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wynnyfryd · 5 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 29

part 1 | part 28 | ao3

“Hey,” Steve sniffles when Eddie gets home.

He has no idea what time it is, but he knows he’s been crying since Wayne left for work — the exhausted, intermittent kind that leaves him boneless and craving a nap. From the foyer Eddie’s expression pinches with concern, and Steve can’t help the little bubble of wet laughter he lets out over the sight he must make: swaddled in a blanket, tear streaks down his face, neck flopped over the back of the couch to look toward the door. And he’s surrounded by towels.

The few that Wayne managed to salvage after his temper tantrum are all hung up near the radiator, draped over shelves and the backs of chairs, and the rest are sloshing away in the washing machine. (Wayne started a fresh cycle for him before he left for work; didn’t say a word about Steve boohoo-ing like an injured toddler on the other side of the room, which kind of makes him want to cry again.)

“Welcome to your house,” Steve tries to joke, but his voice cracks, so it comes out sounding more pathetic than funny.

“Uh… hi?” Eddie speaks slowly, moves slowly, cautious as he drops his bag and toes off his sneakers. He comes to stand behind the couch.

Steve blinks up at him with another weak, watery laugh.

“You okay?” Eddie asks. He bows his head to meet Steve’s gaze, eyes sharp with worry, brows drawn down, and Steve smiles just a little when Eddie’s hands reach up to touch him: sweep his hair off his forehead, cradle his face, cup his jaw. He runs his thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones, wiping at the salt tracks, and his rings rest in the hollows, his fingers drumming soothing rhythms as he chews on his next words.

Steve thinks he’s never seen something so lovely. Full lips twisted up in sympathy; secondhand heartbreak in his eyes. His hair falls around them like a curtain, like a cocoon.

He looks beautiful.

Warm.

Safe.

“...Do you wanna fuck around?”

Eddie’s hands flex against his jaw and then go still. So perfectly still, every muscle tensed, face gone horribly, carefully blank.

“Jesus,” Steve cringes at himself. He screws his eyes shut with a groan; lifts a hand to hide his face. “Oh, my god. Dude, I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

Eddie plucks Steve’s hand away. Goes back to holding his face, fingers kneading the tense muscles in Steve’s neck. Steve’s thinking that if he could just go blind right now so he never has to look up and see Eddie’s reaction, that would be so cool.

“Hey,” Eddie coaxes. “Look at me?”

Steve cracks one eye open. “Sorry,” he winces.

“S’okay,” Eddie says. Soft and simple, like it's easy, like he means it. There's a smile in his eyes, a playful quirk to his lips. “More than okay, actually; shit, that’s like, supremely fucking flattering, just, uh…"

Oh, god. Is this the part where he lets Steve down? Tells him he read this all wrong; that he let Robin witness his whole sad wet sexuality crisis for nothing?

"Feel like I missed a couple chapters on the reading assignment here, Steve,” Eddie laughs; a disbelieving little thing, his blunt nails catching on Steve's stubble. “You wanna tell me where that came from?”

“Just…”

Steve lets out a breath. Desperately wants to look away, because it’s embarrassing. What he wants.

Why he wants it.

“Last night, when you…”

"Mm. Surprised you remembered that.” His thumb drifts to the corner of Steve’s lips, traces the dip between his bottom lip and chin like he's remembering it now, too. "You were pretty fucked up."

Steve whimpers under the touch. He wants to part his lips, drop his jaw; invite Eddie to feel, to pet his thumb over his tongue and press down with two thick fingers. See how far they’ll go. Eddie makes a noise, and his hands retreat to higher ground; massaging Steve's temples, scratching lightly at his scalp. His voice is almost painfully tender when he murmurs, “No offense, but, um. You still seem a little fucked up now."

Steve nods mutely, because he can feel a rogue tear sliding sideways to his hairline, and what is there to say? It's true. He is a little fucked up now. (A lot fucked up, in fact. Kinda feels like Eddie's fingers down his throat would fix him, but he doubts Eddie would agree.)

Eddie maneuvers around the side of the couch, comes to crouch in front of Steve with his hands braced on Steve's knees. Looks up at him with wide, earnest eyes; two black moons, gravitational pull. "For the record," he intones, squeezing the meat of Steve's thigh, bringing his hand back down to Steve's kneecap with a mournful hiss of air. "I do want to. Fuck around with you, I mean, just- you know. Probably when you're not crying."

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. "You're not into that?" he jokes.

Eddie's dimple flashes. "Only when I'm the cause of it." Then it disappears again, tone serious and soft. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No. God. Not even a little bit; would honestly prefer to get another plate smashed over his head so he can forget this day ever happened. "My mom left," he croaks. He sounds fucking terrible, voice breaking and full of phlegm.

"Shit," Eddie says.

"Shit," Steve agrees.

Eddie gives him a long look — a Robin look, inquisitive and intense, like he can tear all the answers right out of Steve's head. Pluck them up like stray eyelashes; blow them away for good luck. Steve lets himself stare back, catalogs his features: all the freckles and fine lines, the pores, the vellus hair. There's a chicken pox scar just below one of his eyes, a faint silver pockmark that twists and shines in the dim light.

Eventually, Eddie must find what he's looking for because he claps Steve's knees and stands, rolling his shoulders back and down. "Yeah, sweetheart," he nods, "I got exactly what you need."

—

part 30

tag list in separate reblogs, if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

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jjsstars · 5 months

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thiamweek2023: Day 5, The Pack

|| for @thiamappreciationweek event

|| tags: lowkey stiles bashing but it’s more him just being a dick yk, references to liam’s parents not being supportive of him being bi (nothing graphic)

“Him? You’re dating him?” Stiles scowls and Liam’s jaw clenches, gripping Theo’s hand tighter because he feels like he’s going to pass out or burst into sobs- the smell of concern wafting off of Theo helps nothing.

“I know he’s not part of the pack y-.” The yet gets cut off.

“Damn right he’s not. What the hell Liam?” His eyes tear away from Stiles and his harsh words, landing on Scott instead, he doesn’t look nearly as upset. Thank god.

“My parents don’t know, please don’t tell them.” It softens something on Lydia and Kira’s faces; Liam can’t tell if it’s how normal-teenager that sounded or them getting more okay with the fact that Theo and Liam are dating.

“We’d never, don’t worry.” Lydia assures and gives a smile that probably shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is considering Stiles is all but seething next to her.

“Like hell we won’t- you’re dating a murderer!” It makes Liam’s stomach drop- whether it be the idea that he might be outed or the way Theo’s whole body tenses up hearing what Stiles called him is up for debate, but Liam’s pretty sure it’s both, and probably a million other things about this situation.

“No you won’t.” It’s the first thing Theo’s said throughout this whole thing, his voice sharp and eyes even harsher.

“He speaks! I thought you were going to sit there brooding while Liam tried to convince us you’re not the monster I know you are.” There’s already so much anger built up in Liam’s system, specifically towards Stiles for how he talks about Theo, that the comment almost sends him spiraling into something that’d earn him a forced cold shower a year ago- but Theo rubs his thumb across Liam’s knuckles and that helps, it always does. He wishes he could shove it in Stiles’ face and show him that Theo isn’t a monster, that he cares, that he deserves a second chance, that he’s already changed significantly.

“Out Liam to his parents and I’ll have a lot more to say.” It must just dawn on Stiles that what Liam meant by not telling his parents is that he’s not out to them yet as his face falters, shaking himself out for a moment before he gives a short nod.

“I- I’m not going to out him. But I’m not okay with you two dating.” A beat passes where Stiles and Theo hold too strong eye contact before Scott interrupts them by clearing his throat.

“Stiles that’s enough, if Liam’s happy and nobody’s getting hurt then we’re all going to do our best to support him and Theo.” He says easily and turns to look at Liam and Theo head on, holding a hand up to Stiles’ open mouth as he was obviously going to start arguing.

“I’m not promising it’s going to be easy or there won’t be tension for a little bit, but I’m happy you guys are happy. And I’ve seen that Theo’s already been changing, I know he’s not a monster.” Liam would go bear hug Scott right now if he wasn’t in a room full of people that are still divided on opinions about his relationship- he thinks Scott gets it anyways.

“Thanks Scott.”

“I can give him a chance for you Liam but one step out of line and I’m killing him.” Ever so blunt, Malia gives a short nod and eyes Theo for a moment, she’s not lunging to rip his throat out so Liam will take what he can get.

“We gave Peter a second chance, I don’t see why we shouldn’t give Theo one too.” Lydia isn’t looking at Theo or Liam as she says it, instead staring straight at Stiles with a challenging look in her eye. Sometimes Liam forgets how scary the redhead can be with just a simple expression and crossed arms.

“Fine. But when he goes evil again, I know he will, I’m not going to let him off easy.” It’s a middle ground and that’s all Theo and Liam were really looking for from this conversation— they knew the pack wouldn’t be jumping up and down with support, but no blood has been shed and that’s enough, and Liam knows they’ll come around more. Eventually.

#thiamweek2023 #thiamweek23 #thiam #liam dunbar #theo raeken #teen wolf #jj writes

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anxiousgaypanicking · 2 months

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Begging For Your Body

Intruality (Remus x Patton) Prompt: Intruality with soft!dom Patton and bottom Remus. The main plot of this would be that maybe Remus was feeling down, having intrusive thoughts (as he does), specifically about his body image, and Patton is there to comfort him and love up on him <3. Kinks are praise, grinding, begging (from the dom perspective, (ex: "Please, Please let me make you feel good, baby?"), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, and a lot of pet names-) Warnings: sex, overstimulation, grinding A request from my AO3

Remus stares at himself in the cracked mirror before him, dressed in just his boxers.

He doesn't often have problems with his body - physical insecurities were more often relayed to Virgil or Roman - but as his eyes dance over his bony frame, he doesn't feel great about it. He's unhealthily thin (no doubt from his avoidance of any food with proper nutrients), bones protruding ever ridge and crevice. From his ribs, to his hips, to his prominent pisiforms. He was disgusting

Physically; he was disgusting, physically.

Remus's thin fingers pull at his equally thin hair, coating his digits in grease and sticky substances. No wonder no one wants to touch him.

His hands travel downwards, over his sharp jaw and nose, his sunken eyes, and his chapped lips, before carding over his spikey mustache. He must be so uncomfortable to kiss.

And then even further down, his hairy chest, arms, legs; there was even a thick trail of hair down to his boxers, where he was just as hairy underneath them. Of course he wouldn't be cuddled with; he'd probably make his companion itch like hell.

He frowns, deep and unsettlingly. Regardless of his expressions, he looked unnerving.

Smiling? Psychotic. Frowning? Murderous. Neutral? Wide-eyed and crazy, unable to stand still.

Remus's hands ball into fists at his sides, as he's filled with the impulsive urge to drive his hand through his mirror and smash it until it's nothing but a blood-covered mess on his grimy floor, and his hand was so unrecognizable that he wouldn't have to worry about his jagged nails or hitchhikers thumb.

Before he can act on his impulses though, there's a knock on his door.

"Remus," Patton gently speaks through it, followed by a couple seconds of silence. There's a pause, before Patton softly continues "Remus... are you alright?"

"No," Remus answers, quick and honest, before biting his tongue hard enough to taste metal in his mouth. He's almost embarrassed by the vulnerability in his answer, and so adds "I'm demented, remember?" in order to make it seem like a typical crazy comment.

Unfortunately, Patton can see right through him, and his door is being slowly pushed open as Patton steps inside, shutting it behind him.

"I don't mean to intrude," Patton begins, as his eyes flicker over Remus's bare body before quickly looking away, flushing as he realizes Remus is almost entirely stripped down, "but we could... I could feel your negativity pulsing through the mindscape."

Remus huffs. "God forbid I do anything."

Immediately, Patton is waving his hands wildly. "No- no!" he exclaims, attempting to overcompensation for the misconception. "That's not- it's not your fault. Well, it is your fault, but you're feeling, and that's okay! It's okay to feel, and it's okay to feel bad." Patton sucks in a deep breath, pulling his hands close to his chest, keeping his palms clasped together. "I just... wanted to come offer support, and hopefully help you feel better. If you'd be willing to let me, of course."

"You don't even know what's wrong."

Remus's words aren't accusatory; they're just blunt, though they make Patton shift his weight back and forth.

"I'd like to," Patton expresses, voice quiet. "Let me help."

Remus stares at Patton, expression unreadable, before his lips crack into a smile, splitting down the chapped lines and sending a slight stinging pain over his mouth.

"Fine," he replies, turning to face Patton fully. "Why the hell not? It'll give me something to do, at least."

Patton approaches him slowly, reminding Remus that the two of them are vaguely the same height, though wildly different in terms of anatomy. Patton was fuller-figured, with big strong arms and a nice full stomach. He was healthy, if not over-indulgent, in such a way that Remus would love the idea of burying his face into Patton's soft tummy.

He sneaks a glance at himself in the mirror; his own stomach is practically nonexistent. There's no definition. His ribs stick out further than his gut does, which has him poking his torso as he thinks about the fact he's barrel-chested.

Patton's own hand comes to grab Remus's, pulling it away from his body and holding it down by their hips.

"What's going on, honey?" Patton then asks, voice quiet and focused. He's watching Remus with his wide, baby-blue eyes. Patton's eyelashes are long and blonde. Remus's eyelashes are partially ripped out, and the rest clumped with day-old mascara. Remus is almost surprised Patton isn't recoiling as he observes Remus's features up close.

"I'm horrifying," comes Remus's honest response, voice surprisingly measured despite his overwhelming urge to shriek.

Patton looks a bit confused at the vagueness, and as he entwines their other hands - squeezing both of Remus's palms softly - he prompts "how so?"

Remus looks down at his body, feeling the underside of his chin press into his neck.

