#I WANT TO BASH MY SKULL AGAINST A TABLE

[ratatatastic]

the amount of offseason :] we've gotten from this guy is truly spectacular

look at him...look at the gentle :]

7.12.24 (x)

[niccolites]

green cliffs: - lessons in mortality. chapter three

highlander!soap x fem!reader. cw dubcon. read here on ao3

You grab the nearest item in Johnny’s room and lob it at his head, which he dodges with an ease that sets off your temper again. It’s a cup and it shatters against the wall, a last gasp of dust that settles into the air.

“You are a right bastard,” you hiss at him, so angry that you shake with it. You had barely been allowed a moment to process what Johnny had announced - without consulting you - before you were being hustled out. Johnny’s arms a firm band around your waist as he brought you to his room, something that had almost set you off in the hallway.

You expect him to get angry at you, the way he did out in the woods. If anything he seems delighted, broad smile as he laughs at you. Dodges your next throw - a book this time - and catches you, sweeps his arms around your waist and hoists you up against him. “Am sorry, a am sorry,” he grins into the curve of your jaw, the hint of teeth before he settles on a smacking kiss as you squirm to get away from him. “A just couldnae contain masel’, I had tae tell ‘em.”

“There’s nothing to tell, what are you talking about?” you snap, thumping your palm against his shoulder to get him to relinquish you. His shoulder is hard underneath his white cotton shirt, firm muscle that flexes as he adjusts his hold on you.

He doesn’t. Just continues to laugh, as if you hadn’t even spoken, eyes sparkling as he seems to be caught up in some other thought. Let's go of you but you can’t go far before he has your head held in his hands. “My father will want a full ceremony, so we can make it official there, Am sorry that I announced it before, a couldn’t help myself.” He nudges his nose against yours, affectionate like he’s allowed to be.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, a twist in your mouth. You think about your brother, think about how you are going to get back to him. You’re starting to think that maybe you were the one to leave the pitchfork in the hay and guilt curdles in your stomach, another mess for Ian to clean up after you. Johnny’s hands cradle the back of your skull and you think that you are stuck here. Walked into the maw of a lion and were surprised when it bit down and caught you.

“That’s alright, angel, I can sort everything,” Johnny soothes you, but it just raises your hackles more. He nuzzles his face into the size of yours, the bristles of his beard catching on your skin and leaving you feeling raw. He pulls back, just enough to nudge his nose against yours. His mouth is so close to yours, and he seems to realise this, blue eyes going half-lidded as he sways forward.

“Johnny,” you interrupt, and his breath hitches in his chest, a fine tremor running through him as his name sits in your mouth.

“A know, cannae help maself around you,” he admits, leaning back just the smallest amount, a hint of bashfulness that you narrow your eyes at. Like he’s putting it on. “I’ll go speak wae my da, see if we can speed up the wedding, yeah? Then we don’t have to be so nervous.” His eyes shine, as if caught up in a fever dream.

“Johnny, I don’t -” you start, but he gives you another kiss on your cheek and darts away before you can finish what you were about to say.

Maybe that is how he justifies this to himself. If he isn’t here to hear you protest, then maybe that means you aren’t protesting at all. You scowl around his room, wondering how much destruction you can get away with.

It’s messy, which is about what you would expect. An oak table in the corner with a few dishes on it, left behind presumably from the last time he left - you hope. His bed tucked into the corner of the room, rich red sheets, crumpled, as if he had left in a rush. You wander around, drag your hands down the wolf hide thrown over the armchair by the fireplace. Imagine yourself being here, living here. Dig your fingers into dead flesh, the give of fur that has been stripped from a living thing.

His blood is still under your nails. You suddenly decide that you need to be clean, need to be scrubbed down of any traces of the last couple of days and start anew. Maybe Johnny is like an animal, if you stop having his blood on you, he’ll let you go.

There is a metal basin in the corner, but there isn’t any water in it yet. You falter, uncertain as you look down at it. Then square your shoulders. If you were going to convince Johnny to retract his proposal - that was more skipping past proposal and straight into matrimony - you would need to be brave enough to at least ask for warm water.

You poke your head out of the room, trying to catch the eye of anyone wandering. A stout woman is wandering past with a basket on her hip, filled with sheets. You tentatively call out and she turns a questioning look on her face. “Hello, sorry to bother you. Do you know where I can get some water for a bath?”

The woman - grey streaking her hair even crammed into her bonnet - squints at your face for a moment before she glances at the room that you are poking your head out of. “Ah! Johnny’s bride, aren’t ya? Nae bother, lass, I’ll run and get ye some water just now.” She pauses, giving a frown at the general state of you. “I’ll grab ye some clothes as well, poppet, ye look a right state.”

She’s off before you can find the words to let her know that you are not Johnny’s bride. Not that you know to even begin to articulate such a statement. You wonder if you do protest too much, if you would just be forced out of the keep. Told to find your own way home then, if you were happy enough to rudely reject the heir. You know that you are to the west of your home, but the intricacies of the journey are lost on you.

You slink back into Johnny’s room and settle into his armchair, feel the fur of that dead wolf on the back of your neck as you sigh. Stare down the portrait of what must be one of Johnny’s old relatives on his wall.

The older lady is efficient, barely any time has passed before she is back, bustling in with a bucket of water that she sets by the fireplace and starts trying to spark a flame. Mrs Duncan, she introduces herself as she settles down on her haunches with a grunt. “Oh, I can sort that - it’s alright,” you start to say, standing from the armchair and hovering as if ready to take over.

“Nonsense, ye’d likely dae it wrang and then I’d have tae come back and do it fer ye anyway,” she says. The words are harsh, but the manner in which she says them is as if she hadn’t just insulted you. You bristle, beginning to frown. You’re interrupted when she catches sight of the rest of the room. “Ah, look at the state of this. See that boy, absolutely no shame, y’know if he expects a woman to be living here wae him, he cannae be leaving it in a state like this,” she tuts, fire catching finally and she bustles around leaving the fire to warm up the bucket and gathers up any of the dirty dishes that have been left behind.

You twist your mouth, trying to hold back a scowl. Mrs Duncan is gone again anyway, returning with another bucket. There is a constant stream of conversation, even if you aren’t contributing much to it. She has a nephew in the keep, the stablemaster, and apparently he is as messy as Johnny. You hum politely, nodding in the right places.

You jolt back to yourself when she stands you up, the buckets of now steaming water in the basin, reaching behind you to undo your cloak and tossing it at her basket of sheets. “I can do that myself,” you yelp, stumbling away from her as she reaches for the stays on the front of your dress.

Mrs Duncan pauses, watching your wriggle away from her. She looks a moment away from protesting and yanking your dress off anyway, but the mullish look on your face pulls her up short. “No need to be prudish around me, poppet, I’ve seen all sorts in this place. I’m sure you haven’t got anything that would concern me,” she tells you, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I’m not - I just would rather sort myself out,” you manage. Her face doesn’t move. “It’s been a long couple of days, I just would prefer to.” She relents at last, a gust of a sigh before she scoops up her basket and leaves. You are left with firm instructions to leave your ruined dress by the door and put on the new one she brought for you - a pointed pat on the fabric that she has laid on Johnny’s desk.

Alone again, you tip the water into the deep basin, watch the steam wrap up in the air. It catches on your face and sticks, curled into the curve of your cheek and leaving behind the faintest of moisture. You yank your dress off, finally taking stock of it. It is ruined, Mrs Duncan hadn’t been exaggerating. Blood and muck and dirt, the skirt torn at the edges slightly. You hope that Mrs Duncan doesn’t toss it away, it had been your favourite for a while. You wonder if she would notice if you managed to get it cleaned in the bathwater after you were finished. Something tells you that you are unlikely to get away with it.

There’s more water than you’ve ever seen here. Usually, there is a single bucket that you manage to heat up and tip into the basin that you and Ian had been using since you were young. You suppose this is Johnny’s bath, and must be large enough to accommodate him. Deep and forged with a thicker metal than your basin back home.

Standing in your slip, you gnaw on your lip as you watch the door. There is an overwhelming urge to be cleansed. Some sick combination of Johnny and those Englishmen’s blood has seeped through your clothes in some places and have stained your hands, your legs. Your skin crawls with the need to scrub it off. However, the fear of Johnny coming back to his room and finding you naked is enough to give you pause before you jump into his bathtub.

You pause, twisting bare feet on the cold stone of his floor, as if you have created the time in which he will come back in. A few beats pass. If he comes back, which is unlikely, then you will just ignore him, you decide. You tug the filled basin slightly around the corner just in case. Childishly hoping that he may not notice you now at all if he does come back.

Your slip comes off and you sink into the warm water, groaning at the feeling. You dip yourself down fully, suspended in water for a moment before you pop back up, reborn again.

You scrub at yourself with your nails, dig off grime and blood. There’s a hardened piece of animal fat, soaked in a sweet smelling oil that you imagine is Johnny’s soap. You scrub yourself with it, an old version of yourself slicking off and sitting as a filthy film in the water. You dig into your hair next, lather and rinse until your scalp stings.

Perhaps you overindulge. Lie with the rim of the basin digging into the back of your neck and stare at the ceiling for a little too long. You think that the more likely reason is that Johnny is able to sense that you are naked and comes running.

The door opens and you flinch, sinking further into the water. The liquid surges, almost capsizing over the sides at the startled movement. Johnny flies in through the door and stutters to a standstill, almost hurling over himself at the sight of you. Blinks and breathes through his mouth, a faint wheezing noise.

You sink further into the water, cradling yourself as if to hide from his view. “Could you be a gentleman for one minute, and leave so I can get out?” You ask, trying to sound firm, but it comes out as a faint plea that makes you wince. Your plan to ignore him has fled, he commands too much attention, too much of your attention.

He barely seems to hear you, eyes focused on the flesh he can see through the water. As if entranced he stumbles towards the basin, distantly starting to tug his kilt out of the pin at his chest. Slow at first, then faster as his chest starts to heave.

“What - Johnny !” you exclaim as he strips off with an eagerness that almost throws him into a wall before he’s bare and striding towards the basin. He’s all muscle, built with no give in him. There’s hair over his chest, thinning to a line down his belly that has you averting your eyes with a flush. “I can get out -” you start, one hand still trying to cover yourself while the other tries to find some purchase on the edge of the basin.

You’re lifted up by your arms before you can stop him, squealing as he all but jumps into the basin and drags you down on top of him. Water sloshes everywhere, you hear the slam of it on the floor as he gets settled. It rocks around the two of you for a moment before it finally starts to settle.

Flesh squeaks against flesh, your breasts pressed against his chest as he holds you still until he’s sat down, you half-cradled into him. A familiar position, although it irritates you a lot more than it did in the saddle. You wiggle, trying to struggle free but it only makes him groan, hands seeking out the expanse of your back to grip, making you still. “This is inappropriate,” you hiss, feeling something twitch on the soft skin of your belly. Animal panic, the kind that makes you want to buck and kick him away but also freezes you in place.

“You’re the one who’s bare in ma bedroom,” he points out, hefting you further up his torso so that your faces are pressed together before you lean back. He almost goes cross-eyed, trying to take in your face as well as the press of your chest against his. The hair on his chest is wet, flattened down but it still tickles when you shift slightly. Fine but dark, plastered to tan skin. A freckle on his shoulder that catches your attention before you drag it back again.

“I was taking a bath,” you try to justify yourself. He hums in response, smoothing his hands up and down your flank. A hand up your side to glance against the side of your breast which makes him groan. “Johnny, we’re not even married yet - this is so inappropriate.”

He laughs at your scolding, dipping his head to press a kiss to your cheek and then bites at the apple of your cheek. Light, more to feel you jump under his hands more than anything. “We’re no’ swiving,” he points out, nose in the wet of your hair. “We’re promised, a reckon the Father wouldnae look too harshly on us fer getting tae know each other.”

“I would,” you snap.

“Ye look like a water nymph,” he murmurs, half-dazed as if he had been struck. Half the water is out of the basin, leaving your back cooling in the air. He's like a furnace, against your will, you instinctively curl into him, try to keep warm. His hands are grabbing at your back, as if he wants to touch all of you at once.

“Johnny,” you start, trying to get up again. Palms flat on his shoulders, try to use this momentum to force yourself up, but he all but yanks you back down. Your hands barely cover the breadth of his torso, small as they curl into his collar.

He sighs against your temple, a groan trapped in his chest. He bucks against you, forcing you still again and you feel him slide against your belly. “Ah, fuck,” he mutters. “C’mon, c’mon.”

You don’t know who it is that he’s speaking to, feel the kick of his leg as he braces you against himself, the rock of his hips against yours. Flesh and water, feel the lap of it around the curve of your waist. His breath is hot against the skin of your cheek, your scalp, your neck. He digs his fingers into your backside until you flinch and whimper which just makes him moan even hotter against you.

You hold tension in your back until you can’t, a twinge in the muscle. You deflate, let yourself sag into Johnny as pants into your ear. There’s a coil in your belly, has you tucking your head into his collar, waiting it out.

The sight of you giving in must be too much, you feel the same wetness from the forest only this morning, kick out onto your belly. The water likely washes it away, but you feel it like it’s branded you. He whines your name out, sounding pained. The sound of his punched out voice has something in your belly clenching, even as you ignore it.

His hands are still rounding over the curve of your backside, but you let him. Decide to save the energy for something else you will need to argue about. There’s a red scratch hidden in the scratch of his beard. You lift your hand and thumb over it. He hisses slightly, but you feel his cock kick at the feeling. “This from those men?” you ask, voice hushed.

The quiet of your voice seems to catch his attention more than you’re yelling does. Attention stretched to you, catching each word in a tight net. “Aye,” he murmurs, turning his head as much as he can without shifting your thumb from the bolt of his jaw. His eyes are half-lidded, but alert when pointed at you. His hair curls into his forehead, dark and soft looking.

You twist your mouth, study that small scar. There had been a fight in your village once, daggers drawn between two men. One of them had cut the other across the throat, you remember the spray of blood, vicious, like it was escaping. A smooth arc in the air before it landed, the horrible choking that had followed. Blood spraying, gurgling as if it had changed its mind and wanted to stay instead.

One of the men must have had a dirk on him, must have caught this a little before Johnny had dealt with them. You imagine if the Englishmen would have cut your throat in the same way, if your blood would jump out of your throat, or stick close by you, dribble down and stain your skin instead.

You sigh, and drop your hand. Evidence of the hurt Johnny has earned himself is enough to quiet you, leave you ruminating over him. It’s distracting, being naked on top of him, everything that has you reeling at the impropriety of it all. Then, there is the scar on his calf, the cut on his jaw. Marks of hardship. For you.

Johnny nuzzles his nose into the space between your ear and your hair, inhaling loudly. “You use my soap?” he murmurs. You nod and he sighs happily again, you ride the wave of his chest deflating beneath you. “You smell like me.”

