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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year

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Garden of Secrets [35] - Verbena Flower

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: One can find a home in their chosen family.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of trauma and violence.

Word Count: 3200

Series Masterlist

You weren’t half as restless as you thought you would be, considering the recent events. If it were the beginning of the season, you would have been horrified at the idea of your parents being back but now?

You felt strangely safe, which was rather unexpected.

“Y/N!” Teddy rushed into the drawing room, almost breathless with excitement. “I have a surprise for you, and Benedict helped!”

You tilted your head, putting your book to the side and sat up straighter in the sofa.

“A surprise?” you asked, already smiling. “Is that why you two didn’t let me go in the studio?”

“Yes!” Teddy said, still holding something behind his back as Benedict appeared by the doorstep.

“Did you plan this?” you asked and he shook his head, grinning slightly.

“Completely Teddy’s idea.”

“Guess what it is!” Teddy insisted while Benedict leaned sideways to the door and you turned to Teddy.

“Hmm,” you pretended to think. “It’s a…is it a drawing?”

Teddy shook his head fervently, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Benedict will teach me how to draw but not yet!” he said, obviously pleased that you couldn’t guess it right. He giggled, then held up the small sculpture figure.

“Here!” he said, “It’s for you!”

“Oh my goodness!” you gasped, taking it from him and stealing a look at Benedict. “This is absolutely wonderful Teddy! A figure of a huma—cactus!” you corrected yourself mid-sentence when Benedict shook his head and mouthed it without Teddy seeing him.

“A cactus yes!” Teddy exclaimed, “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you said with a huge smile. “Thank you so much Teddy! I will keep it forever.”

“I’m going to make them for uncle and auntie as well!” Teddy said and ran out of the drawing room, wheezing past Benedict. You suppressed a laugh, then looked down at the small sculpture again.

“Where are the needles?”

“He said putting those on it would make it a classic cactus and that he didn’t want that,” he said as he walked inside to fling himself on the armchair. “It’s a different cactus, he says.”

“Artists…” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head slightly and took a deep breath. “Hey, Benedict?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you said. “For you know, spending time with Teddy.”

“He’s family,” Benedict stated, making you smile. “You don’t have to thank me at all.”

“It’s just that—he looks up to you so much,” you said. “No one else really taught him anything about art.”

He gave you a grin. “I’m telling you, he will be a very successful sculptor.”

“I just hope he will be happy, that’s all,” you said and bit down on your lip. “How’s your hand by the way?”

“Oh it feels much better,” Benedict said, curling his fingers as if checking for the pain and you cleared your throat.

“But should you even be painting or sculpting?” you asked him. “I think you should be resting your hand, no?”

“It’s fine, I promise,” he assured you. “Hey, you do know he can stay with us as long as he wants, don’t you?”

Your head shot up. “Hm?”

“Teddy,” he said. “You’re worried because he’s staying with your aunt and uncle and you think your father and mother might show up there again.”

You pulled your brows together.

“Can you read my mind or something?”

“Or something,” he said with a smile. “Seriously though. He already has a room here, it’s his house too.”

You pulled your brows together in deep in thought before you shook your head slightly.

“I should probably see how it’s going to go before taking those precautions,” you said. “I don’t want him to get all confused and such and even though I want him close, uncle and aunt have been doing a great job so…”

Benedict nodded. “Whenever you want.”

“But I was thinking,” you said. “Perhaps I should tell your mother about some of it.”

Benedict tilted his head.

“You don’t have to.”

“No I won’t—obviously I won’t tell her about the details, just that…just that my parents are here and we don’t have the best relationship,” you said. “Knowing my parents, they’ll try to meet your family and I honestly don’t want that.”

“Do you want me there with you?”

“I was thinking you could inform Anthony actually?” you asked and hissed in a breath. “Because you know, he and I don’t exactly have the friendliest relationship.”

“Hasn’t escaped my notice, surprising as it may,” Benedict pointed out, making you giggle. “He already asked me what happened to my hand.”

“And?”

“I told him I had an accident with a palette knife.”

“But your palette knives aren’t exactly sharp?”

“You say that like Anthony knows what a palette knife is,” Benedict said, making you bite down on your lip to contain your laughter. “It has the word knife in it, so he didn’t exactly question what happened.”

A giggle escaped from your lips.

“That’s smart of you,” you said and tilted your head. “I suppose you’re not merely looks after all.”

He shot you that lopsided grin that always managed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Well—”

“Benedict!” Teddy’s voice carried into the room, cutting Benedict off. “Can you come and check if these ones look good please?”

Benedict chuckled and got up from the armchair as you cleared your throat.

“Sorry about that,” you said. “I can—”

“To repeat, he’s family,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss on your head. “Let me know when we’re leaving hm?”

“…Alright,” you said and watched him walk out of the drawing room. You stared at the door where he disappeared for a couple of seconds, his pleasant scent still in your lungs and pressed a hand over your chest to at least soothe your fast heartbeat that had got crazy the minute he kissed you. You slid a little on the sofa, then threw your shoulders back and grabbed your book, trying your hardest to focus.

When you got to the Bridgerton House, Benedict dragged Anthony and Colin outside, leaving you to talk to Lady Bridgerton comfortably. Lady Bridgerton had always been incredibly nice to you before or after your wedding to Benedict, and though you hadn’t gone out of your way to spend a lot of time with her, you hoped she knew how much you respected her.

Besides, it was likely that she assumed you and Benedict were still in your honeymoon phase so she didn’t mind.

“I’m so glad you came for tea Y/N!” she said. “Eloise will be sorry to have missed you, she went to visit Penelope.”

“It’s alright Lady Bridgerton,” you said. “I was actually hoping to talk to you alone.”

She gasped, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Oh my goodness, I hope this is not about what was on Lady Whistledown yesterday!”

“It’s—sorry, what?” you asked, suddenly distracted. “What was that?”

She blinked a couple of times.

“Oh I assumed…” she trailed off. “I assumed this was what brought this on.”

“I don’t read Whistledown,” you said. “Neither does Ben—what was on it?”

“Just some unfounded rumors,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “Nothing important.”

“Can I see?” you asked and she motioned at the paper on the small coffee table.

“Third paragraph,” she said helpfully, and your eyes skimmed the lines.

Speaking of newly married couples, we sure hope that our favorite artist Mr. Bridgerton’s love for his wife is not turning out to be an infatuation like many assumed it was. He seemed like he had a lot to talk about with Lady Margery Sutton the other day at the park, and as it was noticed by a lot of members of the ton at the park, the two seemed like they were having quite fun while Mrs. Bridgerton preferred the companionship of Miss Harlowe, soon to be Viscountess Bridgerton. We trust that it was just a friendly conversation between two ladies rather than Mrs. Bridgerton finding herself in the same position that Miss Harlowe once did if the rumors were true; being heartbroken by the same man.

“What the…” you trailed off and shook your head fervently, frowning at the paper before raising your glances from it. “This is not true. Everything is fine between me and Benedict, and Margery is a friend, that’s all.”

“Of course,” Lady Bridgerton said. “Benedict is in love with you, everyone knows that.”

You held up the paper, trying to ignore that uncomfortable sinking in your stomach. “Not everyone.”

“Don’t mind Lady Whistledown,” she said. “She has her whole attention on Anthony and Lottie nowadays, these rumors will go away before you know it.”

You tried to shake off the image of Margery and Benedict together, then cleared your throat.

“I am so happy for Anthony and Lottie by the way,” you said. “I can’t wait for the wedding.”

“Neither can I,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m just glad they’re finally together, after years.”

“They’ll be very happy together.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked and you took a deep breath, running a hand over your face.

“Lady Bridgerton, um…” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not quite sure how to explain this situation actually but I thought you should know before anyone else, and Benedict kindly agreed—”

“Oh my God!” she gasped, covering her mouth. “Y/N, you’re with child!”

“Wh—no!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening as you shook your head. “I’m not! It’s not like that Lady Bridgerton, I assure you.”

“Oh,” she lowered her hands. “My apologies.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you fixed the silky skirts of your gown.

“So I’m sure you noticed that my parents weren’t at the wedding breakfast or the engagement or anything,” you started. “And I know I said it was because the road would be too difficult for them from the countryside to here but it wasn’t the actual truth. They weren’t here because I didn’t invite them to any of it.”

She pulled her brows together in confusion.

“Why not?”

“My parents and I…” you trailed off, nibbling on your lip. “We don’t have the best relationship.”

She stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue.

“While I was growing up, they—” you paused for a moment. “They’re not like you or my aunt and uncle, they weren’t the nicest while me and Josie were growing up. That’s actually why my uncle took us in, me and Teddy.”

She pressed her lips together.

“I’m telling you this because they’re in town actually,” you forced yourself to say. “They might approach you or Anthony or—I don’t know. I’m not certain, but I wanted you to know, just in case.”

She reached out to hold your hand in hers, offering you an assuring smile.

“Does Benedict know?”

“Oh yes,” you said, nodding your head. “He has known for a while now about…my home life growing up. And he also knows that they’re in town, he’s telling Anthony as we speak.”

“And are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said almost automatically. “Sure.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s just that they’re not…” you thought for a second. “I don’t want them to put you or your family in a situation you do not want to, Lady Bridgerton, and I will do my best to make sure—”

“Y/N, you are family,” she said and you bit down on your lip.

“You don’t have to say that just because Benedict and I are married.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, squeezing your hand in a loving manner. “You became family the moment Benedict fell in love with you.”

You could feel the burning in your eyes and a teary laugh escaped from your lips.

“Might not have been his best decision.”

“I disagree,” she said. “It makes me so happy to see you two in love and happy, and please know that you are a member of our family. We will always love you and protect you, no matter what.”

Your throat tightened as you tried to blink back the tears.

“Thank you,” you rasped out. “It…it means more than you know.”

“Of course,” she said and patted your hand. “By the way, does this have something to do with Benedict’s hand being bandaged?”

You raised your brows, then shook your head.

“Uh no,” you said. “A palette knife accident, that’s all.”

After having tea with Lady Bridgerton, you decided to go to the pastry shop and sit down alone with your book for an hour or two before going back home. Your parents being back still managed to make you feel rather tense especially after talking about it with someone else, so you ordered some coffee and a slice of cake and opened your book, desperate to get away from your thoughts.

Yet, you wouldn’t be so lucky.

It hadn’t even been a couple of minutes since the shop owner brought you your tea and cake that you heard the chair opposite to yours being pulled, the noise making you look up and as soon as you did, your heart dropped to your stomach.

She looked exactly like you remembered her. Her clothes were different, probably thanks to the money your uncle kept sending them every month, but other than that, it felt as if it could’ve been yesterday since you had last seen her. Your jaw clenched and you dug your fingernails into your palm before gritting your teeth, rolling your shoulders back to sit up straighter.

“Hello mother,” you forced yourself to say and she clutched at her chest, shaking her head as if she was overtaken by emotions.

“Y/N,” she said. “Oh my dearest daughter…”

A scoff escaped from your lips at that and you leaned backwards in your seat as soon as she took a step towards you.

“Do not,” you growled and she paused for a moment, then sat down on the chair.

“Look at you,” she said, her eyes darting over your face before lowering to your dress. “You are a young woman of the ton now. A proper lady.”

You arched a brow. “What are you doing here?”

“Well I had to see you of course!” she said. “My little Y/N, an actual member of the ton now… I cannot believe it, I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t be, you had nothing to do with it,” you pointed out and she heaved a sigh.

“Let’s not start that, shall we?” she said, making you raise your brows. “At least wait a while until you start being so bitter.”

“So bitter?” you repeated, letting out a dry laugh. “Jesus Christ.”

“How is Teddy?”

Your eyes narrowed into a glare and she let out a breath.

“There it is, that glare,” she said. “Some things do not change at all. You were like this when you were little as well, just sitting there and judging people, glaring at us as if you were better than us.”

“I mean that’s not very difficult,” you pointed out. “It’s not as if you’re setting the bar high to be honest.”

“Y/N, for old times’ sake,” she said. “Let’s catch up first before you attack me.”

“Oh sure,” you said, “What old times are we talking about by the way? The time father threatened to kick Josie out of the house, or when he slammed my head to the wall and you stood there doing nothing?”

She shook her head fervently. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You clenched your teeth, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I forgot you did that,” you muttered more to yourself and she cleared her throat.

“How is your husband?”

“My husband broke your husband’s nose a couple of nights ago,” you said. “Did you not see? Or has that prick not come home still, drinking himself to oblivion somewhere?”

“I’m sure that fight has an explanation.”

“Father disrespected me,” you stated. “That’s the explanation.”

“He may have lost his temper, some old habits die hard but,” she said, “he’s a changed man, Y/N.”

You tilted your head. “Of course,” you said. “I’m sure he is. He is a changed man after his fifth drink, then after eighth he becomes who he is again.”

“Well you and your sister didn’t help,” she said through her teeth. “What with Josie always badmouthing him and you always glaring. You both were always up to something, showing him disrespect, of course you needed a firm hand—”

“And you did nothing.”

“He’s my husband.”

“We were your children, mother!” you snapped and shook your head. “Actually you know what? None of that matters now.”

“You’re married now too,” she said. “So what if I let him discipline you? You have a husband now, you know how—”

“Benedict would rather die than raise a hand to me,” your voice came out as a growl. “Don’t ever disrespect him by trying to lump him together with your husband.”

She heaved a sigh.

“Naïve as always,” she said. “And so very sensitive.”

You could feel the anger boiling at your throat but you pressed your lips together.

“You know,” you trailed off, running your fingertip over the fork on the table. “In my nightmares I’m back home with you two. I suppose it’s because my mind cannot conjure up anything more horrifying than that, but then I wake up and I realize that I never will be back in that hell. It’s quite relieving, really.”

She held your gaze for a couple of seconds, then tsk tsked.

“All this grudge is not good for you, Y/N,” she said. “Especially concerning your family. I’m worried about you.”

You gawked at her, a calmness washing over you as you let the words sink in, then took a deep breath and closed your book, smiling at her.

“Oh don’t worry about me, mother,” you said, pride clear in your voice. “Honestly. Because after this little, unpleasant conversation, I’ll get in my carriage and go home to my husband who happens to be the most handsome and talented and amazing man in the ton—scratch that, in the world— and who, if I may add, is completely in love with me. And while we’re eating dinner in our huge mansion that uncle gifted us as a wedding gift and then going to the next ball or social outing only to be surrounded by the people I actually care about, I won’t be worried about you. I won’t be thinking about you at all.”

She looked almost frozen by the impact of your words and you reached into your reticule to take out a couple of coins, then put them on the table and got up from your chair, putting your palms on the table to lean in slightly so that she could hear you.

“I already have a family,” you said, your voice nearly a hiss. “And you and your husband are of no use to me or my real family. Go back to the hellhole you crawled out of, and leave us all alone.”

With that, you walked out of the pastry shop, a proud smile curling your lips as you approached the carriage waiting for you by the street.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Home please,” you said as you got in the carriage without sparing a glance back to the pastry shop window. “Thank you.”

Chapter 36

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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the-californicationist · 8 months

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he buys you jewelry

The incessant whir of the tattoo gun was droning on as you watched Price’s freshly-shaved shoulder and back take on the sweeping artwork of a huge dragon. It had arching wings and a terrible snarl, and its long tongue breathed fire out onto his spine. You weren’t sure why he was getting a dragon, or what the symbolism was, but it was beautiful work. It fit his body perfectly.

You’d been dating the soldier for about two months now, and he was very intense. He was apparently a captain of some sort of special forces group, but he hadn’t burdened you with the details. As you spoke with him and shared more things about yourself, he would leave little breadcrumbs about himself along the way, opening up slowly like a tight bud, blooming right in front of your eyes.

His violent career was probably why he was taking this tattoo like it was a massage, chatting happily with you and his artist, Jana, totally unfazed by the repeated stabbing pain of the needles. Price was laid across the black chair, shirtless and hatless with his chest down and his back exposed to Jana. She was working away diligently, and you were in a prime location to drool over his body.

You’d been naked together already, and he was a damn fine lover, but his huge frame still made you hot, bothered, and unquenchably thirsty. You let your eyes drag over his hulking shoulders, gazing at the banded muscle in his back, his huge lats fanning out like wings, leading down to a trim but strong core. His skin was dusted with thick hair and a starfield of freckles. Old and new tattoos lay nestled around his body, telling a story you were slowly unfolding. John Price was gorgeous.

“Mm,” he groaned, “Back of the arm is a bitch.”

“You need a break, John?” Jana asked him, “‘Cause I could use a smoke.”

“You bet,” Price smiled in agreement, letting her clean him up and wrap the skin to keep it safe.

You handed him a bottle of water and grabbed an orange from your bag, following him to the back of the parlor. He dusted off a bench for you to sit with him, and he lit a tin cigar. You started to peel your orange, handing him a segment at a time, sharing it together as his smoke rolled out of his nose and mouth, spiraling up from the glowing embers. He offered it to you, and you took it.

The smoke was warm and filled your mouth, heating the sensitive skin of your cheeks. The tobacco and vanilla notes blended with the sweetness of the orange creating a pleasant taste, and it was satisfying to blow it away from you. More satisfying, however, was the indulgent expression on Price’s face when you did so, his bearded grin turning almost smug when you looked up at him to return his cigar.

“Does it hurt?” You asked him, getting a peek at his dragon. It was nearly finished.

