#and just him being an oversized wolf who gives so many puppy eyes

[verlaines-corner-archive]

Death/Muerte sfw alphabet 

 -> Warnings: Muerte typical death mentions, suggestive content, probably ooc and I probably contradict myself at some point. There is slight angst in some of these, though nothing major. There is a singular radiohead reference in this.

 -> Notes: I fucking adore this wolf, so I figured this would be fun to do and it was! This is unedited, I’ll go over it again tomorrow. Also thank you to everyone who sent in requests, I plan to get started on them soon! 5.3k words.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

 -> Muerte is actually rather affectionate! 

 -> He’s not the best at affection at first, purely because he’s never really had to be affectionate. Being the embodiment of death hasn’t presented Muerte with many opportunities to be like so with another, and though he’s been alive long enough to have witnessed his fair share of love between others that’s all it is - love between other people. So he’s a little stuck at first, unsure of how to ask for affection or initiate it, but with enough patience he learns how. A quick learner, too.

 -> Once Muerte has his head properly wrapped around the concept - both the giving and receiving - he’s very sweet with it, and there are two main ways he shows his affection for you, those being physical touch and quality time.

 -> Physical touch is perhaps a little surprising but Muerte is quite fond of it! 

 -> When receiving physical affection Muerte actually really likes being pet. It is definitely his wolf instincts kicking in, but whenever you thread your hands through his fur or scratch behind his ears/rub his belly, he just kind of melts. Tail starts wagging, he gets this real big grin on his face, and in general his mood just lightens. Your touch is fairly comforting to him, in a way he never knew he needed or even wanted.

 -> When giving physical affection Muerte is big on nuzzling as a thing. Rubs his face against yours, or wherever he can really, and it’s often accompanied by little love bites and licks. Speaking of love bites, they're something that happen often and at random. Basically; oversized puppy.

 -> Now in regards to quality time, it’s very important to Muerte. Due to who he is he doesn’t have all too much time with you, so what little there is he wants to make the most of. This is usually done through sharing stories and experiences! 

 -> He has undoubtedly seen a lot, and he’s never really had anyone to share any of it with so it makes his day when you listen to him. He’s quick to find that he likes talking and though he remains a fan of comfortable silences he’ll never complain about conversing.

 -> Similarly he likes listening to what you have to say as well! You could be talking about anything and he would spend hours just listening. Always so invested in it too, giving you his full attention.

 -> Sidenote: his ears are very expressive when both talking and listening.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

 -> A friendship with Muerte is going to be a little tricky to get into, mainly because it’s kind of hard to meet death himself outside of, well, a near death experience. 

 -> Soooo this leaves three main options. You’re either immortal but not an arrogant asshole [so he has a reason to actually want to be your friend], you’re in a near death experience but due to circumstance he doesn’t actually take you, or you meet him in a bar, assuming he visits them outside of hunting down narcissistic animals [which is funny to imagine, can Muerte actually get drunk?].

 -> Now what draws Muerte to someone is hard to say, but I would wager a lack of fear towards him would be a good start. Even though you probably don’t know he’s death when you first meet him he’s still incredibly intimidating, from his stature to his eyes. It’s also in the way he holds himself, like he knows something you don’t, like something bad is going to happen. Seeing him is almost like a bad omen, so when you show little or no fear he is incredibly curious. 

 -> That curiosity leads to him visiting you often, and that leads to friendship. 

 -> Now I think Muerte as a best friend is a little distant but someone you can count on. He’s the kind of friend who you can trust to have your back and - when possible - be there for you but will never really open up to you, even after you’ve spilt your guts to him.

 -> He’s charming, laid back and calm, yet confident in a subtle way, and once you get past his unnerving demeanour he’s very easy to get along with. But despite that he doesn’t reveal much about himself, keeping things close to his chest and seldom does he express much outside of annoyance or joy. Things such as sadness [which for him often materialises as a heavy melancholy] aren’t often seen and whenever you do see them he’s quick to leave.

 -> I think the main thing keeping him back from getting close to you in a friendship is the nature of who he is. Muerte is a little worried about getting close to you, creating a genuine emotional bond and then telling you who he is, only for you to leave in fear and for the connection to break. 

 -> It’s only after he’s told you that he’s death and you still accept him does he get closer as a friend and subsequently start falling in love with you. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

 -> Ohhhh Muerte loves cuddling! 

 -> Now I can’t really elaborate on the why of it, it just seems like something he’d enjoy. Maybe it’s the fact that he can hold and touch another without receiving fear or hate - that he can do it without having to guide another soul to rest, or maybe it’s the fact that you just fit so nicely in his arms, it’s hard to say. 

 -> If you were to ask Muerte why he likes cuddling he’d probably make some quip about how it’s because you’re “so small and cute” [even if you’re neither of those things], so why wouldn’t he like holding you? 

 -> The comment itself is a little unsettling, making you feel like he’s sizing you up to devour you or something, but don’t worry about it. You are incredibly safe in his arms and he’s really just taking the opportunity to tease you.

 -> In regards to the cuddling position I think Muerte is a fan of spooning! It’s definitely the easiest for you both considering his size, though he likes when you face him during it. A part of this is because a lot of conversations happen during cuddling and Muerte finds them most enjoyable face to face, where he can watch your expressions and reactions to things. Facing him also means you’re able to give him affection easier, not that he’d ever ask for that, of course. 

 -> I think Muerte also doesn’t mind being the little spoon, though it’s really just him burying his face in your chest/stomach and letting you hold him like that. His tail is definitely wagging, though if you bring it up he’ll give you a little warning bite and half hearted growl.

 -> Big spoon or little spoon doesn’t matter though, Muerte will croon for you.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

 -> Muerte cannot settle down with you. Due to his job as death he is unable to, because it is so constant and though he can seemingly teleport it can lead to him being gone for days, or weeks, or on the rare occasions even months. It’s not that he doesn't want to, but there is no real opportunity to.

 -> While Muerte cannot settle down he can leave bits of himself around your house and as a result it’s going to feel lived in by him. Spare ponchos hang in your warbroad, desks and shelves are littered with old books and scrolls, weapons are displayed along your walls, and your old storeroom has been turned into a makeshift workshop of sorts. Not to mention all the things he brings home for you specifically, ranging from flowers to letters to small knick knacks and trinkets. To everyone else your house is bound to feel uneasy, carrying a cold stale air to it, but to you it’s a sign that your lover cares enough to always return. 

 -> Which is all it is really; somewhere he returns to. Your home could never be Muerte’s, not really, but it can be his sanctuary and for as long as you let him he will always find his way back to it.

 -> Now in regards to cooking and cleaning, I’d say Muerte is okay at it? Nothing special, but also nothing atrocious either. I think the main problem is that he just kind of never has to do either. If he eats it’s not because he needs to, and he’s never really stuck around a place long enough to need to keep it clean, at least not consistently.

 -> With that being said however, now he has a reason to do both! Now once again he can’t do either consistently due to his job, but when he’s actually there he’ll help out while he can. Or not, I won’t pretend to know. I’m sorry, but picturing him in front of a stove is fucking hilarious. Imagine that absolute monster of a wolf holding a broom.

 -> Though, one thing I can say for certain is that Muerte enjoys bathing with you!

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

 -> He wouldn’t <3

 -> No but genuinely, Muerte is not going to break up with you. From my understanding wolves tend to mate for life and even beyond that I don’t see him as the type to fall out of love.

 -> Getting Muerte to fall in love with you is near impossible, but once he has the feelings just never go away. Especially in your lifetime. Assuming you’re not immortal, your lifespan is so miniscule compared to his own that it’s not even nearly long enough for him to even consider losing such feelings for you.

 -> Now if, for whatever reason, Muerte does break up with you I think he’s polite about it. He finds no joy in seeing you cry at all, but his comfort is also very formal and impersonal. Though he respects you he doesn’t care for you anymore and during a breakup Muerte is very matter of fact, straight to the point, and refuses to sugar coat any of it.

 -> It’s simple, he’s sorry but he doesn’t love you anymore. Does he wish you well? Certainly, and he hopes there’s no bad blood between the two of you when you inevitably meet again.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

 -> Muerte is a very committed lover, he doesn’t get into a relationship if he doesn’t plan for it to last. 

 -> With that being said though I don’t see marriage as being something important to Muerte. He kind of understands the appeal, but to him it’s idiotic. A ring and piece of paper should have no say over your relationship with him. 

 -> I do think Muerte would get you something to signify your bond with him though. It’d be a piece of jewellery - possibly a broach, something easy to keep on your person, and though it’s no real proposal or church it carries the same weight to it. A confession of his love for you, a promise to remain by your side for as long as you’ll let him.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

 -> Is gentleness natural to Muerte? I think this is both a yes and no.

 -> Muerte is death itself, and this is something that can be both gentle and harsh. To some it is solace, it is peaceful and calm, while to others it’s harsh and cruel, unjustified.

 -> What we see with Puss is completely natural; Muerte enjoys a chase, he enjoys fear and borders on being sadistic. But it would also be just as in character to say that Muerte is gentle with souls undeserving of their fate, that he would comfort wounded animals as they die and let kids pet his fur so they’re no longer scared.

 -> Now I know that this question is in regards to him with a lover, but I do think it’s worth going over that he is very much both naturally depending on what’s needed. Neither is a facade or fake.

 -> So, to get to what we’re actually here for yeah, Muerte is a fairly gentle lover! You have given him no reason to be otherwise, and though he enjoys some fear [even from you] it’s in no way malicious. His fear comes as a warning to appreciate what you have, and any other moments of roughness are all rare. 

 -> I think Muerte has an easier time being gentle emotionally as opposed to physically, mainly because I believe him to be someone incredibly in tune with his own emotions. I think his natural disposition is a lot calmer than what we see with Puss and he’s most likely a very wise individual. Due to this it won’t be long before he’s in tune with your emotions as well and it leads to a fairly gentle and calm dynamic. Like “old married lovers” kind of gentle.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?

 -> Muerte definitely likes hugs, but I think there are just other forms of affection he prefers over them. 

 -> The main thing Muerte likes about hugs is how protective they are. He completely smothers you in his arms and it always leads to him feeling like he’s keeping you safe. But even that isn’t unique to just hugging and he often feels that way during cuddling. So it leads to hugs, while being something pleasant, not being something that’s done all too often.

 -> Muere mainly reserves them for when he’s greeting you, especially if he’s been gone for a while. In those cases they’re are tight, secure, and can last for a minute or so, though that depends on how long he was gone for.

 -> There is one problem with Muerte’s hugs though, that being that he tends to lean into you and subsequently put his weight on you. Make sure you have good footing before hugging him, just for your own sake.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

 -> Hmmm, hard to say. Not too quickly, but he certainly knows he loves you when he gets with you. 

 -> I think Muerte might be a little hesitant to say he loves you in all honesty, mainly because it’s so surprising to him that he actually feels this way. I don’t think he ever considered himself capable of love. Sure, he knows he’s not incapable of things such as sympathy or affection for another, but actual love - romantic love? That’s a whole different ball game.

 -> Muerte has a very theoretical understanding of love. He knows why people feel it, he knows the importance of it - the importance of why he should tell you how he feels - but when it comes to the actual doing and feeling he’s lost.

 -> And that leads to him feeling small, in a very weird way. This is outside of his knowledge, outside of his comfort zone, and it leads to fear. Fear of admitting that he cares, fear of losing you, fear of making a fool of himself. Muerte is prideful, and though that’s not something that gets in the way of your relationship all too often, when it first comes to an admittance of love it leaves him frozen.

 -> Muerte will bite the bullet and say it though, and all things considered fairly quickly too. Say, maybe three/four months into the relationship. It’s a little awkward on his part, but he still looks you in the eyes and says it with his full chest. There’s no doubt in his mind that this is what he feels for you.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

 -> Not at all! Muerte holds you with full respect and never once doubts your loyalty to him. If you gave him reason to doubt it he wouldn’t stick around.

 -> While Muerte is indeed somewhat possessive he knows you’re his, and that he’s yours too, so that never leads to jealousy. If you like the whole jealous lover schtick he can certainly play it for you, but it’s just not something natural to him. 

 -> On the very rare occasion that Muerte gets jealous he gets quiet. He’s already an observer but it increases tenfold here, eyes like daggers as he watches whoever is stealing both your attention and time. Muerte has enough sense and control to never get angry at you when jealous, but he does get more possessive, pulling you into his side and once you both get home he’s not letting you out of his arms for the rest of the night. Make with that what you will.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

 -> Muerte’s kisses, much like everyone else's, vary. In general they’re gentle yet passionate and are often drawn out. He tends to like taking his time kissing you, and they only ever become rushed and aggressive if things are getting heated or he hasn't seen you for a while.

 -> Even make outs with Muerte tend to be somewhat gentle, but this is partially because kissing him is a little difficult, especially if you’re human. He has lips and he can kiss you, but anything heated can be a little tricky to do with that mouth of his. Honestly his kisses are more tongue and fang at times.

 -> Now Muerte doesn’t really have a favourite place to kiss you, but if he had to choose he’d say your neck! This is heavily trust based, but he also likes the fact that he’s able to feel your pulse under his lips. 

 -> In regards to receiving kisses, please kiss his nose. He’ll accept them anywhere, but his nose and forehead are weak spots for him. Always results in a little happy growl of sorts.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

 -> Oof, he likes kids but kids do not like him.

 -> I think children give Muerte a sense of peace. They are good, for the most part kind, and though they don’t really understand the world they tend to appreciate what they have. I think he finds their wonder in the world to just be very refreshing, if that makes sense.

 -> Kids don’t like him for obvious reasons, those being his general demeanour and appearance. Though, there are always a few that approach him. Mainly with the intent to pet him, or in some cases tell him that he “looks cool” [or very bluntly tell him that he’s scary, which always makes him laugh a little]. 

 -> Now despite his fondness for kids Muerte doesn’t want any. He’s already placing his heart on the line by being with you and he knows that he’ll have to take you some day. But outliving his own kids, having to bury them? No, no. He won’t do it. Muerte understands that it may be selfish of him to so adamantly refuse the idea, but it’s a weight he would much rather be without.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

 -> Assuming you wake up with him and he doesn’t have anywhere to be, mornings with Muerte can be rather lazy. If he doesn’t have to get up and leave the warmth of your bed he simply will not, unless you were to blackmail him out with food or something of that ilk. Which isn’t guaranteed to work mind you, and that’s assuming he lets you get out of his arms in the first place.

 -> Which he won’t. Mornings with him are cuddly, in the sense that you are trapped and cannot escape. Seriously, unless you’re a fucking powerhouse or incredibly small you are not worming out of his embrace. So sorry </3

 -> Hehe morning sex hehe

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

 -> Nights with Muerte are bound to be very calm. He tends to spend a lot of them out working, but when he has free time Muerte likes to take you places! Usually places with a nice view and that are away from people, though sometimes he likes to just sit in the corner of a pub with you and watch everyone go about their night.

 -> Muerte is also a big fan of nights spent at home with you, simply coexisting. With him caring for his weapons as you get ready for bed or so on, they’re awfully domestic.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

 -> Not slow, but not fast either. I think Muerte doesn’t go out of his way to reveal things unless they’re of importance, instead everything is revealed naturally through conversations. 

 -> The way he opens up is very calm in a sense, there’s never any spotlight placed on what he’s saying. It feels natural, it flows, and the mood never really changes. I think it’s comforting in a way, the casualness of it all highlighting just how much trust he has in you.

 -> There will always be an air of mystery to him though. He is only truly knowable through death after all, so when you die it’s like the last piece of a jigsaw falling into place.

 -> In regards to you opening up, Muerte is patient. There is no rush and he understands that some things are just hard to talk about. 

 -> There is also no judgement either, not with him. Muerte has seen just about everything there is to see, has witnessed the absolute worst of humanity. You are safe here, the scars on your hands will never drive him away.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

 -> Hmm, this is hard. He’s not easily angered, especially by you, but there are some things that get to him.

 -> In general I think Muerte is very patient. Even with someone like Puss, it took eight lives for Muerte to finally snap and go after him, and that’s after heavy disrespect and wastefulness. He is easily annoyed, but getting actual anger [especially anger he’ll act on] is hard.

 -> With you, whether as friend or lover, Muerte is simultaneously very patient and very easy to anger. 

 -> In general, once again, he’s patient. You’re in no rush to open up, arguments with Muerte are fairly rare as he prefers negotiating and actually discussing things, and he has an incredible understanding of humans, along with being very in tune with your emotions. Calm, with the patience of a saint.

 -> Unless you act recklessly that is. Unlike with Puss, Muerte cares about you and so every time you do something idiotic or place your life on the line [intentionally or not] he grows angry. It is anger built from worry and results in him scolding you. He grips your shoulders, bares his teeth, growls, anything that will make you realise that death is still something to be feared, something that should not be so recklessly rushed towards.

 -> Is Muerte easy to calm down? Depends on what exactly angered him, but for the most part he needs a little bit of time to himself. Not just to calm down, but to fully gather his thoughts - especially in the case of you being the source. Afterwards he just wants to hold you. Like I said before, your embrace is comforting to him.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

 -> Remembers everything.

 -> Muerte has an exceptional memory, so everything you tell him - whether in depth or in passing - will be kept tucked away in his mind. Honestly you don’t even have to tell him, his eye for detail is insane. He can read you off body language and expression alone.

