#Thread: Contaminated

[ofpolitics]

[ he stands before her, silhouetted by the dim glow of the darksaber. it's likely that the ignition is what roused her. his eyes shine in the dark, ever piercing. "did you know that kyber crystals are sentient??" his voice is even, level as it would be if he was explaining something to a child. he does not wait for her answer. "this one," emphasised by a twirl of the weapon. "is loud. it sang for your death. practically begged me for it." though truth be told, maul need not be asked twice. "do you know how thrilled your people were to watch your reign come to such a pathetic end??" this time he does wait. ] — @mutatiio

                   as the sound which she could never forget reverberated through the small cabin, she shot up instantly awake, heart thundering in her ears, threatening to burst from behind her ribs.   terror.   it slipped down her spine in icy tentacles, threatening to seize ahold of her stomach and expel anything remaining from her supper.   slim fingers dug into her thin blanket as she stared down her almost murderer, seemingly frozen where she sat, head swimming.   how was he here?   she hadn’t heard of a single whisper of the zabrak in almost a decade and yet, he stood before her, that infernal saber clasped within his palm.

                   ❝ i shall take your word for it, maul.  ❞     there her voice rung out, more even than she hoped, so frigid she thought it could seer skin.   for what would she take?   all of it.     ❝  i was too indisposed, and too force blind, to know either.  ❞     she at least, knew the answer of the latter despite her refusal.

[synechd0che]

.

[sayruq]

[SOURCE]

Maternity kits, medical threads and scissors, water testing kits, anesthetics, mobile desalination units, etc do you see the pattern? Israel is not only starving the people of Gaza but it also wants to ensure the spread of disease through contaminated water and surgical tools, as well as ensuring injured Palestinians suffer through horrendous pain.

It's beyond sickening.

[kitkatcadillac]

utterly livid but understanding of my milk going bad at mach 3 a solid week before the expiration date. nothing offends me more than not having my little milky milk before bed. my sleep-friendly sippy. my bedside bff. in shambles (will pick up more)

[superbat-love]

Dick: So how has domestic life been for you?

Bruce: Clark and I do not have a domestic life.

Dick: Oh? What about all the times Clark did the laundry?

Bruce: Our suits were contaminated with radioactive or toxic materials.

Dick: Or when you helped to sew his torn clothes?

Bruce: I doubt the local tailor would have Kryptonian-strength needle and thread for his cloak.

Dick: Or that time when he helped you move your stuff?

Bruce: It’s a hassle to send movers to outer space.

Clark: Hey B, I’m home! I’d hug you, but I’m covered in metal swarf from blasting Luthor’s robots today. Hi Dick!

Bruce: Hn, go shower and get changed. Your dinner is on the table.

[orangetintedglasses]

... he doesn't really know how to describe the feeling in his chest when he's caught like that-- told 'no, none of that' --because Wolfwood is fully aware of what he's doing and counters it. Being known like this is... strange, still. Scary, even.

It's... probably pretty scary for the both of them.

But does any of that matter when Wolfwood is holding his hand? No. No, not really; the hand-holding is a lot more important, and that strange mix of relief and dread gives way to something fluttering and warm. Vash doesn't make a big deal of it though, no sir, don't mind the smile on his face as he squeezes the undertaker's hand in return. Lightly, of course.

"Well then, I definitely owe you big time-- doin' this for li'l ol' me." he says with a soft laugh, even if the look in his eyes is one of genuine appreciation. "And I mean it. Anything, anytime~..."

For him, the world. There's very little he won't do for him.

Wolfwood lowers his eyelids at the change of plans, then wolfs down the last of his meat bun. He wipes the grease from his hand onto the leg of his pants, then reaches around behind himself to grab Vash's arm and pull it to his side. His hand wraps around the base of the blond's wrist tightly, securely.

"You don't get to pull that," he shakes the hand, furrowing his brow as he stares directly into Vash's eyes from above his sunglasses. "We're gonna go. I'm just messin' with you is all."

He releases Vash's wrist, but lets his hand slide down to hold the other man's. Bashful now, Wolfwood fixes his gaze forward so he can stop thinking about the fact that he's holding Vash's hand.

"...You don't need a good reason to visit family, and you don't need a good reason to want me to come with to visit 'em," the undertaker looks back to Vash and bares his teeth in a wide smirk, "I can be a big boy and board the scary space ship. For you~"

(That last bit is totally sarcastic. Definitely not true.)

[gghostwriter]

Hey, how you doing? So I was wondering if you could write a one-shot where Y/N visits Spencer in prison and just like how when JJ visited him, Spencer doesn’t like the way the inmates are looking at Y/N, and when he gets back to his cell or when he is in the prison yard, he hears inmates talking about Y/N and gets protective. Saying stuff like “don’t talk about her like that, you don’t get to talk about her” or something similar.

I am unsure if there is a fanfic like this so just in case, I am asking ☺️

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Protective!Spencer Word Count: 0.8k A/N: apologies that this took a while. I was feeling very hyper-critical and unsatisfied with anything I wrote so this collected dust in my drafts a bit—still do feel it if I’m being honest but I felt the motivation to revisit my rough draft and make some changes before posting. I hope you like it! Main masterlist

His. // Spencer Reid

Spencer hasn’t felt himself ever since his capture. If he was being honest, his descend to rock bottom started even before then but that wasn’t the point. No, the point was the accumulation of his lack of sleep in his single cell—only an hour at most, the constant alertness from keeping his identity as a fed hidden—his fashioned shiv always an inch away from reach, and the group shared meals—never knowing what other contaminants it has, all made him feel one step away from snapping. He was teetering on the edge of lashing out and like the unsubs that he used to profile in black and white typing, he only needed one stressor before all hell broke loose.

And that stressor was you. 

Visitation hours were always bittersweet. It soothed his soul to see your expressive eyes and beautiful face but dread always came after, knowing the minutes were counting down before you and him had to separate. He had always hated the idea of separation, hated not seeing you wholly and safe.

During the past cases, the bodies of each victim somehow always reminded him of you and here, locked in the confines with other criminals, made his hyper-vigilance of protecting you increase by a hundred. 

“Love, you don’t have to come visit me,” he suggested as the jeers from the other inmates about your looks echoed on the walls. Each whistle and vulgar mention of how your looks get their gears revving was a chip in his knightly armor and although he could see you trying to pay it no attention, it soothe no pain that he was the reason why you were exposed to all this sexualization.

“It’s fine, Spence. I can handle it as long as I get to see you,” you defended. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” the corners of his mouth lifting to a small smile. Four simple words that didn’t fully express the ache echoing in his chest. He could read in several languages but none of them could fully explain the loss that reverberates in him when it’s time to part ways.

You picked on the loose threading of his cardigan adorning your body. “I’ve been visiting your mom. She asks about you a lot. How you’re doing, how you’re being treated and uh—” your lips quivered from emotion “—she misses you too.” 

“Thank you for seeing her. Can you tell her I’m doing fine? I don’t want her to worry too much about me,” he uttered a lie. He wasn’t doing great and you could see that but having been together for so long, you understood the reasoning behind the fib without needing any explanation.

I’d like to get a piece of that, huh. Another crude sentence about you reached his ears causing him to snap his neck to the side and clench his jaw. With all of his vast intellect, Spencer never did understand the psychology behind men catcalling as a form of flirtation and expecting the recipient to react positively. But then again, men who perpetuate this behavior were more of animals in his eyes. Plebeian in thought and unappealing in form.

Maybe there was something in the stale air of prison that made him his hackles rise or maybe it was just his biological imperative to protect what was his. Either reason, he felt himself snap the next day during yard hour when a duo of inmates sat beside him to slobber about your beauty and body.

“Hey Twig, was that your girl the other day? That pretty young thing?” The one with the neck tattoo taunted. “Tell me, does she taste as sweet as she looks?” 

His bald headed partner sneered. “Man, I don’t think he can get her off, probably doesn’t even know how she sounds like in bed. With how skinny he is, bet he’s also pencil—”

“Have some respect. You don’t get to talk about her like that.” Spencer snarled out. He felt like an animal about to escape from his cage—gone was the logical ex-FBI agent and all that remained was a convicted, highly intelligent felon no longer afraid of committing a crime. Additional blood coating his shackled hands was nothing if done in your name.

They both snickered. “And what you going to do about it, huh?” 

He ground his teeth, saying nothing. Spencer knew the statistics of him winning in a fight specially 2 vs 1 was slim to none so he catalogued their faces and numbers in his vast mind and bid his time like a snake lying in the wait for his prey to settle in faux comfort.

“Thought so. C’mon man,” the one with the neck tattoo patted his back and started to stand with his partner. “I’lll see your girl in my fantasies tonight, Twig.” 

But before they were out of earshot, he turned and called back a warning—his last mercy before the execution. “You’re going to regret it.” 

They both hooted in laughter, unaware that Spencer makes good on his promises—threats really, anything to protect his girl.

And when he poisoned a group of inmates who were smuggling drugs inside the jail, he made sure that all those men who jeered sexual innuendos at you, counting in the two who confronted him in the yard, were included. His methods cold, detached, and impersonal—something he learned from the killers he had spent half of his life profiling.