"Look at me," comes Remus's bitter response. "I'm even more disgusting to look at than I am to listen to."

"Oh," Patton breathes, face falling into a sad, sympathetic frown. "Oh, honey. Remus. That's not true in the slightest." One of Patton's big, soft hands comes to cup Remus's jagged jaw, thumbing over his cheek. "You're not disgusting to look at, nor listen to."

Remus shrugs. "You can say that. Doesn't mean it's true."

"Oh, darling," Patton sighs. "You poor thing. You poor, poor thing, and your sad thoughts." Both of Patton's hands slide up Remus's arms, and come to cup his face. Patton pushes their foreheads together, just resting against Remus for a few moments, before quietly asking "what can I do to help?"

Remus shrugs again, staying silent - an abnormality for him.

Patton just holds him for a second, before quietly suggesting "what if... we did something more on your level."

Pulling away slightly, Remus raises an eyebrow as he gets a good look at Patton's flushed face, watching curiously as Patton tugs at the collar of his polo, before undoing the cardigan around his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

"Maybe... maybe I'm just being influenced by your room," Patton begins, gulping as his eyes scan over Remus's body once more, more... hungry this time, "but I want to show you just how wonderful your body is. Will you let me show you? Please, baby?"

Remus just stares at him, mouth agape. Despite the self deprecation creeping into his mind, Remus can't help but lick his lips, never one to pass up on a sexual opportunity, especially one that Patton initiates.

"Please?" Patton begs, moving closer to Remus, reaching out with one hand while the other undoes his belt. "Please, let me show you how beautiful you are. Please, honey?"

As Patton fumbles with his belt and drops it, he pulls their bodies together, cupping Remus's cheek to guide their mouths close as their fronts press against each other. Remus can feel Patton panting against his lips, wanting and pleading, staring at Remus with wide, but genuine eyes, while waiting for a verbal answer. And as Remus's hands find Patton's waist, he finally nods.

"Do whatever you want," Remus replies, and he means it.

Patton kisses him needily, surprisingly cute in the way he holds to Remus, keeping him close by his hips and grinding his khakis against Remus's boxers. His thumbs rub over Remus's prominent hip bones, before sliding up his thin waist and holding tight to his ribs, just caressing each inch of skin that he can reach so long as they're so close.

"You're beautiful," Patton breathes against Remus's lips when he breaks away to take a breath. He slowly rolls his hips against Remus's, and shivers when Remus's bony hands squeeze his sides. "You feel beautiful."

"Feeling and looking are two different things."

"You look beautiful too, baby," Patton is quick to assure him, kissing Remus again and openly moaning into his mouth as he grinds their fronts together, making Remus break away this time to let out a nasally moan of his own, Patton confidently continuing to rub their bodies against each other.

"Just walking inside your room- just seeing you so... bare... had me all worked up," Patton gasps, frotting harder against Remus.

Remus wants to retort with 'it shouldn't have,' or even make fun of Patton for being so mindfully perverted, but he can't muster up the ability to say anything. Anything other than "I'm... I'm not completely bare."

That has Patton pulling away, and immediately Remus wants to grab and hold him and yank him back, keeping Patton forcefully close to him. Luckily though, Patton's eyes immediately fall towards Remus's boxers.

"You're right," Patton affirms, before he fiddles with the waistband of his own pants. "How about you get fully bare for me then, love? Can you do that? We can match."

As he speaks, Patton lets his pants and boxers fall to the floor, and his shirt follows shortly after. His plump, soft, and hairy body is fully on display for Remus to see. The amount of hair he has over his legs, chest, and even down his stomach has Remus perking up a bit. Sure, Patton has a noticeable amount of arm hair, but it's rather light and can blend in with his skin. However, the hair down the rest of his body was a bit darker, and definitely more noticeable, and Remus finds himself attracted to it.

Slowly, Remus shuffles out of his boxers, before letting Patton draw his body closer once more.

"Look at you," Patton coos, sliding his big hands over Remus's lean frame. "Why, you're quite un-bare-able."

Remus can't help but snort shortly before he's caught up in another kiss, and being guided backwards by Patton until they reach Remus's bed, where Patton's pulling away in order to properly lift Remus up and lay him back against the sticky sheets.

"Let me make you feel good," Patton pleads, crawling over Remus. "Pretty please, baby? Can I? I'll make you feel so, so good, until all of those bad thoughts are out of your head."

Remus finds himself feeling a bit flustered for once as Patton begs to make him feel good. It's a combination of the genuine pleading and the pure desperation oozing from Patton's mouth; he's being so vulnerable and so intent on giving into his urges - his own impulses to use and please Remus as he sees fit.

Spreading his legs, Remus watches as Patton easily slots his thighs beneath Patton's own, lifting Remus's legs up slightly.

Bending down to kiss Remus again, Patton is firm and sweet, but needy all the same. Remus tries to rationalize this is just his room affecting Patton tenfold - he is more susceptible to influences than others - but there's something so earnest about Patton's desire for Remus that it seems as though it's coming from his own volition.

While kissing Remus, Patton's hand blindly reaches for a bottle of lube, and after some clumsy waving and feeling around one of Remus's messy drawers, he finds one.

Pulling away, Patton makes sure to carefully coat his fingers in the substance, and then rubs it properly against his fingers, giving it a few moments to warm it up while kissing over Remus's body to help him relax.

Softly, Patton praises "you're so beautiful," as his lips trail down Remus's stomach.

"Every part of you," he continues, as he moves back up, kissing over Remus's nipples and then over his prominent collarbone. "You look so gorgeous, whether dressed up in your normal clothes, or dressed down on the bed for me. Please, Remus, please. I need you so bad."

Patton's fingers push against Remus's hole without warning, before they slowly slide into him.

Patton stretches him open gingerly, careful with each movement of his fingers, though he's not surprised in the slightest at just how easily Remus spreads around the digits. Honestly, stretching Remus open was less of a precaution, and more so just to ease them both into this, especially considering Remus's current mental state.

Patton fingers him for just a few moments, until he sees Remus relax slightly against the bed, before he pulls the digits out.

"Can we have sex, honey?" Patton asks, though he's already in the process of spreading lube over his shaft, coating his cock fully in the substance and stroking himself slow to the sight of Remus laying so obediently before him. "Pretty please, with a cherry on top?"

Remus bites his lip at the display, before shrugging slightly. "Yeah, whatever. We can- you can do whatever you want."

Patton pouts slightly at the answer, though he knows Remus is being genuine. And so, he takes a moment to lean forward, peppering kisses over Remus's face, insisting "I want a clear yes or no, sweetheart. Please?"

And at first, Remus just whines. "You already know the answer. I would never turn sex down!"

"Yes or no, baby," Patton responds, urging Remus to be clear and pick one or the other.

And this prompting doesn't stop until finally Remus is groaning out a "yes, of course!" sounding almost annoyed with how caring Patton is, and yet flushing nonetheless, as being treated so sweetly was admittedly an abnormality for him.

Patton massages his hips. "Good boy! So good, willing to let me take such good care of you," Patton coos, as his hands slide down Remus's thighs, before gently spreading them apart. "You're such a good listener. Such a good, pretty boy."

Lining up with Remus's hole, Patton takes his sweet time pushing into the former, letting Remus feel every inch and vein of his cock as it slides inside of him. All while Patton repeatedly kisses Remus's lips, breathily whispering "you're taking me so well," and "you feel so, so good," in between his own quiet groans. As his hips press flush against Remus's, cock buried fully inside of him, Patton moans "you're so good for me."

"You're so pretty, too," he then adds, as his lips softly press to Remus's cheek. "So pretty normally, and so pretty stretched around my cock."

Remus takes in a sharp breath, but only says "you're weird. You're being weird." He moves his forearm over his eyes, attempting to obscure his face. "You're a freak, and you... you have bad taste!"

Patton chuckles, before shushing Remus. "Don't be so judgemental," he murmurs, rather playful. "Really, you're just... you're beautiful." Patton's fingers wiggle between Remus's own, grasping his hand before guiding his arm away from Remus's face, and pinning it instead to the bed beside his face. Then, he's pressing their heads together affectionately, kissing Remus's cheek before rubbing the sides of their face together, his blonde facial hair rubbing against Remus's skin, with Remus's itchy brown facial hair returning the favor.

It's only then that Patton's hips start to move.

Remus lets out a breathy moan as he feels Patton's shaft shift inside of him, legs instinctively moving to wrap tightly around Patton's wide waist. But still, he continues to self-deprecate.

"You're biased," Remus huffs, feeling Patton's hand squeeze his. "I'm not beautiful; you just have low standards."

His arguments make him sound like a broken record; his attempts at convincing Patton that he's wrong for liking him - despite that being the opposite of what he wants - feeble.

However, Patton just trails kisses over Remus's face, drifting from his cheek, to his jaw, to his earlobe, which he hovers over after a brief peck. Patton's warm breath fans over the side of Remus's face. In Remus's ear, Patton lowers his voice, and whispers "I disagree."

He pulls away, letting his lips drag across the side of Remus's countenance, before he looks into Remus's eyes.

"I disagree," he repeats, glasses sliding part way down his nose. "I don't believe that, and I don't want you to believe that either. Can you be a good boy for me, honey?" Patton rocks his hips slightly, his shaft sliding out partway, before thrusting hard back into Remus. "Just focus on the cock inside of you, baby; ignore those nasty thoughts in your head. All you have to do is lay here and look pretty, doll, and you're already more than accomplishing that!"

Remus quiets down, not responding with anything more than a moan. But before he gets the chance to articulate a response, Patton's already slow thrusts still entirely.

When Remus opens his mouth to complain, he's quickly interrupted.

"The kinder you are to yourself, the faster I'll go," Patton explains, voice firm and affectionate. "I know you like it rough, baby, and I'm willing to give it to you that way, but only if you let yourself feel good. Only if you can say nice things about your pretty body and beautiful sounds. Can you do that baby? Say nice things about yourself? Please, darling, please, let me hear you be a good, obedient boy and do as you're told." Patton kisses Remus briefly, before adding "and if you listen, I'll make sure to pound you into the mattress until you can't think at all."

Breath trembling, Remus mumbles something incoherent, but it's not a refusal. More so a slight resignation.

So, Patton smiles, and offers Remus some simple encouragement.

"Go on, honey," Patton urges, rolling his hips against Remus's own, providing him with the bare minimum amount of friction. "You should be talking about how pretty you are, how good you feel, and how much you love feeling good." Patton's lips stretch into a cheeky grin. "You know, affirmations are proven to work wonders. Surely, the more you say you're pretty, the more you'll believe it!"

Patton leans closer, as if sharing a secret, before he continues "especially the parts about making you feel good. I'll make you feel better the nicer you are to yourself. That's a good trade off, right? Can't my precious baby boy say a good thing about himself?"

Patton's hips still, further enticing Remus to say something nice about himself.

Remus stammers, almost frustrated with Patton's teasing torture, before managing "I... I have eyes." Upon receiving a look from Patton - a raised eyebrow, as if asking Remus 'Is that it?' Clearing his throat, Remus clarifies "I have pretty eyes. Pretty red eyes."

Immediately, Patton kisses his face, praising him for being so good and specific. He does have pretty red eyes! What a good boy! And his starts thrust back up again, speedy and rough as his cock pushes deeper and deeper into Remus's ass.

“Good boys are honest,” Patton pants in between thrusts and kisses, “and you do have pretty eyes! They’re gorgeous; I could stare into them all day long if you’d sit still long enough to let me.” His words are teasing, and he follows them up by nipping at Remus’s neck.

While he squeezes Remus’s hand with his own, his free palm slides down to hold one of Remus’s thighs, pulling Remus’s hips at an angle that allows him to thrust deeper, before going “say something else What else do you like about yourself?” and this time - after seeing the reward it gave him - Remus has much less hesitation.

“I have a well-groomed mustache,” he exclaims, starting a rather slurred list, “my fashion choices are unique, I’m good at art-”

“And you’re so, so pretty,” Patton emphasizes, smiling happily at Remus’s self-directed compliments. He sounds breathy as he speaks, a bit winded from how intensely he’s fucking into Remus, but tries to keep himself from slowing down. “Keep going, my pretty boy.”

But Remus is much less interested in answering, too focused on pleasure to care much about nitpicking himself to find something desirable among the mess, and so half-heartedly claims “I have a nice cock,” attempting to say anything that’d constitute as a compliment, solely so he can get more pleasure, only for Patton’s big hand to wrap suddenly around his shaft.

As Remus gasps, Patton starts stroking him torturously slowly, but it makes Remus feel so incredibly good anyway.

“You’re right, dear,” Patton says, voice soft, “you do have a nice cock. Nice to touch. Nice to stroke. Nice to squeeze.”

His hand squeezes around the base of Remus’s cock, and he watches as Remus tries to buck his hips, craving more of his touch. However, he’s unable to move far due to his thighs wrapped around Patton’s wide waist, and with Patton’s cock shoved deep inside of him.

“Go faster!” Patton begs, though it’s unclear whether he’s talking about Patton’s hips or his hand.

Patton shushes him quietly. “I’ll speed up when you say something nice. What else can you compliment, hm? Your gorgeous chest? Your pretty legs?” Patton’s voice trails off for a moment, before remerging with newfound delight as he leans back, saying “or, what about the fact the outline of my cock looks wonderful when pressed deep inside of you!”

With their fronts no longer pressed together, Remus - upon sitting up on his elbows - is able to stare wide-eyed at the noticeable bulge when Patton’s big cock thrusts into him.

Remus cries out in pleasure, falling back onto the mattress with a pathetic noise, moaning shamelessly about how hot that visual is.

Laughing softly, Patton kisses Remus’s chest. “Can you make a compliment out of this, love? Say something nice about yourself so I can go faster? Come on, my good boy, I know you can think of one. You’re so creative and interesting with your words.”