 -> He’s the type of lover to know your order off by heart, the type that makes you feel seen and understood, to the point where it’s almost terrifying. The little details matter, and Muerte’s love lies in them.

 -> What makes it more heartwarming is that it’s not all natural either. Sure, his memory is fucking amazing, but he only knows you so well because he puts in the effort to listen and remember. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

R = Remember (What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

 -> Muerte has two responses to you asking this. The first is saying that he doesn’t have a favourite memory, because how could he possibly choose just one? And the second one is pretending that his favourite moment is something that is probably very embarrassing for you, like the time he saw you trip over your own feet or that one time he popped up beside you and you screamed so loud the neighbours were worried [yes he did laugh, broke out in a sort of giggle fit actually </3].

 -> In actuality his favourite memory is when he told you he was death itself. While that might seem like a weird one to favour it meant a lot to him, and still does. 

Muerte had very much gone into that confession expecting hate, for any fondness you had of him to vanish, and for the most part your initial reaction had been what he had expected: fear. The stench of anxiety had come off you in waves as you tried to process what he had said, because what could death want with you if not to collect your soul?

There had been a minute of painful silence, and it was only after the rational part of your brain had convinced you that if Muerte wanted you dead it would have happened already that you had spoken. 

Your voice, while slightly shaky, had been gentle, telling Muerte that despite who he was you still trusted him and hoped that your friendship would remain the same. You had accepted him, overcome your fear to be with him, so it’s no surprise that he holds that night so dearly in his memories. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

 -> Muerte is extremely protective when there’s an actual threat to your safety, whether caused by someone else or yourself [like I said in P].

 -> Muerte has no qualms in killing someone for your safety, and honestly depending on how badly you were hurt/they planned to hurt you he’s liable to just going fucking wild. We all know that he enjoys the hunt and that he has a sadistic streak, so there’s a fair chance he’ll give them a similar treatment to what he did Puss, except this time there will be no mercy at the end.

If you weren’t hurt too bad he’ll just scare them away and [probably] out of town.

 -> Outside of threats though Muerte is pretty lax, he has an incredible trust and respect in your abilities. The most he ever really does outside of danger is check over you when he gets home, and that’s only after he’s been gone for a while.

 -> Now in regards to protecting him, well, you really don’t have to worry about that. He’s a force of nature, unkillable, and seldom ever gets hit, let alone hit hard enough to draw blood. And there’s also no way you’re scarier than him, so there’s really not much you can do. 

 -> Though Muerte does think that any and all attempts at protection on your part are incredibly endearing. Likes the idea that you want to keep him safe.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

 -> Muerte is a romantic in his own way, so there’s always effort put into everything.

 -> In regards to dates and even anniversaries I think it’s a very subtle effort. You can notice it and certainly appreciate it but it’s not in your face. It’ll never be anything that will drop your jaw, never anything extravagant. Once again, it’s all in the finer details. 

 -> Dates in general tend to be quiet and are never really traditionally romantic. He’s not a fan of candle lit dinners or parties, rowboats aren’t his thing, and even picnics are a hit or miss for him. The best way to describe dates are as domestic, he prefers a more homely setting.

 -> As for gifts Muerte doesn’t like buying you things. He views bought gifts as somewhat lazy and lacking any real meaning, so everything he gives you tends to be handmade, or in the case that it is something store bought it’s very small and is less to impress and more because it made him think of you.

 -> One of the most notable gifts he’s given you is an old journal, filled with sketches and poetry. Now this may feel cheesily ooc, but when he’s out a lot of things end up making him think of you, from flowers [some of which end up dried and pressed], to scenery, to passages from books he finds in the houses of those recently deceased. So he writes them all down, or in the case of scenery sketches them down. 

 -> It’s sentimental and even Muerte will admit that it’s sappy, but he has several of them. All filled with things you would have liked but weren’t there to see.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

 -> Okay here’s a funny one, Muerte eats animals. Muerte doesn’t really like human food you see, he can eat it fine but just isn’t the biggest fan of most of it. So the times where he does want to eat he goes out and hunts animals. That itself is perfectly fine, but here’s the problem: he brings the bloody carcass into your house and just. eats it on the floor like a dog.

 -> And it’s gross. It stinks and there’s blood and fat everywhere and sometimes afterwards he wants to give you a kiss or licks your face and his breath smells and there’s blood and augh. The only upside is that beforehand he cuts you off a leg of whatever it is he’s killed so you have food to put away [a massive bonus during winter], and he always picks the game completely clean, leaving only bones that he’s quick to dispose of. But yeah it’s just not pleasant. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

 -> Not very for the most part!

 -> Muerte, much like everyone, wants to look presentable, and with all that fur he has to put in extra work to make sure it looks and feels nice. 

 -> I do think he is vain in the sense that he likes looking his best even if he doesn’t have to, but he never puts in so much effort that it feels narcissistic or egotistical. More than anything Muerte just loves receiving compliments about his appearance from you. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

 -> Kind of?

 -> I don’t mean this in a heartless or cold way but Muerte doesn’t need you. He certainly wants you, but he has lived centuries without anyone. He is a person by himself, as much as death is capable of being its own being. You don’t make him complete, but rather allow him a way to be his true self, to show a tenderness usually [though not always] hidden.

 -> However Muerte would feel very lonely without you. His feelings for you will never really go away and though he certainly comes to peace with your leaving he will always carry a bit of you with him. Even after Muerte has lived another 30 lives of men he will still find something that makes him think of you, if only for a moment. A sort of nostalgia that never goes away.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

 -> I actually have two! 

 -> The first being that Muerte knows how to sew and often patches up his own poncho or any other articles of clothing he has. He doesn’t particularly like sewing, but when he has to or is simply bored he’s surprisingly good at it!

 -> The second one is that Muerte likes gardening. His appreciation for life is immense and on more than one occasion has led to him planting a few seeds and, when possible, tending to them. Muerte mainly plants trees and flowers and is almost embarrassingly happy when they start sprouting.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

 -> There are two main things that Muerte detests in people: a lack of appreciation for life and cruelty. 

 -> The former is very self explanatory. Muerte, more than anyone, knows the value of a life, how precious such a thing is, and so when people treat such a thing as worthless or disregard it entirely it makes his blood boil.

 -> The latter ties in with the former too. Having witnessed countless tragedy after tragedy Muerte is very much aware of how horrid life can be, how painful and unjust it is. So when people actively harm and step on others he - much like before - grows angry, because has there not been enough cruelty already?

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

 -> Muerte doesn’t really need to sleep. It’s not essential for him at all and though he can grow fatigued he only really sleeps to keep his mind sharp, and that’s only after months of being awake.

 -> Now despite the fact that Muerte doesn’t need to he certainly loves sleeping beside you. Sleeping is a way to kill time for him, and so if he can do that while being warm, comfortable, and with you? Sign him up. But as stated in M please do not expect him to let you get up easily, he absolutely will not.

 -> As for habits he doesn’t really have many. The main ones are that he holds things in his sleep and oftentimes curls in on himself during it, and if he’s extremely comfortable he may croon as well.

Taglist: @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this​ | Want to join the taglist? Send in an ask and I’ll add you!

[ofknowlcdge]

Werewolf Steve being an oversized cuddle bug, just laying on top of you because he can and it's comfy and your warm so why shouldn't he be snuggling into you

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Prey for You

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: You have a thing for prey hybrids. You admit. The way they tremble under you while simultaneously baring their neck for you gets you off. It's not your fault Chan's friend group has so many pretty little boys that you're constantly running south of him. You see, the wolf hybrid doesn’t very much appreciate you preying on his friends.  Warnings: switch!reader, switch!chan, wolf!hybrid chan, fox!hybrid reader, chan has a big dick, size kink, too much dirty talk, power dynamics, degradation, messy dirty sex so don’t @me 

Edit: I’m so dumb I forgot to mention that Chan’s character in this is inspired by @skzctnightnight​‘s Prowl so go read it because the smut is even hotter in it and there is a complex, intriguing storyline to boot uwu

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Part 5, Part 6

Credit to the gif that started my chan obsession 

“You’re really pretty.” You drawl, brushing your hand over the flushed face of the squirrel hybrid you have pinned against the door, the party in full swing just outside. “You know that?”

He opens his mouth to say something but all that comes out is a whimper as you press your knee between his legs, rubbing your thigh against his hard length. Poor boy doesn’t know what to do with himself. He is simultaneously terrified and turned on. The predatory way you were looking at him triggering his flight response, but the seductive purr to your voice and his precarious position make it hard to think of anything other than you.  

And that’s exactly how you like them--scared, pretty boys who are so horny they ignore their instincts. They like it too, if the fact that they always come back for more is anything to go by. Danger just tastes so sweet.

You’re so high off the delicious smell of Jisung that you don’t realize he is there until he’s banging on the bedroom door. “Open the fuck up, fox.”

You pounce on Jisung, ignoring the banging on the door and kissing him. You’ll be damned if you let that meddling wolf ruin yet another hookup for you. But the low growl rumbling deep in your throat tips the scales too much, and the squirrel hybrid cowers back, his fear overtaking his hunger now, and you know you’ve lost him.

“If you don’t open up, I’ll break this fucking door.”

Huffing through your nose, you step away and yank the door open to face the infuriating newcomer. “What do you want?”

He quickly pulls Jisung to his side. “I thought I told you to stay away from my friends.”

“And I thought I told you to lighten up and stop cockblocking me.” You spit, turning to smirk at Jisung. “I just wanted a little taste.”

Chan pushes him further behind him, and growls at you, the sound much deeper and more menacing than your own and you have to stop yourself from taking a step back. “You will not come near my friends again or I’ll make you regret it.”

You roll your eyes at that. “What will you do to me, give me a stern talking to? You’re all bark and no bite.”

The glare he pins you with makes goosebumps erupt all over your body, his lips drawn back to bare his sharp canines threateningly, and for a second, you think he might actually attack you. But then he closes his eyes and lets the anger blow out of him in a forceful sigh. He turns his back to you and shuffles Jisung out of the room.

“Typical.” You mutter sourly. Of course he’d back down, that’s what he always does, and it pisses you off more than it had any right to. “You’re a disgrace to predator hybrids everywhere.”

That gets a reaction out of him.

Chan slams the door behind Jisung and whips around towards you, eyes glowing red. “I’ve had just about enough of your shit, little fox.”

You pause for a second, frozen with fear as his figure looms above you, all his anger returning with full force. But as you’ve been told before, your curiosity will be the death of you, and you can’t help but want to see if you push him a little more, will he let you or will he finally retaliate?

So you go against every survival instinct you hold in your body and wrap your arms around the neck of the wolf who was regarding you with fury, and the action is so unexpected that it makes him falter.

“You should make it up to me, you know?” You purr, pulling him closer to you, even though your heart is beating like crazy in your chest. It takes him by surprise too, and his eyes widen from their glare. "What are you doing?"

"You keep taking away all my boy toys so I think it’s only fair that you be a good pup and fill up the void you’ve created." You lean up, kissing his lips. He goes rigid against you, and you wonder if the moment has finally come when someone puts you in your place. Well, it was worth a shot.

But just as you’re about to let your panic overwhelm you, Chan returns the kiss, his hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you to his body as he deeps the kiss. The hard muscles you feel against you steal your breath. He could snap you in half if he wanted to, but that only makes you want to test him more.

You pull at his shirt pointedly and he steps back and lifts his arms up, letting you slip the shirt off him. He was as ripped as he felt, and the knowledge fills you up to the brim with the urge to subjugate him, to make this powerful wolf kneel for you.

You push him to the bed and climb over him, sitting down over his growing erection and rocking your hips over it, making him groan lowly. “Are you going to be a good puppy for me, Channie?”

He frowns at your words, but gets easily distracted when you take your top off, his gaze getting glued to your chest.

“You like this, baby?” You smirk, cupping your bra-covered breasts. “Want to see more?”

He nods eagerly, his hands coming up towards your chest, but you slap them down. “No, bad dog!”

He reels back like a kicked puppy, confused on what he did wrong, so you elaborate. “That’s not how we ask for something, baby.”

Annoyance covers his face again and in a split second he flips the both of you over so he’s now on top. "I'm not a fucking pet."

You cup his cheek gently, "No? From the way you act, one would think that you’re practically begging for someone to collar you up and make you their obedient little puppy."

He starts growling again, baring his teeth at you, but you don’t back down, wrapping both your hands around his thick neck, mimicking a collar. “I can be your master, Channie. You just need to be good for me.”

You can feel the raw power coiled in the muscles under your fingertips, just ready to spring and tear you apart. He could overpower you if he wanted, but this isn’t a battle of physical strength. You know it. He knows it. And he stays.

"Good boy."

He shudders at the praise, liking it a bit too much for someone who just threw a fuss about being treated like a pet. "Of course you like that. You're just an oversized lap dog, aren’t you?"

“You’re pushing it.” He snarls, pulling back to yank your bra off, not even bothering to unhook it first. He doesn’t stop for a second as your pants go next, followed by your panties. You can feel his strength as he tears your clothes off your body but you just find his frustration amusing. He hates this but he can’t stop. It’s different from your normal dynamic with boys, he’s motivated by anger rather than fear, but the end result is the same. 

When he goes to bury his face in your pussy, you grab him by the hair and pull him back. "No."

He stops resisting at once, looking absolutely dejected at the denial. You fake a sympathetic look. "What's wrong, pup? You want it?” You spread your legs and move a hand over your pussy, playing with it a little, teasing him. You’re so turned on that you don’t have to fake the gasp that slips out of you when your fingers touch your clit, and he responds with a low whine coming from the back of his throat. "Use your words, puppy."

"I want it."

"Then strip for me, baby."

He obeys, quickly kicking his pants and boxers down and confidently displaying himself to you, making you scoff. "Of course you're big."

That takes him aback. "That's bad?" He unconsciously pouts, obviously not anticipating the disdain in your voice. He was probably always praised for being so well-endowed.

"It's like everything else on you, just for show. I bet you don't know how to use it and you'll just impale me with it. No thanks." You try to push him away, but pushes you back down.

"Scared of my cock, little fox?" He mocks, hands nudging your knees apart. "I thought you were gonna own me."

"I'm not fucking scared." You seethe, “I just don’t want you to waste my time more than you already have.”

"You play too much, foxy.” He drawls, and you watch warily as he brings two of his fingers to his mouth to wet them before he slips them between your legs. “You wanted me. Now you're going to get me." He says before unceremoniously pushing his fingers inside you.

"Shit, so tight." He pumps his fingers in and out of you, moaning at the feeling of your walls hugging his fingers tightly.  "Gonna fuck this sweet little pussy wide open, baby."

You couldn’t bear hearing him talking so condescendingly to you. You were supposed to be the one in control here, not the spineless wolf who seemed to grow enough balls to fight back all of a sudden.

"If you're going to be so vulgar, I know a better use for your dirty tongue." You sneer, pushing his head down your body. He goes along easily, his plush lips caressing your skin on the way down, his kisses getting wetter along the way until his mouth meets your pussy in a messy, open-mouthed kiss.

You can't even fight back the moans he elicits from you. He is really good with his mouth and his fingers fill you up just right that you feel yourself slipping. You need to turn this in your favor.

“Good boy.” You breathe, attempting to make it seem like you were still in control of yourself and not falling apart on his fingers and mouth. "Finally something you can do right."

Seeing through your weak attempt--and perhaps in retaliation-- he bites down on the inside of your thigh, his sharp canines almost breaking the skin. But an even sharper sensation quickly diverts your attention as he pushes a third finger inside you. You cry out, nails digging into his scalp as you pull on his hair in pain, but it doesn't phase him. He's determined to work you open with his fingers, his mouth going back on you to take some of the edge away, having the time of his life if his wet, muffled moans against your pussy are anything to go by.

And when the slide of his fingers gets a little dry, he pulls his fingers out and puts them in his mouth, getting them wet again, his eyes meeting your half-lidded ones as he makes a show of lathering his fingers with his saliva, moaning hungrily at the taste of you, before he plunges his fingers back inside you. He does this a few times, each time making you feel both relief and frustration--relief that his fingers are giving your poor pussy a break and frustration that he’s taking his sinful mouth away from you. But with every time, it gets easier and easier to take his fingers again. Until, the fourth time he does it, your hand clasps around his wrist, keeping it in place as you whine and fuck yourself on his fingers.

"Fuck." He breathes out, climbing back up your body to latch his mouth on your neck, and growling lowly. "Getting needy, little fox?"

You groan, yanking on his hair harshly and ripping his mouth away from your neck. "I wouldn't be like this if you weren't sabotaging every chance I get at a fuck."

"Oh, it's gonna get much worse for you, baby. I'm going to stretch this pretty pussy out with my big, fat cock, until I ruin you for all your pretty boys." The audacity of this guy.

“You’re so fucking full of yourself. If you think that you can dom me with your dumb cock then you’re--” You cut yourself off, face paling as he pulls his fingers out and presses the blunt head of his cock against your opening. He looks at you expectantly, eye-brow raised as he waits for you to continue your rant, but you bite down on your tongue, refusing to give him what he wants.

