#both live enough outside normal society and expectations that they could get away with it

[booasaur]

Warrior (2019) - 3x01

[tricitymonsters]

This has been sitting in my brain for about a week, but I've been offline so I haven't been able to send it in lol.

How would Amir react if the MC revealed that they were from a affluential family as well AND they had also ran away from that life. Maybe they changed their last name (or whole name) and have been living in secret in the city. Just imaging an MC living in a tiny apartment and not taking advantage of their family's wealth. It's THEIR apartment and THEIR money. How would Mori and Akello react to this too?

OUGH sorry this has been siting in my box for a while, current ask count is like 80 something >:3

I think at first Amir might have a liiiiiiittle extra suspicion simply because of the complex and often treacherous nature of highly affluent, old money families. He'd be interested in working out if MC's connections in their current life might benefit him or pose risks simply because he's kind of a calculating motherfucker like that. He might get close to MC to sort of scope things out. If they managed to hide their background from him he'd be pretty impressed by how much they must of cut off to be able to sort of fly under the radar. There might be an unpleasant moment where he feels a little vulnerable learning that MC might know more about his backstory than he wanted HOWEVER, i think ultimately he'd get over it and there wouldn't be an lingering obstacles to him and the MC getting close. He might actually be able to open up a little quicker about his insecurity in being raised totally outside the borders of "normal society" and surely there would be lots of commiserating about high society drama and expectation. Amir certainly understands the struggle of having to buy your own independence and when family gifts come with traps and strings attached.

Mori would understand maybe better than a lot of people would give him credit for. By no means ABSURDLY wealthy, Mori's dad is a pretty successful businessman and could certainly give Mori a more comfortable life than what he has now. However Mori really looks up to his accomplished father and doesn't want to be "taken care of" or a "burden" or unable to deal with his own struggles. Basically, one of his deep dark fears is being someone his dad has to worry about. So even though Mori steals Monsters from the gas station and has a different part time job every week, he can respect the need to be independent a lot, especially when it means giving up an "easier" life to do it.

Akello is definitely the RO who would be the most innately suspicious of that, for two reasons. First, Akello's family worked INCREDIBLY hard to put him through college- his grandparents and his parents saved conservatively for a long time to get him the best they could, and Akello himself worked his ass off at various jobs and at earning scholarships/grants to get all they way into a graduate program. He's not the first in his family to go to college (both his parents have undergrad degrees) but it really took a village to help get him these opportunities. So just by default he's kind of innately suspicious of the kind of wealth people are born into that lets them skip this, especially considering like... upper 1% generational wealth kind of nonsense. Secondly, for Akello, family is like. Pretty ironclad. It's hard for him to fully wrap his head around familial estrangement just because its been so ingrained into him that family (and by extension community) is what you spend your life working to protect and provide for. It would take something truly TRULY heinous to estrange Akello from his family (immediate and extended) and frankly even his demon deal and supposed "death" isn't enough to keep him from helping from the shadows, you know? But that being said, Akello's a rational guy and can examine his own biases pretty reliably. He'd be much more inclined to judge an MC like this based on their own merits and after like the initial shock period, would take MC at they're word that they don't have Affluent Asshole Disease and/or want anything to do with their Kardashian parents.

[technicianlearner]

We would like to interrupt your daily AU brainrot with another AU brainrot

...well that's unexpected.

Hi! Sorry for not updating Technician Uprising. Guess who doesn't know how to write a compelling dialogue? Me! That's who! Instead, have my 'contribution' to @zombiecicada's very funny Wolfbell AU! More info about these two goofballs below the cut.

Robobot Armor

Once they were just a normal suit of armor, one that was mass produced by the Haltmann Works Company. It wasn't until the Nightmare Enterprises got their grubby hands on one of them that things go just a bit out of hand.

The armor was made to be the ultimate weapon. To be an instrument of war. By being able to copy just about any magic it absorbs. But something went wrong. Was it in the process of programming? Was it in the process of tampering with magic? Either way, it got itself a soul, which developed under the huge stress of the enterprise. Nothing seems good enough, despite what it did. Pain became the only feeling they ever had. It craved for more than just feeling pain, as they want to feel... something else. And thus, hearing about the outside world, and feeling oppressed, it, now becoming they, alongside another test subject, made a getaway.

Stealing a ship and crashlanding at Nuoc, they were given the simple name of Robobot from their fellow escapee, before adding Armor to the back of it in hopes to blend a bit more as people had surnames. They took on rough jobs picking up heavy cargo throughout the ship, but thanks to their hidden affinity to fight, or just sheer curiosity, they became interested in dealing with weapons and the like. After being accepted into the society a bit more, they trained in the arts of blacksmithing - creating, forging, and polishing weapons to perfection. Now, the once weapon for war has made weapons of their own, owning a workshop where they have been living in peace alongside their fellow escapee who had seen them more of a parental figure as time goes on.

Elfilin

He wasn't supposed to exist. Or at least, not if Nightmare Enterprises has something to say about it. Unlike any other, his origins were less known. Some thought he was a piece of an alien taken for the sinister wizard's own goals. Others thought he was a clone of said alien, supposedly made into a fierce demon beast. Nothing seems to be clear about him, that's for sure. And it's like he know better either.

All the pain, suffering, and abuse has been implanted in the little creature for so long, that he has naturally repressed them within his vast mind. He was gifted with cosmic magic - one rare magic that could be deadly in the right hands, which only brings him far more disciplinary action from the enterprise as he did not grow up to their expectations. All the creature wanted was to play and have fun. But that couldn't happen in this hellhole. And he grew sick of it so much, that when they learned another test subject was escaping, he took the chance to run away alongside them, while paying back everything the cruel handlers have given to the two by beating them up as they leave.

He found a ship the two could steal. And steal they both did, the other test subject being the sole driver as he didn't really know how. It's just a shame neither of them knew how to land the ship. Said ship crashed in front of the shipyards of the citizens of a backwater planet, much to his dismay. Eventually, the two needed a name so people there would know how to refer to them. He named the other fellow escapee Robobot, because they are a robot, essentially, while as for him, he named himself Elfilin. It just feels right. Mainly, he didn't do much but to see what his powers could do now that he gets to do things on his own without being reprimanded, but soon the potential of it became to show itself beyond just making portals, to enchant things and boost others, and perhaps, with some additional help from certain ingredients, via gardening or other methods... he could do so much more. And so, he took it upon themselves to become an enchanter. Though, he sees something more in their fellow escapee who now lives with him...

The Little Hope Workshop

Once a small run-down metallic building, now it has become a cleaner establishment for the two refugees to do their business. Mainly, they deal with weapon creation and item enchanting, using both manual labor and magic to complete requests and get some of that sweet money. It is also a home sweet home for the duo. They have found themselves comfortable with each other as well to the point it was almost like a family they never had.

...oh, yeah, that's about it.

So uhm... Artificial people family. I was just interested with the two okay now shhhhh-

Also this is all Cicada's fault they pulled me into this CICADA YOU F•CK NOW I WASTED TWO MORE SLOTS ON MY TUPPERBOX

Nothing much from here to say but please enjoy this wonderful mess of a family. The family, ever.

[lestatlioncunt]

actually realised i never spoke about how violante is a noble who also isn't, perfect excuse for lore dump of her sick sick childhood, tw for mentions of abuse

Violante's mother is a moon elf noble, lady Nalviel of house Waesphine, a powerful family of Waterdeep. The origins of the family's fortune come from textiles, specifically their trading, and later expanded into money-lending and, currently, into banking. Nalviel is the only heir of the main branch of the family, she's The heiress. Her father's aim, if not life goal, is to join the council of lords of Waterdeep and later become the open lord. He has been planning a marriage of convenience between Nalviel and one of the masked lords since the day his daughter became of age. Her father instead is a modest human trader from a small village near Baldur's Gate (where he conducts his small business), Erlan Riverstone.

The two meet when Nalviel comes to Baldur's Gate with a small entourage sent by her father to deal with some of the family affairs. They meet by pure coincidence around the city: Nalviel is drawn to Erlan for the excitement of having an affair with a commoner brings and a sense of freedom mostly, Erlan by the fact that such a rich lady of enchanting beauty could ever spare him a look. In a couple of weeks they decide to marry in great secrecy. Nalviel is naive and thinks that her parents will simply scold her but ultimately accept the union. She's always been spoiled, very much spoiled, and she's used to have everyone let her get away with most of her whims and tantrums, so she genuinely believes that marrying a commoner will be accepted as just any other of her desires. Erlan is ecstatic to say the least. I wouldn't say they were exactly in love, they both lived the story like it was a summer love, intense and fleeting, bound to end but Nalviel always had the tendency let things end by her own decision.

She leaves for Waterdeep again and brings her new husband along. Her parents reaction is far from accepting, they are furious, but no one knows about the marriage yet outside the family so they order to Nalviel to simply leave her husband (they would have him killed ofc) and never mention this whole story again so that her father's plan could still move along as planned. Nalviel is stubborn and at this point the whole story has become a simple childish desire, she wanted to win at all costs, so she tells them the other news: she's expecting a child (hiii fetus violante). Her parents orders still stand, but in addition they're asking for abortion too. Nalviel fights back and she's put in front of a crossroad: either forsake her foolish actions or become disowned, lose all her privileges and her birthrights, become an outcasts to the family.

Nalviel refused. Stubborn as ever, she was sure that her parents would back down and accept her back into the family and she believed so for months. She was sure that once her child would be born their hearts would soften and everything would go back to normal. It never happened. Instead her parents cut her off, told everyone in high society that she was dead to them, that they never had a daughter, her father took under his wing one of her distant cousins to become the new heir. They forced Nalviel and her new family into one of the minor manors of the family, run down and almost out of the city, there they are all confined by a pact: her parents would still give her a monthly revenue high enough to survive but she would never come back in society nor speak to them or call herself a daughter of lord Waesphine.

This is where Violante's family downfall begins. Nalviel ignored Violante most of the time during her early childhood, probably held her in her arms two or three times total after her birth. I'd say Violante always was a bit of a gloomy child, which is no surprise if you think not only of the people who lived with her but of the environment too (the manor was basically crumbling, dark and dusty and decadent, it could almost resemble a haunted castle where only spirits live. It was chosen to humiliate to Nalviel), but she was quite curious and playful as a kid. Her mother didn't stand her when crying or playing or talking in general so with time, after getting shouted at and beat, she began avoiding to speak altogether when her mother was around. Her only happy memory of childhood is her father reading her a book of fairy tales when she was little.

Erlan tried to be a father at first but it didn't really last, especially because Nalviel hated to see him interact with their daughter. Erlan and Nalviel discovered that the love between them was a fleeting thing now that they lost all the privilege and riches for it, they began resenting each other soon enough. Nalviel hated her husband more than anything in the world but she did hate her daughter just that touch more. She used to say that Erlan was her second biggest mistake while Violante was her first. She resented her birth and Violante began resenting it as well.

Sometimes Nalviel just needed someone to let her anger out on and ofc her daughter was the easiest target. She would hit her for the tiniest of the slips, lock her into her room for hours, sometimes a full day with nothing to eat, she was also a cruel teacher - Violante knows how to play the lyre (other than the lute) but under no circumstance she's willing to play. Her mother would use a cane to hit her fingers or arms every time she played the wrong note which made her hate the instrument immediately. Violante spent most of her days avoiding her mother when possible, she would either sit somewhere in the library and stay there reading for hours or stay in her room. When she was a teen she began desiring of dying, that's when her infamous perfume story begins. She read about poisons, recognised the belladonna that grew in the garden and began using the berries for her perfume. It never really worked, cruel joke of destiny she developed a resistance to poison instead. She never stopped drinking them though, to her it was still a taste of death.

Nalviel's aim never changed, she wanted a way to return into the high society but never really succeded. Her parents threatened her a few times but they never managed to stop Nalviel from doing what she wanted. She began planning of marrying Violante off to some lord (smth Vio hated with burning passion, always lamenting how her mother was trying to get rid of her like she was useless wares) so that she could waltz back into noble life in some way, it was a difficult plan since Violante wasn't the most...amicable. Her mother teached her every single detail on etiquette, no one could say Vio isn't refined but that coldness in her usually frightened most of the people around. Plus there were quite some rumors surrounding her involvement with Ruven (bastard son of the fallen drow house DeVir) and the fact they were barely ever seen without one another since they were teens didn't help.

