#I wonder if enough spike would get him to quit the force

[neighboringheart]

just finished earthspark season 3 here are my thoughts

guhhh urghuuu oughh I think I hauve covid I need optimus to make megatron and prowl get along by locking their pussies together with magnets and ordering them to make each other feel good while he watches from nearby

I need to see megatron so into it bc he's used to optimus putting him in situations from their time together on earth but this is not a side of optimus that prowl is used to so he's so flustered whimpering and squirming away from megatron's fat node as it grinds against his own but every time he glances to optimus he just sees that piercing gaze and shivers needing to be good for him

prowl overloads first squirting on them both with a yelp and a flutter of his doorwings and he looks so ashamed immediately after but that changes quickly when megatron gets so turned on by how cute he is that he presses prowl to the ground to hump against him with all his strength until he's squirting too

at the end optimus removes the magnet and praises them both which makes prowl's spike pop out and he tries to push it back in but now he's got both of them on him ready to push him into another overload

anyway yeah the season was okay still felt drab compared to the first season but not quite as disappointing as the second was but I'm sad Grimlock still didn't talk and Tarantulas didn't come back like I'd hoped orz I really wanted him and prowl to interact it would've been so joever for me if he'd shown up again I would have gone insane and I'd be talking about prowl getting filled with eggs instead

...what could have been

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So, I been curious and I wonder if you have answers; how strong is Idia? I know physically that a new born kitten could woop him, while technology wise not even the master control could stand against him, but what about magic wise? And where does he stand in comparison to the other dorm heads? I know in ch 6 he was strong as heck but isn't that mainly because he was getting energy from the blots?

(Thank you for your time)

Mmm, well... I don't think "magic strength" alone accounts for how good of a mage someone is. You could have all the power in the world but could be a terrible mage just because of how you use it (like if you lack control), or perhaps because you can only cast a few powerful spells before you blow through your energy reserves. All spells are also not made equal; there are defensive spells, offensive spells, healing spells, and more! Because of all that, it's hard for us to really quantify how "strong" a mage is, because really each mage seems to specialize in their own skillsets. It's not "which class is the strongest?" but rather "which class fits your preferred play style?" For this reason, I'm not going to be formally ranking the dorm leaders but instead will point out their strengths and weaknesses.

As Idia points out in book 6:

Riddle has an artificially large magic pool because he started his magical training from a young age. He is capable of casting strong spells and favors offense, but also has low physical stamina and tires easily (from blot accumulation) because he tries to brute-force. His mental state is also said to be heavily impacted by external factors.

Leona can cast spells quickly and effortlessly; his magic pool is described to be "huge", but we don't know how this really relates to the other problem children in terms of scale. He also seems to boast precision, as he can "tailor" his defensive spells' strength to counter his opponents. Because of how efficient Leona is, he barely accumulates unnecessary blot. Stress does not have much effect on how fast he produces blot, but intense emotions do cause a significant spike in him. Additionally, Leona is skilled in flight due to playing magift/spelldrive.

Azul is a relatively slow spellcaster but makes up for that with precision and access to a variety of spells. He watches the flow of a battle, keeps cool, and then plays support/heals as needed. Idia also notes that while Azul can cast many different spells, Azul also does not have a large enough magic pool to support them and so has to be more careful about what and when he uses his magic.

Vil is very stable across the board and is quite resilient to blot. Stress does not have a huge effect on him, but the blot does seem to stick around for longer because of his larger magic pool. Something else to keep in mind is that Vil excels in making potions, which is another form of magic.

Please keep in mind that these refer to mainly COMBAT scenarios, which are not the only cases in which you would use magic... so this isn't an entirely accurate assessment; it's just the most convenient assessment since the game blatantly lays the comparisons out for us. Let's now piece together what we know of the remaining dorm leaders based on lore we have:

Kalim does not strike me as someone who has a particularly large pool of magic (it's never commented on, nor shown). I'd place him at around normal until otherwise refuted by the canon. We know he's not particularly proficient in his studies, as he just barely scrapes by in classes with intense help from Jamil. This may not always translate to poor performance in practical settings, but we also have no standout moments of Kalim pulling off impressive spells or being a notable mage. He also doesn't seem to be aware of the practical or strategic uses for his own UM unless others in his immediate vicinity are in need of large amounts of water. It's possible that he's incredibly powerful, but lacks awareness of how to best utilize his magic.

Malleus is stated in the lore to be one of the top 5 mages in the WORLD. He uses magic on a daily basis and barely blinks an eye to when he does amazing feats like STOPPING TIME ITSELF. Book 7 also reveals to us a hypothesis that fae might have access to an essentially limitless reserve of magic because they pull that magic from nature itself. I'd say that this definitively places Malleus at the top of the "magical power" hierarchy--there was never any doubt about that, the problem just comes in trying to sort everyone else under him.

And then there's Idia, whom we don't really see performing magic much by himself. No, he prefers to tinker with his computer parts which, technically, can count as magic since technomancy is the combination of technology and magic. (Does Ortho count as something resulting from Idia's "magic power"??) It's hard to say.

If I had to guess, I would think Idia is another stable user like Vil but is also highly volatile like Riddle (due to his guilt and grief being the main source of trauma). Idia HAS to cast spells or input magic into his devices because of his curse; if he does not accumulate blot, there's nothing for his curse to dine on... so it'll dine on his own magic instead, which can be detrimental to his health and wellbeing. (This is why the Shrouds are perfect candidates to work at STYX and research blot. All the blot present in STYX HQ fuels them and feeds their curses.) This implies Idia has to have output, and consistent output at that. More blot present in the immediate area may be able to power him up more and allow him to cast more spells/cast spells more frequently, but that's again highly dependent on his environment. Idia has the "flexibility" that the other dorm leaders lack, which can be a curse or a blessing given the scenario. Make of that what you will!

[kittyt-hexxed]

Bad Together

Sevika x Gang Leader!POC!Reader

*This is a scheduled post so it will not be linked on the main page immediately.*

Warning: Gang Leader! POC!Reader, Rivals to Lovers, Crazy Offer, You’re also a scary lady, Dom!Reader, Dom!Sevika, You’re equals, Sexual Tension, An idea inspired by Valentine’s Day, Taunting, Flirting hidden as threats, Throat Grabbing, reader dresses slutty, Cursing, horny from fist fighting your rival, Sevika womanhandles you, you get folded, Making Out, Sevika bites your tongue

Summary: You and Sevika have been rivals since you were in high school. That only worsened when you both became gang leaders and tensions rose when Sevika became Silco’s right hand. You were scary, but Sevika was scarier… you had an offer for her - what if you combined forces?

You knew this idea could blow up in your face in more ways than one. But, you wouldn’t have ended up in your position if you didn’t go for things that came with a substantial risk. If you were honest with yourself, this would be the riskiest out of all of them. One wrong move could find you losing your gang, your cred, your reputation, and your identity. In these fissures that was worse than death. You’d become a laughing stock or worse. That thought put a sour taste in your mouth that you wanted to spit out.

The Silver Dagger’s territory wasn’t hard to find. It covered the best parts of the Undercity which included the expensive side of the Red Light District. Your business involved the boss herself, so you were headed into the snake’s den. Contrary to belief, the Silver Dagger’s did not operate out of The Last Drop. That’s where Silco kept them for easy access, but they spent most of their time in an old townhouse they had completely renovated. You’d been there before - once, a long time ago. It was a day you didn’t know whether or not to look back on fondly or with disgust.

As you approach the townhouse, two guys playing blackjack at the gate stand up when they see you. One of them pulls out a gun while the other steps forward with a hand outstretched. The other people loitering around the area don’t even pretend they’re not paying attention. They blatantly stare at you, watching as you reach for your weapon and pull it from its holster.

“A bat?” The one with a gun snickers. You look at him and twist both parts of the handle away from each other. There is a click and nine-inch spikes pop out along the body.

“Do you want a demonstration?” You raise an eyebrow. The guy pales.

“Hand it over. You can’t go in with it or any other weapons you have on your body.” The other guy says, giving you a look-over as you retract the spikes.

“That’s all. I’m not stupid enough to walk into Sevika’s territory with more than necessary. I don’t have a death wish.” You scoff. “Can I go in now?”

“What about there?” He motions to your crotch. You glance down and realize your leather shorts make the bulge of your strap more prominent.

“I’m packing, but not a weapon.” You flash a smirk.

“You’d be surprised how many people still try to sneak in weapons there, too.” He exhales, crossing his arms. “Just have to be through. Head on in.” The door swings open and a third, larger guy stares down at you with an annoyed scowl. You raise an eyebrow at him, too. You knew a lot of the people who fell in with Sevika tended to be quite interesting. She was very picky with whom she accepted into her gang. They had to be smart, resourceful, and loyal. Not much unlike your criteria except you liked to accept the ones with a bit more personality.

You were guided through the hallway until you reached what used to be the living room. You recognized the people lounging on the couches as Sevika’s inner circle. It was rare for her to be somewhere without them. They stuck to her like glue unless she was out on an errand for Silco. You wondered if she ever cared that they did that. You didn’t when it came to your circle. If you needed to tell them to leave you alone, they were more than likely to oblige.

“When I was told the Puppeteer wanted a word with me, I thought you’d be on death’s door… but you don’t look half-dead to me, Y/n.” Sevika’s voice sends a thrill up your spine. You look up to see her leaning against the second-floor railing. It’s been some time since you’ve seen her instead of hearing the gossip about her. The smirk that crosses your face at the sight of your target is positively feral.

“I’m sure seeing me bloody and bruised would give you a hard-on, Sevika.” You respond, taking a step forward, “But I didn’t come here for you to get off.”

“Pity. I was looking forward to something to celebrate.” She says, then motions to the stairs, “Come up. Third door to your right.” She turns and moves out of your sight, likely into the room she just told you about. Grinning to yourself, you head up the stairs with a newfound pep to your step. Oh, she was a sight to behold. ‘How long has it been? Ten years? At least sometime before Silco took over.’ She’d cut her hair and put on more muscle than you remember. She was taller, too.

You swing the door open to see a decently sized office. It was decorated in the way you expected it to be - covered in trophies. There were items or weapons from other gangs hanging from the walls or displayed on shelves. What shows the gap between you and her are the items from Piltover. The sheer number of them showed Sevika’s strength as a leader and her cunning to have them in the first place. You couldn’t help but feel slightly awed by the sight. You have a few of your own but she had to have dozens. This is what it meant to be number one in the Undercity.

“So, what does the famous Puppeteer want with me?” Sevika asks, leaning back in her chair. You could tell it was custom-made, glossy with the telltale sign of being cared for with a linseed oil tincture. ‘I wonder how cocky she’d be if she was the one being fucked in that chair.’

“Me? Famous? You must be thinking of yourself.” You scoff, sitting down and resting your ankle on your knee. You make a show of checking her out, slowly dragging your eyes over her body. “From all the talk I’ve heard about you, I’d expected to find that you’d turned into an Oni. Color me disappointed to see that you’re normal.”

“An Oni?” Sevika snorts, “That’s a new one. Are you sure you didn’t make that one up?”

“A normal person can’t tank a fucking explosion and only get out missing an arm.” You point to the cloak hiding her metal arm. “And, I didn’t make it up. You’re not that lucky to have been on my mind all these years.”

“I could say the same.” She responds and the two of you intensely stare at each other trying to spot a glimpse of a lie. ‘Always so annoyingly attractive. Her makeup is always done so nicely. It used to piss me off that when it was smudged after a fight she still looked hot.’

“Anyway,” You direct the topic to where you want it, “I’m here to make you an offer that you won’t be able to refuse.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “And what delusional thought have you brought to me?”

“Get in a relationship with me,” You start, taking note that Sevika’s eyes widen, “and we can run the Undercity together.”

“You walk into my territory after years of not seeing each other to say… that?” She spits out the word as if it refused to leave her tongue. “You’re being serious? This isn’t some stupid joke because it’s Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m serious.” You nod, smirking. She’s clearly startled by what you said and it makes you gleeful to be able to knock her emotionless mask. “Let’s be honest, we can’t stand each other. You and I go together like gasoline and fire to a fucking explosion,” Her jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as you continue to talk. You knew that expression too well. One she’d give you over and over again while you were in school and competing for top dog. The one that made your rivalry all the sweeter. “but I know you better than anyone else. You’re a fucking powerhouse on your own. Imagine what we can do together.”

“You’ve been so horny for me that your fantasies have convinced you I want you in real life.” Sevika says bluntly, “You should take my spot at Babette’s for the day. Consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

“Why would I go to a brothel when I want to touch you, Sevika?” You purr, reaching out to caress her shoulder. She grabs your wrist, constricting her grip tight enough for the bones in your wrist to creak.

“What makes you think you can touch me, Y/n?” Her voice comes out low in a warning. You grin at her, your heart pounding harder with adrenaline as she glares at you with wild eyes. She didn’t scare you. She never did. Watching Sevika slip into her authoritative mode brought you nothing but a thrill. That’s what she was for you—a thrill.

“I’m the only one who has touched you.” You retort. A moment passes and she lets you go. You glance down at your wrist. There was nothing there but you knew there would be a bruise eventually.

“You’re wasting my time with this shit.” She deflects, taking a cigarillo out of a wooden box. “That’s nothing new with you though. You’ve always liked to waste my precious time.” You roll your eyes and stand up. She follows you with her eyes, tucking the cigarillo between her lips as you walk around her desk. You grip the back of her chair and push it away from the desk, taking up the space between the two. You lean against the desk, crossing your arms as you give her a disapproving stare. She looks up at you, trying to show that she’s disinterested in what you’re saying but the stormy look in her eyes says differently.

“While you continue running errands for Mr.Pink Eye over there, you will be left in my dust, Sevika. And I know how much you hate that. I’ll be number one in the Undercity and you’ll be racing to catch up to me.” You taunt her.

“If that’s what you want to believe.” She chuckles, flicking the lighter in her hand open. A soft green flame flares to life. She lights her cigarillo and you watch as she inhales, exhaling the smoke through her nose.

“Believe? I already see it.” You take the cigarillo from her lips, extinguishing it between your fingers, “You’ll fail without me. But, go ahead and continue being Silco’s bitch, all you have left to do is bark.”

Sevika’s metal fist connects with your stomach and you hunch over gasping for breath. She grabs your hair and throws you into the wall, your shoulder taking the brunt of the hit. You’re quick to shake off the stun and dodge out of the way from her next attack, bringing your leg up to kick her in the side and launch her away from you. She stumbles and you lunge at her, landing a punch across her jaw. A gleeful laugh leaves your lips as you and Sevika brawl around the office. She had a permanent smirk on her face and she laughed as you narrowly dodged her sword slash. The weapons around the office were used and Sevika had to roll out of the way when you got your hand on a mace. She got a good hit to your leg that knocked you off balance and you staggered but caught yourself in time. You wipe the blood off your arm, wearily eying that metal arm of hers. You’d heard people talking about it, but to fight her with it was a whole different process. You were bruised and bleeding but you were having a lot of fun. Sevika was standing in front of the door breathing heavily and wiping blood from a cut on her face. It was a delicious sight to see.