“What’s wrong, foxy? Got nothing more to say about me and my dumb cock?” He grins, easing his dick inside you, stretching you even more than his fingers did. “Don’t you wanna tell me more about how unaffected you are by all of this?”

You glare at him, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades, drawing blood, yet the grin on his face never falters. When he’s halfway inside you, you can’t keep quiet anymore. “Fuck… you’re going to split me open.” You grit out and his hips jerk a little, pushing more of him inside you suddenly. A scream escapes you before you bite down on your lips. “Fucking mutt! Can’t you control yourself?”

“How can I when you’re so sweet to me?” He bites at you, voice getting rougher and breath getting heavier. He’s starting to lose control too. You realize that this is your chance to reclaim the upper hand. So you wrap your legs around his hips and, through gritted teeth, you steel your breath and pull him closer, pushing him the rest of the way inside you.

“Ah fuck!” Chan groans, face falling in the crook of your neck as you hold him up to the hilt inside of you, your walls clamping down on his dick, trying to push him outside. He tries to rock his hips into you but you hold him in place with your legs, making him quickly grow impatient. "Baby, let me move." He whines, mouthing at your breasts, sucking stinging kisses all over them as he lets out his frustration on your poor tits.

"No. You don't deserve it." You grit out, "You've been a bad dog."

To your surprise, he moans out at your words, bucking against you once again, the force of it allowing him to move inside you just a bit and you yelp, scratching at his back and biting onto his shoulders in response, but that only seems to make his hips rut against you more.

"You like that, don't you?” You hiss mockingly, “Are you getting off on me being mean to you, Channie?"

“You're such a fucking bitch." He barks, grabbing your thighs and splitting your legs open harshly, pinning them down on the bed so he could finally start fucking you.

“Shit---shit!” You squeak, the drag of his cock against your walls burning, and you find yourself clinging to him as tears prickle at your eyes. You try to hide your face in his chest, but he hears your little sniffles anyway, and his reaction isn’t what you expected--not the concerned tone of his voice as he cups your face and asks you if you’re okay, and not the hunger in his eyes that only seems to get darker at the sight of your tears.

It’s with a start that you finally realize the situation, and you can’t help but laugh despite your tears. "You dirty fucking dog. You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

It's your turn to grab his face and make him face you as he tries to look away. "Does hurting me turn you on, Channie? And here you were trying to act like a fucking savior."

"It's n-not like that." He shakes his head, yet his hips never stop moving.

"No? Dumb mutt can't even still his hips long enough to lie. Is this what secretly gets saint Chan's rocks off? Are you like this with your bitches or is this just for me, baby?"

He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes squeezed shut as he mumbles something that you don’t quite catch.

"Speak up dog." You slap him lightly, and his eyes gain back a little of their sharpness as he looks down at you.

"No. They can handle it. It's only you that is breaking on my cock." He grits, hips driving into you faster as he fucks you with his eyes as much as he fucks you with his dick that you weren't made to be on the receiving end of.

"So that's it then, you like knowing you're the biggest I've ever had?” You ask breathlessly, trying to hold onto your sanity as he takes you roughly. “You enjoy watching me struggle to even take you in?"

He stays quiet, but the sharp snap of his hips against yours gives you all the answer you need.

"Dirty mutt." You croon, tugging at his sweaty bangs so you can keep them away from his face so you can see his reaction to your words. "I bet you cum a lot too, would be absolutely dripping from my tight cunt."

"Oh, god, have mercy." He cries out, pace getting erratic as the combination of your filthy words and your tight pussy start getting to him.

"Who knew I didn't even have to fight you? All I had to do was let your filthy brain and your dirty cock work you up to this state. You really are just an animal after all." You bring his lips to yours, swallowing down his pathetic protests, the frantic grind of his member in and out of you suddenly feeling erotic now that the big wolf was a whimpering mess in your arms. Pulling back, your wet mouths still stringed together with saliva, you prompt, "Aren't you, baby?"

The breath hitches in his throat as you clench down on him, your sore pussy finally feeling the pleasure he's forcing on you, and it manifests with a vengeance, intense and dizzying. "Y-yeah."

"Tell me." You demand, kissing along his clenched jaw.

"I'm just an animal." He pants as you suck a bruise under his ear. "I love fucking your little pussy with my big cock. I love making you cry. I love you being mean to me. I love you treating me like a dog. I love it all."

"That's a good boy." You praise, kissing him again and he can barely breathe from the heat of it all. "Cum for me, puppy. Stuff me full with your seed like I know you wanna."

Almost as if on command, he cums, chanting a mantra of "thank you, thank you, thank you" in your ear.

"Yeah, let it all out, pup." You massage his ass as his hips stutter against you. "Want you dripping out of me for days."

"Fuck...you're gonna kill me." He heaves as his cock spurts out the last of his cum, and you smile in victory. You did it. You've subjugated him.

He sits up as he pulls out of you, watching darkly as his cums trickles out of you. Cursing, he quickly scoops it up and pushes it back in, the slide of his fingers so much easier now that you've taken his cock, and the copious amount of his cum making it way too easy.

His fingers are a blur as he pumps them in and out of you and it hardly takes any time before you're grabbing his wrist to stop him as you cum. But he doesn't. He fucks you through your orgasm, not even slowing down as he pins your thighs to the bed and continues railing his fingers into you, tearing a second orgasm out of you before the first one even has a chance to fade.

"Chan, stop." You cry out, body convulsing on the mattress, and he looks up from your cunt to see your pained face, and he finally stops, quickly taking his fingers out and wiping them on the bed before climbing up your body and catching your mouth in a kiss.

He murmurs little praises against your mouth like “you took me so well, baby” and “you did so good”, and it makes you grimace even more. You attempt to push him off of you, but you have no strength left to fight him off. Not that you ever did in the first place.

"Stop that!" You snap at him, and he stops.

"What’s wrong, baby? Was I too rough?"

You snort, "What do you think?" You gesture to your body that was now sore all over and probably developing bruises.

"Shit, I'm sorry. You just got in my head." He breathes out a flustered laugh.

“I know.” You apparently still have enough energy in you to gloat. 

He frowns but ignores your comment, just watching as you wince whenever you try to move. "I can take you back to my place if you're too tired to go back to yours."

"Yeah, no shit you will." You confirm, having already decided that in your head. He did this to you. It's only right that he should take care of you after.

"Oh, okay ummm… let's get you dressed then." He quickly stands up to get you your clothes, only to realize that he tore most of it apart. "Ah, shit."

You roll your eyes, "Give me that." You say, pointing to his oversized shirt. He rushes to bring it to you and helps you put it on, the process a little tricky as the events of the night catch up with your body.

He smoothes your hair down once you're done and carasses your cheek, giving you a look that you don't like one bit so you smack his hand away and point a finger at him, "Hey! There will be none of that. You hear me?"

His face quickly straightens out and he snorts, "Excuse me for trying to treat you like a lady."

"Oh, fuck off." You stand up on shaky legs, and you can already tell that this will take a few days to wear off. "Let's go." ____________________________________ A/N: so came out as the victor after all? it’s really up for debate lol

[kiwi-cake]

Mated (werewolf!luke)part 2

masterlist

A/N: I’m thinking about making this a series because it’s so fun to write! Let me know if that’s something you guys would want

When Y/N was little, she used to have really bad nightmares. She would wake up crying every night and inevitably wake her parents too. Now, if she had the same dreams now at 19, it wouldn’t phase her. But to a kid, having a dream about your class laughing at your macaroni art or the boogie man was pretty damn scary. She did eventually grow out of it though, as most kids do. She hadn’t had a real nightmare since she was 10 years old. Which is why she was pretty damn freaked out when she woke up in a cold sweat after a very realistic dream about a big, mean dog. This had been the third night in a row of nightmares about things that lurk in the forest, and it was getting really old. College students have enough trouble getting enough sleep as it is, she didn’t need this extra subtraction from her already minimal amount of sleep.

“It’s probably because you always eat crisps right before bed,” Michael suggested, sipping his tea. They were sitting at Costa in between classes. Y/N insisted a coffee place because she hardly made it through her communications lecture without falling asleep. She looked terrible, and Michael made sure to tell her the minute she walked in the shop, ‘Jesus Y/N you look like you’ve been ambushed by a flock of geese!’ He wasn’t exaggerating. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun (but not the cute kind) and she had deep circles under her eyes.

“What do crisps have to do with nightmares?” she grumbled.

“You’re not supposed to eat past midnight, it gives you bad dreams. It’s some sciencey shit about metabolism and brain waves,” he said over a mouthful of almond croissant.

“I think I’ve been sleepwalking,” she says in a lower tone, so the other nosy college kids couldn’t hear, “I wake up with dirt and dried leaves on my feet. And my window is always open just a crack.”

“It’s the crisps Y/N, I’m telling you.” So that night, Y/N did everything right. She didn’t eat past 6 (even though her roommate offered her leftovers from the bakery she works at), she got in her comfiest pajamas, and drank chamomile tea right before bed at strictly 10pm. It really seemed to work, or so she thought. She had zonked out after ten minutes and dreamed of a rabbit peacefully nibbling on a patch of clovers. That is, until her foot was suddenly really cold and wet. Her eyes burst open and she somehow found herself in the middle of the forest, wearing an oversized t-shirt, with her favorite socks soaked in a freezing puddle. This would have been very aggravating to Y/N (nothing is worse than a wet sock) if it weren’t for the huge golden wolf standing two feet from her. This was not the wolf who had haunted her dreams, but it still seemed familiar to her. She was about to suck in a deep breath and scream as loud as her lungs would allow, but then she realized that she is definitely still dreaming. Wolves do not exist in the real world, and if she screamed in her dream then she might scream in real life and really piss off a building full of sleeping college kids. So she tried to rationalize. The wolf did not seem threatening, it was just kind of standing there. She tested this theory by taking a careful step forward. When the wolf did not react, she took a few more steps until she was face to face with it. It actually hunched down a bit so she could see it’s face better. This wolf seemed to be amused at her cautious actions.

“You’re not so scary, you know,” she said to it and it looked back at her indifferently, “The other wolf I usually dream about isn’t so friendly, but you’re kind of just an oversized puppy.” And if this weren’t a dream, Y/N would think she imagined that the wolf rolled its eyes at her. It all of a sudden laid down with a big thump, and at its new height it began to sniff at her bandaged leg.

“I got it caught in some animal trap,” she explained, “pretty clumsy, right?” She decided to sit down with the wolf since her leg was kind of hurting for some reason. She timidly reached a hand out to pet its silky golden coat. The wolf stiffened up at first, but then leaned into her hand. Its eyes struck her now that she was so up close. They were a deep blue and they were unlike any animal’s eyes she had ever seen. Usually, dogs have an innocent, almost empty look in their eyes. They were lucky enough to not have to worry about getting a good gpa and paying bills. But this wolf’s eyes held so many emotions that she didn’t know animals had the capacity to feel.

“This is pretty cool, I’ve never been able to lucid dream before,” she said, resting against a tree, “Thanks for showing up instead of that other wolf. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good night’s sleep.” She yawned and her eyelids started to feel heavy. The wolf made a sudden decision to lift itself from the ground and walk off without even looking back. She called out a goodbye, but wasn’t too concerned about what dream wolves do when they’re bored of being in a dream. The moss below her was all of a sudden very comfy and she could probably fall asleep against this tree. She heard the crunching of leaves, this time coming toward her. It couldn’t be her wolf friend, as these steps were much lighter. She felt like she was in that christmas movie waiting for the ghost of christmas present to pay her a visit. To her surprise, Luke stepped out from the trees, not the ghost.

“Oh hey Luke,” she waved, “what are you doing in my dream? Are you mad I’m in the forest again?”

“No, it’s evidently not your fault,” he said, crouching down, “c’mon I’ll take you somewhere nicer to sleep than a rotten tree stump.”

“Okay!” she held her arms out and he lifted her up easily, “I met a nice wolf today.”

“Did you?” she could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Yeah. It was really big and had pretty fur that was super soft when it let me pet it. He must use a high end conditioner,” she reached up to poke at his curls that were a peculiarly familiar color. He peeked at her from the corner of his eye, but didn’t tell her to stop.

“You look tired. Close your eyes, we’ll be there soon,” so with that she rested her head against his shoulder. She could smell a very nice woodsy smell on him and she drifted off to his steady breathing.

For the second time that week, Y/N woke up at Luke’s house. She quickly assessed her body and found no injuries, which begs the question: how did she get there? The door creaked open and the grumpy forest patrol she had come to know as Luke stepped in. He seemed to already know she was awake.

“So uh, quick question, what the hell am I doing here?” she demanded.

“Not much of a morning person, I see,” he grimaced and looked over her face a few times. He handed her a glass full of a thick green smoothie and instructed her to drink.

“Fine. But only because I love smoothies, not because you told me to. And don’t ignore my question.”

“Drink first, then we’ll talk,” she eyed him suspiciously for a second, but then decided he didn’t look like the type to drug someone via smoothie. She downed the whole glass quickly then looked up at him expectantly.

“What do you remember from last night?” he asked.

“I went to sleep in my dorm and I somehow woke up here… also, that’s cheating, you can’t answer a question with another question.”

“You don’t remember anything at all? Not even the slightest detail between going to sleep and waking up here?” he seemed frustrated at her lacking short-term memory.

“I mean… I guess I had a weird dream that I was in the forest, but I’ve had that dream every night.”

“Alright, I guess we’ll do this the hard way,” he said, grabbing her hand, “come with me.”

“Is this where you take me to your sex dungeon?” she joked as he pulled her through the hallways of the house to a big window with the curtains drawn.

“No, that would be rather forward of me. I always wait at least a month before I introduce the sex dungeon,” he said, before pulling back the curtains. The window overlooked the grounds of the house and the surrounding forest. There was a nice garden, a pool, and some landscaping that looked like it belonged at a castle.

“Nice view you have here, but what does this have to do with last night?” she said, chewing on her lip.

“Look closer,” he urged. She peered in between the trees in the distance and saw at least ten giant wolves walking the perimeter of the grounds. They were all varying colors and sizes, but the smallest would still tower over her. She turned to Luke with wide eyes and he looked back cautiously, as if he was expecting an outburst. He was probably right to expect an outburst.

“THEY’RE REAL? Those giant wolf things actually exist?” she placed her hand on her head in disbelief.

“Listen, Y/N, I know it must seem very scary to you right now, but there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Nothing to be afraid of?! One of those things definitely tried to make me its late night snack, there’s plenty to be afraid of!”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that. The younger wolves don’t have much experience with humans while in their wolf form, but he wasn’t going to eat you, we don’t do that.”

“We??” she felt stupid. Of course he was one of them, how else would he know about it? All of the memories from her dreams came flooding back to her. He had the same eyes as the wolf from last night, the same hair color. He nervously ran a hand through his hair and nodded.

“Oh my god, I’ve been plopped right in the middle of a teen fantasy show. Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate prank?”

“We both know it’s not.” They sat in silence for a few minutes while she processed everything. He seemed to be, for whatever reason, very invested in her reaction to the news.

“How did I end up in the forest last night Luke?” she stared blankly at the floor.

“You, uh, sleepwalk apparently, or at least you have been the past four nights. You always come close to where the house is,” for some reason he seemed bashful about giving her this information.

“Then how did I end up in my dorm the other nights?”

“I carried you back. I thought if you never remembered that you encountered our kind then you would stop coming. Last night I realized that wasn’t going to happen.”

“How did you know where I--- never mind, I don’t want to know,” she tried not to think about the fact that he definitely saw her period underwear laying out on her chair waiting to be put away.

“Do you have class today?” he scratched at the back of his head.

“No, why?”

“I think it would be a good idea for you to see some of us up close. It might help with your nightmares.” He stood up from the little bench by the window they were sitting on and gestured for her to follow him. She considered flipping him the bird and getting the hell out of there as fast as she could. That would be the smart thing to do. But she had to know more about this new world that she never knew existed, so she followed him.

First, he led her back to what she now assumed was his room that she had slept in twice. He handed her an oversized sweater and some sweatpants, which she was grateful for since her pajamas from last night unfortunately did not include pants.

“This will help the others know not to harm you. As long as you’re near me or have my scent on you, you’ll be perfectly safe,” he explained. However, despite his reassurance, she was practically shaking with fear as they neared the wolves outside. He stopped walking and peered down at her with a confused expression.

“What’s wrong? You weren’t like this last night with me,” it was still a little weird to think of Luke and the golden wolf as the same thing.

“You’re not scary,” she muttered, eyes trained on the ground. He brought his hand to her face and tilted her chin up so she would look at him.

“Listen Y/N, you know how wolves in the wild have a leader?” she nodded, “we have the same thing. I’m the alpha here which means everyone is compelled to do as I say. So if I tell them not to touch a single hair on your pretty little head, then they won’t.” She felt a little better after that. Somehow, she knew that Luke would never let anything happen to her, even though she’s known him for less than a week.

“Now come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer into his side, “you need some exposure therapy.” The proximity of his body had an immediate calming effect on her, she even stopped nervously biting at her nails when they came upon the closest wolf, a reddish brown colored one. It was the biggest of all the wolves around them, though still not as big as Luke. Its eyes were a sparkling hazel color, and it seemed perfectly calm as they approached.