Violante dreamed of killing her mother, she wanted to see her suffer, she wanted to torture her. She hated her father as well: while he wasn't as terrible as her mother, Violante always resented his indifference. He was a prisoner just as Vio was under Nalviel but he never tried to stop her, nor he ever spoke up when Nalviel abused their daughter. Vio daydreamed of what she would do to them with Ruven. Kill her mother and maybe let her father live, gauge out his eyes after watching her torture and murder Nalviel so that he could sit in his blissful indifference for the rest of his days, then they would run somewhere together and be together for the rest of their days. It never turned into reality since Ruven attempted to murder Violante first: a sacrifice to sign a pact with a powerful entity. He chose to offer Violante's life. Vio killed him in retaliation and she was the one to form the pact instead. With Ruven's murder it's like the world came crushing down on her so Violante, shocked and dismayed, fled from Waterdeep to hopefully never come back

[sonicasura]

Narkarkos Mer!Leon

Here are some headcanons for my Leon Scott Kennedy merman. The design is taking some extra time since any time at home is sporadic and I rather not break the page rushing. Anyway, let's get started.

Leon is a natural born Mer who just accidentally got entangled in human society. Narkarkos merfolk start off really small, like the size of peach. A biological adaptation to avoid getting detected or reached by potential threats such as people. This goes for both normal and Leviathans so age is the only way to tell the difference.

If a mer completely dries, then they take the form of their non-aqueous half. Leon was found by the Kennedy family as a two year old. His inhuman status kept secret by his mother until her death. Then his foster family took on the torch.

Collecting bones is a natural instinct for Narkarkos merfolk. Leon stockpiled tons of them before he made himself a nest and still collects. Although infected bones are disinfected in broiling solution as any contaminates are a huge no-no.

Narkarkos merfolk mate for life so a potential partner for Leon is taken very very seriously. Courting is a mix between peacocking and bowerbirds. They gift potential mates their favorite treasures specifically bones so expect a ring to have a bit marrow in its composition. Narkarkos merfolk also perform a unique dance under water with the spots on their body glowing the brightest to woo a potential mate.

Leon's species have a infamous reputation of being ecosystem destroyers if left unchecked or angered. Something that has led Narkarkos Merfolk to become exiled to the depths and even extermination on sight. It's quite rare to find any in the wild.

This viewpoint stems from incorrect information and fearful prejudice as any creature outside the species is potential prey. Extreme hostility is another factor as Narkarkos Mers will devastate anything that harms their mate or congealment/family. An entire civilization mysteriously disappearing is often contributed to attacks from this species.

Leon had to be very careful in areas such as Raccoon City Sewers since enough water will trigger a transformation. The Las Plagas parasite is a harmless nuisance mainly because the bodily fluids and flesh of his body are uninhabitable for it. It might've led Leon to eat Del Iago's corpse alongside some El Gigantes then take the bones for his nest.

Absolutely would've spirited Sherry away if he could but the Birkin deserves to live an actual life. Leon did show his true nature once given the rare chance of privacy. Very few such as Sherry, Ashley, Luis and unfortunately Ada know about. (The latter was an accidental occurrence in Spain.)

The mucus Leon secretes has a powerful clotting nature than just preservation. He used it to stop Luis from bleeding out although had to tell the truth. Leon might've shift into his true form in the Saddler boss fight as he was completely fed up with the cultist. Los Plagas is nothing compared to the wrath of an Elder Dragon.

Narkarkos merfolk have a very powerful energy in their bodies called Dragon Energy. A volatile source that glows a brilliant dark crimson similar to blood in color. When enraged, this energy surges through their body causing the spots and eyes to glow a terrifying red. It is strong enough to irritate bioluminescent species that they flood the area in natural light.

Leon is no exception as his fury can turn the sea around him into a shining omen. He can fire dragon energy in the form of massive lasers from both his main tentacles and mouth. NEVER ENGAGE A NARKARKOS MER IN THEIR NEST! These nests are their arsenal and repair shop. Any bones a threat or prey destroys can easily be replaced in seconds.

Narkarkos merfolk are very territorial especially when it comes to their claims. People that Leon holds dear is one example of that. Not a single enemy knows the true horror hidden underneath his human skin. Give him a reason to unleash that... Pray for a very swift demise.

That's all I have for now! I have a poll up with normal Leon so check it out before time runs out! Until next time folks, continue to thrive in the wake of Raccoon City.

[erikahammerschmidt]

I've talked a lot about the meaninglessness of "normal," and the way that arbitrary societal standards get used unfairly against those who are deemed to be outside of the norm.

For example, in my speeches I've often brought up how children with a diagnosis of a mental disorder are held to higher standards of "normality" than their classmates, with every harmless personality quirk getting treated like a symptom of the disorder and therefore a problem that needs to stop.

I have always been baffled and very troubled by the fact that parents and educators with desperately limited resources, who so badly need to pick their battles, are choosing battles like "the kid dresses weirdly and makes unusual movements."

I've talked a lot about how important it is to shift the focus away from "normal or abnormal," away from "symptom of a disorder or not"…. and onto the question of whether something actually causes harm.

But I think the definition-- and the addressing-- of "harm" may also need to be explored.

It's common for people who personally don't like something to stretch themselves looking for a way the thing is "harmful," to justify their dislike. There's plenty of discourse about that already-- although it's focused for the most part on the likes or dislikes of fans in online spaces.

Personally, I'm not even going to claim that "the vibes make me uncomfortable" doesn't count as harm. Being uncomfortable is harm-- not necessarily severe or irreparable harm, but it is an impairment to enjoying life, and if people having enjoyable lives isn't the ultimate goal then I'm not sure what is.

But I am going to point out that "being uncomfortable with someone's vibes" is a type of harm that frequently goes both ways, between those who are considered "normal" by society and those who aren't.

And either way, the burden of addressing that problem is almost always put on the "abnormal" individual: through an expectation either to "just stop being uncomfortable," or to "stop being the way you are, because it makes others uncomfortable."

I think there is not nearly enough acceptance of the concept "Someone has been harmed, but this does not necessarily mean someone else is a bad person." Or the concept "We can try to fix problems in a way that does not consist solely of punishing one person and demanding they change themselves without any guidance as to how."

I think that very often, when there's resistance to an attempt at resolving conflicts, it's because people start from the assumption: "If my suffering is real, then the person I'm blaming for it is an evil person and the problem can only be solved by making that person disappear completely. ...But if that person's suffering is real, then I'm an evil person and it can only be solved by making me disappear completely! Therefore this conflict is more-or-less a fight to the death, and my survival depends on discrediting any claim that the other side has a valid grievance at all."

And of course things could, in many cases, be improved by focusing on changing overall circumstances (the scheduling of events, the layout of rooms, the format of communications) so that both sides can be more comfortable.

But doing that requires acknowledging that both sides deserve some change to improve their comfort.

And when they're already in the fight-to-the-death mindset, even that can be a hard sell.

[ubaid214]

Attraction Practices For Seducing a Women

I lately visited an special singles party. I was there to complete company, and I'm unsure what my companion was performing there, but it absolutely was wonderful to possess him about - he performs in Europe and is away for prolonged intervals of time. It had been an excellent party; the audio was good, food exceptional and the group "classy" ;.

Slightly around an hour or so in to the party, I pointed out that everybody was gravitating towards one part of the room. I possibly could maybe not straight away see what was happening from wherever we were sitting, therefore I got up to get take a look. Two girls, one a bright gothic and the other dark were on the party floor performing their issue and position about were what appeared as if all the great looking guys at the party, except quarry of course, who had been sitting in still another part animatedly talking and laughing - he's got me so what can I say.

Anyways, these two women were clearly enjoying themselves and having enough time of these lives. But what I discovered quite exciting was that both girls were what society calls "plus size" and not quite "plus size" design type either. They certainly were two normal looking girls laughing and graciously flirting with the man moths light-struck in their glow. They certainly were finding all the man interest from the men we'd typically believe wouldn't be drawn to girls their size particularly when there have been many other small good-looking women in the room. Experience Yumi's passion

The thing that was their secret? Two words - SEXUAL MAGNETISM

Whether you know it or maybe not the way you see your self sexually influences every part of one's life. It influences the manner in which you go on the road, the manner in which you talk to your supervisor, how you answer pressure, the manner in which you relate genuinely to the others and also the method that you follow success.

People with bad sexual self-image tend to overcompensate in these places they are more confident in. They are on a continuing travel for success and external approval. They usually attempt to belittle or down play their sexual expectations and have a tendency to avoid acknowledging or expressing their emotions. The extroverted ones over project and exaggerate their sexual desirability. They try to assert themselves and their existence by doing every thing in "bigger than life" style. But their "macho" or "sexy" self-image is the alternative of what is occurring on the outside.

[bontenten]

Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins! 

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you. 

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!” 

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit. 

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead. 

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

---------------------

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—” He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Hi! I hope you’ll answer this question bc it bothers me quite a lot.. https://www.quora.com/What-does-it-mean-now-that-BTS-are-partial-owners-of-Big-Hit-Entertainment do you think it is true what the second person (Christine Herman) said? After reading this, i started to wonder…what if BTS does really have only profit in mind while doing new projects these days? Maybe they don’t really care anymore about creative and meaningful lyrics and sound? With Butter and PTD…all this generic music sung in English. Of course they say “we wanted to make fans feel good”, “butter and ptd represent who we are” and all these things fans want to hear but.. do you really think it’s true? moreover, don’t get me wrong, i don’t find product placement in their reality shows as something terrible, i believe this is a normal thing, however, nowadays the members really film ads and do marketing a lot. so yeah, for some reason i began to question their integrity dhsjjss i hope you will understand from where my concerns come from and won’t find this ask stupid sjdjjdjd

After reading that persons answer I can immediately tell you that I basically don't agree with an overwhelming majority of what she said (even more so since a lot of it just makes her sound like a manti that hates the company and basically would want them to make music for free or something). Generally I don’t agree with most of the opinions this person holds, and also Quora really isn’t a good source for info or good opinions, most of it is written by mantis, haters, and toxic shippers with an agenda so most ARMY will tell you to stay as far away from that website as possible.

Anyway, her focus in that answer was on money, since BTS are shareholders (and how that’s a conflict of interest despite other artists doing the exact thing but no one really cares or ever thinks about it), but what she failed to consider and note was that Big Hit Music, so BTS' label, isn't part of HYBE in the sense that shareholding has no baring on it since BHM is private. So while BTS profit off of HYBE doing well, and have a small percentage of a voice as shareholders, that has nothing to do with BHM in the classical sense, even if BHM's earnings reflect well on HYBE numbers and the shareholder money. 

BHM was made private to ensure their artistry would remain untouched, that was the whole point of that.

Even if they weren't HYBE shareholders, take Namjoon as example. He has more than 170 KOMCA credits, is among the top 3 Korean artists with the most credits and is also the youngest of them all. It is said that his earnings from that alone can sustain his family for 3 generations over. Look at Hobi and Chicken Noodle Soup, that song was a hit and he paid the original creator of that song 2 million dollars upfront and earned a lot back due to how successful it was. Same goes for Hope World which, again, was and is still immensely successful. Look at Yoongi and his work both as prod. SUGA, featuring artist SUGA, and as Agust D, as well as the credits he holds for his work on BTS songs (giving him as well a total of over 100 KOMCA credits, just like Hobi). Bangtan have worked and continue to work extremely hard for their music, put their heart and souls into it, and it shows even if their style changed as they grew older and more mature.

Yes, money is a major motivator, but looking at the above paragraph, do you really peg the members as these corrupt money hungry sellouts with no music related integrity? Who would need to sign major deals and would throw away their passion to just release empty shells of music for the sole reason of money? Am I naive enough to believe that they don't care about money? Of course not, we live in a capitalist society and even if BTS wouldn't care about money anymore at this point, HYBE very much does, and yet still I can't find it in me to agree with any of what was said in that answer that person wrote.

