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darkeraurora · 6 months

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Nice Manners

Ghost handing out some discipline. Word count: 1579

CW: hard dom, very NSFW, MDNI

Taking a small break from my other writing to get this oneshot done. It's been rotting my brain for weeks - now you guys can have it.

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"You’re gonna make me cum too soon, Love.” Ghost’s gravelly voice warns.

Not only does she not heed his warning, she opens her throat and slides his cock further down until his short curly hairs tickle her lips. Her tongue flattened along the underside, pressing and caressing to give him more pleasure.

With a deep growl Ghost empties himself down her throat. After the final jerk of his cock between her soft lips he glares down at her with a scowl.

She rocks back on her heels to stand but Ghost pulls her forward, laying her across his legs. “Someone has trouble following orders,” he tsks at her. he tsks at her. (smack) his large hand comes down hard onto her bare skin.

“Bad girls need to be disciplined.” (smack) Two of his fingers slide along her slit, gathering her juices.

“My goodness, so wet already Love.” (smack) “Such a mess you’re making.”

Removing his fingers from her, Ghost brings them forward to her panting mouth. smack “Clean up your mess, like a good girl.” (smack)

Ghost’s clean fingers grip around the front of her throat with a light squeeze. With his other hand, he begins to rub fast circles over her clit. “Are you going to be a good girl who listens now?”

“Yes.”

(smack) “HOW do you address an officer?” Ghost demands, forcing his fingers into her pussy.

“Y-yes sir.”

(smack) “I don’t believe you.”

“I-I’ll be good s-sir.”

“Do you want to cum?” Ghost asks, seeing that she’s about to squirm out of his lap.

“Yes please.”

Ghost ignores her. Tears begin to fall down her cheeks and she tries to hold her orgasm back.

“Please may I cum?”

Silence.

She’s almost sobbing at this point.

“Please sir may I cum?”

Ghost withdraws his dripping fingers from her and begins to rapidly slap her slit. “I heard you the first time Love.” She begins to yelp, more tears falling.

After several more minutes of slapping her clit Ghost pulls her by her throat, bringing her head closer to him. “Spread your legs for me. Be my good girl and…. Maybe… I’ll let you cum.”

She obeys immediately, spreading her legs widely as he ordered, begging him incessantly to let her cum.

Ghost leans down to her, latching his mouth onto the sensitive skin near her ear. Licking, biting, and sucking. His hand caressing the smooth, reddened skin of her backside.

At her continued whining and begging, Ghost grips her throat tightly as he plunges four of fingers into her. “Beg harder, Love,” he growls menacingly into her ear.

Finally having judged that she's begged him enough, “Do you deserve to cum?”

“Y-y-es s-sir, I’ve b-been good-d, please l-let me cum!”

“Not convinced.”

She groans deeply as he drops his grip on her throat, her head falling back down. She can now only utter unintelligible noises.

(smack) “Use your words, Love.”

“Please, please sir! I’m-I’m your good girl! Please let me come for you sir!”

Fucking hell.

Ripping her head back up to him, his lips find her pulse in her neck, gripping throat harder as he curls his fingers her inside while pressing on down hard onto her clit with his thumb. “Cum then,” he commands.

With a scream and a gush of fluid she at last shatters in his hands. As he removes her from his lap she collapses onto the floor in a trembling heap. Legs useless.

Ghost is, of course, not without compassion and lifts her up onto the bed. “Very good girl.” Laying her on her back and jerking her thighs apart, spreading her widely for him. “Good girls need a reward.”

She’s still a panting, boneless mess. Ghost opens his fly and frees his thick uncut cock. After a single hard slap to her swollen folds, he plunges himself into her. Burying his cock to the hilt, nudging her cervix. He fucks her at a fierce, brutal pace until his balls empty into her.

Pulling out of her, Ghost sees his semen begin to leak from her and dribble down her cheek. With his finger he scrapes it off her skin and pushes it back inside of her hole. When it refuses to stay in he lifts her from the bed, slinging her about as he turn to sit down, placing her back on her stomach over his lap. Her head and arms dangling near his feet, legs on either side of his hips, her pink cum-filled hole right in front of him.

With thorough care, Ghost continues to collect the seed that escaped and force it back into her. “Now now, Love,” he gently chastises, “Keep being a good girl and keep it inside of you.”

He caresses the stinging red skin of her cheeks, gripping and squeezing the muscle, watching her tender skin quiver under his touch. A large finger slides into her, making her pink hole brim with his white seed. Down by his feet she begins to whimper.

Her pulsating walls threaten to push his cum out of her.

(smack) “What did I say?” he snaps at her.

“To keep your seed inside me,” she responds meekly.

(smack) (smack)

“S-sir!” she corrects herself.

His fingertips trace along the pink lips in front of him, occasionally flicking and pinching her swollen clit. “Such beautiful holes you have, Love.” A finger pushes into her smaller, tighter hole. She yelps at the unexpected sensation.

(smack) “Don’t you want to be my good girl?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good, then take what I give you and relax Love.” His fingers slide in and out of her holes as she trembles and shakes at the feeling. “Who do you belong to?”

“Y-you… sir.”

(smack) “Do better.”

“You sir! I belong to you! I’m your good girl!”

“Yet you were a bad girl earlier?”

“Yes sir. I was.”

“How were you bad?”

“I didn’t listen to you sir.”

“You did not,” smack “obey me,” he corrects.

“N-no sir, I disobeyed you sir.”

“But you’re sorry and ready to obey now?”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry for disobeying. I won’t do it again.”

(smack) “Say thank you.”

“Thank you s-sir. Thank you for disciplining me sir.”

Ghost only hummed in response, fingers thrusting in and out of her holes. Her cheeks jiggling due to his pace.

“S-sir?”

“Yes?” he replies curiously.

“May I cum please sir?”

“My girl needs to come already?” Ghost croons in mock surprise.

“Yes sir, may I please cum sir.”

“So polite, of course you can.”

He increases the pace and depth of his fingers, ruthlessly pulling another orgasm from her. Pulling his fingers from her, Ghost spreads her pussy open with his thumbs. Watching the convulsing walls of her core filled with his seed in fascination.

(smack) (smack) “Did you forget your manners already?” Ghost snarls down at her. (smack) “what!” (smack) “Do!” (smack) “You!” (smack) “SAY!”

“Tha-thank you s-sir…” she cries for him

(smack) (smack) (smack) (smack) “For what?!”

“Hah! Ha, ha… Thank you sir… thank you for fucking me.” she sobs.

(smack) (smack) (smack) (smack) “Do,” (smack) “BETTER.”

“Thank you sir for fucking your seed into me! Your-your cock felt… so good! Please sir… fuck me again?”

His fingers slide back into her holes. “Fuck you again?”

“Yes please sir… please put your cock inside me again sir.”

“Desperate?”

“Yes sir, I-I’m desperate for your cock sir.”

A rumble reverberates low in his chest as Ghost narrows his eyes at her finger-filled pussy. “You just don’t know what to do without my cock, do you?”

“N-no sir. I-I love when you fuck me with your big cock and fill me with your seed sir.”

(smack) “Tell me,” (smack) “what are you good for?”

“S-sir, I-I’m… I’m for you to fuck… anytime you please.”

Ghost returns his fingers to her tightest hole, pinching her clit with his other hand. “Hmm, go on.”

“I’m here to obey you sir. To be your good girl and… and spread my legs for you. I’m holes for you to fuck anytime you please sir.”

(smack) “What else?”

“I’m… I’m here to please you sir. I-I’m here for you… you to use… for your pleasure.”

Ghost leans forward and bites onto the raw skin of her cheeks. “What a very good girl you are.”

“Th-thank you sir. I’m… only your good girl.”

His fingers press hard onto her sweet spots. “Yes you are, aren’t you? Mine to fuck as I please.”

“Yes sir, my holes are… only for you, I’m yours to use… to be filled with your seed… to suck your big cock… Anything you want. Please sir… please fuck me again.”

Ghost grabs her upper arms and hoists her body upright. “Interlock your arms my pet.” Holding her up with one hand and swinging her around to let her knees rest on the mattress, Ghost pulls out his engorged cock with his free hand and lines himself up with her smaller hole before impaling her onto him. “Such a good girl.”

“I believe you’ve earned a reward.” Ghost commends her once he has filled her body and dropped her onto the floor.

“Th-thank you s-sir,” she mewls.

Ghost opens the door to his room and calls out into the hallway. “Johnny – care to have a taste of my little one? She’s well broken but quite noisy I’m afraid.” Soap saunters into the room, looking down at her figure laying on the floor. “Enjoy mate.” Ghost fist bumps Soap on his shoulder, listening to Johnny smirk and unbuckle his belt as he walks out of the room.

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teyamsgrl · 11 months

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Hello, darling. To the female human reader, she is Jake's girlfriend. She realizes that jake is moving away from her, he behaves colder, he avoids her and when they sleep together he doesn't even hug her and when she tries to hug him he pushes her away. One day she confronts him and Jake tells her that he is in love with Neytiri or something. I hope you understand, english is not my first language. Thank you.

ANONNNNN i asked for angst and you gave it your all omg 😭 thank you for the request bby! i'm not entirely happy with how i wrote this but hopefully that's just me being in my own head 🫠

also why is sam worthington so FINE like wow the brain rot is real

all good things come to an end ✧ jake sully

°˖➴ warnings: fem human reader, scientist!reader, young!jake, human!jake, break up, just angsty tbh

you had first met jake years ago through his brother; you and tommy were both scientists and prepared to head to pandora soon to evolve your studies with dr. augustine. upon meeting jake you instantly fell in love, he was so humorous yet also a kind soul, something that you had craved your whole life. it wasn't long before you two became an item, spending every moment together. when tommy died you were both devastated in several ways, and you had wondered what would happen with tommy's avatar and the status of your anticipated trip to pandora. luckily, jake was easily convinced into taking over tommy's spot to fulfill the study. which brings you to today, 2154, in pandora. it was amazing to reunite with jake after cryo, and you were excited that he could now be apart of this with you.

it was another day and jake had just come back from his day in his avatar body, he seemed to have been spending more and more time in his avatar and out in the village. it didn't bother you, you figured he was just becoming fascinated and was pleased to have working legs again after such a long time. you smiled at him as he moved in your direction in his wheelchair, "hey, honey" you leaned down to kiss him and he turned his head, resulting in the kiss landing on his cheek. your smile faltered slightly, but nonetheless you shook it off to continue talking with him. "day good? see anything interesting out there?" you run your fingers through his hair as you await an answer, "yeah, good, was fun" he says before wheeling away to talk with norm. your heart felt as though it was being ripped apart slowly, slightly unsure of what jake's attitude was all about. you've seen his bad days, many of them, but he never denied your touch nor spoke to you so indifferently. this wasn't the first time he has done this since you've been in pandora, but you thought he was just adjusting, maybe feeling frustrated? you honestly felt like you were just making shit up to excuse how he was acting and make yourself feel better.

once you got into bed waiting for jake, your heart raced as you wondered if he would still be acting the same. your head was hurting as you pondered all the possible scenarios, and you just couldn't put a finger on what might be wrong. you watched as jake rolled into the room, shutting the door behind him and pulling up beside the bed. you heard him sigh before lifting himself into bed and slipping in the free space beside you. he simply pulled the blanket up over himself, not turning towards you or touching you or even uttering a short 'goodnight'. you hesitantly decided to wrap your arm around him from behind, hoping he would accept the touch. you suddenly felt as though you were walking on eggshells, wary of what might happen next. your arm snakes around him, and within seconds jake is nudging it away. you couldn't stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks, feeling utterly rejected by the man you loved most. what did you do wrong? did you say something to upset him? did he find someone else?

your eyes fluttered open to jake causing a bit of a ruckus in your room, changing his shirt hurriedly. he notices that your eyes are open and decides to speak to you for the first time in 10-12 hours, "hurry, i wanna get in early today". you audibly sigh and sit up, headache already present from the crying you did in the night and lack of sleep. "jake.." you whisper, dying to know what's been going on. "what's going on with you? you barely speak to me anymore and you don't even let me touch you. you are my boyfriend, you're supposed to be loving me and telling me if i've done something wrong. what is it? just tell me so i can get some fucking sleep at night..." you trail off and sniffle, throwing the blankets off of you and scooching to the edge of the bed to face him in his wheelchair. you scan his face as he doesn't say a word though he looks distraught. "tell me, please-" "i found someone else... i- i'm in love with neytiri, eytukan's daughter".

there it was. it stung. it stung so bad. you nod and look down to your lap, seeing the tears darken your light blue pyjama pants. "i didn't know how to tell you, and it just... happened. i never expected it to happen, but it did... i'm so sorry" he observes you with your head down, feeling horrible yet also feeling as though a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. "you have been nothing but amazing to me; patient and loving and genuine, but my heart has chose someone else", you let out a quiet sob as you listen to his words, finally understanding. you start to remember how desperate he was to learn na'vi, how he started to hum a certain song chord you had never heard before, how he spoke about neytiri with such grace; it made sense. "i get it, jake. please just- please go.." you whimper, lazily gesturing your hand to the door. "i'm sorry..." he whispers before wheeling towards the door and exiting, leaving you on your own. your sobs become louder the second the door latches, head pounding. you had no idea what to do next, how could you work with jake around? with jake around talking about his new love, the one he chose over you. maybe all good things do come to an end, and maybe you'd just have to live with that fact.

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hanafubukki · 5 months

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I'm okay on my side ! Hope you're doing well too ☺️ But yeah, this update awating is already making my emotions blow up. Like, you see the big roller-coster, you know it's going to be some big thing. And you feel like you're already up there.

But I'm also in denial for any more emotional damage coming up. (Silver fighting against Dawn brainrot breaking my heart-) ("I'm sorry. I now know you loved me very much. But neverless, you are now my father enemy. Bloodties don't matter that much for me. Because I will always be my father's son." 😭💀). So I'm in OT3 fluffy/angsty mode where I live in a cottage with my two handsome husbands and my baby Silver. In a peaceful time. Having funny shenanigans with the Draconia in-laws. And just chilling in a cute alternative version of the past we going to have more information about in 2 days.

Everything will be fine- I hope. But I'm gathering tissues. Just in case.

- 🦋 Anon

[OT3 Masterlist]

Hello 🦋 Anonie 💞💚🌻

Glad to hear you’re doing good, I’m going well; just antsy. But yes!! Your analogy is perfect. We know something big is going to come and we know it’s going to hurt, but we are powerless to it.

All the while, time is slowly passing by as we wait our demise 😂🫡

Kind of like the people on Sage island…okay okay, I’ll stop ajsjdkdn 🤣🤣

BUT I’M SHAKING YOU 🦋 ANONIE

“I'm sorry. I now know you loved me very much. But neverless, you are now my father enemy. Bloodties don't matter that much for me. Because I will always be my father's son."

Did you have to hurt me this way?? But ahhh the brain rot 🥹💞💞 It’s amazing.

If it’s any comfort 🦋 Anonie, I have several OT3 asks in my inbox that I will answer soon hopefully. And, knowing me, the new update is going to get my brain into overdrive. So more fanfics and more OT3 most likely ☺️💞💞 (and theories and in general screaming 🤣)

Gather all the tissues because we are going to need them 🦋 Anonie, there’s a reason why they look so angry and I can imagine whatever it is, we are not ready. Though I’m sure, Ortho will pop up at the end in a cliffhanger probably.

Here’s a small comfort fic, to soothe us before troubling times:

You gasped awake, breathing heavily.

Your vision unfocused, hands trembling.

“YN?”

A hand cupped your cheek, bringing your eyes to worried crimson.

It was difficult to breathe.

A forehead leaned against yours, “Shh. Try and copy how I breathe precious.”

You tried to follow along, eventually matching Lilia’s.

As you calmed down, you were brought back to your surroundings. You felt a hand gently rubbing your back as you slumped forward into Lilia. You could see Dawn’s concerned eyes through your blurred vision.

Dawn and Lilia murmured something above you before you felt a kiss placed upon your shoulder.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Dawn leave the room.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“In a bit,” your voiced wavered.

Lilia tucked you closer into him.

You didn’t know when you dozed off, but the gentle shake from Dawn woke you.

“Drink this Love, it’ll help you sleep better.”

Warm milk and honey, the combination had you smiling.

Something the Lilia in the future loved to make for his boys. You could recall Lilia proclaiming in several of his stories about how this very drink would put the toughest and most stubborn children to sleep.

The memories of your dream came back. You closed your eyes before looking at your husbands. Their worried expressions had you spilling every detail you could remember.

By the end, you felt more tired than ever but more comforted as well.

Your husbands hugged you as they reassured you with their words.

“We’ll take Silver and Malleus from my sister’s tomorrow and have a picnic in the meadow. You’ll see first hand that your dreams are just that, dreams and nothing more.”

“You’re not allowed to cook, Lilia.”

“Hey! I can make simple sandwiches.”

“If you ever want our son back from your sister and Malleus, you’ll never utter those words in front of them.”

Their banter lulled you to sleep.

What better way to be loved then to be in the middle of two such loving souls?

Who cherished you and their family endlessly like the number of stars in the sky.

With them, you would know a True Happy Ending.

Am I implying something with the three of them home alone without Silver?? Maybe. Maybe not. Lolol ☺️💞

But also, I could have changed the whole atmosphere and turned it angsty/horrific with an added line or two but I didn’t.

Aren’t I gracious? 🤣🌺

#answered #anonie ask #🌺🦋Anon🌺#lilia vanrouge #twst knight of dawn #twst knight of dawn x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst knight of dawn x reader x lilia vanrouge #the knight of dawn #knight of dawn #x reader #twst silver

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pinnithin-writes · 7 months

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The Hunter Hesitates

Scene rewrite of the Gandrel encounter in Act 1, written from Wyll's point of view. 2223 words. Read on Ao3.

Every great adventurer has moments in their life where time seems to stand still. They’re elusive, ephemeral moments, and one has to be paying close attention to catch them. A thread frays from the tapestry of time, and something about the brain and the heart and the way the world is positioned allows one to reach out and grasp onto it, to hold it for a few seconds and render those seconds ineffectual against the pellucidity of space and matter.