Pre spills out of Remus’s cock, and onto Patton’s hand, though it’s hardly noticeable as it’s quickly swept up and quickly rubbed back along Remus’s shaft.

Half-coherent, and overwhelmed with warmth, Remus stammers “I love how- how thin I am! So I can- fuck -see your cock inside of me!”

“Good boy! My good boy.”

Patton’s hand speeds up in tune with his thrusts, pounding and pushing Remus closer and closer to the edge, until his thighs are squeezing tightly around Patton’s midsection as his head falls back with a cry. His orgasm crashes into him hard and fast, and he comes over Patton’s hand and his own chest, with Patton working him through it, praises spilling out of his mouth.

Patton slows for a few minutes, giving Remus time to catch his breath, as the latter goes limp against the sheets, but speeds up after. His hand slowly touches Remus’s cock, gently working it back up.

Remus whines out of confusion.

“I need to come too, silly,” Patton simply explains, smiling warmly. “And you’re just so pretty when you come. Your orgasm face is so perfect. I want to come to that sight, but I wasn’t close enough to do so this time. So… you’ll just have to come again!” Patton properly gives Remus’s cock a few strokes, feeling the limp shaft slowly harden in his palm. “That’s okay, right, baby?”

Moaning at the idea, Remus nods immediately. Another orgasm sounds amazing, and Patton’s still thrusting into him anyway. So, Remus wills away his refractory period (best he can, anyway, by just telling himself under his breath to hurry up and get hard again), and represses an overstimulated whimper as Patton begins stroking him with more fervor.

As Patton touches his cock, the tip of his own shaft suddenly slams into Remus’s prostate, causing a sudden moan to be ripped from Remus’s throat, back arching off the bed.

Panting, Patton whimpers “I feel so good, honey. I feel so- so good using your body. Such a pretty body. So, so amazing.” He’s breathy and stammering, a pink flush overtaking his round cheeks and spreading down the length of his chest. His blonde hair is slicked against his forehead. And truthfully, Remus thinks Patton’s pretty.

And, well, if someone this gorgeous thinks Remus is attractive, then, it must be true to some extent!

All the pleasure Remus is receiving is just so much more intense now that he’s already had one orgasm. Furthermore, he feels overly blissful and delightfully braindead as both post-orgasm fuzziness and pr-second-orgasm excitement consumes him. He can’t possibly think negative thoughts when he’s so distracted by how good he’s feeling!

Patton tightens his hold on Remus’s hand, and on Remus’s hip, holding him tight as he thrusts directly into Remus’s prostate.

“So good,” Patton praises, on a loop, "so, so good. So, so pretty."

Visibly, Patton looks as though he might finish at any given second; whimpers spill from his lips, and sweat gleams as it rolls down his red face. He’s very clearly pleasured, and Remus moans as he feels his second orgasm quickly building.

“I’m so, so close,” Patton groans, kissing over Remus’s jawline as he strokes Remus’s cock messily. “Please, come for me. Let me see you come for me, baby. Please.”

Voice quivering, and sounding as though he might cry if denied the privilege, Patton begs Remus to finish. And though Remus could probably bite back his orgasm for another minute or two, he doesn’t even bother trying, instead letting his head fall back with a moan of his own as he reaches his orgasm.

Once again, he comes over Patton’s hand and his own body, except this time Patton’s grunting out an obscenity under his breath and finishing inside of Remus. They come at the same time.

Patton fucks Remus through his orgasm, before panting above him, leaving Remus a mess of oversensitivity and fullness. The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, before Patton kissing Remus gently.

“Good job, baby,” Patton murmurs, as he keeps their faces pressed together. “Good boy.”

Then, Patton's pulling out, making Remus whine.

Feeling the semen pour out of him, and drench the bed between his legs, Remus can’t help but squirm, but quickly stills himself when Patton starts to scoot himself further back on the bed. Curiously, Remus stares at him, watching as he leans down so that his head is between Remus’s legs, before grinning and cursing when Patton wordlessly takes Remus’s cock into his mouth, big, blue eyes staring up at Remus as he does so.

Moaning weakly, Remus struggles to keep himself semi-upright, but doesn’t want to miss out on this view.

Patton’s tongue licks over his limp shaft until it begins to slowly harden, Remus tangling his hands in Patton’s curly hair, giving him gentle - or, his version of gentle - affection, while watching Patton lovingly go down on him, determined to milk a third orgasm from Remus’s spent cock.

Remus lets Patton enjoy the intimacy, though his impulses tell him to push Patton away. He’s too sensitive; every touch or caress of his body feels so intense, but he doesn’t move an inch. Patton’s mouth feels deceivingly good around his slick shaft, and though Remus’s body is trembling with oversensitivity, he wants this just as much as Patton does. To go mindless. To be completely pleasured. He is so, so pretty, after all, and he deserves to come a third time just for looking so good.

Ultimately, Remus submits wholeheartedly, with lazy moans spilling steadily from his mouth.

His overworked cock is a twitching mess in Patton’s mouth, though Remus doubts it’s leaking anymore, his balls already emptied of their fill.

His hands tug at Patton’s hair, crying out Patton’s name with a broken voice followed by multiple swears. Patton flushes, swallowing around Remus’s cock, bobbing his head steadily until Remus is shuddering, pushing Patton’s head down and coming once more, a few beads of come spilling from his slit, though they’re hardly noticeable as they splash against Patton’s tongue.

Finally, Remus goes limp against the sheets, letting himself fall against the mattress with heavy breaths and eyes closed as Patton crawls over him.

Remus peeks at Patton when he feels a finger brush his thin brown hair from his face.

“You’re pretty,” Patton says, voice barely above a whisper.

Remus stares at him, before snickering, before laughing outright. With a surprising amount of strength, Remus pushes Patton onto the bed next to him, and curls up against his squishy chest.

“You can tell me I’m pretty while we cuddle,” Remus states, the come smeared over his abdomen being rubbed against Patton’s stomach and the blankets between them. Remus’s bony hands dig into Patton’s stomach, squeezing him tight. “Just hold me.”

He can feel Patton’s excitement in the way his body is immediately gathered up into Patton’s arms, and cradled firmly, with Patton continuing to whisper soft affection into the air until Remus can’t help but feel relaxed and content in his own right.

His last thought before drifting off is just how perfectly his body fits against Patton’s.

#intruality #intruality smut #sanders sides #sanders sides smut #not safe for sanders #agp smut

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trensu · 2 years

Text

Okay, as much as I love vampire!Eddie AUs (and I do; I love them) I think it's time to mix it up a bit.

Siren!Eddie needs to make an appearance.

Eddie's dad used to be a fisherman and he caught himself a siren. He was an awful person so when he found out what exactly it was he caught, he took the siren and traveled as far from any large body of water as he could.

She was lucky in that, eventually, she was able to escape and return to her home-waters but not before she had to make the dreadful man a son. A son that was left behind because there was a risk that he was too much Land and not enough Sea. She couldn't risk being tied to Land at all. Not after everything she went through; she never wanted to touch Land again.

But she made sure to teach her son, her little boy Eddie, how to hide. She gave him rules to keep him safe once she was gone.

Never go in the water, Eddie. Yes I know it whispers to you, but you can never go in the water okay? Bad things will happen to you if you go in the water.

She expected this; that he'd hear the Call. This was something she needed to tear out of him as soon as possible. It would hurt less that way; it would be easier to ignore the Call if he never submerged in natural water. She took them to the lake. They sat on the shore. She would smack him every time he edged too close to the water. The first few visits involved a lot of hitting.

She would bundle him into her arms, and kiss his head, and murmur consolation afterwards when he was in tears and hiccuping from the need to go in the water. Eventually, he learned to flinch whenever water lapped too close to him.

I know you love music but you can never sing for an audience. No one must ever hear your voice like that. I don't care how much you like it, Eddie, you will listen to me. Bad things will happen if you sing for others.

She knew the urge to sing would run through his veins. It was as natural as speaking was to humans. Natural, however, did not mean vital; it did not mean necessary. All it really meant was risk. Any time she caught him so much as humming in public she'd pinch his ear until his hum turned to a whine of pain. She'd do it even when his hum was audible only to sirens ears. He didn't always notice when he did that but he learned to pay attention and stop himself.

She rewarded him sometimes when he was especially restrained. She allowed him to sing only when mama sings with him. When she was free in the waves, one of the few memories of Land she permitted herself to keep was the handful of times she and Eddie found themselves a lonely, quiet place where they could sing along to a battered old radio together.

Don't go near anyone who is bleeding. Do you hear me? Never get near human blood. Oh, and don't eat fish.

The teeth were a surprise. Her baby was born as toothless as a human. His teeth later sprouted as dull as human teeth. But then her captor hit her on a day that she was already on a knife's edge and Eddie was squirming and grumbling in her arms. She raked her claws across the man's face and as he screamed at her, her little Eddie gnawed at her bloodied claws with little gurgling growls, his small teeth pricked at her fingertips, sharp as any of her kind. It took a while for her boy's teeth to blunt again. The only other time his teeth sharpened was when the man brought home cheap, stinking sushi. To mock her, probably, as if such food could compare to the relish of tearing her teeth through the belly of a writhing living fish.

She did not punish Eddie for this rule. She could not bring herself to punish him for his hunger. No one can help their hunger. She lied instead. Told him he would sicken and die if he ate fish or touched another human's blood.

Eddie loved his mama. He cried for ages and ages when she disappeared. Mostly because he missed her. Partly because with her gone, he'd never be allowed to sing again.

As Eddie grew older, he learned to hate his father. His mother had been violent with him on occasion but her violence felt different. When his father hit him, something in Eddie thrashed in indignation that someone like his father would dare strike him. But that thrashing thing in him was the same thing that urged him to the water, that urged him to sing, that craved to slurp up the flickering fish he'd seen during the school field trip to the aquarium. The thrashing thing that wanted to bite and tear into the man that hurt him was the same thing that wanted to do all the things his mama taught him not to do because bad things would happen if he did.

So he tied down the thrashing thing in him because his mama would have wanted him to, he thought. Instead he did what his father told him to do; learned some of the things his father wanted him to; did his best not to incur his anger. It worked for a few years. But there came a day when the thrashing thing escaped for just a moment, a scant few seconds, and drew his father's blood. The smell of it made the thrashing thing in Eddie so very hungry. He learned the thrashing thing was also a starved thing, and it terrified Eddie.

Eddie learned young to run when scared.

So he ran. He ran to the man that his father ranted about; the man his father screamed was the reason his whore of a mother was gone. The man his father had called a traitor of a brother.

Wayne opened the door to his trailer one stormy evening to find a boy, barely in double digits, with sharpened teeth and reddened claws. The boy shivered in rain, though Wayne knew immediately that it was not from the cold or wet. He looked into the boy's wide panicked eyes, dark as his mother’s had been.

"Unc-," the boy hiccuped in distress. "Uncle Wayne? 'm Eddie. Y-you knew my mama? You h-helped her?"

"Yeah. Yeah, kid," Wayne said softly, taking in Eddie's dripping hair and bare feet. His toes were pale but not blue as they should be with how cold the rain was in the fall. "I helped her once. Should've helped her sooner. But I worked up the nerve eventually."

"Could you," Eddie's voice cracked. "Could you help me, too?"

"Yeah," Wayne said around a lump in his throat. "Yeah, Eddie, I'll help ya." He clears his throat. "Come in out of the rain. I need to ask you some questions so I can help you."

Eddie told Uncle Wayne about his mama's rules. He told Uncle Wayne about the thrashing starved thing that lived in him. He told him how he clawed his father and the thing wanted to devour him. He told him how it scared him so much he ran without looking back.

Uncle Wayne said that the rules his mama gave him were very important but that maybe it made the thrashing thing worse. He told Eddie that they should find ways to keep it calm without breaking his mama's rules. Eddie was not allowed to go into lakes or rivers or ponds but once in a while Eddie could take a bath in the old stained tub Uncle Wayne had in the trailer. It's not exactly what the thrashing thing wants, but when Eddie lays at the bottom of the full tub, it gets quiet for a while.

(Wayne was relieved to see that even submerged in the bathtub, Eddie still looked human. He was relieved that Eddie didn’t seem to notice that he was able to stay under the water and not worry about being able to breathe).

Eddie must never sing. Ever. But Uncle Wayne thought music in general was good. He gave Eddie his old acoustic guitar. Eddie learned the few chords Uncle Wayne knew, and learned more from secondhand music books his uncle gave him. He had Uncle Wayne's permission to play the guitar whenever the urge to sing felt overwhelming. It wasn’t the same, but it still helped soothe the thrashing thing.

(Wayne was relieved to find that the one time Eddie slipped up, his voice didn’t affect him the way he dreaded it would. Blood recognizes blood, he remembered Eddie’s mother saying. The song still fogged his mind and that by itself scared Eddie enough that he never sang in front of Wayne again. Wayne doesn’t think Eddie fully understood what happened other than it was something bad that came from his singing, just as his mother had told him.)

Uncle Wayne said there’s no way around Mama’s last rule. Eddie must avoid blood and fish. However, Uncle Wayne added an excessive amount of red meat to Eddie’s diet. There was always plenty of pork and beef for Eddie to eat. The thrashing thing in Eddie was always full, even if it never felt quite satisfied.

It wasn’t until he was older that Eddie discovered something that makes the thrashing thing…sleep? Sleep. If only for a little while; just long enough for Eddie to get his head straight.

“Weed?” Uncle Wayne said around a cigarette. “What’s wrong with a good old fashioned cigarette?”

Eddie breathed out a plume of smoke. “Tastes bad.”

Uncle Wayne scoffed. “And marijuana doesn’t?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. It’s different. It feels…like I'm grounded?”

“Thought the goal was to get high,” Uncle Wayne snorted in amusement.