More below the cut:

And that point about how Hyundai cars were sold out because of BTS, isn't that the point why literally any company ever hires celebrities to advertise and endorse their product? And sure, again, I'm certain they earned a lot on these deals, they aren't the first or last or only ones in the history of ever to do so. Besides, look at JK and what he's done for small companies, or Tae who wore a brooch made my a small creator at the airport which catapulted that creator into the eyes of millions of ARMYs enough so that they could move to a proper studio and earn money with their work. Or the modern hanboks JK wore which led to the brand being able to move into actual stores in malls because of their sudden new popularity and demand. Or him wearing a bracelet that helps whales with a percentage of the money from the sales of said bracelet. And for all of that JK and Tae didn't earn any money at all. JK himself said that he's more conscious of the brand he wears now because he wants to help smaller businesses in these trying times, not because they pay him to do so (especially since they would never be able to afford that), but because he's aware of the influence he has and how he can use it to help others. Sound very much like a capitalistic villain, right?

As for the product placement bit, have you been on YouTube recently? Have you noticed that many, if not most, YouTube videos by “bigger” creators (and by that I mean even people who are around the 100k subscriber mark) begin with them thanking whoever sponsored that particular video and give you a scripted minute to two minute long ad before getting into the actual topic of the video? And In The SOOP featuring Chilsung Cider, FILA clothes and the random mention of how good Samsung phones are isn’t much different from it, though really, if you’re not someone interested in fashion much, would you really notice or care that they wore FILA? It’s just...clothes? If it weren’t a BTS related show, would you even notice it much? And it’s not even like they mentioned those brands every five minutes or anything, just a few times, which sure sounded a bit out of place at times, but personally I thought it was easy to look past. That’s just how things work nowadays and it’s odd for people to behave like somehow BTS are the first and only ones to use product placements despite literally every movie and show doing it in subtle and less so manners.

The answer by that person you sent also mentioned the Hyundai song for their car IONIQ and, unsurprisingly, that person wrote it off as just some commercial jingle but I’d actually disagree with that. Not to sound like a Hyundai and Samsung stan, which I am neither of, but I actually think those two knew best how to utilize the artist they have spent millions on signing a deal with. Hyundai didn’t just write them off as pretty faces with a millions strong fan army behind them and that’s it, they remembered that they are musicians so they gave them a song and made a whole music video for it as well. And say what you will, it is a good song. Then, just a few days ago, Samsung stepped up their game and we were given Over The Horizon Prod by SUGA of BTS. For those who aren’t Samsung users, Over The Horizon is their signature ringtone and basically their company sound, and over the years different artists were asked to make their own version of it. And this time they reached out to Yoongi and asked if he’d like to do it as well. It’s kind of a big deal. Sure, Butter is used in one of their commercials much the way Dynamite was last year, but that’s beside the point. Would that person make the same claim about Imagine Dragons whose song Believer is also part of the ads for the new Samsung phones? I have my doubts.

Furthermore, and I don't want this to come across as mean toward you but, I think it is uncalled for to question their artistic integrity based on a total of 3 (three) English songs when last year alone we received 50+ songs, most of which were in Korean, among them the entirety of BE which was, according to the members, the album they were most involved in ever when it comes to both music and everything around it.

You can dislike their English songs, that’s more than fine, they have a very extensive discography you can listen to instead, but questioning their integrity based on them doing something that most, if not every, artist on their level does (as in sign ad deals with brands etc) is a bit much if you ask me. Does that mean indie artists whose songs get picked up for commercials (or for Netflix shows or movies) and thus it catapults them into the mainstream are also just money hungry people with no integrity and ones who don’t care about their music? Or is that, again, just a standard Bangtan is held to (as in that their integrity is questioned based on everything, even the most trivial/normal things) that only applies to them and no one else?

In the recent Weverse Magazine article about how Permission to Dance came to be there is a lot of talk about not only that song but also Butter and Dynamite, among the things being discussed and talked about they mentioned how the original lyrics for Butter were much more materialistic but that the members didn't like that so they asked for that to be changed. Likewise the original lyrics for Permission to Dance, as you'd expect from the penmanship of Ed Sheeran, were much more romantic, almost proposal like, which wasn't what the members wanted either so it was, again, adjusted in a way that would fit what they, as well as the A&R team, wanted. While you may not like these songs, they still had a say in them to a certain degree, could say yes or no and ask for adjustments. Why else would PTD take eight months?

While they might outsource their English songs, their main focus, so their Korean (as well as Japanese) discography is still centered around them, their lyrics, their songs, their sound. Of course you’ll also find outside producers and some lyricists on those as well, because that’s how music works these days, as in collaboratively, that doesn’t change anything at large. Their integrity is still very much there, their hearts are still in it, what other reason would any of them have to say that they want to continue for a long time, for Yoongi to say they want to figure out how to make their career last as long as possible, for JK to say that he wants to sing forever?

Admin 2 also wanted me to add that in their opinion, to a certain degree (though not fully of course), their English songs are like a way to laugh at and expose how shallow the English-centric music industry is. As in, while they made music in Korean with deep and meaningful lyrics, the US industry didn’t care but once they switched to easy to listen to sound with easy to understand English lyrics, they suddenly paid attention, are played on the radio, and even received a Grammy nomination which they wouldn’t have gotten for a Korean song ( A1: regardless how much Black Swan or Spring Day really would’ve deserved it...). 

[hunterartemisanime]

KnB Commentary: Kise Ryouta and the Curse of Being “Pretty Boy” in Shonen Anime

Cheerful, extroverted, happy-go-lucky and sunshine with a face, Kise Ryota is the screen ikemen in Kuroko no Basket. Although Kise is a cult favourite, but I think he is sometimes pushed aside with Momoi. In KnB people tend to focus more on the other GoMs rather than Kise. Here is my take on how Kise Ryota’s character and his types are scorned in Shonen Manga.

Shonen and Shojo manga revolve around two different dimensions: while shonen manga focuses on friendships, journeys and solid characteristic developments, shojo manga focuses generally on the romance parts, interpersonal relationships, appearance and struggles of the ordinary main character. Both manga lauds ordinariness and makes the ordinary extra-ordinary one just by showing that they have the possibility to be sublime. While Shojo manga greatly appreciates male beauty to the point of worship, Shonen sort of looks down on male beauty: anyone who identifies himself as good looking, or wants to be good looking is put down by others around him. Let’s see how Kise fell into the same trap.

Kise is introduced in the story in a very Shojo manga fashion. He is looked from the female point of view of Seirin’s girl students as he walks down the main pathway of the school. That piece of scene almost reminded me Takumi Usui entering school in Kaichou wa Maid Sama. From that point, wherever he goes he is greeted and surrounded by female population en large, much to the annoyance of his team members and opponents. Similar to the effect of “male gaze”, exists a “female gaze” which supposedly decides the desirability of a boy, especially in a high school setting. Kise, being handsome by the contemporary Japanese standards thus somewhat becomes the focus of the female gaze which makes males around him conscious and equally anxious. This phenomenon can be asserted with Momoi’s first encounter in the anime with Kuroko in Aida Gym pool. When Kuroko is hugged by a very beautiful and buxom Momoi Satsuki, the boys on his team lament: “I am so jealous of you Kuroko, hope you’ll die.” This was from a rather “harmless” and “normal” bunch of High School Basketballers, then just imagine how it effects the powerhouse boys with similar primal instinct and with greater ego. Thus Kise is treated with hot-and-cold attitude from males around him: be its his former teammates or current.

Kise is thus definitely an eligible bachelor and he surely knows it. However his self-awareness is without vanity or narcissistic edge. He is shown to be appreciative of female attention and not portray himself as a “playboy” or a “Scorer”; he is never addressed by anyone as “charan poran” (womanizer) in the series. This is a very contradictory attitude in Shonen anime. In shonen anime Male sexuality have very limited outlets: either one should be hyper-celibate and not pay attention to any organism marked as female, or one could be hyper-sexual to the point where they objectify the female form in a not so respectable manner--there is nothing in the Middle. In KnB Akashi, Kuroko and Midorima fall in the former end of spectrum while Haizaki Shogo and Aomine Daiki fall into the latter. Even dating and having girlfriend can make you the object of male scorn: in the anime Grand Blue, the department of Mechanical Engineer has a secret pact to stay single and when they find out that Iori Kitahara is living with Chisa (who is his cousin), they almost throw a violent fit. The male solidarity in Shonen thus ostricise the males who express appreciation in female company and show interest in courting and romance. Kise is snubbed in a similar manner for showing interest in a more feminine side. A same kind of snubbing was delivered to Hiroshi Fukuda of Seirin when he confessed on the rooftop that he wanted to get into the team for dating someone. In Free Momotarou Mikoshiba too, is either ridiculed or snubbed by his teammates for openly admitting to like Gou Matsuoka.

Out of all the Generation of Miracles characters, I think Kise is the most discriminated of all. His discrimination is the unsual kind: he is too important in the plotline to be comic relief like Takao and Izuki and he is too cheerful enough to be the bad boy. So what kind of discrimination does he face? He faces the discrimination for being good looking. Yes, there is a thing to be discriminated for being good looking. I also think Kise has been played within the character of being the “dumb blond”. He is portrayed as “pretty boy” and is expected to limit himself within it. His cheerful attitude is often met with cold shoulder and it is absolutely normalised within the storyline. Unlike other players who greet their rivals outside the courts with a broody attitude and slightly glaring eyes, Kise is the one who advocates “Yesterday’s rivals are today’s friends”. This is a very positive attitude to use in real life to keep the unhealthy competitiveness in check, but it is met with a scorn in the anime. It is shown as if being cheerful is the by-product of being good looking and the former should reflect the latter. This is perhaps the reason Kise’s playing style was completely sniped out of the scene from being “the best of all”. According to the society, a good looking person is just an eye-candy for anyone to drool over and if they have too much agency or talent people enviously comment “(s)he gets all that because of the looks”. It stems from the insecurity of one person having too much social power. The entire thing is very limiting. Kise is not only good-looking, he is acing his modelling career, a field which is highly demanding and taxing and at the same time he is doing well in basketball also in a nationally reputed school. These attributes somewhat gets overshadowed because he is somewhat only identified on screen for his looks. This fact is highlighted with his rivalry with Haizaki Shogo. Haizaki, instead of acknowledging Kise as a player, “marked his territory” by “boning” one of the girls claiming to be Kise’s girlfriend. 

Kise is very much aware of the fact that the swarming bunch of girls are intrinsic to his image, especially as a model and for this reason he tries to be respectful towards them. However, he does not identify the admiration of the fan-brigade with genuine affection. This is the core fact which Haizaki misinterprets about Kise that he derives power from the admiring fangirls. Haizaki despite being the antagonist is pretty much shares the similar prejudice with the people near Kise: that Kise Ryota begins and ends with looks and even his playing style “perfect copy” is less than original. But Kise is not the prejudices that surround him, he is affectionate, loyal and genuine with enough dedication to pursue what he loves. The ideal type of Kise : “a girl that won’t tie me down” says a lot about him. He is eager to meet someone who will respect him for who he actually is and not for his looks or fame. He too is someone who grew out of seeing the surface and judge to observe someone and understand---that is how he started to respect Kuroko at the first place. At the end, when he loses to Touou, he sheds the image of a “cool handsome boy” and cries like a baby in public; something his own captain Kasamatsu or his former teammate Midorima could not do. This shows a lot of courage and strength but also shows that expressing ugly emotions in a public can also be dignified and not necessarily be stripping to masculinity.

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[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 1

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever. 

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.3k chapters: 1/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, wanted omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, unless one acquired (through whatever means necessary) methods to prevent it that one. Heats, a homegrown threat guaranteed to commit acts of violence at least twice a year. By the time your first had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs bidding on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (effects that you were pretty sure were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider you more than an outsider in their close-knit community. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, the only person particularly thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast— you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime, which Mrs. Hunt loved (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the amazing reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any questions either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong.  You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder. “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

“Now even if you aren’t its okay,” the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge. “I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer. “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

“Don’t forget your bucket too!” Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, “I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen. There was no time to dwell on manners. 

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air. "The house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye— and you had no time for such consideration.

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was bad. Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of panicking omega.

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes. “Would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You did not like that his nose was especially sensitive and you hated that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm. “Thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were four massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the three bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors in the process.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, immediately. You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off waves of pheromones, to the point that your head floated for a moment.  Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way. “Sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly not moving.

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air. “Nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin.