There were whispers, of course, who caused the contamination. He wasn’t deaf. He knew it was what labelled him as a danger and almost untouchable in prison. An emerging alpha in this testosterone filled animal kingdom. The same status that extend to you, his chosen queen.

And so during your next visit when no cat calls reached your ears, you innocently asked about it and he just shrugged like it was no big deal. He didn’t want to taint your mirage of him any more than his stint in prison had done. You were his to protect, his to care for, and his to love.

To put it simply, you were his.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night. 

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life. 

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding. 

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage. 

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building. 

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too. 

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen. 

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize. 

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime? 

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace. 

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine. 

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?” 

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope. 

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–” 

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth. 

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil. 

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game. 

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line. 

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa. 

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves. 

He liked to abuse his privileges. 

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior. 

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent. 

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either. 

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks. 

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost. 

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. 

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul. 

The veritable nectar of the gods. 

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

There's apparantly a ratty little blanket that Astarion brings with him into whatever tents and caverns he goes to that has been dubbed his "safety blanket"-- and now I'm obsessed with seeing a ficlet about that. *puppy eyes* <3

Hiiiii sorry for the long wait. Been busy since school started and also really tired. Hope you enjoy!

You let out a quiet sigh, staring up at the roof of the tent as you have been for the past…you've lost count how long it's been since you first laid down in your shared bedroll with Astarion. Tomorrow is the day you take the fight back to Ketheric Thorm and despite knowing that his immortality has been removed, you can't help but feel nervous about the fight that lies ahead.

Turning over to your side, you realise Astarion is just as restless as you are, and is fiddling with the worn blanket you've caught only glimpses of previously. He hugs it closely to his chest, playing with a corner of the fabric and you lean in closer.

"Can't sleep either?"

Astarion scowls in response, quickly stashing his worn blanket away and turns over to face you, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss to your lips. You smile when his gaze softens, even if it's just for that split second and laugh when he huffs in response.

"I was about to trance when you disturbed me."

"Sure you were," you hum, tucking a white curl behind his ear. You feel him shift, pressing closer against you and feel his arms wrap themselves around your waist. Each breath you let out ruffles his hair and you feel his cool skin beneath your fingertips. His ratty blanket peeks out from where he hastily tucked it beneath the corner of his pillow and you gently pry it out, the rough fabric scratching against your skin.

"I'm surprised you keep something like this. I pegged you for someone who prefers luxury and comfort."

You feel Astarion tense, his clawed fingertips pricking your skin and you shift, wondering if you should give him some space. Your worried gaze meets his crimson eyes and you sense a hint of sorrow in those eyes. He shakily inhales, then exhales and crumples into your embrace.

"That…" His voice trails off. "That's one of the few things I ever owned. Before you, before all of this."

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I shouldn't have."

He shakes his head, "you were bound to find out about this some day."

He blindly reaches for the blanket, hugging it to his chest when you hand it to him. He looks so small, so vulnerable when he curls around the blanket, it makes your heart ache for him. His scars shine pale underneath the moonlight, yet another reminder of the life he once led, of the shackles he has yet to fully throw off. In that moment you vow silently once more to help him strike his chains off, to watch as he tastes true freedom.

When Astarion speaks again, his voice is soft, the complete opposite of his usual tone.

"All the spawn always fought over the beds in our room, all the beds except one, tucked away in the corner. That bed was always reserved for me, everyone knew I always came back covered in fluids and no one wanted to go anywhere near the bed that was possibly contaminated with those fluids. No one wanted to touch the blanket on it either, but I was fine with that. It meant the bed was mine, the blanket was mine, and I was happy about it. Cazador stole everything from me — my life, my body, my everything. To have something to call my own, it made me happier than anything ever could. It felt like a small defiance in Cazador's face, to still retain something when he tried to strip me of everything. When I fled the castle, the only thing I could bring along was this blanket and the clothes on my back."

He plays with a loose thread dangling from the edge of the blanket, letting you gently rub circles on his back. He presses against you, leaning into your warm touch. You press a kiss to the top of his head, relishing in the comfort your beloved vampire brings simply by being right next to you.

"I'm surprised it's still in one piece," you trace a finger over the fabric, feeling the little bumps where it has been stitched over. "Did you patch the holes up yourself?"

"Of course I did. As if I'd let anyone else touch something so precious."

Still, he makes no motion to pull his precious blanket away from you. Your hands brush against each other, sending tingles up your spine, a quiet chuckle slipping from your lips.

"Will you teach me how to sew?" His eyes widen at your suggestion, and then the smirk you're all too familiar with forms on his face.

"Under my tutelage? You'll learn well, but you won't ever be as good as me."

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "That's all I need."

He smiles a genuine smile that lets his fangs peek through, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Underneath the moonlight he looks ethereal, the moon's glow outlining his figure. He then closes the distance between the both of you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that you wish will never end, but your lungs beg for oxygen and you are forced to break the kiss.

"You have more than just the blanket now. I am yours, every fibre of my being, forevermore." You press your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you breathe in his familiar scent. He cradles you in return, soaking in the warmth you exude.

When you open your eyes once again, there's a glimmer in his eyes that wasn't there before. He nuzzles into your shoulder, smiling contentedly and drifts off into a trance, his worn blanket left forgotten. You hold him in your arms, feeling sleep finally take over, all stress forgotten.

There are words left unsaid, but they will be spoken in due time, that you're sure of. After all, a life waits for you at the end of this journey, wherever it may bring you. Somehow deep down, you know this to be true. The words can wait until the time is right, but until then, you're contented to know that you are his and nothing can ever change that.

[sauronxgaladriel]

Haladriel Library

Saurondriel/Haladriel Fanfic Recommendations. Some of these stories could fit into multiple categories. If you have any more recommendations feel free to add them!

Marriage

Shadow-Bride by eye_of_a_cat

Bridesprice by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks 

Poison & Wine by Coraleeveritas

Galadriel takes longer to discover Sauron's identity

no matter how many skies have fallen by stitchingatthecircuitboard

A man is a god in ruins by eye_of_a_cat

Queen of the Southlands by FormerlyIR

Galadriel Says Yes

The House That Fire Built by Ready_For_The_Laughing_Gas

dig up the bones (but leave the soul alone) by Wyrd_Syster

Gilded by eye_of_a_cat

And white winter, on its knees by eye_of_a_cat

The Trials of Mairon by EllieCarina

Mortal Laws by Helholden

A Portion of Thyself by Frotu

Reforged in the Making by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks)

Fabricated by Frotu

Canon Divergence/Reimagining of S1 and onwards

I could be your king by cliffdiving

The Tides of Fate by fireheart321

In Case of Defeat, Break Glass by eastwynds

that i may rise and stand, o'erthrow me by mortaltemples

Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed by eye_of_a_cat

Across That Fine Line by MyrsineMezzo

Instruments of Salvation by Scriberated

a fair form by properhaunt

Autocorrelation by EisforEverything

The Return of the Queen by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

A Feast of Starlight by TheLightofArwyn

Supernatural Creature AU

should have known better by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo) (Witch/Demon AU)

Wild Magic by Scriberated (Witch/God)

Storm Tides & Weaving Threads by elssiie (Siren AU)

just a taste by stardustspell (Vampire AU)

Haladriel meet before TROP

Spark, Ignite, Burn by cliffdiving

our souls were made from the stars by silverwing12 (Deleted)

Necessity's Bargain by Scriberated

Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be by Helholden

determination is the cure (for longing) by downtheroadandupthehill

where the spirit meets the bones by kangaroopaws

people throw rocks at things that shine by ophidion

Pick a star, and follow it home by CloudlySkies124

Hades Persephone Vibes

Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den by Helholden

a dust like thine by mortaltemples

One-Shots

Unsired by shady-swan-jones (sweetleaf), sweetleaf 

the light of his eyes by eastwynds

now dark, now glittering by mortaltemples

In the Shadow of Your Heart by mzladybird

i cannot heave my heart into my mouth by fallofrain

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

we could just kiss, like real people do by justatinycollector 

a millstone around my neck by mortaltemples

the nameless by bimmyou

next time by you_wear_fine_things_well

ouroboros by Amuria

Pregnancy/Parenthood

Light and Power by chronicallyexhaustedwriter

shining like a fiery beacon by ophidion

A Blessing of Eru by Scriberated

mitosis by Orcas86

Darkness Bound by no_more_doubt

Smut

A Stressed Tiding by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

Buried in Bone by Invisible_Hand

Riptide by makeshiftdraco

Perfection by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

like magnets work, only drawn to thee by audreystark

To Follow the Light by Thrill_of_hope

A Moment of Honesty by Draconic_Grace

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

bind yourself to me by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Lady of the Seas by eye_of_a_cat

Dark/Dead Dove

all your pain will end here by poeticmemory

Land of Enchantment by EisforEverything

perle by emphemeron

Glanduin Kiss by Anonymous

The Cost of Victory by EisforEverything

what you and i have wrought by thefudge

what heart's ease by fallofrain

Sauron as Annatar

hold her head above the water by Orcas86

next time by you_wear_fine_things_well

the light of his eyes by eastwynds 

Contaminate by Frotu

[ahaura]

from 🧵

the entire palestinian coastal plain from haifa to rafah is underlain by a large aquifer. gaza possesses a significant lobe of it, in large part because of this: this is Wadi Gaza, known as Nahal Besor in Israel, one of, if not the largest drainage basins in the Naqab.