Wyll had experienced a handful of these moments, and they had always been spontaneous, unexpected things, moments he caught by accident but remembered in acute clarity. One such time was when he was eight years old at his favorite fishing spot, his legs dangling over the open air between the Wyrm’s Rock bridge and the Chionthar. He could still vividly recall the dappling of light reflecting off the water, the chill against his skin, and thinking to himself that he was experiencing every Summertide day that had ever happened and ever would happen all at once.

A few were not so pleasant. Time had also frayed for him the day his father returned from Elturel. Even now he could hear his words, pick out the abject horror on his face in perfect crystalline detail, the scarlet Flaming Fist banners fluttering behind him. That exchange had only lasted a few seconds, but in Wyll’s mind, he had been seventeen for centuries, rooted to the spot with a devil breathing down his neck.

Sometimes Wyll felt he was still timeless, still seventeen, still eight or ten or twenty-four, stuck on the axis between the person he once was and the person he now spent his waking days justifying.

Much of the past several years had been a comparative blur of memories, and he could not recall a time since his exile when the world around him slowed to a halt, allowing him to chart every detail like a fractal of clarity bursting in his occipital lobe. He expected it would happen again one of these days, the next time unbearable pain or childlike awe compelled the world to still – whenever that may be. As of late, not much in his life had afforded him a glimpse at the ephemeral or the elusive. He’d been much too busy chasing after the reputation he’d created for himself, and it was hard to stop and look for frayed threads on the tapestry of time when the song of blades and the scent of blood occupied his senses.

At present, the chase was on pause. Or at least delayed somewhat, while he wandered the Sword Coast wilderness in search of something to alleviate the awful wriggling behind his eye. The mind flayer had even slipped it in behind his good eye, which somehow added insult to infection. Finding advocatus diaboli was still his priority, and he still kept his nose keen for the stench of sulfur, but he had to consider the needs of the group now, and the group, frankly, did not care overmuch about tracking down a war devil. Which is how Wyll found himself calf deep in swamp water searching for a hag instead.

The sun-soaked wetland had revealed its true nature to him through some fortunate glimpse through its illusory veil. A nudge from Mizora she would expect repayment for, or perhaps he had just gotten lucky. In either case, it was a precarious walk; they stepped delicately around redcaps and rotting remains and razor traps half-submerged in black, murky waters. Wyll could feel the utter weight of the lives lost in this place, the warm wet air clinging to his skin like dead fingers. This was a corpse bog, a hag bog, and he had half a mind to turn around and walk in the other direction had those boys not charged in headfirst after their sister. Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion were uncharacteristically silent throughout the trek, matching the swamp that decomposed furtively around them. The slosh of water and the buzz of flies were the only sounds, a supernatural quiet that promised pain to those who broke it.

Happening upon Johl and Demir’s bodies, fresh and bleeding, finally set Wyll’s nerves tingling with that danger-sense cultivated from spending years on the Sword Coast’s fringes. There was always a certain threshold of peril about his life, but he had developed an eye for what tipped a threat from latent to immediate. His hand went to the hilt of his rapier of its own accord and his heart rate quickened.

Up ahead a dilapidated shack squatted in the mists, waiting patiently for them to wander into its mouth. Danger radiated from it like a beacon, so powerful it muffled a closer, secondary danger that Wyll nearly missed. A man stood on the nearby hillside, dressed in traveling clothes and bearing a heavy utilitarian crossbow on his back. He seemed perfectly ordinary, save for the strange, sickly-sweet smell about him - and the fact that he was camped in such a forsaken place to begin with. But this man’s presence wasn’t so indicative of danger to Wyll as Astarion’s sudden change in behavior was.

Astarion possessed a very high level of danger-sense for someone who should be a predator, Wyll observed. It hadn’t been more than eight hours since he’d caught the elf trying to make a meal of him while he slept, and he was still processing that night’s implications. The world was coming to strange times indeed to see a vampire walk in sunlight, and stranger still to see that vampire willingly travel with the Blade of Frontiers. Wyll’s neck ached, and he tried not to dwell on it. Ultimately, he had offered himself up both as a way to spare the others and to monitor Astarion’s activity – returning to sleep after learning his true nature would have been impossible otherwise.

He should have killed him. That is, the Blade should have killed him, but Wyll had not, for reasons inexplicable even to himself.

It had been a rather sobering experience for Wyll and an intoxicating experience for Astarion, but in the morning the elf was still treating him the same way he had before, wrapped in niceties like a sheathed dagger wrapped in leather. He had been courteous and thankful, saying exactly the right words necessary to assuage everyone’s suspicions, quoting from the same script the lords and politicians back home studied. Wyll knew better than to take people like him at their word, so he kept a close eye on his actions, instead.

Still too early to tell, he had at least been cooperative thus far. Astarion had begrudgingly complied with Wyll’s decision to plunge into the corpse bog, just as he had complied with his promise to assist the refugees. Much of his behavior compared to what Wyll knew of vampires didn’t fully make sense to him. Yes, he was manipulative, but it was blatant to the point of caricature, rendering it nigh ineffectual. There was an alertness about him, Wyll had noticed, a trademark watchfulness often observed in the eyes of hunted creatures. Always the first to anticipate an ambush, the elf’s vigilance had been literally lifesaving on more than one occasion.

No matter how complicated his opinion of Astarion might be, Wyll had grown accustomed to the pale shadow at his shoulder, so it was something of a surprise to feel him step abruptly away to approach the figure on the hill.

A pause to exchange glances with Shadowheart and Gale – they looked as perplexed as Wyll was – and he followed suit. The man introduced himself as Gandrel, and he remained genial and composed in the face of Astarion’s flippant bigotry. A fellow monster hunter? Wyll let the grip on his hilt relax, but he paid mind to how Astarion stood as taut as the bowstring on his back. The fact that he stepped forward to speak with the hunter before Wyll could even open his mouth made him reticent in his responses, and he chose his words carefully.

Then Gandrel uttered Astarion’s name, and Wyll suddenly noticed that glimmer of a frayed thread of time, that indicator of the ephemeral, visible to him after so many years. Before he could speak another word he tangled his fingers in that moment and yanked, hardly daring to breathe as everything slowed to a crawl in between his heartbeats.

He felt the wound in his neck, still throbbing at his pulsepoint, where Astarion’s mouth had been only hours before. The cavity of his sinuses carried the sweet wet decay of plant matter, the bodies that quietly rotted around them, and the stranger’s repulsive powder. A line of sweat slid between his shoulder blades as he perspired in the balm. His companions at his back vibrated the air with their tension, watching, breathless, as they all realized Gandrel’s quarry stood right beside them. And Astarion, oh, Astarion’s face held a prey-fear, an animal fear, there and gone in a blink as he covered it with a signature smirk.

Wyll processed this all in the space of a few seconds or years as time caught in place. He needed more information before this encounter became one or more of their deaths. Gandrel mentioned the hag of these lands, indicating he could see through the veil also, past the shimmering sunlight to the black water lapping beneath. What else did the gur see?

Considering this, Wyll eventually found his voice. “And when you find this ‘Astarion,’” he asked warily, “you’ll kill him?”

“Not this time,” Gandrel explained. “My orders are to capture him.”

Dread crossed Astarion’s eyes for the briefest of seconds, and Wyll only caught it because he was looking for it. Whatever awaited the elf in Baldur’s Gate, death seemed a preferable alternative.

Wyll then remembered himself, remembered his role. Perhaps he could defuse this. Was this really worth the chase? Astarion was only a spawn, after all, and didn’t pose the same threat a true vampire did.

Aforementioned spawn’s words became knives as he retorted, “I don’t know. I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip your throat out if he felt like it.”

Wyll had to rein in a longsuffering sigh. As Gandrel launched into an explanation of why a spawn was indeed a most deadly quarry, Wyll took stock of the company he kept. Shadowheart’s quiet, calculating presence lingered at his shoulder, likely running the same numbers he was. Gale tactfully kept silent, but he’d proven to be the type who follows the group’s decision when push came to shove. If this were to become a fight, the odds were in Astarion’s favor, provided the Blade was on his side.

The Blade certainly was not on Astarion’s side, but Wyll was still making up his mind about it. He straddled a precarious line between defending his principles and defending an ally - an ally he had bared his neck to only the night prior, an ally he had given his word to protect. Time continued to crawl. Things were never as simple as he’d like them to be, but with all factors taken into consideration, he knew one thing for certain: a cornered animal will kill, and there was little one could do to stop it.

It was Wyll, not the Blade, who spoke next. “Interesting. Astarion, what do you think?”

He had to admit it was rather satisfying to watch Astarion completely freeze in place. Even his breathing stilled. Wyll could feel his grasp on the frayed edge of time loosening, and he watched in fascination as everything began careening into motion. He saw the disbelief cross Gandrel’s face as the façade fell away with just a few words. He felt the restlessness of his companions, tensing to defend themselves. The bog decayed around them, hushed and waiting.

As they all hung suspended in time, Astarion angled his head ever so slightly in Wyll’s direction.

“May I?” he asked lowly.

Now it was Wyll’s turn to be surprised. He had expected Astarion to spring into action the second his cover was blown, but instead he’d asked permission. He’d asked his permission. The restraint was unexpected, but not unprecedented. He was letting Wyll keep him in check, fighting against every instinct flooding his nervous system, just as he had allowed Wyll to push his newly warmed body away from his exposed throat. Wyll found himself remembering the complicated backward glance Astarion had given him the previous night, a storm of unsaid words aimed over his shoulder. This is a gift, you know, his measured voice echoed. I won’t forget it.

He could still back out of this, but Wyll realized he didn’t want to. Later he would justify himself, as he was so well trained to do. He would come up with a hundred reasons why it was the practical decision - how the monster hunter would only track him down later, how his companions would have been collateral damage, how someone who turns to a hag for help can’t be trusted to do the honorable thing - but none of those crossed his mind in that evanescent moment. Something had simply shifted between him and Astarion, and he followed that shift like a dance partner’s lead.

He let go of time and it raced to catch up with the world. He nodded.

#ink #fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 writing #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin #wyll x astarion #wyllstarion #scene rewrite #character study #not much to say about this one i just enjoy the interiority afforded to origin characters #when theyre the ones making the decisions #as opposed to when theyre following you around #and i think wyll is a lot more nuanced than he lets on #especially in regards to the archetypal folk hero and the so called monsters he rolls with

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daddyblackjack · 1 year

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Arcane ink - Chapter One

Authors note: So uh, this is my first attempt at writing fanfic, based on the brain rot that I posted a bit ago. If no ones gonna make content for my ship I will have to do so myself dammit

Pairing: Weskano (Albert Wesker x Vittorio Toscano)

SFW (so far)

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“Vittorio?“ Wesker called, as the man was flipping through the pages of a book in the archive.

They had first met in a trial, Wesker obliterating the survivors as he had become used to doing in order to serve the entities bidding. When everyone else had been sacrificed only Vittorio was remaining, injured, fatigued, and drained of resources. But rather than running away in an attempt to find the hatch, he had approached him and simply given up. “Do what you must, just make it quick.” Whether it was the utter hopelessness on the man’s face, his willingness to surrender, or the unusual glowing tattoos catching Wesker’s eye, he couldn’t tell. But Wesker had hesitated.

He had a chance to take a closer look at the tattoos when he grabbed him, had noted it’s oddity with how the glow seemed to move through them like a flowing liquid. Wesker had then done something he'd never done before – he let the man go. He still remembered the look on Vittorio’s face when he had carried him to the hatch – Vittorio hadn’t even struggled – and dropped him next to it, telling him to go before he changed his mind.

Since then, they happened to meet several times in the archives, both sharing an interest in research it seemed. Wesker wanted to understand the realm, its powers, how to harness them – and ultimately escape, if at all possible. Vittorio, having been trapped in this place for over 6 centuries, had a bit of a head start with his research and the meanings of the sigils, and he was eager to share his findings, apparently having been able to use them to travel the realm. He was cautious around Wesker at first, but they both quickly started appreciating their shared interest in figuring out this place. And Wesker had to admit, he enjoyed Vittorio’s company, even though he didn’t like that he felt himself caught off guard when Vittorio leaned in a bit too close when they compared findings.

“Vittorio, how does the ink of your tattoos glow? And how does it move through them?” He asked him now as he noticed the glow creep up the lines on Vittorio’s neck. “How does it work?”

“To be completely honest with you, I’m not entirely sure.”

“How come? Aren’t these sigils that you used to travel the realm?”

“Indeed, but I did not ink myself. I was… attacked? Blessed? I’m not quite sure what to call it. I don’t have control over the ink, and the sigils keep spreading over my body”

“Hmm…” Wesker’s interest in Vittorio’s markings was piqued again. If there was an unknown power flowing through this man’s skin, he wanted to understand what it was.

“How does it feel? The glow, the spread. Does it hurt?”

Vittorio walked over to Wesker and pulled up his sleeve. “I honestly don’t feel the sigils spreading across my body, I sometimes notice that new ones have appeared. As for how it feels, I’m not sure how to describe it, but perhaps like a tingle? I assume it’s some arcane energy.” He replied as he held out his arm for Wesker to examine.

Wesker pulled off a glove and traced his thumb across the lines as they lit up. He could feel the difference of the tattoos glowing compared to when they were resting as black ink against Vittorio’s skin.

“How curious. And you say you keep getting new ones? How do you keep track of the sigils on your body?”

“Aha, I’m afraid I don’t really. There’s many in spots I can’t see, and a mirror can only provide so much help.”

“May I trace them for you, then?” Wesker asked. Vittorio looked a bit flustered at the question.

“You… want to trace them?”

“Yes, I’ll draw them in a notebook, and then you can have a closer look at the symbols on your body and decipher their meaning and purpose. Though if they truly cover your whole body, it will take several sessions to do so.”

Vittorio still had a flustered look on his face. Of course, Wesker understood what his offer implied. Vittorio would have to undress the areas that they were working on tracing. But Wesker had worked with human test subjects back when he was still a ‘Virologist’ at the time, so he’d become used to looking at naked bodies. Though the intimacy of tracing someone’s skin for several hours would be unfamiliar.

“Yeah, sure, that would be quite helpful.” Vittorio replied after considering for a little while. “Do you plan on starting right now?”

“Not quite, we’ve been here for a while now and I have a certain quota to fulfill with the trials. As I’m sure you do too.” A grim reminder of the deity they were each forced to serve, whether as henchmen or as sacrificial cattle.

As he said this, a look of disappointment briefly crossed Vittorio’s face. Wesker had barely noticed it before Vittorio asked when he planned to start. They agreed to meet up again after the trials and after Wesker had taken a bit of a break. Wesker had offered Vittorio to come to his quarters, to allow them a bit of privacy if Vittorio had to undress parts of his body. He also promised him protection from the other killers and would escort him there and back. As he was preparing to pick him up, he decided to ditch his leather suit for a more comfortable turtleneck.

When Wesker brought him to his quarters, Vittorio took a brief look around. Wesker had been provided with equipment to do experiments as rewards for briefly satisfying the entity’s hunger. Most of the test tubes had been dedicated to experimenting on the blight, a serum from what appeared to be a flower, not unlike the Virus that coursed through Wesker’s veins. The blight had frenzied several killers who disobeyed, but none as much as Talbot Grimes, a scientist who experimented with the serum on himself and who simply had become nothing more than a mindless slave to it.

Wesker noticed the curiosity on Vittorio’s face, but he caught himself when he noticed Wesker looking expectantly at him. “Right” he said and took off his shirt.

When Vittorio said that the tattoos had spread all over his body, Wesker hadn’t anticipated that he was completely covered in them. His impulse was to grab Vittorio and examine his skin closer, but he caught himself. This was exactly what Vittorio had come here for.

“Where… should I –“

“You can lie down on the couch. Considering how big this tattoo is on your upper back, I think it’s a good idea to start with this one.” Wesker said, studying the markings covering Vittorio as he walked around him.

Vittorio did as he was told, and lied down on his stomach, facing away so Wesker could see how the tattoo on Vittorio’s back connected to the lines on his neck. Wesker pulled out his notebook, sat down on a chair next to him, and gently placed a hand on Vittorio’s back. He had opted not to wear his gloves, to also study the feeling of the glow better.

As Wesker started drawing the tattoo in his notebook, he gently traced it with his fingers on Vittorio’s skin. Several minutes passed as Wesker focused on getting all the little curves and hooks right and making sure that the spacing matched what he saw and felt in front of him. Only then did he notice something. Vittorio’s breathing had changed. Perhaps he was just nervous, he was in a place where survivors should never go after all, and fairly exposed. He was putting a lot of trust in Wesker, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing to do.

But then he felt Vittorio shudder. Ever so slightly, but Wesker noticed the goosebumps going down Vittorio’s back. He traced his nail over the spot on his spine again, and sure enough, the little shiver down Vittorio’s back happened again. Was he enjoying this? With a bemused look on his face, Wesker gently placed his hand on the tattoo. The glow that was flowing through the tattoo felt a lot more intense now, like a tingle. He felt Vittorio’s heartbeat, how fast it was. Or was it his own?

Oh no. He realized it was that same feeling as when Vittorio leaned in close, when he caught a whiff of his scent, and now when he felt the glow moving under his hand.

He wanted to feel him shudder from his touch again. Wesker let his fingers glide across Vittorio’s spine, up his neck, tracing the lines that ran across his nape, letting them linger a little too long. Slowly he moved up to his hairline, pushing the short hair out of the way around the tattoo that wrapped around behind Vittorio’s ear. At this point he had put down his notebook and was just watching for reactions from the man who’s skin he was tracing.

Wesker caught himself. He justified what he was doing to himself by thinking that if Vittorio did in fact enjoy this, Wesker could use this to his advantage, to make Vittorio more agreeable. He would never admit to himself that he actually just enjoyed touching Vittorio’s soft skin and seeing the pleasure that he was trying to hide.

