#--then you have a black mold where your brain used to be and it's rapidly eating into the bathroom tile you call a skull

[bonefall]

Anyway. Bi and Mspec Lesbians aren't a hotly "debated" topic or even new to queer culture, it's just the newest thing that bullies who REALLY want to be homophobic and even racist use to justify harassing gay people they don't like.

It's the thinnest possible veneer of progressive language wrapped around TERF and reactionary rhetoric so that they can feel righteous for forming an angry mob against vulnerable targets. If you're gullible enough to fall for the newest wave of bigotry within the queer community, and turn on your allies because they're "confusing" or "invading your spaces," the SAME way they turned on bi/pan labels, trans people, xenogenders, neopronouns, and aroace people before this, then get lost.

[stereotypesclass1teachercarmen]

Acknowledge science's role when people stereotype others, is important.

By Nina Preto

What would you do if you knew your brain induces you to stereotype other people? According to Perry Hinton, over the last 30 years, the study of implicit stereotypes has increased. In addition to this, even the people who reject stereotypes and tend to be fair in their judgment of others can’t escape. Altogether, it’s important to acknowledge science's role when people stereotype others.

Studies reveal that there are intrinsic connections between the brain and stereotypes. For instance, both male and female black faces were categorized as "angry", additionally, Asian men's faces were initially perceived as "female." Furthermore, in a specific moment, the neural connection between the responsive orbital frontal cortex and the facial recognition fusiform cortex overlapped reality, replacing the actual facial expression with the biased expectations. Subsequently, the potential lies in those initial perceptions that could intensify the existing biases in our society, even though the participants didn't purposefully make those assumptions, therefore it was clear that they were infiltrated in their subconscious. With studies, it became possible to observe that: stereotypes can appear as innate activities of our brain, however, they are also acquired in the world we live in. 

Implicit bias is related to different brain activities. The term "implicit bias" refers to the inclination to harbor suspicion towards individuals who are different from us and it relates to the term “heuristics”, a concept that sustains the notion that group membership determines innate qualities, referred to as essentialism. According to studies is most likely that this developed in our past.. This survival instinct emerged during competition between humans, it was vital to comprehend and address these different individuals as a potential threat. Nonetheless, through non-invasive brain stimulation, scientists can directly influence brain activity, providing compelling evidence linking specific brain regions to distinct social behaviors. Moreover, Dr. Pascual-Leone and colleagues conducted a test, where participants needed to rapidly categorize words related to social characteristics, like "obese" or "thin," alongside words conveying value judgments, such as "lazy" or "good," all while undergoing non-invasive brain stimulation. In addition, it was observed that stimulation of the anterior temporal lobe of the brain led to a reduction in participants' stereotypical associations between "Arab" and "terrorist.

The stereotypes we hold about others can influence our brain’s visual system. As revealed by neuroscientists at New York University, our preconceived biases systematically mold the brain's representation of a face, distorting our perception to align with our prejudiced expectations, particularly within the fusiform cortex, a region crucial for facial visual processing. Undoubtedly, their findings were important as support for the assertions presented, now it's possible to prove scientifically that stereotypes change how humans see others. For instance, in an experiment with black male faces, it was shown that individuals related the face with an angry one, however, the face didn't have any angry features.

Furthermore, it's important to recognize stereotypes as a concept related to science, so it's possible to study ways to minimize their impact on how individuals see others and work for a more accepting society. However, under no circumstance should it be allowed to neglect the social facet of stereotypes and focusing only on their innate origins, would be supporting the idea that we live in a society with no salvation.

[moxfirefly]

I have to thank @southernblossoms for this one, she got evil!Leo in my brain and he hasn’t left ever since.

TW: Violence, Gore, Blood, NSFW content below

Rated Explicit (18+ years)

“She said I'm looking like a bad man, smooth criminal

She said my spirit doesn't move like it did before

She said that I don't look like me no more, no more

I said I'm just tired”

Leonardo always knew there was an inch inside of him that was darkness.

If left alone and unchecked, it would spread. Fester like some disease and he feared that someday he’d allow it to course through his body so freely.

And let it win.

It seemed today would be that unfortunate day. A night like any other, just more bloodshed than necessary. But hey, who said they should go and kill his father? Torture him to such an extent and string up his body for his brothers and him to find.

In that very moment that inch had grown in his soul to a degree that it blinded him. All he knew was to destroy, to hurt and erase those who had done this. He felt so cold, hands cupping his fathers motionless bloodied feet, the gentle tapping of blood and the cries of his brothers echoing in his ears.

So when Leo stood, bloodied (not bathed in his own), holding the head of the monster responsible, how could he regain peace? This had only brought a momentary second of reprieve and it was so fleeting. He looked into Shredder’s lifeless eyes, numbness spreading but a need that had started out as an inch. A need to kill everyone who had been part of this, directly or indirectly.

They all deserved so much worse.

They all deserved death.

Slow and torturous.

He had disappeared after that night. His brothers knew that this was the end of their leader, of their beloved brother who wanted to believe that good in this world could prevail.

For them they never imagined that Leo would just let the darkness take hold of him, nestle him with such a loving embrace. For him to embrace it right back felt justified, for his brothers it painted the gory picture of things to come.

They never expected to meet him in the opposition. To view him as foe and not family. Leonardo had quickly taken hold of the scum of the earth. He had molded the darkness to serve him.

Raphael thought Shredder was their worst enemy.

He never expected to have Leo claim that spot in a matter of months.

The Foot had fallen under his ruling, and he wasted no time in setting examples, and the bloody path those examples left behind never seized to churn the brothers stomachs.

There was no means of bringing him back, and perhaps it’s for the better.

Because whatever has eaten away inside of Leonardo cannot simply be flushed out of his body, nor ripped from his very soul. The body counts too high by now as he strays further and further away from what he was taught.

From what his father taught him...

_______________

You run with the unsavories. An eat or be eaten mentality that has caused you to survive years and years of gang wars and mutant freaks. Not like you’d throw about that last bit, much less when you’re standing single file, close to pissing yourself because he’s there.

And Christ he’s a sight to behold.

A rumor, a legend, a monster.

You tell him you’ve got valuable info, you know where to follow the trail that’ll lead to success. Even when your partner tries to push his chin up in front of Leonardo, you’re already wincing at what his demise will be shaped in.

Leo really loves cutting heads off.

A strong emphasis on loves.

You swallow, eyes flying anywhere but the rapidly growing puddle of blood that approaches your feet. Even then, your eyes stray towards the newest leader of the Foot, Leo punctures his katana into the head, a crude skewer as he lifts it and examines the severed body part as if answers lie in the gush of blood that falls. Those dark blue eyes move on you, you swallow.

He walks over to you, blade in hand, blood tap tapping onto the ground “Your information” Leo’s voice is weightless, bored almost. You motion towards your pocket, the crumpled up note with a poorly drawn map the key to your salvation. Leo reaches his hand in and you’re still, stiff and frightened by the intrusive touch and his proximity.

He pulls the note out and examines, the ghastly expression of horror on the decapitated head so close you can smell the coppery scent. “Can you get more of this? The coordinantes?” You crane your neck to look at him, his stature imposing. “Yeah, I’m your girl for that shit, swear on it” He flicks the blade and the sound of the head rolling makes your stomach flip flop along with it.

You feel the tip of a bloodied katana on your chin.

“Don’t make me cut off such a pretty head, hm?” You want to nod but the blade digs and Leo’s mouth twitches in something akin to a smirk. The small cut to your chin stings, but you wonder why other parts of you vibrate.

The danger, the adrenaline, Leonardo.

_____________

Your next meeting doesn’t quell your nervousness. Leonardo is an impressive sight as always and it’s imposible to ignore that maybe you won’t make it out alive every time you both meet. Unless proven useful, which you take to heart. You bring all sorts of information, names, rumors, possible gangs wanting to take him on, the police. Any word you heard in regards to him.

“It’s possible they might try to meet you half way, catch you off guard” The warehouse is chilly, that fall weather starting to hit but Leo’s unfazed, the black tails of his mask move with the gust of winds. “Stupid of them to assume that” The second floor of the warehouse seems to be his own, leaving the rest of the crew bellow. He sits on the windowsill, cloth running up his katana, it had been bloody when you were brought in.

“I’m just repeating what I heard, I’m sure you’re more than adept to take them on” You stick your hands in the pockets of your jacket, you’d been frisked not like you were stupid enough to bring a weapon to this.

But then again, the more he polished that sword, the more you wished you had something.

“What else have you heard? Any word on Karai?” The woman in question had appeared to have disappeared into thin air after Shredder’s death and Leo taking command of the Foot soldiers. Wether she planned to reclaim what was hers or if she had simply quit was beyond you and anybody else. “Nothing on her, she might’ve skipped town or the country” You offered, eyes following the sword as Leo placed it on a nearby table.

“She strike you as the type? A coward?” He walked over towards you, his expression so eerily unreadable.

Yet, your eyes wandered over him. Over muscle and scales. Overs scars and bruises. That illogical part of your brain making you wonder and fantasize, because fear could be exciting.

There was something exciting about Leonardo.

“Well?” He was in front of you, looking down at you. It hits you how minuscule you must look to him.

“Probably plotting? You did murder her dad” You find his eyes, you swallow.

“Well he murdered mine. Eye for an eye...” He spoke gently almost.

“Makes the whole world go blind” You finished for him, and maybe that was stepping on a line but you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch up. For a brief second you catch his eyes scan yours, move across your face and settle at your lips.

Passed your neck, towards your breasts.

He turns around and grabs his sword.

“One week, find more info on her, your pay is downstairs” You’re dismissed and before you process anything a Foot soldier is ushering you downstairs and shoving an envelope in your hands.

That night you dream about what your lips might feel like against reptilian scales.

—————————

Karai’s whereabouts are practically unheard off. If there was a trail it had run cold months back and judging from the word of mouth being passed around there wasn’t anything sustainable. You dig up anything and everybody. Every dirt bag with an agenda, ex Foot soldiers, opposing gangs, the mob and just about anybody you have in your radar.

It yields nothing.

You can’t return to Leo with nothing.

Rubbing a hand across your tired face, you make your way through the back alleys of the city. Your one week was coming up and all you had were weak possibilities and baseless assumptions. In your line of business enough information to create doubt can go a long way, but this was conspiracy levels bad.

So you thought and you thought quick.

Pulling out your phone you called him first. Perhaps a dumb move but at the same time you figured it showed that you were trying. You asked if the two of you could meet, the line briefly went quiet before your text tone startled you. He hung up and you were met with the address of a building in Brooklyn and to go up to the roof.

To say you were scared was to put it lightly.

You were shitting yourself.

The roof of the building had a green house which seemed unused but it looked like it was being kept up with the vegetation still green and alive. Your hand made for the door knob but something you could only name as a sixth sense made you freeze.

Leo was there, the shift in the atmosphere was impossible to deny. Your turned and blinked.

Wherever he had been, it must’ve been worse. There was blood on him, a fresh gash by his arm and the steady drip drip of blood hitting the concrete. “Jesus are you...?” You knew he was ok, but whomever had been on the receiving end of this had it by far much worse.

“Inside, go inside” He motioned for the green house and you did. Your eyes scanned around hoping to find something to help with. There was a nest of sorts in a corner, several blankets and cushions, a table and a chair amidst the plants. You found what you were looking for near the bonsais, a shelf with a box of first aid. Leo went towards a counter with a basin and a jar of water, he went about cleaning the gash on his arm.

You approached him with the box of first aid, blue eyes were cautious as you took out antiseptic and gauze. Leo had turned to face you, giving you more room to work on his arm as you bandaged it. “You alright?” Your voice held hesitation, Leo’s questioning gaze turned to amusement. “I’m fine, what I want to know is why you wanted to meet” You finished bandaging him and took a step back.

Pick your words wisely, you thought with a slight shutter.

“Listen I’ve spoken with any and everyone who might have any clue but Karai is off the radar��Swallowing a lump in your throat you shrugged off your jacket, worry manifesting in heat. “I know this isn’t what you wanted and I’m really fucking good at my job but this bitch is either underground or who knows! Dead for all I know!” The exasperation and worry was clear as day, he either took this the right way or the wrong way.

Wrong way being you end up pushed off this very building, at best ironically enough.

Leo swallowed the information, clearly bouncing it around his head. The dry specks of blood scattered across his green flesh. An odd silence fell amongst you both and even when he rose in all his imposing glory you kept your eyes focused on him. Getting a read on that cold calculated gaze of his was hard enough.

Your throat feels painfully dry once he has you backed up against the wall. Something about dying alone with not even an audience to witness it didn’t sit too right with you.

But then again, Leo’s large hand gripped your neck, nothing too tight but enough to alert you to its presence. Those blue eyes looked haunted but just beneath that laid something you couldn’t just place your finger on. The tips of his fingers lightly caressed you, one of them fascinated with your quickened pulse. You can’t blink, unsure what may happen and when he dips down your adrenaline makes you flinch.

Leo halts his movement, his blood feels like it’s pumping loudly enough for you to hear. Wide eyed you lean up instead and ghost your lips against his, Leo sighs through his nostrils and it stays that way. A pull but not enough of a push because there’s still fear in your blood and a hesitation that you can’t put a name to from Leonardo.

Your phone going off startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin and to a fraction of your dismay Leo takes a step away. One of your contacts name flashed on the screen which meant there could still be some good news. Your turned away to speak, pulling a marker from your pocket you write down some information on your forearm. It’s a quick conversation and once done you turn to see Leo putting together his gear again.

You bit your lip, whatever was about to happen would just have to take a back seat. ‘Fucking coward’ you can’t help but think about yourself.

“One of my guys says he might have it on good authority that Karai is still here” You watch him turn his head to listen, even if he’s got his back/shell to you. “Well?” He pushes while adjusting his swords.

“He says she might’ve just met up with...with one of your brothers” Tense doesn’t even begin to explain what his body did, the mear mention of his family was a sore subject and you had been warned to not even attempt to open that can of worms. Swallowing and feeling your throat stick from how dry it felt you see him pull out a key and toss it to you. “Send me that address, you’ll get your money at the warehouse” You barely manage to catch the key to the greenhouse, but still you raise a brow at the offering.

“Come back here when you’re ready” Is all he says about it, confusion is painted on your face but when he moved to leave he takes a moment to hold your chin. “Don’t make me regret this” He says and before you can attempt to ask he’s gone.

You stay there, twenty minutes or so in nothing but your thoughts and his words swimming around your mind.

Feeling heat between your legs and a lick of frustration consuming you.

_____________

Two weeks you contemplate the key in your pocket.

Two weeks you let your thumb hover over his number but never press down.

For two weeks you find your pillow between your legs, trying to reach the sensation he managed with just his body close to yours.

But nothing.

It’s not enough.

New York is covered in rain as you make your way through the sea of people. Regardless of the many umbrellas you still get soaked and by the time you’re up on that roof, hand digging out the key to the green house you’re drenched.

Inside you shake off the excess and remove your jacket. The cold hits you and you can’t help but feel silly that you’re here, maybe this is his way of taking you out, you’re not needed anymore by now you assume.

You turn on the few lanterns that are scattered through the room. Kicking off your boots you rub your arms and shiver, flesh breaking out into goosebumps as the door creaks open once more.

Leo’s equally drenched when he steps through, the black tails of his mask sticking to him. The two of you just stare at one another, steady drips of water and the rain outside picking up more strengh.

Carefully you watch him begin take apart his gear, leaving his katanas by the door. He’s trying to keep your apprehension at low levels, his steps slow and soft. You let your arms fall to your sides and as your heart tries to hammer out of your chest you don’t flinch this time, even as his hands go for the hem of your long sleeve. You take a deep breath as his eyes wander across your now exposed flesh. The fascination goes straight to your core, feeling yourself warm up as his hands rest on your stomach.

With trembling hands you unbutton your jeans and step out of them and the inhale Leo takes as he closes his eyes makes you reach for him. He holds you against him and sighs, large frame shuddering at the feel of your skin against his reptilian one. He buries his snout against your neck, breathing harder as his hands run all over your back and rear. Leo grips and kneads the flesh and a groan escapes against your ear that makes your wrap your arms around his neck. He feels the softness of your breasts against his chest, he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t been dreaming about them for months now.

You can’t wrap your head around it but he feels just as you fantasized about him. The roughness of his flesh, the edges of his shell and god his teeth nip at your neck with a growl. Wiggling out of his hold you start to undo whatever else needs to be taken off and Leo can’t help but smirk at your frenzied movements. He allows you to undress him, he’s gutted when your hands land on his waist as you start to kneel before him.

“No, no, kiss me first” He cups your face and presses his mouth against yours and that’s it, you’re done for, you’re hooked and can’t go back now. His kiss is possessive, forceful and it drowns every thought in your brain.

You pressed against one of the tables with the many Bonsais when Leo’a tongue slithers into your awaiting mouth. He sits you down on the table and nudges your legs apart to fit himself in between them, you crane your neck up losing yourself in his kiss. He can taste rain water, feels the sweat and rain mingle on your skin. God he wants to run his tongue all over you, eat you whole if he could.

It feels like forever when he pulls away, reluctance in his body. Blue eyes search into your e/c eyes, he wants to see something maybe your fear so he denies himself falling into this rabbit hole. Your hands press against his plastron and gently you run your nails down the hard plates, you shake your head fascinated by the texture. He’s rough but strong, a marvel of a species.

With some difficulty you managed to push your underwear off and spread yourself again for his viewing pleasure. “I want you,” You nodded, eyes falling to the hard length between his legs. Leo wraps a large hand around it and pumps slowly, body shivering at the sensation. “God I fucking want you so bad” You feel him come back to you, mouth on yours in yet another harsh kiss.

The tip of his cock nudges against your wet heat and he bites your lip at the sensation. Leo pushes into you so frustratingly slow, even as his girth stretches you to a point you’ve never been before. You want him inside of you now, and Leo couldn’t agree more. He bottoms out inside of you with a lengthy groan, head thrown back in ecstasy. “You feel... so fucking good” He growls out through gritted teeth, hips picking up speed as you wantonly take him in. You press your lips to his chest and moan with each slow but pronounced thrust of his hips.

His hand finds itself at the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to keep your gaze on his. The slight tug burns so good and you can’t help but keep your pleasure filled gaze on his own. Lips parted you let him rock into you steadily until his thrust start to slam into you. The sensation spreads all over your body, little shocks of pleasure rocking your body.

“Mine, you’re going to be mine and only mine” He voices lowly, a threat laced in his passion. You’re too far gone to speak, nodding aimlessly at his every word, moans falling from your lips. “Nobody will own you like I do, nobody will touch you, Y/N? You understand? I’m making you mine” He pressed his forehead to yours, lost in this feeling.

“Fuck yes, yours, I’m gonna be all yours” You lick his lips and when he reaches a hand between both your bodies your mind goes blank. A vicious shudder overtakes you as you muffle a scream against his jaw. He fills you up so good and so warm with a strange vibration that sounds like an endless growl. Each rope he pumps into you making his eyes roll back. You’re shattered against, limp and raw throat from the scream that leaves your mouth.

He watches your come down, hand against your cheek, thumb running across your lips. When he pulls out just enough to watch his essence cascade out of your pretty little hole, he pumps himself back into you. His eyes say it all, from here on out whatever your life was up to this point is over and done with. Leo nuzzles you still lazily pumping himself in you, blissful to the little tremors your cunt produces around his member making him harden once again. Picking you up, bodies still joined, he makes his way to the nest of blankets on the floor.

You hold onto him, all you can do is hold onto him.

____________

It’s rather odd to be in this position. With an entire year that’s passed it never seems to feel normal, not that you’re complaining though.

Being in a position of power by proxy has its fucking fun rewards.

For example nobody in this city will ever contemplate taking you out. Unless they want a very pissed off Foot Leader to set fire to the city and maybe even the world. From opposite points to now standing at his side. No one is to address you as below them, or touch you or let alone breath the same air you do.

You can still hear the bones that were cracked when one particularly unruly Foot soldier made snide comment about you. Each crack of the mans arm being slowly twisted until his arm broke still rang in your ears to this day. Leo hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even scowled even as the twist turned to pulling the limb off.

He did in fact fuck you hard against the glass windows of the hotel suite he had you both in. The copper scent lingering on his scales, but enraptured with the heat enveloping his cock.

With the city at war everyone had began to run amok to do their own barbaric things. Each part of the city divided between gangs, mobs, mutants, police and civilians. You were out on active Foot duties, you were still free to do as you pleased but with protection and Leo demanded your whereabouts on the hour due to possibilities of abduction.

He knew you were a weakness.

But did he give a shit? Of course not. Let them try, he hasn’t needed an excuse for his tyrannical acts thus far, but if harm did ever befall you, you only wished you could witness what his methods would be to exact his revenge.

And he was so familiar with revenge after all.

You admire yourself in the full length mirror, examining the body that training under Leo has provided you. The mutant terrapin in question comes up from behind you and wraps his strong sculpted arms around your waist. You can’t help but smirk as he rest his chin a top your head. “We’re heading out in half an hour” He mumbles against your hair, enjoying the scent. You watch through the mirror as his hands rub up and cup your breast, with a sigh you rest against his strong build. “What’s on the agenda tonight? Purple dragons?” You feel him shake his head, fingers dipping inside the cups of your bra. “Mob,” Is his sole reply.

You bite your lip, gripping his wrists. “We’ll be late” You try to muffle a moan as he tweaks a nipple, he grinds against your backside. “I’m killing them regardless, and I much rather have the scent of your cunt on my hands while I listen to their boring excuses for parley” Your knees buckled when you felt his hand slither inside your underwear, finger already parting your lips and humming as he feels how wet you already are.

You feel his other hand wrap around your neck, keeping you upright and your gaze on the mirror as his finger dips into your welcoming heat.

He engulfs your every thought, every sensation; and what’s the fate of the world when you’ve got him? He chose you just as much as you chose him. You’ve never considered yourself good, scumbag street rat who just happened to make a living amongst the other scumbags. But this? With Leonardo and the trail of bloodied heads he’s left behind, it’s hard not to be excited to see gasoline be poured on the city. He trails his lips to the shell of your ear and you can’t help but grin.

“Mine” He says.

Burn everything.

[lubdubsworld]

Insatiable. ( Jungkook x Oc) Chapter 3

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC!   Age difference!!! [ bet you’ve never seen all of this in one fic before? ]

[ Some notes : Born Vampires stop aging when they turn twenty five.  Turned vampires stop aging when they’re turned. ]

Chapter 1   Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

“So, you guys looked pretty cozy in the garden.” Somi pursed her lips, disapproval evident on her sharp features as she watched me hop around, trying to pull the pantyhose up over the fleshiest part of my thigh. It was just a little past six thirty  and I already wanted the night to end. 

“He was telling me how he wanted me to have babies so his son could play with them.” I snapped. 

Somi blinked. 

“And uh..is he providing the baby batter?” She said drily and I laughed.

“I think..... he’s attracted to me.” I said dreamily, remembering the way he’d definitely gotten hard at breakfast this morning. 

“I mean, he’s a straight guy with eyes? Not surprising....” My sister grinned. 

“No, I mean... like actually physically attracted. I felt it too. it made me want to do something unholy with him.” I muttered, eyes misting over at the idea of being spread out on his bed. Satin sheets underneath my body, the weight of his body on mine. 

“He’s a vampire. Pretty sure anything you do with him is unholy.” She winked. I sighed, running a hand over my face. 

“Are you sure this is the way to go? “ I glanced at the robin blue off shoulder gown. I was wary of drawing attention to my neck, especially with a Kim. 

“It’s beautiful. Besides, it is your color. I want to see the look on Jungkook’s face when he sees you. Want to see him regret all his life choices.”

“i thought you didn’t approve of him.” i said amused. 

“I didn’t at first. But then you told me he rejected you and well, no one does that to my baby sister,” She glared and I hugged her close, placing a kiss on her forehead. 

I hesitated.

“Would it be too terrible if I tried to seduce him?” I bit my lips.

Somi’s eyes widened. 

“Sera...”

“Just hear me out.” I said urgently. 

She sighed. 

“Somi, I’ve never been with a man. I just... I can’t get married as a virgin ..I absolutely refuse to. And I sure as hell don’t want to give it up to one of these pompous little brats who act like utter douchebags.  So what am I supposed to do? Now, Jungkook ..” I paused, taking a deep breath to steady my pulse which raced every time I thought about him,. “ ...he’s...he’s so gentle. And nice and I just... I think he’ll make it good for me.”

I felt my face flame, half certain there was steam coming out of my ears. 

Somi looked slightly slack jawed. 

“Oh..um.. okay.” She laughed nervously. “ And how are you goig to get him to agree to this?” 

“Beg? ....  I don’t know...” I groaned. “ What do you think?”

Somi hesitated. 

“I think, for now you should concentrate on showing him that you’re not a child. So , do well tonight. At the dinner. Be polite courteous ... make good conversation... he’s going to be nearby right? Let him see you as an equal... I think he needs to trust that you guys are on equal footing before he will consider anything more ....”

I stared at her, my mind racing.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” I kissed her again.  “i love you. Now get my make up on.”  I said excitedly. 

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

For all that I wanted Jungkook to be slack jawed when he saw me, it was my own jaw that came unhinged when I opened the door to the hallway at exactly 7.00 PM

I stared, my eyes literally popping out of their sockets when i took in the absolute fucking  vision  he looked like. 

Tight, fitted leather pants that molded to his legs , putting those deliciously muscled thighs on display, so tight on his crotch that my mouth watered . A dark belt, cinched tight around his ridiculously slim waist and he’d paired it with a  blue silk shirt , that flowed around his torso like water. A thin black and blue striped tie hung around his neck, knotted loose and the end brushing past his waistline and a small silver earring dangled from his earlobes, catching the light of the lamp in the hallway. 

My throat went dry as I stared at him. 

And then i squinted. 

Oh God, was that a   nipple?

Nope. Not doing this today . 

 “Please excuse me!” I said hoarsely, voice cracking and face flushing red as I turned right back around , wrenched the huge oak door open and all but flew into the safety of my room before  slamming the door shut in his face. 

I sank to the floor in a heap, pressing a palm to my heart, trying to calm my pulse which had shot up so much. Somi stared at me from where she was putting away her cosmetics, eyebrows raised in surprise,. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked worried. 

“I think I just came untouched.” I whispered, staring at her with wide eyes.

Her eyes widened and her lips twisted in disgust.

“Oh my god, you horny little pervert!!! Get up from the floor, you’re wrinkling the dress!!”

I breathed rapidly, trying to get my brain to function but the sight of Jeon Jungkook’s nipples covered only by a thin silk shirt was burned into my mind. 

i had never wanted to lick something so bad. 

The knock on the door made me jump.

“Sera? Are you alright?” Jungkook’s voice called from the corridor and I whimpered. 

“I can’t do this... Please... i can’t.... don’t make me..” I begged. 

My sister gave me a glare and stalked over grabbing my arm and dragging me up with ease. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not like you’ve never seen Jungkook before, how hot could-” She pulled the door open and froze in place, her eyes going wide as saucers, lips parting in surprise as she stared at Jungkook.

“ Fuck me ..” She whispered softly, clearly having lost all her senses at the sight of him. I elbowed her hard, trying not to burst into tears.  .

Jungkook frowned.

“Excuse me?” 

“Nothing!! Nothing...she’s just excited that I’m finally dating again!!” I laughed cheerfully. 

Jungkook glanced between the pair of us, a small frown on his face but he didn’t question me further.

“Should we go?” He prompted and I smiled, wide. 

 Just don’t look at him. Don’t look at him and you’ll be fine.

I kept my gaze straight ahead as we walked down the corridor. 

“You look nice.” He commented casually and I swallowed.

“You look.....” decadent...like the kind of dessert I’d be tasting for hours... please let me lick your nipples...”.different.” I squeezed my eyes, willing myself to calm down but it was impossible. I swelled and ached in all the wrong places and my thighs trembled with the effort not to rub them together. My insides clenched, arousal dampening the bikini briefs I had on and i had to bite my lips to resist the urge to climb him like a tree and grind down on his thighs till I came. 

 fuck. 

“ Your father mentioned that it would be better if i blended in with the other patrons. He thinks it would make your date more comfortable if I didn’t hover around in black like a ghoul. “ He laughed. 

“ Ahahahahah....” i laughed shrilly, barely listening to a word he said because I was having a mental breakdown. 

I glanced to the front of his chest again, a quick sharp glance and yup.....those were certainly a pair of nipples, the nub hard and obvious through the silk of his shirt. 

Jungkook left to get the car and i stood at the entrance to the mansion, shivering lightly. The small fur throw i had on my shoulder was more for decoration than to keep warm and the night was chilly. 

By the time Jungkook brought the black Bugatti around, I was shaking. 

“Ooh... That’s a fancy car.” I commented , heart racing with how handsome he looked, gripping the steering wheel and he smiled. 

“It’s Namjoon’s . I thought you’d like to arrive in style today.” He grinned. 

I climbed in quickly, eager to get out of the biting wind. The interior was warm and cozy and i moaned, relaxing into the seats. 

“You look really good.” He said again, gaze flitting over me with a little more intent and I blushed. 