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as a command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to nicely draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, submit, submit, make alpha happy and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was rumbling instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking. "Everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you. “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver. "Sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… sour beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently. "Are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks. "Where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega. “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans. "There’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation; an array of emotions swarmed through your body as his hand popped the button but those were the three you could identify and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties. "It’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, you couldn’t. Not even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Not even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge. "A nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam. “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him. "Please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting a mouthful of blood directly into his face.

 content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering

edited 7/9/21 - still on hiatus

[krreader]

BTS scenario → dating an “average” girl.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts  warnings: / genre: angst ; fluff  word count: 1.6k+

a/n: let me start off by saying that I really don’t like to use the word average, because I think everyone is special in their own way. now, I wasn’t sure whether you wanted this to be angsty or not, but I decided to mix it up and throw a little bit of both in there, which I hope you enjoy :)

kim seokjin

“I don't think I'll be a good work-out-buddy, Jin,” you nervously looked around, “And besides, people are looking at me.”

“Hey,” he quickly grabbed your chin and made you look into his eyes, “You pay attention to nobody but me, okay? None of these people here matter, only you and I do. And you work out as much as you can and once it becomes too hard or you don't feel like it anymore, you'll stop.”

You had often complained to Jin about your body, but had been too afraid to go into a gym on your own. So he had offered to go with you to one of the private ones that a lot of idols often used and to help you with the exercising.

It was a good deal at first, but now that you were actually here, you began to realize that you knew jack-shit about working out and that you'd probably make a fool out of yourself.

However, the moment that you started, you forgot everything around you.

Jin made this day extremely fun and every time you 'messed up', your boyfriend turned it into a funny situation that had you laugh and not blush from embarrassment.

Others were probably judging you, but you didn't notice.

All you could see was this man in front of you, loving you unconditionally the way you were now, but wanting to help you on your journey to self-love in any way he could.

min yoongi

Yoongi had once been so worried about what would happen once the media would find out about you and him, especially because of your previous hatred for yourself.

But you've worked on those issues. You've worked hard to love yourself the way you were, to accept that you'd never have that flat stomach because – surprise – your organs had to find a place somewhere in your body. To accept that you'd forever have acne scarring, which now reminded you of the hard times and made you appreciate the current, good times.

So whenever there was yet another blog post of a jealous fan bashing one of the things that you used to hate about yourself, you just nodded to yourself and said: “They're probably going through their own struggles right now. One day, they will get over it.”

Jealousy was a bitch, you've experienced that first hand.

But as you've finally come to accept yourself, you've realized that you had no reason to be jealous of others anymore.

You were happy with yourself.

Yoongi leaned against the door frame and watched you put your phone down, then grab your cup of coffee and watch the rain pour outside.

And all he could think of was: “You're the most beautiful woman on this planet. Thank you for finally having realized that yourself.”

jung hoseok

Hoseok walked into the living room after having taken a shower and found you scrolling through your Instagram, liking pictures of several girls that he was sure you had never seen or met before.

All girls that looked a certain way. ‘Perfect’, as you used to call them.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down next to you and said: “We talked about this. You don't need to look like this, you're pretty the way you are, you know?”

“I do,” you smiled at him, “But I still think they're pretty. And I know how important it is to tell someone they're beautiful. You never know what they’re struggling with about themselves at the moment.”

You've come a long way.

Two years ago, you would have looked at these pictures and beaten yourself up over it. You would have gone on a diet the next day, the hairdresser the day after and the dermatologists soon thereafter.

But now? Now you could look at these pictures and leave compliments under them that the original owner of the photo always liked and thanked you for, because as you said, you never knew what somebody was struggling with about their appearance at that time and something as simple as a compliment from a stranger could mean the world.

“I'm so proud of you,” Hoseok whispered and pulled you against him.

“Me too,” you grinned happily.

jung hoseok

Once upon a time you had thought that if you wanted to date Kim Namjoon, you had to be some sort of prodigy.

But, newsflash, you weren't.

And while you had been more than upset about this years ago and thought that you were not worthy of being with him, you had now come to accept that you were normal.

And normal was good.

Normal, was what Namjoon loved the most about you, after your kindness and your warmth that you had for the people you loved and cared for. He didn't need you to be special by playing some instrument perfectly, because you were already special enough for him for just being you.

And as you were lying in bed and he was running his fingers through your hair, he whispered: “I love you more than I can say.. you know that right?”

It surprised you, but you still smiled, “I do. I love you too. And..-” you pushed yourself up a little to look him in the eyes and chuckled, “I love me too.”

It was a little inside joke. Something that Namjoon made you say over and over again when you had troubles accepting yourself once again. And now, you could say that sentence and honestly mean it.

And man, he was so proud of that.

park jimin

It really wasn't easy being with him when he was this perfect specimen of humanity and you were – in your eyes – the worst it could offer.

“You look gorgeous,” Jimin smiled happily when you walked out of the changing room, but you weren't quite as happy with yourself.

“It doesn't fit properly.”

“Hm, I think it does,” Jimin got up and took a closer look at it, “Zipper is up, straps aren't too tight.. I think it's good!”

“No, I mean.. this,” you pointed at your belly, “I told you I can't wear a dress as tight as this, I don't have your stomach,” it came out a lot more spiteful than you intended for it to.

But he didn’t take it to heart, thankfully 

“And thank god for that,” Jimin let out a laugh, then grabbed your chin and made you look at him, “My stomach reminds me of the nights in which I had to starve myself to look like people expect me to look. Your stomach reminds me of how healthy you are and how I don't have to worry about you.”

You looked into his eyes for a moment, then you let out a sigh, your shoulders dropping, “Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up..-”

“Don't apologize. If anything, apologize to yourself for always being so hard on you and always finding an imperfection that isn't one,” he kissed your forehead, “You're so beautiful, angel,” he whispered, nearly making you cry.

kim taehyung

Taehyung could feel that there was something wrong today just from the way you texted him back. You didn't put any of your normally used emoji's after your texts, your answers were short and the amount of time it took you to even reply, was suspicious.

At first, he had thought that maybe something that he had done had upset you, but the more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that that couldn't be. When re-reading your goodnight message from last night, everything was normal.

So it must be something else.

Once his break started, he decided that he'd spend it at your place and see what it was that was troubling you. He hadn't told you that he'd be coming, so you were looking at him, not in surprise, but shock.

“What are you doing here?!” you immediately turned around and scurried back into your apartment, leaving Taehyung to close the door behind himself with furrowed eyebrows.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, just.. I don't have a good day today, okay?”

Your boyfriend placed the bag of take-away on the floor and then walked over to you, gently turning you around by your shoulder to look at you, only to see that issue seemed to be something so trivial, that it made him let out a heavy sigh.

“Really, (Y/N)?”

“It's so ugly. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I just.. popped them. And now I look even worse than before and I hate it!”

You've been struggling with your skin for a while, had often gone to dermatologists that Taehyung had recommended to you, but while it did get a little better, you didn't have the skin that he had. And that is what you wanted. A journey that would take longer than four months, however. And... well, you were impatient. 

“How many times do I need to tell you that pimples are natural? That having acne is nothing to be ashamed about?”

“Easy for you to say, looking like your skin was made out of glass.”

“And you know how much I need to do for it. How many times I need to get treatments,” his hands slid down until he could hold yours, “You're still beautiful to me. Pimples won't change that. But popping them isn't good for your skin, it's only going to make it worse. You need to let it heal, as hard as it is.”

Again, this was easy for him to say and not so easy for you to do. You've had this conversation before and you were sure that you'd have it again and again.

But you were glad to hear these words. Because at that moment, it was what you needed to feel a little better.

jeon jeongguk

It wasn't hard to figure out that you never wanted to come to these dinners because you were uncomfortable around the other members' girlfriends. They were, what society would consider, 'the standard'. They were, what women were told to look like. They were, what people thought idols’ girlfriends should look like.

And every time you joined these dinners, you realized that you were none of these things.

You weren't the perfect woman, unlike the others.

Or so you believed.

“You're home early,” you stated as you closed the book in your hands, “Wasn't it fun?”

“It was,” Jeongguk nodded, taking off his shoes, before falling onto the couch and placing his head in your lap, smiling as you immediately began to brush your fingers through his hair, “But being here with you is better.”

He could spend his days trying to convince you that you were what he wanted, exactly the way you were now.

Or, he could simply show you.

And he opted for option number two.

[mmmleckerlecker]

I was reading the questions you've answered, and I'm curious now: you said that the co-existence between preds and prey is very recently. So I was thinking the HP world from years ago, when pred could snatch up whoever prey they wanted... How was the society in that time? How did they live? (Headcanon: prey lived underground?) Did the preds have no qualms in consuming whoever they could find? (prey children/teens or the elderly, for example?)... The harmony was founded by a prey or pred? (1/2)

What was the reason for the preds to make the jump from consuming indiscriminately to the public/private contracted prey? (another headcanon: preykind severely disminishing in numbers?) I find your worldbuilding so enchanting, I'm sorry for the avalanche of questions. You're awesome! (2/2)

AHHHH YES!!! THE QUESTION I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR!!! No need to apologize!!! I have considered making a post about stuff like this for awhile now but I’m always like “do people REALLY wanna hear all that?” But now i have the perfect excuse. Thank you, anon! You’re awesome too!! (WARNING this kinda turned into a chapter length read. So I hope y’all like to read history about fictional worlds.)

Okay so. This is all stuff I’ve sorta kept in my head and have built upon when I’ve had ideas, so sorry if there are some gaps currently haha.

So I imagine preds and prey started trying to “make peace” about five centuries ago but didn’t start living in true “harmony” until about two hundred years ago. And I use the term “harmony” loosely because clearly there’s still a lot of infighting happening. Before that, the preds and prey lived in two entirely separate cultures. The prey lived in larger, more stationary groups while the preds lived in much smaller, more nomadic groups. They also DEFINITELY didn’t speak the same language.

So for preds, the groups they would live in were more like traveling pods that consisted of maybe 1-3 families living/working together. Having groups of preds getting too large was… not sustainable. It would create too much competition for food. So each group would usually give other groups of preds a wide berth. Granted there were definitely still spats for territory, especially if said territory had a good supply of prey available.

Prey, much like in modern times, were never really the preds’ main food source, however. Preds would still hunt and gather like normal. It would usually take some organizing to get a raid together on a prey village (or a pred could just get lucky and stumble across one that wandered off alone). Consuming prey all the time was just too much effort. They weren’t a practical food source nor a completely sustainable one if they were over-predated. Also! Keep in mind, the more a pred consumes, the more their body acclimates to handling such a large meal. It would be better for the preds to consume every once in awhile and have their prey take longer to digest (hence, keeping them fueled longer) than to consume ALL THE TIME and risk addiction. I think consuming would probably become more regular in the cold months too, when it was harder for preds to find other food sources.

As for WHO the preds would consume? Definitely adults would make for the best meals. Children? Well, I imagine prey would be very protective of their children, first of all, making them difficult to obtain. But also they would just make… not as filling meals? Also prey children are mostly the same size as pred children so there might be that little hesitation there on the pred’s end as they’re reminded of their own kind. I guess if the pred is desperate? There’s always gonna be a time and place for special circumstances. As for the elderly… I imagine they also live in places that are harder for preds to get to. I also think if a prey managed to live that long, they would have a trick or two up their sleeve. But like I said, there’s always a possibility for things to happen.

Now for how prey live…. Like I said, they live in larger groups. There is safety in numbers, after all. These groups were basically villages, sometimes even cities where prey could really know their territory and set up defenses against any invading preds. (An underground dwelling is really cool idea tho! I also believe that prey evolved to be able to fold themselves up and be comfortable/feel safe in tight spaces that preds could never reach them in, so prey living in like a cave system might actually work really well!) Like it’s been stated in the story, prey tend to have a lot more children than preds for “just in case.” This could cause their towns to become rather large and populous sometimes.

Prey, also unlike preds, usually tried to keep in contact with neighboring towns/villages/cities. This was one of the key factors for what made it possible for the shift to both sides living in harmony to happen. Since the prey lived in settlements and kept in contact with other prey settlements, it allowed for a certain development of culture as well as the sharing and recording of knowledge that preds… just didn’t have. Prey were able to develop things like farming and running water. They could study math and science and share their knowledge in libraries and schools. They were really on their way to becoming an advanced society, they just had one big (both figurative and literal) problem holding them back. They constantly had preds attacking and killing off their people.

