cries are heard by no one, Where color cannot penetrate the bitter black, and where shapes and barriers do not exist. He can run forever and never hit a wall, and all the while, the Winter Soldier will stalk toward him. Inevitable, just as Bucky is with his surrender.

Agony awaits him, but he knows it will end. It has to end. And when it does, he will wake.

Bucky has long given up trying to escape on his own. Every attempt has proved futile, and it only draws out the agony. He prefers his death to be as quick as ripping a band aid. So, he goes nowhere, just stands in the very place the Winter Soldier dropped him, and waits.

The Winter Soldier stands maybe twenty feet away. His eyes are shrouded in smears of dark black, but his eyes are a stark contrast of light blue shards of cryogenic ice.

Knowing the end will be the same as every other end before it brings Bucky no semblance of comfort. He is helpless to it. No more than a prisoner to his own imagined fate.

After a while of the Winter Soldier reducing the encounter to nothing more than a one-sided staring contest, Bucky hangs his head, shaking it at the absurdity of being made to wait. “Just get it over with,” he mutters.

The shape of the Winter Soldier flickers and disappears, manifesting with daunting intensity right in front of him. Bucky finds nothing but the hoard of his own past screams in the Soldier’s empty gaze.

In a blink, the Winter Soldier moves. The plates on the Soldier’s metallic machine arm whir and shift as his cold metal hand latches around Bucky’s throat in an unyielding vise, squeezing tighter and tighter, killing the human, killing Bucky.

Then it is over. In that particular dream, after Bucky dies, Bucky wakes.

Most of the time, however, it is Bucky looking through the lens of the Winter Soldier as a captive, unable to control his movements. It is Bucky’s traitorous metal arm around the throat of someone he cares about, tightening around their choked gasps and rasped pleas...

[Bucky has no desire to live out the Winter Soldier’s greatest hits on all of his friends, so he asks that the burden be left to another’s imagination. If it is any consolation, he is very sorry.]

He’s killed them all more times than he can count. Steve always knows when he’s had one of the dreams the next morning and who it was about because Bucky is incapable of looking that person in the eye. The image of his hand wrapped around their throat is still too fresh a wound in his mind. He’s nothing more than a shell on those mornings. His eyes are gaunt, his attention impossible to keep, and he’s left haunted for most if not all the remaining hours of the day. It’s an inevitability.

It wasn’t until he met you that Bucky allowed himself to believe Shuri’s words of comfort weren’t just empty words meant to reassure him. It’s taken months for him to get to this point, but you have been nothing but patient, never forcing him into anything, never questioning the slow speed at which your relationship progressed. You only take what he gives and in return give what he needs. He still has nightmares, though they occur far less often with you sleeping beside him. In fact, before tonight, Bucky hadn’t had one in months. To know what it felt like to be well-rested, he hadn’t felt that probably since he was digging his stupid five-foot-nothing best friend out of trouble. Before either had turned their gaze toward joining the war.

When Bucky has either nightmare involving the Winter Soldier, it doesn't matter which, he always wakes up crying. Sometimes silently, sometimes with whimpers or explosive sobs—freshly rebuilt only to be destroyed by the horrors that play out in a hell of his mind’s own making. You sleep notoriously light, so it doesn’t take much for you to wake, and you never want him to apologize for it. His whimpers begin quietly, but they are enough. With the fast action of someone who has done this many times before, you move across the bed until your chest is flush with his back, throw your arm around him, and hold on tight as you whisper sweet assurances into the crook of his neck as his body is wrecked by sob after sob after sob. Grounding him in the existence of his humanity, in the reality of his life as it is now—good and warm and safe— until his tremoring body stills. It’s by no means a quick remedy, and perhaps the emotional exhaustion does most of the work, but with one final shudder, Bucky lets out a hard breath, his last few tears nothing more than wet stains on his pillow.

In unspoken words of comfort, you press kisses along the jagged scaring where flesh meets metal, before resting the side of your face against his shoulder which is damp with cool sweat, and guide his ragged breathing to a slower, fuller calm with the warmth of your breaths on his back.

In the now quiet dark of the bedroom, Bucky strokes the back of your hand, tracing lightly over every knuckle with his fingertips.

With tender movement, you turn your hand beneath his to grasp his hand loosely between your fingers. Your gentle squeeze is simply to ask, Are you okay?

He squeezes twice. No.

He shifts his hand again and after a beat, makes a small request by tapping three times on the back of your head. Your voice breaks through the darkness as you whisper to him, “Who was it, my love?”

It takes him a minute because he has to remember, and that involves reliving the memory of the dream, if only for a glimpse. But he wants to remember, if only for an attempted catharsis.

“Steve,” he says hoarsely. Or Natasha, Sam, Tony, or someone else unfortunate enough to have been dropped into the role of victim—But it’s Steve who affects him the most, sometimes in aftershocks that last for days.

Three taps means he wants to talk about it, but doesn’t want to speak first. Something about having to break the silence after having to relive that trauma just feels too daunting to him, especially now that he’s just been reminded of the monster hiding in his closet after months of silence gave him the false security of maybe being finally free. If anything, it was the sobering realization that he would never truly be free, but it’s an affliction of which he’s willing to find ways to cope. So far, his best success has been found in months of therapy and in the love he found with you. He doesn’t solely rely on you. That’s a burden, and he’s not about to expect you, an extraordinary ordinary human, to somehow be the cure for his chronic mental disturbance. But you bring him words of encouragement and a presence that puts him at ease, and if this is merely the baby-steps to learning to walk on his own, he’s willing to take it and continue practicing. No matter how much he falls, you have made it clear you will always be there to catch him if he needs it.

You wait until he’s ready for you to get up, spending several minutes brushing strands of damp hair away from his face and the rest of the uncounted time trailing your fingers up and down his arms and across his chest in an endlessly light, thoughtful caress. Only when he tells you it’s okay do you briefly disappear into the kitchen to put a kettle on the stove. It’s always been difficult for him to go back to sleep after a dream like this, but it’s easier after he talks through it, and it’s easier with tea.

He doesn’t find sleep again, but you fall asleep on the couch an hour before dawn and halfway through his fourth episode of M*A*S*H. Your whole body is curled in a tight ball on the other half of the couch as you hug an empty mug of tea close to your chest. He carefully removes it from your grasp one vise-like finger at a time (jeez, you have an insane grip for someone who’s asleep), vaguely feeling like he’s trying to disassemble a bomb, and sets it on the side table next to the couch .

As the credits roll, Bucky carries you back to bed and is part way through tucking you beneath the covers, all warm and snug like a cute little sausage roll, when you begin to stir. Instantly, Bucky freezes. Then he remembers you always do this as if it’s part of some weird post-nightmare bedtime ritual and always manage to go right back to sleep. Comforted by the assurance, and also a little amused by the memories, he turns to close the blinds to block out the rays that would have cut unbearably bright lines against your face had he done nothing (and he’s never been much of a do nothing kind of guy), but when he turns back around, you’re rubbing your eyes with your fingertips—awake, it seems. (Aw, hell.) You blink blearily at him with a lopsided smile he finds adorable, a smile there just for him.

Sometimes he forgets how lucky he is.

When your mouth opens with an obscenely loud, drawn-out yawn, he's never loved you more.

After smacking your lips, still in the midst of a sleepy haze, you ask, “You okay?”

While you look at him, Bucky realizes you’re trying monumentally hard to keep your eyes from opening fully, narrowing them to the point that he wouldn’t even know you were still awake if you hadn’t said something. Bucky’s smile turns butter soft at that.

His heart swells. He’s just so appreciative of you. Your kindness. That you willingly sacrifice precious hours of sleep just to tend to the wounds of his own psychological warfare.

“Yeah. I’m good now,” Bucky assures you, and he means it. He lowers his hand to cradle your cheek, sweeping the pad of his thumb back and forth across the swell of your cheek beneath your eyelashes. At the caressing motion, your eyelids flutter, then fall completely closed in total surrender. He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Sweet dreams, doll.”

Your response is swallowed by the pillow as you shimmy down the bed to bury your face beneath the covers, but he’s pretty sure he heard you say something endearing.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #beckham writes

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goldeneyedgirl · 3 years

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TwiFicMas2020 Day 1: Anathema

It’s that time of year again - when I bombard you with fic I’ve written over the year and haven’t posted, whether it is an outtake, part of a WIP, or something that ended up going sideways but still had some cool bits I was proud of.

Everything will be tracked under the ‘TwiFicMas2020′ and ‘FicMas2020′ tags. Most fics are incomplete scenes - “--” is a scene break, “//” means that there’s a cut - it’s probably not yet written.

First up is Anathema, the fourth or fifth attempt at the ‘Alice works in a mortuary/funeral home’ idea that refuses to solidify itself - though I think I’m getting closer. I enjoy the idea that Charlie Swan is in on Forks’ secrets (before Jacob strips in front of him, lol) and I am always here for the supernatural world being more than just vampires and shifters.

I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

The day the Cullens arrive in Forks, two things happen.

The first, I draw both Death, and the Wheel of Fortune. A combination that, frankly, sounds time-consuming. I lie in bed and contemplate them for awhile. The cards are soft, from lifetimes of passing from hand to hand (my dearest and most beloved Great-Aunt Jeanne passed this set to me when she died. At the time, I was too young to understand the true gift in cards that had never before been touched by Brandon hands - before mine.) The cards are illustrated so carefully, so detailed. They smell like dried lavender and the scrap of linen that I wrap them in, and there is something so reassuring about each and every card.

I draw my cards every few days before I get up. I find it calming, the shuffle of them against my fingers, as I let my dreams fade. It’s a quiet time, and one I savour.

Eventually, I do have to get up, though. No rest for the wicked. The cards go back into the wooden jewellery box some young man carved for some young woman in Jeanie’s family long before I was even a glimpse of a thought, and back into my nightstand drawer.

I - we - live on the first floor of the Brandon Funeral Home, a perfectly respectable converted Georgian house at the end of Main Street, where it sweeps around to Cedar Road. It’s a shit place to have a corner, and more than once speed racers have spun out; whoever’s scraped off the road and our front walk usually end up in the freezers in the basement.

But I digress.

Breakfast is mundane. Dulcie is there, hair in curlers, and a frown on her face when she realises I am not dressed. I sit crosslegged across two thrift-store chairs in my camisole and booty shorts, spooning jam onto toast with the precision of a good scientist and ignore her reminding me of my dressing gown (a sturdy pink-flower print flannel that is buried in my closet. My preferred robe, a thin grey kimono, is currently in my laundry pile) and ‘common decency’, as if my elderly great-uncle is looking to leer at the decided lack of anything I have up north or down south.

Dulcie is… Dulcie. No replacement for Aunt Jeanie, but a good woman. I find it funny that Uncle Freddie is an old man now, and he still reels ‘em in. Or he would if Jeanie’s death hadn’t broken, shattered, and wrecked him. Dulcie worked for us for a few years before she set her eyes on the top bedroom and changing ‘Dulcie Dunn-Stanley’ to ‘Dulcie Brandon’.

Oh, that sounds very jaded. It’s mutual, Freddie and Dulcie. Their courtship was glacial and it’s really only recently that Dulcie’s been hinting about heading to the court house. And, honestly, whatever makes Uncle Freddie happy. Dulcie’s kind to me, we mostly get along, and her attempts to mother me are so far inconsistent - but she is usually pretty respectful.

My uncle lingers over his food; he’s got a new book open at his elbow, and no one can pry my uncle away from his books. They’re usually hardcover, non-fiction. Most of the boxes stored in the third floor are my uncles books.

After breakfast, I am banished to get dressed for work, which is in the basement today, where I am to be the hands as we prepare one Lewis Fletcher for his Saturday morning funeral. There’s a sack of bagged organs resting in the chest cavity, from the autopsy (elk or deer attack, the report says), and I get to stitch Lewis back together, get to fill him full of chemicals, seal things with putty, and get to face painting. The Fletchers are a pretty ordinary family locally, and the service will be simple - they were very agreeable when Freddie met with them last week.

I put my music on and hum as I prepare my kit. It’s no secret that an unqualified teenage girl doing this work probably breaks a lot of laws, but Freddie’s hands aren’t as steady as they used to be, and he’s old enough to remember when a family business meant that the younger generation was trained by the older at home, no degrees or certifications necessary.

Sometimes I wonder what Jeanie would have thought, me working down here like this. Would she have understood? Would she have been mad or upset or disappointed?

We’ll never know.

Freddie fetches us both a cup of tea, and hovers at my shoulder as I piece together Mr Fletcher’s chest cavity.

“Smaller stitches, Alice,” Freddie says, inspecting my work carefully. “Redo that section, stitch closer together, and small stitches.”

I nod, turning around to grab a scalpel from the tray beside me to cut the wonky stitches free and start again, and I freeze as the ice-cold feeling envelopes me. No, no, no it’s been so long…

For a moment, I am unfixed in time and space. I am still in the basement, with the buzzing fluorescent lights, and smooth metal drawers and cupboards, the stink of formaldehyde. But instead of a clean, bare second table, I am lying there. But I’m not dead, and I’m not alone. It’s him. The boy - man? - I’ve been seeing for so long, in visions and dreams. He’s hovering above me, a veritable sculpture of pale flesh as he peels off his shirt, our mouths still fused together, my hands gripping his hips. I am a much less collected figure, with my tights around my knees, one shoe still on and my shirt hiked up over my bra. Vision-Me pulls away to say something, and He laughs, and it’s then the light catches his eyes. Dark gold.