Wadi Gaza is a perennial stream in a country with very few of them. it's very small but occasionally subject to massive floods; the highly permeable coastal loess topsoil gives the coastal aquifer a relatively quick recharge time. photo shows the stream inside israel

so in theory there's no reason gaza should run short of water, even with 2.4 million people relying on it. well... this is what Wadi Gaza looks like inside the Gaza Strip. you may notice some differences.

inside israel, i.e., upstream from gaza, huge amounts of water are pumped out of the aquifer in order to make all those kibbutzim and moshavim the highly productive agricultural communities that they are, and in order to sell the water to palestinians at a markup.

the river also naturally loses water through the riverbed, and this is not recharged, it doesn't have the flow rate inside gaza to carry pollutants out to sea. so they penetrate into the topsoil. where do all the pollutants come from? industrial and household wastewater.

gaza cannot import components to maintain its own water treatment plants, nor can it maintain its own energy supply, because israel restricts the importation of building materials, fuel, and other power sources (e.g. solar panels). so most wastewater goes untreated

as a result, wells are dug deeper, because the surface layers of water are contaminated. this causes horizontal subsidence, because gaza is adjacent to the sea, and saltwater infiltrates the water supply, making the water brackish. only about 5-10% of the wells in gaza are usable

can israel pump enough seawater into gaza's aquifer to render it completely undrinkable? yes, for as long as they keep the pumps going, and a few months afterwards. once they stop, fresh water flowing downhill from the israeli part of the aquifer will increase water pressure

salt water is denser than fresh water, so when fresh water flows into a brackish aquifer and water pressure increases, the salt water sinks deeper into the crust. in general, the artificial injection of desalinated water could restore gaza's water supply this way

if, of course, there were sufficient power to run all of gaza's desalination plants and water treatment plants, and if israel's water company stopped depleting the upstream aquifer (and, of course, if the risk of subsidence- and swelling-related earthquakes was mitigated)

IOW: the only reason this is a realistic plan for israel is bc they've spent the last 30-40 years already doing indirectly. even then, they'd need a lot more than five pumps. but the "permanence" of the effect is only true if the occupation and siege are also permanent

whereas, if the occupation and siege ended tomorrow, and even if 5 million people lived in Gaza, the area could regain not only its habitability but its famous and historic agricultural productivity within, at most, a couple of years. end of thread

(Dec. 6)

[letoasai]

DP- Father Time

What if…. Clockwork was around far longer than Danny knew…. 

~

Life was a parade, and Clockwork had the best view. He was the master of time, he knew all of what was and what wasn’t. He saw the threads of every timeline, and took the best each had to offer for the most people. 

He had pride in his work, and an annoying habit of always being right. How could he be wrong when he knew the future. He knew every future. This was one of the major reasons he was irritated when someone, namely the Observants, decided to tell him how to do his job. 

They saw what was laid out in front of them. They saw what he laid out in front of them. They were spectators that clung too tightly to their oaths to merely watch, while cheating at the motion in the same breath. They acted so haughty but thought nothing of turning around and demanding Clockwork do this or that for them. 

Clockwork would generally avoid having to deal with them by agreeing ‘something’ needed to be ‘done’ and then go back to doing what he wanted in the first place. Observers they might be, ancient even, but they did not have the power to watch his every move. He directed things in the right direction, the way he always had with or without their say so. 

The future he had been keeping an eye on was swiftly on its way to becoming the present. The thrill of it put a smile on his face. Frankly it had been a while since he’d been so eager for anything. 

He’d be busy, but time was such a controllable thing for him. 

Making a portal to the moral plane, Clockwork floated through, remaining invisible. The house was the cozy sort, and deceiving normal though he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The hideous space like craft structure wasn’t yet protruding from the roof like an unwanted appendage. The glowing Fenton Works sign wasn’t out front yet either. 

The contamination was present however. It was still in low, nearly unnoticeable amounts, but that was still double what was generally found in nature. At least in normal places that weren’t consecrated grounds or otherwise filled with abnormal levels of death. 

This really was no place for children. 

Unseen by the two small occupants in the room, he observed as a small boy was seated at the kitchen table, watching nervously while his older sister knelt on a chair at the counter, carefully pouring juice into a sippy cup. It was a small task, but not one such small children should have been dealing with unsupervised. 

“Almost done, Danny.” Jazz said, turning to look at him with a smile. She only just barely noticed the way the chair wobbled, and didn’t notice how it stilled right after, Clockwork holding out an unseen hand to steady it with his telekinesis. It might have been a small thing, but it was unnecessary to have a timeline where the small girl fell off her chair and cracked her head on the counter. She would end up fine, and with seventeen stitches. Her younger brother, terrified of climbing on the kitchen chairs for the following five years. 

It could be skipped. 

It might have been meddling, but after the burden these two would end up growing up with, he saw no reason not to show them occasional good fortune. 

Jazz climbed down from the counter, a sippy cup and small plastic cup in each hand. She set them on the table before running back to the counter to grab the peanut butter sandwiches she’d set on a paper towel. 

It was lunch for two, and both were so young they didn’t see anything wrong with this scenario. It was perhaps wrong to interfere, but Clockwork saw a future that depended on both of them. Young Danny was going to be immensely important, and he would always cling to his sisters unwavering support. 

There were too many futures where accidents harmed these children before the proper timeline could come into effect. Some where one or both children died before puberty even. That could not be allowed to happen, not if he wanted the most ideal time line. 

The problem with that was that there wasn’t always someone present to protect them. Meddling be damned, he was not going to have the future suffer for such a small reason. 

“I found extra new books in my closet!” Jazz said, as she climbed onto her chair at the table. “I’ll read to you after we eat!” 

Danny was small, and possibly should have still been in some kind of booster seat at the table. Instead, he sat on a phone book, and even then was too small to do much more than see over the table. He didn’t talk much. Whether he was too small, or delayed in his milestones, Clockwork wasn’t sure. 

For all his infinite knowledge, child care wasn’t something he would have put on a resume of his skills. Leaving a few books around for the children was easy enough, but care was something rather different. 

Danny ate silently, his feet kicking to show his good mood. Neither child seemed worried about the fact that their parents were locked away in the basement, oblivious to how much time was really passing. 

As the keeper of time he could understand that, but he didn’t think it an excuse to not have proper priorities in place. 

“You can pick the book, okay? One of them has planets on it.” 

Danny’s smile grew, eyes nearly shining with excitement. 

“We’ll start with that one.” Jazz promised. 

Clockwork hovered, deciding he could leave them for the time being. It was a shame that little Jasmine had to be so responsible but the accident had been avoided. Today was a success for the timeline. 

At least they didn’t have to worry about the food from the fridge attacking them just yet. That was a set period of time that Clockwork was not actively looking forward to. The Fenton Parents were quite the extraordinary inventors, but they were rather lacking as parents. It was a shame that even in the best timeline possible so far, the pair had never really realized it. 

~

While some might have called it interference, Clockwork didn’t see it that way. Since he didn’t need to ask permission of anyone to do his job, he used his judgment, as always. 

At best he could visit the Fenton children every couple of weeks to check in or prevent something terrible from happening. At worst, he was there often. The record so far was needing to show up eight days in a row to either prevent a stressful near future, or to just plain take care of the children in some other way. 

The tasks he could do invisibly and unobtrusively were the easiest to handle. The ones were he couldn’t avoid being seen where… questionable. 

The one night he slid into Danny’s room, even the ticking of his own clock stuttered at the sight of the small boy crying into his pillow after a nightmare. He was going to have a few stern words for Nocturn. 

He lifted the child up into his arms, cradling him against his shoulder and maintaining his adult form for this venture. The last thing he needed was to shift into his child form while holding a child. 

For Danny’s part, he didn’t bat an eye, just continued to cry softly. He was still small enough that he didn’t care about the stranger in his bedroom. He only cared about the comfort he was getting and the rocking back and forth motion. 

This interaction would cost him nothing. Tonight, Danny would be soothed and as he grew older, he would forget this moment ever happened. It would fade into dream-like memories. 

“Those scary things can’t hurt you, little King to be.” Clockwork muttered, wiping at the tears falling down Danny’s face. 

Blue eyes looked up at him owlishly, lips still wobbling from his fright. 

“You just need a distraction.” Clockwork whispered, not wanting to wake anyone in the house. It likely would have only been Jazz though. The Fenton parents were either in the basement or out attempting to hunt what wasn’t yet a problem in Amity Park. He hadn’t bothered to look, he only knew enough to know he wouldn’t be seen or interrupted. 

“Nn..” Danny reached up to tug on the hem of his hood. 

“Yes.” Clockwork said, ectoplasm filling his palm. The glowing ball snatched Danny’s attention away in an instant, the child reaching for it only to be pulled away. “Not yet. Touching it isn’t safe for you yet.” 

Danny stretched again, sniffing back tears as he attempted to reach for it a second time. Instead, the ectoplasm split apart into a dozen little pieces. Each floated up towards the ceiling, rearranging themselves into rough star shapes. 