“You mentioned.” I whispered. 

“I see you in those godawful t shirts and stained jeans all the time and you’re usually just cleaning  spill ups or washing baby bottles  at the daycare so i keep forgetting .” He shook his head, thoughtfully, fixing the mirrors and glancing back. 

“Forgetting what?” i asked confused. 

“That you are literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

He said it casually, no fervent ardor behind his words . 

Just a matter of fact observation and somehow, the words felt like liquid heat being poured into me. 

it stuck me then, that I would give my entire life and soul to be on this date with Jungkook. To have dinner with him, to listen to him talk about himself. To tell him everything about myself. To just sit there, staring into his gorgeous face. Hold his hands over the dinner table and gaze into his eyes. 

 I’m so in love with you. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I said softly. 

“Yeah? I clean up good, don’t I?” He tilted his head, hair falling into his eye as he winked at me , a small smirk on his cherry red lips. 

I glanced away quickly, because staring at Jungkook was like staring into the fucking sun. 

staring at him made my eyes hurt. 

And it also broke my heart. 

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

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Sera....” Mingyu had a very familiar look on his face. A hungry, lustful , disbelieving look that I was altogether familiar with. 

I managed a weak smile in return, letting him hug me , wincing when he buried his nose into my neck, breathing in my scent like he was starving. And the honest truth was, I didn’t even blame him . Control came with age and Mingyu was way too young to have full control over his instincts. And I knew exactly what my scent did to a vampire’s instincts. 

But still, the grip on my waist was bruising and I was having a hard time breathing. I tried to push him away , a bit but Mingyu merely moaned, nosing in deeper.

“You smell amazing.” He sounded punch drunk . 

Over his shoulders, I caught Jungkook’s gaze as he sat at the table next to us. He was frowning deeply. 

“You okay?” He mouthed and I nodded.  it was way too early to pull the plug on this. We hadn’t even sat down for dinner yet. 

I grabbed the arm around me hard and dug my nails into the skin. That made him recoil, pulling away with a wide eyed look of horror on his face. 

“Oh.,..Oh God... I’m so sorry.. I didn’t mean too... I’m so sorry...” he apologized over and over again but I could see the way his eyes flashed red, every few seconds. His hands trembled and shook like he couldn’t wait to get them on me again and my skin crawled at the very prospect of it. 

The guy had zero control. He couldn’t keep his shit together for a dinner date in public. 

My mind flashed to Jungkook, how he’d barely batted an eyelash even while he was  literally  drinking from me and by contrast Mingyu looked like a snot faced, sniveling brat , desperate to have something he wasn’t entitled too. 

I sighed in defeat, tamping down the urge to cry. 

I hated this. Hated men like Mingyu who couldn’t see past what I was. Who couldn’t think past the idea that they would finally be able to drink from me, if they got me on a date. 

“It’s alright. Should we order?” I said softly, my voice shaking just a little. i jumped when water spilled over my hands, Mingyu having knocked his glass over while reaching for the menu. 

“Oh..Oh no.. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry...” He stood up, trying to grab the glass but the water had already spilled across the table dripping over the edge to my dress.

My brand new, Dior dress. 

I turned, letting my  horrified, miserable eyes flit  to Jungkook.

I blinked, shocked at what I was seeing. 

Jungkook was laughing, hard. 

I fought the urge to grin myself as he grinned, shaking his head in disbelief, fingers pressed against his lips in sheer disbelief. 

Well, I suppose it was a little funny. 

Mingyu was on his feet, bowing over an over again muttering about how beautiful I was and how sorry he was and I decided to put him out of his misery. 

Standing up, I bowed politely and stepped away. 

“Mingyu ssi.... I think we should postpone this to another day.” I said gently.

He glanced at me, his eyes flashing red again and gaze dropping to my neck. Oh, for god’s sake. 

“Can I have a taste though?” He said hopefully, holding a hand out to touch me and I flinched when his fingers closed on my wrist. .He yanked hard and I shrieked when his fangs came out, ready to sink into my skin.  

Jungkook materialized between us like he’d been conjured out of thin air. He grabbed Mingyu’s wrist, squeezing till the younger boy howled in pain and yanked him back so hard I heard something pop in his shoulder. . 

“Hands to yourself, Young Mr. Kim. I believe the lady said she would like to call it a night.” Jungkook growled into his face and Mingyu flushed. 

“Yes..Yes of course.. As you wish, Ms. Hwang. Can I have your number? “ He whispered and oh god, this was just so excruciatingly embarrassing for everyone right now.. 

Jungkook stared down at him like he was an insect he’d accidently stepped on. 

“You have to the count of five to get the fuck out of here kid.” He said drily. 

Mingyu flushed even redder, bowing to me once more before grabbing his jacket and scarpering away. 

I stared after him, completely stunned. 

“Can you believe he’s going to be a lawyer?” I whispered. 

Jungkook’s eyes met mine. 

We both started laughing at the same time.

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

“This can’t be real. I refuse to believe, that what I witnessed was real.” Jungkook shook his head in disbelief as we waited for the valet to bring the car around.

I chuckled.

“You know what's actually unbelievable?  But true?” I said softly. 

Jungkook stared at me, eyebrows raised. 

“That is actually,  not  the worst first date I’ve had.” I admitted , grimacing. 

“Oh good god. “ He flinched. 

The valet arrived and I watched Jungkook head over to the driver side, before climbing in myself. I scrubbed the water stains on my dress after putting on the seat belt. Jungkook reached over, fixing something on my side of the dashboard and I held my breath as his shoulders brushed my breasts, the scent of his cologne filling my brain and turning it to mush. 

“so, what happened?” He asked settling back and I blinked. 

“huh?”

“Worst first date?” He prompted , pulling the car out into the driveway. 

“Oh... oh yeah. Freshman year of college. Agreed to date one guy...turned up at a hotel, he had three of his friends over.” I swallowed. “ They nearly killed me.”  

The car nearly veered off the pathway, Jungkook having gripped the steering wheel too hard and jolted it to the side.  

“Sera-  what? The sheer horror in his voice was palpable. 

“ They wanted a taste and I was an idiot back then I said okay just a taste for each of you...they were young...couldn’t control themselves .... so they just get drinking and well, I can usually let someone drink from me for a long time because my blood it sort of regenerates fast enough but...three people at the same time... I almost got exsanguinated.” 

“Jesus fuck.! tell me those bastards are dead...” He snarled. 

“My dad got them de-fanged.” I whispered. Jungkook flinched away as well. Being de-fanged was pretty much a death sentence because you couldn’t feed anymore. 

“Serves them right. Three of them...what the fuck.” Jungkook shook his head, jaw clenched. 

i swallowed.

“It’s kind of why I haven’t been with any Vampires. After that my dad got really protective of me and well, he doesn’t like the idea of me meeting  strangers. I was actually pre med back then. I couldn’t handle it. I quit and well, dad hired tutors for me and I got my degree in Childcare. And that’s okay. I love kids..” I laughed.

“You’re amazing with them. I’ve never seen Joowon this happy.” He said gently. 

“Its why I prefer staying with the clan. Only my family gets to feed from me occasionally because I don’t trust strangers to bite me, because they could lose control.”

The moment I said it, I regretted it. Jungkook’s eyes bore into me and i knew exactly what he was thinking. I didn’t trust people. Didn’t let anyone drink from me. 

And yet, I’d let Jungkook drink from me. He wasn’t family. He wasn’t even a friend. 

But he didn’t bring it up. instead he just sighed. 

“It’s not an excuse, you know. “ Jungkook said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Being young, its no excuse.  I’m not a born vampire which makes my instincts more potent and even dangerous but even in the first few months when I was turned... I never attacked anyone. Self control is a choice. That dude you met today... I doubt he gave a shit about you. Bastard just wanted a taste.... Could fucking see it in his eyes.” Jungkook sounded righteously upset on my behalf. 

“Now you know why I’m attracted to you.” I said softly. 

Jungkook froze. 

“Sera, -”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I said quickly, hating myself. 

Jungkook didn’t reply. 

Cursing myself for ruining the mood, I cleared my throat.

“I still don’t have to be home for a couple of hours. We could go somewhere else...” I suggested softly.

Jungkook gave me a small smile.

“I’m your bodyguard, Sera. If you choose to go somewhere , I’m kind of obligated to follow you.” He reminded me. 

I flushed.

“Right.....yeah...yeah. of course.” I stumbled over the words, so reminiscent of Mingyu that I felt a little sick. 

“So where to, Ms. Hwang?” He said casually. 

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

“People can’t stop staring at us tonight .” Jungkook grumbled, glaring at a couple who had stopped their bicycles, just to gawk at him.

I laughed, tugging on his sleeve to pull him to a more secluded spot of the river bank, both of us looking distinctly out of place in a crowd of people dressed in comfortable clothes. 

 I hugged myself, watching the waves lap the river bank as I sat on a rickety wooden bench, a few dozen feet away from the water’s edge . The river looked especially picturesque today, reflecting the incandescent lights from Seoul’s skyline. 

“It’s because we’re dressed like we’re presenting at the Oscars.” I grinned at him and Jungkook’s lips quirked in a small smile. He stood by, glancing around at the people watching by, occasionally at the river as well. 

“This is nice. Do you come here often?” He asked , eyes skimming the city’s skyline , as he stuck his hands into his pockets. 

I hummed. 

“Sometimes. With Somi or Jimin. They like those ice lollies you get down the road.”  I smiled. “ I brought the kids here one weekend and they had a lot of fun.” 

Jungkook laughed.

“I bet they did. I should bring Joowon here someday.” He said thoughtfully. 

“ I could pack you guys some lunch.  Make it a picnic. “ I suggested and his gaze shifted to me thoughtful. 

“That won’t be necessary Ms. Hwang. I’m sure one of the cooks will be able to do it.” He said evenly and I tried not to let the words sting. 

“Of course.” I turned back to the river. 

For a few minutes we didn’t say anything. 

“Where were you? Before moving to Seoul?” I asked quietly. 

Jungkook hesitated before moving around to settle next to me on the bench. 

“Busan.” He said , staring out into the distance. “ I worked for a warlock there . For five decades nearly. His daughter was part vampire , part witch and well... I was lonely. “ His face showed a whole lot of regret, “ She had Joowon five years ago and tried to offer him as a blood sacrifice or something when he was born.” He grimaced. 

“She what?” I said stunned. 

He ran a palm over his face

"I didn’t want to do it but I had to kill her. Joowon was three months old and well, I had to quit my job soon after. Moved to one of the smaller villages nearby. Your father paid for my food and lodging. He wanted me to come over to the clan at once but I didn’t want to be a freeloader. When your father suggested you needed protecting, i thought it would be a good way to pay him back for everything.” He sighed. 

“Did you know who I was?” 

He gave me a look.

“Every Vampire with a dick knows who you are.” He said ith a dry smile and I flushed, looking away. 

“Jungkook...”

“The most desirable of humans. The perfect mate. The unsullied jewel of the Hwang clan.” 

He was laughing now, eyes warm and fond in the fading light of dusk and I found myself completely bewitched. 

“Unsullied....” I shook my head. “ I can’t believe people know I’m a virgin.” 

Next to me Jungkook went completely still. 

I turned to him and there was no mistaking the stunned look on his face. 

“What?!” I said feeling like my face was on fire. “ I told you I’ve never been with a Vampire.” 

“I didn’t think you meant... “ He stopped, swallowing. “ Anyways its none of my business. Let’s talk about something else.” 

Something wicked began to stir inside me.

“I’m saving it for the right man.” I said softly. And then I turned to stare right at him, long enough to get the point across. 

He stiffened a bit more.

So i barreled on. 

“These bumbling fools who can’t string two words together in my presence....They don’t deserve someone like me, don’t you think?” I prompted. 

He swallowed again and I felt a sort of vindictive satisfaction. Just knowing that I affected him possibly just as much as he affected me. It soothed my bruised ego a bit, the way he refused to meet my eyes now, making up for his brutal rejection earlier. . 

“I deserve someone amazing, don’t you think Jungkook?” I pressed on and he finally looked at me, eyes blazing. 

“Only the best for you, princess.” He muttered  holding my gaze. and I tried to ignore the way the nickname made warmth bloom all over my skin. 

“Yes. Only the best. I don’t want any of these younglings with their fumbling hands and stammering words. I want a  man. Someone who knows how to put me  in my place.” 

Jungkook gripped the bench hard the old wood splintering under his strength and I bit my lips. 

“Someone who can be gentle, show me what I’ve been missing out on. Show me how good it can be with the right person, who can get me wet and wanting without even touching me...” 

He exhaled sharply at that 

“We should probably get-” he moved to get up but i was quicker. . 

Not so fast, Mr. Jeon. 

I scrambled over to him, climbing his lap and grinding down on him, before he could fully realize what I was doing. The impact took him by surprise and he grunted, settling back on the neck and hands gripping my thigh to stop me from toppling over. 

“Sera-what” he looked furious but i pressed a palm to his mouth. 

“Are you going to pretend you don’t understand what I’m asking for?” I demanded, heart pounding against my ribcage as I looped his tie over the wrist of my other hand, once , twice, giving it a yank so he had to bend over, his lips inches away from mine. 

“And exactly what are you asking for, princess ?” He whispered, his breath warm against my lips.

“A teacher. Someone who can show me the ropes.” 

“Ropes? For your first time....oh baby, you sure?” His eyes danced with mirth. 

Not entirely sure what he was implying, I just stared back at him.

“You can do it. You can be my  first. “ I brushed my lips against his, softly. it was barely a touch, hardly a kiss. 

Jungkook stared at me, his hands lightly squeezing my thighs  for one second, before falling to his sides again. 

“The only first I’m going to be,  is the first man to toss you into a fucking river, if you don’t get off me right now , Princess.” He said casually. 

I stared at him, refusing to budge and he stood up anyway 

i yelped, nearly landing on my butt before i managed to catch my balance. 

He made to walk away but i grabbed his arm, pulling him close. And it was ridiculous, the fact that he came closer, the fact that he let me grab his wrist, bring them up to my waist. 

“Please kiss me.” I begged. 

“You don’t want this.” He said softly, hands rising up to brush the hair off my forehead and I gripped his shoulders levering myself up to press a kiss to his lips.

It was quick, over before it even began. 

“That’s the only kind of kiss I’ve ever had. “ I said desperately “ It was a boy in college. He kissed me like that and then he asked me if he could bite me. I refused and he never talked to me again....”

“Sera...” He looked stricken and miserable and I let my fingers flutter to his collar, gripping it hard and yanking on it, feeling angry and upset and altogether miserable. 

How ridiculous...that men all over the country tripped over themselves to be with me and yet here I was, reduced to a pathetic begging mess just for one measly kiss from this man..... 

 “ I want to be kissed. I don’t know how it feels to be kissed..to be wanted for something other than the blood that flows in my veins.... I just want someone to kiss me because they want to...because I’m beautiful and precious and i deserve to be kissed and -” 

Fingers clamped over my arms, gipping me hard and almost lifting me off the ground as Jungkook pulled me up, my eyes fluttering shut just as his lips closed over mine, soft and tender and warm and wet and so delicious I couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out. 

I let my hands fall to his chest, the soft smooth silk of his shirt felt like heaven underneath my fingers and through the thin fabric i could feel his heart, pounding against his ribcage. I ran my fingers over his torso, the strong muscles flexing beneath my fingers and my fingers crept up to grip his upper arm, the coiled strength in his bicep making my legs quiver. 

He tasted like mint , his tongue licking the seam of my lips and begging entrance and my lips parted in surprise, the sensation so new and electrifying. 

I gasped when I felt his tongue tangling with mine as he pressed in closer. I groaned , almost forgetting to breathe when Jungkook’s  lower lips brushed mine, his teeth tugging the plump flesh of my lips harshly , biting down gently and my lips parted, giving him better access. He was so warm and strong and big and  i couldn’t get enough of him, my body wanting nothing more than to stay pressed against his for the rest of our lives. 

He used slow, subtle strokes of his tongue to taste me, gentle licks that made my head swim and it felt like I was drowning, in the heady taste of him . I felt weak as a kitten, my fingers scrambling up to grip his hair, tangling in the silky black locks, gripping to ground myself and i accidentally yanked a little too hard making him pull back, a little. 

 He laughed gently, right against my lips, the sound sexy and arousing and I groaned, chasing the taste of him and Jungkook obliged, nipping my lips again with his teeth , soft little pin pricks of pain and pleasure,  before laving the abused skin with his tongue. His hand came up to cup my cheek, holding me in place as he kissed me deeper . 

 I could feel myself go weak in the knees, stumbling into him and he wrapped one arm around my waist holding my body up as he nibbled and teased and drove me insane with his touch. 

Jungkook’s hand slipped, from my cheek, down to my neck, his fingers brushing back and forth on my bare shoulder before moving down, lightly gently brushing my breast . 

I melted, gasping as he shaped the swell of my breast with his hand, thumb rubbing gently against the tip till my nipples pebbled up and I felt a sob build up, pulling away from him to catch my breath, gripping him hard and burying my face in his shoulders, overwhelmed and shaking. 

“Darling... you alright?” Jungkook whispered, hands reaching up to stroke the back of my head and i clung to him, wrecked. 

“Please don’t let me go.” I panicked when he made to move away and he froze at once, drawing me closer, hugging me tighter.

“I’m right here princess. You’re going to be okay.” His voice rumbled through my body and I willed myself to stop shaking but i couldn’t. 

“What did you do to me...?” I asked hoarsely, my body thrumming. 

He laughed, voice low and tinkling. 

“I kissed you. You begged me to kiss you and I obliged.” He teased. 

I shook my head against the fabric of his shirt, clutching his waist harder. 

“That was not a kiss.” I snapped. “ That was...That was....attempted murder.”  

 Jungkook laughed harder at that, 

“Take deep breaths, darling. Relax.... You’re going to be okay. Just catch your breath you’ll be fine.” He kissed the top of my head, gentle and fond and I closed my eyes. 

“I need a few more minutes.” I said softly. 

“ I’m right here. “ He whispered. 

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

Jungkook turned the car off and we both sat in the silence, staring straight ahead into the murky waters of the river. I was still in shock, my brain rendered entirely useless from one single kiss.

 He had kissed me senseless. 

 Literally. 

“I can’t give you what I want.” He said gently. 

I bit my lips.

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.” I whispered. 

He made a sound, a sharp little exhale.

“Fuck, Sera...you’re killing me.” He swore. 

I clenched my fists. I was so scared, that this would be yet another rejection and I just knew that I couldn’t live without his kisses. Not now, when I knew just how amazing they were. 

“I’m serious. I... I won’t ask you to court me or do any of that serious stuff. Just.. Just want you to touch me. Keep touching me. And kissing me. ” I finished stupidly. 

Jungkook laughed a little.

“God, you’re so young... I feel like the worst kind of man for wanting this so fucking much.” 

I felt my heart soar at that. it was the first time he’d acknowledged wanting me and i reveled in it. 

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to understand exactly what you’re getting into.” He said softly. 

I felt my heart begin to pound, a steady thrum that was so loud in my ears that I couldn’t fathom how he couldn’t hear it. 

“This is going to be physical. Only physical. I don’t want you to dream of something that isn't going to happen. “ He said sternly. 

I nodded. 

It sounded like a recipe for a disastrous heartbreak but if i could get more kisses like the one I’d just had.... well, maybe I could deal with it when it happened. 

“I’m the one who gets to decide when , where and how.” He turned to look at me and I met his gaze. “ i won’t have you trying to climb me in the mansion in front of everyone.” 

i flushed. 

“Fine. “ I snapped. 

“You don’t stop meeting your potential suitors. You don’t turn them down without cause.” 

I groaned.

“Jungkook...” i began but he held a hand up. 

“Not all of them are going to be incompetents fools, Sera. There’s a guy out there good enough for you. “ He insisted ,  “  I’ll warm your bed till you find him, because you’re beautiful and I’m fucking weak” He shook his head, laughing without mirth, “ but... I won’t have you ruining your chances of making a worthy match. “ 

I nodded. 

“Alright. Anything you say.” 

He gave me another long look before starting the car. 

“Okay. My room, tomorrow. After 11.00PM. Wear something I can take off easily.” He said drily. 

I felt the grin creeping into my face, wide and shameless and he groaned. 

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

Author’s Note : Jeon Junkook ssi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A chapter inspired entirely by jeon jungkook’s nipple in that blue shirt. 

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

lost in the citadel (this is how villains are made)

ao3

Two Morties and a Rick stand facing each other at the end of all things.

Morty, the ordinary one, the stolen Morty--because as it stands C-137 isn’t his Rick and the family he’s stealing time with isn’t his family-thinks that maybe this is a beginning.

The beginning.

The start of something that was always going to happen. The splinter in the timelines that they’ve been careening toward for years but have always been brushing off with offhand jokes about serialized adventures and canon adventures.

Or maybe, instead of a horrifying beginning, it is the merciless end after all. The thrilling conclusion in the clusterfuck that is Rick Sanchez’s life, featuring one Morty Smith.

Or maybe they’re all missing the point.

Maybe this story isn’t about a Rick at all.

Morty Smith, dressed in a black jumpsuit and rapidly keying in sequence codes to the terminal beside him, offers Rick a cold glance over his shoulder and it occurs to the other Morty that this story isn’t about C-137 and or even himself.

It’s about a Lost Morty.

Because the thing is the Stolen Morty remembers the other Morty, the Morty who was President but who is now evil, but also maybe a little bit right, and very very Lost.

He remembers him tagging along after Evil Rick- the Rick who may have not been a Rick at all - remembers the expression on his face when he dragged Morty away from his not his never his Rick and the furrow in his brow after everything, before all the Morties got herded away by Ricks.

Something intelligent has always been gleaming behind the surface of this Morty’s eyes, and the ordinary Morty has been a fool to ignore it. He remembers Rick’s warnings of cocky Morties and his own itching trigger finger and how far he’s willing to go when Rick isn’t around or, even worse, how far he’s willing to go when Rick is around, how far Rick pushes him, how far Ricks push their Morties to do things against the shaky moral code they all possess, how much everything hurts so much all the time and how scared and lonely and worried he is all the time-

The Smart Morty, or maybe distinguishing him from other Morties as smart is wrong-because they’re all smart, you can’t be in their family and not have at least a little bit of something upstairs, despite what Ricks say- maybe the word he’s looking for is free , or even tired or maybe calling him Lost Morty was the most correct-

The Morty who’s currently making every Ricks killcount look pathetic turns and calls them “an infinite fucking baby” and the Stolen Morty thinks fucking relatable .

This thought is quickly lost in a barrage of oh shit oh shit oh shit as the Citadel fills with screaming. The place is literally falling apart around them, Ricks and Morties screaming as they try to activate protocol Phoenix, when a piece of the ceiling crumbles and takes C-137 down with it.

The Stolen Morty takes a step toward him, despite his anger, despite the now you’re evil Morty too ringing in his ears, when the Lost Morty turns and says-

- you can come with me and everything comes to a standstill.

Because the stolen Morty understands what the lost Morty is saying.

Just like how every Rick knows each other’s moves and hates each other, because how could they like each other when they don’t even like themselves, and understands each other on a level that no one else ever can--and despises every other Rick for it, like any of them could help it--just like every Rick knows what the other Rick is about to do-

Morty understands what the other Morty is saying.

Infinite fucking baby.

Jackshit, I’m leaving.

That’s what makes me evil.

Now you’re evil Morty too.

Or even,

You guys can’t help it-

Maybe they’re all Lost Morties and this Morty is the only one who can see that.

Except now the Stolen Morty can see it too.

And that realization breaks every foundation the Stolen Morty has, because hasn’t he been lost too for as long as he can remember?

Isn’t he lost and exhausted and hitting rock bottom only to find that there’s another rock bottom waiting for him after that one? Doesn’t he look in the morning every day and see another part of himself chipping away as he becomes more and more compliant to what everyone else wants, to what Rick wants?

Doesn’t he lie on the roof every night, with the stolen cigarettes from under Summer’s mattress, bare heels digging into the rough shingles, hoping that if he inhales enough smoke everything will stay numb when the sun rises and it all starts over again?

Isn’t Morty so so lost?

Two lost Morties and a Rick face each other at the end of the universe, the beginning of something, and the diverging of paths.

The stolen Morty, ordinary Morty, the Morty who keeps fucking up, the Morty who once opened a book and read about abuse cycles and snapped it shut, but has never forgotten but watches his mom stop drinking only to start up again two weeks later, but watches Summer promise to do better but then fall for Rick’s manipulations without fall again and again, but he, himself also keeps crawling back to the people hurting him again and again and again…

This Morty hears the words you could come with me and for the first time in his life sees possibilities.

Every taste of freedom Rick has ever given has been tainted with the knowledge that one of them always comes crawling back to the other. It’s a universal constant, as long as there’s a Rick there must also be a Morty. And usually vice versa, although Morty’s met Rick’s without a Morty. He doesn’t like to think about them.

But now someone stands before him and offers a world where “Rick and” doesn’t proceed a Morty’s existence.

He hears Rick say something about this being the better offer and something about him not having a plan, but there’s a high pitched whine ringing in his ears, breath squeezing tightly in his lungs, a burn like anxiety itching under his skin.

But there’s no time for that because everyone’s dying and Rick’s groaning with pain and the other Morty is about to leave.

Morty has only a split second to make a decision and he-he doesn’t-

He doesn’t know what to do.

There’s a burn in his lungs and a pulse in his ears and the only person in his life who’s even chosen him is in pain and Morty doesn’t even think , suddenly he’s across the room, helping Rick, the Rick that’s hurt him and forced him to hurt over people and won’t stop no matter how many self actualization moments he has or promises he makes to do better, but none of it matters to Morty because, because-

--Rick is dragging him out of bed, rambling loudly- loudly enough to wake the whole family, so Morty shushes him, makes panicked little noises begging him to just quiet down -but then they’re out in the garage and then in Rick’s ship and then they’re zipping through space and Rick won’t tell Morty where they’re going, why he’s dragged Morty out of bed this time, and on a school night again

but then Morty sees it, three orbiting stars going supernova and Rick is saying something about statistical anomalies and epic light shows , but Morty isn’t even listening because now he’s seeing colors he didn’t even know existed and he’s aware his nose is smooshed against the window and he’s fogging the glass, but he doesn’t even care-

-he fails another test and Rick tells him school is wasted on him anyway that not even he’s the kind of stupid that needs the American education system to mold him into a mindless citizen-

-the garage blows up and Morty has glass in his eye and he’s sobbing screeching yelling begging, but then warm, rough hands are on his face and everything goes numb for a second and then the pain is gone -

-Morty watches Rick fuck around the keyboard before sitting down next to him, exhausted because school sucked, school always sucks , but then Rick is guiding his hands toward the keys and saying shit like m-middle c, M-Morty, it’s not that hard , and then they’re pressing keys together and the sound soothes the itch under his skin-

-he’s no stranger to the smell of smoke, but the bar smell has him feeling a particular way, so he steps outside for a moment, just a moment to catch his breath, to quell the nausea in his stomach, but some humanoid creature follows him out and drags him into the ally and just before everything goes wrong , his assailant shrieks and crumbles to the ground and there’s Rick, streetlight silhouetting his furious face-

-he’s sitting in the Principal's office and they can’t get ahold of his mom because she’s at work and who knows where Jerry is and Summer ditched because that what she does now and Morty’s eyes hurt and he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding on top of everything and the sensory overload is just too much he can’t

there’s a hand on his shoulder and a familiar drawl interrupted by belching and suddenly Morty’s being whisked away, he’s in the parking lot, he’s in the ship, someone’s pushing a pair of earplugs into his hands and it’s suddenly, blissfully quiet-

-his knuckles are red and his lip is split and Rick hands him ice cream and says next time punch with y-your two front knuckles, du-dumbass, and then something buzzes in his ears and his skin is healing-

-Rick slings an arm over his shoulder and belches loudly-

-a hand ruffles his hair-

-a voice that is soft sometimes but also yells sometimes and calls him names but also says things like I’m so sorry and I’ll do better and god, M-Morty would you just shut up -

The president Morty does that thing with the curve thingy and the citadel explodes.

____

When the golden light fades away and the crack in the curve slams shut after the other Morty--the smartest Morty, or maybe just the tiredest Morty, the Morty who had finally said enough and used his brain for something other than defending Rick--the Rickest Rick and the Morty who threw his chance at freedom away stand in what’s left of the Citadel.

Morty--possibly the dumbest Morty, the Morty that belongs to Rick C-137, even though this Morty isn’t from dimension C-137, the Morty that keeps getting a shot at getting out , but throwing it all away because at this point he doesn’t know how to exist without a “Rick and” in front of his name--turns in a slow circle, blinking rapidly.

Mortyberg is a little worse for wear, but nowhere near as bad as the rest of the Citadel, which is miles away and crumbling fast. Morty seriously doubts there’s any survivors --not after the clusterfuck that had happened there.

Morty turns back to Rick--not his Rick, but also his Rick--and his eyes lock on what the man has been staring at in horror.

The portal gun is empty.

