#Impulse would be a hunter too

[vesperionnox]

[ Day 54 ]

The Hunter and The Ghost

[comfortless]

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

[theminecraftbee]

Also, shoutout to Impulse for getting stuck in two of those worlds in ONE DAY. Joe revealed that the recording for what we now know as vault hunters was also last monday. Impulse is really going through it.

Impulse sweats. For the past several minutes, Iskall has been staring at him and "hmmm"-ing for some reason. His only solace is that he's also doing it to Etho, but it's still making Impulse feel like he's got something weird on his face. That, or Iskall has suddenly and unexpectedly transformed back into his original villager state. One or the other.

He glances at Etho, who shrugs awkwardly at Impulse. He looks back at Iskall, who is still 'HMMM'-ing, increasingly furiously.

"Do you think he wants us to say something?" Etho asks.

"I mean, I guess?" Impulse says. "He could just ask."

"He's just going to keep humming at us, though," Etho says. "That's scary."

"Scary?" Impulse says, blankly.

"HMMMMM," Iskall says with an irritated expression.

"Scary," Etho confirms. Impulse sighs.

"Okay, I'll handle it. Hey, Iskall," Impulse says.

"Oh, I didn't see you there," Iskall blatantly lies.

"Right. You're, uh, sounding a bit concerned, buddy," Impulse says.

"Right, yes. Very concerned. Did you know you and Etho are already claimed? And, like, super cursed."

"Uh, I got a divorce with Cleo, you know," Etho says, completely straight-faced. "I'm a bachelor now. Not claimed by anyone."

"I'm not sure Bdubs and I ever got a divorce," Impulse says.

"No, no, not claimed like that! Claimed like--I did warn you all, yes? That my patrons would not like it if you came with other gods all over you? They get jealous of each other, let alone whoever you have... doing that to you."

Impulse and Etho glance at each other again. Impulse looks back at Iskall. "Yeah, I think I'd remember if I were claimed by any gods. I don't really... worship any, these days."

"If I worship any gods, Iskall, they're not the kind yours can do anything about," Etho says.

"What?" Impulse says.

"I mean, I'm old! I'm old, Impulse! I've met a lot of gods! Some of them I have opinions on!" Etho says.

"No, I've met yours too, they won't cause problems, yeah?" Iskall says.

"Thank goodness," Etho says.

"Sometimes I forget how old you two are," mutters Impulse. "That doesn't answer the whole... already claimed?"

"Yeah, like, it stinks off of you to me. It's like... you've got... someone's already claimed you to kill players, not mobs. And your health is all wonky. And you're keeping secrets or... kept secret? And don't even get me STARTED on how much time you have. All wrong. Who did you even find to do that to you?"

Impulse freezes.

"...the time was last season," he says, finally.

"Last season? What?" Iskall says.

"Yeah, that was--you know what, tell your gods not to worry about it," Impulse says. "I'm sure it's. Fine? Hey, wait, how can you tell?"

Iskall shakes his head like he's trying to knock something out of his ear. "They're annoying about it. Make whatever curse you're under go away while you're here or they're going to make it my problem. Mine! As though I can do anything about it. Go to the mortal world, they say. Bring your friends back here, they say. We want to meet them, they say. They're so annoying."

Etho, without skipping a beat, says: "Yeah, are those gods or the mother I saw last night?"

There's an ominous roll of thunder.

"Oh, definitely your mom," he says. There is a second, even more ominous roll of thunder happens, somehow entirely focused on Etho's location. Impulse decides to ignore it.

"I'll bother Grian about it," Impulse decides. He somewhat doubts Grian is a god--man, he really, really hopes Grian isn't a god, actually--but maybe he knows that Secret Keeper guy. That feels like the kind of guy who probably did this to them.

"Do that," Iskall says, and he wanders off to bother Stress.

Etho watches him go. "You know, maybe we should worry about the fact we're cursed because of the Life games. That seems, uh, bad," he says.

Impulse thinks about it and shrugs. "Eh, what's the worst that can happen?"

A long silence.

"Don't answer that," he tells the silence, before it can ominously thunder again. He knows the kinds of things that will lead to gods mocking him, after all.

[tiyoin]

heartbeats to the drum

floyd x reader

sigh floyd being a softy for you and only you

sighhhhh floyd treating you like a glass flower one day and a stress toy the next. ofc he’s unconventional with his love, the slightest bit of worry fogging his mind as he wonders if you’ll leave because of his many quirks.

but that wasn’t always the case

he follows the beat of his own drum, not once stopping or changing it for anyone or anything. if they don’t like it- who cares! not their drum, go find another or whatever…. yet you followed him, followed his rhythm, danced to it sometimes. tripped and fell flat on your ass too, a a fleeting sense of satisfaction felt as he figured you’d had enough and would leave him be like all the other unimportant minnows.

but whenever he looked back, you were still there, a little further, but still following him… jade and azul were just as surprised as floyd when you kept following him. through his rough pounding of war drums, to the soft lonely pings of a bongo that suddenly switched to a war snare, then to a smooth jazz rhythm- he was unpredictable.

switching his styles, rhythms and interests on an impulsive whim. that was floyd. jade would follow sometimes too, though he created his own too. straying from floyd’s more often than not.

so one day, when floyd stopped drumming, stopped walking to do something he normally hate doing on a ‘bad day:2 (which was standing still.) he opted to listen for once. just once. expecting to hear the usual pitter patter of your feet, or the soft humming you’d usually let out, but there was nothing. nothing but silence and stillness around him.

a comet of a thought raced through the night sky of his mind. maybe he marched too fast, or went to far- he scoffs

‘finally,’ he thinks with a heavy mind ‘you got the hint that he wasn’t stopping or changing for no one. that you should just give. up. and go home.’

but like orpheus in the one tales of old in your world you would sometimes divulge him in. there’s a dying need to just turn around and look, to see if you were still following.

he shouldn’t though… he shouldn’t let his mind wonder and his heart pick up a pace. you reality that you weren’t there was already a preconceived notion in his mind. the inner workings of his soul not sensing yours. the voice in his head telling him he was free to march on without anyone bothering him.

yet… there was a feeling, and itch somewhere. he couldn’t place where that itch was and it pissed him off. was it inside or outside his human form? maybe it was his mer instincts taking over? the hunter in him subtly telling him to turn around? nah, that couldn’t be it, right? i mean logically, that would make sense, but… it couldn’t be…

floyd does what he wants when he wants. so he’ll look on his own chagrin thank you very much. yet, like slowly ripping off a bandaid, he turned his head.

he could almost howl in laughter.

because there you were, sitting down and playing with your hands. he couldn’t hear you cause you were taking a break, waiting for him to continue drumming so you could follow along, like how a whale calf would cling and follow their mother.

floyd was good with his emotions, he’d like to think- but anyone around him would disagree. but for him it was simple, if he was happy, he was happy, if he was sad, he was sad yadda yadda yah.

he sometimes couldn’t understand how people couldn’t feel like him or understand him, excluding jade and azul on numerous occasions. he was emotionally intelligent enough to realize that his mood swings weren’t convenient or conceived as normal behavior, especially to humans. that there was an irrational logic or a spring loose to the compass that dictated his life.

yet here you were, always right behind him, following him, almost clinging to him. like a barnacle. a pesky, useless barnacle…

his shadow blocked the light that was once illuminating your figure, looking up at him with a smile as he just stared down at you. his neutral, bored expression slowly churned and morphed into a boyish/ teenage expression someone your age would normally sport.

floyd would tell you that he held that neutral expression, that you were hallucinating when his neutral frown grew into a lazy grin or how his brows lifted into an almost, almost softer expression. no there wasn’t any crinkle in his nose either!! or in his eyes!!

but despite his protests and self proclaimed emotional maturity he’d talk to you about. sometimes, when our mind is too busy processing, our body’s will usually give away our intentions, our true thoughts that we aren’t aware of. a lot of the times, without our consent or knowledge.

you call it habitual responses while floyd calls it inconvenient lies.

but that doesn’t matter, because that day he handed you a triangle and a little metal stick along with it. helped you up, and continued marching.

idk where i was going with this, i wrote as i thought.

i’m gonna try to get better at symbolism because i love that style of writing. hehe

sorry if this is poo poo i wrote it in a combined 30 minutes, before and after therapy 🤷🏻

idk if it’s too short to put a ‘read more’ cut in, or not

[naffeclipse]

Btw looking at the little naga multiverse that’s going on. I love it sm lol Into the Naga!Clip-Verse am I right??

How would a BH!Eclipse fit as a naga? And how would he interact with the others? :0

Ahahah, it really is! And tossing the bounty hunter into the mix? Oh man

Bounty Hunter!Eclipse as a naga takes after the Rainbow Boa. He possesses deep red scales with black saddle-shaped markings along his tail, and his sun rays are made of black and orange frills. He's nocturnal and sticks to the trees, preferring solitude and avoiding anything that walks along the ground, except for, of course, our lovely Y/N. He does not interact with the others. The reason is if he's compelled, he will act violently, horribly, and it will end will blood everywhere. So, he's better off alone while he struggles with his urges.

He carries a captivating rainbow iridescent sheen to his scales that is rarely seen, but Y/N manages to snap a picture of it, mistaking BH!Eclipse for only a snake and not a naga. Oops.

BH!Eclipse is none too pleased to be photographed and as such gives Y/N a warning with some terrifying hissing and threats to crush them. He looms over them and the brush of his coils gives Y/N shivers of death but ultimately, he refrains from his impulse to smother them. He orders them to show him the picture. When Y/N reveals the photo with shaking hands, he's stunned by how nicely Y/N captured him. As if he's not entirely violent and deadly. It stirs something deep in his cold heart.

He orders Y/N to leave. They bolt out of there like a gazelle but little do they know the impression they just left.