“St-!” Danny pointed up at them, a smile slowly spreading across his little face. 

“How about you keep these for the night?” Clockwork asked, “They’ll keep the bad dreams away.”

The toddler was enthralled, head tilted back. 

Clockwork laid Danny back down in bed, tucking him in and kneeling at the edge of his bed. “These will watch over you, okay?” 

“Nhnn.” Danny’s smile remained, he only spared Clockwork another peaceful look before he looked back up at the ectoplasm stars. Normally, the exposure probably would have been unhealthy but the children were exposed enough. This little bit wouldn’t do any harm. He’d checked. 

For several long minutes Clockwork watched him, the child’s eyes blinking slowly. Sleep was tugging at him, but his desire to look at the stars was strong. 

“There are scary things out there, little King to be.” Clockwork said softly. “But there are plenty of good things out there too if you look.” 

Danny pointed up at the ectoplasm again, the green light spread across the room. 

“Goodnight, Danny.” Clockwork said, knowing it would only be minutes before the child’s eyes closed for a much more peaceful bout of sleeping. 

~

Not for the first time, Clockwork found himself surprised by the very future he had already predicted. Knowing the future and living through it in the present were incomparable. Emotions were vast, every ghost knew that in particular. Emotions overflowed for them, and while Clockwork knew he would care about the children, feeling that affection first hand was overwhelming. 

The disdain he felt for the ghost hunting Fentons grew as their lack of positive parenting became evident. It wasn’t just their ghost hunting focus that was getting on his nerves, though it hadn’t happened yet, but their poor interactions with their own children.

It shouldn’t have been up to Jazz to take care of her little brother. She went as far as to drop him off at daycare by herself before walking to school alone. Once or twice Clockwork would appear, invisibly hovering beside her to make sure she got to both places safely. Once he’d pulled her and her brother out of the way from being clipped by a car, and twice since then he stopped time momentarily to hold the red lights and let Jazz cross the street on her little legs.

It was frankly outrageous that no one seemed to notice the dangers these kids were constantly in, or the neglect they suffered. All the same, even he could only meddle so much, and he was far more than he realized he’d need to. 

As much as he tried to stay out of sight, some occasions were impossible. When he needed to apply baid-aids to both of Danny’s knees when he fell on the concrete steps outside of the house, or when he appeared behind Jazz as a spectral terror to scare away a young man who was following the little girl to the corner store with awful intentions in mind. 

The last one had almost been a disaster when Jazz turned around and looked up at him, then at the young man running away as fear gripped his heart. 

“Thank you.” Jazz said, though she didn’t quite understand what she was thanking him for. She turned around, marching right back to the corner store with dollar bills in her change purse. 

“You’re welcome, Jazz.” He muttered before fading away from sight. Even while being among his predictions of possible outcomes, it was a strange reaction from the little girl who’s parents ranted about ghosts. The blanket acceptance for receiving help. 

He didn’t know where her kindness came from, but it was imperative that she passed it on to her brother. She was small, but she was smart. She was reading at a second grade level already, and wrote on the wall calendar what days the bills were due. She was responsible beyond her years, not out of want but necessity. 

If Clockwork helped distract Danny for a while so she was able to read or make sandwiches for them, that was their collective business, just the three of them. 

“Mr. Ghost.” Jazz blinked up at him one afternoon. She was fidgeting and ended up dropping her gaze to her feet. “Can you help me lift the bottle?” 

“The…bottle?” He stared at her. Danny ran towards them, running through Clockwork and falling onto his hands and knees with a laugh. The small boy kept trying to grab Clockwork's ghost tail and was endlessly thrilled by not being able to touch it. 

“Yeah, for the dirty clothes. I read the directions but i can’t lift the bottle. It’s heavy.” Jazz said, holding out a hand for Danny to help regain his balance. 

“Yes. I can help you.” Clockwork said. It was easy to be proud of these children, and quietly infuriating that it was necessary. 

It wasn’t just that Jazz had learned to be so self sufficient, it was that Danny knew to stay by his sister. While Jazz tossed their clothes into the washing machine, and Clockwork helped Jazz measure out the detergent, Danny sat on the floor nearby playing with a spaceship that Jazz had made for him out of paper plates, duct tape, and plastic straws. 

These kids were growing up with only occasional visits from their parents while living in the same house. 

“Thank you.” Jazz said when they had finished. 

“You’re quite welcome, Jazz.” 

It was almost sad how the Fentons had no idea there was a ghost in their home. Until they did, or until they suspected something was strange. 

Danny was little, and didn’t know who he was supposed to share things with, or what he was supposed to keep secret. When he started to talk about his flying friend, his see-through friend, the Fentons over reacted. 

Clockwork might have had to stay out of the house for a few weeks, but he still watched carefully as Jack and Maddie searched the house, Danny’s room in particular. Ghost hunting was their obsession and they took a toddler at his word. 

When he finally started crying over his parents too loud, nearly volatile search, Jazz lost her temper. 

“He just has an imaginary friend! It’s not real! Not everything is a ghost! Ghosts aren’t real!” 

“Now, Jazz.” Maddie tried to soothe her. “If he says he saw-” 

“He’s a baby! All you talk about is ghosts. Of course his imaginary friend would look like a ghost, but you aren’t finding anything, are you?! Ghosts aren’t real!” She took Danny’s hand and stomped off to her own room where they could play in peace, away from the whirling alarms of ghost gadgets. 

It was the stance the small girl would take for years. Ghosts did not exist, while she knew very well that they did. She chose to protect Clockwork over letting her parents know that there had been a ghost in the house. 

It was however, a reminder to Clockwork that he was becoming a little too complacent. He was being seen a little too often. Danny couldn’t know about him until the time was right, but Jazz was more than capable of keeping quiet. 

He continued to tuck Danny in after a nightmare and a night of glowing ectoplasm stars on the ceiling. He also continued to help Jazz when something was just a little out of her means, but otherwise did better to stay hidden. 

Even invisible, Jazz often knew when he was around. It had Clockwork smiling at the future where she would be in full control of her liminality. The kids were growing to be quite capable. 

~ 

In theory, Clockwork had been looking forward to the day where Danny became a halfa. It was the start of so much, the next checkpoint of the most favorable future. It was a sure thing now, but Clockwork’s own emotions were wavering the day in question. Watching Danny head down into the lab with his two friends trailing behind him had him feeling sick. Yes, Danny would become a halfa, and someday he would become king, but now, this day, Danny was going to die. 

Had there been another way, Clockwork would have considered it. Instead, all he could do was be present, watching invisibly as the child he’d helped raise was killed and born anew in the same breath. It was the most terrible thing he’d seen in recent memory. 

It was difficult not to immediately rush to his side. To offer to teach him how to use the new abilities he’d just gain. He saw the fear on Danny’s face, and saw the cold air puff between his lips. Danny didn’t yet know what his ghost sense was. He didn’t know Clockwork was in the very same room with him. This was the start, and like always, Clockwork would be watching. He would do what he was able to keep the boy safe, and winced at the months it would take before Jazz caught on to what was happening. 

Her brother becoming a halfa was not in the realm of possibilities that she was expecting but she would be his support, well versed by that point that their were both good and bad ghosts. 

Someday, Clockwork might tell Danny how long he’d been in his life. Someday, Danny might forgive him for his rough half ghost beginning and letting things fall where they were meant to. He didn’t revel in Danny’s struggles, but those struggles were what would make him a fitting king. 

Soon he’d get to introduce himself to Danny, and his first task for the boy would be a harrowing one, but he knew what Danny could do when he tried. Until then, Clockwork would watch the parade from above, his pride in the Fenton children immeasurable.

[kingkatsuki]

This was based off an ask I received from Kitten, thank you for always giving me the best ideas💕

But imagine you get caught up in a sudden trash storm with Enjin, it's not enough debris to damage the car but it's dangerous enough you can't drive or walk. The two of you are just barely outside the city, stuck in a very confined van with tension that's been mounting since the two of you met. Before Enjin leans over and presses his lips to yours, again and again before he's pulling from the passenger seat to the bench seat in the back. Tongue sliding over yours with a groan as he pins you to the old thread bare upholstery with the hopes of fogging up the windows.

Pairings: Engine / Enjin x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, friends to lovers, car sex, minimal prep, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, praise, dirty talk.

Word Count: 4.1k.

“Maybe you should take a break,” You glance over the centre console to see Enjin’s eyes fluttering at the wheel, sat forward in his chair as he fights sleep.

The heavy rock playing through the worn car radio does nothing to ease his drowsiness, nor do the potholes almost as large as craters that scatter along the contaminated zone.

Reaching over you run your fingers through the buzzed hairs of his undercut, trying to coax his attention back to the path in front of you. Enjin jolts slightly on contact before heaving a soft sigh, his knuckles turn white from how hard he grips the steering wheel as he narrowly misses a large trash pile.

“M’fine,” Enjin mumbles, reluctantly pulling himself away from your touch, terrified that the soothing sensation will have him falling asleep at the wheel.

“I know you’re tired,” You push, “Just for a bit, yeah? A power nap.”

You wanted to get home just as badly as him, the unspoken feelings between you two made it difficult to breathe and this mission had been exhausting. Not to mention how dangerous it was to settle in a contaminated zone for too long, especially when it was just the pair of you. Humans could be just as dangerous as the monsters that reside in the area.

