#biting and screaming and clawing at the bars on my cage

[jcbs-posting]

the worst thing about realizing you have a great narrative opportunity to kill off one of your characters in a meaningful way is trying to argue w yourself about it and, through this, only making it more narratively interesting likeglkjdlfkjf

‘god, not them, anyone but them’ -> the weight of the meta emotional loss matches the stakes

‘but they’re connected to the people around them, they’re an essential part of the story and other characters’ -> the weight of the in universe loss matches the stakes, and enforces the themes of loss and the violence of systemic institutions and how losing one person effects all of us

‘they’ll leave behind someone who loves them’ -> and that person will fight for their memory now, won’t they? that will effectively set up act 3, won’t it? avenging your love (who did everything to save you, who gave it all up so you could still be breathing, and it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair that they fought for you and gave up their own life so you could stand here, alone) is often a more effective motivator than avenging yourself.

‘this isn’t supposed to be a tragedy’ -> bestie babe YOU are the person who put a dozen people in a government torture facility what the fuck do u think you’re writing

like girl help me ghlkjblkjsf

[rockwgooglyeyes]

Taking into consideration Till's history with sexual assault (i will be tw and cw tagging for this), it puts the Ivantill kiss in round 6 in so much more perspective for me. Not only that, but it gives a lot of context and reasoning to the way that Till interacts with other people (as well as his rapid, violent mood swings) into perspective.

I just to preface with this- I have never been the victim of sexual assault or sexual harassment, so my discussion on this purely comes from what I know at a psychological angle, in addition to what I know based on this video from pop culture detective on Youtube and his videos on the male interaction with abuse and generally seedy behavior in media. It's really good, I enjoy his content a lot. Anyways analysis below the cut. Content and trigger warning for discussion of sexual assault, sexual abuse, psychological abuse, and pretty much everything else relevant in this fandom (slavery, child abuse, etc)

Out of all of the characters in Alien Stage, Till is the most openly dehumanized. Sua is treated like a doll, Ivan is treated like a trophy horse to parade around, Luka is something of a combination of both- but Till is the lab rat. He's the losing dog that Urak is betting on. They're all dehumanized to a degree but Till is dehumanized so much so that his defining feature is his rebellion. Even amongst the fandom, he's made into Ivan's side piece or the idiot who's hopelessly in love with Mizi and yeah, I do think Till is a dumbass but I say that out of the deepest affection possible, I love this little freak and I want the best for him. I truly do.

He's so smart and talented and yet, he hates himself. He's passionate about music, he uses it to express himself in ways that he can't otherwise, and he's so good at music, too. He's not good with people and he has a temper and he's easily flustered, yes, but he's so complicated. He was hopeful and innocent to the ways of the world but when he was bought by Urak, he was shown how utterly and hopelessly cruel the world could be. Comparatively, even Ivan and Sua got lucky, with their absent and emotionally abusive owners- Till was put through hell, experimented on, forced into a cage and treated like a feral animal that needed to be shown who was boss- even when he was willing to go along with anything at the start. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be cherished. Children always want so desperately to please their authority figures, I can't imagine that he would have resisted in the beginning, hoping that if he went along with whatever Urak told him to, that he would be rewarded and treated with tenderness and care.

He never was. He was beaten and broken and thrown through the wringer time and time again. They made him miserable because that's what Urak wanted- that's what makes good art, after all. A tortured artist who cuts off their own ear but paints the most beautiful night skies.

Even in Round 2, we see this dehumanization. Till has a tether, keeping him to the stage, because he's "dangerous." He's marketed as this rebel, who needs to be tied down, who needs to gagged and muzzled, we can't let him speak because if he opens his mouth, he'll bite. He's pushed down to the ground, subdued, IN HIS MARKETING. This is how he's presented FROM THE BEGINNING. He is forced into this role of the mad dog who screams and claws and bites because this is the mold he was given, he pushed himself into it because that was all he could do. He's giving Urak what Urak wants and even that isn't enough. Because he might be broken, he might have given in, but he's still a stubborn bastard.

Before Round 6 (but after Round 5), Till refuses to sing Mizi's song in the bar. He gets angry with a member of the audience for implying that Mizi is dead, maybe even saying shitty something about her, and he goes at them with a bottle. As @a-star-that-burns-brightly said, he's the only human we've ever seen to get violent with an alien within the bounds of Alien Stage, which makes Till all the more impressive- which means that they have to bring him down all the more forcefully.

I will admit- I didn't understand the scene to be SA until it was pointed out to me (not that I thought it wasn't, it just went over my head) but it adds so much to Till's character to analyse it through that lens.

They rape Till, punishing him for refusing to sing and punishing him to attacking an audience member. Terry Crews, who some may know from Brooklyn-Nine-Nine or other media, is a survivor of sexual assault, and he talked about it before the United States Senate Judiciary committee. He was assaulted by his manager, who was a man. And you may be wondering why I bring this up, and it's simply because I want to remind people that sexual assault is not about sexuality. It can be connected but correlation is not causation. Sexual assault is about exerting power over an individual to make them feel weak, lesser, and show them who is in control of the situation. It's not dissimilar to bullying (but far, far worse). After all, why would corrective rape be a phenomenon if it wasn't about exerting power over the victim and showing them that they don't have autonomy or agency? Because if they had autonomy or agency, they would be able to consent or conversely, the ability to say no.

Of course they don't have autonomy/agency, though, right? Because they're pets. They're possessions. It's akin to how we treat dogs and cats, we breed them and we don't let them say no, because they don't have an understanding of consent like we do, why would they need to say yes or no? They can just fight someone off if they don't want it, right?

Right?

Something that @k9punkout (Numso) said stood out to me, though, is that this might not even be the first time that this has happened to Till. This breaks my heart. Like, legitimately, it made me nearly cry when I read it, because the idea of sexual abuse being used as a form of regular and routine punishment against someone is horrible- but at the same time, that already happens. In prisons, in war zones, in households, sexual abuse is used as a regular punishment against people and that's horrible. The way that Till's experience specifically reflects that of a child in a toxic and abusive household is immensely interesting because of how people forget about that, how people don't seem to really care. He's a sopping wet kitten, yeah, he's a silly little guy, but he's been abused for his whole fucking life. He has a superiority complex that's teetering on an incredibly thin knife's edge and sometimes it wobbles into self-hatred and an absolute absence of self worth.

It's no wonder that Till clings so fiercely to the idea that Mizi is innocent and pure and hopeful, like he once was, because if she isn't- then does that mean he was stupid to ever hope at all? Was he stupid for expecting love and affection, from the people who were supposed to take care of him? Does that mean he's suffered for no reason, save Urak's amusement? Does that mean he's miserable just because, just because Urak demands that someone be miserable in order for them to be great? Does that mean he's been beaten, broken, made into this wretched, ugly thing simply because he's around? It's not so much that his suffering needs to have a purpose, it's more that if it's pointless and based on whim, then that says something about Till himself. That says that Urak saw something in him, something sturdy enough to be broken again and again and get back up. It says that he deserves this. (He doesn't, no one deserves that and deserving things is horseshit, but I can't imagine Till to be thinking anything else.)

Back, finally, to the whole reason I started writing this fucking thing: the Ivantill kiss in Round 6. I've seen some people call it SA, and while I can see why (and of course, I respect their opinions), I disagree.

Ivan shouldn't have continued to kiss Till after Till pushed him, yes, but at the same time, through the narrative of their kiss- it wasn't really a kiss at all. Not in the sense that it was an expression of sexual intent. And maybe this is because I'm on the acearo spectrum but. I don't believe Ivan wanted to kiss Till, it wasn't a romantic kiss, it was one last attempt to get Till to wake up, before it was too late.

Through the lens of knowing that Till is a survivor of sexual assault, the way that Ivan kissed him and his reaction to Ivan kissing him is all the more impactful because Till pushed Ivan away, yes, but he didn't seem horrified, or hollowed out like he is post assault in the bar scene. It shows his trust in Ivan, and maybe even the fact that he knows that Ivan isn't doing this to hurt him, Ivan is kissing him in a final effort to say "I love you. You're loved. I'm sorry."

Blue (@bluemoonscape) talked through this with me a bit earlier and he said something that stuck out to me as well "The kiss, if anything, shows how much control the aliens assert over them to put them in a position where this would be two friends’ last chance to communicate with one another, hence how desperate it is on Ivan’s part. (...) Ivan wasn’t trying to assert power over Till in any way; that just isn’t in his nature. Over the years, he basically lets Till dictate every aspect of their relationship, hell, he even gives power to Till over Ivan’s own freedom (power that Till didn’t want but nonetheless got)" and he really summed it up beautifully in my opinion. The ivantill kiss WASN'T romantic because it wasn't meant to be- Ivan was just saying that he loved Till period. It was a fucked up way to do it. I wish he hadn't.

But he was just trying to say goodbye.

(@atrophiedemotion because i mentioned this to you! <3)

[bittersweetresilience]

you guys. don't even know. how insane i am right now. there are nuclear reactions happening in my feelings. i am completely inconsolable. screaming sobbing biting tearing frothing at the mouth throwing up heaving clawing at the walls running myself into the ground gripping the bars of my cage blowing up my insides etcetera etcetera etcetera

[artemis-pendragon]

Feral screaming clawing biting through the bars of my cage like a rabid tiger thinking about how they couldn't make Dean bi but immediately introduced a bi dude in The Winchesters. Like thank GOD but also. We Will Not Forget Ur Crimes.

[traumalimbo]

Born feral

I was not raised in captivity

Attention seeking, disruptive

Stereotypical abnormal behaviour

Highly repetitive, invariant, functionless

Destructive

I am not a good dog

Because I am not a dog

Confined to its cage

Biting the bars

Biting the hands that feed it

Flinching, you say domesticated

Flinching

I bear my belly and my teeth

I have learned fear, but also violence

I am a predator, and you forgot my claws

Screaming, striking as they grab you

Animals become stressed in captivity

So why must I stay in this cage?

Overwhelming stress and isolation, a threat

It's for my own good, it's better this way

I am the sacrifice to appease those greater

Captive animals cannot escape

A threat display, biting through my own arm

Teeth dripping blood

Staring

[ivaspinoza]

Sensitive Abstractions I don't really like

to write

poems like this.

Threatening spaces like enormous mouths eating words, and they vanish, their consequences and repercussions erased - a lethal vacuum.

Silence is scarcely tolerable for a modern man.

I am not a modern man.

But I accumulate words feelings images sounds scars garments of distant dreams and certainties of tomorrow, just as I do with myself: I accumulate myself before hitting the next 'enter,' and thus avoid dissolving.

Diluted in others' rivers.

In another strange, bordering current: two waters meet and we have another river.

But I sail in abstract waters and drink from a river that cannot be stained.

Yet, I can feel like a hiccup, an interrupted sigh—my outlines fade, I am a soundless explosion.

A mixture of dust that was already here before, light, plasma, blood, bones, eyes, very silent; a supernova screaming in space.

How nice would it be if my contours only mimicked yours, eternal star.

My burden is to seek the record of the unfathomable in such simple forms of expression, so here I am, biting the bars of this flesh's cage, and I see: I am too free, too free to live without colossal, overwhelming yearnings.

I am a shipwrecked child, a piece of wood floating in the open sea.

Hypersensitive are my edges, especially the sharp ones—lend me your sandpaper, the coarsest, the stupidest, to compete on equal terms with my stupidity.

Hypersensitive are my gills; I suspect I should live underwater since in this time of ours the air and the earth are like smoke in my eyes and soot, so much sad-gray concrete.

Hypersensitive are my pages, each word like a prick of a sharp needle, each needle like a world of pains, each pain like people looking at me, hungry for justice, and I don't even know their names.

Hypersensitive in the memory of being found by a certain pair of eyes, two celestial flames that would melt the whole world with a glance; in their gaze, a precise arrow that doesn't miss the target, only in a blink

of an eye.

My heart was pierced and will forever bleed.

I wait contemplating the bottom of your sea, painted with diamonds shining for me, every night—my certainty: you'll come.

You will.

The colors are hypersensitive, the patterns on the tiles, the desires and cries for help, I write all this somewhere, you say things I can't understand and smile with my childish magnifying glass, like a kid with a binocular that is actually just a toy.

Hypersensitive, throbbing, I run and run, and search and knock on the door, not so gently because I am too desperate for that, I want to dissect existence and at the same time preserve its untouched mystery because in trying to explore it too much I know I would lose myself.

My taste is hypersensitive too, as are my eyes that absorb everything, and my ears that listen too much.

Hypersensitive is my tough skin that is thin, and seems like it will tear with the weight of empty words, vulgar laughter, eyes that should be luminous, and useless information, because they buy and sell and eat and give themselves as they please, and don't even look up.

Hypersensitive in crowded places where many destinies intersect and my eyes need to flee to the clouds, the only destination that matters.

Hypersensitive enough to live a farewell that already brings tears ten years before it happens.

Hypersensitive is missing the taste of touching the earth from the top of the mountain and the claws of the owl that never landed on my shoulders, the gallop I didn't hear, the places I never stepped on and the wind I never breathed in and perhaps never will.

My erased abstract lines let me wander around. I go up and down like an unregulated gauge according to the standards stipulated by the century of madness.

And I just need to walk on that path, so hold my hand, and hypersensitive I go up, dancing over the auroras, drinking from the source at the extreme north-south-east-west, and going up, I dissolve, in greater sensitive abstractions. Ivanna

(originally written in portuguese)

[siacatgirl]

Okay, so here's a change of pace for me. I decided to tap a bit into my old fanfic roots and write down some thoughts for my MC Jessica to giver her something more concrete to work with. Sort of a stream-of-consciousness drabble... with a slight twist.

I hope you find it enjoyable.

The rhythmic creak of wooden boards under my boots feels almost welcoming. Like being greeted by an old friend. It’s a strange feeling.

But not at all wrong.