BH!Eclipse wants to see them again (he wants to see how nicely they bruise, how pretty their sanguine blood is—no, no, no) he wants to see if they'll take more pictures. He wonders how well they can handle seeing him again after he scared them.

What's one more thing to try and get right?

[canyourfavesurvivecastledracula]

Shawn Spencer, from Psych

-even though he's not religious, he loves free stuff and also playing silly roles so he'd probably accept the crucifix while also adopting some kind of silly accent and dramatic backstory.

-con artist/detective masquerading as a psychic. would absolutely pretend to believe in vampires, but is a skeptic so he would be faking it. That said, he's extremely willing to work on the assumption of extremely wild explanations while he figures out what is really going on.

-very charming but also very annoying. Debatable whether Dracula would be amused/played by him long enough or if Shawn's hogging the spotlight/being ridiculous would irritate him too much. I feel like this also depends on how soon Shawn realizes how serious the situation is because if he isn't taking it too seriously, his antics will be intensified

-photographic memory and genius intellect, very good at putting together clues.

-very good at sneaking around and spying on stuff

-huge fan of the big reveal which would work against him if he tried it here

Is St George's Day May 5th or April 23rd? He's heard it both ways.

Shawn is too smart for his own good, and he's going to be seriously hampered by a couple of things. First off, Gus is most of his impulse control, common sense, and the crucial other half of his double act - will he, like Holmes, be "lost without [his] Boswell" ? (I have no idea who Boswell is). Second, he's all about the Bit - he has to perform all the time, he lives for it. Is Dracula sufficient audience for him to thrive? And third, his overwhelming approach is Refuge in Audacity, which I suspect will not be very well received by Dracula. But then, Dracula also does love playing the game - but his own game, not someone else's.

I agree that Shawn would lean into the vampire angle as part of a Bit, which might make him slower to realize that, no, yeah, that's actually what's going on. Oh gosh he might introduce him as Van (first name) Helsing (lastname), Vampire Hunter, just because he's Like That. (*Gus voice* NO SHAWN).

I also agree with you about the crucifix. I think he would react very similarly to Jonathan with the "I was uncomfortable but..." - sort of an "awkward but okay." Shawn's thing is that he's an excellent cold reader, so he would pick up on the fear of the locals, and maybe go in with more internal caution than he displays outwardly, which might well give him a chance.

The cold reading is also going to help him grok Dracula fairly early on a personal level. Dracula's not as subtle as he thinks he is. It should be fairly straightforward for Shawn to figure out what makes him tick and how to keep him talking. Shawn is a fine actor and nothing if not committed to the Bit. I don't think he'd opt for a Polite Young Man approach because he has to be ridiculous or he'll die, but he might lean hard into an obsequious servant/vampire thrall/pop-culture Renfield approach, since Dracula clearly enjoys being buttered up in that way. This could backfire though, because if he goes too far and Dracula suspects him of insincerity he'll just kill him.

Shawn is also in danger of succumbing to despair, but the isolation will both help and hinder him with that. The silver lining is that his loved ones are not in any kind of danger, which is when things tend to get really bad for him. But he also thrives only with an audience and a support system, and locked in his room cudgelling his brains for two months isn't going to provide him with either. It's a cat and mouse game, and Shawn does well with games in general. He's playing to win.

This one's hard. I think Shawn's worst enemy is probably himself. He can figure out Dracula, which will make him cocky, which (without his balancing influences) might make him go too far with whatever bit he's chosen, which will get him killed. Dracula runs this game, no one else - he doesn't tolerate being played with unless it's by his own rules. He's very good at what he does but he frequently gets in over his head and needs to pivot - which he does admirably! - but it's hard to pivot your way out of a head bashing when your chief weapon is being very cute in an irritating sort of of way.

I've gone back and forth a couple of times, but I ultimately am going to say that Shawn Spencer, Psychic Detective, can not survive Castle Dracula

[octoberclidan]

I'm Not Going Anywhere

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Request: Could you do a Dean x reader, where the reader is seriously injured on a hunt. She and Dean never really got along before, always bickering with the other. But she sees a whole other side to him, freaking out and concerned. Insisting on helping clean her up after the hunt? You’re seriously my favorite author ❤️

Masterlist

Story

[Y/N] and Dean Winchester did not get along. They didn't consider each other friends. To her, he was her best friend's grumpy older brother. To him, she was his little brother's annoying best friend. They just had a lot of friction whenever they were in the same place at the same time, and had for years. She didn't live far from the boys, and Sam would often invite her to the bunker for movie nights, food, research, or just to hang out. Nearly every time, Dean would either stay in his room the whole time, or make an excuse to go out somewhere. On the rare occasion that he would stick around, like he had to several months ago for Sam's birthday dinner, they bickered. Nothing big ever happened between them to make them dislike each other, they just had very different personalities. [Y/N] didn't like how closed off Dean was, or how he constantly sacrificed himself for Sam. She knew how much it affected Sam every time Dean threw himself in danger without just taking some time out to think. He was too impulsive, and never listened, or even asked for the advice of those around him.

Dean didn't like [Y/N]'s positive attitude. She always assumed they would win fights, that everything would work out fine, and he felt that this attitude meant she could be pretty careless on hunts. She had never faced monsters as bad as the Winchesters had. Sure, he had seen her take down werewolves and vampires, ghosts and ghouls, even a demon or two. She had never fought against an angel though, never mind Lucifer himself. She had never had to deal with an apocalypse, or God himself working against her. He felt like her carelessness would eventually end up with her dead. He also worried that her carelessness would eventually lead to Sam being hurt. He never approved of Sam going on cases with her for this reason.

[Y/N] was relaxing on her couch in her little apartment, a blanket on her lap, reading through a novel she'd picked up that morning. She'd had a self-care day; a nice walk, stopped by her favourite cafe in town followed by a little trip to her favourite book store, ordered take out from her favourite restaurant, then spent an hour with candles lit in a hot bubble bath. She was really getting into the story when her phone rang and pulled her out of it. Grabbing her phone, she saw that Sam was calling her, and she answered immediately.

"Hey Sam, what's up?"

"Hey, is now a good time? I have a favour to ask".

"Yeah sure, what is it?"

"I need you to go on a case with Dean". [Y/N] exhaled heavily and closed her book, setting it down beside her and sitting up straight.

"Why?" She asked.

"Well, he found this case and he won't pass it over to another hunter, he's insisting on going".

"I thought neither of you were going to look for cases while your leg was still healing from that shifter case last week?"

"He came across it by accident, or at least he claims to have. Look, I can't go with him with my leg, I still can't walk on it properly. It sounds like a werewolf, there were two victims last week found with missing hearts. Can you please go with him? No one else is free and he said he'll go on his own if I can't find someone to join him".

[Y/N] sighed before answering. "How far away is it?"

"Two days?" She could imagine his grimace as he said this. Two days in a car with just Dean, which also meant having to stop somewhere and spend the night, and she definitely wasn't willing to spend money on an entire motel room just for herself on a hunt that she didn't want to go on.

"You're paying for my room. And you owe me one. No, make that two. You owe me two".

"Thank you. Thank you [Y/N], you're the best. He'll pick you up from your place in the morning, okay? Probably 7am".

"Fine"

"I'll see you when you're back, keep me updated".

"Yeah yeah, okay. Night Sam".

"Goodnight [Y/N]". With that, she hung up the phone. Putting her book on the table in front of her, she pushed back her blanket and stood up; self-care day was over. She packed her hunting bag and left it by her front door, and set out her clothes for the morning before getting into bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

***

Just before 7am, [Y/N] locked up and left her apartment, heading out to see if Dean was there yet. Spotting the Impala when she walked around the corner, she felt apprehension and took a deep breath before walking up to the driver's side. She knocked on the window and Dean looked up, and she didn't miss him rolling his eyes, when he nodded to the seat beside him. Walking around the car, she opened up the passenger seat and slid in beside him. "Morning". She said, but he just nodded and pulled away from the kerb. Several minutes in, she tried to make conversation again. "How's Sam's leg?'

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" He asked, not really paying attention to her as he was changing lanes. Trying not to let him get on her nerves too early, she took a deep breath and tried again.

"How far are we driving today?"

"About 14 hours. We'll be driving through a small town around 12pm, we can stop then for a quick lunch. There's another town a few hours after that where we can make a quick stop if we need. Should get to the motel by 10pm. We'll probably be doing another 9 hours or so tomorrow but I have a timeslot booked with the coroner's office for 4pm so we'll have to leave pretty early in the morning".

"Right, well that's a lot of driving. Are we taking turns?" Dean scoffed at this suggestion and glanced at her as if she'd grown an extra head.

"No way in hell are you ever driving my Baby". He shook his head.

"Dean, we can't do this case separately, we have to be a team".

"We can do the whole teamwork thing when we get there, not a second before. Now, shut your cakehole, I need my music to concentrate". He turned up the volume of the cassette tape that was playing, and [Y/N] decided it was best not to push him any further this early on in the day. She pulled up the hood of her hoodie and folded her arms, turning away from Dean and leaning her head against the back seat, she was going to try and get some more sleep since there was nothing else to really do.

***

Four hours into the drive [Y/N] wasn't able to sleep anymore. She had woken up to find that it was a hot day, no clouds in sight with the sun glaring in through the windows. She had shrugged out of her jacket and pulled her hoodie off, completely missing the way Dean looked over at her as her t-shirt rode up, exposing the side of her waist. She threw the jacket and hoodie into the back of the car before pulling her t-shirt down, and Dean swallowed and shook his head to clear his thoughts before focusing back on the road. With only about an hour left until they were stopping for lunch, [Y/N] pulled out one of the books she'd brought on werewolves. The book had originally come from the bunker, Sam had given it to her before her first wolf case a couple of years before. She had only been on a few werewolf cases since, so she needed to brush up on her knowledge and not give Dean any more reasons to doubt her skills.