“We’re like sitting ducks out here,” Enjin continued, and he would know. For some reason the Giver enjoyed taking strolls in the contaminated zone, even though the air was unbreatheable, “It’s not much further, it’ll be fine.”

A washer dryer falls to the left of you, colliding into the ground with an almighty smash. Pieces of debris fly everywhere as you jolt in the van, holding your hand to your heart at the sudden movement as you curse under your breath.

“You good, sweetheart?” Enjin turns to you with a grin, and it does nothing but make your insides feel like jelly.

You should be used to it by now, the so called junk thrown discarded by the sky people like it’s nothing. Most of it salvageable, cookers with broken buttons that just needed a quick replacement, hairdryers with blown fuses.

Enjin had even gifted you a diamond ring he’d found one evening on one of his regular strolls. The silver band was pristine, and looked as though it had never been worn. A pretty glistening diamond set perfectly inside it, and not a single scratch on it despite the impact from the large drop. You wondered why anyone would ever throw something so perfect away, and then you saw it— A simple black speck that sat in the middle of the carbon. The smallest, most pathetic reason that it had been thrown into the pit in the first place. Because of course, why would anyone up in Heaven want anything less than perfect— But it was perfect to you. The pretty gem sat perfectly on your ring finger, despite the fact that Enjin hadn’t asked you to marry him. And the speck that was supposedly imperfect, reminded you of the friend who had gifted it to you.

You were just friends, after all. A subject of consistent teasing between the other Janitors.

“If you like someone, you should tell them.” Griss would look back from his position in the drivers seat to wink at you, just as Enjin is shouting at him to “Keep your eyes on the road, Bozo!”

“Yeah, it’s not good to keep those feelings bottled up inside.” Tamzy spoke coolly from the backseat.

“Would sure suck if the person you liked didn’t like you back, though.” Riyo chimed.

Exactly, Riyo. You thought to yourself, It would fucking suck.

And aside from a few flirty words from Griss, and one night where he’d seen red when a travelling merchant offered to buy you a drink in the local pub. Immediately appearing at your side to ward him off, the poor man leaving with a black eye and a bruised ego. “You don’t need to solve everything with violence.” Riyo mocked Enjin, who was pink in the cheeks. For the most part it almost felt like an unspoken rule that you were Enjin’s.

And it didn’t matter anyway, because you were content with this— whatever this was. And it wasn’t worth ruining the relationship you had with feelings, you were satisfied. And you could cope with satisfied if it meant keeping Enjin as a friend, certain not to ruin your relationship with the complication of romantic feelings.

Another loud crash had you snapping back to focus, a hail of trash began to pour down on the barren wasteland, things that by themselves would never have proved deadly. But with the acceleration of gravity, items were deadly as they left dents in the strongest of boulders.

“Fucks sake. We’ve gotta take cover,” Enjin’s tattooed hand shifted on the gearstick as he began to reverse the truck, narrowly missing a falling bathtub as it crashed against the ground.

“Shit,” You squealed, holding onto the dash as Enjin expertly manouvered through the trash storm.

“Hold on.” He veered left to avoid another shower of trash as it made the vehicle fall down a sand dune, skidding to the side as you began to panic. Watching more trash tumble down around you like rain.

“Enjin, look out—” You saw the falling car before he did, an old battered Sedan. How did they even manage to get that down here?

“I fuckin’ know, woman. I know—” He spat, yellow eyes catching it just after you as he swerved roughly. Glad you had your seatbelt on as your side banged into the car door, knocking your head against the glass as he took another harsh turn.

Finding refuge beneath an abandoned Eolian cave as the tires screeched to a stop, the roof of the truck dented but nothing Riyo wouldn’t be able to fix with a hammer when you both made it back to the compound.

“Baby, you okay?” Enjin unbuckled his belt to lean over the center console, cupping your face in both palms as he turns you to face him. Tilting your head to check for any injuries as you reached up to place a warm, sweaty palm around his wrist. Leaning into his touch as you finally allowed your heart to lull, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You shook your head, “Wasn’t your fault.”

“We shoulda never been out here this late, it is all my fault.” He shook his head as you both heard the loud crash of trash and debris continue to fall along the wasteland.

“It’s not your fault, Enjin.” You shook your head, squeezing his wrist softly to try and focus his attention back on you, “We’re okay.”

“I’d have never forgiven myself if you got hurt,” He continued, shaking his head. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him this worried, “I never wanna lose you.”

There’s a subtle change in his movement, and if you hadn’t have been so close to him you would’ve missed it. It was the way his eyes flit down to your lips for the faintest of seconds before meeting your gaze again. The movement has your heart rattling against its cages, dragging a metal cup along the bars to be unleashed from its prison as you took a chance. Tilting your head slightly in Enjin’s palms to brush your lips against his in a chaste kiss. They felt chapped against your softer ones, eager to feel them again as you chanced another peck, this time lingering as you stepped over that blurry line of ‘just friends’.

“We shouldn’t.” Enjin grumbles, obviously fighting the voices in his head as he tries to ignore the blood flowing through his veins. The only voice of reason, as always.

You’re in no mood to talk, hungry for another taste of him as you move your hands to his face, fingertips sliding behind the pink tips of his ears as warm palms graze his stubble. The gentle tips of your fingers stroke the base of his neck as Enjin feels all of his resolve start to crumble the moment you bring him in again.

“Enjin,” You whine against his lips as his warm breath fans your face. He smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne, the scent suffocating and intoxicating at the same time as your half-lidded eyes stare back at him.

“Don’t,” Enjin groaned against your mouth, and yet he made no attempt to pull back, “If you do that I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Who said I’ll want you to stop?” You replied simply, the taste of your chapstick now smeared against his lips as his tongue poked out to taste it. His nostrils flaring as he felt his entire body react to the implication of your words.

“Fuck it,” He grunts, tugging at your thigh as he pulls you over the center console. His grip firm on you as he positions you on his lap, perched on muscular thighs as you settle just before the semi-hard bulge beneath his pants. Slender fingers stroke along your back as he rests his forehead to yours, silently waiting for you to make your move. To push him away and tell him that you’re just friends; that you shouldn’t do this. But you don’t.

It’s carnal, the way you both paw at each other. Desperate to remove every barrier that stands between you both. Enjin’s long arms knock the top of the van as he tugs his shirt up and over his head, impatiently waiting for him to pull it high enough so you can reattach your lips to his. He’s like a drug you’ve become addicted to, desperate for another dose as your mouths clash together in a duel of tongues and teeth.

His fingers tug at the hem of your shirt roughly to remove it, swallowing the pathetic whine you make against his lips as you pull away for him to discard it. Leaning forward with more urgency as you kiss him again, tongue swiping against his top incisors as he palms your breasts through the simple black bra. The nights he’d spent awake fucking his fist to the thought of you would never compare to this, not in any lifetime.

Enjin pulls away from your bruised lips as you follow him forward, trying to reconnect them as he nudges your nose with his gently. Half-lidded eyes watch with amusement as he begins to pepper kisses along your jawline, following the curve down to the column of your throat as he begins to bite and suck at your pulse point. Another pitiful whine vibrates in your throat as you wrap your arms around his neck, caging his head between your forearms as you thread your fingers through his messy hair. Your clothed breasts practically in his face now as he ventures lower, pressing a kiss against your sternum as he nuzzles at your soft mounds gently, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

Gravity has your tits bouncing into position as he gently pulls the cups away, revealing your chest to his hungry gaze. It’s his turn to sound desperate now as he groans, low and guttural in his chest as he commits the sight to memory. Certain that if all else fails he’ll have this memory carved into his consciousness for the rest of his existence.

“God, you’re perfect.” He rasps, reaching out tentively to cup your warm tits as he thumbs your nipples, watching them pebble in the cool evening air as you throw your head back in pleasure, “What the fuck are you doin’ with a lowly janitor like me?”

You don’t get a second to answer before Enjin is leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his warm, wet mouth. His tongue swirls around your areola as he pinches and toys with the other, growling against your skin as your nails drag against his scalp in response.

“Fuck, Enjin.” You moan, rolling your hips as you feel the tent in his pants beneath you. His hard cock desperate to be released as your cunt throbs at the thought, eager to feel him after all this time.

“Don’t say my name like that, baby.” He groans, resting his cheek against your breast as he blows cool air against your spit-soaked nipple, “You’ll have me creaming my pants.”

“Enjin,” You ignore his plea as you roll your hips against him again, giving your clit more friction as you focus on the sensation.

“Fuck, you brat.” He grunts, gripping your hips in his palms roughly to stop you repeating the motion again. Positive that if you were to roll your heat against him one more time he would come undone.

“Want you so bad, Enjin. Please.” You choke, reaching between your bodies to paw at his belt. Your fingers toy with the worn leather as he takes pity on you enough to help, slender fingers brush yours away as he unbuckles it, tugging them down with his underwear just enough to free his aching cock.