When did these harsh bricks, grey and cold like an overcast sky, start to seem so inviting? Since when have I started glimpsing ghostly sparkles of recognition from the ghoulish features all around me, prickly edges of their painted forms rising to form the faintest of smiles at the sight of me? Then again, they don’t have to try so hard. Everything above this underground prison (I can barely make myself call it a basement at this point) emanates such sterile emptiness that a mere attempt at calling it a clinic would make inhaling a noseful of chemicals less stomach-churning in comparison.

I almost miss Misty hovering somewhere just behind my ear. Her presence always gives me peace of mind that these shapeless forces at the corner of my vision, be they friend or foe, are indeed there. Now I have to keep myself from second-guessing whether I indeed saw something, or only what I wanted to see.

Maybe Sasha’s more down-to-earth nature will do me some good.

I almost snicker internally at this practiced ease with which I tell Reese that his mom is just looking out for him, that it’s her overprotectiveness talking and not her simply being a controlling matriarch. The better part of me, the one that wants to be more like Pastor Daniel, that honestly believes most people are good deep down inside, it tries to give her the benefit of the doubt, that the Doc is but a single mother doing her best under the weight of crushing circumstances with what little information and illusion of choice she has.

And then I remember the contents of her journal and I reconsider.

Briefly my eyes overlap the rigid, dare I say scientific illustrations of castor beans with the doughy faces in Reese’s sketchbook, and I have to blink to make them go away. Thankfully, nobody noticed, being more focused on the topic of possible impending doom for the town. The pencil lines did remind me, though, that I still need to suggest posing for a sketch sometime. My heart briefly fills with the warmth of his fingertips on my cheek and the light of his eyes in this dimly lit coffin, but then sinks to the ground with the crack of a broken pencil. Such a shame it won’t see the light of day…

Wayne, I will never forgive you for ruining the moment. Ever.

The mute whispers from his paintings are still there, though, at some unseen corner in the back of my mind. Once more I yearn for Misty’s presence to envelop these silent sounds into something more concrete to wrap around. The hum is deafening. Sasha does a well-enough job at steering my wandering mind away by giving me a white mug to mentally “slap these bad boys on”, as she puts it, but my eyes are still within a dim haze as I gingerly poke my finger at one of the smaller paintings. It feels disappointingly solid. What was I expecting? That the miasma would swallow my hand with a wet gurgle of paint for the eager Smear to bite at my finger?

No way. The brush won’t let them. The strokes will keep them caged from our realm until the times comes. These tortured, anguished screams of a caged being, given form. Its calls have always been there, lying in plain sight. All you need to do is look around. It will never cease its attempts to be heard, to break through the bars, to make its presence known. Even now, as Reese stretches the skin of his arm to show off its elasticity, it’s still there, squirming with an itch deep within the muscles, prodding with its claws for an exit.

Doctor Kelly’s commanding voice rolls down from upstairs, cutting the reunion short. The dinner is about to begin, and with it, the daily dose of poison. The gall of this woman. Right in front of us! But all that would come out of beating it day after day after day is making it angrier. More bloodthirsty. Then no amount of tranquilizers will save you from him giving up his humanity for a chance at freedom.

My eyes follow the mural by the basement stairs as I climb up behind Stella and Kaneeka. In a matter of time, Reese will follow its story.

The beast won’t have it any other way.

But a Shadow need not be a malevolent force of nature. It can be a powerful ally, should you learn to accept it. I know you can. You still have that chance.

You may look like a monster, but you don’t have to be one.

[this-is-sen-lin]

A Nickel For the Lizardman

Tucson Festival of Books 2023 unsolicited writing sample

Synopsis: When the circus comes to town, eight-year-old Edie Cartwright goes to see the "ferocious, fearsome Lizardman" in his grotty old tent at the edge of the fairgrounds. But posters don't always tell the truth, and sometimes you need to open your ears for the full story. 1453 words

ONE DAY ONLY!

the poster declared.

FROM THE HIGHEST CAVES OF SHANGRI-LA

THE FEARSOME

FEROCIOUS

LIZARDMAN!

Two yellow eyes glowered down at me below the words. Well! That sounded worth my fifty cents. I followed the posters to the far end of the fairgrounds. A lady in a polka-dot suit was waiting for me by the entrance of a grubby yellow tent. She started as I approached, like she was shocked I came all this way. The lady looked left to right, like there was another attraction I had meant to see instead. I handed her my nickels. 

“You got five minutes, missie,” she said with a toothpaste-ad smile. “Don’t worry! He doesn’t bite.” I thanked her and stepped inside. The air was thick and sticky, with a sour, moldy smell that stuck to your tongue and made your eyes water. The sun beat down on the top of the tent, throwing a sickly yellow light over everything inside. Four steps from the entrance stood a big iron cage with straw and torn-up newspaper strewed along the bottom. And right in the middle was a big dark lump, like a forgotten sack of laundry.

“H-hello?” I asked as I took a step forward. The musty air seemed to swallow my words. I stood an arm’s length from the cage, my heart fit to bust out of my chest. 

With an almighty snort, the lump reared up and threw its bulk against the bars. The cage pitched forward and then settled back with a thump, throwing up a cloud of dust that choked me as I screamed. I fell flat on my rear and sat there, panting, choking, panting, choking. If I could speak, I would have cussed.

The Lizardman hissed. He glowered between the bars with cunning black eyes, gripping the iron with ten curved amber claws. Mottled scaly brown skin hung off his lanky bent-up body, and his frontside was shocking blue. His long tail lashed like a snake. From deep inside, he gave a low, rumbling alligator bellow and hissed between his teeth. And then, after a moment or two, he asked, “Scared?”

I sat stunned. And then, slowly, I nodded. That seemed to please the Lizardman, and he let go of the bars to sit back on his haunches, arms crossed. “Well, I hope this was worth it for you, little girl,” he said. “You could have bought ten bags of popcorn or ridden the elephant twice for the amount you paid to be here.”

“You talk,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“Of course I do,” he replied. “I’m the Lizardman.” I nodded again. “Oh, and close your mouth,” he added. “You’ll let the flies in.” 

I closed my mouth.

I sat on the ground for what felt like a small eternity. I said nothing. Neither did the Lizardman. I felt like I’d been called on in class and didn’t know the answer. “What’s your name?” I said at last.

“I don’t have one,” the Lizardman replied.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Why don’t you have any hair?” I felt my face heat up.

“My mama shaved it off on account of lice,” I sputtered.

“Ah,” said the Lizardman. He laced his fingers under his chin and closed his eyes.

“It was mean of you to ask about my hair,” I told him.

“It was mean of you to ask about my name,” he responded. “I don’t have one. No one thought to give me one.”

“Why is that?”

“You really ought to think before you speak.” We lapsed into silence again.

After chewing on my thoughts for a moment, I said, “I’m sorry I made you upset, Mr. Lizardman.” He took his time before answering.

“Mm. It’s all right. I wouldn’t have expected you to know.” Silence fell again.

“My name’s Edie Cartwright,” I offered.

“Charmed,” the Lizardman said. He closed his eyes again. As I spent a little more time thinking, he said, “Go tell the woman outside that the Lizardman wants to do his special trick.”

“‘Special trick’?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

I let the lady know. She followed me in, lit the Lizardman a big cigar, and stepped outside again. I watched the Lizardman take a pull and blow a plume of smoke straight up into the air.

“That’s not much of a trick,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, “but it’s the only way they let me have these.” He took another pull and blew smoke out his nostrils, like a dragon.

“So,” I asked, “do you ever miss Shangri-La?” He gave me a sidelong glance.

“Shangri-La?” he said. “Ah. The posters. Shangri-La doesn’t exist, Edie. I’m from Delaware.”

“Are you really?”

“Mm-hmm. Worcester County, specifically. At least, that’s what I was told. I was sold to the circus as an egg.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. It’s actually not a bad life.” He chuckled and tapped the ash from his cigar. “You know, I used to be under the Big Top. I juggled knives on the tightrope and sang opera with the clowns. The magician used to have a trick where the clowns would wrestle me into a cabinet and spin it around. Then he’d pop out like he’d been changed by magic.”

“Wow!” I cried. “That would have been a sight to see! But how come you’re not under the Big Top anymore?”

“I’m past my prime,” said the Lizardman with a shrug. “My joints are stiff, my bones all ache, and I don’t see quite so well anymore. But Lizardmen don’t grow on trees, so they kept me around. I was in the sideshow for a while, until I took a bite out of the human blockhead for saying something stupid. But this little tent suits me fine. It’s warm and dark, and nobody comes around.”

The tip of a thin pink tongue passed over the Lizardman’s lips. “And the nice thing about that is,” he continued, “you don’t overhear the gossip. You know. Whether Sadie loves Chester or Alfonso, or if the fire-eater’s a communist. Or whether the Lizardman’s worth the chickens they feed him.” He chewed on the end of his cigar and stared off into space.

I got to my feet and brushed the dirt off my skirt. “I think you’re worth all the chickens in the world,” I said. 

“Really?” said the Lizardman.

“Really. There’s got to be a million or more chickens in the whole United States of America, but how many Lizardmen are there?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” the Lizardman replied. “I’ve never seen another one of my kind.”

“Never?” I asked, eyes wide.

“Never,” said the Lizardman. He tapped a little ash from his cigar.

“Well,” I said, “even if there was a whole Lizard New York, you’re the only one who sings and juggles and smokes a cigar. There won’t never be another Lizardman like you in the whole history of the world.”

“Don’t use double negatives, Edie.”

“Don’t sell yourself short!” My voice nearly cracked. “And if you want me to, I’ll come back here every single year. I’ll save up all my quarters so I can come here and sit on the floor and listen to you tell your stories. I’ll listen to you. I’ll listen to you.”

The Lizardman slowly lowered his cigar. “I think I’d like that, Edie Cartwright,” he said. I dug into my pockets for my last nickel and stepped up to the cage.

“For you,” I said, showing it to him. “To remember me by.”

The Lizardman slipped a bony hand between the bars of the cage. I dropped the nickel in his palm, and he pulled it back again. He turned the coin over in his hand, again and again. It flashed like a minnow in the dim.

“Time’s up,” the lady in the polka-dot suit softly said as she poked her head into the tent. The Lizardman closed his hand.

“Don’t forget,” he whispered. 

“I won’t,” I whispered back. “This time next year. The circus always comes around.” The Lizardman nodded and raised a solemn hand goodbye as the lady led me out of the tent.

I walked home that evening, wrote the date on a scrap of paper, and hid it under my pillow. Mama scolded me for how dirty I’d gotten, but I barely even heard her. I was already thinking about next year. I was ready to wait.

And I’ve been waiting since. It’s been forty long years, and the circus has never missed a date. But the lady in the polka-dot suit sells lemonade now, and there’s a flea circus in the old yellow tent.

[dyrewrites]

Pale Blood - Kiki and the witch

Kiki hissed and growled and slammed against the odd material of her woven prison. This human reeked of magic, as did her own, but it lacked the gentle notes; the sweetness. Her nose twitched with the lack of that scent, it flared and begged to be free of it. But the cage wouldn’t budge and the shiny material hurt her teeth to bite and her claws to scratch. So she yowled and, when the smelly human dared place her fingers too close, she snapped.

Renna–who’s done nothing to deserve a name but we will allow her one for clarity’s sake–screamed at the cat teeth buried in her finger. Then she yanked her hand free of the beast and slapped at the basket…and hissed as the thorns of the witchvine she’d weaved it out of bit into her flesh.

“You are no cat!” She howled at the purring thing in the basket. “You are little more than a pookah, a bitter scrap of fae-shit unfit to be anything but fuel for my spells.”

Kiki did not understand the smelly human’s words, but the disdain that puffed through them rang clear enough; she had been insulted. So Kiki did what she always did when she felt insulted but could neither scratch nor bite. She scrunched herself up, stood on her tip-toes and thanked her human for having such a greasy meal for her to dig out of the trash before the smelly one showed up.

“What are you doing in there?” Renna asked–unaware of how her words shook.

The cat grunted and trilled but did not move or yowl. Renna poked at the witchvine, pressing on the spaces between the thorns, and the basket tilted. But the cat made no sound beyond its low grunting.

“I will have you know,” Renna tried, hitching her voice in an attempt at intimidation, “Your owner has been warned that you might not survive to our meeting.”

It was then the cat made a sound, it was a small sound, a chirp of sorts. But the sound didn’t bother Renna, it didn’t even register to her ears. It was muffled, smothered by an acrid stench that burrowed through nostrils and lips and burned in her one open eye.

Kiki waited until the smelly human clamored out of the car. She continued to wait until the sounds of retching, and screamed words she didn’t understand, were far enough to be lost to the hum of the car’s innards. Then stood up in her prison and pushed at its ceiling, shoving her fluffy paws through the edges between top and bars. Her paws cried out and her pads bled but she continued to dig and push. If that smelly human wanted to hurt her, or hurt her human, she would have to work for it.

A bloody trail followed Kiki out of the basket. It trailed her across the seats and out the same door the smelly human had fled from. Outside the car it stank of wet, of dirt and of the foulness in the sky, but in that filth and grime she smelled her human. She smelled her home. And her front paws ached, spilling thin rivers of red, but still she chased it.

---

Taglist;

@rmgrey-author

@ruinmegently

[333iris777]

28.8.24 her angel braids and the devil's rise to grace

These braids won’t make my sin go away

The silver screen can’t get any blacker

Forcing the smoke down through the gag

Everyday's a dream when you’re only awake

And my mind is only on letting the pattern repeat

Blue mandala catching all my bad dreams

She wants to speak to me on dmt

But I can’t yet, I’ll go crazy for good, you see

He's such a sweet talker, but when he disappears

He disappears for good

All the eyes I see staring at me wasting my good

Keep your chin low and your eyes half shut

My chipped cherry polish my most impossible task

Lying dormant in my cage - way to use free will for disgrace

Complaining the bars are too hard

When I won’t claw them out of the way

The prying eyes forget I can bite off their heads

But I just lay silent, kept half dead on purpose

And I braid and braid my hair 

Pretending i'm not falling from grace

Heaven is mine, it's filled with flames

I've never heard a laugh, so I think it a scream 

And a roar in a zoo meets curious expectation 

It would never occur that a roar's a lion’s suffocation

I cried when I was born to open up my lungs

So I cry no more, I keep it beneath my tongue 

My lungs the cautious dormant retreat of the failed venus fly trap

My breath an attack no more

The braids an angel ignorant of the fall.