They are lightyears from any civilization--possibly universes away, because even though Morty can’t really comprehend what the Citadel really is, he’s also fairly certain that it doesn’t exist in any universe besides it’s own--and Rick’s portal gun is empty.

Rick turns and stares at the closing crevice in the stars. Morty follows his gaze.

The tiny sliver of black disappears and so does Morty’s freedom.

He chances a glance at Rick. The man’s eyes are glued to-to-

Morty looks at the other Morties, some of them normal, some of them those terrible, hideous things they saw beneath the citadel, and realizes that it’s just them, just whoever Rick managed to drag to this part of the citadel and anyone fortunate enough to already be here.

He thinks he sees a few Ricks too, their Morty’s clinging to them in terror or watching with mild disinterest--cynical, jaded Morty’s, one step ahead of this Morty and yet still ones step behind.

“Well, shit,” Morty hears himself say, lack of stutter almost startling. It’ll come back full force in a minute, he’s sure.

Rick doesn’t say anything, lips thinning with either irritation or panic. Morty can usually tell, but the past hour has shaken him. Possibly shaken both of them.

Another Rick suddenly appears in the terminal that they’re all standing in and Morty’s stolen Rick goes expressionless again. There’s a lot of shouting that goes on, between them, between the other Ricks, and a couple of scared Morties, but this Morty barely registers any of that.

Everything has narrowed down to the other Morty’s voice in his head and the sound of his stolen Rick’s voice in his ear. Angry. Irritated. Worried.

The other Rick smacks a hand to his forehead in exasperation and says something that Morty doesn’t quite catch, but suddenly both Rick’s are practically shrieking at each other and it’s too loud -

Morty flinches away, stumbling into his Rick, who catches him on impulse, not really paying attention. His hand grabs Morty’s upper arm and he rights him, while continuing to throw insults in the other Rick’s direction. Eventually they calm down-although Morty isn’t paying attention enough to know how they actually came to a resolution on...whatever they were fighting about (he should really start paying attention)-and the other Rick sulks off, herding Morties off the terminal and into the streets.

Another Rick comes running- cop Rick-and takes over, gently talking to the Morties and asking them if they needed anything, if they were okay and everything right now between that and the Evil Morty-the Lost Morty- blowing the place up and Rick-Rick-

Everything right now is so surreal Morty distantly entertains the scenario that he might, in fact, have died. Or never come out of those memories.

He lets out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes so tightly shut that stars burst behind the lids. When he opens them, he’s still standing on the last functioning part of the Citadel, with several Ricks, even more Morties, and no way of getting home.

No way yet.

There is no doubt in Morty’s mind that Rick already has a plan with at least fifty contingencies and contingencies for the contingencies. He is still Rick Sanchez after all, even if eight percent of his personality is a product of trauma.

But when he turns to look at Rick, the man is still staring blankly at the sky, where they had last seen the other Morty disappear.

His grip on Morty’s shoulder tightens.

____

It takes all of three hours to figure out that every Rick here has a plan, and not every plan really gets along with the others.

Morty’s Rick clearly has the best idea-and he’s not just saying that because he’s biased, he’s not - but it’s going to take a hell of a lot to convince the other Ricks, so Morty takes his exit when the fighting starts and finds a back alley to hunker down in.

There are much nicer places in Mortyberg to hang out in, he’s sure, but there’s also less chance a Rick will stumble across him or, even worse, his Rick.

He really just needs a moment to himself.

There’s a dumpster lying in the middle of the path, upended onto its side in the chaos, so Morty hops on top of it and sits, with his feet dangling over the edge.

Despite being the master of compartmentalization, Morty’s hardly been able to focus.

He and Rick often liked to joke about twenty minute adventures and about how cramming so much action into so little time was jarring, but this was the first actual time Morty felt it . Between the memories of someone else’s life- Rick’s life-suddenly dumped into his skull and the President Morty killing eight percent of the Citadel and offering to take Morty with him -

(he’s still not sure if the other Morty was kidding about the toilet thing.)

(he thinks he wasn’t.)

(but what if he was?)

-Morty barely can scramble his own thoughts together, let alone hold a conversation with anyone.

Which is why, naturally his self imposed solitude is quickly interrupted.

Cop Rick pokes his head into the alley and frowns.

“Y-You look like shit, kid,” he says, arms crossed as he approaches.

Morty scowls.

“N-nobody asked you,” he snaps, mirroring Cop Rick in crossing his arms.

“No, I-I mean you-you really look like shit. Christ, does your Rick even feed you?”

When Morty glare deepens, Cop Rick winces reflexively, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, di-did your Rick-was he on the Citadel or-”

Morty groans, already done with this conversation. “My Rick’s fine , he-he’s that asshole revving everyone else up.”

Cop Rick barks a surprised laugh. “Your-your Rick is C-137? Sh-shit, tough break, kid.”

“T-tell me about it,” Morty mumbles, drawing his knees up and looping his arms around them.

The Rick frowns at him for a second before hopping up beside him, letting his legs dangle over the edge next to his. “Wanna talk about it?”

This surprises Morty. This is still a Rick, still a complete asshole who smells like a liquor store and wouldn��t know what tactful was if it hit him in the face, but there’s also something surprisingly sensitive about him.

Morty doesn’t trust the guy--he doesn’t trust anyone , why would he trust a random Rick?--but something in his chest loosens ever so slightly at the almost kind voice.

“Not really,” Morty mumbles, just the same, not really up for getting into the highs and lows of the clusterfuck that was Rick C-137 and the Morty from-from-

Christ, what dimension was Morty even from?

“Wa-wanna grab a bite, then?”

A few moments later finds Morty seated in a diner.

The place is a mess- tables and chairs thrown about in the chaos, but there’s still food in the pantries and freezers, so Morty helps himself to the remaining ice cream in the ice box. It’s the first time he’s eaten since this morning and he’s suddenly ravenous .

“Th-thanks,” Morty says, a few hours later and overfull with gross junk food, as Cop Rick guides him back to where he saw his own Rick last.

He gets a pat on the shoulder in response. “Don’t-don’t worry about it, kid.”

____

Morty takes to wandering around Mortyberg at night.

He thinks it's night, at least. The Citadel didn’t operate in a proper universe, so weather and season were completely artificially generated. Even in this broken off piece of the city, a fake sun still sets, blanketing the place in darkness.

Rick and the few other Ricks who managed to survive are still trying to find a way to create portal fluid. Morty doesn’t think it will take them long. The smartest man in the universe plus twenty more of him means there’s more than enough brain power to go around.

Enough brain power that Morty can keep to himself.

He comes across other Ricks-mostly Cop Rick, which is a relief because he’s the nicest Rick and all the other one’s make him feel weirdly uncomfortable for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint-but mostly it’s just other Morties.

He meets mostly Morties like him-a few dimensions off, or a dimension where Jessica is a guy, or Summer is dating a girl, or Jerry is out of the picture-but there are a few oddities: a lizard Morty, a Morty that hit puberty faster than the rest of them, a Morty with curly curls than the rest of them, and even a Morticia.

He spends time talking to some of them, even realizes that a few are some he knew from before, whether it was from the few times Rick has reluctantly dragged him to the Citadel or the occasional Rick and Morty duo they ran into during adventures.

Most of them are Rickless which is both a terrifying and freeing concept to Morty.

He asks some of them what they’re going to do now.

“O-oh, y-you know. Go to school and j-just be normal now, I-I guess,” one Morty says.

The idea of going back to a regular life-a pre -Rick life, is inconceivable to Morty. Even during times Rick has taken off for weeks at a time to do his own thing or the more recent adventure breakout they had, Morty was still traipsing around the universe(s) getting into trouble.

Morticia squints at him when he asks her. “Wh-what kind of a question i-is that?” she asks, arms crossed.

He shrugs.

She scoffs. “O-obviously Summer and I will figure s-something out.” She shakes her head and walks off, muttering things about dumbass boys and what the fuck does normal even mean .

Morty wonders if it’s weird that out of all the Morties here, he and Morticia have the most in common.

____

Morty begins to have dreams on day three.

They aren’t really dreams. No, they’re memories , memories of that brainscan he’d dumped into his own mind. He doesn’t know how long he’d been out, but he guesses it had been somewhere between ten to twenty minutes, which was ridiculous considering the amount of information he’d taken in.

Most of it had barely registered due to, well, everything .

But now snippets are coming back.

When Rick finds him, sitting on a rooftop, a few nights after the dreams started, he only sighs with vague annoyance before joining him.

With all the Morties scattered across Mortyberg, this Morty is distantly surprised that Rick knows it’s him.

Or maybe he’s not.

“He broke the curve, di-didn’t he,” Morty says, eyes glued to a constellation of stars that might not even be real.

Rick flops onto his back, arms spread.

“So there’s a chance tha-that we can go to places wh-where you aren’t the smartest man in the universe?”

It’s barely a question.

Rick doesn’t respond and Morty doesn’t look at him.

“Wh-which means your chances of finding the Rick that-”

“ Jesus , Morty, I said w-we could stop talking about it.” He doesn’t even sound that mad, but Morty shuts up anyway.

He crosses his arms and lays down on his back too.

The roof he’d chosen to perch on belonged to some restaurant establishment Morty barely remembered the name of. It was mostly flat, but he’d found a section of it that reclined slightly enough that it felt like sitting on the roof at home.

If he closes his eyes, in fact, he can’t even feel the difference.

His fingers itch for a cigarette. He wonders if anyone here has any.

When he opens his eyes, Rick is staring at him. He looks irritated, but not in a M-Morty stop being a du-dumbass way. There’s something else behind it, something watchful and analyzing. He wants to know something, but is too proud to ask.

Whatever. It’s not as if Morty can read his mind.

“H-hey, do y-you think anyone here has any ciggs?”

Rick frowns. “W-what, you smoke now? Christ, I leave you for like-like three weeks and y-you’re developing-”

Morty groans and rolls onto his side, fed up with Rick’s hypocrisy for like. The zillionth time since the man steamrolled into his life and derailed it.

The silence echoes between them, only occasionally broken up by a Rick or sometimes even a Morty in the street shouting or saying things that Morty can’t quite catch. His mind is racing a million miles a minute, and, like usual, he can’t get it to calm the fuck down .

He likes to think of his own energy as a cup. When he’s around his family the cup is about half full. When his parents are fighting-are being loud , are talking about him like he can’t understand them, when they say things like “special” and “different’ and “needs”-it spills over the edges, little trickles down the side. When he’s at school it’s definitely overflowing, his patience and the amount of energy he needs to function around people fluctuate wildly.

When he’s around Rick it’s either empty or overflowing so quickly that he’s ready to throw up from the intensity of it.

Right now it feels like that.

His breath starts to come in sharp gasps, adrenaline shooting through his body for the first time since he and Rick escaped the exploding Citadel. His eyes are on fire and his lungs aren’t working and his skin feels wrong -

Rick lays a hand on his shoulder.

It doesn’t urge him to move over or do anything other than simply rest there.

Morty feels distantly-because anything other than feeling overwhelmed is distant right now-surprised. Usually when he gets like this Rick either yells at him or offers to sedate him.

Or just leaves him alone.

But it wasn’t always like that, was it?

Morty can remember a time, when he’d just turned 13- or was it 14? It’s hard to remember a time before Rick- and his grandpa had come literally crashing back into their lives and suddenly there was someone who understood who said things to his mom like jesus what are they teaching kids there, and ye-yeah Morty’s special, bu-but you don’t have to treat him different, wow, and sure it was all condescending, sure it was just another way for him to insult someone else-

But someone had understood .

This is abusive , Rick had said a few weeks ago.

It feels like forever.

Maybe he had actually understood this time.

Or maybe, one again, Morty has been duped into believing the great lie. That a Rick could change. That his Rick is different.

Jesus, this isn’t even his Rick.

But he’s one sitting next to him and absentmindedly rubbing his thumb into Morty’s shoulder.

It’s nice. Morty closes his eyes, skin soaking up the warmth.

“I don’t regret it,” Morty says softly. He feels Rick startle next to him, but doesn’t roll over. He keeps all of his limbs interlocked together, ankles crossed, arms folded, as if he can keep himself from falling apart.

He squeezes his eyes shut and whispers. “I don’t regret it.”

(Morty wakes up halfway a few hours later when Rick picks him up. He falls back asleep a few minutes later--soothed by the rocking of Rick’s gait and his annoyed g-go back to sleep --but something in his chest settles at it.

Maybe everything’s going to be fine.)

____

Morty doesn’t really know how they did it-he thinks some Rick’s salvaged some tech from the floating remains of the Citadel and did some sci-fi shit to it or whatever-but a week after the curve thingy explodes, Rick and Morty are in a ship, headed home.

“Aw j-jeez, what are we gonna tell Mom?” Morty says, face pressed into the window. His sleep schedule, which is normally fucked, is now completely nonexistent. The ride home was supposed to be for napping, but the ever prevalent anxiety is keeping him awake.

Rick shrugs. “T-tell her whatever you w-want, Morty, I seriously d-doubt she’s gonna care.”

It stings a bit, but it’s true.

Well, maybe not as true anymore. His mom has been much sterner with Rick over dragging Morty and Summer on dangerous adventures of late, but Morty thinks it has more to do with control than actual concern.

Still, it’s doubtful they’ll get more than passing irritation for being away for a week.

A couple of minutes before they reach earth, Rick stops the ship.

He lets the engine idle for a minute, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

When the silence goes on long enough that Morty is distinctly uncomfortable , he groans and uncurls from his fetal position against the door and blinks bemusedly up at him.

“R-rick?”

“W-we should dial it back for a while,” Rick says. “Maybe go back to s-solo adventures.”

Morty clasps his hands together, twisting them into uncomfortable positions nervously. “I-I don’t know, Rick. It-it seems like wh-when we’re apart things get-they get worse.”

“Y-yeah and you almost di-died like sixty times this week, Morty, I-I don’t think you get a say in w-what’s worse,” Rick sneers.

Morty sighs and looks out the window.

“Rick,” he says, wearily and then cuts himself off.

The man in question glares down at the center console like it personally offended him. “L-look, Morty, you-you may have had a point about not-about not trusting me and-”

“Yeah, okay.”

“-and, wait what.”

“I s-said, okay ,” Morty presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I-I just-we keep doing this, Rick and I-I’m just-”

He sucks in a breath and pulls his hands away. Stares up at Rick with wide eyes and an expression that bleeds emotional vulnerability, but he doesn’t even care anymore because he just threw away every chance at freedom, at a life free from the bullshit that’s so deeply infected in everything he touches, for this man, this guy who can barely even look at him and he’s-he’s-

“I-I’m really tired, okay?” His voice is small. “Can we j-just go home?”

Rick stares at him for a minute before putting the ship back in drive.

The rest of the drive home is silent.

Beth is mad, surprise surprise, but not as mad as she could have been.

Morty lets Rick bare the brunt of it and seeks refuge in his room. It’s a mess, exactly like it was when he left, because Beth isn’t the type to come and clean up after her kids and she’s the only person who’d ever actually walk into his room, except Rick, who doesn’t give a shit.

Morty collapses in bed, intent on sleeping for the next couple of hours or days, when the door creaks open.

It’s Rick. Of course.

He scowls. “W-way to go on having m-my back, M-Moorty,” he says, rolling his eyes in irritation.

Morty rolls his eyes back. “Y-you said that s-she wouldn’t care !” he points an accusatory finger at him.

Rick glares back.

After a moment of prolonged, uncomfortable glaring, Morty looks away. Rick takes this to mean that he won or whatever, because the tension in his shoulder loosens a bit and he flops down on the end of the bed, facedown.

“J-jeez, are y-you having another crisis?” Morty mumbles, tugging the blanket up over his head.

Rick mutters something into the bedding unintelligible so Morty ignores him. Sleep is darkening the edges of his vision anyway.

Before he completely passes out, the door creaks open again.

Everything fades as Beth and Rick start talking.

____

Morty doesn’t think they’re ever going to talk about what happened.

Rick clearly doesn’t care about the other Morty- why would he?- but it’s very clear that he’s upset about....something.

If Morty was to garner a guess it’s because Morty could have left with him.

And he almost had.

He should have.

But no, he hadn’t in the end. He’d chosen to pull Rick up and follow him out of there, instead of taking a deal no other Morty had been offered. And Rick was either mad that he hadn’t or mad that he almost had , and Morty didn’t know how to apologize for either.

It was almost easier in that week when they were stuck on the Citadel because then Rick could take out his ire on other Ricks and Morties or throw all of his energy into solving their predicament.

Now there’s just Morty and the rest of his dysfunctional family.

A whole lot of not talking about it and arguing about other things goes around for a while, with Summer trying to break up the tension by forcing them to go on adventures with her or Beth demanding in hissed whispers that Rick figure it how or whatever because I’m not finding us another therapist.

Morty basically tries to ignore everyone.

Until one night, he’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling because insomnia’s a fucking bitch, when he realizes…

Why should he have to avoid Rick?

Why did they have to avoid each other in the first place?

“Y-you know wh-what? The other M-Morty was right, you’re a big fucking baby!” Morty says, bursting into the garage.

Rick looks over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked.

“First-first y-you leave and then you come back and s-suddenly everything’s m-my fault j-just because y-you’re mad that you were wrong about something! It-it isn’t my fault that you figured out y-you’re toxic and don’t know wh-what to do about it!”

Rick looks irritated. “Morty-” he begins, voice already a sneer.

“No, I’m talking right now!” Morty points at him.

Rick crosses his arms and waits.

“I-I don’t regret it, but I should, shouldn’t I? B-because you’re always gonna be a dick and I’m always gonna just be h-here.” Morty swallows, fight suddenly draining out of him. “It’s never gonna change, huh.”

Rick sighs and puts down whatever he was working on. “Look, M-Morty-”

Morty groans, running his hands through his hair. “This blows, can w-we-can we stop? Lets-lets just go watch some interdimensional cable or something.”

Rick drags a hand over his face and looks as tired as Morty feels. “S-so that’s it? We-we’re both fucked up and we’re just gonna go watch tv? Real-real healthy, Morty.”

“Y-yeah, you really can’t call me out on that.” He turns on his heel and makes for the door. Rick catches him before he reaches it.

There’s a pause. Morty doesn’t pull away and Rick doesn’t let go. He just frowns down at Morty for a moment, brow furrowed, that same look in his eyes as that night on the roof. Curious. Analytical.

Then,

“Your mom’s already pissed at us, I-I’m not gonna wake her up.”

Morty blinks. He had maybe forgotten that it was 4am on a Sunday night. “Oh y-yeah.”

Rick’s hand tightens on his shoulder. “But w-we could go out for ice cream.”

Getting ice cream at 4am on a Sunday night isn’t much better than staying up watching tv, but at least Beth wouldn’t lose her shit with them.

Morty smiles. It’s more real and less tired than it’s felt the past couple of months-years even, if he’s being honest.

“Okay,” he says, allowing himself to be herded toward the spaceship.

Once inside, he clicks his seatbelt on and lets his body relax to the sound of the terrible noises the engine makes when it turns over. Rick backs them out and takes off, looking far more at ease than Morty’s seen in a while.

He wishes this could last.

It’s not going to. Of course it’s not. Rick will do something fucked up and Morty will either walk away for a while or continue to be addicted to making the man happy. Their own fucked up little abuse cycle, fueled by shared and separate traumas that neither will admit to, let alone work on.

And still, even knowing-even knowing the shape of the rest of his life, he can’t bring himself to say he made the wrong choice.

He doesn’t regret it.

He can’t bring himself to, because he would go literally insane with it. How could he go on knowing that he threw away the best chance at happiness he’d ever been given?

Morty leans back in the passenger seat and lets Rick’s ramblings and the ambient sounds of the ship wash over him.

It’s the closest thing to peace he has.

____

[jerkbitchidjitassbutt]

It Was You (Part Four)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

Read Part one, part two, and part three here (masterlist forthcoming)

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo​​. This chapter and others will fill the square of ‘fake dating’. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3446

Series Warnings: cursing, angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

Jensen woke to his cell buzzing on his nightstand, reaching blindly to silence the pestering noise. Lying on his back, he quickly peered through one half opened eye to see what all the fuss was about. Seeing it was Stacy, he hit the side button to reject her call, vowing he’d return it after ten more minutes of sleep. As he rested his head back on the pillow, you stretched slightly and rolled to face him as you slept, reminding him of how he’d carried you to his bed last night. You reached for him and pulled yourself under his arm to cuddle against him, throwing a leg over his as he laid on his back. He loved waking up next to you, no matter where it was. You’d shared a bed multiple times in your long friendship and he’d never felt as rested as when you were next to him, even if the vacancy was filled by someone else.

Jensen let his mind wander to what it would be like to wake up to you every morning, to take your friendship and turn it into something more. He would be lying if he said Y/n hadn’t been the first person that came to his mind when Stacy mentioned him settling down, and almost choked on his coffee when she agreed to be his pretend girlfriend. When he was young, he’d always just seen you as his best friend, but when he left for L.A. after his eighteenth birthday, the absence made him realize how much he’d loved you for so many years. It was a fondness that grew out of the shared intimacy and a longing bloomed within him, and it was no secret to him why it hadn’t worked out with anyone else. They weren’t you – they didn’t laugh like you. They didn’t touch him like you. They didn’t care for him in the way you did.

Since you’d moved to Vancouver, each time he’d get the nerve to bring his feelings up to you, you’d either be seeing someone or mention once again how much you valued his friendship. There were moments when he thought you may feel something for him to, between the lingering touches and occasional yearning gaze. When the time came, though, he’d always let his fears of losing you get in the way.

As you moved against him, trying to get closer to him in your dreaming slumber, his grip tightened around you to bring you to the spot no one else could seem to fill. You threw an arm around his waist and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, your warmth seeping through him as your breath fanned across the tender skin. Jensen buried his face in your hair, inhaling a mixture of you and the floral scent of your shampoo, content to savor the moment where he could pretend that it was real, that maybe you wouldn’t scurry away when you woke to find yourself there.

You began to stir, breathing deeply and opening your eyes. You pushed against him slightly, just enough to peer up at him through your lashes.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Jensen whispered, searching your eyes for a long moment. He could have sworn he saw it, that fleeting passion that he could have sworn was intended for him. His eyes flitted to your lips, plush and full and slightly agape. It would be a dream to mold his mouth to yours and feel you let go. Your skin would feel like silk beneath his fingertips and he would savor every touch.

You seemed to study him, almost searching your brain for some sort of recognition.

You were in a blissful fantasy before you woke, wrapped in Jensen’s arms as he pinned you beneath him, nipping and licking at the exposed skin of your neck. In your hazed mind, you could still feel his delicious weight on top of you as he ground against you, and the burn of his scruff still tingled across your chest as he kissed down your body. His touch still ghosted across your skin but left no trace as your eyes opened slowly to be met with his emerald ones. It took your foggy, drowsy mind a moment to realize that you were no longer dreaming, but the fire in your core was still lit ablaze.

His eyes were filled with fondness as he looked down at you. Finding yourself in his arms as you woke still felt like a dream as your heartbeat rapidly sounded in your chest, until he began drawing patterns on your upper arm with his thumb. Your head rested against the swell of his shoulder and you could feel his stomach rising and falling with breath beneath your arm. He shifted a bit and you realized that your leg was tangled with his as your hips and body angled towards him.

“Y/n? You okay?” Jensen breathed, flitting his eyes between your eyes and lips as you stared at him, still playing catchup in your brain. He sucked in a breath when you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, still silently searching his features. He could do it – he could kiss you. He could feel every curve in his hands and feel every breath if he took the chance, and the way you were looking at him, eyes darkened with want, he began to lean forward, slowly and tentatively.

Jensen’s tongue ran across his plump lips and continued to trace small circles on your exposed skin before moving his hand to your hair. This wasn’t for show, and the weight of the intimacy bared down on you as he moved towards you, aiming for your lips.

As soon as your eyes fluttered closed, Jensen’s phone began to ring. His eyes snapped open with annoyance as he stared into yours. He didn’t want to pick up – whoever it was could go to hell right now, but when you smiled and told him to, he sighed heavily and grabbed his cell, seeing that it was Stacy once again.

She could usually take a hint, so this must’ve been important. Jensen gave you a sympathetic smile and pressed the button to answer.

“Hello?”

“Jensen? Good morning, it’s Stacy.”

“Yeah, how are you?”

“I’m great. Have you gotten the chance to check social media this morning? There’s some great stuff floating around about you and Y/n already. Apparently some paps got some photos of you two in town yesterday so gossip is buzzing.”

“Oh, that’s… good?”

“It sure is!” Stacy exclaimed, which you could hear from your spot, still tucked beneath Jensen’s shoulder as his grip on you never loosened. “Great job, you two. This is going well already. Keep up the social media stuff, but I wanted to warn you before you guys headed to the airport that there would probably some cameras around.”

Jensen’s eyes went wide, “The airport… right.”

“Yeah, I wanted to catch you before you got in. Are you about to leave? Your flight is in 3 hours.”

He snapped his head to face you as you realized what that meant, looking at him with a panicked expression. You needed to get your ass up and go.

“We’re about to leave soon. Cliff should be here in, uh,” Fuck, it’s 9:00. “20 minutes to get us.” He said, more to you than Stacy as he grabbed his watch from his nightstand when you rolled off of him.

“Alright, well you guys have a safe trip. I’ll be in touch soon!” her chipper voice echoed through his receiver before it clicked and ended the call. You were dashing around the room, gathering your sweater, shoes, keys, and phone before you had to run to your apartment to change and grab your packed suitcase, allowing Jensen to do the same. As you made your way to the door, Jensen called to you, still in his pajama pants and tight v-neck with his hair was gloriously tousled.

“We’ll continue this later?” He proposed, his voice deep and smooth.

You paused in the doorframe to respond, arms laden with your belongings. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and grinned, “I’d like that.”

He sighed a breath of relief through his smile before rushing to the adjacent bathroom to take a quick shower.

It was December 22nd, and the airport was going to be insanely packed, but between Jensen’s security needs and first-class tickets for the two of you to Austin, you were able to get priority registration and pre-checks.

You hurried quickly to your apartment, pausing momentarily when you shut your door to run your fingertips through your hair and calm your swirling thoughts. There was no question that he was going to kiss you, at least from your perspective. Could this really be happening? With a smile and a pounding heart, you ran to your bathroom to brush your teeth, freshen up, and change, opting for black leggings and a thick shawl. You threw some last-minute items in your makeup bag and slung it over your waiting suitcase, grabbing your scarf, sunglasses, and purse and you were ready to meet Jensen outside.

Cliff and Jensen met you at the waiting SUV and loaded your luggage into the trunk, Jensen sliding in beside you in the back seat. It was a short ride to the airport and was mostly spent with Cliff briefing Jensen of the security protocols he would be taking once you arrived. He was already prepared for the possibility of paparazzi being present and would be sure you had a clear path to the entrance.

With about five minutes until you arrived, Jensen leaned in to whisper, “Would you be alright with holding my hand? You know, when we go in? F-for the cameras?” he asked, his eyes hopeful and nervous.

Your smile faltered as he said the last bit, worried that maybe the arrangement was still at the forefront of his mind. Until he added, “Or, if you just wanted to.”

His features softened as the smile returned to your face and you agreed. “I mean, ya know… I’d be alright with it.” He said in a teasing fashion, puffing his chest as you giggled. Sliding his hand across the leather seat, he brushed his fingers across yours before entwining a few. Your cheeks began to tingle and your heart swelled within your chest, a feeling present that you’d never experienced before.

Jensen couldn’t get the image of you from this morning out of his head. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw you beneath him, biting your lower lip. It was driving him mad and he was more than sure you were going to kiss him back. Now, though, he was kicking himself for answering that phone call. He was kicking himself for not pulling you into his arms as soon as he hung up.

A short moment later and you were pulling up at the entrance, not entirely surprised to see a few people lingering around the pillars with cameras in their hands. It was a popular spot for folks in their profession, hoping to snap a few shots of celebrities boarding their flights and since the movie and television studios had just recently shut down production for the holidays, their odds increased of getting a good photo to sell.

“You ready?” Jensen asked, squeezing your hand as you stared out towards the building.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, “Yeah.”

“Hey,” he urged, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, alright? Cliff and I will be right here.”

You gave him a small smile, but deep down it wasn’t only safety you were concerned about. You knew that once photos surfaced of you and Jensen, the rumors would spread fast. Now, though, there would be some truth to them, or so it seemed.

Cliff exited the car and grabbed both yours and Jensen’s suitcase from the trunk before opening the passenger’s side rear door, allowing Jensen to step out. As soon as he did, loud clicks and a whirl of footsteps could be heard, with people surrounding the vehicle quickly. Cliff stood like an intimidating brick wall and bellowed at them, which made a few of them move back a few steps.

When Jensen turned and offered his hand, you put your sunglasses on and grabbed your bag, hearing the furry of camera shutters increase rapidly. Clearly, they were very interested in who Jensen was bringing with him.

