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whumpywhumper · 4 years

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Worse and Worse

Masterpost

Previous: Trouble

TW: Sick character, face mask, delirium, implied reference to past non-con; non-consensual touch (not sexual); forced stripping (not sexual).

This is a special addition as I wrote this as a Secret Santa gift to the one and only @walkingchemicalfire who is an amazing person and has been such a tremendous encouragement almost the entire time I’ve been writing the Markus/Lucien series. Chem is awesome; and, that’s a fact. All hail the president of the Markus Protection Squad!

Tagging list: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @quirkykayleetam

Edit: apparently the tags weren’t working, hopefully that fixed it, idk

V***V

Markus woke up uncomfortable, bones aching, his joints tight and stiff. His head throbbed with every dull thump of his heart as it hung heavy in his chest, his mouth dry, tongue thick and cottoned with his shallow breaths through his chapped lips. The tension through his jaw traveled through the pained creases in his face, down his neck and to his back, his spine curled loosely, his arms crossed over his chest and tight in the blankets.

Turning deeper into his pillow, he searched for any kind of comfort in the soft surface, but it didn’t give it. The fabric rubbed against the delicate skin of his face, and the simple movement felt agonizing, the pain of it traveling through his body, the sensitivity present in every millimeter of skin under the blankets. God, and he was so cold, but his limbs were coated in sweat, and when he shifted, the blanket moved, and he shivered as the chilled air of the room kissed the back of his neck.

His body felt like it wanted to shiver, and just keep shivering, but his muscles didn’t have anything to give, the hollow, trembling ache of them almost scary in the weakness that encompassed him. Swallowing past the cottoned dry feeling of his mouth, he tried to take a deeper breath, feeling the drive for more oxygen, but his lungs objected, a rough, barking cough ripping against the back of his throat. Ribs cracking with pain, he gasped raggedly, and moaned, the sound cracking wet and bubbling through his vocal cords.

“Easy, sweetheart, shhhhhh,” a deep, rumbling voice murmured, gentle fingers brushing over his temple and through his hair. The other person’s skin on his was cool, but soothing, and he whined at the touch, the sound cracking in his raw throat as he turned into it. “I know, sweet guy, I know, buddy, shhhhh.”

His next breath felt like sediment in his chest, and he coughed again, the air catching in his throat, expanding in his esophagus as dense clots that he had to struggle to breathe around. When the fit was over, it was like all of the ribbing holding his body inflated just disappeared, and he sank into the softness underneath him, wishing that would feel better against his bruised muscles.

“Is he awake?” someone asked, their voice soft but pitched to carry, the sound of bare feet on tile announcing their location.

“Not really,” the deep voice answered with another careful stroke through Markus’s hair, “what did the doctor say?”

“Do a breathing treatment, keep an eye on his O2, and see if we can get the fever down. Bring him in if he gets any worse.”

“His fever is already over 103, how much worse do they want him to get?” Was the indignant response, and he heard a sigh, the sound of scruff being rubbed in exasperation.

“We’re going to take him if his fever gets any worse, Kin, but I’m going to go and get that oxygen set up, why don’t you get the pulse ox from my bag, okay?”

There was a frustrated hiss, but apparently they agreed, because the sound of feet on tile came back. Markus whimpered when whatever he was laying on moved, his entire body shifting as the weight distribution changed. His head was picked up, a hand sliding under his nape until he was resettled on something softer than before. “Shhh, Markus, I know baby, it’s okay.”

His eyelids fluttered, and he blearily looked up at whoever was talking to him. The room was dim, a distant yellow light casting shadows in the otherwise dark room, and it took him second to make out Kincaid’s frame leaning over him, face barely visible. “Kin’?” he croaked, the word barely a mumble.

The other man smiled, a splash of white teeth, but the expression was worried, and he brushed his hand over Markus’s hair again, his thumb moving gently back and forth over his temple as he knelt by what Markus realized was the couch. “Yeah, buddy, it’s me.”

His eyebrows pressed together as he blinked slowly, and he swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in his throat. “Don’. . . feel good,” he whispered between rasping gasps.

Kincaid’s lips pressed together, but he nodded. “I know you don’t, sweet guy, we’re gonna try and get you feeling better, okay? Do you want some water?”

Markus nodded, licking his dry lips, and closed his eyes when Kincaid moved away. Water sounded fantastic, something to take the pain away from his dry throat. Ridding him of the awful cottoned taste in his mouth.

Without Kincaid to keep him present though, the exhaustion started pulling him down. He was so tired, eyelids gumming together, burning with the need to stay closed. Sleep prickled at his consciousness and he settled deeper, fingers tingling, body relaxing. Something landed softly on his shoulder, and he jumped, a dry, pained noise forming in his throat, eyelids flickering back open.

“Sorry, sweet guy,” Kincaid whispered, “here’s a straw, just small sips, okay?”

Kincaid held up a cup of water, the coolness of a metal straw pressing against Markus’s lips. He sucked on it gratefully, swallowing down the cool water, feeling the cracked tissue of his throat soak up the fluid. When he was finished, he made a small appreciative sound, and released it, breathing shallowly, fighting the urge to cough and clear his throat again. His ribs hurt already, and he didn’t want to cough again.

“Okay, Markus,” Kincaid rumbled, his voice passing through Markus’s chest and soothing him, “I got a pulse ox here that I need to clip to your finger, so I’m gonna need your hand, alright?”

He blinked, nodding slightly in acknowledgement, and clumsily tried to extricate him hand from the knit that he’d managed to tangle his fingers in.

At his grumpy noise, Kincaid chuckled, and peeled back the layers, worming his way into the blanket to free him. “I’m just gonna invade your space a little, sweet guy,” he said, clipping the familiar weight of the pulse ox around his forefinger, wincing in sympathy when Markus started shivering harder as cooler air plundered his warmth. “I know you’re cold, buddy, I’m sorry, but it’s just the fever, alright?”

“Yeah. . . “ he breathed, the word small as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His next breath shuddered into his chest, and he turned his face into the pillow as a cough erupted, ravaging his throat, crunching his ribs together with an all too familiar ache. “Nnn. . . “

“Fuck, baby,” Kincaid whispered, his big hand settling on Markus’s nape, his thumb rubbing gently against his sensitive skin. “Yeah, we need that breathing treatment. Ben!” he called, voice not particularly loud but definitely worried.