Even though you had been the one to use his soap, it’s another branding mark. You’re spared having to make some kind of response, another justification for your behaviour, as a fierce shiver shudders through you. Johnny may be a burning furnace under you, but the water is tepid now, and most of your body is left out of the water to the cool draught in his bedroom. He laughs at you, wrapping his arms around more of you as if to catch your shakes. His chuckle is a boisterous thing, starting in his lungs and bursting out. A nice sound, you imagine, if it didn’t always seem to be at your expense.

“Up we go,” Johnny hums, his hands scooping you out of the water like a messy toddler. Water cascades again but the mess was already there, so you barely give it any notice. Your feet almost slip on the stones but it barely matters with how Johnny won’t let you go.

You cover yourself as best you can with your hands, Johnny frowning at the sight as he holds the towel that you need. You frown back at him, one hand holding your breasts from sight, the other crossing your belly to cover the crux of your thighs. You can’t reach a hand out for your clothes without exposing yourself. Johnny seems to realise this and his fists tighten in the cloth, expectant grin. Open maw.

A heat in your cheeks, but you rationalise that he has already seen most of your body anyway. One hand still holding your chest, the other reaches for the towel. Johnny snaps his arms around you again and lifts you against him, something between a snarl and a laugh as he drops his head to your collarbone. “Can I get dressed, please?” you hiss, cold and irritated.

He presses a harsh kiss to your skin, beard catching and scratching at your skin, amused at your annoyance again. “Aye, my dear,” he smarms, letting you take the towel from him. You dart away, but you think that he lets you, more than capable of crossing the distance with a few strides and yanking you back into him. The towel must be his, large enough to cover yourself from view but also catch the damp of your hair as you tousle it dry.

You glance over your shoulder at him, and find him watching you, eyes suddenly sharp, taking you in. “What is it?” you ask, hiking the towel further up your chest. He’s still naked, dripping water shamelessly on the floor, adding to the mess.

He’s quiet, which immediately sets you on edge. Appraises you, eyes darting between yours, then all over. Silent. His size had been an annoyance, but you suddenly understand how those Englishmen must have felt when he came at them. You’re standing, a drenched cat, in the shadow of something much larger than yourself.

He still hasn’t dressed again, just watches you with water droplets all over his chest. The flex of his waist as he inhales, the twist of muscle there, seeming to flex as your gaze drops there. Everything in reaction to you. You refuse to look any lower, drag your eyes up and frown at his face.

Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he takes a step forward and cups your face in his hands. You startle at the heat of his palms but he doesn’t let you go anywhere. Leans down and kisses you before you can stop him.

Strange to think that this is the first time that you’ve kissed, everything is out of order. You have only been kissed once, with the butcher’s boy who was a few years older than you, and had been sweaty. He’d tried to put his hands up your skirt and you had pushed him into the dirt and stormed off. You don’t imagine you could do that to Johnny, likely he would drag you down with him.

The sweat has washed off of Johnny, but you barely have any time to discern the press of his lips before they’re opening and you’re gasping, a revelation. His tongue in your mouth, licking into you like you were meant to be tasted. His thumbs on your temples, the span of his fingers cradling your skull. Held in place as he groans and licks further into your mouth.

There has to be something blasphemous about this, something unholy. There’s nothing appropriate about Johnny’s spit spilling into your mouth until it slicks in the gaps between your panting mouths. Spills down your chin as he tilts your head back to reach more of you. His tongue on the back of your teeth, the space between your gums and your teeth. A place that you thought only you knew about.

You’re frozen until you sway into him, head heavy in his hands. He doesn’t seem to require much reciprocation given he’s in your mouth, but you tentatively lick back, try to slide your tongue against his and you almost shy away from how loudly he moans at that.

He pulls back, just enough to seal his lips around your tongue and suck for a moment, eyes heavy on yours. Filthy. He pulls his head back enough to let you catch your breath, but now he just rests his forehead against yours. You blink at him, bleary. His spit, or yours, on your face. His spend on your stomach. Water everywhere else, but it doesn’t cleanse like you thought it would.

“Ma da wants us tae have dinner wae him, tonight,” Johnny murmurs, thumb smearing the spit across your chin. Pupils blown, swallowing up the blue.

“Alright,” you whisper back. He hums in response, as if considering kissing you again. “I should get dressed.”

His eyes flicker back to yours, silent again. His hands bracket your neck now, hands spanning across your collarbone. A beat. Then: “I’ll see if we can get the priest over here in the mornin’.”

You aren’t left any room to argue, before he’s crowding you into another kiss and pulling back with a smack that disturbs you. A string of spit between your mouths that pulls until it breaks. He’s across the room, yanking on his white linen shirt and is out of the door with his kilt held in hand.

You shuffle, uncertain, dripping wet in a strange man’s bedroom. The water spreads over the stone floor, catches in the divots and speeds up. There’s the smallest hole in the mortar, the water spilling towards it.

You drop your towel over the gap and step over the mess to get dressed. If the water wasn’t going to clean you out, you weren’t going to let it escape before you could.

[mawofthemagnetar]

Father's Day

“So, hold on a minute,” Iskall held his hands up, “back up, because I must have missed that. You’re a FATHER?”

“Well, yeah?” Jevin shrugged, scrolling through his comm, “What’s so hard about that to believe?”

Iskall, by way of a reply, simply gestured at Jevin’s person from his head to his slimy feet.

“So? Okay, yeah, I guess it- is a little hard to fathom. I do, uh, have a certain- aura of coolness around me. But yeah, no, I’m a dad. And a damn good one, too. I mean, a slime-dad, which is a little different than a regular dad. But for a slime-dad, I’m top-shelf. Of course.”

“Uh-huh. And how does a slime-dad differ from a regular dad?” Iskall folded his arms.

“I don’t gotta, uh, chase after my kids as much as you guys do. They’re pretty much ready to go once they hit full-size. I do my bit by checking up on them periodically. Anyway, point is, I gotta go. My kids are throwing a father’s day bash, and I can’t be late.”

Iskall rubbed his temples.

“Okay, couple questions. One, father’s day was three months ago. Two, is there a Missus Jevin you’ve got stashed away somewhere? Or a Mister Jevin? Or-“

“…Why would another person be involved?” Jevin asked, tilting his head with a squish of slime, “Like, literally, why? Who needs help to become a parent?”

“…Uh…you know what? No. You want to learn about the parrots and the bats, go talk to Keralis.”

“Sure, whatever. Anyway, to answer your second question, it’s ‘cause if you try to do father’s day on the actual, like, day, renting a big enough hall is stupid expensive and it’s all just kind of dumb. And a hassle. So we host it whenever.”

Jevin glanced up from his comm.

“Wanna come? Meet my kids, I mean.”

Iskall rubbed his forehead.

“Sure, why not. Hit me with it.”

They tapped their comms together, and Jevin clacked his jaw together- the slime equivalent of a smile.

“Okay, so uh…All my kids know you guys as their aunts and uncles. So if they start calling you “auntie Iskall-“

“-Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m used to it.” Iskall nodded, “Should I wear something special?” 

Jevin waved a hand. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re fine as you are. Anyway, let’s go. Not good to keep my kids waiting!” 

And Jevin tapped a few options on his comm and vanished. 

<iJevin has left the game.> 

Iskall shrugged, tapped over to his server list, and selected the option for the Hub, with the teleport coordinates visible in the centre. 

He tapped it, and vanished. 

<Iskall85 has left the game.>

When Iskall opened his eyes again, he was standing outside a colossal building, looking like some kind of conference centre. It was made of smooth quartz, with a fake parking lot full of fake vehicles that had clearly taken some builder a long time to put together. 

Jevin was standing there, tapping his sneaker impatiently, the blue slime slosh-slosh-sloshing against the ground. 

“Alright, c’mon, let’s get moving.” Jevin huffed, “We’re already a couple minutes late, and my kids worked really hard to put this on.” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming…” Iskall muttered, brushing off his pants and following Jevin towards the doors.

Iskall was assuming that Jevin’s family would have set up a few tables in a corner. He was a slime; and the way Jevin was talking, Iskall had assumed a big family. Maybe ten kids? That would be a pretty big family. 

Then Jevin and Iskall stepped into the conference hall. 

“HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, DAD!” 

Several thousand slimes bellowed all at once, a wall of sound so deafening that Iskall could feel his bionic eye nearly shake out of its housing. 

He blinked his one eye, darting it around the room in shock. There were hundreds of small tables around which sat an unfathomable number of slimes in all colours of the rainbow. The room was a riot of wild fashion choices, and a deafening rumble of clattering bones and squelching bodies.

“I- I-” Iskall stammered, as he reached up and tightened the nut holding his robotic eye onto his skull’s mounting post.  

“HEY EVERYONE!” Jevin shouted back, “THANK YOU!” 

“Is that Uncle Iskall?” a deep voice said eagerly, “It’s so nice to meet you!” 

“You have…THOUSANDS…of children. Not ten. Not twenty. Not even a hundred. THOUSANDS.” Iskall stammered. 

“Yeah. I’m, uh, the father of all slime hybrids. It’s not a big deal, to be honest. Some other slime would’ve absorbed a skeleton and decided to think about itself if I hadn’t.” Jevin shrugged. 

“All. Of them. ALL OF THEM.” Iskall clutched his head in his hands.

“Yeah? It’s not that difficult. You just, like, shed some slime on a large enough pile of biomass, it’ll grow into a kid. How is this so confusing for you? That’s probably where humans come from.” Jevin shrugged. 

He rubbed his slimy hands together with a hideous squelch, and started traveling through the room, eagerly greeting each and every one of his kids. 

Iskall staggered over to the snack table, piled high with compost, cinderblocks, and beer. He popped a bottle, and started chugging it.

[tekumaniac311]

Gala talk

At a Space Rider gala event. All Space Rider groups were socializing, chilling out, singing or dancing in their fancy gala outfits. One among them was Dogbite sipping his own drink as he watched with..annoyance?

Dancing together out on the dance floor was his own second in command, Drago Kitano and with him, Craftycorn, the archivist for his brother's team. Drago was calmly smiling as he slow danced with her, Crafty looked transfixed in Drago's gaze as she went with the flow, a soft blush showing on her white cheeks.

Dogbite had been trying to get his team to avoid his brothers own squad, claiming that because they were "better" they have better things to do than hang out with "amateurs" unfortunately for him the "competition" have been growing closer and closer to eachother forming friendships, much to his dismay.

He then looked to his left to see another of Dogday's team Bubba Bubbaphant, socializing with his chef and communicator Mama Mammoth, from the looks they were walking together with her arm linked with his and giggling, sharing a nice conversation. Close to them was his medical expert Prettybird lending a hand to KickinChicken, with a smile on her beak Pretty winked at him, showing a makeup covered eyelid.

Nearby out on the dance floor, Leopardaisy was jamming out with Hoppy Hopscotch, at the refreshment table Catnap and Lean Lemur looked like they were just chatting, Catnap looked like he was giving words of assurance and Lemur was smiling through, understanding how things can be sometime. PickyPiggy was pouring FixFox a glass of punch for her, with FixFox thanking her and pouring a glass of punch for her in return.

As for Berserkerine, he was leaning against a wall, arms crossed. His usual place for he didn't like gala events, up til Bobby Bearhug came up to him, wanting to dance "Pweeeaaase." She asked the wolverine. "Sorry but..i don't do dancing, redbear." Berserk said to her. "TOO BAD!" Bobby shouted, startling Berserk as she took his hands "If you can "dance" around with those fists, surely you can dance with me." Berserkerine gave annoyed snarl at Bobby "Fine."

Dogday, Dogbite's brother and leader of the other team walked up next to him, amused. "It's nice that our teammates are getting along, huh?" Dogbite growled and took a sip of his drink, squeezing it and causing it to crack. "Hm." Was all he could mutter "Come on, what's the matter little bro?" Dogday asked smirking. "The matter, big brother? Okay, WHY exactly is my team, who i've built from the ground up, and lead into combat numerous times is hanging out with YOUR pack of clowns?" "Come on, Dogbite. Alienating your team ain't good, after all we're alike and on the same side--" Dogbite cut him off "No way, we're RIVALS, wanting to take out the Prototype first before the other can."

Strutting up to them was a cat in a masquerade mask, it was of course, Z. "What's going on here?" The masked cat asked "Oh god, it's him...What do YOU want?" The masqueraded cat just chuckled at the younger brothers spitefulness "Just to chill, besides Dogbite. You should really listen to your brother."

As Z began to explain, some of the gala guests began to put on...cult masks!!! And pull out weapons, they were prepared to attack. Z continued to talk to the two dogs unaware what was transpiring behind them.

"And from personal experience, who you call the pack of "clowns" I consider allies and buddies. You both maybe separate teams, but your both on the same SIDE." Z finished with a smile. "Watchout!!!" Shouted Drago from a distance, the three looked just in time to see Drago and Crafty duck to avoid a laser shot from a cultist before fighting back, and all around them they see the secret cult members attack the guests and other party goers.

Berserkerine and Bobby stopped dancing hearing the chaos "Alright! My kind of party!" He grinned and removed his blazer, ready to bash down some skulls and rushed at them. "And there he goes. :3" Bobby huffed amused, she saw a cultist come at her and ducked a swing, without a second thought, she reached for the punch bowl and tossed it at the cultist.

Leopardaisy and Hoppy already began to fight back, as did Prettybird, FixFox, Picky, Kickin, Catnap and Lemur. Bubba took a stick and whacked at the cultist who came at him and Mama, Mama meanwhile picked up the cake that she baked for this gala and slammed it onto the cultist's face. "Mama, didn't you bake that??" Bubba asked "I can bake another, baby." Mama said.

"Well, let's not let them have all the fun, I'll talk to ya later, captains." Z winked and strutted to the fighting, leaving Dogday a little bit flustered, Dogbite facepalmed "Ugh, let's just take em out! Betcha me and my pals will take out more cultists than yours!" A small batch of cultists approached the brothers "Always the competitive type, little brother.."

The two brothers stood side to side about to attack "As said, I ain't resting till I hear 'Little brother, you've always been better than me'." Dogbite said "Hmph, someday you'll see the bigger picture." Dogday commented.

And with that, the two dogs punch the POV of a cultist.

THE END

space riders belong to @onyxonline

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fix You

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, alcohol abuse and addiction, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Please let me know what you think &lt;3

🍹🍹🍹

You languish in the room as the white curtains shine with daylight. Your eyes are raw and swollen from you pathetic attempt at self-defense and your elbow is sore from how Steve twisted it back. Your head throbs, your stomach is sour, squeezing now and again as it threatens to erupt.

You bury your head under the pillow. You can’t stop shaking. You’re not stupid. You know what’s happening. It’s been at least six hours since you drank anything. You’re withdrawing. You fucking hate this.

The best course of action would be to sleep it off but you can’t even do that. You’re kept awake by the sweating, stolid desperation of your biology.

You roll over with a grown, the effort making your head swell. You can hear that asshole! He’s been talking loudly on the phone and stomping around. He also ordered food, you smell it. It makes you sick.

You manage to drag yourself out of bed. You can barely stand as your head staggers your step. You get to the door and push down on the handle. There is no lock and you open it without obstacle. You don’t get far as your stomach clutches suddenly and you hack your insides onto the floor.