Eddie giggled. “No, yeah. ‘M not saying it right. It feels like…it sounds stupid. Doesn’t make sense. But it feels like Land.”

Uncle Wayne sombered. “That makes perfect sense,” he said after a long pause.

“...is this a mom thing?” At Uncle Wayne’s nod, Eddie frowned. “Are you ever gonna tell me anything about her? I don’t even know her name.”

“Neither do I,” Uncle Wayne said. “Your father called her Sarah. She hated it but she never told either of us her name. Said we’d never be able to pronounce it with our weak tongues.”

–

It wasn’t a lie when Wayne told his boy that he doesn’t know much about his mother. He doesn’t know anything about her, really, but he suspected quite a bit.

His brother brought her home after a fishing trip. She was…strange. Her eyes seemed too big and fathomless for her pale face. Her body moved as if it was expecting to meet resistance with every motion. When she spoke, her words seemed almost lyrical.

His brother would beat her terribly if she strayed too close to singing. The fury in her eyes after each beating made icy fear bloom in Wayne’s chest, and to this day he doesn’t understand how his brother never seemed to feel it; the fear of a prey animal that knew the only thing keeping the predator from ripping into them was a set of bars that seemed too narrow to last.

Wayne doesn’t know anything about Eddie’s mother except that his brother named her Sarah and once, during a drunken rant, called her a siren. But sirens were a fisherman’s fairy tale. They weren’t real. Eddie had imagination enough without Wayne filling it with his brother’s tall tales.

–

Eddie hissed as Uncle Wayne dabbed antiseptic on the cut across his cheekbone. The thrashing thing in him echoed the hiss in fury. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep the fury from bleeding into the rest of him.

“I could’ve beaten them, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie snarls. “I know I could’ve. Why can’t I hit back?”

“...do you remember the last time you hit someone?”

Eddie scrunched his face. “Not really. Was that when I ran away from Dad? I was, like, ten. I can’t remember stuff that far back.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Uncle Wayne huffed, and placed some gauze on the cut. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t risk touching someone’s blood. Mama’s rules, remember?”

Eddie growled. The thrashing thing in him roiled. “I hate those stupid rules. I hate them.”

“I know you do,” Uncle Wayne sighed. “But I’m proud of you for following them.” He ruffled Eddie’s hair and Eddie felt the fury start to fade. “Why don’t you go practice on your new guitar for a while?”

Eddie nodded and hopped off the stool, relenting.

“Love you, kid,” Uncle Wayne calls as Eddie closed his bedroom door.

“Love you too, old man.”

–

Eddie had years of experience controlling the thrashing thing and it had been much easier to keep it calm once he joined a band as the lead guitarist. He made time to take long baths whenever he started to feel agitated with life. He still ate a hellish amount of red meat.

Eddie could almost forget the thrashing thing existed most of the time. Things were good.

Until he met Steve Harrington and his veins were almost violently flooded with wantwantwant and the thrashing thing screamed at him to open up and sing, sing, bring him near, SING.

His mouth was already dropping open and a sound was clawing to escape his throat. In the panic that followed the wave of covetous desire, Eddie sunk his teeth into his own forearm to stave off the sudden song pooling in his mouth. He fled the store and ran in to the abandoned alley two blocks away.

Only then did he unhook his teeth, which felt so odd in his mouth, from where he bit into his arm. He panted around the blood dripping from his lips. “What the fuck. What the fuck was that?”

#trensu tells stories #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #sirens #cw: domestic violence #nothing too detailed though #this thought hit me in the middle of my work day and totally consumed my brain #from this point on eddie has to bite down on his tongue whenever he catches even a glimpse of steve #otherwise he'll sing #eddie doesn't really know he's a siren #kinda like how a queer kid doesn't really know they're queer #bc to know is dangerous #idk if the upside down exists here btw #but eddie and steve are both def not in high school anymore #eddie still does dnd #and dustin is the one who figures out eddie's a siren #obviously #idk what steve thinks of all this #probably that eddie's weird and doesn't like to talk for some reason?#he swears he's never heard the guy utter a peep #dustin's definitely pulling his leg when he says eddie is great with words and so dramatic in the best way #also? eddie's teeth itch with how badly he wants to bite steve #it's the worst #uncle wayne's google search history now has My Siren Nephew Is In Love With a Human Boy What Do I Do #because mama munson didn't leave behind a siren parenting handbook #also also #although i labeled it as abuse i don't actually see eddie and his mother's relationship as abusive because they're sirens #kinda like how some animal behaviors can look violent/aggressive to us but aren't read that way by others in the species #which is why eddie doesn't view his mother's violence the same way he views his father's violence

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

Text

Thank You For Fish

CW: Aftermath of torture, caretaking, glass in skin, captivity, loneliness, isolation, mer whumpee

For @whumptober 2022, day 2: cornered / caged

Signs of the Sea Masterlist, follows directly after Creeping Ambition

The sound of the mer's cry echoes off the ceiling and walls, his back arching, fin slapping down against flat with a heavy smack.

"Sssshhhh, hold still. Just a few more."

The mer whistles and looks up to where the Bahram looms over him. The human man lays a hand on his cold shoulder, palm warm and soft compared to the mer. Brown with red and pink and beige beneath looks odd, in the mer's eyes, much stranger than the familiar cool grayish-white of the mer's rubbery, waterproof skin.

"Just a few more," The Bahram repeats, and his thumb rubs, soothing, back and forth. Laid out on the platform over the small circle of water he must live in alone, the mer closes his eyes, breathing the water-heavy air through flared nasal slits, gills flat against his neck.

There's a pause. "I'm sorry," the Bahram says, voice low.

Then sharp bright pain spikes at his left hip and he whistles, his tail twitching and jerking. "Nnnnn… nnnnnnooo, Bbhhh-rrrmmm," He wails, forcing his lips to form the clumsy, noisy syllables around his sharp fangs, to shift his tongue in their blunt song-speak.

"It's okay," The Bahram repeats, his jaw set and hard. "Just two more. Hold still for me, just two more…"

The pain suddenly rises again, a wave slamming the mer against a dry hot shore.

"Got it!"

"Nnnnoooooooo!" The mer's head smacks back into the platform as a glass shard is pulled out from burying itself so deep that Kima feels hot dark blood well up over the skin below his navel. "Nnnnnooooo, sssssstuh-... puh-"

"I can't," The Bahram says, but he pauses, lowering his head. His chin dips, and the mer opens his eyes and whimpers as he watches the saltwater dripping from the Bahram's, running down his face like floodwaters finding the sea. "I have to clean it all up, Kima, it's my-... my job-"

"Nnnno hurrrrt, nnnnoooo…" Kima's voice rises to a shriek, and he jerks upwards only to have the Bahram's strong hand lay flat on his chest to force him back into his back. "Nonono-... Nnnno, nnnno-"

"Last one," The Bahram says, but the mer barely hears the words over his own whistling keens, and they mean nothing, only sounds.

The last piece of glass is the worst.

"Okay," The Bahram says, and leans down. His forehead presses against the mer's. His voice is a whisper even though the two of them are alone. "Share with me. Share it."

The mer whimpers and feels the Bahram's thoughts open to his own. Split between them, the hot throb of pain through his stomach and down his tail is lessened. Both of them breathe, and the Bahram's breath is humid, there is water in it.

Hurt.

I know, I know, I'm sorry. But if I left them in, they could infect, they'd make it even worse.

Hurt, Bahram. Kima hurt.

I know, I know… it's over now.

Give blood? Fish for hurt?

The guilt and self-loathing that lances through the mer's mind is unfamiliar and hard to read. It washes over him, riptide, steals the very air from his overworked lungs. You don't need to give any more today, Kima.

Fish? Fish for hurt?

The Bahram pulls back, and looks away from him. The saltwater tears mark his face again. "Yeah," He breathes out loud, and their connection is gone. The pain overwhelms as it returns to him, and the mer whimpers, rolling onto his side, pressing a hand over one of the hurting places and pulling it back to find dark burgundy blood smears along his palm and marking the tips of his claws.

"I'll get the fish," The Bahram speaks in a heavy voice, signing with hands as his mouth moves, hand flat, fingers up next to his face before he tips his fingers like a cup falling over and moves his hand forward, dropping it down to meet the other in loose shapes like the mer's claws, closing to fists as they move back against his body. Fluidly shifting as he says 'fish' to make the sign Kima knows best, dropping one hand and moving the other, palm facing in, in a wave pattern swimming through air.

"Fsssshhh," Kima repeats, hopefully, and echoes the gesture with his bloody hand.

The Bahram swallows hard at the sight, but nods. "Go," He says, and signs, pointing to the tank beneath them. The mer rolls until he is off the platform, falling just a few feet before slipping easily into the water below, gills opening up as nasal slits close.

The spots where the glass was pulled out ache and sting, but being here in the water again feels so good that Kima can almost ignore it. He swims a slow circle around the tank, stretching out his tail and arms, as the Bahram climbs down the ladder and walks across the room.

He opens a door, disappears into it, and Kima stays close to the edge, the wall he cannot see that cages him here, so he can watch for the Bahram's return.

Water rushes and speaks around him. He hears the soft hum of something called the filter, the slosh of water slipping against the invisible walls near the top. He sings, an alone-song, just to give the water a little of the noise that makes it feel more like home.

Kima hopes for living fish. Now and then fish stunned by the sudden change are dropped into the tank, and the mer hunts them with ferocious zeal, desperate to use his tail as he is meant to, to rip with teeth and tear with claws.

More often, lately, the fish are already dead.

Today, it is corpses dropped from the bucket into the water when the Bahram returns. He doesn't stay to watch, just climbs back down the ladder, walks away.

The mer eats the sad motionless meal, because his stomach is empty if he doesn't, but it isn't right. And the Bahram used to try hard to bring living fish, but he doesn't anymore.

Something is wrong with the Bahram, and Kima is frightened because he cannot understand what has changed.

Like how the Bahram speaks to him less. Instead, he stares and stares at him through the other side of the unseen wall, or he looks away entirely.

Sometimes Kima watches him as he goes to the seat and moves his fingers over a rectangle, looking into another rectangle that beams a soft blue-tinged light. He wears black plastic circles over his ears, and sometimes laughs or cries as if they speak to him. Sometimes he holds a black thing in his hands while staring at another black-edged thing with moving things inside it that never seem to come out, like there are tiny other worlds trapped in these odd boxes.

Sometimes, the Bahram eats. He sits with a bowl in his hands and eats slurpy things like narrow white curling worms in a steaming hot liquid, called ramen. When Kima pokes his head up from the water and opens his nasal slits, it smells good. Like salt.

When he eats, the mer knows it means he will soon eat, so he swims rapid circles around this small space, jumps up out of the water to the warm air under the little sun, chirps and clicks to try and make Bahram smile and laugh.

Sometimes he does.

Sometimes he doesn't.

These days, days of shared pain and dead fish, the Bahram doesn't speak to him much after the matriarch finishes hurting him. Just watches him, or goes right back to what he does on the boxes. And eventually, the matriarch calls for them again, and they…

They must go wherever she says, he and the Bahram. The mer must hurt, because she wants to hurt him. And the Bahram must help her do it.

But after, the Bahram is kind, offering to share his pain and fear. He needs there to be someone kind, and the Miah does not come so much now.

Last time, she spat signs with her fingers about how she was tired of watching a child die. She didn't know Kima was watching her hands that day.

But today, just outside the tank, the Bahram is looking, now. He sits on the couch, but he is looking at Kima.

Kima tips his head to one side, white hair floating around him, gills flaring and closing again as he filters oxygen from the surrounding saltwater. Wide green eyes watch the Bahram as he watches back.

Thank you for fish, Kima says with his hands in the human way.

The Bahram looks sad and doesn't answer.

His hair is dirty and his eyes seem dark and ringed in shadows. Along his jaw is darkness - stubble, the Bahram said once when the mer touched a delicate claw to his face and clicked. Kima blows bubbles under the water, but it doesn't make him smile. So he tries to remember the words, clumsy, claws catching in the water, languid and slow. He draws them from eyes down to jaw, turning his mouth into a frown, then closes all his claws but one and draws an oval from chin to the top of his head and back down again.

Sad face.

The Bahram blinks at him, then huffs a laugh. There's no smile in the motion of his shoulders, though, no real warmth. He signs back, mouth moving. If he speaks, Kima can't hear him, really. Just low tones, like a podsong, filtered through the sound of water. "Yes," The Bahram says with his hands and his face, "I think I have a very sad face now. I feel bad for hurting you, but she's right. If I quit, I lose… I lose everything all over again. If she fires me… I can't fail again, Kima. I'm so sorry. I can't fail another thing. Maman's heart would break."

Kima hesitates, hands hovering in the water, trying to turn his own thoughts - thoughts that look like currents and sound like the songs of his family - into the clumsier tooth, claw, tongue words the humans use.

His tail flipper flicks back and forth, back and forth. Bruises and scraped spots throb under his skin, where dark blood pools, at wrists and hips where the awful rough human vines tie him down. He tore himself free today, but the wounds rubbed deeper as he did. Everything aches with the beat of his pulse. Everything hurts.

He touches his forehead with the tips of four claws, then folds three down as he draws his hand back and out, so only the smallest claw and his thumb stand out.

Why?

How can heart break?

"It's a figure of-... Never mind. Why?" The Bahram echoes the motion Kima just made, and then looks to the side, towards the door that the mer is wheeled through. Beyond is the flat table with the tying-down, the pain, the needle-sticks, give blood. Pain that earns him the promise of fish, of food in his yawning, empty belly.

Beyond that door is the place of matriarch of the Bahram, the female who directs the pod. Where his scales are removed, his skin cut away, sliced into strips the matriarch takes from him to study layers, she says to see how he stays warm. Beyond the door is the pain and terror.