Golden-eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Real-Me says, and somehow Vision-Him knows I’m Seeing and looks right at me, where I’m standing with a scalpel in my hand.

“Alice?” My uncle’s hand on my shoulders brings me right back to the right point in time and space.

It’s at the point I hit the floor, manage to stab myself quite viciously with the scalpel and my uncle starts cussing.

It’s been a while between visions.

The Council was basically the reason Freddie and I stayed in Forks. It was a fifty-fifty split between honouring Jeanie’s wishes, and keeping me safe and out of sight - as if my aspirations were towards a Vegas nightclub act or international pop star. I wasn’t entirely clueless.

Forks was built in a special place. A place where the barriers between the ordinary and the extraordinary were a little thinner, where the supernatural were drawn to. Jeanie had theorised that was why the Quileute were able to tap into their spirit wolves so easily, and why the gene remained so strong, father to son without a constant presence of their enemies. I didn’t know enough of their history to have an opinion, but Forks was definitely a place with an interesting history that very few people knew - even I only knew a fraction of everything that happened, past and present. There were very few written accounts; most of the histories were oral and passed down on a strict need-to-know basis.

The Council were definitely in the know, and had been for generations. There was Billy Black, Sue and Harry Clearwater representing the Quileute tribe, there was Charlie Swan representing Forks and everyone not in the know, and there was Freddie and I. Freddie, was technically Jeanie’s representative, and was the Mediator between the Ordinary and the Others. Jeanie’s family had been Mediators for generations, but she’d never had children, so all of that had somehow fallen onto Freddie - and me.

It was extremely useful to have the Police Chief and a Mortician working the Council - we’d had to fudge more than a few deaths. There was always someone or something passing through the Olympic Peninsula, and we’d negotiated, challenged, threatened, and banished more than a few creatures over the last few years.

Technically, all parties were allowed to bring their apprentice representative, but I was the only one of the next generation who attended. Charlie Swan had made it clear he didn’t want his daughter involved in any of this, and both Billy and the Clearwaters had decided that their kids were too young to know exactly what went on around here. I figured in a decade or so, it would just be me, Seth, and Jacob Black (no way would Leah hang around just for this shit show), drinking beer in the woods and deciding whether to burn or bury.

But tonight’s meeting was Special. Despite the fact I’d been drawing nonsensical cards for days now - the Star, the Tower, and Justice - no visions had appeared beyond a dream about a locket with ‘W’ engraved on it. I’d expected a fairly normal meeting, until Freddie had let me in on the plan - we were, apparently, meeting with the Cullen family. No one had informed me exactly what or who the Cullens were, only that they had a ‘fourth seat’ in the Council that they’d been entitled to since the ‘30s. I’d have to go through Jeanie’s diaries again - there were boxes of them in storage, and Jeanie had useful tidbits dotted throughout.

So that was why I was in the forest with my grandfather, shivering underneath two coats and in my new fleecy boots, standing around a fire pit that didn’t really do much more than illuminate the burning wood; the lanterns we’d brought were more effective.

Some days I really wished Leah or Seth or Jacob Black would attend these meetings; they’d certainly liven up these meetings a bit.

“They’ll be here soon,” Billy Black said grimly. Billy Black had it worse than the rest of us - getting out to this part of the forest was awkward and time-consuming with his wheelchair. Since these meetings were clandestine, we couldn’t build a proper track.

“The terms are staying the same?” Charlie asked, sipping from a paper cup of coffee Sue had pressed on him.

Billy frowned. “We aren’t here to renegotiate, but we will listen to their petition if they have one,” he said finally.

“What are the existing terms?” I asked, nudging a mossy rock with my toe.

“We’ll go over that later on, Alice,” Freddie said, watching the woods carefully.

Fine, obstruct my completely transparent attempt at finding out what was actually going on. I was definitely intrigued by the idea this clan had a ‘seat’ at the Council, but it involve negotiations? The only creature I could think of that would fit that kind of profile would be some kind of shifter.

I was bored.

And then the mysterious Cullens arrived.

They came out of the woods like a mist; slowly but all at once. They kept a respectful distance away from the fire pit, clad in pristine new clothing that was a touch too light for the cold weather but was good quality. There were three of them - a blond man, a brunette woman, and a red-haired boy - all three of them taller than average, and pale as snow. And they were lovely, as if Grecian statues had climbed down from their plinth and wandered off.

“Hello,” the man said, nodding at us politely. “Thank you for welcoming us to this meeting.”

“You’ve a right to be here, as outlined in the treaty,” Billy Black said sternly. “This is the current Council - Charlie Swan for Forks. My self, Billy Black, and Harry and Sue Clearwater for the Quileute tribe. Fred Brandon as Mediator. Carlisle Cullen for the Cullen Coven.”

Coven meant vampires. That dampened my spirits a little; my history with vampires was messy. Plus the few vampires that had ventured into this area had been unpleasant experiences. But as I stared at the Cullen coven, I noticed their eyes.

Golden, like liquid light.

Was He one of them? Was the Cullen coven only these three, or where there more?

“And the young lady?” Carlisle Cullen said, looking in my direction.

“My niece,” Freddie said in a no-nonsense tone. “Shall we begin?”

“I assume Ursula Altis has since passed? My condolences to her family,” Carlisle Cullen said. “I had a great respect for Ursula.”

“Yes. Ursula’s apprentice passed on several years ago, and she named Fred and Alice as her successors,” Harry said.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Carlisle Cullen nodded at Freddie and I. I half-smiled back at him. Jeanie had been gone a long time but I still missed her.

“This is my wife, Esme, and my oldest son Edward,” Carlisle gestured to his two companions.

“Oldest son?” Charlie Swan said sharply.

“Yes - I have three others, but we did not want to overwhelm you,” Carlisle said. “They are here, if you would like to meet them?”

“Yes. We want to know the entirety of your coven,” Harry said bluntly.

Carlisle grimaced and nodded. “Of course. My other children - Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper.”

Three more Cullens materialised from behind Carlisle Cullen - a tall blonde girl who was utterly breathtaking to look at, had a displeased expression, and was wearing the genuine designer version of my knock-off winter coat. The second was a bear of a man, with the friendliest face, and curly black hair, who winked at me as he wrapped an arm around the blonde girl’s shoulders.

And then a lanky blond boy with a dark expression and wavy blond hair, who hovered in the shadows, his features mostly obscured. All of them had the same golden eyes, the same pallor and dark under-eye circles. But they didn’t look or behave like other nomads that had passed through. They looked… like a nice family.

Maybe in a decade, Jacob, Seth, and I would be joined by Emmett Cullen for the ‘burn or bury’ booze up. He looked like he’d be the most up for livening up these meetings.

“Your family has grown.” Billy’s voice was accusing, and I turned to look at his stern expression.

“My son, Jasper, joined us in 1965,” Carlisle Cullen said politely, “Looking for a different lifestyle. We have abided by your terms, and would not have returned to this area if we were not prepared to continue to do so.”

The Quiluetes weren’t thrilled with that news, and Charlie just looked kind of tired. Freddie was taking notes on his phone, and I was just cold and getting bored again… until I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

Jasper was prowling away from the others, closer to me, where I stood at my uncle’s side. Both eyes were on me, like liquid amber, and I finally got a good look at him.

Jasper was Him - the boy hovering over me, half-dressed on the gurney; the boy kissing my scar, and sliding in behind me in the shower. The boy that had hovered at the edges of my visions and dreams since I was young, with adoration in his eyes and gentle touches.

The boy I’d love so fiercely and deeply…

Talk about a terrible time to finally meet.

“Oh fuck,” I said, as I looked at him, eyes wide. All those wretched cliches that terrible books write about happened at that moment. I was enchanted, besotted, and absolutely irrevocably attached to this Jasper Cullen. He was mine.

“Step back!” Harry barked out, but Jasper Cullen ignored him, watching me carefully. I couldn’t help myself; I smiled brightly at him, and he kept moving towards me. Flashes of knowledge were appearing in my head, and for some reasons I kept seeing the Lovers card, still in my deck at home. I could hear people talking, getting angry, but it was like the buzz of insects as Jasper Cullen got closer to me. His hand reached out slowly, to stroke the curve of my cheek, studying me with the strangest look on his face.

And then the pain hit, like someone had shoved an ice pick through my left eye and into my brain. The visions were folding over and over, like origami, before I could decipher them. Choices being made, minds changing, so fast I could keep up. I heard myself cry out as I fell, and then everything was dark.

Then I was seeing things in real time. The way I fell, blood running from my nose, to everyone’s utter horror. My eyes were rolled back in my head, and my body jerked in a seizure a few times before I was still.

But no one could get near me. As soon as I had fallen, Jasper had crouched over my prone form, with a horrified look on his face. Everyone was yelling and trying to get closer, and Jasper let out a snarl that was, frankly, terrifying before refocusing on me, taking my hand and plucking my glove off it, to rest against his own cheek. Whatever that was supposed to achieve did nothing, and whilst everyone else was yelling and bickering, he let out a low whine that was so pathetic, if I’d had any control over my body, I would have sat up and given him a hug.

Then Carlisle Cullen placed his hands up to the Council in a gesture of peace and nodded to Emmett before approaching Jasper.

The conversation would have been too low for anyone else to hear, but not me, in whatever kind of vision this was.

“Jasper, I understand,” Carlisle Cullen said in a low voice. “But she’s got a medical condition, you need to let her people take care of her.”

Jasper growled low, Emmett’s hand on his shoulder.

“Bro, c’mon,” he said. “You’re scaring them,” he nodded over his shoulder. Sue’s face was white with fear, and I was scared that Harry was going to stroke out on the spot.

And I was there, Sleeping Beauty, with a smear of fresh blood on my face.

“I can’t,” Jasper seemed to force out between gritted teeth. “She’s mine.” It was said with determination and desperation, and a deep tenderness.

I was pleased that whatever my embarrassing collapse had been, at least I knew we were on the same page -that we knew each other and we knew each other.

And just like that, like they were magic words, my eyes open and I was back in reality, staring up at the man-boy who was staring at me like I held the secrets to the universe.

“Alice, did he hurt you?” Freddie called out in a strained voice.

“No, that was me. Too much new information,” I said, as I began to sit up, Jasper sliding my glove back on my hand before I realised it was still missing. He held out his hand to help me up, his touch so careful and gentle.

“Okay, good. Come over here,” Freddie motioned for me to move to where the group seemed to have bunched across from the Cullens. Charlie Swan looked murderous. “She’s nothing to you, boy, just let her go.”

I winced when Freddie said that, realising immediately it was like a red flag to a bull, and all of a sudden there was a lot of motion. Jasper growled, attempting to shove me behind him - to protect me? - whilst Emmett and Carlisle Cullen decided it was time to get Jasper physically under control, and pulled him back towards where the rest of the family was standing.

I tripped over a rock and stumbled but righted myself as Jasper was bodily dragged back to where Esme, Rosalie, and Edward Cullen were waiting, looking worried.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Mrs Cullen asked as I moved back to Freddie’s side, where he quickly clasped me to him, giving me the once over.

“I’m fine,” I said before catching Emmett having bent Jasper’s arms behind his back at a hideous angle, his knee digging into Jasper’s spine. “Oh, don’t hurt him! Please!” I made a move towards them but Sue grabbed my arm, and Jasper turned to stare at me with what I can only describe as hope.

“I think this meeting is done,” Charlie Swan said finally. “You agree to maintain the existing treaty - that’s all we need. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we don’t want to cause any issues,” Mrs Cullen said, and Freddie snorted, shielding me with his body.

I felt like a prisoner being frog-marched back to the car.

“Back at the Brandon’s?” Charlie said, as we arrived at the cars.

“Of course,” Freddie said. “Coffee and debrief.”

#twificmas2020 #ficmas2020 #jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale #cullen family #fandom #my writing #fan fic #my fic #wip #charlie swan #my fic: anathema

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anthropwashere · 4 years

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deadfic: welcome the unknown

Another one for @goodintentionswipfest, and the oldest of the lot I’ll be posting by a significant margin! As in written in 2009 old. You’ve been warned.

Gonna put the whole fic under a readmore because JTHM fics have one setting and that’s Upsetting, so have some naval gazing from me first.

2009 was uhhhhh, some kind of year for me. It was the year I graduated high school, and the year I was a little bit homeless, and the year I wished I was a little bit homeless for longer so I could have avoided some bananas shit, and the year I spent waiting on tenterhooks mid-recession before I could run from a ehhh home life off to the military.

18 year old anthrop was working through some shit while writing this thing, is what I'm saying.