You slid across the seat and took his extended hand in yours. When he helped you shuffle out of the vehicle, he laced a few of his fingers loosely with yours once again and made his way through the crowd of shouts and flashing lights, each of you pulling your suitcases as Cliff led the way. One reporter asked Jensen who his guest was, which made you laugh a bit. Another asked where you were headed, but those were the only few that you could make out in the chorus of questions. He waved graciously as he pushed passed them, continuously checking beside him to make sure you were alright. Jensen’s hand tightened around yours and he looked at you through his darkened glasses, giving you a grin. When you returned his smile, you realized that it may be for show, but he never dropped your hand even after the cameras were behind you.

Cliff said his goodbyes when he ensured that you made it safely to the TSA pre-check. He would be heading home soon also, but his flight was a red eye that night so he would have time to pack himself. He gave you a fleeting, knowing look as his eyes casted down to yours and Jensen’s entwined hands, the tiniest smile adorning his lips.

After going through the security check, you and Jensen explored the shops at the airport and grabbed a coffee before taking a seat at your gate with fifteen minutes to spare before they began boarding. A few fans approached him and asked for an autograph or photo and he was polite and chatted with each of them as you smiled from the sidelines. He was always so gracious with the people he met, and it made you a bit proud. It was just another way that he’d proven to stay true to who he was even now that he was recognized almost everywhere he went. It had taken a bit of getting used to when it began and now his fans were calling you by name. When he and Jared were together, there was no stopping the barrage of passersby.

The few people gave you a wave as you sat next to him and you offered to take their photo for them before they ran to their own flights that were departing soon.

Jensen beamed as he waved them goodbye before turning to you, “You know, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over that.”

Laughing, you commented, “Well, I can’t blame them. They get excited seeing you in the ‘wild’.” You joked.

He sat back and stifled a yawn before taking a sip of his coffee, “You okay? Are you tired?” you questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I’m good. I’ll be fine once we get on the plane.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ll be asleep before we reach the end of the tarmac.”

You were jealous of his ability to sleep on planes, but since he began traveling so much he learned to get some shut eye where he could and now the whirl of the jet engines was a lullaby to him, almost putting him to sleep instantly.

“Well, if you snuggle with me, I’ll be a goner, for sure.”

He gave you a suggestive look and wiggled his eyebrows. Before you could respond, the attendant began to call rows for boarding, meaning you and Jensen were some of the first needed to get in line.

He stowed both of your bags in the compartments when you found your seats, opting to give you the window and asking for an extra pillow or two from the attendant. When you sat, Jensen leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Two o’clock.”

You turned to view what he was talking about, knowing that he was signaling you to look in a specific direction. Sure enough, in the row directly behind you to the left, there was someone with a phone pointed in your direction, seemingly hoping to get a photo of Jensen. This meant the two of you couldn’t necessarily talk freely during the flight, especially about what happened that morning, as many people were in earshot.

Giving you a small smile, he reached for your hand after he’d buckled in, clasping it in his as the plane roared down the freeway and took off towards Austin.

Sure enough, Jensen fell asleep against your shoulder about a half an hour into the flight, so you quietly ordered a drink and a snack and caught up on some Netflix on your phone, gently plugging your headphones in your ears so that you wouldn’t wake him.

You were lucky to have a direct flight into Austin, and Jensen woke up about an hour before you landed. You laughed and chatted about random things, just passing the time until the wheels touched down. He held your hand once again as you exited the airport, his fingers searching out yours expectantly and gripping them tight. He began to scan the crowd for Jared, who smiled widely and waved frantically when he caught sight of you as he towered above everyone else in his surroundings.

As he drove you through the streets of Austin to his home, he caught you up on the details of the party tonight, “Gen decided she wanted to do an ugly Christmas sweater themed party, so she grabbed you both one to wear. Don’t blame me, she and the boys picked them out.”

“Oh goodness…” you commented. “I hope Gen looked out for me a little.”

Jared threw his head back in laughter as Jensen looked at you from the passenger’s seat, turning his head to shoot you a look of yeah right as you sat in the back.

You were met with hugs from the Gen and the littlest Padaleckis as soon as the car pulled in the driveway and Tom whisked you away to show you the drawings he’d made for you and Uncle Jensen.

“Hi to you too!” Jensen shouted as they ran inside, pulling you by your hands to follow as you turned to stick your tongue out at him. They loved him, truly, but he was all but forgotten when you were there with him. He waved you off and rounded the car to grab your bags, Jared popping the trunk and helping.

Jared clicked his tongue and pressed, “So… Things are… different?”

“What do you mean, man?” Jensen retorted, feigning innocence.

“You and Y/n. There’s something there that wasn’t there before.”

Jensen sighed, but couldn’t help the smile that bloomed against his cheeks as he ran his hand along the scruff of his jaw.

“Or,” Jared interjected. “Or maybe it’s something that’s always been there?”

Jensen looked at his best friend with a bit of worry in his eyes, feeling as though he’d just been caught. Jared had always known how much you cared about each other and had his suspicions that you each had more feelings than you were letting on, but Jensen had never confessed it to him in all the years he’d known him. It was the one thing they didn’t share, partially because Jensen knew he’d never hear the end of it and Jared would try some sort of scheme to get them together. If it happened, he wanted it to happen organically, not because of the meddling of his 6’4 goofy-puppy co-star. The truth was, though, Jensen was still afraid of ruining your friendship. He never wanted to lose you, ever.

Jared noticed the energy his friend was giving off and tried to offer him a bit of solace, “Hey, man. Not to worry. You two have always been together, just not together. This may have started as an arrangement, but maybe it’s just the open door you both need to explore your feelings? Maybe this is the way you two stop dancing around each other. Maybe this is the push you needed.” He clasped his hand on Jensen’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile, his lips curling on one side before he shut the door to the garage.

Jensen thought about his friend’s words, a new sense of courage blossoming within him and making his heart stammer and swell.

“Yeah, maybe.”

To be continued...

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Tags below (if your tag is strikethrough, it wouldn’t let me use it):

It was you

@440mxs-wife​​ @cookiechipdough​​ @greenarrowhead​ @peaches007​ @transparentparadiseglitterzombie​ @thevelvetseries​​  @urmbecky​​

Forevers:

@acortez82​​ @adoptdontshoppets​​ @akshi8278​ @atc74​  @berrygutz @blackcherrywhiskey​​ @busybee612​ @caitsymichelle13​ @daydreamingintheimpalareturns @deansbabymomma​​ @deansenwackles​​ @deanssweetheart23​​ @deanwinchesterswitch​​ @empyreanwritings​​ @geeksareunique​​ @gh0stgurl​​ @heyitscam99​​ @hhiggs​​ @huntersbunker @jackburtonsays​​ @janicho88​​ @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @jfrank1048​​ @jotink78​ @maddiepants​​ @mogaruke​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @nerdstackular​​ @nerdysandwichqueen​​  @okay-okay18​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​​ @prompt-and-circumstances​​  @samsgirl93​ @sandlee44​​ @sister-winchesters99​​ @snffbeebee​​ @spnbaby-67​ @supernatural3002​ @titty-teetee​​ @topthis808​ @tardis-is-mine​​ @torn-and-frayed​  @tranquility-or-chaos​ @weepingwillowphoenix​​ @winchester-writes​​  @wwaywardwinchester​​ @xtina2191​

Jensen Only

@mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​​

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings: heavy drinking, someones arm gets broken, also some very vague mentions of a shootout, reader is in denial about being in denial (so the usual pretty much)

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

You thought it would just be one coffee. One simple mistake as a result of you being extra tired, or something like that. You’d give it to him, hear his stupid little remark meant to rile you up, and then it’d be done - it would never happen again. 

Here’s the thing, though: you kept making more. After that day, every morning when you woke up, you’d grab two coffee mugs and make one for the both of you - yours with extra cream, his straight black. You knew he liked to add a shot of whiskey to his, even though you pretended not to notice when he not-so-discreetly pulled his flask out. Whatever he needed to get through the day, you shrugged, watching him out of the corner of your eye. You certainly weren’t about to judge him for his drinking habits in light of your own less than stellar track record. 

Neither of you dared to mention it so far. You hoped to high heaven that he wouldn’t: his little tease on that first day was barely enough to get under your skin though it had stuck to the back of your mind every morning you woke up. You’re not getting soft on him, are you?

Shaking your head furiously, you let out a low frustrated sigh as you moved to reach out for the bottle of wine next to you once more, flicking off the top and pouring almost a good half of the bottle’s contents into your glass. It was a Wednesday night but you didn’t much care - if the hangover was that bad the next morning, and it never usually was with a shiraz, you’d get some painkillers and get on with your day. The same thought as before repeated itself in your mind again, doing nothing short of vexing you further. Partially because you were worried it was true. Maybe you were getting soft on him. Maybe you weren’t as strong and stubborn as you thought if Jack Daniels had managed to worm his way back into your heart.

No. That couldn’t be it. You tossed your head back and indulged yourself in a rather large gulp of wine, letting the liquid rush down your throat in a desperate attempt to dilute the pitiful nonsense that had filled your head. What a ridiculous thought. You weren’t falling for Jack Daniels charm once more. No, you simply wouldn’t do that. You knew better than that. You knew that underneath that smooth facade was a flitting and emotionally unavailable man, the man who had broken your heart and made you suffer for what felt like evermore. You may have felt pity on him for his fall from grace, but anyone else would if they saw the state of him. Discarding the glass off to the side, you wanted to laugh at the simple absurdity of such an idea. Are you always this stupid with a wine-addled brain? 

Speaking of the devil, you heard his footsteps from up the stairs, taking you by surprise as you were certain that he was asleep by now. You crocked your head to the side, your eyes travelling up the stairwell to the small part of the landing that was in your immediate vision - you couldn’t catch a single sight of him. Shrugging to yourself, you returned to your almost empty glass of wine, feeling that familiar haze descend over your brain with every sip you took. This was fine. You could let yourself be swallowed by the alcohol, maybe even enjoy the fact that your nerves were loosened for just this once. If it could take all that shit away, then you’d gladly let it. And as for Jack? You’d continue on as you were: barely acknowledging his existence, and regarding him as nothing more than a ghost from your past. That’s what you wanted, right?

You’re lying to yourself and you know it.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you stared out into the space in front of you, your mind lost a million miles away while you were in complete and utter astonishment over those few words that had crossed your mind. Things were quiet, still, even peaceful in a way, only for a second anyhow. That was before the rush came, that incensed anger that flashed across your mind for barely a moment, settling down into something resembling vague annoyance, directed at none other than yourself. Where the hell did that come from? For god's sake, get a grip on yourself. Standing up abruptly, you didn’t even stumble as you advanced back over to the liquor cabinet, dropping to your knees and scanning the tops of the glistening glass bottles under the dim lamp light. Your eyes landed on the bourbon you had stashed at the back and you reached out for it, carefully lifting it above all the others despite your intoxicated state. Resting the bottle against the palm of your hand, you let your fingers trace the grooves in the molded glass, a small bit of hesitation working its way into your mind, hesitation that was swiftly kicked aside in favour of that pesky little buzz that danced around the back of your head, that stupid little crumb of self doubt that refused to fucking leave. 

Guess I’m gonna need a bottle of something stronger to kick this shit. 

___

He didn’t know why he kept watching you. You weren’t doing anything particularly notable - you’d decided to take one of the horses out for a ride, practicing vaulting and the like. He remembered you’d once told him that as a young kid that you’d entered a number of equestrian competitions, and even won a few - he’d seen the trophies gathering dust on the mantle and the cute photos of you posing with your chosen horse, Buttercup, as a child. You explained years ago that you’d stopped participating in competitions but still liked to take the horses out for a spin every once in a while as a way to relax and clear your head. As he watched you now, he could already see the stressors of the day melting away from your visage, leaving only a steely focused expression in its wake as you cleared another jump. 

It was the first time in weeks he’d seen you truly relaxed at all, or showing any sort of emotion other than your usual show of cheerfulness you splashed on for the customers, woven with a current of underlying stress and irritation. Seeing you like this couldn’t help but remind him of better times: you’d taken him out on the horses more than a couple of times when the two of you were together. Jack had always labelled himself as something of an animal lover, ever since he was a kid. He didn’t, and hadn’t, had any pets for a good ten years now though at some point long ago he wanted something similar to what you had - a nice ranch situated out in his home state of Kentucky with a bunch of animals and his family. That dream had seemed so close to him once that he could have sworn it would be a reality yet fate wasn’t so kind to him in that regard. The memory of it all alone hadn’t ceased to become any less painful to him: seeing the broadcast on the news of a shootout down at a local convenience store only to get the call moments later confirming what he’d already feared to have happened most. 

Not a day passed where he didn’t wish he could go back to a time before that day, where even the simple idea of having a family didn’t seem so foreign and unattainable. He felt himself grip onto the wooden bar of the veranda just a tad bit tighter the longer his thoughts fixated on it, though the sound of a piercing shriek immediately brought his attention back to you, his eyes darting around in a frenzy, determined to know what had caused you to cry out in agonising pain. Upon seeing your body lain flat on the ground he rushed forward, vaulting himself over the edge of the varanda and calling out your name. “Are you alright, sugar?” he shouted, throwing open the gate to the ring and racing over towards where you were lying. The faint sounds of you whimpering did nothing short of send him into panic mode, seeing how much it hurt you to move only adding to his worry. “I’m fine, I just...the dumb horse got spooked by something and bucked me off” you groaned, struggling to pull yourself up, leading you to let out another loud yelp when you tried to move your left arm.

Swooping in to catch you before you fell, Jack gently reached for your arm and pulled it towards him, his eyes widening the moment he caught sight of the horrific fracture done to it. “Darlin’, don’t lie to me, you’re not fine. Arms are not meant to look like this!” he stressed, studying your eyes intensely, trying to gauge if you had some sort of a concussion. They were slightly glazed over, and your gaze kept wandering from him as if you were having trouble focusing. “How’s your head feelin’, sweetheart?”. 

“Kinda dazed. Hurts like a bitch as well” you grumbled, leaning your head against his shoulder slightly. Every bone in your body felt like it was screaming at you like some sort of symphony, the pain in your arm being the worst of all. Your vision had also become slightly blurry and kept splitting double every few seconds, only contributing to your general haziness. Your thoughts were running a mile a minute, scattered around your brain and refusing to slow down. Suddenly, you felt yourself being lifted off the ground and up into Jack’s arms, your head lolling slightly against his forearm as he carried you back up to the house. Running through your memory, you couldn’t really remember what had happened fully: you had just made another jump and were circling around the ring to gain speed for another when suddenly you were on the ground and your horse, Molly, was a few feet ahead of you. 

Jack brought you up to the varanda and laid you down on the bench, grabbing one of the old decorative throw pillows you had to rest your head on.“Stay here for a moment, I’m gonna get you some ice, then I’m gonna call an ambulance and get ya to an emergency room” he instructed before ducking back inside the house.

“Is that really necessary, Jack?” you shouted out after him, leading him to stick his head back out the door to look at you incredulously. “Sweetheart, your arm is broken and you're clearly concussed. I think the situation more than calls for it” he replied with a deadpan tone, disappearing back into your house to find you some ice. Resting your head back against the pillows, you turned to see Molly trotting around near the edge of the fenceline, acting as if she hadn’t just thrown you off her back for no apparent reason at all. 

“Yeah, just had to buck me off, didn’t ya? Thanks asshole!” you shouted out, doing your best to ignore the persistent throbbing in the side of your head and the dull ache from where your arm was rested. Thankfully, partially due to the concussion probably, it didn’t feel as bad as before, though at the same time you could have just simply become more tolerant of the pain. Not to say it didn’t still hurt like literal hell or that it was any less easy to take notice of. 

“Honeybee, I get you’re in pain but yelling at the horse isn’t doing anything” you heard Jack say to you as he made his entrance once more, holding a tea towel containing several large blocks of ice in his hand. Muttering out a small ‘thank you’, you took the towel in your hands and pressed it against the swell of your arm, letting out a small hiss the second you felt the sharp sting of the cold on your skin. “I know yelling at the horse does nothing, but it’s making me feel better” you grumbled. 

“Is it? Is it really?” Jack scoffed, subsequently choosing to ignore the sharp death glare you gave him after his flippant remark. “I’ve called an ambulance, they’ll be here to get you to a proper hospital in no time. You really had me worried there when I heard you scream”.

“Oh, so you do care about me after all” you jeered, your signature sarcastic edge seeping through your tone. You shifted slightly to try to position yourself up a little more so that you could face him properly yet as you moved a heavy sting of pain shot through you, causing you to yelp out a little and tense up in response. As if it were instinctual to him, Jack moved towards you and helped you settle back down. “Try not to move too much until the ambulance gets here” he directed. You didn’t know if it was your imagination or not, but you could have sworn his hand lingered on your forehead a second longer than it should have, his fingertips brushing against your skin and leaving a burning sensation in their wake, something that, shamefully so, made your heart skip a small beat. “Now, about me not caring - sugar, when are you gonna accept that no matter what happened between us that I still care about you as a person?” he asked. Shoving those thoughts to the back of your mind, you settled on glaring back at him with a quick witted quip to combat him, because that’s all he was to you: an annoyance, a nuisance, a royal pain in the ass. You were doing him a favour by letting him stay with you. There was nothing more to this.

“Try never, asshole” you snapped, one note harsher than you originally intended. As usual whenever you bit back at his banter, Jack shrugged and rested back into the wall he was standing against. For once, though, you felt bad at snapping at him like that - there wasn’t any need for it, he was only trying to help. Not knowing if you could fully coax the words ‘I’m sorry’ from your mouth, you settled on something less apologetic but still sort of the message across. “But...really, thank you. For, y’know, helping me out here” . 

Jack looked at you for a moment, somewhat taken aback at what you’d said before he softened a bit.“Of course, sugar. Call it returning the favour for taking care of me a couple of weeks back” he answered, giving you that sweet smile of his that hadn’t managed to unweave itself from those old memories. And for once, you allowed yourself to smile weakly in return.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 30

First time reader click here

TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter is a horror movie. There's blood, gore and psychological horror elements. Lemme know if it was actually scary - I'm desensitized to this shit. This was written to come out on Halloween but I was too slow with writing.

Wooden floor creaking behind me, I couldn't feel the cold of it, not even a single splinter piercing the arches of them, I ran like my life depended on it. The darkness behind me was alive; it breathed, pulsated, spreading along the walls of the hallway like mold. The hallway seemed to be endless.

As soon as I realized that, I noticed that it, in fact, did have an end and not a door was in sight; that quickly proved to br also just a trick of the eye - there were doors, the hallway was riddled with them, each one dark, identical and placed neatly about five feet apart. With shaking hands, I turned the knob, slamming the door behind me with a loud bang.

Panting, I let myself slide against the door, eyes closed, sheet landing in a puddle of white fabric on the floor around me. First five seconds passed quietly; then, a noise interrupted my panicked thinking and my eyes flew open as the scene in front of me produced more confusion.

The familiar scene of the pond behind my grandparents' stables, the poppies - a splash of blood red against the dull greens and browns - swaying in the breeze. A Dora the Explorer bucket hat and a six-year-old me, hair in pigtails, poking at a spot of moist soil with a large stick.

I knew where this was going yet I couldn't pull my eyes away from the scene that was going to unfold. A stallion my parents had recently bought, ill-tempered and moody, jumping over the low fence and galloping noisily right at mini-me. The terrified animal was screaming yet I was oblivious to it's distress, too busy trying to fish out earthworms out of the wet ground. Almost in slo-mo, mini-me noticed the running, screaming animal and bolted for safety, its hooves missing my little body barely by a feet.

I felt the cold water of the pond on my skin. It was dirty and blooming at the time, musky smell assaulting my senses, murky water choking the life out of both versions of me. In the distance, I noticed a much younger and slimmer dad sprinting full-speed towards the splashing child in the pond. He was screaming something and I leaned in, trying to hear him better.

The scene vanished into thin, wispy smoke. My head was once again clear and the suffocating dread and panic subsided, letting me take in several deep breaths and try to assess the situation calmly. I had survived that accident, even successfully overcame my fear of swimming later on.

Hands shaking and heart fluttering like a frightened bird, I recoiled from the locked door when it began to rattle, the noise deafening in the eerie quiet of the house.

The shadows were taunting me. Trapping me in my worst fears, making me relive my worst memories. The artifact needed something from me - what was it? I wondered, tucking the sheet in some semblance of a toga and standing up to explore the room. Save for a few outdated pieces of furniture, it was cold and empty, void of life. Nowhere to hide.

I paced the room, coming to a halt next to the heavy, thick velvet curtains. Expecting to see a window behind them, I was surprised with another old wooden door with a bent handle that had gathered an impressive layer of dust. With rattling behind me increasingly growing in volume, I had no other option but to press it down and quickly dart into the next dark room.

Clint. Lifeless eyes wide open, his body laying at my feet, sheet-white and rust coloured stains adorning his mouth, nails black and broken as if he'd been clawing at the dilapidated wooden floors. I backed away from him, further into the room - the archer's body began to move and tremble, tiny little gashes appearing on every inch of exposed skin. The thing that was breaking out of him glowed, pale blue and sickly.

"That's not..." I whispered to myself. "Clint is alive," As if I had been doused with cold water, the images of MAFS incident seeped into my mind, the what-ifs of my past actions weighing heavily and clouding my mind with guilt.

"Come on, we don't have much time," Steph's voice appeared behind my back, loud and out of nowhere. I was rightfully sceptical about the reality of him - while his face was the usual, tense expression of boredom, he stood differently. I couldn't describe the difference if I tried; it just felt wrong. Like a puzzle piece was missing.

"I don't think so, demon dude," Squaring my shoulders once again, I prepared myself for the inevitable pain.

"Who?" The copycat asked, faking concern surprisingly well. "It's the artifact. It's making you see things that aren't real," With a wave of his hand, the door flew open, exposing the hallway filled with the void that was chasing me previously.

"Oh what I saw was real alright," I countered, tilting my head to examine the entity. Unknowingly, it had given itself away - Stephen's magic always glowed gold and orange, in the sense that he wasn't like Loki - Strange's spells were always visible. "I'd rather you kill me then spread your vile disease beyond this... Space," With none of the bravery I actually had, bluff came surprisingly easy. Perhaps, I really was ready to die so my friends and family could live.

Not-Stephen tsked and grinned maliciously, once again waving his hands about. "Killing you? So barbaric and an absolute waste of potential." The shadows pushed something into the gaping hole of the doorway, something curled up in a fetal position and whimpering. The entity picked up the man by the shoulders, forcing him to kneel in front of it, teary baby browns staring back at me, wide with terror.

Tony. My feet took an involuntary step forward, where my Tony was trembling, whimpering in the creature's grasp, unseeing eyes looking straight forward. As if I wasn't there.

"Submit and I will let him go. Right now, he's relieving the worst memories of his life," The entity raised an eyebrow, a mock imitation of Stephen's expression. I could hear Tony mumbling faintly, something about his chest and Afghanistan and bombs and Obadiah.

It pissed me off. Firstly, how dare this wannabe-Pennywise, this LOST-fog-monster-reject to lay his filthy metaphysical fingers on my Tony. And secondly, for the sloppy intelligence job - I had been woken up by Tony's nightmares more than enough to know his biggest fear wasn't Afghanistan. It wasn't Obadiah and it wasn't Bucky killing his parents, it wasn't even the vast, consuming black emptiness of the space behind the wormhole.

Anger burning my throat, I lunged at not-Stephen with a bloodcurdling scream, feeling my nails dig into the cold, clammy flesh of the thing's throat. Taken by surprise, both of us stumbled, falling into the abyss of the hallway, me kicking and scratching and screaming all the way, fingers squeezing deeply into the lifeless imitation of flesh. His screams mixed with mine and Tony's into a shrieking cacophony.

The darkness was laughing, cackling, noise sharp like nails on a chalkboard. It hurt, but the thing's grip on me hurt even more. "He'll never love you like you expect him to. They don't care about you. The mage said he'd help you and now you're dying here, alone," Black smoke began leaking out of the impostor's mouth along with the words, both acrid and venomous.

My head was pounding as more and more of the stuff came into contact with my body. My vision swam, bordering on unconsciousness. "If I'm dying, I'm taking you with me, bitch," I screamed out, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until I exploded together with my surroundings, in a short of white, blinding light.

And then, there was darkness. My limbs were once again filled with concrete, mouth dry and skin burning like I'd been branded with a hot iron.

I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of the room with the fireplace. The fire was roaring, crackling and and shooting noisy sparks, accompanied by heavy breathing to my left. Disregarding the nausea that followed my every movement, I hung my head over the side of the car coming to witness both sorcerers laying haphazardly on the floor, a thin river of blood seeping into the carpet from Wong's head.

Confused, disoriented and terrified, I called out for them, voice barely audible and terse. Had I been screaming?

The sorcerers' chests rose and fell rapidly; my panic subsided but not by much. I crawled out of the cot only to land ungracefully on my face, body refusing to cooperate and feeling about as well as after I'd ran a marathon. Inch by inch, I crawled over to the chair I had left my things on, fighting with my body for every movement I made.

Fumbling, l pulled out my phone and pressed the green call button on the one person one would call in this situation. My best friend.

"Yes, dear?" His baritone was tense but nonetheless calm.

"Help, some-something happened," I managed to say, no louder than a whisper. "Sanctum," I clarified, hearing a noise of things falling over and several distressed voices shouting in the background.

"I am coming, do not end the call," Loki replied immediately, barking out several commands I didn't quite catch. There were more noises of distress as I obediently stayed on the phone. "Darling, can you tell me what happened?"

"I- Killed?" I tried to articulate my thoughts, tongue becoming more and more uncooperative by the second.

"Oh my God, who's dead?!" I heard Bruce yell, probably, right in Loki's ear.

"The Thing," I clarified, hoping to calm him down.

Loki cursed in his native language, I heard him trying to wrestle the phone from someone - unsuccessfully so, I might say, as Tony's distraught voice was the next thing I heard. "Princess, listen to me. Are you okay? Where's Strange? We're gonna be there in 10 minutes. We're coming."

An avalanche of information for my overtaxed brain and aching body, I struggled to keep up with Tony's rambling and filtering out Loki's screeching in the background. So much noise. My head hurt. "No, Steph and Wong are down. Alive." I managed to convey the most important part, a terrified sob leaving my chest burning. "Please, talk," I begged Tony, not wanting to be left in that terrifying, consuming silence ever again.

And Tony talked. He babbled nonstop, things that I didn't really catch neither care about, having enough strength to give a hum of approval every few seconds or so. It appeared to be as calming to him as it was to me, I didn't hear any more complaints from the team, only brief increase in volume as one of them got closer to the phone. A part of me conceded I should've made at least one joke about being put on loudspeaker, however, my brain was exhausted.

Burnt out, rather. The emptiness settled in my bones, chilly, like the blood had been sucked out of me, making my body just a vessel for the darkness that stalked my nightmares. I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my bare thigh, feeling none of the pain, just the relief when blood seeped through the cuts, crimson and warm.

That's how they found me. Loki threw open the door, breaking one of the hinges, eyes immediately darting between me and the laying sorcerers, as he swiftly cast a bright golden spell on the room, warming us from the inside out. Carefully stepping over the two men, Loki kneeled in front of me, green eyes staring right into mine.

I heard cursing and thudding but all I could focus on was the shining emerald of Loki's eyes. "Oh, child," He whispered, reaching out with both arms to pull me into his chest. I couldn't have resisted even if I wanted to, my body was utterly drained of fight.

"What happened?" Tony asked, a hysterical pitch to his voice.

"I can assume there was a failsafe left behind by the artifact, it took out both sorcerers and attempted to finish the job it started," Loki spoke up, hand gently petting my hair, still clutching my limp body like I was dying. "She fought it off, I don't know how, but she fought it off. It has entered a dormant state again."

"What do you mean took them all out?" In his distress, Tony seemed to have lost all sensibility. "What happened to her?!" He was getting impatient, angry.

"With an artifact like that, it's a blessing they are still alive. It is ancient and unpredictable," Loki explained patiently, none of his usual vitriol present. "And she... You could say she was mind-raped," He stated, quieter.

I groaned in protest. Loki's spell of gold did what felt like a wonder: the light was slowly coming back into the room, into me, filling me with warmth I didn't know I could lack. "As if," I slurred. "As if that Pennywise wannabe could ever," My body was, nonetheless, exhausted. "I've swallowed more kids than he could ever," My eyelids dropped, the comforting noise of Tony's and Loki's combined chuckle amplifying the surplus of warmth within me.

Last thing I saw was Tony's watery smile, tears crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he lifted me from Loki's arms, hot rod red of his suit saturating the room with color. Feeling safe for the first time in what felt like forever, I let my eyes close voluntarily, a smile crawling onto my face. I was right. Tony was alright, it wasn't really him that was getting tortured in the nightmare-verse.

"What..." I heard Stephen croak from somewhere. "Baby?!" His voice raised a whole octave; Thor's fond chuckle followed the rustling of fabric and a few stronger choice words from the sorcerer as Loki briefed everyone on the situation at hand.

"How is she, Tones?" Bruce asked quietly from above me.

"Pretty out of it but on her way back to health," Tony replied with another watery laugh. "Cracking jokes and whatnot clownery."