Merda! Vittorio thought as he felt Wesker’s finger trace the tattoo lining the nape of his neck. Vittorio had always enjoyed physical contact and affection, and had been deprived of such for more than 600 years. Fortunately, he wasn’t facing Wesker, or hiding his enjoyment would have been nearly impossible. He desperately tried to suppress the little moans that wanted to escape him, and he cursed himself whenever he did feel a shiver down his back. He was praying that Wesker wouldn’t notice.

He was afraid that if Wesker did notice he would immediately stop, weirded out by the fact that Vittorio enjoyed being touched by him. Wesker had clearly stated that the purpose of what they were doing was for research, to get a good mapping of the sigils covering Vittorio’s whole body – Oh Madonna Santa he thought as he just realized that the tracing of tattoos wouldn’t just stay on his back. How would he hide how much he enjoyed Wesker’s touch when he worked on different areas on his body? Vittorio prayed that he would have gotten more used to his touch by the time he had to face him to let him trace the tattoos on his chest - and the ones further down. How was he going to survive this? Relax. Breathe. This is only the first session he told himself and sighed, as Wesker trailed his fingers along Vittorio’s spine, sending more shivers down his back. Vittorio’s heart was beating out of his chest. He was torn between hoping that the session was over soon so he could compose himself and not wanting Wesker to stop because it felt so good.

The more he felt himself enjoying Wesker’s touch, the more guilt crept into his mind. Wesker was what was considered a killer in this realm. And seeing how little remorse he showed for hunting and sacrificing the people trying to survive the trials, he can’t have been a good person before coming here. Vittorio hated violence, always has, so why was he alright with one of the most mercilessly sadistic people touching him?

He'd been surprised when Wesker showed him mercy when they met. Him and the others had barely been able to complete one measly gen before three had already fallen. Vittorio hadn’t waited for Wesker to find him then; he had approached him to end things quickly. No point in trying, he didn’t deserve to find the hatch after he had failed his team. And yet Wesker had just looked at him, curious, perhaps bemused, before snatching him up. Vittorio hadn’t resisted, but instead of sacrificing him, Wesker had carried him to the hatch and dropped him on top of it. Vittorio had just looked at him in utter shock, not even managing to thank him, before Wesker had turned away, letting Vittorio escape.

When Vittorio had met up with the others after the trial, who had taken form again after being sacrificed, they’d been in disbelief that Vittorio had gotten out of the trial alive. Apparently, this behavior was incredibly unusual for Wesker, since he had a reputation for never showing mercy. So why let Vittorio go?

The more Wesker let his fingers glide over Vittorio’s back, the more he melted into Wesker’s touch. Slowly the initial ticklishness started to fade, as long as Wesker worked on the same area anyway. If his hands moved down Vittorio’s sides, he couldn’t help jerking slightly. Being touch starved for centuries had made him incredibly sensitive.

When Wesker finished up the session, Vittorio saw no indication whether Wesker had noticed his enjoyment or not. He got up, stretched, and put his shirt back on. He didn’t know exactly what to say, whether to thank him or not, if he should say anything at all, so he awkwardly stood there as he put his jewelry back on, unable to see whether Wesker was looking at him or not through the sunglasses he always wore.

“Are you ready to head back?” Wesker finally asked.

“Uh… yes. I – uhm…” Wesker had already turned to leave, to escort him back. Vittorio had wanted to ask something regarding if Wesker had gotten good sketches, if his back hurt from the way he had to sit in order to trace the tattoos, anything that gave him any indication of how Wesker had felt about the session. But perhaps it was best if he didn’t ask.

#weskano #rareship #albert wesker #wesker #dbd wesker #vittorio toscano #vittorio dbd #fanfic #wesker x vittorio #albert wesker x vittorio toscano #male x male #sfw fanfic #please go easy on me ive never written fanfic before #I have more chapters planned so stay tuned #dead by daylight #dbd fanfic

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spring-salad · 2 years

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This is mostly me venting. But, if you're open to listening to a perspective and getting some free advice about how to treat your friends, maybe this is worth your time anyway.

I've experienced a lot of emotional trauma from my childhood. A lot of people have, this should not be much of a surprise, but one of my major and specific issues is that there was a lot of severe emotional neglect going on for little child-me. It wasn't willful or malicious—my parents were dealing with a lot of their own shit that dragged on for years and years and years. Unfortunately, I suffered for it, largely in silence, in ways that neither of my parents are even aware of to this day. I bore both of their emotional burdens with no room for my own. I've been accused of being "very strong" or just being "heartless" because my emotional responses to stressful situations are often very subdued, but really it's just a learned habit of pushing my own bullshit aside so that it never takes the spotlight.

To this day, I often push my own feelings aside in favor of other people, even when I shouldn't, and I am more likely to give the floor to someone else rather than try to speak first. So when I do try to speak and someone not only interrupts and talks over me but pretends that I was never even talking in the first place? Especially when it's an in-person interaction?

There are very few things quite as triggering to me as that feeling. I shut down. I start to question my self-worth and, sometimes, whether or not I should even continue bothering with being alive.

I know those feelings are lies that my brain tells me, but it hurts. It makes me feel invisible. It makes me feel worthless. It makes me question the validity of my friendships. It makes me want to just curl up into a ball and rot away into absolute nothingness. What the hell is it all for if the people right in front of me don't even give a shit that I'm there?

And there are other factors in this equation that unbalance both sides, like living in a world where men (particularly of the cis-straight-white variety) overpower a conversation more often than not, or the fact that I am very aware that auditory processing disorder is a thing, and some of my fellow neurodivergent friends may not have even realized I was speaking.

"Why don't you speak up about it when it happens," you might say, and the answer is that I do. But it happens so unbelievably fucking often. I shouldn't have to constantly remind people, my friends most of all, that my words matter. And people so often try to gaslight me into thinking that I'm blowing the situation out of proportion or that it didn't happen the way I said it did.

And sometimes people realize their error but decide that finishing their point is more important than stepping back and giving me the chance to speak and only let me talk after they are done. How often have my friends heard me say the words "I don't remember what I was going to say"? Well, let me tell you, nine times out of ten, those words are a complete and utter fucking lie meant to absolve other people of any guilt they might feel at interrupting me. Because I've been inadvertently taught that other peoples' emotions are more important than my own.

So this is me, screaming a plea out into the universe: please be more mindful of talking over and ignoring others, especially your friends. It might seem like such a small thing, but for some people it is not, and it literally costs you nothing to apologize for the situation and attempt to give them the chance to speak.

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anthonysstupiddailyblog · 20 days

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Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (740): Wed 27th Mar 2024

I took Lucy for an appointment at the vets about her teeth this afternoon. She was loving being on the bus for some reason. Probably because the rain has been nonstop over the last six months or so meaning she has rarely been out of the house. I've wanted to start taking her to the seaside for ages but I've always been worried that she'll do a piss or shit on the bus but now that I know she's well behaved and mostly just stares out of the window I might start taking her on days out. While Lucy may have been having the time of her life on the bus I was having a nightmare because there was a screaming baby at the front of the bus and a trio of really loud schoolkids threatening to knock each other out behind me. Neither of these things would have bothered Lucy because she's partially deaf but I was wanting to blow my brain out. Once we got to the vets I had to wait for around fifteen minutes where animals were constantly being brought in and out by the owners so I was constantly having to pull Lucy back to me on her lead so she didn't get pestered by the other animals. We got called in and I had to squeeze Lucy past a dog that was genuinely the size of a small horse. I thought about turning back and asking if their dog got hurt in the Grand National. I put Lucy up on the examination table and explained to the vet that her breath has been extra smelly lately and that she's been making a weird clicking nose with her mouth. The vet tried to examine her but Lucy wouldn't even let her open her mouth to look at her teeth. After a quick examination of the rest of her body and answering a bunch of questions about her history the vet then gave me some shitty news and then some really shitty news. She says it looks like the teeth are infected so if the medication she's given her makes no difference she might need to have another operation to remove them. The worst case scenario is that shell need them all out and if this is the case then I'll have to pay £850 for it. Now for the really shitty news. The vet also detected that Lucy has a heart murmur due to her age (we think she's around fifteen). She said heart murmurs are graded on a scale of one to six with six being the most severe and Lucy's is a five. The older the animal then the riskier it is to put them anesthetic so this operation is going to be incredibly risky for her. It has to be done though. I can't risk letting her teeth rot to the point where it's too painful for her to eat but the thought of trying to keep Lucy calm while they put a mask over her face to put her to sleep for an operation she might not wake up from is too hideous to contemplate. It would feel like an utter betrayal of her trust. I'm really depressed and upset right now, so much so that I didn't even think of the obvious joke which would have been to say that when I left the vets the giant dog was having new metal shoes put on the bottom of it's hooves until much later.

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steviewashere · 4 months

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Ranting, Sorry.

I'm reading this book called A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. It's an excellent read, I recommend it so far. Very human and very personal and very intimate—just great all around.

It centers around this character named Jude and his relationships with several friends in his circle. How he perceives being a disabled adult, while also becoming very successful in the field of law, the ins and outs of sexual trauma. It's deep, it explores it all.

The thing I'm choosing to focus on right now, however, is him and his thought on being a disabled person. For reference, he was in an accident—it scarred his back, his body developed chronic pain, and he's reliant on walking aides for his mobility. One of his largest fears in the book is that his friends, his colleagues, the acquaintances that wade in and out of his life, they will see him as less of Jude and being a person; but rather define him wholly by his disability. That they'll use it to mock him, to force him to be less than and degenerate under their feet, that it'll come back to bite him in the ass. He worries that he's perceived as just the way he walks or talks or moves. That he is less human and more the thing that separates him—does this all make sense?

Anyway. I am someone who has chronic migraines and chronic pain. His fears are my fears, even if mine are lesser and more invisible. (Solely because there is nothing visible on me to highlight me as disabled, but it's still there. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there.) And I have people in my family who are disabled, who I've been advocating for since I was younger.

But this makes me more aware of how people interact with or talk about disabled people online.

Here's an example:

Some twenty minutes ago, give or take, I was scrolling on TikTok. (Which, in itself is a hellscape and has rotted my brain like the spread of mold.) But somebody on there is posting clips from Michael J. Fox's documentary, Still: A Michael J. Fox Movie (which you can watch on Apple TV+).

And in these clips, Michael J. Fox talks very openly, while also recalling solemnly, the diagnosis for Parkinson's Disease. His complete and utter shock. The way it was described to him as being degenerative, incurable, etc. Even the slight horror in the realization that he's young at the time of this diagnosis, that it will affect his acting career, things along these lines.

Which, to take a quick sideline here, Parkinson's is a pretty devastating disease. It's a disease in the brain that causes the breaking down of a person's nervous system. Which affects how a person may move—things like tremors, stiffness, loss of balance as some of the first signs. And again, it's incurable. It's something that just unfolds as a person ages. It doesn't go away. There's no way to extinguish it, does that make sense? The best way to soothe the symptoms is by taking medications, but these medicines do not eradicate the disease.

Okay, now that I've explained a little bit.

I was just baffled, completely and utterly baffled by what people were saying in the comments of these clips. Things like "It's so hard to watch," and "It's been hard to see him go through this for decades," and the list goes on. But those being the two that truly, honestly, angered me to my core.

This is what A Little Life was talking about. When a person opens up about their disability, they are hoping for support, for enthusiastic and positive questions: How can I help? Is there anything that I can do that would better support you? And especially comments like, This does not change how I view you. And you are the same person to me.

Because that's what it should be! You shouldn't see a disabled person and want to look away because it's hard on you to see. How absolutely diabolical to hear. Take off the skin of being uncomfortable for a moment, a second. I want you—if you've made a comment like any of the negative ones that I've seen or you've witnessed these comments with your own eyes—to imagine what it's like for the disabled person in some ways.

The person may be used to their disability, but that doesn't mean that all insecurities are immediately out of the question. Maybe they're hidden, maybe they're skin deep, maybe they're so far inside of them that it takes the absolute most to pull offense from them.

But disabled people, myself included, want to be viewed as just a person. Like anybody else. That's it. Watering disabled people down to just their disability, or how their disability makes you uncomfortable—that's an awful thing to do, it's an ableist way of seeing the world.

Have more respect and dignity. And keep the uncomfortable to yourself. We deserve the same space and existence as you do. No matter celebrity status, career level, gender, sexuality, or otherwise.

Making comments on how difficult it is to see a disabled person experience their disability, that is a horrid thing to do. And I hope every single person realizes that.

#rant post #disabled people are people #stop treating us like something other or like garbage

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tragedytells-tales · 1 year

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Ariquel Joins The Battle!

Notes - No MC, Oc introduction, inspired by a DnD one-shot hosted by @absolutepokemontrash that I'll never stop brain rotting over, Amriel belongs to @/rainiishowers !!, feat. Michael, The brothers, the royals, Simeon, Luke, Ariquel, and Amriel

Summary - [ Drabble ] It's time for the second round on exchange students to make their way into the devildom. However, one specific angel seems less than enthusiastic about this new venture.

Warnings - Strong language, not proofread

Tws - None.

Oh, raise those hands / this our party we came here to live like nobody is watchin / got my brothers city right behind / If I fall they got me / learn from the failure, gain humility, keep marching!

Ariquel stood with a bored expression and crossed arms in the center of Michael's office. Aqua eyes narrowed as a bothered look settled on his face, registering the archangels upsetting words.

“You want me to do what?”

Michael smiled down at the angel with a shrug, “Join the yearly exchange program, specifically as a student in the devildom-”

“Why can’t I just join the human branch of the program?” Ariquel interrupted, placing a hand on his hip with a huff.

“Because you’re already around humans enough as it is, Ariquel. And this behavior and attitude of yours has got to change, I saw your wings. Besides, This will also be a good chance for you to see that the exchange program isn’t as bad as you think it is.”

Ariquel rolled his eyes and leveled the archangel bored stare, “No thanks for the attempt at help, but I’m fine without it. I’m sure someone else would gladly take my place.”

“Oh, your place is already filled.”

“What?”

Michael handed Ariquel his student ID at the exact moment, in a pitch black flash of darkness, a portal to the devildom opened up and Simeon gave him a wave with that dreadful amused smirk on his face that he wore when he got what he wanted with Luke hopping up and down at his side.

Behind them stood several figures that Ariquel didn’t care too much to pay attention to.

Ariquel looked up from the student ID and right into Michael's eyes the moment Michael uttered those five, horrible, no good, very bad, words.

“I already signed you up.”

A beat of silence passed for a moment and a quiet and tiny, yet enthusiastic “Oh! Hi Ariquel!” could be heard through the portal.

Two beats.

Three.

And then-

“What the fuck?”

“ARIQUEL.”

Ariquel hated it here.

Wholly and truly despised it here.

With everything in him did he hate it here.

And he hasn’t even been here for all of ten minutes.

“This is some bullshit.”

“It's not that bad, Ariquel. Luke and Simeon are here as well!"

"Against their wills, I'm sure."

Amriel rolled his eyes at the remark, no one else seemed to be amused either, except for Belphegor and Lucifer who seemed to be having the time of their immortal lives.

Daivolo shook his head and sighed, causing Ariquel to finally turn to him with that annoyed stare of his. "Well, Ariquel, angel of diligence, I do hope you enjoy your time here in the exchange program in the hope to unite the three realms and make friends and memories along the way."

"For a second I thought you were gonna say that you “hoe”. But I sure will not be trying to make friends as I'm here as a student and a student only. I didn't sign up for socializing. I didn’t sign up at all now that I think about it.”

Lucifer grit his teeth at the exchange, Michael really wasn’t lying in his letter, how this angel hadn’t fallen yet was a mystery to him. Just his profane language would’ve been enough for father to give him nasty looks for months, even the dyed hair would’ve raised some brows. And yet here this angel stood before him without so much as a care in the world.

“Either way, your accommodations and dorm have already been set up. You will be staying with your fellow angels and you will be completing an in detail paper of your experiences in the devildom. You have no choice in the matter, so I do hope you won’t make things too complicated.”

“Sure, guess I’m here now.” Ariquel shrugged with an unimpressed frown. Amriel looked between the two and sighed at Ariquels dismissive demeanor, barely resisting the urge to scold his fellow angel where he stood.

“Ariquel won’t be too much of an issue, he’s a really good angel and one of the best in his field! I’m sure he’ll make a great exchange student.” Amriel gave a resolute nod in Daivolos direction and Ariquel simply shot the demons a thumbs up before turning on his heel to leave.

“Ahem.” Just as Ariquel reached the door, he was stopped in place by someone clearing their throat. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to keep the… weapons.” Daivolo said, gesturing the two scimitars that hung in an X on Ariquels back.

Ariquel looked from Diavolos hand to his weapons and back to his hand before blinking, “Well if you’re asking for consent to take them then the answer is no, preferably.”

“Ah- Ariquel!!!”

"Well, if that was all, I'll be going now. Bye."

Amriel blinked back his shock and scurried away to follow behind his new dormmate when he strode out of the room without so much as a wave nor a bow in acknowledgment of the prince or the lords.

Diavolos' eyes widened and Barbots nearly felt a scowl cross his face as he watched the angels leave the room. The student hall door shut with a loud slam and no one spoke a word for moment.

The silence was then swiftly broken by a loud snort and a bang as Belphigors fist hit the table, “Oooh, this outta be a fun year!”

Mammon looked over Lucifer, a bewildered frown planted on his face ever since he heard the angel utter multiple swears in the span of the hour and call Michael a bitch under his breath. “Where the hell did ya even find that guy?”

A sharp scowl shut him up as Lucifer grumbled Michaels name under his breath. He could already feel a headache coming on, no amount of demonus would get him through this year.

“Now I’m stuck with eight problem children.”

AN - Sooooooo, guess who's back into obey me by DnD meaaaans? Really, I'm obsessed with Ariquel, look at my boy, so unbothered yet bothered all the time. He absolutely hates it here, for lore reasons maybe, but he hates it none the less <3

#[ 🎼 ] oc : ariquel #obey me oc #obey me shall we date

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elliebear666 · 1 year

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It's 4 am and I woke up at 3:50 in the morning. I've been waking up every single goddamn night around 3-6 am. This is because my psychiatrist, due to Zyprexa causing constant hunger and weight gain, changed me to a different antipsychotic.