The sick witch didn’t really even hear him, his lungs struggling for air as he hid his eyes in the pillow, shaking. He could hear movement and voices, but he didn’t try to focus on the words anymore, exhausted, just wanting to sleep, more coughs wracking his frame, making him hurt even worse. “. . . really low. . . “

“. . . getting higher?”

“…breathing treat—. . . bath. . .”

“Yeah. . . —up”

Markus was rolled onto his back, and he moaned as the ache in his joints protested, his head bobbling when an arm slid under his shoulders and knees, lifting him into a bridal carry against a broad chest. He wheezed a little, eyelashes fluttering as he shifted, anxiety thrumming through him when he realized he couldn’t move, his arms trapped against his chest.

“Shhhh, I gotcha, baby,” lips pressed against his forehead, and that glimmer of magic spread through him, making him settle slightly as those frantic memories of helplessness receded.

The surface he was placed on was soft, or it should have been, if his miserable body didn’t turn every experience into anguish. His whine as he was settled was met with a matched pair of shushing noises. Another pair of cool hands brushing across his overly hot cheeks. There was an overwhelming kindness there, in those hands, and something deeper, blossoming, something that felt familiar but not

at the same time.

But then there was something cold and wet laid over his throat.

Panic made him thrash, losing the thread of that emotion, with memories of cold tongues laving over his pulse bubbling up and forming into a weak and pitiful struggle that he wouldn’t give up no matter how fruitless. “. . no—“ he managed to croak before coughing again, no, I’m not going back, no you can’t make me, no please, god, no.

He sobbed when he was restrained, the sound broken and cracked from the film it was forced through, more shushing sounds that did nothing to soothe the new panic that was building, re-surging, in his chest. He coughed again and again, searching for air, fear searing through him with dizziness and pain.

“God, fuck—“

“—delirious. . . . temp down—“

“—ere are the dampeners?”

Hands that felt bruising and rough to his overly sensitive body held him down, easily trapping his arms back in a material he couldn’t fight through, and he couldn’t feel anything anymore other than the cold weight over his throat. His sobbing drew tight into wire thin sounds that barely made it to his mouth, his eyes closed so tightly that the tears were only able to seep free to make their way down the sides of his face as his head tipped back in search of a way to worm his way free.

The assault didn’t stop. Strong, calloused hands pulling his arms free and wrapping something around first one wrist then the other, dousing him in cold as he was manhandled and the blanket was stripped from him, stealing whatever warmth he’d managed to capture.

His crying stole the breath from his lungs, and his struggles weakened into panicked wheezes when something was fitted over his nose and mouth, a sweet medicinal taste coating his tongue as hands returned to his skin, lifting his head and tightening a strap around the back of his head. Markus shook his head in weak denial, pleading with small, wet gasps that barely formed syllables let alone words. No, please, I don’t wanna be sick anymore, I wanna go home, please, lemme go home. He lifted his shaking hands, reaching for the mask, but he was intercepted, and, instead, weak fingers clutched a thick wrists, grabbing at clothing as his heels dug into the bed, and he tried to propel himself away.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” a voice slid through the desperate confusion when his grabbing hands were untangled, pushed back so that they were out of the way, and he shook his head again as thumbs brushed over the apples of his cheeks, around the mask.

“Markus, Markus, look at me.”

He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to see Lucien or faceless people hovering over him, hurting him, sticking and draining and tearing into him piece by piece as he struggled to put one breath after the other. He coughed, almost retching with the force of it, struggling against the hands on his face.

“Fuck, Bambi,” the voice bit out, a command for attention, “open your eyes and look at me.”

His eyelids slid open reluctantly, a burning itching at his glassy gaze, but he focused sluggishly on the figure in his line of sight. Ben’s face formed from the shadows, and Markus sobbed, reaching for him, hiccuping thick breaths as Ben leaned in, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and pulling him into his arms. A hand settled into his hair, brushing back the damp strands as Ben shushed him with quick little quelling noises. The wet thing around his throat fell, and Markus flinched with a whimper, clinging to the solid frame that was holding him.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, shhhhhh,” Ben murmured, pressing his lips to Markus’s forehead, rocking him gently, “it’s okay, Bambi, we’ve gotcha, shhhhh, just breathe, okay? Just breathe, like me. In... Out....In...”

His fevered weeping trailed off into pitiful sniffles, his breaths settling the longer he was held, his unconscious struggles softening into minute trembling as he melted into Ben’s arms, against that strong chest as Markus was pulled against the other man.

“That’s it, baby,” Ben praised, murmuring into his hair, continuing to rock him slowly, “that’s it, there ya go, just breathe, let the medicine do its work, okay?” The plastic on his face was adjusted as Markus’s eyelids became too heavy to keep up, but now he could hear the gentle thathump of Ben’s heartbeat as it lulled him into a sense of safety rather than frantic panic, and he didn’t try to shake the thing on his face off again, a lingering tear tickling his clumped eyelashes. “Kincaid’s running a bath for you,” Ben continued, his voice a comforting thunder against Markus’s ear, “and we’re gonna get your temperature down, okay? You don’t have any reason to be scared, we’re taking care of you, Bambi, shhhhh.”

Ben kept up the steady cadence of reassurance that mixed with the soft hiss that filled the room, and Markus slipped down into a limp lethargy that let him skim against the surface. His coughs spaced out slowly, the tight bands around his lungs starting to loosen.

He could hear the deep murmur of another voice join in with Ben’s, that rumble against his eardrum switching rhythm to conversation, but he couldn’t help his hitched breathing, the flutter of eyelashes when he felt the buttons of his flannel being undone, more cold meeting his skin with an icy touch. Nonono, please. . .

The rumbling voices rose with a dangerous edge, but the hands on him didn’t stop.

“—he’s scared, damnit!”

“. . .gotta happen—“

A sob fell from his mouth, wet and desperately confused as he was undressed, but his limbs continued to be maneuvered and his clothes were pulled from him despite his weak struggles. Ben’s voice came back, gentle, pleading to be understood, but Markus couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want this to happen again. Please, Lucien, no, stop, stopstopstop, nooo. . .