"Alright, hope you're hungry". Dean said as he pulled in beside a diner. They'd entered the small town just after noon and had been looking for a place to stop for some food.

"Think they have pie?" [Y/N] asked as she reached over the back seat to grab her hoodie, causing her t-shirt to ride up again. Her question caused Dean to look over to her just in time to catch a glimpse at her bare waist again.

"What?" Dean asked after clearing his throat, [Y/N] looked over at him.

"I was just wondering if they'll have pie here". She said, then pulled on the hoodie.

"Oh... yeah, well they better". Dean cleared his throat again before letting himself out of the car and heading towards the diner, [Y/N] following behind him.

They sat opposite each other in a booth and each ordered a burger and fries. Dean flirted with the waitress, and [Y/N] was a bit caught off guard with his smile as he flirted. She wasn't used to seeing Dean's smile considering whenever he was looking at her it was usually with a frown or a glare. His smile lit up his entire face; the crinkles beside his eyes made him look kind, the freckles on his nose made him look younger, and his green eyes sparkled as he used a cheesy pick-up line. "What?" Dean asked, looking back at [Y/N] making her realise that she'd been staring.

"Sorry, nothing". She said and busied herself by looking down at her phone to send Sam an update. They spent their meal glued to their phones, not talking at all. They each ordered pie to take back to the car with them, and set off on the next leg of their journey. The next town that they were going to stop in was another five hours away, so [Y/N] took back out her werewolf book and began to read through it.

"Sam tell you about the case?" Dean asked about thirty minutes into the drive.

"Oh, not really, just mentioned that it looked like werewolves".

"Were you gonna ask me about it or just go in blindly and hope for the best like usual?"

"What do you mean 'like usual'? We've been on like five hunts together in total".

"Yeah, and on each of those hunts you were wreckless. Sam aways comes back from hunts with more cuts and bruises when he's with you than when he hunts with anyone else".

"Oh so I'm a bad hunter? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah, I am. You run into situations without thinking first, you don't watch your partner's back. It's dangerous to hunt with you".

"Dangerous, really? And how many time have you died Dean? How many times have you run into a situation without stopping to think? How many times has Sam died while with you? Because I've never died, and no one I've hunted with has ever died while on a hunt with me either". Dean glared at her, bringing up his deaths were one thing, but bringing up Sam's got to him.

"How about I fill you in when we get to the next town. No more talking in the car". He said, loosening his grip on the wheel after realising his knuckles were white from gripping it too hard.

"Suits me". [Y/N] angled herself away from Dean and went back to her werewolf book.

***

It was evening when Dean pulled into another diner, and neither of them had said another word. They made their way into the diner and ordered their food, [Y/N] ignored Dean's flirting with the waitress this time in favour of checking her phone to see how much farther away the motel was. It looked to be a four hour drive away, though it would probably be less with Dean's driving. She had been texting Sam throughout the day, complaining about Dean's behaviour, but Sam could only apologise and sympathise. Dean cleared his throat while they were waiting for the food, pulling [Y/N]'s attention up from her phone. "So the case. Two bodies were found last week, local law enforcement is chalking it up to an animal attack, but there was a witness who said they saw their friend being attacked by a 'monster'. Both victims were also missing their hearts. Like I said before, tomorrow when we get there we have an appointment with the coroner's office. I say you take that on and I'll go talk to the sherrif and see if there was anything else unusual about the scenes. We'll need to interview the witness at some stage too, maybe after the coroner's office you can do that, don't think examining the bodies will take long". He kept his voice down as the waitress came over with their food, and Dean wasted no time in tucking in.

"So you wanna do everything separately?"

"No, I'm just saying we'll be driving all tomorrow morning and most of the afternoon, so we need to get the interviews and stuff out of the way early. We can meet back at the motel when we're both done and hunt the thing down together".

"Why do we need to examine the bodies? Animal attack and missing hearts is plenty of evidence".

"Need to see it for ourselves, can't trust these small towns, you have to assume there's corruption and lies everywhere".

"Is that your motto for life?" [Y/N] asked while bringing some food up to her mouth.

"Look Sweetheart, this is my case. You're just here to help. That means you listen, you follow, and you do as I say. You have a problem with that, you can find your own way home and I'll do this on my own. Do you have any real questions about the case?"

"Nope". [Y/N] no longer felt like continuing the conversation, she just wanted to finish, get in the car, and get to the motel.

"Good". Dean finished his drink and made his way over to the waitress, presumably to try and get a number while [Y/N] finished up.

***

It was dark when they got to the motel, and [Y/N] was tired. She knew Dean had to be too after driving all day, so she was looking forward to getting some sleep. She was waiting in the car while Dean was getting the rooms, and when she saw him walking back to the car he did not look happy. She got out and gave him a raised eyebrow and he sighed. "Only one room. Come on". Dean grabbed his bag from the car and started walking towards a room, [Y/N] quickly grabbing her bag and following him. Dean groaned when he walked into the room and [Y/N] knew exactly why when she walked in behind him; there was only one bed.

"They don't have any rooms with two beds?" She asked, dropping her bag down onto the couch.

"They said this was the last room. I'm paying, so the bed is mine, you can have the couch". He said as he laid his bag down on the bed, laying claim to it.

"You sure you and Sam are related?" She asked, folding her arms and facing him.

"What?"

"He's just so nice, and thoughtful, you know? Selfless, giving, kind. A gentleman, some may say". Dean just scoffed and muttered something under his breath before sitting down on his bed. [Y/N] shook her head and grabbed her pyjamas, a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, and headed to the bathroom. She decided that a shower would be good to wash away the annoyance at Dean she felt building up, and thankfully the motel had hot water. She washed, dried off, and dressed herself in her pyjamas before heading back out to Dean. When she opened the door he looked up, his eyes immediately drawn to her bare legs before scanning her body up to her wet hair, subconsciously licking his lips. She felt herself blush and she cleared her throat before walking over to the couch and pretending like she hadn't just seen him check hed out. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her choice of pyjamas, and pulled out a blanket from her bag to cover herself with.

"We'll uh, leave at 5am". Dean said and [Y/N] just nodded, lying back as Dean took his turn in the bathroom. She was asleep before he came back out.

***

It was 3pm when they arrived at the next motel the following afternoon, having stopped off for a very quiet and awkward lunch earlier. Luckily, this motel had two rooms, and they got changed into their FBI outfits separately. The plan was for [Y/N] to visit the coroner's office and check out the bodies, then go and interview the witness. Dean was going to the sherrif's office to talk about the investigations and find out if anything else unusual was happening, then check out the places where the victims were attacked. The coroner's office was beside the sherrif's, so Dean was going to drive them both there. When [Y/N] stepped out of her room, Dean was leaving his room at the same time. She couldn't help but admire him in his suit; as much as they didn't like each other, she couldn't deny that he was extremely handsome, especially in the afternoon sun with the way the light caught in his eyes. They were going to be apart for a couple of hours at least, something she was grateful for.

***

They met back at the motel later that evening to exchange information, and they were both certain now that it was a werewolf. The victims knew each other well, they were close friends, and, according to the witness, another one of their friends had been acting strange for a couple of months. They had his address, and they changed into more comfortable clothes before heading out. "You got silver bullets, and a silver blade? Or do you need to borrow some?" Dean asked before pulling up to the suspect's house.

"I have my own, thanks".

"That's surprising".

"I'm sorry, is this not the point where the teamwork starts?" [Y/N] snapped at him.

"Let's just get this over with". Dean sighed as he got out of the car. Once the two of them had all of their gear ready, [Y/N] went up to the front door of the house while Dean pressed himself to the side of the house, out of view of whoever opened the door but ready to charge in if needed. The door opened to reveal a tall, lanky man, he actually looked a lot like Garth except he had red hair.

"Hello?" The man asked, looking down at [Y/N].

"Hi! Mr. Lynch, is it?"

"Yes, can I help you?"

"I'm hoping you can. I'm a reporter working for a small news website, and I heard that two of your friends were killed last week in an animal attack, I'm very sorry for your loss". [Y/N] gave him a sympathetic look but the man looked uncomfortable rather than sad. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind just telling me about them?"

"I uh... now's not a good time. Sorry". He went to close the door but [Y/N] stuck her arm out to stop it and smiled up at him.

"I'll be around for a few days, why don't you give me your number and we can work out a better time?"

"Oh, alright I suppose". He said as she took out a little notepad and a silver pen from her jacket pocket. The moment he took the pen he yelped and dropped it, stumbling back into the house and giving [Y/N] an opportunity to step in and hold her knife up to his throat.

"Did you kill them?" She asked him, staring into his eyes. His hands were up beside his head in surrender, and he stuttered out his response.

"It..it was a-an accident. I-I swear!"

"[Y/N] there's a second one!" Dean's voice boomed behind her in the doorway and she snapped her head up to see another man growling at her. The distraction gave Lynch time to push her hand holding her knife back up towards here, nicking her neck and forcing her backwards. The both leaped at her, clawing at her shoulder and legs. She managed to plunge the silver knife into Lynch's chest while Dean had grabbed the second one. When she looked up to try and catch her breath, Dean had already stabbed the second man. He grabbed Lynch and pulled his body off of [Y/N]. She winced with the change of pressure, and looked down to see a lot of blood coming from both her shoulder and her leg. "Shit, [Y/N] you're hurt". He leaned down to take a closer look at her but she shook her head.

"Check the rest of the house... make sure there aren't more". She was still trying to catch her breath while applying pressure to her leg. Dean was torn, he wanted to check her injuries but he knew she was right, they could still be in danger.