This was intended as a prequel to a fic I was working on in high school, while also being kind of a stand alone fic? If you've been with me since my JTHM days (wow) you'll recognize what it might have been for, but otherwise don't worry about it. This is a bit all over the place but there are still a lot of pieces I'm fond of and honestly, it's nice to see where I was as a writer and how far I've come in comparison? Too many of us fandom writers destroy huge swaths of our work out of this terribly sad and unnecessary shame for liking "cringy" things, and to this day I regret doing the same to virtually all the things I wrote for my first few fandoms. Cheesy and heavy-handed as this fic is, it's nice to have around still, you know? I cared about this fic. Working on it kept me sane during an extremely shitty summer. I dearly wish I still had the first draft, which I remember writing in different colored markers on folded sheets of computer paper hunched up in any random little corner I could get some time alone. Alas, like 98% of the rest of my things pre-military, it's gone for good.

Title comes from Robbers on High Street's "The Fatalist," which sure was a song I had on repeat a lot back in 2009.

Everywhere is dirty. Filth and stink and dead particles on everything he touches. He'd fallen asleep, and somebody had broken into his house and poured the offal of a thousand trash cans onto everything and smeared it in deep.

Asshole.

Really though, they are all assholes. Shit-smeared animals groping around on all fours, blind and deaf and desensitized to whatever little good was left in the world around them.

They make so much noise. All they do is scream, and whenever someone manages to gasp out a non sequitur the whole world applauds, casting them into the history books for the next generation to draw penises upon their photographs. It is all a matter of course.

It can't just be him that sees this. One look outside is enough to prove his point. Why else would he board up all the windows? To keep the assholes from looking in, of course.

The assholes are everywhere these days, screaming and fucking. Fucking. They're good at that too. Reproduction. Bucking hips and nails across skin and incredible, terrible intimacy, the exchanging of fluids. Disease of the flesh, fever of the mind. A new generation born in every positive pregnancy test, a new generation dead in every street corner abortion clinic. Babies. Disgusting, germ-ridden things. Oh God, don't let it touch him with its fat little hands shiny with saliva and the green ooze that won't cease dripping from the holes in its face. He doesn't know what'll happen, what he'll do if this thing gets too close, but he has ideas, and none of them are pleasant.

He always has ideas.

He blinks, and the baby and the stinking slut mother cooing at it with too-red lips and salon-styled hair and the bus and the roaring all vanish. He stumbles and knocks an elbow against the dresser.

The smell in here is somehow worse now. Like old vomit in high summer. Is it vomit? Is it his vomit?

He decides it's better not to now, at least not now. He feels a strange mood coming. High tide comes to drown the starfish, already dried by the sun. Perhaps it is a mood he needs, but then again, perhaps it comes too late.

Something cracks, and the edges go soft and drip in a puddle of wax.

He burns his fingers by candlelight.

"Johnny?"

"Bunny?"

His throat burns. It hurts to breathe.

"Oh thank God, you can hear me again. You're back."

"What—" He breaks off, coughing. Blood in his mouth, on his teeth. He licks them clean and swallows. "What are you talking about?"

Bunny sounds small and tired in his ears—

Mind?

—and there was fear, Johnny can hear it licking at the corners of Bunny's—

His?

—voice, but it has faded with time. Johnny suspects he has been asleep for a very long time.

"I've been trying to reach you for… God, I don't even know how long." Bunny trails off.

He looks around, his eyes struggling to see in the pre-dawn light trickling in through a dozen half-circle windows on the floor above wherever he is. More by the smell than anything, he realizes he is surrounded by blood and bodies. A part of him knows he shouldn't be comforted by this, shouldn't find this scene familiar.

And yet.

"I was scared, Nny."

He hiccups, chokes, and spits out three bullets.

The mirror is laughing at him.

He sneers at it. Squints as two left hands do two different things, almost identical but the blur is still visible, still there.

He was wrong, he knows that now. There isn't just one person, one world, one reality on the other side of the mirror. There are dozens, maybe hundreds. Maybe thousands. Not all at once, of course, but there seems to be another pair of eyes staring back, another mouth talking at everyone and no one, each time he looks hard enough, long enough. The edges blur, fingers drag in slow-motion arcs, teeth where teeth shouldn't be, a hundred shades of skin and hair and eyes.

He can't remember the last time he showered.

“You look like shit, Nny,” observes the Burger Boy.

“Yes.”

“You really should do something about it.”

“Yes.”

He drives the pen through the paper and carves something into the wood that later he won't understand.

Greasy. He is so greasy. The others in the mirror bow out of the way to let him see the unwashed, true reflection of himself. He makes a face, drags his cheeks down to his jaw and waggles his tongue, and the reflection follows accordingly. No blur.

Yep, that’s him all over.

Devi screams, her face set in a terrified, furious, how-could-you-you-shithead expression, and smashes his face against the mirror. His nose breaks on impact, glass stabs, digs, and catches, and drags down his cheeks and forehead. Blood everywhere, his blood. A tooth goes flying as his chin hits the dressing table’s pitted surface with a crack that sickens him even as the edges of his sight turn black, and the pain is more than noise can express. Blood on Devi’s knuckles. Fingers ripping out his hair.

No.

Everything pauses, then it all reverses in an instant, and he is left standing before a dirty mirror with too many faces looking back.

That already happened— a long long long long time ago

—and he is better now. Devi is better now too. He hasn’t talked to her in awhile but she is around, she is there, and everything is okay now. There is some blood dried into the floorboards still—was that were the stink is coming from?—but his scars have faded. He has forgiven, and he thought he had forgotten.

He’d gotten a new mirror and everything.

“Hi Nny.”

“Evening.”

Squee leans back on his heels before the underbelly of a machine Johnny has no understanding of and glares. With his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, smears of engine grease on his hands, sweat on his face, and looking like a mix of engineer, mad scientist, and responsible adult, Johnny has no idea how to treat the boy-now-man-next-door.

"How've you been? Whatcha been up to these days?"

There is something unspoken, something furious and accusing underneath the easy drawl of the questions. He can't imagine what Squee could be angry with him about. He is at a loss, also, at how to respond to the heavy questions thrown at him so casually. He struggles under their weight, unable to answer, unable to keep quiet, unable to lie.

Squee chuckles as he stands in one smooth motion centered on his knees and cleans his glasses with a rag from his pocket. "It's okay, shit, calm down. Not like I got a gun to your head or anything."

For some reason, he feels himself flinch. Squee's eyebrows knit and relax in an instant.

"Let's see," Squee muses. "You look like you, I'm pretty sure your car still works, and I'm currently over at Pepito's for some headfuck or another. Okay, I think I know what year this is. Awesome." He puts his glasses on and shares a smile that could cut glass.

"What are you talking about?"

Squee looks surprised, but after a moment laughs a quiet little laugh. "That's right, I forgot. This is the year you do your weird losing-time thing, yeah? Haha, you freaked me out even more all summer. I think I slept on the roof more than I did my own room. Oh God, this is even better!" He laughs again, louder, and claps a hand on the shoulder of the strange machine.

He can't think of any kind of response to this before Squee speaks again. "Fuck, Johnny, you really think seeing me at nine one day and twenty-three the next is normal?"

He thought about it. "Noooot really. No."

"That is exactly—what—How did you even recognize me?" He gestures at himself, and his eyebrows do something halfway between emulating surprise and gut-busting dislike.

"Who else could you be?"

This time his laugh is loud and body shaking, and he thumps the machine as if Johnny has said something incredibly witty. "Wow, okay, if that logic works for you it works for me, you crazy fuck."

He did not just hear that. "What did you call me?"

Squee smiles again, but his eyes remain cold and flinty and full of hate towards something—Johnny suspects—he has done in the future. Goddamnit, future self, way to ruin a good thing. But his hands still clench, his joints lock. How dare Squee? How could he?

But the boy-now-man-next-door acts as if nothing has changed. "So I can't remember how your art or lack thereof is working out in this little slice of time. You paintin' with any other color 'sides red?"

Why was Squee acting like this? "Of course I am."

He isn't.

Squee scratches his neck, scratches at scabs over long, thin lacerations in finger-shaped bruises, and Johnny wonders if what he's feeling now is how the man felt when he had still been a boy, and the scary neighbor man once crawled through the window to tell him a bedtime story.

"You know, somehow I doubt that."

His fingers itch for activity. He hasn't left the house in days, maybe weeks. Does it matter?

He licks his lips and swallows, fighting down familiar urges. He can beat this.

"Do you have a problem with me?"

"Oh god oh god oh god why are you doing this—"

"Excuse me, I asked you a question."

Gently touch the controls, tack the pressure on, oh, just a little more. Just enough to make them scream.

The back of his head itches, and when he scratches his fingers come away red. No pain, just blood. So it isn't his then. But he can't remember killing anyone.

He looks away from his hand and out the window, at the outside world creeping in through the cracks between the boards. Outside there is no sun, no moon, no stars, no anything. His breath hitches.

It's raining.

He exhales.

The door is open though he doesn't remember leaving it so, so he takes the hint and walks outside. He inhales, tasting the hot summer smell of wet concrete and the cloying reek of decomposing bodies in his front yard. The million million light bulbs of the city throw their energy skyward, and the roiling clouds eat the light whole. A weird, orange glow from above casts the city into an otherworldly scene, and, feeling a little silly, he wonders if tonight might be the beginning of the apocalypse, and the idea doesn't sound half bad.

In the driveway, the concrete is slick with oil. He stands there a while, letting the rain wash the human grease out of his hair. It takes him just as long to realize his car is missing.

"That's funny," he says aloud, wiping the rainwater out of his eyes. "I don't remember teleporting home. Unless—was it Tuesday yesterday? I don't think it was, but—"

There is a soft, scared inhale of breath, a backwards scream. He turns, and there on the sidewalk is a gray woman in a bathrobe, faded coffee stains and food crusts all down her front. She is pointing at him, her face wide, frozen in a rictus grin of fear.

"What?" he asks, reality crashing into place with a shatter of glass ripping through his ears.

Her mouth moves, but the sounds that come out are backwards and insulting, and her eyes are fish eyes, wide and lidless and staring.

"What?" he asks again, sharply, his voice ugly and tasting of ashes.

"M-mon—" the woman wheezes.

Her throat is in his hands, and he doesn't recall moving from his empty driveway.

"What are you staring at? What do you want?!" he screams.

She gags and gurgles, her tubes for eating breathing talking standing bleeding; all of it collapsing under his fingers—

which hadn't been so thin a few weeks ago

—and the grin on his face is a mile wide.

"Monster!" she whimpers as something cracks in her neck.

Monster? His hands loosen, cradle her jaw, as his mind tries to grapple with this. Why… Why would anyone call him that?

The pounding of feet, and someone wrenches the woman out of his grasp. "Jesus jump-roping Christ, Johnny!"

Dazed, he stares at the newcomer as if he's looking at everything through the wrong end of a telescope. The reek and the roaring of the public transit system returns with a bang of pneumatic doors, and Squee's mouth moves in angry shapes but the slut-mother's cooing comes out instead.

"You gonna pay or get off my bus?"

He looks at the bus driver, at the thick rolls of fat ballooning out underneath his sweaty, undersized uniform, a sneer pulling back the heavy flesh around pearly white teeth. He imagines jamming the steering wheel through the man's dislocated jaw and feels slightly better.

It's safe to imagine such atrocities. Imagine, but nothing more. He has to remember that.

"Hey kid! I'm talkin' to you!"

"Sorry," he manages through grinding teeth and a throat hot and restricted with anger. He deposits the required fare into the automated tray and darts across the yellow line before he can act upon his ideas.

He always has ideas.

He stumbles into an open seat as the bus jerks forward with a belch of black exhaust he can't see but can taste, heavy and gritty on his tongue. On his right, a plastic mommy bounces her little dolly on her knees. They are dressed in matching summer dresses. Disgusting.

How long has it been summer anyway?

He glances at the pair again and thumbs the volume on his CD player a little higher, fighting to keep his face neutral. He has never been fond of parents who treat their offspring like objects rather than the people they are going to be.

Something tugs on his sleeve and he recoils, crashing into the metal bars on his left. It takes everything he has not to retaliate against the foreign touch. His headphones are knocked askew by the impact, and Mozart's power vanishes, becomes tiny vibrations around his neck.

The baby, the child, the dull-eyed little girl has the ragged end of his sleeve in its shining, soaking wet hand. Through the fabric, he can feel its dampness, its heat. It babbles at him incoherently, green ooze dripping from its squashed little nose into the gaping, grinning mouth below.

"Oh, she likes you!" The mother cries, swooping in for the kill. Her smell washes over him—of heady perfume, hairspray, hysteria. He can see the makeup creases, the scars of plastic surgery, the shadow of a bruise on her shoulder half-hidden by her yellow sleeve. His mind jumps to all sorts of conclusions, and each one of them sickens him more than the last.

"Uh," he manages.

His hands twitch.

He is sick of this life again. All the old signs are there, everything points to one fact, but he can't bear going down that path, not yet. Later, later.

"'Later,' he says!" Crows the delighted Burger Boy. "Yes, perhaps when the scabs from the old shackles grow over the new he'll get off his scrawny ass and attempt to do something about all this!"

"Fuck you."

The Burger Boy looks at him imploringly, its meaty little hands clasped, its fangs retracted, the perfect image of a concerned friend in hideous checkered overalls. "In all seriousness, Johnny-boy, this is not something you can put off any longer. You must act now, or not at all."

"Go die in a hole."

"We both remember how effective that was the last time you tried that. Now, please—"

"Don't make me get the sledgehammer."

At least it had the decency to flinch at that, the little fuck.