“Y/N, this is Ashton. He’s kind of my second in command when I’m feeling democratic,” Luke said, eliciting a snort from Ashton. The wolf sat in front of her and held up a massive paw for her to shake. She giggled at his very dog-like gesture and she felt Luke let out a breath he must have been holding in.

“You’ll like him, he’s proper domesticated. He’s even house trained when he wants to be,” Luke jokes and Y/N didn’t think she’d ever get over the sight of a wolf rolling its eyes. From just behind Ashton, she caught the sight of a familiar black coat. Luke tightened his grip on her hipbone as the wolf who attacked her nights before approached with its ears down and hesitant footsteps. Luke was glaring daggers at it, though it kept moving towards them. With the way all three of them were looking at each other, it seemed like they were having some kind of conversation that Y/N couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, Luke wasn’t happy about it.

“Y/N,” he suddenly turned to her, his angry eyes softened a little, “Calum would like to apologize for what happened the other night. Would that be okay? It’s alright if you don’t want to.” She looked back over the the wolf staring at her with pleading brown eyes. The way he looked now, she didn’t think he could hurt a fly. She supposed there was no harm in hearing an explanation.

“That’s fine,” she agreed, toying with the sleeves of Luke’s oversized sweater. The wolf, Calum, stepped forward and laid down before her, his head on the ground while he looked up at her shamefully.

“Calum says he’s very sorry for hurting you. His first change was much later than all of ours, so he’s still not fully in control of his wolf form. It’s sometimes hard for young wolves to distinguish between an enemy and a harmless human,” Luke translates for her. The wolf whines at her feet, and she gets the feeling that he had no control over his actions.

“It’s okay,” she crouched down to pat the wolf on the head reassuringly, “one time I thought someone was breaking into my dorm in the dark, so I hit them with a broom, but it turns out it was just my roommate getting back from her boyfriend’s place. She had a nasty lump on her head for a few weeks, and I felt terrible.” The wolf wagged its huge tail back and forth, having the same effect as an industrial fan. She chatted with him and Ashton for a bit (translated by Luke), and she eventually just felt like she was hanging out with two dogs with a really good understanding of meme culture. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her sweatpants, and she checked her notifications for the first time that morning. She had three missed calls from Michael and an endless stream of texts. She sighed and excused herself from the two huge wolves and Luke to call Michael.

“Y/N! Where are you? I went to your dorm and you weren’t there and Rebecca said she hasn’t seen you since last night,” there was barely one dial tone before Michael answered the call and started interrogating her.

“I’m uh...” she looked up to see Luke and the others watching her warily. Something tells her that people like her aren’t supposed to know about this place or what happens here, so she lies to Michael.

“I went on a morning jog,” she says.

“Since when do you exercise?” he shouts. And if fantasy movies had taught her anything, it’s that werewolves have acute senses and they could probably all hear her conversation.

“Shut up, I exercise,” she snapped.

“The only time I have ever seen you move faster than a leisurely walk was when you woke up 5 minutes before stat and had already used up your absences,” he laughed, “plus, don’t you still have that bandage on your leg? You shouldn’t be running.”

“It’s none of your business what I do with my leg!”

“Whatever… come back to campus there’s a code red.” Code red was their word for a risky situation with one of Michael’s female flings. He tends to always hook up with these crazy chicks at parties who usually don’t take it too well when he doesn’t call them the next day. She usually has to step in and diffuse the situation. One time, this girl hooked up her amp in the campus square and started singing a song exposing intimate details of their hookup. Y/N was the one who had was the one who had to unplug the amp.

“Not again… I’ll be there in ten,” she hung up the phone, and announced that she probably shouldn’t overstay her welcome.

“Do you want a ride back?” Luke offered.

“I probably shouldn’t,” she shook her head, “he will never believe I was running if I’m not at least a little bit sweaty.”

“Right…” she couldn’t help thinking he looked a little disappointed, “I’ll walk you to the gate.” They walked in silence until they reached the heavy duty gate that opened to the unpaved  road leading back to civilization.

“No more sleep walking, okay?” he said, opening the gate for her.

“I can’t make any promises, but if you find me again just let me wake up in the woods alone. Waking up in a nice bed after that is positive reinforcement, you’re coddling my subconscious!”

“Proper psych major, aren’t you?” he laughed, “Be safe.” She walked through the gate and there was a short pause before she heard it close. She had to force herself not to look back behind her and make sure the whole place didn’t disappear as if it was all a dream. She walked a few minutes before she felt a buzz in her pocket. An unknown number texted her,

“It’s Luke. Text me when you’re home so I know you got back alright”

“Since when do werewolves have phones?” she replied.

“You’ve got a lot to learn about me sweetheart…”

Please remember to to request if you want more parts!

[hoodoo12]

hi! can i make a request for rick x reader where the reader is from our dimension and somehow gets transported to the c-137 dimension? how would rick react to his biggest fan and the fact that his life is a tv show? thank you!

So …  funny story. I wrote a fill to this, then realized I misread the request. The request was for the reader to end up in c137, not for Rick to end up in the reader’s dimension … Guess what I wrote?Anyhoo, I wrote this so here it is. Apologies for misreading and la la la writing whatever. And the dogs in the story are my dogs, because fuck it. 

SFW. Rick. Reader. Rick is real; reader is understandably freaked out.

You’ve seen horror movies. You’ve read the stories on the internet about monsters. You’ve had nightmares where something slender, tall and faceless looms over your bed. But those always had the nebulous quality of nightmares, and this

this

this

was real.

You were pulled from sleep by the subtle feeling that something was wrong. Opening your eyes, you were blinded by an eddying mass of green, which silhoutted a form that was too long, too lean. Through squinted eyes, you see it lift a knee to step through, lift the other, and it was in your bedroom. 

Frightened, your fingers desperately tried to find the switch for the light attached to your bedframe. They can never locate it quickly in the dark but finally they do, and with a quiet, ‘snap!’, the single bulb flares to life, reblinding you.

It blinds this … visitor too, apparently, who snarls a curse.

“Jesus fucking christ! Gimme some fucking warning!”

You shoot up in bed.

“Nice tits,” Rick says, eyeing you. “I always wondered how many people actually sleep naked vers-versus not.”

Adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream, you try and catch your breath as you pull the sheets up. “Who–what–what are–what is–”

He grimaces down at you. “Keep go-ing. Eventually you’ll get a full sentence out.”

His voice is just as gravely and distainful as you’ve heard in thirty one episodes.

You swallow and try again. “You’re Rick Sanchez.”

He smirks. “Give the lady a prize.”

“What in the fuck–?”

“You got anything to drink? I’m parched,” he announces, and goes to your bedroom door. In a second he’s out and heading down the stairs.

You stare after him a moment, then scramble up, calling, “Uh, Rick? Rick, wait!”

Before you can catch up to him, the dogs are barking.

Pulling on an oversized shirt while tripping down the stairs, you flip on the light to find Rick in your foyer safe from your dogs, who are going crazy behind the baby gate.

“Digby! Digby! Knock it off!” you yell over the racket the larger of the two dogs is making. He’s loud enough to wake the neighbors.

Your dog only pauses for a moment before standing stiff-legged and tail straight, staring Rick down, and continuing his deep barks.

“You’re going to be kenneled!” you threaten loudly, but that doesn’t deter him.

Your other dog, small and stripey, has all her hair up and is darting back and forth, occasionally whining in a pitch that just may be more annoying than the rumbling barking.

“Pua!” you admonish. Like with Digby, it doesn’t stop her.

“This was obviously a mistake,” Rick announces. “Your dogs are not well trained.”

“They are!” you spit back at him. “They were just startled because–” It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him “a cartoon character just showed up out of nowhere!”, but you catch yourself. “–you just appeared in the middle of the night!”

He watches the two beasts for a moment, then carefully offers a hand over the gate.

Both dogs immediately rush in to smell him, Digby becoming soft and wiggly; Pua still suspicious but willing to give him a sniff.

“Don’t grab at Pua, she might snap,” you advise.

“Why doesn’t that one bark?” he asks, as he lets them continue their investigation of their hand. “It’s fucking freaky.”

Apparently there were some limits to a genius science grandpa’s knowledge.

“She’s a basenji. They don’t bark like other dogs,” you explain, as you watch Rick cautiously scritch her head. “There are two theories. One–which I don’t believe–is that their vocal cords aren’t developed the same as other domestic dogs. The other is that they’re a primative breed, and most domestic dogs were developed to retain neonatal traits like drop ears and barking, because that’s cute and people like it. Wolf puppies have those kind of traits, but adult wolves don’t, and genetics confirm that basenjis are one of the earliest dog breeds–”

“Jesus,” Rick mutters, interrupting you with an eyeroll. “So that’s how that feels?”

Puzzled, you say, “What?”

“Having someone explain something to you you don’t care about,” he expounds.

“Oh. You mean like how you do all the damn time?” In your head you add, “on the show?” but once again, keep it to yourself.

Rick flashes you a quick grin. “Yeah. Something like th-th-that.”

You shake your head.

“Well? You got anything to drink or not? Do I have to go through these dogs to get to the kitchen?”

“We can get to the kitchen here. Let me close the other door.”

You got through one kitchen door before the dogs realize they can race to you, although they hurry when they hear where you are. You close the other kitchen door in their faces, tell them to knock it off when one of them scratches at it, and stand aside to let Rick into your kitchen.

“I miss dogs,” he says quietly, which was not something you’d ever expect him to say. He gives himself a shake and, uninvited, goes over and opens up your refrigerator.

Leaning down, he peers inside. You take the opportunity to take a good look at him. His hair is the silvery-blue of someone who uses shampoo and bluing agents to make sure their grey strains don’t yellow. Even draped in a lab coat he’s skinny almost to the point of being underweight. You’re pretty sure you could wrap your arms around his waist twice and if you squeezed hard enough do some significant damage to him.

He grabs something from the back of the fridge and stands back up.

“This is all you have?” he accuses, holding up an open bottle of Guinness.

“You don’t want to drink that. I don’t know how old it is.”

“What the fuck?”

“I bake with it, not drink it!” you snap back.

Rick glares suspiciously at it and sets it on the counter. “Then what else have you got?”

“Not much,” you admit. “There’s a tiny bottle of Bombay Sapphire on the window sill you can have.”

He sees it and snags it. “This is the size-this is exactly what they give you on an airplane!”

You shrug. “Then welcome aboard. You can have it or not.”

He mutters something you don’t quite make out under his breath but breaks the seal on the tiny bottle and drains it in one go. He grimaces.

“Ugh … gin …”

“Not ‘ugh, gin’,” you correct. “Bombay Sapphire. It’s a gateway gin. If you’d given me an advance notice you were inviting yourself over, I’d have made sure I had a good gin here for you.”

It dawns on you that you just spoke to Rick Sanchez like he’s completely normal, like you were familiar with each other, like a goddamn cartoon character didn’t just appear in your house in the middle of the night.

“I like vodka,” he replies huffily.

You roll your eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

Rick shuffles over to the table at the far end of the kitchen, pulls out a chair, and sits. You ignore the dogs still scratching, whining, and snuffling at the door keeping them out of the room you’re in, and join him, awkwardly sitting down across the table from him. You’re suddenly nervous as well as weirded out.

He stares unabashedly at you. When the silence stretches, he taps his fingers on the table. You watch the movement and try to slow your breathing. When the silence stretches even longer because you have no idea what to say to him, Rick gets impatient and blows air noisely out his mouth. 

“Well?” he demands.

“Um … well, what?” you squeak.

“Well anything? You’re just going to sit there, all-all mouselike? You’re not gonna–you don’t want to talk to me?”

That assessment was completely false. “I–well … I uh, I don’t know what to talk about!” you admit. He rolls his eyes again and the annoyance radiates off him. Before he can say anything disparaging or get up to leave, you challenge him with, “You’re Rick Sanchez. Don’t you just want to fuck my brains out?”

His jaw drops a little. Then he bursts into loud laughter that startles both you and your dogs.

The laughter actually makes him wipe his eyes. You watch him suspiciously, not understanding the joke. When he’s finally able to speak again, he can’t hide the amusement in his voice. 

“Oh shit, baby, that’s gold. That’s gold right there.”

You feel your brows knit together. “What is?”

“The idea that a seventy year old man can fuck your brains out!”

That didn’t clear things up.

“What?”

Rick made a final wipe across his face, but it didn’t remove his grin. “I’m seventy years old,” he tells you, like you didn’t know. “I know what you write in your fanfics, but at my age, it’s much more likely you’d fuck my brains out rather than the other way around. Or maybe you’d screw my back up or something. What I’m saying is, sex at seventy isn’t like sex at twenty, thirty, or forty.”

Secretly flattered that he hadn’t mentioned your age, you almost answer him by making some gesture that you don’t believe him, until one part of his response bounces to the forefront of your brain.

“You read my fanfiction?!”

That makes him laugh again. “I can travel between dimensions and do what I want. I have intergalatic and interdimensional internet, so yeah. I read your fanfiction.”

You feel your face heat up and know you’re beet red from embarrassment. Rick continues to be greatly amused, and gives you time to try and muddle though an apology.

“I don’t–I’m sorry!” you stammer. “I don’t write ‘real person’ fics, I think that’s weird, I’m really sorry! I’m so sorry! I never would have done it if I knew, if I knew–”

It was on the tip of your tongue to finish your babble with, “–if I knew you were real,” but you just can’t come out and say it.

Rick lets you stew in your embarrassment for a moment, then says,

“It’s cool. Seriously. I mean, how many other people can say they’ve got groupies of people writing about their sexcapades, making them into insatiable sex gods? Not very many pay attention to details like refractory periods or anything, and that kind of adoration goes straight to my head! Man, Squanchy gets so pissed off about it!”

You try to wrap your head around this information. “So … you’re okay with it?”

“Oh yeah,” he replies, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “There are some really talented writers out there! All that hot smut … it’s all creative and-and even if I haven’t done some of that stuff in real life, I feel like I have because of the universe of sex you all have come up with. I love it.”

“And Squanchy …?”

Rick chuckles. “Yeah, he gets pissed because I brag about it all the time. Who wouldn’t? But he barely gets any action, when as a person more feline than not, he’s actually ready to go all the damn time!”

His being entertained by it makes it slighty amusing for you too, and your embarrassment fades a little. It’d never occurred to you to consider writing  Squanchy in a story before …

More relaxed now, you do feel more comfortable that Rick Sanchez just appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the night and is sitting at your kitchen table, shooting the breeze. The two of you chat. You offer him something else to drink or eat, and end up making him a turkey sandwich at four in the morning. The dogs finally give up trying to break into the room, and you let them in to greet him. Once again, as he pets them and feeds them the crusts from his sandwich, he mentions how he misses dogs in his dimension. It’s an interesting and odd insight.

When dawn finally breaks over the horizon, Rick stands up, stretches, and tells you he has to leave. You ask if you can see his portal gun.

With a waggle of his eyebrows like you’d made some sexual innuendo, he pulls it out of his inside pocket and hands it to you. It’s lighter than you expected it to be, and the fluid in the vial on top is more viscous and iridescent, like mercury, than you’d pictured it. You give it back.

Rick conjures his portal–there’s no sound, unlike what you’ve written in your stories–on your refrigerator. Your dogs scatter to the safety of your living room. Just as he goes to leave, you say,

“I want to tell people you were here, but no one’s going to believe you just showed up! What am I going to tell them?”

“Write a story,” he suggested, with a wink.

Then he was gone and the portal constricted to nothingness, leaving you in your kitchen with a plate covered in crumbs and tiny empty bottle of gin.

fin!

[ezilyamuzed]

There’s no place like home- Part Two

Summary: The reader has had a unique gift all her life. While considering it a curse, she discovers the identity of her real father after her mothers passing. Journeying towards her new life, she finds herself thrown within the Winchester’s world. Is it her destiny?

Setting: End of season 13. This takes place between  13.17 and 13.18.

Warnings: language. POV may switch after certain sections. 

A/N: I am new at posting these online, so please be patient. Do not mistake my lack of experience for ignorance if I do not quite get it yet. Sorry for any grammatical errors. This is part two of a series that has been in the works while watching the episodes unfold. Thanks for taking the time to read! Comments are always appreciated.

Series Masterlist

Sam couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. What you said about them ruining the world wasn’t exactly wrong. They didn’t mean to do any of those things, but somehow they were always involved in a major way when it came to the impending doom of humanity. Saving people was what their ultimate goal was, but in the process they have ended up hurting so many others. So many that they cared about that they promised to protect. What exactly would Bobby have said when she yelled at them? What would he have done? Sam knew one thing for sure, Y/N had to be protected. Not only was she Bobby’s daughter, but a girl that had a pretty normal life while trying to hunt monsters a concept impossible to him to even fathom. The idea that any harm could happen to her made Sam feel like his insides were twisted. He had to make this better for her. He had to watch over her. That’s what a brother would do, and as far as he was concerned she was family now.