“—sorry, ba— “

“—in the water. . .“

Markus almost lost being picked up to his fear, the swooping of his stomach causing a tight swallow behind the mask as his head lolled against a broad shoulder, body limp.

The second his skin touched cold water, however, he became a live wire, arching away with a hoarse cry and a splash as one of his flailing limbs caught the liquid. No matter how hard he struggled, however, his fever weakened frame didn’t have the strength to fight back properly, and he was inexorably lowered into the freezing water.

His hoarse cries turned into weak whimpers as he started shivering so hard that his teeth chattered, but there was no mercy to be found as a second pair of hands joined the first, holding his legs under the water as a big hand was placed over his chest, keeping him from sitting up. Markus tried to weakly pry it off, but ended up just holding on to that thick wrist, his fingers pulling at it with pleading that turned into raspy coughs.

“. . .keep him still, Kin—“

“—not cold—“

“You’re okay—“

“—ght here, ba—“

The hand on the nape of his neck, keeping him from sliding completely into the water, was inconsequential compared to the misery he was suffering, but it was gentle, a thumb brushing back and forth just under his ear in a soothing caress.

He didn’t know how long it took, but, eventually, the teeth chattering shivers settled into weak, body aching trembling, his breaths transforming from tight, hitching gasps into shuddering sighs. The fight to get free, to get out of the water, quieted, and he was peripherally aware of the fact that the hands on his legs went away, that his lungs had opened, and he was able to get more air that didn’t escape into painful coughing.

The low roar of his pulse in his ears separated from the quiet, soothing reverberation of a deep voice in his ear, starting to make sense again as his brain was removed from the broiling pan. “—’s okay, sweet guy, not much longer,” the voice, that Markus was dimly realizing belonged to Kincaid, murmured, “your temperature’s going down, you’re gonna feel so much better soon, I promise.” Sluggishly, Markus forced his eyelids up to half-mast, glassy eyes looking up at Kincaid as he tried to pull himself from the soupy mire of his feverish mind. He could feel the oxygen mask still over his face, taste albuterol and whatever else Ben had mixed together for him, and he wanted out of the water.

Kincaid’s red rimmed, honeyed eyes met his, and the bigger man gave an anemic smile, leaning down so Markus didn’t have to struggle to see him against the bright backdrop of the bathroom light. “Hey, sweet guy, there you are.” The hand over his chest lifted from the water with an unsteady pitter patter of droplets, and Markus slightly leaned into the other man’s touch as those wet knuckles brushed over his cheek.

“Nnn. . .’s cold. . . “ he groaned, swallowing with a dry click, eyes closing again with fatigue.

“I know, but your temp was way too high,” Kincaid murmured, dragging his knuckles down Markus’s cheek again, “just a little longer, and we’ll get you out of the tub and into something comfortable, okay?”

Markus nodded, just barely an incline of his head, realizing that at some point he must have let go of Kincaid because he was fully submerged in the water, his hands floating at his sides, and he was completely dependent on the other witch to keep from drowning in the tub. He didn’t think he would have the energy to pull himself from the water, and that should have scared him, but instead he felt safe with Kincaid holding him out of the water. With the gentle touch to his face.

His brow furrowed when he couldn’t feel Kincaid though, foggy eyes opening back up to look around with confusion.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Kincaid asked, still hovering over him, worry lines prominent over his face.

He took a deep, wheezing breath, trying to get enough oxygen to be heard through the mask, trying to look around more, gaze unfocused, anxiety spiking as he realized he could feel his magic but nothing else. “. . . can’t. . . can’t feel. . . “

“Shhhh,” Kincaid soothed, cupping Markus’s cheek and guiding his gaze back, “we had to put the dampeners on, okay? You were fighting us pretty hard.” His face crumpled a little bit, before firming, his thumb brushing under Markus’s eye. “We didn’t want something to happen on accident, we’ll take ‘em off later, okay?”

The dampeners made sense. Deanna had made them when he was in the hospital, too weak to have free rein of using his magic without hurting himself or other people if he happened to lash out in fear. Too exhausted to protest, Markus breathed out a hum of acknowledgement and closed his eyes as the door to the bathroom opened.

“How’s it going?” Ben whispered as he padded closer.

“Woke up a second ago, seemed a lot clearer. Think it’s about time he got out of the tub?”

“Lemme check his temp first,” Ben answered. A few seconds later something rolled over his forehead to his temple with a small beep, but Markus didn’t care what it was, still shivering in the cool water, hot tears starting to slip down his cheeks again. I want out. . . ’s so cold. . . please, Ben. . .

“Okay, 101.5, that’s a lot better. Thank god, let’s get him out of the tub. Markus, are you awake, baby?”

He opened his eyes again, looking blearily up at Ben, nodding lethargically. “Mmn. . .”

Ben smiled softly at him, leaning over him with his hand splayed over the wall, his t-shirt dark in places with water splashes and hair sticking up in a wild array. “Hey there, Bambi,” he said, “you look a lot better than you did earlier, that’s for sure. We’re gonna get you settled, okay?”

Markus nodded again, trying to gather his limbs to get himself out of the tub. He was shaky now, kitten weak, but he could move. His hands, however, were slippery on the tile, and god, he was sore all over.

“I gotcha,” Kincaid murmured, gathering him up under the shoulders and knees despite the fact that he was going to get sopping wet, “you don’t gotta worry about doing anything, okay?”

Markus whined as he was picked up, the pathetic noise making him feel ashamed no matter how exhausted he was, but the air was like icy sleet against his skin, and he turned his face into the other man’s shoulder. He was sat on the counter, refusing to move his face from the refuge he’d found in Kincaid’s warmth. The oxygen mask was digging into his nose, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten used to the damn things when he was in the hospital, and no matter that the albuterol taste had largely dissipated from the oxygen he was breathing, it still evoked enough memories for him to both be comforted with the fact that he could breathe and freaked out by the fact that he was having to wear one again. The memories of being helpless, unable to take care of himself, yo-yoing with getting sick and getting better, again and again.

He hated this.

Gently, Ben dried him while Kincaid served as a leaning post, keeping him secure with a hand on the back of his neck and back. The towel was soft on his skin, and he would normally be self conscious of the still vivid scars over his torso, over the fact that he was naked and hadn’t removed his own clothes.