However, thanks to this change, I've lost almost 20 lbs. But the waking up every night is difficult and I'm worried it will push me into a depressive or manic episode/exacerbate personality symptoms.

So, anyway... things I've noticed after 8 years of therapy:

1. I still deal with "splitting." You're good, amazing, perfect, the best thing in my life, I want to talk to you all the time to: You're a worthless piece of shit and I hope you fucking die and rot in the heat of the sun. I hate you so much I would laugh if you died. Sometimes, these thoughts spill into my world when I just spew horrible shit from my mouth or fingertips. I have said... horrifically awful things to people when I've split on them. Tbf, these days, I'm mostly splitting on favorite persons or family and it is usually less often.

2. I still occasionally have explosive anger/rage outbursts, almost get into physical fights, get tunnel vision over internet fights, have difficulty controlling my anger. It is not nearly as bad as before, though. I used to constantly blow up, and the people in my life told me they felt like they were always "walking on eggshells." Which makes me feel incredibly ashamed and guilty… I've had anger and rage problems since I was little.

3. My relationships are still stormy and intense, and either involve me becoming initially completely and utterly infatuated or obsessed and "falling in love" at the drop of a hat, or eventually becoming obsessed. Not in every potential relationship, but the vast majority. I get jealous and insecure and constantly fear abandonment, which can lead me to seeking reassurance and validation that I'm valued in the relationship. Which, apparently, is difficult to deal with. At least my jealousy isn't as bad as it used to be. It used to be… BAD BAD. It caused me to act in very possessive ways that were detrimental to the relationship and hurt my partners.

4. I still have paranoia and paranoid ideations when particularly stressed, and sometimes just in general. Something happens in my life and my brain automatically looks for patterns of why this "isn't a coincidence." It's led me down some dark rabbit holes. A few years ago I spent months looking for cameras in my room because I was so stressed out by a flying monkey situation and wondered if they had put cameras in my room lmao

5. I still dissociate. It isn't as severe as it used to be. I used to like… spend days not even there. I'd just wear a placid and empty expression as I swam in utter nothingness. I'd watch myself from afar, feeling like I was living life from behind a thick, foggy glass window. I felt like I wasn't real, I felt like nothing was real, and wondered many times if I was just asleep and when I'd wake up. Due to dissociation and just generally not being present most of the time - not even related to dissociation - I haven't made a lot memories… which can make me feel like I have no history, that my life is this strange sequence of events that I only partially partake in.

6. I still feel empty. It isn't NEARLY as bad as before. Like… my god, I used to do anything and everything I could to fill the emptiness. Sex, drugs, impulsive road trips, hurting myself, alcohol, buying things, binge eating and then feeling ashamed and purging. I would get into relationships and situationships just to assuage this crippling emptiness whose existence stifled most of the joy or passion in my life. I felt like a hollow shell of a human being and, at one point, toldy therapist that I felt like, if I took a knife to my wrists and cut myself open, there would he nothing beneath my skin. Just an agonizing, echoing emptiness. I had to do SOMETHING, ANYTHING to distract myself from how utterly and completely hollow I felt on the inside. It was just… my god. I cannot express the amount of suffering I experienced due to constantly feeling empty…

7. My impulsivity is vastly reduced. I used to like… all the time anything went wrong, or I felt too empty, or bored, hurt, angry, etc. do something incredibly impulsive to soothe those intense emotions. Whether that was buying things I shouldn't have, binge eating, drinking alcohol and using drugs, having sex with a bunch of different partners, or jumping into relationships. It was all very self destructive.

8. My sense of self used to be borderline nonexistent. I didn't know who I was or what I wanted out of life. I changed my opinions and goals and likes often as I relentlessly chased something resembling stability. I felt like I became the people I was around - my mom used to comment, in a worried way, that it was like I, in a way "became my partners." She said it was upsetting and scary. I was an empty chameleon, desperately trying to find love and acceptance. I would reinvent myself every once in a while, though not to the extreme, usually in the form of changing how I would dress or act. Now, I feel like I have a more concrete sense of self. It isn't constantly shifting, even though I still feel directionless and don't know what I want out of life or, in some ways, who I am. Like… I wonder sometimes if the personality I'm projecting is even me or just another persona that I'm wearing. I'd like to think that I'm me now, but sometimes I wonder….

9. Self harm and suicidal ideations and threats… golly gee willikers. I used to hurt the shit out of myself. I'd cut myself, burn myself, punch myself, hit my face and body. Even while I was working, I'd cut myself in the bathroom… I threatened countless times to end my life over… oftentimes situations that didn't warrant such a reaction. Then, after most breakups, I would become extremely suicidal, thinking I was an evil piece of shit that deserved to be "abandoned" or I would feel that I had been mistreated and would react with rage. Most of the time, I would default to self harm and suicide attempts/ideation even if I was initially angry. I got locked up a few times after the breakup that happened a few years ago. Got put in the back of a police car once and brought to the mental ward and had my family threaten me with lock up… god, idk how many times lmao. I've been hurting myself, in one way or another, since I was a teen. These days, I'm not hurting myself much. I burned myself about 6 or 7 times after a guy rejected me, and fell into a deep depression, planned my suicide, would drink constantlying, etc. But I haven't harmed myself in months :)

10. Intense emotional swings. So… I have always been a very intense and emotional person. Since I was little, I felt like, sometimes, the emotions inside my little body were too big for such a small vessel. As I aged, my mood became increasingly erratic and unstable. It got VERY bad while I was working. I would feel one intense emotion over some trigger, and would experience a prolonged episode after the fact. It would feel like… if I was angry at a situation, I would be infuriated, homicidal, shaking with rage. And then I would shift to elated joy and euphoria that felt like I was having a manic episode. From there, I would go anywhere. Sometimes into a deep and dark despair, to feeling like I was agonizingly alone and rejected or abandoned. I feel like… I just was always in pain tbh. About one thing or another. I feel like I was horribly sensitive to the world around me and every little thing would elicit an extreme reaction. So, before I got diagnosed bipolar, I told my old psychiatrist that I was experiencing what I believed to be "rapid cycling bipolar symptoms." However, bipolar doesn't cause extreme emotional responses to everything all day. I could go to work feeling on top of the world, then go from that to despair, anger, infatuation, insecurity, or any of a plethora of emotions, and each one was just… a huge wave of feelings. It became absolutely and completely exhausting. I was exhausted by my changes in mood. These days, I'm not reacting as extremely as I was to every little thing. I'm not always in as much pain, I'm not constantly shifting emotional states and moods. I feel like I've found, in some ways - as long as literally nothing goes wrong lmao - a sense of stability. I'm still intense, but my reactions are not as severe as they used to be and my moods are not CONSTANTLY reacting to every little thing in my life.

11. Abandonment. I touched on this to an extent… but this will go into it in more depth. So… I have had a fear of abandonment and being left alone since I was little, but it was mostly about my mom. As a teen, and as I developed bonds with friends, I began to worry about being left by my friends. As I got older and became more interested in relationships, despite having issues with dysphoria and sex and intimacy, that fear of abandonment and rejection sensitivity became overwhelming. In any rejection scenario, I have frantically and pathetically tried to prevent what I perceived as "abandonment." I would develop these very intense and all consuming bonds with people and often come to believe that the relationship was closer and more intimate than it really was. In relationships, I would hurt myself or sometimes say I might hurt myself when faced with abandonment. Not an idle threat, but a real and true possibility and, often times, an eventual reality. It's been bad throughout my adult life, specifically, but it was horrendous with the girl I dated a few years ago. I was jealous, insecure, possessive, and constantly feared that she would abandon me. However, my unstable disposition, my anger outbursts, jealousy and insecurity served only to drive her away. As the relationship was coming to an end, I became increasingly erratic and frantic as I tried to convince her I was worth it. I begged, I stalked her in an attempt to her to talk to me, I sent countless texts, emails, made new phone numbers to contact her, snapchat, tumblr. I harassed her for months… and I feel so fucking guilty and ashamed that I have tortured myself with self-harm and physical and emotional self-flagellation. I went to insanely extreme lengths to prevent this abandonment. I pretended I ran out of gas on a road trip, I can't even remember everything I did. It was absolutely fucking crazy and toxic and scary and bizarre. I tried to kill myself in this one incident and desperately called her friend crying and screaming… I'd taken a lethal dose of psych meds and… my god I just… I feel so fucking ashamed. I hated myself. I wanted to kill myself over this unhinged behavior. I'm sorry… I truly, truly am sorry. I wish I could take it all back… but fucking can't. I'm sorry. I didn't… I don't think I really realized how bad things were getting. I didn't realize what the effects of my undiagnosed BPD was going to do to anyone. I couldn't even think past my own pain and suffering and extreme emotional problems and issues with self-regulation. These days, it's still a issue. It isn't NEARLY as severe. It's bad but… not AS bad. I still get frantic when I fear I'm being abandoned, I might beg and plead, I will act out impulsively in some misguided attempt to keep them close. But more often than not, this serves to push others away, not keep them close. It definitely has not gone to the extreme lengths of the past. I hope it never does again. I will make sure I don't get that bad again.

So… at this point, I feel like I'm so much better than I used to be. But like, things aren't perfect. And I worry sometimes I will continue to have these issues for many years to come. I'm not sure what to do about dismantling every maladaptive pattern and dealing with extreme reactions to life events, fears of abandonment, emptiness, anger and rage.

I want to be better, entirely. But sometimes I wonder if better is more a state of mind than an actual state of existence.

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hellfireloserclub · 1 year

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Eddie hated the snow.

No that was a lie, he hated the way people acted when it snowed.

Panic and chaos and an inability to use the brains that they were born with.

The radio had reported several pile ups on the roads around Hawkins and despite the news telling people that they shouldn't leave the house, people seemed determined to carry on regardless.

He watched as the snow pooled at the end of the drive, golf ball sized nuggets falling down past the street lights in a constant drift.

Sure it looked nice, everything coated in a soft powder of white, the world dulled to a muffled stillness. But Eddie couldn’t help but think it looked like the regurgitated partials of the upside down.

He was trying his damndest not to think about it.

The twinkling lights that decked the halls of the other houses in the street looked innocent enough, but the party ducked away from the rainbow glow that illuminated the neat and tidy lawns blanketed in undisturbed white.

To anyone who hadn't been in the upside down it was peaceful and serenity laden, to the people who had, the erie void was unsettling, it made him jumpy, the silence holding unknowable monsters, the type he himself had slowly become before the others had dragged him back, freed him from the grasp of damnation.

So yeah Eddie wasn't the biggest fan of the snow, no matter how many crude( and one damn right pornographic) snowmen he and the kids had constructed out on his front lawn. Aches wracked his body where the skin was thin from grafts and stitches, his hands throbbed where the bones never quite regained their warmth, but he would do it a million times over as long as he got to see his kids being kids, big balled snowmen and all.

Eddie's house had become an unofficial stopping place for the whole group.

A tree stood partly decorated in the corner where the kids had been called home before they had managed to get all the baubles on, Christmas Eve calling them back to their own families, and as much as he had complained about them causing nothing but trouble, he already missed them.

The house was too quiet without Wayne, who despite not having to work the night shift anymore had picked it up regardless, saying that ‘them what had young un’s should be at home on christmas.’ Eddie had wanted to complain that he should be home too, but it would just have fallen on deaf ears, being stubborn ran in the family after all.

So now he had a tree and a handful of presents wrapped beneath it, ready for the hour or so that he and Wayne would get to share on 'the big day', that was if he could get back from the plant in the snow.

The tree was probably the last one on the lot, scraggly and already dropping needles all over the rug. The front was laden but the back was naked and bare; they had all jostled for prime position at the front of the tree. Homemade decorations and leftover Halloween trinkets, plastic bats and anatomically incorrect skellingtons dotted the branches. It leaned worryingly away from the wall, threatening to topple at any moment.

Eddie loved it.

He was just scooping sabbath ( the small black three legged cat that the gremlins had saved from the remnants of what used to be the arcade, full name ser sabbath of black first of his name, ruler of the charred remains … but that was a mouth full and only uttered when he inevitably did a toxic shit in someone's shoes by the door ) out of a death pounce on the low hanging ornaments, when the phone rang.

Sabbath swatted at his face, angry at the restraint when tree murder was afoot. But upon realising that the restraining power of his human was too much, he returned to his second favourite pastime. Sucking on Eddie's hair. Purring away and slurping loudly in one ear as Eddie swung the receiver up to his other.

"I don't want to hear about how I should be rotting in hell." He said instead of hello.

"Been there and done that already,and you didn't even send me a postcard" Steve's voice crackled down the line. Eddie couldn't help but smile. It was the Harrington charm, he wasn't immune to its hypnotic ways, in fact he was becoming less immune by the day.

“Was kind of a little busy raising an army of the dead sweetcheeks, didn't have time for a wish you were here.” he knew steve would be able to hear his grin down the line but he didn’t care, he had managed to play off his burgeoning infatuation on the other man as ‘just being Eddie’ enough times that it would be strange and worrying if he didn’t flirt at this point.

"Good job I got bored and crashed the party then, I would have hated not to see your summer home, although I expected hell to be a bit warmer " Steve joked back down the line, Eddie could hear the sound of the bell above the door to the bakery but Steve didn’t seem to want to acknowledge that right now, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder who was stupid enough to go and buy baked goods on Christmas eve in a snowstorm. “Couldn’t have picked Florida or something for the summer?”

"Have to maintain this healthy pallor somehow…” Eddie winced a little as Sabbath bit down on his ear,

"Couldn’t possibly let you get a tan.Don't want you to look like a day walker…"

"Oh Stevie, talk nerdy to me, you know how to turn a man on …"

Eddie could almost feel the chuckle down the line. Warm and sweet and one of his most favourite sounds.

"As fun as this is ,I'm in the middle of stopping my first born from climbing and destroying a 100% legal Christmas tree."

"Why is Dustin in the tree?"

"No…That would be your first born daddy Harrington."

"Really? I thought we had joint custody or at least a timeshare on that one…"

"I've got my hands full with…" at that point sabbath decided to scream at the top of his lungs.

" I did wonder what the sucking sound was, and was worried I was interrupting something."

"Oh Steve, chance would be a fine thing … speaking of fine things? Did this call have a reason or…"

" Oh shit …yeah I need you to come save me."

" Does the damsel need saving from distress?"

"I need you to give me a ride-"

"Promises promises…" Eddie could almost hear the eye roll from the other end of the phone . But Steve continued on regardless.

"- I can't get the car out of the lot and I sent Robin home hours ago…"

"-What the lady wagon isn't performing? Dunno why you're still driving that pretentious thing about."

"A free car is a free car…"

"Yet nobody else seemed to pick the prettiest car in the lot." Eddie huffed but there was no passion behind it, he had already locked the cat in the bedroom and was reaching for his keys.

" You know you are the manager, you could have closed up early right?" He didn't wait for the answer before hanging up the phone and pulling on his coat.

*****

When Eddie pulled into the parking lot of the cafe he had never been happier that Wayne had insisted on him fitting snow tires.

The roads were lined with abandoned cars, people deciding the walk would be safer than the icy conditions, even Eddie's truck, designed to withstand the worst that Hawkins could throw at it, struggled to hold tight to the road.

Eddie had slowly driven past Hopper at the bottom of the hill that led up to loc Nora, he had hazard cones and had blocked off the road, failed attempts to climb the hill gathered behind the warning barriers and Hopper looked so red and angry thay Eddie had been surprised the snow around him hadn't melt. Eddie had sounded the horn and the lawman greeted him with a wave of the hand as he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck.

Joyce waved at him happily from the passenger seat of the cruiser, hands bundled round something hot and steaming in a cup from the bakery.

Eddie beeped his horn again as he pulled to a stop in the staff parking space next to what he assumed must be the heap of snow that was once Steve's beloved car.

Steve stood next to the door, helping old Mrs Fitzwarren with the door as she cradled a drink in one hand and what looked like enough baked goods to feed a small army in the other.

The older lady wobbled a little on the snow and Eddie was quick to jump from the car and race to catch her, saving the bag of pastries and the woman from a slippery end.

To her other side Steve had darted forward grabbing the drink before it flew all over her fluffy white coat.

"Hey now Mrs F, can't have you breaking a leg, can I give you a lift home?" Eddie swore the woman must be pushing ninety yet she was out in this atrocious weather and Eddie couldn't quite understand why. She smiled at Eddie, a big bright thing that stretched all the way to her eyes.

"Oh Edward, that's very sweet of you, but I wouldn't like to keep you from your young man." She patted him on the arm adjusting her grip and Eddie felt her wobble again.

"Not taking no for an answer Mrs .Fitzwarren, let me just lock up and get you home" Steve caught Eddie's eye over the top of the shorter woman's head. He was trying to hide it behind the fall of his bangs but Eddie could see the flush on the other man's cheeks, he knew better than to hope it was from anything but the cold. Steve handed the drink over to Eddie and he manoeuvred his hold on the bag of sweet treats. When Steve was sure Eddie had the old lady firmly secured, he turned his attention back to the bakery, Eddie kept half an eye on him as he settled Mrs Fitzwarren into his passenger seat and secured her in with a smile ( making sure to knock his radio to something a little more senior appropriate, and cringing a little when wham filled the car as he starred the engine)

Steve was soon bundling himself into the back of the truck, four to-go cups in a carrier and what looked like all the leftovers from that day's bakes in a large brown bag.

Steve might be 'the hair' but Eddie was rather enamoured with the whole package. And right now with his crowning glory tucked tightly under a woolly bobble hat and skin bitten by the cold, Eddie couldn't help but stall as he let his eyes linger on the moles on his cheek, the dry skin on his lips as he pulled it between his teeth smiling sheepishly back at Eddie in the dull light of the safety light.

"Still living on the corner of elm, Mrs F?" Eddie snapped his head forward again, fiddling with the wipers to clear some of the relentless snow. He had to stop staring at Steve like this, it was becoming a habit, and it was just going to end up with him getting hurt.

Steve was his friend, to use the habit he had gained from the man himself Friend with a capital F.