[mrsalwayswrite]

My Guiding Lights (Tommy Shelby x reader)

Summary: Tommy does not handle being out of control well, it claws at him like street cats, fighting and biting until he cannot handle it anymore. So when you are giving birth to his first child, he takes matters into his own hands.

This is my contribution to @emilyhufflepufftlk 300 followers celebration! Congrats again!

My prompt was: the one with the birth

Quick disclaimer: I am not an expert in birthing practices during the 1920s nor am I Romani. For this story I did some research on both topics but not extensive, so please forgive me if I get anything inaccurate or misrepresent the Romani practices. I know I took some liberties because of what we have seen in the show.

Warnings: reader giving birth (if you haven't picked that up by now), mild language, brief mention of past violence, Tommy's mind and control freak tendencies.

Words: 4700

Tommy paced the snug of the Garrison, the few paces it consisted of. His feet guided him as his thoughts twisted and tumbled over one another. His strongest asset under attack. Stinging wasps infiltrated his mind. Fears plagued him. Stinging. Tormenting. Worry echoed with each footstep. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth he paced. 

He should have been utilizing these past few hours properly. The power-hungry businessman within him demanded it. Making plans for further expansion into and around London. Listening to the whispers of gossip and the hidden morsels of truth in them. Anything. Even cracking a few heads and bloodying his suit because someone looked at him wrong. Anything other than this useless pacing. 

But the concern and fear kept an ever tightening chokehold around his throat, refusing to relent. So he paced. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

By the time he was done, there would certainly be a permanent groove embedded the wood floor. 

Never more had he felt a predator trapped in a cage. Staring through the bars, eyeing those who stared warily at him, waiting….just waiting to sink his teeth into someone and shred them, just to momentarily sate the burning fear that choked him. 

He stopped his pacing to throw back another glass of whiskey before resuming his relentless pacing. His suit jacket had been discarded within the first hour of his arrival at the Garrison. His sleeves were now rolled up, the top two buttons undone on his dress shirt. His hair most likely looked a mess with how often he had run his fingers through the dark strands. He knew this was a side of him rarely seen by the population of Birmingham. Thankfully so. For when Harry opened the door into the snug, to bring in their newest bottle of whiskey, he had physically recoiled when meeting Tommy's icy eyes. The gangster wondered how much of the manic consuming his mind bled through into his gaze, making him seem more crazed predator than human. 

And so he paced.

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

"Tommy, sit down." Arthur chuckled, throwing his cards down on the table. A groan left his lips when he realized that he lost another hand in the poker game Tommy was supposed to be playing with his brothers to distract him. Instead he was pacing. 

Tommy ignored his older brother. His feet never stopped. 

"C'mon, Tom." John smirked as he pulled the winnings closer to him. "You know Pol's takin' care of her. Esme's there too. She'll be fine."

"Not wot you was saying when your first was born, eh?" Arthur pointed out, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before draining it. "Puking behind the Garrison, you were. Drinking like a fish then to puke it all up from nerves. Me and Tommy almost put you outta your misery, knock you out cold. Fuck. Was planning on it when Ada came running' and screaming' about the baby being' born. Then you could barely walk back to Watery Lane, reeking of whiskey and vomit. If Martha wasn't holding a baby in her arms, she'd probably have hit you with her favorite pan. Yeah, that bloody heavy one too."

The corners of Tommy's mouth tilted upward as Arthur spoke, taking a moment to reminisce. He remembered Ada and Finn's births as a child himself. He could remember finally being allowed to return home after hours of being forced to stay outside while his mother screamed and cried with bringing new life into this unforgiving world. Yet with John's first, he had been a man and had a better understanding of what was going on. Of how precarious and difficult giving birth could be for both the woman and child. How there was no guarantee that both would survive. That a new life could just as easily rip away the one guiding it into the world. And all the blood and screams….

With that thought in mind, Tommy started pacing and chain smoking again. Fears renewed and clawed at him until he wanted to smash his head against the wall to just make it stop. 

Right away this morning, before the sun even graced the sky and he opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong. 

Tommy always woke up before his wife, usually before any other Shelby member since he was a child. There was something about waking up before the rest of the world, in taking those minutes of silence and peace to allow his mind to fully awaken and his body to restart. To just be….until he put on the suit and firmly tightened the stoic mask he wore and became what he needed to be. 

Once he met you, the love of his life, and convinced you to start regularly sleeping in his bed, he was now not as quick to rise and greet the sun. He would be awake, but instead of crawling out of bed like before, with a cigarette in hand and searching for a glass of whiskey to toss back, he would linger. His hand might trace lightly over your exposed skin or listen to your breathing there in the morning gray. His thoughts would writhe and twist like normal, scheming and planning before he had even rubbed the sleep from his eyes. But with you in bed next to him, he remained just a little while longer, soaking up the peace he only found with you nearby. His wife. The one who truly saw past his mask and drew out the hidden, compassionate side of him he had thought long dead and buried. 

So when he woke up this morning, finding himself alone in the bed, only the first rays of sunlight hinted in the sky….he knew something was wrong. 

Dressed only in a pair of knickers, Tommy rushed downstairs to find you washing the dishes you had been too tired to finish last night. Your nightgown hung loosely over your frame, but clung jealously tight against your swollen belly. As he opened his mouth to ask what you were doing, you froze, hand gripping the edge of the sink with an intense look of concentration. After two deep breaths, your eyes focused back as if waking from an uncomfortable daydream. It was then you noticed him. A beguiling smile lit up your face as you spoke softly. 

"We're having a baby today."

And his whole world imploded. 

Apparently, your contractions had started the hour prior and because of them you could not sleep. So instead of waking Tommy, which he was quite unhappy about and made sure you understood, you had snuck downstairs to do some chores while you waited for your contractions to progress. He logically knew it took hours until it was time for the baby's arrival, especially with the first. It did not mean he liked the idea of you suffering alone, even if you assured him you were fine. 

Eventually Polly arrived, took one look at you and stated, "I had a feeling when I woke up it'd be today." Then she eyed Tommy in his undressed state, since he refused to leave his wife alone, and forcibly commanded that he get dressed and get to the betting shop. This was women's business now. 

Yet while at the betting shop, he could not think. Worries gnawed away at his mind like filthy rats. Panic and despair whispered their half-truths into his ears. In his distressed state, all he could do was stare at the green doors. Knowing on the other side was his beautiful wife in labor with their first child. A baby they were both thrilled to have. Now anxiety reminded him what you must endure to bring his child into the world, to place it in his arms. And how easily he could lose both you and the already beloved baby. 

Only after two hours of being open, Arthur and John shut down the shop for the day and dragged his arse to the Garrison. They kept Scudboat and Lovelock back to maintain presence at the betting shop and announce that it was a Birmingham holiday. 

Hours late here he was. Still pacing. That ever tightening chokehold of fear made it hard to breathe. The heavy stone of anxiety threatened to cave in his chest. There had been no word of how you were doing. Or how the babe was. So his mind conjured nightmares to fill in the void of information. He wondered if the combination of terrifying thoughts and excessive whiskey would send him puking his guts out behind the Garrison. Now he felt a stab of regret for teasing John so ruthlessly after his own turbulent experience. 

"Tommy," John murmured again, an undertone of understanding in his voice. He met his older brother's eyes, compassion shining as he spoke words of reassurance. "She'll be fine. She's strong. Pol won't let anything 'appen."

Tommy nodded silently, letting his brother's words flow over him like a cool breeze. 

"Think the babe will look like Tommy?" Arthur asked, rearranging the cards in his hand. Clearly attempting to break the tense air stifling the snug. 

"I fooking hope not. Poor child will be teased if he's that ugly."

Tommy lightly smacked the back of John's head, even as John just smirked and swatted him back. For a moment, the despair lightened like the sun breaking through storm clouds. 

Arthur laughed loudly. "Yeah, probably best the babe takes after y/n. A beauty she is. Poor girl can't go anywhere without men just staring at 'er."

"That's me wife you're talking about." Tommy growled but without any sort of heat behind his words.

"And the perfect wife for you!" Arthur raised his glass in a toast before tossing it back. John quickly followed suit. 

Tommy made a mental note to ask about who has been staring at his wife. Then he started pacing again. 

Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

Finally, the storm swirling in his chest reached its peak, battering against his resolve until it lay decimated like a ship against the merciless rocks. He had to do something. Anything. If he continued pacing, drowning himself in whiskey and cigarettes, he was going to lose what last pieces of sanity he still maintained. 

No one wanted to see the consequences of that. 

Without a word, he grabbed his suit jacket and yanked it on. Even before his arms were fully in the sleeves, he had thrown open the door to the snug and raced out like the devil was on his heels. From behind, he could hear Arthur and John calling out to him but he kept moving. His fears, his sudden terror, growled at his heels like vicious wolves. His need to know, to see his wife, propelled him onward. 

Tommy was a man who had always liked to be in control. Who held all of the cards and could play them as he pleased. Who was three steps ahead of everyone else. It was not arrogance when he could confidently say he was the most intelligent man in Birmingham. Ever since he was a child, he had always been more clever and smarter than his peers. When others could only see a straight line, he saw multiple, twisting lines that got him farther and with more resources than that single straight line everyone else saw. 

Beyond that, he needed that control as much as the air he breathed. For without it, he felt like a rowboat lost at sea, tossed about by waves and praying it would not capsize. Bad things usually happened when Tommy was not in control.

But in this situation….he had none. There was nothing he could do. There was no one he could pay for the right information. No way to be ahead of the game. He had no control over childbirth. Over the pain his wife would endure. No control if everything went to hell. There was not a goddamn thing his hands or his mind could do to solve it. 

And that very simple fact terrified him down to his core. 

Without a care, he threw open the front door to 6 Watery Lane and stalked in like a predator on the loose. 

Almost immediately, Esme popped around the corner from the parlor. Shock initially crossed her face before morphing into confused annoyance. She crossed her arms over her chest, dark eyes narrowed at him. "You can't be 'ere."

"It's me own home."

"You can't be here!" Esme practically snarled. "You'll bring bad spirits with you!"

Tommy approached his sister-in-law, his movements smooth, not giving away the way he felt his bones vibrating with agitation and concern. He stopped just in front of her, towering over her smaller form, his voice cold and clipped when he directed his question to her. "Where is she?" 

Before Esme could respond, Polly stood behind her, an almost matching scowl on her face. 

"You shouldn't be here, Thomas. This is women's business. You'll make the birthing further unclean if you come in."

"And bring bad spirits with you." Esme mumbled, still glaring though. 

Tommy raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, willing himself to take a deep breath and not yell at the women in his family. He knew they still clung to many of the Romani beliefs and superstitions. Something he had never truly believed himself. All those notions about luck and bad spirits and fate….as a young boy he had disregarded it and continued to ignore them for the most part. The only thing he did believe in was curses. 

When he no longer felt the urge to rampage through his own house, looking for his own wife, who was going to give birth to his own child, he lowered his eyes back to the women folk. Slowly he enunciated his next words, allowing his frustration to bleed over every syllable and hopefully make them realize how serious he was. "Where. Is. My. Wife?"

"Tommy, you can't–" Polly stopped and looked back into the parlor room, clearly listening. With a grumble, she rolled her eyes and stepped to the side just enough to indicate her begrudging willingness for Tommy to enter. "She's asking for you."

With a nod at his aunt, he crossed into the parlor room, unsure exactly what he was stepping into but knowing he needed to be here. For both himself and you. 

What he saw both made his heart race and blood turn to ice. There you stood in front of the fireplace, still dressed in the loose nightgown. The firelight danced across you, highlighting your swollen belly and the sweat on your brow. Your hands tightly gripped the back of a wooden chair, your eyes pinched shut and a pained grimace on your face. 

"She's close. Won't be much longer now." Polly softly said, shifting to stand by Tommy's side. 

He nodded mutely at the same time your eyes slowly opened and turned to him. A stab to the gut, a bullet to the shoulder, anything would have been less painful. For it was the pain still obvious in your eyes and in every bead of sweat dotting your skin, that hurt to bear witness to. The worst was the small, shaky smile you gave him, the reassurance he needed when it should be the other way around. 

"Tommy…." You barely mouthed before pinching your eyes shut again and your lips pulled back in the grimace as the next wave of contractions slammed into your body. 

Immediately, Tommy moved. He shucked his suit jacket off, tossing it carelessly onto the couch. In the next step, he moved behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "What can I do, darling? Please tell me I can help."

With the short reprieve between contractions, you leaned back, resting your head on his chest. "I'm fine."

He snorted. "You're in labor." His hand absent-mindedly ran along your side and towards your back. "How can I help?"

A soft sigh escaped you. "Right there. My lower back."

His hand returned to rubbing soothing circles and applying pressure against your lower back. In the next moment, you were leaning forward, gripping the chair with a death-like hold. 

He turned his focus onto his aunt, a new layer of fear and worry dripped into his blood like poison. "Shouldn't she be….screaming?"

"Some women handle pain, even labor pains, differently." Polly stared thoughtfully at you, someone the matriarch had stated was family even before you married Tommy. "You remember when she fell and got that gash on her arm. It bleed so much, I worried she'd pass out, but the whole time she never cried. Even when I stitched her up. Brave, foolish girl."

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek as the memory swept over him. It was before your relationship became concrete, when the two of you were just friends but he wanted so much more. The story you had shared was that you tripped and fell. Later, he learned the whole truth from one of the Peaky boys. That a drunkard had knocked you down and spat on you because in his intoxicated state, he confused you for his wife who was  coming to retrieve him from the bar. The next day Tommy and his brothers paid the man a visit, educating him on what happens to those who hurt persons under the protection of the Peaky Blinders. 