“It hurts in a good way, ya know? Pain…” he paused for a moment, thinking, his gaze focused on something far away, “Pain requires fear. If you can move past it, you can overcome it. I just try to find something I’d rather feel than fear.”

“What do you usually feel?” You asked, biting into another juicy slice of your orange.

“Rage,” he smiled a little sadly, staring down at his hands, “I’m quick with my anger. Comes too easy for me, sometimes.”

“Do you feel rage now?” You probed further, handing him another shining lobe from the fruit.

He looked at you, brushing your hair over your ear gently,

“No, love. Not rage. Something else, though.”

For a moment, his stark blue eyes drew you in, turning into pools of endless, cloudless sky. You thought he might kiss you. You might have a chance to taste the mixture of tobacco and orange in his mouth, feel his slick tongue slip against yours. You wanted to be pressured by his jaw to open up to him, to allow him to taste whatever he wanted to taste, to take whatever he wanted to take.

“Hey, mate,” Jana poked her head around the corner, “You ready to finish up?”

“Yeah,” Price replied, his eyes not leaving yours, gripping you without using his hands.

“Looks brilliant, Jans,” Price admired his dragon in the mirror, inspecting the fine details of its black scales, “You’re the best.”

“You like it?” She smiled, admiring the work as well, pride shining on her face.

“Yeah, I’m proper chuffed. Now it’s her turn,” he nodded over to you.

“What?” You gaped, surprised at the sudden focus.

He let Jana place the protective film over his tattoo and pulled his shirt back on, commenting,

“You wanted to get some work done, yeah?”

“Oh, right,” you said, remembering you’d told him how badly you wanted a tongue piercing since you were a teenager, “Not sure I have the funds, so -”

“No,” Price shook his head, “It’s on me, love. Whatever you want.”

“Really?” You couldn’t believe he would just drop money on you like it was nothing. Jana’s studio was one of those invite-only, get-on-a-waiting-list type of places. Very posh. This wasn’t going to be cheap.

He nodded, fixing his shirt and sliding over to give you a chaste kiss,

“Anything for you, sweet girl,” he grinned, lowering his voice, “You gonna pierce that pretty tongue for me to play with, hm?”

You could feel your cheeks grow hot from the way his comment made you feel, bellowing the fire that was growing in your core. You turned to Jana who was cleaning up her station,

“Are you able to do a tongue piercing today?”

She smiled,

“For John’s girl? Anytime. Have a seat.”

She brought over some bars for you to choose from. You worried about how sensitive your skin was, but tried not to be picky. When you asked about hypoallergenic options, she brought out a whole tray, watching as you and Price perused the selections.

“This one?” You pointed to a polymer style. It was bright fluorescent pink, and it almost glowed in the container.

“Very safe. The PTFE will be the easiest to avoid infection,” Jana told you confidently. She really knew her craft. You watched as she prepped the needle, and you started to get nervous.

Price noticed of course, and he reached out for your hand,

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you smiled up at him, grimacing a bit, admitting your nervousness.

The captain reminded you, squeezing your hand,

“Don’t think about the fear.”

“What should I think about instead?”

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, and your heart froze in your chest as you listened to his words,

“I can’t stop thinking about how it’s going to make me feel when you lick my cock. I want you to rub it against my head, underneath, in that bloody spot that I like.”

“Ready?” Jana asked, interrupting your salacious thoughts.

Price backed off, smirking with a proud look on his face, knowing he had made your blood run hot, straight to your belly. You nodded, giving her your tongue. You expected to be nervous again, but you weren’t. You were, however, extremely horny.

Then, the clamp. A few seconds later, the sting. Your eyes wrenched shut, and Price squeezed your hand tighter. You opened them to look up at him, and his expression had darkened. He was staring into your mouth, looking at the piercing, obviously getting turned on by it. You watched him, sitting behind Jana, adjust himself in his pants, grasping at his growing shaft, trying to calm down.

“All done,” Jana smiled, showing you a hand mirror, “and look - ”

She shined a blacklight over it, making it glow even brighter,

“Pretty!” She exclaimed.

She explained the aftercare, giving you plenty of products, and glaring at Price, making sure he followed the hygiene steps, too.

You left the shop sore, but you were distracted by the feeling of the wetness between your legs. John hugged you tightly before opening the passenger side door for you to climb into his car,

“Poor darling, want to go for ice cream? Something to soothe that tongue?”

You nodded, looking at him expectantly, knowing he was still half-hard. His thickness made it impossible to miss.

“Yeah, John, that sounds good.”

“After a few days, she said you’d be back to fighting shape, hm? I can’t wait.”

His laugh was dark and full of promise. He leaned over the center console to kiss your neck, and you felt like you might melt through the seat. He pulled out of the parking lot, and as the lights from the city glittered over his windshield, you held his hand, feeling like his precious pet, something to be cherished.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #afab reader #Female reader #x female reader

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atom-writings · 9 months

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hetalia axis & allies (+ canada) xmas headcanons

1.6k words ~ gender neutral headcanons

tw: uhhh christmas obviously. mention of religion and underwear?? uh... i think that's it

a/n: this is my first christmas as a jewish convert so that's been weird. anyway I just wanted something quick, so its mostly a list of gift ideas (:

America

Alfred is SUCH a huge Christmas fan. I mean, canonically he dresses up as Santa, so he goes all out for the entire month of December. He's been working on a huge holiday home display for decades, and it shows.

He plays Santa at his local mall during the weeks leading up to Christmas; and on the night of, he hands out hot cocoa outside his house. It's fun, but it also means he's a little distracted when it comes to you.

What he would get you: Posters of your favourite movies, super comfy pyjamas, expensive figures of characters you like, candy you like but never get for yourself, model planes or Legos for you two to build together, novelty pens, a stupid cowboy costume so you can match <3, those handmade coupons because he 1. Loves you and 2. Forgot about Christmas until yesterday

What he would want: Any video games, Funko Pops, vinyls of music he likes, those big packs of shirts (he is constantly running out of shirts because he rips or irreparably stains them,) Marvel comics, anything with an eagle on it, those mini wacky waving inflatable tube men things, bulk pens and pencils because he also breaks those constantly-

England

Arthur is not big into Christmas and never has been. He'll celebrate with you, but he's not going out when it comes to any aspect. If anything, he finds it a little exhausting getting gifts for everyone

But, he does adore walking around and looking at all the lights. He'll do that a couple times with you in December.

What he would get you: Any novel you’ve mentioned even once, tickets to a concert both of you will enjoy, classy jackets that fit you perfectly, cute keychains, fancy art supplies, fragrances that remind him of you, bags/purses that fit your style, CDs

What he would want: Sewing supplies (thread, new needles, new fabric scissors,) framed photos of the two of you, Doctor Who merch, foreign tea, a book on how to take care of your eyebrows properly (he will not learn otherwise,) slippers, those sarcastic magnets that all millennial women have at least one of, any ridiculous piece of merch with the union jack on it

France

Francis has very mixed feelings about Christmas. On one hand, he hates how consumerist it has become, but on the other hand, nothing makes him happier than seeing the joy the season brings to others.

Plus, he does enjoy giving and receiving presents. The music too? Wonderful. As long as you don't get too stressed out, the holiday should be perfect.

What he would get you: Tons of clothes; stuff that's already your style, and completely new stuff, room decorations (NOT posters,) a reservation at a nice restaurant, bracelets that he made for you, makeup (if you like that kind of thing,) candles that smell like his cologne, CHEESE

What he would want: Fancy fabric, any clothes (he doesn’t care what they are as long as you think they’d look good on him…) paintings or photography, literally ANYTHING creative you’ve made, hair ties (he loses at least 5 a day,) bird stuffed animals, (Basically anything! Francis is not picky)

China

Christmas is a new occurrence for Yao, and he isn't the biggest fan. He'll buy you stuff for it, but he would do that normally. The lights and the music aren't anything special to him either. Basically, he won't celebrate unless you want to.

What he would get you: Elaborate, very expensive jewellery, huge stuff like a car, Chinese cookbooks, traditional clothes that he made specifically to represent you (: luxury handbags (that he got at SUCH a good discount,) tons of weird off-brand merch of your favourite show, probably a nice meal too!

What he would want: Yao is hard to buy for. Soft robes, stuff to help with back pain, face masks, Hello Kitty keychains… reading glasses maybe?

Russia

Although he isn't as excited about Christmas as he is about the New Year, he still loves the holiday. It's a nice excuse to see family, and everyone is just so happy around the season! He's especially excited to celebrate it with you.

He's not the best at giving gifts, but he could be worse. Regardless of whether you like all of it, you're gonna get a lot of stuff.

(Also, he plays Santa for the kids sometimes. It's so cute-)

What he would get you: Random knick-knacks he probably found at a local market, knitted hats and gloves in your favourite colour, a scarf to match his, tickets to go somewhere warm on vacation, stuffed animals! books that made him think of you (usually philosophical or religious novels,) pretty rocks (:

What he would want: SUNFLOWERS! (This works for every occasion,) baked goods, clothes that aren’t 250 years old- new doilies and paintings to decorate his house, pictures of yourself, friendship bracelets, stuffed animals, if you can make a scarf somehow, DO THAT

North Italy

Feliciano cares about Christmas in a more religious way, but he's never mad about getting presents. So, he'll probably spend most of the day in church, but he still did put a lot of effort into getting you stuff you love.

What he would get you: Pajamas & bath robes, shitty romance novels that he wants you to read, weird hand-made knick-knacks, makeup, strange mugs that he found at a thrift store, a painting of you (: probably a pair of his boxers-

What he would want: New paint brushes, novelty pasta shapes, fancy jackets, any art that you’ve made (regardless of quality,) cat stuffed animals, The Ability To Get A Grip, skincare products, shiny garbage (For art purposes, duh,) those handmade coupon things

Germany

Ludwig does not enjoy Christmas particularly. He's terrible at giving gifts but he wants to so desperately that he spends all of winter stressing out about it. Yes, he's excited to see your reaction to his gifts, but at what cost?!

Although he does still like all the decorations at least. Maybe he just likes re-decorating though.

What he would get you: Puzzles you can complete together, soft sweaters, practical stuff you need (like book bags, lens cloths, that kind of thing,) stationery, reservations for private tours at museums you would find interesting, a subscription to whatever silly service you want (:

What he would want: Books about city planning, nerdy card games, a fun lanyard, a new coffee machine, those aroma-therapy diffuser things, household tools like vacuums and stuff (Get him an air fryer. He’s going to be fascinated.) stress balls, pens (He is boring.)

Japan

Kiku really has no particular feelings towards Christmas. If you weren't there, the most he would do was put up a mini tree. He's stressed out by both giving and receiving presents and is only willing to do that kind of thing if you want to.

What he would get you: Electronics, merch of your favourite Sanrio character, books that he thinks you’ll like, stickers, a bento box, comfy sweatpants, cute hairpins, plushies from your favourite media, a bunch of pillows, some obscure Japanese snacks too!

What he would want: Miku figures, posters, video games, manga, general nerdy stuff, history novels (he likes to correct them,) blackout curtains, cute face masks, a Polaroid camera, a guide on socialization (Seriously.) a knit scarf, if you can knit (:

South Italy

Romano desperately wants to care about Jesus more than getting gifts. He's a devout catholic, g*ddamnit! But... he does just really love eating baked goods and getting gifts more than anything. Getting together with family, the music, the lights, he just ADORES the holiday.

What he would get you: Blankets and pillows, your favourite snacks, clothes that are a little more revealing- cruise tickets (if going on wouldn’t be hell for you,) a journal where he wrote down all of the things he loves about you (completely honestly,) religious items, fancy perfumes

What he would want: Paintings from local artists, post-its (so he can finally remember SOMETHING,) anything with the Italian flag on it, stupid bumper stickers, pictures of the other nations that you’ve written insults on, fancy patterned scarves and fabric

Prussia

Like Alfred, Gilbert loves Christmas in a very childish way. He embraces that side of himself during the holidays and he'd love it if you joined him in that. He constantly insists on going out to see the lights, and he just can't get enough of Christmas movies. Even the bad ones (He's a Hallmark girlie.)

What he would get you: A vintage music box, hair dye, DVDs of your favourite movies (just to have,) stationery, random snacks he picked up from a gas station an hour ago, weirdly sentimental jewellery? Vintage journals, pictures of himself

What he would want: Coupons (???) goofy temporary tattoos, metal CDs, tea (he’s weirdly embarrassed about liking tea and doesn’t buy it for himself?) vintage maps that he can frame and hang up, probably like, WD40? DC comics, novelty trophies, Pokemon cards, video games

Canada

More than anything, Matthew loves winter. So, therefore, he loves Christmas! Seeing you smile when you open your gifts, he looks forward to it all season. It seems like the only time of year when everyone else is either as miserable or as happy as he is, so it's his favourite holiday.

Cuddling up in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa, watching some old Christmas movie, its all he wants.

What he would get you: Comfy hoodies, comfy slippers too, hot cocoa packs, big stuff like a new PC or fridge or smth- decorations for your room, face masks, fidget toys, novelty Canadian keychains, figures of your favourite characters, festive sweets (like candy-canes and stuff.)

What he would want: Anything with a maple leaf (yes, he wants MORE of that,) boring stuff like socks, wood-working tools or like a new snow shovel, fairy lights, DVDs (because he still uses them? Why.) a new phone case, gift cards (HES BORING,) pre-packaged crafts, lotion and cologne that smells like pine

merry christmas if you celebrate! this'll probably be the last full thing I post until 2024, so thanks to all you readers for sticking around this year (: you have no idea how much it means to me. i love yall. and to all a good night or whatever santa said

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katerinaaqu · 19 days

Text

Escape from Cyclops Island: Hubris

Okay a little something I promised to @wolfythewitch I was gonna post when discussing on a statue of Odysseus under the ram and this doodle Title says it all I believe! Hehehe

His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat so much that he felt he could spit it out at any moment now. He could swear he could hear the blood pumping behind his ear, almost making him deaf. He had to master all his self-control not to let his breath hiss down his throat and he felt cold sweat running across his face and back. He didn’t dare to make a sound even if the moans and groans of pain coming out of that detestable giant throat of the Cyclops were masking most of the other sounds except from the bleating of the flock. Polyphemus was still bleeding profoundly out of that crushed eyeball of his as he was stumbling across his cave, constantly making sounds of agony and on occasion he would angrily sway his arm around, dropping a load of stuff hanging from the walls or piled around. Odysseus was holding his breath every time one of those piles collapsed with tremendous sound and saw one of his men that were scattered about the room run for cover, barely missing being buried under the giant debris. He was at the end of his wits. That was the most difficult night they had so far and that spoke loads considering the terrifying week they passed in that secluded hole, watching their companions being consumed by the giant Cyclops. He was awake all night that was for sure ever since he had that idea to get the bastard drunk and pluck his eye out. It seemed a good idea at that time but of course even if he was mentally prepared for a difficult night, the actual thing was beyond terrifying; beyond his sickest expectations. On top of that he hadn’t calculated on the heightened senses of the Cyclops. He could hear a single needle drop! Yet alone them moving about! Therefore their whole night was nightmarish for they had to move about and avoid being stomped upon or being crushed every time the Cyclops couldn’t stay put and sleep while in pain among others while they themselves had to run about as soundlessly as possible.

Now even the Cyclops was exhausted and he was more lazily moving about but his pain was giving him strength and Odysseus still hadn’t figured out their way out! He knew the Cyclops was blind but now he could tell he had both acute sense of hearing and smell! They wouldn’t easily get past him! During the whole nightly and deadly play of hide-and-seek and chase, Odysseus was still trying to figure out a way out of the situation. They would have only one chance for there wouldn’t survive another day in that cave and their comrades were in danger too! Not only were there more of this monster around but even Polyphemus himself might as well stumble across their ships. Or their comrades would come looking for them and either get past him or get crushed by the others. Odysseus had given them orders to wait about a week. That day was getting dangerously close to come and they were still trapped! Polyphemus dropped yet another huge stack of grapes. His comrade Alcimos left a yelp of surprise as he was nearly crushed. Odysseus felt all his nerves tensing feeling Polyphemus look at that direction!

“So this is where you’re hiding?” Polyphemus moaned in his unworldly voice

He swung his arm barely missing his poor comrade and crushed at a stone wall behind. The silence that followed the tremendous sound was deafening.

“Shit!” he mumbled barely audibly

Odysseus picked a pebble up and threw it with all his might to the corner of the other direction. The dry sound echoed in the stone chamber and luckily drew the attention of their predator. Odysseus made a haste, almost panicking, move with his hand, urging his friend to run. As soundlessly as possible his terrified comrade obeyed. Odysseus eyed Eurylochus. He was as pale as a sheet, probably all of them were. Odysseus through another stone at another corner.

“Is that you there, Nobody?!” Polychemus growled swinging his huge arms again, “You won’t get away from me! You’ll pay for what you’ve done!”

Odysseus hopped over to Eurylochus’s part as quietly as he could, practically crawling on all fours towards his direction, and patted his back.

“Captain…what are we going to do?” Eurylochus whispered (well it was more mouthing like whispering)

“I don’t know!” Odysseus replied in a similar manner

“We’re trapped! There’s no way out of here!”

“I’m thinking! I’m thinking!”

He nearly banged his head with his fists. Fear and lack of sleep were blocking his logical thinking.

“Think, you fool!” he urged himself, “Think! Think! There must be a way to run past him! Think! Think!”