He had long ago stopped thinking that this flirting was anything more than a little fun,but if one of the oldest residents of Hawkins thought that Steve was 'his boy' maybe it had become too much of a thing and he should start pulling it back a little.

He had been called a fag and a freak his entire life, he didn't want Steve to go through that just because Eddie was too stupid and let his mouth run faster than his brain sometimes.

They pulled up outside a little one story house at the end of Elm and Eddie helped the old woman to the door, turning down ten dollars in favour for a kiss on the cheek and a promise that she would call if she needed absolutely anything at all.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else you need?”

"No Steven made sure that I wouldn’t go hungry” she shook the bag in her hand,” go on, It’s Christmas eve, you and your young man don't need to be fussing over an old woman like me."

"Not my man,Mrs F."

"Does he know that ?" she said sagely waving over his shoulder towards the truck, Eddie didn’t dare turn to look, he knew Steve had moved over to the front seat, even with the snow muffling the sound, the clunk of his passenger door was unmistakable. “Take it from an old crone, do what makes you happy, you’re a long time dead.”

"Sounds like sage advice, from a wise woman, Merry Christmas" He waited until she closed the door before heading back to the truck,turning his collar up even more to the bleaching snow.

Steve was fiddling with the radio when he got in. The four cups steamed up the windscreen where he had placed them on the dash. Now they were alone Eddie took the chance to really look at the other man, all flushed cheeks and cosy Christmas sweaters.

It was hopeless, he was hopeless, he was stupidly smitten with this human embodiment of a carebear and he wasn't sure when or how it had happened.

Steve Harrington was a hundred percent not his type, he was preppy and pretty and he was soft with the occasional hard edges…and Eddie was completely gone.

"What?" Steve asked looking up at him from below his stupidly long eyelashes, the glasses he now wore only emphasised them, he defied anyone not to look at Steve Harrington and not fall a little bit in love with him. Hell, half of Hawkins worshipped him still if the amount of home delivery's Eddie had helped with this week was an indication. A scared up face and a permanent limp had done nothing to make him less endearing.

"Just wondering what wham did to offend you ?"

"I work in retail Ed's, do you know how many times I've had to listen to that damn song today alone?"

Eddie rolled his eyes but didn't miss the way Steve lent back into his arm as he used Steve's headrest to steady himself as he looked round to reverse. Eddie told himself it wasn't selfish when he slid his hand back on to Steve's headrest as they headed back towards loc Nora.

*****

"Thanks for the drinks, but the answer's still no."

" Come on Hop, this thing can go off road, it can make it up a little hill …" Eddie should have known this was going to happen, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this on the way through to collect Steve, but it didn’t look like Hopper was budging on this, not even an inch. Behind him sipping at the steaming cup of coco that Steve had just handed her, Joyce looked poised to back up her partner if need be. Hopper was a pussycat compared to Joyce in full momma bear mode, it even put Steve to shame.

"And the last thing I want is Wayne and Claudia coming after me because their two favourite boys are down in the morgue." she didn’t look like she was going to back down, fixing Eddie with almost as stern a look as she would one of her own kids.

"Holy Satan's armpit” Eddie threw his hands up in the air in defeat “and I thought I was the dramatic one…" Steve laughed at that, he didn't seem too put out by this turn of events.

"I'll just crash at yours, not like I don't have things at yours already." Steve shrugged, Eddie tried his hardest to ignore the way Hopper's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. "And anyway, it's Christmas eve, I was planning on spending it at yours anyway, now it's just a sleepover."

Eddie knew when he was beat, he wasn't going to win this fight, and plus if Steve was at his he would feel less guilty about him in that big house all on his own. The smile on Steve’s face was worth admitting defeat.

“Who knew, between the two of you, it almost makes a fully functioning adult…” Hopper winced as Joyce dug him in the ribs with her elbow, leaning past him as Eddie started to wind up the window.

“You boys are both still coming for dinner tomorrow?”

“Like we would miss out on your potato’s moma J.” Steve said it with such love that Eddie was sure even Hopper wouldn’t be able to make fun of him. “Four pm on the dot and I made a pudding, Robin took it with her when she left today.”

Joyce’s face lit up, and Eddie knew that even if they had to walk the two of them would. The end of the world ( again) wouldn’t stop them from family dinner at the Hopper- Byers house.

“We will be over as soon as we've seen Wayne, he’s on nights.” Steve nudged Eddie to start winding up the window again as the snow picked up.

“Well tell him I’ll make him a plate.” Joyce yelled over the flurry of snow as she retreated to the warmth of Hopper's patrol car. The man himself nodded before following in her wake, nobody was getting anywhere if they didn’t leave soon.

*****

The truck was quiet as they made their way towards Eddie's place. Steve hadn’t turned the music back on, staring at the snow falling ahead of them almost lost in thought. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he knew sometimes Steve could get caught up in his own thoughts like this, and it was best to let him come back to you on his own terms.

Eddie instead concentrated on getting them home in one bit. But even as he turned his attention to the dangerous roads his mind was wandering itself.

He was starting to think that he was missing something, everyone seemed to be referring to them as a unit, Eddie and Steve, Steve and Eddie. Was it just because more and more the two of them were spending all their free time together?

But even Steve had referred to them as a WE.

Steve, who wanted to spend Christmas eve with him, wanted to be there when Wayne got home so that he could wish him all the best.

They were going to go to a family dinner together, and he would bet his Warlock on him and Steve being sat next to each other around the extended table tomorrow. At what point in the last three years had they become so intricately wrapped up in eachother?

Thankfully his street came into view before he could over think himself too much.

“What exactly is going on between the two snowmen at the back there?” Steve asked as they reached the house.

Careful not to plough the truck into the snow that was built up at the end of the drive he parked up.

“Well you see… when one snowman loves another snowman-” Steves gloved hand came up to slap itself across his face. He mumbled the rest of his explanation into the warm wool as Steve rolled his eyes so hard that his glasses almost slid down his nose.

“I can’t believe you built a snowman orgy in your yard…”

“I didn’t. mini Wheler and Byers did, encouraged by the rest of your nuggets, they are too wise for their age, and they're starting to give me grey hairs.”

“Should I be concerned about them? Do we need to give them the talk?”

“They have had every talk I could think of wanting for myself, they want to make us grand pops, that’s on them.” Steves face went through a series of emotions and Eddie wondered how he ever used to find this man difficult to read. He wore his heart on his sleeve, once you got past his defences at least.

"Come on big boy, let's get you in and out of this cold," he grinned, offering up his arm for Steve to grab as they manoeuvred the slippery, compacted snow.

"Are you planning on warming me up?"

"Does that line ever actually work ? " Eddie asked, pushing the door open and shaking the snow off his boots.

"First time I used it. I'll have to let you know.”

He was clearly avoiding looking at Eddie, but what he said? It was loaded with something that bordered on honesty. That was another thing, sometimes flirting, it was so raw and open,it felt so real…

Eddie was about to say something back when Steve let out a happy yelp.

It was almost adorable the way he dashed over to the christmas tree as soon as he saw it, boots and coat thrown to the side with almost childlike enthusiasm.

Steve was still avoiding eye contact as Eddie joined him accepting his own drink as he passed. His name was written on the side, the I in his name topped with a heart rather than a dot.

A god damn heart. What the hell was Eddie supposed to do but melt a little more inside.

Steve was looking at the baubles, smiling at the ones the kids had made, their names written in puffy paint and decorated in varying levels of skill ( Will) and effort ( Mike). He was currently spinning a red bauble with both their names on, it kept catching in the light of the static bulbs that El had tried her hardest not to put on with her powers, but that still looked a little too uniform for Eddie to not think that she had cheated just a little.

When Steve let go the tree wobbled a little, toppling a little further towards them. Steve dutifully started moving the ornaments so the entire thing wasn't front heavey.

"Did sabbath do that to the tree or…" Steve began, but on hearing his name, Sabbath started scratching and yelling at the bedroom door.

“Did you lock my son in your room , you monster?”

Eddie couldn't help but smile, between Steve trying to move the ornaments on the tree so that they weren't all crowded around the front, and the absolute blissful happiness on his face. What else was he supposed to do?

“The tree would have been on the floor if I had left him, someone needed saving, remember?”

"My hero." Steve pretended to swoon, his hat hair just added to the full effect.

The smile hit him like a freight train at high velocity. Was that the way Steve always looked at him? Had he never noticed it before now? Steve wore the same hopelessly devoted face that Hopper did when he smiled at Joyce, and he had it directed at him.

At a loss for how to calm his racing heart, Eddie released the cat, the creature ran straight to Steve and climbed his leg, perching himself in his favourite spot on Steve's left shoulder. He could hear the purr from across the room. Steve thankfully broke eye contact and turned his attention to the tiny warrior that was digging its claws into his ugly holiday sweater.

And didn't that make the perfect Christmas picture. The man he loves frames in the low lights cast from a chaotic Christmas tree, decorated by the people he loved most in the world.

All that was missing was the star.

But that was easily fixed.

Grabbing the last ornament he joined Steve again by the tree. This time however the other man was too caught up playing with the cat to acknowledge the paper star Eddie was wielding in his direction.

"Traitor."

"Me or the cat?"

"Jury's out on that one." He swapped out the coco for the star, popping the cups on the side table, smiling as Steve turned the glittery monstrosity over in his hands.

"You murder a fairy for all this glitter ? "

"Me? No … El and Erica however? I'm claiming plausible deniability. They did however want to leave it for you to do."

"I know I shouldn't have favourites…"

"I don't think you're supposed to be terrified of your favourite child."

"Really because I think a fear of Erica is more of a survival instinct at this point."

"Shut up and put your bloody star on my bloody tree Harrington"

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Steve grinned but was already reaching for the top of the tree, sabbath sensing his chance made a jump for it, it was like slow motion the tree the cat and the two humans upending on the floor in a jumble of Christmas tat and tinsel.

Steve lay with his head pressed into Eddie's neck where he had grabbed on as they tumbled trying to catch the tree, Eddie had automatically reached to cradle the other man's head as he fell to the ground not wanting him to get another stupid concussion.

Steve was pinned under him; he was laughing uncontrollably, his chest vibrating where it pressed tightly against Eddie's own.

"OK there sweetheart?" He was pressed so close to Steve that he felt the way his heart raced at the endearment. It gave Eddie a little more boldness. "Baby? You didn't bang your head again or anything did-"

He didn't get a chance to finish his question, Steve, displaying all that strength that he now hid under layers of softness rolled him over so he had the higher ground, he only had a second to appreciate this new development before Steve surged forward, capturing his lips with his own.

Steve's nose was still cold, that was what he noticed first, not the taste of the hot chocolate or the feeling of Steve's lips against his own, it was the realisation that Steve was cold. It confused his brain, Steve was bright colours and warm sunny days, cinnamon swirls and coffee, warm hugs and dazzling smiles, Eddie's brain was confused. And it must have been enough to show because Steve made to pull away when Eddie didn't immediately kiss him back.

"I don't think so princess…" Eddie finally got to twist his hands into Steve's hair the way he wanted to, pleased when the other man gave him a content sigh as he pulled him down and joined their lips together.

He took it slow, wanting to learn this strange new addition to their relationship, because that was what they were, Steve and Eddie,Eddie and Steve. A couple that weren't , but always had been.

Steve deepened the kiss,pressing Eddie harder into the floor, hands exploring wherever he could; he had just brought his hand up to cup Eddie's face when he let out a small yelp.

Sabbath had won his battle with his string of Christmas lights. He dragged the still lit ornaments and sat proudly on the arch of Steve's shoulders, claws digging in as he showed off his prize.

"Our child is a menace" Steve grinned down at him

"He gets it from you"

"I am not a menace, I am adorable hes nothing like me ."

"I dunno, sharp claws destructive nature, bit of a bitch,all quite attractive attributes," Steve silenced him with another kiss, the movement making sabbath yell around his mouthful of cable . "As much as I love you both, we should probably stop the cat chewing on electricity. I've seen national lampoon's , I'm not explaining that one to the kids"

It took Eddie a moment to realise why Steve was grinning at him like a man possessed, and another moment for Eddie to retract the cat's claws from Steve's back so he could sit them both up and inspect the damage.

He had really just come out and said it hu? He avoided looking at Steve as he righted the tree.

He had only just gotten the nerve to kiss him and he was already blurting out love confessions? Who was he and what had he done with the real Eddie?

They worked in silence. He started picking up the ornaments and Steve busied himself putting the lights back on the tree, the entire time sabbath circled their feet waiting for another chance to defeat the deadly lights.

As Eddie passed Steve the star again the other man moved closer. Placing the star on top of the tree he swung back down resting his arms around Eddie's neck.

" Just so we're on the same page… I love you too Eddie."

The kiss was gentil this time, not frantic like the previous one, Eddie broke it after a few moments just so he could check to make sure that Steve was actually real.

Then the fairy lights( and all the other lights too ) blinked out of existence.

" you know I'm starting to think the arcade fire wasn't an accident"

They both looked down at sabbath who had somehow managed to chew clear through the wire, he didn't even look remorseful.

But Eddie was finding it hard to care. What was some lights when his life was so full of love.

#steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things christmas #fic #this thing has killed me so its not eddited just take it #being sick fucking sucks

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sp00kworm · 3 years

Text

Evo-23

Pairing: Zombie/Infected (Ji-woon) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Gore, Horror, Cannibalism, Graphic Gore and Wound descriptions, Death.

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“Consider it a harmless improvement of human evolution!”

“It’s a disaster waiting to happen. It is barely tested and not ready for human use. The rewriting of the genetic code was banned for so long for this very reason!”

“And who’s to say it’s a good idea now?”

“It’s truly just a simple splicing technique. Consider the eradication of cancer and genetic diseases!”

“A disaster. An abomination to God.”

“This, my good sir, is God’s great plan.”

They made the Others, then they made the epidemic.

You looked at his face. Again, and again, you looked at his face replaying on the small screen, running on what juice was left in the generators you had managed to salvage from the quarantine hospital camps they had set up when it all started. His bald, freckled head, and the glasses you wished you could snap and stamp on. Cold brown eyes. He’d known and done nothing.

“Just a simple rewriting of DNA code.” You uttered as you pushed your spoon into the syrup of the tinned peaches you were eating. It tasted good enough, but it was pushing close to the expiry date on the top of the sawed open metal. Soon you would be struggling you knew. The risk of botulism would be high the longer you carried on eating canned food after the dates. You hoped that wouldn’t happen. You prayed as you checked the date and sighed with relief. Canned peaches just tasted too good. Along side it you had managed to find some very stale looking crackers, but it was a meal almost for a king in the squalor you had been suffering for the past two years. Syrup dripped over your chin before you wiped it away and slapped the recording off.

The papers had raved about the new viral technique to removing cells, DNA and disease from humans. Rat, dog, rabbit and pig research had all gone well, showing promising signs for the virus vector to be used in all walks of life. Chimps had suffered few effects. One in every hundred had suffered mania effects, easily glazed over and removed from the public eye before the method was patented properly and set to human subjects. It was then that the issues started. Isolated manic episodes, bleeding from the nose and eyes, total loss of motor function before the body was paralysed and the blood vessels collapsed. It killed people. Five participants were killed. It killed their cancerous tumours but then it killed everything else. There was something different after that. Then the bodies started digging their way out of graves. It was covered up. Again, and again, bodies went missing in the night until one of them was gone. The cases carried on after that, bleeding eyed screaming creatures running through hospitals, cold and dead, but moving completely from memory. Then there had been the Others. The Others had evolved. Humans whose DNA had fully incorporated with the virus. They were stronger, immortal and just as dead as the rest, except they were not stupid. They didn’t run after heat and blood; they hid and took what food they wanted. They could think.

Since the days of the beginning of the end, the Others had taken territory, carving it up for themselves as they saw fit, each with their own group of mindless brain rots. You’d done well to avoid them. They preferred it when it was cooler now as the summer sun rotted their flesh faster than it could heal itself. The heat was, for once, your friend. It didn’t solve the issue of your boiling apartment, but air conditioning was a dream you had in the night now. You’d rather the heat than the memories of the last snow, perfectly preserving hibernating zombies under the ice in the wilderness while the city zombies roamed without the risk of rotting and collapsing in heaps of half broken bones and stringy flesh. The Others roamed wild in the winter, tearing people apart while it was cool before disappearing into the subways in the heat of spring and summer. Hopefully it meant you could search for a few more supplies on the next run. You needed some plant pots and seeds if you wanted to survive, and hopefully some more drinking water.

As you finished the can of peaches, you looked outside at the bright sunshine and grabbed for your bag by the couch. It was heavy with supplies, and you rummaged around for the small sandwich bags with pens for if you did manage to find seeds. You shoved the supplies together, along with a bottle of water and a few cereal bars before you grabbed the bush axe you had found, wrapped tightly with cord so you could hold it tightly and not send it flying. Failing that you had a bat and a small knife. You shouldered the backpack and mentally wrote a list as you headed to the door, pulling away your carefully made barricade. There was a small trap you had, and you set the bear trap across the threshold, covered by a sheet. The final touch was the swinging chair you set on the latch before you closed the door and locked it. The hallway was clear, you’d made sure to barricade each end, and you sighed softly before heading to the stairs and locking the doors behind you again, setting the boards back up against the door before you quietly headed towards the exit and out into the streets, into the blistering summer heat and rubble.

The streets were dead. Silent except for the rustling of rotting plastic flying across the abandoned roads. The infected were down below, their shuffling and groans emanating from the sewers below. The rest were dozing in cool shade, swaying back and forth, their eyes gone and the skin of their faces gaunt. The Others didn’t look like that, or so you had been told before the rest of the survivors disappeared. The Others were covered in burst vessels, bruised and pale, cold. Their noses bled and their eyes did too, but they were black eyed and vicious, their voices replaced with snarls and clicks. They were terrifying. You’d been lucky enough to avoid them so far. You took a deep breath of dusty air before tugging at the scarf over your head and peering through the mucky glass window of the hardware store. Inside was dusty and grubby, the shelves mostly empty at the entrance from the looting when it all started. Otherwise, it seemed empty. You hoped you were right as you headed towards the back fire exits and tried the handle bars.