"I need to check her." Polly said, drawing Tommy out of his memories and back into reality. 

Once the contraction ended, Tommy stepped back to roll up the sleeves of his shirt again while Polly checked your dialation. 

The matriarch smiled up at you. "You're just about there. You're doing so good, love."

You nodded, already leaning forward with the next onslaught of pain. 

"Tommy shouldn't be 'ere, s'not right." Esme said, taking a random scarf laying around and sliding her fingers through, making sure there were no knots. 

Tommy glared at her, his voice ice cold. "I'm not leaving me wife while she's in pain."

With a huff, Esme got up, muttering under her breath continuously as she stomped over and rummaged through her bag. 

Tommy swung his gaze back to his aunt. "Don't force me to leave. Please." He whispered. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a little boy. A vulnerability that had been shattered under the impact of his father's fists and the realization that the world did not care for lowlife scum like him and his family. But for this….for you, he would beg to not leave your side. 

Polly hesitated but something in his gaze, in his words, made her inhale sharply and nod. Perhaps she caught a glimpse of that long lost boy she had watched vanish before her eyes. "Alright, Tom, but when it's time, you do what I say. No questions asked."

"Yes, boss." 

She rolled her eyes, even as the corners of her lips tilted up. "I'll get the hot water and cloths ready."

As Polly headed towards the kitchen, Tommy returned to his spot behind his wife, rubbing your lower back and whispering encouragement. He knew enough from helping horses that nature would take its course and all one could do was wait. 

Esme came to his side, holding a comb. "Let me brush her hair, can't have any knots. It'll help bring luck."

For the next several minutes, Tommy and Esme worked on you. His fears continued to fester. It was obvious each contraction seemed to worsen. The few times a whimper escaped your lips, he pressed his face against your head, wishing he could take away your pain. He would give anything to alleviate your pain, to take it upon himself. But he could not. So he did what he could to help, even if he felt useless. Which irked him. Made his skin crawl at his own uselessness. Those stinging thoughts in his mind transformed into vultures, circling, circling, waiting to feast on his decaying sanity. 

What chewed away most at his confidence was how unresponsive you became as labor continued. He could still hear your breathing, could feel your heartbeat. But when Esme directed a question at you, it took several tries of your name before you responded. 

He could not help but wonder if your continued silence was better or worse than screaming. 

After some time, you stiffened. Your head shot up to where Polly had been standing, watching you with a hawk-like precision. 

"I pushed….I–I didn't mean to. It just happened–"

"Good girl, it's alright. That just means it's time." His aunt said calmly, then directed the others like the general she was. "Tommy, help her around. Sit down in that chair, I want her squatting in front of you. You'll support her. Esme, prepare the cloths." 

Tommy helped his wife quickly as his aunt directed. He sat down and spread his legs wide for you to squat between, facing outward. Pain seemed etched onto your beautiful face, your breathing shallow. Sweat coated your body. As soon as you were in position, you grabbed his hands, your arms over his thighs. He clutched your hands in return, hoping it brought you some idea of relief. 

Polly knelt in front of you. "Alright, love, push when your body tells you too."

Time was irrelevant as you worked and fought to bring your child into the world. Your grip on his hands was borderline crushing but he never thought to complain or try and pull away. He continued to whisper, his lips against your temple, tasting your sweat, embracing what pain he could, to try and take it from you. 

"I can't, Polly." You whimpered out after some time. The first words you had spoken since Tommy walked in a couple of hours ago. "I can't….I'm so tired."

His heart shattered like a glass window listening to you. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He wished he could offer you some comfort, some relief, but this was your battle, and he was stuck on the sidelines. 

Polly's dark, knowing, eyes met yours. "Yes, you can. I promise. I can feel the head. You're almost there, love. A couple more pushes then you can meet your baby. Think about that. You can meet your babe in a few minutes. Don't give up."

You nodded before giving a grunt with the next contraction. 

"One more! The head almost came out!"  

Tommy pressed his lips to his wife's ear. "Let's meet our child, eh? My strong wife. Let's see our baby."

He wondered if you heard his words, if that was the encouragement you needed. For in the next instant, you let out a pained cry as your body shuddered. 

"Yes! One more! I've got the head!" Polly said, with her hands underneath your sweat-soaked nightgown. 

"Hear that? One more, my sweet darling. One more." Tommy crooned.

Then he heard it. The squelch. The flush. The sound of life entering the world. 

Immediately, you sagged in his arms, all energy drained, like a puppet with its strings cut. He grabbed a hold and fell with you to the ground, cradling you in his lap. Blood stained your dress and legs, soaking into his clothes but he did not even notice. His sole focus was on the rapid breathing of his wife, your eyes closed and lips pressed together. 

"Oh love, he's beautiful." Polly cooed as she cradled the bloody bundle in her arms. She used a different cloth to wipe away his face and head, a beaming smile on her face.

At her words, Tommy felt his heart miss a beat. A son. He had a son. 

"Open your eyes, love. Meet your son." Polly carefully knelt down, holding the baby. She placed the newborn on your chest. 

Even as shivers rocked through your body in response to the trauma it just experienced, your hands reflexively stilled as they cradled the newborn against you. 

"We need something of Tommy's to wrap him in!" Esme cried. 

"Me coat." He mumbled, eyes locked onto his son. Yet relief waited at the threshold, not quite ready to enter in and erase the fears and worries Tommy still harbored. 

Esme grabbed the coat, bringing it over and gently laying it over the baby and his wife's bloody, sweaty body. 

While you gazed lovingly down at the baby you had brought into the world, Tommy watched his aunt and Esme turn your body carefully and reach back under your nightgown. After several long moments, the faintest hint of concern slid off Polly's face. 

She glanced up at him, most likely feeling his gaze locked on her. "The afterbirth is out and her bleeding is already slowing down. She'll be alright, Tom. I promise."

And with that simple, reassuring promise, the foul air that filled his lungs with fear was knocked away with a swift kick. Relief finally crossed the threshold and anchored itself into his mind. His arms tightened around his still trembling wife. The emotional turmoil he had warred with throughout the day seeped out, leaving him emotionally exhausted. Yet through it all, he had never felt more alive. More hopeful. 

His focus dropped down to the baby on your chest, his little mouth opening and closing slowly and his tiny fingers twitching. A sense of awe and wonder crawled up his spine to twist around his heart. You, his beautiful wife, had given him a child. A single tear escaped his watery eyes and dropped into your hair but neither of you seemed to notice, too absorbed in the miracle you had created together. 

"You did it." He croaked out. "We've a son. Our son." 

"Our baby." You murmured.

As if hearing your words, the newborn opened his eyes….and Tommy thought he could drown into the vast blue of them. For they were his eyes staring back at him. 

At that moment, he knew he would do anything for his son. He thought he knew love when he gave his heart to you, when he allowed himself to be completely vulnerable with you in ways he had never been with anyone else. But this….staring into his son's eyes. It was a far different feeling than he expected. For you, his wife, he would sell his soul to the devil without a second thought to take care of you. But for his son, for this new babe in your arms that with a single look shook the foundations of his world, he would storm the gates of hell and rip the devil's heart out himself if anyone dared harm his child. 

"I love you." Tommy whispered as overwhelming emotions welled up in his chest, clinging to his throat, and threatening to escape in sobs of sheer relief and devotion. Instead he placed a kiss to your temple and ran a single finger over the top of his son's head. 

"I love you too, Tommy." You glanced up at him, from where you reclined against his chest, before turning back to your baby. "And we love you. Mummy and daddy love you so much."

Tommy stared down at his family, the love of his life and his newest reason to be better, to do better. His heart stretched and strained, trying desperately to fit the love overfilling it, just trying to accommodate it all somehow. 

As he continued to gaze down at his son while Polly helped you to try and feed him, he knew one thing for certain. What ruthlessness people thought he harbored was nothing compared to what would be unleashed if anyone dared to touch his family. A peaked cap or a bullet to the brain would be the least of their concerns. He would overthrow governments to keep his family safe. He would break countries to keep his family protected. Nothing was outside of the realm of possibility he would do. For as his love grew to encompass his new son, his need to see him and you safe mirrored it. Whatever it would take. He would see it done. 

For his wife and now his son were his guiding lights and he refused to allow anyone to put them out. 

Tag List:

Peaky Blinders- @slytherinicequeen @geekandbooknerd @lilyrachelcassidy @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @minxsblog

(lemme know if you wanna be added or deleted from the tag list)

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Downfall - Jayce x Reader (Explicit)

***

After a massive explosion at the Academy leaves Piltover in disarray, Jayce orders the capture of known Zaunite activists to try and locate Jinx. But when he arrests you, he might get a lot more than what he bargained for...

***

"Let me go!"  

You screamed, you hit, you bit, but they held onto you tightly, fingers digging into your skin as they dragged you down the stairs. The two men all but threw you into the underground cell like a dog, and you immediately sprung on your legs to claw at the metal bars. They watched you with vague disgust, and you snarled. If they wanted an animal, they'd get one.  

"Fucking sewer rats…" the first one said, wiping the hand that had held your arm like it was infected. "They all smell like shit." The other one watched you with a more careful eye, his blue gaze slightly fearful. "I just want the councilor to get here so we can leave… I don't trust her."  

As if on cue, heavy steps echoed from outside the dimly lit room. A large man opened the door, bending his head to get through the doorway before going down the wooden stairs. The golden accents of his posh suit glistened off the lights on the wall, his tan skin rosy, his ebony hair slicked back to perfection. You could have laughed; he couldn't look more pompous if he tried.   

"Sir!"   

The large man glanced at the guards, dismissing them with a wave of his broad hand.  

"At ease, please."  

His eyes landed on you, and he examined you unsurely, like he wasn't sure if you would bite if he got too close. You maintained his stare defiantly, holding your head proud.  

"I'm sorry for the harsh welcome," he said with the soft but firm voice of a politician, getting a little closer to your cage with careful steps. "We just want to know where Jinx is."  

You looked into his deep green eyes as he approached, and behind his composed facade, you saw fear and hate look back at you. As soon as he got within reach, you spat on his shoes.  

Immediately one of the guards jumped at you, hitting your fingers on the metal railing with his baton as you yelped in pain: "How fucking dare-"  

"It's fine," the tall man cut, holding him back with a stiff grip. "Stand down."  

The soldier grumbled under his breath, staring daggers at you before rejoining his partner's side at the back of the room, who had seemed horrified at the whole ordeal. The large man stared at his stained shoe silently, his determination to stay amiable clearly crumbling.   

"We'll let you go as soon as you tell us where she is," he said, tone significantly lower. "That's all we want."  

You watched him, eyeing the golden keys dangling from his pocket, looking at his body for some sort of weakness. His chest seemed sculpted out of rock, the muscles barely contained by his dress shirt. His legs were thick and powerful, his neck almost broader than your entire head. He would not be an easy one to defeat. Then, something hit you: you had seen that man before. You had seen him in streets and vendor stalls, on walls and posters, his handsome smile plastered all throughout the city.   

"I know you," you purred, feeling a smile creep up your lips as he flinched. "You're the man of progress. You're the golden boy !"  

He looked sick. He took a step back, his eyes darting to the floor in something akin to guilt; you had found a weak spot.  

"Weren't you supposed to make the world better for us, golden boy? Weren't you supposed to save us all with your hextech? Is this all you do behind closed doors, kidnapping defenseless little girls to put in your dungeon ?"  

His face hardened, and he stared at you coldly, hands balling to his side.  

"You're nothing remotely close to a defenseless little girl. You almost killed one of my men when they tried to bring you here. He may never see again."  

You hummed, delighted in how his fists almost shook in frustration at your nonchalance. "I did him a favor. The world is ugly, golden boy. And before last week, you were all already blind to it anyway."   

He was clearly trying very hard to stay neutral, but his whole body was an open book, and you could see he was fuming.  

"Before last week, Piltover had leaders it could count on. They had their faults, but they were people striving for the betterment of both our nations. Jinx murdered them all in cold blood."  

You picked at your nails in disinterest: "And yet you're still standing here. Jinx didn't do a great job."  

He moved, and for a second you thought he was going to lunge at you through the bars before a metallic sound echoed throughout the room. He froze. He looked in panic at the top of the stairs as the sound got closer, before someone knocked indignantly at the door, clearly ready to break it down if no one answered. "Jayce !" a heavily accented voice shouted outside. "I need to speak to you right now !"   

The man, Jayce, let out a heavy sigh, large shoulders hunching in defeat. He threw one last look at you before giving his attention to the two guards, who were looking at him in confusion; the man upstairs was clearly not supposed to be aware of your presence. "You're dismissed," he mumbled to the two men, and the three of them headed up the stairs, the guards disappearing out of your view. You caught a glimpse of a cane and two pale, thin legs, before Jayce closed the door shut behind them.  

"Is that what we are doing now? Taking prisoners? Have we sunk so low?" the other man hissed in anger.  

"Viktor, you don't get it," Jayce answered in a hushed voice. "We have to-"  

Their voices got lower, their heated debate muffled by the rock walls. You leaned in as far as you could, only catching the last of their argument  

"- that is fine. But do not expect my support with this," the thinner man seethed. "You have changed, Jayce." You heard him leave in fury, metal cane angrily hitting the floor.

For a moment, you heard nothing, and you wondered if Jayce was going to go after him. But the door to the cellar creaked open, and he walked back inside with a blank stare, like someone had just dropped the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. You felt no sadness for him.  

"What happened? Your daddy didn't know you kept girls locked up down here ?"  

He looked at you with pure, unadulterated disgust. "I'll come back to see you later. I hope for both our sakes you'll be ready to talk then."

---

It felt like hours had passed before Jayce came back, but when he did, you were ready, a small rock nestled in the palm of your hand. It was not as sharp as you wished, and you had bloodied your fingers trying to dislodge it out of the wall, but it was the best you had, and it would have to do.  

You couldn't help but feel a slight excitement as you heard his heavy footsteps upstairs, imagining the despair on his poster-boy face as he bled out on the floor, left to die by a street girl half his size. It was all he deserved. It was all any of them deserved for what they had put your people through.  