“Well, well, well,” Steve snickers as he approaches you, “you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“Get out of my way, you fucking twat,” you snarl at him as you struggle to stand up straight, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as your other rests on your stomach, “I need a goddamn drink, then I’m getting the fuck out–”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he jabs your shoulder so hard you stumble back. “You’re going to clean up your fucking mess.”

He goes to the table and snatches a cloth napkin from atop the cleared plate. He tosses it at you and you catch it as it hits your chest. You dry heave, fighting not to let it wrack your entire body.

“I’m doing you a favour, sweetheart. You need to dry out.”

“That’s not your call, cap,” you bark and quickly snap your mouth shut against another wave of nausea.

“Look at you. You’re pathetic. You should be on your knees, thanking me. Praising me because I chose you, honey.”

“Chose me? You picked up the easiest girl in that goddamn bar,” you hiccup through your words.

“So you should be fucking flattered,” he sneers and lunges towards you, “I’m gonna fix you up.”

“I don’t need–”

You cry out as he pinches the back of your neck and forces you to your knees, “clean it up.”

“Get off–”

“Clean it up or I’ll make you eat it,” he growls, “I’m sure you’ve had a lot worse in your mouth.”

You gulp and grasp the cloth, covering the puddle of bile with it. You do your best to mop it up and he lets you go harshly, jolting you as he marches around you in a circle. You touch your temple as it hammers violently.

“You don’t get it, alright? I’m giving you a gift. I’m giving you a life.”

“I don’t fucking want it,” you ball up the cloth.

“You don’t know what you want, do you? You’re drinking away your thoughts, your needs, your desires. Why? Because you fucking hate yourself. Because someone fucked you up,” he spits as he stands over you, “I’m gonna fix you. I’m gonna save you from yourself and give you a reason not to drink.”

“I would rather bash my own skull in–”

“Hey,” he grabs your jaw as he bends over you, “don’t give me any ideas.”

“Big fucking talk for a small man,” you take the napkin and smash it in his face, “fuck you!”

His hand slips down to your throat and he throttles you as he forces you to your feet. He swipes away the napkin and snarls as he wipes his face with his sleeve and spits onto the floor. He slams you against the wall and you squeak from the sheer impact.

“We’re done talking,” he snarls as he presses his forehead against yours, eyes boring into you.

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

more seokmin comfort fics.. i read ‘sleepless’ and its so perfect i swear 😭

YOU MADE MY WHOLE DAYYYYYYY omg. Ran to write this for you, its a bit comfort, a tiiiiiny bit spicy, hope u like it!! please ask for more if you want!

Pillow Talk

genre: fluff with an implied spicy ending?? is there a word for that?? i'm new here lmao, comfort, established relationship

warning: implied mature behavior near the end, brief mention of a phobia of doctors and surgery, brief mention of blood, spooky beginning

words: 1.2k

The scrape of claws dragging slowly against tile floors is the only sound. You are trapped on an operating table, your arms and legs strapped down to prevent any protection from whoever — or whatever — was making its deliberate, terrifying way across the blood-spattered floor toward you. Steely-cold fingers slide up the back of your skull, and you scream yourself awake.

You’re shaking, safe in your bed, Seokmin beside you as he always is. But his hand is on your arm now, and he’s blinking at you sleepily. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, propping himself up on one arm and using his other hand to brush your hair softly from your face.

You lean into his touch, the warmth of his fingertips dispelling some of the chill in your soul from the dream. “Bad dream,” you say, trying to take a deep breath, still trembling. “Really bad dream.”

You know where this dream came from, too. In just a few days, you’ll have a surgery to correct a ten-year-old gymnastics injury. It’s a procedure that will vastly improve your quality of life, has very few risks, and has one of the easiest recovery processes in modern surgery, but you are petrified of doctor’s offices -- the sterile chemical scent, the people with faces mostly covered by masks peering at you from strange mechanical glasses, the powdery feel of latex gloves against your skin. And if doctor’s offices were frightening, it was nothing to the fear you had of surgery, which was just all of those things combined with a drug that made it impossible for you to fight back and the menacing glint of metal in a dim overhead light.

His brow furrows as he looks down at you. “Really? Do you want to talk about it?”

You give him a slow smile. “Why? So you can scare yourself into not sleeping for the rest of the night?”

He smiles at your teasing. “Fair enough,” he says, knowing he is a bit of a scaredy-cat. “Why did you have a nightmare, though? What were you thinking about when you went to bed?”

You sigh. “The surgery, I think.”

He nods in understanding. “I guessed it might be that. Do you want to tell me what you’re worried about?”

You give a humorless laugh. “Oh, just getting kidnapped, dissected, and sold on the black market. Or waking up with my brain in a different body. Or them accidentally operating on the wrong leg.”

Seokmin chuckles, but not in a dismissive way, and the mood immediately lightens. To say these things out loud is so ridiculous that it almost erases your fear, and you find yourself finally able to take that deep breath.

This isn’t lost on Seokmin, who is still watching you carefully. “Do you feel better after talking about it?” he asks.

You assess. Still a little shaky, still a bit panicky, but he’s looking at you with those adorably worried eyes ... it all kind of balances out. Plus, the way he’s leaning over you right now, and the way his biceps are handling his weight, and the tightness of his white t-shirt against his muscular chest...

You find yourself blushing instead of replying as you take in the sight of him, and Seokmin smiles at your expression. “You just thought of something that’s making you bashful,” he realizes, his eyes suddenly mischievous. “Tell me what’s going on in your brain.”

You avoid his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you claim, deciding to tease rather than be forthright -- you’re in the mood for a bit of a game. 

His expression turns dubious. “Really? No thoughts, head empty?” he asks, clearly in disbelief.

You nod solemnly. “Nothing but the wind whistling through my skull cavity,” you say in a spooky voice.

He chuckles. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be all weird and creepy.”

“And you’re cute all the time,” you admit, knowing Seokmin eats that kind of thing up.

True to form, his eyes light up at your words. “Go on,” he says, laying back down beside you and pulling you into his chest. “Was that what you were actually thinking about while you were lying through your teeth about not thinking about anything?”

“It was...a little different,” you admit, grateful he’s hiding your face so he isn’t able to see you blush even deeper.

He doesn’t catch the hesitation in your voice, but he does start rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back, brushing away any tension there. You melt into his chest, and his arms tighten around you. “Well, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” he says quietly, his voice gentle and sweet in the darkness. “But what a gift this is for me, to get to be here to hold you through the nightmares.”

You pull back to look at him. “Really?” you ask.

“Of course!” he exclaims. “I love that I can ease your mind in this way.” He pulls you back in and kisses your forehead several times in rhythm. 

You are extremely aware of another notable way that Seokmin eases your mind, especially when he’s holding you like this. Seemingly subconsciously, Seokmin’s hand slips under the back of your shirt, and your body erupts into chills as his warm fingers begin to trace soft patterns on your skin. You try to resist the urge to sit up and rip the clothes off both of you, reminding yourself to be patient -- you knew he’d never say no to you if you asked, but the longer he made you wait, the more delicious it was afterward. So you settle for a soft sigh against his chest. “Still, I’m sorry for waking you.”

He kisses your cheek this time, and you try not to tense up, knowing that will give away what you want, and then it’ll all be over. But it’s hard not to notice how Seokmin is inching his way down your body, seemingly innocently enough, but in a way that makes you wonder if you’re not the only one playing a game. Perhaps what this is is a game of chicken. Whoever gives in first loses. You decided to make your own subtle move, sliding your fingernails over the backside of his arm. “Nonsense,” he says, looking at you with a smile. “I wasn’t that tired.”

“How tired are you now?” you ask him, keeping a neutral tone, although you know your eyes are burning into his.

He adjusts his position so that he’s leaning over you again. This could just be so he can look at you -- but then again, as his hands glide down your side and over your hips, it could also be not that. “I’m wide awake, baby,” he says, and there it is -- an invitation.

“Hmm...in that case...would you like to know what I was thinking about when I was lying through my teeth?”

“Do go on,” he encourages, his eyes bright as he slowly slides in between your legs, burying his face in your neck and leaving a trail of kisses from your ear to your collarbone. “You might need to be quick about it, though. I don't know how much longer I can wait.”

You laugh. “Oh, it seems like you’ve already got the gist of it,” you tell him. “It’s almost like you read my mind.”

He brings his lips down on yours -- gently, but deeply and slowly and in a way that makes your heart pick up its pace, beating frantically against your sweatshirt. Then he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes and whisper, “it’s your turn, honey. Read my mind.”

You have to laugh -- because when he gets like this, his mind is an open book, the easiest book in the world to read. In response, you just grab the collar of that absolutely sinful white t-shirt, pulling him into another kiss, and let Seokmin sweep you away into his fantasy.

[giasfolklore]

Putting you in your place

ft. Gojo

˚｡⋆ pairings : Gojo x fem! reader

˚｡⋆ warnings : mean gojo! , brat taming, hair pulling, skull fucking, gagging, heavy degradation, use of slut, bitch and whore and last but not the least NO PROTECTION‼️, confession of love at the end.

˚｡⋆ no use of y/n

Being Gojo’s junior as a freshman you always teased him for not talking to women as an introvert, just because others made fun of him too but one day you did over the top and to top up the fabulous fiasco you underestimated Gojo about him being impotent.

You became just as annoying as everyone else but today you took it to that point where Gojo can only tolerate this much.

Rude and always wanting to scream out and make demands when things didn’t go your way.

Gojo pulled you to side of an empty storeroom taking off his belt and then unzipping his pants he had you on your knees getting your cute little mouth fucked by him and his hand holding onto your hair roughly skullfucking his thick length in your mouth. “You little bitch is this what you needed to shut the fuck up?”

“You needed to be treated like a brainless slut that you fucking are. Fucking annoying piece of shit.” His beautiful blue eyes shining with rage as he made you take his cock deeper and deeper in your mouth. Loud gags filling the empty storeroom as Gojo fucked your beautiful face.

You watched your mascara getting washed up by your tears as you struggled to breathe. Your nails digging into his lean body as you felt the tip of his dick bashing into the back of your throat with each movement his hips made. He was breathing really fast and hard, heavy balls slapping your chin constantly.

Gojo’s head fell back while pulling his dick out of your mouth as the cum was all over your face without warning he bended you over a table and started thrusting into your wet little pussy.

You let out soft cute moans and mewled at every time he bullied your cute little cunt open, stretching you out very painfully. Gojo groaned when you clenched down on him. His long fingers rubbing your clit on the top of thrusting his dick inside you so deep he slaps your cheek with a hand “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LITTLE WHORE” he grunted. Picking up your panties and stuffing it into your babbling mouth.

“Just shut up and take it I had enough of your attitude and enough of your demands.”

Gojo’s hips snapped into yours inhumanly, your soft boobs rubbing against the hard wooden table as your body jerked with every thrust. It made gojo feel so good to finally put you back in your fucking place. He was tired of your demanding voice

Gojo this. Gojo that. I want this. I want that. “If you don’t get it i’ll make college life a living hell for you blah blah” always getting on him and coming at him like a fucking baby when things didn’t go your way he was sick of you and your little tantrums

Gojo grabbed onto your two wrists so hard, hard enough to leave a fucking bruise on your hands and on your waist he pulled your head up by your hair again fucking you deeper in your tiny hole.

You were tiny, and you felt very tiny against him your head resting on his broad chest as your sobs were muffled. Forcing your teary eyes open you could see the pure rage on his face. It gave him a lot of satisfaction to see you so stupid on his dick. “You know what maybe this was your fucking plan all along maybe you wanted to get fucked by me like a whore” he grunted.

“Fuck. You little annoying slut where is your fucking attitude now huh?” he laughed. A smirk came on his face “I should stop right now and teach you a fucking lesson” you whined in protest your tears doubling in amount. Gojo smirked wider, “I will teach you a real lesson”.

Your body trembled uncontrollably your moans and cries and screams were all unheard as you squirted “Fuck. you’re such a dirty slut.” He spat on your body teeth clenched as he was about to pull out. “I am going to fill you up with my cum. Someone as shitty as you is bound to be on a pill anyway.”

Gojo was still deep inside you and he slowly pulled out as you felt hot cum spilling all over your walls. “There we fucking go you little shit.” He sighed.

And then when he payed attention to your mascara tear stained face and bruised body Gojo’s eyes widened. Shit did he go too far? he took the panties out of your mouth and asked you if you were okay you started crying and hugged him tight saying “I’ve always wanted to do that with you Gojo, I wouldn’t do it with anyone else. I love you.” He cupped your face with his big hands and made you look up and said “You’re so beautiful” he smiled. You smiled too and then he picked you up and took you home and then you and him started a new journey of your relationship and soon Gojo fell for you too and you were happily together.

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 24: Love You To Death

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/744620213809594368/behind-masks-dr-jonathon-crane-x-oc-masterlist?source=share

It was all a lie. Dr. Crane gets the last laugh after all.

My heart drops into my stomach as a guard grips my arms behind me and forces me to stand. I’m led out of the echoing courtroom to the back door. The alley. Where they put bullets through skulls. And now it’s my turn. 

Congratulations, Prentiss. You finally went all the way off the deep end. How could I be such an idiot? All this time I thought… It doesn’t matter now. All I can think about now is how much I hope this will be quick and painless. As painless as being shot in the head can be. 

“On your knees!” The brute orders and kicks me down.

My knees scrape against the pavement. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.

“Any final comments, Reaper?” The guard taunts.

He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 

“Hello? Are you still here?” He pokes me and I feel the gun press to my temple. “Whatever. Say bye-bye-”

“Stop right there.”

Crane’s voice makes me want to bash my head against the ground. He makes me feel so naïve! If I could work my will I would rip his black heart out and then tear out my own shriveled heart. I hear his footsteps get closer until he’s standing right next to me. I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my broken spirit. Just pull the trigger already.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Crane kneels down next to me and I feel his breathing against my cheek. “Hold your breath and count to ten.”

Hiss! 

The familiar sound of a canister clicking open sends my body reacting on autopilot. I sweep my leg under the gunman, tripping him and sending him crashing to the ground as the fear gas spreads over him. Jonathan helps me to my feet and we watch with shared delight as the man spasms in terror.

“No- No! Get away!” 

Jonathan grabs my hand and I want to scream a million questions at him. Was this a trick? Is this some sort of rescue mission?

Crane pulls me back from the hallucinating man. “Hurry! Before someone-”

“Hey! What the Hell is this?” Another voice yells from down the street. 

A group of citizens wanders into sight. When they see the man screaming on the ground they begin to charge. Crane and I break into a run but he’s too slow. In the corner of my eye I see him get snatched and I turn around to see the mob pin him to the ground. 

“Wait-!” I gasp.

Thud! Thud!

The raging citizens kick at his ribs and Jonathon lets out a muffled cry. The sound makes my blood run cold. Not from the sight of the blood gushing from his mouth. But from the pained gasps and the horror seen behind his piercing blue eyes. An all-too-familiar feeling creeps across my skin. Fear. And this time I react differently.

