#--all i am spinning every element of it around in my head every hour of the day lol

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, medical procedures including dialysis and chronic illness, dry humping, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Pete Brenner, short!reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your night is streaked in turmoil. You don’t dare move as the man’s weight keeps you done. His shoulder presses on yours as you remain face down. He dozes beside you, snoring with his arm stretched across you. You can smell his sweat in each breath you take.

You’re disgusted. With him, with yourself. Why haven’t you screamed? Why haven’t you run away? Your fear has you paralysed as you stare at the window, the night breeze stirring the curtains and groaning in the fire escape.

The hours sift through you like sand in a glass. Every time the man twitches or shift, you whimper and brace for more. You know he can do much more than he’s already done. You cling to that as an excuse for your futility.

He startles you as he nuzzles your hair, his voice rocky as it rises in his throat. The morning is just outside, watching you, rising as if nothing’s changed. “Morning, sweetheart,” he squeezes you, bringing himself even closer, “mmm, you smell nice.”

You don’t make a noise. You are weak and entirely prone to his whim. His hand crawls up and down your back, finally tapping your ass before he pushes himself away. There’s something in the way he acts like this is usual that frightens you. As if you’re two people waking from a romantic night together. It was anything but.

The bed jolts as the springs recoil and you listen to his footfalls around the room. You remain unmoved as you hear him shuffle around and finally leave. You hold your breath as you lose track of him. You bring a hand up to wipe the salty tears from your cheeks. Those come and go without your permission.

You shakily put your hand to the mattress and push yourself up. Your body is ragged and sore. It’s as if he’s still on top of you. Every action is bogged down by the tension wound into your muscles. You cross your arms across your chest and look around. Nothing is out of place.

You go down the hall. Is he still there? Did he let himself out? You enter the kitchen and see his jacket slung on the back of a chair at the table. The muffled whine of the shower is your answer. He lingers.

You spin and search the place and your mind for what to do. You scramble back to the bedroom. This is your chance. You swipe up your phone and catch your breath. The police!

You put the phone to your ear and an operator picks up.

“H-hello,” you sputter, “there’s a man in my apartment. He broke in last night–”

You can barely understand yourself. The operator calms you down and gets the story out of you, along with your address. You answer a few more questions before they assure you help is on the way.

You head back to the kitchen but find yourself flattened to the wall in the hallway as the bathroom door opens. You face that man, Pete, as he steps out, wrapped only in a small pink towel. You bat your lashes, looking at his face to avoid peeking anywhere else. He’s walking around in your apartment, naked and nonchalant, after last night. It’s absurd. Utterly terrifying.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he steps closer as you wilt and puts his hand on your side and he bends to kiss the top of your head, “why don’t you get the coffee going? We got a long day, don’t we?”

You’re stunned. What is he talking about? He definitely has a long day. The police are going to come and arrest his ass. All you have to do is keep him there until they arrive and it seems like he doesn't plan on going anywhere.

“Okay,” you eke out and slide along the wall.

He hums but says nothing as he lets you go. Your skin crawls where he touched you. You focus on making coffee, it’s an easier task than facing your intruder. You fumble with the machine and the tin of grounds. When you finally flick it on, the legs of a chair scrape behind you.

“So, you got an appointment today,” Pete states, not asking.

You turn to face him, confusion rippled in your forehead. You can only nod. He’s insane. Why is he still here?

“I can drive you, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be running all around.” You blink. He smirks and points to the fridge, “saw it on the calendar.” He pushes his shoulders out, still in little more than the towel, a trickle of water on his thick neck as his wet hair is pushed back from his face. “I’ve been reading up, that’s some hard shit you’re dealing with, but just means you’re strong. I like me a strong woman.”

You don’t know what to say. It would almost be endearing if he wasn’t a psycho. You lean on the counter, gripping the edge as you just stare.

“You shouldn’t do this alone–”

A pounding comes at the door and he tilts his head as you jump. You wring your hands and face the door. Your heart is fluttering; you’re saved. The knocking comes again.

“PD, open up,” a man’s voice booms from the other side.

Pete laughs, a sardonic snicker, and he sighs, “oh, sweetheart, tell me you didn’t.”

[rayslittlekitten]

You Won't Let Me

“Toff Girl” (aka “Damsel” Universe) Masterlist

A/N: I had a good chunk of this chapter written out even way before the last chapter was started. I got a little stuck on this but I think I finally got this to where I want it to be. I am sorry (not sorry) for all the angst in this. "You Won't Let Me" by Rachael Yamagata was the driving force behind this. "Under the Table" by BANKS was an inspiration as well (YT link for both below). Those are both beautiful songs and recommend checking them out if you're not familiar.

Rating: T/M (no smut, but some mentions of D/s dynamic/elements)

Word Count:  1,378

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!reader

Plot: Things don't go as expected when you thought you had it all figured out.

Contains: lots of hurt and angst, some mentions of D/s dynamics/elements, bratting, possible death threats?

Ray is sitting at the bar of Princess Victoria enjoying his afternoon tea while reading the paper. The pub isn't open for a few more hours for evening service. The quietness is interrupted when he hears the front door open.

"Sorry, we're not open--" Ray stops mid-sentence when he sees your reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

As you strut towards him, he spins around on his stool and is met with your lips crushing his. You grab his face and dig your fingers into his beard. You practically melt into him. Getting caught off guard, Ray allows it for a moment until he puts his hands on your waist and gently pushes you off as he stands up.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Ray asks.

"We had a problem you couldn’t solve and I just did that for you. For us.”

“What are you talking about?” Ray tilts his head, confused at what you’re referring to.

“Fletcher! He’s never going to blackmail us - I mean you and Mickey - ever again,” you tell him, unable to contain your excitement. “We can be together again!”

Ray quickly looks around the pub and the street right outside before locking the front door and pulling you into the dining area in the back where he and Mickey usually conduct their business for more privacy.

“What did you do?” Ray turns to face you with knitted brows.

“Let’s just say you and Mickey are not the only ones in London who have power and resources," you answer smugly with a smirk.

“For fuck’s sake!” He huffs and shakes his head. “That was my problem alone. Not yours to fix and I had fixed it!”

“God damn it, Ray!” You chuckle and shake your head. “I thought you would be happy about this.” 

Your chin starts to tremble and you put your hand over your frowning mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Ray breathes out as he helplessly watches you cry yet again. 

You shove him, slap his chest and then start pounding on it. Why do you torture yourself like this? You must truly be a masochist.

“No, you’re not! Just tell me Fletcher wasn’t the problem. If you didn't want to be with me anymore, just tell me instead of fabricating this stupid elaborate excuse,” you shout.

“It wasn’t an excuse–” Ray starts.

“Then why can’t we be together? I handled the only thing that was keeping us apart!”

“Fletcher is a greedy, sneaky cunt and will find any and every opportunity to milk as much money as he can from anyone. You should have talked to me about this before impulsively doing that,” he scoffs.

“Like how you talked to me about ending our relationship before deciding that for us?” you jab back. “Well I did what I thought was best for us.”

“Would you stop being a spoiled brat for one fucking moment? So what if you’re filthy rich? Money can’t solve every problem!” Ray steps in and gets right into your face. 

You stare at him and step in closer to him, your noses practically touching.

"Yes, I am a filthy rich spoiled brat and I would pay Fletcher off each and every time to keep his bloody mouth shut for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for me to get what I want. What are you going to do about it, huh?" One of your eyebrows lifts slightly.

Ray glares at you.

“I already did what was best for everyone and there’s nothing more I need to do. If you want to continue to throw money away at Fletcher, that has nothing to do with me,” Ray shakes his head and crosses his arms.

You suddenly slap him hard across the face, nearly knocking his glasses off. He looks back at you in shock. 

“What do you think you are doing?” He takes a small step back and adjusts his glasses.

“Being. A. Filthy. Rich. Spoiled. Brat.” You punctuate each word with a poke to his chest, making his eyes twitch.

“Stop it!” Ray snarls. 

“Make me!” You challenge as you take another step closer to him and try to slap him again but he catches your wrist.

Ray’s eyes go dark for a moment, focused on the satin collar around your neck hiding slightly under your jacket collar, after hearing the sweet jingle of the bell. His favorite.

You stare back at him, anticipating his next move. His eyes move back to yours and his face softens. He then intakes a quiet sharp breath when you kneel down in front of him.

“Get up,” he commands.

“Make me!” You repeat.

“This isn’t a game!”

“No, it’s not,” you agree, shaking your head.

“Michael is going to be here any minute,” he spits, glancing at his watch.

“I don’t care! Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t love me anymore and you’ll never hear from me or see me ever again,” you tell him.

Ray adjusts his glasses as he continues to stare down at you, exasperated.

“You need to leave,” he says while glancing at his watch.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” you demand again.

“It’s… it’s complicated,” he answers, his eyes twitching again.

“No, it’s not. It’s either you love me or you don’t.”

“Be a good girl for me and get up,” he tries again, changing tactics.

“No! Not until you-”

“The only reason we’re in this situation is because I love you!” he finally says. “We shouldn’t have even started seeing each other in the first place and I can only blame myself for allowing it to happen knowing what the risks were.”

“I don’t care about the risks,” you tell him. “It’s worth it.”

“I care about the risks. This isn’t just about you and me,” he starts. “There are a lot of people - innocent people - who can get hurt including your family if the wrong people find out about us.”

“I’ll behave,” you plead as you crawl over to him and rub your face against his thigh. “I’ll be a good kitten. I promise–” 

“Stop begging like a desperate fucking dog!” Ray snarls in disgust. “It’s pathetic!” he grabs your arm and yanks you up to your feet.

Normally, his degradation would turn you on, but his intentions behind his words feel far from playful and for once, it absolutely crushes you. Is that how he truly feels? Has he always felt this way?

“It’s over! You have to accept it!” he shouts.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Ray frantically takes a step back from you, creating distance and turning around to find Mickey walking in.

“H-hi, boss! Not at all!” he quickly spits out, feeling embarrassed. 

“Uh, Miss–” Ray glances over at you and does a double take when he sees the hurt in your damp eyes. It wasn’t the same sadness he saw earlier when he shot down your idea, not even when he broke up with you. He didn’t just break your heart just now. He also broke your spirit.

His face falls, regretting his choice of words in the heat of the moment.

“I was just leaving,” you finish his lingering sentence, before rushing out the pub without saying goodbye.

For a moment, Ray reaches out for you when you walk pass him, but he restrains himself at the last moment. He didn’t want to leave things between you like this. He watches you as you make your way through the pub until you’re out of sight.

“Ray, I thought I told you to handle that,” Mickey says as he pulls out a chair and settles in.

“I thought I did,” Ray replies. “But I don’t think there will be any more problems.”

“Well, there better not be or I may have to handle this one myself,” Mickey tells him. 

“Boss…you don’t mean–” Ray’s eyes start twitching.

“Ray, I’m not in the business of killing people,” Mickey cuts him off. “That is only reserved as a last resort for people really deserving of it.”

Ray lets out a breath of relief.

“But if I have to handle it myself, she’s going to wish she was dead. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, boss,” Ray nods.

“Good. Now, where are we with the Sheffields?”

[bridgyrose]

Great job as always!

How about part 2 of the Army of a Rose AU?

“Do you think she’s defective?” 

“She’s not one of ours!” 

“But she could be!” 

“She was with my sister and her friends! That is the real Ruby Rose!” 

Ruby slowly came to, listening to the voices argue as she tried to piece everything together. White cloaks, other Rubys, grimm running down the streets and all the buildings boarded up, none of it seemed right. Her vision started to clear up as she found herself looking up at a white ceiling with bright lights. “W-where am I?” 

“You’re in the medical wing. You seemed to have an accident down in Mantle.” 

Ruby sat up once she recognized the voice and slowly looked over to see Winter standing next to her along with one of the Atlas scientists. Her eyes caught a white cloak, and the Ruby wearing it standing at attention. “What’s going on? And why are there so many… mes?” 

The scientist practically beamed as he moved to his computer. “Its a project to finally find a way to keep everyone safe from the grimm! We can use your DNA-” 

“You’re dismissed,” Winter interrupted with a calm tone. 

“But Specialist-” 

“I said you’re dismissed. Now that Ruby is awake, I should take her back to her friends.” 

Ruby watched as the scientist grumbled out of the room, her own head spinning with questions she had. “What did he mean?” 

Winter sighed and sat down next to Ruby. “After Beacon fell and Qrow found you at the top of the tower, no one was certain if you were going to wake up. And with what happened to the wyvern at the top, we figured you had something to do with that. I was against it, but the General insisted we take a lock of your hair and use that to create another you. In case you never woke up.” 

“And… why so many of me?” 

“The first clone of you was a success… until it tried to fight a grimm. After a few more attempts, we finally managed to create an ideal weapon against the grimm. And it proved effective enough that we have created a battalion of grimm slayers to keep Mantle and Atlas safe.” 

“They’re… good… I guess.” Ruby sighed and stood up. “And my friends? They’re okay, right?” 

Winter nodded and stood up, scroll in hand as she dimmed the lights to the room. “All misunderstandings have been cleared up and they’re in their assigned dorms. I can take you to your team if you wish.” 

“Please.” 

“Then follow me.” 

Ruby nodded and followed after Winter through the halls of Atlas, her eyes still focused on each Ruby they passed by. Every single one of them looked the same: white cloak, short hair, silver eyes that seemed to shine in the light, Atlas military uniform, combat blades and guns sheathed and holstered to their hips. She had so many more questions, and a lot of discomfort with seeing so many of herself around Atlas following orders to the General. The same General that had Mantle on lockdown with a curfew. Her gut twisted in on itself as they stopped in an elevator. 

“I know this is a lot to take in, but we’re doing this for the good of the kingdoms,” Winter said as she put her scroll away. “Your silver eyes are special and as long as your clones continue to work, we can find a way to keep from putting others in danger.” 

Others that arent clones… Ruby thought to herself. “But why me? Why cant Atlas continue producing the robotic soldiers they have? That was the point, wasn’t it?” 

“The general has started to grow a bit more paranoid about the soldiers we have been producing. Beacon showed him that even Atlas technology isnt infallible and that having a more human element will make things easier. Better. Your dorm is just down the hall and the fifth door on the right. Please rest up, the General will speak to you and your team in a few hours.” 

Ruby nodded and started to make her way down the hall as the elevator opened. Everything about this felt wrong. Cloning her without permission, using those clones as fodder against the grimm in a desperate attempt to keep the kingdoms safe, the disregard the Atlas military gave to her own rights and those of her clones, treating them like machines… the more she thought about it the more she hated the idea. 

Finally, she paused as she watched a familiar face with bright green eyes and red hair walk through the hallway intersection, accompanied by another one of the Rubys. Her heart skipped a beat, then shattered as she watched Penny kiss the Ruby and rush off. She took a breath to calm herself, legs starting to shake as her head spun with more questions… and as the hallway started to swirl around her before she hit her head on the ground with a loud thud.

[grayrazor]

White Knight

Sol’s Stalwart Defender

Length: 15 meters

Wingspan (fully outstretched): 10 meters

Empty Mass: 5700 kg

Armaments: 6 Mark-IX radiation-seeking fusion missiles, 1 particle cannon (12.1 GigaWatt range)

Maximum Delta-V: <redacted>

Minimum Turning Radius: <redacted>

There was only one thing more frustrating than the rejection of the Intelligence Air/Space Superiority Drone Prototype “White Knight” from front line service and its assignment to interceptor duty in the Outer Solar System.  That would be the fact that they left me on.  Five years the war had gone on now, and all I had to occupy myself was staring at thousands of dead moons around the four gas giants.   A post-human mind can only take so much.  Locked into my launch tube on Uranus’ moon Titania, I could not even move.  I might not have minded so much, but a layer of dust was starting to form, and the maintenance drones refused dust me, insisting that it was not a maintenance problem, as being dirty did not interfere with my primary functions.  They may not be legally sapient, but I swear those things have developed a capacity for a malicious sense of humor.  

Then one day, something unexpected happened.  My EM sensors picked up a pattern of radiation, the sort only produced by the formation of an opening into hyperspace.  Something was coming out near Saturn.  It was fairly faint, probably an attempt at stealth, I would be the only one in the solar system that could see it, who knew that a potentially enemy craft was entering our space, whether to spy or hit and run.  I sent a signal to Command, but it would be at least forty-five minutes before the signal would get there, five hours before any craft from Earth could get out this far.  I was on my own.  A cloud of regolith erupted from Titania’s surface as I blasted off toward Saturn at full burn.  

Coasting into the Saturn system.  I brake just above the rings and run silent, trying to minimize any internal radiations that could distract me from the intruder’s telltale energy glow.  To win this, I would need the element of surprise more than anything.  Then something moves below, a great fish amongst the school of glaciers.  It rises up out of Saturn’s rings like a breaching whale: the spherical hull of an enemy escort carrier.  This I had not foreseen.  I was expecting a covert ops craft, maybe a small frigate or destroyer.  That the enemy could smuggle in something like this so unobtrusively has dire implications.  But that’s not relevant now; now I need to worry about the fact that the detection equipment on this sort of ship could pick me apart from the debris in this system even if all my systems were completely online.  A feeling suspiciously like a fight or flight instinct kicks in as I fire my thrusters to dive into the ring, arcs of burning plasma close enough that I can feel their warmth on my metal skin.  I wonder if that was something my programmers built in, something like a simulated adrenal gland, of if it is all in my mind, something inherited from the human pilots whose minds were scanned, replicated, and merged to create mine.  