Bruce exhaled in relief, stroking my face with the side of his fingers. It was almost palpable, the general atmosphere of respite in the room, the sudden free flow of oxygen to my lungs.

"I am so sorry," Stephen's whisper was more felt than heard by me; the spice of his cologne and copper of blood reached my nostrils, burning them, keeping the warmth from leaving my body ever again.

My fingers weakly held out to him, finally coming to grasp his more-than-usual shaking hand. "Not your fault," I breathed. "Persistent cursed box," Were my last words before my consciousness gave out. Sleep sweet sleep.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​@pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

[petri808]

Soooo it turns out @random-rave and his knowledge of my obsession with this show is who sent this prompt in for the Sinfully Nalu event 🤣  thank you @phoenix-before-the-flame who made me the banner! She’s fucking awesome go commission her!

whipped it up for Bonus day- Massage prompt with dirty/kink talk thrown in 😊

“All rise. Last case number 80 on the docket before lunch in the matter of Dreyar versus Alberona.” Bailiff Natsu hands Judge Lucy a folder.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Judge. Parties have been sworn in. Please be seated. Sir, have a seat.”

“Mr. Dreyar, I read your complaint and the facts of this case are a pretty simple one to figure out. You decided to go on vacation and allowed your 20-year old grandson, I’m assuming this person,” Judge Lucy points at the plaintiffs witness, “to house sit. He decided to throw a party and like most 20-year old parties, it got a little out of control. Your house was trashed, and a coffee table broken when the defendant fell on it. The defendant claims that it was all just an accident when another guest bumped into her causing her to fall so, she’s not responsible.”

“I believe my grandson when he says it’s her fault cause she was drunk and stumbling around.”

“Well since you weren’t there, you can’t tell me what happened.” The judge motions to the witness, “stand next to your grandfather and tell me your name.”

“Laxus Dreyar.”

“Mr. Dreyar, how did the coffee table get broken?”

“Cana was drunk, lost her balance and fell on it.”

Judge Lucy sits back in her chair. “This is your problem Mr. Dreyar. Your first mistake was leaving a 20-year old teenager in charge of an empty house! Miss Alberona was a guest of your grandsons and frankly, whether she fell on her own or was pushed is irrelevant to me. The law states that as a guest in the home, it is your responsibility to ensure their safety. If you allowed underage persons to drink and get drunk, in your home, any damages caused by them is your problem.”

“But your honor! I didn’t allow it.”

“You allowed it, by letting a 20-year old to stay in an empty house unsupervised!”

“Regardless, Judge, Miss Alberona is an adult and should be responsible for her own behaviors.”

“You’re not getting it sir! At 20 years of age, their brains aren’t fully cooked yet, especially if it’s under the influence of alcohol. They should certainly not be left responsible over a house! If instead of a broken coffee table, someone drove home drunk and killed someone, they’d sue you and take your house! You! Mr. Dreyar, it would be your fault! You’re lucky she wasn’t seriously injured by the fall!”

“But your honor, no one was forcing Miss Alberona to drink, that was her choice.”

“But for the fact that your grandson threw an underage party with alcohol, your property wouldn’t have been damaged! I’m sorry, but the law is the law. So, if you want someone to replace the table, I suggest you look to your right. Your case is dismissed.”

“But judge!”

Judge Lucy stands up from the bench. “Good-bye, Mr. Dreyar.”

The bailiff steps forward, motioning towards the exit. “Parties are excused, you may step out.”

In her backstage quarters, Judge Lucy Heartfilia sits back in her desk chair with her eyes closed, rubbing at her temples. If it wasn’t for the salary, going back to criminal court or even family court would be a lot more interesting. She knew the producers hired her for her looks, but she’d graduated at the top of her class and was no idiot when it came to the law. Ugh! She groans internally, why are people so stupid? Most of the cases that come before her are ridiculous. But that’s the kind of drama that sells on television and after five years on the air, her show was the highest rated court tv show.

She hears her door open and close, then soon after, large hands come to rest on her shoulders, massaging them, kneading the tight muscles. 

“The first case today was something else, huh?” The man chuckles. Bailiff Natsu Dragneel had been hired at the same time as Lucy for the show and over the years they’d grown close. So, when he’d noticed she carried a lot of tension in her neck and shoulders, he began giving her massages during the breaks.

“Ugh, tell me about it.” She groans, both from his touch and the stupidity of the case.” They come from farms in the middle of nowhere to complain about chickens? Like seriously?! I didn’t go through 7 years of schooling to litigate free range chickens.”

“I couldn’t tell what they were complaining about either from the pictures.”

Lucy sighs under his seasoned touch. After doing this for a couple of years, Natsu knew her hot spots and focused on those areas. His fingers deftly massage the scalene and trap muscles around her shoulder blades, pressing firmly with his thumb up along the spine to the base of her neck, then smoothing over the top of the shoulders. Her groans guide him as he works his way around and up following along the traps to the base of her skull and over the sides of her neck before sweeping down again to her blades.

For five years they’ve danced around an attraction to one another. Coy glances and light touches in passing. Sexual innuendos wrapped up in jokes. Everyone in the studio knew what was going on, but no one said a thing. It probably wasn’t a big surprise. Two single television celebrities working in close confines, it was bound to happen. Each time Natsu provided this intimate service, she’d fantasize about what more could such large, strong hands do to her body. “Mmm, feels so good...” Lucy purrs. Each pressured pass of his hands along her skin made it tingle and warmth surge, pooling south from all the stimulation.

He couldn’t help the growing smirk on his face and sense of conquest filling his mind. Natsu couldn’t count how many times he’s jerked off to fantasies of Lucy writhing beneath him, on him, cumming with him, and screaming his name as hers flowed from his lips. His hands slip around to the front of her neck, fingertips delving just under the collar of her robes causing her breathing to shorten as if waiting to see what more he would do. Natsu would never cross boundaries without permission, but just something about today gave him a bit more confidence to press his luck.

She looks at the clock and calculates they had just under an hour left of lunch left. Ugh, she did want more, so... Her fingers grasp the zipper holding her robes closed. “Shall I present… exhibit A?” Lucy breathes out with an unnatural hesitancy in her tone he wasn’t used to hearing from the woman. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and she swore she was more anxious in this moment than she’d been to take the LSATs.

Natsu plays along, just as nervous as she seemed to be, but fully willing to go where she wanted him to. “I understand that full disclosure is required counselor.” He wasn’t exactly trained in legal jargon but had picked it up over the years.

The door has been opened. She slides her black robe down to pool around her hips, revealing only a lacy black bra and no other top on. He wastes no time slipping both hands down her chest and into the bra cups, taking hold of the voluminous bosoms, and giving them the same treatment, he’d given the rest of her body, kneading the supple flesh like a clay ball being molded. Lucy finishes unclasping the bra and freeing Natsu’s reach. His lips burn a heated trail over her neck and ears, running his tongue along the shell, her head tilted to give him further access.“I love your hands on my body,” she mewls, breath shaky or hitched with each pinch and roll of his fingers on her nipples.

“Shall I continue?” Natsu questions as his hands snake lower down her midsection to test the waters. His pants are straining with how horny he was for her and prayed for the swift mercy of the court to grant him an extension.Again, she consults the clock. 

Fuck it, they could make it in time! “Yes...” Lucy shoots out of the chair and rolls it out of the way. She leans against the edge of the desk and quickly adds her skirt and panties to the floor. “Your turn.”

A growling grin slips out of Natsu as his uniform is shed in a matter of 30 seconds. Hot damn! He’s imagined her naked, but the real deal was so much sweeter! He quickly sleeves his cock for protection and advances forward, pinning her and pressing his hot and bothered erection against her slick folds. He leans in, stealing her lips with a rough kiss as his fingers grip hard to her hips.

“Mmph!” Lucy bites his lip to make a point and squeezes the head of his dick while rubbing her pussy firmly against the shaft. “Come on big boy! Do not tease me or I will hold you in contempt!”

Natsu growls a second time. “Do you have any idea how much court jargon turn me on?!” It was one of the things that attracted him to such a strong and smart woman. Turning their work into kinky sex play, hell yes!

“Oh, is that so?” She purrs back, sucking at his bottom lip before letting it go. “Then officer Dragneel please escort the prisoner to his cell.”

“With pleasure Judge.” He lifts her up until she’s seated on the edge of her desk, and spreads her thighs apart, snapping his hips forward and driving his cock straight into her wet entrance.

“Oh, fuck yes,” she cries out, moaning and throwing back her head in pleasure. His thick cock filled her perfectly! He holds onto her ass as he drives hard and deep. Her legs hook onto his hips to keep from slipping, and her fingers grip to his shoulders ready for a ride five years in the making.

“What’s the sentence your honor?” Natsu inquires of the mewling blonde.

“Twenty to life with no chance of parole.” She smirks. “Hngh!” Eyes rolling back as he slams into her. “H-Hard time...”

“Stuck in this prison, huh?” He thrusts again, this time so hard she squeals. “I can live with that.”

If anyone passed by and heard them, Lucy didn’t care and evidently neither did Natsu. All the pent-up sexual frustration justified the passionate affair. Damn it’s been too long since she’s been fucked raw like this! It’s a good thing she sits for her job. Over and over he plunges his cock deep inside, fueling up a wave of friction and heat to torture both of them. She was hanging on, sure by this point that her nails were leaving marks in his skin.

“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth. “The things I wanna do to you...”

“Mmm, things I wanna let you do to me... Kyah!” Lucy cries out, her body locking and spasming as an orgasm takes her by surprise. “Holy fuck!” She hadn’t expected one from such a quickie. Natsu’s head lowers and hands hold on tightly to her ass as the first pulse of his own orgasm hits. Lucy’s inner muscles were squeezing the shit out of his cock! He keeps jerking his hips shakily through each wave, riding it until all that was left is dry heaves. 

“Damn woman,” he pants hard from all the exertion and lets her slip back and lay down on the desk to recover too. “Were you serious about the life sentence or just jesting with me.”

She raises her head, staring at him over the mountains on her chest. “Deadly, like murder in the first degree.”

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXXI

It was worse than anything James could have imagined.

His shoulder was torn to shreds and reeked of blood from a Behemoth demon that snuck upon him while he was trying to behead a Raum demon, and there seemed to be no end to the snapping of teeth; leathery wings; the screeching, and screaming. The sun bled into a vibrant sunrise, the sky matching the gore in the streets.

Not only were they facing demons, but an army of undead soldiers flooded the streets. An army that Belial called forth with Lucie's power.

And for being dead for centuries, they were surprisingly difficult to kill.

James sprinted, his breath sharp as a knife in his chest.

He’d run out of throwing knives, wasting no time to retrieve them after they’d found their mark in a demon’s skull or vital organ, dropping to the ground after they’d returned to the realm of which they came. It seemed when one died, two returned in their stead. No, there was no wasting time. He drew a pair of curved blades, glowing with angelic power, from his belt and sliced through the belly of a demon that swooped for him, knocking it off-kilter, and brought the twin to the blade down in another arch over the neck of the beast.

Another was on him before the first could disappear. Ichor sprayed his face as he buried his blade to the hilt into the jaw of a demon, its blackened teeth scrapped against his hand as he drew the blade back out. Its lifeless eyes widened and then closed as it slumped to the ground.

Still, he ran, working his way towards the bridge where Cordelia ran to save Lucie. Creating a path for her and buying her time to figure out a way to separate her from Belial.

Another demon launched from a rooftop, curved claws reaching for him—

James swiped his sword, splitting the demon’s molding green skin from gut to neck. It crashed into the stones behind him, legs outstretched beneath it, twitching slightly. He climbed atop of it, gaining the clearance he needed to see Cordelia embracing Lucie on the bridge.

She’d made it. A little longer— that was all she needed. Just a little longer. He could give her that— he would give her that. It wouldn’t be long now.

The demon flinched beneath him. He stuck the point of his blade into the base of its neck, not taking his eyes off of Cordelia and Lucie, as he slid the blade all the way in. The beast spasmed beneath him until he jerked the sword backward and severed the head from the spine. He landed deftly on his feet as the demon disappeared out from underneath him.

Behind him, his friends fought as a team. Christopher and Anna paired up against a humanoid demon with the body of a man, except for the obsidian skin and the talons that grew from each finger and the leathery wings that sprung from its back. They had it cornered, one distracting it while the other attacked.

Thomas stood back to back with Alastair, fighting three lion sized demons.

Across the bridge, he knew his parents were fighting their way towards the bridge or attempting to keep Charles from executing Lucie before they had the chance to save her.

But Matthew, he could see Matthew. His parabatai rune blazed in his skin, the only indication that he was alive and not in peril, but it made him nervous not to be able to see him.

A demon surged at him from around a corner, taloned fingers gouging lines into the cobblestones, jaws open aiming for his throat. With its talons, it managed to cut through James’s forearm slashing through armor and skin. A groan tore from James as the pain seared through his arm, he released his blade on instinct and listened in horror as it clattered to the ground.

James managed to hurl himself backward from under the demon as it seemed to lick its mouth in anticipation of its kill. It leaked saliva on the ichor soaked streets as it advanced upon him. Seeming to savor every step.

Its last steps.

With his other blade pinned beneath him, James reached for a seraph blade at his thigh.

The demon sank onto its haunches, reading for the kill.

The ground shook behind him as James tightened his grip on the hilt, whispered its name, and aimed the blade upward—

Before he could strike, a sword plunged through the demon’s great gray head.

A vibrant glowing blade, that seemed to sing as it met the demonic blood. The demon evaporated with an audible hiss and disappeared as if on a breeze. A blond head appeared above James, streaked with black that also dripped down his face.

With a bloodied hand, Matthew offered it to James.

“Thought you could use some help.” His parabatai grinned.

“I had it under control,” said James, shaking the burn from the slashes on his arm.

Matthew’s eyebrows bounced. “Oh, my mistake. It looked like you were about to be the poor chaps breakfast.”

“Your mistake indeed,” said James and patted Matthew on the shoulder. “Where the hell are they all coming from?”

“The answer seems to lie within the question,” said Matthew with a wink. “Whatever Belial has done it seems that they’re able to regenerate at a faster rate. If we keep going on like this then we don’t stand a chance.”

“Always the optimist,” said James and threw the words over his shoulder. “Cover me!”

He barely heard Matthew’s reply of, “always,” before he ripped into an undead, with a quick scissor swipe of his blades that sent the beast’s head rolling. Gore splattered his gear, his face, but he made no hesitation as he ran towards the bridge.

Matthew kept to his word, ripping apart demon and undead with precision and vengeance that might have stunned James if his focus was not otherwise detained.

Another undead dragged its crooked ankle towards James, just as he flipped the blade in his right hand and split the creature’s skull in half. He whirled on another, but before he could dismember it, a flash of brilliant light and deafening thunder clapped overhead. The earth shuddered underneath his feet. He spun around and looked towards the bridge as a building on the other side of the Thames split in half.

His eyes found Lucie standing with her hands squeezing her head. Cordelia lay on the ground not far away, struggling to stand. He called her name— screamed it— begging her to get away.

An arm wrapped around his neck and he felt the sharp needle points of teeth dig into his trapezius muscle. He raised his elbow against a flash of searing pain and drove the end of his blade into the centre of the undead’s brain.

His shoulder spilled blood, but he hardly noticed as he started to run towards the bridge, to where Cordelia now stood running towards Lucie.

He yelled her name again as Lucie turned to face Cordelia at the same moment they impacted.

Cordelia’s name lodged in his throat once more as he watched them twist over the bridge railing and hurtle towards the black water beneath.

Lucie awoke in a field that reminded her very much of the one behind her family's estate in Alicante. The soft, lush green grass of spring tickled her bare arms as a docile wind blew through the hills carrying with it the smell of rain, crystal clear lake water, and earth. Lucie’s hand moved against the solid earth beneath her and looked up at the entire world above her, full of distant, burning lights.

Where the normal blue of the sky had gone, she wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered now, she felt. For she was free.

The terrible, clawing darkness that had consumed her as soon as Belial dragged her into the centre of the star exploded the moment her body had given up underneath the water, Cordelia holding her against the savage need to take a breath. She’d saved them— in ending Lucie, she saved them all.

“Not quite, little huntress,” said a familiar, female voice.

Lucie peeled far enough away from the ground to look at the beautiful, angular, human face of the ghost that had visited her in the Shadowrealm. The dark hair spilled down from her head, no longer white and ghost-like, but full and glistening.

Some intrinsic part of her recognized this woman. An ancient song in her blood sang out to the woman before her.

Lucie’s eyes narrowed, “You— I know you.”

The ghost’s smile was soft. “Do you remember now?”

“You're Abigail,” said Lucie as a shudder went through her entire body. “You’re Abigail Shadowhunter. Part of the first three. You’re— this is— Oh, James is never going to believe—“ A realization dawned on her at the thought of her elder brother. “Am I dead then? Is it really over?”

“Not dead,” said Abigail as she crossed her arms across her chest. She was dressed oddly mundane for what she always imagined Abigail Shadowhunter to be dressed as. In Lucie’s mind, she would have looked more like a Viking princess rather than the old leather trousers, thick deerskin jacket, and white cotton blouse. She was beautiful: ancient angelic power radiated from her like the confidence in her kind expression. “Not dead yet. You’re somewhere we like to call, the in-between. Your brother has been here before, briefly. So has your mother and your uncle James, but they wouldn’t remember it, and neither will you.”

“But it’s you. This is really you?”

Abigail chuckled and peered at the churning darkness above them. “Yes. There isn’t much time, Lucie Herondale. Your mortal body is dead, but this does not have to be your end. You can choose to return to your family, your friends.”

Lucie’s expression deadened. “I can’t go back. He’ll find me. He’ll use me again. He’ll kill everyone that I love. Not to mention what the clave will do to me now that they’ve learned what I can do, what I am. No, it’s much better that I stay here and go with you.”

Abigail crossed her arms. “Better? Better for whom?”

“For everyone!” Lucie blinked rapidly. “Better for my family, better for my friends—“

“You truly believe the loss of their daughter is better for your parents,” said Abigail. “You believe the loss of a sister, a friend, a companion is better for their lives going forward. Lucie, the loss of you will shatter their entire world. They will carry that loss in their souls for the rest of their lives. Your memory will stop at a single moment for them and never change. Do you wish to leave them to the wonder what you might have looked like in your twenties, thirties, and beyond? The things you could have accomplished?”

Lucie bowed her head afraid that she might break clean apart. “No. No, I don’t want those things. I’m scared.”

“It’s all right to be frightened, Lucie,” said Abigail. “Everyone is afraid of something. Your parents are living their worst fear right now. Can you feel it? Their tether to you— like a string around your heart.”

Lucie placed a hand on her chest and felt the cold ache there like a massive hole. She nodded wordlessly and began crying.

“They’re begging every diety they know of to return the life to your body.” Abigail knelt in front of Lucie. “If only they knew it was your choice.” She gave her a knowing smile. “And what of the boy? The Blackthorn boy?”

Lucie wiped at her face. “What of him?”

Abigail’s smile turned gentle. “He was trapped in this space for many years without the ability to move beyond. We’ve all heard him speak about you— about getting back to you. Are you going to abandon the possibility of that future by staying here when he’s only just gotten his life back?”

Lucie’s breath shuddered from her chest. She’d thought it was a dream, some ploy created by Belial to get her to follow him, but it was true. Jesse was alive. Jesse was waiting for her.

She inhaled, staring at the grass that was not real. None of it was real. She’d contemplated staying in a place with things that looked and felt real but were not. Like living in the pages of a book, an image of real things. She’d give up life for this?

Lucie sniffed. “What do I need to do? How do I stop him once I’ve returned? How do I stop any of it?”

Abigail rose again. “Leave that to us.” Lucie’s gaze shifted from Abigail’s regal face to those behind her where a crowd began to form behind her, a legion of hundreds of faces, some Lucie recognized and many she did not. The man on Abigail’s right smiled at her, a kind mischievous smile that did not correlate with the serious renderings of him standing atop a pile of demons in a blaze of glory hanging up in the Institute. Jonathon Shadowhunter had his arms crossed much like his older sister, though he was much taller and more solidly built, and he looked—well, humored. An ancient blade sheathed his back.

To his right stood another man. Lucie recognized him as David, the parabatai to the warrior standing beside him. His gaze could old the power of thunder in it.

Behind the three, Shadowhunters of generations past marched up the hill to gather. A face stood out amongst the front line.

“Barbara!” Lucie yelled.

Her friend beamed, whole and vengeful.

Amongst the other fallen warriors, she could recognize her grandfather Edmond with eyes that mirrored her father’s, and though she’d never met her, from photographs her father had shared, she recognized her Aunt Ella who looked a bit like herself.

“So you see, Lucie Herondale,” said Abigail. “You will not be going alone.”

Lucie’s lips trembled. “How— how is this possible?”

“You make it possible,” said Abigail. “You and only you can control the dead. A gift that if bestowed upon some other hand might be catastrophic, but your heart is light and your motives pure and selfless. Therefore, with your command, we will listen.”

Lucie’s gaze snapped back. “You mean I’m to command them? You?”

“That is what I mean,” nodded Abigail. “And you must do it quickly. Time is running out. If you do not return soon then this is where you will remain.”

Lucie didn’t give herself a chance to reconsider, to rethink what would be waiting for her on the other side. She looked beyond Abigail’s shoulder at her fallen family and committed every one of their faces to memory. Perhaps she wouldn’t remember this moment when she awoke, but she’d honor them now.

“Okay,” said Lucie and returned to her feet. “I’m ready. Tell me what to do.”

Cordelia knelt over Lucie after having dragged her limp body to the shore through water that felt more like sand.

The fight blazed on around her. Demons swarmed the sky and the earth amongst the army of undead that Belial called to his aid; both of which were being kept back by warriors that were beginning to tire. It seemed it would never end. Never, never end.

But none of that mattered now. None of it.

Cordelia pressed her fingers to Lucie’s throat, knowing what she wouldn’t find.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed at her friend’s lifeless face. “I’m so so sorry.”

With shaking hands, she pressed into Lucie’s chest: one, two, three. She swallowed a deep breath of air and blew into Lucie’s mouth.

Again, she pressed against Lucie’s chest cavity and could feel the liquid slosh around in her belly, her lungs.

One. Two. Three.

“Please,” she begged and gave Lucie another burst of air. “You can’t die. You can’t die. You. Cannot. Die.”

One. Two. Three.

Air.

A demon screeched above her as if careened through the sky, several arrows bursting from its chest as it drifted towards the Thames and landed into the water with an eruptive wave.

One. Two. Three.

Lucie’s lips were turning a startling shade of blue. Her skin was so cold as Cordelia pressed her fingers to her throat again.

Nothing. Not even a flutter.

“Come on!” Cordelia pleaded. One. Two. Three. Air. “Please! Please, this has to work. It has to." Her voice went to a whisper. "It has to.”

Tears streamed down Cordelia’s face and dripped onto Lucie’s as she gave her another breath. And began pumping her torso again, refusing to accept that her friend was gone. That her soul had left this world to a place that Cordelia could not pull her back from.

“You’re not finished,” said Cordelia, with a chest breaking sob. “You’re not finished yet. Do you hear me? We’re going to grow old together, you and I. We’re going to have that ceremony and we’re going become parabatai and then neither one of us will feel alone again. I promise, Lucie, but you have to breathe.”

A crack of lightning shimmered the sky above her. She felt the electricity through her bones, but she did not stop.

She was cold. Cold and wet and stiff.

A burning sensation in her chest climbed up her throat until she burst forward, expelling the waste from her lungs. It tasted like mud on her tongue. She felt as if she’d swallowed the whole Thames.

But she was breathing. Her heart was pounding in her chest— and she was breathing.

Arms, shaking cold arms were wrapped around her. A hand slammed into her back as she tried to breathe through the water and bile still trapped in her lungs.

She dimly registered that she was lying on the bank of the river. Cordelia crying into her ear and held her up to get the water out.

“Was that your idea of a rescue?” said Lucie, her voice sounded like she’d swallowed gravel.

Cordelia laughed and pulled away enough to look Lucie in the face. Blood covered Cordelia’s own, her blood or something else’s, Lucie could not tell. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Lucie coughed. “Barely. I may never get the taste out of my mouth.”

“It takes some time,” said Cordelia, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, even as she laughed, “but it does go away. Believe me.”

She smiled at Cordelia and her friend smiled back. “Did you mean what you said? Will you really be my parabatai?”

Cordelia drew Lucie into another hug. Her clothes were wet and reeked of ichor and muddy river water, but Lucie didn’t mind. She hugged her dear friend back as if she were the tether keeping her stationed in this world.

“A promise is a promise.”

“Oh, but you already make such a wonderful team,” said a voice behind them. Lucie’s eyes shot open as she slowly peeled herself away from Cordelia to look at the archdemon standing on the muddy banks. “Why ruin it with semantics?”

Cordelia started to stand but Lucie gripped her arm.

His physical form flickered as if he were there, but not fully. Lucie suspected that was exactly the case. He’d started the transition from his own realm to this one, but it was not complete yet; therefore he could not fully take form, not without his host.

Lucie stood, her foot slipping on the muddy bank, but she held her ground.

“It’s over, Belial.” Lucie was about to say, but someone had already said it for her.

She turned and relief and pride and hope, filled her chest at Abigail standing on the banks. She’d returned to her ghostly form, but the centuries of rage still burned behind her eyes.  

“Abigail,” said Belial as his lips curled over his teeth. “So wonderful to see you again. It’s been too long.”

Demons and undead started to fall around them, taken down by the army of shimmering white figures that burst through their bodies with angelic light and sent them back to where they’d come from in bursts of mist.

An army— her army, flooded the streets and fought beside the living Shadowhunters, filling them with a renewed sense of hope.

“It has been too long,” said Abigail. In a flicker of light, the ghost moved forward and grabbed Belial by the throat. His form solidified for just a moment, long enough for Abigail to yell, “Now!” And for Lucie to pick up Cortana from the ground beside Cordelia and drive it into Belial’s chest, up through his sternum, and out his back.

His eyes and mouth widened as centuries of pain and torture flashed within them and Lucie saw all of it. Everything he’d done as the light began to burst from the cracks rippling through his skin, the blade at the centre of it.

Only a kin can kill an archdemon, Abigail had told her as she descended back to earth. Only a kin can have enough power. It must be you, Lucie.

The blade burned in her palm until she released it and fell backward onto the marsh and watched in horror as Belial screamed into an unknown void and then burst apart in a wave that took every demon and undead with him.

In the blast, Lucie was thrown back, her head hit the ground in a deafening crack. With no runes to help her, she succumbed to the blinding pain and fell once more into darkness.

Lucie was faintly aware of being hoisted into the air and the ground leaving her. Warmth pressed against her cheek where she laid it on something soft.

Whispering, hushed words were spoken into her ear and she was being rocked.

“Lucie, my Lucie,” said a voice. “You’re safe, my darling. I’ve got you. Papa’s got you.”

With what strength she had left, she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and let him carry her home.

A/N: I don’t have any more words in me. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you thought! Final chapter comes out in one week: Mon, 2/22

[secret-engima]

nammuellyll

@secret-engima congrats, you woke the monster. ardyn in my hero academia. there. go wild.

Me: MWAHAHAHAHA. You say that like I regret it >:DDD

-Ardyn in this wakes up post The Great Stabbing and is ... more than a little annoyed. Hello. He wanted the afterlife experience. HELLO WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS DESTINY OF FADING TO COSMIC DUST.

-But no. Apparently he gets to have a “second chance” to “be a hero”.

-Just let one of the Astrals show themselves, he’ll show where to put that “second chance”-.

-Anyway. Ardyn is Ardyn, he looks like he did in canon but he’s sane again. Oddly enough he’s still got both his armiger magic, his super healing, and some of his scourge-like abilities (scary face included). He’s not corrupted tho. Ardyn isn’t sure what to make of that.

-Goes and hobos around for a while, getting used to this world and the fact that everyone looks like a storybook encounter with cursed items gone wrong. Picks up a Smol Traumatized Child that can disintegrate things with his fingers off the streets because Why Not, Let’s Both Be Homeless Together Kiddo, then in short order gets himself known as a Major Villain when he finds a trafficking ring and, since Ardyn is Not Exactly Moral Even If Arguably Sane, he slaughters them to the last man.

-Ardyn is known on the news via grainy footage that only catches glimpses of his scourge face and a lot of rumor, he laughs his head off when the ONE soundbite they manage to get from the scene leads to his being named Adagium. AGAIN. Okay he walked into that one.

-Uses the resources of the no-longer-operational trafficking ring to set up a nice restaurant bar with a secret (illegal) clinic in the back. He makes dishes exclusively from his original time period and so the food is known as very eccentric but good. Ardyn rapidly gets the wackiest duel rep in history. To the mainstream/police/pro heroes he’s a shadowy super-murderer named Adagium. To the underworld and the homeless, the quirkless and the children, Adagium is a name that means hope and shelter, healing and comfort and a monster that protects its own rather than giving meaningless promises, all in exchange for simple favors like clothes and information and school books for his child.