"Don't move, I'll be right back". [Y/N] let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding as she watched Dean run up the stairs. Her leg was throbbing and her shoulder was stinging, she was never going to hear the end of this from Dean. After only a few minutes Dean was back, rushing towards her. He knelt down beside her and moved her hand so he could see her leg, then he moved his eyes up to her shoulder. "We need to get you to a hospital, come on". He moved to wrap an arm around her shoulder but she jerked back.

"No, no hospital. Just help me get back to the motel, I can stitch myself up".

"Are you serious?"

"Dean the nearest hospital is hours away, just bring me to the motel, please". She looked up at him in confusion, she didn't see any anger on his face, only concern mixed with panic.

"Alright, come on, I've got you". He moved closer to her and this time she let him pick her up. She grabbed onto his flannel, the pain in her leg striking her again as he stood up. "Shh, you're okay, we'll get you cleaned up". He had a pained expression as he looked down at her, the distress on her face overly evident. He opened up the passenger door and set her down on the seat before shrugging off his flannel and tying it around her thigh in an attempt to help stop the bleeding. She whimpered under his touch and he watched her eyes close, so he quickly tapped her cheek. "Hey, hey you know the drill, no falling asleep. You're fine, okay? You just need to stay awake for me". She opened her eyes again, looked up at him and nodded. Quickly, he ran around to the driver's side and drove them as fast as he could to the motel.

He carried her into his room in the motel and set her down on the bed, holding her shoulders for a few seconds until she had her balance sitting at the edge. "Can you bring me your medical kit?" She asked him, but he shook his head.

"You're not stitching yourself up, I'll do it".

"I can do it".

"I know you can, but I can do it faster since I'm not injured. Please let me?" He opened up his medical kit and set it down beside her on the bed before kneeling down in front of her.

"Okay". She grumbled.

"Okay, thank you. I'm gonna have to get those jeans off you to get to the gash on your leg, is that alright?" He asked as he pulled her shoes off.

"Yeah, yeah go ahead". She felt light-headed and it was taking all of her concentration just to stay sitting up. She had to admit it would have been difficult to stitch herself up, she was glad that Dean was doing it for her. She braced herself as Dean untied his flannel from her thigh and pealed her jeans off, wincing as the movement of the fabric agitated her cut.

"Sorry". He mumbled as he took out alcohol and wipes. "This is gonna sting, you ready?" He asked looking up at her. She had never seen such a genuine look of concern from Dean directed towards her in all the years she'd known him. She nodded and gritted her teeth as he poured the alcohol over the cut and wiped it clean. He was surprisingly gentle, and the pain was numbed slightly as she was distracted by the concentration on his face. He took out a needle and thread from a suture kit and got to work. The cut was deep but it wasn't very long, so Dean didn't take very long to stitch it up. He applied a bandage to it before looking back up at her. "Let's have a look at that shoulder". He helped her take off the hoodie she was wearing along with her t-shirt, leaving her sitting on the bed in her underwear. Noticing that she seemed uncomfortable, Dean made his way over to his bag quickly and pulled out a pair of sweatpants. "Uh, you can wear these, since your leg is done".

She smiled and mumbled a 'thanks' to him as he helped her get into them, rolling them up at the bottom since they were too long. Dean patched up her shoulder and also cleaned the little nick on her neck before closing up his medical kit and grabbing a spare t-shirt from his bag, which he also helped her into.

"You're a good patient". He chuckled as he sat down beside her.

"You're pretty good at cleaning up injuries".

"Lot's of practice". He shrugged. "You uh, you were good out there today". She looked at him for any hint of sarcasm but she couldn't find any. Noticing her confused expression he elaborated. "We weren't expecting two, but you were good with that Lynch guy, I mean you got him while they were both attacking you. I'm impressed".

"I'd be dead if you weren't there".

"I guess I'd be dead too if Sam hadn't insisted you come with me. This was definitely a two person case".

She had an urge to ask him why he was suddenly being nice to her, but she didn't want to push him. "Yeah, well, I'm glad it's over and we're both okay. I'll see you in the morning?" Shs asked as she went to stand up. Immediately realising it was a bad idea when she put her weight on her cut leg, she lost her balance.

"Woah, where are you trying to go?" Dean caught her as she fell backwards onto the bed.

"My room?"

"You should stay in here tonight, let me keep an eye on those wounds. That cut on your leg is pretty deep, I want to make sure it doesn't bleed through the bandage".

"Where am I going to sleep?" She asked, looking around the room and noticing that there was no couch, just a chair and the bed, and there wasn't exactly enough floor space for either of them to fit on.

"You've never shared a bed with Sam while out on hunts?" He asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, well, yeah I have, but he's my best friend". She felt her cheeks heat up at the thought of sharing a bed with Dean.

"Well, I don't snore as much as he does". He winked at her and on a whim, leaned his hand over to pat her not-damaged thigh. When he didn't take his hand back, [Y/N] also went out on a whim and leaned towards him more, chancing a glance down at his lips knowing he would see her do it. Taking her hint, he leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips to hers. Her hand slid up his chest and into the short hair on the top of his neck, while his grip on her thigh tightened and he moved his other hand to her waist. He licked her lower lip and she let him in straight away, deepening the kiss. Her free hand made its way to his bicep, feeling just how strong he was as the hand he had on her waist slipped under her shirt. She felt him smile into the kiss before he pulled away and leaned his forehead on hers.

"What was that for?" She asked, keeping her eyes closed.

"You scared me today, I thought I'd lost you". He said as his thumb stroked her waist.

"Would you really care if you had?"

"Would you care if you'd lost me?" He asked, and she didn't respond straight away.

"Yeah, I would. I care about you, Dean. You've never let me in though, you've shut me out since the day Sam introduced us".

"I shut everyone out. Everyone I love ends up dead eventually". She opened her eyes and saw that his were still closed, and she saw a tear escape from one of them.

"I'm not going anywhere". She whispered to him as she wiped his tear away, causing him to open his eyes and stare back into hers. "Come on, help me into bed". She smiled at him and he nodded, letting go of her to stand up and pull the covers back. He helped her slide in before getting in beside her. He lay on his back and opened his arms for her to lay her head on his chest, while he pulled her in tight, careful not to put any pressure on her shoulder. He kissed the top of her head as she yawned. "I'm not going anywhere". She repeated. With her now safe in his arms, he was actually looking forward to the two day drive back home.

The end.

[khoipyan]

tell me you love me! ☆

how they confess to you.

gn!reader, you/your, romantic

characters; floyd leech, leona kingscholar, rook hunt

warnings; no major ones, heavily implied mutual feelings between you both, reader lives in ramshackle for rook’s part but is not stated whether to be yuu or not

notes; slowly trying to expand who i write for… also i want a simple writing format layout and not a billion trillion headers so here we go ig 😿 on the other hand YAY MOTIVATION!! 

☆ FLOYD makes sure you hear him loud and clear.

ehh? confess? hasn’t he been clear enough already? or are you just dense?

azul tells him that to be officially dating, floyd needs to ACTUALLY (and properly) confess. however, floyd doesn’t see the need. have his little gifts of trinkets, random items and heavy affection not won you over already? still, he’ll make sure to confess properly if that’s what’s needed.

and so, floyd searches for all over until he finds you. resisting the urge to tackle you in a lovingly-death grip, he explains how he likes you, more than friends! and that you should like him back too!

as you accept his confession of love, you find that floyd has impulsively tackled you with a passionate squeeze. 

☆ LEONA meets you in person.

it’s a bit awkward for him, but it’s the easiest way to convey feelings.

he could have done it over text, but he thinks that it’s too low effort to show how he really likes you. writing letters takes too much time, especially when his mind wanders off while thinking of what he could possibly put on the paper with his pen.

so, meet leona by the botanical gardens at a specific time and he’ll (embarrassingly but) gladly pour his heart out for you to hear.

☆ ROOK goes all out.

why do you think he’s a self-proclaimed, ‘chasseur d’amour’? ah, my mistake. he’s LE chasseur d’amour. emphasis on THE hunter of love? i think my point has gotten across by now.

absolutely prepares the best confession yet. nothing too heavy so that if he gets rejected it all goes to waste, but he puts enough effort to be able to subtly hook you.

it’s no surprise when a bouquet of flowers with a wax-sealed letter placed neatly within it meets its way to the ramshackle doorstep, now is it? but the letter is anonymous, telling you to meet the person at a specific place.

now here comes the final part. when you arrive at your location, rook let’s his feelings to you spill out his chest. he makes sure to add french midway to his sentences per usual, and spouts out poetic words only he would be able to put together.

rook could never admit it, he says that you’ve put him in a position where he is deeply head over heels. you’ve trapped him. he’s deeply in love with you.

and yet he does admit it, but only for him and yourself to hear.

( due to be edited at anytime )

[jamazzilblog]

Life Series as Demigods

Joel -> Zeus Cabin

Martyn -> Hecate Cabin

Tango -> Hephaestus Cabin

Scar -> Athena Cabin

Grian -> Hermes Cabin

Scott -> Eros Cabin

Lizzie -> Demeter Cabin

Pearl -> Hunter of Artemis

Jimmy -> Hebe Cabin

Ren -> Ares Cabin

Etho -> Poseidon Cabin

Skizz -> Nike Cabin

Bdoubs -> Aprhodite Cabin

Cleo -> Eris Cabin

Gem -> Ares Cabin

Mumbo -> Athena Cabin

BigB ->

Impulse ->

IMPORTANT!!!!

This are ofc just my interpretations of both the characters and the cabins, you can agree or disagree and that's totally fine!

Both BigB and Impulse are blank because I haven't seen enough of them to properly place them anywhere so I'd love to hear your thoughts on where those two would be as well as the others!

Yeah, this turned out as a silly but I ended up putting too much thought into it so there's that I guess akfndkddn

[jangmi-latte]

I'm not much aware of the lore in TWST but how did Rook change his dorm from Savanaclaw to Pomefiore?

