#pre slash or whatever

[adhd-winterfalcon]

how the scene should’ve gone

derek: i will rip your throat out. with my teeth.

stiles: …that’s kinda hot, dude.

derek: *confused silence*

stiles: anyway. to deaton’s i guess.

(stiles literally does not care that he said that bc derek is hot that’s just a fact of life. and derek is sitting there like ‘what just happened’)

alternatively

derek: i will rip your throat out. with my teeth.

stiles: woah, kinky.

derek: *glares*

stiles: okay, okay, jeez. you have no sense of humor, dude.

derek: maybe you’re just not funny.

stiles:

[lasshoe]

this just put the fear of god in me bc i deadass thought this was a still of rebecca welton

[ind1c0lite]

working late at night (at least that's what they're telling themselves)

[zakalwe-the-ninth]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Discworld - Terry Pratchett Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Havelock Vetinari & Samuel Vimes Characters: Havelock Vetinari, Samuel Vimes Additional Tags: Hogswatch (Discworld), No Drama, Everyone lives, Just a nice little holiday ficlet, Friendship, Or pre-slash if you're that way inclined, Basically just whatever the hell these two have going on, Set post-Night Watch, Kind of a missing scene but not for any specific book

Summary:

Vimes and Vetinari exchange gifts at Hogswatch.

A huge thank you to everyone who has read, liked or commented on any of my fics this year...you have brought me so many smiles and it has been an absolute pleasure to write for you 💜 Happy Hogswatch to all who celebrate! 🎄

[spilling-blood]

Speaking of trying to rework things without OCs and self inserts. What if I reworked my poly self insert modern mafia AU so someone could end up in a misunderstanding and get stabbed by a Nikolai who decides stabbing first and asking questions later is the *the move*.

[v-writes]

Captured King Snippet

DPXDC inspired by this post by @mokulule

It's probably going to be one long one shot when it goes up on ao3, but here's a little less than 1k of the beginning (by snippet I do mean most of what I have written so far lol)

Pt 2 Pt 3 ao3

Phantom had been quiet since he was apprehended.

Silent in a way that someone who needed to breathe, someone with a beating heart, could never be, and Batman could tell it had Superman on edge as he stared through the one way glass into the interrogation room. But then the uncanniness of the young man they had captured was probably a minor stressor compared to the concern of what would happen if Phantom got loose, his arrest had been brutal. Clark shouldn't even be in the observation room, any fight that left him as battered as he was should land him in the Fortress of Solitude's medical facilities, but getting that through to him when Phantom was still present was a losing battle.

So many of the League's heavy hitters, including dipping into Justice League Dark for magical support, and Phantom had danced around them.

The only reason they had been victorious in the end was because-

~~~

After several failed attempts at capture based on power match ups leaving the league member unable to land a meaningful hit, or arriving too late to stop or catch him, an ambush had finally been successful.

The ambush location had been set up for them, pending inspection by their team, based on Phantom's history and pattern of attack.

A pattern that was too aggressive, to recent for Bruce to have time to investigate to his satisfaction before action was needed.

The research facility had been pre-cleared of civilians and intel, the latter of which irked Batman. Every instance of a League member beating Phantom to a facility location ended with Phantom fleeing, if only to return later. So why would the GIW need to clear their servers to the degree they did.

Each member of the ambush team chosen with the utmost care, carefully strategized, every outcome accounted for, and in the end-

The why was unknown, but Phantom couldn't use his intangibility on Captain Marvel, leading to Marvel turning the fight into a one on one grapple despite the close quarters limiting how much help the rest of the team could be.

Phantom had barely made a sound most of the fight, ignoring the team's attempts at communication, he'd barely hissed at the brutal slash Wonder Woman had landed, barely a grunt at Superman's blows, dancing around Green Lantern's constructs, a motley of growing bruises on his skin and seeping wounds. And Phantom had reciprocated in kind, Diana had come out of the fight bruised, but largely unscathed, but Green Lantern was only 'standing' due to his ring and will, and whatever Phantom had done to Superman's ribs wasn't healing without attention, at least Clark Kent calling in sick to the Daily Planet would help his cover.

But Phantom screamed when Captain Marvel called down lightning on him. Broken, and bone chilling even through the comms, the volume deafening. And Marvel had read the seizing muscles followed by going completely limp, the uneven and new breathing, the tears, the presence of any reaction at all as landing a disabling blow.

Phantom took advantage of the lowered guard, but then at their proximity, it probably wouldn't have mattered lowered guard or not. And Phantom reciprocated in kind.

Phantom's eyes shot open, glowing bright in the night sky, energy arcing off of him as he sent Captain Marvel's lightning back through him.

Captain Marvel's cry cuts off sooner than Phantom's had, quickly replaced by Billy's, having been so close to him when he transformed, Phantom catches him quickly, instinctively, as he begins to fall. Cyborg's drones catch Phantom's expression as he processes what just happened clearly, eyes widening, mouth opening slightly, shock shifting to horror as he stares crestfallen at the boy in his arms.

"We're too high up." The first words anyone on the Justice League had heard him say, despite the GIW claiming he had a reputation for chatting nonsense incessantly. "The atmosphere it's, the air is too thin, too cold, he-"

"Phantom." Superman's tone is unyielding, firm, Phantom's eyes dart to him, "hand him over."

Phantom stares at Superman for a long uncomprehending moment before startling into action, "right, of course," drifting closer to Superman he carefully places a stirring Billy in his arms, as soon as Phantom lets go Green Lantern wraps Billy in a force field.

Billy takes a deep breath, eyes shooting open, twisting in Superman's arms his eyes snap past Phantom, but the warning his glance gives the ghost isn't enough.

Cruel, was not a word that could ever apply to Diana. Ruthless however, was an apt description, her lasso wrapping around Phantom's throat, he didn't need to breathe, but it would prevent his sonic attack, and provided her leverage to swing him around like a dog with a chew toy, diving towards the Earth she slams him into the ground, creating a crater at his impact, and holding him still long enough for Zatanna to swoop in from where she lay in wait to contain him.

~~~

Because something wasn't adding up.

The petition for help from the US government had made Phantom out to be a recurring issue, yet hadn't reached out until his most recent attacks.

Research notes going back nearly a decade, tied closely with a branch of the U.S. government none of them had heard of before.

Laser focused on his target unless absolutely forced to shift his attention.

And it took a lot to draw his attention, he displayed a worrying number of powers and abilities, skilled in evasion and combat, he didn't hesitate to match any of the league blow for blow until he-

Phantom's face when Captain Marvel had transformed played over and over again in Bruce's mind.

There was a difference to him in fighting Captain Marvel, the Champion of Magic, Earth's Mightiest Mortal, and Billy Batson, the 14 year old out too late on a school night.

As there should be.

But there wouldn't have been to the menace the GIW had described.

The GIW would be expecting an update soon.

The league didn't have one for them.

Batman refused to have one for them until he had more information.

Unfortunately their greatest source of information was tight lipped and unresponsive.

[sixtharrow]

It’s weird. Way back in the day (like, pre-Voltron Legendary Defender era) the relationship between two unrelated fictional guys being considered “brotherly” would have been quite validating to us slash shippers. It’s like, oh wow, they’re that close, huh. They already consider themselves each other’s family. They’d die for each other. We’d have thought a romantic relationship stemming from that was perfectly logical!

And it’s not like the ship would ever be canon, so having that sort of deep bond was the next best thing. The fanworks would just have to take it from there.

But it’s so different these days. A character says “you’re like a brother to me” and now shipping two unrelated fictional guys is literally incest? Even though this has been a trope in straight romances for forever? Wow, the view has really shifted! Of course, shippers back in the day were much looser regarding canon roles, ages, power dynamics, or hell, even whether or not two characters existed in the same universe in the first place! But this is one argument I’ve just never been a fan of. Like, I used to say my first gf was my sister all the damn time because I didn’t know how else to interpret my feeings for her early on. And the fact that this seems to disproportionately affect m/m ships and f/f ships is telling, too. Also, people’s views of each other can...change? Sure, maybe Character A once saw Character B as his brother, but something is different now, and so he has to go and navigate those feelings. I mean the whole point of fanworks is exploration. For the characters as well as the writer. And just like back in the day, the ships are rarely canonized, which means something is always being changed or expanded. We just didn't have killjoys in our ears telling us we couldn’t ship two unrelated fictional guys because one of them once referred to the other as a brother or whatever. Well, we did, cause homophobes exist, we just didn’t usually hear it from fellow shippers.

[duchess-of-mandalore]

If Filoni were smart, he'd make Satine Kryze a main character in the new Maul: Shadow Lord show and I am 1000% serious.

We know Maul stole Satine’s portrait from Sundari. We see it in his lair in Rebels, where he sets up a kind of shrine which includes Satine's portrait and the Darksaber Maul used to kill her. We also see that he has scrawled "KENOBI" on the wall in the Mando'a script.

It's implied that Maul physically attacks the portrait. He slashes Satine's throat (over and over), which suggests that the need for revenge against Obi-Wan that he had hoped would be satisfied by killing Satine still resides in him.

He also scratches out her eyes, which doesn't make a lot of sense until you remember that in the Rebels episode "Twin Suns" Maul. was originally going to be plagued by visions of Savage and Satine while he goes mad in the Tatooine deserts. Filoni pretty quickly cut this for time (boooooo), but it makes the fact that Maul scratches out Satine's eyes make sense because it suggests that he still feels Satine watching him.

(The place Satine occupies in Maul's mind is also suggested by an earlier script/storyboard of Maul and Obi-Wan's final showdown. If you can't read the chicken-scratch, Maul's line is, "I took your master. I took your beloved ... I will hunt down whatever ... no ... whoever it is you are protecting and take them as well.")

But the thing is, it doesn't make sense if Maul is only seeing these visions because he's dying of dehydration or heat stroke in the desert. It only makes sense if Maul was having the visions of her long before he ever went to Tatooine.

So imagine Maul ... fresh off his defeat on Mandalore and acclimating to a new galaxy ruled by the Sith he'd hoped to defeat. The criminal enterprises he pursues will surely tie back to the crime syndicates that he helped form alliances with for Pre Vizsla and Death Watch.

Maul's amassing power (and apparently training a padawan) but all the while ... popping up at the most inopportune times, is the Duchess of Mandalore (whom no one else can see, of course) either standing serenely in the background and (in Maul's mind) silently judging him for all of his criminal dealings, or perhaps even interjecting her own opinions, most of which are reminding Maul of how wrong everything he is doing is.

Just imagine how funny the bickering would be:

"You could trust your lackeys more if you treated them as allies instead of slugs to be trod upon. Perhaps you'd even find a friend." "Go away. Or if you won't, at least shut up." "Domination will never make you feel whole, and strength attained through intimidation is hollow." "You know nothing of strength. I killed you." "You didn't do a very good job."

At the same time, perhaps Maul recognizes that Satine's voice in his head is a call to the Light that he has always rejected. How she was at peace before her death and how he could have that peace too, if only he would turn from the path of revenge that he thinks is the only way.

The tragedy is that Maul would never be able to listen to Satine, even if a part of him wants the peace she offers. Her presence instead drives him to the place of insanity we see in Rebels and ultimately to Tatooine, where he is (mercifully) put out of his misery by Obi-Wan.

His enemy comforts him, showing him the same love that Satine has always promised is possible, but with his last words, he still holds on to the belief that vengeance is coming (for both him and Obi-Wan).

His eyes close, and in the last shot we see Satine (the last manifestation of Maul's conscious mind? An apparition? A Force ghost?) still watching over him as he lies in her beloved Jedi's arms.

[hp-hcs]

i didn’t realize the riddle brothers were a "buy one get one free" type of deal, but alright — simp! overprotective! yandere! riddle brothers x gn! oblivious! bullied! slytherin! reader

requested by 🎀!

2.5k words, not to brag 😌

i love writing the bros’ interactions with each other as like, actual sibling-core yk? they r just so cutie patootie

the reader's patronus makes an appearance in this, but i tried to make it as accessible to everyone as possible, so it's never explicitly stated what animal it is. it is implied that it’s able-to-fit-under-a-table sized though

also this is totally just pre-slash nothing that interesting happens

warnings: couple mentions of blood, mild descriptions of wounds, implied violence, implied bullying, murder

not edited!! this is my first like, really long fic so constructive criticism is welcome!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A well-timed shove to the small of your back sent you tumbling down an entire flight of moving stairs. 

You groaned as you hit the bottom, sprawled out on your back on the cold stone floor. You laid there for a moment, winded. You could hear the occupants of a nearby painting titter at your gracefulness (or lack thereof), so you rolled your head to the other side to give them an award winning smile and an unabashed middle finger. 

You could hear them all grumble about kids these days and how I never would’ve treated my elders this way. You just rolled your eyes at their pettiness. 

“Uh…what are you doing?” A decidedly alive voice interrupted your momentary satisfaction.

“Ah- evening, Riddle!” You said cheerily as soon as you recognized the speaker, scrambling to your feet and dusting off your uniform. “Nothing! Just…tripped. Couldn’t see very well in the dark, that’s all.”

Tom blinked, his lips twisted into a frown. “.....Fine. But don’t let me catch you out of bed past curfew again. You’re a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Act like it.”

And that was it. Tom turned on his heel and continued down the hall without another word. Tom Riddle: prefect, teacher’s pet, and obnoxious hardass extraordinaire—he just...let you go, with no threats of detention or loss of house points. 