“Is that all you’ve got? I’m still standing.” You taunt her, gesturing to your body. Sevika looks at you silently, standing up straight as she catches her breath. “Well?” You continue. Her hand is closing around your throat before you can blink. A grunt is forced from you as you’re slammed onto the desk. Your hips are pressed into the wood, pinned in place by Sevika’s as she leans over you. A shiver goes through you as you realize she’s furious with you. Eyes of molten metal glaring down at you as if she wants you to burst into flames.

“It’s funny how you call me a bitch, but you’ve been barking at me since you’ve walked in here. If anyone is a bitch, it’s you.” Sevika says lowly, her face inches away from yours. “My bitch.” You can feel her strap pressing up against yours, forcing the base of it to your body and sending a tingling feeling through your clit.

“Prove it.” You smirk, purposefully pushing back with your hips.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.” She exhales sharply. You reach up and wrap your hand around her throat, pulling her face closer to hers.

“I said prove it, Sev.” You goad her with the nickname you gave her. She hated any form of nickname for her name. It was Sevika or nothing. So naturally you didn’t listen to that.

“If you insist, Y/n/n.” She responds with the nickname she had given you. Your eyebrow twitches. You make a noise in the back of your throat as she lifts you off of the desk by your throat. You let go of her neck to grab at her wrist. You don’t have to look to know that your feet are nowhere near the ground. Her lips curve up into a wicked smirk before the world around you blurs. You cry out in pain as your back is slammed against what you assume to be the desk once more. Her hand vanishes from your throat and the next thing you know she’s kissing you.

Sevika’s arms hold your legs to her body and you can feel her strap press against you due to the position you’re in. You feel yourself blush as she leans down, her hair brushing against your cheeks before her lips touch yours. Like your fight moments before, your kiss is anything but gentle. You’re rough, trying to be the one in charge and take the lead. Sevika’s tongue is in your mouth and you’re enjoying it until you want to put yours in hers. It takes a bit but you’re successful and get a low moan from her. You can’t help but feel smug about it, and almost as if she knows that Sevika bites your tongue. You yelp and jerk away from her, breaking the kiss and glaring at her.

“Seriously? You bit me?”

“Don’t be so smug about it.” Sevika shrugs. “You’re not in the position to be.”

“Would you like a redo of what happened the last time I was here? Then I will be.”

“If you call me your girlfriend in front of anyone, I’ll run you through with my sword.” She ignores what you said in favor of addressing the offer you made her.

“We’re partners. Nothing more. Nothing less.” You tuck your arms under your head, “I told you you wouldn’t be able to refuse my offer.” You smirk up at her.

“Shut the fuck up before I shove my dick in your mouth.” She says seriously.

[ikkosu]

HEATED

(prowl.gn.cybertonian.reader)

While rooked into a case he needs to solve, and aside from getting a new partner for, well, reasons — the enforcer is faced with a certain 'predicament' he needs tending.

reader is taller than prowl btw. like, a little bit taller. Or like super tall. I just like the height difference ok. ever since I saw this fanart I just went AWOOGA he's so ndjdjdn his waist damn. I need him submissive. posted this at one am too :D warnings : mild robot gore, and mentions of valve spike. all that stuff.

CHAPTER ONE

UP at the south, Kaon's underground road network hasn't been fairing well these last few solar cyles. The tunnel, swarthed in ink, stretched across from both sides of the labyrinth with each end unseen, fading off into the deep chasm. The only light source now was Swindle's flashlight that lit a soft halo on the ceiling.

The tunnel was extremely obscure under radar. After several Deceptions attempted another revolutionary feat it was then banned of entry. You can barely trace any energon trails entering and leaving the tunnel. Small wonder it was chosen as a hideout — disregarding, of course, the daily patrols now that occured at fixed intervals.

Grimacing, he shifted on his pedes to avoid the murky puddle on his right. The shroud of sulfuric egg, rotten scum and the churn of garbage danced by, and Swindle wouldn't have chosen this place at all if it weren't for the pleasureable sum he's about to be gifted with.

This better be a good deal.

And, on cue, the silhouette of a mech emerged from the shadows, quelling any sense of irritation he had for the late timing. Chastise would be normally an appropriate response. But he figured there'd be no point about huffing now when he's sure this mech's not a force to be reckoned with — and is frame shouldn't be : optics a darkly blue, gold platings a pulsing radiance under the beam of light.

He's a physical embodiment of a shanix-jacked aristocrat. The ones those 'cons' would surely give a good beating to. Him, on the other hand? They're good customers. The best, if any.

"Traffic, eh Senator?" Swindle approaches, servos itching for a good deal. He's already skimming through the many treats he's got under his sleeve.

"Hardly." He grunts with a dismissive wave. "Just some mindless cogs trying to interfere with my work. I ought to establish some policy to prevent them from being this, ugh, trying."

"Believe me, those coppas are as persistent as sparkeaters leechin' off a snuffed mech." He mused.

The mech laughs, a deep rich rumble pricely enough to conjure gold bars. "It's a mystery to know when they'll emerge unannounced."

" Now, onto business. What do we have, here?"

Between them, a barrier, is a table. Producing a rectangular black box from his subspace, the mech sets it down on the surface. Inside, a clink of something can be heard like wind chimes fluttering against the breeze.

"All the crystals from the best of all cities and planets." He said. " Iacon, Vos, Teran, Xaraen — Camien delight, your favorite, is also a plus."

"Ohohoho!" Swindle unlatches the cover and beams at the myriad of vibrant gems. "You can't be giving me these beauties all for nothing, eh? What do I owe you the pleasure of?"

"Oh, nothing grand. I'd just like the usual."

Swindle, for a moment, visibly sags. " Sorry to disappoint but with all the bots cracking down on all of my sources. I don't got too many interesting Intel these days from hiding."

"Oh, no, no,no, no." He waved a servo to stop him." Not the surveillance. I don't need that. I've got enought. What I need, however. Or, rather — my boys on the air has been lacking in some...condiments for their next heist. See to it that they're sufficiently provided."

Now, that's a target he could aim.

"We-ell, why don't'cha just say so?" Swindle grins, interest piqued. "Y'got a benefactor to spare?"

"Quite. He's not very compliant at the moment and I'd rather he is. Could you, perhaps, 'alleviate' that stubbornness of that dear mech?"

Swindle chuckles and does a half-bow, servo on his chassis."Well, my good sir. Anythin' for the customer is a good go. It's in my policy to do so much more than just alleviate his stubbornness." He pinched his foredigit and thumb. Then, rubs it." For a small extra charge, of course."

He throws in several more shanix onto the table.

"I take it you'll be swift?"

"Quick as a turbofox in heat, I assure you."

Ivory white flashes as he grins. "Happy hunting."

THE sun peered between the dark blue clouds of the smothered the sky. Iacon and it's stretching towers loomed above like jagged mountaintops, abstract and austere in all it's glory.

Prowl grips the railings tight. He leant over and rested his helm against the cool metal. Much too cool against the feverish temperature of his helm. Slow and steady he vents, attempting to cool down his heating frame.

The chronometer beeped five thirty. He's outside. Outside in the barely risen morning, disturbed from a barely slept slumber and dragged out to barely risen city straight into a murder scene.

The scenery fleets by in a thin film of blue. Enforcers litter the region, half a mile at most, rousing nearby apartments and living spaces for questioning. Gradually, front porches open. Dawdling mechs and their slow blinking optics, half sleep-induced, are jostled awake at the sight of the officers.

A passing mech was jogging around the vicinity when he supposedly stumbled over a concrete slab. A quick double take proved it wasn't a slab but a dead mech sprawled out on the road, a mini crater indicating the weight of his fall.

And, looking up to the nearby building, where he supposedly fell, a smashed glass on the perfect teeth of windows indicated clear where the incident occured. Obviously, the mech is long gone : grey and parched of color; helm tilted to one side, optics black.

Prowl let's out another breath. It seethed through clenched dentas, hissing out as steam. His servos shook. Footsteps patter behind and Prowl grips it taut to reign it in.

"Sir? Are you—"

"I'm fine." He cuts off the mech. " Who is it?"

The junior officer blinks in surprise, a waver in his voice. "Uh— they, uh. It's someone. They...They claim to be your partner, sir." He trails off, unsure and also surprised at the prospect.

Partner? Prowl skims languidly across the ample litter of mechs bustling about. Only until his optics land on a familiar one, he nods stiffly. "They're with me. You can leave, now."

"Understood."

And not long after did his 'partner' emerged, lifting up the yellow tape, chatting with the passing enforcers amiably before sauntering towards where he stood.

"Not so bustling as I expected to be." You said. " Is it usually this quiet? Or, you could say — dead silent?"

The smaller Praxian had to take several steps back to regard you fully, an unimpressed look on his face. As usual, a loose smile eased at the gesture but you turned away to hide it.

"Enforcer." You bowed and held out a servo.

Instead, he eyes you with a cold reverie, nose raised high and haughty. "Doctor."

"Spoilsport."

And that's what it only took to carve out the familiar, seething scowl. "It's Commander, doctor."

"Actually, it's medic." You mused, optics fleeting over his frame."New paint job?"

"Excuse me?"

Even when he's scowling, the confused puppy look and the flicker of a doorwing alleviated the intimidating factor.

"You look different." You said.

"I don't."

"You kind of do."

"Just—" He rubs his face. "Just what on Cybertron are you trying to insinuate?"

" Come on, now." You nudge him. "Can't a mech compliment a good polished frame?"

Prowl makes an exasperated sound when you gesture to his body. You can't help it when really is shinier than usual. The Ivory veneer plating is practically glowing under the soft rays of the sun. Prowl, however, rubs his face.

"I take it you're aware of your current position?" He eventually says after a moment.

You rubbed your helm thoughtfully, reminiscing the words of Ironhide this morning. All you remember from the debrief was: 'He's a stick down on tha mud'. And also, a stick up his aft? A stick in or stick out? You're not sure.

"Quite." You snort. "Takes a while to get used to it. Especially when Prime didn't inform the reason why. "

"You don't need to know the details behind the transfer."

"Oh, trust me." You said. " I dont think want to, Praxian."

He regards you for a moment before shaking his head, whirling around to inspect the nearby scathes and scratches. Meanwhile, you knelt next to the body and grimaced, sliding on protective gloves. From the corner of your optics, Prowl does as well and he does it with prim and precise movements. It's been a long time since you're out on the fields.

"Why do I have to do this, again?"

Prowl tilts his helm, observing the body at a different angle, the last digit slides inside the sleeve with a plap. "You're experienced with helmichular fracture. Or, working with Cybertronian helms, for that matter."

You scanned the dried energon smeared under the poor mech's helm. Primus, how in Unicron's two aft did he get here? You swivel up. Oh, right. Falling.

"I work with the inner parts. Nothing the same like Chromedome does. That's heinous work. Mine's more on the anatomy, actually."Plating fracture, check. Spinal strut loose and fragile — check. Stiff joints, check. " Couldn't you have figured this out on your own?"

You prod the neck cables, feeling it flaccid. Prowl was silent for a moment. If he was irritated, you could tell by the scowl deepening from the reflection of the puddle beside you.

" I could," he says eventually. "But I don't need your input. I simply.... require a presence to rectify my hypothesis."

Oh? "That's a statement I never thought I'd hear you say." You mutter.

Prowl knelt beside you. He angles himself in a way you would have to look over his shoulder to see the body. The soft scent of datapad and office paperwork wafts by.

"This mech, here, is Strongholt." He said. "He's a member of the High Council. Tasked with handling ammunitions. Obviously, on close inspection it appears as though this body is conformed to the fall."

With the way he worded it, you're sure he doesn't think that way.

"The spinal struts is smashed." You said, optics quick and scaning. "....and everything else is broken. It could be ruled out as suicide but with you here I don't think that's the case."

He lets out a sound you're not sure if it's a conceding one or something else entirely. But he juts out a digit and you look at where he points. Disregarding the scratched plating, some regions of the surface were unusually glossy and some were worn.

"He hasn't gotten his plating polished." Prowl says.

"A bit late for that now, don't you think so?"

"He rushed all the way here in the dead of the night. Why else would he do that?" Prowl rests a servo on his face, mumbling into it thoughtfully. " Senator Stronghold is have said to taken care of his plating with precise delicacy. But this time—" Slowly, he traces a digit along the platings. " —Observe the fringes. It seems indelicate along the seams. His arm is polished but the rest isn't."

"Oookay." You try to grasp the pieces together. Trying to fit in the missing cogs from the machine. "So, he didn't jump. Is that what you're saying?"

"Not suicide."

" Then, what could it be?"

"He brought himself to a place." He muttered. " To somewhere. Unless it's someone and if he complied then it's not a matter of force-handing, is it?"

"I'm assuming things aren't as what they seem to be, apparently."

Prowl taps his thigh in an irritated manner. Either he was talking to himself or to you, it was hard to tell. But with how he disregarded your questions and looks — it was obvious he's cooped up in his thoughts.

"Dragged up there." He continues the muttering to himself. You noticed he's a little restless with the mini-movements he makes. From the rock of his kneeplates and the subtle, but often, flick of his doorwings. " No, down here. He walks. Over there. Then, close to the pole. How many footprints?"

You snapped out of your thoughts with a jolt, scrambling for an answer at the sudden question. Lamely, you said. "Five?"

"No, it's three." He waves at you dismissively. "Foot prints indicate long exposure to standing. Disagreement ensues. Blunt force trauma to the helm. Dragged up—" On cue Prowl swivels up. "Then pushed. Guise of a murder. Two mechs. An accomplice, to be precise."

" A what— Wait— so, hold on." You tug him close, lowering your voice. " He orchestrated his own death?"

Prowl leans away.

"Were you even listening to what I said?" He gives you an incredulous look." If you have so much to lose, would you really do that?"

You groan. He's not helping one bit."You're being real cryptic right now and I'm trying my best."

"No, not orchestrated." He vents. " That'd be ridiculous. But miscalculations did occur during the 'composing' of the Orchestra. He's compliant all but for the money. Both a victim to his faults and thinking."

You turn over his words in your processor. The lingering feeling that this isn't some kind of suicide rules out clear and Prowl had, somehow, figured it beforehand.".... You dont need me here to help you figure out case, don't you?"

He gives you a look that basically confirms it : a smug, but begrudging tug of his lips.

"I need you to confirm a certain theory." He points to the helm. " Blunt force trauma — Zero point."

You move over to the chassis and unlatched the plating. As expected the spark chamber indicated clear signs of restrictive energy flow from the burnt out, damaged ports. This could only occur if—

"He had suffered heavy blunt force trauma." Prowl stands up, gripping the railings with a vent.

" So, this is murder." You follow him, pacing around, a bit reeling from the new turn of events. "Its— it's murder, right?"