Upon yet another rumbling of one of his comrades swiftly changing position to avoid the giant foot of the Cyclops, Odysseus threw another stone, this time to the wall above the sheep, causing the animals to agitate and bleat together. He hoped their noise would cover their clumsy attempts to change position. That didn’t pass unnoticed by Polyphemus.

“Is that where you’re hiding?” He groaned again, “among my sheep? You hope to walk past me inside my own flock?”

Yeah, the thought did cross my mind, Odysseus thought. In fact that was the initial plan; to wait for Polyphemus to open his cave and then they would run among the sheep that would come out and hope for the best. Odysseus was not sure if it would work anymore. Apparently he was right for the Cyclops confirmed his fear by laughing in his pain.

“You are a fool, Nobody! Do you think you can run past me so easily?! I will smell and feel you! I will sit here and make sure no one passes through me!”

Stumbling his way towards the cave’s entrance, he sat himself to the corner, to make his point. The message was clear. He would feel his way across the flock. Well, there goes my plan! Odysseus thought.

“Shit!” he cussed once more

Dawn was getting dangerously close. He was running out of time to find a solution. Would they run past him anyways? Improbable. Stay in yet another day and hope to somehow dig themselves out of it? Impossible. Would they, perhaps, wait for the nightfall when the flock would be coming in so they would run out as Polyphemus would be busy taking his sheep in? It could work but for once seemed as risky as their initial plan of escape and two he knew they were running out of time. Not only would their small search party arrive and compromise his lie that they were alone, revealing his identity too that he had tried to conceal, but also his men were at the point of breaking. He doubted they would last yet another full day in the cave waiting for their possible death. Not to mention hunger and fatigue had started taking their toll on them all.

“You will not get past me, Nobody!” Polyphemus threatened again

Apparently, though, they weren’t the only ones exhausted by their nightly chase and hide-and-seek game. Polyphemus groaned one last time in pain (potentially the wine he had so carelessly chugged down was not out of his system yet) and his head fell to the side and fell asleep. That gives us a few hours window, Odysseus thought. He didn’t have time to lose.

“Captain!” Eurylochus urged him again as loudly as he dared, “We must do something!”

“Sh!” Odysseus harshly shushed him, “I need to think!”

“Think!” he urged himself again, “You must think! Your life depends on it! Yours and your men’s! Think! What should we do!? Sheep…among the sheep…no we can’t do that now…but still… No, go back to the original idea! No time for more complicated plans! Do not fill your brain with unnecessary thoughts, you fool! Think! Back to the basics…the sheep… We can hide among the sheep…”

He gazed over at the flock. He noticed indeed it was an impressive flock. If they weren’t in such a position he might as well admire how well-kept they were! He noticed then the rams. Yes, sheep rams and goats he knew. He had plenty of flocks under his supervision in Ithaca. He noticed this good breed of rams among the white sheep. The rams were big, strong and black like violet flowers; were easily distinguishable among the rest. Yeah, these animals would make even the princes of Troy feeling envious. Suddenly his mind tingled. His hand cupped his chin, feeling the curly hair of his beard. Suddenly the light bleating of sheep and the snoring of the despicable Cyclops were not bothering him anymore. In fact, they were making the cogs in his brain move faster.

“Sheep…we can hide among the sheep… Troy…the trick that saved us from Troy… The sheep…in the sheep…no, no, no! Not in the sheep…among them…to get under his feet…wait…under…under…! That’s it!” he snapped his fingers in realization (drawing the attention of Eurylochus no less)

If it worked he would have to congratulate himself, he thought. If this didn’t work then nothing would! Just to be safe, he through another rock at the sheep, hoping the familiar sound would keep the Cyclops lulled in his sleep and clapped his hands twice as loudly as he dared, drawing the attention of his other companions. With frantic moves he pointed at them the flock, urging them to follow him in the pen. Luckily they got his meaning and ran there. Odysseus ran as fast and soundlessly as he could to the pile of withes that Polyphemus used as his bed and grasped some strong twisted ones from them. Joining his comrades he once more signaled to the sheep pointing upwards and then patted his stomach. He didn’t dare to speak a word. He didn’t know if the Cyclops would wake up and certainly his plan wouldn’t be ruined otherwise nothing would save them. It took his comrades two minutes to understand what he meant but thank the gods they did. He grabbed three-three the rams by their horns (thanking all the gods that this creature had no shepherd dogs to guard his flock!) and tied them together and then helped each and every one of his comrades under them. He left Eurylochus for last.

“Captain…h-how…a-are you…”

“Sh!” Odysseus urged again in a whisper, “Trust me”

He certainly sounded more confident than what he felt but Eurylochus didn’t need to know that. Helping his brother-n-law to be tied as well he looked around. There was only one ram left and it was the biggest and the best Polyphemus had in his flock. He knew that ram; it was Polyphemus’s favorite. He remembered seeing their tormentor caressing it and taking care of it. He glared daggers towards the direction of Polyphemus; fists clenching almost to the point of his nails digging in his flesh. All his accumulated anger was bubbling ready to explode. He had to use all his self control not to be lost in it. He went to the ram and grasped its thick fleece with all his might. There he remained taking breaths to calm himself. His body was practically drenched in cold sweat. He prayed to all the gods he knew that his plan would work. The last minutes till dawn passed like eons as he noticed the rosy color of dawn entering through the openings of the cave.

“This is it…” he thought, “The moment of truth”

The monster he so wished he could kill right now, slowly began to wake up. Like clockwork; like the very beasts of nature! He noticed him moaning and groaning in agony still.

“Yes!” Odysseus thought maliciously, “Suffer the pain of my men! Suffer like you should, you beast! Burn and drown in your blood for all I care, unholy creature!”

He saw the Cyclops slowly opening the heavy rock. The fresh air hit him directly on the face as well as the warm light of dawn. Yes! Just a little longer! Polyphemus groaned again in pain and whistled for the sheep to come out. He felt the sheep he was under moving but the movements were much slower than what he remembered. He knew it was because now he had him too weighting it down apart from its own thick fleece. As he suspected, Polyphemus began feeling his way through the flock, touching the backs of his sheep, counting and lurking for his victims to cross! Odysseus literally held his breath when his first comrade was to come through. Polyphemus’s hand touched the sheep. Odysseus prayed to all gods that his comrade would hold his fear back and manage to go through. Polyphemus felt his way over and…he let the rams pass! The Man of Many Torments let out a small sigh of relief. He secretly congratulated himself for tying three rams together. His comrade in the middle was protected from both sides. The second passed the same through. He felt a smirk almost play at the corner of his lips as if he was trying to calm his own heart; stop his own sweat from making his palms slippery and nearly falling off his own salvation.

“Fool!” he thought triumphantly for one second, “You foolish beast! You thought you could catch me! No I will not be caught and devoured by you, Cyclops! Never! Their deaths weren’t in vain, Cyclops!”

Despite his resolve and wild triumph that was making his chest nearly breaking by the way his heart was pounding against it, Odysseus of Ithaca felt ready to have a heart attack as his own turn had come. Once again he nearly fell off but he bravely held his pace. He then heard Polyphemus speak (his view was blocked by the ram’s thick fleece).

“How strange that you come last, my dearest ram!” Polyphemus cooed at it, “You usually are the first to run out and lead all my flock to the open air to graze upon the grass…and by the night you run first back to get into your warm home… Is it because you are sad for your master, my dear ram? Because that puny man, Nobody, took away sight with his evil trick when he clouded his mind with wine? Is that it?”

Sweat was running like a river on Odysseus’s face as his heart was speeding twice as fast as a normal human would! His head was feeling light from hanging upside down for too long as well and his arms were getting tired. If anything was holding him back was his rage that gave him almost inhuman strength as well as his need to survive this.

“So you show no compassion to my men, to any of us that begged your hospitality and yet you speak on this animal as if it is the most important thing! Curse you, beast! Remain blind now for the rest of your life!”

His heart nearly stopped as the huge, sinister hand cupped the back of the large ram and gave it an affectionate pet. He felt that those huge fingers nearly touched his palms! And yet Cyclops didn’t investigate any further. His chest was moving violently up and down sucking oxygen like no tomorrow as he finally breathed again. And then he smelt the fresh air around him. He was outside! Finally! Finally they went outside! He barely held himself not to run immediately. He gazed behind his back, seeing Polyphemus slowly moving with his arms extended trying to find his way blind to the downhill path.

“Now!” he thought

He immediately let go of the ram and ran as fast as his feet allowed him to, cutting the binds of his men with his knife.

“COME ON!” He called to them, “GO GO GO! Grab the sheep and go! Run!”

Cyclops gasped as the stomping of men, Odysseus’s cries and bleating of sheep reached his ears. How?! How had they managed to…? Odysseus freeing the last man yelled at his second-in-command;

“Eurylochus! Run back to the ships! Give order to start! Go! NOW!”

Eurylochus didn’t need to be told a second time. As if his feet grew the winged sandals of Hermes he ran with all his might downhill. The small bay with their ships of salvation came to sight….

Polites was organizing the crew the best he could. It was already the seventh day ever since their comrades and captain had left the bay in search for hospitality. He knew he would have to organize the search party that day. What would it be the right course? What if they were too late?

“-…OLITES!”

He raised his head from his work at the distant sound of that voice. No soon after he saw the figures of Eurylochus and a few of their comrades running like all demons of Tartarus were after them. They were carrying huge sheep on their shoulders which were slowing them down while leading some more with them.

“POLITES!” Eurylochus was heard clearly now, “PREPARE THE DEPARTURE! HOIST THE SAILS!”

“What?” Polites asked in wonder but then he saw from afar a huge figure

It didn’t need intelligence to realize what it was.

“Oh crap!” he cursed himself “HOIST THE SAILS!” He transferred the order, “ALL HANDS ON DECK!”

Hands and feet frantically began working, abandoning literally anything they might have been doing, any sort of provisions they have laid down upon the beach and jumped in the water to climb the ships; ropes were loosened, sails were opened and anchors were pulled up as fast as their human hands could manage. Their comrades joined them soon after.

“GO GO GO!” Eurylochus yelled, climbing up the ship dripping water from the beach and helping the others up

“Wait! What about the others?”

“THERE ARE NO OTHERS POLITES! PREPARE FOR DEPARTURE!”

“Where is Odysseus?”

They both turned towards the dreadful sight; Odysseus was running as fast as his feet could take him (and that was fast enough) among the sheep of Polyphemus. Behind him the dark, sinister and huge figure of the Cyclops was catching up slowly because of size alone.

“Captain!” Eurylochus yelled, “Quickly! Hurry!”

Breath hissing in his throat and heart hammering against his ribcage Odysseus was running like Charon himself was after him. Around him the sheep of Polyphemus were also scared from the commotion.

“NOBODY!”

He stopped to look back at Cyclops that was after him, slowly yet steadily gaining ground. Something in his mind snapped that moment. He looked at the ram that was the source of his salvation. His original plan was to take it with him but he knew he could not carry it. He could only see red at the realization. He drew his sharp sword and grabbed the ram by the horns, eyeing the beast he hated with flaming eyes of obsidian.

“That is for my men!” He said threateningly

And then his sword cut through the tender neck of the ram, rich in fat and blood. The ram bleated desperately as it chocked to its own blood.

“NOOOO!” Polyphemus yelled woefully

He didn’t need to be smart to know what Odysseus had done. The king of Ithaca didn’t stop to enjoy the pain of his opponent. He ran to the edge of the rock and threw himself in the sea before swimming frantically towards his ship where his men helped him up immediately on their way out of the bay. Breathing heavily he looked around and all his comrades were rejoicing to see them fine!

“Captain!” Polites called out, “Thank gods you are alive! What happened! Where are the others?”

Odysseus’s eyes darkened.

“Gone…” he croaked out, clenched feast trembling “That…that beast ate them!”

His comrades let out cries of mourning as they covered their heads with their cloths in lament. It was the second loss they were suffering outside of war ever since Thrace and the way was beyond comprehension… Odysseus saw his men lamenting, even those who were now rowing for their lives. Something snapped inside him. He turned around towards the shore, for they had gained a fair distance; brought his both hands around his mouth and yelled with all his might;

“CYCLOPS! HAY, CYCLOPS! I’M HERE!”

“What are you doing?!” Eurylochus croaked out shocked

However Odysseus was beyond himself.

“Looks like it wasn’t just a common man the one you decided to devour his companions! Looks like it was no weakling as you thought!” he mocked him, “You should have thought twice before you had the audacity to devour your guests in your own home! This is why Zeus took the sight away from you!”

Polyphemus growled in anger. He grasped a huge boulder from the rock next to him and threw it towards the direction of the voice. The boulder splashed loudly into the water, shaking the men off their feet and showering them with water. The wave pushed the ship close to the shore, almost hitting the rocks. Odysseus rushed to the pole of the steer and pulled with all his might, narrowly escaping the howl crushing against the sharp protrusions. His head moved urging his men to run to their positions at the oars.

“ROW MEN! ROW!” he ordered, “Full speed ahead!”

They didn’t need to be told twice! Their calloused from war and sea hands grabbed upon the oars like their souls resided in them, rowing with all their might at the orders and rhythm provided by Eurylochus and the rest of the captains. Odysseus laughed loudly almost like a madman seeing the distance they covered.

“YOU MISSED!” He mocked him again, “CYCLOPS! I’M STILL HERE!”

“What are you doing!?” one of the men called out in panic, “You reckless man! Stop provoking him! You will kill us all!”

His men indeed seemed to be coming to pat him on the back, stop him from performing this madness as some more boulders barely let their ships untouched.

“Captain! That’s enough! Please!” Eurylochus urged

“CYCLOPS! HAY! WHAT’S THE MATTER!” Odysseus ignored them “YOUR STRENGTH LEFT YOU!?” he yelled as he was practically held by them as he rushed to the edge of the ship to yell to his opponent with all the strength of his lungs

“CAPTAIN!” now Eurylochus yelled, “Have you lost your damned mind?! Stop this!”

Fists clenched and shaking, no, rather his entire body was shaking as Odysseus rushed to the edge and almost hanged himself from there, as if trying to ease some distance between himself and the shore.

“Captain don’t-!”

“CYCLOPS!” he yelled on top of his lungs, “IF ANYONE ASKS YOU WHO TOOK YOUR SIGHT TELL THEM IT WAS ODYSSEUS THE SACKER OF CITIES, THE SON OF LAËRTES FROM ITHACA THAT DID IT! DO YOU HEAR ME!?”

“Odysseus!” Polites now urged grabbing hold of him as if he was afraid that he had lost his mind

And in one way he was right. Face all red from fury and nostrils flattering in his breathing, Odysseus was no different than a madman indeed. The cry of desperation he heard from Cyclops and the way his arms flew in the air was balsam in his soul. His enemy’s pain and distress was as addictive as the triumph over this opponent!

“ALAS! It was prophesized for me by Telemus that Odysseus would make me blind!” he cried, “But I hoped for a battle! For a worthy opponent! Not this short WEAKLING who clouded my mind with wine to do it! But my father, Poseidon will heal me, Nobody! YOU HEAR ME!?”

He threw another bolder in anger but this time Odysseus was way out of range. The bolder landed in the water several meters behind any ship that belonged to the king of Ithaca. Odysseus’s mocking laughter echoed once more.

“COWARD!” Polyphemus called upon from his isle, “Come back and fight me like a man, you weakling! Come back so you can have the gifts you so wished for! Come back to have the handsome ransoms my father Poseidon would have for me!”

Odysseus roared angrily, beyond all reason, banging is fist against the hull of the ship, practically breaking free from Polites’s grip.

“IF ONLY I HAD YOU UNDER MY SWORD NOW!” he yelled, “I WOULD TAKE YOUR LIFE! I WOULD STEAL YOUR LIFE LIKE YOU TOOK MY MEN FROM ME! AND NOT EVEN YOUR MIGHTY FATHER POSEIDON WOULD BE ABLE TO PUT YOU TOGETHER AND HEAL YOUR EYE! YOU HEAR ME! I’D KILL YOU!”

He had no idea he could yell so loudly or so long. He had no idea he would lose his mind that day but he just had to release all the accumulated anger he carried in all these days; all the horror and fury.

“DO YOU HEAR ME?! I’D KILL YOU! I’D KILL YOU! I’D KILL YOU!”

“Odysseus!” Polites was heard again

The king of Ithaca was breathing heavily like wounded. His throat almost completely aggravated from his desperate yelling. His chest seemed on fire as well. But that moment of silence after the madness was enough to hear the Cyclops from a distance. He raised his arms towards the heavens and cried out;

“Oh, Poseidon! If I am your son and you wish to call yourself my father, make sure that Odysseus the Sacker of Cities from Ithaca shall never see his land again! But if he is fated to set a foot again to his ancestral home, let it be alone, may all his companions perish and he shall arrive to his land stranger upon a foreign ship and meet only misery in his halls!”

At the sound of that terrible curse, the men on his boat nearly scratched their faces in lament and moaned in terror.

“Gods! We’re cursed!” one called out

“Gods, why!” one other cried, “Right after Troy!”

And then Odysseus gasped. The word rang in his mind like a bell, snapping him out of his previous rampage…freezing him solid almost instantaneously.

“Gods…!” he whispered in terror, “What did I do!”

His previous hypertension turned into a frozen, delirious state. He almost fell limb to the arms of Polites; eyes hollow and fixated upon nothingness; upon some imaginary thing on the planks beneath him.