Huh. 

~~~

Tom, having just returned from a full night’s shift of prefect hall duty, flopped face-down onto his bed, his cheeks aflame as he let out a muffled shriek into his pillow. 

His brother, in the process of getting dressed for the day, paused at the scene in front of him. 

“Dude, what’s your deal?” 

“L/n,” Tom said by way of explanation, kicking his feet as he shrieked into his pillow again. “They acknowledged me. And they know my last name.”

“Most people know our last name, Tom,” Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“No- you don’t understand,” Tom said emphatically. “L/n is like…the cutest person to ever exist. And they’re so sweet, and smart, and funny, and-”

“And terrified of us?”

“Well…”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “You talk about them too much. It’s getting insufferable.”

Tom just scowled and flicked his fingers to cast a wandless spell that straightened Mattheo’s tie and neatened his uniform. “The way you dress is insufferable. Slob.”

Mattheo stuck out his tongue at his brother before ruffling Tom’s hair to purposely mess it up. “Dick.”

“Idiot.”

~~~

Mattheo glanced up at you as you hovered uncertainly by the corner of his desk. 

“Can I sit here…?” You mumbled shyly, your cheeks flushing as the pretty dark-haired boy in your year smiled up at you.

“Course!” He grinned brightly before realizing that might have been too enthusiastic of a reply for eight in the morning and quickly tried to cover up his slip. “Uh…Y/n, right? I’m Mattheo.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.”

Mattheo’s stomach dropped.

Fuck, that’s not good.

“You let me copy your homework in third year for that essay on the properties of wormwood, or whatever.” You said offhandedly, like it wasn’t batshit insane to remember that pointlessly tiny detail. “Thank you for that, by the way. Potions sucks ass.”

Before Mattheo could even think, the words left his mouth. “I could tutor you if you want.”

You looked at him oddly, but grinned after a second. “Yeah, sure. That’d actually be really helpful. Snape hates me, man.”

“Really? Even though you’re in Slytherin?”

“Mhm, his baseless nepotism only extends so far.”

Mattheo barked out a startled laugh as your deadpan humor caught him off guard. You just grinned at him in response, causing the tips of his ears to immediately burn bright red.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Um…do you wanna meet in the library after school today? For our tutoring session,” Mattheo hurriedly added. 

“Sure, alright.” You shrugged. “See you there.”

He beamed, giving you that stupidly adorable grin once more. “Awesome! Yeah- yeah, cool. Awesome. See you there then.”

~~~

You were still shit at potions.

It had been six weeks of tutoring, and you’d learned pretty much nothing. Although, that wasn’t an issue on Mattheo’s part, but rather on his annoyingly hot older brother’s. 

Tom Riddle was surprisingly funny. For someone who gave off almost exclusively stoically austere bastard vibes, he enjoyed cracking jokes and enlisting your help in pulling pranks on his brother a bit too much.

It became your routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, you would meet the two brothers in the library, waste like three hours joking around and getting absolutely no work done, and then going back to your dorm and ranting to your roommate about how fucking cute they are and how you would gladly pay for the opportunity to make out with one- no, both of them. 

(Your roommate is so fucking tired of hearing about the Riddles. You’d better buy them a latte and a cake-pop as an apology.)

~~~

You struggled to get up, your legs giving out. You cursed under your breath, putting a hand to your forehead as it throbbed in pain. 

It came away sticky with blood. 

This wasn’t going to work, you realized belatedly. With what remained of your strength, you were able to reach out and grab your wand, murmuring a quiet, “Expecto Patronum.”

A spectral creature formed in front of your eyes, remaining motionless as it stared at you. 

“Go find Riddle,” you mumbled to the Patronus, your eyelids growing heavy. 

You barely registered the wispy glowing animal immediately bounding off at your instructions, your vision doubling before your body went completely slack, the wand slipping from your fingers and hitting the tile floor with a clatter. 

~~~

Mattheo doodled mindlessly in the margins of his parchment as his brother droned on and on about the properties of willow bark in potions and really, this is important, Mattheo. Pay attention.

“Why isn’t Y/n here yet?” Mattheo asked his brother for the third time. 

Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Matt. Just like how I didn't know when you asked me five minutes ago. Maybe they just don’t want to see your stupid face any more, huh?”

“What if they’re in trouble? Or hurt?” Mattheo worried, chewing on his thumbnail and ignoring his brother’s insult. “They’re never late, Tommy.”

Tom wrinkled his nose at the use of the dumb (albeit endearing) nickname Mattheo gave him when they were children, but the sinking feeling in his gut at hearing his brother’s distressed tone didn’t help to ease the niggling worries at the back of his mind of maybe they are in trouble.

As if on cue, Mattheo shivered as something icy cold brushed against his ankles. He glanced down. A glowing spectral creature nudged his leg, looking up at him expectantly with unnervingly empty eyes. 

A Patronus. 

Y/n’s Patronus.

~~~

They followed the Patronus down the deserted hall, the animal occasionally pausing to make sure the boys were both still following it before bounding forward again.

The Patronus stopped in front of a bathroom door, giving them both that same unnervingly hollow-eyed stare of expectancy.

Tom gulped and pushed open the door, fearing that he might find the worst.

He did.

~~~

Your eyes cracked open slowly, and you winced at the multitude of stinging and stabbing pains that wracked your body.

You had to blink a couple times for everything to come into focus. You were in a small room with white walls and white flooring, and the gentle dawn illuminated the quiet space with soft rays of light. The steady beep of a vitals monitor faded into the background as you stared down at yourself.

You weren’t wearing a shirt, for one, or even a hospital gown. Pretty much your entire upper torso was wrapped in bloodstained gauze. The jagged edges of a brutal slash across your chest peeked out of the top of the dressings, and you had to close your eyes and hold your breath for a moment to keep from throwing up. Once you’d calmed back down, you opened your eyes, startled to see that you weren’t alone.

Mattheo had pulled up a chair to the side of your hospital bed and crossed his arms on the mattress, using them as a makeshift pillow. His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, his breaths slow and even. He looked so peaceful and...unguarded in his sleep. You reached down to brush a loose curl away from his forehead.

“Having fun?”

You startled, jerking your hand back. 

Tom leaned against the doorframe of your room with an amused expression, quirking an eyebrow and wiggling his fingers in a wave.

“Shut up,” you hissed back in a whisper, your cheeks flaring red. 

Tom’s amused grin only grew at your dark blush as he invited himself into your room fully, closing the door behind him.

 “Your secret’s safe with me.” He jokingly winked, tapping the side of his nose.

“You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“What am I doing here?” You quickly changed topics, refusing to even look down in Mattheo’s direction. 

Tom sighed, any amusement on his face rapidly vanishing. “You sent us a Patronus, thank Merlin. Pomfrey said you would’ve bled out if you hadn’t.”

You had no memory of casting the Patronus charm at all, but you trusted Tom’s recollection of events better than your own jumbled and spotty one. “Bled out?” You questioned, your heart hammering in your throat as your voice climbed an octave in anxiety.

Tom nodded, his face carefully schooled into a blank and neutral expression. “You were hit with the Sectumsempra spell. You've been out for three days now.”

Your brow furrowed. “Malfoy got hit with that last year though—and was in and out of the infirmary in less than a day.”

“Snape knew the counterspell and found ‘im just in time last year,” Mattheo mumbled sleepily, his eyes still closed as he tuned into the conversation at hand. “But whoever hit you with it just left you there to die.”

“Charming.” You mutter under your breath.

“Regardless of what happened in Malfoy’s instance,” Tom interrupted briskly. “You were on the brink of literal death. So I’ll ask you this one time and one time only. Who did it, Y/n?”

~~~

“I brought you a cookie from the Great Hall,” Mattheo grinned widely, climbing into your hospital bed next to you and unwrapping the napkin in his hand. “And the notes from today’s Charms lesson, but those’re boring and we both know you won’t actually read ‘em.”

“Aww, you know me so well.” You teased, breaking the cookie in half and handing him one of the pieces.

Mattheo cupped the cookie fragment in his hands like it was a priceless treasure, staring down at it in unrestrained awe. 

You just shook your head at his antics and brushed the odd reaction off.

~~~

You woke up this morning and just felt like shit. You were nauseous, and dizzy, and felt borderline faint. Tom’s voice, usually soothing and comforting to hear, sounded like nails on a chalkboard right now. He rambled on and on about the delicate process of making the temperamental Felix Felicis potion. 

“Tom,” you interrupted, your voice scratchy and quiet. “Can we take a break? Please?”

He blinked, surprised at being interrupted, but nodded slowly. “I suppose…? Why?”

“Don’t feel good,” you mumbled, setting your textbook down and rubbing your eyes. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Madame Pomfrey said brusquely as she bustled around your hospital room, shooing Tom out of the way to stand by your bedside. 

(Poppy Pomfrey remains the only person who can and has shooed Tom Riddle III and lived to tell the tale—and all without a single ounce of fear.)

“I’ve raised your dosage so that you can be out of here in time for your N.E.W.T.s.” Pomfrey elaborated upon seeing your confused look.

“Fantastic.” You mumbled dryly, grinning sleepily up at Tom as he grabbed onto your hand and interlaced your fingers together. He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat in favor of letting you hold his sweaty palm.

“Go to sleep, L/n,” Tom muttered under his breath. “Potions can wait.”

~~~

Tom lay in your hospital bed beside you, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Please? We promise we won’t do anything.”

“Yeah,” Mattheo chimed in from the other side of your crowded bed, one arm tossed over your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Or at least, nothing we’ll get caught for.”

You sigh, tired of their ceaseless pleading. “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll tell you who it was.”

Both boys leaned in close.