Despite their efforts to fight them off, the prey just weren’t winning. So they decided, if a war against preds wasn’t going to get them anywhere, then why not make peace? The first step for this was the prey learning the preds’ language. This was… dangerous, of course. But it was done enough that the prey were able to open conversation with preds. Just this move alone caused a huge shift between both sides. What are you supposed to do when your food, which for centuries has only babbled nonsense at you before you swallowed it down, suddenly starts speaking to you like an equal? It certainly gave preds pause, but not enough to stop consuming. Not that the prey didn’t expect this. They approached the preds with more than just a common language. Their first big move was offering them food. And not just any food, but GOOD FOOD. Cooked food, decadent food, spiced foods, foods that preds didn’t have the resources (nor the patience) to prepare.

Sharing food took… probably a little more effort than one might expect. Prey and preds view food fundamentally different. To prey, it’s sustenance but also something to enjoy and connect with. To preds, it’s simply something to stop hunger. There was a sort of learning curve for preds to actually learn to ENJOY food for its flavor, but once they got it… OH BOY!!! A door was opened! Because despite LIKING prey food, the preds weren’t always so good at preparing it, so it gave the prey something they could exchange for safety. (This is also something that persists into modern times. Preds are still often stereotyped as not having very refined palates and not being very good at preparing food. This is referenced a little in Heart Pangs itself as well as the one-shot I posted last week!) Once the food trade became established, it opened up relations enough to exchange other things!

The prey shared would they could with the preds in exchange for their own survival. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes it SEEMED to work but then the preds turned on them and things went downhill very quickly. But the prey had the advantage of sheer numbers and determination on their side (that and if they didn’t keep pushing they would literally be eaten alive). It took generations of negotiations, but the preds and prey eventually came to a sort of truce, though consuming never stopped entirely.

The preds weren’t stupid, they saw the prey had a lot of good stuff to offer them. At first they took what they needed and went their separate ways, but as they gained more trust from the prey, the preds encroached more and more into their territories until both sides were more or less neighbors. There were some advantages to this. If both sides cooperated enough, they were able to make further advances as civilized societies. But there were also disadvantages… like the fact that the preds were always bigger and the prey were always making sure not to anger them so it became very easy for the preds to take whatever they wanted and leave the prey with less than they deserved.

The prey even began to lose their own language as most of the preds couldn’t be bothered to learn the prey’s language (although a lot of prey terms for food and science stuck around). The preds stopped being the enemy who lived outside the prey’s walls and suddenly became the bully who lived next door. Yes, technically the prey were a little safer than before, but the advantages they once held over the preds were slipping away as the preds claimed more and more of what the prey had until the preds were able to start developing their OWN advantages.

For a long time, the preds and prey operated as two different societies that lived in one space, meaning each group had their own leaders and their own laws. But as things began getting more and more strained between each side (as they tend to do when two natural enemies live side-by-side), the prey (once more) tried to make peace. They made the bold move of reaching out to the pred leaders in an attempt to work together and function as a singular society (although both sides more or less continued to live as two societies, just under the rule of one government). The preds were surprisingly open to this change, which was a relief to the prey… at first. But then it became clear that this was mostly just a power grab for the preds to acquire more status and wealth and power amongst the prey.

Besides the fact that a lot of prey were falling into poverty because of this, the most glaring issue was that the “unification” had made it even easier for a lot of preds to break the peace and consume prey with barely any consequences. This caused a lot of prey to flee and seek out safer, more remote places to live. Eventually it got to the point where the prey leaders threatened to break away from pred society completely. The preds didn’t like this, though, as they’d gotten very used to having prey within easy reach. They also knew that losing half the people in their society would cause a lot of problems in terms of keeping everything running smoothly. However, the preds very much did not want to give up consuming entirely. It was in their nature after all, they argued.

So after A LOT of negotiations, both sides came to a compromise. The preds would actually start enforcing consuming as something illegal UNLESS the prey being consumed had agreed to it beforehand. Obviously the prey leaders couldn’t see any prey ever AGREEING to being consumed, so they settled on the compromise thinking that was the end of it. This was the true beginning of the “harmony” between preds and prey, but of course, the preds always have something up their sleeves.

Rich preds began offering up money and food and shelter to all those desperate prey in poverty. Those prey could get everything they could ever want for, the only payment was their lives ending in said pred’s gut (after a specified amount of time). These ventures started slow, but once they started to catch on, BOY DID THEY CATCH ON. The desperate prey began hearing about certain preds who were practically giving away wealth, all it took was a signature written in (figurative) blood. Meanwhile preds began hearing about other preds who had found a loophole in the consuming law and wanted in on the action. Like any good entrepreneur, the preds turned their contracts into a business and started selling them to other preds.

The prey leaders, of course, despised this, but what could they do? It all aligned with the compromise they had made. The only thing they could do was stand by and help come up with regulations for this new practice. So they did. Over the decades, the contracting businesses grew to what they are today (large corporate monsters… although the smaller, more private contracts still exist) as well as became the core to keeping the peace. Even the government itself offers contracting services now.

Society has shifted considerably in the years since harmony was reached. The two sides have mostly learned to live with each other. Prey have fought viciously to be treated as equals while a lot of preds go their whole lives without consuming (particularly fatally) even once. And, as you know, the development of neutralizers allowed preds to experience consuming without having to hurt anyone. A lot of progress has been made, but a lot of progress still needs to happen.

And I think that pretty much catches us up to the setting of Heart Pangs (whew)! I keep thinking it would be really cool to write a story that takes places in an earlier time period to further explore how different the relations between preds and prey would be, but I have yet to come up with a plot haha. Maybe someday. I’m sure an idea will come to me at a proper time. Anydays, thank you for your interest! It was really nice to be able to (finally) type all this up somewhere!!

[ayellowcurtain]

Make me know you really care

Part 2

Robbe? Robbie, sweetheart?

Three muffled knocks, he feels that same strand of hair from earlier back to bother him again, tickling the outside corner of his eye. His neck is tight, and his arm basically dead underneath him, all his weight on top of it. Robbe moves the hand he can still feel to push his hair away from his eye.

Two knocks on the door and one attempt to turn the door knob and Robbe opens his eyes a few times, suddenly realizing it’s not part of his sleep, the noises and the voice calling his name. He pushes himself to turn and lie on his back, slowly moving his arm so the blood can run back to his tickling hand. The same plain walls, the same headboard, he is really back in his old bedroom. Last night really happened.

Milan is still at the door, his shadow - the dark cloud hair, the bright shirt and tall figure - clear on the glass but Robbe sees someone else next to him, not as clear, but clear enough for Robbe to recognize him, and he sits on the bed. Sander is there too, waiting one or two steps behind Milan. Robbe doesn’t need to see him to know he’s worried, thinking he went too far last night.

“Leave me alone, Milan.” He tries, aware that the same way he can see them well enough, they can see he’s sitting on the bed, very awake.

“Can you open the door, please? Or I’m gonna have to use the argument that you’re in my house…”

Robbe closes his eyes, still feeling like he didn’t sleep a single minute even though it’s bright outside, the sun almost disappearing at the top of the window.

His mouth is so dry and not smelling the greatest, he’s still using the clothes from last night, all wrinkled, a complete mess. He didn’t want Sander to see him like this, such a mess after that date that Robbe had to come back to the flat and sleep in his normal clothes. If it was the other way around, Robbe would worry if he found a sleepy, still smelling like beer Sander, sleeping on the same clothes he last saw him.

Robbe doesn’t try to make himself look any better while getting up, unlocking the door for the two but not enough that they’ll think he’s inviting them in. It’s not his bedroom but Robbe will act like it while he’s here. Milan has to mean his words when he told Robbe in the past that this would always be his room if he ever needed it back.

Sander is looking as perfect as any other day, clean, and with fresh new clothes too, the worry staying in his eyes, the way he frowns his eyebrows a little bit and the way he clenches his jaw but other than that, he’s fine.

“There he is!” Milan smiles and claps his hands excitedly, looking at Sander, and Robbe holds himself back from closing the door in their faces, “Good morning, princess.”

“How did you know I was here?” Robbe asks and regrets it instantly. His mouth is dry and bitter, and he doesn’t feel like talking to anybody right now enough to let them notice how terrible he looks and smells.

Sander is the one to explain, almost whispering as he looks at Milan. “He didn’t. But I stopped at your house and you weren’t there so I came here and I told him you were here.”

Robbe looks at him, afraid of who might have opened the door for him at the other flat. Sander finally looks at him again, reading his mind like always.

“He wasn’t there. But I guess his things aren’t there either…from what Jens told me.”

Well, he heard the message then.

The weird silence grows around the three of them and Milan connects the dots, opening his mouth in a wide and big 0.

“You broke up with your boyfriend?!”

Robbe looks at his friend and back to the ground, ashamed of himself for the way he did it. Nobody knows about the voice message, and Robbe is not sure how much he’s willing to tell. The break up is no news anymore so he nods his head.

“Oh, baby!” Milan pulls him by his shoulder, hugging him tight, his hands rubbing up and down Robbe’s back, turning them around so he’s the one looking at Sander and not Robbe. “He was such a loving, caring boyfriend, Sander. I know he’ll be fine, baby. And it wasn’t your intention to hurt him…” Robbe gently pushes Milan back, knowing he’s saying all of that to Sander, not exactly to him.

“Thank you…”

Milan looks from him to Sander, now standing a few steps from each other, nodding his head. “I’m gonna make some strong coffee for us, maybe go get some croissants for old time’s sake.”

They both watch as Milan grabs his coat on the hanger, waving goodbye as he leaves the flat to give them some privacy. Robbe looks around, the walls are ridiculously thin so they wouldn’t be able to talk any other way but Robbe is not sure if he wants to talk either.

Sander sighs, and Robbe sees him moving, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Some time ago I went shopping with Younes…”

Robbe frowns, and looks at him, not sure where this is going or how it has anything to do with him.

“He probably heard a lot of my thoughts about you, and us. So he thought that day that I needed to vent and he needed to go shopping. So yeah, we went out. And-“

Sander pulls his hands out again, opening one to show Robbe a ring. Suddenly he’s wide awake, as sober as one can be, very aware of everything they talked last night, or almost fought about. He steps aside, feeling dizzy and turns around to look at Sander and what he’s holding.

It’s a golden ring. It doesn’t seem new or cheap. Sander probably found it in one of the vintage shops he loves to lurk around. It’s beautiful, and Robbe’s triggered brain goes straight to that conversation they had years ago. About marriage and how Sander took it lightly, saying they were too young to give in to society’s expectations. He can feel Sander’s expecting stare on him, still looking at the ring, somewhere between terrified, amazed and hurt.

“This isn’t a wedding ring. It can be, I mean. Whenever you want. I’m just trying to say that I want it. To marry you, spend my life with you. If that’s what you want too. While we wait for the right time...this can be a promise ring.”

Robbe closes his eyes, trying to keep his nausea down on his body. For months while they were dating he thought about a wedding. Henever wanted some big event, with families and extended family they barely know. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

He wanted the day, whenever that was, to be very intimate and theirs, nobody else’s. Robbe wanted to wake up aware that it was the day, he wanted to make them some delicious, movie-like breakfast, to help Sander cook whatever he felt like cooking that morning, to kiss him, smile against his lips, look at him and see Sander’s bright, shiny eyes excited to live that day. They would put some nicer clothes on, hold hands and walk to the place where they could sign the paper and take a cheesy picture with it after they were done. It would be a blue sky type of day, not too cold, not too warm, they could easily walk to their favorite restaurant, eat whatever they wanted for once without worrying about how expensive everything was. This would be a special date so they would worry about money all the other days of the month.

“Robbe?” He finally looks up, being reminded that Sander is still very much there. His hand is back down next to his body, his index finger swinging the ring while he holds it with his thumb and middle finger. “It never crossed my mind to be with someone else but you. I’m sorry if I made it seem like marrying you wasn’t for me. Or just marrying anyone. It is if we’re talking about you and me. I didn’t think it was such a big deal to you at the time.”