I grip my knife and slice through one of the people. Blood gushes from the wound and they crumple to the ground. But I don’t stop. Stab. Stab. Cut. Cut. My body stiffens and all I can do is push the wounded citizens off of Jonathon’s limp body. He’s breathing. He’s still conscious. That alone helps to calm my pulse.

What does not supply relief is the pile of bleeding people moaning in pain. Guilt pools in my stomach. So much injury caused by such a small blade…

“C-Calico,” Dr. Crane stutters, clutching his side on the ground behind me. 

It snaps me out of my trance. “Come on. More will come. I will be hunted for dead once they see what I’ve done. And what you committed as well.”

I gently grip his shoulder and help him stand. He is in no condition to flee. Instead I’m forced to lean his nearly limp body against my shoulder to carry half his weight, leading Crane back to his penthouse. 

By the time we get to the bottom of the building’s stairs he’s gripping me to stay standing. The whole way up the stairs Jonathon spurts out gasps of pain. Each tortuous breath makes my heart race even faster. Gone is the man who did not hesitate to mock my weaknesses. Instead I am carrying a man who looks as if life has nearly been pushed out of him. 

I kick open the penthouse door and drag Jonathon to the couch. When he lies his head on the cushion his eyes fly open to stare at me.

“Calm your breathing,” I finally speak. “More than likely your ribs are bruised or broken so it will only make things worse.” I pause a second and swallow my jumping nerves. “Was that- Did you do that to save me?”

Even though he’s wincing in pain Jonathan still rolls his eyes. “Not really a rescue mission so much as a beating.”

Despite his attempt at a joke I cannot relax. I shakily take his hand and stare into those calculating eyes. 

“Remember when I said there’s nothing you can do to change my fear?” Crane nods slowly. “You did. I no longer fear failure. First I thought it was the fear of being loved, then it was fear of being alone. But now the greatest terror my mind can conjure is seeing you hurt like this. The fear of being alone without you.”

Something changes in Jonathon’s face. The shadow of doubt. “You must be in shock.”

I shake my head. “We all wear masks, Jonathan. Some… less obvious than others. Sometimes we’re trapped behind them, sometimes we hide behind them. Use them to lie, cheat, love…”

“How can you love someone behind a mask?” Dr. Crane murmurs.

A hint of a playful smile crosses my face. “You should know. You’ve been witnessing it first-hand.”

It clicks. Jonathan immediately catches my confession and pulls his head back. “This isn’t real. This can’t be real. This is all a hallucination…”

His disbelief saddens me. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I can’t love you,” Jonathan whispers and brings a hand up to touch my scraped cheek. “My obsession is fear. I can’t… but I want to.”

This is what we’ve been circling around. His obsession with fear and my spiraling mind. I guess the pressure of my fear set me off and Jonathon’s helped me to pick up the pieces. Why do our passions need to separate us when they are what caused our attraction in the first place?

“Being insane doesn’t make you incapable of love,” I reason.

Jonathan scoffs. “Clearly that’s proven by Quinzel and the Joker.”

My eyes narrow. “You’re basing this off of them?”

“Right. Good point. We’re much more civilized.” His eyes soften and begin to scan me. “I respect the mind’s power over the body. It’s how I do what I do. And right now my mind is trying not to dwindle on your intriguing mind... and your body too.”

I can finally admit it to myself. I’ve fallen in love with Dr. Jonathan Crane.

“No matter how hard I study it, no amount of books or research can help me understand romantic involvement.”

“Is this a new fear I see, Prentiss?” Jonathan asks, fascinated. “Philophobia, perhaps?”

I arch a brow. “Are you really going to mock my confession when we both know I’m more than capable of punching your teeth out right now?”

He licks some blood off his lips. “You can do that after I kiss you.”

And I let him. Jonathan leans in and captures me in the same mesmerizing feeling as before. Despite the metallic taste of blood the touch of his lips still makes me go limp. He pulls me closer until my upper half is lying on the couch next to him. I want to allow his embrace but don’t want to risk hurting his ribs.

Jonathan pulls away and leans his forehead to mine.  “Who knew my favorite patient would be my downfall? The death-obsessed Reaper.”

I give a small chuckle. “Sounds like a new method of murder. Do you think I’m going to love you to death?”

He lets out an annoyed groan. “As cheesy as that sounds, that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go if it was coming from you.”

“Are you going soft on me, doctor?” I tease and move a strand of his hair from his face.

“My mind is still wild enough to keep you guessing, Dr. Prentiss,” he smirks. “It is my ribs who have gone soft.”

Right. His injuries. “Would you like me to examine them?” I ask in a more serious manner.

Jonathan’s smile widens. “Darling, you never have to ask to examine me.”

I roll my eyes and tug away his shirt, ignoring his pained grunt. The bruising on his chest looks like a rigid pattern against his pale skin. This is the first time seeing him nearly shirtless and I can’t say I’m disappointed. There’s no question that he’s as skinny as he appears. Some girls might find this unappealing but it’s not his scrawny physique that attracts me. It’s his ‘wid mind,’ clever wit, and those eyes that stare at me as if I’m the center of his universe.

“Are you still here, sweetheart?”

My head jerks up. How long have I been staring- er, examining? Jonathan’s looking at me like I’m a child caught stealing a cookie from the jar.

“I- I’m still here.”

“That bad, hm?” He looks down at his wounds.

“No, it’s worse. You are still Dr. Crane,” I joke and playfully nudge his shoulder. “You’re fine. It looks like only bruising, no broken ribs. The best I can do is suggest bedrest and possibly dig up some narcotics around here. I don't know how long until someone comes looking for us but we'll cross that bridge when it appears. Sit tight. I’ll get a cloth to clean off the dirt.”

I sit up and begin to stand-

“You’re tending to me? After what…”

Jonathan trails off and I sense a touch of guilt in his voice. He must be talking about what transpired in Arkham.

“You’re right, Dr. Crane. If it weren’t for you I might still have half of my sanity left.” He hangs his head and I change to a more caring tone. “And if it weren’t for you I never would have believed I could fall in love. You made me into who I was supposed to be and you love me anyway. You’re in love with a killer and I’m in love with a mad scientist.”

Jonathan’s guilty face softens. “I suppose we’re both damaged. You know, Dr. Prentiss, you attract what you fear.”

I press another kiss to his cheek. “I guess I won the fear lottery.”

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- The Tour

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

"Are you hungry?" Molly asks. As if she didn't just tell Tracy she's broken and Molly intends to fix her.

"How do you plan on fixing me?"

"For right now, all I want is for you to feel safe. I know that will probably take a long time, after everything you've been through, so it's mostly about building up trust, day after day, that you will always have access to food and no one is going to hurt you. Stuff like that."

After everything you've been through. How long has Molly been stalking her? How much does she know? "And… after that?"

"Trauma processing stuff! All at your own pace, of course. I don't plan on forcing you to do anything, I'm just here to help you with what you want to do."

"And keep me locked up."

"And keep you safe. After all, you can't feel safe unless you are safe, and processing trauma while it's still happening is near impossible."

Okay, Tracy's starting to understand Molly's motives now. That doesn't mean they make sense to her, but it does make her feel more secure that Molly won't actively hurt her. "Do you think being held captive against my will isn't traumatic?"

"Change, even good change, can be traumatic sometimes. I'll help you process that too, once you're ready."

"I thought you said processing ongoing trauma is near impossible."

"It's not going to be ongoing, dear. I know that you're shaken up, and it feels like you're going to feel this way forever, but you're not."

Tracy grits her teeth. "You kidnapped me. Do you understand how violating that is? Do you understand that every day I wake up here without ever choosing to be here is going to be violating all over again? Do you see how that's… breaking my boundaries?" She feels a little silly phrasing it like that, but she thinks platitudes are more likely to get through to Molly than just saying she wants to go home.

"You're not going to feel violated every time you wake up here. Once you settle in, knowing that this was against your will is going to be freeing. You're going to be so glad that you can rest without guilt because you never chose to abandon your responsibilities. And don't be silly, dear, just not wanting someone to do something isn't a boundary."

Tracy needs to be on Molly's good side. She needs to gather information and gain trust. Screaming at Molly isn't going to help anything, so she needs to calm down. She forces herself to breathe evenly. "Okay. Okay, how about a tour?" Anything but listening to Molly say that kidnapping someone isn't a violation of their boundaries, fucking hell.

Molly grins. "Oh, I've been so rude! Yes, I'll show you around." 

She gets up and offers Tracy a hand, which Tracy doesn't take as she gets up.

"This is the main area, as you can probably tell. I have lots of DVDs and stuff for the TV on that bookshelf. It's also got a bunch of video games! None of it is connected to the internet, for obvious reasons, but if there's anything that you want that I don't have, you should let me know!"

Molly walks over to a small table with two chairs and Tracy follows. "This is the dining area, but you can eat on the couches if you want. I don't mind. You already saw the bathroom, feel free to let me know if any of the products aren't to your liking." 

Molly opens a door next to the bathroom. "This is the kitchen! I stocked it up with your favorite foods, but again, let me know if there's anything else you want. You've already seen your bedroom, of course. I'm always willing to get you new clothes or new bedding if you'd like. And finally…"

Tracy couldn’t see any knives in the kitchen. Molly guides Tracy to another door and opens it. "This is, like, an indoor gym kind of thing. I know a lot of the activities I prepared for you are pretty sedentary, so I figured I should give you a few options to get moving if you want."

There aren't any weights. If only there were, Tracy could bash Molly's skull in.

"And that's it! Oh, I forgot, that bookshelf has a bunch of card games and board games if you ever want one of those. Besides that and the TV bookshelf, the other bookshelves just have books. I know how much you like to read, so I wanted to make sure you have lots of options."

There's one door that Molly didn't open. That must be the way out. 

"Shoot, I keep forgetting things!" Molly rushes over to a strange device on the wall. "This will allow you to contact me while I'm upstairs. Just press this button and talk into it, and I'll hear whatever you're saying! Well, I will if I'm home. I'll let you know before I leave, though."

Upstairs. That door leads upstairs. Tracy feels a rush of pride. She held back her anger and got some information, just like she planned. She'll be out of here in no time.

"Thank you for the tour."

"You're welcome! What would you like to do now? Besides leaving, I mean. Are you hungry?”

“…yeah. I’ll make myself something.”

“I labeled the drawers and cupboards, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find whatever you need if you want to cook.”

“…thank you.” Tracy heads to the kitchen.

“Do you want help?”

She wants to search the kitchen for potential weapons. “No, I want to be alone.”

“Of course. I’ll be out here reading if you need me.”

Molly’s nonchalance worries Tracy. Is she really not worried about what Tracy might find in the kitchen at all? How can she be so sure that Tracy will stay cooperative?

The kitchen door also locks from the inside, so Tracy makes sure to lock herself in before setting down her lightbulb. Sure enough, the cupboards and drawers are labeled, and looking through them all reveals them to be labeled correctly. There's one filled with her favorite snacks, so she stuffs a bunch of them in her pockets. Just in case. 

There are no knives. Maybe she could ask for one? Molly has kept insisting she can ask for anything.

A quick look in the fridge reveals that probably wouldn't do anything. Everything that she might want to chop or cut is pre-prepared. If she asked Molly for a knife, she'd probably say something like 'What would you possibly need that for, dear?' Ugh.

There are pots and pans that Tracy thinks could make for good weapons. She doesn't plan to use them now, she needs to keep gathering information, but it's useful to know. 

Now she needs to make herself something to eat. There are an overwhelming amount of options, and she struggles to narrow it down. She should start with the most perishable stuff first, right? Just in case.

She settles on making an egg salad sandwich. Two, actually, one for her and one for Molly, as a show of cooperation to hopefully get Molly to let her guard down.

The simple process of cooking helps her to relax a bit and think through her situation.

Most likely, the only way out of here is through the door. There are windows in the main area, but they're high up and frosted like the one in the bedroom. Since she wasn't strong enough to break that one, she probably wouldn't be able to break any of the others either. It didn't look like the chairs in the 'dining area' were nailed down, though, so maybe she'll be able to use one to stand on and get a better angle to attack the windows.

The door has a better chance, though. She's very familiar with how to break down doors. As long as things stay like this and Tracy isn't in any active danger, the plan is to wait until Molly leaves for the night and then break down the door and get out of here.

Molly will leave, right? There's only one bedroom down here…

If Molly plans on sharing a bed with Tracy… well, that's even better. Tracy can suffocate her with a pillow once she falls asleep.

She wonders if she'd get arrested for that. Really, there's no way to prove she's been kidnapped and didn't just decide to move in with Molly voluntarily. There's nothing incriminating about anything down here. So… once she escapes, she won't go to the police. Too much of a hassle. Hopefully she won't have to murder Molly. Maybe she should start breaking things, to show signs that she was being held against her will if a police investigation does happen.

Wait. Tracy nearly smacks herself in annoyance. If Molly decides to sleep down here, murder won't be necessary, because she's definitely got the key to that door on her somewhere. So long as Tracy can get it quietly, she'll be able to slip out and be long gone by the time Molly wakes up.

What does it say about her, that she thought of murder before thinking of that?

Who cares?

She actually doesn't even know if that door is locked. It almost definitely is, but she'll probably want to try it before any attempts at breaking down the door or stealing any keys.

She finishes up her egg salad sandwiches, unlocks the kitchen door, sets the plates and utensils on the table, goes back into the kitchen to get her lightbulb, and then finally sits down.

"I made some for you. I don't know if you like egg salad sandwiches, or if you've already eaten recently, so if you don't want it I can just have yours as leftovers later."

Molly gasps. "That's so nice!" She sets down her book and comes to get seated at the table instead. "Let me know if you run out of anything in the kitchen, by the way, so that I can get you more."

Tracy nods and eats her sandwich. Molly follows suit, taking incredibly tiny bites at first and then switching to eating the sandwich normally.

She didn't look apprehensive at all, but it seems like she was testing to make sure Tracy didn't do anything to the food. She knows Tracy doesn't have access to anything that could kill her, but Tracy could have poured a bunch of some spice on it or made it gross some other way, or even put soap in it.

Molly expects Tracy to try to hurt her. That's very interesting. She doesn't act like it, she's even let Tracy carry around an improvised weapon with no complaints, but she isn't stupid.

It's good to have this as a benchmark. Molly hasn't let down her guard, even if she acts unguarded. The way she's behaved so far is how she behaves while she fully expects someone to hurt her.

Tracy doesn't share any of those thoughts. Instead, she takes the dishes back to the kitchen and sets them in the sink. If she ends up staying here long enough that she has to wash dishes… that would suck.

There are clocks on the stove and microwave in the kitchen, and they seem to be the only ones in her 'new home,' so she checks the time before heading back into the main area. It's 11 AM.

For now, she just needs to kill time until she's either alone or can get the key from Molly. She takes a deep breath and leaves the kitchen, still clutching her lightbulb.

"You should show me how to work the TV. I've never used a DVD player before."

Tracy spends the rest of the day trying to be friendly to Molly and seem like she's totally fine with being 'fixed.' It's… not that hard at all, especially once she gets into one of the video games Molly shows her. She can't remember the last time that time flew like that for her.