Dean was already passed out when Sam got back. He had been able to get a couple hours of sleep in before Dean had texted and said they needed to meet. He sat in the raggedy old chair in the hotel and opened up his lap top, curious as to what Y/N was and who she was. What did she say she could do? Read auras? Did that mean she was clairvoyant? Probably not, didn’t really fit her description of her capabilities. Sam dug through the web trying to see if anything popped up that made sense. Synesthesia came up came up after a couple of pages, the crossing of the senses. Maybe this was it or at least a scientific reasoning behind her abilities? Sam could not help but to think he was wasting his time now as the afternoon approached. A google search was not going to answer all of his questions. Perhaps she was a new type of supernatural being. Cas would probably know, but who knows where he was right now. Whatever she is, Sam couldn’t help but to think how useful having powers like that would be on the road during a normal hunt. Right now he wished that was all he had in front of him. A normal monster or a quick salt and burn. He could already feel the stress rising in him as he thought about the impending doom that seemed inevitable. Michael and his angels destroying the world.

Dean started shifting in the bed like he was going to wake up. Sam shut the lap top and stared at his brother still snoring. Dean was such an ass to her before. How could she even consider them being around? Not only was Dean an ass, but she clearly had hatred for the name Winchester. Sam wanted to prove her wrong. They weren’t the fuckups that she had heard of, they were just normal good guys trying to help the world.  Well as normal as they could be in this life. It wasn’t their fault that they were born to lead this life. Higher powers pushed them towards it.  He picked up the keys to the impala and set forth to Y/N’s hotel. He had to try again with her.

After figuring out which room she was in by showing one of the fake badges to the front desk Sam walked up to her door. Definitely not the kind of hotel he was used to. You could actually smell something sweet in the air, not the musty smell of aged furniture. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“No housekeeping!” yelled Y/N on the other side.

“Y/N, its Sam.” He yelled back through the door while shifting his weight in unease.

Y/N opened the door looking like death had run her over. Hair in a tangled bun of a mess on top of her head and make up smeared around her eyes. Sam tried not to glance down and notice the too short of shorts on her with an oversized Journey tee.

“Hey Y/N, I’m sorry if I woke you up. I figured you might want a ride to your car and maybe some lunch?” Sam said apprehensively.

She rubbed her eyes, only spreading the make up more. She looked like a little raccoon now. A short little raccoon that was probably capable of taking him down within seconds.

“Yeah, sounds okay. Give me 10 minutes okay? I’ll meet you in the lobby” she said with her eyes half shut and a yawn escaping her mouth.

____________________________________________________________

Ugh, who the hell is it knocking on your door this early?

“No housekeeping!” you yelled while still holding the pillow tight to your face. You glanced at the clock on the little nightstand next to you realizing it was well after noon as you heard the voice from behind the door yell that it was Sam. The giant of a man with puppy dog eyes was knocking on your door after you had basically told him that you hated him and his brother. What could he possibly want? You got up from the bed, not caring what you looked like. He was no one that you cared at all to impress, even with him trying to ask nice last night.

As you opened up the door he immediately spoke up as if he was holding in a speech he had prepared. You needed to get your car and the rumble in your stomach told you that you should probably eat something sooner rather than later. He was trying and you could see it. It would take a lot to change your mind about him and his brother, but you appreciated his effort. You reluctantly agreed while remembering that you did care at least a little bit about others seeing you in this condition, so you told him to give you a few minutes.

You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror as you turned on the hot water. God you looked like hell. No not hell, you looked like you just wrestled with a werewolf and won. A grin appeared on your face remembering how easy it was to drop him down. The grin grew a bit larger when you remembered the look of shock on Dean’s face like he couldn’t believe someone like you just took down the Big Bad wolf. There was an appreciation in proving that you weren’t just some “little girl” which he had called you during your initial encounter.

The dream you had about Charlie started to rise into your thoughts. She was right about one thing, they were handsome. But you could not see how they were like brothers to someone who was so warm and fun to be with. You wondered if you should mention her in front of them, but decided that since you haven’t seen her in years it was probably a bad idea. What if they no longer spoke? Even worse, in this business what if something happened to her because of them?

You threw on a white t-shirt, a clean pair of jean shorts and your comfy sneakers. You were able to get rid of the raccoon eyes, but there was no need to apply any other make-up. Again, you didn’t care to impress your driving companion on the way to your car and food. You brushed your teeth and hair fast while you looked around for your things. Wallet, keys, and knife. Check.

It had only taken 15 minutes since Sam walked away from your door to get ready. He could live with the extra 5 minutes you took. You see him standing in the lobby looking very out of place amongst the business men checking in and the dolled up housewives gripping their purses and shopping bags. He wore very beat up jeans, boots, and yet another flannel shirt. Did this man not realize it was almost summer?

He smiled at you as you walked past him, immediately heading for the old impala. This was the car that was parked next to yours when you met them. It had seemed like it was in pristine condition when you had rushed past it yesterday to get into your car. After last night’s adventures and the brightness of the sun today you start to notice that this car has been through a lot. Tiny little marks along the fenders suggest that the drive on the dirt road last night had definitely not been the first. As Sam opened the door for you, you slid in and noticed how worn the steering wheel was, like someone had held on to it for life on more than one occasion. The seats worn down suggesting that hours have been spent by people sitting in them. A slight smell of men’s musk filled the air as you shut the door. These boys spend way too much time in here. A slight smile came across your lips when you realized that one could say that same about your baby, you spent way too much time with her as well.

Sam had already gotten in as you looked over to him and said, “Nice car here”. He gave you a smile back as he turned the ignition over bringing her to life. The purr of your baby always provided a soothing release for you when you were stressed, and this one was no different.

“Thanks, it was my dad’s” he said while making sure there was no one in his way as he backed out of the spot.

“Was?” you asked trying to be civil and have a simple conversation to get to know this man more. It’s not like they gave any insight to their lives, and while you knew about them you never heard their full story.

While not letting his eyes leave the road he simply replied, “Yeah. He died about 12 years ago now.”

You couldn’t help but to feel bad that you had brought it up. Even with all of your training you have had in being empathetic when emotional situations were brought up, you did not want to use any of them right now. He was not your client. He was just a man giving you a ride to your car was the agreement you had come to within your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “So in like 5 blocks you are going to make a right.”

He nodded in agreement with your directions. He might have actually been aware of where he was going already. Dean probably told him. He reached over to the radio and turned on whatever tape was inside. A smirk ran across your face as you started to recognize the tune. “Of Wolf and Man by Metallica,” you found yourself stating towards Sam.

His eyebrows raised and glanced over at you with a smirk on his face. “I don’t know really anyone else but my brother that could name that song so fast.”

“Well some people I guess don’t appreciate the greats in the world,” you said while looking up ahead. “I’m parked right over there”.

Sam looked into the direction that you were pointing and let out quick laugh. “That is your car?”

You looked at him confused and quickly answered “yes” with a hint of a question mark at the end. Was he being a typical guy and thinking that a girl didn’t deserve to be driving a “man’s car” or was he really interested?

“When we saw it yesterday at the coffee shop Dean stared it down. I think secretly he liked it but of course this will always be baby,” he said while patting the dashboard.

Baby? Dean calls his car baby too? You started to feel yourself becoming disgusted by all the things you were finding to have in common with this man, but also intrigued at what else you might share with him. Maybe if he wasn’t such an ass you might have considered getting to know him.  

He pulls right up next to your baby and your heart sank as you saw it. FUCK! The back window laid in shards all over the ground. You jumped out before Sam had even fully stopped the car. This was not happening. Who hurt your baby? Your fists start to tighten up next to you as you hear Sam on the phone with whom you presumed to be Jody telling her what had happened.

Only 30 minutes later you found yourself saying goodbye to your baby as she was being pulled by a tow truck to the local repair shop. Jody was down to you within minutes going over every detail in your car to make sure that nothing had been taken. She had reassured you that she would figure it out, but you knew that there was probably a slim chance in actually catching the assholes responsible.

Sam sat down next to you on the curb as the tow truck pulled away. You tried to cover up the tears that started growing in your eyes. Don’t let him see how much this hurt you. How everything just kept going from bad to worse. He moved his arm to embrace you, but stopped himself short as you started to tense up at his presence.

“Take me back Sam,” You said softy while looking away in the distance.

Sam looked at you and nodded even though you couldn’t see him. The both of you walked slowly back to the impala in silence and rode back to your hotel.

___________________________________________________________

Dean heard the loud noise of a car door shut outside of his room as he started to wake up. What a night. Bobby’s offspring was just like him; tough and stubborn. He heard a loud knock on his motel room door, he started to reach under his pillow to pull out his hidden gun when he heard the familiar motherly tone yelled at him. “Dean open up.”

He got up and opened the door, stepping to the side for Jody to walk in all dressed in her sheriff’s uniform. “We need to talk,” she said as she sat herself down at the tiny kitchen table. Dean sat down next to her in the other chair at the table as if she was commanding him to do so. She took a deep sigh before looking directly at him and saying, “We’ve got trouble”.

“What kind of trou…” Dean started to ask as Jody stopped him by holding up her phone to show a picture of an old Camaro with a broken out window. “Nice car. Sucks to be the owner. Who’s is its?” he said while wiping the sleep put of his eyes.

“Y/N’s” was all she said while still holding up the phone.

Y/N’s car? The girl had some taste. He definitely didn’t expect that. He thought she was probably an ecofriendly driving judgmental bitch with an attitude.

“Why does her broken out window mean there’s trouble. Maybe she just pissed off someone else with her bitchy attitude?” Dean said while getting up from his seat to grab a water bottle from his bag.

“Because she killed a werewolf last night. Because I watched the footage. Dean, it was another wolf that did this,” she said with concern in her voice.

Ffffuuuccckk. Of course it was. He hadn’t of thought about the fact that werewolves rarely travel alone last night as he had helped her dispose of the body. He took a large gulp from the water bottle. “Claire and Alex are already on it,” said Jody from behind him.

“So you want us to help them gank this monster?” Dean said while turning back to her.

“No I want you and Sam to watch out for Y/N. She doesn’t know yet, and honestly with all the crap that she has walked into in the last couple of days, I don’t really want her to.”

“So babysitting duty?” Dean said with a scowl on his face.

Jody gave him a smirk while she crossed her arms. “Think of it as a chance to actually get to know one another. Your latest impressions didn’t exactly woo her into thinking that you are a good guy.” She got up to walk to him and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Prove to her that Bobby helped raise the decent man I know you to be. Show her all the goodness that I know you like to hide away from the world.”

Dean sighed and looked her in the eyes, “I’ll try. I can’t say that I will like it, but I will try”.

Jody had left soon after, letting Dean know that she or one of the girls will stay in contact about the wolf hunt. Dean was already showered and dressed when he heard the door unlocking with Sam following directly in with the swoosh of the door.

“So Y/N’s managed to piss off something else,” Dean said while tossing his dirty clothes in his bag. Sam’s eyes widen, questioning how Dean could possibly have known about her car. “Jody stopped by.”

Sam nodded and sat down on the bed while opening up his lap top. “Jody said the girls were on the case. We are on babysitting duty,” Dean said while grabbing a beer out of the little green and white cooler that was their traveling companion.

Sam looked up from his screen, “So what’s the plan?”

Dean paused and shrugged. He looked down at his beer. “This,” he said with a shrug while shaking his bottle.

______________________________________________________________

When Jody had watched the video footage from the bar, the feeling of dread was confirmed. Another werewolf had smashed out Y/N's window because of the scent she had left at the scene. Dean was there too, so he was probably in danger as well. He, of course, would run at the chance to take down a werewolf, but that is not what he should be doing right now. He should be trying to get to know Y/N, Bobby's daughter. She made the call that the boys wouldn't be involved in this hunt. Not this time. 

After visiting Dean at the hotel to implement her plan of making Dean and Sam spend time with Y/N, she went back home where Donna, Alex, and Claire were waiting. 

"We got a job to do," Jody said to the group of girls sitting around the kitchen table. 

"What kind of job?" Claire asked with excitement. It had been a couple of days of quiet around the area, and Jody knew she was getting restless.

"There was a werewolf attack last night over at the Irish pub," Jody started to reply, but Alex interrupted her.

"There wasn't any news at the hospital about an attack, just a drunk girl that was passed out in their ally."

Jody nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he was stopped before any damage was done to his victim."

"So if he was stopped, then what are we doing here then?" Claire said with a roll of her eyes.

Jody glanced back and forth between the three women in front of her and sighed audibly. "There's another one hot on their tail. They attacked their car that was left at the bar last night. It was it was probably just following the scent." Jody said reluctantly.

She knew that she should have had the conversation with the girls about Y/N, but she hadn't been ready. Every time she thought about the news the last couple of days has brought, emotions fled through her that she didn't want to face. No. It was that she couldn't face them. Anything that brought up the memory of Bobby made her feel completely helpless.  She knew that there was nothing that she could have done to save him aside from selling her soul to make a deal, but he would never have wanted that. Bobby Singer was a selfless man, who only cared about the safety of others. A trait that she had noticed about Y/N as well.

Jody knew she couldn't keep everything to herself anymore as she started to explain everything from the beginning. The girls all listened quietly while giving their full attention to the story of Bobby's daughter, her gifts, and her quick takedown of the beast. 

"So it's mate, she's a ticked off, eh?" Donna asked with her Minnesota accent. Jody nodded and gave them a detailed description of her appearance that was seen on the camera footage.

"So why exactly aren't the Winchester's doing anything? Or that girl for that matter, since obviously, she can take care of herself. Why is this our case?" Claire asked while raising an eyebrow to Jody.

"Things definitely did not go well between them. Dean was his normal charming self when he is suspicious of someone’s intentions," Jody said while rolling her eyes towards Donna. 

"Oh, I know how that one looks. He's not the friendliest hunter in the bunch when he gets his nerves all riled up," Donna replied while looking towards the two younger girls. 

Jody nodded in agreement. She returned her eyes to Claire that was still awaiting an answer to her question. Jody sighed heavily, hoping that they would agree with the decision she had made. 

"They need this. They all need to be forced together to realize how stubborn everyone is being. For the sake of Bobby's memory."

Claire went to speak, but stopped herself short and sat back in the chair and nodded. 

"She doesn't know about the second wolf in town, and the boys think they are just babysitting her for her own safety. If trouble finds them, I know that they will be fine as a group. Sticking together like a family keeps us all safer than when you are alone," Jody said calmly while shifting her eyes between the three women in front of her. 

Donna smiled a toothy grin at them all. "Let's go save our family then huh?"

______________________________________________________________

Sam hadn’t protested too much at Dean’s idea of going to a bar with Y/N. The way that Y/N had acted earlier, she might actually need it. He followed his brother to the car, allowing Dean to be the driver as he gave directions to Y/N’s hotel. He took the lead towards her room and gave a little knock at which Dean rolled his eyes to. Y/N opened up the door, looking like she had just recently showered and changed again. Her face looked like she was shocked and confused as to why they were at her door again.

“Hey Y/N, we were around and figured that you would probably be getting hungry here since you didn’t eat earlier. We were hoping that maybe you would like to go get something with us? Maybe try that start over I was talking about before?” Sam said giving her the best puppy dog eyes he could muster while awaiting her reply.

She gave a deep sigh and said yes. She took a minute within her room to collect her things and followed behind the boys to the car outside. Sam knew Dean would want to drive, so he politely told Y/N that he would take the back. She raised her eyebrows at him while giving him a look up and down. “I’ll fit,” Sam said with a smirk as he opened up her door and let himself into the back door. 

After a couple of minutes in a silent car ride, they were all getting out the impala and walking toward another worn down bar on the outskirts of town.  It is surprising how many run down bars a town can have, and how his brother always knew where to find them. Then again if you couldn’t find Dean all you would have to do is follow the smell of stale cigarettes and whisky to find him held up in a corner usually.

“I thought you said food?” asked Y/N while looking in Sam’s direction.

Dean spoke with a cocky grin, “Don’t worry they got that here too princess.”

This was going to be interesting. Hopefully neither one stabs someone by the end of the night. Sam rolled his eyes while shaking his head as he followed Y/N and Dean inside, hoping that tonight he would prove that they aren’t who she thinks they are. 

Keep reading- part three here

[lostinthemazecalledmyhead]

Imagine you found out that you have a sister, Sookie Stackhouse, unwillingly you fall into her world of supernatural creatures. Being a more advanced mindreader than Sookie, all supernatural eyes are on you. You’re a weapon, but will you make it out alive?

Part three Double heart

Part one  (All your life) Part two  (Stay in the dark) Part three (Double heart) Part four (Better dig two)

Word Count: 2236

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Being back in Bon Temp you come across a connection you didn’t expect to find.

Previously: Alcide visited you at your house and told you that you needed to come back to Bon Temps with him.