" We can't prove it is yet. We..." He trails off, then shake his head. "Tommorow when the warrant comes we'll able to consult his company....and...."

"Prowl, mech. You good?" You turn to the Enforcer who's looking a little off to be well, right now. "Hey, you need a moment?"

Crime scenes aren't the most pleasing sight to behold. Especially, the brutality of it all. You just didn't expect Prowl to be affected this badly.

" I'll—" He clutches his chest, shudders and groans lowly, stumbling forward.

"Prowl!" You caught him before he could hit the ground and instantly limps against your body, venting hard.

His frame was warm. So warm that once you touched his shoulder every moisture on the tip of your digit sizzles into steam. He's shaking and Primus, he's burning!

"You're sick and you didn't tell me?!" You laid him against the railing, loosening his taut platings to let air inside. Steam practically chuffs out from the pistons, smoldering your face with vapor when you unlatched the clips.

"I'm not sick." Was his weak protest and he pawed your servos away, attempting to get up. "The warrant—"

"Don't even try." You push him down. "Your optics are glazed! Plating is burning even worse than a typical fan-clog fever!"

"I'll get through it." He grits out.

"I'm sending you back. Doctor's orders."

He lets out an exasperated sound. " You're stalling the process! I need to solve the case before some overcharged single brained processor messes it up. "

"And you'll smelt into alloy by then, little mech." You clicked on your comm. " I'll deal with the body and I'll deal with the paperwork. You, on the other hand, need ratchet. If you preach for efficiency — then be compliant to it. "

Prowl opens his intake but ozone burns his tongue and another shudder sears through his platings. He turns away from you, groaning lowly. Maybe it's better if he complied because, right now, all he feels, is like a mech doused in gasoline and set on flames.

"Will you be fine?" Ratchet cocks a brow

Prowl grunts, swinging his legs off the medical berth. " I'll manage."

"Sure? Your internal processors are charged up than usual, Prowl." Ratchet grimaces at the datapads. Doesn't look much too good, if he had to be hoenst. " I wouldn't recommend you going about your tasks if you don't want your battle computer burning out out."

Prowl keeps quiet. He can feel the wanton heat pooling in his panel, itching, clawing to be spring free and abuse.

" Prowl?"

He sucks in a breath. "I need to go." And with that he turns on his heel and leaves.

He shouldn't have known it would be today. Especially, when the signs are clear enough these past few weeks : frequent mood swings, strange cravings at strange hours

He could've have pieced it all together and prevented the inevitable — but when he onlined this morning on his berth and felt the familiar trickle of lubricant coating his inner thighs, it was over.

He was too late.

Heat cycles.

Just the worse.

It was easy to know when it's coming just as easy to know it's going to get worse : the numbness on the tip of your digits, restless frame, unfocused and glazed optics. The desire to lodge a hole into every walk you find. All typical sign.

Some frames are more accustomed to such a cycle. Unlike the smaller frames, larger ones are able to disperse heat more efficiently. So, it was a tolerable task to wait it out during work and return home and take care of whatever problem they had with their conjux. Even better, take heat suppressants and the charge, while not entirely taken care of, is reduced.

But given his Praxian frame slim build, demure size and all, the heat isn't so well dispersed and the intake of suppressants just happens to make it worse. His tanks are sensitive to the chemicals; he took it once and it wasn't fun taking turns purging his tank and satisfying himself.

Prowl groans, squeezing his thighs together as the words blur out from his optics. The datapad in his servos dented from his grip and he discards it on the table, landing across with a tack. Blasted report. He keeps reading the same line over and over and his processors won't digest the damn thing.

He leans against the chair and his helm tips back until his optics met the ceiling. An experimental servo glides down his abdomen and he shudders as it clamps on his heated panel. He gives it a little stroke, venting when lubricant smear the seams. A low whine churned from his throat. Prowl flushes, chagrined.

Mhn. Hot. He feels hot. So, hot. So Restless. He needs to purge out this excess energy or driving him insane. He could head out into the sparring range and punt in a few dents jn the testing dummies but he's too restless for that. He needs something and that something has to be inside and pumping his valve until he's all but a writhing mess on the floor.

The panel slides and a throbbing spike springs out. Ivory in color, grey outline, it stands at attention and the tip weeps with transfluid. Prowl slides his digits inside the swollen valve. He groans as he feels his calipers pulsing around his digits, spreading the folds out.

He can't keep going on like this.

On cue, the door opens. Prowl jolts in his seat and swivels up at the intrusion, lodging his digits deeper inside in tandem of his fluster. It was you. You're by the doorway. Stiff and straight to the brim, optics wide. The datapad you were holding drops from your servos just as your jaw had flung open in surprise

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: sorry this one is a bit short. i am worrying myself silly until tomorrow.

masterlist

and wouldn't you love to love her?

Bucky didn't know if Y/N wouldn't be back. He had decided to give her space, allow her the time off since she never had any but explaining it to Sadie was, to say the least, complicated. The two year old had decided to live up to the terrible two cliche and between refusing to go to school and kicking any time he tried to bathe her. Whenever she asked when Y/N would be back all Bucky could say was that he did not know and, honestly, that was the truth. The more the days passed by and her viva examination got closer, he was starting to believe more and more that maybe she just wasn't coming back at all. I like you just the way you are, what ever happened to Hey Y/N, would you like to go for some coffee? No, he just had to be upfront about it.

As if Sadie living up to her prophecy wasn't enough, Christopher was equally on him blabbing and wondering about Y/N. He could only tlel him so much before Chris charted a jet to Ohio and he was certain Y/N would hate that more than what he told her.

Bucky was in the middle of dealing with Sadie screaming bloody murder about the pancakes not having chocolate chips when he heard the front door close. At this point, if someone came to shoot him in the head he wouldn't mind. However, it turned out to be a much pleasant sight dressed in a professional black dress.

      - Why is she crying? - Y/N drapped her coat over the chair.

      - There's no chocolate chips. - Bucky sighed both of relief that Y/N was here and of tiredness.

      - Sadie Barnes, you either eat your pancakes or there will be no TV, no tablet, no toys, no Etch-a-Sketch and definitely no Bluey, Disney + or any other streaming service your dad may be paying for. Your choice.

The redhead stared at Y/N before starting to eat her pancakes. That's it, Y/N was a witch. She had to be a witch. That's it. She was a witch, a very pretty witch who looked way too polished to have come out of an Ohio farm, but a witch.

      - How were the cows?

      - Pardon?

      - Your parents. You went to see your parents right? They live in a farm in Ohio?

      - Yeah. They were ok. Apparently mum has named them Rose, Sophia, Dorothy, and Blanche much to dad's dismay.

      - Like the Golden Girls. - he chuckled. - So, your viva is today.

      - Don't remind me. It's like walking into a slaughter house and then being denied being called a doctor. They should decapitate me, put my head on a spike, and parade me around Columbia as the massive disappointment.

      - What's decapitate? - Sadie asked.

      - It's the capital. - Bucky said not wanting to traumatise his two year old with the scenario Y/N had just described. - Go wash your hands and get your backpack, bug.

Sadie nodded but not before going over to hug Y/N's leg. Y/N ruffled her head before sending her along to wash her hands. Bucky got to making Y/N a plate, patting the chair next to him. She smiled at him before taking a seat and cutting a bit of the pancake. She stopped chewing, looking at him with a forced smile.

      - Good?

      - Buck, why are they salty? - she put a napkin in front of her mouth to spit out the pancake.

      - They're not salty. - Bucky took a forkful from her plate to try it himself.

      - We've had this discussion, Buck. Salt is in the black pot and sugar in the white one.

      - I'm gonna be a mess when you quit. - he pushed the plate away from her. - Speaking of which, I would like if you interviewed your future replacement. I trust you to pick the right person.

      - Most likely you won't need a replacement because I'm failing my viva today.

      - You are not. - Bucky put his hand on her shoulder. - You are smart, Baudelaire.

      - Baudelaire?

      - Do the scary thing first. Get scared latter.

(...)

Bucky drove Y/N down to Columbia, ensuring she got there safe and ready for her VIVA before driving down to take Sadie to school. Y/N swallowed in empty, merely staring at the hallowed halls of a building which had many notable alumni and she was now hoping she would be one. The VIVA was intense to say less and as she came out of the room, she was sweating buckets and wanting to be as far away from the building as possible.

      - Y/N! - shit. Shit, shit, shit, she'd forgotten he existed. What ever happened to men taking a hint?

      - Chris. - she turned around with a fake smile. - What are you doing here?

      - Anderson told me it was your VIVA today, I wanted to come see you. I haven't seen you in a while and Barnes said you were on holiday.

      - I thought after our last chat you wouldn't want to talk to me, Christopher.

      - It was a hurdle, Y/N. - he got closer to her. - Listen, I understand it was rough of me to attack your job like that but you have to understand it's because I care for you and that job is beneath you.

      - No job is beneath anyone, Christopher. You think that silver spoon mouthed talk is gonna make me forget you basically insulted me, my boss and the child I look after?

      - You have a Bachelors and a Masters, Y/N. You should be working internships, assistant positions to help you build your curriculum, not being a silver spoon mouthed man's child's babysitter.

      - That's all fine when you can afford to work a non paid position, Christopher.

      - I care about you, Y/N.

      - But I don't love you.

      - I don't expect you to love me yet, we haven't been seeing each other for too long and if we ...

      - Christopher. - she interrupted him. - I love someone else. It's not gonna stop.

(...)

Y/N dragged herself home. It was now a week, a week long of worrying wether she passed or not. She guessed it was better than having to do it again, heck she hoped she wouldn't have to do it again. She opened the door and heard mumbling with all the lights being off. She moved to turn the lights on, coming face to face with a home made sign and Sadie yelling surprise.

      - What is this? - she smiled, leaning down to pick Sadie up.

      - You're done, it's a party. - Bucky chuckled, pointing to the sign. - We have reservations in about 3 hours. Bought an ice cream cake and Sadie made you a card.

      - You shouldn't have done this.

      - What? After 3 years and a half of you moaning and whining over psychology, you need a nice night out.

      - You do know she'll start crying at around 10.

      - That's why we have dinner reservations at 6.30 and once she's in bed, I will allow you full control of the television. How does that sound?

      - I may not pass.

      - You got this far. You deserve a celebration just for you.

taglist: @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82 @winters1917 @vladsgirlxx @stinkerbelle007 @maybefoxysouls @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chipilerendi @kandis-mom @belennasif @abitofblues @buckybarnessimpp

[everlasting-rainfall]

hi idk if anyone already asked about this I was wondering what are your thoughts on yandere poly Sanji and Luffy ?

Hello, hello, hello! Nah, I believe that you’re the first one to ask about the two of them together which is by no means a bad thing as I’m really happy that you did, dear!

Honestly I love the idea of Luffy and Sanji together as I’m a big LuSan shipper like I even have a fankid for them but at the same time, I love polyamourous straw hats (minus Chopper as he’s a baby) in general but we’ll save the polyamourous straw hats for another day when I feel more confident about writing them all together

For now! We’ll focus on Yandere Sanji and Yandere Luffy together in a nice happy polyamourous relationship with you!

Let’s get into it, shall we?

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

Kidnapping, Violence, Isolation, Forced Touches, Bathing with a Yandere, SPOILERS FOR WANO, Jealousy, Forced Intimacy

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

So honestly, the two of them together is bound to more than likely be quite chaotic no matter what kind of scenario you might be in like no matter the AU or if there even Yandere’s to be honest

You have Luffy’s chaotic nature that was probably the entire reason that you were snatched up so quickly and taken to the Thousand Sunny to be part of his crew

And then you have Sanji whose an all around gentlemen who was more than likely trying to subtly coerce you into joining the crew before Luffy just snatched you up like it was nobodies business and made you join

Honestly I don’t think that you’re ever going to get any quiet alone time with the two of them as if Sanji isn’t fawning over you and doing anything to make your life just the slightest bit more comfortable then Luffy is there wanting to play a game with you or do something fun in general

You’re never really able to have any quiet alone time and if you somehow manage to find a good hiding spot then it’s not going to last long as they both will be metaphorically ripping apart the ship looking for you until they either find you or a crew mate rats you out

When this happens, you’ll have Luffy’s arms wrapped you multiple times in a hug as he gleefully shouts “Found you!” while Sanji hangs off of you crying asking what he did wrong for you to run away from them like this

If you truly need some alone time though then you could ask Sanji for it, he’ll keep Luffy away from you the best that he can while you take a deep breath and try to enjoy some alone time but don’t expect much as Sanji will constantly be poking his head in to check on you and ask if you need absolutely anything

You can shout at him to leave you alone buh now Sanji looks heartbroken and Luffy is upset with you for making your other partner cry so now you get no alone time and you’re in trouble

In all honesty when it comes to punishing you for being bad then I can honestly imagine that Sanji is much more gentle with what he does like this man can barely bring himself to scold you

While Luffy on the other hand is more willing to punish you like if you’ve done something wrong like attempt to spike the crew’s food with something to give you a better chance at escape from them or made Sanji cry then that’s when he’ll punish you

He will shout at you for doing that and in all honesty, I feel like Luffy despite not being the smartest guy could make you feel absolutely awful for what you did

And if you continue to do stuff like this then I can’t say that you’re not going to wind up in some serious trouble like I’m talking physical punishment

Sanji would never allow Luffy to hurt you in any shape or form so don’t worry but what makes these punishments physical is that it’s basically being locked up in your shared room with them. No interaction with anyone but them

And if you don’t trying to escape after that then say hello to a chain that will keep you bound to their bed until you either have spent enough time in your punishment according to Sanji or until you have shown a genuine change in your behavior

You could try to trick them but I don’t see that going well for you as even if they fall for it, there’s always the chance that once you’re let out. Another member of the crew will point out that nothing has changed and boom!

Right back to punishment…

Also as well I can see like how they met you was probably through typical straw hat stuff like they arrive on an island, they find out there’s a problem typically consisting of corrupt marines or bad pirates then they wind up helping

Maybe like you were someone that the enemy took and is keeping like “Well aren’t you a pretty thing?” or “If anyone tries to fight us then this person is dead!!”