When sunlight stops coming through the windows, Molly yawns. "I'm going to go upstairs and go to bed. Unless you want me to stay with you?"

Tracy shakes her head immediately and Molly chuckles.

"I figured. Try not to spend all night gaming, it's not good for you." Molly tries to pat the top of Tracy's head (which she skillfully dodges), and then she leaves.

Molly watches this part very carefully. She takes a single key out of her pocket (so the door was locked) and unlocks the door. After she steps through it and closes the door behind her, there's a small click to indicate it's been locked again.

Tracy'll have to break it down. She'll wait a couple of hours to be sure Molly's asleep, and then she'll break down the door and get out of here. Just a few more hours.

[chicago-pd-is-weird]

Alt Prompt 1: “Is this all a game to you?”

@the-three-shits-whump

Read it on AO3 via the link, or find it below the cut:

Hank sat in the cage, hands cuffed behind him, looking up at his two closest friends. He’d gone too far - again. Trudy had her arms crossed, tears streaking down her face. Al was leaning against the door of the cage, which was closed and locked, looking down as he picked at the skin around his nails.

Al sighed and spoke first. “You’re done.”

“Done? No. I’m just getting started. These guys deserve everything that’s coming to them, Al, and-“

“I said you’re done!” Al raised his voice, one of the rare times he did so. Hank deserved it. He looked at Hank, meeting his eyes with a dangerous glare. “Done! Forever!”

“You’ll have to kill me,” Hank said with a soft laugh. “Like putting down a diseased dog.”

“Is this all a game to you?!” Trudy cried, shaking her head and banging her fists on the cage. “Are you enjoying yourself?!”

“Very much so,” Hank replied, smiling as he stood, walking forward to meet her, face to face behind the chain link fence. “Yes, Dee, this is all a game to me. A silly little game. A fun little game. Murdering people, bad people, people nobody will miss - that’s the game. Killing them before they kill me.”

“Except you went too far this time,” Trudy replied with a huff, looking over Hank’s face through the holes in the fence. “Too far.”

“I only kill those who have to be killed. For the greater good.”

“What about the little girl?” Al asked.

“She got in the way! All I did was knock her out!”

“You killed her!” Trudy screamed. “You fucking killed her!”

“I knocked her on the head! It’s not my fault she died!”

“She had head trauma! It wasn’t just a blow, Hank, you bashed her skull in!” Trudy’s tears dropped from her face onto her chest.

“She’s not dead, she’s in the hospital.”

“On life support!” Al yelled. “She may as well be dead!”

“No,” Trudy said. “She is dead, because her grandparents decided to withdraw life support.”

“Then they killed her, not me,” Hank replied, shaking his head. “Her father would’ve killed her soon enough anyways.”

“That’s it,” Al replied, unlocking the cage. “That’s it. You are a sick animal. A deranged dog. You need to be put down.”

Hank chuckled. “Yeah, right. As if you’d do that, Olinsky. You couldn’t even handle Browning. Or, what about Pulpo? Advocating for his life? You don’t have it in you, O. How can you say that you’ll put me down when you can’t even put down some of the sickest criminals?”

“This isn’t revenge,” Al said, grabbing Hank and shoving him over to his Dodge Magnum. “This is justice.”

Trudy and Al pushed Hank into the trunk, taping his mouth shut, the closed it, driving hours outside of Chicago. The two drove in silence, considering exactly what they’d do, and how they’d do it. They needed to take care of the problem. They drove until they nearly ran out of gas, in which they stopped and fueled up, then drove more.

Finally, they stopped at some remote location near Green Bay, Wisconsin, but further north. Al stopped at a supply store, getting what he needed, just the way Hank had taught him.

The good old “Chicago necklace.”

It was just a few cinder blocks and a thick chain, but it was enough. He set them on the floorboards of the back seat. Trudy was crying silently in the second seat. Al got back into the car, sighing and taking her hand. “Want me to drop you somewhere? I can do this.”

“No,” Trudy whispered, shaking her head, squeezing Al’s hand. “For Jenny.”

“For Jenny.”

Al drove again, finding a secluded spot on the water. He found a small boat, paying under the table for it in cash, never to be put on the record. When everyone was gone for the night, he and Trudy got Hank out of the trunk.

Hank didn’t struggle. He didn’t even fight them, like they thought he would. He took it all without issue, getting onto the boat with Trudy and Al. He glanced between the two of them. He knew what was happening. It was evident by the looks on their faces. They’d already disarmed him, cuffed him, and made sure he couldn’t yell for help. The only thing left to do was kill him.

Once Al and Trudy were far enough out into the water, they looked at each other. The moon was covered by the clouds, making it so dark they could barely see one another, let alone anyone from the shore. Not to mention the fog that had started to roll in over the water.

Al stood up, taking the duck tape off Hank’s mouth for a moment, but didn’t say anything. Hank chuckled. “Want me to speak my last words?”

Al sighed, peering into the fog, as if he could see anything. Trudy spoke up, looking at Hank. “You don’t feel any remorse?”

“No,” Hank huffed. “I took care of the problem. She was collateral damage.”

“Then I know you’re really a monster. You’re not the man I met thirty years ago. You’re someone else. Someone… horrible. A man without a soul.”

“Call me what you will, Dee, I am what I am.” Hank shrugged.

Al turned around, tears rolling down his own cheeks now. “Fuck, Hank, I thought you’d at least…” He trailed off. What had he thought? That Hank would just come back to them?

“That I’d apologize? Feel sorry? Maybe even beg for my life?” Hank cocked an eyebrow. “You know me better than that, O. I’ve never begged and I won’t start now. Kill me if you want, but I won’t beg for my own life. I’ll live as long as I live and do whatever I do until someone else takes it away. I guess the question is are you gonna be the one to take it from me? Or will she?” He set his eyes on Trudy.

Trudy couldn’t help it. She slapped him, a hard, sharp slap to Hank’s cheek. “You’re a monster.”

“Yeah, I am,” Hank growled in reply.

“This isn’t who Camille would’ve wanted you to be.”

“She’s not here!” Hank yelled, lunging forward to knock Trudy over into the bottom of the boat. “She’s not here to dictate me! She left me! They took her away!”

Al grabbed Hank, pulling him off Trudy and punching him a few times until he was bleeding, then pulled him up and grabbed the chain, wrapping it around his neck.

Hank laughed. “Using my own technique on me, huh O?”

“Shut up,” Al replied.

“Stole it from me, like everything else has been stolen from me.”

“I said shut up!” Al pulled the chain right around Hank’s neck, making him laugh.

“Tighter, Al, I know you can. Choke me out. It’ll be harder to get the water into my lungs. A painfully slow death.”

Al shook his head, Trudy adjusting the cinder blocks so she could push them over the edge when they were ready. “I would never torture you like that,” Al replied, sighing again as he looked down at his former best friend, grabbing his revolver from his ankle and choking the hammer, pushing it against Hank’s forehead. “I’m not a monster like you.”

[lichfucker]

BRAIN DAMAGE IN D MINOR?

lmaoooooo "brain damage in d minor" is a placeholder title and I live in fear every day that it's going to stick. the only other thing I call it in my own notes is "music and lyrics au" so unless something better appears I'm afraid brain damage in d minor will end up the actual title

a million years ago the sunder server watched music and lyrics (2007) for movie night, which is my favorite rom-com of all time, and I. could not stop thinking about how well the conceit works as a silverflint au. because I am the one with brain damage (in d minor)

it's likely the only bs modern au I'll ever write bc in general I find the canon time period far more compelling, but I digress. flint is a washed-up has-been-- he was in a boyband with thomas and peter ashe in the early '00s but it's been twenty years and his career is dead. suddenly he gets a call from gates, his manager, saying, "charles vane just left his band to get out of a contract with guthrie records and he wants to kick off his new solo venture by singing a duet with you, so you need to write a new song. okay bye"

the problem is that flint is a terrible lyricist. sure he could come up with a pretty metaphor, but he can't write things that are Relatable, and pop music is all about being Vague and Relatable. help, of course, comes from the least likely of places: john silver, a guy flint hires to water his plants, just so happens to be an excellent songwriter.

yes, this is extremely contrived. yes, it is following the plot of the movie to a tee (except, y'know, set in 2023 instead of in 2007).

a meet-cute for your perusal:

The buzzer rings, piercing through the rhythmic discordant chime of Flint repeatedly bashing his head onto the keys of the piano. Great. That’ll be Idelle in to water the plants, and he can either stay in the living room composing Brain Damage in D Minor while she does, or he can spare himself the humiliation and retreat into the privacy of his bedroom. Perhaps he’ll run a bath and drown himself in the lavish tub.

A sigh hauls itself out of Flint’s chest with all the effort of the tow truck that time in ’04 when the tour bus got impounded, and it takes similar heft for him to stand up from the piano bench and answer the door.

Flint registers long black hair before anything else, and his skull is so thick with cement that he nearly turns heel and stalks off to his room without so much as a grunt in hello—but he stops.

“You’re not Idelle,” Flint says.

A very astute observation: the person in the doorway has bluer eyes, tanner skin, and a significantly fuller beard.

The man’s gleaming smile falters. “No,” he says. “Sorry, did she not text you? I’m taking over for a few weeks while she’s away. Can I come in, or are all your plants out in the hall?”

Flint blinks. Considering the man looks like he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in his entire life, Flint hadn’t expected his voice to be so… smooth. Nor so English, not in Manhattan. Before Flint lets this stranger into his (admittedly, very thieve-able) apartment, though, he looks through his phone and—oh. Idelle had texted. Three times over the last two weeks. He’d even given her a thumbs-up emoji. Well, all right, then. He steps aside to let the man through.

“Thanks,” the man says, his bright smile back and full of teeth. “I’m John, by the way. John Silver.”

“James McGraw.”

Silver drops his messenger bag on the coffee table beside the chaise, looking around with cataloguing eyes at the veritable garden lined up along the floor-to-ceiling windows, the crystalline chandelier hanging over the dining table, the glossy baby grand on the shag carpet, the unmasked luxury in which Flint lives. “Watering can?” he asks.

“Under the sink,” Flint says, pointing him toward the kitchen. He waits a few beats and then follows, trying to keep a wary eye on Silver while appearing casual rather than paranoid. He leans coolly against the kitchen island just as Silver finishes filling the watering can. “So, Joe—”

“John,” he says, not unkindly. “Most of my friends just call me Silver, but I’d rather you call me John. No offense. Less personal, you know?”

“Using your given name is less personal than your surname?”

He gives Flint a pointed look. “I can be one of eight hundred Johns you’ve ever met, or I can be one of half a dozen Silvers, if even that many. Maybe we’ll be friends someday and you can call me whatever you like, but for now I’ll take John, thanks.”

Flint just barely suppresses a grin. “Fair enough,” he says. “Where are you from?”

Silver—John hesitates, and then he says, “London. And you?”

“Cornwall.”

“Really? You don’t sound it.”

“I trained myself out of it, a long time ago.” Flint watches John tend to the orchid on the counter, careful not to over-water it; he’s gentle and methodical with it, which isn’t what Flint had expected. He’s not sure what he expected, in truth. “So,” Flint says, “you’re a friend of Idelle’s? Where is she, anyway?”

The question earns him an indignant snort. “Idelle is in the Bahamas getting married, and I,” John says, crossing the living room to the ficus by the window, “got the great honor of not being fucking invited. She tried telling me it’s because they wanted to keep the guest list small, but I know that’s a damned lie. She invited Muldoon, of all fucking people. Logan I understand, because he and Charlotte are attached at the fucking hip, but Muldoon?” John scoffs. “No, it’s because Augie—her husband—never liked me, not that I have any idea why. Truth be told, I think Idelle herself only tolerates me because she’s close with my sister, and she knows not to say a bad word about me to Max if she intends to say any words for the rest of her life.”

He keeps talking as he progresses down the row of plants. “I told Max to bring me as her plus-one just to piss them all off, you know, but she’d already committed to taking her girlfriend, and, honestly, that’s comeuppance enough. I am far more fun at weddings than Anne is. Luckily for you, I’m also a far better plant-sitter, so—Fuck!”

John hisses in pain and turns around to face Flint, sucking on the pad of his thumb. “Fucking cactus,” he mumbles around the thumb in his mouth. The two of them stand there, twenty feet apart, for an odd moment, the air thick with… something. John narrows his startlingly blue eyes, scrutinizing Flint. Flint hasn’t a clue what he might be looking for. His lips work at his thumb all the while.

And then John’s thumb leaves his mouth with an obscene smack, the sound so loud in the dense silence that had befallen them, and he says, “You look really familiar. Are you famous or something?”

[woodsfae]

Babylon 5 s02e17: Knives S02 Table of Contents • previous episode

They have the space for an entire baseball field, but the hydroponics is so starved for space that one single coffee plant is wildly against regulations and is a secret passed from Laurel (my beloved) to Susan (also my beloved)?

Love the scary stories of the Down Below. It's deeply weird, though, how Garibaldi continues to be a voice of reason to Sheridan. Good character work, I guess, and I like Garibaldi a bit better the further into the season I get.

There are so many strange details thrown at us about various characters, and it definitely makes them feel more real Londo and Vir are very into Centauri opera. Of course they are, hah. This Centauri has a funny 'do. Is it shorter because he's more srs? His general look seems to be of a different style than Londo, and is reminiscent of a western casual, gentleman or scholarly look of the later 19th century.

Of course Sheridan went Down Below alone right after Garibaldi said that was a bad idea, and of course he found a corpse-turned-assailant-turned-corpse-again immediately.

Corpse reviving temporarily kills comms! Interesting!

Garibaldi: "Maybe next time you'll listen when I tell you not to do something. Sir."

lmao.

Dead Alien was staying in the Markab Sector, but was found in the Grey Sector, Down Below.

Fingers crossed for a Sheridan Gets Possessed By A Ghost episode.

Cute, Centauri war criminal nicknames.

Cool and creepy eye effect! Invisible Space Dinosaur called a Grylor!! This is great.

Forensics say the murdered alien actually bashed his own skull in and died of suicide. Seems unlikely.

Awww, Londo is still hung up on Adira from season one.

Londo: "The Centauri have bowed to the whims of other races for too long. Now we will show the galaxy our true spirit. Beginning with those, those, thrice-damned Narns."

Translation: "It sucks that we reined in some of our slave-empire colonization due to pressure from races who didn't like the violent, murdering colonizing. It's good to be back at it."

Huh, old war buddy is against the war and didn't want to see the Narns forced into military conflict. And doesn't realize he's talking to the guy who helped orchestrate all of it. Londo was either the best or the worst person to come to for help when your house is about to be disgraced. Idk which way Londo's going to jump or how this is going to land. On the one hand, Londo could chuck his old friend under the bus for his own gain. Or he could really save this guy's political reputation.

Of course Londo has a portrait of himself in his quarters. That's giving him some serious side-eye.

Susan Ivanova!!