You sigh again and roll your eyes at their overprotectiveness. “Alright, it was-”

~~~

Tucker Thompson and Devin Dobbs: Gryffindor Sixth Years Found MURDERED at Hogwarts! Dumbledore: “No comment at this time.”

You tilted the newspaper so Madame Pomfrey could read the article over your shoulder as she replaced your IV bag. 

Pomfrey just sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how Skeeter is still employed at the Prophet.”

“Cause shock value will always hold weight in the media?” You answered dryly around a mouthful of depressingly plain infirmary wing toast. “And Skeeter’s good at nothing if not coming up with bullshit shock value titles.”

“That may be true,” she began, snatching the paper from your hands. “But patients shouldn’t be reading about such dark subjects, and certainly not while under my care. And don’t talk while eating. I rather like your company, and would hate to see you choke.”

You rolled your eyes at her suffocatingly motherly behavior. “So are they? Thompson and Dobbs; they’re really dead?”

Madame Pomfrey hesitated.

You let out a relieved breath of air that you tried (and failed) to hide behind a cough. “That’s…terrible.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied you for a long moment, her fingers mindlessly worrying the deckle edge of the newspaper in her hands. “It was them, wasn’t it? Your boys.”

“My boys?”

“Yes, yes, Riddles one and two. Your boys.”

“Oh- we’re not…”

She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she tried to hold back a laugh at the utter obliviousness of teenagers. “Do they know that, dear?”

You spluttered out a half-assed rebuke to her statement, but Pomfrey quickly interrupted you.

“They’ve been staying here for hours every day for the last month. They want more than just your friendship, hon.”

“No way. We’re just friends.” You insisted firmly. “That’s all.”

Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Friends. Keep telling yourself that.”

You stared after her, open-mouthed in bafflement, as she rolled up the Prophet, tucked it under her arm, and turned around without another word—leaving you with zero reading material and a million questions.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

you have to love how pomfrey could not give less of a fuck that the riddles murdered two students as long as she gets her ot3 absolutely iconic behavior

pt 2

[quietplace26]

Furina!MC au: 'Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon... Don't Cry- wait... Why are there TWO?!'

This was inspired by both an idea from @platinumrosetail and this lovely picture from @aisikae

Warnings: OCness, cringe, Leviathan as Pre-Neuvillette's name, dubious consent (I'm putting this cause Furina!MC was scared at first, but grows to like it.), mentions of sex, a mention of Neuvillette's TWO 'noodles'

Focalors couldn't understand how it happened.

She had planned everything perfectly. Separate her 'human self' from her being, use it as a puppet to lead Fontaine until it was time to stop the prophecy, etc.

So why... why was her 'human self' a dragon?!

Now, for all intents and purposes, it WAS Focalors fault, even if she didn't know it yet.

When she was 'creating' Furina, she decided to tap into the Gnosis, pulling at the Hydro Sovereign's Authority that was sealed within it to give her puppet a power boost as she couldn't allow 'it' to carry around the Hydro Gnosis.

But something happened. Something went wrong.

Because as of right now, Focalors' 'doll' was being chased right out of Fontaine due to the fact she was NOT human. Instead, she was a DRAGON.

...Well, no matter. Focalors could just make a new puppet. It wasn't like the first one would survive on 'its' own much less as a Dragon. It would be killed in the wilds, no doubt.

...Meanwhile, far from the Court of Fontaine, hidden somewhere deep in the waters of Fontaine, a traumatized and very confused Furina!MC laid curled up in her new form within some corals.

What happened to her? Why did she suddenly wake up in Genshin Impact as 'Furina'... only not the 'Furina' she remembered from the game.

Furina!MC holds a hand up to her face, examining the blue tip claws she had now, before slowly examining the rest of her NEW body.

She... She looks like Furina, but was obviously not canon Furina.

With two long, blue Rhinophores similar to Neuvillette's protruding from her head of messy white hair, pointed elf like ears, patches of blue scales all along her body, and a long reptilian-like tail with fish-like fins at the end.

Oh, she also had more fins protruding out her lower back right beside her new tail. Those tail fins oddly reminded her of the Oceanid...

...Wait. Wasn't Furina and Focalors canonically once an Oceanid?

...You know what? Furina!MC wasn't going to think about that right now...

With a sigh, she settles back down on the ocean floor. Her Oceanid tail fins wrap around her waist while her she hugs her new dragon tail to her chest and tries to think of her next step.

She obviously couldn't go back to Fontaine. She'd be chased out again and she only narrowly avoided being killed.

It still made her trembled in fear remembering how close someone got to slashing her head off with a sword or... No, she wouldn't think it anymore.

Focalors would also definitely not help her, as whatever short connection Furina!MC had with her had been snipped.

Furina!MC was all on her own...

...Fast forward a couple of weeks later, and Furina!MC was slowly getting used to her new life, body, and the fact she could BREATHE underwater.

She mostly stuck to staying in Fontaine's water but making extra sure not to go anywhere close to the Court of Fontaine or any human villages.

It was... pleasant? Yes, Furina!MC was a little lonely without other humans around, but it was growing on her.

In her past life, she was nothing more than a struggling college student that escaped to Genshin Impact to get away from reality and all that came with being a young adult.

So, living a life where she didn't need to wake up early every day to head to classes, or stay up for most of the night working at a dead-end job, was actually heaven for her.

She had a den and comfortable bed nest she made herself where she could go back to and sleep for however long she wanted.

Miles of beautiful water to swim through and the more dangerous local wildlife left her alone. Probably because of her new dragon heritage?

There was plenty of fish for her to hunt for within Fontaine's water, and she didn't mind eating them raw anymore.

The first time she ate fish raw was a week into her new life, and because she was so hungry but too fearful to head above water to hunt for fruit, she just lashed out at the nearest fish, tearing into it with her sharper than she remembered teeth.

The only negative she had was that she didn't have many clothes left. The ones she woke up in was damaged from the mob that chased her out of Fontaine, so currently she was wearing a simple sun dress she managed to steal from one of the human villages nearby.

She had to edit it somewhat, so both her tail and Oceanid fins could poke out, but it would do for now until she could find more clothes.

Oh, and she even made a few 'friends'.

The 'friends' being the local Otter population. Fontaine's Otters had always been Furina!MC's FAVORITE animals in Genshin Impact. They were just so cute and even looked like Neuvillette.

...Thinking of Neuvillette made her think about the future. What was going to happen to her? From what little she heard from passing humans while hiding in the water, Fontaine's Hydro Archon had become quite the star...

Focalors really went ahead and made another 'Furina', huh?

Well... It didn't matter to anymore. She wasn't involved with Focalors or Fontaine. She was just someone that unfortunately got dragged into something she wanted no part of.

Furina!MC wanted peace. That's. All.

So, she was going to stay as far she could from Fontaine and all the drama that would come to eventually over the next 500 years.

That also included Neuvillette... Ok, maybe she would go and check him out when he finally arrives to Fontaine 100 years from now...

A Neuvillette simp will always be a Neuvillette simp. And Furina!MC was the simpiest of simps.

And who wouldn't want to see the Hydro Sovereign in the flesh?

But alas, she still has 100 years to go... at least she can enjoy her peace and quiet until then...

Or at least, that's what she thought as she leaves her den and goes out to hunt some food. Never noticing the pair of hungry lilac eyes watching her from the shadows of the depts.

When the fallen Hydro Sovereign woke up deep, deep underwater, he knew what had happened. And it enraged him.

He and his fellow Sovereigns lost against the Heavenly Principles, and had their Authorities ripped from their very being.

And they were given to those wretched, miserable usurpers!

He'll kill them! He'll kill them all! Rip their heads off and eat their hearts!

...No. No, he couldn't do that. Not yet. As much as he hated to admit it, he was much too weak. His new body was different than his old one. Looking too much like those disgusting humans the Heavenly Principles brought over to their world.

Despite his disgust over his new form, and still very much tired over his recent reincarnation, Leviathan couldn't sit still. He needed to move, explore his surroundings.

So, he does...

His exploration, as it would turn out, lead him to a shocking revelation. A scent. A scent of a female Hydro Dragon.

This shocked him to his core as all of his kin perished during the war, having been whipped out by both the Heavenly Principles and other reasons.

And he knew it's been a very long time since then, and so the fact he was smelling a Hydro Dragon here in this day and age was an absolute miracle.

He needed to find her and find her he did.

And, OH, was she a beauty.

Curiously, she was human shaped as well. Did she go through something like he did? Did she reincarnate? But did being human shape damage her beauty? No, not really. In fact, it added to her charm.

From her pretty blue scales, which he moodily noticed was mostly covered by an odd cloth humans took to wearing. Why was she wearing that? He couldn't see the rest of her if she covered herself!

Besides that, he could make out a pair of adorable Rhinophores sticking out her white and blue hair, an equally adorable tail, and... oh? What's this?

Besides her tail was a few pretty blue tail fins. They glowed and quivered whenever she moved or got excited.

He's never seen such a thing on a Hydro Dragon before. Truly, this little one was special.

He needed to get a closer look... and maybe have a taste.

"...Oh, come on. Where are all the fish?"

Furina!MC grumbles as she slowly swam through the water, her heterochromia blue eyes flicker about, trying to pinpoint any fish, but oddly enough, there was none.

Coming to a stop, she floats in place as she gazes about again. Her long tail flicks behind her restlessly as her Oceanid fins quivered just as much. Something was off....

Frowning, and now feeling more than a little uneasy, Furina!MC turns to return back to her den when she pauses.

Her Rhinophores twitch. She swears she heard something. Something BIG swim by.

It was definitely not a Blubber beast, they're too blubbery to swim as fast as the creature she just sensed. Mentally Furina!MC knocks out every possible creature it could be as she slowly swam home.

"Not a Hunter ray... Nor a Jellyfish... and definitely not an Armored Crab..." Furina!MC mumbles nervously as she kept an eye out. "And it couldn't have been a human either... so what could-"

Her Rhinophores twitch again, and she freezes. She heard it again. Something BIG was swimming nearby!

Eying where her den was hidden among the corals Furina!MC knew she couldn't go in incase whoever OR whatever she's been sensing follows her inside! Her den had only one way in and one way out. It was much too risky to go in and hide.

So, she does the only thing she could think of, she turns tail and swims away with a quick flick of her tail, shooting quickly across the water.

And as if it was a signal, the thing that had been stalking her roars and shoots out its hiding spot, launching itself after the fleeing dragoness.

Too terrified to look behind her, Furina!MC swims as fast she could through the trenches and reefs of Fontaine's sea. But even so, it wasn't enough, as she hears a loud snarl behind her, signaling that it was about to catch her!

Furina!MC Rhinophores twitches again, and as she senses the creature launching at her again, she panics and swerves out the way, watching with scared eyes a white and blue blur goes past her and crashes into the sandy ocean floor, kicking up a mist of sand before launching back up into view.

Now seeing who her 'attacker' was, Furina!MC felt her breathing hitch, and her eye widen in pure shock.

It was Neuvillette. Or at least... this beast was supposed to be Neuvillette in the future. Had he been recently reborn? That would explain why he was so... feral... But why was he chasing her around?! Did she somehow piss him off?! She didn't even know he was around!

Furina!MC was about to make a swim for it again when wild, hungry lilac draconic eyes zeroed in on her small form, causing her to freeze in place, her Oceanid fins quiver as her tail wraps nervously around one her legs.

The reincarnated Sovereign was on her within seconds. His arms vice gripping around her small form, and shoves his face into her neck, making the dragoness whimper in confusion as he sniffs all around her neck, and even her hair!

Was he... scenting her? Furina!MC wasn't sure but going by some of the cringy fanfics she used to read in her past life, it sounded like he was.

...Furina!MC wasn't sure how long Neuvillette (Was he even called Neuvillette at this point?) held her like this while scenting her. By now, the two of them had floated down to the sea floor, with Furina!MC pinned under Neuvillette's bulk as the male kept rubbing his face against her neck, scenting her still.

It was honestly strangely relaxing...

Feeling so relaxed now, Furina!MC's mind starts to drift a bit, and a sound that she never made before in her life leaves her throat. A purr. A soft, sweet purr that is quickly answered by Neuvillette's own rumbling purr.

Furina!MC's purrs grew louder at that, unknowing to her, her new Hydro Dragon instincts were truly kicking in now.

By that, I mean she starts scenting Neuvillette in return. She had no clue what or why she was doing it, but it just felt right... Oh... he smelled so good.

A heady musky scent that reminded her of mixture of petrichor and the sea...

Her mind drifts more as she coos softly, giving the bigger male's shoulder a soft lick.

Unmated. Unbonded. Those two words echos in her head...

The dragoness was clinging to the reincarnated Sovereign now, her smaller tail intertwines with his as she starts nibbling on his neck. She... She had to mark him, so he wouldn't be taken from her!

This seems to please Neuvillette as he too starts nibbling at her neck, making her mewl like a creature in heat as his fangs sink into her neck, marking her.

She easily returns the favor by copying him, sinking her own little fangs into his neck with a moan.

'Good... So good... Want... more~'

Were Furina!MC's thoughts as her body started growing hotter as the reincarnated Sovereign switched from not only marking her neck but was full on grinding his entire body against her more petite one, making her remember that he was completely naked.

And she feels something hard press against her thigh... wait... was that two-

If she had been coherent enough, she would've freaked out over the fact some of the more raunchy fanfics she read before in her past life held some face value over the fact Neuvillette clearly had TWO d-

Furina!MC never gets to finish that thought as Neuvillette snarls and pulls away enough to flip her over onto her belly, forcing her onto all fours. A high-pitched whimper quickly leaves her lips as her face is forced down into the sand, forcing her to arch her back in a rather provocative manor.

Another snarl is heard from behind her before her sun dress is violently ripped off, leaving her both bare and trembling under the Sovereign's hungry gaze.

He crawls over Furina!MC, covering her small form completely. His chest against her back, his arms bracketing her from both sides, and his chin hooks over her shoulder. She felt so, so very small under him...

She hears the reincarnated Sovereign let out a low, rumbling croon before grabbing her hips, and gets in position.

Her Rhinophores lowered in a demure, quiet way, her Oceanid fins quivers, fluttering anxiously behind her, and her tail slowly curls around the bigger male's thigh, timidly tugging him closer.

She wanted him. NOW.

"M...Mate~"

Everything after that was pleasured blur...

Furina!MC would later wake up back in her den and in her nest, body very sore but not in a bad way, covered in bite and scratch marks... and not alone.

Neuvillette was there as well, curled around her body like a shield protecting her from the world. With his arm thrown across her waist, and his tail once again intertwine with hers, she was very much trapped.

It wasn't like she wanted to move anyway. She was too sore to move... ugh, her hips... there goes her ability to walk or swim for the next few days...

And to think she'd lose her virginity like an animal in heat... well, now that she thought about it, she was part animal now with being a dragon...

But seeing how she was trapped, Furina!MC turns her attention back to the sleeping Sovereign... only he wasn't sleeping anymore.

A startled squeaks escapes Furina!MC as her eyes met Neuvillette's, causing the reincarnated Sovereign to let out a rumbling huff of amusement over her cute reaction.

Rolling over in her nest, Neuvillette pulls the dragoness up onto his chest where he lets her lay as he drags sharp clawed fingers down her back, making her shiver go down her spine and a purr leave her throat once again.