And the person who got them to help was like your friend or something, they showed Sanji and Luffy a picture of you and you know those moments where it’s like love at first sight? That’s what happens for Sanji at least while Luffy does feel drawn to you

After everything is said and done, that’s when they spend some time on the island just chilling and maybe partying too with the islanders as “Woo hoo!! The enemy is gone!! Yay!!” and all that

And it’s during this time is when they’d get closer to you, they’d spend time with you during the party like you’d laugh when Sanji kicks Luffy for stealing your food and when Luffy steals you away from his partner by grabbing you and zipping off

Both are clearly trying to spend as much time as they possibly can with you like it’s so obvious that it isn’t even funny but you don’t pay it any mind other than that you were just a hostage that they had to save and protect so they’re probably just trying to make sure you’re okay

You are correct on that part but you’re missing a few details like them wanting to keep you for themselves and take you on a high seas adventure with them to find the One Piece

If you don’t have any skills then that’s fine by them as Sanji won’t mind a little help in the kitchen now and again especially if it means that he gets to spend more time with you although he is just about doing everything for you

And besides Luffy could always do with another member of Pirate Royalty

So when they leave, that’s when Sanji tries to be all gentlemanly with you and offer you to join the Straw Hats like straight up trying to offer you his arm so you can come with them

If that doesn’t work and you say no then he’ll try to insist but trust me if Luffy gets impatient about you joining then that’s when he’ll swoop in and lift you over his shoulder to rush off

Probably while laughing too

Sanji is honestly the kind of Yandere as well to attempt to win your affections as he sees how you don’t accept his invitations for affection

So this man will definitely try and win you over in whatever way that he can like he is making all of your favorite foods and doing his absolute best to be as romantic as possible with you

Little loving gestures and things like that like he straight up memorizes your schedule to get everything ready for you before you need it like you’ll be heading to get cleaned up and he’ll already be there having drawn a bath

Probably offering to wash your back for you too

If you didn’t know any better then you would say that he wasn’t a Yandere but it’s hard to forget when on the occasion that he takes you off the ship with him, he tries and more than likely succeeds at cracking the skull of any man who speaks to you

If you didn’t hold him back or distract him then he might even take the life of any man who stares at you too long…

Luffy on the other hand probably acts like he already has your affection and love whole heartedly like he doesn’t even seem to realize that you’re fighting him whenever he wraps you up in a hug or tries to plant a messy kiss on the side of your face

He is wholeheartedly convinced that you love him and Sanji just like how they love you, you just don’t show it

Don’t get him wrong though as if you do try to leave them then he’s absolutely not okay with that, he’s still convinced that you love them but you need to be reminded to not leave them and you just need a reminder of where you belong which leads to the punishments

I don’t think Luffy would get too jealous if someone talked to you but he would try to butt into a conversation like throwing his arm around your shoulders in a seemingly playful manner or moving himself to be as in between you and your conversation partner

He will look so offended as well if you move him or remove his arm from you… He’ll also just put his arm right back around you or go right back to where he was

As for intimacy?

God, I wish you luck trying to take the both of them at once as they’re both incredibly strong Pirate men… Sanji won’t be too rough until he really starts getting into it but Luffy is rough enough to compensate

Aftercare is a thing, Sanji’s aftercare is definitely more traditional with cuddles and soft kisses. Probably a bath too but Luffy’s aftercare typically involves getting something good to eat

As for Intimacy in Gear 5? Imagine a giant sun god man with cartoon physics mashing two dolls together to make them have sex… That’s probably what some of it would be like

Other times though, I can imagine that Luffy has you on your knees next to Sanji who’s also on his knees and just licking Luffy’s cock looking totally peaceful with it too

Meanwhile you’re definitely not into this as these are your captors but if push comes to shove and Luffy notices that he isn’t getting as much love from you as he is Sanji

Then he might just shrink his cock down to manageable size and shove it down your throat with a “Stop ignoring me!”

[davenweenie]

Lab Rats Headcanons

Except most of them are about Chase.

-Chase is grandma Rose’s favourite step-grandchild, Leo is obviously her favourite all around.

-the Davenport-Dooley’s have never met Donald and Douglas’s parents, I don’t think they ever will for many reasons.

-Chase used to be insecure about being short but now that he’s older he sees it as an advantage during fights and battles because he’s hard to catch/can get low enough to avoid hits from taller opponents. He’s also ‘slippery’ aka fast and quick, can get out of the hold of an opponent pretty quickly.

-Chase has a search engine in his brain, like he can literally look up answers to questions in less than seconds. He’s like a human Google.

-Chase hates Spike, despises would actually be a better word. He hates that Adam, Bree and Leo trigger Spike on the occasion because they think it’s funny (*cough* their first day at school *cough*). He wakes up not knowing what happened, what Spike has done, who he’s hurt and what property he’s damaged and it’s terrifying not knowing.

-Spike made an appearance during their time in the Elite Force. Chase’s Commando App was triggered by a news station that had made awful remarks about the EF (about Skylar and Bree’s relationship more specifically, they were very homophobic to them) and Chase had just gotten so angry that it triggered Spike to come out. He ended up ripping the TV off the wall, smashing it to pieces and basically going on a rampage. Chase is glad that Spike couldn’t figure out how to get down into Mission Command. It took about an hour for him to calm down enough that the app disengaged. It was a lot of explaining to do to his teammates.

-Chase and Kaz once got chased by the paparazzi, Kaz flipped them off as he ascended to the heavens (well, the skies of Centium City) with Chase in his arms who was laughing a lot. Thank the wonderful world of being able to fly.

-the Elite Force all saved up to get tickets to see Harry Styles for Bree’s birthday, they could have quite easily got the money from Mr Davenport but they wanted it to feel more meaningful because they had to work hard to save up for it.

-Chase struggles a lot going to concerts, meet and greets, shows etc because of his super senses. He’s found ways to cope better but it’s still always a struggle.

-to follow that, everyone tries to play music at a low volume for Chase’s sake. He always feels bad about it but they all assure him that they’d rather he feel comfortable in his own home than stress him out by playing loud music.

-the Rats never had toys when they were younger, they had to figure out how to play by themselves which often ended up with Chase getting hurt somehow. Falling over because he was going chased by someone with super speed, getting thrown around by someone with super strength just to name a few.

-Tasha and Leo were distraught to find out that they never had toys or teddies/stuffed animals so they took all three of them to Build-a-Bear and they each got a teddy. Chase got a frog, only because they had ran out of Pokémon ones but he loves that thing so much, it sits on the edge of the glass in his capsule and he named it Greta after Greta Thunberg.

-Chase finds a kitten in a dumpster on the way home from the shop/store one day, he heard it crying and clawing to try and get out with his super hearing. He takes it back to the penthouse with him and cleans it up. He didn’t have any plans to keep it, he was going to take it to a shelter or give it to someone he knew would take care of it but as soon as he dried it off and wrapped it in a blanket he knew that he couldn’t let it go.

-he finds out that it is in fact a he. He names him Tesla after Nikola Tesla. It also pisses him off so much that people think he named him after the car because he hates Elon Musk.

-Tesla is a calico cat with heterochromia. Kaz keeps telling Chase that it was destiny that he found Tesla because of their matching eyes. Chase keeps telling him he thinks it’s bs though.

I have fallen in love with this cat hc. Let me know if you want more of Tesla because I love him.

[stargazer-dreamer]

cowboy caregiver

character: spike spiegel reader: gender neutral summary: spike is sick. you realize the two of you have very different methods of dealing with that

★ spike spiegel does not get sick

★ that’s what he tells you as he wraps a blanket around himself and sniffles on the couch

★ he didn’t even bother getting dressed. couldn’t. not when he got up to do his morning workout and couldn’t make it past the bedroom door, already out of breath and muscles weak from the strain

★ he made it to the common room, but only just barely

★ despite his protests, you made him lemon tea. he preferred coffee, you knew, but this would work wonders for his throat

★ he sipped at it with a pout

★ the fridge needed restocking, so breakfast was instant ramen. you chose a kimchi flavored one to help with his sinuses—never mind the fact that he couldn’t handle even an ounce of heat

★ it was for his own good. he got out of bed when you told him not to

★ after his meal—after he gulped down the broth like his life depended on it and gasped for air a moment after—you sent him back to bed. whatever the future equivalent of vicks vaporub is was applied to his chest and upper lip, and he resisted the urge to immediately wipe it away

★ he was a bit of a brat, when he was sick. he whined and sought out comfort, all while stubbornly holding on to the claim that he wasn’t sick at all; a box of tissues down already and your hand forced into his hair, silently demanding you run your fingers through it

★ he reached for a box under his bed, one you’ve never seen before, but you confiscated the whole thing and forced into his hands a dose of store-bought medicine instead

★ “no,” he said. “i want my stuff. i don’t do well with drugs”

★ “this isn’t a drug,” you insisted. “spike, i’m giving you medicine”

★ he looked at you with all the sobriety someone with a fever could possibly muster. “all medicine are drugs”

★ eventually, you got him to down the dose and within minutes, he was snoring away

★ he didn’t wake up for the next twelve hours. you couldn’t help but feel a little bit bad about it

★ when you asked how he was feeling, he squinted and mumbled that he, admittedly, felt a little bit better, but not by much

★ he didn’t have much of an appetite, but after a bit of prodding, he managed to eat half a bowl of porridge

★ after that, you helped him into the shower

★ after about half an hour—about twenty minutes past his usual shower time—you came to check up on him

★ he was laying in the tub, water raining down on him, and he was positioned in such a way that you couldn’t quite tell if he was alive or not. the mumbled protest he gave after you shut off the faucet clued you in to the fact that he was trying to cool off

★ despite that, getting him back to bed was easy enough, the promise of a back rub sent him straight to his room, on his stomach, back presented to you

★ in the middle of it, he fell sleep but woke up immediately after you got up to leave

★ he didn’t want you to go. he agreed to another (lower) dose of medicine only if you read to him the book he had been slowly working through

★ he was asleep within seconds, but you couldn’t help but stay by his side for a little while longer. a kiss to his temple had him stirring, but he remained asleep

★ you smiled at him fondly. taking care of him was a full time job

[asirensrage]

Beauty in the Deep - A MerMay Oneshot

Title: Beauty in the Deep Rating: Mature Pairing: Unnamed character/reader x unnamed male character Warnings: dub-con/forced change, drowning, murder, fear of oceans, unbeta'd.

Summary: “I can show you so much,” he promises. “The beauty of the ocean is in the deep.”

Notes: This is what happens when I'm left to my own devices after getting @vixenofcourse to play with the ideas of making mythical creatures creepier...and then joking about how we'd react to meeting mermen. In celebration of "mermay", here's a quick oneshot I wrote today. Enjoy!

Heed the warnings.

The ocean calls to you. Something deep inside finds it calming. Maybe it's the way your ancestors came from islands or the sound of the waves, but it’s soothing to be near. Not in it though. Never in it. 

You have a healthy respect for the ocean. It is large and dark and deep. There is so much unknown in the ocean and you prefer to stay where you’re in control. You keep your feet planted on the ground, toes digging into the sand, and never go further in than you can touch. Even if you could swim, you wouldn’t go far. The waves are treacherous and you prefer to look at it. 

“Why don’t we go on a cruise or something?”

“Absolutely not.” There’s something terrifying about the abyss it is. Should anything happen, you’d be dead and you quite prefer living thank you. 

Still, it doesn’t stop you from sitting on a dock, feet dangling in the water while she swims. 

There’s something strange about them. 

At first, you think it’s just because they’re calling out to you in the ocean, wanting you to join them just past the reef. Where it’s deeper. 

Your friend wants to go. “They’re cute!” she says. You peer out, trying to make out their features but your sight has never been the best. 

“No thanks,” you say. “Poseidon already stole my glasses once. I’m not risking it again.” She laughs but swims out anyway. You can't stop the fear that sits in your chest at how far she’s going. You can’t help her if anything happens. 

“Come into the water,” he teases. You pull your leg back, away from the claws and webbed fingers that reach for you. The curiosity at the truth of the men was enough to get you on a boat. You can still see land and it’s a small comfort. 

“I can’t swim,” you tell him again. You watch the way his tail moves under him in the water, helping keep him in place. The colours are vivid in the light and you can’t help but wonder if they’re a way to locate each other or a warning to other predators. There are spines and spikes that follow the curve of his back to his tail and along his fins. You had thought your friend was joking when she told you they were mermen. There was no such thing. They proved you wrong. 

“I’ll help you,” he says. It would sound like a promise if it weren’t for the pitch-black eyes that watch you. You’d think it would be too bright for them with eyes like that, but they never seem to hesitate. 

“No thanks,” you say. You’re not about to let yourself drown because you panicked about being unable to touch the ground. 

He laughs - this weird grating sound that might be soothing underwater but it sounds like nails on the chalkboard. “Well, will you sing for me instead?” he leans against the boat. “Come, little siren, it’s the least you can do if you won’t swim with me.”

You frown slightly at the term. “Am I drawing men to their doom?”

He grins, teeth sharp and glinting. “Do you want to?”

It happens fast. 

You find yourself in the water but before you even start to sink, he’s there. His tail winds around you, careful not to touch you, hands placed gently on your hips as he keeps you afloat. “See? I promised I’d help,” he says. 

“Can you help me back on the boat?”

“Come on,” he nearly pleads. “You’re already here. Swim with me.” He holds your hands, tail moving and out of your way while he guides you in the water. It’s nice but the terror overrides it. Especially as he gets farther from the boat. 

“I want to go back now,” you say. You try to turn, but his grip tightens slightly and his tail moves behind you, seeming to block the way. You don’t know if he means to or not, but his scales are sharp. You learned that the first time you touched them. 

“Wait,” he says. “Look.” 

You turn to look where he’s pointing and your breath catches in your throat. There’s a school of fish, sparking in the water and swimming in a wide circle before they dart away from you both. 

“Wow.”

He grins, teeth bared in a warning you don’t catch. “I can show you so much,” he promises. “The beauty of the ocean is in the deep.”

That does not sound good. “Wait, I don’t–”

He drags you down. You kick, try to push him away, but his arm is a vice grip on your waist and all you can see is the way the light fades above you as his scales darken with every movement. 

One of his nails scratches you. It barely registers with the panic that you’re going to drown. Your head feels heavy as you can no longer hold your breath. You close your eyes and let go. 

You wake. 

Your body feels strange, not quite like your own, but before you can even think about what’s wrong with it, something else takes precedence. You are trapped. You are curled up and naked and surrounded by a thick membrane and hard shell. It doesn’t move when you push on it, but you keep trying. You can hear voices around you. 

You’re not sure what’s happening but you refuse to die. Not like this. 

You find a rock that digs into your side and use it to smash against the barrier. You fight and fight and fight. Finally, it cracks. 

It takes ages for you to break it further, to squeeze yourself out of the containment and when you finally do, when you float almost weightlessly for a moment as you escape, you hear cheering around you. 

It takes a second to register the fact that the people surrounding you, the ones cheering for your escape, are the same mermen who called to you. There is a scent around you and the back of your mind registers it as your blood. 

The one who stole you, who dragged you deep into the water swims towards you. You lash out, swiping hard. You nearly catch him with your nails. The grating laugh he had is soothing and that’s when you realize it. You’re underwater. The strange feeling in your body is that it is no longer yours. You were different. 

You hear them laugh as you twist, trying to see what you’ve lost. What you gained. 

Your legs have transformed, a dark purple, nearly black, tail in its place. The fins are wide and the spines that reach out are a bright blue. A warning sign, you know. Your fingers are webbed, with thick nails at the end of them. The trap you escaped is a shell, pale and pearlescent and broken by your hands. 

All you can do is scream. 

He follows you. 