“What did I do!”

“Odysseus?” Polites whispered alarmed, “Odysseus!”

“What did I do! What did I do!” it was all his captain was whispering

He knew then…he knew the price was too great and he could not pay it!

What did I do what did I do what did I do what did I do what did I do…

~*~*~*~

Based on the 6th rhapsody of the Odyssey this is another one-shot!

Dunno why I imagined how literaly nerve-breaking the whole process would be and how these men would be inside that cave waiting for dawn to come so I kinda went for that! Plus I wanted to explain the emotional accumulation inside Odysseus that led him to make the greatest mistake in his life!

Dunno why I made him kill Polyphemus's favorite ram! I imagined that if a ram alone is enough to lift him up then he wouldn't be able to carry it so I imagined Odysseus would want to hurt Polyphemus for what he did to his men and this idea of a more cruel act by Odysseus was given!

The escape scene was also heavily inspired by the Sinbad The Legend of The Seven Seas scene of the giant fish!

And of course you can see my analysis upon my theories on Curse of Polyphemus

My analysis about Odysseus wanting to hurt Polyphemus and enjoying the pain he inflicted him can be seen here

I hope you guys like it! Sorry it is like 5 in the morning now! Hehehe

32 notes · View notes

quicktosimp · 9 months

Text

Just a Little Longer

Kinkmas Day 04

Warnings: By the Fire, Sleepy Sex, Nipple Play, Alien Genitalia, Cock Warming

A/N: Huge shout out to @neteyamsyawntu so excited for day four and to continue this amazing event 💗

One of the downsides to foraging for blue cloud moss is that for it to be harvested perfectly, you must do it in the rain. So’lek brought me with him because it was supposed to be light rain, yet here I am, shivering from said rain, but it is not weak. Large drops fell from the sky at a speed that is punishing. So’lek had gone deeper into the water to grab the last piece of blue cloud moss, and then we could head back to base. He wanted me to go with him, but my limbs were so cold I could barely use them. The rain felt like ice chips striking my body, racking me with painful coldness, and all I wanted to do was sit under 30 blankets and fall asleep.

“Paskalin, are you alright?” I heard So’lek ask me before I saw him.

I turned to the sound slowly, my body aching with every move. He was standing there holding the sack full of moss, looking at me concerned.

“I-I I-m, c-c-cc-col-d,” I stutter through my chattering teeth.

He continues to get closer to me. He gently raises his hand and holds my face, angling it towards him, but even his gentle touch causes spikes of pain.

“Your lips are purple. I did not know that a tawtute body could do that,” So’lek asked concernedly, having never seen me like this before.

“T-t-t-too-o, co-c-cold,” I stutter out, hoping he’ll take the hint.

So’lek brought me into his arms, and while the warmth was nice, the feeling of his clothing on my skin felt like needles.

“You are much too cold, Paskalin,” He rumbles as he looks around, “I see a cave nearby. I will set up camp there, and we can continue after the rain stops,” So’lek gently kisses my head.

I nod obediently, just wanting to be warm and dry. I hobbled along after So’lek, trying and failing to keep up with him. Noticing my plight, he picked me up and cradled me to his chest.

“We are almost there. I will build you a fire as soon as you are settled in the cave,” He promised as I tried to leech whatever little heat I could get from him.

I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his neck, trying to find whatever little warmth I could as the rain continued to hit my skin. As So’lek climbed into the cliffside cave, even in the little enclave, there was some warmth. So’lek gently set me down on the dry floor as he scoured the cave for materials for the fire; thankfully, plenty of dry moss and twigs looked like they were from an abandoned nest. So’lek quickly built a fire, bringing light and warmth to the rest of the cave. As it became warmer, I stripped off my soaked clothes, peeling them off of me and setting them on the other side of the fire to dry.

“Yawne, what are you doing? You are still too cold to take off your clothing,” So’lek scolded as he felt my still too-cold skin.

“My clothes are wet, So’lek; they’re keeping me cold. The heat on my skin will help dry me faster,” I explained, sitting closer to the fire.

His brow furrows as he looks at his own soaked garments. He strips them off and places them next to my own clothing, leaving the two of us sitting next to each other nude. Even though we were practically touching, it wasn’t close enough. I crawled over and sat myself in his lap, facing him so we were chest to chest. His strong arms wrapped around me, bringing me the feeling of protection and warmth. I signed in response as I cuddled closer.

For a while, there was nothing but the sounds of the fire crackling and our breathing. I simply enjoyed the closeness, but So’lek had more on his mind.

“I’m sorry, Syulang, I wasn’t thinking when I asked you to join me, and because of that, I brought you pain,” So’lek’s ears drooped as his tail came to wrap around me.

“It is alright, So’lek. I agreed to come, despite knowing it was probably a bad idea. I just wanted to spend some time with you,” I whispered, comfortable in my spot.

“Next time, I will make sure it is something you enjoy, and I will ensure you won't feel an ounce of pain. Do not think I didn’t notice you flinching when we touched,” He states as he rubs his large hand up and down my back.

“It’s just from the cold. It makes my skin sensitive,” I say blindly, wanting more of his touches.

“Still, my carelessness will not be repeated,” So’lek finalized.

I simply hummed, too comfortable to argue right now. As time went on, So’lek’s hand started to rub down lower, nearing my ass.

I angle my face upward so So’lek can hear and whisper, “Baby, I’m pretty sleepy right now, but even your little touches are making me horny. Will you make me feel better?” I ask seductively.

A breath hitched in his throat as his grip became a bit tighter, “If that is what you wish, then I live to please you,” So’lek’s lips fell to my neck, gently kissing the skin there, before taking the skin into his mouth and sucking.

A gasp leaves my throat from the painful pleasure and knowing that a mark will be there tomorrow. His free hand traveled up and tangled his fingers into my hair, pulling my head to the side and giving him more room to my neck. So’lek’s other hand traveled down, slipping over my ass and in between my legs, as a lone finger trailed across my folds. I can’t stop the whimper that leaves my lips. The light touches mixed with his sharp teeth were making my head fuzzy. Too tired to do anything, I lay there limp, letting So’lek do as he pleases. As he started to trail his lips down, he pulled my head back, forcing me into an arch, pushing my tits into his face. So’lek immediately latched onto one sucking it into his mouth and nibbling on my bud.

“So’lek!” I whine.

My tits have always been sensitive, it's like a jolt of pleasure straight to my core, and this is something that So’lek has always exploited. As his mouth works along my tit, he applies more pressure on my cunt, parting my folds and gathering the slick there.

“You are already so wet for me, Syulang, so needy,” So’lek muttered over my nipple as he slowly worked one of his long fingers inside me.

His finger is so long and thick that every knuckle would pop inside my tight cunt. So’lek curled his finger and rubbed that spongy spot inside me before pulling his finger out and doing it again. I moan as I try to rock my hips onto his finger, grinding myself into his slit. But soon, he added two; the stretch burned delightful as the two digits opened me wider than a human dick ever could.

So’lek’s mouth left my tit only to move to the other one, lavishing it with the same attention as his thick fingers slid in and out of me leisurely, twisting and spreading his fingers inside me, preparing me for his cock. He let go of my breast, leaning back and admiring the marks he left. The hand threaded in my hair brought me closer to him, laying my head on his chest. I quickly latch my teeth into his peck, wanting to leave a mark of my own.

By now, So’lek’s slit was open, and his cock was peeking out, eager for attention. With his now free hand, So’lek eases the rest of himself outside his body and into the open air.

So’lek pulls his fingers out of my pussy with a wet pop, “Are you ready, Syulang? I will fill you now and warm you from the inside,” He whispers as he lines himself up with my hole, slowly dropping me down on his cock.

No matter how often I take it, I can never get used to the feeling. So’lek’s large cock spears me open. The tapered tip slides in easily enough, but then the spines come into play, large protrusions similar to the kuru but much thicker speckled around from the base to just below the tip of his cock, and fuck were they glorious. Each spine had to pop past my entrance, forcing it open even wider before my hole would clamp around it, only for it to be done again. I couldn’t stop the whines as I continued down his length. The spines inside of me started to move, wiggling around inside of me, eager to find a resting place. By the time I was seated back on So’lek, I was out of breath, trying to rock my hips or grind on his cock for more, only for his hands to grip my hips, keeping me in place.

“No, no, not yet,” So’lek’s deep voice reverberated in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“Please, So’lek, please give me more,” I beg, needing more friction as each of the spines on his cock, some having already hardened and stuck in their place.

So’lek groaned at my words, “You must be patient. I will give you what you wish soon,” So’lek placed the two fingers that were inside my cunt into his mouth, licking the juices off of them.

I moan at the sight, knowing that he was tasting me. I clenched around him as I tried to follow the pleasure.

“Shit, Syulang, you really are desperate tonight,” So’lek hissed, bringing his fingers down to my front and placing the pad of his finger on my clit, rubbing it in small circles.

“Oh, fuck yes, So’lek,” I moaned into his chest. I could feel his abs flex, refraining from trying to thrust his dick.

The stretch of his cock brought a sweet burning, and the spines brought a more intimate pleasure as they rubbed my inner walls, trying to find a place to lock in with their mate. Each of them rakes against my flesh as So’lek begins to hump into me, never letting a centimeter leave my cunt, just gradual rolls of his hips, allowing more of the spines to lock into place, leaving more of them to push and pull inside, refusing to leave their chosen spot.

“Fuck! So good, So’lek!” I moaned as my fingernails raked down his chest.

“My good girl, aren’t you? Always taking my cock so well. And now here we are. I’m going to fill you up with my seed,” So’lek growled, the idea of breeding his mate lowering his inhibitions.

“Please, So’lek,” I whimpered as the tapered tip of his cock bumped against my cervix.

The angle didn’t work, and So’lek had to try again and again, continuously bruising my cervix as he continued to roll and pinch my clit. I whimpered and squealed with each thrust. My tired body couldn’t tense in the way it needed to, yet the pleasure continued to build. So’lek shifted his hips and leaned back, so I was more lying down compared to before. The new angle pushed him in deeper than I thought he could go, his cock head slipping past my cervix as the tendrils on the tip of his cock got to work. Feeling around the inside of my womb before creating a seal on the inside of my cervix, refusing to let a drop of cum leak out of me. And cum he did.

“I’m cumming, Syulang!” So’lek roared as he began to release inside of me.

Rope after rope of his seed filled my womb, filling me to the brim, and then more. Each rope of cum made me even more eager for him as his warmth filled me.

All this time, So’lek never stopped playing with my clit. And I finally came, wave after wave of a burning pleasure washed through me, my eyes whiting out, as my body relaxed further into his. My toes curled as each wave washed over me.

I was breathless as I came too again. So’lek was still cumming inside me, his cock still hard, and spines still flexed, and his breathing was just as labored as before. The feeling of his mate wrapped around his cock, as he continued to breed me is nothing short of perfect to him.

“Was it good, Paskalin?” So’lek asks over his breathing.

“It was perfect, So’lek,” I respond, yawning.

So’lek chuckled at my plight as he gently arranged us so we were lying down, “I am glad, now sleep well. I will care for everything.”

Trusting So’lek, I closed my eyes and started to drift to sleep, wrapped in his arms and finally warm.

#frontiers of pandora #avatar frontiers of pandora #avatar #avatar way of water #atwow #smut #kinkmas #avatar12daysofkinkmas #so'lek #so'lek x reader

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apollodarling-writes · 11 months

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I've being wondering about this for a while. I didn't think it, but turns out silva and kikyo do actually love each other. So killua probably grew up seeing those expressions of "love" and thinking that's normal for a relationship. How do you think that would affect his relationship with reader? And if it isn't too much, how do you think his overall experience with his family effects it? Because I highly doubt after everything he's gone through that his relationship with the reader would be perfectly normal. What're your thoughts?

before i delve into killua’s experiences, i wanna go into the psychology of a developing brain. especially during the most critical stages — from birth to five years old. according to vygotsky’s theory of child development, a child’s environment and external factors play a huge role in how a child develops as a person. he proposed that as a child, your brain is continuously learning and soaking up information. for example, right from wrong, how to treat other people, whats socially acceptable, etc etc. essentially, vygotsky believes that this stage of development is critical for how your brain functions as an adult, and that external influences play the biggest role.

now that we have that mini psychology lesson out of the way, let’s hop into how i think killua’s environment and seeing how his family treated each other affected him.

i dont know much about kiyoko and silva’s marriage so i can’t really speak on that, but based on the fact that they love each other and their kids, i can assume and speak on a few things.

firstly, killua grew up in an assassin family. he was trained from a very, very young age — most likely from when he could walk — and was required to develop an immunity to all poisons and be able to complete missions quickly and efficiently. from that, i can gather that he was trained very harshly and most likely learned to associate love with pain of some sort. i have no doubt that developing an immunity to all poisons was painful and extremely distressing for a child. this would likely shut down some pathways and cognitive processing that a child in a normal household would have.

i would also like to take illumi and kiyoko’s influence in killua’s life into consideration. illumi was extremely overprotective and manipulative, and even placed a needle in killua to control him. kiyoko was overbearing with her love for killua and, to my knowledge, always had an eye on him in some form.

now that we’ve taken developmental psychology into account, his family’s influence and behavior, and his assassin training, i can now go into how it affects him in his love life.

it has definitely affected him in some form, but also he now has gon to show him whats healthy. killua very clearly has expressed his distaste for his family, but i think that this is so deeply rooted in his brain that it would affect him for the rest of his life. and even if he did realize that it was wrong, i don’t think he would want to stop — self-indulgence at its finest. i think he rationalizes it as “my family did it this way so why would it be that bad” and “different people have different tatses”.

as for how it affects his relationship with the reader, he would be completely out of reach. both on a physical scale and a psychological scale. as an assassin, hes immune to all poisons and the reader has no chance of physically overpowering him — the only option would be to run but even then you wouldn’t be able to forever. you also have no hopes of “fixing” him. theres a very clear distinction, depending on how the reader was raised and their own tastes for love, between his views on love and theirs. at that point, you would have to live with his overbearing, self indulgent, over protective, and manipulative behavior. you’d honestly be trapped. just hope stockholm syndrome kicks in fast.

#male yandere #tw yandere #yandere hxh #yandere drabble #yandere killua #yandere killua hcs #hunter x hunter killua #killua x y/n #killua x you #killua x reader #hxh killua #killua zoldyck #killua hunter x hunter #killua headcanons #killua hxh #tw aged up #aged up killua #aged up characters

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shingekinomyfeelings · 6 months

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preservation (Reiner x gn reader; drama/fluff)

sfw. canon universe, 104th cadet era. ~1,600 words. no content warnings.

Your over-eager recklessness lands you in the infirmary, and your boyfriend is, well, a little pissy about it...

notes: oh, I know it's not sexy, but I really really love this one, and Reiner acting like an immature grump is always super funny to me. Y/n likes to push his buttons a little, but you definitely love each other. Reiner deserves a bit of a hard time now and then anyway. originally published January 2023.

The first thing you’re aware of is that you’re in a bed – not on the hard forest floor you remember rushing towards you at a terrifying speed – and that fucking hell, your body aches. Blinking a few times, your fuzzy vision clears and you find yourself staring up at a ceiling – not the barracks?

It takes a moment, but you soon recognize that you’re in the infirmary.

‘Why the infirmary...?’

Okay, maybe you got a little too competitive with the training dummies, and maybe you were going way too fast, and maybe trying out some of those fancy maneuvers you’d seen some members of the Survey Corps practicing on the training grounds the week before wasn��t the best idea you’d had recently, but who could really fault you for that?

“Do you actually get some kind've weird kick out of making me worry about you?” A gruff voice to your right makes you glance over in surprise, the room seeming to wobble and tilt just a bit as you turn your head too quickly.

Reiner is seated in the chair next to your bed, slouching to the side with one elbow braced on the arm of the chair so he can prop his face against his hand. He doesn’t even look at you as he poses this question, and the sight of this huge man sulking in a chair that was probably intended for a much smaller person is almost comical enough to make you laugh – except for the intense pain that sears through your ribs when you give a single huff of amusement.

When this immediately makes you wince and take a sharp gasp, you could swear you saw him twitch a muscle, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the opposite wall.

‘So fucking stubborn.’

It’s a little endearing, but at the same time it makes you want to needle him back a bit.

“I mean, of course I do. Practically the reason I get up each morning. Today for instance, I woke up and thought, ‘man, I don’t wanna get up, but I just gotta so I can fuck up a maneuver at full speed and bust my ribs because I’d love to see the look on Reiner’s face when that happens.’ I ate breakfast in a hurry and everything.”

It doesn’t sound as antagonistically flippant as you meant it to sound, sadly, because it actually hurts to talk right now, and because you actually are a little annoyed that he won’t look at you. You can’t even really see his expression, but from the way his brow looks extra furrowed and his nose seems to be crinkled a bit, you imagine he looks like he wants to smother you with your pillow.

With some effort, you push yourself to sitting more or less upright, though still leaning against the headboard, and take a look around. The infirmary is mostly empty but for a few other occupied beds, and afternoon light is spilling through the open windows on a gentle breeze. No one else seems to have any visitors right now.

Reiner is still wearing his body harness, the ODM gear on the floor to either side of his chair; you realize he must have abandoned the drill entirely to follow you here, giving you a pang of regret for being sarcastic with him. Even if he is being a little petulant right now, he’s so sweet…

A moment passes in awkward silence.

