"You look lovely." Kudzu purrs, adjusting Roberta's scarf, uncaring of the warmth that's ripped away from him with every brush against her. Against Death.
Roberta sighs softly, not meeting his eyes as she chews on her lip nervously. "It's hardly a change from my normal outfit."
"I know." Kudzu leans closer. "And I think you look lovely in that too."
Her face flushes a lovely shade of red, and Kudzu prides himself on hearing Morella giggle from the other room.
"clean this up, won't you?" + fyostein (doa fyosteinnikonathan au but that's not rlly relevant)
The carpet is a mess, and Fyodor almost thinks a dog would be neater.
Steinbeck sits calmly on Fyodor's chair, looking at xem while grinning easily.
Fyodor smiles curtly. "Clean this up, won't you?"
"Hmm." Steinbeck leans back a little. The bell collar makes a soft chime. "Prolly should do that, yeah."
He makes no move to. Fyodor considers strangling him.
"it's... you?" + fyolaine
Verlaine does not get many visitors.
Least of all after the end of the world. (Though for them it ended much earlier.)
So they really do have a right to be surprised, when the footsteps down the hall, which are each taken with the confidence of a carnivore dragging a corpse, stop in front of them.
They stare at a demon.
"It's.. you?"
And they know xe brought hell with xem.
"what are you doing here." + fukumori wrong fuku
"What," Mori starts, already irritated, "Are you doing here."
Fukuchi chuckles, and his words all come out slurred. "Jus' a tiny visit."
"Are you drunk?" Mori scoffs, but can't exactly deter someone of his build from coming in. He watches him clutch a table to stay standing.
"Only a lil."
Mori crosses his arms. "So you came here."
"You couldn't kill me if ya tried." Fukuchi shrugs sloppily.
"I would like to." Mori responds, voice curt.
Fukuchi just laughs, and proceeds to turn and throw up on Mori's floor.
"i can't believe you!" + god's worst yuricule
It's somewhere inbetween all the familiar caresses and Morella's unchanging grins that are just a little too sharp that the words bubble up out of Algernon's throat.
"I can't believe you!"
Morella blinks, staring as if she's been hit across the face. But oh, Algernon would never strike her. Could never lift their hand to even try.
And staring at her now, like this, it seems words are enough anyway.
"I thought you were dead, Morella!" They continue, hugging themself. "Helen and I made you a grave!"
Morella's gaze hurts as much as a blade. Algernon, who is too used to pain, does not stop.
"We said eulogies! And-"
They choke on something, maybe it's a sob, maybe it's not.
"Can't you understand how this hurts? For you to act like nothing has changed, when I look at you and it feels like everything is different?"
Morella looks like she's choking on something too.
"Algy-"
"Please. I don't want you to leave again, but... you returning..." They shake their head. "It doesn't erase any grief."
"i don't know what i am" + teruko & tachihara
Joining the Hunting Dogs is not something you can ever go back on.
Once you're a hound, once they sharpen your fangs and your claws and clip you, it is not to be changed.
So why did Tachihara hope it could be? Teruko's terrified to look for him, but now she's here, and some documents were signed and she's about to have her last surgery, and she doesn't know what that means.
If they're lying or not. If she will be leaving that horrid white room still breathing.
"I don't know what I am." She whispers, curling up as much as she can, going as small as she can manage without needing to be coddled.
She knows Tachihara couldn't tell her, really.
But-
He could have made her feel less alone, at least. She might be leaderless, now, but she could have had a pack. That'd be better then this.
"where did you go?" teruko & fukuchi
The thing is that, reasonably, Teruko should know better then to think Fukuchi is coming back.
He's not. Everyone else can accept that.
But there is some twisted, terrible hope in her chest that rests like a disease, a mold killing her from inside, that makes Teruko want to believe.
It's killing her.
She goes to an empty office, and all she can think is where did you go and not oh, this is mine now.
It is. She doesn't want it.
She doesn't want it she wants her captain back and she wants to be held and she can't possibly wrap her head around why he ever picked her as the vice captain.
She's not cut out for this.
(And she wonders if it would hurt any less if she were.)
If Fyodor wants to discard him like a dull knife—like he was a single-use tool that served its purpose, like he never mattered at all—Steinbeck will force him to reckon with his mistake. He will make himself inescapable.
He will prove that he is the only one who has ever loved Fyodor properly.
on steinbeck, blood, and love through subsumption
🩸 fyostein || 1.8k words || rated m, mind the tags
🫀 written for @nuclearfaggot (happy birthday <3)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
There are many animals that mimic, whether to hunt or to hide. Steinbeck is the latter, of course. His hair is bright like the sun, and his eyes a pleasant blue, and he's always had a cheery air.
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on margays, steinbeck, and a demon
oneshot, 609 words, first posted here, doa fyostein, for @slasher-killer