IT'S BECAUSE OF VIL

okay kidding aside it was mentioned in episode 6-67-17 while we were with the pomefiore trio. vil and rook were explaining how they met to epel and that's when rook revealed he was from savanaclaw

EPISODE 6 SPOILERS BELOW

rook didn't question or really dislike being in savanaclaw. he actually said it was worthwhile and meaningful. he didn't even question the mirror when he was placed into said dorm. it's not too deep of a revelation but he said, "he wanted to understand beauty deeper" to which he knows savanaclaw would lead him there some time sooner. yet he still chose to go to pomefiore because it was founded on the evil queen's principles.

basically, he was an impatient man and wanted to understand beauty quicker (if he was in savanaclaw it would take a while, in his opinon that is). annnnd he said it was his "hunter's instincts"

what really drove those "instincts" (it wasn't impulse) was watching and talking to vil. the conversation and debates they both had prior to his transfer (which included hours of discussion on plays, theories on movies, criticizing vil's acting in his plays/movies, and just basic one-on-one conversation) drove him to know vil's ideals on beauty closer.

he really values meaningful conversations and having the right partner for it. i believe he didn't get that in savanaclaw (since he was feared) and vil is a man who listens so... then he volunteered to stay by vil's side at all times just to pursue his [vil} ideals. practically swearing loyalty.

so he really worked hard managing the papers and necessary steps to transfer despite vil quoting that transferring dorms takes a lot of work. eventually he was accepted into pomefiore. that's when vil domesticated him KASJHDIUHUISKFHN

oh, and he didn't speak french before the transfer.

based on vil mimicking rook's introduction when they first met, rook kept on saying "good day" instead of his usual "bonjour" so i came to this conclusion

this is the same man that waltzed up to vil back in their first year. same man who also entered pomefiore and stuck out like a sore thumb. vil didn't mention he stunk before though but it's probably to save him some face AHDHAHSHAHSDH

[dulcesiabits]

umbra.

summary: You offer your blood to a wounded vampire in an alleyway, and now Ruggie can’t seem to leave you alone.

notes: 1.9k, fic, cw for violence, a short fic about Ruggie for @ridhearts​ fantastic vampire au!!

Ruggie hisses as he rips out a chunk of wood lodged in his shoulder, throwing it down the dim alley he’s currently hiding in. 

Stupid vampire hunters, thinking their stakes would be enough to take him. Those things were about as effective as a sharpened pencil, and yet the hunters never learned. It’s not like getting stabbed repeatedly was fun, though it was far easier to deal with than the other weapons the hunters liked to carry around.

As soon as Ruggie got his hands on whatever human thought it would be cute to try to sabotage their monthly exchange by ambushing the Savanaclaw coven with the hunters… well, he’s certain some of the more restless coven members would appreciate having a human to chase down and tear to pieces. Ever since they implemented the deal with the neighboring town, giving blood in exchange for residents no longer fearing leaving their houses after dark, some of the vampires had been complaining about how boring it was to no longer hunt--

Footsteps. Ruggie’s ears twitches as he sits up, wincing. He isn’t in any condition to deal with more threats, not with all his wounds. He hadn’t been able to kill all of the hunters, so have they come back to take him down for good...?

“Are you okay?”

A pair of worn sneakers stops right in front of him. Ruggie’s eyes trail up to meet your concerned face, and he relaxes when he realizes you’re just some nosy human.

“Just fine,” he jokes weakly. You’re peering at all his wounds, and the stake still lodged in his thigh. Your gaze lingers on his fangs in particular, glinting in the faint moonlight. Ah, shit. Maybe he could snap your neck before you alerted--

“Do you need blood?” In one fluid motion, you roll your shirt sleeve up to your elbow, baring your wrist in front of him. “You’re a vampire, right?”

Are you stupid? Ruggie bites back the retort. What sort of person just brazenly offers their wrist to a vampire? If he wasn’t so nice, he could just drain you dry and leave your corpse for the rats, did you consider that?

Besides, he doesn’t recognize you. Ruggie has made it a point to memorize all the residents in the local town, which makes their dealings go much more smoothly. Are you new? Or just a visitor? Either way, it’s more dangerous for someone from out of town to get involved.

He’s not in any position to argue, though. He’s weak, and far from any ally, and a stupidly kind human is far preferable than an aggressive one.

“...I can’t make any promises that you’ll be safe,” he says instead.

You shrug. “Sure. I know the risks.”

“So... why are you doing this? Kinda weird to trust a vampire you just met, if you ask me.”

You pause, twisting a bracelet around your wrist. “I couldn’t just leave you here. It would have felt... wrong.”

Oh, so you weren’t just kind, you were also a bleeding heart. Lucky for him, at least.

Ruggie hesitates, before taking your wrist and bringing it close to his lips, his fangs grazing over your vein. You shiver, but simply incline your head. You never look away the whole time, your eyes boring into his own.

You’re strange, which is maybe why Ruggie impulsively kisses your wrist before he bites down as carefully as he can, first blood drawn.

---

It’s been a week since Ruggie last saw you.

After that night, he had staggered to his feet and left, and the two of you went your separate ways. It’s bothered him since, the fact that you helped him for nothing in exchange, and now it’s like he owes you.

Maybe you’ve already skipped out on town, gone back to whatever place you came from. Or maybe you got into some sort of trouble. Should he have walked you home that night? Anyone out that late should have known the dangers, but...

Ruggie has too much to worry about already. You were just a weird human, and there were plenty of those around. Still his thoughts drift to you, unbidden.

One evening out on town, he finally sees you again, carrying around a bag of groceries at the night market. Ruggie can’t believe his luck; he’s already running up to you before he knows what he’s doing.

“Hey,” he says.

“Oh! Hi,” you say, shifting the bags in your arms. “You’re that vampire that was bleeding in the alley.”

What a great first impression he gave you. “Do you need help with that?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay! I don’t want to bother you.”

You walk farther down the road, but Ruggie follows you.

Every two weeks or so, the humans in town gather together, stringing up lights and setting up stalls around a dusty plaza. You could find anything from homegrown vegetables and pots of jellies and jams, to handcrafted necklaces and watercolor paintings by local artists.

Those were just from the human vendors, though. Sometimes an enterprising vampire would discreetly set up a stall and sell blood, magical artifacts, or the odd trinket. It’s an unspoken neutral area, where both humans and vampires mingle without fear.

“Do you need anything else?” Ruggie persists. “I could help you bargain, if you want. I’m pretty good at that.”

“Can you just answer one question for me?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you want to help me?” you ask. “It’s not like you owe me anything.”

So you say, but he did. Bargaining and carrying your groceries were nothing compared to what you did for him, but it would go some way to filling the debt he owed you. That way, in the future, you couldn’t use it as a bargaining chip against him.

“...You helped me, so I want to help you. Is that so weird?” he says.

You tilt your head again, considering his words. “It’s not weird, but... okay, why not? Here.” You shove your groceries at him. “Why don’t you help me get some good deals? I just moved here, so I don’t know where I should shop.”

“Easy! You’re never gonna get better deals than you will tonight,” he boasts, and you slip your arm around his free one. Ruggie tries not to let his surprise show as the two of you walk along.

It even feels sort of nice.

---

It’s weird how easy it is to talk to you.

Whenever he has any free time, Ruggie spends it with you. Following you around town, showing you all the hidden paths and secluded stores. Pointing out residents, telling funny stories about them or their families. Taking walks in the park, feeding the stray cats that laze in the sun.

Part of it is that he doesn’t want to owe you, and it never hurt to be friendly with the humans in town so they don’t do stupid things like call the hunters on him. But the other part of it is that he likes you. A lot.

You touch him so casually, too, and never seem to give it a second thought. Grabbing his hand to lead him somewhere, linking arms as you stroll, leaning your head on his shoulder when you’re tired. Most of the humans he dealt with were afraid of him, so he’s not used to this, not at all. But it feels good, sometimes, how affectionate you are. Ruggie hasn’t been alive in centuries, but your hands are so warm it makes him forget.

Recently, you’ve been inviting him to come over to your apartment, where the two of you will just watch movies or TV shows to pass the time.

“I was approached by the hunters today,” you say casually, feet crossed on your couch.

“What? Why would they do that?” Ruggie asks, more focused on you than the movie.

“Because I’m ‘closely involved with the local coven,’ they said. Someone told them I’m friends with you, and I have a history of making friends with vampires, so I’m suspicious, I guess.”

“You have?” It makes sense if you’ve known other vampires in the past. It would explain why you were so casual with him, why you let him drink your blood that night without a second thought. Human and vampires having relationships isn’t particularly rare, so... why did it bother him so much?

“Oh, yeah. I used to live in the Heartslabyul area. I used to run around a lot with these two vampires, Ace and Deuce. I don’t know if you’ve heard of them? I had to move because of my job, but I’ve been meaning to go back to visit.”

“Ace and Deuce,” Ruggie says slowly, trying to dig through his memory. “Yeah. I’ve heard of them. They’re notorious troublemakers, right?”

You laugh. “No more than you are! Man, we had some good times together.”

“Do you want to move back there? To the Heartslabyul area?”

“Hmm. I mean, I miss my friends, but I like it here a lot. I mean, I got to meet you!”

Ruggie clears his throat. How could he respond to that? “So... when you say you were friends with those two. Did that mean, you know...”

“Did that mean...?” you prompt him to continue.

“Did they ever drink your blood?” he asks bluntly.

“Not really. Ace acts like he’s too cool to beg a human for blood, and Deuce is still a fledgling, so he hasn’t bit his first human yet. We just talked, hung out... mostly the same things I do with you.” You pause. “Are you asking because you want blood right now?”

Your couch is so small that your knees are touching his. If Ruggie turns and leans closer, he could kiss you.