“Hey… can you bring me some water, please?” you ask softly, a hint of apology in your voice.

“Get it yourself,” he grumbles, and you can tell he’s trying his best to sound indifferent as he casts you a look from the corner of his eye. “Your ribs aren’t broken, just bruised. That cut on your leg looks pretty nasty, but seeing that you’re already fully capable of being a pain in the ass, I’m guessing the bump on your head didn’t do any lasting damage, either.”

Okay, he’s being really petulant right now.

You give him a look that says, ‘Are you kidding me?’ before swinging your legs off the side of the bed and getting to your feet.

A full body wave of pain draws a trembling exhalation from your lungs, threatening for a heartbeat to throw you off balance… and then Reiner brushes past you to briskly cross the room, returning a moment later looking like a fluffy blonde storm cloud, carrying a glass of water that he pushes into your outstretched hands with an irritated snort.

“Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?”

An incredulous look flashes across your face before you laugh, dropping yourself back onto the bed a little too hard and splashing yourself with some of the water in the process. A long whimper of pain escapes around your laughter, and you lay back against the pillows as you recompose yourself. Now Reiner’s just looking at you with an expression somewhere between frustrated concern and a confused pout.

“I’m sorry, Reiner, but coming from you of all people...” You look back up at him with a grin despite the pain, and the cold water all over your shirt. “Were you hoping I’d just keep asking you for water or something?”

His pout deepens; of course he’s not going to admit that…

"Come on, sit down,” you implore, setting the water aside and motioning him towards the chair. “Please?”

He sits back down in the chair as it creaks, but facing you this time. You’re able to snake your hand out to grab the harness running across his chest and tug him closer, and though he gives a halfhearted grumble, he allows you to pull him forward so that he’s slumped against the bed, his cheek resting on your stomach. This way, you can relax against your pillows while running your fingers through his hair and lightly grazing them across his cheekbone.

“You mad at me?”

“Hrmm.” You can feel him relaxing against you a little, and he can’t resist resting his eyes for a moment. “Dunno if I’d say angry, but it’s getting pretty damn aggravating how often you’ve been doing shit like this these last few months. You know you don’t have to test your limits in every dumbass way that gets into your head, right?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be pushing ourselves to become stronger?” You brush your hand across his forehead, him looking up at you now with those piercing golden eyes. “Besides, I don’t see you holding back. I mean, I’m not saying I think I’m as strong as you are, but--”

“Hey.” He cuts you off with a firmer tone than before, though he doesn’t lift his head, and his cheek is still smooshed against your belly. “I don’t want you going around with the idea that I think you’re weak or something, cuz I’ve never thought that. I just worry about you, and you’re a little over eager with the risks.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me.” You gaze out the window briefly before you continue, “But, if I get stronger, maybe you won’t... have to, y’know?”

Reiner gives a little huff of annoyance at this.

“Listen, even if you were stronger than the rest of the 104th put together, I’d...” His features tinge a little red as he struggles momentarily to maintain his grumpy expression with you. “I’d still wanna keep you safe ‘n stuff...”

Seeing the downright soppy look that you can’t keep from crossing your face in that instant, he clears his throat and glances aside with a forced air of impassivity before adding, “And I’d still worry about you, especially when you run around acting like you barely worry about yourself.”

You’re searching for the right words when the nurse suddenly enters the room, but – bless her – she merely pretends not to notice the pair of you as she tends to the other patients. You both fall silent for several long minutes as she minds the others, and when she finally leaves again, it’s Reiner who picks up the conversation before you can.

“You know, in another few months, we’re not gonna be cadets anymore. I know you’re still planning to join the Survey Corps. What the hell’s gonna happen to you when you’re out there if you don’t reign it in a little?”

Sighing, you decide that as long as he’s being all emotionally honest here, you may as well do the same. “Look, I get it. I wanna keep you safe, too… I wanna become strong enough to do that. That's all.”

Reiner isn’t sure how to reply, nor what emotion he should ascribe to the swelling feeling that grips his heart, and the strange but pleasant way his stomach seems to do a flip. He opts to just bury his face against your stomach and take your hand in his own, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m really gonna need you to work on your sense of self preservation for me, okay?”

“I will, I promise – as long as you’re gonna let me look out for you, too.”

“Deal. You are gonna have to rest until your ribs heal up, though. I’ll tie you down if I have to.”

“Aw, you just want an excuse to tie me up on a bed, don’t you?”

“Huh. Not gonna lie, you got me thinking about it now...”

You can only imagine how badly the other patients wish the two of you would shut up now.

#reiner #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x gender neutral reader #reiner braun x y/n #reiner x reader #reiner x reader fluff #reiner x y/n #low key tsundere reiner #mild bickering ensues

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klbwriting · 7 months

Text

Not Romeo, Not Juliet

Chapter 5: Dear Friend

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: violence, blood, stitches

Summary: Jason tries to take on more guys than he can handle and ends up bloody at YN's work

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end. -Sonnet 30

Turns out five mobsters with pipes, was too many to beat up, even when you were once Robin. Jason hadn't gotten beat like this since he died and he was lucky they thought he was dead or he may have been back in the ground again, and he was pretty sure Dick wasn't going to pull him after these antics. He was supposed to be at home this Friday night while Dick attended some policeman's gala with Barbara, but no. Jason had decided to head to Crime Alley, see if he could help anyone. He didn't want to protect all of Gotham this time around, he wasn't fooled by Bruce's lofty promises of making a difference in this city, but he wanted to help this little piece of it, a piece that even Batman seemed to have forgotten. That was how he found himself facing down five of Sal Maroni's biggest minions.

They had been finishing taking protection money from a bodega down the street from his old apartment, leaving the shop with the bag full of money like they were in a 1950's mob movie when Jason had dropped in front of them, masked up and ready to fight. He got several good shots in on the large men, taking two of them down with broken femurs, but then one got behind him and walloped him in the shoulder blades with the pipe, then another got him in the face, cracking the mask and lacerating his cheek pretty bad. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as the third one still standing cracked the back of his head, taking him down to the ground. He wanted to get up, but flashbacks of getting up and then being beaten back down with a crowbar came to mind and he felt a panic attack coming on. The mobsters apparently thought it was the breathing of a dying man and took their injured buddies and ran. Jason lay on the street, hyperventilating, trying to bring himself out of his panicked stupor, for almost an hour. He stood, discarding the broken mask in a random dumpster before limping off, trying to figure out a place to go.

Turns out he would be found before he could think of someplace. He didn't even realize he was walking past Big Belly Burger until the door opened and he heard the most angelic sound in the history of the earth.

"Jason?" YN said from the doorway of the dimmed restaurant. He turned, looking at her with glassy eyes. He saw her eyes get wide and her mouth fell open in shock at what was probably a horrifying appearance. He knew his cheek was still leaking blood, probably needed stitches, and his head was killing him. Despite him looking like the last person you would want to invite into a place that served food YN came over, grabbing him under the arm and helping him inside. Once she had him seat at one of the tables she locked the doors again, and lowered the blinds for good measure. "Wait here, we have first aid supplies in the back." He watched her hurry off and managed to get half his mouth up in a pained smile. She was helping him again, God she was so nice.

"Thank you..." he managed out when she got back with a full tackle box of medical supplies. The voice sounded watery and the terrified look on her face tol him his mouth was probably leaking blood. She took a breath and got out some disinfectant and a needle and thread.

"Don't talk, I'm going to need to stitch your cheek, but honestly I have no idea how so this is going to be a huge botch and it will scar, is that ok with you?" she asked. Jason didn't see how he had any other choice, and honestly, he kind of missed having some scars. He nodded. "Do you need something to bite down on or anything?" He chuckled and winced. She wasn't taking a limb, but he appreciated her concerned none the less.

"Just do it," he said softly. She gave him a look that said 'I told you to shut up', before starting to sew him back together. It took a long time and he spent it watching her face. Her eyes concentrated, she was taking deep breaths in between humming various songs that he couldn't identify. He could see the storm behind the calm in her eyes, she was hanging on by a thread at the moment, hoping she wasn't fucking his face up for life. When she finally finished she put the extra thread and the needle down on the table and Jason saw tears start streaming from her eyes as she looked at her bloodied hands.

"I should get you cleaned up..." she said softly, ignoring the torrent running down her face as she helped him stand and walk to the small bathroom. She found some paper towels, wetting them and gently wiping at the blood drying on his face, making sure not to tear the fresh stitches. Then she looked at her hands, and his. Jason saw her hands shaking, all the worry and fear that came with someone showing up at your door bloody crashing down on her. He gently took her hands and washed them for her, getting every smear of blood off of them before he washed his own. He looked in the mirror then, finally seeing how bad the cut was. It was from the middle of his cheek all the way past the top of his ear, almost to the back of his head. He caught sight of YN behind him, looking at him in the mirror. He turned, not sure how else to express his thanks, so he hugged her, making sure his new wound was away from her face. She hugged him back, clinging to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he whispered, being very careful move his mouth only a little. She nodded into his chest. "Do you happen to have pain pills in that med kit?"

"Ya, come on, I should probably watch you for a couple hours too, make sure you don't fall asleep with that concussion," she said softly. Jason shook his head. "What isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"No, if someone gets a concussion they can sleep, you just need to wake them up every so often, make sure they can answer questions," he said. She nodded as they sat down in a booth, him leaning his head against a pillar as she got him some pills and water. He took them, hoping the pain would ease soon, it was pounding in his head and face.

"Alright, so let me ask some questions then," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. He nodded, fair enough she would want to know why he had shown up bloody as fuck at her work when he lived all the way across the river. "What is your full name?"

"Jason Peter Todd," he answered easily. She nodded.

"Whens your birthday?"

"August 16th," he answered, then made a face. Was that still his birthday? Technically he had been pulled out of the pit, alive on June 12th, so what August still it? She made a face at him.

"Should we got to a hospital? Did you forget your birthday?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, no, just realized that this year no one actually said happy birthday to me, wondering if it still counts," he said. Dick had forgotten until a week later. Jason did have to say, at least Alfred always had a cake for him to eat for breakfast on his birthday, he missed those cakes. He must have looked sad because he felt a hand on his.

"Why are you in Crime Alley again?" she asked. He sighed, she really just did not believe that he had lived here.

"For the third time, I lived here until I was 10, then I was adopted by a rich guy who had a penchant for charity cases," he explained. She asked what happened to his parents and he sighed. "My dad disappeared, could be dead for all I know, and probably is. He owed a lot of people money. And my mom was an addict, she OD'd and then I was on the street for a bit before my adoptive father found me."

"Do you live in Bludhaven with him?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, we had a falling out last year, so I moved in with my older brother, his other adopted son," he said. She frowned. "What?"

"Are you Bruce Wayne's kid?" she asked. He sighed and nodded. "I can understand you falling out with him. He came to Gotham Academy once for a fundraiser thing and he was so rude, flashing cash everywhere, making a big scene and getting trashed. You are probably better off with your brother." Jason chuckled. Bruce had probably needed a cover story that night to explain where he was while Batman was out doing something. Dick had probably been in the suit that night. "Ok, so you grew up here, prove it, tell me something about Crime Alley only we locals know." Jason wracked his brain and then pulled out a memory he thought he had long wiped clean from his mind.

"The playground," he said. Her eyebrows rose at this statement. "The playground in the basement of the old mattress store. No one know who decided to put a playground down there, but I used to go there all the time as a kid when my mom was zoned out and my dad was off gambling. We all kept it secret from outsiders so that the cops wouldn't come and tear it down." She nodded.

"Ok, maybe you did grow up here," she said. "Where was that?" He wanted to say 'in your building' but she didn't know he had followed her home like an absolute creep that night so he told her where the address was, pretending to be surprised when she told him she lived there now. "So how did you end up with the bloody face?"

"I am trying to help out, I saw some of Sal Maroni's guys terrorizing a bodega, thought I could take'em, make'em give the money back to the owner," he said. She froze for just a moment and he thought maybe she knew the antics of those gangsters. "I just want this place to be safer for you." He didn't realize that was truly what was at the heart of this whole thing. Ever since he met her he had wanted to protect her, make sure she was safe no matter where she was.

"Jason, don't go getting yourself killed just to try and protect me," she whispered. He looked at her. He would die a thousand times to protect her. He gently took her hand and squeezed it. "Here, I really need to clean up this place and get home, give me your number, let's meet at the playground, run some lines or something, I'm sure you need help being a tortured Prince." Jason chuckled, she was wrong about that, he had no trouble being insane and seeing ghosts, was kind of his MO at this point, but they exchanged numbers and he helped her clean up the place, disinfecting everything before he went back home.

Dick had been pissed but Jason had lied and said the cut was from a fight at school, some jocks jumping him on his way home. He said he did the stitching himself, even though his stitches would have been perfect, he still got away with it saying he couldn't really remember how to do it right after the pit. Turns out being dead for awhile is a great excuse. Dick didn't quite believe him but just sent him to bed. When he got up to the loft and checked his phone there was already a text from YN.

Playground, Sunday, 8pm, I want to check your stitches, bring Hamlet and a skull

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #notromeo

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humanrindswrites · 1 year

Text

ink

summary: reader wants a tattoo, corey's more than happy to ease her nerves

pairing: corey taylor x female reader

warnings: fluff, tattooing, mentions of needles (obviously), nervousness

word count: 988 words

a/n: i don't have any tattoos and likely never will have any, but i can pretend that i know what getting one feels like

“C’mon, scaredy cat,” Corey teased as he tried to pull her through the door of the tattoo shop. “You paid for the session, you’ve gotta go.”

“I dunno, I just don’t want it to hurt too much,” she said and dug her heels into the concrete sidewalk. “You know I’m not that good with pain.”

He let go of the door and it closed slowly as he took both of her hands in his. His thumbs stroked her knuckles tenderly in an attempt to soothe her frayed nerves.

“Listen, I know it’s scary for you and you’ve never done this before, but I want you to know something,” he said softly.

“What’s that?”

“You’re a huge fucking baby and your ass is getting in that shop.”

“Corey!” she whined. “That doesn’t help.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed and pulled her into a hug. “You’re not a baby, but you said you would do this and I don’t want you to chicken out.”

She took a deep breath in to calm herself and squared her shoulders before letting it out slowly.

“Promise me it won’t hurt that much,” she said, trying to stop her lip from quivering.

“I can’t promise that, honey,” Corey said as he stroked her head. “It’s probably not gonna hurt as much as anything I’ve had done.”

Her eyes trailed over his inked skin, starting at the kanji on his neck and moving down his arms, observing each colourful piece of artwork that had become a part of him. She’d never seen him without him and thought tattoos weren’t really her thing before they’d met, but now she thought that they made him more attractive.

“You ready?” he asked softly when she lifted her head from his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Once they were in the shop and she’d sat down her nerves had returned but not as strong as before. Corey sat behind her on the bench, rubbing his hands over her shoulders and down her arms as he talked to her, making sure she was okay.

“Did you get enough to eat before we came here?” he asked, his voice soft in her ear. “How about enough water?”

“I’m fine,” she said as she watched the tattooist place the stencil on her wrist. “You’re acting like a worried mother. Just twenty minutes ago you were all ‘get your ass in that chair you big baby’.”

“Because you wouldn’t come in and were gonna chicken out,” Corey said with a laugh, circling his arms around her waist and squeezing her lightly. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay so you don’t pass out or anything.”

The tattooist peeled the stencil off her skin and was starting to prepare the ink and needle, giving her enough time to slightly turn around and softly peck Corey on the cheek.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ve got you here so I know I’ll be okay.”

A gloved hand on her palm brought her attention back to the tattooist, needle ready in their hand.

“Are we ready?” they asked, their voice muffled by the surgical mask on their face.

“Ready,” she said as she relaxed against Corey’s chest.

He tenderly kissed the top of her head before resting it on her shoulder to watch her get inked.

“First stroke’s gonna hurt the most,” he said. “Just try to breathe through it.”

He wasn’t kidding.

Her body stiffened against his as the needle pushed into the sensitive skin of her wrist, igniting every nerve there as it skirted over the tendons and bones. She immediately grit her teeth and pushed her lips together to stop from crying out, a single whine escaping from her throat as she exhaled sharply through her nose.

“You’re okay,” Corey soothed in her ear as he squeezed her reassuringly. “You’re doing great, just keep toughing it out.”

The feeling of the tattooist wiping a cloth over her wrist soothed the worst of the pain and gave her a break to catch her breath before they started again, the hot pain replaced with a warm tingling sensation as the needle continued to deposit ink in her skin.

“It’s not so bad now,” she said, her eye twitching as another nerve was hit. “You were right, the first part was the worst.”

“Told you,” he said. “Wrist’s a pretty sensitive place so you’re pretty brave for a first-timer.”

“Maybe I’ll work my way up to being as tatted as you are,” she said and brought her free hand up to stroke his hair.

“That’s you all done,” the tattooist said after twenty minutes.

It was strange to not hear the constant buzzing of the tattoo needle anymore but she was glad it was over. Her wrist was swollen from the contact and she thought she could still feel her bones vibrating as it was wiped clean for the last time.

“Lemme have a look,” Corey said from behind her.

She gingerly lifted her arm, numb from having to stay still for so long, so he could see the new ink. A looping infinity symbol had been etched into her skin, the lines bolder on one side than the other.