It would be so wrong for you to say that you came along because Alcide is so persuasive. Why would that be so wrong you ask? Because you have morals of some kind. The kind that tells you that you should not just think about yourself. Okay, screw it! You came along because the thought of a supernatural adventure thrilled you. How many times have you re-watched Vampire diaries or Supernatural. This time it’s your time to kick some supernatural ass. And you’re doing ‘it’ again. Smiling sheepishly at your own thoughts. “You came back.” Sam greets you surprised. Not the kind of warm welcome you were hoping for. Alcide insisted on taking you here because he said the food is not better anywhere else. The food must be real crappy everywhere else then, for this to be the best food… You are not stupid. Alcide took you here because of Sookie. Your damned sister. Sitting down in the back of the bar flashes dance before your eyes. A vision. Having these visions is like watching tv, but in your mind. You’ve been shown images, video’s but also feelings. It doesn’t always clearly show what is about to happen, but putting together what is shown to you in your vision you mostly can figure things out. The image that is shown to you this time is a picture of Eric. He is somewhere in the woods and the feelings you are getting with this image are scared at first and then, passion? What? It sometimes happens that you interpret something wrong and this must be one of those times. Alcide sits down across from you. “So,” you say folding your hands underneath your chin. “what is it that you’re really up to?” “We’re here to see Sookie.” He tells you. You wave your hand at him. “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” Does he really think you’re that dumb. “I mean what are you planning to use me for? Because I see a little of Eric in my future.” Alcide arches his dark eyebrow at you. “What are you talking about?” He asks confused. “She’s talking about a tall, blonde handsome man walking into her life.” Eric sits down next to Alcide. “Well if it isn’t the big bad wolf and the big bad vampire sharing a drink, thinking their deep thoughts and desires.” You say leaning back in your seat. Eric laughs. “She really is something, huh.” He tells Alcide, who is not amused at all. “I like her.” Eric adds looking at you. “Well color me blessed.” You scoff sarcastic. “Feisty too.” Eric notices. “That could come in handy.” Alcide turns to Eric. “What are you doing here?” Alcide growls. “To look at my new asset, of course.” Eric replies not once breaking his stare down that he is having with you. “I’m not some cow that you can just take in.” You tell Eric. “I’m more than that.” “Oh, you’re much more.” Eric agrees. “That’s why I want you so bad.” With a smile on your face you lean across the table towards Eric. “Oh, really?” You ask him teasingly. “How bad?” “I have a proposition for you.” Eric tells you, suddenly all business like. You hold up your hand, telling him to keep quiet. “Food first. Then I’ll listen.” You command him. Eric watches you and finally turns to Alcide. “Well, you hear the lady. Give her some food.” Alcide growls. He clearly despises Eric. Still he gets up to order some food. “Give me one reason to trust you instead of him.” You tell Eric hurried when Alcide is out of hearing range. “Honesty.” Eric tells you. “You’re a smart girl. It’s no use in lying to you. I won’t, but I can’t say the same for our hairy friend.” Pursing your lips you shrug. “Not really what I was looking for, but whatever.” You kick back resting your feet on Eric’s chair. “What were you looking for?” Eric asks genuinely interested. With pursed lips you smile amused. “Well wouldn’t the almighty vampire like to know.” Playing around with such powerful creatures may no be the brightest idea, but what is life without a risk. Before Eric could say something else Alcide returns with a hamburger and fries. “Jeez, I’m starving.” You tell him before digging your teeth into the burger. Feeling uncomfortable the men watch you devour the hamburger. “Well, talk.” You bid Eric after you ate the whole hamburger and he still hasn’t started his proposal.  “I need someone to help me on a mission.” Eric tells you. Hello vagueness. You think still looking down at your fries. Which are not even that good by the way. “I’ll pay you richly.” He adds hoping to catch your interest. Instead you look up at him, with dead bored eyes. “So does my job.” Eric is speechless and you take a wild guess and say he is not very often. Not impressed you continue to eat your fries. You tap into Alcide and feel that he is delighted by the way you are treating Eric. “Better wipe that smirk off your mind, werewolf boy.” You tell Alcide in-between eating. Alcide coughs shocked that you read his mind, while Eric just smiles amused and even impressed. “Where are you staying?” Eric asks out of nowhere. “I’ll swing by later tonight and talk to you when werewolf boy isn’t around.” He just stole your nickname. Copyright... “Well Alcide dragged my ass over here and therefore, I have no place to stay, unless there is something I don’t know.” “I forgot. You can crash on my couch.” Alcide says. “Or you could stay at my house.” Eric says, making you raise your eyebrow at him. “You would have your own wing.” Eric’s mind is silent so you focus on him. It takes a lot of concentration, but you are able to catch a glimpse of something. “Fuck me sideways.” You blurt out without thinking. “You are sincere!” Your astonishment catches them off guard. “I think it’s time to go.” You stand up. Still a bit put off the men don’t move. “Well, Eric, are you dead or something?” Okay that may not have been the best question to ask someone who is actually dead. Do you seriously don’t have an off switch?

“That looks good on you.” Eric’s voice scares you to death. You thought you were alone in your guestroom. Wearing only your panties and an oversized Fangtasia t-shirt that he gave you. Your hair is worn down and you were just dancing around the huge room when Eric’s voice interrupted your music. “Ever heard of knocking?” You ask, not even the slightest bit of uncomfortable about your bareness.

“If I had knocked I would never have seen that move you made.” Eric tells you grinning. Smiling devilishly you turn up the music and grab his hand. “Knocking wouldn’t have made a difference, corpse.” Alcide got his nickname, now it’s only fair to give Eric one too. Adoring Eric looks down on you while your bodies move to the rhythm of the music. “I’m not going to sleep with you.” You tell him out of the blue.

“You really are remarkable at mind reading. I never met anyone who could read a vampires mind so easily.” Eric tells you astound.

“Oh, I didn’t need to read your mind to know what you were thinking.” You tell him satisfied. Bon Temps was maybe not so bad after all. You are, after all, having fun.

“Devilish.” Eric remarks

“I would love to say ‘that’s me’, but unfortunately I would be lying if I did.” You say.  Eric turns down the volume. “What do you mean unfortunately?” He asks curious. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you.” You say and shrug. “But I always dreamt of being something like I am becoming right now. A heroine in a story to be written down and read by thousands of hungry eyes, wishing for the possibility of experiencing the same thing. I’m sick of sitting in my small office reading cases and searching through laws to find a loophole, which may surprise you do exist.”

“You are a lawyer?” Eric asks you uncertain. You just nod. “Has someone ever told you, you are nothing like your sister?” Eric asks as if you have known your sister your whole life.

“I have, but how so?” You are starting to get curious as to why you are nothing like her. The both of you sit down on the end of the bed. “You’re educated, a risk taker, out-going, bubbly and just ..different.” Eric’s remark makes you smile. Whether or not he meant is as a compliment, you are definitely taking it that way.

“Why do you hate your life so much?” Eric asks surprising you. That is a way you never really thought of it. Did you really hate your life? It’s a tough question. “What happened to make you resent normal life?”

In your head you are discussing whether or not you should tell Eric.But in the end you are still not sure. “I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You say.

Half-heartedly you hoped he would drop the matter, but he doesn’t care for the fact that you don’t feel like sharing your inner thoughts. “I’m a really good listener.” He pushes.

Giving in you sigh. Whatever. “A few years ago I was dating Chuck, a tanned biker who used to live on the farm with his parents. I don’t really know what business he had with his biker gang, but he never talked about that.”

“So, he was a bad guy?” Eric asks.

You nod. “I guess I liked the mystery around him and the fact that he was a bad guy intrigued me in a way. Apparently I have a weak for the bad guy.” You tell him not realizing who you are talking to. With a charismatic smile and puppy eyes Eric looks down on you, making you realize what kind of effect your words now have on him. In his ears all he heard was: ‘I have a weak for you, Eric.’

“So what happened?”

“One day, he came home and he rolled up is sleeve. I never expected things to escalate so quickly, but it did. And I never meant for things to become that way, but I guess he decided for me that it should. There were two little hearts on my rodeo man. He practically slipped a ring right on my finger.”

“He wanted to marry you?” Eric asks uncertain.  

“Chuck didn’t say it with those exact word, but he tattooed two hearts on his shoulder. And at that moment I realized something. There was no way in hell that I was going to stay at home to watch the children and be a good housewife. I haven’t lived my life yet. All those years I was only alive, not actually living life. That’s why I left him with skid marks and a double heart.”

Eric chuckles. “A double heart.”

“Why is this funny to you?” You ask feeling a bit insulted.

“It’s just so beautiful the way your mind works.” He says, confusing you. “You left a guy because you were not satisfied with yourself.”

Feeling attacked you stand up. You could have chosen to say something nasty in return, there were plenty of things you could say, but you decide not to. Attacking back would only make you look worse. “What are you getting at, Eric?” You ask instead.

Eric rises to his feet. “It’s not an insult, sweets.” He assures you. Your eyes lock and Eric bends his face towards yours. Is he going to do what you think he is going to do? “What the hell are you doing?” You ask him not moving an inch. He pulls back looking at you. “Well, kissing you of course.”

“Did something in my story give you the idea that it was okay to do so?” You ask him. Was there something in your story you hadn’t realized made you seem cheap?

“Never mind.” Eric’s demeanor seems to change a bit. “The sun is about to rise, I’ve got to go.” With these words he leaves you wondering what went wrong. You go to bed and fall asleep quickly while the sun slowly rises. Stepping into a dream world you begin seeing things. Not dreams, though it could be mistaken for a dream by someone who doesn’t know any better. You see a body ignite and burn until there is nothing left, but black crisp. Eric. Wide awake you sit up straight in the bed that is way too big for you. Something is going to happen and you know it. Not only have you seen someone burn to death, but you could also feel it in your gut. And if there is one thing you’ve learned it’s to always trust your gut feeling. “Why does he has to have such a goddamned big place.” You curse while flying out the room into the big hall. Clutching your hands around your arms you focus on trying to get a premonition. A faint flash of someone throwing in a Molotov cocktail dances before your eyes. Rushing down the big stairs you run outside the door. You need to stop them before they do it.  On your bare feet you run across the grit, hurting your feet, but right now you don’t feel the pain. Adrenaline rushes through your veins. The sound of breaking glass draws your attention. It has happened. You’re too late.

[langwrites]

Littermates

Since I went digging through my original work, I managed to find something short and half-decent. Might as well post it, right?

I think the prompt that spawned this was either “puppy pile” or “nightmare” or both? It has been a very long time since I properly checked.

Warnings: Alcohol use, nightmares, panic attacks (?), childhood traumas, some spoilers for things (since in my most recent edition of these characters’ lives, they don’t all know each other yet), and probably a few more I can’t quite put my finger on right now.

He’s always running. Stumbling, blind, through the shadowy forest—in between snatches of amber light and baying hounds. He’ll trip and fall, and they’ll have him again and he can’t go back—

(—az!)

The world seems to twist. Colors—what few there were, in this dark and lonely place—bleed away, taking with them sensation and sound. No, he can't—

(Riyaz, wake up!)

And then there's a hand the unmarred side of his face, cupping his face and drawing a thumb across his cheekbones. He can't see, he can't—and then he blinks and there's a girl there, eyes dark and face flecked orange by dying firelight.

For a long, torturous minute, he has no idea where he is, why he's here. There are faces above his, but he can’t recognize them, can’t think and see past the shadows in his own head—he closes his eyes without realizing it. He's tangled in blankets and he wants to panic because he can't move, but he can't decide when his breath is coming in gasps and his heart pounds in his chest like an execution drumbeat and his thoughts are moving far too fast for his tongue to form any of them into words. There are too many hands, all over; he can't fight that many, already on his back and with his limbs paralyzed, can’t stop them—no!

(Calm down!) And that's—that's not his voice, not even his inner one, and the voice says again, softer, (Calm down. No one here is going to hurt you. I'm going to ask you to take a breath and think, so you can see what's around you and what used to be. Do that for me.)

Riyaz gasps, nearly sobbing, and there's a fierce mutter above his head and some of the hands disappear. After what seems like forever, his breathing slows, interrupted by the occasional hitch that makes him stop and want to cough. He's starting to regain feeling in his limbs enough to know that the only things clinging to him now are the blankets, some of which have been quietly removed—or so it seems, since he no longer feels like he's being strangled by them.

"Gods damn it, give him some room!" Oceanus’s voice snaps, from far closer than makes sense. Riyaz blinks, disoriented, and realizes that at some point he went from lying on the floor to being supported by Oceanus’s leg. A muscle in the other magi's jaw jumps—Oceanus is angry enough to start shouting, though he hasn't yet, and Riyaz wonders why he hasn't done it anyway. Maybe he should get out of his space… "Back the fuck off!"

(Told you,) says the voice, and Riyaz feels the slightest swell of irritation at Lockjaw's unneeded commentary. He isn't sure his Other notices. (Better now?)

He isn't so sure about that.

"Do you know where you are?" Alena asks, and she's sitting next to Tirane on his other side, even as Oceanus snarls at—oh, Khalil and Mitra must have annoyed him somehow—everyone else.

Tirane's eyes are welling up.

"…Yes?" he croaks, and oh he sounds terrible. He feels as though he would be ill, if anything could get him to the tipping point, and there is a sour taste in his mouth. He doesn't think there's anything left in his stomach, though, and dry-heaving sounds like a bad idea.

Alena frowns, clearly thinking of something else already, and Tirane puts a hand on his forehead, expression pinched. He sees Oceanus make an obscene gesture at Khalil while Mitra and Nura are out of the way, and by the sound of laughter he can already tell this will end in a fight.

Oceanus looks down then, and says, "Hey, mind if I move? I need to go kill Khalil’s twin before my leg falls asleep on me."

Riyaz isn't sure why he'd be asked about this, but the lack of protest is apparently taken as permission and he's quickly transferred to Tirane's lap. Then Oceanus runs off, wielding a spare set of blankets like a net, and disappears. The shouting is still audible, but if no one’s is actually dying none of them seems to care.

"You're running a fever, I think," Tirane says into the silence, removing her hand. He looks up at her face, which is shadowed by the tangled mass of red curls falling forward and out of their nighttime braid. She wraps her arms around his neck, like an embrace, and Alena shuffles to his right to dig one of his wrists out of the blankets and take his pulse.

"That wasn't just a fever-dream, though. Was it?" Alena asks.

Riyaz glances down, at the web of overlapping scars along his wrist in her hands, and says, "N-No, not really. It was…more of a memory."

"I thought so," Alena says, distant. Her gray eyes are nearly hidden by her hair, which makes it difficult to see her expression.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tirane asks after a while, and Riyaz knows as certain as breathing that she's almost as hesitant to say anything as he is. "I heard somewhere, dunno where, that it might help."

He can't do that to her. Can't expose her to the ugliness, and more importantly, won't. Not if he can avoid it.

So, he shakes his head.

They fall into an uncomfortable silence for a moment, occasionally interrupted by the sounds of Oceanus trying to beat someone to death with a beaded pillow. Nura has withdrawn to the safety of her quarters, going by the lack of shouting, and apparently is more interested in seeking a peaceful sleeping space than staying around for another argument. He can't really blame her, and anyway it’s not as though he wouldn’t do the same thing if he could. As if he didn't know what was waiting for him every time he closed his eyes.

One of the lumps of fur near the fire starts to stir as he watches the embers die down. While the black-and-white and tricolor pups have apparently been rendered insensate by the warmth and their exhaustion, the peach-furred blade wolf pup is up and stretches out on a rug, rolling on his back and wriggling around. Then he flips over abruptly, as though suddenly realizing he has an audience, and meanders over to the three of them.

Alena extends a hand, scratching behind his ears as he passes her by, and with a will, the pup climbs into Riyaz's lap. Then he purposefully stretches out to his full length as Tirane removes her arms, neatly usurping her place, and paws at Riyaz's collarbone.

"Well, someone sure has a favorite," Tirane says, ruffling his fur briefly, and Riyaz sits up to untangle his arms so he can give the pup the attention he apparently craves. The puppy whines until Riyaz works his blunt fingernails into the pup's fur, leaning into the touch and pressing his nose into Riyaz's palm whenever he stops.

"You don't have to talk about what happened in the past." Alena says. "Not until you're ready."

Riyaz nods distractedly, thinking even as the puppy gnaws gently on his other hand. There's no reason to rush into things. His head feels like it's stuffed with cloth and his thoughts are dulled, but that's a separate problem. The room is too warm, and he still feels like falling over.

"But you should probably find something to help you sleep better," Tirane says, frowning. "I mean, you're sick right now, which we should still deal with, but…well, does it help to have someone else here?"

Riyaz glances at her, hesitant. "But you were here."

"I was, yeah, but I mean having all of us around," Tirane says. "I mean, I tried waking you up on my own, but it didn't really work and I'm pretty sure I scared the hell out of you trying. So I was thinking, maybe Alena and Oceanus can stick around too?"

Oceanus, who is apparently still busy trying out attempted murder via bedding, gives a shout that echoes through the halls. Riyaz wants to dismiss him out of hand, but it doesn't feel like the right choice despite the other magi's prickliness.

"I'm willing to try it out," Alena says. She looks around and makes a sweeping gesture. "There's lots of room around here, even if we go dig my mattress out of my room."

It didn't sound…bad, exactly. If Riyaz is being honest, and he tries, then even the idea of waking up with other bodies around isn't such a terrifying prospect as another bout of uninterrupted nightmares. And everyone here knew at least a part of what had happened, which meant less time asking for explanations before he could even form words. And he'd seen Oceanus before, in the mornings, looking as heartsick and exhausted as Riyaz felt after nights like this one, and wondering if that was something they shared.

It’s a terrible thought. But it is somewhat calming, despite its ugliness.

"…I'm willing to try," he says.

"Then I'll get the extra things out." Alena rises to her feet. She's gone in a moment, leaving Tirane with him and seeming very awkward indeed. Against his stomach, the pup yawns and noses around to make a nest for himself in Riyaz's lap.

Tirane reaches over, touching his shoulder. He looks back.