“What? No. But...”

“But?”

The movie plays on, but he isn’t paying attention to it anymore. He doubts you are, either.

“You know how the coven’s made deals with the local townspeople? They supply us their blood, and we don’t hunt them?”

“Er... are you saying I need to join in...?”

“Nah. It’s nothing like that. I’m asking if...”

“Oh! You want to be the only one to feed on me?” you prompt. “And you’ll only feed on me in return?”

“Yeah, something like that. It wouldn’t be too bad, you know? I’m pretty close to the coven’s leader, so none of the other vampires would bother you, and if the hunters try to mess with you again, you can tell me and I’d get them to back off--”

“Ruggie,” you say firmly. “You don’t need to justify anything! I’ve seen some Heartslabyul vampires enter relationships like that with humans, so I know how it goes. I mean, I wouldn’t even accept if it was anyone else, but since it’s you, I’d love to.”

"Then... Why don’t we make it official right now?”

You move to roll up your sleeve again, but he grabs your wrist to stop you. Ruggie traces a pulse point on your neck with a finger, looking at you with a silent question. You nod, pulling the neck of your shirt down so he can have better access.

There’s no impulse this time as he kisses your neck gently, a balm to sooth you before the sting of his bite. It’s something to mark your relationship, too, and Ruggie will let you choose whatever name you want to call it. He’s not picky, not as long as it means the two of you are tied together.

He wraps his arms around your waist to hold you steady before he bites. You taste a little like salvation to him. As Ruggie drinks, he wonders what you’d think if he asks you to become a vampire, so he could stay by your side forever.

[kaihuntrr]

The Sea Prince: The Watcher, ‘Civilians’, and Hunters.

To celebrate this au being one of my most favorite things to work on, I’ve made designs for the Solidarity brothers, Big B, and redesigned the trio!

Closeups and introductions under the cut :> here they are!

Now that’s character design! I’m super proud of how they turned out, and they form a rainbow by pure coincidence. Let’s talk about them!

Starting off with the duos!

‘Nosy Neighbors’ & ‘Mean Gills’

Big B is a new one so I’ll talk about him first. I’ll talk about the other three as characters :)

‘Big B.’

Big B is a Watcher; an organization that studies and hunts sea monsters. He used to be a famous vagabond hunter, but due to some mysterious circumstances, he retired early. You’ll meet him much later on in the story, but he’s quite an interesting character! He keeps his secrets. He knows yours. Who knows if he's trustworthy or not.

He seems to have a connection to Grian.

‘Pearl Moone.’

She’s a cocky, energetic person to be around. She doesn’t seem too trusting with strangers, especially hunters. Her accessories are golden, and she has a scar over her left eye so she definitely stands out.

She has a red shell bracelet similar to Scott’s necklace. Are they friends?

‘Scott Major.’

A pleasant, sassy, and entertaining server in the port town the Red Canaries visit. He often flirts with Martyn, leaving the hunter speechless with promises of something more. He’s hiding something. Maybe he’ll tell Martyn his secrets one day?

He swears a couple of necklaces, but one is hidden under his shirt.

‘Martyn Woods.’

The second mate to the Red Canaries. Loyal to a fault, he prioritizes everyone before himself, even neglecting his needs. He believes that his isolated life is worth it, but his feelings change the more Scott talks his way into his life. Is he ready to love again, even after what happened to Ren?

He has a couple of scars, some big ones on his chest. He has a locket and tattoo of a crown and a necklace trinket of the first monster he killed as a boy.

‘Bad Boys’, the Solidarity brothers.

A bunch of new designs here! I referenced their bad boy skins so they have similar ‘leather jackets’. I’m excited for you all to learn about them and their history.

‘Grian Solidarity.’

The youngest adopted brother of the trio. He’s chaotic, but he’s shifty. His birth parents were from the Watchers, but after their death, he was entrusted to the Solidarity family to care for him. They died when he was young, so he doesn’t remember them. He loves his brothers to death and does what he can to protect them and his crew.

He, like his other brothers, keeps a locket with their family photo. He wears a yellow bandana with his name crudely stitched on it. Strangely, he has some similarities to Pearl…

‘Joel Solidarity.’

The awkward, funny middle child. He has the most muscle out of the brothers but he masks it with his pleasant behavior. He quickly accepted Grian into the family and shared his interest in starting the hunter crew. When they were younger, the two would sneak away from their older brother to meet Martyn and Impulse by the docks. Currently, he’s engaged to Lizzie Shadow and is waiting for winter so they can finally tie the knot.

He keeps a falcon feather in his hat as his parents were falconers. He wears his red bandana, also with crude stitches of his name, on his head.

‘Jimmy Solidarity.’

The oldest and most emotional of the brothers. He wasn’t particularly interested in becoming a hunter, preferring to spend time with the birds and become a falconer, but he loved his brothers so he went with it. He’s impulsive, stubborn, but a wonderful and simple person all around.

He keeps his red bandana on his belt, with neat stitches of his name. He has a braided bracelet and a tattoo on his neck.

...and he’s dead.

...or is he?

There’s a LOT going on with these designs, a lot of spoilers in them so what I’ve said could or could not be hints to what’s to come! Not sure when the next design dump would be, but I think my upcoming post would be fun, particularly for those who want to read the story ;) all in due time.

oh, also new life Scott is partially ginger. I predicted that HA- /j I’ll probably whip up art of those two bc. That’s incredibly funny-

Which one of these characters/ designs is your favorite? Let me know! :D

[theminecraftbee]

Tango's half-asleep in a cabin he's sharing with Impulse and Skizz and Joker and Zed. It's been loud the past few days as they set up. Most of them plan on being busy during the break, so they won't all be sharing it that often, but they'd needed a place to crash when they weren't busy doing other things. Impulse had offered to let them stay in the Vault Hunters server, but it's practically tradition, shacking up together in a cabin in the woods and pretending no one can get to them. It's rare that they use the cabin for more than a few weeks--rare any of them need it for that long--but it's nice. Traditional. Useful to drag each other to when they get too workaholic.

Honestly, Tango's just been napping. He'd gotten Decked Out to a place it could be run alone, and then he'd gotten decoupled from Decked Out in a process he doesn't really want to talk about that sort of melted his brain out his ears again. He'd gotten yelled at for getting possessed again, and hugged, and then told to describe in exhaustive detail what being possessed was like because as much as Tango loves his friends, neither Zedaph nor Impulse are like, normal about things like that, and--

Tango's legs had barely worked during the end-of-season party. Turns out being part of a machine for like, three months, has an effect on the body when you're removed from it! Haha. Who would have guessed? He'd shared some drinks with the hermits, conspicuously avoiding alcohol on account of the room spinning enough without it, and then told Impulse he had to leave for his own good, please, Pearl could drink him and Gem under the table stop trying to prove otherwise, and they'd departed.

And Tango had taken a nap. And another nap. And... wait for it... another nap.

It's supposed to be a longer break this season. Tango is contemplating napping for at least a month. He deserves it. For him.

Anyway, he's half-asleep in the cabin, halfway still snoozing and quarter of the way catching up on the technical journals he hadn't been reading while he was Decked Out, and quarter of the way remembering how like, fingers work when they're not being puppeted by a massive death machine of his own design, when he catches a look at the time and date, pauses, and realizes something.

"I forgot," he mumbles. "Huh."

He waits a moment for the howling of the absence Decked Out's wind to be replaced with eerie, indescribable silence, like the world had been replaced for months at the start of the season whenever he saw a reminder. The thing is, though, he's just--he's too tired to grieve more. Tired, and satisfied with his work, and he's safely in a cabin in the woods where Skizzleman is sleeping in the bunk above him, snoring with a loudness only Skizz possesses. His brain is still halfway leaking out of his ears and he still sort of craves raw meat. His tongue is real, by the way. He keeps noticing it? His tongue is real? Man, he'd say he doesn't recommend getting possessed, but he's totally going to do it again, and--

"I forgot," he says again, testing out the word against his lips. "The day I died passed and I forgot about it."

Huh.

He waits a few more minutes for the panic to claw at his chest. It strikes him then, though, that it hasn't for some time, and some of that may have been his brain being used as a processing chip for Decked Out in equal measure with like, being his brain, so he didn't have room for that, but. Even before then. Even in the moments he was the most himself.

Huh.

"Toppers?" Skizz asks from the top bunk. "What are you doing awake, huh? It's, uh--dark, I don't know what time it is, I broke my clock."

"My sleep schedule broke during the Decked Out thing," Tango says, "I told you that."

"Yeah, but like--did you have a nightmare about evil cows or something?"

"Evil--what do you think Decked Out is?"

"I was there! I know what it is!" Skizz says. He pauses a moment. "If you need something..."

Tango lies back and thinks of his friends. They were smiling as they left, this season.

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about it. It's just that it's 1 AM on the 23rd, is all."

"Oh, man, that late?"

Tango laughs. "Yeah. That late."

He means something different than Skizz.

"Do you think ghosts eat people more if they're sleep-deprived?"

"You are actively going to make it worse for yourself. Also, wait, did you say you broke your clock? How?"

"No, listen--"

He's late.

That's alright.

He'll always have time later.

[crowthesley]

- It's basically about DT roles.

When I think that my life is a bad joke I reflect that it could be worse. It could be like the life of a David Tennant character. I could have a heart problem and need a pacemaker as I drag myself to death of my own accord, because I feel like I deserve this and I'm so tired of everything, but I still have so much to do and accomplish.

I could be a fallen angel with a love hidden for 6000 years, punished for loving the universe and the stars and for having questioned what no one else would have the courage to, abandoned by the love of my life right after kissing him and confessing my feelings and knowing that they are probably reciprocated.