This time, however, she did blink a few times, feeling a little confused as to why she was suddenly purring.

...It must be a Dragon thing. She wasn't going to question it right now. She was just too comfortable right now...

Crossing her arms over his chest and resting her chin on them, Furina!MC prepares to go back to sleep. Before doing that, however...

"...What's your name?"

Furina!MC murmurs softly, gazing down at reincarnated Sovereign under her. She couldn't keep calling him 'Neuvillette' in her head as the chances of that being his true name was astronomically low, and she didn't want to accidentally call him that name.

"What should I call the one who took my virginity like a brute, hm? You need to take responsibility, you know..."

Furina!MC grumbles, glaring weakly at him before her eyes flutter shut with a sigh as claws gently rakes through her hair, even playfully pinching one her Rhinophores.

A husky laugh echos along her den's walls, and Furina!MC finds herself back on her back, the reincarnated Sovereign crouched over her once again.

"Me, treasure?"

Rows of sharp teeth flash at Furina!MC as he pulls back his lips in an almost snarl but most likely a smile. A human would've been terrified of the sight. But all Furina!MC felt was a weird want for him to bite her.

He leans in, breathing heavily by her ear, and hisses,

"I am the Hydro Sovereign, the Beating Heart of the Primordial Sea, the King of All Waters... but you, my little mate, can call me Leviathan."

[nxlx96]

The Boy Saviour - Oscar Piastri x Reader (she/her)

Hi, this is my first time writing x reader, and the idea came to me at 3am a few nights ago while i was trying to sleep and hasn't left me live ever since. This is also my first time posting on tumblr so bear the simple format.

Trigger Warning: Non-consensual drug use, as in, reader gets roofied in a bar (Not by any named character nor any of the drivers, so rest assured on that sense). There is also recreational alcohol consumption and a bit of off-camera violence.

WC: 8381

Also, this is more of a pre-slash story rather than a romantic one. That's all I have to say, I'll shut up and let you read.

Please let me know what you think!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Post race driver parties are not an uncommon thing, although it is much more frequent in the European leg of the season; when everyone is in the same country or near enough they don’t care for a few hours of commute -Today's crowd was composed of Charles, Oscar, Max, Lando, Alex, George, Pierre, Carlos and as a star guest, Daniel-. These parties were often the perfect way to try and unwind from the pressure of the season and to smooth out whatever incidents happened on track. A few passive aggressive interchanges, three shots and everyone’s usually back to laughing and buzzing along.

Tonight they had followed Charles’ recommendation and gone to a club in the more residential area of Monaco, away from the yacht club and the casino. It was still tightly packed with people dancing on the dancefloor and the bar was busy as the drinks kept on coming, but the people there didn't care much for them and they were able to enjoy themselves without worrying about having too many eyes on them.

They had a booth in the second floor alcove, allowing them an almost full view of the dance floor if anyone cared to look down, but they were too busy roughhousing and laughing. She’d gotten used to it, of course, having grown as a girl in motorsports it’s simply part of the package. But sometimes she still needed a break when they were behaving like that, because while they recognise her as a proper rival, a true competitor despite gender bias, being drunk they sometimes forget they have size and strength to their favour while having their fun, and their brawling and heavy shoulder slaps felt a tiny bit too annoying while tipsy. Overwhelming.

So she excuses herself to the bar, shaking the glass that now only tinkers with half melted ice cubes. She gets a few nods and a stray thumbs up but the chatter continues like before.

The layout of the club had the bar as the centerpiece gemstone, the first thing you see when you come though the main entrance across from the massive dance floor. The dance floor’s design is full of different height platforms, similar to those at Jimmy Z. Their booth on the second floor has a perfect view of all the first floor, except for the public entrance, which is right underneath it.

Coming down the stairs, she followed the platforms' paths that led her to the bar once again, choosing a stool to sit and wait for the bartenders to take her order. 

On the wall to her left, the DJ booth rises itself over all the platforms in its own little block, colored lights sprouting from the base towards the right of it, in the corner between the bar and the DJ there is the smaller door they were escorted through, directly from the parking lot behind the establishment. On the opposite wall there's a hallway that leads to what she assumes are the bathrooms, judging by the long queue of women she can see standing in the hallway.

A tap on the countertop brings her attention back. The bartender asks for her order in French, and her basic understanding of the language allows her to order a raspberry mojito without spluttering too much. A sweet enough concoction to help smooth out the straight Vodka shots they downed back at the table. 

In no time, a new clear plastic cup was placed in front of her. A tall cup full to the brim with rum and sparkly water. A mix of raspberry puree, lemon and mint sitting at the bottom. She grabs the straw and starts mixing the cocktail, but the ice floating on top, and the decorative mint leaves that float at the top threaten to overflow the cup when she does, so she has to take another bitter sip of almost pure liquor before actually enjoying the sweetness.

She rested her elbow on the bartop and her chin in her hand, alternating between swaying to the music, looking at the bartenders preparing fancy and complicated cocktails and looking around the crowd dancing on the floor. It wasn’t exactly a quiet place, but it did provide respite from the boys’ rowdiness. Occasionally there would be people who sat in the barstools next to her. Some of them made some sort of small talk while waiting for their drinks to be ready, but no one lingered in her space for too long, allowing her to unwind on her own.

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ 

As a woman in life, you learn to know when to follow your instincts. Call it bad omen, gut feeling or sixth sense. Sometimes you subconsciously register danger before you see or hear something. In this case, she felt a tight coil in her stomach -looking back it might have been more of a natural reaction than not a bad omen-, her adrenaline spiked like she’d been in the car after miraculously avoiding a collision. Her hands trembled a bit as she sneakily tried to look around. There was a couple at the bar two seats to her right, too engrossed in each other to be the source of panic. As she swiped to the other side, her hand caught the straw of her cup, pulling it from inside. She tried to catch it but it rolled over the edge of the bartop, falling to the ground. 

Fucking breathe!

Straw forgotten, she grabbed the cup and twisted around in her stool, swiping the room with her gaze. To her other side there was a group of friends rowdily chatting, no different from the drivers’ table upstairs. He made eye contact with one of them, a guy not participating in the conversation. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring as he turned red and avoided eye contact. Too shy, too far away, probably not that either. She started scanning the crowd on the dancefloor with her heart almost at her throat.

Without a straw, she was left to swirl the whole cup to stir its contents. No one in the vicinity was particularly close to her bubble, or paying special attention to her, but the sensation didn’t go away. Some movement from the group at her side made her tense up, but it was a small part of them that walked towards the dancefloor. Shy boy included. The ones left at the bar were immersed in conversation, crowding together to hear themselves over the music. So she relaxed again.

She’d been tilting the drink to her lips when she finally realised that her nearly melted ice cubes had sunk to the bottom of the cup, and the whole thing looked cloudy. Her heart stopped in her throat, closing her airways.

I’ve been drugged.

The realisation sinks in, but it feels unreal.

Is this really happening to me?

The glass is on her lips, and she tilts it back, but keeps her mouth sealed; knowing that whoever did it must be keeping an eye on her. Her jaw is clenched so hard it’s almost difficult to breathe. Her first instinct is to throw the whole thing on the ground, but it’s less than half full now. Whatever they put in it has been in her system for long enough. Her next thought is to notify the bartenders, but she hesitates before turning around. There had been no one near enough on her side of the bar to get close to her drink, and she’d kept her hand over it at all moments; but of course the rim was wide and there were gaps between her fingers where someone could have dumped something in. For now the bartenders are also suspicious. Twisting her arm, she sets the drink on the table behind her; uncaring now to leave it unsupervised. 

The damage has already been done anyway. She figures.

Her heart rate does nothing to slow down, and her thoughts do not help at all. She is in imminent danger with no way out. She’d left her purse at the booth upstairs, and doesn’t have her phone at hand. She looks up in the direction of their table. Under the strobing lights she can see the crowd of drivers has dwindled down. She can distinguish Alex, George, Carlos, Max and Lando sitting up there; the rest of them might be somewhere in the dancefloor. The idea of trying to get the attention of the guys up there was also discarded, since it will alert her assailant too, and she has no guarantee it’ll get the guys’ attention. Trying to find the others in the crowd sounds just as impossible a task as to find a needle in a haystack. 

Her hands shake. The safest alternative that comes to her mind is to run to the women’s bathroom. The crowd queuing in the halfway has reduced, and the hallway looks dark; but it’s her best shot.

Over the corner of her eye something catches her attention. A white button up shit that looks almost fluorescent under the black lights. The figure skirts around the dancefloor, following almost the same path she took to get to the bar, but it’s clear his destination is not the same, since he doesn’t slow down and seems to be aiming for the bathrooms instead.

“Oscar!” She yells before she realises. It might have sounded a bit too strangled, a bit too panicked, but it catches his attention. She’s reaching a hand out to him, and he extends his arm for her to grab as he gets close to her stool.

“Oh hey,” He looks sort of confused, and she doesn’t blame him. They do gravitate to the same groups, But they’re not particularly close friends, so her calling out feels awkward for both of them. “Didn’t realise you came here.” He gestures awkwardly to the bar, but she’s too relieved to have found a safe person she doesn’t even hear what he’s saying. 

She jumps from the stool, holding onto his wrist. “Come dance with me!” 

He hesitates “... You know I’m not-” She’s still not listening, she hesitates between abandoning her cup at the bar, but grabs it at the last second and turns back to him.

“Just one song, come on!” 

“I was going to-” He tries again, but this time she digs her nails into his skin, and desperately tugs him with a trembling hand. He doesn’t put any more resistance, simply trailing behind her as she tries to find a pocket of space for them among the moving bodies. As she walks she feels her blood rushing to her head. She’s feeling too tipsy and woozy for the amount of alcohol she’s consumed; and whatever hopes the whole thing had been in her head crumble like sandcastles at the sensation of her bambi legs. But she has her way out caught in a deathgrip by the wrist, she can still get out unscathed.

As soon as she finds space for them, she stops and turns around to face him, getting close in his space to be heard over the loud music. She wraps Oscar’s arm she’d been tugging on, around her waist, in hopes he can hold her up in case her legs give out and wraps hers around his body too.

She can feel Oscar’s hand in her back, blindly trying to find a patch of fabric to settle on top of. His avoidance of the naked skin of her back settles a minute worry in her mind. Yes, he is a man. Yes, she would probably feel more comfortable coming to her own teammate for help. But Oscar is still safe, he won’t take advantage of her. He is safety.

“Are you sober?” Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth once they’ve settled their positions and start to loosely sway to the beat of whatever song is playing.

Oscar is looking more and more confused at the sudden serious tone of her voice and the way it contradicts the easy smile on her face. She’s still acting up like nothing’s wrong. “Uhh yeah, I came in my car.”

Oscar you blessed man.

“Great! I need you to take me to the hospital right now.” Oscar freezes completely and she tries to keep the easy smile on her face. “Someone put something in my drink and I think I’m going to pass out soon.” His face does something complicated, and one of his hands tries to go for the cup on her hand, but she moves it out of his path, tripping over her own heel in the process. He catches her before she can stumble.

“Why are you still-?” He looks tense in a way she hasn’t seen him many times, he instantly understood the seriousness the situation entails. She’s so glad he believed her, a worry she hadn’t even processed having.

Her confidence starts waving, there is not much time to explain and her voice shakes as she tries to fill him in. “You have to take it- I- I don’t know what they put in- The doctor can… I don’t know-” She feels like she's twelve again, trying to explain to her mother that she accidentally broke her favourite mirror and cut her hand. “They can analyse it or whatever,” she finishes lamely. 

She can see it more clearly now, he’s not just tense, he’s angry. At her or on her behalf? She doesn’t know him well enough to be able to tell the difference.

“You’re so…” Careless. Irresponsible. Stupid. Her eyes fill with tears and he feels like a scolded child. “... smart.” He says instead, not following the script in her mind.

“I kno- Wait what?” He shakes his head, moving past the topic. His voice holds urgency now. 

“Do you know who did it?” He’s looking past her, scanning the crowd behind her.

“No I- There was no one near except the bartenders… I-I didn’t know if they-  A-and I didn’t know who to ask for help!” She sniffs, and clears her throat, swallowing around the tightness in her throat.

He notices her trying to maintain her composure, and smoothes out his expression. “It’s alright. You found me, and I will help you, okay?” In a very unlike-himself moment he wraps his arms closer to her, holding her in a loose hug. Maybe it’s the relief that comes from Oscar’s reassurance that makes her body relax, loosen up. She takes the moment to really get a deep breath, trying to regulate her heart rate, knowing an accelerated heartbeat will only speed the effect of the drug. The music is already hard to hear even with how the deep base thrums in her bones. She lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder and Oscar’s arms tighten around her like a vice, but when she stays standing up he relaxes. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” She’s pretty sure she just gave him a small heart attack, but she can’t really find the strength to apologize, so she simply takes another deep breath, this time taking in the smell of his cologne, and nods her head. 

She steps back, trying to maintain balance on the small heels of her shoes, and allows Oscar to grab her arm to guide them through the crowd. It’s a bit scary, how fast she seems to be falling under the effects. What would she have done had Oscar not been there? 

Oscar is aggressively polite as he makes a path for them towards the exit, loudly excusing them as he pushes through. She walks behind him, gaze set on his broad shoulders. They’re almost out of the crowd when she feels a hand closing in on her arm. She flinches and removes her arm before they can grasp her, and steps even closer to Oscar, almost stepping on his heels. “Oscar-” She manages in a squeaky voice, but he must hear her because he holds together and broathens his stride. The hands do not follow, only shoulder bumps as they make their way though. 

They get out the doors in no time. The space outside is deserted, late enough that everyone is either at home asleep or inside the club. Oscar turns to her, scans her and points toward the side street that she assumes would lead them around the building towards the private parking lot. “My car’s this way.” She briefly looks back to the doors, but they stay closed so she nods. Maybe the hand was her imagination, or a simple accidental brush of a hand. 

Her steps are still mostly steady but Oscar still keeps a hand on her left forearm, the warmth from his hand is a stark contrast to the cold air of the Monegasque night. The sweat that had layered over her body is cooling off rapidly as they round the building and by the time they’ve walked the length of the side street and caught sight of the actual parking lot, shivers have started to rack her up.

Oscar briefly lets go of her arm to fish the keys from his pocket and she instantly misses the warmth. Now untethered she slows her walking, paying a bit more attention to where she’s placing her feet. He clicks off the alarm and the navy blue McLaren Artura at the other end blinks its lights at them. “There’s our ride.” Oscar is smiling as he looks back, extending his arm for her again, but his eyes stray over her shoulder and the expression freezes in his face. 