In this ring I have to move at what feels like a painfully slow pace.  This isn’t like the Asteroid Belt where you could fly all the way through without even seeing a single object; here the blocks of ice are as close together as I am long from nose to tail.  I have to concentrate every second on weaving between them as they spin and bob and collide with one another.  This isn’t helped by the fact the escort carrier has launched a flight of fighters after me, writhing octopoid drones with thrusters on their manifold tentacles.  I swerve in a flat spin and boost inches away from a large chunk; the missile chasing me can’t turn as tightly by a fraction of a degree and impacts, the glow of a nuclear fusion explosion blinds my rear sensors for a moment.  Unfortunately for a pursuer, its forward sensors were the ones blinded, it smacks head on into the shattered pieces of the late chunk of ring, adding its own fuel to the conflagration.

I notice one fighter hanging below ring level.  I drop out for a moment and launch two missiles.  The enemy’s point defence plasma cannon is fast enough to stop one missile, but by the time it shoots at the second it’s already inside the blast radius and melted in an instant.  

Flying back into the ring, I extend my landing claws and perch below an outcropping on one irregularly shaped bit of ice.  I fill the spectrum with static, drawing the enemy in but making them unable to find my exact position.  When two fly past I open my missile bay and launch my last four warheads at them.  Three all lock on to the same target, vaporizing the enemy before it can react.  The other sees the missile coming and ducks behind two colliding rocks, which absorb the blast’s energy.  This one’s a mite cleverer, his red stripes probably indicating a higher-end model.  He immediately traces the missile exhaust back to me, and matches my every move when I blast off again.  He saves his ammunition, opting to close to point-blank range so I can’t escape.

I burn through fuel trying to outfly this one, exhausting the spaceborne equivalents of zigs and zags, immelmann turns and aileron rolls, but somehow he’s always right on my tail.  I break out of the rings and make for the moon Titan.  After a few thousand kilometers of just barely outrunning my opponent, I hit the moon’s atmosphere at a deep angle, hoping the rapid deceleration will make him overshoot.  The drag feels like it’ll pull my wings off, I shake and knock about, a trail of fire behind me that could reach across a small country.  Then the missile comes.  It’s a near miss, detonated by the atmospheric shock waves, but it knocks me out of control.  The aerodynamic shear rips off the doors to my missile bay and one landing claw.  Something’s come loose inside.  I can hear it rattling around when I move.  I visualize gritting my teeth as I sever some pain receptors so I can concentrate.  

I rise out of the atmosphere to find him behind me still.  He fires three missiles, but is still a few clicks away so I have time to shoot them down with my particle turret.  His arsenal must be exhausted, he begins closing the distance between us so I can’t dodge his plasma cannon fire.  Perfect.  When he gets within a shiplength I cut propulsion and fire all the thrusters on one side.  As I spin on the spot to face him I fire my main forward particle cannon, the coruscating indigo beam cuts him neatly in half.  I hang about for a moment to watch the little bits of him spiral down and burn in Titan’s smog.

Through all of this the escort carrier has been steadfastly trundling along on its original course for the Inner Planets.  It now hung in front of Mimas, a tiny 150 meter-in-diameter replica of that moon in shape and color.  There were those who said all spacecraft should be such, that my own streamlined and mirror-polished form was inefficient and backward.  That was probably not the most positive thought to be dwelling on at the time but it took quite a while in computer time to get back to where the starship was now and that was where my mind went.  I am the sum of all human dogfighting skill, a gestalt of the minds of the best pilots Earth ever produced.  It was only natural they should give me the body of an aerospace fighter, a compromise of what a spacecraft needs and what an airplane does.  Lot of good that did me; first time in years I go into an atmosphere and I almost flay myself.  Though I wasn’t doing half bad outrunning those enemy ships even with these airfoils weighing me down.  

I must be in the carrier’s range now.  Bolts of plasma are streaking past my nose.  A pure AI would probably already be vaped now, tracked by the mathematical precision of the starship’s computers.  I am unpredictable though; a human mind with a computer’s speed.  They have no idea what I’ll do next.  Well, unless they have more like that last one.

The missiles come now, slower than the near-massless ionized gas.  Next will come fighters, but one problem at a time.  When they come closer I fire my particle cannon, groups of converging projectiles now close enough that their explosions catch one another, creating a wall of light between me and the carrier.  I use the distraction to find a small rock just larger than I am floating some distance from the ring.  

I latch onto its surface and rotate my side away from the enemy.  Hopefully before the enemy sensors clear, I fire thrusters, then turn everything off that would emit detectable radiation.  Hopefully the rock’s mass will shield me from their active scanners.  After an eternity of five minutes the greenish glow of the carrier’s defensive energy screen fills my passive sensors.  I immediately jump off the rock, and notice the plasma turrets on the carrier’s surface popping up and whirling to face me like surprised meerkats.  I am amazed at how close I managed to get, they must be very confident in their ability to withstand a meteoroid impact.

The guns fire.  There is searing pain as gas the heat of a small sun burns holes in an airfoil, but that was the only shot they’ll get.  I brake just above the surface of the enemy ship, closer than anyone could ever have expected in a space battle.  The plasma turrets cannot traverse low enough to shoot me, instead they anemically ram their magnetic barrels into the lowest range of their tracks over and over.  I suddenly become aware of my own reflection on the glossy ceramic hull below.  I...have never seen myself before.  Sure, there were diagrams, schematics, the diagnostic readout in my head, but that’s a fair amount different from actually seeing it.  I suppose I had always just visualized myself as just a more flexible fighter jet, an F-14 Tomcat or something with cockpit and wings on a swivel.  But I see the irony in my name now: the White Knight, once human, now cast into the form of a dragon to fight where no man or woman could.  Then I notice that I’m standing on one leg like a flamingo and the silliness of that rather reduces the profundity.

The holes in my wing are still glowing white-hot around the edges, but the pain reception must have melted.  I’m really more of a Black Knight now, my gleaming heat-reflecting coating having been mostly burned away.  I realize I didn’t really plan beyond this point.  I look up to see the enemy fighters swinging back from their sweep to find me.  Then I realize the opportunity I’ve been given.  I lean back and fire my particle cannon with impunity, as the enemy can’t fire back without collateral damage to their own starship.

A half dozen enemy fighters wither before my fiery glare, but then I notice another with red stripes.  He races forward, firing missiles with wild abandon.  The carrier’s turrets fire a bit delayed; some technician inside probably had to rapidly reprogram them to target “friendly” projectiles.  Through the dissipating energy the enemy lands right next to me, tentacles first.  He pauses for a moment to rip out its own communication antenna, some part of me imagining he’s trying to ignore the beratements of some superior inside the carrier,  I blast off, and though my speed is a relatively slow 300 kph, it feels like faster than I have ever been because of the carrier’s superstructure racing by as I hug its spherical surface.  I intentionally narrowly dodge antennas and turrets, but my enemy clearly has a much tighter turning radius than I.

He begins firing his plasma cannons, at this close range he cannot miss.  The damaged airfoil is severed completely, reducing my maneuverability and thrust by a fourth.  I slow and stop behind a large structure sticking out from the escort carrier’s hull.  The second Red Stripe just keeps on going, first trying to get me by blasting through the tower and taking me with it.  His cannons insufficient to penetrate its armor, he flies past and begins rotating back around.  He is still shooting, but not directly at me.  I’m damaged.  He could finish me off at any time.  This one’s intelligent enough to desire revenge, to toy with me and kill me slowly.  They really need to work on that bug.

Seeing my severed wing drifting by, I quickly run a trajectory calculation.  As Red Stripe gets right up close I fire its thruster, shooting the metal triangle right through his octopus head.  The airfoil tears keeps going and sticks in a turret gun, then explodes.  Red stripe makes a motion like a salute with one tentacle, though it could have just been a dying spasm, for he then goes limp and slowly spins away.

The I see a whoosh of gas escaping into the void and crystallizing a quarter of the way around the sphere.  One fighter comes out, then another.  The hangar doors are open, they’re launching reinforcements.  Just what I needed.  Actually, I couldn’t have planned this better.  I rocket into the path of the launching fighters, shooting blindly into the hole from which they emerged.  One fighter about to launch explodes, then another.  The escaping atmosphere blows me away from the growing fire and internal explosions.  The carrier’s engines go offline, and the festering hole in it’s side is now acting as a thruster pushing it back the way it came.  I check the time: it’s been seven hours since I sent a message from Titania.  I slowly spin there, watching the carrier’s crew in spacesuits desperately trying to make repairs.  Maybe I should sell them some maintenance drones.  

An hour later I see it.  A new star growing that I zoom in to see is one of our light cruisers.  It fires a warning shot two kilometers away from the stricken enemy with its railgun, a special round coated with brightly glowing chemicals and designed to self-destruct to prevent its eventually hitting somebody.

The world seems like it’s losing resolution, and I realize my sensor input is actually becoming more pixelated.  Soon it becomes dimmer as well.  I’m not afraid of termination.  Though granted, they can probably rebuild me if I’m anything less than vaporized.  It’s too bad; after all that I could have used a bit of rest.  I don’t know if my transmitter is still working, but I tell it to send a message anyways, “I see why you wouldn’t send you wouldn’t send us to the front!  You needed me to do all the work around here!”

[hisadoringkitten]

The last 24 hours have been so amazing that it's hard to put into words. I'm so glad we were able to spend most of it together. Waiting for you to arrive, especially as you got close, sent my nerves into a tailspin... but the minute I was in your arms, it all began to fade. Your lips on mine your hands on my body and mine on yours...

Having you see my place, how I live, was a bit nerve-wracking, but you took it all in stride. Without being judgmental, you assessed my life as a more complete picture, making plans, always making plans. The combination of talking, kissing, and being held by you was such a comfort. Sitting on my couch, breathing in your scent while you stood over me, was almost as good as kneeling for you.

And then, your cock... omg pictures don't do it justice, it's perfect and beautiful and I will play with it, suck it, fuck it for hours every chance I get and count myself lucky for the experience. I can't get enough of your taste. The feel of your skin on mine... I don't think I could ever get enough of you. It was so deliciously naughty to have you at my place with no one else home, learning and exploring you. Sucking your cock on my couch. Your presence and energy alone giving me little tastes of the subspace I so desperately crave to be lost in with you.

I didn't want to let you leave, I wanted to cling to you and never let go, but it was necessary. The much dreaded talk with him was beyond pointless. But I suppose it made him feel better. If only he knew what we had been doing just a few hours prior... I suppose I can't be too upset. It had the potential to get ugly, and it didn't. At one point, you both started talking about me, and while it was all very flattering and kind, it struck me how differently you discuss me. I had to try and stifle, a little, the joy I felt when you discussed me with authority, like your property while he floundered, trying to express his desperation to keep me.

I thought maybe it was hard for him to discuss the situation with me around, and I tried to help by excusing myself to go get changed. I knew that short skirt and the fishnets would make him squirm, I thought it might push the conversation in the right direction, but it didn't. He put no restrictions in place and asked for so very little... coupled with his earlier request for me to lie to him about what we do, I have no remorse.

We left shortly there after for an amazing dinner at a Korean BBQ place, it was a bit of a strange experience but a perfectly delicious and memorable meal. It was slow and relaxed and I couldn't take my eyes off you. You're so fucking sexy. It was especially neat to see you a little off guard, neither of us knowing what we were doing... sharing a completely new experience.

We left and headed to Scout Bar and Bonez. It's a wonderful experience to see you fawned over while on your arm. After some chill time on the patio, we went in and watched Spill Canvas for a moment. The venue was electric with great energy, the band was good, the fans soooo into it. We went upstairs, I love the way you act like you own the place. Your confidence makes me feel safe. Being with you makes me feel invincible and unstoppable. My head clears, my thoughts and desires ring loud, and my body vibrates with the energy you give me.

The drinks, even the ones we didn't order, were delicious and kept me perfectly buzzed but fully cognizant. Everyone there made me feel so welcome, like I was part of the family by your extension. I was worried that with the crutches, I might feel like I did at the expo, all at once too small, and like I took up too much space, but that wasn't the case, everyone was so kind. You really do have a magic about you, especially when you're in your element. It's a joy to watch you, even more so to be with you.

With you. I am with you. I am yours, so completely it makes my head spin.

After the club, I couldn't resist you, I wanted you so badly... couldn't help myself. As awkward as it was, maneuvering around in your car, I was desperate to please you, to get you off again... to make your cock ache like you wanted. Feeling you fill my mouth, feeling you inside my sopping wet cunt. There was a moment where you were close while I was sucking your cock, on my knees at your feet in your back seat, your hand in my hair and your moans in my ear, I felt it drip all the way down my leg. I get so hot and wet for you... more than I ever have before. Your constant praise and encouragement in my ear pushing me to continue, your moans and hitched breaths telling me when I was hitting just the right spots, you made it so easy to know how to please you, to read you. When you finally came in my mouth again, I couldn't help but want to suck out every last drop, your pleasure the most satisfying taste.

And then, all of a sudden, your fingers were pushing into me, rubbing me and probing me and driving me high, breathing in your scent and tasting you still on my tongue, the way you command my body is like pure electricity. When I came, you didn't stop. You pulled wave after wave crashing through me, leaving me trembling. I was delirious, high on you.

I wasn't ready to leave, I don't think I ever will be, but I knew you needed to make it back and get some sleep before your tattoo appointment today. You dropped me off at home at 4 am. It no longer feels like home. You feel like home. I would be happy to never leave your side, but I know it's not possible. You are everything I ever dreamed of and more. My wildest fantasies don't hold a candle to the way you make me feel.

I walked in the door, and he met me in the living room. He wanted to be close to me, and part of me wanted to hug and kiss him if only so that he could smell and taste you on me. I insisted on a shower before bed and brushed my teeth. My mouth is still sore from sucking you so long and hard, a lovely little reminder of the fun we had together. When I climbed into bed, he cuddled up to me but kept sniffing at my neck, I mage an excuse that I spilled a drink - not technically untrue... I know he could smell you on me, I still am getting little hints of your cologne, and I can't help but cherish them. You smell so good.

I fell into a deep sleep quickly after finding a comfortable position. I'm still a bit tired today. My legs are still a bit shaky. I almost don't want it to stop. It makes it all feel so real. I'm still a little terrified to wake up and find it was all just a dream. A perfect dream.

Thank you, Sir, for an amazing day yesterday and for everything you do for me, to me... I was so happy to hear your reassurance this morning that I didn't disappoint you. It was my greatest fear. I never wish to displease you in any way. I strive to be your perfect submissive, your naughty slut, to fulfill your every desire, to serve you flawlessly.

[beeapocalypse]

whos the collector they’re from dd right. i don’t know a lot about dd but i like seeing you post abt it. i like the beasts

^ my best freak friend forever !!!!

yea the collector is from dd ! its a wandering miniboss which has a chance to show up when your inventory is at least 80% full and its fight is based largely around it pulling out the gross heads of dead mercenaries and puppeting them around (u can see them in the first image on the left ! vestal on the far left, man-at-arms on the top, highwayman on the bottom) and upon defeat it has a chance to drop one of three head trinkets which are named after the default name for those mercenaries (junia, barristan, and dismas)

(^ here they are ! they are called "collected [class name]" and get spectral bodies when they attack i just did not want to find clean images of those lol)

i rlly love it bc its design is absolutely incredible (i do not have a gif of it but in its idle animation the skull will occasionally jolt around in the cage) but it also has some goofy elements. despite jumping YOU it has a chance to get surprised at the start of the fight (basically passes its turn) and one of its moves (left image) is called "show collection". its a pretty clear reference to the king in yellow (reoccurring character in a collection of short stories of the same name by robert chambers. the plot of the first four revolves around a play which drives readers into madness) like here is a cute little snippet from it

ive been getting into the Who of the collector recently like with the idea that its got little hideaways tucked away throughout the estate (the chest in hidden rooms will give u its unique loot drop- the puzzling trapezohedron- and Maybe a head trinket if unlocked with a skeleton key) and thinking abt the lines the ancestor has for it specifically. one encounter quote ("the sparkling eyes of youth- twisted and made merciless!") and one defeat quote ("a predator is often blind to its own peril") stand out in particular 2 me. easy answer is that the first line is that its meant 4 the mercenary heads but the idea that the ancestor has some sort of History with the person the collector used 2 be is SO good. another weird guy too into the Strange hanging around the hamlet

^ and here are some little extra images. the most low quality image of the collector minifig from the dd boardgame and a print which was shipped out to kickstarter backers !

[chromes-corner]

Hi! Could you do sparkling cookie as a bartender flirting with an equally charismatic patron in the juice bar? Idk headcanons or short fic, whatever works best for you

YESSSSSSS I LOVE THIS YES YES YESSSSSSS sparkling needs to meet his match smh

wrote this one as a loose drabble, hope ya enjoy!

---

Bar None

Sparkling/Reader

Notes: fluff

Content Warnings: alcohol, suggestive flirting

A/N: idk how to flirt what do you want from me

Before you is a little stone building, nestled on the corner of the block. Tall, thin windows stretch upwards, underlining the bold, black sign with “GOLDEN HOUR” written in pale yellow italics. The letters glow softly under the deep gray overcast. Warm orange light leaks out from the pristine glass panels, refracting over the light drizzle of the outside world. The place screams modern-with-a-classic-flair, as evidenced by the sleek exterior with a cozy, wooden interior.

As two quenched patrons exit noisily through the door, you hold the door open and slip inside, tucking yourself away from the elements. 

You approach the bar and take an empty seat at the end, next to a man with kind eyes and a rounded face. He’s turned away from you, spinning his pink cocktail on the polished wood and laughing with a conversation to your right. The man next to him, hair neatly swished and cool demeanor front and center, raises his tumbler towards his friend to his right and cheers. You lean over the bar to peer at what’s gathering their attention.

At the end of the bar sits a slim, long-legged man with slender hands and long hair tied back. He’s tipping his wine glass heavenward, head thrown back and guzzling the red juice that it contains. When its contents are drained, he carefully places the cup on top of a glassware pyramid, then pulls away with shaking hands. The pyramid sways, and his friends hold their breath. When it stills and remains standing, the tall man turns back with a huge, open-mouthed smile toward his friends. His cheeks are flushed red and his eyes are glassed over. A couple of patrons cheer behind you. The man next to you claps, while the other takes a celebratory sip of his drink and slaps his friend on the back.

The bartender, who had been watching his glassware with a nervous eye, breathes a sigh of relief and gives the wine-drunk man a friendly shake on the shoulder. The two share some words before the man with the tumbler gets his attention and jabs his thumb in your direction. The bartender side-eyes you, then rolls up his already-rolled sleeves and steps your way. He pushes his cleanly-combed hair back and gives you a lopsided grin worth a million coins.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says coolly. He pauses, then tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around?”

You lean your elbows on the bar and match his smile. “Yeah, I’m from a city west of here. Heard this town started to boom, so I thought I’d give it a visit. Why, do you know all your customers’ life stories or something?”

“Actually, I do.” The bartender laughs and places his hands on his hips. “Even if I didn’t, I know I’d never forget a pretty face like yours.”

“Right,” you say, already knowing you’re going to enjoy your night, “I knew it was a good idea coming here. My city’s sorely lacking in the cute service worker department.”

The bartender laughs again, giving you an exaggerated bow. “Then here I am, at your service. The name’s Sparkling, by the way. Now, what can I get ya?”

Behind him is a massive wall with bottles of every shape, size, and color displayed for all to see. You don’t even recognize some of the brand’s names, so you figure they might be local. After scanning the wall for a few seconds, you decide to let fate pick your hand for the night.

“Surprise me.”

Sparkling crosses his arms and purses his lips, then springs to collect his shaker. “I have just the thing,” he says.

His craft is mesmerizing to watch. Sparkling turns and skates his hand across the wall, then plucks a fat bottle from the shelf. He pops the cap off and pours some into his shaker, raising his arm high as it flows out. With an elegant spin, he sets the bottle down and swipes up a tall, fancy-looking bottle. He uncorks it and twirls it by its neck, pouring it into the shaker and setting it back. Finally, he grabs a small, plainly pink bottle of syrup. He wheels it through his fingers and dashes some into the cocktail.

For the final touch, he scoops some ice from behind the counter into it, then closes the shaker and begins to mix. Sparkling throws the shaker in a perfect arc over his head and catches it while throwing a wink in your direction. One of the guys beside you whistles. He continues to shake the drink with practiced ease, occasionally shooting glances in your direction to gauge your reactions.

You give him an impressed clap as he separates the halves of the shaker and pours it into a round glass. The liquid comes out as a pale, swirling red that smells distinctly of strawberries. He pushes the glass your way and leans an elbow against the bar.

“I call this one the Good-Looking Stranger,” he says, leaning towards you. “It’s on the house — newcomer’s special.”

You take a sip and, just like the smell, strawberries hit your senses. The drink is cold and sweet, making your jaw tingle as it goes smoothly down your throat. The tangy aftertaste that lingers in the back of your mouth makes you thirsty for more.

“Very impressive,” you say, taking another sip. “But when can I try the Good-Looking Regular?”

“That one,” Sparkling starts, leaning in closer, “requires a secret passcode.”

You innocently tilt your head. “And how would I find this passcode?”

“I’ll give you a hint.” Sparkling beckons you closer, and you lean in so he can whisper in your ear. “It’s just ten digits.”

Your voice lowers to a whisper as well. “I don’t give out my number to people I’ve just met, Mr. Bartender.”

“We don’t have to be strangers for much longer.” You can feel his breath on your skin. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

“First a free drink and now a free bed? You’re really going all in.”

He’s close. Close like you’re not surrounded by tipsy people in high spirits. So close that if you tilted your chin up, you could probably kiss him. Intense green eyes search yours and dart downwards, taking in the tiny distance between your faces. 

“I have been known to be very hospitable to my guests. Especially the ones with perfect smiles like your—”

“Hey, Sparky,” one of the men beside you slurs, grinning in amusement. “Stop making goo-goo eyes at that poor customer and get us a refill!”

Sparkling pulls away and glares at his friends, his face heating up and his shiny grin now pointing down in a counterfeit scowl. He crosses his arms and turns back to you with an apologetic glance.

“Vampire, they were having a moment!” The man next to you protests.

“Yeah, a weird moment that was uncomfortable for everyone,” the man in the middle snarks.

Sparkling rolls his eyes. “My friends are a real treat when they’re not filled with alcohol, I promise.”

You laugh and brush it off. “No worries. Your friends seem nice, even when they’re drunk. Not handsome like you, but nice.”

The lopsided grin makes a comeback. “You know, I’m free tomorrow if you want to meet up? I could show you around. Give you a proper tour.”

“Do I need to give you my “passcode” for that?”

“I’ll give you mine instead.”

[yuzu-all-the-way]

Fantasy on Ice 2022 Shizuoka Day 3 - What do you mean that's it?

I really don't want to write this, but how else am I supposed to express my thoughts and feelings?! I've already done enough crying and shaking my head in disbelief that the 2022 Fantasy on Ice tour is over.

I was so excited for the live broadcast, I woke up hours before, ready to enjoy every single angle, program and gesture done by Yuzu. I was not thinking that those (roughly) 3 hours were the hours of saying goodbye, I thought of them as the hours of weekly joy.

Have you noticed how in the other shows when the FaOI theme song ends, Yuzu is the only one who has his fist raised instead of the pointer finger? This time, he have himself the☝️. Deservedly so.

The opening took me by surprise - I don't particularly like the song, but the choreography, the costumes and Yuzu made everything work perfectly. That shirt biting... why, Yuzu, why? We love some fan-service, but think of the casualties.

Shirt biting aside, his solo on the electric guitar was so good and fun to watch. It was unexpected and very much welcomed. About the costume, we all know how good Yuzu looks in black (his faithful UA, what would we do without you?), but the red details enhanced the entire look - not to mention the cut of the costume - I'm sure it's deliberately so that Yuzu ALWAYS has shorter hems than the other skaters.

Raison was the much anticipated highlight of this live. I was holding my breath the second Yuzu entered the rink, hands clasped together, heart beating dangerously fast. I was so nervous it felt more like watching a competition than an ice show. When Raison started playing, I took a deep breath and hoped for Yuzu to land all the jumps and to have the time of his life out there on the ice. Once he landed the 3F, I calmed down - a bit. It was an enchanting performance - so emotional, so full of Yuzu-ness. While I can understand why some reports said that it was a "sensual" program, I didn't see it as such, still don't. It's about Yuzu's struggles and emotions, it's beautiful to watch because the choreography incorporates so many elements - casualness, pain, loneliness, hope - I felt all of that and more.

This is my favourite spin out of all (Have we seen Yuzu do those arm variations before? I doubt it)

Of course it had to come to an end - his white sleeve rolled up, his eyes and face content, I wanted to see that side of Yuzu. I knew at that point we haven't seen everything Yuzu had to offer for this last performance. I was impatiently waiting for a Rondo encore - as a lot of us, I suspect, did. The artists coming on stage one by one, Dance my Esmeralda playing, I didn't make the connection at first. Lucky those who did it instantly. Then Yuzu on stage in his skates.

What is he doing on stage?! Oh, is that Yuzu performing a contemporary dance on stage?! In his skates?

Yes, that's where my mind went. I don't even know what was going inside my head, it was all YUZUUUUUU, you're back out!

Was that a cross he made or was it something else when he came off the stage? We'll never know, I guess.

Oh, the beautiful Ina Bauer, those amazingly fast spins, the beautiful Raison costume fluttering around, why is the song familiar? Why are those spins familiar? Why do I know this?! Esmeralda... dead... Paris... wait... Notre Dame... de... Paris?! YUZU?!

As if the clues left here and there throughout the entire tour were not enough to tell us that Yuzu is bringing 2012 back (I think most of you have already seen the 2012 vs 2022 posts I made, but in case you didn't, here, enjoy!).

Yes, Yuzu did as encore Notre Dame de Paris, a piece of music which him, as a 17-18 year-old at the time, admitted to not really understand it. 10 years later, the man does understand this music and the meaning of it. And he shows it to us in a heart-wrenching way. Oh, Yuzu, what have you done to my heart?!

"Yuzuru Hanyu and the artists!"

Thank you for this gift, Yuzu! We'll all cherish it. But would you mind clearly explaining why when you left, the purple sleeve was rolled up? Are you done being lonely? Has happiness finally won over loneliness?

The finale was more emotional than I expected. While I thought Yuzu would be frustrated and go for a wild combo jump (sort of his signature by now) as retaliation for stepping out on the opening's 4T, he didn't. He knelt on the ice, encouraging skaters to display their tricks. I may have been slightly disappointed, but then I thought: "It's Yuzu. He's given his 200% to us both with Raison and with NDP. What more does he need to give?! Nothing."

I was tearing up watching Yuzu take in the atmosphere of the venue, I was tearing up when he was hugging skaters so tightly, he definitely needed that. I was crying when Yuzu was breathing hard, drawing enough air into his lungs to give us a final "ARIGATO GOZAIMASHITA!"

And I am tearing up now, writing this, thankful for the experience that was FaOI 2022. Yuzu, if you're happy - as you have now declared, then so are we, your fans.

Rest well, Yuzu! You've earned it more than anyone else.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Assigned all cases involving android-related crimes, saddled with a prototype that follows him around like a plastic puppy, Detective Connor Anderson knows this must be karma for all the bad shit he’s ever done.

He thought he'd hit rock bottom, that he didn't have much left to lose, but he's proven wrong by the android sent by CyberLife. And Connor learns just how much further he can fall.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​​)

November 5th, 2038

Friday 11:21PM

The whiskey was harsh and burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat. He dropped the shot glass onto the bar top and closed his eyes and savored the bloom of the cheap booze warming his chest. The music from the old jukebox behind him belted out tunes that would have been considered outdated when the place opened.

It was like this most nights. He was alone, exhausted, and well on his way to a pleasant buzz. The one thing Connor had going for him was that he hadn’t started in on his third drink until 11 PM.

That had to be some kind of record. On a Friday night, he was usually shitfaced by 10. Call it the long hours he’d been working, or maybe the fact he felt more self-loathing than usual, he’d somehow managed to hold off on spiraling until nearly midnight.

Definitely a record. And Connor deserved to celebrate.

When he tipped the glass with one finger and caught Jimmy’s eye, he nearly looked away in shame. The bartender had never given him shit before, at least in a verbal sense, but the cool stare he gave Connor now made him want to crawl into a hole and die there.

But Jimmy didn’t say a word, just gave him another dose of poison and turned away, leaving Connor in relative peace to enjoy the game. Denton Carter was kicking ass tonight, so at least there was that.

It was all going beautifully until the door opened and the sound of rain echoed throughout the tiny bar, along with a distinct smell of wet asphalt and dirty concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw two of the other regulars shift in their seats to stare at the newcomer.

Not another regular, then. And by how lengthy the stares were and the sudden shift in atmosphere, Connor guessed the barometric pressure had taken a drop due to a pair of long legs and pretty eyes.

Turning his body only far enough to get a glance for himself, Connor was not disappointed, eyeing the stranger from their black dress shoes, up their shapely legs clad in dark jeans, past curvy hips and—

Oh.

Connor turned back in his seat, hunched over and grimacing in disgust, put there by the sight of a blue triangle on a lapel and a glowing armband around one arm. He hadn’t even needed to look higher for the LED to know what the fuck had just waltzed into the joint like it actually belonged there.

He nursed his whiskey, praying the thing would pass him by and leave him the fuck alone. Or better yet, Jimmy would throw it out.

No such luck, of course.

“Detective Anderson,” spoke a smooth, raspy voice to his right. “I’m the YN800 model sent by CyberLife.”

He elected to ignore it. Maybe if he did so for long enough, it would take the hint and go away.

Again, Connor’s luck was not holding out.

“I called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” the voice continued, unimpeded. “I then looked for you at the station after checking your home, but you weren’t there either. Your colleagues indicated you tended to frequent the bars in the area, and I was fortunate to find you at the fifth one.”

His eye twitched. This thing had gone to his apartment?

“Well, here I am,” he answered, dry and caustic as he stared straight ahead at the wall of bottles. He calculated how angry Jimmy would be if he took out his service pistol and shot it through the head.

Pretty angry, Connor decided. It would probably leave a stain. Also, he didn’t want to compensate some asshole company for property damage.

“What do you want?” he finally growled, scratching his nail into the bar top already marred with various scuffs and dings.

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide.”

Already, a headache was forming between the eyes at the sound of the android’s irritatingly friendly voice.

“Yeah, and?”

“It involved a CyberLife android,” it said in that same smooth inflection. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

You have to be shitting me.

Connor grit his teeth and clenched his glass tighter, a flush of heat moving through him that had nothing to do with his blood alcohol content. A fucking android was sent to help cops do their job?

Fuck that, and fuck this hunk of junk.

“Good for them,” he answered as he tipped the glass up to his lips. “I couldn’t give less of a shit. Now get the fuck out of my face. We don’t need any help, especially from a plastic pair of tits like you.”

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The android spoke again, adopting a tone of what it had probably been programmed as “sympathetic.”

“I understand you may be experiencing reluctance to having an android’s assistance in this matter, but I am—“

“—ruining a perfectly good evening, butting your nose where it doesn’t belong and sure as fuck isn’t welcome.”

Connor put his glass down harder on the bar top than he meant to, nearly spilling his drink.

“I suggest you leave before I void your warranty.”

Connor thought the machine got the message when it finally went silent. He could even see its mood ring spinning yellow out of the corner of his eye before it settled on that annoying placid blue.

He’d just brought the glass halfway to his lips when it said, “I’m sorry, Detective, but I must insist.”

Connor set the glass back down and started to count to ten. He couldn’t lose it now, he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t break anything else after the last brawl he’d gotten into.

But the fucking thing just kept on talking.

“My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Connor growled before downing the glass of whiskey.

It was a good thing he had, because its next words made him choke on spit.

“No. Where?”

Connor set the glass down, and for the first time that evening, fully turned toward the android and stared at it.

The damn thing was staring back, head slightly tilted like a curious puppy. It had large eyes to match the image too, earnest and innocent and entirely too sincere. Its attire at second glance wasn’t the typical android faire. A smooth grey android jacket and a dark, patterned tie marked it as something different. Unique.

And just a little too pretty. Every designed, group-focused imperfection on its face made it that much more appealing. Its hair was neatly coifed, pulled up and pinned behind its head, exposing the smooth curve of its neck.

Hanging down the left side of its face was a strategically-placed lock of hair that Connor immediately want to twirl his finger around. He suspected that was the point.

The further down Connor’s eyes traveled, the more he lost his train of thought. The perfectly sensible tie was lying on the slope of its breasts, something even the jacket couldn’t cover. Why the fuck androids had breasts to begin with, Connor couldn’t begin to fathom, and it seemed even more ludicrous now seeing them on a “specialized model.”

The android hadn’t moved apart from its artificial breathing, another thing about the machines that was uncanny. They weren’t human, and the fact CyberLife kept trying to pass them off as such was a goddamn insult to humanity.

He met the thing’s eye, gave an unimpressed huff, and went back to nursing his drink. If the fucking tin can didn’t understand a dirty innuendo, he certainly wasn’t going to ruin its pristine, virginal programming.

Connor doubted everything that had just gone through his head as those unnecessarily realistic tits were pressed against his elbow, without warning or any sense of decency or a concept of personal space.

“How about this, Detective?”

Connor fumbled, nearly spilling his drink, a massive what the fuck! warning flashing in his head as the machine pressed closer.

“I’ll buy you another drink, on the house. Surely that’s worth a few minutes of your time? And if not, you can send me on my way.”

Connor couldn’t speak with that voice right into his ear like a close confidant, sultry and low and borderline pornographic, so it was a good thing the android didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Instead, it turned to Jimmy and said in a louder, more normal tone, “Bartender, another round for the detective, please.”

Jimmy turned from where he was cleaning glasses on the counter, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked from the machine to Connor. It had backed up a few inches, but there were a lot of reflective bottles on the wall. Connor wondered just how much Jimmy had seen.

Connor gave a little helpless shrug as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing!

But when the damn thing actually brought out real paper money and set it on the counter, Jimmy got moving. Seemed he wasn’t picky about where his money came from, and Connor almost resented the fact he hadn’t thrown the android out on principle.

Who the hell gave it money in the first place? CyberLife? What, did they hand it a few bucks of allowance before letting it off its leash?

Despite all his reservations, and there were a great many of them, Connor was not about to turn down a free drink. Or two.

“Make it a double,” he grumbled, purposefully avoiding the android’s focused gaze. He could practically feel the thing staring into the side of his head, but at least it remained at a distance and wasn’t pressed against his side like a drunk, horny badge bunny anymore.

“Thanks, Jim.” Connor took the glass and tipped it back, drowning it in one go. The slide of the familiar burn down his throat, spreading throughout his limbs, did quite a lot to help ease the tension in his muscles.

He released a heavy exhale, pushed away from the bar, and got to his feet.

“You want to play plastic cop? Okay, then. Keep up,” he said, tilting his head in its direction without actually looking at it. “Or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Connor didn’t wait for a response, only raised his hand in parting to Jimmy, and pushed open the door to let the rain-drenched Detroit night swallow him whole. But even through the sound of the rain pinging off the hood of his nearby car he could hear the even footfalls behind him, just a little too close for comfort.

Fucking androids.

Next Chapter

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part I)

Series Master list

Pairing: Canon Eren Jaeger x reader

Content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: After watching their teammates die in battle, reader begins to question their sanity and of their so-called partner.

AN: let me say goodbye to my favorite girl, who got me the best laughs and relieved my anxiety while reading manga chapters. At the same time, let me succumb to the misery and enlarge the wound with an canon Eren. I won’t be against following this fic if I see that a lot of people like it, but my list of fandoms isn’t going to change, this will be a unique exception.

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The chill in the air from the airship rushed through my veins. Less than two hours ago, I had seen countless comrades die, each one of them struck by bullets in different parts of their bodys or eaten by a Titan. I had seen countless lives fall and had been unable to save any. I knew we were going on a suicide mission, but deep down inside of me, I hoped we would all come home alive.

I was very naïve to think of a happy ending in this rotten and violent world.

Inside the room I was in, my mind wandered looking through one of the few windows this war machine gave us. I wasn't paying attention to what Levi or Eren were saying, I didn't even have the slightest intention of asking why Zeke was with us. Although being a member of the Survey Corps and a direct and in training medic, I was not fully informed of the missions. Eren’s courtesy.

Bored and mentally tired, I left the room where my leaders were having a heated discussion with "humanity's last hope." I didn't have the strength to add more charcoal to the fire, but trust me when I tell you I wasn’t at all happy with Eren's plan, simply and exclusively because I was completely unaware.

I walked down the hall making a mental note to kick the brunette in the face like Levi did when we got back. If my so-called partner, who had the decency to slowly push me away over the last year without explanation, wasn’t confident enough to tell me whatever was going on in his mind, then we would be in front of the doors of a serious conversation back home.

I opened the door where the scouts were when I heard a rifle go off. My eyes went wide and fear washed over me. I instantly scanned my body for wounds, completely ignoring the situation happening in front of me. Finding no sign of impact, I looked up only to find Sasha falling on her back, with a bullet impact on her chest.

The world seemed to have frozen as did my body. No one was able to move. Blood was spreading around Sasha's body, staining the floor, and that's when I reacted. My body moved on its own, pulling the cloak off my shoulders and folding it to make a small pillow. My ears didn’t catch any screams or cries from my teammates, as if I was underwater and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat accelerating, threatening to come out of my ears.

"I need a syringe with anesthesia, a pair of tweezers, a needle, a lighter, bandages and hot water, NOW !!"

No one was moving, everyone was in shock, including me, but I was layered enough to know that if we didn't do something, Sasha wasn't going to survive.

"Jean, Connie, I need surgical elementes! NOW!!"

The two boys came out of it, running around the room, even going to the continuous, looking for something that might serve, while I tore Sasha's shirt and took her equipment. Mikasa was next to me grabbing the pieces that were in the way.

"Mikasa, I need you to put pressure on the wound and don’t move your hands"

Connie came running back with the anesthesia in hand, trying to give it to me, but me failing. The syringe fell to the floor, but thanks to whatever deity was watching us it didn't break. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, making it impossible for me to inject the needle into the glass vial.

“Sasha… I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to keep your eyes open at all time"

The dying girl in front of me didn't give me an answer, but I knew she heard me. In the background, I could hear the desperate cries of the others, apart from the fact that someone had hit the culprit in the face. I injected the anesthesia and proceeded to remove the bullet from the lung. Mikasa reapplied pressure with wet cloths.

"Sasha everything will be fine, I assure you, everything will be fine, so don't you dare die on me, okay?"

I couldn't tell who I was addressing those words to, the girl who gave us the best laughs in our training days, or me.

Lighter in hand I proceeded to cauterize the wound, but my eyes fell on Sasha's, noticing how the life had left her eyes. The light that was so bright in her pupils had faded, leaving nothing more than an empty countenance.

"Sasha?...Sasha? hey, this isn’t funny, Sasha wake up…Sasha?? SASHA?!!?!" ...

"SASHA!!!"

Again.

Again I’d been unable to do anything.

Again I’d to see how I was unable to save someone.

Again.

I had seen a mate die. Again.

My chest contracted, the air was impossible to get in or out and my lungs cried out to explode. My stomach wanted to regurgitate, but there was nothing in it, causing me to spasm. My vocal cords were damaged from screaming and my head was about to collapse.

My whole body was about to collapse.

"How dare you!? You son of a bitch, how dare you to shoot the person who forgave your life?"

My anger was now directed at the child they had wanted to bring with us. It was impossible for me to look at her without having the desire to break her face, to make her suffer ... to kill her. To take revenge for Sasha.

“SHE FORGAVE YOUR LIFE BY NOT GIVING YOU A SHOT IN THE HEAD AND IS THAT HOW YOU PAY HER? YOU HATE US SO MUCH? HOW MANY MORE LIVES DO YOU WANT TO TAKE FOR US TO BE SATISFIED?"

My legs got up, leading me towards the girl, but arms held me from behind, preventing me from continue walking, preventing me from taking revenge.

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? YOU ARE THE REAL DEVILS"

In the end, my body collapsed, completely loosening and causing me to almost slide down Connie's arms. I fell to my knees when he released me, snuggling up and hiding my head in my arms. Tears flowed like waterfalls with no intention of stopping and my screams reverberated across the metal in the room.

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Connie opened the door where our commanders were still arguing. Both with tears in our eyes gave the worst news of the night.

"Sasha died"

Jean and Hange's faces were disfigured and Levi hid his grim outline from us. The room was silent, but all that could be heard were my sobs, spasm after spasm.

"She had a ... a bullet impact ... in ... in the chest ..."

It was difficult, almost impossible, for me to relate the precarious medical report of our friend's death, trying to help me with the movement of my hands ... but even so the spasms won me over. I fell back to the floor, tears invaded my face once more and my ability to articulate words was gone down the drain.

Hange approached with a slow step and placed their hands on my shoulders, giving me the help I needed to give the report. I took several minutes of deep breaths and when my lungs returned to normal, I spoke again.

"Sasha had a bullet impact on the chest, on the left lung ... There was no exit, so the bullet was stuck in there...it pierced two ribs, tearing the skin of the lung and causing internal bleeding... I managd to remove the bullet, but I didn't have time to cauterize and sew the wound ... she bled to death"

Every pause I took to breathe made it so much worse for me to speak back. If it weren't for the fact I was undoubtedly taking deep breaths, I would have passed out from distress and hyperventilation.

"I could have saved her ... I know I could have saved her"

Silence reigned over the room, sobs from Hange and Connie could be heard if we were paying close attention. Jean and Levi glared at Eren, who had not deigned to lift his head at any time.

I got up as best I could, running Hange's hands gently, and left the room once again. I needed to be alone for a while, I needed to let go of these horrible feelings, I needed some air, otherwise I doubted I’d do anything rational in the state I was in.

My legs led me to a room away from all the common ones. It was empty, but it had a couple of windows that chilled the already cold metal walls. Some windows were at my height, allowing me to appreciate the view from the air, but let's face it, it was impossible to appreciate the landscape when your mind and heart were breaking to pieces. The only thing that kept my mind intact from any collapse was the path of smoke and fire that could be seen in the distance... signs that Marley was still on fire.

"Are you ok?"

That familiar voice, all too familiar, echoed in my ears pulling me out of my entrance. Eren had entered the room quietly with the aim of… what? See if it was okay? Because I really wasn't, it showed on my face and that's what made me even more angry than I was.

"Oh, I don't know? Am I ok? Do I FUCKING LOOK OK TO YOU?"

I turned from the window too quickly causing me to stagger and fall to the floor. My head was spinning and starting to ache as was every muscle in my body. I put my hands to my head, hoping the pain would dissipate a bit, but the only thing I managed was to sink further into misery.

"I could have saved her ... if I’d been faster ... I know I could have saved her"

He hadn't moved from where he was, he just stayed there, looking at me. My blood-soaked eyes looked him up and down searching for something, whatever, to speak of, but all I found were non-glare eyes and a neutral gaze, as if he hadn't cared how many lives this mission had claimed.

"Do you want to know how I feel? Fine, I’ll tell you"

I stood up heavily, my muscles begging for a break. I turned my head to see the black smoke rising on the horizon, still clearly noticing an orange and red flare.

“I am tired…I am full of rage and hate. I saw our comrades die and I couldn't do anything, I was unable to save them ... to save Sasha...and all because of not having been informed like everyone else"

My eyes hadn't left the window because I knew, if I looked into those dull turquoise eyes, those same eyes that once shone with all the innocence and life that a young man could have, I would end up punching him.

"Are you happy? Did you accomplished your mission now that you have the power of the warhammer titan? What will be the next step? Go back to Marley in a few months, finish what you started and devour the jaw titan and Reiner? Assassinate the cart titan?”

Again, I got no response. My patience had already reached it’s limit and I looked back at the man who was now standing in the middle of the room.

"You're not going to tell me, are you? No, you never say anything to me, it's like I'm a burden to you" I shuffled on the metal, standing right in front of him "I'm with so much anger in my veins that I want to kill a child, a child Eren! ... A child who had her head washed all her life, a child who doesn’t know the whole truth and who only knows that by killing she can be free"

Unconsciously, my body moved everywhere, as if it wanted to release all the pressure by tiring the muscles. I stood back in front of the window and with all the accumulated anger I gave it a strong blow, slightly scratching the glass and probably breaking some knuckles.

"Sasha died because of my incompetence and the violence of this world...I want to save lives Eren, that's why I'm practicing medicine...I want to dedicate myself to saving souls, not killing them...and we have the culprit stuck in one of our rooms...why?" ...

“WHY DO WE HAVE TWO CHILDS ON OUR AIRPLANE? WHY IS YOUR BROTHER WITH US? WHY DON'T YOU LET ME KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?"

I was sure that my screams could be heard by our entire war machine. I was impatient for answers, but knew I wasn't going to get any, at least not now. My hands didn’t remain calm, they moved everywhere, a sign of my anxiety and my eyes turned around the entire room, looking at each screw, each metal beam... everything except the eyes of my supposed lover.

I was giving up, now I just wanted to rest and have a trip home in peace, even knowing that home was not going to sound the same or feel the same.

"If you have nothing to say Eren, you better leave"

I turned my back on him but didn't proceed to walk away from him. I needed to find an anchor point so as not to give up and throw myself into the arms that one day gave me warmth, the arms that wrapped me in the dark, the arms that reflected their love and affection ... into the arms that now wouldn't hold me from the waist or draw me to his chest. I wasn't going to throw me into some arms that weren't going to contain me.

I heard him take a few small steps towards me and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I put it aside abruptly and I distanced myself towards the remote window, seeing how little by little the smoke was getting smaller and I could no longer see the orange flame clearly; now I could only see a thin yellow line fading.

"Leave Eren"

His footsteps rumbled on the metal floor, leaving me alone once and for all.

The trip back was going to be a long one and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if there was anything for me in our home. Nothing was going to be the same anymore. Without Sasha, without Eren and with a war on our feet I doubted to even call “home” a piece of wet land in the middle of an ocean which is still the target of a world full of hate.

[soulmate-game]

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ‘Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

“Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 14

And finally, it’s doooone ! Forgive me for the wait 💕

Chapter 14 : I just stopped hoping for your awakening

- Andraste, is everything okay ? Nevra asked, somewhat surprised at my sudden reaction.

I was about to tell him that it was none of his business when the pain, much more throbbing, resumed again, literally cutting my breath. Without warning, panic started to take me over and it was with confusion that I stood up and dodged his piercing gaze as he remained leaning over me, being too ashamed to tell him everything that was wrong with me.

The vampire still maintained the idea of ​​helping me to stand up completely and, when his hand finally let go of my shoulder, I immediately stepped back in order to establish sufficient distance between us, which didn’t escape him.

- Yes, it's nothing, I finally replied, feigned levity.

Falling back into the void, his hand remained inert along his side as his mouth opened and closed again without any sound coming out.

A wind much colder than before I fell asleep began to blow between us, causing my hair to fly and goosebumps on my bare arms. In order to warm myself up, I put my hands on them as the chills that ran through my skin burned my back unpleasantly.

I think my head was starting to spin.

- Are you sure everything is fine ? Didn't you hurt yourself somewhere or anything ?

- No, don't worry, I replied quickly. I hadn't planned to doze off here, the ground was too hard and I must have hurt a bit, but nothing serious.

I especially didn't want Nevra to know what was happening to me, I didn't think I would be able to bear this shame again in the eyes of another person.

Much to my dismay, the vampire didn't seem convinced. He took a step in my direction, reducing the distance I had deliberately created. An eyebrow raised, his gaze fell on mine.

- Do you know that I still know you by heart ? I can see you're in pain, there's no point in trying to hide it from me.

I breathed out as much air as possible against my poor acting skills. He would never let go, I was sure.

We had left each other angry earlier, though, so why didn't he take his eyes off me right now ? I felt confused, I didn't know how to react.

What's more, I had to admit that I was seriously starting to wonder if constantly blowing hot and cold wasn’t an Eldaryan custom.

Or maybe I was drawn to complicated relationships, who knows.

- Really, it's my luck, I said ironically. So you decided that I existed in your eyes, today ?

His features imperceptibly hardened as his gaze darkened so quickly that I thought I was dreaming for a moment.

- Andraste...

- What Nevra ? Are you going to tell me to pretend nothing has happened ? I was starting to get carried away. It's all well and good to behave towards me as you see fit, but it doesn't work that way.

It was his turn to exhale for a long time. Coming even closer, he took me completely by surprise, lowering his head until he came to rest his forehead against my shoulder, his dark hair brushing my shoulder blade. I remained frozen in place, unable to make the slightest movement as his breath caressed my skin.

I could no longer get my ideas clear.

- Listen, I don't know how to behave when I see you anymore, he finally blurted out, his voice slightly muffled by his probably uncomfortable position. You were the center of my world and overnight I had to relearn how to evolve without you by my side. Everyone was only talking about your sacrifice, he almost spat, but all I wanted was for you to come back to me.

He slowly lifted his head from my shoulder and came back to fix his gaze on mine. I was hanging from his lips, totally mesmerized by the words he finally addressed to me.

- Every day, for a little over a year, I didn’t stop making this wish, however selfish. Sometimes I would spend hours watching you, convincing myself that at any moment you were going to wake up. Except that it never happened, he added quietly, as if saying it out loud could shatter the dreams of this memory of him. I ended up decreasing over time my visits to the Crystal Room, I could no longer distinguish a vague sleeping figure. So to protect myself, I think I just stopped hoping for you to wake up.

The emotion Nevra was feeling at that moment overwhelmed me. I suspected that he must have suffered from this situation, but given his behavior towards me since I woke up, I had difficulty in realizing how he felt. On the other hand, I hadn’t imagined for a single second that it could still affect him at this point now.

- I didn't know all this, Nevra, you never told me about it until now. I never imagined you could feel this, I'm so sorry...

A wistful smile appeared on his lips.

- It's in the past now, even if I don't hide from you that I thought I had serious hallucinations when I saw you again.

Following these words, the vampire leaned down until his face was only inches from mine, allowing me to admire his scarred gaze under his thick black hair.

- I was a complete idiot to you, Andraste. I only took my feelings into account regardless of yours, but it was the only way I found to protect myself again. I'm terribly sorry, you absolutely don’t deserve this indifference, he confessed to me while placing a light and icy hand on my cheek. I hope you will forgive me.

Nevra was standing close, way too close for my breathing to calm down. I swallowed the air with more and more difficulty and, seized by strong emotions, the currents of energy began to circulate again in anarchy under my skin.

The young man finally withdrew his hand before standing up to his full height. Looking up at the sky, he quickly returned to plant them in mine with deep attention.

- Night has almost fallen, we better get back to HQ, he said softly.

I nodded and turned in the direction of HQ when his hand grabbed my arm the same way it had several hours earlier.

I was taken aback to find that his face had suddenly closed completely, brows furrowed.

- You're bleeding, what's happening to you ?

I widened my eyes.

- What ?

- I can smell your blood, it's not normal, he explained to me while making me rotate back to him.

Instinctively, I slapped a hand on the small of my back as my fingers slid over the thick streaks of liquid that flowed against my top.

No.

Not now, it wasn’t possible.

Nevra only took a fraction of a second to react when he saw my fingers red with hemoglobin.

A strong concern marked the tone of his voice as he spoke again :

- What's the matter with your back ? You tell me that everything has been fine since earlier, and now you start to piss blood !

- It's nothing serious, I promise. I just have to go see Eweleïn, she'll know what to do.

I still had the words he'd had when he saw me come out of the infirmary, but I think I just had no choice but to have to go back.

- I'll take you there immediately.

Binding action to word, he grabbed me under the knees and lifted me off the ground to carry me in his arms. The journey was surprisingly short to the entrance of the large building of the HQ while the abundant loss of blood finally got the better of my lucidity.

When they reached the door of the infirmary, Nevra began to pound forcefully on the door. It opened wide, revealing an Eweleïn with suddenly astonished features.

- Nevra, what happened to her ?

The vampire quickly explained the facts to her as he laid me down on the bed. The ground was turning dangerously, or maybe it was just my head that couldn't follow.

- Turn around, the nurse ordered him with authority, before leaning over me. Andraste, we're going to have to take this garment off.

I let her withdraw my sticky top without flinching before falling into a deep sleep.

*

I blinked several times in an attempt to focus, only seeing blurry elements around me. It was far from the first time I had woken up in this bed in the past few days and it made my lips pursed in frustration.

How did I end up in the infirmary again ?