You find your friend attached to the other one, a pale green tail in place of her legs. She grins too wide with sharp teeth, pleased to see you. 

“We’re free!” She says.

“We didn’t get a choice.”

“There is always a choice,” the man next to her tells you. “You could have died in your transformation. You could have withered in your shell. You chose to survive.” 

You snarl in response. 

You glow in your anger. Literally. The bioluminescence of your skin glows in reaction to your anger. A warning to all who may approach. The mer who claimed you, you changed you into this, adores it. You react mainly to him. He wants to show you everything. You want to rip his throat out and teach him the proper meaning of consent. 

He moves in close, taking advantage of your unfamiliarity of your new body, your need to swim and he pins your arms to your side. Your tail lashes out but he was born in this water, long before you were. He tells you, in the farce of an embrace, how they were going to kill you. Your friend accepted and you kept refusing to let them close. His people don’t believe in survivors. Not after all these years. It’s safer when there are none left to tell tales. He wanted you to have a chance. He cheated when he slipped that rock into your shell.

Your anger doesn’t fade and he draws you in to lash out at him. He stays out of your reach, teasing you and offering suggestions as he tries to trick you into learning how to swim. He shows you what you need to know to survive, never straying far but always finding you as you light in rage.

It only changes when your anger is redirected. Your friend leads you to a yacht. You blend into the darkness of the water and watch as the people on it laugh about those below them, telling stories of how they take and take and take. 

Your hands are tearing open the side before you’re even aware of it. Of the twenty people on the yacht, the only survivors are the crew. They whisper about splashes in the dark, how their boat was pulled by something that led them closer to shore. 

There is blood on your teeth and flesh under your scales and he kisses you. He tells you that you’ve never looked so beautiful, that they deserved it. “I knew you would be so good, so ferocious, my siren.”

You swipe at him and he laughs before kissing you again. You let him because he promises to find you more, to help you, to give you everything. 

Children tell stories about lost phones and mermaids who save them from the tides. People give warnings about sharks in the area, acutely aware that those who lose their limbs are often the ones causing trouble for the area. Private beaches become public. The coral flourishes. No one will live on a cursed shore, at least those who are not respectful to the ocean and all it provides. Some nights there is singing, a soft voice that echoes promises across the water. It’s often followed by a grating laugh and splashing that bleeds into the waves of the ocean. 

everything tag: @raith-way @chrissymunson @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse  @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

[chicago-pd-is-weird]

Week 2 - Day 4: Forced to Watch

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 at the link above or find it below the cut:

It was hard, trying to kidnap multiple people. I mean, as a one-man team, how could you possibly take three bodies and drag them to your van? The chances you had for successfully kidnapping three people are slim, but never zero.

That’s exactly what Roland liked to do. He liked those odds. He liked to challenge them, and this time, he seemed to have a death wish. His target was three cops, three cops who, frankly, could kill him.

Trudy Platt, the first he had targeted. She was smart, cunning, but most of all, she was often overlooked as not only a member of the group, but as the most “harmless.” That was far from true, Roland knew. He had come to her district. He had watched her handle her officers and detectives in a way that nobody else did. She had a gentle, motherly compassion underneath all of that hard exterior.

Alvin Olinsky, the quiet one, often overlooked as well. Although he was often paired with Voight, who got all the attention, Olinsky was just as bad, but simply quieter about it. He was sneakier. He seemed innocent on the outside, but he had killed people, specifically Eddie Browning. The man who killed his old partner. His kill count was up to eight. He’d also been an accessory to several other murders, murders which were carried out by the third member of their little group.

Henry “Hank” Voight, the ringleader, of sorts. The face of the group. It seemed that nearly everyone in the city knew him, at least by name, but nobody actually knew him. Nobody except these two. He was defined by his hard exterior, though everything he did was out of love - for his team, for his friends, for his family.

Roland watched them, sipping his drink. How he had managed to stay off their radar thus far was amazing to him. He was playing the game and it seemed that he was good at it. He wondered just how he would get the three of them into his van. Maybe spike a drink, let them go outside, knock out one, struggle with the other. That was an interesting scenario.

He couldn’t drug all three, seeing as that would result in three bodies he had to drug, and that meant more chances to get caught. He mused over it as he watched the three laugh over dinner. Trudy and Hank louder, Alvin a quieter chuckle. Roland could see they were starting to relax. The alcohol was taking a hold of them.

Separate and conquer? Perhaps? They were weaker on their own than United. Roland was quite a bit younger than the three of them, but was his speed and stamina enough to outdo each of the three seasoned police officers individually? He figured he would end up in the ground before that ever succeeded.

But the best idea Roland settled on to kidnap them required some preparation, so, he put some money down on the table for his drinks, and walked out, past the table with the three, heightening his adrenaline. He was like a junkie. He needed it. He needed more.

—

Roland could barely contain himself as he waited in a dressed-up ambulance. He listened to the radio. He smiled.

“Ambulance 61, person down, 809 West Randolph Street.”

Roland smirked. The bribe had paid off. He flipped on the sirens, driving up to the business before the real ambulance could get there. He then grabbed a jump bag, running into the restaurant. “Out of the way! Paramedic!”

“She just passed out,” Hank said as he knelt beside Trudy. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Does she have a history?” He took Trudy’s pulse. It was strong. She was simply unconscious, just as he planned.

“Not of passing out,” Alvin replied. “No medications and no conditions that we know of. She’s as healthy as a horse.”

Roland hummed, using a stethoscope, then nodding at Hank and Al. “Help me get her to the hospital. They’ll be able to figure it out.”

Hank and Alvin picked Trudy up, getting her out to the ambo, then getting in behind her. Of course they would stay with her. Just as Roland thought. Roland shut one of the doors, being stopped by Al. “Where’s your partner?”

“Budget cuts. You’ve got just me. Want her to survive, or not? She’s stable now.”

Al let him go, nodding. Roland shut the door, putting expandable foam into the handles so they couldn’t open them from the inside. The only door would be the side one, just as Roland wanted. Control. Funnel. Also, he had blacked out the back windows of the ambo so that they couldn’t see out the back. They were more focused on Trudy anyways.

Roland smiled like a child on Christmas. He had successfully kidnapped all three of them. He gripped the steering wheel in anticipation as he raced around the streets of Chicago, then into a warehouse, flipping off the siren. He parked the ambo so that they would be funneled into a storage container upon opening the door. He got out of the ambo and waited for the inevitable curiosity of the men. It didn’t take long, so when the two got out of the ambo, Roland couldn’t help but smile. He opened the other side of the storage container, then closed it.

“What the hell is this?!” Hank grumbled, but him and Al looking for their guns, which Roland had picked off them when they got into the ambo.

Roland lunged forward, forcing them into hand-to-hand combat before they could get to their ankle pieces. He took on Olinsky first, smashing his head into a wall three times before throwing him down, quickly getting to Hank before he had the chance for his ankle piece, punching him in the stomach and grabbing his small gun, then took the one off Olinsky, who was on the ground, groaning.

Roland smirked as he tucked the guns into his waistband with the other two. “Look at that. I feel like an arms dealer.” He took one out, pointing it at Hank. “Go ahead. Try anything. Cause I guarantee if I miss you, it’ll ricochet and hit him.” He motioned to Al.

“What the hell do you want?!”

“There’s three chairs over there,” he said, motioning to the side. “Grab one, put him in it, and tie him up. Tie him tightly, because if you don’t, I’ll be forced to put a bullet in his head.”

Hank begrudgingly obeyed, getting a folding chair and rope, putting a half-conscious Al in it and tying his hands behind the chair.

“Feet too.”

Hank glared at Roland, but tied Al’s feet. Then, he stood. “What do you want from us?”

Roland laughed. “Go get her.” He motioned to the ambulance.

“She needs a doctor.”

“Boy, you are thick. She’s not sick. She doesn’t need a doctor. I paid off the chef to knock her out. Go ahead, put the pieces together, Sergeant Voight. You were a detective once. Go get her.”

Hank went to the ambo, getting Trudy and bringing her out. She was half-conscious as well, seeing as the drugs were wearing off. Hank put her in a chair and tied her down, just as he did for Al.

“Good. Good.” Roland smiled. “Now yourself.”

“I can’t tie myself up.”

“Tie your feet. I’ll get your hands.”

Hank did as he was told, tying his own feet to the chair, then putting his hands behind the back of the chair. “You bastard.”

Roland couldn’t help but laugh. Once the three of them were securely tied, he moved the ambo and closed both sides of the storage container.

He stepped back. He was giddy. He laughed. He allowed the three of them to wake up and stew in there, watching on his phone as he drove the ambo to a cliff overlooking the water, then put it in neutral, pushing it over the cliff, walking back to the main road and catching a cab close to the warehouse, walking the rest of the way. The three had been talking, wondering what happened and how they got played. They wondered how to get out, but found that it was useless.

Roland went to the storage container, grabbing a few different tools before entering, smirking. He closed the door behind him, putting a battery-powered lantern in the middle of the circle of chairs so the three could see. He wanted them to see. He wanted them to watch.

“Alright, then. Pick.” He walked around the three in a circle. “Fire, water, or electric?”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Trudy huffed.

“It means what I said it means. Pick. Do you want fire, water or electric?” Roland leaned down beside her head, whispering in her ear. “Hopefully, you’ll choose one that won’t mutilate your pretty little body.” He then kissed her cheek, walking in the circle again around them. “Come on, do I have to play duck, duck, goose??”

Hank scoffed. “You want us to choose one? Why?”

“You’ll see. Come on.” He stopped at Al. “Olinsky, come on, you’re supposed to be the decisive one, aren’t you? Oh, no, that’s right, you’re the angel on his shoulder.” He laughed, taking off Al’s hat and tossing it into the middle, near the lantern.

“I don’t understand what you want from us, man,” Al said, looking up as Roland started walking again.

Roland groaned. “The three of you are no fun. Alright, we’ll go for fire first… Duck… duck… duck… duck… duck…” He stopped at Alvin, having been tapping their heads. “Goose.”

Al shifted uncomfortably when he was picked. Round walked into the darkness, then came back with a blowtorch.

“No!” Hank cried, having put it together already.

Roland laughed. “Too late.” He lit the torch, smiling at Al. “Ready?”

Al was squirming now, trying to get away from the psychopath. It didn’t matter, however, as Roland put the torch to his clothes and skin, burning him all over, including his feet, legs, torso, arms, and even once or twice on his face. The screams Al let out were delicious. His begging was delectable. Roland was drooling, finally controlling himself and turning off the blowtorch. He chuckled, putting the torch down.

“Who’s next? Electric or water?”

Hank and Trudy looked at one another. Neither wanted to harm the other. They seemed to have a silent conversation with their eyes, weighing their options. Would it be worse to have electric or water torture?

Hank swallowed hard, Trudy speaking. “Electric.”

“Aw,” Roland said, grabbing a modified taser. “You want to take the electric?”

Trudy nodded a bit. “Do your worst.”

Roland laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, I intend to.” Then, he walked over to Hank, putting the taser to his thigh first, making Hank cry out. Then, he teased him in other places, though generally staying away from the heart. He wanted Hank to suffer. With the modified taser, it wasn’t long until Hank was pretty much unconscious. Roland slapped him multiple times, making him wake up. Hank groaned. “Come on, buddy, you gotta be awake to see what I do to your girl over here. Both of you.”

Al had been half-watching, still trying to recover himself. Moreover, he had been listening to Hank’s screams of pain. Each was a cry for help, making his heart ache that he couldn’t answer, however, he knew he had let out the very same screams.

Trudy was crying, tears streaking down her face. “Please, please! Why are you doing this?!”

“Because, darling,” Roland said, pulling her chair back and onto the ground so her feet were in the air and her head was on the ground, making sure to turn her so her head was in the light. He then straddled her torso and leaned down as he put a soaked cloth over her mouth and nose. “I get off on it.”

Trudy struggled as she was waterboarded, both Hank and Al begging him to stop hurting her. The worst thing they would ever come to know was Trudy being tortured in front of them.

This went on for days, multiple rounds of the three being tortured, all three in the same way. Fire, electric and water. It never changed. After about a week, the three were injected with a drug, knocking them unconscious, and Roland got a car, putting the three in the trunk together and leaving it in a junkyard, then calling in an anymore tip to the 21st, allowing the Intelligence Team to find the three of them just as they were on the brink of death.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Awakened | Captured

if you are accepting ideas/requests, I just had a terrible awful wonderful idea for tss Angst for your consideration. you have a lot of fics that end in the six sides participating in group cuddles (which is awesome, btw, i can literally never get enough of all the boys being soft together on a comically large mattress). butttt, plot twist, after everyone has fallen asleep, one of the sides (that isn't the one they were comforting in the first place) has a super realistic nightmare or sleep paralysis or something along those lines, and wakes everyone else up accidentally. hurt/comfort ensues :*) – vinbee631

Quick suggestion that I would love to see you write because you’re my favorite author: so I have a theory that Virgil didn’t hate the other dark sides until he thought it would get Thomas to like him, so he played up his hatred of Janus and Remus to the point that he actually started to believe that he actually did hate them. Now that they’re being accepted Virgil has a crisis. Worrying that his past hostile behavior will get him booted from the group, he either starts cutting everyone off in preparation for being isolated or tries to backtrack and gets himself into a heated argument with the dark sides. I’ve followed your SS content for a while and I actually really love your poems you sometimes write into your fics. I sent them to a friend with 0 context and they cried. Hope you have a nice day! – justanotherghostreader

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-deprecation

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 2902

    The blow takes Virgil by surprise.

Or, Virgil's nightmares can be quite...vivid.

The impact is so jarring it sends him stumbling to the ground, coughing and gasping, fumbling for a grip on his own weapon and trying to get back up, but the point of Remus's morningstar touches his neck and stills him.

"Drop it," Remus bids, "hands up."

Virgil swallows as best he can with the spikes under his chin, letting his sword clatter to the ground. His hands raise in a gesture of surrender as Remus hums.

"I quite like you like this," Janus muses, one hand trailing idly across Remus's head like a reward for a pup, staring down at him, "broken and bloody, on your knees for me."

Virgil barely manages to keep his hands from shaking.

"But I think I might like this more."

Remus tilts the morningstar, digging slightly under Virgil's chin, forcing him to raise it. Using just one of the spikes, he forces him up and over, tipping down enough to fall onto his back, gasping for air, hands still raised, spikes still nestled under his throat.

"Ah, yes," Janus drawls as Remus stands over and straddles him, "that's much better."

Virgil glares up at them. "Does this satisfy you," he spits out, "to see me like this?"

Remus chuckles, dark eyes sparkling with the light reflecting off his weapon. "Do you know what you look like, sprawled out between my legs?"

"Stunning," Janus agrees with a sinister chuckle.

Virgil scoffs. Remus tuts and presses the spike into his neck.

"Don't disagree," he says lightly, as if they were talking about their tea preferences or which color suited them better, "you never did have an eye for it."

"An eye for what?"