Kima shifts back through the water, away from even the sight of that door. His heart beats faster, when he follows the Bahram's gaze.

The Bahram is silent, for a long time.

"Because I'm not getting better," The Bahram says, with only his mouth now. "Because I'm a monster, now, for money, and I thought maybe I wouldn’t care but I do. Because I'm a fucking failure. I'm as caged as you are, just as cornered, but I could leave, if I wanted. And you can't. Because of me.”

The Bahram stands up and walks away, ignoring Kima's signs to ask what he means. Even when he makes a fist and knocks on the tank, Bahram never looks back. He just goes to the desk and sits down with his back to Kima, who droops as he realizes the Bahram will not speak anymore and won't play with him tonight. Not even a little, not even the small gentle play that does not make him hurt any worse.

He didn't want to play last night either.

Or the night before.

The mer winds his way through the water to the little cave he has to sleep in, slipping into the soothing, safer dark space set apart from the otherwise constant light.

Alone, the mer curls around one of the real things, a soft ball of sea moss that he can hold. He wraps his arms around it and buried his face in its softness. In its tiny spaces he can almost smell the wilder waters he knows must still be out there somewhere, beyond the invisible wall around his little sea, outside and far away from this stone place surrounding him. To the edge of land where it meets the big water, where his pod - somewhere - swims free.

He may never see them again - but he knows they are out there.

He wishes the Bahram would play.

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @thefancydoughnut @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump @crystalrainwing @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up plus @whumpworldld for whumptober tag list

#whumptober2022 #no. 2 #caged #cornered #captivity #isolation #mer whump #mer whumpee #signs of the sea #reluctant whumper #caretaker and whumpee #glass in skin #aftermath of torture #inhuman whumpee #telepathy #depression tw #blackmailed whumper

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kivaember · 29 days

Note

👀!! but also, 🎯?

🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

Interestingly, not many people have made in depth guesses about major major plot points for APV! I am curious to hear people's theories though, if only to see if the foreshadowing I lay down it getting picked up...

Otherwise, on my P5 fic To Know Your Target, quite a few people correctly guessed major plot points, which I found really cool! I like it when people can sorta guess where the story is heading, bc it means I'm building it in a coherent kind of way. There's no better feeling for when you guess something will happen and it does!

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Oh man I have so many!!! Okay, I have one wip that's like two thirds done... it's a oneshot (a big one rip) that's post LoR. It follows 621 hunting amongst the wreckage of the Xylem for Walter's AC, mostly because he's kinda lost on what to do with himself and also bc he wants to give it a funeral. Rusty, still horribly injured from his fall fromthe Xylem, hijacks an RLF MT and follows him there...

The fic's most about discussing 621 and Rusty's different approaches to grief and moving on and the like... and hilariously, as I was writing it, 621 ended up being a lot more emotionally intelligent than Rusty was...

Have a snippet :) as a treat!

He rounded a collapsed pile of masonry and shattered glass, some sort of towering roof structure that had caved in on the deck below. STALKER was standing in the near distance on the very edge of the deck, staring at the slowly approaching supercell.

Carefully, Rusty piloted his MT to stand beside STALKER, and directed his visual sensors towards the incoming storm. His wipers were going a little crazy now, frantically whipping back and forth to try and outpace the heavy downpour. Beside him, STALKER moved fractionally, its half-rusted joints creaking loudly.

“...hey,” Rusty murmured. “Aren’t you tired, Raven?”

STALKER’s head angled towards him.

«Aren’t you tired, Rusty?»

Rusty felt his mouth quirk into a smile. A response, even if it was a mocking (he assumed). He’d take it. “Yeah. I’m pretty exhausted, to be honest.”

«…then why are you here.»

“Like I said, I came to get you. You’ve been out here for two days. Uncle was getting worried.”

Raven took his time in replying and Rusty patiently waited, ignoring the various aches and pains lancing through his body like razor sharp glass. It was fine. So long as he didn’t bust the stitches from his spleen repair surgery, he should be okay.

«I’m fine.»

“Sure,” Rusty said. “Just like I’m fine.”

«I wasn’t in a coma for two days after breaking half my bones.»

no, you were just tortured for weeks on end instead, Rusty did not say with some effort. “You still need to eat, right? You’re augmented, but you’re still human.”

Raven didn’t seem to have a ready response for that, so he just didn’t say anything.

“...what’re you even out here for anyways?” Rusty asked, genuinely curious. The Xylem was a marvel of Institute tech, yeah, but most of it was completely ruined from its violent re-entry. Aside from getting blown up and ransacked by invading corporate and Liberation Front forces alike, the seawater filling up half the ship would’ve eaten away at most of the technology by now.

«…I’m looking for something.»

“Well… if you’re looking so hard for it, I guess it must be important…” Rusty said slowly. “Maybe I can help?”

«You’re injured and should be resting.»

“You’re injured too.” Rusty’s tone grew solemn. “I know what they do in those re-education camps, Raven.”

«…»

“You’ve been flat out since you escaped,” Rusty said softly. “Uncle said you only swung by for a day at our base before running off again. If you don’t stop to rest, your body’s just going to give out on you. It’s a pointless way to go.”

«…»

“Unless that’s what you want?” Rusty asked, and made sure his voice was dispassionately blunt when he added: “Are you just waiting to die?”

The question lingered between them like an ominous shroud. The supercell moved close enough that its thick cloud wall blocked out the sun, dousing them in deep, dark shadow.

«…no.»

Raven paused, and STALKER kept shifting its weight back and forth, rusted joints screeching and groaning, the AC not built to spend so much time along the seashore, getting sprayed with saltwater and blasted with coastal gusts. It looked like a corpse just barely moving, skeletal, where chunks of its ablative armour had been stripped off from its own re-entry, and the inner hull torn from the tremendous forces it had been under (had never been designed to endure, but had endured anyways).

There was even a gaping crack in the Core, a sliver where Rusty could peer past the protective armour and see a bit of the Core block that contained the pilot’s cockpit. Red-tinged rainwater was collecting in that crack, pouring out of it like a miniature stream.

«I don’t know what to do.»

It was unexpectedly honest. Vulnerable. Completely out of nowhere.

“What do you mean?”

«Before everything went wrong in Institute City, Handler Walter told me what to do. I knew what to expect with each day. I knew what my objectives were. Now, I know nothing. I’m a mercenary with no money or clients, and I have no idea how to get those things myself. I got my life back, like Walter wanted, but there’s nothing in it.»

STALKER’s head bowed.

«…I have nothing.»

“That’s not true, Raven,” Rusty said gently, taken aback by Raven’s raw honesty, and cursing the awkwardness of having this talk while they were in two separate mechs. Raven was as expressionless as they came, but he could still gauge his human face better than just staring at the side of STALKER’s cracked Core.

“After saving Rubicon, you’ve definitely got the Liberation Front on your side,” he continued. “And, for what it’s worth, I’ve got your back too. I know you won’t trust that, considering what happened before Institute City but, I mean it. I was-”

He drew in a slow breath, before admitting quietly: “I was wrong about you. You weren’t a threat to be eliminated, and I acted too hastily in my judgement of you. I’m sorry.”

«It’s fine. You weren’t exactly wrong. I was a threat.»

“...? What do you-”

A flash of scarlet lightning lit up the horizon, followed by a booming thunder that rattled Rusty’s very bones and briefly deafened him. He couldn’t help but wince.

«I’m looking for Walter,» Raven said in an unexpected non-sequitur, forcibly dropping the last topic. «His corpse is on this ship somewhere.»

#fanfic ramblings #honestly this wip is really interesting to write #bc i sorta started it without a real plan #and so it all developed organically #and with it i realised that 621 is actually fairly good at approaching things pragmatically #while rusty is more emotionally driven in others #621 finds it easier to move on #but rusty doesn't #and using the vehicle of looking for walter's body post LoR was an interesting way to explore their differences...#i need to finish it but it takes a lot of thinking to write...

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aerodaltonimperial · 11 months

Note

Hi so if you are still up for additional scenes

I need the 6 of them checking in on each other in there own ways or just feeling the need to know where the other 5 are at all times because they then know no corpse doctors have them

Reluctant friends bonded by trauma please

(LITERALLY ALWAYS UP FOR ADDITIONAL SCENES)

Hook gives up on trying to sleep after about ten minutes. Nothing about the hotel bed is comfortable, and the air conditioning unit is too loud. He tosses and turns on the flat pillows that even punching won't hep to fluff before he sighs and surrenders, turning the television back on. At this time of night, there isn't much on besides 90s movies and infomercials, but the sound helps fill the dead space.

Hook stares at the colors dancing across the flatscreen until there's a knock at his door.

He thinks about not answering. No one should be outside his room at this hour—no one he wants to let in, anyway. But something prods at his legs, propelling him towards the sound. He peers through the peephole to see platinum blonde hair falling out from beneath a black baseball cap.

It's surprise, really, that makes him open it, because he's never seen Julia without her make-up and with something so innocuous as that cap on.

"Hook," she says, by way of greeting. Then she offers nothing else. Truth is, she doesn't need to; Hook gets it. He cracks the door wider and nods within, relieved when she doesn't argue and slips in quietly.

"You look terrible," she tells him, once he's shut the door again, and he's starting to understand this bluntness of hers, this sharpness. It doesn't really contain the edge he always thought it does. She's merely stating the truth, because Hook is well aware of how rough he looks.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks. Something happen?"

"Nothing new." She glances at the armchair in the corner. "Do you mind...?"

"No." He's oddly glad for the company. As Julia sits, there's another rap against the door. This time, Hook isn't surprised when he opens it to find Anna on the other side. She's in her pajamas, hugging her torso like she's desperate for the warmth.

She doesn't say anything, just grimaces, like she hadn't even meant to show up there, like her feet somehow carried her through the hotel halls on their own. Hook gets that, too. She must know he isn't going to turn her away. Honestly, she looks even more raw than Hook does when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror: dark circles around her eyes like bruises.

Anna appears to relax somewhat when she gets into the room and spies Julia already on the other side.

Hook doesn't bother to close the door after her. He waits with his fingers curled around the edge until the last two show up, together.

"Hey," Jack says.

"Last ones," Hook tells him.

Jack shrugs. "Somebody had to be convinced to leave his room."

"Whatever." Darby sighs.

"Get in, so I can lock the door," Hook says, and doesn't waste any time in latching the deadbolt after the two of them slip inside. It feels better with the others there—more secure, steadier. Hook doesn't have to pretend to be okay, or put on his normal mask around them, and it's been such a long time since he's found people like that. He hates that the reason is such a dark coil in his stomach.

"Wanna watch something?" Jack asks, like the TV isn't already on.

"Something funny," Anna says.

Jack narrows his eyes at her. It almost looks as though he thinks about reaching for her face, an old habit that's been slow to dissipate. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Can't," Anna replies. Her arms tighten around her chest.

"At all?" he asks.

When she shakes her head, Darby reaches into the pocket of his oversized coat, that dumb thing he wears around all the time that dwarfs him and reminds Hook of the Army surplus store. He holds out a yellow prescription pill bottle.

Anna takes it, gingerly, reading the label. "Pain meds?"

"Pain meds that will make you sleep," Darby says.

She grimaces, but pops open the cap. "Thanks."

"You can get comfortable," Hook says, gesturing to the bed. It's a king—he'd have to splay out like a starfish to even get close to the other side. And it speaks volumes that Anna doesn't even hesitate after throwing the pill back and swallowing it dry. She has to be exhausted. As she pulls the blankets up around her, Julia scoots her chair closer to the side until the air presses up against the mattress.

Darby settles onto the floor at the foot of the bed. "Shoulder hurts when I lay flat."

Jack catches Hook's gaze. There's too much there for Hook to properly identify. "Okay."

He sits next to Darby, and once Hook returns to his side of the bed, all he can see is the bits of Jack's hair that have caught on the edge of the comforter. Then they sit in silence, watching the television. It's one of those obnoxious teen movies; maybe it's funny, but Hook hasn't laughed in awhile, so he can't be sure.

"I know this is a dumb question," Jack starts, "but is everyone...okay?"

"You're right, that was dumb," Darby says.

"Really regretting ripping that arrow out of your shoulder."

Hook dims the lights. From the side of the bed, Julia offers, "I haven't felt anything nearby."

"Anything like...creepy nightmares trying to murder us?" Hook asks.

Even in the low lighting, Hook can see her roll her eyes a little. "Yes, Hook, no creepy nightmares trying to murder us."

"That's good, right?" Jack asks.

"It's better than the alternative," she replies.

Hook blinks a few times. His eyes are tired enough to have gone bone-dry. "You said these things were contained."

"I did."

"So who is containing them? And is there a way to...contact them?"

Julia is quiet for longer than Hook would like before she answers. "There are always ways to contact them."

It's the tone of her voice that gets him—he's starting to put the pieces together. Julia knows more about things than she should, and alerting the anonymous authorities of the entities that had tried to kill them would also alert whoever they are about her.

"We don't have to," Hook tries. It's lame even as the words leave his mouth, but oh well.

"Someone will eventually find those things...right?" Jack says.

"Maybe." Julia sounds dubious.

Another stretch of quiet. Anna's breathing has evened out on the other side of the bed, and Hook's glad. Maybe she'll finally get some much-needed rest.

"We should probably just stick together," Darby says, very, very quietly. "Just in case."

Hook wonders how much that suggestion cost him.

"Yeah," Jack agrees.

It's the last any of them talk again before Hook's eyes flutter closed, and sleep claims him.

He wakes a few hours later, chest heaving and blood shrieking. Another nightmare, another sting of fear behind him in the woods. Another laugh from the doctor hellbent on tearing the darkness out of Hook's heart with his wires and tubes. Hook grabs for his hair just to feel something real, yanks at it until the pain laces across his skull. Then he waits as the panic recedes. Somehow, his violent reaction didn't wake any of the others. Anna is still asleep, her breathing deep and regular; on the chair, Julia has slumped over so her head pillows on Anna's arm, the cap pushed off her head and onto the floor.

Hook slinks out of bed and goes to fetch the spare blankets from the coat closet as quietly as he can. He puts one over Julia's shoulders. Darby and Jack are still at the foot of the bed, necks in the most uncomfortable position back onto the mattress possible, the sort of thing they'll regret tomorrow, but when Hook approaches with the last blanket, Jack blinks at him a bit.

Hook puts a finger to his mouth, and Jack nods. One of his hands has tangled with Darby's at some point; he doesn't remove it, just reaches out with his other for the other blanket.

Hook turns the television off, plunging the room black. Then he slides back into the bed.

He'll probably wake up in another hour or two, and just hopes he manages to avoid waking up the others a second time.

But as he settles into the pillow once more, a hand slides over his cheek. The touch is warm and solid—gentle.

"Sleep, Hook," comes the whisper against his temple, and Hook complies.

He has no more nightmares that night.

#OJKJAKSJFDKAJFJAKFJDKSJA i am so attached #tag so you don't lose this shit

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anonymous-user-a · 2 months

Text

The moment that Archer pressed the button to unblock their peers, Ariana's call got through. It only made sense; he'd been completely missing for at least a day after practically breaking out of the hospital while still in a pretty bad condition. To be blunt, Archer knew it should have expected this. Despite everything, they seemed to care for some unknown reason.

Archer answered the call, "Good afternoon, Ari-"

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?", Proton's voice barked from the other end; they must have all been together when making the call. "YOU FUCKING DISAPPEARED OUT OF NOWHERE- FROM THE FUCKING HOSPITAL! AND THEN BLOCKED US?!"

Seemingly uncaring of Proton's yelling, Archer let out a relieved sigh, "Arceus, you don't know how happy I am to hear your voice again, Proton..."

"WILL YOU TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY?!", Proton was clearly offended.

"I am taking it seriously."

"NO, YOU'RE FUCKING NOT, WE THOUGHT YOU WERE-", he was interrupted - likely by someone taking the device, judging from the noise.

"Archer?"

"... Hello, Ariana.", Archer sighed, trying to avoid empathising with their peers' worries, "Is everything alright?"

A scoff was audible from the other end, "You tell me. You're the one who went missing."

"... Everything is alright."

Proton's voice could be heard, clearly still enraged, "REALLY?! So just running off and doing whatever stupid, dangerous thing you've gotten yourself into now is just ALRIGHT to you?!"

Of course, Ariana had to add onto the mounting guilt Archer was feeling, "Whatever you did, you will tell us next time, got it? Or else we will be having the Champion keep a much closer eye on you. I'm not gonna give you a fucking lecture cause I'm not your mom, but you better have a damn good explanation for when Lance has a talk with you."

"... Where's Petrel?", trying to avoid the conversation, Archer asked.

"He thought you'd pulled a Giovanni. Drowned yourself or something. Went to look for your corpse.", Ariana's words hurt, sending sharp stings of guilt right into Archer's gut.

In an attempt to avoid wondering why Petrel would assume that Archer's disappearance indicated suicide, it asked the next question on their mind, "And Lance?"

"Turns out running a search party doesn't leave much time to wait for a call to go through. Who would've thought? Proton's telling him and Petrel to call off their searches."

"You don't know where I am. I will meet up with you, but there is no way you could know where I am."

"You're extremely predictable, Archer, y'know that? You're at a motel, licking your wounds before you go home, like you always do. It's obvious in your voice; you're exhausted and recoiling. You always go to a motel or an inn when you're like this because you can't muster the energy to go home."

The call settled into silence as Archer looked up at the florescent motel lights.

"It's always the same cycle. It's okay for a few months, you have a half-decent life, then you go and do something risky and stupid and you get yourself and others hurt. Am I incorrect?"

They closed its eyes to avoid being blinded, mumbling, "I tried to help someone."

"What?"

"I tried to help someone. I tried to do something actually good for once."

Proton laughed on the other end, "Lugia- He's probably still fucking delirious. Thinking whatever he did was good."

Somehow, the words hurt more coming from Proton at that moment. Mumbling, all that Archer could muster was, "I'm not crazy."

"I swear to Ho-Oh, what on Earth did he do this time? What's the body count? The injurie-"

"I'm not crazy, Proton!", Archer's words came out in a choked sob, "Do you not trust me? You can prove it by just getting Petrel to look at my Rotomblr! Or do you just think it's impossible that I could do something good?" She'd tried not to get emotional, but the feeling of being punished for actually trying to do good just stung too much.

Another silence fell over the call. Ariana spoke first.

"Archer, we car-"

"I did not ask if you cared about me. I asked if you trusted me."

Proton attempted to defend himself, "Look, man, it's just that you've done so much stupid shit that-"

"Well, that settles it.", Archer's voice had managed to level itself. He sounded more like the put-together Executive that would appear in meetings and while talking to Grunts now, "You believe that every action I take is more likely to be harmful than positive. There's no arguing with you if you won't trust me. Have a good evening."

Before they could respond, Archer hung up.

#off-screen interaction #[sorry guys this proton is kinda a dick to a. he loves the guy! but still kinda a dick]#[anyway. tfw you've done so much stupid shit that even the people who love you and who want you to improve as a person don't believe you #when you say you've done something good]

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balladofthewhitehorse · 1 year

Text

Portuguese Restoration War (1640-1668)

England’s hair tumbled around his face, framing sharp cheeks, as he slowly bent his knee, head bowed; Hands reaching out to gently take Portugal’s hand and lips gently kissing each ringed finger. Portugal knew that he was a proud man, that the crown of England’s head was rarely so low, so beneath another, yet England took his hand gently and smiled warmly at him. ‘’I will bring you Spain’s heart on a silver platter, I promise.’’ He murmured softly, a gentleness that Portugal knew that would not (and never was) granted to anyone but him, and him alone.

‘’Bring him back alive.’’ Portugal snorted, pulling his hand away - eyebrow arched as England slowly stood up (towering over him by a good couple of feet). ‘’I mean it, England. Promise me that?’’ He swallowed a lump in his throat, England’s expression unreadable (mystified even, as he scoped Portugal’s face for any indication that it was just a joke). ‘’England…’’

England bobbed his head reluctantly in agreement, brows furrowing as he looked down at his feet - like a boy scolded, squeezing Portugal’s hands affectionately. With a drawn out exhale, he smiled loftily, eyes gleaming. ‘’Of course. Thy will be done, Portugal.’’ England murmured softly, a hand grasping the hilt of his sword - coiling tighter and tighter, as his gaze tracked over Portugal’s face, a finger tracing the rough edges of a scar on his friend’s cheek, tender and soft. ‘’Can’t believe he did this to you.’’ England breathed out. ‘’I’ll make him pay.’’ ‘’Eng…’’ Portugal started, grasping his hand. ‘’I’m not made of glass.’’ England shrugged. ‘’I know that. You could knock me flat on my arse, but I still don’t like it.’’

‘’Pft.’’ He snorted amusedly, just as there was a soft knock on the door; House Braganza had agreed to England’s support, that their alliance might once more be renewed where it had been tested. ‘’Coming-’’ Portugal called back, eyes crinkling with affection as they turned back to face England. In spite of everything (he had wondered, after all these years, where his friend had been; Stories of civil war sweeping the sceptered isle had done little to blunt Portugal’s frustration, too tired was he of waiting for a response that slowly crept over the horizon), Portugal felt hope once more - after everything, it really was the only thing left.

‘’You’ll be there, won’t you?’’ Portugal hummed ponderously, running the pad of his thumb over England’s knuckles - scarred and roughed over, a network of myriad frustrations and fights. Portugal’s eyes flashed as he stared up at England, as if searching the man’s dark expression for something. ‘’I won’t wait if you won’t be there.’’ He breathed out softly. ‘’Netherland’s also offered his aid and I might have-’’ Portugal shook his head. ‘’I can’t wai-’’

The response was instant.

‘’You don’t need him.’’ England hissed out, squeezing Portugal’s hand as he shook his head. Anger coursed through him, red-hot as it poured through his veins like molten iron; He had no choice, what was Portugal talking about? ‘’I would’ve been by your side much sooner otherwise, you know that.’’ Alarm briefly swelled through him, England’s eyebrows raising as he pulled his hands back - heart thudding against his chest, rattling against the ramparts of its ribs, as if it might slip out and never be seen again. ‘’You do know that, do you? I’ll prove it to you, Port.’’ England promised, his voice trembling as he took a deep breath. ‘’Anything.’’

Portugal hummed ponderously, his hands feeling all-too terribly cold when England pulled away. England was earnest, but Portugal wondered if he was too short-sighted; It must be easy, being an island untouchable, but such a thought never made it onto his tongue. His friend looked so tired, so wearisome; And Portugal longed to ask him if he was okay, longed to undo the buttons of his shirt and see what damage had been done to his friend. ‘’Just,’’ He closed his eyes, head heavy as he rested his forehead on England’s chest. Portugal knew it was a fool’s errand, knew that alliances could shift - that loyalty could be bent, twisted and lost. ‘’Just stick around.’’ Portugal straightened himself, clearing his throat. ‘’Don’t leave.’’ Spain, France, Netherlands…England, himself, a frustrating series of alliances and promises that spun themselves like spider’s cobwebs across whatever future that Portugal strove for. It was the least that fortune could do to not take away one person. If it came to that…Portugal’s blood turned to ice and the man shook his head sternly, clearing his throat as he pulled away towards the door. ‘’Come on.’’ Portugal murmured stiffly, forcing himself not to look at England’s face, forcing himself not to lean into the hand that pressed against the small of his back - as much as he wanted to accept that affection so readily. ‘’We haven’t got all day.’’ ‘’Portugal, I-’’ The door clicked softly shut in his face, England grunting as he pushed his way through - hurrying after Portugal, trying not to look so desperate in-front of the court. It wouldn’t be right for them to see a representative of a country that had promised them their loyalty so ruffled. ‘’Portugal, I promise-’’ Such a word felt sour on his tongue, England’s heart racing as he thought of the day (and it would come, it would come) that he would not be able to uphold such a thing. ‘’I promise that should anything happen to you-’’ Portugal could protect himself, England told himself - and he prayed that his friend should only see lazy, summer days ahead of him. ‘’-I will personally sail to you, and destroy whoever should threaten you.’’

Portugal smiled, staring strangely at England. ‘’All you had to do was say you’d be there for me. Why are all of your solutions to my problems so violent?’’ He leaned back, crossing his arms as he smiled lazily (a crooked expression, like a cat lazily sunning itself). ‘’All the same, I’m glad to hear it. Would you write to me more often, hm?’’ Portugal hummed, arching an eyebrow. ‘’It doesn’t hurt to know that you’re still alive, and not rotting on the shores of Spain.’’

‘’Oi-’’ England’s cheeks went cerise, arms crossing over his broad-chest. ‘’The only one that will be rotting on the shores of anywhere will be Spain…and I’ll try, you know I’m not much of a writer.’’ His Adam's apple bobbed anxiously, England shaking his head as he squeezed Portugal’s hand affectionately. ‘’Did you ever hear about the time I sent Shakespeare a few play transcripts…?’’ He raised his chin as Portugal whirled around, eyes gleaming as he stared up at England, clearly eager to hear more. ‘’Long story short, he never replied. Couldn’t show my face at his theatres for months.’’ England sighed. ‘’I could’ve been a playwright, a poet, Portugal! But instead, I have to settle for making sure I’m not rotting on the shores of Spain, lest I worry my dear friend.’’ Portugal snorted softly. ‘’You can always practise your poetry with me, England.’’ He teased, arms crossed gracefully behind his back as England rolled his eyes. ‘’I’ll see you sometime soon hopefully?’’ Portugal sighed, frowning lightly. More than ever, Portugal wished that he could divine the future - that Apollo himself would have the mercy to grant him some insight. Alas, Portugal mused, he would just have to hope, as they parted ways. ‘’Goodbye, England!’’

‘’Goodbye, Portugal.’’ England called back, his voice softer as he smiled warmly at his friend (a storm brewed in his chest, too powerful, too difficult for England to put to words as it rattled his heart). He wasn’t sure what to do with this, but he sensed that it could be sharp, it could be dangerous - and so he would turn it against Portugal’s enemies, against his enemies. Whatever he wanted to say quivered on England’s tongue as Portugal and his court took their leave, and England’s nobles tugged on his sleeve, bidding him to do the same. And so that quivering thing vanished, England taking a deep breath as he left.

He’d do whatever it took to be by Portugal’s side again.

#hws england #hws portugal #porteng

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larrkspurr · 8 months

Text

A good day .

Caduceus centered drabble that's just cozy and sweet :'))

1009 words /// found family vibes (tmn all live in a house together okay) and some mentions of the clay family :')

Slowly, as not to anger his pained back, Caduceus pulled on his rainboots and shrugged on a coat. He takes a second, as he has a hand on the brassen doorknob, and notices the new carvings and paint on the door. Must be the work of Jester. He pushes the heavy door open, and it creaks. He pats the door gently as it closes. Me too. He thinks.

Their garden is quite big, and he’s grateful for it. He had spent a great deal of time in the garden since he first moved in. Weeding, digging, planting. The layout of it felt alot like home, with more planting areas and shrubbery than lawn space. He’d read somewhere (he couldn’t remember quite when, or where) that it was better that way too, for the animals and bugs.

The wind had died down a bit as he wandered through the garden, checking that everything was where it was supposed to be. He noticed a poor tomato plant, one of the younger ones he had planted recently, had been uprooted.