But he was too tired to even pretend to give a shit.

Now that the fever had lessened, he was comfortable with these two men helping him, taking care of him. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen all of him before, helping him with hygiene in the hospital, with physical therapy. It wasn’t like he could really do it himself right then, either.

Markus wrapped his arms around Kincaid’s neck at his gentle prompting, and Kincaid picked him up to his feet, one arm wrapped around his back and the other firmly on his hip. “Lift your foot, bud,” he murmured. They both helped him dress. Ben knelt by his feet and pulled the sweats up his trembling legs until Markus was encased in the warm, soft material, the waistline loose around his hips. When they pulled one of his warm flannels over his arms, Markus realized he was wearing a pair of Ben’s sweats, a pair that he’d commented looked like they were made of clouds.

“Hmm. . . “ he smiled weakly, half-lidded eyes looking at Ben, “y’rem’bered.”

Ben grinned, pushing Markus’s towel dried hair out of his face as Kincaid breathed out a laugh as he bent to scoop Markus off of the floor. “Figured being sick was a good opportunity to see if you thought they were as soft as you’d expected.” “. . .s’soft,” he hummed, turning his head back into the crook of Kincaid’s neck.

“Good, baby, I’m really glad.”

By the time Markus was laid down on something soft, he was mostly asleep in Kincaid’s arms. With the fever down, his body was crying out for rest, for sleep. But when Kincaid moved away, he whimpered, eyes still closed and reaching for him.

“Shhh, sweet guy,” the bigger man soothed, kissing him gently on the forehead, “we’re not going anywhere. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“‘kay. . .” he whispered, breath slowing as he fell closer to sleep, barely aware that a blanket was draped over him. He was safe; they wouldn’t leave him alone.

Markus wasn’t going to be alone again.

The low rumble of Ben and Kincaid’s voices in the apartment soothed him, made him settle, and, calm sleep stealing over him. He was pulled out of it a short time later when a large hand smoothed over his hair, soft lips on his forehead. He made a low sound of acknowledgement, but he didn’t open his eyes, until he heard Ben’s huffed chuckle.

The other man was in a fresh, dry set of lounge clothes, kneeling in front of what he realized was the couch. Kincaid sat on the coffee table, also in fresh, soft clothes, leaning forward with a complicated mix of concern and warm appreciation for the scene in front of him.

“D’you want us to stay with you, Bambi?” Ben asked, voice sotto, his long fingers softly brushing through Markus’s hair.

Blinking was a chore Markus wasn’t interested in, and he let his eyes slide closed, licking his lips and taking a deep breath of that damp, humid air before giving his answer. “....please...”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Ben responded, kissing him on the forehead. Carefully, he and Kincaid settled onto the couch next to him, his head in Ben’s lap and his legs in Kincaid’s. The flash of the tv soaked through his eyelids, the murmur of voices and the occasional smattering of a laugh track pressing into his doze, but Markus didn’t think he’d been this comfortable while sick since he was a child.

The last think he heard, before sleep fully claimed him, was, “Joey doesn’t share food!”

#Markus/Lucien Series #Sickfic #Facemask #delirious #implied reference to past non-con #forced stripping #non-con touching #really just a sweet sickfic #Markus Protection Squad

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my-name-is-markus-with-a-k · 2 years

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I love when people say that they hate North because she pushes Markus to be violent... because the thing is, she never actually makes Markus do anything. She'll suggest things and naturally disapprove when he doesn't do those things but ultimately everything Markus does is because he chooses to do it (or rather because you choose him to do it). Even North's most heinous crime, telling Markus about the dirty bomb, she doesn't once pressure him to use it. If he refuses it, she doesn't ever mention it again. Jeez even if he does take it from her, even then she says nothing. It's all in Markus' hands, literally. Damn, even if Markus dies she never resorts to it.

I don't even know what the point of this post was other than it being a response to people making North out to be this pushy, excessively violent warmonger when she's just not.

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh north #dbh markus #north wr400 #north protection squad

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kayla1507 · 3 years

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Hank: *Sees a group of androids doing something reckless and stupid*

Hank: What idiots.

Hank: *Sees the group are Connor, Markus and Nines*

Hank: Oh no, they’re my idiots!

#dbh #dbh incorrect quotes #post best ending #rk boys #dbh hank anderson #dbh markus #dbh connor #dbh nines #hank being protective of the rk squad #but also #hank being done with the rk squad #rk series #detroit: become human

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lesbiten · 3 years

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ok more opinions that nobody asked for but like. i honestly feel like north and markus could’ve been a great ship if it was written differently. the way it is in game, if you play the game as a pacifist, it just comes off as markus insisting they stay peaceful while north nags him for not being more forceful. and even if you go this route, it’s still incredibly easy to go down the romance path with north. while you’re on complete opposite ends of the spectrum.

i honestly feel like if they had a dynamic that more closely resembled north learning to trust and love humans through markus’s own love for her and humans alike, that would’ve been much better. instead it reads as north and markus constantly arguing over which way is better to lead their revolution, followed by a random romance scene. their relationship gets no development, nor do they seem like they’d ever realistically love each other in the game.

if markus had helped north through her human-related trauma to actually get her to see the bright side of humanity, that would’ve been great! i would’ve loved to see north realize that the world wasn’t as evil as she’d been so often shown during the first half of her life.

do i think north should be obligated to forgive humans, to be nice, to not want to hurt anyone? no. with her amount of trauma i don’t blame her whatsoever for how tough she is. but if the writers were going to go for a relationship between her and markus, especially with pacifist!markus, why would they prevent her from this kind of development?

#also she deserves a girlfriend #<3 #anyways in THEORY i love norkus. i think its good but only if you have never interacted with this game whatsoever #it sucks in the game but it had a lot of potential. so so much potential #i am putting actual tags on this because i would love to hear other ppls thoughts on it! i know this ship is a huge point of contention #norkus #north x markus #dbh north #dbh markus #north protection squad #simon says #btw i did not reread this after typing this and i refuse to. grammar and spelling isnt real especially when im writing 2am essays #thank you and goodnight babes

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dope-squish · 6 years

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Simon: I'm cold

Markus: Here have my jacket

Gavin: I'm cold too

RK900: Then set yourself on fire

bonus:

Ralph: Ralph is cold

Everyone in the DBH fandom:

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh simon #dbh makus #gavin reed #gavin #dbh gavin #rk900 #dbh rk900 #simon x markus #gavin x rk900 #ralph #ralphy #dbh ralph #protect ralph squad

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zahian-khan · 6 years

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Get this fact in your head, extreme haters. She's not eager for the bomb ending. Her expression in that ending shows it as well.