Robbe sighs, staring at Sander for too long. He knows years have passed since that fight but while he’s here now, standing across from Sander he really feels the years that have passed. It feels like a lifetime ago and also just a moment somehow. Robbe always struggled when he started thinking about time. How fast it might pass and how slow. He doesn’t really want to get old but he also feels like he had pretty shitty times in his past.

He turns left and goes to the kitchen to make that strong coffee Milan forgot to make before leaving. He hopes Sander is following him.

The kitchen is still the exact same, and the coffee machine is still where it was when he lived here. He knows Milan’s bedroom and the bathroom look different because Milan, Senne and Zoe painted those while they were all in quarantine together. He came here a million times after that, the green color in the bathroom is starting to annoy him, actually.

He grabs two mugs out of the cupboard just above the coffee machine and puts them next to him, one ready to receive the first coffee.

“Do you still like your coffee the same way?”

Sander was at the kitchen door and it’s like the question is a permission for him to walk inside the kitchen, pulling a chair for him to sit. “Yeah. Burning hot, please.”

Robbe gives him his mug the second the coffee stops pouring and moves on to the fridge to find some milk for him to use for his coffee.

“And Ava?” He asks, grabbing his milk from the microwave, just warm enough not to ruin his coffee.

He can almost hear Sander saying what about Ava? but he doesn’t say that, thankfully.

“I broke up with her.”

Robbe pulls the other chair for him to sit, waiting a little so his coffee is drinkable.

“Does she know why?”

Sander lifts his eyebrows. “That I was about to come here the next morning to propose to you? No but she can probably guess it happened because of you generally.”

“Does she know anything about me?” Sander doesn’t answer with words but he nods his head, finishing his coffee already.

“She knows how much you mean to me, she knows we used to date. All those things. It’s hard for me to not talk about you, Robin.”

Robbe drinks a little bit of his coffee and adjusts his jacket, pulling the hood over his head again, feeling more comfortable this way, looking at Sander through his lashes, noticing how fondly Sander looks at him, with an almost smile right at the corners of his lips.

“You know Robin is not my name, right?”

Sander frowns. “Isn’t your name Robin IJzermans?”

Robbe snorts, and the front door is open and closed.

“Honey, I’m home!” He screams, and Robbe looks at the kitchen door, waiting for Milan to appear, making as much noise as he can thinking they would be making out at the kitchen counter or something.

He looks from one to the other in disbelief nothing is happening but he brushes it off, putting the plastic bag on the table for them to unpack.

“How many croissants?" Robbe pulls the heavy and deliciously warm paper bag and Sander pulls the coffee, and big nutella container.

“Three for each.”

“Better than Sander. He would only bring two every time.” Robbe steals a glance at him again and Sander is already looking.

“I always thought that would be enough of a hint but nobody ever left us alone, so I guess it didn’t work.”

Milan laughs, spinning around until he can lean against the sink, looking from one to the other, too curious to pretend for another second.

“And…?” He lifts his eyebrows.

Robbe stares at Sander for a little longer, unable to decide for the future but now it’s enough.

“We might get married at some point.”

Sander finally smiles shyly at that and Milan drops his shoulders like he’s disappointed.

“I wanted new news!”

[heyitsani]

This Could Be the End of Everything Chapter 1

@jaydick-week Day 4: ABO Dynamics

Word Count: 7,249

Rating: Mature

Warnings: non-con (but not sexual), canonical character death

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson

Summary: Jason's presentation takes something precious from Dick and they have to face the consequences in more ways than one.

Notes: Okay just a bit of background/history. In this "world" pack dynamics are important, but have taken a backseat since society doesn't require them anymore. But back when they were lead by more primitive needs and desires, each pack was led by one omega and alpha who were more powerful than the others. True Alphas and True Omegas, as they came to be called, were respected due to their power. But as society shifted and packs began settling in single places, Trues became more and more rare because the need for the powerful protectors was not needed.

Now they're considered precious and while True Alphas are more common than True Omega's, both are considered rare. And it's especially rare to have one of each in a pack. And when a True Alpha gives a mating bite to a True Omega, the bond cannot be broken without one or both of them dying (whereas a normal pair could easily break a bond if need be). And should one of the pair die, the other would become a shade of themselves for the rest of their days.

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was rare that Dick found himself at the manor these days.  The argument with Bruce that ended up with Robin being stripped from Dick and the one that followed when Bruce gave it to Jason without telling him first were still two excessively big bridges that had been burned.  And had yet to be rebuilt.  Although, if you asked Dick, he would say they would never be rebuilt.  Too much pain in those wounds.

But there were moments, like currently, when Bruce called and Dick answered because he couldn’t not help. Not when Bruce was able to find it within himself to ask for it to begin with.  Even if Dick wasn’t fooled and was well aware of the fact that Alfred had cajoled him into calling his eldest ward.

A fact that Alfred was more than happy to confirm as Dick sat in the kitchen with the older man and sipped on a cup of his favorite Earl Gray tea.

“Master Richard, would you please take this cup up to Master Jason?  He has not come down for his usual after school cup and I fear he has gotten caught up in his reading again,” Alfred set a tray down on the counter near Dick, glancing at the other man.

“Sure, Alfie,” Dick smiled. He set his own cup down on the tray, ignored the smile that Alfred gave him at the motion, and picked the whole tray up before heading out of the kitchen.

The manor was quiet, as it usually was at this time of day.  When Dick had lived within its walls, there had been noise from wherever it was he had found himself.  The need for movement or noise was embedded deep within his skin from his years in the circus and no matter how old he got, he could never shake it.  Jason was much more like Bruce in his need for peace and solitude.  Dick liked to tease Jason that he was adopted simply for the fact that he was much more of a Wayne then the unadopted Dick ever was.

Jason only ever scowled at that, but it made Dick snigger all the same.

Rounding the corner and making his way to Jason’s room, Dick balanced the tray on one hand and knocked. “Hey Jay?”  He listened a moment, letting his omega scent the air a moment for anything out of the normal when no answer came.  When nothing but Jason’s natural scent hit him, perhaps a bit stronger than usual, Dick deemed it safe to open the door.  What greeted him was not something he had been equipped to deal with.

The growl surprised him, but not nearly as much as the scent of alpha that smacked him right in the senses.  And how the hell hadn’t he noticed that through the door?  It was so strong now that the door was open, and he had stepped into the room.

But he didn’t get the chance to process what it all meant before he was being pushed into the closest wall and the tray he had been holding was crashing down onto the floor. It made enough noise that he knew Alfred and Bruce, who was working in his study, would hear it and come running. They wouldn’t come quick enough to stop Jason from doing what Dick could see was burning in his eyes.

“True Alpha,” Dick whispered, eyes going wide.  There was no denying that scent pouring off the newly presented alpha pressing him into the wall.  Jason’s only response was the snarl in Dick’s face and though the omega knew it was probably the stupidest thing he would ever do, he shifted his scent so Jason could smell more than just plain omega.

A scent that Dick worked so hard to hide because he had always expected to be an alpha growing up. He hadn’t even considered omega as a possibility.  If he weren’t an alpha, he would definitely be a beta.  But when he had presented as not only an omega, but a True Omega, his entire world had shifted.  He still struggled with accepting his place in the hierarchy of the world, but he had quickly mastered the skill of turning off the True in his scent, so no one knew outside of the family and a few very select friends.

But the research he had done immediately after his presentation heat had passed had told him one thing over and over: A True Omega can calm a True Alpha when breaching feral while presenting.  And Jason was going down that road, especially since Dick had waltzed into his territory uninvited.

So, he let the True Omega scent come out to play and immediately Jason’s tense hold on Dick loosened and Dick felt his body relax slightly.  “Omega,” Jason whispered, eyes still blown wide with the change.

“Jay, you gotta relax. It’s going to be okay, but you have to relax through it.  Let me go get Bruce.”  At the mention of Bruce, Jason tensed back up and Dick was officially at a loss of what to do.  Did Jason instinctually know Bruce was an alpha?  Did he view Bruce as a threat now?  “Jay?”

“Mine,” the growl was back and something sharp rose in Jason’s scent a mere second before a bright pain hit Dick and he was screaming.

Dick would never know for sure what it was that caused Jason to pull away, but one second Dick was pressed against the wall with Jason’s teeth in the place where his shoulder met his neck and the next he was on the floor, bloody and pressing a hand to the mating bite.

“Oh god, Dick!”  He could hear Jason freaking out, having been pulled out of his haze most likely due to the pain taking over Dick’s scent, but he couldn’t focus on that.  The only thing he could focus on was the burning in the bite and the spark in his chest.

“Jason?!  Dick?!”  Bruce’s voice thundered down the hall along with the sound of his feet rushing their direction, Alfred’s sounding just behind his.  Neither of them answered and only Jason looked over when the two men appeared in the doorway, but he didn’t move from his position just a foot away from Dick, kneeling with his hands hoovering like he wanted to hold onto the omega but knew he shouldn’t.

“I didn’t mean to!  I didn’t-I’m sorry!”  Jason’s voice sounded, accompanied by Alfred’s familiar baritone probably offering words of comfort.  But Bruce kneeling in front of Dick took his focus.  

“Dick?  Dick, I need you to breathe.”  Oh.  Was that why he couldn’t focus?  Yeah, that made sense.  He was disassociating.  “Dick, you need to breathe or you’re going to pass out.  And your state is not helping Jason’s at all.”  Closing his eyes, Dick tried to take a deep breath but found he couldn’t.  “Focus, Dick. Five things you can smell.”

Right, he could do this.

“Your cologne,” he rasped, keeping his eyes closed.  He could feel his hands shaking but tried to focus on scents.  “Shortbread…” A stunted breath.  “Wood polish…my tea…”  Another breath.  “And…and Alfred’s fabric softener.”  He wished he could ask Bruce to touch him, to ground him like a pack alpha should.  But there was a logical voice in his brain telling him he couldn’t.  No one could touch Dick until Jason got himself under control.  The newly presented alpha wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“That’s good Chum. Now four things you can hear.”

Still he kept his eyes closed, pushing his senses out further than this room.  “The kitchen timer, the…the blue jays in the tree out back, the grandfather clock,” he said, struggling to keep his senses out of the room. “Jason’s heartbeat.”

“No, focus on what isn’t caused by the situation or related to it.”

“Your heartbeat.”

“That’s fine. Good.  Three things you can see.”  Carefully Dick opened his eyes and blinked, doing everything he could not to seek out Jason’s eyes.

He glanced everywhere but the spot where Alfred was standing with his hands-on Jason’s shoulders, holding the worried alpha back.  “The tree outside the window.”  He flicked his eyes to the ground.  “The grain in the wood, and the tea on the floor.”  He took a deep breath and glanced at Bruce who was nodding. “Sorry, Alfie,” he muttered, referring to the mess he had made when the tray had dropped.

“It’s quite all right, Master Richard.”

“Two things you can feel. You’re almost there,” Bruce said gently, nodding again.

“The wall behind me.” Dick took another deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling his chest loosen the last bit and his air coming more naturally.  “Pain.” He flinched at the whine that sounded from Jason and cowered under the glare from Bruce.

“Dick.”

“I…the rug…” He tried and Bruce gave him a small smile.

“Last one,” Bruce told him. “One thing you can taste.”

Again, he wanted to say blood, but he didn’t want to make things worse.  Again.  “Lemon cake, from earlier.”

“Good.  Can you stand?  Alfred will take you to get cleaned up.”  Dick thought about whether or not he could stand and figured he probably wouldn’t know for certain unless he tried.  But his brain didn’t seem to want to send the signals to legs to push off the floor and he didn’t want to pull his hand away from the bite mark. He didn’t know if seeing it would set Jason off at all and he didn’t want to risk it.

“I need help,” he whispered, dejected, eyes falling shut again.  There was silence and Dick could smell the hesitation in Bruce’s scent. The conflict.

“Can Jason help you?” Dick knew Bruce was struggling not being able to jump into the comforting father, pack alpha role but he also knew he had to be careful about Jason’s end of things too.  Considering the idea, Dick gave a small nod and seconds later there were hands touching him gently, helping him to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, Dick.  Please, I’m so sorry,” Jason whispered, and Dick opened his eyes to look at the young alpha.  There were tears in Jason’s eyes and he knew Jason felt terrible.  He knew because it pulsed loudly in their bond and scented the air like fog.  But Dick didn’t know how to respond without breaking down again.  So, he just leaned against the wall and let Jason mutter out his stream of apologies.