I could be this neurodivergent, genderfluid alien who lost his home, his friends, his family, over and over again, with so much anger and fear and loneliness and despair and desire to be touched and loved and never lose anyone again, even though he knows it's impossible, and yet continues to move forward and help people even if they don't deserve it that much.

I could be a loonie, passionate about radio and music, with lots of family problems and a brilliant twisted mind. I could be the coward vampire hunter with a wig, fake beard and parents dying in front of me when I was a boy. Could it be this old man who spent his entire life sitting in an armchair, so many ideas and desires in his mind, without the courage to take a step forward and witness what his inner adventurer is capable of accomplishing.

I think the beauty of David Tennant's characters is that you can look them in the eye and feel like they are as broken and mistreated as you, or more so. You feel like you could be one of them, and that they're almost like you (but not you, Killgrave, for god's sake).

And you see these characters rising up and geting a good perspective in the midst of it all, and that comforts and motivates you. It's like an impulse that gives you the feeling that you can do it too. That you can turn a bad joke into something you can laugh at at the end.

And I think that's truly amazing.

(This thought actually cheers me up a little. But after all, even though the lives of these characters are pretty much messier than mine, I really envy their undeniable style, the elegant walk and the Scottish accent. Oh how I love the accent.

Right. This text suddenly became gigantic.)

Allons-y!

[lollytea]

I think Hunter's crush on Willow is a bit pathetic but that's part of the appeal. While he is very shy, I do think he might try to initiate something. He's impulsive and love starved enough that he'll go after what he wants. But again, he's also very self conscious so I can imagine him attempting to make a move but then suddenly panicking at the last minute and being like "Wait. Shit. Abort abort!"

He tries to do the arm over the shoulder while watching a movie thing. But just as his hand is about to touch her, he decides that NOPE this is way too much, so he tries to subtly take his arm back without her noticing. Then Gus walks into the room with a bowl of popcorn and says, very loudly "Hunter why are you sitting there with your arm in the air? Put it down" which draws everyone's attention, including Willow's and Hunter would like to not exist.

[zoeykallus]

Hello there! May I ask for a big favor? Could you write about Tech, after THE FALL, you know? About how he survived, maybe badly hurt, and how Hemlock wants to experiment on him. But female reader is an assistant scientist or nurse working there, and they fall in love, and she frees him?

Aloha!

Sorry for the late (and very long) response! Okay, this is something I can get behind. Hold on, I got you.

Tech x Fem!Reader One-shot - AFTER THE FALL

Warnings: ANGST/Hurt/Injured Tech/Tension/Fluff/Comfort

______________________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

______________________

First, euphoria floods him as he is slowed down more or less gently by the branches of one of the huge trees. But then he hits a thicker branch that breaks several of his ribs. Tech can't breathe for a moment, falling further, he slows down as he continues to fall through a tangle of branches. He loses his helmet, the branches whip him in the face, leaving bloody bruises. Then he loses his goggles. His hands automatically shielding his face as best he can. He can barely see, but he knows the ground is getting closer. The impact is hard, not fatal thanks to the tree, but extremely painful nonetheless. His right shin breaks, the sound unnaturally loud, and the pain travels through his body like a lightning strike, sharp and violent. The impact on the broken ribs does the rest. At first, his breath catches and his voice gets stuck in his throat. But finally a scream comes across his lips, shortly followed by a groan, his breath heavy with pain. But not only pain, also panic is spreading. He is badly injured, defenseless, in the middle of a forest full of alien flora and fauna and the Imperials who will surely search for his corpse soon and if he was unlucky, they would find one too. Tech lost his weapons in the fall, his visual aid, helmet and probably a few other things. For a moment, he wishes he had just died quickly, cursing the tree that gave him false hope only to take it away.

His fingers feel for the com on his wrist, unsuccessfully. He pulls off his glove with his teeth to feel for it more effectively. His fingers slide to the com again. Broken. "Kriffin hells," Tech groans in pain. It doesn't matter that he's still alive, without a com, with his injuries, without his goggles, in the middle of nowhere, his chances of survival are practically non-existent. He can only see his surroundings dimly, blurred outlines, blurred colors. The pain is bad enough to make him nauseous. Tech tries to breathe against the pain and rummages blindly with his fingers in his remaining belt pouches for the emergency painkiller. Some of the pouches are torn from his belt, and the belt itself is also hanging by a thread. He finds what he is looking for, hastily injects himself in the leg. The drug works quickly, the pain slowly subsides. Tech allows himself to breathe for a moment. The pain may be temporarily relieved, but his situation has not changed. He is afraid, for the first time in his life he is really frightened. It's a more than uncomfortable feeling. He is alone, helpless, his brothers think he is dead. Tech feels the wind brush across his damp face, and he realizes he's crying. "Pull yourself together, Tech, you're a soldier, you're smart, you'll find a way out," he says to himself, trying desperately to believe his own words.

But he can hardly move despite painkillers, he doesn't even know where to go, can't see his surroundings properly. Tech tries to crawl, but he repeatedly has to give up and lie down. The hours pass and the painkiller begins to wear off. The pain slowly creeps back into his body, steadily, increasing. On impulse, he calls Hunter's name, the big brother who always bailed him out, even as a cadet. He knows no one can hear him, but it's a helpless, automatic impulse. At some point he begins to drift, he's not sure if he's just tired, if he's dying, or just passing out, Tech just knows that his senses are fading, little by little, slowly enveloping him in darkness.

Lights, echoing voices, the smell of disinfectants, are the first things that reach Tech's senses as he slowly regains consciousness. The ground on which he lies is cool, hard. He can't immediately make out the words being spoken around him, he only understands snatches of them. "... the wounds will heal.... much potential.... take good care of him.... this will be an interesting project" Slowly he feels parts of his body again. The pain is just dull now, like an echo. Tech feels sluggish and suspects that he has been given strong painkillers. It is relatively cool in the room, he feels that all his equipment has been taken from him. The fabric on his skin is not that of his blacks, he has been clothed. He blinks several times, noticing that his vision is clearer. Tech wants to feel his face to see what visual aid he has been given, but he cannot lift his arms, there is resistance. He has been strapped to the surface on which he is lying. A figure appears next to him, his gaze clears, and he looks into the face of a woman, he finds her pretty, and somehow she seems familiar to him, but he doesn't immediately know why.

A man's voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"You are not to make small talk with the project, only inject the serum".

Startled, you look up and into the face of Doctor Hemlock. His blue eyes are cold, despite the implied smile on his lips.

"Do what I told you and run some scans, then I need you in my office".

"Yes, Doctor," you say quietly, opening the small case of injections.

Hemlock looks at Tech, their eyes meeting.

"We'll see if we can't improve you," he says to the restrained Tech.

"Enhance?" the latter asks in alarm.

"A serum used for genetic manipulation, it should theoretically unlock more hidden abilities," is the brief explanation he receives, "I'm not going to lie, this whole thing could get very uncomfortable, painful, but a seasoned soldier can take a beating, can't he?"

With those words, Hemlock turns away.

Tech watches Hemlock disappear again, then his gaze twitches back and forth between you and the small case.

"This is a dangerous experiment," Tech says quietly, his tone clearly resonating with his unease, "genetic manipulation is a delicate thing."

"I know," you say quietly, taking one of the injections from the case.

Tech begins to struggle against the restraints, whereupon two Stormtroopers he hadn't noticed before start to stir. You pause and say to the men, "He's strapped down, no danger of escape, and no danger to me. There are other, more dangerous projects you should be monitoring."

The men look at each other, finally one says, "Fine by me. But call us if he gives you any trouble"

You nod curtly and wait for the troopers to leave the room. Tech is still writhing in his restraints on the table, but can barely move a millimeter.

"Calm down, Tech," you say gently.

He sees you coming closer with the injection and his breathing quickens, panicked.

"Now listen to me carefully," you say seriously, "I've switched injections. This room is video monitored, but without audio. So try to keep a low profile"

Tech blinks several times. The tone in your voice, conspiratorial, serious but gentle. He's torn between hope, fear and doubt.

"I switched out the injections. This is just saline and some food coloring to make it look just like the serum. Nothing at all will happen to you from this injection."

Tech frowns critically and says stubbornly, "Why should I believe you?"

You sigh softly and say, "I know it doesn't inspire confidence that I'm working with Hemlock. I just want to take away your fear, you'll see that nothing will happen to you from the injections."

"If you really want to help me, free me," Tech says shakily.

" This is not something I can do so easily-"

"Then why should I believe that nonsense!" he interrupts you angrily.

You push up his sleeve, feeling his muscles tense. He is still squirming uselessly in the buckles with which he is tied to the stretcher.

"Be reasonable, Tech, you're too badly hurt to try to escape, the baccta will take a few hours before you can walk again without assistance. That being said, this facility is well secured. Lots of troopers, droids, alarm system, lockdown mechanisms. You wouldn't get far, we need a plan first. Crosshair and I have been working on it for a few days. I just hope I can fool Hemlock with the serum long enough to get it done."

Tech's eyes grow wide, "You talked to Crosshair?"

You nod and say, "Daily, since he got here."

"How is he?"

"Better than you at the moment, even though he provoked Hemlock several times in the beginning, and he was often disciplined"

"Disciplined?" asks Tech brightly.

"Torture by electric shocks. Hemlock calls that corrective education."

Tech grits his teeth, then looks at you questioningly, "So you're helping him too. Why are you helping us anyway?"

You put the needle in place and Tech flinches briefly as he feels the sting.

"Because what's happening here isn't right. There are a lot of disobedient clones here, clones who have defied orders and Order 66. You guys have been through more than enough already. At some point, this nightmare has to stop. I only came here with Hemlock because I thought we could make a difference for the clones. But I soon found out that Hemlock had other interests and missions. So at first I started to ease the circumstances for the patients as much as I could. And little by little I managed to trick Hemlock into replacing the serum and so on. But it's only a matter of time before he figures it out. The doctor is anything but stupid, at the moment he's just very busy, with many… projects, probably the only reason why he hasn't caught me yet."