"Beauty, for one," Janus says, eyes trawling up and down Virgil's prone form before leering at Remus, "breathtaking."

Virgil finds the morningstar at his neck a bit more breathtaking, thank you very much.

"Just look at the pair of you," Janus sighs, as Remus finally lets the morningstar leave his throat, only to trail over his chest, his stomach, spikes splitting Virgil's tunic from top to tip.

Remus lets out a disappointed noise at the mail underneath, but slides the point back up to sit in the dip of his chest. Virgil's breathing picks up. Mail isn't designed to stop a weapon like that at a distance like this.

Judging by Remus's grin, he knows that too. He puts a bit more weight into it, just so Virgil can feel the tips against his chest.

"Absolutely stunning," Janus murmurs.

"You have a funny way of showing your appreciation," Virgil grits out, trying to find a way out of this, "pinning me down and threatening my life."

"Your life?" Remus cackles and shifts his grip artfully on the morningstar. "This isn't about your life."

"You have a weapon aimed at my heart."

"Your heart's about an inch to the side, actually." Remus tuts like a disappointed schoolmaster. "No, I'm not currently about to kill you."

"Then put the spiky thing away. Ah!"

Virgil yelps when the spikes dig further into his chest.

"He's not threatening your life," Janus says in a voice that should not make Virgil feel like a scolded child, "but that doesn't mean you get to be all mouthy."

God, those spikes are sharp.

"The only thing we're truly threatening now is your pride."

"And your dignity," Remus chortles, "not that you have much of either left."

Virgil glares up at them. "So what?"

"So…" Remus draws the word out, metal lightly clinking against metal as he toys with him. "I'm personally savoring what you look like right now. It might be the last time we see you like this."

Virgil lets out a bark of laughter. "So you are planning to kill me."

"Of course we are, don't be so obvious." Remus rolls his eyes. "You're going to die at some point, no, no, no."

Janus's grin sharpens and he crouches down, trailing a finger along Virgil's cheek. He shivers.

"I'm enjoying how you look before," he murmurs, touching him, touching him, touching him.

Wait, before?

"All that fire in your eyes," he continues, still touching, "so alive, so passionate, so wild…it's going to be glorious watching you burn out."

"You said 'before.' Before what?"

"Oh, darling, you didn't think all of this was just because we wanted to play with you, did you?"

Virgil's eyes widen.

They'd been stalling.

Sure enough, the ground rumbles with the rush of approaching figures, a whole horde of them by the sound of it. He tries to twist and see but the morningstar bites into his neck again.

"Ah-ah-ah," Remus chuckles, "none of that, now. You keep still."

They were coming. Whoever it was was coming fast and there was no way for him to do anything about it. They'd laid a trap and he's fallen right into it.

"Oh, don't pout," Janus teases, "you had to know this was coming."

"W-what?"

"You spent so long poisoning them against us, against the idea of us, and now that they've realized all of it's a lie, do you really think they'll let you go?"

No, no— "I didn't—"

"Oh, yes, you did," Remus says, "you told them we were villains. You told them we were the bad guys, even though you used to be one of us. And now you never will be again."

"Didn't you know?" Janus dangles a favor in front of him and his blood runs cold because he knows that favor, knows there's no other way for them to have gotten in, unless it's true, it's all true— "We've been tasked to hunt down the greatest villain these lands have ever known, the one who lied and split us into two when we were only ever supposed to be one."

Blood pounds in his ears. Would it be easier to die now? Would it be better than being dragged in front of those he once considered friends, even family, and forced to repent? Then again he had once considered Janus and Remus family, could he find out some way to…to…

"Oh, don't slip away," comes Remus's voice, "I want you to remember every second of this."

"Of what?"

"Of losing."

A quiet puff of something getting released.

A smell of sweet berries and thick smoke.

A dark cloud.

A flash of steel.

A low chuckle as Virgil slips into unconsciousness.

"Oh, darling, we're going to have so much fun."

***

Virgil bolts upright, grasping frantically for something, anything he can use to defend himself, anything to ward off whatever they used to knock him out—where am I? Where did they take me?

—only for his fingers to scrabble against a pillow.

What?

He's panting. He's panting, why is he out of breath? He touches the pillow again, running his fingers over it in the dark—only it's not completely dark, there's some light filtering in through the window. A window? Blinds cover it. Blinds, the blinds are drawn, why are there blinds—oh, oh, it's a living room window—why is he in the living room?

With a start, he lets out a sigh of relief and buries his face in his hands.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

He's on the floor of the living room, at the edge of a large mattress Roman summoned yesterday. The others are spread out over it, all of them huddling around Patton. Right. Right. Patton had a rough depression day yesterday and they'd all fallen asleep to a movie on the big mattress in the living room.

Virgil presses his fingers against his eyes. Hard enough to see stars.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

First it had been dreaming about Roman being dead, and now—now he's dreaming that Janus and Remus were about to capture and torture him? What the actual fuck was wrong with him?

He growls and fists his hands in his hair.

They didn't fucking deserve that, even if technically they were the heroes in that scenario, because they wouldn't do that, they weren't cruel like that. Only Virgil was fucking cruel like that, apparently, because he'd been the one to imagine it which was fucking rich considering how awful he'd been to both of them in real life.

God, he's been so awful.

It's a fucking miracle that they said they forgave him. After all the vitriol he spewed at them, after how hostile he was, after how fucking despicable he was to them in ways he knew would hurt, he said things that he knew were sore spots for them, he did things he knew would make them uncomfortable, they still fucking forgave him.

And he just had the audacity to have a nightmare where they're hurting him.

You're the worst. You're the fucking worst, you're the bad guy, you always have been. What the fuck is wrong with you, it's your fault that all of this happened, you're the only one at fault here, how could you do something like this, you deserve to feel guilty, you deserve to hurt, you deserve it, you deserve it—

A hand catches his wrist as he goes to scratch as his face and he can't stop the yelp.

"What are you doing," Remus asks, the real Remus, the soft and sweet Remus who's looking at him with concern, "why is your brain being so mean to you?"

He just whimpers.

"Hey, hey," Remus murmurs, quickly wrapping his arms around him to pull him closer, "shh, shh, don't cry, don't cry, it's alright."

He's so awful. He's so fucking awful.

"You're not," Remus says firmly, pressing a kiss to his temple, "you're not awful. Thoughtcrime isn't real, you can't be held morally responsible for your dreams, you're okay. You're okay."

"No," he rasps, "no, I'm not."

"You are," he repeats, but he repeats a bit too loudly and Virgil hears the sounds of stirring and burrows deeper into Remus. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

"Virgil?" No, that's Logan's sleepy voice. "Little one, are you alright?"

"Virgil? Kiddo?" Patton's hand finds his shoulder and pats clumsily. "Hey, sweetheart, did you have a bad dream?"

"He did, yeah," Remus says when Virgil just mumbles something, "and he's feeling bad about it."

"Thoughtcrime isn't real," Logan says gently, prompting a see? from Remus, "you're not a bad person for having a nightmare."

"Logan's right, kiddo." Patton sits up and scoots a little closer, rubbing his side as Remus rubs his back. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Virgil shakes his head. He can't tell them what it was about, what the fuck, why would he do that? It's not their fault his brain is being an absolute piece of shit and it's definitely not their fault that he's been an absolute piece of shit in real life, which does matter, because he's been awful about everything and he's sorry, he's so sorry, he's so sorry—

"You remember how this goes," Remus warns softly before wiggling fingers find his ribs, "no apologizing for your brain being mean when you can't do anything about it, little monster."

Virgil keens, and Logan mumbles a soft protest but it's too late, he can hear Roman and Janus stirring and he can't face them, not right now—

"Remus," Roman mumbles, "why are you being mean to the shadowling?"

No, Remus isn't mean, I'm mean, I'm the awful one, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—

Remus tickles him again and he yelps, hands coming up on instinct to try and push him away.

"Remus—" no, no, not Janus— "answer Roman's question."

"Oh, little monster here is trying to apologize for feeling bad about his brain doing things he can't control."

That's not what I'm apologizing for, but then Janus is sighing and moving across the mattress to him and then gloved hands are lightly tickling his back and it feels like home and it feels like safe and he can't—he can't—

"Stop, stop," Roman barks, "he's crying—you're making it worse!"

He's bundled into another warm chest—Roman's—and then he's sobbing into the crook of Roman's neck and oh, he's being so awful and he's been so mean and now he's making it worse, he's making such a big deal out of this—

"Shh, shh, calm down, baby, it's okay, it's okay," Roman murmurs, rocking him back and forth, "shh, shh, shh…"

Distantly, he can hear the sounds of Patton and Logan asking Remus and Janus what's going on and Janus explaining, and then Janus asks what's going on and Remus says that he had a nightmare and Janus lets out this soft little upset noise and no, no…

"Hey," Roman whispers, just Roman, only Roman, "can you tell me what's going on? Just me?"

Virgil sniffles. "I—I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay, baby, what are you sorry for?" Roman listens to him blubber his heart out for a while, soothing the hitches in his breathing, and when he finishes, leans down and kisses his temple. "Oh, baby, it's okay."

"No, it's not."

"It is, it is, shadowling, I promise. Can we talk to them?" Virgil just hides his face. "Can I tell them for you?"

And because Virgil is a filthy coward, he nods.

"Virgil's upset about something other than the nightmare," he hears Roman say, "I think whatever the nightmare was just…exacerbated it."

"Oh, kiddo…"

"What was it that's been upsetting him?"

"He thinks he's been unforgivably awful to Janus and Remus, for how he acted before we all started getting along." Roman tightens his grip protectively. "That's what he's been apologizing for."

"Little monster…"

"Come here, sweetie."

"No tickling!"

"We won't, we won't, I promise, just give him here."

"Hey," Roman says softly as Virgil whines and clings to him, "it's gonna be okay, alright? The rest of us are right here, nothing's gonna happen to you."

"Come here," Janus murmurs, deftly scooping him into his lap, "hey, there you are, hello, little spider. Hey, can you look at me?"

"Don't wanna."

"Please, sweetie, just for a moment?" He looks and Janus's face looks all soft and sweet and worried. "You're alright, sweetie, it's okay. We forgive you, remember? It's all okay now."

"Shouldn't."

"You don't get to decide that for us," he chides lightly, "and we've not been perfect to you either."

"We get it, little monster," Remus agrees, carding his fingers through his hair and scratching just the way he knows will make Virgil melt into a puddle, the bastard, "it's okay. We're not mad."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, shh, shh, it's okay. You don't have to do that." Janus kisses his cheek, cuddling him closer. "You're forgiven, little spider, it's all okay now."

Virgil just sobs. And because they're still being all sweet to him, they just hush him and comfort him and he wants to stay here forever.

"You can, little monster," Remus says when he mumbles something to that effect, "come lie down, you gotta get some more sleep, it's still the middle of the night."

"'M sorry for waking everyone."

"Nonsense," Logan says as Patton and Roman make noises of disagreement, "we are happy to help."

"They're right, sweetie." Janus kisses his cheek again. "Come on, now, let's lie down. Sleep is important for tired little spider babies."

"'M not a baby."

"You're my baby," he teases, ruffling his hair, "and you always will be. Now hush. It's sleep time."

Remus keeps a hand on him too, rolling over onto his stomach with one hand on Virgil's back as Janus lies down, Virgil on his chest. "Go to sleep, little monster, we're right here. We'll keep you safe."

"I'm sorry."

"No more apologizing," Janus says, sleep already coloring his voice, "or we'll tickle you."

"No," he whines, "no tickles."

"Mm, then you'd better sleep."

Remus chuckles at his pout. "It's okay, Virgil. You're okay now. It's all gonna be okay."

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[birdo-is-here]

woop woop here’s what happened in the water while Apollyon was trying not to die on land btw

word count: ~1100

tw for: blood, and many many feathers lost. Also take note that, while i don’t really go into great detail describing it, the setting for this is quite thalassophobia-inducing 👍 lotta water

[As soon as Ananiel entered the water again, she rushed and tackled Michael, already trying to push him in some direction. He would have dodged her, if only she wasn’t in the perfect conditions to gain the upper hand, and he weren’t in a state of extreme agony that worsened every time he moved.]

[Alas, a master of water was attacking her weakened opponent in a thalassophobiak’s nightmare. At least it wasn’t too dark; light shined down from somewhere above. Suppose this place did count as a section of Heaven.]

[Oh, he didn’t like that realisation, actually. Time to get out. He should check on Apollyon.]

[He kicked at the angel, attempting to at least stun her but, riight, she was wearing near-indestructible golden armour. Yes, maybe a bit of a complication there.]

[For once, Michael was actually quite relieved the armour never quite covered everything. He grabbed for one of Ananiel’s shoulder wings, pushing a leg against her torso as he grabbed a handful of feathers and pulled]

[The angel made a pained noise, yanking her arm away from her aggressor. Several white feathers that started a light grey at the base were pulled free, and pushed aside in the water by Michael.]

[Ananiel recovered remarkably quickly from the attack, rushing at Michael again and grabbing her own fistful of feathers, however this time aiming for the wings on Michael’s head. She pulled. He sucked in a pained breath he couldn’t really take under the water, and attempted to tug his head free]

[She had a much more secure grip than he did, as it turned out. It happened to be so secure because she was holding onto the base of one of the wings. Ah, she was trying to tear it out. Great.]

NotFuckingFair I just pulled out some feathers—!

[He clicked the ‘words’ to her, still unable to speak. She didn’t really make much of a response, simply putting a hand at his face to help try to separate the wing from the head]

[Michael’s hands rocketed up, trying to yank her own arms away. Maybe he was tired, or maybe she’d gotten a strength boost underwater. It was strikingly difficult to remove her arms]

[Still, he didn’t give up. After realising straight pulling them away wasn’t going to work, Michael resorted to yanking the arm holding his wing to and fro in a desperate attempt to make her let go]

[Fortunately, it eventually worked. Less fortunately, she had a strong enough grip on his wing that it was roughly tugged outwards. It wasn’t separated from the angel, but he did feel something tear.]

[At least he still had feeling in the wing, and it was still movable — even if it hurt like hell to do so. Maybe it was just a sprain, then. He could work with that.]

[Oh, he made the mistake of even getting momentarily distracted by his pain. He must’ve been getting rusty. Either way, Ananiel suddenly had her arms around the fallen angel, not quite in a hug but more in an attempt to secure him in place. Oh, dammit not this again—]

[Michael struggled in her hold, and she increased the pressure, which also happened to give him a rather painful reminder of the injuries on both sides of his body. He very briefly felt his body lock up at the sudden pain spike, but he forced himself out of it, and he abruptly smashed his head against Ananiel’s skull in an attempt to break free]

[Helmets were never exactly needed in the armour. To be fair, technically none of the armour was needed except for the Halo’s crown. Helmets were especially never included, though, it simply didn’t work with how angel’s heads were built. It impaired too much or their vision.]