“Master Jason, I need to take care of Master Richard.  Will you be all right for me to help him to his room?”  Jason’s eyes widened in panic at the suggestion and Dick felt a little bad. The new instincts were hard to handle on a normal basis, but throw in mate instincts on top of that?  Dick couldn’t imagine.

Reaching forward with the hand not holding the mark, Dick gripped the front of Jason’s shirt.  “You can help me to my room, but I need to process, and I need to breathe so you’ll have to leave me there.  With Alfred.”  He was trusting his omega to comfort Jason’s alpha right then because there was no way Dick could do it.  Not when he was desperately in need of comfort himself.  He needed to not have to be the strong one and that wasn’t going to happen while Jason was in the room.

Because the last thing he wanted was to make Jason feel even worse for something that Dick was upset about but not mad at Jason for.

Dick watched Jason take a deep breath before nodding.  “Okay, I can do that.”  And Dick knew he was trying to steel himself for the moment he had to walk out of Dick’s room and leave him with the beta.  But if there was one thing Jason had perfected, it was doing something he didn’t want to do simply because it needed to be done.

Glancing at Bruce, Dick found the older man watching the pair with his well-practiced Batman face. It was one he had never been able to read, no matter how many times he had tried over the last eleven years. But he did know that it was strictly reserved for situations he wasn’t too sure how to handle.  Or situations that compromised who he was as an alpha. This was probably both of those times. His youngest, newly adopted son had presented as an alpha when no one was prepared and managed to claim his eldest, unadopted ward before anyone could stop him.  And now he had to manage the new alpha when his instincts were telling him to care for his pack omega.  And not just any omega, but a True Omega who pulled out the protective instincts more due to the precious nature of having one in your pack.

But Dick couldn’t help Bruce right then.  He couldn’t be who he always was, the one who helped others back onto their feet when they fell, because it had been him who had fallen this time.  And for once in his life he just needed to allow himself to take care of himself.  

“You can take your leave now, Master Jason.  I do believe you and Master Bruce have much to discuss,” Alfred spoke gently but with an undercurrent of authority that most betas were never able to accomplish. Alfred though, he was the true patriarch of this family and anyone who knew them knew it.  

Dick didn’t look at Jason as he stepped away from where he had helped Dick sit on the edge of the elder’s bed.  He didn’t look up from the spot on the floor he had kept his gaze until the door shut firmly behind Jason, shutting his scent out along with it.  It was then when Dick allowed himself to crumple a little. Under the watchful eye of Alfred, it felt safe to do so.  He could hide his face in his hands, ignoring the blood on his one hand, as he silently cried.

Thanks to the scent blockers on his room, specifically installed for his heats, Jason wouldn’t be able to smell his new mate’s distress.  He would, however, be able to feel it through the bond but there was nothing Dick could do about that now.

A hand fell to the back of his neck and squeezed gently.  “Indeed, Master Richard.  Indeed, this is quite the situation.”  And that just made Dick sob harder into his hands, falling sideways into Alfred as the older man gathered the nineteen-year-old in his arms.  It wasn’t the comfort he had been seeking since Jason had sunk his teeth into him, but it would do for now.  It would have to do for now because Bruce had to take care of the new alpha.  

He couldn’t be certain how much time had passed before his tears dried up and Alfred got to work on cleaning and bandaging the new bite.  It wasn’t common practice for the bite to be covered, usually healing quickly on their own, the fact that it was given against Dick’s will made the healing process a bit different.  Slower. Mostly because Dick’s omega was bucking against the idea of this alpha taking something from him without asking, without proving that he could be a good alpha for the omega.  While the laws of old had long ago been changed and Dick was just as worthy of a pack and society member as any alpha or beta, the instinct to be provided for would always be there.

Dick hated it.

He was an adult and he could take care of himself.  He didn’t need to be wooed and courted.  He didn’t need someone to provide for him.  His omega disagreed, sadly.  The True Omega knew that he needed an alpha who was strong, who could protect and love and worship Dick the way he deserved.  That was the part that was howling right now, wanting to rage against the bite and break it.  But that wasn’t an option.

“Alf, what are we going to do?  I can’t break this.  I know you and Bruce could smell it.  He’s a True Alpha,” Dick whispered, looking at the man currently turning down his bed so Dick could crawl into the comfort there.  

Alfred sighed and straightened, frowning.  “We will have to figure this out.  Get some rest, Master Richard.  I will go speak to Master Bruce and send him in here as soon as possible.”  Dick could see the question in Alfred’s eyes and nodded his head, silently admitting that he wanted Bruce there.  “In you go,” he was waved into the bed and remained motionless as the covers were pulled up to his shoulders.  It reminded him of when he had been a boy in a stranger’s home.  

“Can you…”  Dick stopped Alfred from leaving for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what it was he wanted to say.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.  “Can you tell Jay I’m not mad.  I don’t want him to think I’m mad.”

“I will pass the message along.  Get some rest.”

The sound of the door opening and closing was all he heard before the silence of the room fell over him. And though he thought there was no way he would fall asleep right then; he was out before he could really process anything that had happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason shot to his feet from the chair in the kitchen when Alfred entered.  The elder looked tired but gave Jason a gentle smile and a pat to his shoulder before guiding him back into the chair across from Bruce.

“He is asleep,” Alfred relayed, and Jason felt a surge of relief.  He didn’t know if it was because of how stressed Dick had seemed at the entire altercation or because of the bond itself, but he was glad to hear the omega was able to fall asleep.  Jason wasn’t sure he’d be sleeping for the next week.  “He also asked me to pass along that he was not mad at you Master Jason. He was very adamant about that fact.”

The whine that came from his throat surprised everyone in the room, Jason most of all.  And in his embarrassment and guilt, he buried his face in his hands.

“Jason.”  Bruce’s voice sounded far off, and the usual need to obey didn’t come to him, but Jason took a deep breath and raised his head to look at his adoptive father all the same.  “None of us are angry with you.  The presentation is a lot.  The instincts are hard to deny.  Throw in the rank of True Alpha and you’ll find them even harder to deny.”

“You must allow yourself some grace, Master Jason,” Alfred spoke up.  Jason turned to look at the elder beta and frowned.  How could he allow himself grace when he had taken something from Dick against the older man’s will?  Something that he hadn’t earned.  Something the Dick hadn’t seemed keen on giving anyone, from what Jason had seen when he watched the omega interact with other people.  He held himself away from others, he had learned how to pull in his scent to smell just like a regular omega, and he had learned how to ignore the instincts.  Jason had seen them warring in the man’s sapphire eyes so many times and wondered why he would put himself through that just to make the world believe he wasn’t as special as he was.

But Jason had always seen how special Dick was.  How spectacular he was.  Even before he had known Dick was a True Omega.  And now he was left wondering if he had been able to see it because he would eventually present as a True Alpha.  If his inner alpha was just preparing to be worthy of a compatible omega.

“Fuck,” he muttered, looking away from Alfred.  He didn’t comment on the older man’s lack of chastisement on his swearing, but he knew it was probably just because it was a difficult situation.  “He’s not angry but that doesn’t mean he won’t hate me when he wakes up.”

“That may be,” Alfred said from his place.  “But there is nothing to be done to change the situation.  We can only allow Master Dick to decide what it is he wants to do since the choice was taken out of his hands.”  Jason cringed at the words, even if they were said kindly and without the accusation he deserved.  He deserved the anger and the hate.  He had stolen something that was only Dick’s to give, no one’s to take.  He was no better than the alphas in the Alley.  

Bruce cleared his throat and Jason raised his eyes to look at the man, waiting.  “And no matter what Dick decides, you still have a place in this family.  In this pack.”  And those words made Jason sag in relief.  He hadn’t realized he was worried he would be kicked to the curb for what he had done.  He understood that logically he hadn’t been in control, but the guilt swirled relentlessly around his chest and made him feel as though he was moments away from being kicked to the curb.  “Do you understand, Jaybird?”

Jason nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was just blinking himself awake when there was a soft knock on his bedroom door.  Shifting in bed so he was at least facing the door, he called out a ‘come in’ before snuggling further into the warmth of his bed. The previous days events were enough of a reason for him to not get up and greet the day as he usually did.  He felt he deserved the right to be a little lazy today.  Plus, there was a lot he needed to think about now.

“Dick,” Bruce’s low voice rumbled as the door opened and his alpha stuck his head in the room.  Or his former alpha?  Dick wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen now.  The circumstances weren’t exactly standard.  “How are you feeling today?”

Taking a moment to consider the question, Dick went through how he felt physically.  His neck was still sore but not throbbing like it had the night before, his body ached but not in an overwhelming way, and he was tired but he usually felt that way when he first woke up.  Mentally he was probably worse off.  He could feel Jason’s emotions burning strong in his chest, but he ignored them just as he had done last night.  He himself felt like a wreck.  He felt a lot like he had in the weeks and months following his parents deaths.  He was hurting and he was angry, but mostly he felt lost.  And he wondered how Jason was handling the feedback that he was getting from Dick.

“Better than yesterday,” he finally settled on as an answer.  “How is Jason?”

Bruce sighed and moved further into the room after closing the door behind himself.  He hesitated a moment before sitting on the edge of Dick’s bed, just out of the omega’s reach.  “He is feeling guilty and is rightfully upset about what happened.”  

Dick didn’t say anything, but gave a sad smile in response.  He didn’t blame Jason, even if he was upset the choice had been taken from him against his will.  He understood the overwhelming feeling of a presentation.  And he understood even more that being a True Alpha, or Omega in his own case, amped those instincts up a few more levels.  Dick could be angry to the high heavens, but he couldn’t blame Jason for not being able to immediately control the instincts.

“He was okay with you coming in here?”

Bruce hummed.  “He managed to show some amazing control once the situation had settled a bit after you fell asleep.”  It must have been easier for him once Dick’s emotions had faded in sleep.  “But now we need to discuss what you want to happen.”

Dick frowned and pushed himself upright, cringing at the pull on the bite.  But he had more important things to focus on right then. Because he didn’t want to believe Bruce was suggesting what he thought the man might be suggesting.

“You aren’t kicking him out.”  It wasn’t a question or even a request.  Dick knew his place as pack omega lent a lot of authority, even if Bruce seemed immune to it most day, and he would use every ounce of it to keep Jason from being homeless again.

“I am not kicking him out.” Shoulders sagging in relief, Dick leaned back against the headboard.  “I would never do that to him.  He is pack for as long as he wants to be.”

Dick nodded.  “Good.  That’s…that’s good.”

But that just meant that what needed to be decided was what they were going to do about the mating bite. Dick knew it couldn’t be broken and he knew Bruce knew that too.  He knew that they had no choice in this being final.  But did that mean they had to accept it?  Could they just ignore it for the rest of their lives?  

Could he doom Jason to a life of no mate?  No pups?

“I don’t know what to do, B,” Dick admitted, looking from the comforter to his father figure.  “He’s too young even if I was okay with this. Legally he’s allowed to make the choice, sure.  But I’m nineteen and he’s fifteen.  And that is just…no.”  Dick shook his head firmly and Bruce’s face told Dick that the older man completely agreed. Which didn’t surprise him in the least because Bruce was progressive, but he wasn’t to the point where he felt a fifteen-year-old was mature enough to pick a mate after presenting.  “How much does he understand about the situation?”

“Enough to know there’s no fix,” Bruce admitted.  “I told him some of the things we found when you had presented as a True Omega and what the purpose of the role was in our more primitive states.  But how they had become rarer due to the dynamics of packs changing and evolving with civilization.”  It was more than school taught these days because the rank was so rare for both omegas and alphas, though more so for omegas.  Dick remembered the researching Bruce had done when Dick had presented and felt that gnawing need to know everything there was to know in order to get some control over the situation.

“I should talk to him.”

Bruce’s silence told Dick he agreed but had some reservations about it.  It was a difficult situation and Dick knew Bruce was struggling still.  The night would not have changed that.  And it hadn’t gone past Dick’s notice that the alpha had kept himself physically distanced from Dick.  Which meant Jason might have more clarity, but the instincts were still battling his logic and that meant caution had to be taken.

“Do you want to do that in neutral territory or here in your room?”