A hand wraps on the arm that Oscar hadn’t been holding and it feels nothing like the Australian's careful and grounding hold. It burns as it takes a bruising hold of her and tugs her to the side. She stumbles with the force of it, body already feeling too close to a ragdoll to comfort. Her voice is strong but not steady as she demands, “Let me go.” She tries to back away from the foreign body, but her ankle gives up and twists painfully. She stumbles but holds her stance and tries to push away from the nasal french voice speaking at her in a sultry voice. The arm that had been trying to push away from the tall man gets caught from the wrist. The drink sloshes and some of it spills over her fingers and onto her dress. 

Just as he’s starting to use his weight against her, a body steps in between them. She collides with Oscar’s shoulder a bit, but her right arm is freed, and she pulls it back towards her. “Get your fucking hands off.” She has never heard him sound so angry. His accent has deepened like she’s never heard before. But he is still gentle as he wraps a hand firmly on her left arm. She can feel him pulling the guy’s hand and prying his fingers open to release her. She uses his back to support herself as she helps pull her arm free from those thick fingers. 

Once freed she stumbles back again, but the Aussie has a firm hold on her and keeps her upright. The guy tries to go around Oscar to get her again, and over the driver’s shoulder she looks at his face for the first time as Oscar pushes firmly with his forearm to keep him away. Tan complexion, prince-y dark hair and a well groomed beard. 

In any other circumstance she would have said he was attractive, but now she can only feel nauseous at the fake nonchalant smile the guy is sporting. With her muddled brain she half understands he’s trying to excuse this as a misunderstanding. He catches the words ‘friend’, ‘together’, ‘mine’ and ‘drunk’. She has no idea if Oscar even understands what the guy is saying, but he seems set on getting him away from her. 

After a more forceful shove that makes the assailant stumble back, Oscar looks over his shoulder and lets go of her, pushing her towards the parking lot. “Get in the car.”

She nods dumbly as she turns in the direction where the lights flashed earlier. The parking lot is only mildly illuminated, but it’s enough for her to be able to locate the Artura among the other luxury cars parked there. There are more confrontation sounds coming from behind, and what sounds very much like a hit, but she doesn’t look back. All her attention and remaining brain power is going to try to reach the car at the end of the parking lot. Her right ankle throbs painfully with each step, and the uneven terrain makes it three times harder, because when the fuck did the pavement turn to gravel?

She leans on a pink Porshe 911 as her legs buckle, the McLaren is right there. There’s the sound of another car starting up, more yelling but she’s already rounding it from behind towards the passenger door. The sound of angry screeching tyres spinning out without traction in the gravel grinds her head and the pain in her ankle is too much; her right leg gives out completely, the other one follows shortly and she’s going down. She tries to drag her hand on the car to find a purchase on something but there’s nothing other than the squeak of her sweaty hand on the polished paint. Her knees take the brunt of the impact, and it stings.

The angry car has sped off, and she’s pretty sure she hears it clip the wall of the sidestreet. She takes a deep breath and lets herself fall seated against the car, knees to her chest, back to the door. Dumly, she notes that the cup still has some liquid on it, its red is just as dark in the low light as the small pinpricks of blood on her knees.

She registers footsteps getting closer to her, and for a second her heart rate speeds up again until she hears her name called by a worried Australian. She bangs her head against the door, willing herself to keep her eyes open as she answers back. Oscar’s footsteps speed up and in no time he’s kneeling in front of her, warm hands on her biceps as he looks over her body. He brings a hand to remove stray pieces of hair from her face and she can see a hint of blood on his knuckles.

“Are you okay?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Oscar cannot believe his ears. “How am- Are you forreal?” An incredulous chuckle escapes him because this girl, shivering on the floor with scraped knees and blown out pupils, who almost got kidnapped by a stranger in a foreign country, is more worried about him than about herself. He shakes his head and wipes his knuckles, showing her the unbroken skin. “I’m alright, see?” Her eyes scan his hand for a second too long before nodding. Her head bobs in a sleepy manner, and he knows he has to hurry. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” She’s breathing heavily, but Oscar can’t be sure if it’s an after effect of whatever drug the asshole put in her drink or the exertion of the situation. “My ankle hurts,” He looks down at her feet, still clad in heeled slippers with a complicated ribbon. Neither of her feet looks particularly swollen or bruised for now. “I’m scared…” Her voice is much softer, almost a whisper, but in the emptiness of the parking lot at night, it almost seems to echo. 

He grabs her arms again, rubbing up and down “It’s okay, it’s over now.” She keeps shivering under his arms and Oscar doesn’t know if it’s the cold or shock starting to settle in, “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head in a terribly adorable gesture, “Walk where?”

“We need to get you into the car”

“But-” She slaps the back of her hand against the car, “I’m here”

Oscar can’t suppress the smile, “Yeah, but unless you’re planning on driving, we need to get you around the passenger side.”

“... Fuck.” 

“Force of habit, yeah.” He grabs onto her forearms. Her skin feels cold and sticky with dried sweat. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She pulls alongside him, but as soon as her right foot is firm on the ground, she makes a face and he takes more of her weight as she falters, her other leg not cooperating much. 

“Oscar” The slugginess in her voice makes the R in his name sound much breathier. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Alright, well-” He bends down and swipes her legs off the floor, holding her in a princess's carry. She makes a strangled sound and her arms come to grab at his shoulders. The cup tilts dangerously but she rights it just in time. “Much easier this way.” He makes his way over to the passenger seat and bends his knees to open up the door, depositing her in the seat. “Ah look!” Wedged right in between the seat and the door, is a hoodie he’d abandoned maybe a few days ago. He pulls it and sets it on her lap, taking the cup from her hand. “Think you can get it on by yourself?”

“Mm-hm”

“‘kay, you do that while I figure out where to keep this.” He closes the door and rounds the car again to his seat, looking around the small space to find a safe place to place it without spilling what little liquid remains on it. As his companion wrestles with the fabric, she kicks an abandoned water bottle. “Bingo.” He leans down to grab it. A small shake reveals to still have stale water he poured out of the window before pouring in the remaining cocktail into it. He screws the lid back on and keeps the cup too, just in case. He drops both items in the footrest of the passenger before looking at the occupant. She’s relaxed into the seat, and her eyes are closed. Fear creeps in for a second, “Ready to go?”

thumbs-upHe gets a thumbs up in response. Still conscious it seems. He reaches over and pulls her seatbelt on, knowing he will ignore all speed limits to the hospital. After a second of consideration, he shakes her arm until she’s blinking up at him. “Try to stay awake, yeah?” He grabs his phone, to call Lando. It hasn’t been longer than 10 minutes since he left their table, but he needs someone to call the police on the guy, and let Lando know he needs to get a new ride. He looks at his companion, she’s looking at his phone as it rings in his lap. “If you feel like throwing up let me know, yeah?” He says as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“m’not throwing up.” Her angry eyebrows are back. 

“Okay, then you can help me explain to Lando-” Just then, the Brit’s voice comes through the car speakers.

“Heeellooo? Mate did you get lost on your way back or what?” He’s half yelling to hear himself over the music. It’s a miracle he even heard his phone ring.

“No, I’m taking the Alpine princess to the hospital.” He sneaks a look at her as he accelerates down the narrow monaco streets. She’s still awake, biting her lip as Lando processes the words.

“You what! What happened!? The fuck Oscah?”

He’s about to start explaining, but she speaks up “Some guy spiked my drink, I found Oscar and he got me out.” He has to keep his eyes on the road, but he can see out of the corner of his eye how she cuddles up into the seat. “I’m alright… Pinky promise.”

“Lando, listen, I need you to get Charles to call the police.” The traffic light up ahead has turned yellow, but Oscar doesn’t slow down. It’s the middle of the night and there are no other cars around, so he floors it right as it turns red. “I’ll give you a description, and his license plate. I need you to report him to authorities.”

“Fuck.” He says, eloquently. “Yeah I-” There’s a bit of silence from him, but the music is still humming loudly in the background. “I think I see Charles upstairs, I’ll go get him now.” Oscar can hear him speaking to someone, but it’s muffled like he lowered the phone. Almost a full two minutes later he speaks up again. “Kay, got Charles and Pierre here. They want to know if you’re really okay, sprout?”

Oscar is slowing down for a curve. Because as much as he would love to go as fast as during the actual race, he doesn’t know these streets as well, so he has to be careful. The silence stretches for too long, and as he turns to look at her again, he finds her completely asleep. 

“Shit, she passed out.” He presses harder on the gas pedal, Lando curses too. “He tried to grab her when we were getting to the parking lot. She twisted her ankle and scraped her knees, but other than that, she’s physically alright.” Streets and buildings blur as he speeds by. “Asshole was as tall as George or Alex. Lanky and tan. Dark hair, beard. I broke his nose, and probably his cheekbone before he ran away.” As he approaches a speed bump, he throws his hand over her chest to prevent her from flying around. 

This time it’s a new voice, Charles “He took off running?” 

“No, in a car. Porsche 911 Turbo S, Dark green.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

Of course I did, who do you think I am? 

“M3T9. He busted a backlight as he drove off, if that helps.”

“I will get on it, do not worry he will not get away.” Despite the noise, Oscar can hear how dark Charles’ voice becomes, and he remembers that Charles is a very prominent figure here; the prince of Monaco who is friends with the actual prince of Monaco.

“I’ll leave you to take care of him, then.”

“Yes yes, I will get him. You just get the petite poupée to the doctors, yes?” He has no idea what that means but it sounds like an affectionate nickname.

Oscar nods to himself in the car, “We’re already here, she’ll be alright” He can see the URGENCES sign of the Centre Hospitalier Princesse Grace. He eases his foot off the pedal, as he turns into the mostly empty parking lot.

“Keep us updated!”

“Will do.” 

The call disconnects and he’s left to pick a parking space that isn’t reserved for ambulances. Once he’s turned everything off, he turns to her and shakes her arm, calling her name to try and wake her up, but it’s futile. She’s breathing deeply, sound asleep. He rounds the car and opens her door. He leans over her legs to grab the bottle and scoop under her knees and in the process he discovers she did not manage to get both her arms though the sleeves of his hoodie, and that her right is still tangled inside. He almost huffs a laugh at that. Almost.

Picking her up again feels different than when he did it 10 minutes ago, because her body is too lax, too malleable. This time she makes no sound when he hoists her up, and her head lulls back, stretching her neck over the arm he has under her shoulders. She looks and feels like a ragdoll in his arms as he stands up and uses his elbow to drag the door down and closed; he quietly seethes at the thought of her being like this in the hands of such a vermin. 

How anyone could find such an unresponsive body attractive is a question he doesn’t even want to think of. Instead he stops to adjust her neck, letting her head rest on his collarbone instead of the previous uncomfortable position and fixes the hood over her head to cover up her face. It is the middle of the night, but he has learnt that every wall has eyes and that everything can and will be posted online. He has nothing to hide his face with, but protecting her identity in a moment of such vulnerability is his only priority in his mind after getting her help.

He’s careful of pushing the doors with his shoulder. The reception is empty except for the receptionist behind the desk. He sighs inwardly at that. The woman looks up and stands up immediately upon his arrival at the desk, his French skills are nonexistent, so he wholeheartedly hopes she understands English. “We were at a club and someone put drugs in her drink.” The woman nods once, so Oscar takes that as a sign that she does and continues. “She passed out in the car while driving here, like five minutes ago.” He’s not as oblivious as to think he looks innocent holding a dead looking girl, and the face of the woman, carefully stoic, sets his nerves on fire.

“Did she say what was put in it or who did it?”

 “No, but she asked me to bring what was left of the drink, because she said you could analyse it to treat her,” He sets the bottle on the counter and hikes her up in his arms. “She’d thought it was one of the bartenders, but as we were getting to the car the guy came and tried to take her by force.” He omits the part where he punched him and instead lets his trump card subtly show. “My friend Charles has already called the police to report the assault.” Despite how common it is, the name must register in her mind, because she makes a double take, between Oscar’s face and the face half hidden in his chest. “Please help her,” 

“Of course we will help.” She shakes her head like the thought of them refusing attention was a personal offence. She presses a button behind the counter and rounds the desk to take a better look at the girl in his arms. She produces a penlight from a pocket and gestures towards her. Oscar twists to allow her to get closer. “How long ago did she consume the drink?”

“Uh…” The nurse opens one of her eyelids and flashes her light, studying pupil reaction. “I have no idea, she found me around 15 or 20 minutes ago, she’d already realised by then and didn’t drink the rest of it, but I don’t know how long it was.” He can hear footsteps from behind, another nurse is coming from the personal hallway. “She started shivering too, but I don't know if it was cold or shock. I gave her my hoodie and it has stopped now, at least.”

The woman nods, and as the new nurse comes closer, she starts -hopefully- translating what he’s said in rapid French. It’s like watching Charles, Pierre and Lance gossip during drivers’ parade. The bottle is handed too, and when the exchange ends, the new nurse takes a cursory look, stops at Oscar’s face and mumbles something back before continuing their path towards the next hallway.

“We will get a room set up for her, do you want me to bring a wheelchair in the meantime?”

“No, I’m alright.” She’s deadweight, but not as heavy as Oscar would have imagined, he’s also trained enough during his life, he can hold a few more minutes. The receptionist goes back around the desk and starts asking questions about her for what Oscar assumes is a registry sheet. A new concern sparks in his mind, and he accidentally interrupts one of her questions with his own request. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to stay with her, but could you at least make sure she doesn’t get a male doctor?”

Her serious and stoic facade falls at that, and for a second she reminds Oscar of his own mum. “I’ll make sure of that, and I do think you might be able to stay with her. It’ll help her to see a familiar face waking up.” She gives him a reluctant smile and resumes asking if he knows her blood type. 

The other nurse comes back just as they’re finishing, and leads him to a room where they’ll be treating her. As he lowers her from his arm, he remembers to mention a detail he’d forgotten. “Hey, uh- Her ankle… She said it hurt, and might have twisted it.” 

The nurse nods, and answers in a much more prominent accent. “We will take x-ray of it. Your hand is okay?” 

Oscar looks back to his hand. There’s redness on his knuckles and a bruise is starting to form around the bones, but he flexes his fingers a couple of times and it only stings a bit. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”

“Okay, now you wait outside, I call when ready, yes?”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

He closes the door behind him and walks to a nearby bench, using the time to update Lando via text. In return he gets told that Charles stormed off the bar, Pierre, Carlos and Daniel in tow. The rest of them are deciding how to carpool home; and that everyone will keep the situation under wraps, including whoever Charles has contacted. He says that Alex will be stopping by the hospital soon, to drop off her forgotten bag and phone and whatever else she’s left at their table.