The two around the side clicked but jingled with the sound of chains. They opened a couple of inches before the chains went taught and kept it from opening any further. You sighed and left them, closing the doors again before you carried on around the back of the building and found the employee entrance and exit. You took a breath and opened the door carefully. It swung open to reveal a dark warehouse. The cages of stock were mostly untouched. You grinned in victory before you turned on your pump power torch. It lit up the interior to reveal the cages of soil, wood and other items like watering cans and pots. Plastic pots, seeds and some planting soil. You needed those things, and a water purifier. If you were lucky, people had bunkered down here and you would be able to find some unopened water bottles. It was a long shot, but it was something you desperately needed besides food resources. You took a step inside and listened before grabbing a few bricks from outside and propping the door open, unaware of a pair of black eyes watching you.

The warehouse was devoid of infected, and you were thankful as you searched the aisles of cages and bins for what you wanted. Light, deep plastic pots and a small bag of soil. You needed to be able to carry your things home. You found a few plastic planters quickly and then set about finding seeds, coming through several tote boxes of packets before you grabbed vegetables and fruits of various kinds. They were barely in date, but hopefully something would grow. You shoved the seeds away and picked up your planters and a small watering can, smiling at the little elephant nose on it before fastening it to your bag. Shouldering a small bag of soil, you then quickly did a search for water bottles. To your delight there was a pack of 2L bottles. It was too much to carry but you took a couple in your bag and stashed the rest behind a brick pile outside to collect later. Making sure it was well hidden, you kicked the bricks away from the door and shouldered your bag and grabbed the pots once again before moving as quietly as you could back around to the front of the hardware store. It was still quiet, but the sun was hanging low in the sky, indicating that it was close to being dark. The dark brought cold, and that let the infected walk around without their limbs dropping from their bodies.

You reached your tower block before the night truly set in, dragging the soil up the stairs as you barricaded the doors between you and the exit. You reached your own floor and set the barricades against the door before you sighed quietly and reached for your own door. You unlocked it and carefully inched it open far enough to take the chair snare trap off the handle, lowering it before you leaned down and looped it back on the door. The bear trap was still set, and you inched around it before setting down the day’s findings in the middle of the living area. Your stomach gurgled with hunger, and you grabbed the box of protein and cereal bars you had pilfered, along with the survival food pouches. They were rich in carbohydrates and protein, so they would be good when you were very low on food. You stashed everything away before chewing on a protein fruit bar happily. You looked at the seed packets and smiled as the clouds moved over and thunder rumbled in the distance. It meant rain. You looked through the packets as you chewed and happily started to pick veggies to get growing before the rain rolled over. They needed to be out on the small balcony to get watered by the incoming bad weather.

The night was filled with the crash of lightning and the rumble of thunder, which covered the groans of the zombies wandering around below, rotting and stinking of the sewers. Still, you got a little sleep between the storms, sleeping lightly in the corner of the room, tucked underneath your little fortified area. The bed you’d used to make barricades and weapons if all else was lost. You woke with a start as the handle to your room jiggled up and down. The infected didn’t have such capacity. You rushed out of the small blanket and pillows to grab for your axe, strapping o your stolen police vest before you headed to the little entry way. Your bear trap and chair trap were still set. With a deep breath, you stood ready by the door as the lock opened with a clunk and the handle went down again. The door opened quickly, and you gasped at the creature stood in the doorway, heaving blood from its mouth before it leaned back, and fresh blood dripped from its black eyes. It was once a human, but it was now one of The Others. It clicked and stepped back to dodge the knife strapped chair, slamming the wood down from its pulley in the ceiling with one great slap of its hand. Black eyes looked forwards, and it clicked again, blood dripping from the corner of its mouth as it dashed forwards. Clumsily, its foot slid over the bear trap, and the trap snapped shut tightly around its ankle.

The Other howled a great series of violent clicks, tugging its leg before it fell to its knees and pulled at the metal, heaving the two rows of sharp teeth apart with shaking arms. You acted then, yelling as you slammed the axe down towards its head. He caught the handle, letting the bear trap snap back shut around his ankle as he fended you off, clicking and gurgling.

“What the fuck?” You gasped as you tugged your axe away violently and went to strike again, aiming for the temple. Again, the Other caught your swing, clicking in upset as the bear trap tore its flesh open to the bone, exposing the black stained tissue underneath its skin. An all too human face looked up at you as it pushed your axe away again, black eyes bleeding red. The Other was dark haired, the black tangled mess falling to just under his chin, though his eyebrows were sparse. The same seemed to have befallen his eyelashes, and you looked at the pale, almost alien face as you panicked. It was once a man. Slowly, it reached for the bear trap again.

“NO!” You shouted, and to your surprise, the Other looked at you, its bruised fingers releasing the mechanism for a second time as it gurgled more blood and licked its teeth and eyed the bare flesh exposed from your sleep wear.

The Others still craved flesh and blood. They still needed human cells to survive. Their own bodies were lacking in the vital building blocks of life. Stem cells. The had been seen licking the marrow from bones and pulling open children regularly in search of such treats. Those, it was thought, were the key to their regeneration. The Other looked at your legs and you hopped back a step, as though to hide the long bones full of marrow from his sight.

“Why…” You struggled to find your voice, “Why haven’t you killed me already?”

The Other looked at you, his head tilted far to the left, as though he was listening to you. The creature reached towards you and pointed then curled his fingers back towards himself and gurgled shortly before he reached back to his ankle again and tried to winch open the bear trap. His arms went tight as he heaved the metal teeth apart, slamming either side down onto the laminate. He was free. You took another step back and gripped the axe tighter as the Other got to his feet, his shattered bones clicking back together before the wound closed and his bruised, pale skin recovered the black flesh inside.

The Other clicked again, his head tilting left and right, fingers twitching and eyes rolling. He was looking at you, watching you breathe and move as he moved left and right on his legs. In moments, he was healed, but he still stood by the bear trap and watched. Blood dripped from his nose, weaving a trail over the cupids bow of his lips before it dripped over his sickly purple lips and into his mouth. His tongue dipped out to lick it away. His lips pealed backwards in a smile as he clicked and gurgled again. In a flash, he had moved towards you, his hands slamming either side of your head, pinning you against the wall. His teeth flashed by your skin, blackened and sharp, his mouth filled with clots of his own blood. Another gurgle came from his throat as he sniffed the left and right side of your neck with blood dripping from his nose. A drop landed on your chest, rolling over the skin and into your shirt as the Other clicked again, reaching for you with a grubby and bruised, blood-stained hand. The cold hand wrapped around your throat in a quiet threat, and the Other continued to look you up and down, fingers dragging against the warmth of your flesh.

They like warm flesh enough to come out in the sunlight.

“Are you going to cut me open and peel out my bones?” You asked as you looked at the door, avoiding the snarling face in front of you. Black eyes wiggled back and forth for a moment before the Other opened its mouth, the sharpened teeth flashing over your shoulder before it took an unsteady step backwards, ear tilted towards the windows. It was dark, and thunder clapped in the distance again before the sound of rain filled the apartment once more.

The Other shook his head slowly as his head twisted back, his back bending backwards as he slumped and peered out at the rain. He dragged his ruined foot behind him as he went to the window and looked down at the wet streets below, his black eyes watching the infected below wade through the water and rubbish. Another long, low click sounded from his throat before he turned his dark eyes on you again, blinking slowly before he picked up his leg and looked at the torn fabric of his jeans. The wound had healed, leaving a faint trace of dark red, almost black blood on his bruised skin. His arm moved, but this time it was to wipe the blood from his nose away on his sleeve. His arm came away streaked with fresh blood, but he still peered outside, looking at the meandering bodies outside in the rain.

“What are you looking at?” You asked from against the wall as the Other twitched by the window and clicked again. His black eyes moved from the glass to your face and then back again before he reached into his pocket. His dead fingers wiggled around for a while before he pulled out a long lanyard and presented the card to you. There was a dark-haired man on the picture, his hair slicked back, the sides shaved with a pair of glasses sat on his nose.

“Ji-woon.” You read carefully from where you were, “Is that who you were?”

The Other looked at you, studying your face before he raised a fist to his shoulder and nodded it with his head. You looked at the lanyard carefully, noticing the faded and stained academy logo. The badge confirmed it. He was a teacher before everything. Once he was human. Once he was a teacher. Now he was one of the Others.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You asked again, “You want to eat my bone marrow, right?”

The Other looked at you again, blood dripping from his eyes and spit clinging to the side of his mouth. He opened his mouth, gurgled again, clicked his tongue and then moved back towards you. His black eyes caught the light of a lightning bolt and you reached for your axe with a small yelp.

The axe was thrown from your grasp before you could get a grip on it. The Other clicking as he dragged you by the wrists onto the floor. The axe clattered away, and you flinched as his fingers found the straps of the tactical vest, plucking them away violently before he dragged the material and plating away, leaving you exposed in just your pyjamas. Wiggling, you tried to free yourself from his grasp to no avail. Blood from his eyes dripped down the sides of his nose and onto the material of your shirt, staining it a deep, dark red. You closed your eyes as he let out another series of low clicks and drew closer to your shoulder. If he didn’t eat you, you would turn, just like the rest. A bite from an Other would make you one of his thrall or another like him. Another one of the Others.

“Kill me then. Just don’t let me turn. I want to die.” You whispered as you closed your eyes tight. The Other clicked again, a slow series of articulates noises that disappeared into a whine, not unlike a dog.

Then the arms caging you to the floor slipped downwards. His nails dragged away curls of wood as the Other let his hands travel, his fingers ghosting over your skin again in a meandering pattern downwards. You flinched as he pinched the flesh around your middle, tugging hard before they continued down your stomach and over your legs. He shifted backwards in order to look at your legs. His black eyes rolled over the flesh as spit, mixed with blood, leaked from the corners of his mouth. The slobber dripped over your calves, but you didn’t dare move as his cold fingertips traced under the arch of your foot and then grabbed hold of your ankle. He held it in a bruising grip, his fingers wrapped tightly around the flesh, strangling the blood flow. It hurt and you let out a cry as he twisted it around, tugging the joint awkwardly.

“Please.” You sniffled on the floor as he dragged you back towards him. You wiggled only to have his hand slam on your middle, winding you before he pressed you back to the floor again.

He opened his mouth, wheezed, coughed and then gurgled, “P-Please.”

Your eyes shot open as the Other released your ankle with a frown, his hairless eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. His lips quivered again, dipping up and down before he swallowed and shook, blood spraying from his nose. The droplets landed over your floor and streaked up the Other’s cheeks in wild, spider web patterns. Stumbling, he dragged himself upwards and touched his own lips.

“P-Please.” he gurgled again, a deranged smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t mock me.” You wept at him, wiping your face as you struggled for your axe, your fingers slipping around the handle as he leaped on you again. A smiling face covered in blood loomed over you before he gurgled, clicked and growled, holding his throat before angrily thumping at his Adams apple. The Other wheezed and coughed blood over your chest before he reached into his pocket again, teeth clicking, and pulled out the lanyard to show you. You shook your head before he tapped the photo on the plastic then tapped his own blood covered cheek.

You laid there in confusion, looking up at the drooling monster before you found your voice.

“That’s you before this. Ji-woon. You were a teacher.” You declared quietly, whispering into the thunderstorm.

The Other turned the card back to himself and touched the photo and then his own hair, his cold fingers tangling in the matted mess that hung around his cheeks. It was nothing like the slicked back, side shaven style he once wore, and he seemed to realise that as he tugged at the hair and pulled away a small clump. He wasn’t alive anymore. He was only alive thanks to his constant need to eat the flesh of the living. His victims stem cells and other living tissue was why he was a walking corpse beyond the others. An agonised cry left his lips, and the Other clutched at his own hair as he slumped over you, his teeth clicking dangerously close to your shoulder.

“You’re not him anymore.” You whispered again, reaching up with shaking hands. You sniffled as you reached and carefully took hold of his face, feeling the piercing coldness of his skin. Blood stuck to your palms as the Other raised it head enough to look from side to side, his black eyes quivering back and forth as he looked at your hands cupping his face.

“So, if you’re in there, Ji-woon, I’d rather you end me quickly...r-rather than play with me like a cat.” You sobbed.

The Other let the card of his lanyard clatter to the floor, the dirty fabric of the lanyard laid over wooden floor. There was another deafening crash of lightning and rumble of thunder as the Other stumbled backwards, his legs wobbling as his teeth clicked and ground together rhythmically. Click. Grind. Click. Grind. It was unsettling. You crawled backwards towards your weapon, only to pause as the room was lit up with lightning again, and you saw tears mingle with the blood leaking from his nose. Pink droplets dripped from his chin. The Other looked at you on the floor, then back to the windows, before he let out an unholy scream. With a cry, you covered your ears as the Other called for his thrall with tears the colour of blood dripping down his cheeks and neck. He shook his head and curled in on himself before howling again, another upsetting, glass shaking as he wailed over the sound of the storm. You reached for the axe again, crying as your ears rang with the noise of the Other’s screams. With a scream of your own, you launched yourself at him with the axe held high. Black eyes flashed before he caught you with open arms, grappling you around the middle in a hug. The axe jolted against his shoulder, falling from your grasp as you fell into his grasp.

The Other quivered again you, his jaw grinding before he rested his nose against your neck. He was icily cold, and he wheezed cold breaths over your neck, his lips sticky against your skin. He didn’t bite you. His lips parted to let him wheeze again and he dragged his nose over the skin before he sobbed, more tears dripping down his nose. The Other pulled away, his black eyes wide and wet with more unshed tears.

“I’ve…never seen an Other cry…” You confessed as he hugged you tighter. The thunder of footsteps sounded out on the stairs as the hoard smashed themselves against the barricades leading up to your hide away, “Fuck…”

The Other kept a tight grip on you before he too heard the hoard. His eyes roved your face before he pushed you towards the window and fumbled with the clasps. He opened the window and you peered at the rain, and then at his face. He said nothing but you knew what he wanted. The fire escape. You ducked out of the window and perched yourself in the rain, underneath the stairs to try and shield yourself as the thrall of the Other slammed themselves against your defences. The Other closed the window and entered your room again, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes wide as his creatures swarmed inside, moaning and groping at the walls, floors and him. A few paused by the window before bumping into something else and leaving. None of them cared about the Other. They couldn’t smell the warm flesh of the living, so they filtered away, down the corridors and stairs, falling and smashing things as they went.

As the noises died down, you peered through the metal stairs and looked at the rushing water below. The zombies slowly filtered out of the building, back into the cooler moist air. You sighed as you looked at them, but shivered, sniffling in the rain and cold. A moment later, the window rattled, and the Other peered out into the rain, his black eyes haunting as they shone in the light of the lightning. With a click, he held out his hand, and you watched him reach to scoop his hair from his eyes. It was a human gesture. It made him seem human. Then the lightning flashed and lit up the blood covering his face, neck and arms. His fingernails were dirty with dried blood and mud, but he helped you into the window and clicked again softly, as though it was a noise of comfort. It unsettled you, holding his freezing cold hand as you shivered inside of the apartment. The door was closed, barricade replaced, and the chair pinned back in place at the door. He was still bleeding, and he blinked his eyes, sending two drops of blood down the stained red lines either side of his nose. With a deep breath, you grabbed a tissue from your little den and reached up to wipe the red streaks away from his face. The Other flinched at your warm touch, but let out a wheeze, letting you wipe his face free from blood and gunk.

You pulled away with a small gasp at the sight of his pale, bruised skin. The blood vessels around his eyes ran in spidery black patterns before they disappeared under the pale, thin bruised skin of his face. He looked dead. Deathly pale and gaunt. His face had lost a lot of the colour and life it once had, though he appeared no more tired than he used to. The large eye bags seemed to be a constant factor. You reached for his ID card on the floor and carefully handed it to him. The Other held open his hand and took it from your grasp, gurgling at the picture of himself, or who he used to be, with interest. You let him hold it and watched at he wiped at his nose with the tissue you had accidentally give him alongside it. In a mockery of what you did, he slid the tissue over his nose and cheeks before he gurgled and smile with blood clot covered teeth. He wasn’t human. You repeated that as he passed you the sticky tissue back. It was covered in blood and clots.

“Are you still in there Ji-woon?” You asked the Other quietly.

The Other shook his head as he raised the card again. It span in his grasp, giving you flashes of the image of his human face, “P-Please.” he wheezed at you, “...Help.”

“That is you. You can’t become him anymore.” You said carefully, softening the blow with a dab of the tissue under his eyes. He caught your wrist with a scowl, his unnatural eyes wiggling in their sockets, rolling left and right as he opened his mouth to expose his black dyed mouth full of clots.

“P... Please.” he wheezed again.

“I can...make you look like him but you’re not human anymore.” You tried to tug your wrist free to no avail.

“Look.” The Other held up the ID card and tapped it again before he let you go and looked at the red marks on your arm mournfully, “J-Ji...woon.”

“The fact you can even speak amazes me.” You confessed as you looked at the bruises and blood covering him. His clothes were dirty, matted and torn, exposing his arms which had been unnaturally made larger. He was a predator of muscle and smarts now, who desperately wanted to be human again, “I can help, so long as you can keep those zombies away from me, okay?”

The Other nodded, drooling as he pointed to his ears and mouth.

“Those wails, yes. You can control them and keep them away while I help you. That and you’re big enough to just tear them open...I saw an Other do that once.”

The Other blinked owlishly but nodded once before you rummaged for a bottle of water and pointed to the bathroom, “First let’s clean you up, huh?”

He only nodded and followed at your heels like a drooling, blood covered dog.

You managed to get a small basin to fill with water and then awkwardly got the Other to strip his clothes off. They were full of holes and disgusting. The neck was covered with blood and stiff with mud and blood. You bagged them and tied it closed as the Other stood, swaying on his dark bruise coloured feet. His mouth was dripping with drool again as he turned and looked at the water bowl in your hands.