-Ardyn makes special one-finger gloves for Tenko so that he can touch touch stuff without worrying about destroying it. He also, at some point, picks up the rest of the not-LoV by pure happenstance. Toga comes into his clinic hunting a patient, he scolds her, puts her in time-out, then gives her a lolli with heavy iron supplement because clearly if the girl has a blood craving she needs more iron in her system. Don’t you heathens know anything about the meaning behind cravings. Spinner gets into a fight in Ardyn’s territory, Ardyn patches him up and gently informs him that if he’s going to pick fights, at least fight dirty enough to win them. Twice comes there often for a meal and company that won’t look at him funny for talking to himself, Mr. Compress is bound and determined to get Ardyn to be surprised by one of his magic tricks (never works, because unlike Compress Ardyn can do LITERAL MAGIC). Magne is not a regular, but still shows up once in a blue moon because Ardyn’s illegal clinic is probably better stocked than most legal ones at this point (people tend to trade his treatment for actual medicine and equipment, Ardyn never asks where they get it).

-Dabi is the last to be picked up. He is also how Ardyn’s increasing collection of strays first learn about Ardyn’s superhealing factor when he TAKES Dabi’s fresh, weeping burns onto himself and they heal over in minutes, leaving both of them unscarred (or mostly so, Ardyn’s skin will always have faint ripple marks where the burns were). It is also around this time that, coincidentally, people start gunning for Endeavor and trying to make his life miserable. Because Adagium hates him and is plotting to end him, so clearly that’s their cue, right?

-The rest of Endeavor’s kids vanish in the middle of the night. No one in the police or pro heroes can find them.

-Far away in a little, unnoticed restaurant bar, Dabi holds his siblings tight and promises they are never going to have to suffer That Man again. Ardyn rests gentle hands on Shōto’s face and whispers that everything will be okay even as his skin bubbles and boils into an ugly burn before healing over with the faintest scars.

-Moving on from Ardyn’s growing collection of strays (that will keep growing so keep an eye on that):

-Ardyn doesn’t get the whole quirk thing. Or the whole superhero society thing. If something needs doing and it suits him then he shall do it, none of this Symbol of Peace nonsense.

-Yes, he said nonsense. The Symbol of Peace is nonsense and only setting society up to fall apart when this All Might fellow either gets too powerful and is made to take a fall or when he finally picks a fight he can’t win.

-Ardyn says as much to Toshinori Yagi, the nice civilian man who wandered into Ardyn’s bar without knowing who is running it. The man sputters a bit and asks why he thinks so, Ardyn just laughs and laughs and laughs until there is something unnerving about the sound and Ardyn has to stop and catch his breath. Blue eyes flicker gold as Ardyn murmurs that he’s seen it happen before.

-Somehow, Toshinori thinks this strange, eccentric barkeep doesn’t mean as a bystander.

-Ardyn meets Aizawa while Aizawa is on the hunt for Adagium, they eyeball each other like wary cats before Ardyn decides that this angry hobo hero is His Now and invites the man over for food. Aizawa declines. Ardyn casually slings Aizawa over his shoulder and carts him in anyway before Aizawa can think to retaliate.

-Ardyn is highly amused to learn that Hobo Man is after the Adagium. Good luck with that, truly, best of fortune.

-So, for those of you paying attention, Ardyn’s count of Heroes He Has Adopted is officially up to 2, even if he pretends not to notice the first one (pretends. Because he knows exactly who Toshi is, come ON it’s not that hard, they have the same voice and smile and everything).

-Ardyn’s kids grow up with his scathing political commentary and one foot in both legal and illegal worlds. Some of them (Tenko, Dabi, Toga, Spinner) decide that they’re gonna make a League to show the world how dumb its being. A League of Villains! (”League of Vigilante’s sounds more appropriate for your chosen activities, Tenko Mine-” “VILLAINS. WE ARE VILLAINS NOW.” “Alright then, will all villains in the room please wash up for supper?”)

-Ardyn finds Hitoshi and decides he’s not quite qualified for this one.

-Aizawa wakes up from another rare session of being black-out to find Ardyn cheerfully tearing up his apartment to make it more “child suitable”. Child WHAT. Child suitable. For your child.

-MY WHAT.

-Ardyn calmly holds out the adoption papers that have Aizawa’s signature on all of them, perfectly legible because the man is a little too good at pretending he isn’t stone drunk, and then gestures to the sad-eyed, skeptical boy with purple hair in the corner. Ardyn smiles (reads: threatens with killing intent) and says that he’s sure Aizawa will take his new responsibilities seriously (read: you’d better or you’re next on my hitlist).

-Aizawa, never one to go back on his word, has a kid now I guess.

-Shōto comes home one day with a bby Izuku in tow and Ardyn is charmed beyond all words over the boy. He’s so Smol! And Smart! Lookit his little brain firing away! Upon hearing the boy is developing All The Esteem Issues because of his bullying and quirklessness, Ardyn stares off into space for a long time, acknowledges that he’s a sap, and then soothingly tells Izuku that some quirks just come in late, why, Ardyn’s came in late too! Just give it a few days. Then he pats Izuku on the head and uses the motion to disguise the teeny tiny fragment of magic he splits off from his own and gives to this boy who deserves better.

-Izuku comes back two days later, crying for joy and with sparkling green magic dripping from his fingertips. Ardyn exclaims in “surprise” over the similarity of their quirks and offers to teach him. Izuku accepts and after some sweet-talking to Inko, Ardyn gets to mold this tiny genius boi as he pleases to both be proud of himself and his “quirk” AND to fight quirkless as much as possible because “tactics, my boy, take them by surprise!”

-Also then he figures out that he didn’t just lend Izuku magic because this world is funky like that, he genuinely gave it away which counts as LC adoption rituals so OOPS GUESS WHO HAS A BLOOD SON NOW.

-Oh well.

-Toshi and Izuku get along like a house on fire whenever Toshi comes over for a hot meal and Ardyn is pretty content with his brood and his handiwork against Endeavor (who by this point has been exposed as an abuser and put in jail for a long time HAH). Toshi ... pointedly doesn’t ask why several of his kids look like Endeavor. Nope. Not asking. They get their red hair from Ardyn, clearly.

-Of course, all of this casual wrecking of canon attracts the attention of AfO, who is not happy about the competition. He shows up at one point, all suave and intimidating because he is immortal and older than anyone alive and smarter too and-

-Ardyn laughs in his face.

-Baby.

-Bby playing at immortal.

-You think two centuries or so makes you hot stuff? You think stolen quirks makes you special? You think you can come into Ardyn’s territory and threaten his kids and get away with it because you’re ... a little older than the average human being? Ardyn leans close and smiles as AfO tries and fails to steal a quirk that doesn’t exist to be stolen, his Scourge face leaking into existence as he purrs that AfO should’ve minded his own business a little more than he minded others.

-AfO came prepared for a quirk. He did not come prepared for the combined might of 2k year old LC magic and abilities of a Scourge the world has never, and will never, see.

-It’s not even a fight.

-Adagium makes the news again when a body is found hanging from a high tower, torn apart as if by dozens upon dozens of blades, the corpse pinned in place by a spear that dissolves into red sparks upon the police touching it, leaving behind only a note that gets leaked to the media and goes viral.

-Dear World, refrain from touching my stuff, and you won’t end up like this man. Sincerely, Adagium.

-Not the most menacing letter until you considering the delivery method.

-Toshinori has to sit there and have a Moment upon the news that the man who murdered Nana is already dead by someone else’s hand and they have no idea when the fight went down. Because surely there was a fight, right? AfO had been centuries old and with dozens upon dozens of quirks. Who could possibly have brought him down when Nana, the then-wielder of OfA could not???

-Ardyn gently pats Toshi’s shoulder through the breakdown. There there. I’m sure you’ll figure out the culprit eventually, you’re a smart man Toshi. There there.

-Also Kurogiri shows up not long after that entire debacle looking for a new job because his old one got murdered and Adagium seems like an efficient dude. Ardyn is always happy for more hands on deck in wrangling the kids, and this one has warping powers. Welcome aboard Kurogiri.

[beerecordings]

“You think you know what pain is?” Henrik to Anti. ;)

okay… I am proud to report…. I have this done.

Bee why did it take you so long??? CAUSE I WAS OBSESSED WITH IT FOR WEEKS OH MY GOSH I LOVE THIS STORY. look it is unpolished AF alright maybe the most unpolished fic i’ve ever posted but that is okay cause i love it and I’m proud of it and if i want to clean it up later i can! also! you should know it is very long! so buckle up if’n you want to read it!

can you believe i wanted to have this done for schneep week i’m so late… but i loved writing it. thank you for requesting nikkil!!

Warnings for major abuse, blood and torture, pneumonia, and hypnosis with mild sexual themes (Anti kisses, strokes, at one point runs his hand over Jameson’s stomach. That’s the worst of it but no read if it will be too creepy)

Since writing this, I used it to create a story-blog about a variation of these characters (though this scene is not canon to that universe) called @my-brothers-corrupted. Feel free to check it out.

The Missing Piece

Citylights rush like wind across the glass of the window, casting him,intermittently, in gold and in darkness.

Doktorstares down at his feet.

Thedirty silver floor of the bus rattles against his torn up dress shoesas he shuffles uncomfortably, trying not to let his shoulder brushagainst that of the sleeping stranger at his side. Above the smell ofsweat and someone’s heavy magnolia perfume, the smoke of the citycurls around him in a gasoline purr, staining his mouth with thetaste of engines and fast food, dripping down his throat to sit inhis lungs, in his chest, near to his slow-moving heart.

Hewishes he had the strength to be annoyed.

Mosteveryone on the bus is silent, pressed against the backs of theirchairs or the cool, vibrating window panes, worn into quietude bylong days and long journeys. It’s late and everyone would rather beat home, asleep.

Doktorwishes he could sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.Sleep and sleep and not wake up again.

Themissing piece is the only one who seems to have any energy.

Glancingacross the aisle, Doktor’s eyes land on the boy’s black dress shoes,tapping rapidly against the floor. Higher up, he sees his worn handsgripping hard at the thighs of his slacks, clenching and unclenchinghis fists around the soft fabric. There is blood on his whitebutton-up shirt, but it is dark enough that no one has noticed. Smallmercies.

Jamesoncoughs frailly. His head is still but his eyes flicker wildly aroundthe bus, like the rolling pupils of a horse trapped in a house onfire. Henrik supposes he’s looking for help. For comfort. Foranything and anyone to save him.

Poorthing.

Jamesoncoughs again, a little louder. Doktor realizes he is doing it onpurpose, trying to attract attention to himself. Not easy with aguard dog at your side. Doktor shoots him a warning glare and thensits back, trying not to look at him.

Buthis hands are making a small sign, over and over again, shaking butdetermined, stiff but desperate –

“S,”signs Jameson, his mouth quivering. “C. H – ”

Ahand shoots out to snatch his wrist and Jameson jumps hard, curlingback against the seat of the chair, his face losing color in therapid-passing shadows of the city rushing past.

Redsqueezes the missing piece’s wrist so hard Doktor knows it willbruise black. Then he leans in, close enough that his hood brushesagainst Jameson’s downy brown hair, and he whispers – in words onlyheard by his brothers – with a voice so harsh as to cut the ear –

“Youso much as lift a finger and I will deliver your corpse to thedumpster personally.”

Thelight of a nearby casino rushes over the bus. Jameson’s tears areilluminated in gold.

“AmI understood?”

“Yes,”knocks Jameson, biting hard on his lip.

Redlets him go in silence and sits back.

Doktorsits back too.

Theyare just passengers like everyone else.

Amemory flashes across him the same way the lights do, here and thenleft behind in an instant.

Heremembers, with a nauseating effort of the will, a happier day, withJameson perched at his side just the same. His face was full of joyand he was smiling at him, his hands moving in rapid words now lessthan half-remembered. Their train raced past little white sheep inlittle green pastures, and Jameson spent half the trip staring at thewindow, slumping back occasionally to rest against Doktor’s shoulder.He was as warm as an engine against him, healthy, whole, andunharmed. He called him by a name Doktor can no longer recall.

Hecan’t remember where they were going or why. But he seems to rememberthat joy.

Thedarkness swallows him whole again. He closes his eyes and tries toforget.

It’seasier, these days, to obey.

It’seasier not to remember.

Thisis a time of pain.

Steppinginto the reach of the monster is a relief so heavy it is bettercompared to opium than home-coming. Outside Anti’s power there isconfusion, fear, guilt, and doubt above all else. Within it?

Doktorsteps across the thresh-hold of the abandoned house where they havetaken refuge and breathes in deep, shuddering hard as the darknesssteals back inside of him.

Bliss,bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss –

Hewishes he could spend every second of the rest of his life in thevery heart of Anti’s control, mindlessly numb, overwhelminglycontent, but unfortunately there is only so far his master canstretch, and so whenever he is sent away on missions like this one,he does his best to return home quickly.

Jamesonseems less relieved to enter the run-down little house. His wide eyesstare at the room around him, flickering over squirming rats andpatches of white mold patterned along the walls, until at last hisgaze lands on Trickshot, and he stiffens as though impaled.

Trickstares right back.

“Holyshit,” he whispers, and then his mouth breaks into a smile coldenough to re-freeze icebergs. “You found the little mouse. Donerunning, bitch?”

Jamesonflinches, turning his gaze away. Trickshot gets to his feet,approaching easily and grabbing JJ’s chin, lifting his face up to thelight.

“C?”signs Jameson frantically, forgetting his guardian for a moment.“What’s happened to – ”

Redsnatches his hands and yanks him towards his chest, throwing him offbalance and then shoving him hard to the ground, where nails and anundrying moisture found perpetually on the wooden slats of the floorpress against his palms. Jameson, mouth open with pain, gasps andcrawls backwards, clutching at the wounds from the fight –

Trickshotgrabs the boy by the back of his shirt and drags him to his feet.

Punishedfor speaking, Jameson makes good use of his large eyes instead,staring at what was once his brother with an undeniably agonizeddesperation in his eyes, reaching out to cling to the soft fabric ofthe torn grey shirt Trickshot wears.

“Getthe fuck off me,” snaps Trick in a voice so thin he can barely beheard, shoving his hands away. He decides to grip his hair instead ofhis shirt and Jameson scrambles as the pressure on his scalp pullshim onto his tip-toes, his face contorting with pain.

“Poorlittle thing,” purrs Trick in a babying voice, still rasping fromhis purple-bruised throat, using his spare hand to grab Jameson’schin and tilt his head up to what little light comes from theflickering overhead. “You beat him to hell, Hoodie!”

Theirony of this is that Trick is hardly better off himself. For everybruise, broken bone, and cut that Jameson’s body took tonight, thereis at least one match on Trickshot’s skin. His master has not beenkind to him. When it comes to a hierarchy, they all know whereTrickshot falls – the very bottom of the pack.

Tricktries to lift Jameson off his feet, but a sudden bout of coughingforces him to let his brother go. He doubles over, shaking handsclutching at his aching chest, and coughs so deep and so hard that itsounds as though pieces of bone are being shaken off his ribs.

Doktorwatches wearily, a little irritated. One more sickness he’s going tobe expected to fix. Red reaches over to smack the back of his head.“Do something, Deutsch!”

Yelping,Doktor grabs his smarting skull and staggers away, well wary of Red’stemper. “No medicine,” he whispers, scuffing his way towards theother room.

“Oh,that’s your fucking excuse? You’re supposed to be a doctor!”

Doktorhides his face in his hands, cowering against the wall, but all Reddoes is roll his eyes and turn away, shoving Trick to the side. Heheads toward the stairs, his victory only barely soured by hisbrothers’ stupidity. “Master, I found him!” he calls, smiling ashe moves down, down into the darkness of the basement. “I broughthim back for you!”

Removinghis hands from his eyes, Doktor turns to see if Jameson is afraid,but there is nothing in his eyes but worry. He’s helping Trickshot tostay standing, rubbing warmly at his chest. Trick does not have thestrength to push him away.

Andthen the darkness is upon them.

Jamesonwhirls wildly, his fighter’s hands out-stretched. Doktor catchessight of Trickshot staggering away, retreating from Anti’s attention.He knows it would be safer for him to run too, but he needs Antiright now – needs something to extinguish these thoughts in hishead – pity and guilt and concern, all useless remnants of a timewhen Jack was the one who pulled his strings.

Heneeds Anti to make his brain stop asking his mouth to say, Jameson,I’m sorry, run, now, while there’s still time –

“Arzt,”calls Anti’s voice, a whisper that echoes from every side, and Doktorjumps to attention, staring around him. “Bring my new little puppydown here.”

Jamesondoesn’t turn to run fast enough. Doktor’s grip on his wrist is tightas a blood pressure cuff.

“H-E-N-R,”he begs, and Doktor grabs his other hand and begins yanking himtowards the basement, dragging him across cold cement and oldbloodstains.

“Doctor,doctor, doctor,” signs Jamie again and again, using what littlemobility his hands have. He has begun to cry. Doktor will not look athim. Cannot look at him. “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, brother,brother.”

“Child,be silent,” Doktor whispers.

Henever does anything more than whisper these days.

“Youwill only make this harder.”

Hedrags Jameson down to his master.

“Wereyou a good boy?”

“Iwas such a good boy,” Red swears, collapsed against Anti’s chest,his eyes shining with adoration. “I was so, so good. I brought himback to you, right back to you.”

“Yeah,you took good care of me.”

“Itook good care of you, you’ll be safe now. All the threats are gone.”

Red’seyes well with tears and he chokes, so overwhelmed with love that fora moment he cannot breathe at all. He shudders and puts his head downon Anti’s shoulder, stroking a hand through his hair. “I was nevergoing to let anything hurt you,” he promises, a sacred whisper.

“Iknow,” Anti soothes, running the flat edge of his blade alongJackie’s throat. “I know you weren’t, good boy.”

“Littlebrother,” hums Hoodie, daring to plant a kiss on Anti’s cheek.“Little brother. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Iwant to ask you something.”

“Yes,Anti.”

“What’sthe boy’s name?”

“JamesonJackson, Anti.”

“Jackson,do you like that?”

“Um,I don’t know. Do I?”

“Isthere anything you could shorten that to?”

“LikeJack?”

“Yeah,you could shorten it to Jack. Or maybe Jackie, would that be good?”

“Doyou want me to call him Jackie?”

Antigrins, dark and sweet.

Victorytastes like blood.

“No,sweetheart,” he purrs, pinching Red’s cheek. “Just wanted tocheck if that meant anything to you. You did so well today. You canhave something to eat tonight. Alright, time’s up. Get up. Good boy.Go sit with kitty for a minute.”

Simmeringwith pride, Red makes his way to the corner of the room and sits downat Blue’s side. The cat is sleeping, chained tightly to the wall, tooexhausted to wake up even for a newcomer. Red curls up fondly at hisside, playing with a length of his brother’s hair.

“Doc,”calls Anti warmly. “You come here.”

Doktorstartles, turning to look at Anti, adorned in blood on his throne, arotting wood chair in the basement. At his feet, Jameson Jackson isso unconscious Doktor cannot see his chest moving for air.

Antiattacked him like a shark in a frenzy.

Heldhim up in front of Doktor and Red and Blue one at a time and askedhim, mocking, which one of his big brothers would be the one to savehim now.

Promisedhim that it would be only a few days before he, too, was swallowedwhole by Anti’s power, begging like an animal for attention andaffection.

Beathim until his whole face was slicked in blood and bruises.

ButJameson did not beg or cry or complain. He took it with courage.Doktor remembers, very distantly, a time when he was more courageoustoo. Someone was torturing him, he remembers, but he tried so hardnot to give in. The details are slipping away from him.

“Deutsch,”calls Anti, a warning in his voice now. He does not like to wait.

Doktorhurries to his side.

“Howabout you?” he asks, getting up from his throne. He steps overJameson’s fingers. Doktor winces at a cracking sound. “Were you agood boy today?”

Whitewith terror and relief – Doktor does not know how he can besimultaneously so happy and so scared to see someone – he manages asmall nod, trying to smile.

“Youbrought the missing piece back to me, didn’t you?”

Anothernod. He can’t breathe. He wants to drown. With shaking hands, hereaches out, desperate for some comfort.

“Youdid well,” murmurs Anti, and takes him in his arms.

It’slike crashing into a river when you don’t know how to swim. But thewater is warm and he is little more than a corpse in its grip,sliding forward in Anti’s hands, a low groan trembling its way out ofhis mouth.

“Idid well,” he whispers. “I did, I did, I did…”

Henearly trips over Jameson and his eyes flicker down over his body,his poor face shattered into bone and blood, an agony written uponhis silent mouth even in sleep, and he is small and thin and so veryworn, still injured from the battle with Red, which must have hurthim in more ways than one –

“Doktor.”Anti has his mouth close to his ear, holding him tight. “You focuson me. Focus on master, there’s my good boy. You like being here withme?”

Doktorsways in place, swallowed by a wave of dizziness. “Yes, of course.”

Antitakes his chin gently in his hand and lifts up his head. Deutschmeets his gaze and shudders, and then smiles, his eyes glazing over.

Anti’seyes are dark and endless, colder than the stomach of the ocean,deeper than philosophy. Doktor chokes, collapsing against him,gripping at his brother’s shirt.

Theday is slipping away from them. What did he even do all day? Wherewas he?

“Closeyour eyes,” whispers Anti.

Doktorobeys. He always obeys. There is no other way to live. Just drowning.Just drowning. Anti curls his fingers through the hair of his nape ofhis neck. Yanks just hard enough to hurt, but Doktor doesn’t careanymore.

“Oh,I’m so tired,” Doktor whispers.

“Iknow.”

“You’rethe only thing I care about.”

“Iknow, baby.” It tooks him months to perfect this, but it’s done.Doc was his, and then the others, and now – oh, and now, his lastlittle missing piece. Jameson will be his too, soon enough, soonenough. “But listen, I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes,Anti, anything.”

“Red,you listen too.”

Redjoins Doktor at Anti’s side. Jealousy stings through them both, butthey’ll bottle up the anger for later, taking it out on each other inunexpected blows and stitches tugged too tight.

“Ineed time with my new puppy. He has to be broken in. You two willkeep things running while I work. Okay?”

“Yes,Anti,” they promise in sync.

“Red,anyone gets too close or too suspicious, you’re the one who takescare of it, alright? Doc, I want you to clean this little bitch up atthe end of the day when I’m done with him. And get rid of Trickshot’sfucking cough. If I have to hear him wheezing anymore I’ll go chophis head off.”

“Yes,Anti.”

“Good,then. Kitty cat, go with your brothers, you’re boring me.”

Blueopens pained eyes and drags himself to his feet. There is blood inhis hair. Doktor doesn’t remember who attacked him. Red takes hisbrother under his arm and leads him towards the stairs, pausing togive Anti a winning smile.

Hashe always had those scars, scattered like cross-hatching across hisface? Doc doesn’t think so, but he can never remember anymore. He cannever remember anything.

Forjust a second, he sees as though before his eyes Red and Blue inanother life, both smiling like twins, healthy and whole, unscarredand reaching out to him, the third star in their triangulum, a littlefamily, completely whole.

Wasthere a time before Anti?

“Goon, Doc-Doc.”

“Yes,Anti. But are you sure… are you sure you don’t need anything?”

Antilooks up, anger flashing through his eyes. Doktor backs slowlytowards the wall, turning down his gaze.

Hedidn’t mean to question. It’s just that he’s a doctor. He’s supposedto look after his brothers.

AndAnti?

Antilooks exhausted to the core of his being.

Athis feet, blood is leaking from Jameson’s eyes.

“Can’tbelieve this,” grumbles Red, pacing around the room. “Can’tgoddamn believe this.”

“Justgive it to me,” rasps Doktor. “No use complaining.”

Fuming,Red hands over vaporub and cough medicine and stalks away again. Thedull light of the paneless windows cast him in a cold evening light.

“Idon’t feel good,” moans Trickshot, writhing with fever in Doktor’slap. “I don’t feel good, I don’t feel good, I don’t feel – ”

“Hush,”orders Doktor harshly, shaking his shoulders. “Hush, you will annoyAnti.”

Trickwhimpers and falls into silence, but his rough breaths are scratchingtheir painful way up from a chest that is heavy with infection.

“Thisis pathetic,” gripes Red, glaring down at his little brother. “Hecan’t keep getting sick like this. We could have spent that money onfood if he wasn’t such a little bitch.”

“Ican’t handle pneumonia without better equipment. He needs to go tothe hospital,” mumbles Doktor, wetting someone’s spare t-shirt withwhat little water they have and pressing it to his forehead, openingup the chest rub with his free hand.

“Shutthe fuck up,” snaps Red. “You know we can’t do that. Keep himalive.”

Doktorcloses his eyes, rocking gently back and forth over Trickshot’s body.He stopped screaming or weeping or breaking down a long time ago, andnow he just shivers and rocks and hides his face when he needscomfort, understanding that none will come.

Redand Trick tell him he’s losing his mind. But it’s better than livinglike they do, devolving into panic attacks on the daily, so desperatefor Anti’s attention that they can barely function without praise anddirect orders. And meanwhile, Blue…

Redgrits his teeth at the low sound of skin grating against wood. “Blue,cut it out,” he growls, stalking over to drag his brother’s wristsaway from the sharpest piece of rotting wall he can find in thehouse. Blue’s collar jangles as Red pulls him to his feet and moveshim away. “You can’t even kill yourself properly, can you, kitty?Hey, hey, come on, look me in the eyes, you can do it.”

“Don’tmake him,” sighs Doktor, rubbing Trickshot’s chest slowly. Hisbrother stills under his hands, mumbling Anti’s name in what could bedreams or nightmares.

Redsighs and sits down with Blue slumped against his shoulder, strokinghis hair absent-mindedly. Blue doesn’t respond. Blue never respondsanymore.

“Youshould be more concerned about Trickshot,” whispers Doktor, in arare show of defiance. “He’s not well.”

“Don’ttell me what to feel, Deutsch. Ask me, you’re both wastes of fuckingoxygen. Hey, maybe he will die! It could just be me and Blue andAnti… the kid too, I guess…”

Doktorshivers, clutching Trick closer to his chest. Sometimes he’s scaredRed will kill him. Then again, he knows better than anyone where hisweak spots are – the slash in his stomach that JJ gave him in theirfight, the pains in his back they never seem to go away, everytrigger to send him into babbling terror, his eyes blown wide withconfusion and distress, screaming about the memories he’s lost –

Well.He just hopes it doesn’t come to a fight.

Bluebegins coughing low, low in his chest, trembling against Red’sshoulder.

“Oh,not you too,” groans Red, squeezing him close. “Oh, oh, Anti willbe furious if his pet gets sick. Doktor, stop it. My twin…”

“I’mdoing my best with vaporub and cough drops,” growls Doktor, tryingto get some water into Trick’s mouth.

Downstairs,Anti begins shouting. All four of them flinch as one, and Trick’seyes flash open full of panic.

“I’msure he’s going to finish with Jameson soon,” says Red, with bothadoration and terror in his mouth. “Then he’ll be happier. He’sjust doing what’s best for him.”

“Anti,Anti,” cries Trick. Doktor doesn’t know if he’s calling for him orcalling for help. Blue has gone so stiff he could be a corpse,staring dead-eyed at the wall. If he thinks anything on his ownanymore, he doesn’t show it.

Thisis a house of pain.

Doktorstares at the pathway to the basement.

Thisis a house of pain.

Whydoes he stay?

Hisstrings are slipping.

Antigags on a wave of weakness and throws JJ hard to the earth, steppingdown on his throat and turning away, taking deep breaths while thelittle one chokes.

“Glitchbitch,” signs the boy, between useless attempts to shove the footoff his neck. “Bastard, monster, virus, asshole.”

“Stupidlittle puppy,” croons Anti, pressing down on his throat. “Stillacting like you can defy me.”

He’shad Jameson for three days. It’s going well with the missing piece.Everday Jameson slips closer to his control.

Butthe problem is he’s stretching himself too thin. Even the bestpuppet-master can only move so many toys at once. Corruption takespower. It takes energy. Anti is running out. But he just needs tobreak this last little creature, this last little puppet. Just onemore corruption. He will not fail now.

“Iwill defy you,” Jameson promises. Anti finally lets up on histhroat and he draws in huge gasping breaths, slumped against theconcrete.

“Youdo your brothers a disservice,” says Anti. “Don’t you know theysaid the same? And now, what are they? I will make a liar of you too,little doll.”

Thebasement is cold as gravestone. Anti is the heater in the middle ofit, radiating warmth too heavily without any of it transfering to theroom around him. The only way to share his heat is to be touched byhim.

Hetakes a deep breath. For once in his life he needs to keep his calm.He leans down and puts his hands on Jameson’s wrists, falling to hisknees to straddle his hips, pinning him down against the stingingcement.

Jamesonturns his face away but does not protest. He is losing strength witheach day that passes. Anti knows how weak to keep him to stop himfrom using his powers, cutting frequent blood out of his back andstriking his aching head several times a day. He has not slept oreaten and any attempt to change the course of time will destroy him.He’s considering it.

Themoments where Anti tries to drag him under have become warm relief inthe middle of the torture.

“Comehere, baby,” purrs Anti, stroking his knuckles over his cheekbone,running his fingers across his mouth. “Come here, look at master.”

Jamesontries to get his hands together so he can sign the “h” thatbegins the word “hatred.”

Antigrabs a knife and slams it into Jameson’s shoulder. Pain sends hiswhole body into spasms, his body contorting with agony, his eyesrolling back in his head, and he is losing consciousness fast.

“It’sokay,” whispers a soft voice, and he knows it is Anti, but it couldso damn easily be any one of his brothers, torn away from him, couldbe Marvin or Henrik or Jackie or Chase –

Heis crying so hard he cannot breathe. When was the last time anyonetouched him? All he’s done for months is run.

“It’sokay.” Anti is stroking his hair. Stroking his stomach. Strokinghis wrists. He’s been starving to be touched and Anti is wonderfullywarm, even if his nails are overgrown and his teeth are just a littletoo sharp and one of his eyes is venomously black, a single greeniris shining down on Jameson’s smoke-grey face. “I’m sorry, I knowthis is scary. But listen, you’re going to be with your brotherssoon, right? You’ve missed them. Haven’t you?”

Hehas, he has, he’s been so lonely, he nods –

“Iknow,” sighs Anti, putting a firm pressure on Jameson’s shoulders,making his collarbone ache. He smells of blood and sleep. “Iunderstand. I can see every part of you, you know. I understandeveryone and everything. It will be so easy, once you’re mine. I’lltake that pretty clock and tie you up like Marvin and you can be mylittle puppy. No one will ever hurt you again. You won’t have to feelanything but this.”

Andwarmth and joy and relief and love come crashing over Jameson like ahigh, come flowing down the folds of his brain, trickling down histongue and down his throat, and he is melting like a witch in water,sinking down into Anti’s power –

“Openyour eyes,” calls a voice, gentle, gentle. He is held, carried,carressed. “Just open your eyes for me. Be a good boy. It’s alleasy after this. It will feel so wonderful. Open your eyes, Carver.”

That’snot his fucking name.

Justlike Doktor isn’t Henrik’s and Red isn’t Jackie’s and Trickshot isn’tChase’s and Blue isn’t Marvin’s, damn the glitch who stole his familyaway from him!

Hejerks up and slams his elbow into Anti’s nose, sending blood gushingfrom the demon’s nose. Falling back, Anti lets out a horrible screamof rage, the sound that metal makes as it grinds together, and thenhe is up again, coming forward again, holding a knife again, and whatcan Jameson do but cower?

“Iwill teach you pain,” Anti snarls. His teeth are gritted tight andhe no longer looks human. He is warm. He is too warm. He burns. “Iam pain and you will know me better than you know yourself, and then,before this is over, you will be mine, and forget the taste of yourown name, puppet kid.”

Doktordreams of bloodshed and video games.

Heholds a warm little computer mouse, shifting it across a pad on awooden desk. Everything is bright and clear and clean. He feels welland there is coffee next to his hand.

Fromthe speakers, a recorded cough and a splutter. A spray of simulatedblood hits the other side of the screen and Doktor adjusts in hisseat, reaching out to click on a button to order a lung exam for thepatient.

“Don’tworry now,” he narrates to the computer character, smiling at theblinking red eye of a camera near to his head. “The good Doktorwill make everything better, you will see!”

Thecharacter coughs again. Doktor realizes the game has not reacted tohis order. “Gah,” he growls, throwing up a hand and clicking onthe button again. “Come on, dumb machine.”

Still,the game does not respond. The character coughs and then groans,doubling over for a moment, its face still drawn into an unmovingsmile, dead-eyed and cold.

“Gottverdammt,”hisses Doktor, clicking once, twice, thrice. How frustrating, to knowwhat needs to be done and be unable to do it.

“Stopcoughing,” he begs, as the character shivers. “I’m trying to fixit. I will not have you die.”

Thecharacter reaches up to touch its chin and then draws away again.Startled, Doktor recognizes the sign for “please.”

“I’mtrying,” he says. “I am, I’m trying. I’m doing my best. I’m doingwhat’s right. I am, I am.”

Heclicks the button. Clicks, clicks, clicks. Why won’t it goddamn load?

“Stopdying,” he cries, slamming the mouse against the computer. Thetaste of copper is filling up his own mouth. His chest aches. A waveof heat rushes over him like sunlight exploding over the earth in themorning light. “Please, I’m scared, don’t die.”

Heneeds to get out of the whole program – he should get out of thewhole program – but how can he leave his patient behind? The othersare too sick to run with him. He cannot go until he saves them. Hecannot lose them! The memory of joy is sudden and present in hismind, but only for an instant, and then it is swallowed whole againby this terrible pain, pain, pain –

“Please!Let me save him!” he screams, and the character, deaf to his cries,is begging “please, please, please” in return, coughing harderand harder and harder. Blood drizzles down the screen. Doktor reachesout to touch it and his fingers come away red now, perhaps not sosimulated after all. He strikes the side of the computer and shakesit and click, click, clicks, but nothing happens, nothing saves him.There is only the heat of the patient’s fever and the dry heaving ashe chokes on pneumonia, bent over, collapsing, and Doktor lashes outtoo suddenly and spills his coffee, only it is blood that pours downfrom the edge of the mug, filling up the room like a flood –

Hedoes not scream upon awakening. Only gags, and whimpers, and rocks inplace, tears drizzling down his face.

Trickshotis hot at his side, trembling, coughing, conscious. Across the room,Anti’s twins sleep side-by-side, hunger and fatigue making themghostly in the moonlight, Blue touching Red with an out-stretchedhand abandoned on his shoulder.

“Trick?”whispers Doktor, trying to ground himself again, trying to banish thedream. He would call it a nightmare but he’s had far worse. “Trick,why are you awake?”

It’sstill dark out. It often is. Doktor guesses it is around three.

“Whatdid you dream of?” mumbles Trickshot, staring up at him withover-bright eyes. “Something nice?”

Hesmiles a little flicker of a smile, his mouth trembling.

Doktorsighs, calming. Just a bad dream, right? He’s not stuck. He’s notfrozen. He can take care of his patients. “Should not speak of it,”he tells him, pulling him straighter up, to help him breathe.Coughing must be keeping him awake. “You are weak. Go back tosleep.”

“I– I feel very weak,” concedes Trickshot. He sniffles and tearscome running out of his eyes. Doktor presses a hand to his foreheadand finds him burning. “Do you think Anti will let me die? Do youthink he will kill me? Did you dream of something nice?”

“Stop,Trick, stop, stop.” Doktor smooths down a bandage hanging off hischeek from where somebody struck him hard enough to break flesh.“You’re delirious. Don’t upset yourself. Go back to sleep.”

“Something– b-bright and lovely, maybe something where you were happy, didyou dream of – did you dream of something – ”

Hebegins coughing and must clutch at his heart, curling in on himself,agony coursing through his body. “Did you dream of something nice?”he stammers out, wheezing, working himself swiftly towards a completebreakdown. “Did you dream of – ”

“Trick,stop!” snarls Doktor, grabbing him by the throat in a sudden flashof fury. Trick gags and whimpers, collapsing against the floor,shivering in the cold night air.

Doktorreleases his throat, a rare twinge of guilt making itself known inhis stomach. As apology, he reaches out and touches the side ofTrick’s head awkwardly, frowning down at his blueing mouth. “Youreally are so sick,” he whispers, brushing down a strand of hissweaty hair. “Poor thing.”

“Don’tfeel good.”

“Iknow. Why don’t you tell me what you dreamed of, huh? I don’t want totalk about my dreams but you can. Did you dream of something nice?”

Trickshotpauses, biting his lip, and then nods, tears welling again in hisbright blue eyes. “A baby,” he whispers.

“Ababy?”

“Alittle dark-haired baby, so, so warm, so, so beautiful, and I washolding him and I reached out and he wrapped his tiny little handaround my finger and fell asleep in my arms.”

Doktordidn’t mean to make him cry. Trickshot devolves into sobbing againsthis brother’s stomach, shaking with fever and grief alike.

“Quiet,quiet,” begs Doktor, gripping at his shoulder. “Don’t disturbhim, don’t make him angry.”

“Mybaby,” gasps Chase, growing closer to death. “I want my babies, Iwant my baby, where is he, where is he, where is he?”

“Stop,stop, don’t say such things, Anti will kill you.”

“Antiwill not give me my child back,” weeps Chase. “Not even thememory of him, not even his name. I can’t remember my baby.”

“Trick,”says Doktor. “Trick.”

Andthen there is the static warning of their brother’s appearance, andthey both stiffen like scarecrows, curling in on each other as theywait for him to turn shadows into form.

Glitchessplit the air around them and Trickshot pretends to be asleep againstDoktor’s stomach, near to passing out anyway. Cold static ringsthrough the air like a tornado warning.

“Cleanhim up.”

Antiis standing behind him so suddenly that Doktor nearly gasps aloud,rocking faster and faster. “C-clean Trickshot up?”

“No,you stupid little bitch,” snarls Anti. He grabs him by the hair andDoktor gasps hard enough to hurt the back of his throat, staggeringupright. “Jameson. In the room on the other side of the house. Go.Let him die and you cannot imagine the pain I will inflict upon you,am I understood? Darling?”

“Yes,Anti.”

“Go.”

Hereleases him and disappears back into the shadow.

Tricklies at his feet, trying not to cough. Blood stains the corner of hismouth.

Doktorreaches down to touch him – but no, he cannot care for him, notnow. He must go the missing piece.

Panting,he abandons Trick to his coughing and heads towards the spare room.They think it used to be a kitchen once, before the house was halfwaydemolished and then abandoned, but now there is nothing but missingtile and cockroaches and one drawer full of knives in the corner.There certainly isn’t any food.

Jamesonis chained to the porcelain body of what might have been a sink. Heslumps back against the clay, his chin fallen onto his chest. He isbreathing, but only slow, only thin.

Doktorapproaches.

Litteredwith wounds, frail as a broken-wing bird. He coughs. Doktor cleansgashes and stitches them back together, wipes away blood and wraps upbruises, relocates a broken wrist and makes the boy scream, his eyesrolling back in his head as he staggers about between consciousnessand shadow.

Hecoughs.

Doktorreaches out to touch his cheek.

Hecoughs.

Doktorswallows back memories of him.

Bright-eyedbrothers moving like light through a window, clean whole faces andthe steady rising and falling of the breast, a smile on the boy’sunspeaking mouth –

Hecoughs.

Hecoughs.

Hecoughs.

Doktorburies his face in his hands and rocks, rocks, rocks, cries until hecannot breathe either; listens, despairing, to the coughing of hisbrothers, scattered like weapons cast aside through Anti’s house.

Howcan this be worth it?

Howcan this pain be worth it?

Fromthe darkness, Anti is watching.

Doktorwas the first one to lose the fight to his power, and now he is thefirst to feel the strings loosening about his throat. Something mustbe done.

Buthe is too tired to drag Henrik back under.

“Givein.”

“Iwon’t.”

Bloodsplurts from Jameson’s throat. His mouth jerks open in a horriblesilent scream and he writhes in Anti’s grip, tearing at the handsaround his neck.

“Isthat the best you can do?” laughs Anti. He lets Jameson go, his armgrowing tired from holding him up, and the boy collapses like a pileof flesh. “Really, no sound at all? Can’t you wheeze or something?I’m bored.”

“Bitch,”signs Jameson. He rolls back and forth against the ground slightly,trying to work through the pain, trying to stop crying. He doesn’tknow how much more of this he can take.

“I’mabout to cut your hands off if you don’t watch your tongue,” Antiwarns, sitting down beside him and drawing his head into his lap.“Come on, can’t you whine or something?”

Jamesonis bewildered on top of irritated now. “What the fuck do you expectme to do? Regrow my vocal chords? I can’t vocalize.”

“Maybeyou’re not trying hard enough,” grins Anti.

Exhausted,exasperated, pissed, Jameson holds up his middle finger and lets thatspeak for him.

Antihums and leans in close. Jameson shivers as he’s kissed, Anti’s mouthrunning feather-light across the stubble on his jawline.

“Getoff me,” Jameson begs, trying to push him away. “Please.”

“That’sbetter,” murmurs Anti. “Good job, puppy. Hold still and you cango in a minute.”

Hekisses his cheek, beneath his eye. His mouth is hot.

“Getoff me!” cries Jameson. Oh, fuck, suddenly he’s so dizzy. “Getoff, I hate you.”

Antipulls gently at his shirt, exposing his stomach. Jameson squirms,frightened, but with one hand Anti can hold him steady. The otherhand runs over his belly.

Thena knife, cold, cold, cold against his stomach.

Antisighs against the base of his ear.

Andthen he jams his thinnest blade like a key between the perfect slotof his seventh and eighth ribs.

Thenoise that Jameson makes –

Thenoise, a braying little gasp, a broken little screech from somewherein his lungs rather than his vocal chords, a choke combined with themovement that should make a scream, is not a noise that Anti realizedhuman beings could make.

Antiwishes he had recorded it. He could play that on a loop and destroycivilizations with the high it gives him.

He’slaughing so hard it hurts to breathe.

“Doktor!”he calls, shoving Jameson off his throat. The boy shudders againstthe floor, slamming his head against the cement as his body overtakeshis brain, far more conscious than he’d like to be. “You’re goingto have to bandage this up for us, darling.”

Notlong now. Not long.

“Please.”

“Shutup.”

“Please,please, H-E-N - ”

Doktorshoves him hard back against the porcelain sink to which he is onceagain chained. Jameson gags, weeping. “Brother,” he cries,undeterred. “Why won’t you save me?”

“God,please!” Henrik screams. “Stop, stop, I can’t take this!”

“Pleasehelp me, please help me, I’m scared, I’m scared, soon he will make mehis, I can’t take any more, please save me, I love you.”

Henrikscreams and tears at his hair, falling back. He’s been cleaningJameson up every night for a week. They are both reaching breakingpoints.

“Deutsch!”cries a voice from downstairs. Red, he thinks. “Blue can’tbreathe!”

“Sithim upright!” he calls back, trying to raise his voice above arasp. He tries to push himself back up to kneeling and a nail thatonce held floorboard pierces his palm, making him gasp.

“It’snot working!” Red cries. “It’s not enough!”

“Doyou think I’m hiding oxygen up here?” Doktor shrieks. “What doyou want me to do?”

Redis weeping. It’s a new sound for Doktor, but he doesn’t have time tocare. Blue and Trick are just getting sicker, and Carver’s going toget an infection if he doesn’t bandage him up, and he never feelswell anymore, and nothing is right, nothing is right, nothing is –

Jamesoncan only reach his brother’s out-stretched hands. Teary-eyed, whiteas smoke, he grips Doktor’s wrist gently and rubs his thumb up anddown the veins at the heel of his hand.

“Stop,”says Doktor.

Hedoesn’t draw away.

Jamesontugs his hand closer and presses his forehead to it, massaging hispalm, holding him tight.

“Stop,”says Doktor.

Jamesonshivers and clings to each one of his fingers, examining the valleysand ridges of his swirling fingerprints. Brushes against his veinsfrom heel to thumb. Squeezes tight, tight, tight.

Doktorcan’t remember the last time anyway touched him gently.

“Stop,”he begs. “I can take no more.”

“Henrik,”says Jameson, releasing his hand to finally, finally make the namewhole. “Henrik, brother, help me. Let’s go. There’s still time.”

Thestrings are slipping. The strings are slipping. The strings areslipping.

Butthey are still tight enough.

“I’msorry, Jameson,” whispers Henrik.

“No,no,” begs Jamie. He tries to grab his hand again, but Henrik isdrawing away. “I need you to remember who you are.”

“I’msorry,” whispers Doktor. “I am. I’m sorry. But I am also Anti’s.You don’t understand what he would do to us if we tried to escape.There is no running away. He will haunt us for the rest of our days.Better to stay, and be good for him. I am Anti’s.”

Jamesoncurls in on himself like a child, wrapping his arms around himselfand hugging himself tight. He rocks against the sink, sobbing.

He’slost. He’s lost. It’s over.

“Soonyou will be too,” promises Doktor softly. “And then…”

Heknows he should say that things will be better.

Buthe can’t lie.

Thisis a life of pain.

Twilightmakes the floorboards grey and lilac. The air smells of dust, ofblood, of starvation.

Doktorsits slumped over Blue, staring, corpse-like, down at him, bleedingsluggishly from the palm of his hand as he tends to his brothers’illnesses.

“They’regoing to die, aren’t they?” whispers Red.

Inhis weakness, Trick has regained his favor, and both he and Blue areclose at hand, tucked up in the only blanket in the house, shiveringside-by-side, asleep. Trickshot wheezes with every breath.

Doktorcan’t even answer. He washes sweat from their foreheads and massagestheir chests with vaporub. Nothing else to fucking do.

“Ican’t – ” Red breaks off, covering his mouth, squeezing his eyestightly shut. “I can’t watch them die.”

Doktorhums a brief affirmation, staring blankly at Trickshot’s hollowedgrey cheeks. It’s a little too late for Red to start caring.

“Deutsch,”whispers Red. He touches Doktor’s hand.

Henrikjumps hard, turning to him with astonished eyes. Red’s hand is gentleon his own. There are tears in his eyes.

“Whatdo I need to do to save them?”

AndHenrik recognizes, suddenly, a light that he had forgotten evergraced Jackie’s eyes.

Aprotection in his outstretched hands, a courage in his stiffenedmouth, a light in his bright blue eyes.

“Holyshit,” whispers Henrik.

Doubt.Doubt. Rebellion. It sits between them, curled in the heat of theirfevering brothers and the wounds that litter the boy upstairs likeconstellations, in the memories that sift, slow, patient, throughtheir awakening hearts.

“Sauerstoff,”he manages, swallowing hard.

“What?”

“Oxygen,”he rasps.

“Wheredo I get that?”

“Youwill have to steal it. Once you stole computer code from the centerof a secret Ministry of Defense facility just so Anti could eludethem. You will be able to take oxygen from a hospital. Masks too,blankets, and medicine – bring me paper, I will write it all down.”

Whiteand silent with stress, Jackie brings him the torn wrapper of theirlast jug of water, and Henrik scratches names into it, recalling,with the smell of hand sanitizer in his nose, what it was to be areal healer.

“Youmust go quickly,” he murmurs, pressing the wrapper into Jackie’shand.

“Iknow,” Jackie answers, soft. “If I’m not back before Antirealizes I’m gone…”

Hewill kill him. The words stand silent in the air between them.

Henrikcan almost remember his name.

Henrikcan almost, almost remember his name.

“Doktor,”murmurs Jackie.

“Red,”Henrik answers, exhausted.

Hiseyes say go carefully and Jackie’s answer very well, as youwish, we were brothers once and in the memory I have forgotten thehatred he fostered within me.

Jackiesqueezes his hand, kisses both Blue and Trickshot goodbye, and goes.

Heknows he will be killed for the transgression of abandonment.

Buthis pain might be salvation, and the word “hero” rises once againin his mind, like a tattoo uncovered, impossibly forgotten,permanent, chosen, lasting.

Upstairs,Jameson grows weaker.

Thereisn’t much time left.

Antiwakes up.

Thisis unusual for him, having never actually lost consciousness before.His waking thoughts consist largely of what the fuck, what thefuck, what the fuck?

Didhe pass out?

He’sslumped downstairs on his little throne – hardly more than ablood-painted chair, but he loves it like a knife – and he doesn’tremember falling asleep.

He’sweak as a ball of cotton.

Panicrises in him like fire and he tries to get up, without success,panting hard. For a moment his whole body becomes as static, heavyand faraway. His tongue is leaden and stinging in his mouth and hishead collapses back against the wood of his chair, leaving himmotionless and terrified, fainted in his own throne room.

He’snever passed out before, he’s never been weak, he’s never used somuch energy, he didn’t realize he had a breaking point and he needsto stop –

No!screams the rest of his brain. The dizzy spell recedes as a wave fromthe ocean and he staggers to his feet, snarling at the world aroundhim, which continues to defy him. I won’t be stopped now! I’m sovery close. So very close to the perfect victory. Their stupidpersistence can’t stop me. I will hold all five of them at once,puppets from my hands.

Hespares a burst of pure hatred for his creator, who gave him justenough brothers to be a challenge.

Butnot enough to stop him. He will be victorious.

“Doktor!”he screams, dragging himself to the bottom of his staircase. Deutschappears shaking in the light above him, his eyes flashing quicklybetween all corners of the house. Anti can almost taste hisdisloyalty, but it does not matter. He must break his last littlecolt, and then he will reign in all five of his stallions, if ittakes every whip in the world. “Bring my the little brat,” hehisses, sinking back into the darkness. “We end this tonight, onceand for all.”

“Where,”whispers Anti, “Is your resistance now?”

Jamesonlies shivering. Jameson lies shaking.

“Ihave shattered it,” Anti tells him. He reaches down, slow, and runshis knuckles across Jameson’s cheek, scarred and blood-stained.

“Youwere not the one who shattered it,” Jameson answers, closing hiseyes.

Thedemon stands above him like a shadow, pierced by thin beams of lightforcing their way through the tiny windows at the tops of thebasement walls. Blue and green eyes coat Jameson in a unique form oflust, a power-hungry possession, a wolf that has gained a taste forhuman flesh.

“Youlove your brothers very much,” murmurs Anti. “After all they havedone to you.”

Hesits down, criss-cross, at Jameson’s side. Pulls him into his lap.Takes his hands into his own.

“Bemine,” he says. “And they will love you again too.”

“Isthis what you call love?” Jameson manages.

Heis slumping down against Anti’s shoulder, exhausted.

“Youdon’t know the first thing about love.”

“Whata pity,” Anti giggles, grabbing his wrists and pulling him evencloser. “I must be missing so much.”

Blood,blood on Jameson’s face.

“Poordapper darling, pretending to be strong. Your heart is broken andyou’ve been dying for a long time, running from me every day, runningfrom your family. Aren’t you tired?”

Jamesonis hiding against his chest. Tears soak Anti’s shirt.

“Poorthing,” whispers Anti, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I know.It hurts. I know. Poor, poor dapper.”

Careful,he reaches power out. Feels Jameson’s heart, racing with terror, soweak and so vulnerable.

Hewraps a string and breathes through a wave of dizziness.

Jameson’shands tighten on his shirt.

“Thereyou go,” whispers Anti, rubbing from his shoulder to the small ofhis back. “There you go, it’s okay. Stop crying so hard, littleone. Hush, hush. Here I am. Don’t be afraid.”

“Anti,”signs Jameson. Anti does not know what he is begging for and he doesnot care. His sign name is a slit throat ‘A’ and it makes him laugh.“Anti, please.”

“Lookat me,” Anti orders, taking his chin in his hand. “Look at menow.”

Jamesontries to hide, his eyelids fluttering. No, no, no…

“You’reso tired.” Anti’s fingers are soft, warm, loving against his faceand throat and hands. “So, so tired, poor little puppy.”

Andhe is, so, so exhausted, so tired it could kill him. All he wants inthe whole goddamn world is to lose himself in sleep, in power, inAnti…

“Lookat me,” says Anti. He hates him, he craves him, he owns him. “Lookat me, Carver, Dapper, Monochroma. Look at me.”

Jameson’seyes open. Dapper’s eyes meet his own.

Hot,rushing, overwhelming, terrifying, ecstatic, adoring, all-consuming,all-consuming, all-consuming; Carver gasps and sinks down in Anti’shands, reaching up to be held, an agony of possession writhingthrough his body as he collapses like a bird dead in the air andlanguishes in the dark, endless eyes of his older brother.

Antihas him.

Carverblinks, and closes his eyes, and sinks.

Sinkslike a mink sinks in the mouth of an alligator.

Downonto Anti’s lap.

Andwhen his brother traces his hands across his scalp, stroking gentlehis downy brown hair, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

Antihas him.

Joycrackles as a current of electricity through his body and Antismiles, letting himself curl down around Chroma’s body, pulling hisnew little puppet to him, running his hands over his flesh, tastingthe sweet copper taste of an implanted adoration, touching hisfingers to each one of the cuts he has spent the last two weekscutting into Dapper’s skin –

Aword of alarm flickers through his system. Anti sits up, his eyesfixed on the opening to the room.

Thereare footsteps coming towards him.

Hetries to get up, but dizziness pounds through his simulated skull andhe collapses back onto his throne, gripping at Carver’s shirt. Heover-exerted. Used too much power. He’s never been so tired in hislife. He could fall asleep right here, slumped over his littlebrother’s body, holding his new puppet close… his eyes flicker andglitch and he sways, drifting…

“Ican bear this no longer.”

Anti’seyes snap open.

Inthe doorway, Henrik.

NotDoktor.

Henrik.

Antican’t feel his hold over him.

Hetries anyway. “Go back upstairs, Deutsch.”

Dappershivers in his lap. Anti grips a knife warily, staring at Henrik’stwilight silhouette.

“Ican bear this no longer,” whispers Henrik.

“Arzt,”hisses Anti, glaring him down. “Go back upstairs. Now.” Hestrains his energy on the last word, reaching out for Henrik again,wrapping strings around his throat –

“Shutyour fucking mouth,” hisses Henrik.

Andstranger still is the look in his eyes, because, for the first timein his life, Anti doesn’t understand the emotion that he’s looking atin another’s face.

“So,”he drawls, rubbing Dapper’s back, just to mock this rebellious littlepuppet standing before him. “My strings got too loose, huh?”

Henrikmoves forward. His hands tremble.

“Upstairs,two of my brothers are dying,” he says. “Red – no, Jackie –has suffered so much at your hands that for many long months he hasdesired only to be yours, so full of hatred we all bear his marks onour flesh. I myself have hurt for years now because of you. Havenightmared, have scarred over, have shattered like ice into crystal.And this boy you have given me to care for for the past week. Eachtime I saw his face, each time I held him, bleeding in my arms, Ihave regained a little of myself. That is not because of you. That isbecause of me. Your strings are looser, yes. But I am the one whotore them off. And that is because you know nothing. You think youknow what pain is, Anti?”

Hepulls from the pocket of his torn khaki pants a stained scalpel.

“Answerme,” he snarls.

Antiis glaring at him now, teeth bared and drizzling blood. His skin isgreen and his eyes are black. He is not human.

Buthe shares the mortal propensity to fear.

“Yes,”he hisses back, draping himself over Jameson’s body like a wolf witha fresh kill. “And I will teach it to you for months and months andmonths, little one.”

“No!”screams Henrik. “No, you don’t know the first goddamn thing! Notyet, Anti! Not yet!”

Antineeds to get up. He has to get up. He cannot glitch at all; his fleshis so still it is painful, but he must rise nonetheless, he muststand nonetheless, he can still get up, even in his weakened state,surely –

Theweight of Jameson’s sleeping body across his lap is too heavy for himto move. He cannot even put his hands on him. He is losingcorporeality. He can see through his palms. This has never happened.This has never happened. This has never –

Feartastes like copper, copper, copper, blood.

“Painis love turned against you,” groans Henrik. “Brothers made toenemies and left to bleed on the seat of a bus, left to choke todeath in abandoned houses, wearing belled collars and clutching atwounds that will never heal. You think you know what that is?”

“Henrik,get away from me,” hisses Anti. Electrical signals buzz distortedlythrough his brain, making the whole world too bright and tooconfusing. He coughs and blood comes welling up in his mouth.

“Youwill,” promises Henrik.

Hiseyes are consumed by darkness.

“Iwill teach you what it is. Because Anti, Anti, Anti! Pain is weaknessand then, later, strength. I have suffered until the madness came,and arisen from it powerful, powerful, powerful. Be afraid, Anti. Iwill teach you what is pain.”

Anti’scoughing pierces deeper and deeper as his body begins to glitchapart. The more he tries to blacken his eyes and consume Henrik’swill, the more power he loses, and the more he falls apart. He cannotstop coughing. He cannot breathe.

“Youare nothing!” he shrieks, nearly hysteric with mad fervor, with howgoddamn close he is to having everything he’s ever wanted! So manybodies strewn aside, so much corruption and patience, so much time,effort, planning, blood, torment! No, he will not lose now! He willtear this whole world apart if that is what it takes! “I will ripyou apart like tendrils of dog meat!”

ButHenrik is no longer afraid of him. He continues forward, staring intohis black eyes, free of him.

“Iwill turn you against yourself,” he promises. Here is a threat toterrify, and Anti cannot help but shove himself against the back ofhis throne, straining away. “Tear you down into all the things youpromised yourself you would never be. Kill you with your own blade.Oh, I’ve hated you for so long.”

“Oh,no, Doktor,” giggles Anti. At least there is some humor to be foundin that. “No, no, no, you’ve loved me, adored me, prayed in my namefor months now. Even before I used power to make you mine completely,you would beg for a scrap of bread as you starved, for a touch ofcomfort as the pain killed you, for someone to kiss you and wipe upthe tears – ”

Henrikswings with the scalpel.

Anti’sbody finds the strength somewhere to glitch and he goes crashing tothe cement, scrambling away from Henrik, hatred and blood wellingfrom his mouth. He can’t stop coughing. It hurts. “Red!” hescreams. “Red, Blue, come here now!”

“Theytoo have abandoned you,” hisses Henrik. “Their brotherhoodovercomes your own.”

“Impossible,”Anti shrieks. “Impossible.”

“Youare alone,” says Henrik. “As you were always meant to be. I toldJameson you were inescapable, do you know that? Strange. Just daysago, you seemed deathless. But I have been watching your collapse.You have made yourself mortal. Maybe you will haunt us, after all, aghost, a memory. But you will never lay a hand on my family again.”

Anticoughs until he is sprawled against the earth, writhing in blood, inchunks of his own lungs, in hatred. He tries one last time to stopHenrik, and even makes him stagger back, confused, torn – but thislapse in control is enough to make the boy on the throne jerk back toreality, staggering to his feet and coming to stand at Henrik’s side,grabbing his hand and assuring him, comforting him, standing withhim.

Together,they are stronger than he is.

Forall that they have suffered, Jameson and Henrik are stronger thanAnti, stronger than hatred, stronger than blood.

Henrikraises the scalpel, and teaches his tormentor pain.

Teacheshis tormentor weakness.

Jackiereturns with medicine and food and masks and oxygen, filled with herocourage, hero strength, brother love. Marvin and Chase breathe. Antidoes not.

Henrikand Jameson cling to each other.

Nomore running. No more fighting. No more abuse. Just family. Gone isthe darkness. Here is the light, their stars, their brothers, alive.

Andfrom then on, when pain comes and they are haunted, well, the five ofthem face it together, as they did once before, and some day, oneday, soon, health and joy will come like sunlight in the morning,warm as the ashes of a fire proud and bright.

“Yousaved me,” says Jameson, warm against Henrik’s shoulder, trustingagainst his chest. “You saved me.”

“No,” says Henrik. “You, little brother, are the salvation Ihave longed for.”

[land-of-brains-and-chocolate]

🤔

Eddie watches his stomach rise and fall, watches the seam where the symbiote stretches out of his body. It's anchored somewhere deeper than skin, he can feel it, and part of him is preoccupied with the unsettling thought that the wrong move could tear him open, that he's already been gutted and is only waiting for someone to twist and remove the knife, but the symbiote reassures. Sends impressions of effortlessly fitting between his very cells, leaving its surroundings undisturbed. Anticipating his every action so they can move together, in harmony.

Eddie's hands hover over the black stalk, shimmering under the low light of the setting sun. These are hardly the ideal conditions for him to examine the symbiote under, but then, it’s not like there’s anything his eyes could tell him that the symbiote couldn't tell him directly. He's more concerned with the act of looking than with gathering information, somehow. And being looked at, the symbiote thinks, under artificial lighting, with a purpose in mind, would be different. Easier. Simpler. Unbearable, even though this is, too.

Why do emotions only ever get more complex? Every time it thinks it has a handle on them, they transform into something new and inexplicable. Always more contradictions to resolve, more nuances to recognise. Why can't it reach a point where it just... understands?

Eddie is looking straight ahead, now, it realises, into its eyes, it realises the significance of that. But then, no... Not into its eyes, at its eyes. His mouth moves very, very slowly.

"Shhh."

He must have gotten some impression of its thoughts, it thinks, still unused to a connection that goes both ways, euphoric and terrified. Eddie's gaze lingers on every refracted colour, every facet of its eyes. The symbiote wants to avoid it, to hold it, but has the power to do neither, and settles for trying not to dissolve under it.

One of his hands travels along, just above the outline of its body. It can tell that he means to tilt its head downwards before he ever makes contact, so it moves before he ever gets the chance to. A thought is enough direction. Physical manipulation is unnecessary.

For a second, Eddie falters. He feels a flash of surprise, disappointment, and the symbiote is almost affronted at his reaction to an ability it had received nothing but praise for, the one thing that had always made it feel useful. But then he relents, draws back, and he tries...

Turn your head to the right.

He's still putting his commands in words, not trusting it to work with intent alone, but it's a start. The symbiote complies.

To the left?

Eddie watches the light roll across its surface, the dark substance of it fluttering across its eyes. Finally, there's something like the pride it'd hoped for.

Can you nod your head?

It's the most elegant nod anyone with no strictly defined "head" has ever performed. Eddie's smiling. They're getting into it, now. Playful.

Can you shake your head?

The symbiote does.

"What d'you mean, no?" Eddie speaks, for the first time in a while, and startles the symbiote into a number of thought processes, ending in a definite sense of annoyance. Before it can worry about defying its host, Eddie reacts, and with... happiness? Laughter.

And as inexplicable as it is, the symbiote soaks it up. Every vibration of his vocal chords, every invigorating substance released in his brain. It caused that. It's never caused anything like that before.

Mine, it thinks. All of that. Mine. It fans out to envelop its host, to claim, to feel as one instead of feeling at each other, to leave this in-between state, but it stops, just a centimeter from his raised hands.

Eddie’s grinning, still. Differently, though. He pushes back, directs the symbiote to take the form it had before, moving as if molding it. It settles into a long, round shape, bottom to top, and when its host’s hands arrive just below its eyes, they close in, until, fingers stiff and outstretched, they come into contact with the symbiote’s surface.

They stare at each other, unmoving.

The symbiote begins the high-level telepathic equivalent of rattling off facts about its texture, how it can alter its density to an incredible degree, how it has direct control over its body as one single entity, but Eddie doesn’t seem satisfied with that. Instead, he digs his fingertips into the malleable mass, one by one, then releases again. He’s expecting a reaction. The symbiote has none it could process enough to share it.

Is this, it thinks, the touching, is it like the looking?

It’s a complex set of meanings. Eddie narrows his eyes, then, finally, huffs another laugh, and suddenly, though it’s certain humans cannot alter their consistency at all, his hands feel softer. They relax, drawing closer, palms melding to its surface.

Yes.

It is, somehow, ten thousand times worse and better. The symbiote doesn’t register the press of his skin as anything more than that, but Eddie registers it as soft, and warm, and alive, and gooey, but not slimy, all those things heavy with positive association. The symbiote, itself, heavy with positive association. It feels like it’s going to crumble to dust under the weight of it.

Eddie trails one thumb along the edge of its eye, one set of knuckles up and down its underside, so convinced that it has to feel pleasant, like it would for a mammal, that it almost does. His hands meet where he thinks the symbiote’s mouth should be, and he realises that, right there, the usual give to it... ends.

He looks into its eyes, then, serious. Feels the ridges underneath. “Show me your teeth,” he whispers into the darkness between them, and the symbiote’s flesh is parting for him before it’s aware of it. They’re hard and needle-sharp, possessing none of the qualities that drew him to the rest of its body, but it suppresses the stab of fear that comes with the thought of rejection, closes its eyes, and lets him get his curiosity out of his system.

It does feel different. The whole situation feels different. Eddie, for the first time, is actually testing, looking for something. His thumb rests on the tip of a fang, and then there are two conflicting impulses, to protect its host or to impress its host, and the symbiote lets him push down, lets him see that it doesn’t take much to break the skin, not much at all.

Eddie draws back, slowly, watching a droplet of blood hang from the symbiote’s mouth, hand trembling so slightly as to be imperceptible to anyone else. Black rises from his skin, soothing the wound immediately.

Eddie pictures, very vividly, a droplet of blood hanging from his lips. The symbiote licks its own up, thinking it a sign to be self-conscious. He remains fixated on his mouth for a few moments more, on split lips and silky darkness to cover them, but the symbiote doesn’t know what to make of that, and, soon, he discards the train of thought as if it never happened.

Instead, he turns back to the symbiote, touching its face once more, bubbling with familiar intensity. “You’re...” His eyes roam over its body, thoughts turning to its softness, turning to crushing force, turning to its numbness, turning to impenetrable protection. Its independent thought, its eagerness to follow orders. “...Powerful,” he says. “Imagine what we can do together.”

And then, finally, Eddie taps into that deep, dark rage they share. Finally, the symbiote no longer feels off-balance, like they’re divided in their purpose, like there isn’t one to bind them. Eddie thinks of ways to use it, like it was meant to be used, to use it on the one who deserves it, claws to slash, teeth to tear, strength to shatter, and he doesn’t lack in enthusiasm, has been stewing in thoughts of violence since he, himself, was broken, not in body, but in spirit... But still, he lacks in experience.

The symbiote, not so. The symbiote has seen and heard and felt all of the snap, crackle and pop human bodies have to offer. Ironically enough, with the very man they now seek to destroy.

So it fills in the gaps in its host’s fantasies. Eddie offers the how much I’d like to, and the symbiote delivers: Here’s how, here’s how you would feel, here’s how he would scream. Eddie picks it up from there, here’s how we would triumph, here’s what we could do, and so they fan each other’s flames until they’re overtaken by an inferno.

Somewhere along the way, Eddie, immersed, invested, pushes his forehead up against the symbiote’s form, eyes moving rapidly behind closed eyelids, hands joined as if in prayer, and it reminds it of those earlier moments, precious and terrible all at once, everything it longed for and everything it cannot handle and everything it wasn’t made for. 

Existing with someone, as an individual. Not a tool of objective worth, not a thing that shouldn’t be, not an extension of the host. Instead, standing, forevermore, on the precipice. Worse, somewhere completely outside of those roles. Remaining unacknowledged would be easier, simpler. As unbearable as anything else.

[grandilcquently-a-blog]

REAL OR FAKE, THE SOCIETY OF ESOTERICA? 

Dedicated to finding information on the ever elusive individuals who associate themselves with Thayne Whittal. Post your stories here, discuss your questions with other believers, and find answers within!

          MY STORY.             (Posted by avery_monaghan763 on 12/27/18) Sorry if it’s a bit long, there’s a lot to unpack here. tl;dr: He’s been in my life for years and I only found out about why on my wedding day. I’m confused and want answers.

I, for one, have never believed in magic.

My loving parents raised me in a very straight-backed Christian household; anything that broke the mold of what they thought was 'proper' got a one-way ticket to the Satanism basket, never to be heard from again. This meant a lot of Veggie Tales, and absolutely no Sesame Street because Bert and Ernie were a little too friendly. Of course, as I got older, I began to break the mold, and after three or four excursions to Jesus camps, they gave up in trying to make me fit the idyllic lifestyle they had set out for me.

Harry Potter was my first exposure to the idea of magic that wasn't Christ-related. I thought it was a load of bullshit, but Hermione was cute, so my thirteen year-old-mind was able to keep up with the series well enough. After that came Lord of the Rings, and I liked it enough as any seventeen-year-old going through their D&D phase. But, I soon came to the realization that the magic in these worlds wasn't even close to the truth.

I first met Thayne Whittal in college. He was sitting on a bench, on the same path I took to get to Calc from my dorm-room, and I was already ten minutes late. Looking back at it, I dismiss my wishes of waking up earlier that morning, else I might not have met this extraordinary individual. There was a stack of books next to him, and despite the heavy winds that afternoon, they didn't budge. In his hand he held a copy of what I now know to be the Canterbury Tales, reading to himself quietly in the original Olde English. The only reason I stopped and pair enough attention to notice this, was the fact that I felt completely and utterly compelled to do so. It was an epiphany at noon, expanded only by my panicked, still half-awake mind; and so utterly clear that it broke me out of this state.

This man was something worth looking at.

He was lumbering tall, broad in his shoulders; Hagrid with more care to manscaping, I thought; and he wore a long, beige Chesterfield. I couldn't see his shirt underneath at the time, but I could see that it was very colorful, contrasting against the loosely-wrapped navy blue scarf around his neck. When I stopped to gawk at him, his eyes flickered up to look at me, and he smiled. As if he'd known me his entire life, he smiled, and it was inviting and warm and kind all at the same time; unnerving, but comforting. A contradiction of contradictions within itself. The only words he'd said to me this day were, "Good afternoon," before going back to reading his collection of tales. After he spoke, my brain started again, and I simply sputtered out an awkward, "You too," before going on my way.

The next time I met him, I was on my way to get coffee with my now Husband, who was incredibly understanding of my situation and allowed me a pass for missing our date that day. Thayne sat about four blocks away from the niche place, and looked exactly the same as he had when I'd seen him four years previous. This time, however, I saw his shirt clearer; a gaudy Hawaiian button-up, baby blue with near-fluorescent flamingos and palm trees spattered about. I might have laughed at him, if he weren't already laughing. He still held Canterbury Tales, and was chuckling to himself as he turned the page. His voice was a deep, gravelly thing, and though he hadn't spoke, I could hear the lilt of his accent atop it all. Once again, I felt compelled to stop in front of him, except this time, I spoke first.

"Do I know you?" I blurted out, almost yelling over the bustle of the street before us.

Thayne looked at me, perplexed, and squinted; scrutinizing my face for a moment before nodding. "I worked at WSU," he said. "You might have been a student of mine."

My alma mater, where I'd seen him first. I shook my head, daring to step closer. "No, I don't think I was. You, God, this sounds crazy; you were reading that," I gestured to the book in his hands. "And bid me a good afternoon."

As if he'd struck some wondrous part of his mind, he closed the book without marking his page, and beckoned me over. I sat next to him, carefully, as he spoke. "Ah, right! You looked horrible."

He wasn't wrong, I thought, but I was still offended.

"You looked horrible, but; did you at least pass the class?"

"I did." I told him. "Took some time, but I did."

"You're welcome." He said, a verbal nudge to my side as if we were friends catching up.

"I'm sorry?" I asked, completely and utterly confused by this enigma of a man.

"Do you recall what happened that day, in your class? Specifically, what happened to your professor?"

I did, "He was... late, showed up at the same time as me."

"You're welcome."

"I'm not following."

"Not many people do. You're a leader, Avery Monaghan, keep leading. I must be going, though; I'll see you in a few years."

I blinked at him, rapidly, but between the darkness, he had disappeared. Just like that; a breath of wind took him once more, and I was left with many questions. What did he do to make my professor late, that day? Was this man dangerous? And, why did he refer to me with a last name that wasn't my own?

Monaghan is my husband's surname; one that I'd take in the coming years. I didn't know it at the time, so it didn't stand out to me until much later. From that day forward, I could not get Thayne Whittal off of my mind, despite not knowing his name, or anything about him other than the fact that he was the strangest individual I had ever met.

But, things began to happen in my life that I could not explain. Not the kind of things in the realm of ghosts knocking things off of shelves, or UFOs in the sky, but things that seemed too convenient, too good to be true. Like before, if I were terribly late to something important, the person (or people) attending would be late, too. The night my husband and I got engaged, it was a completely clear sky, not too cold; but it began to snow. I loved the snow, and I remember my husband remarking that it was perfect. It was magical.

I saw Thayne again at my wedding. He didn't have his great stack of books this time, and instead wore a crisp white shirt with a bow-tie made of black velvet instead of a scarf. He was out of place, yet blended in perfectly like my friends and family. My grandmother was deep in conversation with him when I noticed him, and he raised a single hand to wave at me. Grandma motioned me over, and I broke away from my husband to make my way toward them.

"You know Thayne?" Grandma asked, accusatory, once I was in ear-shot. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"We were colleagues in college," Thayne interjected. "And you know, with degrees like ours, there isn't time to remember everyone. I'm sure Avery didn't mean to keep you in the dark, Matilda."

"Right, I... uh, can I talk to you alone, for just a moment?" I asked him, and Grandma looked absolutely affronted that I was tearing her away from him. He simply smiled, nodded, gave her a peck on the cheek, and made a promise that he'd be back in a 'tiff.'

We walked outside of the tent that my small, happy-ending wedding was held in, and Thayne looked at the stars as he spoke, wonder in his eyes. "I'm happy for you," he said, and then looked down at me. "Jason's a good man."

"I—Thank you, but—"

"You have a lot of questions." He cut me off, again, and this time, it annoyed me.

"I do; can you just, let me talk?"

He raised a brow, but stayed silent.

I then recounted everything that I could remember; the lateness, the snow, how everything fell into place and how it wasn't right. Something was off, and I knew he had something to do with it, and if he ever thought of hurting anyone I knew, I'd call the cops in a second. He didn't look hurt by my words, but his eyes softened considerably, and he bobbed his head in agreement to them.

"It was me," He said, clearly, as if it were obvious the entire time. "But you've only just started to notice, haven't you?"

I didn't know what he meant.

Thayne seemed to know this, and continued. "When you were seven years old, you were playing baseball with a cousin in the back yard of your grandmother's home. You knew Matilda would be furious if you broke anything, so you took care to make sure you tossed the ball gently to Henry; but he hit it too hard, and the window shattered. You were devastated, and thought for sure, your baseball-rights would be taken away the second she noticed."

"I... I remember, but the ball didn't shatter the window, it—"

"Bounced off." He finished my sentence. "And the time when you were about to spill sangria all over your Aunt Jennifer's new carpet because you wanted to try the adult's drink,"

"The nozzle stopped before anything got out," I finished.

"And, nobody saw you."

"I don't understand." I finally said, and Thayne looked to the stars again.

"You weren't allowed to believe in anything as a child," He said, and he almost sounded sad. "So you didn't see it. You didn't remember it. I don't blame you; who could? But, as you got older, you saw it more often. Saw me, more often. I hoped you'd notice eventually, and you have. You... remind me of my daughter, Charlie. So did Matilda. And your mother. The only difference," He placed a hand on my shoulder, impossibly warm. "Is that you and Matilda believed. You believed, even if you thought you didn't; even if all odds said you shouldn't. You allowed yourself to, and I tried to help in every way I could; between time, and hardships, and everything in between."

There was a long silence between us, and I looked to the sky, too. Millions of stars stared back at me, and for the first time, I saw it all; the belt of the universe, dusky hues of space making themselves known to me, and I started to cry. Thayne said nothing, only holding onto my shoulder and squeezing it, gently, despite his size. "It's beautiful, what the mind can do when we open ourselves to the truth." He said, and I could tell he was looking at me again, even if I didn't look at him.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome."

That was the last of what I saw of Thayne Whittal. Grandma was furious that he was gone again, but, once she saw my tears; it was as if she knew what had happened. She hugged me, for the first time in years, that night, and my wonderful husband let me spend the rest of the reception with her; talking about Thayne, what he had done for her, for my mother. She told me that on the night we buried Mom, he was there, and the stars were brighter than they had ever been that night. He had told her that it was because she was with them, and her fire fueled them all.

This is why I write on this forum, now. I want to know if anyone out there is like me; I've read some of your stories and have marveled at them for hours upon hours, at the kindness of this man, and claims you all make. I don't know how much of it is real, how much of it is bullshit, and how many of you are trolls looking for a good time with stories of time travel and magic.

But, I believe in it now. And I want answers, like the rest of you. Who, or what Thayne is; what he can do; and who else is like him. Thank you, for your time, and I hope we can all try to come to some sort of consensus about this all.

EDIT [12/31/18]: To answer your questions, no, my husband has never seen him. I asked him about it all, told him my story; I don't think he believes it all, but told me that he's never seen or heard about Thayne. My son, who will be three this upcoming January, hasn't seen him, either. I asked simple questions, like if he'd seen a big man in a big coat, and he completely disregarded it all in favor of paying attention to Doc McStuffins. Toddlers. Go figure.

EDIT [1/24/19]: My grandmother passed away today. It broke all of our hearts, but it was a long time coming, and as my husband put it, "She's in a better place." Where that place is, I don't know, but I'm glad she's there. Thayne wasn't at the funeral, like I hoped he'd be. I wonder if he knows. If he knew, and that's why he didn't come. Grief is a heavy thing on the heart, and I'm going to miss her loads. I just wished that he might have been there to help ease the heaviness.

EDIT [1/26/19]: Thank you for your well-wishes. It's my son's birthday, today, and we're trying to smile through the pain. There's been a raven on our balcony the entire morning, and I was wondering if anyone knew anything about the Bird Theory? Message me, if you do, and I'll update the post if anything happens with it.

[dailyawakening]

@kaysper replied to your post: 

What are you talking about in tags?  Everyone needs a mermaid AU.

Do you know how many AUs I have? 

I think a mermaid AU would take me to 25.  I don’t need another AU.

...I tell myself as I delve into inane details of how things would work in an aquatic setting haha what happened

@kanachameleon replied to your post: 

i would give everything and anything for this AU

Really now 8D Anything and everything is it?

...I have no idea what I want :c But you know what this has been happening in my brain so let’s do it.

Mounted Units

Due to the nature of the aquatic setting, cavaliers and pegasus knights by necessity have to operate differently, since you can’t have undersea horses (seahorses are too small and I don’t feel like going down the hippocampus route).  With that in mind, mounted units utilize either sharks (for cavaliers, troubadours, etc) or cetaceans (for pegasus knights, wyvern riders, etc). 

Giving marine mammals to the flying units makes sense: by the nature of their mounts, which need to breathe air, they perform many operations close to the surface.  Meanwhile, while sharks have a range of depths where they operate, from along the ocean floor to nearer the surface, they’re not bound by the necessity to breathe air to survive, which makes them quite useful for rapid response to present threats. 

None of the ‘mounted’ units are truly mounted (since there are no saddles).  Instead, they hang on to the dorsal fin (or sometimes pectoral fin) of their mount with one hand, fighting with their chosen weapon with the other.  The sharks and cetaceans both are trained to follow both verbal and non-verbal gesture commands and act as weapons in their own right in combat by biting or ramming enemies, which also helps get their partner in better striking range. 

Since sharks have denticles which would make them rather difficult to interact with, cavaliers go into battle in full scale mail covered with plate armor that covers most of their bodies.  On their tails, the armor is fully reticulated to allow them to move and swim on their own should they end up separated from their mount. 

As a related side note, Sully has a tiger shark because she’s Sully.  

Magic

Since magic in the game is very reliant on air (which is not present in an underwater setting except in very small doses), magic underwater by necessity needs to go through some major changes.  To start with, there are no tomes, since ink and parchment can’t survive down there.  Instead, they have stone tablets with the magic runes etched deep into the surface. 

Wind Magic, which by its nature controls the flow of air, is easy enough to translate into control of the flow of water, thereby becoming Current Magic.  Adept mages can turn still water into a whirlpool with the proper tablet, but even just a simple current spell can send an unsuspecting enemy tumbling. 

Fire Magic is a little harder, since fire can’t survive underwater -- even lava can’t last more than a few seconds before solidifying.  On the other hand, temperature generally is something that translates to both media, so it seems reasonable to convert this into Heat Magic.  Adept mages can heat the water in a targeted area to just shy of a boil, and while that will dissipate rapidly given the volume of water around them, even a momentary increase of temperature like that will scald an enemy badly. 

Thunder Magic is the most difficult to translate, since water conducts electricity and could therefore become a hazard for anyone in the area, not just the enemy; however, there are a few creatures known to generate electricity as a means of hunting and defense, including electric rays, so with some modifications, it’s reasonable to think that Electric Magic would be a viable option.  Rather than take the form of an arc of lightning, as Thunder magic on land does, Electric spells take the form of aquatic creatures (rays, fish, true eels, etc) and surround the enemy, discharging on contact; there is still something of a risk of proximity shock, but it’s much less than it would be otherwise. 

Dark Magic, meanwhile, doesn’t need translation at all.  Even spells like Goetia, which discharge violet lightning, can be handled similarly to Electric magic in the cloud that forms around the enemy under attack. 

History and Biodiversity

Because fire isn’t a thing but hydrothermal vents are, aquatic society developed largely in the vicinity of such features, since they were not only areas where marine life flourished, they also provided a viable heat source for crafting, which allows for the creation of metal crafts, including weapons and armor (via heating and hammering rather than melting and molding). 

Unlike seahorses, which are generally quite small, Divine dragons are quite large; they’re akin to leafy sea dragons (even canonically), and their manakete guises have seahorse-like tails rather than fish tails.  Grima, meanwhile, as a created entity with divine dragon blood at the base of its creation, resembles a somewhat mutated weedy sea dragon (with extra dorsal fins and the like). 

When Grima was quelled by the First Exalt, the body descended into a fissure, and in order to escape the armies intent on wiping them out, the Grimleal followed it into the dark.  Over time, they adapted to have very keen low-light vision and developed bioluminescence as a defensive measure. 

For Robin, anything colored in a dark black color remains dark when her bioluminescence flares: the Mark of Grima on her tail, the eye spots on her fins, and the lines along her sides all light up when active, making her quite a sight in the dark (and scaring off a lot of potential threats). 

While they still had access to hydrothermal vents in the fissures where they came to make their home, the Plegians did not have the same ready access to metal supplies (since manganese nodules generally form on the open ocean floor).  Metal, therefore, is preferentially used for weaponry and accessories; armor tends to be made from bones of creatures that are either hunted or die and sink into the depths.

Mustafa with shark jaw pauldrons y/y

[meepdrawartgood]

Glitch AU

So we came up with an AU in the Discord chat that @gutsywuts drew Beppi for a while ago, so I thought I’d expand on it! WARNING FOR SOME DISTURBING STUFF BELOW THE READ MORE

So in the Glitch AU, something happened to the game’s file. Whether it was a simple glitch, got possessed by some sort of spirit or demon, or something else, it doesn’t matter. But whatever happened, it horribly corrupted the game, turning the Inkwell Isles into a wasteland and its residents, including the bosses, into terrifying monsters. The goal of the game is not to get the soul contracts to the Devil, but to put the suffering, mutated remnants of what the characters used to be out of their misery.

The game starts like normal, with the MDHR screen, but from there, it’s fully corrupted. The game pulls up to this title screen, playing “Don’t Deal with the Devil” backwards, similarly to how it does in the normal game when you get the bad ending and start up the game again.

There are no savestates or introduction sequence, but when you start the game, it goes to black, then cuts to inside Elder Kettle’s house. He looks weak and sickly, the only sound being his shaky breaths. He holds out the potion to Cuphead, then slowly falls forward onto the floor, revealing the huge, gaping hole in his back. All you can do is leave the house.

You go through the game killing the different bosses, with no cutscenes at all, and once you defeat King Dice, you go to the throne room.

But the Devil isn’t there.

His throne is empty and theres no sound other than the faint crackle of TV static. Nothing happens for about 3 minutes. Then, suddenly, it cuts to the final storybook, violently and rapidly flipping through pages too soaked in blood to read as a cacophony of noise assaults your eardrums, then slams shut to a blank cover.

The game crashes and is deleted from the computer, only leaving behind an image file that contains only the words “thank you”.

Anyways, I can’t think of a good way to transition so on to the boss designs! I don’t have visual refs for a lot of them and a few of them are just sketches, sorry!

Psy, Weepy, and Moe are all zombielike and decomposing, covered in mold and rot. Psy’s third eye is dripping blood, Weepy’s eyes are sewn shut to prevent his acid tears from flooding the world, and Moe can no longer speak, only doing what Psy tells him to.

Goopy is nothing but a blue puddle, but if something gets too close, he’ll start groaning and the liquid will rise up, forming an arm that tries to grab and digest anything it can reach.

Hilda is an eldritch abomination in the shape of a mood, with her Taurus head, Gemini head, and Sagittarius head sticking out in random places. Her own face is covered in deep craters.

Ribby and Croaks have fused together into a barely recognizable ball of flesh, various limbs and other body parts sticking out at random.

Cagney is a mass of tangled vines with an Audrey 2 style head at the top. He has a large hunk of pure flesh embedded in his chest, sometimes with eyes, sometimes not.

(art by @gutsywuts)

Beppi is torn in half down the middle, all the way down to his waist, and where he’s torn, sharp teeth line the inside and several long tongues flail around, flecking saliva. He has two legs and four arms, all twisted up like long balloons, and won’t stop laughing.

(see here)

Djimmi is bound by chains to his Sarcophagus and is covered in circular scars. If he gets too upset and wakes it up, the Sarcophagus opens like an iron maiden, its insides lined with flesh and teeth, and drags him in. It chews him to a pulp to feed on his blood, spits him back out, and covers him in a healing powder so he’ll reform, ready to be fed off of again later.

(art by @gutsywuts)

Bon Bon, instead of having no head, is covered in heads, always screaming.

Wally is a wooden bird puppeted by Junior, whose brain has grown so big that his head has split open in places.

Grim’s entire body is lined with burns so deep that in some places, you can see the bone, and he can’t stop crying.

Rumor is covered in her subjects, forever suffering as they try to smother her like bees do when they don’t accept a new queen.

Werner seems normal at first, until his can breaks apart, revealing that he’s only a lure on the tongue of a cat with a centipede-like body that goes on forever.

Brineybeard is gone. The boat ate him along with his marine friends, and still has bits and pieces of them in its teeth. Briney’s mutilated ghost haunts the ship.

Cala Maria is half eaten by the fish that were once her friends, stuck in her gorgon form with huge chunks bitten out of her body and a few fish and eels still clinging to her, feeding off of her flesh.

Dr. Kahl has permanently attatched himself to his robot, which has been upgraded into a terrifying death machine.

Sally resembles Amnion from Silent Hill, held up by spiderlike limbs with her bulging belly hanging below her. She has two pairs of angel wings on her back and two masks for faces, one happy and one sad like the traditional comedy and tragedy symbol.

Blind Specter is so covered in eyes that some are hanging out of their sockets and others have popped, dripping clear eye jelly.

And King Dice is exactly the same. Except he’s missing one thing.

(art by @rbot-jive)