It’s better than you expected, and your belly swirls with anticipation at the sight of him. What he lacks in girth he makes up for in length, the leaky cock head settles against his abdomen. Pre matts the messy blond hairs that follow a trail up to his bellybutton as the tip burns a fiery red. Swollen, angry and desperate for release as you wrap a palm around him. Making his hips buck wildly as you give a tentative stroke, catching the pre beading at the tip against your palm as you roll your wrist. Holding him straight as you look down between your bodies, watching where his length ends in comparison with your torso as you wonder if he’ll be so deep he’ll cum inside your guts.

Enjin becomes more restless now, impatient, as he bunches your skirt up around your hips. Groaning at the very evident wet patch that gleams against your panties as he presses a calloused finger against it, your eyes roll back into your skull as you feel him graze your clit.

“Oh, baby.” He hisses when your hand tightens around his girth, almost forgetting everything as you focus on the sensation of his fingers toying with you through the thin fabric, “Watch the nails.”

“S-ah, sorry,” You pant, loosening your grip as you follow the forking veins along him with the tips of your fingers.

“Gonna eat this sweet little pussy later, I promise.” He grunts, tugging your panties to the side as he watches your slick cling to the fabric, breaking off into silvery lines as he runs two fingers through your messy folds.

“Fuck, oh my god— Enjin,” Your hips rut pitifully at his touch. The sensation foreign but so satisfying as you seek it out again, whining as he circles the calloused pad of his index finger around your tight hole. Feeling the way it flutters around nothing as it tries to coax him in like a vindictive siren singing a final lullaby to a sailor.

Enjin breaches the gap and the sound that leaves your throat is downright debauched, causing his cock to jolt as he hooked his finger against your soft inner walls. It’s all too much, and simply not enough as you find yourself rolling your hips into his touch. Goading him to press his digit deeper as he feels just how wet and tight you are, certain that he’d never be able to replicate the feeling himself no matter how many Jinki he activated.

“You’re so pretty like this,” He murmurs, his thumb swipes your clit as he watches you try to ride his single finger.

“Enjin, don’t tease me,” You sigh breathlessly, wrapping your palm around his cock as it leaks fresh pre down the shaft. Drooling onto your fingers as you hold him upright, “I need you now.”

“I need to stretch you out, sweetheart.” He grunts, “I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“No, please Enjin,” You hover yourself over his length as you feel his leaky cock head graze your slit, “I want it to hurt.”

“Fuck,” His cock jumps at the lewd thought, wetting his lips with his tongue as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

“I’ve got a rubber,” He continues, wondering whether the one sat neatly inside his wallet is even in date. He neglects you to turn towards the back of the van to seek out his coat, “But I don’t know if it’s in date—”

“Don’t need it,” You tighten your fist around his cock, causing his head to fall back against the headrest, eyes roll back as you brush the tip of his cock through your sloppy folds, “Just pull out, okay?”

And Enjin thinks that’s easier said than done when he finally feels the warmth of your wet cunt engulf him. You’ve barely taken his engorged tip and the heat is already scorching, searing into him as he watches your face contort in pleasure. Trying his hardest not to use his grip on your hips to impale you on his cock in one fell swoop.

You’re slowly sinking down onto him now and you can feel every delicious inch as you take more and more of him inside. Your unprepped walls throb and ache as they adjust to the stretch, feeling every ridge contour to him as you give a few shallow thrusts.

You already feel impossibly full with half, your chest so tight as though you can feel him in your throat. His calloused thumb presses soft figure of eights to your puffy clit to distract you, and honestly to distract him too as it takes every ounce of willpower not to force you down on his throbbing cock.

“Wanna feel every inch of you.” You whine, bending your head to look between your bodies as you take more of him. Feeling the messy hairs at the base of his cock tickle your clit as you know you’re almost fully seated, positioning your hands on broad shoulders for some semblance of reality as Enjin feels your walls shudder around him.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you into the shape of my cock, sweetheart?” His words have your clit throbbing and your cunt convulsing as he grins. Neglecting your clit to hold onto the swell of your ass as he starts a savage pace, pulling you down onto his cock each time he ruts his hips up. Heavy balls slap against your ass with each movement, and you’re screaming obscenities.

Enjin’s never been more thankful that there’s no one around as he does nothing to quell your pretty sounds, instead he actively encourages them as he goads you on. Landing a harsh smack to your ass as he feels you clench around him.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” He coos, “You get yours—”

You’re practically using his body for your own pleasure as you roll your hips, his pubes tickle your clit with every forward motion as you cry out for him. Your hand splayed against the fogged window as the other buries sharp nails into his bare shoulder. Leaving red crescent-shaped moons in their wake as you grind against him, feeling the pleasure continuing to build in your abdomen.

There’s something sordid about watching you ride him, the subtle bounce of your tits as you roll your hips. Your thighs trembling as you struggle to maintain a steady pace, exerting all of your energy to try and pleasure yourself. A fact that really gets him off. Enjin takes pity on you, not leaving you to do all the work as he uses his grip to him you fuck yourself on his cock.

“God, look at you—“ Enjin sneers, though there’s no malice in it, “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He knows neither of you will last long, the pent up emotion shared between the two of you was unparalleled. So heightened that it was only a matter of time that it would reach boiling point and flood over. The fleeting glances and gentle touches not enough to quench the desire inside you both, as it left you craving more.

But he’s not going to concede to you so easily, slipping a black painted nail between your bodies as he thumbs your clit, pressing the palm of his hand against your pelvis so he can feel himself inside you. Watching the way your lashes flutter as you throw your head back in pleasure, your hand sliding against the fogged glass as your climax surges through you. Enjin keeps his thumb consistent against your clit we you lean back, throbbing around his cock as you ride out your bliss. There’s nothing but white hot pleasure blanketing your vision and making your brain fuzzy as you try to remember to breathe.

“God, you look so pretty when you cum.” He almost sighs, giving your clit a final sloppy circle before pulling away to hold your hips. Fingertips dip into your plush skin as he cherishes the way you pulse around him, giving himself a moment as he almost loses it too early. Terrified of finishing too soon and never having the chance to do this again—

His strengthens his grip on your hips, tilting your body back as he fucks you with renewed vigour. Selfishly seeking out his own climax as your back is pressed against the wheel, the horn blares in the background as you accidentally nudge it but neither of you seem to care. Your breasts bounce from the ferocity of his movements, his skin sticking to the worn leather seat every time his hips cant back but he still doesn’t stop.

“I’m gonna pull out, sweetheart.” He groans, lifting your body to reluctantly slip his cock from your warmth. Enjin knows if he doesn’t do it now, he never will. Perfectly content with fisting himself all over your skin.

“No, please don’t pull out, Enjin,” You clench around him, trying to keep him lodged inside you as your thighs tighten on either side of him, “Wanna feel you.”

“We can’t— I shouldn’t,” He presses, but there’s no real argument there. Not when your warm cunt coaxed him back in so eagerly, “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

“Just cum inside me.” You reply as though it’s the most simple answer in the world.

“Ah, shit.” He grunts, your saccharine tone the final straw as his hips spasm. Unable to control the pleasure burning in his pelvis as his balls seize. His grip on your hips almost painful, certain to leave bruises in their wake as he fucks into you with renewed vigour. Both of you focused on each other as Enjin gives a few more frantic pumps inside your warm, wet cunt before he meets his own end.

“Fuck— gonna cum, shit.” He grunts as he pumps rope after rope of spunk inside your trembling walls, painting them white. His hips jerkily fuck it into you with a few more sloppy thrusts as you feel the warmth of it engulf you, your chest heaves as you try to come down from your high.

You both settle in silence, the only sound is the falling debris just outside the cave as the storm continues to rage. And your steady breath breathing together in tandem as Enjin’s fingers stroke slow absentminded patterns against your exposed skin.

You make the most adorable whine as Enjin pulls you up off his softening cock, wincing at the wet feeling of his release now drooling onto his inner thighs and the floor of the van as he pulls your chest against his. Your arms weave around his shoulders as you bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him as you bask in the afterglow.

“I didn’t think you wanted me like that,” You mumble against his collarbone, voice barely a whisper as you toy with one of his earrings.

“What?” Enjin tilts his head back slightly, turning to the side to try and meet your gaze as you shyly hide away, warm palms stroking your back, “How could I not want you like that?”

“I guess it’s just been so long,” You continue, “I just started to think maybe you just thought I was a friend.”

“I never really thought I had to say it,” Enjin shrugged, “You’ve always just kinda been mine in my head. Even if you weren’t officially mine.”

“So you’ve never wanted anyone else?” You were terrified of his answer, worried about all the women out there that were definitely prettier than you, smarter, funnier.

“Sweetheart, there would only ever be one girl I’d wanna give a diamond ring to.” He grins, pressing a wet sloppy kiss to your cheek.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - VI

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence, divider by animatedglittergraphics

6. creature of the night

In the back of the yellow taxi driven by the faithful Chas, John makes a point not to touch you. You are so heartbroken by the events of the past half hour that it does not even register that Chas is driving you somewhere other than your mutual apartment building, until you pull up in front of a dilapidated storefront declaring “BOWL, BOW, BOWL” on the neon sign. 

“What…?”

“My friend Beeman’s place. Somewhere to lay low,” John explains, throwing open the door of the cab.  

“Thanks, Chas,” you say, because John never seems to find it necessary to do so. 

“Sure, y/n,” answers the young man. “Hey John–” 

John slams the door shut on Chas’s question. 