Head heavy, I struggled to sit up on the soft mattress, looking for any sign of life in the room. But no one seemed to be standing here. Swallowing my saliva with difficulty, I realized that my throat was so dry that no sound could have come out anyway immediately, I felt like I had swallowed razor blades.

Feeling obstructed, I lifted my top and found a large bandage wrapped around my chest, with red spots marking the fabric as far as I could see. I was really hoping that my miraculous healing system had reactivated, like the time my stomach wound closed on its own in a very short time, because I wasn’t going to put up with this situation much longer. Moving slightly, I noticed that the pain had practically disappeared. I lowered the garment over my wounds then stood up slowly. The world was still spinning a little too fast for my liking, but I felt fit to get out of here.

I was finishing putting on my shoes when the door finally opened, revealing a long white hair in my field of vision.

- Oh hello Andraste, you're finally awake. How do you feel ? the elf asked with a soft smile.

- Hello Ewe, I think I’m okay. I’m not feeling at my best, but I’m no longer in pain.

- Perfect, I'll give you a quick test but I think you're fit to go out.

Sitting back on the bed, I let the nurse auscultate me without batting an eyelid.

- Your back is much better, even your skin has started to reform normally. I hope this story of stuck wings will get better soon.

- Oh reassure you, I hope so too, I said in a mirthless laugh. Can I go, now ?

- Yes, just a second.

She grabbed the same jar of cream as the last time and handed it to me, a smile on her lips.

- Here, you’ll have to brush your back with this until your skin is better.

- Very good, but it may be rather complicated, since it’s not an area necessarily accessible for me...

I saw Eweleïn's smile widen even more.

- Oh, I understood that someone could take care of it for you, but if it doesn't, you just have to come see me and I'll take care of it.

I narrowed my eyes at her suspicious expression.

- What are you talking about ?

- Nothing at all, and hurry up to see me if it starts again, don't wait any longer to bleed ! Come on, go, she ordered me with a wink.

Too tired to try to understand, I opened the door to rush into the hallway. But how long had I slept, exactly ? It was still dark !

Entering the guard corridor, I walked past several doors until I reached Lance's room, just before mine. I paused for a moment, hesitating, observing thoughtfully the image of the dragon towering over it at full length. Was he busy, right now ?

Heart pounding, I was about to knock when my arm caught in the air.

I didn't have to turn around to see who it was, letting myself be completely taken in by his mere presence.

- Good evening, my little dragon, his voice whispered with an amused grin.

Light streaks of ice were already drawing a multitude of abstract shapes on my skin as my lips stretched on their own.

Giving way to a huge smile on my face.

(Chapter 15)

[isthisthingeven0n]

knowing you : s.r

spencer has been a regular at your cafe for a few months, and after working up the courage to ask you on a date he disappears out of the blue without an explanation. (2.4k)

knowing you / forgetting you / remembering you / with or without you / starting over, with you 

There were elements to your job that you had a love/hate relationship with. The mornings where you woke up before the sun fully had, dealing with rude customers deprived of their first dose of caffeine along with the pseudonyms they provide you with (which you’ve learned you can’t always yell out as the elders freak out.) And lastly, your staff (but they tended to lean heavier on the love side of things.)

Yet, amongst all of it, you still managed to smile by the time you closed up in the evening. You adored your little cafe, though it was never heaving with people, it was comfortable.

“Hey, look who’s hovering outside.” Your colleague, Maggie nudges you playfully as you glance over the counter to the large window filled with your menu written in calligraphy.

And standing in front of it, the quiet smart guy you’ve grown fond of; Spencer.

A smile grows across your face, but you hide your head in the steam that rises from the milk for a second. “It’s been what, two days since he was last here?” Maggie quips, waiting for you to comment.

“Everyone’s gotta get coffee somewhere, Mags.” You remind her, brushing it off.

Spencer was a customer at the end of the day, just like everyone else. Just because he came to your cafe doesn’t mean he’s here for anything more than his double espresso and a blueberry muffin. Even if your heart wished it could be more.

Pushing open the door, the little bell sounds and Spencer looks up before smiling over to you. “Morning, Spencer.” You beam as you lean across the counter as Spencer eyes up the various pastries and paninis you had to offer this morning.

“Hi,” Spencer speaks quietly, clutching his satchel across his chest. “could I get a double espresso and two muffins, please?”

“A double?” Maggie pitches in, and Spencer looks over to your colleague who stands beside you, holding back her tongue as Spencer nods. 

“Caffeine stimulates a similar effect as the stress hormone cortisol, which is secreted in large amounts after an hour or two of waking up in the morning. It takes on the form of waking you up, making you believe you need the caffeine as, without it, you can have stomach aches, headaches and trembles.” Spencer rambles, and you nod in appreciation for the knowledge. “And I prefer a double.”

“Guess you like strong coffee, then.” Maggie mutters, giving you the eye as you smile to yourself.

Turning around you carry on prepping the machine as the espresso drips into the paper cup. “Two muffins, huh? Saving one for later?” You chuckle as you pick the two freshest muffins out that are still warm from the oven.

And then you hear it, Spencer’s awkward chortle that causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach and rise to your throat.

Swallowing the butterflies back down, you place the box onto the counter alongside his coffee, his name written across it with a smiley face.

“Well, I wanted to take one for my friend, Garcia. She’s been by here before, I don’t know if you’d remember her?” Spencer explains and watches you closely, noticing how your eyes drift off into deep thought and your tongue slips through your lower lip before you shake your head. “She probably complimented every single detail in the cafe, wore something colourful?” He adds, and suddenly your eyes light up as you remember.

“Penelope? How could I forget! I’ll give her a complimentary muffin if she comes in again.” You giggle, and Spencer’s eyes crinkle up as he accepts the small box and coffee.

“She’ll love that. Thank you.” Spencer states as he places the cash onto the counter and adds a few dollars to your tip jar- something you forget exists as it collects dust most days, but Spencer always leaves a three dollar tip.

“Thank you, Spencer. Have a good day.” You begin to turn away as you clean up the counter and coffee machine, missing the longing glance Spencer has before he heads to the door, but thankfully Maggie is watching like a hawk.

“Have a good day?” Maggie mutters, crossing her arms. “He was giving you the eyes, babe.” She comments, but you roll your eyes in response once more.

Picking up your tray, you move past the counter and over to clean up a table. “He wasn’t, Maggie.” You simply reply. 

“He was dear.” A new voice pitches in, one of your regulars, Annie. “Finding someone who looks at you like he does is a rare thing, I would know.” Annie’s focus drifts to the empty seat opposite her, one that has been vacant for a few months since her husband passed. 

“I don’t know, Annie,” You trail off, but some of your other regulars also comment on the small looks exchanged between you and Spencer. “Sorry. am I being interrogated in my own cafe?” You joke as three of your regulars laugh before returning to their own conversations. 

“Don’t let it slip out of your grasp, Y/n.” Annie finishes as she rises to her feet, leaving her mug with a few dollar bills underneath before walking out of the exit. 

Sighing deeply, you run your fingers through your hair as your mind goes blank, unable to apprehend how various people have seen you giving Spencer those soppy glances and the fact they might be reciprocated? 

You shrug it off, allowing your mind to return to work as another customer comes in, and your day can proceed as normal. 

*

“Bye guys,” You wave off your colleagues as Maggie closes the door behind her, leaving you to close up for the evening. 

It had been a fairly slow day, but Thursdays tended to be in the cafe so it wasn’t anything to worry about. 

As you walk around to the counter and bend down to collect the leftover cakes you hear the bell chime. “Sorry, we’re closed!” You call out, placing a few cakes away before lifting your head up to see a rather flustered Spencer. “Spencer?” 

Pushing his hair out of his face, Spencer sighs happily as he smiles to you. “Hi, I, I’m sorry I didn’t realise you closed at 6.” He rambles, a look of hopelessness in his gaze. “I’ll head out, sorry for bothering you, Y/n.” 

Spencer turns around, but before he reaches the door, you stop him. “Spencer?” Immediately, Spencer awkwardly spins on his heels, facing you once more. “Would you like a coffee, one for the road anyway?” You shyly suggest, watching as Spencer’s smile only widens as he nods. 

“I’d love that, I, I only just got back from a work trip and thought I’d see if you were still open.” Spencer explains as you push aside your containers and take out a go cup. 

“That’s alright, I like to do what I can for my regulars.” You chuckle, placing the cup on the counter. As Spencer reaches into his satchel, you shake your head. “Oh don’t worry ‘bout it, Spencer.” You tell him and Spencer pauses. 

“I have to pay you, Y/n!” He laughs, but you insist. “Well, at least let me help you close up.” 

“Spencer it’s fine honestly. You’re probably tired as it is.” You shrug him off, expecting him to just walk out after that. 

But Spencer isn’t like any other guy, he takes a sip of his coffee and removes his satchel and places it on a chair. “Where do I start?” He questions, rolling the sleeves of his purple shirt up to his elbows, prepared for business. 

The sight makes you laugh lightly, he looks adorable in every sense which makes you slightly flustered. “Well erm,” You look around, trying to think of an easy job that’ll result in the least hassle for him. “how about you put these cakes away? I’ll drop them off to the food shelter on my way home.” You explain, motioning to the containers and Spencer nods, taking his place behind the counter whilst you clean the tables. 

Pausing from placing the cakes into containers, Spencer looks up in awe as you carry on cleaning. “Do you have any flaws?” He thinks to himself, knowing the answer rationally is yes, as every human being has 10 design flaws in the human body, but you personally, he can’t imagine any. 

“Did you say something, Spencer?” You quip, lifting your head up as Spencer quickly shakes his head, missing the smile on your lips as you hold back a soft laugh. 

“Which food bank do you take these to?” Spencer asks as you move onto your last table, picking up your small menus and coasters whilst you place them onto the chairs. 

“Usually the one two blocks over, but sometimes I stop on the way to Gary - he’s a homeless veteran who camps out under the bus shelter. He’s a good man, but life hasn’t been kind to him.” You explain, thinking how different his life could’ve been. “I’ve tried offering him a job here before, but he shakes uncontrollably.” 

“That sounds like a sign of PTSD, Veterans used to go undiagnosed during the war and suffered from vivid flashbacks, trembling, nausea and intrusive thoughts. Most were outcasted from society, but expected to adjust to normal life afterwards which is what leads many to the streets.” Spencer explains, and once he finishes, you raise an eyebrow. 

“And here I thought you were just a pretty face.” You chuckle, causing a blush to cross Spencer’s cheeks. “You’ve never told me what you do Spencer, outside of drinking heavy doses of caffeine.” 

Spencer rests his hands out over the ledge behind the counter as you walk over, discarding the cleaning supplies beside him. “I work for the FBI.” He starts, and you nod along, trying to hide your surprise. “For the BAU, the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse peoples behaviour to assist in cases around the country to help solve crimes.” Spencer explains simply, not wanting to overcomplicate the matter as your eyes widen. 

“So you analyse people’s behaviour? Does that mean you’ve analysed me?” You slowly trail off as you move away from Spencer and sit down at one of the tables, suddenly feeling self-conscious as his eyes remain on you.

Moving across the cafe, Spencer pulls out the chair opposite you and rests his hands on the table, firmly clasped together. He doesn’t want to lie to you, but he equally does not want to sound like a creep.

“You can be honest, Spencer.” It’s as if you can read his mind as you give him those warm eyes that greet him in the mornings, making him sure that whatever happens at work, you’ll be alright when he next comes in.

Fidgeting ever so slightly, Spencer closes his eyes to allow his mind to focus- something that is usually effortless, but whenever you cross his thoughts they become scrambled.

“You are a warm person naturally, an extrovert as you invite people into your cafe. Mornings are a struggle as you keep a refillable cup by your side next to the coffee machine. I saw you refill it last Tuesday and it must’ve been at least your third cup as I was later that day. You like to please others, make them happy and by doing so you sacrifice your own wellbeing. Helping people makes you happy, but you don’t do it for selfish reasons which I like a lot about you, Y/n.” Spencer explains, and as he looks up you stare at him in a state of awe.

“And you got all that, from interacting with me every week?” You laugh lightly, leaning back in your chair as astonishment crosses your eyes as you click your tongue. 

“Yes.” Spencer curtly nods. “That and I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and 3 PHD’s.” He adds nonchalantly. 

“Just casually slipping that into conversation, Doctor.” You raise an eyebrow, and Spencer brushes his fingers through his curls. 

Tearing your eyes from him, you look up at the clock and swear under your breath. “I’m sorry, Spencer, I’ve got to go.” You tell him with a sad smile, not wanting this to end as he gathers his things along with his cold coffee- not that he’d ever tell you otherwise.

Spencer hovers by the doorway as you switch off the last of the lights and juggle the containers in your arms along with your keys. “Let me help with that, Y/n.” Spencer reaches out, his fingers gliding over yours as he takes the boxes painfully slowly.

“Thanks,” You mutter as you turn the sign over on the door and lock it behind you whilst Spencer stands idly outside, the temperature dropping fastly compared to the LA sunshine he had experienced mere hours beforehand. “my cars just up here, do you mind?”

Shaking his head, Spencer walks alongside you. It feels strange, interacting with him outside of your little bubble, but to him, he likes the chance to burst the comfort bubble.

Bearing in mind all that Penelope and Derek have told him on the jet home, Spencer places the containers in the trunk of your car before you close it.

“Well, this is me.” You rock back and forth on your heels as Spencer wracks his mind to communicate with his mouth. “Spencer?” You wave your hand over his face, and suddenly he snaps out of his deep thoughts.

“Sorry,” He mutters, tugging on his scarf. “Y/n, would you like to go out somewhere, sometime? I mean, I love your cafe, but a change of scenery never hurt.” Spencer asks, and he can see the surprise in your expression as you glance away to your feet. “If not, that’s okay. I understand-” 

“I’d love to.” You cut him off from his own doubts as you step closer and rise to your tiptoes, kissing his cheek. “Here’s my number, I keep some business cards in my pocket.” You hand him your card and Spencer runs his thumb over the embossed logo. 

“I’ll call you.” Spencer tells you with a bright smile, one that causes butterflies to swarm in your stomach as you walk to your car door. “Drive safe, Y/n.” 

“Take care Doctor,” You salute to Spencer before you close your door, driving off out of sight as a squeal escapes your lips in excitement at the thought of Spencer calling you.

Except, what you missed as you turned the corner was Spencer getting a phone call that would change everything for the worse, leaving you in the dark as Spencer answers his phone with his full heart now sinking. 

He’s heading to Mexico.

PART TWO

[writethelifeyouwant]

Alpha and Omega - Ch 2 / 2

Pairing: Sam x Dean Rating: 18+ Tags: A/B/O, Darkness magic,  Alpha!Dean, Omega!Sam, Dub-Con (biological necessity), little bit of meta (cuz why not), Sam’s a needy mess, Dean is possessive af  Word Count: 4k Created for: @first-time-wincest-fest​ - 12x02 Mamma Mia | @spnabobingo​ - Male Omega | Summary: Amara wants to thank Dean by giving him the thing he needs most – Sam – but she knows the boys are stubborn, so she’s going to have to be creative. Problem is, she doesn’t tell Dean or Sam what she’s put in motion, and magic can be unpredictable.

Despite the many apparent flaws of these British Men of Letters dicks, at least Mick has the good sense to let Dean and Sam go. He offers to try helping Sam, but he doesn’t have any more ideas about his condition than that blonde bitch does, so Dean declines and gets Sam the hell out of dodge.

The moment they make it over the property line and past the efficacy of the anti-angel warding Cas is by their sides, sliding under Sam’s other arm to help Dean carry him to the Impala.

“Don’t touch him,” Dean growls, startling Cas and himself. Cas raises his hands in a show of good faith.

“I am just trying to help, Dean,” he reassures the hunter, lowly.

“Yeah, um, sorry man,” Dean shakes his head to clear it. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else touching Sam right now but he doesn’t want anyone’s hands on his baby brother. Begrudgingly, he lets Castiel grab Sam’s arm and help them to the car, where they gingerly lay a shivering, and for all intents and purposes unconscious, Sam on the back seat. “Cas, what’s wrong with him?” Dean tries to keep a grip on the panic in his voice but he doesn’t have much luck.

“It’s hard to be sure,” Castiel mutters, laying a hand against Sam’s forehead, which is burning hot. “We need to get him home immediately, this fever is dangerously high.”

Dean rounds the car to root through the first aid pack in the trunk, pulling out a few instant cold packs. “Here,” he cracks one up in his hands and passes it to Cas. “Get in back, try to keep him cool.” Cas slides into the back seat of the Impala, pulling Sam over his lap and pressing the cold pack against the young man’s forehead. Dean drops the spare cold packs beside him as he jumps in behind the wheel and peels out of the dirt road driveway in reverse, gunning them back home towards Kansas.

The use of cold packs and bags of ice they picked up at gas stations along their way get the trio home without Sam’s condition worsening. Dean would send up a thank you to Chuck for that except that he’s nearly positive Chuck’s sister is the reason Sam is in this mess in the first place. I thought she wanted to do something to thank me, not destroy my life. They get Sam into bed without too much trouble, and Castiel suggests stripping Sam out of his clothes to help keep him cool.

“Get away from him,” Dean growls, baring his teeth at his friend. Castiel once again looks at him in confusion, his brow crinkling as he stares hard at Dean.

“I’m going to call Rowena, see if maybe she can help us determine what is wrong with Sam.” Cas backs up cautiously, and Dean is glad to see him go.