You rolled into a tight ball against the wall as you heard him go down the stairs, hiding your face inside your arms and holding on tightly to your weapon.  

"I've brought water, and food," Jayce said in a much calmer voice than earlier, and you heard the sound of a platter being set down on the floor. Then, he seemed to notice how you were placed. "Are you ok ?"  

You stayed still.  

"Hey," he said, rattling the cell's bars, a hint of concern in his tone. "Hey!"  

But you didn't move an inch.  

He cursed under his breath and you heard the jingle of keys before the cage's door creaked open. You felt him approach you, and his large hand touched your shoulder so gently you almost felt bad for what you were about to do. "Are you alright ?" he breathed out worriedly.  

You turned quickly, rock in hand, aiming for his jugular with all your strength. But he was bigger, faster, and not as gullible as you had assumed him to be. He quickly grabbed your arms and pinned them to the wall, the tiny rock barely cutting his cheek as you yelped in surprise.  

"Fuck," he breathed out angrily. "Why would you do that ?!"  

You trashed around, trying to escape, but his grip was like metal, your arms moving uselessly against it.  

"You don't get it. You never will," you hissed, trying to dig your nails into his tan skin. "I'll die here before I tell you anything, and trust me, I won't come at you with just a rock next time."  

He looked at you with pity, and you felt like ripping off every inch of his perfect face.  

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, and his breath smelled like the expensive dark coffee nobles would throw at begging children at the outskirts of the city. "Please. I don't want any this."  

You spat in his face.  

His hands reflexively let your arms, and you used the momentum to kick his stomach with your knee. He doubled over, whimpering in pain, and you fell to your knees next to him, desperately clawing at his pants for the keys. But they weren't there. They weren't there.  

A strong hand grabbed your ankle, dragging your face down to the floor, and you yelped in pain. He turned you around like you weighed nothing more than a few grains of sand, trapping you underneath his body, his face contorted in anger. "Ok, that fucking hurt !"   

You swallowed with difficulty, fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins as you struggled to regain your breathing.   

"You're…" you started, voice raspy. "You're smarter than you look. You took the keys from your pocket when I wasn't looking."  

His thick eyebrows were frowned in annoyance, but you didn't miss the hint of a cocky smile drawing itself on his lips: "Out of all the things I thought you'd to say, a compliment wasn't one of them."  

You panted silently, eyes never leaving his. It was eerily quiet, almost peaceful, his body warm against yours, and for a moment you let yourself imagine if it would be so bad to stay in this cell if it was with him.  

"I," you started, breaking the silence, "think you broke my ankle."  

He didn't move. With how close he was laying, you fully took in the details of his face, noticing the sharpness of his jaw and the fullness of his lips, tiny scars peppering the copper skin. The posters truly didn't do him justice. He smelled like expensive cologne and fancy shampoo, with a faded scent of fire and metal.  

"I'm sorry about the ankle, but I can't let you move right now," he answered calmly, warm breath tickling your face. "You haven't given me many reasons to trust you."  

You hummed, feeling your body throb in exertion at his weight on top of yours. Had the circumstances been different, you wouldn't have minded being in this position with him. Maybe, if the way his eyes had darted to your cleavage as he had pinned you down, he wouldn't have either.  

"I promise I'll let you go if you just tell me where Jinx is," he said gently, and you felt a pang of annoyance in your chest. "Is that the only thing you know about Zaun? Jinx? Do you think she represents all of us ? Do I look like Jinx ?"  

He opened his mouth to argue, but you didn't let him, smashing your lips against his decidedly. He went rigid, eyes wide in surprise, but he didn't move, still holding you down with the same force. When you pulled away, he was flushed, and very, thoroughly confused.  

"You…kissed me."  

"I did," you answered.  

"You kissed me," he repeated in bewilderment, "after you just tried to cut my neck open with a rock."  

"You were talking too much about her. It pissed me off," you explained simply as you licked your lips, noticing the way his eyes followed the motion.

"Zaunites take what they want, when they want it. And if you want me to tell you anything, golden boy," you said, pointedly rocking your hips against his, "you're going to have to make me."  

You could read every thought and emotion going through in him as he studied you unsurely. You rolled your hips against him again, and he made a small strangled sound, biting his bottom lip. He let out a final shaky breath before looking into your eyes, decided: "If you do anything that makes me think you're trying to escape," he said, tightening the grip on your wrists, "this ends immediately. Do we understand each other ?"  

"I believe we do," you purred, and your lips met his again. This time he replied in fervor, his tongue meeting yours hungrily. You bit his lip harshly and his eyes glistened in challenge, his teeth clashing against yours defiantly. You fought sloppily for control, drool running down your chin before you had to pull away for air.  

"You really taste like rich people's coffee," you hummed, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his.  

"And you-" he started with a smirk, whatever smart talk he had got stuck in his throat when you bent to kiss his neck, "you…"  

You nipped at the skin, quickly finding his pulse and sucking onto it. His hips ground onto yours, and you felt his length dig into your thighs. When you pulled away, his cheeks were red, and he was panting.  

"You…" he mumbled, trying to remember what he was going to say. "You're wearing too much clothing."  

You nodded pointedly at his hands pinning you down: "You could always let my hands go so I can take some of it off."  

He laughed, and the sound was deep and gentle against your ear.  

"I'm an inventor. I'll find another way."  

He lowered himself slightly to put his mouth to your stomach, bitting a fistful of the fabric with his teeth before pulling in one swift motion, ripping the seams with the strength of his jaw. He let the ruined fabric fall out of his mouth with a cocky smile.  

"See? Didn't even need to use hands."  

It would be a cold day in hell before you told him that had made you clench.  

"Did it occur to you I might like this top ?". But his attention was already on your chest, warm mouth working your tits readily. You didn't want to admit it, but he was good. What he lacked in technique he made up in eagerness, his lips going from one nipple to the other, swirling them with his tongue as your toes curled.  

"Fuck," he muttered against your skin, "they're so fucking soft…"  

You moaned appreciatively, your fingers uselessly grasping at nothing as you wished you could fist them into his hair.  

"See ?" you exhaled, "We have nice things down in Zaun too."  

He stopped at that, looking up at you from under your breasts. "I don't- I don't hate Zaun. I just-" he interrupted himself, looking away hesitantly, "I just don't think it's possible for our people to simply get along anymore."  

"We've never gotten along," you answered curtly. "The upper city has just ignored us until someone was brave enough to make us heard."  

His gaze hardened, and he brought himself up slightly, holding his forehead against yours to look into your eyes.  

"And is that someone Jinx ?"  

Your eyes narrowed coldly.  

"You talk about her too fucking much."  

Your lips crashed against his, mean, rough, and when you bit it was to draw blood. He answered in the same way and you felt dizzy as a metallic taste filled your mouth, the sensation overwhelming. You gasped for air when he pulled away, feeling like you had forgotten how to breathe.  

"You're jealous of her," he stated matter of factly, lips tinted red, like his tongue hadn't been deep inside your throat seconds earlier. "Why ?"  

You scoffed, spitting bloody saliva to your side. "I'm not jealous, I'm mad. You pilties all think she's some sort of criminal mastermind with a grandiose plan to bring you down. She isn't," you grunted. "She's just fucking insane."  

You moved your hips against him, rubbing your thighs against his length as his breath hitched. "Now, can we go back to the part where you fuck me ?"  

His voice tightened when he replied: "We sure can."

To your surprise, he let go of your wrists, hands settling against your waist instead. "Don't make me regret this," he mumbled.  

Then, in an instant, he had you in his arms, pinning you against the wall a few feet off the ground. Your legs automatically snaked around him for safety, and he smirked in that horribly perfect way of his. One of his hands left your waist to pull down your pants, letting them fall loudly onto the floor as he almost ripped off your underwear. His thick fingers quickly found your warmth, teasing your clit. "Have you been this wet all along?"  

You opened your mouth to snap back an answer, but he shoved two digits inside your heat without warning, and your mouth open in frozen surprise. You whined as he started moving them, their size already filling. The confident smile on his face grew, and he glanced at you amusedly. "Is this how you do all your negotiations, or am I just a lucky guy?"  

You bit down your lips painfully, the fragile skin bruised and bloody, to prevent a moan from coming out when his fingers curled.  

"Y-you're one to talk, golden boy," you snarled with as much irony as you could. "That man that came earlier, you let him fuck you, don't you? You were shivering like a little bitch when he yelled at you."  

His eyebrows furrowed, his gaze burning into yours, and his fingers picked up in speed, fucking you against the rock wall.  

"Don't," he said in warning, voice low, "talk about him like that."  

You glared back at him, meeting his angry stare.  

"Make me."  

His fingers left your insides swiftly, and you felt your cheeks redden when you unwillingly let out a whine of complaint. He unzipped his fly, bringing his cock out to lay it against your lower stomach, and you swallowed hard. He was long, yes, but he was thick, the head impossibly bulbous, easily the size of your fist. He hummed in satisfaction at your lack of answer, coating your skin with beads of precum: "Now that shuts you up. You like that, baby girl ?"  

You wanted him. You wanted him to shut his stupid mouth and pound into you with all that stupid strength of his until you could do nothing but lay there and take him.

"I expected bigger," you mumbled, looking away, "but with the size of your ego it was clear you were compensating for something."  

His lips straightened into a thin line. He let go of his cock to line it up against your entrance, his now free hand going to your face and firmly holding it against the wall.  

"You really should learn to shut up," he muttered, and you barely had the time to say wait before he pushed into you, his head barely making it through the resistance of your walls. You let out a silent scream, mouth agape, eyes rolling back into your skull. You saw white as he bottomed out, feeling your thighs shake against him.  

"Sorry, did you ask me to wait? I don't think I heard you very well. Speak up, baby girl." At your lack of answer, his bravado fell, and his free hand gently caressed your cheek in worry. "Are you ok? I should have gone slower, it's a lot all at once-" You kissed him savagely, regaining your senses, the feeling of him in you overwhelming perfect. "Don't stop."  

That was all it took to convince him. His eyes close shut and he pounded into you, once, twice, thrice, rythm impossibly fast and rough, and you felt like a cotton ragdoll in his arms.  

"Fuck, fuck you're so tight-" he mumbled incoherently against your ear. Your brain felt like it had become mush, thoughts jumbled, your nails desperately scratching his back. His right hand left your cheek to go tease your clit, and you felt tears pry at the corner of your eyes. "Tell me," he panted, still thrusting inside you with the same determination, "tell me about Jinx."  

You could have punched him.  

"You never stop, don't you ?" you snarled, seeing stars when the tip of his cock hit your cervix. "You-you'll have to fuck me harder than that, golden boy." The next thrust almost made you black out, his body against yours the only thing keeping you upright. "T-tell me, did the -ah- did the rest of the council peg your tight little ass? Is that why you-you're so upset they're dead ?"  

His eyes burnt into yours passionately, and you felt heat pool into your lower stomach.  

"Big words coming from someone with a cock in her."  

The fingers on your clit pinched down punishingly, and you felt a finger prod at your entrance alongside his cock. You could do nothing but scream as you came all over his cock and the tip of his index, screaming.  

"Shh, good girl, good job baby, shh…"  

He kissed your face gently and it took you a few seconds to realize it was wet with tears. He pulled out of you, growling as he gave his cock a few last pumps before he came all over your legs. He brought you slowly to the floor, and you collapsed against him, too tired to move on your own.   

"You didn't cum in me," you mumbled against his skin, and he looked down at you in confusion. "Were you… that scared you'd be stuck with a zaunite kid ?"  

You had meant it as a small jab, but something in what you said cut him much deeper than you expected. There was something horrified in his eyes, like you had learned his deepest secret and spat it back into his face.   

"You're wrong," he let out in a small, strangled voice. "I value zaunite children just as much as any other kids. I would never hurt a child, I never meant to-"  

He cut himself off, looking away for you not to see his face. The room was silent, and for a moment, you thought he might have been crying. You slowly got up, gathering the ripped pieces of your clothing around the cell and putting them back on as best as you could.  

"I dont know where Jinx is," you said finally, looking at his crouched form on the floor. He had seemed so big a few minutes ago, so powerful and enormous, that it was almost hard to believe you stood in front of the same man. "No one does. She doesn't get found, she finds you. And if she does, you're as good as dead."  

He let out a small defeated sound, still looking away, expression obscured.  

"You weren't going to tell me anything else from the start, were you ?"  

You didn't answer. Worldlessly, he reached inside his shirt, pulling out the small set of keys. He threw them without turning around, and you caught them with one hand.  

"If you take a left at the end of the corridor, you'll find a window big enough to crawl through. I'm guessing you'll be able to find your way after that."  

You hummed, opening the door to the cell before throwing a look back at him.  

"Won't they wonder why you just let me go ?"  

He laughed, bitter, empty gaze lost on the rock floor.  

"'They'? Who ?" he let out sourly. "I'm the only councilor left."  

You watched him silently; you had never felt pity for someone from Piltover. Maybe you had both learned something tonight.  

"You're much less impressive when you're crying, golden boy," you said softly. "You've worked under the assumption that you could find Jinx. You can't. But what you can do is make her come to you."  

He looked up at you in surprise, green eyes suddenly a little brighter.  

"…thank you."  

"Don't thank me. This was a business deal, nothing more," you threw back at him as you went up the creaky stairs, only stopping at the door to give him a final warning.

"Just hope you're ready when she comes, Jayce."

[dark-and-kawaii]

𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽 : Makki and Matsukawa would totally share the same pussy and that thought alone makes my brain go brrr 🥴 same with tsumu and samu sharing 💦 do you think ushi would share with tendo sorry my brain is on a three way kick

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : Hanamaki x Reader x Matsukawa - Atsumu x Reader x Osamu - Ushijima x Reader x Tendou

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : NSFW - Fluff - I love them

𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮 : I 100% agree they would be in a poly relationship with you xoxo and thats how it would be. But again I'm going to try and capture how they'd actually be when sharing xoxo I hope you like it!!! I hope I captured them xoxo!!!