Tech blinks several times. The injection is over; at the moment, he feels nothing.

"You're taking a big risk," he says quietly.

You nod nervously and say, "I know if I get caught there will be no punishment, only execution."

The days pass, Tech's wounds heal, and you regularly send messages back and forth between the two brothers. You secretly pass on plans and ideas. But something is missing. The guys need floor plans, accurate data on troop movements around the compound, and information on all security and surveillance systems.

Getting this information is damn dangerous for you, but still you do it, little by little, skillfully, using the access codes of other employees among others. For days on end, you're under a constant flow of adrenaline, always in danger of being discovered. But you've finally gathered everything that's needed, except weapons.

"I don't know how to get weapons, the medical staff doesn't have weapons, only the troopers, and they're unlikely to give me their weapons willingly, I'm not a fighter," you say dejectedly.

Crosshair growls softly, "I'll figure something out, you've already done more than enough".

You say quietly, "I've given Tech all the information, like I did you".

Crosshair wants to nod, but his head is strapped to the table as you give him the fake injection.

"Good," he mumbles softly.

His serious face softens a little when he sees your worried expression.

"Don't worry, it's up to me and Tech now. You did what you could. Maybe you should come with us."

You look at him in surprise.

"Come with you?"

Crosshair shows a barely noticeable smirk and says, "Yeah, sure. Tech would be very pleased. If I remember correctly, he had quite a crush on you back when you were working on Kamino."

You pause in your movement, surprised.

"What?"

Crosshair laughs softly, "Don't tell me you didn't notice. From the moment you started working in the infirmary, he regularly hurt himself on his tools or fell, which miraculously almost never happened to him before you showed up. I told him several times it would be easier to just ask for your com number, but our Tech was just too shy. He was very disappointed when you suddenly disappeared."

"I had been transferred to Coruscant, unfortunately," you say quietly, still intrigued, surprised, and flattered by the news. You liked Tech back then, too. He always told a lot of stories, he had whole stories to tell to every question you asked him.

Suddenly Crosshair's expression changes, his eyes shift to the right, looking behind you. You hear the typical sound of troopers in gear.

"Hemlock wants to see you, it's urgent," growls one of the two troopers who have entered the room. You turn around and see that both men have their weapons at the ready.

"But I'm still not-"

"Right now," the second interrupts you.

Panic rises in you, burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. He must have figured out what you were doing, you think nervously. Crosshair thinks the same thing and automatically braces himself against the restraints, whereupon one of the troopers smacks him in the forehead.

You sit in the chair opposite Hemlock, at his desk. The desk is so gigantic that you both seem quite small next to it. Behind him a huge panoramic window, forest, mountains and clouds can be seen.

You have your hands folded in your lap, nervously kneading your fingers.

Two troopers stand at the door in a guarded position. Hemlock in front of you is calm, he doesn't seem furiously angry as you expected. Not at all. He seems strangely composed, calm, collected. You are not sure what would have frightened you more. There was something strangely, ominously subliminal about this calm, something you couldn't directly grasp, but it was there. Like a monster waiting in ambush.

"I know what you've done," Hemlock says quietly, after an awkward, seemingly eternal period of silence.

"Doctor?" you ask cautiously, still clinging to the hope that you're here for different reasons than you think.

"Please don't insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."

You remain silent, not knowing what to say anyway.

After what feels like an eternity, you sigh, and somehow some of the tension that has clung to you for so long falls away.

You say indifferently, "I would say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie."

Hemlock laughs softly.

"I have to admit, you have more moxie in your bones than most troopers I know. You may not be a fighter in the usual sense, but girl, you have guts."

You blink, trying not to let on that you're confused at the moment and don't quite know where you stand.

Hemlock claps his hands a few times, making you frown critically.

"You need to use that grit more constructively!" he says, suddenly sounding excited.

You want to sound cool, to say something cheeky, to not mince words, but his demeanor elicits only a confused, "Huh?" from you.

"I know," Hemlock says indulgently, almost understanding, "You think you're doing something good here, for these men. But you're missing the big picture."

As he stands up and comes around the table, you automatically stand up as well, prompting the troopers to point their weapons at you, but Hemlock waves them off with a simple gesture and the men lower their weapons.

You back away a step as he walks toward you. Hemlock stops, reading your posture, your demeanor.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, I wasn't planning to hurt you," he says calmly and finally continues explaining, "Now this big picture I'm talking about is why we're all doing these projects. The reason why all these projects are necessary."

You shake your head and say, "Nothing justifies what is happening to these people here".

Hemlock raises his finger and corrects you, "Clones, my dear, clones, not people. Copies of a man, not even a particularly honorable one. Copies of a bounty hunter. But that's not the point. What I'm getting at is the big picture. The purpose of these experiments."

"Improved soldiers for the Empire"

Hemlock smiles.

"That's right, my dear, that's right. Better soldiers, for the protection of our Empire and all the people who live in it, for the protection of every single citizen. Yes, we are experiencing setbacks and some of the clones are suffering terrible agonies, but the end certainly justifies the means in this case"

You shake your head and say, "No it doesn't, it shouldn't."

Hemlock shrugs.

"Wait until your home world is attacked, and no adequate protection is in place, then I'm sure you'll think differently"

Hemlock walks slowly, leisurely up and down. His gait is supposed to make you think he is relaxed, sure of himself, but the fact that he is walking up and down at all already exposes his inner turmoil.

You watch him and finally ask, "Why so restless?"

Hemlock stops, turns back to you, and looks at you critically.

"I'm thinking about what to do with you. Basically, you sabotaged me and probably broke some other rules that I don't know about at the moment. Normally I wouldn't think twice about that, but you're a very good assistant, despite everything"

Your heart hammers nervously in your chest.

"So you won't have me executed?"

Hemlock clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"No. But I need to make sure you don't do something so reckless again".

Distracted by an unusual flying Omicron shuttle you see through the panoramic window, you say something absent-mindedly.

"And what do you have in mind, Doctor?"

Before he can discuss what exactly he means by that, the power goes out, for a few seconds, then the emergency power comes on and a shrill alarm sounds. A metal shield covers the huge window, blocking your view of the shuttle.

Hemlock seems tense. He tries to contact someone, but the com systems don't work. Your pulse is racing, nervousness, excitement. You know this can only be a sign that Tech and Crosshair are on the run. The Omicron shuttle, must be their brothers.

It's a satisfaction to see Hemlock panic, trying to make contact with his men, trying to grasp the situation, figure out what's going on. But then he spins around, furious, and he sees the smile on your face before you can hide it.

The doctor reaches into a drawer at his desk and pulls out a blaster from it, pointing it at you.

"You! This is your doing, this has something to do with you and those clones from the 99 batch!"

You blink, suddenly back in fear mode. You're relatively sure, that blaster in his hand, isn't set to stun.

The sound of a plasma cutter distracts you both. Someone is cutting through the metal guard and glass on the paned window.

"What the hell-"

With a clang and a thump, the material comes loose and falls into the room, directly behind it the ramp of a shuttle and an armed Tech in full gear. You barely have time to react, or say anything. Tech stuns Hemlock and the troopers with quick, well-aimed shots, deftly puts the weapons away again, and finally reaches out his hand to you.

"What are you waiting for? Come here!" he calls to you.

Your heart pounds in your throat as you grab his hand, and he gently pulls you toward him and into the shuttle, closing the ramp immediately after. He gently but firmly pushes you into a seat and straps you in.

"Hold on tight, we're not safe yet".

As if his words were the cue, the shuttle suddenly comes under fire and Tech rushes back into the cockpit. Crosshair sits at the gun, across from you sits a giant who grins kindly at you, next to him a clone who has almost more prosthetics than body parts on his body, also with a smile on his face.

The evasive maneuvers are violent, daring, you are jolted back and forth in your seat. You know Tech is at the wheel, and he's one hell of a pilot. Hell of a good one. Your hands are clutched to the seat, you're getting hot and cold, your pulse is racing. It's like the worst, gnarliest roller coaster ride of your life. Tossed back and forth in your seatbelt.

Then, finally, the shuttle settles into a steady position, and you hear the typical gentle noise of hyperspace.

Tech comes back out of the cockpit and looks at you.

"Are you all right? You look a little light-headed," he says with concern, and unbuckles your seatbelt.

You're dizzy and reality hasn't quite gotten through to you yet, but you finally nod and say, "Sure, I'm fine."

"I guess she's not used to combat maneuvers," the giant says with a laugh.

Crosshair, climbing out of the gun seat, laughs softly, still wearing the suit from Hemlock's facility.

"Tech's maneuvers take some getting used to," he says, winking at you.

Tech is indignant, "My maneuvers are extremely effective and have saved us several times, including today"

You slowly stand up, but your wobbly knees shake, and you practically fall towards him.

With a "Woah", he catches you, with his arms around your hips, your hands braced on his breastplate.

You look up and as your eyes meet, Tech's ears flush red.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks quietly.

In the background, Echo pushes the rest of the group into the cockpit to give you a small moment of privacy.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Crosshair still trying to look around the corner, but a hand on his collar pulls him away.

You blink and look at Tech again.

You laugh softly, nervously, his arms around your middle releasing a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. Almost automatically, your hands move to his shoulders.

"Sure, I'm fine. It's just like Crosshair said, I'm not used to this kind of flying. Impressive, I didn't think we'd escape."

Tech smirks flattered.

"Thank you for not leaving me behind," you say softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, whereupon his ears turn even redder.

Tech blinks several times, then smiles nervously and says, "You didn't think we'd leave without you, did you?"

You grin at each other.

Still smirking, Tech says, "This time I'm not letting you go without asking for your com number."

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