“Hey, we almost match,” Corey said as he angled her hand around, trying to keep his fingers away from her raw skin.

“Yeah, we do,” she said and drew her arm away so she could turn around to face him. “I wanted to get something for you.”

“You didn’t need to get something for me, you could have gotten something for yourself.”

“But I did get something for me by getting something for you.”

“Well, thank you,” he said and pulled her in for a hug. “I like it, it suits you.”

“Now you’ve gotta get something for me,” she said as she sat up to let the tattooist wrap her wrist.

“Anything you want, honey,” he said with a grin. “As long as it’s not really stupid.”

#corey taylor x reader #corey taylor imagine #self ship #reader insert #x reader #rpf #real person fiction #slipknot x reader #slipknot imagine #slipknot fanfics #*my writing

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marytunno · 2 months

Text

-read below-

premise: Now I know why a book hasn’t come out in 13 years… just thinking about everything gave me a huge headache. I wanted to have some coherence in this small fic and study all the loose ends after Affc seeing what things in Adwd could have happened in the 5 years and so on and my brain exploded, this gap solves some problems but creates some huge holes everywhere… thank god I’m not Grrm… Generally speaking, I think that Arya would have grown up in the Fm but having serious problems about forgetting who she is (killing the deserter, Raff, the dreams ecc…), her being disobedient would have caused her a lot of problems… I have to be sincere, I'm not the biggest fan of the Fm… cool secret assassins? creepy cult of death? not for me… please let’s just explore and make friends in Braavos it’s colorful and so full of interesting people!! or let’s go back frolicking in the woods with the brotherhood… Anyway I’m very conflicted about Arya keeping or not the abilities she learned with the Fm… they are useful and would be cool for some plot twists and stuff… but I really hope she stays Arya and doesn’t become “no one” and if she stays herself it would be wrong for her to have the powers of a faceless man… Btw if my baby Arya ends up losing herself forever I’ll cry. I think it would have been cool in the 5 year gap if she got involved with Dany and consequently reached Westeros with her… but I don’t know how it could happen… In my head her arc will take her to face Lady Stoneheart, unite with Nymeria and her Pack, fight alongside Jon (if he fucking wakes up, it’s been 84 years George plis)... I see her as someone that will really care about the smallfolk and be a good “guide”… I think the main difference between what will happen in the next books and the 5 year skip is just that now Arya will be still young and her training with the faceless men will be rushed… she’ll be like barely around 13 I think when leaving braavos instead of being at least around 16/17 so probably too young for whatever Grrm will make her do anyway. Btw i feel like the time that has passed since the beginning Agot is like ten years and it’s just been like three or something… soo much happens to these poor characters help After this rambling premise expect a very cute and fluffy fanfiction… I’ll try to stay coherent to the books as much as I can but… it is what it is…

THERE IT GOES

At some point they had met again, while an endless winter had turned the world into a silent and unwelcoming land, she had been travelling, northbound, a pack of wolves in tow. Relentless, riding a she-wolf huge as a horse, howling under the starless sky, cold wind guiding her home.

The brotherhood had stayed… their merciless leader, thirsty for justice and blood… When winter had come some had fled south, some had left hunting for food, for survival but most had stayed, he had, hunting for men: Frey, Lannister, Bolton men… hundreds of bodies hanging lulled by the wind, frostbite erasing their faces.

The brotherhood had attacked her, unaware that Arya Stark of Winterfell was hidden under her cloak, their torches reflecting in the wolves' eyes.

As they crossed swords, well sword and hammer, he noticed the familiar blade: Needle, a sharp pain and the sound of his nose breaking had brought him back from his thoughts.

- Arya?-

Her name, it had been so long since someone had called her name.

He had been the first to join her, kneeling in the snow, swearing his loyalty to her, asking her to let him follow her, fight for her… her brother needed men to fight against the dead and so Arya agreed.

An army of wolves and outlaws now followed her north, a righteous leader now guiding them… a Stark.

At first it had been had, after all the time they had spent apart, deep silence, long stares and quick glances: her long braid, his broad shoulders, building from the ashes what had been between them.

Slowly the silence had turned into small conversations and blossomed into nights spent talking about the past, Arya’s adventures in Braavos, what had become of the Brotherhood… cold gazes turning into warm smiles, learning to be friends again.

Something unspoken, something different this time, something new and probably dangerous but something they both felt and so they decided to let it happen.

Arya understood what the feeling in her belly, the flutter in her chest meant, she also understood that the way Gendry looked at her, his hands playing absently with her hair, his eyes following her, his scowl melting into a smile every time she was around, she understood it meant something.

Arya definitely wasn’t a coward and was quite aware that wasting time while the world was slowly ending under the unstoppable ice crawling its way south was stupid, so she decided to take the matter into her own hands.

Nymeria and her pack had been hunting, the men resting inside of the ruins of what once had been a great holdfast, Gendry’s turn to tend the fire.

- Do you wish to fuck me?- she had asked bluntly, no accusation in her tone

Young Gendry would have blushed and told her how improper for a lady that matter was, he would have left or cursed at her and they would have fought… but they weren't their young selves anymore.

He had stayed silent for a while, the crackling of the fire and the howling of the snowstorm outside the stone walls the only sounds.

- Sometimes…- there was no point in lying, and there was no point in arguing with her about what she could or couldn't talk about

- But you don’t have to worry about that… It’ll pass… you are a woman… you’re nice... and I’m an idiot…- he explained hoping she wouldn’t be upset about his words

She wasn’t.

- Is that why you are following me now?- some accusation in her tone

- No, it’s not that… following you is… just the right thing to do… it’s what I should have always done…-

Arya smiled and walked forward, to then sit close to him, he must have said the right thing.

- Yes… you should have…-

Deep silence again.

- And… I’m sorry for being… I know it won’t happen… It’s just… you are pretty and I’m... a man…-

She scrunched up her nose

- So you're telling me that all brotherhood knights must want to fuck me as well… since they are men…-

-Some of them... more than you would imagine… but it doesn’t change things… they follow you because they believe in you… they respect you… I do respect you…-

Arya bit her lip, they were marching toward danger, toward war and death, but it was stupid to stop life so early, Nymeria and the wolves kept hunting and running and birthing their pups even if the world was going to end… even winter couldn't stop what was just… natural…

- You could kiss me… I think I’d like that…- she said looking at him with her gray eyes

His heart skipped a beat, Arya always had the worst timing for some things, or maybe the best timing, he wasn’t sure…

- I could never no that…- the knight in him spoke

- I thought you wanted to… you just said…- she started, her voice nervous

- Of course I want to… but… it would be wrong…- Gendry truly hated himself in that moment

- Why?-

-It just is… -

She snorted and crossed her arms

- Stupid! if you don’t kiss me right now… you’re a coward!- she spat, her eyes never leaving his.

He sighed and looked at her lips, he was many things… but he definitely wasn’t a coward.

here it is, I'm late again... having to spend the summer with my Italian chaotic family doesn't help... I really like the next fic I wrote... I'll post it in a few minutes... enjoy<3<3

#bookgendryaweek2024 #arya stark #nymeria #arya x gendry #gendrya #gendry #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf edit #asoiaf #stark #winds of winter #the winds of winter

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scaredshadowsswap · 2 years

Text

Sutures from Various SCP Personnel

I imagine that, if you work at the Foundation, you need to know how to suture a wound. You don’t need to know many medical procedures, but due to the dangerous nature of the work, knowing how to close a wound could be the difference between life and death.

(I ranked these people in order of how good I think they’d be from top to bottom)

If you asked Clef to do stitches for some wound, it would take a lot of convincing. He’ll act like he doesn’t care, and depending on the severity of the wound, he might not care. If you do get him to do your stitches, he’ll be surprisingly good at it. He’ll talk the whole time to distract your mind from the stitches, and he’s really precise with the suture needle. He’s not making a huge effort to be gentle, though. Like he’ll do a good job, but there is no concern for if he hurts you or not since closing the wound is his focus. I imagine suture kits are common in the SCP Foundation, but you don’t get anything to numb it while you’re getting them done, so while some people try to be more gentle, Clef knows he can close the wound better if he just does it like normal. If you move or flinch while he’s doing them, he’ll laugh and either find someone to hold you still, or do it himself. You have no idea how he can hold you in place and do good stitches, but they look fine so you really shouldn’t question it.

I don’t think you’d need to convince Kondraki. Depending on how you got the wound, he might just pull you aside and grab a suture kit without even explaining what he’s doing. He seems like he’d sit you on the kitchen counter/a desk like you do with little kids? If he’s concerned, he’ll be really gentle with the suture needle. It takes him a little bit longer to do stitches than Clef, but they’re pretty much the same quality. He also won’t talk to you while he’s doing them, he’s too focused on the stitches. If he’s mad (at you, at someone else, it doesn’t matter), he’ll still maintain more gentleness than Clef, but he’ll do them faster which’ll hurt more. It’ll probably freak you out because you know he’s upset and you know how crazy he can get when he’s upset, but he’s not gonna hurt you. He’ll just angrily suture your wound. He’ll cover it up with a bandage at the end. If you flinch, regardless of if he’s upset or not, he’ll shoot you an intimidating look. It really doesn’t matter if you make eye contact or not; you can feel it. Because he goes slower than Clef, he can still do them even if you’re not holding completely still.

Gears would notice you’re bleeding, and if he didn’t have anything better to do, he would go grab a suture kit and do your stitches. He has no feelings, so he might not act concerned about if you’re in pain. His hands aren’t shaky, but they’re not as steady as Kondraki or Clef’s. When he’s done, they’ll look fine, too. Gears has years of experience. If you move around, he probably won’t do anything. He’ll sit there and wait for you to stop before he continues.

Iceberg would probably think he was above suturing a wound. He’d be grumbling the whole time about it, and if you flinched or moved at all, he’d be really upset and might yell at you. The stitches would probably look fine if he remembered how to do them, I can’t imagine he’d be frequently asked due to how cold his hands are.

Glass is very emotional, which is a good thing, but not when you’re doing stitches on someone. I think Glass would panic, and then you’d either have to calm him down or find someone else. If you can get him to calm down a little, he’ll probably have shaky hands while doing it due to nerves. He’ll be apologizing the whole time. If you flinch, he might even stop and go get someone else to do them. The thing is: you’ve seen him practice suturing. You know he knows how to do it. He just freaks out when he has to do it on a person who is hurt.

Strelnikov would suck at this for more than one reason. Firstly, he seems like he doesn’t believe in stitches. It’ll heal on it’s own, right? What kind of weak body do you have where you need someone to tie it together? Another reason, and I’ve said this before, I think he likes scars. He’ll probably discourage anyone from getting stitches. Also: He doesn’t have the patience. His patience level is about the amount of time it takes to put a bandage on well. If you’re bleeding, he’ll recommend tourniquet before stitches. If you get him to do stitches, he’ll call you a baby the whole time he’s doing them. When he’s done, you’ll look down and they’ll be the most uneven stitches you’ve ever seen. If you flinch, he’ll probably chuckle and repeat his “you’re such a baby” speech.

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usermischief · 1 year

Text

chapter 56: a touch of despair Warnings: needles

You can read it on AO3 as well.

---

“Isaac!” Stiles can hear his panic echo inside the cell, down the hallway. It travels so far, but Isaac remains unconscious. “Please,” Stiles whispers, struggling to figure out what to do. “Isaac, please, wake up.” With trembling fingers, he reaches out in an attempt to shake him. But he can’t touch him. He can’t, not after what happened to Theo. They beat Isaac up and threw him in his cell as if he’s nothing more than a midnight snack. But he is. Not just to Stiles. He knows they’re going to use Isaac as leverage; they’re going to use him to make Stiles behave. “Wake up.” Stiles kneels on the cold tiles, hands outstretched. His heart races in his chest. There is nobody to ask for help. Not here. Not in Eichen House. “Isaac, please.” But begging won’t wake him up. Taking a deep breath, Stiles crawls closer. The thought of touching Isaac makes his throat close up. The memory of almost killing Theo is too fresh in his mind. It’s too easy to lose control, especially with how starved he is. He needs Isaac awake to know when it’s too much.

He needs him to wake up.

Stiles needs him to be okay.

He moves to sit next to Isaac and curls his fingers into the bloody shirt. “Hey.” His voice trembles as he starts shaking the other boy. “Isaac, wake up.” He shakes him stronger, sensing the pain he’s in through the thin fabric. “Come on, wake up. I need you to—“ Stiles cuts off, frustration and tears making it hard to speak, even harder to think.

And he’s so fucking hungry.

A soft groan reaches his ears.

“Isaac?”

Blue eyes flutter open. For all but a second, Isaac is looking at him. His split lips move into a grin, and he mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘found you.’

“Isaac!” Stiles yells, but the werewolf has slipped right back into unconsciousness. “Fuck. Fuck.” Fucking idiot. Did he really try to find him all alone after the Dread Doctors dragged him off? What was he thinking? He shakes him again and even risks slapping him across the face.

Once.

And that alone already gives him a taste of the pain the other boy is in. It should worry him, but his body responds like a starving person finding food for the first time in days. Days. Has it been days? Stiles has no clue how long he’s been in here. How long ago did the Dread Doctors take him? Why did they leave him here?

What did they do?

Isaac groans again, and Stiles looks down at him, trying his best to smile. “There you are.”

Grunting an incomprehensible response, Isaac closes his eyes again.

“No, stay—“

“I’m awake,” Isaac mutters, his voice so low it’s hard to tell how long he will stay awake. “I’m awake.”

Stiles swallows and scoots back onto the mattress, tugging Isaac by his shirt. Moving him with only a bit of help already brings him to the edge of his strength. He’s on his last two legs, and as much as he’d love to get as weak as possible just to spite Deaton and Valack, this place is the last he wants to be defenseless in. There are worse things down here than the two wannabe scientists.

Schrader is one of them.

“Do you want me to take some of your pain?” Stiles feels selfish asking it, but he also knows werewolves won’t heal when they’re in too much or no pain at all. It’s a win for both of them, really.

Isaac nods. “That would be nice.”

“Okay.” Stiles licks his lips, curling his hands into tight fists before letting out a breath. “But you need to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

For a moment, Isaac’s so still, Stiles isn’t sure he passed out with his eyes wide open. Then he nods slowly, and only once. “If you help me sit up.” That’s probably a good idea. The relief of pain can be overwhelming. It’s a feeling Stiles has gotten quite used to now, but there’s still a huge difference between someone taking the pain away from you or the pain vanishing because you’ve healed.

Stiles shifts onto his knees again and hooks his arms around Isaac’s shoulders. It shouldn’t take this much effort. He’s a fucking supernatural creature, but he couldn’t even have gotten Isaac into a sitting position if the werewolf didn’t help him. If Isaac notices it, he doesn’t say anything. Just like Stiles doesn’t say anything about the little whimpers, Isaac can’t keep away. His heart aches for him, and the question slips past his lips before he can stop himself. “Why?” He sits back on his heels. “Why did you follow them?”

Pushing himself a bit further upright, Isaac raises his arm almost as an offering. “Because Theo would’ve killed me if I didn’t.”

While that’s probably true, Stiles can tell that Isaac is lying to him. “Fine,” he mutters, swallowing once more before curling his fingers around Isaac’s wrist. “Don’t tell me.” For a few seconds, Stiles forces himself to hold back, just so he knows that he can. He can control this. His hunger does not get the best of him. But his resolve breaks much quicker than he would’ve liked.

And he doesn’t care.

Not when it feels so good to finally feed again. His whole body is flooded with renewed strength, and his muscles relax as the pangs of hunger finally diminish.

The relief, however, doesn’t last long enough. Stiles struggles to believe he fed more than a few seconds before the collar around his neck starts burning him again, sending hot flashes of agonizing pain through his neck, head, and chest. Stiles drops Isaac’s arm as if that’s the whole reason for his pain. Instinctively, he reaches for the collar.

But Isaac grabs his wrists. “Don’t.”

“Let go.” Stiles tries to yank his arms free, but Isaac’s grip is iron around his wrists. Slowly, the bruises on his face heal. The pain vanishes too, something Stiles would be relieved about, but that sends his body into a panic after having been starved for so long — and, now, this fucking— “get it off,” Stiles begs. “Please, please, get it off.” He can feel something running down his neck. As much as he wants it to be tears, Stiles can tell it’s blood. He can feel his body trying to heal the damage the collar is causing.

Isaac tightens his grip, eyes widening ever so slightly. But for the most part, he seems to be able to keep his expression in check. “I can try. Don’t touch it, okay?”

It’s going to be impossible not to, but Stiles nods anyway. He just wants this thing gone. He needs it gone. He can’t deal with—

But Isaac hisses when his fingers as much as brush against the collar. He yanks his hands back, watching as his skin takes its time to heal. “What the fuck is in this thing?” His gaze flicks up, staring at Stiles, the collar, and then his fingers again.

Stiles would laugh if he weren’t in so much fucking pain. He grabs the poor excuse of a sheet, knuckles turning white under pressure. Of course, Deaton lied to him. He said it himself. He wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating Stiles. It’s hard to imagine Deaton hasn’t known about Isaac beforehand, so all he had to do was making sure Isaac couldn’t so anything about the collar either. “Highly concentrated mistletoe, wolf lichen, and, apparently, wolfsbane,” Stiles says through his teeth. Maybe it’s time Stiles stops underestimating Deaton, too. He may not know everything, but he knows enough to make his life down here very fucking hard.