“Come on. Sit in the tub.” You asked gently as you guided his cold body into the bath. He sat quietly, gurgling on his own blood as you fetch a towel and a small flannel. You dipped the flannel into the water and lathered it with soap before pressing it to his face. His black eyes quivered before he closed them peacefully and let you wipe the grime from his skin. Each swipe revealed more skin like cracked porcelain underneath the blood. The bruising spread from black coloured veins in his face and you were careful to clean around his nose and mouth before setting to the rest of him. It was even more embarrassing to get a zombie to clean his own privates, but something in him remembered and you left him to it before returning to try and scrub his hair.

Most of his hair was dead, the ends snapped and fraying in clumps. So, it was with a heavy heart that you washed it and let it soak with conditioner before snipping away most of the ends. It was shorter, in a wild mane over the top of his head and the shaved sides, but he seemed happy as he peered at himself in your small mirror. You tried to tame it backwards, but the shorter pieces of hair pinged out at awkward angles. He didn’t seem to care as he wiped at his own face, clicking happily at himself in the reflection in the grubby water. He was like a child almost. Entertained by bottles, colours and smells, despite the irony blood leaking from his nose again. He wiped it away with a tissue, wet hands dampening the balled-up paper before he peered over the side of the tub and watched you pull free a few sets of clothes.

“Here. You can’t wear those rags…even though I know you don’t get cold.” The Other stood and looked at the clothing before his hands reached for a khaki green fleece. He rubbed the soft material and happily pulled it over his head before he dressed his bottom half as well.

When he was finished and dressed you let him walk out of the bathroom. He was still bleeding from his eyes and nose but the cleanly appearance gave him an almost human look. The Other clicked and touched the top of his hair, feeling the strands before he looked at you with wide black eyes. In a sudden burst of speed, he was in your face, his teeth clacking together in front of your nose. Snap. Grind. Snap. Grind. Snap. He clicked his teeth rapidly in front of your face, drool stringing between his teeth and lips and dribbling out the corners of his mouth.

“You’re still one of them, huh?” You told him as he gurgled and coughed, fingers dancing by his sides as he twisted his head and twitched violently hard, teeth gnashing in his mouth, “You still want to eat me...”

There wasn’t a fix to his own nature. You watched him retch and fight himself before you moved through to your bedroom and rummaged through the boxes for something to use. You smiled when you found the ball gag. It was a simple thing, made of tough leather and a supple ball attached to simple metal rings. It fastened with a belt loop style fastening. It would be hard for him to chew through at least.

The Other looked at you curiously as you returned with the gag hanging from your fingers. Something in his face twisted, as though he maybe recognised the item, but you watched his fingers twitch again and knew it was the right choice.

“I know what you might think, but this is purely to stop you eating me, okay?” You told him as you opened the fastening and presented the ball to his lips. The Other cocked his head, blinked, and then opened his mouth to accept the ball. You watched him chew the ball like a horse does a bridle before he then settled and let you fasten the back closed tightly. He sniffed, drops of blood dripping from his nose as he ground his teeth into the gag, his mouth parted and the clicks he made gurgled and muffled. It would also stop him from turning on you and summoning a hoard of infected to tear you open. It was a double protective measure. The Other shifted and touched the cool leather wrapped around the back of his head. He could easily undo it if he wanted to, but he let his hands drop and plonked himself down by your door, peering back at you as he pointed to your little bed and tent.

“Don’t eat me in my sleep.” You joked. The Other rolled his eyes as you climbed into your layers of blankets and cushions. He didn’t look at you, but stared at the door, cross legged and clicking softly to himself around the gag in his mouth.

The next morning you woke up to the light in your eyes, and a clicking sound from by the window. As you opened your eyes you were greeted with a curious gurgle from the Other. His black eyes blinked bloody tears down his cheeks before he tilted his head and ground his teeth against the gag in his mouth. Blood painted the sides of his mouth and drool had dried in the corners of his mouth where the o-rings sat.

“Good morning to you too.” You groaned as the Other clicked in front of you and wiggled his jaw from side to side, his eyes looking over you. The exposed flesh had his mouth watering again, and you quickly hid the skin under a blanket before crawling past him and heading to the bathroom. The creature’s hungry eyes followed your legs, and the Other prowled across the wood after you, like a small dog, his gaze fixed on the exposed skin of your calves and ankles.

“M-M-Morn…ing-g.” The Other babbled around the gag in his mouth as his fingers inched along the wood, chasing after your feet. You stopped as his hand wrapped around your ankle. The cold fingers pressed into your flesh, testing the give before you dragged yourself free and slammed the door in his face. The Other grunted as his nose was smashed against the wooden door.

When you came back out later, dressed and clean, the Other was perched by the door again, sat on the balls of his feet, perched in a crouch as he looked at the handle. The knob was twitching. You took a deep breath and carefully reached for your axe, holding the handle tightly in your grasp. The handle twitched again before the door thumped and the latch unhooked. The Other watched the door creak open. A rotten hand curled around the wooden door, and you crept forwards a step before the Other clicked and launched himself at the arm. It took you a moment to realise that his mouth was full of the gag, but it was too late. The Other grappled the infected by the neck, throwing it against the column outside of the door before his arms bulged and he slammed its head backwards, once, twice, thrice, and painted the dirty white concrete with blood, bone and brains. The blood sprayed up the concrete as he continued hammering the creatures head backwards. The initial crack became a wet thud which dissolved into a slick noise of blood and flesh as the Other dug his hands into the cranium and dragged it open, scooping his bruised fingers into the goop. His teeth gnashed on the gag, and you covered your mouth as he pulled at his own cheeks, splitting the skin so he could stick his gore covered fingers into his mouth. He gurgled happily as he scooped the brain into his mouth, followed by the sickening crunch of the zombie’s femur under his foot. He twisted the legs free at the knee and punched his way through to the bone.

Rotten marrow dripped over his fingers, and he groaned sadly, tossing away the bleeding leg in favour of finishing the obliterated head. He struggled with the eyeballs, and you watched, gipping, as he weaved one behind his gag, through the tear at the corner of his lips, and popped it between his teeth.

“What the fuck…” You gasped behind the Other.

The Other’s eyes snapped to you, and he gurgled happily, covered in blood again, as he chewed his meal contently. As you watched him eat, you made your way back into your apartment, shaking as you uncovered a set of reigns. He was still eating as you came back and weaved them around his head and attached the ends to the O-rings of the gag. With a tilt of his head, he peered back over his shoulder and looked you in the eyes, his bloodied fingers stroking the leather up and down before you gave the back of the reigns a gentle tug.

The Other gave a grunt and a small cry, his black hair flying out of place as he tugged at the reigns, back towards his meal. His hands stretched towards the flesh, grabbing for the brains just out of reach.

“We made a deal.” You whispered as you hauled him backwards, “You want to be a human, Ji-woon, right?!”

The Other froze, his fingers pressed into the mess on the floor by the zombie’s head. They danced in the blood for a moment before he looked up at you, his eyes manic and his hairless brows furrowed.

“J-Ji…woooon.” He gurgled before he slumped backwards and grabbed at your trouser leg, his cold fingers burying themselves in the fabric. The Other gave a small wail, burying his head in your thigh as he stroked your legs and shuddered against you.

You reached down carefully and petted his hair, “Humans don’t eat…that. But we need you to live and… I know you’re not human, but we need to think about how this is going to work, okay?”

He didn’t acknowledge you, but leaned his head into your petting, pushing his choppy hair into your grasp as he clutched at you like a child.

“We’ll work through this mess, together, I promise…Ji-woon.”

#zombie x reader #male monster x reader #monster x reader #infected x reader #monster bf x reader #male zombie x reader #gender neutral reader #zombie x gender neutral reader #monster bf #monster reader insert #monster boy #monster romance #my writing #originaly work

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Caffeine Rush: Chapter Two / Mocha

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

Summary: Javier learns his fate. You take him out to that dinner you promised.

W/C: 2.8k

Warnings: language, mentions of food, tooth-rotting fluff. I mean it.

A/N: HI FRIENDS if you can’t already tell from my blog, I LOVE red velvet cake and this chapter is highly self indulgent. This fic is so near and dear to me because I really relate to the reader and put more of myself in her than I do others. I hope you guys enjoy!!!

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Mocha: espresso, steamed milk, and chocolate. Beloved for the sweet taste.

To his surprise, Javier didn’t get fired. In fact, they didn’t even mention Los Pepes. He walked in there, sweating bullets and filled with anxiety and caffeine, only to learn that they weren’t the review board. They were operations, and asked Javier what he knew about the Calí cartel. Afraid it was a trap, he didn’t answer, until the man across from him cracked a smile and told him about his new assignment.

“Your work with Escobar and the Medellín cartel was unconventional, but we needed it. If you’ll accept our offer, we’d like to assign you to Calí to head the investigation into their cartel.”

Javier’s brain froze in shock. He was wordless, staring blankly ahead and furrowing his brow. After a few moments, he mustered out all that he could. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, Agent Peña. With the assignment would additionally come a raise in pay and rank, as well as-”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it.”

“We haven’t finished the offer-”

“I’ll take it, sir. Thank you,” he said, nodding.

“Well… take this,” he said, making Javier stand from the chair across from the room and take the file from his hands. “This is the information you’ll need, including your new pay and details. We are asking that you take at least some of your banked vacation time. You have several months of it, Peña. Our code requires that-”

Javier’s fully aware of this policy. Use it or lose it. Unfortunately, he’d never had much time or want for vacation while chasing Escobar. What would he do? “Yeah, give me a month off,” he said mindlessly as he opened the file and scanned over the front page, in utter disbelief. He registered his surroundings after a second and looked up. “You won’t regret it, sir. Thank you,” he says and shakes the man’s hand before leaving the room.

Now, Javier stands at a payphone outside of the embassy, dialing your number in his pocket. When you pick up and ask who’s there, he laughs happily. “They didn’t fire me!”

“Congratulations,” you laugh as you realize it must be Javier. “What all happened?”

“I actually got promoted,” he admits, the adrenaline and caffeine rushing through his bloodstream. “It was absolutely crazy. They didn’t even mention Los Pepes or anything, just-”

“Are you ready for me to pick you up now?” You ask, cutting him off. “You can tell me the rest over some food. You need it. You didn’t eat that muffin I brought you.”

“What are you, my mother?” He asks dryly, but he’s too excited to be too annoyed. “No, I’ll head back to the hotel. Pick me up in 30 minutes?”

“Sounds great. Congratulations, Javier,” you tell him, grinning into the receiver.

“Call me Javi.”

“Okay… Javi,” you say, biting your lip to hold back from giggling. “I’ll see you then.”

There’s a click and the phone line goes dead. You start giggling happily, flopping back onto the couch. Javier makes his way to the hotel, smiling. He lights up a cigarette, sighing at the way the warmth of the lighter contrasts the cold and snowy air.

Holy fuck. You’re going on what could possibly be considered a date with a really hot guy and you need to get dressed, quick. You hurry around your tiny apartment, throwing on something nice-looking and messing with your hair. You spritz on some perfume, straighten yourself in the mirror, and rush out to the street.

Georgetown is beautiful in the snow, you smile to yourself, but you wince as you realize the snow might slow you down. Your car is a piece of shit, you have to admit, but you love it. Her name is Whitney, in honor of Whitney Houston, and you beg and plead with her to behave as you make your way to Javier’s hotel.

The radio plays some music quietly, and a handsome dark-haired man stands outside of the hotel, smoking a cigarette when you arrive. You flash your high-beams at him and he smiles as he puts out the cigarette and tosses it in the trash. “Hi,” you almost sing as he gets in the car. “Are you a hugger?”

“Am I a what?” He frowns and asks, looking at you.

“Do you like hugs?” You ask, as if it’s obvious.

“I… don’t really receive many. They’re nice, I guess,” he shrugs as he looks you up and down quickly. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he tells you.

Warmth collects in your chest at his words. “Well, thank you. And I ask because I wanted to give you a hug of congratulations. I’m a big hugger,” you shrug a little and tilt your head as you look at him. He looks nice, in a button-up and those tight jeans you saw him in earlier.

A car honks behind you and you jump, awkwardly waving behind you and taking off so the next car can drive up to the hotel. Javier chuckles a little. “Well… I do like hugs, I guess. No one has ever asked me that.”

You look at him briefly, with confusion in your eyes, before they find the road again. “What a sad, sad life,” you chuckle. “I suppose. Are you… like, recently single? Did you date when you were in Colombia?” You ask innocently.

Javier exhales in a light chuckle. “No, never really had a relationship. Lots of flings,” he admits, finding that to be the best word to describe his situation. “But no relationships.”

You nod along, eyes scanning the road as you drive to dinner. “I see.”

“How about you?” He asks, wanting to deflect the attention from himself. That seems to be a common theme with him, you’ve noticed. All the conversations center around you, no matter how hard you try to talk about him.

“Well, no. I haven’t really gone out much or done anything, really. I’m a bit of a homebody, but once I’m out I enjoy it. Problem is you can’t find a date from the couch.”

You reach the restaurant not much later, parking outside. You get out after chatting a little more, and Javi is taken by surprise when you wrap your arms around him in a big hug. “Uh, hi?” He laughs. He instinctively returns it, enjoying the feeling of your body pressed to his. He hasn’t had anything so tender in a long time.

“I told you, it’s a congratulatory hug!” You say with a grin as you squeeze him then break away. “I’m happy for you.”

He smiles down at you. “I… thank you. That was nice.”

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” you tell him and lead him inside, opening the door and heading into the restaurant.

Javier is a fantastic conversationalist. He tells stories with his hands, vividly explaining stories from the chase for Escobar. He tells you of his partner, Steve, and his crazy methods; about Colonel Carillo, who he still thinks is one of the strongest men he’s ever met; of Stechner, who you already want to gut-punch if you ever meet.

You watch him and admire the way his eyes dart about when he’s telling a story, the way he draws maps on the table with his fingers that you have no hope of understanding.

The food is great but the company is better. Javier’s laugh is a beautiful sound, one rarely heard by others. He listens to you just as attentively, smiling as you talk about the coffee shop, about Georgetown, all of your life.

By the end of the night, it’s easy to declare that you really, really like Javier. You like the way his lips quirk up in a smile, his intelligence and humor. You don’t want the night to end, truly.

When the bill comes, he takes it before you can even try. “Hey, I told you I was paying as a congratulatory dinner,” you frown.

“That can be another dinner,” he says mindlessly as he signs the receipt. “I always pay on the first date.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” You beam at him, tilting your head, eyes twinkling.

He smiles as he looks up at you. “I was thinking it was. I have at least a month off work now, to be wherever I want and I have nothing to do. I’d like to properly take my time to get to know you,” he offers, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“It seems like nothing about you is proper, Javi,” you tease and sip your drink, quirking an eyebrow.

He mirrors you, sipping his drink too. “That’s fair. But we’re in the nation’s capital, I suppose we should be a little more…”

You look at him and try to fill in the blank, smiling. “Practical? Traditional?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what I meant to say there.”

You chuckle a little. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I like the sound of that.”

After dinner, you give Javier a little tour of Georgetown through the windows of your crappy car. The snow from earlier in the day has collected, dusting the tops of window sills and awnings over shop entries. Despite the snow, the car thermometer reads that it’s somewhat warm for the time of year.

There’s one warm little place with glowing lights. Despite the hour of night, it’s clearly open. Javier asks what it is. “Oh, that’s a little bakery,” you comment. “My favorite place, honestly. Their red velvet cupcake is fantastic.”

“That sounds good. I like chocolate more, to be honest,” he comments.

You continue driving for a few seconds, rolling your eyes. “They have a good one there, but it’s so one-dimensional. It’s just chocolate with chocolate on top. Red velvet is the best because you have the cake and the tangy frosting, and-“

“Pull over?” Javier asks, and you look at him in confusion but pull into a parking spot obediently and quickly.

Your eyes are wide in confusion. “What?” You ask him, concerned that something is wrong with the car.

“I’m buying you dessert,” he chuckles and gets out.

Your heart falls then and there for him. If you haven’t already decided, now you know that there’s no turning back. You want Javier Peña with a passion. “Jesus Christ, you could’ve told me that,” you laugh and turn off the car, getting off and bounding behind him. His long legs have already made strides ahead of you, leaving you to catch up.

“You wouldn’t have stopped, would you?” He asks, the gentle snow leaving white flakes on his dark coat. He looks so pretty like this, the warm light from inside the bakery glowing against his dark hair.

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling. “No, maybe not.” He opens the door for you and you thank him and follow him in.

Javier walks to the counter and wastes no time. “Hi. I’ll take two red velvet cupcakes and two large coffees. How do you take yours?” He asks you as you join him at his side.

“From my café,” you tease him, before turning to the woman behind the counter with a polite smile and asking for two sugars and two creams. Javier asks for his black.

The two of you step back while she gets your order ready and you look at him, smiling a little. There are still soft white flakes in his wavy hair, which are slowly melting into water drops.

You don’t know it, but he’s looking at you just the same. He admires you, smiling a little, just enough the quirk up one side of his mouth. “Thanks for buying,” you tell him and step a little closer. He’s warm, you can feel it radiating off of him, and the shop’s blasting cool air throughout.

“Like I said,” he chuckles. “I always buy on the first date.” He reaches out to tuck a strand of your stray hair behind your ear. “Would you want to come up to my hotel room to eat the cupcakes?” He offers.

You shake your head. “I work early tomorrow morning, I shouldn’t.”

Normally, Javier would be disappointed. Normally, he’d want to fuck you on the first date, leave you screaming his name until you can’t help but come back for more. But to his surprise, he doesn’t mind. He has a whole month to be with you, a whole month to fall for the woman he’s already half-lovesick over. “Not a problem,” he nods and walks to the counter as the woman calls that your order is ready.

He hands you a large coffee, and you take a sip of the warm liquid, sighing. “There’s a little shelter out there,” you say, pointing to a bench with an awning above it to keep it clear from the snow. “Do you want to eat them out there?”

Javier half-smiles and nods. “That sounds good.”