Being in his territory would definitely give him the upper ground, but he also knew the smell might be too much for Jason to handle.  It would probably make focusing hard for the new alpha.  But being in neutral territory meant the possibility of being overpowered again.  And that thought scared him more than he wanted to admit.

But maybe there was a compromise.

Glancing over to the French door that opened to his balcony, Dick considered them.  “Have him come here.  We’ll sit on the balcony.”  The scent wouldn’t be as bad once Jason was on the balcony and Dick wouldn’t feel like he was unsafe.  Bruce gave a nod and stood from the edge of the bed, looking down at Dick with that all too familiar unreadable expression.  “What?”

For a quick moment, Dick thought Bruce might actually open up and be honest with his emotions, but then the man gave a grunt and headed out of the room.  Predictable, Dick thought as he carefully got out of the bed and made his way stiffly to his bathroom.  He knew he would have time for a quick shower and that since the scent of last night’s emotions were still clinging to him, he definitely needed it. So he quickly washed himself off with the scentless soap the entire manor was filled with, silently missing the soft lavender soap he used back at his apartment, and got dried off.  

He was just pulling on a pair of worn sweats and a t-shirt when a familiar knock sounded on the door and Alfred entered.

“Ah, Master Dick, please hold off on the shirt for a moment.  I would like to have a look at your neck.”  Dick nodded and pulled the shirt off his arms as he sat down on the edge of the bed so Alfred could take a look under the bandage that he had replaced after his shower.  “How do you feel this morning?”

Dick thought about what he said to Bruce earlier about being better today and whether or not he could get away with that with the same.  Not likely. “Sore and stiff.  The shower helped some, but I’m still aching,” he admitted.  The older man remained silent as he looked over the bite before applying a salve and putting another fresh bandage on it.

“You may put your shirt on now.  Master Jason will be here shortly, I’m sure.”  Dick sighed and tugged the shirt on over his head, remaining on the bed.  “Not that I believe I need to give this warning, but do be gentle with the young master.  He has been distraught all night.”

Dick looked up at Alfred with a frown.  If the circumstances were different, he probably would have cracked a joke about Alfred’s sleepytime tea that Bruce was forced to drink from time to time.  But this wasn’t a joke and it didn’t feel like one. Not even for him, the king of puns. Instead he just nodded and looked down at the hardwood floors as Alfred gave the back of his neck a squeeze and then left.

He stayed there, lost in his thoughts and emotions until a soft, hesitant knock sounded on his door. With a deep breath, Dick stood and went over to his balcony doors and opened them wide.  He reveled in the gentle morning breeze that came through for just a moment before turning and telling Jason to come in.

Dick watched the door open slowly before a head of dark hair poked through and looked inside.  “Dick?”  The sound of Jason’s voice made his heart lurch.  He had never heard the teen sound so uncertain before.  Since the first moment they had met, the kid had been all stubborn pride and defiance.  Dick had actually liked that about him, hoping Jason would give Bruce a taste of his own medicine.  But it was nerve wracking to hear this side of him.  Unsettling.  

“Hey Jay,” Dick responded, drawing the teen’s eyes to him.  Jason stopped midway into the room and the door fell closed behind him, causing him to jump slightly.  “Let’s go out on the balcony.”  He got a quick nod in return and Jason quickly walked around the bed and toward where Dick was waiting.  Dick didn’t need the new bond to tell that Jason was nervous about what Dick was about to say to him, that he was trying to be as small as possible.  And Dick also knew that given a few years time, Jason wouldn’t be very successful that that act.

Grabbing a blanket off the foot of his bed, Dick headed moved out onto the balcony after Jason and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders before sitting down on one of the chairs. The air was just chilly enough, but his goal was more to cover the bandages peeking out from the collar of his shirt after seeing Jason’s eyes flicker to them when he passed Dick.  The sharp pain of guilt had slammed through the bond and Dick figured it was probably best to hide the evidence.

“I’m not mad,” Dick told Jason, looking over at the teen who was slumped in one of the lounge chairs refusing to meet Dick’s eyes.  Dick watched him shift in the chair and waited to see if he would say anything.  “Jay?”

The teen looked up at him for a moment before his gaze skittered away again.  “I know you aren’t,” he muttered, tapping the center of his chest. And yeah, Dick guessed that was fair. But he was definitely going to have to find a way to shut the connection down for privacy.  It would be different if this had been something they had both chosen.  But not even Jason had wanted this to happen.  “I know I said it last night, but I really am sorry, Dick.”

Dick nodded and leaned back in his chair.  “Yeah, but you aren’t solely to blame.  I walked into your territory without warning,” Dick admitted, turning his eyes out to the horizon of trees.  “I triggered it when I tried to use my omega to calm you down.”

“This is not your fault,” Jason growled and when Dick looked over, he found the teen gripping the arm rests of the chair tightly enough that his knuckles were white.  If Dick couldn’t feel the fierce protectiveness Jason was feeling then he might actually worry about a lack of control.  But he knew Jason wasn’t going to turn this emotion on him.

“It’s not yours either.”

But Jason went from the rage to incredulity quickly and looked at Dick like he had just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard.  “Of course it is!  I bit you! I stole that choice from you,” Jason rasped.  But Dick sighed and shook his head.  “I’m no better than the bastard alphas in Crime Alley.”

“No,” Dick growled in return, leaning over his arm rest to look at Jason.  “Do not compare yourself to a full grown alpha who has control over their instincts.  Never do that.  You are nothing like them.”

“But…”

Dick growled and Jason froze.  “No.”

Jason gave him a nod, but Dick knew he didn’t actually believe it.  But Dick wouldn’t allow him to think so lowly of himself.  To compare him to some of the worst people out there. No, that was no something Dick was going to allow.

Silence hung between them for a few moments before Jason shifted and drew Dick’s attention back.  “So what do you want to do?”  The question was asked in a sure voice, but the uncertainty swirling in the bond made it clear that Jason was worried.  But what was he worried about?  Bruce had told the teen he had a home here no matter what.

“I don’t know,” Dick said honestly.  “I’m going to go back to Bludhaven and maybe some space will give us some clarity.  I’m also going to work on shutting this emotional bond between us off.  I think until decisions are made, it would be better for both of us.”  Jason watched him carefully and nodded slowly.  Dick could feel the understanding, but also shame and rejection.  But Dick didn’t comment on them because he doubted Jason actually wanted him to know he felt those things.  “You’re too young for any decisions to be made.”  When Jason opened his mouth to protest, Dick raised a hand to stop him. “I don’t care what the law says.  You’re fifteen.  And even if you had come to me in a year and offered me your bite, I would still say you were too young.”

The indignation that came through from Jason made Dick smile.  He knew this would be the reaction.  No one liked being told they’re too young.  But the fact remained.  Fifteen was too young and the pair of them didn’t really know each other all that well.

“I’m not rejecting you,” Dick offered softly.  Jason frowned, eyebrows merging.  “I can’t, even if I wanted to.  But I’m not accepting either.”

“That’s fair.”

AFTER

“Yeah, Walls,” Dick laughed into his cell as he walked up the stairs of the front of the Manor.  He listened to his best friend question his decision again, wanting to be sure that Dick wasn’t doing this for anyone other than himself and it made Dick’s heart ache.  “I want to do this, Wally.  I want to do it because he’s a good guy and when he’s old enough, he will be a good alpha.  But I also want to do this because fighting it the past year has been exhausting.  I could do it forever, but I don’t want to.”

“If you’re sure, man. I trust you know what you’re doing. Just want to be sure that B-man isn’t pressuring you.”

Sighing, Dick pushed the front door open and headed inside.  “He’s got nothing to do with it, I promise.”

“All right, all right. Look, I gotta buzz but call me after you tell him, yeah?  Maybe take a video?  Love to hold his reaction over that punk for a bit.”  Dick just laughed and agreed before hanging up and heading toward the kitchen, where he was sure Alfred would be.  He was only slightly surprised to find it empty.

That surprise turned into concern when he walked through the remainder of the house and failed to find anyone inside.  And though it was early, Dick figured checking the Cave wouldn’t hurt before he started making phone calls.

With practiced hands, he hit the familiar keys on the piano and made his way through the entrance of the Cave and down the stairs.  Most of the lights were off and only triggered as he made his way further inside, but the glow of the computer gave him enough light to see Alfred watching the monitors.

“Alf?”  He called out, causing the older beta to jump and look over at him in surprise.  That made Dick frown.  Alfred always heard them coming.  Always. “Everything okay?”

His eyes moved from the man’s face to the screens and widened at the sight of the inside of the Batmobile speeding toward an unknown destination.  He hadn’t know Bruce was on a mission, not that Bruce shared that kind of information with him anymore.  Not since Dick had stopped being Robin and had become his own hero. But Jason usually let him know if they were going to be out of town on a mission, even if he didn’t say specifics.

“Master Dick, perhaps you should head back up and I’ll be there in a moment.”

But Dick shook his head and came closer, stopping just to the side and behind the chair Alfred occupied. “Where are they?  What’s going on?”  It was strange for Alfred to try and keep him away from a mission. Strange enough that Dick thought about doing something he hadn’t done in some time.  He thought about opening the bond between him and Jason to try and see what the other was feeling.  They had worked long and hard on closing off that end of themselves so they were not influenced by the other’s emotions and Dick couldn’t remember the last time he had tried to open it up.  “Alfred, what is happening here?”

“Agent A what are the stats?”  Bruce’s Batman tone broke through the speakers and Alfred sighed, turning on the mic that he had apparently turned off at some point.

“He’s still alive.”

He’s still alive.  

“Who is still alive?” Dick whispered, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

“Nightwing what are you doing there?  Agent A get him out of there.”  And that cemented it even further.  And it solidified his decision to open the bond.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and sought out that spot in his chest that he had tended to so carefully.  One small tug on the thread was enough to pull it wide open, leaving him gasping and gripping the back of the chair to remain upright.

Pain.  So much pain it was staggering.

“What is happening to him?!” He gasped out, letting Alfred lead him to sit in the chair he had just been in himself.  He tried to straighten himself out, but he couldn’t pull himself out of the bent over position he fell in the instant he was seated.  “B…”

He could hear Bruce swear over the comms and Alfred’s hushed reassurances, but the only thing he could really focus on was the pain.  And the fear. So much fear and so much pain. There was something else buried under that, but the two overwhelmed anything else that might possibly be trying the come through.  And even if Dick wanted to, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to close the bond back up.

And since his was open, Jason’s was now open as well.

“Please, B,” Dick begged, lifting his head to look at the screen.  “What’s happening?”

“Joker has him.  I’ll get him back,” Bruce told him and Dick felt his eyes well.  He knew Bruce meant what he said, but he also knew that whatever was happening to Jason was going to kill him if Bruce didn’t reach him soon.  “Agent A, how far?”

“Looks as though two miles, sir,” Alfred’s warm voice sounded as a hand landed in the middle of Dick’s back.  “No change to the vitals.”  Dick’s eyes went to the screen that held Jason’s vitals and he focused on that. He focused on the, although erratic, heartbeat of the man and tried to take a few deep breaths.  “Master Richard, it might be difficult but perhaps you could reassure the young master through the bond?  He won’t be aware that Batman is on his way to help, but perhaps you can help convey it.”

Could he do that?

He had heard of other doing it before, but he had no idea how to send an emotion.  Only how to feel one.  But he could try, right?  Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself further.  He released the grip on the seat of the chair and focused on calming his body.  Once his body was no longer on the ledge of panic, he tried to remember the feeling he had when he had decided he was going to tell Jason that when his 18th birthday arrived that he would be happy to allow the alpha to court him. The warmth it brought him at the thought of Jason trying to prove he was worthy.  The happiness that he felt in the moments he got to spend with Jason over the years, despite the issues he had with Bruce.

And then suddenly he felt something back.  Something more than fear and pain from Jason.  Gratefulness.  An emotion so warm that Dick was sure if he touched his chest, he could feel it burning through him.

But then the fear spiked, and Dick sat straight up, looking at the screen to see Bruce pulling up to a warehouse of some kind.  “Something’s wrong.  Something’s happening.  Bruce!” Dick shouted as Batman’s cowl showed the man getting out of the vehicle and running toward the building just in time for it to explode in flame and debris.  “NO! Jason!”