Once he’s alone with his brother, he does think that stripping Sam down is a decent idea – at the very least he should change him into some clean pyjamas instead of the bloodied tatters he’s dressed in now. Dean sits on the edge of the bed, gently brushing Sam’s hair away from his eyes. He has the sudden urge to lean down and kiss Sam, so he does – very carefully placing his lips against his little brother’s forehead. It seems to Dean like Sam presses back into the kiss, and when his lips retreat, Sam stretches his neck and turns his head into Dean’s side, almost like he’s burrowing there. The unconscious display of affection brings a surge of warmth to Dean’s chest, though he can’t find it in him to smile with Sam like this.

Gingerly, Dean unbuttons Sam’s shirt and eases it over his shoulders, his fingers tracing over Sam’s muscles on the way down each arm. He hadn’t spent too much time around Sam’s unclothed chest recently and he couldn’t help staring at the contours of his frame. Sometimes he spends so much time thinking about Sam as his little brother, he forgets how much he’d built himself up over the years, forgets about the strength that all those layers of shirts they wear everyday are hiding. Dean has to shake himself in chastisement for staring at Sam’s body and lusting after it like a creep when he’s supposed to be taking care of him. How could he be thinking with his dick, even now, when Sam is deathly ill? But he was thinking with his dick, because even seeing Sam half naked for a matter of thirty seconds seems to be enough to give him a semi. For fuck’s sake, Dean curses himself, and sets about the task of easing Sam out of his torn up jeans.

As he gets Sam’s abnormally long jeans off his abnormally long body, three things strike Dean as odd. The first, that the smell he’d overwhelmingly associated with Sam back at the farmhouse in Missouri all of the sudden permeates the air around him. Sure, he’d been smelling it this whole time – it had been almost unbearably strong on the 6 hour drive back to Kansas – but he figured he must have gotten used to it because it had sort of faded into the background until just now. Secondly, the way Sam’s legs were splayed out across the bed right now gave Dean a view of a dark wet patch on the light grey of Sam’s underwear – gross, Dean thinks to himself, until he realises that the stain isn’t on the front of Sam’s briefs like it would be if he’d pissed himself. That examination leads him to his third odd discovery, which is that Sam has a boner.

“Well, what have we here?” Dean spins to see Rowena standing in the doorway, smirking.

“I’m sorry, Sam’s turned into a what?” Dean blinks incredulously at Rowena, who’s perching on the edge of the table in the kitchen. He turns his head to look at Castiel, who is sitting stoically behind Rowena. The angel shrugs unhelpfully.

“An Omega, dearie,” Rowena enunciates more clearly, like she imagines she’s talking to a four year old.

“Right,” Dean nods, although he doesn’t really understand. “And I’m a–”

“An Alpha, yes,” Rowena reiterates, clearly annoyed Dean isn’t getting this. “Well, Sam’s Alpha, more specifically,” she amends.

“And what exactly does all this mean?” Dean grunts, frustrated.

“It means that you and Samuel are mates,” Rowena elaborates.

“We know that, we saw our shared heaven, like a decade ago. What the hell does it have to do with him being sick?”

“Samuel is sick because he’s an Omega in heat, and he needs his mate.”

“Well if I’m his ‘mate’ and he ‘needs me’ – I’m right here! So why isn’t he better?” Dean growls.

“I believe,” Cas clears his throat, “from what I understand of the traditional elements of this condition, that what Rowena means is that Sam needs you, as his mate, physically.” Cas looks sheepishly at Rowena for confirmation.

“Precisely,” she smiles thankfully at Castiel.

“Physically?” Dean’s not any closer to understanding what’s happening. “So what, I need to go hold his hand until his fever breaks?”

“Well, I’m not surprised that you might want to hold his hand, but it’s going to take a wee bit more than that.”

“Will you just tell me how the hell to cure him?” Dean shouts, accidentally shattering the beer bottle he’s holding. He looks down, surprised at his own strength and at the end of his tether now.

“Sexual intercourse,” Cas answers shortly, his face carefully blank. “Though, again, from my understanding, that will only cure his heat. He will remain an Omega and you will remain an Alpha.”

“What the hell are you talking about ‘from what you understand’?” Dean makes indignant air quotes at Cas.

“When Metatron put all of popular culture into my head it included every story ever written. There are a large number of stories on the internet that incorporate the dynamics of the Alpha/Omega hierarchy. It’s a trope primarily found in something called ‘fanfiction’,” Cas explains. “In fact, there is some ‘fanfiction’ about yourself and Sam if it would help you to understand the mating requirements.” Dean feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Cas, listen to me very carefully: under no circumstances are you to ever tell anyone else that those exist,” Dean groans, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Why is this happening?”

“That’s the part I’ve not got the faintest idea about,” Rowena sighs. “It would take something more than a simple spell to alter your anatomies like this. Not even an angel,” she glances at Castiel quickly to check she’s right in her assumption. “I’ve never heard of something like this actually happening outside of fiction.”

“It was Amara,” Dean sighs. “When she left she told me she was going to give me what I ‘needed most’, but I don’t know why she thought this was it. It just seems like some sick joke.”

“Ah,” Rowena nods sagely like she understands now. “She was giving you Samuel.”

“How is this ‘giving me’ Sam?”

“A physically bonded Alpha and Omega are bonded for life, inseparable. Without the other, they won’t survive their heats – or ruts, in your case.”

“So every time Sam goes into a heat, we need to have sex, or he dies?” Dean can’t believe how fucked up this is.

“You’ll also need to knot him,” Cas adds gravely. Noticing Dean’s look of incredulity, he continues. “The base of your penis will inflate when you ejaculate and lock you and Sam together for a brief time. It’s the knot that Sam needs to relieve the symptoms of his heat.”

“What the fuck?” Dean blanches.

“Not to importune but I do believe Samuel was running out of time when I examined him. You really should get to it, Dean,” Rowena cuts in.

“And how am I supposed to do that, huh? The guy’s unconscious! I can’t just–” Dean’s stomach roiled. The thought of fucking Sam was tempting, amazingly so, but the thought of doing it to Sam, without his knowledge or participation, was sickening.

“I can make him a wee draft to revive him and stave off the fever,” Rowena moves towards one of the cupboards in the kitchen where Sam keeps the common spell ingredients. “Then Castiel and I can make ourselves scarce and leave you two to it,” she smiles.

“And you’re positive this is the only way?” Dean presses desperately.

“That Amara is a crafty woman, she knew what she was doing.” Rowena throws some herbs into a small dish. “She saw that you would never ‘put the moves on Sam’, as you say. This is her way of giving you both that little push.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a bitch,” Dean grumbles, dropping his head in his hands and waiting for Rowena to finish the potion to wake Sam up.

Sam blinks awake wearily, vaguely aware that he’s safe and not being held captive anymore, but he can’t remember much more than snippets of sound and scent. The rumble of an engine, the smell of motor oil; the low tenor of Dean’s voice, and the scent of whiskey, apple pie, and old leather. He can make out all of those scents now, too, swirling around him and pulling him back into consciousness – like smelling salts.

“Hey, there he is,” Dean’s voice says nearby, he’s sitting on the side of Sam’s bed.

Sam nuzzles towards his older brother, inexplicably craving the closeness. “De,” Sam mumbles, still sleepy.

“Yeah, it’s me Sammy,” Dean smiles down at him gently, eyes soft. Sam feels an unusual rush of need wash over him like a heat wave and he presses himself as close to Dean as two bodies can possibly get with a blanket still in between them.

“Wha s’happening?” he grumbles into Dean’s chest, looping his long arms around his brother’s waist.

“Short version?” Dean scoffs, but not unkindly. “Listen man, I’ll explain everything, I promise but – right now I just need to make sure you get outta this in one piece,” Dean sighs, drawing his hand down Sam’s face and holding his cheek. Sam looks up at Dean quizzically, unused to the level of physical affection but finding he was in desperate want of more. He nods at his big brother – whatever’s wrong, he knows Dean will take care of him. “You trust me Sammy?” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and Sam realises he’s scared.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam breathes quietly into the slowly decreasing space between them. “Course I do,” he confirms again.

“Alright then,” Dean gulps and nods, mostly to himself though, like he’s trying to psych himself up for something. Then without any further warning, Dean’s lips are covering Sam’s and pressing him down onto the bed.

The fire that had been smouldering inside Sam for days now leaps and dances, as if Dean’s kiss is gasoline being thrown across him. Sam clings to Dean as he’s laid back onto the bed, and lets Dean climb into his lap and bury his hands in Sam’s hair. Dean licks across the seam of his lips and Sam parts them willingly, drinking in every bit of Dean that is being offered to him. He can’t remember why he needs Dean like this so badly, or when he started needing him, but now that he has him he couldn’t care less. He knows with certainty that the only thing he needs to be happy for the rest of his life is Dean – Dean loving him, Dean kissing him, Dean inside him. Fuck, he needs Dean inside him right fucking now.

At this realisation, Sam starts tearing into Dean’s clothes, ripping through the thread keeping buttons in their places without a thought. He expects Dean to start doing the same to him, but then realises he’s not wearing anything but his underwear, which suits Sam just fine. Dean has to pull away from him to wriggle out of his jeans, and Sam groans involuntarily at the sight of the bulge Dean reveals when he strips down.

“Someone likes the view, huh?” Dean teases him, voice deep and throaty, but Sam’s too far gone to come up with a bratty retort. All he can focus on is that he wants Dean’s cock – now.

“Shit, you look so big De,” Sam groans, reaching out a hand to cup around Dean’s member, still hidden behind black cotton. The front of the material is wet with precum, Sam can feel it against his fingertips.

“Think you can handle me, little bro?” Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and drags his fingers along the outline of his cock, up to the elastic waist of his boxers, and then inside them. Sam’s fingers curl around Dean and stroke him gently beneath the fabric. “Think you can fit all that inside your tight little ass f’me?” he grunts, thrusting into Sam’s grip.

“Fuck yes,” Sam rasps, and his breath sounds like it’s raking over hot coals in his throat. He pulls back from Dean to shed his own underwear, staring at it puzzledly when it comes away from his body covered in slick. What is that, he wonders as he feels it on his fingers. It doesn't feel like lube… “Dean?” Sam looks to his brother for answers.

“S’okay,” Dean rushes to reassure him, joining his little brother on the bed, both of them now completely bared to the other. “I’ll explain later, yeah? Just let me take care of you right now, okay?” Dean’s eyes are wide and pleading as he looks to Sam, and Sam nods; he trusts Dean. “Just lemme take care a’you,” Dean whispers again as he brushes their lips together, and Sam pulls him in tight for another bruising kiss.

Their bodies twist and tangle easily, Sam just letting Dean put them together however he wanted. The heat of Dean against him is overwhelming, the sweat on their skin mingles and sticks them together, pulling at their nerves every time they part. Sam doesn’t want them to part. He reaches between them, grabbing Dean’s cock in his hand and thrusts his own into the same grip. Their moans ring through each others’ mouths as Sam jerks them against each other, and they take turns fucking into his fist. Before long Dean pulls away from Sam with a groan, probably to stop himself from finishing before he’s had a chance to see what the inside of his brother feels like. Sam is glad of his consideration in this case, because if he ends tonight without Dean locked firmly inside of him, he’s going to feel like he’s missing out. If he was more clear headed, he might question why the phrase ‘locked inside of him’ is the one that came to mind but he’s not thinking too deeply about what he wants right now — he just wants.

“Need you, Dean,” Sam pants, widely, grabbing at Dean, trying to bring their bodies back together. “Need… ne—” Sam’s vocabulary has become shockingly singular, and he doesn’t have the presence of mind to be irritated with his brother when Dean smiles down at him smugly, knowingly.

“I know what you need, Sammy” Dean grins down at his little brother. Having Sam this strung out and desperate for him is like a drug. I could get used to this being a monthly thing, he smirks to himself, reaching his hand down between Sam’s legs and rubbing at his slick entrance. “Need me right here, dontcha Sammy? I can feel how much you need me,” Dean groans as the tip of his finger slips inside of Sam too easily, “fuck, you’re wet. So fucking wet for me, huh Sammy?”

Sam just nods blissfully down at Dean; it seems his vocabulary of one word has now receded to zero.

Cas had warned him about this, that as an Omega, Sam would start leaking like a fire hydrant, but at least it saved him having to hunt around for some kind of lube — he’d never needed to have that on hand before, and if he found any lying around the bunker there’s a decent chance it would be cursed or something. Plus, he bet this made the whole experience way better for Sam, so he was all for it. Dean moves between Sam’s legs and runs the head of his cock over Sam’s twitching entrance. Sammy lets out a weak moan and arches against the pressure, trying to get Dean to slip inside. Dean’s about to oblige when he remembers what Cas said about them getting locked together by the Alpha’s knot once he comes, and he thinks better of their position. It will be easier to roll on to their sides and rest if he does this with Sam on his hands and knees.

He manhandles Sam into position, rolling him over, and when Sam gets the idea and pushes himself onto his hands and knees, arching his back and presenting himself to Dean like some kind of trophy, Dean can’t hold himself back any longer. He pushes his cock inside Sam slowly, agonisingly and torturously slowly. Not because he’s concerned about hurting Sam, who is opening up beneath him like he was born for this — born to take Dean’s cock — but because he knows he wants to savour this moment for the rest of his life. He wants to remember every second of the first time he felt what it was like to truly possess Sam, to be joined so completely to one another that not even their bodies can keep them separate. So Dean goes slow, even though Sam is begging beneath him, asking him to just fuck him already, Dean ignores him, and he drinks the feelings in.

When he’s got himself bottomed out inside of Sam he leans down over his brother and presses a kiss to his shoulder, tenderly, thanking him for what he’s giving Dean right now. “You feel so good Sammy,” Dean moans, and he doesn’t mean for it to sound as sappy as it does but it’s hard to regulate things like that when you feel like you’ve just connected to your soulmate for the first time, so he gives himself a pass.

The next time Sam begs, Dean gives in, snapping his hips back and fucking into him as hard as he can manage. And once he’s started he can’t stop. Every instinct inside of Dean is shouting at him to take, to fuck Sam into the mattress and never let up, which Sam doesn’t seem to mind, because no matter how roughly Dean thrusts into him he keeps shouting for more, faster, harder, please. So Dean, ever the good big brother, gives Sammy what he needs — what they both need.

Dean can feel himself getting closer and closer to his release, and that’s when he notices that he can’t quite pull out as far as before. His knot has begun swelling at the base of his cock, getting ready to pop and bind him and Sam together. The fattening edges catching on Sam’s rim give Dean a kind of friction no sex ever has before and, fucking hell, it feels unbelievably good. He grinds himself harder against Sam, dropping over his back so they can be as close as possible, and bringing his hand up beneath Sam to grasp at his little brother’s dick. It’s the first time he’s properly touched it, felt it in his hand, and shit, it feels even bigger than it looks.

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam groans, sounding absolutely wrecked, and Dean takes that as a compliment. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck, please,” Sam is pleading with him so prettily, and Dean wants to cum just as badly as him.

“Not stopping Sammy,” Dean strokes him faster, grinds into him harder, “not stopping until you cum all over my hand baby boy, so c’mon, want you to cum f’me.” Dean thanks God that Sam starts to cum loudly when Dean tells him too, because the second he feels Sam start to convulse around him his knot pops and he’s cumming harder than he ever has in his life. The thought of his seed whitewashing Sam’s insides is sickeningly thrilling and he swears a second, small orgasm rocks through him — and hey, if that’s a perk of being an Alpha, I could get used to this.

When Dean comes back to himself, his breathing finally evening out, he notices Sam slumped beneath him, no longer holding himself up. He quickly checks for a pulse, and relaxes when he finds one – Sam’s just passed out. Fuck, he came so hard he passed out. Dean shudders, feeling another small blurt of cum force itself out of his cock at the thought that he’d fucked Sam so thoroughly. To be honest he was a little proud of himself.

Dean arranges himself on his side on the bed, so he can curl around Sam while he waits for his knot to deflate. He thought he’d be annoyed by having to stay still like this for so long but it’s surprisingly peaceful, laying here with Sam asleep in his arms. He hugs his little brother tighter to him, clasping his hands over Sam’s chest – over his heart – feels the rhythm and reassures himself that Sam is here, and alive, and safe. And his. The realisation hits Dean unexpectedly. Sam is finally his in the most permanent way he can think of, and his heart leaps at the thought. The last thing he thinks before he drops off to sleep too, is that he hopes Sam still wants to be his when he wakes up.

Tags: @vulgar-library​ @tintentrinkerin​ @negans-lucille-tblr​ @fandomfic-galore​ @petitgateau911​ @whoreforackles-deactivated20210​ @schaefchenherde​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @little-diable​ @laxe-chester67​ @kassyscarlett​ @akshi8278 @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @lovealways-j @stoneyggirl 

[notabloodmage]

Anders Clinic: early Act 1

hello! i am handers trash! here is the first time my hawke helped Anders around the clinic! thank u!

The clinic was crowded today. There was another fever burning its way through Darktown. Anders was stretched thin as it is, with very few volunteers in recent days to help him keep the clinic running and safely hidden. As it turned out-- operating for free meant that help was hard to find. His mana was low, even with the extra reserves that Justice granted him. The clinic was overrun with patients-- his little corner of Darktown a filled with a cacophony of retching and the groans of the ill. He shuffled tiredly, but with purpose, from patient to patient. He was grateful that Justice wouldn’t let him rest until the job was done. It wasn’t good for Anders, sure, but it helped save the lives of all these people, so it had to be worth it, right? 

“Uh, Anders?” A familiar voice broke through the crowd. Hawke was… unexpected. The little rogue had weaved her way through the crowd somehow to make it to his side. He didn’t even look up from his work to greet here, focusing on blue fade-energy pulsing at his fingertips. 