"Hey. We'll get through this." She seems so confident that it will be so simple.

He doesn't believe that, but he can believe that she does and will act on it. Maybe that's enough for now.

Oceanus and Alena reappear at the same time, though Oceanus is holding a blanket and a cup of something heavily spiced and steaming and Alena seems to have decided that her entire mattress was to be the guest of honor tonight—Riyaz has never, until this point, realized just how oversized her bed is.

As Oceanus sets the cup down on a nearby table and Alena effortlessly pushes Riyaz out of her way on a sled of blankets, setting her mattress down where he’d been, Tirane gets up and inspects the drink.

“Khalil and Mitra are fine,” Oceanus comments, for no reason Riyaz cares about. He glances at Tirane briefly and adds, louder, “Anyway, this’ll probably help you sleep—just don’t mention to Lumina that we raided her wine cellar.”

“Oh, mulled mead!” Tirane says, clearly pleased. She raises the cup and inhales the steam. “Wow. Lumina doesn’t skimp on the good stuff.”

“I’ll take your word on that. Anyway, Riyaz, it’s for you.” Oceanus neatly plucks the cup from her hand and places it in Riyaz’s, even though his lap is occupied by a puppy.

Alena, by this point, has successfully maneuvered the mattress into place. Even as it’s being conquered by industrious puppies, including the one that had been in Riyaz’s lap, she approaches and kneels in front of him. Though he doesn’t especially feel like being touched at the moment, he doesn’t move as she places her fingertips on his brow and above his heart. “Let’s get rid of that fever first, all right?”

He nods so subtly that he’s fairly sure she can only feel his head move, not see it.

They both inhale at the same moment, and on the exhale he can feel the stifling heat leave him, though he doesn’t feel truly cold. Alena removes her hands and finally completes her own breath—the heat shimmers in the air for the briefest moment before disappearing. Well, now he understands why he’d originally found the idea of so many blankets appealing. It’s not exactly a comfortably cool night.

Then she sits back on her heels, assessing her work, before Oceanus hands Riyaz his apparent warm mead. He’s not sure what else is in it, exactly, but he’s sure he can’t have even come close to affording a number of the components, whatever they were, at any point in his life so far. Then again, most of the people he knows are probably not overly familiar with expensive foreign spices, either.

“…Is that your mattress?” Oceanus asks Alena, while Tirana flops down on it and startles all three of the puppies. They promptly decide to craw all over her, licking and sniffing as though she were one of their other littermates.

“Of course it is,” Alena says, but Riyaz doesn’t pay any of it more attention than that.

Instead, he sips at the strange brew. It’s like tea in that it warms him from the inside out, but he can already feel himself starting to lose what little focus he had. It dulls the pain from his memories, a little, and he’s tired enough that he’s not sure how much of the fatigue he feels is the drink and how much is just him. The room seems oddly warm, but not in any physical sense.

He can almost hear Khalil and Mitra getting into an argument, but he’s sure they’ll sort something out. He’s not exactly sure what would happen if they got into the rest of the wine cellar, but it’s not really his problem, is it?

He finishes the drink despite his misgivings about it in general, though, and his sense of time is probably not at its best by the time Tirane rolls off the mattress and sidles up to him, putting an arm around his hunched shoulders. He looks at her and leans heavily on her somewhat smaller, though more stable, frame. He thinks he might have seen Oceanus do something like it, at some point.

“I think we probably should have made sure he ate something first,” she says with a brief laugh, and he doesn’t protest as she leads him to the mattress with the nest of blankets intact. If she finds anything odd about the way he nudges closer to her when she lies down next to him, eventually nuzzling her collarbone, he doesn’t hear it and she doesn’t shove him away.

Oceanus glances at the wooden cup and flings it into the fire from its forgotten place on the floor, where it burns merrily for a few moments until Riyaz closes his eyes against the flickering light. Then he and Alena gather up another set of covers from somewhere and the next thing Riyaz is aware of is that Oceanus is lying back-to-back with him, a cool, calming presence in the haze of what is probably alcohol dulling his senses. Alena is either opposite Tirane or Oceanus, and he doesn’t open his eyes to check. Khalil hums in the background, whispering with Mitra.

When Riyaz finally falls asleep, he doesn’t dream again.

[impalaanddemons]

Good Girl - Part 10

Summary: Werewolf!Reader Story. Readers a young doctor and uses her skills to keep her condition hidden, until she transfers to the Enterprise and tries to deceive a certain grumpy Doctor

Bones x Reader

Wordcount: 2060

A/N: I am sorry for how long it took me to write this part - but as you all know, things are difficult right now. I hope you like it and I’ll continue the story as soon as I have time to continue writing (I do write every spare second I get, which shows how many spare seconds I have right now)

This could be AOS and TOS

Warnings:  Mentions of Sex, angst

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8 PART 9

Emptiness followed McCoys departure and stretched from seconds to minutes, from minutes to hours. At some point you got food and at another point Chapel made her appearance. It was after Beta, the security guys watching your cell had switched shift about an hour ago. It was like another world behind your cell, a world you had no part of any more. They didn’t even seem to really care, but maybe that was your imagination, feeling more detached from the world outside your own then ever. Not even Chapels bright, kind smile managed to brighten your mood significantly, the words of your boyfriend, your partner still echoing in your ears. I am so stupid.

„How are you holding up?“ she asked and sat down in front of your cell, grabbing a chair and pulling it over. „I brought you chocolate.“

You raised your eyebrows, forcing a weak smile to your lips. „Chocolate?“ „There’s no ill in space chocolate won’t lessen.“, she mused and gave you the kindest and most honest smile you’d seen since your incarceration. For all that had happened she seemed completely unfazed by the events unfolding - or blissfully uninterested of what you were. Shoving the chocolate through a temporary hole in your cell wall, her blue eyes traced over your face. „Take a bite, Y/N.“ - though kind and warmhearted and smiling there was a resolve behind her words that easily matched the fiery temper of Bones. Obediently you took a bite, but the warmth that spread through your chest was that of another friendly being close to you. The Enterprises’ head nurse continued watching you, seemingly comfortable with the silence that stretched between the too of you. You caught a whiff of medbay in the air, a scent that followed everyone along that worked there. It reminded you of home.

„He’s been hard on you, hasn’t he?“ You gave a noncommittal shrug and took another bite of chocolate. „You know, Y/N,“ she leaned back in her chair and looked politely down to her fingernails. „I’ve known Doctor McCoy for a while now and…“ she deep breath and lifted her head back up. „He’s not …“, she stopped again and you cocked your head. „He’s a kind man, if he allows himself to be that way.“ Chapel finally said, nearly whispering, as if talking about a long lost lover. „And he’s an understanding man, if he is given the time to work through things.“ You nodded slowly, feeling a tiny ache pinching at your heart. You felt the sudden urge to touch her. Or be touched. „Did he .. tell you?“ the question fell from your lips before your brain realized it. „About what he had said?“ Another smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head. „No.“ „Then how … ?“ „As I’ve told you: I’ve known him for quite some time, Doctor.“ Another pause followed, time enough for a lump to form in your throat while going through the words that had fallen for the hundredth time today.. The desire to change and give into your primal self grew in your chest, but you were not yet ready to face your raw emotions. Bottled up in some dark corner of your mind you feared it would probably kill you. „He has a tendency to … get in his own way.“ she finally said, matter-of-factly, and let out a small sigh. „How is Ensign Bancroft?“ you said, changing one uncomfortable topic for another. „He’s in a coma. His body is …. fighting…whatever disease he’s got. We’re trying to work it out.“ You nodded slowly, guilt weighing heavy on your shoulders. Chapel smiled again and knocked at the glass wall with her knuckles, as if to replace a friendly pat on the shoulder with that gesture. „Keep the chocolate, eat up and don’t let your head down.“ A small smile crept upon your face. „I’ll try my best.“ „Good girl. Everything else will sort itself out, eventually“ Chapel said, smiled, got up and left the room.

Gammashift meant night shift and only a skeleton crew remained to man the Enterprise. The lights were down, only main gangways fully lit. A comfortable darkness had blanketed your cell, the glas wall even lowered visibility to outside your cell,so that you’d be comfortable and not kept awake by the light at the desk of the remaining security personell. You lay on your back, arms crossed behind your head and slowly drifted off to sleep.

You ran. You felt cold air on your naked skin. Earth still warm from the last rays of sun beneath your feet. Your toes dug deep into the earth as you propelled yourself forward. You ran. Breathing, rythmically, air pinching each time you drew it into your lungs. There were feet next to you. Running along. One-Two - Three-Four. You turned your head but could not see. Your own heartbeat was too loud, but faintly, as if far away, there was another one. „Who…“ the figures footsteps beat louder now. Faster. It advanced into the darkness that enveloped everything before your eyes. „Wait“, you whispered and ran faster. Nothing. No heartbeat. No footsteps. Just silence. You stopped dead in your tracks as something -

You yelped awake. It was still dark and Alpha still seemed far away. Nothing. Already the memory of your dreams slipped away from the tight grip of consciousness. But still. A feeling nagged you, but you couldn’t pinpoint it and experienced had taught you not to listen too closely to what the wolf tried to tell you in your human form. With a sigh, you fell back on your bed and slipped into dreamless sleep.

Breakfast came and went without another incident. Time slipped by uneventful and change of shift marked it’s passing. It was in the middle of Beta when the captain himself made his appearance, followed along by his first officer like an oversized vulcan puppy. You straightened up immediately. „At ease“, Kirk said at once. He positioned himself in front of your cell and his kind puppy smile was as unreadable as Spocks stoic expression. A slight nausea swept over you. „Doctor Y/N“, he began, doing nothing to ease your tension by extending this longer then necessary. „I am very happy to tell you that investigation showed no evidence of you being our suspect.“ Silence fell. All thoughts went blank for a second. „I.. what?“ you gasped in disbelief. „Doctor McCoy was kind enough to provide a blood sample to our laboratories.“, the Vulcan continued what his Captain had begun and watched unmoved as your shoulders sank. „Evidence suggests that you are not responsible for harming Ensign Bancroft, therefor your detention is without a legal basis and outside of starfleet regulation.“ „You’re free, as I said.“ Kirk said, as if a translation was necessary, and waved to the guards. „You heard me, that woman is free to go.“ The guard tapped on it’s PADD and the glass wall all but disappeared. You still stared at Kirk and his first Officer in disbelief. „And.. what about…?“ you began, only to be cut off by another hand wave from your Captain. „Until we decide how to handle the situation, you’re released from duty but free to assist Doctor McCoy should he ask and you feel up to the task.“ You nodded slowly. „Aye, Sir.“

A hot shower and a fresh blue dress later you felt ready to head back to medbay. Sitting around had never been your strong suit and as a meeting with Bones was unavoidable, you preferred to chose the place of the battle yourself. That’s how you made you’re way through the Enterprise and how the scent of medbay greeted you long before you laid your eyes on it, as always. But this time it filled your heart with dread, no matter how prepared you thought you’d be for what was coming.. It felt like you were approaching at a creeping speed. You knew you weren’t, but still - every step you made seemed to slow down time, to stretch a second into a hours. Entangled with Medbay was the scent of Bones. He and medbay were one. Inseparably connected. You turned around a corner, took another deep breath and stepped in. There he was. Blue shirt, nicely wrapped up in his uniform and work, his dark eyes concentrated on his PADD. „I report back for duty, Doctor McCoy.“ He lifted his head for a second and you could see ..nothing. Too much at all. „Good.“ he said, seemingly unmoved, applying a Hypo to his patient without looking up again.„We’re one Doctor short and could use the help.“ if there was an attempt of a joke, it fell flat in light of the situation and your current lack of humour. „Security managed to get a couple of Ensigns hurt on our recent away mission - get started.“ And so you picked up work again, not exactly where you left, but close enough. Bones busied himself with patients and shouting and being his usual grumpy self, while you worked through broken bones, a nice laceration and some variants of the common space cold. A case of alcoholism busied your mind, discussing a treatment plan with one of the nurses until you noticed that it was already late into Gamma and the amount of patient slowly ebbed away. Bones was still there, as always. A feeling of familiarity eased into the situation. It would be easy to just get up, ask for dinner, just as before. A tranquilizer would be nice now. Just to get that damn heartbeat down. Not used to be fully awake. A deep sigh escaped your lips and you rubbed your temples while leaning over that last bit of report you wanted to finish. A nice tranq. Why not use one. Soothe the animal inside. Goraning, you rubbed over your forehead and shook your head. „Is everything okay?“ his voice was behind you all of a sudden. „Yes…“ you turned around to face his stern expression. „No..“, you corrected yourself and forced half a smile on your face. „I’m having headaches for the past few hours. And .. it’s .. complicated.“, mumbling the last part you averted his eyes and stared over his shoulder. Of course he had his medical tricorder in his hands only seconds later, putting the damned thing to your face. You suppressed a shiver as his hands brushed over your skin. „You’re completely off tranquilizers right now?“ he asked. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face now. „Aye“, your answer was barely a whisper. His warmth left your for a second, then he was back and grabbed your arm. „Damn you, woman. You’re on cold turkey. I’ll give you one now, another one tomorrow evening. We’ll stretch intervals to two days then. We need to monitor your vitals. See how your body reacts“ and pushed a hypo into your arm. „And yes, I had your secret stash collected by one of our nurses.“ he added. The deep frown on his forehead intensified. His voice was just short of a deep growl, a sound that resonated deep within you. „I’m .. sorry…“, you whispered. „I could’ve …“ he began and stopped himself, dragging his right hand over his face. He let go of your arm. Suddenly you could see just how tired he really was. „Y/N. I … We…“ His sentence ended in an unfinished sigh. „I am so sorry, Len.“ you repeated and though a part of you revolted you knew you sounded like pleading. „I could’ve lost you, Y/N“ he finally said, staringdown at his hands. Silence again, as you carefully stretched your fingers to meet his. His touch was soft as he gently grabbed your fingers. Warm and kind and everything he did no muster the courage to say. „I’m sorry I hurt you.“ you whispered. As you looked up to him the stern expression on his face softened. „Dinner?“ „I’d love to.“

The sound of a medical alarm woke you up. Confused you stretched out your arm, only to land on a communicator the same second another, bigger hand did. Ah. Yes. „It’s mine.“ the gruff voice of McCoy muttered, grabbing the thing with his one hand and not lifting the other from where it rested on your hip. He had answered your most urgent question right after you had finished dinner. Take that dress off, darling. He did not fear to touch you. Nor did he shy away from you after what he had seen. I did not tell you to take that off, yet. Still, there was something different. His touch was more firm, his kisses more fierce then before. There was a desperation you had not felt before. He cared. Deeply. It would take time before everything settled down. Bones sat up abruptly next to you, startling you out of your thoughts. „What happened?“ „Bancrofts dead.“ he said and his voice fell flat. „He’s been killed.“

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[rosebloodcat]

Harry and the Ink Demon Chapter 2- Discovery

Joey Drew, Harry had decided, was utterly barmy. The building had looked confusing on paper, but apparently the former studio director had thought it would be a grand idea to turn the place into a full on maze.

Harry had already gotten lost twice, but after living in Hogwarts for six years he had quickly gotten his head around his mental floor plan of the building. Though even that was a work in progress as he discovered the various changes Drew had made to the building. He was going to tear out a few of the walls, that much he'd figured out. But he'd found a few interesting things during his exploration.

He'd found a handful of tape recordings left by a few old employees (and they didn't sound very happy with their boss, not that he blamed them), some old drafts and model sheets of Bendy from the animator's cubicles/closets (he'd bagged those, even the one sticky note of an overly cutesy version of the little devil), an employee cafeteria (he was keeping that, unless the there were nasty magics on the lower floors), and a couple other knickknacks that may have belonged to former employees that he'd stowed away in his satchel. He wouldn't keep all the things he'd snagged, but having a few things to bid off to collectors would certainly help fund getting the studio up and running again.

He knew could be a klepto at times, a hold over from when he'd had nothing to call his own, so a good portion of it would be stowed away at home.

Maybe he'd give a few of the toys to Teddy. Or Luna, she'd grown rather fond of the toons when he would draw them with her menagerie of creatures (She wanted to help at the company once he got it going).

But that hadn't been the most bazar discovery he'd made in the dilapidated studio, no. That honor belonged to the machine he'd found early on in his exploration. A contraption that looked like a warped chimera of a water heater, a fire hose pump, and a clockwork engine of some kind. It had made his skin crawl, and his magic roil inside him. Something about it just felt- Unnatural. He wanted to blast the thing teeny, tiny pieces and hand the remains over to MASUCA's Department of Mysteries. He didn't like it one bit, and when his instincts gave him those kind of warnings, he would usually listen to them.

But with how the piping from the machine wove into the building, he wasn't sure if destroying it was safe or a smart idea. For all he knew, it could have brought the studio down on his head. And now he had to turn the blasted thing on. He didn't want to, not even the curious side of his that had survived the war wanted to touch it, but he wasn't getting a choice in the matter. For one single reason.

Drew had somehow turned the machine into the main source of power for the entire Studio.

It was worse since Harry had been allowed to see the reports and knew for a fact certain doors in the studio could only be opened if the power was on. And the light would be needed as he went deeper into the building, what with all the windows being boarded up.

And if Harry was cussing out Drew as he stalked through the halls? Well, who would know other than him?