The receptionist nurse passes by Oscar in the way to her room and lets him know they’ll take her for an x-ray; and that after that, he might wait inside her room if he wishes, in turn he lets her know he will jump out for a second because another friend will bring her stuff from the bar. The woman nods and gives him the number of the room they will take her after the x-ray for him to come back. 

His phone rings just as they’re rolling her bed out. He only catches a glimpse of an IV line connected to her arm before they wheel her down the corridor, he too turns away. 

Alex is waiting with his emergency lights on. When he sees him come out of the doors, he gives him a tired smile. Oscar leans against the door and they stay in silence for a while. It’s colder out now, or at least it feels like that now that adrenaline is no longer coursing through him. The light sweat he’d worked up earlier is drying cold against his back. He raps his knuckles against the blue paint of Alex’s car, bringing the Thai’s attention to his bruised hand.

“I heard you broke his nose?” Alex’s tone is teasing, if maybe a bit impressed.

“Got a couple hits, yeah.” Oscar closes his fist, the skin tightens over his bones. The memory of a bone cracking under them probably shouldn’t feel as satisfactory as it did. “Should’ve done more.” 

It comes much more bitterly than he’d expected, and Alex places a hand over his wrist, patting him “You did more than any of us, don’t beat yourself up.” He reaches to the passenger seat and pulls a small handbag and Oscar spots a jacket hung behind the seat. “You cold?” Alex must have seen his eyes stray, and as he pulls it from its perch Oscar notices the Williams logo on it.

“Nah mate, I’d rather be cold.”

“Ah, come on I can’t let the boy saviour freeze tonight.”

“No, no, never in a million years you’ll catch me wearing Williams merch,” He grabs the handbag and steps away when Alex tries to push the jacket into his arms too. They’re both laughing as the jacket falls to the ground and Alex is left half hanging off his window to grab it. Oscar watches him struggle for a second or five before deciding to have mercy; so he grabs the jacket and stuffs it in Alex’s face, turns on his back and starts walking back to the doors so he can’t attempt to hand it to him again.

“Oscar!” Alex calls between fabric and laughter, and Oscar turns just in time to catch a juice bottle headed straight to his face. A second one follows right after, he fumbles with it since both his hands are occupied, but he manages not to drop it, Alex snaps his fingers in faux frustration at that. “Take care of her!” He says as he starts his car again.

“Will do, mate.” He watches as Alex drives away until his tailgate lights disappear behind a wall, just then he turns back into the hospital. As he makes his way back, he rearranges the stuff in his hands; he holds the purse under his arm since it doesn’t have any straps, and studies the bottles. Alex had gotten orange and apple. 

Which one would she prefer?

He has no idea, really. He always sees her drinking either water, isotonic drinks, or energy drinks. Apples or oranges? There is a new receptionist at the desk, and when Oscar rattles the new room number, he is directed to the elevators with instructions to the second floor where lower grade emergencies are treated.

He only has to wait around 10 more minutes before she’s wheeled back in. The initial receptionist seems to be the one assigned to her, as she is the one that stays and explains to Oscar that there isn’t any fracture in the ankle. It seems like just her soft tissue was affected and she’ll get by with wearing a brace and sports tape for a few days. The lower half of her body is covered by the sheets while his hoodie covers the rest. One of the sleeves has been pushed up to make space for the IV, and Oscar can see that her foot is resting on a couple of pillows to keep it raised. Her shoes are in a little cubby under the bed, cubby to which he adds her purse.

He gets told there isn’t much they can do about the drug except keep her hydrated and let her body work it though, because it has already been absorbed by her bloodstream, along with the alcohol she’d consumed. But that the sample analysis revealed it to be non-threatening, it’ll just leave her with a nasty hangover. Despite the slight pessimistic tone, the information leaves him relieved, and he relaxes into the chair he’d sat to wait. He thanks the nurse and watches as a new person in different colored scrubs, carefully and efficiently wraps her ankle in neon blue sports tape.

Before long, he’s left alone with her, with instructions of pressing the call button if anything happens, but to try and rest because it could be hours before she wakes.

He tries to keep himself busy whilst keeping an eye on her. He messages Charles with the name of the drug that was put onto the drink, and the only answer he gets is a demon emoji, a fist emoji, hands clapping and another fist. Confused, he simply reacts with a thumbs up. He updates those who have messaged him to ask about her condition, but doesn’t go further than that. He settles on drinking the orange juice, and leaves the apple one in the bedside table next to her bed, scrolls through social media for a while and checks up on her again, but it has been a long and eventful day, and when his eyelids become too heavy, he doesn't fight them very hard.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Waking up feels like a heavy G crash. There's a pounding in her head that goes at the same tempo as her heart, and it takes conscious effort to take a deep breath. There's a slight throbbing on her bicep, on the wrist of the opposite arm and a sharper throb on her right foot.

She's laying sideways in a soft enough bed and there is little light from what she can see through her eyelids. 

But it doesn't smell like her bed at all.

Instead there's the smell of a different laundry detergent, artificial minty eucalyptus shampoo and a herbal mix. It smells distinctly like men, and the unfamiliarity of it makes her heart race, worsening the pounding of her head.

There's a blank in her memory when she tries to remember the previous night. She knows she was going out with some of the Monaco based drivers, and that she'd abandoned the table at some point. That's where everything starts to get fuzzy. 

There are flashes. 

A body close to hers in the dancefloor. The cold air outside the club. Falling into the gravel. Hands roughly grabbing at her, and a french accent. Falling asleep in a car.

Panic really does settle in at this point, and tears blurry her vision when she opens her eyes; but the room is nothing like she expects it to be. She's in a single bed, and there is a heart monitor that is displaying her rabbiting heartbeat. A saline drip that is halfway empty connected to the back of her hand.

A hospital?

The light is warm and dimmed, seemingly coming from a lamp behind her. She looks down at herself and finds a hoodie that is not hers, and totally is the source of the smells; but looking under it’s collar reveals the same dress she wore last night.

She slowly turns her head, still wary of the raging headache. The overhead lights are off, and her foot is propped on a pillow under the blankets. She wiggles her toes and twists her ankle. A sharp pain sparks, but it's not unbearable.

The other side of the room is half hidden by the glare of the lamp that makes her blink before her eyes adjust to the light.

A figure is sitting in a chair, sound asleep and covered with a blanket identical to hers. Oscar’s arms are crossed across his chest and his neck looks like it will hurt when he wakes up. 

More memories rush to her mind as she turns fully to that side; Lando's voice over the speakers of the car, Oscar's worried face in the dancefloor, his broad back as he pushed another man from her. The light is low, but she can see a bruise forming on the hand where Oscar is holding a half full bottle of juice. 

Slowly, she registers the smell of stale car and something so uniquely Oscar that brings tears back to her eyes.

“Oscar?” Her voice is low, croaky and shaky, full of tears when she speaks. But the reaction is immediate, he's awake in a second. His head snaps back into the right orientation and he clutches the bottle in his hand. Maybe she should feel guilty for waking him up, but that is a too complicated emotion to think of right now, instead there is a pool of relief as he meets her eyes, and an immense amount of trust as he whispers her name and detangles himself from the blanket to get close.

“You're okay, you're okay.” It's obvious he doesn't know what to do about tears, his hands move around uselessly and he looks so constipated it's almost funny. “Are you hurt anywhere? I can- I can call a nurse?” His hand finally decides to hover over a call button at the side of her bed, but she claps hers over his instead, and attempts to dry her face with the other.

“No, it's okay. I'm- I'm okay,” She hiccups again, and his other hand comes to rub up and down her arm; an action that also feels familiar and warm. “Thank you, Oscar.” Her voice is still choked up, but very earnest. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes right back. 

“You don't have to thank me,” She wipes her eyes again and looks back up at him, he's giving her a half smile that pushes a dimple into existence. It's such an adorable new discovery that she can't help the rush of emotions that comes. She lets go of his hand and sits up to pull him into a hug.

“The fuck you mean i don't have to thank you!?” It sounds half muffled against the fabric of his white shirt. “You saved my fucking life, Oscar” His hands come to wrap around her back and tears spring up again at the thought of what could have been. “He could've-”

“Shhh, let's not think about that, yeah? You're alright and that's what matters.” His hands rub circles between her shoulders, “Charles took care of everything else.”

“What’s that mean?” She sniffs, trying to keep the tears from soaking up his shirt.

“I have absolutely no idea, but he knows people who can hide his crimes, I'm not worried about him.” I'm worried about you, “How are you feeling?”

She takes another deep breath. The smell of eucalyptus and laundry detergent is stronger when it comes from the source. She lets go and wipes her face again with the sleeve of her -his- hoodie. “My head hurts and my ankle stings, but I'm alright,” Thanks to you. “I just feel very hungover.”

“Here,” She hears the shake of liquid, and upon removing her hands, Oscar's is offering an unopened bottle of apple juice. “Alex got us these.”

She grabs it and pouts at him, “It's my favourite. Thank you.” The last line comes out more charged than intended, but that's alright because she doesn't think she'll be able to stop thanking him anytime soon.

Oscar simply smiles like he knows, he lightly shakes his head and starts filling her in on what happened after she “fell asleep” as he says. She has no idea what time it is, but there is no rush right now, she's safe and in good hands, and when sleep starts lapping at her feet, she lets herself be swiped by the tide because she trusts Oscar to be there when she wakes up again.

The end.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

well, if you got here, i want to thank you for reading this the whole way through. as i said earlier, this came to me at 3 am and did not leave my head again, so i had to bring it to life. i hope you enjoyed despite the slightly dark topic.

from my research, i learned that not some drugs are undetectable to the naked eye, so always be aware of your drinks and who is close to you. i hope this story stays as a fictional thing and that none of you ever have to deal with something like that.

taka care and thank you again for reading!

Love,

Nini.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Take Me With You

A/n: I’m not even sorry he’s so cute I need to drink his unborn children in a salty cocktail

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), mommy kink, whiny Slash (feed gooners), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

All it took was one look and you were hooked, you couldn’t even see his face but he had you.

You liked the music, a friend got you into Guns N’ Roses but you weren’t big on the scene and didn’t know them all too well. Still, the music was good so you took your friend up on their offer when they got tickets to their concert.

Front row, right at the stage. The opening band was cool, Sound Garden, but when Guns came out you were you in awe, specifically with the lead guitarist.

He took every measure to cover his face, dark glasses, a top hat pushed low, his big hair patching up the holes, but his body, those hip rolls and those skilled hands, experienced fingers. A thin layer of sweat coated him and you were ready to climb onto the stage and lick him clean.

Your friend saw the way you were eyeing him and kept making jokes, nudging you when he got close.

When the concert ended you walked out with your friend, at least you almost did. You couldn’t not at least attempt to see Slash again, so you made up some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom and snuck off.

It really wasn’t as hard as it probably should’ve been for you to get backstage but you weren’t complaining, not when Slash was so close, not when you saw him slipping a dressing room just down the hall.

You followed shortly behind, closing and locking the door behind you. You turned back around to find Slash sprawled out on the couch, fly down revealing his thick bush.

He was staring at you blankly, his hat and glasses were set on the table in front of him, giving you the first glimpse of his face, big brown eyes, bushy brows. He gave you a once over and a smile spread over his face; it wasn’t lustful, he didn’t look at you like this was some joke, like he’d ever even give you a chance, he just looked happy to see you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice was nothing like you expected, it was soft and sweet with a rasp to it from smoking.

“I, uh, I’m not too sure, honestly.” You replied. You didn’t have a plan, you had a concept: get backstage, see Slash. You never thought you’d get backstage nor did you think you’d see Slash.

Slash chuckled and gestured you closer. “What do you want to do?” He asked, that smile still on his face.

Your eyes trailed over body again, plush thighs stretching out his leather pants and expensive ostrich skin cowboy boots. “Whatever you want me to do.” Slash’s brows raised at that, of all things he hadn’t expected that, at least not worded in such a way.

He gestured you closer, tapping the floor with his boot to signal for you to sit down. You did just as he asked, kneeling between his legs. “You ever done this before?”

You’re face scrunched. “I’m not a groupie.” You said, grudgingly pulling your eyes from his happy trail.

Slash snorted and shook his head. “No, I mean, like, ever.” He said, cocking his head to the side as he took in your innocent front, doe eyes looking up at him, a nervousness to the way your lips moved and your eyes flickered.

You slowly shook your head, hoping he wouldn’t send you away. Instead he just adjusted his position and pulled his half hard dick out of his pants, stroking himself a few times.

He held his tip to your lips, smearing pre on them as a silent request for entry. You opened your mouth for him and he brought a hand to the back of your head, pushing you down on him.

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned, head falling back. “Thank you for coming back here, fuck.” He mused, guiding you to help you bob your head on him. “Squeeze your thumb, it’ll stop your gag reflex.” He said, demonstrating it himself.

He did enjoy hearing you gag on his length, choking on his girth, but this was your first time. He was content with just seeing the struggle, your throat bulging with him, eyes watering and drool beading out the corners of your mouth, trickling down your chin.

You took his suggestion and it did help, not completely but it was definitely better than before. Honestly, you didn’t mind the discomfort so long as you got to watch his expressions, his eyes closing in ecstasy, when he opened them you got to see the need in them as soft whimpers and whines left him.

He had you going slow, dragging this out. “Fuck, I don’t- I don’t even know your- fuck, mommy.” He moaned, eyes crossing as thick spurts of cum shot down your throat, he could barely keep his thighs from locking around your head.

He let go of your head, letting you pull away from him with a few good coughs. You wiped you mouth and stood up, taking a seat beside him on the couch.

Slash threw an arm over your shoulder and pulled you to his side, kissing your cheek. “You sure you don’t want to make your way through the rest of the band?” He teased.

You shook your head. “They don’t all look so pretty when they cum, do they?” He scoffed and pulled his arm back, fixing his pants and standing up.

“Alright, get out, I gotta go.” You chewed your cheek, looking him over, eyes landing on his clothed ass. He turned back to see where you were staring and laughed. “Jesus, what do you want?”

You thought for a moment, slowly bringing your eyes back to his. “I get to choose?” Slash stared at you, you wondered if he heard you at first but then he nodded. “Take me with you.” That sweet, warm smile found its way back to his face.

[nuggetpool-hi]

Guess who watched X-Men origins again

OK SO I got THOUGHTS of this movie but specially Wade's fight style because it's really similar to our current Deadpool's fighting style... so yeah I wanna yap about that hi

WELL FIRST OF wanna talk a lil about Victor, Logan and Wade's different styles... from a mortal's view point I am no expert on this just insane about these movies and I need to write my thoughts or i'll explode

Starting with Victor!! the ultimate kittycat girlypop

I love his kitty self I'm sorry ANYWAY EXAMPLES