“You’re so mean to him,” you sigh.  

He only answers that with a snort, coughing to the side. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” 

He leads you through the doors, and up some stairs to a living space above the bowling alley. It is long, with high ceilings, white subway tiles, and crumbling lead paint on the paneling. A bank of windows stretches all down the wall. 

It’s an interesting space, but the windows could be a problem for you, come dawn. 

“There’s a big closet in the other room,” he assures you, like he can read your mind. 

He directs you into a chair at a long table, and all business, starts loosening his tie. 

“John…wait.” 

“You don’t have time to wait. You look like shit, and his blood will contaminate your ability to fight him.” He cocks his head, looking down at you. “Unless you don’t plan on fighting him? You looked pretty cozy when I found you.” 

A thread of heat dances down that connection between you, and you pause with surprise as you recognize it for what it is. Jealousy? After the way he’s avoided you? Is he fucking kidding right now? 

“You look like shit,” you counter, and you realize it’s true. His skin is sallow; there are dark circles under his eyes. He was always slender, but now he borders on too thin. You know he doesn’t take care of himself, but this is beyond the usual abuse. Was he not sleeping or eating because of you? You think on what Wick said to you. He doesn’t look good. I won’t have to wait long for you. What the fuck did that mean? “Are you ok?” you demand, standing to examine him more closely. 

“I’m fine,” he grouses, backing away. 

You don’t believe him, and the two of you stand in the kitchen facing off with each other, both pissed, though you suspect, for different reasons. 

Somehow you know if you keep pushing him, John will just refuse to talk to you at all, stubborn bull of a man that he is. So you change tack, appealing to the know-it-all in him. 

“What…is he?” 

“John Wick is a hybrid,” Constantine explains matter of factly. “Half human, half vampire. Your perfect predator. They have to drink vampire blood to stay alive, and they can live a long time.”

“He drank my blood,” you admit, touching the marks at your throat that still have not healed. Usually such an injury would have sealed over by now. “But then…he gave me some back.” 

Constantine snorts. “Yeah, I saw that.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“He said…I reminded him of someone he once knew.” 

“When you’ve lived as long as he has, probably everyone reminds you of someone,” John scoffs. 

“He slaughtered all of don Juan’s vampires, at Perla. Juan was going to hold me hostage to bait you. But then Wick came up the stairs, and…Jesus Christ. It was a massacre.” 

“Yeah. He does that.”

“Juan got away, and Wick…spared me.” 

“Spared you, huh? Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

Your annoyance spikes. “You know, for someone who has been avoiding me like the plague, you sure seem to care about who I kiss!”

“You can makeout with whoever you want, sweetheart, I couldn’t care less. But what the hell were you doing at Perla?” 

His tone suggests he might feel otherwise.

“Hunting.” 

“At the Master’s own club? Are you kidding me?”   

For a moment you are taken aback, and then you really see red. “I didn’t know it was the Master’s club because you’ve never fucking told me anything, John!” Seething, you go on, “You didn’t have to fuck me. You didn’t have to feed me. But it would have been nice if you could have at least prepared me!”

In the end you are toe to toe, and points to John for not flinching while your eyes are flashing orange and your fangs are bared. 

“I tried,” he insists through his teeth, a lot more calmly than you. “But everytime I’m around you…”

You share blood and body fluids, is the short of it, and you know he’s not wrong.  

You let out a long breath, trying to calm down. The following inhale does not exactly help you; it’s all John, his yummy cologne and the scent of his skin and that beautiful essence coursing beneath it and jesus fucking christ no wonder he hates you. 

You retreat, turning your back on him, trying not to cry, trying not to yell, and trying not to tackle him to the floor to drink him down.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, and you mean it. “I didn’t know how to control it.” You think about that golden thread between you, and the way don Juan taunted you, and the name slung so freely by the vampire hunter like it was an insult. Maybe you have an inkling of why John’s been avoiding you like the plague. “What did I do to you, John?”

“I know you didn’t mean to.” 

He sounds as miserable as you feel. 

“Mean to what?”

“You made me your creature, y/n. Familiar, human servant, famulus, bonded, thrall, Renfield. You want all the names for it?” 

You turn to look at him, your heart breaking all over again. “I just…liked you, John.” 

More than liked him, apparently, but you’d rather die than admit it now. 

He nods, suddenly very interested in a stain on the wall, his jaw clenching. “I liked you too,” he admits. “But this is…not good.” 

You feel that light inside you, that warmth that is a part of him, somehow, a part of you. You tug on it, and he can’t help but look at you then. “It feels good?” you say.

“Yeah.” He takes a step closer towards you. “But if I was damned before…” Another step. “I’m really fucked now.” 

You shake your head, at such a loss. What kind of a God would forsake his children so freely, if not a complete sadist? Isn’t he supposed to be all love and forgiveness?

“We’re not bad people, John.” 

“I know. It doesn’t matter. There are rules.” 

“You know, you’ve never told me…why you think you’re going to Hell?”

“Because when I was a teenager, and driven to despair living in an institution because of the things God gave me the gift to see…I killed myself. I spent two minutes in the fiery pit before they brought me back, but it was enough. It’s…pure agony, y/n, and it lasts for an eternity.” 

Your lip quivers as the magnitude of what he’s telling you sinks in. Growing up, Heaven and Hell were such abstractions to you. Something you suspected your parents threatened you with just to get you to behave. But hearing him say it like this…you believe him. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, John. Can it be undone? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

Sadly, he just shakes his head. Does that mean it’s irreversible? With a heavy sigh he sits down in one of the kitchen chairs, pulling over his bottle of Ardbeg and splashing a couple fingers into a glass. He doesn’t offer you any–not that you’d want it, but still rude. You shouldn’t be surprised by now. “I admit I didn’t think you could even do it yet, you’re so new.” 

You think about the power the two of you called up, the last time you were together. You’ve always been fire together, even when you barely knew each other. Isn’t that worth something? How is that not something gifted by God, if indeed that motherfucker does exist?

“Are you ready now?” he asks, sounding resigned, pulling his collar aside again. 

You look away, because the sight of his bare throat affects you like a teenager with a PLAYBOY centerfold, making you flush all over. Jesus Christ, will you ever not want him so much? 

Even with your belly full of dhampir blood; his pulse calls to you with a siren’s song.

His heart beats for you, your deepest instincts whisper, even while your head knows it's all a wishful thought.

“I can find someone else, John. I’ve caused you so much trouble.” 

The sound he makes at the thought of you with someone else low in his throat is nearly a growl–but then ends in a violent cough.

You take a step closer. “Are you sick? Do you have the flu or something?”

He actually laughs at that–then coughs some more. “No, I don’t have the flu.” 

“Then what?” 

The bitter curl of lips he offers you hurts your heart. “The irony is, I’d probably be dead by now if not for you.” 

“What?”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“I’m dying, y/n. I’ve got cancer.” He spits the last word, as though he finds it utterly absurd, like an insult God has personally bestowed upon him.

You feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you, a ringing in your ears like you were at ground zero of an explosion. Cancer? All the things this man has faced…and…he’s got fucking cancer? 

“How long have you known?” Your voice cracks with the effort to keep it all in.

“Not long.” 

“Prognosis?” you ask quietly, fearing the answer like the monster under the bed. 

“Not good.” When he sees your lip trembling he adds, “Please don’t fuss.” You don’t have much blood to spare, but you feel the sting of tears start to well in your eyes again. “And definitely don’t cry. Come on, y/n.” The admonition turns into a coughing fit. He turns his head, covering it with his sleeve. When he lowers his arm you see the stain of blood from his lips, and your heart hits rock bottom. 

“Oh my god. You should be in a hospital!” 

If you can sense so much, how did you miss this?

“Well…I’m kind of busy trying to save the world right now. Whatever Hell’s cooking up this time, it’s big. I can feel it. If I don’t stop it…nothing up here might matter anymore anyway.”

“Ok…what do we need to do?” 

He snorts. “We? Oh no. You’re staying out of it. I leave you unsupervised and you get tangled up with the Master of the City and the world’s most dangerous dhampir in one night?”

You clench your jaw, trying to hold it in. Your despair, and your frustration, because for someone so smart this man sure can be a fucking idiot. 

“John, you should be in treatment!”

He shrugs, paying you that rueful half smile that ties your heartstrings up in knots. It would be a full on grin for most people. You realize that he would fucking hate it if you started weeping all over him, but this form of expression of your grief for him is acceptable. This, he’s actually enjoying, the weird bastard. 

This man is going to be the death of you. 

You are on the verge of chewing him out when he tugs at that connection between you, and that golden coil inside you flares to life. You shudder, closing your eyes, hardly able to keep yourself from crawling into his lap. You’re trying not to be a horny mess in the middle of this serious discussion–and failing badly. 

“Feel that?” 

“What is it?” He has so much more experience with this metaphysical stuff than you. 

He chews on his answer for a long time, before finally admitting, “I’ve been doing some reading. I think…we’re bound.” 

“Bound how?” 

“Our life forces,” he tries to explain. “We can…feel each other. It’s how I found you tonight. I felt you calling me, I knew you were in trouble. And we make each other stronger. I think…you’re keeping me alive, for now, but I don’t know for how long. The cancer’s still getting worse, just…slower.” 