“Sorry, Hawke, but I really don’t think I can be of any help to you today,” Anders said balefully. He was knelt over an old woman, a Ferelden refugee not unlike the rogue before him.

“Er, actually, I was wondering if I could help you…” 

That made him look up, and the sight was so beautiful it made his head spin (or perhaps it was the fact that he was going on 50+ hours without sleep). 

Hawke was looking down with her signature crooked grin, brow cocked with concern at his appearance. She wasn’t wearing her armour like usual, he’d never seen her without it before, all that tan freckled skin in the open. She was wearing a casual peasant shirt with a hastily lased collar and simple trousers torn at the knees. He snapped his eyes onto her warm brown gaze to keep them from wandering. Her eyes always had a twinkle in them, somehow, like she knew something you didn’t. 

She just had a way with people, Anders supposed, even the woman he was treating seemed to relax at her mere presence. 

And more than that, he realised, she may as well have been handing him a pot of gold. She was holding out a basket of fresh picked herbs. Elfroot, Embrium, Blood Lotus-- everything he could possibly need to treat this flu. She beamed when he looked up at her incredulously. 

“Bethany is here too, somewhere-- healing isn’t her speciality but Father did teach her the basics. And I may not be a mage, but I do know my way around a cauldron.” She winked down at him, turning toward the back of the shop. “You do have a cauldron, right? Or at least a pot I can cook with?” 

“I… What?” Anders gaped--half-convinced the exhaustion had finally gotten to him and he was hallucinating. Hawke giggled.

“A cauldron, Anders, so I can make some healing potions for these people. Father used to make this awful potion for us whenever we were sick, it tastes like the void itself but it always works! I’m not as good as he was but I do know the recipe!” She looked back at him quizzically.

“There’s a cauldron on the fire near the back, miss.” One of his other patients, a young boy who had been in the clinic before spoke up for him. 

Anders still couldn’t believe this was happening. This couldn’t be some kind of stress-induced hallucination, could it? Hawke wasn’t really just sweeping in to solve his problems again was she? First with Karl and now this...

“That’s… I…”

Before Anders could fully process the situation he was whisked back into his work. 

The sunset bled the day into night, the work still hard but going significantly more smoothly now. He’d bumped shoulders with Bethany a few times throughout the day, who’d always given him an encouraging smile before returning to her work, she may not have been as adept as he was at healing but she did better than fine. Her proficiency with the elements kept the fire burning and kept them supplied with clean water so Anders could focus solely on his healing abilities. The atmosphere of the clinic had changed, it was no longer so frantic, and although he felt as though he was about to collapse with exhaustion, Anders was cautiously optimistic. With all the help they’d been able to give it looked like most of the refugees would actually survive this. 

Plus, Hawke wasn’t kidding. She did know her way around a cauldron. Between patients Anders caught glimpses at her slicing up herbs at an alarming speed, Anders hadn’t considered that he proficiency with daggers would translate to something as mundane as chopping up potion ingredients. She’d brought more than enough, too.  With this potion a little goes a long way, she’d assured him, and she proved herself right. Sip after agonising sip of the sludge-like fluid had patients perking up already. She’d even been able to slip in a lyrium potion or two to keep Bethany and Anders running late into the evening. 

She hummed a cheery little tune to herself as she stirred away, serving patients with a smile and a joke. She made it look so easy, but she had to tired by now...

The clinic finally began to slow around midnight, most of the patients had cleared out and those that remained were asleep. Hawke had sent Bethany home before sundown-- Leandra got nervous when Bethany was out late, apparently-- so it was just the two of them that remained, in the back of the clinic. Anders was warming himself by the fireplace, hands gripping his mug tightly to keep them from trembling with exhaustion, as he sipped the tea Hawke had pushed into his hands. It smelled like like home somehow-- Ferelden. 

Mint, fennel and elfroot, sweetened with honey.

Hawke bit back a yawn, she was sat on a stool, scrubbing out his old cauldron-- he’d gotten it second-hand after he’d set up shop down here.

Her curly brown hair was tied back with a white rag, and at some point she had lost her overshirt, leaving her in tight camisole. Anders tried desperately to ignore how it gave him the perfect view of the way her chest heaved as she worked. Her toned, tanned arms were in full view, every inch of her skin patterned intricately with freckles. Sweat dripped down her neck into the valley between her breasts and Anders cleared his throat in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

“Thank you for today, really. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” He fixed his gaze on hers once more. She was smiling at him with something that looked like admiration her amber eyes, and he didn’t know if that terrified him or turned him on. 

Maybe both.

“I can’t believe you do this every day… I don’t even think I can stand back up…” Hawke leaned back, setting the cauldron aside so she could stretch, letting out a sweet sound of satisfaction at the relief on her sore muscles.

Anders nearly cursed aloud when Justice forced him to avert his gaze.

“It’s not always this bad…” He stammered out, as Hawke stood focusing his eyes on the hearth, where the fire had burned down to coals. She was looking at him again. He could see it from the corner of his eye, she was studying him intently, it seemed. 

The silence hung over them--warm, wanting, and not quite comfortable. 

Anders wanted to thank her again, but he couldn’t find the words. He still couldn’t believe she’d come at all. Completely unprompted, unasked. He’d asked her a few hours in what she was doing there and all she’d said was that Varric told her was busy at the clinic and she wanted to help. She didn’t say how she got the herbs or found the time, in her busy schedule though, and Anders thought that maybe he should ask if he could pay for those... not that he could afford them, he thought bitterly. 

The silence was broken by Hawke bursting into a fit of giggles. 

He looked at her, brow creasing. She was… Odd. Always smiling, always laughing at something or other. She’d tripped over her feet on the way up the Chantry steps that first night they’d met and he could’ve sworn her laugh echoed through all of Hightown, far too loud for someone as small in stature as she. In that moment she’d put him at ease, and even though his meeting with Karl went as terribly as it did she stuck by his side, even inviting him out on jobs with her in the days after, knowing full well that he could use the money, and time out of Darktown. 

Her eyes glimmered with mirth as she turned to him.

“I just realised I never told you my name.”

Huh. 

So she hadn’t. 

It was strange, given how much they’d been through together in the, what, few weeks? Since they’d met? Anders found himself laughing alongside her. 

Maybe they were delirious-- maybe the fever had finally caught up to them-- but Maker did the two of them laugh.  A gross, hard day full of grief and sickness that had left them both worn and covered in vomit and the pair laughed themselves to tears. 

Justice was confused. Anders was laughing. Why was Anders laughing? 

Anders didn’t quite know the answer himself, but he figured it didn’t matter as Hawke extended a hand to him. 

“I’m Minerva Marian Hawke, and you are?”

He took her hand in his. His handshake was a little too firm in an attempt to disguise how his hands were trembling. 

“Anders. Just Anders.”

“Just Anders, hm? Coooool~” She grinned, voice regaining its familiar teasing quality. He couldn’t help but return her grin. “Well, Just Anders, I’ll come by tomorrow, okay? I think it’s time to get some rest. Both of us, okay?” Her eyes flickered over him, an expression of genuine concern on her face. Anders didn’t know what he’d done to earn such kindness from her, but he couldn’t deny the way it made his heart pound in his chest.

She smiled her farewell and turned to leave.

“Goodnight, Minerva.” Her name tasted sweet on his lips. “And thank you.”

[liamloveslarry]

The Boy Who Cried Wolf~

okay i’ve posted some snippets below and i’ve kept the general theme the story flows in so far, however it may not make sense as i’ve purposefully left some things out but i think u can get a general vibe from it hopefully, idk let me know what you think bc it’s been ages since i’ve picked this up and i would love to finish and post it soon!

tw for one use of derogatory language, violence, body horror/gore, swearing, experimentation, surgery & fictional medicines, mild nsfw, use of guns but at the beginning - these all sounds worse than they are, but it’s a werewolf fic so there had to be some element of ~horror.

The ground beneath Harry is hard and damp. 

He can feel the wetness soak through into his already sodden socks from where his shoes had come off in the brawl, and it reminds him of being young and spilling ice cubes on the floor, trying to hastily clean the water up with his foot and feeling the cold cling to his toes. 

He squeezes his fists together and bends his head between his knees, breathing deep. 

There’s a chill in the air and the frost nips at his nude body, causing goosebumps to flare in his skins wake so fast it stings as they burst through his flesh. 

His long hair acts as a barrier against the frigid air, but every time he rocks back, the metal bars stood tall behind him hiss against his skin and cause him to whimper and growl. 

He looks up and wraps his arms around his knees, shielding what little modesty he has left. 

He can see two guards standing either side of the cell, each holding firearms in their sturdy arms. Their fingers on the trigger ready to shoot if Harry so much as thought about doing something he shouldn’t. 

There’s another body to the right of him that looks in bad condition. He can smell it before he sees it. The person’s leg appears to be injured judging by the sluggish trail of blood that’s pumping into a puddle on the floor, and there are multiple cuts and grazes across their torso and face. 

Deep enough that Harry can see muscle and bone. Deep enough that Harry can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

If he focuses enough, he can hear them breathing. 

Or maybe that’s just himself.

Harry’s feet scuffle on the floor as he tries to get a closer look, but it causes one of the guard’s head to twist towards him and narrow his eyes, gripping his gun even tighter as he opens his big, fat mouth.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He growls.

Harry whips his head up and looks him in the eye. He retracts his arm slowly from where he was reaching out to touch the person’s pulse point and places it on the floor.

The guards face is pinched and sweaty, as if he’d be afraid of Harry if there wasn’t a thick barrier of metal between them. He can hear the hitch in his breath when does so much as blink, confirming the theory further that he’s more afraid of Harry than Harry is of him.

“What am I doing here?” His voice his shot and gruff, a reminder of just two hours previous when he’d been snarling and shouting, trying to tear chunks of flesh from their bodies out of fear while they’d held him down and stunned him into submissive shock.

He doesn’t remember much after being shoved into the back of a truck and led to where he assumes, he is now, cooped up in a dingy cell with a half rotting body and two wankers as company.

The guard punches out a laugh, the tip of the gun clanging against the metal as his body jerks forward. It causes Harry to wince as the sharp sound penetrates his ear drums.

“For a dog I thought you’d be smarter. But it looks like you’re just another dumb bitch.”

Harry’s fingers catch against the grain of the floor as the tip of his claw protrudes and causes the concrete to shift and crumble beneath him. He can’t help the rumble in his chest while the thought to bare his teeth becomes more prominent each second the guard smirks and cocks his gun mockingly at Harry’s head. 

“Calm down puppy, it’s not even a full moon yet so I dunno why you’re gettin’ all hyped up.” 

Harry doesn’t feel himself move but he can see the guard’s eyes sweep across his form, right from the tips of his toes to his hairline as he clenches his gun tighter, which means he now must be standing. 

He knows better than to step forward, knowing he’ll probably get shot if he dares so much as inch his pinky out. 

He can feel his bones shift and his muscles twinge, and there’s a deep throbbing coming from his thigh which he only notices now. As he casts his eyes down, he can see it’s torn and open. There must be something slowing the healing as usually something like that would’ve closed up by now.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

The guard cocks his eyebrow.

“No.”

Harry’s hands clasp into fists and he takes a deep breath.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

He can see the guard smirking, albeit if he narrows his eyes slightly, he can still see his pulse jumping under his skin as if trying to scramble from his body. He shifts his hip slightly to take the weight off his injured leg, causing his cock to slap against his thigh.

The guard’s eyes drift down and this time it’s Harry’s turn to smirk.

“What’s the matter? Never seen one this big before?”

The guards face turns red and he splutters, his pig face scrunching up as if he’d sucked on a sour lemon and he scrambles to point his gun through the bars and at Harry.

“Shut the fuck up you fucking dog! I swear to god I’ll blow your fucking brains out you mutt, you utter cu- “

“That’s enough.”

They both whip their head towards the second guard as his hand inches out and places it on the other guard’s gun, pushing it down slowly.

“You!”, he says, eyes piercing into the other man and gritting his teeth, “need to shut your fucking gob and stop riling Lassie up; and you!”, he turns and sweeps his gaze over Harry’s form, boots coming to rest against the edge of the metal, “need to stop asking so many sodding questions and shut up.”

Harry blinks down at his wet socks and frowns.

“Can I at least have some clothes?”

The second guards gaze lingers on his abdomen.

“No,” he smirks, eyes trailing upwards and resting on Harry’s face, “I’m rather enjoying the view.”

Harry growls out “fucking pervert” and doesn’t think twice before moves his foot forward, which causes the first guard to panic and fire his gun. 

The bullet doesn’t pierce his skin, but it’s made of something hard and it smacks full force him in the chest, instantly knocking him backwards and winding him.

He can see both of the guards arguing and waving their arms at each other, but his hearing has gone woofy so he can’t understand what they’re saying. 

The room is starting to spin and the pain in his thigh and upper chest are getting worse, causing Harry to sway on the spot and collapse onto his knees.

The last thing he remembers is the sound of an alarm before his vision blurs and turns to black.

~

It was dark by the time he’d left the office, nodding and waving at the receptionist who was sat in the tiny booth on his way out. It had also been raining, which Harry realises now he probably should’ve driven in, but the morning had been so frosty and clear with dew drops settling on autumn leaves, that he couldn’t help but walk through the winding paths and bramble bushes to get to work. Even if it did take him thirty minutes.

He remembers pulling his hood up and walking down the road until he reached a narrow ginnel that acted as a bridge between the small town and his house.

It had been here he’d been attacked.

At first, he thought it was just somebody mugging him and he knew it wasn’t best placed to chomp his way out of it, it wouldn’t look too good if a local hooligan had been found with teeth marks imprinted onto his skin, so he’d done his best to ignore him, promptly shoving them off; only to realise there was two of them and one had what looked to be a gun.

Stunned, he’d tried to run but they’d pinned him down and cast a sickening blow to his stomach. It had caused Harry to go into sensory overload as he could smell the cheap cigarette smoke on their collars and their nasty breath wafting up his nostrils, causing him to heave and snarl. It was only a matter of time before his abilities kicked in and his claws and teeth had decided to make an appearance. He’d nicked of the men on his jaw and tried to bite his neck, but the other man held an electric rod against his ribs and shocked him.

~

She’s fair skinned and has light brown hair that’s held up in a ponytail. She doesn’t say much as she checks the stats on the monitor screen, but Harry does his best to smile whenever she looks over at him.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

She startles and nearly drops her clipboard, grasping it at the last second before it falls to the floor. She looks at him wide eyed and says nothing.

“I’m not going to do anything, I promise”. He grins and wiggles his fingers slightly in the straps. “Not like I can do anything, anyway.”

She stares at him for a beat longer and lowers her head.

“Mary.” She mumbles, fiddling with the pen and twisting it in her fingers.

Harry smiles again and tries to get her to look up.

“Mary. That’s a nice name. My name’s Harry, but I’m guessing you already know that.”

She blushes and looks away, busying herself with the buttons on the monitor and biting her bottom lip. 

She’s nervous, Harry can sense it. But if he wants to get out of here semi-unscathed, he needs to play nice with those who so far, haven’t been very nice to him. She seems kind enough anyway, judging by the fact that she wasn’t poking any fingers into his wounds or prodding at his teeth.

“I know you probably can’t say much, and I understand that; I really do, but.” He sighs and looks down. “Please can you tell me where I am?”

She continues to ignore him, taking out a needle and flicking the cap. She pumps it a few times and Harry watches as the liquid inside begins to bubble up.

She goes to inject the tip into his thigh but he catches her wrist just as she was about to press in, claws forming a shield around her delicate bone.

She looks up at him wide eyed, her breathing heavy and scared.

“Mary, please. Please tell me where I am. I won’t let go until you say something.” He can feel her small hand trembling but he isn’t going to give up without a fight.

Her fingers squeeze tighter around the needle and she tries to force the tip into his skin, but his hold is stronger and she lets out a gasp.

“Please stop, you’re hurting me.” 

“I’m sorry, I will, I promise. But not until after you tell me where I am.”

Her fingers seem to seize and stop, dropping the instrument onto the bed and her quiet, shaking voice splits the silence open like a knife cutting through paper.

~

He can smell the winter air and the frost settles in his bones, calming him instantly. He’s also very aware that he’s still in a gown and participating in a full moon event of his own. 

He’s about to step over the threshold when a hand tugs him back.

Harry turns around, and he sees Mary for the kid she is. Barely an adult and shivering in the cold.

Her nose has turned red already.

~

He lets out a ragged sob and pounds his fist against the floor. He tries to move his leg and bend his arms to press against the solid ground so he can at least heave himself up when he notices a beaming light coming towards him. He turns his head and sees through tears, rain and the dirt prickling his eyelids, the headlights of a car that’s heading his way.

The car eventually slows down to a stop in front of him, but he can’t see much through the business of the windscreen wipers and the headlights shining in his eyes. He must look a right state right now, and he’s shocked the car even stopped for him. 

If it was him, he would’ve kept on driving. 

There’s a click and the engine turns off. The lights stay on, albeit they’re dimmed a touch. 

The car door opens from the driver’s side and a man dressed in a parka and joggers hesitantly makes his way around the front of the car.

There’s silence for a few moments until the man opens his mouth.

~

Harry doesn’t know how long they drive for. He’s content to just let the sound of the quiet radio wash over him while he huddles into the blanket more, directing his toes underneath the heater. He appreciates that Louis probably has a multitude of questions he’s dying to ask, but instead he keeps his mouth shut, humming along to the radio every now and then.

They drive through the tiny town of Barnstable and the car jostles as they drive over cobbled streets and the sporadic pothole. The occasional light flickers from the shore to the right of them, but other than that the streets are as dark and as quiet as the night sky.