“Ah, that’s no good.” He hummed to himself, dropping to his knees and sinking his hands into the peat. The dirt is cold and wet in his hands, but in a way that he liked. It was soft in such a nice, natural way. This time as he digs, he made sure to make the hole deeper, and more stable so it wouldn’t happen again.

Caduceus walks through the garden and spots a couple of birds, nestled together in the crook of a tree branch. He didn’t see any others, perhaps they were hiding. He thinks about how hot it gets during summer, perhaps he should put a bird bath in for those times. But for now, as he does one more round of his garden, watching the trees sway in the wind and the rain drip off of the roof, he heads inside.

Jester is there to greet him, carrying an impossible amount of shopping bags. “Caduceus !” She chirps, her dress fluttering colorfully as she carries the groceries to the kitchen, “Are you busy? I’m about to make some pastries if you want to help!”

He smiles at her and hums, nodding his head a bit. “Wonderful! Oh, were you digging in the dirt?”

He cocks his head, a bit confused. How did she know? But then he looks down at his hands. Oh. They’re still covered in dirt and grime. “Uh, yeah. The poor tomato plant got unrooted a bit from the wind.”

“Oh, that’s no good - hopefully it stays put this time,” she offers a cheeky smile. “Just make sure to wash your hands before we start!”

He washed his hands as she unpacked the groceries onto the bench. a lot of paper bags. she also brought out a bag of apples - oh, perhaps they were making an apple pastry ? That would be nice. He liked apple pastries, especially if they had cinnamon in them. Yeah. he might ask if they can add cinnamon.

And so they bake. Well, Jester bakes and Caduceus helps. He holds the bowls when she asks, and helps measure out the flour. He skins the apples, with a blunt knife peeling towards him like mother always did. They’d eat apples, skinned and sliced, on summer afternoons. Him and his siblings would play in the pond until the sun fell, and biting bugs forced them inside. Late afternoons of iced tea and towels, wrapped tight around his shoulders. He thinks about home, and a sharp pang of hurt cuts into him.

He cuts the apples into tiny pieces, not slices, and watches as Jester works at the dough. Her muscles ripple under her skin like the ocean, with waves emerging from under the surface.

She folds the dough into little triangles, scooping some filling into them, before pressing the prongs of a fork around the edges to seal it. Huh, when did she make the filling? He looked down at the cutting board and the little apple pieces were gone. Hm, maybe when he was busy looking out the window, watching the way the trees danced in the wind.

They chatted then, about a couple things. Well, Jester chatted and Caduceus listened. He liked that about her, that she let him not speak, and didn’t judge him for it.

She spoke about lots of different things, about a new nail polish she got (he hated the smell of it but it always looked so pretty on her) and about a date that fjord took her on to the botanical gardens (he’s been meaning to visit, but never got around to it, the nearby park was so much closer for his aching bones). And then she started talking about movies - sometimes the way she jumped from one topic to the next was dizzying, but he liked the way her eyes lit up when she got excited about things.

It was at the moment that Jester and Cad were plucking their second pastries from the cooling rack when Caleb and Veth walked into the kitchen.

“Oooh, whatcha makin?” Veth asked, taking her bag and hanging over the back of one of the chipped, dining room chairs.

“Just made some pastries! You’re welcome to have some.” Jester offered a smile, one returned by both Veth and Caleb. As they both grabbed a pastry, and took a bite, they were met with appreciative hums. It was then Caleb spoke. His voice was low and soft as always, and Cad was too busy appreciating the way that his accent curled around constants and vowels to realize that he was being asked a question.

Caduceus blinked. “Oh, sorry - what was that?”

“We were going to watch a, uh, film. Did you want to watch it with us?” Caleb repeated, not unkindly.

“Oh, yeah… that sounds nice,” he hummed, “But maybe one that isn’t too scary.” He had made the mistake of watching a horror film once with the group - and hadn’t slept well for weeks.

Jester took him by the hand and led him into the lounge room. He could hear the rain outside, and decided to sit back in his place next to the window. A blanket was draped comfortably on his lap. The movie was turned on - one that was nice and not too scary. He could see the droplets race down the glass of the window outside, like tears rolling down his cheeks - but with his friends by his side, he felt safe.

It was a good day.

#cr caduceus #caduceus clay #the mighty nein #critical role #cr2 #critical role fic #critical role fanfiction #also sorry if this is a bit janky #its some hella old stuff that i found the other day #i cut the intro bit out since it was boring but hopefully it still reads okay :'))#still always thinkin abt cad

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ash-and-books · 2 years

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Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb: "Beautifully vicious. Perfect for the fairytale reader who has always wanted the heroine to grow sharp teeth and bite Prince Charming."—Chloe Gong, #1 New York Times bestselling author of These Violent Delights A darkly enchanting fantasy debut about a morally gray witch, a cursed prince, and a prophecy that ignites their fate-twisted destinies—perfect for fans of The Cruel Prince and Serpent & Dove. Violet is a prophet and a liar, influencing the royal court with her cleverly phrased—and not always true—divinations. Honesty is for suckers, like the oh-so-not charming Prince Cyrus, who plans to strip Violet of her official role once he’s crowned at the end of the summer—unless Violet does something about it. But when the king asks her to falsely prophesy Cyrus's love story for an upcoming ball, Violet awakens a dreaded curse, one that will end in either damnation or salvation for the kingdom—all depending on the prince’s choice of future bride. Violet faces her own choice: Seize an opportunity to gain control of her own destiny, no matter the cost, or give in to the ill-fated attraction that’s growing between her and Cyrus. Violet’s wits may protect her in the cutthroat court, but they can't change her fate. And as the boundary between hatred and love grows ever thinner with the prince, Violet must untangle a wicked web of deceit in order to save herself and the kingdom—or doom them all.

Review:

A morally grey Seer, a cursed prince, and a prophecy that could spell their ruin, Violet is a seer and a liar, she’s survived for as long as she has by playing the game of court. She please people with lies and little half truths, but the one person who has always gotten under her skin is the one boy she saved when she was younger, Prince Cyrus. Violet is as thorny as they come, she’s a survivor, she’s willing to do anything to save herself, but for some reason when it comes to him she can’t seem to think straight. Her relationship with Cyrus is fraught and difficult and she knows that he wants nothing more than to strip her of her official role once he is crowned at the end of the summer. Yet when the king ask her to falsely prophesize Cyrus’s love story for an upcoming ball what Violent ends up with is awakening a dreaded curse... that spells either damnation or salvation for the kingdom, all depending on the prince’s choice of future bride. Yet another issue arises... she is given another vision from the fates... either she or Cyrus will be the only one left alive at the end of the summer. Violet must now navigate trying to find a wife for Cyrus while also securing her position, except the complicated feelings between the two of them start to rise. They hate each other with such a burning passion... one could almost say they’re both in love with each other, but they can’t trust one another but the attraction and lust is still there. Between complicated feelings, trying to avoid fates and prohpecies and making it out of court alive while a darker plot is running, can Violet and Cyrus sort out their complicated relationship or will one of them truly die this summer. Okay this was such a fun dark fairytale with hints of other fairytale retellings in it! I actually really liked Violet, she’s manipulative, she’s blunt and sharp, but she’s willing to do whatever it takes to survive and honestly, same girl. Cyrus on the other hand, one moment I want to throttle him and the next I’m falling for him, I completely get where Violet is with him. I am so intrigued about where the story is going to go next and how their relationship will play out. SERIOUSLY GIMME THE NEXT BOOK!!

*Thanks Netgalley and Random House Children's, Delacorte Press for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #bookish #book #violet made of thorns #ya book #ya fantasy romance

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wicked-elfie · 2 years

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I posted this fic yesterday, but I was very proud of this one excerpt in it, so I wanted to share it separately. The fic was about Raph and Mikey watching the most recent owl house episode, but you don't need that context to read this part. Don't read if you plan on watching the owl house episode tho lmao.

Basically, Raph was sent into a panic when a scene in the show hit a little too close to home with his trauma of being Krangified.

The blunt hits and sharp jabs from the screen blare throughout the room, sending Raphael’s quaking body into panic as he nearly crushes his younger brother in a counter-productive attempt to protect him. The screen suddenly cuts off and Splinter attempts to remove the larger of his sons from atop of the youngest. “Son… Raphael, it’s okay… It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re home.”

The snapper throws his arm back uncoordinatedly, fearfully. “YOU WON’T TAKE HIM!” Splinter dodges the hit, but stumbles backwards before collapsing to the carpet. The wind knocks out of his lungs and he clutches his chest, locking eyes with his son. The young man doesn’t make another move to attack. Instead, he stares at his father, eyes red with irritation and face coated in tears. His spiked shoulders rise and fall in rhythm with exasperated breaths. The creases in his face seem to turn upward as recognition floods his vision, his pupils softening as he realizes where he is. He sniffles and wipes his nose, reminding Splinter of the way he always had come down from his childhood panic attacks. He knew his son had worked very hard towards finding safe ways to relieve panic, but sometimes it was unavoidable, especially given the events of the last few years. Mikey fumbles for his phone as Raphael’s grip against his arm loosens. The eldest’s voice cracks, “D-dad?”

Splinter shoots his child a gentle, forgiving smile, “It’s okay, Raphael…”

The eighteen-year-old pulls his hand away from his younger brother, first noticing his hurried typing into his phone, then gasping when he sees the bruising up his bicep. “Mikey?! Mikey, I-”

The boy sets the phone down onto the couch. “Hey… Hey, I’m alright…” The tears prickling at the corners of his eyes suggested otherwise. Raphael pulled himself backwards, like he was running away from something, till his shell slammed against the living room shelf, knocking a couple small knick-knacks onto the floor. He flinched away from the old toys and heirlooms, shooting glances between the youngest and their father.

“I- I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! I-”

A blue flash came from the hallway, followed by hurried footsteps. Two familiar faces appeared in the doorway, and Raphael wanted to curl into himself and disappear.

“I thought I was- I was trying to- I didn’t know I was hurting you, I wanted to protect you, I just thought- It felt like-”

He stares down to his trembling hands and tries, unsuccessfully, to organize his thoughts and steady his heart. His peripherals feel as though they’re airbrushed with black as he tries to focus onto his fingers, counting the scales and shoving down the thought of pink slime coating them.

“I just- I just- I-”

“I’m gonna touch your shoulder, okay?” He isn’t sure whose voice it is, but he nods slightly, hesitantly.

He feels gentle fingers with scattered, smoothly stretched patches between the boys’ normally rough skin texture. Scars. Mikey’s scars. From when he opened the portal to save Leo. His hands are always gentle, but unrelenting; Befitting of their person.

Another two join the first. Both are a little larger, a little smoother, but one of them is heavier. The heavier one to his left, lined with calluses across the upper side of his palm is Leonardo. Leo fights with swords, lending him rough skin to protect the inside of his hand from the grip on his blades. His hold is steady and grounding: persistent and honest.

The lighter touch, with calluses and smaller cuts and burns scraping from their fingertips as well as their palms, must be Donatello. The markings are earned from hour after hour of a busy mind creating new ways to defend and assist their family. The grip is feather-light, hesitant to disturb, but never leaving; almost like a gentle brush of wind. Donnie’s love always appeared in subtle ways.

Raphael’s lip quivers at the sensation as he continues to stare sadly at his own, roughed-up hands. His were large, completely coated with cuts and calluses, even across the backs. He couldn’t make out what his own represented.

I’m… I’m violent. I’m dangerous.

His thoughts are dismantled as two, very small, very wrinkled hands lift his chin. His dad is there, still smiling at him. “We’re here, son. You’re safe and you are home.”

Donatello’s voice pokes through, snarkily, “I mean; You cut into our vacation time, but- Ow!” He feels both Leo and Donnie’s hands budge, and chuckles as he listens to Leonardo scoffing quietly at his brother.

“Seriously, Dee?”

Donnie’s hand pulls away. “I was going to say that we would always come back when he needs us! It was going to be a more than adequate way to provide comfort, but then you ruined it!”

Leo pulls away as well. “Well why’d you word it like that, you big-”

Raphael actually laughs, his eyes scrunching as Mikey’s fingers lift from his arm. “Guys stop arguing! This is about Raph! You know, you two are so-”

The snapper leans his head against the shelf and continues to look toward his father while the three younger brothers argue from behind. They share an unspoken thought and Splinter wraps his thin arms around the eldest son’s shoulders. He whispers to his dad. “I’m sorry…”

Splinter shakes his head, “You don’t need to be… We understand.”

After a moment, letting the relief of his dad’s words wash over him, Raphael stands, breaking apart the bickering. “I want to watch the rest.”

Mikey sputters while the other two boys raise an eyebrow, unsure of what the tallest of them is referring to. “Raph, it’s okay, we really don’t have to. I mean, I wasn’t even paying attention. I thought they might go that route, and I should’ve-” The box turtle wrung his hands nervously.

“No…” The eldest moves over to the couch and sits dead in the middle. He nods his chin to the screen, “I… I want to see how it ends. For me.”

#rottmnt #rotmnt #leonardo #leo #michelangelo #mikey #donatello #donnie #raph #raphael #rottmnt movie #toh #toh spoilers

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creativia10 · 1 year

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Titan Dream Talk

Request: Eda Meets the Titan

Warnings: mentions of The Titan's death

Let me know if I'm missing any

Pairings: platonic Eda and The Titan, Eda/Raine

Worcount: 1099

Notes: Requested by @MegaZRex123 on AO3

This is one of my first times writing Eda's perspective. Aside from the fic where all of Hunter's parental figures discuss who he should stay with. I hope I do her character justice. This was a short one, but I had a feeling it might be.

It should come as no surprise that everyone was exhausted after the final battle with Belos. Eda set Raine up in a nest she had made. Because goodness did they need it after what they went through. Of course, Eda gave her own share of reunion hugs, but it didn’t take long before she just cuddled up with Raine in the nest. Maybe it was just the relief of finally seeing everyone she cared about safe and sound. After spending so long worrying about everyone. Her weariness finally hit her. Eda rested her head against Raine’s shoulder from where she was in their lap and quickly drifted off.