It’s warm for the season, but there’s still a cool breeze. You hurry over and sit on the small bench, Javier sitting next to you. The sides of your thighs touch, and you’re both aware of it, the proximity this small bench forces you to squeeze into. Javier sets the box on his lap and opens it, revealing two red velvet cupcakes. “These look delicious.”

“They are,” you grin and pick one up, licking a bit of the frosting off the top and sighing in content with the taste. Javier watches you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the connotation. You look over at him with wide eyes, holding back a laugh. You both break down giggling at the action, your head falling against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to do that like... that, I swear,” you shake your head as you sit up straight again.

“You looked good doing it,” he teases you and bumps your shoulder as you unwrap the paper. “I’m going to save mine for later.”

You frown at him. “Come on. I have to be here when you try the best dessert of all time.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m too full. I’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow or something.”

“Javi,” you whine. “There’s no point of you getting two if we don’t eat them together. You have to eat it, come on.”

Javier looks over at your cupcake, which has one bite taken. “Let me take a little bite of yours then.”

An idea strikes and you nod. “Sure,” you say casually, holding it up for him to eat it. When he goes in to bite it, you move it closer to his face, causing the cupcake to smash into his chin and onto his nose.

Javier thinks he’s the one that missed. “Fuck,” he laughs as he crosses his eyes as he looks down at his nose, seeing the cupcake and frosting smeared on his face. He sees you giggling and laughs. “Hey, you didn’t… what the fuck?” He laughs, bringing his face close to yours. “That was uncalled for.”

“You were being a grump. I had to,” you giggle, your face naturally coming closer to his.

“And we don’t even have napkins,” he shakes his head and looks at you. “How can I clean this up?”

Tilting your head, your eyes dart between his, smiling at the dark brown color and the way they soften under your gaze. “I have an idea,” you murmur, cupping the side of Javier’s face and setting the mashed cupcake back in the box.

Just a moment later, your lips are on his. His eyes have fallen shut and he sighs as you kiss him, a hand finding your waist and pulling you closer to him. He sets the box on the bench behind him and scoots closer, a hand on the side of your neck.

He tastes like coffee and cream cheese frosting, his lips unbearably soft for such a hardened man. You soften him with your touch, when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you.

He’s in fucking Heaven, he thinks, murmuring your name against your lips. He knows you already, knows the kind of person you are. He’d figured you’d maybe give a chaste kiss on the first date if you liked the person enough. The voracity of your lips against his tells him you might just reciprocate the intensity of the deep ache in his ribs he feels for you.

After a moment, you break away and smile softly. “I didn’t get all of it,” you frown as you see that there’s still some frosting on Javier’s nose.

“At least now we match,” he teases and wipes your face of some red crumbs that transferred to your chin with the pad of his thumb.

You giggle and press your forehead to his, the warmth of his body perfect against yours in the slight chill of the December night. “Will you come visit me at work again tomorrow?” You ask him.

“Only if you make me a drink that tastes as good as you do.”

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#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javi peña #javi peña x reader #narcos #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #caffeine rush

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7spaceace7 · 3 years

Text

Secrets (A Donatello x Reader)

This is incredibly self-indulgent and was really just a fic for me to obsess over tesla coils, but my girlfriend convinced me to post it- so here it is! It got kind of long too, but I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3236

Reader is given feminine terms in this one

Mild cursing (thank you Raph)

Absolute fluff attack, the sweetness will rot your teeth

Singing was your greatest passion. From a young age, you had been roped into music, the emotions it could represent with just a few notes and some relatable lyrics. It was happiness, it was sadness, it was anger and excitement, and it was everything you couldn’t express well enough with just words. Being a writer, sometimes that would get frustrating, but music helped you overcome the most challenging spots in a new piece or story. This is why you would constantly have earbuds in as you sang along to every song you’d memorized on your Spotify shuffle.

And Donnie noticed this. Every time you would enter the turtles’ lair, he would see you unplug and pack-up your headphones. Hell, he was even able to detect your singing from the sounds of the sewer tunnels echoing with every step you took closer. He’d hear you talk about the music or soundtracks of your favorite games and movies, analyzing what every slight twinge or reprise would allude to. And he loved every part of it. He loved getting to see those moments where music was all you could focus on. Your heart rate rose exponentially in anticipation and excitement. Your eyes would screw shut while you broke into a grin. Your hands would mimic motions to the beat as you played on invisible drums, or strummed a nonexistent guitar.

It was adorable to him, to say the least. But he never told you so. He never said a word, in case this might scare you off for coming across as ��creepy” or weird. He knew most people probably didn’t pay this close attention to little things like that, but then again, he also knew that most people weren’t madly in love with you.

Which Donatello was.

He couldn’t tell you, because once he started rambling about you, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. And if he didn’t stop, then he’d run the 89.07% chance risk of telling you how he’d been in love with you since the day they met you. That was way too high for him to be comfortable. No, he couldn’t tell you, no matter how badly he wanted you to know.

“Okay, so what if you just show ‘er you’re interested instead?” Raph asked, half paying attention to his brother’s predicament, half pounding the punching bag before him into the ground. Leo was in the dojo meditating, and Mikey was playing video games in the living room, which left the two middle brothers to their own devices. For Donnie, this was literally. His three-fingered hands fiddled with his latest electrical circuit. It was bound for sending the right amount of voltage into his inventions without needing four power strips and a generator all on their own. Unfortunately, he was too distracted to actually delve into its components, and settled for breaking and piecing it back together again.

“Show her? How would I do that?” Donnie’s voice trembled at the thought.

“I dunno, you’re the genius here,” Raph huffed, “There’s gotta be somethin’ in this place that you think she’d find cool. She loves music, right?”

“Yeah, like a lot, she even-”

“Rhetorical question, Don, heard the rant plenty,” His brother cut him off. Pausing his violent onslaught of the dummy, he turned to face him. “You’re nervous ‘cause you ain’t ever done somethin’ for a pretty girl before, I get it. So do somethin’ you know you’re good at. That’ll take the nerves off, your plan works, and then I won’ have to listen to you babbling about whatever new fuckin’ thing she did today. Win win.”

The younger turtle paused. “That was...actually pretty sound advice, thank you, Raph.”

“Anytime,” Raph nodded, a smug smile tugging at his lips from being able to help. Problem was, now he was invested. He’d listened to his brother’s rants and rambles and failed plans of possibly confessing for weeks now, what was gonna happen once he finally did it? Raph plopped onto one of Donnie’s bean bag chairs. He didn’t bother to pick up the training dummy. “So what ya gonna do, smart guy?”

Donnie blinked a few times, glasses twitching on his nose as he pushed them up. He didn’t know it, but you coined this his “brainstorming face”. He fiddled with the circuits once again.

“Uh...I’m not sure,” His tongue went dry. A million ideas fly through his brain each minute, and this decides to be the time that he can’t think of a single one good enough. Figures. “I could build her something? Maybe a new stereo, or upgrade the one she has.”

Raph made a noise of disapproval. “You can do better, any old fix-it guy could do that.”

“Fair. Maybe I could- ow!”

A short buzz of the air cut him off as his fiddling paid off. To the world’s great irony, a light bulb several inches away lit up.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good, I…” Donnie trailed off. The purple-clad turtle’s eyes widened as he registered what happened. “I’m better than good, I just had an epiphany!”

“Epipha-what?”

“An epiphany, sudden realization, an idea!” Donnie flicked his goggles back down, enhancing his vision with the magnifier on it. Wires were tugged in and out, and a transmitter was displaced. With a snort of triumph, he raised it to the air for his brother to see. “This is the answer!”

“A tiny board thing. Just what she’s always wanted,” Raph rolled his eyes, but Donnie was prepared for this.

“Not just a tiny board, a tiny board with this!-” With great haste, Donnie was next to Raph, holding the board out properly. “My side-side project, this little thing, look at the coil here, this is it! This is a tesla coil, capable of transmitting thousands and thousands of volts of energy surging through the air, powering anything within its radius, which is perfect and exactly why I needed to reconfigure it to power my lab and this one new machine I’m working on, but that’s not why this is the perfect idea!”

“Wow, please continue, professor, I’m dyin’ to know.”

“Glad you asked! Watch this!” One aux cord, T-Phone connection, and light-dimming later, the lab went dark in anticipation. And suddenly, with the press of a play button on Donnie’s shuffle, music started to fill the air. But it wasn’t coming from his phone. It was coming from the coils, surging and creating not only electric energy that was visible to the human eye as it sparked, but music. Sound. The beats and notes of the song playing sprouted out in the form of electricity.

Raph’s green eyes became transfixed on the sparks flying out. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right!” Came the squeals of utter nerding out, “This is only a tabletop version of an SGTC circuit, my own type of it anyway based on Tesla’s original designs, but if I reworked it, made it bigger, made it lifelike and maybe four or five of them, I could create the most advanced musical performance this city has ever seen!”

“I’m gonna pretend I know everything you just said because clearly this is your nerd thing,” Raph started, utterly confused. Even still, a reassuring smile framed his features. “But this looks pretty damn cool. This right here? Exactly what ‘m sayin’, Don. This is you.”

“Do you think she’ll like it...?” Donnie asked in a hopeful voice. He wasn’t just asking about the invention.

“Course she will.”

~x~

A couple weeks had passed since that fateful conversation with Raph. He’d been in and out of the lab since then, but between patrols and the mandatory bathroom breaks, there was hardly a time he wasn’t working on his great new project. You weren’t even allowed to go into the lab, per his request, for all his time there.

However, he always made sure to make at least one movie whenever you’d come hang out at the lair from work.

Finally, one Friday night, the set up was complete. Pride swelled in Donnie’s chest as he looked at his creation: six symmetrically placed tesla coils sprung up from the ground and walls all around his lab space. The coilings wrapped around metal frames, spiraling into a beautiful arrangement of engineering, if he did say so himself. Mikey said it looked like the lasers out of a DC comic, which was also not a bad thing to be. He just hoped that you would like it. All of it was for you, of course, but over the weeks that he’d been preparing it, he found more beauty in the music of tesla coils than he ever had appreciated before.

Donnie thought he might thank you for that, if he could get his nerves around it.

God, he was so nervous. Anxiety rushed through his body like the electric pulses he was perfecting. They were already done, but it was all he could do to distract himself while waiting for you to arrive. Maybe the frequencies weren’t in the right key. What if they sounded better this way? Or maybe the firing power wasn’t enough? Trajectory looked alright, maybe it just-

“Donnie?”

“Gh! Y/N, hey!” Stammered the surprised terrapin after knocking his head against the top of a coil. His goggles were on the setting of night-vision, but that didn’t account for night-spatial-awareness, it seemed.

“I got your text to come,” You tried to smile at him, but the dark laboratory proved to make that difficult. “How come it’s so dark in here?”

“Uh, well, that’s p-part of the surprise! Eheh. Gimme just a second-”

You waited patiently outside of his lab, vision still applicable, but grew concerned the more strange noises and clangs you heard coming from inside. This was definitely a whole new level of “Donnie Surprises” just by how nervous he seemed about it.

You yelped when his hand grabbed your arm and dragged you back inside the darkness.

“Okay, uh,” He started, before clapping his hands together for the lights to switch back on, “This is what I wanted to show you.”

Your gaze spun all around the lab. After adjusting to the light, you could clearly see giant mechanism after mechanism placed strategically around in a dome-like setup. Coils that protruded like round-edged spikes circled you both, and in the center was a metal cage.

“Oh my god…” You almost whispered. A large grin broke out onto your face as you stared in quiet marvel at the scene. His plan was working, and Donnie lit up with an outstretched arm in presentation.

“These bad boys are called tesla coils-”

“Tesla coils!” You squealed in imperfect unison to what you assumed was the start of an explanation. “You made tesla coils, Donnie, holy shit!”

“You’ve heard of them?!” Donnie exclaimed, eyes widening behind his glasses.

“YES!” Your hands began to wave around excitedly, “Oh my god I used to be OBSESSED with these things! I heard about when I was a kid from that old movie, oh what was it, it was like the apprentice’s-”

“Sorcerer’s Apprentice!”

“THAT! Yes!”

“I haven’t seen that movie in years!”

“Me neither! All I remember is that Hiccup’s voice actor totally nerded out and programmed his giant tesla coils to play music for the girl he wanted to impress, and it was the coolest thing because these giant machines were playing music, music out of nothing but sparks of electricity at different frequencies, which to be honest probably would have caused more of an energy problem than the movie suggested because goddamn do they take up a lot of power, but I was like six and didn’t care!” You laughed in an energetic burst of word association, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Donnie could have kissed you then and there for that alone.

A grin crept onto his lips as he watched you ramble on about the movie, leaving all anxious thoughts to fall from his mind. For once, someone actually understood one of his passions. Better than that, she was explaining the process to him of all people! Sure, she was intuitive enough to know he didn’t need it, he literally had just built them after all. This was just out of pure excitement. Someone in his life was talking about science and technology like they were the most fascinating things on the planet, just as the purple-masked turtle believed it was. Well, second only to the ecstatic girl in front of him.

“-And so, I randomly remembered it again not that long ago, so I looked it up and found so many videos on YouTube about it. I kid you not, I listened to tesla coils and tesla coils alone for a solid week.”

You breathed heavily, a little winded after such an intense info-dump. God, he always loved when you got excited about something.

“This is kind of surreal,” Donnie chuckled a bit, pushing up his glasses when they tumbled down his nose, “I had no idea you’d get what these were, much less have known so much about them.” Donnie’s eyes widened at his own panicked-fueled blabbering. “N-Not that I think you’re stupid! I just-- I mean it’s not-- common? It’s more of-”

“A niche interest, yeah. No worries,” You finished for him, signaling his stuttered words hadn’t fallen on offended ears. Donnie quietly sighed in relief. Time ticked by in seconds, but even that was much too fast for this martial artist to grasp. If he could have constructed a device to pause the fabrics of time, he would have long ago, simply to relish the moments with you that meant everything to him. It wasn’t your fault your eyes captivated him more than any element he’s worked with.

“So,” You began eagerly, startling him out of his thoughts, “Are we gonna listen to some zappy poles go brrr or what?”

Donnie snorted at your juvenile word choice. “Yeah, totally. Now, ah,” He walked over toward the large cage in the center, stepped inside, then poked his head out with a dorky grin. A large, green hand stood outstretched towards you. “I think you’d better step inside my cage.”

“If you keep quoting the damn movie like this, I am going to explode from excitement, and it will be your fault!” It was a wonder how you hadn’t caught onto his plan yet, honestly. You made no sense of hesitation before grabbing his offered hand (even though your hands were small enough that they hardly matched his palm’s size), and clambered into the cage in front of him. This was a great excuse for you to be close to him without it being weird. And now, with your back brushing up against his plastron, the butterflies in his chest told him it was totally a good call.

Donatello would take this secret to his grave, however.

“Put your hands on the rail here, yep just like that,” Donnie nodded after your hands found the safeguard rail. A couple buttons tapped into a laptop later, he settled his own hands next to yours. “Let the magic begin.”

Magic would have been the understatement of the year. A coil in front of you quickly shot out its first spark. Familiar music breached the sound barrier to your ears. The one behind you both caught it instantly. Spark after spark sent back and forth between the coils, soaring through the lab like the most incredible game of electric catch.

“Whoa!” You laughed when the sparks would bounce off the cage itself, pressing closer to the turtle behind you (much to his surprise every time). Your shining e/c eyes never left the electric bolts shooting out. “This is insane!”

“Heh, glad you like it!” Donnie watched you closely that entire time, more entranced by your excitement and wonderstruck self than anything he’d created. He could power up the tesla coils anytime of day, but this was a special moment he’d never be able to recreate in a controlled environment. This was no experiment, this was real and it was happening right now.

The only thing left to do was tell you how he felt.

“Y/N, I have to tell you something,” He began, stepping away to give you a bit of space. His heart rate was increasing by the second. The way you turned to look at him wasn’t helping, either.

“What is it?” You spoke softly, somehow able to be heard over the music. Donnie could hardly meet your eyes, so he took your hands in his instead.

“I...I don’t know how to say this exactly,” He started, “I’ve been trying to do it for months, going over every possible conjuncture of words, something that would be heartfelt and honest, poetic even? But the truth is, words aren’t my thing, th-they never have been. I’m a science guy, I take things apart and put them back together again, I figure out what makes them work, I see life as a million tiny parts to analyze.”

He paused his quickened speech to take a breath. Your hands squeezed his larger ones as an offer to continue.

“And so, I’m...bad at feelings. I see it all as chemicals and components used by the brain to create action and reaction. But now I’m not so sure if that’s all they are, and really the only thing I am sure about is that it’s because of you that I’m questioning everything I ever thought I knew. Maybe, maybe life is more than atoms and chemicals, and instead it’s about..moments. Moments like this. Moments that...that I..that I really want to keep forever and play over and over again.”

“Donnie…” You spoke. This time he squeezed your hands.

“I know I’m rambling and I should really get to the point, so what I’m trying to say is,” He took another breath, steady this time. His gaze met yours again. “I want to live these moments with you every day. You’re special to me. You’re part of our family, but this is more than that, this feeling is-”

“Love.” You finished for him. Both of your eyes widened as you realized the other felt how you each did.

Donatello nodded slowly, hesitant to be so certain, but knowing it was true. There were no more words to be exchanged after that, only actions, only movements so soft and gentle that the large terrapin was certain he’d break if they could fit in his hands. Your hands left his and instead reached up to grab the long ends of his mask, and tugged gently for him to reach you. He leaned down without a thought. A three-fingered hand found your waist this time.

You kissed. Soft, human lips connected to his slightly chapped reptilian ones. The turtle had waited for this moment since he realized the attraction he felt towards you was not just powerful chemical reactions, but true feelings. It wasn’t biology, it was chance and fate and one-in-a-million all at once. As the sparks continued to (literally) fly, Donnie let his eyes close. This was the present. He was here, he was holding a great new adventure in his hands, and there was a brilliant future just around the corner.

The song may have finished, but this is what would last forever.

#tmnt #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2014 #tesla coils #tmnt raphael #donnie and raph are good bros #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt 2016 #donatello #raphael #donnie #raph #donnie x reader #fanfics

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littlefreya · 4 years

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The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

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