OKAY SO VICTOR. Victor's style is obviously very animalistic but also stylized, he makes the fight a show for himself! He likes to hunt and he tries to always give chase or play around a bit before the kill, just like a cat playing with his food!

AND IF you pay attention to the start of the movie, this game he's got with his target isn't initially how he fought, he kinda developed it as the years went by and the eviler he got the more he played with his food. The first few wars he goes to he's fighting like a human soldier, then you can see him slip up some animal jumps and uses his claws more until at the end he's full on predator chasing his prey (just like when he captures Scott, my god I love that scene he's terryfing)

AND A BIG DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HIM AND LOGAN (that I will also talk about later I guess) is that with this play thing Victor has going on it SHOWS that he THINKS about the stragety when fighting, he's aware of his surroundings and his target's strenghs and weaknesses, he's good at coming up with solutions on the spot (see his fight with John, he can predict where he's going to teleport and catch him) and how to give a good chase without losing WHILE LOGAN WELL, at least in this movie he seems very lost when fighting?? he mostly just launches at his target and attacks, if the target runs away he chases, very animalistic but in a feral-based on instincts way... prolly why he coulnt win agaisnt Victor at first, because he was being blinded by his rage while Victor was quite literally playing with him lmao

ANYWAY LOGAN our favorite traumatized babygirl

and boy does he suffer in this one aughh EXAMPLES

Now you must be wondering why did I put the bathroom scene, well I feel like it represents Logan's general situation pretty well! (and its silly let me be), hes confused destroying everything and just keeps making it worse every time he tries to fix it.

The thing about Logan in this movie is that he's honestly just- confused and angry from the moment he killed his father, he runs away over and over again from EVERYTHING and he's constantly being manipulated BY EVERYONE!! Poor man has no idea what to do with himself of who he can actually trust but damn he tries, his enviroment is contantly changing and he's trying his best to adapt but he does it in a messy way.

The way he fights and acts in general is animalistic, yes, but more of the "scared dog attacks" kind of way, he's always acting on his instinct that it's mostly led by anger. When he fights he just throws himself and tries to slash whatever he can, he runs he hides and then when he gets the chance to he attacks again.

He constantly has little to no control of the situtation WHICH IS SPECIALLY SEEN pre-adamantium where he keeps losing to Victor because unlike him- he has no plan, he's being manipulated and kept blind of everything ON PURPOUSE which obviouly puts him in a disadvantage so yeah.

AFTER he gets the adamantium you can see his skills strengen with his knowledge, the more he lears about his situation the more focused he is and his fighting it's cleaner, he still moslty just launches himself head first into fights BUT he's not running away, he's able to evaluate his situation and adapt (See his fight with Gambit, he looks at him when running away and then destroys the stair so Gambit can't run away OR with Deadpool where he decides to gain height as a way to create the space needed to evaluate his enemy?? that one might be a lil bit of a stretch tho)

WADE WILSON THE ULTIMATE CUTIE PRINCESS

let's ignore how dirty they did him ok...

OKAY SO SADLY- The bullet scene is pretty much the only scene where we see him fight and it's honestly not enough to tell how his normal style is BUT I WILL SAY his general style is fancy to look at and scarily effective (which is mostly seen with our current Wade but you can see a bit in origins deadpool) he makes a show for everyone to see, which is also his stragedy to make himself even better at combat! He uses a lot of fancy movements and acrobatics that help him AND takes his enemies off-guard, confusing them as where they should attack or what he's going to hit?? anyway-

Comparison time yippieee THIS IS WHAT THIS POST IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT LMAO

I did not get side tracked idk what you mean.... and now seeing it over and over I'm realizing not that noticeable.... so it's just not that much to talk about oops

LOOK AT THIS WADE, LOOK AT THE MOVEMENTS HE DOES WITH HIS LEGS!! HIS HANDS??? THIS MAN IS SHOWING OFF he's using all kinds of acrobatics and fancy movements while fighting, he attacks with his hands and dodges using mostly his legs, he's using all he has!! and it's making Logan lose BECAUSE LOGAN CAN'T FOCUS!! specially since he's so "target locked will attack", Wade makes it SO HARD for him to focus on a pose long enough to actually stab him also Logan ain't too good at dodging, I'm guessing it could be because he heals? dunno

now what inmediately came to my mind upon rewatch was THIS scene (maybe because I saw it recently who knows)

THE SETTING IS SO SIMILAR!! Wade is using a lot of fancy movements to get up, dodge and attack all way too fast for Logan to process, once again Logan is looking everywhere confused about where to aim bc this silly red guy it's dancing on his face and he's struggling to keep up JUST LIKE IN ORIGINS except well he IS able to get a hit bahah

Dodges like crazy, jumps over Logan (he did in origins too) just moves a lot between every attack

Actually now that I think about it Wade feels a bit less effective in the car, like yes sure he's putting up a good fight but Logan still feels like he's leading it BECAUSE WADE IS MORE EFFECTIVE WHEN HE HAS MORE SPACE!! he likes to be able to move around and do gimnastics while Logan it's a lot better the closer he gets to his target so omg yeah... ALSO LIKE WADE STILL TRIES TO MOVE AROUND he shoves Logan away from him, he gets out of the car choking logan with a seatbelt and gets to the back, he tries to create space because that's where his speciality WHILE LOGAN keeps trying to get closer to have him in his power, which he gets to do since the car isn't allowing Wade to move as freely as he would want to...

AND YOU CAN SEE HIS FANCY MOVEMENTS WITH FRANCIS TOO he's constantly circuling him, dodging and spinning while Francis is just trying to get a hit, Wade keeps his enemies chasing him when he fight THAT'S the way he controls it and gets it wherever he wants aughh

ANYWAY YEAH I think that's it, don't really know how much sense any of this does since I've been writing it on-and off the whole day lmao it's so messy but yeah feel free to add onto it I'd love to see opinions on this wahoo

Might keep talking about stuff I find interesting in the movies bahah this has been funn

[a-sky-full-of-ideas]

How do i even tag my fics?

In the past couple of years I’ve seen a lot of people genuinely confused about how to tag their works properly, so I wanted to explain some common facts or themes of your fics you could tag!

This is Part 2 of my fandom netiquette series here is part 1

But before we get into it: You can tag it whatever you want! Everyone searches and filters differently. Some even comment on the characters/story/writing process in them,etc. But sticking to some of these tips usually serves both the reader and the writer! The main reasons are:

The reader will find the exact thing they’re looking for or at least they´ll be in the right ballpark

It also warns the reader about content they might not like (at this specific moment) or could be triggered by

The writer will have more positive interactions with their readers.

Having said all that, tagging your fics properly boils down to just answering the 5 W-Questions

Who?

Where?

When?

What?

Why?

Who are the characters ?

All the major characters involved

All the minor characters involved (if you want)

if it’s a ship use / or X between the names (character A/character B)

if it’s a platonic dynamic use & (character A & character B)

If it’s a specific version of a character tag it as trait!characterA eg. nerd/teen/autistic!

If one character/ship is shown as less favourable

Anti!characterC/ship

Not Character C/ship friendly

Additionally you can tag the POV

the MC of the fic, POV Character A

The writing style, eg. First person pov

Switching POV

Where does it take place?

The canon world

Canon divergence; it is largely set in the original world but something is different (usually the ship being canon)

Pre/Post Canon, set befor or after the OG story

Alternative Universe (AU)

Alternativ Universe(AU), it is set in a universes different from the canon

Our world, modern AU

Our world, but in a specific place eg. Office AU, coffee shop AU, High school AU, etc.; they might spend most or only the begging of their story in this place

Set in another stories world, world AU eg. Star Trek AU, etc.

A/B/O, omegaverse, there are a lot of different versions and rules for that one, but it would take to long for now to get into

Specific Place AU

A specific city, eg. they´re in London

A Specific planet, eg. Aldeeran

A Specific fictional Place, of the OG story, eg. Limbo

When does it take place?

The time it is set in specific

The era, a different time period eg. medieval, futuristic etc.

Fandom specific era, aka in the canon universe but a specific era

Holiday, from Christmas to pocky day! even fandom specific holidays!

Age, child/teen/adult or older

What is being said or done?

What is their Dynamic going to be?

Friends to lovers

Enemies to lovers

Enemies to friends to lovers

Idiots to lovers

Strangers to lovers

Rivals

Coworkers

Boss/employee

Unhealthy/toxic relationship

What is their relationship status ?

First kiss/meeting

Getting together

Feelings realization

Single Parent fic (Adoption ?)

Fuck buddies

Polyamory

Secret relationship

Arranged/political marriage, whether they like it or not

Established relationship; they’re already together at the start of the fic

Pre slash, it largely takes place before they meet and become a thing, but they might already hear of one another

Past character A/C, they were together before the fic starts and are split up now

What is their job ?

Their canon job

Fandom specific jobs, eg. Jonin!characterA

Modern AU jobs, lawyers to baristas janitors to actors

What is the length of the story ?

One shot, short and sweet stories usually not higher then 15k

Multiple One shots/One shot collection

What type of ending does it have ?

(Eventual) Happy ending, usually it means the main couple ends up together and even has a major group of friends just as happy by their side

Sad ending, usually implied with hurt non comfort

Open/ambiguous ending, usually means, that in the end they are not together ...yet! but there is hope for them to be friends or more (again)

Why are they behaving this way ?

Their state of being

Sick fic- one or all of them is sick, whether it’s the common cold or something deadly. You might tag the specific disease eg. Hanahaki disease

Powerless fic, if they have some sort of powers in the OG story but not in this fic

Deaged, through a magic spell/potion one or more characters turned younger, either into a baby or into the version of them before all the horrors tm. Aka precanon version of them

Injured

Hidden/Masked Identity

Which (major or minor) emotions are driving them to do so?

Angst/pain/sadness, there is at least some sort of sadness involved, it can be tagged Heavy angst/Light angst to specify, how painful it might be to read

Hurt and comfort; whether one or all are hurt, physically or mentally, doesn’t matter as long as one comforts the other(s) in some way …or at least tries

Hurt no comfort; one is hurt and they’re not being comforted (but they might be able to live on )

Crack/Humor, there are some objective funny things in it, whether that’s the main feeling or not

Crack treated seriously, the base idea is funny/out of character but within the fics universe it is very real and serious

Unresolved Sexual Tension (UST), aka they´re so frustrated but incapable of confessing

Jealousy; at at least one point, one of the characters gets jealous of the other/ someone else (seemingly) getting with the other

Fluff/tooth rotting fluff; it is so sweet that it’s like cotten candy aka it’s hella cheesy, major romcom vibes. Usually in combo with humor but can be seen in angsty fics as well

Protective!character, whether it’s verbally or physically protecting them

(Mutal) Pining, they´re constantly yearning for the other(s)

Oblivious character A, they’re completely misunderstanding the others intention, whether they’re believing them to be just nice or being insecure

Reconciliation, whether that is between the ship or other characters

Hate to love, they start out disliking or outright hating each other but end up falling in love

Grief, usually after a death

(Implied/Perceived) Betrayal/cheating,

Smut

PWP (porn without plot) / (porn with Plot)

Any position and type involved

Any emotions involved, rough/vanilla etc.

Top or bottom (specifying the character is written as characterA!top)

Dom or sub (specifying the character is written as characterA!sub)

Toys, if some are used and if so maybe even which ones

Kinks, any kinks involved or just spoken about

Again if any sort of doubt of consent is involved tag that!!

If the characters are minors, tag that as well! Even if you’re a minor, writing for other minors!

Warnings

Any sort of trauma can and should be tagged !! Even if they’re just talked about! Otherwise you might accidentally trigger someone !

Warning signs don’t apply

Trauma

Explicit content (Smut)

Explicit words, Swearing

Alcohol

Discrimination; homophobia, racism, ableism etc.

Any sort of disorder eg. Eating disorder

Any sort of abuse, child abuse

Suicide

(Major/Canon) Character death

Any sort of trauma can and should be tagged !! Even if they’re just talked about! Otherwise you might accidentally trigger someone !

Rape (Attempt)

Non con/dubious consent, aka the moment everyone involved is not giving enthusiastic consent or they don’t know who is truly the one doing it (eg. They’re masked/being lied to etc.)

Violence, any sort of physical altercation

Canon typical violence, this just specifies that it won’t go over the same amount of violent the OG story is t already showing

Fandom specific tags

A nickname

A catchphrase

Common praise for a character, eg. Character B is a good uncle

Common insult for a character, eg. Character C-A+ parenting

Specifying a relationship,that might not be canon, eg. B and C are siblings

Others

The fandom itself of course

The type of relationship(s) (mlm,wlw, multi etc.)

All or some of the characters sexualities

Character A centric, it’s mainly about their thoughts and feelings

Character A study, trying to decipher/depict or explore why the character might have turned out the way they did

One sided,-xyz, whether it’s being rivals or other type of feelings

Miscommunication/misunderstandings, whether for funny or tragic reasons

Trope based, any trope fitting to the fic , eg. sunshine/grumpy,

These are all the tags I can come up with at the top of my head but feel free to add!

Remember: It is in both the writers and readers interest to tag your works properly. It sets up the right expectations and thus a misunderstanding can be prevented. It´s basically like a summary of the fic but in less words!

Of course there will always be people, who either simply do not read the tags or will be mad about even the mentioning of an "unsavory" topic. There will always be a topic you won´t like nor understand! The sooner you accept that the easy it will be! But the ppl harassing creators/fans about them are usually the minority and frowned upon!

Alas I want to encourage everyone to be open minded! Either to genuinely try to understand why certain topics are written about, even if or especially because they´re "unsavory". But if you don’t want to waste your time on sth. you’re sure you don’t like, genuinely: Please just filter these tags out! That´s exactly why we have them!

None of us can afford to waste our very limited free time on arguing with and harassing others about something FICTIONAL …that we don’t even like. Instead, please focus on making and/or supporting art about YOUR favourite tropes/ships/tags! This is not only much nicer to the fans you don’t support but also to yourself! Positive interactions will result in more positive interactions after all! Mostly.

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[v-writes]

Captured King

DPxDC

inspired by this post by @mokulule

The Justice League have successfully captured Phantom after a relatively unknown branch of the United State's government, the GIW, had reached out to them for aid in stopping the ghost who was destroying their facilities.

Now they need to figure out what to do with him, hand him over to the GIW despite their story not lining up, or take a different approach.

TW for mentions on fanon typical giw experiments, nothing in detail but vivisection/experimentation is mentioned. some sexual talk but pg 13 level

Intro under the cut, read in full on ao3

Phantom had been quiet since he was apprehended.

Silent and still in a way that someone who needed to breathe, someone with a beating heart, could never be, and Batman could tell it had Superman on edge as he stared through the one way glass into the interrogation room. But then, the uncanniness of the young man they had captured was a minor stressor compared to the concern of what would happen if Phantom got loose, his arrest had been brutal. Clark shouldn't even be in the observation room, any fight that left him as battered as he was should land him in the Fortress of Solitude's medical facilities, but getting that through to him when Phantom was still present was a losing battle.

So many of the League's heavy hitters, including dipping into Justice League Dark for magical support, and Phantom had danced around them.

The only reason they had been victorious in the end was because-