Now Eda was used to having weird dreams. Since she dealt with the curse and her own battles of having the owl beast within her. But they hadn’t felt vivid or lucid like the one she had before unlocking harpy Eda.

Eda walks along some sort of liquid like she was on top of it. Which was weird not to sink into. There was an orange glow to it like it was reflecting off of something in the environment though.

Eda walked forward to see someone with a resemblance to someone she knew. The tall creature smiled at her with sharp teeth, yet felt more friendly than scary. Maybe it was the body language and posture. It could also be the honestly almost ridiculous-looking clothes he was wearing.

“Oh, my Titan…” Eda said.

The other laughed and gestured to himself.

“In the flesh. Or, well, I guess spirit is more accurate here. Hello, Eda the Owl Lady. It is an honor to finally meet you.”

Eda blinked at him, a bit confused.

Yet, of course, the first thing out of her mouth was,

“You’re wearing one of my shirts.”

He was wearing one of her purple ‘Bad Girl coven’ shirts. She didn’t even have very many, to begin with.

He looked down at the shirt and laughed a big hearty laugh.

“That I am. I hope that’s alright. I wanted to be a part of such a cool group.”

She laughed a little hysterically.

“Of course, the more the merrier.”

He nods.

“Why am I seeing you?” Eda finally asks. “I mean, this can’t be real…right? This must be a dream.”

The titan hmmed.

“This is a dream, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Eda huffs at that. She supposed she couldn’t exactly argue that. She had her own experiences with earth-shattering dreams. She went with the blunt question, that should be obvious.

“Aren’t you dead? I mean it sure seemed like it when Belos was wrecking the island.”

The titan sighed.

“I’ve been in between death for a while now. But yes, I suppose I am closer now. I can’t promise to understand how I am able to do this either, I don’t know how everything works after all. But I am glad I am able to see you though, even if it may be just this once.”

Eda blinks.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that.”

The titan huffs with a smile.

“I’m surprised it’s not obvious by now. Because you took care of my son, King, when I couldn’t be there for him. I’ve always been grateful for that.”

Eda was slightly taken aback. She supposed that made sense.

“Oh,” She said, a slight obstruction in her throat now. She took a deep breath.

“It’s, I mean, well you know…-“

“You don’t have to try and brush it off as not a big deal, Eda,” The Titan said. Honestly, reading her way more than she would have liked.

“I care deeply for my son, of course. Thank you so much for being there for him. I couldn’t have picked a better person to take care of him.”

Okay, she wasn’t going to be able to hold it anymore. Eda’s eyes got warm, and she sniffed as she blinked her misty eyes.

“Gosh I love that adorable dork,” She admitted.

The titan laughed and, to her surprise, put an arm around her.

“I know. He’s great. And you’ve been wonderful for him.”

She shook her head and found herself sitting down abruptly.

“I’ve never known if I was enough for him. Not after lying to him about what I knew of where he came from, or learning that he was a heckin’ titan like you.”

She looked over at him again.

“I haven’t known what I’m doing. How am I supposed to continue to raise the next titan!? He should have been able to be raised by you.”

The Titan sighed and sat down beside her.

“Of course, I would have preferred to look after him myself if I could. But I am still so thankful that you are the one who found him. I may not be able to be there to show him all he needs to know, especially now that I’m not even in the in-between anymore. But he’s got a lot of people who care about him, like you. And some very smart family and friends who can figure out what he needs to. Like how Luz was able to find the runes I showed her.

“He'll be able to come into his own just fine, even if not the way I would initially have wanted. Just keep doing what you’re doing Eda. You’ll all be okay.”

Eda sniffed and nodded.

“Okay. Loathe as I am to admit it, that means a lot coming from you.”

The Titan nodded.

“I know. That’s why I wanted to speak to you in this way. King is in good hands. Remember that.”

As he said that, the dream started to fade.

Eda woke up with a gasp, jolting Raine a bit. She winced as they groaned a bit.

“Sorry, Rainstorm,” She said quietly.

They shook their head and nuzzled into her.

“Everything okay?” Raine asked.

She sighed and looked over. She saw King talking with the collector about something and smiled.

“Yeah, I think so. I just got reassurance in a dream that I’ve been doing well with King.’

Raine looked at her in confusion.

“In a dream? Was this from the Titan who just passed?”

Raine was good at keeping up with the things their family learned during.

Raine hmmed.

“Well, I can’t say I completely understand how that happened, but it seems like it’s good.”

Eda nodded against them. “Yeah, it is.”

Eda already felt like she was close to sleep again. But she felt more content about it this time rather than just hit with exhaustion. Somehow, she was willing to believe things could be okay.

#toh fanfic #toh #toh spoilers #toh eda #toh the titan #Creativia toh fics #Creativia requested fics

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thic-cryptid · 1 year

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Homebound 145

CW: knotting, Somnophilia

“Izzy.”

His face was still the Jack that Izzy loved though his irises were glowing crimson. He was more muscular, taller, and covered in fur.

“Need you,” Jack panted, his dick flushed purple between his legs. Izzy licked his lips, unable to resist how hot his werewolf boyfriend was when he was in heat.

He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt only for Jack to rip it and his pants off, leaving Izzy exposed to the night air. Izzy didn’t feel the cold but he knew it must have been chilly by the smoky puffs coming from Jack’s breath. He also knew that Jack had to be hot. He was panting and shivering, feverish from his heat. If he could sweat as a werewolf, Izzy just knew it would be steaming off of him.

Jack could barely prep him, he was too far gone. He thrust between Izzy’s legs, rubbing Izzy’s dick until he was dripping. That was the best Jack could do in this state and all too soon, the blunt head of his dick was pushing into Izzy.

Jack howled as he fucked Izzy on his impossibly thick cock and Izzy grew even wetter when he saw how sharp Jack’s canines had become.

“Izzy,” he panted again, his knot beginning to swell and drag with each thrust.

“Fuck,” Izzy gasped as heat suddenly enveloped his cock. Where had that-

Izzy jolted upright in bed.

Jack froze, his eyes shining up at Izzy with the faint light coming in through the window. “Still okay?” He asked, easing his finger out of Izzy.

Izzy let himself fall back into bed, “Yeah.”

“Seemed like you were having a good dream,” Jack smirked, finger sliding easily right back in. “You were making such sweet noises for me.”

“I was dreaming about you,” Izzy admitted, his toes curling as Jack’s mouth enveloped him once again. He whined as Jack’s tongue flicked back and forth over his dick.

Izzy fisted Jack’s hair as his cheeks harrowed out, sucking so hard it was almost painful. He eased back, focusing on purging two fingers as deep as they could go inside Izzy.

“Fu-fuck me,” Izzy keened, rolling his hips to match Jack’s rhythm.

Jack lifted up with a smirk, “Why should I? After you kept me from even masturbating for a week.”

“Because you know that the cage is going right back on tomorrow and you will have missed your chance.” Izzy challenged, feeling a little thrill at the control he had over Jack. “Come on, babe. Don’t you want to?”

He pouted, though he’d never admit that’s what it was, as Jack’s fingers pulled out. He felt so empty and it had been so, so long since he’d been fucked properly. All of the toys in the world couldn’t compare to how full and satisfied he’d been with all three of his men.

“Fuck, you’re so smart,” Jack murmured as he crawled up Izzy’s body. Before he could even think of a response, Jack was pressing his fingers to Izzy’s mouth.

He moaned as he tasted himself, enjoying being forced to clean Jack’s fingers while the other man lined himself up and rutted against his dick.

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good and I’m not even inside you yet.”

Izzy sucked his fingers, making Jack’s hips rut a little faster. When he pulled them out, it was to line himself up.

“Fucking finally,” he muttered cheekily, only to whine when Jack did at last push inside him.

Jack closed his eyes above Izzy, taking a moment to breathe. “God. It’s been so long.”

“It’s been a week and a half.” Izzy muttered weakly, unable to resist bucking his hips back and forth in an attempt to get a little more friction.

“Iz,” Jack warned, squeezing his eyes tight as he held Izzy down. “I’ve been so pent up, please don’t-“

Izzy clenched around him, making Jack choke on his words.

“F-fuck, babe-“ He cursed, pulling out so that he could thrust back into Izzy hard. “You’re such a brat.”

“Fuck off.” Izzy gritted out, holding back a moan. It felt like he was surrounded by Jack, wrapped up in his warmth and the faint scent of his shampoo.

Izzy loved him so much. He loved Jack and Ed and Stede, and soon they’d be all together again. This time, Izzy wasn’t sure he’d be able to let any of them go again.

Page 145

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#homeboundsmau #ofmd smau

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cheats-for-phasmophobia-w1 · 2 years

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Phasmophobia Cheats PC & Trainer ᐅ 13 Cheat Codes | PLITCH

💾 ►►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥 Hints and Tips for: Phasmophobia. This is the steps that I run on either asylum or highschool for the best experience or a way of finding the ghost the quickest way possible. Ask to go back if ghost is alone. Why are you here? Do you want to hurt us? Are you angry? Do you want us here? Shall we leave? Should we leave? Do you want us to leave? What should we do? Can we help? Are you friendly? What are you? Are you close? Can you show yourself? Who is this? Who are we talking to? Who am I talking to? What is your name? Can you give me your name? How old are you? How young are you? What is your age? When were you born? Are you a child? Are you old? Are you young? What is your location? What is your gender? Are you male or female? Are you a woman? You will need to find a weapon around the location you are in. A blunt or sharp object will be okay to use. You can also bring your own weapon. Find where the ghost is at. It is important to have a weapon first so the ghost does not ambush you while you are not prepared. Ask the ghost to reveal them self or show a sign. Most ghost never think that you will attack them. Use this to your advantage. Once the ghost is out you must attack quickly using all your strength. If done correctly you should have gotten a few hits in. The ghost will either be dead or almost dead. If the ghost is weak they wont be able to hide anymore. This is when you can execute the ghost. After the ghost is dead you must leave ASAP. You never know if there are reinforcements coming. The last thing you want is multiple ghost haunting you. Fingerprints can be revealed by using a UV flashlight or a glowstick. Depending on the surface area of the object being interacted with, either a fingerprint or a handprint will be visible. Both are counted as evidence of Fingerprints. Each object can only have one fingerprint at a time regardless of how many times the ghost interacts with it. However, ghosts can interact with more than one object to give multiple fingerprints. Each imprint of a fingerprint will disappear after 2 minutes. Each fingerprint, including repeat fingerprints on the same surface, can each be taken a picture of to obtain photo rewards. As of 0. An Obake has an approximately Each fingerprint may also disappear quicker than the standard 2 minutes. For each type of door or surface that a fingerprint is possible, the fingerprint will always appear in the same spot. In addition, most doors of the same model will always have the fingerprints on only the push or pull side, but not both. This may allow for fingerprints to be discovered accidentally with an errant photograph. When evidence of fingerprints is suspected but can not be easily seen e. Find a music box, it is considered a hunted object. They are often found on shelves or cabinets. Use the music box by right-clicking on it. Dan starts playing. Walk through the house. Using the music box consumes a lot of sanity. And it may be that he Hunted. Tarot Cards Guide Cursed Collection : Written by JustCtrl This guide is about the tarot cards and other stuff about it. Although there are also 10 types of cards that players can draw, every card pulled from the deck will be random. This means that a deck of Tarot Cards is unlikely to possess one of each, so it will likely require several games for players to see all possible effects. This cursed possession is by far the riskiest, as the effects of a drawn card will be impossible to predict a nd might end up causing a Phasmophobia ghost hunting phase, or worse. As players head inside, they should look on top of the dresser to the right for a Tarot Deck. Tips How to Investigate Ghost Effectively: Written by Raft This guide will briefly share one way for detectives to investigate ghosts in houses safely. Good hunting! At the start of the game, hold a normal flashlight, a lit candle and a lighter. Enter the house and turn on the breaker. Turn on the lights at frequently used paths e. Edgestreet ground floor hallway. Drop the flashlight to point the path towards the main door exit. Get more flashlights and lit candle. Enter the house and look for hiding spots. Drop flashlights to point towards your hiding spots. These will help you when you need to turn off your flashlight during a hunt, and the breaker is off. Place your lit candles on the floor in the ghost room if found or frequently used hallways. Place them on the floor instead of tables. You can still check for ghost orbs if the candles are on the floor. It would be too bright if they are on the tables. Repeat step 6 and 7 with all the normal flashlights. Place crucifixes in the path between the ghost room and your hiding spots. A lot of ghosts spawn outside their ghost room. If the crucifix is outside the room, the ghost can spawn inside the room, and you can run to your hiding spot even if it hunts. As you conduct your investigation leave your tools in the room for easy re-access , keep the ghost room well lit by relighting your candles. These lit candles would not affect spirit box or ghost orb results while keeping your sanity high. Your presence in the ghost room provokes the ghost to be active. So, the ghost is unlikely to hunt before you finish gathering your evidence. That said, you might need to eat sanity pills if the ghost appeared to you frequently. Place a smudge stick in your hiding spot. Hold a flashlight, a smudge stick and a lighter. Standby in a corner where the ghost is unlikely to spawn. Trigger the ghost to hunt e. When the ghost hunts, wait till the ghost sees you. When it is at about 3 arms distance, get your teammate to snap a photo, then burn the smudge stick and run to your hiding spot. Pick up the smudge stick in your hiding spot as a back up. Submit your codes! Having Codes, cheat, hints, tips, trainer or tricks we dont have yet? Help out other players on the PC by adding a cheat or secret that you know! Submit them through our form. Covering more than CheatBook-DataBase Cheatbook on: Twitter Facebook.

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