Sheridan: "Commander. Everything in order?" Ivanova: "Remarkably so. It's beginning to worry me." Sheridan: "Do you always worry when things are going well?" Ivanova: "I don't have time to when they're not."

Sheridan gets more, fun, hallucinations! This is definitely normal and not something he should report to Dr Franklin. Anna keeps coming up which feeds my theory that she's still alive.

Oh, he did go report it to Franklin! Good move. Smartypants. Franklin is amusingly dismissive of this.

Dr Franklin: "Well, anyone wiling to command Babylon 5 has got to be slightly insane, but I don't think you're ready for the asylum just yet."

LMAO. What's a little hallucination or four compared to how nuts you have to be to take this job voluntarily?

Oh, interesting. The Markab sector is named after a people also called Markab?

Dr Franklin: "I'm also prescribing a mild sedative. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself - that is an order!"

aka, here's some oxys, go nuts?

Extremely cutthroat Centauri politics perfectly punctuated by Vir, here:

"You know, on rare occasions, I am proud to be your attache."

hah! He really is gaining in confidence.

Ahhh the Markab went through sector 14, which has been restricted since B4 disappeared and briefly re-appeared. dun dun dun!

I wonder if JMS realized that Garibaldi was wholly unlikable and shifted the writing for his character intentionally. Every time he's on screen the last few episodes, I find him easier and easier to like. Or maybe his relapse into alcoholism and subsequent recovery really shook some sense into him? He's funny and endearing now, in a way he wasn't for me since the pilot, The Gathering.

Centauri party. Always a good time to cringe out of my skin. Nothing has happened yet, but there's plenty of time left in the episode for it.

Of course the very person Londo went to for help is the one that has been trying to wreck the Laddo house. And of course Londo didn't know. He's so smug in his great political knowledge and power, but he ignored Centauri politics until something piques his interest and then he acts without knowing the details.

Vocator Laddo: "You cannot build an empire based on slaughter and deceit!"

well, actually I think that's the only way to build an empire and collect that much power, but you gotta start somewhere.

Death match!! Can't wait.

More possession and hallucinations for Sheridan!

Vir: "Disgrace is preferable to death!" Londo: "There was a time when I would agree with you! That time has passed." Vir: "Londo, this is insane!" Londo: "Insanity is part of the times! It's time to embrace the madness, let it fire you."

Maybe that really is the key. Or maybe I shouldn't take advice from Londo Mollari.

Sheridan and Garibaldi are heading to the restricted Sector 14!

Urza Laddo is much better at sword fighting than Londo is. But since I'm pretty sure Londo is in this show for the long run, this can't end with him being dead.

Garibaldi snagged Sheridan's ship, but did he get Sheridan's mind? This sector really does have some janky phenomena going on.

Damn, setting yourself up to be killed by one of your oldest friends so your family doesn't get disgraced by your political opponents is a move.

Sheridan's mind did come back with him, but he did leave behind a consciousness which wanted to be taken home. Weirdness abounds on B5!

House Laddo is no more, and its members are now House Mollari and under Londo's direct protection. That's an interesting cultural mechanism to make sure that people don't go into death matches too lightly. If you win, you get a whole fuckload of new dependents! I could also see people doing that to gain power over particular dependents, though.

Londo: "I have made many choices lately, Vir. And for the first time, I am not sure those choices were right." Vir, tired of being the Jiminy Cricket to the worlds' worst Pinocchio: "Then perhaps some good has come out of this tragedy! It's not too late to make some good choices." Londo buying into the Sunk Cost Fallacy: "No, the blood is already on my hands. Right or wrong, I must follow the path to its end."

It's a real bummer that killing one of his oldest and dearest friends isn't enough to make Londo actually change some of what he's up to or to second-guess some aspects of Centauri culture..

next episode

[mrsaltieri-real]

His Perfect Victim (Mickey Altieri X OC!Dahlia Levine)

Chapter 4: Friends

Word count: 3k

Warnings: language, mentions of sex, a little angst, fluff, Mickey being a dick, (obviously) Mickey being sweet, flashbacks to Stu, brief mention of death

The smut is COMING I promise, I’m just fleshing it out. This fic is immensely fun to write, so I’m fr bashing out the chapters but it’s so so enjoyable I can’t seem to stop myself. Thank you again to @bisexual-horror-fan for editing and beta reading this for me. I know the extremely subtle reference to Stu and Billy hit! Kisses dude love ya!!

Gotta include the moodboard you made for me in this chapter because it’s fucking chefs kiss.

⬆️⬆️THIS. THIS IS THE VIBE⬆️⬆️

I’d never been this hungover in my entire life, my head is pounding as if a marching band is walking around the perimeter of my skull.

I groggily forced my eyes open only to recoil under the comforter at the harsh light streaming in through the windows with a low groan. Fuck the light, fuck me for not closing the curtains, fuck alcohol.

But especially fuck Mickey.

It took longer than it should have for me to realise I wasn’t in my own dorm. Once I finally resurfaced from beneath the sheets I took in my surroundings, blinking rapidly at the familiar dorm that didn’t belong to me. The posters littering the walls, the small figurines on the desk and I glanced down, noticing the Star Wars image on the comforter and frowned a little, lifting a hand to rub my eyes.

“Morning!”

I jumped, hand clutching the side of my throbbing head as my eyes settled on Randy’s goofy smiling face. He was holding out a cup of coffee for me, but he lowered it a little when he saw I was staring at him with a look of horror, mouth agape.

“Oh, God. What- what am I doing here, Randy?” I asked weakly. My voice sounded hoarse and raspy and I flinched at the sound of it, eyes darting down to my body quickly, hands pulling the blanket back to see I was not in fact naked. Thank God I was still dressed in my jeans and crop top I was wearing last night.

Randy chuckled a little, placing the steaming mug on his bedside table before sitting on the edge of his bed. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I found you last night throwing back shots with a couple of frat bros and decided it was time to take you home but you told me you didn’t want to be alone so I just brought you back here. I assumed it was safer than any of your other options and you clearly didn’t want to stick around Hallie and Sidney’s.” He stopped, eyes scanning over my face before he jerked a thumb behind him to his sofa which was covered over with a rumpled blanket and a pillow, “See? I slept on the couch.”

I relaxed a little, sighing in relief which made him roll his eyes. “Damn, D. Would you really be so disgusted if we hooked up?” He placed a hand over his chest in mock offence.

“Yes and you’d be too.” I said, reaching forward to nudge his shoulder which made him laugh again and nod his head in agreement.

I grabbed the coffee off the table, leaning back against his headboard and closed my eyes.

“Wanna talk about whatever happened with Mickey?” He asked hesitantly.

“I didn’t tell you?” I mumbled into the mug, glancing up at him as he shook his head before replying, “You weren’t really making a lot of sense. You kept shouting about a ‘Stupid blonde slut’ and that you were going to, ‘Kill that stupid fucking mouse’ but I didn’t get much from that.” For every quote his fingers came up in quotations and I rolled my eyes, unable to stop from smiling.

I shook my head before telling him, “It doesn’t matter. I’m not really sure if I really saw what I thought I did anyway, I was pretty drunk.”

“Pretty drunk? I had to brush your teeth for you, Dahlia.” Randy shivered as if the memory haunted him and I shoved his shoulder, scoffing at him before taking his hand with my free one, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. “Thank you for taking care of me, Rand.” I said softly.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth bashfully, his cheeks flushing just slightly, “You don’t have to thank me, Dahlia. What are friends for?”

Before I left Randy’s I fixed my hair in his bathroom, giving up at the lousy attempt and rifling through my backpack for something to cover it with. For reference, my hair is dark, thick and curly, waving down to the middle of my back. I pulled out one of my favourite bandannas; maroon and patterned with flowers, with a relieved flourish and placed it over my head biker style, staring at my reflection.

God, I looked like shit.

Randy enjoyed teasing me for my quote “rustic bohemian” sense of style whilst Sidney absolutely adored it, constantly telling me as much. During my depressed period the upkeep on my fashion sense has faltered and I practically lived in sweats and oversized T-shirts that belonged to my dad, but I made the decision that when I went to college, if I wanted everyone to think I was truly getting better I’d have to act and dress like it. So for me, I was back in my comfort zone. But right now, it really didn’t look like it. Even in my favourite outfit, my brown and white soft striped cropped jumper and my cargo pants, I still looked horrifically hungover.

I quickly splashed some water over my face, stole some of Randy’s deodorant before pecking him goodbye on the cheek at his door, eager to get back to my own dorm to shower and change.

And who should appear as though from thin air?

“Walk of shame?”

I yelped, practically jumping out of my skin as I spun around seeing Mickey leaning against the wall of Randy’s building, toying with his video camera in his hands.

“Fuck off.” I snapped, turning back round to get as far away from him as possible. He caught up with me easily in just a few strides and I internally groaned. What the fuck was this guys problem?

“So you’re fucking Meeks? Guess that shouldn’t come to any surprise really.” I didn’t look at him as he spoke, I didn’t want to properly dignify such a ridiculous claim instead just replying with, “What do you care?”

“I don’t, really. Just think you can do better.”

I stopped so quickly he took a few more steps ahead before turning around and looking at me. Fuck, he looked good. He was wearing a dark blue button down shirt and black pants, his dark hair ruffled and messy as though he’d been running his hands through it.

Or as though some girl had been running her hands through it.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone? Go bother your girlfriend instead.” I was too tired, too hungover to put any emotion in my voice, looking at him blankly. He frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side as he looked down at me before asking, “What girlfriend?”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms tightly across my chest and gripping my elbows, “Blonde girl? Under you last night? C’mon Mickey it’s been all of less than twelve hours.”

A smile played on the corners of his mouth as his eyebrows rose, his finger tapping against the side of his camera, “She wasn’t my girlfriend. Just some girl I fucked.”

I couldn’t stop the disgusted expression from taking over my face as I stared at him, “Oh, nice.” I muttered, “Aren’t you just charming.”

“I try.” He said cockily, shrugging his shoulders as he pointed, “It’s cute that you're jealous though.”

A surprised laugh burst through my lips and I shook my head, hands coming up to run over my face as I managed to get out, “Jealous? You think I’m jealous? You’re the one who lied to Sidney about wanting to apologise to me for being a jackass and trying to kiss me so I’d walk in and see you screwing some girl.”

His smile faltered slightly, arms dropping to his sides with his camera still clutched between his fingers, “Ah yeah, that. I guess I can be a bit of a jackass, huh?”

“More than a bit.” I muttered under my breath, starting to walk again. He walked beside me easily and I glanced at his face. He looked deep in thought, hands brought back in front of him as he played with his camera before he spoke again after about thirty seconds, “Sorry about that.”

“Hm?” I hummed as though I didn’t hear him.

He stifled a smile as he sighed, head tipping back a little, “I’m sorry about that. That was a fucked up thing to do. I just… I don’t know, I’m not used to rejection. Suppose I don’t take it well.”

“Yeah, I’ll say.” I scoffed and saw him smile down at me from the corner of my eye.

Damn him.

“Can I confess something to you?”

His tone made me look up at him in surprise, he sounded almost… Nervous? At this point I was so used to him being arrogant, confident and just a downright dick it completely caught me off guard.

“I guess?” I replied suspiciously.

“You have some kind of effect on me, Dahl. I don’t quite understand it to be honest. So yeah, when you physically fucking recoiled I assumed I read the signals wrong. So I kinda wanted to test it, you know? See how you would react if you saw me fucking some chick.” He spoke so candidly as though this was completely normal and average behaviour. Could he really not see that it wasn’t?

We were outside my building at this point and I paused, leaning against the cool brick and looking up at him, saying as softly as I could muster, “You know that’s not like… Normal, right? You could have just spoken to me.”

He looked thoughtful for a second as he nodded his head, eyes meeting mine. “Okay, I’ll talk to you. You wanna fuck?”

My eyes widened and I laughed in surprise. He was grinning at me cheekily, dimples pronounced in his cheeks and it didn’t falter as I laughed, only grew wider.

“No I don’t want to fuck you, Mickey.” I said once I stopped laughing, cheeks heating up a little before I continued, “But why don’t we start trying to be friends.”

He cocked his head to the side, smile shrinking just a little, “You wanna be my friend?”

“You said it yourself, we’re going to be around each other a lot. We might as well try. Besides, if you’re good enough for Sidney you’re good enough for me.” I held out my hand and his eyes dropped to it before looking back at my face, looking deeply amused by my formality as he asked, “Really? A handshake? What is this a fucking job interview?”

I looked down at my hand and back to him pointedly and he rolled his eyes, another smile stretching across his face as he took my hand and shook it gently, squeezing it softly. Mickey’s hand was calloused and rough. An unfamiliar but welcome warmth spread through my chest as he touched me, his eyes looking down into mine with a strange kind of affection.

The contact lingered a couple of seconds longer than necessary before I gently withdrew my hand, dropping it at my side.

“Okay, so we’re friends. That entails not fucking girls in my best friends bed and tricking me into watching it, alright?”

“Ah damn, we can’t build a foundation off of that? Not much of a voyeur, huh?” He teased and I shook my head, leaning up from the wall and pulling my keys from my jacket pocket before unlocking the door.

“Yeah, no. I’ll see you around, Mick.” I froze for a second before continuing, “-ey. Mickey.” I corrected myself quickly, wanting the ground to swallow me up.

He laughed again, holding up his hands. “Call me Mickey if you want, I’m not going to stop calling you Dahl.”

I smiled over my shoulder at him, finally pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“Wait, Dahl?”

I turned around, Mickey reached out and kept the door propped open with his hand just by my head. He stood right over me, so close and I noticed he smelled incredible, like spices and vanilla. His scent filled my nose and made my head spin and I subtly leaned against the door so I wouldn’t fucking fall as I breathed, “Mm?” Not at all trusting my voice.

He seemed to notice my little head rush and seemed to openly completely relish in knowing he had this effect on me as he leaned just a touch closer before he spoke, “I didn’t get the chance to say last night, but you looked hot. But honestly, I think you should wear the bandana more often, it suits you.”

I know I blushed, I know my cheeks completely stained pink as he glanced at them, his smile turning cocky as he pushed himself off the door and it swung closed as I stepped back, leaving me standing in the stairwell completely bewildered.

How the fuck did he do that, have this kind of instant effect on me? I’d never experienced this level of attraction to anybody before and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with myself.

I’d never slept with anyone before. I hadn’t even fooled around and never really had time to do anything to myself. These feelings were just as endearing as they were confusing but at the moment, I wasn’t ready to explore them, right?

I thought about it as I walked up the seemingly endless stairwell to my dorm. Was this something I’d simply been putting off and making excuses for? I didn’t date in High School, too focused on school and life to even look at people in that way. Stu used to endlessly tease me for it, finding it truly hilarious that I was, at the time, seventeen and still hadn’t slept with anyone.

“What are you waiting for, D?” He’d teased, poking me in the ribs as I sat cross legged with him on his couch. I laughed, slapping his hands away from me before the guaranteed tickle fight began. Our respective parents were out of town yet again so we’d decided I’d stay over at the Machers instead of sitting home by myself for the weekend. I much preferred this anyway, Stu was more like a brother than a cousin to me.