[That being said, he did wonder now if Ananiel was wishing Heaven had designed helmets. She finally let go, drifting backwards away from Michael. She was certainly winded, at least; she looked terribly disoriented even in the blurriness of the water. Unfortunately, so was Michael.]

[As soon as he recovered though, he took the opportunity to bolt, heading for where he was pretty sure that exit was. Get out. Get out. Ananiel recovered quickly after, though, and she cut him off before he could find it. Fuck.]

[Then, Michael could’ve sworn he saw her wing sort of… clip through the water, in a way. As if there was an invisible portal that her wing had accidentally phased through. He knew she saw him witness it, but her expression didn’t change much. Of course not.]

[He was still quite proud of himself, though. Suppose he did retain those skills from his trip to Leviathan’s layer of Hell so long ago. Now to get past]

[Ananiel waded forward, attempting to push Michael back again. She wanted to take him somewhere and he knew exactly where. Where else would she take him other than Heaven?]

[She got too close, and Michael swiped at her head, leaving a nasty set of scratches across her face. She blinked in a brief moment of shock as a dark red blood quickly began to tint the clean water]

[She never got angry, didn’t she? She hardly showed any emotion as she recovered, simply resuming her advance on the fallen angel — only much quicker this time.]

[Ananiel grabbed Michael by the shoulder wings, jerking him forward as she tore out another two large handfuls of feathers. Oh, come on.]

[He decided to advance on her, and the two quickly fell into a rough tussle.]

[Michael felt another several clumps of feathers get torn out, quite a few even leaving small amounts of blood behind — or maybe that was just from the scratches he left? He couldn’t tell. Some certainly felt painful enough to bleed.]

[He grabbed at whatever feathers he could see, grabbing them and yanking them out at the quickest pace he could manage. Far too many feathers were being lost for his liking; he doubted Ananiel was enjoying it either, though.]

[At some point in the fray, he felt the angel reach for the tattered remains of what used to be his primary wings. There weren’t many full feathers there, anyway, but there were still some. Ananiel got a hold of a few and, of course, tugged.]

[Michael’s panic spiked, as did the pain in his back. It was no longer a simple tussle, he needed to get her away.]

[In a desperate, adrenaline-fueled attempt to now free himself, Michael raised a leg and pushed it against the other angel, driving her backwards.]

[She went further than either of them expected, but Michael didn’t dwell on it. He had to get out now. He had to make sure they were okay. He quickly took the opportunity to get through the portal]

[maria021015]

Summary: Stiles and Zaida have both been plagued by the Nogitsune are spending time in Eichen House to keep their Void counterparts at bay. Little does Stiles know, Zaida isn’t quite herself. Things get a bit spicy in the basement as they try to understand the Nogitsune’s connection to the space.

Stiles x fem oc

Exerpt from Rising Tides

Warnings: lime/mild sexual content, violence, possession

“Here,” Malia grunted slightly as she broke the handle of the door to the basement, effectively snapping off the lock as well. The door opened noiselessly and Zaida recognised the steps leading into darkness that she and the others had descended into what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Thank you,” Stiles nodded to the werecoyote gratefully, the first to step through the doorway. Zaida was about to follow him, but something tugging at her gut forced her to look back at the girl.

“If we don’t come back, don’t come after us,” She advised Malia in a low whisper so as not to alert Stiles to anything amiss. “Go to Morrell and tell her that Zaida sent you. Tell her that you need to find Scott McCall. She’ll get you out of here and point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks,” Malia dipped her chin slightly, waiting until Zaida followed into the basement after Stiles before closing the door behind them.

As their eyes adjusted to the light they came to the bottom of the staircase and turned the corner. “Okay, so what exactly are we looking for down here?” Zaida questioned the boy’s urgency to venture down here.

“That night that I was sleepwalking and I thought I was in a basement, but I was actually in Malia’s den?” Stiles began to explain his reasoning for wanting to break into the space.

“How could I forget?” Zaida snorted, running her fingers along the wooden railing of the staircase. “Lydia heard voices that led us here for some strange, unknown reason.”

“Well Lydia was right,” Stiles’ jaw locked grimly as he scanned the area. “When I was dreaming, I was here. I saw it through the grate in the floor after Malia punched me.”

“Why would you have dreamed you were here?” Zaida mused, recalling a fact she’d learned years ago. “I thought you could only see things in dreams that you’d seen before in real life. But you’ve never been here before, have you?”

“No, but I don’t think I was in my head. I think I was in the Nogitsune’s.” The boy realised. “He had control over everything that was happening.”

“So you think that the Nogitsune’s been here before?” Zaida deduced his line of thinking, her curiosity spiking slightly despite the void within her heart.

“He’s either been here, or has a connection to this place. That’s gotta be why Lydia was led here that night.” Stiles confirmed with a nod, turning to the wall just beside the staircase. “In my dream, there was a marking on the wall.”

Zaida followed him towards the flat expanse of grey concrete and surely enough, there carved in the stone was a familiar symbol. “It’s the Japanese kanji for ‘self’. It’s what the Oni marked behind our ears when they were searching for the Nogitsune.” She identified, approaching and running her fingers over the deep grooves. “Why would it be here?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Stiles let out a heavy sigh, moving to the shelves full of boxes brimming with papers. “There’s gotta be something here.”

Following his lead, Zaida helped him scour the old records, pulling out pile after pile. She wasn’t exactly sure what they were searching for, but there were definitely a few things that stuck out to her. “This place definitely used to be a lot more fun - electroshock...ice baths...trephination?”

“Together we’re running two out of three,” Stiles snorted sarcastically, calling attention to the fact that they had endured both electrocution and an ice bath between the two of them. Unwittingly, he’d just given her an idea...

“No wonder this place is locked up so tight…” Zaida mumbled, putting the files back where she’d found them on a shelf just above her head.

“There's nothing here,” Stiles huffed, shutting the box he’d been searching through when he realised they were getting nowhere. Swallowing nervously, his amber eyes flickered to her. “Could you do me a favour? Could you just check the lines on my back? Just…tell me if they're fading?”

“Sure,” Zaida nodded and as she slowly moved over the boy turned around, allowing her cold fingers to brush over his spine as she drew the hem of his shirt upwards. She knew the effect she had on him. She could hear it in his sharp intake of breath at her touch. The darkened lightning strikes zigzagging over his back were almost completely retracted, and what little was left had almost faded too. A tickle of satisfaction rose within her and it brought a smirk to her lips. It wouldn’t be much longer now… “They're almost gone.”

Again, as she let the shirt drop leisurely, her nails scraped the warm skin of his back and he hummed with a slight shudder. “Too cold?” She questioned in a purring voice, leaning closer so her lips brushed the shell of his ear. She knew his reaction had less to do with the temperature of her hands and more to do with the fact that it was her touching him.

“Uh, a little,” He admitted in a hoarse voice. Stiles felt his heart race as Zaida's breath danced across the back of his neck, her proximity sending a shiver down his spine. He swallowed hard, his thoughts spinning like a whirlwind. Her touch, her voice, everything about her seemed to ignite a fire within him, one he struggled to contain.

“I can think of some ways you could help warm me up,” She challenged him, her hands snaking around his torso, venturing beneath his shirt once more to grip at his chest. She spun him around to face her, pressing her palms flat against his abdomen to push his back flush against the shelving. Looking up at him beneath a curtain of long, dark lashes, she watched his skin turn scarlet.

“Y-yeah, that would be...nice,” He managed to stammer out, his gaze locking with hers, the intensity of her amber eyes stirring something deep within him. Zaida's lips curled into a knowing smile, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. With a slow, deliberate motion, she closed the distance between them, her hand reaching up to brush against his cheek, sending sparks of electricity through him. Stiles couldn't tear his gaze away from her, his breath catching in his throat as he leaned into her touch, his heart pounding against his chest. In that moment, with her so close, he felt as though everything else in the world drifted away, leaving only the two of them suspended in time.

His eyes finally fluttered shut as she neared, dipping his chin and expecting his lips to be met with her own. Zaida had planned to kiss him - she truly had - but there was a sharp tug in her heart that made her pull back at the last second. Something cried out to her to stop, and she realised that despite it all she didn’t want her first kiss to happen like this. So she shifted her movements subtly, and instead of meeting his lips, her mouth traced a tantalizing path along his jawline. Her soft lips left a trail of featherlight kisses down his neck as her nails scraped along his abdomen, dragging towards his sweatpants. Stiles let out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling with anticipation. Her lips continued their exploration and Stiles felt a surge of heat rush through him, his pulse quickening with every touch. He tipped his head back slightly, offering her better access, a low moan escaping his lips as her kisses grew more urgent. Her warm breath sent waves of pleasure coursing through him, igniting a fire that threatened to consume him whole. With each kiss, Stiles felt himself falling deeper under her spell, lost in a haze of longing. Zaida's touch was intoxicating, her every movement sending him spiralling into blissful oblivion.

And as she finally pulled back, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, Stiles could do nothing but stare at her in awe, his heart pounding in his chest. She disconnected from him only long enough to grasp his hand and lead him over to the old, sagging couch further into the basement. At that moment, he knew that he was completely and utterly enthralled by her, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Neither would she. There was a certain thrill that pushed through the emptiness in her chest, joined by a sorrowful ache that she forced herself to ignore. She had to do this - it was the only way to distract him and force him to drop his guard long enough for the Nogitsune to filter through and regain control. Whirling to push him down onto the dusty couch, Zaida climbed onto his lap, her thighs pressed against either side of his own as she lowered herself onto him. Stiles found himself blinking in disbelief, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. His trembling hands rested on her hips, hissing through slightly gritted teeth when she pressed down upon him, feeling his body respond beneath the layers of fabric. Again it sent a jolt into her stomach, and she paused.

His eyes searched hers, trying to decipher the enigmatic depths behind them, but all he found was a glimmer of something he couldn't quite place. Before he could voice his confusion, Zaida slid her fingers over his body, weaving them into the hair at the nape of his neck before tugging lightly. His jaw tipped back at her coaxing, baring his prominent Adam’s apple to her. Stiles felt a surge of anticipation coursing through him, his blood thrumming in his ears, his eyes locked onto hers with a mixture of longing and anticipation. Zaida leaned in - battling her own consciousness threatening to creep back in - and pressed her lips to his throat in open-mouthed kisses. He tilted his head further back, pressing into her bruising touch as a coil wound tightly deep in the pit of his abdomen. Being touched by her was dizzying, but he needed more. His own hands shifted from her hips up to brush her hair back from her face, straightening his posture and tilting her face towards his own.

“I want to kiss you,” His voice tumbled from him in a low grumble, betraying his growing desires. As Stiles leaned in, his lips tantalizingly close to Zaida’s, he silently urged her to close the gap, longing for the connection he craved. But just as he felt her breath ghosting over his skin, a sudden hesitation rippled through her movements. She didn’t want it to happen now - not like this. Stiles furrowed his brow in confusion as Zaida's lips veered away from his, tracing a path along his jawline instead. Confusion clouded his features as he tried to guide her mouth back to his, but Zaida deftly avoided his attempts, her touch sending a shiver down his spine. A lurch of disappointment shot through him, mingling with a growing sense of unease.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he broke away from her, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he searched her eyes for answers. Was he doing this wrong? Did she not like it?

“I…” Zaida’s mouth parted to speak but no words would flow, her mind racing as she wrestled with conflicting emotions. He’d managed to break through to her in a way only Stiles ever could, and in that moment she wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to confess that she had brought him here to seduce him - to lower his guard so that the terrifying spectre could regain control over his mind. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it, Zay?” His thumbs brushed her cheeks soothingly, striking guilt into her bones. Before she could confess to it all, images flashed behind her eyes. Images of him on this very couch with his head lolled back, throat sliced open and eyes wide and glassy with lifelessness. It was a haunting reminder of the darkness lurking within her, threatening to consume everything she held dear. She swiftly recalled why she was doing this. If she didn’t, the Nogitsune would make her kill him, and Malia, and everyone she loved. At least this way, they would still have a chance. This way, Scott, Lydia, Allison, and the others could still find a way to save them. After all, Scott always found another way.

"I...I'm sorry. I’m just…not ready yet," Zaida finally managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. It was only a partial truth, a carefully crafted facade to conceal the turmoil raging within her.

Stiles's expression softened, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he gently caressed her face. "That's okay," He reassured her, his touch warm against her skin as he allowed her to slip back off his lap and onto the couch beside him. "This isn’t exactly the most romantic place.”

“That’s for damn sure,” She snorted, and he lay down across the sofa, gesturing for her to lie next to him. Relief washed over Zaida as she sank into his embrace, her heart heavy with the weight of her secrets. She rested her head over his bicep as though it were a pillow, feeling the reassuring weight of his arm curl around her waist.

They lay there for a while, Stiles mindlessly playing with the loose strands of her hair soothingly as his mind wandered back to the symbol carved into the wall. Who had put it there? How long ago? And why? Dozens of questions rushed through his head. Questions that he needed answered. Trying not to stir Zaida in case she had drifted off to sleep, she slowly untangled himself from her, sitting up.

“Where are you going?” She asked him in a tired voice, watching him walk back over towards the staircase.

“I just wanna check something,” He muttered, and the sofa creaked as the naiad got up to join him. She followed him over to the same wall as before, watching his rap his knuckled over the carved stone.

“What are you doing?” A stir of panic and anger rose within her that she recognised as foreign. Whatever was behind that wall, the Nogitsune did not want them to see it.

“Do you hear that?” The boy pressed his ear against the wall and knocked again, listening for an echo that should not be there. Reaching for a heavy metal sledgehammer on one of the nearby shelves, he pulled his arm back, preparing to swing.

“Stiles, don’t!” She cried out, but it was too late. The head of the hammer crashed into the wall and parts of the concrete crumbled away. “Stiles!”

The hammer landed against the structure again, and again, and again, until it gave way and revealed a dark opening. Dropping the hammer to the floor with a deep clatter, Stiles peered inside, and Zaida fought against her stiff muscles to do the same. Inside was a body, deflated into all but bones and wrapped in bandages. A sheathed katana lay cradled in the figure’s stiff body. Her stomach twisted as she recognised the figure from her nightmares.

“This is him,” The boy explained dryly. “The Nogitsune.”

“I know,” She croaked out, dread encapsulating her heart like lead.

“You’ve seen him too?” Stiles’ head whipped around to face her and she nodded solemnly as a slow knocking resounded through her head. She knew what that meant. She knew who was coming.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Reaching into the cavern, Stiles’ fingers opened the breast pocket of the body’s army jacket and pulled an old photograph from inside. His eyes scanned the faces of the two lovers in the image, immediately landing on the Japanese woman. “Recognize her?” He held up the image for Zaida to see what he was talking about. Next to an American soldier was a woman with dark hair and almond eyes who bore a striking resemblance to someone they knew.

Knock. Knock! KNOCK.

“Kira?” Zaida frowned in confusion as she felt herself slip away and her heart go numb. The photo had to have been several decades old. There was no way it was their kitsune classmate.

KNOCK. KNOCK! KNOCK!!