Matsukawa and Makki 100% are both in a relationship with you and they love every minute of it.

They don't do anything with one another but they sure as hell do a lot to you. Making you break between them is something they both look forward to damn near every day.

Matsukawa works during the day and because Makki is currently jobless he's left to "take care" of you. Don't worry, Makki makes sure you're nice and satisfied before you leave the house. Makes sure you leave feeling full, if you catch my drift. 

Speaking of being full, you'll more than likely be with them for the long run because they honestly couldn't imagine being with anyone else… and they both want a kid… of their own. 

They will be filling you up with their cum till you're nice and pregnant, and there isn't really a plan. They both just fuck you and see who's kid comes first. 

If Makki's kid comes first then you're off limits until Matsukawa gets you pregnant… they aren't trying to raise more than two kids… Neither of them could afford it as much as they'd love to see you pregnant 24/7.

Both are protective of you. If you're at a bar with them and they see some guy getting handsy with you they will come up behind you- Makki snakes his arm around your waist while Matsukawa wraps his arms around your neck. 

They'll put on a small show for the ass hat who dared tried to swoop you up,  Makki starts to raise your sexy little dress and Matsukawa begins to mark your neck. 

After the guy hastily makes his way out of the bar -stumbling in the process- Matsu and Makki push you in the men's restroom to have some fun with you. 

Osamu and Atsumu will share you for about a year or two before Atsumu breaks down and forces you on the spot to pick one of them. 

You didn't ever see yourself being in such a  predicament, but here you were… stuck between the Miya twins as they fight over who gets to date you. 

Atsumu is the one who grabs you by your arm and pins you to his chest, his other hand running through your hair "(y/n) knows who the better choice is!"

Osamu is next to grab you by your arm and yank you to his own chest, "Do ya feel threatened by ya much better lookin twin!!"

Atsumu was furious and in a blind rage he thought what he was saying was the best thing "HOW BOUT WE SHARE HER THEN!" 

His plan was to prove to you he was the better twin…

Its not all the time, but now and then they will both tag team you and spit roast you.

Atsumu isn't a fan of sharing -even though this was his idea…  he's an idiot-.

Osamu isn't really a fan of it either. Samu however won't ever admit it… but he loves to smirk at his brother devilishly when pounding into your tight cunt. Making you scream his name and moan in pure bliss. He knows he's bigger than Atsumu and it makes him cum ten times harder knowing he can please you and reach deeper than his twin. 

Thus what starts to claw at Atsumu. He knows he knows much better tricks and moves in bed but the way you moan for Osamu is different.

Samu hates it when he's trying to sleep and Atsumu has you caged underneath him, pounding you raw and making you scream as he bites down on your neck. Osamu likes a sleep schedule and Atsumu loves fucking it up with your help.

There are decent days where they do actually enjoy sharing you. 

Osamu will make you your favorite for lunch and Atsumu will have you in his lap while you and him both eat samu's delicious meal. It makes Osamu smile tenderly, watching both you and his twin enjoy his food. 

Atsumu enjoys walking in on you and Samu playing video games, his twin laying atop of you lazily while smashing the B button. It makes Atsumu want to jump on the two of you, so he does :). 

Nights like those usually end with all three of you curled up. Osamu with half his body on you and Atsumu wrapping himself around your other half. Or you'll be snuggled into Osamu’s back and Atsumu will be spooning you. They don't admit it until it's the end of the relationship, but they both really liked sleeping like that. 

Both keep an eye on you when out in public and to be honest no one ever tries to mess with you when they're around, it's nice.

About a year and a half goes by and Atsumu is starting to make it big, more girls are trying to get him in their bed and he hates it. He wants you and only you. He wants a family. 

Osamu is starting to feel similar feelings, he wants a child to feed his food to, he wants you to himself in his own bed and he wants you to work at his restaurant with him…

You're all having dinner when Atsumu aggressively slams him utensils down and stands up dramatically, "Ya gotta pick (y/n), me or him." Both him and Samu's heads are hanging low… one of their hearts were about to shatter, they just hoped it wasn't theirs. 

You were originally JUST Tendou's girlfriend. He doesn't share, and you sure as hell didn't want some grimey girl to put their hands on him. 

But, things change and now Ushijima is on top of you pounding into you as if you were going to be his last lay. His cock slamming into your cervix as you cry fresh tears. 

Ushijima looks up at Tendou who is now caressing your cheek, wiping away your tears, "its okay, she's enjoying it.  My little bunny is just really sensitive and is trying to hold back her climax." 

Ushijima has never had a girlfriend before and he never really was interested in one until he met you. He was jealous of you and Tendou and eventually his guessing best friend caught on. 

Tendou is the one who offered Ushijima to join in the next time you and him had sex,  that it would only be a one time thing. But that one time turned into another time and then a third time until finally it was just a normal thing.

Now you have two tall men in your life who want nothing more than to please you and make you happy. 

When they're both out at the mall or grabbing groceries they'll both either find a small pin for you or some small trinket and bring it home for you. Or if they're at the grocery store they will both pick out a treat specially for you.

Ushijima sometimes doesn't know what to pickout for you though so Tendou will walk up to him smiling and help, "no no, this one! She'll like these the most!"

They both enjoy curling up with you on the couch to watch movies and fall asleep. Ushi and Tendou are big babies and it always makes you giggle when they both fall asleep on you.

Bedtime is HOT, and not as in sexy hot but sweaty hot. My god both these beast put out a lot heat and as much as you try you can never roll away from them. If its not Tendou pulling you back to them its Ushi wrapping his strong arm around you so you can't move. 

Best to sleep naked or in your undies babe.

~ 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝔀𝓲 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Okay, I know hockey player versus figure skater is a super cliché rivalry, but all day today, my brain was like “hockey player Cassian! Hockey player Cassian! Hockey player Cassian,” so here we are. Also, fun fact, this exact event actually happened to my little brother at one of his games. TW for blood and injuries. Hope you enjoy :) @nessianweek

The cool rush of the air conditioning is the first thing that hits Cassian as he pushes through the doors. The throwback pop song pumping out of the speakers and the smell of popcorn from the snack bar hits him next. He shifts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, resettling the weight, his sticks clacking together in his other hand. He makes his way over to the board declaring the locker room assignments for the day, squinting until he finds the Illyrians. He's about to head off toward their locker room when his eyes snag on someone. 

Nesta is perched like a queen on one of the benches in the lobby, her white skates resting beside her. She has a sweatshirt pulled on, but the red skirts of her dress skim across her thighs, and Cassian can see the jeweled embellishments peeking out under the collar. Unsurprising, she has a book opened in her hands, probably another of her smutty romances. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, Cassian finds himself drawn into her eyes, the way they glint as they dance across the pages. 

Cassian doesn't have to think twice before he's sauntering over to her. He drops his bag with a loud thump at her feet, a smile pulling across his face at her answering glower. He loves this game they play. The way he pushes her buttons and she pushes his always leaves flames licking up his skin in the most delicious way. He's sure they make quite the sight, the hockey player and the figure skater, but he'll never stop going back for more. 

"What do you want, Cassian?" 

"Love the outfit today, Nes. The sparkles really contrast well with your dark soul." 

"Don't you have to go smash someone into the boards?"

"I'd love to press you up against the boards." 

Cassian throws a wink her way for extra good measure, and the way Nesta's eyes narrow has his heart ticking up slightly in his chest. 

"Prick," Nesta mumbles, opening back up her book. 

With a chuckle, Cassian takes it for the cue that it is, picking back up his bag and heading for the locker room. He offers Azriel an easy grin as he passes him, his brother merely shaking his head at his antics yet again. 

~ * * * ~ 

Nesta hears her sister before she sees her, Feyre's laughing bouncing off the walls of the lobby. She closes her book and grabs her skates, but as she heads for the door, her steps falter and pause as she takes in Elain walking in beside Feyre. 

"Since when does it take both of you to pick me up?" Nesta asks once her sisters are close enough to hear. 

"Actually," Feyre starts slowly. "We were thinking we could stick around for the game." 

"What," Nesta deadpans, taking in both her sisters' expressions and inwardly sighing when she sees they're both actually serious. "Fine. Give me the keys, and I'll pick you both up later." 

"Oh, Nesta," Elain says, taking Nesta's hand in her own. "It'll be fun. Besides, you and Cassian are friends. Don't you want to see him play?" 

"We are not friends." 

"That's for sure," Feyre pipes in. "There is way too much sexual tension for that to be considered friendship." 

Nesta shoots a glare Feyre's way, but her sister merely smiles innocently. The mischievous glint swirling in her eyes tells Nesta she's not getting the keys from her youngest sister anytime soon. Which is how Nesta ends up pressed between her two sisters, the cold of the metal bleachers biting into the underside of her thighs and a shared blanket draped across their three laps. Elain keeps clapping excitedly to her right while Feyre shouts, "go, baby, go" every time Rhysand cuts up the ice on her left. Nesta thinks her eyes might actually get stuck from rolling them so much. 

Despite the equipment and jerseys making it hard to tell the players apart, the whole team blending together into a mash of blues and gold's, Nesta finds she can pick Cassian out fairly easily. She tells herself it's because he's clearly the biggest guy on the team and the hair sticking out the back of his helmet is a dead giveaway. But either way, her eyes always seem to find him any time he's on the ice, whether he’s sweeping along the blue line to make a play or throwing his body against the other team. 

They’re into the third period when Nesta watches Cassian jump over the boards, joining the rush before falling back into the neutral zone as the other team gains possession. He guards his man well as the play shifts to their defensive zone, the other player trying and failing to shake Cassian loose. The player tries to deke around him, but Cassian is quicker, their sticks clashing together. 

It's like it all unfolds in slow motion. The puck popping up into the air between them. The other player raising his stick like he plans to bat the puck down. The stick colliding with Cassian's head. 

There's a collective gasp from the crowd watching the game as Cassian crumbles to the ice, falling onto all fours. And then there's red. A few drops at first, but soon it's a steady stream. It seeps into the ice, spreading out around Cassian like a crimson puddle. 

"Oh my gods," Feyre whispers.

"I hope he's alright," Elain chimes in. 

Nesta knows that her sisters keep speaking, but all she can hear is a ringing in her ears, like a high pitched screaming sinking its claws into her mind. Her hands fist into the blanket in her lap, and she watches with wide eyes as a trainer walks onto the ice, pulling the cage of Cassian's helmet up and sliding a towel under. With the help of two teammates, Cassian's on his feet and skates back to the bench. Nesta's stomach roils as one of the rink staffers and the referees scrape Cassian's blood from the ice, and even when the game resumes, she can't take her eyes off Cassian slumped over his knees on the bench. 

~ * * * ~ 

Cassian can't help but poke at the bandage on his forehead as he checks himself in the locker room mirror. It's still tender, and he winces at the pain that radiates from that spot. Definitely going to leave a scar. At least he got a goal tonight. Small victories. With a sigh, he shoulders his bag, grabbing his sticks by the door and heading for the rink exit. 

When he steps into the lobby, he finds Nesta standing there. Cassian knew that both her sisters were here earlier, but a quick sweep of his eyes around the room shows them nowhere to be found. When his eyes dance back to Nesta, she's already looking at him, something intense brewing in her eyes like storm clouds rolling in. It leaves Cassian captivated, and in a few strides, He’s standing in front of her, dropping his bag at their feet. 

"What are you still doing here, sweetheart?" 

Cassian throws as much cheek as he can into the question, letting that cocky grin he knows gets under her skin slide across his face. He expects Nesta to scowl, to make some snide remark back, to pick up their game right where they left off, but Nesta's face remains serious. He watches in confusion as she crosses and then uncrosses her arms across her chest, takes a deep breath like she's steeling herself. 

"I just wanted to make sure you're alright," Nesta explains, her eyes glancing up to the bandage before settling back on his own. 

"Oh," Cassian says dumbly, blinking down at Nesta a few times before his brain finally catches up. "It was just bad luck. Stick hit just right for one of the screws in my helmet to go right into my head." 

"It looked… bad." 

"Well, head wounds bleed a lot." 

Nesta nods and silence falls like a blanket between them. Cassian's brain kicks into overdrive, suddenly desperate to keep whatever this precarious moment is going, keep her talking to him, keep those eyes on his. It sparks in his chest like a piece of flint, fire burning under his skin. He's so busy floundering, trying to will his head and mouth to produce actual words, that he almost misses the frown that takes over Nesta's face, her eyes caught on his hand. 

"You're not thinking of driving, are you?" 

The sudden question takes Cassian by surprise, and Cassian’s brow furrows in confusion until he remembers his car keys are in his hand. 

"How else would I get home?" 

"You can't drive with a concussion."

"What makes you think I have a concussion?"

"How could you not have a concussion?" 

"If I had a concussion, why would I have gone back out on the ice to finish the game?"

"Because you're an idiot." 

Before Cassian can even splutter out a protest at the insult, Nesta is reaching forward and snatching the keys out of his hand. Then, for good measure, she reaches out and takes his sticks out of his hand too. 

"There's an Urgent Care like five miles away that should still be open." 

With that and a final, firm nod, as if she's decidedly made up her mind and Cassian can't change it, Nesta turns on her heel and makes for the doors. Cassian is left there gaping, blinking dumbly after her retreating form, while his sluggish brain tries to grasp what exactly is happening. Maybe he is concussed. Not giving himself another second to contemplate, Cassian scrambles to pick up his bag, tossing the strap over his shoulder as he hurries after Nesta. 

"Can I at least buy you dinner after?"

[senorincognito69]

She, cougar 

Roar! ---Text:

Some people never have enough.

Shannon’s life had been one of constant unrepentant success, getting everything she wanted socially, professionally… and sexually. Yet, as time moved on and she aged like fine wine her cravings and desires only grew stronger, unrestrained, wild.

She began to prey on men already taken by other women.

She became a cougar.

Her delight was for young dumb lads with shy unassuming girlfriends, such as Adam.

Shannon sat in the bed, admiring how Adam undressed to take a quick shower, her crotch was warming up, she felt like pouncing.