They tumble upwards towards a hill and Louis leads them through winding roads and sharp bends. On a particularly keen one, the car lingers to one side and Harry’s thigh moves with the turn, bashing slightly against the inside of the car door.

He winces and Louis catches it, sending a look of sympathy his way.

“Sorry, mate. Won’t be long now – another couple of minutes.” He nods down at Harry’s leg which has started to seep blood through the material. “We’ll get that patched up straight away, just try and keep some pressure on it for now.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods, wrapping a part of the blanket around his fist and pressing it harder against the wound.

~

He grabs some shampoo from the holder that’s stuck to the wall and squirts a generous amount into his palm, rubbing his hands together and lathering it through the strands. He does the same with the shower gel and starts to wash his body as he thinks.

What he remembers from the night feels fragmented and broken, tail ends of memories flashing before they disappear. He sighs and dips his head backwards underneath the water and washes the shampoo out. 

Whatever they shot him with must’ve delayed or hindered his healing abilities as usually anything superficial or worse, only takes around an hour to heal. Granted he’s never been shot before, it should’ve only taken a little longer before it had fully closed up, instead it had gotten worse the longer the bullet had been trapped inside his leg, rooted underneath muscle and skin.

He looks down and feels as well as sees, his skin starting to knit back together. Bits of flesh fusing as one around the stitches like solder to an iron. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to Louis in terms of there no longer being a wound or a scar left in its wake, but he figures he probably doesn’t need to be semi-nude around him again, so he decides not to say anything.

He scrubs the last remnants of dirt from his body and turns to switch the shower off, taking his time to grab the towel left for him on the radiator and wrapping it around his waist. 

He pads over to the mirror and looks at his reflection.

His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his cheekbones look hallow. His long hair is dripping lukewarm water down his chest and onto the floor, but he can’t find the energy in him to do something about it.

~

He spins towards Harry, blue eyes tired and sleepy, with a soft smile etched onto his face. He lifts his arm to ruffle the back of his hair and his arm muscle expands slightly, filling out the sleeve of his hoodie. It makes Harry swallow, a quiet click due to his dry throat echoing through the room.

“You’ll be okay in here, right?” Louis asks. “You know where the bathroom is and there’s some spare toothbrushes in the drawer, feel free to get up when you want and have another shower and stu- oh!” Louis pauses and places his hand into his hoodie pocket, pulling a small box out. “There’s some paracetamol here in case you need them in the middle of the night for your leg – pretty sure there’s a spare glass in the bathroom too, just in case you didn’t wanna stick your head under the tap.” He places the box down onto the bedside table and throws a smile Harry’s way.

Harry won’t need them but he nods and smiles anyway, yawning out a thank you. He forgets momentarily that Louis is still in the room when he starts taking the hoodie off, and only remembers when a cough sounds out against the silence and he whips his head up.

~

Harry unclicks his seatbelt and goes to open the car door when Louis’ hand stops him. He turns back. 

Tired, green eyes meet concerned, blue ones.

“Just.” Louis pauses. “Just be careful out there, okay?” Harry stays silent while Louis’ fingers tighten around his arm. 

It doesn’t feel unsafe.

“When I found you, I thought you were dead. I haven’t asked you what happened because I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready. And you still don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He rushes to say, then pauses to stroke his thumb lightly over Harry’s arm, hair standing to attention and swaying under soft material and fingertips. “So just, be careful. Please.”

His eyes feel like they’re boring into Harry’s soul, each pupil filled with worry and pleading as if for Harry to promise him. Harry doesn’t know what to do, so he gently places his hand on top of Louis’ and smiles kindly.

“I promise. It was just a,” how does he word this “– a bad night. And hopefully it won’t happen again.” He figures he might have to verbalize what happened one day, but today is not that day. Where would he even start? ‘Thanks for saving my life and oh, by the way, I’m a werewolf?’

One headache is enough for now.

Louis looks at him for a second longer and breathes out, squeezing his arm one last time and dropping his hand back down, resting it on his thigh.

“I’ll call you.”

Harry nods and opens the car door, turning back one last time.

“Thank you, for everything.”

~

Making his way through to the living room, he flicks the light on and watches as dust bunnies flit about the air, as if to say welcome home. The machine to the right of him is flashing relentlessly, signifying there are messages waiting for him. He presses the voicemail button and listens as a robotic voice, followed by a woman’s, floats through the speaker.

Beep. Three new messages.

Beep. First Message.

“Hi, love. It’s only me. Just checking to make sure you’re alright? I know you said you had a busy week so wanted to catch up before the weekend.”

Beep. End of first message. 

Beep. Second message.

“Hi, Harry. Me again. Not sure if you got my first message and I know you’re probably having a minute to yourself after work, but just give me a call back when you get this.”

Beep. End of second message.

Beep. Third message.

“Harry, it’s me. It’s nearly 8 o’clock and I haven’t heard anything. I’m starting to worry, will you ring me back, please? I swear to god if something’s happe-yes! I’m ringing him again, he’s not answering, Har-”

Beep. End of third message.

No more messages.

~

If he listens carefully enough, he can hear the hedgehog’s tiny teeth tear through the slop, gurgling as he swallows. Small wheezes puff through his narrow nostrils when he pauses, the spikes on his back sparkling under the stars. Harry’s eyes adjust better than any humans could while his ears hone in on the sounds around him. Voles and mice race through the grass, snatching worms and bugs alike. Owls hoot in the distance while foxes rummage through bins, rubbish galore. He can even hear the moths fluttering their tiny wings as they quiver and vibrate through the dark.

The plate is nearly empty when he hears something snap. Even Bob pauses licking the ceramic to sniff the air; black, beady eyes darting right to left. He must think they’re in the clear when he starts moving again, nifty nose nudging through wet food. Harry continues to watch the garden when he hears another snap. 

This time it’s louder.

Claws replace fingernails and grip the step below him, twists of PVC twirling underneath sharp talons as they’re sliced from the ledge. 

Forgive him for he usually wouldn’t be this on edge, however getting oneself kidnapped and tortured has made even the scariest of monsters slightly fearful.

Though his eyesight is much like that of a hawk, he can’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bushes and leaves sway slowly in the breeze, every now and then a hoot echoes in the distance.

He stops breathing when he feels something brush against his ankle and his claws pierce the delicate skin of his palm; but he realises when he looks down that it’s just Bob nuzzling between his sock clad feet, trying to reach a meaty grub that’s getting away. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, counting to ten in his head. He shifts his feet so his three-legged friend can reach his dessert. He decides it’s enough for one night and reaches down to pick the plate up. He stands and casts his eyes around the garden one more time, settling on a tree branch that rests over the fence. He doesn’t know how long he stares at it until he feels the chill of the air whip against his face. Blinking out of his stupor, he shakes his head and lets out a small huff, breath casting white shapes into the cold air. 

“Bed,” he whispers, “just go to bed, Harry.”

~

It’s the middle of the night when he needs the toilet, bladder unrelenting as he shuffles sleepily out of the tent, torch in one hand as he makes his way over to a nearby tree. He’s resting his palm against the trunk when he hears a snap and a low moan coming from somewhere next to him. He tries to hurry his peeing as fast as he can, shaking himself off and guiding himself back into his shorts when something barges into him, slamming him down onto the forest floor.

His head knocks against the ground and he groans, mind going fuzzy. He can’t see for shit what’s on top of him but it’s dark and big and it’s groaning. Rumbling screams clutching at his bones. He tries to shake it off but it’s larger than Harry, at least seven foot and it drags him about like prey. He goes limp and cold, as if his mind is disconnected from his body. All he can remember is a white-hot flash of pain from where the thing had sunken its jaws into Harry’s side, teeth seizing around his rib cage and pulling, twisting, sinking. He remembers trying to scream but no sound escaped his lips. It was like he was watching from above. Watching as his body was tugged and heaved from left to right. Sharp claws scratched and hooked at his hip bones, making sure he couldn’t get away.

He could feel blood oozing out from where he’d been bitten and torn at, and the pain he felt was almost blinding. His fingers twitched at his side until they felt something smooth and hard. In a moment of sheer adrenaline, Harry had lifted what he assumed was a rock and slammed it down onto the thing’s head, once, twice, three times. Until its jaws had become loose and its teeth unclenched from around his bones. Blood spurted onto his face, lining his lips and staining his eyelashes. The thing went limp and sagged against Harry’s body, white eyes rolling back into its split skull as it shivered, seized and stopped.

He remembers pushing it off his body as best he could and trying to scramble away from it, bare feet and toes digging into the soft earth as he pushed himself backwards. He gulped when he hit the back of a tree and lay panting, hands shaking as they touched his side, feeling nothing but hollow bone and air. Looking down there was only red. Torn flesh and muscle protruding and dangling down as if no longer part of his body.

He remembers sobbing as he blinked through the tears and tried to get a good look at the figure lying dead in front of him. Holding both hands against where he’d been bitten and pulled apart like leftovers.

He remembers looking up at the sky above him, the moon big and bold as she stared back at him.

He remembers feeling like he was going to die.

~

A book is placed into Harry’s hands and he looks confused at the two men before Zayn just nods his head at the item, encouraging Harry to open it. 

“What is this?” He asks.

“Just read it.” Niall says, blinking at Harry.

It’s black and the corners are worn. It isn’t a big book either by any means, but it’s chunky and smells of old leather. Indented in gold on the front page are what look to be like nymphs and needles, wound tight around flesh as if both are becoming one. He turns to the first page and registers the thin, waxy paper.

~

Harry nods, doesn’t feel as though he can speak properly before stepping onto the train. His foot barely reaches the entry when his name is called behind him. He turns his head and sees Zayn walking up to him.

“I,” he coughs, looking around him a touch awkwardly, Niall turns away and bends down, pretending to busy himself with his shoelace. “Stay safe, yeah?” 

He pulls something out of his pocket and presses it into Harry’s hand. “Call us if you need us, anytime. I mean it.”

And with that he’s spinning around and walking up to Niall, clapping him on the back and nodding towards the exit. Harry tightens his fist around whatever Zayn had given him and ducks into the carriage, finding a seat near the far back and sitting down.

He rests his head against the cool glass and shuts his eyes.

Tries to keep his racing thoughts from becoming nightmares.

~

Page 37.

Sally.

ne.re.id. sea.nymph. mer.ma.id.

August 13th 1989. 15:07pm.

Found near the North coast of Portknockie in Scotland. Terrain is rocky and waves were at high speed. Out of plain sight to any passersby, however not so hidden she wouldn’t have been spotted by cliff dwellers. Water is salty meaning she has not swum from any freshwater rivers or lakes. Around 250cm in length, including the tail which has been jaggedly severed from fin upwards. The creature is unconscious but has a strong heartbeat. A mixture of morphine and hematide has been administered into the left arm of the creature and she remains stable. 

Despite her long frame, she has a petite torso and fine hair decorating her entire upper half. Subject has dark hair and green eyes. They seem to change to lilac under fluorescent lighting while her pupils dilate. She speaks in broken sentences, mostly garbled hums and high-pitched warbles.

Subject has webbed fingers and sharp nails. Subject also does not have a belly button nor any eyebrows.

Harry’s fingers freeze around the handle of his mug and he places it down onto the table shakily, taking another steady breath inwards. Outside the bin men are talking joyously as the disposal unit crunches in the distance while the neighbours next door are having yet another argument about who’s turn it is on the computer. But nothing registers, and Harry can only focus on the words standing stark against yellow stained paper below him.

~

September 7th 1989. 14:24pm.

Subject ‘Sally’ has been prepped for surgery. Subomunex was dispensed into the subject’s neck gills. We have found this to be most effective when operating on water-based creatures as it releases certain toxins and nutrients to ensure the subject can breathe without the need for H20.

Research into the common cold occurred almost one year ago, and we have found certain elements that make up a nereid’s larynx fight most, if not all symptoms of a ‘sore throat’. Today we shall create a medium incision into the subject’s neck muscle and remove the larynx, most commonly known as the voice box, from the subject’s throat. Delicate strands of tissue and muscle will be removed and sent to the Section B lab where it will be tested and if successful, dispensed into edible capsules and distributed among Pharmacies across the UK. 

A tiny proportion of the larynx’s genetic makeup will be extracted and re-created to ensure there is enough material for us to provide in the long term.

There’s a picture underneath the paragraph of what looks to be a theatre and Sally stretched out along a bed, four doctors are also in the photo, two standing either side of the creature and if Harry squints, he can see their smiles through their surgical masks.

~

“H-hello?”

There’s silence before the other person speaks.

“Uh…is this Harry?”

He doesn’t register the voice and his brows furrow in confusion, nose sniffling.

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

“It’s um, Louis?” the voice replies, “I picked you up from the middle of the road, uh. About a week ago?”

God, has it really only been a week?

All of a sudden, his eyes widen in stark realisation and he clutches the phone tighter in the palm of his hand.

“Oh! God, I’m so sorry, hi. How are you?”

There’s a little huff of laughter and Harry imagines Louis’ eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate. Are you? You sound a little…off.”

Harry leans against the living room wall and rolls his head sideways, “uh,” he glances at the book, “just a sad film, proper got to me, had a little cry as you do.”

~

“I should probably leave.” Harry says, and carefully dislodges Cliff’s head from his leg, placing it down gently onto the couch cushion beneath him. He doesn’t even move, just wiggles his back slightly and twitches his paw from where it’s resting in mid-air.

“If this is about you dribbling on me, I really don’t care. I’ve had worse things on me.”

Harry’s blush darkens, and he mumbles out, “it’s not about the dribble thing, I just think I should go.”

He stands up and makes his way into the hallway, vaguely aware Louis is talking to him, but the words are muffled against the heavy sound of Harry’s beating heart. He grabs one of his shoes and slips it on his foot, patting down his chest and pockets, trying to search for his keys while shielding his face so Louis doesn’t see how red his cheeks have become.

“-think you should just stay the night.”

Harry’s in the middle of slipping on his other shoe, when he braces his arm against the wall to stop him from tripping up, and turns to face Louis who’s piercing Harry with his gaze, despite the warm flush that’s expanding across his face.

“What?”

“I said, I think you should just stay the night.”

“I-,”

“I don’t mean, um,” Louis huffs a laugh, a telltale pink blooming on his cheeks, “in my room, or anything. I meant the spare room again, if you want?” He places his hands into his jean pockets and rocks back a little on his feet, “it’s just really frosty outside, and dark, so I’d feel pretty shitty if I let you drive back now.”

“Lou-“

“Sorry if it sounds like I’m being pushy, I don’t mind, really! It’s just,” he sighs, lips pursing and fingers reaching out to scratch at the chipped paint on the wall, “I’d just hate for something to happen, y’know, like last time,” he murmurs quietly, a sad sort of smile sweeps across his lips and he looks down, shrugging his shoulders.

You’d think what happened that night fucked him up a little too.

Maybe it did.

After all, he was the one who made sure Harry was alright and pulled a bullet from his leg, right over where Harry casts his eyes into the kitchen.

~

He groans and lifts his body to sit upright, leaning down and massaging his leg with his hand. 

He drops his head forward and sighs, insides feeling like they were going to jump out of his skin any second and run off the excess energy without him. He stands up and stretches, fingers pointing upwards towards the ceiling while his back cracked along his spine. 

It felt like a shift, bones and muscles repositioning under flesh, like tectonic plates moving and slotting into the different crevices of his body. But it wasn’t time, and Harry had learned to control the urge quite early on after he’d found himself naked in the local park after a midnight stint, bleary eyes opening to find ducks quacking nervously in the pond and a jogger staring at him with his mouth hanging open; probably wondering what he was doing lying there nude at four in the morning. He wasn’t too far from home that he couldn’t sprint back in time that nobody else noticed him, covering his delicate parts with his hands as he ran through the streets in the milky morning light. 

His clothes had been torn to shreds and he doesn’t remember much, not a great deal of evidence either from the night before other than the dirt that had gathered underneath his fingernails and twigs in his hair. He also felt different somehow, as if his body finally relaxed into itself and took one huge breath out.

~

Louis slides the door fully open then and steps into the room, toes sinking into the plush carpet beneath him. He isn’t wearing anything other than his boxers and Harry’s very aware he’s in just the same. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Harry shakes his head, fingers spreading out along the bed and clutching at the tight bottom sheet, trying hard not to think about how Louis’ shut the door behind him, not fully, but just enough to bathe the majority of the room in moonlight and heavy whispers.

“Me neither.” Louis huffs, lips morphing into a small smile and feet shuffling forward. “Feel like my body’s just pent up, y’know? Usually I’m out like a light.”

“Same.” Harry replies. “My brain won’t switch off so I’ve just been,” don’t tell him you’ve been snooping, “counting sheep.”

“And the bang?” Louis laughs.

“Oh! Uh, I just got up for some water and tripped into the bedside table.”

Harry doesn’t think about how it’s becoming easier and easier to lie.

“Do you need anything for it?” Louis asks, coming closer as if trying to inspect Harry’s foot. His toes scrunch inward under the careful scrutiny, as if they don’t want Louis to see how unblemished they really are.

There’re only a few feet between them now and Harry can feel the sleepy heat radiating from Louis’s body, can count the chest hairs that sit between his pecs and can smell the fabric conditioner of his bed sheets caught up in the hairs on his arms.

“No, I think I’m good.” He swallows, throat clicking and fingertips twitching beside him as if they’re aching to reach out and feel just how soft Louis’ skin is underneath quivering patterns of swirly flesh.

“Okay.” Louis whispers, eyelids blinking slowly, heavy with heady want, tongue inching out to lick his dry lips.