“Or an ancestor,” The boy suggested, pocketing the photograph. “I have to get this to Scott.”

Stiles slowly got back to his feet from where he crouched and as he turned a sudden urge overcame Zaida. She could do nothing but watch through the windows of her own eyes as her fist crunched into Stiles’ jaw. The boy fell to the floor, his skull hitting the concrete as he immediately blacked out. Trapped in her own mind, her limbs moved while she screamed at them to stop. The Nogitsune’s laugh echoed against the walls of her head as he controlled the strings that puppeteered her body like a marionette. She was helpless against it.

[starfall-spirit]

The Siren's Song

Siren Masterlist

Word Count: 912

Chapter III: The Bargain

Feyre woke to a soft speech and wood creaking above her. Strange and out of place in her day-to-day life. Then there was a hard pallet of some kind beneath her. Air she was breathing. Sand crusted to her skin. And two men she had never seen watching over her. This was no place for a siren to find herself. 

The panicked shift in her breathing alerted the two humans to her state of consciousness and the low conversation halted. Both were quite handsome, by human standards. Nowhere near as attractive as the captain she’d met when she first surfaced, but handsome all the same. Neither said a word, waiting for her to hang herself, apparently. She couldn’t help the broken sound that left her when she spotted the short-haired one resting a casual hand over the knife at his thigh. 

“Clearly there’s been some confusion here,” she said, pouring her gift into every word as she mastered her fear. “I’ll just be on my way home and-”

“Don’t try it, sweetheart,” the longer-haired one said. “We sailors aren’t too fond of magic and your pretty little voice won’t be muddling anyone else’s head so long as you’ve got that bracelet on.”

She took a sharp breath in. Her voice was her only weapon. She lived beneath the waters and had no reason to learn to fight on land. She eyed the nullifier with distaste. The thin band of silver was just loose enough on her wrist to allow circulation, but there would be no removing it without access to whatever key fit the mechanism at her pulse point. She looked between the two again, wondering which possessed that shot at freedom.

The man’s words clanged through her a second time. “What do you mean muddling anyone else’s head?”

The door creaked open then, drawing the speaker’s attention. The one wielding the dagger had yet to move his eyes from her. “Honestly, Rhysand,” a hard female voice was saying. “One would think you’d learn after all these years.”

“Amren, if I-Well, hello darling. Awake at last, I see.”

Fuck. They were local sailors. Residents of Hewn Harbor. Serving the captain she met before making her way to sea. Before that storm. And then she’d fled, off kilter from the interaction, and one of those cresting waves had sent her head straight into the rocks. “I just want to go home.”

“And I want to know what a Siren’s doing strolling through my port when our treaty is supposed to keep you confined to the waters. Start talking.”

“I was getting a gift for someone. I was on my way back to the water. Please, I don’t want to cause any trouble. I want to go home.”

He jerked his chin and the quartet behind him slipped out of the house. “There are rules set. A treaty between our ancestors that’s been upheld, as far as I can tell. Until now.”

“Yes.” 

“I have three options,” the captain continued, pacing the small room. Feyre didn’t know why he was dragging this out. Just looking at their peoples’ bloody history, who he was and what she was, she knew she was going to die today. “I could do as the treaty entitles and report your offense.”

Throw a gauntlet and force Tarquin to bring her to trial. Risk starting a war that could bring the citizens of Adriata and neighboring coves to land if she was pardoned. And that was if the humans and those rare and precious magic holders on land hadn’t developed some sort of technology to strike hard and heavy through water.

“I could kill you myself,” he suggested. “Or—” He smirked, looking all too pleased with himself for her comfort. “—we could strike a deal.”

Her nerves spike at that option more than anything, despite it clearly being the best choice for her. “A deal?”

“A deal. Sirens can remain out of the water for as long as, what, a week?”

“Five days is safer, seven pushes the limits.”

He considered her for a moment, hunting for a lie. She couldn’t risk it at this point. “Very well. Five days, you’ll stay on land. Then you may return to your people for the same amount of time. You may even tell them of this bargain, should anyone wonder after your absence. When that time is up, you will return to either the harbor or the ship. You’ll be made aware of our routes. I know your kind are quite skilled in navigation.”

Though it was more rumor than fact, it was quite possible sailors had once relied on the mer to guide their ships after a storm blew them off course or as night clouds blocked the stars from view. If he or his crew estimated their route, Feyre would find them.

“If you fail to return…”

“I understand.”

“Good.” He cocked his head. “Now tell me your real name.”

She pursed her lips. “I already told you, it’s Claire.”

“You’re also a horrible liar. If we’re to know one another, it will require honesty.”

She huffed. “Feyre. My name is Feyre.”

“Feyre." She wasn't quite sure why the sound of it sent a shiver down her spine. "Go home, Feyre,” he murmured, apparently changing his mind about her restrictions. “I’ll extend the crew's time in the harbor. Our bargain will begin when you return. The fifth sunset, I expect you back on land. Is that clear?”

She swallowed. “Crystal.”

@goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @acotar-fanns // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @elentiya-whitethorn // @gwynkyrie

[stardustedsins]

Kiss Prompts #35: To gain something

Dio Brando/reader (gender neutral reader)

You’d been friends with Jonathan first, but it’s Dio that really catches your eye. You’d met the two of them in college after being paired with Jonathan on an assignment, and you’d worked well enough together that you continue to collaborate, helping each other with research and homework.

Dio is charming, handsome, and single, so when he takes an interest in you, you’re eager to reciprocate. You begin to spend more time with him, even without Jonathan around. He takes you to the theater, has you over for dinner, and makes you feel special. You can see a future with him.

He tells you how he and Jonathan hadn’t gotten along when they were younger, and how he’s been trying to repair their relationship in more recent years. You think it’s sweet that he’s making such an effort, and you tell him you’ll help him however you can. You care about both of them, and you want to see them happy and getting along like brothers should.

You’re relaxing on a couch in the Joestar mansion’s library with Dio one afternoon, while Jonathan is out, when he has the idea to try and help Jonathan in his research.

“Tell me, what has he learned about that old mask? Is there anything in particular he’s stuck on? Perhaps I could bring an outside perspective to things.” He suggests, leaning back against the armrest of the couch with you on his chest. His arms are around you, and he’s idly stroking your back.

“Well, he’s found that it was made by some sort of Aztec cult, but he can’t quite figure out what it was for. He’s still trying to find someone who can translate the inscription inside, too.” You tell him.

“I’m afraid I don’t read Aztec. But you say he doesn’t know what it’s for? I’d like to hear more about that.” 

“It’s the strangest thing. I haven’t seen it myself, but he says that when the mask is exposed to blood, these stone spikes pop out of the sides. He showed me a sketch of them, and they’d surely kill anyone who was wearing the mask when they were activated.”

“Perhaps that is the intent.” Dio suggests. “It could be some kind of tool for ritual sacrifice.”

“That’s our theory at the moment, yes.” 

“I could procure a map of the brain, so that he could map the areas that would be affected by the spikes. They could be symbolically significant.” 

“That’s a wonderful idea, Dio.”

“Thank you. I do appreciate you telling me about this.” He smiles and tilts his head down to kiss you. It’s less than chaste, with an almost forceful intensity, but you aren’t complaining. 

You’ll never know that Dio is, at that very moment, planning his brother’s murder with the mask. He needed to know how much Jonathan had learned about it, and he’s been only too happy to use Jonathan’s little research partner, you, for information before stealing the thing. You’ve been an amusing fling, but he has bigger plans.

[niall-ate-mynamee]

He's Not Heavy, He's Our Brother (final part)

Author's note: so, this mini fic has come to an end. Thank you so much anon's for the requests which started this all. I've had such a blast writing this, and I hope you've had a blast reading it!

I won't be posting for a couple more days, since I have some thing's planned (I'll be writing a separate post for that after this), and I don't wanna rush into finishing anything just yet. Please let me know what you thought of this fic. I've had so much fun writing this and I just really hope you have all enjoyed reading it just as much!

Anyways...ENJOY THE FINAL PART <3

PART ONE HERE

PART TWO HERE

TRIGGER WARNINGS: bad language, sexual harassment, drug use, drugs, non-consensual touching, non-consensual drugging, attempted non-con/rape.

Characters: Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Original Male/Female Characters

Word count: 1531

The Royal London Hospital...

Louis sighed miserably, glancing at the clock on the wall. He'd only been sitting alone for around ten minutes, but it had felt like hours since he got here. Once the ambulance pulled up outside, the paramedics were quick to get Niall inside and seen to, while a nurse had met Louis in the reception and guided him into a awaiting chair, talking softly to him. She left him alone soon enough, once she had made him have a drink of water and assured him she, or a doctor, would come find him with news later on.

When had everything gone so wrong?

Both he and Niall had seen, and dealt with, their fair share of drunken creeps, it came with the job, but never had one of those said creeps done anything like this. At least, not in their club. Not to one of them. He felt somewhat guilty. Being the oldest in the group of best friends came with a responsibility that he adopted onto himself. He promised he would protect them, keep them safe, look after them. So, why hadn't he managed that tonight?

They should've been back at home, safe and together, laughing at a scene in a random film they would've picked out to watch. They were lucky. Having your best friends living in the same building, being able to see them every single day, it was a blessing that Louis couldn't quite believe he managed to get. He thought everything was perfect.

Until tonight happened.

He knew, from hearing stories on the news, to researching all the different kinds of PTSD and trauma the victims dealt with afterwards, that Niall wouldn't be the same after this. Maybe not for a long time. Even though the creep didn't get as far as he was so obviously planning, that didn't stop the trauma. Niall was drugged against his will, forced to consume so much more alcohol mixed with what-the-fuck-ever else it was spiked with, and was stripped, beaten and so very nearly raped. Louis almost couldn't believe it.

Except, he did. Because he had seen it. With his very own eyes. He saw the man on top of his best friend, he saw the empty plastic bottle a few feet away, he saw the evidence of abuse. He knew, no matter what, he, nor the others, especially Niall, would ever forget this. And that was devastating. Heartbreaking. So utterly cruel that Louis didn't even know if there was a God or whatever, because if there was, why did these things happen?

He cried. For his best friend, his non-biological little brother. For Liam and Harry. For himself. For their futures that were once so bright, now uncertain and more than likely filled with dark days and recovery.

Louis. Just. Cried.

Until the doctor arrived. Looking up through blurred vision, Louis could make out the doctor in front of him. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. He wondered why Liam and Harry hadn't arrived yet. Surely they should've been here by now?

"How is he?" Asked a voice and, oh. Liam and Harry are here. When did they get here? Louis was so confused. He must've been properly out of it much longer than he thought. "Is he okay?" That was Liam.

The doctor smiled softly, taking a seat opposite the lads. "He'll be okay." He stated first and foremost. "We found a fair bit of GHB in Mr Horan's system, which would've been in the drink that he was forced to drink. We managed to flush it, and the alcohol, out and currently have him on an IV to rehydrate him. We're going to keep him sedated tonight, and he should wake up by tomorrow evening. He's been very lucky, lads. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but we were unable to find any evidence of sexual penetration, so that is a positive."

Louis didn't realise he had been holding his breath until he gasped in relief as he heard those words. Although, deep down, he knew the creep hadn't gotten that far, it was the biggest relief hearing it coming from a doctor.

"I want to keep him in for a few days, just until I know for sure that the drug is completely flushed out. He'll probably be quite drowsy and disorientated for a couple days once he's come around, but in time, that will pass and he shouldn't have any physical side effects. Now, what I must talk to you boys about right now, is the next steps. When Mr Horan is awake, his mental state may not be very stable. I can arrange for one of our psychologists to come down and chat to him, but really, it'll be up to him to decide if he continues. Is there anybody at home with him?"

"N-no," Harry said, shakily, "He has his own flat, but, all three of us live in the same building. One of us could stay with him for a while?"

The doctor nodded. "That could work. I wouldn't recommend leaving him alone for a while. He'll need help with some things while he's recovering. I will talk to the psychology team and have one assigned to Mr Horan. In the meantime…would you boys like to see him?" The doctor smiled at the nods he received and stood up, allowing them a few seconds to follow suit and began leading them away to a room tucked in a corner, the windows shielded by blinds, to allow some privacy.

"I will be round in a couple hours to check up on him, but if you need me before, don't hesitate to press the buzzer on the wall. You can help yourselves to some water, tea and coffee from the nurses station just down the hall, there's also some buscuits and cakes should you fancy anything. There's some couches in there should any of you wish to catch some sleep too. As long as you lads keep the volume down, you're welcome to stay. I will see you all very soon."

With that, Liam, Louis and Harry were left alone, standing outside the door that seperated them from their best friend. With a shaky hand, Liam slowly pushed on the wood and one by one, each boy stepped into the room and fell into the chairs, once scattered around the room to now besides the bed, and got settled down for a long night.

-----

Two months later…

It's been a tough two months for everyone. Especially Niall. The first three weeks he had been home, he'd have terrible nightmares, one's that would have him screaming and sobbing, waking Louis up, who had been the one to move in while he recovered, leaving him exhausted but unable to sleep again for that night. He hadn't left the house again until week four, and even then, he was an anxious mess. He had countless panic attacks. Each one seeming worse than the last. He hasn't been to work since. His managers, Frank and Tucker, have both been in contact with Louis, sending their love and thoughts. They said not to worry about work, they'd both have a job when, or if, they returned. Louis was so grateful.

Everyone was exhausted.

But, nobody was angry at Niall, even when the Irishman broke down and apologised profusely, begging them not to hate him or leave him alone, sobbing that he was to blame and they shouldn't have to put up with him, he's sorry but understands if they want to go. They would end up in a tight huddle together, after that. With not a single dry eye. All three telling him it was okay, they could never hate him, he's definitely not to blame, and they love him more than anything. It breaks their hearts to see him so weak, when he was once so strong.

Niall Horan used to be so full of life, filled with joy, doubled over with laughter at a corny, totally not funny knock knock joke that Harry would make up on the spot. He used to provide comfort and care whenever Liam got sad. He used to buddy up with Louis for pranks and practical jokes, basically crying with laughter when they were caught.

They knew, sometime, somewhere, somehow, they will see a glimpse of that Niall again. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not in the next year. But, they would. Because they loved him. Because they would stick by him for the rest of time. Because they were brothers, by blood or not, they would never leave him. Niall will never be alone again. Because he had his best friends, his brothers, around him.

He will recover.

And, years later, when they were sat in the same club, which was now a quiet restaurant, with their old friends Frank and Tucker, enjoying a lovely meal together, they were asked how they got through it all with what must've been a heavy a burden on them all, they looked at each other with knowing grins and Louis answered, as confident as ever:

"He's not heavy, he's our brother."

Author's note: as usual, I haven't proof read this, so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know!

I'm not sure if I like the ending so much...it seems kinda rushed, so please let me know what you think anyways. Thank you all for reading this and letting my stories be part of your day. I love you all, and I'll see you very soon! <3