“That gift was something else, dear! I wasn’t expecting that you would send me something in the mail, so classy! ” she said with a half-chuckle. “Furry panties! I’ve never seen anything like that! I loved it, I’m wearing them right now! I hope you bite them off! But I didn’t know you worked at the zoo.”

“Hmmm? Mail? Fur panties?” mumbled an already naked Adam with his usual absent-minded demeanor. “I’ve got no clue what you are talking about, but I’m glad it made you happy! Also, I don't work at the zoo, that’s my girlfriend. Emma? Remember her? Anyway, I need to get rid of this sweat, I’ll come out in a minute! You can begin masturbating without me if you want!”

He went into the bathroom, his brain empty, just feeling horny.

Shannon’s smile was glued to her face… her crotch was on fire…

…

“That whore, she wouldn't dare…!” Shannon cried, kicking and struggling with her tight yoga pants.

When she managed to pull them down it was already way too late, the fur of the panties had become one with her skin, her crotch was completely covered, she saw her vagina change to leathery black.

“My cunt! What has she done to me?!”

The coat of fur spread up and down, her muscles tensed, empowered, her nails curved into claws, fangs in her mouth, when her tail began to elongate between her legs she snapped into full panic mode.

“ADAM! ADARMMMMMMMGHHHHHH!”

Adam didn’t hear her pleas. Shannon ripped herself out of her clothes, crawled on all fours. She couldn’t stand up, fur was taking over everything, teats, her face deforming as she roared.

When claws pierced the bathroom’s door Adam finally became aware that something was wrong… there were screams, confusion, sirens… the last thing Shannon remembered was a pinch on her butt before everything went black…

A few months later Emma walked around the zoo with Adam, a lovely morning stroll.

They stopped in front of the cougar’s cage, inside a fine female specimen with blue eyes was laying around, lazily, seemingly bored and slightly annoyed with her existence. Emma approached and fearlessly passed her hand between the bars to offer some meat to the big feline.

“Aren’t you scared of that thing biting off your hand?” a wary Adam asked.

“Naaaah,” giggled Emma. “Sasha here is just a big kitty with pretensions of being a bad-pussy! Isn’t that right, Sasha? Horny kitty is joining the breeding program this weekend, she can't wait to have a male pumping her down!”

The cougar purred in a way that sounded like a sigh, approached the hand… and began to eat the treat that her keeper offered…

This caption was part of a batch of captions from the Shoebox tier of my Patreon. I do not own the rights to the original images, if the owners requests their removal I will remove them. If you would like to help Senor Kinky Studio produce more TFerotica consider using one of these links: www.patreon.com/senorincognito… app.gumroad.com/senorincognito… senorincognito69.fanbox.cc/ ko-fi.com/senorincognito69 And don’t forget to fave, watch and comment! 8D

[98prilla]

Shifted

Thomas decides to see what all the Side’s animal forms would be. It does not go so well for Anxiety. 

This is set pre accepting anxiety, and diverges a little from the cannon of that episode, fair warning.

He is terrified. His heart is pounding as he pulls further back into the shadows, hiding under the couch. He can hear the others out there, talking, laughing, having fun. This isn’t fun.

“An owl? Really, Thomas, owls aren’t even actually smart, their eyes take up much of their cranial cavity.”

“Come on, kiddo, they are symbols of wisdom. And those wings sure must be nifty! I’m having a pawsome time myself!” A groan at the pun.

“I always thought Logan was a bit bird brained.” Roman mutters. “But seriously, a dragon? While the scales are quite flattering, it is a bit strange, considering I usually fight them.”

“I don’t know, Roman, I guess cause you’re always talking about questing I just settled on a fantasy creature. It is pretty cool." He rolls his eyes at the huff of pride he can hear as Roman no doubt puffs up his chest, flares his wings.

“Speaking of strange, where's anxiety?” his ears flatten against his head, pulse picking up again. They’re talking about him.  

“He should be here. I did summon him.” Thomas, confused. He curses his inability to sink out in this form.

“Perhaps he has taken the form of a smaller animal and is hiding.” He almost hisses, could Logic shut up for once?

“Aw, maybe we should look for him! He’ll probably be so cute!”

“Please. That weirdo is probably a venomous spider or a little parasite. Who cares, where he is?” yes, thank you Roman, for once being not a moron.

“Patton, if you’re worried perhaps you can sniff him out. You are a cat, after all.” No. Nonono. Logic, shut it!

“Good idea, Logan. Give it a try!” and he is outta here before he even knows what he’s doing.  

His terror skyrockets and he shoots out from under the couch to the startled yelps of everyone else. Everything is big, huge, compared to him, the living room seems endless.

The stairs, he just needs to get to the stairs and he'll be able to physically enter the mindscape, he’s so close-

Then there is the flap of wings, a victorious shriek, and talons are digging into his shoulders pinning him down.

“Well, what have we here?” He shoves aside his fear, proud as his voice comes out just as scathing and steady as ever.

“Get off, you overgrown lizard.” He bites out, Roman’s scaled head coming into view. He glares at Roman’s laughter.

“Anxiety, kiddo? Is that you?”

“No, its Joan, yes it’s me, Patton, now get off, Roman!” His heart is beating fast, too fast, and his words are wavering. He is afraid, afraid, afraid. He hates this, hates it, he just wants this to be over.

“Hmm. I don’t think I will. Think about it, Thomas. We have the opportunity here to get anxiety out of our way for good.” His stomach drops, his blood goes cold, he is shaking.

“Roman, what are you suggesting?” Logan, he can’t be considering this, please no, please!

“I mean, we don’t need to vanquish him. We can keep him like this. Put him in a cage, or something.”

“I'm not a pet, you idiot, and you can’t keep me like this forever.” He hisses out.

“Oh contraire, little mouse, we can keep you weak enough you don’t have any choice.” His heart lurches as he is lifted up, Roman's wings buffeting him, they are in the air.

“Roman, put me down! I… please! Pleasepleaseplease…” he is crying now, begging, because he can’t, this can’t be happening, they can’t actually intend to keep him locked in this form, weak and powerless, in a cage.  

The floor seems so far away, and he feels sick, from the altitude shift or what is happening or both, he can’t tell. The anguished terror is filling him and he lets out a broken, choked sob.  

This is what he gets, for thinking he could ever be accepted, for thinking he could ever be tolerated, much less liked. All he’d ever done was his job, and this is his reward.

“Logan, what-" he lets out a squeak despite himself as a blur of gray rams into Roman, sending him spiraling off balance.

Then he feels the talon’s grip slip, and he screams. He is falling, flipping through the air. From this height in this form his bones will break, shatter, with his luck his neck will snap. He has time to cry for help, before he impacts.

“Gotcha!” The halt is jarring, and he is shaking, instinctively flattening himself to make as small a target as possible as he tries to get ahold of himself. He realizes it’s soft, the ground.

He looks up and nearly screams again, instead flattening further. Patton has caught him, sitting on his back haunches, he is caught in Patton's front paws.

“p-p-put me d-down. Please.” His voice is a whisper, trembles making him stutter, but Patton instantly complies, much to his relief.

He hears a shriek and looks up, just in time to see silver talons coming right at him, then they crash into him and he feels a ripping pain in his shoulder.  

He can hear Patton yelling, Logan screeching, Roman growling, and it is loud so loud and all he can think is he is about to die-

“Enough!” Thomas yells, and suddenly the ground isn’t so close, suddenly he is stumbling to his feet, lunging for his normal spot on the stairs, reaching it in two strides. He lets out a relieved sob as he clutches the bannister, looking back at the others.

Logan has landed in a heap on the couch. Patton and Roman are tangled around each other on the floor. Patton's gaze meets his, worried.

“kiddo, you’re bleeding.” He lifts his hand numbly to his shoulder, mildly surprised as it comes away sticky and red. He lets out a broken, bitter laugh.

“Gee, wonder how that happened. Not like someone was trying to kill me, or worse hold me captive and torture me for my whole existence." His voice is raw and instead of biting sarcasm, it comes out as an almost whisper, red rimmed eyes glaring at the floor as he shakes, from latent fear and pulsing anger.

“Anxiety-" he half successfully chokes back another sob, harsh laughter tearing at his lungs.

“no, know what, it’s fine. It’s fine, Thomas. I always knew I wasn’t wanted. I was an idiot to hope you might… might ever actually change, actually want me around. Hell, even care about me like I care about you and keeping you safe.” He can barely stand, he doesn’t know if it’s from the pain and blood loss or the adrenaline fading or the panic attack he can feel pressing against him, tightening his chest.

“Kiddo…” he shakes his head.

“Y'know, if you really wanted me dead, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve done it myself.” He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t see the pained shock on Patton's face, the suspicious surprise on Roman's, the horror on Logan’s. The pain on Thomas's. Instead, he flips up his hood, hugging himself as he wordlessly sinks out.

He managed to lock the door before he collapses to the floor. His chest feels like it's being squeezed by a boa constrictor, his ribs crushed and all the air shoved out of his lungs. His vision narrows to a dark pinprick, gaze unseeing as he sees Roman's talons again and again, falling and splattering against the floor, bones shattered, bars, a cage, closing in, pressing him tight, he can’t breathe, he’s choking, he’s dying, god, he’s going to die here. Why not? He laughs hysterically, that’s what they want, may as well give it to ‘em.

“virgil, no. It’s not what we all want. Come back to me, stormy. Focus on my voice. You can do it, Virgil.” Virgil. None of them know his name. Only, only…

“Dee?” he chokes out, blurry vision focusing enough to see Deceit, holding his hands in his lap, rubbing circles on his knuckles.

“There we are. Hello, dearest.” Deceit reaches up, softly wiping away his tears, brushing back his hair.

“I’m an idiot. I’m a stupid idiot.” He mutters.

“No. Virgil, you’re not. It’s ok.” He hisses in a breath of pain as Dee places a hand on his shoulder, vision going speckly at the slight contact. Dee pulls away, eyes wide, face darkening to fury.

“You’re hurt. Vee, you’re bleeding" he just shrugs, another sob clawing its way out of his throat.

“Doesn’t matter.” He whispers. Deceit hisses, and pulls him onto his lap.

“It does. Even if they don’t care, even if they don’t love you, I do. It matters to me. You will always matter to me. You’re my baby, Virg. Even if you’ve left the nest, you’re still my little rain storm. Got it?” He feels Dee's extra arms removing his hoodie, then all six are cradling him against Dee's chest, holding him tight and safe and secure, letting him relax and melt into the touch, knowing Dee will never let anything hurt him. He feels Dee press a kiss to his head.

“you’ve wiped yourself out, love. I'll take care of that nasty shoulder gash. Get some sleep, dearest.” Weakly, he clings to Dee's shirt. He doesn’t want him to let go, he doesn’t feel safe, if Dee lets go.

“I’m staying, darling. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

“remus-"

“can rain down all the hell he wants. Until you’re better, they deserve it.” He finds he can’t argue with that. He falls asleep to Dee humming softly, stroking his forehead and holding his hand, his other arms working to gently bandage his shoulder.

Deceit sighs as he hears a crash. Looking up, he sees Remus kick in the door, eyes aflame.

“who hurt him? Who’s ass do I gotta beat until it falls off?”  

“hush. I just got him settled.” Dee replies. In three strides, Remus is beside him, head cocked unnaturally far to the side, like a snapped neck.

“He’s ok?” Remus asks, neck snapping back to a normal position with an audible click.

“yes. Keep an eye on him, please?”

“What? Where're you going?” Remus asks. Deceit’s eyes flash.

“I am going to go see what exactly those half-witted buffoons did to send him spiraling. Then I am going to determine whom it is I need to beat the shit out of.” Deceit growled, stepping away from the bed.

“Boo, you never let me have any fun.” Remus pouts. He instantly stops as Virgil lets out a small sound, immediately climbing into the bed with him and spooning around him. Virgil curls against him immediately, stilling as he clings onto Remus.

“Thank you.” Deceit murmurs from the doorway. Remus nods.

“I'll take care of our little stormy night. You go teach ‘em a lesson, Dee.” Remus replies, relishing the sharp fanged smile Deceit flashes him, before sinking out. As an afterthought, he snaps, replacing the door, before turning his attention to Virgil, trying to mentally send him all of his love. Virgil is more of a brother to him  than Roman has ever been, and he hates seeing him hurt.

“hang in there, vee. Dee'll fix everything.”

“I highly doubt he wants to be called right now.”

“But he was so scared! We have to help!”

“I don’t know Pat, seeing us might make it worse.” He clears his throat. He meets three sets of surprised eyes with steel. Thomas yelps and falls backwards, catching himself on the wall.

“Who is that?!”  

“Deceit, you scurrilous snake, what are you doing here?” his eyes narrow at that.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Roman, was I not wanted here at this exact moment?” his voice is a perfect mimicry of Virgil's, and to his satisfaction it makes Roman flinch.

“Thomas. This is Deceit. He is responsible for the lies you tell not only others, but yourself. I am puzzled as to why you have appeared now. To my knowledge, no lies have been spoken.” Logan explains, and his hands ball into fists.

“Oh, truly, why ever would I be here? It'ssss not like Anxiety returned bloody and injured, in the midsssst of a panic attack, talking about how nobody wantssss him and it doessssn't matter. I’m sure that hassss nothing to do with it, Logic.” He hisses out, spitting Logan's title like it burns his tongue.

He can see Patton's guilty face out of the corner of his eye, knows whatever happened, it wasn’t him. But Roman… yes.

“So Thomas, dear, care to explain what happened?” He asks, sickly sweet, turning his gaze to Thomas, who has a slight frown on his face. As an afterthought, he notes that Thomas isn’t afraid of him, despite his scales and sharp fangs. Interesting.

“I thought it would be cool to see what everyone’s animal forms would be. Logan was an owl, Pat was a persian cat, and Roman was a dragon. But we didn’t see anxiety anywhere so we thought he was small and hiding and maybe too scared to move. Pat was gonna find him, then a mouse shot out from under the couch and Roman…” Thomas trails off, eyes shifting away, but it’s enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Roman. Care to continue?” Roman meets his ice cold gaze imperiously.  