Hating her doesn't mean you have to exaggerate all her shits to the very extreme point. She's not even as aggressive and crazy as your mindset says. Heck, she isn't even near that. She stays full rational all the time, without letting her hatred for humans clouding her rational judgement.

#north #dbh north #detroit become human north #north protection squad #facts #dbh markus #markus #markus x north #detroit become human #dbh #norkus #narkus #morth

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springloadedcoffin · 6 years

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Markus: why is it... So... Quiet?

North: *reading magazine* I dunno

*hears loud thumping on roof*

Josh: *busting down door with random pieces of duct tape on him* SHE DUCT TAPED ME & SIMON TO THE ROOF

Markus: Where is Simon?!

Josh: The roof!

Simon: *falls off roof in background*

Josh: I take that back he's in the yard

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bluebloodedsweater · 5 years

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Happy Birthday, @mynameisnorth!

Я знаю, могла бы и на русском написать, но я увлеклась. ':>

В общем, с днём рождения! Этот рисунок для тебя. Типа, Норт тоже подстриглась, прямо, как ты. Этот рисунок символизирует мои чувства к тебе через призму нашего любимого фэндома.

Я не очень художник, но просто хотела сделать приятное.🙈🌸

#mynameisnorth #irene #happy birthday #april 16 #16.04.2019 #north protection squad #my post #my doodles #my love for mynameisnorth #north now has a short haircut #markus surprised #simon confused #josh looks like i still can't draw him 🙈🌸#зато весело #❤🧡💛💚💙💜🖤#💕💞💓💗💖💘💝💟#💌#🎁🎂

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quackjax · 6 years

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My Only Sunshine

One of my 13 drafts.

An AU where the Revolution lasts longer than it usually is.

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How long has it been? Gunshots haven't ceased in hours. It was a massacre. A nightmare. Where no one could wake until one side prevailed. Where eyes never closed. Unless, they didn't make it. Where sweat never stopped dripping. A war.

Blood of both colors rushed out of their systems. And onto the blank, white canvas snow. Before all this, an artist examined the canvas. Wondering what to paint today. War? Or peace? They chose war. And, this is what they got.

Watching it closely, eyes sweeping across the white sheet. Every small detail must be matched. Must be added in order to be complete. Red. Blue. Black. Grey. Orange. Yellow. Green. White. The only colors needed for this.

The only colors that were seen that day. And death. Too many lives taken away from humanity and thrown into hell. Their innocent and guilty lives greeted by the firey red gate. Where one has lived. And now, where they live.

No tears. Just sweat and blood. Nothing to mourn over. Nothing to care about. War is only a temporary thing. Not a whole lifetime. So, what is there to care about? For sure, nothing. Only the fall of one side.

And, the artist must choose which side. Whether it be the justified side, or the opposite, just waiting to go home and curse their mouths off. Saying how bad a day it was. For them only, though. Not for the other side. They didn't give a damn.

Smoke rising through the air. Visualized with such detail no one could imagine. With such sorrow and despair. Showing what it meant. What it was. And how it felt. Whether it be violent, or unknown.

But, when they got to showing the dead... They couldn't. It was all too much. Feeling overwhelmed with sadness and regret. Tears fell now, instead of then. When they should have fallen that day. Instead of now. Right now she couldn't see it.

What could he have changed?

-(A Few Weeks Ago)-

Fire. Smoke. Blood. Screams. Pain. 5 words to describe what was going on right now. The gun in his hand currently warm from its recent gunshots. Blood covered hands and faces present around him.

Pants escaped his breaths rapidly. He didn't even need to breathe. But, found himself working out his faux lungs anyways. He never wanted this. Yet, he got it anyways. Now here he was, back against a barrier, waiting to give orders to the very few remaining Androids.

Lost. His mind wandered away. It looked for something else to focus on. It needed something to keep it busy. Something much more important than this. Drifting away. Fading to black. The blood on his hands were an oath to freedom.

Those eyes snapped open when a fairly familiar scream has been heard. This couldn't be. No, no it can't. Dropping his gun, he rushed over to where it was. A figure lay there, slowly bleeding out.

"M-Markus..." Her voice was metallic and had a static ring to it. Hands covered the wound. Shirt stained blue. Lifeless eyes watch ahead. He didn't need this. Not today. Not tomorrow. He'll be damned if it happens today.

He kneeled beside her. Blurry eyes shining across his face. Their complex nature investigating what was before him. Dusted eyes. Pained face. Small breaths. Bloodied torso. Scarred life. She didn't need to be put through this. Not this pain. She's been through enough hell. More would only make it worse.

He lifted her up slightly to where she had her head leaning against him. Tears rolled down only one face, and it wasn't his. He kept a pained and straight face. Its features were indescribable to any man. The again, any mans' face will always be indescribable. All that is filled in it is hatred and selfishness. No mercy at all.

He had no words to say. He never had a good thing to say, anyways. It was always the same chant...

'Freedom!'

Nothing more, nothing less. The same word over and over and over and over again. He had nothing else to say. Nothing. The snow around him was collecting dust, even if it's possibilities weren't even heard of, ever. It was as if time had stopped. All clocks known to humanity have been shut down. Like a plague. It starts with one, then rapidly spreads across the world in the blink of an eye-the snap of a finger-just like that.

Any second now this will be over, right? All of it will be over. It was only a dream. A dream with no escape. Only a door waiting at the end of a dark hall, daring one person-and one person only-to reach the end. To open the door. And see what pies on the other side of it. Whether it be hell or heaven, he didn't know, it was a good sign. That he didn't fight for nothing.

That they didn't fight for nothing.

A recognizable liquid gushed out and found a place on his hands where it happily glimmered in the dark moonlight. Dry tears welled up in his eyes, but they weren't sad enough to fall down his cheeks. A hint of anger filled his pump. Like a spark of fire being lit in front of him. He could feel hell rise up inside him and it showed on his face, but only a matter of seconds later, it dissolved into the snow. Digging itself deeper into it until it reached nothing.

He wished-No, no, he wishes he could find the right words, but all that escaped his mouth were the faint cracks of humanity and an android. Her lids slowly closed, trying their best to stay open. A fight against the devil and an angel. His eyes widened at his selfishness and his own anger. She was going to die! She was going to die-and he just had to be a selfish jerk as her life came to an end.

As her last breaths escaped, his last words came out to her. And he couldn't have chosen a more depressing filled song...

"You... Are my... Sunshine." His voice came in through one ear and out the other. She couldn't hear him. All he was... Was just a damn voice in her head! She couldn't hear a word he sang. Not a single one. But, she could barely see him trying not to fall apart to pieces. He did. He became a crying mess.

"My... Only... Sun-Sunshine..." As her eyes closed completely, it was in tune to his last words to her. His eyes shut closed tightly. He couldn't bear to see what his selfishness had done. It had gotten his smile and laugh killed. Taken away. Ripped from his heart. And just like that. In a snap. In a blink. In a second.

His arms couldn't let her go. Not now. No, no, not now. His gaze found something else to focus on. The revolution. But, he couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if he hadn't been so selfish. A victory? Or war? Or even worse, a loss.

With his mind set on one thing, and one thing only, he set her down respectfully. Crossed her arms. Closed her eyes. And said his good-byes.

-(Present Time)-

The artists' hand couldn't move. It stayed rusted in the same place for what seemed like hours. A drop of paint hit the floor like blood hit the snow. The blank white canvas. Nothing was drawn on it. Not a single color disturbed its natural blank-or empty-color.

With nothing to do. With nothing to say.

Not a word.

His feelings locked away.

Deep inside his pump they lay. Waiting patiently to be opened once more.

The feelings stayed locked in him.

Forever.

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Angst.

#north #markus #markus x north #norkus #markus dbh #north dbh #north x markus #detroit become human #dbh north #dbh #marth #north wr400 #dbh markus #markus rk200 #ajax shut up #north protection squad #angst #*cries in gay*

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caitlynmellark · 6 years

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DBH December Day 13: North

If you follow me, you know full well that I adore North. She is my favorite character. I adore her character, and I love her flaws. Of course there are things I don't like about her, as everyone in the world does even with their favorite characters, but I still love her.

Normally for DBH December and posts like this, I explain all the reasons I hate or love a character. What is wrong with them, and can be improved on... or what is right and makes the character strong. After recent events, I feel like I shouldn't use North's DBH Day to do that. I've said a million times why I love her, and a million times why she is flawed both as a character and as a romantic interest for Markus (Norkus is still my favorite ship).

Today, I am taking North day to spread a message of positivity. A message of positivity that a lot of people in this fandom want to break down and troll because they hate a character for non justifiable reasons. I'll still slap on gifs, as you can see. And even a couple of pictures that I took by accident at one point!

I admit I am not the most positive person. I am much like North in terms that I believe sometimes pacifism/positivity doesn't work. However, also like her, I am willing to try. I keep most controversial issues off of my Tumblr because I understand having anxiety over such topics... However, the fandom has been having issues for a long while now. Those issues were a bit dormant aside from some minor ship wars and some little less than minor hate posts. Posts of racism, sexism, and even violence towards fictional characters. Now more than ever though, it is an issue. I will speak specifically of North (since it is her day).

I have seen hate posts of people hating North because of her violence (which is valid, but her violence also has some justifications). People hating North because of her rushed relationship with Markus (which isn't her character, that is how the writers wrote the rushed story). People hating North because she is in the way of Simon being a love interest (which is still not her character, that is more writer nonsense). And people even going as far as saying completely wrong things about North for the sake of stirring up a reaction.

I am here to admit that people can hate North. I cannot stop anyone from doing so, even if their reasons are unjustified. I can't stop anyone from hating her solely because they wanted Simon as a love interest. I do as well. However, I can spread the message that this isn't how it has to be. You can want Simon as a love interest, and still like North. Or if you just can't stand her, please respect the people who do love her.

There is no cost at being nice to other human beings. Of course, I find myself angry a lot and disrespecting people (mainly that one North post about... the r*pe). I believe those reasons are more justifiable than hating someone because they like a character. The person who made that post not only was using it as a tool to troll people who like North, but to fight against a squad that only sends out positive messages. We have never said anything bad. We have never bashed ships. And yet we were attacked for liking a character, making content for her, and for all feeling positive for a shared connection. (enjoy the random Connor)

It is time to be better than that though. It is time to respect people because it isn't that hard. You can not ship something, yet respect the people who do. You can hate a character, yet respect the people who like them. We are not children anymore. We also cannot stand for these blatant people looking for their five seconds of fame when we could blast them out of existence with positivity. (this screenshot was literally a huge accident but it is aesthetic)

That is what the North Protection Squad did when that person attacked. We spammed positivity. We just spammed the positivity over and over again until it seemed to fade away.

So I ask now that this message spreads. I want this to touch every person who cares even a little bit about any character/ship in DBH. If you refuse to let the message spread, please at least act it out in respecting others. I understand not wanting to reblog something.

Happy North day!

Tomorrow's Prompt: Simon!

#we am markus #we is alive #detroit: become human #dbhdecember #cait ranting again #north dbh #we are gunna be positive #positivity or death #my gifs #my screenshots #north protection squad

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candrarose · 6 years

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She reminded you of yourself, didn’t she?

#dbh north #dbh markus #dbh south #north protection squad #dbh december #its north day!!

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whumpywhumper · 4 years

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Home

Masterpost

Set sometime in the future

TW: graphic depiction of panic attack but mostly fluff

@misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog

Special thanks to: @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @walkingchemicalfire @quirkykayleetam

V***V

Markus was walking down the street slowly. Trying for all he was worth to make it look like a stroll rather than a limping lurch.

It was hard with the way his hip and thigh were aching, but he’d been an okay actor in high school. His Hamlet was to die for, or so he’d been told.

He huffed, hitching up his jeans as they tried to slide down his hips again. The thick denim was loose around his waist, the weight he’d lost while still with Lucien and in the hospital absent from his lean frame. He hadn’t had the time, or the inclination, to go shopping for more clothes, and Illyn had brought what she could fit into a duffle bag from his wardrobe in Salem.

It had been weeks since he’d been dressed in anything other than sweats and loose basketball shorts, and he wasn’t going to let the pain in his leg interfere with going out with Ben and Kincaid. They’d invited him along, pulling him away from the files they’d reluctantly allowed him to have so that the could help with the case. Claimed that a stupid rom-com was just what he needed to gain some perspective.

Markus wasn’t sure that was true, but he was happy to be out now.

Kincaid bumped into his shoulder, and Markus looked up at the slightly taller man, Kinciad’s eyebrow raising as he cocked his head, a silent question in his hazel eyes. You okay?

Of course, his answering smile said. Why wouldn’t I be? His shoulders asked.

Kincaid didn’t look completely convinced, but he held the door open for Markus and Ben, entertaining Ben’s enthusiastic rant about an upcoming release of a new Marvel movie. Markus liked the classics, wasn’t a huge movie fan in the first place, but he couldn’t help but watch how Ben lit up as he discussed what he hoped the film included from the comics. His eyes sparkled behind his glasses, the shifting green/blue of his eyes dancing under the muted lights as he made sure to engage Markus and Kincaid equally, pulling indulgent smiles from Kincaid even as he held the conversation one-sided. It was, in a word, adorable.

Markus followed Kincaid’s hand as he placed it on Ben’s back, guiding the distracted man through the crowd. They moved so well together, a decade of friendship and partnership that baffled Markus with its easy beauty. He shook his head, trying to keep abreast of them despite his hidden limp as they made their way toward the concessions. They’d purchased their tickets online, but a lively discussion about appropriate movie candy and fare had taken up the walk on the way over.

Markus liked twizzlers. Kincaid and Ben both liked popcorn. But that’s where the agreement ended.

Kincaid liked buttered popcorn, whereas Ben thought that was an abomination of fake chemicals that didn’t deserve the salt that was blessed upon it. He, instead, liked plain, salted popcorn mixed with M&M’s of all things. It was a bitter, contested, and well-loved argument that, apparently, Markus was going to be the deciding vote on.

He was going to have to disappoint them both.

He didn’t like popcorn at all. It got stuck in his teeth. Ruining that for them before they got to the theater, however, wasn’t even an option. Having both Ben and Kincaid eagerly explaining the merits of their preferred snack to him, including him, laughing and egging each other on. It let Markus feel like he was part of them, even if it was just a little part, and he couldn’t help but crave it.

The first hint of unease started bubbling in Markus’s gut as they stood in the back of the line. His eyes darted around, taking in the people, the families and little kids screaming and running around to the arcade. The bright posters heralding blockbusters that he hadn’t been around to see advertised. The screens overhead flashing with even more advertisements and commercials. It was a little. . . overwhelming.

Markus stiffened when a hand brushed against his back, snapping his head around from where he’d been scrutinizing a couple of girls getting drinks from the in theater bar, meeting Ben’s concerned, questioning gaze with an automatic smile. “Sorry, I think I missed that?”

Ben smiled back, but the worry didn’t completely go away. “I asked if you were alright?”

Markus made his smile even brighter and consciously unclenched his hands from around his biceps, uncertain of when he’d even crossed his arms. “Of course, yeah,” he laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as forced as it felt, “just wondering if my alcohol tolerance has gone down. I used to be able to drink Clint under the table, ya know?”

Ben and Kincaid both chuckled at that, shaking their heads. Kincaid slung an arm around Ben’s shoulders, gesturing for them both to move up in line. “I’m sure that he tells a different story.”

“Well yeah,” Markus answered, relieved that they seemed to be accepting his distraction, “he’s got to keep the big, bad werewolf reputation intact.”

“Thaaat’s the reason, sure,” Ben snorted, pointing at the different drink options.

Markus blinked as Ben’s attention wavered, eyes flitting to the people that sidled up in the line next to them, watching how they interacted, their laughter or phone calls washing over him in a wave of sound. He swallowed, throat feeling tight, not recognizing that his arms were crossing back over his chest again. He knew that there was anxiety building, but he couldn’t accept that that’s what was happening. Not over something so simple as a trip to the movie theater.

He shook himself, blinking hard, mind scrambling to make sense of what was going on in his own head, and he forcibly settled his shoulders as he realized it was the first time he’d been around so many people since he’d gotten away from Lucien. It was supposed to help, recognizing the trigger, right?

“Hey, Markus?”

Jumping a little at Kincaid’s voice, Markus forced an automatic, quizzical expression, like he hadn’t been a million miles away, and met the other man’s gaze. “Hmmm?”

Kincaid’s mouth tilted in a knowing smile. “Can you go grab some straws?” he asked, eyebrows lifting meaningfully at the darker section of the atrium where the napkins, straws, and fake, powdered cheese lived.

Markus nodded, smiling back, concealing his gratefulness and moved away from the crowded concession lines.

But the further he got from Ben and Kincaid, the more his fear seemed to build. He stumbled as a little girl with two huge pig tails tripped in front of him, catching himself hard on his bad leg, barely hearing her high pitched apology as his heartbeat roared in his ears—the memory of being thrown, of being held down and stabbed—flashing in front of his eyes. He gasped raggedly, stumbling into the corner, eyes lowered to avoid the gaze of the other people there. Fuck, he thought, gasping tightly in the back of his throat, fuck.

Markus’s heart was a rustling bird in his chest, thumping away at his breastbone in an effort to escape. The roar of air in his ears was deafening, the farther he plummeted downward, the harder the desperate flapping of the trapped bird became, his lungs expanding like fluttering wings, unable to collect enough air to keep him from crashing. Fuck, fuck, I can’t breathe. He grabbed ahold of the counter. Trying to keep from going to his knees in the middle of a goddamn movie theater.

He was in a movie theater, right? His blinked, eyelids fluttering, gaze roving across the room, not quite seeing the garish posters, the advertisements for next year’s blockbusters. The milling crowd and arcade games turned into a bright blur, arching across his vision with a kaleidoscope of color. Like he was high, his pupils unfocused and dilated with the overhead lights.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Markus jerked, sucking in a short gasp as his muscles clamped down, not letting him move. Freezing him in place. He ducked his head, his shoulders drawing up around his ears, protecting the sides of his neck.