“Come here.” Isaac pats the spot next to him.

Stiles follows the suggestion almost instantly and slumps against the werewolf.

“I can take the edge off.” Isaac grabs his wrist, and Stiles watches his veins turn black as the pain leaves his body.

A laugh bubbles out of him, and if it hadn’t, he probably would’ve cried. Not being alone in here should make him feel better, but Stiles is stuck in the place of his worst nightmares, and Isaac is stuck here with him. There’s a reason why Valack allowed them to be in this cell together. Stiles has an idea of what that might be. After all, he and Deaton have been complaining about him not cooperating.

Isaac is their leverage.

“You should’ve stayed away,” Stiles whispers, pulling his hand away when his skin stops knitting itself back together. The hunger hasn’t returned, but he feels hardly any stronger than before feeding — and that’s what this was about. They don’t want Stiles to be strong. They just need him to stay alive long enough to do whatever they think they can do.

Shaking his head, Isaac bends his legs and crosses his arms over his knees. “I couldn’t find Erica in time. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.”

Stiles sinks a little further down the wall and leans his head against Isaac’s shoulder, staring out into the bright, empty hallway in front of their now shared cell. “I wish you would’ve.”

Scoffing, Isaac leans his head against his. “Guess we have to disagree on that.”

---

They’ve gotten food four times before Schrader returns to the cell, this time accompanied by two other guards — both heavily armed with crossbows.

Isaac stiffens next to him and scrambles to his feet. His spirits are still up despite having been here for as long as Stiles must be. Four days. Maybe five. Stiles isn’t entirely sure how many meals he’s missed by simply refusing them or being punished for not cooperating. It’s hard to keep track of time in a place that always looks the same, that never gets fucking dark. Sleeping is a little easier now that Isaac can offer him a bit of relief from the light by lying on his side in front of him. But overall, it doesn’t do a lot. Isaac considered propping the mattress up, but Stiles knew the few moments of relief wouldn’t be worth the consequences.

Stiles grabs Isaac’s arm. “Stay calm,” he whispers, squeezing his wrist in warning. “Do what they say.” He doesn’t want Isaac to get hurt, not when he’s going to be the reason for it. Stiles would prefer not to have that guilt piled on top of everything else. As much as he misses Theo, maybe it’s a good thing Isaac is down here with him.

“Corner that mutt,” Schrader orders the two other hunters before opening the door.

The hunters slide inside, their eyes darting from Stiles, who steps away with both hands raised, to Isaac, who does exactly what Stiles asked — he stands in the corner. He doesn’t move, although he looks like he’s two seconds away from ripping everyone’s head off.

“What do you want?” Stiles watches Schrader enter the cell, holding a small satchel.

Schrader raises a brow at Isaac. “You got him trained well.”

“You don’t train your friends,” Stiles remarks before he can stop himself, “but you wouldn’t know that.” The moment he says it, Stiles wishes he could take his words back. There’s no telling of what Schrader will do — or who will be punished for his mouthing off.

Schrader chuckles, and then, not even a heartbeat later, he backhands him so hard Stiles’ head flies to the right. “Watch your mouth.” His voice is low and threatening, the manic glint in his eyes the only warning Stiles gets before Schrader grabs his jaw and slams him against the wall. “It would be a shame if something happened to it.”

A low growl fills the cell.

“Or him.” Schrader smiles.

Stiles swallows. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles as best as he can. His heart jackrabbits in his chest. The hand vanishes, but Stiles doesn’t exactly feel any sort of relief. His state of panic comes and goes with Schrader. It seems like his body remembers what his mind does not. He barely remembers seeing Schrader the last time he was here. All he knows is that he’s met him before and been scared of this place ever since he set foot in here for the first time. Stiles always thought Brunski was to thank for that, but he starts doubting that Brunski was the only person to blame.

“Doc wants your blood.” Schrader pulls out a tourniquet, dangling it in front of Stiles’ face like a threat. “I recommend you do what I tell you from now on. I don’t draw blood often.” The smirk makes that statement a clear lie.

But Stiles nods anyway. “Sure.”

Schrader doesn’t move away, not allowing Stiles an inch of freedom. They’re too close, almost chest to chest, and at this point, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Schrader heard his heart judging by how hard it’s hammering against his ribs. “Give me your arm.”

As requested, Stiles follows the command and turns his head away, fixing his gaze on the corner of the mattress. The thought of needles is enough to make him squirm. The last few times, they came with an injection down here. Nobody cared much about being gentle. Stiles doubts Schrader will do much better by drawing blood. Not that it matters. A needle is a needle, and Stiles would prefer if it stayed away from his body as far away as possible. Not looking at it is the best course of action if he doesn’t want to faint or throw up. He doubts Schrader would be very happy about that.

His sleeve is pushed up roughly, the tourniquet pulled too tight.

“Pump your fist.”

Stiles leans his left cheek against the cool tiles and does as he’s told. It’s impossible for him to relax or to keep his mind occupied with something that isn’t the fact that one of the people he’s terrified of is about to push a needle into him.

“Issues with seeing blood?” Schrader asks, sounding terribly amused as he disinfects the hollow of Stiles’ elbow.

“Issues with—“ Stiles grinds his teeth, forcing himself to take a deep breath and not go through with what he wanted to say. “No,” he says softly, looking up to find Isaac smiling at him. Looking at Isaac might be the better option than staring at the floor.

Schrader pats his cheek. “Good boy.”

Stiles wishes he could kick him in the balls for that. Instead, he takes a deep breath and keeps looking at Isaac, who tries to smile even though his eyes are murderous.

At least until Schrader pokes him with the needle, only to pull it out again with a chuckle. “Missed it.”

Swallowing another insult, Stiles opts for a short chuckle himself. “Happens to the best of us.” It’s fine. As long as he doesn’t look at it. It’s going to be fine. So, he looks at Isaac. Looking at Isaac is safe. He grinds his teeth as Schrader repeats the process twice, just to fuck with him, but Stiles also knows that a lack of a response is something that bores people like Schrader endlessly.

And he seems to be right because Schrader happens to be successful the fourth time and draws his blood without further comment. He opens the tourniquet.

Stiles forces himself to open his fist. Despite having gone through the worst of this procedure, he still feels a bit like throwing up. He gave his doctors hell as a child, and now he wishes he’d be at a hospital because he doubts any of this equipment is sterile. Then again, it’s not like it matters anymore. The only shit that’s actually harmful to him is already wrapped around his neck.

“That’s it for now.” Schrader pulls the needle out and yanks the tourniquet off unceremoniously. After putting everything back into the satchel, he grabs Stiles’ jaw again. “Next time,” he says as his grip turns painful, “you’re going to behave exactly like this from the beginning, or your dog’s going to get hurt. Are we clear?”

Stiles wouldn’t have pegged Schrader as someone who gives second chances, but he takes what he can get at this point. So, he nods.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Schrader stares at him for a little while longer. It’s almost like he’s waiting for a reason to hurt Isaac or Stiles. He’s got to be under strict instructions not to because Stiles wouldn’t put it past him to find an excuse. But he leaves without doing or saying anything else, and his hunter buddies follow him dutifully.

Isaac lets out a long breath. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Get in line,” Stiles mutters, checking his arm for any marks, but they’ve already healed like nothing had happened. He swipes away a drop of blood that’s escaped.

“Any idea what they need that for?” Isaac sits back down on the mattress.

Stiles shakes his head. It’s a good question. “They wanna separate the nemeton from me.” Even that is still a fucking mystery to him. How the hell are they’re going to do that? “Maybe they need to see if I’m anemic.” He collapses next to Isaac and puts his chin on his knees. Whatever they need it for, it’s probably not going to be good.

---

Stiles drops the stale piece of bread on the tray and pushes it away from him. If he makes it out of here, he desperately needs something real to eat. He can’t stand another day of bread and whatever they add to it. “You think they’ll come for us?” Stiles would prefer to sound less hopeless, but the light and the quiet and this fucking place is getting to him.

“You think anything’s going to stop Theo?” Isaac’s lips quirk into a tired smile. It’s probably not a great time for him either, locked up in a small cell in the basement of a nightmarish place.

Sighing, Stiles hugs his legs to his chest. Although Isaac isn’t wrong, he hopes that Theo listened to him when he told him to stay away, if he even heard him. After all, he was asleep. It’s entirely possible Theo couldn’t hear him or thought it was nothing more than a dream. It’s also very possible Theo knew it was him, but he ignored his request. If he’s being perfectly honest, the latter sounds the most like Theo. Nothing will stop his boyfriend from getting to him, not even fully armed hunters, who are expecting them to come. “They might not even know where we are.”

Isaac breaks his bread apart and studies it for a moment. “Brett can feel you, can’t he? And Jordan can track the nemeton.”

“I guess, yeah.” Stiles leans his cheek against his knee and studies Isaac’s face. His body language wants to say, ‘Everything’s fine,’ but something about his face tells the exact opposite. Stiles can’t blame him. He feels the same way. “But I haven’t been able to feel the ley lines since wearing this shit.” He points at the collar around the neck, and the last time he was in touch with the others through the ley lines, it didn’t sound like they had any idea where he was. “How did you find me?” Stiles remembers hearing him talk when he first realized that Theo could hear him.

Almost tentatively, Isaac nibbles on the bread. He scrunches up his face in disgust but doesn’t drop it. “I saw them walk into the tunnels. It’s where I lost them.” Isaac shrugs, glancing at him before returning his attention to his food. “Corey mentioned there used to be one of their operating theaters down here. So I went looking… and before I knew it, I woke up here. It’s like they’ve been waiting for me.” Yeah, that’s not surprising. They were probably posted up in the tunnels after figuring out where they got in the last time.

Or maybe the Dread Doctors lured him here.

Stiles still doesn’t quite understand why the Dread Doctors just… gave him up. Either they can’t use the nemeton’s power as long as it’s connected to him, or they’re already done with whatever they needed from him. But Stiles didn’t feel another chimera the last time he connected to the ley lines. Does that mean they failed? Or does that mean they succeeded? But he can feel Theo, and Theo is a success. The chimeras need the nemeton. They can’t exist without one. It doesn’t make sense.

Sighing, Stiles falls back onto the mattress. “Why’d you go alone?”

Isaac plops down right next to him, shoulder pressed against his. Having him down here with him is most likely the only thing keeping Stiles sane at the moment. “Because everyone’s been too busy coming up with a plan. I lost the Dread Doctors in the tunnels and went straight to Satomi. I should’ve gone to Theo instead.” Isaac grimaces a little. “He wouldn’t have waited, but now Jackson and Peter have him on lockdown. They’re worried he’d do something stupid.” Great, Theo is never going to forgive them.

“So, you decided to do something stupid instead.” Stiles wants to be grateful, but he wishes Isaac would’ve been smarter. Thankfully, he went to his alpha, though, because otherwise Valack would’ve gotten his hand on Theo.

“Someone had to.” Isaac chuckles and crosses his arms over his stomach.

Stiles sighs. “You know Jordan and my dad will never let us go anywhere alone ever again.” Theo will most likely never let him out of his sight, either.

“Guess we can kiss colle—“ He sits up without warning, cocking his head slightly to the side. “Schrader’s coming back.”

Fuck.

Stiles pushes himself into a seating position. As much as he would like to pretend that Schrader has found himself down here to torture one of the other inmates, he highly doubts it. Knowing his luck, Schrader has been assigned to him and him alone. And lo and behold, this walking nightmare turns the corner with a smile. Following him are the same two hunters from the last time. One of them has a different hairstyle, so one day seems to have passed between then and now.

He can’t wait to see the sun again.

“It’s shower time.” Considering how excited Schrader sounds, it’s almost hard to believe Stiles really has the chance to finally clean himself up. He hasn’t seen fresh water since he broke out of that fucking tube, and who knows how clean that’s been. “Let’s go.” He claps his hands.

Isaac and Stiles exchange a glance as they get to his feet.

“Both of us?” Isaac asks. It’s a good question. There’s no way they allow them to go into the showers together.

“You think I’m stupid?” Schrader opens the cell door. Like yesterday, the two hunters step inside and corner Isaac, who doesn’t fight back once again. “We’ll do this one by one, and you’re coming with me.”

The last thing Stiles wants to do is follow Schrader anywhere, much less shower when he’s close by. But he’s not having much choice, and Stiles really wants to shower. He’d kill for a set of fresh clothes as well. Maybe today is his lucky day. To be fair, every day he doesn’t have a supernatural nose is his lucky day. It’s not the prettiest smell down here by human standards. Isaac’s most likely not having a great time.

Schrader produces a little key and unhooks the chain from Stiles’ collar. “You don’t need that any longer, do you?”

Stiles cuts his gaze to Isaac for a moment. Under different circumstances, freeing him would be a stupid idea. But Stiles wouldn’t abandon Isaac. “No.” He’s not about to do anything that could risk Isaac’s life. They’re both bound here by keeping the other person safe. It’s such an easy way to control them, Stiles is almost mad about it. He takes a breath. “After you.” He focuses on Schrader again, who leaves the cell with a chuckle, and Stiles follows him.

The hunters step out and close the door, but they’re not leaving with them — not because there’s a risk Isaac could run. It’s because that way, all Schrader has to do is call them, and Isaac will be punished for Stiles’ wrongdoing.

Or just because Schrader is in the mood.

Stiles keeps his eyes locked on the man before him, trying to block out the other supernatural creatures in the cells surrounding him. He remembers the sluagh he saw when they visited Valack down here. Stiles has absolutely no interest in seeing Donovan again, or maybe even Caitlin. It’s enough if their deaths are in his head. He does not need to be reminded of them by seeing something that pretends to be them for no other reason than fucking with his head.

Schrader leads him through a door and down another short hallway. Stiles knows the way. He’s mapped it out for days before they broke Peter out. At this point, he’d probably find it in his sleep — and Schrader probably knows that. Perhaps that’s why they are going to the exact showers they used to break in. It’s another way of proving to Stiles that he has the upper hand.

As if that isn’t clear enough yet.

When they reach the showers, Schrader unlocks the door and gestures for him to walk in first.

The room is cold and empty, but Stiles spots a set of fresh clothes — light gray sweatpants, a dark blueish gray shirt, and a pair of socks and boxer briefs in dark gray — as well as a towel. At least he can get rid of the clothes he’s currently wearing. He didn’t exactly expect something that nice from the people down here. Folding his arms over his chest, Stiles can’t help but glance toward the gutter. Even from here, he can see that it’s been screwed shut again. There's no way for him to get out, but maybe Isaac’s got more luck. If only he’d leave if Stiles told him to.

“Looking for something?”

Stiles all but jumps out of his skin. He stumbles forward, bringing distance between him and Schrader. “No, I just— no.” He shakes his head and then glances at the closed door. Is he going to stay in here while Stiles showers? That’s not necessary. There’s nowhere for him to go, and there’s nothing he can do in here aside from showering.

“Good.” Schrader sits on one of the benches, stretching and looking like he’s getting as comfortable as possible. “For a moment there, I was worried you’re thinking about doing something stupid… like trying to escape.” Of course, he knows. That’s exactly why they’re here. That’s exactly why he got that chain off him. Schrader is waiting for him to act up just so he can punish Isaac.

Without replying, Stiles retreats further into the showers. He goes for the one farthest away from Schrader and turns it on. The water hitting him is ice cold, and for a moment, he worries it’s going to stay that way. He seems to be lucky for once because it turns warm only a few moments later. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. With the water running, he hurries back to the clothes and the towel. There’s not much he can do about privacy, but the low walls, at the very least, give the illusion.

He places everything on the bathtub before stepping under the shower. The feeling of wet fabric sticking to him makes him want to peel his skin off, but Stiles has absolutely no intentions of undressing in the middle of the room. He’s never been the biggest fan of locker rooms, but this situation is a whole new level of fuck that.

Slowly, Stiles gets rid of all his clothes, tossing them onto the cold tiles in front of the poor excuse of a shower stall before stepping back under the water and allows himself to close his eyes and relax for a moment. He hasn't received a time limit, but Stiles doubts that the water will stay warm for long down here — or that Schrader will let him relax for more than five minutes.

“You know,” Schrader says, sounding so conversationally, strangers could think they’re old colleagues, “I’ve been wondering. Do you remember me?”

Stiles opens his eyes. The words make his heart speed up, and for a few moments, he’s not sure if he should respond.

Schrader continues talking before he gets the chance to. “Because you looked pretty spooked that first day.”

No matter where this conversation is headed, Stiles has no interest in having it in the shower. Since there’s no soap, he starts scrubbing himself off as best as he can with just water. “I thought I saw your face before,” he replies quietly, unsure if his words are even audible over the sound of running water. But he never knew his name, and he doesn’t actively remember anything else — or anything about Schrader that he might’ve heard. He wonders if Oliver talked about him, or if the nogitsune saw something, or if perhaps Stiles just connected his face to the time he spent at Eichen, a time he’d prefer to forget after what happened with Malia and Oliver, Meredith and the nogitsune in general. He hates how sketchy his memories of everything are because he hadn’t slept in days, was hopped up on multiple drugs, and was possessed by a goddamn fox demon. Sometimes, he isn’t even entirely sure what happened did happen.

But that goes for most of his possession. Stiles thought he witnessed everything the nogitsune did. The more time passed, however, the less sure he was about it.

That still doesn’t explain why Schrader makes him feel so damn anxious.