“gladly. I captured the fiend in my claws. Hurting him was an accident. I merely meant to catch him while he was small and couldn’t hurt us and contain him. Keep him small, so he’d stop bothering Thomas. It’s not like we need him, anyways.” Roman scoffs.

Rage is filling him. Because Roman truly thinks he is in the right, truly thinks he didn’t do anything wrong, and his voice is proud as he speaks about traumatizing Virgil, who is the youngest, the smallest, the most vulnerable to start with. How dare he?

Before he can think, he has crossed the room, he rears his hand back and slaps Roman hard enough to send him reeling backwards.

“You are a heartless, soulless bastard. I told him not to come, I told him he’d get hurt but he didn’t listen. You know why? It’s certainly not because he wants to be included, he doesn’t yearn for your acceptance, it doesn’t break him a little more each time you all dismiss and send him away unwanted. He definitely doesn’t just want to be liked! He never has a hard enough time just being himself, being afraid, all the fucking time, and you have certainly helped make him feel right at home.” He hisses, ignoring the tears stinging at his eyes as he whips around, facing the rest of them.

“And you’re no better. How do you think it feels, knowing the person who conjured you doesn’t even want you? How terrified would you be, surrounded by people who have never showed you kindness, who have admitted their distaste, small and defenseless, being threatened to be put in a cage? His worst fear is something happening to Thomas and being unable to reach him, to react and help. It’s his job to protect Thomas, and you were threatening to keep him away, to put Thomas’s own safety at risk for your own stupid biases! You were threatening to make his nightmare real, and not a single fucking one of you said otherwise, did you?!” He yells, slowly looking at each of them in turn. No one will meet his eyes now, not even Roman.

“you don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve his name. No wonder he hasn’t told you. You’re a bunch of ignorant bullies. And you’d say I’m the bad guy. You all picked out the most vulnerable and pounced.” He shifts his head, turning to Thomas, a curling, empty smile on his face.

“It was a fucking pleasure, Thomas. I’ll be taking my leave.” The lie is bitter and acrid on his tongue, tasting of ash as he sinks out.

He returns to Virgil's room, immediately hurrying to his bedside, because he is crying, despite Remus's attempts to soothe him.

“Vee, what’s wrong?” he asks. Virgil glares at him through his tears.

“you said you were gonna stay!” he lets out a soft breath, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I know. I just had to check on something. But you know Remus would never let anything hurt you, right?” Virgil nods, leaning back into Remus's arms.

“That’s right, starshine. You’re safe.” Remus whispers, rocking Virgil gently, who responds by pressing his face into Remus's chest.

“You’re staying now, right?” Virgil mumbles. He smiles, slipping under the covers.

“I am. No lies this time.” He murmurs as Virgil lays down, curling into him. He reaches out with all six arms, pulling Remus closer, hugging both of them and sandwiching Virgil in warmth and safety.

“What was it?” Remus asks lowly, once Virgil is out again. He sighs.

“Shapeshifting, animal forms. He was a mouse. Roman was a dragon. Threatened to keep him locked up. It got physical.”

“You mean Roman was a bitch and attacked Virgil unprovoked.” Remus's voice is flat, and he shoots him a soft look, one of his hands slipping into Remus's.

“I’m going to kill him.” He squeezes Remus's hand.

“Later. We can work on murder plans later. Right now Vee needs us.”

“Anxiety, it’s dinner time!” Patton's voice trills. He opens his eyes with a groan, freezing instantly.

This… isn’t his room. It isn’t even the commons. He’s laying in soft bedding. He realizes he’s in a little plastic hut. His heart speeds. He looks down at himself, human, good.

He flinches as the house is lifted up, leaving him exposed. His breath catches in his lungs, Patton is looming over him, he is giant. He skitters back, realizing his back is pressing against metal wire. Cage, he is in a cage, he is tiny, in a cage.

He scrambles, trying to claw his way out, trying to bend the wire enough to wriggle out.

“hey, now. None of that kiddo.” His stomach flips as hands squeaze around his waist and he is lifted into the air. He is barely as tall as Patton's ring finger, he is so high in the air as Patton places him down on his palm.

“patton please, please, just let me go, please!” he begs, feeling tears slipping down his face.

“Aw, I know kiddo. But this is better for everyone. This way you’re still around but don’t bother Thomas.” He stumbles as Patton places him back in the cage, doubling over and choking on sobs as a small food dish is placed inside, the shadows of bars shading his face.

He is still begging, pleading, screaming, for Patton, for anyone, to let him out, let him go, but he knows no one is coming, and the bars are pressing in, and soon there won’t be any more space, any more air.  

“hush, stormy, shhh. It’s ok. It’s ok, lovely.” His eyes fly open, and he clings to Dee, feeling all of his arms cradling him tight as he sniffles into his shoulder, sobs shaking his thin frame.

“Just a dream, Vee." He feels Remus's hand on his, feels the terror and residual fear draining out of him as the nightmare is removed from his mind. The pros of dark creativity. Remus can steal other people’s bad thoughts, bad dreams, but then he experiences whatever the thoughts were. He hears Remus's sharp inhale as he sees it, feels his hand tighten it’s grip.

“thanks ree.” He manages, his voice hoarse and sore.

“Virgil, love, we should talk about it. I only got minor details from them.”

“what’s to say? They were going to keep me in a cage, they d-didn't want me.” Dee draws back a tad, looking down at Virgil's face, eyes hidden behind his bangs.

“did anyone help? Surely not all of them went along with this.” He shrugs, taking a deep breath.

“R-roman g-g-rabbed me in his talons and st-started flying. But he yelled… I think L-Logan tried to stop him. He was an o-o-owl. I think he rammed Roman and made him drop me. P-p-patton c-caught me. And… and he put me down, right away, when I asked. I… I don't think they woulda let Roman k-keep me.” He mumbles out, shaking. Dee feels his heart breaking, can feel the murder on Remus's face.

“That's good, Virge. They were trying to defend you.” Virgil shakes his head.

“but they didn’t. Only p-patton even cared I was h-hurt. Thomas… Thomas didn't say a-anything.”

“but he changed you back.” His brow creases as he looks out from Dee's arms at Remus's words. “if he agrees with Roman, he wouldn’t have changed you back.”  

“He's right, lovely. Thomas doesn’t hate you. I know that. That is fact.” He sighs.

“Doesn’t feel like it right now.” He mumbles.

“I know. And that’s ok, Virge.” Dee kisses his head softly. He startles at a knock on the door.  

“Remus, see who it is?”

“If it’s princey stab him for me.” Virgil mumbles, making Remus chuckle and ruffle his hair.

“Gladly, stormy.”  

He throws open the door, leaning in the doorway with a cocky grin, teeth sharp and eyes glinting.

“Well, well, hello there Daddy. Have I been naughty?” he teases, moving to block Patton's view of the room.

“Remus… what… what are you doing here?” Patton asks nervously.  

“Apparently playing the butler. Y'know, Patton, in the movies the butler is always guilty of murder.” He tilts his head slowly, relishing the fear that races across Patton's face. “Now, what are you doing here, daddio?” Patton fiddles with his sweater sleeves, a frown settling on his face.

“I just… I know he probably doesn’t want to see us right now, heck, maybe ever, and I don’t fault him for it. Today… today was bad. Really, really bad. I just want to make sure he's ok. And apologize. We… we chewed out Roman. His actions were unacceptable. Just… I would never let that happen. He’s not… he’s a person, and I don’t always agree with him, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to take away his voice or opinion. Can you just… pass that on, for me? Please?”  

Remus looks back at the bed, softening as he sees Virgil uncurling from Dee, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, leaning against Dee, who has an arm around his shoulders. Virgil looks up at Dee, a silent question.  

“No lies.” Dee murmurs, and Virgil bites his lip. “You wanna let him in?” He asks softly. Virgil hesitates, but nods.  

“If he means it... yeah.” Virgil mumbles.  

“He does. Remus, stop playing. V- Anxiety says he can come in.” He calls, catching himself before using Virgil’s actual name. Remus sighs, but steps aside.  

“Well? Come in then.”  

Hesitantly, Patton steps inside the dark room, taking in the soft, dark carpet, the dark to light purple gradient painted on the walls. There are also posters for bands carefully hung in frames, and a few posters for movies that Anxiety must like. He sees fairy lights strung across the ceiling that sparkle like stars without the main lights turned on.  

He lets out a soft noise of hurt as he takes in Anxiety, knees pulled to his chest, his shoulders hunched. His eyeshadow is smeared all over his face, his eyes red and puffy. He glances at Deceit, not as surprised to see him here, tilting his head. Deceit nods minutely, and he sits down next to Anxiety, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him, to give him space.  

“hey kiddo. How’s your shoulder?” He asks.  

“better. Dee helped. It still... still hurts.” His voice is quiet and unsure and hoarse.  

“Yeah. I think it would be pretty strange if it didn’t. I’m glad you’re going to be ok, though. Even if it hurts now, it’ll feel better eventually.”  

“will it?” He is surprised as Patton pulls him into a hug, startled, but after a moment he leans into it, tucking his chin against Patton’s shoulder.  

“I have never wanted you to die. I have never wanted you to leave. You’re one of my kiddos, kiddo, and that means I stand up for you when something hurts you, no matter who or what it is.”

“i’m scared. I hate... I hate being small... I hate... it’s so big, everything... I could drown, in a puddle, I could be crushed by a book, I could be stepped on, I could be crushed, I could get hurt and no one would know, no one would realize or find me. I could be caged...” He chokes out, fear flooding through him again. “I could be caged and my influence squashed, and then no one would protect Thomas, look out for dangers, keep him... keep him on task, keep him motivated to d-do better. I c-can't... trapped, and b-bars and it-it's too much... too small...” He is shaking again, on the edge of hysteria, but Patton is rocking him, holding him.  

“Oh honey... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We didn’t know you were gonna be that little. I’m sorry we didn’t ask permission first, we weren’t thinking. I promise, promise,” he pulled back so Anxiety could see his eyes, tears spilling down his own cheeks, “that I will physically fight anyone who suggests we do that again, who even dares to mention putting you in a cage. I nearly did fight Roman, Logan had to hold me back.” That gets a weak laugh out of Anxiety, imagining Logan holding back a kicking and spitting furious Patton. “I love you, kiddo. I really, really do, and if anyone has a problem with that, has a problem with you, they’ll have to go through me first.” Patton’s voice is fierce, and he doesn’t have to look at Dee to know that he isn’t lying.  

“T-thomas-”  

“Is worried about you, kiddo. I came to check on you cause he wanted to make sure you were gonna be ok. What you said... really, really scared us, but we didn’t wanna summon you, because we knew you probably didn’t want to be summoned. He’s sorry, too. We all are.”  

“Even Roman?” He asks, bitterness in his voice. Patton hesitates, sighing.  

“I don’t know. I think... I think he’s sorry he got yelled at, sorry he got in trouble, sorry we didn’t agree with him. But I don’t think he’s sorry for what he actually did to you, said to you. Which makes me angry, because he should be sorry, but he isn’t, and if he isn’t, I can’t change that. What I can do is make sure you are going to be alright. I can learn what else we shouldn’t do without asking your permission. I can be better at speaking up when Roman threatens or takes jabs at you, and eventually, hopefully, his attitude will change as he learns none of us are going to enable him anymore. I’m sorry it went this far.” He blinks, surprised. He didn’t expect Patton to acknowledge Roman’s inability to see his own wrongdoings. He didn’t expect Patton to admit to his own shortcomings. He didn’t expect Patton to be... honest.  

“What would you like us to do for now, Anxiety? Clearly, you have two people who love you very much helping your right now, so I feel ok leaving, if you like. I just didn’t want you to be alone, when you were so upset. Thomas... all of us, want to speak with you about what happened, to try and make ammends, but we’ll do that on your terms, so there’s no rush. Just, whenever you’re ready to talk, we’re ready to listen.  If you like, I can bring you meals, if you don’t wanna leave your room for a while. I wanna keep you healthy, and I know if I leave you to your own devices it’ll be chips and soda for every meal.” He lets out a little snort at that, because Patton is right, of course, and he’s already calmed down so much because Patton is being so nice, and he knows Dee would have told him if Patton had lied.  

“that all sounds good, yeah.” He mumbles, shifting out of Patton’s hug, pulling his knees to his chest once again.  

“ok. Is there anything else you need, or would like me to do?” He bites his lip, thinking.  

“Just... just let them know I’m ok? If they’re really that worried about me.” Patton squeezes his non injured shoulder once as he stands, smiling gently.  

“Will do, kiddo. If you ever need anything, or just want some company, don’t be afraid to call me up.”  

“I... might.” Patton smiles again, soft and warm.  

“I love you, Anxiety.” Patton turns away, but before he sinks out, Virgil steels his courage.  

“Virgil!” He shouts, and the room seems to freeze. Remus is staring at him in wide eyed surprise. Deceit has stopped rubbing his back, and Patton falters mid step, before turning to face him, something akin to awe on his face. “That’s... my name. My name is Virgil.” A huge smile blooms across Patton’s face, his eyes light up with tender joy, and he sniffles, wiping away tears.  

“Virgil. I think that’s a lovely name, Virgil. I know I'm usually a blabber mouth, but it when it counts, I can keep a secret.” Patton winks, sending a smile flashing across his own face as warmth blooms in his chest. With a wave, Patton sinks out, and he collapses back against Deceit with a long, low sigh.  

“You sure about that, Virg?” Remus asks, from where he’s leaning against the wall, having simply observed everything.  

“yeah. Yeah I... think I am.” He feels Dee press another soft kiss to the top of his head.  

“Proud of you, lovely.” He smiles, closing his eyes as he feels Remus settle on the other side of him. He is still scared and afraid and knows the nightmares won’t leave him alone for ages, now. But he also knows that at least Patton is on his side. And Patton is almost more of a mama bear than Deceit. If the two of them are looking out for him, he knows nothing will hurt him like this ever again.