“Stop fucking doing that you fucking ass.” I kicked out my foot but he caught it quickly, laughing as he pushed it down before continuing, “Seriously, Dahlia. What’s with the hold up?”

“You know what Stu, I don’t think I want to talk to my cousin about how I haven’t had sex yet. It’s creepy.”

Stu scoffed at me, leaning back on the couch and rolling his eyes, “Oh, please. That’s not why you don’t wanna talk about it.”

I leaned toward him and shoved his shoulder and he grabbed it in mock pain.

“No but seriously, I’m getting a bad rap. Why are you putting this off?” Stu seemed genuinely curious, fingers tapping on the upholstery of the arm of the sofa as he spoke.

I sighed, deciding to give in and tell him so he’d just let it go, “I’m not putting it off. I just… I want it to be with the right person, you know?” I spoke shyly, eyes dropping to my lap.

“Awe, how sweet and boring is that!” Stu teased but his eyes were still affectionate, “You want my advice?”

“Trust me Stu, I really really don’t.”

He ignored me, starting to talk again before I even finished my sentence, “Stick to that. Stick with your gut and wait till you find someone you really care about.”

I glanced up at him, seeing an expression on his face I hadn’t seen before as I asked softly, “Sounds like you wish you’d waited for a certain someone, huh?”

Stu smiled halfheartedly at me with a small upturn on his shoulders.

“Is it who I think it is?” I asked gently.

He nodded his head with a sigh, picking at the loose fabric of the arm of the couch, “Yeah, it’s who you think. You’re right for wanting to wait, trust me. Because man, when you find that person? Fuck, nothing else matters.”

By the time my little trip down memory lane was over I had finally made my way into my dorm and was relieved to discover my roommate wasn’t home. Karla was a nice enough girl, but I’d always found small talk insufferable and we just didn’t have the kind of relationship where talking came easy so I just hadn’t bonded with her the five months I’d been living with her. Lucky for me, my classes were in the morning and hers were in the afternoon and more often than not she would stay out at her boyfriend's off campus apartment so I pretty much had the place to myself.

I dropped my bag on the bed and walked to the bathroom, stripping off on my way and popping my clothes in my hamper by the door. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and had to do a double take.

I didn’t look at all like myself, or at least the version of myself I’d grown accustomed to looking like.

My cheeks were flushed and my lips were upturned in a smile, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.

The thing that was most surprising was my eyes. They looked bright, lively and almost wild. I hadn’t seen myself look this way in forever and it caught me completely off guard.

I spent a lot of time faking being happy, mainly to appease friends and my parents but now? There was nothing artificial about the way I looked.

I looked happy.

Usually even if I happened to be in a good mood, reminiscing about past conversations with Stu brought me down and crushed me all over again. As my reflection stared back at me in the mirror I realised for the first time since Woodsbro thinking about him didn’t make me depressed, it didn’t make me wish I in fact stayed dead.

Thinking of that playful conversation made me realise how right Stu was. I never wanted to make the same mistake he made, I was one of the only people that knew what he was hiding from everyone and although this was different, I knew that that memory didn’t pop into my head out of nowhere.

I didn’t know Mickey well, we were just starting to become friends after all. But I hadn’t felt this happy, this content for far too long, if ever.

I touched the corners of my eyes as I looked at my reflection as I thought, maybe he was the right person?

Chapter Five HERE

[kallard]

Old Friends

War buddies don't exist in the meeting room. It's a battle between a lot of different officers. Some continue fighting when they don't realize that they have been shot.

Kallard let loose a mighty yawn as he dropped into the wooden chair. He immediately rocked the chair back onto its hind legs, balancing himself with a single foot. The table in front of him wasn’t dirty, but it was covered in stains and carvings. Some of the carvings were proclamations of love and admiration, while others were simply crude insults.

A server approached Kallard from his right and bowed their head respectfully. She then stood straight and fixed the man with a soft smile, waiting for his order. When it didn’t come the waitress shot him a confused look that asked, “What can I get you?”

“Oh, right, two glasses of whiskey, two fingers each, top shelf,” Kallard said as he offered a small coin purse to the server. “Whatever’s left is yours.”

The girl smiled at him and accepted his coin and slipped it into a pocket on her black apron. She took out a notepad and quickly wrote down his order as she scurried off. Kallard watched her as she left, leaning back in his chair to follow her as she vanished behind the kitchen door. One of the other patrons smirked at the Garlean and called out to him.

“Look all ya want, kid, she ain’t gonna go with a lowlife like you,” the gruffy man said, affixing Kallard with an amused smile.

“Fuck off,” Kallard told the stranger, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Mind your business.”

Before he could offer any kind of retort, Kallard held up his hand and looked away, making it obvious he was done with the drunken fool. He wasn’t here to cause a fight just yet. Instead he kept his eyes on the server as she approached with two whiskey glasses on a small wooden tray. She approached him from the kitchen area with a smile on her lips, setting down one glass in front of Kallard and the other opposite of him.

“Oi,” Kallard said, motioning at the empty chair across from him. “Pop a squat. I got words for you.”

The server looked confused at first but obliged and sat down. She took hold of the glass of whiskey and took a sip, knowing it had been ordered for her and not anyone else. Why was this stranger buying her a drink? He didn’t look like the type of guy to pick up a random girl at work, at least she hoped he wasn’t.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Kallard asked the server before he reached up to his head and pulled back his hair, slicking it back momentarily. “How about now?”

Sky blue eyes went wide as the gears started turning in the woman’s head. She hastily tossed the cup back onto the table, spilling its contents as she shot out of her chair. The server then picked up her chair and smashed it against the ground and broke a leg off. She took hold of the makeshift weapon, holding it like a club and ready to defend herself.

“Whoa, shit,” Kallard said, releasing his hair and leaning forward. “Easy, I’m not here to hurt you or anyone. I just want to talk is all.”

By now several people were staring at the pair, the noise of the chair breaking drawing their eyes towards the two. The server shook her head and kept her defensive pose. She looked at Kallard with fear in her eyes, only to lower her chair leg. Her eyes narrowed as the server squinted at him, the weapon in her hands forgotten for now.

“Decimus,” the server said in a whisper-like tone.

“’Ey, that’s a start,” Kallard said with a cocky smile. “Jeez, you don’t see me for ten years and want to bash my skull in? Damn, thought we had a better relationship than that.”

The server dropped her club and picked a seat closer to Kallard and plopped down into it. She then reached down to her apron and removed the notepad and pencil. After rifling through a series of papers with words already written on them, the server eventually came to a blank page.

“I thought you were dead,” she had written. “The base you were on was destroyed and I assumed you and Seia were dead.”

“Yeah, well, funny story…” Kallard said before looking at the others in the tavern. “How about we move somewhere more private, hmm? Too many prying eyes,” he shouted the last part and whoever was left looking at him turned away, either out of shame or not wanting to piss the man off.

The server got up from her chair and walked over to the main door. She then clapped her hands loudly and waved her arms in the air, getting the attention of everyone inside. Rather than telling them to get out, she simply pointed at the door and stomped a foot, making it clear she wanted everyone out. Several people groaned as they got up, tossing coins onto their tables before sauntering out, hoping to find another watering hole they could waste time at. Once everyone was gone the server smiled, closed and locked the door before walking back over to Kallard’s table and taking her seat once more. She reached out and stole his whiskey and drained the cup of its contents.

“We didn’t die back then,” Kallard said now that the bar was empty. “Obviously.”

“Then what happened?” the server had written on her notepad, showing Kallard when she was finished writing.

“Hold on, why aren’t you talking?” Kallard asked, a little disappointed he didn’t have anything to drink now.

“I’m deaf,” the server simply wrote.

“The fuck? How did that happen? Last I saw you you had no issue hearing things.”

“I got sick and was medically discharged from service,” she had written down.

“Fuck me,” Kallard muttered. “You’re sick too? It’s not cancer, is it?”

“It was,” she had written before shrugging. “But it was a small tumor that I had removed. It just took my hearing with it. Haven’t been able for a while now.”

“I guess that explains why they transferred you out of the unit. Well, shit, I’m sorry you lost your hearing.”

“It’s okay, I’ve learned to live without it. Why are you here, if you’re not here to kill me, Decimus?” she asked with her notepad.

“Well, I came to see if you could help me out. I got a job that needs doing and I can’t do it alone,” Kallard said as he lit a cigarette. The server reached over and stole his pack of cigarettes, like she stole his drink. She took a cigarette out and held it out for Kallard to light, which he did without argument.

“Must be a big job if you came all the way out here to find me,” the server had written down, sliding the pad down to show Kallard. “What’s the job and does it pay well? I’m tired of his job.”

“Hah! Atta girl,” Kallard said with a toothy grin. He opened his mouth to say something else but instead coughed a few times and brought a hand to cover his mouth.

“You’re not contagious are you?”

“Fuck no, it’s cancer and it’s killing me,” he said with a frown and a shake of his head. “And no, there’s nothing I can do about it, not anymore. Doc friend of mine said I got a couple more months left in me, so I’m planning one final mission. I aim to sink a Garlean airship.”

“You want to what?” the server asked Kallard as she shoot him a questioning look. “You want to destroy Garlean property?”

“I’m gonna tell you a story, and I’ll try to keep it brief. Few years ago Seia and I were stationed at some base in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Some cunt, let’s call him Captain Cunt, decided my sister was his property and took things into his own hands, if you catch my drift. Fucked her up real good.

“After that Seia stopped doing everything. She stopped talking, stopped eating and refused to leave her bed. So, I killed the guy. Spread his entrails across the base and mounted his head on a fucking pike. Seeing no other choice but out, Seia and I escaped, destroyed the base and killed everyone on it and left.

“We were on the run for a couple of years before they finally found us. Well, they didn’t find me as I rarely left our apartment. They instead found Seia and stole her from me, whisking her away to a base even I didn’t know about. It took me several months to find her only to have Seia die in my arms.”

The server frowned and reached out to take Kallard’s hand with her own. She mouthed her words of apology, but he had grown tired of other people’s pity. Kallard moved to jerk his hand away but then realized that this was an act of kindness, not pity. This woman had known Seia and had been good friends with both of them before they were transferred away. During their time together Kallard and Seia did their best to impart what they knew about the job onto the server, believing she would make a fine agent.

“Obviously,” Kallard continued after looking away to regain his composure. Talking about Seia’s death always got to him. “I’m angry. And, well, you remember when I broke that dude’s nose for looking at sis wrong? Well, I’m like that except I’m murderin’ everyone even remotely associated with Seia’s death. I’m talking people who ordered folk around, ordered us around, that kinda shit.

“No good people who need putting down. The very same people who drove us to war and made us the enemies of the entire fucking world. So, I’ve been killing them off, one by one. I’ve run out of folk to kill and my path leads me to this, a single Garlean base far north of here housing a single large airship.

“I believe they aim to use this to try and continue the war effort. Too many of us have that hate in our heart still and I want to lower their numbers. Less Garleans causing problems the better.”

“And you want me to help?” the server asked once Kallard was finished telling his tale of woe and revenge.

“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. I need you to fly my ship and ensure my friend does not come to any harm. You’ll have one job, and one job alone: Keep Yuki safe.”

“She must mean a lot to you to come all this way to ask me of all people for help,” the server had written down in her little notebook.

“She does, and it would mean a great deal if you could help me out. Whatever it is you need, I’ll take care of. Place to live? You got it. Clothing, food, other needs? All on me. You were a good friend to me and Seia back in the day and I’m sorry for not keeping in touch after we got transferred. Seia kept asking about you, but we were both busy and obviously fell out of touch. I know I can’t make up for the years apart, but I can try. So, will you help me, Julia?”

“Before I agree, what am I flying?” Julia asked with a soft smile.

“One of the empire’s hyper-sonic assault carriers. I stole one a few months back.”

“Oh fuck yes,” the server wrote with a huge smile. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”

“Hah!” Kallard whooped with an equally big smile. “I knew it wouldn’t take much to get you involved. You were the meanest fuckin’ pilot I ever served with.”

“Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. When do we ship out?”

“Well, the mission isn’t for a few more weeks. I got some stuff to iron out and a few more folk to ask for help. Plus, it’ll give you time to fall in love with Yuki.”

“Love?!” Julia had written with shock on her face.

“Oh, yeah, I mean it. You’ll love this girl. She’s sweet as candy and not fake about it either. Probably the kindest soul I ever met. We’ve gotten real close since we met and I’d do anything for her,” Kallard said with a warm smile. It was true, he had a lot of feelings for Yuki and saw her as more as a little sister than a friend at this point. “She’s a good kid. You’ll love her cooking if not her.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” Julia retorted, using her notepad to speak. “Coming from a guy who didn’t like anyone.”

“Hey now,” Kallard said with a snort. “I didn’t hate everyone! I liked you, Cass and Seia. Does that count?”

“No,” Julia mouthed, making an X with her arms.

“Aww, come on, you don’t have to do me dirty like that.”

“Too bad, so sad. Cry me a river!” Julia wrote in her notepad, running out of paper by now.

“Alright, as much as I love this lovely bar you found yourself in, I’m getting antsy and want to get the fuck out of dodge.”

“Okay, just let me close up and quit my job,” Julia wrote with a big, shit eating grin.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll meet you outside.”

Kallard got up from his chair and made his way towards the front door. He quickly tossed a look behind him, watching as Julia ran from table to table, giving it a quick wipe down with a stained white rag. With a smile on his face Kallard pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air and took in a deep breath before lighting a fresh cigarette after forgetting about his last one.

“You hear that, Seia,” Kallard said to the sky. “Jules is back in action and she’s ready to kick ass and take names. Don’t worry, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

A hand was then dipped into one of his long coat’s pockets. He dug around for a moment, rifling through wads of paper, cigarette packs and matches. After a moment of fumbling Kallard pulled a small radio out and toggled the on switch. He coughed, cleared his throat and then began the task of ringing up what little friends he had in hope that they would be as willing to help him as Julia was. And so, Kallard set out to assemble his merry band of ne’er-do-wells.

[paranoidwriter]

Whenever I see you, I want to throw up (Wenclair one shot)

another edited fic from my ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonshiiinee

Requests are open! 🖤

Wednesday hated Enid. She hated the way she smiled. The way she laughed. And especially she hated how colorful she was. Colorfully annoying (oh, she needed to write that down, she would use that later). Wednesday felt such a deep hate for her, that every time she even saw Enid, her belly felt a deep swoop, as if she was on a falling roller coaster. Except there was absolutely no thrill. She was dying to get rid of her hate, and at least turn it to bitter resentment. She just couldn't stand her reactions around Enid, and she needed to do something about it, for it was becoming embarrassing. Bianca had even pointed out that her face became red with anger around Enid, something she tried to fix with makeup (tried). Although Wednesday knew what the problem was, she had no idea what to do to fix it. She had considered bothering her uncle fester for help, but unfortunately he was busy in Puerto Rico, so she settled for the next best thing. Tyler.