Why not Brunski? Because he’s dead?

And does he really want to know?

“That sedative should’ve knocked you out completely.”

Stiles hears the bench creaking as Schrader gets up. He turns the water off and rushes to the towel, wrapping it around himself before turning to face the other man again. “So it was you,” he says when the real question refuses to roll over his tongue.

What did you do?

“Who sedated you? No.” Schrader seems highly amused at that. “We never met while you were awake. Or so I thought.” He just stands there, looking at him, with his arms folded over his chest and a grin on his lips. Stiles would love to punch clean off.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps away and grabs his clothes. Stiles doesn’t much care about being dry as long as he’s dressed. “So what?” he asks, unable to hide the panic creeping into his voice, “You came creeping into the room while I was knocked out?” Well, only mostly, apparently, because some part remembered Schrader’s face enough to be afraid of him. If they never met otherwise, Oliver must’ve told him something, but the kid said so much Stiles only half-listened most of the time. Not that it matters because it turns out he’s not wrong to be afraid of Schrader.

“Brunski talked about you.”

Stiles freezes after putting on the boxer briefs. The way Schrader’s voice grew cold did not go unnoticed.

“Mostly about how much he’d enjoy punishing you. Probably because of who your father is.”

That wouldn’t be the first person who hated him because he happens to be the sheriff’s kid. Swallowing, Stiles reaches for the pair of sweatpants.

But Schrader curls his fingers into his hair and yanks his head back. “And then you killed him.”

How ironic. Stiles created a nightmare from a face he saw while heavily sedated, and now that nightmare became reality. He can’t decide if he’s more pissed at himself or Schrader, who continues to prove there is a reason to fear the darkness creeping into Stiles’ dreams. “I didn’t kill him,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to betray his anger. “He did that himself.” His mouth does it for him.

“Your friend is lucky,” Schrader whispers, “that this is going to stay between us.”

Before Stiles can ask what ‘this’ is, his head is slammed against one of the tiled half-walls. Pain explodes behind his left eye, spreading quickly throughout his whole head. Blood gushes from his left brow, covering his sight. The fingers leave his hair, and when Stiles tries to move, his whole world shifts to the right, and he slams to the ground. His left brow pulses like a fucking epicenter of pain.

Stiles curls his hands into fists, biting back the whimper trying to escape his mouth.

A foot connects with his rips.

Again.

And again.

Stiles screams out in pain, not sure how to fight him off with blood in his eyes clouding his vision — not sure if he should fight him off or if that would make things so much worse, not just for him, but for Isaac too.

When Schrader stops, Stiles isn’t sure how much time has passed. It’s hard to keep track when pain ebbs and flows as his body deals with the damage. Perhaps that’s what made Schrader even more mad. The bruises don’t last. There’s nothing to marvel at but his memories.

“For my sake,” Schrader spits, kicking Stiles’ shoulder to roll him onto his back, “I hope you survive.”

Stiles grins up at him, exhausted and with the first pangs of hunger echoing in his bones. “I’m going to kill you,” he whispers, tasting blood in his mouth as he pushes himself to his feet. The movements still hurt, his body not entirely done with healing him. “But before I do, I’ll make you cower and whimper and beg for your life like the pathetic waste of a human being that you are.” He curls his hands into fists, eyes locked on Schrader, who retreats a single step before he catches himself and straightens to his full height again. Not once does he reach for the walkie-talkie to punish Isaac for Stiles’ threat. “Even Valack knows what you are.” And Valack is the one making the decisions around here. He is the one who decides if Stiles’ behavior is worth punishing Isaac. Schrader used Stiles’ fear against him. Simple psychology and Stiles fucking fell for it. “That’s why you’re down here, aren’t you? Did they catch you watching inmates in the shower?” Every single word makes Schrader angrier and angrier; the room is full of his rage, giving Stiles enough to draw from. But he’s learned his lesson. He won’t take too much. Not this time. This fucking collar has brought him to his knees the last time.

And so has Schrader.

“Watch your mouth,” he seethes, crossing the room, still not reaching for the radio.

Stiles was right. His word means nothing down here. “Or what?” he drawls, smile widening as Schrader abruptly stops. “You gonna stick me with needles again? Or are you going to stick me with something else?”

Schrader’s face flushes red with anger. It comes as no surprise when he brandishes a syringe, no doubt filled with wolf lichen. He didn’t bring a weapon, probably thinking that Stiles would comply, that he would sit here and take it and not put two and two together. He shouldn’t have given him a second chance the first time Stiles mouthed off to him. He should’ve never told Stiles what really happened. It’s the mystery that kept the fear alive because now Stiles knows who Schrader really is.

A pathetic man, desperate for power over those who already have none.

Before either of them can move, the door to the showers flies open, and Valack bursts in, followed by at least four other nurses, who instantly point their weapons at Stiles. Two of them, he realizes, are the guys Schrader left behind with Isaac. Looks like one of them called the big boss.

Stiles raises both of his hands. He’s not stupid enough to mouth off now, but he can’t help but smile.

A vein ticks very visibly at Valack’s temple as his gaze flies from the blood on Stiles’ face to the syringe in his subordinate's hand. “Schrader,” he says in a dangerous tone, then turns to the others. “Bring him back to his room.”

“May I get dressed first?” Stiles asks, pointing briefly at the clothes behind his back.

Valack gestures briefly, something that could potentially mean, ‘Do as you wish.’

Stiles doesn’t waste a second.

---

“I really want to tell you how bloody stupid you are, but—“

“You don’t really have any room to argue.” Stiles rolls his shoulders and leans back against Isaac’s shoulder, closing his eyes with a sigh. Although he’s not necessarily afraid of Schrader any longer, this place is still scaring him. For multiple reasons. Waiting for the inevitable, for Deaton or Valack to do whatever they brought him here for — and see them fail. Hopefully, or succeed, if that means the chimeras will stay alive. Stiles can’t do much more than hope. After all, it’s all he can do besides running his mouth. He can’t use his powers, and he can consider himself lucky he’s still able to heal, or the whole thing with Schrader could’ve ended very differently.

Isaac leans his head against Stiles’. “What do you think everyone’s doing?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says as he opens his eyes again, squinting a little as he adjusts to the light again. There’s no way to tell what they’re up to right now. Planning, maybe. If Peter and Jackson are making sure Theo can’t do anything stupid, Stiles at least won’t have to worry about that. With Isaac missing too, however, the Ito pack got dragged into this whole mess, and Stiles doubts Brett will take very kindly to people kidnapping members of his pack. “But maybe I can find out.” He very much doubts it since he’s felt cut off from the ley lines ever since Deaton put this collar on him, but he can, at the very least, try.

Isaac squints at him. “And how are you going to do that?”

“Remember when you thought Theo lost his mind?”

For a moment, Isaac simply stares at him. “You’re kidding. You talked to him?”

Stiles shrugs. He did something for sure. “When I got in touch with the ley lines, I somehow managed to hear you… through Theo. Maybe because of our bond. I’m not sure how it worked, but it did.” With how badly Stiles usually clings to Theo’s spark, it’s possible their bond evolved into something else entirely.

Isaac opens his mouth, then thinks better of it and shakes his head. “Fine, what’s the plan?”

“Put the mattress against the wall. Maybe hiding in the shadows…” Stiles trails off with an almost helpless shrug. Hope is the only thing they’ve got left, but he doesn’t want to waste it on something that has nearly no chance of working. “If we get caught, we might lose the mattress, though.” Unless Valack is trying to make up for what happened with Schrader, which is highly doubtful but not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Most likely considering the possibility of having to stay here indefinitely without a mattress, Isaac looks out into the hallway, arms crossed over his knees. Eventually, he sighs and stands up. “Fuck it.” He pulls Stiles to his feet as well. “Let’s try it. Whatever.” Without further ado, he grabs the mattress and props it against the wall, leaving just enough space for Stiles to crawl behind it.

Which he does.

The reprieve from the light is already worth the risk of losing the mattress. His muscles relax for the first time in days, even his heartbeat slows down. A world of stress and anxiety falls from his shoulders. If he hadn’t known before how much light could affect him, this would certainly be his awakening. Sighing, Stiles shuffles around until he’s on his back and fully hidden behind the mattress.

“And?”

“Could you please give me a minute?” Stiles rolls his shoulders and folds his hands over his stomach. After taking another deep breath, he closes his eyes. But his hopes are pretty quickly quenched when he’s feeling nothing. Not a tug. Not the whisper of a ley line. All he can feel is the collar around his neck, almost as if it’s trying to strangle him, to drag him under and keep him away from the ley line at any and all costs.

He’s trying to remember the wildness of Theo’s spark, to grasp onto this feeling, but he can’t hold onto it. All he finds is emptiness.

Taking a shaky breath, Stiles opens his eyes again. Sure, he expected it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get in touch with the ley lines, but he hoped— he fucking hoped — that he could at least get a glimpse of Theo, a brush of his spark. He’d take anything right now to find Theo, feel him, and know he’s still there. It’s a stupid thought. Of course, Theo is still there. Theo would never abandon him. Not even Tracy being back worries him in any type of way.

But he misses him.

Painfully.

“Stiles,” Isaac says only a second before he pulls the mattress away, “someone’s com— are you okay?”

The answer to that would be ‘no.’ Not even in the slightest. But Stiles doesn’t want to worry Isaac any more than he necessarily needs to. They don’t exactly have time for heartbreak right now. “I’m fine.” Stiles gets to his feet, wishing he could take this collar and shove it down Deaton’s throat. “Who’s coming?”

Isaac grimaces. “Valack.”

“Great.” As much as Stiles clings on to the hope that they get out of here because their friends somehow manage to break in and out a second time in only a short amount of time or luck is on Isaac and his side for once, the far bigger thing that gets him going ever since Schrader attacked him in the showers is revenge. He’s out for blood, and he will kill everyone who’s involved in this plan. Thinking they can control him and push him around, it’s going to be their downfall.

But Valack remains confident, at least judging by the smile he wears when he comes to a halt in front of the cell. “Am I interrupting something?”

“My inner peace.” Stiles steps right up to the glass and crosses his arms. He’s not particularly interested in having a conversation with him at the moment. He’d prefer to smash his face into a wall.

“It’s always a pleasure to talk to you.” Valack pushes his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit pants. “I regret to inform you that Schrader will continue to be responsible for you.” Regret isn’t exactly a feeling Stiles gets from the other man, and judging by Isaac rolling his eyes, he’s probably right about that. “Nobody else is willing to take care of you. It seems like you frighten them.” His last words are accompanied by a wrinkle of his nose as if the mere idea disgusts him.

Isaac steps next to him, cocking his head to the side. “You’re frightened, too.”

Valack clenches his jaw, the only response he allows himself before continuing the conversation as if Isaac never said anything. “Schrader will be under the supervision of me or Deaton, so there won’t be a repeat of what happened earlier today.”

Drawing his brows together, Stiles studies Valack. He never even considered that it might have been a possibility to get rid of Schrader. That’s why he never mentioned or demanded it. However, Valack trying to get another orderly to work with him is interesting. After all, he never looked particularly invested in Stiles’ well-being, much less his survival. “What do you want?” Stiles smiles at the man, watching as surprise crosses his features for all but a second before he tries to cover it up by fixing his tie.

“There is something I need you to test tonight,” Valack informs him, not quite looking at him but trying his best to make it seem like he does. “I think it would be wise to feed beforehand.”

Isaac scoffs.

Stiles raises his brows. “Feeding is useless with this thing around my neck.”

“Of course.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice, but Valack smiles through it. “Well, then you might as well feed right before.” He straightens his jacket. “You two will join me after dinner.” With a nod, more to himself than Isaac or Stiles, he turns around and returns to wherever he came from.

“The fuck does he want?” Isaac mutters, pushing the mattress back into the corner with a frown.

Good question.

---

“Ah, wonderful. Come on in.” Valack waves them into a room that should not exist anywhere in a 20-mile radius of a health facility. It seems to have been a former cell, but the glass wall has been partially removed. There’s a chair in the middle of the room, the walls are filled with desks and cabinets filled with various different things.

Most of all, filth and cobwebs.

“How was dinner?”

Stiles and Isaac exchange a glance over the orderlies' heads. Even they seem a little confused by Valack’s facade. “Stale.”

“Predictable,” Isaac adds, pulling his head away when one of the crossbows gets a bit too close to his face. They’re dripping wolfsbane. It’s hard to tell which one, but there is absolutely no outcome of Isaac getting poisoned down here that could have any chance at a happy ending.

“Speaking of predictable.” Valack puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and pushes him not so gently towards the chair in the middle of the room. “What do you think about predicting the future?”

Stiles sits down, not any less confused now than when Valack first told him he wanted to see them after dinner. “Like… fortune-tellers?”

“Clairvoyance.”

“So, like a psychic.”

Valack stares at him with a frown, clearly annoyed that Stiles is missing the point — which he is, very much so. They locked him up here to separate the nemeton from him. Now he’s in a room that violates every hygiene regulation for a hospital, talking to a madman about the possibility of predicting the future. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Did you go to a psychic, Gabriel?” Stiles raises his brow.

“It seems,” Valack says, sounding more than unamused about the turn this conversation took, “something lifted your spirits again.”

Stiles chuckles. “I just can’t imagine you falling for card tricks, is all.” Even though he doesn’t like to admit it, Valack is too smart for that. He can’t see him believing anything said to him in a tent at a fair for a horrendous price.

“If I remember correctly, Lydia Martin is able to predict death.”

“Death we’re able to avoid if we’re fast enough. The future isn’t set in stone, Valack. Things can always change.” There are exceptions to the rule. His mother, who assured him his fate was not written down by three old women who share one eye, was such an exception. She couldn’t change her future, no matter how hard she and her doctors tried. “Is that why you wanted me down here? Because the nemeton can’t predict the future. I can’t help you.” There may be many things the power of the nemeton might be able to achieve, but none of them have anything to do with psychic abilities.

Valack shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s the fox I need, specifically, your powers of electromagnetokinesis.” He turns around, humming in a way that seems too delighted for Stiles’ liking and pulls something out of the set of drawers right behind him.

The thing turns out to be a Dread Doctor’s mask.

Stiles all but jumps off the chair, stumbling over his feet as he does so. It’s not hard to imagine what’s supposed to happen with this mask. The Dread Doctors have similar powers to kitsune’s that much he’s managed to gather. After all, Stiles, Kira, and Noshiko are immune to what they can do. It’s no surprise that all of their gear would need similar powers to function.

But Stiles is not about to touch any of that shit. “Get that thing away from me.”

Two people grab him, holding him in place, as Valack lifts the mask a little higher. “This mask was created by The Surgeon. He managed to harness electromagnetic fields within this very mask, giving the wearer the ability to utilize clairvoyance.” He sets the mask onto the abandoned chair, fixing Stiles with a smug smile. “Unfortunately, only those possessing similar powers can wield this power. Which means that you will put on this mask and tell me what you see, or Mr. Lahey will die a very slow and painful death.”

Stiles presses his lips into a thin line. That threat doesn’t come as a surprise, and he really wishes they’d be more creative. Unfortunately, this is all they need to have Stiles do exactly what they want. “It would probably be easier without this collar.”

“Certainly,” Valack agrees, propping his hands next to the mask, "I managed to extract your DNA from your blood. Rest assured, even without full access to your powers, you're still very much a fox." The smile falls from his lips as he picks the mask back up. “Sit, or you will be seated.” Time for fun and games is very much over.

Grinding his teeth, Stiles yanks his arms free from Schrader and the other orderly. One day, he’s going to kill this man, and he’s going to enjoy every single fucking second of it. He returns to the chair, sitting down and glancing in Isaac’s direction. There’s no room for him to move, either. One wrong move and the two orderlies will poison him.

“You see,” Valack says as he steps in front of him, “some things are set in stone.” The smile returns, and it’s the last thing Stiles sees before the mask is put on him.

For a few seconds, nothing seems to happen. All Stiles senses is the smell of old leather — and hopefully nothing more than that, as well as the crackle of electricity. It’s impossible to see out of the goggles. They’re broken and dirty and—

Without warning, a sharp pain starts at his left temple, spreading extremely quickly until it feels like Stiles’ head is splitting open. He screams in pain, trying to grab the mask, to rip it off. But someone grabs his arms. He’s pulled up and pressed against the chair. Someone is yelling something he cannot hear over his own screams. There is no future in this mask. There is nothing in this mask.

Only pain.

“Please,” Stiles screams.

There’s more yelling. More screaming. Something is crashing.

And then, there’s silence.

Stiles blinks his eyes open.

“What do you see?” Valack’s voice is distant and quiet, like he was talking to him through a wall.

Carefully, Stiles raises his hands to his head. The mask is gone, so is the chair, the room, and everyone else inside it. He’s alone in a different room. It almost looks like the one he’s woken up in a few days ago. But why would he be here again? A shudder runs down his back. It’s so awfully quiet, so wrong.

Stiles takes a step forward, but his foot catches on something on the ground. Furrowing his brows, he looks down.

And there’s Isaac, cowering at his feet, hands folded over his head, almost as if he’s protecting his face from something — or someone.

Stiles crouches down, about to grab Isaac’s shoulder, when he catches sight of something else.

Blood.

There’s blood everywhere.

#steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #steoedit #teen wolf #stiles x theo #theo x stiles #no place for promises #*tv:teen wolf #*w:npfp #*s:steo

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