“You should have told me.” 

“I…didn’t know how,” he admits. Most people would have added, I’m sorry, but not John Constantine. 

You finally get up the courage to take another step closer, standing between his spread legs. You reach out to touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, the line of his dark hair around his ear. You should have noticed immediately that he was looking gaunt. His eyes close under your touch, a long sigh escaping him, and you sense how horrible it’s been for him to carry this burden all alone. Always so alone, your John, and mostly, by his own choice.  

“If you need money for chemo I’ll get it for you.” 

His lips twist with amusement at hearing that. “Yeah? You gonna rob a drug cartel for me, Miss Vigilante?” Such is the state of the American healthcare system, that such extremes might be necessary.

“That’s not a bad idea.” 

He laughs, then regrets it as the coughing takes over. “Jesus. I’m sorry,” you say, patting his shoulder.  

“This is why I can’t be around you,” he snarks deadpan. “I’ll lose a damn lung.” 

You sigh, unable to stop yourself from thinking about the woman you saw him with last night. 

“Does…Angela know?” 

He blinks at that. “No, why would she?”

“Isn’t she…your girlfriend?”

Again, he starts to laugh, then forces himself to be still, squeezing his eyes shut. “What? No, we just met.” His dark eyes are practically sparkling as he looks up at you now, unbearably smug. He thinks this is funny, and you are so not going to tell him you were ready to chew through the concrete of your apartment building after seeing them together. “She’s helping me with a case. Or I’m helping her. The demon half-breeds are up to something big. I think they’re after her.” 

“Oh.” You are the worst, because rather than sympathy for that poor woman, all you feel is relief. “I…that’s awful.” 

“Yeah. I warded her apartment while I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. If she stays put, she should be fine…in theory.” 

“Oh. That was…nice of you.”

You can tell John is fighting not to smirk at you. “Yeah, that's me.”

Annoyed by his cheek, you insist, “You like her though. I could tell.”

“She’s alright,” he answers, interested in a knot in the table suddenly.

“You want her. I guess I don’t blame you. She’s pretty cute.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“I’m dying, for one.”

“All humans are in the process of dying.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Just saying. Better not waste your time.” You're interested in the floor too, as you say this. The thought of him with another woman claws at your insides, but you try to handle it like an adult. 

“You trying to get rid of me now?”

“Did I ever have you?”

If you’d still had to breathe, you would have held your breath, waiting for his answer, yearning for some acknowledgement of what is between you. But he only shakes his head, at you or himself you’re not sure, pouring himself another drink.

Your heart sinks like a stone to the bottom of a cold, cold lake. 

“You trying to clear your dance card for John Wick?” 

“You mean Jardani?”

“Oh, Jardani?” he singsongs mockingly, fluttering his lashes. “No one’s called him that in this century.”

“Fine. Whatever his name is, the answer’s no. He scares the fuck out of me.” 

It’s mostly true, though maybe not for the right reasons. 

“You didn’t look too scared, in the alley together. You looked like you were going to eat each other.”

You kind of did exactly that, and you didn’t know it was possible to blush as a vampire, but goddammit there it is. Cherry red heat, blistering your cheeks and the tips of your ears. 

“I don’t have to take this from you,” you growl, turning to go, though where you have no idea. 

“Hey, wait.” He catches your hand in his, and you are reminded somehow of the last time you were together. You have the control not to throw him onto the floor this time, just looking at him from under your lashes. 

“I’ve been waiting, John,” you finally say, and there’s no accusation in it now. Just resignation. Because if what he says is true–you’ve got the time to wait, but he definitely doesn’t. It seems surreal, that he could actually be fatally ill.

He sighs, and you marvel at how much this man can convey with the expulsion of some air. Annoyance, and maybe even some regret.  “I warned you, when this whole thing started, that I’m not boyfriend material.”

Why does hearing him say that hurt so much? You feel the sting of tears again, but you don’t let them fall. “I never expected you to be my boyfriend, John.”

“Then what did you want from me?” 

He seems genuinely curious, maybe as confused about all this as you are, and looking down into his soulful dark eyes you realize you don’t actually have an answer. You have all these feelings for this man, all this emotion that feels like a goddamn electrical storm crackling inside you, and yet…what did you want from him? Chocolates? Flowers? Love poems? You fucking knew better than that. You weren’t going to date like a normal couple. You weren’t going to move in together or meet each other’s parents. “I don’t know,” you admit, sounding as surprised as you feel. “Just some acknowledgement, maybe, that I meant something to you. 

He lifts an eyebrow to that. “Okay. Consider it acknowledged.” 

Somehow, this doesn’t exactly satisfy you. Disgusted, more with yourself than him now, you try to retreat again, but he won’t let go of your hand. 

“I like you, y/n,” he says with emphasis, squeezing your palm like there’s something you’re supposed to be reading between the lines. “But I don’t have anything to offer you except a target on your back. I’ve brought you nothing but trouble.”

“Is that what you really think?”  

Does he hate himself so much?

“I know it, y/n.” 

You can’t help but think of the joy you’ve felt in his arms. The pleasure, and the triumph, and the utter elation. That is why you have chased him, you realize. Because in the fleeting moments in which you catch him–you feel like you’re on top of the world. No one else has ever come close to making you feel the way John Constantine does–and if you say any of this out loud you’re afraid he’ll roll his eyes and laugh at you. 

With his handsome face in your hand you lean down as though drawn by a string, hoping to show him how you feel instead. Can’t he feel it, through this connection between you? The way you adore him? You think you feel it start to glow, and if you can invoke that magic you shared before, then surely he’ll understand. Maybe he will value himself more, if he understands how precious he is to you. He watches your approach with parted lips, his eyes fixed on you. But at the last minute he turns his head, and you freeze with mortification for his rejection. 

“You’ve still got dhampir blood in your mouth,” he says quietly, not meeting your gaze. 

He’s not wrong, of course. You didn’t exactly have a chance to brush your fucking teeth–and maybe that is pretty gross. 

You disgust him. 

You are a bloodsucking creature of the night, and even if he’s dying inside, he’s a demon hunter to the bone. 

Why you ever thought he could love you, is anyone’s guess.

[puppetmaster13u]

Heeey Mutuals....

@hdgnj & @radiance1 I was thinkin about us makin a third thread if that's alright with y'all? (I feel so bad for the people who're trying to scroll through our blogs and just get walls of text lol) If not lemme know or just ignore lol. [For those Interested in wtf this is about, Part 1: HDNJ Reblog | RADIANCE Reblog & Part 2: Thread]

So hypothetically, kind of wanna return to closer to the beginning, of the two on the streets, haven't been exactly discovered yet. Not fully local cryptids either yet, but there's definitely been a shaky video or two of "shadow people" in some abandoned buildings. (Because let's be honest, someone is getting some sort of video that would be sent in to one of the youtube channels about ghost videos before the whole cryptid thing even started. Not to mention audio videos of the 3am noises)

But also, I realized something. They're experiencing food and such for the first time (for the most part, & Danny was used to ecto-contaminated literally living food) while on the streets. Do... would they have context for good food? Do they almost make themselves sick the first time they eat food? We know kryptonians can straight up eat bullets, and stuff other things definitely can't, but hypothetically they could still get food poisoning, right?

Match is partially taking cues from Danny when it comes to survival, or at least figuring out what they need. But like, Danny is also very much.... not a normal kid, even if he wasn't a 3 year old amazonian-alien clone. Like Fentons are wild, reincarnated or no, and Danny's sense of what's safe or edible or normal is slightly.... y e a h. Though who knows how much he can recall at once.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed gave Eve a small smile, tired but happy and appreciating the affection. Eve nibbling on his fingers was... unexpected, and a mildly strange sensation, so similar to what Clacks and her sisters did, but Eve's beak was much sharper, and Ed was distantly aware that he would be missing fingers by now if it were any other Owl.

"Alright, just... make sure you have what you need, too, okay?" he murmured.

Ed glanced back at the kitchen clock, keeping time for the tea, then turned to Jet. Considering how exhausted he was, and what he knew the pattern looked like... Ed wasn't going to be doing much for a few days, and that unfortunately included grocery shopping.

...On the other hand... the thought of asking anyone to navigate his dietary restrictions was daunting on a good day, even if he trusted Jet.

Today was decidedly not a good day.

And that wasn't to mention the fact that Beck was still new to this side of the screen...

"I..."

He needed groceries, especially with Tron and Yori staying over.

Going anywhere after what happened that day was daunting, even disregarding the fact that he did not have the spoons to go shopping.

Too much.

"I don't... I don't know," he stuttered out quietly. "Maybe in a little bit?"

Ed blinked up at Jet's blurry face as he approached, then cautiously reached for a his glasses once Sam was off of him managing to locate them by touch alone without accidentally hitting the plate.

He stared between Jet and the plate, struggling to process why anyone would make him... anything, if he was honest. Cooking--working with his hands to calm down--Ed could understand. Taking anger out on the vegetables, too. He could understand teaching Beck, too, but the thought of someone--even his brothers--cooking for him?

He gave Jet a small, awkward smile. "Thank you?" he all but whispered, his throat dry and voice raspy. Anything louder would probably still be too much.