The Burger Boy sighs, obviously frustrated. "I don't understand why you find it necessary to fight me so, Nny."

"Maybe it's because, oh, I don't know, you're trying to enslave me to my own kidneys?" He bites on the straw of his cherry Freezy hard enough to tear it. The plastic tastes like artificial fruit and latex gloves. "And don't call me Nny."

The Burger rolled its eyes, which shouldn't have been possible because it was pretending it was still ceramic. "So I'm no longer allowed that special little privilege, am I? Only the ghost of your dead, levitating bunny rabbit is?"

"Leave Nailbunny out of this."

"And those pathetic Doughboys as well? The very ones that conspired against you to 'serve their master', who, in case you've since forgotten, was the very creature you were charged with imprisoning behind a wall of blood and plaster?"

"That was D-Boy. Eff just wanted freedom. And really, can I blame him?" He bites the straw in half and spits it into the bathroom sink. In the mirror, his reflections mimic him, ten thousand mouths a-grinning.

"You're missing the point, though I'm hardly surprised."

A thought strikes him, and it's out of his mouth before he can think twice about it. "You know, if they ever started talking again, I think I'd still let them call me Nny. Sure, they were both exploiting my ever-increasing insanity and all that, but they were mine in the beginning. Unlike you."

It ignored the jab. "If they ever start talking again, it will be far too late."

There wasn't any soap in the bathroom.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Give me one goddamn reason, one very good goddamn reason you had for strangling my mother, or so fucking help me Johnny—!"

Squee is definitely reminding him of himself now. Great. Fantastic. Fuck.

"Um."

The Burger Boy scowls, its face transmogrifying into the fanged, drooling thing it really is. "You remember how terrible it was to toil under the merciless whip of the System! I know you do because I am a part of you, though you refuse to believe as such! And though you hate what I have to offer, you must realize that I am far more preferable as I am now than what I could become unless you tear free of the System's grip now!"

"I AM FREE!"

With a snap of ceramic he breaks it's right arm off, and the two of them scream in pain and hate, in the same voice, in one voice.

"I." He jabs at his chest with the arm, feeling it squirm under his fingers.

"Am." He drops it to the bloodstained linoleum.

"Free." He grinds the arm to dust under the heel of his boot. His reflections are too blurred, too scattered, to see how many follow suit.

Gripping the hole where a limb had been seconds ago, its ugly face twisted further by agony, the Burger Boy pants, "There is no such thing as freedom! No!" It screams, harsh and violent, as he opens his mouth to retort, "Listen to me. Hear me out. Please."

A heartbeat passes. Five. He closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and nods. The figurine sighs and leans against the faucet, settling its insect eyes on the spilled Freezy in the tub.

"Let's get one thing straight. I don't want you thinking that the puppet masters are singling you out for sport. God knows you aren't anything special. Everyone is a slave to one thing or another." It pauses to laugh bleakly. "Perhaps even those who fancy themselves the masters of this game of Monopoly must bow their neck to the chopping block one day. Who am I to know? I am but a series of chemical reactions created in the misfiring neurons of a sick man's brain. But never mind that. What I'm trying to say here is that there has been no other way. Ever. There has been no freedom, no choice. It is all preordained. This is the way of all things."

Every part of him rebels against this. No free will? Impossible. His life is his own, now more than ever. Yes, he had been a slave, once. But that had just been the luck of the draw, an accident, like winning the lottery or getting hit by a truck. It was… unpredictable, impossible to preordain. Heat in his chest, his jaw tight and creaking. "They told me—" He begins, his voice ready to rise into a shriek.

"It was only temporary. Even stone must crumble, Johnny."

His legs turn to jelly at a terrible, terrifying thought. He grips the sink, licks his lips and tastes salt and cherries and fear. In a soft, weak voice he barely recognizes as his own he finally asks, "Are they going to make me a flusher again?"

"They already have."

"Mom, can you make it back to the house on your own?" As he speaks, Squee performs a quick once-over on the gasping woman clinging like a burr to his chest. His face betrays him, showing the extent of the damage done even as he keeps his voice upbeat, a stream of happy reassurances pouring out with the rain even as his eyes confirm a far more dire prognosis. "Johnny and I need to, um, talk."

"Who—" Her voice fractures in her collapsed throat, and she chokes and dry heaves until her face is purple with strain.

Squee holds her until she calms. "Johnny's our neighbor, Mom. We've lived next to him since—for as long as I can remember."

"O-oh. He looks ni-ice. I-is he a friend o-of yours?"

Squee makes a face remarkably comparable to the one a particularly vehement guest made once after Johnny had made him swallow a pound of nails. "Just—go inside, Mom. Go see if Dad's awake, okay? See if he'll call 911 for you."

"Okay sweetie." Her voice is wet and crackling, like stiff paper going soft beneath a steady drip of water. He recognizes the sound, and suspects now that he may have squeezed too hard. But she had insulted him, hadn't she? Called him a fucking monster. How could he let that go without proper retaliation?

"And tell Dad I'll be in in a min—oh festering whore tits, your eyes are bleeding."

"Don't swear, honey."

"Sorry. Johnny?"

He can't help but flinch. "Yes?"

Squee swallows, looking almost frightened before setting his jaw and glaring hard at him. "You are going to go in your house, sit your ass down on your couch, and you are going to stay the fu—stay there until I can get Dad to give me the keys so I can get Mom to the ER. See, betcha I gotta do it 'cause Dad is an incompetent, loveless douche with a heart of coal. But I'm gonna do it fast, 'cause you and I? We need to talk."

"I—"

Squee got him off with a sharp gesture. "Uh-uh. Not today. Not gonna play that game. Get in your house."

He got in his house.

"Slavery is inherent in all things, Johnny. It is only a question of to what. Once before you were selected to be a Flusher—"

"And I failed. Miserably, I might add."

The Burger Boy shook its head firmly. "You excelled."

"Clearly we're remembering my experiences in the After Life differently."

"Clearly you forget what kind of monster was imprisoned behind that wall."

"I never saw it. I died before I had the chance."

"It doesn't matter whether you saw it or not! What you had to do to keep it locked up should tell you more than enough."

"I—"

"I think somebody with a say in things liked what you were doing down here. Otherwise, why else tether you to this particular yoke a second time? If your memories of what Satan said to you are correct, you are practically the very antithesis of Flusher material!" It hobbles towards him, it's ungainly waddle exacerbated by its missing arm. Drool spills freely from between jutting fangs that cut at its lips with every overeager exclamation. "Take a good look at me, boy. The very moment the System slapped the manacles back on your wrists it began to take me as well. These changes are the result of your inaction."

His reflections smile bitterly. "You claim to be mine one minute and admit you're not the next. One or the other; it can't be both."

It stares at him with a steady, curious expression. "Can't it? The System is trying to take me from you. That is one truth. Another is that I am fighting it as best I can. Just as your Doughboys did, not so long ago."

He sneers and says nothing.

"I am resisting," the Burger Boy continues, "but I cannot win. The changes done to this form you've assigned me are the result of every foot of ground lost. You must see how much faster the transformation is in me compared to the Doughboys! You must understand that you are no longer a mere Flusher! For the Wall Monster remembers how effective it was to use your own madness against you, and now an eye is upon you, Johnny! The merciless, unflinching eye of the System in its entirety, and the System is more powerful than either of us can possibly comprehend."

He locks his fingers around the lip of the sink to keep from shaking. Slowly, the words trickle out of his mouth, pooling in a pile of warm paranoia in the drain. "Everything you say only goes to prove how much they have already conquered you, taken you from me and twisted you into some… thing. Some monster braying about hope even as it settles its jaws around my neck."

He drops his gaze from the figurine, from the mirror, afraid of the triumph he knows he will find there. "I can't trust you."

The Burger Boy positively beams. "Now you're catching on."

"Nailbunny, what should I do?"

resist

"Who? Who do I fight? Him? The System?"

resist

"Whether I like it or not, he's my only source of information. Even if he's manipulating me, he at least has the decency to forewarn me, unlike his predecessors. If push comes to shove, I think I could beat him. But what—what if he's telling the truth? What if he can help me?"

resist

"Nailbunny?"

resist

re—

"Please! Oh god, this hurts so much! Stop!"

"Shut up. The machine's barely even warmed up."

The sobbing blob tied to one of many torture devices he keeps humming at the ready cringes as his hand floats above the dial. He allows himself a brief smile.

"W-what do you want? Jesus Christ, I just m-met you! What did I even do?!"

He opens his mouth, a speech rife with injustice suffered under the merciless hands of a society dead from the neck up on the tip of his tongue, only to find himself unable to remember who this woman is and why he has her strapped into the Needler.

He laughs, and turns the dial up anyway.

—sist

The baby, the child, the dull-eyed little girl releases its iron grip on his sleeve and forgets him instantly, yet the mother perseveres, eager to speak with another human being. It seems he has no choice but to participate in a conversation with this woman until his stop, as every other seat is taken. And besides, it would be rude to just stand up and walk away.

You could kill her.

He frowns and ignores the voice, but nevertheless finds it unsettling. Meat's all for living and talking and eating and fucking and being an actual human, not murder. This is very out of character. Still pondering over it, he glances at the woman and finds her staring at him, expecting something from him.

"What?" he asks, itching to put his headphones on again. He really likes the piece vibrating against his collarbone.

"Where did you buy your shirt?" the woman asks, as if she's repeating herself. She probably is.

He peels his eyes away from her surgically swollen lips long enough to glance down at himself. Black and gray, with an obnoxious splash of color amid the stripes that makes his head hurt. He doesn't recognize it.

"I, uh, don't remember," he says.

"Oh, that's too bad! My little brother loves that show."

He nods mutely, allowing his thumb to play with the volume of his CD player. The woman keeps talking, and Carl Orff rages at fate in a whispered rise and fall of Latin and violins.

The girl touches his hand again, and he accepts without protest that he will kill these two in their matching summer dresses with an eager blare of trumpets.

"Slavery to a broken machine or slavery to life and all its pains and pleasures." Meat touches his arm with its remaining hand. Through his sleeve, he can feel its dampness, its heat. "Decision time is now or never, Nny."

He laughs. "I am a broken machine."

Sometimes other people appear in the mirrors. Just brief flashes, overlapping the current other-self dominating the rest, and he knows it's foolish, but he can't help but wonder.

What is it like to have friends?

"—and it's being called the worst crime in the tri-county area since the café massacre two years ago. With twenty-seven dead at the scene and another twelve in critical condition, we here at the Channel 4 News Network can't help but agree. What do you think of it, Jeff?"

"It's a real atrocity, Nadine. The man who did this must be a real psycho, a total monster."

"Oh yes. And speaking of the killer, a woman—who has asked to remain anonymous—has stepped forward, claiming to have been at the club when the murders were committed. She also claims to be the one who halted the massacre by shooting the killer three times, despite having already been wounded."

"It is true a thus-far unidentified blood sample was recovered from the scene, as well as the bullets matching the woman's gun, but nothing conclusive has been determined yet. However, the woman has agreed to meet with a sketch artist once she's recovered from the attack, and a drawing of the killer will be sent to all media coverages when available."

"In the meantime, if anyone has any information regarding the killer or his whereabouts, we would appreciate it if you would call the number at the bottom of the screen. Please, don't hesitate—"

The reporter's face freezes for an instant before exploding in a supernova of white noise. Jolted out of a daydream, he instinctively reaches for the remote to mute the atrocious sound, but pauses before letting his hand fall.

The sound is… oddly pleasant.

He leaves it on for three days.

He decides to call it Reverend Meat. It just… seems to fit.

He pauses at the couch only briefly, wondering what happened outside and what kind of reaction he should be having, but his legs give out and once he hits the floor it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Something skitters away, startled by the sound and vibrations of his body striking the wood. A minute passes or maybe five before it skitters back, probing his fingers with inquisitive antennae. His nerves won't respond to the signals his brain sends, to flinch away or crush the insect before it has a chance to grow bolder. He panics briefly, fear and helplessness clawing their way through his chest cavity, but then, as if a switch is flipped inside him, he relaxes.

The insect, whatever it is, takes a cautious nibble at the calloused tip of his ring finger. There is a tiny flash of pain, but no instinctive recoil from the source of the hurt. He is truly unable to move, than. The insect continues to bite, finding the outer layers of his skin tasty enough to merit further excavation. A second insect, crawling out of some unseen hole beyond his limited vision, joins the first, and is quickly followed by a third, a fourth, a dozen, too many to differentiate by feel alone and before he knows it an entire colony of carnivorous insects are biting into him, eating his flesh, burrowing under his clothes, his skin, crawling in his mouth and into his soft, wet insides, and he can't do anything to stop it.

It hurts, God it hurts, and he thinks wildly to himself that if he manages to live through this he will never ever strap a jar of bugs between another guest's teeth, ever again, because this is beyond torture, beyond ironic justice, beyond what words can describe: it just fucking hurts.

But then they reach his spinal cord and, like a city-wide power outage, his pain receptors begin to shut down, and then it's only the sounds of thousands of tiny mouths chewing. Until the insects turn their attention to his face, at least, being eaten alive isn't quite as bad as movies would lead him to believe. It's certainly slower, for one thing, and it lacks the nerve-wracking horror soundtrack, but perhaps that's for the better. The sounds he does hear are far from pleasant: squishing and crunching and gnawing and if he still had a stomach it'd probably be heaving by this point. He can see nothing but the dusty edge of darkness beneath his couch, but it's easy to imagine how gruesome he must look.

He's seen the results of this kind of thing with his own eyes, after all.

By the time they reach his head, they have already chewed through something vital in his chest and nowhere can he feel anything, any ache any pain any sadness any anger any loneliness and God is that an improvement. Consciousness fades to a dull spark somewhere in his increasingly exposed ribcage, perhaps somewhere just behind his collarbone, and he is hollowed out as rapidly as a properly upgraded power tool can scoop the mush out of a pumpkin. He is home to a colony of army ants, or a vast nest of ravenous, newborn spiders. That buzzing he hears could be the many vibrating wings of mating flies, or the first comb of a beehive being constructed among his bones. Certainly this is some species of insect that won't hesitate to swarm over a piece of meat—however stringy—before it has a chance to defend itself. Maybe it's even a school of land-bound piranha. He can imagine all sorts of culprits and has little trouble believing in all of them.

He wonders if honey from a human hive would be any good, but immediately discards the idea, revolted. He's practically thinking cannibalism here! Or, rather, self-cannibalism. Can a person self-cannibalize when they no longer have a digestive system? He'll have to try that sometime.

He wonders.

"Johnny?"

He blinks with magically undevoured eyelids, and is whole.

Sometimes, if he focuses hard enough, long enough, on these days when others flicker by in the mirrors, sometimes these flickers steady, become memorable faces, re-memorable people. And if memory serves, most of these people are dead.

The implications leave him with aching knuckles.

"I am not a monster."

"You just keep telling yourself that. Hey, maybe if you wish hard enough it might even come true one day!" Meat cackles and kicks his toothbrush into the toilet bowl.

"I wasn't always like this. I haven't always lived here. I haven't always been alone."

"How can you be so sure?”

Frustrated. Does he really have to state the obvious?

"No one is born knowing how to speak or read or write, or how to drive a car, or how to use money. Inherent knowledge is limited in humans. I may no longer have the memories of being taught, but the result is still the same. I know how to mix paints because I probably took classes in high school. I know how to use a camera, order dinner at a restaurant, do my own laundry, because someone else was there to teach me. Fuck, someone hated me enough to give me you."

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who gave me to you?" Meat's smile tries to appear kind, yet it is condescending, as if it is speaking to a child. "It's a simple enough question, dear boy."

"I—you said it was a girl—that we—" He swears. "You know I don't remember."

"Who gave you an understanding of the English language? Where is the license that proves you once passed a test at the DMV?"

"I—"

"Can you prove that you did not simply read the directions in some art books, or on the camera's packaging, or in a Laundromat? Perhaps, on the same strange whim that made you steal some Styrofoam Pillsbury Doughboy figurines, you came across my body yourself?"

"You said—"

"I thought you didn't trust me."

His knuckles burn white.

"Well, Johnny?"

"You know I can't prove any of that."

Meat's eyes glitter with delight. "Then, dear Johnny, how can you be so sure?"

At the edge of a stage bright with colored lights, he curls his hands around a microphone and smiles. The audience—

so many eyes watching him, and yet he couldn't be more relaxed

—has hushed; yet their screams still ring in his ears.

He is not alone on this stage.

He doesn't dare turn to see who is playing softly behind him, afraid it'll be people the mirrors have shown him that are alive in some other Johnny's life but dead dead dead in his. His heart pounds, and for once the ache in his throat feels good. This is all so wonderfully terrifying, sickeningly familiar. Has he dreamed this before?

He comes to a stop inches from the audience's reaching hands. Good God, he has them right in the palm of his hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he breathes into the microphone, and every spark of life in this vast room is shining its light on him, and it is all so beautiful, so perfect, so alien.

"What we have here is a moral conundrum."

"Bunny, I'm worried."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one. But really, there's so much to worry about. Please, elaborate for me."

"I haven't gone anywhere I might run the chance of killing someone in months. Just drive-thrus and that fully automated shopping center. Until recently, the only other people I've interacted with haven't bothered me or have been out of reach. It's only been these past couple weeks I've attempted anything more. Walking in parks, public transportation. You know."

"I know."

"What I can't figure out is how I ended up in that club at all."

The television is on, too low to be heard. In its pale blue glow, he carefully touches his chest, wincing when his fingers press against three tender circles: one on his sternum, another between his sixth and seventh ribs, and the last just beneath his ribcage. Tiny puckered scars ache in the center of each purple bruise.

"If I remember correctly, you recognized something who went inside and followed after."

"Why would—that doesn't sound like something I'd do."

"You stalked Devi for nearly a year."

He scowls. "Unnecessary, Bunny."

"Is it?"

He thumps his boots onto the coffee table and says nothing. Bunny presses on.

"It was a woman. Short hair, glasses, surprisingly compassionate to your… cause."

"Wait, do you mean that one woman with that shitty boyfriend I Tazered once? When I saw that movie—"

"Yes."

"Wow, really? I figured the Wall Monster got her after reality collapsed." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "What was her name? Did it start with a… a T?"

"Tess."

"Yeah!" He pauses. "She… recognized me first."

"Uh-huh."

"She practically ran into the building. They didn't even card her. She must have been a regular."

"Or she worked there."

"Or she worked there," he agrees. "That anyone could recognize me—" he trails off. A beat passes, and he continues on a different vein. "But what set me off? What caused me to break again, after I'd been doing so well?"

"That shouldn't be your chief concern, Johnny."

He looks at the disembodied rabbit head, little more than a skull now, and tiny and fragile-looking without it's maggot-riddled skin. "Oh?"

"You should be asking why you were sent back again."

Those other people in the mirror, those strangers, those friends, those dead bodies in motion, would sometimes pause beside his reflection. They smile, laugh; get mad and fight back and actually live; attack and be attacked; get scared and fight back and die. Some of it looks fun, some of it looks ridiculous. A lot of it scares him, more than he'd like to admit.

He wishes one of them would notice him.

His fingers touch glass.

#jthm #johnny the homicidal maniac #deadfic #my writing #if you know the comic then you know what kind of violence and fuckery to expect #otherwise good grief i apologize to anyone checking this out who doesn't know the source material and just likes my writing #i also dearly apologize for the lack of contractions #18 year old anthrop didn't know what the fuck she was doing

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groundzerobakugo · 5 years

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Hunter Hawks with ex-girlfriend/reader and they continuously "battle" each other a lot even though it just ends with a lot of ~~~~ feelings? Bring on the tension!

hmmmm yes pls!! you got it anon!

...

you grinned as you followed the poor soul out of the bar and down the dark alleyway; there was a dry tickle in the back of your throat, and your body hummed at the thought of finding such easy prey. it was always best when your victims were drunk, you even got a little bit of alcohol in your system from it, one of the few ways a vampire could feel a buzz.

the world blurred as you appeared right behind the poor stranger, and you tapped his shoulder. “hey, good looking,” you smirked.

the man turned, a sloppy grin on his face as he saw you.

“looking for a good time?” your voice coming out like soft velvet to his ears; it eased the stranger into a false sense of ease. you were quick to pin him to the wall, lips on his in an instant. you could taste the booze on his tongue as you slipped the paralyzing toxins into his system, making quick work to disable your victim. the man slumped with lidded eyes trained on you.

“gonna-gonna fuck me?” he asked in a weak voice.

your lips quirked upwards, “sorry, you’re just a meal.”

“wh-what?”

the sharp canines stretched past your lips, and you tilted the man’s head, attaching the fangs to his neck. you greedily gulped down the sweet blood, unaware of a third party entering the alleyway as the booze-infused blood muddled with your head. it was only a slight buzz, but just like humans, an empty stomach never did well with alcohol.

you shrieked as you were pulled by by your hair, the man you were previously feeding on collapsing onto the concrete floor. you whipped around, trying to push your attacker away but they caught your fist. bright, golden irises locked eyes with your reddened glare.

“lookie here, i’ve caught a little field mouse,” he grinned. his wings were folded neatly behind his back, but you caught the slight twitch of his feathers.

“hawks,” you snarled.

it was the cliched story of hunter-turned-into-hunted. you and hawks had met through the endeavor hunting agency, and within a year, you two blissfully fell in love. but hawks’d angered one of the most powerful vampires in the district when he killed his lover. in turn, the vampire had turned you into one of his own in retaliation. it was now a game to the hunter, of hawk and field mouse in his words.

the winged hunter’s lips drooped into a small frown upon seeing your red-stained lips, the blood splattered on your chin and dress. “you’ve made a mess of yourself, haven’t you?” his thumb wiped at your bottom lip.

“let go of me,” you growled, and your butt hit the concrete as he did what you asked.d

“there’s a bounty on your head, you know,” hawks replied, his boot-clad footsteps echoing about the small alleyway as he circled you. “they say you’re an insatiable beast.”

you snorted and got back on your feet, the bloodlust haze fading away with each passing moment, along with your buzz. “well? if you’re here to kill me, i’ll make it easy on you. my heart’s right here.” you motioned to the left side of your chest and shut your eyes in wait.

there was a soft sigh, and even though you felt the tip of his stake on your chest, it never pierced the skin.

you cracked an eye, “what are you waiting for, hawks?”

his golden hues met your natural (eye color) ones. his lips quirked up. “not yet, i think i’ll play with you a little longer.”

you smirked, and not even a half a second longer, you had the dirty blond pressed against the wall; your forearm was pressed against his chest, and with the closeness, you could hear the sweet, melodious rush of blood in his veins.

“you’re a fool, you know that?” your breath fanned over his neck as your elongated canines hovered over the supple skin.

“am i?” he grinned.

you jumped back as you felt the searing hot burn of silver touching your bare skin, and you hissed at the man in front of you, fangs bared.

“you’re too cute,” he mused. he ran at you, a stake in hand. the point caught your arm as you lifted it to block, the wood sticking out of your skin.

with a snarl, you removed the stake; it clattered against the floor. blood dribbled down your arm and dripped onto the concrete with a sickening plip-plop. you charged, dodging the silver and shoved the hunter against a wall. “when will you learn you can’t win this? just leave it alone,” you sneered.

footsteps echoed from the mouth of the alley, and you lifted your head.

“looks like i better go, but say hi for me.”

hawks watched with a chuckle as your form disappeared into the night. he would never admit it aloud, but he liked the game he had with you.

you always hated daylight; how the sun made your skin itch and your eyes hurt from the brightness. sunglasses were perched on the bridge of your nose as you walked down the street, hands in your pockets and feet kicking a small pebble. it had been weeks since you last fed, especially since you were now rumoured to be an insatiable beast. the human side of you ached with the title, and you couldn’t bring yourself to feed with the horrid realization, even if it wasn’t true. but, it was dangerous to go without a source of nutrients for so long. you had to endure, though. no matter how weak you felt.

you doubted the hunters would really be out during the day; they had almost become nocturnal like most vampires. but, with you only being a newborn, two year old vampire, you were still used to your human biological clock and went to bed at the sane time of midnight (at the latest).

the birds seemed to quiet down as you passed them. various plaques and tombstones stood out from the ground, and you glanced at them and their dying flowers.

the cemetery was empty, like usual, and the sun was beginning to set overhead, casting an eerily glow about the place. hardly anyone visited their dead loved ones as of late, but there was one grave you constantly stopped by to visit--your own. after the agency had found out you’d been turned into a vampire, they had conducted a fake funeral in your honor; hawks’ idea. you had thanked him in your first post-turn run in with him, for giving your family a chance to grieve over the loss of their daughter.

you crouched down beside your tombstone and fingered the engraving.

here lies (last name, first name); beloved daughter and friend to all.

below it laid the dates of your birth and rumoured death.

there was a bouquet of white carnations, wilting away with each day. a flower that represented remembrance, ones you knew that your mother had left you a week and a half ago.

“not in the mood,” you mumbled and stood up. you had heard the slight flutter of wings behind you, and you turned to see the winged hunter. “please, hawks, not today.”

the man stared at you curiously, peering around to see your tombstone behind you. he’d followed you to the cemetery, unsure of what business you held in a place full of buried corpses. “not so ferocious during the day, huh?” his lips quirked upwards.

your lips pressed into a line. “perhaps you didn’t hear right. not in the mood.”

you attempted to pass him, but you were pulled back by your wrist. “i don’t think that’s up to you to decide. besides, i need to talk to you, baby bird.”

you tried to ignore the flutter in your cold, undead heart at the old pet name. “fine, but-but don’t call me that.”

the two of you walked together, and hawks mindlessly made a few comments about the engravings on tombstones and the weather. when you were human, his constant small talk was one of the things you adored. the two of you balanced each other out; he was always the talkative one, and you would input a few words here and there, but you loved to hear his voice as he explained the cases he was working on or just mindless chatter about a reality tv show he watched earlier in the day. right now, though, it irked you.

“get to the point, hawks,” you grumbled.

after you’d turned, you’d began to hate the carefree nature of the man you once loved and still loved. he acted so casually about everything that had happened, it was like he tried to act as though you were still human--even if he was constantly hunting you down and interrupting your feeding times.

“you haven’t been eating, have you?”

hawks let his words hang in the air. it wasn’t so much of a question, but a careful observation. you had stopped in your tracks, looking like a deer in the headlights. his golden eyes watched you carefully, just as they had been for the past few weeks. it seemed as though every patrol he went on, he always found himself watching you.

“baby bird?” he took a step towards you.

the corner of your eye caught the movement, pulling you from your trance. you took a defensive pose. “i told you not to call me that,” you snapped. you lunged and successfully tackled the winged hero to the ground. “so don’t. i’m not the same as i was, i’m not that human girl you fell in love with. so quit calling me what you called her.”

he was quick to shove you off of him, and he drew a feathered sword. the blade was angled to you neck, and you gulped. “no, but i still love her. and i still love you.”

your breath hitched. “no, you don’t.”

“no? then, why else do we keep playing this game?” he replied. “i could have killed you awhile back, i could kill you right now. but i didn’t, and i won’t.”

hawks’ feathers ruffled as you appeared at his side in an instant. a small trail of blood came from your neck where the feathered blade had nicked the skin. once again, he found himself with your fangs at his neck. the sharp points dragged against his flesh, but you never applied enough pressure to draw blood.

you hovered for a moment before you backed off. “you stupid birdbrain,” your voice was soft as it reached his ears. “i could kill you in an instant.”

“but you won’t,” his cocky grin etched across his face.

“you’re the one who says i haven’t been--” a gasp fell from your lips as you felt an arrow pierce your side. reddened eyes turned to look behind your shoulder, and you noticed the shadow of endeavor. you whipped around to face hawks, his golden eyes just as wide with surprise as yours.

his fingers gentle grazed over the sharp point of the arrow, and he clenched his jaw, looking past you and glaring at his childhood hero. with a weak whimper, you slid the arrow out of your torso. if you had been feeding properly, this would have healed in no time. but, as hawks had observed, you hadn’t been. it didn’t help, either, that it was coated in silver.

another arrow whizzed past you, and hawks shielded you with a single wing, redirecting it with a single gust of wind from his other wing. in an instant, the two of you were airborne, flying across the city to where you suspected was hawks’ little hideout. when you were human, he’d taken you there only a handful of times, mostly when he needed space from the world and to get stuff of his chest. it was private and secluded, just a small rooftop where the air was thing.

his feet hit the rooftop, and he gently laid you down against the three-foot ledge.

“baby bird?” his warm hands cupped your cheek, and you cracked an eyelid at the man crouched before you. “it’s healing, right?”

you gritted your teeth. “no. i-it won’t. it’s fine.” you pressed your hand against your side, hissing in pain.

“why won’t it heal?” he asked, his words rushed with his panic. sure, he hunted you down here and there, but it was all in good fun. he would never actually kill you, he didn’t actually want you to die. he loved you once, and he still did.

“don’t-don’t ask a question you al-already know the answer to,” you mumbled.

“so, you need to feed then, right? you just need blood.”

“i’m n-not drinking from you,” you coughed. “no-normally i can control myself, b-but i don’t th-think i can. not after g-going so long without ea-eating.”

but hawks flashed you that award-winning smile of his, the cocky one you’d come to love in past years, the one that made your heart soar over the moon. “i’ll be fine, baby bird. i’ll even make it easy for you.” he pulled the knife from his belt and made a small cut on the palm of his hand.

“wh-what--” a sweet scent permeated the air around you, and you felt your stomach clench at the smell. “n-no, birdbrain, if i--”

“you won’t,” he replied.

but you shook your head with wide eyes trained on the trail of blood dribbling down his hand and down his arm. “ha-hawks....”

he rolled his eyes and lapped up a few drops from his own hand, turning to you with a wide grin. “try not to have too much fun with this.”

and this his lips were on yours, and you could feel his tongue push through, the muscle coated with the metallic twang of blood. you tried to resist, but as it entered your system, you could feel the ache in your abdomen begin to fade. you moved by instinct, hands gripping hawks’ shoulders and you sank your teeth into his neck, disregarding the hiss of pain from his mouth.

you drank greedily, as though you would never get a chance to drink again. your ex-boyfriend’s blood was so sweet. you could remember after you’d turned, how you distanced yourself before you hurt him. how the secret you tried to hide leaked after you’d taken your hunger out on a trainee.

but as the reality sank back into your bones, and you felt your strength return, you back off with teary eyes. “hawks?” your red eyes searched his golden hues to make sure he was alright.

hawks felt his eyelids droop, and he laughed softly. “told you... you’d stop... baby bird.”

you sighed, nuzzling your head against his chest as he brought a wing around you, “stupid birdbrain. that was reckless, even for you.”

“as long as... you’re okay,” he mumbled, the smile still on his lips. “i love you, baby bird.” he hummed as he felt your tongue make a quick swipe over the punctures on his neck.

“they’ll scab over soon,” you replied. “i... i don’t think you’ll be allowed back at the agency.”

“no, i don’t think so,” he laughed. “i’d be charged with treason. but... as long as i have you again, i think i can manage.”

you laughed and kissed his lips lazily, “yeah, birdbrain?”

“yeah, baby bird.”

...

......okay maybe i got a little bit carried away but i absolutely loved this and could easily write more for this. but, had to cut it soon anyway since i gotta get ready for work. this was my first hawks request, and i still haven’t gotten to his character in the manga, so i hope i wrote his character okay!

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artcanary · 6 years

Note

1-50

oh my god dude

im gonna put this under a cut bc this is a lot. this is a ride, have fun i guess

1. Your first OC ever?god. its got to be Super Kitty. when i was like … an incredibly small child I used to draw comic strips about this feline caped crusader, who was friends with everyone in the city, and the comics always involved him stopping an evil banana man from stealing money from the local bank. He was paid with donuts for his service to the city. i still remember how to draw him.

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?i’d get arrested if I didn’t answer this with Bronze, probably… but really, they’re very important to me

3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?man, i cant remember! i really dont think i have… P:

4. A character you rarely talk about?there’s loads of characters ive never even posted a single picture of on tumblr, i wouldnt even know where to start asdf

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be? bronze is the easy answer, but… i guess that could also go to Servant or Westrin. Servant has a comic project in the works that basically stars him, sort of a series of one-shots about the things he’s experienced, i feel like that would be a good thing to take off and run with. Westrin’s just fun as hell, i love the guy.

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?real talk now… there’s at least five different characters that i refer to as a whole as “bronze-tangential”, who started out as, “what would bronze be like if they were in this world?” and then becoming their own thing within said world because i just get stupid attached

its an epidemic

7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories?nearly all of them, actually. that’s the main reason i make characters, after all! too many to really go into specifics here, again P:

8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!not often, but i think Bronze and Westrin are the most common ones. unless playing a character in dnd, or running an npc in dnd counts… then a whole lot more hahaha

9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else?it depends on the circumstances. i don’t really like the idea, though.

10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design? Westrin’s old getup is a pain to draw, and there was one other design i did that I cant find anywhere… whichever way, i dont often tend to draw super complicated things often

a couple fakemon ive designed though… heheh those can get pretty finicky

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”? hmmmmmmmm my immediate thought was Eric Silverdale from a comic i was working on a few years ago. hes a darling, i want him to be my friend irl

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lothow could you do this to me i love each and every one of all my friends ocs GOD the first one who comes to mind is @d20-official‘s Smith, whos Bronze’s friend… everyone in that DND party actually

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs? Rated on a scale from “harmless” to “honestly somewhat frightening”: -Baromet (charming and quite friendly but definitely a kleptomaniac),-Westrin (demigod of bards and travelers), -XEN09 (a nonsense hacker), -Conny (needlessly contrarian and dumb as HELL), -Enza Colie (long fucking story but hes a good-for-nothing), -Hemlocke (mad scientist, chaotic evil), -Iris (AI and hacker, VERY bad), -The Terminus (glitch-in-the-matrix demon, chaotic evil), -and Sydd (the Queen of the Faeries, hopefully the danger there needs no explaining :’D)

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory Mmm… there’s a few of them, most obviously Lent (whose background I did a short comic about). Basically his entire town got eaten by ghosts and turned into zombies, he only barely survived with a sliver of his soul left.

15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?yes, i often discuss storylines and such with friends

16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)? Probably Bronze’s dad! I don’t talk about him much, but his name’s Devon Reed, and he was a biotech developer specialising in android design.

I often describe him as being something of a reverse Arthur Weasley - a very fatherly scientist fascinated to the moon and back with the concept of magic.

17. Any OC OTPs? having trouble thinking of a lot of them right now, but there’s Eric + Lent & Naiadine + Tailias from Emerald Sigil, Avken + Baromet from my space campaign world, Sydd + Wyvv from my unnamed campaign world, and I’ve been considering Westrin + Servant as an interesting dynamic in Servant’s story

18. Any OC crackships? My character Bismuth and @autistictimeknight‘s oc Eros. Theyre so fucking in love, I love it. Its been awhile but I do still think about them sometimes.

As I recall, Eros is an empath, she can read other people’s emotions. But Bismuth is a robot, and Eros can’t read her. Because of this Eros can let go of her fear of unintentionally manipulating the emotions of her date, which would hold her back from most other relationships.

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)Hey, meet Bronze! I definitely do not talk about them every five minutes, why would you say that.

Bronze was with me through two of the hardest years of my life so far, and being a DND character they grew with me, both as a fighter and as a person. They were non-binary before I started using those pronouns, they were the first character or person or anything who I fought someone about using the right pronouns for, they make a great icebreaker for if I want to see how someone reacts to non-binary pronouns …

One funny anecdote about Bronze is that when I first made them, their “gimmick” was that they would sometimes glitch out and mess up their speech, mostly because I wanted an excuse not to engage in the roleplaying (which I was very bad at). The interesting thing is that as I got better at interacting with the group, we both grew out of needing it very quickly.

I’m very proud of Bronze.

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?Westrin is a bard! His singing voice sounds like Bill Wurtz and these are his theme songs.

21. Your most artistic OCProbably Westrin again, he writes a lot of songs… and Hallux is a game designer?

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how? I honestly dont know… no-one talks to me about them, haha!

people use all manner of pronouns for bronze, though.

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?I’m gonna go with Enza for this one. Enza Colie was originally written entirely because I wanted an antagonist for a short starring his sister, Jane Colie. But the more I fleshed out his reasonings for acting how he did and explored his character, the more I realised he’d make an even more interesting character if allowed to have a redemption arc, too.

I just want to state for the record that I was very reluctant to the idea, and he basically dragged his way out of the villain pit entirely of his own accord. I am dubiously proud of him, and also a bit scared.

24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?Probably either Eric (Big Man, Best Friend), Crocus (Mother figure), Reed (Father Figure), Westrin (hed just make a good friend u kno??), or Bismuth (she makes good conversation!)

25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)probably the homestuck fan-troll Hallux, but that’s mostly because they were based on a troll-sona I made awhile ago. They’re a hope/prospit game designer who is small and full of rage and love

oh, and there’s dave! dave’s a superhero speedster, existing in a modern-day superhero version of seattle. theyre idiot, just like me,

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will? this is an interesting one… i don’t think ive ever had something Bad in a design ive done called to my attention by someone, but I did create my character Servant at around the same time I was first really expanding the diversity of my casts. (since i don’t talk about him often, a little context: he’s a magic spirit creature bound to human form to serve the royal family of the land and follow their orders.)

somehow, younger-and-more-stupid me managed to have the revelation that making this “eternal slave” character literally anything other than a white man, especially as a white author, would be Pretty Not Good. im … thats really, really not something i should pat myself on the back for, but i do consider it one of the biggest bullets dodged in my artistic career so far that i realised that not all representation is good representation so quickly, before i could make that incredibly, incurably stupid mistake.

after that, trying to make sure my characters and their presentations don’t harm anyone pretty much has become a paranoia. i don’t seem to have stepped on any toes yet, but when it inevitably happens, please let me know - i didnt know, and i want to fix it!

27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song? None that I can think of, actually! I don’t really do that often.

28. Your most dangerous OC? god damn it i have no idea!!! is it the terminus? glitch in the matrix god of chaos motherfucker?is it sarle? terrifying calculating scientist with the power of the soul at her fingertips ??? is it ares??? is it athena????? is it petra?????? the gatekeeper????

… actually, the gatekeeper might be it, if “dangerous” just refers to “the amount of raw power it can wield”. the Gatekeeper is a titanic entity that exists in interdimensional multiverse space, and its implied to have the ability to create and destroy entire universe bubbles at will. for what cosmic purpose, no-one knows.

at a more personal scale, though, literally all of the aforementioned characters are pretty bad to run into too.

29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?god. Mina or Tawn. Tawn is the Indiana Jonesy type and probably dumb enough, but also competent enough not to get into too much trouble there. Mina would probably drag her friends along.

30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection? XEN09. No-one knows, because no-one knows xir personal identity. Xe absolutely does, though. It’s less of a secret if you know xir in person, but good luck finding out about it otherwise.

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)dave just reblogs memes all the time tbh. they like to keep tabs on the ridiculous superhero news going on, and they show human jokes and cat videos to their alien gf. they dont really post or add to posts, but they talk in tags a lot.

32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why? i want to say tawn because i literally just realised ive been imagining their voice as sounding like luigi this entire fucking time and i never realised until this exact instant

33. Your shyest OC?probably baromet. they prefer to keep to themself in their hideout, with their collection of shiny things. they don’t really enjoy trying to communicate much, mostly because they expect to get yelled at.

34. Do you have any twin characters?Yes! At least two sets;

- Crocus and Sarle. (x) (x) They don’t exactly have a very well-developed relationship, but they are both quite important to the plot of my campaign world, and they are both very interesting. Crocus is a motherly figure who just exudes friendliness, while Sarle is .. very much not that, a researcher studying very gruesome things and pushing the boundaries of reality.

- Jane and Enza Colie. I haven’t talked a whole lot about either of them here, but I’d rather leave their story to do the talking whenever I get around to it. Essentially, the both of them were intended to do the dirty work for their crime boss family, but Jane ditched to study medicine. Most of the conflict between the two of them comes out of Enza not understanding why she made the choice she did, and coming to understand how he’s been manipulated.

35. Any sibling characters? I can’t really think of any off the top of my head, I should … I should really work on that.

I can talk about Westrin, though. Westrin (a demigod of many things, but namely bards, travel, travelers, and people who are lost) often becomes close friends with mortals, sometimes practically adopting them. These people who consider him family, and people who have received his blessing, are able to use his surname, Brilanta, as their own if they choose. So I guess all of the Brilantas are siblings, at least in spirit.

Oh, and XEN09 has like, seven siblings. Xe is the second-oldest, and least remarkable.

36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)? I already talked about Eros and Bismuth up there a ways in question 18, but I’ll talk about another relationship here. @autistictimeknight‘s character, Nova the Alchemist, is mentor and adopted parental figure to my character Munna. Munna … Munna isn’t a very good apprentice. She tries very hard.

37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human That’s most of them, I’m not quite sure what to say here. Bronze is an android? Bronze again? Westrin? All the aliens ??

38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer? man. uh. westrin or jean. or perhaps valencia.

39. Introduce any character you want ??? uhhhHHHhhHHH Lord Brillium is the reigning deity of the Cloud Kingdoms in the other campaign setting I’m working on. They represent light and the quest for knowledge, and spend most of their days in the Cathedral Observatory watching the stars.

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!one time bronze flew a hover-bike through the stained glass window in a cathedral blaring all star by smash mouth on their iguana

also one time bronze rickrolled a rakshasa demon and then pulled updog on it like, two minutes later

another time bronze scared off an entire army by pretending to be an automated security system

41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!)ive got a whole little folder on here from all you blessed people !!!! right now ive got a drawing quinn did of one o fmy characters as my lockscreen

but i think the one i’ll really never ever get over is this piece of Jane, by @rabendraws / @owoltron:

(i bet you thought i forgot about this, dude. dude. think again.)

42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods? this is kind of a weird question, m, I feel like Bismuth would find learning about the mythos utterly fascinating, as would Tawn.

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confesshaha. uh. i might.

aside from the entire “bronze-tangential characters” thing i mentioned awhile back, I tend to really like designing characters with hair color lighter than their skin color. it just looks so cool man. i love drawing freckles but dont put them on enough characters. i like really curly hair, but also really long and flowy hair. i like drawing triangular body types, and pointy/prominent noses.

44. Something you like about your OCs in generaluhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this is a really vague question. m. m.

45. A character you no longer use?there’s old versions of characters, but a lot of my older ones have been somehow repurposed. I guess there’s Turien, my first-ever DND character, who’s just kind of sitting dead now. Haven’t really done anything with him other than a pretty recent tangential character.

46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly?Not that I can think of.

47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child? Im certain it’s happened, but I can’t remember any specific instances.

48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pureSpring. spring knows nothing of th dangers of the world who is letting them into fights someon eneeds to stop this

(spring roll, hehe.)

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memesim not sure what this question is asking since many of my ocs actively enjoy memes including but not limited to westrin, dave, bronze, xen09, iris, and doctor archersen

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you wanti think. i think im going to pass on this one. i gave you the good old oc talk. your damn turn, yall:

if you have any questions about any of these guys feel free to shoot one at me!

thats all from me im tired and its one am. techskylander you absolute madman

#yetanotherOCmeme #WHY #personal

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louhilainen · 7 years

Text

Henry fan art and fic

I had a request over from Fire Emblem Amino to draw Henry so I decided to post it on here as well. I had an inspiration to write a fic based on the drawing too... I’m a bit reluctant to share the drawing as the quality is reaaally bad. My partner’s scanner makes the lines too light and the photo isn’t that better either....

About 2000 words long, warning about the fic; child abuse (not graphic)

The Wolf and the Boy

”Caw, caw!”

”Nyahaha, wait for me!”

Henry was gleefully stumbling after his crows. Due to his excitement, the dark mage hardly noticed how far he had come from the man-made trails. The forest had gotten thicker and he advanced very slowly among the overgrown bushes and wet tussocks. He was probably a good way from the safety of the camp and thus, from Shephards. Oh well, he wasn’t too worried for his safety. Henry peered into the empty sky save for the clouds covering the sun. Crows had probably found whatever they were looking for and had landed.

Poor Ricken had had a very confused look on his face, when Henry had simply left him in the middle of their practise and ran after his black flock. His small friends took off from time to time to find food and Henry was determined to see what they had found. It could not be a body of Risen as even crows avoided the sullen flesh of the undead soldiers. Maybe they had found some other unlucky soul? Rotten flesh, guts teared from the belly… He could hardly wait!

He heard a mixture of sounds nearby; his crows cawing loudly and some other animals snarling.

The noise became from behind a thick row of bushes. The black mage pranced to them giddily and squashed himself between the bushes. Taking no time check what was waiting for him, he almost fell through the bushes to relatively flat ground.

The crows had found the meal they were looking for. Too bad it belonged to someone else. A pack of wolves was gathered around a carcass of a deer. Few wolves were tearing away pieces of what was left of it while snapping their teeth to crows who dared closer to their prey. Other wolves, five of them, Henry calculated quickly, lay on the ground, perhaps waiting for others to finish their meal.

It had been awhile since Henry had seen wolves.

“Oh, hello! Don’t mind me!” The mage waved his hand like he had stumbled upon children’s game, not to hungry beasts which could tear him apart in a few seconds.

Wolfes raised their heads in alarm and few of them bared their teeth.

“What? Are you thinking of eating me? Don’t even think about it! I don’t want to hurt you, but I can give you a nice curse… How about a curse where your teeth fall out from your mouth? Nyahahaa!”

Henry took quickly a tome from his bag and placed his hand on it and for a while, neither the mage nor wolves made first move. The crows hanged about around the carcass, waiting for their change.

A big wolf, one of those that had been resting on the ground, relaxed and lay back on the ground. The other wolves followed the example one by one and the ones that had their meal interrupted, directed their attention back to it.

Henry wasn’t surprised about this. The animals had a good scent who to pick fights with and he had always been better with animals than humans from his very childhood. He put his tome back, and sat on the ground, watching fascinated as wolves devoured their meal. They reminded him of his first friend. Well, more like his mother when Henry thought about it. Wolfie, he had called her. The wolf had visited him almost every day and it had even brought prey to him. She had probably thought that he was hungry. Henry chuckled at the memory. There were some parts of his memories of Wolfie that seemed…. hazy. Like he had forgotten something very important. The mage shook his head. It was no matter. Wolfie was long dead, murdered… At least he had made sure her life hadn’t come cheap.

Henry realized suddenly that one wolf’s gaze never left him. He looked at it curiously. It was the same one that had been the first to react. The staring was certainly unusual behaviour for an animal.

It was a big wolf, probably the leader of the pack. It reminded him of his lost friend. Same size, similar grey-brown fur. Even the gaze was the same. Surprisingly human-like, but still animalistic enough. Like it knew something he didn’t. If he didn’t know better he could have thought it was his friend brought from the dead.

The wolf rose from the ground and very carefully, made its way toward him.

Henry opened his eyes startled. He watched confused the advancing wolf. It stopped close to him, as if waiting for something from him.

“Umm, hello? Have we met before? I’m so sorry, but I don’t remember you at all! I’m pretty sure I would remember you.”

The wolf stayed in its place. It didn’t look it was going to attack him. Henry rose and took a few small steps to the wolf.

“You know, you look really familiar. Have you ever met perhaps my friend Wolfie? Well, it was a name I gave it to her but she looked really like you so…”

Henry met the wolf’s eyes. They were exactly the same as Wolfie’s, expect… expect…. This wolf had a white spot its right eye.

His head spun.

“No, wait, I know you! You’re… you’re…!”

***

Henry sat on his usual place with a magic tome on his hands. Under the huge oak, on the meadow near the forest edge. It was his favourite spot. Well, anything was better than that his home, even the streets. But the best part was that villagers rarely ever ventured to this side of the forest. A perfect place for meeting his best friends.

The only ones he had.

Meeting them every day made his life bearable. After playing with them he could easily manage few days with his parents. His father throwing him out, his cheek on the cold, wet ground, the door shut tightly… Never to open to matter how hard he pummelled the door... In the end, Henry finally stopped trying. No, no, Henry didn’t want to think about it. If he dwelled on memories things too long, he was afraid he would… summon something. He could feel the terrible lump throbbing loudly whenever he was most desperate to smile.

Finally a large wolf jogged from the forest with four cubs following closely on the bigger wolf’s paws.

“Hey!” Henry waved his hand and greeted his friends relieved to have their presence save himself from his thoughts. The bigger wolf started to lick his face as soon as she arrived to Henry. “That tickles, haven’t I said you don’t have to wash me!” The boy laughed as wolf’s coarse tongue licked every corner of his face.

Snow and Froggie started to wrestle like they always did when they weren’t eating or sleeping. Snow had gotten his name due to his fur. Well, his fur was more like grey than white, but Snow sounded better. Henry had started to call the other puppy Froggie when he had tried to make a frog his prey. He had been startled when the frog had started jumping higher than Froggie himself was.

Blackie and Spot nibbled and growled at each other around Henry’s legs. They both wanted to climb up to his lap. Blackie had gotten his name because he had a black snout. Henry had named Spot immediately when he saw her for the first time. She had a white spot under her right eye. Otherwise she looked very much like her mother.

“You’re getting so big!” Henry picked Spot up and she happily gnawed his arm. “Auch! You’re getting sharper teeth too…”

The boy placed Spot on the ground and picked up a sturdy branch from the grass. Blackie rushed to it and sank his teeth to it. He tried to pull it from the boy with his tail wagging furiously. Spot joined her brother gnawing the branch from the middle. Mother kept watch on her cubs; on a wolf and a human alike, as they played together. Laughter from the human boy and high pitched snarling and yelping from the wolves filled the meadow with happy sounds.

***

“Well, I’ll be damned! I’ve never seen such a huge wolf before!”

“And it was near the village too! To think it could have attacked someone… That thing could easily just carry a child like it was nothing!”

“Speaking of children, didn’t it have cubs?”

“We haven’t found them yet. The mother must have left them on a den, but we’re going to find them and get rid of them. We don’t want four grown wolves roaming near the village.”

Henry hardly heard the buzzle of the small crowd gathered in the centre of the village. He fell on his knees to the ground beside his death mother. Her side was full of huge arrows. Blood had coloured her beautiful fur with red among the corners of the hole that the arrows had made. Her tongue lolled outside the mouth, her features forever locked in an agonised expression.

“What’s wrong with you, boy? Never seen a dead wolf before?”

“Why the hell is he smiling like that?”

“You’re shaking so badly, are you alright?”

The small boy didn’t hear them. He only heard the lump beating, filling every fibre of his being with vicious power that longed to be released. The lump purred and whispered to him.

Let me take care of this. After that…. You will smile like you never have.

“Hey, what in Naga’s same is he doing…?”

Henry let darkness swallow him.

***

“How… how could I forget you..?” Henry fell on this knees reaching for the wolf. Spot came eagerly to him and the black mage rubbed Spot’s fur with shaking hands.

“I’m so… happy to see you!” Henry always felt happy. But this time… this time he felt like he couldn’t contain his happiness. Like it would burst out from him.

But at the same time… it hurt so much.

“Nyahaa…. What’s… wrong with me? I feel so happy, but it also really, really hurts…. in here…” Henry grasped his shirt, just under where his heart was. He felt moist in the corner of his eyes and touched his eyes. “What’s this? Are these… tears..?” The mage watched his wet fingers in wonder.

His lost sibling began licking his face.

“Aaah, that tickles!” Henry laughed. The tongue felt as coarse as had Wolfie’s years ago.

He made a rare kind of smile; a genuine one. “I’m glad you survived. Even if it was just one of you…I’m glad.”

Spot’s mother had lost her life and her siblings probably as well… Only because she took him in to their family. If he had never visited that place… then… then…

“Hey, can you forgive me?” Henry took his hands off. ”It was kind of my fault your mother was killed. If only I had stayed away from that place and from you…” His voice faded away.

Spot tilted her head and simply commenced licking his face again.

“Haha, I guess I’m forgiven!”

Animals truly were amazing.

The rest of the pack had finished with the carcass and was restlessly moving around, probably wondering why their leader was behaving so oddly around the human. His childhood friend raised her head.

“Is that your pack? You seem to have done good in life, nyaha!” Henry petted her head gently.

“Hey, you know. I have kind of pack too. They’re called Shephards. Although I’m from Plegia and they’re from Ylisse, I feel like they’re my… family? Kinda like you guys were to me. I don’t think they quite understand what’s so great about curses… But it feels like I’m at home when I’m with them.” The wolf’s gaze was on Henry as if she was listening attentively.

“Both of us should be going. You with your pack and I with Shephards. Knowing them, they must be getting worried about me. I wouldn’t want them to start searching from me. Last time Ricken came after me, but then Risen attacked and boy, was it was fun to send them back to afterlife! Nyahahaa! Well, for me at least, Ricken started crying after we made it to the camp…. He really is bad with all this killing stuff.”

“So, good bye, Spot.” Henry scratched around her ears. They weren’t as soft as they were when she had been a cub… But they were still Spot’s. “If you ever need someone dead or cursed, come find me! I’ll send them to hell sooner than you can imagine… I’ve had a much more practise lately!” The dark mage added more cheerfully.

His childhood friend gave a last lick to Henry’s cheek and turned around with a single tail wave. She jogged to her pack. Crows rushed cawing happily to the pitifully small remains of the deer carcass. The dark mage waved his hand in goodbye as the pack slipped to the darkness of the forest.

“Bye bye, Spot! Be safe!” Henry shouted after them. “Huh, what’s this? My eyes are wet again…”

#my art #my fic #fire emblem awakening #henry fire emblem

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rowdyroewrites · 7 years

Text

Insert Appropriate Title

It’s been five years since The Great Calamity. Five years since The Grand Companies of the Eorzean Alliance banded together to meet the garlean forces at Carteneau. Five years since the Warriors of Light gave their lives to protect the realm. The nations of Eorzea are still rebuilding from the ashes. It is now, that a chocobo driven carriage enters into Central Thanalan, guards posted on either side of the carriage. Inside the carriage, some passengers awaited the arrival at their destination; Two elezen youths, twins, sat huddled against each other, the slow rhythmic breathing evidence of their slumber; an aged highlander male sat a ways from them, casually enjoying his bottle of spirits as he attempts to make small talk with one of the other two passengers, an Auri girl with pinkish blue cotton candy hair and tightly curled horns that could be likened to a sheep. who looked more interested in watching over her sleeping companion than entertaining the old man’s rambling questions. After awhile, the old man gave up and turned his full attention to his bottle, much to the relief of one Luna Cait, who turned more towards a sleeping Kana Dazkar, who was tossing every so often, but not enough to where she would fall off her seat. Luna sighed, she had a rather solid idea of what Kana was dreaming about, but contented herself with simply making sure Kana didn’t fall out of her seat.

Hear.Feel.Think.

“This dream? Again?!” Kana’s thoughts echoed in her mind. She felt disembodied as she peers at herself floating before a colossal crystal. Her body was adorned in regal white armor with blue accents and gold adornments, one of them a crown holding her mess of ice blue hair out of her face. In her gauntleted hands was a gallant broadsword and matching heater shield. With blade pointed at her foe, an ominous black-robed figure with a half mask covering his eyes and nose, leaving only a cruel grimace Kana felt as if this version of her was a last bastion of some sorts. After what seemed like hours, Kana watches herself propel towards the foe who was preparing a magical attack. As the two clash and everything goes white as her dream ends.

“…na..”

‘…’

“…ana!”

‘That’s…Luna’s voice…I think…’ Kana thinks to herself as she starts to wake.

“Kana Dazkar, if you don’t wake up this instant, you are not going to be very happy with the consequences.” a voice that was indeed Luna said rather forebodingly, which rouses Kana to full consciousness. As Kana shrinks back from the annoyed look she’s receiving from Luna, she tries to think of something to say. Pretending to be rubbing the sleep out of her eyes to stall for time, Kana sits up as Luna gives her room to do so. After realizing that Luna was actually expecting some form of response from her, Kana smiled sheepishly and laughed a bit “Morning, Luna!” She tried cheerfully.

Luna sighed, realizing that she wasn’t going to get much better than that. She nodded to Kana before turning her attention to making sure her belongings were gathered together, spending a little time maintaining her weapons. At present, she was tending to the limbs of her ash shortbow, a gift from the guildmaster of the Archer’s guild in Gridania. The ash of the bow limbs gleamed as the harsh sun of thanalan shone upon it, reflecting the meticulous and tender care Luna had for her weapons. Next to the cotton candy haired Auri laid a modest knapsack for the rest of her belongings save for a wand, also made from an ash tree. The small flowers that budded whenever Luna held it in her hands spoke of her progress in the field of conjuration. While the caravan had originally been bound for Ul’dah, their journey was interrupted while the carriage traversed the Twelveswood.Though ambush was a better term. Bird-like beastmen known as the Ixal had ambushed the carriage in hopes of acquiring supplies and more than likely hostages to offer up to their, as the caravan driver had put it, “thrice damned primal”. Thankfully, their plans were thwarted by a unit of Gridania’s own Wood Wailers which had been on patrol for such threats at the time. Though no cargo or passengers were lost, the carriage itself sustained major damage, having to be hauled into gridania and to the workshop of the Carpenter’s guild.

One of the passengers of the carriage was one Kana Dazcar, who was now stranded in Gridania for the better part of three weeks due to the Carpenter’s guildmaster rather threatening insistence that he would make an entirely new cart in that time. Having no real recourse, Kana had enrolled at Gridania’s adventurer’s guild as a special case, through Kana explanation that she wanted to join Ul’dah’s branch officially, and joined the Archer’s Guild. It was there she had met her fellow Auri Luna and the two became fast friends, especially after it was revealed that Luna also had queer dreams. When it came time for the carriage to resume its trip, Luna tagged along with her new friend, thinking it obvious that they should stick together to better find out the reason behind these dreams, and what it meant for the two of them in the long run.

Thinking back to the incident, Kana smiled, thinking the entire experience was very much positive overall, as she now had a friend, something she hadn’t had growing up. As she mused these thoughts, her hands picked up and caressed her own bow. Though ash like Luna’s hers had slightly longer limbs, increasing the draw weight. As a result of these modifications, Luna had the faster shot while Kana had more piercing power.

Luna either saw Kana smiling at her bow, or her curiosity got the better of her, as Luna asked what Kana thought to be a very pressing question on Luna’s mind. “So Kana,” Luna began as she set down her bow beside her before continuing. “I have to ask. Why do you wish to ‘start your adventure in Ul’dah? Do you not like the Twelveswood? Don’t worry, I won’t tell the elements if you don’t!” Luna added a bit of humor at the end to try and mask her growing curiosity.

Kana laughed at her joke, “Twelve forfend I don’t like the trees! No it’s not like that it’s just something more… simple–” the sharp thud of an arrow embedding itself in the mahogany exterior of the carriage cut off Kana’s train of thought as all senses were placed on high alert and the carriage abruptly stopped, shaking awake the twins and nearly sending the old man sprawling onto the carriage floor. Unfortunately one of the man’s bottles hadn’t been so lucky, and his dismay at the fact would’ve made Kana giggle had she not been alerted by the carriage driver.

“Amalj'aa ambush!” the driver called back to his passengers, though Kana could have sworn he was grumbling something along the lines of “Twice in the same damn moon…” Regardless of that fact, Kana’s eyes darted to Luna, who met her gaze and the two nodded. The pair grabbed their respective bows and jumped out of the carriage to join the guard in fending off the lizard man ambush.

As the pair quietly made their way around the exterior of the carriage, Kana called for a halt as she peered to survey the skirmish, an arrow already nocked in her bow. After a quick once over, it seemed like it was a scouting party, comprised of two cesti bearing Amalj'aa and one archer peppering the pair of guards with arrows. As Kana turned to relay the information to Luna she instead found the patch of sand Luna had been crouching in moments ago and before the thought could even formulate in her mind, the twang of a bow nearby brought Kana’s attention to Luna’s new position was, behind a rocky outcrop. The arrow Luna had fired struck the archer’s forearm, interrupting the lizard man’s original shot. The archer grunted as he tore the arrow from his arm, painting the sand around him in spatters of crimson. The archer then shifted and nocked the arrow to fire at Luna who had peeked to see if she hit her mark. At that moment, Kana sprang up and stepped from behind cover and fired off her arrow before the Amalj'aa could draw back his bowstring. Kana’s arrow embedded itself in the chest of the Amalj'aa which made him fall to his knees with a groan of pain and frustration as he clawed at the arrow in his chest. Kana coldly regarded the archer, saying “It’s your kill, you shot him first.” as an aside to her partner as Kana moved to support the guards now. Neither side looked like it was really winning, the armor of the guards bearing some dents that would make even Kana wince and the Amalj'aa sporting wounds of varying depth, but none fatal. ‘I need to get a better vantage point…’ Kana thought right as she heard the twang of Luna’s bow once more. Kana’s eyes followed the arrow to see it embed itself in the skull of the now dead archer. ‘Looks like Luna just freed up my vantage point. Kana made her way swiftly over to where the Amalj'aa corpse now lay, still bleed onto the sands. Kana knelt down , placing her boot of the corpse’s head and tugged free the kill shot arrow. “Might as well conserve ammo where I can.” Kana muttered to herself as she knocked the arrow, dripping with blood, to her shortbow. Calling upon her reserves of aether, she allowed some to drain away in order for the bloody arrow to flash purple as the flesh ended, the tip of the arrow was purple, venom now dripping off into the sand, coagulating the blood that had pooled from earlier. Kana took aim and fired at one of the unsuspecting Amalj'aa. Her arrow found its mark in the lower back of the Lizard man that howled with rage, but fought on, regardless.

At least, for a few moments. As the Amalj'aa chambered a punch, he convulsed as the venom took its effect. The convulsion stripped the Amalj'aa of its guard just in time for the guard he was fighting to run him through with her broadsword. After seeing Kana, the guard nodded, wordlessly conveying her gratitude before joining her partner in finishing the other lizard man off. With the combined strikes of both guards. The final Amalj'aa soon joined his brothers in death.

The guards laughed in celebration and Kana wanted to join them, if not for the sound of heavy footfalls from multiple directions. Alerting both the guards, they rendezvoused at the carriage, joined by Luna who looked like she was regretting leaving her wand with her pack in the carriage. Before they could formulate any sort of strategy to fight off the next wave, a shout came from the direction of the city. “Ho there! The Brass Blades have arrived! We’ll cover you as you make a break for the city!” the voice commanded. Deciding it would be best leave this to the Brass blades, the four got back on the carriage at the drivers insistence as a group of Brass blades made their way past the carriage, one of the soldiers shouting “Good job, we’ll take it from here!” as they passed. Within moments the carriage was once again back on its way to Ul’dah.

Back on the carriage, the man who had lost one of his bottles was whooping and congratulating the four on their valor, particularly the two auri girls, though only Kana was really paying attention as Luna had busied herself with healing the wounds of their guards, much to their expressed relief. Kana did her best to humor the old man, but when the praise did not stop coming, Kana decided that she’d better try to silence him or she’d never hear the end of it.

“The two o’ you were just amazin’! I haven’t seen such teamwork since I was back with me lads I-”

“Mister!” Kana began, a couple octaves higher than she had intended, which caused Luna to chuckle slightly, “please for the love of everything just go back to your drinking! You’re embarrassing me with all of that praise! I did what anyone would’ve done! Luna and I are friends that why we work so well together, so I’m not sure what ‘you and your boys’ were!” Kana said, putting on her best disapproving look for the old man, who seemed a little taken aback.

“A-alright lass, take it down a notch, I’ll stop. Though I have to ask, with skills like yers, why are you coming to Ul’dah? You could’ve made it just as well if not better back in Gridania!” The old man commented to which Luna flashed a look towards Kana as she responded. Kana crossed her arms and looked at the ever approaching city. “A dream…and a promise.”

Err…Hello! This is Penumbro! Or more likely to be known as Penums or Mike! To be honest, I just sort of lost interest in writing for quite a long time. Or, more specifically, publishing what I wrote. A lot of stuff has happened since I last posted something here.

But onto the main stuff, you guys don’t want to hear a sob story! This idea was actually an inspiration from someone who I’ve come to consider a kindred spirit in terms of writing. The one and only, Lunacatte! Now some of you may already be aware of HER XIV story, but if you aren’t please go check her out! @Lunacatte is her twitter and from there I’m sure you’ll be able to find her story!

Shoutout aside, I actually need your guys’ help. So if you played or are playing XIV you kind of get the impression that you are the ONLY warrior of light and everyone that you play with are just referred to as your “friends”. I don’t want this story to be about just ONE warrior of light, as evidenced by this chapter, and I don’t want to just stop at two! I want a veritable company of warriors, I want it to be to the point where I can write diverging paths! So mess me up with them OC’s my readers!

To submit your warrior to be included in this story, you need only send me a message on my public twitter (@penumbro21) with the warrior’s name, a screenshot, and what you want their classes to be. For my brain’s sake, I’d lake for the maximum of classes be three, though you can take all the crafting classes if you REALLY want me to write that kind of stuff. Anyways, that’s all from me! I hope you enjoyed the story! I’ll try to have the next installment out by next week, hopefully with some of your characters in there!

-Stay beautiful, Penumbro.

#origin story #My Warrior of Light #lunacatte

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