~~~

After several failed attempts at capture, an ambush had finally been successful.

The ambush location had been set up for them, pending inspection by their team, based on Phantom's history and pattern of attack.

A pattern that was too aggressive, to recent for Bruce to have time to investigate to his satisfaction before action was needed.

Phantom had shown himself to be a destructive force, unwilling to parley, very willing to make short work of a fight and flee.

The research facility had been pre-cleared of civilians and intel, the latter of which irked Batman. Every instance of a League member beating Phantom to a facility location ended with Phantom fleeing, if only to return later. So why would the GIW need to clear their servers to the degree they did.

Each member of the ambush team chosen with the utmost care, carefully strategized, every outcome accounted for, and in the end-

The why was unknown, but Phantom couldn't use his intangibility on Captain Marvel, leading to Marvel turning the fight into a one on one grapple despite the close quarters limiting how much help the rest of the team could be in such a fight.

Phantom had barely made a sound most of the fight, ignoring the team's attempts at communication, he'd barely hissed at the brutal slash Wonder Woman had landed, barely a grunt at Superman's blows, dancing around Green Lantern's constructs, a motley of growing bruises on his skin and wounds seeping green.

And Phantom had reciprocated in kind, Diana had come out of the fight bruised, but largely unscathed, but Green Lantern was only 'standing' due to her ring and will, and whatever Phantom had done to Superman's ribs wasn't healing without medical attention, at least Clark Kent calling in sick to the Daily Planet would help his cover.

But Phantom screamed when Captain Marvel called down lightning on him. Broken, and bone chilling even through the comms, the volume deafening. And Marvel had read the seizing muscles followed by going completely limp, the uneven and new breathing, the tears, the presence of any reaction at all as landing a disabling blow.

Phantom took advantage of the lowered guard, but at their proximity, it probably wouldn't have mattered lowered guard or not. Phantom reciprocated in kind.

Phantom's eyes shot open, glowing bright in the night sky, energy arcing off of him as he sent Captain Marvel's lightning back through him.

Captain Marvel's cry cuts off sooner than Phantom's had, quickly replaced by Billy's, having been so close to him when he transformed, Phantom catches him quickly, instinctively, as he begins to fall. Cyborg's drones catch Phantom's expression as he processes what just happened clearly, eyes widening, mouth opening slightly, shock shifting to horror as he stares crestfallen at the boy in his arms.

"We're too high up." The first words anyone on the Justice League had heard him say, despite the GIW claiming he had a reputation for chatting nonsense incessantly. "The atmosphere it's, the air is too thin, too cold, he-"

"Phantom." Superman's tone is unyielding, firm, Phantom's eyes dart to him, "hand him over."

Phantom stares at Superman for a long uncomprehending moment before startling into action, "right, of course," drifting closer to Superman he carefully places a stirring Billy in his arms, as soon as Phantom lets go Green Lantern wraps Billy in a force field.

Billy takes a deep breath, eyes shooting open, twisting in Superman's arms his eyes snap past Phantom, but the warning his glance gives the ghost isn't enough.

Cruel, was not a word that could ever apply to Diana. Ruthless however, was an apt description, her lasso wrapping around Phantom's throat, he didn't need to breathe, but it would prevent his sonic attack, and provided her leverage to swing him around like a dog with a chew toy, diving towards the Earth she slams him into the ground, creating a crater at his impact, and holding him still long enough for Zatanna to swoop in from where she lay in wait to contain him.

~~~

Because something wasn't adding up.

The petition for help from the US government had made Phantom out to be a recurring issue, yet hadn't reached out until his most recent attacks.

Research notes going back nearly a decade, tied closely with a branch of the U.S. government none of them had heard of before.

Laser focused on his target unless absolutely forced to shift his attention.

And it took a lot to draw his attention, he displayed a worrying number of powers and abilities, skilled in evasion and combat, he didn't hesitate to match any of the league blow for blow until he-

Phantom's face when Captain Marvel had transformed played over and over again in Bruce's mind.

There was a difference to him in fighting Captain Marvel, the Champion of Magic, Earth's Mightiest Mortal, and Billy Batson, the 14 year old out too late on a school night.

As there should be.

But there wouldn't have been to the menace the GIW had described.

The GIW would be expecting an update soon.

The league didn't have one for them.

Batman refused to have one for them until he had more information.

Unfortunately their greatest source of information was tight lipped and unresponsive since he awoke in the interrogation room.

Zatanna's wards had held him unconscious for transport. The ghost shield the Justice League had been provided appeared to work during transport to the Watchtower, having had to be turned off and on again to pass through, but according to the GIW Phantom had a history of being able to get around them.

More reliable would be the custom restraints Zatanna had made, Phantom had stared at them in shock upon waking in the cell,before placing his shaking hands on the table he was cuffed to. Four custom sigils, two on each wrist, chained to a magically reinforced interrogation table.

Clark turned as Diana and Zatanna entered the observation room, each with a coffee in hand, "didn't bring a cup for Batman and I? I'm hurt."

"I know you are, I was there. And I hear the Medical Bay has its own private cafeteria and coffee pot."

Zatanna raises a perfect eyebrow, "do I look like an intern to you?"

"Ah, that's-"

Diana and Zatanna make eye contact, before laughing together, Diana leans pointedly on Clark as Zatanna asks "any updates?"

"Nothing solid," Clark sighs, "we thought we'd try talking to him individually to see if that changed how he responded, if he would be more open if he weren't outnumbered, but he just ignores us both, he'll look up to see who entered then go back to staring at his chains."

"That's not entirely true." Batman says.

"How could I forget, he flinched when I entered but not when Batman entered, anything else you want to add about his body language?"

"Hn."

Diana nods, "it makes sense, he has been in several fights with you, but not with Batman."

"Frankly I'm stunned the two of you thought could pull off unintimidating considering the past fights and your whole deal," she gestures to all of Batman, winking, "no offense Batsy."

"Hn."

"You think we should send in the one who put that bruise around his neck? Or the one who is responsible for his custom restraints?"

"Point taken. But I was actually thinking the Captain? You know, the one you used to get the drop on him? I saw the recordings, send him in as Billy and Phantom will talk."

"We aren't contacting Captain Marvel until school releases."

"Right. Middle of the night? No problem, what teenager has a sleep schedule anyway? But god forbid we interrupt Biology."

"It would be Language Arts at the moment actually."

"Why do you know that? Are you counting down until the school day ends?"

"Hn."

"Of course you are."

"You know," Wonder Woman starts carefully, "his cooperation with Captain Marvel isn't a guarantee, but there is another way."

Superman shrugs her arm off of his shoulder, "Wonder Woman-"

"Are we not in agreement about wanting information that does not come from the GIW themselves?" She gestures, lasso in hand, towards Phantom through the one way glass. "There information sits."

"Yes, but Diana-"

"It wouldn't be admissible in court."

Diana looks between Superman and Batman for a moment before sighing. "Politics."

"This isn't an alien invasion," Superman placates, "we need to be cognizant of how we handle this, not just that we handle this."

"I know, I know, as I said, 'politics'. That he can, or rather, has flattened a building with a yell and gone toe to toe with us makes him our business, but we aren't the USA's dogs"

The door to the observation room opens, Batman's eyes narrowing behind the cowl, "you're supposed to be in class."

"You thought I would listen to you and go to school after last night? How are you surprised, don't you have kids?" Captain Marvel does not even attempt to look ashamed.

"He really has no excuse, they don't listen to him either," Red Hood, sans signature red helmet enters, a domino in its place, and a manila folder in his hand.

Red Robin follows him, "he doesn't even have custody of me, but don't tell him that, he likes to pretend."

"This is a restricted access area, associated with a classified investigation."

"Nope." Red Hood steps to stand in front of Batman, taking the lead of the new trio to enter.

"Excuse me?"

"It's our investigation now old man."

"That's not your call to make-"

The computer terminal activates, lighting the room in green Oracle's symbol takes over the screen, static clicks over the Justice League communicators and computer speakers before Oracle's voice, computerized and clear comes over them.

"And he didn't make it, I did. And we've been busy."

Captain Marvel smiles, stubbornly bright, "I emailed her after you tried to bench me. You would not believe the stuff you can find on the GIW when you don't respect the government. Here's a flash drive from Oracle, I've had a lot of fun, and come to the conclusion that she's terrifying."

Red Robin snickers, "did you need the wisdom of Solomon to figure that out?"

"O, the Watchtower servers are on a closed network."

"I thought we were past you underestimating me? The drive is more for general JL use, I've already uploaded copies to our servers."

"I'm referring to the guests you gave Zeta access to."

"Oh that wasn't me."

"That was my idea," Captain marvel scratches the back of his head bashfully, not making eye contact with Batman, but not apologizing either.

"Without prior notice or Trinity approval?"

Diana takes a long sip of her coffee. "While I am neither 'the World's Greatest Detective', nor an investigative journalist, I have picked up how to best get around certain 'politics' issues in my time as a UN representative. For what it's worth, Oracle was already on the case when I reached out to her."

"Speaking of ways around politics," Red hood steps towards the door to the interrogation room, Superman starts to move towards him, but stops when Wonder Woman puts a hand on his shoulder. "While you lot have been keeping your hands clean, we've been doing actual work-"

"In fact Oracle is still working."

"Yes, thank you O, you're amazing and their servers are weird, Red Robin can handle filling you lot in, I'm gonna go get Phantom to open up."

Red Hood slams the door open, Phantom's gaze snaps to him, eyes narrowing, "yo Danny!"

read the rest on ao3