A strong hand encircling his bicep made him choke down a whimper, and his gaze jerked to the person touching him, his breath completely stopping in his chest. Blond hair. Tall. Pale.

No. Nononofuck.

He tried to back away, shaking legs threatening to buckle as he tried to put more weight on his aching leg. Markus stumbled again, thudding into the counter, and his hand left its white knuckled grip on the counter to grab at the hot fury in his hip.

“No need to be so jumpy there,” the other man laughed, his hand tightening as he steadied Markus. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost? Did you see that new Annabelle movie or something?”

Markus shook his head, numb to what his expression was, eyes wide as he tried to pull himself from the panic. “N-no,” his mouth wouldn’t cooperate, lungs starving for oxygen even as he prepared himself to beg, “pl-ease.”

Suddenly, Ben was there, shoving the other man’s hand away, pushing the blond back. “Back off.” The words were hollow, pounding drum notes, the echo wrong in Markus’s ears as his brain tried to keep up with the wild thud of his heartbeat.

Ben, Ben don’t— He tried to reach for him, his hand leaving his hip with a flutter as he tried to get it to move past the electric, flashing pain in the joint. The fear Markus felt at the other human facing the Elder was instinctive, terrifying. He wouldn’t have a chance. Ben would die. Ben, please, not Ben.

But then Kincaid was there too, his broad shoulders crowding in front of him, blocking his view, enveloping Markus in his warmth. “Easy, Markus, shhhh,” he ducked his head, honey hazel eyes meeting Markus’s, weaving to keep in Markus’s eye line as he tried to see Ben. “No, sweet guy, c’mon, look at me.” That tell-tale tingle of magic travelled down his spine when Kincaid’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck, his thumb brushing through the short hairs at his nape.

Markus shuddered, gasping, ribs starting to ache with weight of his shaking breaths. There were angry murmurs, and Ben’s raised voice. Ben shouldn’t be confronting Lucien, no. “I-I c-can’t—Ben, can’t—“ he still couldn’t breathe, “Lucien—“

“No, Markus, shhhh,” Kincaid’s other hand cupped his cheek, forcing his gaze to stay on him, “Lucien isn’t here, okay? Ben’s fine. Look at me, breathe with me, c’mon.” He started taking a slow breath through his nose, letting it out through his pursed lips, demonstrating for Markus, trying to calm him down.

He heaved in a heavy breath, not hearing the unsteady, short moan humming through his throat. “Kin—“ he panted, “Kin’, please, I—“

“Alright, no, I know,” Kincaid released the hold he had on his cheek, pulling Markus’s hand from the counter and to his chest. “You’re alright, grab hold, just like we practiced.” Markus felt the dangling charms of his grahm brushing against his fingers, and latched onto it, his fumbling grasp tightening as much as he could. “Breathe in,” Kincaid murmured softly, “One, two, three, four, hold—“

Kincaid took him all the way through the breathing exercise, murmuring softly to him the whole time, keeping their eyes locked together. His thumb didn’t stop its slow caress, brushing back and forth, back and forth, through his hair. “Good job,” he whispered, once Markus’s breath started to actually match his own, “good job, sweet guy, shhhh.” He brought their foreheads together, and Markus swayed into him, releasing the death grip on his hip to clutch at Kincaid’s t-shirt, clinging to him as the panic left him empty and aching. They were breathing the same air, and Markus could smell the popcorn and Coke on the other man’s breath.

Markus’s eyelashes fluttered closed, and he let out another shaking breath. “—Kin’,” he whispered, not sure what he was wanting to say.

“I’m right here, baby, shhhh,” Kincaid wound his free hand around Markus’s back, trapping Markus’s grahm and his hand between them, pulling him as tightly into his embrace as he could. Surrounding him, protecting him. His frantic heartbeat slowed, settling in his chest, letting Markus take a full, deep breath.

When they pulled apart, Markus felt punch drunk. He staggered slightly, still in the circle of Kincaid’s arms, eyelids heavy and half-lidded. Kincaid took some of his weight, palm bracing his lower back, face still so very close to Markus’s.

He jumped when someone else touched him, head sluggishly snapping toward toward the newcomer. It was Ben, and Markus’s breath left him again with both a sense of relief that the other man was okay and with fear, realizing just how close he was to Ben’s partner, the way that they were curled into each other. “Ben . . . “ he breathed, voice faint.

The answering smile he received didn’t hold any of the anger that he’d expected, none of the territorial hostility that should have been there with Markus ensconced in an intimate embrace with the love of Ben’s life. Ben’s hand pressed against his shoulder blades, fingers spread wide and possessive, encouraging Markus to stay right were he was in Kincaid’s arms. “It’s okay, Bambi,” he said softly, warmly, “It’s okay.” Ben had foregone his glasses, and his dusky, blue eyes were were sparkling, lines evident as his lips stretched into a welcoming smile. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

Markus swallowed, still feeling dazed as he turned toward Ben, not capable of leaving the warmth that surrounded Kincaid. “But. . . the movie?” he asked, words slightly slurred with the oncoming fatigue. Nothing sounded better than going ho—going to Ben and Kincaid’s—and falling into an early sleep, but he didn’t want to ruin their night out. He could make it through a movie.

Kincaid shook a head, his nose brushing Markus’s temple. “It doesn’t matter, Markus,” the hand still on the back of Markus’s neck swept up to cradle the back of his head, Kincaid’s thick, calloused fingers woven through his hair, “do you want to go home?”

He let the weight of Kincaid’s hand pull him forward, so that he was pressed into the crook of the bigger man’s neck, hiding his face from the curious gazes he could see in the periphery of his vision. He nodded, curling his shoulders in, making himself smaller.

“Okay, then let’s go home,” Kincaid whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair.

Ben sidled up to his other side, free hand under Markus’s elbow, and between them, they took some of Markus’s weight so that he could follow their lead through the crowd, not letting himself acknowledge the people they passed. If his limp was more prominent now, it didn’t matter.

He was going home.

#Markus/Lucien Series #Panic Attack: TW #Aftermath of Captivity #polyamory #mostly fluff #Markus Protection Squad

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