Harry rubbed his brow, struggling to ward off his impending headache. This was not what he wanted to be doing.

THUD! Clatter!

He jolted in alarm at the sudden noise that cut through the mostly silent studio like a freshly sharpened knife. Harry's head shot up, green-eyes flicking about to find the source of the sound. His shoulders sagged in relief when he spotted what had caused the noise. It was just a board that had fallen from the ceiling of the t-section ahead of him.

"Bloody stars, that gave me a start. This place is gonna need more work than I thought," the wizard said with a tired sigh, running a hand through his bangs. He would need to re-tie his tie his hair soon, he noted, feeling various strands snag on his fingers. He strode further down the hall, squinting up at the spot where the board fell from.

"That's odd..." He muttered, squinting upwards.

Harry couldn't find the spot where the board had fallen from. There were no holes in the ceiling that matched it, and the boards that were there were pressed too close together to even be loose. It couldn't have fallen from there, unless...

He growled.

"Is someone pranking me? If there is, this ain't funny lads!" He called, aggravation showing through in his tone and bringing out the slight Scottish/Irish verbal ticks he'd picked up from Seamus and Professor McGonagall. He glared at the ceiling, as though he thought if he glared at it long enough that it would make the hidden prankster reveal themselves and grovel for forgiveness. It didn't.

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head.

'Now then, left or right?' he thought to himself, 'Let's try right.'

He turned down the right path into a small room with six pedestals, and a large switch  framed by two large black pipes against the opposite wall. It looked strangely, well, toony. Almost like someone had drawn it onto the wall, if it weren't for the faint shadows being caste, Harry would have thought he'd been punk'd by the same person who may-or-may-not have rigged the falling board. He didn't know how to describe how just plain weird this place was.

"Well, I guess I've finally found the break room Franks mentioned in his recording Now how do I get this thing working?" He approached the switch (lever? It was hard to really tell), which was oh-so-helpfully labelled 'Main Power' with a little 'Caution' placed right under it. A flashing screen sat next to it, reading 'Low Pressure'. He stifled a groan. "Oh, why can't anything ever be easy? Just once in my life I'd like things to be simple."

He knew from the recording that he'd need something from each employee's desk to get things running, and there were six pedestals in the room. It wasn't much of a leap to assume he would need that many items (and he wasn't going to call them sacrifices, the term didn't sit well with him. At al). Now the question was, what exactly did he need?

He looked back at the pedestals, there was a picture behind each one. Perhaps the pictures were what he needed to find?

"Let's see here, I'm going to need a wrench, an ink bottle, a toy, a gear, a book, and something related to music." He muttered, Harry dug through his bag for the things he'd picked up while wandering through the studio. Surely there were a few that would do the trick.

"I think the record I found would go with the music note." He set it on the pedestal, and froze when a soft light started up, casting light on the object he'd just placed. Either there was one of those pressure switches he'd heard about there, or there really was magic at work there. He swallowed nervously, eyeing the pedestal with distrust.

"Th-then the ink well from one of the animator's desks." He hesitantly put it in place, and jolted when the same thing happed again.

"And the wrench." The process was repeated, right down to the eerie light. They were the only things he'd found that matched the pictures, he'd have to go back through the studio to find the other three objects. He shook he head trying to ward of his anxiety. He really didn't like this.

"Now, where would those- ACK!!" Harry jumped in alarm when he turned around the corner and almost walked into a Bendy cutout that had most certainly not been there a few moments ago. It was positioned right in the middle of the hallway, almost like it was trying to block his path. "Who put this here?!"

Harry scowled, his nerves still somewhat addled from the 'sacrifice' room. Someone had to be pranking him. And it really wasn't funny. He started to wind himself up to track the prankster down and give them a piece of his mind ala Molly Weasley. But a flickering light caught his eye.

"What the-?" He knew that kind of light. After spending years in the magical world (where electricity was practically non-existent), he would have had to be a fool not to.

That was the light of a candle. More than one. Who would be lighting a candle in a building full of flammable items like paper and rubber ink? Were they mad?! They could make the studio catch fire! Harry side-stepped the cutout, his expressions furious.

There was someone in the room with the candles. Someone wearing dull brown overalls and standing far too still. Harry quickened his pace, he anger fading with each step. He inhaled sharply once he reached the threshold of the room.

There was a body strapped to something that looked eerily like an operating table, hanging limply with their chest ripped open, ribs broken and wrenched wide, showing a hollowed out chest. Like their heart had been ripped out, and the rest of their body left to rot in the open. The scene looked even more horrifying with the light of the candles illuminating the from. And the wizard, though he'd never met them, recognized the person in question.

'This-this can't be possible...'

"B-Boris?" Harry stared in open horror at the scene before him.

Boris the Wolf had been Bendy's closest, and rather absent minded, friend. A sweet, lovable character who was more like an oversized puppy and didn't have a angry bone in his body. Harry had always had a soft spot for the wolf, he'd reminded the wizard of Hagrid and Remus. Intimidating in some aspects, but almost bursting at the seams with kindness for the people around him.

Seeing him strapped up like that, his insides exposed and with toony X's over his eyes, it seemed too surreal to be possible. Toons weren't real, it shouldn't be possible to-to kill them like this. But the rancid smell that permeated the room said otherwise, a horrid combination of rubber ink and rotting meat. Harry reacted in the only reason way to finding and impossible cadaver, he bent to one side and retched.

Braced against the wall, the wizard kept heaving until there was nothing left his stomach to force out. He coughed hard, grimacing at the taste of bile in his mouth.

Harry wasn't a squeamish person, not since the war, but he just... He hadn't been prepared for that. He hadn't been prepared to find the-the corpse of one of the cartoon characters he was so fond of. He raised his eyes to see inky writing scrawled on the wall.

"Who's laughing now?!"

'Not me, that's for sure.' Harry thought, turning his mournful gaze to Boris' prone form.

"I wanted to know if magic had been used here, but this wasn't what I expected. This is just- Oh Boris," He breathed, his voice quivering as his eyes roamed over the Wolf's form. Flashes from the war flickered at the back of his mind, but he forced them back with a shudder. This was- He had to find out what happened here, how this was even possible, and more importantly, find out who had done this.

Harry tore his gaze from the gruesome sight and started searching the room for something, anything that could explain what had transpired here. But there was nothing, just Boris, the table he lay on, the writing on the wall, and an old, rather pathetic looking plush doll of Bendy. He would have to find his answer's elsewhere.

He carefully picked up the toy, knowing it was one of the things he needed, not daring look back at the wolf.

He hesitated at the door, he wanted to pull Boris down from the table and give him some respect by not leaving him like that. But MASUCA, from what he'd gathered, was far more strict about following the laws they laid out. They were closer to muggle procedures about law enforcement, Harry could respect that. He could respect them trying to keep the scenes from being tampered with and not risking important evidence being damaged. Even if his morals weren't happy about leaving a victim in such a state.

"I'm so sorry Boris, I can't do anything for you right now. But I promise, once the authorities know about this, I'll make sure you get the proper respects. You have my word." Harry said, his voice sounding pained as he looked back at the wolf. He had no idea if anyone, let alone Boris could hear him, but making the promise helped ease his mind. He steeled his resolve and headed back into the halls.

He had to locate the last two items he needed to "appease the gods" (and that was an incredibly worrying phrase for something like this) to get things going. He could only hope ho could find his answers once that was done. But as he left he couldn't help asking,

'Just what have I gotten myself into this time?' - - AN: Well, done with this one. It's a lot shorter than the last one, but I wanted to focus on the important pieces of the story. After all, listening to Harry wander around a studio with nothing really going on is actually kind of boring, right?

I think the descriptions came out pretty good, don't you?

[kingsofchaos]

So i had an Idea but I can't think of anything past the concept (+ yr writing for this kinda thing is like 200% better than mine) but what if the Lads founded the Fake AH crew and recruited the gents?

Oohthat’s fun – i’ve seen versions where they were two little gangswho combined into the FAHC but the idea of the actual Fake’s startingas the Lads is definitely interesting.Therewere a lot of names tossed around at the start; it’s the part offorming a crew no one really talks about, the vaguely embarrassingperiod of building an image, choosing a name, defining yourselves.Like band names there is a lot of bad before the good. Like bandnames ‘good’ is wildly subjective, particularly when determined by apack of teenage boys. The humour behind ‘Fake Crew’ isn’tparticularly high brow and not a single soul outside the originalfour Lads, including and especially their future members, have anyidea at all what the AH could possibly stand for. Most think itsmysterious, assume something clever or at least meaningful, but theshifty looks the boys shoot each other when pressed tell a differentstory.Still,they’ve made something of a name for themselves in Los Santos – theFAHC, who pull off unbelievable stunts, who lack any semblance ofrespect, dangerous in the way of feral animals, of wildfire. In thefoolhardy way of children, who care far more about making sure youhurt than they do about protecting themselves. It’s enough to keepother gangs wary, to buy themselves a little breathing room withreckless gestures and bared teeth, but not exactly the glory they arelooking for. Not quite the trembling respect they’ve dreamed of.Forthat, it seems, they’re going to have to think bigger, smarter. Beclever not just in the tricks they play and jobs they pull but in theway they twist their image, they way they recruit, build their crew.Just being more won’t do it, added thugs for the sake of numbers; itwould take an astonishing amount to really match the size of some oftheir rivals and the Lads don’t exactly play nice with strangers. No,they have to be strategic, have to select a few choice additions whocan help them rise, and after much discussion they settle on threenames they’d like to pull in; Ramsey, Patillo and the Vagabond. Loftygoals to be sure, but then, delusions of grandeur or not, the Fake’shave always considered themselves to be rather magnificent.Everyonewho’s anyone knows about the Vagabond; none of them will admit it(Ray will admit it, Ray doesn’t give a fuck) but the Lads all havehearts in their eyes every time the Vagabond slinks around, allfollow every rumour, gossip over every job. Something between heroworship and healthy respect, without any of the fear normalself-respecting individuals feel, is the perfect cocktail to have thefour of them plotting outlandish ways to pull in the mercenary.Patillo has an incredibly solid reputation for someone with no realties, invariably thought to be smart, dependable, one of the bestdrivers in the country and definitely not a woman to be trifled with.That she and Ramsey seem to have some kind of relationship, workedtogether back in the day and while going their separate ways don’tappear to have had any kind of blow up, will hopefully work in theLads favour. Last, but certainly not least, there’s Geoff Ramsey; therouge Rooster who’s been traversing the country, constantly on themove and pulling all kinds of jobs from hilariously wacky to darklyperverse. Maybe the Lads are looking a bit outside their paid gradebut with Ramsey reportedly looking to build his own crew they can’tnot try, not after realising that their crew is unfortunately in needof a proper leader.Becausenone of the Lads are leaders, not really, especially not back then.They aren’t incapable, are clearly wildly talented and loyal enoughto one another to defer a certain kind of leadership to whomever hasthe best idea or the most experience with whatever task they’refacing, but no one individual is capable of being the permanent boss.No one individual actually wants that role, not really, they’re alltoo young, too impulsive, too eager to abandon necessary goals at thedrop of a hat.  Ray,who has arguably the least interest in being the boss of all, is lessleader than lone wolf; when he’s taking point a lot of his orderstend to involve stealth, hanging back while he picks off targets,only charging in when long-distance is no longer an option. Necessaryfor particular jobs, and it’s certainly not an easy task keeping theother three in line until it’s their turn to burst into action, butit’s not a method that works for every task.Michaelmakes a magnificent leader, fierce and fearless and unwaveringlyloyal, protective of his crew until the bitter end. He is,unfortunately, utterly devoid of tact, of the patience to put up withany kind of shenanigans from anyone he doesn’t personally like, theability to create and maintain necessary relations with anyoneoutside his crew. Michael himself knows he makes a far betterLieutenant, busy with duties he actually cares about, walking theline between following orders with absolute obedience andunapologetically calling out anything he disagrees with, reliable andrelentless in equal measure.Jeremyis meticulous, when he’s in charge he plots and plans and doublechecks, the very image of the perfect boss except for one flaw; moreoften than not he’s easily swayed. Will put together the perfectstealth plan only to agree when Michael makes a convincing argumentfor the importance of rocket launchers, conduct an ideal heist untilGavin begs to go after something shiny or Ray inquires aboutabandoning the sensible get away car for hilarious motorisedscooters.WhenGavin is on his game he is fucking glorious, a flashbang of recklesslaughter and terrible ideas none of them can resist, the promise thatcome hell or hand-grenades they will all be going home with a story.When Gavin plays leader he needs a lot of faith, needs the others totrust in things that don’t seem remotely feasible, but the payoff isalways worth it. Except for the days when his words are too sharp,his eyes too cold, when he wants nothing more than to pick a fightwith the most dangerous crook in the room, to swagger around theLSPD’s station unmasked, jump from a plane without checking hisparachute; dancing with death just to see if he can. Ifthey’re not careful on those days, if they missed the clues, the restof the Lads would follow him down, unable discern between Gavin’susual absurd genius and those streaks of genuinely aimless apathyuntil they’re all careening towards destruction.So,as grating as it seems, there is an undeniable argument for apermanent leader, someone to keep them all on course, to take theresponsibilities they don’t want, someone who can captain their shipwithout trying to push them all overboard. Still, you can’t just walkup to one of these infamous criminals and hand them an invitation;selling yourself – your dream, your crew, your city – takes time,takes planning, so in the end the FAHC’s first recruitment isn’t evenone of those big three.It’spure luck when Michael meets Lindsay; finds her twirling anail-studded bat in the wreckage of a bar, sipping a cocktail likeshe hadn’t just caved a man’s head in, and really nothing on earthcould have stopped Michael from offering her a place in the crew.From talking them up in a way he’d never really bother with normally,because honestly how could he not. It doesn’t take much to get theother three onboard, Lindsay was a perfect fit, a seamless addition,and with her the FAHC is unquestionably more efficient.Strangelythe Vagabond is actually far easier to get on board than any hadanticipated. After they start actively seeking his attention Ryancan’t help but watch the Lads. Not because their jobs are impressive(they are, actually, but Ryan’s in high demand, so very many crewsout there are impressive enough) but because they are endearingeager; nothing like the pathetic begging of so many others, noattempt to convince Ryan he should be desperate to work withthem, just genuine enthusiasm to prove themselves worthy ofhis time. They’re funny, something akin to a pack of recklesspuppies; certainly capable of outrageous damage but equally likely totrip over their own oversized paws in their excitement, and in thisbusiness Ryan really shouldn’t find it as charming as he does. Theytake to leaving him all kinds of gifts; generally intriguing , oftenamusing and near always utterly gruesome, and after a month or so ofhanging around the city toying with them they manage to get a formerRooster onside to run the show and Ryan’s run out of reasons tosay no.Gavin’sthe one they sent after Geoff, when the Lads decide they’re ready totry to bring the notoriously creative, fortuitouslycrew-seeking man into the FAHC. Gavin’s first approach, full ofdeferential respect playing to Ramsey’s ego, is a complete bust; Geoffthought he was sweet, called him kid, laughed in his face andsent him out the door with a crack about coming back when he was oldenough to drive. The second approach involves pulling a full blownjob on Ramsey, one that starts with the man unknowingly buying Gavina supercar and ends with the priceless tailored suit he’s wearingbeing pinned to the wall with a nail gun, Gavin grinning away like aparticularly bloodthirsty shark, and all of a sudden Geoff can’t sayhe isn’t tempted. Deigns to finally listen to the recruitment spiel,as though he’s got any other choice right now, and despite himself isquickly sold on the whole crew.Jeremygoes out one day and comes back with a handful of people, some they’dbeen discussing as a group, some the others hadn’t heard of, but allperfectly capable of holding their own agains the Lad’s disgruntleddissent. Steffie, who takes a look at their set up, rolls her eyes,then pulls out her phone and starts making a list, talking dealersand bases and possible new hires. Trevor who immediately sets tosoothing ruffled feathers, sidling up to Gavin and gushing about someridiculous theft, questioning Michael about his preference in heavyweaponry, ignoring the way Ray is skulking around behind him. Mattthey’d all agreed on, welcoming the chance to push off allcomputering nonsense onto someone else, and Mica assures them allthat she’s got no interest in sticking around, will work contracts asrequested but isn’t about the stationary crew life. In the end noblood is spilt, no tempers flare too badly, and Jeremy is reasonablysure he isn’t going to wake up with a gun to his temple, so all inall it goes pretty well.The last missing piece, Jack, is actually tracked down by Ray in the end; he wanders off one day andcomes back with a very amused woman in tow, decked out in a hideousHawaiian shirt and driving an obscenely nice Lamborghini. Apparentlyafter finding her, not particularly difficult considering she wasn’ttrying to hide, Ray simply told Jack all about Geoff’s fumblingattempts to simultaneously familiarise himself with the mess that isLos Santos, integrate himself into, and begin to take control of, analready close-knit, functioning crew, and do it all while pretendinghe’s not at all rattled by the Lad’s unwavering fascination with thehorrifically notorious assassin who insists on sticking a strawthrough his mask to pound down a truly irresponsible number of dietcokes. It took a while for her utterly joyous, completelyuncontrollable laughter to die down, but when she finally calmed Jackimmediately started packing.