Tyler was a teenage male, so Wednesday was relatively confident he would be able to help her. She obviously was not going to ask Thing, who would definitely blab to her parents about her rivalry. "Let's say I had feelings for someone" Wednesday started when he sat down her quad, cutting to the chase. "Oh-- Oh?" Tyler uttered. Wednesday made no effort to respond just yet, instead dipping her spoon into her drink and pulling it out, hovering her fingers close to the metal to gauge how hot it was. Too hot.

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"And let's say, these feelings are making it near impossible for me to focus on anything" continued Wednesday, completely disregarding the red face of Tyler and instead blowing on her quad delicately, stirring it to cool it down. The foam resembled a skull, which calmed Wednesdays nerves on the thought of her blonde roommate. "And. Theoretically. Let's assume that I need help with these feelings. What should I do?" Wednesday inquired, swishing around her coffee. Tyler leaned on her table, pressing his arm against Wednesdays. Wednesday pulled away and brushed it off like she was picking up her cup. "Well" said Tyler with a chuckle. "I would tell this person how I feel" Wednesday nodded. Finally. A clear, simple answer. Suddenly it all made sense. "Perfect. Thank you." Wednesday replied, getting up from her seat and walking straight out of the shop. She hadn't realized that Tyler had called after her, or that she had left her cup behind.

"Enid"

Enid looked up from her computer, and again, came the swooshing sound of her heart dropping into her stomach. Oh, she hated her.. Wednesday felt a knife drag down her throat, ticking her voice. She could barely even start, but once she managed to find her dead voice, she couldn't stop. "Enid, whenever I see your hideous fashion choices, I want to rip my eyeballs out because of how much stupid highlighter pinks you wear. Whenever I see you, I want to throw up." and it felt amazing to get it out. "Enid, whenever I see you, I feel a hate so deep and disgusting that it takes all I can to not bash my head into the nearest object" Wednesday took three long steps closer to Enid, stepping over the tape she had set. "Whenever I see you, my heart goes into my belly and I can barely speak. My head spins and my face feels like it's on fire, and I am disgusted at such an affect you have on me that I wish to cut you out of my life, which I somehow can't find it in myself to do." That sounded much too sentimental, but Wednesday could barely filter her words with how fast she was speaking, or even realize the slight shakiness coming into her voice. "Unfortunately, I have come to enjoy your senseless, confusing blog. And your stupid makeup. And even your disgusting colorful wardrobe!" and then it all clicked. And Wednesday realized. So she just said it. "Enid, I have feelings for you" Enid's jaw dropped, and Wednesday actually felt her cheeks heat up again at the little smile forming on Enids face. "Oh" she breathed out, feeling such a strange feeling bubble in her chest. A good feeling that she couldn't possibly explain. Enid hesitantly reached out, offering her hand. Wednesday hesitated as well. When Enid began to withdraw her hand, she quickly shot out and grabbed Enids wrist, interlacing their fingers in a particularly rough fashion. There were no words. But when Enids claws came out, Wednesday marveled. Enid giggled. And Wednesday knew everything would turn out fine.

[isleofsodora]

Métamorphisa Changes (ch. 5 au)

Hannah forced a cold stoic gaze as she followed behind the old croon scolding more about worthless lessons of how Royal women should act and say the right proper things, Hannah loathed these lessons and envied her brother, Arthos, who would spend his days training with the heads of the Royal Guards, preparing to become the next King of Åzzitrial also meant becoming a master of hand-to-hand combat and hand held weapons, Hannah would always watch from the sidelines and had to teach herself when she snuck into the courtyard at night with a wooden sword, practicing the lessons her brother was being taught. 

The day seemed to have no end and Hannah was getting irritable, wanting to bash the old woman’s skull with a rock tempted her as they passed through the castles garden, which sported hundreds of flowers and fruit baring trees, Hannah abhorred how they had such luxury while millions were being starved everyday, it tore her apart inside and out. 

Hannah wasn’t paying attention and was sharply smacked with a hand held crop from the old croon, “pay attention!” She scolded before whipping back around, almost marching along the path towards a small patio like space, and there awaiting were Hannah’s father and brother, Hannah’s mother was an angel in the ground, having died shortly after giving birth to the Kings only daughter, and she knew deep down her father condemned her for that. 

Hannah straightened her shoulders as her heart turned to stone, showing any emotion around her father would send him into a craze, and her body would have to pay the price. King Azazel gestured for his daughter to seat herself and she did so with a cold blank stare, mimicking her fathers scarred and leathered face. His long white and grey hair reminded her of an old Lÿonorr, but he still managed to look just as cold and ruthless as he did back in his prime. 

“My dear Hannah,” King Azazel spoke in a rough baritone voice, her brother was seated next to him and even though he had grown his dark brown hair out as well, he looked just like his father, while Hannah was beginning to adorn more and more of her mothers beautiful features, another reason why she suspected why her father shunned her away. “It has been brought to my attention that you have been failing Madam Dames lessons recently, would you care to explain?” Hannah had to think of something quick, if she hesitated to long she would be stripped and whipped again, “I…have been thinking father,” she replied bluntly.

“About marriage,” and she screamed internally, Hannah would soon be turning 18 and feared being forced into a horrible marriage arranged by the King. Azazel arched a bushy brow, he knew that she was hiding something from him, he knew his daughter too well, “marriage?” He tagged along, Hannah nodded curtly, “yes, since I am to be wedded within a few months time, I thought that we should hold a banquet and invite neighboring Princes to test their hands for my marriage, but of course by your final judgement,” and bowed her head, Azazel sat in silence and Arthos glanced over, remaining silent with bold honeysuckle eyes 

King Azazel remained silent as he stood promptly up, Hannah’s heart froze and she kept her eyes glued in front of her, seeing the small vase of flowers placed in the center of the table, suddenly she was sharply smacked upside the head, she tumbled out of her chair and crashed to the floor, her brother just stared as Azazel tugged his daughter up by her long beautiful hair.

“How dare you mock me child!” He roared before shoving her into the paved ground, Hannah grinded her teeth as her father beat her again, “do you think I’m that daft?! After everything you’ve done against me you suspect me to be stupid?!” He sneered before kicking her in her stomach, Hannah gasped as her air was forced from her lungs, “take her to the courtyard and give her fifty lashings!” Hannah felt a couple guards grab her and haul her away, she screamed and protested, cursing her father and brother. 

Hannah breathed heavily as her marred back was ripped open after the fifty lashings had concluded, no one helped her to the doctors dormitory and no one held her hand as she was stitched back up, the nurse could see the dark hatred and turmoil flashing in Hannahs eyes before giving her a peck on her forehead, “just hang in there a little longer child, one day you will right everything that your father had done,” and even Hannah knew herself if her father was there, he would personally gut the nurse alive for such treasonous words. 

The princess forced a smile before leaving the dormitory, she glanced over and seen some guards escorting a group of scholars towards a heavily guarded storeroom that housed hundreds of powerful artifacts, Hannah kept her gaze down as they passed by, she followed behind, wondering what was going on. 

Hannah slipped into the huge room and hid behind various objects, staying in the shadows as the men bickered in amazement, Hannah arched her neck further out, trying to see what the scholars were all baffled by right until the huge mahogany doors slammed open, King Azazel strode quickly in with a deep look of furor on his face, Hannah watched as everyone parted like flies and she finally got a glance at a old scroll in some sort of interlocked seal, the parchment was glowing yellow and it hovered in place. 

Hannah bit back a smile as Azazel tried to pry the scroll out, but no matter how hard he pulled with his strongest set of gauntlets he could not break the hexed seal, the King was furious and bellowed at the cowering scholars, ordering for another way to break the seal before he stormed off, the scholars had no idea what to do and asked to be escorted to another chamber to think of a way to break the old enchanted seal. 

The girl watched them go from her hiding spot, when she heard the great doors lock she slipped out from behind various objects and inched closer to the enchanted parchment, it strangely captivated her and it seemed to beckon her closer, Hannah reached out and her hand seemed to somehow slip through its spherical prison, her fingers brushed against the paper, it radiated a strange energy and when she took a hold of it she suddenly heard the locks being undone, without thinking Hannah ripped the scroll from its prison and rushed for a long forgotten door near the far corner of the great room, as she was running up to her room she heard her father bellowing in fury. 

Hannah hid the scroll under her long hair before she sat near her desk, pretending that she was studying when her father barged in, his eyes fumed of rage as he tore Hannah’s room apart, right before he raked a sneer over his daughter, Hannah glanced over but looked back at her various papers and books, praying to the Gods that her father didn’t step any closer to her, King Azazel stepped out and asked a guard if they seen her come straight back to her room and they answered that she did, the old King growled as he stalked down the halls in search of the missing scroll. 

Hannah waited till it was nearly sundown before she snuck out of the palace, she seen several awaiting squadrons racing up and down the castle walls, the girl smirked as she tucked the scroll under her arm as she raced through a forgotten underground passage before she suddenly popped out near the central part of Krÿztof village, Hannah hurriedly covered up the human sized hole with a reed blockade, the young princess straightened out her white cloak and began to push past various poor folk and merchants, going straight towards the Brotherhoods hideout.   

Thomas sang and danced with Percy as the group were clapping and sining away into the night, Thomas had snuck back a whole gallon of Rümm and they were all a little tipsy, but it was all in good show for Thomas’s 18th birthday. The boys were singing away when Hannah stepped in from behind the drawn cloth and watched as everyone was celebrating away, right until Percy seen her and waved her over, “Hannah! Come sing with us!” He called out gayly and Hannah noticed the huge jug sitting on the table, it clicked that everyone was drinking, the twins were a little wobbly and they were both wondering around without their tunics, the young woman chortled before she joined the buzzed boys. 

Everyone was having a blast, Hannah was smiling and dancing with Ryan while the twins attempted to soothe everyone with their 'so claimed' beautiful melodies, but if there was a mirror around it would shatter to pieces, Thomas was watching from a makeshift throne of junk while Percy was bustling over various presents that the other members had gathered together, the midnight haired boy took another swig from the huge jug before letting out a monstrous belch, Percy laughed before tugging the jug for himself, taking a swig before passing it on for the twins, they each took a turn and then handed it to Hannah. 

“Yer turn ‘annah!” Ben drawled out with foogled eyes, Bill nodded, “or yew chiken?” And he smirked. Hannah faked an indigent look before she hoisted the jug up with both hands, she tilted back and the boys watched as she began to chug the dark liquid, Bill and Ben both glanced at each other before they began to chant Hannah on, urging her to keep going, Thomas soon joined in and even Percy found himself chanting along with, “go! Go! Go! Go!” They all cheered and Hannah finally ran out of breath, she took one last gulp before she gasped for breath, “hah!” She called out before slamming the jug on the makeshift table, everything sitting on top rattled as the boys all cheered while Hannah pumped her hands in the air. 

“Beat that you chumps!” She smirked before her head began to swim, Hannah stumbled a moment before Ryan gently caught her and helped her with her footing, fretting that she drank too much too soon, Ryan guided her over towards an empty seat and helped her sit down, Hannah laughed as she playfully shoved at deep blondes face and cooed lovingly at him, “you’ve got…s-such pretty eyes,” she giggled and Ryan blushed, causing the others to burst out with laughter. 

After awhile of Ryan trying to get everyone sobered up a bit, Thomas finally tore into his gifts and thanked each member, Percy got him a small trinket to fiddle with, the twins managed to swipe some smoked Râmâ hide, and Ryan got him a personal satchel, when it was Hannahs turn she grinned proudly, “I think you’ll like this one Thomas,” she grinned before reaching into her hood and pulled out the scroll, the boys all gazed at it before Hannah began to hand it over to the taller young man. Thomas grinned sheepishly while reaching with his right hand, as soon as he enclosed his fingers around the yellowed paper he suddenly cried out in pain. 

Everyone froze as Thomas suddenly dropped the scroll and cursed, shaking his hand like it was on fire, searing pain ran up his arm and throughout his entire body, Thomas grimaced and clenched his teeth, it hurt just like he touched a bolt of lightning itself. “Ow! What was that for Hannah?!” Thomas barked at the stunned girl, Hannah blinked before she furrowed her brow, “I didn’t know it would do that!” She fired right back before swooping down and scooped up the scroll in her hands, she was just as confused as everyone else, Hannah opened the scroll and gazed at the strange writing, “what in the Realms?” She questioned aloud, she had never seen handwritten symbols like these and they were structured in a strange way. 

Ryan peeked over her shoulder and furrowed his brows too, “where’d you find this at?” He asked but didn’t want to dare touch it, still seeing Thomas gritting his teeth and gripped his wrist right above his injured hand, which felt numb for some reason, though the bewildered boy could feel some sort of current running through his veins. 

Hannah froze for a moment, ‘lie!’ Her conscious shouted, and she raked a hand through her long hair, “I-I got it from some sort of traveling vendor not too far from here, I’m sure he’s long gone by now!” Hannah forced past her teeth and the twins both looked too, and even they didn’t want to touch it either. Thomas glared hard at his hand while Percy gazed with a twisted brow, he watched as two small triangular markings began to glow near the top of Thomas’ cheekbones, one on each side, though Thomas didn’t notice at all. 

Ryan glanced up and seen them too, everyone began to stare at the midnight haired boy and Thomas finally noticed the silence of everyone staring at him, “what?” He asked and seen Percy pointing at his face, “y-you’re glowing,” he uttered as he continued to stare at the glowing blue triangles, Thomas arched a dazed brow, “I’m…glowing?” He questioned before Ryan suddenly turned on his heel and raced up to his loft, grabbing a small handheld mirror and raced back down, handing the mirror to Thomas and he gasped, seeing the glowing triangles for himself. 

Thomas almost dropped the mirror and handed it back to Ryan with trembling fingers, “please tell me you know how to make this stop Hannah,” Thomas remarked sorely and the white cloaked girl shook her head, Hannah set the scroll on the table before cupping her forehead, “I’m sorry Thomas…I-I didn’t mean for this to happen!” And her eyes began to swell with tears, Percy knitted his brows with worry before he hugged her tightly. 

Ben and Bill were both watching Percy embracing Hannah while Thomas was pacing back and forth, how was he going to steal anything now? He’d be like a beacon for the Royals! What should have been such a joyful event had now become nothing but a sour evening! Ryan looked over with worry and seen Thomas pause long enough for him to notice his fingertips beginning to glow now too. 

“Thomas!” Ryan shouted and pointed, everyone gazed at the sky blue eyed boy holding up his hand, Thomas felt his breath falter as the glowing blue light suddenly began to swim up along his digits and was soon trailing up his arm, leaving behind light grey flesh. Thomas froze on the spot as the gentle luminescent glow slowly engulfed his body, turning his tawny skin to a light grey color, he watched helplessly as the light finally subsided under his bare feet and he gazed up with wide eyes, everyone else stared back with perplexed faces, Thomas looked completely alien now, and all because he touched that stupid scroll. 

“T-Thomas…?” Percy squeaked and took a daring step closer, Thomas held up his hands and flexed his new grey digits, he looked up with a horrified look on his face before he suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream.